─────── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────────

The morning after the ball, you are awakened by a shrill scream of delight from Rhaena.

“Baela!” her voice echoes down the hall, “A letter has come from Lady Alys Rivers–come quickly!”

Groggily, you push yourself upright, blinking at the sun streaming through your bedroom window, and drag yourself out of bed.

Wrapping yourself in your dressing gown, you leave your room at the same time Baela leaves hers and shoot her a smile. You loop your arm through hers warmly, and the pair of you trail down the hall to the dining room together, Baela yawning so widely that her jaw cracks.

When you sit at the table, Rhaena and Luke are practically at each other's throats, fighting over the envelope while Rhaenyra looks on wearily, unwilling to get involved in their squabble. 

Baela plucks the letter from Luke’s hands, tearing it open with a girlish eagerness you rarely saw from your dear cousin. Her eyes race over the text, and you move to restrain Luke, who is jumping up and down like a rabbit, trying to spy the letter over her shoulder. 

Jace watches from his seat at the table beside Joffery, leaning his chin on his hand, his face colored with amusement, while Daemon seems nearly as excited as Luke and Rhaena, peering over Baela’s shoulder. 

Baela lowers the letter, beaming.

“Lady Alys has invited me to tea,” she breathes, hands trembling with excitement. 

You and Rhaena squeal and you release Luke, running to Baela’s side. An invitation to Riverrun could only mean one thing: Aegon had liked Baela just as much as he’d appeared to the previous night.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Rhaenyra smiles from her seat, stroking her swollen belly. “My dear Baela, I am so pleased for you.”

“You must go at once, of course,” Daemon orders, gazing at his eldest with unconcealed pride. “You shall ride there on horseback–no need for a carriage.”

“My love,” Rhaenyra interjects, “the clouds look ready to split open at any moment–she shall be stuck at Riverrun through the night if she rides.”

Daemon grins impishly at his wife. 

“Precisely.”

─────── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────────

As your mother predicted, a storm breaks out soon after Baela has departed, and you sit in the library, Joffrey on your lap, watching the rain pour outside the window. You try not to worry for your cousin, but such a downpour could be dangerous should she be caught in it. 

Your fears are confirmed later that night when a raven arrives from Riverrun, bearing a letter informing the family that, while Baela had arrived in one piece, she had been soaked to the bone and fallen ill. While Lady Alys assures you all in her note that she will be well cared for by the Maesters of the fortress, you cannot let go of the prickle of anxiety that needles at you incessantly. 

As soon as morning comes and the rain has stopped, you hurry from Harrenhall, walking as quickly as your feet and the sodden grass would allow. You nearly trip over the hem of your dark blue dress multiple times, cursing yourself for not forgoing propriety and wearing pants. 

By the time you arrive at Riverrun, a ring of mud and rainwater stains the bottom of your dress, and your hair, hanging loose about your shoulders, has begun to grow frizzy from the humidity. You follow behind a servant through the drafty stone halls, drawing your cloak tighter around your shoulder with a shiver.

Although the castle was nowhere near as large as Harrenhal, it was far grander–draped in tapestries and fine art, with intricately carved statuettes adorning the narrow redwood tables that lined the hallways. 

The servant leads you to the lord’s solar and enters before you to announce your presence. 

“The Lady Strong,” he calls to the room, stepping to the side and holding the door open, giving you a polite nod as you pass him. 

You are immediately grateful for the warmth you feel from the room, derived from the large hearth on the wall, though that happiness dies in your chest the moment you see who awaits you.

Lady Alys sits at the table, her expression haughty as she regards you, and to her right sits Prince Aemond. He looks miserable as ever, though his eye widens slightly at the sight of you. He rises swiftly from his chair, his arms rigid at his sides, the wood scraping loudly against the floor. He dips his head awkwardly in greeting, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. 

The sound makes Alys wince, and she shoots him a sidelong gaze before returning her focus to you. You shift uncomfortably as she unsubtly drinks in the sight of you, letting her eyes linger upon the muddied hem of your gown. 

“My Lady Strong,” she acknowledges you. “My goodness, surely you did not walk here?”

Although her words are concerned, her tone is anything but, and you pick up on it immediately, forcing yourself not to bristle at her scrutiny. You dip a curtsey swiftly, ducking your head to both of them in deference. 

“I am afraid I did, my Lady.”

Aemond stares at you intently, no doubt judging you just as much as Alys was, though unlike her, he does not stare at your dress. Instead, he looks directly into your eyes, his lips twitching as though he might speak.  

You glance between them, catching his searing gaze and clasping your hands before you to stop them from twitching. 

“Forgive me, but where is my cousin?” you blurt after another beat of uncomfortable silence.

“She is upstairs,” Aemond replies quickly before Alys can respond, his expression unreadable.

“She has been placed in one of the warmer rooms,” Alys supplies. “One of the servants will show you the way.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, dragging your gaze from Aemond’s and nodding to them both again. You flee the room as quickly as possible, away from his and Alys’ judgemental gazes. 

The same servant who showed you the way in leads you upstairs to Baela’s room, and you burst through the door hurriedly. 

Baela smiles at you wanly from where she sits in bed, leaning her head back against her pillow.

“Cousin,” she hums, “I am so glad to see you.”

“Baela!” you rush to her side, sitting gingerly on the edge of the feather mattress and taking her pretty hand in yours. “Are you alright? I feared the worst.”

"I am fine. You must not worry after me so,” she says, patting your hand in reassurance. "I have been well taken care of– the royal family has been most kind.”

"I am glad to hear it, " you reply, relieved.

"Daemon should never have sent you without a carriage."

"My father knew well what he was doing," Baela responds wryly.

"He has gotten exactly what he wanted--Prince Aegon has scarcely left my side. He is quite sweet when he wants to be–far more than I remember him being in our childhood."

"How could he not be when in the presence of such beauty?" You tease lightly. Baela giggles.

"I do feel terrible, however, for having overstayed my welcome– I fear the Lady Alys may think I have abused their hospitality."

"You were unwell,” you remind her kindly. “They  would be very unkind hosts indeed if they were to send you home while you were doing so poorly.”

She smiles up at you, grateful for your reassurance, her eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

"I shall leave you to rest,” you say. “ I shall take you back to Harrenhal this evening. Sleep until then. “

Baela makes as if to protest, but you quiet her with a squeeze of her hand and rise, making for the door. 

“Sleep,” you insist. “Gather your strength, dear cousin.”

With that, you depart, shutting the door behind you, a day's worth of tension falling from your shoulders, knowing she is not as unwell as you feared. 

─────── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────────

Back in the Lord's solar, Prince Aegon has joined his brother and Lady Alys, sprawled out across the green velvet sofa, pretending to read a letter that he discards the second you enter the room. He sits upright, his purple eyes wide with eagerness.

“How is the Lady Baela?” he inquires boldly, rising to greet you.

“She is doing far better than I had hoped,” you answer warmly. “I must thank you, my Prince, for being so hospitable and taking such good care of my cousin. I could not bear it if something truly unfortunate were to befall her.”

“No need to thank me,” he beams. “ it has been an honor to have her here–poorly or not, she has been a most gracious guest.”

You dip your head politely, moving to sit on the sofa opposite him, stealing a glance over at Aemond as you do.

He is reading a history text–Ten Thousand Ships, your favorite–while Alys leans over the back of his armchair, her dark straight hair brushing his shoulder. He seems aggravated by her presence, you note–though aggravation seems to be his most natural state.

“Lady Strong,” she acknowledges you airily, “I was just telling the princes how much I wish their sister had joined us in Riverrun. I do dote on her. Indeed, I do not think I have ever met someone so skilled in embroidery as she.”

“I find it rather unbelievable how accomplished women are,” Aegon comments lazily. “You all spend so much time with painting, embroidery, reading…for more time spent than I spend on matters of state, at any rate. Quite impressive creatures, the lot of you.”

Alys flicks her gaze over him with barely concealed irritation. Evidently, his attention is not what she desires, but rather Aemond's.

It brings you no small amount of amusement to watch him refuse to give it to her.

“It is a rarity,” Alys agrees cooly. “A truly accomplished lady must be well-versed in conversation, dancing, music– not to mention art and embroidery– to be worthy of a man's time.”

“Most impressive,” Aegon comments, dumbfounded. 

“I cannot say that I know many women that impress me so, brother,” Aemond comments dryly. “Let alone those in possession of true intellect,” he speaks to the pages of his book. 

“It seems you spend much time thinking about the accomplishments of women–or lack thereof,” you comment sharply, watching Aemond archly. 

“I do,” he looks up from his reading at last, meeting your eyes. “A woman must be well-bred and intelligent. Far too many ladies spend their time on tea parties and embroidery rather than engaging with histories and philosophy.”

“If that is your standard,” you shoot back swiftly, not dropping his intense gaze, “then I am not surprised that a woman meeting your expectations is a rare thing indeed. It comes as a surprise to me that you know any women at all.” 

“You judge your sex quite severely, my Lady.”

“Perhaps,” you smile slightly, intent on mocking him. “I confess, I have never met such a lady, your Grace. I venture a woman possessing all those qualities should be quite fearsome.”

From his seat on the sofa opposite you, Aegon giggles rather loudly, drawing a pointed look from his brother.

“Would you like to take a turn about the room with me, Lady Strong?” Alys interrupts, moving from Aemond’s side to yours. 

You, in fact, would not, but you know it would be indecent to say so, so instead, you force a gracious smile and accept her offer.

“Will you join us, Aemond?” she stares intently at the object of her obvious desire, looping your arm through hers. 

“I should think not,” he comments dryly, returning to his book. “I would not presume to interfere in the matters of women.”

“You would not interfere, I assure you.”

“Then perhaps you wish for me to walk behind you and observe your figures?” He grumbles. 

“The view is far better from here, in any case,” Aegon snickers, blanching immediately when Aemond shoots him a glare.

Alys begins to walk, all but dragging you with her around the perimeter of the room. 

“If it is Prince Aemond’s attention you desire,” you comment lightly, “there are other ways of gaining it.”

“And what would you propose?” Alys comments, indulging you.

“We could always poke fun at him–I find most men cannot refuse a woman who teases him.”

“Oh, no,” Alys hums, “the Prince much mislikes jokes at his expense.”

Aemond hums in the affirmative, flicking his gaze to you momentarily before focusing back on his pages, though you note he has not made much progress in his reading since you arrived in the room. 

“You are too proud, my prince,” you comment, tugging your arm away from Alys and stepping towards him. “I must ask–would you consider pride to be a fault? Since we are searching for a reason to poke fun at your expense.”

“Perhaps I simply find it difficult to forgive the transgressions of others against me or my house,” he offers, his book long forgotten in his lap. “Once someone has lost my esteem, it is gone forever.”

You regard him curiously, tilting your head slightly–you certainly had not expected such candor from the ill-tempered prince, and his truthfulness stuns you into silence for a moment.

“Well, I am afraid I laugh at you for that, my prince,” you reply. “Quite a shame–I do love to laugh.”

“A family trait, so it would seem,” Alys comments dryly. “At least it appears to be with your younger siblings.”

You bite back a sharp retort, swallowing your ire at her ill-concealed jab at your relatives, and force a smile.

“I should go and fetch Baela,” you tell the room at large. “We have far overstayed our welcome.”

Aegon jumps to his feet at once at the mention of you leaving, lavender eyes wide with urgency. 

“Please, do not feel rushed to leave,” he insists. “But if you must, allow me to call a carriage for you–Lady Baela is in no condition to ride home.”

Reluctantly, you accept Aegon’s offer and depart to help ready Baela for the short journey back to Harrenhal. 

As you exit the walls of Riverrun, you are accompanied by Aegon, who positively insists upon aiding Baela, while Alys walks arm in arm with you, Aemond trailing close behind to see you off.

“I must thank you for your company and your conversation, Lady Alys,” you murmur politely. “You have been most gracious and welcoming.”

You’re lying through your teeth, and you both know it, but she smiles at you, dipping her head. 

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“We shall be throwing another ball quite soon,” Aegon announces brightly once he has settled Baela in her seat. “Your family must come–I assure you it shall be a far more private affair than the last–only the best families invited.”

“We would be honored,” Baela replies warmly, her gaze lingering on the older prince, perhaps for a beat too long. “Our family shall be in attendance, of that you can be sure.”

Aegon beams at her, looking for all the world like she hung the very stars in the sky, and you smile faintly, moving to climb into the coach alongside your cousin. 

To your surprise, Aemond is by your side in a flash, extending a pale hand for you to take. 

You flick your gaze between his hand and his face, hesitating only a moment before you accept it. 

His grip is warm and firm, his hands callused from years of training with the sword, and his fingers tighten imperceptibly around yours as he helps you up the step and into the carriage. 

His one-eyed gaze rests steadily upon you, and you’re halfway sure you can see him swallow heavily when you meet his eye. His hand is gone as quickly as it had come, and he dips his head in a stiff bow.

“My Lady,” he intones hoarsely before turning on his heel and striding away as fast as his feet would allow. 

You watch him go, thoroughly puzzled by his behavior, and as he walks, you can see him flex the hand that held yours by his side as though he had been burned. 

You force a smile onto your face and settle into the carriage beside Baela. 

It would do you no good to dwell on thoughts of such an odd and miserable fellow–you were better off with your books. 

─────── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────────

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