✿sof

Lucerys had been the first to enter his dark, watery grave. He was her sweet boy, gentler than most expected from the boy who blinded his own uncle as a child. The heir to Driftmark, the future Lord of the Tides, now a victim to them. He had been hunted down by a vengeful Aemond One-Eye and thrown from the sky by his mount Vhagar, both Lucerys and his dragon falling in pieces into the deep. The sea had taken him, or what remained of him, leaving her with neither a body to burn or a son to cherish. 

Then came Jacaerys. 

Her Jacaerys. 

The boy had made her a mother, the child who had been cradled to her chest when she was just barely a woman herself. The prince who had carried the weight of expectation, of judgement, of duty from the moment he took his first breath to the moment he took his last. The prince who protected her, who never lost an opportunity to stick up for her and defend her claim. He had grown into the most gracious prince, the very image of the king she had always hoped he would be–honourable, steadfast. compassionate. If the lords of the realm had any sense, they would have accepted him as her heir with open arms. 

Instead they had taken him away. 

There was no greater hold on the queen than that of the love she bore for her sons. That love was fierce, it defied logic and sensibility. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, and little Aegon and Viserys–each of whom had carved out a place deep within her soul that belonged to them alone. No rumours, no crown, no venomous whispers or wars could have ever taken her love away.

Yet the old midwives had always spoken one truth that lingered with her now more than ever; a woman’s firstborn leaves a cut so deep upon her soul that no other can. The first cry she ever soothed,  the first fever that had her on her knees before The Mother like never before, the first gummy smile that made her believe that She had listened. That was Jacaerys. 

She had seen flickering visions long ago; herself on the Iron Throne, regal and just, but what had mostly caught her attention was the tall young man standing firmly at her right hand–wild dark curls and eyes that flickered with the fire of Old Valyria. She had seen him at the altar, standing before the most beautiful bride the world had ever known, holding his own litter of princes and princesses in her arms and promising to spoil them with anything they could ever desire. These visions came to her the night he was born. 

Now her visions were plagued with memories. She could only see him chasing Lucerys around the training yard while they were meant to be sparring, far younger than she would have preferred them to hold a weapon, but it was tradition. She saw him claiming his dragon, taking his first flight. She saw him burying his little face in her chest during thunderstorms. She saw his face, angry and defiant as he begged her not to fly to the Gullet. Then, she saw nothing.

There would be no wedding, no princes and princesses in the near future. No future at all. 

Now it was quiet. No children running around, no sparring in the training yard, no cursing between broken High Valyrian. Only the quiet lapping of the waves against the cliffside. 

“The realm needs its queen.”

She should have known Daemon would find her soon enough. She had seen Caraxes fly overhead hours ago, soon followed by the comforting purring noises as he descended where Syrax had laid to rest. The pair were bonded, and as Daemon sought out his own wife, so did his mount. If only the rider showed an inch of such compassion. 

It must have been three hours before he finally came up on her, sitting far too close to the edge than what was probably safe, miles away from where she had left Syrax to slumber. 

“A queen needs her heir.”

Daemon hesitated behind her.

“Joffrey is your heir,” he said, “there was a raven. His ship has left Pentos, he will be with you soon enough.”

“Jacaerys is my heir,” she spat bitterly, “my Joffrey will be the prince of a great palace someday, but he will not be king.”

“Jacaerys is dead.”

She stood suddenly, turning on him with a rage she could not contain within herself. 

“I cannot find his body,” she hissed, “he is still out there, I can feel it inside of me. A Targaryen prince is not so easily killed.”

“Easily is not the way I would say it,” Daemon argued, eyes softening at the sight of his wife’s hollow expression, “he died a dragonrider, in battle. He died the most honourable death, like a Targaryen.”

“The sea would not kill a Targaryen,” she shouted over the wind as it howled around them, “we die by fire and blood. I will not rest until I bring him home.”

“He is gone, Rhaenyra,” Daemon pleaded, “but the Throne is not. If we do not act quickly, the war will be lost and both Lucerys and Jacaerys would have died in vain. Is that what you want?”

She stopped for a moment, his words sinking into her heart like the blackest ink, confirming the bleakness of the truth she had not wanted to accept. She gasped, taking a small step back as if struck while her hand came up to clutch her belly as she had once done while Jace was growing inside of her. 

She sniffled, lowering her head in defeat. 

“I want ships,” she insisted, “searching. We do not need a fleet to take King’s Landing if Alicent keeps her word. I want him found. Only then will I believe it.”

She did not wait another moment before brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his own as she hiked back over the uneven landscape, back towards where she had left her mount. 

Syrax cried out in the distance, grief echoing in her roar.

Rhaenyra was not the only grieving mother. 

***

Warmth was the first sensation that came back to him. 

Not the white heat of dragonfire flickering at his corpse, nor the suffocating warmth of blood soaking through torn flesh, but the gentle embrace of sunlight seeping into his bones. A fragrant breeze brushed his flesh, smelling of salt, wildflowers, and something sweeter that he cannot name, though it stirred something awake deep inside of his mind. 

His eyelids fluttered open. 

Above him stretched a canopy of rustling leaves that had been woven together so only thin ribbons of golden sunlight reached him through the shelter. Around him, he could faintly hear the muffled movement of wildlife; small creatures rummaging in the tall grass, birds moving from tree to tree and singing songs that were foreign to him, but melodic enough that he wondered if they were even real.

He laid still for a while. 

Is this death? 

The thought came without panic. 

Had this been what awaited beyond the veil? Had the sea claimed him after Vermax was dragged from the sky and into the black depths? He remembered fire, smoke, the shriek of dragons from above. He remembered Baela, her faint screaming above him as he disappeared beneath the waves. Then the cold embrace of the ocean, gripping his riding gear and dragging him beneath the waves until there were no waves left to fight. 

It seemed a cruel joke. He’d spent his entire life trying to prove himself a true Velaryon, and only now did it seem undeniable as taken by the sea while others around him died by fire. 

If this was death, perhaps they would soon be with him.

Luke. Sweet, laughing Lucerys, who should have never met the fate that found him in the Stormlands. His chest tightened at the thought of seeing his brother again. Jace had missed him, and often dreamt of being reunited with the boy who was far more innocent than most gave him credit for. Lucerys was the boy who blinded Aemond Targaryen, yes, but he was still only a boy.

His fathers, too. Laenor, whose absence had haunted Jace for years and whose traumatic death had never truly been swept away by the boy. He often still saw that charred figure, murdered in the hall of High Tide and thrown in the fire. Harwin, too, who had taught him to fight, to be chivalrous, to be brave, even before Jace knew the truth. 

A smile flickered across his lips at the thought, but it died quickly as his mother’s face entered his mind.

She had burned one son already during this war–or as close to burning as the gods would allow after sweeping Lucerys’s butchered remains away in the tides. Now she had lost another, two sons claimed by the water. Two princes dead from a war she had not sought, yet could no longer escape.

What would become of her now?

She still had three sons living who could succeed him, but none were ready to bear the burden he had carried.

Joffrey was only the third-born, never raised with the certainty that the crown might one day rest upon his brow. He had been spared the endless lessons in diplomacy and statecraft that had shaped Jacaerys from childhood, and Tyraxes was still too young to bear a rider into battle.

Then there were Aegon and Viserys. Sweet boys, scarcely beyond the nursery, spirited across the Narrow Sea in the hope that distance might protect what remained of her family. They were too young to comprehend the war consuming their home, their speech still little more than broken phrases and childish babble. Years would pass before either could be considered fit to inherit her claim.

That left Rhaenyra perilously exposed.

Without Jacaerys at her side, she had lost more than her heir. She had lost her most capable counsellor, her trusted envoy, the prince who had secured alliances in her name and inspired unwavering loyalty wherever he went. Her grief would be plain for all to see, and grief had a way of inviting opportunists.

Her enemies would sense weakness.

Worse still, so too might those who called themselves her allies.

Many of her bannermen had sworn themselves to the queen out of duty rather than devotion, and more than once they had questioned the wisdom of her decisions. With her chosen heir dead and no clear successor prepared to follow him, there would be those who whispered that the Blacks had lost not only their prince, but their future.

Even Daemon had considered pursuing his own claim once before, so who was to promise he would not attempt yet another mutiny against the queen? 

The thought weighed heavier than the pain beginning to awaken throughout his body. 

Pain.

Jace frowned.

The dead did not ache. They did not lay in their discomfort, or feel the dull throb against his ribs grow sharper with each breath. His shoulder burned as he shifted, pulling back in response to the pain only to be speared with agony rippling down his side. An involuntary gasp fell from his lips.

He was alive.

The realization had settled over him heavier than the sea had that night in the Gullet. 

Slowly, he pushed himself upright, leaning on his one good arm for support as his blurry vision scanned the area around him. 

The world swayed as his vision came into focus. Thick vines coiled around towering trees, older than memory itself, while broad ferns and bushes carpeted the forest floor in such vibrant shades of green that he had not even thought possible. Somewhere nearby, water trickled over stone. The air hummed with life. 

Then came the low, rumbling exhale of a beast, far too close for his comfort.

His hand flew to his hip, only to find his sword gone.

Across a small clearing stood a creature unlike any he had seen before. Larger than Jace had thought possible, the lion laid the in a small divot in the side of a rock, soaking in the warmth of the sunlight on its unnaturally black fur and mane, while its sky blue eyes remained locked on the prince’s figure as he rose. Another large cat emerged from the treeline in the distance, this time a deep russet colour. Then another.

They watched him. Silent, unblinking. 

His heartbeat quickened.

They made no effort to approach, nor did they make any sign of an oncoming attack. Instead, the first beast lowered its head ever so slightly, as if nodding to simply acknowledge his presence, before it stood from its rock, turning and dashing into the treeline. The others followed without protest, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared in the first place. 

Jacaerys had faced dragons all of his life fearlessly. He flew thousands of feet in the sky without worry, and faced swordsmen head on without even questioning it. 

It was these creatures that stirred a deeper unease than any dragon ever had. Their restraint unsettled him most of all. They had watched him without hunger or fear, then melted back into the forest the instant he stirred—as though they had merely been keeping vigil, and now had gone to announce his waking to someone.

Or something.

The thought lingered as Jacaerys slowly surveyed his surroundings. 

He lay upon a bed of woven reeds and soft furs beneath a simple canopy fashioned from timber and leaves. It was no palace like he was used to, or even the rough shelter in a soldier’s encampment. Whoever had built it possessed deft hands and a desire for comfort, despite the simplicity. 

His gaze shifted downward.

The leather riding gear he had worn to battle was gone, as was the blood soaked tunic underneath. In their place, he had been draped in fresh linen bandages around his ribs, shoulder, and neck. The bare flesh of his torso that was left uncovered was littered with evidence of cuts and bruises that had since healed over, leaving only subtle tenderness in their place as he prodded at his skin. 

A faint earthy scent rose from the wrappings. Herbs, medicinal ones. 

His hand brushed against the dressing at his side. The leaves packed beneath the linen were cool against his skin, their fragrance unfamiliar. Not the poultices Grand Maester Gerardys favoured, nor any remedy he had seen prepared at Dragonstone. 

He slowly peeled away the linen around his ribs, then at the leaves underneath, finding only the light pink line of a scar just beneath his breastbone. Whoever had found him had stitched, cleaned, and dressed the wounds with far more skill than he had ever seen from any maester from the citadel. 

Whoever had tended him knew their craft.

Beside the pallet sat a clay pitcher beaded with condensation, alongside a wooden bowl piled with unfamiliar fruit—deep violet berries, slices of golden flesh, and nuts cracked neatly in half. A loaf of coarse bread rested beneath a folded cloth, still soft enough to suggest it had not been there long.

Someone had expected him to wake.

His mouth had gone painfully dry.

After only the briefest hesitation, he reached for the pitcher. The water was cool—cooler than it had any right to be beneath the summer sun—and sweeter than any spring he had tasted. He drank greedily until his thirst subsided, only then realizing how desperately his body had been crying out for it.

The food followed just as quickly.

He devoured it with little regard for manners, hunger overcoming caution. The fruit burst with juices unlike anything he had eaten in Westeros or across the Narrow Sea. Even the coarse bread seemed impossibly fresh.

He had not realized how starved he was until his stomach ceased protesting.

Only then did his thoughts return to the question that mattered.

Who had saved him?

He looked beyond the shelter.

There were no signs of battle. No discarded shields, no cooking fires from an encamped army, no banners stirring above the trees. The shoreline lay only a short distance away, where turquoise water lapped gently against pale sand. Beyond it stretched an endless sea, calm enough that the violence of the Gullet felt like a fevered dream.

Vermax.

His breath caught. 

Jace had watched as his dragon slipped beneath the depths beneath him, Vermax’s large body sinking much faster than his own, but if he was here, if he had been pulled from the waves, there was a chance that he may have as well. 

He rose too quickly, pain lancing through his side, but he ignored it as he stumbled from the shelter toward the beach.

His eyes searched the sky first.

Empty.

Then the water.

Only waves.

No great green wings broke the horizon. No familiar roar answered his unspoken call.

"Vermax," he whispered, his voice rough from disuse.

Silence.

He tried again, louder this time.

"Vermax!"

The jungle answered before the sea did.

Somewhere behind him, branches shifted. Birds burst from the canopy in startled flight. Leaves rustled as something large moved between the trees—not with the clumsy crashing of a predator, but with measured, deliberate steps.

Jace turned slowly, every instinct urging him to reach for a sword that was no longer at his hip.

He was not alone.

***

It was well over an hour before Jacaerys trusted his legs enough to carry him beyond the shelter.

Each step was measured, his body protesting every movement despite the careful work of whoever had stitched his wounds. He leaned against tree trunks whenever the dizziness threatened to overtake him, pausing often before pressing deeper into the forest.

The island seemed impossibly alive.

The farther he wandered, the more creatures he encountered. Great stags with antlers broader than the masts of fishing vessels lifted their heads as he passed. Wild boars, broad as ponies, rooted through the rich earth, while birds of every brilliant hue darted through the canopy overhead.

And everywhere there were lions.

Not one or two, but dozens.

Some lounged in shafts of warm sunlight, their coats gleaming like beaten gold. Others prowled silently through the undergrowth, muscles rolling beneath tawny hides. They were larger than any lion Jacaerys had ever heard described by traders returning from the Summer Isles, and many bore eyes of startling shades—icy blue, pale silver, deep amber—as though they had inherited some strange magic from the island itself.

None challenged him.

A few paused to regard him as he passed, their gazes lingering with quiet curiosity before they returned to their slumber or their hunt. Others scarcely acknowledged him at all, as though he belonged among them.

It was almost more unnerving than outright hostility.

Someone had pulled him from the sea. Someone had dressed his wounds, fed him, and waited patiently for him to wake.

That did not mean they wished him well.

His only hope was to find Vermax—if his dragon had somehow survived the battle—and return to Dragonstone before word of his death reached his mother. She would believe she had lost him. After Luke...

He could not bear to imagine her grief.

His pace quickened despite the pain.

He had to find Vermax.

He had to—

His thoughts died as he stepped through a break in the trees.

Before him, a narrow creek wound through the forest, its crystal waters murmuring softly over smooth stones. Sunlight poured through the canopy, setting the surface aglow like polished glass.

Across the stream rested the same black-maned lion.

Perched atop a broad slab of stone, it watched over the clearing with quiet authority, its pale blue eyes fixed upon the forest beyond. Around the water's edge, a pride of lions lay scattered in lazy repose. Lionesses stretched in the sun, cubs batted at one another in the shallows, and great males dozed beneath the shade of ancient trees, their tails flicking idly against the grass.

Several heads lifted as Jacaerys emerged.

Not one rose to meet him.

Yet it was not the lions that held his attention.

His gaze settled instead upon the lone figure standing in the creek.

A woman.

She stood knee-deep in the water, her back turned towards him. The water rippled around her hips, the curve of her spine hidden by the curtain of her long hair that clung to her spine. She cupped water in her hands and poured it over her shoulders with unhurried ease, seemingly unaware—or entirely unconcerned—that she was no longer alone.

Jace froze.

He had no wish to intrude.

Carefully, he shifted his weight, hoping to retreat as quietly as he had arrived. If she had not noticed him, perhaps he could spare them both the awkwardness and slip back into the forest before—

"You're awake."

The words carried across the creek before he had taken a second step.

Jacaerys stopped.

Slowly, he looked up.

The black-maned lion was no longer watching the forest.

Its piercing blue eyes were fixed on him alone.

Jacaerys froze.

Across the creek, the black-maned lion remained perched atop its stone, its piercing blue eyes fixed upon him with an unnerving intensity. It did not blink. It did not stir. It simply watched.

Instinct urged him to retreat.

His sword was gone. His body was still weak from his injuries, and even at full strength he doubted he could outrun a single lion, let alone the dozen that lounged along the water's edge.

"You needn't hide."

There was neither accusation nor amusement in her tone. It was a simple observation.

"You've been awake for hours."

A faint flush crept across Jace's face.

"I... did not wish to intrude."

"No." She reached down, letting the water slip through her fingers. "You wished to leave before I noticed you." 

His silence answered for him.

When she finally turned to face him, Jacaerys found himself momentarily at a loss.

She could not have been any older than he was. A woman grown, but just barely, if her appearance was to be believed. Yet there was something about her that refused to reconcile with that first impression. It was there in the quiet certainty with which she carried herself, in the measured stillness of her gaze, and in the curious absence of surprise at finding a stranger upon her shores. She looked at him not with the uncertainty of youth, but with the patient composure of someone who had seen far more than her years ought to allow.

He averted his gaze as she faced him, her naked figure glimmering in the sunlight. Her hair was swept back behind her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare to him as she shifted through the water until she lingered along the bank nearest to him.

None of the lions moved.

They simply watched her pass.

Jacaerys could not decide whether they guarded her or obeyed her. Perhaps there was little difference. 

Sunlight caught the droplets that clung to her skin as she stepped through the shallows, wholly untroubled by his presence. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was unlike the polished grace celebrated in the courts of Westeros. There was something older in it—wild and unadorned, as though the island itself had shaped her long before any mason had ever carved a castle from stone.

Her eyes chased his, drawing his gaze from the space above her head to meet her own. 

"I am in your debt," he said at last, inclining his head. "Whoever you are."

"You owe me nothing."

"I owe you my life."

"You owe the sea for not keeping it."

Her answer was so matter-of-fact that he almost wondered whether she was jesting. Her expression, however, remained unreadable.

"You pulled me from the water."

"I did," she said, “but only once you washed upon my shore.”

"You treated my wounds."

"Yes."

"You fed me."

"You would have died otherwise."

The conversation felt strangely one-sided, every answer no longer than it needed to be.

Jace exhaled quietly.

"Then allow me to thank you."

This time, she smiled.

It was small enough that he almost missed it.

"You have already done so."

"I don't recall it."

"You were delirious."

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

"I fear I said something foolish."

"You spoke of dragons." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the canopy overhead. "You called the same name over and over."

"Vermax."

She nodded once.

"You asked him not to leave you."

His throat tightened.

Memory returned in fragments.

The smoke choking the sky. The screams echoing across the Gullet. Vermax wheeling through flights of crossbow bolts. The violent jolt as something struck them. Then the plunge into the sea.

He looked instinctively toward the horizon, though the trees concealed it.

"Did he survive?"

For the first time since they'd met, she did not answer immediately.

"No," she admitted, “I am sorry.”

He choked for a moment, letting out a shaky breath.

"If–if I washed ashore then perhaps–"

"He is dead. I am sorry."

"But what if—"

"The sea is vast. It returns some things."

Her eyes met his.

"And keeps others. I have searched for him in my dreams. He lays in the depths of the Gullet."

Silence settled between them.

“In your dreams?” He asked quietly.

She nodded, “I am…I dream of things. They are not of fantasies or whims, but of reality. Past, present, and future.”

He watched her curiously.

“You’re a dreamer,” he breathed, “dragon dreams. You’re a Targaryen.”

“No.”

He frowned, “then how can you know? He could be out there, doing–”

She let out a small breath, and her blue eyes flickered with light for a moment, and in one motion, each of the lions shifted their gaze to him, low rumbling growls echoing through the woods. Then, with another flicker of the light, they all stood up, turning away and disappearing into the trees. The dominant male remained on his rock, his blue eyes shimmering the same light as the woman’s had. 

“What I possess is a power I have never come to understand. I apologize, but I cannot explain it to you. Your dragon is dead, my prince, and I am very sorry for it. I mourn my pride with each of their deaths like they were born from my own womb, I swear to you I understand the pain.”

Slowly, she climbed the bank to stand before him, now completely exposed to him and seemingly unalarmed. 

"What place is this?" he asked quietly.

She looked past him, toward the forest.

"A place most men never find."

"And yet I did."

"No."

Her gaze returned to him.

"You were brought here."

Before he could ask what she meant, the black-maned lion rose from its rocky perch.

The woman never looked away from Jacaerys.

"He is wondering," she said softly.

He frowned.

"Wondering what?"

"Whether you're going to run."

Jace glanced uneasily at the dozen lions surrounding the clearing before returning his eyes to her.

"...And if I do?"

The corners of her lips curved ever so slightly.

"They'll follow."

His pulse quickened.

"To kill me?"

"No."

She tilted her head, as though surprised he would think such a thing.

"To make sure you don't get lost."

He paused for a moment.

“How do you know who I am?”

She chuckled.

“I have known you for a long time, Prince Jacaerys. Longer than you have been in this world.”

He furrowed his brow.

“Wh–how? How is that possible?”

“As I said, my prince,” she smiled softly at him, “past, present, and future.”

He turned his gaze to the ground for a moment.

“Am I dead?” He asked, “is this all some trick?”

“No,” she said, “you’re alive, my prince. If the gods wanted you dead, you would not have washed upon my shores.”

“The gods,” he scoffed, “you’re a septa?”

She let out a bitter laugh.

“No. I do not pray to your new gods. I speak of the real gods, those of your ancestors.”

“A priestess, then?” 

She shook her head again, “I do not pray to them, either. They are the reason I am here.”

“What do you–”

“That is enough,” she said, reaching her hand out to the black maned lion as he sauntered over to stand next to her, nuzzling his face against her affectionately. 

The lion stood almost as tall as she was, their matching eyes cutting through Jace’s soul.

“Come,” she said, “do not stray. These woods can be troublesome for one who does not know their way.”

***

There was a house on the top of a hill. Small, made of stone and wood and, despite being surrounded by a rocky sea, seemed entirely unweathered.

Jace kept a few paces back as she led the way, his eyes finally flickering to admire her figure from behind, despite his restraint. The lion walked obediently at her side, never straying, never running ahead, never falling behind. He did not move. 

As they reached the crest of the hill, the rest of the pride came into view.

They lay scattered across the grass, basking in the afternoon sun, their massive bodies appearing almost peaceful despite their size. Several lifted their heads as the woman approached, their brilliant blue eyes moving from her to the prince trailing behind. 

For a moment, Jace felt the weight of their attention.

Then, just as quickly, they lost interest.

An enormous lioness returned to grooming a cub who had rolled onto its back in the grass, entirely unconcerned with the arrival of a stranger. Two young lions wrestled nearby, their heavy paws knocking against one another with playful impatience.

It was such an ordinary sight.

Almost absurdly so.

Jacaerys had spent his life knowing creatures like these only through stories—beasts of legend, symbols carved into banners, monsters meant to be feared.

Yet here he stood among them, and they regarded him as little more than a passing curiosity.

He had faced men who wished him dead with more hostility than these animals had shown him.

“What is your name?” He asked her. 

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling to herself as she caught his gaze flickering up from her behind to meet her gaze. .

When she answered, her voice was soft, nearly carried away by the sea breeze.

The sound of it lingered.

Jacaerys repeated her name silently to himself, committing it to memory before he realized he had done so.

She turned away and continued toward the house, leaving him to follow.

As she passed the black-maned lion, her fingers brushed through the thick fur of its mane. The great beast lowered its head beneath her touch, closing its eyes for the briefest moment before turning away and returning to the pride without a word or command.

Jace watched the exchange in silence.

He had seen knights swear fealty before kings.

He had seen men kneel before dragons.

But he had never seen devotion like this.

She opened the wooden door and stepped inside.

The cottage was warm and simple, filled with the scent of cedar smoke and wild herbs hanging from the rafters. Flames licked at a cauldron hanging above the hearth, a round wooden table in the middle of the room covered in scrolls and plants and bowls of dried herbs. In the corner, there was a small bed, just large enough to fit one person upon the mattress. It was not a lord's keep or a royal chamber, yet there was a quiet beauty to it that felt strangely fitting. Everything had a purpose. Everything belonged.

She moved around the room with effortless familiarity, retrieving a robe left warming beside the hearth. She wrapped it around herself, the soft fabric finally covering her nakedness and allowed Jacaerys to finally look at her without feeling the weight of his shame and attraction.

Jacaerys had thought he would be relieved.

Instead, he found himself strangely disappointed.

Not because of what he had seen, but because the sight had felt as impossible as everything else about this place—a glimpse of something he had no name for, something he was certain he would not soon forget.

Only when she turned back toward him did he realize he had been staring.

Her eyes met his.

For a moment, neither spoke.

"You have many questions, Prince Jacaerys."

He swallowed, suddenly aware that he did.

"More than I know how to ask."

A quiet smile touched her face.

"Then begin with the one that troubles you most."

He looked at her—the young woman who seemed ancient, the stranger who had saved him, the impossible creature at the centre of an impossible island.

"Where am I?"

She let out a soft breath, her gaze drifting toward the window where the endless blue of the sea stretched beyond the cliffs.

"That, I do not know."

Jacaerys watched her carefully.

"I have been here a long time," she continued, moving quietly about the room as she gathered fresh linens and placed them near the hearth. "The few travellers I have seen have not..." She paused, searching for the right words. "They have not stayed for very long."

His brow furrowed.

"Other travellers?"

The question came sharper than he intended.

She glanced at him.

"Who?"

Her expression remained distant, as though searching through memories buried beneath years of silence.

"I do not know their names."

Jace studied her.

There was something strange about the answer. Not that she did not know—if this place was as isolated as she claimed, perhaps names had mattered little. But the way she said it suggested something else entirely.

That she had known many things.

And forgotten just as many.

He watched as she moved around the cottage, placing jars back upon shelves, tending to the small fire, performing each task with the quiet familiarity of someone who had done the same motions countless times before.

"How did you come here?"

The question made her stop.

Only for a heartbeat.

But Jacaerys noticed.

Her fingers stilled around the edge of the wooden bowl she held, and for the first time since he had awakened on the island, uncertainty crossed her face.

"I was brought here."

The answer was quiet.

Jace waited.

She set the bowl down.

"I am a prisoner here."

The simplicity of the statement unsettled him more than if she had wept.

"A prisoner?"

She nodded.

"My people did not understand what I was."

A strange chill settled over him despite the warmth of the fire.

"What you were?"

Her eyes flickered toward him.

"My gifts."

The word hung between them.

Jace thought of the lions.

The impossible beasts that followed her without fear. The way they watched her, not as a master, but as something closer to kin. He thought of the wounds she had healed, the island that seemed to bend around her existence.

"What powers?" he asked.

She looked away.

"The kind men fear when they cannot explain them."

The answer carried no bitterness.

That was what unsettled him most.

She spoke of exile the way one might speak of the changing of seasons. As though the pain of it had been worn down by time until only the memory remained.

"They spoke to the gods," she continued. "They believed the gods had given them an answer."

"And they chose to send you here?"

"Yes."

Her voice softened.

"They believed this island would become my tomb."

Jacaerys stared at her.

"But it did not."

"No."

A faint, almost melancholy smile touched her lips.

"It became my home."

The fire crackled between them.

Jace did not know what disturbed him more—the fact that he believed her, or the fact that some part of him understood.

He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who feared what they could not control.

Dragons.

Bloodlines.

Prophecies.

Power.

His mother had been called a traitor for claiming what she believed was hers. His brothers had been mocked for the circumstances of their birth. He himself had spent years knowing that many would never see him as anything other than an uncertainty.

Perhaps that was why her words struck deeper than he expected.

She had been feared.

She had been cast away.

And somehow, she had survived.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

She looked toward the window again.

For the first time, she seemed truly far away.

"A very long time."

Jace waited for more.

None came.

"That is not an answer."

A small smile appeared.

"No. It is not."

He almost smiled in return.

Almost.

There was something frustrating about her—how she answered every question while revealing almost nothing.

"Do you always speak in riddles?"

"Only when the truth is too complicated."

"And is it?"

Her gaze met his.

"Usually."

The answer should have irritated him.

Instead, he found himself captivated.

Everything about her defied understanding. The island. The lions. The impossible peace surrounding a place that should have been lonely and cruel.

And yet, beneath all of it, there was something familiar.

Something he recognized.

A person who had been judged before ever being understood.

"You said few men find this place," he said.

"Few do."

"Then why did I?"

She was quiet for a long moment.

Then her eyes shifted toward the door, toward the island beyond.

"I do not know."

A pause.

"But the island has never returned someone from the sea before."

Jace felt a strange unease settle in his chest.

"Returned?"

She looked back at him.

"That is what happened."

The fire popped softly.

"You were not meant to survive the Gullet, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

His expression tightened.

"Yet here I am."

"Yes."

Her eyes held his.

"That is what troubles me."

He watched her in silence.

For all the mystery that surrounded her, for all the impossible things he had witnessed since waking upon the island, he could see something remarkably familiar beneath it all.

Curiosity.

She was studying him as much as he was studying her. There were questions hidden behind her eyes, questions she had not yet asked. Secrets she had not yet offered. And beneath it all, something quieter.

Fear.

It struck him as strange.

This woman who walked among lions as though they were no more threatening than household cats, who had survived alone upon an island unknown to any map he had ever seen, who spoke of powers and gods with a calmness that bordered on unnatural—

She was afraid.

Not of him.

Of what his arrival meant.

For as many questions as he had for her, Jacaerys suspected she had just as many of her own.

"How long have I been here?"

The change in her expression was immediate.

Barely noticeable.

But he saw it.

Her shoulders stiffened. Her fingers paused where they rested against the edge of the table, and for a moment, she looked almost hesitant.

His stomach tightened.

"How long?" he repeated.

This time, there was more weight behind the question.

A prince's command, perhaps. Or simply a desperate son's demand for an answer.

She looked toward the fire.

"Four moons."

The words were quiet.

They struck him harder than any blow.

Jacaerys stared at her.

"Four..."

His voice caught.

"Four moons?"

He took an instinctive step backward, as though distance could somehow make the answer less impossible.

"But—"

His mind raced.

Four moons.

Four moons since the Gullet.

Four moons since Vermax fell from the sky. Four moons since he had vanished beneath the waves and his mother had been left to mourn another son.

No.

No, it could not be.

"My mother."

The words left him before he realized he had spoken them.

She looked at him.

"The war," he said, his voice growing more frantic. "What of the war?"

His breathing quickened.

"What has happened?"

The calm he had maintained since awakening—the careful restraint expected of a prince, the composure drilled into him since childhood—began to fracture.

"My mother believes me dead."

He looked toward the door, toward the endless sea beyond.

"She thinks I am gone."

The thought struck him with a pain deeper than any of his wounds.

Rhaenyra had already lost Luke.

She had already buried one son to this war.

And now, for four moons, she had believed she had lost him too.

"Tell me," he demanded, turning back toward her. "What happened?"

The woman remained still.

For the first time, she seemed uncertain how to answer.

And that frightened him more than anything.

"Please."

The word was quieter.

Not a command, but rather a plea. 

Her eyes softened.

"I do not know everything."

"Then tell me what you do know."

She studied him for a long moment before finally speaking.

"I know that the sea took you from the war."

A pause.

"And I know that the world beyond this island continued without you."

Jace swallowed.

"What does that mean?"

Her gaze dropped.

"It means, Prince Jacaerys, that four moons have passed."

The fire crackled between them.

"And in that time, many things may have changed."

Her voice remained calm, but there was a weight behind it now.

"Dragons are a force that interferes with my visions. They cloud what I see. I do not receive answers neatly laid before me. I see fragments. Pieces of what was, what is, and what may come."

She looked at him.

"That is how I knew you."

The words should have comforted him.

Instead, they only deepened his frustration.

Jacaerys brought both hands down against the wooden table, the sharp sound echoing through the small cottage.

"Then what do you know?"

His voice was harsher than he intended.

"What do you know of what has happened beyond these shores?"

The woman did not move.

"You do not understand the greatness of this matter," he continued, anger and fear twisting together until he could no longer separate them. "Of thrones and dragons and—"

"Do not begin to tell me what I do not know."

Her voice cut through his.

Jacaerys fell silent.

She had not raised it.

She did not need to.

The warmth that had been in her expression moments before vanished, replaced by something older. Something sharper.

She turned to face him fully.

"Men always believe themselves all-knowing."

The words carried no anger.

Only exhaustion.

"They believe themselves righteous. They believe their causes are greater than the lives they destroy in pursuit of them."

The fire shifted behind her, casting shadows across her face.

"Dragons are not symbols of glory, Prince Jacaerys. They are not crowns with wings, nor proof that their riders were chosen by the gods."

Her eyes flickered toward the window, toward the island beyond.

"They are creatures of fire and death. A power that men have spent thousands of years convincing themselves they were worthy of wielding."

Her gaze returned to him.

"And for thousands of years, dragonriders have made the same mistake."

A pause.

"They begin to believe they are something more than men."

The words struck harder because they were spoken so plainly.

"You are not a god."

His jaw tightened.

"You are a man."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"I am sorry for your dragon," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I truly am. I know what it means to lose something bound to your soul."

For a moment, Jace thought she might relent.

She did not.

"But you cannot come into my home and demand answers I do not possess. You cannot demand that I see what the world chooses to hide from me."

Her expression hardened.

"I have survived many men, Prince Jacaerys."

A faint chill ran through him.

"Many men who believed their power made them untouchable. Many men who believed the world existed to answer their demands."

She stepped closer.

"You are not the first man to come to my home and demand things of me."

The words hung between them.

"And if you are wiser than those who came before you, you will not be the last."

Jacaerys had no answer.

Not because he had nothing to say.

There were a thousand words that rose to his tongue—words of blood and birthright, of duty and the crown his mother had spent her life fighting to protect. Words that had been carved into him since childhood, repeated by tutors, councillors, and every lord who had knelt before his mother and sworn allegiance to her cause.

He was a prince.

He was heir to the Iron Throne.

He had been raised to carry the weight of kingdoms upon his shoulders.

But standing before her, beneath the watchful gaze of creatures that obeyed no man, those titles felt strangely small.

Because she was not impressed by them.

She did not fear them.

She had not looked at him and seen the son of the queen, the future king, or the boy whose existence had become the centre of a war.

She had simply seen a wounded man washed ashore.

And somehow, that unsettled him more than anything else.

His hands curled at his sides.

"You speak as though you know me."

"I do not."

The answer came immediately.

It surprised him.

She looked away, her expression softening only slightly.

"But I know men."

The distinction lingered.

Jace lowered his gaze.

The anger that had carried him through the last few moments began to fade, leaving behind something far more difficult to endure.

Fear.

Four moons.

His mother.

The war.

His brothers.

Every moment he spent here was another moment away from them.

"Tell me if she lives."

The words came quietly.

The woman looked back at him.

"My mother," he clarified.

There was something in his voice that made her expression change. The anger disappeared completely, replaced by something closer to sympathy.

"You love her."

It was not a question.

Jace swallowed.

"She is my mother."

"That was not my question."

His eyes flickered toward hers.

For a moment, he considered answering with the same certainty he had offered before. Of course he loved her. She was his mother. His queen. The woman who had sacrificed everything for her children.

But the truth was far more complicated.

"I have spent my entire life trying to be worthy of her."

The admission surprised even him.

He looked toward the fire.

"She gave me everything. Her name. Her trust. Her hope."

A pause.

"And I was meant to give her a future."

The woman's expression softened.

"You think you failed her."

Jace did not answer.

He did not need to.

She stepped closer, her voice quieter.

"Is that why you are angry?"

His brow furrowed.

"No."

"Then why?"

Because she was right.

Because beneath all the fear and desperation was something uglier.

Guilt.

"I defied her. I was meant to protect her and now I have only caused her harm. Her claim is vulnerable without me–my brothers are too young to act as heir if anything were to happen."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

"I was supposed to protect my brothers. My family."

His jaw tightened.

"And I failed."

The woman studied him.

For once, she did not immediately answer.

Instead, she walked toward the window, looking out over the island where the lions wandered freely beneath the trees.

"You speak like a man who has already decided the ending of his story."

Jace frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you have survived something you believed would kill you."

She glanced back at him.

"And instead of wondering why, you are punishing yourself for not dying."

The words struck him with unsettling precision.

He looked away.

"You do not know what I have lost."

"No."

Her answer was gentle.

"I do not."

A pause.

"But I know what it is like to lose everything. I lost it all once, but now I have my pride."

The fire crackled softly.

For the first time since arriving on the island, Jacaerys saw past the mystery surrounding her.

Not the strange woman who commanded lions.

Not the one who spoke of visions and gods.

Just a person.

Someone who had been abandoned.

Someone who had endured.

Someone who, in some strange way, understood him.

"I need to return," he said.

The words were not a request.

They were a necessity.

His mother needed him. His brothers needed him. The war had continued without him, and every moment he spent away was another moment in which he was failing them.

She looked at him for a long while.

Then she shook her head.

"I am sorry."

The answer was so quiet that for a moment he wondered if he had heard her correctly.

"What do you mean?"

The question came sharper than he intended.

She did not flinch.

Her eyes drifted past him, toward the endless stretch of ocean beyond the cliffs. The sea that had brought him here. The sea that had taken everything else.

"I cannot help you leave this island."

The words settled heavily.

For several heartbeats, Jacaerys simply stared at her.

Then anger sparked.

Not the desperate fear he had carried since waking.

Not grief, anger.

"Why?"

The question echoed through the small room.

She did not answer.

And somehow, that was worse.

"Why?" he repeated, stepping closer. "You found me. You saved me. You have lived here all this time. Surely there must be some way."

Her expression tightened.

"I told you."

Her voice was softer now.

"I do not know everything."

Jace clenched his jaw.

"Then what of the others?"

Her brow furrowed slightly.

"The travellers."

He gestured toward the window, toward the island that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond sight.

"You said there were others. Men who came here before me. How did they leave?"

For the first time since he had met her, she looked away from him entirely.

The hesitation told him everything.

"They didn't."

The honesty was cruel.

Jace felt the air leave his lungs.

"What?"

"They did not leave."

The fire crackled between them.

He searched her face for some sign that she was mistaken. Some hint that she was exaggerating, that there was some other meaning hidden beneath her words.

There was none.

"They died here?"

"They were bad men," she said.

The simplicity of the statement made Jacaerys pause.

Not lost men. Not unfortunate men. Not men who failed to find their way home.

Bad men.

She spoke with the certainty of someone who had known them, not merely heard stories of them.

"They took what was not theirs to take," she continued, her voice distant. "They came to this place believing they were owed something. They saw what was beautiful and thought it belonged to them."

Her gaze shifted toward the open doorway, toward the wilderness beyond.

"The gods are unkind to thieves."

A chill passed through him.

There was no anger in her voice.

No desire for vengeance.

Only fact.

Jacaerys studied her carefully.

"And what did they steal?"

Her eyes returned to his.

"That is the wrong question."

"Then what is the right one?"

A faint sadness crossed her features.

"Why did they believe they had the right to take it?"

The answer lingered.

He thought of the men she had spoken of. Travellers who had found this island before him. Men who had come upon a place untouched by the world beyond and thought only of what they could gain from it.

“You killed them,” he said.

“No.”

The answer surprised him. 

“Then who did?”

She turned away from him, gaze finding the pride of lions resting on the hill solemnly. 

“The island.”

Jacaerys almost dismissed the answer.

Almost.

But he had seen enough since waking to know that impossible things were not always false.

"You speak of it as though it is alive."

Her gaze softened.

"It is." She said with such certainty in her voice that left no room for argument.

He looked around the small cottage, at the untouched woods beyond, at the creatures that moved through the land as though it belonged to them.

Perhaps it did.

"Is that why I cannot leave?"

The question was quieter.

The woman looked back at him.

"No."

Her answer came immediately.

"Then why?"

A pause.

"Because you arrived here broken. The island mended you."

Jace stiffened.

"I am not broken."

"No?"

There was no mockery in the question.

Only observation.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"You woke believing you had lost everything. Your dragon. Your family. Your purpose."

His expression tightened.

"That does not mean I am broken."

"No."

Her eyes held his.

"I arrived here broken. I was…" she hesitated, her certainty flickering so quickly he almost missed it, “I had lost…everything. This island brought me back to life, and now I cannot leave.”

“You said you were a prisoner. That your people put you here.”

The words were gentle enough that they almost angered him more.

Because anger was easier.

Anger was familiar.

Pity was not.

“They put me here to die. That was many lifetimes ago.”

He stared at her. There was truth behind her words, he could feel it, but he was simply not willing to accept it. He needed to go, to be with his mother and help her win the throne.

"I need to go home."

"I know."

"Then why do you speak as though I cannot?"

"Because the sea does not care how badly you wish to cross it."

The bluntness silenced him.

She looked toward the horizon, where the last traces of sunlight disappeared into the water.

"You think leaving is as simple as finding a ship and sailing away."

Her eyes returned to him.

"It is not."

Jace frowned.

"Then what is it?"

For a moment, she hesitated.

And that hesitation told him the answer would not be one he liked.

"It is surviving the journey."

The room fell quiet.

Outside, one of the lions gave a low, distant call.

The sound was not threatening.

It was a warning.

Or perhaps a reminder.

The island was listening.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No."

Her gaze returned to his.

"I expect you to believe what you have already seen."

Jace fell silent.

The lions.

The impossible island.

The woman before him.

Everything about this place defied reason, yet somehow he had accepted those impossibilities easier than this.

Because this was not a matter of magic.

This was a matter of hope.

And hope was far more difficult to surrender.

He let out a bitter laugh.

Acceptance had not yet found him, but he was quickly losing the energy to continue this fight. The woman did not have the answers he wanted, and the answers she did have only fuelled his confusion even further.

"What happens now?" He asked

She studied him for a long moment.

"Now you rest,” she said, stepped closer.

Jace almost laughed.

Rest.

After four moons lost.

After his mother had grieved him.

After a war had raged without him.

"I cannot."

"You can."

“I have rested for four moons.”

“You have eternity to be awake, if you choose it.”

The bluntness of it silenced him.

She moved toward the door, opening it to reveal the fading light beyond.

"Your body survived the sea."

Her eyes met his.

"Your mind has not yet caught up."

Outside, the lions stirred as the sun began to sink beyond the horizon.

"They will watch over you tonight."

Jace looked toward the pride.

"And you?"

A pause.

Then the smallest hint of a smile.

"I have been watching over you for four moons already."

***

Three more moons passed.

Slowly, painfully, the life Jacaerys had once known began to feel less like reality and more like a dream he had woken from too suddenly.

The war. The throne. The endless expectations placed upon his shoulders from the moment he first drew breath.

They remained within him, but they no longer felt close.

They belonged to another life.

For six weeks, he lived upon the shore in that canopy of timber and dried leaves. Each morning, he would wake to find a bowl of fruit waiting beside him and his clay vessel filled with fresh water.

She never asked him if he was ready to return.

Perhaps because she knew he was not.

Or perhaps because she understood that some things could not be forced.

He saw her from a distance during those weeks.

Never close enough for conversation.

She tended to the small fields she had cultivated beside her home, gathered herbs from the forest, and cared for the few animals that lived under her protection. She moved through the island with the same quiet certainty she possessed everywhere else, never appearing lonely despite the solitude that surrounded her.

Sometimes, he caught glimpses of her beside the creek.

The same creek where they had first met.

The same place where he had mistaken her for something otherworldly before realizing the truth was far stranger.

He always looked away.

Not because he did not want to see her.

Because he did.

And that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

For those six weeks, he remained on the beach out of spite.

Not toward her, but rather toward himself–toward the island.

Toward the cruel circumstances that had taken everything from him and left him stranded somewhere no maester, no lord, and no dragon could ever find.

Returning to her felt like surrender.

Like admitting that the life he had been fighting to return to was already slipping beyond his grasp.

So he stayed, sulking in the sand like a little boy.

He waited for the sea to offer him an escape it never provided.

Until, eventually, anger became exhausting. As did the grief, and denial became impossible. Eventually, it all dulled. Perhaps she had been right, that the island was watching, that it would heal him. Perhaps this was the final step before acceptance. 

One morning, as the sun rose over the horizon and painted the water gold, Jacaerys folded the small blanket she had left for him and stood.

For the first time since arriving, he did not look toward the sea.

He looked toward the path leading inland.

Toward her home.

Toward the one person on this island who had never demanded anything from him.

It was not a grand decision.

There was no revelation. No sudden peace. No acceptance that came easily.

It was simply the quiet understanding that he could not spend the rest of his life waiting for a ship that would never come.

So he walked.

And when he reached her door, he did not knock.

He simply stepped inside.

She looked up from the fire, unsurprised.

As though she had known he would return before he ever made the choice.

"You came back," she said.

Jace looked around the small home that had once felt foreign and now felt strangely familiar.

"Yes."

A pause.

Then, quieter:

"I suppose I did."

And that was the moment everything changed.

Because he never left again.

“Why?” She asked.

He hesitated. 

The answer should be simple. He should say that he has given up, that he is submitting to the island, but that is simply not the truth. 

He couldn’t explain it, but he wanted to stay. He longed for the island’s safety, for her, and he hated it. He wanted to want to go home, but he didn’t. On Dragonstone, he had a purpose; he was a dragonrider and heir to the throne, his entire life was set up for him from the moment he took his first breath. 

But here, he belonged to nobody. He had no destiny, no duty, no sacrifice. He had her, he desired her more than he had ever desired anything, and his restraint had quickly worn out. 

"I do not know."

The honesty surprised them both.

Her expression softened slightly.

"You do not know?"

He shook his head.

"I thought I did."

His gaze wandered beyond her, toward the open doorway where the island stretched beneath the afternoon sun. The place that had once felt like a prison now felt strangely familiar.

Too familiar.

"When I first woke here, I hated it.”

A faint breeze moved through the open windows.

"I hated the trees. The silence. The creatures watching me. I hated that I could not leave."

His fingers curled slightly.

"I hated you."

The words were blunt, but not cruel.

She accepted them without reaction.

"I know."

"And then I realized something."

He looked at her.

"I had spent my entire life fighting for a place in a world that never truly belonged to me."

The confession felt dangerous.

Because once spoken, he could not take it back.

"At Dragonstone, I was always someone's answer to a question. My mother's heir. A bastard. The prince everyone needed me to become. They never would have let me be king. Or my mother. I know that now.”

His voice lowered.

"Here, I was nothing,” he hesitated before continuing, “and for once, nothing is all I want to be.”

Something unreadable passed through her eyes as she stepped nearer to him.

“Jacaerys.”

He ignored the warning in her tone.

"No one here cares who my mother is. No one here whispers about my birth. No one here expects me to win a war or sit upon a throne."

His gaze shifted toward the hills where the lions rested beneath the trees.

"They do not care that I failed."

"You did not fail."

He almost laughed.

"You do not know that."

"I know you survived."

The answer silenced him.

Because once, that would not have been enough.

Survival had always been the bare minimum. A prince did not merely survive. A prince endured. A prince conquered.

But here, survival was everything.

She had given him food when he was starving. Shelter when he was lost. Care when he had been certain the world had abandoned him.

And the cruelest part was that he had begun to need it.

He hated that.

He hated that he no longer woke thinking first of escape.

He hated that he had learned the sounds of the island—the calls of the birds, the rhythm of the waves, the footsteps of the lions moving outside his door.

He hated that he knew which fruits she gathered first in the morning.

He hated that he could recognize her presence before he saw her.

Most of all, he hated that the thought of leaving no longer felt like freedom.

It felt like losing something.

“I came back because I wanted to,” he said, taking another step closer.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Did you?"

The question caught him off guard.

"What?"

"Did you come back because you wanted to?"

A strange tension filled the room.

"Or because you no longer knew where else to go?"

"I know I cannot leave."

His voice was scarcely above a whisper.

"I know that every day I wake here, the chances of ever seeing my family again grow smaller."

He drew a slow breath.

"And if I truly wished to escape this place..." His eyes drifted to the sea beyond the open door. "I could have ended my suffering long ago."

Silence settled between them.

She did not interrupt.

"I didn't."

His gaze found hers again.

"I came back."

A faint crease formed between her brows.

"Why?"

Jacaerys searched her face, as though the answer might be written there instead of inside himself.

"When I first arrived, I told myself it was because I had nowhere else to go."

He shook his head.

"Then I convinced myself it was because you fed me. Because you healed me. Because I owed you a debt."

Another pause.

"But none of that was true."

The words came easier now.

"I came back because every morning, I found myself looking for you."

Her breath caught almost imperceptibly.

"I told myself I hated this island." A small, rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yet every path I walked led me back to you."

He stepped closer.

"I know what I have lost. I know what waits for me beyond this island, if I should ever find a way home."

Then, with a certainty that frightened him more than any battle ever had, he said,

"I came back... because I want you."

The cottage fell silent.

Even the crackling fire seemed to fade.

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.

"Be careful, Prince Jacaerys."

He furrowed his brow.

“I see no reason for caution.”

"Loneliness is a dangerous thing," she said softly. "It has a way of deceiving even the strongest hearts. It whispers that gratitude is love, that dependence is devotion, until one becomes impossible to tell from the other."

She met his gaze without wavering.

"I will not mistake one for the other. Anything else would be a cruelty to us both. I have been forsaken and broken by men before, taken by force and left to die. I will not let myself fall victim to another man.”

Jacaerys lowered his eyes.

He understood why she doubted him.

Had their places been reversed, he would have doubted her too.

"I have asked myself the same question. Every day."

He laughed once, though there was no humour in it.

"I told myself it was gratitude."

His fingers curled around the back of the chair.

"Then I told myself it was loneliness. That I had simply forgotten what it was like to hear another voice."

He looked up.

"So I stayed away."

Her brow furrowed.

"I spent six weeks beneath that shelter because I was terrified that you were right."

He smiled faintly.

"I thought if I stopped seeing you, the feeling would pass."

"It did not,” she answered.

"No,” he said, without hesitation, “it grew."

He took a slow step toward her.

"I missed your voice."

Another.

"I found myself wondering where you were before I opened my eyes each morning."

Another, stopping only when there was scarcely any space between them.

"I tried to hate this island because I believed loving it meant betraying my family."

His voice softened.

"But it was never the island."

Her breath caught.

"It was you."

She searched his face, as though looking for uncertainty.

She found none.

"You speak this way after seven moons. I have been here for centuries, can you swear to me you will never change your mind?"

"I speak this way after fighting it for seven moons,” he countered, eyes never leaving hers, “I have had nothing but time to mourn; my mother, my dragon, my brothers, Dragonstone…I remember it all, and yet all I desire is an eternity to prove myself to you.”

"Jacaerys..."

"No one has asked this of me. This is the first choice I’ve made that was entirely my own. There is no pressure of a crown, or my mother, or my destiny. I lost that all seven moons ago. If fate should one day carry me back across the sea, I will face whatever remains of my life with honour."

A small smile touched his lips.

"But if fate has brought me here to begin another..."

He lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"...then I would spend it beside you."

She stood perfectly still.

The silence stretched until he feared he had mistaken everything.

Then, with trembling fingers, she cupped his face.

"You are certain?"

He leaned instinctively into her touch.

"I have never been more certain of anything."

For the first time in longer than she could remember, the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble.

She rested her forehead against his.

"So be it."

Outside, the wind swept through the trees.

Across the hillside, every lion lifted its head at once.

Not in warning.