love and duty | daemon targaryen

four

92 AC - The Red Keep

Three months had passed since the death of Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne. Somehow, someway, the world continued onwards, the sun rising and falling each day opposite the moon and the stars, signaling the passage of time as House Targaryen remained lost in grief.

The members of the House of the Dragon had returned to the Red Keep together from Dragonstone at Alysanne's request. The Good Queen was the most lost of them all in the wake of Aemon's death, and she was desperate for her remaining children and grandchildren to surround her and anchor her. She believed that having them all with her would somehow fill the hole in her heart left behind by the deaths of her children. It was a foolish hope, but none of them could deny her it.

While Vaegon and Maegelle returned to Oldtown, Maera, Jocelyn, Rhaenys, and Corlys moved to the Red Keep, taking residence within Maegor's Holdfast, hearts impossibly heavy. The last time they had been in the Red Keep, Aemon had been with him. Now he was gone, and they were forced to live on without him. Aemon's spirit haunted every corridor, every chamber. When Maera saw Baelon at the end of a corridor two days after they arrived at the Red Keep, his back turned towards her, she could have sworn it was her father, Aemon, come back from the dead. She had cried herself to sleep that night.

Jocelyn had moved into new chambers, the Baratheon woman unable to stomach being in the same chambers she had lived in with her late husband without him at her side. During shared dinners, a chair always remained open directly to Jocelyn's right and Jaehaerys's left. Baelon had hardly spoken a word since their return, the Spring Prince sporting dark circles under his eyes and pale skin. It was clear he was struggling to find meaning in a world his older brother was no longer a part of.

Maera spent her days glued to her sister's side. Rhaenys and Maera were hardly seen apart in the weeks and months following the deaths, the sisters always in each other's company. When nightmares would plague Maera's sleep, horrific images of her father with an arrow through his neck haunting her thoughts, Rhaenys and Corlys would welcome the young Targaryen into their chambers. Corlys would be sent to sleep on one of the chaises while Rhaenys and Maera huddled together in bed, the older sister assuring her sister in hushed High Valyrian, lulling her to sleep.

As weeks passed and the sharp and nearly unbearable pain and grief of Aemon's passing slowly became a dull throbbing, something new began to take over the members of House Targaryen. It was dark, nameless, ugly, and silent, yet no one was blind to it. Not the servants who whispered in darkened corners deep in the Red Keep, not the members of court and passing nobility who whispered of it in the gardens and their private chambers, and not the smallfolk, especially the jesters and musicians who lined the streets and filled the pubs of King's Landing, who spoke of it in simple songs and acts.

Not even the Targaryens themselves were blind to it.

During the evenings in which they all dined together in the private hall contained within Maegor's Holdfast, the members of House Targaryen sat divided along a long, oak rectangular table. Jaehaerys and Alysanne sat at the opposing ends of the table, the King and Queen who loved was inspiration of hundreds of songs sitting apart from one another, distance growing between them not only physically but emotionally.

Baelon sat to Jaehaerys's right and Rhaenys to Alysanne's right. Viserys sat beside Baelon, and then Daemon, and then Gael, who sat to her mother's left. Jocelyn sat beside Rhaenys, then Maera, then Corlys, who sat to Jaehaerys's left. An invisible line had been drawn down the table, separating House Targaryen on either side of it. The two sides of the table hardly spoke to each other, tense silence filling the dinners as Jaehaerys and Alysanne glared at each other across the table from each other. Maera and Daemon would kick each other under the table, but neither spoke, afraid to break the strange silence that had fallen over their family.