My heart is so full of you
I can hardly call it
my own

– Liana Radulescu

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103 AC

Aemma Arryn's hair was the loveliest shade of silver Aella had ever seen. The locks of moonlight ran through her fingers as she brushed them, making sure they were utterly without tangles. Those could not be allowed in the Queen's hair, especially on the day of her and her husband's coronation. These locks would be gathered in a hairnet soon, just a bit more silver than themselves with pearls decorating it like beautiful flecks of snow.

Aemma was to wear white and blue for the coronation, a representation of the alliance House Targaryen had with the Vale through her marriage to Viserys. And she looked wonderful in them, like a maiden crafted from the very very essence of a spring night.

The Queen's trembling went unnoticed by most of her attendants, but Aella was fully aware of her cousin's anxiousness. Aemma had always been pale, but now she was as white as a sheen of ice. The powdered blush from Essos was the only thing giving her face color at the moment. A comforting touch was all Aella could offer for most of the preparation, but now that the attendants were finally filtering out of the room – Aemma dressed, bejeweled, styled –, she could finally do more than that.

"You needn't worry, Aem," she told her as soon as the door clicked shut behind the last maid. "You will make a wonderful queen. Beautiful, just and fair." Aemma did not look entirely convinced. Still, she gave Aella the smallest of smiles, even if it was the most repressed, and forced thing she had ever witnessed. If there was anything Aella believed, it was those words she had spoken. Because Aemma would be fair, and just, because that was the Arryn way and what she had been raised with. Because the very soul that rested inside of her was fair and just and it made up her entire being. It was Aemma's very nature to be so.

"That isn't what I am worried about," Aemma admitted, chewing her bottom lip. "It is just... well- Viserys wants another child." Aella knew, because she had already been told. Despite that, she grimaced, fully aware of the pain Aemma had already gone through with each pregnancy. Out of three children she had born, only one had lasted long enough. Only one had lived. When Daella had died, Aella had though she would never be able to bear another child, if only because it would be too painful and too nerve-wracking to wonder every minute of every day if the child she was carrying would live, if it would even draw its first breath. But then Visenys had been born, and she had been a strong and fine babe and suddenly she wasn't as afraid as before. Even if the fear was still there. Even if it lingered like a dark shadow.

"You do not have to be with child again, Viserys already has three heirs," Aella argued, absentmindedly placing her hand upon her own belly, just above her womb. The possibility that she could very well be with child as of that moment suddenly hit her, as it did often when she was simply lost in her thoughts.

She and Rhaegon had laid together often as of late, nights filled with heat, passion and undeniably fulfilling pleasure. Aella was not quite sure when the spell in her mind broke and she could finally look at Rhaegon again, or when she could bear to touch him without guilt swarming her. But it had happened, and Aella had to wonder if it was simply her guilt taking a different form, compensating for what she had done with his brother with acts of intimacy.

"Viserys knows that, but still he insists. He claims it is my duty, especially now that I am the Queen. The realm will be expecting it, he said." Aemma's face twisted in bitterness, but she quickly smoothed it over. As if her showing her anger, her frustration and strife was some bad thing. As if she had been taught that she could not be angry. Aella supposed she had. Aemma's violet eyes fell to Aella, and there were tears that were brimming the beautiful shades of purple. The eyes of Aemma Arryn had always been sad, from the time that Aella could remember. Never before had they confessed such despair before, such feelings of imprisonment that Aella understood all too well. "I do not want another child, Aella."

And they both knew that she would be forced to.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The post-coronation feast was probably the most lavish one Aella had seen in a long time. No expenses were spared, no piece of available gold went unpaid, and no exotic foods and wines went unsought for that evening. The most famous of musicians played, the banners that held the Targaryen sigils hung across the walls, and lords and ladies feasted and danced and mingled between themselves.

Aella could only sit back and watch all the colorful and expensive clothing swishing around, the glittering jewels shine in the light of the braziers and lit chandeliers. When she had finished eating, she danced, twirled, spun across the dance floor, her own navy blue and silver gown of rich brocade spilling around her. Whether her partner be some random lord, Corlys, or the King himself, she enjoyed herself endlessly.

When she fell into the arms of her husband – Rhaegon himself rarely ever dancing – it had been a pleasant surprise. He grinned at her, and she reciprocated it, laughing as he spun her in the beat of the music and then caught her when they had to be facing each other for the next step. Despite his lack of want for dancing and other such affairs, he was remarkably good at it, stepping with a sure-foot and elegant grace that would put the Gods themselves to shame.

At the end of their dance, his hair was sweaty and curled around his ears. It had been a long time since he had cut it, something almost otherworldly. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and he frowned at it as if it was the biggest annoyance in the world. Aella could only laugh then, covering her mouth to keep the smallest of decencies. With a quick and nimble finger, she tucked that loose lock back behind his ear. Rhaegon gave her a thankful look.

"Come, husband," she told him sweetly, amusement clear in her words, "we shall rest for a while." Aella didn't think she'd ever seen such genuine relief from Rhaegon. She laughed again, accepting his offered arm as he led her back to the high table. As they approached it, Aella could not help but watch Aemma, taking note of the somber expression she sported. For someone who had just been crowned queen, it was definitely unfitting. Especially for in the eyes of the lords. Thankfully, Aemma attention was quickly drawn away from the table at which she had been staring at, and she quickly put on a pleasing smile.

Whatever Rhaenys was telling her, it must've been funny, because Aemma's songbird laugh filtered into Aella's ears. It was a sound that triggered happiness, calmness, content, but Aella could not help the bitterness that washed over her. Her sister was speaking to Aemma as if nothing was wrong, as if Aemma was not holding the title she had been entitled to all her life, as if nothing had ever happened.

But it had happened, and Rhaenys had not spoken to Aella for over two years, because of that very title Aemma now held, because of the crown that glittered atop Viserys' head no too far from them. Our father would be ashamed of you. The words that Rhaenys' had spoken burned her mind, branding her with each moment that they echoed in her conscience. Her fists curled in the layers of her navy-blue and silver skirt, Rhaegon already breaking free of her when some lord she did not know the name of called out to him. She gave him a smile, hoping it was not as tight-lipped and forced as it felt.

When she sat down in her assigned seat, all she could do was stare into her lap and watched as the veins on the top of her hands bulged and then flattened with every unnerved flex of her muscles. She should be happy for Aemma, that she did not have to suffer the same insults and sharp cutting coldness as she herself did. She curled her hands together again, relishing in the dull pain of her nails digging into the skin of her palm. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, a wish for her to be strong enough for her nails to pierce the skin, so she might feel the heat of her blood and chase away the feeling of coldness that gripped her all too suddenly. The world around her swayed, as if she was on a ship sailing through an unsettled sea. For a moment she wondered if she would vomit then and there. A stabbing pain ran through her stomach. And then a voice caught her attention, and a hand appeared in her vision – larger than her own and calloused from hours of sword wielding.

Aella looked up, slowly blinking up at the man. Despite herself, she smiled at him, feeling relief that she would not have to be alone.

Daemon stared down at her, brows furrowed in quiet concern. When he caught her eye and noticed her smile though, he grinned cockily, as if he remembered to put on the mask he so often wore at court. His hand remained outstretched towards her, palm up in an offer he had spoken out loud, but she had not registered. Still, she was all too aware of what he wanted, and she decided it was far better than sitting here and wallowing in her own misery.

When she took his hand, her body shivered at the warmth of his skin. It had been so long since she had felt it. Months since he had knee before her in that moonlit corridor and she had told him of Visenys' true father. Of himself. Her mind sparked in recognition at the friction between their palms as he squeezed her hand, leading her onto the dance floor. The song that was playing now was slower, calmer, as if the Gods wanted them to have enough breath to speak, to understand each other.

The dance began and Aella swayed to the rhythm, performing every step, every twist, every move with perfect precision. Daemon was right there with her, playing his part in the dance immaculately. She stepped back, he stepped forward, she twirled, he twisted, she spun, he led her. It was so easy to simply lose herself in the movements, because they came to her as easily as flight did to a bird.

"Are you well?" Daemon eventually asked after a while of just silence between them. His face did not betray any emotion yet, but she could tell he was genuinely worried. She could not blame him, he had spent the past year in the Vale with the wife he despised, expected to produce an heir with her so he might satisfy Jaehaerys' incessant need. But Jaehaerys was dead now, and Viserys was King, so perhaps... he may stay in the capitol a while longer.

Aella did not even know if she wanted that. Did not know if she would be able to handle it, didn't know if he would be able to handle it. Being in such a close proximity to his daughter, but never being able to claim her as his own. But something in her heart tugged her forward at the thought, a sensation so warm it might have brought a blush to her face if she did not control herself.

"I am alright," she told him with the smallest of smiles. Her hair fell into her face, set loose from the amount of spins she had performed that night, and she quickly jerked her head to forced it sideways. Daemon watched the movement with interest, but did not reach forward himself.

"And Aemon? Visenys?" Aella blinked at him. She had expected him to ask about his daughter eventually, but at the moment the words seemed completely detached, as if he were a mere acquaintance being polite. The mention of her son also caught her of guard, as Daemon barely asked about him ever. She knew that he still loved him, but she supposed the love for a nephew was different then the love for a daughter, and so the similarity in tone with which he spoke their names felt almost unsettling.

Aella knew that she had asked him to be distant, told him that she nor Visenys needed him – despite that being a clear lie, because she did need him, almost desperately. But she had not expected him to submit to her will do easily. Thought that he would fight tooth and nail until the last possible moment.

"They are faring well," she told him, wondering if she should tell him more before deciding that it was probably best. It would be cruel for her to not give him any information about his daughter. "Aemon has advanced greatly in his studies, he can hold a conversation in High Valyrian just fine. Visenys is young, but she's already a rambunctious child." Just like you, she almost said, but quickly held her tongue. "The egg that we placed in her cradle hatched."

At that, Daemon grinned, as if he could not control himself. Aella might've rolled her eyes at him if his show of excitement did not bring forth one of her own. She chuckled, looking down at her moving feet for a moment.

"He's a mean little thing! You would not believe the things a hatchling can get up to!" Aella had never seen a dragon he as playful, yet so... bitey at the same time. The hatchling – which was yet to be named, a choice both Aella and Rhaegon decided should he Visenys' – still slept in her daughter's cradle, curled up around her body like a guard dog. "I am happy it hatched, but I know Aemon is a bit jealous."

Daemon raised a brow. "So he still hasn't claimed his own mount?" The sudden switch to Valyrian made Aella's mind reel for a moment, but she quickly caught herself and shook her head.

"There aren't any unclaimed hatchlings, and allowing him near any of the bigger dragons is too much of a risk at his age." The thought of Aemon standing before Silverwing, Greyghost or god forbid the Cannibal made her heart beat rapidly. Or perhaps that was just Daemon's closeness.

"He is six is he not? Two years younger than you were when you claimed Karnax," he told her. He was right, of course, and Aella had never been so apologetic towards her father as she was now. The fear her father must've felt when he realised that she was facing off with a grown dragon alone must've been paralyzing. When Aella only raised an eyebrow at Daemon, he chuckled. "What about you and Rhaenys? Has she still not spoke with you?"

Aella shook her head with a grimace, lips pursing. "I want her to, I really do. But at the same time... the last time we spoke, she told my father would be ashamed of me." The anger that took over Daemon's features was not as fleeting as it should've been. "I do not know what I would do if I had to speak with her." The confession was something she hadn't even realised until that very moment. It was a deep and festering wound.

"You need not speak to her if you do not wish to," Daemon told her, lifting his arm and leading her into a spin. The world around her blurred for a moment, and then she was facing him again, and his hand was around her waist. Aella nodded at him, and then there was silence. A silence filled with rapidly beating hearts and bated breaths. A moment where they could just be Aella and Daemon, the two children who became friends in a library, forged a friendship and then something more despite their difference in nature. Water and fire, earth and sky, heat and cold. "I wish to see my daughter, Aella."

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she inhaled deeply. She knew this would happen eventually, and to her surprise she was actually glad it did. Hurt, that is what she would be if Daemon showed no interest in his child. She supposed it was better this way, easier. For her, that was. Even if she could never admit to the world who the true father of Visenys was – not that anyone at the court doubted it, with her Valyrian features on full display – she could have something that made her feel like she had gotten the life she wanted. Despite the fondness she held for Rhaegon, he was not Daemon. His brother, it seemed, would always hold her heart. Perhaps he would crush in it in hands one day, or perhaps the two of them could let their passion and care for one another flourish in silence. It was a risk that, for the first time since she married Rhaegon, she felt like taking.

"Alright," she told him, squeezing his hand tightly. "I will go to her nursery right now, you follow after me. Not right away." Something lit up in Daemon's lilac eyes, as if he had not been expecting her to agree. If she was being honest, Aella surprised herself as well. It was a terrifying concept for her suddenly, but she could not – would not – back out now. When the song ended, Aella curtsied to Daemon as would be expected of her at the end of a dance, and then left his side. Weaving through the gathered nobles came surprisingly easy. She made her way to the door behind the Iron Throne, one that led to a corridor far closer to her chambers and Visenys' nursery than the one behind the main door to the great hall. It was one almost always used by her and her family.

Right as she was about to get to the door, a hand wrapped around her wrist. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she turned around, a shadow of the guilt she had felt for so long. Rhaegon looked concerned as he looked upon her.

"Where are you going? Are you alright?" Her heart warmed at his words. Of course he would ask something like that. It was such a small thing, but something that rarely any husband in the Seven Kingdoms would do. She smiled and him and nodded.

"I am tired, that is all. I wish to check on Visenys before retiring," she told him, and he nodded, looking slightly relieved as he let go of her wrist. She quickly disagreed behind the door, releasing a heavy breath.

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Aella waited in Visenys' nursery for half an hour before she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She smiled, knowing that Daemon took her words to heart and truly waited a while before coming after her. She was sat on the floor, a rug below her and Visenys as the two played. Her daughter's hatchling – a green little beast with black scaled creating sharp patterns along his neck, wings and skull – was curled up by the fire and watching them intently with coal-like eyes. When the door opened and Daemon stepped in, he perked his head up and growled in his throat, though it sounded more like a squeak from a dragon barely a year old. 

Daemon barely payed attention to the creature, only stopping for a moment before his eyes fell on the little girl sitting on the floor. Her lilac eyes did not break away from her toy, a wooden horse clutched in her small fist. Small wisps of silvery hair fell down to her ear, reflecting the light of the lit hearth. Outside of the room, night had already fallen, and the music from the great hall could be heard even here. Daemon took a small step forward, unsure in his movements before he completely stopped. She had never seen him so anxious before, rubbing his thumb over the top of his other hand as if he needed something to preoccupy him.

Carefully, Aella pried the horse out of Visenys' hand, ignoring her tiny annoyed gurgle before she picked her up, settling her on her hip. Her daughter clutched the fabric of her navy-blue gown, suddenly aware of the stranger in her nursery. She had met Daemon before, but she would not remember it. She was only a month old, and he had never even held her. Aella ran a hand over the top of Visenys' head, shushing her as she stuck of thumb in her mouth.

"Vis, this is your Uncle Daemon," she said, putting a little emphasis on the word 'uncle'. That was for Daemon's sake, not Visenys', as she still could not allow Daemon to be seen as a father in her eyes. Not that he ever would, because Visenys loved Rhaegon and it was apparent from even such a young age. 

Visenys blinked at him, making a little sound as if acknowledging him. Aella stepped towards him, nodding at his arms so he would hold them out. He did so without complaint, and Aella set her daughter's weight into them. He quickly gathered her in his arms, shifting her so she was comfortably held in them. After that, Aella stepped back, watching as Daemon's eyes scanned the whole of Visenys' face for a few moments.

It was utterly silent in the room, save for the shuffling of the hatchling by the hearth and Visenys in Daemon's arms. Aella could only watch them with wonder. The amount of gentleness that he looked upon his daughter with... she had never seen such a thing from him before. It was a thing of the stories, a thing she had seen but once in her entire life. From a man long dead, a crossbow bolt in his throat. When her own father looked at her with such care and love. And then she saw it, the small glittering drop of water running down his cheek. Except it was not water. It was a tear. Quickly followed by another and another until they ran like currents down his cheek.

Aella could only stare at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Hello, Visenys," he chocked out, inhaling sharply as if the words hurt to say. "My own heart." Visenys rested her head upon his shoulder, and Daemon's eyelids fluttered shut. A heavy breath fanned from his nose, and another tear forced itself onto his cheek. The same stabbing pain from the feast ran through Aella again, and she grimaced. 

And then it came again. And again. And again. And the next time it came, she was aware that something was wrong. Her hand flew up to her stomach, gripping the fabric that covered it as if that could stop the pain. Her eyes widened so much it was a wonder they did not bulge out of her head. Something was wrong. Terrible wrong. A short cry of pain was pulled from her lips and Daemon's eyes flew open. He assessed her quickly, and then when she doubled over in pain, there was genuine fear in the lilac pools of his eyes.

"Aella," he called, watching as she dropped to her knees. He quickly followed after her, still balancing Visenys in his arms. Her daughter – their daughter – released a small scared shout, and then she too was crying. "What is wrong? Tell me what is wrong!" Aella shook her head. She did not know. She did not know what was going on. And then she felt it, the warm trickle of something running down her legs, and the realisation flooded through her like a tidal wave of pain, fear, shock and remorse.

She sat herself down properly and quickly began clawing at the skirt of her gown. With each layer of the gown that she pulled up and bunched around her waist, the more the tightening dread in her chest threatened to burst. By the time only a chemise was around her legs, a great red patch marring the previously pristine white fabric, it was such a tightly wound coil that she could barely breath. 

"No," she breathed out shakily, for the first time realising that she was crying. Damn the world, she thought as reached between her legs, feeling the blood that was still coming coat her fingers. She lifted them up, looking at them as if only seeing the crimson on them would truly confirm it. She was loosing a child. A child she did not even know she had. How come she did not know? It should have been obvious... but she had bled just three weeks ago, so the seed inside of her must have been new. She cursed herself, searching through her mind for everything she had done that could have been wrong. She should have gotten more sleep, should not have ridden Karnax so much, should not have drank wine on the evenings. Everything that she had done, it was something wrong. It had to be her fault. It had to be, because the Gods could not be so cruel as to take another child from her.

The door burst open, and a child's feet padded across the floor. Aella cursed inwardly, looking up to Aemon as he came bounding into the room. He cried out to her, the word mother spilling from his lips so easily, as if she had not killed his sibling.

"No, don't come closer, Aemon," she told him through her tears. Daemon's eyes flickered between the two, stuck between keeping his arm on her shoulder and pulling Aemon away from the gruesome sight of the blood on the floor, on her gown, on her hands. Aella quickly gathered her thoughts as much as she could. "Ae.. Aemon, take your sister," she told him, and he immediately nodded, helping Daemon set Visenys down on the floor and then holding her hand tightly. The girl wavered on her legs a little, but did not fall, gripping onto her brother tightly. "Go and f-find your father." She hated how her tongue did not work, how she kept on stuttering. "And get a servant to call a maester. Te.. Tell them I am loosing a child." The last sentence was so difficult to say out loud.

Aemon nodded, fearfully glazed over eyes staring directly at the blood on the floor. And then he turned around, as if some force had pulled him away from the room. Perhaps he had started moving a bit too fast for Visenys, but the girl quickly caught up to him as they disappeared behind the door. 

With no more child to hold onto, Daemon slipped behind her, pulling her back to his chest. One arm wrapped tightly around her abdomen, holding her still as she wept in pain, the other was placed onto the top of her head, a soothing motion. Her muscles clenched agonisingly tight as they expelled the child from her womb.

"Breathe, ñuha jorrāelagon," he whispered in her ear, his hold on her body tightening as she releasing a loud body-wracking sob. The Valyrian words for my love fell so easily from his lips, as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them. Aella could only hold onto him. If she let go, she would loose herself to the turbulent waves of agony, self-deprecation and a hard burning hatred.

By the time Rhaegon and the Grand Maester arrived, the baby was already dispelled from her body, wrapped in a tiny white cloth beside her. Aella could not look at them. Any of them, not as her eyes were trained on that cloth, not as her head laid on Daemon's chest – vibrating almost pleasantly as he began speaking, explaining. Not that it really mattered what had happened, because Aella could not feel anything. Everything was so numb, so distant. As if she as a being did not exist at all, and there was a place between time and space that she was drifting in.

All too suddenly she was pulled away from Daemon's chest, and she could not even fight it. She had expected another hard and muscled body to accept her, for her husband's arms to wrap around and hold her and rock her to the music that could still be heard from the feast. But that was not what happened. Instead, a much smaller and softer frame embraced her, and the all too familiar smell of citrus and foreign spices flooded her sense. Rhaenys, her mind suddenly rang into the emptiness. Her sister was here.

Everything would be fine, she told herself, because her sister was here. Rhaenys was saying something, but Aella could not hear. Instead she only let her eyes flutter shut as she inhaled that scent once more, pretending she was just an eight year old girl on Dragonstone again, learning to fly her dragon for the first time.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

By the time his wife had been washed and checked over, the entire city of King's Landing had woken up for an entirely new day, and all Rhaegon could do was stare at the white and red cloth placed on the Grand Maester's table. White originally, red with the blood of a babe that was barely grown. The Grand Maester had unraveled it before, and Rhaegon had almost been sick to the stomach at the small, barely pea-sized bloodied mass of flesh that rested there. He had to look away then.

The Grand Maester was saying something, but Rhaegon could not find it in himself to listen. He did not quite know what to feel. There was sorrow somewhere in the back of his conscience, remorse for a life that could have been. Another child of his own. But there was also the smallest bit of indifference, a sensation he was infuriated by. How could he not feel anything? He had not known of its existence, that was true, but nothing? How could there be nothing? That indifference had quickly morphed into a bubbling anger, and the rage at himself had dissipated. He had not cried. Not yet anyway. He never cried immediately. With Daella, he had had days to come to terms with it, for his mind to work with the shock of it all, and so he had cried when she died. With his father, he had cried for the realisation of what was happening, not for the actual act of dying itself. Those sort of tears had come a week later, and it had felt as though he could not breath. With his grandfather, he had never cried. Not even later.

And now, there was only one single tear that ran down his cheek, leaving a trail of coldness that brought him back to reality. When the Grand Maester was finally done speaking and he could leave the room he was in, he found it just as difficult to breath as he did when his father died. This was a different sensation however, not a slowly weighing down feeling of dread at the realisation that he was alone, but a mournful ode of helplessness.

By the time he had gotten to Aella's chambers, dismissing everyone there, including Rhaenys who had spoken to Aella for the first time in years – not that Aella answered – he was so close to breaking that he had to wonder how it happened so fast this time. When the door clicked shut and Rhaegon pulled a chair to the side of the bed, he had to dig his nails into the wooden seat to stop himself from showing any emotion that was a bit too strong. He did not want to scare his wife, who had gone through far too much in the past few hours. He did not want her to think he was angry, or too hurt. 

"I'm sorry," she croaked, not even looking at him. Rhaegon's face fell. It was obvious that was already what she thought. He leaning forward, taking her hand which laid lifelessly at her side in his own. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, just breathing with her for a moment.

"Don't be sorry. It is not your fault," Rhaegon told her, "the maester said the babe was too weak." That was perhaps the only thing he had heard the man said before he blocked him out unable to listen to him talk so... empirically about his child. They sad in silence for a bit once more before he gathered up the courage to speak again. "Did you know you were carrying?"

Aella immediately shook her head, the look in her eyes so dead and utterly lifeless that it sent shivers down his spine. He nodded at her, unsure of what to say really. If she had not known, then there was nothing they could have done to prevent anything. He squeezed her hand tightly, controlling his breathing as he felt it falter with a suppressed sob.

"It will be alright," he told her, even though he did not quite know if it would.

Author's Note

We finally made it to the end of Act I! The next chapter is going to be set during the first episode of hotd (finally). There will be a nine year timeskip (from 103 AC to 112 AC) and we will also finally get a Aemon POV!