｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓
un. — the schism!

THE HALLS OF THE Red Keep were, for once, filled with a stagnant silence that only the hour of the ghost could bring about. It appeared that all the souls who resided in the castle had retired to their chambers, bar one.

Little feet, not yet used to disguising the pitter-patter of steps that disturbed the stillness of the halls, Daella was a clever child; she did not allow any excited giggles to escape her small pink lips and was aware that she needed to stick close to the shadows lest the moonlight fall upon her golden curls and pale skin—and reveal her form to any passing guards. Or Seven forbid the sleeping nursemaid whose watch she had slithered out from under.

In her hands, she held a white cloth filled with lemon cakes that her chubby digits clutched onto desperately. Though she wished to simply sprint back to the nursery, the fear of dropping the precious treats onto the stone flooring was too strong, so she settled for a pace that was not quite running yet, not the strolling pace that the courtiers were known for.

Daella stopped abruptly and took seven steps back; the door to the Throne Room was ajar.

Cocking her head to the side curiously, the little girl slid through the small gap in the door with little to no noise. The moonlight streaming in through the windows was the only light provided, as it bathed the figure sitting in the Iron Throne in a heavenly glow—silver hair becoming one with the moonlight.

Daella flinched back at once, mistaking the figure for that of her father at a distance and accidently banging the door behind her shut with a damming slam.

Her father did not like to be alone with Daella; at only four, she knew this. He never met her eyes.

Yet as the door slammed and the lemon cakes she had stolen from the kitchens clattered to the floor in defeat, the figure snapped his head up, and she found that the man sitting upon the throne was not her father at all. His crown was different, crudely made of what seemed to be wood, and his hair was shorn much shorter than the King's.

His hair was the same shade of white typical of the House of the Dragon, and though she was not close enough to see, she was certain he would have the same amethyst eyes as Rhaenyra and the King. The man, seemingly entertained by the scene he had created, lifted himself from the seat, the sword at his waist glinting mockingly in the moonlight as he descended the steps and beckoned her closer.

Swallowing nervously, Daella lifted her chin and clasped her hands behind her backs in a mockery of the pose she had seen her sister and stepmother adopt when they were forced to confront one another.

As she got closer to the strange man, she noticed a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he stared down at the defiant child in front of him, her mismatched eyes a relic of the past. "That's not your seat."

"Usōven, jorrāelagon lēkianna." One of his eyebrows raised a little when the child scrunched her face up at his words. "Apologies, dear niece," he translated. "You do not speak High Valyrian?"

Daella's nose scrunched up. She hated when adults used that tone, the one that let her know she had failed some kind of unspoken expectation of her. "Nyra was teaching me before she left for her marriage tour. You are my uncle Daemon, then?" She did not really need his nod of confirmation; Nyra had told her enough about their uncle that Daella knew he was the only man bold enough to warm the Iron Throne in the cover of the dark.

"Of course she has been; you know I was the one who taught her the language of our ancestors?" He did not wait for Daella to answer, and the child felt a chill run down her spine when he kneeled to her height and met her eye-to-eye.

She was correct that they were a similar shade to her sisters, but that's where the resemblance ended. Her Nyra's eyes were always filled with warmth—a spark of mischief that Daella loved. Daemon's eyes were empty. Though mayhaps she was simply seeing what she wanted, what she could not see past.

Heir for a Day. Daemon had allegedly mocked her twin, her Baelon, if the whispers were to be believed. Crowning him with the moniker that would become his defining place in history. Daella had received many apologies when her egg did not hatch, but not a single person spoke of her brother to her in that manner. It was as though she did not grieve for him.

People forgot that she shared a womb with a twin, a boy who should have been walking beside her all her life. They forgot Baelon, but she could not. Not when, in the dark of night, when all was quiet, she could almost feel the thumping of a heart right beside her own.

Thump, thump, thump.

"Now, Daella, I know you should certainly be in bed by now... and officially, I should not be here until the morrow—we would not want you to get into trouble or spoil my reintroduction at court, would we?"

Daella shook her head slowly, resisting the childish urge to suck on her thumb for comfort; her Septa had berated her only the week prior, claiming little princesses were above such antics. Instead, she picked at the skin around her nails behind her back and squared her shoulders. "I suppose so. Goodnight Uncle."

Daella marched out of the Throne Room, narrowly remembering to pick up the bundled cloth filled with squished treats inside, resolutely refusing to look back. There had been no malice in Prince Daemon's words or any contempt in his gaze, and yet she could not help but feel like a small rabbit trapped in the jaws of a mighty dragon when alone with the man.

Shaking off her childish fear, she snuck back into the nursery and dove into her cot, shivering. Her nightgown and housecoat were not sufficient to ward off the chill of the castle, but as she pulled the sheet back, a warm feeling spread throughout her as shaggy white hair was revealed.

Aegon had clearly tried to wait up for her return; the two hatched the scheme together, though they decided Daella would be best to execute it since Aegon was by no means a cautious or quiet child and was often found causing mischief, much to the horror of his mother. Daella shook his shoulder softly and said, "Egg." Her voice was a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake Helaena, whose cot was on the other side of the room. Her little sister was a lovely little thing, but when she woke from dreams, she would screech and squeal for hours.

Despite her attempts, Aegon remained asleep in her cot, soft snores coming from his parted cherubic mouth. Rolling her eyes, Daella pinched one of the sweet treats and scoffed it down before hiding the rest and slipping into her cot beside her brother, an annoyed huff escaping her when she noticed he was hogging the covers as he always did.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next morning officially blew in the storm that was her Uncle Daemon, at least the gossiping nursemaids watching them in the nursery had claimed. He had approached the King with a mockery of a crown upon his brow before bowing to his brother and declaring the Stepstones as his.

King Viserys' (not her father—never her father) had declared a celebration was in order for the return of his brother; a luncheon was being thrown at that moment, one that the children were not to be in attendance of, and a feast would be taking place that evening. The Queen had stated that if they—Aegon—were well-behaved for their nursemaids, they would be able to attend the feast for a few hours.

"Bored," sometimes Daella missed the times when Aegon could not yet speak, "I want Sunfyre!"

Rolling her eyes towards the heavens, Daella truly wondered who thought it would be a good idea to keep Aegon in the nursery for an extended period of time. He was a sweet boy, unless he had nothing to keep his interest; he had a need for constant entertainment, which she thought might have been the cause of the exhaustion she often saw on the Queen's face.

Not looking up from her careful practice stitches as she was learning to sow, she spoke quietly, "Aegon, would you like to braid my hair?"

She regretted the words the moment they escaped her mouth, but she supposed the wide grin on his face was worth the brutal hair pulling she was about to endure. Aegon loved his mother's hair; she knew that. When she wore it down, foregoing her elaborate braids or veils, the boy could often be seen hiding his face in it, twirling it around his fingers, or even attempting to braid it with his chubby little fingers.

But Daella had heard Alicent the week prior scold the boy and warn him that it was time for him to forget such childish habits. Aegon had cried and screamed, setting Helaena off until her ears were ringing from their joint wailing. Her good-mother seemed unsure of what to do and had simply left the room, though not before Daella saw one traitorous tear that had escaped from her wide brown eyes.

The Queen wore her hair bound often after that.

So Daella, with her hair loose and flowing down to her waist in a river of gold, allowed her brother to sit behind her and begin running his fingers through it. He was surprisingly gentle—not as gentle as the maids, but enough so to tell that he was clearly being careful with it.

The nursery settled into a comfortable silence as the two children worked on their respective tasks, a look of pure concentration on their young faces. A breath of relief escaped the younger nursemaid, who had become accustomed to the screeching royal babes, but she never seemed able to soothe them. Aegon wanted only his mother's embrace, and Helaena would only screech louder when touched during one of her fits.

Daella, ever dutiful, tried not to create more of a fuss for the ladies watching over them. When she wanted to scream so loudly that the mighty beasts on Dragonstone would hear her, she held her breath until the feeling passed and was shoved down deep inside her where it could bother nobody. Her anger was easy to blanket, but her sadness proved more resistant, so the young princess has taught herself to cry quietly under the cover of darkness—nothing like the heaving, hiccuping sobs that escaped her baby sister.

But it was all okay; if she was a dutiful girl, the Gods would reward her graciousness. The Queen would tell her once a week, when they would kneel before the figure of the Mother in the Sept, if she was good and kind, the world would be generous in kind in turn. And that there, in the quiet of the Sept her own mother would be able to look down upon her as she prayed.

Rhaenyra entered the room with the stride of a dragon rider, just as Aegon finished her braid. A simple three-strand braid went straight down her back, something the young boy seemed immensely proud of as she beamed her thanks at him before her attention was averted to their older sister entering the room.

Daella believed her sister to be one of the most beautiful women in the world, with her moonbeam hair and kind lilac eyes. Often, she had heard courtiers whispering about how the heir was the spitting image of their mother, Aemma Arryn. "Nyra! You're back."

The little girl flung herself towards her sister. Wrapping her arms around the princess's waist, uncaring of her own lack of propriety, or the way the pearls adorning her sisters dress poked against her face

Her sister was warm. Her sister was home.

"Did you miss me, sweet girl?" Rhaenyra laughed, not noticing or perhaps not caring that their half-siblings were also in the room. "Do not fret; I have no plans of leaving again any time soon."

Daella pulled her face away from her sister's legs and gazed up at her with large eyes. "Promise?"

"I promise," she smiled fondly, if not slightly crookedly, down at her. "In fact, if I am ever needed to leave again, I will bring you with me, wherever I go."

Daella nodded solemnly at her sister's words, not quite understanding them. Why would any of them ever leave? This was their home, and as long as they all stayed there together, nothing could go wrong.

Of that, she was sure: "Come; I will help you get ready for the feast in my chambers."

"What about Aegon?"

"Lad- Queen Alicent will see to him, sweet sister." Her sister's grip on her hand was firm and unrelenting, so Daella simply turned her head and waved goodbye to a forlorn-looking Aegon as she was whisked to Rhaenyra's apartments.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The feast that evening was certainly a grand affair—a celebration of the end of a war—and by the time Rhaenyra and Daella arrived, it was clear many of the soldiers who had returned with the Prince were already deep into their cups.

It was loud, and Daella suddenly felt that perhaps she was not at all prepared for her first feast. A slew of house colours and jewels cloaked the bodies of the nobility in the room, against the backdrop of Targaryen finery.

"Princess Rhaenyra of Dragonstone and Princess Daella." Ser Harold Westerling bellowed from the doorway to the great hall, sending almost every head spinning in their direction, more specifically to Rhaenyra. She looked every bit like the heir to the throne in her silver gown that glittered in the candlelight as the precious gemstones that adorned it caught the embers' attention. Her hair was pin straight—something Daella would be eternally jealous of her sister for—falling to her corseted waist devoid of any braids to draw attention to the silver circlet that ruby stones hung from resting on the crown of her head.

Daella was quite glad the Lords and Ladies could not tear their eyes from the Realm's Delight, as she suddenly found herself feeling underdressed. Her dress was Arryn blue, a colour she was partial to more often than not, with a lightly ruffled skirt and a laced bodice. Her hair was still in the slightly messy braid Aegon had done earlier that day.

But Daella thought that was something she was destined for—to live in the shadow of her silver-haired siblings.

Pinching her arm lightly to bring her back to herself, she trailed behind Rhaenyra as they made their way to the high table. Her mismatched eyes widened at the sight of the empty seat beside her uncle Daemon, but she was quickly relieved when Rhaenyra took the seat with a smile wider than Daella had ever seen on her before. Daella quickly found herself in the seat between her sister and brother. Aegon immediately pulled on the end of her braid with a delighted expression, overtaking the previous sullen look that he had worn.

"I'm bored." Aegon huffed as he explained that the entire night had involved the soldiers getting drunk and the simpering courtiers politicking. Though he had managed to make their uncle start talking of battle before his mother interrupted with a stern glare,

"Would you rather be in the nursery with Helaena?" Her question went unanswered as Aegon huffed under his breath, knowing she was right. A laugh drew her attention. It was not a kind laugh, nothing like the lilting giggles that seemed to be escaping her sister as she spoke over Daella's head to the Queen—an odd reconciliation that Daella did not understand.Itt was a barking laugh. She was laced with cruelty, and as her eyes drifted throughout the hall, her gaze came to rest upon the man making such noise.

He was young, perhaps the same age as Rhaenyra. But the fresh cuts on his face and the entirely improper axe hanging from his belt marked him as one of the soldiers her uncle had fought with. And large—he towered over many of the older soldiers around him.

"Ser Criston, who is that?" Her sister's sworn sword stood not far from the high table behind them, his hand always resting on the pommel of his sword as he scoped out any threats.

He followed her eyeline as he crouched beside her, mouth pressing into a thin line as he took in the man. "That princess is Dalton Greyjoy, the new Lord of the Iron Islands—after his father fell beside him on the battlefield." Criston looked nervous as he considered his next words: "It would be best for you to avoid him while he is here, princess." He clearly held off on saying more as he stepped back, and Daella turned back towards the rest of the room, only to find a pair of eyes locked on her.

Danger.

His eyes were blue; even across the room, she could see the vibrancy of them. But there was something the child did not like—some primal instinct that told her to run. Unable to move, however, she simply sat wide-eyed until the man's attention drifted elsewhere.

Daella turned back to Aegon, who was doing a spectacular job of getting his food all over his face, much to his mother's displeasure, and as children do, they forgot all about the roguish man who seemed determined to drink the castle dry.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

For the next two moons, there seemed to be a tentative peace within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra and Alicent were closer than Daella could ever remember them being. Her good-mother had announced she was once again with a child, and even her uncle lurking about the Keep could not dampen the joy the young girl felt at seeing her family so united.

Daella had never known that her good-mother possessed dimples when she smiled wide enough or that her sister could laugh so hard that hiccuping snorts would escape her. She learned when both women had come to collect all the children from the nursery to spend the afternoon with a picnic under the weirwood tree in the summer sun.

The reconciliation of the two and the excitement of the Rogue Prince returning to court had left the children somewhat lonely as the adults' attention in their lives' drifted, but that day was something Daella would never forget. The way her older sister and Aegon seemed to have an unspoken competition of who could eat the most lemon cakes, or how Heleana crawled around in the dirt—thankfully calm and content in whatever she was searching for.

For a moment, Daella simply ceased all interaction in favour of trying desperately to commit the image in front of her to memory. Alicent was smiling at Rhaenyra as her hand caressed the small bump in her belly. Rhaenyra, with her head tilted towards the sky, closed her eyes in peace. Aegon sprawled on his stomach, looking content after thoroughly stuffing his face with sweets and cakes, seemingly unaware of Helaena creeping up behind him with a bundle of worms clenched in her fist and a wide grin.

Suspended in time, Daella prayed to the gods for it to last.

Alas, not a fortnight later, news of a wedding rocked the kingdom.

Rhaenyra Targaryen would wed Ser Laenor Velaryon.

The news called for a wedding tournament that the children would be barred from attending but would hear about for the remainder of their lives. Daella had heard her sister had worn a black gown for their house, and the queen had a green one of her own.

Harmless, she had thought it at first, but that was not where it ended. Uncle Daemon was once again banished from court just before the wedding was announced. Ser Criston, her sister's sworn protector, had asked for the favour of Queen Alicent at the tourney and, from the whispers of gossiping servants, had brutally murdered a man during the melee. Daella's fifth birthday came and went without much fanfare due to the focus on her sister's nuptials.

All of these events had not truly affected Daella until that moment where she found her sister standing before her in a gown of black and red—her face pinched in mild disdain as she glanced about the royal nursery before it melted into a soft, unassuming smile as her gaze fell upon her sister.

"Come, sister, you are much too old to be staying in the nursery. It is time for you to have your own chambers."

With that proclamation, Daella's world came crashing down around her.

authors note!
this was so difficult to write the mindset of a 4-5 year old oh my god but it was important for laying foundations and i wanted us to see it though daella's eyes first.

aegon pov up next...

—summer