For almost her entire life, Daella Targaryen has lived as Mellara Rivers, the bastard daughter of Arnold Arryn and cupbearer of Lady Jeyne Arryn. First and trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daella had but slight contact with her fami...
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P R O L O G U E
Won't you wrap the night Around me? ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
𝓢ometime during the year 114 After the Conquest...
The sounds in the chamber were ones of strife and combat. There were yells and grunts, sighs and swearwords, pounds and scoffs, until at last, there was the soft cry of a creature that did not belong in such a scene. Instantly, the sounds of battle were replaced by gentle coos and relieved groans, signalling the end of battle. Sweat was wiped away, wild locks brushed back and pillows adjusted.
"It is a girl, Princess," one of the midwives announced, rubbing the squalling babe with a white linen cloth.
Princess Rhaenyra nodded as if she had expected nothing less, pushing away the cup with water her husband offered. Instead, she pulled herself up and opened her arms, staring at the midwife in her red dress expectantly. "Well, give her to me," she said after a while, her voice hoarse. Her white hair was plastered to the side of her face, her tired eyes shining with excitement.
Hesitantly, the midwife handed over the babe, adjusting her so that the girl's head rested in the crook of the princess's elbow. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Princess Rhaenyra pushed away the midwife's fussing hands, cradling her daughter to her chest instead. For just a split second the princess looked up to the four midwives surrounding her bed, all of them having helped her through her first labour. "Leave us," she ordered. "All of you."
The midwives shared a single look of concern, before bowing their heads and scurrying out of the room like a couple of rats, in perfect unison. Dropping the façade, Princess Rhaenyra turned to her husband. Already he was holding out a thick black blanket with red seams, and the princess accepted it gratefully. Gently, she wrapped the baby in it, allowing the white linen to fall on her bloody lap and taking a moment to admire her daughter.
There was a thick mob of white hair on top of her head and when she opened her eyes, they were the colour of the bluest sky, with a hint of violet hidden in them. A soft sob escaped Princess Rhaenyra's mouth and trying to suppress the sound, she pressed her dry lips against her baby daughter's forehead. "She will carry the name Daella Targaryen," she said, raising her eyes to her husband.
Leanor nodded, a strained smile on his face. "A fitting and beautiful name."
Struggling to hold out her arms, she pleaded her husband with her eyes. "Take her away, Laenor, before I cannot let her go anymore."
Quickly taking the babe from his wife's arms, Laenor cradled her in his own arms and stared down at the little miracle. It had cost him and the princess more than they had at first been willing to pay for her, and now already it was time to say goodbye. Smiling at the small creature, he too pressed a kiss on her forehead, before carefully walking to one of the wall paintings behind the princess's bed. Sliding one hand against the edge, he could feel the secret door give way.
Standing at the top of the stairs was a man Laenor had never seen before, but which sufficed to the description given by one of Lady Jeyne's birds. In his arms, there were two babes, a boy and a girl, both not much older than Daella Targaryen and with a mob of blonde hair, though their chests lacked the gentle up and down movement. Not exchanging a single word with the man, Laenor accepted the dead baby girl and handed him his live one. The door closed again, as though nothing had happened, and feeling a chill run down his spine, he wrapped the cold baby in the white linen at the same time Princes Rhaenyra started screaming for the midwives.
