It all starts with the reunion of former star-crossed lovers. A short-lived tragic tale of love in a way.

As Daemon Targaryen makes his way through the crowded streets of Flea Bottom, his footsteps echo the tumult of his thoughts. Each stride is a battle against the memories that threaten to engulf him, memories of a love lost to the cruel whims of fate. His lilac eyes, once bright with determination, now hold a weary sadness as he navigates the labyrinthine alleys, his mind consumed by thoughts of the woman he still loves, long forgetting his niece he left behind at the brothel all alone until he collides into a soft body. Hearing the soft gasp escaping the womanly figure in the sight of him, his lilac eyes stare down to meet the familiar green eyes, the world around them seeming to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of them suspended in a moment of shared recognition.

"Daemon?" Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of surprise and longing as she meets his gaze. The air between them crackles with tension, the silence pregnant with unspoken words and unfinished emotions. For Aurélie, seeing Daemon again is like stepping into a dream - one she both longs for and fears. The memories of their brief affair flood her mind, each moment etched into her heart like a scar. She feels herself being pulled back into his orbit, her resolve crumbling in the face of a love that has never truly died. It has been so long since she has seen stars.

It is all before her father forces her hand to Gerard Stormcrest, the Lord of House Stormcrest not knowing his true nature, which results in Lady Aurélie silently suffering the daily tantrums of her abusive husband.

Daemon's lips part, but no words emerge, his heart aching with the weight of years of separation. In that moment, time seems to stand still as they stand locked in each other's gaze, the echoes of their past love reverberating through the crowded streets.

"Aurélie..." His voice is hoarse with emotion, his hand reaching out as if to touch her, to confirm that she is real and not just a figment of his imagination.

She steps closer, her breath catching in her throat as she feels the warmth of his hand against her cheek. "It's really you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible above the din of the street.

For a fleeting moment, they stand on the precipice of what could have been, the weight of their shared history pressing down upon them like a heavy cloak. But reality intrudes, shattering the fragile illusion of their reunion as they are reminded of the barriers that still stand between them.

"I never stop loving you," Aurélie whispers, her voice raw with emotion. "But I have no choice..."

Daemon's eyes darken with pain as he struggles to comprehend the depth of her sacrifice. But before he speaks any words, she lets her love and desire for the silver-haired man get the best of her and spends the night with him to escape her cruel reality one last time. With no spoken words, lost in love.

Aurélie Silvercrown is a believer of the faith of the seven, and while being married to one, warming another man's bed is a grave sin. Yet, she commits the said crime with no remorse.

Letting the prince fall into deep slumber, she basks in his warmth with many thoughts swirling in her mind one after the other. She has no answers to the questions Daemon might ask in the following morning, the questions she does not want to answer.

In Daemon's words; Why does she leave him for that old cunt while he can offer the world to her?

The answer is, her father always dislikes the silver-haired prince. Daemon Targaryen might be a prince but he bears the reputation for his wilderness and recklessness from his birth. He holds no commitment nor responsibility. As a father, Jamie Silvercrown fears the future of his daughter being perished by the young Daemon Targaryen's grasp and Aurélie Silvercrown does not want to disappoint her father for her selfish desires. But little does she know she is exchanging her happiness for a brutal battle in the name of marriage to satisfy her father.

The information will anger the prince without a doubt and when that happens, Daemon will do his everything to slice Lord Gerard Stormcrest into two halves with his darksister.

As much as she loves to see it happen, she fears the shame it will cause upon her and her house when her betrayal on her husband will be unmasked on its way. She needs no more trouble to pile up on her plate than she already has.

So, the next sunrise, Aurélie flees away, leaving the lover in her dear friend, Mysaria's care with the promise of not to reveal her whereabouts to the Prince.

But as it says, no sin will leave one unpunished. Her beautiful crime comes in the form of a bastard. A bastard to both house Targaryen and house Silvercrown.

When the first sign of pregnancy shows up, it delights her with happiness.

At first, the Lord of House Stormcrest shows no reaction. But soon he becomes furious as the legitimacy of the child soon comes to question when the rumors of his lady wife's sinful night with the Rogue Prince spreads like wildfire which leads Aurélie Silvercrown to run like a coward once again.

It all takes the time of nine months when it happens on a day when the daylight is absorbed by the darkness of the night, where rain and thunder crash through angrily.

The room is only the bed and four walls, her helper melting into the background as if she isn't even there. Laying in the bed, the pain is clear on her face, Lady Aurélie Silvercrown screams, praying the baby will be out soon and set her free from this agony.

"My lady, I'm going to need you to push," the handmaiden encourages her.

And she listens. Pushing and pushing long and hard, she tries her best in the next passing hour, her whole body burning with pain as if she's going through the depths of seven hells and back, recurring process. All she wants is to bring an end to this nightmare.

"I can't do this! I can't!" Aurélie screams, still heaving and pushing steadily. The time is passing with seconds to minutes as her mind fills out with intense pain, confusion, and fear.

"Just keep pushing, you’re almost there. Don’t quit now or all of this was for nothing," the handmaiden reminds her, holding up on her legs to help. "All you need to do is keep breathing and push harder, my lady."

Breathing, chanting, and pushing. This goes on like this for a while in a repeating and a never-ending cycle. It is until the next long push, she lets out another scream of agony before she hears the sharp, angry cry, surprisingly loud in the hushed room.

After cleaning the small baby, the handmaiden places the crying child in her arms. And with that, the baby goes silent. No more crying, just silence.

Pain, worry, confusion, and fear. Nothing matters to her anymore. It's all him. This precious little babe in her arms.

He has a few sporadic midnight strands matching to her mother's waist long midnight locks. The Targaryen baby has inherited most of his mother's soft features. Except his lustrous white skin and dark lilac eyes. An absolutely beautiful baby, born out of love, not duty.

Lady Aurélie knows her fate. Her life is now dancing on a thread and soul is ready to mix into the thin air anytime. But this feeling, to hold her baby in her arms cannot be compared to anything in this world. It is enough to close her eyes and perish in childbed.

Aurélie looks deep into those lilac eyes once more, placing a small kiss on the precious little forehead as hot tears flow out of her eyes.

Vidor Silvercrown, a young boy in his age of ten bursts through the door into a bedroom. His eyes move from the handmaiden standing in the corner to his adoptive sister who lies in bed. The sheets are soaked with blood.

"Vidor?" Lady Aurélie is pale, sweat is clinging to her body and her chest is faintly raising up and down.

"Aurélie." The boy rushes to his sister's side without  a second thought.

"Is that you? Is that really you?" Aurélie lifts her shaking hand with disbelief and the boy takes it. "You’re not a dream."

"No, I’m not a dream. I’m here. Right here."

"I’ve missed you, little warrior."

Vidor begins to cry, "I’ve missed you, too."

"I want to be brave."

"Shh. You are."

"I’m not," Aurélie sniffles as the young boy lifts his hand from his sister's stomach to find his palm covered in blood. "I don’t want to die."

"You’re not going to die," Vidor says and looks at the handmaiden. "Get her some water!"

"No, no water."

"Is there a maester?"

"Please. Listen to me, Vidor," The heir of House Silvercrown whispers in the young boy's ear. "His name is Daervon Targaryen. If Gerard finds out, he’ll kill him, you know he will. You must protect him and take him to Daemon. Promise me, Vidor. Promise me."

The handmaiden hands him the baby and Vidor stares down at the baby with adoration as if he has already fallen in love with him. It's not a surprise though.

He immediately cradles the child to chest in a protective manner and looks up with determination. "I will be his sworn protector."

"Thank you," Aurélie smiles through her tears and hands the young boy a ring. The House Silvercrown heirloom. "He is extraordinary. Isn't he?"

"He will be quite the heartbreaker."

"Just like his father."

"Just like his father."

"Go with him," Aurélie says as tears pour down her face. The urge to beg for life surges in her mind. But life is unfair. She's lacking time to see another day of her little dragon growing up to be a man one day. She has to let go. Her son is not hers anymore. "Go with the babe."

"Know that he will be safe, you have my word," Vidor comforts the woman with his promise and he kisses her forehead as if paying his respect to her before leaving with tears blurring his vision. But he has to be brave for her and for the sake of the child in his arms.

"Safe," Aurélie repeats this word to herself as she stares ahead at the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she lets out her last few breaths as death dominates her soul, recalling the love she feels for her baby, her precious child, one born in perfect love.

The moment young Vidor Silvercrown hands the baby to Daemon Targaryen, the cold hearted prince melts with many unfamiliar emotions. He doesn't need any proof to acknowledge that the child is his blood. He can feel the fire running through the veins of the little dragon. He is a father. In that instant, he knows he'll do anything to protect this child, that his love is as vast as the universe yet solid as rock.

Daemon takes his fair time to mourn the dead mother of his child before his sorrow turns into revenge.

He will shred the cunt of Gerard Stormcrest into a thousand pieces and feed the remains to Caraxes. And that is what he does.