Aella Targaryen wed on the anniversary of her father's death. To her cousin, nonetheless, continuing the long-standing tradition of her family to marry their relatives. It was a day that was meant to bring joy and overshadow the sorrow that had purs...
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Aella Targaryen's first heartbreak in life came at the tender age of four. It was a strange thing, she thought in her child-like mind, how someone could simply cease to exist in a matter of moments. Back then, she did not understand what was happening, only that the screams and shouts that rang through the Red Keep in the middle of the night were not a good thing. She was small, barely noticeable, and so it was easy enough to slip past the flurry of people racing back and forth consistently from her aunt Viserra's room.
What she had seen inside had left its mark on her, though she would forever claim she did not remember anything of that night. Her favourite aunt was sprawled across her bed, her grandfather stood at the head of it, and her grandmother was on her knees beside it, crying her heart out. Her uncle Baelon sat in a chair on the other side of the room, still in his night clothes like everyone else. His hands were shaking, wet lines streaked his cheeks and his breaths were coming in and out in rapid puffs as if he could not get enough air. As if he could not breathe. Her father stood next to him, pulling her uncle's body to his own until his head rested on his chest. Her uncle kept on mumbling the same thing over and over again. It is my fault. Aella did not understand.
And the blood... gods, the blood. The smell of it was so pungent to her nose that her eyes watered. She knew it was there, somewhere in the room, before she could even see it. And when she did, it was even more horrific than what she expected. One half of her aunt Viserra's face was caked in it, still wet and shining in the candlelight of the room. It was everywhere on the sheets of the bed, the scent of it swirling in the air. And her aunt's neck was bent at the strangest angle she had ever seen. When Aella's eyes met her aunt's open ones, a feeling of hope spiked within her. It was alright! Her aunt was alive! Her eyes were open! And then arms wrapped around her and hoisted her up. It was then that she realised she had been noticed, that her grandmother was crying even harder now and that her father was whispering reassurances into her ear and carrying her away. She kicked and screamed.
"No! I want to be with Aunt Viserra!" she cried, reaching her small arm over her father's shoulder as if she could touch her aunt even from the other side of the room. "She is awake! She wants me!" She could not possibly understand that the empty, dull look in her aunt's eyes meant something horrible.
In the weeks that passed, Aella had wept so much she was sure her tears could fill the Narrow Sea. She wanted her aunt with her. Her favourite aunt. Why was she not there? She was supposed to be there! Even when her father and mother sat her down and told her in the gentlest voice they could muster that her aunt was not coming back. The day they burned her body finally confirmed that.
The moment Silverwing spewed her flames upon the fire, and her aunt Viserra's body was engulfed in them, Aella could cry no longer.
