The Price of Duty

Viserys sat beside Aemma's bed, his heart clenched in a vice of fear and sorrow. The bloodied sheets beneath her told the story he did not want to believe. Aemma's breathing was shallow, each breath a painful rasp that echoed in the quiet chamber. The light in her eyes, once so vibrant and full of life, was fading, leaving behind a shadow of the woman he had loved for so many years.

He held her hand, as if his grip alone could keep her tethered to the world. "You have done so well, my love," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Rest now."

Aemma's lips moved, but no sound came. Viserys leaned closer, catching the faintest whisper. "Our daughter... forgive me, Viserys. I could not give you a son."

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. "You have nothing to forgive, Aemma," he choked out. "You have given me everything. Rest now, and know that I love you."

A faint smile touched Aemma's lips, and she closed her eyes, her hand slipping from Viserys's grasp as she drifted into unconsciousness. Viserys sat frozen, watching her, willing her to open her eyes again, to speak, to breathe.

But the room remained silent.

Viserys did not know how long he sat there, holding her lifeless hand, his mind numb with grief. It was only the soft cry of a newborn that finally roused him. He turned his head slowly to look at the cradle beside the bed, where their daughter slept, unaware of the tragedy that had just befallen her family.

He stood on unsteady legs and approached the cradle. The baby girl was tiny, wrapped in a soft blanket, her face peaceful as she slept. She had Aemma's delicate features, but as he looked closer, he saw the telltale signs of Targaryen blood—silver hair peeking out from beneath the blanket, a hint of violet in her closed eyes.

*Our daughter...* The words echoed in his mind, and he felt a surge of protectiveness welling up inside him. He gently reached down, scooping the infant into his arms. She stirred at the touch, her tiny fists waving in the air before she settled against his chest.

"Alyssa," he whispered, the name Aemma had chosen coming unbidden to his lips. "My sweet Alyssa."

The door to the chamber opened softly, and Viserys turned to see Runciter standing there, his expression one of solemn grief. Behind him were Daemon, Otto, and Alicent, all standing with heads bowed in respect.

"My King," Runciter began, his voice gentle. "We must... prepare."

Viserys nodded numbly. "Yes... prepare her. But I will take care of my daughter."

Daemon stepped forward, his face pale but resolute. "Viserys... let me help."

Viserys shook his head, holding Alyssa closer. "No. She is my daughter. I will care for her."

Daemon looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed his words, bowing his head instead. "As you wish, brother."

Otto stepped forward, his voice measured and calm. "Your Grace, we should notify the court... the lords will need to be informed."

Viserys nodded slowly, the reality of his duties as King crashing down on him. He wanted to shout, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had taken Aemma from him. But he knew his responsibilities. He was the King, and even in his grief, he had to lead.

"Tell them," he said, his voice hollow. "Inform the court that Queen Aemma has passed, and that she has given birth to a healthy daughter, Alyssa."

Otto bowed, but before he could leave, Daemon spoke up again. "Viserys... I am here for you. Whatever you need, just say the word."

Viserys looked at his brother, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. For all their differences, Daemon was still his blood, his closest kin. "Thank you, Daemon," he said quietly. "But for now, I need to be alone with my daughter."

Daemon hesitated, then nodded. "Of course."

As the others filed out of the room, Viserys sat back down, cradling Alyssa in his arms. The warmth of her tiny body against his chest was a small comfort, but it did nothing to ease the gaping wound in his heart.

*How can I do this without you, Aemma?* he wondered, staring down at the sleeping infant. The burden of raising their daughter alone felt insurmountable, and the weight of the crown on his brow seemed heavier than ever.

For a long time, he sat there, lost in his thoughts, until the baby stirred again, her tiny face scrunching up as she began to fuss. Viserys rocked her gently, humming a lullaby that Aemma had once sung to Rhaenyra.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to his wife, lying cold and still on the bed behind him. He had lost her, and with her, a part of himself. The emptiness she left behind was unbearable.

Eventually, Runciter returned, accompanied by a nursemaid who gently took Alyssa from Viserys's arms, leaving him alone with his grief. He stood there for a moment, staring at the door, before finally turning to face the bed once more.

He knelt beside Aemma's lifeless form, taking her hand in his once more. "I will honor you, Aemma," he whispered, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. "I will raise our daughter to be strong and wise, like you. I will make sure she knows how much you loved her."

But even as he made the vow, the pain of loss cut through him like a knife. He pressed his forehead to Aemma's hand, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

For the first time since he had ascended the throne, Viserys felt utterly alone.

---

The days that followed were a blur of mourning and duty. The court was draped in black, and the lords and ladies of the realm gathered to pay their respects to the fallen Queen. Viserys moved through it all like a man in a dream, his heart numb and his mind consumed by thoughts of Aemma.

The funeral was a solemn affair, the pyre lit by Viserys himself. He stood beside Rhaenyra, who was pale and silent, her eyes fixed on the flames that consumed her mother's body. Daemon stood on his other side, a constant presence of support, though Viserys could see the grief etched in his brother's features as well.

The baby, Alyssa, was kept away from the public eye, tended to by nursemaids in the royal nursery. Viserys visited her often, but each time he looked at her, he was reminded of what he had lost. It was a cruel twist of fate that his daughter should be born healthy while her mother had perished in bringing her into the world.

The court had already begun to whisper about the implications of Aemma's death. With no male heir, the question of succession was once again at the forefront of everyone's minds. Rhaenyra was the obvious choice, but there were those who would oppose a woman's claim to the Iron Throne. And with Daemon still harboring ambitions of his own, the situation was fraught with potential conflict.

But Viserys could not bring himself to care about the politics of it all. Not yet. All he wanted was to mourn his wife in peace, to find some way to move forward without her.

One evening, as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, Viserys sat in his solar, staring blankly at the parchment in front of him. It was a letter from Otto, outlining potential matches for Rhaenyra now that she was of age. Viserys couldn't bring himself to read it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Enter," he called out, not bothering to look up.

The door opened, and Alicent Hightower stepped inside, her presence a calm and steadying force in the midst of his turmoil. She had been a frequent visitor since Aemma's passing, offering words of comfort and quiet companionship. 

"My Lord," Alicent began, her voice gentle. "You've been here all day. I thought you might like some company."

Viserys looked up at her, his gaze unfocused. "Alicent," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I don't know what to do."

Alicent moved closer, her expression soft with sympathy. "It's only natural to feel lost, Your Grace," she said. "You've suffered a great loss. But your daughter needs you. The realm needs you."

Viserys nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. "I know," he said quietly. "But it feels... impossible. How can I rule a kingdom when I can't even protect my own family?"

Alicent reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You are stronger than you think, Your Grace," she said. "Aemma believed in you. And so do I."

Viserys looked at her, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. There was something comforting in her presence, a quiet strength that he found himself drawn to. "Thank you, Alicent," he said, his voice soft.

She smiled gently. "You are never alone,