I have opinions on the finale, but I'll just keep them to myself and stick with this story.

Enjoy!

Chapter Five
Mothers and Daughters

Elyse often hated visiting her mother's chambers. Over the years, it had only been filled with memories of loss and pain, sounds of screams and sobs, and the clinging scent of iron from the bloody struggles her mother had borne. Five miscarriages and three stillborn babes had been Lady Gilliane Glover's reward for being a dutiful wife, and each had left her weaker than the last. Cregan's birth had nearly killed her, yet she was abed again with child. Maester Willem had insisted she move little, so as to protect the babe. Her mother had not seen the outside of the castle in months, or even the Great Hall.

"You've already given Father a son," Elyse had told her once. "Must you put yourself through this torment again?"

Her mother had smiled kindly at her, her green eyes crinkling at the edges, face framed by gray hair she was far too young to possess. "The North is a cruel place, my sweet. The gods saw fit to grant me a son, but they may also see fit to take him away. So long as I am able, my duty is never done."

But you aren't able, was what Elyse wished to say, but she knew her words would fall upon deaf ears, so she held them in her heart.

Cregan was playing by the hearth when she entered, crashing little rocks into one another with sounds only he understood. Her mother need not have feared for his life, Elyse thought. The young son of Lord Stark was tall for his age, and terribly strong. The master-at-arms had already suggested giving him basic sword work within a year. Surely, it was Winter that would come to fear her little brother, and not the other way around.

Her mother had been allowed the courtesy of sitting beside the hearth with her son that morning, legs resting comfortably on a stool as she watched Cregan with a distant look in her eyes, hand carefully stroking her swollen belly. Her cheeks had grown hollow over the years, and there was nary a drop of fat on her. Elyse thought she scarcely looked alive.

Ruffling her brother's hair, Elyse sat in the chair across from her mother and waited. She stared at her hands or the floorboards; she stared at Cregan or the hearth, anywhere that did not involve her.

"Will you not speak to me, Elyse?"

"You were the one who called me here," she replied, gaze firmly set on her interlocked fingers. "Surely you're the one who has something to say."

She heard her mother sigh, but that was not enough to encourage a look from her.

There was a time, years ago, when things had not been so strained. Lady Gilliane had still been young and vibrant, and unburdened by the years, even if she had still suffered loss. Mother and daughter used to wander the godswood together, sewing beneath the heart tree while singing merry little tunes to pass the time. Lord Stark would find them asleep together. Once, he'd even splashed the cold pond water upon them, cackling at their shouts until she'd taken advantage of his distraction and pushed him in. Her mother had never laughed as she had the day the Warden of the North trudged through his castle a sopping wet mess.

Those had been the years before Sara, when Elyse still believed the world to be a fine and happy place.

"Is it not enough for a mother to wish to see her daughter?" her mother replied, prompting her gaze to finally land upon her. "I feel as if I never do anymore."

"You've hardly left your chambers in five years. Of course you never see me," Elyse said, picking at her fingernails. When her mother was not with child, she was often sick, confined without visitors. It used to make her weep, but she'd grown weary of the feeling over the years, and so she simply stopped. "The other lords have noticed. One of them dared to call you a ghost. Uncle Bennard drew steel on him."

"He should not have done that."

"Of course he should have. He was defending our family honor."

"It was a little jape."

"Little japes grow into bold insults if left alone. Uncle Bennard understands that."

Her mother's face fell then, her features growing somber as she rubbed her belly. "I wish you would defend your father with such fervor."

Elyse stood immediately, straight and tall and full of a long-held fury. "You know precisely why I cannot."

"You must try to forgive him," her mother said, reaching out for her hand. Elyse snatched it away. "He loves you, Elyse. Must you refuse to see that?"

"His love does not press upon me the burden of forgiveness. It will never be a pardon for his actions. Why do you treat it as such?"

She looked at her, as mothers often do their children, with a sadness that did not quite understand. "Would you truly prefer to be miserable?"

Elyse shook her head, clenching her fingers into fists until her nails dug into the skin. These were words repeated time and time again. They'd forever lost their meaning, and had simply become another routine in her existence. What more could she do against a woman who refused to see the truth?

"It's never been about what I prefer. You're asking me to forgive Father because it makes you uncomfortable to be confronted with the truth, and pretending that I have moved on from his vile actions will ease your conscience. I will not lie to you as you have lied to yourself," Elyse said, moving away toward the door. "So long as Father is still alive, I will always be miserable."

Elyse knew well the condition that had overcome Queen Aemma when she'd grown pale and lost the contents of her stomach. She'd seen subtle signs in the last two weeks they'd been in one another's company. Irritability, tiredness, aversions to smells that were hardly pungent. How many times had she seen her mother suffer the same affliction? She knew the signs of pregnancy as well as any maester.

Still, she had fetched the old, chained man out of tradition, though she hardly felt comfortable with the idea now. How he and his underlings studied the queen, poking and patting and making her smell awful oils and salts. But Aemma endured it all with a grace that came from experience, hardly uttering a word, though her eyes spoke a different tale. They rang clear with grief and heartache and fear, not that the maesters would notice. There were certain ailments none had ever forged a link for.

"Surely it does not require half the Citadel to determine when a woman is with child," Elyse said eventually, attracting four pairs of eyes. It was the violet ones she was concerned about, and they had filled with relief. "The queen will need her rest after such a trying day."

The Grand Maester shooed away his underlings, nodding toward Aemma respectfully. "The lady is correct. There is little to be done so early on, save to pray to the Seven for your health, and the babe's. I shall have a tea brewed at once to ease your stomach ailments."

"I thank you for your efforts, Grand Maester," Aemma said, grabbing the older man's hand. "I've certainly put you through enough."

"It is ever my honor to serve the Crown, My Queen."

Just as the maester and his men gathered to leave, the doors to the chambers burst open, and in stepped King Viserys with a smile that threatened to break his face. Quickly, Elyse bowed her head, dipping into a quick curtsy as he rushed past them all as if Aemma was the only person in the room.

"I've just heard the news," Viserys said, leaning down to press a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Are you certain?"

Aemma smiled gently at her husband. "I've been with child enough times to know the signs."

"Wonderous!" he cried, clapping his hands together. He had turned away before he could notice how Aemma's face fell. "This calls for a feast. We must celebrate this momentous occasion."

"Viserys, you may call for one, but I'll scarce keep the food down," Aemma said, resting her hand on his arm. "Perhaps we should wait a while, to ensure everything is alright."

The king blinked, and realization dawned in those soft violet eyes of his. They were so very different from his brother's, even if they held the same hue. "Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me, Aemma. I get ahead of myself sometimes."

"I think all the time is more accurate."

Both husband and wife shared smiles that spoke of memories and secrets meant only for them. Elyse once believed her parents had possessed the same look, although she could not say now if that was truly a reality or a fantasy in disguise. It made her feel ashamed to be witnessing such an intimate moment, and Elyse turned away, realizing suddenly that she had been left alone in the room. Only a member of the Kingsguard, standing at the still open door, remained within sight. The Grand Maester and his men had already cleared out.

Thoroughly embarrassed at her lack of decorum, Elyse began to make her way toward the door, exiling herself to the hallway until Aemma was ready to receive her again, but she was called back by the queen's soft voice.

"There is no need to leave, Elyse. My husband has duties that he must not ignore. Please, come sit by me."

Returning, Elyse was briefly stopped by Viserys on his way out. He put a hand on her shoulder, and leaned close. "Do look out for them, Lady Elyse, and come to me directly if you have concerns."

She bowed her head once more. "They are in good hands, Your Grace, I can assure you."

He smiled softly, patting her shoulder before leaving the room. The Kingsguard assigned to Queen Aemma, Ser Steffon, pulled the door closed behind him, leaving the women alone as Elyse made her way to the small stool beside Aemma's reclining chair.

Long minutes of silence stretched between them. Aemma stared off into the middle distance, hand resting on her stomach, the physical signs of her pregnancy not quite visible yet. Her mother often fell into a depression in the early stages, waiting for what she deemed the inevitable loss. If she expected it, perhaps it would not hurt so much that time.

"You must not judge Viserys so harshly, Elyse," Aemma said after a while, looking at her with knowing eyes. "You're well-spoken, but as easy to read as a book, much like him. My husband is easily excited and so quickly full of love for the future, he often forgets to keep himself in the present. He has been this way for every pregnancy without fail. It hurts, but I would rather see the joy on his face than the fear I feel in my heart."

A deep sorrow filled her then, and Elyse reached for Aemma's hand, grasping it tightly. The queen said nothing about the act. She only closed her fingers around hers.

"We always wanted a large family. Children to fill the keep and chase away the stress of politics. Neither of us ever imagined desperately struggling for an heir. When Rhaenyra came into this world, healthy and squalling, Viserys called for a tournament that lasted nearly a month. I thought he was surely about to bankrupt the Crown to celebrate his daughter.

"I do not envy his position, Elyse. He may not bear the children or the pain, but each and every day, he must deal with the vultures who circle his position. Without a male heir, the crown would one day pass to his brother, Daemon, and there are few lords who tolerate the concept. They push ideas onto him, and some have sought to have me set aside in favor a younger bride surely capable of performing the one duty I have failed.

"These things he will never tell me, but I have ways of finding out. Ever he protects me from their words and their treasons, but I can see it weigh down upon him. His crown is growing too heavy for his good heart. I want to give him a son, Elyse, not for the realm or the Targaryen dynasty; I want my husband to finally be at peace."

"And what of your peace?" Elyse asked.

Aemma sighed, and turned away. Her eyes looked toward the window, where the curtains blew lightly in the breeze, and the Narrow Sea glistened in the distance.

"We all must sacrifice something in our lives, Elyse. This is mine."

Elyse said nothing for a while, but her hand remained steadfast in its duty. She remembered long nights at her mother's side, holding her hand, holding a cool cloth to her forehead, feeding her when she scarce had the strength to do so herself. For so long, she refused to let anyone else touch her, but eventually, even she had abandoned her.

Guilt was the cruelest of monsters, only rearing its ugly head when one was too far to reconcile.

"My mother lost many children. I hated watching her suffer, but never once did she complain to me. I never understood why," Elyse whispered, unsure of where her thoughts were going. "But she did bare a son, and recently another. If it please you, My Queen, allow me to hope in your stead."

"It would please me greatly, Elyse," Aemma said as she turned back to her, smile small but genuine. "And if I may ask you a favor. Rhaenyra is unlikely to have received word yet. I've no doubt she's taken her dragon for another ride this morning. Might you fetch her with the guards? I would like her to hear the news from me first. You and she share common…concerns for the welfare of your mothers."

Elyse bowed her head, squeezing her hand once before relinquishing it. "At once, My Queen."

"And don't let her fool you. Syrax is still not big enough for two riders."

Finding herself tired of carriages, Elyse had opted to simply ride down to the Dragonpit. She changed into proper riding breeches, and a deep gray coat that depicted a howling direwolf across its back, courtesy of the kindness of Queen Aemma.

Finally feeling confident enough to wander the keep on her own – or at least navigate herself to the stables – Elyse had instructed the Targaryen guards to meet her there, and have a horse prepared. Though she began to regret the decision when a young lord pulled up beside her. Blonde hair and a red coat – even from her uneducated court position, Elyse knew a Lannister when she saw one.

He was not the first young lord to approach her – nor would he be the last – but he was certainly the most confident of them yet. Most appeared almost cautious as they set upon her – perhaps they believed she was rabid – but the Lannister was filled with pride, nearly running into her and walking beside her without leave. She had to admit, it was far more impressive than his counterparts, but she doubted it would get better from there.

"Is my lady going out for a ride?" he asked, voice haughty. Elyse frowned at the sound of it.

"You have keen skills of observation, Lord Lannister," she replied, tugging on her riding gloves. If he noticed her pace increase, he made no mention of it.

"You recognize my house then. That is good to hear."

"Has House Lannister diminished so much that I should not have?" she asked, passing a group of lords and ladies that practically leaned in so they could hear better. "I'm not certain what you have heard of the North, my lord, but we have books and even a maester."

"I must apologize, my lady. I meant no offense."

Elyse stopped, looking up at the Lannister. She had no idea which one he was, only that they were twins, but that mattered little to her. "Then what did you mean by it?"

He stammered, and nothing remotely resembling proper words manage to escape his mouth, so Elyse took it as an excuse to continue on without him.

"Might I accompany you, my lady?" he called after her.

"No," was her curt response as she entered the stairwell that would take her outside.

Her guards were waiting by the stables, their red and black armor standing stark against the dull wood. There were only two of them, but they were tall and looked well-suited to the role. She had walked with them on many occasions before, though she had not gotten the proper chance to learn their names. They were quiet and obedient, and Elyse suspected handpicked by Aemma.

They rode in a single line, with one guard leading the way and the other watching the rear. It felt strange to Elyse to be out in the city again, though she believed Aemma would never send her this way if she had not felt she could handle it. The open air helped keep her head clear of any intrusive thoughts, though she frequently looked up and down any open street they passed by.

Smallfolk watched them, clearing quickly to avoid being trampled underfoot. The ones here were not like the others she had seen before. They gazed at her with curious eyes. Some even smiled. It only made her wonder more what truly vile thing had occurred to set them all against her upon their arrival.

Still, she kept one hand close to her side. Elyse had yet to return the dagger to Ser Medrick, and had chosen to take it with her for the ride. The feeling of the hilt beneath the fabric of her coat brought her a small comfort. She would not go quietly, and they would not take from her again.

The Dragonpit was a massive construction that sat upon the Hill of Rhaenys. It dominated the landscape, a building so large it could have held several different keeps from the North, and perhaps others across Westeros itself. And it was simply a place to house the dragons of House Targaryen.

Her guards guided her away from the main entrance of the Dragonpit, where a mass of endless stairs rested, currently occupied by a few stalls with merchants selling fruits and small trinkets, and toward the backside of the building. There, it faced the Narrow Sea, and opened into a large cave that led beneath the main construction. The entrance for the dragons, no doubt, and their wayward riders.

There were no dragons to be found when they approached the open area, only a carriage and a lone member of the Kingsguard atop his stallion. Ser Harrold Westerling, if she remembered correctly. He was often at Rhaenyra's side. He must have been one its strongest members for all the torment she put him through.

"My lady," Ser Harrold called with a nod of his head as she approached. She pulled up beside him, while the guards waited by the carriage. "Surely the princess hasn't convinced you to come out here on your own."

Elyse shook her head. "Her mother, actually. Queen Aemma wishes to speak with her. Has she been gone long?"

"My legs haven't gone completely numb from sitting here, so I'd give her a little while longer."

She could not help but giggle at that, and the two fell into comfortable silence. Ser Harrold took to watching the skies, while she stared at the Dragonpit entrance. She wondered how many beasts were in there, and how deep it went, straight into the dark bowels of the city. Elyse was no Targaryen, but she found it sad that creatures built for flight were kept so far from the skies they roamed.

From the darkness, Elyse watched two figures emerge, dressed in ashy robes with heads shaved and large spears in their possession.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Dragonkeepers. They care for the dragons when their riders are gone," Ser Harrold explained. "Rumor has it they're descended from Old Valyria, either a minor house or from baseborn Targaryen children, which is why the dragons are willing to obey them."

The two keepers stood aside, and a high-pitched whistle came from inside the cave.

"Seven hells," Ser Harrold whispered, dismounting. "My lady, I'd suggest you get off the horse."

"Why?" Elyse asked, even as she obeyed. The Kingsguard gripped the reins of both horses, while her guards had done the same with theirs. Even the carriage drivers had hopped down and were holding their horses tightly. "What is going on?"

"Most steeds are used to the dragons around here, but they still get anxious around this one. They'll throw you if he comes too close."

She was about to ask who he was referring to when the beast emerged from the darkness. It was a red-scaled behemoth, possessing wings on both the front and back legs, with a long body that she recognized from her journey to the city.

Caraxes.

A saddle had been fitted upon his back, and atop it at that moment was none other than Daemon Targaryen himself, his silvery hair blowing in the wind and an utterly smug look on his face that came from being one of the very few who could ride such a creature. But at the moment, Elyse hardly cared about his presence. Her gaze was fixated on his dragon.

He was absolutely beautiful. His scales were the same color as the leaves of the weirwood, and they shone in the midday sun. Little horns rested on plates above his eyes, and more still around the bottom of his jaw. She could hear the wind rippling through his wings, the sound of a banner on a stormy day, and the air felt all the warmer in his presence. When Caraxes called out again, the whistle felt as though it could burst her ears, yet she did not reach to cover them. It was only the wonderment at beholding a dragon that kept her from foolishly rushing out to touch the creature.

Both horses, however, had finally had enough, and began to stomp at the ground beneath them. Elyse pulled her gaze away from the dragon, and spoke quiet words of comfort to her horse, gently running her hand along its neck until it had calmed. When she turned back, she found Daemon's gaze upon her.

"Prince Daemon," she called, but was met with no reply.

They were spared the continued silence by a far deeper cry echoing above them.

Overhead, another dragon flew into view, this one in the more traditional shape, as the maesters would put it. Syrax was a golden yellow dragon, smaller than Caraxes, but still massive to everything around her. Her red counterpart looked skyward at her arrival, and called out, and Syrax responded in kind, landing gently in the small space that was left.

Princess Rhaenyra sat proudly upon her dragon, wearing her dark riding gear and a grin much too large for her face. She looked between her and Daemon, and called out something in a tongue Elyse did not know. It was no doubt High Valyrian, the language of the Targaryens, and apparently the only language the dragons would obey.

Daemon frowned, and called something back before taking to flight. The wind from the wings of Caraxes threatened to topple her, but Elyse managed to remain standing, watching as Caraxes drifted from sight, until once again he was little more than a speck on the horizon.

Rhaenyra dropped from Syrax, patting the dragon before she, too, was taken away, back into the depths of the Dragonpit.

"Princess," Elyse said with a bow of her head as Rhaenyra approached. "Did you enjoy your flight?"

The young girl nodded. "Not nearly as much as what happened right now, however."

"What did you say to your uncle?"

"I asked him if I should start taking you everywhere. Clearly, he only shows up for you."

Elyse tried to ignore the blush in her cheeks, knowing very well it would be obvious to the princess. "And what did he say?"

"Only if I disarm you first."

She choked.

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Was the Lannister scene unnecessary? Yes. Do I care? No. I did this for AVWH reasons and AVWH reasons only.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!