Ma Poupée
Daenerys
third moon of 68 AC
The garden was beautiful, but Daella didn’t much care for it. She would rather sit in the shade of the ivy-covered trellis, where the flowers were far enough from the buzzing bees to feel safe. The young princess was frightened of them, though Daenerys had never understood why. They were harmless, really, as harmless as Daella herself.
Daella sat on the ground, her hands delicately caressing the soft petals of a pale rose. Her face was serene, but Daenerys could see the faint nervousness in her sister’s small, trembling fingers as they brushed the flower’s edges. She loved flowers, yet they scared her in some strange way.
“Do you think the bees will come here?” Daella asked in a whisper, her voice soft and fearful, though her gaze never left the rose in her hands. She did not look up at Daenerys, but the princess could hear the apprehension in her words.
“No, sweetling,” Daenerys replied gently, sitting beside her and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The bees are busy elsewhere. They won’t bother us.”
Daella’s head turned toward her sister, her wide, round eyes filled with trust. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Daenerys said, her tone filled with the certainty that only an older sister could provide. She looked at Daella with such tenderness, almost like a mother would look at a child, as though Daella were something precious she had to protect from every fear, no matter how small.
Daella gave her a hesitant, sweet smile, as if that promise meant the world to her. She leaned into Daenerys' side, her small frame trembling slightly from the faint breeze that drifted across the garden.
“You’re always so brave, Dany,” Daella whispered, her voice tinged with admiration.
Daenerys smiled at her sister’s words, but her heart ached. Brave? She didn’t think of herself that way. No, it was Daella who was the brave one, to face every little fear and yet, still come back to the things that made her anxious. Her heart was tender, and Daenerys understood it more than anyone.
“You’re brave too, Daella,” Daenerys said softly, brushing a lock of hair away from her sister's forehead. “You face the things that scare you, and that makes you strong.”
Daella shook her head slightly, as if she couldn’t fully believe her sister’s words. “Not like you. I’m not brave. I can’t do the things you do.”
Daenerys’ hand rested on her sister’s head in a comforting gesture, the way a mother might soothe a child. “You don’t have to do the things I do, Daella. You only have to be yourself.”
Daella’s lips parted as if she were about to speak but closed again, the uncertainty still clouding her thoughts. Instead, she nestled closer to Daenerys, her small body seeking the warmth and protection only her sister could provide.
There was a stillness between them now, a quiet kind of peace, and for a moment, Daenerys wished that the world could stay this way forever—uncomplicated, filled only with the soft murmurs of her sister’s voice, the rustling of the flowers, and the certainty that she would always be there to shield Daella from her fears.
“Do you think… do you think I’ll ever be as strong as you?” Daella asked after a long silence, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Daenerys looked down at her sister, her heart aching with love. “You’re already strong, my little doll.”
She took a moment, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting playful shadows across Daella’s face. There was a sadness in her chest, an ache for how fragile her sister was, how fragile she had always been.
“I’ll always protect you,” Daenerys whispered, her voice fierce with an unspoken promise. “No matter what. You never have to face anything alone.”
Daella’s eyes filled with gratitude, her lips curving into a soft, shy smile. The kind of smile that made Daenerys’ heart swell with love and sorrow at the same time.
“Thank you, Dany,” Daella said, her voice small but full of emotion. She had never needed words to show how much she loved Daenerys, and Daenerys could feel that love in the quiet comfort they shared.
“I love you, Daella,” Daenerys whispered, kissing the top of her sister’s head.
“I love you too, Dany,” Daella said softly, her voice a breath of air, as fragile as her spirit.
The peaceful garden was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps—quick, confident strides, carrying a breeze of wild energy. Daenerys didn’t need to look up to know it was Alyssa. She could always tell by the way her sister’s steps were louder, more carefree than anyone else’s.
“There you are,” Alyssa called out, appearing in the archway with her usual easy grin, her riding clothes a bit rumpled, as if she had just come from some impromptu adventure. Her hair was a tangle of golden strands, windswept and free, matching the wildness in her demeanor.
“I told you we’d be here,” Daenerys said, her voice teasing but warm as she looked up at Alyssa.
Daella, who had been clutching her sister’s skirt a little tighter, hesitated for a moment before glancing up at Alyssa. She gave a soft, almost imperceptible frown but didn’t move away, a small sign of her familiar shyness.
Alyssa, however, didn't mind. She gave Daella a casual smile, no attempt to force affection. “Don’t worry, Daella, I’m harmless,” she said with a wink. “I promise not to bite.”
Daella hid behind Daenerys with a slight tremor, but she didn’t protest. She trusted Daenerys, and with that trust, she remained close.
Alyssa, sensing the need for a softer approach, gave her sister a more gentle smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, little one.”
“I should have warned her,” Daenerys replied, giving Alyssa a small, affectionate look. She placed a reassuring hand on Daella’s shoulder, silently telling her it was alright.
Alyssa leaned casually against the stone wall, her posture relaxed as always. “So, you two plotting to take the Throne? Or just enjoying some peace?” She raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin forming on her face. But then her gaze softened, her eyes flicking to Daella again, as though checking if she was okay.
"Just having some peace," she looked around. "Is rare to see you without Baelon and Aemon."
Alyssa blushed as she brushed her off. "I can do things by myself, as well." Daenerys smiled, but the quiet comfort she felt with her younger sister was interrupted by Alyssa’s sudden, more serious tone. “I wanted to talk with you about you-know-who.”
The shift in tone didn’t escape Daenerys, who kept her voice light but with a hint of curiosity. “Aegon?”
“Yeah. Him and his whole ‘everything must go my way’ attitude,” Alyssa said, a bit of a shrug as if it were nothing new, but her expression carried a note of frustration beneath her casual exterior. “You’ve seen it, right?”
Daenerys shifted slightly, her hands still gently holding Daella’s. She didn’t want to speak ill of Aegon to Alyssa—she loved him too much. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny the truth. “I’ve seen it.” She hesitated, her voice lowering slightly. “He’s not easy to be around sometimes.”
Alyssa let out a soft laugh, the sound light and carefree, but there was a sharpness to it that Daenerys knew too well. “Not easy? That’s one way to put it.” Alyssa sighed, pushing off from the wall and moving closer, leaning in a bit as though sharing some secret. “He is taking things too far, and Father won't be happy for too long.”
“I know,” Daenerys said, her voice firm but quiet. “But telling him so will only make him worse.”
Alyssa’s smile faded, and her eyes softened as she looked at Daenerys. “How wan he get worse? The things he said... Baelon told me everything, is it true? How he spoke so badly of Princess Aerea and Jocelyn?”
Daenerys felt a pang in her chest at the mention of Aegon’s treatment of others—how he had so easily dismissed Aerea, how he had disregarded House Baratheon. She loved him, but at times, his cruelty cut deeper than any of them were willing to admit.
“He can be cruel,” Daenerys said softly. “But... he’s our brother. And I do love him. It’s just...” Her voice faltered for a moment as she tried to find the words. “I can't control him. He is his own person.”
Alyssa’s gaze softened as she placed a hand on Daenerys’ shoulder, her voice quieter now, more understanding. “I know you love him. I do too. But sometimes... love isn’t enough, is it?"
Daenerys blinked, surprised by the insight in Alyssa’s words. But she didn’t shy away. “It’s not easy, but is what I have left,” she admitted, the weight of responsibility sitting heavy on her shoulders. “I try to protect everyone. But sometimes it feels like I’m losing myself in the process.”
Alyssa’s eyes softened, the mischievous edge fading. She reached out, gently squeezing Daenerys’ hand. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own. And you’re not Mother, Dany. Not yet. You can still be yourself.”
Daenerys gave her a small, grateful smile. “I know. It’s just... hard. I love you, you know?”
Alyssa leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from Daenerys’ face, her smile playful again. “I love you too. But don’t let Aegon drag you down. And don’t forget to be a little bit wild too.”
Daenerys chuckled softly. “I’ll try.”
Alyssa winked before turning her attention to Daella, who was peeking from behind Daenerys again, this time a little braver. “And you, little one? You ready for an adventure yet?”
Daella’s eyes were wide with curiosity, though she remained firmly behind Daenerys’ skirt. She peered up at Alyssa for a moment before shaking her head shyly.
Alyssa laughed. “No worries, Daella. You’ll come around someday. But we’ll keep the dragons away for now.”
With a final grin, Alyssa straightened up and began to walk away, her carefree nature returning as quickly as it had shifted. “You two have fun. I’ll be back in time for dinner, but only if Daella promises not to bite anyone.”
Daenerys watched her sister go, her heart lightened by the shared moment. She loved Alyssa—perhaps more than anyone else understood. And in that moment, she realized something she hadn’t quite allowed herself to see before: Alyssa might be wild and free, but in her own way, she was a protector too.
Daenerys turned back to Daella, who was still holding her tightly. “Shall we go inside, little one?” Daenerys asked softly.
Daella looked up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time that day, there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
The sun hung low on the horizon, the sky streaked with orange and pale lilac as the day slowly gave way to dusk. The air smelled faintly of salt drifting from the bay, mingling with the warmth of sunbaked stone beneath her hands. Daenerys traced a crack along the old balcony rail, half-listening to Aegon as he spoke, his voice amused and with a mocking tone.
“…Father means to visit Goldengrove first, then the Arbor,” he was saying, leaning against the stone, arms folded across his chest. “Lord Redwyne will try to stuff us with his wretched sweet wine again. You’d hate it.”
Daenerys gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, watching the way the light danced on his silver hair. He had let it grow longer again, almost brushing his shoulders. “It seems like a long journey for a simple tour,” she said softly, though she already knew the truth.
Aegon gave a slight shrug. “It isn’t just a tour. Father wants to show Aemon off. Betrothal or not, he’s determined to make a spectacle of it.” His lips curled into a wry smirk. “Aemon and his Lady Jocelyn. The perfect match. Our father’s triumph.”
Daenerys heard the strain beneath his words, the way he spoke of Aemon’s betrothal mockingly, as if the way he had spoken about Jocelyn hadn’t been enough. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Aemon seems… happy, though.”
Aegon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he does. It’s easy for him. He was never expected to be first.”
There it was, the thread of bitterness she had been waiting for. She searched his face for a moment, the sharp line of his jaw, the restless way he kept shifting, as though standing still was intolerable. For once, she wanted him to speak plainly, to give voice to the truth they both felt pressing between them.
But he wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t.
“He’ll be the first to marry,” Aegon said, leaning against the stone parapet with a smudge smile. “No doubt Father will try and shove another bride in my lap next. I’ll have to be on guard, or they’ll pack me home with a new Lady of Dragonstone without my consent.”
Daenerys’ hand tightened on the rail. The words left her before she could stop them, quiet but clear. “You could have been the first.”
Aegon’s gaze snapped to her. His expression shuttered almost instantly, but not fast enough to hide the way his lips parted, as if she had struck a wound left raw. “Don’t start, Dany.”
“I’m not starting anything,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You were supposed to be first. You know it. Father knows it.”
Aegon shook his head, his face hardening. “It wouldn’t have worked. You know that as well as I do.”
Her chest ached. She wanted to reach for him, to make him see, but there was a wall between them now, the same invisible barrier that had been there since he first pushed her away. “Why not? I don’t understand. You said you’d always protect me. That you—”
“I am protecting you.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. “This is how I protect you. If I marry you, you’ll be—”
Daenerys felt her throat tighten, but she refused to let the ache show. “Safe from what, Aegon? Me?”
“No! From the rest of them. From Father’s plans. From being trapped in a role you never chose.” His voice cracked, but his eyes were hard now. “You think I don’t care for you? You think this is easy for me?”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. “You’re not protecting me, Aegon. You’re choosing yourself. You’ve already decided what’s best for both of us—without even asking how I feel.”
The silence was heavier now, thick and unyielding. Shadows had crept further along the stone, the sun nearly gone. Aegon opened his mouth, then closed it, his face contorted in that stubborn way she knew too well.
“I love you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not like that. Not the way Father wants.”
Daenerys nodded slowly, the bitter ache of rejection pressing against her chest. "I know," she whispered, voice raw but steady. "But you could have been the first, Aegon. It didn’t have to be like this."
He faltered, his lips parting, yet no words came. The dying light painted his face in streaks of orange and shadow, his silence heavier than any denial.
She turned back to the darkening sea, letting the wind mask the hot sting behind her eyes. Aegon lingered a moment longer, then, as if drawn by some invisible tether, reached out. His fingers brushed hers where they rested on the stone, tentative, almost trembling.
It was the barest touch, but it unraveled her all the same. He didn’t pull away this time. His hand closed gently around hers, a silent apology, a plea she couldn’t quite name.
“I’ll be back before long,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don't let them trouble you while I'm gone."
Her nod was nearly imperceptible, her throat too tight to speak. But when his hand finally slipped from hers, the loss hollowed her out more than the words ever had.
He left quietly, the sound of his boots fading into the growing dusk, leaving her alone with the sound of the waves—and the ache of what would never be.