Moon

The waiting is the cruellest part.

Dragonstone had always been a place of storms. The sea hurled itself endlessly against the jagged black cliffs below the castle, the wind screaming through ancient stone corridors as though the mountain itself mourned some forgotten grief.

You had lived there long enough that neither sound troubled you anymore, yet tonight every gust felt like an omen.

The great hall was quieter than you had ever known it to be. No music played, no servants spoke above a whisper, and even the youngest of the dragonkeepers seemed to tread more carefully through the corridors. Word had arrived shortly before dusk that the Triarchy’s fleet had met Prince Jacaerys in the Gullet, that a battle had begun.

Nothing further had followed.

Nothing certain, at least. Nothing that could be trusted.

You stood beside one of the narrow windows overlooking Blackwater Bay, your fingers clenched so tightly against the stone that they had long since gone numb, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

Beyond the glass the sea stretched endlessly into fading darkness, the last traces of sunset vanished an hour ago beneath gathering clouds. Every ship that appeared on the horizon made your heart leap into your throat only for it to sink again when the shape proved wrong. You had spent nearly the entire day doing little else, waiting for ravens, waiting for ships, waiting for news, waiting for someone to tell you whether your husband was still alive, because he had to be.

You miss him terribly, your husband.

There had once been a time when the title had seemed almost impossible, back when you were children racing through the halls of Driftmark and Dragonstone, bickering over everything and nothing while the adults around you exchanged knowing smiles.

Later had come the betrothal, then the wedding itself. Another carefully arranged union meant to strengthen bloodlines and secure alliances, at least on parchment. In truth, neither of you had objected nearly as much as propriety perhaps required.

If anything, Jace had spent the months before the wedding looking infuriatingly pleased by the entire affair.

The memory warmed and ached all at once.

You had been terrified on your wedding day.

Not of him, never of him, but of the enormity of it all. The ceremony, the expectations, the knowledge that after that night the world would no longer see the two of you as cousins who had grown up together, but as husband and wife, the future king and queen.

You remembered sitting beside him during the feast, scarcely touching your food while half the realm seemed determined to stare and smirk.

Jace had leaned closer then, hidden from the crowd by the chaos of celebration.

"You look as though they are marching you to an execution." You had shot him a glare, but his grin had only widened.

He continued, "You are marrying me."

"That is precisely the problem."

He had laughed at that, bright and warm and completely unoffended. The same laugh that had followed you through most of your life.

And later, when the feast had ended and the castle had finally grown quiet, when your nerves had returned twice as fiercely as before, he had been perfect. He was patient enough to coax a smile from you when you thought your heart might pound straight through your ribs, patient enough to sit beside you for nearly an hour talking about everything and nothing until your fear gave way to laughter, and he finally showed you exactly how he planned to demonstrate his love to you.

He had been patient enough to remind you, gently and repeatedly, that he was still Jace.

Not the prince. Not the heir. Not some stranger suddenly placed in your chambers.

Just your Jace.

The boy who had stolen your books and hidden them in absurd places. The boy who had followed you around Driftmark insisting he was helping whenever you attempted anything alone. The young man who reached for your hand whenever he thought no one was looking.

Your husband.

The title had never felt strange after that night.

Not when he reached for you in his sleep.

Not when he kissed your forehead before every departure, no matter how brief.

Not when he looked at you as though the gods had somehow given him more than he deserved.

His wife - the words had never failed to delight him.

Gods.

You would have given anything to hear him say them again.

The thought struck with such force that you had to close your eyes, as though shutting them might somehow keep the ache from spreading any further through your chest.

No. You refused to think like that, he had to be alive.

Jacaerys Velaryon was many things; he was stubborn, reckless, far too willing to throw himself into danger whenever duty demanded it, but he was alive. He had flown Vermax since childhood, crossed half the realm in service of his mother. This would be no different.

The heavy doors at the far end of the hall opened, and this time it was not a servant. Queen Rhaenyra entered surrounded by several members of her household, though even at a glance it was clear she scarcely noted them.

Your aunt looked exhausted.

The last months had carved new shadows beneath her eyes, and war had done what age never could, drawing strain into every line of her face and every measured step she took across the hall. When her gaze found yours, neither of you spoke.

You simply crossed the room together, and for a moment neither of you remembered crowns or titles or the weight of the realm pressing down upon your shoulders.

You took her hands. They were icy cold.

“Nothing?” she asked quietly.

You hated the hope in her voice because it mirrored your own. You swallowed and shook your head.

“Nothing.”

She had spent her entire life learning how to hide fear, yet this was her son, her heir, and no amount of royal dignity could erase that. You watched her glance toward the windows, toward the sea, toward the darkness swallowing the horizon, and suddenly she looked less like a queen than a mother waiting for her child to come home to her.

“I remember,” she said softly, “when he was six years old.”

The abruptness of the statement surprised you, though not enough to keep you from listening. “He insisted Vermax was large enough to carry him.”

Despite everything, a faint smile touched your lips. “At six?”

“He argued with me for nearly an hour.” The memory seemed to warm her briefly, though only briefly. “‘Aegon conquered kingdoms on dragonback,’ he told me. ‘Why must I wait?’” The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “He cried when I refused him.”

You could picture it perfectly. Jace had always possessed that same relentless determination, the same certainty that if something needed doing, he should be the one to do it.

The queen released a slow breath and when she spoke again her voice was quieter still. “He was never afraid.”

The words seemed meant for herself more than for you. You looked down at your joined hands. “No.”

“He should have been.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met yours as she reached up and touched your cheek, an old gesture, one she had used since you were a child running through the halls of Driftmark. “My sweet girl,” she murmured.

The affection nearly broke you, because it sounded dangerously close to pity.

Before either of you could speak again, hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. Both your heads snapped toward the sound. A messenger, breathless, boots were soaked with seawater, and hope exploded through the room so suddenly it felt physical.

The boy dropped to one knee before the queen. “My Queen.”

“What news?”

The messenger swallowed. You saw it then, the hesitation, the fear, and suddenly every instinct in your body screamed.

No. No. No.

The boy lowered his eyes.

“The battle is over.”

The entire hall seemed to stop breathing as everyone in the room stopped to listen as he continued, “The losses were heavy.”

“The prince-” His words faltered.

You felt Rhaenyra’s hand tighten painfully around yours. “The prince what?” the queen demanded.

The messenger swallowed again. “Several survivors report that Vermax was seen falling.”

The world tilted. For one impossible moment you thought you might collapse. Beside you, Rhaenyra went utterly still. The queen’s face became unreadable, not calm, not composed, simply blank, as though her mind had rejected the words entirely. “Seen by whom?” she asked.

The messenger blinked. “My Queen?”

“By whom?” Her voice sharpened. “Who witnessed this that you speak of?”

“Sailors, Your Grace. Men from Lord Velaryon’s fleet.”

“And did they see his body?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Did they recover Vermax?”

“No.”

“Did they see my son die?”

The messenger looked suddenly terrified. “No, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra released a slow breath. For the first time since the boy had entered, a flicker of life returned to her expression. “No body,” she said, the words sounding as though she were convincing herself.

The messenger lowered his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”

The queen turned away, and you knew immediately she was finished with the conversation, because if she remained there any longer she might break, and queens were not permitted such luxuries.

Everyone in the room understood what had gone unsaid; a prince missing after battle, a dragon falling from the sky, the heir to the Iron Throne lost somewhere upon a dark and merciless sea.

Three days passed in a blur of ravens, rumors, and prayers that seemed to grow thinner with each hour.

Messages arrived from the Gullet in fragments and contradiction, each one less certain than the last, each one leaving you no wiser than before. Sailors returned with salt in their hair and fear in their eyes, speaking of smoke and fire and the terrible confusion of battle, but none could say with any certainty whether Prince Jacaerys had lived through it.

Some swore they had seen Vermax fall, others insisted the dragon had vanished into cloud and flame, and a few claimed the prince had been lost with him.

The worst part was not knowing.

Death, for all its cruelty, possessed a certain finality. You could mourn the dead, bury them, you could've screamed and raged and wept for your husband until the pain eventually dulled into something survivable, but this was different.

Every morning you woke expecting news.

Every night you went to sleep without it.

You found Rhaenyra in the Painted Chamber shortly after dawn one day, standing before the great table of Westeros with her hands braced lightly upon its edge. The room was empty save for her.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting pale gold across the painted mountains and rivers, yet the queen seemed untouched by its warmth. For a long moment neither of you spoke.

“They found pieces of Vermax.”

The words struck like a physical blow. You felt your stomach twist. “Where?” you asked, though you were not certain you wished to hear the answer.

“Floating among the wreckage.” Her voice remained steady, too steady, as if she had forced it into obedience. “The search vessels recovered scales. Fragments of wing membrane.” She paused, and when she spoke again there was something raw beneath the restraint. “Enough to know it was him.”

Vermax.

Gone.

You remembered the young dragon circling Dragonstone years ago, awkward and eager, barely more than a hatchling, all sharp angles and restless energy. You also remembered Jace’s pride every time he spoke of him. They grew together, learned together, and neither truly belonged to a world without the other.

You could not bear to imagine what Vermax’s death must have looked like.

The queen’s fingers brushed the painted coastline. “They say he fought until the end.”

You knew she was speaking as much about her son as she was about the dragon, and neither of you mentioned it.

Rhaenyra lowered her eyes. “I cannot remember his voice.”

The confession shattered something inside you.

“I try.” She pressed a hand against the edge of the table, as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. “I know I should be able to. I know it. Yet every time I think of him, I remember his face and not his voice, and I am terrified that if enough time passes, I shall lose that too.”

The cry came shortly after noon.

It began as a shout from the battlements, then another, and another after that, the sound echoing through the castle in a way that made every head turn. Footsteps thundered through nearby corridors. You looked up to see soldiers already moving toward the harbour below, and a knot of unease formed immediately in your chest.

You rose from your seat, the book resting in your lap slipping forgotten onto the bench. Outside, the castle seemed to have come alive all at once.

“What is happening?” you asked the first guard you encountered, and the man looked breathless when he answered.

“A ship.”

“A ship?” you repeated.

He nodded. “One of Lord Corlys’s.”

Hope was a dangerous thing, something you had learned repeatedly over the last several days, and yet your pulse quickened all the same. Without waiting for further explanation, you gathered your skirts and hurried after the others.

The wind struck your face the moment you emerged onto the battlements. A ship was making its slow approach toward Dragonstone’s harbour; Its sails were torn, one mast had clearly suffered damage.

The harbour below erupted into activity as the vessel finally reached shore. Tiny figures began moving across the docks. “Come,” Rhaenyra said suddenly, her voice sharp with urgency. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode toward the stairs.

You followed immediately.

By the time you reached the harbour, a crowd had already gathered. You searched every face but none belonged to Jace.

The queen pushed forward, and no one dared stop her. “Where is Lord Corlys?” she demanded. A sailor pointed toward the ship, and moments later the Sea Snake himself appeared.

“My Queen,” he said carefully, and the world seemed to stop.

"Have you found Jacae-"

“The prince lives, your Grace.”

You stared at him, certain you had misheard, and beside you Rhaenyra made a sound that was dangerously close to a sob. “The prince lives,” Corlys repeated. “He was recovered from the water.”

“He is badly wounded,” Corlys continued, his voice rough with fatigue. “We were uncertain he would survive the journey.”

The relief lasted only an instant before terror returned twice as strong. Your feet were already moving. “Where is he?”

Corlys turned toward the ship, and for the first time you noticed the group of sailors descending the gangplank behind him. They carried a litter between them, and upon it lay a familiar figure, deathly pale.

Jace's clothing had been cut away in places, leaving blood-soaked bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and shoulder. Dried blood stained the side of his neck and disappeared into hair darkened by seawater and salt. One of his arms hung limp over the edge of the litter, unmoving.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times over the last four days, and not once had it looked like this.

“Jacaerys.” The name escaped before you realised you had spoken it.

You pushed forward through the crowd, heedless of the bodies in your way.

Up close, the damage was even worse.

A strangled sound caught in your throat. There were arrows.

Not still embedded in him, the maesters aboard ship had evidently removed those, but the evidence remained. Thick bandages wrapped his shoulder and side where shafts had pierced flesh, and another disappeared beneath the bloodstained linen crossing his ribs.

His lips had taken on a faint bluish tinge. He looked cold. Far too cold.

“Jace.”

Your voice broke on the name, but you received no answer.

The sight of his closed eyes filled you with a terror so complete it became difficult to breathe. You reached for him instinctively, but before your fingers could touch him a hand caught your arm.

“My lady.”

You barely heard the words. You tried to pull free at once, desperate to reach him, desperate to make him answer.

“Jace.”

The hand tightened.

“My lady, please. He requires treatment immediately,” someone said, but the words barely registered.

“He needs me.”

The statement emerged before you could stop it, raw and desperate and nothing like yourself.

“My lady, he needs physicians.”

The queen had reached the litter without you even noticing. Whatever composure she had maintained these past days fractured instantly. A trembling hand rose to his face, and she brushed damp hair from his forehead.

“My boy,” she whispered.

The words were so quiet you almost did not hear them.

The queen closed her eyes, and for a heartbeat she looked very close to collapsing. “Get him inside. Now.”

The maesters needed no encouragement. The litter lurched forward, and you followed immediately, only for another hand to catch your arm before you could go after him. This time you fought it at once, not violently, not consciously, but with the blind panic of someone who could not understand why they were being kept from the one person she needed most.

“He is my husband.”

The words came out sharp enough to surprise even yourself.

“He is hurt.”

“My lady-”

“He is my husband.”

The hand on your arm hesitated, and you realised vaguely that it was Ser Lorent, one of the Kingsguard. His grip loosened immediately, though not enough to release you entirely, only enough to keep you from throwing yourself directly into the path of the maesters.

His voice softened. “Princess.”

You looked at him then, and the knight’s expression was full of sympathy. “They must work.”

You looked toward the castle entrance, toward the place where Jace had vanished, and a memory surfaced without warning.

The morning he had departed for the Gullet, you had stood with him in the courtyard while Vermax waited nearby, restless and impatient. He had kissed your forehead before mounting his dragon, a small gesture, almost absent-minded, the sort of thing husbands and wives did every day.

Neither of you had treated it as a farewell. Neither of you had imagined it might become one.

The waiting proved worse the second time, because now he was here.

Only a few stone walls separated you from him, and still you could do nothing.

Occasionally someone would emerge from his chamber, and the queen would immediately rise to her feet, demanding updates before the door had even fully opened, but the answers never seemed sufficient.

"He lost a great deal of blood."

"The arrow missed the lung."

"The fever concerns us."

"We are doing everything we can."

The phrase quickly became one you despised with all your being. It sounded too much like the sort of thing people said when they were preparing you for the worst.

As daylight faded beyond the castle windows, you heard a groan that froze the blood in your veins, and you were moving toward the door before you even realised it.

A guard stepped into your path.

"Princess."

"That was Jacaerys."

The knight hesitated, and you knew immediately you were correct. "Please," you said quietly. "I only wish to see him."

The guard looked uncomfortable. "The maesters instructed-"

Your voice cracked. "I know what the maesters have said."

You stared at the closed door, at the barrier standing between you and your husband. A husband who had nearly drowned, who had fallen from the sky, who might still die while you sat obediently outside waiting for permission to care.

You crossed the corridor before anyone realised what you intended. The guard stepped forward.

"My lady-"

"He is my husband," you repeated, your voice trembling. "Not only a cousin or a prince." The guard looked horrified.

"If he dies, I will not be sitting in a corridor while it happens."

Then another voice spoke.

"Open the door."

You turned.

Rhaenyra stood at the far end of the passage. The queen looked exhausted, more exhausted than you had ever seen her, yet her gaze remained steady.

The guard immediately stepped aside. "Your Grace, the maesters instructed-"

"I heard what they instructed, open the door."

This time no one argued. The guard obeyed.

The chamber beyond smelled strongly of herbs, blood, and vinegar. For a heartbeat you remained frozen in the doorway, and then your eyes found the bed.

The world narrowed once again.

Jace lay motionless beneath a mountain of blankets. Someone had washed away most of the blood. Without it there was nothing to distract from how pale he had become, nothing to hide the dark bruising visible along his neck and jaw, nothing to disguise how frighteningly still he remained.

A maester approached immediately.

"My lady."

Your gaze never left the bed.

"Will he live?"

The question emerged before anything else. The old man hesitated, "He survived the journey."

"That is not what I asked."

"We believe he will, Princess." The maester continued. "The arrow wounds have been cleaned and stitched. The water in his lungs concerns us less than it did earlier. The greater danger now is fever."

You found yourself staring at Jace's hands, at the familiar shape of them, at the fact that they were still. He had never been still, even when he was sleeping Jace tended to move and fidget, to occupy more space than seemed physically possible.

"The fever?" Rhaenyra asked quietly from behind you.

The maester nodded. "If it worsens, infection may follow." The old maester glanced between the two of you, then, surprisingly, his attention settled upon you.

"He should not be left alone tonight."

The maester continued, "We will monitor him, of course. Medicines must be administered. Dressings changed. Yet fevers are strange things." His expression softened. "Patients often fare better when familiar voices remain nearby."

The maester inclined his head. "If you wish to stay, my lady, we would welcome the assistance."

For a moment you could only stare. After hours of being held back, stopped, and sent away, the words hardly seemed real. The old man smiled faintly. "You are his wife, after all."

Beside you, Rhaenyra released a slow breath. When you looked toward her, the queen was watching you with tired understanding.

"You should stay."

You hesitated. "Your Grace-"

"He will want you when he wakes." She stepped forward and pressed a kiss against your forehead, just as she had done when you were a child. Then she reached out and briefly touched her son's hand.

"My stubborn boy," she murmured.

The words were meant for him, for herself, for the gods, perhaps for all three.

When she finally withdrew, the chamber seemed strangely quieter.

You moved toward the bed slowly and sat in the chair which had already been pulled up next to the bed.

The first hours passed quietly. The sun disappeared beyond the western sea. Servants arrived to light candles throughout the chamber before departing once more. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, and the air smelled faintly of herbs and vinegar, with the salt still lingering stubbornly in Jace's hair despite the maesters' efforts to wash it away.

He never woke.

Several times you thought he might. A slight movement beneath closed eyelids. A change in his breathing. Fingers twitching weakly against the blankets. Each time hope surged through you so quickly it almost hurt, and each time it faded once more.

The fever worsened shortly after nightfall. One of the older maesters noticed it first. You watched him place a hand against Jace's forehead before exchanging a glance with his apprentice.

"What is it?"

The apprentice hesitated, but the older maester did not. "The fever has risen."

Now that it had been mentioned, you could see it. A faint flush had appeared high across his cheeks, perspiration dampened the hair at his temples and his breathing seemed shallower.

The maester moved toward a nearby table. "We expected this, and so we shall bring it down."

A basin of cool water sat upon a nearby table, fresh cloths resting beside it. "When his skin grows too warm, use these." The maester's expression softened. "He knows your voice."

The old man glanced toward the bed. "Patients are often more aware than they appear. Speak to him."

Then he left.

For several moments, you simply stared at the basin, at the cloth resting within it. Then, slowly, you dipped it into the water and wrung it dry. You folded the cloth and gently pressed it against his forehead. The heat startled you.

Gods.

A knot of fear tightened inside your chest. You carefully brushed damp hair away from his face.

"Your mother has frightened half the castle." A faint smile touched your lips, briefly. "She threatened a maester earlier."

"She has not slept."

And so the smile disappeared.

At some point after midnight, a faint sound interrupted the silence. It had come from the bed. For a heartbeat, the room remained still. Then it came again, a murmur, barely audible. You immediately leaned forward.

"Jace?"

His head shifted slightly against the pillow. The movement was so faint you might have imagined it, yet your pulse leapt.

"...higher..." His brow furrowed. "...Vermax..."

The name hit like a knife.

"No," he muttered. The word emerged rough and strained. "No—"

His breathing quickened. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked younger, simply a frightened young man trapped inside a memory he could not escape.

Without thinking, you reached for him. Your hand closed around his. His expression remained tense. Another fragment escaped him, too slurred to understand. Then-

Your name.

Tears burned suddenly behind your eyes. You lowered your head, pressed his hand gently against your forehead, and for the first time since the ship had arrived, since you had seen your husband carried ashore looking more corpse than man, you allowed yourself to cry.

Not loudly - there was no strength left for that - only silent tears slipping free while candlelight flickered softly across the room.

The fever finally broke sometime before dawn, though you did not realise it at first.

It was the movement of his fingers that woke you.

For one disorienting moment you thought you had imagined it. The chamber was still dark, save for the faint grey light beginning to creep through the windows, and everything looked exactly as it had an hour before.

Then his hand tightened around yours, and for the first time it was not the weak twitching of fever, but a small yet deliberate squeeze.

You lifted your head so quickly your neck protested. “Jace?”

His eyes were already open, though only halfway, unfocused as he stared up at the ceiling. Then they found you, and the confusion in them faded almost at once. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“There you are.”

The sound of his voice nearly broke you. You had heard him mumbling through the fever for hours, but this was different.

For a moment you could only stare at him. He looked positively terrible, and there was no gentler way to put it. Bruises darkened one side of his face, his lips were still pale, and his voice sounded rough from seawater and days of unconsciousness.

He looked exhausted even lying motionless beneath the blankets, but none of that mattered anymore.

Tears started burning immediately behind your eyes.

“Oh, don’t,” he murmured, and the faint smile widened just enough to make him look unbearably like himself. “Don't cry.”

“You nearly died,” you said before you could stop yourself.

At once his expression softened, the teasing slipping away. For several seconds neither of you spoke. Then his thumb brushed weakly against your hand.

“I gathered,” he said quietly.

The simplicity of it hurt more than denial would have.

You swallowed hard and gave him a look that was meant to be stern and came out trembling instead. “You stupid man.”

A faint laugh escaped him, though it clearly cost him, his brows drawing together in grimace.

“You married me.”

"Wasn't aware I had a choice, actually." Without thinking too hard about it you leaned forward and pressed your forehead gently against his. Beyond the windows the sea continued its endless assault against Dragonstone’s cliffs, but inside the chamber there existed only the two of you.

Eventually he spoke again, his voice softer now, “I thought about you.”

Your eyes closed. “Jace-”

“When I fell.”

The memory clearly remained fresh, and painfully so. You lifted your head slightly, and his gaze drifted toward the ceiling once more.

“I remember the water,” he said after a moment. “The cold.” One hand tightened weakly against the blankets. “I remember trying to help Vermax.”

He swallowed; the loss of a dragon was not something words would ever mend. You reached up and gently brushed hair away from his forehead, and his eyes shifted back toward yours.

“I could not help him.” The pain in his voice was enough to make your own throat ache. Carefully, you threaded your fingers through his.

“He knew you stayed.” Jace looked at you, holding your gaze. “I promise he knew.”

He nodded once. He trusted you enough to accept the comfort and his fingers tightened around yours again.

“I remember thinking I would never see you again.”

You stared at him then, at the boy you had grown up with, the prince who had spent years pretending he was not watching you across feast halls, the young man who had once climbed halfway up a sea cliff because you had jokingly remarked that the flowers growing there were pretty, the husband who still reached for you in his sleep.

The thought of losing him hit with renewed force.

“Do not,” you said, and your voice cracked on the words. “Do not ever say that again.”

A faint smile appeared. “There is the woman I married.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Jace.”

The smile widened, weak and mischievous and entirely familiar. “I was beginning to think you liked me better unconscious.”

“You were much quieter. He actually laughed, though the sound dissolved into a wince almost immediately. You leaned forward at once. “Do not laugh.”

“You insult me and then forbid me from defending myself.”

“You are injured.”

“I am being persecuted.”

So somehow, despite everything, you found yourself smiling, and the sight seemed to satisfy him enormously.

You had spent half your lives together - before the marriage, before the betrothal, before either of you had been old enough to understand why the adults around you smiled whenever you argued.

His gaze drifted toward your joined hands, and a small smile returned. “You realise my mother is going to be unbearable.”

You laughed quietly. “Only now?”

“She nearly smothered me with affection before I left.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Actually, she may smother me literally this time.”

“You deserve it.”

“I fought a naval battle.”

“You worried her.”

“I was shot.”

You both went silent again.

“I am sorry,” he said softly.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For making you afraid.”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned forward carefully, mindful of bandages and bruises and injuries, and pressed a kiss against his forehead.

And when Jace squeezed your hand once more before drifting back toward sleep, you settled back into the chair without complaint.

Though there was a particular something that seemed right in the cold walls of Winterfell You had held his attention the entire night, but the same could not be said for you.

You were beautiful, and intense in a way that seemed to make most flinch when walking near you. The red silk against your skin looked as if it was blood singing to him, drawing him closer by the hour.

You had been talking to someone all night. Too young to be your father, and based on the similarities he assumed was a brother or at least a cousin. Your head turned slightly, and as if he had the Gods favors on his side you met his eyes.

It was less than two seconds, but even with the small time it was glorious. You immediately turned back to your brother. The Targaryen stood still waiting for a moment to see if you would turn back, hoping, praying that you would cast him a second time.

You did not. Your head did not wander toward him as you scanned the hall your lips pressed together and an intimating expression filling your pretty features as you analyzed the hall intently.

He watched some men flinch as you looked toward him, but he knew he would not if you would only turn back to look at him.

Please. Please.Please.Please.Please.

Despite all his internal pleading and praying to any power of above you still did not turn to grace him with his gaze once more. He then decided then it was time to take matters into his own hand. He crossed the hall quickly making his way toward you as if you were the sole thing keeping him grounded.

"Prince Baelor," the man next to you greeted, but he seemed to quickly take the hint excusing himself at he noticed the mismatched eyes trained on you and solely you.

You turned toward him. Something he couldn't quite read on your face, as it remained almost impassive, but you raised a brow, "I would suggest walking away."

You were blunt. Overly blunt and he chuckled slightly to himself. It seemed to be a Northern feature as most men had been talking to him different than the ones of King's Landing all night.

But even the woman still acted like the ones in King's Landing moving toward him as if he something luring them in. Not you though.

Baelor liked that. He was not sure he had ever heard anyone outside his family talk to him with full honestly, and if it was meant to deter him it only excited him more.

He tried his best to conjure a charming smile, but it did little to change your facial features. He enjoyed that too, "And why is that?" he asked.

"Because you don't want someone like me tarnishing your name."

He raised a brow, amusement crossing his face, "Why would that happen?" he asked, his sole focus on your face, meeting your eyes.

"My House does not have a kind reputation you want to be interacting with, especially as Heir to the Throne," you continued turning to face him fully.

He could feel the eyes of almost the entire North men burning into back, but he did not much care, "And what house is that?"

"Bolton."

Ah. House Bolton of the North. The sigil with a literal flayed man. That explained a lot. The eyes, the way every flinched from your intense gaze, but it truly changed nothing in his mind. He knew the stories of his house did not define him, just like he imagined the ones of yours did not fully do the same for you.

He nodded for a moment, letting the information sit. Surprise crossed your face for a second before you pushed it back down. Your eyes squinted slightly dragging slowly across his face as he allowed you to unmoving.

He tried to search for the proper words, but all that came was, "That explains the terrifying stare," he said with an easy grin, laughter laced through his words.

You raised an unamused brow, "Is that suppose to be a compliment?" There was some bite to your words, but did not truly seem genuine as you still had not turned away from him.

Baelor once more did not falter, his lips even turning up slightly, "You do not seem to like me much," he pointed out.

"I do not know you," you countered with a shrug, "I am assuming you are use to woman swooning at your feet."

He nodded, "I am," confirming what you could have well guessed.

He was a prince fo the realm. The Prince of the Realm set to inherit the throne after his father and that ca,e with a certain aura that he could not escape no matter how hard he tried. A constant eye on him. Father's always offering their daughter's since his father took the throne when he was only four and ten.

"I am not like most women."

He already discovered that in the short time in conversation. Your stare. Your face. The way you talked. The fact that you tried to drive him away rather than putting your hand forth for Queen.

Baelor tilted his head his eyes drifting over you. He could feel the stares of everything, and if he focused hard enough he could hear the whispers of others, but they did not matter.

All the mattered was you, your eyes on him, and you continued to speak to him.

He wanted to know more. He wanted you to look at something without your hesitate watchful stare, and he would work for it if he had too. "What if I do not want most woman."

Your lips turned up slightly, "Then you are in for a treat."

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Your eye catches something before you in the bushes. It's only a short glimpse and you pay it no mind. You ready your next arrow and then shoot at the tree. A horse neighs and a man falls of his horse. You barely missed his head. You force your horse to stop and jump off of it.

„By the gods! Fuck me! Are you alright ser? Please be alright! Please do not be dead!“, you scream. Rushing towards him you nearly stumble over your feet. When you reach him you find him lying on his front. Slowly you turn him around, cursing yourself for your foolishness. He looked fine, shocked but fine. Your eyes scan his body for any injuries but you find none. What you notice however is the way he is dressed.

„Are you alright?“, you ask the man again. He slowly blinks gazing up at you. His lips formed a smile. „Yes I am. You almost had me. If I would have ridden slower you would have shot me in my head.“, he answers you.

He groans when he tries to sit up and you curse under your breath. „Gods be good“ You help him sit up, he is probably bruised and he tries his hardest to hide the fact that he is in pain.

He studies you and looks at your horse and bow. His eyes locking with yours. „What does a lady like you, in the early hours of the morning, do outside in the forest with a bow? Hunting royalty like me?“, he asks. Your eyes widen in shock when you realise who is sitting infront of you. Now that you look at him closer there is no denying it. „Forgive me my prince. It was not my intent to hit you with my arrow nor to scare you. I just wanted to enjoy a morning ride and practicing with my bow. I was not paying attention at anything else“, you answer him honestly.

You feel a little ashamed of yourself for nearly killing the hand of the king, the heir to the iron throne, prince Baelor targaryen. He gives you a gentle smile and let's you help him up. „You know who I am but I do not know who you are. Where are you from and who are you?“ Baelors eyes sweep over your long hair and face. „I am Y/N, a Stark of Winterfell“, you answer him.

He takes your hand in his and lifts it up to give it a kiss. „It is nice to meet you Y/N“ You feel your cheeks heat up and you look to the side. The way his eyes gazed into yours made your heart race. „Well my prince it is nice meeting you too. Now I want to ask, what does a prince like you out here in the early hours of morning?“, you ask him. A sigh leaves his lips and for the first time he seems to drop the facade. He looks exhausted, drained even. „I just wanted to get some fresh air. Clearing my head“ He gazes past you into the trees. You understand that feeling. When everything get's to much.

That's one of the reasons why you always rode out in the early hours of the morning. The stress that was on you, suddenly felt lighter. „I understand. I often feel the same way. That is why I am riding out so often, it clears your mind“, you tell him. He nods and gives you a gentle smile. „Well my prince since I nearly killed you and probably caused you a heart attack, I want you to please come with me to Winterfell. I am sure my lord father will be delighted to have you among us. You will have a place to rest and food in your belly. If there is something else I can do for you than please ask me“, you offer him.

He thinks about it for a moment but you already see it in his eyes what he is going to say. „I will accept your offer“

You give him a bright smile and get your horses. Baelor manages to get on his horse and you still feel bad for what happend to him because of you. Then you ride towards Winterfell, side by side.

When you arrived at Winterfell, many gathered around you. Starring. A wolf and a dragon side by side. A lady alone with a prince. You know how this must look like, but you do not care. You never did care about what others thought of you. It would make you insane if you spend one thought on thinking about what others might think of you. It was not worth it.

Your brother was the first to greet you and bowed to Baelor when he saw him. Soon your whole family welcomed him and you were sitting inside the hall eating warm food. It was fine till your brother asked you how the two of you meet.

The gods surely were laughing at you. Your fathers interest was peaked and you felt your cheeks getting warmer. How do you explain to your family that you nearly killed the heir to the iron throne on one of your morning rides? That is something you might only find in a bad dream, your heart would race when you wake up. This however was not a dream. It was realitly. Baelor looked at you and then to your brother. A smile on his face. „Your sister is really talented with her bow, she even almost hit me“

You smile embarrassed. Baelor was not mad at you however. Something that you did not expect. You believed he would rage and be angry at you. But he was not. He gave you a gentle smile that reached his eyes. It made the tips of your ears turn red.

Lucky for you your brother did not dig further and your father talked Baelors ear of. Only your mother seemed to notice the look Baelor had given you and seemed to know something you did not.

After eating you returned to your chambers, your mother already waiting there. „Mother-“ Before you could even start to speak she silenced you with your hand. Walking closer towards you and cupping your face. Her eyes looking deeply into yours. „The Prince seemed to like you. I noticed it by the way he looked at you. Did the two of you kiss?“, she asks you. Your mouth falls open and you cannot believe what she is asking you. Your cheeks burning like fire now.

„Mother! No! By the old gods no!“ You nearly scream at her. Why would she think that the two of you kissed? Her eyes gazed into yours, trying to search for lies but she finds none. She let's go of your face and sighs. She sounds like she is disappointed. „Well...Goodnight then my dear“, she says. Then she leaves you. Your mouth still wide open. What has gotten into her? Well your mother was always strange, but this strange...

You shake your head and make yourself ready for bed. It is time that you get some sleep. However all you can think about is Baelor Targaryen. The gentle smile he gave you, just the thought of it makes your heart race.

You do not want to think much about it, but you cannot help yourself. His smile was just breathtaking, and you wanted to see it more often. When you are dressed in your nightgown you hear a knock at your door. „Come in”, you answer. You believe it is your little sister. She always comes to you at night, wanting you to read a story to her. The door opens but to your surprise it is not your sister entering your room but Prince Baelor. „My prince! What brings you to me?”, you ask him. Feeling a little bare in your nightgown.

He smiles at you calmy, his presence strangely calming you. Baelor comes closer to you but stops a few steps before you. „I know I am visiting you rather late Lady Y/N, I hope it does not bother you”, he begins. His eyes gazing into yours. Your fingers play with each other, and you give him a smile. „No not at all. Though I must admit that it surprises me”

You cannot hide that you are nervous and to your surprise once again he takes one of your hands in his, squeezing it gently. „Lady Y/N I do know that this might come as a surprise and I am very well aware of the fact that this seems a bit rushed, but I want to ask for your hand”, he tells you. Your eyes widen in shock, and you feel like you are dreaming. Why by the old gods would Baelor Targaryen ask for your hand? When Baelor saw how speechless you are he chuckled.

„I feel honoured; however, I do not understand why? As you say we have only just met and I do not see why you would be interested in making me wife”, you tell him honestly. He nods, understanding your trouble to understand why.

Baelors eyes gaze at your hands and it looks like even he needs a moment to find his words. When he opens his mouth again to speak his eyes are glinting with gentleness. „The moment you nearly hit me with an arrow took me quite of guard. When my back hit the ground, I believed it was over. But when I heard your curses and saw your face looking at me, it was like a gift from the gods. Do not miss understand me…but in my position I also must remarry sooner than later”, he tells you honestly.

You nod understanding him. He is an honest man, and he surely will make a great husband. So, you have no choice but to say yes. „I accept your proposal Prince Baelor” A bright smile on your face. He returns your smile. A happy moment between the two of you. „Well…we will have to tell my parents about it”, you say. Looking at your hands. Only now you notice that his are a little rougher than yours. He nods, his head tilting to the side. „I already talked with your father about it. He agreed, still I wanted to ask you. I would have not married you if you would have refused” Baelor Targaryen surprises you over and over again.

And your dear husband Daeron. Just like he is doing now. Your dear husband has your twin boys attention, playing with them.

Baelon and Maekar Targaryen

The names you have chosen for your boys.

In the middle of the night he got up because one of your boys cried. Telling you to stay in bed. That was one of the sexiest things you ever witnessed. Your husband getting out of bed to take care of your babys.

Now watching them from the bed made your heart fill with warmth. Daeron has not noticed that you are awake and continues to talk to his little boys. You watch how Baelon holds Daerons index finger and puts it in his mouth. A chuckle leaving Daerons mouth. „No my little boy, this is not something you can eat“, he murmurs.

He wants to remove his finger but Baelon refuses to give his finger free.

„Alright, alright. You can have it a little while longer“, Daeron gives up. A smile on his lips. You can not stop yourself from laughing. Daerons head now turning to you. „Good morrow my wife, how did you sleep?“, he asks. His voice soft as he speaks to you.

Slowly you get out of bed, your nightdress perfectly frames your body. Daerons eyes gazing at you with love and devotion. Even after you gave birth to your twins, Daeron found you still desireable. More than that. It made you glad and happy that he still desired you, even though your body changed a bit.

„Good morrow love. Yes, thanks to you. The best sleep I had in a long time. I hope our boys did not cause you any trouble?“, you ask him. He takes your hand and let's you sit down on his lap.

His lap has gotten into a safe place for you, like your own personal throne. Maekar rolls onto his chest and gazes up at you, making babbling sounds. „They have been great. Not causing any trouble, they have behaved. Both of them have your gentleness“, he whispers in your ear.

Baelon finally let's go of his fathers finger and gazes up at you. Babbling along with his brother.

„I guess our boys want your love now my princess“, Daeron chuckles. You smile and lift the boys onto your lap. They both smile at each other clapping into their hands.

„My boys, did Papa take good care of you?“, you ask them. Both giggle and smile at their father before gazing back at you. „It seems like they are madly in love with you husband“, you tell him. A bright smile on your face as you gaze at your husband.

He smiles back, looking deeply into your eyes. His hand coming up to your face and cupping your cheek. His thumb brushing gently over your skin. „I love you so much, so so much“ he breathes against your lips.

Daeron holds your gaze and you smile, warmth spreads through your body. A deep feeling of love shared through your gazes. You break the distance between the two of you and give him a gentle kiss.

He returns it, his lips moving against your. On your lap, your boys start to protest. Not liking it that their father is taking their mothers attention. „Pa-pa...pa“, Baelon hums angry. You break your kiss and look both at Baelon. He has a frown on his face, pouting.

Daeron looks suprised. His little boy spoke. His first word. „He just said Papa“, Daeron whispers happily. You give him a smile full of love. Your sons first word is Papa, how wonderfull.

A chuckle leaves you and you give your boy a gentle kiss on his forehead. Maekar humming angrily along. You also give him a kiss on his forehead, smiling at them. Both your boys are sweethearts and you love them with all your heart.

„We should put them back into their beds“, Daeron says after a while. He lifts Maekar from you and places a gentle kiss on his forehead before he places him in his bed, he does the same with Baelon.

They do not complain, instead they babble with each other and hum. Daeron helps you up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. „You know...I think they would be happy If we gifted them with another sibling...“, he whispers hoarsly.

You raise a brow and gasp when he lifts you up with ease. „Daeron! Put me down!“, you demand. He does not. Instead he carries you to your bed and showers you with kisses. Your laughter filling the room. Yours and Daerons love has changed the both of you.

If you would sell the flower shop, you could pay off all your bills. It would be so easy but then you would have to find a job and there is no guarantee that you will find one. Searching for one now is nearly impossible and if you are honest with yourself you don’t want to. You don’t want to sell the flower shop, nor stop working in it because it is one of the last things your grandmother left behind for you. The flower shop has more worth to you than any money on earth.

Rubbing your eyes you look at the clock on the wall of the flower shop. It is 8 pm. Time to close the shop and walk home. Your stomach growled, demanding food. You haven’t eaten for 6 hours because you forgot to bring lunch with you. Only because you overslept. Putting on your coat and red hat you turn around to look at the shop for one last time. Flowers, tree seedlings and vegetable plants are watered and taken care of. Nothing is out of place. You take in one last breath your eyes closing. The earthy and floral scent filling your nostrils. It reminds you of the time you and your grandmother spend here. She always told you to take in everything you see because you never know when you will see it again.

She said that because you never took your time. You always rushed to things instead of taking your time. Time you probably would have needed. “My dear if you continue like this, I fear you will outrun your life. Take your time my dear. Take in everything around you to the fullest otherwise you will miss the best parts of living”

You open your eyes again, a small smile forming on your face. So many things have changed since then. Now you take your time with your life, enjoying it to the fullest.

You leave the shop and lock it, making your way home.

The moment you open the door, something soft jumps at you. Cinccinos face rubbing against yours. “Hello to you to Cinccino! I hope everything was alright at home?”, you ask her. Patting her head softly. She purred. “Cinccino! Cinccino” She held tightly onto you, her eyes gazing at yours. Cinccino was your grandmothers Pokémon. You yourself never had luck in catching one when you were younger. Your younger self would be mad if she new that you are still without a Pokémon. Well, there is nothing you can do about it. Not now at least.

“Oh really? You managed to cook on your own? How often do I have to tell you not to do things like this when I am not at home. What would you have done if something catched fire?” You pull off your boots and hang up your coat, Cinccino taking your hat and jumping off you. “Cinccino, Cinccino, Cinccino” She places your hat on the table where there was already warm stew waiting for you. The smell hitting your nose in an instant. It smells delicious. Your mouth is starting to salivate.

“Alright…but please be careful next time, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself”, you tell her.

She chirps and smiles at you. Defeated by her cooking skills and charm you sit down and eat her stew. Your grandmother would laugh when she saw you like this. It is crazy to think that you are eating food cooked by a Pokémon, but here you are. The taste is delicious and you sigh with you when you are finished. Cinccino smiling proudly. You clean the dishes with Cinccinos help. Then you clean yourself and go to bed. Cinccino cuddling with you. “Goodnight” She purrs and closes her eyes. You do the same and soon fall asleep.

The next morning it rained heavily. You put on your coat and red hat, Cinccino hiding inside your coat. Daisies in your hand. Today you wouldn’t leave for work, today you are visiting your grandmother’s grave. The walk to the cemetery was long and cold. The rain pouring down on your umbrella. The way there always felt stretched. You always think back on the day she died. She was sick for a while but never told you anything about it. So, it was sudden when she collapsed one day. You were worried sick and when she opened her eyes again you knew. She apologized to you, telling you she wished she wouldn’t leave you alone. Tears fill your eyes, but none leave them. Cinccino moves in your coat and looks out of it, gazing at you.

She senses your sadness. You often wonder if Cinccino knew about your grandmother’s state. Pokémon often sense more than we realize.

“It’s alright”, you whisper.

You reach the cemetery and walk past other graves. The cemetery is empty except for you and Cinccino. No wonder, in that weather there are not many people that go out. The atmosphere around here is heavy. Pressing against your chest.

You reach your grandmother’s grave and place down the daisies. The gravestone is completely wet. Rain droplets running down the stone like tears. “It has been a while…since I visited you. I hope you are…not mad at me because of that” You are gaze at her name carved into the gravestone. Your grandfathers carved under it. He left you all years before she did. “No…I know you aren’t mad at me…you never were” Cinccino peaked out of your coat, her gaze fixed on the grave. Her gaze turning distant. You swallow, cold air hitting your face. More rain pouring down. The wind is turning stronger.

“Cinccino cooked. Can you believe that? I told her to be careful though. We don’t want that our house starts to burn.” Cinccino looks up at you and then back at the grave. “Cinccino” You chuckle. Another strong wind whips through the cemetery.

You kiss your palm and touch the gravestone. “I will visit you again soon…I promise”, you whisper.

Slowly you stand up, your gaze fixed on her grave.

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath. Everything is going still around you for a moment. It feels like she is here with you. Watching over you. You nod and release your breath. Eyes opening.

With one last look you leave. The stones crunching beneath your boots. Cinccino rubs her head against your chest, and you look down. Her eyes gazing up at yours. “I am fine, don’t worry” You smile down at her. Out of nowhere you bump into something hard, crashing to the ground with it. A groan leaving your lips. Your eyes open to gaze into one red eye. “I am so sorry! I didn’t watch where I was going”, you apologize immediately. The man beneath you looks like he is in pain. He frowns and his jaw is tightened. The rain pouring down on you both.

When you realize that you are on top of him you stand up immediately. “I am really sorry, please let me help you up” You over him your hand and a weak smile. The man gazes at you, his eye dark. Slowly he takes your hand, letting him help you up. Cinccino hides in your coat.

“Do all woman not watch where they are going or are you an exception?”, he asks coldly.

You turn bright red due to his words. Anger and shame pump through your veins.

How rude, however, it was your mistake. “No, I was just lost in thought”, you answer a little too sharp. Your gaze going towards the cemetery. He notices of course he does. His gaze is going back to you. His one red eye looking intensely at you. Now that you observe him closer, he looks strangely clothed.

The man has two additional locks of green hair, which slide down to his shoulders. He wears a white robe, that you have never seen before, with an elaborately designed brown piece with blue rectangles above it, holding a two-toned cloak with eye patterns above his robe. The left side of his cloak is purple while the right side is yellow. He wears brown loafers.  A crest lays right below the collar of his cloak. The crest is unknown to you. Whoever this man is, he looks like a member of some evil group. Or he loves making strange fashion choices.

“You left the cemetery. So that’s why you didn’t watch where you were going. You were thinking about your loved one, didn’t you?”, he observes. You take a deep breath and look to the side. He is way too observant for your liking.

“Yes, I did” You press your lips together. Your hair sticking to your face now and your clothes getting soaked. Where is your umbrella? You look around trying to find it. When you find it, you walk over to pick it up, but the stranger is faster. His hand wraps around the handle and lifts it up from the ground, offering it to you. You take it, your fingers brushing against each other briefly. A shock of electricity running through your body.

“I am sorry to hear that. Losing someone who is dear to you isn’t easy” You look at his face. Whatever he feels is hidden behind a shield. A perfect poker face. So, you don’t know if he means it. An uneasy feeling spreads through your stomach but you decide to ignore it.

“Thank you…” You swallow and bite your lips. Your grandmother comes to your mind again. She would invite him as a gesture of apology. Even if he ended up turning her down, she would ask him anyway. It was simply a matter of good manners.

“Can I make it up to you by inviting you to coffee?” Your eyes looking into his. He gazes back at you, still a blank expression on his face. Something dark grossing over his eye. Then a small smile forms on his face. It was a small twitch of his lips at first but then it formed into a small smile. Only his left side rises, his right side stays down, forming an unusual smile.

 “I would love to” His eye twinkling darkly.

Here you are now in a small cafe that is your favourite. He sits opposite from you and drinks his black coffee. You on the other hand order Y/F/D and for Cinccino pokeberry cake. She sits on your lap and chirps happily. The man in front of you has introduced himself as Ghetsis.

Ghetsis was really surprised when Cinccino popped out of your coat, because he hasn’t noticed her before. “She doesn’t like to be in Pokeballs? Why is that?”, he asks you curious. You smile and look down at Cinccino. Cinccino always hated to stay in her Pokeball. Never liking it. She loved to run around freely, but that was her choice. “Cinccino doesn’t like Pokeballs in general. She always was like this…running around on her own”, you tell him.

He nods sipping from his coffee while listening to you.

“That is the right thing to do. You see Pokémon shouldn’t be forced to stay in Pokeballs. They are beings who deserve to be set free and not controlled by their trainers” You see the distant gaze in his eye. Patting Cinccinos head softly. “Do you have Pokémon?” He nods again, a small smile on his lips. “Yes, however they are in their Pokeballs. They like it that way”, he tells you calmly. You nod, a small smile on your lips. Every Pokémon should be able to choose what they want.

You take a sip of your drink, really enjoying his company now. The liquid tasting delicious on your tongue and flowing down your throat. “Do you have more Pokémon?” Placing down your cup you shake your head.

“No, I only have Cinccino” You gaze at him and his eye darkens again. His smile widens on the side. “Then I am sure Cinccino gets all your love. No enemy who could take away all that love”, he chuckles.

You chuckle with him.

The rest of the conversation going to things you like to do and what you do for a living. He listens intently, his red eye twinkling. The red eyepiece over his right eye shimmering in the light. He asks you some questions about plants and the shop you own. Where it is and what its name is. You can’t lie to yourself. Ghetsis is an interesting man and even if he is a little strange, he is pleasant company. You barely get to know information about him though. He is a very secretive man. Cinccino finishes her cake and you your drink. Ghetsis also has finished his coffee. It’s pretty late now and you decide it’s time to leave.

You pay but Ghetsis mentions briefly that he will pay next time.

Its so brief and you barely hear it that you pay it no mind. You leave the café; the rain has gotten a little less. “Thank you for giving me a wonderful evening. It has been a pleasure talking to you. I would love it if we would see each other again”, he tells you. A half smile on his face. You smile back at him. “I would like that” He nods, then turns around and leaves. You watch his back disappear and turn around yourself, leaving in the opposite direction.

A few days have passed since your encounter with Ghetsis.

You haven’t seen or heard of him again. Other worries have been plaguing you lately. All over the news people get warned if they step outside. A group called Team Plasma is attacking people and taking Pokémon away from their trainers. They also break in, in shops and museums. Stealing valuable and ancient artifacts.

They justify their actions by saying that they are just setting the Pokémon free from oppression.

It worries you and as ridiculous as it sounds, you have been taking Cinccino with you on your way to work. You are aware that this is dangerous. For the both of you, but you also don’t want her to be alone at your home. If you are honest, you are safe nowhere. Anywhere and at any time something can happen to you.

On your way to work you feel watched. Your paranoia slowly getting to you. Always looking over your shoulder to cheek if someone is following.

It turns so bad that every time you look forward you feel eyes on your back.

Cinccino is running after you, chirping happily. At least she doesn’t seem to sense any danger. The sun shining down on you. It is a wonderful spring day. The temperature is perfect. When you finally reach the shop, you release a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You enter and turn the sign to open. Putting away your bag and hat. It is time to get to work. You start to put new flowers into pots, water the plants and look check if they are healthy.

Cinccino helps you out, bringing you the watering can or new pots. With her help you are three times faster than usual. It really helps you a lot. The first half of the day you barely have any customers. The few that show up either buy nothing, only asking you for some advice or buy only one plant. But you don’t let that discourage you and carry on working hard. After your break you and Cinccino pick up working again. The radio running in the background playing your favourite song.

You hum along with it. A smile on your face.

Cleaning the ground with your broom while you hum. The bell rings, signalling someone entered the shop. You stop humming and turn around with a smile. “Welcome how may I help you” When your eyes settle at the customers you nearly let your broom fall.

Two grunts of team Plasma stand in the middle of your shop. Their Pokeballs ready. “You can help us by coming with us without a fight. Make it easier for yourself”, one of the grunts says.

You gaze over at Cinccino for a second.

She looks angrily at the grunts ready to fight. There is still a change to escape. Behind you is a door that leads to the storage room. In the storage room is a door that leads outside. If you managed to get there you might have a change to escape them fully.  Your grip tightens around the handle of the broom. “Leave my shop now”, you warn them.

They shake their heads. “This could have been way easier” Before they can react you whistle and throw your broom at them. Cinccino jumping towards you and climbing onto your shoulder while you dash towards the storage room. One of the grunts frees their Pokémon. Cursing they dash after you. You throw over one shelf and reach the door that leads outside. Lucky for you it is open. In no time you are in the alley. A Liepard on your heels. Why the hell is this happening? You should have stayed at home today.

Liepard is slowly but surely catching up to you. The alley suddenly became way longer than you remember.

Cinccino held onto you tightly, she was really scared now. Your rushed steps echoing of the walls of the alley. You turn around a corner; you are so close to leaving the alley now. You already see it. Your ticket out of here. Escaping the nightmare. Cinccino screeches and before you can react the world turns black around you. The light disappears from your vision. Darkness wrapping around you like a cloak.

Your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light.

Gazing at an unfamiliar celling, your head throbbing in pain. A warm blanket is placed over you. What happened? Your eyes gaze around the room. The room is unknown to you, like everything that is in it. Your brain still throbs in pain. Didn’t you just run away from Plasma grunts and a Liepard? You nearly escaped. Then it shoots through your brain. Where is Cinccino? You want to sit up but to soft hands press you back down again. “Please stay in bed. You need to rest”, a female voice says. You turn your head to the side, seeing a young woman smile at you. She looks a few years younger than you or maybe she is the same age as you. You can’t tell. Her brown eyes gaze into yours. The womans hair is yellow, tied to a braid with a blue band, with two locks standing out and wearing a blue blouse. You can’t see the rest of her body from your position.

“Where am I?” Your voice sounds rough and hoarse. She takes a glass of water in her hands and gives it to you. The water flowing down your throat, making you feel a little better. “Thanks” She takes the water from you and places it back onto the nightstand.

“You are in a castle. In Ns Castle to be exact.”, she answers you softly.

Your eyes widen. Confusion crossing your face. Are you in a castle? She must be joking. Making a fool out of you. She sees your confusion and smiles at you with sympathy. “Don’t worry you will soon understand” She stands up and walks towards the door. “Wait what’s your name?” She stops in her steps and turns around to you. “Concordia.”

With one last look she leaves, and the door falls shut behind her. You are at loss of your words and gaze at the door. So many questions ghost through your mind. Worry spreading through you. You still don’t know where Cinccino is and why you are here. The Plasma grunts must have brought you here after they catched you. You have been kidnapped. The realization hitting you like a brick. That is a cruel joke. A big nightmare. You pinch your cheek in hopes to wake up, in vain. No matter how many times you pinch yourself you don’t wake up in your own bed. This is worse than a nightmare, this is your reality now.

You gaze around the room again. This place is strange. It looks rich. Expensive.

It feels like a golden cage to you. You are a prisoner here. A prisoner in a golden cage.

Slowly you sit up and get out of bed. Your clothes still on you. They wouldn’t have been so stupid and leave the door unlocked. You grip the handle and pull it down, the door falling open. A long hallway coming into your sight. They didn’t really believe you would stay in the room, did they? You shake your head. Slowly you leave the room behind and walk into the hallway. One leads to the left the other leads straight-ahead. You walk into the one that is straight-ahead. This place is huge, really huge! There are portraits on the wall. Some are of landscapes; some are of Pokémon and one…one looks like a family portrait.

You can see Concordia, she is still a kid, next to her is another girl with pink her, before them stands a boy with green her and behind all of them stands a man with pale green hair. Your eyes widen. That man…it is him. Ghetsis. He looks younger in the portrait; he looks like he is in his twenties there. The Ghetsis you know is in his forties. But there is no mistake, this is Ghetsis.

He looks like a king in that portrait, proud and arrogant. That is not the Ghetsis you have met though you thought he was a prideful man. The crest right below the collar of his cloak comes to your mind. It is the same one team Plasma grunts wear the same crest on their clothes. Could it be? He is the boss of team Plasma. He ordered his grunts to kidnap you. Ghetsis is the reason you are here. “WHERE IS SHE!” You press yourself against the wall when you hear the loud howl. The rage in the voice makes your blood run cold. That voice… “I TOLD YOU TO WATCH OVER HER! HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE? GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! I WILL SEARCH FOR HER MYSELF!”

That is Ghetsis voice. Just…way more aggressive. Nightmarish aggressive. Not the calm voice you got to know. The sound of things being knocked over, reach your ears. Oh Dear.

You press yourself tighter against the wall and walk sideways. This is horrible. You must escape before he finds you. Your eyes look around the hall; there is only one way. As silently as possible you run down the hall, stairs coming into your sight. You could run down the stairs, which would be a good idea. Or you could continue to run down the hallway. Maybe it leads you to another staircase? Steps reach your ears. The person isn’t in sight yet but will be soon. Without thinking you rush past the stairs and further down the hallway. You try your hardest to don’t make any sounds, praying it works.

Where should you go? A door comes into sight and without thinking you open it. You find yourself in a library.

There is no time. Rushing through the bookshelf’s you search for a good hiding place. The library is big and you don’t know how many shelfs you have passed by now. You find yourself in a corner. In the moment you want to turn around and walk a different direction you hear the door open. Slow, calm steps that walk into the library. Your heart starts to pound against your ribs. No, he will find you. You dug behind the shelf and try to stay as silent as possible. If you move now, you will be heard.

The steps stop after a while and you hear someone pulling out a book from a shelf, flipping through it.

A sense of calmness washes over you. Whoever this is…isn’t Ghetsis. Hopefully. Slowly you stand up, making your way around the shelf to get a better look at the person. The flipping continues. After a making your way around another shelf you see a young man with green hair. He reads a big book, totally focused on it. Not noticing you. He looks like the young boy on the portrait.

You still have to leave.

The door swings open again, and you hide again behind one of the shelves. “N did you see her?”, Ghetsis asks. He steps further into the library, and you hear that N stops flipping through the book. “Who?” You hear Ghetsis growl in frustration. His anger filling the whole room.

“DON’T PLAY THE FOOL! YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHO I MEAN!”, Ghetsis growls. You hold your hands before your mouth. Your heart pounding so loud you fear he might hear it. This is just a nightmare. You whished Cinccino would be here by your side. “No father. I haven’t seen her. I am sure she will be here somewhere around the castle. If I find her, I will tell you about it”, N tells Ghetsis. You don’t see any of their faces, but you know Ghetsis is towering over N like a giant. If you where in Ns place you would have dug a hole into the ground.

You don’t hear what Ghetsis says to N next but hear that he leaves the library and hits the door close.

After a while of silence, you feel your heartbeat calm down.

The sound of flipping pages filling the library again. “He is gone now. You can come out”, N says. You freeze in your spot and hold your breath. A soft chuckle reaching your ears. “Don’t worry, I am not planning on harming you.” You swallow and slowly stand-up walking out of your hiding place. N still stands there flipping through the book.

He turns towards you and smiles at you. His smile reaching his eyes.

“You are wonderful, just like I was told. The atmosphere surrounding you is fascinating. No wonder he decided to take you here. He is a very passionate man my father. Don’t worry, he is only like this when something is really important to him. You are important to him.”, N tells you. You wrap your arms around yourself. Honestly you are tired. “He is only worried about you. After you got brought here by our grunts you were unconscious and my father ordered my sisters to take care of you. The two grunts got punished for what they did to you, you know? I often saw him furious but never this much”, N informs you.

This is way too much information. N seems sweet and you feel that he isn’t lying to you. He is honest with you.

“I am still afraid. When you wake up in a place you don’t know, without your Pokémon by your side you get afraid. I was kidnapped by the grunts. How do you expect me to react. Stay put and twiddle my thumbs?” N gives you a look of sympathy. Placing the book back into the shelf. “No of course not. Everyone would be afraid, it’s only natural. My father, he is very passionate, as I have mentioned. Do you know about his goal? He wants to give Pokémon more rights. Campaigning for their liberation. With team Plasma we will make the world a better place for Pokémon. Believe once you get to know him, he isn’t so bad”

You look at N and rub your arms. Pokémon deserve more rights. He isn’t wrong about that, but why do you feel like there is still something fishy about all of this.

“If you are worried about your Cinccino don’t worry. She is taken care of and will be given to you soon”, N tells you.

The mention of Cinccino makes you nearly run him over. She is all you have left now in this crazy place. The last thing that connects you to your grandmother. “I want to believe you N, but this is…” N places a hand on your shoulder. A gentle smile on his face. “Come, I will bring you back to your room. I know this is so much but please rest and think about it for a while…I would love to…have a new member in our family.”

You look at him confused. N looks away from you and leads you out of the library. Maybe he is right. You should rest and think about it. If you are completely honest there is no way that you can escape from here. Escaping without Cinccino feels wrong. You must wait for the perfect moment and maybe find out what Ghetsis really wants. N leads you back to the room where you escaped from. “I will visit you again tomorrow and maybe I can bring Cinccino. Rest well”, he says softly.

He leaves you alone in the room and you gaze at the bed. The armchair in the room has been knocked over, and a lot of other things lie on the ground. You decide to gather everything and place it back where you believe it was.

After a while everything is clean and tidy.

With a proud smile on your face, you fall onto the bed. It’s time to sleep. Your eyes falling close.

Then the door to the room opens. You sit up immediately and find Ghetsis standing there. His one eye gazing at you. “You are here” His voice dangerously calm. You don’t like the way he is staring at you but try your hardest not to let it show. “Yes, I am here” You look at him and cross your arms. “Care to explain why you let your grunts kidnap me?”, you ask him a little to sharply. His gaze darkens. He closes the door behind him and moves closer towards you. You stand your ground not moving an inch, even though you want to dig a hole into the ground and bury yourself.

When he towers over you, you feel like a dwarf. You hate it.

His left-hand lifts to touch your face, his hand filling cold against your skin. Ghetsis red eye gazes intently at you. “You are here to be my wife. To be mine”, he says darkly.

A shiver runs down your spine. To be his wife? Your fists clench together at your sides. “You really think I want to become your wife?” He tilts his head, his hand squeezing your cheek a little to tightly. You gaze up at him and see a few cracks in his well-kept together expression. “You will because I say so. You will be the mother to my children and take care of my son and daughters. They need a mother. After we met, I knew you were the right choice” His head comes dangerously close to yours. He has you in his grasp. You must play along. If you want to win this and survive you must play along. Ghetsis eye looks deeply into yours. “You are mine now”

His lips crash onto yours, hungrily and greedy. Ghetsis holds your head tightly, his lips feeling rough against yours. Your hands reach for his coat, holding onto it tightly. He carefully moves his body closer to yours, now pressing against you.

Ghetsis breaks the kiss, a half grin on his. “You belong to me, do you understand”

Ghetsis pulls away and leaves the room. Locking your door. He isn’t stupid. You sigh and fall onto the bed again. The kiss running through your head. He kissed you. Now you are sure that Ghetsis doesn’t have all cups in the cupboard. He is insane. Ghetsis still has some charm around him but what if this is all just façade? Only time will tell. You curl into a ball under the blanket and closer your eyes. Exhausted you drift of to sleep with ease.

“Father please I want my doll back.”

“Well, no she pulled my hair.”

“You said we were going to the gardens.”

“Papa—“

All voices mixed into one, small hands tugging and roughing their way onto the fabric of his doublet, the usual string and broad posture faltering under all of the weight. Aerion had clung to his arm, attempting to snatch whatever Daella had taken, most likely already hers back from her, Daeron shoving him off, tangled around his legs. Rhae babbled in the corner, rocking in the still of her bassinet, whacking the rattle in her hands against the cotton covered wood, bright violets gawking up at her father. Aemon sat beside her, a book tossed into his lap, absentmindedly grabbing the pages as he held her other hand in his.

Sweet it would seem, but even as a babe she was much a handful as the rest of them. Something her elder brother knew not to get too close nearly hit with the wooden toy.

Though the final blow, came quite literally. Aegon only tel years of age and on small wobbling legs, had swung his sword, wooden and bravely straight into Maekar’s shins. He cursed aloud, all children stopping short at once as he stumbled forward. Daella grappled in his arms, small hands tangling into the silver hair at his head only agitating him further, though he wouldn’t show that to her. Aerion fell into his father’s middle with a shove from Daeron jokingly, the pair of them tumbling to the ground at his feet.

“Ow, that was in the bloody shin—“ He groaned, Aegon lowering the sword as he met his father’s eyes, exhausted and displeased. Though he stopped himself short seeing them all, still around him, the air of mischief still rife in the air, but one thought came over him, sly and useful.

“Do you want me to call for your mother?” He called out them, grumbling more like as his hand clasped gently around Daella’s hand, removing it from their tight grasp at his beard and hair.

And that was enough.

“No.”

All of them moved at once, Aegon throwing the sword to the side, it colliding with the plush of the ottoman, tucking into Aemon’s side next to Rhae’s bassinet. Daella curled into him, as sweet as he ever was though knowing at the mention of you straight away.

The eldest boys were the quickest to jump, hands and feet shoving into one another as they climbed to their feet, far too old to be wrestling at one another, but their childish sneers remained.

He chuckled to himself then, a low one, barely noticeable but proud. The sight of all of them straight backed and feigned innocence, still kicking eachother when no one was looking.

Works every time, they’re scared to death of her. He thought.

“Call me for what?”

The hairs of the back of his neck stood up, jumping slightly, curling just into himself as he spun, to face you.

“Y/N, my love..” His voice stumbled, only by the slightest bit enough, the air escaping his lungs quickly camouflaged by the roll of his shoulders, a fish of wind meeting you as you stood before him, arms crossed.

“We were just waiting on you.”

“So it seems.” Your eyes cast across them all, like butter wouldn’t melt, sweet smiles finding you, your lips pulling into a smirk at the obvious stumble in his step and flush at his cheeks. It was lighthearted of course, though your words were short all of you knew better, the children resuming their chaos once more as he set Daella down. They were not scared of you, not really, as they had no reason to be.. but Maekar, well, perhaps he was just projecting, your presence never shy of making him shiver — and he did not need to tell you that.

A heavy arm wrapped around you, kissing your forehead, “We were.” He insisted, slinking you into his grip as he moved you just a pace away. You stepped with him, watching over them once more, distanced only by the slightest more of respect than fear. Something that your husband often admired, your nature, the ability to command the room as well as your family, so much so it was clear whose presence truly kept you all together. Yours.

Your hand curled at the nape of his neck, smoothing the still flush rosy red of his skin, chuckling softly, bringing him down for a kiss. He took it gratefully, lips pressing to yours softly, ignoring the few gestures ‘yuck’’s behind you. You hushed them, giggled and secret disgusted faces still pulled just out of your view.

“They give you trouble because you let them walk on you.” Your palm slid over the side of his face, resting just over the white, coarse hairs of his beard shaking your head lightly.

“I do not.” He tutted, glaring down at you, though it did not meet his eyes, only squinting them slightly as his nose bumped yours.