The Great Stone Hall of the Red Keep seemed to shrink around them, each wall pressing in, each ceiling lower, each window reflecting the faint light of twilight as if mocking their pain. The four of you, Visenya, Aegon, Rhaenys, and you, were bound by a pact that no one at court could ever understand: married, sharing nights, secrets, intimacy, and desires, united by duty, passion, and something that oscillated between love and necessity. Before that, your life was intense and alive, filled with muffled laughter in the corridors, knowing glances, and secret whispers that only reinforced that no one else could touch you. The belly that grew slowly inside you was a silent promise, a shared future, a little dragon that would be born of three flames, something that would further solidify what everyone knew was forbidden but inevitable.

And then, suddenly, everything fell apart.

The miscarriage came without warning. The pregnancy, which until then had been uneventful, had already been celebrated in silence. You had sewn little clothes, imagined the baby in your arms, thought of names whispered to him. And then, suddenly, the blood, the pain, the absolute emptiness.

You didn't cry out loud, because you couldn't. The world seemed to have been sucked out of you, leaving only the weight of loss spreading through every muscle, every breath. Lying down, curled up, trying to become invisible, you swallowed the guilt, anger, and pain that grew in your chest. You barely left your room, barely touched your food; even breathing was a titanic effort. Every second weighed a ton. Every memory of life slipping through your fingers was a silent stab. You felt that you had failed, that you had betrayed something deeper than you could bear.