The hall smelled of smoke and lavender, a bitter, choking mixture that clung to the heavy folds of your gown. Someone had thrown open the high windows, and the wind that rushed in from the sea did nothing to clear the weight in the air. Instead, it only carried the scent of disgrace further through the Red Keep.

You stood silent, half-shadowed by one of the marble pillars, your family gathered like wolves circling a carcass in the center of the chamber.

Baelon stood beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, warm and steady. His jaw was clenched hard enough that the muscle ticked beneath the sharp cut of his cheekbone. His hand was not on you—not yet—but his nearness was a weight of its own. A silent tether. An oath made in the marrow of his bones. You hold baby daemon, bewly-born in your arms solemnly, as shy 5 year old Viserys hid behind your skirts, watching the proceeding with watery violet eyes.

Before you both, your father sat on the throne—not the Iron Throne, but a lesser chair dragged hastily into the chamber for this private, brutal reckoning. Jaehaerys looked old in the way men do when something inside them cracks and does not mend again. The High Septon was whispering furiously at his side. Your mother stood stiff as a statue, her lips pale, one hand gripping the carved armrest as though it might anchor her to the earth.

And Saera knelt before them all, bare-headed, tangled hair falling across her flushed face. Her dress torn, mouth red with wine or sin or both. Her eyes gleamed like a cat caught in a snare—but she was smiling.

Aemond and Vaegon flanked the sides, faces twisted in disgust. Daella wept quietly into a handkerchief, too soft-hearted for this court of blood and rot.

You were a little cherubic thing. With your chubby little cheeks, wild knee length fluffy white hair and ocean blue eyes. You, his little sister and his wife, were fluffy and squishy all over. Hence a bit of an obsession to Baelon. He used terms like - fluffy little thing, squishy, tiny, small thing, my woman, llittle squishy sister - that he’d been calling you for years now. It’d started as a tease, you looked like a puffy little thing whn your mother, the Queen Alysanne had birthed you. But it had turned into a term of affection. A small endearment, just for you.

He sighed, you just were such a cute little fluffy squishy thing. with the perfect womanly curves, your bosom and rear soft and large with wide birthing hips that indicated you do have no problem in birthing his hatchlings. Your hair, he snorted, was so bushy and fluffy...like a sheep. You also rode the dragon Balerion.