𝘼𝙉𝘼𝙀𝙇𝙔𝙎 𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙂𝘼𝙍𝙔𝙀𝙉 tore her mother apart from the inside out. She had gotten stuck halfway from the womb, slowly eroding the bones and muscles within the young woman. Her father had been granted a choice, and in that moment the chance...
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ VII. 𝗧𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 125ᴀᴄ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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IT HAD TAKEN YEARS FOR VISERYS TO FULLY ACCEPT HIS SECOND DAUGHTER. It was pure cruelty that had him mislike a little girl. And his cruelty stemmed from a hatred of himself; that he had killed Aemma, not Anaelys, and he had pushed his beloved wife to fruitless birth after fruitless birth. It was his ambition for a son and heir, one he had so clearly inherited from his long dead grandfather, that had put Aemma's declining health at the bottom of his list of priorities. He could see it clearly now.
Viserys no longer blamed Anaelys. He could not say that looking upon her familiar face was guilt free nor painless, but he could say that he did truly love his second child. Her frequent visits to the King had grown to be a comfortable part of the day for him. Reading, sewing or talking was how she pent her time within her father's presence. By the day she grew more akin to her mother, who often found peace in silence, surrounded by her husband, daughter or attendants.
Anaelys' quick knocks were frequent upon the door of his chambers, so it was incredibly easy for the aging King to know when Anaelys had come to see him. She was oft quick and sharp with her musical notes, striking the door as hard as possible so as to not be misheard nor easily ignored.
Her usual thumping came in the early hours of the day following the birth of the new Prince Joffrey Velaryon. "Father? It is Anaelys," she called through the door.
