Tomorrow is Another Day... to read more fanfics

He stopped a few feet away from your tree, and your heart leaped into your throat. You had laid a false trail, but he seemed to see right through it. 

His eyes looked up and scanned the tree line, smirking as he searched for any sign of you. 

“I know you’re here!” He called out, confident as he gripped his blade. “We can play this game as much as you want. But I always win.”

You didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare breathe. He was goading you, trying to get you to move or show your hiding spot. But you weren’t so stupid. You wouldn’t give him any indication where you were. 

He sighed and shook his head. “Fine. Have it your way.”

He pulled out his blade and sent a swipe across the trunk of the tree you hid in, and the tree began to topple to the ground. 

You jumped to a neighboring tree, using the sound of the falling tree to cover your sounds. 

But Roronoa saw right through it, and he cut down the next tree, and then the next. And the next. 

He was relentless, but you were desperate to escape. So desperate that your haste caused you to land on a dead branch, sending you tumbling to the ground with a surprised yelp. 

He was instantly on top of you, pinning you to the ground. You thrashed desperately, trying to get out of his hold. But it was futile; his grip was iron-tight. You were trapped.

He stared down at you, assessing the situation while he waited for you to calm down. Once you had finally given up fighting, you met his eyes. 

He smirked. “Gonna beg?”

You scoffed. “In your dreams. I don’t beg. Especially not from the likes of you.”

Zoro laughed. He wasn’t used to this kind of spunk. People were always cocky until he had them in his hold, and then they broke and begged to be let go. You were his first mark who hadn’t groveled. 

He was intrigued, he couldn’t lie. He was curious about you and your methods. You had been one of the most skillful people to track. You left almost no trace in every town you visited, which explained why your bounty was so high. 

In fact, the only reason he found your trail in the first place was because you had taken a photo with kids at the local orphanage. 

He sighed and got up, releasing you from his hold. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. You were almost offended. “Am I not a good enough bounty for you?”

“The opposite, actually.” He sheathed his blade, looking back at you still on the ground. “You’re too good.”

You sat up, ready to jump away if he moved to attack again. “Too good?”

“I’m going to find you again,” Zoro promised, beginning to walk in the opposite direction. “And I’ll turn you in next time. So don’t make it too easy, okay?”

“Why are you letting me go?!” You demanded. He won fair and square. It didn’t seem right, even if you were being relieved of a death sentence. 

When she awoke, she was in a soft feather bed. 

Her hands tangled in the silk sheets. Eyes heavy, mouth dry as cotton. Elyse’s head pounded, the remainder of Dreamwine a lingering ache within her skull. She pressed her palm against her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Light flooded through the room, so bright she could see it through her eyelids. So bright she could not see where she was. Elyse blinked several times attempting to adjust to the harsh light.

She was in a room. A fire roared in the great fireplace, the crackling of the burning logs the only sound in the room. Elyse grits her teeth together, forcing herself up on her elbows. 

A cup sits beside the bed, full to the brim with wine. Elyse grabs it, greedily sucking down the warm liquid, beads of red escaping the corners of her lips as she drinks. She tosses the cup when she is done. Aemond would call her foolish for drinking it. 

“Mayhaps it was poison, what then?” she could hear him say, as though he was whispering in her ear now, causing a shiver to roll through her. 

Someone had changed her. Elyse now wore a silk nightgown. How long had she been asleep? She notices a chamber pot and moves on shaky legs to relieve herself. 

Elyse released a shallow breath, her entire body beginning to tremble. The room is large, and grand, with silk tapestries decorating the walls. Pinks, purples, and lavish are the silks blowing gently in the breeze an open veranda lets in. 

Where is she?

Elyse feels tears in her eyes as panic courses through her veins, twisting up her throat begging to be released. She feels her legs fail her, dropping to the wooden floor. She clutches at her throat as though to contain the scream that bubbles there. 

Swallow your fear, Aemond had told her once. 

Elyse pushes against the ground, forcing herself to rise. She scans the room, landing on a table in front of the fire. Her blade, Elenei lays there, unsheathed, reflecting the flames in the blade. They have left her weapon. Not a threat then. How could she be? Just a silly little girl. 

Let them think me foolish when I shove my blade between their ribs, she thinks solemnly. 

Elyse pads over on bare feet, snatching the blade between her fingers as the door to her room creaks open. 

Elyse crouches by the side of the table as a maid enters. She is a young girl, holding fresh towels and linens in her arms. She looks at the bed in confusion with the ruffled blankets and missing Elyse. 

Elyse springs forward, grabbing the girl by her hair, pressing her blade against the skin of her throat. The maid gasps, a fearful noise leaving her as she drops what she holds to the floor. 

“Don’t scream,” Elyse hisses, grabbing a fistful of the girl's mousy brown hair. Tears flow freely down the maid’s cheeks as she struggles to catch her breath. Elyse keeps her grip hard, pressing Elenei hard enough to draw blood. 

“M-my lady, p-p-please,” the girl says, causing Elyse’s grip on her hair to tighten. 

“Don’t speak,” Elyse snarls, before shoving her through the door into the hall.

The girl is openly weeping as Elyse holds her in front. 

“Take me to your lord,” Elyse demands. Her hands shake the entire time, but she keeps her blade pressed against the maid’s throat. 

Swallow your fear. 

The maid shifts her feet, slowly dragging herself and Elyse down the corridor. The hallway is lit with torches but gives away nothing about where Elyse is. 

Elyse feels her mouth downturn into a frustrated frown as she continues down the hall. Her feet are freezing on the stone floor and her nightgown clings to her with fearful sweat. 

The maid begins to sob, the sounds echoing throughout the corridor. Surely someone shall hear them. Elyse can taste bile in her throat.  

Someone is going to find me and then someone is going to kill me, or worse, Elyse thinks to herself, causing her stomach to churn. What point was there, keeping her alive if not some unspeakable horror soon to befall her? 

Elyse feels something inside of her harden with the realization. 

No, I shall turn my blade on myself before I let that happen. 

Tears fill her eyes, and her heart lurches.  

Aemond shall understand. Aemond will forgive me. 

The maid reaches to touch a great door, much like that of the throne room doors in the Red Keep. Elyse changes positions, making the maid standing in front of her completely before pushing her through the doors.

“M-m-my lord, please,” the maid sobs, before Elyse pushes her to the ground in a shrieking crumbling heap. 

Elyse holds her blade high in front of her, as she looks upon her captors.

She meets the deep brown eyes of Jacaerys Velaryon.

Elyse drops her dagger to the floor, the sapphire hilt catching the light. Her jaw slacks and she feels as though the walls of her chest have begun to cave in. Silent tears roll down her cheeks, their saltiness stinging her chapped lips. 

It was Jace. 

Of course, it was Jace. 

The boy who saved her from monsters comes to her aid once more. 

The boy who wrote to her. 

The boy who waited outside her door. 

“What have you done?” Elyse hissed, her voice a strained whisper, her eyes wide. 

Jace looked at her eyes wide, hands held outstretched before him. A surrender, a plea.

“What have you done!?” Elyse screamed running towards him. 

She slaps him then, an angry red mark scathing his cheek. She struck him again, tears streaming down her face. Jace did not move to stop her or block the blows that struck his face as she continued her assault, his mouth a tight line. He said nothing as she beat her fists upon his chest. 

“Please, Elyse stop!” a voice begged, thin arms throwing themselves around her back, tearing her from Jace. 

Floris Baratheon had rushed to her sister’s side, entrapping her in a firm hug.

Elyse wept, sinking to the floor, still constricted in Floris’ grasp. Floris held her tightly, her head buried in her shoulder. Their dark hair tangled together, and two daughters of House Baratheon reunited at last. 

“What have you done?” she repeated again, through her sobs. 

A knight glanced towards Jacaerys, who waved him off. Jace knelt next to Elyse then, his eyes kind, cheeks red. His gaze held no anger, just solemn acceptance. 

“I had to get you out,” he said softly and Elyse shook her head.

“You’ve killed us all,” she whispered, feeling Floris’ arms tighten around her. 

“It was not right-,” Jace continued but Elyse cut him off.

“He is my husband!” she yelled. 

Jace took his tongue between his teeth, as though remembering his own bride. 

“Is that what troubles you?” he asked. “We can get the marriage annulled, it was against your will.”

Elyse stared at the man before her incredulously.

“Against my will?” she said, phrased as a question. “You believe he forced me?”

Jace continued to stare. 

“You believe he ruined me?” she continued, a mad laugh escaping her lips. 

In Jace’s eyes, she realizes he sees her as still the small child in need of protection. A maiden kept prisoner by a monster. Elyse’s body slacked, causing Floris to release her grip. 

“Oh Jace,” Elyse breathed, fear replacing her anger, “what have you done?”

She stares at the boy she has known all her life, as though she does not recognize him now. His dark eyes are unfamiliar; he is a stranger to her, to the wife of Aemond Targaryen. 

Elyse supposed they were different people now, an heir to the Iron Throne and a princess. 

“Come,” Floris says, rising from the floor. 

She keeps her arms around Elyse, attempting to pull her upwards. Elyse can feel them shaking. 

“Let us get you a warm bath, and have you changed,” Floris says, as Elyse finds her footing. 

She hadn’t noticed another presence enter the room, until looking up and meeting the brown eyes of Maceon Tyrell. His expression was pained, lips parted. She must look an awful fright to him now, no longer the summer maiden at the harvest feast. 

Elyse kept her gaze low as Floris escorted her from the room.

She did not return to the chamber she had awoken in, Floris had her brought to her own chambers. A similar room, though much larger, bursting with flowers in every corner. A steaming tub was prepared in the center of the room, which Elyse continued to stare at. A handmaid dropped some rose petals in the smooth water before Floris dismissed her. 

Floris had grown into a little lady, a head smaller than Elyse, though only slightly younger, with a willowy figure inherited from her mother’s side. Her blue eyes were dreamlike, dark hair was pulled off of her face in an elaborate braid. Her expression was familiar, and Elyse felt an ache in her heart as she thought of Helaena. 

She moved toward Elyse, nimble fingers helping her undress. Elyse felt as though she were outside of her body, watching the scene from above. Floris’ eyes searched her sister’s face, and she began to worry. She removed the gown, collecting it in her palms.

“Oh, Elyse,” she said suddenly, “your monthly blood.”

Elyse looked down at the silk nightgown, the red patch that spread like spilled wine. An ache filled her womb. No child then. Nothing, no one to remind her of Aemond if he…if he…

She could not finish the thought, her throat constricted, with tears prickling at the back of her eyes. Floris helped her into the tub, and Elyse sank into the scalding water, relishing the feeling of the heat on her skin. 

Floris stayed next to her and began to stroke her hair. Even when Elyse began to cry, Floris wrapped her thin fingers around her arm and sat beside her. Sobs wracked through her body, causing the water to ripple around her. Elyse began to calm as the water turned cold, her fingers pruning. 

“What was he like?” Floris asked suddenly, as though unable to help herself. 

Elyse turned her head, the water rippling with the movement. 

“Aemond cares for me,” she tells her sister, “he loves me, truly.”

“Do you not love Jacaerys?” Floris asked, eyes wide.

“Of course I do,” Elyse tells her, “but not as a husband, not in the way I love Aemond.”

Floris nods, thoughts flickering to Lord Maceon, Elyse presumed. 

“There is to be a war over this,” Elyse tells her, watching Floris’ cheeks redden. 

“Aemond shall not take kindly to the snatching of his wife.”

Floris purses her lips, casting her eyes toward the floor. 

“I told them not to,” she whispers suddenly, “when Jacaerys arrived. I told them you were happy, for them to read your letters and see.”

“They would not?” Elyse asked, already knowing the answer.

Floris nodded. 

“Jacaerys was convinced. He was half mad when he arrived when he learned the news of your marriage and the broken betrothal,” Floris continued, “I do not believe he expected my presence, I think he wanted to offer your hand to Lord Maceon once more, avenging the slight.”

“Jace has always been hard-headed,” Elyse says solemnly, “what of Rhaenyra? She could not have agreed to this foolishness.”

Floris frowns, pretty mouth downturned. 

“Prince Daemon assisted,” she whispers, “your ladies-maid, Tasha. It is he she is loyal to.”

Elyse feels a chill run down her spine, gooseflesh blossoming on her exposed skin. 

“Lord Maceon agreed regardless,” Floris told her, “agreed that my kin should not be left in dangerous hands.”

“He’s not dangerous,” Elsye argued, “not to me, Aemond would never.”

The sisters are silent for a moment, the soft sound of the rippling water moving against the tub the only sound in the room. 

“What do you believe he shall do?” Floris asks. 

Elyse let the question sink in for a moment. She remembered on the eve of their betrothal, the night of Aegon’s coronation feast, asking Aemond a similar question of what he would do if Lord Maceon called his banners for her hand. 

“I think Jacaerys has made a terrible mistake,” Elyse says, staring off into the distance, “and the realm is going to burn for it.” 

~

“Aemond, calm yourself,” Alicent begged, not for the first time that evening. 

Her second son paces in her chambers, as he has been for the majority of the evening. Alicent’s face is concerned, her eyes rimmed red from the events of the evening. She presses a hand to her heart as though it may stop the pain she feels there watching her son’s fury.

The war of ravens had ended and Princess Rhaenyra’s time had run out. War was upon them. 

Aemond had returned to the Red Keep in a rage, soaked to the bone from his journey from Storm’s End. He had nearly not returned, bent on returning to the Riverlands and scorching the earth to ruins. 

His trip there was uneventful, save deterring his uncle from laying claim to the Riverlands. Daemon remained at Harrenhal, and Aemond had promised to return with an army at his back. But first, he would join his wife at her ancestral seat. 

Aemond was blinded by rage ever since entering the Round Hall of Storm’s End. 

The seat of House Baratheon had been in a panic when he arrived. His lady was missing, along with the maid who accompanied her on the journey. When Lord Borros received him, his voice shook delivering the news to the one-eyed dragon prince.

His lady, his Elyse. 

Vhagar lamented the entire journey back to King’s Landing, the sound of her cries heard from every corner of the Stormlands. 

“Aemond,” Helaena begged, her face tear-stained, tearing him from his thoughts.

Helaena stood, shaking like a leaf, her silver hair hanging limply around her face. Her eyes were wide, shining with tears. 

“Please,” Helaena hisses, holding an arm out toward him. 

“We need to move, to plan now,” Aemond growls, continuing to pace around the room.

“Aegon has declared war against Rhaenyra, this is madness,” Helaena tells him.

“Who do you think took her?” Aemond shouts, “They have stolen my wife, and you suppose we do nothing?”

Helaena’s eyes widened, this time with anger. 

“Do you think I am not distraught?” Helaena asked, her voice a shrill shriek, “she was mine first, Aemond. Before she was ever yours. I loved her first.”

Aemond’s mouth remained a tight line, but Helaena could see his chin tremble. Helaena had only seen Aemond cry a handful of times in her life. It sent a chill down her spine, seeing the cracks of his armored heart split open. 

“I love her too,” Helaena said, kinder this time.

She moves toward her brother, holding onto him. Aemond slacks at her touch, leaning into her.

“I do not know where she is,” Aemond says quietly, desperately.

Helaena holds him against her, stroking his silver hair as tears stream down her face.

“We shall find her,” Helaena promises.

“I will burn it to ash,” Aemond whispers a promise of his own.

Helaena’s mouth is set in a tight line, though her lower lip begins to tremble, as she begins to grow colder hugging Aemond’s soaked form, the warmth being leached from her skin. 

Alicent moves toward her children, reaching her hand out to stroke Helaena’s hair. Her eyes are sad, and a tear falls down her cheek.

note: thanks for being patient, hope you enjoy it! 💚

The days had grown cold with the promise of autumn, but for some reason today the weather was lovely. The sun bathed the gardens in warmth, which led to everyone spending as much time in the sun as possible. 

Aemond doesn’t lay, he is seated on a bench nearby, and a book open across his lap as he listens to the conversation. Your cheeks flush at Aegon’s teasing. 

“That is not true-”

“It is true,” he says sitting up to face you, “you’ve been kept in the Keep your whole life. The second you leave this castle wicked men will corrupt you.”

Helaena opens her eyes then, turning her head toward her brother. 

“Come now Aeg, you shall frighten her,” she says, defending her lady-in-waiting. Aegon shrugs. 

“I speak only the truth, a lovely creature such as yourself is destined to ruin.”

Your mouth drops open, cheeks pink.

“What horrible things you say, Aegon,” you scold, “and anyhow it is not like I would go unarmed.”

Aegon cocks a brow at you. 

“And what access to the armory do you have, my lady?” he questions causing you to pout. 

“Ser Criston would allow me a weapon of my choosing, I am sure of it,” you tell him. Aegon chuckles. 

“That would be rather unwise of him,” Aemond chimes in, “considering you’ve never had a lesson with the blade in your life.”

Your frown deepens.

“How hard can it be?” you challenge, causing Aemond to close his book. 

“Hard enough,” Aemond tells you, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Stay where it is safe, my lady,” he tells you, “I hope to not see you on my own adventures into the streets of King’s Landing.”

Your cheeks seem to darken at this, knowing Aegon is referring to his trips to the Streets of Silk. 

That night you decide you will go into town. You shall prove them wrong. 

Aemond was returning from a rather late night spent in the library. He has gotten into reading a new book and lost track of time, only stopping when his candle fizzled out. 

As he walked down the silent corridors he spotted you, a cape draped over your shoulders, as you pulled the hood over your head. Where on earth were you going? What were you doing?

Your movements were slow and calculated as you evaded several goldcloaks, as a small kitten would evade the crashing feet of passersby. Aemond found himself smirking, as he watched you. Grabbing a cloak of his own, he decided he would follow you. He could not let one of his sister’s ladies fall prey to the madness outside of these walls. It wouldn’t be right. 

Somehow, someway, he followed as you made your way through the gates unseen. 

He follows behind you, remaining unseen as you find your way to a tavern. Aemond enters several moments after you, planning to continue to guard you against afar. 

You sit at a table, removing your hood, eyes lit up with wonder. A tavern girl walks over to you. 

“What’ll it be?” she says, gruffly, with her hands on her hips. 

“Is there something you recommend?” you ask and the lady makes a face at you. 

“We have mead, and we have bread,” she tells you. 

“Sounds lovely,” you tell her and she walks away, perplexed. 

Aemond chuckles to himself, keeping his head low. He is terribly recognizable, let alone with just his Valyrian coloring. The eyepatch does not allow for anonymity. 

“Hello beautiful,” a voice says, causing you to turn. A man gazes down at you. 

“Good evening,” you say politely, feeling your heartbeat thumping against your chest. 

“Fancy a shag?” he asks, and your eyes widen.

“No,” you tell him, but he grabs your arm, pulling you from your seat.

“Come deary, let me show you what I can-”

The man never has the chance to finish his sentence as he is torn away from you. You fall back against the table, the corner biting into your hip. The man had been thrown to the floor and moaned in pain. 

You look toward your savior, a tall man hidden behind a cloak.

“The lady said no,” he says, voice caressing you like silk. Wait a minute. You know that voice.

Your savior turns to you, keeping his head low, but you spot the patch across his face. 

“Aem-” you begin before he brings a finger to his lips to silence you. 

“Come,” he says, taking your hand and leading you from the tavern into the streets. He brings you to a nearby alley, away from the bustling chatter of the nightlife. 

“Did you follow me?” you accuse.

“I only planned on watching, if only you needed assistance,” he tells you, “which you did.”

“I could have handled myself,” you argue.

“Oh could you?” he teases, but his eye widens as you reveal a small blade from the pockets of your skirts. 

“Yes,” you insist. 

Aemond lets out a laugh. 

“You planned to stab a man in the middle of a tavern?”

“I will do what needs to be done!” you tell him, “I am not a maiden in need of protection.”

You remind him yet again of a small kitten, claws out. Aemond finds himself grinning at your ferocity. 

“What if I enjoy protecting you?” he tells you. 

You scoff, cheeks reddening.

“You are making fun of me,” you accuse, bringing a hand up to push his chest.

Aemond grabs your hand, taking a step forward, forcing you backward until your back hits the wall. 

“What would you do?” he asks, as your breathing picks up, “if I was a madman, wanting to have his way with you right now, right here?”

You wet your lips at the implication. 

“Because that is what that man was thinking,” he tells you, his face serious, “stab me? The goldcloaks would throw you in a black cell. Or worse.” 

Your gaze flickers to his mouth before you turn your head away. 

“I just wanted to see,” you tell him, “I know, I know it is dangerous. I just do not wish to live life like a prisoner.”

Aemond watches you as your eyes become glassy with frustrated tears. 

“I can give you that,” Aemond tells you, placing a hand under your chin. You meet his gaze. 

“You need only ask,” Aemond continues, watching as your lips part. 

“Please,” you beg, and Aemond connects his lips to yours, kissing you with such ferocity you are sure you shall melt into the wall behind you. 

“I shall not be kept locked up in the Keep,” you breathe against his mouth. He hums before kissing you once more. 

“You do not need to be,” he murmurs, “Vhagar can take you anywhere you wish to go. As long as you take me with you.”

“We shall arrive soon, my lady,” Ser Errol calls to her, from where he rides ahead. Elyse had spent the majority of the journey in the wheelhouse but had taken to horseback for the final leg of the journey, desperate for some fresh air. 

Elyse closes her eyes as the rain continues to caress her face. She hopes for a moment the rain will cease, stopped by Vhagar’s wings as she flies over her announcing Aemond’s return. 

It has been several days since their separation, and the pain of being separated cuts her heart deeply. Elyse tries to distract herself but has been alone with her thoughts for the majority of the trip. Thankfully, Helaena allowed Tasha to attend and Elyse was grateful for the company. 

As they arrived at Storm’s End, the rain began to die down. The horses' hooves clattered against the stones of the front courtyard. Elyse looked up and saw the domed building in front of her. It seemed so foreign, a hazy memory slipping through her fingers. The guards stood silently appraising her arrival as Tasha appeared from the wheelhouse, holding a stool.

“Here, my lady,” she said smiling, reaching out her hand to help Elyse from her steed. Elyse smiled graciously as she slid off her horse. 

Suddenly, the doors to the round hall flew open. A girl stood, only a year or so her elder, blue eyes wide. Her hair was dark, the same as Elyse’s. The maiden squeaked before running toward her. 

“Sister!” she said, before throwing her arms around Elyse. She smelt of spiced cider. 

“Ellyn,” Elyse said, clutching her sister tightly, laughter bubbling from her lips. Ellyn squeezed her fiercely, her grip vice-like.

“I have missed you so,” she told Elyse, eyes glistening with happy tears, “it has been too long!” 

Ellyn released her, and clasped her hands in Elyse’s, leading her toward the inside of the hall. 

“When father sent you away, I wept for days,” Ellyn told her, blue eyes still wide. Elyse knew this already, as she received the most letters from her sister Ellyn. She had always thought it was because they were so close in age. The guards held the doors open and the sisters entered the round hall. 

What Elyse had remembered about the round hall was dreary and damp. She remembered how it looked the day she left, how she clung to her father’s leg, how she cried. 

The castle of her childhood was a memory bathed in tears.

It was not a dreary place tonight. Tables line the room, filled with food and guests. Candles and torches lit the room, so every dark corner was bathed in warm light. The banners of House Targaryen and House Baratheon hung at the front of the room, honoring the union.  

“Sister!” another voice called, and Elyse met with the face of her eldest sister, Cassandra.

“Cass,” she said, throwing her arms around her sister. Cassandra’s hug was more polite, but she still held Elyse tightly in her embrace. 

“How you’ve grown!” Cassandra exclaimed, releasing her and stroking Elyse’s jaw. Elyse smiled shyly at the compliment.  

“As have you,” Elyse complimented her. It was true. Cassandra had grown into a tall beauty. Her eyes were the same fierce blue as all the daughters of House Baratheon. Her dark hair spiraled down her back, neatly braided. 

“Has King Aegon asked about me?” Cassandra inquired, as if unable to stop herself. Elyse’s brow furrowed. 

“No, why should he?” she asked, curiously. Cassandra shook her head, causing her midnight curls to bounce around her face. 

“We write, tis all,” Cassandra told her, a pink blush forming on her cheeks.

“Ah,” Elyse said, feeling her stomach turn. This was the first she was hearing of this. Her lip twitched slightly as her thoughts began to race. 

“No matter,” Cassandra said, taking her arm, “this night is about you.”

Elyse looked around the room, eyes hunting for another familiar face. 

“Where is Maris?” she questioned, and Cassandra sighed. 

“You’ve missed her I am afraid,” she began, “she left for the Silent Sisters a little over a fortnight ago.”

Elyse felt her heart sink. She had hoped to see Maris again. She could scarcely remember her elder sister, only quick flashes of a witty remark, a cunning smile.  

“And Floris?” Elyse asked, noticing the absence of her youngest sibling. 

“In Highgarden,” Ellyn said before Cassandra could continue, “father made her leave right away. She writes to us though, she quite enjoys the gardens.”

“Surely because they are the most beautiful in the realm,” Cassandra quips, causing Ellyn’s smile to falter. 

“Queen Helaena has gardens,” Elyse told her sisters, “I’d wager them against that of Highgarden any day.”

Ellyn smiles at Elyse’s remark. 

“Mother is resting still,” Cassandra informs, “the child is expected any day now. I suppose you would like to see her.”

“Yes of course,” Elyse said, heart, seizing in her chest. 

“It should wait until morning,” Cassandra said, her tone as though she had decided it already. Elyse frowned at this but did not challenge her eldest sister’s wishes. Ellyn grabbed onto her arm. 

“Come,” she said, tugging her free of Cassandra’s grasp, “come see father.”

Lord Borros sat at the head table, engaging in conversation with a lord to his left. He looked as Elyse remembered him as a little girl, though several streaks of gray ran through his dark hair now; his beard was almost completely peppered gray. His blue eyes were icy, a gift he bestowed on all his children. 

“Father,” Elyse said as she approached him. Lord Borros’ face lit up as he addressed her. 

“Elyse!” he said, clasping his hands together before standing. He moved from his seat, coming to embrace her. Elyse froze in surprise, before throwing her arms around him, the smell of the woods filling her nostrils. She couldn’t remember the last time she had embraced her father, or if she ever had at all.  

When Lord Borros pulled away, a proud smile was on his face. 

“My daughter,” he boasted, cupping her cheek, “a princess!”

Elyse felt her smile falter.

Yes, she thought to herself, what a dutiful daughter she was. A dutiful princess. That was what delighted him, not the return of his kin. 

The return of a princess. 

Be sweet, be kind, her mind taunts. She wants to stick out her chin, and give a clever remark with the sharp tongue of hers that Aemond adores so. But under her father’s gaze, she feels like a silly little girl.  

Elyse forced a smile on her face at her father’s praise. 

“Prince Aemond shall be joining us shortly?” Lord Borros asked.

“Yes, he shall.”

“Good. I have hunts and feasts prepared for his arrival.”

Elyse’s smile was tight, she could feel her cheek muscles straining to hold it in place. 

“He shall be delighted, father,” Elyse tells him, as Lord Borros pats her arm affectionately. Aemond would call the entire affair trivial. 

“I have brought livestock for his beast, as well,” Lord Borros continued, “cows, sheep.”

At least Vhagar would be happy. 

“Eat, drink!” he commanded, gesturing to the display of food, “dance, and be merry, dear daughter.” 

Elyse nodded, and with a final touch to her chin, Lord Borros returned his attention to the lords and vassals he wished to dine with. 

Over a decade apart. 

An eternity, truly. Yet he was off, leaving Elyse forgotten yet again. It had been easier to bear in the capital, several hundred miles away. But the short distance between them now cut through her like a knife. 

Elyse wished Helaena was there. She wished Aemond was there.

Suddenly, the warmth of the Round Hall was leached from the room, and Elyse felt herself grow terribly cold. Ellyn beckoned to her, and she kept a smile on her face, making her way to her sister. 

The night was spent catching up, discussing the throws of girlhood, and how Aemond and her came to be. What life was like in King’s Landing, what it was like to ride a dragon. This caused Cassandra to prickle with jealousy. 

As Elyse headed to her chambers, she somehow found sleep without Aemond beside her. It had been different while traveling, as she was uncomfortable enough on the road. But sleeping in her feather bed alone, felt terribly lonesome. 

With the first light of morning, Elyse crept to her mother’s chambers. As she walked through the halls of Storm’s End, she let her fingers trace the patterns on the stones.

There is magic in these walls. She remembered the stories of her childhood. 

“Enter,” a soft voice called and Elyse crept inside. As soon as the warmth of the room hit her, the smell of lily of the valley, Elyse suddenly felt very small again. 

She walked into the room slowly, her mother coming into view from where she lay propped in her bed. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, a thin coat of sweat on her brow. Her hazel eyes warmed, a smile breaking out across her face at the sight of her daughter. 

“Elyse,” she said softly, pressing a hand to her mouth, “oh my girl.”

Elyse rushed over to her then, gently putting her arms over her mother’s shoulders, conscious of her belly, largely swollen with child. Elyse could feel the shoulder of her nightgown grow wet with her mother’s tears as they embraced; her mother cradling her as though she were still the babe she held in her arms those many years ago.

As she pulled away, Elenda Baratheon kept her hands on her daughter’s cheeks, stroking away the tears that fell from Elyse’s eyes. 

“My, how you’ve grown,” Elenda said, laughing through her tears, “what a horrid thing to let you go to the capital. It has felt as though a limb of myself has been missing these past years.”

Elyse’s throat constricts as her tears threaten to consume her. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed to be held by her mother all these years. 

“I have missed you terribly,” Elyse admits, and Elenda’s smile turns sad.

“You are here now,” she consoles her daughter, “right where you need to be.”

Her eyes flicker behind her daughter. 

“Is your husband here?” she asks, searching for the prince’s presence. Elyse shakes her head, ebony curls bouncing. 

“A few days' time, he shall join us,” Elyse assured her mother, “he had business to attend to.”

“I hear the realm is on the verge of war,” she says, a steely look in her fierce eyes. Elyse nodded gently at her mother’s words.

“I have faith in Princess Rhaenyra,” Elyse says, moving to clasp her mother’s hand, “I know her sons well. I do not think the princess wishes to wage war on the realm”

“You believe she shall resign her birthright?”

“Aegon is our king,” Elyse says, the words tasting strange in her mouth. Elenda searches her daughter's face, trying to catch up with all the years she had missed; trying to recognize the strange woman in front of her. 

“How is your husband?” she asks, squeezing Elyse’s hand tightly, “Is he kind to you?”

Elyse smiles at her mother’s concern, feeling her body grow warm at the thought of Aemond.

“He is very good to me, mother,” she tells her, causing Elenda to smile with relief. 

“Then I look forward to meeting him,” she says before motioning to her birthing bed, “you shall be in this bed soon enough.” 

Elyse had been thinking similar things recently. Though Aemond and her had not been married long, they had spent most of their time together firmly intertwined. Aemond enjoyed beginning and ending the day by filling her with his seed. 

The thought of swelling with Aemond’s child sent a shiver down her spine. Her monthly blood was due soon, perhaps this month would not come. Elyse felt her cheeks flush. 

“What troubles you, daughter?” Elenda asked suddenly, sensing her daughter’s racing thoughts. 

Elyse smiled weakly. Even though they had been separated for many years, her mother could still tell when something was wrong by the simple furrowing of her brow. 

“Nothing important,” she said, causing her mother to scoff.

“Nonsense,” she argued, “tell me.”

“I find myself in a difficult position,” Elyse said, struggling to explain her conflicted feelings, “it is quite strange I suppose. Becoming a princess. And a wife. So many changes.”

Elenda nodded, rubbing her daughter’s hand in her own. 

“Us women are very magical creatures,” she began, looking into Elyse’s eyes, “a lot is demanded of us. We shift and change our shape several times within our lives.”

Elyse felt the tears break free, spilling down her cheeks, as the emotions of the past weeks flooded through her at once. 

“Oh my girl,” Elenda whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. 

“I wish to stay the same,” Elyse admitted.

She wished to stay a small child, but also be a woman grown. She felt so painfully selfish. She wanted to grow up at Storm’s End with her sisters. She wanted to grow up beside Helaena in King’s Landing. She wanted to be friends with Jace, with Luke. She wanted Aemond. 

She wished she could go back in time, and wind back her experiences like the thread of a loom.

Elyse Baratheon wanted it all. The future she was promised, and the past that had been chosen for her. The past she never experienced. 

“You do stay the same,” Elenda told her, pressing her hand to Elyse’s heart, “you shall grow but you are still you. In here.”

Elyse nodded at her mother’s comforting words. 

“You have been so brave, my sweet girl,” Elenda whispered to her, “so much was demanded of you, so young.”

Elyse felt a weight lift from her shoulders at her mother’s words, at the acknowledgment of the pain that lingered in the back of her mind. She found herself for most of the morning curled against her mother’s chest, listening to the beating of her heart, and allowing her hair to be stroked. 

For a moment, Elyse Baratheon allowed herself to be a girl, safe and warm in her mother’s embrace. 

But only for a moment. 

The day had brightened considerably as Elyse rode her horse to the edge of the forest. Wildflowers bloomed brightly, forming a barrier into the woods. 

Grateful for the air, Elyse slid off her horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. She knelt into the flowers, picking some. A gift for her mother’s bedside, she decided. 

Tasha had accompanied her, gazing at the vast waters of shipwrecker bay. Elyse smiled.

“It is quite beautiful,” she told her friend, who smiled nodding. 

“Are you enjoying the country, my lady?” Tasha asked, turning back to Elyse. 

“Quite a lot,” Elyse admitted, the cool breeze causing gooseflesh to appear on the back of her neck. “It is quieter than the capital, it feels freer.”

Tasha smiled at this. 

“Freedom is enjoyable, my lady,” she agreed, peering towards the trees, “I did not know winter roses bloomed in the Stormlands.” 

Elyse looked up, confusion was evident on her face. She looked toward where Tasha was gazing, before standing up. 

“Where do you see that?” she asks, causing Tasha to point. Elyse steps over some shrubbery, disappearing within the tree lines. 

The sun shines like fingers of golden light through the trees, decorating several paths through the mossy green floor of the forest. Elyse treads carefully, feet sinking into the soft, green floor. Tasha follows her lady close behind. 

“I see it there!” Tasha says, pointing again, brow furrowed. Elyse wipes some sweat from her brow, as they continue forward, her mouth becoming dry. The day had warmed considerably, the layers of Elyse’s weighing her down. Tasha takes notice. 

“Here, my lady, you must be parched,” she says, unscrewing the wineskin she holds at her waist, and holding out to Elyse. Elyse graciously accepts, taking a swig, the bitter taste quenching her thirst. She returns it to Tasha.

“Thank you,” she says, craning her neck in the direction Tasha had pointed in. And then she spots it. 

“Seven hells,” Elyse murmurs as she creeps closer. A winter rose, bright blue, sticks out from a crevice in a tree trunk. Elyse reaches forward pulling the flower from the tree, before examining it. It is truly beautiful, a sapphire blue that makes her think of Aemond, of the hilt of Elenei faithfully strapped to her thigh. 

“Did someone plant it there, my lady?” Tasha asked, her tone curious. Elyse pressed the flower to her nose, the sweet smell making her head spin. 

“No,” Elyse murmured, “someone must have put it here. They do not thrive in this climate.”

Elyse blinked several times, nose still filled with the cloying scent of the flower. 

“How peculiar, my lady,” Tasha says, as Elyse turns back to her. The light that brushes through the forest is beginning to dim as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. Dinner shall be prepared soon. 

“Let us return to the horses, Tasha,” Elyse tells her friend, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the flower’s scent. She must bring it back to her sister, what a strange story it shall be. Perhaps one of them has a lover, taken with leaving strange gifts. 

“Just a moment, my lady,” Tasha says, unscrewing the wineskin again, before turning it upside down letting the contents stain the forest floor. Elyse tilts her head to the side, watching the ruby liquid spill.

“What are you doing?” she asks, a half smile on her face at Tasha’s foolishness. Tasha returns her grin.

“We shan’t be needing it anymore,” Tasha tells her, “I imagine you drank enough.”

Elyse’s smile falters, as a chill runs down her spine. Tasha tosses the wineskin towards the trees, forgotten. 

“What?” Elyse says, head spinning, “what did you say?”

“Shh it is alright, my lady,” Tasha says, coming towards her, taking hold of Elyse’s shaking hands. When had they begun to shake? Elyse cannot remember. 

Panic slices through her as her vision blurs. The bitter taste. 

Dreamwine. 

“You shall simply sleep, my lady,” Tasha croons, as Elyse feels her knees begin to buckle. 

“Why are you doing this?” Elyse hissed, feeling as though the weight of the world was pushing against her shoulders toward the ground. 

“It shall be alright, my lady,” Tasha tells her, ignoring her question, “sleep for now.” 

Elyse reaches toward her skirts, desperate to unsheath Elenei. Tasha watches as she struggles to do so, before realizing her plot. 

If Elyse had been fully functioning, she might have caught Tasha by surprise. She might have been able to drive the blade straight between her ribs. But the drink made her slow and sluggish, and Tasha twisted her wrist with ease.

“Careful now,” Tasha said, through her teeth, “I like you, lady, but not that much.” 

Elenei drops to the forest floor. Elyse’s vision is swimming as she collapses to the ground as well, the image of Tasha’s red hair moving like the flame of a candle. Elyse digs her hands into the moss of the forest floor, desperately trying to will her eyes to stay open. But with each breath she releases, her eyelids feel heavier and heavier. 

“Sleep, my lady,” Tasha says, her voice sounding very far away. There is something else that accompanies it, a sound in the distance. A sound that Elyse had grown used to. Softer than usual, from something not as large. Prettier. A sound she recognized, as she slipped into darkness, the effects of the wine consuming her. 

Dragonsong.

note: DON'T HATE ME AHHHHH 🫶🏻

(Part 1 - Part 13/ Part 14 - Part 16)

It has been a restless night.

You were sure that when you finally found sleep, the sun was about to rise. In any case, you now felt more exhausted somehow, as you got up to realise that it was almost noon.

Aemond's promise has been held, none had bothered you, not even the maids to wake you up at the very least. Instead, you had rang the bell in order to call for a platter of food, having not eaten since you had arrived in King's Landing. You were surprised to see cinnamon cake brought to you, smiling at the gesture you knew was from the man who had denied you last night. What was he playing at?

Among the things the maids gave you was several dresses displayed on the bed, having none to yourself as you let most of your possession at Sandstone. You approached the bed to admire them, seeing different shades of green, purple, and blue. You noticed one of the blue ones, feeling attracted to it more than the others. You tried it on, and admired your reflection on the mirror: it suited you. Blue sapphire.

As the maids fulfilled their task around the Prince’s chamber, you were unable to miss the glances they gave you, averting their eyes as soon as you look back at them, ashamed to have stared too long. You realised how odd the situation your were in was.

Your discomfort grew more when you decided to go outside for the first time, the guard that seemed to have been ordered to watch your door since Aemond’s departure had now following you around, not leaving you space for a second as you wandered the castle corridors. You had planned to send a letter, even two to your family seat, unnoticed, your worry for your family was taking all of your thoughts, and you were determined in fixing this. But you were sure that the tall guard in white armour walking behind you would not let you set a foot inside of ravenry, even less send a letter to your family, now considered as the enemy.

You wondered what exactly were Aemond’s orders about you. You were a traitor's daughter after all, the fact that you were even breathing was a miracle to you, and yet you were allowed to leave the solace of your room and wander around, although under surveillance. Did he command that you were to be watched and that your very moves should be reported to him? Were you now a little bird in a cage, doomed to be controlled at will as long as the Greens were alive?

But surveillance was not the worst. You soon noticed that you would have to endure other people’s stares and whispers. As you could not hope to make contact with the exterior due to your close watch, you settled to walk though to corridors of the castle, hoping that the favourite spots you grew to love inside its walls would bring you comfort, remembering the good times. But doing so, you had crossed path with many people, mostly nobles who recognised you right away, and their face indicated that they were stunned at your presence. “So it’s true” you heard them say. You tried to ignore them, but you couldn’t.

You had to hold your head high whilst you heard them whisper onpon your passage, staring at you with judgmental eyes, some didn't even bother keeping their voice low and you could clearly hear how scandalous they found the fact that you were not punished yet because of your father's deeds. You even heard the word Baratheon as you tried to find a quiet space to stay in, to hide. Surely they thought you were the cause of the delay of Cassandra's marriage. And the hard truth, the bitter sweet truth, was that they were right. You felt sick as you desperately try to escape their gossip, the ladies’ stares being the worst.

With only the imposing presence of your guard feet away from you, you found peace in a secluded balcony, admiring the city below you, trying to hide your furious tears from the world.

_____

Aemond sat at the centre of the table, placed between his grandfather and Helaena, presiding.

He watched the sun through the window, wondering if you had awoken, having ordered food to be brought to you as soon as you would make yourself known. He still felt exhausted, the morning has been tiresome to say the least, being consulted for many affairs and involving himself greatly, twice as much than any others about matters that he wanted to take care of. He took his new responsibilities very seriously.

He had requested to eat with his close family, he thought that they finally deserved to hear what he had to say, Aemond having avoided them since his return and not providing any explanation to the them, of the court even. He hoped to sooth their worries and by the same mean, affirm his position as Prince Regent.

His mother said a prayer before the meal, and when the first course was served, silence lasted for a time, as tension could be felt around the table. Only the twins next to Helaena were heard as their giggling filled the room. But the glances his mother and grandfather exchanged was telling him that the twins they would not remain silent for very long. And his mother did not waste time.

"Aemond what is the meaning of this? Why is lady y/n here of all places?" she said, desperation in her voice. "You refused to speak of it yesterday and today also, but you cannot keep pretending that it is of no concern to us, to our clan.”

Aemond cleared his throat, ready to say his piece at last.

"I understand your confusion, so please allow me to… make some things clear. First, I apologize for my poor behaviour upon the return from the Bay." He paused, rising his gaze momentarily from his fingers to the assembly, before lowering it again, resuming his fidgeting on the table. He wanted to appear as composed as always, showing that everything he did was pondered.

"Second, I do not expect you to understand my reasons for bringing Lady Y/N back here, but I expect all of you to treat her like you always did, as a member of this court.”

Exasperated sighs were heard from the Hightowers at his words, while Helaena seemed to be take a keen interest in her plate.

"Her father is a traitor Aemond.” Otto Hightower spoke in his ever calm voice. “He may not have clearly demonstrated it per say but his allegiance was never in our favour. And I believe you know this, otherwise you would not have send House Vance to retrieve him. Her daughter might be no different.”

Of course he had known where your father’s loyalty lied, for a long time now. But for now, he had to protect your from the consequences of your father’s action. It was all that mattered.

“Lady Y/N is not responsible for her father’s deeds. She had done nothing but to obey him and to that extent-”

“What about the fact that she was to be married and that you decided to do as you pleased? This is an whole other matter.” Otto interrupted. “Because of this, we are now risking the wrath of a Dornish House, and thus it may lead them to take a stand against us, even rallying the Black Qu-"

"You may speak when I am finish talking, Lord Hand."

Aemond's voice was placid, so firm that it made Helaena shiver. Otto closed his mouth in defeat and just stared at his grandson, awaiting for him to continue.

"I am Prince Regent, until my dear brother's health improves. Thus I will take my responsibilities and take care of every threats that may come our way. At all costs."

Alicent face was showing distraught, but she was the first to speak.

"We do not doubt your ability Aemond, only that you seem to take some matters too lightly, specifically regarding the arrangements made for us to be stronger. We had secured a perfect match, a marriage that would grant us the support needed to hold against Rhaenyra, the Baratheons-"

"This marriage will not happen." Aemond said brusquely, staring at his mother for the first time.

Otto Hightower's hand gripped the wooden table in disbelief, his head shaking in disapproval.

"Oh for the love of the Seven Aemond! Did she put you up to this? Were you so easily convinced to abandon your duties for the sake of one girl?”

Aemond eye flashed with anger when he heard him talk about you this way.

"She has nothing to do with this." he said as calmly as possible.

"Then explain to me why you have forsaken your awaiting bride on the altar to come fetch this traitor's daughter!"

Aemond slammed the table so hard that it made everybody jump and in a second he was on his feet, towering the people around the table. One of the children began to cry and the other followed. The rest was silent, suddenly a little frighten.

"If you have not noticed, I am the one who decided to take Vhagar and bring her back, not the other way around. And the reasons are my own. Do not think me as some boy that can be effortlessly manipulated." Aemond's tone was composed, but it felt like he was struggling to take hold of his anger.

"And regarding my… late marriage, since it seems to be of so great concern to you all, I will share with you before hand what I was planning to say announce with the Small Council later.”

Alicent and Otto were hanging at his very words now.

"I had, since my return, confined Lady Baratheon, her mother and sister, in their chambers. They are to be watched over closely and not allowed to leave."

The Hightower exchanged a glance in dismay before reporting their eyes to Aemond.

"You are making them prisoners?" Alicent said bewildered.

"Not prisoners. They will be allowed to wander around the castle and live their life as they see fit. But they will have no contact with anyone outside of these walls, no ravens, and only those who support us will be able to keep them company. The later Lord Borros is made aware or realises that his daughter is to stay here, the better." Aemond replied.

"Lord Baratheon will not stand for this, he will ally with the enemy if he learns his women are hostages!" Otto roared.

"Lord Borros will do no such things if he wishes to retrieved his wife and daughters unharmed." Aemond loudly said. "And his armies will continue to serve our cause. This is quite simple."

Nobody spoke, to shocked at the words of Aemond but slowly realising that however unpractical it was, it would work. Only the causes that led to this strategy were to be blamed, as if the Prince has not been so stubborn, or if you simply didn't exist, all of this could have been avoided. Aemond sat down at last.

"Any other dashing announcements you need to share with us perhaps, my Prince?" stated Otto, exasperated.

Aemond hesitated, his next move so evident to him. He would make it official, his desire to marry you. He wanted this so badly now, having almost experienced the feeling of you being someone else, and had hated it. He would not let that happen again. It was simple truly, he wanted this since he was a teenager. However, he knew it was not the time. Your House had fallen, and he had to fix things.

"No. Not yet." he simply replied, earning a suspicious look from his grandfather. But his mother, understood. She knew that look.

He grabbed his cup, drinking its content. "Let us eat, we have a long day ahead of us.

__________________

You were in your chambers once again. Or rather Aemond's. You had tried to visit Helaena but you have learned that she was at the Dragonpit, not expected to return soon. So you went back, settling to search for a book among Aemond's shelves, desperately trying to escape the stares that came your way each time you crossed any living soul. However your peace was quickly disturbed as a visitor was announced.

Alicent Hightower walked into the room, hands clasped together and her lips in a thin line. You bowed, at lost at what to do, you did not expect to see anyone, even less the Queen Mother.

She finally greeted you, putting a polite smile on her face and you both stay on your feet in front of each other, her words breaking the silence:

"Do you find yourself comfortable here my Lady?" she asked. You only nodded as she continued.

“I came to apologise for any treatment you might have suffered here. I do not know exactly of my son’s action, but I wish you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone, I will make myself available.”

You were quite surprised at the statement. Alicent has always be someone you could not read properly. She evidently carried a lot on her shoulders since a tender age, and you never really knew how much affection she had toward you. Only that she liked the fact that her children were able to spent time with someone as nice as you. But it was a along time ago.

“I thank you, your Grace.” you said, bowing your head. “However I had been treated well. I only miss my original chambers and books.” you smiled weakly.

You didn’t really like the way she had implied that Aemond could be harmful to you in anyway. But you chose not talk about it as more urging matter filled your mind.

“Pardon me your Grace. But I have been… put in the dark, rather I have no knowledge of the exterior world. So may I ask you…” you hesitated. “May I ask what you know of my House situation at present? I am infinitely worried about them.”

She sighed, an affectionate look appearing on her face as she took your hands in yours and made you sit with her on the sofa, her motherly tone taking over.

“I am sorry my dear. Your House is currently under siege, I know you had nothing to do with with. I have known you since you were a child, but these are trying times and your father…” she stopped, biting her lips. “I am sorry that you are put in the same predicament as the Baratheons as long as you remain here. We will try to make the most of it.”

You narrowed your eyes. What did she mean? Was she talking about Lady Cassandra?

“I… do not understand. How can it be the same when you are about to link both of your Houses?” you asked.

Alicent looked at you with sad eyes. Of course you could not know of it yet.

“Lady Cassandra, her sister and mother are… to remain here as… a way for them to be protected. They cannot leave and she will not marry my son either.”

Realisation dawned on you. Of course, that is what Aemond had come up with. A compromise for him, a hell for everybody else.

And now you were the same as them, a bird in a cage, meant to be a leverage for the Greens to use on your respective Houses, one for support, the other for retaliation.

And he would not marry her. Aemond had chosen otherwise.

You felt something heavy lift your heart, as if to let you breath again. But you instantly felt ashamed at this very feeling: how could you be so selfish?

Alicent watched you take on the news, before standing up to grab a piece of parchment on the desk and hand you a quill.

“This is one of the reason I am here my child. I know you worry for your family, and I believe that you can do something about it.” she said, sitting down again. “Surely news of your return here have not reached them yet, and if we could lead them in the right direction… Maybe, maybe we could create an outcome without bloodshed.”

She looked at you expectantly, watching your eyes fill with tears, but it was soon replaced by determination.

She was right, it was the right course of action, you yourself had thought about it. If your father knew that you were once again under the control of the people he had seek to escape, none would guess how he would react, but chances were that he would put your safety first. Being an hostage tended to do that.

So you wrote a letter under Alicent watchful eye, pouring all of your love and affection where you could, when only demands and urges to surrender to the Greens peacefully filled the paper.

Once you were done and Alicent had taken the paper away, surely to submit it to her father, you felt like it was not enough. You had to see him, to talk to him, without anyone to tell you what to say. You had to make things right.

Later in the day, you received a letter, from a writing you would recognised anywhere: you were invited to dinner with the Royal Family.

-0- Part 16 (soon)

Tommy slowed his steps so that the children could keep up and she was grateful for it, as she didn't exactly trust her own footing.  Even if it hadn't rained, the stones were still slick from the cold.

Soon all the grey and red stone buildings on the other side disappeared, giving way to green plains and distant trees, as the banging and hissing of the machinery faded away until they could actually hear birds singing. The last time she had heard that, she had yet to become a window.

"What kind of bird is that, Dad?", Charlie wanted to know.  

Tommy sighed deeply before answering, and when he did, his voice sounded strained and almost regretful, speaking with the voice of an old man.

"Blackbirds.", he mumbled.

They continued walking until Tommy's steps slowed. Across from the canal, which was wider now, they could see no sign of civilization while on their side they only passed smaller enclosures for boxes that she doubted held legally shipped goods. For that they were too far away. 

For a while he just stood there and stared, but then, without a care to the cleanliness of his suit, Tommy crouched down and picked up a few small rocks in his hand, pulling off of his glove to clear them of dirt with his fingers.

"Do you know how to skip stones, Emma?", He asked, looking up at her daughter. 

Emma shook her head as she and Charlie both crowded around the man. 

She looked away before she could see more, her eyes burning from more than the cold.

(Y/N) was glad she was able to lean against some of the stacked boxes, as her feet had begun to ache a while back. 

When he had announced he was going for a walk, she hadn't thought he would lead them out of the city. 

But it really was a pretty view, even if the memories tasted bitter in her mouth. 

As she allowed her feet, and even her eyes to rest, she could hear the song of the birds and the soft voices of Tommy and the children as they tried to skip stones all the way to the other side. 

Only when she heard heavy steps approaching, did she open them again. 

He leaned against the boxes next to her and lit a cigarette. 

She watched the smoke escape his lips, and the figure that appeared from it, only to disappear a moment later as if it had never existed in the first place. Gone. Just gone.

But Tommy didn't watch the smoke, nor the children, nor the treeline or the way the light played tricks on the canal's water. 

He was staring at something neither she nor any living person could ever see. 

Then he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"You missed John today."

She barely whispered the words, but he heard them all the same. 

Even if the only sign he gave was the faintest shaking of his head, still unable to overcome the disbelief. 

Her hand found his shoulder and she sighed. It had been her suspicion ever since she had caught herself looking around for the Shelby brother that had been her brother's friend, the one who was missing. But the skipping stones had confirmed it.

It had been David and John's favourite passtime, one they made bets on with the same ferocity the rich folks did at the races, always trying to beat each other.

They must have sunk a thousand rocks in their attempt to make it all the way to the other side.

The memory was a sweet one, so sweet that the pain in her chest could not fully turn it to ash, but not sweet enough to cover the bitterness. And with her own loss, it had been years.

Suddenly (Y/N) had to fight the desire to lean into him. All she did was keep her hand on his back and watch him bring the cigarette to his lips once more. 

Over and over again. 

"You'd think it'd be easier…", he finally said, still staring into the distance. "After all, we didn't talk for two years."

The response already lay on the tip of her tongue, but he got to it first, flicking his cigarette away into the darkness. 

"But it just makes it worse…fucking wasted time."

There was no grief in his voice, but it trembled all the same- with something darker than pain.

"So much time just fucking wasted.", He snarled. "Not just with John, with fucking everything. The business, the foundation -"

He broke off as his eyes found the children. 

(Y/N) was about to defend him, but he wasn't finished. 

"I had plans before…fucking dreams as stupid as it sounds. To make things better."

He shook his head once more. 

"But you have.", She insisted. "For your family and for the people here, with your foundation and the charity work and the institute."

Tommy turned to look at her, not with his eyes, but with his whole body- facing her with wide, searching eyes. 

And for a while he searched, until he seemed to find what he was looking for. And then he nodded. 

"I'm going to increase Shelby Company Limiteds  non-taxable donations to charities by 25% and I'm going  to build two new institutes for destitute children in the city."

He said it as casually as if he was making a remark about the weather, while all she could do was not to cry out. 

"Tommy, that's incredible."

He only sighed and glanced out into the distance. 

"It's still not close to what I once wanted to do."

"What did you want to do?", She asked, surprised at his sudden defeatism.

He swallowed hard as his eyes gained a glassy shine. 

"I promised someone I'd change the world."

"Grace?"

He shook his head. 

"Before."

Before- that would mean before the war, half a lifetime ago. But it didn't matter whom he made the promise to, not as long as he intended to fulfil it. 

"Good.", She said, making his eyebrow rise. 

"Good?"

(Y/N) nodded. 

"You'll make sure it's good."

He huffed and leaned back against the boxes once more, sighing deeply. 

There, they remained in silence, him lost somewhere between thoughts and memory, while she kept an eye on the children. 

"Mummy!", Emma called as she ran over, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Mummy my hands are all cold."

(Y/N) crouched down and pulled her gloves off to warm her daughter's hands with her own. 

"Mine too.", Charlie said. 

"Come here then!", She said, clasping one hand around Emma's hands and the other around Charlie's. 

The sun was lowering already and the air was getting colder in its absence. Slowly, she no longer felt the bite of the children's cooled hands as they began to warm up.  

"Perhaps she should head back soon.", She said to Tommy, who was towering above them. 

He inhaled sharply but nodded, waiting until all the others had their gloves back on, before leading the way.

(Y/N) followed, one child on each hand, letting them go first when the path was too narrow for the three of them. 

"Mummy do we have to go all the way back now?", Emma asked after a while. 

"I'm afraid so.", She said. 

Her daughter threw her head back and groaned, and when that didn't cater the reaction she wanted, she began to pull at her arm with her whole weight while dragging her steps until half her shoes were covered in dirt.

"Emma, please.", She reminded her sharply. 

"I'm not even doing anything.", She argued. 

"Yes you are. You're pulling my arm and you're not walking properly."

"I am walking properly!", She insisted, stamping her feet. "You're walking too fast for me."

Oh no, she thought, feeling the tantrum coming. Her plan to calmly continue lasted about another ten leagues, before Emma kicked the ground again only to lose her balance and pull at her arm for real. 

(Y/N) yanked her own arm up in time to ensure she didn't crash to the ground fully, but even in the absence of pain, the damage was done. 

Emma, despite standing on her two feet for several seconds, chose to drop herself to her knees and began to sob. 

"I can't walk, Mummy. My legs are broken!", She wailed.

"No, they aren't."

"They are. They are. You were walking too fast and you made me break my legs!", She accused, slapping her hands against her thigh.

Taking a deep breath, she let go of Charlie's hand and crouched down in front of Emma. 

"Darling, your legs are not broken. You don't even have a scratch.", She told her, trying to keep her composure.

Instead of responding, Emma threw herself in her arms with her full weight, going as limp as a sack of flour. It nearly made her lose her balance in the process. 

"Up, Mummy!", She demanded, sounding like a child half her age, as round tears ran down her cheeks.

"No.", she said sharply, trying to pry her arms off her, but like most children, Emma had the magical ability to make her two arms feel like eight. 

And when she removed her arm from her shoulder for the fourth time, she felt her patience run thin. 

"Emma-", she warned, but it wasn't her stern tone that got through. Instead, a lower, gentler one caught her attention.

"C'mere."

The voice startled them both enough to stop their wrestling. 

"C'mere, Emma.", Tommy repeated, his voice almost comically calm compared to her impatient instructions a moment earlier. 

She slowly pushed herself up and when he reached out and picked her up with ease, she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

"Tommy-"

"It's alright.", He said, before she had a chance to continue. "It's been a long day and she's been busy. Are you still good, Charlie?"

Charlie nodded. 

That made her smile slightly as she let him take her hand once more. 

They walked back in silence, and long before they reached the yard, Emma's head had dropped against Tommy's shoulder.

Still, he held her, only changing his grip slightly to support her better as her arms and legs went limp from slumber.

Upon their return, they were met by piercing looks, undoubtedly thrown to confirm or deny the suspicions they had begun to debate as soon as they had left. 

They looked and they judged and she knew it was not in her favour. 

Thankfully though, Tommy walked straight past them, nodding for Finn, who separated himself from Isaiah and Michael.

"You been drinking?", He asked, glancing up and down the frame of his younger brother.

"Just beer.", The youngest Shelby said. 

"Good.", His older brother huffed. 

"Take the car, take them home.", Tommy instructed, shifting Emma slightly so that he could reach for his keys.

He tossed them to Finn before wrapping his arms around her daughter again, carrying her all the way to the car.

Finn opened the door for them and Charlie slid through, then (Y/N) got in. 

Tommy made sure to support Emma's head as he handed her over as gently as possible. 

She mumbled slightly, but didn't wake from her slumber, as she took her in her arms, her head resting against her chest.

"Thank you.", She whispered, but he waved it off. In the mirror, she could see him watching as Finn drove them back. 

~ 

The children were not the only ones tired after that day, although her fatigue was not from running around a scrap metal yard but rather from being chased with glares and questions. 

She had always hated to feel attention on her, but today had been particularly cruel. They knew her, had known her, which made it even harder to face them. 

She could not pretend or hide the truth from them. They hadn't shown her of course, but they didn't have to. She knew all the same. 

So (Y/N) got ready for bed earlier than she normally would have, coming down to make herself a cup of tea, already in her nightdress and dressing gown. 

She had undone her hair and brushed it out, letting it fall to her shoulders. 

Just as the kettle began to hiss, she could feel the gust of cold air, as the kitchen door opened. 

"That late already?", He asked, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. 

She turned, but only after making sure her robe was secure. 

"I'm just early.", She told him. 

(Y/N) knew she ought to be shocked or horrified for him to find her like that, that she should be ashamed or embarrassed, or even scared - but she wasn't. Not anymore. 

"Long day?", He asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

"They went to bed happy.", She said with a soft smile. "So it's worth something. Tea?"

She always asked, even if he turned her down. He did so today as well, but by the time she took the tray over to the living room, he had built a fire. 

He was quite good at that, better than she had ever been.

"Thank you for today.", Tommy said once they sat on the sofa. She had drawn her legs under her, the tea on the small table beside the sofa. 

"I tried.", She said. "I know it's not as grand as it would have been if you were at your home, but he seemed to like the cake and the horse especially."

She did not say it without pride, and it amused her especially since she hadn't known about Tommy's gift.

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa. 

"It was a lot better than last year, and the year before that.", He admitted softly.

"This was his first proper birthday…apart from his first, which he didn't even realise was his birthday."

She swallowed hard and averted her eyes. 

Emma's first birthday without her father had been crushing - and she had been sick for a week after dragging herself through the mental and physical strain of putting on a brave face for her. And yet it wouldn't have been any easier, she thought, with maids and servants. 

"I'm sorry.", (Y/N) whispered. "I didn't mean-"

"No.", He said sharply, shifting closer to where she was sitting.

When she only shook her head, his hand found the side of her face and brought it round so he could look at her. 

"Don't be sorry, please don't be sorry.", Tommy whispered, as if the thought seemed to cause him pain. 

"Not after today.", He repeated, bringing her face closer to his until his forehead was resting against hers. 

"Don't ever be sorry for…for any this, not when-"

Tommy broke off and sighed once more. 

His hand was still on the side of her face and his thumb gently stroked over her cheek. 

A few strands of her hair had fallen out of place, brushing against his knuckles, but he did not remove his hands, and he did not push her hair away. 

Her heart began to thunder as she saw the change in his eyes, but not in a bad way- not at all in a bad way. 

She watched him glance down at her lips and then meet her eyes again, a silent question, a chance for her to go pull away, to end this before it had a chance to begin. Without strings. Without consequence. If she ended it now, they'd both have complete deniability.

But she did not want to. 

When he closed the distance between them, she held her breath. 

His lips were gentle, so very gentle as they met hers, as if he feared she might still change her mind. 

Only when she began to kiss him back, did he dare to do more than merely brush his lips against hers. 

The one hand that cupped her cheek moved to the back of her neck, stroking over the sensitive skin and leaving a curious tingling in its wake. 

Her own hands found his chest, and somehow feeling that his own heart thundered as much as hers did calmed her as much as it excited her.  

(Y/N) felt her breath hitch as his other hand found her waist, having slipped in somewhere between her robe and her nightgown, but more to steady her than anything else. 

It was her, who pulled him in, her fingers brushing over the shorter hair on the back of his head. Her husband had let his hair grow out as soon as he returned from the war, before she had truly known him, so the feeling was entirely foreign to her- soft and yet coarse at the same time. 

She pushed herself up on her knees slightly, leaning into him until she felt the fabric of his trousers brush against the exposed skin of her knees. 

Tommy broke the kiss only to catch his breath for a moment before his lips found the side of her neck, pressing fluttering kisses down the length of it. 

His hair tickled her jawline, and yet it was a different kind of itch that threatened to drive her mad.

She inhaled sharply as his lips brushed over a particularly sensitive spot and for a split second she could feel his lips curl into a smile, before sucking. 

"Tommy.", She whimpered as she felt a tingling run from the side of her neck down her spine into every last part of her body. 

The vibrations of his humm made her shudder as her robe slipped down her shoulders. 

She shrugged it off, as quickly as she could so that she could touch him again, in any way possible.

She had to. 

Her own fingers trembled as they fidgeted with the buttons of his shirts. she had barely undone the first few when he reached back and pulled it over his head himself, his undershirt following suit at once. 

The light of the fireplace made his pale skin gleam golden, like that of some mythical statue depicting a hero of old- not quite a God, but more than a mere mortal.  

The tattoos captivated her attention more than anything else, and, like a moth to a flame, she reached out. Her fingers barely brushed along the lines of the sunburst on his chest, when he pushed back against her, his knees parting hers, thereby pushing her up onto his lap. 

A hand on the small of her back kept her steady as the other slipped under the hem of her nightgown, already hiked up. Where his hand brushed against her thigh, they left flickering flames in their wake, and an burning only he could satiate. 

Goosebumps appeared all over her arms, despite the ache he caused her. 

She inhaled sharply as she felt his finger slip inside of her, almost startled by how easy it was, and how much she yearned for it- for him. 

Bit by bit- touch by touch, she could feel herself getting lost, lost in his arms, in the smell of his skin, in the softness of his hair, in the sound of his breath until he seemed to be the only thing left in the world. 

Just him and the feeling he gave her. 

An almost pathetic whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his hand away. 

"Are you sure?", He asked. His eyes, usually so pale, were almost entirely dark now, with some stray strands of dark hair falling into his forehead. 

(Y/N) nodded, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if she had just run a race. 

"I need to hear you say it…I need to hear you want this- please."

"I do want this.", She whispered, seeing the look of concern fall, toppled by her words. 

"Yes?", He asked once more. 

"Yes.", She whispered. "Yes."

But no matter how sure she had been, a wave of doubt crashed over her when his hands travelled from her waist upward, slipping under the thin sleeves of her nightgown, feeling it slip from her shoulders in the wake of his touch. 

Her body had seen the changes of childbirth and what came after and she wasn't as young as she had once been, nor had she ever considered herself beautiful. 

What would he - a man like that- make of her? He, who could not only have half of Birmingham at his feet and in his bed in a heartbeat, but most of London too, no matter if they were dancers in his nightclubs or ladies in lunching circles. 

But as his hands ran down the sides of her body, Tommy kissed her as if she truly was beautiful, with a desperate need. 

Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his trousers. In search of the buttons on the inside of the fabric, her fingers brushed against him. Feeling how hard he was, sent another wave of need and anticipation through her. 

"Don't tease me, love.", He groaned between wet kisses he had pressed on her collarbone. To urge it on, he helped her with the buttons and pushed his trousers down with one hand, wanting to be rid of it. 

When she felt him slip inside her, she shuddered. It had been so long, and even if it was far from the pain she had felt on her wedding night, she couldn't deny the strain. 

He had felt her muscles tense and slowed his movements, easing it away with tender kisses and practiced caresses and before long it was her that moved against him, eager, no- desperate for more. 

When Tommy began to rock into her, almost agonisingly slow at first, she felt the rise inside her, growing, ever growing- a kind of warmth that she could get addicted to. 

And it felt right- he just felt right. 

End of Part 8

~

Part 9 will be out on Thursday

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