@vicuntess –– Kate Bridgerton, née Sharma. HIATUS.

There's a heavy weight of unspoken fears and buried dreams in her brother's voice. As Daphne stands by the window, her gaze lingering on the sprawling gardens of Aubrey Hall, she cannot help but think of their childhoods. Before Bridgerton House had become a fragile sanctuary amidst the encroaching darkness. Turning slow, her eyes finding her brother's –– the weight of the world seems etched into the lines of his face, the burden of leadership pressing down on his broad shoulders. In the dim light, he was not the indomitable Lord Bridgerton but simply her brother, grappling with choices that seemed to have no right answers. Perhaps there simply wasn't a right answer. ❛❛ Do you remember when we were children and would run through the gardens, imagining ourselves as things? Knights, princes and princesses? You always said you would protect us, no matter what. Even before father's death. ❜❜ Her words hang in the air, a gentle reminder of simpler times –– though, a dark incense swells at the mention of their late father.

Inside Bridgerton House, two sisters preside inside the drawing room. The sun filters through the lace curtains of the windows, casting blurry patterns on the polished wooden floor. An echo of frustration lingers in the air, Eloise's exasperation radiating off her like heat. Turning to face her sister, Daphne's expression softens, head canting to the side. Eloise, with her sharp wit and aversion to societal expectations, had always been a breath of fresh air in the stifling world of debutantes and suitors. The eldest Bridgerton sister had always admired her sister's desire for independence, yet she couldn't help but feel the weight of shared reality pressing down on their shoulders. ❛❛ I understand your frustration... truly. I remember my own debut and how overwhelming it all felt. The pressure to be perfect, to be a diamond –– to secure a match that would bring pride to our family. It is a burden, and it can feel as though we are losing ourselves in the process. Or even losing our minds. ❜❜ She giggles, affording herself the chance to search for the right words as Daphe takes a step closer, reaching out to clasp her younger sister's hand. Her posture straightens, facial expression becoming tender.

       –––       you have no idea what it is to be a woman... what it might feel like to have one's entire life reduced to a single moment. this is all i have been raised for –– this is all i am. 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞. if i am unable to find a husband, i shall be worthless. ——— [private interpretation of daphne bridgerton from netflix's bridgerton. written by sabrina, 21+.]

Her fingers graze the cool stone of Aubrey Hall's walls as she contemplates the newly-named Hand of the King's words. It was, indeed, a bold statement amidst these uncertain times –– though, Daphne would not expect otherwise from a member of the Royal Guard. She turns to face him, eyes searching his for any hint of deception. ❛❛ I admire your fortitude, Ser Criston. ❜❜ Her voice remains steady yet tinged with curiosity, mirrored by the arch of her brows. ❛❛ In these times, it is a rare quality. Change is upon us all, whether we welcome it or not. ❜❜ She takes a step closer, her light blue gown whispering against the floor –– Daphne remains the vision of grace even in the bullseye of turmoil. With the passing of the late King Viserys, House Bridgerton's loyalty has become tested. An allegiance once made to the King and his daughter, now up in the skies with the crows to peck apart. It almost causes her to shudder.

Her gaze continues to hold his, unwavering, as she dares venture into more treacherous territory. Perhaps, even beyond the strict guidelines the eldest Bridgerton sister has been given for their interaction. Lead Ser Criston Cole to my office immediately –– no conversations, Anthony had said. ❛❛ If you can excuse my frankness, Ser, but my brother is a good man –– I know you have come here to rally his support, but he is young and untested in such matters. We all are. He does not fear change necessarily. He fears the repercussions of either choice: betraying our father's oath or aligning ourselves with a king we do not truly know. ❜❜ Anthony, as the new lord of House Bridgerton, must navigate these turbulent waves carefully. They could not afford to make the wrong choice –– the legacy of the house depended on it. ❛❛ As the Hand of the King, you stand close to His Grace himself –– what does your heart tell you about his reign? Will he bring stability back to the Riverlands? ❜❜ Or are we destined for more bloodshed and strife?

❛❛ Your words are wise, Your Grace. ❜❜ In the drawing room of Aubrey Hall, the presence of royalty had been granted –– though, not in any way House Bridgerton would have preferred. [A lavish ball, for instance.] Flickering candlelight casts delicate shadows across Daphne's face, her piercing blue irises meeting Rhaenyra's with a calm resolve. While a calm exterior has been donned, a silent storm of thoughts rages within her mind. ❛❛ And they hold a truth that resonates deeply with me. Actions, indeed, speak louder than the sweetest of words. I'm glad we share a similar opinion on the matter. ❜❜ As she spoke, her thoughts drifted to her late father, Lord Edmund Bridgerton. His presence lingered in every corner of the castle, his legacy a constant reminder of the oaths and promises he had once made. A loyalist's legacy. He had sworn loyalty to King Viserys with such conviction, a pledge rooted during a time of peace and prosperity.

Yet now, that oath had begun to feel like a chain around their house, heavy and binding. Anthony's unease had been palpable since King Aegon's ascension [or rather, usurperment] to the Iron Throne, and the Bridgerton allegiance with the remaining Targaryens seemed to hang in the balance. Swaying with the shifting winds of power. Daphne's heart ached with the complexity of their situation. She had always believed in the strength of their house, in the unyielding principles that had guided them for generations. But now, at a crossroads, she feels the pull of conflicting loyalties. The safety of her family, the honor of her father's promises, Anthony's responsibility to guide them through these turbulent times, and the brutality of war all vied for precedence in her mind.

❛❛ House Bridgerton has always valued honor and loyalty. ❜❜ A step is taken closer to Rhaenyra, a rare vulnerability seeping into her delicate expression. ❛❛ My father's pledge to the late King was made with the utmost sincerity and respect, one I would uphold myself were I capable. However, the world has changed so swiftly and violently since then. My brother, Anthony, bears the weight of our family's decisions, and he must navigate these treacherous times with caution and ease. ❜❜ Daphne's eyes search the Queen's, seeking understanding, perhaps even forgiveness for the hesitation that marked the family's current stance. Anthony's stance. [Not the entirety of the family was in agreeance. Daphne views it as a side-effect of war.]

The evening mist curls around her like an ethereal veil, as if the Riverlands themselves were trying to pull her into their embrace. The flowers, vibrant and fragrant, seemed dull against the backdrop of war and whispered politics. Standing at the edge of the garden, she regards the King in the North with apprehension. Fire. It was a word that invoked both fear and fascination –– it was the essence of destruction and rebirth, much like the man standing before her. The death of Eddard Stark had reverberated through the realm, a stark reminder of the cost of honor and the capricious nature of power. The Stark's boy ascent to northern kingship was not merely a rise, but a fiery leap through the ashes of what once was.

Her thoughts, becoming a tapestry of longing and dread, interwove with the delicate threads of her upbringing. Doe eyes drifting to the distant horizon, where the sky bled into twilight, Daphne allowed herself a moment to think. To trace over his words in the insides of her mind. House Bridgerton was a bastion of tradition and honor, their alliances carefully tended like the roses in her mother's garden. Yet, war had begun to brew –– a fire that burned so fierce, it threatened to consume everything in its path. Including her family and beyond.

The eldest Bridgerton daughter turned her gaze back to Robb, searching his for something –– anything –– that would betray the man behind the newly donned crown. ❛❛ My brother, Anthony, speaks often of the need for alliances forged in mutual respect and understanding. We Bridgertons do not seek the fire, yet we do not shy away from it when it comes to our door. ❜❜ Daphne takes a step closer to the young wolf, her gaze unwavering. ❛❛ Tell me, Lord Stark, does your fire seek to consume or to illuminate? For in these dark times, I must know whether we stand beside a beacon of hope or a harbinger of ruin. ❜❜ The alliance he sought with House Bridgerton would not be given lightly, for it was not just their name but their very essence that was at stake.

She stands facing the manicured gardens of Aubrey Hall that lays beyond the stone walls. The serenity of the scenery contrasted the tempest roiling throughout the drawing room –– within Daphne's own thoughts. Penelope's recent observation echoes in her mind, mingling with memories and reflections from her own life. Since her debut season, she had built a life with the Duke of Hastings. A life that, while beautiful, was far from the seamless fairytale often portrayed in a child's book. [Or society's romantic ideals.] The early days of her marriage were nothing but passion and love interwoven with conflict and misunderstanding. A union forged in the crucible of struggle, shaped by both their deepest desires and their greatest fears. And while those days had passed, the two moving forward to build their [continuously growing] family, it did not mean Daphne had forgotten when she was questioning her own fairytale ending. Whether it existed or would be destroyed as quickly as her rise as the ton's diamond.

The vibrant and lush gardens of Aubrey Hall oozed the fragrant of blooming flowers, summer's air zephyring throughout –– yet, there was a weight in Daphne Bridgerton's heart that the beauty of the afternoon could not lift. As if a raincloud had marked its territory above her head. Bran's words hung in the air, a contrast to the idyllic setting they currently presided in –– both sat upon one of the many stone benches scattered throughout the lawn. The truth of his statement resonated deeply within Daphne –– as the eldest daughter of the Bridgerton family, she had grown up with the tales of romance and happily ever afters, her mother's soothing voice weaving stories that promised love and joy. A true, real life fairy-tale, not those from inside a child's book. Daphne had always yearned to experience the same love her parents shared –– find her perfect love match. But, as she had come of age and stepped into society, she had learned life was far more complex than the simple narratives she had woven and cherished as a child.

It appears the young Stark knows it as well.

She turns to face Bran, the young man whose piercing eyes seem to see through the veneer of polite society to the truths that lay beneath. He was not like the gentlemen of her usual acquaintance; there was a pearl of otherworldly wisdom in him, a gravity that spoke of experiences far beyond his years. Although, for his young age, he had been through far more perils than most men older than their brothers. Daphne found his strength admirable and beautiful. Whatever the size of her admiration, it was not enough to prevent her from challenging his gloom-ridden words.