#chapter 7

Bucky stayed behind after the others finished the debrief. Something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t tactical, it was instinctual. Like walking through a ghost’s memory.

So he went to your old desk, the room he stepped in was small. Office-like. Not messy, but functional. Two mugs were still on the shelf with one having lipstick faded on the rim that you didn’t bother bringing. He also recognized a sweater folded neatly over the chair’s back, the same one he’d seen you wear sometimes with your sleeves always tugged past your knuckles.

He moved slowly and carefully like he didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile pieces remained.

There was a small tablet hidden away in the desk, screen faintly scratched. You probably forgot about it. It was locked, but it didn’t take him long, he had skills for this. Accessing encrypted drives used to be a job. Now it was just muscle memory.

It wasn’t a mission file. It was a video. No timestamp. No label. Just… your name in the corner. And the faint hum of low light.

Bucky hesitated but hit play.

You were seated in frame. Slightly off-center, like you hadn’t meant to record anything formal. Your hair was tied back and your eyes were tired. No makeup, no pretense. Just you. You didn’t speak at first. Just looked somewhere off-camera, blinking slowly, like trying to hold yourself still enough to not feel something.

And then you started to talk.

“I think there’s something broken in me that just wants to be useful. Like… if I’m helpful enough, I’ll matter. Like maybe I’ll take up enough space where someone would finally notice.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. Just a tug of the lips, wry and sad..

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. I heard it helps to journal. But I used to think that if I worked hard enough, stayed out of the way, then someone might see me. Not as a teammate or even as a friend. Just… see me. Recognize that I was there.”

Bucky’s hands clenched slowly at his sides.

“But I guess people don’t notice the lights that stay on, only the ones that flicker. And I just so happened to be always steady, always silent. The background to their brilliance.”

There was a pause. You rubbed hands together nervously, looking down.

“Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just stopped showing up. If anyone would ask or if they’d just assume I transferred. Or died, quietly, in the middle of some file update.”

The silence afterward was brutal. He could hear your breathing; shallow, steady, and controlled.

“I don’t blame them. Not really. I just… wish I had been someone worth remembering.”

The video cut out. No goodbye. No signature. Just that last, unbearable sentence echoing like a gunshot.

Bucky sat in the silence it left behind. Not moving. Not breathing. Just staring at the still frame frozen on the screen. Your face. Your words. Your pain.

He hadn’t seen you, not really. Not when you were around. Not when you were quietly doing your job, never needing thanks. Never asking for notice.

But now? Now, your absence was louder than most people’s presence. And he hated that he only realized it after you were gone.

After another failed search for you, the ride back to the compound was filled with static silence.

Bucky didn’t speak. Didn’t hand over the tablet. Didn’t mention the video. But he kept it tucked in the inner lining of his gear, close to him like some part of him thought the words might bleed into his bones if he kept them near long enough.

No one asked what he found before. Maybe they assumed there was nothing. Or maybe they could read the way his shoulders held the weight of something they weren’t ready to carry.

Steve debriefed quietly with Natasha and Sam. There was no victory to celebrate, only confirmation: the enemy was ahead of them. Smarter. Faster. One step further every time.

The woman, Bucky’s someone, floated in and out of the war room with the same serene detachment she always had. She brought them tea. Lightly teased Sam when he scowled at another dead lead. She leaned a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as she passed, offering him a soft, wordless smile.

He didn’t return it. Not this time. He didn’t shrug her off, either, just let her touch pass like water, something that could no longer reach him fully.

Her words echoed faintly in his head, like smoke: “She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she? Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

And then yours, not long after:

“I used to think that if I worked hard enough, someone might see me…”

The contrast burned.

The next mission was set with alarming speed. A new location. Another “hidden” base identified by Bruce, picked up in the tail of an encrypted ping. Something you might’ve caught weeks ago, if you were still with them. If they’d been paying attention.

Steve moved with purpose, but his eyes were more tired than before. Natasha reviewed formations, sharp and professional, but quieter than usual. Sam asked about escape routes twice as if he didn’t trust any of this to go clean.

And Bucky, he checked his weapons. Reviewed the maps. Ran recon. But in the silence between, he replayed the video. Not for pain. Not for guilt.

But because it was real. The only honest thing he had left about you.

They hadn’t found any new footage of you. No confirmed sightings. No sound bites, no intercepted comms. Just dead ends and wiped drives and the echo of your absence in places you used to sit.

You were out there. Alive, changed, and maybe not on their side anymore. But never just a ghost.

He closed the tablet and tucked it back inside his vest.

And when Steve said, “We move at dawn,” Bucky only nodded once.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t tell anyone what he saw. Not yet. Because something in him whispered, worried that if they saw that recording too soon, they’d see you as a weakness.

And for the first time in months, Bucky wasn’t sure what side of the line he stood on. Not when it came to you.

The hours before a mission were always the quietest.

The hangar buzzed low with the whir of prep of gear checks, last-minute uploads, suits being sealed and weapons aligned. Natasha stood by the monitors, her gaze cold and sharp. Sam reviewed the aerial scans Bruce had fine-tuned just an hour before. Steve kept pacing near the Quinjet, arms folded, and eyes flicking to each of them like he could hold them together by willpower alone.

Bucky kept his distance like usual. He strapped his knives into place. Loaded his sidearm with meticulous focus. Checked his earpiece, then checked it again. He hadn't spoken more than a handful of words all morning. No one asked why.

No one noticed how he hadn’t been sleeping. How he double-checked the route three times last night, long after the others went to bed. How his fingers lingered over the inside pocket of his jacket, where the tablet still rested, untouched by anyone but him.

The girl who had once been his comfort entered in mid-morning with her usual warm smile and a thermal mug of coffee for Steve. She handed it off with a soft murmur, her other hand brushing Bucky’s arm in passing.

“You don’t have to carry everything, you know,” She said gently, a faint tease in her voice. “You’ve got people.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t answer. And for the first time… she noticed. There was a flicker of pause in her face. The briefest narrowing of her eyes. Then her smile returned, unfazed.

“Well,” She said lightly, glancing over at Steve. “If you all need anything before you go, just let me know. I’ll be around.”

Steve gave her a polite nod. Sam murmured a distracted thanks. She left the hangar as quietly as she came in. But Bucky watched her go, something unreadable in his stare.

He didn’t trust her. Not anymore. He didn’t know if he ever truly had or if she’d simply fit into the gaps where life had left him hollow. She had been sweet. Soothing. Gentle in the way soft lies often were.

But you had never tried to be that. You had simply been honest. Quiet, yes. Awkward, maybe. But never fake. But he had never tried to acknowledge any of that till now. And now the only traces of you he had were clipped recordings buried in a stolen file and the phantom silence of the seat you used to occupy across mission tables. The longer they chased shadows, the more he feared it: that they had lost you to the wrong side and that they had pushed you there themselves.

“Five minutes,” Steve called out, snapping everyone back to focus.

Bucky stood, weapons in place, and jaw tight.

Whatever this mission held, whatever base they were headed for next, he had a feeling it wasn’t just about cutting off a head of the organization anymore. There were pieces still missing. Threads pulled tight around something deeper. And though no one said it aloud…

They all felt it. You were at the center of it. Maybe you weren’t the enemy, but you weren’t one of them anymore either. And Bucky didn’t know which outcome he feared more.

The alarm started low. Just a pulsing tone beneath the hum of overhead lights, like the building had a heartbeat and it had suddenly quickened.

You didn’t look up at first.

You were seated at the edge of a long metal table, eyes scanning one of Maren’s latest handoffs of network logs, patterns, and reconnaissance models that you were quietly, and more skillfully than anyone else here, picking apart. Another screen flickered with footage. Not of the Avengers this time, but of a smaller SHIELD outpost. One the organization had eyes on.

A quiet shift of balance. A new target. The second tone came louder. And this time, red light blinked across the top corners of the room.

You turned in your chair just as Maren came in through the steel door, less casual than usual. There was tension in her shoulders, but she hid it beneath a small smirk.

“Well,” Well said lightly, “Guess we’re having fire drills now.”

You stood slowly. “What is it.”

She waved a hand toward the glass pane. Down the corridor, you could see a few others moving quickly. Some with urgency, but not panic.

“Surveillance sweep caught something weird,” She said. “Signal bounce matched one of your old frequency ranges.”

You blinked. “The Avengers?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Intel says it’s likely. But it could also be someone pretending to be them. Either way, leadership wants to shift locations again. They don’t want to risk exposure, not now.”

You glanced toward the window again. The air suddenly felt thinner and colder, like the walls were remembering how to hold you again.

Maren stepped closer.

“They’ll want you in the second caravan,” She said. “It’s less attention that way until we’re sure we’re not compromised.”

You didn’t respond at first. Because something sat twisted in your stomach. Not fear, exactly, not even guilt. Just… the awareness that this place you had started to grow into, the first place where your mind had felt seen, was still a fortress.

Still temporary. Still ready to disappear the second anything real drew near.

You looked at Maren.

Her smile softened, more careful this time. “You’ll be alright. We’ve got you.”

But as you followed her out of the room, walking past people who now nodded when you passed, who sought your opinion, who used your analyses like gospel, you had that strange feeling again.

You didn’t want to run. Not this time. Because if it was them. If they were coming now, after all this time, after leaving you behind, after forgetting you; you wanted to see who they were now. If they were just as hollow as they made you feel.

And if they had finally come… to save you. Or just to stop you.

The hallway continued to pulse with red light and clipped orders.

Boots on concrete. Quiet urgency. Controlled withdrawal. People packed crates with precision, hands practiced in the rhythm of disappearing. You walked among them unnoticed but not out of disregard, but because you weren’t expected to panic. You were useful and trusted. The kind of asset who got escorted second not because they didn’t care, but because they assumed you’d already figured a backup plan if things went sideways.

And you always did.

You reached the loading bay just as the first caravan started to move. There were trucks. Two armored vans. A trail vehicle. All headed for an off-grid location you’d helped locate last month, buried beneath so many encryption layers it would take even Stark months to trace it.

Maren was by the gate, tablet in hand, and brows furrowed in concentration.

She glanced up when she saw you. “Van two in the back left. There’s a seat with your name on it.”

You moved to step past her then paused.

“Are you coming?”

She gave a small smile. “Not yet. Last-minute patchwork. They want eyes on the rear systems until we’re sure it’s not just a scare.”

You hesitated enough for her to notice.

“We’ll see each other again,” She reassured softly. “Don’t look like that.”

You didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, then stepped into the van’s shadows and sank into the corner seat. The door shut behind you. You kept your eyes on the window, watching the lights flicker and twist as the base began to purge data in real time. Mainframes going dark, terminals blacking out one by one. The signal was clear:

Whoever was coming was already too close.

Outside, not far beyond the mountain pass, the Quinjet cut low through clouds.

Steve’s voice was steady over comms. “Final sweep, no obvious heat signatures. We keep it tight. If they’re there, they know we’re coming.”

“They’re there,” Natasha said. Her tone wasn’t a guess, it was certainty.

“Or they were,” Sam muttered, eyes flicking over the monitors.

From the back, Bucky checked his gear one last time. He hadn’t spoken much since departure. Just silent and focused, eyes darker than usual. He hadn’t said your name, but it sat heavy behind every breath.

Natasha glanced over from the bench across. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered. Then, more quietly: “I just want answers.”

The Quinjet slowed.

“Approaching target zone,” FRIDAY announced. “There are signs of recent movement. Base is no longer cold.”

Steve stood and signaled them. “We move on foot and we go fast. Don’t break formation.”

They touched down five minutes later.

The moment Bucky’s boots hit the ground, he felt it.

Not heat. Not threat. But… presence.

Like you were still here. Like this place remembered you.

Steve gave the order. They breached the perimeter fast through reinforced side access. The air inside was stale, but not undisturbed. Computers still hummed. Floors were clean. Not a drop of dust. Not like last time.

“They left in a hurry,” Natasha observed, crouching beside a freshly yanked power cable.

“Then they knew we were coming,” Sam replied grimly.

Bucky’s eyes tracked along the corridor. Doors left half-open. Screens still flickering out final traces of wiped data. A mug. A file left behind. He stepped toward it then stopped.

On the desk was a clipboard. Just one. The name at the top? Yours.

He exhaled slowly.

“You were here,” He whispered.

Not just involved. Present. Maybe only minutes ago. Too close. Too late.

Steve pressed his fingers to his comm. “Everyone sweep east, this wasn’t abandoned. They’re still moving.”

“They’re not just moving,” Sam called from the upper ledge. “They’re evacuating. I’ve got heat signatures heading into the lower exit tunnels, northbound. At least two armored vehicles pulling out now.”

Bucky was already moving. “Can we cut them off?”

“Negative,” FRIDAY replied sharply in his earpiece. “They’re on an off-road route and cloaked. They’ll be buried by terrain in sixty seconds unless you launch a drone now.”

“I’ve got it,” Natasha said, already deploying the small drone. It zipped through the air like a hornet. On the screen, the visuals sharpened as it locked onto the second vehicle.

That was when they saw you, barely a frame.

Just the curve of your shoulder, the side of your face half-obscured by the angle of the armored window. You weren’t panicked. You weren’t restrained. You were seated. Eyes down, calm, and still so unmistakably you.

Bucky leaned closer to the screen, throat tightening. “That’s her.”

Steve cursed under his breath. “They moved faster than expected.”

“Which means they’ve done this before,” Natasha muttered.

“They’re organized. Too organized,” Sam added. “And she… she didn’t look like a hostage.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Because that still frame was seared into him. Not just because it was you. But because of how different you looked from the girl he remembered in the compound.

Not hurt. Not scared. Just… far away.

Meanwhile, you felt it before you saw it. A hum in your bones, sharp like pressure. Something familiar. Familiar in a way that made your pulse catch without rising.

You didn’t look out the window, but you knew. They were close.

You kept your hands folded in your lap, steady, while the others in the van double-checked the rear systems and confirmed their routes.

Maren’s voice came over the comm, calm and professional. “Exit route confirmed. Units dispersed. No direct pursuit.”

You could hear the faint smile in her voice.

“They missed us.”

You didn’t reply. Not because you were relieved. But because the truth hit you harder than you expected: They came and You were right. But it didn’t change anything.

You were still in a moving van, heading deeper into the folds of a world they didn’t understand. And they were behind you, too late, standing in the echo of where you used to be.

Part of you wondered if any of them had seen you. If they recognized the back of your head through bulletproof glass. If Bucky did.

You didn’t look back to check. You just sat with the heavy truth nestled in your chest like something warm and rotten at the same time:

They came, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Warnings: Slow-burn romantic tension, Jealousy themes, Possessiveness / territorial behavior, Emotional conflict, Power and control dynamics, Vulnerability and fear of attachment, Morally gray characters, Foreshadowing of tragedy / damnation, Intense emotional dialogue

By the sixth year, Y/N knew the rhythm of him better than she knew her own.

She knew the difference between his public smile and the one that surfaced only in private. She knew when his tone sharpened because he was amused and when it sharpened because he was irritated. She knew the subtle way his posture shifted when he was pleased with himself — shoulders slightly back, chin angled just so — and the near-imperceptible stillness that settled over him when something genuinely caught him off guard.

She knew him.

Or at least, she believed she did.

Which was why the change unsettled her so deeply.

It began with his gaze.

Not its intensity — that had always been there — but its duration. Alastor had never been careless with eye contact. He wielded it like a tool, like punctuation. He would look long enough to disarm, long enough to challenge, and then withdraw before giving too much away. It was calculated.

Now, he lingered.

She noticed it first at the station. She had been speaking with one of the newer technicians, discussing minor programming changes, when she felt it — that familiar weight of attention settling against her shoulders. When she turned, she found him standing across the room, hands folded neatly behind his back, watching.

Not smiling.

Not interrupting.

Just watching.

And something in that look was different.

It wasn’t evaluative.

It wasn’t amused.

It was… focused.

As though he were trying to memorize something.

The moment their eyes met, his grin returned instantly — polished, effortless — and he stepped forward with some light remark about production schedules. The tension evaporated for anyone who might have noticed.

But it didn’t evaporate for her.

That night, walking home beneath a sky thick with summer humidity, she replayed the moment in her mind and found herself unsettled by how it had made her feel.

Not threatened.

Not uncomfortable.

Aware.

Deeply, sharply aware.

Over the following weeks, the pattern continued. He stood a little closer during conversations. His hand would brush hers in passing and linger half a heartbeat longer than necessary. When others addressed her in crowded rooms, she felt his attention sharpen — subtle, but present.

And then there was the jealousy.

It was small at first. Almost imperceptible. A tightening around his smile when a well-dressed gentleman at a fundraising gala held her attention too long. A coolness in his voice when another broadcaster complimented her wit.

She might have imagined it — if she didn’t know him so well.

Alastor did not do accidental emotion.

Which meant this was deliberate.

Or worse.

Uncontrolled.

The realization made her pulse quicken in ways she did not entirely understand.

One evening, during an unusually lively gathering at a private club, she found herself cornered in conversation by a charming investor who had taken particular interest in her opinions on media expansion. He was polite. Intelligent. Persistent.

She was aware of Alastor across the room.

She didn’t look for him.

She felt him.

The investor laughed at something she said, leaning slightly closer than necessary. She smiled out of courtesy, shifting subtly to create distance without causing offense.

And then—

“Forgive the interruption,” came Alastor’s smooth voice at her side.

He did not touch her.

He did not need to.

His presence alone altered the atmosphere.

The investor straightened immediately, offering polite greetings. Alastor responded with impeccable civility, his grin perfectly measured, his tone warm and charming.

But Y/N felt it — the undercurrent.

The tension wound tight beneath velvet.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the investor excused himself, sensing perhaps that he had stepped unknowingly into contested territory.

Silence settled between them.

“You seemed engaged,” Alastor remarked lightly, eyes forward.

“I was having a conversation,” she replied, studying his profile.

“With a man who could not stop staring at you.”

The bluntness startled her.

“And that concerns you?”

“Not at all,” he answered immediately.

Too immediately.

She stopped walking.

The music from inside the club spilled faintly into the night air as she turned to face him fully. Streetlamps cast soft gold light across his sharp features, illuminating the rigid set of his jaw.

“You’re lying,” she said gently.

His grin sharpened.

“I do not lie.”

“You deflect.”

A flicker in his eyes.

“Do you enjoy provoking me?” he asked.

“Only when you pretend you’re unaffected.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, charged, like the pause before summer thunder.

She realized then that her heart was beating faster — not from fear, but from the intensity of him. From the way he looked at her now — not as puzzle, not as equal opponent, not as steady companion.

But as something he did not want anyone else touching.

The awareness sent warmth spiraling through her chest, startling in its strength.

“You don’t like it,” she said softly.

His gaze dropped briefly — not in submission, but in consideration — before lifting again to meet hers.

“I do not,” he admitted.

The honesty struck her harder than any denial could have.

“Why?” she asked.

And this time, the question was not playful.

It was vulnerable.

His silence stretched longer than she expected. She could see the conflict flickering beneath his composure — the calculation, the restraint, the refusal to surrender something he could not categorize neatly.

Finally, he spoke.

“I find,” he said carefully, “that the idea of you being… diverted elsewhere is unpleasant.”

Unpleasant.

The word was almost clinical.

But the emotion behind it was not.

Her breath caught.

The world seemed to narrow, the sounds of the city dimming around them as her mind caught up with what her heart had already begun to suspect.

He was fighting something.

And it wasn’t her.

It was himself.

A strange mixture of triumph and fear bloomed inside her. She had known, logically, that this path might lead here. She had felt herself warming to him for years now, her affection growing steadily, rooted in shared trust and laughter and quiet understanding.

But this—

This was different.

This was dangerous.

Because she knew something he didn’t.

She knew that no matter how tightly this bond wove itself around them, one day it would end in blood and descent and static swallowed by hellfire.

And yet, standing there beneath the dim streetlamps, looking into eyes that had begun to soften only for her…

She wanted him anyway.

That terrified her.

“You don’t have to fight it,” she said quietly.

His expression sharpened instantly. “Fight what?”

She hesitated — just long enough to feel the weight of the word forming in her throat.

“Whatever this is.”

The silence that followed felt monumental.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I am not fighting anything,” he said.

But they both knew he was.

And for the first time since she had met him, Y/N realized that the careful, steady friendship they had built over years was beginning to tilt into something else entirely.

Something neither of them could retreat from easily.

Something that would either anchor them—

Or ruin them.

As they resumed walking, closer now than before, her thoughts churned with unfamiliar intensity. She felt the warmth of him beside her, the subtle awareness in the way his arm brushed hers without apology.

She had wanted this closeness.

She had earned it.

But as the city lights flickered against the dark sky, one truth echoed louder than the rest:

If Alastor allowed himself to love her…

It would change everything.

And she did not know whether she was ready for the weight of that.

This chapter i feel is shorter than the others but i'm going to work on that a lot! I tried guys! Anyways! You know the drill! Ask if you want to be added to the tag list, always feel free to put in request! I will answer them!

Until Next time my dears! Love you all!

Your response wouldn’t have caused you so much distress if things were different, but they aren’t so you can’t be what he wants you to be.

“I won’t do it,” you finally break your silence as you look at the dancing fire with stinging eyes that isn’t caused by the smoke. “I cannot accept it. I cannot be what you want me to be and the realm will never accept me. They’d rather see me dead than see me on the throne.”

A second of silence passes before he responds as he breaks away from his spot and heads towards you near the fire. “That may be true,” he agrees, making your tears slip from your eyes.

“Do you want to know what was the first thing I heard when we presented you to court?” He asks rhetorically, “‘Do not worry, my prince,’” he quotes. “‘A boy will be born to you soon. You’ll just have to try again, and if you’re granted another girl, then try again until the gods bless you with an heir.”

You scoff as you were proven when you were a newborn.

“Your grandmother,” he continues as he reaches your side and sits down on the floor next to you. “Snapped right away and said that a daughter was a blessing and that the gods had favored your birth by painting the night sky with beautiful dancing lights. The lord stood there quietly and embarrassed after that.”

“I’m still not right. No matter what sign the gods give. I am still not what they want,” you mutter and then turn your head and meet his gaze with burning amethyst eyes that never once unsettle him. The pain behind them just encourages him to ask something of you.

“Look at me and tell me what you see,” he says. “Not with your eyes, with theirs.”

You avert your gaze for a second and sniffle before you tilt your head up and try to look at him with the eyes of a stranger. Someone who doesn’t know the kind of man he really is and only assumes what he's like by appearance alone.

Yet the kind of man he is is too engraved in your heart for you to see him any other way.

“You’re…patient,” you drawl. “You’re strong. Brave. Kind. Mysterious. Quiet. Hard working. Fierce. Legendary,” you share, making him chuckle.

You smile softly before you sigh deeply and try to do what he asked of you with the eyes of a stranger not a daughter.

“You’re…different with your dark hair, slightly tanner complexion, and mismatched eyes. You’re…a foreigner and unlike what a Targaryen should be…” You trail off and drop your head with shame and guilt even though you’re just repeating what you’ve heard people say and not what you think.

“Exactly.” Your father nods before he draws out a deep breath and speaks towards the fire. “And do you think I’m what they want? Despite who my father is, do you think they want someone who looks like a foreigner to sit on the Iron Throne who has only sat silver-haired princes?”

You slowly look back at him at the same time he looks at you.

“You aren’t an ideal heir to some people,” you whisper, causing him to nod slowly.

“No I am not, but I do not let what they want control my decisions. At least not in that aspect. This role is above what they think. It’s about what’s right for them. For the entire realm. And it’s true that we don’t know how our future is written, but I believe that you are what’s right. Your grandfather believes. Your brothers believe. That’s what matters…and who knows, maybe you will be what we need to bring back what we lost.” He smiles tenderly while you cry.

“You believe that?” Your voice breaks.

“Yes.” He nods gently. “I believe that just like I believe in you.”

You wipe away your tears and smile at him tenderly, earning a fond smile in return.

——

*NOW*

“I should warn you, tomorrow when The Greyjoys arrive they’ll ask to unite our houses by trying to match Lord Greyjoy's youngest daughter to Baelon.”

You look at your uncle with your nose scrunched up, a sentiment he nods in agreement with before you interject. “Let me guess, they’ll do it in exchange for their fealty?”

“They’ll have you believe that yes. That’s why they’ll propose that first before they bend the knee.”

You sigh. “Well, I did not mean to ask my uncle Rhaegel to betroth Daenora to Baelon just yet, but I suppose I’ll have to now so he’s not left in the dark when I break the news to Lord Greyjoy on the morrow.”

“There’s no need,” your uncle rebuts. “Just say no. They will not refuse to bend the knee. They are not strong enough to rebel. They only want to trick you into a promise of marriage.”

“Perhaps.” You nod. “But I better give them an honest reason to make my rejection sting less.”

Your uncle glances at you with a pointed look which you can read well as disapproval, but you don’t want to do as he suggests and be known as cold and unkind. Of course, this won’t be your response to everything, but it works in this matter.

“You must—”

“I know,” you cut him off as you know exactly what he’s going to argue with. “But you know why I can’t just be blunt. And well, we don’t always have to be cold.”

Your uncle rolls his eyes and before you can comment on it, quick footsteps that had been echoing behind you get close instead of passing by. “Mind if I join in for a second?” Daeron announces himself before he squeezes himself between you and his father.

“What is it?” Your uncle asks right away, making Daeron loll his head towards you and then drape his arm around you.

“I was just hoping to borrow my wife? The day seems to be over for the both of you, is it not?” He wanders, knowing the answer.

“It is,” you agree.

“Great!” He exclaims and slides his arm down to press his hand on your back. “So I will take my wife now,” he says and starts pushing you ahead. “Goodnight father and make sure to actually rest.”

You look over your shoulder and bid him a sweeter goodnight before Daeron takes your hand and starts pulling you with him down the hall, forcing your Kingsguard to also quicken their pace so as not to lose sight of you.

“Daeron, where are you taking me?” You ask, considering it's not the way to your shared chambers.

“Be patient,” he says as he turns around a corner and then pulls you down a long corridor that leads to a door that he opens for you so you can walk into the dim corridor first.

“Stay out here,” he commands your Kingsguard before he shuts the door behind him.

“A servant's corridor?” You wander confused as you look around to see if there’s something here before your eyes fall on him just as he leans in and catches you off guard by smashing his lips against yours.

You don’t melt into the kiss at first, you’re left with your eyes open in surprise before you push him back to demand an explanation. “What’s going on? What brought this on?”

Daeron glances at your lips before briefly meeting your gaze. “Can't I just want you?” He asks breathlessly, making you giggle before your eyes flicker to his lips and you welcome his kiss with your eyes closed.

Unlike before, this time you melt into the deep and hungry kiss, matching his vigor quickly as you finally let out that pent-up sexual tension that you’ve had to lock away because of how hectic your days have turned out to be. You have had time for each other here and there, but it’s been a couple of days too long since you’ve let a burning fire unfurl in your belly.

It’s been too long without feeling his burning hands roam your body and since his hot tongue has played in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve heard his deep throaty groan as you pull his sandy blond hair with your fingers. And it’s been too long since you’ve tangled your legs around his hips and felt his heart beat against your chest as you pull him against you.

It’s probably felt even longer for him considering that sometimes you’re so exhausted that when your head hits the pillow, you knock out, but this time you’re close to your chambers. He surely could’ve waited.

However, he is rougher than usual which you don’t mind, but surely there has to be a reason for all this and you might know it.

“You’re jealous,” you say between heavy breaths as you pull away.

“Why would I be?” He asks as he hides his reaction by leaning in and pressing his hot and wet lips against your neck and kissing you slowly and sensually. “You’re my wife,” he says between kisses. “Mine,” he whispers against your neck before he kisses that spot his breath touched. “No one else can kiss you as I do. No one…can make your breath hitch like I do when I simply touch you,” he says as his fingers trace your thigh painstakingly slowly.

“No one could ever know how it feels to be wanted by you as I do.”

You move your hands down to cup his jaw and push him back so he can meet your gaze. “I do. I only want you. I will only ever want you until my dying breath,” you promise him. “Even when I’m gone and nothing but a spirit,” you assure him, making him smile tenderly before he welcomes your kiss this time and follows your lead while his fingers still trace a line up your leg.

Yet instead of dragging his fingers to your wet heat, his fingers keep working themselves up, feeling your flesh inch by inch.

It does not surpass the feeling of him inside you, but it is the next best thing because his touch is scorching hot and mind-numbing especially when he finds your breast and starts gently kneading it.

“When was the last time you left these castle walls?” He asks against your mouth as his thumb traces over your nipple.

“A week,” you gasp. “Two?”

Daeron hums and brushes his lips up to the corner of your mouth before they move up your jaw.

“It seems it’s time we find ourselves past them then. Just for tonight,” he suggests, but at the sound of that, you push past all the sensual feelings and respond composedly.

“No, I cannot. I would love to, but there’s too many people out there and I can’t risk having them make assumptions about me. You know that they’re looking for anything to use to tear me down…I’m sorry.”

Daeron sighs and goes still with his hand groping your breast and his lips pressed on the corner of your jaw before he pulls his head back to meet your gaze.

“Fine then, we’ll have our fun inside these castle walls,” he proposes.

“How?” You ask with your head tilted.

“Do you really think that everyone will be asleep? The castle is full of people from all across the realm. Trust me, there will be someone hosting something somewhere. We just have to find out where,” he says smugly, making you smirk before you kiss deeply one last time and then leave the corridor completely drunk off each other.

The Kingsguard in charge of not letting you out of their sight probably hated you and Daeron because you ran carelessly down each corridor and turned corners sharply, bumped into walls, and changed courses quickly when you came up empty. All while they had to follow behind using the echoing sounds of your footsteps, your laughs, and your voices.

You never thought of making it easier for them either. No one else existed except for the two of you. The corridors were yours alone, and the castle wasn’t occupied by anyone but your entangled souls.

Which, if you had the mind to thank Daeron for leading you astray, you would because for once you were able to stop caring about what people would think, about all your duties, and your great burden. You were able to enjoy yourself and him.

Not just the taste of him or his touch, but every aspect of him and the simplicity of his company. It's why it wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t find anywhere to go drink, or a gathering to crash, because he was enough, and you were enough for him.

However, you do end up finding a gathering to crash which is in your garden of all places and that's kind of…annoying, but it seems that it was done on purpose because it’s being hosted by Lyonel out of all people.

He's there in front of that big tree that you were sitting in front of earlier. He's wearing those tall antlers he wore five years ago, making him stand out. He's surrounded by people, but you don't go unnoticed. His eyes find you immediately and they brighten like a thousand twinkling stars.

Yet it doesn’t matter how bright his eyes shine or if he threw this gathering in hopes you’ll show up, you live for Daeron in this moment just as much as he lives for you.

Regardless, Lyonel doesn’t let your entrance go unnoticed or his act unrecognized.

“Welcome, Your Grace!” He exclaims, silencing the crowd and the music. “Prince. Shadows,” he directs at the Kingsguard. “I was hoping you’d come. This lively gathering is in your honor after all, Your Grace. For your accession in a couple of days.”

You smile at him and then flash your smile at everyone else. “Well…in that case. Thank you, my Lord, and in honor of the gesture, I hope you all keep drinking and having fun just like when I wasn’t here!” You proclaim, causing the crowd to erupt with excitement, causing the music to play, and causing bodies of people to get between you and Lyonel, blocking the sight of you and any access.

“Wine?” A servant asks as they come up to you with a tray of goblets.

“Obviously.”

“Thank you,” you tell the servant after Daeron’s blunt response, and take your drink before you scan the garden until you find a group of people playing Cup Ball. “Come, come.” You pull Daeron with you to the game and watch a lord with his unbuttoned shirt and belly out hit the edge of the table instead of the stacked cups.

“This.” Daeron points to the game as he finishes swallowing his drink. “This interests you?”

“Yes, what if I win?”

Daeron chuckles and as the lord moves along, Daeron takes the ball and steps onto the marked spot across from the table.

“Watch this,” Daeron says over his shoulder, and then with his goblet in his other hand, he locks his eyes on the stacked cups, swings the ball back, and then after finding a target, he throws the ball.

Yet it manages to hit the tabletop and then bounces off, making the people around you laugh whilst you stifle your laugh as he walks back to you in defeat.

“I can pretend I didn’t watch just for you,” you coo, making him roll his eyes and then point his goblet to the stacked cups.

“Just go.”

You snicker before you take his place on the marked spot and then take the ball from the lady in the silver gown.

At first, you study the stack of cups and measure the distance between you and the cups, and then, you step back and swing your arm back. Without passing your goblet to someone else, you hurl the ball at the stack of cups and watch it whoosh forward and hit the stack of cups, knocking them all down. Something neither man before you managed to do.

Yet that’s not why you gasp with excitement. You gasp and smile simply over the act of winning. And because you’re so overtaken with joy, you then spin around swiftly to face Daeron with a beaming grin before you squeal and giggle and hop toward him.

Daeron doesn’t say anything. He just grins as he finds himself enveloped in your excitement and welcomes you into his arms as you jump up and down giddily.

Which is perhaps silly to do after an insignificant victory, but you’re swept up by it and get excited as if it were monumental. And that energy never once leaves your side as you move about the garden being completely drunk of each other whilst also managing to charm those reluctant lords. Some perhaps only turn further away from the idea of you becoming Queen, but it’s those who start to think of you as the right choice, and the right one, that matter the most.

If only it were that simple to change the minds of others, but as long as you’re a woman some people will never change their minds.

It’s unfair…

But alas, your mind in that moment is only occupied by Daeron. It’s just you and him. Him and you. Your heart’s beating in sync and your entangled souls.

That is until something else breaks through and causes you to break out of your spell. A song.

Yes, you’ve heard it multiple times in the span of five years, but in this gathering hosted by Lyonel, the song takes you back to five years ago when he took you out to dance for the first time.

You remember the fun you had. The way he spun you around and the way he made you forget about the rest of the world. You’re taken back to that day five years ago when you met him in Ashford. You’re there. You see him there…here.

But, you also see…your father. He wasn’t in that tent, but it doesn’t matter because your mind still brings him up and the memory of all the fun, the excitement, and the fluttering heart turns to ash, and your grief returns while your heart aches as if your father had just ripped out a piece of it all over again.

Why…why did he have to die?

Why—

Before you can go on a tangent, Daeron interrupts you by wrapping his arm around you and pulling you against him.

Maybe he had seen the way your bliss had begun to dim from your eyes, but he was your salvation.

“I love you,” you whisper, risking not being heard over the commotion, but he does because he stiffens and then looks at you with surprise.

It’s not something you haven’t said to each other, but it’s something not often said. It’s something still surprising for him to hear.

“I love you,” you whisper again, making his eyes soften and fill with adoration.

“I love you too,” he whispers in return without hesitation or a crack in his voice. He says it from his heart.

——

*LATER*

“Maybe I can get an hour of sleep,” you say with a yawn as you walk towards your chambers.

“Is that what you want to do in that hour?” Daeron teases. “I have another idea that can fill that hour.”

You giggle and spin around on your heels to face him with a smirk. “I’ll be sore later because of your ideas. So maybe think of something else.”

Daeron chuckles as you press your hands against the door handles and then lunges forward to grab you by the waist and pull you against him.

“Surely I can think of something else,” he whispers seductively as you open the doors and walk backwards into the room, expecting to walk into an empty room, but catching your uncle Maekar sitting by your bed and Aerea sitting on his lap.

Thus, you pull away from Daeron and turn, noticing your uncle Rhaegel standing at the foot of your bed, and a maester tending to Baelon lying on your bed.

“Mama! Papa!” Aerea exclaims and drags herself off her grandfather.

“Good morning,” your uncle Rhaegel greets warmly with a smile to match.

“Your Grace.” The maester bows his head at you. “My Prince. Good morning.”

With unexpected attention now on you, you cross your arm over your chest to try to cover your breasts under Daeron’s light shirt.

He ripped the top of your gown not long ago, so he gave you his shirt so you could cover up until you changed. You can’t now though.

“Good morning,” you return with a faint smile, hiding how awkward you feel.

“Papa,” Aerea greets her father as she clings to his leg. “I’m up. I’m up.”

“I see that…” you hear him trail off as you make your way to your son's bedside and notice how flushed his cheeks are and how tired those sweet eyes of his look.

“<Hello, my little dragon,>” you greet in High Valyrian. “< What's wrong?>” You query as you sit at his side and stroke his cheek, noting how uncomfortably warm it feels.

“<Nothing,” he tries to be strong. “My body just aches a little. That’s all.>” He coughs from deep in his chest, making you turn and climb off the bed to talk to the maester in the corner

“How long has he been like this?” You ask in the common tongue.

“Since the hour of the wolf, your Grace,” he speaks in a hushed voice. “I had taken more tea to his caretaker for his cough before his bedtime and noted that he was coughing constantly. More than earlier that day. So I checked him and noted a low fever. I had hoped it would go away with more elixir, but when I went to check on him his fever was higher, he was paler but his face was flushed, and he was working hard to take his breaths. We tried to reach you earlier, but you were not to be found, so I summoned Prince Maekar.”

You glance at your uncle and notice that he’s gone from his seat, but Baelon is paying attention to you and the maester, so you wipe your concern from your face as you turn your head away from him to keep talking to the maester.

“But he was doing better. Just yesterday morning he was hardly coughing,” you point out with some distress still noticeable.

“Aye, but such things happen. They can be doing better one moment but fall again and get worse. I, however, will be attentive with the little prince and make sure he does not get worse. I’ll have the other maester take up my duties for today. You do not need to worry, your Grace. Please, you're already stressed as it is.”

You swallow thickly as you feel your chest tighten and nod stiffly in comprehension. What other choice is there? You don’t have the magic to heal Baelon, so you have no other choice but to take the maester's word.

“Yes, yes,” you mutter. “That would be…great. Thank you maester and please when I’m gone do not hesitate to come to me if something's wrong or if something changes.”

He nods. “Of course, but I’ll make sure there’s only good changes.”

You nod mindlessly and then return to Baelon’s side, noticing that Daeron has not come to check on him. He has his back to the bed as he talks with Aerea.

“Do not worry mother,” Baelon strains to say, pulling your attention back to him. “I'm strong. I will get better. I just came here because…your bed is more comfortable,” he lies. He’s scared. He comes to your bed when he’s scared.

“You are strong,” you assure him as you stroke his hair. “So I know that you will keep your word, so when I come back from tending to my duties you will feel better.”

He nods gently. “I will. I promise.”

You smile at him before you press a gentle kiss on his forehead. “As you know I have to leave soon, but I will have the girls and your father stay with you, alright?”

He nods in comprehension, making you press another kiss on his forehead before you climb out of bed and walk to where your uncle Maekar and your uncle Rhaegel are.

“Do not worry, sweet child,” your uncle Rhaegel says as soon as you join them. “Children fall fast but tend to get back up just as quickly. Baelon will get better you’ll see,” he offers you words of comfort, making you offer him a sweet smile.

“I hope so too. Thank you, Uncle.”

He hums before he continues to address you. “My brother has also informed me about your plans to betroth my Daenora to your Baelon,” he lets you know, making you pass a quick surprised glance at your uncle Maekar before you focus back on your uncle Rhaegel.

“Ah, yes, I had hoped to tell you on a further date,” you explain yourself since they’ve caught you by surprise. “But it seems Lord Greyjoy has plans to ask me to betroth his youngest daughter to Baelon, and I didn’t want to just spring that up on you and my aunt, or tell Lord Greyjoy something that wasn’t true.”

“Hm,” your uncle hums with a fond smile before he leans in and whispers. “You are so much like your father,” he says and pulls away. “You do not need to explain yourself to me, my girl. I understand. But either way, I accept the match, and the truth is my Daenora was hoping the match would be made. She’ll rejoice at the good news.”

“Good.” You nod happily. “I’m glad, and Baelon will be happy with the news too. Thank you, uncle.”

He offers you one last smile before he leaves you to your uncle Maekar who has a very deep straight line on his lips that contrasts with his brother's bright smile.

“I know your mind will be on your son today,” he quickly interjects before you can say anything. “But I ask you to keep focused. It’s important now more than ever. House Greyjoy is the last house that needs to swear fealty. After that, we will at last have your coronation. Do not stray now. Do you understand me?”

You glance at Baelon, lying there taking labored breaths as he stares at the canopy.

He has never been a wild child like Aerea. He’s still whereas his sister is all over the place, but to see him so depleted that he finds it better to remain in bed staring at the canopy is agonizing. All you want is to remain at his side until he’s lively again, easy to make laugh, and wants nothing more but to spend all his day outside with his friends, his sister, Daeron, you, and everything that piques his curiosity.

“I understand,” you assure your uncle nonetheless because you also know you have your duties. They have to come first…

Your father would think the same way. He would also put his duties first despite how worried he’d be.

“Get ready then,” your uncle then says as he starts to turn away. “Our day is about to start.”

He turns away fully and walks to the door. Before he can leave though, he stops. “Let’s go, Aerea. Your mother and father have things to do.”

Eagerly, Aerea forgets all about her father and quickly makes her way to your uncle. When she reaches his side instead of walking side by side, she clings to his leg too.

“Let’s go, Papa!” She exclaims. “Let’s go!”

Without complaint, or none that you can see, your uncle starts limping away with ease, which indicates that he carries Aerea like that often. He could stop doing it with some simple words, Aerea will get upset, but it would stop her from clinging onto him. Yet it doesn’t really seem like he wants to and Aerea is happier for it.

Besides, it’s not something he’ll do forever, which is probably why he doesn’t tell her to stop.

Regardless, you walk over to Daeron by the small table holding the wine and grab him by the arm so he can pay attention. “I would really like it if you stayed here with Baelon. Can you do that? Just until he gets better?”

Daeron looks at you from the corner of his eyes and swallows thickly before he nods stiffly.

You note the stiffness and keep holding onto him as you let your eyes linger on him even as he looks back at his goblet.

Ever since you entered the room and found Baelon in his sickly state, Daeron has been distant and has never once been able to look at his son other than the initial glance.

Now, you don’t want to correlate Baelon’s state with Daeron’s dream, but it seems that he is and you know what happens when he’s scared of those bad dreams coming true.

“Daeron,” you whisper with worry. “Please stay. Don’t go.”

“I’m here,” he whispers sharply. “I,” he sighs. “I’ll be here.”

Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer as he keeps his eyes averted, making you further doubt him, but still trust that he’ll stay true to his word and be here when you can’t.

You’ll still tell your ladies-in-waiting to stay here too just in case.

Until then, the hour of sleep is forgotten about, but you end up breaking fast next to Baelon. He doesn’t eat, but he sits up with you and talks about what he wants to do when he gets better.

It mainly consists of being outside, but you don’t have any complaints. Being outside is great and offers many things to do. Besides, hopefully, after your coronation, you’ll have just a bit more free time, so you’ll be able to spend that time with him and Aerea to do whatever it is they want to do.

For now, after you finish breakfast you start getting ready for your day, choosing to don a light black and purple gown with long sleeves and silver jewelry. Overhearing, as you’re getting ready, Baelon talking to Daeron in his hoarse voice.

“I dreamt last night,” Baelon tells his father.

“What did you dream about?” Daeron asks quietly almost like he was hesitant to ask.

“I dreamt about ravens,” Baelon reveals with a cough. “They were…circling me. I tried…I tried to get away. They were scary, but wherever I went, they went. Even when I was inside I could hear them above me. I tried to look for you to help me, but I couldn’t find you. I was alone. Or I thought I was until I found mother…I ran to her and when I hugged her, they finally went away.”

There’s a moment of silence that’s longer than you would’ve liked. You almost want to interject and reassure Baelon that it was just a dream, but the maester then cuts in.

“Ravens are clever creatures, my Prince. It’s often said that when they appear in your dreams they carry a message that you need to hear about yourself or the great beyond.”

What does he know about dragon dreams? To him, dragon dreams are tall tales, but they are so much more than that. They are a glimpse into the future. A warning if you know how to understand them, but they’re never that clear for Daeron or Baelon it seems.

“Perhaps it’s grandfather Baelor,” Baelon says lightheartedly. “But…” he trails off with a drop in his tone of voice. “Maybe it wasn’t. The ravens terrified me. He wouldn’t do that, would he, father?”

There’s silence again so you answer this time. “No, my sweet. Your grandfather Baelor would never do that. He was nice and gentle, so don’t pay those ravens any mind. They’re just loud. That's all.”

“Perhaps.”

You smile at Baelon over your shoulder before you glance at Daeron and notice him seeming to be a hundred miles away, so you clear your throat and then address Baelon.

“Baelon, why don’t you ask your father to read you a story in Valyrian, hm? You need your practice.”

“Yes, mother.”

You offer him one last smile over your shoulder before you let your handmaidens finish helping you dress while you hear Daeron finally rejoin his son in the room to read him the story he asked for.

Once your handmaidens are finished helping you get ready and your ladies-in-waiting are in your chambers, you give Baelon a goodbye kiss on the forehead even though leaving him tugs at your heartstrings, and kiss Daeron on the lips while you hope he keeps his word to stay with Baelon.

In fact, that’s all you can think of, Daeron. He’s changed from the man he was five years ago. He’s present, he doesn’t visit brothels or end up passed out in some random corridor or tavern. He’s loving and involved with his children, but this recent dream of his seems to have shaken him, and now with Baelon sick he might be terrified and withdraw.

You can’t have that right now. You need him now more than ever, so you hope he stays. Just until after the coronation at least. After that you’ll have more time and be able to help him, but not right now…please not now.

“Your Grace,” a gentle yet booming voice breaks you from your stupor and startles you.

“Oh.” He chuckles and reveals themselves to be Lyonel when he joins your side as you make your way down the corridor. “Forgive me,” he says. “I thought you heard me coming.”

“No, apologies. I have many things on my mind right now. Sorry.”

He offers you a smile while you continue to come out of your stupor.

“Good morning,” he then greets kindly, making you offer him a faint smile before you redirect the same greeting as more of a formality.

Lyonel notes that detail before he continues. “How well did you enjoy your party last night? I mean it looked like you enjoyed yourself, but I couldn’t truly know since you and your husband would never leave each other's side and always seemed to be avoiding me.”

Well, that was surely a part of it. A small part though. He’s thinking too much about himself.

“Oh, I had a very amazing time,” you manage to drift to some happier spirits thanks to the subject he brought up. “I have been very busy so I hardly have had time for myself, but last night I was finally given the chance and,” you breathe out contentedly. “It was amazing.”

Lyonel smirks. “Well, it brings me great pleasure that I was able to provide you with so much pleasure,” he says with a hint of smugness that only you can make out and roll your eyes at.

“And now that we’re on that, aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? When Daeron and I left it didn’t seem like it was closer to over and well, it’s early,” you point out lightheartedly as if you were a pair of old friends. “I mean I’m running on pure determination to get through this day. What are you running on?”

He takes in a deep breath before he leans his head towards you. “Wine. Breakfast, and right now…you.”

You meet his gaze and shake your head with disapproval before you roll your eyes away and hide your smile.

“How did you even find me?” You change the subject to avoid feeling flustered. “This castle is huge.”

“Sure.” He nods nonchalantly. “But I have my ways. Maybe I was spying on you or I was waiting for you…or maybe I asked someone where you’d be to run into you before you got too busy for me.”

You scoff. “Well, you are right, I am busy and only free when I’m in between things, so did you want something?” You ask without meeting his eyes even though you feel his stare burning through you.

“I just…wanted to see…a friend,” he says smugly.

“Well.” You exhale. “You saw me and I saw you. Are you satisfied?”

He scoffs. “Not quite, but this will have to do.”

You stop so he stops whilst your Kingsguard stop as well.

You don’t proceed to say anything. You just hold Lyonel’s cocky and playful look, expect to feel…something like before, but where there were butterflies before, now there’s just this giddiness and lightheartedness that makes you playfully roll your eyes at him before you have to part ways.

“Good day, my lord.” You bid him sweetly, seeing his lips pull to a wider smile before he bows without breaking eye contact.

“Good day, my princess.”

You offer him one last smile before you leave him behind and continue down your path with your Kingsguard trailing behind you.

You almost turn a corner, but first you glance back and catch him where you had left him with his eyes still on you, making you smile as you turn the corner and truly leave him behind.

After that, thanks to him you don’t get lost in your thoughts like before. Your stress is not as heightened. It would’ve been great if it had completely disappeared, but alas, he was what you needed to get through the long morning and you didn't even feel butterflies over him.

Which is…such a relief. That’s the last thing you need.

If only dealing with the Greyjoys was as easy as dealing with him, but you can see the defiance in their dark bottomless eyes and smug faces.

“Good day, my Lords and Ladies,” you greet them warmly despite your disdain. “I’m so happy and honored that you could make it. I hope that the winds were kind.”

“Oh, they were,” Lady Greyjoy is the first one to address you. “As you can see, they pushed us here a day earlier than planned. Maybe we should take that as a good omen.”

You smile brighter and nod. “Perhaps we should. Maybe the Drowned God is trying to send you a message.”

She along with some other members of her house laugh, so you do too, hoping that would change their minds about the absurd proposal.

“I know your trip was a long one, so your chambers and a warm meal are ready for you, but first, we must deal with the matter of fealty to my chosen heir and me. Now, he is sick so he can’t be here, but it’s all the same.”

At last, Lord Greyjoy nods. “That it is,” he agrees and then strokes his chin. “And we understand why you have chosen to bring us here instead of letting us settle first. I would have advised my daughter to do the same, but I hope you understand my hesitation to swear our fealty to you and your heir. It’s just a matter of business, truly.”

As expected.

“If that’s all it is then please share what it is,” you offer graciously. “My council and I would prefer a quick and formal solution to your hesitation.”

Lord Greyjoy nods and then looks back, making his party part ways to make way for a little girl with raven black hair and big round grey eyes.

“In the time since King Aegon the First united our realm. It has always been our dream to marry one of the beautiful silver-haired dragon-riding royals. Our wish has sadly never come true, but it can now. With House Velaryon fallen from grace, you need strong sailors and ships. You need salt in your blood again. We can be that salt. We can be your sailors. We can be strong if we unite our houses through my youngest daughter and Prince Baelon. When the Prince comes of age of course.”

And there it is.

“You are offering a proposal in exchange for your fealty, is that right?” Your uncle Maekar interjects in a sharper voice than he’s used to speaking in.

“It has been done plenty of times,” the lord doesn’t deny the inquisition. “And I see no harm in mine. In fact, my little daughter is rejoiced by the idea of marrying the prince.”

Is she?

You look at her and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

It seems her father is the one dreaming of seeing his daughter become Queen.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” you offer in a honey-laced voice before you have to break the news with the same sweet smile. “And as honored as I am to receive such a proposal, I am sorry to say that Prince Baelon is already betrothed to Princess Daenora Targaryen.”

Lord Greyjoy nods stiffly and loses that thin smile as he glances at your uncle Rhaegel before glancing back at you with a strained smile.

“You have a daughter as well. I have a son. He’s five and ten. He can wait for the princess to come of age.”

She’ll be young and beautiful and he’ll have bastards and multiple salt wives. No.

Yet you don’t flat out refuse him, you glance at your uncle Maekar, and without saying anything or making anything obvious, he passes you a pressing look that you can read well. So you do as he said in that speechless exchange.

“A great alternative, but my daughter is only three. I am not taking any offers of marriage just yet.”

Lord Greyjoy stands stiffer and exhales deeply, but doesn’t give up.

“Well, it seems that we will have to take some time to think of a different proposition.”

“No,” you snap back immediately and take a step down from the platform the iron throne sits on. “I am sorry that we couldn’t come to an agreement about any of your matches, but you will swear your fealty first before you are let go.”

Lord Greyjoy drops that unpleasant thin smile and looks around in disbelief before he meets your gaze with a narrowed look. “It is my right to take time to think about who I swear my loyalty to.”

“You had a month to think,” you rebut with all your pleasantry fading away. “So you will either bend the knee and swear your fealty, or I will let you go think in the cells.”

Lord Greyjoy scoffs with amusement, clearly not taking you seriously, so continue to climb down the steps until you’re on the same floor as him, making your Kingsguard rally closer to your sides while the audience holds their breath and your council waits.

“Bend the knee, my Lord I will not offer you another chance,” you sneer, making him point his chin up to the sky, and forcing you to challenge his gaze.

Whoever broke first would win nothing physical. He will still be dragged to a cell, but it is a matter of ego for him because he will still be dragged away depending on what he chooses. It makes no difference to you.

Nonetheless, you’re relentless and the fire behind your amethyst eyes burns him, causing him to lose the challenge. Yet instead of being a sore loser, he starts to laugh, making his party and the rest of the audience laugh with him.

You feign a smile for pleasantries which is actually believable unlike his.

“You have won me over,” Lord Greyjoy booms. “I will bend the knee to you, My Queen!”

About time.

——

*LATER*

The day has been dreadfully longer than usual. Or did it feel that way due to the fact that you were anxious to be at Baelon’s side?

Elyra kept coming to you throughout the day to bring updates, and as much as you wanted to hear improvement…Baelon’s fever didn’t get any lower. His cough didn’t stop hurting his chest, and his breathing only got more labored.

Even so, you hoped that when you finally got to see him, all of that would not be true.

Yet whereas he was willing to sit up and talk before, now he looks weary and paler than before.

“Hello, my little love. I'm back now. I’m here,” you coo as you disregard everyone else and crawl to his side on the bed.

“Mama,” he greets with a tired smile. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh, I know, I’m sorry. I had so much to do, but I’m here now and I’m not leaving,” you assure him before you glance around the room in search of his father who should’ve been at his side, but amongst all the grim faces, his is missing.

“Where has my husband gone?” You ask the maester.

“The prince left right after you did, Your Grace,” the maester reveals, making your heart sink. “I do not know where. He just instructed me to tend to the little prince's needs and left. He has not come back since.”

You swallow thickly and nod before you focus back on Baelon.

“I can go look for him,” Kane, your uncle, surprises you by saying. You had glanced around the room, passed his face, but he was not the man you were looking for so you didn’t register his presence until now.

“Oh, well, he could be anywhere if he’s not here. So don’t bother yourself. I’ll have his father go get him from wherever he is,” you tell him before you glance at your ladies-in-waiting and then back at him. “You can all go. Thank you for staying with Baelon, I cleared the rest of my day to be with him, so please go get some fresh air. Have dinner. Rest.”

Neither woman moves. They all look at each other and pass one another pitiful looks as if they know something you don’t. Something dark and grim.

“We would like to stay here,” Cersei says on behalf of her and the others. “Just at least until,” she pauses and tries to find her next words. “…Baelon’s fever lowers.”

You caress your boy's head and sigh. “No, no. Go. You all have been here long enough.”

“We don’t mind,” Cassandra says. “That’s why we’re here. We’re here for you.”

“Yes, well. I don’t need you girls at the moment, so go.”

“No,” soft-spoken Elyra then blurts unexpectedly. “We’ll stay here.”

You look at her with surprise, but don’t argue anymore. You just muster an amused smile before you focus on Baelon.

“I’ve gotten her all worked up. That was scary, wasn’t it?” You try to get him talking, but he just lets out a short breathless giggle before he reaches one hand out for you.

You quickly take it and press a light kiss on his knuckle before you just hold onto it.

“When is Papa coming back?” Baelon asks hoarsely. “He never finished the story.”

Your breath hitches and you want to give him an answer, but you’re left speechless. Baelon doesn’t know Daeron’s problems. He doesn’t know that he was absent. To him, he always comes back.

This time is not like the others though, so you’re left clueless.

“Hopefully soon. I can finish the story if you want,” you suggest, but Baelon shakes his head.

“No, Papa was reading it,” he argues. “We have to wait for him.”

You exhale deeply and nod. “Alright…” you trail off and look up, catching Jane close to the door so you address her. “Jane, could you tell Ser Crakehall to tell my uncle Maekar to go look for Daeron. Please.”

Jane, who’s usually more laid-back compared to the other girls, gets up quickly this time and does as you say without complaint.

“Mother,” Baelon says hoarsely, pulling your gaze to him.

“Yes?”

“Could you tell me the story of when you presented me to court?”

You giggle at his request, but as funny as it is, you give in. “Alright, but it is a short story.”

“I know, but I like it.”

You giggle and nod as you caress the side of his head. “Alright well, it was winter and the realm was grim because the Great Spring Sickness was taking so many, but amongst all the darkness, like a gift from the gods, you were born. You were like the sun breaking through a grim storm. Everyone was so happy…I had actually not seen your grandfather smile in so long, but he did when he held you for the first time. And then he smiled again when he presented you to court,” you share the memory, making Baelon muster a small smile.

“‘Baelon, the king announced in the great hall full of nobility,” you continue. “‘My great grandson!’ He proclaimed as your grandfather picked you up for all to see, making the room erupt in celebration. Which startled you and only made the people more in awe of you. Everyone was so happy. Your father and I were so happy. You made us very happy. You made me very happy.”

“After you had just lost your brothers?” Baelon asks.

You nod gently. “Yes.”

“Do you miss them?”

You draw in a deep breath and nod again. “Yes,” you breathe out. “Very much. When you were in my belly, Valarr was already so protective of you. He demanded I go to Dorne the moment the Great Spring Sickness started. But I had my duties here and I couldn’t leave them behind.”

“I wish I had met them,” he muses. “Maybe I will…one day.”

You smile at him and nod. “One day, but not today though. You hear? You get better. We have plans don’t we?”

“I’ll get better,” he says with a sense of determination and a cough that makes him gasp for air. “I’m strong so I can do it.”

“You are strong,” you reassure him and stroke his cheek.

“I have to be here to see them after all.”

You look at him confused. “See who?” You question him, making him smile through his exhaustion.

“The dragons,” he says with strained glee. “They’re coming back, mama. I dreamt it. I saw one black as a shadow with red highlights. He was so beautiful, Mama. So, so beautiful.”

You caress his cheek and smile at him fondly.

“When he’s here, my dragon can be born too,” he continues. “And he’ll be even more beautiful. He’ll be strong like me and we’ll be best friends. Your dragon will be born too,” he says as he looks up at the canopy that holds the painting of your dragon. “And then you won’t be so sad.”

You scoff. “I’m not sad…not anymore. Because of you.”

His lips pull up to a faint smile, but he stays quiet, letting you hear the labored breaths that take so much from him to produce.

“Can we sing the song? The one your father would sing to you in Valyrian? It’s my favorite.” He asks.

“Of course,” you whisper, and then quietly start singing the lullaby with him singing along with you. Not as loud as other times, he sings under his breath until halfway through, his eyes start growing heavier and heavier until he’s not singing anymore and only his labored breath replaces his singing, making you go quiet and watch him and his every breath, just like when he was a baby and would sleep between you and Daeron because you were scared he’d stop breathing when you weren't watching.

Life had taken so much already. You didn’t want it to take Baelon too, so you watched him, or guarded him as Daeron would put it.

He would sleep through the night so the nights were long, but you still stayed up. Daeron would take his turn for your sake, but despite that, you still stayed up alongside him.

Those were good nights. Daeron was the happiest he’s ever been in those days. In fact, it was like a long era because he was happy when Aerea was born too.

You want him to continue being happy. You want to continue being happy too.

In fact, you dream of happiness. After a sleepless night and a long day, you end up closing your eyes too with Baelon snuggled up against you.

You wanted to guard him, but your exhaustion got the best of you, so you dreamt. Of him…your mighty black dragon, and Baelon. He’s in your dream too. He’s in awe of your dragon. He's enamored, so much so that he starts to cry. He looks at you in your dream with tears rolling down his cheeks and smiles. A sweet tender smile.

You want to reach him and hug him to comfort him, but as you reach out for him he disappears and your dragon along with him. You’re left in the dark. There’s nothing but darkness…and then his voice.

“Mama,” you hear Baelon say, causing you to startle awake and see the maester at the other side of the bed.

At first, you think he’s going to give Baelon some medication, but he’s looking at you empty-handed and with a grim and pitiful look.

“Your Grace,” he whispers and pauses, letting you hear the sobs in the back of the room that make your heart sink deeper than it already was. Even so, as your heart comes to a grim conclusion, your mind is stubborn to accept what your heart knows.

“Baelon,” you whisper and look down at the boy still in your arms. “Baelon,” you whisper again to try to wake him up.

The sobs grow louder and the doors open as your Kingsguard, with their heavy armor, walk in.

You don’t pay them any mind though. You keep focused on Baelon and stay quiet to hear those labored breaths, but…he’s quiet and still. So very still.

“Baelon,” your voice trembles. “My love.”

There’s no response. No breathing, so you sit up with him cradled in your arms and caress his face.

“Baelon, wake up, my love,” you plead, but there’s more silence and even more stillness, something that causes your heart to ache while your mind keeps denying the truth in front of you.

“Baelon,” you mewl. “Please…wake up. You have to wake up….please, please…please.”

“Your Grace,” the maester says again, but doesn't seem to have more to say. He’s stating something. He’s making your mind slowly accept what you’ve been trying to deny.

A truth that has no way around it. A truth you can no longer deny no matter how much you want to.

The gods are cruel after all. Life is cruel. They’ve all already taken so much so it comes as no surprise that they…take Baelon too.

But he was a sweet boy. He loved being outside and catching animals and insects only to see them up close and show them to you before he set them free. He loved horseback riding and loved stories of dragons and their riders.

He wanted so much out of life. He wanted to live. They knew that, but they took him just like they took everyone else…

Why? Why?!

Why, you ask yourself as you accept the truth, but stay quiet as you look at Baelon’s lifeless eyes.

Streams of tears roll down your cheeks, but you stay utterly quiet as you sit in your agonizing numbness…

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A/N- Im sorry