the fury

jocelyn baratheon. queen of the crownlands.

[thestormprincess]

d a e m o n

♚

the great sept of baelor had been graced with the first vows uttered within its newly built walls since it saw the first of the flames; kings landing had celebrated for three long days, with endless tourneys, feasts, and multiple balls. multiple dignatires from varied allied kingdoms had travelled to the southern tip of kings landing, as well as other representatives from across the narrow sea. and whilst the dragon king was hardly the type to thrive in such levels of social celebration, he was happy. the slight glint in his violet gaze at the sight of the woman he called wife, and his queen, would be a sure enough sign to those who knew him well enough to know he was beyond content with such a match. 

for this was about more than simply politics to the man; as it had been, for the multitude of years he had known the quiet wit of the storm princess; even when the dance of dragons called their families onto separate sides of a reckoning. “it consisted of persuading rowan arryn to put aside his personal feelings regarding the ironborn for the sake of pulling them into the alliance.” he spoke, his tone low as he absentmindedly helped her undo her curls, setting aisde the pin. “for a while i thought i’d have better luck speaking to a wall.” he spoke, the jest obvious in his voice. “but the matter seems to be settled, for now at least.” 

“is that so?” he asked, laying back on their bed, his orbs fixed on her; though his tone seemed relaxed, the concern in his orbs gave his concern away. he was one to not worry unless there was something to worry about; still, it was enough to cause the small voices of anxiety in his head to speak to him of illness, of loss, of death. “why is that?” he asked, keeing his hand on her lower back.

in many ways being king of the crownlands allowed for fewer responsibilities overall, fewer interpersonal negotiations between each of the kingdoms, but jocelyn thought that in other ways it gave her husband even more to do. he — with her help — was entrusted with building up a kingdom that had previously only supported the capital. between alliances and economics, she expected that he would become stretched quite thin. 

a light hum escaped from her lips at daemon’s comment and she allowed herself a small chuckle. one hand reached back to hold onto his own before she turned and the queen of the crownlands bestowed upon her husband a smile that could only be described as fond. “it would make sense,” she murmured carefully, though she had already told the dragon king such before. “with the westerlands allied with the reach, the ironborn would be invaluable allied to us; it would, at the very least, perhaps, keep those kingdoms honest.” 

jocelyn was not nervous about telling daemon her news; in truth, she thought he would be rather delighted. but she was nervous, if only because it still felt so new to her. lips curved and her eyes met daemon’s violet ones as she squeezed his hand. “there is nothing the matter,” she assured him as her free hand moved down to press over her abdomen. “unless you consider a babe in dragonstone to be a hindrance.”

[thestormprincess]

@daemonntargaryens​

it had become easy to get used to how others addressed her after her marriage — your grace — but jocelyn had found it difficult to think about how she should address herself. she was neither a storm princess nor a dragon queen and yet at times she had to be both. such thoughts did not entirely occupy her mind, however, for jocelyn had thrown herself into her duties as queen of the crownlands since her marriage to daemon. many sought her favor now, some of whom had laughed behind her back for years.

here, in the confines of their bedchambers, she was simply daemon’s wife. and, at times, she thought she preferred that title best of all.

she was quiet, uncharacteristically so, as she sat on the bed next to the man she called husband. just looking at him enthralled her, for she had waited for so long to call him her own. they had few opportunities to be alone here in white harbor, where northerners were rampant and talks of alliances were necessities.

"how were your meetings today, husband?” she inquired as she undid the pins that held her hair up in the southern fashions she preferred. it was quiet for another moment.

“i saw the maester earlier,” she finally offered, eyes flicking up.

[thestormprincess]

s t e f f o n

.

truthfully, steffon cannot remember the last time he had a quiet moment with his sister, his twin. the two had shared a womb and yet, their bond had become strained. it is one that could never truly be broken, though, and for that the prince is grateful. now more than ever, he needs people to lean on. the baratheon feels as though the weight of the world has come crashing down on him.

the man nods along to her words and as usual, before he can think, he speaks. “and after the wedding? will i be alone then?” he wants his sister to be happy but he also doesn’t want to lose her either. his abandonment issues are on full display as he stares at her intensely, his eyes pleading.

—

will i be alone? 

jocelyn found herself unsure of how to answer her brother’s question. on the surface, well, it seemed quite obvious that he would be alone, for she would make her home in the crownlands. but she knew that he did not wish to be left behind, though it had always been steffon who would be the next storm king after their father. she paused, briefly, her eyes soft even as her words were likely not what he wished to hear.

“you have others you can depend on, steffon,” jocelyn said carefully, quietly, her eyes locking onto her brother. “and while i will always come to your aid if i am able, my loyalty must be to my husband and to my people. i will always be a princess of storm’s end, but being queen of the crownlands will supersede that.”

[markantonys]

L’ALLIEVA | 3x12

[daemonntargaryens]

@thestormprincess

[thestormprincess]

@stcrmprince

it was rare that the baratheon siblings had been able to spend time together freely, without being encumbered by the presence of others. in recent weeks it had become worse, with so many courtiers and bannermen wanting insight and direction given the current political upheaval going on. 

it was so busy that jocelyn did not even feel as if she was fully able to mourn the loss of their father. oh, he was still there for now, but he would never look at her and know her face and her name again. that was something jocelyn would have to worry about later, however, as she currently sat in steffon’s solar, her expression mostly placid as she sipped at a goblet of wine. 

“what do you need from me?” she inquired, her head tilted to the side. “i want to be as helpful as i can before the wedding, steffon; you are not in this alone, of course.”

[thestormprincess]

d a e m o n

“a coward?” he echoed her comment, his voice in low disbelief as the renmants of a husky chuckle slipped from his mouth; in another moment, perhaps he would struggle to find anything to try and lighten up about in the aftermath of another attack that could easily have stemmed back to the twisted roots and rivers of the tully king. though, perhaps it was the unlikelihood of hearing a baratheon claim themselves a coward, or perhaps it was simply because daemon was reaching the point where he felt as though his being in this existence could cease at any given moment, not considering the upcoming battles on the vale’s borders. if there was one thing daemon would regret should he find himself facing the gods earlier than he could ever have guessed at the beginning of this long journey ten years ago, it would be not remembering the happy elements of life; the memories, the laughter, the companionship of those closest to him, people he considered brothers and sisters in another life.

no, a coward jocelyn baratheon was not; she had silently carried herself through the attack, listening to instructions and undertaking the tasks that required her to push herself to her limits with a courage of a man on the battlefield. daemon had took silent notice of the fact that, despite knowing he was in her presence, and knowing he would reach out to help her navigate through the crevices of the burning building and climbing along the outside of a building, she did not ask him or another man in that room for help; not once. “you’re no coward; we both know that.” he spoke, his tone warm and reassuring, warmer than usual as he slowed his pace, allowing for her to momentarily pause in her tracks and collect herself, his hand resting gently on the curve of her neck as she took a few moments to collect her thoughts following the traumatic events of the night. 

unspoken words; they were words that were close to being spoken the night he heard news the baratheons had declared green, a night that jocelyn herself was due to return to storms end as her wardship under rhaenyra targaryen had come to a final, sudden close. despite that night being over ten years ago, it almost felt as though it had only occurred yesterday; he still was able to close his eyes and remember his mother’s rage, the slight crack in jocelyn’s voice as she asked what was happening, and the pain he felt coming up his throat as he told her it was time for her to return home. “it is, and always has been, a matter about time. either too late, or too soon.” he spoke fondly, knowing that he soon would take the measures to correct the time they had lost over the years, once enough work had been done to ensure the crownlands were a suitable candidate for a match. there was already an economical partnership there; to secure it further in marriage made sense, and it was something daemon targaryen wished to do. “the time will soon be right. i know it.”

—

the look she fixed him with was best described as tremulous, the storm princess a maelstrom of emotion, of what ifs and wandering thoughts few could piece together. when they paused, her posture softened, unwilling to act as armor when the possibilities of the evening’s ending so heavily pervaded her thoughts. “perhaps you are right, though i have found that my nightmares are plagued more with what did not occur than what did.” her fingers shook, even as they rested along the dragon king’s forearm. “i wonder too much about things i cannot change. and tonight . . . if you had fallen and not survived. i am not certain i could have borne it.” ( she might never have forgiven herself for her inaction, though perhaps it was not her place to be forgiven, for she was but a woman who had been used as a pawn in the games of men. )

jocelyn’s breath hitched as his hand rested along her neck; her own fingers lifted from his forearm to press against his chest, feeling the beating of his heart underneath her skin as her eyes remained upon daemon’s. the next words flowed from her lips freely, as if she said them often, though it was the first time they would move past her lips, her tone alone giving them weight. “i would not love you so if you were impulsive and prone to flights of fancy,” she acknowledged, lips quirked at the corners. the hallway surrounding them was silent, darkened save for the torches along the stone walls, her confession for daemon’s ears alone.

the time will soon be right. to some the words would seem tenuous at best, a phrase of placation. but coming from daemon targaryen’s lips, they were telling. he would not give her hope when there was none to be had and though now was not the time to press upon his plans further, jocelyn could not contain the smile — genuine, filled with a joy that reached her eyes if only for a moment — that grew on her face.

“we are a good match. i know the crownlands; your mother taught me well what was expected of me there.” her words were facts, said with little fanfare, for she knew that daemon knew them to be as true as she did. ( from an early age, jocelyn had been taught to be a queen of the seven kingdoms, with a long tenure as a princess of dragonstone before daemon’s eventual reign, and even now she could not fathom another taking her place at his side. )

“i told you moons ago that i would wait,.” jocelyn exhaled slowly as she thought of the night his sister had returned from the dead. “that has not changed, daemon.” her lips twisted — some might call it a smile, others would see a smirk. “so long as you want me, i am yours.”

[thestormprincess]

r a v e l l a

@thestormprincess​

ravella arryn knew nothing of love, or attachment; besides the deep rooted love she shared for each of her siblings, even those she loved the most were held at a comfortable distance from the woman who enjoyed her company. and so, when the princess of the vale accompanied her courtiers to send farewell to the men marching further into the mountain range, due west toward the land of rivers, she noticed the crestfallen look that seemed to spread across her close friend jocelyn baratheon’s dark features.

the woman would not pretend to understand, or try to feel what the woman must be feeling, to be saying farewell to her newly betrothed; it must be the same sense of worries her own sister rosalyn felt whilst watching her newly wedded husband lead his men into battle. the only concern ravella felt was for the knights of the vale; more importantly, her brothers.

it had been a few days since that early morning, and the woman had ensured to clearly time in her schedule to meet with her old friend - before responsibilities caught up with the soon to be targaryen queen. as her presence was announced by the pageboys of the ravella’s audience chamber, the woman stood to greet her friend by the door, giving her an uncharacteristically warm hug. she did not feel pity for the woman, as she knew jocelyn could handle herself; still, her brother, her uncle and her betrothed had all ridden out to war once again - leaving her behind in a home that was not her own.

“you look well.” ravella reassured the woman, keeping a hand on her arm. “are you?”

she did not belong in the vale. the words reverberated inside jocelyn’s head as the days passed, each more listless than the one before. it seemed as if the entirety of the eyrie was waiting to hear news of the battle, of the attempt to take down the river king and what armies he could muster. she felt alone in a way she had not before: there was no kin to her here, save for steffon’s bastard, of course, and jocelyn found she did not crave the targaryen princesses’ company in the way she might have years before. they had chosen their paths and it was difficult for jocelyn to move past the harsh words on their way to the vale.

( try as she might, the future queen of the crownlands had been unable to keep emotion entirely out of her countenance the morning daemon had left. they had come so far already and the thought of being parted so soon had not sat well in the deep pit of her abdomen. )

and yet there were few she trusted so well as ravella arryn. the other woman had long been her closest friend and deepest ally. as she walked into the other woman’s chambers, her own visage became open, more raw than she would allow the others to see. she clung to her friend tightly before she pulled back and attempted a semblance of a smile.

“i worry,” she admitted frankly, openly. “for daemon, of course, but also for myself. whatever would happen to me now if he does not return?” a wan smile flickered. “and what of you? are you well, ravella?”

[thestormprincess]

m e l l a r a

there was no winning this. mellara could see that now.

on one hand, she could deny everything jocelyn was accusing her of. tell her that she was simply imagining things and that her dear brother was not the father? but what then. it seemed clear to her that jocelyn was already convinced of her son’s parentage. denying it might only make her more upset with her than she already was.

or course she could just admit everything right then and there. tell her she was correct and her twin was the father of lucian. but after all this time of keeping it a secret this was not how she wanted to tell anyone. she wanted it to be special. she wanted it to be steffan first. he deserved to know from her, not from his sister. and what if she knew and something terrible happened to luc?

truly there was no way she could come out ontop of this all.

“do not take it personally your highness, i’ve found i can barely let my son out of my sight without feeling a horrible feeling of dread.” she didn’t think that jocelyn would really do anything to harm her nephew. or at least she hoped she wouldn’t.

there was no sense in playing the fool now when it was going to get her nowhere. it would only cause more damage. and maybe word would get back to steff before she even had a chance to explain herself. explain why she did what she had done.

“let us talk away a little more in private.” mellara nodded towards a small garden that lay off the path they had met on. if they were going to discuss this then she needed to be sure no one else was listening. once they were away from the main path mel tried to find her voice. but it caught in her throat as she tried to speak.

even her own body did not wish for her to spill the secret.

“no one else has ever made the connection before. no one else looked at lucian and saw anything but his mother’s looks.” the tully sighed. looking at luc she knew people only saw a bastard child. a mistake. they did not look any further beyond that.

“please, you cannot tell your brother. at least not yet. i…i want to speak with him first.”

—

a light hum escaped jocelyn’s lips. she supposed she would be just as protective with any son that she were to be blessed with. ( on occasion she would think of him, of a son with silver hair and eyes of baratheon blue, the color of the water in shipbreaker bay on a peaceful summer afternoon. ) “well one can hardly accuse you of not caring for the boy,” jocelyn said carefully.

the baratheon had always been rather blunt, though she had learned tact with ease. now, however, she was not acting with the careful consideration that she might normally take refuge in. her fury was icy rather than flaming, a coldness to it that ran so deep few had ever seen it.

that the storm princess followed mellara was only because she also saw the importance of discretion when it came to such subjects. “of course; we would not wish to be overheard.” her back remained straight, attention on the other woman while still keeping alert for any to intrude upon their conversation. “many babes look like their mothers when they are born,” she remarked carefully. “it is only when they grow that they begin to show other attributes.” jocelyn paused, carefully, before speaking again, her voice matter-of-fact. “but he is no fish. you raise a stag, the son of a future king of the stormlands, as a bastard.”

a brow arched at the other woman’s request, though perhaps it was more a plea than anything else. in this jocelyn knew she held more cards than the riverlands princess — or her bastard. “and why should i trust you to tell him at all?” she inquired curiously, her eyes narrowed as she considered the tully woman and her son — jocelyn’s nephew, though she could hardly claim him as such. “this folly is of your own making; it is much too late for steffon to marry you and legitimize the child now. if you’d been honest, you needn’t have had the whispers following you and the boy.”

[thestormprincess]

d a e m o n

.

“a coward?” he echoed her comment, his voice in low disbelief as the renmants of a husky chuckle slipped from his mouth; in another moment, perhaps he would struggle to find anything to try and lighten up about in the aftermath of another attack that could easily have stemmed back to the twisted roots and rivers of the tully king. though, perhaps it was the unlikelihood of hearing a baratheon claim themselves a coward, or perhaps it was simply because daemon was reaching the point where he felt as though his being in this existence could cease at any given moment, not considering the upcoming battles on the vale’s borders. if there was one thing daemon would regret should he find himself facing the gods earlier than he could ever have guessed at the beginning of this long journey ten years ago, it would be not remembering the happy elements of life; the memories, the laughter, the companionship of those closest to him, people he considered brothers and sisters in another life.

no, a coward jocelyn baratheon was not; she had silently carried herself through the attack, listening to instructions and undertaking the tasks that required her to push herself to her limits with a courage of a man on the battlefield. daemon had took silent notice of the fact that, despite knowing he was in her presence, and knowing he would reach out to help her navigate through the crevices of the burning building and climbing along the outside of a building, she did not ask him or another man in that room for help; not once. “you’re no coward; we both know that.” he spoke, his tone warm and reassuring, warmer than usual as he slowed his pace, allowing for her to momentarily pause in her tracks and collect herself, his hand resting gently on the curve of her neck as she took a few moments to collect her thoughts following the traumatic events of the night.

unspoken words; they were words that were close to being spoken the night he heard news the baratheons had declared green, a night that jocelyn herself was due to return to storms end as her wardship under rhaenyra targaryen had come to a final, sudden close. despite that night being over ten years ago, it almost felt as though it had only occurred yesterday; he still was able to close his eyes and remember his mother’s rage, the slight crack in jocelyn’s voice as she asked what was happening, and the pain he felt coming up his throat as he told her it was time for her to return home. “it is, and always has been, a matter about time. either too late, or too soon.” he spoke fondly, knowing that he soon would take the measures to correct the time they had lost over the years, once enough work had been done to ensure the crownlands were a suitable candidate for a match. there was already an economical partnership there; to secure it further in marriage made sense, and it was something daemon targaryen wished to do. “the time will soon be right. i know it.”

the look she fixed him with was best described as tremulous, the storm princess a maelstrom of emotion, of what ifs and wandering thoughts few could piece together. when they paused, her posture softened, unwilling to act as armor when the possibilities of the evening’s ending so heavily pervaded her thoughts. “perhaps you are right, though i have found that my nightmares are plagued more with what did not occur than what did.” her fingers shook, even as they rested along the dragon king’s forearm. “i wonder too much about things i cannot change. and tonight . . . if you had fallen and not survived. i am not certain i could have borne it.” ( she might never have forgiven herself for her inaction, though perhaps it was not her place to be forgiven, for she was but a woman who had been used as a pawn in the games of men. )

jocelyn’s breath hitched as his hand rested along her neck; her own fingers lifted from his forearm to press against his chest, feeling the beating of his heart underneath her skin as her eyes remained upon daemon’s. the next words flowed from her lips freely, as if she said them often, though it was the first time they would move past her lips, her tone alone giving them weight. “i would not love you so if you were impulsive and prone to flights of fancy,” she acknowledged, lips quirked at the corners. the hallway surrounding them was silent, darkened save for the torches along the stone walls, her confession for daemon’s ears alone.

the time will soon be right. to some the words would seem tenuous at best, a phrase of placation. but coming from daemon targaryen’s lips, they were telling. he would not give her hope when there was none to be had and though now was not the time to press upon his plans further, jocelyn could not contain the smile — genuine, filled with a joy that reached her eyes if only for a moment — that grew on her face.

“we are a good match. i know the crownlands; your mother taught me well what was expected of me there.” her words were facts, said with little fanfare, for she knew that daemon knew them to be as true as she did. ( from an early age, jocelyn had been taught to be a queen of the seven kingdoms, with a long tenure as a princess of dragonstone before daemon’s eventual reign, and even now she could not fathom another taking her place at his side. )

“i told you moons ago that i would wait,.” jocelyn exhaled slowly as she thought of the night his sister had returned from the dead. “that has not changed, daemon.” her lips twisted — some might call it a smile, others would see a smirk. “so long as you want me, i am yours.”

[daemonntargaryens]

BETROTHAL ANNOUNCEMENT: @thestormprincess

king daemon of house targaryen is to officially wed princess jocelyn of house baratheon, graciously accepted by king lyonel and queen floris of house baratheon. 

[thestormprincess]

d a e m o n

how many more of these dreaded nights must daemon targaryen ensue? the journey back to the eyrie from the gates of the moon had been a sombre, silent affair; the harsh winds of the mountain causing each man and woman to shudder, due the sudden drop in temperature as well as the events of a night that was supposed to be a night of enjoyment for many. the targaryen knew better than to expect fun from the night; he did not attend the event with the purpose of having a fun time, but to collect the rumoured secret regarding the river king; alas, he had heard nothing as of yet, to his silent fury. what was all this for? the curse of a crown, a crown that was too stained with the blood of westeros to ever make it gleam in the sunlight it once did. to rise from the ashes was a dragon’s job, and yet daemon targaryen found his thoughts going down an increasingly dark path. how many near death experiences could one experience, how many strokes of luck may someone get away with before they are extinguished like a candle to a flame? only to leave behind the beginnings of a rule he planned to be just and progressive; his kingdom was supposed to rise from the ashes.

he had a crown, but he had no heir, or at least no heir he had publicly considered his own. he had sisters, and whilst he loved them both, neither of them fit with the legacy he wished to entail for their beloved crownlands; small lands, but historic in nature, filled with hardworking people that still trusted him enough to be king; and that was good enough. “of course.” daemon replied, his voice low as she approached him once they entered through the iron gates of the eyrie; flickering his gaze upward, he noticed the candles on in some of the chambers of the nobles that had not chosen to attend. after all that had occurred, all that the baratheon and the targaryen had experienced on a ledge, clinging on for dear life, the last thing he would do is allow her to walk alone back to her chambers. 

jocelyn baratheon was always going to be a touchy subject for daemon; regardless of however many years had gone by, or where their paths had crossed. she reminded him of a time where things were much simpler, where there remained the pressure of a crown however that came with six, resource-filled regions that helped keep the realm moving naturally. she was somewhat stubborn in her youth, perhaps the perfect companion for his youngest sister caerella as she spent summers at dragonstone, whilst rhaenyra herself oversaw the possibility of a match between the baratheon lady and her own son. things changed; and rapidly. all of a sudden jocelyn had become another ghost in his memories of dragonstone, her curious blue orbs and inquisitive gaze seemed lost to time. the man had put off the prospect of marriage for a long time, wishing to focus on consolidating his rule and ensure all threats facing him were stamped out before involving an innocent in his mess; there was no question regarding who the dragon king would see as his best fit for queen consort, though it was his stubbornness that ensured they kept things a respectable, appropriate distance until it was safe enough to consider the possibility of marriage. the dance of dragons had taught many things to the young, impressionable daemon targaryen; however most of it all it taught him it was always the most innocent that got caught up in the worst of war.

her hands seemed somewhat shaky as she clutched them at the front of her torso, her body language closed and clearly shaken regarding the events of the night; considering her bold, sometimes even brazen nature, daemon knew it took much for the baratheon princess to allow herself to seem visibly shaken, not only to him but to all the servants and maids that glanced at them with worried orbs. the man silently placed his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze for a brief moment. “you’re fine, jo.” he reassured her, his tone gentle; how he silently thanked the gods for it.

she had been fearful in the moment, though that fear had been pushed aside in the fight for survival. worries of death and injury — for herself, for steffon, for ravella, for daemon — had been ignored in favor of counting her steps, shimmying down a makeshift rope, and ensuring that those she cared most for were safe. it was not until she had returned to the eyrie that everything bubbling underneath the surface threatened to erupt. her eyes shone with tears ( of relief? )  she refused to shed and though her steps were stilted, jocelyn took comfort in daemon’s presence. it mattered little to her if he spoke or remained silent, for she had often understood him without needing to hear anything fall from his lips. she knew well that the losses he sustained had been grievous and it rattled her that jocelyn had not been at his side when they occurred.

in another life, they would have been married long before now, would likely have several children running about dragonstone, hands aching to move over the scales of the dragon their father commanded. jocelyn had thought much in those years apart about what could have been, had remembered well how thoughts of her future had darkened, how words of her adoration for daemon had turned to ash in her mouth as the dragons danced in the sky and the only woman she’d ever known as a mother had fallen. her feelings, of course, had remained unwavering, though she had learned the importance in keeping them locked away. a love for daemon targaryen, after all, was not the most popular in a court that supported aegon in word more than deed.

his hand clasped around her own now was nearly her undoing, as was the way he shortened her name in the way that was allowed for no other,  save for her father. jocelyn had kept her feelings tightly grasped inside of her and though there were eyes of servants and guards throughout the first floor of the keep, she did not remove her hand from his own. daemon’s touch kept her tethered ( to life, to him, to this very moment ) and jocelyn exhaled shakily. “i was not worried so much for myself as i was for you,” she admitted. her tone was a string pulled taut, threatening to break at the slightest provocation.

“either of us might have died tonight,” she whispered, the admission for daemon alone. “and i would regret our lost time more than i grieve it now.” she paused, her breath still uneven and her gait unsteady. “perhaps i was waiting for more time to pass or perhaps i simply assumed that you knew the words i have not spoken. or perhaps even all the baratheon stories are wrong and i am a coward.” her eyes flicked up, the baratheon blue gazing upon targaryen violet, and jocelyn moved her hand from his own to the crook of his arm. to any onlookers, it might appear that he was simply escorting a tired woman back to her rooms but in this moment, jocelyn, who had often given her strength to others, now took strength from daemon.

[thestormprincess]

m e l l a r a

my nephew

a wave of pure fear struck mellara deep inside hearing those words actually spoken out loud. it had been nearly two years of keeping that secret inside of her. from the moment she knew she had missed her bleeding, to the day of lucian’s birth, to now, she had never uttered the name of lucian’s father out loud to anyone. it was far too dangerous and risky to do so during times of war and now it felt like it might be too late.

but her son was a baratheon and with each passing day he looked more and more like his father. the dark color of his hair, his smile, his face even began to look like him. lucian had her curls and her eyes. mellara feared for the day that she would no longer be able to hide her secret anymore. but that day was always a distant day in the future. she could get herself ready for that moment when it needed to come. that was in the future. for now it was just her and lucian. that’s what she could focus on. that’s all that matter. not that day. that day coming closer and closer.

but it was here. it was here now.

mel did her best to hide anything on her face, “your highness, i…i’m afraid i don’t know what you mean.” she said, instinctually holding lucian closer to her. “you have already met my son before”

—

the tully princess seemed frightened, if the way she held her son closer to her was any indication. as one who had always been rather predisposed to reading others, jocelyn noticed it quite quickly and the corners of her mouth quirked in something akin to amusement. 

jocelyn wondered, briefly, if the other woman thought that she was convincing in her words, for jocelyn had always believed what was right in front of her face as opposed to what another might say to her. and, if she was to be quite frank, it was clear from lucian’s eyes alone that he belonged to those of storm’s end.

( that the boy she assumed was her nephew had blood of traitors and assassins in his veins made fury bubble up in her abdomen, though jocelyn suppressed it. it was not as if the boy was trueborn. )

“you don’t know what i mean?” she questioned, repeating the other woman’s words as if she simply could not understand their meaning. “you will tell me so as you clutch your son close as if i will steal him from you?” the storm princess shook her head. “his nose — it is my grandmother’s.” lips thinned. “his hair falls the way steffon’s did as a child.” her head tilted to the side.

“do you think me too stupid to notice? i remember well you were in storm’s end, mellara.”

[thestormprincess]

@daemonntargaryens​

returning to the eyrie was a relief, more than the storm princess wished to admit. jocelyn's fingers shook, even as she clasped them together in front of her. she was shaken by the night's events, by the slip of her feet and the near fall to the earth, by the possibility that she could have perished. she did not bother to hide it, not from daemon, and as her feet stepped on firm ground once more, she looked up at the dragon king. "would you walk with me back to my chamber?" she inquired, her voice tight to keep from becoming predisposed to the emotion that threatened to bubble up.

[thestormprincess]

r o w a n

rowan’s face remained expressionless. he knew how solemn this conversation was to the stormland princess. he listened carefully, his dark orbs staring at her attentively. although his mouth remained emotionless, rowan’s eyes softened at her; a part of him wished to vow to her that he would keep the dragon king safe, but there were no winners in war. there were only those who managed to survive and those who perished. and even the survivors came back changed in one way or another. daemon was a strong and a skilled fighter. rowan and daemon had fought together side-by-side in many battles throughout the dance, but even the kingdom’s strongest could still be struck down – both physically and emotionally. the man she loved may never return home to her. not fully. and rowan knew he did not have the power to decide daemon’s fate. he decided to keep these thoughts to himself though, for he knew that only those who had witnessed bloodshed would truly understand such thoughts.

finally, he answers. “i know you hold him very deep in your heart.” he states plainly, his eyes fixated on the ground for a moment, his mind pondering what to say next. “daemon and i have fought side-by-side many times. so much that we became each other sixth’s… i haven’t fought in a war where he wasn’t by my side.” he said, now looking at her, “i don’t think i would be alive today if it wasn’t for him being by my side. i promise you, jocelyn. i promise i will do everything in my power to ensure he returns home to you. you have my word.” rowan spoke his words with confidence – the knights of the vale, his knights, would not buckle or yield when faced with the cruelty of this world, and because of this, he knew they would conquer.

—

it was silent for a couple moments as the king of the vale considered the words she had said and in that time, her thoughts grew stormier, murkier, lost in the abyss in the back of her mind.  jocelyn supposed there were some who thought her quite foolish — sending away every suitor who had come her way for a decade out of love for a man who’d been given no reason to believe she’d be there waiting when the dust from the dance had settled.

( and yet here the storm princess was, unmarried and childless, her heart in the dragon king’s possession. )

her head inclined at rowan’s response; she knew well that he would keep it, that he would do all that he could to fulfill her request. “i do hold him close in my heart,” she said carefully. “and i worry for myself but also for the crownlands, for what is to happen to them if daemon were to fall with no heir of his body? caerella is . . . capricious, at best. and caleotte . . . she is changed, greatly, by what has befallen her in life. there is something . . . ” here jocelyn paused once more, shaking her head, still unsure of what bothered her so about the woman’s return to the living. “the crownlands needs a capable ruler and daemon is that, of course.” ( that his sisters were not went unsaid, for jocelyn was not so forward )

“do you believe we will stay at war?” she inquired. “or shall this simply be a display of force against the tully armies?”

[thestormprincess]

m e l l a r a

a passing cool breeze rustled the grass around them. the soft sound easily brought up memories of home. memories of sitting amongst fields of flowers and rivers watching her siblings play. she longed for her home. but longed for a memory of it. not the chaos it was plunged into now. she wanted peace to be there once again. the peace that her father seemed to be using every ounce of his power to keep away.

one disaster after another after another was falling down upon the royals here. maybe they were cursed in some way. punished after such a terrible war. all of their kingdoms punished for what happened.

for now all mel could do was to enjoy the small moments she was given. like now as she was able to spend time with her son, walking with him in her arms. the little boy bouncing in her arms, wriggling to get free of his mother’s grasp and try his stumbled walking. the walk had gone fairly uninterrupted as she had barely seen anyone else out walking. that was until she noticed the dark haired brunette walking towards her. mel’s heart sank into her stomach, but she kept her face as even as she could.

his sister.

“good afternoon.” she greeted the other as she got closer. “i hope your day is well.” mel was unsure what to say exactly. what really was there to say?

@thestormprincess​

—

jocelyn had felt rather cooped up inside the eyrie and after all that had transpired at the myrish masquerade felt that being inside the stone of a keep was not nearly as safe as it should have been. the height frightened her, after nearly falling to her demise just a couple of nights before. for a woman who had always adored the view from above, she found the eyrie all the more frightening simply for its height. this was not a fear she had shared with any other and simply walking on solid ground was comforting.

as she walked the grounds, however, she heard the sound of a child’s babbling. curious, her eyes drifted ahead and jocelyn kept her stature quite straight as she recognized both the tully princess ( strange, jocelyn thought, that she used a title when she’d been so disgraced ) and the young boy she believed to be her brother’s natural son. “good afternoon,” she responded, her voice polite and measured, even as jocelyn’s own eyes met the young boy’s, carefully cataloguing every baratheon feature she could see. was that her grandmother’s nose?

“am i to not be introduced to my nephew properly then?” she inquired, gaze flicking to mellara’s, curious as to what the other woman would say to the ( not yet proven ) assertion.

[daemonntargaryens]

thestormprincess​:

—

the others in the group gave them a wide berth, wide enough that they could speak without being overheard, and for that jocelyn was grateful. eyes widened at the man’s offer and she inclined her head. “thank you.” the smile that ghosted along her visage reached her eyes and jocelyn ran her fingers along the hawk on her arm once more. the smile, however, left her face at the man’s next questions. 

 “i do not believe they will taint your rule, and i do not even personally believe your actions were unjustified given what transpired. i can hardly imagine if they had been successful, if i had lost —,” she stopped abruptly, closing her mouth, lest she become more predisposed to her emotion than the logical mind she possessed. her lips thinned somewhat as she considered her next words. jocelyn knew daemon better than most — or, at least, she had — and she wished to craft her next statement with care, though it would still be blunter than others might wish for. ( but daemon knew her just as well, jocelyn thought, and wished for the frankness she so preferred ) 

 “but, politically, they were not the most honorable of actions.” she paused, eyes flicking toward one of their companions before settling on the violet eyes that she would recognize in a sea of men. “you must remember, daemon, that you are no longer king of the seven kingdoms — you rule but one of them. in politics you must treat the tullys as equals, much as doing so might tarnish your own sensibilities.”

.

though her tone was gentle; there was also a steel firmness that came from somewhere deep within the baratheon princess, the very firmness that had always ensured she remained in such high regard for the targaryen king – regardless of the years that had gone by, the seasons that had changed, that was one thing to never fail. it took an ample amount of time to truly gain the targaryen king’s trust, no doubt due to the sense of suspicion that rhaenyra targaryen had installed deep within him from a young age; be a dragon. there was a reason why most of the king’s closest allies and companions were individuals the targaryen king had known for over a decade, those who had been a steady anchor as his family tore themselves apart in a bloody brawl.

“your honesty is appreciated.” he spoke, momentarily breaking her gaze as his hawk took off in the sky, mighty and beautiful; moving to hunt it’s pray. there was no need to thank her for her honesty; the pair had established a frank companionship in their youth, as the targaryen soon learned there was no use in expecting a baratheon to hold their tongue. “such a thing is rare in such a world; it is as precious as gold itself.” 

whilst daemon seemed mellow and cool compared to his siblings, there was still not much he would not do to stamp a king’s authority in his own castle; his sudden change of mind during the trial was cruel, especially to those who expected it the least, and whilst daemon still considered it necessary to this very moment, he did feel regret knowing others had been caught in the crossfire. the man offered the woman a nod of understanding; they both knew deep down what his next steps would be, though there was no need to speak them out loud. reconciliation was the most important aspect of his rule up to date; otherwise there was always the possibility his kingdom could be invaded by six, hostile regions. “i will leave you to your sport, your grace.” he spoke, a knowing look in his eye as he watched her baratheon ladies draped in black and gold. the man turned with his courtiers, making his way back to his apartments to call a small council meeting.  

fin.

[thestormprincess]

d a e m o n

“an imposition?” daemon’s voice repeated after her, his tone implying a situation that was almost right under their very noses. “seeing as myself and king lyonel have finally drawn up and signed on terms for prosperity, it is fitting for you to accompany us to the vale on the valeryon fleet.” he did not want to sound as though he were instructing her on what to do, as at the end of the day he knew little of the internal matters of the stormlands and what the baratheons were discussing behind closed doors. he was also not her king; gone were the days of her being a lady of the notorious house baratheon, she was now a royal in her own right. “as allies… if not anything else.”

there was a matter he wished to speak to her about; the events of the trial had been tumultuous at best, and his sister caerella had not yet even looked in his direction.“i’ll ask this of you once jocelyn; and i trust you enough to know you will be frank with me.” he paused for a moment, his mind fleeting back to the events of the tully trial, and specifically the image of mellara tully quickly handing over her child before being pulled to the stand. in the deepest part of the targaryen king, he could not help but feel a pang of guilt; it was the same look he would frequently see mothers would give their children, urging them to run as the towns lit with dragon flame and the sound of marching soldiers. “will my actions during the trial forever taint my rule?” he wondered whether he would be seen as untrustworthy, the temperamental dragon, for the rest of his days.

—

the others in the group gave them a wide berth, wide enough that they could speak without being overheard, and for that jocelyn was grateful. eyes widened at the man’s offer and she inclined her head. “thank you.” the smile that ghosted along her visage reached her eyes and jocelyn ran her fingers along the hawk on her arm once more. the smile, however, left her face at the man’s next questions. 

 “i do not believe they will taint your rule, and i do not even personally believe your actions were unjustified given what transpired. i can hardly imagine if they had been successful, if i had lost —,” she stopped abruptly, closing her mouth, lest she become more predisposed to her emotion than the logical mind she possessed. her lips thinned somewhat as she considered her next words. jocelyn knew daemon better than most — or, at least, she had — and she wished to craft her next statement with care, though it would still be blunter than others might wish for. ( but daemon knew her just as well, jocelyn thought, and wished for the frankness she so preferred ) 

 “but, politically, they were not the most honorable of actions.” she paused, eyes flicking toward one of their companions before settling on the violet eyes that she would recognize in a sea of men. “you must remember, daemon, that you are no longer king of the seven kingdoms — you rule but one of them. in politics you must treat the tullys as equals, much as doing so might tarnish your own sensibilities.”