Daella would've wake up in the late morning of 120 AC with a babe. Viserys was beyond happy, declaring his newest granddaughter as the true Targaryen princess; the dragon-like scales on her cheek proved that the blood of the dragon runs thick across her veins. The queen Alicent and the Hand Otto took it as a sign of a bad omen (at least what they used as a murmur against Daella among the ladies and lords of the Court).

When Daella told her father that the babe will be named Aemma, he pressed a joyful kiss on her cheek, declaring how proud he was of her and that a Tourney will be held in the honour of the birth of a new princess.

Arthor and Caspian were as happy about their new sister as the rest of the family was; the elder of the two would stand over the baby's crib for long times until his father would've beckon him to join Caspian at their mother's side. Syrax laid a fresh clutch of eggs that year and as a sign of love for her sister, he sent two dragonkeepers from Dragonstone and to King's Landing, bringing them safely to her. Like to Arthor and Caspian years prior, an egg was placed in Aemma's crib. Daella wished that it will be different than for the boys' and that it will hatch.

Adrian was found inside the Kingsguard part of the Keep that day – more specifically within the chambers of one Ser Criston Cole. He slowly moved around the room, eyes darting to the humble surroundings and the lack of the feeling of home until he stopped at the wooden dragon toy secretly (and failing) placed behind one of the books the knight had on the small table. He reached out, his fingers taking it to see it clearer – the green colour was practically washed off because of the years and it was the one Aemond painted for Caspian.

"Lord?" Criston spoke as he entered and Adrian placed the toy back on the table by one of the books there.

He turned and offered him a smile, beckoning his arm to follow him as he moved to the doors, "come. Meet your daughter."

Criston turned to him again, brows furrowed and asking again – he wasn't sure if Adrian had gone mad or if he's just drunk again, "lord?"

"Every day you should thank the Seven they made you a knight," the lord Celtigar jests as he turns to look at him, "because you would be one sorrowful actor."

Criston fidgeted with his arms behind his back, "I do not understand what you mean, lord."

Adrain pointed to the wooden toy on the table, "you should hide that better. This place is filled with vipers. Recently, at least; I'm sure you're aware."

He means Alicent and Otto – they speak with two tongues; one is for the king and for the House Targaryen, one for their own ambitions. Criston bites the inside of his cheek, "I should've had your tongue for that."

"Oh – do try," he replied with a small laugh because Adrian couldn't care less for the affairs of the court or who his wife sleeps with, "I'm sure my wife will be thrilled. Come on."

"I doubt she wishes to see me, lord," Criston calls out again when Adrian almost leaves – he hasn't spoken a word to her since Driftmark, since he asked her to run away with him and since he was appointed to Queen Alicent.

"My wife doubts many things, Ser," Adrian replied, turning his head to look to Criston, "but you?" he lets out a laugh, "she had never once doubted you. Or anything about you, really."

When Criston doesn't reply, Adrian continues, "I'm not sure if she is your daughter though. Think and believe what you wish to. In name, she is mine and I will treat her as such."

"Thank you, lord," the Kingsguard replied with a nod of his head because if it was anyone but Adrian Celtigar, Criston Cole would've been sent to the Wall and die a traitor's death.

Daella contracted a fever during labour but it slowly faded as hours passed. Her chambers were still dimly lit with only the fireplace crackling. The crib – decorated with dragons and crabs – stood by the bed's side and Aemma gently snored inside. Daella laid on her side as she watched the little girl inside until the doors were quietly pushed open.

Adrian walked inside first, offering a smile to Daella before moving to the crib. Soon, Criston too walked inside. If the princess tensed, she didn't show (nor did she have any energy to do so). The knight stepped to the foot of the large bed and bowed his head, eyes diverting anywhere but at Daella, "your Grace."

"Ser," she whispered back with no power.

Aemma started to cry before she was gently shushed by Adrian who gently tugged her out of the crib, the dragon egg rolling to the edge of it. Daella's eyes diverted to her husband before she looked back at Criston, her words barely a whisper, "you can hold her. If you wish."

He tried to keep his shock to himself but failed. He shuffled on his feet before Adrian took the moment and stepped forward to him, beckoning the babe forward. Criston hesitated for a moment before he offered his arms and Adrian gently tugged Aemma onto his arms, "hold her there or she'll slip."

Criston fixed the position for Aemma to lay in his arms; his Kingsguard uniform covered by a baby pink blanket, decorated with dragons and spiders (which Helaena helped Daella with). The baby barely opened her eyes before she closed them again, head lolled to the side. Criston watched her in awe, his fingers holding out and gently touching the scales on her cheek.

"Viserys said . . ." Adrian started before his brows furrowed, hands on his hips and he looked over his shoulder at Daella, "what did he say?"

Daella had a content smile on her lips as she watched Adrian next to Criston with Aemma in his arms. Her words were once more a whisper, vocal cords hurt by the yelling from birth, "that she's a true Targaryen princess with the blood of the dragon running through her."

"That, yes!" Adrian clicked his fingers together with a snort of laughter before looking back at Criston, "the old bat has strange ways of saying she looks like a little fucking dragon."

Criston didn't hear him. Maybe he did but just refused to respond. He was too focused on Aemma in his arms – she fussed softly in the thick blanket, tiny fingers holding it just at her chin. Adrian looked at her with confused brows, "I should fetch the wet nurse."

He looked over his shoulder at Daella who gently nodded her head, her eyes half closed, almost off to sleep. He took a quick step to her and pressed a small and sloppy kiss against the corner of her mouth before he moved to Criston, patted him on his back and left his chambers.

The knight stayed at the foot of the bed, unsure if he should speak or not; if he should just place the babe back in the crib and disappear like he usually does. But before he can, Daella speaks quietly, "how does working for the Queen treat you?"

He bites his lower lip and slowly moves to the crib, "good. How does Ser Arryk treat you?"

"Good," she responds in the same tired voice as before, her fingers tracing soothing patters over the part of the belly that is now scarred with a wound.

Criston places Aemma in the crib and gently tugs the blanket across, careful not to cover her face. He thinks about leaving and never crossing paths with none of them; he could stay by the side of Her Grace and never leave. It would've been much easier and far less reminders of the sins he committed and the stains on his Kingsguard uniform.

Before he can, he feels a tug on the long cape behind. He turns his head and looks at Daella's pale fingers from where she reaches from her place on the bed. He can't help but smile at her, feet already pulling him towards her. He places his hands on either side of her as he hovers above, before ducking his head down and pressing a gentle kiss against her lips, murmuring, "you did good."

"I almost died," she replied and though it's a grave situation, she still chuckled quietly, "thought I already did a couple of times."

"It was yet not your time," he spoke back as he felt her cold fingers reaching up and holding his cheek and jaw.

"I'm glad that it wasn't," she murmured back – glad I'm able to see you again.

And then she was once again alone – the wet nurse came to feed the babe and left. Adrian must have been celebrating the birth of the heir among the smallfolk (supposedly at one of the brothels, no doubt). Criston returned to his duties. And Daella was alone again.

The doors cracked open and four heads of silver heads popped inside, one older than the other. She almost wept at the black leather eyepatch that was almost too big for his head, "may we come in?"

"Of course," Daella urged softly, pulling herself into a sitting with a small whine, pressing herself back against the wooden headrest behind as the four siblings rushed inside to aw over the sleeping baby.

All but Aemond that pulled himself onto the edge of the bed. He sat there, his legs barely touching the ground as he watched his siblings from the distance. Daella gently brushed her hand over the back of his silver hair, "why don't you go see your niece?"

"I don't want to scare her," he murmurs back like he's ashamed that he feels this way.

"Don't be, sweetling," Daella murmurs back and she wants to cry; she wants to beg the Gods to give Aemond back his eye and take hers in exchange, "she's not going to be scared of you. And . . ."

With a small groan of pain, she reaches to the table by the side of the bed and pulls a small bag from the drawer. He offers it to Aemond, speaking softly, "Adrian had visited the city and brought this back. If you would wish to wear it."

Aemond looks at her and fixes the leather eyepatch that was about to fall down. He takes the small bag and pulls it open – inside sat a blue sapphire stone. He turns his head towards his eldest sister just as Helaena shushes Aegon from waking Aemma up, "for my eye?"

"Instead of your eye, yes," Daella replies gently and nods her head, "it's not much but if you maybe prefer to wear that instead of the eye patch. The man said it –"

Before she could finish her sentence, Aemond pushed himself onto his knees and plopped across Daella, hands reaching in a hug – an act he had not been fond of doing – and she had to hide how much it ached when he pressed against her belly, "thank you."

"My pleasure," she murmured back and pressed a kiss against his temple.

"I can make another blanket," Helaena spoke quietly and almost shyly as she walked to the bed and Aemond rolled over on the other side, twisting the sapphire in his hands, "in another colour."

"I would like that, Hel," Daella replied with a smile, her hand pressed against her cheek, thumb rubbing the skin there, "but only when you have time. I do not wish to take anything away if your mother wants you to do something."

The doors opened then without notice and Alicent walked inside; if the children tensed, Daella wasn't sure. She dropped her hand from Helaena's cheek and looked at the Queen, "your Grace."

"My princess," Alicent replied with a small nod and a smile, "I had not congratulated you before when I visited with your father. Congratulations on the babe."

"Thank you, your Grace," Daella replied and she played with the edge of the blanket that covered her stomach.

She watched as Alicent moved to the crib and she wasn't sure what she was carrying in her hand. She looked at the sleeping baby, finger gently tugging the blanket down as if to be sure of what she saw before. She tugged a smile on her lips as she looked at Daella, "I had not seen a Targaryen babe this dark before. I'm accustomed to frail babes."

"The blood of the dragon perhaps," Daella retorted back; Dornish features Alicent meant but couldn't say out loud.

"Hm, yes, perhaps," Alicent returned and covered the babe back up, her youngest – Daeron – perched on his toes to look at his nephew and the dragon egg besides, "hopefully the egg will hatch."

She then moved to the bedside and stopped next to Helaena who wrapped her arms around her mother's leg and around the dark green gown that she wore, burying her face into it. Alicent smiled again and offered a toy, "a small gift for the babe. Hopefully, it brings her joy and peace in such troubling times."

And then Daella saw it – the faded green coloured dragon that was once Caspian's and then resided in Ser Criston Cole's chambers.