Chapter Text
The walk from Helaena's chambers to the Queen's solar was the longest Lyllya had ever taken.
Her feet moved without her permission, carrying her through corridors she had known since childhood, past tapestries she had memorized years ago, through doors that opened and closed around her like the jaws of some great beast. She was aware, dimly, that she must look strange, well stranger that usual. But no one stopped her. Perhaps they saw something in her expression that warned them away.
Her hand never left her stomach.
*Not alone*, Helaena had said. *Not yet.*
But she was alone now. Aegon was meeting with his barber before the feast with the Dornish envoy. He’d said he'd pop into Helaena’s rooms after he was done, but she couldn't tell him first. She didn't know what he would say. What he would do. How he would feel. But Mother would know what to do. Mother always knew.
Alicent was at her desk when Lyllya entered, a stack of letters spread before her, her quill moving in that steady, efficient hand that had managed a kingdom while her husband faded by inches. She looked up at the sound of the door, and her expression shifted immediately from concentration to concern.
"Lyllya. What's wrong?"
The question undid her. All the weeks of work, of sleepless nights, of holding herself together with nothing but will and terror crumbled.
“Mother …?” Her voice cracked, sounding more babe than woman. She crossed the room in stumbling steps and fell to her knees beside her mother's chair, her face pressed into Alicent's lap, and wept.
Alicent's hands were in her hair immediately, smoothing the loose strands back from her face, finding the rhythm she had used when Lyllya was small and the world was too loud, too bright, too much.
"Shh, my love. Shh. Whatever it is, we'll fix it. Tell me what's happened."
But Lyllya could not speak. She could only shake, her hands clutching at her mother's skirts, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps that tasted like copper and grief. She had been so strong. She had been so good. She had done everything Grandsire asked and more, and still her body had betrayed her, still the world had found a new way to punish her for loving him.
"Lyllya." Alicent's voice was firmer now, the voice she used when her children were hiding something from her. "What's wrong. Look at me."
She raised her head. Her mother's face swam before her, blurred with tears.
“Mother, I…my moon blood….”
"No."
It was not a question.
Lyllya nodded. Once. The smallest movement, but it was enough.
Alicent's face drained of color. For a long moment, she did not move, did not speak, did not seem to breathe. Then her hands tightened in Lyllya's hair, almost painfully, and her voice came out low and terrible.
"How long?"
"I don't…I think, maybe a month? I wasn't paying attention. I was so busy with Aegon, with the council, with—"
"You didn't notice."
"I thought it was stress. I thought…"
"You thought." Alicent closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were dry, and hard, and utterly empty. "Where is he?"
"With his barber. I scheduled it. I—"
"Get up."
Alicent was on her feet, pulling Lyllya up with her, her grip bruising on her daughter's arm. Her face had settled into something Lyllya recognized: the expression she wore when Lord Strong brought bad news, when the treasury was short, when an alliance was crumbling. The expression of a woman who had learned, long ago, that there was no problem so terrible it could not be managed.
"Go to your chambers," she said. "Do not speak to anyone. Do not eat or drink anything until I come for you. Do you understand?"
"Mother?"
"Do you understand?"
Lyllya nodded, mute. Her mother's hand was still on her arm, still too tight, and there was something in her face that Lyllya had never seen before. Something that looked almost like fear.
"I will call a meeting," Alicent said. "Your grandsire. Aemond. Aegon." The word was bitter on her tongue. "We will fix this."
She released Lyllya's arm and turned away, already reaching for a servant to summon the family, already becoming the queen again, the woman who had held the realm together with her own two hands while her husband rotted.
Lyllya stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, and felt the first true stirring of terror.
The family gathered in the Queen's solar as dusk bled through the windows, staining the walls the color of old blood. The dinner would be soon and they would all be expected, but this couldn't wait. It was urgent.
Alicent had not told them why. She had only sent her summons: the King, the Hand, the Prince Aemond. Urgent. Private. The servants had been dismissed, the doors closed, the guards posted at a distance that would not hear. When Aegon entered, still wearing the grey doublet Lyllya had chosen for him that morning, his confusion was plain.
"What's this about? I had a—Lyl?"
She sat in the corner, the smallest chair, her hands folded in her lap. She had changed her gown, washed her face, braided her hair again. She had tried to look like a princess, like someone who could face what was coming. But when Aegon's eyes found hers, when his brow furrowed with that familiar, boyish concern, she felt all of it slip away.
"Aeg.." she began, but Alicent's voice cut across her.
"Sit down."
He sat. He had learned, as all her children had learned, not to argue with that tone.
Otto was already seated, his face unreadable, his hands folded on the table before him. He had come without his usual retinue, without his ledgers and reports. He knew, Lyllya realized. He had known before he walked through the door. Her mother had told him. And he had come prepared to manage, to solve, to turn even this into something that could be controlled.
Aemond stood by the window, his back to the room, his one eye fixed on the darkening sky. He had not spoken since he arrived. He had not looked at Lyllya. But she could see his hands, clasped behind his back, the knuckles white.
When everyone was seated, Alicent stood at the head of the table, her hands flat on the polished wood, her spine straight as a blade.
"Lyllya is with child."
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
Aegon's reaction was immediate. His head snapped toward her, his mouth opening, and for one terrible moment Lyllya thought he would be angry. But then his face transformed, split open by something that looked almost like wonder. He glided to her, crushes her in a jubilant embrace.
"A child," he said. His voice was strange, rough in a way she had never heard. "Our child. Lyl, you're…we're…"
He was smiling. Smiling, as if this were good news, as if the world would simply rearrange itself to accommodate whatever he wanted, because he was the king and he wanted *this*. She had seen that smile before, on the night he had agreed to take her into the city, on the morning he had promised to attend her recital. The smile of a man who had never truly understood that consequences applied to him.
"Aegon." She tried to keep her voice steady. "This is…"
"This is wonderful." He pressed her hands to his chest, over his heart. "I love you, Lyl. You know I do. And I'll love this child. Our child. Everything is going to be-"
"Enough." Alicent's voice cracked like a whip. "You foolish, selfish boy. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Aegon's smile faltered. He rose, still holding Lyllya's hands, and turned to face his mother. "I know exactly what I've done. I've given her a child. Our child. The blood of the dragon-"
"You've put a bastard in your youngest sister's belly." Alicent's voice was shaking now, the control she had maintained for so long beginning to splinter. "You've given Otto's enemies a weapon that will destroy us. You've handed Rhaenyra and her faction proof that we are exactly what they've always called us: usurpers, degenerates, no better than-”
"Mother." Lyllya's voice came out stronger than she expected. "It's not his fault. It's mine. I should have been more careful. I should have-"
"Should have?" Alicent laughed, a terrible sound. "You're a child, Lyllya. You're still a child. You've been playing at being Rhaenys, playing at being his queen, and now…" Her hand pressed against her own mouth, as if to hold the words back, but they came anyway. "Now there is a child. And I will not let you destroy yourself for his convenience."
Lyllya's grip tightened on Aegon's hands. "I'm not destroying myself. I'm—"
"Quiet."
The word came from Grandsire. He had not raised his voice. He had not needed to. He sat at the table, his fingers steepled before him, his gaze moving between his grandchildren like a merchant assessing damaged goods.
"You are both young," he said, and his voice was almost gentle. "You are not the first young people to find yourselves in this situation. And you will not be the last. The question is not what has happened, but what we do now."
He looked at Lyllya, and she felt the full weight of his attention for the first time since the morning in the brothel, when he had given her a purpose.
"There are options," he said. "Difficult options, all of them. But we will find one that preserves the family, the crown, and your future."
Alicent turned on him. "Don't you dare speak to her of options. Acting like you didn't create this situation. You made her his keeper. You told her to reward him with her body. You—"
"I did what was necessary to keep a king on his throne." Otto's voice did not change. "What I did not anticipate was that they would be so... thorough in their devotion."
Aegon's hands tightened on Lyllya's. "What options?"
Alicent drew a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was low, measured, the voice she used when she was about to say something she knew no one would want to hear.
"Moon tea."
The words fell into the silence like gravel into a grave. Lyllya felt the blood drain from her face.
"No."
"You're too young. You're not married. This child…"
"No." She was on her feet now, her hands pressed to her belly, her whole body vibrating with a heat she had not known was in her until this moment. "I will not. you cannot ask me to "
"She's right." Aegon's voice was hard now, harder than she had ever heard it. He stepped between Lyllya and their mother as if his body alone could shield her. "That's not happening. She's not taking anything. You're not taking my child."
Alicent's face was grey. "Aegon. Listen to me. If this child is born, there is no hiding it. The court will know. The realm will know. And what do you think will happen when Rhaenyra's supporters hear that the king has impregnated his baby sister? The sister who is not his wife? The sister he was supposed to be protecting?"
"She's my sister," Aegon said. "My blood. My wife's sister. The Targaryens have always—"
"The Targaryens have always married brother to sister. But…" Alicent's voice cracked. "Not this. You're already married to Helaena and with Lyllya you have no marriage, no vows, no—"
"Then we'll marry."
The words came out of Lyllya's mouth before she could stop them. Everyone turned to look at her. She was shaking, she realized, her whole body trembling, but she forced herself to stand straight, to meet her mother's eyes.
"We can marry. The Conqueror married both his sisters. Maegor had multiple wives. There's precedent. If Aegon takes me as his second wife, our child will be legitimate. It will be a prince or princess. No one can call it a bastard."
The silence that followed was different from the others. This silence was not shock or horror. It was the silence of people who had already considered this possibility and found it wanting.
Otto spoke first. "The Faith would never allow it. The Conqueror married his sisters before he was crowned, before the Faith had power in Westeros. And Maegor was judged a monster for what he did. We are not in Old Valyria, Lyllya. We are in King's Landing, where the High Septon sits in the Great Sept and the smallfolk throw stones at those they call abominations."
"Grandsire…”
"You would make us a laughingstock. You would give Rhaenyra everything she needs to turn the lords of the realm against us. The Greens built their claim on tradition, on the laws of gods and men. The men of Westeros..Not the dragonlords of your stories and songs." He spread his hands. "I have spent twenty years building a foundation for Aegon's rule. Do not ask me to tear it down for a child that should not exist."
Lyllya felt something crack inside her. She turned to Aegon, but he was staring at his grandfather, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists.
"Then what do you suggest?" he demanded. "You want her to kill our baby? Is that your great solution?"
"No." Otto's voice was calm. "I am suggesting we be practical. Lyllya is with child. That cannot be undone. But it can be... managed."
He turned to her, and his expression was almost kind.
"There are houses in the Reach who would take you. Oldtown is far from the court, far from the eyes of Rhaenyra's agents. You could go there, quietly, before you begin to show. The child would be born there, in privacy, with a maester in attendance. And afterwards" He paused, choosing his words with care. "Afterwards, there are families who would take the child. Good families. Loyal to our cause. The child would be raised well, with no knowledge of its true parentage. It would be safe. And you would return to court, to your duties, and this would become nothing more than a difficult memory."
Lyllya's hands flew to her belly again, as if she could protect the small life inside her from the words that surrounded it. "You want me to give away my baby."
"I want you to be reasonable." Otto's voice did not waver. "I want you safe, your child safe. There is no future for this baby at court, Lyllya. You know that. The whispers alone would destroy it. Better to be raised in a good home, with a good name, than to live as a bastard in a court that will never accept it."
"No."
She had not meant to speak. The word simply emerged, as if her body had decided before her mind could catch up.
"No," she said again. "I won't give away my baby. I won't.I can't."
She looked at Aegon, desperate now, searching for something she could hold onto. But his face had gone strange, closed in a way she rarely saw. He was looking at Otto, not at her, and there was something in his expression that might have been fear.
"Aegon," she whispered. "Please."
He did not answer.
It was Aemond who broke the silence.
He had not moved from the window, had not spoken since he entered. But now he turned, his face half-lit by the dying sun, his one eye fixed on Lyllya with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Marry her to someone else."
The room went still.
Aegon's head snapped toward his brother. "What?"
Aemond's voice was calm. Measured. The voice he used when he was laying out a battle strategy in the map room.. when he was explaining the weaknesses in an opponent's defense.
"There are lords in the Reach, the Riverlands, the Crownlands. Old men with no heirs, or men who have proven unable to produce them. Men who would give anything for a Targaryen bride, even one with a child not their own." His gaze did not leave Lyllya's face. "You marry one of them, you bear his name. Live in his castle, or perhaps it would please him to allow you to remain at court. And when your child is born, it is his child. Legitimate. Protected."
"No." The word tore out of Aegon before Aemond had finished speaking. He crossed the room in three strides, his face mottled with rage. "You want me to give her to some-some old man? To watch her share his bed? To-" "You watch her share your bed now." Aemond did not flinch. "At least this way, the child is safe. At least this way, she stays at court. At least this way-"
"I said no."
Aegon's hand shot out, grabbing Aemond by the collar, slamming him against the window frame. Lyllya heard the glass rattle, heard her mother cry out, but she could not move. She could only watch as her brothers faced each other, her world collapsing around them.
"You want her," Aemond accused, and his voice was low, almost a whisper. "You have always wanted her. But wanting is not the same as keeping. And you have never been able to keep anything, have you, brother?"
Aegon's fist drew back. It was Alicent who stopped him, her hand closing around his wrist, her voice cutting through the red haze that had descended over them all.
"Enough." She pulled them apart with a strength Lyllya had forgotten she possessed. "You are princes of the realm. You are brothers. And you will not—" She stopped, breathing hard, her eyes moving between her sons. "You will not do this. Not here. Not now."
Aegon released Aemond with a shove that sent him stumbling into the wall. He turned away, his chest heaving, his hands shaking.
"She's not marrying anyone," he said, and his voice was thick with something that might have been tears. "She's mine. She stays with me. And our child stays with us. I'm the king. I decide what happens. Not you. Not Grandsire. Not anyone."
He crossed to Lyllya and pulled her to her feet, his arm around her waist, his body between her and the rest of the room.
"We're leaving," he said. "We're done with this. You want to tell us what to do? Find another way. One that doesn't involve killing our child or sending her away."
He was pulling her toward the door when Alicent spoke. Her voice was quiet now, so quiet Lyllya almost didn't hear it.
"Aegon."
He stopped.
"Your grandfather is not wrong." Alicent's face was grey, exhausted, the face of a woman who had been fighting for so long she had forgotten what peace felt like. "This child is a danger to all of us. To Lyllya most of all. You think you can protect her? You can barely protect yourself."
"I can-”
"You can what? Keep her in your chambers? Pretend the child doesn't exist? Hide it away when it's born?" Alicent shook her head slowly. "You are the king, Aegon. That means you have enemies. And your enemies will use this. They will use her. They will use your child. And there is nothing you can do to stop them."
Aegon's arm tightened around Lyllya's waist. "Then I'll kill anyone who tries."
"With what army? What allies?" Alicent's voice rose. "You have the Hightowers. You have a handful of lords who support us because they fear Rhaenyra more than they dislike you. And now you want to hand them proof that you are exactly what they fear: a boy who cannot control his base urges, who cannot protect his own sister, who has put a bastard in her belly while his wife sits in her chambers and pretends not to see."
The words hung in the air, ugly and true.
Lyllya looked at her mother, at the lines of grief carved into her face, at the hands that had braided her hair and wiped her tears and held her when she was small. She wanted to hate her. She wanted to scream at her. But all she could see was a woman who had spent her whole life doing what she thought was right, and who had lost everything anyway.
“Mother. Grandsire. Aemond," she began, and her voice was steadier than she felt. "We'll talk tomorrow. When everyone is calmer."
She pulled Aegon toward the door, and this time, no one stopped them.
*********************
That night, Lyllya lay in Aegon's arms, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that would not come.
He had been tender that night. He had held her, whispered promises, told her he would protect her, protect their child, that no one would take either of them away. She had wanted to believe him. She had tried to believe him. But she had seen his face when Aemond spoke, seen the rage and the fear and the terrible, familiar selfishness that lay beneath his love.
He wanted her. That she never doubted. But wanting was not the same as protecting, and she was not sure he knew the difference.
She was still awake when the door opened.
Alicent stood in the threshold, a cup in her hands, her face soft in the candlelight. She looked old, Lyllya thought. Older than she had any right to look.
"Mother?"
Aegon stirred beside her, but did not wake. Alicent crossed the room on silent feet, her gaze fixed on her daughter's face.
"I couldn't sleep," she said softly. "I kept thinking about what you said earlier.” Lyllya sat up, pulling the sheets around her. "I meant it."
"I know." Alicent sat on the edge of the bed, the cup cradled in her hands. "I've been so hard on you, Lyllya. I've tried to protect you, to keep you safe, and I've only made things worse." Lyllya shrugged awkwardly.
"It's not your fault."
"It is." Alicent's voice cracked. "I should have seen what was happening. I should have stopped it before it started. I should have…" She shook her head. "But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make the future easier."
.She held out the cup. "Sleeping draught. The maester makes it for me, when my thoughts keep me awake. It will help you rest. We can talk more in the morning, when we're all calmer. When we can think clearly."
Lyllya looked at the cup. The liquid inside was dark, smelled faintly of honey and something bitter beneath. She was so tired. Her body ached with it, with the weeks of sleeplessness, with the weight of everything that had happened, with the small life growing inside her that she had only just begun to accept.
The steam hit her face and reminded her of when her mother used to wash her hair. She remembered how she would curl into Alicent's bed in her night dress after, when she was much too big to be sleeping with her mother. Allicent would scold her but would still let her every time.
Until Aegon. Everything changed after Aegon.
“Mother….” She whispered, her voice small and searching. She felt lost.
“Shh. Drink,” her mother ordered gently stroking her hair, and Lyllya obeyed.
“Will you stay till I fall asleep?” Lyllya asked. Allicent nodded with tears in her eyes.
“Of course, Dove.”
And Lyllya closed her eyes, nestling against Aegon’s snoring form, as her mother gently smoothed her hair on her forehead.
Here is the final revision, with Aegon's protective stillness and the foreshadowing of what's to come:
---
It may have been hours or only moments when Lyllya's eyes snapped open.
The pain in her abdomen was severe and she desperately clutched her stomach, doubling over as a wave of cramping tore through her. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
"Mother?" Her voice came out thin, reedy. "Mother, something hurts—"
But Alicent was no longer stroking her hair. She had moved to the foot of the bed, her hands clasped before her, her face pale and still as carved marble. Watching. Waiting.
Waiting.
The truth hit Lyllya like a fist to the chest.
*Moon tea.*
Not a sleeping draught. Not a kindness. Not her mother finally offering comfort after months of distance and disappointment. Moon tea, brewed and measured and brought to her lips with gentle hands and a soft voice and a lifetime of trust that Alicent had just used as a weapon.
*She murdered my baby.*
The realization burned through her like poison. Her mother had brought her tea and stroked her hair and called her Dove and Lyllya had drunk, had trusted, had believed… and now her body was expelling everything that mattered.
"No." Lyllya scrambled off the bed, her legs barely holding her, and made it to the chamber pot just as her body began to purge itself of everything she had eaten, everything she had been, everything she had hoped. She retched until there was nothing left, until she was heaving empty air, until tears streamed down her face and snot ran from her nose and she did not care, could not care, because her mother had killed her baby.
Her mother had killed her baby.
"AEGON!" The scream tore out of her, raw and guttural, a sound she had never made before. "AEGON, WAKE UP!"
Behind her, Aegon stirred. Grumbled. Rolled over. Then her voice registered, the terror in it, and he was awake, blinking in the candlelight, his eyes finding her crumpled on the floor beside the chamber pot, her nightgown twisted around her thighs, her face blotched and swollen and wild.
"Lyl? What—"
"HER” She could barely get the words out, and couldn’t bear to call the murderess mother. Another cramp bent her double, and she groaned, low and animal. "She gave me something. She said it was a sleeping draught but it was…Aegon, she-“
He saw the cup. Saw Alicent standing at the foot of the bed, still watching, still waiting, her hands clasped so tight the knuckles had gone white. Saw the dregs of something dark pooled at the bottom of the cup.
For one heartbeat, he was still the boy who avoided conflict, who looked away, who let others clean up his messes. Then the full weight of what he was seeing crashed into him. The chamber pot. Lyllya's twisted face. His mother's cold, waiting stillness.
His mother had done this.
"Mother." His voice was quiet. Not the lazy drawl, not the petulant whine, not even the desperate plea. Something else entirely. Something that made Alicent's composure flicker for the first time. "What did you give her?"
"A sleeping draught. She was upset, I only thought to-“
"Liar.”
The word came out like a blade being drawn from a sheath. Aegon rose from the bed, naked to the waist, his hair wild, his eyes blazing with a fury Lyllya had never seen in him. He looked less like the wastrel prince and more like the Conqueror than he ever had on the throne.
"Moon tea," he said. It was not a question. "You gave her moon tea. You killed my child."
Alicent's chin lifted. "I saved her. I saved this family. That child would have—"
"You killed my child."
He lunged across the room like a striking dragon. His mother did not flinch, but she should have. There was something in his face that would have made wiser people run.
"Get out."
"Aegon, listen to me…”
"GET OUT."
He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. His voice filled the room, echoed off the stone walls, carried the weight of a king who had finally, finally found something worth being king for. His mother. His child. His Lyllya, bleeding on the floor because he had not protected her.
Alicent's mouth opened. Closed. For once in her life, she had nothing to say.
She went.
The door slammed behind her. Aegon turned the lock himself, his hands shaking, and then stood there for a long moment with his forehead pressed against the wood. His breath came in ragged gasps. His shoulders heaved.
*I should have known. I should have stopped her. I should have been awake.*
But self-loathing would not help Lyllya. He had spent his whole life drowning in what he should have been, should have done, should have become. For once, he would simply *be* what she needed.
He turned.
She was still on the floor, curled around the chamber pot, her nightgown soaked through, her face the color of old parchment. She looked small. Smaller than he had ever seen her. Smaller than a woman who shared a king’s bed had any right to look.
He crossed to her and sank to his knees, heedless of the mess, heedless of everything except the need to gather her up. But he did not speak. He did not make demands. He did not reach for her body the way he always did, turning her grief into his comfort. For once, he simply *held* her.
She stiffened for a moment, braced for the familiar pattern: his hands roaming, his voice dropping low, his need eclipsing hers. But his hands stayed still on her back. His lips pressed to her hair and stayed there, undemanding. He did not whisper *I need you* or *make me forget* or any of the other things he had said a hundred times when the world was too much.
He just held her.
And slowly, impossibly, she began to relax against him. Her fingers uncurled from the death grip they had on her own arms and found his chest. Her breath, which had been coming in short, ragged gasps, began to slow.
"I'm here," he said quietly. Not *I'm here, so*—just *I'm here*. "I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving. Do you hear me, Lyl? Never."
She looked up at him, her violet eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and for a moment he saw everything she was trying not to say: that she was afraid, that she was alone, that her mother had killed her baby and her father was dead and her grandsire saw her as a tool and her other brother looked at her like something diseased. That he was all she had left.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"I should have protected you," he said, and his voice cracked. "I should have been awake. I should have known what she was capable of. I failed you. Both of you."
She did not tell him it wasn't his fault. She did not offer absolution. She was too tired, too empty, too hollowed out for forgiveness or blame. She simply let him hold her, and that was enough.
He lifted her then, cradling her against his chest, and carried her to the bed. He did not lay her down and reach for her laces. He laid her down and climbed in beside her, pulling the blankets over both of them, and gathered her back into his arms.
"Sleep," he said. "I'll watch. No one else comes in. No one touches you. I swear it."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he could keep her safe, that anyone could, that safety was still a thing that existed in the world. But her mother had called her *Dove* and stroked her hair and then fed her poison, and now there was no safe place left except maybe this: the circle of his arms, the beat of his heart beneath her ear, the quiet certainty that for tonight, at least, he would not ask her for anything.
She closed her eyes.
Sleep did not come easily. It came in fragments, in snatches, in moments of grey darkness that collapsed as soon as she reached for them. Every time she drifted, she saw the cup. Every time she breathed, she smelled honey and something bitter beneath. Every time she almost let go, her body remembered the cramping, the purging, the terrible emptiness that followed.
But Aegon held her through all of it. He did not sleep. She knew because every time she surfaced, every time she gasped or shuddered or made some small sound of distress, his arms tightened around her. His voice murmured something she could not quite hear. His lips pressed to her hair, her temple, the corner of her eye.
He did not ask for anything.
He did not say *you owe me for this* or *now you know how I feel* or *I've been so patient, Lyl, don't you think I deserve—*
He just held her.
And somewhere in the darkest hour of the night, wrapped in his arms with nothing asked and nothing expected, Lyllya felt something inside her begin to go very, very quiet.
It was not peace. It was not healing. It was something else entirely, something she had no name for. The part of her that had been burning so bright for so long—the part that composed ballads and wrote schedules and built entire kingdoms out of words and will—that part was not resting. It was withdrawing. Pulling back from a world that had proven, again and again, that her efforts would not save her.
She did not know it yet. She only knew that she was tired. Tired in a way that went beyond sleepless nights and endless work. Tired in her bones, in her blood, in the very marrow of her.
Aegon's hand smoothed over her hair.
"Only us," he whispered.
She wanted to answer. She wanted to say *only us* back to him, to make the vow, to seal herself to him in the only way that still felt safe. But the words would not come. They were somewhere far away, behind a door that was slowly, silently closing.
So she only pressed herself closer to him, and let his warmth be the only thing she felt, and did not think about what would happen when morning came and she had to face a world that had taken everything from her.
Morning came anyway.
The grey light of dawn seeped through the shutters, indifferent and cold. Lyllya lay in Aegon's arms, her body aching, her heart a hollow echo of what it had been. She did not move. She did not speak. She simply stared at the wall and waited for something—anything—to feel real.
Aegon stirred behind her. His arms tightened, then loosened. His lips brushed the back of her neck.
"Lyl?" His voice was rough with exhaustion. "How are you feeling?"
She opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out.
Not because she had nothing to say. She had too much to say, a lifetime of things to say, words crammed behind her teeth like a dam about to break. But the dam did not break. The water did not flow. Something had blocked the passage between what she felt and what she could speak, and she did not have the strength to clear it.
*I'm tired*, she wanted to say. *I'm empty. I'm never going to forgive her. I'm never going to be the same. I don't know who I am anymore. Please don't leave me. Please don't ask me for anything. Please just—*
But the words remained trapped, and all that came out was a small, broken sound that might have been a sigh or might have been a sob.
Aegon did not push. He did not ask her to explain. He simply held her tighter and pressed his face into her hair.
"We don't have to do anything today," he said quietly. "We don't have to see anyone. We don't have to talk. We can just... be. Together. Only us."
She nodded. The movement was small, barely perceptible, but he felt it.
And somewhere deep inside her, behind that slowly closing door, the part of Lyllya that had once believed she could fix anything, could write the right schedule, say the right words, love hard enough to make the world behave, that part stopped fighting.
It didnt die. It simply... stopped.
She only knew that she was very, very tired, and that Aegon's arms were warm, and that for now, that was the only thing that felt safe.
Outside the door, the castle woke. Servants hurried through corridors. Lords and ladies prepared for another day of court. The small council readied its reports. The world continued, indifferent to the girl in the king's chambers who had just lost everything and found that she had no words left to name it.
But inside, there was only the quiet. And the warmth. And the slow, terrible certainty that something in Lyllya Targaryen had burned out and would not be relit.
She did not cry. She did not speak. She simply lay in her brother's arms and stared at the wall and began the long, silent journey into the place where the fire had been.
Aegon held her, and did not ask for anything, and that was the only grace either of them would know for a very long time.