And suddenly,
sadness turned
to anger

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

It took two days for the consequences of Daemon's theft to reach Dragonstone. Otto Hightower disembarked on the shores early that morning with the sun bright upon the horizon. Several Kingsguard knights accompanied him. Along came a retinue of other guards and knights.

Daemon didn't hesitate to meet him on the stone pathway leading up to the castle, his gold cloaks behind him. His mistress decided to accompany him as well. The loose white fabric of her gown billowed in the wind. The two parties approached each other in silence, but Rhaegon could see the anger and contempt on Daemon and Otto's faces. He half wished he'd stayed back in the castle and enjoyed his morning instead of getting involved, but his sense of duty required him to attend.

The years of enmity between Daemon and King's Hand would likely come to a head. The collision would be chaotic and dangerous. Rhaegon wanted to do everything in his power to stop such a thing from happening. Or, at the very least, soften the blow. His family was present, and he didn't want them to witness the bloodbath that could occur.

The sun's glare made him squint as he trudged the walkway behind Daemon. Despite the clear sky, the air contained a chill. He was happy he'd decided to wear a leather vest instead of the usual silk doublet. He could hear the crashing of waves against rock somewhere below him. On the other side of the walkway, Otto Hightower approached them. The green velvet of his doublet shined in the sun, and Rhaegon took note of the plackart that protected his abdomen. Chainmail hung from his arms, and his cloak billowed in the wind, revealing the sheathed sword at his waist. A helmet rested in his hand.

It was clear he was expecting a fight.

The two parties stopped a few feet away from each other. A moment of silence passed between them. Rhaegon stood a little behind Daemon but still in front of the gold cloaks. The bronze-coloured egg was clutched in Daemon's hand, a taunt meant to rile Otto up. Rhaegon would've protested against bringing the egg out had he thought Daemon might listen to him.

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto," Daemon greeted the man before him, purposefully neglecting his official title. Rhaegon was glad when Otto ignored the slight and focused on what he'd come here to do.

"Your occupation of this island is at an end," he proclaimed loudly so everyone would hear. "You're to relinquish the dragon egg, disband your army, banish your whore and leave Dragonstone by order of his Grace, King Viserys-"

"Where is the King?" Daemon asked. When he continued, he sounded a little disappointed. "I don't see him." That's because Viserys does not wish to come here, Rhaegon thought grimly. When had Viserys ever solved his problems? A better question might've been, when did Viserys ever care to heal the wounds caused by him? Rhaegon had never gotten a moment of comfort from his elder brother. All relief and help stopped the day his father died, and his corpse was enveloped in dragon flame.

Since then, Rhaegon had been fighting his own battles, and even if Aella tried to console him, it worked little. She couldn't save him from the constant wars in his head, especially not when she was the cause of some of them. He'd long tried to bury Visenys' true parentage – still unknown to him, yet he knew she wasn't his – to forget it the best he could. It constantly resurfaced, though. Just like the wounds Viserys caused.

"His Grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer's farce," Otto answered, mockingly raising his brows. A mummer's farce. As if every slight that Daemon ever committed wasn't simply a cry for help. A brother who felt neglected. While Rhaegon closed himself off, Daemon fought like a caged beast. It was a wonder that Viserys had never understood the difference between his two brothers. Or the pain they both shared.

Only a moment passed before Daemon turned his attention away from Otto and onto a knight dressed in the armour of the Kingsguard. Rhaegon did not recognise him, but he'd heard that a new knight had recently been appointed. He couldn't see much of his face, but tuffs of ebony hair poked out beneath his helmet.

"Ser Crispin wasn't it?" Rhaegon almost rolled his eyes.

"Ser Criston Cole, my Prince," the knight answered without flinching, taking the ridicule in stride. He'd ridden in the Heir's Tourney six months prior if Rhaegon recalled correctly. He distantly recalled him asking for Rhaenyra's favour.

"Ah yes, apologies, I couldn't recall."

"Perhaps my Prince recalls when I knocked him off his horse." Rhaegon released a sharp exhale, barely masking his laugh. Daemon threw him an annoyed look over his shoulders but laughed as he turned back towards Ser Criston.

"Very good."

Otto quickly grew tired of the exchange. "This is a truly pathetic show, Daemon." His eyes snapped to Rhaegon. "And you, Prince Rhaegon. You would stand against your King in support of this?" With a raise of his brow, Rhaegon took one step forward. He would not be accused of treason or whatever Otto might've been implying. He'd received Viserys' leave to live on Dragonstone with his family, and Rhaenyra had been happy enough to allow it – until she'd learned Aemon would be joining them, though she didn't try to stop it then either. He'd not broken any laws or rules set out by Viserys, and neither did he have an army of his own men to hoist Daemon from the palace.

"What do you expect of me, Lord Hand?" he asked rhetorically. "My brother did not give me command of any garrison, all the men you see here and the rest that are inside the castle walls belong to Daemon, and they follow his orders. Would you have me raise my sword against my brother? Or perhaps I should set Morghul upon the fortress and watch its stones melt like those of Harrenhal?"

The deep distant roar of Morghul sounded from the far side of the island as his anger spiked. His lips quirked up into a slight smirk. Some of Otto's men looked around worriedly, expecting Morghul to leap out from behind the rocky hilltops surrounding them, carried by the heavy black membranes of his enormous wings. Though Morghul did not come, the reminder was threat enough.

"I will not have you spill blood here this day. Either settle this petty argument between yourselves like honourable men, or you will leave empty-handed." Rhaegon's eyes met Otto's, and he shrugged casually. "The choice is yours."

"Is your brother truly so desperate for the King's attention that he's resorted to skulling about like a common cutpurse?" Yes, Rhaegon said, the word barely stopped by the barrier of his teeth. Daemon had wanted Viserys' attention since he was crowned King, and his priorities became something else. Rhaegon had craved it all his life but was always too afraid to ask for it. No, not afraid. He didn't think he deserved it. He brought about the death of their mother. Nothing he'd done or would ever do could possibly heal the pain he'd wrought.

Dreams of being Viserys' Hand were sullied with the mere idea of Alyssa Targaryen still being alive had it not been for him. When Rhaegon arrived at Dragonstone six months prior and visited his mother's urn, he found that there was no love to be found there. For what love had he known other than the bitter kiss of her shadow and memory? She'd brought him upon her dragon when he was a newborn if his father's stories were to be believed. And that was the only memory of her he had that was undeniably his. Not something Viserys or Daemon or his father had lived through with her. His, and no one else's. And he did not even remember it.

He knew nothing of who she was. Save for the same old stories repeated a hundred times by his father, who would so often look at his wedding ring. He'd never taken it off, not even on his deathbed. Alyssa Targaryen was a mirage for him. A portrait hung from the walls of the Red Keep. Nothing more. And that made him sick. It was like oil coating his skin.

No, he could never be Viserys' hand. He was too dirtied by sin and death.

"I'm simply keeping up with the traditions of my house," Daemon argued, tilting his head back in his usual arrogant manner. "The same as my brother did for his heir."

"Those traditions are for the true-born children of royalty! Not for bastards fathered on a common whore!" Mysaria did an impeccable job of ignoring all the insults with a straight face. Rhaegon allowed himself to be angry in her stead and scowled in Otto's direction.

"Lady Mysaria is to be my wife."

"This is an abomination! With every breath you soil your name, your house and your brother's reign." Otto's voice was getting louder by the second, and Rhaegon found that his hand had subconsciously drifted down to the pommel of his sword.

"Our love does not know titles and traditions." Rhaegon knew full well that Daemon did not love Mysaria. He cared for her somewhat and offered her his protection, but there was little more between them other than that. Otto stood silently for a moment but then looked beyond Daemon at the gold cloaks behind him.

"And what of you, men of the City Watch?" he called out to them. "Aiding the Prince in his treason!"

"The King made me their commander. They are loyal to me." Daemon reminded Otto. It did little to absolve him of the crimes he'd committed, but it was a good enough reason for the gold cloaks if they ever needed one. Rhaegon doubted it would save them if Viserys decided to get rid of them for this, but his brother had never been one for confrontation. He'd let Daemon live on the island for six months before doing anything about it, and he hadn't even come to deal with it himself. Daemon reached out his arm with the egg dangerously balanced in the palm of his hand. "You've come for the egg." He jerked his head to the side. "Here it is."

Otto stood there gaping. "Are you mad?" he asked, not tearing his eyes away from the egg. "You'd never survive this." Rhaegon's grip on his sword tightened. He'd said he didn't want bloodshed, but he couldn't stop them if they did end up clashing. With each second that ticked by, the anxious feeling in him doubled. He tugged on the invisible bond tying him to the creature on the other side of the island.

"Well happily. Neither would you!" Daemon drew the egg back to his chest.

"To choose violence here is to declare war against your king," Otto stated, the warning in his tone clear enough. Daemon didn't seem to care and only raised his chin higher.

"Wonderful."

"Even if it ends with the death of your unborn child, its mother and your brother?" The scraping of swords against their scabbards muffled the end of Otto's sentence as every man unsheathed them. The air was punched out of him as Rhaegon took a step forward, ready to wrestle the blade from whoever decided to attack first.

"Daemon, just give him the egg," he breathed, the anxiety pulsing through his body like the blood in his veins. His brother's face twisted in a short betrayed look, but he didn't look at him. his sword remained pointed in Otto's direction and he was prepared to strike the man down. "Give him the egg. This is pointless!"

A loud thud burst through the air, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the very ground they walked on. A few of them stumbled, heads snapping in the direction of the cliff by Dragonstone. Rhaegon exhaled as a giant mass of rippling black scales crawled over the jagged rocks.

Morghul roared again, tendrils of smoke curling up from his nostrils. He looked giant, even from far away. His bulky chest and enormous spread-out wings cast a shadow over both groups of people. Claws dug into the rocks and crushed them beneath the strength of his talons, sending some of the stones plummeting off the cliff. The dragon bared his teeth – almost the size of Rhaegon's forearm, also he'd checked – and it was the most threatening thing Rhaegon had ever seen.

His chest swelled with pride as every man took a step back.

"Careful, lords," Rhaegon warned, shifting his weight onto one leg. He didn't feel worried anymore. Not when his dragon – a terrifying thing of legends – was perched on the cliff above him, prepared the reign down fire and hell at a single command. "I said you would resolve this peacefully, or you'd leave empty-handed. I was not jesting."

Rhaegon watched as Otto's eyes went to him, then to Morghul, then back to him. He seemed shocked that Morghul was there. Rhaegon couldn't blame him. He'd never been one to boast about riding a dragon, far too immersed in the politics and the laws of the Realm to boast about his mount. But he was still a dragon rider. It was perhaps good that these lords were reminded of that. He startled himself with the realisation that he wouldn't hesitate from burning the entire walkway down if he needed to. Never before had he threatened death by dragon fire. But now he was. And somehow, the power felt thrilling.

"All of you," Otto called to his men, "sheath the fucking steel." As the men followed the order, Daemon continued to point his sword. Something shifted in the mist below the walkway. Morghul roared again, craning his head over the cliff and baring his teeth more viciously than before. Some deep part of Rhaegon knew what was coming even before it happened. His instincts screamed at him to duck or to run. And they proved to be correct when something yellow burst forth from the blanket of mist, screeching loudly as it ascended above their heads.

The breath caught in his lungs as Rhaegon watched the dragon – Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon – circle them from above. The yellow she-dragon dove down, spreading her wings just in time to stop herself from smashing into the ground and landing safely on the walkway a short distance away from Otto's party. Someone was sitting on Syrax's back, and Rhaegon raised a brow as Rhaenyra slid down and began walking towards Otto.

When she passed them, she said something that the wind carried away. And then she was standing in front of Daemon with a determined look on her face.

"My father named me Princess of Dragonstone. That is my castle you're living in, uncle." The High Valyrian rolled off her tongue perfectly. A proud grin made its way onto Rhaegon's face. The Princess of Dragonstone, indeed.

"Not until you come of age," Daemon argued, and Rhaegon rolled his eyes. The castle already belonged to Rhaenyra. She was the Princess of Dragonstone, even if she wasn't of age yet. What did it matter? King Jaehaerys had named his eldest son his heir before Prince Aemon was of age as well. If Prince Baelon had lived, he'd have been the heir without question. The title was not honorary, and everyone knew it.

Rhaenyra and Daemon continued to speak, but Rhaegon found little interest in it anymore. Rhaenyra was holding her own well enough. He could see that in Daemon's face as it twisted with annoyance. Daemon said something, and Rhaenyra clicked her tongue like one would at a petulant child. He almost laughed then but bit his tongue to stop himself.

"You're to have a child?" Rhaenyra asked, the shock in her voice veiled but still present. Daemon froze, almost as if he hadn't expected the question. Almost subconsciously, he turned towards Rhaegon. The look on his face was strange and unreadable. It was Rhaegon's turn to stiffen. He tried to understand what the action meant, what Daemon was thinking. But there was little that he understood at that moment, and he was just left confused.

"One day," Daemon breathed the word like it was painful to him. Rhaegon's mind became even more in disarray. He'd never thought of Daemon as one to have a child. He was too wild and chaotic. Neither had ever confessed a desire to have one. Frankly, Daemon was the type of man to not have children. He enjoyed his freedom. But Rhaegon supposed every man eventually craved a family.

The realisation of what Daemon's words meant came a few moments afterwards. One day. Daemon had told him Mysaria was pregnant. But as the dark-haired beauty pivoted on her heels and disappeared in the bulk of the gold cloaks, hands clenched at her sides, it became apparent that it had been a lie.

Rhaegon tried his best to stifle the burst of irritation that tore through him. Before, he'd at least thought that Daemon had more than one reason for stealing the egg from the Dragonpit. That was far from the truth, it seemed. Daemon did it only to anger Viserys. And he'd lied to Rhaegon's face about it too. Behind him, a deep growl echoed from Morghul's throat.

He was torn from his thoughts when Daemon moved. The egg flew from his hand and Rhaegon's breath hitched as he watched it fly through the air. Rhaenyra caught it without hesitation, a small smile blooming on her face as she looked down at it. Daemon didn't bother to continue their conversation after that. Whatever Rhaenyra had said to him seemed to put a damper on his need to be arrogant.

Rhaegon stayed behind long enough to watch Rhaenyra carefully place the egg in the carrier. He felt a small weight lift off his heart – one he didn't even know was stifling him – when the egg was enveloped back in the safety of heat. He watched briefly as Rhaenyra walked back towards Syrax.

"I hope you have a good journey back to King's Landing, my lords," he addressed Otto's party as the yellow beast beat her wings and rose into the air. A gruff sound snaps from Otto's throat, a low angry hum of acquiescence. Rhaegon has had enough, so he turns his back to the man and lets himself finally relax.

Above him, Syrax doesn't fly towards King's Landing. The Princess and her dragon stir towards the cliffs of Dragonstone instead.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The instant he spotted Syrax flying over the castle and towards the cliffs, Aemon had torn down the hallway in a sprint. By the time he reached the gates leading out, his ankles throbbed, and his lungs burned. He didn't care enough to stop. Not when Rhaenyra was here, and he could see her silver hair flowing in the wind.

He hated how much he missed her and despised the longing feeling that left him tired and irritated. He'd never lived without her for this long before. They'd always been in the Red Keep together. A constant in his life he didn't realise he needed so much. But as he sprinted across the grassy plains towards her and her dragon, he realised how much it ached.

Pain shot through his ankles with each step. The surface of the cliffs was uneven, dipping into pits and rising into hills, switching from soft moss to hard rock. He thanked the Gods for the firm boots he had on. He'd wanted to go to the yard and train before he was so thoroughly distracted by Rhaenyra's appearance.

"Rhae!" he shouted into the wind, hoping the words would carry over to her. She wasn't looking in his direction, but after he yelled, she twisted around. Only a few short meters were separating them now. Aemon couldn't help his ear-splitting grin.

Rhaenyra threw herself into his arms when he was close enough. His arms locked around her waist tightly, and he spun her around, the giddiness and the thrill spurring him on. She reeked terribly of dragon, but beneath the layers of it, he could smell the citrusy smell of her favourite soap.

"It's been too long!" Rhaenyra proclaimed, the words muffled by his shoulder. He heard them all the same. Nodding his head frantically, he set her down on the floor. When they drew away, Rhaenyra stayed close enough to grip his forearm. Faced with her now, he realised he didn't know what to say. What could he say, anyway? Recounting everything that had happened on Dragonstone would only last so long. And he couldn't promise her he'd return to King's Landing soon.

In the end, it mattered little. Rhaenyra was the one to start talking. She spoke of her struggle with her mother's death, with the council and learning to be the heir. Viserys didn't see her as more than his little girl, she said with gritted teeth and annoyance lacing her tone. There was already talk of her father remarrying as well.

Aemon felt that sting for her. Had his mother died birthing Aeron and his twin, he didn't know how he'd feel. He could only imagine the storm of emotions. The constant contradictions and the war inside his head. And if his father was asked to remarry merely half a year after her death, he'd want whoever suggested it put to death for disrespecting his mother's memory that way. But that was not how the lords on the council thought. They cared little for who Aemma was, just that she was dead.

When Rhaenyra finished, they were both sitting on the uncomfortably cold grass. The only warmth provided for them was Syrax's body heat. Aemon couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed at the discomfort, because Rhaenyra was here. And she'd have to leave soon, so why shouldn't he savour every moment?

"Will you not come back to King's Landing?" she eventually asked. His head was rested on her lap, body splayed out on the grass. His eyes drifted up to the sky, then to her perfectly beautiful face. If he could paint it on a canvas and remember it forever, he would. He could stay like this forever, he thought. Head on her thigh, hair between her fingers as she played with it. A perfect view of her.

A shrug was all he could do. "It is not my decision to make. My father took us here because my mother needed to mourn. And I think she still does," he answered. He was fully aware of his mother's state and her feelings. If he could offer her any comfort, he would. But he didn't know how, and so he was stuck treading on eggshells around her because she was little more than a ghost of the woman he'd known. Was she like this when he was younger, after the miscarriage she suffered? He honestly couldn't recall.

"I understand your mother's pain." Rhaenyra's words were strained. "I do not mourn the same as she does. But I mourn just the same." Aemon reached up to his head, where Rhaenyra was incessantly playing with a dark lock of his hair, and intertwined his fingers with hers. He squeezed them tightly.

"I'm sorry." Rhaenyra shook her head, squeezing his hand back.

"Is your mother doing better, at least?" The question took him off guard, though he should've expected it. He found himself incapable of words. He blinked at the sky, staring at the pillowy clouds above.

"I think so," he answered eventually. "She's doing as well as she can be." That was all she could do, Aemon knew. His mother had never hidden her grief well, but he didn't remember her mourning a child. It was always a friend. A mother, once. But never a child. He'd been too young when she miscarried. And after that, she'd carried Viserra to term without any difficulty. When she'd been pregnant with the twins, he was never worried enough to think she and the babe wouldn't survive. Not until Queen Aemma met her end. And a day after that his mother's labours started.

That night had been terrifying. Recalling it made the air in his lungs scarce. In the end, only one of the babes had died. But one out of three was still a deep enough wound. Especially to his mother.

"I miss your presence in King's Landing," Rhaenyra said, running her thumb over his knuckles. The position made Aemon's shoulder ache, but he refused to let go of Rhaenyra's hand. "Everything is so quiet without you. I thought I'd get used to it eventually, but I was wrong." Aemon's lip quirked up in a small teasing grin, but it fell away as quickly as it came. He became serious.

"I miss you too, Rhae." He truly did. The idea of having to let her go made his heart sink. "Sometimes, I like to think things are as they were before. But that couldn't be far from the truth." His sister's death had hurt him, but not nearly as much as watching his mother wither away as well. But how was he supposed to explain that to Rhaenyra? Telling her it felt as though his mother was dead would be an insult when Queen Aemma was truly gone.

Stupid, he thought as his eyes began to burn. Viciously, he blinked away the tears as they came. Rhaenyra still saw them, and when a single traitorous tear ran down the side of his face, disappearing into his hairline, her thumb was wiping away the excess wetness.

"I would stay here with you if I could," she said. It was her turn to squeeze his hand in comfort. A small smile came, and it was enough to make Aemon feel a thousand times better. "Maybe get to know my castle, at last."

Aemon laughed, though it was little more than a soft exhalation through his nose. "I'd like that." Even though it couldn't happen. They stayed there for another hour before Rhaenyra had to go. The embrace they shared wasn't enough, but Aemon let her go anyway. He watched as Syrax ascended into the sky and continued to stare at the horizon until the she-dragon was little more than a fleck in the distance.

With a heavy sigh, he began making his way back to Dragonstone. At the gates, his mother was waiting for him, body draped in heavy blue and gold silks. She smiled at him softly and reached out to him. A firm squeeze of the shoulder was all it took for all the desperation to come hurdling through him.

"I want to go back to King's Landing," he blurted, not even realising the words came out of him until he saw the taken aback, somewhat hurt expression on his mother's face. He couldn't allow himself to feel guilty. Not now, when he'd already said it, and truly meant it. There wasn't any world in which he could live on Dragonstone forever. He didn't want to spend his days staring at walls or following Viserra around in the gardens. There was no room for him here, whether his mother wanted to admit it or not.

"What?" she breathed as if she couldn't believe his words. Aemon bit his tongue and set a determined expression on his face. When he repeated the words, they were much firmer. And they were purely intentional.

"I want to go back to King's Landing."

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The night air caressed Aella's skin as she walked down the beach of Driftmark. The sky above her was painted black, but the moon was full and it was still bright. She didn't even need a torch to see, though Corlys had offered her one. She'd taken off her slippers and allowed her toes to bury in the sand – cold now that it had cooled from the heated sun.

After what had occurred earlier that day, she needed to get off Dragonstone. The flight to Driftmark was quick, and Karnax had no trouble crossing between the two islands. Rhaenys hadn't questioned it when she'd arrived. She'd seemed glad. Now, they were on the beach under the moonlight. It had become somewhat of a tradition after they'd reconciled. A way to get away from all the ears and their husbands, so they might have time just between themselves.

Despite the bad blood still simmering between them, they'd both opted to ignore it. What was the point, anyway? Rhaenys would never be queen and many years had passed since the Great Council. Aella often wondered what would've happened if she'd sided with her sister. If she'd tried hard enough, maybe she would've been able to convince Rhaegon to side with her as well. He had more sway with the lords than she did. Aemma might've lived, a wretched part of her wailed. She'd have lived if she hadn't been forced to produce a male heir.

I've made my peace, Aella, Rhaenys had told her once. You should too. But how could she make peace if thoughts like that were constantly on her mind? She'd spent six months suffering in her misery on Dragonstone, and she still couldn't forget the deathly cold grip of Aemma's hand or the look of terror forever frozen on her face after she bled out. The death of her daughter only pushed her head further underwater. How was she supposed to make her peace when all she saw when she closed her eyes was Aemma's bloodied sheets and baby Rhaenys' small body wrapped in swaddling?

"The water is too cold to go swimming tonight," Rhaenys proclaimed as she sat on the sand. She'd opted for a loose white shirt and pants instead of a gown. It was more comfortable, she said, and Aella had to agree. She was wearing her riding clothes. Aella lowered herself to the ground beside Rhaenys.

"I don't mind," she answered with a shrug. She hadn't come here to swim. Comfort was what she'd come seeking. From her sister, Corlys, Laenor or Laena. It mattered little, as long as she got it. "I just couldn't stay there."

Rhaenys pursed her lips but gave her a sympathetic look. "Aemon is almost of age, Aella," she told her, leaning back on her hands and staring at the sea. The waves were calm, and the moonlight reflected off of them brightly. Just as it reflected off of Rhaenys' hair. "You can't make him stay forever, or he'll grow to resent you."

"I know," Aella said with a sigh. "That doesn't mean it doesn't upset me. I wanted to leave King's Landing for a long time. When Aemma died, that want became a need. I'd already asked Rhaegon before and it was already decided. I didn't want my children in court for so long and I regret that it took me so long to get them away from it." She shook her head, staring down at her lap. "And now he wants to go back."

"He has friends there," Rhaenys reminded her. "I remember when you were a child and you went to King's Landing after father died. You befriended Daemon quickly enough. Would you have been happy to be torn from the only friend you'd ever known?" No, Aella supposed she wouldn't. But she had been, in a way. Daemon ceased being her friend when her betrothal to Rhaegon was announced. He'd left her as easily as the seasons changed.

"Rhaegon thinks we should let him go," Aella sighed the words. She bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered that conversation. Rhaegon hadn't been unpleasant, but it was clear he thought she was being irrational. And she was, she could admit that. But she'd already lost one child recently, and she wasn't ready to give up another. What she was ready to do wasn't what was important though. And so she swallowed her pride and her pain. "I think I have to let him."

A simple nod of the head was all that Rhaenys answered with. "You came here for a distraction, didn't you?" she asked, and Aella was quick to agree. She didn't come here to discuss the matter of Aemon and his desires. If anything, she wanted to forget that it was even happening. "Viserys is considering taking Laena to wife."

Aella gaped at Rhaenys. She hadn't bothered to ask Rhaegon about any political changes. Frankly, she hadn't much cared. If anything truly important had happened, she would've been told. After the knowledge sunk in, she cringed. The thought of sweet and free-willed Laena being tied to Viserys, of all people disgusted her. That man might've been king, but his hands were caked in so much blood that it looked like a permanent glove.

"She is twenty," Aella acquiesced. "Girls six years younger have been wed and become mothers." She suspected that Laena's freedom was a gift from Rhaenys and Corlys. Most girls didn't get the choice in marriage, let alone those who were passed the age of fifteen. But Laena was the eldest daughter of the richest man in Westeros, a dragon rider to boot. She wouldn't have to marry until she was thirty, and even then men would fight for her hand.

"Like you?" Rhaenys asked with a raised brow. Aella felt something in her chest tighten painfully. "You weren't happy at all when you married. You might've surrendered yourself and gone to the altar meek and willing, but you weren't happy. I know you loved another." The shock of the admission sent a current of electricity through her spine. She looked at Rhaenys with pleading eyes. She didn't want to discuss that either. Luckily, Rhaenys didn't delve further into Aella's most guarded secret. "I don't want my daughter to end up like you. Suffering in silence."

"Rhaegon does not hurt me." Aella frowned, drawing her knees to her chest. He was kind to her and never forced her to do anything. If she didn't want to lay with him, she could just say so. When she thought about it, he was never the one to initiate anything.

"No, he does not," Rhaenys agreed. "But you still suffer. You are still in pain. And it is because of him, Aella. He might not mean to hurt you and it might've not been his choice either, but he does. He does not have to be cruel or vile. He does not have to lay his hands on you. He simply has to be a man."

Aella didn't answer for a while. Her mind drifted to another world, another timeline. What would she be if her grandfather had given her a choice? King Jaehaerys had married for love, but he'd forbidden such a possibility for most of his children and grandchildren. If he'd given his blessing for her betrothal to Daemon, would she be happier? Would her life be more than the desolate thing it was now?

Often, she found herself wondering what it would take to breathe some life back into her body. She was so used to the everyday routine of the perfect court lady that she scarcely remembered how she was as a child. That little girl who craved the skies was gone. Our father would be ashamed of you. The words Rhaenys had spoken had long since blunted, but they still carried truth. Perhaps not ashamed, she thought. But Prince Aemon would weep if he knew that the fire in his youngest daughter had been so viciously put out.

And it was not Rhaegon's fault. Not really, at least. He'd been pushed into this marriage just as much as she had been. Had they remained cousins and nothing more, he could have married someone he loved as well. Someone who respected him and didn't betray him as she had. A woman who wouldn't lust after his brother.

"And what does Laena have to say about this?" Aella asked. Her niece resembled her younger self so much that it hurt at times. The girl had recently claimed Vhagar and took to the skies more often than anyone else in the family.

"Laena cares more about flying than she does about boys." They shared a laugh. And for the rest of the night, there was no more talk of suffering.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Aella returned later that night with a lighter soul. The halls of Dragonstone were empty of all life as she walked through them, and she revelled in the silence. Chill had set into her bones during the flight from Driftmark to Dragonstone, and she was glad for the warmth of the castle. Her chambers would be even warmed, and she walked towards them with purpose.

She wanted nothing more than to get out of her riding leathers and climb into bed. Sleep was calling her even now, and she had to blink away the drowsiness. At the beach, their conversation stretched longer than she'd expected. She wanted to be back at Dragonstone before midnight, but now it was closer to morning than it was to that.

When she opened her door, all hopes of sleep dissipated. "What are you doing here?" she hissed the question. The man sitting on her settee looked up. His long silver hair wasn't pulled back like it usually was during the day. And he was wearing a loose-fitting white shirt. Clearly, he'd been ready to go to sleep. So why was Daemon Targaryen sitting in her chambers?

Without a word, he stood up and sauntered over to her. Aella was about to question him again, but she didn't have the chance to. His large hands cupped her jaw and brought her forward. The moment his lips pressed to hers in a harsh kiss, a fire burst to life in her chest. The kiss was firm and heated, and determined. Daemon's fingers traced her cheekbones tenderly.

Reality crashed into Aella a moment later, and she pulled away from him, hands crashing into his chest as she shoved him back. She stood there heaving air into her lungs as she tried to process what had just happened. Rhaegon was two doors down from her rooms. He was right there, and so were her children. You've done worse, a voice in her head told her. The guilt in her belly curdled.

"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly, searching Daemon's face for any sign of... anything. But his face remained impassive, save for the wild look in his eyes that told her he wanted more. The strange mix of anger and desire she knew so well from him.

"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" he answered. Aella scoffed as her eyes widened. You can't give me what I want. She'd said those words to him mere days before. She didn't think that he stopped to think about them. Or that he came to this conclusion. The worst part was this was what she wanted. The desire to feel his touch upon her skin, to feel his passion and need flow through her, was so dire and nearly unquenchable.

She had long told herself she'd never be able to feel it, contented with seeing him from afar and watching him smile on a rare occasion. One betrayal to her husband, her friend, her protector had been enough. But her heart still screamed at her, and her skin tingled where his fingers had touched her moments before.

"Daemon, we can't," she breathed, stepping backwards. In turn, Daemon took one forward. Aella pursed her lips because he didn't stop. Not until he was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face.

"Why not?" he asked, grasping a buckle of her riding leathers and tugging her forward. "You want this. I want this. What is stopping us?" Your brother, my children, your lover, the entire world. She didn't dare voice the words out loud. Daemon's hand traced higher up her body until it rested just beneath her breast. "I know you think about me." He leaned forward, and his lips pressed to her collarbone. Aella's breath hitched as he sucked at the spot. "I know you touch yourself with my name on your lips." His hand cupped her breast, and his lips pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck. "Are you wet for me now, my love?"

"Daemon..." His name fell from her lips like a prayer, a breathless moan that made him grunt in satisfaction against her neck. He pressed a harsh kiss to her pulse, grazing his teeth against the skin there. She should stop this. She knew she should. But she didn't. Couldn't. The ache inside of her grew with every moment.

Reaching towards him, she rucked up his shirt to feel the firm planes of his form. His body rippled beneath her touch, and she felt the muscle of his abdomen clench as she grazed them. Just this once, she told herself. And never again.

"Take me to bed," she commanded breathlessly. There were a few moments where nothing happened. Daemon stilled with his mouth beneath her jaw. And then he surged forward, arms wrapping around her body and lifting her into his arms. With a gasp, Aella wrapped her legs around his waist.

Just this once, she repeated as he carried her towards her bed. And never again.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

That night, Rhaegon dreamt. It was not one of the usual dreams he'd grown so accustomed to. There was no acrid stench of smoke as he rode upon Morghul's back, no jeering call of a dragon rider he didn't know or the booming of Vhagar's wings. Neither was there a bloody clash, the singing of swords, the screams of dying men. Or even the bedchamber in a castle he did not recognise, with his son kneeling beside the bed where a body was covered in a white sheet, only a hand revealed which Aemon clutched greedily like he couldn't bring himself to let go.

There were many dreams he'd had in his lifetime – or rather nightmares, as he always woke gasping for air and drenched in sweat – that had repeated over and over again. To the point that he learned to expect them when he slept. That's why this entirely new dream sent him reeling when he woke.

Fingers clutching the sheets below him, heart hammering painfully in his ribcage, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, Rhaegon stared at the ceiling. He reminded himself over and over again that it was just a dream. A sickeningly realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. When he tried to unfurl his fingers from the sheets, it felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. He knew that when he brought them in front of his face, they wouldn't be covered in blood. It still loosened something in his chest when he saw his clean hands, and he pushed his head back in relief.

The sun was already rising outside his window, and the room was blessedly silent. Aella rarely shared a bed with him now, and he'd never been more glad for it. She'd spent years by his side when he woke from his nightmares. This time, he didn't think he'd be able to look her in the face. 

It had been her blood that smeared his hands in his dream. Her screams still rang like bells in his head. Air filled his lungs as he slowly inhaled, trying to calm himself down. They'd been on a beach that he didn't recognise. There were bodies around them, wreckages of ships that burned and filled the air with black smoke. And she'd been laying there with a blade dug deep between her ribcage. Breathing was difficult for her, and it came out in small ragged exhales and inhales that wracked her chest.

The gown she wore looked so out of place in what looked like a battlefield, and her hair spilt around her like a halo, tinted red with her blood. He still saw the terror on her face as her tears ran through the black soot marks on her cheeks.

It took him an hour to stop shaking. Another half to get out of bed and pretend his dream never happened. He'd gotten good at that over the years. It was never easy, but it was necessary. By the time he reached the room he'd turned into his office, the sun was shining brightly outside. A pile of letters sat on the dark wood desk, brought to him by the maester like every other morning.

Despite Rhaegon no longer being in King's Landing nor serving on the council, the lords of Westeros still sent him their grievances and other matters of state. It was one of the few comforts that Rhaegon received. People still found him useful, even if he wasn't in the capital. He'd curried their favour for so long that it seemed impossible for them to ever ignore him, but it had still been one of his fears.

He paused as he looked down at the letter that rested on top of the pile. The wax sealing the letter was pressed into the shape of a quill. Lord Alyn Penrose, Rhaegon recalled the man easily. He'd served on the small council as Master of Laws briefly after Prince Aemon died in 92 AC. Rhaegon had always found him sensible and quick-witted, and he'd even go as far as to say the man was a friend.

Their correspondence had dwindled in the years since Lord Alyn had left the capital, however, so it was rather surprising that he'd written to him now. Rhaegon picked up the letter without another thought and carefully unsealed it. His eyes quickly read over Lord Alyn's elegant handwriting.

When he got halfway through, he had to stop and gape. The letter was not just any letter. It was a marriage proposal. Rhaegon blinked rapidly at the paper, reading it over once more to make sure he hadn't made it up in his state after the nightmare. No, the words were there. Written perfectly and clearly in black ink.

Rhaegon allowed the letter to drop onto the table and sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

"What?" It did not surprise Rhaegon that this was Aemon's reaction. His son stared at him with a disgruntled and confused expression, nose curled up and lips pulled into a snarl. Rhaegon didn't take his eyes off him and schooled himself to be calm. He hadn't expected Aemon to be happy about the marriage proposal, but would it kill him to hear him out?

"I'm not commanding you to marry Lord Alyn's daughter, Aemon," Rhaegon stated calmly. Aemon pulled his arms tightly around himself, almost shrinking into himself. Rhaegon wished he could see into his head and understand what he was thinking. The gods knew that he hadn't been too happy about his betrothal when he was told about it. And not just because it ended with him getting a bloody nose from Daemon's unforgiving fist.

"I don't want to even meet her!" Aemon cried and for the first time in a while, Rhaegon saw tears gather in his son's eyes. "I only want to go home! Is this the payment I must make to be allowed to be happy?" Rhaegon flinched but didn't interrupt Aemon's anger. He didn't want his son to pay for anything. If King's Landing was where he wished to live, then Rhaegon wouldn't stand in his way. He wouldn't be the reason for his children's suffering.

"I've already arranged for you to go back to King's Landing." That seemed to surprise Aemon, but he quickly wiped the shock from his face and frowned again. "Lord Alyn's proposal came this morning."

"And so you decided immediately that it's going to happen?" Aemon barked the question, his hand flying out in angry and wild gestures. "Have you even told Mother about this? Or are you going to force it on me regardless of what she or I want?"

Rhaegon's brows furrowed together in anger. "This decision is not up to your mother. It is up to you! And I didn't say that I agreed to the betrothal." He shook his head and sighed. "Aemon, you are almost sixteen years old. Did you think that you'd never get married, or that the lords wouldn't want to throw their daughters at you? You are the only unmarried Targaryen prince save for your brother, but Aeron is a babe."

Aemon scoffed, but his anger dwindled somewhat. It was replaced by something a little too close to despair. Rhaegon stood from his chair, walking around his desk and towards Aemon. With a firm hand, he squeezed his shoulder, making him look at him.

"I'm not telling you to marry her. I'm asking you to meet her and get to know her. She doesn't know about the proposal yet and she'd already in King's Landing. Talk to her, understand who she is, and if you do not like her then you don't have to marry her." Something flickered through Aemon's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Rhaegon couldn't register it. "Lord Alyn is a good man, and I don't doubt his daughter will be much like him. Just promise me you'll try."

A few seconds of silence, and then Aemon let out a short grunt of agreement, spinning around on his heels and stomping out of the room before Rhaegon could get another word in.

Author's Note

Rhaegon: wow, I never really thought that Daemon would want children! That's definitely why he looked so distraught just now

Daemon, the secret father of Rhaegon's "daughter": yeahh.... that's definitely why

I really hope I'm writing the difference between Rhaegon and Daemon well. They both struggle with the same things but both of them react very differently. They're supposed to parallel each other but also be foils of one another.

I introduced Lord Alyn Penrose very briefly in the first act, but I doubt most people remember him since I update so slow lmao. But yeah Aemon is definitely not happy about this proposal and not just because he doesn't want to get married.

I loved writing the scene between Rhaenys and Aella since I rarely get to write about them interacting. I also wanted to highlight the struggle of most women in Westeros. The whole "he just needs to be a man" is very telling, because it's true that a man doesn't need to abuse his wife to make her suffer. Rhaegon has never wanted to hurt Aella, but the mere existence of their marriage does that. It hurts both of them if we're being honest.

This chapter is SO LONG and I hope I didn't overlook any mistakes! Please feel free to point them out if I did!