Your heart will break
and trust that you will survive

– Bridgett Devoue

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Rhaegon received a summon from his brother mere hours after the death of his youngest daughter. He was exhausted, empty, and yet somehow alive with treacherous emotion. He wished nothing more than to sleep through the day and hope that when he woke up, he would find that everything that had happened was merely a nightmare.

But not even a few days were gifted to him to grieve and so he left his wife and children with a heavy heart. He felt like a ghost walking down the halls. He barely noticed it when members of the court bowed to him and offered their condolences. He only knew that he nodded his thanks and continued towards the council room where Viserys was waiting for him.

When he arrived, every member of the council except for the King stood to greet him. Only Daemon was missing in attendance. It was something Rhaegon had expected, but he had hoped that he would have been there. He sat down in the chair beside Otto as he usually did, feeling heavier than a ship's anchor. The room sat in silence for a long while. No one knew how to start. Rhaegon would have laughed had he not felt like a knife was twisting in his belly. They had called him here. The least they could do was get it over with quickly.

"You called for me, your Grace?" he half sneered, not pulling his eyes from the table. Viserys did not deserve his full attention. Not now, anyway. He knew what it was like to lose a child. He had experienced it many times. Little Baelon had died not even two days prior alongside Aemma. He could not escape his duty as the King, but Rhaegon had no official role in the council. What was the point in calling him here? It wasn't like anyone ever listen to his suggestions anyway.

Someone shifted in discomfort on the other side of the table. Probably Lord Beesbury, the old man always wore his emotions on his sleeve. Someone else cleared their throat and Rhaegon thought they were finally going to speak, but in the end, the room fell silent once more. Maybe he should just stand up and leave. Aella needed him far more urgently than the council did. He had at least left her with Rhaenys. She was in good hands, but how long could Rhaenys handle Aella's melancholy, Aemon's grimness, and Visenys' sorrowful confusion? Rhaegon was used to dealing with his wife and children's emotions in times of mourning, but even now it felt a bit too much for him.

It had been a long time since one of his children died. The miscarried babe had been the last one to do so before the current tragedy. That was almost twelve years of joy and happiness. His son was older now and Visenys had come to the age where she began to understand death but still did not quite accept it. It was difficult to comfort them when he himself was crumbling. And the years had dulled Aella's memory of the immediate loss. Now it hit her like a tidal wave and forced her to the lowest point where someone could be.

No, Rhaenys was not quite prepared to deal with that. Not when she had never experienced it. Not when her children were healthy and nearing twenty. She would try, but in the end, she would realise there was only so much that she could do.

There was only so much that Rhaegon could do. He would never be able to take the pain and the sorrow away. He would never be able to seal the gaping ravine such a loss tore in someone. He could only pray that he helped the slightest bit.

"We have come to discuss the matter of the King's succession, my Prince." Otto eventually broke the silence. Rhaegon's chest tightened. This was why they needed him here? The succession was a foregone conclusion. By tradition and by law. Rhaegon did not need to be here. They did not need him to be here.

"Daemon is the heir. That is the precedent that the Great Council set, is it not?" he asked, finally lifting his gaze from the table. The other members looked at each other almost sheepishly. Rhaegon raised a brow, looking further down the line of men until he reached Corlys. He was the only one looking directly at Rhaegon, his face set in a serious expression.

Rhaegon tilted his head in question.

"The Hand has suggested that you be named heir instead," Corlys stated, expression remaining unmoving. "And that your son inherits after you." The room fell into an even bigger silence than before. Rhaegon blinked once, twice, then inhaled sharply and whipped his head around to look between Otto and Viserys.

"What?" he breathed in disbelief. He could see by their faces that they were utterly serious. A hysterical laugh bubbled deep in Rhaegon's throat, but he managed to stifle it enough for it to only come out as a broken whine-like sound of surprise.

He had wanted his brother to notice him for so long. Had wanted acceptance and recognition or even the slightest nod of agreement. For years he had craved it like an addict. And now that he was being handed it on a silver platter, being told that he was a good choice, a better choice, he realised he did not want it. Did not want the burden and the pain and the responsibility. The same things he had worked so hard for his entire life. Hours spent studying and understanding and learning from his father and grandfather suddenly turned to nothing within him.

He did not want it. The need to be important, to help, and to rule had stemmed so thoroughly from his guilt – first from the death of his mother, then his marriage to Aella – that he had never truly thought about what he wanted. And what did he want? A home, a warm embrace he could come back to, the sound of children laughing. Peace and quiet life.

Years had been spent serving the realm. First under his grandfather and now his brother. And not a single one of those years, not a month or a week or a day, had been appreciated. Had not been rewarded.

And now they were handing the crown to him, telling him that he should rule if Viserys died. The same old familiar guilt in him began clawing at his mind. It screamed at him to accept, to just nod and agree to his brother's whim. But he knew that he could not do that. If not for himself, then for his son. He did not want Aemon to suffer as all those who had ever been tied to the throne did.

His son would not become another Rhaenys, another Rhaena, another Aegon the Uncrowned, or another Baelon. He would not meet the same fate his grandfather did, with a crossbow bolt in his throat, bleeding on an island that was unknown and far from home. He would not be tortured until he died like the son of Aenys had been when Maegor the Cruel took the crown. He would not be forced into exile like Saera, or die in the streets like Viserra.

"No," Rhaegon declared with such surety that everyone could only stop and stare at him for a few seconds. Lord Strong's mouth fell open as if to protest, but no words came out. Otto seemed to be in a similar state, though he recovered much quicker.

"My Prince," Otto said, his tone the same as whenever he tried to manipulate someone into doing something. He used it far too often in council meetings. It was always aimed at the King. "Prince Daemon is not fit to rule the realm should his Grace, Gods forbid, pass. You are a much better candidate for the position. I understand that you are grieving for the loss of your child, but you must see the importance of this decision?"

Rhaegon barely suppressed a scoff. He was most certainly grieving, but that was not the reason he was denying the position. In reality, it gave him that much more clarity on the matter.

"I understand perfectly, but I will not be your replacement for my brother. Nor will my son," he said with a shake of his head. He turned to look at Viserys this time. "I will not be shackled to you and your throne for the rest of my life. Me and Aella are taking the children to Dragonstone as soon as she is able and we are staying there. You need not trouble yourself with me anymore." The words might've been a little too personal to say at a council meeting, but everyone there was already aware of the discourse between the two brothers anyway. Everyone knew that King Viserys would prefer to ignore his brother if it meant he get the credit for everything instead. It was a petty and boyish competition between them, but it was there. And it would not go away any time soon.

"Rhaegon, I was not aware you wanted to leave," Viserys admitted. He sounded a little saddened at the prospect and he frowned, leaning back in his chair as if defeated. "You should have told me if you were unhappy."

"Would you have cared?"

Viserys looked taken aback. "Of course, I would care! You are my brother. My blood!" He shook his head, silencing any more words he might've said. Rhaegon felt his throat tighten. Where was that love when Rhaegon felt like an outsider in his own home? Was his brother truly that blind to the suffering of his family? With a sigh, Viserys added, "Who would you have me name as heir then? Rhaenys? Laenor? They are not candidates I can consider, as you well know."

What a tale it would be for Rhaenys to be named heir after all that time. A song that would be sung throughout the ages, no doubt. But she would never be named heir, even if Rhaegon showed his support for it now. It would undermine everything Viserys had ever done, everything he was. And so he would never do it. Viserys at least had the decency to look ashamed as he looked across the table at Lord Corlys, whose face had been pulled into a tight displeased frown at the mention of his wife and son.

"Keep Daemon as your heir. You will not die any time soon. You are still young, and he might mature." Rhaegon knew that Daemon would probably never get to the point where he was fit to rule, but perhaps he could get better. And then a thought crawled its way into his mind. He tilted his head in thought. "Though, there is another who would have a claim."

Viserys blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"Your firstborn child, brother," Rhaegon spoke the idea into life. A short murmur of uproar rose across the table. Rhaegon ignored them. "Rhaenyra is your child and given the right guidance would no doubt make a wonderful queen! Viserys, you have the power in your hands to right the wrongs of our house, at least a bit." He thought of Princess Rhaena and her daughters, of Rhaenys and Laena and even Aella. "If you are so concerned about Daemon's character, name your daughter as your heir."

"If our concern is the stability of the realm then perhaps we should not destabilise it further by breaking a hundred years' worth of tradition by naming a girl heir!" Lord Strong argued, brows furrowed together tightly. Rhaegon could not blame him for arguing against this. After all, a woman had never sat on the Iron Throne before. But there had been female rulers in Westeros before. There were women who lead their houses in Westeros at that very moment. Rhea Royce, Daemon's wife, was one of them.

"The lord would learn to accept Rhaenyra in time." Rhaegon pressed further. "She may be arrogant and hot-headed now, but many children her age are! She needs the right guidance and the right alliances. When she gets them, she will be able to take the throne." He stared directly into Viserys' eyes. "I am not saying it will be easy, but it is the best thing you can do. You will not have an heir in me or my son. Either of my sons."

"My Prince, the council has already thoroughly discussed naming you heir and all here have agreed–"

"You have all thoroughly discussed this without my presence here. I was with my wife if you do not recall when you all sat here deciding my fate." Rhaegon shook his head. "I have made my decision. I will not be the heir. It is not something I want."

"This is not a matter of want, my Prince," Otto grumbled, the first signs of irritation breaking through his facade. "It is about your duty to the realm." Rhaegon's jaw tightened and he ground his teeth together. Duty, as if he had not fulfilled every order and every whim tossed at him. As if he had not done every single thing that had ever been asked of him. He had stepped into the role prepared for him without complaint all his life. Was he not allowed any reprieve at all? Not even in this?

"I have done my duty more than anyone else in this room, Lord Hand," Rhaegon barked, surprised by the sudden force of anger that drove him to say his thoughts out loud. "Has the council ever heard a complaint from me when I was ordered to do something? Have I ever done anything to undermine my brother, the King?"

"If you will not agree to become heir, then we must find someone else," Lord Strong began, "It is simply not possible for Rhaenyra to become the heir. It has never happened and the lords will not accept this!"

"They will learn to accept this." Rhaegon narrowed his eyes at Lord Strong. "Rhaenyra will have full backing from me and my family. Show me a man who would readily face down Morghul or Karnax and I will show you a man who has gone mad." He knew that using his dragon as a threat was not the most ideal thing. But he also knew that fear worked in most cases. If it was not pushed too far that is. His reputation throughout the Seven Kingdoms was not one of a cruel madman, however. His support for Rhaenyra could do unimaginable good for her cause if he played it right. Morghul's existence would simply be insurance.

"The King can remarry and have a son," Lord Strong continued to argue. The words left a bitter taste in Rhaegon's mouth. He knew that Viserys would not be happy about it either. Aemma had been buried just the day before. And already they were speaking of another wife? Another queen?

"Any children that would be brought forward would not be able to inherit. Or have you forgotten about the Widow's Law?" he reminded Lord Strong. "The children of the first wife would always inherit, as long as they maintain the widows of their fathers."

"That only applies to sons!"

"It applies to daughters as well. There is no mention of such a law only applying to male offspring. It simply states that a man is prohibited from disinheriting the children of his first wife to give their lands to the children of the second wife. If my brother were to remarry and have more children and name one of those children the heir over Rhaenyra, he would be breaking the very law my grandmother had worked so hard to implement." Rhaegon had spent hours pouring over laws and the histories of the world to get a better understanding of how things worked. He had hoped that Lord Strong, as Master of laws, would have done the same.

"There are others who have a claim to the throne," Corlys spoke up from his end of the table. "My wife is the eldest child of King Jaehaerys' oldest son and she already has a male heir."

"Just hours ago you professed your support for Prince Rhaegon! Now you would try to assert yourself as a claimant as well?" Lord Strong scoffed.

A loud bang sounded through the room. Rhaegon's head whipped towards Viserys, who was glaring at every member of the council with so much anger that it should have been able to scorch them all alive. Rhaegon's surety faltered.

"My wife and son are dead!" Viserys roared. "I will not sit here and suffer vultures and crows that have come to feast on their corpses." And then he rapidly stood up, chair scraping roughly against the stone floor. The rest of the council stood as well, not a single man meeting his eye. Except for Rhaegon that is. He knew that Viserys suffered. He knew that he felt empty and lost. No matter how much turmoil there might've been between them, he hoped that his gaze carried the comfort he wished he could offer him. Viserys gave something akin to a nod, but it was so small that Rhaegon could not have been sure. And then he was leaving the room. The door shut behind him.

"If you excuse me, my lords. I have somewhere to be," Rhaegon excused himself and then followed after his brother.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The first time Aemon got to be properly alone was that evening. Hours had been spent trying to comfort his sister, trying to explain to her that the babe died because that was how things were. That sometimes a baby did not survive its birth. It was difficult for her to understand, especially since the second babe had lived. He had survived and was now peacefully sleeping in his cot.

That was something Visenys could not – or simply would not – understand. How could one babe live while the other didn't? What kind of power decided which sibling would survive? Why had both of them not lived? Aemon had no answers to her questions. He had no answers because there were none. It was just how things were. How they had always been and how they would continue to be.

His mother had lost three children. His younger sister Daella in the cot, the babe she had miscarried and now she had given birth to a stillborn daughter named after his aunt. He had been too young to remember Daella, but the day his mother miscarried was stamped into his mind vividly. It was seared like a brand at the back of his mind. How he had watched his mother crumble on the floor, how she had sobbed in his uncle's arms. He still felt how his feet had hurt and his lungs had ached when he ran across the entire keep to find his father.

He had not received any answers either. How was he meant to give Visenys any when he was just as lost and confused as her in a matter such as this?

Reprieve came when she finally fell asleep, curled up on the settee in her chambers. He had covered her with the furs from her bed and told her maids to not move her, lest she wake and come find him again. There was no resentment towards Visenys and her constant questions, but Aemon just needed to breathe.

The halls were surprisingly empty that evening. He had expected the court to be in a whirlwind now that the Queen and her son were dead. But nothing of the sort was happening. There were only a few maids here and there and the lone noble stalking the halls like he was. It was not until he reached the grand staircase leading out of the royal apartments that he found anyone of note.

Alicent was making he way up them, her fist clenched tightly at her side. Her face was pale and her breathing was monitored. Too slow, too even. He frowned at the sight. He had never seen her quite like this. Sure, she was often nervous and unsure of herself. But at that moment she looked like a ghost.

Her appearance was completely unusual as well. Alicent usually wore lighter colours of pale blue or pink. Now she wore a much darker dress with long draping sleeves. It was a very deep blue with golden threads and pearls woven into the bodice. Her hair was pulled into a style that older ladies wore, not girl's the age of fifteen.

"Alicent," he called from the top of the staircase. It was the first time she noticed him. She froze mid-step, almost losing her balance as her foot slipped on the edge of a stair. Aemon shot forward, clutching her arm just in time so she would not fall entirely. Alicent released a deep huff of relief when she realised she wasn't going to crash onto the staircase. "Are you alright?"

Alicent nodded. "Yes, thank you, my Prince," she gasped, quickly straitening herself and freeing her arm from his grasp. Her shoulders seemed even more tense than they had been before. "I am fortunate you were here to help me."

"I did not ask because you slipped," Aemon admitted, letting his eyes rake down her body in a quick sweep. Suddenly, he remembered the gown Alicent wore. He had seen it a few times on her mother when she was still alive. Lady Hightower had been his mother's lady-in-waiting for almost a decade. He had grown familiar enough with her throughout that time. 

Alicent's mouth gaped open slightly and she could not meet his eye. Now he was definitely sure something was wrong. No matter how nervous Alicent got sometimes, she had never been rendered completely speechless.

"That is your mother's gown, is it not?" he asked, softer this time. It was not uncommon for gowns to be passed down from sister to sister – or in this case mother to daughter – if the gown was newer and still in fashion. But the late Lady Hightower had worn a style that Alicent had never favoured. It was much more fitting around the chest and the skirts were much more voluminous and rich, made to catch the attention of everyone around.

The only thing that Alicent was missing was the large and gaudy emerald necklace and pearl earrings that Lady Hightower always wore and she would look exactly like her mother. It was a bit eerie, Aemon had to admit. He had never noticed the likeliness before.

"I am well, my Prince," Alicent assured him, but she did not sound so convinced herself. She still did not meet his eye and her head was bowed a bit. Her fingers tore at the skin around her nails. it was only a matter of time before she began to bleed or chew her nails.

"Aemon," he reminded her. He hated when she used his title. She was his friend and there was no one around to berate her for the informality. She might've been closer with Rhaenyra, but he liked to think they were friends for enough years that the usage of titles was not needed between them. "And I can tell you are not." 

Alicent did not say anything, only pursed her lips. Guilt coiled tightly in Aemon's stomach. Maybe she did not wish to speak of it. And he was pressing her to confide in him. He shouldn't have done that, he realised. But at the same time, was it so wrong to ask a friend if they were alright? Alicent wasn't, and she would have never asked for help on her own.

"I am sorry," he apologised regardless. "I did not wish to pressure you." Alicent shook her head as her eyes widened. She was surprised he was even apologizing. The idea that she thought no one would ever respect her boundaries made him angrier than he thought it would.

"You do not need to apologize," she said with another shake of her head. "It is just that– I should not be telling you." That piqued Aemon's interest and he raised a brow at her curiously. Alicent swallowed thickly and looked to the side again before she closed her eyes and let out a breath of defeat. "My father wishes me to go and comfort the King."

The emphasis on the word 'comfort' was telling enough. Rage sparked inside of Aemon and he opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized he did not know what he could say. It surprised him that Alicent would ever admit to something like that. Especially to him. If he ever told anyone else, it would compromise the Hand's position. Aemon wanted nothing more than to run straight to his father and tell him. Get him to berate Otto for what he wanted his daughter to do.

But if he did that, then Alicent's position would be in the same amount of peril. Maybe even more. If it ever got out, people would question her honour and virtue. She would become a pariah in high society and she would never be able to find anyone to take her in. He knew that Alicent desired a family of her own one day. With a husband her age and one who loved her, preferably. But that was clearly not what the Lord Hand was intending for his daughter.

"Alicent," Aemon breathed. He wanted to say he was sorry, but that would not solve anything. He grasped her hand tightly in his. "Promise me that if you are ever forced to do something you do not want you will tell me. Be it by your father or the King." Alicent's bottom lip quivered. "I will do everything in my power to help you. I swear it."

Alicent stared at him in surprise for a few moments before she nodded her head. "I will." Then she bit her lip and pulled away from him, taking another step up towards the royal apartments. "Thank you, Aemon." He nodded his head.

He could only watch as Alicent made her way up the stairs and disappear into the royal apartments.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

It was far too early in the morning when Aella was roused from her fitful sleep. Someone was shaking her shoulders gently and whispering at her, bidding her to wake. Peeling her eyelids open, she rolled over onto her back to see who it was.

Rhaegon stood above her, his face pulled into a tight frown. "I am sorry to wake you," he muttered. He was only dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and brown breeches, hair tousled from sleep. "We must leave for Dragonstone as soon as we can."

Aella's face twisted in a frown and she pushed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the hard ache of her entire body. "Why?" she asked, taking note of the maids and servants rushing around the room and putting all of their belongings into chests. "Rhaegon, is something wrong?" Just yesterday he had told her to get as much rest as she needed. He had his own things to settle in the capital anyway. Merchant's guilds to discuss funding with before they left, and arrangements were made for monthly donations to other establishments in the city too. And he had tried to convince Viserys to name Rhaenyra as heir, and that surely was not finished yet.

The only reason who would need to rush now was if something had gone terribly wrong. She was sitting up fully now, prepared to launch into action despite the pain she was still in. Her legs were still slightly numb and stiff, but she would manage somehow. 

"Daemon has truly gone and fucked up this time," he told her. What did Daemon have to do with anything? "If we do not leave now, I fear that Viserys will force us to stay here." Surely Viserys wouldn't! He was not so cruel as to keep them locked up in the Keep if they did not wish to be there. He was cruel enough to cut his wife open, she thought. He was much closer to Aemma than he had ever been to her. 

"What has Daemon done?" she questioned, clutching the bedding beneath her tightly in her fists. A thousand different scenarios ran through her head. Was he hurt? Was he dead? What had happened that Rhaegon feared Viserys' wrath so badly?

Rhaegon pursed his lips. "Apparently he threw a celebration in one of the brothels in the Street of Silk. And he called Baelon the heir for a day." The blood froze in Aella's veins. It was just a comment, no doubt said off-handedly as Daemon often did. But it was so cruel. Surely, even Daemon could not be capable of saying something like that?

The man she loved had been gentle with her and kind. Despite his usual roughness, he had never turned his anger on her. So why had he so readily done it to his deceased nephew? Why was it so easy for him to besmirch Aemma's memory?

"You should have seen Viserys," Rhaegon breathed, almost disbelieving. "He was so angry. I have never seen him that angry, Aella." He shook his head subconsciously. "He disinherited Daemon. He's going to name Rhaenyra his heir instead." Aella blinked at him. She hadn't expected Viserys to agree to that so quickly. But she supposed that the kind of rage that Viserys must've felt had pushed him to it easily.

She was angry. It was a dull kind of anger, one that would undoubtedly explode the minute she was in Daemon's presence. She just could not find it in herself to be that angry now. Exhaustion still weighed on her like a boulder tied to her back. She was so torn up inside that she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, just so she could be oblivious to the feeling for a bit.

"Then surely you must remain here to swear your fealty to her!" Aella exclaimed. Rhaenyra was about to be put into a much harsher position than Rhaenys ever was. She was officially being named heir. She wasn't just a candidate.

"I will return on dragon-back when the day comes. It will take at least two months for all the lords to arrive. I wish to get you and the children settled in on Dragonstone before then." Rhaegon pushed himself off of the bed. "I have already arranged a ship for you. I will follow quickly with the dragons. 

Aella nodded. She trusted Rhaegon in this. They had spoken thoroughly about leaving many times. She was glad they were finally doing it.

When the maids helped her stand from the bed and dressed her, she could only think of poor sweet Rhaenyra, torn away from her mother and thrust into a position of power all too suddenly. When she climbed onto the boat and breathed in the salty taste of the sea air, she felt the chains of her captivity slowly breaking free from her. When they were truly at sea and the dragons flew above them, she felt the tiniest bit of joy.

Once on Dragonstone, she felt the memories that lived in every corner. This was where she had lived with her father and mother as a girl. It was where she had grown up, where she had claimed Karnax and where she had been the most happy. And now she was back and her children would get to experience it.

The first month of living there was the hardest. It was strange to be back, of course, but Aella enjoyed it thoroughly. The children found it much more difficult to get used to. Aemon no longer had Rhaenyra, Alicent or Brynden to spend time with. Visenys liked the new environment, but sometimes she felt even more lonely than Aemon.

At least she had Daemon to spend time with. As he no longer was allowed in the capital and had nothing better to do, he spent his days lazing around the castle like the rest of them. His favourite activity was showing Visenys every small secret of their ancestral home. He took her down deep into the Dragonmont where her Veraxes had made his den. He helped her train the dragon and taught her High Valyrian better than any tutor had before.

It was difficult to see them together sometimes, but Aella was still glad that Daemon finally had the opportunity to be there for Visenys. Despite her own anger towards Daemon – she had slapped him square in the face when he had landed on Dragonstone three days after they had arrived – she would never keep his daughter from him as punishment.

When the second month came to pass, Rhaegon mounted Morghul and took off towards King's Landing. It was time for Rhaenyra to be named heir. The shadow of his dragon was a giant black mark on the land below. It took hours for Morghul's silhouette to disappear behind the horizon.

Rhaegon returned two days later. Rhaenyra was officially the heir. Aemon was upset that he could not be there for her. Aella was glad everything had gone off without a hitch. Rhaegon told her of everything that had happened. And she listed, curled up in her furs prepared for sleep. She wanted to know everything. She wanted Rhaenyra to be successful in this. She would do better where Rhaenys had failed.

At least, Aella hoped she would.

Author's Note

This chapter is unedited so please excuse any mistakes!