#sorrowknown

[queenwasnt]

@sorrowknown sent: seeking refuge in rhaenys' company, after spying a place to sit beside her. "he's started kicking all through the night."

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A LIE for rhaenys to claim that she had not suspected rhaenyra would seek her out, rather sooner than later judging by the way she had been swarmed for conversation once she had entered the gardens, prompting rhaenys at once to keep a more vigilant eye upon her and those seeming only all too happy to invade the princess’ space, ready to step over and whisk her away with some excuse or another upon her lips should she notice rhaenyra getting overwhelmed or showing any signs of discomfort   —  in fact, she had deliberately seated herself upon a bench lined with cushions near a blossoming shrub of dahlias of varying shades of red, where the princess could easily spot her, in a spot marked by relative solitude that would allow for a moment, or two, of peace, something she knew the girl would find herself grateful for in her current condition, for, what felt like not all too long ago, rhaenys herself had been that girl. and, while, at times, the solitude had troubled her, what with her husband far away at sea, and no tidings of his well-being having reached driftmark in weeks whilst she had come closer and closer to labouring with every passing day, and a fear within her had grown ever larger that she would become mother and widow simultaneously and find herself having to raise the babe into a suitable heir to the driftmark throne alone, without corlys' guiding hand, she, too, had come to treasure every moment of peace she could find, especially in the later days of her pregnancies.

a fond smile flitted across the older targaryen woman's features as the princess approached and claimed the cushioned seat beside her, the gaze of lilac eyes momentarily dropping to the prominent swell of her belly; she was much larger compared to the last time rhaenys had seen her, mere weeks ago, and, if what she had learned from the midwives that had accompanied her through her own two pregnancies was true, that more than likely meant her grandson, her very first grandchild, would be a rather large, strapping babe.

“ my grandson seems to be of the restless sort. ” the lady of driftmark responded with a slight tilt of her head and a soft laugh sounding from her throat as her gaze followed rhenyra as she settled down beside her, “ much like his father. ” whilst laenor, before he had been born, had not made it a habit to kick through the nights, which, perhaps, she could be grateful for, he had been an active babe regardless, squirming and kicking within her womb with such ferocity as though he was trying to burst through the walls of her belly and could hardly wait to be free, a kind of restlessness he never had quite grown out of. even now, as a man grown, he still oft set his mother on edge with his, at times, reckless way of living, of seeking out the taverns of spicetown and getting into unnecessary brawls, of entering tourneys and joining lances with other knights, taking greater risks than neccessary seemingly for the sheer thrill of it, and a part of rhaenys hoped dearly that, perhaps, with him soon becoming father to his own son, he would be inclined to adopt a somewhat calmer lifestyle, to cut back on those risks before yet another of rhaenys' fears, one she did not ever dare acknowledge, yet still harboured deep inside of her, would prove well-founded and tidings of her son's death to one such frivolous thrills would one day reach her, if not for the sake of his mother's poor, worrying heart, then for his wife and the babe. his son. for rhaenyra seemed certain the child she was carrying was a boy, and rhaenys believed her, for she had trusted that same instinct with both of her own children before, and been right each time. “ how are you faring? other than this stubborn boy refusing to sleep. ”

[worthproven]

@sorrowknown sent: wringing hands together in silence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ঔঌ  ·  · 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 the world had ended for him when word of his brother's untimely death to vhagar and the raging sea near storm's end had reached him by beak of the fastest raven the rookery of dragonstone could spare to inform him of the tragic happenings during his visit in the north, where the sad tidings had found him in too merry of a position given the circumstances, given what sorrow his own family had suffered south in the meantime, guiltily indulgent, entangled with the young lord of winterfell himself after a bond developed in a short time had progressed far beyond the tales of friendship and brotherhood the histories would later speak of when mentioning jacaerys velaryon and cregan stark's time spent together in their writings, naught could've prepared him for what came after, for further tidings to arrive when the first tragedy had still felt so suffocating, a constant, painful weight bearing on jace he had, perhaps, learned to carry well over the time that had passed since he'd had to make the journey home with the aching knowledge that he would not, at least in this life, be reuniting with his closest brother, that, from this point forward, he would have to face the burdens of the world without luke's steady presence at his side, the way it always had been ever since they'd been children, to conceal before the curious eyes of the court and all those that it did not concern what he felt within, and save the moments where grief seized him so strongly in its grip for when he was alone in his chambers late at night, but that had not made it any easier, had not reduced the anguish, nor the gaping hole his brother's absence, felt as keenly as ever since his return home, had left in his chest, within a soul that had lost a part of it it had never known to exist without, and, rather, seen it grow, for how? how could he carry on when luke was not coming back, would never be coming back? even so, despite many a night spent wishing it wasn't so, that, somehow, by some great, unlikely miracle, the stranger's freezing heart might soften and he would show mercy, return his brother to him, he had hardly been prepared for the sharp blade wedged in his heart to, at last, be lifted when, one morrow, news had travelled to dragonstone that luke had survived; that the prince had been, without much doubt about his identity, spotted alive within a small fishing village bordering on the riverlands. jace nigh on had set off to fetch him himself at once then and, had it taken but one day longer for his eyes to, at last, latch upon familiar features, the queen may have had need of thick steel chains to keep the crown prince from mounting his dragon at the soonest opportunity where he could depart without being immediately spotted and risking unnecessary dispute slowing him down and reaching his brother as fast as vermax's still-young wings could carry them.

so the reunion had, ultimately, been upon dragonstone, in the very same courtyard where they had spent their childhood together, playing as young boys, training as they grew into men, preparing for the fateful journeys that nigh had seen them apart forever, and, where jace had seen the gleam of a hope he had nigh on forgotten could exist, luke had seen but a stranger standing before him when his elder brother, mindless of the subtle warnings that whom they may greet was not the same boy that had left home, only needing to see luke, had hurried out to meet him. and still saw one now. obliviation of the mind, the maesters called it, the loss of all memories that had come before what should've been luke's death within the violent waters of shipbreaker's bay. of everything, and everyone he had ever known. and not one of them, it seemed, was equipped to deal with such a rare condition, or to determine whether there was a chance of a full recovery or not, administering concoctions and herbs time and time again in the hopes they would achieve something close to improvement, regarding him helplessly as he grew overwhelmed and lashed out, withdrew from all contact and raged, begged to return to the life he must've come to know since his miraculous survival. the first handful of weeks had been particularly bad, with luke needing to be restrained more often than not, lest he would become a threat to those only wishing to help him and, more importantly, himself, and whilst the outbursts had decreased over the past moons of him settling back into the life he'd once known, the situation could still be divided into good days and bad days when being spoken of, with the latter far more frequent than the former. and today had been one of such, luke growing overwhelmed by the faces surrounding him, recognising not even mother and brother despite the recent progress made, lashing out until the maesters, helpless in their attempts to deal with something they understood so little of, had no choice but to put him to sleep with a vial of valerian root, which then, in turn, had sent jace into a rage, for he doubted his brother would find it any easier to trust any of them if they did that to him, if the new memories he associated with them consisted of colourful, bitter-tasting draughts and being restrained against his will.

𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧, there was only silence within the warm, pulsating walls of black stone that made up the great fortress, one that had haunted dragonstone ever since luke's near death, a cold, empty kind, which made the atmosphere feel something close to poisonous, suffocating at all times, as rhaenyra and jacaerys found their way down the corridor to the empty study, where he took his place by a tall window, feeling as hollowed out as the castle itself seemed in these moments whilst gazing down upon mist-veiled rocks, the shore where his brother, frequently, for reasons he had not quite managed to get out of him yet, would train for hours, and hours, from dawn to nightfall, just barely hidden behind the grey curtain of seasmoke the rain had brought with it, jaw tight, the sole indication of the turmoil raging within, beneath the surface, of barely suppressed emotions running their course, chafing at his composure, threatening to make it falter.

“ i care not for what the maesters have to say — he is improving. he is. i have seen it. ” he said after long beats of silence hanging between them, turning for his gaze to seek his mother within the room, a certain anger remaining to him about what had just transpired with the maesters, but something else showing its face too now that it was only him and rhaenyra, something that made his voice break on the next words, a slip quickly caught and rightened with a shallow inhale, “ the other day, when i told him of father, he did not withdraw. he asks questions. he seeks answers. he wants to get better. ”

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀SEEING DRAGONSTONE AGAIN should have been a relief after everything that had come to pass since their departure to king's landing to seize back the throne that never should have fallen into anyone's hands other than his mother's, should have restored at least some semblance of peace within addled, sorrowful minds, carried something welcoming, something homely, and provided them, at the very least, a temporary reprieve from the suffering they'd faced the past weeks . . . but, on from the moment of them leaving the ship that had taken them across the stretch of narrow sea between duskendale and dragonstone, and being received by the wrong people positioned at the harbour and awaiting their arrival, it had not felt like a homecoming, it had felt like a march to death and, surely, that was precisely what his uncle had in mind for them. lucerys moved as the familiar, dragon-shaped towers became ever taller with growing proximity to the high stone structures and the courtyard came into view, at least as far as the surrounding knights would allow him to stray, detaching subtly from his mother's side and shifting, instead, to aegon's, taking him into their midst, blindly reaching out, only for his younger sibling's fingers to already be grappling anxiously at his sleeve, hand soon meeting wrist, the youngest now wedged between his mother and elder brother, desperately holding onto them both with all the strength he could muster, face ashen with fear, cool fingers trembling. if he could've sprouted wings like a dragon right then and there and carried aegon to safety, he would have, but there was, frustratingly, little he could do in that moment, other than try to offer him whatever flimsy comfort he was able to offer when they were cornered by the enemy, in their own home at that. in another lifetime, he may have found himself able to cling onto whatever remaining grain of hope he could grasp that his brother would be fine, that he, at least, would be spared, for he did not pose the same threat the elder son did, posed no threat at all in those moments, given his age, and his character, and the horrors he'd endured that had seeped into every crack of his being, and showed in his behaviour, the behaviour of a withdrawn, frightened, traumatised little boy. but luke was long through with hoping — too much had happened, too much had been lost. he painfully realised then that, more than anything, he did not want his little brother to die afraid, to die alone as their other siblings had, as luke nigh had, and he, too, realised, that, despite the doubts that had still made up the majority of the journey home, despite the restless urge to be of use and the notions that he could not be of such here, he did not regret not insisting on staying behind and joining with the north as he'd suggested to rhaenyra at dun fort more fiercely, did not regret, at last, giving in to his mother's tearful pleas to accompany them home. not anymore. if this was truly the end, then they would meet it together. no more watching those close to him fall and be greeted by death, being unable to do anything to halt it from swallowing them whole, no more hearing tidings that would split his chest wide open and leave a gaping hole for which there was no mending, even as the days bled into weeks and the moons turned — a kind of pain endured so many times by now, a kind of excruciating, everlasting pain still embedded so fiercely in his soul and body that he was not sure he would survive bearing witness to such loss another time, and, at least, if they were together in this, he would not have to.

and so he kept his brother close, a gesture of protection that did not last long when his mother and he were violently ripped from aegon and brought before the usurper on the balcony and a dragon that did not look as though he would survive the day, or even the next hour. when the knight that had hold of her, broome, then brought his dagger to his mother's middle, when he caught but the vague gleam of its sharp tip as it caught in the bodice of her dress, he moved at once, without thought, urged forward by a wild, raging flame of fury igniting somewhere deep within him and spreading rapidly and an underlying fear of what the man may do if he was not stopped at once, breaking free from the hold the knights had on his limbs; neither they, nor broome, could have expected it, and it showed in his startled reaction, one that sent the dagger tumbling between them when they collided. it never hit the ground. for but a split second, luke held the dagger, which was plenty enough to do what he did best, what he'd done before and the consequence of which could've meant his death, but had not; slash at the threat before him, cause damage. the blade was yanked from his grip and clattered to the ground in the same moment broome's agonised howl filled the courtyard, echoing off damp brick, rousing sunfyre where the injured dragon lay, drawing him closer to the scene, the first time since their arrival that he had seemed to show an interest in what was happening before him.

lucerys rejoined his mother's side, restrained once more by the father and son, who each had tightened their grip now to limit his movement, as the other one curled into himself, fingers gripping his face, thick drops of crimson dripping between them, pooling on cobbled stone by his feet, trying, to no avail, hold together what remained of his face where a deep gash now ran from jaw to forehead, splitting skin so far that white bone lay revealed beneath the mess of serrated flesh; the eye on that side, however, despite all odds, intact. a fate his now dead uncle only could have wished for. and sunfyre moved ever closer.

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THE ARRIVAL OF A QUEEN and her retinue at harrenhal's gates that morrow had neither been announced, nor something that could have possibly been predicted, and his men had found themselves vastly, and understandably, given the circumstances, overwhelmed with the situation, thus quickly sending for their lord to be called down to the scene which had brought forth such confusion and tumult.

had the woman not wept then, when he had stepped past the guards posted at the gates and addressed her, locked eyes with a stranger he soon would learn was not one, had it not been for the brief glance across his shoulder to where his father had stood a little ways back, unseen by everybody else, and the nod of his head tearing through his doubts, he would not even have believed that she could possibly be his mother — for very similar reasons that they had oft faced such judgement and insult in a childhood now forgotten. her silver hair, her lilac eyes, so unlike the brown locks and dark eyes he saw when he gazed upon a mirror. he looked most like harwin, a fact he himself could see, a fact so obvious that even when he had been unknown to many, his true name and identity forgotten and thereby never shared with anybody else, it had drawn attention, enough so that a path of lasting uncertainty had ultimately led to lordship over harrenhal. but, and perhaps ironically, it was harwin himself who had always said otherwise, always seen someone else in his features.

the party had been welcomed in then, and noan luke had taken his mother to the godswood, away from eyes and ears this did not concern, walking along the thin stream where the water appeared black and past the weirwood tree with its grim, resentful face. though, in another life, he may have been raised to worship the seven, though his departure may have included a vow to those very gods, he was not much of a religious man now. he knew no faith, only survival, and had for the longest time, for as long as he could remember, although he knew that there had been a before. before the fishing village, before harrenhal, before all of it, and apparently he was walking with a very significant piece of that forgotten past now. his own mother.

“ he oft tells me that i look like my mother. ” the silence was broken by his voice after a moment, knowing he was taking a risk by sharing with her that he could see and converse with the apparition of the deceased harwin strong ( and he was not the only, merely the one seen most frequently ), but who could he share this with if not his own mother? perhaps, given that fact, she could find it in herself to not declare him as someone who has clearly been seized by madness on the spot. even now, he could not see it, as his gaze shifted to the woman walking at his side again, took in her valyrian features, a brightness to it all that formed a stark contrast to everything else here, that felt nigh out of place in a place so dark.

“ harwin. he never told me of you, but that may be mine own fault, for i never asked. ” why, he was not sure now. perhaps knowing his father, at last, had been enough, perhaps, having finally found a place for himself, one with a tie to his father and thus his past, he had decided to stop caring, much less looking, for anything else linked to it, perhaps fearful of what he may find and how very different it may be to what he had come to know.

a pause ensued as feet gradually slowed to a halt at the black stream's edge, a certain hesitancy felt, before, finally, he spoke again, “ skorkydoso gaomagon nyke gīmigon bisa udrir? ” ( how do i know this language? )

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀THE MORROW HAD NOT YET fully unfolded, sinuous curtains of seasmoke that had risen up the cliffside throughout the night still thick and damp in the air upon the castle grounds, but the murky crimson glow that illuminated the mists hinted at sunlight appearing somewhere far upon the not yet visible horizon with the rising of it, with the promise of what may be a sunny day. perhaps a good day even, and it felt at least like something close to one as arrax found his way to him as soon as he stepped out from between the warm rocks where the dragons dwelled, approaching outstretched hand with all too familiar sounds of affection leaving his throat, soon nudging the side of a large head against his chest with all the care a creature like him, and of that size, could muster, lest he would knock him over, so far now from the hatchling he once had been, tucked under a younger lucerys' arm once he'd quickly outgrown his palm or perched upon his shoulders. a bond forged in the cradle, always strong, possibly stronger than ever now after what the two of them had been through. many a night had been spent by his injured dragon's side, mindless of his own wounds, even upon their return to dragonstone, seeking the only thing that had been familiar, that had posed a certain comfort to him, whilst struggling with the worst of the memory loss the fall had caused. once, much to the dismay of the handlers, arrax had escaped his chains and taken down a good portion of the garden with his large body when seeking the closeness to his rider near the windows to his chambers. as his gaze shifted slightly, lucerys saw what he already knew, that his torn up wing had healed nicely since their return home, albeit scarring would remain forever in form of wide fissures in a once unmarred hide that would grow with the wing as he became larger, all too visible markings of what they both had endured, had survived, but at least it no longer hindered him from flying.

the ground shook with syrax's emerging, his head moving, eyes briefly regarding the golden she-dragon as she took in her son, whose head still was lowered to his rider as a palm stroked the rough hide of his neck, where pearlescent white and golden merged into one another upon his scales, though he felt the noises arrax was making now were means of communication directed at his mother, before they settled upon his own mother appearing at his side, mouth curving upwards slightly, a small smile somehow coming easier to his features this morrow than on most days, “ īlon issi gaomagon. ” ( we are ready. )

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ HIS UNCLE HAD A WAY OF IGNORING that which he did not wish to plague his thoughts with — a way that, time and time again, proved more than effective. and lucerys, when the letter from king's landing had arrived with further tidings of his father's decreasing health, this time composed in a tone that had given away just how close to the end of his life the king must be, had tried to do the same, he truly had — what did it concern him if the father who never had wanted him, at last, fell into the hands of the stranger, something he, they all, had known was coming for many moons now, ever since his mother first had reached out to oldtown by raven to share with son and brother the news of her husband's rapidly waning health?

but he soon found that he could not. if his father truly was meeting the stranger soon, then he wanted to see it — why, he was not certain. perhaps to see for himself that the man who had seen him sent away from home was truly withering, would be gone soon, as he had pictured many a times, or, perhaps, to finally exchange the words with him that had been lingering on his mind since he had been just a boy, since the last time he had seen him, before it was too late to say much to him at all. and so, two days after the arrival of the last letter in oldtown, lucerys had set off to king's landing on dragonback, not bothering to pen a response that would not arrive any sooner than he would.

he felt the difference nigh as soon as he dismounted his dragon, arrax, upon reaching king's landing — in oldtown, he was received with kindness, welcome, could as much as step into the street and at once be approached by the familiar, grinning faces of knights he trained with, had known since childhood, had grown up with in some cases, of ladies who would stop to watch the training sessions and linger to chat with knights and prince after, cheeks tinted rosy. here, in the capital, upon the grounds of the red keep in particular, the easy warmth of oldtown felt far away, was replaced by a chill he was all too familiar with — had felt when he last had walked these paths, nigh two decades ago, into an exile that did not feel like one, not really what with what life in oldtown was like, surely better than what he would have experienced here, save for the separation from his brothers, but that never must have been anything else for his father, one that still sat heavy and palpable in his chest whenever he allowed his thoughts to drift. here, it was clear he was perceived as what he was; the banished son, though that word never had been used in reference to his fate by those responsible, the troubled one, who'd been sent away, for he, already at a young age, had proven too much for the king and queen to deal with, thus had been better off elsewhere. even arrax did not like it here, had voiced that much during their descend, and, had it not been for the familiar calls of vermax and tyraxes sensing his presence, he surely would've resisted being led to the pit more.

his father's household bowed to him, offered the respect and courtesy that was due when facing a prince of the realm, the second in line to the throne ( provided his father ever decided to acknowledge the sons he had sired as worthy heirs ), but he could see how their gazes lingered when they felt as though he was not paying attention; how they took him in, let their gazes dwell upon his eye, especially the older ones, who had already been here when he had left, a boy then, still with a gaping, only days old injury draped in cloth that had required changing every few hours when it had bled through, his father clearly having wasted no time in ridding himself off him.

in light of the news, lucerys should have expected the sight that greeted him when he reached the upstairs of maegor's holdfast where his father lay dying, but it still made his steps slow when his gaze set upon his half-sister, accompanied by a maester, “ i have arrived too early, it seems. ”

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THE DAY HAD COME — the day where a queen would replace an usurper on the throne and take back what rightfully was hers, and had been all along, even when it unashamedly had been stolen from her by her own kin, the day where, perhaps, a raging war would, at last, reach an end, though there was no denying that it would be difficult, that it would take time before peace could properly be restored within a realm split in half, marked by bloodshed and destruction. but, if a queen sat the throne destined for her by day's end, they at least had a chance of bringing it to an end, if slowly, an opportunity to bring forth a new reign and, with it, the beginnings of a new realm, even if it would not lessen the losses they'd suffered throughout this needless war, one of which was felt most prominently now, the gap jace's lack of presence caused beside him painfully palpable to luke in every moment. the last time he had taken off upon dragonback for battle, he had been with him, they had left together, but only luke had returned in the end, the morrow of the day afterwards, injured, though not fatally, but bearing the weight of a grief that would haunt him until the end of his days. now here he stood as the new heir to the throne they would seize back today, heart heavy, driven forward by the same furious determination that had guided him through the tragedy, made him and his dragon feared names across the realm, though none of his anger, none of what he had done that day could have brought his brother back, and given him the strength to endure not only the battle that had raged for long hours, but the aftermath as well.

despite the severity of the situation, the graveness of what they were facing, his stepfather had seemed nothing short of thrilled all morrow, to the point where he nigh had been insufferable to be in the same room with — a moment of quiet only had come when he had mounted his dragon and taken off towards the sky first, but only for a brief moment, for caraxes had soared up towards the sunlight reflecting off the black rocks of the mountains of dragonstone with a rumbling roar that had shaken the earth beneath their feet, the vibrations still palpable now, moments later.

dark eyes peeled away from the crimson blotch rising higher in the sky, circling above, and shifted to grey ghost, waiting at a distance for his rider, saddled for a change, but only because luke had been present for it early that morrow, the only time where he seemed to allow it — a large head moved and the gaze of silver eyes drifted his way. it did not take being a targaryen to understand the look in the beast's eyes: he did not like that red menace very much. and, truly, he could not blame him.

when his mother moved to climb aback her own waiting mount, lucerys, too, set feet into motion, glancing over to the rhaenyra as he uttered, “ are you certain we did not make a mistake, bringing him? ” a subtle gesture was made towards the red dragon and his rider circling above them, waiting — impatiently, if he had to guess, knowing what he knew of daemon.

[waveswallowed]

a wholesome starter for @sorrowknown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ IT HAD BEEN SOME TIME since he'd last seen king's landing — his initial departure nigh two years ago now had been a reluctant one, one lucerys had put off for as long as possible since his mother's ascension to the throne that was rightfully her own. only when he could be certain that his mother would be in good hands with a council of truly loyal lords and ladies sworn to her, and would not only be accepted, but respected by the remaining realm, and a state of peace that seemed to have intentions to last had settled over the land once again, though it had taken some time, did he decide to settle in dragonstone with his wife, rhaena, permanently, or, at least, until he would inherit the throne from rhaenyra upon her passing — a day that, hopefully, still laid far in the future. where visits had been quite frequent in the beginning days, what with king's landing only a short distance away on dragonback, they, with the arrival of a new addition to the family, and, with it, the arrival of new responsibilities and the surfacing difficulties of travelling with a small babe, had decreased over the past year, the last one now several moons in the past. so all the more thrilling was it now to be back here, to see his mother again, even if the initial meeting had been brief, the queen allowing them to first get settled in their chambers before they could all share supper together outdoors — and, in their chambers, rhaena had remained, more worn by the journey, albeit brief, even by ship, than expected, an exhaustion she, with a fond, tired smile and a hand resting on her middle, had lightheartedly blamed on the new babe growing in her belly, a fact they had only learned of weeks ago and intended to share with the queen during their stay in the capital, before lucerys had left the room with their daughter, allowing his wife to find some much-needed rest.

little jacaera, just short of her first nameday, clung to her father's neck now as he walked the lengthy path winding through the gardens with her propped against his side, gazing up at the world in wonder, pointing at the blossoming tree crowns above their heads whenever something of interest caught her eye, “ kepa, kepa— ” he nodded at her enthusiasm, a fond smile pulling up lips as his gaze elevated and followed a chubby finger upwards to the trees and the plump red fruit hanging between the green leaves, “ yes, apples. prūbresse. ”

luke soon enough found his mother waiting by a richly set table near the part of the gardens that overlooked the blackwater rush just beyond the walls encasing the keep, coming to a halt with a smile, “ somebody wanted to see you. ”

his daughter's squirming against in his arms told him all he needed to know about her excitement to see her grandmother again and he set her down, her first eager step a wobbly one that sent her staggering and half-falling, little hands grappling her father's trouser leg to straighten herself as his palm came to rest at the back of a head full of dark curls. she managed and, at once, the little girl who only recently had begun walking, toddled over the trimmed grass, her little legs moving faster than they were able to stay steady, causing her to falter again and drop to her knees, catching herself on her hands, but, like everybody else who bore the blood of the dragon in their veins, she was adamant by nature, and quickly rose again, without any help, and crossed the last of the small distance, promptly hugging the queen's skirts, partially to save herself from another stumble.