fortune favored

The air is as heavy as the raindrops that fall, and yet Argella still stands with the door to the balcony open. Most were asleep, either in warm beds or makeshift pallets on the floor. And yet, she could not sleep, mind refusing to rest. So, she had stalked the halls, now at the most bare they had been since the feast had both begun and ended. She reached out a hand into the rain, allowing the falling water to pound against the delicate bone within. She sighed, then, an almost wistful thing. "Strange, the things that make you miss home." Argella speaks to the silence, staring in fascination at her now drenched hand, at the rivulets of water that snake down to her elbow. "My mother used to always speak of how she could barely keep me indoors when a storm came to Felwood. I loved nothing more than running and dancing in the rain, as if I were Jenny of Oldstones."

So he rose again once the corridors had quieted, choosing to walk them himself with only his most trusted guards at his back. It ruffled some ornately white feathers, certainly, but Aren had never been overly concerned with feathers. They rarely withstood the rain.

He noticed the new Lady Fell before she seemed to notice him, her silhouette framed by torchlight and rain-streaked stone. He adjusted his stride, letting his boots strike the floor with enough weight to announce his presence rather than startle her.

“A true child of the Stormlands,” he said, a sad smile touching his mouth as he nodded his head politely in familiar greeting, then settled one shoulder against the wall beside her. “An early sign of a promising leader, in my experience.”

Silence followed, thick and companionable, filled by the steady drum of rain. After a moment, his voice lowered.

“My condolences for the loss of your mother, Argella. She was a great lady. It grieved me deeply to learn of her passing.”

there really weren't many people happy to be stuck inside the fort, but amongst the most obviously displeased was the lord stark. aren couldn't help himself, at his earliest opportunity he'd sauntered over to the stern man, goblet in hand, grin on his face.

the leviathan is surfacing, the perimeter of her safety shrinking with every turn of the moon. the grace period she bargained for is rapidly evaporating, and the horrific inevitability of consummation looms at the end of the corridor like a monster grinning in the dark. he is a patient predator, intoxicated by the belief that he is playing a romantic game of attrition, but aelina knows the ruthless laws of the realm. if she denies him the marital right indefinitely, he can petition the high septon to shatter the union on the grounds of an empty marriage bed. the mere thought of annulment sends a paralytic chill through her vertebrae. an annulment would strip her of all leverage. he would be free to discard her and purge victor's remaining progeny from the earth; sending little saera to wither in the austere silence of the holy sisters, chaining daeron to a maester's desk in the citadel, or simply arranging a quiet, fatal accident on the steep cliffs of their home. to look at lord aren now, who sees only a callous opportunist, is to stare out from behind the glass of a locked cage. he cannot see that she is a woman rationing her own ruination to buy her children another day of breath.

the silence stretches a moment longer, heavy and conspicuous. the lady blinks rapidly, waking from the stupor, a physical tremor shaking her head as she banishes the spectral sensation of her current husband's fingertips idly tracing her neckline, a cat toying with the mouse trapped in its claws. she surfaces into the present, the grey light of the day rushing back with nauseating clarity. she stands in an uncomfortable limbo, her throat tight with the absurd, suicidal urge to confess the entire extortion to a man who is practically a stranger. she swallows the impulse down like dry gravel. "you are very kind," she manages, the syllables slightly brittle, lacking the impenetrable, sugary polish she usually wields. her fingers twist nervously in the heavy fabric of her skirt, a rare betrayal of her composure. "it has been... a dizzying season, my lord. the transition was abrupt, and we are all simply trying to find our footing on shifting soil." she offers a small, fractured smile, her lilac eyes searching his for a fraction of a second, praying the man who knew her at sixteen might possess the fluency to read the terror humming beneath her carefully arranged platitudes. "i hope the kitten brings them joy. good day to you, lord aren."

he should apologize, he should inquire after her. but he feels, in that moment, nothing he says will be of any help at easing the fresh wound he'd apparently ripped open.

instead, he bows a little lower than he normally would, kitten still cupped carefully in his hands.

"lady velaryon. be well."

and with that, he turns around to walk off his misstep and deliver his gift to his nieces and nephew, reminding himself that he must learn to tread lightly. he'd find a way to mend the cut.

"Beets?"

Princess Jacaera sits upon one of the wooden chairs spread out through the sitting room, in front of the fireplace, a bundle of silver curls and black ruffles upon her lap. Her hand strokes those very curls, tucking one behind a small ear, gentle in a way very few are allowed to receive. Queen Margaery had called it maternal instinct, her fondness for her niece and nephew (...For she had only met Rhaenya and Daemon before her untimely passing), but Jacaera believes it more of an older sisterly sort of emotion, something she may have felt for her own siblings had they come after her rather than before. "Yes, sweetling, I heard. His grace wishes to outlaw beets, no? What do you think of that, princess?"

Princess Naerys's pink lips, always drawn into a pout, and button nose scrunch up, "Eugh!" She exclaims, looking away and then back, as if to show her just how little she thinks of the vegetable.

Jacaera rolls her eyes, boops the tip of her finger against her nose, "A princess," She tells her, emphasizing every word with a tap, to the sound of girlish giggles, "Does not say eugh. You are sister to the king now, you must act like it." Naturally, her words go in through one ear and out the other, as Naerys's eyes shine, bright and blue, at the mention of the king.

"The king!" She exclaims, aware of...Something, regarding the title, regarding its significance, regarding the importance placed on such a small body as hers, who stumbles when she walks and cries when she scrapes her knee.

"Princess Carlys called you Naerys the Lucky. You have no idea, do you? There is not one single thought inside your pretty little head, other than beets and kittens and-" A hand swiftly presses against the back of her head, bringing the girl of two into her chest, features transforming at the presence of someone other than her guard. "Ser Aren Baratheon. Do not tell me you have come to fetch the princess. I have it on good authority she has had a nap not an hour ago. The dowager queen will understand."

Princess Jacaera sat near the tall windows, composed as ever, Naerys settled neatly in her lap. Sunlight gilded them both, the child’s pale hair bright as spun gold while her small fingers toyed absently with one of Jacaera’s rings. The picture was almost painfully serene.

Aren felt the faintest tightening of irritation in his chest.

He schooled his expression before stepping inside, hands clasped loosely behind his back, a slow, devious smile replacing whatever honesty had tried to surface.

“I am so rarely granted the company of my nieces and nephew,” he said smoothly, offering a bow precise enough to border on mockery. “You will forgive me for interrupting. There is no need to hold her so defensively.”

Naerys spotted him and brightened immediately, squirming with excitement.

While away, his longing for his family was a dull ache that he could easily ignore. In their presence, however, the sadness became much sharper.

“I take it my sister doesn't know you've made off with her youngest, then?"

If I can't go to Storm's End, at least the storm can come to me. "I suppose I ought not be rude, considering the circumstances." A faint smile, dimming further. "Thank you, for coming so quickly." She almost wanted to chide him regarding safety... but he was here now. Whatever danger his pace may have posed was past. "I'm glad to have you here before every other lord in the realm," she said, taking his arm to lead them towards where their table was set, with a nod to one of the servants.

"We have much to talk about, but..." she paused as they approached the dining chamber, where Daemon and Rhaenys sat about the table, picking glumly at their food. "Ah... children, look, Uncle Aren's here." She quirked a lip as both of them looked up, their weary little faces perking up at the sight, with identical cries of Uncle Aren! They had not looked so cheered by anything in days. She hoped this little joy would laugh. "They certainly never look so happy to see me," she said, with a look: we must catch up later, after they are away, or asleep. Daemon may be the king, but he was too young yet to hear all of this.

he presses quick, firm kisses to the tops of each of the children's heads and then kneels so he's closer to eye-level with both of them.

"come now. i've traveled very far and fast to be here and i'm so hungry i could gobble down a whole warhorse on my own. please tell me the cooks here have laid out something delicious for supper. who am i sitting by tonight?"

he laughs again as the siblings start squabbling, each one taking one of his hands to drag him towards the table. he looks back at his own sibling, recalling the days when the two of them did the same thing to their favorite family members and friends during their visits.

"i fear i've set them off. my apologies," he says, completely unrepentant.

Olynna’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the mist drifting low over the hedges before returning to him, the faintest hint of a smile touching her expression at his words. there was something almost reassuring in the shared confession of sleeplessness, even if neither of them named it outright. “not at all,” she answered quietly, her voice still shaped by the early hour. “i think peace is a generous word for what i’ve found here.” her hands folded loosely at her waist, fingers warming slowly against the chill that clung stubbornly to morning air. “more like, a pause.” she glanced briefly toward the keep rising beyond the gardens, banners hanging limp in the weak light. already, servants would be stirring, messengers moving, conversations beginning anew, questions, negotiations, ambitions resurfacing despite mourning. it never stopped for long.

“it’s easier to breathe out here,” she added after a moment, thoughtful rather than confiding. “inside, it feels as though everyone is waiting for something. answers, perhaps. or opportunity.” her attention settled back on him, posture relaxed, though the weariness beneath her composure remained plain enough for anyone looking closely. “so no,” she said gently, a softer note threading through her tone. “you haven’t disturbed anything.” a small beat passed, the garden slowly waking around them. “if anything,” she added, almost lightly, “it’s comforting to know i’m not the only one seeking quiet at this hour.”

"there is much to be done, and yet so little that i can do. when i find myself trapped in such thoughts i've found there's no better resolution than walking." he smiles at her tiredly and then motions for her to continue on her path, taking up a slow pace beside her when she does.

he gestures for her to continue and falls into step beside her, keeping his pace unhurried. for a time he says nothing, content to take in the grounds and the quiet bustle of servants tending to the needs of great houses. but as the sun climbs higher, the calm begins to thin, worries creeping back in where the silence had been.

"tell me, lady olynna. how fare my sister and her children here? i've been hosted by many of the people here and yet i find myself inadequately equipped to know how best to protect my family."

yet, look at how he holds the beast. his thumb brushes the coal-dust fur with a tenderness that belies the steel in his voice, a dissonance that makes the air feel heavy and charged. he offers saera a promise, not a platitude, and the little girl believes him instantly, her solemnity breaking into a tentative trust. it is a kindness he did not have to spend on the children of a woman who once looked past him. for a fractional second, the grey street tilts, and aelina wonders what life might have looked like if her father had valued storm-hardened steel over valyrian silver. it is a useless, rotting thought, disrespectful to the pyre of her husband’s memory, so she strangles it before it draws breath. still, she marks the gentleness. a man who protects the small while baring his teeth at the strong is a man of substance, and substance is a currency more valuable than gold in a court built on smoke. she absorbs the strike with a tilt of her head, the arch of her brow softening into genuine appreciation. the rebuke doesn't sting; it reassures. it tells her that the boy who balanced carnations on lances has been replaced by a man who knows how to hold his ground, and in a world rapidly dissolving into ash and ambition, she finds she prefers the steel to the sentiment.

"a lesson well learned," she murmurs, her voice dropping the courtly affectation to offer something warmer, heavier. "though i do not remember you having such teeth, my lord. the boy i knew would have smiled and swallowed the jest; i am glad to see the man knows how to bite back." she glances at the kitten, then back to his eyes, offering a small, solemn nod. "regardless, thank you for the kindness to my daughter. promises are brittle things in this court, but i have a feeling yours will hold. i should also like to think we are past the age of foolish pettinesses, are we not?" she regards the unruliness of his curls a moment longer, studying him with renewed interest. "in any case, you must be proud of his grace, your nephew. he bore the weight of his oaths with a dignity far beyond his years. though i imagine the suddenness of the ascension is… bracing. do you intend to oversee his martial education? he will need to be knighted eventually, and i think it a waste to leave such a task to the kingsguard alone when his own blood is so capable."

“it was a kindness to your daughter,” he replies evenly, “and to the youngest in my family, while they’re away from home. they'll enjoy having something to play with.” his gaze drops to the kitten in his arms, already imagining the delight it will spark when he places it into eager hands. the thought fades as quickly as it comes, dimmed by the weight of what follows.

“i agree. he’s done well,” aren continues. “at his age, the world would have had my knees shaking beneath it. he’s made of stronger steel than i ever was.” he lifts his eyes to meet hers, his expression settling into something politely unreadable. “i will serve my king and my family in whatever way i’m needed. you needn’t worry about him lacking for guidance, in any discipline.”

the exchange might have lingered, but the moment is broken as he glances past her shoulder, catching sight of the velaryon boy stepping into the path of a flustered squire to offer up a cat, only to be promptly scolded and hauled back by his sister. the corner of aren’s mouth twitches despite himself.

“i heard of your recent nuptials,” he adds, returning his attention to her. “you have my congratulations - again.”

✥ ASOIAF GREAT HOUSES 3/9: HOUSE BARATHEON

But not now.

For the moment, Aren stood before her, wind-whipped and rough around the edges. Cyrenna felt her shoulders drop as the strange tension that gripped her fell away, and rushed forward to give him a tight hug. She squeezed her eyes shut so she did not let the tears through. It felt wrong, to give in to tears, when they reunited. No one further had died. Yet. "You're here," she said, pulling away to look over her brother. "Are you alright? I did not know if my raven had even reached you." It was always so difficult, getting news to him as he travelled. She had japed once that he had nearly had to hear of the birth of the princes and princesses from strangers, he was so unreliable. This news would have made it to him, sooner or later; but Cyrenna had wanted her words to bring it to her siblings; she had wanted them to hear it from *her* before some twisted, sordid version of the tale. Gods knew what the rumour mill had made of it all, of such a fire, of so many lost. Of their new king, who was eight years old and two chambers away, complaining about having to eat pea soup.

She shook her head. "Gods, you look a mess. Have you been riding day and night? Join us for dinner."

at her next words, a tired huff of laughter escapes him. “is it that obvious?” he adds, dragging his fingers through his wind-tangled hair as if there were any hope of fixing it. “i may have pressed my luck with the pace. it didn’t seem wise to dawdle.”

his gaze drops briefly, then lifts back to her as he nods at the offer. “i’d be glad of dinner. i haven’t eaten more than salted fish in days,” he admits, the smile that follows edged with something weary but sincere. “we have much to catch up on."

well, the storm took the crown in the end, didn’t it? and now cyrenna sits high, and aelina stands here with strays. she pushes the bitterness down, smoothing it over with a practiced smile. aren is not his sister, but he is a piece on the board she must navigate carefully. "lord aren," she greets, her voice cool and melodious, dipping into a curtsy that is respectful but relaxed, acknowledging their shared history without parading it. "i should have known. you were always the sort to stop for the small things that other men would trample in their haste. it relieves me to see that the years have not hardened that part of you." she watches as he lowers himself to one knee, a gesture that endears him instantly to saera, who steps forward with the solemnity of a queen bestowing a knighthood. "this is coal," saera announces, placing the black kitten into his gloved hands with terrifying trust. "he is small, but he has a very loud meow."

aelina’s smile sharpens, a flicker of amusement reaching her eyes. "be careful, ser. saera has a habit of conscripting knights into her service, and once you accept the seal of office," she gestures to the squirming kitten. "there is no resignation permitted." lady velaryon steps closer, the sea-green silk of her dress brushing the cobblestones, looking down at him with a gaze that measures the man against the boy he was. "it has been a long time, lord aren. the last time you presented your undivided attention to a celtigar's daughter, you were looking up from the back of a destrier, balancing a crown of carnations on a lance. i must say, the change in altitude is striking." she pauses, letting her gaze linger on his lowered posture, a playful but cutting edge slipping into her tone. "i do not mean to keep you, my lord, if you were rushing to be elsewhere. but if there is a lady waiting for you, do not make the mistake of arriving empty-handed. carnations wilt, but a kitten is a commitment. take one. it is a ruthless tactic, i admit, but i suspect you will find your flirtations yield a much faster return with a prop."

only then does aren lift his gaze. the warmth he offered the child does not fully carry over when his eyes meet her mother’s; what remains is polite, controlled, and deliberate.

“lady velaryon,” he says as he rises, careful not to disturb the kitten. “it has been some time.” his gaze drifts briefly over the nearby path before returning to her. “though i'm sorry to be seeing you under such tragic circumstances.”

a restrained smile touches his mouth, lacking the easy charm he once wore for her without thought. “i trust you’ve been well, and that the journey here did not trouble you overmuch.”

at her suggestion, his eyes drop to the kitten, thumb brushing once over the soft fur at its neck. for a heartbeat, something unreadable flickers across his face - old embarrassment, quickly mastered and hidden behind a grin.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” he replies lightly, though there is steel beneath it. “some lessons linger longer than others. i do know now not to approach someone with empty hands and nothing to give, though i thank you for the reminder."

The gardens were hushed beneath the pale light of dawn, the sun only just beginning to crest the horizon and spill weak gold through the mist. olynna had been there long before it rose, standing still among damp hedges and bare branches, watching the sky change as if willing it to soften into something kinder. sleep had not come to her with kidness, not since the ravens, not since ink and ash had carried the weight of the realm’s ruin northward. it showed in the quiet shadows beneath her eyes, in the way her gaze lingered too long on nothing at all. she breathed in slowly, the cold air sharp but grounding, black fabric drawn close around her frame as she traced the garden paths without purpose. dew clung to stone and leaf alike, and for a fleeting moment, the world felt untouched by crowns or fire.

she noticed him only when their paths converged, close enough that stopping felt more natural than passing by without acknowledgment. “ser aren,” she greeted, her voice gentle, carrying easily in the open air. her head dipped in a polite inclination, neither formal nor familiar, the sort of courtesy shaped by repetition rather than intimacy. her gaze drifted briefly over the gardens, to the bare branches and roses stubborn enough to survive. “i hadn’t expected this place to feel so, still,” she said after a beat, as if offering the thought rather than directing it. “it’s a welcome change from the keep.” she returned her attention to him, expression calm, unreadable but not closed. “i find it easier to think out here,” she added quietly. “away from stone walls and listening ears.” the words lingered between them, unassuming, leaving room for him to take them as he wished, as conversation, coincidence, or simply a passing moment shared among damp earth and early light.

when the first thin bands of sunlight crept through his window he forced himself from the bed, dressed, and stepped outside in search of air. few were awake at that hour, for which he was grateful. he let his thoughts loosen and drift, listening only to the wind moving through leaves and the steady rhythm of his own steps until a familiar figure emerged from the quiet; one of this sister's ladies, the stark.

“lady olynna,” he greeted, inclining his head in a polite bow. “given how long i’ve been free of the confines of a larger court, i find i agree with you entirely.” he clasped his hands behind his back and let his gaze wander to the trees, the birds, the flowers and bees stirring lazily in the early light. the world, indifferent and untroubled, carried on no matter how much blood and ash had been spilled. a small, rueful smile followed.

“i hope i haven’t disturbed your peace. do tell me if i have, and i’ll be on my way.”

dignity is a currency aelina has spent her entire life hoarding. she is the lady of the tides, a woman who navigates court with the precision of someone trained to stay above water. yet, here she stands on the cobblestones of duskendale, her sea-green silks compromised by tiny, sharp claws, holding two squirming balls of ginger fur against her chest while her children assault the nobility with aggressive kindness. it had started as a stroll to escape the suffocating gloom of the rented manse—a place that felt too small without victor, too quiet without corlys. but grief makes one weak, and when daeron and saera had discovered the litter of six abandoned kittens beneath a hawthorn bush, mewling and motherless, aelina had crumbled. she could not leave another family broken. she could not be the one to tell her surviving children that sometimes, things are just left behind to die.

so, a compromise. they could not keep them all (“they may not survive the voyage back home, the ship’s rocking will frighten them,” she had tried to argue, weakly), but they would find them homes. now, the twins are little heat-seeking arrows of adorable guilt. saera, bold and imperious even at six, has cornered a squire, explaining with great seriousness that the black kitten in her hands is “very good at catching dragons,” a lie she tells with a straight face. daeron, quieter, simply holds his chosen fluff up to passersby with wide, pleading lilac eyes. lady velaryon watches them, a soft, weary smile playing on her lips. it is a ridiculous scene: the elegant widow velaryon, turned into a peddler of strays. but beneath the maternal indulgence, her eyes are sharp. the fire in king’s landing burned away the old court; the streets are filled with new faces, spares turned heirs, second sons turned lords. she needs to know them. she needs to see who stops for a child, and who sneers. kindness is a useful metric for an ally.

she steps forward as the twins zero in on a new target, cutting off their escape route with the coordinated precision of a military flank. “i must apologize,” aelina says, her voice a smooth melody that cuts through the street noise, stepping in before saera can demand the stranger takes in the small calico she named pebbles. she adjusts the ginger kitten climbing her pearl necklace, offering a smile that is both apologetic and utterly charming. “my children are under the impression that the nobility of westeros is currently suffering from a severe lack of feline companionship. please, tell me you are not allergic, or i fear daeron might cry, and that is a terrible thing to have on one’s conscience so early in the morning.”

he is just stepping from his rooms with the intention of seeking out a few old acquaintances rumored to be in town when he is ambushed - first by two children wielding kittens like weapons, and then by their devastatingly familiar mother.

“i must confess,” he tells her, a grin breaking easily across his face, “i do not typically yield to threats of tears. fortunately, i can say i have yet to be felled by a kitten. now then, who do we have here?”

he lowers himself to one knee, bringing himself closer to the velaryon children’s height, and offers his gloved hands in silent request, waiting for permission before daring to take one of the squirming little creatures.