The five moons after my birth.
I remember noticing that when I was a babe, that time flowed like a river, the time flying by as my time was mostly sleeping. Sometimes, an obstacle would come into the river, breaking the flow. For example, when I saw Balerion, I could at least talk with Balerion through our connection. To the rest of the people around me, I could only make gurgling noises. I remember being unable to wait until he could speak so the flow of my current life could change a little.
The world was happy for me as my bond with Balerion grew stronger with each passing day. The ancient dragon's presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder of the connection between fire and ice. Flying with my father and feeling the wind in my hair became a cherished routine, a glimpse into the world of dragons and their riders, something I only had a glimpse of before.
My mother, Lyanna, remained a steadfast source of comfort. Her touch, her laughter, and the warmth of her embrace became my sanctuary. Even without words, he understood the depth of her love and devotion. Now he knew what his previous Stark siblings felt when their mother gave them love.
I remember one day, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and crimson, my mother and I sat together in the godwood under a weirdwood. That was also a surprise as he couldn't remember one being in Kingslanding. Baelor had probably cut it down during his reign. The pious idiot wouldn't never let a heathen altar stand in his city.
I remember that moment as she cradled me in her arms, and he gazed up at her with eyes full of curiosity.
"You're growing so quickly, my sweet Aemon," she whispered, her voice a gentle melody. "Soon, you'll be crawling and exploring the world around you."
I babbled in response, and my attempt at communication was met with a soft chuckle from her. "Yes, I know you have much to say, my little dragon. One day, you'll have a voice that can express all your thoughts. I tell you all of Winterfell, and you tell me all the mischief you have caused."
He enjoyed being in her presence. It felt like a sense of contentment that words could not convey. The bond between them was unbreakable.
Pages out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon.
Lyanna Stark (92 A.C Fith Moon)
Kingslanding Viserys and Aemma's bedchamber.
The screams of birth had awoken in the night. Her gooddaughter, in all ways, had awoken in the black of night as her labor pains began.
She squeezed Aemma's hand, feeling the sweat and tremor of her grip, her own heart straining with each of Aemma's cries. 'Please, gods,' she prayed silently, 'let her be safe. Let the babe be strong.'
Aemma's fear glimmered in her tear-bright eyes, and she looked to her with a desperation she knew well—the same fear she'd felt alone in a tower so many years ago. She kept her face calm, hiding the twinge of fear in her chest, and leaned close to Aemma, brushing damp hair from her brow.
"It will be all right, Aemma," she murmured, her voice as steady as she could make it. "Breathe. You're doing well. Just a little longer now."
Aemma shook her head, biting back a scream, her eyes pleading. "It hurts so much, and my muna… my muna died birthing me. How can you say it will be all right?"
The words cut through her. She knew too well the pain of mothers lost too soon, and she knew the ghost of Aemma's mother, Princess Daella, hung heavily over this night. She took Aemma's face gently in her hands, forcing the young woman to look at her.
"Because I am here with you, and so is Alyssane. And your muna is watching over you, Aemma," she said, her voice firm, yet warm. "She will not let you go. I will not let you go."
The room fell into a tense rhythm, Aemma's breaths breaking into cries as each wave of pain struck. Beside her, Alyssane held Aemma's hand, murmuring soft reassurances, her face solemn but unwavering. The midwives worked tirelessly, yet as time dragged on, an uneasy stillness began to settle over the room, thickening with each labored breath and broken cry.
Finally, there was a cry from Aemma, sharp and desperate, as her body convulsed in one last effort. The midwife caught the babe, a small, fragile thing. But her heart stilled as she saw the way the babe lay so quiet, unmoving.
"No…" Aemma's voice was barely a whisper, her hand reaching out, shaking. "No… please…"
Her chest twisted with a pain so sharp it almost brought her to her knees. She watched as Aemma's trembling fingers touched the babe's soft cheek, already cooling, so heartbreakingly still.
"Aemma," Alysanne murmured. She heard Alysanne's voice breaking as she wrapped an arm around her granddaughter, pulling her close. "I am so sorry, my sweet girl."
Aemma's sobs tore through the quiet room, and she held her as tightly as she dared, her own grief a heavy stone within her. She knew the pain of a life cut short, knew the feeling of love taken too soon, and she would carry this sorrow with Aemma however long she needed.
She joined them, her arms wrapping around both women, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of grief.
At that moment, she promised herself she would not leave Aemma's side. She would guide her through the days and nights to come through the weight of this loss. Because, if nothing else, she knew the strength it took to survive loss, and she would give every bit of that strength to Aemma.
With a soft kiss on Aemma's brow, she whispered, "Your muna holds your babe now. And we, my dear, will hold you."
Baelon Targaryen (92 A.C. Fifth Moon)
Kingslanding - Outside Viserys and Aemma's bedchamber.
Baelon sat beside his sons as he held Aemon in his lap. "It will be alright. Aemma is a strong woman Viserys, and both Lyanna and your grandmother are with her." He said to his son. 'He knew the words meant little, as well. He remembered they didn't help take the fear away. Yet he needed to say them like his father had told him.'
"It's been hours, father. The sun is already rising. What if something goes wrong with Aemma or with babe." Viserys exclaimed, holding his tired head in his hands. "Then, you will have to be a man. Be there for her, or don't blame the babe if the babe is fine and she isn't. It's never their fault. Be a father to the babe." He answered sternly. 'He had never blamed Aegon for Alyssa's death. He still loved the child even if he lived a few moons, Alyssa would have hated him if he had done so.'
"I understand, father, yet losing Aemma. I know this marriage was arranged, but I care for her." Viserys answered. "Good," Baelon responded.
Then the door creaked open, and Lyanna his new light, came out. Her face said it all, not one of joy but one of sadness. "Viserys, come, your wife needs you," Lyanna said. "Go, son. I will be there soon." He said, giving his son a pad on the back as he walked away.
"Lya, what is it?" He asked hoarse. Lyanna enclosed in a hug and sobbed on his shoulder. "The babe did not live. He came out stillborn and was strong, but the babe did not live." She sobbed out. 'Yeah, there it was.' He thought. "How, his Aemma?" Baelon asked as he kissed her borrow.
"She is alive," Lyanna whispered against his shoulder, her voice muffled but trembling. "But in grief, over the babe."
He exhaled deeply, relief mingling bitterly with sorrow. The loss of the babe was a cruel blow, but Aemma's survival was a small mercy he would cling to. He pulled back slightly, his hands framing Lyanna's face, brushing away her tears with his thumbs.
"You have done all you could, Lya," he said softly, his voice firm yet tender. "You were there for her when she needed strength. Now, we must be there for both of them together."
Lyanna nodded, though her tears continued to flow. Baelon pressed a kiss to her brow, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he straightened, squaring his shoulders. He gave Aemon to his mother, as had he grief to carry, and a family to hold together.
As Lyanna stepped aside, wiping her eyes, they made their way into the bedchamber. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and blood, the oppressive weight of loss filling every corner. Aemma lay in the bed, pale and trembling, her face streaked with tears. Viserys sat beside her, holding her hand, his expression stricken as he whispered soft words of comfort.
Baelon approached quietly, his shadow falling over the grieving couple. Aemma's eyes flickered toward him, hollow and distant, and Viserys looked up, his face taut with despair.
"You did well, Aemma," he said gently, his voice low and steady. He knelt by her bedside, taking her free hand in his large, calloused one. "You are strong. Stronger than you know. And we will be here for you for as long as you need."
Aemma didn't respond, her lips trembling as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Viserys leaned forward, his grip tightening on her hand, and he placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.
"Remember, you are in this together," he said, his voice firm yet kind. "There will be days of joy ahead. But tonight, you grieve together. Name your babe, and we'll send him to the rest of the family later this week."
The couple nodded silently, stepping away and walking over to his mother, who stood quietly in the corner. They embraced her, and it was then that she cried. She had stayed strong for their sake, but he knew a death in the birthing bed always weighed heavily on her heart. She had lost many of his siblings in their earliest years.
"I know," he said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder as her tears fell. They stayed there a moment longer in the warmth of the shared embrace before he spoke again.
"Tell Father I'll return later," he said, kissing his mother's brow.
As Baelon turned to leave, his gaze swept across the room. He saw Lyanna sitting in a chair, cradling little Aemon in her arms. Yet Daemon was nowhere in sight, no surprise. The boy had avoided the birthing chamber ever since their mother's passing. 'I'll speak to him later,' he thought to himself.
Stepping into the corridor, he let his mind drift to what lay ahead. The sun had risen fully by now, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. He paused for a moment, looking toward the horizon with a jaw set in quiet determination. Then, without another word, he made his way toward his father's chambers.
My first nephew was Aerion. I remember seeing him once as my mother hovered over the child's crib. His little body already packs in except for his face, his eyes closed, and his skin pale as milk, to my nephew not live one 92 A.C fifth Moon.
His death hit the family hard. But the gods showed their blessing when, ten moons later, Aemma was with child again. Nine moons after that, a squealing girl was born on the second moon of 94 A.C. My brother called her Rhaenyra, and soon, my father began calling his granddaughter the realm's delight.
Pages out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon.
Notes: So here we are, chapter 3. I hope you enjoyed it. This one is a totally new chapter. I also hope the Journal parts are improved and help with the confacing of more information. Also, Aerion now has more of a moment than a small footnote, as it was before. As he is the first child of Aemma and Viserys, I thought it was a good extra moment to choose. If you have some ideas of what you would like to see shown that wasn't before, I'm open to ideas.
Let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading and supporting me.