"You drink my
soul I know —
it's intoxicating"

— Anna Akhmatova

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

A strange, malicious sort of satisfaction churned in Rhaegon's belly as Daemon tossed his weapon to the ground before Viserys and pulled off the driftwood crown nestled on his forehead. It came over him so suddenly that the grossness of it took him by surprise. He turned his gaze away incredulously. Daemon's head, empty of the crown he'd fought for nigh on three years, left him strangely smug.

Rhaegon hadn't expected such a reaction from himself, and for a while he didn't enjoy it. He took your wife into danger for that crown, he thought eventually, it's only right he gives it up. So when Daemon's eyes strayed to him, and everything but the two of them seemed to disappear from the hall, Rhaegon let his smugness show. It was in the glint of his eyes, the barest upturn of the corner of his lips.

Only moments later, when he was walking away from the overcrowded great hall, he heard Daemon quicken his stride to catch up to him. He'd cut his hair, Rhaegon noticed pathetically late. He didn't think it suited him at all. Daemon had always been wild. The shortness of his hair was too prim, too clean.

"Brother," Daemon began, slowing his step to match Rhaegon's when he was finally beside him. "Is Aella well?" The indignant scoff Rhaegon let out was loud, and maybe a little cruel, but he did not care much. His brother frowned, the lines around his mouth creasing, but he didn't say anything else.

There was nothing that Rhaegon wanted to tell him. Nothing he wanted to give him. Not after the accusation he'd levied against him at the Stepstones. It still stung, the knowledge that his own brother thought him capable of bringing harm to his wife. After everything I've given, he seethed all over again, gritting his teeth together.

He married her because his grandfather bid him to, because Daemon had done something that made King Jaehaerys choose Rhaegon instead of him. He hadn't loved Aella then, and he didn't think he loved her now either. Not like a husband should've loved a wife. Their marriage was as forced upon him as it had been upon her. Except Rhaegon had taken the brunt force of Daemon's rage, and he'd let Aella do as she pleased.

Even carry the child of another man without any consequence. He took Visenys in as his own, even when he was still nursing the wounds of his sweet Daella's untimely death, and her mother's betrayal towards him. But Daemon didn't know any of that. He would never know, if Rhaegon had anything to do with it. Because despite everything, Visenys was his, and he would never willingly put her in danger. Daemon's lack of knowledge didn't absolve him of his cruelty, though. And Rhaegon made sure his dislike of his brother was as vivid as a summer's day.

"She is as well as she can be in this city," he answered, not even bothering to look at Daemon. "But that is none of your concern." Daemon's shoulders straightened, but he didn't comment on that.

"Why don't you take her back to Dragonstone then," he spat, though he still tried to rein in his anger. He failed miserably, but Rhaegon still gave him credit. With a humorless laugh, Rhaegon stopped in his stride and faced his brother directly.

"That is not possible, Daemon, as the King decreed her punishment is to stay here, tending to the Queen and her children." He shook his head, the gesture full of scorn. "You sentenced her to a life she despised. She begged me to leave King's Landing after Aeron was born, and now she's back here. Because she went to aid you."

The skin around Daemon's eyes crinkled as he tensed. "It was not me who called on her, but Corlys," he argued, "I would've never brought her there. I desire only to keep her safe."

"No, you just kept her there. You could've told her to return for her safety, for her children. Yet you didn't, because you saw her dragon as an opportunity, and your 'desire to keep her safe' was not as important as a weapon. Admit it, Karnax meant more to you than her." Rhaegon ran his hand through his hair as he sighed, tousling his curls so much that some of them threatened to fall into his face.

"That is not true. I care for Aella, she is my friend–" Rhaegon cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It does not matter now. If you would excuse me." Before Daemon could argue anymore, Rhaegon marched away. His brother did not follow.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The Godswood, usually such a calm and peaceful place, was filled to the brim with nobles celebrating Daemon's return. Aella thought all of them were obnoxious, and she found that she did not wish to speak to any of the ladies present. Not that they wanted to speak to her anyway, dishonourable as she was in their eyes. They don't even know the half of it, Aella laughed sardonically to herself, letting the bitter taste of wine wash down her throat.

The only person she found remotely approachable was Queen Alicent. The girl was kind and sweet and never once made any rude comments. She smiled, though her eyes were dull when she did so, and she let Aella do as she wished most of the time. The two of them would take the children out into the gardens, where Aella would keep little Aegon and Aeron company while Alicent entertained her ladies-in-waiting. Sometimes, baby Helaena, the newest member of the family, would join them as well, though she could rarely toddle on her own. She clung to Aeron when she joined them, pulling at his hand so he would help her stand and walk.

But the children were not here now, not the young ones anyway, and Alicent stood with Viserys and Daemon, the two men that Aella did not wish to speak to, though for painfully differing reasons. Aemon was keeping the company of his betrothed, a girl Aella rarely knew, though Elinor did try and seem welcoming. The two of them were off with other young nobles, just like Visenys was. Aella could spot her daughter's surprisingly tidy braided hair, woven through with black pearls, among the crowd of young noblemen and ladies of similar age.

They all vied for her attention, even now that Rhaenyra was back from her tour. She hadn't come back with a betrothal in mind, nor had she finished the tour as she was meant to. The coldness of her attitude to any suitors had long reached the ears of most young men, and Rhaenyra was barely open to friendship with the girls either. None dared approach her, lest she snub them and embarrass them in front of the others.

Visenys was the opposite, which sat uncomfortably with Aella. She was so used to the wild youth of her daughter that the more mature bearing she bore now was strange and ill-fitting. The straightness of her back, the pleasing smile, the gentle and levelled cadence of her voice, they were all so terribly out of place.

But Aella could not say anything, because even though she'd been back for four months now, her daughter's iciness towards her was slow to thaw, and Aella barely knew her. When she needed something, Visenys did not come to her. No, she always went to Rhaegon, even when the requirement was something feminine, which would always be discussed with a female relative. What did Rhaegon know of embroidery, silks and gowns? What did he know of the education girls received? Did Visenys go to him with more personal matters as well, instead of her mother? Aella did not doubt it. Despite her frustrations, she couldn't exactly blame her.

"You look entirely lost." An all too familiar voice drew her from her thoughts. Aella attempted to hide her grimace before it got too obvious, focusing on the sloshing of the wine in her goblet as she swirled it instead of the man approaching her. Daemon's smile was easy-going, almost caring, despite everything that happened in the last year. It was almost as unbearable as his very presence, but also enticing, and Aella did not want him to stop looking at her like that. It was the only warmth she'd received in so long.

"I was only thinking," Aella admitted, finally taking her eyes from the red liquid. Daemon had cut his hair short again, as he'd done all those years ago when their marriages were still new to them. She'd told him she hated it then, that his long hair was her favourite, but the new style rather became him now. "Are you enjoying the celebrations thrown in your honour? I assume you must be rather glad for the attention."

Daemon hummed quietly. "I care little for the opinions of the nobles. There is only one whose attentions I truly seek." Aella tightened her grip on her goblet, trying to stop herself from fidgeting.

"I'm sure Lady Rhea will be more than happy to welcome you back," she joked instead of acknowledging the true meaning of his words. Daemon barked a laugh, his surprise evident with the widening of his eyes.

"I think she'd sooner geld me than welcome me into her bed after all these years," he stated with a roll of his eyes, tone souring at the mention of the wife he hadn't wanted. Aella eyed him for a bit, mulling over everything in her head. Could they have been happy, had their grandfather agreed to their marriage? Could Rhaegon and Rhea have found their happiness as well? Or was this the best possible outcome for all of them, without any of them even knowing?

"Is that all you want from me? For me to welcome you into my bed?" She made sure her voice was low enough so no one else would hear. They were far enough from everyone else, the distance providing another safety net for the reality she spoke so openly into the air. Daemon's brows furrowed before relaxing again, and then he shook his head.

"You know it is not," he said mournfully, eyes glazed over like he was remembering a different time, a different world. "I did not touch you even once at the Stepstones, did I not?" Was that meant to absolve them of all their past sins? It did little to convince her he still loved her if that was even a possibility after all these years.

"A mercy," she sighed, "Imagine if you had and then Rhaegon came. He would've found out about it then. Soldiers gossip as much as court ladies." Daemon grimaced, eyes sweeping over the Godswood in search of his brother. Rhaegon, strangely, was nowhere to be found. Aella did not think about it.

"I should not have said what I did to him when he came," he conceded like it was the first time he'd truly admitted fault to himself. Aella felt the sting that Rhaegon must've felt at Daemon's words like a shout echoing through a long cavernous chamber. Her sorrow was not of his doing. Not truly, anyway. None of it was his fault. But she knew it was simple to blame him, because it was easier than admitting that a great many things were by her own doing. "He hates me now, I know."

Aella shook her head. "I do not think Rhaegon is capable of hatred. Even if he was, the one he would despise is me. I have made things so very difficult for him." She wrapped an arm around herself, as though it would shield her from every memory, from every terrible feeling. "I do not remember a time the two of us were truly happy."

Daemon was silent for a long moment. "I do not believe that. My brother had always been... melancholic at the best of times, so obsessed with duty from the very first moment I can remember. But he was happy, at times." He paused again, and when he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically shaky. "I must believe that he has had some joy in his life."

Was it guilt that made Daemon so mournful now? Was the weight of it all finally settling down on him? Every sin and every moment they spent together, tangled up in each other. A thing they both regretted. That knowledge tasted like poison on her tongue, burning in her veins the same way as the desire she still somehow felt for him did. It was sick and vile and abhorrent, but she craved it. Because she was selfish, because she was malicious. Because she was so terribly lonely, and she wanted nothing more than for it to stop for even a moment.

"Perhaps before Daella," she acquiesced, the old grief clawing up her throat. She swallowed it down. "And for a bit after that. Before Rhaenys and Aeron. Before Aemma." Her cousin had been the last semblance of joy she bore, before she, too, was torn away from her. Aella couldn't help her eyes wandering over to Viserys, smiling and laughing with Lord Strong. She wanted him to feel everything she did, but she also knew that he had his own type of pain. Neither of them could compare it, nor understand that of the other. But Gods, how she wanted him to spend a day in her place, to feel the thousand gaping wounds he'd left on her, mixed in with those that were much older than Aemma's death, and then the fresh new ones that came after. "It matters little now. I will learn to live with it all in time."

"Must you push me away to do that?" Daemon asked, his words dangerous to them both, though they were spurred on by a dying man's affection and longing. "Can you not allow yourself to have some semblance of joy? No one had found out up until now, and they don't ever have to."

Aella didn't even realise she was laughing until she saw Daemon try and hide the agonized twist of his face. "It is a sign of insanity to repeat your actions and expect a different outcome." Perhaps she, too, was mad. Maybe she'd been so for a long time. "Are you truly going to sentence yourself to only being mine in the shadows? Will you betray your brother even more, as I will betray my husband and my children?" And your father, and your mother, because they thought they'd raised you better, a part of her wept, and your poor sweet grandmother, who'd hoped you and Rhaegon would find love and joy in each other.

It was all only compensated for by the maddening thrill of scorning King Jaehaerys' decision. The mere idea of him looking down from the heavens and seeing what they'd all become, how Aella did not allow herself to be tied down by his chains. How she was just like the two daughters he'd loved and despised the most. Would he look into her face and seeth 'Saera' at her through gritted teeth?

"I would sentence myself to an eternity of suffering if it meant I could hold you once more," Daemon sighed like the mere thought brought him relief. "Allow me to, please." Aella bit down on the inside of her cheek, not stopping when she felt the metallic tang of her own blood on her tongue.

She scanned the Godswood for a long time, looking for the one single familiar face that might've been able to stop her. But Rhaegon wasn't there. Mayhaps if he had been, the two of them would come to a different decision. Mayhaps things would have been different. But instead, Aella's heart soared, and she took Daemon's hand, holding it hidden in the folds of her skirts.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The alcove in which Rhaegon hid himself in was blessedly silent, allowing him to take some respite from the hectic celebration taking place in the Godswood. The stone pressed against his back was cool and welcoming, and he basked in it. He'd stay here for a little while longer, and then he'd drag himself back to stand at Viserys' side.

The occasional footsteps and echoing laugh could be heard in the alcove, but whoever was walking past left him alone, hidden partially by the see-through billowing curtains made specifically to grant people privacy. Usually, people would meet here to discuss important matters, but no one was here now. They were all too taken by the celebrations, and Rhaegon was glad for it.

It felt like an eternity before someone did come for him. The gentle pitterpatter of slippered feet on the red stone floor of the Keep, followed by the rustling of heavy silk skirts, gave him enough of a warning.

"My Prince," Amara Florent greeted him softly as she pushed back the curtain, her smile as gentle and pretty as it always way. "What are you doing here all alone?" Her tone was a bit too familiar to be deemed proper, but Rhaegon found he did not care at all. He took a moment to take her in. With the daylight framing her frame in an empyrean sort of manner, she looked so beautiful that any man would be foolish to not look at her. The hair she usually wore loose was tied up in an intricate braided style, numerous ribbons of deep blue woven in. Her gown matched those ribbons, her sleeves long and flowing and bunching at her elbows as she kept her hands up to hold the curtain.

"I wanted to find a moment of respite, my Lady," he answered her, sitting up a little more straight. "The celebrations can get a little overwhelming." The corner of Amara's mouth quirked higher and she nodded, full of understanding.

"I find myself searching for peace as well. My husband is off with his friends somewhere, and well, I find I have few friends, lately." Rhaegon raised a brow. He was sure he'd seen Amara with plenty of ladies, gallivanting around court. She shook her head, like she knew exactly what she was thinking. "I had a great many friends and companions at home, but none of them are here at court with me. I haven't seen them since I was married two years ago."

"Has your husband not tried to introduce you to his own family? I'm sure Lord Beesbury's daughter is a frequent member of the court," Rhaegon said, recalling the middle-aged woman with a crooked smile. "And he has granddaughters too, does he not? Some of them are your stepchildren." Amara shrugged her shoulders, turning her gaze away from him as her face fell.

"I did try to befriend them, but I will never be their mother. They look at me as someone who seeks to replace her and they think their father did not mourn her long enough before taking a second wife." Her mouth twisted in a frown. "As if I'd wanted to marry him." Her eyes widened when she realised what she'd said. "Forgive me, my Prince, I should not have said that. My husband is kind to me–"

"I did not want to marry my wife either." His mouth moved on its own accord before he could stop it. Amara tilted her head curiously as he continued. "I was ordered to do so by my grandfather. It is difficult to find happiness in a marriage when you are forced into it despite protests." He hadn't protested outwardly, because how could he? He killed his mother, and his own life was just payment for the pain he'd caused his grandmother and father. There had been some part of him that had hoped they'd all notice him screaming and begging on the inside though.

"You do not love your wife?" Amara asked, taking a step towards him and letting her hands fall to her sides. Rhaegon shook his head, watching as she slid onto the cushioned bench opposite him. She smoothed her palms over her gown, chasing away all the wrinkles, then curled her fingers around the bottom of the bench. Her knuckles turned icy white. "Not even a little?"

"No, though I doubt that pains her too much." He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice as he thought of the day the Grandmaester had told him Aella was pregnant with Visenys. He'd known then already, and she'd lied to his face. "She is my cousin, and therefore I love her like one would their kin, but there was never any romantic attachment there. I am not ashamed to admit it. It is common in marriage, though I still believe things could be worse."

At this, Amara looked away from him again. "Do you not wish to be loved, though?" Her voice grew surprisingly weak, so different from the confidence she usually exhibited. "Not even for a few moments? Not even if you could not show it to the world?"

Rhaegon thought for a while, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to fight off the strange desperate feeling clawing up his throat. "Perhaps in passing," he admitted, not taking his eyes off Amara. "Though I've never allowed myself to mourn for such a loss."

"Why not?" Amara asked, sounding more like a little girl than the grown woman she was. This time, she gazed directly at him, not tearing her eyes away even for a second. The colour of them was so deep that Rhaegon thought he could drown in them, forever looking for secrets and answers he'd never be able to find.

"I had a duty to my family. I'd never allowed myself to be selfish." Amara leaned forward ever so slightly.

"And would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Allow yourself to be selfish." Rhaegon blinked, surprised by the mere notion. Despite everything, every pain he'd suffered, he'd never even allowed it to cross his mind. The tips of his fingers tingled at the thought.

"I don't know. I have never thought about it before." Amara stared at him for a few long, arduous moments. Something shifted in her face.

"Think about it, my Prince." And then she was leaning forward, her breath fanning out across his face. Her palms fitted against his shoulders and she leaned her weight on top of him, pressing his back into the wall behind him. Not even a second later, her lips were on his, warm and welcoming and gentle.

Rhaegon kissed back.

The slide of his mouth against his made a ravaging, insatiable sort of desire blossom in the pit of his belly. Finally, something inside of him screamed, like a slave's chains being cut from their arms. Finally, you are free. He hummed against Amara's lips, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. He wanted more, needed more, burned for more. And by the Gods, this woman leaning against him was perfect in every way.

And then it all came crashing down on him. With a rabid sort of sound, he pushed her from his body. She staggered back with a yelp, catching herself against the wall opposite him. Her lips were red, wet with spit, and her eyes were blown wide. Rhaegon expected he looked much the same.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean–" he pleaded, but cut himself off. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. A stray curl of his too-long hair fell onto his forehead, sticking to it with the sudden sheen of cold sweat that broke out against him.

He felt vile, wretched, like his skin was too tight on his bones and coated with oil he could never be rid of. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it.

Amara shook her head. "No, you reciprocated," she gasped, panted, breathless. "You want me too!" Her voice was frighteningly loud. Too loud, enough to draw attention neither of them wanted. Rhaegon shot up from his seat, coming up to her with hands raised, as if he was calming a startled horse.

Amara's hands clung to his arms and shoulder as she dug her nails into his doublet. Her lower lip trembled, tears gathering in her arms.

"My lady, you are married!" Rhaegon grounded out, trying with all his might to make her settled, to calm down before anyone heard them and came running. "I am married. We both took a vow before the Gods–"

"Am I truly so wretched that you do not want me?" she demanded, her voice so trembling and broken that it was a wonder he even understood her. "Why is it that my husband can have a dozen mistresses and flaunt them all in my face but you will not take even one? Your wife has dishonoured you a dozen times by her actions and yet you remain loyal to her! What have I done to Alester to deserve such treatment expect be chosen by him?"

"My lady–"

"I was fifteen when he first set his eye upon me, did you know?" she gasped, looking directly into his eyes with such grief-stricken eyes that Rhaegon could not look away. Surely, he'd be cursed if he did. "He'd decided then he wanted me already, I'm sure! I had a boy I loved before he came, but he chased him away with threats and blackmail. Did the same to every other suitor until his poor first wife perished!" Amara gulped air into her lungs, seemingly choking on nothing. "His eldest is but six years younger than me, yet I am to be a broodmare for his father? Was all the torture he levied against me not enough?"

Without so much as thinking, Rhaegon drew her into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder and holding her head there as she continued to inhale with dangerously tiny and rapid gasps. He did not say anything – could not say anything – for a few minutes. He wanted her to be calm, but he didn't know what to say even when she did. Her words barely registered in his mind, but when they did, he was sure he'd never felt such disdain for anyone before. He hadn't even known that Lyman Beesbury's son was capable of such things.

"I cannot be your lover, my lady." Amara sniffled into his shoulder, chest heaving as if she was to start weeping again. He tightened his hold around her. "But I can be your friend. You may come to me with anything, do you understand? Anything you shall need, you will receive it." Amara nodded slowly, carefully. Perhaps not as happy as she would've been if he had submitted to her desires. But not as safe, he was sure. Nothing ever good came to women from affairs.

Rhaegon stayed there were her for another half hour, holding her like she would crack like tender glass at the wrong move. And Amara clung to him like a lifeline. Like the only virtue she'd ever been granted.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Despite Rhaegon's distaste for sweet breakfast, he found himself sitting with a plate of lemon cakes in front of him in the morning. Viserra had begged him since the moment she woke him up; scrambling onto his bed as soon as the sun rose above the horizon, begging for her favorite treats as if she did not have them every other day.

And it was not like Rhaegon could refuse her, not when she looked at him with her wide and pleading eyes, twinkling like two amethyst embedded into her pretty head. So that was how the entire family ended with lemon cakes piled on their plates. Aeron and Viserra ate them happily, cheeks puffy with how they stuffed their mouths.

It was not them that Rhaegon watched, though. It was his eldest daughter who caught his attention. Visenys stared down at her plate, nudging the pieces of lemon cake that she'd cut into pieces with her fork around. Occasionally, her eyes would dart around the table like a frightened animal.

Rhaegon tried to catch her gaze during the whole meal, wanting to at least attempt to figure out what was wrong without asking her outright. He doubted she would want him to ask in front of Aella and Aemon, who would surely gauge it further. Visenys would never meet his eye. Eventually, he gave up, deciding to turn to a conversation with Aemon about his training instead.

It was then that Visenys spoke. "Father," she began, pulling his attention back to her instantaneously, "it will be time for me to wed soon, yes?" The entire table fell silent. He swore Aella's fork screeched against her plate as her eyes shot to him, the blue of her eyes like a raging storm. Rhaegon's jaw fell, painfully lost for words for a moment.

"As I have already said," he began, tossing a look to Aella, hoping the anger in her would be quelled a bit at least. "It may be what the court expects from you, but I will not force you into anything. Neither will the king." If there was anything he was willing to fight Viserys against, it was this. Out of all his children, Visenys was the wildest, the most free-spirited. A forced marriage would undoubtedly stamp out her fire, and Rhaegon did not think his heart could take being the cause of that. She'd already dimmed over the past few years, and although he did not know how to help her in that regard, too lost in the array of the shards of her broken heart, he could spare her this, at least."

Aella slumped back in her chair, somewhat relieved. She turned away from him, face scrunching up in what could only be guilt from her abrupt reaction. Rhaegon could not blame her. They'd both been the same age when they had been betrothed. Rhaegon knew from his own experience that no amount of good will could save Visenys in such a marriage, no matter how kind and honourable her chosen husband would be. He would not have his daughter end up like his wife.

But Visenys did not seem satisfied with his answer, pushing even more, "You told me that you would allow any marriage I chose for myself, correct?" Rhaegon blinked, unsure why she was asking this, but nodded.

"Indeed, if you find a man you are willing to spend the rest of your life with, I would gladly arrange the marriage for you. But only if that is what you truly want." Visenys smiled.

"Alright then," she sighed, leaning forward and dropping her fork onto the table so she could fold her arms on the surface of the table. "I wish to marry Brynden Blackwood."

A long, agonizingly shocked moment of silence stretched over the table. Rhaegon did not know what to say, did not know if he should agree or question her. He did not look to Aella for help, did not look at anyone but his daughter. Visenys' self-satisfied smile gave away nothing. Only her eyes truly told him anything. They glimmered with hope, and a little bit of fear. That he would reject her, that what he'd told her so many times was a lie.

In the end, it was not Rhaegon who spoke. Aemon slammed his hand on the table, causing the silverware and cups to ring and clatter.

A single word burst from his throat. "What!"

A/N

I can't believe it's been four months since I've updated this book 😃 I am genuinely sorry about that but I've honestly had huge writer's block for most of my books and I had to physically force myself to write them. I didn't want to force myself to write this book though, because that significantly lowers the quality of my writing and this book doesn't deserve that at all!

With season 2 coming out in literally 3 days (help?) I'll hopefully have more inspiration to write for my hotd books!

A lot of dynamics have changed in this chapter and it was super fun to write them!