Certified writer

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…

.

.

.

.

“<I wish you could be closer to me,” you admit as you open your eyes and tilt your head to the side. “But alas, we have to keep a distance between us because they don’t understand you as I do. Like we do.>”

With no way to express himself with soft growls like the others, he nudges himself against you, pushing you back and making you beam.

“<We don’t need them. That’s right, but I wish they’d understand.>” You respond to his nudge. “They need to,” you add in the common tongue under your breath whilst Valiant starts rubbing himself against you, turning your attention back to him and making you giggle.

“<I love you too,>” you respond to his sweet displays of affection before you exhale deeply. <Goodbye, my Valiant. I’ll be back.>”

You step away, and he wants to follow, but the dragon keepers block his way with the tall sticks they carry, making Valiant huff.

“<Be good,”> you order him before you turn around and skip to your sister. “Let’s go,” you finally tell her when you reach her side.

“If only we could return on horseback,” you fill the silence she leaves with mindless drivel. “But alas,” you drag out.

“I think if mother could, she’d avoid us just like the horses do until we wash off the stench of dragon,” Helaena quips, making the corner of your lips wobble until you can’t help but grin.

“If it were up to mother, our dragons would be something to admire and not touch,” you riposte. “But good thing it’s not up to her.” You sigh softly as you step out of the Dragonpit and feel the sun on your skin again.

If you could travel back to the Red Keep on horseback, you’d take that time to continue absorbing the sun and catching a glimpse of life below the castle, but since the horses are offended by the smell of dragon that's latched onto you, you have to return by carriage and hide behind covered windows.

“I really loved that beach,” Helaena breaks the silence inside the carriage, turning your eyes away from the gaps between the curtains to look at her. “We should return next time we go flying.”

You smile happily and nod. “I’d love that.”

“It was very tranquil and appeared to be far from people.”

“Just like you like it,” you tease, but she shakes her head,

“Well, only because you were there with me,” she corrects you, making your face soften, and your smile grow tender.

“We’ll go again then. We can finally stop searching for some place to land and make that our spot, hm?”

A smile tugs on Helaena’s thin pink lips, and she can’t help but nod. “I’d love that,” she agrees, which makes you enthusiastic for your next trip, considering she doesn’t like to fly too far from home, and when you do happen to go far, she doesn’t like to stay too long from home. So, this place is truly an achievement and is now forever marked as a special place. An escape, so to say, one only you and she will know.

“The yard is busier than when we left it,” Helaena comments when you ride past the Red Keep gates. “Is someone here you think?”

As if looking through her window would give you an answer, you crawl away from your window to look out hers to see what she’s seeing.

“Or Ser Tyland is going hunting with his entourage again,” you retort with an amused smile as you try to catch a flag or anyone with the right garbs on that can tell you what’s going on. Yet flags don’t fly in the air, and backs and asses are on display.

“Do you think he goes hunting, or does he just go to waste people’s time?” You wonder about Ser Tyland and snicker. “I heard that Lord Jason is a total peacock when he goes hunting. Maybe they’re the same because they’re twins?”

Helaena doesn’t respond. You’ve most likely never had her attention, or just lost her halfway through; either way, she doesn’t respond, so you sit back as the carriage rolls to a stop.

“Well, if it’s someone significant, we’ll know,” you add on a serious note before you glance at the opening door and climb out first.

When she climbs out and joins you on the ground, you walk inside at her side. “I’m going to see Aemond. Do you wish to join us?” You ask, hoping for a yes.

Nevertheless, with a small glance, she shakes her head. “No,” she says bluntly with no further explanation.

You sigh deeply and pick at your cuticles on one finger. “If you want, I can be with you while the maester checks on you?” You ask and watch her with more hope, but she only lets you down. And not gently.

“No, mother will be with me. You go with Aemond without worry. The twins will be fine. I feel them, and they’re strong,” she adds to reassure you without actually understanding that worry is not what is making you pushy to have her give you an excuse to avoid Aemond. It’s something else. A feeling you’re not sure how to describe. It just came to you after a very muted dream you had a couple of nights ago.

Ever since then, you’ve felt this uneasiness at the thought of your little brother. You foolishly hope it’ll disappear, but you know better.

Maybe it’ll be clear soon, though, and hopefully it will be nothing of significance. Just a result of the muted dreams that the tea causes you to have.

You hold onto that as you slowly make your way up the stairs, seeing Helaena leave you behind without a second thought as you become too slow for her liking.

Even after her abandonment, however, you don’t pick up your pace. You just sigh and tilt your head down with the intention of picking up your skirt.

However, before your fingers can touch the fabric and just as your eyes drift down, you catch someone unexpected walking out of the shadows below the stairs. His green eyes glimmer under the sunlight that shines down on him as he steps out of the shadows, and his full pink lips go from a faint, tender smile to a wide, spread grin that shows off a glimpse of his perfectly white teeth.

You part your lips to say something, but your words escape you. All you can muster is the ability to stop, and when you do, he does so as well, bringing a giddy smile to your face.

Now, keeping that smile plastered on your face depends on him. Thus, you take a step up the stairs without looking away from him, and without making you wait in anticipation, he takes a step back.

You giggle and then take a few more steps up the stairs, seeing him take a few more steps backwards.

When he steps into the shadows, he takes a big leap forward, so you climb down carefully, making him snicker before he walks forward without any more stops.

You mirror him and walk backwards down the stairs, only turning when you reach the bottom, and he’s there to meet you.

“You,” you greet, feeling more giddy.

“You,” he greets back with awe.

“You remember me?” You ask with disbelief, considering you met years ago, talked twice, and never saw each other again after that night because of how quickly you left that morning. But, here he is now looking as if his breath was stolen by a beautiful blazing sunset.

“I never forgot,” he admits as his eyes dart all over your face, noting every single change.

When you drop your head to smile shyly at the floor, he tilts his head down so as not to lose sight of you.

“Is that so unbelievable? You remember, don't you?” He asks softly, making a smirk twitch on your lips before you bat your eyes and look up at him.

“Or I just greet every stranger with red hair like this,” you add lightheartedly, even though your nerves are running wild.

“In hopes it is me,” he quickly chaffs with a smirk, making a slow grin tug on your face before you scoff and finally let yourself look at him, at the fullness of his face that’s lost all that childlike roundness. He still looks young and inexperienced, but his face is carved with precision, his jaw is sharp and defined, and his tallness is towering but far from intimidating.

His autumn red hair has grown out, but his short curls are far from out of place. They’re neatly kept and defined.

Now his eyes…his green eyes still hold a tenderness that melts your heart.

Is that supposed to happen?

“Your mother said I wouldn’t be able to find you,” he says, breaking you from your trance. “She said you were completely busy today.”

You scoff and glance up at the stairs. “Well, she’s exaggerating, but I am supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Oh? Am I keeping you?” He queries with concern, but he’s wrinkling his brows for nothing.

“No, it’s not important really. Just…” you trail off as you see the young man you’re supposed to meet up with at the top of the stairs.

“...Spending time with my brother,” you finish and offer him a small, awkward smile.

“Sister,” he greets curtly with a quick glance before he zeros in on Prince Octavian, noting his rich garbs and the shiny belt holding everything in place, but even then addressing him impolitely.

“See to your tasks or help the princess—”

“No, Aemond,” you cut him off before he could anger the Prince. “This is Prince Octavian Haratis of Pentos.”

“Mhm,” he hums and then descends the stairs, making you steal a glance at the Prince, who seems unbothered by Aemond’s lack of respect. Which is good; any other prince would have found Aemond offensive and completely blown this out of proportion, but he just waits with you as your brother makes his way down the stairs.

When he finally does make it to the bottom, he stands at your side and folds his arms at his back as he stands up straight. “Forgive me,” he breaks the uneasy silence you alone felt. “I did not know you were here.”

“No.” The Prince shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have. The visit was a surprise only the Hand knew.”

“Oh, is that so?” You probe with genuine curiosity that contrasts your brother's disinterest. “No wonder, but why the surprise visit?”

The corner of the Prince's lips pulls to a teasing smile. “You’ll know soon.”

You scoff with amusement, and Aemond proceeds to interject. “If that’s the case then no doubt we’ll see each other later. Come.” He turns to you.

“Actually,” the Prince interjects and steps forward. “I was wondering if I could steal the princess from your company?” He asks politely, but that doesn't matter to Aemond. He still looks bothered, so you don’t give him time to respond.

“That will be fine. I live with the man, we can spend time together any other time.” You smile, making the Prince mirror your gesture.

“Great,” he says and then bows at Aemond. “It was nice meeting you.”

There’s nothing disingenuous about the Prince’s farewell, but Aemond is still curt with his hum and hard features. And that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Yet, the Prince doesn’t comment on it when he’s following your lead at your side. He tucks that in the back of his head to think on it later.

“Are you really not going to say the reason you’re here?” You can’t help but probe him. “Are you just passing by?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m here for a reason,” he says, keeping his secrets. “You’ll find out soon.”

You roll your eyes. “But not from you? Where’s the fun in that? I’ll tell you what happened that night at Driftmark. I know you must be dying to know.”

The Prince chuckles. “I was, but the years that passed since then have fed my mind with possibilities, so that’s kept me alive.”

You chuckle, and the sound earns a proud, charming grin from him.

“I am at the edge of my seat though,” he says as he spins around swiftly to face you and walks backwards with a waiting look and unwavered attention.

You’re smart though and make sure to get what you want out of him. “Will that guarantee the answer to what I want to know though? Because if it won’t, then well, I guess you’ll have to stay on edge.”

The Prince snickers and wags his finger at you. “Smart girl,” he says and returns to your side to continue on a more serious note. “But you truly don’t need to tell me because I am planning to tell you. I just wanted to be somewhere more private.”

“What a gentleman,” you tease, making him smirk and shrug.

“It’s not hard.”

You giggle and make it outside to the lush castle gardens. “We can go to the fountain,” you tell him, and walk ahead of him to guide him to a fountain.

“It’s quiet here,” you mention and sit on the edge, expecting him to follow suit, but he starts pacing back and forth instead.

“Is everything alright?” You ask him as you lean towards the water to dip your fingers in the fountain water and swirl them around.

“Well,” he exhales deeply and then suddenly sits beside you, making you pull your fingers out of the water to be able to shift and face him. Albeit that only makes him swallow thickly and smile nervously before he clears his throat and suddenly gets up, making you tilt your head up to be able to look at him.

“I want you to marry me,” he blurts, causing your interest to drop completely and your face to harden while your heart falls to your stomach.

“I know we don’t know each other,” he continues with a boost of confidence. “But we can get to know each other when we’re wed. And I know it’s sudden. Maybe I should’ve written, but I didn’t know if you’d remember, so I had to come see you and tell you in person that I have not stopped thinking about you since we met, and every potential match I’ve had was never good enough because they weren’t you.”

He sits down and leans towards you, making you sit up abruptly and spare a glance at him before you avert your gaze. “Well, make them enough because I will not accept this proposal,” you blurt and try to sound as curt as Aemond had moments ago.

“But,” the Prince argues and gets up. “Why? Is it something I said? The hand says that you don’t have any potential matches. I’m uncontested. Is—”

“Your Grace,” you cut him off and meet his gaze with a faltering pointed glare. “Please. I said no. If you are the gentleman you claim to be, you would respect my answer and leave me be. Good day,” you curtsey stiffly and hurry off before he can interject, leaving him confused and in disbelief while you try to hold back all the building emotions that he just triggered.

He just…he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t like who you are when your dreams aren’t being muted by the tea your mother makes you drink.

You're sparing him for his own good.

Even though you never forgot him either. And not because he’s appeared in your dreams here and there, but because your heart has never been able to let him go. He’s remained imprinted in your heart all these years.

But, no matter how much your hearts longed, it will have to keep yearning for its own fragile sake.

Would your grandfather, the apparent matchmaker, accept that as an excuse, though?

Perhaps not, but your mother might, and if you want this match not to go through, then you have to go to her so she can then put up a fight on your behalf. And the faster you talk to her, the faster you can get rid of this ordeal.

Thus, you make a beeline to her bedchambers in hopes of catching her there because this surprise must have thrown her schedule off course. There’s no way she wouldn't have let you know that the Prince of Pentos was coming if she knew.

Yet, when you reach her chambers, Ser Erryk, a newly appointed Kingsguard, kindly speaks up instead of opening the door. “The Hand is talking to her Grace, Princess. He’s ordered them not to be disturbed. Shall I let the Queen know you came?”

You glance at the door and think about that for a second, but then you quickly decide that it won’t be necessary because you imagine that they’re talking about you, and if she knows that you came, she’ll know that you listened to their conversation.

“No, that won’t be necessary, ser, it—thank you,” you cut yourself off short so as not to lie horribly in front of his face.

You then offer him a smile and walk to your bedchambers to sneak into a secret passage that you found hidden in your wall one day when you were younger and…playing hide and seek with your sister.

Let’s just say it gave you the fright of your life, but also not enough to let anyone know out of fear you’d get in trouble. Now that you're older, however, not exposing your secret door worked out fine because you can walk up some spiral stairs and walk down a narrow corridor to reach a secret door that leads to your mother's bedchambers.

That’s where you hear her mid-argument with your grandfather, the Hand. And just like you assumed, they’re arguing about you.

“…She is not fit to marry,” you hear your mother argue. “Especially not a Prince who lives across the narrow sea, far from home and everyone she knows.”

You hold your breath as you anticipate the next words that are going to come out of her mouth.

“That cannot be your reasoning, daughter. Many a woman of her station have left home to live with their husbands in faraway lands. This is her duty—”

“She is not well!” She cuts him off, making your breath come out shakily as your heart sinks. “Her mind…is fractured.”

You press your back against the wall and sink to the dirty floor with your hand clutching your heavy chest.

“She dreams of terrifying things like death. She’s told me. At first,” she says and draws in a deep shaky breath. “I thought perhaps Viserys was right about there being dreamers in their family, but to have…those dreams come to her as visions in her awakened mind is something else. To sleepwalk, scream, and speak nonsense is not normal. She’s sick,” she spats, proving that she did not believe you about your dreams. She doesn’t truly understand like she said she did.

“And you know what happens to women like her when they’re taken from home. I will not have her suffer that fate whilst I’m alive,” she makes it clear, but how touching can that be when she thinks you’re ill and mad?

“If your daughter's fate is of concern then have them live here,” your grandfather doesn’t seem to listen to reason. “The Prince offered that option. Let her live here where you can keep control of her.”

“You don’t understand,” she scoffs and paces away. You can hear her heels hitting the floor and…approaching you. However, she doesn’t get past the stone wall that keeps you hidden and apart. She stays on the other side of the barrier.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? You used me for your political gain, and now you want to do the same thing to my youngest daughter.”

A chair scrapes against the floor before you hear him try to reason with her. “You became the queen because of my help. Your daughter may not gain that title, but with her match comes a fleet of ships and capable fighters. With her match comes strength, power, and security for her. He seems to be a good lad. A kind one. He will treat her kindly.”

“Until he sees what she’s like, and then he’ll disregard her,” she snaps, making your chest ache. “I will not have it.”

“Then what do you plan to do with her? Keep her alone with only her mother as company? Is that any better? I care for my granddaughter and only want what’s best for her. Prince Octavian is the best. He’s her age and sought her out himself. Take that as a good sign,” he says in a kinder tone that keeps your mother quiet as if she’s actually considering changing her mind.

“Your daughter is still of sound mind. She is fit enough,” he keeps trying to reassure your mother before he lands the finishing argument.

“You don’t have to give your response at dinner. Let’s see what the Prince has planned to win the Princess's affections, and then we can give this closure.”

“Very well,” you hear your mother agree softly before you hear her turn and put some distance between her and you.

Your grandfather then proceeds to dismiss himself after he’s done his job, and leaves your mother, most likely, dwelling in what she agreed to. Something that doesn’t keep you put. Her revealing that she thought of you as sick and unsound is what keeps you on the floor.

It wounded you deeply. It felt almost like a betrayal.

——

*THE NEXT DAY.*

She came to talk to you casually. Said that the Prince of Pentos came with his second son in hopes of securing a match with you.

She said the Hand thinks he’s a great option. A potential husband that you should consider. One that can form a great alliance with the crown.

She was so busy regurgitating what the Hand had told her that she failed to mention that she thought it had been a bad idea, and that you were weak-minded and unable to love and be loved by someone.

Maybe your silence will give her a hint that you heard every awful thing she had said about you, because you haven’t been able to speak to her since you heard it all. Sleeping on it didn’t make it any easier either.

Then again, you’re asking for too much because when she’s helping you get ready to break fast with the Haratis family, she responds to your silence with, “It’s okay to be nervous. You’ve never done this before. It can be scary, but we’ll all be there with you.”

You don’t correct her either. You wouldn’t know where to begin, so you let her believe that. Besides, if you could muster the right words and strength to fight, it would make breakfast awkward and tense, and the breakfast is already going to be hard enough for you, so you go to the courtyard as if oblivious.

You also go in hoping foolishly to be as far from the Prince as possible, but the first thing you see when you get to the courtyard is him with a bright charming grin and a bouquet of tall and beautiful purple flowers you have not seen before.

“Good morn,” he greets and bows before he slowly straightens up, taking in every inch of you in your cream and light blue gown as his eyes trail up.

“You look very beautiful,” he muses as you note his cream colored long sleeve chemise and teal-adorned vest.

It almost seems like he purposely coordinated his colors with you.

Or is it pure fated coincidence?

“These are for you,” he says and raises the flowers in his hand. “From Pentos. They’re called…snapdragons,” he reveals, making your eyes drift from the beautiful and unique purple flowers, and then back to him, catching his lips wobbling before he grins and covers his mouth to rub his chin.

You try not to react to the irony of the flower's name, but you can’t help it. An amused smile slips onto your features as you take the flowers.

“I have half the mind to contest you for trying to be impressive,” you can’t help but say, despite your attempt at being stand-offish.

“Oh, you could, but you’d find it moot because that’s really what they’re called. You see,” he says and gets closer, making you catch a whiff of sandalwood and orange. A perfect combination that reminds you of a summer evening.

“…when you squeeze as so...” He demonstrates as he gently squeezes the sides together. “…The petals open and close like a dragon's mouth. And the face of the flower resembles them too. Do you see it?”

You watch him gently squeeze the flower again, and your emotions couldn’t be more irritating because you’re completely fascinated by the pretty flowers.

“How absolutely fascinating,” you muse, making him steal a glance at you.

“Albeit they are gentler than a real dragon,” he quips, and you giggle before you assure him.

“Oh, that truly depends. Dreamfyre and Valiant are quite gentle giants. And Vhagar may look fierce, but she won't do anything unless you do something to make her mad.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” he says in response to you. “I’ll take your word for it. I admit I am not brave enough to put it to the test.”

You chuckle and lock eyes with him, forgetting for a second your rejections about the match and seeing that his eyes are such a pretty shade of deep green. They’re so tender as he’s smiling too. You can’t help but get lost in them.

Just for a second, or two, or three, and a couple more.

You almost don’t want to look away, but you do, and that’s because someone drops a cup on the ground. And when you look at the commotion, you catch Aemond bending down to pick up an empty cup.

You take that as your excuse and walk away from the Prince to find your seat at the table, hoping to be far apart as you choose a seat next to Aemond since Helaena is caught between Aegon and your grandfather.

However, as your mother makes her way around the table, she pauses briefly behind Aemond as he’s waiting for the servant to pull his seat back.

“Leave the seat open for the Prince, Aemond. Come sit at my other side,” she commands, making you swallow back nervously as you take your seat beside her. While Aemond, being the ever-so-obedient son, obeys, leaving the seat available for the Prince to sit at your right side.

Albeit, whatever your mother hoped to happen between you and Prince doesn't happen. You remember why this match can’t happen now and let silence sit between you, the Prince, and his wandering gaze while you have breakfast.

“I can still smell that dragon stench on you,” your mother whispers while your grandfather and Prince Reggio are distracted in a conversation together, and the others are busy eating. “I told you not to go. Why did you not listen?”

You pick up a fork and mumble to your plate. “I needed to see him. And well, he seems to be the only one who understands me as of late…” you trail off, leaving her staring at you in confusion before Helaena breaks the silence and doesn’t give your mother the moment to question you.

“Prince Octavian, what is it that you do in Pentos for fun? Is it something you can do here?”

The young man beside you covers his mouth to finish chewing before he leans forward to look at your sister sitting at the table. “Well,” he responds. “I hear that I can. Albeit it's not as common as your jousting tournaments.”

“What is it?” Your sister presses.

“Chariot and horse racing,” he shares with excitement.

“Octavian is quite a talented racer. He’s renowned across the sea,” his father joins the conversation to gloat over his son. “Perhaps he could put on a race here and show you. It’ll be thrilling, and you won’t lose if you bet on him. Trust me.” He flashes a grin.

“That would be quite entertaining,” the Hand doesn’t fail to suck up to the Prince. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to one.”

“Well, I guarantee you’ll be leaving wanting to see more,” Prince Reggio boasts. “Or joining them yourself.”

“If I were fifteen years younger I would.” The Hand laughs, making the Prince laugh.

You, on the other hand, fiddle with your food. “Is it fun?” You direct at Prince Octavian. “Subjecting the poor horses to those dangerous conditions?”

Green eyes meet yours, and a flash of confusion passes over his face before he shrugs. “Well, just like your jousting horses, racing horses are bred for it. It’s all they know. If they could speak, they’d say they’re looking forward to it,” he tries to be lighthearted, and it works with Helaena because she giggles, but you look at him indifferently and simply hum.

“What do you do for fun?” The Prince asks you. “Are you an animal advocate?” He teases whilst you drift your eyes back to your plate and stay quiet as you ruminate on what you should tell him.

Perhaps something that will disinterest him?

“Dancing,” Helaena blurts. “She likes dancing. She’s quite good at it.”

She smiles innocently, and you grip onto the fork.

“She also plays the harp. Quite beautifully,” your mother adds to Helena's revelation, opening you up to the Prince in a way you weren’t going to open up to him.

“Perhaps she can play for us soon,” your grandfather interjects, making you clench your jaw. “She truly has the talent of moving a room to tears.”

“That's quite a talent. Considering me intrigued,” Prince Reggio says. “The last harp I heard left a terrible impression. The princess could remind me of my fascination for the instrument.”

You offer him a tight-lipped smile before you focus back on your plate and its sweet contents.

“Prince Octavian,” Aemond breaks his silence, making your mother and grandfather hold their breath. “I hear you’re quite the gambling man,” he seems to purposely expose the Prince's unspoken pastime. “That’s…mhm, quite the interesting pastime. Some would say it’s a high-stakes addiction. Is that why you enjoy horse racing?”

You glance at your mother and catch her face hardened and disturbed, seeming to have a bitter taste in her mouth over the exposed pastime.

“Oh, please,” Aegon now interjects. “Gambling is fun. What do you play?” He directs at the Prince. “Maybe I could show you some nice places to challenge other skilled players.”

“Dice,” the prince clears his throat.

“Oh, really?” Aegon exclaims. “I like to play dice too. What’s the best thing you’ve won?”

You glance at the Prince and his face eases. “My racing horse,” he tells your brother proudly. “I knew the man was quite a betting man and quite bad at it too, so I asked for something I wanted and won it. That easy.”

Aegon smiles with fascination, and as you look at your mother, she seems to be more disturbed by the story.

Yet, that doesn’t work to change the mind of the man with your fate in hand. He glosses over the matter, finding the power that the Prince comes with far more valuable. Much to you and your mother's displeasure.

You’ll have to think of another way to break the illusions of the match.

Something clever. Something that will make the Prince never think of you again, but what?

You try to think and assume that nothing will come to mind during breakfast, but surprisingly, the opportunity arises when the Hand and Prince Reggio start to talk about the war at the Stepstones. Prince Octavian joins too and has the same mindset as his father, so you speak your mind, which thankfully contradicts their bloody beliefs.

“You truly believe that?” You direct at Prince Octavian, earning his attention. “You believe war is a justifiable solution? War is a failure of diplomacy,” you say, causing the room to go completely still, and leaving the Prince quiet for once.

“Darling, that's not appropriate.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Prince Octavian interjects calmly, letting the wheels in his head churn for a couple more seconds before he probes.

“Why do you think that? I am genuinely curious.”

There’s no hint that he’s annoyed by your interruption or boldness. His jaw is not tight, and his fingers lightly grab his cup. His eyes are not darkened with anger either. In fact, they’re lit up with curiosity.

He almost seems willing to change his stance depending on what you have to say.

Yet, as you note all that about him, you wish you hadn’t spoken up. But you can’t take it back anymore.

“Well, in war it’s always the innocents who suffer the most,” you speak quieter. “Yes, we can say we suffer loss in war too, but what about them? They starve and die by the hundreds. They’re left orphans and penniless, widows and homeless, alone and broken. They don’t find their way back up as we do. So how does war justify that? How does it justify all the blood…the,” you pause and shift your eyes down as if something among the wooden table caught your eye.

“Suffering,” you continue with a dark shift in your tone. “The horror…” you trail off as fragments of dreams of war start flashing through your mind,

There’s dragons, cries, chants, and pleading. Fire and blood. Flashes of familiar faces and strangers. There’s you, there’s more death, and a terrible massacre of…dragons…

But what does that mean? Are they supposed to be a representation of people? Or the actual beasts?

The flashes don’t stay long for it to be distinguishable, and the dreams have been muted, so you can’t use that as a reference.

You can stop taking the tea at night and let them be loud and vivid to know…

But, no, you can’t. They’re so horrible.

“Darling,” your mother snaps you from your stupor as she grabs your wrist.

“Mother,” you whisper in return as you meet her worried gaze.

She draws in a deep and slow breath and bats her eyes, seeming to be forcing herself to brush this moment aside so as not to make it any bigger than it’s starting to be.

“You…started to trail off,” she plays off your obvious mad murmurings. “Again.” She laughs nervously before clearing her throat.

You drop your gaze with shame and fear that what you’ll see all around you is judgment and pity.

“Forgive me,” you speak to everyone at the table with a quick glance around, but deliberately looking past the prince beside you to avoid knowing if he’s looking at you haughtily.

In fact, you spend the rest of the breakfast silent, hoping to disappear into the background despite this entire ordeal being about you and the prince. Thus, it makes it hard, but there are no more questions directed at you, or an insistent need to include you in conversations. Your grandfather thought you a better prospect if you were quiet, so he held most of the conversations. Some were held by Aegon and the Prince, but those were few due to their distance across the table.

When breakfast came to an end, and the courtyard started to clear, you were forced to stay behind with a plastered smile on your face until your guests put some distance between here and there. After that, you were eager to leave, but your grandfather requested that you stay behind without your mother.

She had a clue as to what he wanted to talk to you about, but no idea how he’d put it or how rough he’d be, so she hesitated.

But, when she saw that her father wouldn’t speak while she was there, she left with her chest heavy.

All while you waited with baited breaths and your fingers fiddling with your cuticles on the other hand. A nervous habit he caught and stopped by placing his surprisingly soft hands on yours.

“You’re destroying yourself,” he says with no shame in his words. Yet, that soft look he holds makes it hard to feel offended. You’re more so embarrassed.

“Your mother also had that habit when she was your age. It was hard to get her to stop as habits usually are, but,” he sighs. “She eventually did when she married. Which is why I trust you will stop soon enough too,” he says, making you take those words as confirmation of what this was all about.

He’s never spoken to you one-on-one. He’s always just been a distant presence, someone a lot closer than your father ever was, but still not enough to ever fill that hole he made.

“But your shared habit is not what I want to talk to you about. Nor,” he takes a deliberate pause and offers you a soft smile as he lets your hands go to stroke your cheek. “The fact that you remind me so much of her. You don’t only look so much like her,” he says, his words like a gift to your deep desire of wanting to be just as great and respected as she is.

“You’re just as quiet and timid as she was. Graceful and kindhearted too,” he adds, only feeding you more of what you’ve wanted to hear.

“Really?” You ask for reassurance, making him stroke your cheek one more time.

“Yes.” He nods as he offers you that same softened smile that softens you up to him.

“Which is why,” he continues with his voice carrying a serious edge. “I know that you will do what’s needed of you and marry Prince Octavian.”

Your face starts to fall, and that softened heart starts to harden.

“I know it may be hard to accept. It’s not a man of your choosing, but,” he adds with a forebodence lacing in his voice, causing your heart to skip a beat. “We need him and his family to join us and strengthen us.”

“Why?” You ask cluelessly.

“You know why,” he presses. “Your father…may not have long on this plane with us, and when the time comes that he leaves us, Rhaenyra may succeed him, and if she does, war will follow. War against us, against your brother, the rightful heir, your mother, and your sister.”

You swallow thickly and feel your heart start to thump against your chest. You, in fact, know that none of what he says will be up to chance, it’s all coming. The question you have is whether the future is set or if you can change it to avoid the cruelty that’s to come.

“Do you want that? Do you want to see them, us, be destroyed?” He asks, not knowing that’s your great fear.

“No,” you respond shakily.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nor do I, that’s why we need this alliance with Pentos. We need their ships and their strength to join us, so we are not destroyed. Do you understand?”

With fear clutching your chest and bringing tears to your eyes, you nod. “I understand,” you assure him, making his face soften again and bringing his hands up to stroke your cheek one last time.

“Good,” he whispers. “That makes me proud to hear.”

But…

——

*LATER*

Why can’t the dreams go away? Why does it have to be a burden you have to carry?

Wasn’t it enough for Helaena to already be burdened by them? Why do they come to you too? And why do they trouble you to the point you wake up at odd hours and wander the halls murmuring and at times crying?

“Why?” You ask the gold seven-pointed star necklace resting on your palm. “Why couldn't I have been born normal?”

Normal enough to be able to carry out this responsibility of marrying someone important without fearing that you’ll scare them away?

Normal enough to love deeply and be loved even deeper without embarrassing them because of who you’ve turned out to be?

Normal enough to be just like her…

She’s not someone to be embarrassed about. She’s not someone to fear. She’s someone to be proud of, someone to awe over and admire for her greatness.

She’s in every sense of the word, perfect. In a way, you could never be. No matter how hard you try, and perhaps no matter how much you pray.

You’ve prayed for years for you to be relieved of this cursed burden, but now it’s bleeding through that tea’s efforts as if desperate to keep torturing you.

Hasn't it had enough?

“Please let it be enough,” you beg to the gods as you clutch onto the seven-pointed star and brush your finger over the symbol, hoping they’ll grant you this deep desire. This only favor you have ever asked of them.

There’s nothing else you wanted, nothing more you could ever want but to be the collected and normal person you see in this perfectly painted reflection on the fountain's watery surface.

She’s so beautiful, graceful, and everything you aren't inside.

Thus, you sigh deeply and decorate the fountain with the last snapdragon flower head. Not because the flowers were ugly and you had to get rid of them, you just can’t look at them without longing deeply, so it’s better that they’re not within eyesight in your bedchambers.

Besides, it decorates the fountain water quite nicely—

Maybe you can do your duty with the prince and then live separate lives like Helaena and Aegon do.

But oh, to be loved.

You sigh deeply and hit the water with your fingers, sending out ripples you don’t bother watching.

However, in your avoidance, a presence stalks out of the shadows and approaches you like approaching a wild animal in the woods, cautiously so as not to spook you.

Yet when his reflection appears on the fountains’ watery surface, you gasp and get up quickly in a panic.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Prince Octacvian quickly explains himself, which truly doesn’t make any difference. He’s still here from the fucking shadows like a criminal.

“I simply wished to speak with you, but you weren’t in your chambers, so I asked, and here you are,” he continues with his hands raised.

“You snuck into my room?” You question, bewildered.

The prince catches your discontent and stammers. “I…I can explain.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in disgust. “One thing is being a child and doing it, but you are a man grown and I am a woman. A princess at that—”

“But you weren’t there!” He cuts you off as he throws his hands out at you.

“But what if I was?!” You demand a response.

“But you weren’t,” he insists with a lightness in his tone that only ticks you off more, but what use is this back and forth? So you just clench your jaw and groan in defeat.

He takes advantage of your silence and lowers his arms to his sides whilst he starts to smile, expressing that same lightheartedness. “Are you not going to ask me what I went dressed as this time?”

Your bothered expression falters, and there’s a curiosity that incites within you, but your aversion to keeping him at a distance manages to beat that, keeping your face hardened.

“A servant,” he answers himself with a grin. “Again. The gown was tighter this time around, but I still managed to sneak in.”

You want to laugh, bask in his amusement, but you manage to remain strong.

“We are not allowed to be unchaproned,” you remind him.

“I know.” He nods. “But if it were otherwise, would you tell me what changed to make you suddenly dislike me so?”

You swallow thickly and clutch onto the seven-pointed star necklace. “I’ll yell.”

He scoffs. “Yell and I’ll still have time to press you for what I wish to know. I am not leaving until I know.”

“Why?” You snap and take a step back, making him take a step forward under the moonlight’s radiance, basking his red hair in soft moonlight, and brightening those dark green eyes like the lush green life in the woods.

“Is it not enough for you to just accept that I have simply grown and do not like you?”

His gaze hardens, and he seems to try to look deep within for the truth behind what you said, but your reunion proves him otherwise.

“No,” he deadpans. “Because it’s not true. One doesn’t change from one second to the next. Not you.”

“What do you mean by that?” You spat as you take that as a jab.

The Prince chuckles. “I just mean that you seem to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

You falter, and surprise flashes in your eyes for a second.

“You…you don’t know me,” you counter, sounding quite immature.

“No, it’s true, but it’s an observation,” he states simply, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Which is why I know something changed,” he continues to add. “What is it?” He asks and steps closer, making you step away.

“I,” you muster, and that's all you can say because your words are lost to you, and any argument falls moot. It’s easy to think of an argument, something that sounds convincing, but it fails to come across.

So, you opt for the easiest response. “Just leave me alone,” you insist, but he doesn’t accept it. He’s stubborn and determined.

“We may not have a choice in this marriage. It seems the hand and my father are quite keen on this match happening, so it will be easier for us. For me to know why.”

“And I told you why,” you quickly insist and keep stepping away in hopes of keeping some distance between each other, but he just closes that gap, cornering you by the fountain's edge.

“If…you were as good a prince as your father claims you to be, and as you present yourself. That would be enough. I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t know why you insist on us, or knowing why for that matter.”

“Because,” he says, leaving no room for silence, but now it’s his turn to be at a loss for words.

You raise your eyebrow to press him silently, but he still can’t think of anything.

“Is it my dragon?” You throw out the one thing you can think of. The one thing that calls to everyone with an eligible son the most.

“No!” He quickly throws out.

“Then?”

“Isn’t wanting you enough?”

You scoff. “Not if you want this to be easy.” You use his own words against him.

“You…you’re beautiful, and no woman that I have laid my eyes on has compared to your beauty,” he flatters you with touching words, but it falls short.

“So I’m a prize to claim before everyone else?”

“No! You’re not understanding me!” He exclaims, making you rebut.

“Nor are you understanding me! So let me make this clear, just leave me alone. Leave. Please,” you insist with more desperation, spitting all over what your grandfather had told you earlier today.

“No,” he persists passionately.

You scoff. “Fine. I’ll leave,” you grimace and try to walk past him, but he quickly blocks your way, forcing you to take a step to the other side. Yet he’s quick to block you again, turning this almost into a dance. Almost, though, because you then try to turn around to just circle around him, but in your attempts, you trip over the fountain's edge and fall back into the water, causing a big splash and earning a shocked gasp.

“Princess!” You hear him cry out through the sound of the water cascading over you and soaking you entirely.

His hand then wraps around your arm firmly, and he pulls you out, leaving you standing before him as a dripping mess that makes his lips wobble.

“Here,” he quickly offers his doublet before he can laugh and wraps it around your shoulders as you’re taking in what just happened with a quivering lip.

Once he’s in front of you again and under the warmth of his dry doublet, you grimace out of embarrassment and huff before you storm past him.

“I do have to say that I am not leaving you alone,” he manages to throw out, unaffected by what you had said before you fell like a fool.

And you do manage to pause for a second to take in what he proclaimed before you continue back inside in a huff.

Once back in your bedchambers, Helaena is there waiting for you and taken by surprise by your dripping appearance.

“You’re wet,” she points out the obvious. “And you’re wearing a man’s doublet.”

“I know,” you sneer.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

In the far distance, a sweet upbeat melody plays that draws curious bodies to investigate, leaving the grounds only occupied by the focused and uninterested souls.

You have half the mind to follow the crowd and fill your curiosity, but you can already picture the crowded yard. Plus, Aemond might be outside somewhere, and it would be in your best interest to avoid him today.

Usually, when you leave the perimeters of the Red Keep, it's to go with your mother and sister to the Great Sept, or to go to Valiant at the Dragonpit before going to the markets after a rather relaxing ride to wander or shop instead of being shopped for. And that adventure is almost always in the company of Aemond.

When you’re not with Helaena, you’re with Aemond. You and he do a lot together and never seek the company of friends like Aegon does. It’s a sad thing to admit, but you have your reasons, and he does too, so there’s never been a longing for that companionship. However, ever since you’ve been hit with those uneasy feelings towards him, you’ve kept your distance, and today was one of those days.

Today, you wandered the markets and rode your dragon alongside Aegon.

Ser Criston was with you at markets too. Like he tends to be since he's your most trusted guard. You don’t trust anyone else really, so that's not what will bother Aemond. Aegon will bother him, and you know he will have something to say about it, so you try to quickly go inside.

Yet Aegon is not like Aemond.

“What’s all that commotion about, I wonder,” he muses and follows the crowd.

You hope to be forgotten about to be able to slip inside undetected, but he doesn’t forget that you’re in his company.

“Come along,” he beckons, making you share an annoyed look with Ser Criston before you trail after your older brother and the music.

Finding it quite easy navigating empty yards, and finding quite quickly where the music is coming from. As to who was playing the beautiful music? Well, the crowd in the training yard makes way for your brother, Kingsguard, and you, and bring your focus to the cause of the commotion, the one filling the castle grounds with the beautiful music; Prince Octavian.

He’s playing the lute as he’s walking further down the yard, leading a line of excited barefoot children in roughspun clothes.

“Well…this is disappointing,” Aegon murmurs, but your initial disinterest is turned to surprise, and you’re slowly being consumed by awe.

The Prince then turns around on his heels, and on his features is a wide beaming grin, which he only flashes the attentive children. The crowd of castle workers and higher-born visitors doesn’t seem to exist to him. He plays only for the children’s attention and lets them draw near without a hint of disgust despite their dirty appearance.

Did he bring them to the castle? Or is something going on that you weren't aware of?

Regardless, the prince crouches so the children can get closer, and when he does, past the small bodies around him, he finds you undeniably awe-struck by his display.

You don’t even know when your face painted your change in emotions, but they’re on display for him and his father to see.

However, unlike him, his father cuts through the crowd to find his way to you to answer the questions in your mind.

“I hope you can forgive the Prince,” he addresses you. “He has the tendency to play for the children.”

With your eyes locked on the prince and the dancing children, you can’t help but probe. “Why?”

“It makes them genuinely happy, he says,” Prince Reggio quotes his son. “They don’t pretend to like his music, he says.”

You hum in comprehension and watch as the prince stops playing to let a curious small child touch the lute, ending up touching some cords that send out a note that makes him, the other children, and the prince himself laugh.

You're so caught up in the scene that you can’t help your amused smile, which reaches your eyes.

“He brought them here?” Aegon asks without sounding as awe-struck as you. There’s that hint of disgust you lacked.

“Yes,” Prince Reggio says. “At home, when the orphanages get too crowded, he gives some of them homes with soldiers to be trained, in our service, farmers in need of farm hands, and the religion in search of acolytes. There’s many overcrowded orphanages here, so he’s hoping to help take the load off one at the very least.”

Aegon scoffs in amusement. “Why? Do you make him?”

“No, and he doesn’t need a reason. He just does it because it was born from him to do it.”

You and your brother hum at the same time, but carrying different tones. He’s unimpressed, and you’re the complete opposite.

Is that what draws the prince to you? Or is it because you can’t stop watching him?

Whatever draws him, he comes regardless, and like ducklings, the children follow. The only thing they don’t do is bow their heads like he does when he passes by you, but they try to copy his spin when he makes a round around the crowd, taking your attention with him and keeping you smiling.

However, when the prince makes it back to where he was, you catch Aemond walking out, and your smile slowly falls.

Your little brother watches you and tilts his head slightly, not to question your falling smile but your choice of companion.

“Octavian, Prince Aemond is finally here!” Prince Reggio thankfully gives you an excuse to look away, but the music stops, turning the atmosphere heavy with anticipation to know what's going on.

“I thought you had bailed on me,” the prince points his lute at your brother with a smirk before he turns to one of his servants. “You can take the children with you now.”

He then spins back around and hands someone else his lute to replace it with a sword.

“Now, I must admit I am not as skilled with a sword as I am with my bow,” he admits lightheartedly. “But I can put up a fight against the legendary fighter that people claim you are.”

“Finally,” Aegon groans. “Some right entertainment. Come, sister, let's watch from upstairs.”

You sigh nervously as you see what’s going to transpire, but you don't leave. Your curiosity for the entire ordeal makes you follow Aegon upstairs instead of taking this as an excuse to return inside.

Now, you’ve never seen the prince fight, so you can’t say if he’ll be any good and place bets, even if your brother's skill shouldn't be put to doubt…

Right?

Right?!

After a couple of minutes of making their metal swords sing with each blow met, Aemomd starts to lose, putting you in doubt.

It’s unbelievable at first. You and Aegon think Aemond is going to recover from the couple of missteps and missed blows, but Prince Octavian doesn’t let off the attack. He’s unforgiving despite who he's facing, and a stubborn opponent, making the sparring session far more entertaining than the occasional spars you’ve watched Aemond have with other swordsmen.

Yet this confrontation is still not enough to change your mind on swordsmanship or anything involving a weapon. It’s all bloody, violent, and distasteful. And maybe your distaste for violence stems from the tormenting dreams that just show you blood and death by all kinds of weapons, but it’s not something you find any interest in.

You don’t cower when Aemond and the Prince miss heavy swings and hit the ground or stumble when their sword hits the air, but you don’t jeer and cheer, or place bets like Aegon does either. You just watch with slight interest, wondering how the incredibly close spar is going to end.

Both men don’t let up, but Aemond seems to have the advantage because he’s been training with the sword longer and had Ser Criston as a teacher. Or at least that’s what you assume, it’s all quite a jumble that you don’t bother understanding.

All that's clear is that from one moment to the next, Aemond falls on his ass, and the watching crowd falls silent while Aegon starts to cackle, and you watch gobsmacked.

“Oh gods, I will definitely be taking Prince Octavian out for some good fun later,” Aegon exclaims between laughs. “What a surprise he’s been!”

The crowd disperses below without breaking the tension they created or asking for more. Some brave men alongside the prince's own men praise his victory and show of skill. Aemond, however, is left to sulk in his loss alone because of people’s avoidance of him, fearing how the usual brooding prince will react.

The only soul brave enough to approach the sulking prince is Prince Octavian, but Aemond doesn’t accept his help, so he just looks like a sore loser when he pushes himself off the ground and twists around, flipping his long gold-silver hair at the prince.

“Well fought!” Aegon praises the prince from the balcony, gaining his attention and a thankful grin.

“Perhaps you’ll treat me to some more fun by sparring with me next!” The prince suggests, making Aegon lean closer over the edge.

“Maybe if we put the swords down and replace them with dice I can show you something worth your while!” Aegon counters, having nothing to prove like Aemond had.

“You got yourself a deal!”

Aegon giggles and pushes himself away from the balcony, forgetting all about you and returning to the yard, letting the Prince’s attention drift to you to offer you a kind smile.

He doesn’t proceed to say anything, and you don’t shout your praises like your brother had. You look at him, at his light, half-buttoned chemise that gives you a peek at his sweaty, toned chest, and flash him a tender smile that you can't hold back.

Yet the longevity of it isn’t long because you then catch Aemond looking up at you and frown immediately before backing away from the balcony to be unseen by both men.

“I have dropped the prince plenty of times,” Ser Criston breaks his silence, making you face him and offer him a smirk.

“I know,” you tell him. “You need to remind Aegon that.”

Ser Criston scoffs. “And break his illusion of a good influence for him? I’d rather not.”

You giggle and then return inside, hoping to avoid both the Prince and Aemond.

One might be easier to avoid because of Aegon, but Aemond? He won’t be in your brother's company. He’ll be lurking and in search of an explanation for your sudden need to avoid him.

——

*LATER*

With little to no choice and another day of a cold shoulder, Prince Octavian has been pushed to break the rules again and sneak into your bedchambers under the cover of night, and a baggy servant's disguise.

Maybe he’ll get reprimanded and foot lashings from his father, but wouldn’t it be worth it in the name of love?

Perhaps his insistent need to pursue you after repeated rejection is foolish. What happiness could he hope to have in a marriage where the wife hates her husband?

But he can’t give up. And it’s not because his father impressed that upon him, but because he can’t stop thinking of you.

He falls asleep to the very image of you; your haunted glistening eyes, your bright and unique gold-silver hair, and he wakes up thinking about you; your perfectly shaped lips, your tender and blissful smile, and your ethereal beauty.

Your strangeness draws him in, and that gentle and strong-hearted woman he sees hiding underneath your timidness keeps him close and eager to uncover that woman you keep closed off.

But he can’t know you without pushing, so he sneaks into your bedchambers.

However, once he’s slipped inside without being discovered, he finds you asleep on a chair by the fire with a book discarded on your lap.

You look peaceful too, despite being balled up, which would make him a real prick if he woke you up now, so accepting defeat for tonight, he steps back away from you very quietly so as not to wake you.

However, before he can turn away to sneak out, the book falls from your lips as you draw in a sharp breath and arch your back off the chair.

“<It's coming,>” you mutter in Valyrian. “<Don’t you hear the battle cries? Growing louder like war drums approaching the field?”>

“Princess?” The Prince questions and gets close to you to make himself known to you, but you don’t look over at him. Your eyes are open, but looking up at the ceiling.

“<I hear them. I hear you,” you continue to mutter to the ceiling, but now you sit up straight and start to cry. “Stop it. Be quiet. I don’t want to hear you. Stop shouting my name!>” You start to weep. “<Theyre all shouting my name! Please stop! Please…>”

“Princess,” the Prince calls again and gets closer to you until he’s standing before you. “Princess?” He calls and crouches to be at your eye level, seeing streams of tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Princess,” he calls again and grabs your shoulders this time to shake you gently, managing to startle you awake.

“Wh-what,” you pause and look around at your surroundings, noticing that you aren’t in a battlefield anymore but back in your bedchambers with Prince Octavian looking at you with concern.

That’s the strangest thing. Not anything else.

“You, what are you doing here?” You immediately question him as you get up, making him mirror you, but tower over you in a matter of seconds.

Yet, before he can answer, you look at his ill-fitting uniform and figure it out.

“Leave,” you demand of him. “Why do you insist on seeking me out?”

“Because I want to know you. I want to see you. I want to talk to you,” he immediately counters, making your breath hitch.

“Well,” you drawl, conflicted by your heart's swooning and your mind's resistance. “You’ve seen enough, haven’t you? So leave now. Go back to Pentos and leave me alone.”

The prince shakes his head. “Why? You give me a good reason why, and I will leave. I give you my word.”

You part your lips but are at a loss for words as you’re torn at the idea of admitting your madness.

Then again, if it will finally push him away then you have no other choice.

“Didn’t you just see it?” Your voice comes out shakily. “What I’m truly like? I’m,” you pause and feel your eyes sting. “I’m not okay. My mind…it’s fractured. I’m sick,” you whisper what you heard your mother say about you.

“That’s why you have to leave. Go back to Pentos, find someone normal, and live your life away from me,” you plead your case, but he’s not scared off, nor does he seem to be disappointed.

In fact, a passion still blazes in his green eyes.

“That’s not enough,” he proclaims, causing your tears to escape your eyes and trickle down your cheeks.

“Why should that push me—”

“Because,” you cut him off. “Do you not understand? I’m not okay! Dreams plague me. Dreams of death. Dreams of the future. I dreamt that my little brother would lose his eye, and he did! That’s not normal. I am not normal. I wish I were because I could have friends. My mother…” you trail off and walk away, making him immediately follow suit.

“You,” you cry and stop to turn and face him, bringing him to an abrupt stop.

“I’m closed off to the world around me, but you, and I wish I could live in that feeling, but—”

“You could,” he interjects and takes a big step forward to grab your hands from your side and pull them to his hard chest. “If you let me, I could try to understand. None of it scares me. In fact, I’m drawn to it. Curious. If you let me in, I would try to always understand you.”

Your heart swoons, and more tears stream down your cheeks, but as touching as his words are, you can’t take that risk. It’s terrifying.

“I'm sorry,” you mewl. “But I can’t. You can’t, so please,” you beg. “Accept this answer and go.”

He swallows thickly, but that passion doesn’t snuff out. “That’s what you want? Truly?” He asks as he still holds your hands, making your mind and in turn you, hesitate.

The words you need to say are there. They’re at the tip of your tongue, but it’s not what you truly want. Not what your heart wants and not what you desire, but…you can’t be selfish to accept him and keep him tied to your madness.

Thus, you get ready to say your disingenuous response, but before you can, a knock raps on the doors before they swing open without waiting for your invitation, bringing your attention to none other than Aemond.

“Aemond,” you gasp and rip your hands away from the princes’ grasp and step away from him. Which is all foolish because he had already seen the prince. He’s already enraged.

“Get away from her,” he sneers and throws the doors closed instead of alerting the Kingsguard on watch.

“Aemond, wait, this is not—” you try to reason with him, but he completely ignores you and strides directly to the prince.

“Who do you think you are?” He cuts you off and points a long finger at the Prince with a rage-imbued scowl on his face. One unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“How dare you disrespect the Princess?” He spats without raising his voice and causing alarm. “How dare you try to sully her good name?”

“Aemond, stop it,” you exclaim, and follow after him as he reaches the Prince and stands tall with his chest puffed out and his nose flared as he finds that he has to look up at the Prince.

“He did not do anything to me,” you defend the Prince and slip in between them, hoping to grab your brother's attention, but failing to even get a sparing glance. “I asked him to be here!”

Aemond scoffs. “You must think me stupid as to believe that,” he finally addresses you as he spares you a glance. “Is that what he told you to say?”

“No!”

“No,” the prince also interjects and steps away from you to be face-to-face with Aemond, who mirrors his every move. “Nor was it her idea. I came on my own accord.”

“Clearly,” Aemond spats as he looks him up and down, noting his disguise. “But I swear on my honor that I did not do anything to sully the Princess.”

“Your honor means nothing to me,” Aemond rebuts. “I don’t know you. She doesn’t know you. You are a foreigner trying to marry my sister. Is that why you’re here? Are you trying to force this marriage?”

“Aemond!”

“No!” The prince counters in his own defense. “I simply came to talk to her. That’s all. I swear.”

Aemond hums and steps back as he clasps his hands behind him. “Again with the swearing.”

“He speaks true,” you cut in and grab your brother's arm to turn him so he can look at you. “I have not made this ordeal easy, he just wanted to know what he could do to make this easy for the sake of the Hand and his father, who want this match to work.”

Aemond tilts his head as he considers what you said, noting that you don’t appear to be lying. There’s no obvious tell.

“He has not touched me. He was a respectable gentleman. He…was just being nice and trying to be understandable.”

Aemond hums and snaps his gaze to the prince.

“I will leave and not expose what I have done,” the prince suggests and bows his head, making your own gaze snap to him. “For I know that no matter what is said, the people will believe that your sister's honor is stained. Besides, she doesn’t wish to marry me either way.” He scoffs softly in disappointment. “So my decision won’t raise any protests, just questions I will answer with lies.”

You try to swallow thickly on a dry throat as you hear what you’ve been pushing for finally come to fruition. A choice your heart wishes to contest.

“It’s the least you can do,” Aemond accepts without a fight. He almost smiles at the sound of the Prince’s decision.

“I won’t tell a soul,” the Prince promises.

“No, you won’t,” Aemond threatens as he watches the Prince raise his head and glance at you longly before he bows his head at you.

“Princess.”

He then makes his way out of the room, making sure to hide his face as he walks out and closes the doors behind him, leaving you in your brother's company, and leaving you with half a mind to run after him and declare that you’ve changed your mind, but your fear keeps you in place and looking at the door somberly.

That is, until you hear your brother beside you and grow angry. “You cannot just barge into my chambers the way you did,” you finally address him in a huff.

Yet, when he faces you, he doesn’t look at you with regret or understanding. “But you’re lucky I did,” he retorts, causing you to gasp in disbelief.

“Can you imagine if I had not? You don’t know him or what he’s thinking.”

“Do you?” You counter in his defense. “You don’t know him either. You have not tried to know him as Aegon and Helaena have. Ever since he came you’ve been awful and cold.”

“And is it not reasonable?” He snaps. “Why do you think he’s here? His father is friends with Daemon. He could’ve asked him for one of his daughters’ hands in marriage if he wanted to tie our houses together, but he came here to you because they knew they could trick us into marrying someone with a formidable dragon, and dragon's blood in them that they could pass to their offspring.”

You scoff and mutter. “Is that it? That’s what you think? I’m nothing more than a warm body with magical blood pumping through my veins to be used as they please?”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, and he looks at you like you’ve physically wounded him. “No. Can’t you see that’s what makes you important? That’s what separates you from all the other highborn ladies? That’s why you can’t just be married off to plain-looking nobodies. That’s why you deserve a worthy match that’s been blessed like you.”

His face softens, and he looks down in search of your hand, but before he can grab it, you turn away just as you understand who he’s referring to.

“Well, grandfather didn’t think so,” you try to act oblivious to who he was hinting at. “He wanted this match to happen. Now, he’ll be mad at me and forsake me or force my hand.”

“Not if the prince keeps his word,” Aemond only now offers the prince some grace.

“Let’s hope he does,” you whisper to the fire halfheartedly. “Grandfather will never speak to me again—”

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t the Prince—”

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t,” you cut him off and return to the fire still dancing in the hearth. “It’ll be better if I am not married,” you whisper and start to fiddle with your fingers. “Now leave me please.”

“I wanted to talk to you—”

“Aemond,” you don’t let him finish, knowing where he was taking this. “Please. We’ll talk tomorrow,” you dismiss him and keep watching the fire with your ears attentive.

Aemond can be so light with his footsteps that sometimes they’re hard to hear, but this time, even if he hardly makes any noise, you hear the door close behind him, leaving you to drop on your knees on the floor and drop your face in your hands with great aching sorrow.

That’s where you spend the rest of the night thinking about everything you can’t have because of that magical blood Aemond claims makes you so special. And that’s where your grandfather finds you in the morning when he barges into your chambers with your mother in tow.

“What have you done?” He sneers.

.

.

.

.

.