— THE ROT! ❞

it  is  embarrassment  that  curls  up  his  throat. he  had  never  been  good  at  talking  to  women,  that  was  for  certain.  even  his  ser  had  poked  fun  at  him  while  they  were  on  the  road  together  —  how  a  prince  should  be  able  to  charm  a  lady  with  just  his  smile.  but  even  then,  aemon  had  known  that  there  was  no  charming  bone  within  his  body.  he  knew  even  more,  that  he  did  not  wish  to  render  a  lady  speechless  that  was  not  his  soon-to-be  wife.  he  was  promised,  even  from  a  young  age  and  as  ridiculous  as  he  had  sounded  telling  his  ser  that,  the  idea  of  taking  another  woman's  hand  within  his  own  to  place  a  light  kiss  upon  it  with  intentions  that  were  far  from  friendly,  made  something  sickening  twist  in  his  gut.  perhaps  that  is  why  he  does  not  know  how  to  speak  to  his  own  wife,  never  having  the  practice  to  charm  someone.  "i—"  he  stumbles  over  his  words  again,  swallowing,  "it  is  just  that  you  needn't  have  to  do  that  — the  colors  of  your  home  are  beautiful  on  you,  but—"  he  cannot  say  what  he  thinks.  that  seeing  her  within  his  own  colors  sends  a  bolt  of  lightning  up  his  spine.  "i  am  awed  to  see  you  in  mine.  a  beauty  i  will  see  when  i  close  my  eyes  each  time." an  understatement,  but  aemon  did  not  wish  to  come  off  too  strong.  not  when  she  had  just  arrived  back  home  — not  home,  he  has  to  remind  himself  —,  back  to  king's  landing.  he  did  not  wish  to  scare  her  away  again.  "then  every  lord  within  westeros  is  a  fool."  he  says  it  so  casually,  a  burning  within  him  to  prove  to  his  bride  that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  person  he  had  ever  come  across.  he  was  lucky  for  that,  but  even  if  she  was  not  — the  thought  repulses  him  to  even  cross  his  mind  —  she  would  still  be  the  most  captivating  to  him.  something  he  could  not  explain  and  he  was  sure  he  did  not  wish  to  delve  into  further.  they  were  married.  there  was  surely  to  be  some  affection  he  could  not  escape.  learning  her  through  letters  had  never  been  enough  though. aemon's  eyes  dart  about  their  chambers  as  he  thinks  of  them.  thinks  of  the  lonely  nights  he  had  spent  waiting  for  her  to  come  back  to  their  bed,  even  if  they  had  never  moved  close  enough  to  touch.  even  if  the  only  time  they  had  managed  to  have  sex,  it  was  awkward  and  he  spent  most  of  it  fumbling,  he  had  wished  she  was  still  there.  dust  had  settled  upon  the  decor  of  it,  he  could  see  it  even  if  the  place  had  been  cleaned  before  her  arrival.  the  staleness  of  the  scent  an  indicator  that  they  were  clearly  only  a  pair  by  law  and  nothing  more.  he  wished  it  was  not  like  that,  wishes  it  even  more  every  time  she  makes  it  back  to  king's  landing  for  a  short  time.  but  who  was  he  to  force  her  to  stay  if  she  did  not  wish  to?  he  would  never  forgive  himself  for  doing  so,  not  when  her  being  attached  to  him  was  against  her  will.  there  was  surely  someone  better  for  her  out  there  even  if  he  had  selfishly  hoped  that  maybe  it  would  have  been  him.

the  thought  makes  his  chest  constrict,  the  muscles  of  his  legs  tightening.  he  bites  back  a  wince,  not  wishing  to  trouble  her  more  than  he  already  has.  but  it  is  too  late  because  one  moment  she  is  sat  beside  him  and  the  next  she  is  on  her  knees  before  him,  her  palms  pressing  against  his  thighs  like  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  her.  aemon  cannot  help  the  whimper  that  leaves  his  lips,  his  pupils  dilating  as  he  looks  down  at  her.  curls  cascading  over  her  shoulders,  the  slope  of  her  nose,  and  the  plush  of  her  lips.  (if  he  had  dreamed  of  those  lips  one  night  and  woken  up  in  a  sweat,  no  one  needed  to  know  but  him.)  the  pressure  upon  his  legs,  the  way  her  hands  fit  around  him.  it  was  intoxicating.  he  wishes  to  say  something,  to  reach  for  her,  to  pull  her  up  to  him,  and—  and  do  what?  he  does  not  know  if  he  can  say  it  out  loud,  let  alone  think  it.  her  hands  pressing  a  warmth  through  the  fabric  of  his  breeches  that  he  is  not  used  to.  his  wife's  hands  are  upon  him  and  it  soothes  him,  yet  sets  him  alight  like  no  other. he  means  to  say  something,  anything,  but  his  mouth  opens  and  closes  without  so  much  as  a  word.  she  had  taken  the  breath  from  his  lungs  and  he  was  unsure  if  he  even  wanted  it  back.  not  when  she  looked  to  beautiful  before  him,  caring  for  him.  he  longed  to  reach  out  and  touch  her,  a  hand  beginning  to  lift  off  of  his  leg  to  do  so  as  their  eyes  meet  —  courage  coursing  through  him  from  the  moment  green  locks  onto  violet-blue.  perhaps  if  he  could  place  a  hand  on  her  cheek,  pull  her  towards  him...  yet,  she  is  pulling  away  only  moments  later.  her  back  turning  to  him  and  he  feels  like  he  had  just  gotten  kicked  in  the  head  by  a  horse.  the  coldness  that  her  presence  left  between  his  legs  almost  makes  him  shiver.  he  wanted  her  back,  he  wanted  her  before  him,  and  the  thought  made  him  feel  lightheaded.  even  more  so  when  he  looks  at  her  back  turned  to  him,  sees  the  way  her  shoulders  draw  in  and  it  makes  aemon's  body  lock  up. so  foolish  of  him  to  believe  for  a  moment  that  she  had  wished  to  be  where  she  was.  she  was  doing  it  because  it  was  a  duty  she  had  as  a  wife  —  to  ease  his  pain  —  and  it  made  him  sick  to  think  about.  "i—"  it  is  the  first  time  he  speaks  in  a  moment,  his  voice  hoarse  in  his  throat  as  the  urge  to  stand  up  and  flee  gets  stronger  as  each  second  ticks  by.  he  should  leave  her  be.  she  was  just  being  polite  in  inviting  him  to  sit  with  her  and  he  should  not  overstay  his  welcome.  (they  were  his  chambers  too,  but  perhaps  it  was  best  they  remain  hers  while  he  continues  to  sleep  in  his  own.)  "i  am  sorry,  my  lady,  if  i  have  made  you  uncomfortable."  he  does  not  know  what  exactly  he  is  apologizing  for.  everything  perhaps?  for  being  who  he  was.  that  she  had  to  get  down  upon  her  knees  to  ease  an  ache  in  his  muscles  like  she  was  some  servant  and  not  his  wife.

the  silence  that  settles  over  them  makes  aemon  wish  to  crawl  out  of  his  own  skin.  his  fingers  dig  into  the  fabric  of  his  breeches,  nails  that  would  surely  cut  into  skin  if  they  were  against  his  bare  leg.  it  would  do  no  good  for  his  already  aching  muscles,  but  he  could  feel  the  tensions  rise  within  him  — the  quickening  of  his  heartbeat,  the  thrum  inside  of  his  head,  the  tightening  of  his  muscles  beneath  his  fingertips.  his  head  hangs,  not  enough  to  show  defeat  because  how  pathetic  would  that  have  been?  but  enough  to  keep  his  eyes  off  of  her.  maybe  that  is  why  she  never  looked  at  him.  every  time  she  saw  him  she  saw  the  shame  that  he  was  as  a  husband,  that  each  time  she  did  she  wished  to  escape  to  her  home  once  more  because  he  could  never  be  that  for  her.  he  wanted  it.  aemon  thinks  of  that  now  as  he  zones  out,  that  he  had  wanted  him  to  be  her  home,  but  how  could  he  be  when  he  was  made  of  fire?  and  she  was  made  of  ice?  he  would  only  melt  her  in  the  process,  like  he  did  with  everyone  else. her  words  shock  him,  but  they  feel  like  a  dream.  perhaps  he  is  going  mad  like  the  maesters  had  predicted  at  his  birth.  he  did  not  wish  to  call  her  a  liar,  but  aemon  had  spent  his  whole  life  being  exactly  what  she  was  saying  and  surely,  a  lady  as  strong  as  a  stark  would  believe  the  same.  "it  is...  kind  of  you  to  say  such  things,  lady  stark,  but  i  would  not  fault  you  for  believing  them.  that  is  no  fault  of  your  own,  it  is  merely  what  i  have  grown  up  with."  an  honesty  that  burns  coming  out,  still  without  the  courage  to  look  up  at  her.  she  would  probably  not  even  be  looking  back,  would  she?  "it  is  unfair  that  you  had  to  be  promised  to  a  prince,  that  this  union  has  hindered  you  and  taken  you  from  the  place  you  desire  most.  it  might  not  be  an  escape,  but  it  is  your  home,  more  than  i—"  he  does  not  know  if  he  can  say  it.  "might  ever  be." it  aches  to  say  out  loud.  to  remind  himself  that  the  fairy  tale  he  had  dreamed  of  as  a  child  — to  have  a  beautiful  wife  at  his  side,  to  push  his  seed  into  her  and  watch  her  grow  round  with  a  child,  to  carry  that  child  against  his  chest  and  ride  them  through  the  sky  with  his  dragon,  for  them  to  be  happy  — might  never  be.  "except  i—"  there's  emotion  lodged  in  his  throat,  not  quite  courage,  but  an  ache  to  turn  his  head  to  her  as  he  speaks,  "i  wish  to  be  your  home."  a  confession  that  rattles  him  from  deep  within,  "i  would  like  you  to  find  comfort  at  my  side,  to  be  happy  to  call  me  your  husband  as  i  am  to  call  you  my  wife.  i  wish  to—"  and  the  most  vulnerable  crashes  out  of  him  as  his  fingers  dig  deeper  into  the  fabric  of  his  breeches,  "i  wish  to  give  you  children, i  wish  for  a  family  with  you.  little  ones  who  look  like  you  and  me,  though  more  like  you...  their  beautiful  mother."  through  the  haze,  a  gentle  smile  manages  to  curl  up  his  lips  slightly  at  the  image.  "i  have  only  hoped  you  would  want  that  as  well."  aemon  shakes  his  head,  "but  i  would  never  push  you.  it  is  why  i  have  told  you  to  go  back  home...  because  i  cannot  bear  to  see  you  unhappy  and  knowing  that  the  targaryen  name  is  part  of  that."  that  i  am  the  reason  why,  is  left  unsaid,  but  aemon  is  sure  it  does  not  need  to  be  to  understand.

IN ANOTHER LIFE, UNDER different circumstances... perhaps raya stark would have been exceptionally charming. clever with her words, enticing. but in this one ?? social interactions were a challenge. a constant burden - do not push too hard. mind your manners. watch your tone. you are already avoiding eye contact, find another way to connect. remain kind. mind your words... everyone does not need to know every wretched detail of your sight. keep it to yourself. breathe. social interactions were a chore. boys ?? more so. too strange, they called her. too quiet. too reserved. she should smile more. laugh more. speak more. should have been... more. more exciting, more outgoing, more of a stark. and yet - deep within her marrow, she was every bit a stark. was she not ?? loyal, honest, reliable. unyielding, exactly like the northern blizzards the north constantly endured. and yet... she had never truly had to worry about boys. for long before she could even register the warmth upon rosy cheeks at the sweetened words of a young northern lord, she had already been promised to her dragon prince. and what good would it bring anyone to entertain anything else when duty was constantly tightening its grasp around her ?? emerald hues flicker around their chambers slowly, tongue gliding over heart shaped lips in an effort to ease herself. he would see her image every time he closed his eyes ? the thought alone nudges warmth onto olive cheeks. in truth... there were many things she did not remember about their weddings. neither the one they had in king's landing nor the one in the north. tiny details that perhaps passed her in a sudden haze. overwhelming amounts of guests, decorations, everything had been too... perfect. and yet... during the coldest most lonely nights within her childhood chambers in winterfell - an image persisted. and every time... it was him. aemon targaryen, stood beneath the largest weirwood tree of their godswood. silver locks tamed in his usual shorter length, a sight amongst the snow - rosy cheeked and every bit the poised prince he doubted himself to be. a hand outstretched, offered in her direction just before he guided her away from avan. his certainty brings forth a smile, genuine - warm, perhaps even shy. she does not argue. not anymore. what would be the point ?? her husband was clearly convinced he was right. and who was she to insist that he was not ? small hands had been steady and firm against the muscles of his thighs - as though this was second nature. the sound that had slipped from his lips had done little to still her motions, rather, urged more. curiosity had bloomed within her, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly. hidden from his sight as her gaze remained locked on her work. and then... she had lost her composure. weakened her resolve. locked their gazes. raya had risked whatever fragile peace there had been between them. risked everything with that look. and... gods, she would do it again.

“it’s only a week,” she said softly. “and whatever comes of it, at least we have that time together.”

a faint smile touched her lips.

her gloved hands rested lightly upon the stone ledge beneath the window. beyond it, blackwater bay glittered beneath the late light, ships moving slowly through the harbor while the city below went on with its business, unaware of vows, whispers, and all the small cruelties noble life so easily called necessity. no, they knew true cruelties. a thought to keep her humble on her most miserable of days.

for a while, she said nothing at all.

then, as though the words had simply grown too heavy to keep, she let them out in a quiet breath.

“i’m to marry the lord blackwood, at the request of my family and his” she said.

the confession was plain, almost careful. there was no need to explain what kind of marriage it would be; janna knew too well the shape of such things, and knew her brother’s name would hover between them without needing to be spoken. wylla’s pale blue gaze remained fixed on the water.

a brief chill brushed the back of her neck, sharp and unwelcome, though the air had not changed. her fingers tightened once against the stone. she did not turn.

“i thought it best you heard it from me,” she added after a moment. “before the week begins in earnest.”

at last she looked back to janna, her expression composed, though something tired and fragile lingered just beneath it.

“i did not want to arrive here pretending nothing had changed,” she admitted. “and i did not want to make you listen to it in a room full of strangers.”

the corner of her mouth lifted, small and wry.

“it seems i am rather out of practice at speaking plainly about my own life.”

aemon  wonders  why  he  had  let  her  go  in  the  first  place.  why  he  let  her  leave  to  winterfell  without  him  as  he  knew  that  deep  down,  he  had  wished  to  remain  by  her  side  —  duty  or  not.  it  was  not  a  thought  that  came  to  him  often,  the  distance  between  them  had  been  something  he  let  fester  inside  of  him.  the  reminder  that  raya  had  wished  to  be  anywhere  but  with  him  in  the  hollowness  that  she  had  left  behind.  when  he  had  heard  of  his  father's  summoning  of  the  court,  he  knew  that  raya  would  be  forced  to  come  back  to  him,  to  put  a  smile  on  her  face  and  stand  as  a  united  front  of  a  house  targaryen  and  house  stark  union.  having  gone  to  their  marital  chambers  to  clean  the  place  up,  he  had  seen  the  dust  that  settled  upon  their  chests,  their  tables,  their  bed.  a  remembrance  that  her  presence  had  become  a  ghost  and  she  did  not  want  him.  (who  could?)  "it  would  please  me  greatly."  though  a  traitorous  thought  of  joining  her  in  the  bath  flashes  through  his  mind  and  he  has  to  will  it  away  before  it  chokes  him. what  had  been  exchanged  in  letters  could  have  meant  something,  but  the  distance  would  always  make  him  second  guess.  he  wished  for  a  happy  life  with  her  or  at  least  as  happy  as  they  could  make  it  with  a  forced  union.  he  wished  for  a  family,  but  why  would  she  wish  to  have  one  with  him?  a  broken  prince  that  no  one  seemed  to  care  about.  the  notions  settle  in  his  chest  at  her  words.  you  could  never  be  a  bother  me.  but  wasn't  he?  isn't  that  why  she  had  ran  from  him  back  to  her  home? he  does  his  best  to  banish  the  thought,  she  was  here  now.  that  is  what  should  matter  to  him  most.  she  was  finally  by  his  side  again,  she  would  finally  be  resting  in  the  same  bed  as  him,  he  would  finally  get  to  wake  up  to  her  and  feel  what  a  real  marriage  could  be  like  before  the  day  awoke  her  and  reminded  him  that  even  if  she  was  his  by  law,  he  did  not  have  her  heart.  "for  me?"  her  words  almost  make  him  stop  in  his  tracks,  to  turn  toward  her  and  drink  in  the  sight  of  his  house's  colors  that  she  had  worn  for  him.  that  is  what  she  said  right?  for  him.  he  had  been  known  to  hallucinate  at  times,  especially  when  the  pain  had  gotten  bad  enough,  but  his  legs  were  not  shaking  with  complete  exhaustion  yet,  so  she  had  to  have  meant  it.  "that  is—"  there  is  a  furious  flush  of  pink  tinting  his  cheeks,  so  much  so  that  he  cannot  look  at  her  right  now  lest  she  see  it.  mine,  mine,  mine,  is  rattled  around  in  his  skull.  "that  is  very  gracious  of  you,  my  lady.  they  look—"  he  sneaks  a  glance  before  sucking  in  a  breath  while  his  pupils  dilate,  "captivating  on  you." oh  how  he  wished  to  see  her  in  more  dresses  of  the  targaryen  colors.  not  for  the  dynasty,  but  for  him.  to  see  her  wrapped  in  silks  he  had  gifted  her,  it  would  be  the  most  glorious  sight  he  could  ever  think  of...  except  perhaps  that  of  her  swelling  large  with  his  babe,  but  now  was  not  the  time  to  think  of  that.  their  children  would  come  one  day,  or  so  he  had  hoped.  "there  is  no  mistake,  sweetling,"  aemon  gets  the  courage  to  look  at  her  as  the  doors  to  the  keep  open  before  them  and  they  step  through  to  the  cold  of  the  castle.  he  would  have  to  get  her  more  furs,  make  sure  they  had  enough  in  their  chambers  to  keep  her  warm.  "i  fear  i  have  married  the  most  beautiful  maiden,  it  must  be  unfair  to  other  lords  to  not  be  in  my  place."

HIS WORDS LINGER FAR longer than they should. emerald hues remain fixed firmly ahead of them as they walk, though every part of her is painfully aware of the sudden flush overtaking his features. raya had no reason to look at him to know it was there. she heard it plainly enough within the slight catch of his breath. within the way the words stumbled free of him. within the almost frantic attempt to compose himself afterward. she had worn the dress in hopes that he would like it. the realization sounds foolish now. childish, perhaps. and yet, watching him struggle to recover from such a simple admission made warmth bloom traitorously beneath her ribs. ❝ gracious seems far too formal a word for a husband. ❞ the observation leaves her softly. gently. because he was her husband, not some distant prince she was attempting to impress. though, judging by the way her stomach now twisted itself into knots, perhaps she had been attempting exactly that. no one had ever spoken to her this way. perhaps because no one had ever truly looked at her. not beyond the strange stark girl with downcast eyes and unsettling silences... and somehow - aemon always managed to make her feel seen in ways she could never properly explain. which was, perhaps, why she fought so hard to put distance between them. ❝ captivating ? ❞ a faint laugh escapes her before she can stop it. quiet, melodic, warm and entirely genuine. a word holding much more weight than even he perhaps intended… paired with the utterly ridiculous claim that she was somehow the most beautiful maiden in the seven kingdoms. ❝ then the realm is surely doomed. ❞ the corners of her lips twitch upward despite herself. ❝ because i suspect every lord in westeros would disagree with you. ❞ yet she does not argue nearly as fiercely as she should have. perhaps because some selfish, terrible part of her enjoyed hearing him say it - hearing him mean it. his next words do well to collapse every anxious little doubt she had spent constructing over the last several minutes. perhaps he did not desire solitude. perhaps he was not searching for a polite escape. perhaps… perhaps he simply wished to spend time with her. the thought settles quietly within her chest. precious enough that she finds herself almost afraid to touch it. by the time they arrive to the doors to their chambers, it feels as though they had walked these halls together for years. their chambers. something inside her twists unexpectedly. because for the first time she realizes how long it has been since she crossed this threshold. how long it has been since she occupied the same space as him. how long it has been since they attempted to be husband and wife rather than names exchanged through parchment. guilt settles in the depths of her stomach - they had been married a year and she had filled these halls with silence when they were meant to be blooming with children's laughter. she had left absence where her presence was demanded. she had failed in her duty to him, to his house, to her own house. and he had allowed it - perhaps because he hoped for her absence as much as she wished to be home.

❝ nor do your letters do your person justice. ❞ the echoed words leave her before she can stop them, too quickly - though no less soft. honest words. entirely meant - because they didn't. no amount of ink could ever properly capture the warmth of his hand. or the kindness in his voice. or the way he remembered the exact tea she preferred without ever needing to ask. only once she settles into the chair beside him does she finally relinquish his hand. and almost immediately finds herself missing it. attentive gaze follows the quiet exchange between prince and servant, watching from beneath her dark lashes as he dismisses the maid with the same gentle, unyielding patience he seemed to offer everyone fortunate enough to cross his path. it makes her stomach ache with a profound, hollow sorrow. because aemon targaryen offered kindness so freely to the world that perhaps he had none left for himself. emerald hues drift lower, tracking the deliberate shift of his body as he slides into the seat beside her. she watches the deep, straining pressure of his palms as they press firmly into his thighs, trying to force a desperate quiet into the subtle tension and the tremors still lingering within muscles he foolishly believed no one noticed. then came the mention of the salve. concern settles immediately within her, silent, instinctive and fierce. she says nothing of it while the servant remains. instead, she waits until the chamber door clicks shut behind emma and the heavy, unmoving quiet of the red keep finally settles around them once more. raya rises. the movement is entirely fluid, a silent rustle of dark fabric as she bypasses the space of the table entirely and sinks gracefully onto her knees directly before his chair. she does not ask for permission. instead, small hands move effortlessly to cover his own, her fingers sliding beneath his palms to gently yet firmly pry his tense grip away from his legs. curiosity swims in the mossy pools of her downcast eyes as she focuses strictly on the embroidery of his breeches. her palms replace his, applying a deep, practiced, and steady pressure into the knotted, aching muscles of his thighs. ❝ winterfell is always kind to its wolves. ❞ northern accent is thick even as her voice remains hushed. she pauses, her thumbs tracing the lines of his pain, offering the steady strength of her own frame to keep his legs from shaking beneath the weight of his exhaustion. slowly, her head turns just enough that her gaze flickers upward, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the furious, sudden flush of pink tinting his cheeks, though she avoids the dangerous, deep violet of his eyes. ❝ the capital feels far warmer than i remembered. ❞ a faint smile follows - one that slowly fades as his apology arrives. her husband was apologizing for something that was never his burden to carry - of course he was. ❝ you needn't apologize for your father's actions. ❞ her voice softens further. ❝ truthfully… i think i would have come regardless. ❞ and then - i hope that what little time we have together i can make it worth the journey. the words strike far deeper than he likely intended. because beneath them she hears something else. something quieter. something far more vulnerable. i hope i am enough. the northern woman stills - and it is then that instinct beats habit. bright hues lift, taken aback and for a moment - the green hues of raya stark meet the violet blues of aemon targaryen. any breath within her lungs ceases, heartbeat faltering as she all but recoils.

The smile lingering upon olynna's lips softened somewhat at the mention of the north. it was easy to forget, at times, that what felt like an immense journey to some had become routine to others. "perhaps i should have known better than to ask a woman who regularly travels between the north and the south if a journey was eventful." amusement touched her voice, gentle and unforced. "compared to that, the road from the vale seems rather unimpressive." her gaze drifted briefly toward the courtyard below before returning to the other woman. "fortunately, nothing of note." the answer came easily enough, though a thoughtful look followed. "which i suspect is precisely how most travelers prefer their journeys." there had been no accidents, no storms, no alarming messages delivered midway through the road. given the state of the realm, that alone felt like a blessing. "and how fares the north?" she asked. "i feel as though every conversation since arriving has been consumed by king's landing and the gathering itself. it would be nice to hear news from somewhere else for a change."

The voice was familiar enough that olynna turned before she had fully registered the words themselves. recognition came a moment later accompanied by a small smile that softened her features almost immediately. "lady raya," her gaze lingered briefly upon the other woman before drifting toward the wolf at her side. there was something oddly reassuring about finding familiar faces amongst the endless sea of arrivals even within a place as imposing as the red keep. "that is a rather bleak assessment for a celebration," amusement touched her voice though only lightly for she could not entirely disagree. following raya's gaze, olynna looked back toward the courtyard below where banners continued to arrive one after another. houses from every corner of the realm answering the same summons, carrying the same carefully arranged smiles and courtesies expected of them. "though i suspect there is some truth in it," the admission came quietly. her attention returned to raya then, curiosity surfacing beneath her polite composure. "how were your travels this far south? i hope nothing of note."

the red keep was overflowing. every corridor teemed with arriving nobles, every courtyard echoed with greetings and old rivalries renewed. wylla had slipped away from the worst of it, finding refuge in a quieter gallery overlooking blackwater bay. the harbor below was crowded with ships and banners, the city beyond shrouded in the haze of evening. she heard footsteps approaching and turned. for a moment, all the noise of the castle seemed to fall away. months had passed since she had last seen janna. long enough for seasons to change, long enough for letters to accumulate in neat bundles tied with ribbon, long enough that seeing her in the flesh felt strangely unreal. a softness settled over wylla's features that few others ever witnessed. "there you are," she said, crossing the distance between them. "i was beginning to suspect the capital had swallowed you whole." the corner of her mouth curved faintly and she pulled her friend into a tight hug, only pulling away when she knew there would be no tears of relief threatening to spill from her eyes. "i had forgotten how exhausting this all is," she admitted after a moment, stepping back towards the window she'd just occupied. "so many people. so many conversations." her gaze drifted briefly toward the harbor. tomorrow the celebrations would begin in earnest, along with all the expectations and obligations that accompanied them. and her betrothal. how she dreaded facing the reality that loomed ever closer as each day passed; the rest of her life, however long that may be, spent trapped in a half-burnt manor in the middle of nowhere with only a strange, absent man for company. the anxiety had kept her from discussing the arrangement with anybody besides the family that had coerced her into it. telling her closest confidant would only make it that much more real. perhaps the gods laughed at her, answering her prayers in such a way. "but you're here now," she said quietly, forcing herself to be rooted in the moment and relaxing her shoulders. "which makes the prospect considerably more bearable."

THE SMELL OF THE SEA HAD always been a poor camouflage for the stench of the harbor. janna had spent the better part of her arrival navigating the busy keep, stepping past the high born vanities and grand tapestries with that easy, practiced grace that always kept the court at an arms length. she had spent months trading ink and parchment with wylla, letters tied in neat ribbons that had served as her only true sanctuary during their time apart. to see her now, tucked away in the quiet of a gallery overlooking the darkened bay, brought a sudden grounding warmth to her chest that she had not even realized she had been searching for. the sudden rustle of skirts and the familiar lift of wylla's voice did well to push past every last bit of janna redwyne's resolve. there's a melodic like breathless laugh that spew from the heart shaped lips of the arbor's pearl, the distance between them closed. immediately, lithe frame melts entirely into the fierce, tight embrace of wylla.

raya's  hand  in  his  own  sent  a  warmth  through  him  that  could  rival  the  dragon  fire  melting  in  his  veins.  how  was  it  that  she  had  come  from  the  frigid  north,  but  could  be  so  warm  beneath  him?  it  makes  color  burn  on  his  cheeks,  something  he  attempts  to  will  away.  "there  is  nothing  you  could  trouble  me  with,"  it  is  so  unbearably  earnest,  aemon  would  have  gotten  a  look  of  disgust  from  at  least  one  sibling.  he  had  no  desire  to  treat  his  wife  with  disdain  as  expected  by  the  actions  of  his  father.  raya  already  had  to  deal  with  enough  when  it  came  to  their  union: a  spare  child,  one  that  could  give  her  nothing  beyond  a  higher  title  that  he  was  unsure  if  she  even  wanted.  their  distance  the  last  months  having  been  something  that  settled  heavy  within  his  chest  and  even  heavier  at  the  cold  on  the  side  of  the  bed  that  had  become  her  own. "you  must  be  tired  then,  my  wife.  would  you  like  me  to  have  the  maids  warm  you  a  bath  before  bed?"  concern  flashes  in  deep  violet  eyes  while  his  eyebrows  knit  together,  the  thumb  that  held  her  hand  in  his  own  began  to  brush  along  her  skin  in  a  gesture  that  came  upon  him  subconsciously.  aemon's  attention  only  leaves  her  when  a  brown  tuft  of  fur  is  pushing  against  his  side.  echo  was  a  welcoming  comfort  to  him.  not  a  replacement  what  stormcry  had  meant  to  him,  nothing  could  ever  replace  his  beloved  dragon,  but  echo  was  a  poultice  pressed  on  to  mend  it.  the  hand  that  was  not  occupying  his  wife's  own  reached  down  to  scratch  fingers  through  the  wolf's  fur,  a  gentle  smile  curling  at  aemon's  lips  as  he  pet  the  creature,  "hello,  sweet  boy,  it  is  wonderful  to  see  you."

THE SUBTLE SHIFT OF HIS thumb against her skin was a sudden, grounding current. still, emerald hues remain anchored to the gold threaded patterns of his sleeves as his fingers traced the sensitive back of her hand. his touch was entirely devoid of the cold, calculated detachedness she had come to expect from the royal family. instead, it carried that same agonizingly honest warmth that had always made her throat tighten. there is nothing you could trouble me with. the words vibrated against the heavy, humid air of the courtyard, so vulnerably spoken that it made her chest ache with a sudden, suffocating intensity. and suddenly, painfully, even - she was reminded that it was her who carried the true weight of their distance. it was her that had insisted on returning to winterfell. despite knowing, deep within her bones, that her place should remain at his side. they were married - surely a year of marriage meant they were to have children soon. did he not want children ?? why would a prince not want heirs ?? or did he not want them with her ??? doll like features remain soft despite the turmoil within, mind spinning with the tragic weight of everything left unsaid between them. his voice does well to pull her from her thoughts, further grounding her, claiming her attention in a way that would surely ice the very blood within her veins, if she allowed herself a moment to decipher it. ❝ the water will only grow cold - i mean to sit with my husband… should it please him. ❞ raya breathes softly, persistent, even while gentle. green gaze takes in her husband's frame as he leans down to greet echo. the sight brings forth a sharp hitch of her breath. slowly, the dark haired woman forces a shaky breath into her lungs, curiosity swimming in the mossy pools of the northern seer as she studies the way that pale silver strands catch the blinding afternoon light as aemon bends toward the great beast. digits sink effortlessly into the wolf's thick, brown tinted fur. echo, who routinely snapped at the heels of the king's own knights, merely leaned into the touch, a soft chuff escaping his jaws as he nudged affectionately against the prince's shaking frame. it was, without a doubt, a scene that could melt the very frost within winterfell.

EMERALD ORBS SHIFT AS HE extends a hand in her direction. such a simple gesture. such an ordinary thing. yet somehow it felt impossibly intimate. perhaps because neither of them had ever been particularly skilled at ordinary things. she studies the gentle lines of his palm, avoiding the green tide of her sight that threatened to thin the barrier between his present and his ghost. she simply could not look. and yet, before she truly thought about it, before caution could arrive to remind her of all the reasons she should not need the comfort of his presence, her own hand moved. small fingers slipped into his - effortlessly. almost... naturally. in a way that made her stomach sink. it was not until the warmth of his hand settled around hers that she seemed to realize what she had done. a faint blink followed... the slightest widening of emerald eyes. embarrassment threatened. something softer arrived first. something infinitely worse. something that made winterfell suddenly feel much farther away than it had moments before. ❝ my heart... i meant not to trouble you. ❞ her voice is softer, impossibly so. surely he had other things to do than to greet her upon arrival. still, lithe frame slips from the carriage, hand still resting within his. heavy fabrics seem to act as the very last physical barrier between herself and the world. still... his touch is relentless in attempting to melt right through the armor. gracefully, the lady steps onto the stone courtyard, dark curls falling loose around her shoulders as echo shifts restlessly somewhere behind her.

their  silent,  stilted  trek  through  the  keep  wound  them  through  to  the  gardens,  so  far,  the  most  quiet  place  erena  had  managed  to  find.  a  sort  of  nervous  energy  had  crept  to  lodge  both  in  pit  of  her  stomach  and  notched  in  their  throat  since  the  decree  had  been  received.  in  the  bowels  of  the  targaryens'  keep  it  had  risen  to  a  peak  that  left  them  feeling  close  to  choked ;  quick  steps  from  the  allotted  chambers  before  anyone  could  say  otherwise.  bustling  bodies  streaming  in  either  direction  dodged  easily,  face  downturned  as  they  first  reached  what  looked  to  be  the  kitchens,  out  to  the  foliage  lining  each  sides  of  them.  it  was  the  first  true  breath  they  had  taken  since  leaving  the  dreadfort,  inhaled  deep  and  caught  somewhere  between  nostrils  and  mouth  when  she  realized  they  had  nearly  walked  upon  another.  “  my  apologies,  my  liege.  ”

THE GARDENS WERE THICK WITH THE SCENT of southern summer. raya had spent the better part of her morning melting into the green shadows of the foliage, a quiet ghost trying to outrun the suffocating weight of bustling royal court. near her skirts, echo’s breath was a low, familiar rhythm against the stone, his pale eyes cutting through the foreign brush. the sudden rustle of silk and a sharp intake of breath shattered the heavy stillness of the paths. raya didn't look up. she kept her green eyes trained strictly downcast, focusing entirely on the travel-stained leather of the newcomer's boots, the lines of their frame. the familiar, stilted cadence of the voice struck her chest like a physical blow. six years of human absence evaporated into the humid capital air in a single, breathless phrase. erena. the chosen cousin of her youth who had been torn between a false home and a bitter father. careful hues take in their features, studying them curiously. still, she avoids her gaze.

The journey south had been long enough that by the time the gates of the red keep finally opened before them olynna found herself slowing almost unconsciously. perhaps it was the realization that nearly every notable noble in the realm would soon be gathered beneath the same roof. the thought was enough to make anyone uneasy. her gaze drifted upward as she crossed into the keep proper, lingering briefly upon crimson walls and familiar towers. king's landing remained much as she remembered it. vast, crowded and alive. yet beneath the movement and excitement surrounding the arrivals she could not quite shake the feeling that everyone had arrived carrying something heavier than their belongings. for a moment she simply watched the endless stream of arrivals passing through the gates, banners from every corner of westeros appearing one after another. "i wonder," she mused aloud, more to herself than anyone in particular, "if anyone is truly looking forward to this." the words escaped accompanied by a quiet laugh. perhaps it was not the safest thought to voice within the red keep but by the time she realized as much, it was already too late.

𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒 as 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀