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Octavian’s green eyes brighten, and his smirk turns to a grin. “My Lady,” he chuckles teasingly. “That is dirty.”

You simply smirk before you lean in closer to whisper in his ear. “And you had your tongue in, well…I’ll let you guess where.”

Octavian pulls his head back to look you in the eyes with his lips dramatically parted in shock. “There? How detailed was this dream?”

You glance at his lips and then meet his eyes darkening with lust. “Very,” you purr. “But it doesn’t beat playing it out in real life, so how about we try, hm?”

Octavian chuckles before hastily throwing his hand out to grab you by the back of your head and press you towards him to smash your lips against his.

You giggle in between the slow, sensual kiss and try to find your stability by placing your palms against his chest as you follow his slow lead.

However, you’re too enthralled by what you created to take things slow, so you swiftly straddle him without breaking apart. The kiss turns sloppy and salty as you get a taste of his skin in your attempts to move.

“Is this,” Octavian has to pause as you don’t let him speak in your attempts to devour him. “…how it played out…in your dream?”

You part away briefly and smirk at him. “No, but it’s more than okay to deviate from it.”

Octavian flashes you a charming smile as he grabs you by your hips and coos. “Well, then, I hope you don’t scare easily.”

You chuckle. “You know I don’t.”

He hums knowingly and then leans forward to capture your lips in a seductive kiss.

Yet, not even a minute in, he peels away and shifts his head to the side. “Someone’s coming,” he announces, making you sit up and try to hear what he supposedly heard, but you don’t hear anything.

“I don’t hear anything,” you say as you peer over your shoulder to try and see the incomer, but they're nowhere to be seen or heard.

“No, you never do,” he teases before he pushes himself up without telling you to move or sliding you off him. “Unless it’s gossip.”

You giggle. “Gossip is important.”

“This could be too,” he counters. “It’s important that you have your ears open. Your life may depend on it,” he finishes in a more serious tone.

And as much as you want to say that he’s being dramatic. He may be right.

War is coming after all…

Nevertheless, he was right. A house guard enters the garden and immediately averts his eyes as he bows his head.

“Princess, your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, and her caravan are reaching the castle gates,” the guard announces, making your eyes almost pop out of your skull.

“Oh gods,” you whisper sharply. “Rhaenyra!”

Finding the urgency you lacked before, you climb off Octavian and shove yourself to your feet to run to your shoes, left abandoned a foot across from you.

“My grandfather is going to kill me,” you mutter to yourself as you slip your shoes on and then swipe Octavian’s golden surcoat, belt, and his black overcoat off the ground

“Here, throw your stuff on,” you pressure him as you spin around and throw him his stuff.

“This is for you,” he says as he throws you your golden headpiece attached to a light blue veil that matches your flowy gown in the same color.

“Come on, come on,” you urge him as you start walking away at a hurried pace. “We were already supposed to be there. I can’t believe I forgot!”

It takes a couple of minutes, but Octavian eventually catches up to you when you’re out of the godswood. “We’re both to blame,” Octavian tries to console you. “It slipped my mind too. I got distracted by…you.”

You shoot a pointed look, but he smiles back at you.

“It’s not meant to be offensive. I'm just saying that you’re distracting.”

“Well, I hope our visitors take that lightly,” you retort before you take his hand and pick up your pace to get down to the yard quicker. “Come, come.”

However, it's not like running can change anything. Rhaenyra and her caravan were already out of the carriage by the time you made it to the yard. And by the look on Rhaenyra and Daemon’s faces, they're unimpressed by their greeting and your late arrival.

“Welcome back, sister.” You curtsy to her and then to your uncle. “Uncle.”

You steal a glance past them and see your nephews. Their hair is still dark, their faces are still not like their mothers’ or the late Ser Laenor's. The truth of their mother's sin is still a stain they can’t get rid of, it seems like.

“Welcome,” Octavian echoes with a bow, turning your attention back to your sister, who looks between you and your towering husband with a polite smile, but a second of confusion before recognition finally flickers in her eyes.

“Sister,” she greets indifferently, leaving the matter awkward until thankfully Daemon comes to the rescue.

“Prince Octavian…what a surprise. I would mark this moment as pleasant given our past, but, well, the lackluster welcome leaves one displeased. Where’s the King and Queen?”

You and Octavian share a quick look before you address his concerns. “The King’s illness forces him to stay abed, and the Queen is currently taking his place in a small council meeting.”

Daemon scoffs. “And she couldn’t move it to come greet us?”

You part your lips to defend your mother, but in the face of confrontation, you’re left afflicted on how to answer without upsetting him.

Luckily, Octavian is quick to notice and fill your silence. “The meeting was quite significant. She tried to be here, but the matters could not wait. She asks for forgiveness and hopes to make up for this misfortune.”

You nod in agreement and flash them a well-practiced courteous smile.

“We’re here though and happily willing to take you inside to the garden where—”

“No need,” Daemon speaks again, cutting you off bluntly. “We know our way around.”

Without a second to spare, he strides past Octavian without as much as an acknowledgement.

“But,” you try to impose, but Rhaenyra is quick to follow after him without hearing what you have to say. Which is important. You had a banquet ready for them after their weary travel.

“Come, Luke, let’s go check out the training yard,” Jacaerys tells his brothers with a nudge before he starts heading off, further ruining your plans.

“But—”

“I’ll accompany you lads,” Octavian invites himself, going against your plans too.

“Why don’t you take Rhaena to the garden?” He addresses you with his body already halfway turned to your waiting nephews. “Make a tea of the banquet,” he suggests and gives you a peck on the cheek.

“But, Octavian,” you whisper through gritted teeth. “Don’t leave me…” you trail off as he heads off despite your protests, leaving you alone with your cousin, the Lady Rhaena. Joffrey, who is now a child, and Daemon and Rhaenyra’s two toddlers are taken to their chambers.

“Would you like to have some tea in the garden?” You ask your cousin as you pull on your best smile, as you hope that she’ll leave like all the rest.

“Oh, sure.”

Great.

You smile wider and point your hand to the doors before you lead the way. In silence. She’s not eager or quick to fill the silence either. Thus, you’re left trying to figure out what to say since it's usually Octavian talking in these matters. Like yesterday, for example, with Rhaena’s twin sister, Baela.

Albeit, she also didn't leave room for silence as Rhaena does.

“So,” you finally find what to say to break the silence as you’re halfway to the garden. “You haven’t claimed a dragon yet?”

“Oh, uh, no. Unfortunately,” she says in a softer-spoken manner than her sister.

“Oh,” you mouth sympathetically. “That’s tough.” You nod with a tight-lipped smile, earning no response.

Thus, you continue to try to mend the matter. “My grandfather says that dragons are not the key to greatness.”

“Hm,” Rhaena hums. “Well, he may be wise, but well, I don’t find it quite the same when everyone around me has one, and I don’t.”

You nod in comprehension and then stop to wait for her to catch up so you can try to reassure her with your own words. “Well, just because you don’t have one doesn’t mean you won’t get one eventually. There’s still plenty of riderless dragons out there, and I’m sure there’s no lack of dragon eggs in Dragonstone. Don’t get discouraged…you might end up with a far greater one than all of ours combined.”

Rhaena’s gaze drifts to you, and she offers you a genuine thankful smile which only seems to accentuate her tranquil beauty.

“That’s very kind, cousin. Thank you.”

You smile at her and continue in silence. A shorter one than before, but it still lingers until Rhaena brings up a matter.

“You and Prince Octavian, how did that come to be? I’ve always been curious considering Pentos is across the narrow sea.”

“Oh, well, it started when we met at Driftmark,” you recall blissfully. “We crossed paths in the evening just before you all took out my brother's eye.”

You hear Rhaena part her lips in surprise before she inputs her defense on the matter. “Before the accident.”

“I’m sure it was,” you retort. “But anyway,” you change the subject before it gets out of hand. “Come,” you beckon as you finally reach the doors to the garden that’s decorated for a welcoming banquet.

“Oh,” Rhaena gasps as she notices the now wasted arrangements. “I’m sorry you went out of your way to do all this just for it to go unappreciated.”

Helaena loves to be out in the gardens, but of course she’s not out right now when you need her.

“Oh, don’t worry, it's quite alright. I don’t mind,” you say sincerely. “Besides, you’re here, so get whatever you want, and we can get better acquainted,” you offer. “Unless you also want your sister here. We could have her brought here.”

“That would be delightful. That way she can appreciate this lovely banquet too,” she says almost eagerly, which is great, the more the merrier and the less awkward it is.

Thus, you order that Baela be brought to the garden, and while you wait, you’re served your tea while Rhaena grabs a plate with a little bit of everything she'll eat. Which mostly consists of sweets to go with her tea.

After that, a quilt is placed under a young maple tree whose leaves have gone from a vibrant green to the best color; copper, just like Octavian’s hair.

Autumn truly turns the garden far prettier and far less frequented by flying insects with stingers. It is colder, which makes the visits to the garden shorter—which…you hope is the cause of this gathering.

Not that Rhaena isn’t nice or interesting. You’ve actually grown quite a liking to her more timid and calm demeanor. Baela, on the other hand, is far more intimidating and seems to have a wilder spirit that you’re not used to. One that quickly takes over your quiet conversation with Rhaena when she at last joins you.

Yet, it is quite a delightful change. At least, she has plenty to talk about and never leaves much room for awkward silences. You also get to understand why Octavian seemed so fond of the Dragon twins, especially Baela.

However, as much as you hate to admit it, it gets quite draining sooner rather than later. Not that Baela's rowdiness is annoying, it’s just not something you’re used to. Even with Aegon as your brother. Thus, after a few cups of tea, you finally find an excuse to leave and don’t wait to take it, finding relief in the silence of your bedchambers after you’ve expelled all the liquid from your body.

In fact, the silence is like a reward after having to come up with so many things to say.

Maybe if you had grown up with friends, communicating would be easier, but that’s something you lacked due to your burden. It just never made it easy and your mother, well, she thought it’d be better to not have them just in case they gossiped.

You would say that you don’t need them anymore, but in situations like the one you found yourself in with the twins, those skills would’ve made the awkwardness a complete unknown and not an unspoken intruder.

That’s also why you missed Octavian. It’s easier for him. He would’ve made the moment run a lot smoother, but he abandoned you for the Velaryon boys.

He did say, however, that he was curious to know them after hearing how much your family and the council speak about them, but couldn’t he have eventually taken them to the garden to keep you company?

Regardless, the moment is done, and you can finally be at ease and enjoy the silence while you embroider Octavian’s winter cloak. Actually, you can take advantage of the peace since on the morrow you’ll be forced to attend the petitions between Ser Vaemond and Rhaenyra, and be caught up in that tense dilemma that shouldn’t be a dilemma. Lord Corlys will live past his battle wounds, you’ve seen him in your dreams that take place past tomorrow, so the whole dilemma is ridiculous. But no one ever listens.

They think you mad, which sure, fair, but your dreams have come true. Shouldn't that make you insightful? All knowing?

Octavian says you’re insightful and that your burden should be thought of as a gift. Is he right or lovestruck?

Aegon says he’s pussy whipped…

Nevertheless, an urgent knock raps on the door, startling you from your concentration and running mind.

“Come,” you beckon and lift your head from what you’re doing, catching Ser Arryk walking in and stopping past the doors.

“Ser Arryk, you’ve returned,” you muse with a soft smile, earning a bow before he meets your gaze under his shiny helm.

“Sorry to disturb you, Princess, but Prince Octavian has asked me to let you know that he’ll be leaving for the city with the Velaryon boys and won’t return until nightfall.”

You blink with surprise before you offer your protector a thankful smile. “Thank you for passing the message, Ser.”

He bows and walks out to take his post outside, leaving you alone with the idea to have dinner with your mother and Helaena since Octavian will be gone.

Until then, you continue to continue work on Octavian’s cloak in the peaceful silence. Eventually, your handmaiden, Madalaine, does join you, and you quickly let her know to have your place arranged at dinner with your mother and Helaena.

She obeys, and before she leaves, with the knowledge that Octavian will be gone, she asks if she should keep you company at night until your husband returns, just in case you have a terrible dream, but you assure her that he’ll return by then. Besides, your dreams don’t always disturb you. You can’t predict when you’ll wake up screaming, crying, or on a mission. Not since the tea stopped working completely.

She then asks if she should return and keep you company until dinner, but you respond to that by telling her that you'll be going to your sister to keep her and the twins company until dinner.

Yet when you reach her bedchambers, her doors are open, so there's a clear view of her with her twins.

They’re toddlers now, so they’re very overly curious and very playful. They spend a lot of time with their mother, so they’re attached to her and would be attached at the hip if possible, but they can’t be, and to remedy that, they seek her out to play with them from time to time.

As it seems, it’s one of those times now, and as you watch her sitting with her twins and mainly watching them play, a melancholy creeps up on you. There’s hints of jealousy too, but mainly it’s grief for who you’ve lost.

A grief so deep that you can’t be in the same room with the twins and Helaena when you’re caught up in it. You’re not strong enough yet, the grief is still too raw, so you backpedal without being spotted and seek the tranquility of the Godswood.

Hardly anyone visits it, and it’s truly one of your favorite places to be when you seek silence from the loud world or when you simply want to be outside.

It is cold out, and the breeze is nippy, but it helps to clear your mind of that troubling grief. It also helps you picture it working through your body better as you feel its cold body flowing through your blood flow and lungs.

It does shock the inner workings of your body, but in doing so, it helps you let those feelings pass before they dig their claws into you

You would seek out your dragon, but with the Weirwood tree being a symbolic figure of the old gods, you can also put the blame on some other higher form that isn’t The Faith and ask them why they decided to steal from you.

Was it to make the path you take in the future easier? Or did they not deem you worthy enough to harbor that gift because of your burdened soul?

You could’ve been good at it. You like to think so, but they decided no.

So what makes someone worthy? You would like to know.

Is that something they can answer? You ask yourself in the silence of the serene, chilly yard before your peace is disrupted by another visitor. One you cannot see and one that can’t see you because you’re sitting behind the tree to avoid the rather creepy face of the Heart tree.

Should you announce your presence?

The visitors' footsteps are easy to hear thanks to the dry autumn leaves littering the ground, so you do hear them keep their distance and leave you undiscovered. But should you give them the peace they think they have?

You deliberate your questions for a moment until you conclude that the best choice is to stay put to avoid the awkward interaction that will happen when you pop out of hiding.

Hopefully, they don’t take long…

What if they do discover you though? Wouldn’t that make things worse since you’ve secretly been with them the whole time?

They don’t move. You don’t hear them move anyway.

They, in fact, stay put for too uncomfortably long that you think of just coming out and risking the uncomfortable interaction, but then there’s a call from across the yard.

“Grandmother?”

Gods.

“Rhaena,” you hear the visitor greet her in return, making them out to be Princess Rhaenys.

But there’s someone else too. A third presence…

“Baela said you might be here.” That third voice travels out, making you feel a sense of familiarity at the sound of their cautious voice, but not enough to immediately put a face to it.

“She’s done well as your ward,” she continues. “You’ve…um…raised her admirably.”

“You honor me, Princess,” Princess Rhaenys responds to the rather carefully worded compliment, letting you finally put a face to the third voice; it’s Rhaenyra.

“Might I speak to the Princess alone, Rhaena?” Rhaenyra asks with a shift in her voice that hints at a gain in confidence.

“Princess,” you hear Rhaena say before you hear her footsteps receding, leaving only Princess Rhaenys and Rhaenyra, and making it impossible for you to leave now.

No matter how much you want to.

“I wondered for many an hour what your purpose was in coming here,” you hear Rhaenyra drop all her courtesies to get straight to the point. “Whether you’d speak for or against the suit brought by Ser Vaemond. But then I realized you intend to advocate for yourself.”

How does she do that, you wonder. Throw assumptions without sounding nervous, without hesitation, or trying to frame the questions without being so direct.

“This is no fair proceeding,” Rhaenyra adds. “It is a trap. Set by the Queen and the Hand, I’d wager to proclaim my son illegitimate.”

Wrong—

“Yet you did worse than that with Laenor,” Princess Rhaenys jabs boldly, making you wonder how she had the confidence to do that too.

“Did you not?” Princess Rhaenys presses Rhaenyra, causing a silence to follow where you hear Rhaenyra take a deep breath before she seems to frame her response in a way that doesn’t sound shaky like when she initially got to the yard.

“I loved your son. You may not believe it to be true, but I did,” she says and waits.

Yet there’s only silence as a response. A silence with a thick, dangerous tension, she seems to maneuver with ease.

“I did not order his death. Nor was I complicit in it. I swear this to you.”

You can’t say if you believe that, considering how convenient your mother said it was that he died the moment Daemon became a widow again.

“I’ll make you an offer,” Rhaenyra throws out as you hear what you assume to be Princess Rhaenys’ footsteps start to recede before she stops at Rhaenyra’s offer.

“Back Luke’s claim and let us betroth Laena’s children to mine. Baela will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her sons will be heirs to the throne. Rhaena will rule in Driftmark, and the seat will pass to her and Lucerys’ children in time.”

“A generous offer,” Princess Rhaenys is quick to retaliate, but leaves a short and anticipating silence that the distant rumbling thunder fills before she continues. “Or a desperate one.”

Oh?

“What does it matter?” Rhaenyra counters, and you’re curious to know which one it is. You can’t for the life of you solve which one it is.

“You are right in this, at least,” Princess Rhaenys says after a second of pensive silence. “It does not matter.”

Again, a silence follows, one where a couple of footsteps can be heard against the stone ground before Princess Rhaenys speaks again.

“You can bargain with me all you like. Bring my granddaughter with you to soften my resolve. But tomorrow the Hightowers land their first blow. They force you to your knees and I must stand alone.”

Footsteps then continue to recede, and you assume it’s the Princess Rhaenys who left after she threw Rhaenyra a hefty blow, leaving you wondering how she took it without ever wavering. You would have stammered and ended at a loss for words before you even threw your first blow.

Thinking of what to say is easier, your emotions feed your mind with what to say, but your mouth doesn’t run. Your tongue almost seems to swell, and your throat feels like it closes as your chest clenches.

Is that boldness just something you're born with? Or something formed along the way?

Can it be taught? Or are you always going to have to live with that knot in your throat? You wonder as you hope Rhaenyra leaves shortly after Princess Rhaenys does, but her footsteps don’t recede. She shifts when the thunder rumbles but doesn’t pick up her feet to leave.

How much longer will you have to stay hidden?!

Your stomach is starting to rumble, and it’s not something you can hide or hope to mix with the thunder. Thunder comes as it pleases, just as your stomach rumbles as it pleases.

Please, gods, just have Rhaenyra leave!

Please! Please!

Yet, she doesn’t. She lingers, and your stomach continues to demand for food to the point it starts demanding loudly.

Too loud to go unnoticed…

“Who’s there?” Rhaenyra demands to know, but you just hope she doesn’t come close.

“Come out.”

Please, please just go away.

“I won’t ask again.”

Feeling like it’s better to stay quiet, you stay put and hope.

Alas, it’s pointless. You hear her footsteps approaching, and you get up, but have no time to try and avoid her, so she discovers you wide-eyed and heaving.

“I…wasn’t spying on you...or the princess Rhaenys,” you quickly explain yourself with a fleeting glance, noticing tears in the brim of her eyes.

“Hiding isn’t something someone who claims isn’t spying does,” she says slowly as she finally takes a good look at you, noticing the goosebumps prickling on your skin as the breeze only grows colder, seeing only specks of dirt on your otherwise expensive and clean looking light blue flowy gown, and trailing her eyes down your waist length silver hair that shines softly under the overcast light.

Everything about you is so intricate and clean, just like when you were a child. You also still look so delicate, like a moonflower and…your mother once upon a time.

“Well…I wasn’t,” you stammer. “I was here first, but then Rhaenys came, and I was behind the tree, and,” you pause and clear your throat. “I sit behind the tree because the face makes me uneasy and I can’t look away from it when I’m sitting in front of it, so I sit here, and I didn’t want to come out when Princess Rhaenys was here because it would’ve been awkward creeping out from behind. Then you came, and it got worse—I wasn’t spying.”

Rhaenyra hums, and you keep averting your gaze as you finally walk out from behind the tree, passing her but then stopping at the side of the tree to just wonder out loud since she’s already here.

“How do you do it? Confront someone and speak so boldly without a shaky voice or sounding nervous and stammering?”

You lift your eyes to the bright red leaves that never change color.

“I,” she says and pauses for a second. “It doesn’t come easy, but I have to do it.”

You blink and lower your gaze to your hands fiddling with your cuticles.

“I never can,” you admit quietly before the wind howls in your ear as it blows past you, flowing your hair and gown in the way it runs as if wanting you to go with it.

You’re too heavy to be picked up by its light touch, though, so you stay put, but your eyes drift to the side, noticing Rhaenyra's swollen belly and remembering why you sought out the tranquility of this Godswood.

“I pray to the gods. I am their faithful servant, yet…they still sought to take away my daughter,” your words flow out like the wind as you lose yourself in what the tree stands for.

“I demand to know why, but they don’t answer, so I seek out the old gods, but they have no answer for me either, so I wonder in my weakest moments if all the gods are the same, just sporting different masks…” You trail off solemnly, expecting nothing in response since you kind of went off track, but Rhaenyra actually offers you a response.

“I do not know. That might be true. I was never much of a believer.”

You hum and then exhale deeply before you admit your devotion. “I continue to pray. I continue to believe despite them never offering me any relief from my burden. I pray,” you pause and look at the white-barked tree with a fleeting hardened look that is replaced by a wide-eyed look of horror.

“…Just like my mother and sister pray. They pray so much,” you start muttering with heavy breaths as if something on the tree's bark is haunting you.

Yet Rhaenyra can’t see anything but the ridges and hard lines.

“They pray so loud that their throats grow raw and start to bleed until the terrible sound of destruction drowns them out and consumes them and all they hold dear. You would think it would silence all belief, but I continue to hear prayer for something greater than ourselves. Hope,” you chuckle with distress. “Their voices lack the magic they held. It’s ugly and desperate and louder, and they look the wrong way. They look for—”

You suddenly come to a stop, and like an owl, you churn your head and look at her with wide, creepy eyes.

“I hear you too, and just like them, you’re looking the wrong way,” you finish saying, sounding as if you were hurt.

Rhaenyra can’t see how you’ve been hurt though. Is what you were saying the cause of your pain? She wonders before she concludes that she's too bewildered to ask. You’ve left her speechless.

“I,” you scoff as you realize that you were caught in a trance. “I’m hungry.”

You curtsy stiffly and then swiftly leave Rhaenyra confused by what just happened.

You don’t even think back to what just happened. It’s…embarrassing, so if you just pretend it didn’t happen, you will go on living better. Moreover, hopefully the dinner you’re going to have with your mother and sister will aid in that attempt.

“Pray forgive my late arrival,” you announce to your mother and sister as you enter the dining hall.

“Is everything alright? I thought you weren’t going to make it,” your mother immediately interrogates you, making your eyes dart away from her while your heart skips a beat as if you’ve been up to no good.

“Yes, everything is fine, I just…lost track of time in the Godswood,” you throw out impromptu as you walk toward your sister to avoid looking your mother in the eye.

“You look lovely this evening,” you compliment your sister sweetly as she gets up off the floor in a dark teal blue long-sleeved gown.

“You too,” she doesn’t fail to redirect with a sweet smile of her own. “Where’s Octavian this evening?”

That’s something you hoped to avoid sharing too, but alas, she asked, and you have to answer.

“He went out to the city with the Velaryon boys.”

Immediately, your mother has something to say. “Is that so? Why I wonder? Was he forced?”

You walk alongside Helaena to the dinner table and glance at your mother before you respond truthfully. “No, I don't think he was forced. You know how he is. They probably said something funny and he…took a fancy to them.”

Your mother hums. “Well, you should tell him to not get too comfortable. Who knows what they may be spewing to him. Someone so easily charmed can be easy bait for schemes.”

You sit beside your sister across from your mother and shake your head gently. “He knows what you and the council think of them, he’s just…being friendly. That’s all.”

Your mother hums and leaves that at that before signaling the servants to bring out the hot food. You turn to your sister and dive into a mindless conversation that comes to mind, leading her to do the same. Only, she likes to go on and on, unlike you, but you do love to listen.

Her voice is so soothing and melodic too, and there’s so much excitement in her eyes and in her voice when she gets passionate. You simply can’t get enough, which is a complete contrast to your time with Baela and Rhaena. But Helaena is your older sister. They’re not.

Regardless, most of your conversations are with Helaena throughout the dinner. Your mother gets involved, but she mainly listens to the two of you until she finds a moment in your silence to speak up with a question.

“How did it go with welcoming Rhaenyra and her family?”

You pick at your dessert and sigh with discontent. “Not well,” you admit. “It was awkward, and they seemed upset, but it was not I who set up their welcoming. They must know.”

“And upset they were,” your mother confirms. “I found Rhaenyra and Daemon in the King's chambers. They had plenty to complain about. That being one of them, but your grandfather set it up in the way that befits their titles.”

It could’ve been more extravagant, and they both could’ve been in attendance, but alas, you were just doing what was asked of you. You weren’t in charge of setting up for their arrival.

“Mother…will you and Grandfather really strip Lucerys of his title and inheritance?” You can’t help but wonder after Rhaenyra was brought up conveniently.

“Well,” your mother drags the word as she thinks about how to word her response. “We’re not sure yet. That’s why we’ll be hearing their petitions tomorrow…Why do you ask, my girl?” She queries as she drinks her wine.

“Well…I was wondering really,” you strain to say without stammering or giving out that something else is lying underneath.

But you haven’t gotten good at hiding a thing. Not in your mother's eyes anyway.

“Wondering?” She questions as she tilts her head and looks at you deeply, making you uneasy.

“Well,” you swallow thickly. “It just seems pointless, does it not? Lord Corlys is going to live past his injuries.”

Your mother narrows her gaze with perplexity. “He’ll live?” She questions you.

You and Helaena share a knowing look before you face your mother but don’t meet her gaze. “Well, yes…I’ve seen it…in my dream. He’s in the war to come.”

“I’ve seen it too,” Helaena backs up your claim, making you offer her a thankful smile before you finally meet your mother's confused gaze for a brief moment.

“Well,” your mother exhales deeply. “That may be so,” she sounds uncertain. “But we still have to hear the petitions. It’s our duty as the crown. The gods will grant us the wisdom to decide what we must do.”

“I see,” you mutter and think about Rhaenyra and the tears brimming in her eyes when she discovered you.

You didn’t think anything of her tears then because your mind was on trying to explain that you weren’t doing anything malicious, but now that you’ve picked up on your mother's masked prejudice on the upcoming matter, your heart grows heavy for your half-sister.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The rain that poured down on the balcony sounded like a heavy song, and the clapping thunder gave it an eerie element that made the night unnerving. So much so that you stayed up with the firelight from the hearth to keep you warm as well as company until Octavian returned home.

Moreover, staying awake also worked to avoid having something happen if you dreamed while your husband was away.

However, your exhaustion proved greater than your desire, and that uneasiness caused by the storm proved to deeply disturb your sleeping mind, triggering your dreams to rise you out of the sofa and sneak you out of your bedchambers to tread the corridors with wary precision so as to not be heard. For the need to reach the courtyard in the middle of the royal apartments was a possessive necessity.

Why? To wake up?

The rain was cold and pouring down hard on the stone floor, whilst the thunder was shattering; it would’ve woken anyone up from a sleeping spell. But, you just stood there in the middle of the courtyard without snapping out of your sleeping trance.

It almost looked like you were a statue, but your breaths moved your chest up and down calmly. Your sleeping gown and robe were soaked completely through. And your complexion went pale as your body shook with the cold.

Luckily, the corridor was frequented, and Octavian was not far now, but who found you first was not help or quick. They got surprised by your presence and approached with caution, thinking you were just…mad for standing so still under the rain.

“Princess?” They call out just as cautiously, expecting a response, but not seeing even a twitch of your fingers. You stay still.

“Princess?” He calls out with a sharpness in his tone so he can be heard this time.

Yet, Daemon went ignored and it made him think of just leaving, but he happened to recall your first and only interaction years ago in Driftmark, so his curiosity guides him toward you.

“Princess?” He calls out again as he steps out onto the courtyard, feeling the rain beating down on him.

“Lions, wolves, stags,” words finally slip out of your mouth, but they only raise more questions in the prince.

“What?” He immediately probes as he keeps stalking towards you with caution.

“Sharp teeth, sharp claws, sharp antlers. They tangle. As they tangle, they pierce. As they pierce, they bleed,” you whisper with a raspy voice.

“Blood draws out the roses and the roses…”

You trail off, and the Prince thinks you’ll turn to acknowledge him, but you remain silent, and that begins to unsettle him, but he keeps stalking toward you.

“…wound and wound. They spread like wildfire. Careful, they don’t poke your eyes out. Careful, the red sun burns.”

“What are you muttering about?” Daemon finally demands to know as he stalks around you.

“But do they see?”

“See what?” He grimaces and finally steps out in front of you, expecting to find your gaze, but your gaze is blankly staring at the ground across from you.

“The cold,” you respond and slowly lift your eyes to him, but there’s no acknowledgement. You look through him with cheeks pampered with tears or rainwater; he can’t tell. He can’t even tell what’s going on, but he knows that every breath he takes is baited.

“The eternal winter rides forth from the depths of the North, and riding with it…death. Death is coming…death is coming,” you repeat with your voice rising and your eyes widening with distress as if you were hurting by what you were saying.

“Death is coming and she…she…needs dragons. She needs them, and we’re killing them,” you sob, causing Daemon’s breath to hitch before he looks around with confusion

“She needs them,” you weep. “And they’re dying. We have to save them. Please don’t kill them!” You cry and suddenly slap your hands on your face and drag your nails down your face.

“Stop it,” Daemon snaps, but to no avail, so he lurches forward to grab your wrists and pull them off your face.

You still don’t wake though.

Instead, you look straight in the eyes and pierce your watery gaze into him.

“She is The Prince that was Promised. She is Azor Ahai. She is The Stallion that mounts the world,” you grimace before you start to thrash in his hold. “She-she-she—“

You suddenly cut yourself off just as you started stuttering and stop thrashing.

“Snap out—”

Before he can finish, you start to cry out loud, causing Daemon to let go of you and look at you, bewildered as you fall to your knees.

He should say something, try to snap you out of whatever is happening, but he just keeps watching you, feeling disturbed and ever so slightly horrified.

Thankfully, rounding the corner across the corridor is your concerned husband.

He spots you right away and shouts your name before he runs over to you, seconds before the Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston, and Ser Arryk follow behind.

“Oh, my love,” Prince Octavian coos as he reaches you and pulls off his black overcoat to drape it over your trembling shoulders.

“What’s the matter?” Ser Criston questions as he looks down at you and then snaps his gaze to Daemon. “What happened?” Ser Criston spats almost in an accusatory tone.

Daemon scoffs at the threatening glare piercing through him before Prince Octavian cuts through the tension.

“She was just dreaming,” he assures the knight ready to fight. “She’s unharmed.”

Daemon glances at you while Ser Criston still looks at him suspiciously, noticing that you seem to be awake now, but never once do you meet his gaze. You keep your head ducked and pressed against your husband's chest.

“She’ll be okay once I get her warmed up.”

“I’ll have her handmaid draw her up a bath,” Ser Arryk quickly bounces in after Prince Octavian and doesn’t hesitate to go off and do what he said.

“Let’s get back to our post, Ser Criston,” the commander orders as everything is solved, but Ser Criston isn’t as quick as Ser Arryk.

As Prince Octavian starts walking away with you under his arm, Ser Criston keeps his eyes on Daemon for a moment longer before the quickly angered knight turns away and does as he was ordered, leaving Daemon under the rain perturbed by you.

.

.

.

.

.

“Then why are you so sad? In time, grandfather's anger will pass,” Helaena offers some reassurance, thinking that’s what has you so morose.

“No,” you whisper and pull the doublet up between your faces to look at it longingly. “That’s not it. It’s…I just wish the Prince hadn’t left.”

Helaena says nothing. She lets you continue, hoping to gain clarity on the matter of your heart.

“I really liked him,” you continue as you trace the gold embroidery on the doublet. “But…I know what I am and I didn’t want to scare him, or risk having him not understand me and pity me...I’d be a burden to him then, and my burdens are heavy enough. I don’t want to carry that guilt too. But…”

You sigh and look at the prince's doublet with an aching heart. “When I think of him, my heart swoons and every part of me is so very happy,” you muse with a faint smile.

“And when I look into his eyes, that risk of having him not understand me means nothing, but,” your voice quivers. “I want to be with someone who understands me. The me I hide underneath.”

Gaining some clarity on your desires, Helaena tries offering a solution that she thinks could cure your melancholy. “Aemond understands you. Why don’t you marry him?” She suggests, making you sigh deeply and hold the teal and gold doublet against your chest.

“Because he’s our brother,” you say mindlessly. “And he doesn’t understand. Not truly. Besides,” you pause and meet her gaze, feeling perplexed and slightly uneasy over what you’re recalling. “I had a dream of him. The tea I drink muted the contents of the dream, of course, but,” you gulp nervously and flicker your eyes up to meet her waiting gaze.

“I know what I felt when I saw the glimpse of him, and it was pure aching heartbreak. He does something that hurts me so deeply that I feel uneasy even now, even though I don’t know what it is.”

Helaena thinks on the matter in silence, letting you see the wheels in her mind churning behind her eyes. Almost as if she was trying to pull the answer from her own dreams.

“Well,” she says after a moment of silence. “What are you going to do?”

“Become a Septa,” you add lightheartedly, but she counters bluntly.

“No.”

You scoff in amusement and actually agree with her. The Septa life is not for you, so there’s only one thing you can do.

“It’ll pass,” you say out loud to try and convince yourself.

“Maybe,” Helaena responds with no shame or false hope, but she’s right.

You only hope your longing will pass. There’s no guarantee that it will. Maybe you’ll live in agony for as long as you live because you’re scared.

Yet, what if you’re right and he turned out to be everything you feared? You’d live in misery then. So you’re avoiding the possibility of that outcome.

You're doing the right thing, you repeat in your mind over and over again until, in the silence, a knock raps on the door.

“Come,” Helaena grants them permission, making the doors open and welcoming your mother.

If it hadn’t been her walking through those doors, neither one of you would have sat up, but since it is her, you sit up and avert your gaze as you feel the weight of her stare on you.

“Mother,” Helaena greets as she approaches Helaena’s bed in a heavy silence.

You ignore her and drag yourself to the edge of the bed without letting go of the Prince’s doublet.

“The Hand and I fought hard to try and convince the Prince to change his mind,” your mother finally finds the words to direct at you without sounding harsh like her father had sounded in the morning.

“But no matter what we said and offered him, he would not change his mind. The Hand and I would like to know why.”

Because you’re sick and not meant to marry. It’s that easy. It’s what she said about you.

Yet, retaliating with her own words doesn’t come as easily as your tears fill your eyes. No matter how much your throat burns with the need to spill it all out.

It’s easier trying to appease to her because that would hurt her less.

“I’m sorry,” you weep as she takes a seat beside you on the bed. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.”

Your mother gasps and slowly clutches her chest.

“Oh my—,” she sighs and tries reaching for your hand, but you stand up abruptly and, with your gaze averted, you just blunder more apologies.

“I’m sorry I can’t be the daughter you want me to be. I’m sorry I can’t be like you.”

Your mother gets up and tries to comfort you, but you rush out of Helaena's bedchambers with tears clouding your eyes and with your heart heavy and pounding.

Maybe she tried to stop you; maybe others tried to stop you; you don’t know. You’re too lost in your own agony to know. It’s what coerces your body to seek the one thing that can comfort you; Valiant, your dragon.

After all, what friends could you go to? Your father is a stranger and half dead; your brothers don’t understand, and Helaena was there with your mother. Valiant is all you have to run to.

He’s a sliver of peace to your tormented mind. Your silence and escape from your broken mind. He is everything and so much more.

He is far from the Keep and the sun is only getting lower on the horizon, so you should heed your mother's rules and not go on dragonback at night, but you’re too blinded by your agony to care. Besides, no one dares to deny your demand to take you to the Dragonpit.

Thus, you quickly find your way to him, and the moment you reach him, he’s already alert and expecting you. Not with disappointment or anger. Not with pity or fear, but instead with affection and comfort, knowing well and deeply what you need the most.

“<Oh, my Valiant,>” you coo in Valyrian as you hug his rough neck, feeling him immediately wrap his large head around you before he makes sure to be gentle as he rubs his snout against you.

Sobs fill the silence after that, and Valiant never once gives any sign that he wants to move. He keeps his head and neck wrapped around you, keeping you from feeling even a lick of the coldness that fills the underground lair where he’s kept.

Valiant only dares to move when you do, and even then he’s attentive to your every move as you make your way up to your silver saddle. He only thinks about moving once you’ve taken your seat, and once that’s done, he needs no command to know what to do. He walks out of the liar and the Dragonpit without command and takes flight into the night sky, outshining the moon and the stars combined as he’s basked by their soft white light.

The traveling breeze makes no difference to your enormous dragon, but it blows the tears off your face, and throws them in your flowing silver hair, or gets them lost in the sky you put behind you.

Your once heavy and burdened shoulders feel lighter as you fly through the free sky and have no one looking down on you. Your chest aches; no amount of fresh breeze, flying, or comfort from Valiant can rid you of that. It’s like another disease, but you do feel weightless.

Not for long. Just for a moment before you’re weighed down by your aching heart and heavy chest and find refuge in the gods.

After all, your mother always advised you to keep faith in the gods. She said that they would help you, so you kept faith. You pray, you try to live in their grace, so here you are, seeking their help in a garden dedicated to them, where they stand as statues and watch the stone circle where you stand seeking their kindness.

Can they help you now, though? Can they offer your agonizing heart and fractured mind respite? Can they lead your life into bliss? Can they feed your hunger for love?

That’s all you’ll ever ask of them.

“So can they offer me this mercy?” You ask yourself in your mind as you sit on your knees under their watchful eyes, clutching onto the Prince's doublet that you put on in your hurried state out of the Keep, and feeling Valiant’s comfort as he lays his head behind you.

The silence of the night also accompanies you and Valiant, and silence is all that you expected to have, but then Valiant rises off the ground and moves to block you with his large neck from whatever caught his attention.

“<Valiant, what is it?>” You ask your wary dragon in Valyrian as you peer over your shoulder, catching his crests rise as he grows tense, and hearing him start to growl.

“<Valiant—>”

“Princess?” You hear a raspy voice travel from behind your dragon's flesh barrier.

“<Valiant…stand down,>” you order your dragon as you push yourself to your feet and turn to face where the voice had come from, seeing your dragon hesitate before he shifts back slowly, revealing none other than Prince Octavian approaching the stone circle cautiously and out of breath.

He’s supposed to be on his way home. You caught their ships in the water. He’s…here though…standing across from you.

“I,” he swallows thickly, trying to offer some relief to his dry throat whilst also darting his eyes to your dragon, who is not growling at him anymore but watching him with a sharp, piercing and intimidating glare.

“…I…jumped off the boat,” Prince Octavian reveals between heavy pants as he comes to a stop. “And jumped…on the first horse I saw to ride to the Red Keep, but then…I saw him.” He points at your wary dragon. “Flying and figured that you’d be with him so…I…followed him here to try and reach you.”

“Me?” Your breath hitches with your eyes wide, your lips parted, and your heart racing because of your disbelief. “Why?” You mutter and only now see that the lower half of him is soaked.

“Why?” He echoes before taking a couple of deep breaths and getting closer, causing your dragon to start pressing his head forward.

“<Calm, Valiant,> you order, but again he hesitates for a moment before he shuffles back, letting the Prince get closer and closer until he’s a foot away.

“Is it not obvious?” He finally continues. “Don't you know?”

You gulp, and with teary eyes you shake your head before whispering, “no.”

“I couldn’t leave,” he scoffs softly with his breath still coming heavy, but not because he’s trying to catch his breath, because his heart is thumping as hard and fast as yours is.

“Not without fighting for you to let me in,” he continues. “For you to let me care about you and start a future together.”

“A future?” You quote and shake your head. “What future can you expect to have with me? I’m not whole,” you cry. “My dreams…they…become true; they haunt and torment me. They make me get up at night while I’m still asleep and…make me talk and cry and scream. I’m not fit to wed. You’ll grow tired and scared of me.”

The prince gets closer, stealing a glance at your dragon, who only steals glances at him now, and then grabs your hands from your sides.

“No, I don’t believe I will,” he says what you’ve heard before. “I can’t say I will understand what your dreams mean or what causes them, but I can say that I want to be there to know them after you’ve had them. And I want to comfort you when it’s too much for you,” he finishes with words that you haven’t heard, words that bring your heart comfort and hope.

“Why?” You have to know his reasoning, making him scoff and look at you with disbelief.

“Is it not obvious? I can’t get you out of my head. My heart longs for you, it sings your name. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I know that I will not know happiness if I’m not with you.”

Tears roll down your cheeks, and as blissful as your heart is, it aches too because of his sweet and unexpected words.

“You won’t?” You query to make sure.

He brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss on them. “No, so please let me in. Let us be happy together.”

“I…Okay,” you mewl as you nod happily. “Okay.”

Octavian grins and lets go of your hands so he can cradle your face before he presses his forehead against yours to stop himself from stealing a kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For not leaving and for trying to understand.”

“Thank you for not forgetting about me,” he chuckles. “You’re wearing my doublet.”

“Oh,” you gasp. “I,” you mutter timidly. “I couldn’t forget you.”

He hums happily and caresses your cheeks with his thumbs. “Well, you look good in it,” he flatters you, making you giggle before you pull back to beam at him.

Octavian's eyes soften, and his grin turns to a tender smile. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I would’ve been a mad man to leave you behind.”

Your face burns at his words, and your heart is struck with awe, softening your grin to a blissful smile.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

Fluttering around you like butterflies seeking nectar, a flock of ladies work around you, making sure the gold headpiece is secure on your head, and that the white veil flowing from your head to the ground is connected to the headpiece and tucked under the arrangement of small white flowers around your waist, so as the veil wraps around your arms it gives the illusion that you have dragon wings.

Other ladies make sure to keep the makeup on your face natural. Others straighten out the faux white and icy blue roses decorating the gown's skirt from the middle and down to the tail. While others make sure the lace bordering the hem of the dress doesn’t have a string out of place.

“You look so beautiful,” Helaena coos as she watches from the couches so as to not be in the way. “You’re really going to steal Octavian’s breath away.”

You look at your big sister between the bodies of busy ladies and offer her a giddy and yet nervous smile. “You think?”

She nods. “I know it. I’ve…seen it…well, not really, but I know I’ll be right.”

You giggle, and she smiles softly in return before she gets up and walks towards you, making the ladies part away to give way for her to come up to you.

“I wanted to give you something,” she speaks up quietly and lifts her fisted hand to open her palm and show off a gold butterfly ring.

“It’s for you. You remind me of them,” she says sweetly whilst she pushes her hand forward so you can take the ring from her.

“This is so sweet and beautiful, Helaena,” you respond breathlessly. “Thank you.” You grin at her and then slide it right on, seeing the golden wings wrap around your fingers while the body sits along your finger. “Perfect fit,” you praise, making her smile with relief.

“Good, I took one of your rings so they could get the right measurements since I couldn’t really ask you,” she shares with a giggle.

“Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have known; you’re better at lying than I am.”

“True.”

You snort, and she giggles, in turn causing you to start laughing softly too, making this the first sweet and blissful memory of the day that’s expected to have plenty more sweet and blissful memories.

Not even Aemond’s surprise appearance spoils your moment. One, because you’re happily going to get married to a spectacular man, and two, because you’ve been forcing yourself to forget your uneasiness towards your little brother.

“May I have a moment alone with my sister?” He immediately announces, clearing your bedchamber quickly. Only leaving a slight tension as you wonder why he gave that order.

“What is it?” You ask as you bring your hands together to start fiddling with your fingers.

Aemond, however, doesn’t respond right away. He looks you up and down with his head slightly tilted and his face hard and serious before he starts slowly circling you, making you turn to watch his every move.

“Are you sure?” He finally breaks his silence as he comes to a stop in front of the rays of sun penetrating through the window behind him, scattering the sunlight all around you.

“Is marrying this foreigner what you truly want?” He sets a thicker tension in the room. “Or is it because grandfather and mother have impressed it upon you?”

Your lashes bat with disbelief before you try to sound reassuring, despite the nervous quiver in your voice. “Aemond…I want this. Grandfather and mother may have had a hand in our union, but I love him,” you speak truthfully and softly, with a smile spreading on your lips.

“Love him enough to be taken away and live far from everyone you know?” He brings it up either because he’s clueless or hoping that it will scare you.

“We’re going to live here,” you correct him without losing an ounce of patience. “As the second son, he has that privilege. We’ll visit Pentos, of course, but he’s agreed to live here.”

Aemond nods stiffly and gets closer, having to crane his neck since you’re standing on a round platform.

“Is that what he says? He’s promised you?” He asks in a quieter and chilling voice. “And if he’s lying? Just to get you to agree to marry him?”

You narrow your gaze and look at him with confusion.

“You don’t know him. Not truly,” he continues. “What if it’s all a facade?”

“Why?”

He gets closer and whispers. “You know why.”

Your brows pinch together, and your lips curl to a frown.

“He’s not like that,” you defend your betrothed.

“So you say, but you don’t know. He could be like that though, because everyone in this realm is like that. All they see are our dragons. Not us. He’s no different…But you do have others who are not like that. Who see you.”

You gulp and dart your eyes away as you understand who he's hinting at. “Aemond,” you cut him off before he can actually say it. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Your sister. Why can’t you just trust Octavian? He’s so nice and has tried so hard to understand me and my dreams. He’s my escape from my tortured mind, my breath of air, so why can’t you be happy about that and stop…” you pause and try to find the right words before you take his big and cold hands in yours.

“…being such an overly protective brother?” You muster and smile faintly. “Be happy for me. Accept him. Please. If not for him, then for the love you harbor for me. Your sister.”

Aemond glances at your connected hands and watches you caress his knuckles before he meets your gaze, still with a hard stare. As if everything you just said didn’t register.

“Aemond,” you press for reassurance, but before he can respond, the doors open to your room and your mother, Helaena, and the flock of women walk in.

“Mother,” you greet gleefully, letting Aemond’s hands go and thankfully dropping the conversation before he could hurt you with whatever response he had in mind.

“Aemond, what are you doing here?” Your mother focuses on him as she leads the woman back to you so they can put the finishing touches on you.

“I came to bid her congratulations,” he lies as he's forced to walk away from where he was. “That’s all.”

“Well, if you’ve made it start heading down with your brother and grandfather, please,” your mother pleads, making your brother hum before he stalks out of your quarters.

You watch him, and then when the doors close behind him, you focus on your mother to ask her the one thing you’ve been wanting to know.

“Mother, and father?” You ask hopefully.

Yet no amount of hope changed her response, so she looks at you remorseful and makes the working woman make way for her so she can take your hands in hers. “I’m sorry, my darling, but he can’t be with us. It’s been a terrible morning.”

You drop your head and draw in a shaky breath and nod slowly with comprehension. “Of course,” your voice quivers. “I-I understand.”

Your mother grabs your chin with her pointer finger and thumb to lift your head so she can offer you a smile. “Don’t let it spoil today, okay? Be reassured by the fact that he’s happy for you.”

You avert your gaze and huff. “Is he? Does he even remember me?” You mutter bitterly, making your mother caress your cheek.

You lift your gaze and try to look upset, but it quickly falls, and you express a great anguish.

“Your grandfather will walk you down the aisle,” she reassures you with a sweet smile. “So please don’t let it upset you, okay? Stay happy, my beautiful girl. It’s your big, special day,” she coos before her smile and eyes grow even more tender.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” she muses as her eyes start to water. “Prince Octavian is a very lucky man.”

Your own eyes water, and she can’t help but scoff softly at that before she surprises you with an embrace, feeling grateful that there were certain tensions brushed aside for this not to be awkward.

“I’ll always be here for you. Don’t forget. I’ll always try to understand, okay?” She whispers.

You grip onto her and nod gently. “Okay,” you whisper in response before she pulls back and swiftly wipes away her tears before you can cry too.

“Is she ready?” Your mother directs at the working women as she steps back. “We should really be heading out.”

The women all give their confirmations as they step away from you, finally setting you free from their working hands and letting you make your way to the garden where the statues of the seven gods are. Usually, weddings are held at the Great Sept, especially royal weddings, but you and Octavian thought it would be special to be wed in the garden, so you pushed for it, and since the Faith has statues there, the High Septon granted it to you.

Yet, you can’t be as happy as you want to be on your way to your beloved betrothed, and Ser Criston notices, since everyone’s walking ahead of you.

“I thought today was meant to be a happy day?” He points out as he falls by your side. “If it’s not. Say the word, I could provide an escape.”

You scoff in amusement and shake your head. “It’s not that. Rest assured,” you let him know with a convincing smile before your sorrow returns. “It’s…my father,” you share, causing him to hum in comprehension.

“It’s just,” you continue. “If I were Rhaenyra. He…would’ve made an effort to be in attendance. Even if it was Helaena, he would’ve tried, but me. He’s always forgotten…” you trail off with a deep breath.

“Well,” he says. “I cannot say if you’re right or wrong…But I know that this absence you feel can be insignificant if you fill that absence with your mother. Her love for you and your siblings is so deep that it’s enough to fill it and not need anyone else. Trust me…I’ve been with her for a long time. Her love for you is enough.”

With a deep breath, you expel that sorrow that had a hold on you and offer Ser Criston a tender smile.

“Yes, you’re right…thank you,” you offer him, getting a small head bow in return.

“Don’t worry anymore. Stay happy and excited,” he adds, making you grin.

“That’s what she said.” You giggle and flash him your grin. “Impressive.”

He scoffs, and with that, you move on blissfully, earning a scolding when you reach the others for making your mother wait.

Not like it matters anymore. Your nerves completely overwhelm you, forgetting what you were told as your mind floods with the fear of tripping down the aisle, of Octavian not waiting for you, of the hundred of guests watching you get married, of Octavian not liking you in your wedding gown.

There’s so many things that can go wrong. So many possibilities that can happen and work against you. It all starts to overwhelm you now and only grows worse the closer you get to the Blessed Garden, making it hard to keep still, hard to keep yourself from picking at your cuticles, and hard not to think of avoiding the wedding altogether.

Even so, you make it, and immediately you’re awestruck by how beautifully the garden is decorated with hundreds and thousands of beautiful pink, red, and orange bright colored flowers covering every inch of grass, leaving not even an inch of grass uncovered, and making it appear like a flower field.

Yet nothing is as breathtaking as the man you’re going to marry. Not the yellow bees and pretty butterflies feeding off the fields of flowers. Not the wood pergola holding white histerias that hang over the stone circle. Octavian is captivating. He stands out under the white histerias with his red hair neatly combed over, his rich gold and silver ensemble, and his glimmering green eyes shining like stars the closer your grandfather walks you to him at the beat of the soft music playing around you.

Oh, and that smile, that charming and beaming smile Octavian offers you is the cure to all your racing nerves, and the great conqueror of all your fears and doubts.

When you finally join hands after your grandfather gives you away to him, he’s…everything. He completes you, filling a gap that you’ve felt all your life.

“You are,” he says breathlessly as he caresses your cheek with his knuckle. “So absolutely beautiful.”

You grin at him and then share your glee with your family watching outside the stone circle, earning an excited smile from Helaena, nothing from Aegon, a frown from Aemond, and a happy smile from your mother.

Or so you thought it was happy, but truthfully, her smile is laced with sadness. Something she couldn’t help, and as much as she wants her twinge of sadness to be because she fears for your future with your husband, in truth, it’s because there's a hint of jealousy in her heart.

It’s horrible to feel that way towards her daughter, she knows, and she hates it, but what more could any woman want but to marry a charming man whom she truly and deeply loves?

One they get to choose.

One you got to choose despite the Hands plotting, and one that chose you despite the sickness that drives you mad.

You have everything she once wanted.

Just like…Rhaenyra.

Do you know how much the privilege of marrying for love is worth as you and your husband make your seven vows, invoke seven others, and make seven promises?

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

As the Prince follows the High Septon’s instruction and cloaks you, she hopes you don’t take your privilege for granted or know about her twinge of jealousy that she can’t let go of.

“In sight of the Seven,” the High Septon continues to say as he binds your hand and the prince's hand together with a ribbon. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words.”

As you and Prince turn to face each other, she hopes you don’t notice her tears and see her self-pity, only how sentimental she feels seeing her youngest daughter getting married.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you and the Prince declare together.

“I am hers, and she is mine...”

“I am his, and he is mine…”

“…From this day until the end of my days.”

You and Octavian both smile tenderly at each other and feel more eager to bring this to an end, but first, the High Septon must say his last words.

“Here in the presence of Gods and men, I proclaim Octavian of House Haratis,” he says and continues to state your name and house.

“To be man and wife,” he goes on. “One flesh, one heart, one soul now and forever.”

Finally, after so much longing and stolen glances, he leans in and presses his full, soft, and warm pink lips to yours, causing a spark to be felt between your lips that makes you pull back and makes him grin.

You don’t proceed to doubt yourself over what happened though. The spark felt thrilling and yet unexpected, that was all, so after it passes, you listen to your jumping heart wanting more and hastily dive back in, taking the initiative in his gentleness.

Something which catches him by surprise, but he quickly matches your hunger as he cradles your cheek, moving with you as if you’ve done this act before when in fact it was the first time. He hadn’t even stolen a peck; he wanted to wait for this moment despite how much he thought of your lips, and it was worth it. To be consumed by your warmth and taste the sweetness of your wet lips was a sensation unlike any other. You made him burn scolding hot, and grounded him to this very earth.

You...made his deep carnal need for you even deeper.

——

*LATER*

The atmosphere is thick with glee and hope, and the smell of wine and sweat.

Whatever trouble everyone faces, the torment you suffer, and the unspoken tension that radiates the Red Keep, lives outside the great hall as laughter echoes throughout the room, and lively music brings people to dance in the middle of the room. People like you, your sister, and your older brother.

At first, it was you and Octavian dancing your hearts out, but then a drunken Aegon stumbled upon you and basically ripped you from your husband's side. And Helaena, well, she was going to leave the dance floor after dancing with your grandfather, but you brought her back so she could join you and your, well, wavering brother. He keeps leaving and coming back, and as of this very moment, he’s gone to get more to drink, leaving you to dance with your sister. Which doesn't bother either of you.

Helaena actually prefers it just being the two of you. You’re not dancing as wildly and offbeat as Aegon. You keep close and lead her more slowly, keeping in mind that she’s expecting twins.

As to your husband's whereabouts? After Aegon abruptly took you from him, you now see him through the crowd, making friends with some of the young lords while also continuously drifting his eyes to the dancing crowd to watch you.

It was impossible not to; you were magnetic and outstanding in every way. He would be closer if he could, but watching you dance with your sister and brother also warmed his heart because of how happy it made you. And your happiness, well, it was enough to sustain him.

If he could, he'd live off just you. That's a feeling that he never thought possible until you. A feeling he hoped you’d know through the frequent tender glances you keep sharing from across the room.

That is, until a burning sensation draws your attention to Aemond as Aegon has you in his grasp once again.

Unlike your older siblings, Aemond stayed put in his seat around the high table, choosing to be brooding from his end seat. And just like your husband, he kept his eye trained on you with the face of a hardened stranger instead of the softness of your little brother.

Will this always be his way from now on?

You hope not, you miss the boy he once was.

“I’m going to take a break,” Helaena breaks you from your stupor, drifting your attention to her pressed at your side.

“Oh, good, I’ll follow,” you respond, finding it easy to slip away from Aegon since he’s now distracted by one of his equally drunken friends, and catching Octavian start to mirror your every step towards the high table the moment he spots you departing from the dancing floor.

When you eventually meet each other at the table, he smiles at you. “I missed you,” he coos as he presses his hand on the small of your back, making you peer back at him with a shy smile before you move your arm back to hook your fingers with his and walk the short distance back to your chairs hand in hand.

Once in your seats, you want to say something sweet in return. There’s so much you can say, so much you want to say, but it overwhelms you completely, leaving you speechless.

All you can do is look affectionately into his eyes before you’re drawn to his lips and driven completely by desire to kiss him.

At first, it’s a swift and gentle kiss, but then, all you want to say but can’t form into words pushes your lips back against his, taking him with a passionate force that makes him cradle your face to hold onto something.

Experience isn’t something you have. You’ve only kissed him today, but your dancing heart controls you as if you’ve dedicated your life to kissing him.

The taste of his wine tasting saliva keeps you wanting more, the clashing of teeth and the feeling of his tongue teasing your lips keep you moving in sync, and the hunger for more keeps you attached.

At least, it did until you remembered that you aren’t alone.

However, as fulfilling as the kiss should’ve been when you part, you still have so much left for him to know, so much he needs to know. So much you can’t hold back, but telling him one-on-one isn’t enough. You need everyone to know, so as you feel a rush of boldness due to the wine, you clink your cup loudly until the music and commotion fall quiet and all the attention is on you, slowly getting up from your seat.

“I would just like to,” you pause and swallow nervously as you see everyone’s stares. “…to, uh, ask everyone to raise their cups to, uh, my…husband,” you giggle nervously and yet with happy disbelief that you get to say that.

“Prince Octavian,” you continue and share a glance with him, catching his surprise and his intrigued smile as he holds his cup.

“…ever since I learned to want…love, I also learned to never expect to receive it…” you pause and steal another glance at him. “…but…here you are,” you say as you hold his gaze, catching his eyes softening.

“He doesn’t only love me, but he understands me; my burdened soul and my fractured spirit,” you speak to the listening crowd, some of whom grow teary-eyed with your every word.

“I…dreamed of you, Octavian,” you direct at him and glance at him with a smile. “But I never knew what to expect, or what it meant seeing you. Now that I’ve known you, though, now that you’ve loved me, and now that we’ve married, I know what it meant…I am meant to love you. To be one heart. One soul,” you pour your heart out to him, holding his tender and glossy eyes. “Until my dying breath—To forever.”

A silence lingers before the crowd erupts with the same thing. “To Prince Octavian and the Princess!”

Octavian, however, toasts to “forever.” when you sit back down, letting you then clink your cups together and take a drink as you hold each other's gazes.

Once you put the cups down, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and then leans in. “<I love you>,” he whispers in Valyrian.

You grin at him slowly before you don’t hesitate to return his tender words. “<I love you.>”

He hums happily and steals a chaste kiss so he doesn’t lose himself in his need for you.

Yet, when you face the crowd again, there’s a sudden change in scenery.

The hall isn’t brightly lit by candles; fire consumes the great hall, rising the walls, consuming the statues of past kings on their pillars, replacing the ground beneath your feet, and surrounding the high table and its feasting inhabitants in the middle of the room.

At first, the ravaging bodies around the table weren’t distinguishable, but as your eyes get used to the light of the blazing fires, you’re horrified to see them; your mother, your grandfather, Daemon, Rhaenyra, Aegon, and Aemond.

Their hands are soaked in blood and busy ripping apart the raw and bloody bodies of meat set up all over the table as if they were starved. As if they’ve tasted nothing better than the feast of meat that sits before them.

But…it’s not. It shouldn’t be…don’t they know that what they're eating is not animal? The heart Rhaenyra and your mother rip apart with their nails and eat pieces of is unlike any animals; the legs Aegon devours too long and wide to be chicken, the liver Aemond picks apart not like any animals, and the ribs that Daemon and your grandfather tear apart with their teeth larger than a boar's.

Can't they see what they're eating?!

“Are you okay?” Your sister's voice cuts through your horror.

“…Yes…” your voice quivers before you look over at her, noting that fire is swallowing you and her before you’re frightened by the appearance of her rotting, pale corpse looking back at you.

“I,” you gasp and feel tears fall from your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder, making you snap around to see Octavian looking exactly the same, rotting, stiff, pale, and dead. Only he’s missing one eye, and the other has long been rolled back.

“Yes,” you blurt and squeeze your eyes shut for a second, hoping for it all to go away.

And it does. Your eyes flutter open, and you’re back at your brightly lit wedding. There’s no fire, no ravaging people, and no corpses looking back at you.

It was all just a flash of a dream due to your lack of sleep.

It’s not happening…

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