Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i.

All it takes to prevent tragedy is a cat.

Preposterous, maybe, but nonetheless true.

Helaena is eight and he freshly seven, tooth faced and smiling. It’s his nameday, and yet he gives the small, black kitten to her. Many people think black cats bring bad luck, she knows it, and she cries over it, despite how Aegon teases her.

When he presents the small kitten to her, she can’t help but fluster and beam. The kitten captures her heart already.

“For you, Helaena,” Jace breathes. “I know how you love animals.”

She pauses. Her mother does not let her associate with her Velaryon cousins often if at all. Something about the word Strong. And Helaena listens to her mother and stays quiet. Books and animals and creatures everyone overlooks is where she finds her comfort. She is but eight and knows this to be true.

He’s panting heavily, like he’s spent hours chasing down the cat. He keeps on looking at her like he can see her. For a moment Helaena is not like the spiders she studies and collects – something hidden, to be shunned by the rest of the world. She is real. She is present.

For a moment, she is even happy.

She cradles the cat to her chest, nudging her head against it as the cat purrs delightedly. Jace loves lemon cake, and so she names the cat Lemon, even though Aegon thinks it’s silly.

“A beautiful name, Princess,” Jace grins, and for the first time in what feels like ages her mouth curves into a smile, the screams of her nightmares forgotten.

Later, when her mother finds out, it takes Helaena crying to stay her from sending Lemon away. Helaena wonders about it, later. Her mother knows not what do with her, and her father is ill most of the time. Aegon thinks her an idiot, a freak, and Helaena knows enough of the world to think that others perhaps think the same.

She thinks of Jace then. He’d been kind then. Patient. He’d given her a present on his nameday. And he’s always nice to the servants and in the yard. He doesn’t ignore her like Aegon does.

Helaena does not know what to make of that.

Animals are easier to deal with than boys.

She takes to studying Jace like she does her animals. Writing down every fact she learns like he’s an entirely new discovery. Something the world has not seen before. A boy brave and kind and strong.

She does not let anyone know, least of all her mother. None would understand. Sometimes she sneaks away from her lessons and watches him in the training yard. Watches as he looks to his father or Ser Harwin Strong for approval as he swings his wooden sword. Watches as Ser Criston ignores him in favour of Aegon or Aemond. But he takes it in stride.

She does all this for research purposes, of course. Categorizes the information she learns like the maesters do on their spiders and histories. He likes lamb more than pork. He favours his left foot when he swings his sword and always looks to the ground before he lies, which is rare. His smile is crooked but nonetheless sweet. Genuine. He’s protective over his little brother and listens to his mother always, even when Aegon teases him for it.

In short, she does not know what to make of him.

The more she learns, the more she wishes to know. She never feels that way about people. Only animals. People are usually too unkind, too harsh, too sad, too bitter. But Jace is not. Her heart feels funny when she looks at him. She dares not raise the issue with her mother, but part of her thinks she must be dying, because she knows not how else to explain it.

And so she watches him.

What she does not realize, however, is that he is watching her back.

“How many legs does that one have?”

Startled, Helaena almost drops her millipede. Lemon is off in the corner, licking his paws. Unlike how he does with Aegon, Lemon does not hiss as Jace approaches.

Helaena turns to look at him. She’s hidden herself away from her Septa and maesters in one of her many hiding spots. How did he find her? What alarms her more, really, are the bruises scattering his face.

“Your face,” she gasps, animal in her hands forgotten.

Jace cracks a bashful smile even as the cut on his lip splits open. Helena is entranced by it.

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, hovering above her, almost as if waiting for her approval for him to sit. She gives him a nod, and he sinks down cross-legged in front of her. “Criston trained us hard today.”

“He seems to train you especially hard,” she blurts out, which is unbecoming. Helaena has the horrible habit of saying things over people would rather not acknowledge. She doesn’t know why it makes people so uncomfortable to see the truth.

But Jace – Jace does not scold her or get angry. He shrugs again, as if Criston’s behaviour is perfectly reasonable. Helaena ignores the pinch in her gut. Criston isn’t anywhere near as harsh on Aegon and her brother’s disposition is infinitely worse than Jace’s.

He directs his attention to the millipede in her hands.

“I’ve always admired how gentle you are with them,” he says. “Others seem to fear them or be sickened by them.”

Helaena casts her gaze towards the floor. “They’re just misunderstood is all.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Tell that to Luke – he always wakes me up to kill spiders.”

“They’re not any poisonous spiders in King’s Landing,” she says. “Well, the worst they can give you is a rash. They can’t hurt you.”

“It’s hard to tell when you look at them.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Jace.”

She meets his gaze and feels her cheeks flush pink. She looks away hastily, carefully transferring the millipede to her other hand. Lemon lets out a meow.

“This one,” she begins tremulously. “Is a girl – she has seven hundred and fifty legs. A rarity. She’s special.”

“Does she have a name?” he asks, resting his chin on his hand as he peers at her, brown hair falling in front of his eyes. Helaena shakes her head. “What about Orange?”

A chuckle escapes her lips, timid but nonetheless hearty. “I don’t think Lemon would be too pleased.” Jace grins at her as they glance at Lemon, who eyes them with a haughty look.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “For giving him to me. I didn’t say so back then.”

Jace’s expression turns soft. “I am glad he has been a good friend to you.”

She gulps. Friend. She supposes the only friends she’s ever really had have been animals. Her dragon. She is seen by the court but she is always alone. Other girls her age find her odd, she knows that, even if her mother tries to hide her from it. She looks at Jace closely. He has his brother, she knows that. They’re as close as can be. He even gets along with Aegon sometimes. But the rest of the court…

It occurs to her that he may be lonely, too.

“Are you hiding too?” she asks. “From the Septas and Maestors?”

He ducks his head. “I suppose.”

Maybe he doesn’t wish for his parents to see him, or Ser Harwin. Ser Harwin is known to be the strongest knight in the seven kingdoms, and he’s always close to Jace and Luke.

“He won’t think less of you, you know,” she comments, gesturing towards his face.

Jace blinks at her with surprise.

“You tried – and Aegon is bigger than you. Ser Harwin will not mind.”

“I never said anything about Ser Harwin,” he snaps.

Her eyes sting as she stares at him. She must look as crestfallen as she feels because he instantly offers her an apology, looking close to tears himself.

“I always say the wrong thing,” she whispers. “I can’t help it, I just do. Everyone hates me because of it.”

She sets the millipede back in its jar, already aching with the loss of her friend. Now, Jace hates her too. He may even try take Lemon away and—

He reaches out and holds her hand. Aegon and Aemond have never done that before. No one has ever held her hand before besides her mother and Septa, and even that is rare.

“I don’t hate you,” he promises. A beat of silence follows. “I want to be your friend, if you’ll let me.”

She looks at him hesitantly. Her mother wouldn’t want her to, she knows that. And yet—

Helaena smiles at him.

Chapter Text

ii.

Helaena is more sequestered from her Velaryon kin than her brothers are. They fight in the training yard and share all the same lessons, whereas Helaena is taught to sow and play the harp. She gets to visit the dragonpit only with half the frequency they do, even though she has a dragon and Aemond doesn’t. She is taught to manage a household and curtsy properly – she only has history and High Valyrian with her nephews, and even then she is kept on the opposite side of the room, head low.

She writes her lines now, careful not to daydream too much lest the master inform her mother.

“Psst.”

Helaena keeps her head down.

Something soft hits the back of her head. She looks around, flustered, and Jace catches her eye. Her brothers are scuffling in the corner, oblivious, and Jace smiles at her. Helaena bends down and picks up the slip of paper, tucking it up her sleeve just as the maester turns to look at her.

Later at night with Lemon curled in her lap, Helaena unfolds.

Hi, he’d written in High Valyrian. You speak valyrian very well.

She muffles her smile against her hands.

(The next day at the dragonpit, Helaena trips over Aegon.

“You’re such an idiot,” Aegon hisses, scowling as the guards fuss over him.

But it’s alright though because Jace catches her.

“Thank you,” she tells him. As he helps her upright, their eyes meet, and his widen in realization as his fist closes around the slip of paper.

I think you speak valyrian well, too.

She catches him smiling down at his hands later, and while she’s not sure it’s because of her, it’s nice to think so. She’s not sure why, though. Helaena is never certain with things like these).

They keep passing notes. A trip in the hall. Folded in books. Sometimes she can just look at his face – the purse of his brow, the quirk of his lips, and just know what he means. What he’s thinking. The words simply come to her.

They know without speaking that they can’t tell anyone else. Helaena loves her mother, but she finds threats in shadows. Fear and bitterness and anguish haunts her eyes, and whenever she so much as brushes Helaena’s hair her mother looks like she’s about to head to war, brittle and unhappy even if she tries to hide it behind her duty. Helaena aches for her sometimes, but in many ways her mother is a stranger to her. Protective but distant. Kind but cold. Her mother isn’t that older than her, really.

She knows that her mother both loves and hates Rhaenyra Targaryen, even if the former is something she’ll never admit. Helaena knows things she should not. Can see the truth that is so plain even if it is invisible to others. It’s too much for her sometimes.

But Jace is never too much to her. He is just enough.

She doesn’t know why. It bothers her, really, how she treasures his notes and hides them in the locket in her necklace. Helaena has horrible, horrible dreams. She spends her life clinging to animals and books because those are certain. Those are real. Counting the number of legs on a spider. Where poisonous bats can be found. It is the only time Helaena feels connected to anyone else.

But the notes feel real too. They can be small, insignificant things. Complaining about Aegon or what they had for breakfast. Talking about Lemon or her other animals. Jace is the only person who appreciates why she loves and values Lemon just as much as does her dragon, Dreamfyre. No one else does. Aegon scorns her for it. Aemond is jealous of the fact she has a dragon and spends her time studying insects and petting her cat. A dragon to him is superior to all else.

Helaena knows not how to explain it. Dreamfyre is part of her, but so is Lemon. She has interest in the scales of her dragon and the width of her wings and in how one can tell whether a millipede is male or female. He asks her questions about it in the notes when she looks sad. Even leaves a spider or two on her desk.

It is something for them.

And Helaena finds that she wants to keep it.

It is not often her mother lets her go to the training yard, but this time her father insists. It is Aegon’s birthday soon, and he wants them all to see how the boys of the family have grown. Rhaenyra is there too, standing further from her and her mother with Ser Harwin Strong and her husband by her side.

Ser Criston is the one to overlook their training, as he always is. Luke hums with excitement, swaying on his little toddler legs. But Jace is quieter, sterner under Ser Criston’s critical eye. Him and Aegon fight first, and Helaena’s chest feels oddly pinched, like it’s hard to breathe. Jace looks through the crowd, gaze focused on his mother, but then he looks at her and—

Some of the tightness by her heart ebbs a little.

Criston usually never chastises Aemond or Aegon if they cheat in a fight. Helaena has seen it. But this time he merely stands off to the side, face expressionless.

Aegon manages to knock Jace to the ground, and Helaena hates the smirk on Aegon’s face and Criston’s and everyone and—

“Expressions convey what words do not,” she murmurs to herself. “Hatred hidden behind false promises leads to rot.”

No one pays attention to her—

After all, she always rambles on like this. The boys take a break for a moment, and Helaena watches as Jace runs over to his mother and father. Ser Harwin clasps him on the shoulder, face proud, tone encouraging and Helaena—

Something inside of her aches to see the bruises on Jace’s sweet face.

Decided, she goes to wish her luck to Aemond, and since she is a Princess, it is only right she go wish luck to the opponent, is it not? She offers him her hand, keenly aware of her father’s approval and her mother’s lack thereof, but her focus is just on Jace. On the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he recognizes the feel paper against his palm.

She’d drawn it on a whim. She knows that knights ask for a lady’s favour during tourneys. Knows that she can never do so with Jace; not now, not ever.

She drew a picture of Lemon instead, and a small wish of good luck in valyrian. She watches as he looks down at his hand when he returns to pick up his sword. Watches as he turns his head and looks right at her and smiles.

When he knocks Aegon into the dirt, she has to bite down on her cheek to stop herself from doing the same.

--

Later, she finds Lemon with a yellow lily tied loosely around his neck. Wrapped around its stem is a note.

Thank you.

It’s not often that Aegon torments her. Usually her brother is preoccupied with other matters – like that drink that makes his breath stink all the time. But when he decides to, as he so puts it, tease her, it’s never a pleasant experience.

Why Aegon decides to visit the library that day she is not certain. Helaena can almost always count on it being empty. She likes the quiet. The court is too loud, too much, too overwhelming most days. She can’t explain it – like her veins are on fire.

But Aegon is there, and he grabs her jar with the spider, and he holds it over his head, ignoring her pleading.

“Why don’t you act normal?” he asks, voice dripping with contempt. Her lips wobble. She’d spent a long time capturing that spider, studying it—

Aegon can’t kill it. He can’t.

She can’t open her mouth. She tries to say something, anything, but the words won’t come.

“Leave her alone.”

It’s Jace. Of course, it’s Jace. It’s one of the very rare moments that Luke isn’t by his side. He stalks over to them, cheeks flushed with righteous anger, and extends out his hand. “Give it back,” he demands to Aegon.

Her brothers grows flushed. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Helaena lets out a shriek as Aegon drops the jar to floor and crushes the spider beneath his foot.

“Aegon!” Jace yells, shoving his cousin, but Helaena does not remain to see the aftermath. She flees, ignoring Jace calling after her, and rushes to the gardens. None frequent there too often, not when it’s so hot.

She hides beneath her favourite tree, surrounded by the tulips and roses, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the distance, and she weeps. She doesn’t like weeping – it’s too loud, too much, but it pours out of her all the same.

When she’s done, she buries her face in her knees, rocks herself back and forth until she hears a twig snap.

“I’m sorry,” Jace says from where he stands in the shadows. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Cruelty is more common to men than kindness,” she comments dully, looking away. She can see him hesitate from the corner of her eye before he sits close to her, his knee brushing against a tulip.

“You don’t have to stay,” she whispers.

“I want to.”

She rests her chin on her knee as she glances at him. He offers her a small smile.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You tried to help me. It’s more than most people ever do.”

Jace frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. Helaena is about to when she spots the pink butterfly land on his hair. A giggle leaves her lips. Jace scrunches up his nose, as he glances upwards, and the butterfly moves to his nose instead. He laughs too, and for a moment it’s all better. With the sun framing him from behind combined with the flowers and the butterfly and him, Helaena finds him beautiful.

Jace is beautiful.

She reaches out with one hand, and the butterfly lands on her finger, so light she can scarcely feel it. She does, however, feel it when Jace reaches for her other hand. They sit there, hand in hand, just staring at the butterfly on her finger, barely breathing lest it fly away.

“Is this alright?” Jace whispers.

Helaena offers him a slight nod. It’s odd, really, whenever anyone touches her, but there’s a gentleness to Jace she can appreciate. A tenderness. After a few moments, the tension in her body unwinds, and she gingerly squeezes his hand back.

“I’m glad,” he adds after a moment. “That we’re friends.”

Helaena looks at him again. He has three freckles on the bridge of his nose – she hadn’t noticed that before. In all her years studying him, she’s never seen them. But she’s so close to him now, how can she not?

“Me too,” she whispers, lowering her gaze as her cheeks warm. You make me feel like I’m not alone.

But she doesn’t say that. The butterfly flies off, its pink wings disappearing from view.

Jace doesn’t let go of her hand for a long time.

Weeks later, shortly after the birth of his second brother, Jace leaves for Dragonstone and—

Helaena is alone once more.

Chapter Text

iii.

It is one thing to be alone and never know the difference.

It is quite another, truth to be told, to know what it’s like to have someone, someone of your own, and then have it ripped away from you. At first his absence is like a summer breeze, barely noticeable with the unsufferable heat. But then the wind howls instead of whispers, and his absence crashes into her again and again.

No notes slipped on her desk. No spiders saved for her. No kind or knowing smile in the corridors. There is nothing.

Helaena saves a few of his notes in her locket and spends her nights tracing his writing when her dreams grow too much to bear. Too heavy to carry. She lies there on her cot and wonders-

Wonders if he ever thinks about her too.

Years slip by.

She dares not send a raven lest her mother find out, but she wonders about Jace. Wonders and wonders and wonders.

She becomes a girl of ten and four, and her night terrors grow worse than ever. Nameless, shapeless things lurk in the shadows. If anyone makes the connection that her moods worsened after Jace left for Dragonstone, none dare speak it.

The chasm between their families grows. Laenor Velaryon dies nigh on two years after their return to Dragonstone, but his funeral is conducted hastily by his family, and Helaena has no chance to see him.

The older she gets, the more Aegon and even Aemond seem to look at her, the more her mother whispers about her becoming a woman grown, and Helaena—

She thinks if she hides enough she may just be able to disappear.

The year she turns ten and six, the King decides to throw a feast in honour of his improved health and his upcoming nameday nuptials. Her mother demands she be fitted for a new dress, and so Helaena stands there, trying not to flinch as the seamstresses take her measurements.

“Helaena,” her mother sighs, standing behind her as she brushes her hair out of the way. Helaena closes her eyes, scrunches up her nose and tries to breathe. Thankfully, her mother lets go of her hair. “You are a woman grown now, my sweet girl.”

The seamstresses step away, eyes lowered, but Helaena knows they’re still listening. Everyone in the castle is always listening.

“The Hand told me so,” Helaena mutters. Her mother’s face tightens. For a moment it seems like she wants to say something, even offer her sympathy. Her mother loves her, Helaena knows that, and yet—

“How about you pick the colour of your dresses for the festivities, hmm?” her mother prompts instead. “Whatever you feel most comfortable in.”

Helaena eyes the fabrics with a wary eye. Her mother usually like to adorn her in green or pale-yellow dresses, the colour of her house. She cares little for colours and being noticed – her title as a princess already grants her enough looks already, she is in no need of more.

And yet—

And yet.

The day that Rhaenyra returns—

that jace returns-

Helaena finds herself in a gown of red and black, trying to stop herself from fidgeting as the summer sun beats down on her. The upper half of her hair is neatly braided, and she studiously avoids Aegon’s lustful gaze, watching as her sister’s party arrives past the city gates. Her good sister is with child again, curtesy of her new husband, their uncle, hut Helaena saw the dragons flying ahead and—

She knows not what to do with herself. Her hands. Her mind. Her heart. It hammers on in her chest like a hummingbird, and she scans the crowd with an eagerness foreign to her, her stomach in knots. Do you remember that butterfly? She wishes to ask him. Do you remember being my friend?

And then, suddenly, swiftly, he comes into view, and Helaena forgets how to breathe. His smile is easy and light as he ruffles his brother’s hair, and within a few moments he is somehow the most beautiful thing she’s seen in years. Like she’s been holding her breath for an age and had not even realized it.

Her fingernails pierce her skin, and suddenly Helaena wishes to flee. To run and hide away. She doesn’t know what to do with this. Like her heart is about to burst out of her chest. She trembles like a leaf in the wind, and then his eyes land on her, and she freezes.

His face is thinner, but his smile is still the same. And his eyes. His eyes—

Somehow, they make her feel like she can breathe again. Helaena looks down. She hates this. She hates it. She is not like herself – panicked and flighty and flustered, like she feels whenever someone tries to touch her when she does not want it. It is though something has taken over her and—

“Aunt,” Jace greets, voice soft and shy and sweet.

Helaena does not look up from the ground. “Helaena.”

Her gaze flickers up and down, but she sees the gentleness in his expression, the warmth, the way his lips stretch queerly, as though he’s trying not to smile and—

She knows not what to make of it. Did he miss her as she did him? Did he?

Even if he did, what would it matter?

“Feelings are of no consequence to a dragon,” she mutters, shying away from him as she ducks behind her mother. She looks up just in time to see his face fall.

When the pleasantries are over, Helaena takes her chance.

She flees.

Helaena is in the gardens with Lemon – old, fat thing that he is now, when it happens. It has been nigh on two days since their party arrived in King’s Landing, and Helaena has managed to hide herself with success. Her mother never forces her to attend events if she pleads her poor nerves or nightterrors.

It’s the first time she’s left her chambers in a day for some fresh air.

“I see he’s gotten fat.”

She’s crouched on her knees, petting her loyal companion, but she’s up in an instant. She’s alone, sequestered in the Godswood, her Septa far away. And there he is. Jace. Jacerys. Now that he’s closer, she can see how he’s changed even more now. The small scar by his chin. How his hair seems to have straightened with the years.

But his eyes. His eyes are still kind. Have not grown colder like Aemond’s or redder with drink like Aegon. Jace is, in some ways, just as she remembered him.

“You’re here,” she says, for lack of anything else.

“I came to find you,” he murmurs, smile faltering as she refuses to look at him. “Were we not friends, Helaena?”

She gulps, starts fiddling with her hands. Yes, we were, she wishes to say. We are. But he was not here in King’s Landing these last few years, as her grandfather spun his venom and her mother saw increasingly more threats in the shadows. As the world of their childhood grew darker and darker. Helaena may be without her wits at times, but she can taste it. The threats. The unease. The fear. She knows not how everyone else can simply pretend it does not exist.

“I know you not as you are now, Jace,” she whispers, because the look on his face forces her to say something. “And I do not know if it matters.”

He fiddles with his sleeve. He has lost a great deal these past few years, she knows this. Laenor Velaryon died, and his mother wed Daemon Targaryen even though Harwin Strong remained in exile at Harrenhal. The man Jace loved as much as he did his father as a boy, if not more.

He extends his hand out to her, cheeks flushing. Her heart leaps to her throat as she spots the slip of paper.

“For you, my lady,” he says, dropping it in her outstretched palm. For a moment he hesitates, as if he is about to kiss her hand, but he spins away on his heel, and she does nothing but watch him go.

I missed you, his writing reads in High Valyrian. He’d drawn a picture of Lemon too, to top of it. It’s awful, but it brings laughter to her lips anyway. Jace. Sweet, sweet Jace, who tried to her help her when so many people never cared to.

She slips this note into her locket too.

Her dress is a soft silvery blue colour, her sleeves trimmed with grey. She takes comfort in it as the music plays on and the laughter grows louder, the jeers and cheers sharper. Her grandfather tries to get her and Aegon to dance, but her brother is too far in his cups already, and Helaena is saved from that at least.

But Jace—

He does not look at her. Not for long.

She hurt him, she can tell that now.

I missed you, she wishes to tell him. You do not know how much. But words fail her as they always do. She knows not how to find or express what she wishes to convey. He shines like a jewel in the crowd as he takes his cousins to dance, and—

She picks at her fingers beneath the table and—

She wants to at least try and be brave. He is so close, too close, and she misses how she could tell what he was thinking simply by looking at him. Him and Baela part, and she aches with it. Aches for him. But she can’t simply go to him. Her mother and grandfather and brothers would not approve.

Helaena looks around. The Hand is whispering to Tyland Lannister, and her mother is too preoccupied giving the King milk of the poppy to pay her any attention. Aemond is off brooding somewhere as he always, and Aegon is leering at some lord’s daughter in the corner. If they can do as they wish, so can she for once.

Helaena has spent her life studying things. Animals. People. She studies Jace now, as she gingerly walks to him, sidestepping other dancers and members of the crowd to reach him.

“My lady,” he greets stiffly, but his eyes peer into her own, searching, seeking, as if he can read something in them she cannot say. Maybe he can. The fact emboldens her and without much thought, she offers him her hand.

Jace bites down on his lip. “I thought I should be the one asking you to dance, my lady.”

“Helaena,” she corrects, swallowing hard. “I am Helaena to you.”

He presses his lips together, but soon he’s smiling so widely it’s like he’s the sun.

“Always,” he says, taking her hand in his.

Helaena takes a deep breath. She chose to do this. She can do this.

“Hey,” he whispers as he guides her to the dancefloor. “You can do this. Just keep your eyes on me, and we’ll be fine.”

She nods, trying to be calm as people start to whisper. She wonders what it looks to the crowd, the two of them together. Her with her silver hair, him with his brown, both dressed in blue and grey. Two half’s of the same whole. But it is overwhelming.

“Look,” Jace says, lifting his hand a little so it’s merely inches above hers, just for her to know the difference. She can breathe a little easier now.  “If you need to stop, Helaena—”

“No. No, I want to.” It’s perhaps the first time in her life she’s done something because she wants to. That she wants to do something for someone else. The music starts, and she tries to calm herself, to focus, to think—

She steps on Jace’s toes within the first five steps.

“Sorry,” she cringes, but Jace is all smiles. “Why are you still smiling?”

He shrugs as he guides her into a turn, his hand hovering just by her own. “No reason.”

As the song continues, Helaena steadies herself by looking at him. Jace. He is still her Jace, she realizes. The wry twist of his lips, the twinkle in his eye. His kindness. The care in which he guides her among the dancers. Soon, Helaena forgets why she was scared of this. Why she wanted to fight against it.

The rest of the world fades, and it is just her and Jace then. Without thinking, she presses their hands together, and it calms her more than anything else has in a while. They move back and forth, hands clasped and then pressed together. He spins her once, twice more than necessary, and laughter spills from her lips.

The dance requires them to switch partners mid twirl, but Jace steals her from the awaiting Lord, pulling her back into his arms.

“Jace,” she breathes, but he merely grins at her.

He doesn’t let her go.

He doesn’t let her go.

She holds his hand as tightly as she dares, but she doesn’t want to let him go either. Wants to keep studying him like this as long as time will allow. The new callouses on his hands. The new mole on his neck. The way his eyes darken the longer he holds her gaze.

The end of the dance does not require he lift her, but he does, his hands light on her waist. Tender. Like she’s something precious to him. The music stops for a moment, but they stand there, staring at each other. In tune. Lightly panting.

“I missed you too,” she tells him in valyrian.

His voice contorts with something very akin to relief or happiness or glee and—

“Sister,” Aemond intercuts, tugging her away with a hand clasped around her forearm. “May I have the honour next?”

Jace takes a step towards them, as if to follow, but Aemond tugs her far away back to the starting line. It is a long dance, a country one, and Helaena’s head spins as she tries to look for Jace, but she can’t see him.

Not until the dance requires her and Aemond to be separated, and then Jace appears , swooping in between her and her partner in a flash. “My lady,” he says, pressing a slip of paper into her palm discretely.

They end the dance together again, despite how Aemond glowers at them, and when the musicians cease their tune, Jace hesitates only for a moment before bending down to kiss her hand in farewell before he withdraws to his mother and brothers.

When Helaena turns to look at her family, none of them except her father appear pleased. But in the moment, it does not matter to her. She tries her best to hide it, but she is happy. She is seen, she is valued.

When she returns to her seat, her hands still tingling, she unfolds the slip of paper.

Meet me in the gardens, it reads.

She does.

There are a thousand reasons she should not, but she goes anyway after she excuses herself from the dance and most of the courtiers are too deep in their cups to be aware of anything.

Jace awaits her by the same tree he comforted her all those years ago.

“I hope you were not waiting long,” she greets, playing with the sleeves of her dress. Jace makes a small noise of protest.

“I would not have slept either way,” he replies.

She fidgets, trying not to appear too nervous.  

“I thought of you,” he confesses, taking a step towards her. Helaena does not react. “Throughout the years. Often.”

She closes her eyes tightly. Pretty words will not seal the wounds between our houses. But they’re not just pretty words, are they?

“Did you – did you ever think of me?”

Slowly, she peels her eyes open to meet his gaze. He’s nervous, gaze questioning as he stares at her hungrily, like he never wants to stop.

“I did,” she whispers. “You were the only friend I’ve ever had.”

He seems to take that as a boost of courage. “You said earlier that you did not know who I am now. That it did not matter. It matters to me.”

“Jace—”

“I want to know you now,” he continues on. “I want to know you always. When we grow older and our hair starts to grey and our bellies grow round and we’re surrounded by our children. There is no world in which I don’t wish to know you, Helaena.”

She looks at him. And looks.

And without quite thinking, as naturally as breathing, she leans forward kisses him. It’s an odd sensation, too much too fast, more peculiar than anything, but Helaena has read romance novels and seen knights shower their ladies in kisses. She knows what they mean, what they represent. And as the moonlight shines down on them, as they hide in the darkness, Helaena wants Jace to have her kiss.

She cannot have it for long. It’s too much, too overwhelming, but she is glad she did it.

“I never wish for you to be a stranger to me, either,” she whispers.

They cannot stay long, and part soon after, but Helaena does not stop smiling on the way back to her rooms.

Not once.

Her door is locked from the outside when she wakes the next day.

And then the next.

The servants tell her nothing. Her mother does not come to see her, and Helaena is too tired to weep.

One day, she thinks she hears Jace yelling her names in the hall, but she cannot be sure.

On the fourth day, she wakes to her grandfather and mother standing by her bed. Helaena fingers her locket as she scrambles against her headboard, trying not to scream.

“Now that you are recovering from your illness,” her grandfather says, even though Helaena has not been ill of health these past two days. “Your father has consented to wed you to your brother, Prince Aegon. The marriage is to be announced within the week now that your sister and her family has gone.”

Helaena closes her eyes, pulls her knees up to her chest as if doing that will make her disappear. Will make this not be real.

“You should be grateful,” her grandfather advises. “For this match. You shall do your duty.”

“To whom, Grandfather?” Helaena questions. “The only duty you possess is to yourself.”

He eyes her with contempt and a coldness he reserves usually for Aegon, and leaves for the door without another word. Her mother stands there, gaze low, and no words spill from her lips.

Helaena thinks her mother has spent her life biting her tongue, and she—

She cannot cope with it. She cannot.

Her mother leaves without a word.

Chapter Text

iv.

Days slip into a fortnight. Helaena is granted her animals at least – Lemon and her jars of spiders and cockroaches and beetles. But that is the only kindness they grant her. She is not allowed to leave her chambers. The servants bring her three meals a day.

Her mother visits some days. “Helaena,” she sighs every time, trying to reach for her hand. Helaena always shies away.

Always.

She does not breathe a word to her, to anyone. The only time she uses her voice is at night. A sweet song the musicians played when she was a girl. Over and over. A princess locked away in a tall tower. There is no happy ending to that song – the princess withers away, haunting the halls of the castle she loved so much, forgotten to the world. Her mother commanded that they never sing the song at court again after she caught Helaena singing it.

“My sweetest love,” her mother pleads. “This is for the best – for the family.”

The family.

A mother who doesn’t know how to love. A father who doesn’t love her or her brothers – not enough, anyway. A court that feeds on them all like vultures, always looking for weakness. Always looking for opportunity.

Helaena never answers her mother’s pleas.

She lies there and she rots. She tries not to think about Jace. About his hands or his smile. It scarcely feels real. Like a dream snuffed out. She is blanketed in misery, and she knows this is how it’ll be the rest of her days. Even if she sees Jace again, she will be Aegon’s bride, mother to his babes, and she will be nothing. Nothing more than a ghost.

A princess locked away in a tower.

Her mother can’t do anything – won’t do anything. She is locked in a pretty cage of her own, taught to believed it suited her. Taught how to breathe in it, how to live in it. And Helaena is now expected to do the same. Has she not already her whole life? She realises that now. Her mother keeping her sheltered, granting her books on all she wished. Letting her hide away. A kindness.

Or a mercy.

And Helaena—

The only thing different in her life was Jace. Something off the plan. Something of her own. She doesn’t know if her mother ever had it – if perhaps the reason why her mother hates Rhaenyra Targaryen is because Helaena’s half-sister had the nerve to make her own choices. To love who she chooses, to wed who she chooses. Her mother never had the courage to do the same, and now she’s passed her cowardice onto her.

Maybe if Helaena had the courage to write a raven to Jace all those years ago, to try for her father’s love, to plead with him—

Maybe.

But her grandfather keeps her locked in this cage, and Helaena has no way out. None.

“Oh, Lemon,” she sighs, cuddling her faithful companion to her chest. She still remembers the day Jace gave her Lemon. So young. So kind. “What am I going to do?”

Lemon nuzzles his head into her chest, and Helaena tries to remember how to breathe. How to think.

-

Aemond comes to visit her once.

“It’s not so bad, you know,” he tells her, as she lies on her bed, staring at the canopy. Ignoring him. “You know who he is.”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “Helaena, I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

She closes her eyes. A lifetime with Aegon. Her mother has spent the last Gods-know how many days explaining to her what happens between a man and wife. You’ll feel some pain, my love. A pinch. But it is our duty to bear this pain. Our honour. We must endure.

Endure.

“Will you protect me in my marriage bed, Aemond?” she asks, the first words she’s spoken in weeks. She tilts her head to look at her brother. “Stand there with a sword?”

His face shutters. “You’re not like that serving girl Dyana, Helaena. He’d treat you with respect.”

“When have you ever seen Aegon treat anything or anyone with respect?” she whispers. “How many other serving girls or tavern wenches or mothers or any other type of women have there been?”

Aemond tightens his jaw. “You’d be his future Queen.”

“Rhaenyra will be the Queen, Aemond,” she snaps. “Jace will be the King after her.”

“You love him, don’t you?” he asks, staring at her coldly. “That is why Mother and Grandfather have you locked in here until the wedding.”

“When is my wedding?” she questions. “A dragon loses life when locked in a cage.”

Aemond is many things. Bitter, angry. Cold. Desperate to prove himself. But he’s never been cruel.

Not to her.

“A fortnight,” he says. “Father is too ill to truly understand what is happening.”

Her heart throbs. Another hope dashed.

“And Jace?”

Aemond rolls his eyes. “His mother dragged him back to Dragonstone.”

She tries not to perk up. “Did he—”

“He almost burst through the guards trying to come and see you,” Aemond grits out. “He didn’t believe Mother that you were ill.”

Aemond reaches out to pat her shoulder. She jerks away, stiffening.

“Accept your fate, Helaena,” he murmurs. “This is for the family.”

“I wish we were like the Starks,” she sighs. “Wolves realize they are better as a pack. They survive together. We dragons always think we’re powerful enough on our own.”

Aemond doesn’t say anything.

He just leaves.

Her mother visits her more in the days leading up to the wedding.  Helaena gets a new serving maid in the intervening days.

“Leave her food on the table, Dyana,” her mother tells the young girl. The girl sends her one fleeting, tremulous look before she shuts the door.

Dyana.

That was the name Aemond mentioned. The girl is pale and frail. So young. Younger than she is.

“Helaena,” her mother sighs. “You must eat. Talk to me, my love.”

Helaena looks away. She can see the sea from her window. She imagines sneaking off to find Dreamfyre and flying away, the wind kissing her cheeks. To Dragonstone. Would Jace welcome her there? Would her sister?

To do so might mean starting a war.

“You look tired,” her mother chides, reaching out to caress her cheek.

Helaena leans back, ignoring how her mother flinches. “Please, Helaena. Let me help you.”

“Men spend their lives putting women in cages they say are for their own good,” Helaena breathes, closing her eyes. Her mother pulls away.

“Duty is something all women bear.”

“Is it?” Helaena asks. “Is it truly?”

In that moment, the women before her isn’t her mother, isn’t the Queen. She’s just a little girl. But it’s over in a flash, and the Queen reappears. “I raised you to know your duty,” her mother tells her. “And marrying Aegon is your duty.”

And then she leaves.

Her mother doesn’t come visit her again.

A week before her wedding, Dyana serves her again. Helaena knows she has lost weight. She sees her reflection in the mirrors. Black circles around her eyes. Pale skin.

“Did Aegon hurt you?” Helaena blurts out.

Dyana drops the tray on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” the girl cries. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Helaena never likes touching anybody, but the girl is so pitiful she reaches for her hand. Her tears are endless, genuine, and Helaena can see herself in the mirror. Can see herself as Dyana ten years from now – even one or two. A day. A week.

“Whatever he did,” Helaena whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

“You are to wed him, Princess,” Dyana sniffles. “I swore to your mother I would never—”

“I won’t tell her,” Helaena promises. “I won’t.”

Dyana wipes at her eyes.

“You are kind, Princess,” the girl says. She closes her eyes tightly. “Your brother is not.”  The girl takes a deep breath. “If you wish me to send something for you, I shall.”

Helaena withdraws her hand.

“We all heard Prince Jacaerys, Princess,” Dyana whispers, flushing. “If I misspoke, I—”

Helaena gingerly reaches for her hand and squeezes.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Dyana squeezes back. “I won’t forget it.”

There is no word. Nothing. Helaena does not know what Dyana did with her letter, and she does not ask. Her mother comes to her room with seamstresses to measure her waist, and Helaena feels whatever hope is left in her body fade with every passing day.

Jace won’t abandon his family. Won’t bring dishonour his house.

And yet she remembers giving him her kiss. His softness. His light.

At least she will have the memories.

The night before her wedding, Helaena is woken by someone shaking her shoulder.

She wakes, opening her mouth to scream, but someone clamps their hand over her mouth.

“It’s me,” Jace hisses. “It’s me.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. He’s here.

He pulls away his hand.

“How—how are you—”

“I got your raven,” he chokes out. “You didn’t think I’d leave you here, did you?”

“Jace—”

“Come,” he whispers, pulling off the covers. “My mother told me about the secret passages in the castle. Vermax is waiting outside King’s Landing – there’s a boat waiting for us at Blackwater Bay to take us to him. Luke is keeping watch, but we have to get going.”

Helaena follows him out of the bed. Lemon meows at the disruption.

“Jace, wait,” she whispers, careful to keep her voice low. He’s already ruffling through her chest, searching for a cloak. “Jace.”

“We have to leave now, Helaena,” he says. ‘It’s the only chance we have. You wed Aegon tomorrow. Is that what you want?”

“No,” she says. “Of course not. But our families—”

“My mother will vouch for us,” Jace assures her.

“Our families will go to war.”

“Your family wants to lock you here,” he says, handing her the cloak. “They want to marry you Aegon. Aegon. He doesn’t love you or care for you. Nothing. They don’t care if you don’t want to marry him.”

He cups her face in his hands, taking her breath away. “I love you,” he whispers. “I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”

She nods.

“Then let’s go,” he whispers. “We’ll go to Dragonstone, marry, and then we’ll return. We’ll plead our case.”

“And if they don’t fo—”

The door slowly pushes open.

“Hide,” she whispers, pushing behind the curtain. “Hide.”

Heleana drops the cloak to the floor, turning just as her mother steps into the room, candle lighting her face.

“Helaena,” her mother greets. “You’re awake.”

Helaena nods, throat bobbing as she tries not to tremble. She moves to try and shield Jace from where he’s hiding behind the curtain.

“I was nervous the eve before my wedding—”

Her mother pauses at the sight of the cloak pooled at Helaena’s feet. Her gaze flickers from Helaena to the curtain and back.

“Mother,” Helaena starts, trembling. “Mother, please—”

Jace steps from behind the curtain, takes her hand in his. “I love her,” he says, even as her mother opens her mouth. “I love her. You know Aegon doesn’t. You know.”

“No,” her mother says, shaking her head. “No. You’re not taking my only daughter, you’re not stealing her—”

“He wouldn’t be stealing,” Helaena says. “I want to go with him, Mother. Please. Please let me.”

“It’s your duty to the family—”

“Your mother died when you were young,” Helaena says. “You were younger than me when you wed the King. No one asked what you wanted. No one has ever said sorry to you. I know that what’s you want. I know it. You’ve always wanted someone to apologize for what happened to you—”

“Helaena—”

“Do you want the same for me?” she asks, taking Jace’s hand. “Do you?”

Her mother’s lips part. Time is suspended, frozen. Painful.

Her mother blows out the candle, casting them in darkness.

“Come on,” Jace says. “Helaena, we have to—”

She nods hurriedly, bending down to shrug on her cloak with shaking limbs. When Jace leads her to the hidden door in her room, she pauses.

“Thank you,” she whispers, turning to where her mother stands silently in the shadows. “Thank you.”

Jace takes her hand, and Helaena doesn’t dare slow down lest her mother changes her mind.

They arrive at Dragonstone before sunrise with Luke at their heels on Arrax. Helaena aches for Dreamfyre, for Lemon, but Jace is there.

A septon from Dragonstone awaits them by the shore. Luke is their witness.

They hold hands and swear before the Gods that they belong to each other on the day she was arranged to be wed to another. They seal their fate with a kiss, hand in hand, and Helaena never wants to let him go.

He takes her to his chambers by the hand.

“This is your home,” Jace whispers, stoking the fire. He turns to face her. “Everything I have is yours. I am yours.”

“I am yours, too,” she tells him, letting him hug her closely.

He takes her maiden hand that night, kissing her, loving her, and tears stream down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he tells her. “I’ll stop, I’m hurting—”

“No,” she whispers, kissing him. “I’m just happy.”

They hold hands when they’re summoned to the Great Hall to his mother. She sits with her husband, her eyes narrowed. Jace’s stepfather looks mildly amused, even impressed as he stares at Jace.

“I love her,” Jace starts. “Mother, you know I do.”

“You may have started a war, Jace,” his mother snaps. “You stole her the eve before her wedding—”

“My mother let us go,” Helaena cuts in. “Rhaenyra – sister, please. She let us leave, she saw us. She didn’t say anything.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Alicent wanted you to wed Aegon.”

“She did,” Helaena murmurs, sharing a look at Jace. “But she wants me to be happy more. Happy in a way her father never let her.”

Rhaenyra closes her eyes, as if in pain.

“Otto Hightower,” Daemon Targaryen sighs, shaking his head. “I can only laugh at the expression on his face when he finds out—”

With a single look from his wife, Daemon Targaryen shuts up.

“Mother, you know what it’s like to wed someone you do not love,” Jace says. “To search for happiness…. elsewhere.” His mother looks away. “Helaena and I are married in the eyes of the Gods. Truly. We love each other. Please, Mother. If you want to send me away—”

“No,” Rhaenyra says, closing her eyes. “Never. You know I wouldn’t.”

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath. “I will talk to my father and we will all go to King’s Landing. I will protect you. Always.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickers to her. “And you, sister.”

Otto Hightower argues tirelessly to have Jace arrested for treason. For theft. For kidnapping a princess.

To no avail.

Helaena stands there in her husband’s colours, the green of her childhood forsaken, her hand in his.

Rhaenyra fights tirelessly on their behalf and then, to her surprise, her mother steps forward to.

“Let our families be united,” her mother says, ignoring her father’s glare. “Let it rest, husband. Let our daughter be happy.”

Jace presses a soft kiss to her brow. The King decrees their marriage valid, even as he rots and gasps for breath. Otto Hightower looks two seconds away from yelling or protesting, but he accepts the rejection with gritted silence, glaring at her every opportunity he gets.

Her mother and Rhaenyra go to each other at once after the King returns to his chambers, too ill to continue, and Jace walks her to the garden where it all began.

“I kept them, you know,” she tells them, pulling out her locket. “All the notes.”

Jace smiles. “For you,” he says, slipping her another one. She can’t help but giggle.

She unfolds the note. I love you, he wrote in high valyrian.

She smiles.

“I love you too,” she whispers back in Valyrian. “I love you.”

And she kisses him again.

They don’t have to hide anymore.

End.