The moon
And the stars
Tried their best
But I couldn't
Look away
From you

– d.j

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Twelve large branches extended from the pale ivory tree trunk that was the weird wood. Ruby leaves sprouted at their ends, casting a vermilion glow as they blocked the sunlight from directly reaching her. Splayed out on the roots was where one would find Princess Aella Targaryen most days, an opened book splayed over her stomach and eyes closed. Shallow breaths would raise her chest slightly, the only movement she would show for hours on end.

The pleasantly warm breeze that came with the early days of the ninth month of the year would allow her to float like driftwood on a calm sea. It was a relaxing sort of limbo, somewhere between complete sleep and the deep dive into the pit that was her emotions. One she would rather not explore.

It had been six months since the pyres of Queen Alyssane and Princess Daella had been lit. Six months of edging towards something that could be called better. Six months of not actually knowing if it would be that. Six months of everyone walking on eggshells around her as if she would break at the smallest of discomforts. If she was being honest, she thought that it was a possibility.

King Jaehaerys was too busy running the realm, as was the norm. He had never had time to spare, and now he would rather bury himself in piles of paperwork than allow his mind to dwell on the death of his beloved wife. Rhaegon was as he always was. Comforting if she wanted him to be, out of sight if she did not want him to be there. They still slept in the same bed, waking almost every night due to his nightmares and her feeble attempts to lull him back to sleep. But some days he would rather spend his nights studying all he could get his hands on. Did Viserys need him to find something about Old Valyria? He would do it. His father needed help pouring over the laws and traditions of the realm? He didn't need to be told twice.

And Daemon... well, there was not much to say about him. They would see each other at formal events, family dinners, and pass each other in the hall or in the Dragonpit. A short exchange of hellos was all they ever spoke about, the occasional 'pass the salt' from across the table. It was utterly maddening, to be so close yet so far at the same time. Aella felt as if she could simply reach out her hand and he would be there, but when she attempted to do so, his body would turn into mist and her fingers would pass right through him.

Perhaps she had been too harsh that night during the wake. If she had accepted him with open arms, as he clearly wanted her to do so, would it be better? Would she find herself happier, more content? The words he had uttered to her swam around in her brain constantly. I loved you. Loved. Did that mean he did not anymore? Was she so hung up on her own feelings that she projected them onto him? Did he not speak with her because there was simply nothing to speak about anymore?

For the first time in an hour, Aella moved her hand to the tree root beneath her and gripped it. The white bark bit into the palm of her hand, a single thing to ground her into the real world. If she focused on it long enough, she thought she felt the life of the Old Gods coursing through it. The bleeding, crying face carved into the trunk above her was a constant reminisce of their existence, of the hold they once had on the land around her. Sometimes she wondered if the Old Gods were the same ones they had worshipped in Old Valyria. Except instead of being carved into the rock, held in the essence of a dragon's life, its fire, they were warped into trees the men here had found sacred.

A deep inhale. Slow exhale. She did not need to think about Daemon or theology at the moment. The reason she had come here was to escape the celebration feast that was taking place in the great hall. Pulsing of strummed musical strings still reverberated through the Keep, reaching the godswood. Little Rhaenyra had turned five that day. Viserys had twirled his little girl around on the dance floor until he was too dizzy to continue. Aemon had taken his place then, and the court noblewoman had cooed at the adorable little prince and princess. It was the noblewomen that were the problem. On any other day, Aella would have stayed in the great hall until the celebrations ended.

But the noblewomen were so used to gossiping that some of them did not understand when something was too far. Young lady Stokesworth, married for three years and already a mother of two children, was a stupid homely thing, plump around the waist. It had been a silly question, and the girl's tongue loosened from the wine she had drank, but there was not a moment in her life when Aella had wanted to hit someone as much as then.

Her nails dug into the bark of the root.

"Aella!" The voice tore her from her thoughts, forcing her eyes open. The blinding light was enough for her eyes to water, and Aella squinted hard against the brightness of it. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, careful not to drop the book that once rested on her stomach straight onto the dirt. With a frown, she noticed the pale blue fabric of her dress had been sullied by the brown of it. Another call of her name sounded from the entrance to the godswood. Soft footsteps drifted over the floor, and then a silver-haired beauty rounded around a bush of bright red flowers. Aemma smiled at her with her usual kind grin. "There you are."

The smile Aella returned was more of a tight pull of her lips than a show of happiness. "Here I am," she agreed, patting the space beside her. Aemma happily sat down. Her thin fingers tugged gently on Aella's hair, pulling her head slowly onto her lap. She was glad for the much softer surface below her head. The roots of the weirwood were greatly uncomfortable.

A heavy sigh sounded as Aemma threaded her fingers through her hair again, running them across her scalp in a calming manner. "Are you alright?" she asked with a hum, even though they both already knew the answer. "Lady Stokesworth had no right to say such a thing to you. You are a princess of the realm, she is just a lady." Aella shrugged, knowing that if she thought too much about it she would start crying as she always did. It is your duty to provide babes to your husband, Princess, it has been months since Princess Daella died and you are still not with child. Aella remembered vividly how the entire group of noblewomen around them froze at the girl's words. Something had burned her insides at that moment, and she wondered if it would be alright for her to stride across the room, pull Dark Sister from Daemon's waist and simply end the lady's existence right then and there.

Instead, she had bit her tongue and smiled cruelly at the lady, revelling in the way she shrunk in on herself. "It is of no matter now," Aella answered, fidgeting with her fingers, tearing at the skin. Aemma shook her head, furrowing her brows. Her silver hair framed her face so angelically, it was no wonder Viserys loved her so much. "I do not wish for grandfather to worry, we both know he wouldn't do anything anyway."

It was a sad truth their entire family lived with. King Jaehaerys Targaryen, first of his name, the Conciliator, would always choose peace over his family's happiness. There were comments such as this he would let slide if only to appease the lady's husband. It was the same reason why he had named Prince Baelon as his heir instead of Rhaenys, despite knowing that his son would've wanted his daughter to inherit if he himself ever became king. Sadly, he had not. Instead, he had taken a bolt to the throat.

"But Rhaegon would." Aella knew it was true, Rhaegon would tear the world apart if she asked, if only to make her the slightest bit happy. But he was still having nightmares and all he did was work. She knew it was his way of proving himself, knew that he blamed himself for many things that made his family unhappy. When Aella didn't answer, Aemma let out a loud sigh. "What are you reading?"

Flicking her eyes down to the leathery yellowed pages, Aella smiled. "It's about Aenar the Exile." The same book she had been reading when she and Daemon first began their meetings at the library. It was her own personal treasure that no one knew about, that no one knew the meaning of. "And the dragons he brought with him to Dragonstone."

The smallest flicker of sadness ran through her. The last of them, Balerion had died a few years prior, half a year after Viserys had claimed him. It had been a long time coming, he was over two hundred years old and could barely lift himself into the sky.

"Tell me about them." And Aella did.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Sleep was a difficult thing to grasp as of late. It evaded her as if she was the plague, leaving her staring at the ceiling in the dark. The sound of the city below her was the only thing keeping her company that night. Rhaegon had decided to spend another night in the library, running away from the very sleep she wanted so badly. She understood him though, his nightmares were so terrible that he did not even realize where he was when he woke.

She debated getting up to check on Aemon, but she knew he would be dead to the world and lost in his own little realm of dreams. A land of colours and flying horses as well as his own little dragon, the one that didn't hatch in his cradle. The teal egg was still placed on the mantle in his room, held there by a gilded little holder to keep it upright. Aemon often looked at it, and Aella wondered if he was dismayed by the reality that it hadn't hatched. Perhaps it was soothed by the fact that Rhaenyra's hadn't hatched either. She doubted he even understood properly what a dragon was, he was only three years old.

There was a small scratching noise coming from the other side of the room. A rat probably, they were known to find crevices in the old stone walls. A click sounded from that same area. That certainly wasn't a rat. Aella had barely managed to sit up when the wall on the opposite side of her chambers opened. She prepared to scream for the guards she knew were outside of her rooms, but by then a figure walked in. A figure with silver hair cropped to his ears.

For but a moment, she wanted to yell at him to get out, because how dare he sneak into her room randomly in the middle of the night after not speaking to her at all for months. But then she saw the peasant clothes he wore, covered with the brown leather cuirass he always wore when he went out riding. He grinned at her, holding up a bundle of clothes in his hand.

"Get dressed," he told her, tossing it on the bed and turning his back to her. At least he had the decency to do that. "We're going flying." She raised her brow at him even though he couldn't see. There wasn't a moment during the past few months that she hasn't prayed he would come to her, if not as the lover she craved then as the friend she needed. He hadn't though, and so she was stuck in a constant cycle of her painful and dull life. But now, he was here, and she would be lying if his offer did not tempt her.

"Why?" she asked even as she reached for the clothing. The fabric was rough against her fingers, nothing like the comfortable silk of her usual gowns. Peasant clothes, same as his. A tunic and breeches, not a servant girl's dress like the previous times he had dragged her to the city. She pushed herself onto her knees so she could pull her nightgown off. As the air hit her suddenly naked skin, she felt goosebumps run up her body. A stray thought in the back of her mind wondered if Daemon craved to turn around right now, to see her milky skin on full display of him.

She quickly shook her head. When had she gotten so wanton? As the clothes slipped over her body, she slowly clambered out of the bed. 

"I heard what the Lady Stokesworth had said to you at my niece's nameday feast." Aella frowned, ready to open her mouth to argue that it was none of his concern, but his hand wrapped gently around her wrist and he was already pulling her off towards the opened wall. It was only then that she realised it. An open wall, a corridor behind it. She had heard the rumours that circulated the Keep. That King Maegor the Cruel had wanted his holdfast to be riddled with secret passages. There was never any way for her to confirm it. Until now that is. A sudden giddy feeling rose up in her chest. A sense of adventure that she had not felt in years.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Caraxes had let out a familiar high-pitched screech when he ascended into the night sky. His red-scaled body writhed in the air as if he could not be still for even a moment. Aella recalled him doing much the same when her father was still alive, but somehow his movements seemed even more erratic and harsh now that it was Daemon that rode him. It almost made sense in a way, Prince Aemon had been a calm and collected man, but Daemon was far from that.

When it was her and Karnax's turn to burst into the sky, the she-dragon let out a happy roar beneath her. For a moment, Aella couldn't help but feel guilty. It had been months since she had ridden her mount and had visited her rarely as she was swamped with her own feelings of dread and mourning. Sometimes, she thought she heard Karnax let out her own cries of displeasure from across the city, but she was never sure if she was simply hearing things or if it was actually true.

The wind felt incredible coursing through her loose shirt. A freedom she had dreamed of for so long, yet had in her arms reach this entire time. It did not matter now, she decided, closing her eyes instead and leaning back in the saddle to expose her face to the cool air. Caraxes and Daemon continued to swerve around them, sometimes even playfully nudging wings or grazing tails. Aella swore she heard Daemon laugh every time Karnax playfully snapped her jaw back. 

They were soaring over the bay now, the moonlight reflected gently off of the serene surface of the sea below. King's Landing was alive behind them, celebrations for the princess's nameday taking root there as well. 

Daemon let out a whoop to her left as Caraxes dived down, and for a moment he was completely out of sight. Then he came up on her right, grinning as if he was riding his dragon for the first time again. When he noticed her looking at him, he held his arms out as if he was presenting some grand thing. No hands, his eyes practically screamed, more like a child than he had been in a long time. Aella couldn't help but be glad for it. 

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

They both reeked of dragon, but that did not stop Daemon from bringing her to the most crowded street in King's Landing. The music was much louder here than it was when she heard it over the bay. It seemingly had a life of its own, making her sway to its tune without her even noticing. 

"Why are we here?" Aella asked, the bite from early that night no longer present in her tone. Daemon's hand was heavy in hers, a firm yet gentle comfort as he led her through the crowds. He had helped her hide her long silver hair beneath a hood earlier, and the graze of his fingers against the nape of her neck had made her shiver. It was a faint sensation now, a small reminder of his touch.

"You'll see," he replied, and that was all he said for the next five minutes. He had bought her an apple dipped in caramel, something he had always done when they had snuck out when they were younger. A pleasant callback, an even more pleasant taste on her tongue. After that, he had made her clamber up onto a roof, slanted just enough for them to not slide off, but not completely flat either. She had raised her brows when he had bid her to do it, but he had pointed at other people that were seated on other roofs all around them, and so she had done as she was told with a roll of her eyes. He came up after her, sitting a bit too close for it to be simply friendly. She let him.

Aella had no idea what they were waiting for, but there was a quiet comforting hum in the way she could simply sit and eat the apple dipped in caramel and lean against Daemon's side without anyone there to look at her, to rake their judging eyes over her body like daggers. A faint memory of the wine-hazed brown eyes of Lady Stokesworth crossed her mind, and she swore the content aura around her wilted like a dried-up flower. Daemon must have sensed it because he shifted closer slightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. A single lock of his cropped silver hair fell from beneath the blackish fabric of his hood. Aella had to fight to not reach up and push it back. He kept staring at her, waiting for an answer that she could not give. A shrug was all he received, her shoulders slumping forward like a cavern collapsing in on itself. "Do not listen to the ramblings of women who are beneath you."

"It is not just that," she finally spoke, barely fighting off the cracking of her own voice. The waver was still there though, and Daemon frowned when he heard it. "Sometimes I can still hear her cries, you know. In the wind. I see her face pale before my eyes as I hold her little body. She died in the early hours of the morning and I held her until noon when Rhaegon found me like that, and then we sat there together for another hour."

He huffed, but it did not seem like it was out of annoyance. "Does my brother not try to comfort you?" It was a question she had not been expecting, and for a moment she did not know how to answer it. 

"He does, but he has his own problems to tend to." Daemon scoffed, a muttered he doesn't have his own problems sending a flare of anger in her chest. With one swift motion, she shoved his chest and moved away from him, the apple flying out of her hand and rolling off of the roof as she pulled her knees to her chest tightly. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. When was the last time you spoke with Rhaegon as an older brother should?" Daemon opened his mouth, but she shook her head. "Viserys does, even Aemma does, and she isn't even his sister, but you don't. Do you think he does not know how you mock him?"

For a moment, a guilty look passed over Daemon's face. "I do not mock him." Aella raised a brow, and he acquiesced. "I do not mean to. I am angry with him." It was her turn to scoff. She was well aware he was angry with Rhaegon. For something that happened nearly four years ago. 

"It does not matter what you mean to do, only what you do," she told him, and he pursed his lips in silent acceptance. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Despite the disagreement, Aella's body ached to be closer to Daemon, burning at the thought of his touch. She hated herself for that for but a moment, but then quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She had once loved him. Perhaps she still did, which was a sick and twisted reality because she was married to his brother. A man who had been nothing but kind to her and relied on her for the smallest ounce of comfort.

Daemon moved closer to her again, and she had to fight off the urge to shove him again. "Look," he said pointing to something over the tops of the roofs around them. She did as she was told, searching the barely illuminated night sky for something. And then she saw it, the smallest ball of golden light that rose into the sky. "They always release lanterns during a royal nameday," Daemon whispered in her ear. The disagreement was so far gone from her mind all of a sudden that she did not even mind his proximity. 

Another globe of light rose, then another, and another, until the lights were close enough to them that she could tell the shape of the lantern apart. Soon enough the people around them lifted their own into the air, and the night sky was filled with dancing lights, like a million fireflies fluttering on a blank canvas of black. 

"It is beautiful!" she whispered with glee. When she turned her head down to look at him, he was staring at her. The smallest hint of a smile, a ghost of something she could barely remember, was what he gave her.

"As are you." Heat flooded her cheeks at his words, a giddiness and warmth in the pit of her stomach. A flutter of something across her skin, and then he was leaning forward. The faintest brush of his lips against hers was what she received and even that small contact sent fire rushing through her veins, goosebumps rising over her arms. She let out a shuddering breath, unsure of what to do because this was so, so wrong, but she wanted it more than anything. 

Sensing that she wasn't pulling away, Daemon leaned even closer to her, the touch of his lips no longer a graze but a firm press. He was going after what he wanted, as he always did, but she did not mind. Not this time, not when she wanted it just as much. When his hand came up to hold her jaw, running a thumb over her cheek, all resistance was gone from her body. She pulled him closer by his shoulders, pulling and pulling until her back was laid flat against the roof and he was pressed so tightly against her chest that she could feel his heartbeat even through the cuirass covering his chest.

The kiss was now full of fire and craving and utter want. She wanted it so bad, she needed it. Daemon's tongue was in her mouth, her hands were on the skin of his lithe waist, his cloth-covered arms, in his hair tugging at the strands. He was everywhere all at once, and she revelled in it. 

With a harsh tug on his hair, she pulled his head away from hers. Just barely, not even an inch between their lips, but enough for his lilac eyes to stare deep into hers. There was a primal sort of hunger in his, and she wondered if there was anything that could stop him at that moment. 

"Touch me," she keened, arching her back into his chest. A shuddering breath left his parted lips, and for a moment she was sure he would give her what she wanted, but then he pulled away. It was like cold water was splashed over her skin, and she was brought back to reality. She forced herself to sit up, ready to apologise for her crudeness, but he gripped her hand in his.

"I will not take you on a roof in Flea Bottom." And then he was pulling her off of the roof and through the streets. Towards the Red Keep.