My dearest Prince,

It has been two days since you departed, and in those two days our Princess Hyacith has let the whole keep know her displeasure at the fact you are not there to sing her lullabies and tuck her in for her nap. Her sweet little face goes red from how much she cries, and her gaze is fixed on the door, waiting for your arrival.

Do not worry; she does not cry all the time. She enjoys the company of her big brother, who takes her out to the gardens to play, and her Grandsire, who purposely skips meetings with the small council and goes straight to the nursery. Your father tried to sing the same high valyrian lullabies you sang her, but she does not find the King’s singing abilities enjoyable and fusses when he starts a song. I’ve managed to make her fall asleep by wrapping your shirts around her.

Our little girl is not the only one who misses you.

I just don’t have the luxury of screaming about it like Hyacith.

I miss you so much, my love.

I wake up, and the first thing i do is reach for you, and I get confused when i only feel the cold and unmade sheets. Your pillow is slowly losing your scent.

Come back to me as soon as you can. Give my love to Valarr, Kiera, Maekar and his boys.

Your loving wife.

...

My Darling Wife

Every day away from you and our children is torture if I dare be dramatic.

It breaks my heart to know how distressed our little princess is. 

My Poor Little Hyacith, too small to understand the world but wise enough to know when something is missing.

The same way she looks at the door, waiting for my arrival, I find myself humming her favourite lullaby when deep in thought, thinking that her cradle is next to me and i’m lulling her to sleep. You have to forgive me, my lady, but before I left I stole your handkerchief, the one with hyacinths embroidered on it. It carries your scent, my love, and unfortunately, just like my pillow, yours is slowly fading away.

I too reach for your warmth when I wake up first thing in the morning, but I only have a cold side of the bed and the sounds of horses and garrisons as the reminder of the miles between us. Don’t count the days until you see me again, my love. I’ll be there before you realise it.

Your faithful husband, Baelor.

...

When the letters and trinkets stopped arriving, you did not get worried.

Your Baelor is a busy man. He could be far away from his study in the Red Keep, but he’ll still find a way to bury himself in matters of the realm. In the meantime, you spent your days taking care of your daughter, overseeing your stepson studying and looking after household matters.

The horrible news arrives when you are strolling through the gardens with the King. Ever since you married Baelor, you’ve become quite close to the King, a daughter he never had. A guard runs to the gardens, shouting for the King.

The Guard stopped in front of them, sweating and breathing rapidly.

“We have received a letter from Prince Maekar bearing urgent news…”

You did not know what to expect. A Blackfyre conspiracy. How you wished that were the cause. The Guard hands over Maekar’s letter, and the King quickly reads it over. He would’ve collapsed to the ground if he had not grabbed hold of you. You caught him and let him support your body against yours.

“Your grace!” You shouted.

The king was pallid, and his gaze was blank. He called your name and told you to get Mtarys. It was about his father. It was about Baelor. You guided the King to the guard and ran as fast as you could to the training yard where Matarys was.

When you find your stepson, you bring him to the gardens where the King remained. The King is sitting on the bench, crumpling the letter that had caused so much distress.

The King looks at Matarys with solemn eyes. He stands up. “My boy, before you panic, I need you to know your father is alright. He has been injured.” Yours and Matarys’ breaths hitched. “But he is alright. Your Uncle Maekar has assured me, and they are coming back.”

The King tells you, and Matarys tells you, that Baelor got injured after joining the side of a Hedge Knight during a trial of seven. Baelor fought bravely. Baelor was struck by his own brother's mace. Baelor lay asleep for two weeks with Maesters who did not know if he would live or die.

The Gods smiled at Baelor.

He woke up.

The King looked at you as he continued speaking. “The Maesters say a lot of things can happen to a man when he's struck hard in the head. Baelor woke up asking for Jena.”

...

Baelor arrives inside a wheelhouse, a contrast to the way he departed a month and a half ago.

A month and a half ago, he stood in the Keep’s entrance bidding his goodbye to you, Hyacinth and Matarys. He ruffled Matarys’ hair and told him to behave. He gave Hyacinth a cuddle and kissed her cheeks. He puts your daughter back into your arms and kisses you gently. You still remember how much his gaze was full of love and adoration towards you, towards his family.

As he rode his horse out of the gates, he looked over his shoulder where you still remained with Hyacith in your arms and Matarys by your side. You grabbed Hyacith’s arm and waved at him. He smiled and waved back.

Baelor Breakspear returned to the capital a different man. Well, not different. He returns as a man he hasn't been in years. He returns as Prince Baelor, husband of Lady Jena Dondarrion and father of Prince Valarr and Prince Matarys. You and your daughter may as well not exist.

You met Baelor one year after Lady Jena’s death. Baelor didn't intend to have a second wife, and you didn't intend to fall in love with him. You’re an orphan who comes from a House whose sigil and motto nobody could tell even if their lives depended on it. Only Baelor could answer it. 

When he asked your House name you felt embarrassed because you stood in front of the greatest man in the Realm and you come from nothing extraordinary. You mumbled your full name, and without wasting a beat, he asked if you were related to a knight. You recognised the knight he named, your great-grand sire. You were shocked that he would remember such a thing. He wasn't a remarkable knight; he just had few tournament wins under his name, and that was it. 

On that day you felt seen, and that was the start of everything.

It wasn’t a hot, passionate love affair.

It was built slowly over the years like a well-tended fire.

You were Lady Kiera’s lady-in-waiting.

You didn’t see Baelor every day. 

You were busy attending the Young Prince’s wife. 

He was busy being the Hand.

When you crossed paths, you would bow to him, and he would nod at you.

It was a practice dance between the two of you, but as time went on, the dance started to shift patterns, like the invisible minstrels had changed the tune of their instruments. 

When you and Baelor crossed paths, you both slowed your paces as if to make the moment last longer. You would hold eye contact longer than it is appropriate for either of your statuses. You would walk forward, and when looking over your shoulder, he would be staring right back at you. It was you who made the audacious step of turning this dance into something more.

“It’s just a beautiful day today.” You said.

He almost looked stunned by your comment, but he then smiled and agreed with you. Then Baelor did his own audacious step; he asked if you wanted to take a stroll with him in the gardens. You accepted.

The wheelhouse stops in front of the awaiting group. Prince Maekar, who was riding his horse alongside, quickly jumped off the animal before a stable boy even arrived. He rushed to the Wheelhouse and opened its door. Lady Kiera is the first to come off and then Prince Valarr. The Young Prince lifts his hand to the inside, and a big but thin hand grabs it. Maekar approaches and lets the last person inside lean on his body.

The sight in front of you almost makes you want to faint, and Matarys grabbed your hand.

Baelor looked too thin and frail. His clothes looked baggy, and his face was sunken. His head was bandaged, and you could see a faint spot of red.

The King is the one to go to him first.

Baelor tries to stand straight in front of his father and king.

“My King,” He mumbled as if speaking was the hardest task he could perform. “Please give me time to recover and I shall attend to my duties…”

The King didn't let him finish. He walked to Baelor and pulled him into his arms.

Daeron Targaryen stripped his title and crown and held his firstborn, whom he almost lost. Baelor wrapped his arm around his father and rested his head against his shoulder. Maekar, who was holding Baelor upright, looked down in shame and was about to step away when Daeron grabbed him and brought him to his hold as well.

It was a heartbreaking sight.

“Matarys.” You called for your stepson lightly. “Go to your father.”

Matarys reluctantly lets go of your hand.

He approached shyly and stopped behind the King.

“Father.” He called out.

Baelor lifted his head and fixed his gaze at his youngest son.

Baelor’s mismatched eyes studied the boy in front of him; they go wide when it dawns on him who the boy is. Matarys was only eight years old when Jena died. He was now twelve. He carefully frees himself from his father's and brother’s grip, and with uncoordinated steps, he moves forward.

Baelor takes another step forward and loses his balance, dropping to his knees right in front of Matarys. Maekar rushes to his brother’s side. He was about to lift him, but Baelor raised his hand. He grabbed his youngest son and pulled him to his arms just like his father did a few moments ago. Matarys broke down and cried in his father’s arms.

"Shh...shh," He hummened. “When did you get so big, my boy?” Baelor asked as he patted his son’s arms and back.

A tear slips down your face, and you quickly wipe it away. It gave you hope. If he remembered his son with one glance. He may remember you as well.

The Maesters start to surround Baelor, ready to see the extent of his wound and see how truly bad it is. Baelor reluctantly lets go of Matarys and allows Maekar to get him up from the ground and escort him inside.

They walk to the entrance where you stood. Your body goes rigid. Should you call for him? Should you hold his arm? Should you introduce yourself?

You looked directly at Baelor, and he looked back at you.

You waited for that glimpse of recognition, but it did not arrive.

Baelor politely nodded at you. “My lady.”

You stayed there astonished.

You could almost laugh. That’s Baelor, alright. The man could have a limb hanging by a thread, but he would still slow down and greet the person in front of him just because he couldn't forget his good manners.

Maekar didn't look at you. His gaze was forward.

Coward! You think bitterly. Your brother would've looked me in the eyes!

Kiera walks to you and hugs you. You break down in her arms.

...

Maesters surrounded him and prodded his head.

They gave him Milk of the poppy, which made his senses go dull. He was in and out of consciousness. There was so much he wanted to ask and do. How was the realm? How were his sons? How was his father’s health? Where was Jena buried?

The maesters disperse, and he’s no longer being touched. His eyes were closed, but he could hear everything around him. He could hear them whispering among themselves about the side effects of his wound and how they could bring back some of his memories without causing emotional and mental distress.

He hears light footsteps coming inside the chamber.

“He just fell asleep.” He hears Maekar say. “You shouldn't be here.” His brother doesn't say it with a malicious tone, but Baelor nonetheless wishes to scold his brother. This person was a guest, a friend of his who wanted to check on his well-being.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy. 

The person doesn't respond to Maekar, nor do they obey him. In fact, they step closer to Baelor. Now Baelor wished he could see who this person was that was so bold to defy his brother.

The steps are light. A Lady, perhaps?

The bed dips as someone sits beside him. and his hand is held. It was a lady indeed. The hand was soft and warm. A contrast to his rough and cold skin. The lady rubs his hand delicately, warming him up. 

The lady remains silent, but he could hear her sniff and a hitch in her breath as she held back a sob. He wanted to tell the lady to not waste tears on a fool like him. He tried to squeeze her hand, but his fingers still felt like wood.

No one speaks.

He could feel her gaze on him. Her hand grazed his knuckles slowly.

Another sound of footsteps appears along with the sound of clanking. A guard.

“My lady?” He calls.

The lady speaks for the first time. “Yes?”

Her voice is soft and gentle, just like her touch.

“Prince Valarr requests your presence.”

The lady pauses in her gestures, and Baelor mourns her touch. She sighs and carefully lays Baelor’s hand on the wool blanket.

He waits for her to get up and leave. She moves not away from him but towards him. She leans in, and Baelor could smell citrus fruits and oranges – a far cry from the medicine and incense that surround him. She presses her lips against his temple, and Baelor feels his heart skip a beat.

She gets up and starts to walk away, but Baelor wanted her to stay. He moved his head, and finally he managed to open his eyes, but his vision was blurry. He could only see the tail end of the Lady’s blue gown.

The Maester suggests you and Hyacith keep a respectful distance from Baelor so as not to create more mental distress for him.

...

You are to be a stranger to your own husband.

Who are you now?

You have no idea.

Are you still a wife even if your husband doesn't remember you?

Is your daughter a princess even if her father doesn't remember her conception?

You lie on your bed. The same bed you shared with your husband a few months ago with your daughter sleeping peacefully right beside you. You envy her. She doesn't know one of her favourite people in the world doesn't recall her existence. He doesn’t remember her laugh, her smile, how much he prayed for her and the love that he had for her. He doesn't remember how happy he was when she was born. A man who thought he would never hold another small child of his blood, especially a daughter.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I never thought I would feel so much love for a woman until you presented this blessing to my life.” He told you when he held her for the first time.

She doesn't know her father doesn't remember her mother.

He doesn’t remember the days where polite conversations turn into something deeper and meaningful. The days when you sought each other's eyes from across the room. The day he asked you to be his wife. The day you made oaths to one another in front of the Gods and men. The days of getting to know each other's bodies.

Baelor lies on a bed, not knowing on the other side of the Keep there are two people who have become important to him. He doesn't know there’s a possibility you carry his fourth child.

You haven't told anyone. You haven't sought a maester or midwife to confirm it, but you knew. You knew your body. The lack of blood wasn't your only clue. Your breasts were tender, and when Hyacith would squeal, screech or whimper, you would feel a tug on them. You felt nauseous. You craved oranges, the same cravings you had in your first pregnancy. You wanted to tell Baelor in your letters but decided you wanted to surprise him. You regret that choice now.

If you had told him your suspicions, would he have still joined the fight? Maybe he still would. He joined a fight knowing he had two small children waiting for him, and he still went ahead.

Seven! How you wished to whack him on the head as well!

...

“And this is Aemon the Dragonknight! My great-great-uncle! My brother was named after him. When Queen Naerys, my great-grandmother, was accused of adultery, he demanded her accuser fight him in a trial by combat and won!”

“Oh…”

You smiled as you watched Aegon escort the Hedge Knight around the Keep, and you smiled at the Hedge Knight, who was amazed at everything around him.

Hyacinth’s shrieks announce your presence in the corridor.

Aegon turned around and smiled when he spotted you and his cousin.

“Auntie!” He ran towards you.

The Hedge Knight lowered his gaze as he followed his young squire.

“Hello, Hyacinth!” He greeted her, grabbing her little hand.

“Hello, Egg.” You greeted him in return and looked at the Tall knight in front of you. “Will you introduce me to your friend?”

Egg smiled. “Aunt, this is Ser Duncan the Tall.”

The Knight stood straighter when you gazed at him, and his cheeks turned red.

“My lady.” He respectfully bowed his head.

“Ser Duncan the Tall this is my cousin, Princess Hyacith of House Targaryen and my aunt…”

Ser Duncan the Tall’s eyes go wider when Egg tells your name and your relationship to the royal. He began to speak, but his words were incoherent, and they did not make any sense. Then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“My lady… Please forgive me for all that has happened!” He started rambling. “It was never my intention to drag the Hand into this mess! It was never my intention to cause this much harm to your family!”

“And what was your intention, Ser Duncan?” You asked.

Ser duncan lifts his head and looks with his sincere blue eyes. “To protect the innocent, my lady. As every knight should.”

You sighed.

“Egg.” You said. “Would you and Ser Duncan like to take a stroll with Hyacith and me?"

Aegon and Hyacith walk ahead of you and Ser Duncan.

Aegon holds Hyacinth's hands and teaches her how to walk.

“Another foot forward... another foot forward.”

Ser Duncan breaks the silence. “She looks like him.”

You nodded. “She does.” You nodded. “I was in labour two nights and one day, and she came out the spitting image of her father and brother.”

Ser Duncan smiled.

“And she has the audacity to prefer her father over me. The one who gave her life and fed from my very own breast.”

Ser Duncan let himself chuckle.

"Have you talked to him?” You ask, not needing to clarify who.

“I have, m’lady.” He answers. “His grace recovers well and has been able to walk well with the assistance of a cane.”

“Does he remember you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But he does tell me that he would gladly let me join his kingsguard and serve him.”

“Do you plan on accepting it?”

“I’ll be honest with you, my lady. I don't know..." He continues. “I am grateful for the offer. It is something a Hedge Knight strives for his whole life but…”

“But?” You encouraged him.

“I don't feel ready to give up that life yet. Especially with Egg as my squire.” He explains. “He’s a good lad. A pain in my side… but a good lad. He could do so much better outside of places like these.”

You nodded. “I think you’re correct, Ser Duncan.”

“Your husband said the same thing. Even told Prince Maekar that he should reconsider it.”

That makes you pause. 

Your husband. 

Nobody has said that since Baelor’s return. As if the reminder were a dirty memory that shouldn't be evoked. As if that would cause him to break into pieces.

“I know it’s not the same, but I have lived that ‘Hedge Knight’ life before.” You told him. “I came from a House that wasn't worthy enough to be remembered in the lineage books. I couldn’t tell people which side they fought during the Dance of Dragons or the Blackfyre rebellion. My parents died when I was young, and I have been shipped off to every corner of the realm to various relatives. I learnt rather quickly to never get used to any keep I arrived at because I would be sent away before I could learn the names of the servants. I arrived in King’s Landing with one last favour and two ugly gowns in my name.”

Ser Duncan listened to you attentively.

“I don't know what you heard of me, Ser, but there are those who think I slithered my way into Baelor’s bed and seduced him into marrying me.”

Ser Duncan shook his head and stammered an apology and told you he would never believe such tales regarding your honour.

You laughed.

“Oh… How I wish I could tell these noblemen it was the other way around. He seduced me! I didn’t realise he actually wanted me for a wife until he took me to Dragonstone and knelt before me. A Prince knelt before me and asked me to be his wife! Do you know what I said?”

Ser Duncan blinked. “Yes?”

“Your Grace, get up! You are embarrassing yourself!” You said using the same shrieking voice you did years ago. “And he did not get up. He told me he would stay like that until I said yes. And I just… kept denying him! I tried to get him up from the ground, but he would not budge.”

You smile as you remember that day.

“No matter what objections I threw at him, he would fight back. ‘The King would never approve,' I said. 'The King already knows and has given us his blessing,' he said. ‘Your sons would not want a replacement for their mother,' I argued. ‘My son helped me choose the ring,' he argued back. ‘The court would never accept me,' I tried once again to bring him to reason. ‘The court would have to fight me if they disapprove of our union,' he said, still kneeling on the ground and holding the ring.”

“What made you say ‘yes’?”

You twisted your engagement ring. “I made him promise to never leave my side and ship me off to whatever corner of this realm. If he promises me that I will say ‘yes’.”

You wish to cry, but you will not cry. Not when it’s such a beautiful day.

“He will remember you, my lady. I am sure of it!” Ser Duncan reassured you.

“I hope so, Ser," You say. “Because who am I without my Baelor? I came from nothing and belonged to nothing, but Baelor never let me feel like I didn’t belong next to him. " You look at your daughter. “At least for my daughter’s sake, the Gods will guide him back to us.”

Hyacinth guided her cousin to you and Ser Duncan. She stopped in front of the tall knight and looked at him like she was studying him. She is definitely her father’s daughter. She pulled her hand from Aegon and grabbed Ser Duncan’s leg pant. Ser Duncan stood still like a statue, and he had a look of sheer panic on his face, as if it were a dangerous animal clinging to him and not a small child.

Hyacinth made a squealing noise and tried to climb Ser Duncan’s leg.

“It seems like the Princess wishes to know how you view the world, Ser Duncan.” You said humourously.

“You should do as your Princess asks, Ser," Aegon said, sharing your amusement. 

Ser Duncan took a deep breath, rubbed his palms against his pants, crouched down and lifted the princess. He held her at arm's length away from his body. His breath hitched when Hyacith let out a screech.

“She prefers being held closer, Ser Duncan.” You gently pushed your daughter into Ser Duncan’s chest, and you could've sworn he stopped breathing.

Ser Duncan looked at Hyacith, who was looking back at him, and cleared his throat. “hum.. Evening, Princess.”

The little girl babbled in response.

You smiled, but you couldn't help the feeling like someone was staring at you. You turned around and saw a person retreating, but you could recognise that silver head from anywhere.

“Ser Duncan, Egg. I will be right back.” You said, not giving time to hear their answers as you went inside.

You catch Maekar just as he is going up the stairs.

“How is it that a Hedge Knight and your nine-year-old son have more guts to look me in the eyes than you, brother?” You asked, saying the last part rather sarcastically.

Maekar goes stiff and turns around, staring at you with a scowl. Years ago that look frightened you, but now it held no power over you.

“I would like to remind you, girl.” He hissed. “That you are speaking to a Prince of the Realm.”

“And I would like to remind you, your grace.” You said with your chin high. “That I’m still Princess of Dragonstone and your future Queen even if your brother doesn't remember me. I’m still a member of this family until the King says otherwise."

Maekar has never been warm with you. He’s only polite because you are his brother’s wife. Because the King likes you. He shares the same opinion the court has towards you: too unfit and unworthy to be the heir’s wife.

Maekar huffs and goes down the stairs. “You left your daughter with that oaf?”

“Ser Duncan is a good man. My husband saw that, so I trust him, and besides, he’s with your son, and you let him be your squire.”

“You trust him after he caused all of this.”

“Yes.” You said, feeling ready to defend Ser Duncan’s honour. “After all, it was not him who called for a trial of Seven. It was not him who swung the mace.”

Something flickered in Maekar’s eyes. Hurt? You did not know and you did not care. Baelor remembers him, and Maekar gets to see him every day. You haven't been able to talk to your husband and could only rely on the accounts from your stepsons, Kiera and the maesters about his well-being.

“If I could undo what happen…” He started.

“Spare me your sorrows, Maekar," You cut in. “I will only forgive when he remembers me. When my daughter stops crying herself to sleep because she heard her father’s voice and he did not come to her. When the baby inside of me…” You stopped when Maekar’s eyes went wide and he looked at your belly.

You turned around and walked away from him.

You owed him no explanation.

You owed him nothing.

You come back to Ser Duncan, still holding Hyacinth and asking Egg if she’s still breathing because she has gone quiet. Hyacinth was happily sucking on her fist.

...

Baelor doesn't like to be idle. He doesn't like to remain still. He also doesn't like to be coddled. He understands an injury like this needs to be taken care of properly, but he feels like he’s going to forget all his manners if another person asks if he’s alright.

It’s nighttime, and half of the Keep is asleep. Usually at this hour Baelor would be hunched over his desk and looking over his ledgers, but he’s not doing anything, and he hates that. He has probably counted every stitch and every flower in the canopy above him.

The wound has healed well, and he no longer needs bandages. He still gets headaches and has a persistent itch on his wound.

He lets out grunts when he sits on the bed. With deep breaths he grabs his cane and gets up from the bed. He walks out, ignoring the guard stationed at his door.

“A small walk, Ser.” He said, waving his hand when the knight started walking behind him. “I will be back before you know it.”

Baelor wished to know how much had changed in four years, and the cloak of the knight was perfect for it. There were no Lords and Ladies asking for his well-being and saying he’s in their prayers. It’s more quiet. 

He heard a babe the other day when he was strolling through the garden with Valarr. That was odd; there weren’t a lot of babies in the Keep. The noble ladies usually leave them with nursemaids in their husbands' castles. He didn’t get to see the babe, but he did hear the poor thing cry.

Not much has changed; the walls and the banners were the same, but the gardens looked different. There was a section that was full of hyacinths of various colours and an orange tree. It was beautiful and well taken care of. He wonders whose idea was it to plant them. There was also a bench in there; maybe he should sit there and rest for a bit.

When he arrives at the garden and hears a woman humming. He wonders if his brother’s hit was strong enough to make him see the ghosts of the keep.

 He rounds the corner, and he sees a Lady sitting on the bench. He doesn't recognise her. She’s quite pretty. Her expression was calm and serene. In her hands was a handkerchief with peeled orange slices. The moon shone on her beautifully. He tried to look for clues of her house with her clothes, but she wore a plain white nightgown and a dark robe.

Why is there Lady alone in the gardens in the middle of the night? He wondered.

Should he join her? Or should he let her be in her own peace?

Before he could decide, a wave of nausea hit him, making his body brush against the leaves of the bushes.

The lady stopped humming.

...

"Who's there?!” You shouted when you heard something rustling in the bushes and the sound of a man groaning. “Show yourself before I scream for the guards!”

You get up from the bench and try to see between the gaps who this person is.

You hear a cane tapping against the stone floor path, and a person clad in a dark robe appears. Your heart skips a beat when you see Baelor coming out.

“Forgive me, my lady.” He starts. “It was never my intention to frighten you.”

“Bae… your grace.” You collect yourself and bow before him. “I’m happy to see you recovering well. Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes. I appreciate everyone has made sure I'm comfortable, but I needed time for myself.”

You look down at the orange peels in your handkerchief because you fear if you look at him, you’ll say something you shouldn’t. “Then I’ll let you be, my prince.”

You turn around, but he speaks. “Wait.” You look over your shoulder.

“Please don't let my presence disturb you, and I hope it’s not too much to ask; could you join me? "

How long have you waited for his invitation? It made you feel like the first months you knew one another when you didn't know how to act around him.

You nodded and sat on the bench again. He joins you soon after, groaning as he plops down the hard bench. Maybe you should ask a servant to bring a cushion for him.

You remained silent and so did he.

The silence did not feel tense. It felt familiar. Like the days you got to know each other, where you used each other's presence and didn't need words to pass time. You simply relished being together.

“The song you were humming.” Baelor said, gently breaking the silence. “I recognised it. A High Valyrian song about a daughter asking her father to collect a star for her; he tells her he’ll ride his dragon as high as he can and collect all of them for her. And when he does, the daughter gets sad because the sky is no longer shining, so the father puts her in his dragon, and they put the stars back in the sky.”

“Yes.” You confirm. "Unfortunately I don't know how to sing the words; I just know the rhythm.”

“Where did you hear it from?”

The truthful answer would be. ‘You sang to our daughter ever since she was in my womb. You were so sure it was girl just by the way she kicked against your hand.’

“I heard it from a volantis singer that was passing by.” You said. “It’s my daughter’s favourite song. I hummed it to her when putting her in her cradle."

The more truthful answer would be. ‘She doesn't like it when anyone else but you sings it. She once placed her hand in the King’s mouth to shut him up.’

“How old is your daughter?”

“A year old.”

“What’s her name?”

“Hyacinth.”

Baelor looked around the garden at the various hyacinths surrounding you and him and chuckled.

“A beautiful name.”

You named her, you thought bitterly. “Thank you.”

Baelor shocked his head. “Forgive me, my lady. I just realised I haven't asked your name.”

You answer him.

“Does your husband know you’re here alone?”

“I don't have a husband.” You say it almost bitterly.

It might as well be the truth. Your husband is sitting right next to you like a stranger.

Baelor noticed the tension in your body. “The hour is getting quite late, my lady.” He gets up from the bench and extends his hand towards you. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.”

You accept his hand and you feel your whole body shivering when you feel Baelor’s skin. “Thank you, your grace.” You reluctantly pull your hand away. “But I have to refuse; my chambers are from yours, and I don't wish for you to exhaust yourself.”

“It would be no trouble.” He tried to argue.

“Please, my prince," You pleaded, exhausted yourself. “I wish to be alone.”

He nodded and stepped aside. 

“I would like to thank you, my lady.” You looked at him confused. “It felt nice to have a conversation with someone that didn't involve my injury or matters of the realm.”

“You’re welcome, my prine.”

You bowed and left the garden, and you could feel Baelor’s eyes on you as he watched you disappear from his view. You put your hand in your belly as you feel a small flutter. As if a feather were caressing your skin.

When you were far away from him, the guards, or any living soul, you stopped and collapsed to your knees and started crying. 

You tried to be strong. For your daughter. For your baby. But when Baelor gazed at you and the warmth and love weren't there, it was painful and heartbreaking. You felt like you were a little girl again being told to pack her things because she was leaving. Because she’s not wanted. You thought you would never feel like that. That Baelor would not let you feel like that ever again. He promised! you know it’s not his fault. That your Baelor would rather forfeit his crown than let you or Hyacith feel like that. A burden.

...

Baelor can’t help but feel like something is missing. Not just his memories but also someone.

At first he thought it was Jena he was missing. It wasn't a love match, but they had respect for one another, and he felt genuinely sad to hear of her death. She was not only his sons’ mother. She was his friend and someone he felt he could rely on when his time came to be King.

When he woke up, his hand, without thinking, went to his side of the bed, expecting to feel another body. He and Jena slept in separate chambers. When he looks to his side, he expects someone to be there, but there’s only an empty space.

He also hears the sound of a babe crying. When he’s in his study, he swears he hears a child crying. He would step into the corridor, but he would see nothing. He asked the guards if they heard a child, and they told him ‘no’. Baelor thinks he’s losing his mind. When he finds a small doll in his drawer and he smells the faint scent of baby powder, he knows that this child is real.

...

Baelor is on another nightly stroll when he hears once again the sound of a child crying, and this time he knows he’s not imagining it when he hears another voice speaking to the babe.

He follows the sound, and he’s surprised to find himself in the royal nursery where he and his brothers spent the first years of their lives. This section is reserved only for the children of the royal family. 

He looks through the gap of the door and sees a small child, a girl, sitting on top of a rug surrounded by pillows. The child was crying almost hysterically. A young nursemaid stood next to her holding a bowl of porridge. She tried to give the baby a spoonful, but the baby turned her head stubbornly and continued to wail. The young nursemaid looked worried sick for the child in her care.

“Should we call the maester?”

An older nursemaid sighed. Baelor recognised she's the same one who took care of his sons. “Don't bother. She'll cry herself to exhaustion very soon.”

The Young nurse maid put the bowl down. “I feel so horrible for her.” The nursemaid wipes a tear from her. “Poor little Hyacinth."

Hyacinth?

The daughter of the lady in the garden. 

“Poor little Hyacinth, indeed.” The older nursemaid repeated. “I recognise that cry. I have taken care of children for almost twenty years and recognised the meaning of every cry they let out. This one is ‘I miss my father’ cry.”

Hyacinth sniffed, agreeing with the nurse maid's conclusion. The girl turned her head and made direct eye contact with Baelor.

Hyacinth stops crying and her body goes stiff. Then she let out a happy shriek. The girl got up and walked towards him. Baelor took a step inside the nursery just as she collided against his leg.

“Your grace!” The nurse maids quickly bowed.

Baelor was more focused on the child in front, who clung to his trousers like it was a lifeline.

He crouched down and picked her up. He hoped his body would not betray him, not while he was holding something so frail.

“Hyacinth.” He called her softly. 

Hyacinth smiled, revealing two teeth on her upper gums, and buried her face in his neck.

Baelor was shocked that the child who was crying hysterically a while ago had calmed down as soon as she saw him.

“Whose child does she belong to?”

One of the nurse maids stammered the name of the lady in the garden, just like he suspected, but there's no mention of a father.

He was about to ask about him when the child pulled her face away from him and pointed at the bowl of porridge while babbling. 

The nursemaid that tried to feed her let out a relieved sigh and quickly picked the bowl. She put the spoon in front of her mouth, but to the dismay of everyone in the room, she turned her face away.

“May I?” Baelor asks, lifting his hand.

The nursemaid passed him the spoon, and he put it in front of the child's mouth. The baby girl chased the spoon and ate the porridge. She opened her mouth wanting more. Baelor scooped another bit of the porridge and repeated the process.

Baelor hummed at her.

“Can I… can I have a moment alone with her?”

“Of course, we'll be in the room right next to you.”

The nursemaids left, and it was just him and her.

Baelor sat himself and Hyacinth on the rug and continued to feed her. She happily took every spoon without hesitation. Once in a while she would stop and smile at him. And Baelor couldn’t help but smile back at her.

When there's nothing left, he gets out his handkerchief and wipes the remaining porridge stuck to her mouth. The handkerchief has hyacinths embroidered on it. He found it inside his pockets when departing Ashford. 

He takes a closer look at the child.

He couldn't help but think she looked familiar. 

She has mismatched eyes like him and Valarr. Her hair was jet black, curled in a way that reminded him of his mother's hair.

Hyacinth got up and walked to him. She placed her hands on his shoulder and looked at him expectantly. 

“What is it that you want, little lady?” 

She huffed.

Then Baelor remembered what the lady in the garden said about her daughter. 

He started singing quietly. 

Hyacinth relaxed and laid her head on his shoulder. Baelor put his hand on her back and laid her on his lap. She was so small. He continued to sing. He liked this song. When he was a tiny lad, the maesters would give him and his brothers songs to translate. This one became his favourite. He liked the story behind it, the love a father had for his child that he flew higher and picked all the stars in the sky for his daughter.

Hyacinth was sleeping peacefully.

Baelor carefully laid her in the cot and looked at her, not knowing how to feel. His mind was reaching an horrendous conclusion. 

...

“And he stayed?”

“For a bit, my lady.” The nurse maid explained. “After he tucked her in and called us back inside, he left but not before telling us to call for him if little Hyacinth needed a Prince to feed her porridge again.”

The nursemaids laughed, and you laughed as well. You could cry from happiness. 

You looked at your daughter, who was in your arms munching on her doll. She looked well rested and happy. 

“And you took your first steps, my little princess?” You laughed. “Of course the first person you would walk to was your papa.” 

You brought her closer to you. You could smell Baelor on her. The familiar scents of ink and parchment. 

“My cheeky little girl. Maybe it's you who is going to bring him back to us.”

...

Baelor paced back in and forward in his study.

A headache was going through his head worse than the others.

He did not know how to feel. Anger? Disappointment? Disgust? All of it?

Why did he do it?

How could've he done it?

Where did he fail?

Baelor thought Valarr better than this!

He was a small child when the Blackfyre 

Valarr was a young child when the Blackfyre Rebellion happened but old enough to remember the reason for why his father was fighting. 

So, why did he sire a bastard? 

And why are you here walking around the castle like you belong to House Targaryen?

Baelor understands Valarr’s need for wanting his daughter nearby, but his mistress? 

Has he gone mad? 

Why would he do this to his wife? 

Does he go to her chambers in the middle of the night and sneak into her bed?

Baelor takes a deep breath and asks the guard to get his son.