Our Violet Delights

《Chapter 4》

Her mother's screams ring through the Sea Dragon Tower when she begins bleeding in the night. Her rage brought forth her labours, a moon too early. Aemma is shaken awake and brought to her mother's birthing bed.

"Comfort her," Maester Gerardys commands. "Your mother needs you."

Aemma stays by her mother's side for three days, playing nursemaid. She listens as her mother curses her Uncles, calling upon the wrath of all seven Gods to deliver her justice for her stolen crown. Alicent will die, she cries, tears soaking the featherbed. And when the third night passes and the Queen is yet to deliver the babe within her, she begs for mercy.

When that doesn't work, she begs for relief.

"Get it out of me!" Rhaenyra screams, clawing at her belly and drawing blood from her skin. "Monster, monster, get out, get out, GET OUT!"

"Hold her down, Princess!" Maester Gerardys demands, forcing Aemma to grab her mother by her arms.

Rhaenyra screams and sobs and rails against the torture of womanhood. The birthing bed was waging its battle and Aemma could only watch in horror as her mother tried to survive it.

Please don't take her, Aemma prays to the Gods. Please let her live.

The Stranger does not claim Rhaenyra Targaryen that day, but he does claim the babe which slips limp from her body without a whisper.

"Why is she quiet?" Rhaenyra sobs, reaching for the still bundle in the Maester's arms. Aemma holds her mother against her chest, her own face wet with tears. "Why is she not crying?"

They all know the answer.

The dragon Queen roars with rage when the babe is placed in her arms, unmoving and quiet. She is a small thing, with a light dusting of silver hair and folded fingers. Rhaenyra traces every feature, even the hole in the babes chest, as she whispers a name: "Visenya, Visenya, Visenya."

She is given the name of a warrior and yet the babe could not survive her first battle.

Her mother's grief twists her into a beast hungry for vengeance. The loss of a daughter was more than the loss of a crown. For what is a throne compared to a child from your own womb? What is the realm compared to a daughter's love?

Aemma takes the unmoving bundle from her mother's arms and carries it outside to where her stepfather waits. He takes a mournful look at the babe she holds before he disappears into her mother's chambers, soft murmurs joining the loud sobs still echoing through the Tower.

Arrax regards her curiously when she lays the babe at his feet.

The wind whips at her face, the sea crashes into the cliffs below and the sun disappears behind the clouds.

"Dracarys."

~

Ravens carry threats from Dragonstone and news of babe lost to the birthing bed.

Aemond hears that it was a twisted thing, a monster of his sisters' womb. The fools of the court claim the babe had a hole in her chest and a stubby, scaled tail. The Gods cursed the realm's delight and blessed our good King Aegon, the court crowed. But none mention the six fingers or twelve toes of little Prince Jaehaerys, who is hidden away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to name him a curse.

"Rhaenyra has gathered a council of supporters," Otto Hightower announces at the next small council meeting. "She commands a dozen lords and bannermen. They've sworn their swords to her cause."

Aegon slouches in his chair, declaring, "They are traitors."

Aemond leans against the wall and chuckles. "Are you to name every person in the realm a traitor, brother? Most had sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra as heir."