#valarforged

A sudden, inexplicable urge to weep embraced her heart when Helaena, blessedly and silently, stepped into the children’s room just in time to catch that sight. Gods, the sweet innocence of children. She wanted to pin that image into a board and preserve it forever, like she did to some of her bugs, yet for a second she could only stand in awe, knowing how fleeting these moments could be. Her immediate instinct was to rush to him. To pick him up in her arms, kiss him from head to toe in that kind of ticklish, maternal way that would make him laugh, but it was late and quiet and his sister was asleep–the last thing she’d want to do was to frighten her little boy after catching such a lovely sight.

Helaena closed her eyes, exhaling a warm sigh as their foreheads touched, lips stretched into an easy smile. His breath gave her cheeks a pleasant warmth. When had she gotten so comfortable being this close to someone? She nuzzled his nose, cupped his face, looking up to meet his gaze – and it was effortless now, natural. “You’re happy”, she pointed out, almost laughing,

How could he not be? Watching the babies in their cribs, Helaena understood less and less why mother and father had never found happiness in the children they had together. The twins had changed her life completely. They hadn’t said a word yet. All they did was eat, and sleep, and cry, and often leave her weary and make her sleep poorly, yet they had transformed something so fundamental within her spirits that she could hardly even think of a life before them, without them.

“I didn’t… think… anything.” The answer was a low, paced murmur. I didn't know anything until after we were married, she argued in her brain, though her lips remained silent. Her shoulders tensed at the way he spoke, as if she would be a fool to ever think otherwise, so Helaena focused twice as hard on her patterns instead, as if to look away from the thought of how they’d all let her down. Mother had taught her nothing useful about marriage. Nothing. People would remark upon his fondness for women or make these snickering little remarks concerning his visits to the Street of Silks, always so full of innuendos that she never understood. She never knew what that meant until it was too late. Everyone was in on the secret but her. Helaena tried to swallow her unease, but it slipped through a small tremor in her hands, disturbing her work and making her sting her thumb on the needle in a moment of distraction.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Gods, perhaps she was a fool. But who had taught her not to be? It wasn’t until the twins were heavy in her belly that she’d begun to suspect, and only after they were already pink and bawling on her arms did she muster the courage to ask one of her maids why Aegon seemed to like those silks so much. Perhaps it was for the best that no one had explained to her before. Now she couldn't even look at him, and the knowledge made her flinch from his touch.

[ HAND ]: sender extends a hand to the receiver, wordlessly asking for a dance. / @valarforged, robb stark

THE SEVEN KINGDOMS UNITED as one in celebration of the king's heir, his nameday the start to a week long feast where even the smallfolk ate their fill. Daenerys watched their guests from her seat next to the prince Viserys. Wine flowed freely, roasted boar and cooked vegetable filling every plate. Boisterous voices swelled against stone walls, laughter rising and falling like waves, drowning out even her brother's words next to her. And when she closed her eyes, the chatter was the ocean crashing against the black cliffs of Dragonstone – and she was home.

Many a man, both old and young, came to them one after another, with courtesies paid and blessings bestowed upon their royal family – upon her brothers, more so than on her. Because more often than not, she was only glanced at and the polite smile she wore fell just as quickly when their attention turned from her. But it was still better to be ignored than the alternative, when eyes lingered too long that belonged to men thrice her age. She was nearly a woman grown and felt exposed under such scrutiny. No amount of fidgeting with her dress could cover her.

And one by one, the lords and ladies from each of the great houses made themselves known to the king, gracious bows and introductions made to each of the Targaryens. The Baratheons, Tyrells, Lannisters, Starks – Rhaegar treated them all the same, with small pleasantries and offers of wine to drink to their health and good fortune in the coming tourney. The same compliment could not be paid to Viserys, who ignored the Baratheons save for a seething glare at the eldest and spoke through gritted teeth with Lord Stark. The Starks of Winterfell did not make it a habit to come so far south, especially after their part in the failed rebellion. The honorable Ned Stark had bent the knee to Rhaegar some time after Robert Baratheon's death on the trident – perhaps it had been out of fear, or a learned history, or for the safety of his son who was only a babe when the last dragon rose victorious.

Robb stood now at his father's side when they approached the king's table, and for the first time that evening, his icy blue gaze met the princess' lavender. Daenerys had glanced in his direction several times during dinner – his auburn hair kissed by fire was easy to spot amidst the crowd, if she only looked for it. He was more striking than Renly, she decided, after studying his features for several seconds. It was unmistakeable that he had the north in him, but when he smiled, it brought a sudden warmth to Dany's face. Surely no one would notice the flush of fire and blood that colored her cheeks...

And then they retreated to their seats almost as quickly as they came, Daenerys watching Robb from the corner of her eye as he left. It was said each of the Starks had a direwolf cub, though if the rumors were true, Robb had not been so daring as to bring his to dinner. The music grew more lively, bleeding into the night as plates were cleared and the festivities commenced. The crown prince had already danced with several ladies, though Daenerys thought Margaery Tyrell was undoubtedly the most fluid and beautiful on the floor. He had even shown such kindness to dance once with Daenerys.

compliments,    as   a   whole   aren't   her   strong   suit        –        though   perhaps   a   more   fair   observation   might   say   that   speaking   doesn't   particularly   come   easily   to   the   sellsword.    surrounded   by   sycophants   and   honeyed   words   all   her   life,    all   fen   had   taken   from   her   time   within   one   of   r'hllor's   red   temples   had   been   the   training   that   made   her   deadly,    not   any   ounce   of   capable   silken   tongue.    she   imagines,    in   some   way,    perhaps,    that   must   be   part   of   her   allure        –     part   of   whatever   it   is   that   draws   aegon's   interest.    so   keen   and   used   to   hearing   whatever   it   was   he   wanted,    all   for   the   hope   of   a   blessing   or   a   boon.    her   nose   wrinkles,    an   inhaled   breath   that   is   all   distinctively   him;    ale   and   dragon's   breath,    a   smokey   underbelly   of   cinders   and   something   almost   sweet.    her   fingers   still   from   where   she   is   absentmindedly   sharpening   a   blade,    head   turning   just   so   to   offer   the   very   vision   of   attention   he   craves        –        sockets   void   of   anything,    and   yet   fen   knows   this   room   inside   and   out.    knows   aegon   just   as   well   as   she   does   her   own   hand. 

I’ll do it, my prince, the maid had said when he stepped forward, and it struck her right away that this might be the last time someone would address Aegon as such. The thought made the blood freeze within her veins. Gulping, Helaena inhaled a deep breath, combing her fingers through her hair and bringing them over one shoulder so she could bare her neck to help him clasp that final piece of jewelry – before the crown, that was. 

Watching her own reflection, Helaena did not see a queen. She saw only a girl – frightened, powerless, aimless, with no place to run from this burdensome title, nowhere to hide from the consequences that would follow it. She wanted to weep. She wanted to scream like a madwoman: can nobody see what this will do to us?

Perhaps she should have. Some primal fear within her stomach pushed her to do it, against all logic, but Helaena knew better. They would just lock her away and carry on without her – and this was no time to leave him alone with this burden. This was the time to be his queen, so Helaena stood up and put on a brave face.