Blood stains the old woman's lips when she coughs. She wipes it away without mulling it over, staining her white handkerchief. It brought chills to the younger people surrounding her. A stubbornness that only grew with the sickness and age, fueled her to keep them at bay. Four of them stood at the edge of the bed, while the eldest rushed forward. Despite the old woman's resistance, she brushed the graying locks from her face.

Her lungs were not as reliable anymore, as her breath came in gasps, but she ignored the taste of iron in her mouth and with a grimace, sat up more so she could see them all, look them straight in the eyes.

"I am not yet done with my story, children. I barely started."

"Mother, must you speak? You are not well, you need your rest," the woman on her bedside pleads, warm brown eyes tearing up while she kneels on the floor. Her mother caressed her, tucking the strands of silver hair behind her dark locks.

"And we are not children," Edwyn, the man among them tries to jest. Though he spoke the truth, as most of them had responsibilities to attend to and families they were looking forward to creating, his tone deflected any insult that could be perceived. She took no offense either way but was adamant.

"Nonsense. You will always be my children. No matter your age..."

She trails off and for a second all five of them think she has lost her wits again except she focuses back, her eyes trained on her son to keep her mind focused on one particular thing. "Or your hardships, your choices. I will always be your mother. It is not often I have you all here with me." There is a pause as the eldest looks back at her siblings' sullen faces and then at her mother again.

"We are not all here," the eldest, Jacaera, mumbles. She blamed it on her mother's failing mind because if she were of sound mind she would never forget. "But he will be here soon," she reassures as the old woman's features grow weary from confusion.

"Yes," she soon says voice failing in her breathing. Her clouded mind drove her to the next point. "Now let me continue, I do not know how long I may have." Her children knew she was not one for dramatics. She kept her suffering inside. To hear this now meant it was the truth, a cold truth they would need to accept in time for her death. When a moment passes without argument among her children, she smiles and begins, sighing, "My mother had already birthed two children by the time she had me. My birth came when the raging fires had risen too high."

~

When Queen Alicent gave birth to Maegelle Targaryen, she had no one on her side. Her father was gone, and her silent declaration during Rhaenyra's wedding sealed her fate as the queen. Those meant to serve her were no aid to her loneliness. It took the maester longer to bring the baby to Alicent than when she gave birth to Aegon or Helaena, which seemed abnormal to her. The labor was quite easy to get through just as the first two labors were, so for the maester to hesitate or neglect to hand her the child gave her unease. It filled her with a darkness in her mind. Whether the child was alright or not, birthing them reminded her it was done, she would be in his bed again. And yet her mind cleared quickly to check in on the child.

"Is the babe okay?" Alicent asks, her usual soft voice somehow a roar over the mutterings between the maester and servants. One of the maesters nodded and grabbed the child from another's arms while the baby cried.

"A girl, your grace."

When he finally laid her in Alicent's arms, Alicent shuddered at the sight. He had failed to tell her of the russet color hair on top of her head. The baby was different than her siblings. An outsider.

She could already feel the stare from the maester, and the rest of the servants shuffled off, preparing everything perfectly for their queen and new princess. One of the midwives whispered praise to her as she sat up with the girl in her arms, ignoring the tense atmosphere. It was not as if her child had been another man's she would swear to the seven themselves and rest easy knowing she told the truth. The baby had the same features as herself. She looked more like herself than a Targaryen. Even as it brought a smile to her face, trying and failing to curl the remnants of hair around her fingertip, the incessant whispers drowned out all peace.

The dragon egg for the princess' cradle hatched shortly after her birth, much to the surprise of some within the Red Keep. Whispers halted until those who were pleasantly surprised were forced to bite back comments. Some turned their heads, averting their eyes from the dragon. It was certainly a sight to behold.

Princess Maegelle Targaryen was wrong for a Targaryen, at least those were the whispers that crept into the ears of the knights, the servants, to the ears of Alicent. With her mother's features and a dragon with two heads that struggled in the simplest task of breathing, Maegelle was just short of being the perfect princess. Though the idea of having a dragon already disproved the rumors of her not being a Targaryen, some still snickered to themselves as if they were the first to think such gossip. Alicent never missed it. She heard it all, she felt the negativity towards Maegelle.

She felt pity for her frail daughter, for the words thrown at her by people with no faces to match. Who were they to judge Alicent's blood that remained with no one on her side like herself? Maegelle was as much of her daughter as she was a Targaryen like her silver-haired siblings. Fire and blood were still in Maegelle's nature. She had a dragon that hatched in the cradle unlike them, and it grew attached to her instantly. That was what Alicent thought to relieve herself. At times even to lessen the guilt when Maegelle was not Targaryen enough.

Inside Alicent though, she screamed for the creature to be put out of its misery and save the dragon keepers the trouble of keeping it alive. The way Vigaron cried for Maegelle like an abandoned pup on the streets made Alicent's skin crawl. And with all the pity Alicent had for it, she could not bear to say these thoughts out loud. If the dragon were to be dispelled in any way, it would leave Maegelle with nothing. Nothing to back the claims against the whispers of her lineage. Some Hightower cunt as some would put it. The memory of a dragon would be gone in the minds of those who wished to see Alicent's downfall.

Some would say Viserys was blind to this, others would say he ignored the trouble entirely. Alicent never broached the idea to Viserys, that was not her intention. Anything Alicent ever said to Viserys, whether about Rhaenyra's son or matters of King's Landing, derived from concern. Killing a dragon, well those were the thoughts in the back of her mind that would stay hidden lest she would have her daughter hate her.

And although the dragon keepers muttered that Vigaron could not live for long, estimating he'd live for a few years, as Maegelle grew so did he.

~

"My father-" Maegelle cuts herself off, a wave of emotion, or perhaps the ailment raked her body. "My father saw two heads as a miracle. 'One more' he once said to me, 'and our house would be complete'." She let out a laugh that could be seen as cruel, but her children knew it was one of pain. "He was ignorant of how my sweet dragon struggled. Not greater than his ignorance to the strife his choices and death would cause to our house." Maegelle wheezes and she grabs her chest feeling the pain return. She would not allow herself to be thrown into one of her coughing fits, or worse, subject her children to one of her moments of destructed memory as she knows she has.

Jacaera reached up once again as her other children seized forward to aid her. Yet once the silence hit, Maegelle waved them off again.

Edwyn directs his twin, Branda, to sit on the chair beside the bed. Alyssa, her third eldest sits by Maegelle's feet, drawing Maegelle back to a happier memory, one when she was younger and filled with life. How her smile shone when introduced to her youngest sister, and how Maegelle's heart was ready to burst with love. Now Maegelle was drained of all her energy, her love for her family remaining strong.

Her attention is taken from Alyssa and drawn to her eldest. "Mother, I beg you. Please can this not be finished later when you are well enough?"

Maegelle stayed insistent. "No." She sucks in a breath and bites back the pain. "No, I must continue." Her thoughts are cut off by the door to Maegelle's chambers thrashing open, the hinges squeal and the door hits the wall from impact. Her eldest son emerges from the corner and lands at her side.

"Mother, you summoned me?" He grabs her hand and clutches it to his chest. "I came as soon as I was able to."

"Baelon, you are here." A smile reaches her eyes, his dual-colored eyes bringing relief to her, and once she realizes all her children surround her, she leans her head against the pillow. "Now that you all are here, you must know. All of you must know how it went wrong."

"What went wrong?" Lynara asks. She reaches for her mother's hand and Maegelle can see tears form in her youngest daughter's eyes.

"Our house. My house. We tore ourselves apart brick by brick until all that was left was the bones. And the ashes that fell around us."