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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Some things Are meant to happen But not to last
°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°
Spring of 100 AC, the Red Keep
It was in the deep night a day after Queen Alyssane's death that Aella realised there was no word to describe what she was. There was a word for someone who lost a husband: a widow, and there was a word for someone who had lost a parent: an orphan. But there was no word for someone who had lost a child. Perhaps it was because the pain was indescribable, like having a gaping hole in your chest that kept on bleeding and bleeding until there was nothing inside of you anymore. She wondered if there was no word for such a thing because people did not wish to remember it, to even acknowledge that it exists.
Aella could understand those people perfectly. Not a moment passed since the second Daella had stopped breathing in her arms that she did not pray to the Seven that her pain would be numbed. Even if it was only by a margin. Even if it was for but a moment.
When she woke in the mornings, there was but a moment when she was about to get up and head to the nursery, only to freeze up when reality came crashing down on her. It was a heavy burden. The knife of a short life was sharp. Sharper than anything she had ever felt. Even when her father had died, Aella had not felt anything quite like what she was feeling now.
How had her grandmother survived it for so long? She had lost so many children in such a short period. Most of them were already older when it happened. She had known them, heard them speak and laugh. The only sounds that Daella had ever produced in her short week of life were cries and wheezes, as if her little lungs were struggling to take in breath from the very moment she was born.
Aella supposed it did not matter anymore. Queen Alyssane was dead, she could not ask her. Her body lay somewhere below the Red Keep, wrapped in cloth just as her little Daella was. They would be burned on a pyre together. King Jaehaerys would give the order. He had offered the honour to Aella, but she did not think she would be able to. The burning of the body was a final goodbye, but she did not wish to say goodbye to either of the dead.
Daella did not have enough time, while Queen Alyssane had lived a long life. Both of their passings were a fresh wound to Aella's already scarred soul.
She supposed she could ask Aemma about it. Her lovely cousin had lost many babes in the past few years. Only little Rhaenyra had lived, a short six months older than Aella's own Aemon was. The two babes often played together in the nursery or in the garden with Aella and Aemma sitting close by. They were each other's only friends, it seemed.
Rhaegon and Viserys spent too much time tending to their duties – though one was far more enthusiastic than the other. They were too caught up in it, and besides, they were men. Even when they did have free time, they spent their time doing other things, even if those things were wildly different from each other. Viserys would drown himself in his books about Old Valyria, most of which were provided by Aella, as she had spent far too much time in the library and prided herself in knowing many of the works. And Rhaegon would pour over old scrolls about law or wield a sword in the training yard with Ser Ryam Redwyne.
