You still live in
The silences
Between
My thoughts

– d.j

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

There was not a moment before in the life of Aella Targaryen that she had felt so still, so tense, so in disbelief as that day. Tension forced her muscles to bunch up, to freeze, to keep her still and silent. And all she could do was stare. At the alarming amount of still-warm and still-liquid blood on the sheets of Queen Aemma's bed. At her own hand still clutched in her friend's deathly pale hand. At the petrified look that was stuck on the dead Queen's face, showing what she felt in the very last moments she breathed. Aemma's gut-wrenching screams of pain played over and over again in her mind, as if she was still screaming, still begging for Viserys to stop, still crying out that she was afraid.

It did not feel like Aella was breathing, and when she forced herself to inhale, to feel her lungs expanding, it felt as if someone had plunged a knife straight between her ribs. It would be best if they did. She would gladly bleed out now beside the only true friend she had left than to live even one more moment without her.

As the metaphorical blade twisted inside of her, Aella slowly looked over to where Viserys was. The babe that had been torn from Aemma's body was wrapped in swaddling, rested in his arms and still crying. A babe born of blood and suffering, of a man's greed for a son. Aella wanted to move, but her limbs were frozen. She wanted to get up and march over to Viserys, rip that child from his arms like he had ripped Aemma from her life, damn the consequences, and push him out of the window he was standing by.

She could not think about herself. Only of the justice that Aemma deserved. The mother, the wife, the cousin, the closest friend. The kindest and sweetest woman Aella had ever known. The one who could listen to her for hours without saying a word herself and only when she was done would she give her own advise, advise that was sincere and heartfelt and truly meant to help.

Such a wonderful woman was lying dead now, torn open at her husband's command as if she meant nothing at all. Aemma's life had been, from the moment she was wed to Viserys, only about birthing heirs. It would seem that she died for that as well, despite her own unwillingness to bear more children. For it was the King's command, and in the end he would always choose himself over even his wife.

Tears were hot against Aella's cheeks, and it was all she could focus on for a few moments as her mind grasped for something to focus on. A sob tore from her throat so violently that it hurt her chest. She wept for Aemma and her tenderness, for Rhaenyra, the girl who never got to say goodbye to her mother, for the boy in Viserys' arms who would never know the woman who carried him. For herself, because Aemma was the last part of Aella that could cling to a long lost girlhood, to a time where things weren't so awful and tiring and outright agonising.

Aella's stomach fluttered and she thought she would vomit before she realised it was actually the babe moving around in her own belly. It squirmed just as the child in Viserys' arms did. A sudden coldness washed over Aella and her free hand – the one not still clutched in Aemma's stiff hand – fell to the swell of her bump. She suddenly felt so very afraid.

Across the room from her stood the man who was not afraid to put his wife down to gain a son. What would he do to her, the cousin he did not speak to often, the woman he barely knew? Aella drew in a long breath, unsure of what to do.

And then the door to Aemma's chambers burst open and her husband rushed in. Rhaegon stopped a few feet from the door, as if time itself had froze. His eyes were wide and he was pale, his mouth slightly agape. He was looking at Aemma's body and the gaping laceration in her abdomen from which blood flowed like an unstoppable river.

Gods, how was it possible that Aemma had so much blood in her? It was still escaping her body so rapidly, and yet there was so much of it that it began seeping from the mattress and dripping off of the bed and onto the floor. Once more, Aella thought she would be sick.

Rhaegon's expression was empty of anything other than something utterly haunting. His gaze flicked between the body, then Viserys and finally Aella. Then he repeated it once, twice, before he slowly stepped towards Aella. He knelt onto the floor beside her, his hand slowly moving to rest on her shoulder.

The moment his skin came in contact with her body, it was like the life was jerked back into her. She inhaled sharply, as if she had truly been resurrected. Her hand jerked out of Aemma's hold as if it was scalding, burning her skin. She muttered a silent apology to Aemma in her head. She gripped the fabric of her skirt tightly in her hands and she focused on her breathing. In and out, she told herself, though it was difficult to do even then.

"How could you do this?" she croaked out, looking directly at Viserys in hopes her gaze would send him to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. The room fell silent, the midwives who had been mournfully clearing the room and the maester unsure of what to do. Viserys seemed at a loss for words as well, and it almost looked like he pressed the swaddled up babe closer to his chest.

When the seconds dragged on and Viserys still did not answer, it was Grand Maester Mellos decided to speak up in the King's defence. "It was a choice between saving the babe and letting both perish, Princess." Aella shook her head, feeling the wet and salty taste of a suppressed cry in the back of her throat.

"Aemma told you years ago that she did not want to have any more children! She told you that she was afraid and that she could not bear to lose more and you still made her do it! Over and over again!" Her voice raised a bit with each word she spoke until she was properly shouting and the sound carried and echoed loudly throughout the room. Rhaegon's grip tightened around her shoulder and he pulled her back slightly against his chest. Perhaps a plea to stop, or perhaps a show of support. "And in the end you did not even the decency to give her a peaceful death! You did not tell her what you wanted to do, did not consult her in any way! What gives you the right, Viserys, to gut your own wife like a fish for a child you forced her to carry for you?"

"I needed an heir." Came Viserys' desolate voice. His eyes were wide and empty and he looked shocked at his words for a moment, as if he himself could not believe what he had said. What he had done.

Aella's scoff was so filled with rage that it was a wonder the entirety of the Red Keep was not set ablaze. In the distance, a dragon's violent roar could be heard. "You have an heir Viserys," she reminded him. "You have two brothers and a nephew. The Targaryen line was and still is secure. And you did not need your son to do that." She stopped for a moment and looked at Aemma's dead body. "You could have given her milk of the poppy until she did not feel anything and let her die painlessly. Instead you tore her open. What will your son think when he learns of what you did to his mother. What will Rhaenyra think?"

Viserys did no quite know what to say to that, apparently, as he turned his gaze away from Aella and instead looked at his newborn son again. There were no more words spoken for a while. The only sound in the entire room was Aella's heaving breath and the soft shuffle of the servants and midwives that scurried around the room, determined to finish their work without disturb the royals.

After a while, when Aella's heart was not beating so rapidly and all she felt was an empty indifference, Aella stood up with the help of Rhaegon. She clutched to his forearm in fear of her knees buckling beneath her, but miraculously they held strong. Rhaegon wrapped an arm around the small of her back and he led her towards the door, whispering words that Aella did not quite hear over the thrum of blood in her eardrums.

At the door, she paused and turned around once more. Her eyes caught Viserys', and with a voice so cold and accusing that it cut more than the sharpest of daggers, she said, "You killed Aemma, Viserys. By your hand, she is no longer with us." And without waiting for an answer or a dismissal, Aella allowed herself to be led from the room.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Aemon's mind was empty of any words of comfort as he followed Rhaenyra through the Red Keep. He kept a safe distance away from her, allowing her room to run or to send him away if she so wished it, but still close enough that he would be beside her in seconds if it was required. The halls of the Keep were morbidly quiet. The birds themselves had stopped singing, the wind had stopped blowing and even the waves of the sea had stopped humming. There was only the occasional heavy breath from him or Rhaenyra or the distant footsteps of someone walking the halls.

Rhaenyra had only one destination in mind, it seemed, as she climbed the steps higher and higher towards the Queen's chambers. She had not changed out of the gown that she wore for the tourney and the red train of fabric billowed behind her as she walked. Red, Aemon wondered if it would be the same shade that dirtied Queen Aemma's sheets.

There were a few loose locks of hair that fell from Rhaenyra's intricate style, the result of her breaking down into tears the moment she had been told the cold truth of her mother's fate. He had held her then, head pressed to his chest as she shook and fought and wailed. Her face was now covered in dry tears only and her expression was as still as the statues that decorated the gardens.

It was not a good thing, Aemon knew. His mother had worn the same expression when he passed her in the hall earlier. Empty and cold and so far away. Aella nor Rhaenyra were entirely present, far away from their bodies and there at the same time.

Aemon did not even realise they had made it to Queen Aemma's chambers until he heard Rhaenyra's hitched gasp. He looked up at her and wondered what she wanted him to do. He did not wish to touch her unless she asked. What if him reaching for her just made her crack more. His eyes caught on the bed in Queen Aemma's chambers over Rhaenyra's shoulders. The Queen's body had been removed. It was already being prepared for a funeral. The crimson of her blood was still on the sheets, the bed, the floor. It was darkened by time, but Aemon thought it had indeed been the same shade as Rhaenyra's gown once.

He felt sick for a moment, wondering how the Queen must have felt in her last moments. Dying in childbirth was one thing, being cut open was another thing entirely. When his father had told him what happened – hesitantly, as if he did not want Aemon to know but knew he would find out elsewhere anyway – he had not wanted to believe it. Such a method was cruel and unseemly. He had once thought his uncle incapable of such violence.

It was a sick and disgusting practice, one that made Aemon want to curl his nose and sweet at the mere thought of it. The reality that the Grand Maester could even suggest such a thing was something Aemon did not understand in the slightest. It was cruel, horrifying and something that should not ever be considered.

Aemon swore that when he married, his wife would never be treated as Queen Aemma had been.

"Aemon," Rhaenyra breathed out so quietly that Aemon was unsure if she had actually spoken or if she had just imagined it. He stepped forward, still unsure of what she needed but wanting to let her know he was there. She was frozen, back and shoulders so tense it must have been painful. She could not tear her stare from the bloodied bed.

Without thinking, Aemon reaching forward and touched Rhaenyra's shoulders, pulling her carefully away from the door. She went willingly, following his guidance as easily as a leaf billowed in the wind.

"Come here," he whispered back and pulled her to him again. She collapsed against his body, suddenly weak and powerless. She was shaking again, her arms gripping tightly around his chest and her face pressed tightly into his shoulder. Quickening gasps escaped her, as if she could not get enough air. Aemon pressed a hand to her head and held her their, using the other to hold her around the waist and keep her from falling to her knees. "I am so sorry, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra let out something akin to a whimper and pressed closer to him.

"I am so sorry."

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The soft hum of the sea against the cliffs and the buttery-yellow glow of the freshly rising sun gave Aemma Arryn's funeral a feel of peace. It was like a farewell from the poems. Rhaegon knew that to any onlookers from further away, they must have all painted a very beautiful picture.

Beautiful was not how he would explain the atmosphere of the royal family in attendance, however. There was nothing beautiful about the disgust, about the contempt and the hate that bubbled just beneath the surface. To anyone that was paying attention, they would be able to see it in the grief-twisted face of Princess Rhaenyra, the tightly clenched fist of Princess Aella, the hard and cold stare of Prince Aemon and Rhaegon's own stiff shoulders and condemning glances at his eldest brother.

The pyre was set up perfectly, a mound of carefully placed logs, branches and lush green flora upon which the cloth-wrapped body of the deceased Queen was placed. The wind whispered across the cliffs, blowing Rhaegon's hair out of its carefully made style. Just below the Queen's pyre stood a much smaller one. Made perfectly for a baby. The dead little prince that was placed upon it. 

Prince Baelon's life had only lasted a few short hours. His death only gave the Queen's death an even more gut-wrenching feel of pointlessness. Aemma had died for Viserys to have a son. And the very same boy she had died for had passed into the arms of the heavens a few short hours after she herself did.

When Rhaegon had been told, his wife had laughed humourlessly and claimed it was the Gods themselves punishing Viserys for what he did. The way she laughed had made shivers run down his spine. She had not wished for the death of the Prince, he knew that much. Her laugh did not contain any happiness or joy. It was cold and empty, as if she could just simply not stop herself from seeing the irony of what had happened. 

Tears had followed, and that had sealed away any doubts that Rhaegon might have had about his wife's grief. She cried for Aemma and she cried for Baelon.

Now she gripped onto his arm tightly, face paler than usual and dark circled lining her eyes. She looked more exhausted than Viserys himself did. A hand was constantly rested on her belly, as if she could protect the babe growing inside of her with nothing but her thin arm.

All those in attendance stood in silence, waiting for Rhaenyra to command her dragon to breathe fire upon the two pyres. The Princess was staring off into the distance, hand tightly gripping Aemon's arm as if he was the only thing keeping her standing. Rhaegon could not see into her face from where he was standing, but he knew her eyes were rimmed red.

As the minutes dragged on, someone finally stepped in. Daemon moved forward, and leaned carefully over Rhaenyra's shoulder. Rhaegon was close enough to hear most of the conversation, but he chose to not register it fully in respect for his grieving niece. He only saw Aemon's shoulders tense as she muttered in High Valyrian, I will never be a son.

Rhaegon's throat tightened for a moment and he looked over at his wife. He wondered how many times she and Rhaenys had thought the very same thing when they were cast off from the line of inheritance simply because they were daughters and not the son King Jaehaerys wished they would have been. It was a horrible string of thought, especially for such a girl as young as Rhaenyra could have.

Finally, Rhaenyra stepped forward, letting go of Aemon's arm in the process. She looked up at Syrax perched upon a hill. She paused for a moment, visibly swallowed thickly, and then looked at the ground as if she could not bear to say the words. Then, in one swift show of strength, she inhaled sharply and her voice carried loudly across the cliffs.

"Dracarys!"

Syrax's thudding steps followed as she made her way down the hill. When she was close enough to the pyre, her jaws opened and the familiar glow of dragon fire painted the back of her throat a bright orange. And then the flames were upon the pyre. And Aemma Arryn's body was forever out of view.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The carriage swayed with each stone its wheels rode over and Aella found the feeling dizzying. She stared out of the window of the carriage, watching as the cliffs disappeared and they rode through the gates of King's Landing. Soon enough, they would be at the Red Keep and she would be allowed to disappear into her chambers if she wished. And she did wish it. She wanted nothing more than to climb into her bed and wrap herself up in a warm blanket. 

There would be tears that would be shed, of that she had no doubt. 

A small hand wrapped around her arm and Aella looked down. Visenys had shifted closer to her and wrapped hand around her arm, resting her head on Aella's shoulder. She smiled down at her daughter, the movement of her lips small and barely noticeable.

"Mama, will you die like Aunt Aemma?" Visenys asked softly. Aella felt something in her chest clench at the question. She looked to the other side of the carriage and met Rhaegon's wide eyes. His jaw had fallen open slightly. Aella quickly ran a hand comfortingly down Visenys' back.

"No, Vis," she assured her, "I will not die like Aunt Aemma." For a moment, Aella had to asked herself if she herself even believed her answer. As fast as her mind allowed, she batted those thoughts away. She would be fine and the baby would be fine. A soft twinge of pain shot up her belly and she laid a hand over it, rubbing the spot of skin where it had originated from.

"But how do you know?" Visenys was not convinced. Her lilac eyes bore into Aella's with the intensity of a thousand suns. Her brows were furrowed together and her lips were tightly pressed against each other. Aella did not quite know how to answer that. Before she could think of any words, another twinge of pain shot up her belly, this time a bit stronger than the last. It was uncomfortable enough that it made her hiss and grip the spot tightly with her hand.

Rhaegon instantly perked up at the sound of her discomfort and leaned forward. "What is it?" he asked with concern, placing his own hand over her own where it rested on her belly. She shook her head and waited for a few moments. When another twinge of pain followed, she closed her eyes and heavily sighed.

"I believe my labours are starting," she told him, leaning back against the backrest of the carriage. Visenys shuffled in her seat, a show of her own sudden discomfort. The poor girl probably had no idea what to expect. She was but ten years of age and had never been in Aella's presence when she was in labour. And now she was stuck in the same carriage with her and terrified out of her mind, especially after not receiving an answer to her previous question.

Rhaegon must've noticed it too, because he carefully tugged at Visenys' arm until she shifted her body over to his side of the carriage. He pulled her into his side and ran a comforting hand over the top of her head.

"It's alright, the pains have just started. We will arrive at the Red Keep soon enough and the midwives and the Grand Maester will take care of your mother." Not the Grand Maester, Aella wanted to cry out the moment she heard Rhaegon's words. Anyone but the man that had suggested cutting Aemma open. But she stopped herself, because she did not want to scare her daughter further. She would tell Rhaegon the second they were out of ear shot. She prayed he would understand and protect her from the man who saw no problem in killing women in such a brutal way. "When we reach the Red Keep, I want you to go find Aemon, alright? He's riding in a carriage with Rhaenyra. I want you to stay with him."

Visenys nodded and pressed closer to Rhaegon's body.

As another contraction pulled at Aella's muscles, she could only lean her head back and breath.