Harina

The world is full of people who have nothing to say and who are dying to say it.

[romeinexile]

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I am Hariṇa, scribe of tales and weaver of words. Writing has been my faithful companion since the tender age of ten winters.

I welcome all manner of commissions, be they fanfics, original tales, or whimsical musings, name thy character, thy theme, and I shall bend quill to parchment to serve thee, so long as it abide by mine humble guidelines.

[romeinexile]

HOTD TATTOOS

What tattoos would !modern HOTD characters get?

Characters: Aemond, Aegon ii, Jacaerys, Rhaenyra, Alicent, Helaena

Word count: Warnings: None. Personal Opinions

A/N- I saw someone do this before, obvious credit to them. The designs are not specific to the character; it is more about the placement and the style.

Aemond

Placement: The spine. The spine is a painful area to tattoo.

Style: Medium lines. His tattoos would be precise and clean. The designs would be intricate and large. Cold and severe. The piece would be symbolic and intimidating. He would likely only get one sentimental tattoo. I do not think he would put it on display much, so a secretive area such as his spine. I would like to believe, though, if he were shirtless, he would feel proud about his tattoo.

Aegon II

Placement: Chest or lower stomach.

Style: Impulsive tattoos. Unlike Aemond, he would not care for precision or how well-crafted the piece is, as he would most likely be under the influence when getting the tattoo. So, he would also not get intricate tattoos, as he would probably only go for one session. Would definitely come to regret most of his tattoos. Tattoos would lack a deep sincerity and would not be personal to him. Aegon might get a lot of tattoos, but I would feel he would also get a few of them removed. If he does get tattoos personal to him, he might only get two or three.

Jacaerys

Placement: Hands, shoulder blade or upper back.

Style: Clean. He might get tattoos leaning towards the smaller side. Would not care for flashy tattoos, but ones he could cover or that do not demand attention. Would feel sophisticated and regal? He would attach lots of sentimental value to creating the design. The tattoos would hold a lot of meaning to him. Maybe only one or two at most. He gives me the impression of someone who wants to get tattoos but is quite hesitant.

Rhaenyra

Placement: Sternum or lower back.

Style: Elegant but bold in its design. Strong and bold lines. Intricate and fierce in its details. Medium to big in size. Rebellious but still regal. It would be a good balance of her femininity and power. Able to hide but also to be put on display if she wishes. Might get two medium tattoos, or one large, and then a few smaller ones. I feel her tattoos would deeply symbolise how she views herself.

Alicent

Placement: Near her ribs. Maybe wrist

Style: Delicate and small. The style would be simple with austere designs. The lines would be dainty and thin. I imagine her tattoo to be well-concealed. The piece would be incredibly personal to her. I imagine she would be the same woman who would condemn tattoos but have this secret one. Might relate to her religious nature. Only one.

Helaena

Placement: Fingers, behind her ear or collarbone.

Style: Detailed and colourful designs. It would have a dreamlike quality to the style. Thin to medium lines. Smaller in size. Her tattoos would be strange, unique and whimsical. Deeply symbolic of her nature rather than decorative. She might have many scattered upon her body. Of course, I imagine many of the designs would be insects, but a twist to them that is so unique to her mind.

[romeinexile]

HOTD and children

How many children would the HOTD characters have?

Characters: Aemond, Aegon II, Jacaerys, Daemon, Cregan Word count: 657 Warnings: None. Opinions. Female version (coming soon)

†༙Aemond

Three children- a girl and two boys

Aemond is not the most paternal figure at first glance, yet there is an undeniable possessiveness in his nature that drives him to protect what he considers his own. I think he would desire two children at most. He would desire a son to mould in his image; someone to train and shape into a reflection of himself. Still, beneath that stern exterior, he is, in truth, a girl dad. While his initial motivation for having children might stem from duty and the need for heirs, genuine affection would grow with time. I imagine his firstborn would be a daughter, shifting his perspective on fatherhood and softening his rigid desire for sons. Ultimately, though, his adherence to tradition would lead him to have two boys: an heir and a spare. He cannot deny his desire to fulfil the legacy he believes must be upheld.

𐃯 Aegon ii

Depending/ Three children - two girls and one boy

Aegon, somewhat unexpectedly, proves to be a surprisingly good father as we see in the show. At first, he might show little interest in children, but the birth of his first would awaken a genuine affection he hadn’t anticipated. I imagine he could have twins (a boy and a girl) as his firstborns, followed by another daughter, or perhaps a daughter first and then twins. The amount depends largely on his devotion to his partner. If he truly loves her and refrains from his usual indulgences, his insatiable nature would lead to a large family. For Aegon, fatherhood becomes intertwined with his pleasures, as few things delight him more than intimacy with a woman. Unlike others bound by rigid traditions, he doesn’t hold a strong preference for sons or daughters, though the pressures of a deeply misogynistic society at the time would nudge him toward valuing a male heir.

🛡 Jacaerys

Four children- gender doesn't matter

Sweet Jacaerys seems like the kind of man who genuinely longs for children. Not simply out of duty to produce heirs, but because fatherhood is something he truly desires. While he might feel a slight inclination toward having a son, let's be for real, his support for a woman’s right to rule shows that gender would hardly matter to him. In my mind, he would have four children. Two daughters and two sons. Four feels just right for him: not too few to leave him yearning, but not so many as to overwhelm. Jacaerys radiates “dad energy,” the kind of young father who embraces the role wholeheartedly, likely starting his family in his early twenties. A family of his own seems to be something he genuinely strives for. His love for his children would be deep, uncomplicated, and enduring.

𓆰𓆪 Daemon

I don't think this man cares at all. Maybe two

For propriety’s sake, Daemon would likely have at least two children. He does not strike me as someone particularly invested in fatherhood. Much like Aemond before having children, his motivation would stem more from the duty of producing heirs. Perhaps circumstance, rather than a genuine desire to build a family. If he does choose to have children, I imagine no more than two at the very most. He seems indifferent to the idea of a large household, content to fulfil tradition without any real passion for it. He is more interested in his own desires, power, adventure and ambition.

☾ Cregan

As many as you can until you are tired.

Let’s be real, this man would be relentless. He won’t give you a moment’s reprieve until either you physically cannot bear another child or you simply refuse to. Sons, daughters, it makes absolutely no difference to Cregan. Canon shows us he just kept producing children, one after another. There is not much to say beyond that. I believe the man has always imagined himself with a big family, or rather, he expected to be a father with a large brood.

[romeinexile]

Multi-character Masterlist

⚔︎ HOTD in relationships (Green's versions)

⚔︎ HOTD in relationships (Black's version coming soon)

⚔︎ HOTD and how many children they have (male version)

⚔︎ HOTD and how many children they have (female version coming soon)

⚔︎ HOTD and what tattoos they would get

back to main masterlist

[romeinexile]

HOTD in relationships

Content: What would each Green character be like in a relationship, given their attachment style? Characters: Aegon ii, Aemond, Helaena, Alicent Warnings: Language. This is just for fun; I do not proclaim that these analyses are the only correct interpretations. I wasn't quite sure about Helaena's one, she's either or. Word count: 966 The Blacks version (coming soon)

𐃯 Aegon ii Disorganized attachment

A relationship with Aegon will feel like push and pull. Aegon seems the type to show immediate, intense intent in a relationship. He might show passionate affection, but the moment the relationship requires intimacy, Aegon will withdraw.

In the beginning, a relationship with Aegon would be fun. Characterised by reckless nights and fast, intense intimacy. Aegon would use sex, humour, or recklessness as a means of being "vulnerable." This may emulate closeness but lacks real emotional vulnerability.

The minute the relationship requires real emotional depth, Aegon would withdraw or sabotage the relationship. Aegon would suffer from intense emotional volatility. After emotional spirals, he would display episodes of sudden clinginess. The relationship, in turn, will feel unstable. As a whole, Aegon is an unreliable individual and therefore would inconsistently show up for their partner.

People with this attachment style sometimes hop from relationship to relationship. When faced with vulnerability, Aegon would likely withdraw and return to whoring as a means to cope. Whores to Aegon are a safe emotional transaction where he is fulfilled with closeness but does not require being emotionally open. Aegon might create instability within the relationship as he struggles to maintain intimacy.

Aegon genuinely wants love but believes he is unlovable. This is due to his childhood, where he received inconsistent parenting and abuse. He might present moments of true vulnerability. His destructive behaviours stem from fear rather than a lack of care. He might fear that vulnerability will lead to abandonment.

Aegon wants unconditional love but doesn’t believe he deserves it.

†༙ Aemond Dismissive avoidant with anxious core

Aemond is a guarded individual, slow to trust and outwardly dismissive. He exudes intensity and control, often suppressing his needs and avoiding vulnerability. Beneath this exterior lies a deep fear of rejection and abandonment, which drives him to push others away while secretly longing for connection.

Once attached, he becomes deeply obsessive, remembering every detail and channelling his emotions into fierce protectiveness and possessiveness. His devotion carries an “I would burn for you” energy, expressed more through actions than words. Intimacy would unsettle Aemond. He may withdraw when it feels overwhelming, yet he grows distressed if his partner pulls away.

Emotionally, he is difficult to reach, his pride masking insecurity. The loss of his eye fuels resentment and a yearning for recognition, revealing his fragile core. He craves validation but struggles to admit it, clinging to strength and control as a shield against vulnerability.

Unlike Aegon, who would erupt explosively in arguments, Aemond’s detachment manifests as coldness. Yet when provoked, he channels unmet needs into aggression and dominance over his partner.

His guarded nature stems from his emotionally unavailable parents shaping a similar push-and-pull dynamic. Similar to Aegon's, but they present differently. He sabotages intimacy through aggression and withdrawal, channelling unmet needs into dominance and control. This is seen even in his bond with his dragon.

In relationships, Aemond demands absolute devotion and admiration, yet fears abandonment. His aloof, domineering exterior conceals an anxious need for belonging. He desires closeness but sabotages it, torn between yearning for connection and protecting himself from the pain of rejection.

𓆤 Helaena Detached-secure / internally secure

Helaena seems emotionally inward rather than dependent.

Helaena often appears dreamy, quiet, and somewhat detached from the intense political and emotional conflicts around her. She doesn't seek closeness or validation in the same way her siblings do. This can resemble detachment, though it stems more from her inner focus than avoidance

Helaena relies more on her inner world than on external relationships. She has an extremely rich inner emotional world. This can cause feelings of being disconnected because she lives partly in her own world. Helaena might retreat inwardly when overwhelmed. At times, it can be hard to understand what she is feeling fully.

A relationship with Helaena would be one of peaceful companionship. Helaena is emotionally intuitive and sensitive. She does not have controlling tendencies. The relationship would feel emotionally accepting without pressure. Her nature is gentle, and this would reflect within the relationship.

Affection with Helaena would be quiet and personal. She’d likely love quietly and sincerely. Less dramatic than other Targaryens, but emotionally genuine. She needs someone patient enough to understand her inner world.

Despite trauma, she shows a kind of calmness and acceptance, which could be mistaken for internal security. She appears secure through her detachment. This calmness may be a coping mechanism rather than a genuine secure attachment.

♔ Alicent Anxious-preoccupied

Alicent has a strong desire for closeness but an intense fear of abandonment. She deeply wants to feel chosen and valued by her partner. This can cause her to exhibit reassurance-seeking and emotional hypervigilance in relationships. She constantly seeks validation from her father, from Viserys, and even from her children. This shows a deep reliance on external approval.

Alicent requires consistency within her relationships as well as constant reassurance. She needs someone emotionally gentle. Without this, Alicent spirals into anxiety and the deep need for control.

She would care intensely for your well-being and be highly attentive to your moods. This could stem from an insecure nature that believes she must prove her worth through duty, loyalty, and sacrifice. Alicent would overfunction emotionally, giving too much, which eventually builds resentment in her.

Alicent would be deeply devoted but emotionally overwhelmed. She would suppress her needs until she explodes. When afraid, Alicent might become controlling as she is worried about losing people around her. This is due to fear, not the desire for dominance. She clings tightly to relationships and reacts strongly when she feels betrayed.

With Alicent, the relationship will make you genuinely cherished and cared for. Alicent would exhibit deep empathy in relationships and intense loyalty. She would bring passion and warmth, making relationships feel vibrant and alive. However, she can make you feel emotionally responsible for her stability.

[romeinexile]

I can't help but ruminate on how the Dance of the Dragons was a tragedy that spared no one. A short-lived war that harmed everyone and the Targaryen dynasty. Every individual became both perpetrator and victim. Everyone was caught in the relentless onslaught of war and the weight of family loyalties and trauma. Their suffering does not excuse their participation and actions during the war. However, you cannot help but wonder who these characters would be without the ambition of a few. Who they would be if war were not decided for them. And in ambition's way, the suffering of what would have been many innocent lives. It truly emphasises the cycle of conflict and the deep scars of generational trauma. Every single one of them endured loss, disloyalty and grief from within their own house. All of which ultimately proved futile. The war proved vain. Rhaenyra’s bloodline endured, as if the war had been fought only to arrive at the same conclusion. It was not just a war of succession but the self-destruction of the house Targaryen and their greatest asset: dragons. The war paved the way for future instability and their house's eventual downfall. The inevitable end only heightens the sorrow of the story. Rhaenyra's bloodline prevailed. It was the ambition of a few that tore a great and noble house down. From a storytelling perspective, we know that the war was needed to establish other aspects of the story. Still, in the end, it is profoundly sad.

[romeinexile]

Mischaracterisation in fanfic has always fascinated me. How people react when y/n does something out of pocket is similar to how I feel when beloved characters are pushed so far out of character that they become unrecognisable.

So many of us dislike seeing original character tags under the x reader or x y/n tag. There’s a time and place for a wonderful OC fanfiction, but not under the x reader or x y/n tags. Suddenly, we have a name, a social security number and a backstory decided for us. It breaks immersion for me. The appeal of reader-insert is the ability to project yourself into the story. Mischaracterisation breaks that illusion because it forces traits or emotions that don’t align with the reader’s expectations.

I often see this with broodier, emotionally complex characters such as Aemond, Aegon Targaryen or even Cregan Stark. I don't even want to touch on the Marauders era fanfics; those feel like a fever dream (though I won't deny my love for them.) These characters are complex within compelling stories. It's jarring when they are simplified to a lovesick trope when it goes against everything that made them so enticing. Altering them too much risks stripping away the qualities that made them compelling. We seek these fanfics because, evidently, there is something undeniably attractive about them, only to be faced with characters that are nothing like them. Immersion is broken. I often feel it is an unconscious projection to force them into a narrative or plot and tropes that are enticing but completely deviate from canon.

But then I remember something fundamental about fanfiction.

The very premise is to do what the hell you want with it.

The very nature of fanfiction is to warp a story to however you choose. There are no bounds to a writer's mind. They are not bound to the source material but rather construe it in a way that they have conjured in their mind. And it has made some of the most beautiful works. Fanfiction thrives on bending canon. Some of the most powerful works come from radical reinterpretations, even if they deviate from the source material. You would never tell a painter what colours to use. There is no telling a writer the ways in which they might interpret a piece of work and how they wish to present a character within their own work. After all, how they present a character in their fanfiction is art in itself. There are no rules to art. And just as it is in the many ways in which people interpret art, some will like it and some won't.

I just find this fascinating and sometimes frustrating when a character’s core traits are overwritten in ways that break immersion for me. That’s all part of why fanfiction is so vibrant and an ever-changing landscape. It's interesting to log on and find different interpretations that are so incredible. You can enjoy both sides: the comforting, canon-faithful pieces and the radical reinterpretations that challenge us. How wonderful a writer's mind can be.

[romeinexile]

Such Sweet Sorrow

Summary- When Jacaerys dies, her world fractures. Grief consumes her. Every moment is filled with him. She carries his child and his absence all at once. Trapped in a loop of memories, she can't escape. Pairing- Jacaerys x Pregnant Wife! Reader Warnings - Depictions of grief. It goes back and forth between the present and her memories. The reader is at one point awful to Rhaenyra. Have not proofread it, so apologies for mistakes regarding grammar, etc. Timeline is a bit funky, but nothing too drastic. Beyond that, nothing else. Word count- 9280 a/n- This is a long one, so strap in. I do not proclaim a profound understanding of grief, but I have tried to present it respectfully. Might consider making this one day in a full-length fic. For now, I wish for you to enjoy every moment.

Grief reverberated through stone walls, war-torn and weary, unable to endure another loss. She stood rigid before the widowpane, the world pressing in around her. Vast, indifferent, unyielding as the soil claimed another soul. But it was her soul buried with her love. Drowned with her love. Her lungs filled with water; each breath was a struggle. The endless landscape beckoned her. Whispering for her to join him. The weeds ready to entwine her body in a cruel embrace.

She would not fall. No, she would soar. A dragon does not bow to the soil. Their home was the endless sky above. A dragon takes flight. And within her, a dragon stirred, growing in her belly. She would soar.

"Princess, we beg you to sit."

The maids clung to her with a merciless grip. Worry seeped through every crack in the castle. She mindlessly moved towards the window. The air drew her in, pressing against every stone, as though it too longed to welcome her. Soon, she would join her beloved. The maids desperately urged her, placing their trembling hands upon the princess. So seldom would they be so brash. Their nails bit into the soft flesh of her arms, pulling her from the precipice.

No. Forsake the Gods, for they could not intervene now. The heavens had opened, and she would face their wrath for her choices. How could she bear the news? Surely he would not forsake her for joining him. Certainly with joy, he would welcome his babe and wife. There would be no pain then when faced with her husband.

She pressed forward, her hands grazing the clouds. The door burst open, torn from its hinges. The guards seized her, forcing her onto the bed.

The endless world pressed heavily on her breast. A scream tore from her throat. Glass-shattering, flesh-ripping, until her voice broke into sobs. She choked on her sobs. Drowning in her own tears. Spluttering as her body betrayed her mind. Against her will, it fought for air. It fought for life. And that, more than anything, was her dismay.

Noise dissolved into darkness, taking her vision with it. Her body convulsed beneath the weight of woe. For some time, the world moved around her. Yet, she remained frozen, trapped in sorrow's grip.

Her ears rang, struggling to separate the chaos of sound until one word pierced through. "Breath."

The command shot through every vein, igniting a fire. How long had she been lost in the pit of her despair? When had Rhaenyra come to her side? Her lungs burned with the fresh air. Her chest was rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. Rhaenyra bent close, face stained with anguish, fresh tears still carving their mark upon her cheek. Again and again, Rhaenyra whispered the mantra, willing her to breathe.

The two gasped for air. Their chest rising in a broken rhythm, the cold stone beneath her was jarring. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, refused to look away from Rhaenyra’s. Around them, the maids and guards stood helpless, a silent witness to the sorrow neither could mend. Rhaenyra was first to break from the haze, pulling the princess's head to her chest in a fierce maternal hug. She inhaled Rhaenyra's scent, so achingly similar to her son's

She bellowed. If the soil was not to claim her, they would have to face her in her suffering. They would face the hollow depths of her heart, empty as her soul, ripped from her love. Her love. Her only love. Gone as the war claimed another victim. Death knew no bounds to its cruelty. Her sweet husband did not deserve to be struck from the sky. Did not deserve to be torn from his dragon. His body was condemned to drift endlessly, denied the peace of rest.

"My love," she called out, struck with grief at the notion her call would never be answered. Never again will he heed her call. Never shall her husband comfort her through her pain. Never shall she bask in his laughter. Never again shall she bask in his warmth.

"Let us help the princess," Rhaenyra hailed through unsteady breaths. The guards swarmed her side once more. Hoisting her with the utmost care for her and the babe. She stumbled over her feet as the guards stilled for their next command.

"She cannot stay here," Rhaenyra's voice echoed through her mind. Distant from the noise swirling in her head. "Place the princess in a chamber without a window she can reach." Rhaenyra's voice commanded the room with ease, despite her own bleeding heart. "Leave the room bare." She cautioned the ladies with a single glance, "Do not abandon the princess to her thoughts."

The castle blurred as she was dragged to her new cell. Her mind betrayed her, conjuring shadows of him through the corridors. The halls he would forever haunt with her memories. Every alcove was plagued by a phantom so similar to his form. The chamber was cold, so devoid of the life she had grown accustomed to. She curled upon the sheets of the lonesome bed. Her eyes fixed longingly on the light that blared from a window set too high upon the wall.

Dragonstone, born of dragonlords. Wrought in fire and sorcery. Its visage was often grim, grey, bleak and lifeless. Fog clings to its stone like a veil, heavy and unyielding over its head. The war echoed Dragonstone's nature. Devoid of light and love. A place where happiness rarely dared to bloom.

"Do you wish to frighten your husband?" He questioned. His voice knew no anger when addressing his sweet wife. No matter his mood, warmth hung on to every word.

"I wish to fly." She declared to the world. Wind laced its icy hands through her hair, painting her nose a sweet red. The soft spritz of drizzling rain only cooled them further. She was a light upon the stone, seeping her warmth in every crack. Cold and war seldom touched Jacaerys when she was near. Against the bleak grey stone, her presence was impossible to overlook. She moved with a quiet grace. It was as if a golden warmth clung to her, softening the harshness around them.

He could not resist the smile carving its way onto his features. So dear she was, tempting every blissful emotion from him. "I would urge you not to attempt to."

"It has been so long since you have let me accompany you and Vermax."

"Your condition does not favour such activities." His arms wrapped around her growing abdomen, ever so careful of the growing life. "You ought to rest."

"Rest. Rest. Rest." Her voice was a charming mockery of his. Humorous even to herself, she could not contain the plethora of giggles.

"Tease me?" He pulled her to his side and gently sat upon the soft grass. She allowed him to hold her to his lap, finding the sweet warmth of his chest behind her back. "I encourage you to mock me if you will heed my pleas." He bumped her nose with his own, a sweet display of pure affection. "Rest, wife, our babe does not yet have the endless bounds of your energy."

She made no sound of protest at resting in his lap. Her fingers idly pulled at the grass beneath her. Perchance, it was frustration lingering unspoken. Perhaps it was a restlessness etched into her bones, he could not tell. He did not mind. He did not blame her for weariness. Nor did he blame her for the life pressing against her at cruel hours of the night.

She never complained. Her lips would utter nothing but delight. She carried her swelling abdomen with subtle pride. Though never one to boast, she felt a secret triumph when walking the halls. No other woman would bear his child. Only she would. She longed to make him proud, and so she bore their babe with devotion. Fortune had favoured her where it had been so unkind to other mothers. No sickness in the early months, no swollen feet, only the occasional kick against her ribs or bladder. Though the weight upon her abdomen grew tiring, her joy outshone every discomfort. Each day brought fresh excitement at the thought of their growing family.

"It is not long now, another moon. Perhaps two." She sighed in content as his lips brushed a tender kiss upon her shoulder.

"Our lovely boy." He mumbled between kisses.

She sneered, her lips upturned in a smile. The most precious smile in the entire realm, born from his love. "How are you so sure the babe is a boy?"

He shrugged as though the fates had whispered their secret to only him. "I just know."

She pursed her lips and turned her chin defiantly. "I think it will be a girl."

He laughed, charmed as ever by her defiance. Soft but relentless. He cherished that she was no placid wife. Not a wife cowed by his stature but an equal. Bearing his name and child. "Neither will disappoint me, wife."

"Have you thought of names?" She reached for his hands. She played with them, her own dwarfing at his size, finding love in their warmth.

"Truthfully, I have not, my love"

"No? Will you wait to name the babe?"

“Names are a serious affair, my love,” he murmured, pressing kisses into her palms.

"Oh, are they?" She teased, soft giggles escaped her rosy lips at the tickles upon her palm.

“They are carried for a lifetime. They are the few things that truly belong to you. I believe you do not know your child until you first look into their eyes.”

Her smile turned sly, her voice laced to tease. "And if all else fails, and we see nothing. We can always name them Aegon or perhaps Aemond. I hear it is not so common." He did not take to it lightly, already mumbling and grumbling as her laughter wrapped around them.

Laughter faded, carried off by the gusts of wind as they fell into a serene tranquillity. The silence dragged on, though comfortable, it was loaded with what they wished to ignore from bringing up so often. Her fingers drifted back to the blades of grass, restless in their anxious play. He, in turn, fiddled with the pendant around her neck, soothing the metal as though it could soothe her.

He sighed. He could not bear to see her in this state. He stilled her hand, gently halting their ministrations. "You need not worry, my love."

“War is always cause for worry.”

"But it is you who needs not worry." His lips brushed her shoulder, then her neck, then her lips. Tender and reassuring. "It will end soon. My mother will claim what is hers, and this will be past us."

It was not enough. The promise of an end was never enough. It hurt him to know he could never soothe the blaze of worry besetting her mind. It hurt him that there was nothing he could do but promise that this soon shall end.

"Do not intervene," She could see it, his desire to interject, to end her worries. She did not give him the opportunity. "I know your desire to fight for your mother. It is an admirable one." She swallowed harshly, her throat tightening with emotion. "I worry, Jace. I worry about you."

He melted, showering her with love as though to protect her from the harms besetting the realms. "My love, do not worry. I will never leave you. The war will be over, and we will spend our lives forgetting this brief moment in time."

His words did little to soothe the storm raging in her chest. How she despised the way her husband rode off to fight in his mother's name. Despised the endless rallies for support. Each time he left, she prayed before the Sept for this to be done. For their lives to return to a comfortable peace. She prayed that by the time their child drew its first breath, these battles would be long past.

"The rain is lovely." It was all she could say. He hummed, agreeing as the soft spritz of rain chilled them. The last signs of summer.

The wind howled in agony, clawing at the stone walls of the castle. For days, the rain had not ceased. Befitting of the atmosphere within the castle. It was as though the heavens themselves mourned Jacaerys. The rain mirrored her own despair, but could not quite compete with her agony. Night after night, she wept, her sorrow like the clouds, implacable. His death was etched into every fallen tear.

The midwives and maesters moved in frantic haste within the confined chambers. The hearth burned ceaselessly for hours, flames fragile in defence against the wet, suffocating night. Blood seeped between her legs. Unnoticed until one of her ladies came to prepare her for slumber. Numbness plagued her body, the pain dulled by the persistent visions of her husband's death.

Servants darted in and out of the chamber. One rushed through the stone castle to summon the Queen. To bring Rhaenyra to the princess’s side. Yet she could not help but feel it should not have been Rhaenyra here. It should have been her husband. Her sweet love. He should have stood beside her, guiding their babe into the world. Not his mother. Still, she could not deny the babe’s grandmother the right to witness the birth of her grandchild. Even as her heart ached for the presence of her love.

She paid no mind as Rhaenyra scurried into the chamber. Nor when Daemon appeared to witness what fuss dared a servant to enter their chamber so late. Her gaze remained blank, the same hollow gaze she bore every day since. Her mind twisted through the endless memories of her beloved, as though by sheer thought she might summon him back into existence.

"Please, princess, you have to push." The midwives begged their eyes, pleading not only for the princess but also for Rhaenyra's intervention.

Rhaenyra did not falter in the face of her daughter-in-law’s vacant expression. She moved to the girl’s side, whispering softly, “Darling girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon her brow. With gentle hands, she brushed the sweat clinging to her forehead. “It is time. Push.”

For a fleeting moment, Rhaenyra’s presence lulled her back into awareness. That fragment of consciousness was enough for pain to rudely surge through in a horrid display of torrential agony. A scream tore from her throat as her frame convulsed. She felt unbearably sweaty, unbearably sore, the pressure in her pelvis a weight no human should endure. She tangled in the bloody sheets. Writhing in her torment. No matter her mind, she could not force nature to halt. Still, her mind refused to heed the commands of her body.

"Jace would not want this." Rhaenyra pleaded with her eyes, wrought with distress.

What could Rhaenyra know of Jace’s wishes? She was his wife. This was her child. It was their baby, tearing its way into this world. A bitter urge surged through with a sick thought to threaten to punish Rhaenyra for her words. A sick urge to prove she alone knew what Jace would have wanted. How she resented Rhaenyra for the very war that took her husband. Yet all she could do was writhe upon the sheets. Her body betrayed her mind as it obeyed the commands of nature. She could not halt the waves, driving her to push. Could not silence the rhythm of life that pressed forward despite her reluctance. Nature would prevail. Nature was indifferent to her anguish. The world would only carry on.

The storm halted for no one. Through the night, its fury echoed the torment swirling within her. The pain did not relent, nor did the persistent contractions. It was hours before the first signs of progress. Hours before, the midwives glimpsed the breach of the babe’s head. The world seemed to collapse inward, narrowing around the single mantra repeated by all of the women around her. Push.

This was not how it was meant to be. Jace should have been by her side. His hand clasping hers as they awaited the first joyous wail of their child’s first breath. He should have held their babe first. Cradled in the safety of their father's arms, showered them with the love he had carried long before their birth. Before finally finding himself at his wife’s side, watching over his family. There had never been a moment when Jace did not want his child. Never a moment did he not love them. Now, there was never a moment he would know them.

At last, the midwife placed the babe upon her chest. The small wailing pink babe, wrapped snug. She searched desperately for her own features, hoping her heart might find solace in them. But the child bore little resemblance to her. His features were strong. Unmistakably his father’s. There was no doubt whose blood ran through this child, no doubt who had sired him.

"Does he have a name, princess?" A hopeful midwife inquired, however silent the chamber fell.

She had dreamt of the babe for many moons. Many nights she spent beside Jace in deep discussions, bordering on a playful argument, about their babe. Laughing, arguing, imagining. Whose eyes, smile, whose fire the child would carry. It was a tender battle. A sweet war or love between expecting parents. Neither parent minded losing. Either way, the babe would be theirs.

That was then, when she had not thought how it would be only her to know. Only she would see who won the battle. The answer belonged to her alone, and grief warped it into something unbearable. Her grip on reality faltered, slipping away yet again. Memories blurred, voices tangling into a cacophony, and silence pressed against her mind. Until thought itself slipped away.

Her brows knit. Her lips parted. Wavering open and closed. “Jace?” The name broke from her like a plea, fragile, searching. She peered down at the babe, confusion clouding her gaze.

Rhaenyra stilled beside her. Face wrought in the similar display of despair, both for her lost son to war and her son's wife lost in her mind. The midwives and maesters did not move. Respect held them silent. Pity held them still. In that silence, the princess’s confusion folded back into grief, wrapping her in the cruel truth of his absence.

The castle pulsed with warmth. Alive with the firelight and laughter. Flames blazed at the hearths, warming the ample guests. Expensive wines spilt freely into eager mouths. The halls filled with a heated glow. A glow was visible even in the deepest alcoves of the castle.

"My prince, you must not follow." She giggled, pressing her palms to her lips to stifle the sound, eyes darting between every passing figure. "The talk that will ensue if we are caught.

"Idle tongues will find scandal whether we give them a reason to or not." His body closed around hers, shielding her from wandering eyes.

Often, they played this game. Whenever she visited the castle, whenever their families sought counsel together, it was always the same. She ran and he chased. She pretended to resist but relished being caught. Though her hopeful eyes betrayed the depths of her desire that he would never stop running. She lost count of their meetings. Hidden in alcoves, tucked away in the library, and once even in her chamber. Though the memory of that night wrung her with fear of how they could have been caught. Her father would forsake her if he knew how close she flew to ruin. How each meeting made it harder for her not to surrender and give him everything.

She tried, for a brief moment in time, to slow his pursuit. She learnt quickly that Jace was not one to concede. How could the court not see? How could they all be so blind? He was besotted. Flowers arrived at her chamber daily. Endless walks were offered only to steal her company. At feasts, he danced with no other lady. His gifts grew costly, his attentions more apparent, his courtship undeniable.

They knew this spelt trouble. Still, their youth betrayed reason. They still indulged. The red string of fate bound them too tightly, for they could not wander far from each other. So they continued their clandestine meetings. Unwilling to let go of the perilous sweetness of being caught.

Her palms rested against his chest. Not in an attempt to push him away. Oh, how she wished to take hold of his tunic and pull them flush together. "But it is not just talking when you seek me in these ways. Is it?" Her eyes teased, daring him to admit his intentions were anything but pure.

Jacaerys paid no mind to the provocation. Partially, as he did not wish to confess how right she was. How pretty the flush of her cheeks, the song of her laughter made it inconceivable for him not to ravish her mouth in hidden alcoves. He could not do much but stare upon her blushing form. Her eyes were darting so often to ensure no unwanted onlookers. Despite the gossip that would ensue, she made no attempt to leave. She lingered, cornered, so very sweet, and so very his.

"Do not marry him." The words escaped before he could leash them, raw and reckless.

Her lips wavered, spluttering for an appropriate answer. "It's hardly my choice."

He shrugged, dismissing her father’s will as a trifling obstacle. When faced with the world, there was little he would not burn in pursuit of her hand. "Beg your father not to marry him."

She scoffed, though her heart betrayed her with longing. "And then? Your mother discusses your union with Helaena."

His shoulders went great taut at the mention of the possible alliance. His mother had mentioned it in passing. The promise of peace between alliances. He would not refuse if his mother instructed and arranged the union. That is what he hoped. He hoped that when the time to perform his duty came, he would not waver. But then he sees her, flushed in their momentary clandestine meetings. He, too, knows then that duty could not eclipse desire.

"Alicent will not accept such a proposal." His jaw clenched, slowly grinding his teeth.

She cupped his face, thumbs tenderly brushing across the skin. "And if she does? What then, Jace? Am I made your mistress? How unfair for Helaena. She is a sweet girl, and you may come to love her."

Her kindness cut him deeper than reproach. She would forsake herself to comfort him. He caught her hands, pressing them to his heart. "I doubt it."

"But you do not." She smiled, endeared by his petulance. "You may come to love her. If not, you will form some companionship. Besides, I do not wish to live my life wandering the shadows only for a taste. I will be insatiable. I will starve for the taste of you."

"Then marry me." He closed in on her, his nose bumping hers in pure affection.

Her cheeks bloomed with a rosy colour. Her gaze fluttered away lest she surrender so quickly. Worried that if she looked too long, she'd fold there and drag them before the Septon. "Do not make promises beyond your realm of making. Your mother is not interested in a lowly noble girl. Helaena is her decision, and you-"

"And you will humour me." He cornered her, further pushing her flush against the warmth of his chest. She could but giggle and fluster before his brazen acts. "Alicent will not accept the proposal. If I see the truth, what then? Will you marry me?"

She could all but bite her lip. Wishing to contain the hopeful smile. There was no harm in entertaining the idea? To dream that her lover might not only be hers in her heart but hers in the eyes of the realm. "How foolish of a girl I would be to say no."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, a silent invitation. He wasted no breath, claiming her lips that burned with fiery longing. He cradled the back of her head to deepen their affection. There was no duty between her lips, no alliance to be formed. Only her desire burned solely for their forbidden love.

A sudden clatter of metal against stone split them. Her hands flew to her chest as though she could still the frantic beating of her heart. Aegon staggered through the hallways, spilling wine and goblets. A drunken spectacle of incivility, muttering in annoyance at servants who struggled to steady him.

She stifled a laugh, pressing her hand to her mouth once more. “He is ghastly. Hard to believe the King sired that.”

“His mother insists he should be considered for the throne.”

“Surely not. What would he do? Sit upon the Iron Throne, drowning in wine and whores? No different than many kings, but hardly a better fit than your mother.”

“He will not trouble us,” Jace sighed, turning back to his love. He was sure Aegon was too drunk to care. His hands cradled her face, eager to reclaim their passionate moment.

“For now.” Her gaze lingered on Aegon, stumbling as Alicent swept in to scold him. Her eyes were fixed on the dowager Queen, a sense of dread crawling up her spine. Dread for the storm brewing. Dread for the tension heightening between the families. “Though I suspect he is not the one we should fear.”

Jace’s jaw tightened with disdain. “I do not think we will ever have to worry about her. Her schemes shall never ruin our moments of love.”

She toyed with the chain around her neck, eyes fixed on the pendant. A silver dragon charm, Jace had given her when she lamented having no dragon of her own. The gift had become her constant companion, lying upon her chest where her heart still ached for her husband. Her fingers drawn to it in idle moments as though the pendant carried a quiet pulse of his presence. Not long after he had gifted her the pendant, he had asked for her hand. She pleaded with her mother to let her wear the necklace on her wedding day, though it sat awkwardly against the delicate fabric of her gown. Still, she wished not to part with her dragon. Time and time again, her gaze lingered on the silver dragon resting upon her heart over the wails of her own dragon.

"The babe is hungry." The nursemaid pleaded once Rhaenyra entered the chamber. At her chest, the babe wailed. Not even the steady rocking of the nursemaid's arms could calm him.

"Have the princess feed him." Rhaenyra urged, slightly annoyed, taking her grandson from her arms.

"She won't move my Lady." The nurse grumbled in a voice still laced with pity. "I have brought the babe to her face, yet her gaze is locked. Unmoving in her mind."

Rhaenyra sighed, her agitation for the princesses' ongoing sombre moods increasing. "Princess." The endearment lacked affection. "My darling girl. Do not let your boy suffer."

Rhaenyra hurriedly placed the babe in her arms, giving the princess no choice but to break from her melancholic haze. Her baby dragon wailed at first, quieting down as though he knew the chest in which he had been laid. His tears swiftly dried. His small mouth searched instinctively for his nourishment. She sighed, loosening her shift over one shoulder so he could latch on. Rocking him without thought, the notion just seemed natural. His soft coos between suckles were the first notes of contentment she had heard from him all morning.

Rhaenyra's gaze lingered upon her form. She could not tell if the look was disappointment or pity. The castle's eyes had long mirrored the same weight. Pity for the woman who had become a miserable shell of her former self. Disappointment for the mother who failed day after day. Judgement pressed in from every direction. Constantly humiliating her in its perseverance. To be looked upon by Rhaenyra with those burdened eyes. As though more were expected of her, it was a wound deeper than any blade. It weakened her further. Driving her back into the cold embrace of despair. Isolation began to feel safer than the world's constant scrutiny.

She could not bear it any longer. Her eyes flicked from Rhaenyra to the soft bundle in her arms. He was content, hands flailing for his mother's comfort. "I do not feel myself anymore." She admitted to no one in particular. Welcoming the world to carry her confession. She could not find it in her to care when everyone knew. Rhaenyra hummed in a silent agreement as though she, too, did not know the princess anymore.

"All he does is cry." She swallowed at the hard lump agitating the back of her throat. "All I do is cry." Her eyes rimmed red, closed as tears threatened. "I birthed him with all my sorrow. I have cursed my boy with endless suffering."

Her poor babe deserved more. It should have been Jacaerys here. He would have done better. He would never have abandoned their child to drown in his own grief. How could she look upon her child without remembering the times she lay motionless, listening to her dear babe's cries go unanswered? Already she had failed him, before she had even been given a true chance to try.

Her grief‑stricken admission broke Rhaenyra’s composure. The words, raw and steeped in self‑hatred, struck Rhaenyra with a misery of her own. "All babies come into the world screaming and crying. But look how his tears dry when he lies upon his mother's chest. You did not birth him with your sorrow."

It comforted her for a moment. It was true, the babe calmed the moment he lay upon her chest. Still filled with innocence. Trusting the embrace of his mother.

"Jacaerys laid with you with love in his heart. It was with joy that he cried for days when he learned you were with child. Think of all the happiness and love sewn into your babe's blood."

The memory drew a fragile smile to her lips. Jace had wept for days. His pride overflowing as he proclaimed to the world that their love had sired a child. He could scarcely look at her for too long without tears welling in his eyes. And it was true. They had brought forth a babe born of pure devotion. Her babe's blood tied by the passion their parents had shared. In that realisation, sorrow loosened its grip for a brief moment. She felt a flicker of relief, believing that Jace’s love remained with her still, cradled contentedly in her arms.

She was restless. Utterly restless as she waited for the day to arrive. As dawn broke, the thought of being readied into her bridal gown stirred a flicker of contentment within her. Her chest warmed with the notion. Tomorrow, she would finally be wed to her love. After months of pleading with her father, she finally bore fruit. Her final night alone dragged on endlessly. She ran the brush through her hair again and again, as though each stroke might hasten time. A peaceful smile lingered on her lips as she hummed softly to herself, suspended between impatience and anticipation.

Her chamber door cracked open, seeping light into the halls. She jumped from her seat at the sudden intrusion. Her eyes hurried to find familiarity in the figure. "Jace?"

"I apologise." He whispered in a hushed tone as though he wished not to invite eager, unsolicited ears. He diverted his eyes once he glanced at her. Prepared for bed in nothing but her shift, her form peeked beneath the sheer fabric.

Her face burned with a rosy red as she scurried to find her nightgown. "What business do you have in my chambers, my love?"

He turned, offering her a moment of privacy, however much he wished to leer upon her beautiful form. "Tomorrow we wed." His voice trembled with devotion, barely containing the swell of love that consumed him.

She felt similarly. Every moment carried a ball of anticipation in her belly. Her hands slid across his chest before curling around his neck. "I shall not sleep. My blood buzzes with joy."

He chuckled, hands wrestling on the dip of her waist. Carefully needing the soft flesh. "You must sleep. 'Tis the last night you shall sleep alone."

She leaned her chin upon his chest, a silent plea beneath her sweet gaze. "How do you leave me another night with the torture of your absence?"

His hands travelled lower. His palms are dancing with a possible invitation for more. "If you wish me to stay, I would not dream of leaving."

Her eyes widened, though they betrayed a gleam of desire. "Jace." She warned.

He only laughed softly, wrapping her in his arms, urging space to forsake them. The kisses fell in a trail starting upon her crown. Then her forehead. Her brow, her nose, her lips, her jaw. Her neck in the familiar spots he knew she loved before threatening lower. She gasped audibly. Never was he so brazen in their previous meetings. He halted, lingering for any sign of protest that she did not wish for more.

"We are to be wed, and we shall spend a lifetime with one another." He uttered, noticing as her chest heaved with a peculiar blend of anxiety and passion. "Longer than the time we have spent apart. What is one night sooner?"

"You think I will give in to temptation?" She chuckled. Her resolve faltered as he continued his attention.

His eyes echoed her desire, gleaming with possibilities the night had to offer. "You are a temptation itself."

She threw her head back, throat bubbling with sweet laughter. "Unfair, I was not lounging about my chambers, hoping you would barge in and glance upon what should be your surprise for your wedding night."

His smile was boyish, guilty yet unrepentant. "I got my surprise early. You are beautiful. Exquisite"

She flushed, hiding her face against his chest. His words carried the same adoration she had always known. Only now it was laced with hunger.

"Time is most cruel." She complained, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. "It's slow when we so wish for it to hurry."

"It's almost as though it is up to us to make the most of our time."

She thought of the wedding. In the singular moment, their hands would be bound. From then on, she would never know a day without him. The only regret she imagined in the years to come was that she had not loved him sooner. That she had not seized every fleeting moment before eternity stretched out before them. Even with forever promised, she longed to have gathered more of the present into her embrace.

"There might come a day I regret not spending another night with you." She muttered, her mind racing as she pondered the situation.

"Such a day will not come," he vowed, certain their hearts would never part.

"There is no wrong. We are to be wed so soon. Tomorrow will be ruled by merriment. I would hate for us to be so tired come the time we are alone."

"I shall never be devoid of energy in your presence."

She blushed, feeling the depths of his excitement upon her lower abdomen. "I can feel." She teased.

"I apologise, my love." Flushed with momentary shame, he pulled back as though not to force her to endure his desire.

"Do not. It warms my heart that you wish for me so desperately," she guided him until her knees brushed the bed. Falling back, she awaited his choice. "It warms me in more ways than one."

He did not follow, not yet, not til he was sure her wishes matched his own. "Do you wish for me to take my departure?"

She slowly shook her head, biting at the sensitive skin on her lips. Her hands reached for him, tugging at his tunic. He yielded, covering her body with the largeness of his own. Their lips met, and passion surged. His hands lingered at her knees, inching higher as desire overcame restraint.

She woke in a foul mood. From the moment she opened her eyes, the memories of last night crawled back. Unwelcome and unbidden. Oh, how she cursed the feast. Cursed those who attended. Cursed herself for going. Cursed her naivety. A feast meant as a celebration had soured into her own humiliation.

Every Lord and Lady had come upon the Queen's request. She had attended simply out of duty. She would rather have spent the evening listening to her son's soft coos as she read aloud poems Jacaerys once recited to her. But Rhaenyra had summoned her herself. Only upon arrival did she realise how suspicious the Queen's intentions were.

"Where is my son?" She demanded, tone still sharp from the night before.

The nursemaid barely looked up, paying no mind to the princess's tone. "He is with the queen, my lady."

She clenched her teeth. Agitation crawled up her spine as she stormed off, nursemaid on her tail. Each step weighed heavily with anger. She could not believe how Rhaenyra's scheming had blindsided her. It was not unusual for Rhaenyra to request her presence at such festivities. It was, however, highly unusual for her to encourage lords from houses she did not care to remember to entertain her all night. Lord after lord attempted to press her for dances, ply her with wine and vie for her attention. Their sudden interest perplexed her. That was until she later realised it was Rhaenyra's doing. It was the Queen's deliberate meddling.

"What are you doing?" She inquired, chest tight with fury.

Rhaenyra did not flinch. She tickled her grandson's belly, smiling. "He sat with me during counsel. He is to be King one day."

Her rage flared hotter. "He is far too young to begin his instruction. He does not need to be surrounded by hardened lords and their crude chatter." She lifted her pudgy babe, his hand reaching for the pendant swaying before his face, before handing him to the nursemaid. "His ears are too young for such poison."

"Princess, it is not an issue. I assure you the boy is fine." Rhaenyra attempted gently.

"That is solely my concern."

Rhaenyra's patience thinned. "He is my boy's son. It concerns me."

"He is my boy." She spat, teeth bare, defensive and ready to fight. "It will always concern me most."

The Queen’s composure cracked, anger threatening her as well. "Are you upset about last night's affairs?"

Her fury spilt over. "How dare you? How dare you encourage men to mingle with me? Have you no respect for your son? I was his wife. I do not need any lowly lord's flattery."

"It has been some time, princess. Months. You are alone." She attempted to reason with her. "No one in the realm would begrudge you if you opened your heart to love again."

She shook her head. Her body recoiled at the thought. "It is not open to love, nor does it desire love."

"You will forsake love entirely?" Rhaenyra pressed, her presence firm but not domineering. "Why? Must you still punish yourself? Does guilt eat at you still? You are not incapable of love, nor will a new love replace Jace. You are allowed to love."

"I will not speak on this matter anymore." The mention of Jace’s name struck a raw nerve. She screeched, as though the wound had been torn open anew. "You may be Queen, but this is beyond your realm of rule. You will not orchestrate such treachery against my love again." She turned to leave, her son fussing at the sharpness of her tone. "And do not take my son from his crib without consulting me," she warned.

Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head. "I have had many sons, princess-"

She turned on her heel, her anger preventing her from knowing better than not to feed into every fight "So you know better?"

The implication was there, it hung heavy, and it did not escape Rhaenyra's notice. The queen had stiffened as though preparing herself for the worst of the princess's blows. She ought to back down now, to tuck her head and hurry out before she truly regrets her words. But she could not.

These days, she was quick to rage. It seemed day by day she was tested. She was never someone quick to anger, a trait Jace had acknowledged himself. Though now it was though there was always a simmering pit of anger at the base of her stomach waiting for anyone to ignite it.

"Speak then", Rhaenyra's voice was cold and challenging.

"What will you have me say?" she hissed. Resentment long and festering finally broke free. She looked around her in mock search. "Where are your boys?"

The words hung heavy. She regretted them instantly. She knew how Rhaenyra loved her sons. How little she wished for them to be complicit in the war. But grief clawed for blame, for someone to carry the weight she could not. Had her whole family not waged war, she would not be without a husband. Her boy would not be without a father.

"With what foulness has corrupted your heart?" Rhaenyra spat back her offence mounting. Her voice was laced with signs that she genuinely felt hurt by the girl's words. "I don't recall this woman as the one my son begged for. You think he peers upon you with pride? Where is that girl?"

"Gone."

"No, she stands before me. Hidden beneath her cowardness. Incapable. Bowing to fear."

She huffed a sardonic laugh, breaking halfway into a sob, she refused to let escape "What do you know of what I fear?"

"You fear life beyond my boy. You fear there is life after his death. You do not know yourself because you fear discovering what you can be without him."

"Save me your lectures. I need not hear it from you."

"Heed not to mine. Lecture me openly I shall save you from any punishment. What do you have to say?"

Her voice faltered, guilt twisting into accusation. “Was it worth it? He fought for you. He died for you. And yet it was not you who reaped the consequence. It was not you who was struck down. Was it worth your boys? Was the throne worth it?”

"I did not wish for my son to fight my battles." Rhaenyra faltered, her voice cracking under the weight of loss.

Her throat burned, tears spilling freely now. “And yet he did. And still you sit upon your throne as though unscathed. All I see is the woman who got what she wanted at the expense of everyone. I bleed openly from a wound that will never close. As far as I know, my son lives, and yours do not. I do not need lectures from such a mother. It will always concern me most."

She turned from the hall, ignoring Rhaenyra’s further words. Hot tears rained down her face. A storm perpetually swirling within her chest. She needed someone to take the blame. For anyone to admit this war had not been worth it. Everyone else seemed to move on. They had exempted themselves from the ruin they had wrought. But she was still here, carrying grief like a brand upon her chest. Searching for someone to grieve him as openly as she did. Searching for someone to understand that her love had not died with him.

Sunlight pressed through the lace curtains, the delicate beams scattering across the chamber. The air still carried a faint perfume of oils and candle wax mingling with the faint smell of their coupling. Light bounced off the sheets covering their tangled bodies. Their love lay exposed to the tender glow of dawn.

She stirred, twisting in the sheets and mess of limbs. Her eyes caught the rising sun. Beside her, Jacaerys law sprawled in perfect contentment. His dark curls haloed by the light. His breath was steady and untroubled by the world. The sight of him so unguarded and utterly hers made her chest ache with sweetness,

Yet the world beyond this bed was already stirring. The muffled clatter of servants echoed through the stone walls. A reminder that time was not theirs alone. She clutched the sheets to her chest. Her limbs still tangled with his. Her heart leapt as the memory struck her straight to her chest. Their wedding. Today. In mere hours, the entire realm would bear witness to their union.

"Go, you must go now." Her eyes widened, urgency breaking through the haze of love. She shook him gently, whispering, "My ladies will be here soon. They cannot see us in such a state." Jacaerys blinked awake, groggy, his lashes heavy with sleep. He rubbed his eyes, protesting with a low sound that made her blush despite herself.

He did not move with such haste, preferring to wake slowly. He only chuckled, slow and lazy, his smile softening her panic. His body held on to no shame. He did not hide from her nudity, nor his own. Rather, he gazed at her with unyielding adoration, as though their love was the only truth in this world. "Let me look upon you one last time," he teased, his voice deep and husky. His words meant to wring laughter from her worry.

"Jace, you will see me tonight and every night after that. You will indulge in those moments henceforth. You must take your leave. We do not have time."

He did not listen. He gathered her into his arms. The sheets fell uselessly to the floor. "No, let me look upon you one more time. I beg, my love." His hands trailed lazily up her sides before lingering at the pendant still resting upon her chest. The only thing they had not discarded the night before. He did not say much for a while, his eyes just peering into her own. His eyes flickered watching her, as though he was deep in thought.

"What difference shall it make from tonight?" She chuckled, blushing and still trying to cover herself with whatever sheet she could grasp from him.

"Because we will never be here again." He murmured softly. His voice gave no way that this was meant to tease. "I will never be a love-struck boy again. I will be a man. A husband." His words silenced the world around them, honing in on the space between their bodies. Only for them. Her heart pounded at the words. Stilling at his admission before rapidly pounding beneath her ribs. Her brain turned with the implication. This would be the last moment before they were man and wife. Their days of clandestine meetings were over. Never would they have the need to hide and steal moments when time now offered them the world.

"I will never know you like this again." He said, casting each sheet aside. This time, she did not fight for the sheets back but rather let him remove any barrier between them. She could not find it in her to care about the discarded sheets or how she lay bare before him. His words had undone her, stripped her of fear more thoroughly than his hands ever could.

He kissed her in a blazing trail with pure love. First her stomach, her chest, her throat, then her cheek. Each was a promise. "I am prepared to love you in every way you come to me." He mumbled between kisses. "Change how you please, there will never be a version of you I will not love."

She melted her mind, clouded with only him. Her apprehension left her as they tangled their limbs once more, bodies closing in on one another. He pulled back and bumped his nose against hers in affection. "But let me love you one more time just as you are now. I have the privilege to love you in every way for the rest of time. I do not want to miss a moment."

All fight left her, surrendering as the sun climbed higher. She melted into his form, tangling them limbs once more. Time was not a worry when they had forever to share it. They did not need to worry about the sunrise or the maids. Not when time bent to their will. This moment would stretch on before it would fall into the funny grips of time.

The sun rose high in the sky, glimmering against the last signs of rain clinging to every leaf. The earth felt warm beneath her, releasing the final moments of the day before night came to claim it.

Her child crawled on the grass, fingers tugging at the blades to reveal the soil beneath them. Dark, wet and fragrant with the smell of replenished earth. He giggled at his discovery. His joys knew no bounds, his world vast and waiting for him. She smiled, a warmth blossoming through her chest as she watched her baby dragon. She encouraged him. Encouraged his happiness, his fearlessness. For him to explore without fear of the hidden anguish in this world.

Rhaenyra slowly approached, her presence heavy after weeks of silence. Shame had kept her away from Rhaenyra. Guilt gnawed at her stomach for striking the wound of loss. A loss they both shared. Only the two could understand the pain of such a wound. The love for their child, and the hollow ache left behind once they were gone.

Lowering herself beside the princess, Rhaenyra’s gaze softened at the boy’s unbridled joy. “He reminds me so much of Jace at that age,” she murmured, extending a fragile branch of peace.

She felt her throat tighten, only nodding. Words would betray her if she dared open her mouth. So for some time her eyes remained fixed on her child as though searching for herself in his reflection. A familiarity she had lost quite some time ago.

"I do not know me, my lady," she confessed at last, her voice trembling under the weight of uncertainty.

"Few of us do, when sorrow endures." Rhaenyra's voice held no judgment, just opportunity.

"I will always miss Jacaerys." She admitted, though her tears were slow to come. So often she had cried, she did not have it in her anymore to shed another tear. "He was my love, and I knew only the love he gave. Grief has become my sole companion. So constant I do not remember life without it. Happiness and warmth are momentary. It always yields to this permanent ache. I miss him," She admitted her voice wavering as she struggled to admit what she held so hidden for so long, "but i miss myself too."

"Sorrow has its way in forcing change. It carves us whether we will it to or not."

"I was not ignorant. We were at war. I had thought many times he may not return. I knew there was that chance and I knew if it happened I would experience the depths of grief." She admitted, the words ashy in her mouth. The wind threatened the spill every secret it carried. "But I believed I would not change. That this grief would weigh upon my chest, but that it would still be my chest."

She diverted her gaze, her eyes drifting to her son. He crawled, babbling a plethora of nonsense without knowledge of his mother’s pain. She smiled, happy for a moment that her son was happy. Her heart was grateful that his joy was untouched. How often she prayed he would never have to endure such sorrow.

"I keep remembering the person I was with Jace. These memories I play on loop everyday. Remembering me and that I was still the woman he loved and that love would help me carry on now that he is gone." Tears threatened, her eyes rimmed red. "But I am not that girl in those memories anymore."

Rhaenyra only nodded. She knew better than the way in which grief stormed through the world, carving its change with no regard for who it harmed. How few people came unscathed by its touch. She, too, had lost more than most, fragments of her heart scattered across the graves of children she would forever miss.

"I wish I were as fearless as Jace. He courted me openly, defied my father, and asked for my hand without hesitation. He came to me simply because he wished for me." She admitted smiling, though her eyes betrayed the constant ache. But the memories were too sweet to bow down to this constant grief.

"Jace was unlike you in many ways. You cannot keep searching for answers within him. He can do no more than leave you loved. He cannot live for you. Your boy cannot live for you." Her voice held a motherly tone she had heard so often when Rhaenyra addressed Jace.

"I fear I died with him."

Rhaenyra sucked in a harsh breath, "You did not-"

"No. I did not die with him." Her smile was pained, "That is what I fear. That for so long I believed I was gone, and it hurts to wake some days knowing I am here. Alive with purpose still. It feels wrong. Unfair."

Rhaenyra nodded. Death did not know how to play fair. Many were taken, though they deserved better. "Death seldom bows to fairness." She agreed, her brows furrowed in contemplation. "Though it is better to live, no matter how brief the moment. The moment Jace had was beautiful. He was loved from the moment he came into this world to his very last breath."

She nodded, a pained smile gracing her lips. Rhaenyra was right. However brief he was here. Jace was here. Beautifully alive for just a moment, and she of all people had the privilege to bask in just how lovely he was. For so long in her life, all she knew was happiness because of him.

"I will not love again." It was not an attempt at punishing herself, but rather her admitting a truth.

"Do not deny yourself love, just because you lost yours."

"No, that is not it. This is not punishment. I was luckier than most. From the moment I met Jace, I was never unloved. To live through such unwavering devotion was unlike anything I will experience. For that, I am grateful, but I loved just as strongly as he had. I've given all my love. To Jace and our boy. I was allowed to love Jace for a moment, and my boy, I will love for a lifetime. I have no love left to give but to myself."

Rhaenyra smiled through her words, the last of the sun warming the earth to lull them into a moment of content. "Jace would be proud of you."

Her eyes flickered between memories of Jace, just as she had for so many months now, before flickering to their child. For a fleeting moment, the world was still. The ache remained. Grief still pressed upon her chest, but slowly it made space for peace. The last light of day kissed her skin, and she breathed. Alive and grateful, for she was at last at peace.

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this as much as I had fun writing it (I cried...). Forgive me for any mistakes. I did rush the end, which I may come back one day to revise. Other than that, toodles.

[romeinexile]

The Seed She Spurned

Summary- Alicent was heartbroken to give her daughter’s hand to Rhaenyra’s bastard. Compelled solely by duty and need to protect her family and house from further ruin. She had not anticipated the depth of sorrow that would come with losing her beloved girl. She was the only child who truly mirrored her.

Pairing- Jacaerys x Hightower!Reader

Warnings- None. Just Targaryen's' engaging in Targaryen behaviour. Reader is a Targaryen but resembles a Hightower. Besides the lack of proofreading, nothing else.

Word count- 6606

Alicent faced the window, her eyes cast upon the vast distance surrounding Dragonstone. Her hands clenched white against the stone scarred in war, enduring the weight of their impending defeat. Their power was slipping through their grasp, slowly seeping into Rhaenyra's hands. Each defeat singeing at the thread, slowly unravelling the tapestry she had woven for her children. In her desperation, salvation now lies in binding her last daughter to the soiled blood of Rhaenyra's bastard.

She prayed endlessly for their escape from this fate. How utterly deranged Rhaenyra was to propose a union between Helaena and Jacaerys. She assumed, with her hand taken by Aegon, that Rhaenyra would not dare another attempt at sullying another of her daughters' names. Surely not her sweet baby girl.

Disappointment gripped the room when her daughter was born. She lacked the violet eyes and the pale spill of white hair they had all hoped for. Her final babe was more a Hightower than she was a Targaryen. She thought the disappointment would follow her always. Yet as her daughter grew into her mother's features, it quickly faded. Her last girl morphed into the mirror of her mother. Alicent could not deny that as her babe grew, so did the resemblance. No one could deny she was hers.

Her dear girl was left untouched by the hardness of their name. Another different addition to the realm of violent eyes and white spun hair. A difference only they shared. She was not left to the mercy of her Targaryen blood. She followed her mother without a word. Each year, she moulded herself into the pride of Alicent's heart. She was different from her brothers. She did not indulge in debauchery like Aegon. Did not display signs of ruthlessness like Aemond. She clung to her mother's way. Refusing to succumb to the harshness of their world.

Tenderness proved futile when faced with duty. It was within the Sept, she announced the news to her darling girl. She watched as her beloved daughter struggled to rise from her knees. Struggled as she stumbled over her words. Alicent felt as though her heart could fracture into two as her daughter's face dropped. It was so seldom that the girl was anything but cheerful.

"Mother, no," her voice trembled, soft as a prayer. "This cannot be, mother."

Alicent's hand lingered on the cheek of her daughter. The warmth was momentary as her fist dropped to her side. "It must be done," Alicent straightened her back, diverting her eyes from the sorrow of her cherished daughter's face. "This union is the last thread keeping us from ruin.”

Alicent sensed the racing thoughts. Felt the thoughts plaguing her dear girl's mind. Offered like a lamb to the slaughter. Willfully handed over to soiled blood. Alicent felt the weight of guilt press upon her breastbone. Unable to watch as her baby suffered with the thought and was soon to suffer at the hands of their enemy.

"Marry him?" The girl whispered bitterly, but her voice lacked the vexation that her mother's voice carried. "You would bind me to Jacaerys? Son of the very woman you despise? Heir to the enemy you vowed to destroy?"

Alicent could not face her girl, turning as she pressed forward, "You will do your duty, as I have, as Helaena did."

"Helaena married a true Targaryen. Aegon is a true Targaryen. Jacaerys is a," The girl swallowed, and her mother sensed the hesitation. Watching as her daughter smoothed the fabric of her bodice. Her eyes were darting down to her nervous hands. Her softness prevented her from uttering the word bastard. A word she had heard Alicent use from the times before she could remember.

The girl could not even bring herself to say the word. It fed the guilt close to Alicent's heart. How was her daughter to survive this marriage if she could not even come to disgrace the bastard's name? Alicent gazed upon her girl for a moment, wishing to send her far from her inevitable fate. In time, she would learn to forgive her mother, that much Alicent was sure.

Scarlet banners adorned the walls of the Stone Keep. Their grandeur warred against the deep green of their gowns. Alicent saw to its creation. Her watchful eye guided every stitch, every sewn jewel. Ensuring every scrutinising eye would be reminded of the Hightower name. Of their power. Alicent drew the laces tight, each pull biting into her palms. Her daughter endured the ritual in silence. Her lips pressed into a mask of composure that betrayed nothing but the quiet storm coiled in the pit of her belly.

Resentment flared hot in Alicent's chest. She had to convince herself this was necessary for their survival. She wished for all to see it for what it truly was. A betrayal of their name, a disgrace to their house. This is not what she wished for her daughter. Not the union she had anticipated for so long. Alicent hoped for festivity. For her daughter's joy. To send her off with pride in her heart. Not this heaviness that bore at her chest.

"It is time, my girl." Alicent soothed her daughter's hair into place over and over.

Alicent saw her dear girl frozen in her seat. Her breath was uneven, and her eyes were darting between her mother and the door. Those sweet eyes glistened with unspoken words. "Mummy", her voice quivered. A silent plea for her mother's intervention. A silent plea for her mother to change her fate. Alicent's face twitched, her eyes weary, her face carved by years of battles fought in silence. She hoped her mother would falter in the face of her sorrow. To put up one more fight and whisk her away. To hide her from Rhaenyra's schemes.

Alicent could not yield to the plea. She shook her head and cleared the back of her throat. She could not do this. Could not watch as she handed her dear girl to the bastard. "Come, daughter." She ordered once more, voice taut with unspoken emotion.

The ground shook beneath her feet. No longer could she rely on the steadiness her mother had always provided. The door was impossibly too far, yet impossibly too close. The crowds, still distant, rang through her ears. Alicent sensed the turmoil but could do nothing to guard her poor girl from the horror awaiting.

"Mummy?" her voice clawed at Alicent's heart. Evident of her innocence. A flash of the girl as a babe crossed Alicent's mind. "Tonight," her voice faltered, dragging the word out. Alicent needed no more to understand.

Alicent rubbed at her hands, attempting to steady herself. "Do not fight him. That will make the occasion worse."

"Who will stand witness?"

Alicent urged her daughter to her feet, preparing her to leave. Hands soothing her baby girl's dress. "Fear not, I will be there. He cannot harm you with me near."

Alicent watched as her daughter's walk dragged beyond measure. She knew the girl must feel trapped. To flee meant capture, yet to stay was but another cage with no escape. She paid no mind to the anticipatory crowds. Did not know she was before the Septon. Not until she felt the hot hand leading hers. Jacaerys stood at the Altar. His face was carved in impartiality. Handsome as princes often are, despite his impure blood. His eyes were distant, unreadable as he helped her before the Septon. He did not regard her as a joyful man looking at his bride. Instead, he feigned a smile, accepting the union signed under duress. She could not help but feel he felt just as solemn.

The Septon's voice demanded the attention of the room. Solemn and steady. Spewing words of union. Blessings to the gods binding two souls together. His voice rang hollow. Each vow was simply another etch at her resolve. Another order to be followed.

Alicent contained the bile threatening the back of her throat. There was no softness in her daughter's gaze, only resignation. The kiss was brief. And in that moment, she hated Jacaerys more than she hated the Rhaenyra, more than she hated the conflict of their houses. More than she hated the gods who had abandoned them.

Alicent watched as her daughter mindlessly received the praise. Graciously accepting every celebratory speech. Smiling at every applause rippling through the hall. She appeared a blissful bride. Bitterness lingered in Alicent’s heart, yet beneath it stirred a reluctant pride. Proud that her daughter upheld the image of their house even when faced with a horrid fate. Even when the very union was an offence to their name.

"My dear sister," The voice sliced through Alicent's momentary satisfaction. Rhaenyra raised her glass with a proud, sneering smile. A smile that chafed at Alicent's skin. Her daughter mirrored her mother. Her stoicism faltered at Rhaenyra's victory. Rhaenyra got what she wished for and seemed eager to deepen the wound.

Rhaenyra's voice was a delicate echo in her ears. A voice she focused on drowning out. She wished not to hear how Rhaenyra wished to disparage her so openly. Ridicule her house. Mock her family. Insult her mother, how no lord sensed the offence of her word. No one but her and her mother.

The hall erupted in cheer, but her daughter’s gaze remained fixed on the floor until Jacaerys approached "Do you wish to dance, my lady wife?" Jacaerys hopeful hand jolted her back to her senses. Rhaenyra was back in her seat, seemingly as she had been for quite a while. Still with a sneerful smile. A quiet thought stirred. How long had the feast carried on without her awareness? How long had she agonised in her dismay?

Her mother urged her on, slightly poking her side. She did not wish to dance. Did not wish to feed their defeat. Did not wish to rub salt into the wound. But today would grant none of her wishes. "Very much, my prince."

Alicent scowled, hands clawing at the wood of the table, enough to perhaps leave marks. She threw back the contents of her goblet, her eyes watching as the bastard boy swept her darling daughter to the floor. His tainted hands were guiding her in a smooth rhythm. His hands clasped upon the soft fabric enveloping her waist. An entirely inappropriate gesture had the boy not been her husband. His right to place his vile hand anywhere he pleased upon her dear girl.

She found no joy in the dance. It was not that her husband lacked grace. Sorrow had hollowed her spirit, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not claw herself from the pit of her own despair. Nor could she truthfully accept the fate laid before her. How could she? When the man before her was the very bastard her mother warned her about. When his kin had wronged her brother, and his mother’s schemes had poisoned trust beyond repair? What was she to do?

"Am I a poor dancer, my lady?" Jacaerys' voice tore her from thought. It was playful as though not scorned by the betrayal of their union. Her face flushed, warmth radiating from her cheeks. "You so enjoyed dancing in your youth. I remember." He led her through every step, eager to please, it seemed.

Her face subtly distorted. Displeased by the very thought that he knew anything of her. She refused to give him satisfaction that his mind was sound. She indeed enjoyed dancing in her youth. But she found no joy in the movement. Remembering her mother urged her to respect her husband. Surely Alicent had not imagined Jacaerys would be her husband when she urged respect for him. "Forgive me, husband. The joys of dance do not compel me as they once did."

It was evident to her that he easily picked up her displeasure. She scorned herself for not bettering her tone. For offending him, even as slight as it was. Her feet drifted away from him, but his grasp on her body kept him close. Too close.

"You are unhappy with the union?" It was not a question, as much as it felt like an accusation.

"You are?" Her tone improved, steering to a sweeter tone.

He was not pleased. Her tone was doing nothing to ease the situation. He continued to dance but gave her no space to step away. "I will not hurt you. Our grievances can be stored in the past."

She did not for a moment believe that she would face no harm. Not with what her mother taught her to be true. Not with a mother like his own. He could not possibly know the many ways in which he had already hurt her. "Men make promises they seldom keep." Her eyes sought her mother. A final plea to urge the end of the union before irreversible harm is done.

"I do not wish to worsen our conflict," He straightened his spine, glancing down upon his wife. "I would prefer a warless marriage."

She did not wish to wage war against her husband. It was not the life she imagined. Though not sure who she would marry, she was for a moment certain it would not be him. There was no use in dreaming now. She was past the age of girlish fantasies. Not when reality shows itself in its harshest form. Not when escape went hand in hand with death. Still, she yearned for this nightmare to fade and her mother to wake her. For them to have tea as she recounts this awful reality. For her mother to scowl at the thought of her and Jacaerys.

"Shall we retire? I am sure the festivities too do not compel you as they used to."

She ignored the mockery laced in his tone. Her mind suddenly focused on the growing dread flooding her senses. Her eyes bulged, and the grasp on his shoulders tightened. Her throat was impossibly dry. She spluttered, murmuring with uncertainty, "Must I inform the Septon and my mother of the ceremony?"

He stiffened beneath her hands. "Do you believe I would dishonour you openly before the prying eyes of depraved lords?" The unforeseen harshness in his voice jolted her.

Her bottom lip wavered, "It is custom, Mother-"

He sliced through her words, "Your mother taught you to bear public defilement?" His voice carried a mocking edge. A brash display of his disdain for her mother’s teachings. He sensed her sudden offence, the way her body tensed, desperate to be released from his clutch. She could tell he had remembered himself. Remembered where they were. "I apologise, wife. It is unbecoming to offend your mother on the day of our union."

Resentment seethed at every nerve. He pulled her flush to her chest. A futile attempt at consolation. She knew better than to accept a feigned apology. Knew better to deny her instinct. To fall further into her naivety. A flash of her mother's disdain plagued her thoughts. Her eyelids pressed tight as he pulled her head to his chest. Alicent would not forgive his brazen behaviour. Her mother would lecture her. Guide her to better decisions.

"Come, let us withdraw. To reacquaint without the prying eyes of our family." His voice was laced with sweetness. Feigned? She could not tell. She cursed her judgment.

She wished not to abide by his command. Preferring the humiliation of bearing her innocence before he mother. For she would not face harm. Not under the watchful eye of her mother. She nodded solemnly. There was no room to forsake his advance. Her mother was apparent. To deny him would sire a fate far worse than her surrender. She heeded his lead, head held low. Refusing to face the night.

Under Alicent’s watch, the castle knew no sleep. Not when festivities clouded her judgment. Not when, amongst the partying crowd, her darling girl no longer swayed with that bastard of a boy. Worry prickled at the base of her spine. She shot from her seat, rattling the goblets scattered amongst the table. Red stained the cloth, but she could not find herself to care. Sickened by the sudden vacant space. Only through Rhaenyra's irksome report did she learn her daughter was alone with her husband in their chamber. No ceremony would follow. How dare they deny the ceremony without consulting her?

She was blindsided. The betrayal dug its knife deeper into her side. How could she have been so clueless? Of course, they would do this. Of course, they were waiting until her gaze no longer lingered on her dear girl. Waiting patiently to whisk her away beyond the watchful eye of her mother.

Worry twisted into a knot in the pit of her stomach. The guards would not let her pass. It was entirely unbecoming to insist on entering the chamber of a newlywed couple. She forgot her courtly duties in the face of motherly duty. How frightened her poor baby must be. The guards guided her to her own chambers. A silent directive to no longer stir the night.

She paced the expanse of her room. She constantly clattered her heel on the stone. The night drew weary, but her body could not find rest. Not til she set her eyes on the safe form of her daughter. Not til she was sure he had not defiled her. But there was no immediate satisfaction. Not when day broke. Not when breakfast passed. Not when, despite the late hour, there was no sign of her girl. It was only once the sun was at its highest that her daughter returned. Slipping into the room with quiet steps, timid beneath the intense gaze of her mother.

She spoke no word, not even uttering a sound. Alicent was thankful for the silence, longed only to gather her close and shield her from the night’s terrors. "Oh, my sweet girl, what torment has he inflicted?" Her hands laced through the strands at the base of her daughter's neck, pulling her into a maternal hug. She mindlessly muttered a plethora of sinful words, "Their plots are endless. No line is sacred when it comes to defiling our name."

Her darling girl did not respond. Not as she let Alicent examine the expanse of her skin. Scrutinising the skin for bruises, blue and purple. A shaky breath rippled through her. She found nothing. No mark, no bruise. No indication that a fight ensued. "Come tell me. What has he done?" Alicent pulled her next to herself, intertwining her hand with her daughter's.

"We spoke for some time, then proceeded with the rest of the night." There was a flush to her cheeks, one Alicent could not ignore. Perhaps what she felt was shame or embarrassment. Alicent shook her head. She would not let the foul man disgrace her. "It is not what I anticipated, truthfully."

Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion. Her daughter's voice held no indication of grievance. Rather, it was more her shy self. Of course, she must feel shy. The topic is unbecoming of ladies to discuss. "Of course not. He would not dare while I was so near." Alicent resigned. Of course, he would not show her dear girl the extent of his brutish nature, not while her mother stayed so close. She cleared her throat, smoothing the fabric of her bodice, "Still, it is done. Let's attend prayer." She urged her child to her feet. Wishing to return to the normalcy of her days with her daughter, "Beg the gods to favour you. Let you be with child so you do not have to endure another night."

Her sweet girl smiled, leaving Alicent baffled. Her demeanour was peculiar but not quite abnormal to question. Alicent assumed the adjustment of the night, still catching up to her. "Yes, let me be with child."

The Sept remained a shelter of solace. Just as it has been for so long between the two. They had frequented prayer as long as she could remember. Her children had not made time to attend prayer, all but her.

Alicent always ensured she had her moments with her girl. It proved increasingly hard to continue the tradition. Especially with the bastard requesting her darling girl's presence so often. Whisking her away at the break of light. Requesting her company alongside his midday flight. Worst of all, when he requested her presence at night.

Her daughter's absence greatly left her feeling jilted. Especially the days when she did not show up for prayer. How it was so unlike her daughter to miss prayer. How the poor girl must be hindered by her husband. Must be adhering to his foolish commands. How he must be attempting to plant cruel seeds into the sweetness of her mind. How her behaviour grew increasingly odd as the days progressed.

"You are late," Alicent reprimanded as she watched her daughter scurry to meet her.

"Forgive me, mother." She bowed her head before her mother.

Alicent knew the girl never wished to offend or disobey her. That it had to be the doing of her husband. "Oh, no bother. Come. Join me." She led her into the Sept, "I am taking my leave from Dragonstone, duty calls for me. Not for long, my girl, I will return in a few moons."

"Mother," her daughter smiled sweetly, arm linked around Alicent's, "I am married now. You need not worry. Heed the call, but do not rush for my sake."

Alicent did not think she would be so worried about leaving her daughter once she wed. But again, she thought she'd leave her sweet girl in the presence of an honourable lord. Not Rhaenyra's spawn. "You will write. Inform me of your worries. I will return within a moment if you wish."

"Mother-"

"No," her tone was harsh. Perhaps the harshest she ever spoke to her daughter. She would not let the boy alter her mind as part of another scheme of Rhaenyra's. "You will write. Every day, if you must. Do not test the bounds of my patience."

The girl bowed her head, eyes cast upon their feet, "Yes, mother."

Alicent could not wish the journey away, not when five long moons had passed since the last time she beheld her daughter. Only in the girl’s presence could she be certain that no shadow of suffering had touched her. How she longed to return to her only semblance of normalcy.

She wrote almost every day as promised. She did not doubt that her sweet girl would write. There was not much to her words for some time as her new life was slow to settle in. Once familiarity grew, so did her letters. Each letter detailed her life. Informing Alicent that Dragonstone was not the prison she believed it to be. That Jacaerys was not the man she ought to believe he was. Letter after letter, she recounted Jacaerys’ kindnesses.

It sickened Alicent to see how far they would go to tarnish her girl. It was a matter of time before she would see Rhaenyra and Jacaerys as they truly were. Their effort would be futile as her daughter would not fall for such schemes.

The moment she set foot on Dragonstone, her only thought was to find her daughter. She cared little for rest or ceremony. Her mind was set only for the reassurance that the girl was well. Word reached her that the princess had chosen to take her ease outdoors. She knew her darling girl preferred the breath of fresh air. Relief surged through her when her eyes finally fell upon her child, joy rising like warmth along her spine. It was only as she proceeded near the joy that was to be swiftly eclipsed by a shadow of dread.

To another's eye, it was easy to miss, but Alicent was not anyone. She was her mother. Her gown did little to conceal the gentle swell of her abdomen. In another life, Alicent would rush to her with joy. How wondrous the blessing. This was not another life. Alicent did not feel delight at the sight of her dear girl. Nor the parasitic life growing in her.

"Mother," Her daughter exclaimed, pure elation lacing her tone. She struggled to rise from her seat. Already, his babe was burdening her.

"All these letters, and you failed to mention this?" Alicent's voice wavered. Anger overcame her. How was she the last to know? How many times had she written without thought that her mother ought to know? Rhaenyra surely knew.

Her daughter's smile faltered as if knowing she had done wrong. But it did not drop. "This is news we ought to share when together, not over parchment, mother."

"Alas, you ought to have mentioned it, girl." Her daughter did not flinch at the vexation in Alicent's tone. So unlike the timid girl she knew. "I am sure Jacaerys is elated?" There was no need for the question. Alicent knew this must be another one of their victories.

Alicent saw as her daughter took the opportunity to bridge the tension between the two, "He is the most elated mother. For some time, we did not know. I was foolish not to piece the absence of my blood to being with child."

It was foolish. Alicent knew her girl knew what would happen after lying with a man. A lesson she personally ensured she was taught. Perhaps she had not accounted that she would have to remember such things in the house of their enemy. "There is still time, my girl." Alicent's voice dropped, a silent plea for her girl to come to her senses. "You do not have to endure this."

Alicent watched as her daughter's eyes widened. Her fist clenched at the edge of her sleeves. "You urged this marriage, Mother." Her voice surprised Alicent with its edge. She could sense the feeling of betrayal. "What did you expect? Surely you knew that the day would come when he wished for an heir?" Alicent searched her daughter's face, wishing to stumble on the sweet girl she once knew. Not this. Never had she faced the girl's wrath. She did not know her sweet girl was capable of such anger. "Do not urge me now to rid myself of the babe."

"My girl, I only wish to protect you."

Tenderness vanished from her daughter’s face as her hands instinctively shielded the swell of her belly "From what? Jacaerys? My husband?" Vexation laced the one sweet tone. "The babe will be no safer than with his mother and father. I will know no harm, especially now that I carry his child."

"That is for now. Before Rhaenyra-"

Her daughter rose to the challenge, "Rhaenyra has done me no wrong, mother." Her voice wavered, clinging to any chance of command before her mother. "Was this union not to end the bitter dispute? To be rid of this anomosity." Her resolve crumbled, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she faced her mother, "How dare you stand before your daughter and offer such a thing? You would do well to sit within the Sept and ask for forgiveness for such suggestions, mother."

Alicent's mouth wavered in turn. To be chastised by her daughter felt humbling. Never had she been the cause of her daughter's distress. "My girl," Alicent wavered, head lowered as she fiddled with her fingers.

Alicent felt a sting at her pride. She watched as her dear girl gave her no mind, returning to her seat. She struggled to lower herself. Guilt warred at Alicent's chest. Her daughter's fragile state worsened because of her offence. She looked so sweet even when tense. Alicent could not help but see herself. Young and burdened by the weight of producing an heir. She knew she could not protect her girls from such a burden. That not many women could escape such a fate. That the time would come when she would progress from child to woman. But it is far too soon. She is far too young. Too young to worry. Too young to face motherhood. She was but a girl. Guilt pressed down on her chest, suffocating, more powerful than she thought a single emotion could be. Rhaenyra and Jacaerys, in time, would betray her sweet girl. Leave her without anyone by her side.

"Oh my girl," Alicent cooed, heart clenching in her chest at the sight of her poor girl, "Stress does not bode well in your condition." Her hands instinctively went to embrace her darling girl. "The babe is yours." Alicent acknowledged with momentary tenderness for the babe.

"And Jacaerys-"

"The babe is yours." Alicent asserted. If the child must come into being, let her be claimed as her mother’s own. Her daughter’s baby. Not Jacaerys'. Not Rhaenyra's. Hers alone. She would be her baby, as once she was Alicent’s. Her babe, hers to cradle, hers to name. Not another Targaryen, but hers, and hers only.

Alicent attempted not to be utterly rude to her daughter's husband, much for her daughter's sake. Her comments swallowed with each mouthful. Her anger was buried beneath each bite. Alicent's hands tightened around her cutlery, resisting the surge of emotion. Her husband noticed the hostility Alicent attempted to conceal, barely restraining himself from giving her the satisfaction. She urged her husband not to act, silently clasping his hand beneath the table.

The solitude of their chambers provided a reprieve from the tension of the evening. It was only once they retired that she was able to inform him of her earlier conversation with her mother. Jacaerys could no longer contain himself once alone with his wife.

"I will speak to my mother." Jacaerys spat, his vexation aimed at Alicent, not his poor wife.

"Do not do that, my love." She urged softly, not wishing to further the tension between her mother. Not while it was still so fragile. Despite her mother's tendencies, she did love her dearly. She reached for her hairbrush, preparing for sleep.

"She threatens my child? The heir? Her majesty will not take the threat lightly."

Her curls tumbled gracefully over her shoulders. A smile so sweet it warmed the cold stone walls. "You must not feed her rage."

He paced the chamber. "She grates at me, wife." He faced the hearth. The fire illuminated the red adornment on his chest. His voice wavered, clutching at the remainder of his pride. "I know what she had you believe about me." The crackle of the fire drowned out the drum of her heartbeat. She knew he struggled to face her. His body was lined with tension. "When you defend it so openly, it makes me feel as though you believe what she said."

She cooed softly, her hand reaching for his, guiding him back to her. He clasped her hand, gently raising her to her feet. She found her hands lacing themselves in his dark, soft curls. "I must repent." She whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the cheek of her husband. "My thoughts were severely unkind, and for that, I regret my part."

His eyes fluttered, unable to not fall into her warmth. "It is not what I believe, no more husband." She forced his attention to fall upon her. Voice laced with honey, impossible to resist. "Do you not recall the night of our union?"

He nodded, face still resting between her palms. "I wished not to urge conflict further. To not increase the divide."

"And that night you treated my body with the utmost kindness. I believe you did not wish harm upon me." She laced their hands, bringing them to the swell of her abdomen. "That you did not wish to etch away at the chasm between us but rather fill it." She peppered feathery light kisses upon the warmth of his cheek. "That you have, with love and loyalty. I will forever regret what I thought of you."

It was the night they wed that she learned how severely wrong her mother's beliefs were. How quickly he was able to prove Alicent wrong. Jacaerys was not a man to fear. Not when he proved so quickly how willing he was to love, to protect. How patient he was when faced with his wife's grievance. How loyal he was from the moment they wed. How day by day, he unravelled the teachings her mother had instilled. How, after a few moons, she could not believe how utterly in love she could be with the man she was taught to hate.

His shoulders lowered, body placid to her will. She kneaded the tension in his shoulders, "Please forgive me for my time in ignorance caused doubt to seep into your trust."

"I cannot blame you for her teachings." He placed a gentle kiss upon her brow.

"Patience, my love. She will come to see you for what you truly are."

It was a dull summer's night when Alicent was rudely awoken. There was no time to protest before she was ushered to her daughter's chambers. Before entering, she was made aware of the sounds of distress. Despite never having heard her daughter in such a state, there was no doubt it was her baby girl.

Alicent entered seeking her dear girl. She was splayed across her pillows. Sweat sat upon her brow as she grimaced through every wave of pain. Her hands attempted to soothe her prominent bump before clawing at the linen beneath her. Jacaerys perched himself beside his wife, uttering words Alicent could not make out. Now and then, Rhaenyra would offer words of encouragement from the foot of the bed.

Alicent pushed past the Maesters, settling on the other side of her poor girl. "Oh, sweetheart, breathe." She took hold of her daughter's hand. Her grip compressed her bones. Alicent could not help but grimace, not taking the pain as well as Jacaerys. Alicent glared at the boy. It was not customary for men to bear witness to birth.

"Princess, you must begin to push." The Midwife urged.

Her poor girl shook with resistance. Her head shook firmly. "No, no. no. I cannot."

"You must, my dear." Alicent encouraged, but it did little to comfort her girl, who just pleaded not to.

"My time was no easier," Rhaenyra consoled, her words soft and laced with understanding, "The pain agonising for one to bear. But you will." Alicent wished for her to hold her tongue, but could not focus as she bore witness to her daughter's pain.

"From the moment you lay your eyes upon your babe, you will wonder why you waited so long. The strength will find you." Her dear girl evidently found comfort in Rhaenyra's words, endeavouring a futile first attempt at a push.

The night dragged on without an end in sight. The room had no semblance of peace. The midwives tirelessly tended to her daughter. Alicent did not stop the plethora of encouragement. Jacaerys did not stop the abundance of declarations of pride and love. It was only once her dear girl's screams ceased that the room found its peace. All quiet but the marvellous wails of a babe.

The Midwives and Maesters incessantly inspected the babe for abnormalities, just as Alicent gazed at her daughter for the same. "It is a girl princess." The Midwives announced swaddling the infant in linen. They gently placed the baby upon her chest before going to examine her.

Alicent followed the midwives, wishing to hear their confirmation that birth had not caused issues with her dear daughter. Waiting as they furthered their examination. It was only once they confirmed her health that Alicent thought of the babe. Calm now as Jacaerys rocked the small girl in his arms. He could not help but be overcome by the influx of emotion. Finding it difficult not to be overcome by elation. His eyes were glossy as he cradled the babe.

Alicent sat beside her daughter, soothing her arm with gentle strokes. "Mother, she is perfect." She hummed her eyes glossy with weariness and triumph.

"I cannot wait to see her, my dear."

Jacaerys pulled himself to his senses and approached Alicent. It was with great reluctance that he passed his daughter to her arms. Alicent greatly accepted the sweet cooing babe. She could not help the pride pulling at her breastbone for her daughter's tremendous labour. She could not wait to peer upon her daughter's babe. How she anticipated similar features.

The babe weighed heavily in her arms. Alicent was used to the feeling. Understanding through her lengthy experience how to cradle a baby. She moved the linen, searching the babe's features. Her smile faltered at the sight. The babe, though beautiful, bore only her father’s likeness. The babe was entirely and unmistakably his child.

How cruel the gods must be? Alicent could not deprive herself of despair as it consumed her mind, body and soul. Had her darling girl not endured enough? How dare they rain such scorn upon her innocent child? Alicent could not quell the ache that tightened in her chest. She could not bite back the scorn. "The babe most certainly takes after her father."

Her sweet girl, wrapped in bliss, did not take the comment as it was intended. Did not sense her mother overcome with disdain. Just agreeing with an innocent smile. Alicent's contempt did not evade Jacaerys and Rhaenyra in the same way. He did not smooth over the contempt, his own contempt flooding through every nerve. He rushed to remove the infant from her clutch. Daring not to leave his sweet child in the arms of such hostility. Rhaenyra restrained her son. Now was not the space, not the time to act on such contempt.

He heeded to his mother's silent command, preferring the sweet space by his wife. Alicent watched as her daughter, blissfully unaware of the storm that gripped the room. The girl accepted the babe with eager hands. Her youthful face alight with relief as she pulled the child back into her arms. Jacaerys protectively hovered over his wife and child. Rhaenyra moved to their side. Her gaze was steady, watchful over both her son and the grandchild cradled near.

Alicent stood frozen at the foot of the bed. She felt impossibly far from her daughter. That her dear girl was no longer within her reach. Her mind disconnected from her body. She floated away from the dread that sat heavy in her chest. Struggling to attempt a painful smile only for the satisfaction of her daughter. Only for her baby girl's comfort. This was not what she hoped for her girl. Not as she watched them huddle close. Accepting her daughter and her babe into their fold. That would never be. She was Alicent's daughter. Not theirs to claim. Not even now, as they played the guise of a happy family.

This was never how it was meant to be. The babe should have borne her likeness. To wear the mark of a Hightower. Not the likeness of Rhaenyra's bastard. Not marked by his soiled traits. It was her daughter who carried the babe for the long, weary months without complaint. It was her daughter who suffered through the merciless hardships of pregnancy and birth. No matter his place at her side. No matter his assurances through the long months. It was not a pain the bastard could ever understand. Only Alicent could. Only her mother could understand the burden. The babe was hers and solely hers to claim. Hers to cherish. Not Jacaerys’s, not Rhaenyra’s.

A/N - Sorry, this was a quick one. I did not take the time to refine areas where I may have used poor tense or grammar. I did endure my writing spells into the depths of the night. Delirium is inevitable. There were moments I felt unsure, but truthfully, I just wish to write. If it is good or bad, that is up to you to decide. I am just happy to share

Drawing in the divider is not mine. If it is your work, please let me know so I may offer you credit.

[romeinexile]

Masterlist

⚚ Multi-character Masterlist

⚚ Aegon ii Targaryen

Coming soon

⚚ Cregan Stark

Beyond the reach of fealty

(Warning - None | Wordcount - 6268 | Summary - To seal the alliance between their houses, Cregan marries a Lannister daughter. Beneath their vows, their union simmers with tension. It seems love won’t be commanded by duty alone.)

⚚ Jacaerys Velaryon

The Seed She Spurned

(Warning- None | Wordcount - 6606 | Summary - Alicent was heartbroken to give her daughter’s hand to Rhaenyra’s bastard. Compelled solely by duty and need to protect her family and house from further ruin. She had not anticipated the depth of sorrow that would come with losing her beloved girl. She was the only child who truly mirrored her.)

Such Sweet Sorrow

(Warning- Depictions of grief | Wordcount - 9280 | Summary - When Jacaerys dies, her world fractures. Grief consumes her. Every moment is filled with him. She carries his child and his absence all at once. Trapped in a loop of memories, she can't escape.)

[romeinexile]

Beyond the reach of fealty

Summary- To unite their houses, Cregan weds a daughter of House Lannister, but the couple struggles to find harmony in their marriage.

Pairing- Cregan Stark x Lannister!Reader

Warnings- None. Timeline where the Greens lose the war. No use of Y/N

Word count- 6268

The North teaches her, before all else, that silence is a force unto itself. It presses in from every side as the gates of Winterfell close behind her, iron groaning like something alive. No music nor golden banners snapping in the wind. Only drab, grey stones, tired from the years of being weathered down. A far cry from Casterly Rock.

She pressed her hands together; the lined fur of her gloves scarcely kept the bite at bay. She hastily rubbed her arms, the delicate fabric of the South not enough to keep her from the ice prickling at her skin. She refused the heavier furs, favouring the artistry of her silks over the drab wools.

"Lady Stark." The title sits wrong. Not because it is unfamiliar but because it does not feel right, not yet, not perchance ever.

She turned to her husband. The thought that she was now bound by her words and the gods, witnessed by anyone who mattered, did not settle right. She cursed her father, and his fickle honour swaying between the Blacks until finally siding with the Greens. Had he kept his oath, there would be no need to reconcile with the North. She would not be cast away to the snowy hills and certainly not married to the Warden of the North. The union was swift. Her father opted for the wedding to proceed upon arrival. He was insistent that it was better for the houses, but she knew well that he did not wish to linger in Winterfell. Not that Cregan appeared to mind, preferring her father far from Winterfell, too. As stoic as he stood, she remembered the thinly veiled contempt for her father as they met. She wondered if his contempt lingered around her.

"Lord Stark," hateful she might be, but disrespectful she was not.

Despite her proud figure, he impeded her, and he was nothing like what she had heard in the many stories. None of the wolfish savagery whispered in southern halls. Cregan Stark stands still as the stone around him, dark eyes steady, unreadable. Judging. Was he judging? She was not sure.

"You ought to be tired from the journey and festivities?" He was hard to read, and his voice conveyed no hint of his inner emotions. There was no warmth, but it was not cold.

She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping across Winterfell’s proud walls. Yet for all its vaunted majesty, it seemed cold and hollow beside the splendour of Casterly Rock. "I find the cold wears me more than the road, my Lord."

"Then you will find the North tiring indeed."

"There is scarce choice on the matter." The words hung brittle in the air.

Her words slipped sharper than she intended. She pressed her lips together as if to catch the rest hanging from her lip. She did not mean to sound so bitter, but surely, he felt similarly to her. He did not appear eager when the two promised their life to each other. A man bound by duty. That she was assured he was. His honour praised for its unbound ends. The North desired reconciliation, and she knew he would honour that duty before he would yield to his personal desire.

"Shall we retire?" He offered. Perhaps it was a desire to end the meeting rather than out of compassion.

She nodded, heeding his lead. She found herself grateful for the flowing hot springs beneath the house. It was a welcome warmth to her foolish desire to remain in southern attire. In its size, it was easy to lose herself in the halls. Cregan led them up the Great Keep until they arrived at their chambers.

He stood by the threshold of the chamber, allowing her to enter first. The room was dully lit by the hearth in the corner, burning for what she deemed was only a short amount of time. The chamber was minimally occupied. She assumed from its lack of life that it was to be her chambers. Confused, she turned back to her husband, who remained firmly planted at the entry.

"You do not wish my comfort tonight, my Lord?" There was bite to her words, slightly offended to be cast away.

Cregan viewed the thinly veiled offence in her expression and sighed. "I do not profess a profound understanding of the female nature. Something you will come to see my wife." his voice was gentle and sturdy, finding the right words to avoid offending her further. "But I assume I am not wrong in saying you do not wish me to take you to bed."

She gave a derisive laugh at the conceit. She supposed he thought her too tender in years to fathom what was decreed to occur upon a wedding night. "I have long since shed the childish dreams of knights and bridal chambers," She assured him, standing proudly before him as a woman. "I know full well what consummation is, my lord. Let us have it done, if it must be done tonight." Her shoulders straightened, hands fumbling at the silk of her bodice.

In turn, Cregan expressed offence to her, displeased at her insinuation, "Forgive me, but I hardly wish to take a woman to bed simply as she wishes to be over with it."

The bite of his words spread a reddish flush upon her cheeks, but she could not cast away the bitterness that sat at the back of her throat. "As you wish, my lord." She grasped the knob of her door, bowing before she bid him goodnight.

She turned to the hearth and seated herself before the flame. The delicate fabric lay bundled at her side. Long she gazed into the fire, yearning for the distant halls of home. At length, she rose, her eyes grown weary, unable to endure the light. She bathed, and thereafter withdrew to the chill of her sheets, where silence received her.

Mornings in the North, as was ever presumed, dragged on with tedious slowness. She assumed monotony when she wed Cregan, but had not anticipated how long the day would stretch and how little they would change. She knew of the duty that came with becoming a Lady of a house. Trained at the hand of her mother, there was not much difference between Casterly Rock and Winterfell.

For all that it was, she was grateful that the house required much maintenance, as it did not allow her to be idle for extended periods of time. She had come to love only a few hours of her day as she attended the maester with Rickon.

The boy was sweet. Shrouded by his youth. He did not care much for lessons, preferring to play at his young age. She adored the unfiltered happiness found nowhere else in the house. He took to her well and grew used to his presence in his daily life. On occasion, he mindlessly called her mother. A title that invoked a strange sensation of dread and warmth in her belly.

There was not much joy beyond her time without Rickon. The house did not seem to take to her. While no one would dare openly sully her name, it seemed no one had taken a liking to the Lannister. The North was proud, and she knew it to be. They swiftly aligned with the Blacks, giving their promise to the Queen. They would rather face the blade and turn back on their word. They would hardly take a liking to the girl fathered by a man who so openly broke his oath. She did not enjoy her days governing their house. She did not enjoy how often her counsel was sought. How often she found herself overseeing household disputes. How she dreaded dining with Cregan, as neither of them thawed since the day they joined names.

She had attempted in her loneliness to approach her husband. Perchance her attempts proved too ardent, or too faint to catch his eye. She doubts the latter. Cregan was a man weathered by the weight of the world. He surely could tell that his wife wished more from him than merely his presence. Still, he found himself in a picture of honour. Denying her advances with the utmost tenderness or saving her the embarrassment by never seeming to acknowledge them. It grated on her.

She completed her plate, gently placing it to the side. Cregan wished they would dine together every day. The evening tended to be quiet as Cregan often found himself occupied with his tasks well into the night. She did not complain. On the nights he found himself free of his duties, the day always seemed to end with a dispute.

"Silk was not made for the North," He spoke, glancing at her slightly shivering form as he diverted his eyes from the parchments before him.

She did not engage in the discussion. They often found the cause of many disputes. There was always a chill to her form. Time and time again, Cregan offered the warmth of Northern furs. Time and time again, she refused.

"Rickon has taken well to his studies." She attempted the friendlier topic.

Cregan smiled, warmth spreading across his features. An evident deep love for his child was obvious to all. Something they began to share. "The Maester informed me he is rowdy and has trouble staying seated."

Her smile mirrored his own. "Do not all boys of his years struggle the same? Let us be grateful that he is sharp in his understanding."

His smile lingered, a rare sight against the stone of his face. She shifted in her seat, the weight of his silence pressing harder into her side. She fiddled with her plate, aligning the cutlery neatly beside it. It was impossible to know what lay behind those eyes, and the not-knowing scraped at her like ice. He flicked through parchment, straightening the edges as he let the silence linger.

"You?" His voice cut the silence clean. He let his gaze rest on the parchment, turning it like a shield rather than a text to be read. "You are well?"

His gentleness splintered the armour of her pride. He rarely inquired about her days. She had never even stopped to wonder if she was well. "I," She stuttered, finding her footing, "I am well, you need not worry."

"You are my wife. I worry." The words were simple, but they had their effect.

She pressed a hand to her bodice containing the warmth that blossomed beneath her chest. She wished not to be so affected, but it had been some time since she was inquired about herself. Her hands stilled in her lap, caught in the face of revealing too much. The bitterness in her throat, which always threatened to rise, felt wrong. Suddenly, she did not feel the need to respond with a scathing comment. She had yet to learn much about her husband. Their conversations never delved quite into their inner worlds. She knew with some certainty he would appreciate honesty.

"I miss my home." Her voice was reminiscent not of a Lady but rather of a young woman thrust out of her element.

He nodded, expecting such an answer. "Do you wish to return?"

It was not so much a question as it sounded like an invitation. She imagined the nights spent alone and how, perchance, they were no different from her life in Casterly Rock. There were good things in Winterfell. Even if she declined to admit so. And Casterly Rock was shrouded in shame due to her oath-breaking father. At the very least, she had some semblance of respect as Lady Stark. Even as it took many of the house to accept her as such. From time to time, she still felt singled out by their gazes.

He pressed her not for reply, but was content in the lingering hush whilst she gathered her words. He kept his eyes fixed on her, his mouth resting against his clasped hands. Often, she found him in such a position. Grappling with the world but refusing to ask more of her.

"I do not know what I want." She admitted reluctantly the words lingering in their prolonged silence.

He hummed, face showing no sense of judgment. "Seldom do we."

She nodded, feeling relieved that he found no offence in her words. It was suffocating to feel so stagnant and restless at the same time. Her days are ruled by monotony and are often lonely. Despite her apprehension of her husband, she almost found herself offended by his lack of presence in her life. He knew him to be a busy man ruled by his honour and duty, but could not help but feel that even while near, he was not close.

"What do you want, husband?" She softly cut through the silence. It was uncomfortable for her to bear any sense of vulnerability, but both were uncomfortable to begin with.

"What is it you mean?"

"I may not know what it is I want from life, but there are certain things in life we are sure we know." She urged, leaning over in his space. "Certainly, you have an idea what you wish from me?" Her voice remained soft, broaching the matter with a delicacy he was not prepared for.

"You are my wife."

His response hardened her once more, the softness slowly seeping from her. She turned her body and diverted her eyes. Bitterness prickled up her spine. "You do not answer my question?' Agitation seeped from her form. "I am your wife in name," Her nails bore into the soft flesh of her palms. She let out a soft hiss at the pain, voicing rising at him. "But not where it matters. If what you wished was a Lady for your house, why not let your sister continue the position?"

Cregan knew little of what to do in the face of a woman's scorn. Especially when it was evident to all, even her, that he had not wished to make her feel so. "We wed because your father-"

"My father was fickle in his honour. An oath -breaker. I am well aware of his transgressions, Cregan." She was abrupt in her words, allowing no space for him to continue. Her fists clenched at the silky fabric with enough strength to tear it. "I fail to see how his transgressions are my own. The man could not rebel if he made any attempt to. Surely you saw more to our union than a means to a political end."

Cregan did not rise to meet her anger but calmly soothed her words. "Did you wish for more from our union?"

"Do not ask what I wish for. You gave little thought to the matter when the marriage was decreed, long before I was told of it."

Cregan sighed, sitting back in the wood of his chair. The partchment askew, forgotten in the midst of their anger. He knew she was not intent on working through til they were satisfied. He was aware she appeared solemn and exhausted most evenings. Her dresses and hair show the length of her day. There was no one to bear her frustration to, and perchance he had avoided it. She was prideful and very stubborn, especially when he did not rise to meet her in such moments.

"I do not wish to make you unhappy, wife." He dragged his hands down his face with the same stoic expression. Only now his weariness seeped through the cracks.

"The sentiment is there, but that's all it is, is it not, Lord Stark? You wish not to make me unhappy, but seldom do anything to make me happy." She could not possibly turn further away from him, despite how much she wished to. She teetered at the end of her seat, hiding her face as she admitted what she had not wished to bring up. "You have not even taken me to your bed."

"Is that the source of your frustration, wife?" It sounded like a tease, but she refused to hear it as such, to not lean further into that shame.

She did not wish to discuss it. Her body tensed, and if she could, she would bolt to her chambers. It shamed her to beg for a husband’s claim, yet more bitter still was the thought that he did not desire her. Despite her conflicting feelings, she was alone and that loneliness festered the more he denied his affection.

He sighed as she went quiet, leaning to force her to face him. "It is hard to give you what you want when you are so unsure of what it is you desire."

She wanted to take offence but grew tired as her pride controlled every conversation. Her face flushed, the bodice of her dress tightened as she inhaled. Her eyes diverted, wandering to everything but her husband's face. He sensed the shame radiating from her. He did not wish for her to feel ashamed, much less with him.

"May I retire to my chambers?" Her voice was soft, a softness that bore at his chest.

He smoothed her hair back, placing a kiss upon her brow, hoping that in any way it could soothe her, "Sleep well, wife."

The days that passed were no better. The conversation left her bitter at night and had seeped through her day after day. She wished not to face him and, in some twisted way, hoped to punish him with her absence. She hurried through her duties, finding times in which it was best to avoid her husband. She felt ashamed of her behaviour, sensing the petulance herself. As the days dragged on, she could not find a reasonable explanation as to why she continued on with her petulant behaviour. She had learned his routine well, and all it took was strategic timing. It did not help that he knew her routine just as well. He knew she had to attend to Rickon for most of the morning, and she could not really escape his presence.

"Are you avoiding me?" His voice hushed as he watched his wife lower his son. She jumped, almost waking the boy, before turning, her jaw clenched.

"Yes." She hissed through her teeth. Agitation seeped through her voice. Despite her tumultuous feelings, there was no reason to lie to her husband.

Cregan paid no mind to her tone. "Why?"

The softness in his tone raked down her spine. Words eluded her for some time. Her hand craddled the back of Rickon's head as she lowered the boy into his bed for a mid-morning rest. Cregan smiled at her figure, gentle and kindly compared to how he saw her usually. She pulled the pelts on the boy's bed til they covered him with their warm embrace.

She did not honour him with an answer for some time, ensuring the boy was comfortable. Mainly, she did not know what to say to explain her petulant behaviour. "I never seem to know what's right with you. When we are together, we fight, and when we are apart, I miss you." She uttered, mindlessly running her hands over the pelts, soothing the boy.

He could not deny the truth in her voice. The union was not faring well to the side of ease, not as he had hoped. He did not blame her for her nature, which was expected of a Lannister. He had not anticipated someone to match his stubbornness. He could not absolve his behaviour, for he surely was not the husband she expected.

His silence pressed on her, and the doubt pressed on the pit of her stomach. "Are you ashamed of me?" She asked so gently.

The question evidently confused Cregan. He lowered his body beside her, mindful not to wake the boy. "What could compel you to have such thoughts?"

Her face gave no way to what she truly thought, only that it was complicated. "I feel ashamed of what my father did. I have felt displaced ever since."

He sighed, running his hand up her back to soothe her just as she had done to Rickon "It was not your transgression, my lady. I am sorry if I led you to believe that is what I thought of you."

Her brows furrowed. "It is my transgression, is it not? Just as names and blood are passed down, are our mistakes not passed just the same?"

He wished to deny her words, but they rang with a sour truth. "I will not hold you to the transgressions of your kin, much less of your father."

"Then I cannot understand why you will not see to make me your wife."

Her voice lost its gentleness once more, and he sighed as he heard the contempt blossom in her chest. "You are my wife. You do not need to be taken to hold that place. Much less will I take an unwilling woman to prove such a thing."

She refused once more to dignify him with a response, but she did not turn from him. Cregan could see as the storm raged within as she wrestled in her own mind. He found her avoidance irksome, though he could not deny that for a time he had done likewise. He wished to soothe her doubts. That he saw her as his partner. To face her was to confront the truth of his own deeds. To stand before her was to own the faint truth in her words.

She sucked on her teeth, contemplating her words. "As much as it appears to you that I do not want you in my bed," her words did not bite as they so often did in such times between them, just tired. "It feels as though you do not see me as your wife. I feel as though I am tied to your contempt for my father. I wonder honestly if you truthfully wished for a wife."

Cregan wished to push past the rise her words conjured, still mindful not to wake his son. "You surely do not believe such a thing?"

"I do not know what to believe with you, Cregan." She sighed, body tense but weary. "I feel it's a fight to broach such topics with you and never seem to get an answer."

She leaned forward, closing the space between the two. He wished to reclaim space. To back down from the intensity radiating from her. She did not allow such a thing. She pressed on, voice urgent, allowing no space for him to hide. "Do you wish for a wife? Do you hold any desire for me?"

"Yes." His answer was hurried as if still offended by her accusation. He had grown accustomed to her presence, her care for his son. His house was less lonely with her, even as they were at odds with each other. Even as every meeting was stifled with latent contempt and resentment, he could not deny his growing affection. He felt that often his shortcomings with his wife were not due to her behaviour but his lack of trying.

Her body relaxed into the warmth spread through her chest at his admission. Bitterness still burned at the pit of her belly, as so much was wrong with their union, but it was dulled. Satisfied by some admittance that he did desire her at least. It did not alter the looming fragility of their marriage, but it did well to dull the worry she had seeped into herself.

He sat plainly at her side, allowing the closeness to linger. It was seldom she appeared happy at his side, and for the time, she was. He would, in turn, wage a silent battle with his heart alone, lest he not spoil her peace. Despite her rage, it was better that she was around. The loss of Arra and the war greatly bittered his life. And for all that was, his wife was not horrid in nature, just feeling lost in a land she did not understand. Feeling the weight of the offences of her kin and the desire to make good on them.

He had not made it easier for her. His marriage to Arra was easy due to history, and he did not know how to court such a complicated woman. Much less dream of a future where he subjects his wife to the fate of his last.

"I am needed at the wall." He spoke softly, rising to help her move discarded items around his son's room.

"When?" Her voice was so soft and sweet.

"I leave tomorrow at first light. I will be gone for some time, let's hope less than a month."

"You will write?" She asked, looking up at his brooding form, hardened by the years. He smiled, placing a tender kiss upon her brow. A silent seal that he will.

She scorned herself for being so petulant leading up to her husband's departure. Now that he was gone, her days were awfully lonely. She'd wish upon another spat if it meant the days did not drag on. She oversaw her duties twice over some days. She aimlessly wandered the halls twofold. Overseeing the rations more often than change could occur. She thought to sleep in her husband's chambers, but did not think he would much like the intrusion.

She saw to Rickon more, not that the boy was bothered by the attention. She enjoyed spending the extra time with him, allowing him to observe more of the world. She thought of how lonely the boy, too, must be without a sibling and contemplated whether she would ever be the one to give him one. It was sweet as it was just that, a thought. It was customary to produce an heir and a spare, but it was not the law. She was not sure Cregan even desired another child following what happened to Arra.

"Come on." She placed the boy onto the soft pelts of his bed. The boy was tired from running about the halls of their home and needed rest before the evening came.

"My lady?" She turned, her handmaid waiting at the threshold of Rickon's chambers.

"What is it?" She asked her softly, closing the door behind them.

"The seamstress has arrived."

She turned to her handmaiden, her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to recall the need for the seamstress's presence. "I did not call upon the seamstress."

"His lordship did, my lady." Her handmaiden informed her, leading her to her chambers. "The seamstress has asked us to check the fit."

Dresses adorned the expanse of her bed. Most proudly sporting the colours of House Stark, and some honouring the colours of House Lannister. They were finely crafted, an apparent difference from the usual attire of a Northern Lady. Touched with the artistry of the South but made for the North.

She damned him, for it was a sweet gesture she could not ignore. How considerate his order had been. How well he had known her taste to orchestrate such fine attire. It agitated her for reasons she did not understand, but that agitation was promptly dulled by the sweetness of his consideration.

She sighed, ensuring her chamber door closed before she lowered her dress with the help of the handmaiden. She chose the most Stark dress of them all. Blue with hints of grey and white accents. It was warm. "It is a good fit. Give my thanks to the seamstress." She uttered as the handmaiden left her to her chambers.

She stayed to evaluate each dress. She must have worked for some time to present such artistry. She tried to assess how long such work would take. When was it that her husband had made such a thoughtful gesture? Why did it make her heart sing?

She smiled to herself, feeling warmth bloom through her. Surely not from the furs. She felt lighter despite the wool's weight. She wandered about her chamber, attending to her lesser duties, for she was loath to part from the sweet moment. Parchment lay strewn upon her desk, whilst she rummaged through them. Hoping to spot a raven’s message sent by his hand.

His prediction was fruitful. It took less than a month before signs of his arrival alerted everyone to their return. She ensured the house welcomed this return. His departure surely would not be the longest time the two would be without the other. She dreaded the thought of going longer than a month. That there could come a time years would pass before he could be at her side. Though little they were parted, she could not help but wish her husband to feel welcomed. To have missed her as she missed him.

The sun began its descent before the men found themselves home. She hurried to settle Rickon, wishing to find her husband. She heard his ascent to their chambers, the tread of his feet upon the stair of the keep. In haste, she descended to meet him, careful that she did not tread upon her new attire. She languidly approached her husband, his eyes following the silhouette of the dress.

"You are a most welcome sight, wife." His voice was gruff. Perhaps laced with tiredness, perhaps truly welcomed by the sight of his wife dressed so Northernly. His hand trailed the length of her arm, feeling the warmth of the fabric.

She leaned into the touch without thought. "Truthfully?" She smiled, her voice carrying an edge of tease. "The wall had no welcome sights?"

"None as pleasant as you." He managed to huff out a small, amused laugh. There was no lie. The men at the wall were the least welcoming sight in the entirety of the realm. None harbours the softness of his wife. "How are you, wife?"

She could not deny the incessant urge to tease him. She rolled her eyes, but her voice held reluctant fondness, "Warm"

He smiled knowingly, like a man who had just won a war. He did not miss the sign of gratitude her form held now that she was lined in the fur. "Are the dresses to your taste?"

Her form was softened by the gesture, smoothing the soft fabric of her sleeves. "It is you who has to leer upon me, my husband, are they to your taste?"

He leered upon her form, wrapped in the colours of his house. Never had she appeared as much as Lady Stark as now. He appreciated the sight, especially after spending so much time with the gruffness of the men at the wall. "It could be fitted tighter."

She scoffed at his words, not expecting the undercurrent of lewdness to his tone. She could not contain the bashful smile that glossed over her features. Her stomach was growing oddly warmer. She pressed her hand to her bodice as if to contain it. "You will have to make use of your imagination until you wish it off, husband."

He slowed his strides, halting at the height of the staircase. He turned slowly with withheld desire. "Do you wish them off?" His voice held the same gruffness from before, though now she doubted it was from weariness. "Tonight, my love?"

The nickname sent sparks from her head to the tips of her toes. The warmth spread lower to the pit of her stomach. She nodded almost quickly, ashamed of how evident her need was. "They are too warm." She jested, her eyes hesitant but undoubtedly eager.

His eyes sparked, matching the eagerness of her own. His hand found its way to the small of her back, leading her to his chambers. She cursed the wools and furs once more, more intensely than ever. How dare they separate her skin from the warmth of his hand?

"How I have left desire to fester far too long, wife." He languidly pulled her into the warmth of his chambers. The hearth outlined them in a soft glow.

Her smile widened, the fire lighting the glow of her face. "You have been most cruel, husband."

The fire spluttered as the pit of the flame threatened to go out. She groaned as her husband left her side to tend to the fire. Her body was heavy as he wrung out every inch of tension and desire from her. Their coupling had lasted what she could only assume was hours.

"Husband," she tangled herself further in the sheets. "Come back to bed."

He could not stifle the laugh that bloomed at his chest, "I will return in a moment, my love."

"No. Now." The petulant answer only made him smile more. She was sweetened, tangled in the sheets and under the pelts. Her golden-spun hair wrapped around the pillows.

"We have our entire life, wife."

"But this is our first night," she lamented, pulling the furs up. There was no warmth once his Northern body left. "Let us linger in the sweetness."

He could not help the blossom of warmth beneath his breastbone. He so desperately wished to return to the warmth of his wife. He carelessly prodded at the fire, instigating it once more, before tossing the logs in. He swaddled the pelts to cover her once more, his strong form holding her from behind. He placed a gentle kiss on her brow before placing a sweeter one on the crevice of her neck.

"Forgive me, wife."

"Whatever for?" She did not turn, but rather, playing with his hand, snaked around her waist.

"You were not wrong. I did not wish for a wife."

She did not turn; she could not face such admission. But she did not feel the pit of resentment anymore. She knew this but hearing it did not feel as good as she had hoped.

He took her silence as an opportunity to continue, "Losing Arra was a painful affair. I did not wish to take a wife on and let her suffer a similar fate." He played with her hand in return, "Your father broke his oath, and I did not trust him. I thought my contempt could keep me away." He sighed, and she could practically feel him contemning himself. "It was selfish. Utterly selfish to subject you to that sort of arrangement."

She did not think it selfish, but rather an ill-placed worry that he did not know how to address. She truthfully felt no better. Not when her own stubbornness had kept good from one another for so long. His honour often kept him tied to things he wished not to do. Her pride tied her to things she could not do.

"Then I am too sorry, Cregan." She turned to face him, "For I made no attempt to ease the strain, if not worsen it."

"I expected no different from a Lannister." His words held no animosity.

"I expected more from me." She admitted reluctantly.

"You are plagued by your pride."

"And you, your honour."

He huffed out feigned annoyance. She smiled, wishing to further tease, but he did not allow her to do so. "You are infuriating at times." He teased, shaking his head, "But you will make for a wonderful wife." He spoke with affection.

She playfully scrunched her nose in feigned displeasure, "You will have to do," she jested, anticipating his roused reaction.

His eyes darkened with the jest. She smiled devilishly, relishing how easy it still was to muster a rise out of her husband. He leaned over her, pulling her body beneath his. Her eyes widened with anticipation, feeling the warmth spread once more. "Perhaps I have not convinced you of the blessings of a Northern man."

"We must have another." She urged as her husband sat behind her, sharing the warmth of the hearth.

At her chest cradled the sweetest bundle she had ever known. A Stark through and through. His eyes were as grey as his father's, and his hair was no different. She had complained on many occasions that the boy held no semblance of the features of her own house, but everyone knew her whines to be disingenuous. Pride coursed through her as the boy took after his father. The most beautiful babe the realm had ever set eyes upon.

Cregan laughed, careful not to startle the sleeping babe at your chest. "He has yet to detach from your chest. Still far from sleeping through the night."

She made a noise of complaint at his sound reasoning, "I wish for another and much more."

"Give your body some time." He ran his hand along the expanse of her spine, hand cradling his son's head, "The boys do need a sister, but not until you take your rest, my love."

The babe came quite some time later. Four moons after their first coupling, they were blessed by the Maester with the news. He thought her agitation would peak with her swelling abdomen, as he knew some women suffered through. He did not expect the sweetness that would come with her. She flourished with the babe. The happiest he had seen her since she set foot in Winterfell. How doting he had been, how vigilant his eyes. Her joy did temper the worry he bore concerning birth.

"Oh, how I love him." She claimed peppering a plethora of kisses upon her babe.

"Oh, how I love you," Cregan whispered, pressing a gentle kiss upon her temple.

In the heart of Winterfell, she finally felt the North’s silence soften into belonging. The fire sputtered, but in his arms she found a warmth that no hearth could match.

A/N: I have yet to publish a fanfic, so I hope you all enjoy it. It have not had it proofread so sorry for any mistakes. I am not quite in love with it, much less the ending, but anyway.

I do not know who drew the knight in the divider. If it is your work, please let me know so I can give you credit.

[romeinexile]

Guidelines

I welcome any requests! I mainly write for HOTD and GOT, but I've dabbled in many fandoms. Feel free to ask, and I'll let you know what I can do.

My Philosophy: I believe no topic should be too taboo to write about. It's all about how you write it.

What I Won't Write: I will not glamorize heavy topics such as:

Assault or non-consensual content

Anything harmful to children

Self-harm or suicide

Abuse portrayed as desirable

Eating disorders romanticized

The Rest: There are some things I'm simply not comfortable writing. When you submit a request, I'll let you know if it's something I can't do. If you're unsure, feel free to ask first!