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[transcribed from the memories of Aelin Targaryen]
Ana had been screaming for her daughter for three hours now. The maids were running in and out of the room, buckets of cold water and cloths abandoned on the cold floor of Winterfell. "Where is she?" She grabbed a hand of one of the maids and squeezed it, leaving the marks of her nails. The fever spiked up in the last hour, making Ana more delirious. "My little wolf." Her voice cracked on the words.
"You need rest, lady." One of the maids said sternly, tired of hearing the moaning of the sick woman. "Your daughter is fine. Your husband is on his way." Ana muttered something in response, but it was lost in the sound of the doors opening.
A small girl of six ran in and squeezed under the gown of one maid who tried to block her way to Ana. After her another person walked in. "Leave us." The man's voice commanded.
"Lord, it is unwise. Lady Ana's fever is high and-"
"I said... Leave. Us." The sharp edge in the man's voice sounded and all of the maids scuttered from the room, leaving the three of them together.
"Little Wolf." Ana's voice greeted her daughter, but then her eyes fell upon the man and a cough escaped her. "Daemon." A soft whisper carried through the room. "My hus-" She coughed again. "Calaen is returning."
"I came to say goodbye." Daemon whispered to her. Her daughter sat next to Ana's legs. "You'll be dead soon." He told her. "And I wished to see you for the last time." The Rogue Prince spoke without any emotion.
"Come." Ana whispered, her eyes closing. She tried to lift her hand to him, but failed.
"Mom?" Her daughter asked with worry.
"Shh...I'm alright."
Daemon sat down on the bed and leaned closer to the woman. "Is she mine, Ana?" Inaudible words escaped her and Daemon shook his head. "I need to know." He said, looking at the small child. "You shall be dead before tomorrow, tell me." The Rogue Prince begged the woman, but she was too delirious to answer straight away. Her gaze landed on the child curled around her leg, the girl did not cry.
"Daemon..." Whisper escaped the poor woman and she sought his hand. Her haze gaze met his violet eyes again.
"Aelin, leave us. I must speak to your mother." The girl looked up at the man with hesitance but nodded. When the doors closed behind her, Ana opened her mouth uttering the answer.
[the next part is based only on the truths Aelin Targaryen believes in.]
Daemon leaned over the silhouette laying on the bed. Ana shook her head protesting, but could do nothing when the cold pillow was put on her face and her lover started to suffocate her. Tears streamed from Daemon's face as he holded the pillow tightly with his bare hands.
[My Lady- Aelin Targaryen- recalls hearing muffled screams through the doors.]
"Daemon-" Ana tried to fight back, but her weak body, wrecked with fever, wouldn't let her. One of her hands found his. So Ana Targaryen (née Stark) died with her palm touching one belonging to Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince walked out of the room, he did not spare a look at the small girl gazing curiously at him. Instead he left Winterfell, never to return again. It was one and only time Caraxes had been seen in the North.
Two girls, one of six, one of three, were staring at the burying place, being readied for their mother's body. "She's gone." Their father spoke, with their little brother in his arms. "She..." He looked down at their son. "I'm sorry, Aelin, can you?" He crouched down and put the boy in the girl's hands. Then he turned around and left the chamber before his daughter could see him cry.
Aelin turned cautiously around, holding Oreastes in her arms, not knowing what to do with the child. One of the maids rushed to her side and picked the boy up. "I didn't like her." Aelin whispered to her sister. "She hurt our father."
The smaller girl looked up. "Mother?"
"Yes."
[In this description of Lady's mother's death something is not right, but I am only her quill, so my mouth shall remain shut.]
