In the end,
only three things matter:
how much you loved,
how gently you lived
and how gracefully
you let go of things
not meant for you

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

101 AC

His father looked absolutely radiant with the Hand's pin fastened to his doublet, that was the first thing Rhaegon noticed when he strode into the small council meeting. It was the first time he had seen him grin so widely since Aemon was born. Something like warmth burned in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Baelon Targaryen's appearance had always been well-kept, but that day he looked especially well put together. His beard was carefully trimmed to his jaw, his hair brushed and glistening silver in the light as it always had. As always, he was dressed in Targaryen colours. A silver ring glittered on his finger. The wedding band symbolised his marriage to Rhaegon's mother. He had long learned to not feel nauseous whenever he looked at it. The mere act of his father never taking the ring off was a clear message to all. He was still mourning his wife, the spirited Alyssa Targaryen who had died birthing his youngest son. It was almost enough to fight off any lords attempting to sell their daughters to him for marriage. Almost.

Most of the small council was already present. King Jaehaerys sat at the head with his eldest living son sitting to the right. Then to his left was a seat reserved for Rhaegon – the only one of Baelon's sons to bother showing up regularly. Other than that, the Master of Coin, Lyman Beesbury was already present. Rhaegon could never recall a time he had come to the council room before Lord Beesbury did. The Grand Maester, Runciter, was already there as well, draped with his chain as he always was.

The only members missing now were Corlys Velaryon, who served as Master of Ships, and Lord Alyn Penrose who served as Master of Law. Lord Corlys served begrudgingly, if Rhaegon was being honest, but he could not say he blamed the man after his wife was replaced as heir. Simply for being a woman. It made Rhaegon sick to think about it, but unfortunately, he could not find himself supporting her. Because it was his father who had been named heir. And after him his brother. He did not think he could stand against them to support his cousin, although he did so silently and with a few biting remarks. He still remembered the look of disdain King Jaehaerys had thrown him when he had made an off-handed comment about the dishonour of it. In contrast to him, his grandmother had looked at him proudly.

Lord Alyn had been sworn into his position in the aftermath of Prince Aemon's death at Tarth nine years prior, and he had served well. Rhaegon recalled the first few months of his service, the man would often be found in the library, pouring over Prince Aemon's notes and other books about laws. He took his role seriously, and Rhaegon respected him greatly for it.

It was when Rhaegon had just settled into his seat beside his grandfather when the two remaining lords strode in, seemingly deep in conversation. If he had to guess, it would either be something philosophical or pure business. Lord Alyn was a well-educated and cultured man and Lord Corlys loved a good debate every now and then.

When the two of them had ceased their conversation, King Jaehaerys began the meeting. At first, it was an utter bore. As most council meetings were. Some congratulations were passed around to his father, and then a discussion about the celebratory hunt started. Lord Lyman complained distantly about his old bones and apologised that he would not be attending, but had promised enough funds for everything that was required of the usual big party of nobles following the royal family at such events.

Lord Corlys seemed like he could not care less. Rhaegon found himself agreeing. The two of them sat and leaned back in their chairs with the most stoic expressions people could muster. It was not until half an hour after the start of the meeting that Lord Corlys finally interrupted.

"If I may, your Grace, there is a far more important matter we must discuss," he spoke up, moving his hand in a small sweeping gesture over the pieces of parchment placed before him. King Jaehaerys was quick to agree. There was a brief moment where Rhaegon swore he saw the smallest twinge of anxiousness sweep over the old man's face. He knew from the many retellings of the story that his grandfather feared becoming another Maegor. Or even making the smallest of mistakes – which he had done many times, he just never bothered to accept the actions as mistakes. Rhaegon could understand that fear, he held it every day. "I have received word from Lord Cameron Tarth. Myrish pirates have once again been spotted off the coast of Tarth. He fears another attack."

At this, Rhaegon's father froze. The colour that had once filled his face drained and he was left staring straight into the table. It was as if he had become a statue for a moment. There was a possibility he was not even breathing. Then, his face curled up into a snarl.

"Is it not enough that they murdered my brother?" he sneered, clenching his hand that was rested on the table. His knuckles turned a pale white. "Is it not enough his youngest daughter was left without a father at the age of eight? Is it not enough he never got to meet his grandchildren?"

"Baelon," King Jaehaerys snapped. Not too harshly, but the warning was there. It was no secret to anyone that Rhaegon's father held a great disdain for anything Myrish. After the death of Prince Aemon at their hands, he burned most of their ships until there was nothing but charred bones and ash left. After that, he returned home with the soot still smudged on his face, reeking of burnt bodies, his brother's corpse stiff in his arms. Rhaegon's wife had been there to witness it. Dear Aella, so young, looking down at her father's body, already broken through with rot.

Corlys grimaced at the sight before him. "I cannot say for certain if they plan to attack again, but I suggest sending some of the fleet to guard the island and keep a lookout. We do not want another Myrish Bloodbath to occur."

Jaehaerys had agreed with a quick nod.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The clanking of swords was loud and resounding in the training yard. Rhaegon did not remember the last time he sparred with either of his brothers but he knew for sure that Daemon had not deigned to train with him for years. Since before his marriage to Aella, he was sure. Today, however, it seemed like Daemon had decided he would do so. He had strode into the training yard like he was far above anyone in there, taking one of the dull training swords into his hand and sauntering over to where Rhaegon was warming up.

That was how they ended up here. Swords crossed, sweat running down their foreheads, neither willing to back down. Rhaegon had garnered his skill over time, so much so that he dared to say he was better than some of the Kingsguard. Daemon clearly had his own anger to take out on him, and he was unpredictable, and volatile in his attacks. So that was how they fought. Cool and calculated met with vengeful and rash.

A glint of steel in the sunlight warmed Rhaegon just in time for the incoming attack from the top. He took a step back and lifted his arms, parrying the strike his brother send his way with ease. Daemon chuckled at that as if he expected it to happen. Their swords broke apart and this time it was Rhaegon's turn to swing. A quick cut aimed diagonally across his brother's chest. Daemon twirled out of its way. With that, there were a few feet between them and they both caught their breath, ignoring the onlookers that had gathered to watch the two princes spar.

"How is your wife, little brother?" Daemon asked, mocking masked in fake sincerity. His words were loud enough for Rhaegon to hear them, but they were quickly lost in the cheering of anyone else around them. He had expected this conversation to come up eventually. It was definitely a few years too late.

"I do not see how Aella's well-being concerns you," Rhaegon answered, sidestepping so he could circle Daemon slightly. His brother mirrored his movements, a sneer taking over his face. Rhaegon prepared himself for a brazen attack, but it never came.

Daemon tilted his head. "You know very well how this concerns me," he spat. With a twist of his sword's handle in his hand, he lunged forward. Rhaegon moved out of the way just in time. Daemon seemed to not have expected that, or perhaps it was simply because he had gotten too ahead of himself. His eyes widened when Rhaegon lifted his own sword, bringing it down onto his forearm. A loud hiss tore through between his teeth, but he held onto his blade tightly and quickly stepped away.

"It might have been once. Not anymore," Rhaegon argued, his jaw tightened in slight annoyance. "If I remember correctly, you left. Even before me and her were wed. She does not concern you anymore, brother. Leave it."

Surprisingly, Daemon did. But not before he sent him a smirk of cruel mocking. Something heavy sunk into the pit of Rhaegon's stomach.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Aella had long since learned to hate hunts. When her father was still alive and breathing, he would often take her and Rhaenys out hunting. He and his eldest daughter would always compete for the best kill, but Aella had always just been happy to be included. Being a decade younger than her sister had often put her in a position where she could not partake in certain things because she was too young. Things like speaking of childish crushes or spending time together for longer than a few hours a week were not something that happened. By the time Aella was old enough to do those things and be a companion that Rhaenys could actually talk to, her sister had married the man she loved and rarely stayed on Dragonstone anymore. That was not to say that she and Rhaenys did not like each other. In fact, Aella was not sure what she would do without her sister or her charming sea lord husband. They were the shield that guarded her from harsher realities of the world, taking each arrow of despair until they could not do so any longer when that arrow came in the shape of her father's death, then her subsequent marriage a few years later and finally with the death of her daughter.

In hindsight, Aella wished they had found a way to protect her from that too. Now as she stood in her chambers and stared at the wall where a pair of antlers were mounted – the crown of her first kill all those years ago – she came to realize how much she actually missed the two of them. How much she missed those short hunts where she could actually hold a spear or a crossbow in her hand. Where she was actually allowed to do something. So unlike the royal hunts, her grandfather planned. There, she was simply a pretty thing to sit in the royal tent surrounded by ladies and sow seeds of alliances through friendships.

Not that friendships were what bloomed in those long boring hours of talking as the women waited for their husbands to be done killing things. Aella often found herself forcing her face to remain expressionless upon hearing some of the women speak. They were all a bunch of gossiping hags, not that Aella did not like to gossip every now and then. She just despised the way the women sucked up to her and Aemma as if insulting the right person would get them a better position in court. And during this hunt, it would be even worse. Because Lady Stokesworth would be there and there was no doubt in Aella's mind that she would try and smooth things over between them. She would not succeed.

The maids rushed around her so quickly that they became blurs to her disinterested eyes. The heavy woollen skirt of her gown was a great annoyance. It was thicker than her usual gowns of silk and other expensive materials that were scarcely available to anyone else but high-ranking nobles, meant to keep her warm in the late autumn weather. She was not even allowed to wear breeches and leather coats with a long tail as she had been during the hunts with her father. It is unseemly, her grandfather had said. And who was she to deny the King?

The only comfort she had as of right now was that Aemma would be there and so would her mother. She had not seen the beautiful Jocelyn Baratheon in quite some time now, her mother locking herself away on Driftmark with her eldest daughter to mourn her dead husband and the throne that had been ripped from her daughter's grasp. Still, she was annoyed with the event that would take place.

And Rhaegon... well he did not seem so happy about the hunt either. As the servants were buttoning up his leather coat, he grimaced into the mirror, meeting her eyes through it. The small smile he sent her way was not in the least bit genuine, but she did not mind. She understood it far too well.

When the servants left and they were given a few minutes to spare before their departure, the two of them sprawled their bodies out on the settees by the lit fire with loud groans. They did not need to speak, they both knew how they felt. Well, almost, because Aella doubted her husband knew of the guilt she felt every time she looked at him. It had been a week since she had lain with Daemon, a week since she had felt the rancid burn of moon tea down her throat. In that short time, she had learned to push through the guilt. She could actually look at Rhaegon now, though it still came with great effort.

"Grandfather told me I should start thinking about betrothal for Aemon," Rhaegon suddenly spoke into the silence. Aella blinked. Once. Twice. Then she inhaled sharply.

"When did he say this?" she asked, trying to keep her calm. Rhaegon sighed in annoyance, and Aella couldn't decide if it was aimed at her or the situation. "Aemon has not even reached his fourth name day yet! Who would he have us betrothed him to at this age!"

Rhaegon lifted his head up from where it rested on the backrest of the settee. "He wanted to secure the Vale, but I made a point to him that both Viserys and Daemon are both married to ladies of the Vale, and that it is already secure. Then he suggested the Stormlands or the Westerlands, but he did not mention anyone specific." The way he spoke so calmly about it irked her. Her son was far too young to become a bargaining chip, especially not to her grandfather who barely had any sense of family. She was about to tell Rhaegon off for supporting his whims when her husband sat up and leaned forward on his elbows, which rested on his knees. "I told him we would think about it, but I would not agree to a betrothal without you. Our grandfather is not an idiot, Aella. He knows what that means."

It meant a firm no. And Jaehaerys most definitely knew that. Aella wondered how long his acceptance of her and Aegon's decision would last.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The hunt was, as expected, boring and underwhelming. Most of the time was spent following Rhaegon's father and his favourite trackers through the woods. For hours on end, it seemed. Rhaegon had no clue how Viserys could find this fun. Daemon seemed to be just as annoyed as he was, but there was no doubt that the moment the actual chase began, he would be among the first to go.

For the first few hours, Rhaegon had attempted to make conversation with the other lords. They became exceedingly annoying though and so when Rhaegon got the chance to slip away from them, he took it. Choosing to join Daemon instead of them probably wasn't the smartest idea, but his brother did not do anything out of the ordinary, only grinning at him like he always used to do when they were younger and nothing had fallen apart yet. And so Rhaegon had stayed in his presence and they had laughed and conversed like everything was good between them.

For a moment, Rhaegon swore he saw something akin to thankfulness on Daemon's face whenever they made eye contact.

When the third hour rolled around, Rhaegon's attention was drawn to his father when he suddenly leaned heavily on a tree trunk. He was clearly not the only one to have noticed, because all three of the princes' sons rushed forward.

"Father, are you alright?" Viserys asked almost frantically. Baelon waved him off, his other hand gripping his side tightly. Worry bloomed quickly in the pit of Rhaegon's stomach. His father was never one to show pain or discomfort, hardened by years of experience and battle experience. The last time he had seen him show any kind of negative reaction to something was when Daemon accidentally hit his hand too hard during training and his hand had swelled up from it.

"I am fine," Baelon wheezed, straitening himself upon the realisation that every lord at the hunt was staring at him. "Just a stitch in my side."

Rhaegon could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Lady Stokeworth was saved from Aella's wrath by the tiniest margin. Aemma, the woman's saving grace, had to pull her away from the group before anything got too out of hand. Lady Stokesworth had rushed to her as soon as it was deemed seemly and had tried to explain the words she had uttered a week before, practically begging for forgiveness without actually saying.

"You should learn when to keep your mouth shut, Lady Stokesworth. It will help you a great deal in the future," Aella had hissed at the woman mere seconds before Aemma arrived. Now, Aella could not even look in the direction of the group of ladies she had been pulled away from, instead staring heavily into the goblet she had been handed. The red wine in it swirled with each small motion she made, and glistened with the light that hit it. Sensations spread throughout her body with each sip she took. Loosening her muscles, relaxing her mind. She knew it was only a matter of hours before she would find herself vomiting from how much she drank. Especially if she kept going on as she was now.

Aemma did not utter a single word to her, simply standing beside her. She knew that Aella needed silence and company, and so that was what she provided. Comfort, without words, without action or touches. It was something she rarely experienced. And she craved it.

There was a dark space in her mind that she had learned to retreat to when the emotions got to the point she could not handle them. A place that did not seem too bad when she entered it. Where memories of the past and the expectations for a better future lay. When she stayed there, she found herself to be happy. Not a worry in the world. But then she would get pulled back, and she would remember the harsh truths of reality.

It was a hand on her shoulder that pulled her from it now. The skin was marked by age, but the weight of it was the same as it always was. Jocelyn Baratheon was as she always was as well. Dark hair riddled with ageing silver pulled from her face, a gown of black draping from her body perfectly. Aella had not realised how much she missed her mother until she was falling into her arms and her head rested on her chest. Her mother's heartbeat hammered against her ear, and she revelled in the comforting feeling of it.

"My darling girl," Jocelyn whispered into her hair. Aella could feel a smile form on those lips as they pressed to the top of her head. "I regret not seeing you in so long." She regretted it too. Bitterly, sometimes. Painfully, other times. Now, she felt none of those things. Her mother was here and that was all that mattered. The years when she was gone were wiped away. "I should have been here when little Daella died."

Aella aggressively blinked tears away. "Yes, you should have." It came out harsher than she intended, but she could not say she regretted it. Her mother's absence was forgiven in many aspects. Not attending her granddaughter's funeral was not one of them. Suddenly, the bitterness was back and Aella stepped back from her mother's arms. "I needed you to be there, but you stayed on Driftmark."

Jocelyn pursed her lips, but nodded. "I feared you would not wish to see me. I was gone for so long... I thought you would be angry with me," she admitted, and Aella had never heard something more infuriating in her life. Just barely, she kept her emotions in check, if only to keep any rumours from spreading.

"I was far too distraught to be angry with you. How could you not know that? You lost children as well, but they had not even come to term. I lost my little girl when she was already breathing. I felt her die in my arms," Aella spoke surprisingly calmly, though there was a rough edge to her words. "And you stayed on Driftmark." With those final words, she tore away from her mother and all but ran outside. Her lungs felt like they might constrict if she stayed in her presence much longer. Jocelyn being at the hunt was meant to be a comfort. They were meant to discuss what happened all these years, talk about how Aemon was growing and what he liked and disliked, what his first words were – kepa, father – and what his favourite sweets were. That had not happened, and Aella came to the startling realisation that her mother had not held Aemon once. She had not even met him. All she knew of him were the things Aella had written in her letters.

When she inhaled the chilly air, she wanted to scream. She couldn't though, not with so many people around. Settling for digging her nails into her palms seemed like the best option. It hurt when her nails broke the skin – not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to dent. She focused on that pain, and took apart the feeling with each layer until she realised she could breathe calmly again.

Staring down at her gown, she took note of every thread of red embroidery, every decoration that was meant to look like a dragon. When she inhaled after that once more, she no longer felt like tearing her own hair out.

"Princess." Aella jumped at the sound, spinning around on her heels with her hand pressed above her heart. Lord Penrose stood behind her, smiling sheepishly at her. "My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.

"Lord Penrose," Aella greeted the man with a small nod. He was rather handsome, a few years older than she was. Dark hair and umber eyes, pale skin so smooth it did not seem real. The only fault on him seemed to be that his nose was a little crooked. "What can I do for you?"

Lord Penrose shook his head. "I noticed you left the tend in quite a hurry. I wanted to see if you were alright?" Aella squinted her eyes slightly at him. No one wanted to just see if someone was alright. Not at court anyway. She stared at the man who had replaced her father as Master of Laws for a little while longer.

"I am alright, thank you," she answered, pushing her shoulders back. Lord Penrose smiled, then nodded.

"Then I will leave you be." And that was what he did. Bowing, then spinning on his heels, and then he was gone. As if he was never there. Aella blinked slowly at the spot where the man had been standing moments before. She was used to strange encounters at court, nobles wanting to get close to a member of the royal family in any way they could. This did not feel like those times.

In the distance, the royal trumpets announced the return of the hunting party. Finally, Aella thought. She was starting to hate this place. The first of the horses broke the tree line – a silver stallion and a chestnut mare – and Aella quickly moved forward. The hunting party quickly rode into the centre of the camp, the riders climbing off of their horses. She caught a glimpse of silver hair and prepared to walk forward, but then she stopped herself. Daemon's eyes met hers and it was like she was frozen in place. A deer in the sight of its predator, much like the stag that Daemon's horse was dragging behind itself. The smirk he sent her should not have been as malicious as it seemed to her, it probably was not even meant that way. But the way the corner of his lips jerked up and he did not move his gaze away... it almost felt that way.

How was it that only a week prior, that grin would've made her want to kiss him until they both couldn't breathe? How was it that by laying with him – an act that had been meant to make her feel better – she had made herself feel so much worse? As Rhaegon rode up next to him, it became all too apparent. She had betrayed him, she knew that. When their impending marriage has been announced, he asked for her to try and trust him, because he would do all he could to respect her and protect her. He had kept his word, as had she in the way that she did trust him. But other than that, she had not respected him. Not in the slightest bit. She still pulled away from affection sometimes and felt discomfort when waking up next to him simply because it felt wrong. Even when he never forced her into anything, she prayed she would wake up and be back in her fifteen-year-old body, when she was not yet betrothed to him.

But that would never happen, and instead of trying harder to get used to his presence beside her, to make sure any of those thoughts never crossed her mind, she had lain with his brother. She still wanted to lay with his brother. Suddenly she felt as if she would throw up.

When Rhaegon stepped towards her and smiled, that was exactly what she did. Her body bent at her waist and she felt the violent churning in her stomach, then the rancid burn in her throat. There were gasps that rang out around them as the vomit hit the ground. Arms wrapped around her middle. Rhaegon, she realized as she heard his voice calling out to her.

"Aella! Are you alright?" he asked, whispering in her ear. A shaky intake of breath and then she was gagging again, though nothing came out then. There were footsteps approaching them, hurried and calm at the same time. When she looked up, she saw Daemon and Viserys a few feet away. Both had worry etched into the lines of their face, though Daemon looked far more panicked than Viserys did. Behind them, her Uncle Baelon was making his way towards them.

At the sight of him, all worry for herself was wiped from her mind. Baelon was pale, his eyes rimmed with red. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead and he clutched at his side with his arm.

"I'm alright," she muttered straightening up in Rhaegon's hold. Her back met his chest, and as usual comfort and unease warred in her head. Thankfully, before either feeling could take over, Rhaegon stepped back slightly. As if he knew what she was thinking. "I'm alright," she repeated, still tasting the vomit in her mouth. "What is wrong with your father?"

Rhaegon's brows scrunched together, raking his eyes over her form and searching for any cause of her sudden bout of sickness. "He was complaining about some pain earlier, but he said he was fine." His eyes narrowed as they watched his father. "I am not so sure he is."

With each languid step that Baelon took, that reality became far more apparent.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

It had happened so fast that Rhaegon barely registered it. The horse his father had been seated upon neighed loudly, the saddle suddenly empty. A cloud of dust flew into the air, accompanied by a loud thud. Cries rang around him as everyone watched the heir to the throne writhe on the floor. The guards that had been posted at the gate – the one they had ridden through mere moments ago, Viserys and Rhaegon laughing at something he couldn't remember at that moment – rushed forward to help the prince. 

King Jaehaerys all but launched himself off of his horse as he ran to his son. The doors of the carriage burst open, and two silver-haired maidens climbed out with shocked faces. Aemma gripped Aella's arm at the sight that awaited them, and Rhaegon's wife covered her mouth as if she would vomit once more as she did a few hours ago. Viserys and Daemon had already dismounted, following after the King.

Around him was only chaos, but Rhaegon could not move a single muscle. Something tightened in his throat, and his eyes burned. His chest felt constricted as if he was wearing one of the tight corsets some noblewomen wore. Suddenly there was a warm hand on his thigh and his attention was jerked down. Aella stood there, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Her lips were moving, but he could not hear what she was saying. In the pit of his stomach, something slithered like a venomous serpent. He knew what this meant. He knew what would happen to his father now. There was a feeling deep in his bones and he could not shake it. A feeling so akin to what he felt when Daella had been born wheezing and frail, when his grandmother lay dying in her bed.

"Come down." The sound crashed into his ears all of a sudden, everything around him too loud. Aella was tugging at his arm gently, as he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to cringe and cover his ears like a small child as the shouts, the thudding footsteps, and the distant crying of a dragon feeling its rider's pain filled his ears like a tidal wave. With a small nod, he braced himself and swung his leg over the side of the saddle. He sat there for a moment, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself. When his feet hit the ground, it took all of his strength to not collapse. 

Aella pulled at his arm again, this time in the direction where his father lay, waiting for the physicians to arrive, or for someone to lift him and carry him into the Keep, Rhaegon didn't know. Rhaegon's knees met the ground painfully and he immediately grasped his father's hand.

"What is wrong?" he asked, ignoring the wetness of his cheeks. "Please, tell me!" He did not receive any answer other than a pained groan. Someone squeezed his shoulder tightly – Daemon or his grandfather, he was not sure.

"Rhaegon," his grandfather spoke roughly, his voice gravely as if he had not drunk a drop of water in days. "Rhaegon, we must lift him. We must get him inside." Distantly, Rhaegon registered himself nodding, but he was not entirely sure what he was doing at all anyway. He only felt the weight of his father in his arms as he and his brothers lifted him, aided by the many guards and servants now surrounding them.

The only thing he was aware of in the next few hours was the feeling of dread. As his father lay in a bed of clean sheets, as the sweat on his forehead began to be accompanied by fever, as the bucket beside his bed was filled with more and more vomit. There only was... the knowledge his father would soon be dead.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Uncle Baelon's chambers reeked of incense, sweat and vomit when Aella entered it on the third day of his illness. The final day, if the maester was correct in his assumptions. If there had been any doubt about it the day prior, it was entirely gone now. Baelon's face was pale and his eyes were sunken in. Breaths came from his mouth in wheezes and entered his lungs so shakily it was a wonder he managed to inhale at all.

The weight in her arms and the small head beneath her chin reminded her of Aemon's presence in her arms and the reason she had brought him in the first place. To say goodbye, as cruel as it was. Baelon was the only grandfather he ever knew, and in a few years, he would only be a blurry image at the back of Aemon's head. He was far too young to remember him properly, just as Aella had been too young to properly remember her father. Just as the late Prince Aemon's face was a disfigured mess in her mind, muddled by years of not seeing him anymore, Prince Baelon's would fade in her son's memory as well.

When everyone in the room realised she had arrived, they easily made room for her to make it to the bed. The servants, the maesters and physicians, Aemma, Viserys, Daemon, and her grandfather were all there in the room. And Rhaegon, her kind husband who had not left his father's side the entire time, knelt in his place beside the bed.  There were tear marks on his cheeks, and his eyes were red and empty of anything other than sorrow, yet he still managed to smile at his son. Aemon drew himself closer to Aella's body as everyone stared at them.

"Aemon, my grandson," Baelon wheezed as the mattress dipped beneath Aella's weight. She sat just at the edge, afraid of making her uncle's passing even more painful. Aemon smiled slightly, as any child would at the sight of their loving grandfather. Even at three years of age, he knew something was wrong. "Little namesake of my dear brother." Another painful wheeze, and then Baelon was looking at her. "I slew a thousand of them, but it will not bring him back," he said, a single tear running down the side of his face. It took a few moments for Aella to realise what he was talking about. Her jaw clenched at the mention of the pirates that had put an end to her father's life. "You look just like him, Aella. You have his nose and the shape of his eyes, though the colouring of them is only Jocelyn. Your hair, your jaw, your chin... sometimes when I look at you, I wonder if I am seeing him."

Aella smiled almost grimly. "That warms my heart, uncle." Baelon released a heavy breath and his head fell sideways towards his youngest son. Rhaegon pursed his lips and reached for his father's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"And you, Rhaegon. You are just like your mother, though you may try to hide it.  You have a warrior's heart and her spirit." Rhaegon shook his head and tears began to once more fall down his face.

"I am nothing like the woman in your stories."

Baelon sighed. "You are, you only pretend not to be. I know you blame yourself, my son, for what happened to her." Rhaegon grimaced and looked away from his father, turned his head away from his brother who stood at the foot of the bed. "You try so hard to prove to everyone that you are worthy, but you do not need to. You are my son, you are Alyssa's son, that alone makes you worthy." Rhaegon let out a shaky breath, but by then Baelon was looking at Aemon again. "It is my curse, it seems, that I will never see you grow. I regret that I won't be there-"

Ragged breaths became even harsher all of a sudden, a moan of pain breaking the air. Aemon's tiny hands scrambled to find a hold around Aella's neck as she quickly stood from the bed. The maester rushed forward. Hands grabbed at Aella, pulling her further away from the bed and towards the door to the room. 

"Get him out of here," Daemon's voice came from behind her, surprisingly weak and cracking. His hands tightened their hold on her. "Your son should not be seeing this." And he was right, he should not be seeing this. Aella knew the fear of seeing death at such a young age. Knew that he had already seen it when he had stumbled upon his aunt's body in the Blackwater. Her son already had nightmares, just as she had them when she had seen her Aunt Viserra's pale and dead face. 

When she walked out of the room and the door closed behind her, the resounding thud of it had a taint of finality to it that rang almost as painfully as seeing the death of her uncle herself. It took only an hour of pacing in her chambers, Aemon asleep in her large bed, before she knew that it was done. Rhaegon walked in, his face blank and empty. When his eyes met hers, she knew. Baelon the Brave, the heir to King Jaehaerys, had died of a burst belly.

Author's Note

This chapter is a lot longer than I thought it was going to be, but I don't mind. Baelon's death is a big turning point in Targaryen history, kicking off the Great Council of 101 and Viserys being named heir. The Great council will take place in the next chapter and then we only have three more chapters before we get to Act 2 which will take place from the first episode of season one one to the fifth episode!

Also this chapter may have a lot of grammar mistakes because I wrote and edited it at like 3 am.