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Aella Targaryen's first heartbreak in life came at the tender age of four. It was a strange thing, she thought in her child-like mind, how someone could simply cease to exist in a matter of moments. Back then, she did not understand what was happening, only that the screams and shouts that rang through the Red Keep in the middle of the night were not a good thing. She was small, barely noticeable, and so it was easy enough to slip past the flurry of people racing back and forth consistently from her aunt Viserra's room.

What she had seen inside had left its mark on her, though she would forever claim she did not remember anything of that night. Her favourite aunt was sprawled across her bed, her grandfather stood at the head of it, and her grandmother was on her knees beside it, crying her heart out. Her uncle Baelon sat in a chair on the other side of the room, still in his night clothes like everyone else. His hands were shaking, wet lines streaked his cheeks and his breaths were coming in and out in rapid puffs as if he could not get enough air. As if he could not breathe. Her father stood next to him, pulling her uncle's body to his own until his head rested on his chest. Her uncle kept on mumbling the same thing over and over again. It is my fault. Aella did not understand.

And the blood... gods, the blood. The smell of it was so pungent to her nose that her eyes watered. She knew it was there, somewhere in the room, before she could even see it. And when she did, it was even more horrific than what she expected. One half of her aunt Viserra's face was caked in it, still wet and shining in the candlelight of the room. It was everywhere on the sheets of the bed, the scent of it swirling in the air. And her aunt's neck was bent at the strangest angle she had ever seen. When Aella's eyes met her aunt's open ones, a feeling of hope spiked within her. It was alright! Her aunt was alive! Her eyes were open! And then arms wrapped around her and hoisted her up. It was then that she realised she had been noticed, that her grandmother was crying even harder now and that her father was whispering reassurances into her ear and carrying her away. She kicked and screamed.

"No! I want to be with Aunt Viserra!" she cried, reaching her small arm over her father's shoulder as if she could touch her aunt even from the other side of the room. "She is awake! She wants me!" She could not possibly understand that the empty, dull look in her aunt's eyes meant something horrible.

In the weeks that passed, Aella had wept so much she was sure her tears could fill the Narrow Sea. She wanted her aunt with her. Her favourite aunt. Why was she not there? She was supposed to be there! Even when her father and mother sat her down and told her in the gentlest voice they could muster that her aunt was not coming back. The day they burned her body finally confirmed that.

The moment Silverwing spewed her flames upon the fire, and her aunt Viserra's body was engulfed in them, Aella could cry no longer.

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A week after her eighth nameday, Aella had decided she would claim a dragon. It was the first time she had ever disobeyed her father, who had told her she was far too young to claim one such beast, and her mother had agreed. But Aella had spent far too long watching Rhaenys soar through the sky upon her scarlet red dragon, and she was growing jealous. Her older sister had even accompanied their grandfather on his progress atop her mount and had arrived at her wedding with Meleys just a year prior. Aella found them both magnificent, and she yearned to have a dragon of her own.

And so she had waited until the halls of Dragonstone grew quiet, and she slipped out of her room. Only a nightgown and her robe covered her when she silently entered the tunnels of Dragonmont. The heat from the volcano's core flowed through the inner caverns of the mountain, pulled and pushed by several drafts and air vents that led to the outside world. It was terribly dark, and the torch she had taken off the wall before she entered the tunnels did little to light her way. No Dragonkeepers had seen her when she had entered, a great miracle. Undoubtedly, they would have immediately called for her father if they had.

She had studied all of the dragons that had nested inside the hot caverns of the volcano and had long learned by then where each specific dragon stayed. Most of the beasts who had remained unclaimed for a while made their nests here. Karnax, Morghul, Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, she recited their names in her mind. Her father's dragon, Caraxes, stayed in the Windwyrm, a great tower that all but screamed defiance when she looked upon it. That was where the dragons of her family rested when they visited Dragonstone, but only the Bloodwyrm was there now.

It was Karnax that she had chosen to be her mount, a great indigo fury that soared through the sky every day at noon, her scales reflecting the sun so sharply it blinded her. The she-dragon often hunted whales and sharks and feasted on them on the cliffs of the island, where Aella often snuck out to watch. Multiple times, Karnax had seen her, and multiple times, she had left her alone, a silent promise and intrigue in her cat-like yellow eyes.

Almost as if the Gods had willed it, Karnax was the only dragon that nested in the inner caverns instead of the smoking vents or outer lairs. She preferred the heat, one of the older Dragonkeepers had told her, but Aella had quickly argued that all dragons preferred heat. The old man had only smiled at her and nodded, not feeling the least bit offended that a little girl had corrected him.

The jagged rocky surface dug into her feet through her slippers, and Aella pushed the pain away with will alone. Some pain would not stop her from getting her dragon, not when she was already so close and she had not been caught yet. The winding tunnels felt stifling now, suffocating her. Perhaps it was the great heat, or perhaps it was the smoke that lingered in the air, but she was beginning to feel light-headed. If she was correct, she only had to make one last right turn and–

A deafening roar shook the tunnels so hard Aella was almost brought to her knees. She had reached the mouth of the cavern, and before her, a great cavern opened up in front of her. Towering stalagmites and stalactites decorated the roof and the floor, some connecting in the middle. The light of her torch illuminated just enough of the area that she could see the black smoke curling around the rock formations, gathering in a black cloud at the top. There had to be a vent or a hole somewhere on the ceiling, or else the whole room would have been filled up by now. In the very centre of it all, a magnificent beast stood.

Karnax was just as beautiful as she remembered, though up close, her beauty was enhanced tenfold. Indigo scales swarmed her muscled and large body, rippling with each movement like ocean waves, her curling ram-like horns were a menacing threat, as were her large and sharp teeth, almost the size of Aella's palm. The she-dragon flared her wings, showing off her deep violet membranes. The claws that rested at the top of her wing joint scratched across the stone ceiling of the cavern, creating the most uncomfortable grating sound.

When Aella took a step forward, Karnax flexed her clawed talons. A heavy gust of air hit her in the face, and Aella realised that it came from Karnax's slit-like nostrils. Growling sounded through the air.

"Aella!" a shout ripped through the tunnels behind Aella. A male voice, deep and panicked and filled with terror, followed by hurried thudding footsteps as if the person was running. They've noticed she was gone, then, or perhaps she was seen, it did not matter. She wished she had more time. "Aella, stop!"

She did not listen to the voice – her father's, she realised – and took two more steps forward. Now, she had to crane her neck to see Karnax's head, for the beast had stood itself up so high she towered over her. Aella reached out her hand, and she saw the uncertainty flicker in Karnax's cat-like yellow eyes. Strange, she thought, what did a dragon have to fear from a little girl? Karnax leaned her head down, flattening her body against the floor and squinted her eyes. A deep rumble sounded from within her chest.

Aella's hand began to shake, the terror of the moment just now setting down upon her. What if Karnax was too angry? What if she did not want this? What if she rejected her as her rider? What if she attacked-

Her palm met the warm scaled snout of the dragon before her, and the most giddy feeling bubbles inside of her. All of a sudden, she felt unstoppable, irrevocably powerful. There was a connection somewhere deep inside of her now, like a golden spool of light that connected her mind and heart to Karnax's. Like only a dragon and its rider could be.

Aella shifted on her feet, dragging her hand across Karnax's jaw, then down her neck and finally to her chest. She saw how her body moved with each heavy breath. Her father's voice was getting louder now. A quick command and Karnax was flattening herself further onto the floor.

Aella clambered onto her body, using the blue scales as leverage. Thankfully, there was enough room between the jutting spines for Aella to settle her body between them relatively comfortably. Her family rode their dragons with saddles, but she did not have one. It did not matter if she climbed off now, she would never be able to even look upon Karnax again.

Powerful muscles moved and shifted beneath her and she quickly clutched the spikes that littered the dragon's back. And then Karnax was moving, and her large clawed talons thudded against the cavern floor. There was a large gaping hole almost at the ceiling, just as Aella had predicted, letting the smoke escape the cavern with ease. Sharp claws embedded themselves into the stone, raking and scratching and pulling until Karnax's body was inside the tunnel that led outside of Dragonmont.

Aella held her breath as the smoke infiltrated her lungs. Her eyes stung. It felt like an eternity before the fresh air hit her and she could finally inhale. The world opened up before her, dark and brightly illuminated by the moon at the same time. She heard the crashing of the waves against the cliffs and saw the ocean reflecting the moonlight. In the distance, the fields were filled with dancing orange lights from the port.

It was utterly breathtaking. She didn't think she had ever felt so free as she did now. As Karnax beat her wings, once, twice... and then they were in the air properly. The wind pushed Aella's hair out of her face and she was sure it would be a tangled mess when this was over.

Karnax circled Dragonstone five times before Aella gave the command for her to land, and as the great beast flew back in the direction of the hole that led back into her nest, Aella felt anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Her father would be waiting there for her, undoubtedly livid that she had done what she had just done, and it was the first time she had ever been afraid of any repercussions. Claws scratched hard against stone, and soon enough the great heated cavern was upon them. When they were firmly situated on the floor, Aella carefully slid down the side of Karnax's body.

Aemon Targaryen stood at the mouth of the tunnel that led back into the heart of Dragonmont, his face was strangely unreadable and his arms crossed tightly against his chest. When Karnax let out a low threatening growl, he did not flinch. Aella had never seen her father so expressionless, yet so ruffled at the same time. His face was a stone-cold statue, but there was a red mark in the shape of human nails that was faintly visible on the underside of his jaw as if he had raked his fingers down his face, and his silver hair was tousled and unkempt, his nightshirt rumpled and smudged. He wasn't even wearing shoes, Aella noticed, which was perhaps the strangest sight she had ever seen.

When she reached him, he dropped onto his knees and let out the unholiest sound, something in-between a relieved sob, an exhausted sigh and a grunt of pain. His broad arms encircled her and pulled her to his chest, his face buried into her shoulder. Aella quickly embraced him back, liking the comfort of her father's arms. Then he pulled away.

"Have you utterly lost your mind?" he cried, and finally the cold indifferent expression on his face broke. His lilac eyes were wild and panicked, staring into Aella's own – blue, just like her mother's. "Coming down here alone? What even gave you the idea? Do you have any idea what could have happened? What if you had fallen off during the flight without a saddle? What if she did not accept you as her rider? She would have torn you apart!"

Tears were gathering in her eyes now, remaining unspilled by sheer will alone. She wanted to cry out that she was sorry, that she did not mean to, that she regretted ever making him feel so worried, but her father kept on rambling, breaths coming out in ragged puffs each time he attempted to inhale. When he finally stopped, asking if she had anything to say for herself, her bottom lip trembled.

"I just wanted to fly a dragon." Her voice broke as she said it. The anger immediately disappeared from her father's face and he let out a sigh, drawing her back into his arms and letting her cry into his shoulder.

"I know, my clever girl," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "I know."

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Karnax might have appeared large in the cavern of Dragonmont, but she was rather small compared to Caraxes and Meleys. Aella was not complaining, she like that her dragon was nimble and swift, but she enjoyed comparing every now and again.

Caraxes and Meleys – both bright red – shone brightly across the clear blue sky as they circled above. Aella was still on the ground with Karnax, her father beside her, though she knew that Caraxes would land whenever her father wanted him to. The Dragonkeepers were saddling Karnax up for the first time, and she wondered how it was possible that such a large, leather thing could ever be carried by so few men. It was one of them that had seen her the night when she went to claim her dragon, and it was that man that had ratted her out to her father. She realised she did not mind at all because now that her father knew, she was allowed to fly with him and Rhaenys.

Her older sister often made the short journey between Dragonstone and Driftmark – her husband's seat – by dragon to visit her family, and whenever she did, Aella would bounce with excitement. There were nine years between them, but they got along perfectly, and Aella loved her sister more than she did everything else in life. Rhaenys' husband, Corlys Velaryon, doted on her as well, and she enjoyed sitting down with him and listening to his stories about the great ventures he had made across the Narrow Sea. The entirety of his castle was decorated with the treasures he had collected on his voyages.

"There are rules you will follow when flying," her father's voice broke through the air. He was pulling his riding gloves onto his hands. "You will only ride when wearing your riding clothes, nothing else," Aella shifted in her newly made leather clothing, "you will always, and I mean always, be attached to the saddle. I do not want to hear anything about you unclipping yourself mid-flight. You will not ride alone, either me or Rhaenys will always be with you. You will not give your dragon commands you made up yourself, it could confuse her and you do not know what you are doing."

Aella nodded before speaking. "But Karnax has not been ridden before," she stated, rolling her shoulder slightly, "how would she be confused." Her father paused for but a moment before he collected his thoughts.

"She was never ridden, yes, but the dragonkeepers have spoken to her many times over the years. You will only use the commands I tell you, and you will follow every other rule. Do you understand?" Aella nodded. "Good. Go on then." With a grin that reached from ear to ear, she ran up to Karnax. She managed to climb into the saddle just as Caraxes landed beside her father, shaking the very ground beneath him as he let out a shrill screech.

"Sōvegon." The command slips easily off of her tongue. The world around her became a blur as Karnax shot up into the sky, beating her powerful wings until she was at the same height as Meleys. From her position, Aella could barely see her sister's silver head of hair on top of her dragon.

A moment later, Caraxes was with them, his thin body bending in the strangest ways as he flew through the air. It was exhilarating. Finally, Aella was riding with her father and her sister. Finally, she could say she was just as much of a Targaryen as they were. A giggle bubbled in her throat and she pushed Karnax to go faster.

They stayed in the air for hours.

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The day the letter from Tarth arrived, informing the world of Prince Aemon's death, something broke so violently inside her chest that Aella Targaryen wondered how no one might have heard it.

The world around her was a mess of colours and sounds and all Aella could feel was the pain bleeding through her body. As if she had burst aflame. As if she was being skinned alive. Somewhere in the whirlwind of commotion, someone squeezed her shoulder tightly, and that was the one anchor keeping her bound to the world.

Her father was dead. Dead. Gone and rotting. Laying somewhere in Tarth with a crossbow bolt in his throat. She was old enough to understand it now, the finality of it. The reality someone was there one moment, and the next they were wiped from the world. It was a difficult concept to wrap her head around, that she would never see her father again. She would never hear his voice again, calling her his clever girl, she would never look into his lilac eyes, or hold his hand when she was afraid. Because he was dead, and dead meant gone.

Aella wanted nothing more than to bury herself somewhere, so she could be just as forgotten as her father would be soon enough. The wound was fresh now, but with time, everyone who knew him would die or they would forget, because wounds heal and even if they leave behind a scar, they are easy to forget about. For her, it would not be like that. She vowed to all the gods that existed in the world. She would never forget this pain. Her scar would be one that would always reopen.

That proved to be true enough when her uncle Baelon returned from Tarth, smelling of smoke and covered in soot, in his arms a body wrapped in white cloth. He had placed it down at her feet, where she stood with her grandmother and her mother, her sister not far behind. It was her grandmother that had summoned enough courage to kneel and pull the cloth away, and the moment that Prince Aemon's face was shown to the sun once more, the floodgates of her heart burst open violently and she began crying one more. She had never seen him so pale, so sunken in on himself. Her hands began to shake, but she could not tear her eyes away. If she did, then that would be the last time she would ever see him, and she could not handle never seeing him again. Even as her mother muttered into her ear, telling her to cast her eyes away, at the pretty flowers growing close by, she did not listen.

How was it that a year prior, they had all been happy at Dragonstone, riding dragons and having picnics, taking walks along the beach and playing games in the halls? How was it that a year prior, she had felt so euphoric, and now she felt so desolate?

Eventually, she had been forced away from the corpse of her father, and the next day his body was ash in an urn. She had never felt so empty.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Aella had not been allowed to return home to Dragonstone, for the ancestral seat of her family now belonged to her uncle Baelon. It had been her grandfather who had forbade her from going back, perhaps in some small way to spite his wife, who had quarrelled with him over the matter of succession and hidden herself away at Dragonstone. Rhaenys had been passed over, most likely only because she was a woman. That was how she saw it anyway, but perhaps that had not been her grandfather's intention at all. Perhaps. Rhaenys had raged, spat venomous words at both her grandfather and her uncle, and she and Aella's mother simply stared. When she did speak, her words were clear and without emotion, though her words were meant to scar.

Aella could not find it in herself to care. Her father was gone for barely a month and all anyone could think about was whose head would wear the crown next. It was insulting and childish and Aella wanted nothing more than to tell everyone that it was, but her voice often went unheard in situations such as this, so she stayed quiet and tried to lock herself deep in her mind to avoid having to pay attention to anything.

Soon enough, her mother and her sister left for Driftmark, her uncle Baelon left for Dragonstone, and the only people left in the Red Keep were herself, her grandfather and her three cousins who spent most of their time out in the city. Her grandfather was constantly stuck in council meetings and swamped with work, so Aella was all alone.

Most of her days were spent in the library, surrounded by scrolls and parchments and thick books and pure euphoric silence. Here, she could lose herself in her thoughts – vile, poisonous things, but she preferred their company to anybody else's – with no interruption. There was a large day bed made on the sill of a great arched window. She had a perfect view of the Blackwater from there, seated on the plush cushions and blankets. It was there that she would take her meals, where she would sometimes even sleep if she found herself reading well into the night. She would sit, read, stare out of the window, listen to the bustling city – a sound which she had once hated, but had grown used to – and feasted on various treats her cousin Viserys had brought to her out of pity. He was kind to her, gentle and honourable, something she appreciated beyond her imagination. Her mind was far too fragile to take insults or harsh words.

Perhaps that was why she had become so tense when her other cousin, Daemon, had sauntered into the library one day. He took one look in her direction and wasted no time making a bee line to her. When he reached her, he stood silent for a few daunting moments. Their lilac eyes clashed, his determined and hers wide like a frightened doe.

"Cousin," he finally said, seemingly grasping the confidence he was reputed to have. He was two years older than her, and somehow those two years had given him an unfair height advantage. He scoured her form with judging eyes. "What are you doing?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Reading?" she said, lifting the heavy leather-bound book in her hands. He squinted his eyes as if he had realised his question was slightly stupid. He did not say anything again for a while. The silence made her hands go clammy and she fingered the fabric of her gown. A deep, deep blue, calm and hypnotic and interwoven with glittering gold thread at the hems and sleeves.

"About?"

She cleared her throat. "The Doom of Valyria," she said, "and Aenar the Exile." She ghosted across the names of his children, of the dragons he had brought to Dragonstone with him. When she cast her eyes up from the book, there was an air of tension that surrounded Daemon. His shoulders were far too tight, he shifted his weight constantly and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek until it was visible from the outside. Aella frowned. "What is it?"

Daemon turned his head and scanned the library. There was only one septa there, the one who was supposed to be teaching Aella, but the woman was kind enough to leave her alone most days, claiming she needed time to grieve.

"Grandfather says I should befriend you," he said, earning an eyebrow raise from Aella. "He said you do not have friends and that you are lonely." It was true, wasn't it? She had never had any friends. The daughters of noblemen at court who had become her ladies were seldom friendly, and those who were only showed her kindness in an attempt to get closer to the royal family. Her only friends had been her father and Rhaenys, but her father was dead now and Rhaenys had a family of her own. She too was mourning, taking care of a newborn on top of it. "May I sit with you?"

The softness in the way Daemon spoke had surprised her greatly. From everything she had heard, Daemon was a wild spirit who did as he pleased, whether that be running around King's Landing or flirting with whoever he wanted. He was young, but the charm was still there and Aella had seen many girls blush bright red when he so much as looked at them. She nodded at him, gesturing to the open space on the daybed. Daemon sat down across from her. Aella suddenly did not know what to do with herself.

The palms of her hands began to sweat and she stared at the page in front of her, not actually reading anything. She could feel his eyes on her, scouring every inch of her body as if he had never seen a girl before. Breathing was suddenly difficult, but she forced herself to inhale slowly and steadily.

"Tell me about it," Daemon spoke up after a few minutes of complete silence. He was forcing conversation, and Aella wondered if he was truly only doing this because their grandfather bade him to, or if he was simply bored. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

Aella shot her eyes up to him. "About what?" she asked, thoroughly aware of how meek her voice sounded. Daemon's presence was intimidating, built-up muscle moving beneath unmarred skin, a snake in dragon's hide. He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He flicked his hand out towards her book, a silent request. Aella looked back down at the pages, the names and letters and ink blending before her eyes as she began to sink back into her light panic. Why was it so difficult to speak? She never had problems with conversation before, but not it felt like her tongue was as heavy as lead.

Daemon seemed to sense her distress. "Tell me about the dragons." He pulled his knees up to his chest, his legs spread slightly so he could still look at her hunched form. His elbow leaned upon his knee and he rested his head on his fist. Aella nodded, clearing her throat and searching for words again.

"When Aenar the Exile left Valyria with his family, he had five dragons with him," she recited her knowledge from the top of her head, finding enough courage to look at him when she spoke. "There was Ghiscar, Valryon, Vermithrax, Essovius, Archonei and, of course, Balerion. Archonei was the biggest of them and from her eggs, Vhagar hatched." The stress seemed to slowly bleed out of her, replaced by the relaxation of finally being able to speak to someone freely. "Valryon was the most beautiful of the five, they said his scales resembled the clearest of amber. Princess Rhaella named her hatchling after him before she became a septa." Daemon hummed.

"I didn't know that annoying little white wyrm back at Dragonstone was named after another dragon," he said, actually seeming interested in the things she spoke about. It made her feel fuzzy inside, and she wondered if that was the first nice thing she had felt in weeks.

She nodded. "He is. If I had a hatchling, I would name it after Archonei." Daemon quirked a brow, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Why?"

Aella shrugged and grinned. "I like the way it sounds. Majestic, regal. It gives me the feel of Old Valyria, as most of our dragons' names do." Her smile suddenly wilted. "Vhagar, Balerion and Meraxes were named for the gods of Old Valyria, and my father named his dragon Caraxes for some fabled hero. They all carry the weight of a forgotten world, destroyed by a similar fire they all bear inside of themselves."

"Does that make you unhappy?" Daemon questioned, frowning at her crestfallen expression. She did not know how to explain to him that it once made her happy, but now whenever she thought of Caraxes or Vhagar or even Meleys, she was reminded of the dead look on her father's face, and she could only remember how it would light up whenever he would fly his dragon with his brother and sister, and later his daughter. She did not know how to tell him that she had not visited Karnax in weeks, afraid that feeling any type of freedom would betray her father, because how could she allow herself to feel anything other than sorrow and guilt and despondence when he was gone?

The longer Daemon stared at her, the worse the thought in her head became, and the more empty she felt. There was a gaping cavern somewhere in her chest, where her heart had once beaten so easily. And there was not even an echo of a thrum anymore.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The slums of King's Landing had a foul sort of stench. It was putrid and it made Aella's eyes water. She and Daemon weren't even in Flea Bottom and she could smell it; the odour of unwashed bodies, faeces, vomit and something decaying. It was not the only unpleasant thing about the area Daemon had taken her to, but Aella would rather ignore the passed-out drunkards, half-naked whores and barbaric-looking groups of men.

The Street of Silver was where the gamblers gathered to waste their coin, or at least, that's what Aella had heard. She had never been out in King's Landing without guards before, and she certainly had never been allowed to roam streets such as this. But Daemon had woken her in the middle of the night, and who was she to send him away when he promised her a night of feeling something other than grief? And so she had gotten dressed in a servant's gown and taken his hand as he led her through secret passageways of the Red Keep.

The night was still young and all kinds of shows and displays grabbed her attention. Men who swallowed swords, others who breathed fire, women who contorted their bodies in strange but hypnotising ways, foreign animals in cages. It was a sight to behold, and the smallest echo of feeling whispered through her when she looked at it all.

Daemon's hand was warm in her own as he led her through the crowds. He gripped her tightly, making sure they did not get separated by a hoard of people. They all smelled of ale and sex, but Aella could not say she cared much about the stench anymore. She had gotten used to it quickly and it was far easier to push it away from the front of her mind when someone was walking a tightrope above her head.

"Where are we going?" Aella called to Daemon, not being able to stop the chuckle that broke through her. He looked back at her, grinned, and pulled her further along. The utter dismissal of her question did not bother her.

It was another five minutes of walking before Daemon spoke to her, stopping at a crowd forming a circle around something. He pulled her close. "Have you ever gambled before, Aella?" he asked, smirking at the look of irritation she gave him. They both knew she had not. There was never a way for princesses to go and do anything. It wasn't even a possibility, not with everything that had happened in the past. Their grandfather was far too careful. Not careful enough, she thought as she looked down at the dirtied and bland dress she wore, not this time.

A faint memory of blood-tinged her nose and her neck began to ache, and for a moment she was back in the room eight years ago, her aunt's body splayed grotesquely on her sullied bed of blood. Not this time.

"You do not have to gamble, you can just watch," Daemon told her, and then he was leading her to the crowd. He pushed them through sweaty bodies until they were at the front. She now had a full view of the display in the centre of the circle. Two men were fighting, one held a spear and the other a sword as thin as a needle. The one with the spear was a tall man with lean muscle and light brown skin, his sweaty hair just barely curling. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes. The one with the sword looked far too arrogant for her taste, a haughty smirk on his face. His bronze skin glinted in the firelight and his clothing was completely exotic.

There was another man in the circle, a book in his hand and a large grin on his face. His free hand was spread out wide and he was shouting over the crowd. "Who will prevail? The Dornish Viper or the Braavosi Waterdancer?" the man asked and the crowd boomed with shouts of the nicknames. Copper Pennies flew around as people bet on the two men in the circle, the richer of the gamblers tossing in a few Silver Stags.

The man with the sword – the water dancer – swung his sword before Aella could even consider what was happening, and she flinched when the steel met the Viper's arm, drawing blood. The crowd roared so loudly, Aella swore she would go deaf. The Viper jumped back, gripping his spear tightly, and then lunged forward.

It was a constant dance of twirls and spins and glinting steel as the two fighters fought, dodged, and then fought again. Aella did not even realise she was finding it entertaining until she found herself shouting with the rest of the crowd. Perhaps she should have felt guilty for cheering when the Waterdancer fell, blood bubbling at his throat as he bled to death, but she did not and instead, she grinned up at Daemon and begged him to see more.

He could only answer her with a grin.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The Black Dread's roar shook the whole of King's Landing an hour after dawn. It had torn Aella from her sleep and struck fear in her heart. The stone beneath her feet was cold as she rushed to look out her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the great big beast. Sunlight blinded her, and she had to blink a few times before she could properly see anything. But Balerion was there, and he was the most magnificent and terrifying thing she had ever seen. He was enormous, seemingly casting a shadow over half of the city when he spread his wings, sleek black scales reflecting the light.

Aella had never seen him fly before, had never seen him at all really. He had been locked away in the Dragon Pit for so long without a rider, and he seemed to grow lazy with his old age. It was strange that he was soaring through the skies now.

And then it hit her, the realisation that Balerion would not fly on his own anymore and that someone had to have taken him, for why else would the Dragonkeepers let him out of the Pit, and why else would he bother to fly when everything he needed was brought to him anyway? The memories of the many times Daemon and she whispered together in the library in the past six months came to her, how her cousin had spoken about the Black Dread as if he was some poet. Surely, he wouldn't. Surely, he wouldn't. But then the courtyard below her fell into chaos, and Prince Baelon burst through the gate that led to the city on his steed, still in his night clothes. And terror dug its claws into Aella again.

Her robe was still untied when she rushed from her room, inhaling rapidly as if she could not get enough air. She couldn't, but that was not important at the moment. What was important was that Daemon was seated atop the biggest and deadliest dragon alive, and he was there alone. Aella called out Daemon's name as she rushed down the stairs as if he could hear her. But he couldn't, and she knew that. She called it out again.

And suddenly arms grabbed arms and jerked her to a stop. She was spun around like some rag doll, but then the grip of hands on her turned soft and wild panicked lilac eyes were on her. A shuddering breath ripped from her throat.

"I thought you were riding the Black Dread!" she cried, raising her fist and slamming it into Daemon's chest before he had a chance to stop her. "I thought you were in danger!" She raised her fist again, but by then Daemon had collected himself enough to grab her wrist and stop her.

He shook his head, staring at her in confusion. Then he pulled her towards him, and suddenly his chest was beneath her head. "I'm alright," he whispered into her ear, fingers combing through her silver hair. "I'm alright."

It was as if some divine hand had made her relax.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Daemon had claimed Caraxes eight months later. It was a shallow kind of pain, like reopening a wound that was mostly healed. But it still hurt, and Aella had locked herself away in her rooms for three days straight. The covers of her bed were her sanctuary. It was difficult to breathe sometimes, and it was even more difficult to stop the tears that seemed to come back at everything she saw, heard, or thought. The deep blue gown in her wardrobe? A gift from her father. A sweet memory, but she did not want to think about him anymore. The tapestry on her wall was one she had made with her father, a feeble attempt for the both of them, but the day had been spent with laughter and joy. She did not want to think about him anymore. The mounted antlers above the mantlepiece, they had hunted that stag down together when she was eleven, it was the first time she had been allowed to come. She did not want to think about him anymore.

Looking at all of the memories, hidden away in things that had been almost forgotten by now, it was too much for her to bear. The tapestry now laid on the floor, turned right side down she did not have to look at the threads, there was a sheet tossed over the antlers, and she had torn the blue gown up with her own hands. She regretted it now, and she clutched the ruined fabric to her chest as she sobbed. The curtains were shut tight, blocking any light from entering the room through the windows. Everything was out of sight.

Daemon had claimed Caraxes. Her father's dragon. Except, he wasn't her father's dragon anymore, he was Daemon's and he would be known as such for years to come, and her father's name, along with his memory would fade into nothingness. He claimed her father's dragon.

Three days. That's how long it took before Daemon came to see her. He had ridden Caraxes to Dragonstone, she knew, intent on showing his new mount to his father. Hubris and pride, that was what had seeped from his very pores when he had announced his plan. Aella had forced herself to smile then, but she could not smile now.

There was undoubtedly a sour smell of sweat in her room, probably vomit somewhere too from when she cried so much it caused her nausea, but Daemon did not flinch at that, not at the sight of broken down form under the covers. The blue fabric was still pressed against her chest, and it ached heavily as if a heavy stone was pressed there instead.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Aella believed him. It was a rare thing for Daemon to apologise, but the tone of his voice was sincere and she wanted to throw herself into his arms – her only comfort for so long – and cry into his shoulder. Muscles did not move beneath her skin, and she stayed utterly still in her bed. A broken whimper-like sound came out of her, more akin to a dying animal than anything else.

The mattress dipped as Daemon quickly crawled onto the bed and he lifted her body as if it weight nothing. He reeked of dragon, a burnt and ashy smell with a twinge of horse, but she dug her fingers into his back and pulled him closer.

"I was protecting your father's legacy," he muttered into her ear. "Only a worthy rider should claim his dragon." There was the slightest bit of regret in his voice, but it was not for his actions. It was for her, it was because it had hurt her. Those words did not need to be said between them, they simply both knew, just as they both knew the meaning of their fleeting touches and the prolonged stares and the need to be close to one another. It was a want that neither could indulge in, a desire not quite yet burning, but it was simmering enough that they were tempted to give in.

It was easy to forget her pain.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

It was another day spent in the library when Daemon stalked towards her, face tense and hands tightly clenched. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, but Aella was too afraid to ask. Instead, she smiled at him, hoping it would calm him somewhat. It did not.

The day was hot and the sunlight seemed to sear her skin in the places it touched her. She regretted wearing such long sleeves that day. Daemon was dressed much more lightly, his doublet made of visibly thin fabric and his pants were looser, not pressed to his legs like they usually were. His silver hair was left to fall over his shoulders like most of the time. Lilac eyes glinted dangerously – suspiciously – when they fell on her. Aella nervously fingered the ribbon that held her braid together.

"Grandfather is planning to marry you off," Daemon blurted out, hands clenching tighter. "To a Tyrell or a Lannister." The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable. He was waiting for her to say something, she knew, but she did not know what to say. If her grandfather wanted to marry her off to some lord, he would, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not unless she wanted to end up like her aunt Saera, exiled and disowned, or like her aunt Viserra, with a broken neck and bleeding skull. All she could do was pray that her husband would be a good one. Kind, not cruel. Her age, and not old like Aunt Viserra's betrothed had been. Her aunt's words seemed to cut through her mind at that moment, dug up from the haze of her fogged childhood memories. Seventeen, and not older. Aella was fifteen now, just old enough to be considered a woman, but she felt no older than a child.

Aella inhaled shakily. "I will be a rich lady, then." It was all she could say. All there was to say. The Tyrells and the Lannister were both rich families and the two lordlings that could be considered for a match with her were both heirs to the Paramounts. Her grandfather had already passed over them both twice for marriage prospects, perhaps he had realised that the Vale was not the only kingdom he should be allying himself with.

Daemon's brows scrunched up in anger. "That's it? That is all you have to say?" he hissed, and for the first time in a very long time, Aella found herself shrinking away from him. "After everything! That is all..." The silence, the discontinuation of his own words, was enough to make her understand the severity of his feelings. Daemon was never one to care about anything. He was quick to anger, but she had never seen him genuinely distraught over something, had never seen him be at a complete loss for words. Feelings were a topic he avoided like the plague, even when she was telling him of her sorrows or her desires. He would stay silent, and Aella understood because it was a rare enough thing that she found the courage to mention any of those things to anyone. There had never been any expectation between them, but now there was because Daemon had clearly expected something. And she could not provide.

"What is there to say, Daemon? I knew it would happen sooner rather than later. There is no way for me to fight this," Aella tried to reason, but Daemon's face only contorted in anger even more. Something inside of her clenched painfully. "Lord Lorent Tyrell is an honourable man, I have spoken to him many times. He is kind and understanding. And Lord Tommen... he may be more interested in whores than anything else, but most men are. I will not begrudge him such nature."

Daemon shook his head with a scoff. "Lorent Tyrell is said to beat his sisters. He is not kind. And Tommen Lannister is more likely to give you some whore's disease than be a good husband to you!" Aella's body shivered at the idea of having someone lay their hands on her, but she quickly pushed it back. This was not the time to feel sorry for herself.

"Then I will not be married to either of them. Grandmother would sooner cut off her own hand than marry me off to another Maegor." It was common knowledge in their family that Alyssane Targaryen argued firmly against betrothals to men with a bad reputation, and many knew why. Aella distantly wondered if his grandmother would drag her grandfather by his ankles to get him to change his mind on this. "You would not understand, Daemon. You are a man! You get more of a say in things than I do."

"But you could have a say in things! There is another option!" he argued, and that part inside of her that had hurt before was tingling warmly now, even if she was terrified of the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "You can marry me! It is the best option anyway, we would marry in the tradition of our house and uphold the bloodline. Besides, we both know you feel something for me, it is obvious to everyone who cares enough to look." He paused to inhale, surprisingly shakily. "You can choose to be with me."

Aella could only stare. Tightly gripping the book on her lap seemed to be the only anchor to the real world as her mind reeled. She had never thought she had an option before, and she probably still did not, but it was a nice thought. A pleasant and fleeting burst of freedom that would no doubt be ripped from her soon enough, but was it such a bad thing to allow herself to hope? It had been so long since she had felt anything like it.

Daemon reached out his hand as if an offering. If she took it, she would be accepting his offer. She would allow herself to be selfish for once, to not just bow her head and listen to the whims of her grandfather, but to choose for herself. If she denied it, she would be breaking everything she and Daemon had built in the past three years. Every memory, every emotion, it all came to a clash in her mind at that very moment.

When it was over, she could only nod. "Alright," she told him, and she did not think she had ever seen such a wide array of expressions on Daemon's face before. "But you have to be the one to convince Grandfather. He is more likely to listen to you than me." Daemon was quick to agree, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles firmly. A promise, an oath. Aella bit her lip tightly as he left the library. For the first time in years, there was an echo of a beat in the empty cavern of her heart.

Two days later, her betrothal to Rhaegon Targaryen was announced.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The first time Aella looked at Rhaegon Targaryen as her betrothed, and not her cousin, she felt her stomach clench and her throat tighten. He was the complete opposite of his older brother. She did not know how to feel about that. Whereas Daemon was quick to anger, leaning towards acting first and thinking later, Rhaegon was a perpetual column of patience and composure. There was not a single hair out of place, save for one traitorous curl that always seemed to fall over his forehead. Aella had used to find that endearing, but now she did not know what to feel.

There was nothing she could hold against Rhaegon, he was being forced into this just as much as she was, but there was a small part of her that simply felt betrayed. Had Daemon truly failed so miserably at convincing their grandfather to marry them that she was instead betrothed to the third son? Did her grandfather not hold a single care for her feelings? Perhaps he had simply offered Daemon a better marriage, for there was no real reason for Daemon to simply not take her to a sept and marry her anyway. Instead, he had ignored her for months, had flown away on Caraxes to Dragonstone and left her alone. A week after his departure, a great looming shadow had cast over King's Landing as Rhaegon arrived on his own dragon.

Morghul was a like a memory born into real life with his resemblance to the Black Dread, who had passed two years prior. His scales were a matte black, so dark and foreboding that even the light did not bounce off of them, and his wings with large and menacing with a large spike on each of the top joints. The roar he had let out had shaken the very foundations of the Red Keep when he landed in the courtyard, barely fitting and breaking multiple structures. Rhaegon had not seemed at all sorry for the damage he had caused with his dragon and had simply entered the Keep and quickly disappeared behind the door of the council chamber.

Aella had not seen him in person for a week, but now he stood in her room. And she did not quite know what to do. Her grandmother was there too, perhaps to be some sort of mediator between the two of them, just in case things got too bad. Aella might have laughed at the thought had she not felt like crawling under her bed and never coming out.

"Cousin," she greeted Rhaegon with a pleasant smile on her face. "Would you care for some wine?" It was just past supper, a perfect time to serve the red liquid to him. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment and then nodded. She poured his goblet herself, intent on making the best of her situation. If she could not have Daemon, then she would simply have to get used to Rhaegon. He was the same age as her, only four short months her senior. Perhaps that was why her grandfather had chosen to betroth her to him instead of Daemon.

Rhaegon thanked her and then took a seat at the small round table at which their grandmother sat, clasping his hands over the wood. He stared at the patterns of the dark material for a bit before he looked up at her. Gods, even his eyes were wrong. Whereas Daemon's had been the perfect bright lilac, always dancing with her blue ones, Rhaegon's resembled a deep indigo, just the smallest hint of violet in them. Perhaps it was better that way. She would prefer to not think of Daemon every time she looked at him.

"I would like for us to be friends," Rhaegon said, his voice the perfect tone to make her relax slightly. The only sign of his own discomfort was the way he flickered his eyes over to their grandmother, who simply nodded for him to continue with a bright smile on her face. "I know you did not wish for this. I know you would have preferred another." The underlying meaning was there. I know you are in love with my brother. It must have been a terrifying thought to him, to be stuck forever with a woman who would always look to someone else. It was brave of him, though, to bring it up with her instead of ignoring it and then growing angry and bitter over the years. "But I want us to be partners. I want to trust you and I want you to trust me as well."

"You think I do not trust you?" Aella asked. He was not entirely wrong, he was more of a stranger than anything else. The two of them rarely spoke. Whenever she had been on Dragonstone, he had been at King's Landing, and when Dragonstone had fallen to Prince Baelon, they had simply switched places.

"Not the way I want you to trust me," he answered, straightening in his seat. "I do not expect you to do so immediately, but I would like it if we could both go into this marriage with an open mind. We may never have a great love, but we shall make decisions together. I will never force you to do anything and I will respect you, that is the promise I make."

Perhaps this marriage would not be so bad.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

If there was one thing that brought Aella joy, it was that she had absolute free reign over the wedding preparations. She was in charge of everything, from the seating arrangements to the food that would be served. When she had asked Rhaegon if he had any preferences, he had simply waved his hand and said he was fine with anything as long as there was no rabbit. Aella had taken a mental note of his dislike quickly, wanting to remember as many of these small things as possible. He was doing it for her too, purposefully gifting her the flowers she had told him were her favourite or gifting her jewellery with the gemstones she preferred. It was the small things, she quickly realised. The things and actions she would usually overlook. They made a great difference now.

The fabric of her wedding gown was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. Black and red, of course, in the colours of her house. The patterns of dragons and fire embroidered onto it and the great hanging sleeves were her favourite touches, along with the black pearls she had woven into her hair.

It was the first time there had ever been so many people in her chambers. Maids and serving ladies rushed around, adding final touches before she was promptly taken to the sept. Her mother was there, pestering her constantly about how beautiful she looked, touching the gown to pull off invisible pieces of lint. Rhaenys was there too, seeming just as excited about everything as their mother was. There was also Lady Aemma Arryn, who had married Viserys a few years prior. It struck Aella then that the two of them would be good-sisters now.

Aemma was the very image of elegance and beauty, calm and collected and the kindest soul Aella had ever met. She was also a small tragedy, with the many stillbirths, miscarriages and cot deaths she had already experienced. She had only one living child, a little girl she and Viserys had named Rhaenyra.

"Which do you prefer, my princess?" Aemma asked her, lifting two diadems in her hand. One was gold, the other silver. Both had dragon motifs, but Aella did not expect anything else. She quickly pointed to the silver one, thinking it matched the gown and the pearls much better.

She leaned down as Aemma went to place it on her head, smiling slightly at their height difference. "You do not have to refer to me so formally, Aemma, we have discussed this," she reprimanded her in a quick jest. Aemma had still not grown used to being the second lady of the court, only beneath the Queen in rank, and still often acted as if she was below the other ladies. She was getting better at it and had stood her ground more often than not, but she still struggled sometimes.

"We are to be sisters now," Aella continued, fixing the position of her bodice a bit. "I would like for us to be friends." Aemma's smile was hardly concealed when it bloomed on her young round face. She nodded, walking away to grab something else with obvious excitement in her step.

It was far too easy for Aella to smile.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

When the doors of Rhaegon's chambers closed behind them after the ceremony and the feast, anxiety bloomed in the pit of her stomach. He had easily fought off the calls for a bedding ceremony, sensing her panic the moment someone shouted it, but that did not mean they could get away with not consummating the marriage.

She half expected him to simply grab her and take her to the closest surface the moment they were alone. She did not know why, because deep down there was no doubt that he would not touch her without her explicit permission, but it was there. So when he walked further into the room instead of touching her, there was a wave of relief that passed over her.

Rhaegon had made a beeline to the wine, which Aella found rather funny, but she did not laugh or smile. She only watched as he poured two glasses and took one for himself before taking a large gulp. When he pulled the glass back his tongue skirted over his lips, collecting the excess drops of wine still left on them. Then his eyes met hers.

"Care for a round of chess, my lady?" Aella could only raise her brow. "Very arousing game, I know." This time, she did not laugh, feeling the last bits of her nerves bleed into a strange form of excitement. She nodded at him and headed to the already set up chess table, taking a seat at the white pieces. Rhaegon sat opposite her, smiling coyly. "I want us to get to know each other." It was a simple request, one that she was keen to fulfil.

For the next two hours, they simply talked and played and drank. When the wine had completely decimated their mental barriers and boundaries, she did not know, but soon enough she seemed to know everything, as did he.

She knew that he hated when his hair got longer past his ears because it would curl far too much and it was difficult to keep. She knew he loved oranges imported from Essos, and that he hated rabbit because he thought the animals were far too sweet to kill for food. She knew about the squire on Dragonstone he had once thought he loved, about how he liked to read romance books every now and then, simply because it was far calmer than his actual life. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue when he was angry or stressed, and drinking tea made him sleepy.

And in turn, she told him about herself too. He knew that she hated the colour orange because it was too glaring, that she would rather drink mint water than wine at dinner, and that she would sneak out at night to go ride Karnax when she still lived on Dragonstone. At some point, and she did not remember when, she had even gotten enough courage to admit some things about her and Daemon. Not too much, as to not hurt him with the realisation that she truly would rather be married to his brother than to him, but enough that he was not left in the dark. And Rhaegon had listened with a small smile and nodded at her words as if he was glad that she had told him.

It was sometime past midnight when it happened. They both had had a few too many glasses of wine by that point. Aella found herself giggling all the time and Rhaegon's eyes had become heavy and lidded. Sudden, was how she would later describe it, how he leaned over the table and finally kissed her for the first time that night. It was gentle and sweet and a bit too prolonged to be considered chaste. There were no more barriers by then, and when he slowly undressed her and she him, there was no discomfort or awkwardness.

The bedding itself was not at all how she had imagined it. Her mother had told her that it would hurt and be uncomfortable for the first time, but Aella found that was not the case. Rhaegon had spent an hour with his head between her legs before he even considered his own pleasure. Her thighs were shaking by then and her throat was hoarse from how much she had moaned. Any thoughts of Daemon were gone from her mind, fogged over by lust and the well-built tall man between her legs.

When Rhaegon finally entered her, the burn of the stretch drove her arousal even more. He moved slowly within her and sucked marks into her neck, her jaw, and her collarbones until her ivory skin was peppered with bruises she would have to cover up for the sake of decency. She threw her head back voluntarily, allowing him more access.

A coil was tightening in her belly, a familiar feeling after the many times she had reached her peak that night. Her legs began to shake again and her moans heightened in pitch with every thrust. Rhaegon's breath grew ragged and he released sounds of pleasure of his own. When his brows suddenly scrunched together and his mouth fell open with a choked-out moan, Aella wondered if she had seen anything more arousing in her life. Something hot and sticky coated the inside of her walls and she flinched at the strange feeling. By the time Rhaegon rolled off of her, the discomfort was gone.

Rhaegon slept on his stomach with his left arm splayed out in the middle of the bed, stopping perfectly at the centre. If she wanted to, she could barely lift her hand and place it in his. But by then the fog of lust and pleasure was gone and a guilty feeling settled itself into the pit of her stomach.

Gods knew where Daemon was right now. He had not attended the wedding, but he knew it was today. He had to know.

Aella lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She waited with bated breath until Rhaegon fell asleep until his inhales and exhales were slow and even. Then the ceiling blurred before her eyes and tears left hot wet streaks down the side of her head.

While before she could not even think about Daemon, he was all that was on her mind now. She had just lain with his brother. His brother. The sting of that betrayal would never truly leave, especially when she eventually ended up with child.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Eventually turned out to be that very night. Three months after the wedding, her pregnancy was confirmed by the Grand Maester. She and Rhaegon had only laid together that one time. Aella cursed the Gods for allowing this to happen so soon, for forcing her to pretend like she was a happy mother, that she was excited for her baby to come into the world. In most ways, she was, but the knowledge that Daemon would probably never look at her the same way now had left the bitter taste of poison on her tongue.

Most days, she could barely pay attention to her surroundings. She was left vomiting most of the day, a symptom her grandmother claimed to have as well with her first child, and she was exhausted in the times she wasn't emptying her insides. Rhaegon would try to make her more comfortable, but there was little he could do in the ways of nature and child-bearing.

When the fifth month of her pregnancy rolled around, the nausea subsided and she was left only with terrible mood swings and aching breasts. Rhaenys came to visit her, along with her husband Corlys and her two children.

Aella had not seen Corlys and her niece and nephew for so long, it seemed, even though it was only a few months since they had been at her wedding. Even so, Laena and Laenor had grown so much during that time, and their doting on her warmed her heart. Corlys was a much bigger comfort than anyone else could be. When Aella had been younger, he would tell her stories of his many exploits, shower her with gifts and dance with her at feasts when Rhaenys grew too tired to continue to do so. He was the only grown man aside from her father who paid any attention to her back then and soon enough, a seemingly unbreakable bond was forged.

He understood her, and she understood him. There was never any need to speak about anything, because one looked at the other and they just knew. Perhaps that was why Corlys had convinced Rhaenys to take Aella out flying without so much as looking in her direction. The realisation that she had not flown in three and a half years hit her then, and it was far too easy to coax her out of the comfort of her bed and into the saddle.

Karnax's size had seemingly doubled since she last saw her, though Aella knew that could not be possible and she was merely imagining it. Indigo scales rippled as the muscles moved beneath them and the second they were in the air, Aella let out a cry of joy. She forgot how amazing this felt. The wind in her hair, the adrenaline in her veins, the feeling of clouds on her fingertips.

Rhaenys and Aella had stayed in the air for hours, only coming back down when the sun began to set.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The celebration for Prince Viserys' name day was the first time Aella had seen Daemon in ten months. His hair was slightly longer, pulled back into a braid from which a few strands fell to frame his face, golden rings adorned his fingers and he was dressed in his typical colours of black and red. She was wearing blue and gold, the same colours she wore when he first spoke to her in that library and she told him of the dragons, though she doubted he noticed.

She arrived late to the celebrations, though her grandfather nor Viserys seemed to mind. Her belly was beginning to be far too heavy and she had contemplated simply staying in her chambers. But she couldn't, she eventually told herself. This was the first time Viserys had been properly seen at court since Aemma's latest miscarriage two months prior, and she could not simply leave her good-brother to wallow in his misery.

When the doors opened, it took only a few seconds for their eyes to meet. Daemon's jaw visibly tightened, eyes dropping to her stomach for one burning second before he quickly looked away. If Aella had not mentally prepared herself for such a reaction, she might have broken into to tears then and there. The lords and ladies of the court stood to greet her, bowing and curtsying as she passed. By the time she had made it to the high table, she seriously regretted her decision to leave her chambers.

Rhaegon must have easily sensed her discomfort because he was already making his way to help her when she reached the three steps that led up to the table. His arms were tight around her waist and arm as he led her up, asking the simply easygoing questions one would expect from a doting husband.

Aella greeted her grandmother with a kiss on the cheek before she sat next to her. The total effect of the great hall's atmosphere was one of complete relaxation for most. The loud music seemed to sway Aella's body without her even realizing it, the food smelled delicious and the wine was the perfect amount of sweet. People laughed and danced and cheered, adding to the already large influx of sound.

If it had been any other day and any other feast, perhaps Aella would have allowed herself to relax and have fun. It was what she wanted, a reprieve from the nail-biting stress and worry from her upcoming labours, but nothing would come. Daemon's presence was always at the forefront of her mind and she found herself biting the inside of her cheeks so hard they bled, simply to stop herself from looking at him. But even then, she could not stop the occasional glance she took in his direction. They were always a mistake. He was constantly with another woman, dancing and laughing and smiling, his movements too smooth and confident to be anything but seduction. The burn of jealousy in the pit of her stomach was not as harsh as she thought it would be.

Aella was glad for the distraction when Corlys came up to the high table, asking her to have one dance with him if she was able. Her feet still ached and she would rather be sleeping right about then, but she was his favourite sister, and who was she to decline him?

Gripping Corlys' hand, she carefully made her way to the dance floor. Thankfully, the dances chosen for this feast required a little bit of distance from others so her heavy belly did not get in the way. Her skirts spun in flurries of blue and gold around her as she twirled around Corlys. The ache of her body soon became something dull at the back of her mind. Soon enough, it was time to change partners and Aella spun to the right, then looked towards her new partner. Viserys was beaming at her from the other side of the dance floor, offering his hand to her as the dance started anew.

"I do hope you are enjoying yourself, dear cousin," Viserys said, ever the one for pleasantries and small talk. The stench of wine rolled off of him in waves, but Aella did not mind. It was his name day, after all, he had the right to celebrate however he wanted.

While Viserys was great at flattery, graceful dancing was not a skill he harboured. He seemed to misstep every couple of seconds, almost as if he completely forgot how to put one foot in front of the other. It was rather endearing, really.

Another song, another partner. Aella wished Viserys a quick farewell. In a matter of seconds, she wished she had just gone to sit down.

Daemon's lilac eyes glittered as he stared at her, grasping her arms with surprising gentleness. Something in her urged her to pull away, but she pushed that thought back. She had no reason to be scared. This was Daemon, he would not hurt her. Behind Daemon's head, Aella could make out Rhaegon giving her a questioning look. He tilted his head to the side, a silent offer for him to swoop in and pull her away. Aella shook her head.

"Cousin," she greeted Daemon. It was far too stiff, far too formal for them, but what else was she supposed to say? As the music started, she lifted her arm vertically from the elbow up, Daemon doing the same. Their palms hovered so close together, not quite touching. Daemon leaned slightly towards her, just enough to border indecency.

"My love," he replied with an overly coercive voice. A barely concealed shiver ran down her spine. She ignored his words, quickly smoothing out the frown on her forehead. The grin on Daemon's face told her he knew exactly how much his words affected her. Not just his words, his voice. She had not heard the lulling tone of it in so long. The perfect mixture of gruff and honeyed.

As the music quickened, they spun around the centre of their lifted hands created.

"What is it you want, Daemon?" Aella asked, hoping she did not anger him. She did not think she would be able to bear the brunt of his rage at that moment. She wondered if he saw through her cold exterior, straight at the glass that her heart was made of. Was it possible he knew of its fragility?

Daemon's smile turned slightly more bitter. "I want you. The problem is, you are married to my brother," he seethed through his teeth, only to flinch at his tone. "I'm sorry, darling, I am not angry with you."

"Aren't you?" Aella could only try and pretend like she wasn't on the edge of crying. "I am carrying Rhaegon's child."

Daemon shook his head. "That's not your fault. It is our Grandfather's fault, and my father's. He is just as responsible. I do not think there is any scenario in which he would reject the King's offer." Aella supposed that was true. Something shifted in Daemon's eyes and his voice suddenly grew a strange kind of desperate. His brows pulled together as he spoke. "But it does not matter, you can choose me now. We can get on Caraxes tonight and go to Essos! I will take care of your child as if it were my own, I promise-"

"Daemon, stop," Aella quickly cut him off. If anyone heard him. They could not hear him. "I cannot do that and you know it." The crease between Daemon's brows deepened. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. But I do not have the freedom to choose anymore." The 'I never did' went unsaid. The look on Daemon's face was like a stab to the heart, but what else could she say? What could she do? Nothing. He stayed with her until the music ended, a frail attempt at hiding the desolate look of both of them, but then he tore himself away so aggressively it almost hurt.

It was that day that Aella believed the fate of them was sealed. The day that began the cycle of silent affection and small hidden touches. The day that broke her heart. It was the day that marked not only Daemon's betrothal to Lady Rhea Royce, but the birth of Aella's son.

Author's Note

I started this book the day the first episode of HOTD came out and I am only now releasing it, a couple days before ep 9 is released. I am happy I took so much time to write it though, because Aella has a lot of backstory that was difficult to fit into one chapter. I still did not fit it all into this prologue, but I wanted to show a bit of how she and Daemon grew to care for one another.

There will be two more 'prologues' after this, one for Rhaegon and one for Aemon, though they will probably be a lot shorter than this one! 12.2 k words is a bit much.