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Death was a tricky thing. It came slowly and quietly, and fast and quickly at the same time. One day you think it is too far away, the other it is at your door, warning you it’s coming soon.
Chemotherapy wasn’t working. After four years of treatment and trying their best, with no result, Aemma had allowed her doctors to give up and let her rest. She could choose where she would die, and she was choosing her home. It was uncomfortable, yes, but they had a team of nurses around to keep her medicated and comfortable enough, and she had Rhaenyra.
Her daughter, her precious little girl, was by her side all hours of her day. She asked to have tutors instead of going to school when Aemma’s treatment was suspended, skipped events, fancy photoshoots and career-building opportunities... everything to be by her side.
“Twirl for me?” she asked. “The two of you.”
Alicent and Rhaenyra spun, her daughter’s best friend looking very shy in the dress Aemma had given to her. It was once hers, handmade by a tailor and still looking as new as ever. She was shaped like Aemma once was when she was her age, and although she was a little too religious obsessed for her miniskirts, her dresses were adequate enough to not make her uncomfortable.
Rhaenyra, though, was much more like her grandmother and already had most of her dresses in her wardrobe. She loved Aemma’t miniskirts too, and Aemma loved to see her having such fun wearing them.
“Gorgeous,” she clapped.
Alicent moved uncomfortably on her feet.
“Thank you for the dress, Mrs Targaryen,” she spoke, as shy as always. “But I have to go now. My father is coming to pick me up.”
Rhaenyra turned to her quickly, looking very disappointed.
“You are not staying for dinner?”
Rhaenyra loved Alicent. Deeply, in a way Aemma was yet to understand. Maybe when they were older they might realise they were in love, like people expected only man and woman to be in Westeros, but was much more accepted in New Valyria. It gave her some hope, not because Aemma had delusions that she would live to see it, but because Rhaenyra wouldn’t be alone when she died. She would have Alicent by her side to hold her hand and comfort her.
“He wants to have dinner together tonight,” she grimaced, apologetic.
Aemma smile. It made sense; Alicent had been spending most of her time out of school at their house. Her father was bound to miss her.
“Take the rest of the dresses I packed with you,” she told her. “I hear vintage clothes are in fashion, and I don’t have much else to do with them.”
Alicent nodded nervously, and Rhaenyra squeezed her quickly before letting her go, rushing back to Aemma’t bed.
“She’s a lovely kid,” she reached for her, putting her hair behind her ear.
Rhaenyra giggled.
“She was so shocked when she saw my skirt,” she told her, swinging her legs. “And I told her what you said about them.”
Aemma squinted. Her memory was a little frail these days.
“And what did I tell you?” she asked.
Her daughter smiled, looking the image of mischief.
“That in Valyria they call them flip-and-fuck skirt.”
That made her laugh aloud, and she squeezed her belly for a moment, going out of breath.
Viserys was from Valyria, he was the one who had taught her that. They had spent most of their time there when her husband still didn’t quite have a legal reason to be in Westeros, before he was allowed into the country.
And he loved when she wore those skirts.
“Well, I’d wear some shorts underneath if I were you,” she recommended. “To keep safe. But they look beautiful on you.”
Rhaenyra shook her head.
“You always say that to anything I wear.”
“Because you are the most beautiful girl in the world,” she caressed her face. “You would look beautiful in a potato sack.”
She giggled more, crawling a little closer to her on the bed, laying fully by her side.
“Do you want to go outside?” she offered. “The sun is going to be perfect, like the doctor said. And the garden looks really beautiful.”
She sighed. Aemma was so tired. She’d been sleeping more and more lately, and her dreams were full of ghosts. Her mother and her father, and a childhood she never had.
But not Rhaenyra. And she would use every second she could have with her daughter, even if it meant she had to rest a little more after.
“Of course,” she smiled. “I’ll love to see it.”
The nurses helped her onto her wheelchair a bit of an hour later and even let Syrax put her head on her lap before her daughter’s Valyrian cat took her side and it was Rhaenyra who pushed her out through the living room door, not complaining a bit about the hard terrane under them as she struggled to push Aemma all the way to the garden, and a security guard helped her carry her chair past a rough path before they were back to their way to the garden Aemma had spent years caring for.
She pushed her under a shadow, always careful, and Aemma smiled at the sight. Yes, it was beautiful.
“Look,” Nyra pointed to a patch being prepared by the gardeners. “I was hoping we could plant Iris des Pyrenées there.”
It was a long path, and her heart squeezed in her chest. They were her favourite flowers, but Aemma wouldn’t live to see them flower.
“You could,” she petted Syrax behind her ear. “But do you think you could wait?”
Rhaenyra stood, cleaning her hands and her knees from the dirt.
“Why?” she walked to her, sitting by her side on a bench.
“I want you to bury my ashes there,” she told her. “And then plant the flowers.”
Aemma was met in silence, and when she turned to her, her daughter was blinking fast as her lips curled down, and she reached for her gently, caressing her hand.
“I don’t want you to die,” she whimpered. “Why aren’t the doctors trying harder?”
She smiled softly. Rhaenyra was so young, still at that age she expected the world to bend for her.
“Because they tried the best they could,” she told her. “And sometimes we have to admit defeat and live with the consequences.”
Her daughter sniffed, still holding her tears, and Aemma moved her hand to her chin, raising it, so she would look at her.
“You can cry,” she assured her. “It’s okay.”
Rhaenyra shook her head.
“Everyone said I shouldn’t cry in front of you,” she whispered. “So you won’t be upset.”
“And who said that?”
Nyra rubbed her eye nervously.
“Mr Hightower and Alicent,” she told her. “And dad’s friends, and Uncle Jon’s girlfriend. They said you need to be surrounded by happiness.”
Aemma caressed her cheek.
“I need to be surrounded by honesty,” she told her. “It’s okay to cry when you are sad, and I know you’ll miss me.”
“I don’t want to cry all the time,” Rhaenyra told her. “I like the time we spend together. It's just when I remember it’s not going to be forever.”
She caressed her cheek as a tear fell down her cheek, followed by another and another, and Rhaenyra slowly fell to the floor, snuggling over her lap as Syrax watched, ever protective, and Aemma petted her hair as she cried in her arms, sniffing and sobbing, trembling.
When she was done crying, Aemma kissed her cheeks and her hands and hugged her as best as she could, and they came back inside to eat dinner together.
She was wide awake in the night when the door to her bedroom opened, and Rhaenyra stepped into her room wrapped in her blankets, looking at her with big eyes.
“Can I sleep here?” she asked, sound a bit embarrassed.
Aemma smiled.
Rhaenyra did that so many times as a kid. She was still a little girl.
Viserys didn’t sleep on her bed anymore, afraid he could hurt her, but usually slept on the room next door to hers. He was probably there now, fast asleep and snoring away.
“Of course, honey,” she opened her arms.
She was so tired tonight. All she wanted was to bury herself in her daughter’s arms and rest away.
Rhaenyra lay by her side quickly, resting her head on a pillow and looking at her, her eyes no longer red from crying.
“Alicent called to thank you for the dresses again,” she told her. “I told her you made them yourself.”
Aemma smiled. She loved making her own clothes, like her mother before her. Rhaenyra wasn’t that good with sewing but loved dressing up.
“I have lots of other dresses,” she chuckled a little. “Those were just a few, it’s alright.”
Rhaenyra smiled a little, yawning, and rested her head on her shoulder.
She embraced her closely, as she’d once done when her daughter was just a baby.
Her sweet girl. Rhaenyra didn’t deserve such sadness.
“I love you,” she mumbled suddenly, looking at her. “You know that, right, Mama?”
That made her smile.
“I know,” she affirmed. “I absolutely know. And I love you very, very much.”
She kissed her temple as Rhaenyra rested on her head.
“You are my sunshine,” she sang softly, as she sang her to sleep when she was small. “My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”
Rhaenyra breathed in slowly, softly asleep, and Aemma rested back in her pillow, closing her eyes, letting herself fall asleep too, hoping she would wake up to see her another day.