hold me while you wait
jacaerys velaryon x fem!stark!reader
summary: jacaerys is injured whilst on a political mission that threatens his mothers reign. all he ask when he wakes up in the comfort of his bed in kings landing is that his wife comforts him (au where the dance never happens)
word count: 3.6k
content warnings: injury, medieval painkillers for said injury, non-grapic descriptions of violence, canon typical societal customs
mdni!, nothing nsfw but just as a principle
read on ao3
thank you to my talented mutual/proof reader @idkwhenimadethisaccountlol
The godswood was always a peaceful place to sit in Winterfell, and when you were younger you loved to sit under the red leaves and white branches, the knowledge that the old gods could watch over you comforted something in your heart, especially after your mother died.
When you were betrothed to the Prince Jacaerys a few moons after Viserys I died, an attempt to bring the North into closer relations to the happenings of the South. When told of the idea, you had scoffed, claiming that the Starks would remember their oaths to the named heir, and it was those in the West they should be concerned about.
Nevertheless, after two years getting to understand the dynamics of House Targaryen, the preparations for the royal wedding that would tie together House Targaryen and House Stark were well underway. It was all any could talk about at the evening dinner you all frequented each night, a tradition put in place shortly before the late king’s death to attempt to keep the fragile unity in place.
At a supper between the families, it was discussed that you were to be married in the Great Sept, a procession through the streets for the people to see your unity, a great stage for the lords and ladies of Westeros to view the ceremony. A lovely idea, but the thought of surrendering your personal beliefs upon marrying a Crownlander made you uneasy, wishing for the old religion to be as honoured as the Faith of the Seven in your nuptials.
You proposed the idea to your betrothed’s family, that before the feast once the ceremony and procession had concluded, that there might be a more intimate moment under white branches and red leaves, before the watching eyes carved into the bark, so that Jace’s vows were as meaningful to you as yours would be to him.
And so, it was agreed and approved by the Queen and her council that the day was to be added to. By the seventh moon of the year 134 AC, a public ceremony took place, joining the dragon and the wolf in the eyes of the Seven in front of the masses, with a smaller ceremony under the watchful eyes of the weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s Godswood in the evening, surrounded by all of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, and your dear brother, before you were to attend the feast and the following festivities. It was a beautiful day, and the two of you swore yourself to the other by the old gods and the new surrounded by your families, who gazed upon the sight with gentle smiles and happy tears.
That evening, you ate, you drank, you danced, before the two of you ran away from the party to have a moment to yourself, walking through the castle as servants and guards bowed to you, finding yourselves back under the branches in the godswood discussing your tour of the Seven Kingdoms that you were to take in place of your honeymoon, to present yourselves to houses great and small as trustworthy heirs to the Iron Throne, the future King and Queen Consort.
Throughout the tour of the realm, you ensured to send your mother-by-law detailed letters of how each house was adjusting to life under her rule, and upon your return you were invited to sit at the table with the rest of the Council. Rhaenyra was proud of the interest you had put into the politics of the realm, always being happy to partake in meetings and discussions, offering insight and advice.
Five years after Rhaenyra ascended the throne came one of the more concerning rumblings of an uprising in the Reach, disgruntled lords who still believed that women could not rule despite the peace and prosperity that had continued throughout the Queen’s reign, continuing on from what Jaehaerys and Viserys had left to her. The topic had been a concern since reports of unease had come from you during your wedding tour, so there was little surprise when one of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard was sent to find the pair of you, found in your usual haunt of the royal library, sharing information about the history of the North whilst Jacaerys spoke of the history of Old Valyria.
“My Prince, my Lady,” Ser Erryk bowed his head, “Her Grace requires your presence in the council to discuss the matter of Lord Fossoway.”
“We shall be there momentarily,” you replied, “Thank you, Erryk.”
The man bowed his head once again and left you to your own devices.
You stood and placed the books you had pulled from the ancient shelves back in their place, and then took the arm that Jace had offered, making your way through the halls of the Red Keep to the Council Chamber that was already filled with Rhaenyra’s Council and family. The two of you took your seats at the grand table, next to Lord Corlys.
Daeron stood next to Rhaenyra, waiting for permission from his sister before speaking.
“The Fossoway’s have been disgruntled about a woman ascending the Iron Throne since our father died, but they were just whispers. Some servants within Cider Hall have reported that he is attempting to recruit other noble houses to stage a coup against our Queen,” Daeron recounted, “Ser Gwayne is preparing some Hightower forces to march Northeast from Oldtown should it come to that, and will fly out on Tessarion to join them, but it will take weeks for the foot soldiers to reach them.”
“We need not use violence yet,” Rhaenyra said, “We do not lead with fear.”
“Luke and I can fly to them,” Jace offered, looking to you first for approval, and then to his brother in reassurance, “Attempt to talk first. They see it as in important matter, who better to talk them down than the Queens eldest sons.”
“It may be dangerous,” Rhaenyra warned.
“We need not cause him anymore offence than he seems to have taken by your mere existence,” you respond, “Jace and Luke are plenty skilled in both politics and their swords. Perhaps we send a raven ahead, allow them to prepare for their arrival and give our men in the Reach time to march closer to Cider Hall.”
And so it was decided, Rhaenyra went off with Grand Maester Orwyle and Alicent to formulate a letter to be delivered as soon as possible, whilst Daeron, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, Rhaena and yourself stayed in the council chambers, meticulously planning for how long it may take for Gwayne and his forces to reach Cider Hall from Oldtown, the plans they should lay and discuss with the Fossoway’s and a plan of action and strategy for if they decide to be less than hospitable.
You mentioned that word of this potential uprising had also been warned of by the Tyrell’s in Highgarden, and that if Daeron flew out and asked for assistance should events go south then Lord Lyonel would be able to send men ahead and assist Jace and Luke.
“I can go with him,” Baela offered, “Daeron and I could petition for help from Lord Tyrell should we need the help, and I could stay with them.”
That is how you spent the rest of the day; discussing plans and speeches, crafting meticulous schedules and strategies. Rhaenyra wanted a new way of ruling when she took the throne, putting time and effort into ensuring each of her children and siblings were prepared to lead should tragedy befall their family. Aegon did not care for it, Aemond preferred to respond in a way that did not align with the morals of the majority, and Helaena chose to keep away from it all but would, on occasion, provide a cryptic vision she had seen that her family would be left to unpick.
Therefore, it was left to the six of you to ensure that the future of the realm was in good hands. Once you had all formulated a strategy, in addition to three more in case the first went wrong, and you’d presented your thoughts to the Council, it instilled a sense of pride in Rhaenyra and Alicent, both approving of the plan.
With permission granted, Daeron and Baela made their way to the dragonpit to head first to Highgarden, with the promise that they shall write to you each day with updates no matter how extravagant the news was, for you and Rhaena were to be in charge of overseeing the plan and reporting to your elders.
Three days had passed, and word had come from Baela that the Tyrell’s were gathering their soldiers and that Daeron was on his way to meet his uncle’s forces, as well as a letter from the Fossoway’s stating that they await the princes’ arrival.
“You must be careful,” you said as you fussed with your husband’s cloak, allowing yourself to say goodbye once you had ensured he had everything he needed in his satchel and saddlebags that adorned both Vermax and Arrax, “The Fossoway’s may not be the greatest house but they do put up a fight.”
Jacaerys had a smirk on his face, bemused at your fussing, “You fret too much, my love. Luke and I will be alright.”
“I have faith in you, Jace,” taking his hands in yours, “But I do not trust Owen Fossoway. He was cruel during our tour after our wedding.”
Jace nodded and pulled one hand from yours to rest it on your cheek, pulling you close so that he could rest his head against yours and savour your touch before he would be deprived of it for an uncertain amount of time.
He thrived from being near you, no matter how small the interaction. The whole realm had seen it on their travels; where there was the prince, his lady wife was never far.
“I love you,” he whispered, “and I shall mourn the fact that I am not with you.”
“I love you, Jacaerys.”
He placed a soft kiss on your lips, before untangling himself from you with a saddened look on his face – as if it physically pained him to pull away and fly off to the Reach.
They departed with promises of being safe and returning home as soon as they were able, and you watched their silhouettes become specs in the sky as Vermax and Arrax flew further East before Rhaena and yourself rode back to the Red Keep to attend yet another council meeting.
It had been just four days since they’d left King’s Landing when Jacaerys wrote to you that the situation was hostile, and the Fossoway’s had already taken to making statements just shy of treason.
Upon the seventh day of their absence, a letter had reached King’s Landing that the princes had been attacked as they were leaving to meet Baela and Daeron with the Tyrells and Hightowers, injuring the Prince Jacaerys with two arrows. It was reported that the maester at their camp was treating Jace the best he could before Luke was to escort Jace and Vermax back to the capital; Daeron, Baela, Gwayne and the Tyrell forces awaiting permission to march on Cider Hall.
Rhaenyra was furious, and the council had to convince their queen not to fly out herself on Syrax, stating she would be of better use reassuring the realm from Kings Landing, awaiting her son’s impending arrival and curbing Aemond and Daemon’s destructive tendencies to burn Cider Hall to the ground.
You were beside yourself when you were told of the news, and it was Alicent and Rhaena who were arranging for their arrival, asking Grand Maester Orwyle to gather his most skilled maesters and increased guards to be present around your shared chambers.
The days passed, and each day that the council gathered, you stood by the window, staring up at the clouds for two dragons returning. It was just after the council had begun to discuss the matter of some crimes in Flea Bottom upon the last day of the week when you spotted the green and white scales reflecting in the sun, nearing the city walls with great speed.
“They have returned,” you picked up your skirts as you made your way out of the room, heading for the courtyard where the dragons were getting mildly too large to land but it would have to do, for no one knew how much longer your husband may have.
Jacaerys landed his dragon in the courtyard and all but fell from his saddle, encouraging Vermax to fly back to the dragonpit with Arrax in broken High Valyrian, clutching his side in bloodied and ruined clothing, face pained and pale as he stumbled to Orwyle.
He was guided to a stretcher, upon which it seemed that the last of his energy left his body and his legs collapsed beneath him, leading to the maester having to lower the wounded prince the rest of the way to the scratching linen. Jacaerys was rushed to his chambers to be assessed by the maesters who informed you all to let them work, leaving you to pace the courtyard awaiting Luke's arrival from the Dragonpit.
As he rode in from the streets of Kings Landing with the company of various Queensguard and household knights, you stood back so that Rhaena could greet her husband first, seeing the fear dissipate from her shoulders upon seeing him safe with no scratch upon him, before the two separated and the man you called your brother looked to you and your terrified eyes. He stepped forth and embraced you, knowing that it hurt you to not be able to hold Jacaerys in your arms and seek comfort after a worrying ordeal.
"He shall be alright," He reassured you, and guided you and Rhaena over to where his mother waited to hug her second son.
The hall outside of Jacaerys and your shared bedchambers was filled with anxious faces when the four of you returned, and soon the sound of your footsteps pacing filled the air whilst Lucerys explained the whole story from the moment they were welcomed – a term he used lightly – to the last moments they had with Daeron, Baela and Gwayne before setting their sights on the flight home. The Fossoway's did not believe that the princes were simply flying home, scouts having found the movements of their soldiers, and in anger at the deceit as if it were not their own that had brought the Velaryon boys to their home, Owen Fossoway's eldest son sent arrows flying towards the brothers as they made their ways to their dragons, succeeding in hitting Jace in the back of his left shoulder and his abdomen when he turned around, in shock as to what had happened.
Near the end of his story, the chamber doors opened and Orwyle calmly exited the room, bowing to the royals that stood around him.
"My Lady," he stepped away to allow you into your room, walking straight to the side of the too pale figure of your husband, taking a seat on the edge of your bed and running a hand through his dishevelled hair, holding his hand in yours just to feel the warmth from it to reassure yourself that he was still alive.
"Oh, Jacaerys," you mumbled, your posture slouching, the lack of sleep and fear catching up to you all at once, and you allowed yourself to lean back against the body that had materialised behind you, the familiar weight of Rhaenyra's hand resting upon your shoulder bringing you comfort.
The fever came just two days later, the wounds becoming infected despite the cleanliness of the maesters work, stating that he was too weak for his body to combat the fire that burned within.
If you had been hesitant to leave your husbands side before, then there was nothing in all of the Seven Kingdom’s that could move you from your chambers now. Lucerys and Rhaena came every day after the council had met to inform you of the comings and goings, bringing you the letters that arrived from the Reach, and ensuring that you were still breaking your fast and having supper in the evenings.
Rhaenyra would often find you curled up on the settee that had been pulled close to the bedside, fighting against the slumber trying to pull you under because of the fear that when you would awake, it would be to the news of Jace no longer being in this world.
The maesters warned the queen that if his fever did not break soon, it would be all too likely that he would be lost for good; and whilst they tried to whisper it to their ruler, the words still reached your ears and caused the ache in your chest to grow.
“You cannot leave me, Jace,” you whispered, holding his hand tight and pushing his damp curls off his forehead, “I do not know what to do without you.” You meticulously watched his chest rise and fall as the hours passed, the moon rising higher in the sky and casting steep shadows throughout the room. That night, you felt his skin begin to cool and the sweat start to dry, and Orwyle’s report at dawn that Jace’s fever had calmed filled you with a sense of hope that you may soon be able to see the gentle eyes of your husband fall upon you once again.
Daeron and Baela’s arrival in King’s Landing was the only thing that could pull you from Jace, Rhaenyra all but forcing you to leave the stifling air of the bedchamber behind for just a few moments, stating that a walk to the courtyard may do you some good.
Baela held your hand from the moment you saw each other until you arrived at the council, allowing Daeron to begin giving their report to his sister, sitting with you as she refreshed herself with wine and the comfort of a seat, rather than a saddle.
The knowledge that Gwayne was bringing the Fossoway’s to King’s Landing to pass sentence and the threat to Rhaenyra’s reign was dealt with brought you comfort, and the meeting that followed was predominantly the dragonriders recounting their events in remarkable detail that no one noticed the absence of their Grandmaester. Or at least, not until he came into the chamber with the statement that the Crown Prince had awoken.
The chair you were sat upon almost toppled over when you leapt from your seat, weaving your way through the halls of the Red Keep as your heart began to pound the closer you got to your chambers, feeling your legs falter at the sight before you as the rest of his family entered the room behind you.
Jace was sat upright against the intricate wooden headboard, cushions behind his back and a grimace knitting his eyebrows together as he sipped from a cup that presumably contained milk of the poppy to ease his suffering, the wounds inflicted by the arrows still fresh and only just calming down from the infection.
His foggy gaze focused slightly when his eyes fell upon you, taking in your tired eyes and dress – a far cry from the nightgown and robe you had often remained in for the past eight days – and reached a weak hand out towards you, speaking your name as if to break you out of the stupor that had taken a hold of you from seeing the one thing you had been wishing for since you’d heard of the attack.
It was only when you heard his voice did you begin to move again, taking your place on the bed next to him and resting a hand on his cheek, “Jace.”
“My love.”
That night you remained on your perch, allowing him to sleep whilst you worked on some needlepoint to stop you from falling asleep, but after a few hours you felt a pair of eyes burning into you. Jacaerys viewed you in the warm light of the fireplace and the candle that rested on the table next to you, allowing for you to see the thread you were working through the fabric.
“You should be resting, Jacaerys,” you mumbled, not looking up from the embroidery loop you held.
He let out a slight scoff, “As should you.”
“I shall rest when you are better.”
“Then perhaps you could hold me whilst you wait, my love.”
Your hands fell to your lap, and you finally looked at him, a disapproving look on your face, “I will not risk hurting you.”
He groaned and threw his head back, complaining of not being able to kiss or hold you or be with you for over two weeks, suggesting that if you went on his opposite side then you would not hurt him: all he wanted was a sense of normalcy.
“Please.”
The pleading of his tone made you stand and shed the robe you were wrapped in, climbing into the bed and wrapping your arm behind his head. He buried his head into your shoulder and brought his right arm around your back so that he could settle his hand on your waist, clutching at the fabric of your nightgown tightly and letting your scent and warmth flood his senses.
“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, “I shall still be breathing when you open your eyes.”
Your mind raced with possibilities of all the horrific outcomes that could occur if you did not watch over him, but the safety you felt in your heart from your husbands words allowed you to shift down, resting your head on his uninjured shoulder whilst his arm stayed protectively around your waist, kissing your head gently, thumb gently rubbing the fabric over your skin to lull you to sleep and put the horrors of the past week behind you.
“Swear to me that you will still breathe even when I sleep.”
“I am no longer at the foot of The Stranger,” he chuckled softly, “Maester Orwyle said that I shall be fine.”
“Jacaerys.”
He turned his head and kissed the top of your head once more, “I swear it, by the old gods and the new.”
authors note: first hotd fic! lowkey hated this at first but it think it's fine
title is the same as hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi
and there may potentially be a prequel in the works
masterlist here !!!
do not steal my work
