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Chapter Text

In the wake of Vaemond Velaryon’s death, Baela decides to sneak herself into the chambers of her betrothed. This is no easy task under the watchful eyes of the guards of the Red Keep, but she no longer cares what is decent or proper. She needs to speak with him.

Though they’ve always been friendly, first as cousins and now siblings, she feels as though she has the right to request an audience with him at her whim. Especially now that they have been formally betrothed for all of the King’s court to see. Her confidence also now backed by the doubt that he’ll refuse her. She takes his slight smile at their grandmother’s announcement as encouragement. Besides, she’s never been one to shirk away in cowardice. 

If she’d like to speak to Jace she’ll damn well do it as she pleases. At least, that’s what she repeats to herself as she creeps through the passageways leading to his temporary chambers. She ducks behind tapestries to avoid any overly watchful eyes as she goes.

Baela is working with borrowed time, as the King has requested the entire family for supper within the hour, but she’s confident in her ability to be concise. She must gauge his feelings - is desperate to hear his thoughts on all that has occurred at court today. Though she rarely seeks the reassurance of others, she finds herself craving his. If he is truly unhappy, she would prefer to find out now rather than later.

She is perfectly content with the match that has been made for her. It had been suggested throughout her childhood, but only after her mother had died had she seen it as a comforting possibility. She prefers Jace over any other dolt at court and even the boys she had encountered during her time as ward on Driftmark. She finds solace in this, but also worries that he may not return her favor. 

Marriage is much different from a warm familial connection. And though he may enjoy Baela’s company, he may not want her for a wife. They’ve never formally discussed it, even as it lingered between them awkwardly these past years. The uncertainty is what bothers her so deeply. She does not wish to be a friend more than a partner in her marriage, even if it spares her from marrying some old lord who only wants her for the heirs she can produce. If she knows one thing, it’s that Jace is not that kind of man.

She’s able to avoid the guards, finding that none are currently stationed outside his door. Convenient, sure, but a bit concerning, too. She braces herself to knock, the tenacity she’d clung to just moments before now fleeting. Before knuckles can connect with wood, the door swings open to reveal Jace before her. He’s clearly shocked to see her, but there is no harshness to the piercing brown of his eyes. They soften as he recognizes her.

“Baela?”

“Sorry,” she starts, looking for the correct words. All common sense seeming to fade from her. “I… I wanted to speak with you.”

He cocks an eyebrow in confusion, but lets her in anyway. Her battle is half-won now that she’s standing in his chambers, facing his bewildered expression head on. But, she finds all of the questions she was dying to ask tumbling around in her head nonsensically.

As if he can sense her turmoil he speaks, “Are you well?” He asks her earnestly.

She nods, “Quite.”

Jace purses his lips in confusion, “You’re sure? That business at court was gruesome.”

She scoffs, of course she was not unnerved by the beheading of her great-uncle. He spoke treason in front of the king and her father had only done what was necessary to protect their family. It may not be nice to look at, but it did not cause issue in her mind. She will not have Jace believe she is unable to stomach the execution of a traitor. “Vaemond was an ambitious lout, and a righteous one too. I am not saddened or bothered by the manner of his death.” She huffs, “I dare say he deserved it for the vile and treasonous words he spoke today.”

He hesitates before prying further, “I am glad to hear it. But if it is not that, is there something else on your mind?”

She supposes she’ll need to start speaking or lose her chance entirely, “Are you satisfied with our betrothal?” Is the sentence that blurts out. It is not the question she had meant to lead with, but the one most present in her mind. 

His eyes widen at this, but he composes himself quickly, “I am by no means unhappy if that is what concerns you.”

“I asked if you were satisfied, my prince.” She will not allow him to dodge her inquiry, if she could work up the nerve to ask, she expects an honest answer from him. This was the game they often played with each other. Baela knew he’d make a fine king one day simply based on his innate ability to divert around any difficult line of questioning. She’s sure it will prove immensely useful throughout his rule. When it isn’t being used against her, she finds the skill quite admirable.

“This was always the expected outcome. We’ve been informally betrothed since we were just small children.” Is all he grants her in response.

She frowns, “Would you prefer another if it was offered?”

“It is a done deal, Baela.” He smirks, content with another non-answer.

Stepping closer to him, she crosses her arms in defiance, “You are avoiding my question entirely. Do not think that you can fool me with platitudes of expectation and duty.”

He shrugs, “I suppose I would not prefer another.”

This is still not what she seeks from him. “Why?” She asks, begging him to elaborate.

“Because I have never had reason to. As I told you, this was always what was expected. By our family and in mine own mind. You are a treasured member of my family and I should prefer your good company to any other unknown highborn lady of the realm.” His face betrays no strong emotion. It enrages her. “Is there anything else you would like to speak of? Or should we attempt to make it to supper on time?” He moves towards the door, as if making the decision to end the conversation for her. She does not accept it.

“Would you have chosen me if it were not what was expected?” She bites out her words, knowing what her own answer would be if he asked it of her.

Jace turns to face her, his gaze softening. A soft, “Yes.” Is his response. He shortens the distance between them, a few paces feeling like miles, and takes her hand gingerly in his own. “Would you have chosen me?” He asks her, his voice much quieter than before.

“Yes.” She speaks it clearly and with pride. 

“Then I am quite satisfied with our betrothal.”

“As am I.”

Though she feels there is still much unsaid, Baela will accept his words for now. 

“Good. Then it is settled. Would you accompany me?” He asks her, holding out an arm to her. She takes it.

He sits at his grandfather’s table after the inquisition he’d borne from Baela. He had not expected such a harsh line of questioning from her, but he supposes he should have. His betrothed is more than capable of getting what she desires, whether from him or from anyone else who dares to challenge her. 

While he may not have given her the answers she desired, he had not lied. He does truly value her company and believes that he is not likely to be happier with any other match. Jaceaerys loves her - he knows this to be true -  but he is not sure how to quantify it just yet. She has been both cousin and sister to him, and though this betrothal came as no surprise, he is still trying to work out how she will morph into the role of his wife and queen.

That is not to say that he thinks it impossible. They are only five-and-ten and are not to wed until they are both of age, possibly older. There is ample time for their complex relationship to evolve. He finds himself hoping that it will. It seems clear to him that her wishes are similar based on their conversation in his chambers. This is why he could not be more plain with her, no matter how far she had pressed him. He simply does not wish to promise that which he cannot guarantee.

He tries not to dwell on it, for it was incredibly improper to have even let her step inside his rooms to have the conversation in the first place. He will not see her reputation tarnished, whether by him or any other. It is his duty to ensure that his betrothed is unsullied whether by others words or his own actions. He refuses to let her feel the way he does. To be tainted by something that cannot be taken back.

They are seated next to each other at the grand table as the King makes his speeches. They toast to his and Luke’s betrothals, and he smiles with pride as his dear brother is congratulated on his confirmed succession of driftmark. Jace knows that his grandsire’s lofty words will make little difference, though. His uncles are not likely to put aside the differences that have been so thoroughly wrought between them, even if his mother encourages a new start. She has been brokering for peace between families for as long as he can remember. It has never stuck.

Aegon takes the lull in between speeches to make jests at his and Baela’s betrothal, which angers him, but he tries to keep his restraint. He will not call any more attention to his family than has already been drawn by the day’s events.

They toast to the prosperity of their family and house but Aemond’s persistent glares remain unsettling. Baela reaches for his hand beneath the table, but he reaches for his goblet instead. He does not need comforting from the hateful gaze of his uncle. He has grown used to it along with Luke.

However, his mother’s toast catches him off-guard. Though he has never understood what caused such a dislike between her and the queen, he knows that her words are intended to mend the holes between them. Jace admires her courage to attempt another fruitless try.

When the queen declares that mother “would make a fine queen” (and even seems to mean it), he wonders if maybe the rift between their two families could be brought together again. They all drink to the toast and he catches Baela’s eye in the process. He offers her a smile as an apology of sorts for rejecting her touch earlier. Jace is aware that hand-holding is not a mortal sin and would not be seen as a stain on her maiden hood. It still makes him feel like he is taking advantage.

She smiles back, but it drops as Aegon stands to reach between them for the flagon of wine. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well-satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jace stands in protest, realizing quickly that he has made a fool of himself in the process. Aemond stands, too, in opposition at the other end of the table. He knows that he must turn this to his favor. Though he’d like nothing more than to smash his uncle’s head into the table - repeatedly, he cannot be the first to start a commotion after all of the kind words shared between families tonight. If his true father has taught him anything, he will not be the one to start this fight. At least not openly.

So, he grits out his own heart-warming speech, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.” In truth, the fondest memory he has of his uncles was the pig/dragon prank that Aegon had devised against Aemond and it is hardly fond now that he better understands the role he played in it. Still, he continues, “And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies.” He raises his goblet, taking in the wide-eyed stares of the table, “To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

He supposes it will do. He can tell that Baela is barely holding in her laughter, but she hides it well behind her own goblet. His mother looks at him pointedly, but he can tell she is not truly angered. The rest all hesitantly raise a glass, Aegon awkwardly returning the sentiment, but put in his place all the same. It also earns him praise from the King, which does not hurt his pride, either.

His sweet aunt also stands to toast both his and Luke’s betrotheds, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Daemon laughs at this, and even Otto Hightower cracks a smile and mouths some quiet reassurance to her. He feels for Helaena though, knowing that a marriage to Aegon could be no easy task. He is glad to hear that she is ignored more than she is tortured by him, but he does not wish loneliness for her. She has always been the lone innocent in their family and does not deserve the hand she has been dealt.

As his grandfather orders the music to begin, he decides to seize an opportunity to cheer her. He excuses himself to Baela, who offers a warm smile when she takes note of his intention. He offers his hand to his aunt, and he knows he has made the right decision seeing the way her eyes light up. They begin a dance and finds himself enjoying it greatly if only for the smile she wears. He is not much for dancing, but with the right company he supposes it is not so bad. 

He sneaks glances at Baela, finding her seemingly content with chatting to Luke and Rhaena. He is relieved that he has not offended her by offering Helaena a dance. Truly, he would prefer to be dancing with her, and concedes to extend the offer later on.

As they dance, it seems that the rest of his family is managing to keep it together for the sake of the King. Aemond may be glaring daggers at him, and Aegon chugs wine to ignore the rest of them. But Baela, Rhaena and Luke laugh together. His mother and Daemon share stories of his younger siblings with his grandsire. Even Otto and Alicent join in and offer their congratulations on the child she is carrying now. It is peaceful.

Helaena is also enjoying herself, allowing Jace to spin her in circles as she laughs. The King is weakened, though, and his mother calls for the guard to escort him, chair and all, back to his rooms. He is saddened to see him leave, but does not wish for him to suffer. He is sure to rest peacefully tonight knowing that his family has come together in such a way due to his efforts.

Soon after a pig is brought out and placed in front of Aemond. He watches Luke smile as if to laugh at their old shared prank, but his brother manages to restrain himself. Instead, he refocuses on Rhaena. Jace is glad of it, as he knows that any slight against their uncle could provoke something horrible. The song concludes, and Jace escorts his dear aunt back to her seat.

The supper concludes soon after, his mother lingering behind to speak with Alicent in whispers. Jace wills himself to think little of it for the sake of his own sanity. He walks Baela back to her chambers as Luke walks Rhaena to her’s. Guards follow behind. They keep their distance, but are close enough to not be seen as improper. 

He wishes to apologize for failing to offer her a dance, but she speaks first, “I think that went well, don’t you?”

“Better than expected.” He concedes.

“I thought for a moment that we may have all come to blows. I think you handled it well.”

Pride blooms in his chest, but he tries to conceal it to not appear boastful, “Thank you. Mother tries so hard to keep the peace between all of us. I would hate to see her efforts wasted.”

She nods, “I agree.”

They walk for a beat, nearing her rooms. She speaks again as they turn a corner, out of sight of his brother and her twin, “I worry what will happen when the King dies. If we do not work to keep the peace…” Baela trails off, eyes glassy.

“I hope it will not come to that. But I will do what I can to prevent it.”

She shakes her head, speaking quietly, “I’m not sure that it can be prevented, Jace. If we cannot even get through a simple supper without animosity, how will we prevent a war? Do you really believe that they will just allow your mother to take the throne without a fight?”

“I have to.”

“It is a delusion. We must be prepared for the outcome.” She insists, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. “If it comes to war we may not have the advantage.”

He knows that she speaks the truth, but he’s still slow to accept it. The Hightowers would not dare to usurp his mother’s throne. Especially with Aegon of all people, he was simply not suited to rule. As much as he despises the man, Aemond would be better suited if an option had to be picked from his mother’s half-siblings. Even so, his mother is the succession and has been decreed so before he was even born. “It will not come to that. My mother is the named heir and I after her. They would not dare commit an act of treason to oppose her.”

“I don’t think it wise to deny the possibility. That is all.”

Jace is tired. “It has been a long day, we should both rest.” They’ve reached her door and judging by the way her lips purse, he knows she’s not pleased with his response. Jace is glad that his brother and Rhaena are already out of earshot down the hall. He studies her mouth as it sets itself in a tight line, ready to spew more arguments at him. He tries not to think of how beautiful her lips are and how badly he wants to silence them (it simply isn’t helpful). 

She grasps his cheeks between her hands and stares right back at him. He thinks he catches her glancing at his own mouth, but her eyes flit back up to meet his too quickly to know for sure. “Fine, sleep well - but do not think that we are done discussing this. I am not some lord you can so easily dissuade.”

He sighs, trying not to lean to hard into her touch. Her hands are warm. It feels… nice to be caressed this way. “Understood.”

She drops her hands in haste, nodding and retreating behind the door to her chambers. Jace finds himself alone in the corridor, left wondering what has just struck him in the face.

Chapter Text

She has to admit that her father’s supper had not been the disaster she’d predicted it to be. Both families were better behaved than expected, and the words of amnesty her former friend had voiced empowered her to believe that maybe they could mend this mess of a life they’ve made between them. They were no longer girls and this evening proved that they may be able to push forward past their grievances as women.

Rhaenyra ponders the conversation she had shared with Alicent privately last night. There would be much hurt to work through, on both sides, but she’d feels it can be salvaged. She has resigned herself to stay in King’s Landing to fix what has been broken for so long. At the very least she needs to keep a closer eye on those who rule in her father’s name. 

For now, she has persuaded Alicent to allow Maester Gerardys leave from Dragonstone in order to care solely for her poor father. This she is thankful for. Though Grand Maester Orwyle is knowledgeable in his own right, he is best suited to his books in her opinion. He lacks the agency to make the dire decisions a Grand Maester should. Gerardys has been her trusted physician as well as a knowledgeable counselor in the many years she has known him. She trusts him with not only her life, but the lives of her family. He will help her father to improve. Rhaenyra knows this to be true.

Viserys is still bedridden after over-exerting himself, but seems to be resting peacefully, still. She holds his withered hand at his bedside, cursing herself for leaving him here to rot in the name of saving her children from the harsh judgement of the court. He wakes for short moments here and there, but it is clear that he has overdone himself. The maesters informed her that his conditions was touch-and-go through the night. Rhaenyra understands that her actions may have felt necessary at the time, but she regrets retreating to the isolation of Dragonstone now, for more than just the sake of her ailing father. 

Though her relationship with Alicent is likely to remain strained, she has hope that they could become amicable. Her former friend has hurt Rhaenyra in a multitude of ways throughout the years whether out of jealousy or disdain she does not know for certain. Still, she is grateful for the comfort she has given her father in spite of it. She has been a loyal wife to him in the ways that truly matter.

However, she cannot ignore that in her absence, her father has let the Hightowers take King’s Landing for their own. And though she wishes to spare Alicent from some of that blame, knowing that she was acting out of fear and manipulation more than true ill-intent, she has allowed things to go too far. And she does not trust the woman as freely as she used to. She is still very much under the influence of her father who she can assume is still plotting to insert her drunken half-brother on the throne in her place.

If she is able to get herself a spot on the council, even without a formal title, she would at least have a voice in her father’s rule. Action is needed to find a way to maintain her claim to the throne. If there’s anything she’s realized during her visit, it is this. She will need to do some serious politicking to dig herself out of the hole she’s put herself in by leaving. It is added to her list of worries that are only getting more unmanageable by the day, now.

Rhaenyra worries about many aspects of her life, but none more than for her children. She has some serious work to do with them as well. 

Her two youngest have been spared from the criticism that her eldest have faced, but she fears for their safety if her succession were to be brought into question. They are the least able to defend themselves and the thought of sending them away from her to safety pulls at her heartstrings. Though she loves all of her children equally, she treasures the fact that they will be reared by Daemon as well. 

She notices his influence in her step-daughters and knows that they are the better for it. Baela, in particular, is the most like him, but in the most fantastic of ways. She is brave, bold, and fearless but kind and gentle when it is needed of her. Rhaena takes after her mother in both her beauty and a great deal of her personality, but retains Daemon’s wit as well as his ambition. She sees the best of her husband’s qualities in the girls and she loves them both for and in spite of it.

Jace, her eldest, is everything she had always wished him to be. The son and heir that she knew that she would need to provide to the realm, but is proud to have raised. He is driven by a sense of duty she had never possessed in her youth. She nearly envies his prowess for politics, too. But, her boy is also plagued by the circumstances of his birth. She blames herself for that, though she cannot bring herself to regret it with consideration to the young man he has begun to grow into. She owes much of it to Harwin, and even more to Laenor. Rhaenyra can even credit Daemon with cultivating a love for Valyrian traditions and culture in Jace - a love she had always shared with him and her father. When she told him that being a Targaryen is all that matters, she meant it. He is a Targaryen by birthright, and is a credit to each of his fathers - blood or not. She is sure that he will make an ideal heir and king one day.

Rhaenyra worries most for Luke. He is compassionate, but unsure of himself. Though born as the heir to driftmark, her son much prefers the sky to the sea and she often wonders if he is not suited to the seat he is set to fill for the realm. She has no doubt that he would make a fine leader if put to the test, but she is concerned that he does not think himself capable of it. He needs nurturing that she isn’t sure how to provide.

Joffrey is also soon to come of age, and she believes he may have it the easiest of her three eldest sons. She sees a future of knighthood for him, seeing how he has excelled faster than his brothers in his training. Though he still has much to learn, he seems determined to see it through. He does not seem as affected by her sins as her other two, and hopes that it does not change his perception of himself as he grows. Rhaenyra hates that she has caused them to doubt themselves because of it. Because of her actions. She thinks he remains unbothered because he never got to know Harwin or Laenor. Never knew the judgmental whispers of the court. If she has one consolation for choosing to stay away, she believes it to be this.

The princess is not very old, in truth, but finds herself longing for the days of her youth when most things seemed simple. Those days are long past her. She wonders if complexity is a side effect of age or wisdom but fears in her case it may be ignorance. 

For now, she only hopes that she can repair the damage done. She smooths a hand over the bump of her daughter and prays simply for her enduring health and happiness. Rhaenyra will accept nothing less for her or for any of her children.

Three weeks later

Sprawled out on her sister’s bed Baela groans, “I wish we could go back to Dragonstone. I’m sick of court. I miss flying.”

Rhaena, resigned to the few square inches she’s left sighs airily, “I am quite enjoying myself. It is much warmer here and I prefer the food.”

“Are you not bored?” Baela is. She feels stuck in the prim and proper confines of court life. At Dragonstone she can fly out on Moondancer when she likes, explore the dragonmont, swim in the sea, lounge on the sand. Activities she much prefers to attending ladies’ teas and lessons with her septa. She knows that she should get used to it, though. One day this will be her keep and she’ll likely live out the rest of her days here. But, when her stepmother takes the throne Jacaerys will become the new Prince of Dragonstone and they will hopefully have many years in the castle there before he would succeed her. For now, she wants out.

“Not at all! There’s always a new door to listen behind and new people to talk to. I may not have my own dragon to escape on, but I don’t think I would if I were given the choice.”

Baela chuckles, “I am glad that you’ve found excitement in eavesdropping, dear sister. I cannot say the same for myself.” Her sister wears a sheepish grin, but does not respond. She finds this incredibly suspicious and now she must know what she’s thinking, “Is there something else here that excites you?”

“I may be enjoying my time with Luke as well.” Her sister answers quietly, avoiding her eyes.

She raises an eyebrow in curiosity, “Oh, do not be so vague! Please, enlighten me, Rhaena.”

Baela feigns hurt as she swats her on the arm, “I simply enjoy spending time with him. Talking, walking, the usual things.” She cannot help herself but laugh at her sister’s nervous response, “He is my betrothed, we are supposed to like each other!” Rhaena insists, pouting.

“Oh, does he enjoy spending time with you, too?” She teases.

“I should think so! He seeks out my company just as often as I do his.”

That came as a shock to her. She supposes she has not paid close attention these past weeks, but Rhaena and Luke have struck up a habit of walking the gardens after supper. She wonders what other things they do together. What bothers her the most is that Jace has not once asked her to accompany him to the gardens nor anywhere else in the keep. She only sees him at mealtimes, lessons, and occasionally in passing. She hadn’t considered that they could set aside regular times to meet outside of the group settings. (And she would never admit to it, but she has caught herself leaving early to break her fast just to catch a glimpse of him training in the yard - that is neither here nor there).

“Oh,” she starts, no longer in a mood to tease her, “Well that is nice, I suppose.”

Rhaena, always able to interpret her whirlwind moods, asks her a question she does not wish to answer, “Does Jace not seek you out?”

Baela can’t bring herself to speak and shakes her head instead.

Her sister grabs her hand, holding it gently in her own, “Do you think him unhappy about the betrothal?”

“No, we’ve spoken of it. He has told me that he would not prefer anyone else.” She insists, unwilling to admit that he does not care for her at all. It was simply not the truth.

“Baela, that does not signify happiness in the match. It is one thing to be resigned to a betrothal and quite another to be comfortable with it.”

Sadly, she is all too aware of that. It has been nagging at her for weeks now, the unsettling feeling creeping in and out constantly. She thought that she may be overreacting, surely he is busy with his own preoccupations, too. But, in hearing Rhaena’s accounts of happiness, she now feels that her doubts are justified.

“I know. I can’t force him to be comfortable, though, can I?”

“No, but you can encourage it. You are not one to accept your fate, sister. Insert yourself, get to know his mind.”

“I have tried! He just goes on about expectation and duty and he will not just give me a straight answer. It is infuriating!”

“Perhaps you just need to take a gentler approach. Instead of demanding your answers, coax them out.”

Baela scoffs at the idea, “When have I been known to be gentle?”

Her sister smooths her fingers over her palm, “You are more capable of it than you may think.” She smiles, “Try seeking out his company. Start small and build slowly.”

“What if he really is unhappy and is lying to spare my feelings? It’s not as if we can just call the whole thing off.”

“I do not think this is the case. I know that Jace cares for you, I think it more likely that he is feeling the same as you.”

Baela has not considered that. Still, the unknown lingers and invites insecurity. “But if he isn’t?” She asks her sister, feeling smaller than she should.

“Do not worry yourself about it. Jace and Luke may be brothers, but they are far from identical - just as you and I have our differences as well. Do not compare the two as equals. He is a good match for you, Baela. I know it. Give it time.”

She moves to sit beside her, snuggling into her shoulder as Rhaena would do to her when they were still small children. She is not used to being the one who needs comforting, but knows she can ask for it just the same. “When did you get so wise?”

“It comes with age, I think.” Rhaena jokes, wrapping an arm around her.

“You are insufferable, has anyone ever told you?”

“Only you, sister.”

After a bout of rest and recuperation, Jace sits vigil at his grandsire’s bedside in place of his mother. She has fretted constantly over his condition these past weeks, and he has finally managed to convince her to let others take some of the burden from her from time to time. She should not stress herself so when his sister’s birth is so near. He takes note of the bags under her eyes each morning and knows that she is in need of a good rest.

He estimates that about an hour has passed since her bid her off, and his grandfather has been in and out of consciousness since. Each time lasting no longer than a minute or two. But, he stirs now, acquainting himself with the room. 

Jacaerys looks upon him unable to recognize the man who once held him on his lap upon the iron throne. Before him is a man plagued by most grueling disease. A disease that has stolen away face, eye, and limb. He wishes they could have spoken more before the rot had set in. There are a million questions he would like to ask of him, but now he cannot risk stressing him. Perhaps in another life the king could have been a confidant, a trusted mentor. Now, he is withering away.

“Who…?” The man mutters, reaching his lone hand out towards him. “Jacaerys, my boy.”

“Yes, grandsire. I am here. Mother has gone to rest.”

Viserys coughs deeply, pain written clearly across his face, “Good. She must not worry so.”

“It is of her nature, I fear.” He finds himself smiling at this. Perhaps it is because he knows that his mother would not worry for them all if she did not love them so deeply. He admires her for her grace and manner of comportment, dedication to her duties - qualities that will surely make her a strong ruler - but loves her more for her compassion and the love she is so easily able to provide.

Grandsire laughs through another coughing spell, “Ah, maybe in her adulthood. I cannot say the same for her in her youth.”

“Really?” He asks, surprised that her beloved father would make such a remark.

“Your good mother was not always the woman she has grown into today. They called her the realm’s delight, but it was not for her empathy or propensity to fret. It was for her carefree spirit and undeniable desire for excitement.”

Jace wonders if his grandsire has become delirious from his illness, because what he describes sounds nothing like his mother.

As if he can sense his grandson’s confusion he continues, “Rhaenyra is my pride and chosen heir, but she has not always been so practical. As a girl I found myself arguing with her more often than not.”

He is intrigued by this unknown side of his mother and wishes to hear more. He’d never considered the life she had lived before him, the events and decisions she had made that had led them all to the mess they’d found themselves in of late. “I find it hard to believe that she could be so… contrary.”

“There were days I could not believe her behavior and days that I could not fathom how she had become so wise. I think that may be the joy of daughters, in truth. Their moods may sway with the wind, but they root themselves deeply in your heart so as not to sway too far. Perhaps one day you will understand the strife of your daughters. I hope that you may appreciate the beauty of them as well.”

He flushes at this, and looks away in an attempt to hide it, praying that grandsire’s vision may not be as good as it used to be. Though he would not admit it to anyone - let alone himself - he would prefer daughters to sons. Especially if his daughter would be anything like Baela. He shakes the thought from his mind before he can think too deeply about it and risk appearing any more red-faced than he already is.

“Thank you for telling me more about her. My mother so rarely speaks of her childhood to us.”

Viserys smiles, as well as he can for he is missing a good portion of his mouth. He takes Jace’s hand in his grasping it with more strength than Jace would have expected from him. “Rhaenyra is a credit to her mother and I, just as you have proved to be a credit to her. Though I fear I am not much longer for this world, it warms me to know that she has done so well despite the challenges I have set before her. I may not have made the right choices at every turn, but she prospers in spite of my shortcomings.”

Baela’s words from their post-supper chat echo in his ears. He is not sure that he should say what he is thinking, but the need to defend his mother and voice his concerns outweighs his propensity to act properly, “I am not sure that she is prospering as of late. There are still many who would challenge her ascension when it comes to be her time. Many will honor their oaths, but not all. Some would not stand to have a woman take the iron throne. I worry for what would come of it, do you not?”

“She is my named heir, there is no question to her ascension - woman or not. It is her birthright.” His grandsire insists, dropping Jace’s hand as he is propelled into another coughing fit. Jace decides at an instant that he will not push the issue any further today. He watches as his grandfather contorts in pain, disturbed at bringing it forth.

“Shall I call for the maester?” He asks with guilt, eyes darting towards the door to the apartments.

“No,” Viserys states weakly, settling back down into his bed, “I must rest.”

“Of course.”

He waits for him to drift back off before he steps outside to summon Maester Gerardys and prays that he has not caused more harm than good with his hastily-spoken words. But, he is also glad to have spoken with the King. Even if it has only made him more curious about the details of his mother’s past. 

Jace stares at the gigantic model of Old Valyria his grandfather has spent a lifetime crafting. If he has learned anything from his years of lessons, it is that history is studied to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. He wonders how the King could be so blind as to ignore the impending ruin he has incited just by naming his mother as his heir.

Chapter Text

It’s been nearly six weeks in King’s Landing and Baela is still itching to be anywhere else. Even something as simple as breaking her fast with her family exhausts her. Especially so as her betrothed continues to ignore her.

She has tried to take Rhaena’s advice, but he refuses to cooperate. Each time she approaches him to suggest a walk about the grounds, or even a flight over Blackwater Bay, he mutters some excuse and practically runs from her. At this point, she thinks pushing any harder will only make it worse. So as an act of defiance, she has taken to acting as if he does not exist.

It is a solid plan, she thinks. Maybe if she gives him some space he’ll stop acting so strangely around her. Either way, she’s sick of it and sick of this lackluster castle. The seven-pointed star seems to chase her around every corridor, green-colored tapestries cover the walls. It does not feel as if any of her family belong there. Unfortunately, she seems to be the only one of them who is bothered by it.

She pokes at her meal, not feeling much like eating this morning. Her sweet brothers babble on about who will play with what toy first, her father and Rhaenyra discuss the ever-changing status of the King’s health, Rhaena and Luke make eyes at each other even as they sit side-by-side, and Jace picks at his own plate, seated as far from her as possible. She loves them all, truly she does, but she also cannot stand them as of late. Every moment feels like suffocation, and each time she gasps for air she is denied it. 

As if she can sense Baela’s despondency, her stepmother ceases her endless rhetoric on Maester Gerardys’ methods to speak to her, “Baela, are you quite well today?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, “I am fine, thank you.” She stabs at a piece of pork sausage, the fork scratching against the plate uncomfortably.

“Would you meet me for tea later on in my solar? I should seek your confidence on an… important matter.” Rhaenyra does not command her presence directly, but makes it clear through her tone that it is a command all the same. However, Baela knows that it is not a command given out of obligation, but out of concern. She will acquiesce.

Baela nods her response, keeping the words to herself so that she may conserve her energy for later. Rhaenyra’s mother/daughter talks may be given in good-spirit, but they tend to be nearly insufferable. She has still not forgotten the talk they had when she had started her moon blood just a few years ago. That had been painful and incredibly awkward. Still, she is grateful to have a mother at all considering her true mother is long gone from her now. There are far worse stepmothers to be had than Rhaenyra. Though there would never be one worthy of replacing Laena in her heart, the princess was a suitable stand-in and did truly care for her stepdaughters.

She tries to ignore the look of concern Rhaena aims at her, Luke following suit. She steels herself, not wanting to call any further attention to her foul mood. Baela wonders if her sister has made mention of her unfortunate situation to her own betrothed - seeing as they are so close. She prays that she has not as it is far more embarrassing than she’d like to admit.

Sure, many are not fond of their betrothed. Some are not more than strangers when brought to be wed. She has known Jacaerys for the whole of her life, even if separated for the better part of the past few years she had spent with her grandparents on Driftmark. He is her cousin and brother and he is no stranger to her. Baela has always liked him, from the moment he held her hand at her mother’s funeral. He had someone to mourn that day, too, and they had bonded over it. They had become a comfort to each other in the early days of their parents’ marriage before she had been sent to ward. She would not soon forget it. She cannot understand how he could have forgotten so easily.

Even if he does not yet (or may ever) love her, she much prefers it when he speaks to her.

Baela excuses herself from the table. Her father nods his approval, but she would have taken her leave whether he had granted it or not. She cannot stand to spend another minute feeling sorry for herself in his presence. And he does not spare a glance at her as she leaves the room.

After a long walk through the gardens to calm herself, just narrowly avoiding her siblings, she resigns to arrive at tea a bit earlier than expected. The guards posted outside her parents’ apartments allow her entry to the antechamber, but do not announce her presence. She hears a second voice coming from within the solar, and deigns to wait outside. She supposes this is her fault for being early, however her curiosity gets the better of her and she presses closer to listen from behind the door. 

Rhaenyra and the Queen speak in hushed tones, but she can just barely make out their words. “I may not always agree with him, but I shall always honor his wishes. It is my duty as wife as well as Queen. But, I make no guarantees of my father or the council - you know I cannot. They will not follow my word on such matters.”

“Then allow me a seat. I cannot hope to sway opinions without having a voice there.”

“I am not sure that it will make any difference.”

“We must try.” Rhaenyra insists, her tone dripping of urgency.

Alicent huffs, “There is no available seat. Would you like me to appoint you Master of Coin? You know that is not an option.”

“I do not need to hold a formal position to play a part in the council. You forget that I served as cupbearer to my father for years as a child. I could be named as minister without portfolio, there is a precedent for it. It seems you forget that I am still the named heir, regardless of what the rest of the council may believe. It is only natural that my voice be heard.”

Baela had not expected to overhear such a sensitive conversation, but finds herself hopeful that her stepmothers actions may aid them. Having Alicent as an ally, especially as she rules as regent would be a step in the right direction. 

“It is not the worst idea, but it will take some convincing. My father will take some council from me, but he will not take kindly to this. Lord Beesbury would agree, but the rest would not. I may be regent, but my power only extends so far, Rhaenyra. I am but a woman to them.”

“What if you could convince the King to appoint me? He is much improved these past days and though I hate to disturb his rest or set back his progress, it could prove a worthy endeavor. It would be more sound coming from you than I.”

“Possibly. At worst, I could bring it to council under the guise that he himself commanded it.”

She does not hear Rhaenyra’s response, their voices too low to make out through the thick door. But, footsteps soon approach, and she leaps back to the bench - frantically smoothing her dress and crossing her legs politely as if she hasn’t been listening in on such an important conversation.

“We shall speak more later.” Alicent says as she exits, the picture of grace, as if she hasn’t been plotting behind closed doors. She admires the woman’s nonchalance, as she only nods to acknowledge Baela’s presence before retreating through to the corridor.

She takes that as her cue to enter. Rhaenyra sits at the sofa, appearing lost in thought until Baela settles into the chair next to her. “Oh, I was not expecting you so early!”

“I apologize, I was feeling a bit impatient. One can only walk the gardens for so long. Do not worry, I was only just arriving when the Queen Regent passed by.” She lies, hoping that she does not betray herself, even if her heart races at the thought of being caught eavesdropping.

Rhaenyra smiles, calling for tea to be brought before she begins her questioning, “I have been wanting to speak with you for a while, but it has been so hectic here since we have arrived. I had also hoped, maybe foolishly, that the matter might have resolved itself on its own. I can see now that it has not. Please, my girl, be honest with me. Are you satisfied with your betrothal?”

She had expected as much. Though she was grateful that Jace’s treatment of her had not gone unnoticed, she also had not wanted to get his mother involved in the matter. Baela is perfectly capable of handling her issues with him herself. Now, she just feels childish for allowing her disappointment to be so easily noticed. Still, she finds no reason to lie in these circumstances.

“I was-” She corrects herself, “I am, but I am not sure that Jace feels the same.”

Her stepmother sighs, doubt creeping into her expression, “That was my worry. Has something… happened between you? I have noticed that you have distanced yourselves, but I was not sure of the cause.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, “If anything he has distanced himself from me. I spoke to him privately, shortly after the betrothal was announced, and he told me he was satisfied, but now he will not speak more than a few words to me. It is not for lack of trying on my part.”

“Oh, seven hells. He will never stop getting in his own way,” she takes Baela’s hand before continuing, “I shall need to speak with him, as well. I had my concerns, but I also wanted to inform you of my plans for you both. I have been discussing strategies with your father these past weeks and we have decided that you will be wed a fortnight after your name day as the new babe will be born and you will both be of age.” Baela panics, her name day is just two moons away. It feels too sudden. 

“However, I will not proceed if you do not feel secure in this match. I may not be your true mother, but I hold you dear in my heart just as I do my own children. I would not wish to trap you in a marriage you do not desire. I care for both you and your sister too much to do such a thing as I have had my own troubles in a marriage I was not suited to. I only wish to escalate this so that the line of succession may be solidified sooner rather than later. I fear that it is necessary. I assure you that though this is not the timeline I would have preferred for your union, I am not proceeding with this matter unconscionably.”

Baela nods, “I understand.” And she does, but she does not understand how she is to make it work. She also fears what marriage will lead to. Still, if it will ensure that peace endures, she will do what she must, her own feelings set aside, “I will do as you bid, mother.”

A maid arrives with the tea, pouring both women a cup before excusing herself. The princess takes a cup and encourages her to drink, gesturing towards the table. Baela takes the tea, sipping it despite its scalding temperature.

“I appreciate your understanding, but I still want you to be sure. Please take time to think it over.” Rhaenyra reaches over to cup her face, stroking a thumb over her cheek lovingly - like her mother used to. “I only wish happiness to you both - and if either of you are unsure, I will not pursue it. I do think that you are well-suited, truly. And I think you think so, too. Jace is just too stubborn to see it.” She says with a smile, her purple eyes starting to mist over. “He is much like me in that way.”

Though she feels like her insides are rupturing, she still nods her understanding.

“If you both agree, we will put you out on a tour of the kingdoms. I believe putting the both of you forward as the inevitable heirs will only strengthen our claim. I am still working on gaining more support here at court, but if we can gather the backing of the lords throughout the realm at the same time I would welcome it. I know it may not seem so dire now that the King has improved, but we must work with this time we have been given. Of course, this plan will work best if you are able to put forward a strong front.”

Baela cannot help but agree. A showing of the crown’s youth may help to inspire the realm to uphold their oaths. A glimpse at the future is a creative, but effective way to do it. She actually thinks the idea to be quite clever. Still, she does not have full confidence that Jace can play his role as her dutiful husband. “I agree, but I am not sure that we will be able to appear united. He… avoids me. I fear he may even dislike me.”

She shakes her head, “Let me speak to him. He is not so stubborn as to refuse reason altogether. I believe the issue is less with you as it is with himself. I do apologize for how he has treated you these past weeks.”

“It is not your fault to apologize for. It is his.” She says plainly. Though she feels her rage building like a fire within her, the fire is not Rhaenyra’s to bear. She will not accept an apology unless spoken from his mouth.

“All the same, I have raised him better.” She sighs, taking a long sip from her cup, “I will talk with him today and I will give you both until the turn of the moon to decide. If either of you is not comfortable proceeding, a new plan can be made and we can disregard the betrothal. I would also like to allow some time for you to bond more closely before you are wed if you decide it is desired. You will not require a chaperone to be present, I only ask that you be discreet while within the keep. That being said, I am not giving either of you leave to pursue certain… desires - if you know my meaning. I simply wish for you to have time alone to further develop a relationship.”

This comes as a shock and heat rushes to her cheeks. She is not sure how to feel about the idea of authorized time alone with Jace, either. Baela already knows that she will agree to continue the proposal. She is certain that even if her marriage were to be loveless, it would still be a happy one. But, it may help both of their nerves to be able to speak to him privately without worrying about being found out. She nods in agreement, too embarrassed to respond verbally.

“Splendid. I am glad to have that off my chest. Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?”

“No, but thank you for allowing me the choice. It does not go unappreciated.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes start to glaze again, but she blinks it away, “I only wish I was given the choice myself. I am glad to give to my daughters what could not be given to me.”

Baela is touched by her choice of words. It is not the first time the princess has called her so, but it is impactful nonetheless. It makes her miss Laena all the more, but it also feels warming to be called ‘daughter’ so freely. Her father has not been as openly fatherly with her or Rhaena since their mother’s passing, though she knows he loves her just the same. She is grateful to have a parent who is willing to do this for her, and believes in her enough to do so.

“Thank you, mother.”

“Of course, darling.” Her mother moves to stand, the weight of the babe making her movements sluggish, “Now, I must attend to father before his next draught if you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes,” Baela moves to assist her, holding out a hand for her to steady herself with, “I shall see you at supper.”

Before she can ring for a servant to clear the table, her stepmother is gone and Baela finds herself alone in the solar. She only hopes that Jace will value duty over whatever ire he holds for her, though she already knows which he would choose. Between his own happiness and duty, Jace will always choose duty and above all - he always does as his mother bids him. She worries not for which option he will pick, but the consequences that will come of it.

Metal clashes against twine and straw, the sing of a blade whooshing through air as it seeks a target. He moves wickedly, slashing and swiping at the figure who dares oppose him. Jace is in a foul mood today.

Even training had not been enough to calm the storm that continues to brew within him, despite his best efforts. Typically, a solid training session would tire him to the point where he wouldn’t even hear his own thoughts, but it had proved unsuccessful as his mind continues to race wildly with each stroke of his blade. He may have stood a chance if Luke had taken up his offer to join him in the yard this morning, but he had chosen to stroll with Rhaena instead. The straw dummy was no replacement for a real human to spar with. If he were being honest, Luke is more in need of training than he is, anyway.

Frankly, he was tired of being abandoned for his brothers’ betrothed. Especially when he did not seek the company of his own. He aches to spar with a formidable opponent, but would not stoop so low as to call upon either of his uncles.

Truly, he is not frustrated so much by his abandonment as he is by Baela’s behavior at the table today. She could not make her disinterest any more clear, to the point where his mother had stepped in. Yes, he should be making more of an effort with her, he knows this. But, he does not wish to force a connection as his brother has. And he most definitely does not want his mother meddling with something so sensitive. Worst of all, he knows that he will acquiesce to her imminent demands to mend what he has broken.

Still, he knows that Baela has made an effort to speak to him and he has been wrong to push her away. Guilt resides in him as it always had, made worse by his inability to speak to her these past weeks. He knows that he is the cause of her despondency and is aware that she has not warmed to court as her twin has. 

Of course he is glad to be betrothed to her. He knows this because he does not find any other lady at court even half as desirable as her. None match her wit, her confidence, her grace. Still, he is unsure that they are suited to love each other more than as kin.

Jace is also terrified of her confrontational nature, and is sure that the next time he does deign to speak with her, she will not hesitate to call out his miserable treatment of her. This only makes the guilt seep in deeper and further encourages him to avoid seeking her out. He greatly admires her courage, and yet it is his undoing.

So, instead of dealing with this, he opts to imbue the straw dummy with his guilt and rage and calls it training. He will continue to slash and cut until he no longer feels.

The call of “Nephew!” Rings in his ears as he moves to strike, misstepping in such a way that he misses his target entirely. Aegon calls to him from across the yard, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Jace has not an idea of what he means, but sheathes his sword and takes the bait regardless, “And what could you possibly congratulate me for, Uncle?”

Aegon roots through the weapons on display, testing them as he answers, “Rumor around the keep is that you are to wed soon. I only hope that you are adequately prepared to do your duty to our dear cousin, Baela. I thought I could offer some advice with a good spar since you so harshly turned my wisdom away at supper.”

Jace frowns, still not understanding how this is news to him, “My betrothal is not exactly new gossip. And who says I wish to spar with you, much less hear of your wisdom?”

Aegon chortles, selecting a broadsword, “What? Mummy hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?” He grunts, holding his ground across the yard.

His uncle perks up at this amused at Jace’s confusion, opting to spar with his own dummy, “The date has been set. Just two more moons until the bedding! Again, I am happy to share my expertise.”

“You lie.”

Aegon shrugs, “I only share what I’ve heard. But maids are as good for gossip as they are for fucking. They so rarely tell lies.”

“They are wrong,” Jace insists. Sure, Baela’s name day lines up with that timeline, but there is no reason they should be wed so imminently. The realm still remains at peace as the king lives, and he should think he would be informed if a date had been set. “You only jest.”

“Think what you will, but I’m curious. Tell me nephew, do you know how to bed a woman? Surely Daemon has taken you to a brothel by now.”

His face burned red at the insinuation that he has been so wanton with his desires as to bed some common whore. Jace would never admit it to Aegon, but he had turned down his stepfather’s offer a fortnight ago on his own name day. It had felt disrespectful to do such a thing to Baela, even if they were not a love match. Though Daemon had insisted that such a thing was a normal activity for young men of his age, his conscience would not allow him to go through with it. He knows what it is to be called bastard, and would not wish it on any child he sires. 

Such a decision may have earned him some reluctant respect from his future father-in-law, but would not do him any favors in avoiding his uncle’s taunts. “I am aware of what is expected.” This is not a lie, as he has the memory of a painfully uncomfortable conversation with said future father-in-law to prove it.

The silver-haired man only smirks at his dodged response, and Jace finds himself seething in anger. “Expectation is very different from experience, pupil.” He sets aside the broadsword, moving to close the distance between them, “You have much to learn. I know the street of silk as I know my own cock. You may join me tonight. For observation.”

“I do not require your tutelage, uncle. But I thank you kindly for your offer.” He bites out, walking past him to remove his armor and return his sword. 

“Fine! But the offer stands if you wish to take advantage-” 

“My prince, the princess has requested your presence in her solar at once.” A squire squeaks out as he dashes to approach the two men. Jace does not break his glare at Aegon as he responds, “I shall be there shortly.”

He bites back the urge to spit at his uncles feet and takes the opportunity to leave him in the yard. Aegon’s laughter following him well into the corridor.

“I have heard that a date has been set, is this true?” He asks his mother as he bursts through the doors of her solar. The anger from his encounter with Aegon has still not left him. While there is a great chance that he had been lying through his teeth, something about his certainty made Jace think otherwise.

His mother keeps a straight face as she responds, “It has.”

“Why was I not informed?” He insists, frustration creeping in. Surely in the matter of his own marriage, he should know more than the maids of the keep.

“That is why I have called you here. I have only just spoken to Baela of it this morning over tea.”

Ah, he has overreacted. Still, it hurts to know he is the last to find out, especially if she has told Baela first. Regardless, he softens with understanding, “Oh.”

“It has been agreed that you will be married a fortnight after her name day, and a tour will be planned for you shortly afterwards. I would like you to treat with the lords of the realm and remind them of their oaths. I endeavor you both to present a united front of our succession to the realm and uphold not just my succession, but your own.” She tells him as if telling him what would be served at supper tonight.

“However, I would like to allow you a choice that I was not able to make for myself.” The weight of her words does not go unnoticed by him. He is aware in some ways of the circumstances of his parents marriage and knows that though they had done what they could to keep appearances, Rhaenyra and Laenor had not been a love match. They may have fostered a deep bond and cared for one another, but their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement. He is acutely aware of what she implies by offering a choice, “If you do not find yourself suited to this betrothal, I will call it off and we will arrange another of your choosing.”

“That is not necessary,” he insists, thinking not only of himself, but of Baela when he answers. He could not stand to hurt her in such a way.

“Jace, please, I do not wish to interfere, but I am concerned with your behavior as of late.” His mother looks at him with disappointment forming lines around her eyes. He is aware of her meaning without needing further elaboration. It guts him to disappoint her so.

Still, he must explain himself, “I know I have not been as attentive as I should. And I apologize-”

“I am not who you should be apologizing to. Surely I have raised you better than to act so harshly towards your betrothed. Baela is not some simple-minded girl you can toy around with, Jacaerys. She is a Targaryen, your intended, and she is - above all else - our kin.”

“I know that, mother. I do not think so little of her. But-”

“There is no excuse. She is not only your future wife, but your future queen. I will not tolerate you disregarding her as you have. If you are not comfortable with the future I have arranged for you, we will not proceed with it.”

No, this is not what he wants. He may feel unsure about his future, but he does not feel unsure about marrying Baela. He simply does not know how to act around her. “I do not wish to call it off.” This is as much as he can say without admitting the whole truth.

“Then you must make an effort to warm to her.”

“I will try, mother. I promise I will, I am just not sure how to get her to warm to me.”

His mother’s eyes reflect anger briefly, but settle on disbelief, “Jacaerys, she does not need warming! She is under the impression that you mislike her.”

Oh, he had not considered this. But how could she ever think such a thing? He may not have been very forthcoming with her, but he had made his intentions clear when they had discussed the betrothal. “I did not know.”

“Because you have been blind to her!” She pauses to take a breath, and he can tell she is trying to put on the face of a diplomat rather than his mother, “Listen, my dear boy, you have just over two moons before the wedding will take place. If it is your desire to go through with it, I will need you to act swiftly. I believe that your marriage will play an important role in securing our position. I know that I am placing a heavy burden on you as my heir, but it is only because you are capable of bearing it. You will make a fine king one day, I have no doubt. But, you need to stop standing in your own way.” She steps forward to brush her fingers across his cheek as she has done so many times. He leans into her touch, feeling comforted that no matter how he may have let her down, she is confident that he can rectify it. If nothing else, he will always strive to make her proud - no matter the cost.

“Duty and honor are great qualities to possess, but they do not become us. We are Targaryens and we are ruled by love and the bonds of family we all share, just as we rule with fire and blood. If you do not allow yourself to use this to your advantage, we will all crumble. So I ask you plainly: Do you wish to marry Baela?”

“Yes,” he says without thinking, because it is the truth, “I would not want any other.”

“Then you will have a week to convince her of it. I have given her time to make her own choice and I intend to hold true to it.”

“I will not let you down, mother.” And he means it. He will do whatever he can to ensure that Baela is comfortable, even if he must endure her wrath. He cannot say that he does not dread it, though.

She smiles sadly, holding his head in her hands, “My sweet boy, you couldn’t even if you tried.”

She wraps him in a tight embrace, one only a mother could give. He sinks into it, exhausted but comfortable. Rhaenyra pulls back, but holds him by the shoulders, “I have spoken to Baela about this as well, but I will allow you to spend time with her unchaperoned. However, I ask that you are not only discreet but honorable in this allowance. This is not to say that there are not… steps between what is tolerable and dishonorable. I only wish that you are able to acquaint yourselves in a manner that is respectful, but also fosters the love that I so greatly wish for you. Do you understand?”

Sadly, he understands better than he would admit. His talk with Daemon lingers deeply at the forefront of his mind, as if teasing him. “I would never bring dishonor to Baela. I am more than capable of showing restraint.” He assures his mother. 

“Good. Then I wish you luck.” She pats his the top of his head endearingly, and he has never felt so embarrassed in his life. Again, save for his talk with Daemon. If he had lacked the proper motivation to win over his betrothed, he will ensure it if only to save himself for having to speak of such dishonorable acts with his mother ever again - however vaguely they danced around it.

Chapter Text

He plans to go to her after supper that night, sat at the table nearly shaking from nerves. He attempts to steel himself, not wanting to give her any further reason to doubt his intentions. Jace has apologies to make.

But before he can even move to approach her, she darts out of the hall, dipping around a corner. He follows, ignoring the stares of his family as they continue their conversations from the dinner table. He especially ignores the curious look from his mother.

He catches up with her down the corridor, reaching to grab onto her hand. She pulls it from him, turning to him with fire in her eyes. “Yes?” She asks him pointedly.

“I wanted to ask- I want to-” He’s struggling to form a sentence, losing all of his nerve under her gaze.

She pouts, but does not speak. He tries again, “I apologize. I should not have ignored you.”

Baela quirks a brow unimpressed, “Is that all?”

“No, I um… would you like to take a turn about the gardens tomorrow after we break fast?”

“Oh, so your mother scolds you and all of a sudden I’m worthy of speaking to?”

He hates that it’s partially true. Still, he must persuade her somehow and lying will not aid him in it. “Of course not. Yes, she has reminded me that I must make my intentions clear. But, that does not mean you were ever unworthy of my affection. I apologize, truly, if my actions made you feel otherwise.”

“How could I not feel otherwise? I have been trying to seek you out for weeks and you have spurned me at every turn! Like I am some toy you can discard.” The words are thorns, but he expected as much. He would have felt just as hurt if she had treated him as he had done her. He cannot fault her for anger. “And what are your intentions, Jace? I am not so sure that they are clear to me.”

“I wish only to make this work. Our… marriage. I have been foolish to behave as I have, and I vow to never do it again. I would like us to be happy, or at least as close as we can get to that. If you’ll have me still.”

She turns away from him, and he wishes she would not conceal her face. He knows that a simple apology and hollow vows to change will not immediately repair what he has broken. He will have to prove his worthiness. Still, it is a step forward. He can only hope that she will take him at his word.

“I will consider it.” She says, still facing away, “But I will not tolerate further avoidance.”

“I understand.”

She turns, “Do you? If we are to make this work - if I am to be your wife - I require respect. I only desire to be your equal. You cannot shut me out, Jace.”

He nods, “I think that is agreeable.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” He agrees. They stand in the corridor, eyes never leaving the other’s. Frozen. Neither of them speaking, but a palpable tension building between them. Jace finds it uncomfortable, but familiar, too. 

His childhood arguments with her have always gone this way. He does something stupid to hide his true feelings from her, and she pokes and prods them out until he can do nothing but admit to them. It is a painful process, but he always leaves her feeling lighter. The weight of his worries lessened by the burden of sharing them. He wonders if he has underestimated the power she holds over him, even now that they are grown.

It has never been easy for him to be forthcoming. He has learned that asking questions often leads to answers he had not sought to find. But, if she desires to be his equal, he supposes that this is an area that he can improve.

“Meet me in the godswood tomorrow?” He asks, breaking the silence. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

She shrugs, breaking their eye contact, “Sure. But do not think that you’ve persuaded me. A walk through the gardens does not make up for weeks of torture.”

He smiles, recognizing the familiar lilt of jest in her tone, “Oh, so now I’ve tortured you?”

“I would say so.”

“And, pray tell, what would make up for this torture I’ve so carelessly inflicted upon you?”

“Action.” She says simply, turning and leaving him there to ponder her words.

He wears a smirk all the way back to his chambers.

Fresh morning dew seeps into the hems of her skirts. Baela feels both irritated and excited all at the same time, pacing beneath the giant heart tree. Irritated because she cannot believe that she has even agreed to such a meeting, despite asking so desperately for it. Irritated for even having to ask. Excited because she feels that the situation is back under her control. And even more excited to think that maybe a turn about the gardens may reveal some new aspect of Jace that she has not noticed before.

All she hears from Rhaena is talk of how much more deeply she has gotten to know Lucerys on their walks. She has often heard their laughter permeating through the walls of the keep, as if taunting her. She desperately wants what they have, even if she will not openly admit it. Baela smiles and nods through her conversations with her sister, and is also genuinely happy that she has found a true connection. But all the same, she longs to share her own stories of newfound companionship, too.

Perhaps if she had not been sent to ward, her relationship with Jace may not be so fraught with uncertainty. He may be able to confide in her like he did when they were smaller. Baela would not give up the time she has spent with her grandparents as she treasures their kinship but she wishes that she had been able to be more present with their blended family through the years. She sometimes feels like an outsider in her own home, left out of the years of acclimation they’ve all had. 

She supposes that she has always had to tease out Jace’s secrets, but she does not remember it being so hard. Had she been allowed to grow up beside him, she may already know all there is to know about him by now. It is hard to accept that she will never truly know what could have been. Still, she has opportunity now to learn more. 

She is still pacing, unaware of him until he taps her on the shoulder. She startles, whipping herself around to face him.

“Lost in thought?” He asks, already smirking.

“You’re late.”

“Please accept my sincerest apologies, my lady,” he takes her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, she tries to ignore the warmth that spreads through her at his touch. “I’m afraid that Joffrey detained me for longer than anticipated.”

Ser Erryk lingers a suitable distance from them, far enough as to not be eavesdropping but near enough to step in if they were to be ambushed. She knows that he is not here solely for protection, but also as a chaperone. Although they have been given leave to go unchaperoned, she guesses that Jace had wanted to keep up appearances. Given that they are not stepping beyond the bounds of the keep, it makes sense.

“Ah, I see. You blame your tardiness on our little brother.” She jests.

“I only speak the truth. You’re aware of his persistence when he gets an idea in his head.”

She rolls her eyes, but knows what he means, “I do. I suppose you can be forgiven.”

“Good. Shall we walk?” He holds his arm out to her, and she takes it. He feels more bold today than he did after supper last night. The heat of his body radiates through the crook of his elbow where they are connected. She has held his hand before, but this is a new kind of intimacy. In comparison, holding hands feels like child’s play to being on his arm, shoulders pressed together. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asks awkwardly, his voice portraying his nerves. Good, he is nervous. He should be, she thinks.

Baela only nods, wanting to see where he will direct their conversation. Pleasantries are nice, but not so conducive to fostering companionship. He does not speak for some time, but she notices that his breathing is uneven as the silence lingers. She will not break it until he does.

“I have heard that you do not favor life at court.” He states plainly. It is not the most interesting of topics, but she can admit that it does show an interest in getting to know her preferences. She supposes that this is permissible, even if it is a bit boring.

“Yes, I find it quite suffocating at times. I care not for tea parties nor all of the pomp and circumstance.” She hesitates, not wanting to pour salt in a wound, but also wanting to reinforce the notion that she has not yet forgiven him, “I do think that I may find it more favorable now that my betrothed has deigned to be seen in my presence.”

“I am not ashamed of you, Baela.” He insists, but will not meet her eye. She takes this as a sign of guilt.

“You do not act like it.”

He shakes his head, “Shame of you is not why I acted the way I did. I assure you.”

She prods, “Then, why?”

“You will think me foolish.”

“I will not.”

“You will.”

She sighs, “Just tell me, Jace. It cannot be that bad.”

He purses his lips, as he often does when backed into a corner, “You make me nervous.”

That was not the answer she had expected. Yes, she had insinuated as much today, but she did not think it would wholly explain his unwillingness to be around her.

“Why? I am not so frightening.”

He laughs at this, a wholehearted chuckle. When he regains his composure he continues, “Baela, you are one of the most frightening people I know. Save for your father.”

“That is not true!” She insists, poking a finger to his shoulder.

“It is! At times I am terrified of you.”

Could she truly be that awful to be around? She detaches herself from his arm and ceases her steps, “I don’t understand.”

“You have the temper of an enraged dragon. It can be quite scary, you know?” He says, still practically giggling at her offense.

“Am I really so terrible?” She wants to cry, but would not dare to show such weakness to him. Still, her words drip with insecurity as deeply as she may try to hide it.

He softens, laughter gone, “No. I think it is your best trait, actually. That, and your ability to speak so plainly.”

If this is truly what he thinks of her, she may need to reconsider her decision. It does not seem apt to proceed into a marriage with a man who thinks her crass and rude. She folds her arms over her chest, incensed, “So you admire my temper and my lack of decorum? What kind words you speak.”

He moves himself in front of her, gripping her shoulders lightly, “I have begun badly. I mean that I admire your tenacity, even if it can be frightening. It is… inspiring.”

She blinks at him and relaxes. 

“If I were truly afraid of you, I would not have told you so, would I?”

“I suppose not.”

“And would I have laughed so freely?”

“I would prefer you not laugh at my expense. Or laugh at all.” She is teasing, but at the same time, she is very much not.

He takes it too seriously and nods his understanding, “I will tread more carefully, then”

“No,” She starts, searching for the right words, “I do not want you to be careful. I just want you to act yourself with me. So we can know each other. Truly.”

He drops his hands, standing with better posture than she’s ever seen from him, “I would like that.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He extends his arm again, and they continue their walk. She dares not look back at Ser Erryk under pain of death. She is sure she will die of embarrassment.

“If you could go anywhere, where would it be?” He asks.

She thinks about it, not sure she knows her answer. There are many places she would like to go. She has travelled some, being raised between Pentos, Dragonstone, and Driftmark. But in truth, she has not much explored the whole of Westeros. “I think I would like to be on Dragonstone. But, if I could go somewhere I’ve never been, I should like to see the north. Perhaps the wall, too.” Baela has always found the stories of the old gods fascinating, even if she does not particularly believe in them. And she knows that women there are treated differently than they are in the south.

“I think I much prefer Dragonstone, too.” He concedes, “But I can’t say I’ve ever thought about going north. I suppose we will go there for the tour.”

She had almost forgotten about it, suddenly feeling excited at the prospect of traveling through the different kingdoms. She is glad that with grievances aired, they are able to speak more freely. He reminds her of the boy he used to be, now. A boy she had feared had been lost through time and distance. 

“Where would you go? If you could go anywhere?” She asks, desperate to hear his preferences. It would be great preparations for their travels.

He ponders it for a moment, glancing back at Ser Erryk before answering quietly, “I would like to see Harrenhal.”

“For Ser Harwin?” She asks with a whisper.

He nods sadly, “It would be nice to see where he grew up. If I could risk it, I’d like to visit his grave. Say goodbye.”

“That sounds lovely, Jace.” He smiles sadly, rounding a hedge that puts more distance between them and their kingsguard. An iron bench sits close by on their path and he leads her there, signaling for Ser Erryk to keep his distance. The man complies, standing at the edge of the corner, looking away. She takes the opportunity to prod further, “Tell me about him.”

His eyes go a bit distant, but he does not take long to answer, “He was gentle and fierce. They called him breakbones.” They both chuckle at the nickname. “He loved us, I think.”  

“Of course he did.” She states, as it is fact. The origins of Jace’s birth are possibly the worst-kept secret in Westeros, and there is no denying that Ser Harwin Strong did not love his bastards. She knows this without having met the man herself. 

Her mother told many stories of her youth to Baela and her sister as girls. Ser Harwin’s affection for the princess cropping up often among them. She recalls one of Rhaenyra’s wedding to her uncle, in which he carried her on his shoulder to safety as the panic set in. Her mother always stared off so distantly when speaking of that night. It was where she first aimed to align with her father, and she credits it as the night she turned his affections towards her. It was a story that she had begged Laena to repeat on many a night, just to hear about the life her mother had before her.

Baela presses further, wanting to hear more, “What was he like to you, though?”

“I did not know him as well as I would have liked to. But, I remember the care he put into our training. And Luke and I adored his jests. He used to put me atop his shoulders when I was small. It felt like a whole new world from up there.”

“And what of my uncle?” 

“Well, he taught us to catch fish. And sing sailor’s shanties. He had a weakness for cake.” He pauses briefly before continuing, “He was a good father to us when he wanted to be, but I think he always preferred his pleasures.” He does not say it with ill-intent, but an acceptance of the man Laenor had been. A man who had not fathered him, but did his best to play the part, regardless.

“It’s hard.” She says quietly, “With fathers.”

He nods, knowingly, “And what of yours?”

“Sometimes I think I hate him.” She blurts before realizing what she’s said, “He means well, I think. But he was better to us when my mother still lived. I owe more to her than him.”

“He does mean well. Daemon is many things, but he loves you and Rhaena. Loves all of us in his own way. He is awful at showing it, I admit.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven him fully for moving on so quickly.” She admits, “She was not gone a full month before we were all thrown together so hastily. I wish that he had let us grieve her properly.”

“I felt the same. Mother was not acting herself, then. We barely had time to grieve one father before losing another. Then we were given a new replacement. I have forgiven her for it, though. I have gained you, Rhaena, Egg and Vis. I may not have liked it much at first, but I am glad of it now.”

She nods, trying to shake the feelings of anger building within her. She must change the subject. “How do you feel about being back here?”

“There are both good memories here and bad. It can be hard to separate them. But, I do not dislike it either.”

“I suppose that is favorable, seeing as your throne awaits you here.”

“It is still difficult to think of it as mine.”

“But it will be. One day.”

He pouts, “Yes. After my mother is gone and I am left to carry it all forward without her.”

She rests a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, “I will carry it with you, as well.”

Realization hits him and he immediately corrects himself, “Of course, and I am glad for it. I only mean that I will have to do it without her guidance. It is not easy to imagine a world she is no longer a part of.”

Baela nods, understanding better than he may think, “I know.”

“I am proud to be her heir, but I still must prove myself worthy of it. I do not think that my ascension will be without challenge on account of who I am.”

“Nor will her’s go without challenge, I fear, but you are the son of the rightful heir. You cannot think yourself the first noble heir who was not sired by his noble father!” She quiets herself, knowing that she cannot speak such things so loudly out here in the open, “We will solidify your legitimacy by securing the succession. And I believe we will have decades to do so properly before you take her place.”

“I worry it will not be enough.” He says sadly, not meeting her eyes.

“It can be if we make it so. By showing our unity we will prove it. I think that committing ourselves to winning over both lords and small folk alike on this grand tour, we could create an image that will solidify our claim. When has Aegon left the keep to do more than whore and gamble? What example does he provide other than his sex? We must win them through our politics and our dignity. I think it shall be a battle easily won if we are united in our goals.”

He looks up at her, hopeful, “You really think it could work?”

She takes his hand in hers and holds it tightly, “I do. I have to.”

He nods, eyes wide gripping her hand back, “You’ll still have me?”

“I will. But if you ever walk away from me or avoid me like that again, I will throw you from your dragon when you least expect it. We do this together, or not at all.”

He smiles at this, “Understood.” He loosens his grip, relaxing, “When was the last time you flew?”

Sadly enough, she can’t quite remember, “Days, maybe a week?”

“How about the day after next? We could take a ride to Dragonstone, if you’d like.”

Baela beams, excitement bubbling up to her throat “I would love it.”

“We’ll leave at dawn, make a day of it.”

They are so close now, knees, arms, and hands touching. His face just inches from her. She finds herself lost in his dark eyes, searching for the wisps of amber within them. She barely notices him looking back at her, too. She feels heavy, like she is being pulled to him. 

He whispers, as if sensing they are too close to speak normally, “I would say tomorrow, but I promised Joffrey that we could have a long training session so he would allow me to leave him this morning.”

“Of course you have. It is no matter, I think I should enjoy it just the same.”

Though he has not been looking in their direction for some time, Ser Erryk clears his throat loud enough to spook them out of their proximity. 

“Perhaps we should go back?” He asks, nearly jumping to stand.

Baela laughs, rising herself, “Perhaps we should.”

Chapter Text

She is tired of being well-wished and congratulated. The ladies’ tea becoming overwhelming with each well-meaning lady approaching her to talk of how excited she must be to become a true Princess, and how lucky she is to have a match so well-made. Even the younger girls speak of how enviable they are and she wishes they would all leave her so she can just eat the dry biscuits being served in peace.

But, Rhaena sits with her and it helps some. After a few fake smiles and thanks, they finally start to back off, leaving the dragon twins to their own conversations. Baela is thankful for the peace as they keep their distance and chat amongst their like-minded selves. She understands that her position is better than most, but in some ways it is her birthright. She does not feel special to be betrothed to a prince. It feels like an eventuality. Her father is a prince, her stepmother a Princess in her own right as well. She was always likely to marry well for her immediate relation to the royal family. Damn it, she is a Targaryen already. More a Targaryen than Jacaerys himself, in name (though she would never dare say it to him for the implication he would take from it). It is frustrating, just like everything feels frustrating of late.

Her sister makes polite conversation, asking how she had slept and about her morning while the others still listen in. She finds it dull, they both do. But appearances must be kept until the rest are truly distracted. When the tea cakes are served, they have their privacy. Rhaena launches her interrogation, “I must ask - did you enjoy your stroll?”

Bashfully, she admits it, “I did.”

“Is that all you’ll say?” Baela crosses her arms across her chest, very unladylike, and shakes her head, “Oh, how you vex me. Come on, you’ve been wretched these past few weeks because he would not speak to you. Now that he does you won’t share with your dear sister who frets only for your happiness and wellbeing?”

“We walked and we had a productive conversation, I suppose. It was nothing scandalous, if that is what you wish to hear of.” She tells her plainly, nonchalance dripping from her in droves. If Baela is anything, it is private. Even if the ladies are distracted with sweets, the maids still listen. She cannot divulge too much. 

“What do you mean by productive?” Rhaena insists.

Baela sighs, “It was reassuring. He groveled, of course. I may have said some choice things about his behavior. Mostly we just talked, though. Normal things.”

Her sister furrows a brow, “I am glad that you have stood your ground, and the groveling is well-deserved. Most of all I am glad to see you cheered. But there has to be more. Did you talk of the wedding? The future? Anything else of import?”

“A bit. Mostly we spoke about family.”

“Already? I know we will be expected to produce heirs but I would not think that is an immediate concern.”

She feels her cheeks heat, “No! Our family.” She whispers, “Fathers mostly.”

Rhaena giggles, understanding her mistake, “Oh.”

“Get your mind out of the chamber pot. Nothing untoward was spoken.”

“Okay. I get it, no talk of children.” Her sister stuffs waves over a servant and takes a tea cake from the proffered tray. “But with your wedding so soon you will need to speak of it eventually.”

“Yes, I am aware.” She grits out, taking a tea cake for herself and stuffing her mouth with it. She asks him to leave behind the whole tray, he sets it down between them.

Rhaena smiles softly, a far away look in her eyes, “I do look forward to children, myself.”

“Do you?” Baela is genuinely surprised by this. Her sister has always been good with the younger children, but is often frustrated when tasked to look after them. She had not expected her to long for motherhood as she claims. Still, she does not doubt that she is suited for it. She worries that the same may not be said for herself. She has never been particularly motherly, though she supposes that nursemaids exist for a reason. 

“I think it will be a joy if it were my own child. I love Joff, Egg and Vis dearly, but they are a handful and do not belong to me directly. I can take them in small doses.”

She supposes this makes sense, “I see.”

“It matters little, Luke and I will not wed for at least another two years. I don’t believe you would be either, if we were in different circumstances. I had almost hoped we would have a joint wedding.”

Rhaena is right, if it were not for the need to secure their position as quickly as possible, her wedding may not have been set for quite some time. It was what she had expected when the betrothals were made, that they would have ample time to settle in before the marriage would be sealed. The suddenness of it all makes her head spin.

“I do find myself quite jealous, though I don’t hold it against you, sister. I believe that Luke and I get on much easier than you and Jace, but we will not rule as you will.”

“You will have Driftmark.” She supplies. Though it is not as haughty as being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, High Tide is one of the most coveted spots in the land. Rich and prosperous thanks to the efforts of their grandsire. Her sister will not want for anything.

“In time, yes. For now, we will be stuck with our dear grandparents. And do not take me to be ungrateful, because they are both dear to me, but you must know it does not compare to ruling over Dragonstone in your own right.” She sighs wistfully, “I will be happy, though, I think.”

Baela takes her hand, smoothing her fingers over the ridges of her knuckles. Almost as if trying to commit them to memory, “You will. But I think I will miss you greatly.”

Rhaena smiles covering her hand so they are sandwiched together, “And I will miss you, too. But you will be just as happy here in the keep. And I will visit often.”

“Maybe on a dragon of your own?”

Her sister’s smile falters, “If the egg ever hatches. If not, Arrax will be able to carry two soon.”

“Ah, so I must endure you both, then. I think I will personally ensure that you are able to claim your own.” Baela jests, to make up for the sorrow she has provoked in speaking of Rhaena’s egg.

She nearly snorts, but catches herself, “Are we that intolerable as a pair? I’ve seen the looks you all give us.”

“No,” Baela shakes her head, grinning, “It is just sickening to see two people so hopelessly in love. I’m sure with some distance we will all grow to tolerate it.”

“You must, or you shall never see me.” Rhaena teases back.

“I am glad that you are so happy, truly. Do not mistake my jests for mislike. He is good to you, and you deserve all of the happiness this cruel world has to offer.” She tells her, meaning every word. Her sister has been her one true companion in this life, and she would kill to ensure that she is contented. Lucerys will treat her as she deserves, of this she is sure. 

“You deserve it, too, Baela. I know you will have it, even if it does not come as easily as it has for us.”

She does not reply, stuffing another cake in her mouth as an excuse. She will believe that her sister is right, even if just for her own sanity.

“Like this?” Joffrey asks, moving to throw the knife in his hand without releasing it. His form is all wrong, stance too wide arms in the wrong position. 

Training his younger brother has always been more difficult than training alongside Luke. He thinks it is likely because the elder was closer in age and was not far behind him in skill. Joffrey is another story, being nearly a decade younger. While he is willing to learn, his excitement often keeps him from taking in his lessons, especially when Jace is giving them.

Still, he adjusts his little brother’s position. “You must work on the stance, Joff. If you can get that down, you’ve won half the battle.” Luke chimes in from behind him.

“It doesn’t feel right.” Joff mutters, unmoving from the position Jace has put him in.

“It will if you practice.” He says gently, “Now try again, this time release when your arm is fully extended. Aim for the center.”

Joffrey steels himself, and Jace cannot doubt that he is taking this seriously. The little lad aspires to be a great knight one day and seems determined to prove himself as a dutiful student when he trains with the other knights of the castle. However, he will whine when instructed by his elder brothers. It is why Jace often declines to train him himself.

He has agreed because he knows that his father would have wanted him to. Ser Harwin had overseen their training as boys and intervened when Ser Criston became too harsh or prejudiced against them. Joffrey had not gotten to know either of his fathers, so Jace feels a certain responsibility to act as their representative. He does his best to fulfill this role, even if it feels hollow to him. 

The younger boy does as he’s instructed, flinging the knife. It hits only slightly off-center but does not stick. It is a good effort, but the technique is still off. “You have the correct stance, but you need to better time your release. Try again.” He tells him, gentle but firm. The way Harwin would have told him.

While Joff practices the throws, Jace ponders taking him to learn fishing, too. Even through their years on Dragonstone, where they were so near the sea, he could not bring himself to do so. He has not attempted to try it himself, nor has Luke. 

Lucerys, himself, stands behind them observing their younger brother’s form. As he throws again, hitting the target but failing to imbed the knife, he steps in. “It’s in the wrist, Joff.” He takes a knife twisting it around before throwing it and landing it in the center, just off a bit to the left due to his positioning. “See, you have to twist a bit as you release. It will not stick otherwise.”

Jace takes a step back, willing to let his brother take over. When he is satisfied that Joffrey has understood his instruction, Luke joins him a few paces back.

“I feel as though I barely see you these days.” Luke laments leaning against the fence. The sound of knives buzzing through the air the only other noise in the yard.

“I have been busy.” He does not spare him a glance, opting to watch Joff as he fails to land a hit.

“Really? I think you’ve been avoidant.”

“Well I apologize if I do not wish to hear of Rhaena every time we speak. We are not safe here. You should be strategizing instead of prancing about the keep with her.”

Luke stares at him dumbfounded, as if he has not taken every free second to fraternize with his betrothed. “Then I apologize if my happiness offends you so. Maybe if you spent more of your time with Baela instead of acting as if you’re not about to be wed to her, you would be happier yourself.”

Jace huffs, “I have made an effort to repair our relationship.”

“One stroll through the gardens and you think it repaired? You are treading a dangerous line, brother.” Luke laughs at him, kicking dirt beneath his boot, “Baela is not like to forgive so easily.”

“I have made arrangements to go flying with her tomorrow.” He mutters, feeling stupid to have to justify himself.

“Then that is well and good, but you need to put an effort into her. Rhaena and I have both seen how tortured she’s been these past weeks and I believe mother is starting to notice, too. Unless you’d like a stern talking to from her-”

Jace interrupts him, “She has already said as much. I am trying to put an effort in. It is not my wish to make her unhappy, truly. I am… navigating it.”

“Good. She deserves your best. Just as Rhaena deserves mine. They are more than just wives, Jace.”

He feels like an invalid being spoken to like this by his younger brother, but knows there is truth to his words. He should not disregard them, even if he wishes to argue with him. “I know.” He admits.

“Mother is working to ensure that our position is secure, even in her current state. We all have our parts to play, and yours is to secure Baela. If you stop fighting it, you may do us more good than you’d think.”

He nods. He knows. Jace is painfully aware that this is his role. One day he will rule, and he must do what he can to prove he deserves it. But he also must convince himself that he does deserve it. In times like these, he cannot help but feel like he is the least deserving of them all. His own younger brother is wiser than him.

“Enjoy your outing tomorrow. Make use of it and allow her in. You will be the better for it.”

Just then, a sharp thwack sounds through the yard and Joff yelps in surprise. A knife is embedded into the target, but their brother is not the one who has thrown in. Aemond lingers above them in the gallery, sneering. He says nothing as if waiting for one of them to react.

Jace will not dignify it. “Would you like to join us, Uncle?”

“I do not need to train, clearly. Though I could demonstrate if you three strong boys are in need of a teacher.”

Joffrey lights up, not understanding the slight, “Yes-” he starts, but Luke cuts him off.

“We’re perfectly capable.”

“Is that why he has yet to sink a throw? I would think you would be better at teaching him to use a knife, nephew. Considering your skill.”

This incenses Luke, and he moves as if he’d climb the rafters to get to Aemond. Jace pulls him back by his collar, “He is learning and has improved much already today. If we require your input, we will ask for it.”

“Hmm. I only wish to imbue you with knowledge, but I see you are too stubborn to accept my wisdom. Pity, you may need it soon enough. But I suppose giving away my secrets will only work against me in the end. I will not bother.” His words drip with slime, and he can feel Luke tensing beside him.

He speaks before his brother can say something stupid, “Perhaps, but we are not at war. Our young brother is still but a child and will not see battle any time soon. He has ample time to learn.”

Aemond shrugs, “War is not so predictable, nephew. It could be upon us at any moment, such is its nature.”

“Do you not believe us to be on the same side?” Jace insists, trying to coax out the words he is not saying plainly.

The other man holds his arms up in defense, “I only speculate. No harm in being prepared, is all.” With that Aemond turns, as if he hasn’t just basically spoken treason by avoiding the question, and walks back to the castle. Luke balls his fists, pulling against the hold he has on his shoulder.

“Why do you let him say such things?” His brother spits.

Jace whispers to him, “Because we cannot afford to let him win. If you were truly so wise, you’d understand that allowing him to provoke you gives him the power. He may never be a friend to us, but we need to keep him placated. Maintain civility.”

Luke grits his teeth but nods, “I suppose.”

“You are fully aware of what happens if we do not.”

“Yes.”

“What’s going on?” Joff asks so innocently that it breaks Jace’s heart. He has no true role in this argument more than the disadvantage of his birth that he does not fully understand as yet.

“Just teasing, Joff. You can resume your practice.” He tells the boy, trying to calm the stiffness in his voice.

“I might be little but I am not stupid. Why can’t he train me, too?” Joff insists, confusing merging with anger. He can’t blame him, he remembers the feeling well.

Jace moves his hand from Luke’s shoulder and forces his body to relax, “You don’t need him, you have us. We will teach you what father taught us.” He knows mentioning their “father” will get the boy in line. Joff may not know which father he speaks of, but will do anything to follow the example of him. “Now, come, you will land a hit today before luncheon. I promise.”

“Okay.” He says, moving back into his stance. Jace feels a pang of pride when he settles into the proper stance without needing adjustment.

Chapter Text

Jace has never felt so uncomfortable in riding leathers than he does now. The leather typically feels like a second skin, yet he feels suffocated in it. He tries to remind himself that he has gone riding with Baela thousands of times and he has no reason to feel like he’s squirming out of his skin just because she is sharing a carriage with him. 

Still, his mind will not quiet itself. He thinks of every possibility for every conversation they could have on their outing, every mistake he could make that would lead to him being devoured by Moondancer. He cannot stop thinking. And because of it, he can feel the daggers Baela glares into the back of his head.

“Are you going to speak to me or will we ride the entire way in silence?” She asks once they have left the grounds of the keep.

“Sorry I-“ and he isn’t really sure how to explain himself. He begins again, “Sorry. Are you excited to ride?”

She gives him a blank look and he winces internally. “I can ride anytime. If you’d prefer not to engage in conversation, I’d be happy to do it alone.”

“No.” He says quickly, too quickly damn it, “No, I am looking forward to riding with you. I asked you to come so that we could speak freely. I intend to do so.”

She snickers at him and he feels the shred of confidence he once had fly directly out of the carriage window. “Good. Speaking freely entails being open and honest with your thoughts. Am I making you nervous again?” She eyes his hand as he fruitlessly tries to itch his forearm through the leathers. He feels as if he is breaking out in hives.

“Of course not.” He insists, though the blush he feels creeping up to his cheeks may say otherwise.

“I fear you are lying to me, Jacaerys.”

He pouts and knows he is being childish, but remains stubborn regardless, “I am not.”

“Fine, but you do not need to feel nervous. It’s not as if I would feed you to Moondancer for saying the wrong thing,” He blanches at this, reminding him immediately of the images of being burned alive that had been swimming around in his head moments before, “We do not have to behave differently because of our… situation. You can speak to me as you always have.”

Jace feels himself relax a bit at her words as he nods in response, but the itch persists beneath the straps of his leathers. Sure, he can talk to her as he always has, but their circumstances are getting more difficult to dance around. Before, they could pretend that a betrothal was a distant idea of some future they had done little more than imagine. Now, it was not only a betrothal but a marriage. The future has caught up to them, and he still feels little more than an ignorant child.

He has always wanted to marry Baela. Since they were children, he thought it destined to be so. But now that it is his reality, he’s not sure how to proceed with the image. In truth, he is not sure what a marriage should be. His parents’ marriage was likely not the best example, seeing as his true parentage would contradict that ideal. Still, they had not been unhappy while Laenor was alive. And he could tell that even if his parents did not love each other in the way a husband and wife should, they were comfortable in their friendship and held respect for each other in a way Jace had found admirable. In any case, he couldn’t fully understand it, nor did he want that sort of relationship with Baela. It lacked romance. And he may never admit it aloud, but he does feel that romance is an important pre-requisite for a successful marriage. He wonders often if the lack of it is what led his mother to the bed of another man. Jace would never confront her on it, but has made his own conclusions on the matter as he has matured.

Surely he feels romantic love for Baela. One would not want to kiss another so badly if it were not romantic, he thinks. And he does want to kiss her. So badly that as his thoughts begin to blur, he finds his eyes fixed on the swell of her lips. Imagines being close enough to -

No, he would never risk her honor to do so, alone or not. She deserves more. 

Surely, his mother’s relationship with Daemon constituted romantic love. He knows that she would not make the sacrifices she has to secure the match if she did not truly love the man beyond simple friendship or kinship. Even if those bonds could be just as strong, he knows that they are still somehow different. But, he does not think he would want a relationship like their’s either. Baela is quite like her father in many ways, but he does not imagine her being alike to him in love. Her best qualities in that regard were received from her mother, he is sure. She loves fiercely, but gently all the same. It is what he admires most about her. Daemon is most fierce but has no capacity for gentleness that he has seen, at least.

(However, the more he thinks on it, the more he imagines Daemon with his mother and he finds that it makes him feel somewhat queasy…)

Regardless, he feels as though he should offer some sort of reassurance. “I will try my best.”

She smiles, “That is all I ask of you.” She reaches to grab his hand, taking it gently into her own.

He squeezes it, meaning to convey his feelings through touch rather than words. He hopes it is effective. Still, there is much he must say today that can only be conveyed through speech. He must be brave enough to get the words out.

Before long, they are mounted atop their respective dragons and soaring above the city of King’s Landing. Baela is ready to leave it behind, even if it is only temporary.

A glance behind her reveals Vermax racing to keep up with them through the clouds. She holds the reigns loosely, knowing that Moondancer is well aware that she is to follow Vermax’s lead (even if she does speed off ahead from time to time) and she is in no immediate rush to get to their destination. She does so dearly love to fly.

The dragons circle each other, allowing her glances at Jace as they flip through the sky. He is more free up here than he is anywhere else, the anxieties he holds so close to his chest absent in the gleam of his eyes. She feels similarly when flying. Nothing can touch them here, they are safe from any outside influence or prying courtly eyes. Baela can be herself and knows that Jace feels much the same. On dragonback, they are Targaryens. Nothing more, nothing less.

She follows him to a small alcove, far from the castle but still on the island. The air here feels thinner and though some may find it harder to breathe, she welcomes the smell of the mountain air as she dismounts.

“I thought this would be a good place for a picnic.” He tells her, retrieving a basket strapped carefully to Vermax’s saddle. 

“I think you may be right.” She concedes, taking in the area. It is one of those places that does not stick out, but once sighted pulls you in. Nearing the top of one of the peaks, it leaves just enough clearance for a fully grown dragon to land, and a half formed cave that would provide shelter from the elements if needed. She spots a fire pit nestled near the cavern, and knows that someone else has had a similar thought, “Have you been here before?”

He nods, “Many times. I consider this to be one of my favorite spots on dragon stone. I found it the first time I was allowed to go flying alone.” He lays out a tapestry for them to sit plopping the basket down at the center, “It’s been my own personal oasis ever since.”

She takes a seat, “And you’d spoil such a secret hiding spot by showing it to me?” Frankly, if this is the case she can forgive him for being so standoffish on the carriage ride to the dragon pit.

“You could never spoil it.” He tells her in a voice she has never heard him use before. It is quiet, but holds a conviction that she rarely hears from him. “In fact, it is made greater by your presence.”

For once, she is not sure what to say. He does not seem bothered by the emotional weight he has just thrown at her, though, and continues to methodically unpack the basket, laying out cheeses and meats and wine as if he has only told her that the sky is blue.

“Jace,” She starts, but is unable to finish the thought.

“Please, eat.” He tells her, pouring them both a goblet to drink from.

She acquiesces, lost for words, shoving a particularly large slice of cheese into her mouth.

“I am supposed to be sharing myself with you, no?”

“Well, yes.”

He gulps down the remainder of his goblet, and she notices a slight shake in his hands, “I want to share my life with you, Baela. Soon we will be the lords of this land, and though I am anxious about messing it up entirely, I am also confident that I will be only be bettered by having you rule beside me.”

She takes his hand again, wishing to still it from shaking. “I know.”

He takes another deep breath, “I apologize again for implying that I do not wish for your companionship or that I do not view you as an equal. It is anything but the truth. I have wanted you in some way or another since the day you first held my hand. Though it has evolved as we’ve grown, you have always been dear to me. I may not be worthy of your good opinion, but I desire it all the more. And I know that above all, I love you, Baela. In all of your various shapes and forms. However, if we are to go through with a marriage I need to know that you feel the same. I will not trap you in a match that is unsuitable to you.”

“Of course I want to marry you!” She snaps, wondering how he could possibly misconstrue her intentions. She has given him no cause that she is aware of.

“I know that you have promised as much but I have to ask it of you; do you want me as a companion or as a…” He trails off, losing his nerve at her outburst.

“As a what? A husband? The answer is yes! I have told you that I am very happy with our match, what is there to wonder?” A voice at the back of her head reminds her that he has said the words she has wanted to hear for years. He loves her. But she is too wrapped up in his doubt of her intentions that she still cannot fully process what it means.

“No! I mean as a -“ He exhales sharply, frustratedly running a hand through the hair at his temples, “A lover! Do you want me as a lover as well?”

At this, she cannot stop the burst of laughter that escapes her. She wants to see the embarrassment she knows is burning up his face, but she cannot bring her eyes to open as she squints them shut in laughter.

“I cannot imagine how this is funny to you.” He sounds so mortified that she wants to scream. Still, she knows that without explanation, her cackling will appear mean-spirited. It is difficult to stop, though.

Near tears, she finds the words, shifting to sit on her knees in front of him “Jacaerys. Velaryon. I would never agree to marry you if I were not interested in you in that way! I know fully what is expected of me in a marriage. Do you think I would fight to be with someone I value only as a companion?”

He looks anywhere but at her, “I can see a safe marriage being more worthy of fighting for than an unknown one.” He tells her sheepishly.

“You are safe to me, but not for that reason.” She assures him, reaching for his hand once more while fighting the urge to turn his cheek so he would just look at her. She may not be good with words, but he has always been exceptionally good at reading her expressions. “You are safe because I love you. And you are safe because I have wanted you for nearly as long as I can remember. Just like you said, in some form or another.”

“Really?” He asks, finally meeting her eye.

“Yes, really.” And she leans over to kiss him to prove it. 

At first, she is elated by the fact that he is not pushing her away and instead responds in kind, moving his mouth upon hers in a way that feels different than how she had imagined, but not bad. Slowly and still unsure, he touches her shoulder light as a feather. As if his fingers may bruise her if he were to grip it. She realizes that she would not care if he did.

But, as suddenly as if he has burned her, he moves away, featherlike touch gone with the press of his lips to hers. She whines a bit without meaning to, so suddenly starved of touch.

“We - We can’t.” He tells her scooting himself further back on the tapestry. “I will not ruin your reputation by taking advantage.”

“It is hardly taking advantage if I kiss you.” She tells him, unamused.

“It does not matter. It is my fault for speaking of such inappropriate things.”

She frowns, “Jace, I am your betrothed. I do not think it improper to discuss our feelings for each other. If anything, I have asked it of you. Begged you, even. You should not feel ashamed.”

He shakes his head vehemently, “No, it was selfish of me to ask such a thing of you. Even if we are betrothed, it does not mean that I can disregard your virtue.”

She can do nothing but roll her eyes at his attempt at self-degradation, “My virtue remains quite intact, thank you. And I am glad you felt able to speak to me with such honesty. I feel we are the better for it, do you not?”

He hesitates, not meeting her eye, “I suppose it does feel good to get it off my chest. Though I am not sure your response will strengthen what resolve I have left.”

She feels the smirk creeping up her face, “I think you quite liked kissing me. Am I wrong?”

“Of course I liked it! That doesn’t mean I should have allowed it.”

“I distinctly remember your mother telling me that she would encourage our affection within reason given that we are discreet. I was not privy to your own conversation with her, but I assume she told you similarly?”

He pouts, “She may have.”

“Then does kissing not encourage affection? I feel that my affection for you has only increased as a result.”

“I suppose it may. But-“

She cuts him off, “I believe that kissing is well within reason. In a few short weeks you will have to kiss me in front of the entire court as well as our family. Would you not like to practice beforehand?”

Jace stares up at her dumbfounded.

She takes his non-answer and runs with it, a newfound confidence found in the desire he cannot hide from her in his eyes, “There are many… steps to consummation that do not entail ruining my virtue. I believe kissing to be a proper place to start.”

“Baela, please do not tempt me.“ He asks her quietly, eyes staring up at her in what she supposes is disbelief.

“Why not?”

“Because I think I may die.”

She smoothes a hand across his cheek, hoping to ground him once again to the earth. “I think not.” She grabs his hand once again, encouraging him to mimic her movements. “We do not have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But I would very much like to kiss you, if you’ll allow it.”

He answers her by connecting their lips once more, though much softer than before. She feels herself melting into his touch, satisfied that she has won this battle.

He is not sure how long they had laid there wrapped up in one another. In some ways he felt he had kissed her long enough to last a lifetime, but also that he may continue on doing it forever without ceasing and die in that spot a happy man.

The nagging thought of how he had defiled her by allowing such a thing had grown quieter the longer his lips were on hers. Jace has waited years to touch her in this way, and though he cannot help but feel like he does not deserve it, he cannot bring himself to stop, either.

Her hands rustled through his hair, tugging and pulling as they explored each other. He refused to move his hands beyond her shoulders for fear of being unable to resist curiosity, but hers roamed freely. She raked her nails through his scalp, down his neck, to his chest where she laid her palms out grabbing fistfuls of his tunic and pulling him closer and closer to her.

He felt as if he were flying on Vermax, weightless but grounded at the same time. Unable to discern the land from the view above the clouds. 

Eventually, she came up for air, pulling away just enough to stare into the depths of his soul. Her purple eyes twinkling at him. He could not resist a smile at her happiness. 

“I love you.” He whispers, forgetting that she can even hear him say it.

“I love you, too.” She assures him, and he thinks he may believe her this time. 

Chapter Text

He lay in bed that night more conflicted than he has ever been in his life. It had been the most perfect day and he had finally built up enough courage to speak his mind clearly. But he cannot doubt that he has not said enough at the same time. And with his confessions, he has tainted her with his lust. 

Of course, now that he has done so, he would not oppose to spending his days kissing Baela as often as he pleased. But, they are not yet wed and he feels a tremendous amount of guilt for doing it so flippantly. He owed her respect and the thought of tarnishing a thing so delicate as her virtue kept him awake.

Even if she has assured him (repeatedly) that she does not care for such strict views on her maidenhood, he cannot help but feel as if he has ruined her. All because he lacked the fortitude to resist his own urges. 

He is both contented in the advances they have made through their conversations today and disgusted by how little willpower he possesses. He has heard before that bastards are lustful and sinful creatures and he can very easily see the truth of it. He cannot claim to be different when he has allowed such a stain to be set upon his betrothed.

He blames himself because it is his words that have tempted her.

Still, lingering in the back of his mind, Jace also feels an overwhelming happiness because she loves him. She wants him. Baela wants to be his wife just as badly as he wants her and he cannot deny the euphoria the thought brings him. He must remind himself that is is real and he has not dreamed it. 

Jace is also terrified that in a few short weeks they will be married and his lust will no longer be this sinful disgrace that he has brought upon her. If his desires are left unchecked by the decorum of their courtship, will she still want him? He worries that she will not. He has heard many a time that the act is not so enjoyable for the woman as it is for the man. He would be loath to force her into it beyond fulfilling the responsibility of creating heirs.

He is also painfully aware that he will have to kiss her in view of the entire court, not to mention his mother. She was right to remind him of the fact, but he would prefer not to think of it all the same. It makes his stomach turn in the most unusual ways.

They would also be expected to go through with a bedding ceremony and the thought of it threatens to bring his supper back up. Perhaps he will speak to his mother, as awful as that sounds, to see what could be done about it.

The more he thinks on it, the worse the queasiness of his stomach becomes. At this rate, he thinks it may be better to just take Baela to Dragonstone and elope. It would be simpler than dealing with the ceremony of it all, and he is sure she would prefer the privacy. However, Jace knows that he is a slave to duty above all and their marriage is as much for a performance of strength in their line as it is for their love for each other. That, and his mother would skin him alive and feed him to Syrax if he dared to marry without her being present.

He shakes the thought from his head and tries to train his focus on what went right today. (And he tries very hard and unsuccessfully to rid his mind of repeated thoughts of kissing her again).

Three Weeks Later

Though she is holding as still and she possibly can, the seamstress continues to stick her with pins. Baela holds onto the last shreds of her composure in the hopes that she may endure less torture if she can simply allow the woman to work.

The dress she wears is beautiful, embroidered carefully with delicate gold flames that lick at her hem and sprawling spiral designs along the strong line it casts on her shoulders. She has never felt such a connection to a piece of fabric in her life, save perhaps her riding leathers. But, the garment is itchy beyond belief and were she not so irritated by being poked and prodded, she would be scratching every inch of her body. But, she reminds herself with great difficulty, it has not yet been lined properly and will likely be much more comfortable once completed. Or, at least, she can only hope so. She would so loathe feeling itchy while attempting to marry the love of her life.

But, the boning conforms to her shape perfectly and she cannot help but feel beautiful in it. She watches her reflection in the mirror and sees bits of her mother looking back at her. It warms her heart to feel so connected to her. She has been told for most of her adolescence by those who knew her that she is a spitting image of Laena. She feels unlike herself, getting emotional over something as stupid as a gown.

To combat the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, she imagines the look on her father’s face when he sees her in it. In some ways, she hopes that the image might haunt him into behaving as her father again. He has been distant in the years she had been a ward of Driftmark, and proximity had nothing to do with it for she knows that he has treated Rhaena similarly. If it prompts him to feel sorry for how he has treated her and her sister since her mother’s death, it will be worth the discomfort of wearing the damned thing.

Baela is not one for pomp or fancy dresses, but for the occasion she can bear it. Unfortunately, she must also endure five more fittings for the elaborate gowns she will wear on their wedding tour. She understands that she is entering a role that demands such things, but is sure that she will never become used to it. She’d prefer a comfortable tunic and breeches any day over a complicated and itchy gown, no matter how appealing it may make her look. Still, she is aware that this is a part of marrying the heir to the throne and that it will be expected of her. She supposes a few overstated dresses are a price she can easily pay to marry Jace.

With only a moon left before the ceremony, she is chomping at the bit to get the whole thing over with. Though things between them have improved immensely since their day at the cave, Jace still refuses to do more than allow her to steal a quick kiss or two in the shadows of the corridors in the keep. And they never last as long as she’d like.

She is glad to know that his feelings are as strong as hers, but she does find herself wondering if he truly desires her when he will barely touch her. She has assured him time and time again that she welcomes his touches and knows that he resists due to the undying care he has for her virtue. She is also painfully aware of why he feels this way, and for that reason she tries her best not to pry.

Her only saving grace is the impending marriage which she hopes will help break down the physical barrier he has put up between them. 

Lost in thought, she barely registers the seamstress telling her that they have finished for the day. She does not notice until the garment is being unlaced and she nearly loses her balance at the harsh tugging.

“I crave a word with you.” Is the only thing Jace hears before being pulled out of his seat by the back of his tunic, the book he was reading tumbling awkwardly shut and slamming down on the table.

He stumbles to his feet, finally seeing who has so hastily pulled him from his chair in the library. His stepfather has that terrifying look in his eye and he knows that he is in for a painful conversation.

Daemon stalks out of the library as Jace trails behind him, stomach in knots. He heads towards one of many spiraling towers in the keep, and he wonders briefly if he is being taken to some unoccupied area to be killed. He would not put it past Daemon.

However, a wall, which he had always believed to be just that - a wall - suddenly sinks inward at the press of the other man’s hand and he is being shoved through the crack before he can so much as study it. He follows his stepfather’s calculated steps down a stairway that seems to lead nowhere.

After what feels like an eternity, they arrive at a sheltered alcove of the castle near the shore of Blackwater Bay. There is not a soul in sight. He has no idea how they’ve gotten here, and the disorientation distracts him enough to forget who has brought him here and the multitude of “why’s” ringing through his head through the entire journey.

“Are you knowledgeable in the matter of properly pleasing a woman?” His stepfather asks as if it is the most perfectly typical thing to ask of him. 

He blanches, not having the slightest idea of what to say in response.

Daemon sighs, “You may not be my son by blood, but for the love I bear your mother, I consider you as such, and therefore I am offering my expertise in the matter. I will not see my daughter - my first born - unsatisfied by her husband on account of his ignorance. You have refused my previous offer to expand your knowledge and as such I have cause to doubt your capabilities. So, I will speak clearly just this once: Do you require an education?”

Jace can do nothing but stare at the man in disbelief, “I must bed a whore so that I may… please Baela properly?”

“I would prefer it, in fact, were it entirely up to me I would drag you to the brothel myself already. But I am inclined to impart my own wealth of knowledge if that is not your preference.”

“I-“ He shakes his head, knowing that as much as he wants to crawl up into the fetal position and die at the thought of Daemon describing intercourse to him, he does not wish to shame Baela by bedding some common whore just to say he has ‘proper’ experience in the matter. Frankly, the thought alone is insulting and he has told Daemon so the last time he had made the offer. “I suppose I am of a… certain disposition to hear what you would have to share with me on the matter. I do not wish to bed anyone other than Baela.”

Daemon takes a breath, clearly agitated, “Fine. I truly had hoped it would not come to this, but your mother has insisted that you be properly educated -“

“My mother has asked this of you?” He interrupts, outraged. Why would his own mother wish to subject him to such torture? He wonders, trying desperately to steel his expression into one of defiance rather than terror.

“Yes, but as I said, I would not let Baela be subjected to your conjectures, either. So, my hand is quite forced. Much to our mutual discomfort, clearly.”

Jace wants to tear his skin off, but understands that such a disfigurement would still not let him out of this conversation. He forces the words through gritted teeth, “Then please, enlighten me, good-father.”

It has felt like hours, but as he shuts the door to his chambers, Jace feels himself finally take a deep breath. He knows much more about Daemon Targaryen’s sexual prowess than he could ever even suspect there is to know, but he is at last alone.

If he had thought the last offer to visit a brothel had been the most uncomfortable conversation he has had in his life, nothing could ever compare to the talk he has just endured. 

However… he cannot say it does not have its uses. 

Jace is assured now that the act of consummation is more than just creating heirs and that if he wishes to make it so, it can be very enjoyable for both man and wife. In that, he is comforted. If there is anything he can be thankful for, it is that he now knows how to make the experience a happy one for Baela. If his mother had encouraged such a talk, he knows that Daemon had not lied about this.

Regardless, he thinks he will skip supper tonight on account of the turning of his stomach.

The princess sits a vigil at the king’s bedside, still willing herself to believe that keeping a regular post there will aid him into a miraculous recovery she knows deep down is not possible. Her father is beyond saving now, but the moments where he floats into lucidity give her the smallest shred of hope that he may endure long enough for her to remedy any possible challenge to her inheritance. 

It would surely help if he could hold a proper court at least once more, she knows. But, she cannot count on it. Still, his lingering presence may aid her as well.

She has been granted a seat at council as minister without portfolio, after many hushed conversations with Alicent. However, she is well aware that her presence at such meetings is unwelcome. Otto Hightower is very much the voice of the “king” as things stand. She must uproot him to have even the slightest chance of turning anyone of import to her favor.

Alicent has been helpful where she can, but not as influential as she may have hoped. The men of the council do not see her as regent, instead seeking their confidence with her bothersome father. It is an obstacle that she has not yet found a way to bypass. 

Daemon has not been entirely useful in this regard either. His plans often involve making moves she is not willing to carry out with the climate so precarious. He has suggested anything from assassinations to other forms of high treason and she knows that she cannot afford to pursue either route. Yet, she is sure that he knows this too, and wonders if he suggests them merely as a test to her. Regardless, she finds his ideas even more exasperating if that is the case. What they truly need is time, just as much as influence. The king’s condition, though currently stable, does not suggest an abundance of time will be available.

She does know that Jace’s marriage will help to greatly strengthen her claim. She has put much of her faith in this plan. At the same time, it brings her joy to know that it is not only a strong match politically, but that she is allowing her children the choice she was not allowed herself. Rhaenyra is comforted in knowing they would have likely picked each other without outside influence, even if their union may have taken much more time to come to fruition were they not nudged in the right direction. 

To have her heir situated as such before she takes the throne only makes their line appear more balanced. But, Aegon has the same advantage of a royal Targaryen wife along with the heirs to back it up. What she believes will really make a difference is the tour. If Jace and Baela can charm the major houses of the kingdom, they will have a rapport established if she is pressed to defend her claim. She knows well that oaths sworn to her father nearly twenty years past will do little if the council is set on making Aegon king. In a usurpation, she will not succeed without the major houses of the realm backing her.

Though Otto thinks he may be disguising his intentions well, she is sure that the second her father takes his last breath, the man would do anything to get his grandson on the iron throne. He has the pawns in place now and all that he needs is the inciting act. She will not allow it.

Alicent may not hold as much power and she believes herself to, but she does not wish to put her son on the throne. She is aware of his nature despite the fact that she would never admit it out loud. They have restored a trust between them these past weeks, perhaps not as strong as it once was, but it is there nonetheless. They may have their grievances, but Rhaenyra knows her. She can read a look upon the queen’s face and in an instant understand what she is thinking. 

She does not wish any of her sons to sit the throne. Aegon is too unstable, Aemond too cunning, and Daeron too distanced. Helaena, so lost in her own mind, has suffered enough. Alicent understands the weight of what the crown entails and loves them too deeply, in spite of their shortcomings, to put them to it. Even if she often demonstrates her love in the most obnoxious ways.

She feels a sharp pang of movement in her belly, her daughter squirming around waiting impatiently to finally enter the world. Rhaenyra wonders if they had both become mothers too early as she puts a hand to the foot nudging her ribs. She has handled motherhood as best as she could in the circumstances, but knows also that she has made grave mistakes in regard to her children as well. She thinks that Alicent has perhaps loved her children from too far a distance. She cannot blame her, for if she were in her situation, she would likely behave similarly. 

Rhaenyra knows well how it feels to bear children with a man you truly love and to bear them out of obligation. She would never say that she loves any one of her children less than another, for she does love them all fiercely. But she knows that if she were allowed free will in her choice of husband, her actions would have been different and they would be in a much lesser predicament. As much as she hates how Alicent has handled the raising of her brothers and sister, from some angles she can understand the choices she has made.

She looks upon her father’s empty face and ponders what his justification is for the mess he has created in his pursuit of a male heir. She cannot find one.

Their turn about the garden today has been marked with a recently unfamiliar silence. In the past weeks since their outing on dragonback, Jace has been much more talkative. Often he speaks of his training, or what he has overheard from his mother’s accounts of council meetings. But today, he remains eerily silent. She finds it suspicious.

“What crawled into your breeches this morning?” She asks as she clings to the crook of his arm.

He shakes his head as if coming out of a trance, “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“You were clearly quite lost in thought. What is on your mind?”

“Nothing.” He answers quickly, “I am only quite content to be near you.”

She does not accept it, “Jace. Please?”

He stops walking abruptly, “You really must know every thought that crosses my mind?”

“Well, no. But I can tell that whatever it is bothers you. Your have that look on your face.”

“What look?’

“The one where you scrunch up your eyebrows just so,” She demonstrates, knitting her own brows together exaggeratedly, “That is your worried face.”

He sighs, and waves Ser Erryk away, prompting the man to abandon his position ten paces behind them and find somewhere else to stand out of earshot. “If you really must know I am thinking of ways to convince my mother that a bedding ceremony is not a necessary part to our wedding.”

“Oh.” She says, taken aback by the brash honesty she had not expected. Sure, he had been more forthcoming these past days, but not so much as this. She cannot help but feel disappointed as well, “Do you not want…” She trails off losing the tenacity she had held just moments ago to her insecurities.

“Of course I - Yes, but I would prefer it to be less public.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Do you feel the same?”

Truthfully, she had not considered it. The only wedding she has attended was her father’s to Rhaenyra. They had not had a bedding ceremony as their marriage was done solely in the Valyrian tradition, not that of Westerosi custom as her and Jace would be expected to.

“I suppose I would not particularly enjoy being stripped bare by men I do not know. But, I accept that it is what is expected of me. Of us.”

“I would not enjoy it either. Frankly, I find the entire thing obnoxious.”

“Do you think your mother would agree?”

He shrugs, “I’m not really sure. I know that it is important for us to be wed in a ceremony befitting an heir to the throne to secure our position. That means participating in the traditions of Westeros. But, I also couldn’t see her forcing it unless it were absolutely necessary.”

Baela ponders this, “Perhaps we could find a way around it? There is to be a great feast, we could always disappear early while the guests are distracted.”

“That could prove difficult if we remain the center of attention.”

“Possibly. Maybe just speak with her about it. I am sure she could be persuaded to some compromise if you feel so strongly about it.”

He nods, taking her hand, “I will try. I was also thinking that we could do something more private, as well.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I would like to wed you in the tradition of our house. We could take Luke and Rhaena as witnesses.”

She resists the urge to kiss him for the thought of it, “Before the sept or after?”

“Before. We could go at dawn. Fly to Dragonstone.”

She looks at him like he has hung the sky, “Jace, that sounds perfect.” If she is being honest with herself, she has never wanted a public spectacle of a wedding, but has always known that it would be her only true option. However, the intimacy of a traditional Valyrian marriage has always been her ideal. She just never thought it to be realistic.

He beams at her, tracing a finger down her hairline and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I am glad. I will see that it is arranged.”

“Thank you. Truly.” She takes the hand not already distractedly fiddling with her hair and tugs him quickly behind a large hedge. She wraps her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him. He accepts it, but pulls away far too quickly. She finds herself irritated, and clearly it shows.

“What?” He asks obliviously.

She crosses her arms, feeling a need to shield herself, “I wish you would not pull away so fast.” Her voice comes out small and weak. She hates it.

He takes her hand, smoothing out the fist she has formed with it. “It’s only that I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Would it truly be so terrible?”

“Yes, it would! On Dragonstone we were truly alone, but here? Any passing servant or courtier could spot us and word would spread around the keep in an instant. I do not want to be the cause of any shame they would put upon you. I could not bear it.”

She wants to pout at him like a child would, but steels her expression instead, “I do not care for what people may think.”

“How?” He asks, and she knows she is pushing too hard but she wants him to admit that he is being somewhat unreasonable. “It is awful enough that I will be tainting you with my reputation, I will not see you dishonored further by behaving so… wantonly for all to see.”

She softens, “Jace, you have not tainted me. You are the heir to the heir. No matter what people may whisper, it cannot change the fact of your birthright.”

He shakes his head, backing away from her. “It absolutely can and you know it. Luke’s birthright has been challenged already and we circumvented it only by the king’s intervention.” He whispers lowly, so low she can barely hear him, “When he is gone who will solidify a claim I have no right to? They have been plotting against my mother since she was named heir herself.”

“Jace-“

“No, you do not understand.” He keeps his voice low, but his words shake as if he were screaming them, “If I am not perfect, I am nothing more than a bastard. A lustful, sinning, bastard who deserves nothing. Who has earned nothing. I am named for a man who I do not share blood with and I can do nothing to change it.”

Baela takes his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. She stares him down for a moment before speaking, “You are a Targaryen by blood and that is all that matters. If we play things right, no one will have a right to question you. Whispers do not bear proof. Not a soul could deny that your mother birthed you herself and your father held to your claim until his death. You command a dragon that hatched in your cradle. No one would have a foot to stand on if your legitimacy were questioned, regardless of what you may think.”

His head goes slack under her touch, leaning into her. “I cannot… I am not…” He trails off, as if the words will not come.

She pulls him to her, his head leaning onto her chest. She speaks her words softly through his curls. “You are Jacaerys Velaryon and you may be a bastard but you belong to me and I would not have you any other way. Lustful and sinful as you may claim to be. It matters not to me.”

“I do not know how you could think so.” He mumbles into her collarbone, gripping onto her tightly.

“Because you are you and that is enough.”

He does not answer, but allows her to hold him for a while longer. If she notices him weeping softly into her chest, she does not acknowledge it beyond the slow circular motions she draws on his spine. She accepts that this is not a topic that will be solved by words, but through time and patience. Baela will see to it that he is absolved of the guilt that should not be his to bear. It is a burden she is more than willing to relieve him of.