House of Balloons / Glass, Daemon Targaryen

𝖔. a babe.

House of Ballons / Glass .

⁛¤¨․·º·․¨¤⁛

                 When King Viserys had ascended the throne, he had only one child.  A daughter by the name of Rhaenyra.  Since her arrival to the world, she had been a loud thing ── wailing at any inconvenience, biting everything and screaming to the Gods.  And, it seemed that she only seemed to be calm when in the arms of her mother or playing with a toy dragon.  If not, the castle would be battling with her relentless screams.  A mighty sound from something so tiny. 

However, when only one year had passed since his ascension, him and his wife, the Queen Aemma, welcomed another babe.  Another girl.  This revolution had disappointed many, perhaps even the King himself, but not Aemma.  She was an unfortunate woman with a dream shared by most girls ── to be a mother.  And yet, the Gods were cruel beings.  All her children had been taken from her, snatched by greedy hands, and in their absence, left a grieving mother.  They had only saved her one, and now, they blessed her with another.  Both of the girls were her miracles, a gift to perhaps dull the pain of loss.  

Could the Gods see how desperate her husband was for a son?  Is that why they gifted her with her daughters?  A punishment for his desperation, that has led to the deepening pain of his wife who has not suffered a year without being pregnant since before she was married.  Was it a gift to her?  An apology to her for the painful hand given.  

The babe had been quieter than Rhaenyra who had been known for her endless wailing.  Even when in need of something, she would only wail softly, hands clenched into small fists that shook with such emotion.  She had been cuter too, but Aemma had kept that thought to herself.  Unlike Rhaenyra, whose face always seemed to always be shifted into a glare, this babe would always stare wide-eyed, a look of awe on her chubby face as she admired the world around her. 

Aemma was sure she held a similar expression too.  She had been lectured many times that she needn't hold the babe for as long as she did.

"If the babe is not crying, Your Grace, it is not expected of you to hold her.  I can get one of the─"  

Fueled with rare anger, Aemma had snapped her head swiftly to the Maester.  "If I want to hold my daughter, I shall.  There is no problem with that, is there, Maester?" 

The man had made his exit shortly after, shaking his head in fright.  It was an unusual sight to see the Queen with anything but her kind smile.  But, since everyone had tried separating her from her daughter, her frustration was beginning to overflow.  

No matter how hard she tried, Aemma couldn't tear her gaze away from the pretty thing she gave life too.  Her eyes were Aemma's favourite feature ── a mesmerizing periwinkle that were full of so much life and wonder.  Her fingers would caress each of the babe's features in an effort to memorize the structure.  You were handmade by the Gods, Aemma would coo in the darkest hours of the night when it was just them both.  The babe would coo, eyes a beacon in the darkened room with only a few candles that created light.  Handmade and handpicked, just for me. 

When she had been a girl, she and her friends would come together to play with their dolls and imagine they were their children.  Her own doll had looked quite alike to her babe, but the eyes of her doll could not dare to compare.  When she went to bed at night, she would dream of platting hair as pale as snow, reading stories to a bundle of joy, a room filled with heartwarming giggles.  She wanted to be a mother.  A good mother at that ── and when the Gods let her, she was.