We're Burned For Better

Chapter Twelve

As the days passed, Aelora grew to miss her Mother more and more, until it became one of the only things she could think about.

She wondered if when her Mother returned, they would compare scars. The stitched line of raised white skin on Rhaenyra's forearm was much easier to hide, fortunately for her. Aelora had no such ease.

The skin did begin to heal. Although, it was still puffy and raised pale pink flesh, a distinct diagonal line carved across the bridge of her nose and down onto her left cheek. She supposed she was lucky that it didn't catch her eye. Aemond wasn't as fortunate.

Now they matched.

When she heard of the news, Alicent came rushing to Aelora's chambers. "I am so sorry, my dear."

"I'm not," Aelora replied curtly, not in the mood for visitors. "It was my fault. I won't place the blame on anyone else."

Alicent shook her head. "No, my son knows better. He should never raise a weapon to you. I've told him this. He's very sorry."

Aelora sighed at her words. She wished Alicent hadn't done that. She wished Aliicent and the rest of the Greens would leave her alone entirely. She didn't want Aemond's pity or apologies. Only his understanding and compassion, if he had any left in his heart to give her.

"I asked him to play along. He was only listening to me, Your Grace. I don't blame him. Not for this, at least."

"I do," Alicent said, making Aelora's chest tighten. "I blame him for a great deal. I love him, but I do. Perhaps you're stronger than me, not placing the blame with him."

Aelora contemplated her words, her voice solemn. "We've all made mistakes, Your Grace. All you can do is learn to live with them. I suppose that's what he's doing."

A hard task, to be sure. Aelora didn't know just how much she blamed Aemond for, and how much she blamed herself for. Every single person in her family had something to be blamed for. What was the point in dwelling on it, other than wanting revenge?

Revenge was all that was worth the effort. The rest was not.

—

Aelora thought of Lucerys often as the days approached what would have been his name day. Helaena had offered to spend the day with her, coming up with ideas they could do to celebrate Lucerys's life.

But Aelora politely declined, resigning to spend the evening alone.

She took the Essence of Nightshade that Aegon had brewed for her and Aemond every night, but she tried to use it sparingly. She made the mistake of using too much of it the first night she took it, and it was a mistake she would never make again. She didn't know how Aegon had stomached it. It was awful. Such a cold and distant sleep. She almost preferred the nightmares.

But she decided that waking up screaming every night in a room right next to Aemond's would not work well in her favor, so she came up with a solution.

Half an hour before going to sleep, she would pour a few drops on her tongue. Not enough to knock her out, but just enough that she would begin to feel the effects. It would put her body to rest, at least, and she wouldn't have to worry about screaming or thrashing about. She would then spend those last thirty minutes–before she could no longer fight off the effects–thinking about everything good she could remember.

Like summers on Dragonstone, feeling the sun on her face as she soared through the clouds on the back of Meraxes.

The squawk of the seagulls, and the smell of the salt in the sea.