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“Might as well—”

“Quiet,” Aegon shuts Octavian up before bouncing his eyes about the hall in search of what he can’t seem to find, even though three pairs of eyes are on the creepy creature. It almost makes you want to give away its location, but Aegon then thinks of looking up and sees the spider dangling over his head.

“Oh, ew,” he groans before he abruptly puts his hands over his head to smush the spider.

“Why did you do that? You didn’t have to kill it,” Helaena whines, whilst you find much relief in your brother's choice. Now, you don’t have to spend time wondering where it is.

“It was gross,” Aegon complains as he peels his hand away and looks at the smushed spider corpse on his palm. “Now it’s all over my palms though…here,” he then teases and threatens to wipe his hand on you.

“Ew!” You yelp as you quickly jerk back towards your husband.

Aegon chuckles, and just as he’s going to taunt you again, your mother's head snaps around.

“Quiet,” she grimaces and shoots pointed looks at you and your brother, making you stand up straight whilst Aegon shifts back to his spot with his hands slightly thrown up.

“Sorry,” you speak on behalf of you and your brother, earning one last pointed glare before your mother turns back around to focus on the proceeding.

Now, that should’ve been the end of Aegon’s childlike behavior, but without looking at you, he gets close and starts getting his hand close to you again, causing you to press yourself against Octavian before you wrap his arm around you as a shield.

Aegon smiles in amusement and manages to brush your arm, making you squirm and hold back a laugh.

Aegon then almost presses his arm on you, but your mother is aware of his actions and shoots him a sharp side glare, making said brother clear his throat and straighten up, turning the proceeding between Ser Vaemond and Rhaenyra boring once again.

“…The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” the Hand gives the floor to said man, making him walk to the center of the hall to be seen by everyone.

“My Queen. My Lord Hand,” he addresses before he continues to plead his case. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind.”

You yawn behind your hand at the man’s blabbering but, unfortunately, are cursed to continue hearing him.

“Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his own blood. The true unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenyra interjects boldly, piquing your interest. “If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition—”

“You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” your mother interrupts your half-sister. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,”

Said man turns to face Rhaenyra with a smug look that you catch on his face. A look a gentleman wouldn’t even think of offering to a princess.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you,” he adds crudely, making you roll your eyes. “And you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.”

He then turns to continue to address your mother and grandfather. “My Queen. My Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor, the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.”

One who is not dead!

Wouldn’t this petition work better if there were confirmation of the Lord's death?!

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond,” your grandfather dismisses the man before inviting your sister forward. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Make this quick.

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer,” Rhaenyra starts off by saying once she's taken Ser Vaemond’s place at the center of the hall. “I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very—”

Before she can finish, albeit, the grand doors to the throne room open, welcoming Kingsguards and…the King.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen,” Ser Arryk proclaims as you share a surprised look with Aegon. “The First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

The surprised audience behind you bows their heads as the sickly King limps his way down the Throne room, and as you process your surprise, you feel a twinge of jealousy fall upon you at the sight of the King coming to his daughter's rescue.

He can hardly even function as it is, but he made the effort to show up for…her.

Maybe it’s true that you can’t even look at his decaying face as he limps past you, but the King is still your father, and he’s never shown the same dedication to you or your siblings that he's showing to Rhaenyra right now as he walks up the stairs of his throne alone.

Ser Arryk offers his help, but the King refuses.

However, he then stops and folds over from the pain, appearing as if he won't make it.

Yet, even if his golden crown falls on the ground, he continues toward his throne with the help of his brother Daemon.

The King sits the throne for…Rhaenyra, and knowing that, feeling that jealousy knotting in your stomach, makes you turn your eyes away from the half-sister you pitied moments ago.

“I must…admit…my confusion,” the King strains to address the hall. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present…who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

With surprise, you look toward the Princess and note her gratitude for being acknowledged.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Princess Rhaenys says before walking to the center, taking everyone’s attention with her. “It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son…Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him.”

You look at Ser Vaemond and note his bewilderment and anger as everything he was reaching for is taken right in front of him.

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

So this is her decision after all. Support for Rhaenyra instead of for herself.

Surprising.

“Well,” the King says. “The matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” He ends the matter with a wheeze.

Yet much to your displeasure, Ser Vaemond scoffs and interjects. “You break law.”

Gods…

“And centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir,” he proclaims as he walks back to the center of the hall. “Yet you dare tell me…who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” The King quotes him. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” he warns, and that triggers the man, causing him to point his finger at Lucerys.

“That is no true Velaryon!” He exclaims. “And certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra directs at her son before addressing Ser Vaemond. “You have said enough.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson,” the King backs her up. “And you…no more… than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You,” Ser Vaemond spats in response. “May run your house as you see fit…but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned…I will not see it ended on the account of this,” he stops himself as he faces Lucerys, making the tension in the room be accompanied by anticipation as you wait to see if he’ll say it.

“Say it,” you catch Daemon taunting him softly, but the room remains thick.

Your heart thumps, and you start picking at your cuticles.

Silence proceeds for a second. A minute, and then, Ser Vaemond becomes bold.

“Her children…are bastards!” He shouts, making the room start whispering while your jaw drops with disbelief.

“And she,” he continues. “Is…a whore,” he proclaims, making the crowd gasp, and making you look at the King to see what his next move will be.

Without surprise, he makes the effort to get off his seat and pull out his dagger. “I,” he breathes heavily. “Will have your tongue for that,” he declares.

Nevertheless, his effort is then wasted because Daemon takes care of Ser Vaemond by slicing his head off, causing the hall to proclaim, Helaena to gasp and turn away with her fingers in her ears, while you gasp and cover your mouth with bewilderment as you also turn towards your husband, feeling his arm wrap tightly around you.

“He can keep his tongue.” You hear Daemon say nonchalantly.

“Disarm him!” Your grandfather shouts, causing a song of unsheathing swords to echo.

“No need,” he assures them, and as you glance over, you see him sheathing his Valyrian steel sword and returning to his spot, leaving the hall quiet and tense enough to catch the King groaning.

When you look over, he is slumped in the throne, and Ser Arryk is going to his side.

“Call the Maesters!” Your mother exclaims as she also runs to him.

“Father?” Rhaenyra calls, and as you see her approach the throne, you turn away.

“How distasteful,” you whisper to the people around you with a shudder.

“And honorable,” Octavian claims as he rubs your back and your sisters to ease your nerves.

“He deserved it for speaking that way of the daughter of the King. What did he expect?” He adds before he whispers. “I would do the same, in fact.”

Aegon chuckles, and you shake your head.

“You know what? I think I would do that too,” Aegon proclaims smugly, only after your husband said it.

But no matter how much you would secretly appreciate that display of dedication, Helaena is different.

“It’s a violent and cruel display. I would not like it,” she already declares, but what does that matter to her husband?

“Sure, but I would still do it.” He brushes her off with a shrug.

Helaena turns away with displeasure, and you proceed to rest your head on your husband's shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around you before he rubs your arm.

While your eyes wander, you catch the King passing by with the help of Ser Arryk and the maester, so you quickly avert your gaze, but in doing so, you catch Aemond’s wandering gaze and feel your heart jump at the feeling of his heavy gaze, so you look away and watch for your mother as she watches the King.

Once the King has cleared the hall, your mother returns to you and finally leads the way out of the hall and away from the bleeding headless corpse, but she doesn’t proceed to offer any kind of relief from this tension.

“The King wishes to have dinner today with the family,” she announces and stops in the middle of the corridor, making you all stop too. “The whole of his family,” she makes sure to clarify, bringing no one but Helaena pleasure.

“We’re all going to attend,” she declares as she looks at all her children but makes sure to pass you and Aegon pressing looks.

“Darling,” she directs at you. “I was hoping that you would play your harp at dinner.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you bluntly answer. “No.”

She scoffs. “And why not?”

“Because…people will watch,” you say as if it wasn’t obvious.

“You’re talented; they will be pleased,” she offers a solution, but that doesn’t make it any more appealing.

“I would,” she adds, and you immediately start to consider it, but even then, the thought of having those strangers watching and judging you makes you want to recoil.

“I’ll think about it,” you offer, and that seems to please her enough for now.

“Good,” she says before she continues down the corridor, making you all continue moving with her as a unit.

——

*LATER*

The sound of angelic music resounds in the drawing room, making you deaf to any sound outside the room, and unaware of the presence you attract with your music.

Yes, you may be playing without heart, which makes you easily distracted, but your back is to the opening door, and your mindless playing lets your mind get lost in your thoughts. Moreover, as much as you want an interruption, you don’t expect someone to move in like a silent shadow or to be watched like prey.

Thus, you’re left thinking you’re alone for what’s left of the song. Only after it's done does Aemond creep into your eyesight, startling you so badly that you cover your mouth and grab your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasp and take a deep breath to try and calm your breath, seeing him clasp his hands and tilt his head as he glances at your harp before looking back at you, trying to settle your racing nerves.

“I didn’t hear you,” you point out nervously. “How long have you been here?”

“I just walked in, I didn't want to interrupt you,” he says so calmly as if what he did was a regular occurrence. “You were playing so well,” he says, making you giggle breathlessly and push aside how badly he startled you.

“Well? Is that it?” You remark before you scoff lightheartedly. “It’s hardly my best.”

“Difference in opinions then,” he says coolly as he begins to walk around you, making you turn to continue watching him as you respond with a hum before he continues with a question.

“Is that what you’ll play tonight?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I’m stuck between this and ten other songs. It’s just…well, my dread of playing is making things hard.”

“Then don’t play,” he surprises you by saying.

“What?” You chuckle. “And displease mother?”

He’s never been one to go against your mother. He’s always been so obedient and so quick to try to please her. You try your best, but like today with Aegon and Helaena, you get distracted and end up…displeasing her.

“It’s just this once,” he says nonchalantly as he comes to a stop behind your chair. “And it’s not like we’re trying to impress someone significant. Besides, she’ll understand why you don’t want to.”

You give what he said some thought before you’re persuaded by his offer, finding it harmless as well as true. Besides, it’s not common for him to go against your mother, so you’re intrigued as well.

“Very well, I’ll do just that,” you let him know gleefully before you smirk at him. “You surprise me, Aemond. I didn’t think I’d ever hear you suggest going against Mother.”

Aemond scoffs. “I’m not a boy anymore.”

You chuckle. “No, you’re right, but still it’s surprising.”

He lowers his eyes and speaks to the floor. “Why should it be? You seemed displeased, so why shouldn’t it be my first suggestion?”

Your smile starts to fade, and you stay silent before you find how to word your response. “I just…didn’t think you’d help me do something that goes against what she wants.”

“Then you don’t know me,” he counters softly, making you nod gently as you smile faintly at the floor.

“Not anymore,” you agree.

“And why is that?” He finds his excuse to probe for the reason why you put distance between the two of you over the past couple of years.

“I don’t know.” You shrug and slowly scale your eyes up his tall and slender figure. “I got married and…” you pause and swallow thickly as you think back to what he said moments before you married your husband, and the driving force that made you distance yourself, that uneasiness that still very much lingers inside you.

“…everything just changed. I’m sorry.”

He hums in comprehension as he looks down, making you get up to approach him and try to please him, as he looks unsatisfied with your answer.

“I,” you pause and swallow the lump that catches in your throat before you continue sincerely. “…I still…love you. Very much,” you say softly, making him blink and slowly lift his eyes to meet your gaze with a softened look.

“You’re still the one who understands the pain of coming second to mother after all,” you speak the unspoken. The force behind your bond. “I would skip this dinner if sitting with your assaulters makes you uncomfortable.”

“And displease mother?” He mocks you, making you giggle before you shrug.

“Beats that awkwardness already at our throats,” you say before you take his hands in yours and smile tenderly at the floor.

“Whatever the reason that keeps us apart, upset, or strangers, you are still and always will be my dearest brother, Aemond,” you make it clear as you mend that strain and meet his gaze. “And I…hope that we never know that distance between us ever again.”

He swallows thickly and lowers his gaze, taking in the beautiful ivory gown under the panels of a sheer fabric draping over the front, back, and each arm. He takes in the beautiful, glimmering gold butterflies, flowers, and leaves stitched on the sheer fabrics. He sees the gold embroidered scoop neckline, the thin golden layered belt over the gown, and the front and back of the draping fabrics.

You’re the definition of beauty and elegance in his eye and you’re wasted on a foreigner with no Valyrian blood.

“Now come, you’ll be my companion while I disappoint mother and tell her I won’t play the harp at dinner,” you beckon him to follow as you drop his hands without lingering or taking in any part of him as he had with you.

You then leave the room and don’t look back to note if he’s following, but he still goes after you, following the scent of your flower perfume trailing behind you.

——

*LATER*

“Have I told you yet how divine you look tonight?”

Your attention turns to your husband sliding into his seat next to you around the long table.

“You look absolutely divine,” he coos as he hooks his foot on the bottom of your seat and surprises you by pulling you closer to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you stroke his cheek and look deep into his green eyes, glimmering brightly as they drown on you.

“I have something for you,” he adds as he holds up a white and pink snapdragon in front of his face. “They’ve bloomed.”

You beam at him and try to take the flower from him, but he pulls it away and instead tucks the stem in your belt.

“How beautiful,” you muse as you gently brush your fingers over the mixed colored flower heads.

“I learnt how to mix the colors last season and have been anticipating their bloom to gift them to you ever since I planted them,” he says excitedly, infecting you with his excitement.

“Is that why you got into planting?” You finally get to question your year-long curiosity.

Octavian shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, of course. I had seen them once back at Pentos, and I had to grow them for you.”

Your face burns, and you can’t help but giggle as he’s got you all flustered. “You do too much,” you mutter, making him scoff before he leans in close to the point you could share your calm breaths that expel from your noses.

“I must contest and say that I don’t do enough,” he argues, pulling your eyes up to glance at his lips before you meet his adoring gaze.

“<I would die for you,>” he declares passionately in Valyrian as if it were an epic declaration of love. And as much as his declarations are heart-melting, this one is like a nightmare.

“Don’t jest.” You poke his chest with annoyance.

However, he doesn’t find it as distasteful as you do. “It’s not a jest,” he proclaims. “I am being truthful.” He hits his chest where you poked him. “I would give my life for yours.”

You shake your head. “No, because if you truly loved me, you would live for me.”

He scoffs softly and then takes your hands in his. “My princess,” he says with his gravelly and raspy voice turning to a soft wisp of a whisper so only you can hear. “If life were that simple, I would live an immortal life with you, but life is not so kind, and if it were to come to it, I would give my life for you.”

You lower your head to hide your frown from your family waiting for the King to arrive for dinner, feeling how your heart starts to ache and feel heavy at the thought of something that’s a hypothetical.

“The choice is not being had now,” he assures you, making you pick up your head to face him again.

“I know,” you sigh. “But you still went there.”

He snickers. “Yes, well, the chance was there, so I took it.”

You roll your eyes at his smugness. “You always do.”

He chuckles and then strokes your cheek before he pulls away, but leaves an arm extended so you can see the flame colored gem he’s holding between his fingers.

“Look what I got for you,” he boasts before he swiftly throws the gem up before swiping it from the air swiftly and holding it in his fist so he can drop it on your waiting palm.

“No!” You gasp as you see the red flame-like gem from Asshai. “Where did you get this?”

Octavian smiles smugly and shrugs. “Won it from a man with a gold tooth that I raced yesterday. He was reluctant, but Jace helped me convince him.”

You grin brightly as you also piece together more of what he and your nephews did in the city yesterday.

He had told you some pieces of it, but it took you a while to stabilize yourself after waking up in the middle of the courtyard, drenched in rainwater instead of waking up in the warm comfort of your bedchamber. And even then, when you woke up from your short sleep, all you did was ruminate over what you couldn't remember. After that, the petitions were held early, and then you spent time dreading this very dinner, so he hadn't had the chance to share all he did.

“Is that why you went into the city?” You probe lightheartedly as you examine the beautiful gem.

“I’m a renowned horse racer; the lads were curious. I simply…filled their curiosity.”

You flash him an amused smile before you twirl around in your seat to then lean towards Helaena.

“Helaena, look,” you call for her attention and earn it instantly—“Octavian won it for me.”

Helaena leans close with an awestruck smile. “Another one for your collection,” she muses as you both look at your reflected eyes dancing throughout the gem. “It’s so radiant.”

“Absolutely,” you agree.

“But the jade is still my favorite.”

“I knew you’d say that.” You flash her a smile.

“It’s the color that draws me in,” she says only moments before the doors open and the king is brought in on his chair, silencing the quiet commotion around the hall as all eyes fall on him, and raising up those who had been seated to pay their king respect while others return to their seats.

You just stand to sit comfortably and pay your respects to the king by simply acknowledging him. Nothing more and nothing less.

“How good it is…to see you all tonight…together,” the king says as he glances at everyone around the table, bringing a moment of silence that’s then filled by your mother.

“Prayer before we begin?” Your mother directs at the King, earning a weak nod and a raspy response.

“Yes.”

You clasp your hands over the table, bow your head, and close your eyes to hear the prayer your mother gives. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bond that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Is that what he deserves?

You open your eyes, lift your head, and slide your hands off the tabletop, catching Octavian filling your goblet with wine before you can ask.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” the King continues to address the room. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes’…and their betrothed.”

“Hear, hear!” Aegon surprisingly cheers as everyone, including you, raises your cups. Yet, whereas everyone drinks for their milestone, the bitter taste of jealousy makes you only raise the cup to your lips before you place it back on the table without a sip.

“Let us toast as well to the Prince Lucerys…” The King adds after everyone has taken a drink—Couldn’t he have put them all together?

“…the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Hear, hear,” someone down the table cheers in response whilst you actually take a sip from your goblet this time.

Before you can put your goblet down, though, the King taps his cane on the stone floor before he struggles to get up from his seat. Showing a miraculous effort of strength because of course he would here.

“It both gladdens my heart.” The King speaks with labored breaths. “And fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…yet grown so distant from each other…in years past.”

He looks around the table, and you place your goblet down and avoid looking at him. More so as you hear him taking off the golden mask he wears on half of his rotting face.

When the mask thuds on the table, you focus your gaze on your hands shifting the goblet on the tabletop.

“My own face…is no longer a handsome one…if indeed it ever was,” the King says. “But tonight, I wish you to see me…as I am. Not just a king…but your father. Your brother. Your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you.”

You swallow thickly and feel your shoulders jump when he hits his mask on the table.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances.” The King strains his voice to exclaim as best as he can. “If not for the sake of the crown…then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.”

He breathes heavily, and you spare a glance, but as you catch a peek at his rotting face as he’s sitting back down, you shift in your seat and look away swiftly.

Thankfully, another chair scrapes on the stone floor, and as you look up it’s Rhaenyra holding up her goblet as she gets ready to speak and keep your mind off the King's almost deadly state.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen,” Rhaenyra proclaims, making you look at your mother with discreet surprise—“I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude and my apology.”

Rhaenyra sits back down after she’s done, and you raise your cup along with Octavian and take a drink in your mother's honor.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” your mother says after a moment of silence, surprising you even more at the sound of her soft sincerity.

“We are both mothers…and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow,” she says before she stands up with her goblet of wine. “I raise my cup to you…and to your house…You will make a fine Queen.”

You raise your goblet to your lips and take a sip of wine as you share a perplexed look with Aemond at the sound of your mother's contradicting words.

“More wine?” Octavian asks beside you, turning your attention to him and catching Aegon getting up to get more wine from between Jacaerys and Baela. Which is an odd choice, considering there’s wine closer to your side of the table, but alas…he does what he wants without consequence…

“Any more toasts and surely we’ll feast on wine alone,” Octavian says, making you smile in amusement.

“I would not mind, wine helps me sleep without dreaming,” you point out happily with your finger raised.

“Oh, I know.” He chuckles. “But you can't handle the chills and aches the next day.”

“Sure, but—” You cut yourself off and gasp softly as someone bangs their fists on the table.

When you look over where the commotion came from, you see Aegon returning to his seat and Jacaerys standing up.

Yet, as the young man notices that all the attention is on him, he clears his throat to ease the tension.

However, Aemond then slowly and menacingly rises from his chair to stare down at Jacaerys, making you lower your gaze with shame and slight fear as if he were directing his reaction at you.

Thankfully, Aemond’s efforts are wasted because you then hear Jacaerys divert the room's attention to his toast. “To Prince Aegon and…Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men,” he breathes deeply. “I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

The young man raises his cup and takes a drink. You glance at your brothers nervously, expecting one of them to say something crude in response.

However, Aegon just responds well-tempered. “To you as well.”

You glance at your brothers once more and wait for Aemond to sit back down before you finally drink in your brother's honor.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” you hear Helaena whisper something she’s been uttering to herself for some days now.

You asked her about it, and she said it came to her in a dream, but she doesn’t know the meaning. Which is normal, dreams are unkind to the two of you…

Regardless, your sister then surprisingly gets up with her goblet after the king praises Jacaerys.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” Helaena says. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Oh, sweet Helaena.

Scattered laughter spreads around the table, while you watch your sister with a proud smile as she sits back down with a smile of her own.

“Good,” your grandfather praises her with a whisper before you turn and happily clink your cups together.

“Let us have some music,” the King orders, causing the musicians to start playing right away, filling the silent fall with lively music.

Octavian, in the meantime, leans over the table to put more food on his plate, making his plate look more appetizing than yours does. Yet you don’t say anything right away; instead, you wait and catch Jacaerys walking over to invite Helaena to dance.

“Oh,” your sister mouths before she glances at you with a second of confusion and then of intrigue.

Thus, you pass her an encouraging smile. How can you not? And that encouragement lets her decide to accept the offer and pass you the trinket that she’s been fiddling with before she lets Jacaerys take her out to dance, leaving you to watch her with a happy smile that only softens as you watch her start to laugh with Jacaerys.

Nevertheless, your attention on your sister is short-lived because your husband sits back down with his plate and you can’t help but steal some of his food.

“Hey!” He exclaims with his mouth full of food.

“What?” You shrug, feigning innocence. “It looks tasty.”

He purses his lips together and then steals from your plate, but that's not something you complain about. You just smile with your mouth full of food before you take something else from your plate and push your fork toward him.

“Taste this,” you tell him after you’ve chewed and swallowed your food.

Octavian leans in to take the food and stays close to give you his review with a nod and a pleased smile.

After that, he takes a piece of his untouched food and passes it to you.

“Mhm,” you moan with a satisfied smile. “You’ll love it.”

“Great, now eat from your plate,” he says and points to your plate before he turns to continue eating.

You obey, but you then catch Aegon serving himself new wine of a different flavor, so you swipe your cup off the table and chug the remainder of your wine, catching his attention and making him slowly start to smirk.

“Impressive,” he muses.

“And I’m not even drunk yet,” you gloat as you hand him your goblet as you lean over Helaena’s empty seat.

“Drunk?” He snorts as he serves you wine. “Since when?”

“Pentos. You’ll love it there,” you tell him before you watch guards pick up the King and take him back to his quiet chambers, making everyone from the other side of the table rise as they take out the King. Something you don’t bother to do.

“And you didn’t bring some of their wine, why?” Your brother quips, pulling your attention back to him.

“Oh, but I did.” You smile mischievously at him. “Maybe I’ll invite you to drink some with us if you’re nice.”

He scoffs as he leans over Helaena’s empty seat to hand you back your goblet. “Nice to you? Always. If not, I can always just tell Octavian to give me some. He’s not keen on hogging his wine from me.”

You scrunch your nose in playful disgust at the mention of their close relationship before he turns towards you and pushes the point of his nose up to mock a pig and then you. “Like you,” he mocks.

You shoot him a pointed look seconds before someone on your side bangs on the table, causing you and Aegon to lean away from each other to look over and see your brother on his feet and his goblet in hand.

“Finale tribute,” Aemond says, silencing the music and grabbing the attention of the others who hadn’t turned when he hit the table. “To the health of my nephews.”

You glance nervously at your mother, and she passes you the same look before you both unknowingly gnaw on your cuticles.

“Jace,” Aemond continues. “Luke…and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise...hm,” he pauses, making you clutch onto your husband's arm and wait for your brother to continue.

“Strong.”

“Aemond,” your mother warns your brother.

“Come,” he interjects without a care. “Let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.”

You lower your gaze, whilst Octavian clears his throat in discomfort.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys snaps, making you peer over.

“Why?” Aemond counters. “‘‘Twas only a compliment,” he taunts as they start to stride toward each other. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

In response, Lucerys bangs his hands on the other side of the table, sending Aegon after him while Jacaerys lands his first blow on Aemond as they meet in the middle.

“Jace!” You hear Rhaenyra shout before you catch Aegon slamming Lucerys’ face on the table

“That’s enough!” Your mother bellows, but it's all wasted breath.

“Darling, your sister,” Octavian whispers in your ear, making you snap your eyes across the room to see her backed up to a corner.

Thus, as Octavian gets up, you mirror him, but while he goes to hold Aemond back from pushing Jacaerys, you go around them to reach your sister.

“Come,” you beckon her as you take her hand and walk her back to the table whilst guards pull Jacaerys and Lucerys back.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” You hear your mother remark to Aemond as he pulls away from Octavian, and you continue to hold Helaena’s hand whilst you rub her arm to soothe her nerves.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother,” Aemond retorts. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” He exclaims as he slips away from her own hold to face the boys squirming in the guard's hold before Jacaerys breaks free and beelines towards Aemond.

Octavian, however, manages to catch Jacaerys’ intentions too and attempts to stop him, but before he can, Daemon finally interjects.

“Wait! Wait!” He exclaims as he walks between Aemond and Jacaerys to walk his stepson away from the problem.

“Go to your quarters,” Rhaenyra orders her children. “All of you go. Now.”

You continue to soothe your sister while you hold your breath as Daemon turns to challenge your brother for a second. A minute, and another that seems to be an hour long before your brother hums and walks off with his long hair swaying behind him.

Daemon then leaves after him, leaving your mother to surprise you further tonight.

“Rhaenyra,” she says with a soft apologetic voice.

“Why don’t we continue dinner somewhere else?” Octavian suggests, pulling your attention away from your mother approaching Rhaenyra—“Helaena?”

“Oh, yes, I’d appreciate that,” she agrees as she rubs her chest.

“Good, let’s get on then,” he encourages before he leads the way out, making Helaena follow him out with relief to be out of the room, while you linger back and steal a glimpse at your mother holding Rhaenyra's arm as she talks to her quietly.

You don’t want to know what they’re saying, but it’s just…odd and perplexing seeing your mother be so gentle with Rhaenyra after claiming that she’s a sinner and evil since you can remember. What’s changed?

——

*LATER*

The clear and brisk night is alive with the dragon's departing song, silencing the other sounds of the Kingswood, and leaving your own dragon yearning to join the song of his departing peers.

Valiant does try, he opens his large mouth as he hears Syrax, Caraxes, and the beautiful Moondancer in the distance, but he can only make clicking noises to the night sky, and it hurts your heart to hear him trying his best but unable to sound like them, so you take your own eyes off the flying creatures getting smaller in the horizon and press your head against his large neck.

Valiant keeps trying, though until he grows frustrated and turns around like a whip, leaving you on shore while he dips in the lake water.

“Why don’t you come around the fire?” Octavian suggests as he watches you look back at the departing dragons pensively.

“My…” you pause and draw out a deep, contemplative breath. “Grandfather and Mother always said that Rhaenyra was a sinner. That she…held no love for us and that the moment she ascended the throne she’d kill us because we are a threat to her, but,” you bring up and finally look down at your husband sitting around the fire.

“…If she is so evil, why was she being so kind to her after dinner was ruined?” You can’t help but question now that you’ve made sense of all your spinning thoughts. “She can’t deny it and pretend it was an act. I heard my mother’s soft voice. I saw the gentle way she was caressing her wrist. It was all genuine. And when I talked to Rhaenyra yesterday, she didn’t hold any malice. Not in the way she looked at me or spoke to me.”

Octavian crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “Maybe she’s good at pretending,” he suggests, but it doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t seem like the one who would waste her time talking to you, especially not about something insignificant like your conversation was before you…trailed off and babbled nonsense. She stayed and listened.

Besides, even if Octavian is right, you’ve heard what the realm thinks about Rhaenyra’s sons. Not the prejudice, but the fact that they seem to be everything Aegon and Aemond are not…

“Maybe you are right,” you take in Octavian’s suggestion before you finally walk to the fire he built and sit across from him so you can meet his gaze even if it is across the dancing flames between you.

“…But are her sons not the reflection of her person?” You ask rhetorically before you bring your thumb to your mouth and gnaw on your cuticles.

“Regardless of what happened in our youth, they’re still…good. Respectful and courteous. And my brothers,” you pause as you bring them up in your growing confusion.

“I know the creature Aegon is. I hear the whispers and know my mother's concern for him,” you finally say out loud what you never liked to admit. “And Aemond…it’s better to be on his good side than to upset him…” you trail off as you feel a pang of pain in your heart for speaking ill of them.

Yet, when you think of the sides your family has put up, and when you remember how your mother and grandfather want you to think of Rhaenyra versus how you actually see her, you can’t help but compare the good versus the bad.

You’re not a child anymore to live by what is whispered in your ear. You have a mind of your own and eyes that can see the truth behind the image they’ve built up over the years. And it’s all…clashing together in your mind and tugging at your heart.

“You always rave that the dragon twins were perfect and that Daemon was…brooding, but you never speak ill of him “ you summarize all that Octavian has told you of his shared past with them. A past that opposes everything you’ve been told.

“Darling,” Octavian calls to try to soothe you in your rising conflict, but you interject with the result of all that’s been spinning and running in your mind since dinner with Rhaenyra was ruined.

“What if all the death and destruction I have been plagued with is the result of,” you stop as you feel a lump form in your throat.

Octavian calls your name to try to get you to stop, but you speak it out loud. “…fighting for the wrong side?”

With no solution on how to stop you now that you’re looking at him with this distressed perplexity, he indulges you. How can he not? It's a look that he's only heard people have who have seen the unspeakable.

“The Septons say we must love our brothers, and I do,” you remind yourself as your heart feels heavy after debating what should have been undebatable. “I love my family…”

“What do you see if you change sides?” Octavian indulges you. What else was there to do when he knows you won’t be at peace if he stops you?

“There’s no possibilities.” You shake your head and correct him as you watch your dragon crawl out of the lake with his eyes intent on you.

“I see,” Octavian murmurs before he asks another impossible question. “Where do you see yourself then?”

You drift your watery gaze back to him and correct him again. “It doesn’t work like that. You know my dreams are not clear visions of the truth. They’re—”

“Prophecies. Riddles you have to solve,” he cuts you off to finish your sentence. “I know. I mean, where do you see yourself standing now that you’ve uncovered this truth?”

“You can’t—”

“There’s no one here, my love,” he assures you gently. “You may speak your truth to me. If you want to leave and take no part in this war to come, I’ll pack our bags and we can sail to Pentos. If you wish to join your sister, I’ll plead with you. If you wish to stay, then I’ll stay too,” he declares his dedication to you once more without an ounce of doubt or fear.

Yet as comforting as his declaration is, it raises more conflict than it solves.

“If I leave…if I want no part in this war to come…what of the dragons? What of…Helaena, her children, and Daeron? What of…” you pause and feel frustration rise. “…my mother?” You question before something else tugs at your heart and makes you let out a shaky exhale before you express that conflict.

“But if it is them, then what of me?” Your voice quivers, making your dragon sigh sympathically before he lays his head beside you, making you glance at him and feel your conflicted heart ease before Octavian walks over and sits at your side, offering you peace in your distress, and warmth as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses you against him.

“Then.” He exhales deeply, ending that moment's worth of peace. “You pick whoever you can’t survive without,” he says, knowing the answer as easily as breathing came, but wanting you to say it out loud so it could cease the battle within yourself.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

News came while you were breaking fast. After you had a peaceful and dreamless sleep. After you unraveled over a conflict of the mind and heart, but put yourself back together and figured out where you belonged in this great game of thrones, leaving you content in a way.

Now, as you hear this grim news that the King is dead, though, the content that followed you to breakfast is polluted by…anger at the mess the King could never fix, dread for the carnage that follows, and perplexity at your father's death.

Yes, father.

That’s the first time you’ve thought of him like that in years, and now he’s…dead…

.

.

.

.

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.

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