k ⟡ ݁₊ .

“Get this baby out of me!” You cry just wanting the pain to stop and to be able to hold your baby in your arms. “You are never touching me again!”

“Fuck!” Rhaenyra interjects shouting at the midwives. “You’re such a cunt!”

“As you wish my love.” Gwayne says knowing you’ll change your mind but willing to do anything you ask.

“One more push princess.” Both you and Rhaenyra’s midwives say in unison. Both you and your sister screaming while you push Gwayne between you both. Both of his hands being squeezed beyond belief.

“It’s a boy.” Rhaenyra’s midwife says wrapping the crying babe in a blanket before passing him to his mother.

“It’s a girl.” Your midwife says not even a moment after, doing the same with your babe. Gwayne being given both baby’s while you and Rhaenyra deliver the afterbirth.

-

“Princess’? The queen wishes to see the babes.” An apocalyptic servant says from the doorway, feeling guilty for just following orders. Her having waited a few more minutes after the screams stoped before entering. “I can take them.”

“No I’m taking my son myself.” Rhaenyra responds stubbornly, sharing a look with the midwives at the queens audacity. Just about to attempt getting up when Gwayne stops her.

“Rhaenyra don’t you dare get up.” Your husband commands, not willing to let any of this slide. Consequences be damed. “Tell my sister that if she’s so desperate to see them she can use her legs and walk to us.”

“Ser-.” The maid attempts to interject before getting interrupted by Gwayne. Him giving the girl a look, almost as if daring her to test him.

“Go.” He demands not giving her an opinion to argue back. “And send Daeron in while you’re at it I know he’s hiding behind the door.”

“Muña! Nyra!” Daeron whisper shouts having been told multiple times that when he sees you after the birth he has to be quiet. Him claiming up into bed with you and your sister. The sheets having been changed and most remnants of labor cleaned up.

“Hello darling.” You say softly to your eldest, he may be your brother by blood but he’s your son by love. “Do you want to see your sister?”

“You know the queen won’t be happy?” Rhaenyra says to her brother by law, noticing him poke his head out the door and send a servant away. Before he makes his way back to her side, leaving Daeron to talk with you while he checks on your sister.

“My sister should know better than to make a woman who’s just giving birth walk that far or at all.” He says back, disappointed in his sister. She used to be kind, but that’s what living with Otto will get you he thinks. Knowing if not for his father his sister would be much better off.

“She’ll say she gave the option of a servant taking the babe.” Rhaenyra counters worried about the fall out.

“And I will say just because she’s fine not caring for her child doesn’t mean we are.” He whispers into Rhaenyra’s ear, not wanting Daeron to overhear. “He’s adorable, boy number three.” He says more loudly, making your son think he was just talking about the new babes. “He’ll make a remarkable knight one day.”

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra smiles happy her sister has such a kind and loving husband.

“Are you ready to move to your apartments?” The midwife asks you and Rhaenyra, thinking you’d both be more comfortable there than the birthing chamber.

“I’ll help muña.” Daeron offers wanting to help in anyway he can.

“Thank you darling.” You say softly knowing there’s nothing your son can really do apart from just be with you but that’s more than enough.

-

“Laenor is helping Rhaenyra back to their apartments.” Gwayne tells you as soon as he enters yours. Him knowing that’s the first thing you’ll ask, you loving your sister. “I’ve also made it clear I’m the one who denied Alicent her ‘request’ so Rhaenyra shouldn’t get in too much trouble.”

“Thank you my love.” You say giving him a quick kiss when he bends down to look at the babe in your arms. Daeron having been telling you some of the things he did with his cousins, him being a similar age to Luke.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Gwayne asks the boy, you having agreed he can help name your newborn. Wanting Daeron to be reassured that he’s still important to you.

“Aemma.” Daeron says having been speaking with Jace and Luke about ideas. All three boys thinking their mothers would like that and Rhaenyra confirming that would be a good choice.

“I love it.” You say, looking down at the little girl in your arms, her having little tufts of sliver and copper hair already on her head. “Princess Aemma Hightower.”

You’re intrupted from continuing your conversation when the guard opens the door and announces your father and his wife. “The king and queen.”

“Father.” You greet offerings him a weak smile, still unsure how to act around him all these years later after he caused you mother and brother’s death.

“A girl I hear!” He says excitedly, having just come from meeting baby Joffrey. “Marvellous news, have you picked a name?”

“Aemma, after mother.” You explain letting him look at the girl.

“She’d like that.” He says softly, looking at the girl who’s already the perfect mix of you and Gwayne.“Alicent what do you think?”

“Lovely.” She says tightly, silently seething after what you, Rhaenyra and Gwayne did. It ruining her plans of humiliating you both. “Gwayne may I speak with you?”

“Now isn’t a good time, my wife having just given birth and all.” Gwayne says passive aggressively, not having looked at his sister since she entered.

“Muña do you want a cupcake?” Daeron asks innocently, him thinking you might be hungry. Completely forgetting he’s in the presence of his birth parents. “I did them with Luke and Jace after getting the egg!”

“Ohh cake can I have one?” Your father asks the boy, only thinking of cake.

“Yes grandsire.” Daeron says sweetly taking two cakes from the table and giving you the best looking one.

“He’s your father remember darling? Like Alicent is your mother.” You correct, not wanting anymore issues today. Taking the cake of the boy and offering him a thank you.

“No, you and Kepa are my mother and father.” He responds, tilting his head to the side. Knowing it’s true but viewing you and Gwayne as his real parents.

“Daeron-.”

“I’m fine being the boys Grandsire, you two have raised him.” Visarys says interrupting his wife without realising or caring. “Now about this cake.”

-

“How dare you.” Alicent shouts at her brother, him having been ignoring her for the past few days. Him refusing to leave your side. “I’m your queen!”

“Yes, but before that you will always be my little sister who’s treating my wife and her sister horribly!” He shouts back, not caring that Cristian Cole is in the corner glaring at him.

“You don’t get to speak to me that way!”

“I apologise for speaking facts your grace, however I do not apologise for protecting women as that’s part of my vow as a knight and husband.” He snaps, fed up with the whole thing. Looking forward to when you’re healed and you can go back home to oldtown.

“Leave, you’ve turned my son against me!” Alicent screams, hating that her son loves you so much. Not thinking about the fact you’re the one who’s raised him while she was busy plotting with her father.

“No, you turned him against you by sending him away in the first place! And even then you could have written or tried to visit! We’re only here because Rhaenyra asked us to! You haven’t written since his 2nd name day!”

“You can’t speak to the queen like that.” Cristian Cole says in an attempt of a threatening tone, instead Gwayne just finds him pathetic.

“Oh fuck off Cole.” Gwayne snaps rolling his eyes while he leaves not bothering to ask his sister’s permission.

-

“We’re going back to oldtown tomorrow.” You say to Rhaenyra while you sit together having tea, watching the boys play outside. Joffrey and Aemma both sleeping in their mother’s arms. “He loves being with you and the children but, Alicent and her sons just upset him.”

“I understand that.” She says a selfish part of her wanting you to stay but knowing it for the best. You deserving to be happy. “I’m thinking of moving to dragonstone but I don’t wish to leave father and laenor wants to stay.”

“That’s understandable, I hope you two can come to an agreement.”

“Me too, we’ll come and visit you soon though.” She says changing the subject, not wanting to dwell. “The boys adore Daeron and Gwayne.”

All of Westeros had seen the signs. The threats, the conspiracies. From the day Prince Aegon was born, the realm readied itself for war. The realm knew Rhaenyra would not back down, not surrender what was hers by right. And so alliances were made, talks of war and preparations for what was to come. 

But despite all that preparation, House Targaryen still seemed blind to it. Still acted as if war had not been on the horizon for two decades. A blindness House Hightower lacked. They knew how to prepare, how to make alliances that solidified their house and battlements more so than they should in what was so-called peacetime. 

You had been a part of those alliances. Wed for your family’s soldiers and gold, wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower, the queen's brother and a man you slowly began to love. But love did not protect you from the arising war. Nor did it protect you from the truth of what was to come. Of the fact that your husband would fight and most likely die for a cause he did not believe in but duty bound him to. 

It was those very things that plague your dreams. Nightmares of death, of fire and war replaced dreams that once calmed you. Dreams full of your husband and the life you wished to have. Dreams that plagued you even as the night faded to morning. Dreams that even the comfort of your husband's arms could not ease.

And as time went by and the inevitable war drew closer, the small comfort of your husband faded as his face, of his life fading before your eyes, became the nightmare that haunted you the most. 

Soon his dying face was all you could picture, and him dead was all you saw whenever you looked at him. 

You distanced yourself. Not all at once, just slowly. Avoiding dinners and lunches where you could. Going to bed either before or after Gwayne, for fear of seeing his face and his death replaying over and over in your mind. Avoiding sitting in the gardens where you once spent every moment you could, knowing that that’s where Gwayne would always run into you.

But no matter how much you avoided your husband and your feelings and fears, the nightmares never stopped, the death and fear haunted you day and night. Haunted your every word and every step to the point where your avoidance of your husband and the thought of his demise led you to move chambers and to mend your schedule to avoid his every move. Fear of what would come, fear that he would die, led you to distance yourself. 

Fear that the love you bore him was too deep that you mourned his death before the war you feared would cause it even began. 

You had always struggled with your emotions. Always feared confronting them and instead chose to keep them bottled up. You avoided everything, a bad habit you had developed over the years. And Gwayne, who had never been at the receiving end of your avoidance, had always strived to make you comfortable and loved to the point where you hadn’t bottled anything up since the day you had wed. Not once had you avoided your husband, but this sudden change, avoiding his every move to the point you moved from the chambers you had shared since the day you had married him, not once spending the night apart. And that change, that decision to separate yourself from your husband entirely, it destroyed you both.

It took two weeks for Gwayne to snap. 

He had tried to give you space, it was what you craved, even if you did not tell him. He did not know why you needed space, let alone from him. But he had known you were suffering. Had seen the signs, had watched you closely even when you tried to change your entire day to avoid him. And he had let you, much to his chagrin. But his cousin Ormund had said it was what was best, that the woman needed it from time to time. Though Ormund's opinions were hardly worth listening to, especially when it came to you. 

But he had listened, at least at first, had allowed Ormund's words to guide him, for hope that space was what you needed. 

But two weeks of space, two weeks of not seeing you, of not holding you in his arms, of kissing your sweet lips. It damn near drove Gwayne mad. 

He went to your chambers that evening, determined to speak to you, to see you, to spend time in your company even if you refused to speak.

He had waited until after dinner, waited until your maids were dismissed before he wandered over. His feet moved swiftly through the halls of the tower, eager to see his wife, even if just for a moment.

“Wife,” he greeted, startling you slightly as he stepped into your chambers. He had readied himself for bed and had forced a look of determination on his face, eager to solve whatever issues haunted you and stopped him from giving you the love and affection he craved.

“Gwayne, I-” Your eyes darted to him, a panicked look on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you,” he stated, walking towards you, a kind smile on his face, but a look of determination in his eyes.

“Why?” You asked, stepping away from Gwayne, hoping the distance would stop the flashes of his dying face from appearing. 

“I have missed you, and I no longer wish to be parted from you.” Gwayne breathed, following after your evasive movements, “I know not what has caused you to distance yourself from me. If I have done anything wrong i do apoligise, i did not mean it, and I shall repent I-”

“You have done nothing,” you breathed, your hand reaching his cheek, caressing it softly as he now stood before you, unshed tears in both your eyes. “I promise you, my love, this…distance is not because of your actions i- i just need space i… You need to leave, please, leave”

“No,” Gwayne shook his head, his heaving moving to rest on your shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around you, “I'm not leaving, not until we talk…please, whatever it is, let me help you.”

“No,” you shook your head, your hands on Gwayne's shoulders as if to push him off you, but you couldn’t. You needed him; you wanted him and loved every second of his comfort, and the short respite it gave you from the nightmares that haunted you.” I need you to leave, please…I can’t…I can’t-”

Gwayne's grip on you tightened, holding you to him as tears began to fall through your body. “Please, Gwayne, I can’t. Let me go.” A sigh fell from his lips, but he did so, kissing the tears away from your cheeks as his arms fell to his side.

“I'm not leaving you, you need me just as I need you, whether you are ready to admit it or not.”

“No, I-”

“I will follow you if you leave, I am not parting from you. I cannot bear it,” he breathed, cradling your face and wiping the stray tears that remained

“Fine,” you nodded, leading Gwayne to bed, both of you knowing you would not talk tonight. But for Gwayne, it was the start of you trusting him with whatever was wrong, hoping that a night's sleep by his side would help whatever troubled you. But for you, you feared this night would only make matters worse.

You awoke with a scream on your lips.

You had tried to stay awake, thought every urge to settle intoy our husbands arm, to sleep beside him in hope his company may offer the respite you had prayed space would give you. But instead, after hours of watching the rise and fall of your husband's chest, watching as he nuzzled into you, grasping any part of his body that he could reach, you had surrendered to the realm of sleep and were once again haunted by fire, dragons and the screams and slaughter of thousands. 

“My love,” soft arms wrapped around your body, your name and sweet nothings whispered into your ears, soothing and pulling you out of the hellscape of your dreams. 

“Gwyane,” you cried, turning to bury yourself into his chest as sobbs once again wracked through your body. He shushed you, rocking you gently until your cries eased and the breath you hadn't realised you lacked returned to your body and your breathing returned to normal. “Gwayne,” you breathed into him, settling yourself in his lap as he patiently waited for you to speak. “I- I'm scared.” 

“Scared? My love, whatever for? Whatever has happened?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss to your brow, then down to your cheeks.

“I-” the words were on the tip of your tongue, but the words refused to leave you, even as Gwayne pressed soft kisses across your skin. 

“Tell me, my love, what plagues you?”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to look at Gwayne. “I fear…I fear war and death,” a tear fell from your cheeks as you spoke, only to be kissed away by Gwayne, “your death…I see it every time I close my eyes, even when I open them, but most of all when I look at you, I see death, your face being swallowed by fire.”

“My love,” Gwyane began, gripping your chin towards him, a soft kiss pressed to your lips, “there is no war-”

“But there will be; we've all seen the signs. The talks.”Your breath stuttered, “You will be dragged into it, and I shall lose you.”

“My darling,” Gwayne's hands caressed your cheek, kissing you softly once more, “you cannot fear what may never come, it shall destroy you” Gwayne's own breath stuttered as he took in your stress, the fear of war, of his death and what had become of you. “My love, my sweet girl, I assure you, if war is to come…then not even the gods could keep me away from you. Yes, I may  have to do my duty and fight, but I shall return from every battle with your favour in hand, protecting me from the swords of villainous men.” Gwayne soothed, the truth and promise of his words clear to you both, “i will not let you loose me, not before i am old and grey, passing in my slumber with you by my side,” gwayne kissed your lips, “i promise,”

You closed your eyes, letting the words sink in. “You do? You promise it?”

He nodded, tugging you impossibly close to him. “I promise you, I am here, with you now, and I am going nowhere,” he breathed, his arms untangling from you and laying you softly on the bed. “Let me show you the meaning of my words.”

You smiled, your hands reaching from him, pulling him over you, letting his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. The kiss was slow and soft, full of his love and devotion, as they moved against you. Your hands reached for his hair, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck as he moved to place soft kisses across your jaw, his hands reaching for the straps of your nightgown, letting the straps fall from your arms as his mouth descended from your jaw to your neck, soft, hated kisses pressed into your skin. 

Reaching your breasts, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and his hand toyed with the other, before letting go of your breasts with a soft pop, a groan falling from your lips as he crawled down your body, pulling the rest of your slip off, leaving you bare before him. 

“Will you let me taste you?” he pleaded, his head level with your cunt, his breath hot against it, your cunt slick with need. A soft moan fell from your lips as he spoke against you, the pleading in his eyes making you let out a wanton moan. 

“Please, touch me, husband, please.” 

Gwayne needed little more before his lips descended onto your cunt, feasting on you like a man starved. His thumb circled your clit in soft circles as his tongue swiped through your folds.

“Gwayne,” you moaned in pleasure as he placed another lick down your slit. “Oh gods,” you moaned, as his fingers reached to spread your folds, groaning at the sight of how wet you were. His tongue placed another long lick across the length of your folds. His thumb still circling your clit as his tongue began to feast on you, lapping at your cunt as he feasted on you. Loud moans tore through you, as his tongue moved to your whole, fucking into yo. The coil in your stomach tightened as pleasure rocketed through you. Your hands flying to Gwyanes hair, tugging him as he feasted on you. His own groans vibrated through you, the feeling of your peak washing over you, causing your back to arch off the bed, as you came with a scream. 

Gwayne broke away from your cunt hesitantly, rising up your body, his eyes darkened with lust but no less filled with the love and reassurance he craved to give you. 

“I need you, Gwayne, please,” you pleaded, face flush from pleasure as your hand reached to ride him off his own clothes, craving the feeling of his skin against yours. His lisp met yours once more, the kiss heated, as his chest met yours, both of you wanting to be as close to each other as possible, as his cock lined up with your entrance, pushing into you with a whimper against your lips.

His hands gripped your waist as he pressed into you, holding you close to him as your bodies moved as one. Pleasure filled your bodies, your lips never once breaking apart. Your moans swallowed by his whimpers as he pressed into you. Filling you perfectly as he thrusted into you softly. 

You came quickly, the feeling of him, after denying yourself the love of your husband for too long, the feeling of him loving you, filling you with his cock and reassurance of his love, causing you to peak. 

Your lips broke away from him as you peaked, cuming with a loud moan, as Gwyans lips moved to your neck, sucking softly on your skin as he felt your cunt flutter around him, his hands moving to grip your waist as he worked on his own peak, coming with a whimper, mumbled by the softness of your skin.

He collapsed onto you, his body settling onto o yours as he pressed kisses across every inch of skin he could reach. “ I love you,” he repeated like a mantra, holding you close as you faded off to sleep. Watching you and hoping no more nightmares came. 

And for the first time in weeks, you slept soundly in a dreamless sleep.

Not arrogant. Never that. Just settled, in the way people are when they've already survived the worst version of a question and come out the other side of it.

He hadn't always been that way, though.

He remembered being eight, sitting on the floor of his bedroom with a split lip and dirt still ground into the knees of his trousers, shoulders shaking with the effort of not crying. He remembered the door opening, and quickly scrubbing his sleeve across his face, and how his mother had known immediately anyway.

I didn't lose, he'd told her.

I never asked if you did.

He'd tried to explain it that some boy at school had said Jace couldn't possibly be Laenor's son, not really, not when he didn't look a thing like him. Rhaenyra had gone very still for a moment, the way she did when she was deciding how much truth a person could hold.

Then she'd taken his small hands in hers and told him the truth anyway. That his biological father had been a man named Harwin Strong, who had loved him very much, but who had passed away before Jace and his brothers were even old enough to properly remember his face. That Laenor was still his father in every way that mattered, because Laenor was the one who'd stayed awake through nightmares, who'd taught him to swim because he was terrified of the deep end, who had looked at him the day he was born and said, simply, he's beautiful.

Blood doesn't make a father, she'd told him, cupping his tiny face in both hands. Love does.

He had believed her. He still did, thirteen years later. The whispers about his features, brown curls where there should have been silver, ordinary eyes where there should have been that unmistakable Valyrian violet, had eventually faded into something he barely registered anymore.

Or so he'd thought, until the afternoon you brought home a magazine.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

You'd arrived at his flat practically glowing, a glossy issue of Rogue clutched against your chest like you'd just won something.

"I finally found it," you announced, dropping onto the sofa beside him without any warning, already flipping it open across your lap.

Jace looked up from his laptop, smiling before he'd even fully processed what you'd said. "Hm?"

"The newest issue. My favourite actress is on the cover."

You talked while you flipped through the pages, filling the room with easy, unhurried chatter about filming locations in Italy and a rescue dog she'd apparently just adopted and a dress you thought was, in your exact words, criminally good. Jace didn't follow half of it but he liked it anyway, liked the sound of your voice more than the content of what it was saying, liked watching your face light up over things he'd never have cared about on his own.

Then you gasped.

"Oh, I didn't know they interviewed him too."

He glanced over, more out of habit than curiosity, and felt something in his chest go quietly, unpleasantly tight.

A full page spread of his uncle Aegon looked back at him. Expensive tailored suit. Silver blond hair styled to look effortless, which it absolutely was not. Pale lilac eyes catching the studio lighting like the camera had been built specifically to flatter him.

Young Entrepreneur of the Year, the headline read, and privately Jace thought that if anyone in that family had actually earned the title, it was Aemond, who did the real work while his older brother smiled for photographers and accepted the credit.

You didn't know any of that, of course. You just kept scanning the article, murmuring something about how ridiculously photogenic he was, how well that whole family photographed in general, the lighting, the styling, all of it.

Jace stared at the page. Silver hair. Purple eyes. The exact same features that ran through his mother, through Laenor, through nearly everyone he'd ever sat across a dinner table with.

Everyone except him and his brothers.

Alicent's voice surfaced in his memory before he could stop it, unbidden and unwelcome. Such a shame, isn't it. The poor boy didn't inherit any of the family's beauty.

He hadn't thought about that sentence in years. He resented that it had apparently just been waiting for him.

Would someone like her rather have someone who looked like that?

He hated the thought the second it appeared. Hated himself a little for thinking it at all. Before he'd properly decided to do anything, his hand had already reached over, closed the magazine, and sent it flying across the room.

You blinked. "...Did you just throw away my magazine?"

"Maybe."

"I paid 1 silver stag for that."

"I know."

"You just launched it across the room."

"I did."

"Why?"

He opened his mouth but nothing useful came out, because what was he supposed to say. Sorry, I got irrationally jealous of my own uncle because a decade old insecurity just woke up without warning.

"...I panicked," he settled on.

"You panicked… at journalism?"

He nodded, solemnly, as though this were a reasonable answer.

You stared at him for a long moment before you burst out laughing, calling him a weirdo, asking if he'd genuinely been jealous of glossy paper. His ears went pink immediately, which only made you laugh harder. He denied it. You didn't believe him. Eventually you crawled across the sofa, nudged his shoulder with yours, and pinched his cheek.

"My pretty boy," you said.

His heart stumbled slightly. "...Really?"

"Jace. I've been dating you for months. I think that answer should be obvious."

You kissed the corner of his mouth and went back to your magazine, entirely unbothered, and the knot in his chest loosened. Not all the way. Just enough that he could ignore it for a while.

He didn't know yet that it wouldn't be the last time.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

The real trouble started, as most things in that family did, because Rhaenyra forgot to mention one small detail.

"Mother invited us for dinner," Jace said, grabbing his keys off the counter. "Just a quiet evening."

"I'm finally meeting your family properly?"

"You've met Luke and Joffrey."

"They kidnapped me for bubble tea. That barely counts."

"They like you."

"They interrogated me about how I really like you or was it the money."

Jace nearly dropped his keys. "...They what."

"They're sweet," you said, slipping your hand into his as you headed for the door, laughing at his expression. "Terrors, but sweet and making sure I wasn’t some gold digger."

The drive over was easy, your hand resting in his the whole way, music low through the speakers. Neither of you suspected a thing, right up until Jace opened the penthouse door and his smile simply vanished.

"...Oh."

You peered around him and froze.

It wasn't a quiet family dinner. It was the ENTIRE FUCKING family. Viserys settled comfortably in an armchair with a cup of tea. Daemon sprawled across the sofa like he'd personally paid for it. Baela and Rhaena setting the table. Helaena curled by the window with her cat in her lap. Luke and Joffrey wrestling over the remote. Aemond by the balcony doors, absorbed in his phone. Aegon stealing appetizers straight from the kitchen counter. Otto (who the fuck even invited him?) deep in conversation with Viserys about something political. And Alicent, wine glass in hand, wearing the expression of a woman who very much wished she were somewhere, anywhere, else.

"I swear to you," Jace whispered, "I had no idea."

You squeezed his hand. "I know."

"You do?"

"You have the worst poker face I have ever seen in my life."

Relief crossed his face so fast it was almost funny. "Thank you."

Before either of you could retreat back toward the elevator, which you were both, quietly, considering, a voice cut through the apartment like a siren.

"OLDER BROTHER JACE IS HERE!" Joffrey bellowed, pointing dramatically at the two of you. "AND HE BROUGHT HIS GIRLFRIEND!"

Every single head turned at once.

The silence that followed was the kind you could feel in your jaw. You raised your free hand in a small, painfully awkward wave.

"...Hello- Uh- Hi."

Nobody spoke. You considered, briefly and seriously, whether the floor might simply open and swallow you.

Then Rhaenyra blinked, and her whole face transformed. She crossed the room so quickly you barely had time to brace before she'd taken both your hands in hers.

"So you're the lovely girl," she said warmly. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. Jacaerys talks about you far more than he'd ever admit."

"Mother."

"You do," Luke chimed in helpfully.

"Constantly," Joffrey agreed.

"He smiled at his phone for ten minutes yesterday," Luke added. "It was embarrassing."

"It was disgusting," Aegon called from the kitchen, not even looking up from the appetizers.

Jace pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I'm leaving."

"No you're not," Daemon said lazily, without opening his eyes. "You brought entertainment."

Before Jace could formulate a defense, Baela had already appeared, looping her arm through yours. "There she is. So this is the famous girlfriend."

Rhaena arrived a half second later. Helaena drifted over more quietly, studying your earrings with real interest.

"I like your earrings," she said.

"Oh, thank you."

"They're little stars. They remind me of the night sky. I like stars."

"I noticed," you said, smiling, and Helaena looked pleased in a way that felt like a small, private victory.

Before you'd fully registered what was happening, you had been deposited onto the sofa between Baela and Rhaena, and the questions began arriving from every direction at once.

How did you two meet. Who confessed first. Who kissed who first. Has he written you poetry.

Across the room, Jace groaned. "Oh no."

"Save yourself," Luke advised solemnly. "There is no saving anyone once those three start."

You laughed, a little nervously, and did your best to answer everything while Baela stole your phone to look through your photos and Rhaena gasped theatrically at something on it. Meanwhile Jace had slipped, almost against his will, into older brother mode, standing between Aegon and Luke to prevent whatever low grade argument was brewing between them, even though privately he wanted to throttle Aemond himself for something said twenty minutes earlier that he'd already half forgotten.

A part of you, watching all of this unfold, felt faintly like you'd wandered into a room full of supermodels who happened to also be a family. Every single one of them was, infuriatingly, beautiful.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Rhaenyra found you again not long after, this time in the kitchen, gently but firmly informing you that guests were not permitted to help with dinner.

"I promise I'm capable of chopping vegetables without losing a finger," you said, already reaching for the knife regardless.

"That's not the point."

"I don't feel like a guest."

Apparently that was the correct answer, because five minutes later the two of you were standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter anyway, Rhaenyra sliding a tray into the oven while you worked through a pile of peppers beside her.

"You know," she said, glancing fondly toward the dining room, where Luke was currently attempting to balance three dinner rolls on top of Joffrey's head, "I've been trying to get my boys to help me cook for years."

"They don't?"

"Oh, they try." She laughed. "They're just enthusiastic."

"That's a diplomatic way of putting it."

"They have good hearts, though." Her expression softened as she watched them. Then, with no real change in tone, as though she were asking about the weather: "So. What do you see in my eldest?"

You nearly choked on your own laugh. "Oh."

"Don't 'oh' me. I'd genuinely like to know."

You looked through the doorway. Jace was still stationed between Aegon and Luke, hands raised placatingly, trying to referee an argument that had apparently escalated to include a butter knife.

"I don't know," you said slowly, and then, more honestly, "everything just feels easy with him. I've never had to pretend to be anything I'm not. He listens. He remembers little things, if I mention I like a certain chocolate once, it just shows up on my desk during exam week without me asking. He always walks on the side closest to the road. He sends me good morning messages every single day, even when he saw me the night before. He pretends he doesn't like horror movies, even though I know he secretly does, because he always asks if we can watch another one right after."

A fond laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

"And I've never once doubted that he loves me."

Rhaenyra had gone quiet beside you, her eyes suspiciously bright. "That sounds like my Jacaerys," she said finally, smiling. "He gets that from his father."

You opened your mouth to ask which one she meant, but before you could, Viserys wandered into the kitchen, and the question dissolved into the next moment before you'd found the words.

"There you are," he said kindly.

You straightened instinctively. "Mr. Viserys-"

He waved the title away with mild exasperation. "Oh, enough of that. Viserys is perfectly acceptable."

"It doesn't feel right."

"Then Grandfather."

You blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"If you're important to Jacaerys," he said, patting your shoulder gently, "then you're important to me."

Something in your chest went warm and slightly overwhelmed. "Thank you. Grandfather."

He beamed, patted your head affectionately on his way past, and wandered back toward the dining room looking thoroughly satisfied with himself.

Across the room, Alicent watched the entire exchange over the rim of her wine glass, her mouth pressing into a thin, unreadable line.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Dinner was chaos, in the fondest possible sense of the word.

It started with Luke and Joffrey arguing over the garlic bread, which somehow evolved into Aegon stealing half the basket, which somehow became Aemond calmly threatening to stab his brother with a butter knife.

"I wouldn't actually stab you," Aemond said, sighing. "It'd be unhygienic."

"See," Aegon grinned. "He loves me."

"I tolerate your existence."

"That's practically affection in your language."

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we please have one family dinner where nobody threatens bodily harm?"

Daemon didn't even look up from his wine. "No."

"Fair enough," Jace muttered, and you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

He glanced at you across the table, and the sight of you smiling seemed to visibly loosen something in his shoulders. Without quite thinking about it, his foot found yours under the table. You nudged him back.

Baela noticed immediately. "They're flirting under the table."

"We're sitting right here," Jace said flatly.

"You think we don't notice?"

"We don't."

"You literally just smiled at each other over touching feet."

"We did not."

"They're adorable," Helaena offered dreamily.

"They're embarrassing," Aegon corrected.

Dessert arrived, and for a few merciful minutes, the table went quiet, cake apparently commanding more loyalty than gossip. Then Daemon set his fork down with a particular stillness that Jace recognized immediately as trouble.

"So," Daemon said.

"No," Jace said.

"I haven't even asked anything."

"I know that tone."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Daemon leaned back in his chair, entirely unbothered. "So. When's the wedding?"

Jace inhaled a piece of cake at exactly the wrong moment and doubled over, coughing. You nearly dropped your fork.

"Uncle, we've only been together a few months."

"So? I was younger."

"We're twenty one."

"Your mother had Lucerys by your age," Daemon pointed out, entirely too pleased with himself.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. "And look how that turned out."

Daemon simply laughed at his nieces suffering, placing a hand over his heart.

"I was aiming lower," Rhaenyra said sweetly, and the whole table dissolved into laughter, even Jace, some of the tension finally easing out of his shoulders.

Then Alicent spoke, calm and almost thoughtful, as though continuing a conversation no one else had realized was happening.

"I suppose there are advantages to waiting," she said, cutting neatly into her dessert without looking up. "After all, when choosing a life partner, appearance does matter. Especially when one hopes for beautiful children." A small, polite pause. "There are certain features that tend to remain within Valyrian blood. It would be a shame to lose them."

The table went completely still.

You frowned, not immediately understanding, but you felt Jace go rigid beside you, watched the color drain slowly from his face as his hand tightened around his fork hard enough that his knuckles went white.

"Alicent," Rhaenyra said, and her voice had turned to ice.

"I simply made an observation."

"It was unnecessary."

"Am I wrong?"

That was it. Jace's hands hit the table hard enough to rattle the plates, his chair scraping violently backward as he stood. He didn't look at anyone. He simply walked out, and by the time you'd scrambled up and mumbled an apology to the table, the elevator doors were already sliding shut behind him.

"There is absolutely nothing for you to apologize for," Rhaenyra said quickly, gently, but you were already moving, grabbing your bag and hurrying after him, catching the elevator just before it closed completely.

The ride down was silent. His hands were trembling, barely, at his sides. You reached for his sleeve. He didn't pull away, but he didn't respond either, and you decided, wisely, to simply stand beside him and wait.

Whatever this was, you understood by now that it had very little to do with a single comment at dinner.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

The drive home was quiet in the wrong way. Not the comfortable silence you two usually shared, the kind filled with idle hand holding at red lights and half finished sentences. This one sat heavy in the car, pressing against your ribs.

Jace's knuckles never once loosened on the steering wheel. You looked at him more than once. Each time, his jaw was tight, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his expression carefully, deliberately unreadable.

You thought about speaking, several times. Each time, something told you he needed the silence first.

When he finally parked outside your building, neither of you moved for a long moment. Then he climbed out, and the driver's door shut harder than he'd clearly intended, the sound echoing through the parking garage. You flinched. He closed his eyes immediately.

"...Sorry."

Even angry, even shaking slightly with whatever he was holding in, he still walked around to your side. Still opened your door. Still waited until you'd stepped out before he let it close.

You offered him a small smile. He couldn't quite return it.

The walk upstairs was just as quiet. Keys jingling. The lock clicking open. You slipped your shoes off by the entrance and settled onto the sofa. He didn't sit. He started pacing instead, kitchen to living room and back, one hand buried in his curls, the other rubbing restlessly at the back of his neck.

You'd seen him stressed before. Exam weeks. Presentation deadlines. The time Luke had nearly set off the fire alarm attempting to make grilled cheese. Never quite like this.

"...Jace."

He hummed, distracted, not stopping. "Mhm."

"Jace." Firmer this time.

He stopped mid step. Turned, slowly. "...What?"

The sharpness in his own voice seemed to surprise him as much as it did you. His face fell almost instantly. "...Sorry."

"I'm not angry at you."

"I know." He dragged a hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

You stood, crossing the room slowly. "What happened tonight?"

"Nothing."

"Jace."

"It was just Alicent."

"No." You shook your head gently. "I know that's not it. You don't storm out over one rude comment. You've dealt with comments like that your whole life. So what actually happened?"

He looked away, toward the window, toward anywhere that wasn't you.

"You don't have to protect me from it," you said quietly.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm fine."

"You've been pacing for ten minutes."

"I'm thinking."

"You're spiralling.”

"I am not spiralling."

"You threw my magazine across the room because I complimented a photoshoot," you said, and watched him blink, caught off guard.

"...You still remembered that."

"I remember everything."

Silence stretched between you, longer this time. Jace finally walked into the kitchen and braced both hands against the island, his head hanging low. You followed, standing close enough that your shoulder nearly touched his, and rested your hand gently over his.

His fingers twitched beneath your palm.

"...Talk to me."

He swallowed hard. When he finally lifted his head to look at you, the anger had drained out of him completely. What remained, underneath it, was fear. Raw and unfamiliar, a version of him you'd genuinely never seen before.

"Do you," he started, voice barely above a whisper, "do you really want to be with me?"

You frowned. "...What?"

He laughed, short and humourless. "Stupid question. I know how it sounds." His hands moved helplessly, searching for words that weren't quite arriving fast enough. "I've never cared. At least, I thought I hadn't. My whole life, people have looked at my family. My mother. My father. My uncles. My cousins. And then they look at me, and they don't even have to say anything. I already know."

He let out a breath that shook slightly on its way out.

"I don't have silver hair. I don't have purple eyes. I don't look like them. And tonight, when Alicent said it, I couldn't stop thinking. What if she's right. What if you deserve someone who actually looks like he belongs in this family."

Before another word could leave him, you stepped forward, placed both hands on his face, and covered his mouth.

"...Mm?"

You stared at him, entirely unimpressed. "Wow. I always thought I was the yapper in this relationship. You are giving me serious competition."

The confusion on his face cracked, just barely, into something almost like a laugh.

"I am not finished," you said, and he nodded obediently, waiting until you lowered your hand.

"The absolute nonsense that just came out of your mouth might genuinely be the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life."

"...Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You poked him firmly in the chest. "Absolute. Poppycock."

"What does that word even mean?”

"It felt appropriate."

Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

You folded your arms. "So. You think you're not handsome because you don't have silver hair."

"That's not exactly-"

"And purple eyes."

"I-“

"And because you don't look like the rest of your family."

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "When you say it out loud, it does sound a little ridiculous."

"A little?"

"...Very."

"Good." You reached for both of his hands before he could think about retreating again. "Now answer me something. If I woke up tomorrow with silver hair and purple eyes, would I suddenly be more beautiful to you?"

His answer came so fast it nearly overlapped your question. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're already beautiful as you are.”

"No matter what?"

He squeezed your hands. "No matter what."

"So if I stayed exactly the way I am…”

"I'd still think you're the most beautiful girl in every room I've ever walked into." Jace continued.

You smiled softly. "Exactly. So why," you asked gently, "are you judging yourself by a standard you'd never once judge me by? You don't look at me and wish I had silver hair. You don't wish I had purple eyes. You don't wish I looked more Valyrian."

He shook his head slowly. "I've never once thought that."

"Because you love me."

"...Yes."

"And I love you," you said. "You don't need silver hair for me to think you're handsome. You don't need purple eyes. You certainly don't need to look like Aegon." A small laugh escaped you. "Thank God, honestly."

That, finally, pulled a real laugh out of him, quiet but genuine.

"I happen to like your curly brown hair," you continued, reaching up to run your fingers through it. "I like your freckles. I like the little scar on your chin from when Luke hit you with a cricket bat, which he insists to this day was an accident."

"He maintains his innocence."

"He was absolutely aiming for you."

"He denies it."

"He's lying."

Jace chuckled, some of the tightness finally leaving his shoulders. You cupped his cheek gently.

"I like your smile. I like how your eyes crinkle when you laugh. I like that your nose scrunches up when you're concentrating on something. I like that your hair sticks up every morning because you refuse to dry it properly."

By now he couldn't quite meet your eyes, his cheeks warming visibly.

"And," you said softly, "I like that you're kind. That you remember every little thing I tell you. That you've never once made me feel like I was too much. You listen. You care. You love so quietly that people don't always notice it, but I do. Every single day."

His eyes had begun to shine, suspiciously bright.

"So don't you dare stand there and tell me I deserve someone else," you said, tapping his chest gently. "I already found exactly who I wanted. Not because of what you look like. Because of who you are. And if I had to choose all over again, I would still choose the ridiculously handsome boy standing in front of me."

That was what finally broke him. He stepped forward so suddenly you barely had time to react before his arms wrapped tightly around you, his face pressing into the curve of your neck like he was trying to memorize the shape of you against him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand sliding into his hair, and felt him exhale, one long, shaking breath, like he'd been holding it in for years without realizing it.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I don't know." He laughed weakly. "I think I've just spent so long pretending it never bothered me. It did. So when Alicent said it again tonight, I believed her."

You pulled back just enough to look at him properly.

"No," you said. "You believed the frightened little boy who got teased on the playground. You didn't believe Alicent. You just forgot what your mum told you."

"Blood doesn't make a father," you said quietly. "Love does."

His breath caught. "You remembered that."

"Of course I remembered. You told me that story."

"You really do remember everything."

"I do."

You brushed a stray curl off his forehead. "And your mum was right. You are loved beyond measure."

He closed his eyes, and this time, when he leaned into your touch, it wasn't because he needed convincing anymore. It was because he'd finally, fully embraced himself.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Later that night, the two of you lay tangled together beneath your duvet, though tangled was perhaps too generous a word, since Jace had somehow managed to occupy roughly ninety percent of the available space, his head resting against your chest, one arm locked securely around your waist. He wore the most spectacular pout you had ever seen on a grown man.

"Feeling better?" you asked.

A muffled noise, which you chose to interpret as yes.

"You know," you said thoughtfully, "I think there's a very easy solution to your whole crisis."

He looked up, immediately and correctly suspicious. "...I don't like that sentence."

"You could always dye your hair."

Silence.

"Platinum blonde," you continued sweetly.

Jace stared at you, utterly betrayed. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. I think it'd suit you."

"It absolutely would not."

"We could get you purple contacts too."

His eyes widened in genuine horror. "You wound me."

"I think you'd slay."

"Do not say slay while I am emotionally vulnerable," he gasped, and you burst into laughter, unable to help yourself.

"I'm serious."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"I'm a little sorry."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"I really am," he admitted, and then his eyes narrowed, that mischievous glint returning that you'd learned to be wary of.

"You know what," he said.

"...What?"

"I've decided."

"No."

"I no longer want sympathy."

"...You don't?"

"No. I've decided you deserve punishment. For crimes against your boyfriend."

"You're being dramatic."

"I think I'm being perfectly reasonable."

He lunged before you could brace yourself, and you shrieked, dissolving almost immediately into helpless laughter as his fingers found your sides. "NO! Jace!"

"This is what happens," he declared between your laughter, "when you suggest I bleach my hair!"

"I'M SORRY!"

"I don't believe you!"

"I TAKE IT BACK!"

"You called me slay!"

"I DIDN'T CALL YOU SLAY, I IMPLIED IT! AND YOU STILL SLAY!”

"That's worse!"

He finally relented, collapsing back against the pillows beside you, both of you breathless, your sides aching from laughing. After a moment, he reached over and found your hand in the dark, lacing his fingers through yours, lifting your joined hands to press a slow, lingering kiss against your knuckles.

"So," he said quietly.

"So?"

"...Thank you."

"For what?"

His thumb traced absentminded circles over the back of your hand. "For choosing me."

You didn't answer with words. You leaned over instead, pressed one soft kiss to his forehead, another to the corner of his mouth, and finally rested your forehead gently against his.

"There was never anyone else I wanted," you whispered.

And for the first time all night, Jacaerys Velaryon smiled without a single trace of doubt left in it.

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"G'morning, sweetheart." AJ mumbled, blinking sleepily.

"Morning." You replied back.

AJ let out a small huff of laughter as you continued to trace his tattoos, "What's this all about, hm?"

"What about it?" You gave a smile. "Can't I admire you?"

"By tickling me…?"

"I am not tickling you." There was that lovely tone; the one where you're trying not to laugh. AJ adores the way you sound when you're on the brink of laughter.

"But it tickles." AJ said, smiling back at you now as you continued 'tickling' him. "You really like 'em, don't you?"

"The tattoos? Yeah. It looks great on you." You murmured.

"I know. That's why I got them." AJ let out another laugh when you playfully hit his side.

"You're so conceited."

There was a tiny moment of silence where AJ just let you graze your fingers over his skin, then he put an arm around the back of your neck, drawing you closer and the smile on your face grew bigger. His fingers gently rubbed over your back as he settled you against his side.

His head still felt heavy with the effects of the alcohol he had drank last night, still sore from all the partying and such, and feeling lazy but he couldn't mind that much when you were there next to him like a soothing presence.

"Hmm… I can feel a big ass headache coming." AJ muttered, putting his other arm over his forehead.

"Then maybe we should just stay in bed."

“Yeah, babe?" AJ asked as he raised his brows. "'Cuz I'll stay here all day if you want me to."

You nodded a little, "That'd be nice, yeah. I'm still exhausted from last night too."

"Alright, then we'll stay in as long as we need." He kissed the top of your head, kisses trailing down your face slowly. "And then later on this week, I'm gonna spoil you with everything your pretty little face can want."

AJ's lips quickly brushed against yours before he laid back, a carefree smile on his face and a million different thoughts about you; his wonderful, beautiful girlfriend who made it her mission to make him feel like he was enough even in these small, quiet moments.