Princess Helaena's birthing chamber was a warm room, enclosed by thick stone walls. The hearth blazed brightly; the windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. Helaena had been in labor for three hours. She was pale, her forehead covered in sweat, her silver hair plastered to her cheeks. She bit her lips until they bled, but she did not scream. She simply kept her eyes tightly shut, gripping the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turned white.
The midwives surrounded her. Despite their experience, they still looked nervous at this moment.
"Your Grace, try again." "I can see the baby's head."
Helaena gritted her teeth and let out a low, suppressed groan. Her body was tense as a drawn bow.
Aemond stood outside the door. He was not allowed to enter; he leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, his face impassive. Queen Alicent stood at the other end of the corridor, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer to the Seven, her lips moving slightly.
The corridor was quiet. Only muffled sounds of pain, the midwives' words of comfort, and Helaena's suppressed moans came from the birthing chamber.
The silence was broken by the cry of a newborn. It was loud and clear, carrying the stubbornness inherent to new life.
Aemond's body trembled slightly. He lowered his arms from his chest and let them hang loosely at his sides; his fingers trembled slightly. His gaze was fixed on the heavy wooden door.
An old midwife poked her head through the window, a smile on her face.
"Your Grace, the first is a boy."
Aemond drew a deep breath and let his shoulders relax slightly.
"What of the second?"
"She will come soon, Regent. Rest assured, the princess is doing well."
Suddenly, a commotion began in the birthing chamber. It was not joy, but panic. Someone raised their voice and quickened their steps.
Aemond's expression changed. He walked toward the birthing chamber, pushed past the midwife blocking the door, and entered.
The midwife stood by the bed, holding the boy in her arms. He was healthy, normal, crying loudly. But all eyes were on the other child, the one just born.
Aemond approached and saw the baby. A girl.
Her left cheek was covered in small red scales. Starting from her forehead, extending along her left cheek down to her chin. The greatest density of these markings was around her cheekbone, where the skin was almost completely covered. Her eyes were closed, but fine scales were visible on her eyelids. From the edge of the white cloth peeked a fine, scaly tail, about two fingers long, slightly curled.
Dead silence fell over the birthing chamber. All stared at the child—at something that should not exist, something that defied the laws of nature, something terrifying.
Aemond's face darkened. Those violet eyes now showed double pupils, filled with shock, confusion, fear, and anger... But now, looking at his eldest daughter, her face covered in dragon scales, he understood that this was real.
Was this the price...? My blood grows purer... yet my daughter has become a monster.
"Regent..." the midwife said in a trembling voice.
Aemond looked up at them. A flash of murderous intent flickered in his eyes. The midwife's legs gave way at the fleeting killing intent. She had delivered thousands of babies—seen cleft lips, six fingers, conjoined twins—but she had never seen anything like this. Dragon scales, a tail—this was not a human child; it was a monster.
In the history of the Seven Kingdoms, monsters had only one fate. If the existence of this child became known to the Seven Kingdoms, and if the Faith learned that Aemond Targaryen had fathered a daughter with dragon scales, all of Westeros would be shaken.
"You have done well," Aemond said in an eerily calm voice. "But what happened today..."
"Your Grace, we know," the midwife said hastily. "We saw nothing. The queen gave birth only to a boy—a healthy, normal boy."
The other midwives nodded quickly, their faces pale, their lips trembling.
Aemond looked at them and was silent for a long time.
"Give each of them fifty gold dragons. Go."
The midwives, feeling as if they had been granted a reprieve, quickly bowed and left. The old midwife placed the boy beside the unconscious Helaena and hurried out.
Only Aemond, Helaena, Alicent, and the girl remained in the room.
---
Helaena lay in bed, pale, her eyes half open. She seemed somewhat recovered, but at this moment she was too weak to speak. But she saw Aemond's face, the relieved expressions of the midwives as they left, and the shocked, unbelieving look in Alicent's eyes as she stood by the door.
"What happened?" she asked weakly. "What happened to the child?"
Aemond remained silent.
He walked to the old midwife and took the child from her. She was very light, like a feather. Her body was very small—so small she could fit in the palm of his hand. She had silver hair, like all Targaryen children. Except for the scales. Except for the tail.
Aemond looked down at her. His eldest daughter, his flesh and blood, his lineage. He should love her. He wanted to love her. But when he saw that face covered in scales, he felt only revulsion. It was revulsion not for her, but for himself. He was to blame for all of this. This innocent child had become a monster.
He wanted to hide her. He wanted to hide her where no one could see her. But he knew it was impossible. The very existence of this child was a secret, and its revelation would cause a storm of outrage.
Kill her.
The thought came so suddenly and so powerfully that his fingers tightened slightly. Kill her, bury her in the Red Keep's crypts, and tell Helaena the child did not survive. Newborn deaths went unnoticed. In Westeros, newborns died every day—from difficult births, from illness, from birth defects, from countless other causes. No one would question it, no one would ask, no one would know.
The girl suddenly opened her eyes.
Violet. Pure, transparent Targaryen violet. No fear, no pain—only the unique curiosity and trust an infant has for the world around her. She looked at Aemond, and on her face—the left side covered in scales—a smile appeared. An unconscious, pure smile that only infants have.
Aemond's fingers froze. He looked at her—at those violet eyes, at that smile. The faint desire to kill that had lurked in his heart was instantly suppressed by something more powerful.
He drew a deep breath and held the girl tighter.
He turned, intending to hide her in the cradle in the corner so Helaena would not see her, and wait until she had recovered a bit.
"Please, let me see her."
Helaena's voice, weak but firm, came from the bed behind him.
Aemond stopped short.
"Rest well. Let me take care of her."
"Let me see her." Helaena's voice was louder than before; she had clearly understood something. "She is my daughter. I have the right to see her, no matter what she looks like."
Aemond was silent.
"Please, Aemond. Let me see her."
Aemond closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He turned, lifted the girl in his arms, and walked to Helaena's bedside.
Helaena propped herself up and leaned weakly against the pillows. Her face was pale, her lips bloodless, but her violet eyes shone with anticipation.
Aemond gently placed the girl in her arms.
Helaena looked down. Her smile froze.
She saw the scales, the tail, and the face that was half human, half scaled—that should not exist. Her hands trembled. Her lips trembled. Tears streamed silently down her face.
"It is my fault..." she murmured to herself, unable to believe it. "I must have done something wrong... eaten something I should not have..."
"It is not your fault."
She looked up; her gaze was blurred with tears. "Aemond, why is this happening?"
Aemond remained silent.
Helaena looked at him; tears streamed down her face like a broken strand of pearls.
"You wanted to kill her?" she suddenly asked.
Aemond tensed slightly.
"I can feel it," Helaena's voice was eerily calm. "Deep down, you wanted to kill her. Or you wanted to hide her so no one would know."
Aemond did not deny it.
"I will not harm her."
"But you thought about it," she said, and the tears flowed even more. "You thought about killing your own daughter."
Aemond crouched to meet her gaze. There was no evasion in her eyes.
"I thought about it, but nothing more. I will not do it."
"Why?"
He looked down at the girl in his arms. She was smiling again. Her violet eyes curved into crescents; her little hands waved in the air, as if trying to grab something.
"Because she is our daughter. No matter what she looks like, she is my daughter."
Helaena looked at him; the tears gradually stopped flowing. She reached out and gently touched his face. Her fingers were cold, but very gentle.
"Do not treat her like a shame. She is our daughter."
"Her name is Visenya."
Visenya. The name they had already chosen. If a girl was born, she would be named Visenya, after the sister and wife of Aegon the Conqueror—the valiant queen who rode Vhagar.
Aemond looked at the girl in his arms, at her face covered in scales. He bent his head and gently kissed the girl's forehead. The scales were cool and smooth, like touching polished stone. But the girl's body was warm, her heartbeat steady, her breathing even. She was alive. She was his daughter.
Then he drew a dagger from his belt.
Helaena flinched and instinctively held Visenya tighter, shrinking back. Seeing Aemond's action, Alicent immediately scolded him.
"My son, what exactly are you trying to do?"
Aemond did not answer. He cut his left palm; blood gushed out, dark red in the candlelight. He brought his bloody palm to Visenya's lips. The blood dripped onto her lips and seeped between them. Visenya's mouth moved slightly, as if she were sucking.
He hoped his blood might serve some purpose... Visenya should not be like this...
Let the curses and pain fall upon me...