『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
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Daenerys fastened the last buttonon her violet dress. With a sigh, she looked into the mirror before herself. Her reflection stared back at her, uncertainty in her eyes.
It was the day of the tournament and the start of Aemma's labours. To say Daenerys was stressed was an understanding, no, a fact. She wished to be with Aemma during her labours, but unfortunately, it was not the custom. (Or so she was informed by no other then the Grand Maester, as she ventured to the birthing chamber this morning.)
"Go," Aemma told her. "We will see each other after all this mess. Hopefully, I'll have this babe by then..."
And like this, Daenerys left the chamber, secretly thankful. As cruel and selfish as it sounds, she did not truly wish to stay, having been traumatised by birth seven years ago...
To add to the tension, Rhaegon kept her awake all night. He screamed and cried, refusing to even touch his bed as if it were on fire and he would burn if he dared to lay a finger on it. Exhausted and running on fumes, Daenerys struggled to keep her eyes open as she prepared for the day ahead.
A knock disturbed her thoughts, and a silver-haired head peeked inside.
"Mama?"
"Visenya," said the princess, surprised to see her eldest daughter. "Father is in the armoury; he is preparing for the tournament, I should think." Daenerys turned her gaze back to the mirror and smoothed out her dress.
"Actually... I was hoping you could braid my hair." That made Daenerys look at her again, surprised. "The maids don't do it as well as you do."
"Oh," said Daenerys, a small smile forming on her lips. "Of course, come sit, sit," she urged her.
As Visenya sat down in front of her mother's mirror, Daenerys ran a gentle hand over her shoulder. "What a beautiful dress," she told her.
Visenya blushed and looked down, her cheeks matching the colour of her gown. Daenerys set her daughter's hair loose, letting it fall down her back.
"How much it grew," Daenerys remarked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "You're becoming a young woman before my eyes."
Visenya smiled shyly and glanced at her reflection in the mirror as Daenerys began to braid her hair. For a moment, she sat in silence. There was no sound in the room except for the gentle brushing of the hair and the occasional soft sigh from Daenerys.
"Are you worried about father getting hurt?" asked the girl.
Daenerys chuckled lightly and shook her head. "You know me too well... But he will be fine. Are you worried?"
