Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In 110 AC, the Prince of Dragonstone, Baelon was born. At the same time, his queen mother died, Aemma Arryn. Only death may pay for life, at least in this case. 

The teenage Rhaenyra, dressed in mourning black, looked down at her brother in his cradle. Rosy-skinned, small, and sleeping soundly. Swaddled in black like his sister. Both of them had the blue and white falcon of House Arryn stitched into their clothes. 

‘Such a fragile thing, it’s almost laughable that he was what caused our mother’s death.’ she thought to herself.  

Her father was consumed in his grief, so much so he couldn’t even utter the command needed to put the Targaryen Queen to rest at her funeral. She had to step up, even now, she had to do it. As King Viserys stayed in his chambers, ate, and talked little. 

And now it must fall to her to carry through another tradition of theirs. She must pick out a dragon egg. Leaving him in the care of the wetnurse, she went to the dragon masters and asked for the recent clutch. There was only one clutch of three, as was usually the case with dragons. 

One was a dark grey that shined with silver and white in certain lights. The other two were bright gold flaked with pink and cobalt blue flaked with copper. Because of her grieving, she chose the colour that called out to her, dark grey. And returned to Baelon’s cradle. Placing it next to her brother’s sleeping body. He awoke and looked at the egg. But didn’t cry, for he was the blood of the dragon, and it is in their nature to first trust a dragon than fear one.

“That’s your egg, Baelon. I chose it just for you.” She spoke as if he could hear. “Mourning black for our mother.” 

‘A mother he will never know,’ she lamented internally. ‘To think that he killed her is redundant, he never knew her. That is why I must tell him of her. Keep her memory alive.’ 

Rhaenyra then remembered a song that her mother used to sing. “The Battle of Bitter River,” a singer’s tale about how the ancient Riverland Houses of Bracken and Blackwood banded together for once to fight off the invading Andals. 

An admirable tale, an opinion she shared with her mother. Who wished for her husband and goodbrother to mend the rift between them. 

As she sang the words and rocked the babe resting on her shoulder, she would not let bitterness clutch her heart. 

"The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided,” her uncle Daemon told her at the funeral. 

She reminisced on their conversation that day…

The day before

“In what way are we divided?” Rhaenyra scoffed. 

“Your father and I, for one.” He explained, “But I sense your resentment, I know you blame Baelon for your mother’s death.”

“How could I not? She died while he gets to draw breath.” She laughed bitterly. 

“That much is true,” Daemon agreed. “But my point still stands: I see Otto Hightower for what he is.” 

“A calculative and unnerving man?” Rhaenyra finished for him. 

“Exactly, conniving through and through. He paints me as Maegor Reborn to keep me away from my own blood. I am not so easily swayed.” 

“And he is afraid of that-”

“Because he wishes to pull the string, and I won’t allow him to do so.” He cut her off, predicting what she was going to say.

The Rogue Prince then leaned in, “We all have our role in life. We both have a duty to protect Baelon from Otto and the Hightowers. I sense a second doom upon us.” He said referencing the Doom of Old Valyria. 

She nodded, “I understand, uncle. I need to teach Baelon about our mother and be there for him when my father cannot.” 

Present day

As she finished singing, he could hear the prince’s soft snores. And was relieved to set him back down in the cradle. Sleeping next to his future companion. Because he would not be able to talk for a while, she would need to decide on a name as well. 

She raked over any she could think of, relating to House Arryn, or falcons. Definitely something with the suffix “-wing” in that case then. But there was already Queen Alysanne’s dragon, “Silverwing” so that was off the table. The dragon itself was black with green undertones. That was when the perfect name came to her, “Ravenwing.” Albeit an ironic choice for a dragon, but ravens were black and omens of even death sometimes. As the saying goes, “Dark wings, dark words.” It would be simple enough for the babe to say in a few years from now. Ravens and falcons were both feathers of a flock. Yes, this would work perfectly. She just needed to get her father’s approval and tell the masters. 

But as she felt drowsiness wash over her, she thought to put it off until the morning.

Chapter Text

“It’s only been half a year since my mother died,” Rhaenyra said to Alicent, the best of her friends. “And already they tried to marry my father off and replace Baelon as heir.” She voiced her true thoughts with resentment and fear. The two girls were walking to the candlelit shrine surrounded by six stone pillars within the Grand Sept atop Visenya’s Hill. “I know those men and how they plot in their secret councils when I’ve been sent away.”

“You fear for your brother, I understand. But you cannot worry at the matters of lords and kings, Rhaenyra.” Alicent comforted her. “What if your father were to remarry?” She asked bluntly.

‘What would I do? I’d probably be suspicious for one, seeing as many want to see their blood on the Iron Throne. But other than that…’ she thought to herself. And the sardonic and witty Realm’s Delight, for once, did not have an answer. 

“Your father loves you and Baelon,” she reassured. “He chose his son for his heir, as tradition goes yes, but my point still stands.” She went to grab a candle from one of the nearby boxes. “The king loves his children, and would never willingly put them in danger.”

‘That we agree on, but what of your calculative father, Alicent? What of his ambition?’ Rhaenyra wanted to shout it into the sept, making her words echo on its stone walls. But she said nothing. 

Alicent started to kneel beside the shrine and light her candle with another, then blew it out and set it aside. With her hands folded, she demanded, “Kneel with me.”

The loving smile the girl gave her was what swayed the princess. Despite Rhaenyra herself not thinking much on the gods she learned about from Septa Marlow. 

“I find this is a way to be with my mother,” Alicent confessed. Her mother in question had been Lady Helena Cuy of Sunhouse, a fair woman that Alicent was the spitting image of. She had died only a year ago, from giving birth to a stillborn daughter. “Here in the quiet of the Sept, I feel close to her. I know it sounds foolish.” Alicent looked down in shame.

“I don’t think it’s foolish,” the princess immediately reassured her, “I don’t.”

“Good,” she whispered. Then, picking up a candle and setting it near Rhaenyra, she said, “Because I thought you might try.” 

“I…” she was at a loss for words. 

“If not for me, then,” Alicent turned her head to the statues of the Seven, “Perhaps for them.”

She put the candle to flame, and blew it out, setting it down. “What do I say?” She asked with a wavering voice.

“Whatever you wish,” she answered. “It’s only for you and the gods to know.” 

She looked on, voicing her thoughts in her head. ‘I wish for Father to marry a kind and good woman. One who will become a motherly figure for Baelon. Protect and defend him alongside me. I want my family to be happy and united.’ But as she hoped and dreamed, she began to cry, putting her head into her hands. In spite of dissipating the tears, Alicent put her hand atop hers. 

“I want him to be there for me. I comfort Baelon, but who comforts me?” Rhaenyra confessed. It felt selfish even just saying that, childish too. 

“Mine own father does not know the language of girls either,” Alicent said.

The small truth made the princess cheer up, laughing slightly as she nodded her head.

“When I wish to talk with him, I know that I must make the effort.” 

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra expressed her gratitude.

They kneeled there for a little while longer, as the princess and lady joined hands. 

-🐎-

Rhaenyra heard the dragon keeper speak to the Small Council as she entered the room. “It occurred in the blackness of night, my lords, during the Hour of the Bat. The thief ended our pursuit.” 

“How is it possible that a dragon’s egg was stolen out from beneath more than fifty Dragonkeepers?” Her father asked. 

“It was Prince Daemon who was the culprit, Your Grace…” 

“Daemon?” 

“The Prince left a missive, which I believe might explain,” Otto said, nodding to the maester. 

Grand Maester Mellos then unfolded the letter, reading it aloud, “It is the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, to announce that he is to take a second wife in the tradition of Old Valyria. She is to assume the title of Princess Consort Mysaria of Lys. Her Grace is with child and is to have a dragon’s egg placed in the babe’s cradle in the custom of House Targaryen.”

“The Prince has invited you to his wedding, Your Grace,” the maester continued. “It is in two days’ time.” 

“Gods be good,” Lord Lyman Beesbury remarked. 

“Who is Lady Mysaria?” Lord Corlys asked genuinely. 

“We believe-” 

Otto cut Mellos off, “Daemon’s whore.” He said bluntly. “This is nothing less than sedition.”

“I strongly agree, sire,” Lord Lyonel Strong said.

“My brother wishes to provoke me. To answer is to give him what he wants.” 

“The realm is watching, Your Grace,” Lord Velaryon pointed out.

“What would you have me do? Send him to the Wall?” Her father said, frustration rising in his tone. “Perhaps I could put his head on a spike.” He remarked with dry sardonicness. 

“Daemon has seized Dragonstone, has surrounded himself with an army of gold cloaks and has now stolen a dangerous weapon.” Otto laid down the facts. 

“Skore drōmon, uēpas?” Rhaenyra asked the Dragonkeeper in Valyrian. Everyone turned to look at her.

“Which egg did Daemon take?” She repeated herself. 

“The egg was Dreamfyre’s, princess. The yellow-and-pink one from the clutch you chose Prince Baelon’s from.” He answered.

‘I cannot believe him. He stole an egg so soon after my mother died? What, just so he can give it to a bastard fathered on a foreign whore?’ She thought bitterly. 

“Assemble a detachment, Otto.” Her father rose from his seat. “I will go to Dragonstone and drag Daemon back to face justice myself.” His voice was angry.

“Your Grace,” Otto stood up. “My apologies, Your Grace, but I cannot allow it. It’s too dangerous. Daemon is without limit. Let me go to Dragonstone.” He pleaded. 

‘No, if Otto goes to Dragonstone, blood will shed. I cannot allow that to happen.’ She thought to herself. Then rushing out of the council room to go into the Dragonpit to take flight on Syrax. 

-🐎- 

For a dramatic flair, the beat-gold dragon Syrax flew below the clouds and into the air to surprise everyone else. She circled around once before landing on the bridge and gave a great roar. The sun was a bloody pink beneath the clouds that covered it, with smoke beneath the winding stone bridge. She sped walked, fury in her every step, fury towards her uncle. 

“What are you doing here, Princess?” Otto asked concerned. 

“Preventing bloodshed,” she curtly responded.

“Ser Criston, please escort the Princess to safety,” he commanded the Kingsguard knight. 

“Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords,” she warned everyone else. “She’s rather protective of me.”

Then approaching Daemon, she said to him bitterly in High Valyrian, “My father named Baelon Prince of Dragonstone. That is his castle you’re living in, uncle.” 

“Not until he comes of age,” he retorted. 

“You have angered your king.” 

“I don’t see why. This is a day of celebration. I am to be wed.” Daemon spoke as if there was nothing wrong with what he did. 

“You already have a wife,” she said, referencing Lady Rhea Royce.

“Not one of my choosing.” 

She scoffed, “And this required you to steal an egg?”

“You shared your cradle with a dragon when you were born. I want the same for my child.” 

“You’re to have a child?” The Princess was in disbelief. 

“One day,” he clarified after looking back at the Lyseni. His response angered her and she walked away. 

“You said yourself that we cannot be divided, so why do this? Why play this mummer’s farce?” Rhaenyra asked genuinely. She kept speaking in their ancestral tongue to stay off Otto and the Hightower guards’ radar. 

His lack of response to that question was all the answer she needed. It clearly was just a game to him. But something dreadfully serious overcame his face. 

“We cannot protect Baelon’s claim together if you keep acting like this.” She scolded him. 

“You’re right, but it cannot be just us two. If you wish to defend him, you need to find allies for him while you still can.” 

He didn’t need to say it outright, but she knew what he meant by that. 

“You mean that I should take a husband…” she lamented. 

Daemon nodded, “Yes, marriage can bring out the best allies. Baelon will need to do the same, one day.”

Rhaenyra thought to herself, ‘I do not wish to die like my mother: be shoved into some castle and made to squeeze out heirs.’ 

“I will give you this egg if you promise me that. Promise me you’ll find another protector for him. It cannot be just us against Otto and his calculative retinue.” Her uncle pleaded. 

The princess nodded, deciding to put her love for her brother above all, and soon enough, he threw the yellow-golden egg to her, before walking away. She admired its beauty in the sunlight. Looking at the pink flakes that were now seen more easily. Rhaenyra then cast it into the steaming incubator being held up by two dragon keepers. After that, she flew back home to hopefully discuss marital alliances with her father soon. 

-🐎-

“Your mother’s absence is a wound that will never heal. Without her, the Red Keep has lost a warmth that I dare say will never recover.” Viserys confessed as she returned. He was angry with her, naturally as a father, but relieved to know no blood spilled and no harm was done. And that she got the egg back. 

Rhaenyra was just happy that her father was opening up again. “It pleases me to hear you say this. To know that I’m not alone in my grief.” 

“I wish I had known better what to say to you in the aftermath,” Viserys admitted. “I struggled to realize that my daughter had so quickly become a woman grown.”

The princess smiled, love filling her heart.

“But I know that she now understands what is expected of me.” 

‘That you are to take another wife?’ The princess said. ‘Yes, it’s an unnerving, frightening truth.’ 

“The King must take a new wife,” she finished for him. 

“I could never replace your mother,” he reassured. “No more than I intend to replace Baelon as heir. But you two are my only heirs,” her father said. “Our line is vulnerable, too easily ended. And by marrying again, I may begin to ensure that we are better defended.”

“Against whom?” She asked, curious about his answer despite knowing it deep in her heart. 

“Whomever may dare to challenge us,” he said. “I do not wish to make us estranged.” 

“You are the King, and so, your first duty is to the realm,” Rhaenyra comforted him. “Mother would’ve understood this. Just as I do, and as will Baelon.” 

He smiled, and the two shared a moment of warm and loving tranquility. 

Before the Princess said what she was itching to. 

“Speaking of defending our family, I also wish to marry.” Her voice wavered a bit. 

Her father was stunned but a smile crept up onto his face. “You do not jest? What prompted this?” 

“You said it yourself, our line is too easily distinguished. And taking care of Baelon, I’ve begun to realize my own maternal instinct.” She told a white lie to avoid his worry and his scorn for his brother.

He beamed, “Well, that’s wonderful Rhaenyra. When do you wish to start searching?”

“When I come of age, within two years,” she responded. Still hesitant and wanting to put it on the back burner. 

“We will begin making preparations then. I think a royal progress will do you good.” He suggested. 

She nodded and added on, “Perhaps the Riverlands then, it is near the heart of Westeros after all.”

Chapter Text

Four years have passed since that conversation between a father and his daughter, who both wished to expand their family. It took longer than expected for the progress’ preparations but everything turned out alright in the end. And here she was, sitting in the old Lord Grover Tully’s hall, as she looked upon the crowd of suitors. Lyonel Strong next to her on her left, brought along by the Princess to visit his family at their first stop, Harrenhal. 

Ser Criston Cole, naturally as a Kingsguard, came with her on her royal progress and was next to Lord Lyonel. 

Baelon was on her lap, who was now four years old, playing with a wooden dragon. He had deep, indigo eyes and platinum blond hair. A robust, beautiful boy. Whose eyes entranced any who might look into them. He insisted on coming with his big sister, and she agreed. The only reason this was happening was because of her own newfound sense of duty due to her brother surviving and their mother dying. She only sought out a husband that could defend them. It was only right, he got to be the first of her family to meet his future goodbrother. 

The Lord of Riverrun, Grover Tully, a downright stubborn old man, was on her right. 

“The wall, Blackhaven, is an unscalable vassalstone. And the castle is surrounded by a deep, dry moat. It is well fortified against any future Dornish incursions.” The old man laughed after saying so. “And though my seat may be lesser in size, it is situated most pleasingly.” When he was finished talking, he helped himself to a drink of wine. 

Criston and her looked at each other as if they thought the same thing about the old man. 

The Princess fiddled with her rings like she always does when she is unsure or uneasy. 

“The view across the Marches is inspiring, so said Queen Alyssane herself when she honoured my father and I–” 

“And tell me Lord Dondarrion,” Rhaenyra, sick of his talking, cut him off. “Did you think my great-grandmother as beautiful as they say?”

‘You old, lecherous cunt,’ she wished to call him, but for duty and reputation’s sake, she did not. 

“This was half a century ago, Princess,” he said, caught off-guard.

“Yes, it was,” she said in a slightly mocking tone. Making the other suitors in the crowd laugh, among them a booming one she could’ve sworn she heard before…

“You put that old hound in his place,” Grover whispered to her in pride. “Well done, that man is older than your father. It’s unseemly for him to put himself forward as a contender for your hand.” 

She chuckled, not accepting such a response from a traditional man like him. Perhaps his mislike was due to the fact that Dondarrion was a rival of his son for her hand. A son much closer in age to Rhaenyra. 

“Next!” Lord Grover yelled.

Now came a boy younger than her, he bowed in respect and seemed polite enough. 

“And now a child,” Rhaenyra was annoyed. Even Lord Grover had a chuckle at her comment.

“The Blackwoods are an ancient house with a formidable army,” Lord Lyonel whispered to her. “In the Riverlands, they once ruled as kings. The blood of the First Men still flows in their veins.”

‘And who are the kings and queens now? At least we do not have bitter rivals that try to kill us at every turn when even marriage alliances fail in their case.’ The Princess wanted to argue. 

“Go on,” Lord Tully encouraged.

“My Princess, ours is a bond that has long endured, since Lucas Blackwood, the grandsire of my grandsire, aided the Dragon in his war of conquest–”

The young Blackwood was interrupted by a voice she definitely recognized. “Aye, the Blackwoods truly turned the tide on that one.” His demeaning comment made the others laugh.

That Blackwood kept his head up high, determined to ignore the Bracken. “Coursed with the blood of the First Men, our history is deeply rooted in this land, which your house has made its home. If chosen as your match, Princess…your days shall be easy and nights safe under my protection.”

“Protection?” Young Bracken asked. “The Princess has a dragon, you dumb cunt.” What laughter there was before, doubled in size. 

“Bracken!” Grover scolded. 

“I know I could recognize that voice anywhere,” Rhaenyra smiled, “Ser Jerrel.”

“Princess,” he bowed slightly. “I think you’ll also recall when I almost ran you over with my horse.” 

She laughed heartily as she recollected the day that they met. 

-🐎-

A couple of weeks before

Rhaenyra was riding with her retinue from Pennytree to the next keep, Stone Hedge. Home of the family of the scarlet stallion, the Brackens. Among her retinue were the Kingsguard knights, Ser Criston Cole and Ser Harrold Westerling; Lord Lyonel Strong, the master of laws, there by the thoughtful request of Rhaenyra for their first Riverland stop, Harrenhal. The home of his family, he was surprised and fretted about his absence on the Small Council, but eventually gave in to the princess’ sway. His second son, Larys Clubfoot, was left behind at King’s Landing. 

His family was among the most hospitable. The brothers came from separate mothers, both of whom tragically died in the childbed giving birth to their sons at a young age. But Lady Marla, born of House Butterwell had borne him two daughters, Bethany and Gwenys. Both of whom were close to the princess’ own age, being 18 and 16 respectively. Rhaenyra was the blood of Old Valyria, but the Strong Sisters were the blood of the First Men, despite living in the Riverlands. Both were tall and had brown hair and light eyes, Bethany had umber hair and brown eyes when Gwenys had cobalt blue eyes like her dress and locks of spun copper. The older sister herself wore red. The Princess took them both on as ladies-in-waiting, much to Lyonel and Catelyn’s gratitude. Bethany especially was close with her older brother that beat her by two years, Larys, so she was very excited to see him again.

There was another sister though, older than any of the children, Alys Rivers, the Bastardess of Harrenhal, and their wet nurse. Her hair was almost black and her eyes were emerald like the silks she sometimes wore. She seldom ever spoke, and something about her cold, observant, and distant demeanor unnerved Rhaenyra. So the two women never conversed alone or when it was unnecessary. 

As the princess and her entourage walked through Stone Hedge’s village, she didn’t pay enough attention to her surroundings, so others around her urged her to move out of the way. And before she knew it, a great, scarlet stallion was charging behind her. Bethany had pulled her out of its way before any harm could be done. 

“Seven hells,” she muttered under her breath as she regained her focus. 

“Do any of you Brackens know how to ride a horse without trying to run anyone over?” Gwenys rebuked. 

“Bracken?” Rhaenyra looked up at the rider in question-who wore a yellow tunic. He jumped off the horse to greet Rhaenyra and her retinue. Up close, he had hair the color of charred spruce wood, parted in a side part that was messed up and hung down in curves. Along with green eyes and a wide nose. He was strapping with broad shoulders and a height around six feet. 

‘He’s actually quite handsome,’ The Princess thought to herself as she played with her rings nervously. 

“I’m Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen if you do not know already. This is my entourage: the Kingsguard knights, Ser Criston Cole, and Ser Harrold Westerling. Lord Lyonel Strong and his daughters, my ladies-in-waiting, Bethany and Gwenys.” She introduced all five of them. 

“Charmed,” he smiled and nodded his head. “I’m Ser Jerrel Bracken, second son of Lord Humfrey. I was actually riding over here to help find you and escort you to Stone Hedge.” 

“Then you almost ran me over,” she quipped, chuckling. 

“That I did,” he laughed heartily. “Let me make up for it by taking you myself.”

“If you insist, Ser Jerrel,” she smirked as she took his hand helping her up. 

Her skin ran hot and her heart raced as she put his hands around his burly waist. She was careful not to wrap them too tightly or in an affectionate manner. No matter how tempting it was. 

“I do apologize for almost hurting you,” he said. “Too often when I’m riding Hendry that my head’s in the clouds and I don’t pay attention when I should.”

“No, no I perfectly understand. I am the same with Syrax, my dragon.” Rhaenyra reassured him.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like, riding a dragon compared to a horse.” Jerrel contemplated.

‘Perhaps you’ll find out if my father lets me marry you,’ she thought, then shaking it out of her head as soon as it appeared. 

“It would be frightening for you if you were scared of heights,” she teased. 

“Hah!” Bracken scoffed, “I’m not scared of heights, that’s ridiculous.” 

She only snickered at him, “If you say so…”

-🐎-

Present day

“Mayhaps you also recall when Lord Strong’s daughter insulted you?” The Princess chaffed. Lyonel looked ready to admonish had Ser Jerrel not spoken before him. 

He tittered, “I do, and she’s not wrong. We’re quite ferocious with our stallions, it’s part of the reason why we took it as our sigil.” 

Rhaenyra chuckled and whispered to Lord Grover, “I could learn to like him.” Making the old man smile.

“I think I like him too, ‘Nyra!” The Crown Prince declared. His older sister had forgotten he was even there, as he sat on her lap quietly for most of the pageant. She flushed with embarrassment. The contestants and their companions only laughed. 

“If His Grace, the future king, likes me…I’d say this contest of yours is set in stone.” Bracken looked around and wore a complacent smirk on his face. 

“You’re right, Ser Jerrel. This pageant is finished and everyone besides the Brackens is dismissed.” She said so confidently. 

“Your Grace, are you sure, you want to end it so soon?” Lyonel asked.

“Yes,” she persisted. “He’s the only one that appeals to me.” Then standing up to approach the young lord, setting Baelon down. But he only followed his elder sister and held onto the skirt of her fiery red dress with golden patterns, like he always did.

Lyonel sighed in contempt but did not speak further.  

His eyes widened in surprise as the crowd and line of men dispersed. Young Willem Blackwood huffed but didn’t argue. Rhaenyra could care less if she had spurned or scorned them, if she was to marry, she might as well have married a man she liked. 

“Your Grace, I wasn’t being serious when I said that,” Jerrel admitted.

Rhaenyra approached him and only affirmed, “Well I was.” 

His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Tully, but it’s best we get going. I want to get to the inn before nightfall.” She thanked him. 

“Of course, My Princess, I’m glad you found one you liked. He is quite the strapping, young lad.” Grover complimented him.

“Thank you, Lord Grover,” Jerrel bowed. “And thank you, for choosing me.” He turned to her.

Rhaenyra beamed, “How could I not? If Baelon and I both like you, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else says.” She picked him up and held him at his hip, wooden dragon still in hand.

Jerrel smiled, “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Come now, I was also serious about getting to the inn before it’s dark.” She urged him, already walking out of Riverrun.

Chapter Text

“Tell me, Ser Jerrel,” The Princess said to him as they looked at the view of the Whispering Road in front of the scarlet mountains as their river galley took them upstream. 

“Hmm?” He asked, curious about what her question was.

“What are the words of your house again?” She looked him in the eye. 

Bracken only gave a simpering smirk, “We Water the Red Fork."

“With what?” Her curiosity was still pushing. 

“Depends on who you ask,” Jerrel answered simply. “Some say it’s red because we water corpses with it, wether it’s ours or others is up to debate.”

“I’d imagine it’s both, considering that bitter rivalry you and Lord Willem had,” Rhaenyra recalled. 

“Oh, do not get me started on that fucking whelp!” Jerrel laughed bitterly. Making her chuckle in turn.

‘It’s amusing to see him get so irked at the mere mention of such an unintimidating boy,’ she thought. 

“Anyway, there are other reasons like because we were farmers and we water it with our seed,” he finished with a coquettish grin. 

“Your seed?” Rhaenyra asked perplexed. Pushing any crude thoughts to the back of her head. 

“Yes, our seed is spread out throughout the inhabitants of people living along it besides us. Not excluding those of the smallfolk or even the Blackwoods. Hell, I’d reckon me and Willem the Whelp-”

She couldn’t help but snigger at the nickname as he looked right at her. 

“Are distant cousins. I mean you do know that saying right? All Brackens are secretly Blackwoods, and all Blackwoods are secretly Brackens.” Jerrel elaborated further. 

“Yet you Riverlanders slay your own kin without a care in the world,” her face twisted up in wry. 

“Without a care in the world,” he echoed with drollness. 

‘I could use a fearless husband like him, one who won’t flinch at the blood that will shed. For the war that is to come, should the Hightowers be foolish enough to try,’ Rhaenyra pondered dreadfully. 

And apparently, Jerrel noticed, “Hey, are you alright? You seem like you’re fretting.” His cocky expression was supplanted by one of concern. His sage-green eyes met her own magenta. 

She snapped out of it and tried to compose herself. “Yes, I’m good. It’s just…” The Princess looked for any excuse or lie to say, but none could come to mind. It’s as if she couldn’t think properly around him. ‘Damn you, Bracken. You and your rugged figure.’ She brooded bitterly. 

“You’re nervous about taking me to court?” Jerrel surmised. “Don’t be, I’ll be on my best behavior.” His playful tone made her chuckle. 

“You better be,” she admonished mockingly. “Anyway, I need to go find something to drink, I’m parched just looking at the water.” Rhaenyra jested, making him titter as she left. 

And it was just then that young Baelon walked out of his quarters, as he usually did when he was cooped up in one place for too long, often exploring the Red Keep. And having to be scooped by Rhaenyra or any servants passing by. 

“Where is ‘Nyra,” he asked, looking up at the tall Bracken. That wooden dragon from before was still in his hands. 

“Rhaenyra just went to get a drink, she’ll be back,” Jerrel reassured him, getting to his level to look him in the eye. 

‘Something’s off with Rhaenyra today. I knew for a fact that she was lying to me earlier. She always fiddles with her rings when she’s uneasy, a sign of dishonesty. Not only that but Baelon is too attached to his older sister. If you want to seek out a husband, why bring your younger brother? It makes no sense unless there’s a bigger picture here that I’m not quite getting…’ The Bracken pondered, his thoughts made him ask the young boy a question. 

“Tell me, Baelon, how close are you with Aegon?” The young prince was of similar age to Baelon, only being a year apart. 

But the boy only frowned a little, looking at his dragon. “Alicent doesn’t let me play with him.” 

“And Helaena?” 

He shook his head. 

‘That’s fucking ridiculous. Why go out of your way to keep them apart?’  “Do you know why?” He asked, wanting to get an answer to his aching questions. 

“‘Nyra says it’s cause she thinks Alicent doesn’t like me, or her,” Baelon’s voice was croaking and his nose started to sniffle as he started to wipe tears from his eyes.

“There, there,” Bracken wiped a tear away with his thumb. “How about I play with you? I know you and Rhaenyra are close, but sometimes she needs to be left alone. So whenever you’re bored, just come find me, okay?” He tried to brighten his mood by putting on a smile that was as genuine and sweet as he could make it. 

“I will, thank you, Jerrel,” Baelon beamed with pride. Then running off to pretend his wooden dragon was real and flying in the skies. 

‘This is definitely a conversation I need to have with the Princess. I knew there were rumours of the girls being best friends and falling out once the King took Alicent to wife, but this is something else.’ He pondered on the burning question: Why would Alicent mislike Baelon or Rhaenyra? Was it resentment as them being reminders of the King’s first love? Maybe, but was the Hightower girl really that bitter? 

Jerrel looked out onto the river as he dwelled on it, again and again. Thinking of some different reason for this forming rift within the royal family. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder from Rhaenyra, “We’re here.”

“At the inn?” He asked for clarification.

“Mhm,” she nodded, “Come on, it’s already twilight.” The Princess gestured to the golden and pink clouds that surrounded the purple horizon. 

-🐎-

Jerrel stared off elsewhere as he sat across from her, still thinking about it. Their plates had only scraps on them and their mugs were half-filled with ale. 

She snapped her fingers in his face, making him jump. 

“Hey, what is going on with you?” She was perturbed. “You’ve been like this ever since I went to get a drink on the ship.” 

Jerrel huffed, “Prince Baelon told me earlier that the Queen doesn’t let him play with Prince Aegon or Princess Helaena, is that true?”

Rhaenyra was caught off-guard, “Yes it’s true.” 

“Why? Do you know?” He questioned. 

She shook her head and played with one of her rings. “No, I don’t.” 

“Don’t lie to me. I hate when people do that,” Bracken hissed. 

“I’m not-” she tried to defend herself. 

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in and folded his hands, pushing the plate aside. “Why are you fiddling with your rings right now then?” 

Her magenta eyes widened in shock. 

Jerrel only continued, “You only do that when you’re nervous and people are nervous when they lie. I may look like some dumb brute, but I’m not.” Then with a jest, he finished, “At least not fully dumb.”

The jab at himself only made her laugh, “Well, you’re right, you’re not as stupid as you look. Most people don’t notice that about me.” 

“Because all they see is the Princess, they can’t get past that,” he explained. 

“What do you see, Jerrel?” Rhaenyra used only his given name for once. Since the topic had changed to genuinity. 

“I see a girl who puts on a confident facade because she’s scared. Scared of what’s going to happen to her family, so she has to lie, Rhaenyra.” He did the same thing back to her. 

‘He is much more observant than he lets on,’ She thought, amazed and falling on her words.

“I…I guess you would be right then,” she looked away, his green eyes boring into her soul. 

“Since I got you figured out, give me the missing piece I need. Why does the Queen mislike Prince Baelon?” He urged. 

“She never told me, but, I suspect it has something to do with the fact that my brother is Prince of Dragonstone and set to be King one day,” Rhaenyra confessed. 

‘What does that have to do with anything-’ He was puzzled until he connected the dots and said his thoughts aloud. “Because her children pose a threat to Baelon’s ascension.” 

“You’re almost there,” she said before leaning to whisper, “It’s the other way around.”

Jerrel was dumbfounded and leaned back, “No, they wouldn’t…no one would accept-”

“It doesn’t matter if any would. They probably see Baelon as a threat and want to dispose of him to make the next son king.” Rhaenyra continued, “I know how Alicent thinks. She likes to take something out before it can do harm.” 

“Is that the reason for the royal progress and pageant?” He asked. 

The Princess only nodded.

“So why choose me? What do I have to offer Baelon or you? I’m the second son of a Bracken for hell’s sake.” He elaborated. 

“You can offer strength and protection. Otto Hightower is a second son, yet he’s the Hand of the King. Don’t let your status be an obstacle. Should I marry you, I get the Brackens to Baelon’s side with most likely the Tullys as well as the Arryns from our mother. And some Vale Houses there. That’s two whole kingdoms to account for,” she gestured with her fingers. “If we play our cards right-”

“We could bring other families into the fold. Baelon is still young and unwed, then there are our future children.” Jerrel finished for her as if he knew what she was thinking. 

“Exactly, and you being a second son means our family would have the freedom to compound our forces on Dragonstone and strategize with my Uncle Daemon. Also, any dragon eggs that Syrax lays elsewhere–say Stone Hedge–won’t turn to stone, because they’ll be kept there. Which will play a huge role.” The Princess intricately explained. 

“What about the Velaryons? I mean from what I hear, young Lady Laena was set to marry the King before he chose another. They can’t exactly be accounted for, can they?” Jerrel recalled. 

“No, at least for now. But my uncle’s marriage to Rhea Royce is unconsummated and can be annulled. Should he keep his head on his shoulders, we may yet get them on our side.” 

“Right, of course.” The Riverlander was still in disbelief. “You really want me to marry you?” 

“Yes, I planned on going another progress to find some other suitors as a failsafe, but I don’t need to anymore.” The Princess insisted. 

“I just don’t know how much you’ll be able to tolerate me being a cunt,” he jested. 

Seeing how unexpected his response was, her laugh was hearty. And he couldn’t help but titter. 

“I think I’ll be able to handle that,” she teased. 

“We’ll see about that,” he coyly smiled, before taking a swig of his ale.

The two quickly finished drinking and headed off to bed, trying to forget about the dreading topic with each other’s jests and japes.

Chapter Text

Three days later

“Let’s play a game,” Bracken slammed his fist onto the table as they sat across from one another in the dining hall. The goblet of wine in his other hand. Wearing a beige, lace-up front tunic. She wore a bright red, v-neckline, empire-waist dress with golden details on the hems of the long sleeves and under the chest. 

“Okay,” she was perplexed, “What game?” She asked before taking a drink of her own wine. 

“Bed, wed, and behead,” he said bluntly with a coy grin. 

‘Is he being serious?’ Her eyebrows furrowed themselves. “I’ve never played.”

“Here’s how it goes, I name three people, and you say which one you would like to bed, wed, and behead. If you can’t choose between two for one option, you have to take a sip of your wine.” He explained. 

“Oh, so it’s a drinking game?” She drolled. 

Jerrel only shrugged his shoulders, “Not usually. But it is now.” 

Rhaenyra only smirked and tittered. 

“I’ll go first: Daemon Targaryen, Ser Harwin Strong, and Ser Criston Cole.” 

‘What a strange combination.’ “Wed Ser Harwin, behead Daemon, and bed Ser Criston.” 

“I thought for sure you were going to wed or bed Daemon. I mean you Targaryens love fucking your own relatives.” Jerrel jested, making her howl in laughter. 

“You would not be wrong, but he annoys me sometimes. Criston and Harwin are kind enough. But Ser Criston is a Kingsguard so we wouldn’t be able to marry anyway.” 

“They can’t bed anyone either,” he argued. 

“Doesn’t mean they don’t,” she retorted, taking a sip of her wine. Making him chuckle. 

“Now you,” he urged. 

She thought to herself for a moment. “How about this? Alicent Hightower, Laena Velaryon, and Rhea Royce.” 

“Remind me who Rhea Royce is again?” Bracken asked.

“My uncle’s wife, the marriage that he pretends doesn’t exist. Hell, it’s not even consummated.” 

“Ah, well here’s my answer: Behead Alicent,” he didn’t hesitate. “Wed Laena and bed Rhea because she deserves better.” The Princess cackled. 

“Now I go, the Lannister Twins…and me,” his eyes were alit like a rascal’s and his grin was frisky. 

‘Don’t do this to me, Jerrel. Don’t, you damn Bracken,’ she wanted to shout at him. But there was no ire held towards him in her heart, not truly.  

She fell on her words and decided to go out the easy way, by drinking instead of answering. 

“You damn craven,” he mocked in a laughing tone. “Answer me, don’t do this the easy way, I haven’t.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have made it an option,” she argued. 

“You’re right, but drinking before not choosing any of them? That’s a coward’s way out.” He venomously said. “You wouldn’t have done that if your answer for me was going to be unsavoury. I already know you want to marry me, so what’s your problem?” 

Jerrel was right, she knew it, and he knew it. Her desire to take him to husband was beyond that of a political or necessary standpoint. So why was she so afraid of speaking the truth? To that, she had no answer and thus didn’t say anymore. 

That’s when he slammed his goblet down, sped walked over, and cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. It was desirous but quick, as he immediately pulled away. Regret written on his face. 

It reminded her of the spark between her and her closest friend from so long ago… The one she tried to snuff out. 

Rhaenyra set her cup down and leaned up to let their lips meet again. Eventually putting her arms around his shoulders, letting him one hand on her head and another on the small of her back. Which eventually moved southward to grope her. Then, hoisting her up by her thighs and set her on the table. 

So in retaliation, she grabbed his crotch. Making him merely laugh into the kiss. Rhaenyra moved onto untying the knot on his breeches, yanking them and his small clothes down in one go. Her palm met with his cock and she started thrusting it up and down, pumping it with her hand. Jerrel bit back any sound threatening to come out of his throat by biting his lip. Remembering that they could be caught. Nonetheless, his desire for payback (and for her) was stronger than his desire for a clean name. So after getting under her skirt and smallclothes alike, his fingers found her cunt, pressing them inside. 

Rhaenyra moaned into the kiss, the feeling was strange but pleasurable, wanting more. As they got closer to each other’s climaxes, their hands became shaky and unstable on each other’s loins. He came first, she second. He kissed and bit at her neck as she came to her peak, the rest of her body shaking as well. 

Once they finally regained their focus, they noticed it was dark when Jerrel pushed back the curtains.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, “how long has it been?” ‘Considered we are probably to have dinner soon, in this very room.’

“I have no idea,” he confessed. 

“Then let’s put our damn clothes on before they see us!” She scolded.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Princess,” Jerrel bowed at the waist. 

“Hello,” she courtesied. An unusual sight to see them so polite toward one another. ‘I can’t stop thinking about last night,’ she lamented, flashes of it going through her head. 

It was only then that the polite act (and his smile) dropped, “Fuck this, I can’t do it anymore.”

“It’s been two minutes,” she said amused. 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m sick of this facade. I cannot be ingenuine for more than five minutes, it’s just how I am,” he explained. 

‘I cannot believe you, Rhaenyra!’ Her father’s voice suddenly came to her. ‘Letting him have his way with you? You disappoint me.’ 

And to that, she argued, ‘If I let him have his way with me, then I’ll do the same to him.’ 

“You know what, Jerrel?” Rhaenyra dropped the niceties, instead donning a flirtatious grin, “I want you to wake me up with a kiss.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” she echoed, with her hands behind her back. 

He smirked, “You’re going to regret saying that.” 

The next morning

The Princess awoke to a familiar feeling: peppered kisses on her neck. 

“Jerrel?” She asked groggily, still half-asleep. The feeling of warm, golden sunlight hit her as she woke up. 

“That would be me,” he said, face-to-face. “You did say to wake you up with a kiss, no?”

She chuckled, recalling the occasion, “I did, didn’t I?”

Bracken smiled slightly, before taking the opportunity to kiss her on the lips. She returned the gesture, grasping his hair in one hand and another on his back. 

He continued moving southward, making love bites all over. ‘Gods, let’s hope I can cover those up with only clothes and nothing else,’ she lamented. 

Then once he got to her groin area, he pulled off her undergarments. Jerrel squinted at her twat, seemingly confused. ‘What the fuck do I even do with this, without using my cock that is,’ he questioned internally. 

And then, a light came on off in his head. His idea was to use his tongue , as a substitute. But being the hot-headed Bracken he was, he just plunged it in. 

Rhaenyra responded with a moan that was shameful, in her opinion, and anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by. That hot and wet feeling inside her brought a pleasurable sensation. One that she didn’t want to stop happening. 

Jerrel wrapped his arms around her thighs, his face was surrounded by a warm thickness. He ignored the leaking precum out of his cock, determined to make her body shake with pleasure and be utterly exhausted when they were finished. 

The signs of that happening again, like it did two days before, were beginning to emerge. Her thighs were spasming, her breathing even more erratic than before, and her skin was hot to the touch. As he curled his tongue, she moaned louder than before. ‘I’m definitely going to keep doing that, ’ he thought to himself smugly. He repeated that over and over again, making her muscles twitch more than before. And, just for fun, Jerrel looked into his eyes and gave her a wink. That was it all took for some fluid that was like watered-down milk but tasted sweet to get on his tongue. 

He immediately pulled it out and looked at her. Who only grinned and teased him, “You still have some of it on your lips.” 

“Yeah I know, you twat,” he said before looking it off. Rhaenyra only laughed, “Just know that I don’t regret my decision to bring you along.” 

He smiled softly, “And I don’t regret coming with you.” 

“You do realize your cock’s still hard, right?” The Princess pointed out humorously. 

“Oh really?” Jerrel feigned ignorance mirthfully, making her laugh. “I’m afraid I haven’t noticed, Your Grace.” 

“Then let me help, Ser, ” she returned the mocking moniker. “You dumb cunt,” she muttered under her breath, making him snigger. 

“Then, by all means, help, Princess,” Bracken urged. 

“Get on your back, Jerrel,” she demanded. 

His eyebrows furrowed, “Okay then.” And did as she said. Shocked to find out she was going to try to repeat what he did to her earlier but with a cock. Taking it in her hand, and put her tongue to the head. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” He asked. 

“Returning the favour,” she curtly said.

“It’s different, you know that right?” Jerrel commented in a concerned tone.

“I can see that,” Rhaenyra drolled. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Or at least I think I do.” She admitted. 

Bracken sighed and shook his head, “Fine, just don’t try to put all of it in your mouth. I don’t want you to choke.”

She looked at the cock in her hand, then at him, “I wouldn’t even dare.” For good reason, considering it was seven inches and a half long, and two inches wide. 

With that out of the way, she resumed what she wanted to do. Which was to lick on the undershaft and suck at the head. Using her hand to pump most of the length. Jerrel bit the back of his hand and the other was tangled in her platinum hair. Resisting the urge to push her head in. 

Considering that he had been erect (and untouched) for quite a while, it didn’t take long for him to come. (Much to the Princess’ disappointment) She kissed him as he climaxed, pumping him through it. Letting the seed fall on his stomach and her hand. 

After cleaning her hand off with one of the nearby linen towels, and throwing it to him, she collapsed onto the bed. 

“Aren’t you glad I was here to assist you?” She jested. 

“Yeah,” he smiled and chuckled. 

Then a knock at the door made their blood run cold. “It’s supper time, Your Grace,” a knight that sounded like Ser Criston Cole was on the other side. 

“We’ll be right out!” Bracken responded impulsively. In response, the Princess hit his arm in a scolding manner and a hushing finger to her lips. 

The two put their clothes back on in a rushed manner and smoothed over their hair the best they could. And as Jerrel closed the door as Rhaenyra opened it, he noticed a resting expression on Criston’s face with anguishing eyes. 

‘Gods, don’t tell me he was outside the entire time,’ he fretted. “Were you there the entire time?” Jerrel asked. 

“I was, Ser,” he said with a deploring tone. 

He nodded, processing that deeply uncomfortable fact, and gave a fake smile, “Good to know.” 

The two set out for supper, starving after what they did in secret. Trying to put on the most normal facade they could.

Chapter Text

“Welcome, Your Grace,” their host, Lord Mooton of Maidenpool, bowed at the waist. While they arrived at the gates of the pink-stoned castle on the hill. “It’s an honour to house you and your retinue.” 

“Thank you, Lord Walys,” she politely said. That day, she wore a magenta dress that matched her eyes, cut in a square neckline, and adorned with golden patterns. 

“My men will show you to your chambers,” he offered, gesturing to his household knights that bore the red trout inside of a yellow tressure. 

Gwenys and Baelon had rooms on both sides of the Princess’s chambers, with the elder sister, Bethany, next to the young Prince. Jerrel and Lyonel had their chambers across the hall, a few doors down. 

Then Rhaenyra got a guileful idea, ‘You know, they have a great bathing pool here. Mayhaps I should take advantage of that…’ 

So she knocked on Jerrel’s door, when he answered, he sighed exasperatingly, “We just got here.” 

“No, you half-wit,” she hissed. “I want to get a scope of Jonquil’s Pool while we still can.”

“Oh,” he realized. “You do realize men aren’t allowed in, right?” 

“Yeah, that’s why I want to see if there’s a way around that,” she said impertinently. “Now come on!” The Princess took his hand, dragging him along with her. 

They traversed through Maidenpool and its town to get to the famed bathhouse. Pink-stoned like the keep nearby. It had no roof, and tall walls, but not enough to keep out a desperate man. Around the front gate, there were a couple of septas. And each of them eyed the couple with deploring suspicion. 

But Rhaenyra nonetheless treated them with cunning kindness, “Oh, sorry to trouble you but I’m not here to bathe. At least not yet. I just wanted to see the place before I did.” 

“Of course, Your Grace,” one of the septas showed her in. Leaving the Bracken by his lonesome. 

He mused at the walls, figuring out his future strategy for tonight. ‘If I’m quick and careful enough, I could make it over. The only trouble is bringing a towel of my own. I wouldn’t dare use one of theirs, they’d know I was here and condemn me for it.’ 

Rhaenyra admired the inside of it, the pool was fed by a sweet spring. From the stone walls hung white banners of the crimson trout. She looked at the height of the walls, hoping that her paramour could scale it. 

“We’re honoured that you wish to bathe in these waters,” the septa said. “Despite what happened to your great-grandmother.”

“Queen Alysanne?” She asked, unsure of what she meant. 

“Oh, yes, it’s quite known around her that Her Grace was attacked by one of our own while pregnant with her first child by her brother-husband, the Old King.” She elaborated. 

“Because of the incestuous relationship, I assume?” Rhaenyra questioned. 

“Yes, the Doctrine of Exceptionalism had won over most, but not all. There were still those who believed it an abomination. It is quite unfortunate that Prince Aegon died so soon after his birth.” The clergywoman lamented. 

“It is,” she agreed. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. You don’t want to keep that boy outside waiting too long do you?” The septa teased. 

The Princess only chuckled, “No, of course not.” 

“Good, it was a pleasure to meet you,” she courtesied. 

“You as well,” she returned the niceties. 

Then she met with Jerrel and whispered as they walked, “Do you think you can climb those stones?”

“Yes, if I eat well beforehand,” He reassured. “I can’t use one of their towels though, I have to bring my own.” 

“What, are you bathing with me?” Rhaenyra razzed. 

“I intend to do more than bathe with you,” he responded with a sultry voice. Making her breath hitch. 

-🐎-

After she finished her supper early--which consisted of the Princess’ favorite foods, teacakes--she set out. 

“Ser Criston,” she approached the Kingsguard.

“Yes, Your Grace?” He asked. 

“I’m going to Jonquil’s Pool. I thought I’d tell you in case Baelon would need me. And so you would know where I am,” Rhaenyra announced. 

“Are you sure you don’t me to guard you on your way there? I’ve heard that place is unsafe for Targaryens,” he jested. 

She laughed and shook her head, “I don’t think I’ll be expecting a child from a brother anytime soon.” 

“Of course, I was only teasing. Either way, I hope you stay safe on the road,” he said.

“Thank you,” she declared before heading out.

The sunset was a mix of pink and purple with a yellow sun. Much like the dress she wore. She hid around the back to meet with Jerrel, who followed her after ten minutes to avert suspicion. 

“You still think you could climb that?” Rhaenyra asked him. 

He nodded, “You underestimate me, Princess. Us Brackens are built for this kind of thing.” 

“Right,” she said in a doubtful tone. “Anyway, I’m going inside. I made sure to rent it for myself, so don’t worry about anyone else catching us. And be careful coming down.” 

“Of course,” Jerrel commented. “Anyway, meet you on the other side.” Then he gave her a quick peck for good luck before scaling the wall. 

When she started walking away, he started climbing. It was hard at first, his hands were either too slippery or the stones too smooth. ‘I trust my years of climbing the towers in Stone Hedge will help me with this very task,’ Bracken hoped. Keeping a strong grip, he kept going even when his chest felt tight and he was hot all over. Even when his hands got clammy, he kept that clutch, tightening as much as he could. 

Then he could see the edge, ‘Oh gods, yes finally! Please do not let me falter now, or break my ankle on the other side,’ he fretted. 

With a final grasp, he managed to roll himself over. But when he got to the other side, an ancient stone fell, making his hand dangle. Rhaenyra rushed over to catch him, should he grow too tired and fall. But he persisted, worried her small stature would be crushed beneath his. 

After what felt like a century, he landed safely on his feet. All of the exhaustion in the form of tight lungs and hot sweat came washing over him. Making him want to groan internally, for it had just begun. 

It didn’t even dawn on him at first that she had been undressed. She was on the skinner side, with prominent collarbones and ribs. But also ample breasts and slightly wider hips. Her platinum hair shone in the moonlight. Eyes of magenta haunted him as they leered at him. 

She approached him and gripped the hem of his breeches, “Take your clothes off. I can’t be the only naked one here.” Rhaenyra smirked into the passionate kiss the Bracken gave her. His hands held onto her waist tightly. 

Untying his breeches and tunic, and getting rid of his small clothes, and throwing his bag to the side, she separated from the embrace and took his hand. Leading him to the pools where they embraced once more, while she sat on the stone steps. His fingers slid into her cunt that had been waiting for him, moans muffled by their lip lock. Her hand scrawled across his shoulder blade and another gripped his shoulder as he marked her neck and the rest of her naked body. 

“Stop this frivolousness and put your cock in me already,” Rhaenyra pleaded impatiently. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you are so demanding,” he made sport of her. But in a tone with no malice, only playfulness. 

‘I’m demanding because it took you a century to climb over that damn wall,’ she wanted to say. But did not wish to anger him so badly that he rejected her. 

“But it’s not like I don’t want it either,” he whispered after kissing her. “So I’ll indulge you.”

She only scoffed. 

Jerrel finally paid attention to his neglected cock when he started lining himself up. And it was then that Rhaenyra made one last request. “Wait, you’re a Bracken, a stallion, you should be mounting me.” 

“Pardon me?” He was in disbelief. 

“I mean you should turn me over and take me as if I’m already your wife,” she elaborated in a venomous tone. 

‘No, no! It is not supposed to go like that. I don’t want to fuck her like some common whore, she’s a royal princess of the oldest blood, she deserves better.’ Jerrel wailed internally. 

“No, this is Jonquil’s Pool and you want me to take you like a savage beast?” He asked mockingly. 

With a scoff, she said, “My reasoning makes perfect sense. It’s only fitting. You can take me from the front on our wedding night. We’ll have other chances.” Rhaenyra reassured him. Not wanting to fight further, he relented as she turned over, her hands on the stone below and standing on her two feet. 

He started pushing the head in, making the Princess beneath him groan and attempt to grip the flat stone. He went in as slowly as he could, without subjecting to base desire to thrust in fast on impulse. 

But Bracken got the chance to do so after five minutes of stillness, increasing his speed ever so slightly. 

His hands were clasped around her waist, using her as balance when her own was put into question by her shaking legs. 

Then Jerrel’s resentment was washed over by arousal as Rhaenyra and he joined in a duet of erotic song, no words but the music of their moans and groans.

They hadn’t even realized that the blood drops that dripped down her thigh from her cunt had poured into the water. Maiden’s blood clouded the clear, sparkling pool illuminated by moonlight. 

Their bodies locked in throes of passion, wet skin slapping on wet skin. Jaws slack and wide open. The musky fragrance in the air, comprised of sweat with Rhaenyra’s fading rose perfume. The fulfillment of his thick cock, the wetness, and tightness of her cunt. Living out what they’ve been dying to do with one another. 

Eventually, her legs almost fell upon themselves as she climaxed, trembling violently. Jerrel kept going, chasing after his own pleasure. But he soon followed her, pushing in one last time, to fill her with his seed. 

He pulled out, and sunk onto the pool ground, utterly exhausted, willing to fall asleep right there and then. When the after-shame hit him. ‘You foolish boy, what have you done? She was a maiden and you coupled with her while she was unmarried. How dare you disrespect the gods of your forebearers like this? What lord will wed her in this condition now?’ The scolding, harsh voice of the mother he never knew said to him in his head. 

‘I will wed her like I promised to. Why wait to give her something promised in vows when our bond is guaranteed?’ He argued. 

Jerrel looked over to Rhaenyra, who seemed dazed in her own thought. ‘He has ruined you! You were unwed and still, you decided to have your fun with him. This is shameful behaviour fit of a whore, not a princess.’ She could hear her father now, chiding her for her hedonistic acts with him. She would laugh if that was his genuine reaction, considering now their wedding is inevitable. He would be forced to take her to wife considering it was he who took her maidenhead. There was more reward than risk. It’s what they both wished for anyway. 

Reluctantly, they got out of the spring, and, without thinking, Jerrel left with Rhaenyra through the front gate. Not realizing the harm if anyone, like the septas, saw them. Sneaking into the castle on the balls of their feet, they went into their chambers, collapsing into sleep.

Chapter Text

After almost 40 days of (mostly) sailing, they rode out the latter half from Duskendale to the Old Stone Bridge to Rosby and finally to the Red Keep. That day she chose to don her gold-and-red floral patterned black outer coat, fashioned with golden dragon buttons. Underneath was the fiery red dress she had met Jerrel in. As he rode upon his scarlet steed, his mustard yellow cloak flowed behind. Worn over a brown tunic with a red-and-yellow patterned undershirt underneath. 

“We should be there within the hour, Princess.” Ser Criston caught up to inform them.

“Do you think he will like Jerrel?” She asked him with a sigh. 

“The King will, if he can keep his mouth shut,” he remarked with a harsh tone. 

She laughed despite the worry both of them shared over Bracken’s temperament. ‘He’s a good man, but gods is he blunt. He can’t be ingenuine for more than a few minutes, no doubt he will despise the people in the Keep, and they’ll feel the same about him in turn.” 

Then an indistinguishable roar with the pitch of a whistle was heard in the clouds. And a moment’s later the Bloodwyrm flew above them, leading to Criston shouting, “Take cover!” in fear the dragon would harm any of them. 

He did not, but the wind from his wings managed to ruffle up Jerrel’s hair, irritating him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, “Damn you, Daemon.” Rhaenyra only chuckled as he saw his lament over his appearance being botched. 

Daemon’s mount flew straight to King’s Landing in the distance, indicating that home was not so far away. ‘And neither is that dreadful Queen,” the Princess said to herself bitterly. 

When they arrived, they were ushered to the crowd awaiting the Rogue Prince’s arrival from the War in the Stepstones. People whispered to each other with excitement. Jerrel was on her right side, Bethany and Gwenys behind her. As the doors opened, the man that walked through was unrecognizable after four years at first glance. White blond hair that had once flowed past his shoulder blades was cut off and slicked backward. And upon his head sat a crown of driftwood bound together by black strings. The couple moved up the row to get a closer look, as the prince walked up to a Kingsguard pointing his sword at his chest. He dropped a war hammer at the steps and curtly said, “Add it to the chair.” 

Ser Harrold Westerling unsheathed his sword and picked up the warhammer. “You wear a crown. Do you also call yourself, ‘King?’” her father remarked sardonically. 

“Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me, ‘King of the Narrow Sea.’” Daemon elaborated, making Jerrel gasp in admiration. “But I know that there is only one true king, Your Grace.” He started to kneel down, “My crown and the Stepstones…are yours.” He declared, offering up the trophy he gained during the war. 

“Where is Lord Corlys?” Viserys asked, looking behind to see any sign of the Lord of the Tides. 

“He sailed home to Driftmark,” Daemon said. 

“Who holds the Stepstones?” The King asked, concerned. 

“The tides, the crabs, and 2000 dead Triarchy corsairs, staked to the sand to warn those who you might follow.” He bluntly said. 

Viserys walked up to his brother and took the crown from him, then handed it to one of the knights, “Rise,” he commanded. 

The two brothers embraced for the first time in years as the younger put his head to the elder, making everyone else clap. 

“The realm owes you a great debt, brother, come.” 

With that, they left to go exchange pleasantries as friends, and future family were introduced. 

As they walked out, Rhaenyra was conflicted. ‘Daemon was just as dashing as I remember, but do I still care for him like that? Jerrel and I grew so close so fast, mayhaps we were a little too familiar with one another. Has he truly replaced my uncle in my heart? I’m not sure, but it will not matter, since we are to be wed.’ 

For the Rogue Prince’s homecoming, a small celebration was held in the godswood, with pastries and other foods. Jerrel approached her, “They have your favorite sweet,” he gestured to the teacakes. “I’m sure you’ve been dying to have some, it’s not like they had much abroad the ship or when we rode.” He gave her a soft smile. 

She smiled back but shook her head, “No, actually. I couldn’t be more disgusted by it now, it’s strange really.” She lamented this fact, not even being able to enjoy her favorite pastry because of a newfound aversion.

He chuckled, “That is strange.”

“That’s not the only weird thing happening of late. Even though I’ve avoided sweets, the golden girdle I have on is still a little too tight.” Referring to the ornate girdle fashioned around her pink dress with white-gold paisley pattern, the same shade as her hair. Which she had changed into once she got back, wishing to get out of her dirtied dress. 

“You even threw up when we were riding on land, ” Jerrel recalled, “I was frightened you would hurl on my steed.” They laughed together on the embarrassing memory. But his tone soon grew serious, “But tell me, are your breasts sore as well?”

Her magenta eyes widened, “How did you-?” 

“When those things kept happening to you, it reminded me of my goodsister, Perra Butterwell,” Jerrel said in a hushed tone, “which had also happened to her when she was pregnant with my niece, Alys.” 

‘That would explain all the weird events and the fact that my moonblood had not come since that night at Maidenpool. I didn’t want to admit but even if he’s noticing it, I can’t turn away now. I have to tell Father before he or someone else realises.’ She twisted her rings as her heartbeat increased. 

Bracken whispered softly, “Rhaenyra, I think you’re with ch—” 

“Daughter!” Their blood both ran cold. “Come over here and introduce me to my future goodson!” He urged them, they had no other choice but to go. Where they’d rather be anywhere else at the moment. 

He cleared his throat as the Princess introduced him to everyone else. “This is Ser Jerrel Bracken, the man I chose to be my husband during my pageant in Riverrun.” She smiled up at him in pride, and took his hand, to ease his worries. 

“My younger brother, Daemon, and wife, Queen Alicent Hightower,” the king referred to both of them.

“Charmed,” Bracken put on the best smile he could, but his tone was more venomous than intended. ‘That did not come out the way I wanted it to,’ he wanted to run away from his celebration immediately after embarrassing himself. Jerrel shook hands with both but had to fight the urge to clench Hightower’s in anger. 

She smiled with her lips but her eyes did not. Neither could hide their disdain for one another. 

“Congratulations on your victory,” Rhaenyra abruptly said to her uncle, noticing the tension. 

Viserys looked at her with annoyance, before drinking from his goblet.

“Thank you, Princess,” he replied politely. 

Alicent also wished to ease the heavy air between them, “Perhaps Prince Daemon and Ser Jerrel wish for a tour of the gallery? Neither has seen the new tapestries yet, gifted to you by Norvos and Qoher.” 

‘She is dim-witted if she thinks I’ll spend even one moment alone with her. The tapestries probably are interesting, but I would sooner view them with Rhaenyra.’ He thought to himself. 

“Would you like to see the tapestries?” The King asked his brother mockingly. Making both wheeze with laughter. The Queen seemed hurt and disappointed as her face dropped. 

“I don’t know about Ser Jerrel, but Daemon has no interest in such things!” Viserys exclaimed. 

Before he could give his own answer, the Princess spoke up for him. “I’d like to see them.” 

“Oh, then you should not deprive yourself,” the king said. 

“I shall enjoy them alone with Jerrel,” she curtly said before taking his hand and leaving out of frustration. 

They went to go view them, there were two, one from each Free City. The Norvoshi one had a scarlet dragon chasing after a milkwhite comet in the blue-purple night sky, while the Qohorik one also depicted a dragon. This time two, facing each other, one red and another black. They came together in what could only be described as a mating dance. 

She sighed, putting her hands in her lap. Bracken put his hand atop hers and grazed his thumb against her skin. 

“What will my father say when he finds out?” She said. 

“He’ll be furious, probably more at me than you.” He responded with a laughing tone, making her do the same. “Could we go to the nearest sept? I feel that it brings me comfort in times like these.” He requested.

Rhaenyra nodded, “Of course, the nearest is unfortunately the Grand Sept. So we’ll need to have escorts.” 

“That’s fine by me,” he smiled. 

And so they left the Keep to ride to the sept on Visenya’s Hill, accompanied by a few of the Kingsguard and some Bracken household knights as well. 

Jerrel lit a candle first, then handing it to Rhaenyra. Both of them prayed for things pertaining to the same dreadful topic. 

‘Make him a good father and husband, that’s all I’ve asked from you so far.’ Rhaenyra clenched her folded hands. 

‘Please, do not let her perish in this battle,’ the thought brought tears to his eyes, still haunted by his mother’s death. He fought them back as hard as he could, but he could hold back no longer when she noticed. 

“Jerrel, are you alright?” She opened her eyes and saw his watery eyes face lit by candlelight. 

“No,” he confessed before letting them fall, hunching over in sobs. “How could I when our mothers had the same fate?” His croaking voice was full of grief. 

‘Did his mother die in the childbed too?’ She thought to herself, clarity slowly coming to her. 

“I can’t be responsible for another death of a mother, I just can’t. I would never forgive myself if you died.” He wiped his tears away.

She set her candle down and intertwined his fingers with her own. “I understand your worry, but we can only hope. I fear the same thing, but I have a feeling that we’ll both see this through.” 

“It’s times like these where I’m glad you’re still somewhat hopeful, after everything you’ve been through.” Bracken beamed at her, his face still wet from traces of tears. 

She nodded, but her smile turned serious. “Should I fall soon or even years from now, promise me. Promise me this, Jerrel. Promise me that you will protect Baelon and ally with my uncle should it come to war like he thinks it will. It’s why I sought a husband, and now you must bear the burden with me.” 

His eyebrows turned downward and he smiled, linking their pinkies together. “I promise, Rhaenyra.” 

With a small grin on her face, she broke her hand off and turned her head towards him. He leaned in after her, and the two kissed. Drying tears mingled together on their cheeks. Her hand clutched a fistful of his hair in the back, another cupping his cheek. One of his in her platinum locks, the other on her back, pulling the Princess closer to him. 

They stopped to restrain themselves, since they were in the sights of the gods, and left. Patting down their clothes and hair. 

-⚔- 

The next day 

Jerrel, and the two men that have been joined at his hip since childhood, Garibald “Gary” Grey and Qarl Chambers, had just gotten back from training with the Keep’s Knights. And we’re walking through the hallways. 

Gary was blond with stone-grey eyes, and Qarl had hair kissed by fire with brown eyes. Chambers was tall and lean like a pillar. Meanwhile, Grey was built more like Jerrel (and most Brackens), where he was short and stout. Albeit Jerrel was much taller at no less than six foot. 

“It’s like we never see you anymore, Jerrel.” Gary groaned, “Not even on the damn galley.” 

“Because he was too preoccupied with the Princess!” Qarl teased, punching his shoulder. 

“Oh, Jerrel!” Gary mockingly moaned, mimicking Rhaenyra. “Take my maidenhead and fuck me with your big, horse cock!”

To that, he rolled his eyes and felt a hotness on his face. The other two were cackling like madmen, clutching their stomachs and trying not to roll over. 

“I’ll have you know, that’s not the only thing we did,” he said smugly. 

“Oh, yeah, what else did you two get up to on that boat?” Grey asked, unconvinced. 

“I gave her the Lord’s Kiss,” he huffed his chest with pride. 

The boys’ eyes widened, considering how uncommon that type of ‘kiss’ really was. But something else had caught his attention, ‘Did I hear footsteps stop just now? No, it’s probably a gossipy servant. Nothing to worry over.’

“Did she at least give you a Lady’s Kiss back?” Chambers questioned. 

“Yes, she insisted you know. I didn’t even want to,” he admitted. 

"You really like giving over receiving?” Qarl asked. 

“Yeah, of course, I do. You know I have a big appetite,” Jerrel jested. Qarl and Gary howled, completely unaware of who might be listening or seeing them. 

Which is how Daemon even overheard this conversation without any of them realizing. Once he knew they were long and aways, he sped walked in fury to find his niece. 

He had hoped to find her in her chambers, which he did, with her leaning over a big book while she sat on her lounge chair. Her silver-gold hair was done in a simple braid, her neck was adorned with a golden band. Her dress, cut in a v-neckline with a dark-yellow colouring which shined like her golden jewelry from the sunlit windows. 

“What are you reading?” Daemon asked curiously. 

“Oh, nothing, just A History of House Bracken, why?” She answered, looking up from the tome. 

“You won’t be reading that, anymore,” he forcefully closed it with contempt. 

“Uncle, what the-” She sat up and yelled before being cut off by him. 

“I just heard your betrothed brag about his exploits of you to his little friends,” the words sat unwell in his mouth and his tone came off as angry, almost possessive. 

“He did not exploit me!” The Princess stood up and argued.

“So, you initiated it?” The Rogue Prince interrogated. “With that ugly, pug-faced Andal.” He spat. 

She came up with a witty response, “Well, at least Jerrel has eyebrows that I can see!” His niece attacked a trait that he had always been insecure about. A fact that she knew, and he had to push down the urge to slap her. 

“Rhaenyra, I don’t want you marrying a man that doesn’t see past your beauty,” he leaned in, his voice softening but still stern. 

“It’s not like I have any other choice,” she said resentfully. 

“What do you mean by that?” The Rogue Prince grilled. 

“I MEAN THAT I AM WITH CHILD!” Rhaenyra screamed at him, letting the words spill out on their own. 

The two of them looked towards the door, remembering that it was open, and saw the Queen standing there, frozen with shock. Wearing her brown hair back, and a maroon, wave-stripped dress outlined with gold. She, like the Princess, wore a golden necklace as well, with bells hanging from it.

“Alicent, wait!” Rhaenyra pleaded, but the young girl had already run off. She followed soon after, leaving her uncle behind. 

She eventually caught up with her within the godswood, a sacred place where she could not lie. ‘But it is not like I can lie anyway,’ she lamented. 

“Is that true? Did you fuck Jerrel before he even met your father?” The Queen grilled her. 

“I-,” she struggled to get the words out, “I did. It was just a-”

“A momentary lapse of passion? Was it really, when he impregnated you? Tell me the whole of it, Rhaenyra, did you do anything else?” Alicent hissed. 

“That I drank wine with him, laughed with him-” The Princess played dumb. 

“I said: did you do anything else besides him getting you pregnant?” She repeated. 

‘If I tell her the whole truth, she’ll think I’m a whore and tell all the ladies at court. Then one of them will tell my father before I do. That or, Alicent tells Otto and he crawls back the King to slander my name. She cannot know.’  Rhaenyra weighed her options. 

The Princess shook her head, “No, this is a vile accusation. To question my virtue and the truth I tell is an act of treason. We only coupled once, at Maidenpool. I swear this to you upon the memory of my mother.” She lied and took the hands of the girl she once called friend. 

“It was foolish of you to place yourself in a position where your virtue could be defiled, which then left you with child.” She scolded her. Then broke off her hands and wiped them on her dress, as if Rhaenyra’s actions left some physical dirt on her. 

“The King has strived to find you a good match. And so have I. To bring home some lustful second son-” 

“Don’t you ever insult Jerrel!” Rhaenyra snarled, “He has been nothing but kind to Baelon and me, something that not even you could accomplish.”

The Queen scowled, “What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that we both know that you’ve been separating Baelon from his siblings.” She barked, “Not letting them play together, he told me. And he’s sad about it. Why are you doing this?” 

“Because…” the other words were caught in Alicent’s throat. Like she wasn’t allowing herself to explain. 

She shook her head in disappointment, “It matters not, because this conversation is finished.” Stomping away from the godswood to go find Jerrel. 

He found her with his little buddies, “Jerrel!” She shouted. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah of course,” surprise and concern flashed across his face. 

Rhaenyra nodded to Qarl and Garibald, “I mean alone.”

‘Gods, please tell me we’re not discussing that,’ he pleaded to himself. 

“You two go find someone else to bother,” he dismissed them. They were scowling at her but did as she said anyway. 

“What is it, Rhae?” He called her by her pet name. 

“Did you brag about your ‘conquest’ of me to them? Cause Daemon overheard-”

“And told you, I presume?” He said fiercely. “I see how your uncle looks at you, he’s jealous. And I see how you look at him.” 

Rhaenyra looked almost offended. “I did love him, once. All I see now is his jealous and bitter side. You know, he was the one who told me to look for a husband.” She chuckled to herself. “At the time, I didn’t see it but he wanted me to marry him. And now he’s angry I didn’t choose him.”

“So, why didn’t you? Why not get rid of the babe, leave me behind, and wed him?” Jerrel asked bitterly. 

She took his hands into his own and shook her head, exasperated. “You damn imbecile, it’s because I love you.” 

“I should’ve said it earlier, I should’ve acted like I did, I know. I was still hung up on the idea I would marry Daemon one day.” Rhaenyra regretfully admitted. “But now, it is you that I cannot be apart from. Jerrel, you don’t speak in honeyed words or riddles, you tell it how it is. You don’t treat me differently because I’m a royal princess. If anything, I think you treat me differently because you love me. If that’s not too haughty to assume.”

Jerrel beamed, “It’s not. I love you for similar reasons. You have a free spirit, you know what you want and grab for it. Instead of just doing what you think you should do. Albeit you are a little inconsiderate sometimes.” He taunted her. 

Which made her snicker when he was still talking, “I am glad you chose me, Rhaenyra, despite everything.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, “And I would do it a thousand times over.” 

She went up on her toes to kiss him, her hands still in his. Bracken returned it, but the two separated due to another’s voice. 

“Ah, Rhaenyra, I was wondering where I might find you.” The King chirped happily. “Come, there’s much to discuss.”

‘I forgot we still need to tell him,’ she groaned to herself and looked at him, worried. 

They caught up with him, walking through the halls. “It seems you two are quite taken with each other.” Viserys gushed. 

“We are, we can’t keep our hands off each other,” he said without thinking. Earning a slap on the arm from her. 

“Well you better, I wouldn’t anything uncouth to happen between you two.” He wagged his finger. 

“About that, Father,” she said gravely. “Might we discuss something in private, just the three of us?”

His smile dropped, “Of course daughter, I’ll introduce him to the court later.” 

‘Oh, please don’t make me go through that.’ Bracken bemoaned. 

They arrived at the King’s chambers, he dismissed the servants and Rhaenyra closed the door behind them. 

“What is it, dear?” He asked curiously. 

All she needed to say was something like, “I’m pregnant,” but the words were caught in her throat. Her hands clammy with sweat as she played with her rings, her heart beating furiously, and her stomach dropped.

Jerrel noticed her anxiety, took her shaking hand, and spoke up for the both of them, “We’re with child.” 

Viserys laughed in disbelief, hoping it was just a mere jest. But his face dropped once he realized it was no joke. “You’re serious? Rhaenyra, why him?” He asked with disdain. 

‘He thinks me below him, doesn’t he?’ Jerrel sniggered to himself. ‘ Well, if he wants me to play the part he thinks of me as...I will.’ 

“I wanted to put a child in her since I first saw her,” he declared with his chest huffed in pride. 

A horrible decision. For the King had attacked him with his regal, Valyrian dagger and shoved him to the ground in an instant. 

“You are no more than a second son of a house of bloodthirsty savages!” Viserys cried out in anger, pinning his shoulder with one hand and holding the blade to his neck. “Who are you to say such a thing?”

“Father, please! He never forced himself on me, our coupling was always loving and wanted.” She pleaded. 

“I have half a mind to give you moon tea, Rhaenyra!” The King scolded her. “Having this lustful, arrogant Bracken’s babe would be a curse to you and our family.”  

‘How could he ever say that this babe of ours would be his grandchild, and yet he disrespects it when it is still unborn.’ She thought resentfully, tears stinging her eyes. 

“You said I could choose, so I did,” She threw his words back at him, “I chose him, and I am also choosing to have this child, whether you like it or not.” 

Her father sighed before unpinning the young Bracken’s shoulder and sheathing his dagger. “Fine, but let me have the maester examine you at least.” 

She nodded, and not long after the old, half-bald man who had always been seemingly there scurried into her chambers as she lay down. 

He checked for her–now absent–maidenhead, sore breasts, growing belly bump, and questioned any signs of morning sickness and when her last moonblood was. 

“Your Grace,” he turned to the King, “All signs point to her being pregnant.” 

“How much longer till the due date?” The Princess asked as she held Jerrel’s hand. 

“When was the conception?” Mellos asked. 

“21 days ago,” Bracken answered with no hesitation. The Targaryens alike raised their eyebrows in suspicion, but Rhaenyra snickered. 

“Eight full turns of the moon before the babe is born then, Princess. Anything else, Your Grace?” He asked the King. 

Viserys shook his head, “No, thank you. Send letters to mine and Jerrel's kin alike to tell them the wedding will be in less than a fortnight.” His words were polite enough but his tone was stern and harsh. 

With that, the maester left, and her father soon followed suit. “We’ll begin preparations tomorrow,” he said coldly. 

Once the two were alone, she stopped biting back her tears and hunched over sobbing. She collapsed onto her bed, reverting to a fetal position. He wrapped one arm around her waist, a hand on her belly, and his knees locked with the back of her own. 

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier, to my friends, I shouldn’t have talked about you like that.” He remembered, feeling a pit of regret. 

“I could care less for that, I’m angrier at my father right now.” She bitterly said. “How could he say that to me, that our child would be a curse upon us, in front of you? It’s so disrespectful.”

“I know,” he said as if he was used to it or at the least expected it. 

“It’s like no one cares what I want, or what you want.” Rhaenyra confessed, “All they care about is my virtue and your station compared to mine. I could care less. I want this babe, I really do, and I want you to be my husband.”

“And I want you to be my wife. I wish for us to have a family together, in Stone Hedge, if you wouldn’t mind.” Jerrel confessed. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind, jorrāeliarzy,” beloved. 

‘Did she really just give me a nickname in Valyrian?’ He gushed to himself. But he kept his cool, “I’m glad you agree, Rhae,” he said before planting a kiss on her head. 

The two stayed like that for a time, embracing one another, as if they were the only ones in the world. And in a sense, maybe they were since it seemed like they only had each other.

Chapter Text

“I fear I must question you on a delicate matter, Ser Criston,” The Queen said as the knight was summoned to her chambers. Her babe, Helaena, was taken away by the wetnurses. 

Alicent didn’t want to believe the Princess lied to her, but her intuition kept her up at night. And she must have the full truth, from someone who was there, who was with them.

“I am your servant as always, my Queen,” he reassured.

“It concerns our dear Princess Rhaenyra,” she sat down on the window seat chair. “First of all, did you know that she is with child?” 

His eyes widened only for a split second, but his expression afterward told her everything she needed to know. He was surprised but it’s as if he almost expected this consequence. 

“No, I did not,” he said while walking closer to her.

So, she scooted over and patted down the spot next to her. To that, he set his sword aside and did as she bid. 

“You are her sworn protector and rightly loyal to her.”

Cole nodded, “I am.” 

“When she, Daemon, and Ser Jerrel returned, I overheard an argument between the Princess and her uncle.” Alicent stood up. 

“An argument about her betrothed.” The Queen turned to him. 

“She admitted that she was pregnant with his child. She swore they only coupled once and did nothing else.” She was now anxious, having the urge to mess with her fingernails. “But I’ve had my suspicions, due to how taken they are with each other, and knowing how Brackens naturally are, I wonder if maybe…” 

The words would not come out. “There was another time, another lapse of morals, I mean, that may have occurred between--It is of course, unthinkable to question the virtue of the Princess, whom I hold in the highest regard,” she clarified. 

“I did, however, wonder if….” Old habits die hard as she picks at her fingernails. “I’m not unaware that in the flush of youth, there may be errors made, breaches in resolve, breaches, or rather lapses--”

He interrupted her, his guilt of keeping secrets spilling out of him, “Your suspicions are correct, Your Grace.”

Alicent looked at him, her hands now at her side. 

“The sins you allude to. On the river galley, they often went into her chambers and coupled, to say the least. I was standing guard so I would hear them often,” he explained. 

Still picking at her nails, she turned around, her throat welling up. As she learned that her former best friend had lied to her in the godswood in the name of her dead mother. 

“Thank you for your honesty, Ser Criston,” The Queen regained her composure. “You may go.” 

-🐎-

A couple of days later.

In the spring of 114 AC, the dragon mated with the stallion for the first time as Jerrel Bracken took Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen to wife. Banners of scarlet beasts hung together on the Grand Sept’s walls, in or out, and side-by-side. 

He was a splendid groom, wearing a medallion-yellow doublet trimmed with brown rabbit fur, the red stallion of his house embroidered on his breast. And on his chest, there was a heavy golden chain with pearls embedded into a flower shape. 

Jerrel’s heart had been in his throat with clammy hands and a restless body. He dabbed his glistening forehead with his lace handkerchief. And was only eased by Little Baelon’s presence in the crowd, holding Daemon’s hand. His bright smile passed onto the lordling. His indigo eyes sparkled with laughter. No doubt happy that the man he came to think of as an older brother was joining his family by marrying the sister he adored. 

He didn’t even need to look into Daemon’s lilac to know that they were giving him a jealous stare. 

Jerrel’s breath had been taken away as he gazed upon his bride, The Realm’s Delight, fair and beautiful. ‘ I ought to thank whoever did her hair, a braid crown suits her,’ he smiled to himself as he saw her platinum braids form into a spiral on the back of her head. And across her forehead, a singular, oval ruby shined in her golden, downward-curved circlet. He wore a matching one, and picked the set out, after learning they were her grandparents’. She also wore a white dress with a dragon scale pattern and gold on the outlines with a portrait neckline and loose straps on her arms. But his only reaction to her gown was this, ‘It’s too bad it’ll be on the floor by the end of this.’ Her neck was adorned with an ornate, golden necklace. 

As father and daughter walked down the hall of the sept, she refused to look at him or even speak to him. Still angry about his harsh words against her husband and their unborn child. 

“We gather here today, in the sight of the Seven, to witness the union of man and wife.” The High Septon as he bound the hands of the Princess and the lordling in a ribbon of gules. The shared colour of the dragon and stallion. 

The seven vows were made, the seven blessings invoked, and the seven promises exchanged. When the wedding song had been sung, and the challenge went unanswered, it was time for the exchange of cloaks. 

Even as the King tenderly removed his daughter’s maiden cloak, she gave him not one smile, word, or even a glance. Instead, beaming at her husband as he wrapped her in the gold cloak, a great, scarlet stallion sewn onto it, passing from her father’s protection to his. An idea she rejected when her family was still whole and not divided by her father, uncle, and stepmother. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love!” Jerrel declared in ringing tones, holding his bride’s hand up. After Rhaenyra echoed the words, he pulled her close and kissed her long and deep. An embrace that would be considered indecent had they not been man and wife. Rainbow lights danced more about the High Septon’s crown as he solemnly declared Rhaenyra of Houses Targaryen and Arryn and Jerrel of House Bracken to be one flesh, one heart, and one soul. 

Rhaenyra and Jerrel made a regal couple, standing side-by-side between the towering, gilded statues of the Mother and Father. 

“Cursed be he who seeks to tear them asunder!” The High Septon warned, ironic, considering the looks of contempt the guests gave the couple. Including the irked King, the jealous Rogue Prince, and the bitter Queen. 

-🐎-

“It is with great pleasure that His Grace, King Viserys, announces the start of the royal wedding celebrations.” Ser Harrold Westerling’s voice rang out through the throne room. 

Her father was on the right of her, with little Baelon on his lap, as he was still too young to sit on one of the chairs and be able to look up and eat. The young prince had insisted on coming to his sister’s wedding, despite his younger siblings’ absences. She agreed, seeing as their time together was limited. 

“Hello, Lord Lion!” Baelon chirped happily as Lord Jason Lannister pranced up to the high table. 

The nickname only made him laugh, “Hello to you as well, my prince.”

“It’s Lord Jason, Baelon,” Viserys corrected his son. 

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” Lord Jason Lannister turned to the King. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.” 

‘He’s lying through his teeth,’ Rhaenyra thought to herself. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man to make me happy than Ser Jerrel.” She smiled at her father, putting on a show. 

Lannister scoffed, “Well if this is only the welcome feast, I admit, I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

“My daughter is marrying into a house of great influence and historical power. And she is the first to marry a Bracken, I wanted this to be a wedding worthy of them.” The King smiled at her but his eyes did not. 

Lannister’s face then dropped, “Where is the Queen? I had hoped to greet her as well.”

‘Where is she, now that I think about it? Alicent never took this long to dress,’ Rhaenyra pondered. 

“I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.” Viserys looked down upon the empty seat next to him. 

“This is why men wage war because women would never be ready for the battle on time.” Jason jested, seemingly proud of himself. 

‘If that’s true, then how come most men cannot see their own wives in the childbed? If they wage war and see so much blood, that is.’ She wanted to say, remembering her father telling her that men did not see their child be brought into the world more often than not. 

She rolled her eyes before saying in a polite tone, “Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” 

“Princess, Your Grace,” he bowed and dismissed himself. 

Then when the Hightowers were climbing up the stairs to greet them, Lord Gerold Royce stopped them and came up himself. “Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra, congratulations are in order.” 

“We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold,” her father said in response. “I must say, I was most distressed to hear of Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.” 

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Royce’s voice faltered, “Her kind is not soon to be seen again.” 

“If there is anything the Crown might do to aid House Royce--” Rhaenyra offered but before she could finish, the drums were pounding. 

Which was announcing the arrival of her Bracken bridegroom at last. 

“Lord Humfrey of House Bracken. Lord of the Stone Hedge. And his sons, Ser Amos Bracken, Heir of the Hedge. His lady wife, Perra Butterwell, and their daughter, Alys Bracken. And Ser Jerrel Bracken, Lord Humfrey’s second son, and the prince consort.” The Westerling knight’s loud voice was soon followed by the clapping of the guests. Perra Butterwell had been the niece of Lady Marla Strong, born as Marla Butterwell, making the Strong Sisters and Amos Bracken tied by marriage. 

The horse lords were a large and fertile bunch. Humfrey himself has two younger brothers and three sisters along with nieces and nephews, despite never taking a second wife. They all wore flowing gowns, tunics, and doublets of red and yellow with brown. 

After them, those of House Darry followed a smaller bunch with only a lord closer to Rhaenyra’s age with some children and his wife. The mother of Humfrey’s sons had been a Darry herself, and the current Lord’s sister. 

Viserys set Baelon aside as he and his daughter stood up to greet them. They all bowed to the royals, then Jerrel did, all on his own as his bride went over to greet him. The excitement in her step and a cheerful grin on her face. Bracken climbed the steps to meet her halfway, kissing her hand. “My wife,” he said, beaming at her. 

“My husband,” she echoed. Rhaenyra took his hand and led him to his rightful place at her side. 

‘Gods, it feels good to finally say that,’ they thought to themselves.

The guests clapped as Jerrel’s immediate family took their place on the left side of the table while his extended family, Brackens or Darrys, sat at the table nearest to them. His lord father was on his other side, then Amos with his wife and their four-year-old daughter on her lap. Humfrey and his late ladywife, both passed on their dark hair to their sons, with Amos having a shade of hickory instead of spruce like his brother, and laughing blue eyes from his father. His wife, Perra, had strawberry blond hair, and her daughter, Alys, had auburn hair with deep, sky-blue eyes. 

Then the smiles died as Daemon walked into the throne room with swagger. People who either feared his reputation believed the rumours of the cause of Lady Royce’s death, or just straight up hated him whispered to one another. 

The king gave the signal for the servant nearby to move Daemon’s chair to the end on the right. 

Viserys stood up to honour the house that would soon join with his. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honour one of Westeros’ most eminent houses. Reaching back to the Age of Heroes, when they ruled as river kings of the Red Fork. With House Targaryen and--” 

He was interrupted by Alicent, who had finally come at last. Wearing a dress of green, adorned with gold. 

‘I have half a mind to give her a nickname for making us wait so damn long,’ was all Bracken could think. Growing very impatient with her tardiness. 

People gasped and talked to one another as they gazed upon her. Although the reason why didn’t come to Jerrel until much later. 

“Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.” The Queen said curtly to Rhaenyra before kissing the King’s cheek and taking her place at his side. 

He gave all of them leave to sit down. He asked quietly to his Hand, Otto, who sat on his daughter’s other side, next to Daemon while the rivals sneered at one another without saying anything outright. 

“With House Targaryen and House Bracken united, I hope to continue this long-standing unifying peace with my family and the rest of Westeros.” The King finally finished his speech, being met with fervent claps and pounding on the table. “And after tonight’s small affair, there will be a tournament tomorrow, followed by another feast.” 

Jerrel caught the Rogue Prince glowering in bitterness and envy and gave him an arrogant smirk with squinting eyes. 

“You deserve my congratulations as well, Your Grace,” Jerrel raised a cup to Alicent, surprising them and everyone else as well. “For being the Late Green Queen.” He made a jape at her expense, to which she, His Grace, the King, and her father gave a snigger. The Rogue Prince gave a chuckle or two, while Rhaenyra and the Brackens had to stop themselves from laughing, young Baelon and Alys didn’t even attempt to do so, not understanding how mean-spirited the jest was. 

‘Gods, Jerrel, why do you have to be so diabolical sometimes?’ The Princess shook her head, trying to stop herself from cackling. 

But the Heir of the Hedge couldn’t keep it in as his own daughter giggled at her uncle’s joke, hardly understanding what it really meant. 

To distract everyone else from the insult, the king commanded the drummers to play and for the first dance to begin. 

Jerrel took Rhaenyra by the hand as they went to the floor, then separated. Spreading their arms wide, they mirrored and circled around one another. Their dance resembled the mating ritual of dragons; at the King and Princess’ insistence. ‘I am no dragon, but its mate. And our child shall have its blood.’ He told himself with pride. 

Then she admitted an embarrassing truth as they came close, “I never was much of a dancer.”

“It’s not much different from training,” he reassured, with a warm smile on his face.

“I shall hope for a different outcome then,” she replied with dry wit, making him laugh. 

She followed his example, their form resembling that of two men dueling one another, but with little hate and more love and joy. 

When the two were finished, the guests danced in celebration as well. But Rhaenyra had still been on the floor when Jerrel had gotten sick of the same old routine over and over again and had gone back to finish his plate. 

Baelon and Alys had been escorted out by wetnurses when they were full and drowsy. The Prince of Dragonstone made a fuss about being separated from his family, much to the embarrassment of everyone else. Although others just kept on dancing, either in chosen or blissful ignorance. 

The Princess danced with many, including Harwin Strong; Otto Hightower and his son, Gwayne; Corlys and his own, Laenor; Joffrey Lonmouth, sworn knight to the Velaryons; the Lannister twins and their cousin, Brett; Borros Baratheon; Amos Bracken, her goodbrother; and lastly Humfrey Bracken. 

She couldn’t help but notice his broad smile, identical to her husband’s, along with his more burly body, both traits he passed onto his son. He moved with more grace than she expected. Considering that she heard that Brackens liked to drink their fill.

“Is something the matter, Princess?” Lord Humfrey asked, concerned. 

She snapped back to reality and shook her head, “No, I’m alright. I just couldn’t help but notice the traits you and my husband both share."

He laughed, “Ah, yes,” Lord Bracken looked to his son, who was picking at his food, seemingly bored. “In my opinion, he always looked more like his mother.” 

‘There are Darrys here, alongside the Brackens. But Jerrel doesn't seem close with them, strange.’ She pondered as she observed him.

“What was she like,” she asked abruptly. 

He sighed and smiled, “She was a beauty, Jennalyn Darry, the only daughter of Lord Darry. She had dark hair like spruce and eyes like the Green Fork.” 

Rhaenyra tried to imagine what she looked like, it was a bit difficult, but she couldn’t imagine she would look much different from her husband. 

“I fell in love with those features, and so did you. As others will with your children, at least I hope.” Humfrey gave her a warm smile. 

“That day will come sooner than you think, Lord Bracken,” she said without thinking. Unable to take back the words. 

Humfrey was puzzled, but seemingly already knew, “You don’t mean that you’re with…” 

She only had to nod to answer him, he was taken aback but promised her this, “I will tell none else.”

With that, she left the floor. 

The Valemen did what he wanted to do earlier and approached Daemon at the high table. 

“In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes, even Targaryens.” He declared with little context. 

“Who are you,” Daemon asked. 

‘Is the bronze breastplate with the runes not enough of a good hint? Or is there not little else in that head besides bloodlust?’ Jerrel wondered. 

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone,” he answered. 

“And?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“I am cousin to your late lady wife,” he spat out venomously. 

“Ah, yes, a terrible thing. I’m positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” He feigned innocence, so unconvincing it made Bracken want to howl with laughter, covering his smirk with his hands. 

“You know better than anyone, it was no accident,” Royce disagreed.

“Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” He tried to turn the tables. 

“I am making an accusation,” he said curtly. 

“You know in King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders.” Daemon looked over to his older brother. Who was (gods bless him) very puzzled, “Even old, bronze cunts like you.” 

‘If that was true, Otto Hightower would’ve been thrown into the cells or had his head chopped off by now,’ The groom thought to himself. 

“The truth is, I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance,” Daemon declared. 

“What inheritance?” Royce’s eyebrows knitted. 

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone, did she not? After my niece’s wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I’ll see you there, Ser Gerold.”

Royce only scowled as he walked away, Hightower next to the Rogue Prince bearing a similar expression. 

But Bracken had other ideas he wanted to voice when he still had the chance. “Wait, Ser Royce.”

He turned around, surprised but annoyed, “What is it, Ser Jerrel?”

“What if Baelon were to take a Royce to wife?” He asked. 

“The boy is no more than four,” Viserys said, bewildered. 

“I don’t mean now, Your Grace,” he sassed. “I mean when he’s older. His mother was an Arryn, yes? Wouldn’t it be good to re-establish ties with the Vale? And besides, the Royces are loyal bannermen to the Arryns, surely they wouldn’t object to such a match.” 

Ser Gerold was taken aback, “I…Her brother does have a young daughter of his own, Annika, she’s around his age.” 

“How old?” The King asked. 

“Six, only two years older,” He responded. 

Viserys contemplated his choices, then decided to go with, “I’ll message her brother about it. Thank you, Ser Gerold.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” he walked away, satisfied with himself.

“Good job,” Jerrel’s goodfather mouthed to him, making him flush with pride. 

But the bride had returned to the table, her steps clumsy. “I think, now is the time for the bedding ceremony!” And from the sound of it, she was clearly filled with drink. Her announcement gained some attention but not enough to really embarrass him. 

‘A bedding ceremony? Gods, she is drunk if she thinks she can announce that without telling me first.’ Jerrel thought resentfully. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he spat as he stood up, leaning on the table, “But I didn’t realise that there would be a bedding ceremony.” 

She approached him, hubris in her every step. “What, husband, you don’t want to share a bed with your wife?” She said, grinning. 

“You know that’s not what this is about, Rhaenyra.” He lowered his voice. Feeling hot shame on his cheeks as he glanced at Daemon dancing with Lady Laena. 

“It’s just a ceremony,” the Princess insisted. 

“No, it is not. Not when Daemon’s going to be touching you and groping-” 

His wife cut him off, “Then, he won’t participate. In fact, he seems quite taken with Lady Laena.” 

Bracken bit his tongue and forced himself to deal with it, “Fine.” 

On her face, she wore a cocky smile, then turned around to the crowd and took his hand in hers, “Guests, it’s time for the bedding ceremony you’ve all been waiting for!” 

Everyone cheered and pounded on the tables, as they started to gather in pools around the bride and groom. 

“Not, you, Daemon,” Rhaenyra wagged her finger as she walked to the Rogue Prince, “Sorry uncle.”

“Ah, don’t be, I have another lady that needs my attention,” he grinned as he glanced at Velaryon, who invited him with only a smile over her shoulder. 

‘Thank the gods he’s not too mad at being refused,’ Rhaenyra was relieved. 

“Ladies, I hope my husband isn’t as heavy as he looks,” The Princess taunted him as the women started lifting him up. 

“Fuck you, Targaryen,” Jerrel responded without thinking. 

“Remember?” She cocked her head as she went into the air. “It’s Bracken, now.”

‘Damn, right,’ he wanted to say but kept his tongue. 

Both felt the urge to slap away the leering, groping hands that crudely tried to take their clothes off as they escorted them to their shared bedchambers. A squeeze at a breast, groynes, and arses alike. ‘Hands that need to be cut off,’ Jerrel thought to himself. 

The torment ended temporarily before the guests shoved them into the room and closed the door behind them. Rhaenyra’s braids and dress alike were falling to her shoulders. 

“Do you want me to finish taking that off for you?” Rhaenyra referred to his doublet while grinning at him with hands behind her back. 

“If you would be so kind,” he answered. 

She gave a scoff before she unbuttoned the bronze clasps depicting horse heads. Then going on her toes to kiss him. Hands gripping his hair while his own held her waist. 

Most of the guests from the bedding ceremony had left, but some that were peskier stayed and gave suggestions outside the door. Most went unnoticed, but it was really starting to tick Bracken off, ‘Can’t these cunts shut up already?’ 

Of course, he decided the only way to do that was…pick the Princess up by the legs and slam her into the door to startle the others. Rhaenyra winced from the pain, but it soon passed as her pleasure overcame her. The bold deed scared the rest of them away, leaving them in peace. 

Then once they were gone, she dropped her legs around him to the ground, turning around so his hurrying fingers could unlace her white dress. Already halfway undone by the people that carried them off to their bedding. Letting it slide to the floor as he moved onto the layers of small clothes underneath as she turned back around, which soon joined the dress. His woolen braies had already been untied by Rhaenyra. 

She stopped kissing him to clutch his hand in hers and dragged him to bed. After she collapsed on it, his wife invited him with nothing but laughter and a blush on her cheeks. Tongues were sopped as they joined with clashing teeth. Bracken kissed her until their lips were cracked and dry, going in to bite the flesh on her neck and collarbones, moving ever southward, making red marks turn purple or blue. Her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. Rhaenyra’s moaning and groaning beneath him only hardened him. 

“Please just get on with it already,” she demanded. 

Jerrel chuckled, “Impatient, are we? I’m not some beast with no thoughts in his head, I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“And I won’t be, because of what’s in that drawer,” she broadly smiled, her tongue licking the tip of her teeth. 

“Are you telling me there’s oil in there?” Jerrel asked, chuckling.

She nodded, waiting as she opened the drawer and rummaged through it. Being surprised (and relieved) when he actually found the vial. “You sneaky little…” Bracken smirked before he kissed her, with her smiling into their embrace. 

Ready and as naked as their namedays, he opened it and spread some on his fingers. Jerrel straddled and kissed her as he slid them in, despite their familiarity, the stretch burned as soon as it passed. Her fingernails clawed into his arms as he curled into that spot, over and over. And he would not stop unless she asked him to, and the Princess didn’t until she gave out a great cry as she felt euphoria. Her legs were spasming as her orgasm coursed through her and her veins. 

When she calmed down, he took his fingers out, planted a kiss on her cheek, and sat up. Unsure of whether to continue as Jerrel searched for the answer on her face. After a small nod, he started inserting his cock slowly. As if she were, like most noblewomen, a maid on her wedding night. It stretched and burned even more than his fingers but it was a pain she welcomed nonetheless. He leaned over and kissed her deeply, hoping to ease her discomfort. 

Rhaenyra broke off to give the signal to start moving. When he did so, her energy from before came back to her as her legs hugged his waist and her nails clawed his back. His hands had an iron grip on her hips, and his thrusts became faster and harder than the last. The sounds of the bed squealing and them, with their groans and moans, filled the room in a harmonius song. 

This was the experience Jerrel wanted back in Maidenpool, not some cheap way to get off by doing it in the back. To be able to see her face scrunched up in pleasure, not being able to intake all of the sensations. To see how they affected each other, hell even the scars he would have after this would be reminders of a beautiful memory. Those things just weren’t possible unless you made love in this specific position. He only hoped she would see that as well. 

Jerrel felt familiar tingles run up his spine, and his breathing was rapid and shallow, “Rhaenyra I-” 

“Am going to release?” She answered for him as if she had read his mind. “Then do it inside me.”

“But-”

“I don’t care what your excuse is, do it inside me,” she demanded. 

With her permission, he gave one final thrust, his grip on her tighter than before. Once the fleeting moment passed, he reached down to kiss her as she milked him dry. Both of their wishes were granted. 

Jerrel pulled out and rolled over to the other side of the bed, his chest heaving. 

His wife looked over at him and said out of the blue, “Hosting that tour was the best decision of my life.” 

Bracken laid on his side, met her gaze, and smiled, “And attending it was the best decision of mine.”

Chapter Text

The next day

The men shot their arrows and clanged their weapons in the archery and mêlée contests. Raylon Rivers, the Bastard of Stone Hedge, came out on top against Garibald Grey and Qarl Chambers. Criston Cole excelled in the latter with his morningstar. The two men were given 8,000 and 9,000 golden dragons for winning the contestants. A joust to follow soon afterward. Where the prize money was 20,000 and 10,000 golden dragons depending on if you were the champion or a runner-up. Although much more was being spent amongst the spectators as they placed their bets. 

The Kingsguard and City Watch entered in equal numbers, five each, while the others were minor lords from the Crownlands, Riverlands, or other regions. 

The Princess wore a black, long sleeve dress patterned with golden floral designs and a scarlet stallion embroidered on the bodice, cut in a boat neckline. Myrish lace was put along the sleeves and the hem of her skirts. She also wore yellow jade earrings from Yi Ti. Thick strands of her silver-gold hair were braided in two behind her ears. The rest of her locks curled as well and tumbled against her shoulders. And atop her head, was a black hood outlined with gold. 

Her husband wore a matching doublet of black and red and a smaller golden chain embedded with rubies and citrine. 

Baelon wore a sable, small doublet as well but a grey-colored Targaryen patch was embroidered on it. 

The Queen wore a green hairnet with pearls. Her long-sleeved, empire-style dress was the same colour and had a square neckline. There was a white underdress beneath it, and on her neck was an emerald trapped in a golden circle and pearls. 

People took notice and were whispering and theorizing about fashion choices. 

It wasn’t time for the tilts, at least not yet, the men still had favours to gain. Amos Bracken, naturally as the Princess’ goodbrother, went first to his wife, Perra, who gave him a crown of yellow and white daisies. Jerrel’s companions, Garibald Grey and Qarl Chambers went next and were handed crowns of blue and red by the Strong Sisters, much to the amusement of everyone else. Due to Ser Lonmouth’s close relationship with the Velaryons, it was unsurprising when he had turquoise poppies and a black ribbon on his lance. Laenor asked for his own sister’s and was granted a crown of turquoise poppies and silver ribbon. 

But, jealousy coursed through Jerrel’s veins the moment that Ser Harwin had stopped at Rhaenyra. “Princess, if you would be so kind, may I wear your favour as good fortune?” 

She gave him a grin and tossed down her bundle of red carnations with yellow ribbon down his lance. Rhaenyra looked over to her seething husband, “I hate when you do that,” he mumbled.

“What, flirt with other men?” She batted her eyelashes and asked innocently.

“Yes, it makes me jealous, you know, to see my wife enjoying the attention of other men who are clearly interested in her.” He answered. 

“Ser Harwin?” She laughed, “You’re ridiculous, I would never leave you for him.”

“Then why do you do this?”

“Because it amuses me to make you jealous,” she raised an eyebrow and her grin grew wider. 

Jerrel only rolled his eyes and looked for the contestant that caught his eye, Ser Criston Cole. The Kingsguard knight, as the queen’s sworn shield, asked for Alicent’s crown of white roses and green ribbon.

Rhaenyra and Jerrel shared a look that conveyed their curiosity at a certain absence. But quickly forgot about it when the first two were announced, making the couple howl with laughter, “Oh gods, Qarl and Gary entered the lists, against each other? Was being humiliated at archery not enough for them?” Jerrel said through tears. 

“I guess not,” Rhaenyra responded. 

“Ser Garibald of House Grey, son of the landed knight, Ser Gerold Grey-eyes, sworn to House Bracken of Stone Hedge.” The announcer bellowed for the knight in shining steel with a chequered shield of white and green that depicted grey eyes within rings of gold. “Against Ser Qarl Chambers, son of the landed knight, Ser Jon Chambers, sworn to House Bracken of Stone Hedge.” Qarl’s shield was green with a red wavy stripe. Both of their fathers were hedge knights before being permanently sworn into the service of Lord Humfrey Bracken’s father in exchange for a keep within a land in Stone Hedge terrority. 

The two best friends were the first to compete, and Grey Gary was the first to lose to Qarl. Much to the howling laughter of Jerrel and Rhaenyra. In their fits of laughter, Rhaenyra realised something. "You know, a dragon pit might have to be built."

"A dragon pit?" He raised an eyebrow, "Do you intend to acquire more than one?"

"No," she scoffed, "A dragon has only one rider and vice versa. I mean for our children." 

He froze, "I forgot about that."

"About children?" She asked incredulously.

Jerrel shook his head, and gestured towards her stomach, "No, not about the children. Just about the fact that they would have dragons."

Her laugh was loud enough to draw the eye of others, who glanced at them curiously. 

The rules of the tournament were different from normal. Someone was only allowed one round at a time. And two completely different jousters would compete next, and on and so forth until the final two undefeated went against each other. 

The next two were Ser Harwin Strong, Captain of the City Watch, and Ser Lorent Marbrand of the Kingsguard. With their shields of blue, red, and green stripes on white and the burning tree on grey, they tilted and Harwin prevailed. 

Then the Rogue Prince against Willis Fell of the Kingsguard, who bore a shield of black with a white crescent moon above green spruce. Daemon, unsurprisingly, won. 

The Cargyll twins competed against each other, with Erryk winning. 

The Riverman Lymond Mallister, a close family friend of the Brackens, tilted and won against Ser Balon Brych of the City Watch. 

And rumoured lovers, Laenor Velaryon and Joffrey Lonmouth, who wore the favours of the Velaryon women. The latter was victorious as he had more experience, but there was no animosity between the two men. 

Jerrel and Rhaenyra perked up when Ser Amos was announced to go against Ser Gwayne, the second son of the Hand of the King. They were evenly matched, with Gwayne having experience from his time in the City Watch but Amos was an expert in jousting because of his natural ability with riding. And so Bracken won against Hightower to the cheer of the Princess and her husband. 

The former hedge knight Luthor Largent went against the son of a steward, Criston Cole, both lowborn and the half-Dornish man succeeded. 

That was the end of the first round. Where half were eliminated and half weren’t. There was a half-hour break for the remaining to recover. 

Rhaenyra wished to ask Daemon why he hadn’t asked for any ladies’ favour, but her husband refused, wanting to go seek out the archery winner, his half-brother, to introduce him. They looked high and low but as if he had heard a ghost, he was stunned and quickly ran back. His wife was dumbfounded and pestered him about it, but he wouldn’t say a word. 

Before they knew it, the tournament resumed. And the first to go was Qarl and Erryk Cargyll. He fell against the older, more experienced man. 

Lymond Mallister was tilted against the Rogue Prince. 

Then came a shocking fight, two firstborn son-heirs and Rivermen pitted against one another: Amos Bracken and Harwin Strong. Unfortunately (and ironically enough), Strong unhorsed Bracken, and his foot was caught up in the stirrup as he fell, and pulled his horse on top of him, crushing his leg. 

‘He definitely won’t be able to ride again,’ Rhaenyra thought drolly. 

Jerrel huffed and felt the urge to scream at him. 

But the aftermath of the next match was even more shocking and even more bloody. Criston Cole was going against Joffrey Lonmouth, but his lance was driven through the fellow Stormlander’s throat, killing him instantly. Making the Heir of Driftmark cry out, the loudest against all the gasps. 

It happened in an instant but it repeated itself over and over again in their minds. The blood gushed out from his neck and stained his shining steel. That combined with Laenor’s cry made her gut twist and turn. 

“Jerrel,” her face was paler than normal. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.” 

He nodded and took her hand, “Let’s go then.” 

The two Brackens pushed their way through the crowd, the rest of their family looked at them concerned but they paid them no mind. It seemed like an age before they arrived at the nearest tree and she hurled there, while he pats her back and looked away. 

“That was horrific,” she cringed. 

“Our child agrees,” he tried to make light of the situation. 

Rhaenyra laughed and nodded, “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Do, you want to go back?” He asked her. 

“Not yet, I want to look for Daemon,” she explained. 

‘I almost forgot, he’s been strangely absent from us today,’ Jerrel remembered. 

They looked in the green fields and in the barracks where the men ate but couldn’t find him anywhere. “It’s like he’s intentionally avoiding us,” she sighed to her husband. 

“Maybe he’s still brooding about your fight with him,” Jerrel suggested. 

She shook his head. “No, he would’ve been rude to me during the wedding last night if he still was. I think he’s gotten over it.” 

‘Or Lady Laena distracted him enough to soothe any anger for the moment,’ Bracken speculated, then it dawned on him. ‘Wait, Lady Laena!’ She’s the reason why he’s been avoiding them and the other women in the crowd. Now a dreadful feeling came over him, wasn’t the Sea Snake’s daughter betrothed to the Braavosi Sealord’s son ever since Viserys rejected her? This couldn’t be any good. 

Rhaenyra noticed that he stopped in his tracks, and looked back at him with downward eyebrows, “Are you okay, Jerry’?” 

He snapped out of it, “Of course I am, Rhae. It’s just…” 

She tilted her head to listen to what he would say next. 

He took a deep breath out, “I have this dreadful feeling that something bad is going to happen.”

“Tell me about it,” she encouraged him. 

“You know how Daemon was enamoured with Lady Laena?” 

“Yes,” she recalled. 

“What if the reason he didn’t ask for anyone’s favour was that he intends to win and crown her as the Queen of Love and Beauty?” Jerrel confessed. 

Her magenta eyes widened in realisation. “Oh, no, she’s already promised to the Sealord’s son. This could mean disaster if you’re right.” 

“Let’s pray I’m not.” 

When they started walking back, Jerrel noticed Raylon Rivers, his half-brother. Upon closer inspection, he was tall and brown-haired just like the other two and their shared father. Although the locks that went to his chin were a chestnut shade. He was shorter than both as well, skinnier too, more lithe than stocky. But younger than both, seeing no more than seven-and-ten name days. And his eyes were a different colour altogether, a twinkling brown. His eyes and build were the only traits inherited from that woman who warmed Humfrey’s bed all those years ago. 

“Hey, Ray, I wanted to congratulate you on the archery,” Jerrel said while hugging his brother. “I also wanted to introduce you to your other goodbrother, dear.” 

She smiled and curtsied. “The pleasure’s all mine, I’m sorry we couldn’t meet sooner. I wish you had been at the feast yestereve.” 

The two looked at each other and laughed nervously. “Um, Your Grace, I wasn’t there cause it would shame House Bracken. I’m a bastard.” 

Rhaenyra burned hot in embarrassment once she realised. “Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t even…” 

“It’s okay, it’s easy to forget since I participated in archery and melee. I was allowed to compete in the lists but not attend the feast.” He explained. 

“Right, let’s switch to another topic,” she saved herself. “Wait, is Amos in there?” She pointed to the little building nearby. 

He nodded his head, “Yeah, I was going in there to help him. You’ll probably be wanting to see him, huh?” 

They nodded and Raylon led them inside. Where Amos was being treated by a maester, with his father, wife, and daughter by his side. Lord Mallister from before was walking out, but quickly bowed to the Princess and her husband in greeting. 

“Amos!” Jerrel ran over to him and hugged him. Making his older brother make a guttural chuckle. 

But her husband’s rage returned to him. “How dare he, Harwin’s house is young and up jumped compared to the most ancient and noble House of Bracken!”

Her wording made her giggle, he certainly was proud of his lineage. 

“Oh, don’t be, I’ll find other things to do,” Amos tried to console him. 

“Yes, but riding is an integral part of our identity! I’d dare say that horses are what dragons are to the Targaryens.” 

“Now, that’s a bold claim,” she smiled and put a hand on her husband’s arm. “But, I wouldn’t worry too much, Jerrel. It’s not like Ser Harwin meant to cripple him. He’d probably thought he’d break a collarbone.” 

He exhaled, “You’re right, Rhae. Let’s just talk about something else.” 

“You’re right, we should,” she agreed and seized an opportunity. “Why did you stop in your tracks when we were looking for Raylon earlier?” 

Everyone’s faces went white. Her husband coughed while her good brother looked away in shame as he blushed. “To be honest, I was busy taking a roll in the hay. He must’ve overheard,” Raylon answered truthfully. 

“Thank you for that,” he said with a venomous droll. “You can’t keep your cock in your breeches. Especially when there’s a man with a decent arse around.” 

“And you can’t either,” Amos raised an eyebrow and grinned. “At least not according to the rumours I’ve heard.” 

Their jaws dropped, “What rumours?” 

“Qarl and Gary wouldn’t shut up about it during the feast. Although to be fair, they included her in their daydreams of those Strong Sisters. Saying that all three of them were lucky to have women like you interested in them.” 

‘Wait, my handmaids are interested in my husband’s companions? I guess I have an even bigger excuse to take them with me now,’ Rhaenyra pondered. 

“Those dimwits,” her husband ground his teeth, “If they even associate themselves with those girls, I swear I’ll--”

“You’re being ridiculous Jerrel,” The Princess bluntly stated. “Those girls have no quarrel with you or Amos.” 

“I’d listen to your wife if I were you,” Perra cut in, “She’s got some sense.” 

“Thank you, Lady Perra,” Rhaenyra gave her gratitude. And a coy smirk came onto her face. “As for Raylon, say, was the man you bedded earlier Ser Laenor? Because you might want to consider comforting him tonight.” It was a thought that she shouldn’t have even had, much less spoken of, but something about the atmosphere made her comfortable to do so. Maybe it was the playful teasing of the brothers and how they treated it like water off their backs. 

Everyone scoffed and went red. “Your Grace, my niece is here!” 

“Oh, Alys isn’t paying attention is she?” Rhaenyra laughed and looked at her good brother's daughter. Who was sitting in her mother’s lap and playing with a wooden horse. 

She looked up in curiosity, “What is it, Princess?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing, you go back to playing with that horse of yours.” 

Raylon leaned in and whispered, “Ser Lonmouth’s body isn’t even cold yet and you speak of this?” His suppressed laughter made her chuckle even more in turn. 

“I mean it’s not a bad idea if what my husband says is true.” She defended herself. “And being in their service might grant you a knighthood. I know Ser Laenor was granted one after his efforts in the Stepstones. He could use a squire.” 

Jerrel snickered at the thought of the Sea Snake’s son being squired by a young man much taller and stronger than him, but only two years younger. It made for an amusing image.

“Hay-rolling aside, it’d be killing two birds with one stone,” Lord Humfrey shrugged. 

“I think you should consider writing to him, Ray,” Amos suggested. 

“Fuck that, warm his bed and you’ll be sure to become a knight,” Jerrel bluntly declared, making everyone else howl in laughter.

Then the loud trumpets were heard from outside, signalling the beginning of the last round, the semi-finals, and the finals. The others rushed outside while Amos stayed behind with his young daughter. His wife wanted to as well but he dismissed her, not wanting Perra to miss out.

Everyone was bouncing with excitement, the semi-finals were composed of some of the finest fighters: The Kingsguard Ser Criston Cole and Ser Erryk Cargyll and the City Watch, Ser Daemon Targaryen and Ser Harwin Strong. It was announced that Cole would joust against Strong. The crowds were chanting, “Breakbones!” over and over again, much to the fury of Jerrel and the rest of the Brackens. 

“I hope Ser Cole kills the man,” Jerrel grumbled with his arms crossed. 

“Want to make it a bet?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping it would cheer him up. 

“Let’s change it to just Cole beating him. As much as I want him to perish right now, I don’t think Strong’s going out anytime soon.” 

“How many dragons?” She demanded, getting out her coin pouch. Which was getting bigger as she consistently bet on Daemon winning his battles. 

Jerrel thought for a moment, not wanting to take too much of a risk but wanting to get some of that dowry money back. “Let’s say about…1,000 dragons.” 

“2,000,” she refused and negotiated.  

“1,500.” 

“Deal,” husband and wife shook on it. Jerrel for Cole and Rhaenyra for Strong. 

They, and everyone else, were trembling in excitement and anxiety. Worried that Ser Criston Cole would take yet another life on the field. 

He didn’t, he merely unhorsed Ser Harwin after three tilts. But not before his lance broke his collarbone and shattered his elbow. The Brackens and Darrys cheered and bellowed. Calling him, “Criston the Unbowed” as a reference to his Dornish ancestry from Martell’s words, ‘Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken.’ 

Although there was a part of Rhaenyra that feared he would send yet another man to the Stranger. 

“And my money, Your Grace?” Jerrel leaned in and held his hand out. 

She howled in laughter at the strange use of the formal title. She counted out the coins she owed him and put them in his hands. 

Then came the next competitors, Daemon Targaryen vs Erryk Cargyll. While the Kingsguard certainly held up his own but fell to him as all the others did. 

They were given a 10-minute break to recover, at which time, the Strong Sisters went to comfort their brother.

“Do you think he’s going to…” Rhaenyra couldn’t even finish her sentence. She didn’t even want to think about the pain her companions would go through if their older brother died. 

“No,” her husband shook her head. “A blow like that wouldn’t kill him unless he was young or weak. The wound’s in his collarbone, not his throat. At worst, he won’t be able to use his arm.” 

Those were some words of comfort, but you never knew on days like these. The last tourney she attended was the day her mother died. 

Jerrel seemed to sense the source of her unease, “This isn’t just about Ser Joffrey, is it?” 

Rhaenyra cast her gaze downward and played with her rings, particularly the silver one on her right that Aemma passed onto her. Which had a painted white falcon on blue lazurite. He noticed and put his hand in hers, caressing his thumb. 

They didn’t need to exchange words to comfort each other. A gentle touch like this was all that was needed, and for that the Princess was grateful. 

Then the announcer shouted for the joust everyone was waiting for, “For the finals: Prince Daemon Targaryen versus Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard.” 

Both rode out with pride in their step and demeanour, for they were unmatched for most of the tournament.

And it wasn’t until now that both had remembered their speculations from before. A dreadful feeling came about in their chests. 

‘Please win this round against Daemon, Ser Cole.’ They thought in unison. 

He did not. 

Cole tilted with Daemon three times before he was unhorsed on the fourth try. 

“Maybe the gods didn’t listen because you still bet on Daemon.” Jerrel mocked her. “After all, who would answer the cries of a greedy hypocrite?” 

“Shut it,” she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. To that, he merely laughed. 

Now, the Rogue Prince and Criston the Unbent were striding over to reap their rewards of 20,000 and 10,000 golden dragons but only Daemon walked away with a crown, one of blue poppies and silver ribbon. 

And just as they feared, the smiles died and whispers took their place as he rode over to Laena Velaryon. “You are the only woman here worthy of being the Queen of Love and Beauty.” Was his justification. “So if you would have me, I’d like your hand in marriage.” He asked boldly. 

A folly, as the Sea Snake huffed and puffed in fury. But Laena quelled his anger and answered, “I am flattered, my prince, but I am promised to another.” 

Daemon scoffed but relented, “A shame, but my opinion of you has not changed.” With that, he rode away while Corlys gripped his chair. 

“She’s playing dumb,” Jerrel claimed. 

“No, she’s playing it smart,” Rhaenyra rebuffed. “Her father would be furious if he knew the truth of their relationship.”

“That’s what I meant.” He then leaned in and whispered. “At least we won’t be there to see what he does next.” 

She chuckled, “Very true.” 

They were then ushered out, to which Bethany and Gwenys quickly found them. “Who won?” The younger sister asked her. 

“My uncle, who then proceeded to crown the Sea Snake’s daughter as the Queen of Love and Beauty.” 

“No…” Bethany couldn’t believe it. “You’re not jesting?”

She shook her head, “Ask him if you don’t believe it.” 

They looked at him for confirmation, he nodded his head. “How’s your brother doing?” 

“The maester says his collarbone is broken, along with his elbow,” Gwenys explained, “At best, he’ll heal properly and be able to use his right arm again. But it’ll take a fortnight to do so.” 

“Are we not going to address the dragon in the room?” Bracken bluntly asked. 

Rhaenyra furrowed her eyebrows, “Syrax isn’t here.”

He sighed, “I meant a metaphorical dragon.” 

“Oh.” 

“Whatever are you rambling on about, Jerrel?” Bethany demanded. 

“That’s Cousin Jerrel to you, Bethany. After all, your cousin, Perra, is married to my brother, no?” He teased her with a laughing tone. 

Both sisters merely rolled their eyes and dismissed him. "Please explain this dragon in the room," Bethany demanded. 

"What's going on between you two and Qarl and Gary?" Rhaenyra had a coy smirk. 

Both women blushed and looked away. Gwenys was the first to speak, "They may have flirted with us...one or two times." 

"When we weren't looking?" Jerrel inquired. 

"I mean it was your wedding, you were probably too deep in your cups to notice." The younger spat back. A surprise to none, she had a certain snarky wit about her which was delightful or an annoyance depending on who you were speaking to. 

"Oh haha, very humourous," he said sarcastically. "Was it just that?" 

"Yes," Bethany insisted, "Yes we conversed at the wedding, as our family was sat next to theirs. Nothing untoward if that's what you mean." 

"Some people are gentlemen," Rhaenyra agreed with her, before taking a jab at her husband, "Unlike you." 

He at first scoffed but joined in laughter with the ladies. "Qarl and Gary just don't have what it takes to charm a woman into their beds." 

They continued in conversation before being called over by Viserys to finish the celebrations. 

-🐎-

That night

They were in the Dragonpit, waiting for the rest of Rhaenyra’s family to meet them there. She changed her clothes to leather, and told him to do the same, for reasons she couldn’t say, and avoided it with a coy smile. 

She was introducing Syrax and Baelon’s dragon, Ravenwing, to her husband. Both were released from their cages with permission from the keepers. He was petting the beat-gold dragon’s snout, who took to him almost immediately. 

“I think she likes me more than you,” Jerrel quipped. 

She laughed, “No, dragons just…reflect their riders. If I love someone as much as I do you, then she’ll love you as well.” 

He smiled warmly, “How about I meet Baelon’s pet next?” 

“Pet?” She was astounded. “A dragon is no pet.” 

“Really? Cause you all treat your dragons like they are.” 

“That’s because they’re our companions, not servants,” Rhaenyra explained, “You treat your friends well, no?” 

“Yes, because you should.” 

She gave him a look like he just answered his own question. But then moved on, “Anyway, it’s time for you to meet Ravenwing.” 

“Ravenwing?” He scoffed, “That’s an ironic name for a dragon.” 

“I named it, he got it after our mother died.” 

“When he was born,” Jerrel realised. “Is it the same colour as a raven?” 

“See for yourself,” she cocked her head towards the hatchling. It crawled out of its cage, frightened of the tall humans and the even taller dragon. It had dark grey scales, swirling with silver and ghostly white eyes. 

“What a stunning dragon,” he mused. 

“Right? A mount fit only for a king.” She perked up in pride. 

“Turn around,” Jerrel demanded. She did as he said, and she felt a cold, thick metal that could only be a necklace wrap itself around her neck. Rhaenyra looked down on it: it was a golden-plated plastron collier that had two large jasper gemstones of red and yellow, and on both was an engraved beast. The dragon and the stallion. There were also black and white pearls that were ingrained into the gold. 

“It’s beautiful,” she complimented him. 

Jerrel grinned, “Of course, only the best for my princess.” 

She blushed and smiled up at him. 

“Rhaenyra!” Her father called out to her. 

The two turned around to find the King, Queen, and their children, along with Baelon and Daemon. Viserys and his eldest son were smiling and waving. Baelon was four, Aegon was three, and little Helaena was almost one. Daemon was holding his eldest nephew, Viserys his second son, and Alicent her daughter. 

The King set his son down to embrace his daughter, “I’ll be sad to see you go, Rhaenyra.” 

As much as she resented him, she couldn’t find it in her heart to be cold toward him. “And I will be sad to leave you, along with Daemon and Baelon.” 

Hightower took notice of her words or her lack of words that was. Her expression was blank but an aura of bitterness came forth from her, anyone could tell. 

“All of us will miss you,” Viserys said, gripping her shoulders. “I am sad that I will miss the birth of my first grandchild.” 

“Wait, what?” Jerrel was shocked, ‘My goodfather won’t be able to travel in more than eight months for the birth of his daughter’s son?’ 

The two shared a look that spoke of an entire displeased conversation between them without words. 

“That’s regrettable to hear,” Bracken said with a sad smile on his face. “We’ll be sure to write to you.” 

They addressed Baelon next. She leaned down and tightly hugged her little brother. Rhaenyra was father and mother and sister to her brother, stepping in when the king wed his grief, and keeping him away from the Queen. And now she had to leave him behind in a vest of vipers. 

“Stay out of trouble, okay, Baelon?” She cupped his soft, baby face with her hands. His wide eyes of deep indigo were watering. ‘For your own sake,’ she wanted to finish it with, but decided not to. He was still so young and innocent, he didn’t need to know how the environment around him actually was, at least not yet. 

“I will, ‘Nyra,” he sniffled and wiped a stray tear with his hand.

“I promise to write letters to you,” she said, taking his small hand into her own. 

“I’ll be mad if you don’t,” he pouted, making her smile as she ruffled his blond hair, now more gold than silver. ‘More like an Arryn’s than a Targaryen’s,’ she mused. 

When Daemon leaned down to hug her, she whispered in his ear, “ Gaomagon aōha kivio, kepus.” (Keep your promise, uncle) 

“Hen rhinka, lēkianna,” (Of course, niece) he said back with certainty. 

After they finished, Rhaenyra held out her hand for Jerrel. “You’ve always wanted to know what’s it like to ride a dragon, no? Now’s your chance.” 

He grinned from ear to ear, this was a lifetime opportunity. ‘If you’d told me that I’d be in the skies a year ago, I’d tell you were a fool. But now…’ His heart was beating so fast, he could hear it. But there was an exhilarating rush in his veins. One that would only increase as he mounted the golden dragon and took to the skies. 

He held onto his wife tight, he was terrified but there was a certain wonder here: being above the city. The world looked small, it felt small. 

“Are we riding to Stone Hedge?” He shouted, the wind so strong it felt like it was making his voice quiet. 

She turned around and nodded to him. “We’ll be the first ones there.”

Jerrel smiled, teeth and all, laughing with pure euphoria. Up in the skies, he felt like a king, here with his beloved queen. 

It was her and him, him and her, them, together, for now, and forever.

Chapter Text

The next morning

Golden sunlight poured through the window and illuminated Rhaenyra’s silver hair. She felt compelled to wake up as she stirred and reached for her husband, who had left only a sinking gap in their bed. 

“Jerrel?” She said, still thinking he was there. 

“Ser Jerrel left a while ago, Your Grace,” a meek voice that belonged to a handmaiden answered. 

She jumped up, “Oh, good morning. Thank you for telling me, where is he?” 

“He’s out training with the master-at-arms, but you need to--”

The Princess bolted out the door in her nightgown before she could let her handmaiden finish. The courtyard wasn’t too far away from her chambers. She leaned against the railing as she scanned the yard for her tall and stocky husband. Rhaenyra found him through the sound of a mace clanging against a sword. 

He was shirtless, only wearing his breeches and his sturdy chest was soaked with sweat. Which incited a hot lust within her. 

Jerrel caught her staring and merely smirked, resuming his training. 

Sweat ran down his brow as the mace felt heavy in his hands. Where other men played at war with swords and even greatswords, he wielded a three-foot flanged mace, six-sided with leaf pattern cuts and made of iron, which required two hands to hold. 

His father asked him as a boy what kind of sword he would hold when he was older, and he said a mace, something tough and piercing, like the ones his ancestors used to defend their land. 

The knight’s beard and hair, which was tied back, were as grey as his eyes. He had ringmail under a brown cloak and wielded a regular steel blade. Clearly, he was an experienced fighter. 

‘Uncle says flanged maces can dent and penetrate some of the strongest steel. He will be a strong defender of Baelon’s claim, should it ever come to that,’ Rhaenyra pondered as she watched her husband closely. 

Bracken brandished it with ease. He didn’t fight in the same style that Daemon or any of the Kingsguard did, relying on speed and quick movements to overcome an opponent. 

As she observed, Jerrel absorbed the blows into the mace’s flanges, allowing the strikes from his opponent to catch steel—but then reverses the momentum, using his own strength in concert with the size of his weapon to press back against the opponent’s weapon until he dominates the parry, passing forward and forcing Gerold to retreat. He bides his time and uses it to his advantage. 

He held the mace to Grey-eyes’ face as he was on the ground. The old man laughed before saying, “I yield, gods Jerrel, at this rate you’ll be unstoppable.” 

He scoffed and smiled, “Thank you, Ser Gerold. I’m happy to hear you say that. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my wife.” 

Then he dismissed himself, putting a rough-hewn shirt on, and went to go meet Rhaenyra halfway. 

“Why did you leave our bed early?” She asked accusingly, crossing her arms. 

He laughed, “I had to polish my fighting abilities, of course. I wasn’t going to be gone for long. In fact, I thought you’d still be asleep by the time I got back. Doesn’t dragon riding exhaust you?”

“Yes, but our son seems to not care,” she quipped. 

‘Our son? She already knows its sex?’ He was baffled. “Yeah, maybe he’s an early bird. Speaking of which, how do you--” 

“Know what it’ll be? I had a dream last night,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “He had brown hair like you but I couldn’t see his face because his back was turned to me.” 

‘Oh, I forgot Targaryens can have precognitive dreams.’ But how could he? Their saviour from the Doom was perhaps the most famous dragon dreamer of all: Daenys. 

“But forget that, let’s go eat, I’m starving!” She grabbed his hand but he dragged her back. 

“In your smallclothes? No way, go change and then come back to me.” He demanded with a teasing tone. She laughed and walked away back to their chambers. He kept on going the opposite way until he remembered that he too, had to bathe and change out of his sweaty clothes. 

She was already there, and putting on her hose. “Jerrel, I thought you were--” Then her look turned into a disgusted scowl. “You better be bathing before I see you at that table. You smell disgusting.” 

“Of course, I was going to wash myself before eating, woman!” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to bathe without getting a change of clothes.” 

His change of clothes consisted of a brown tunic with a red stallion on yellow embroidered on it, along with darker-brown pants and riding boots, the latter was a staple among Stone Hedge’s fashion. 

“I’ll meet you at breakfast,” he bowed and left.

“Don’t be late,” she yelled as he went out the door. 

He only chuckled and turned his head to look at her, “Who am I, Queen Alicent?” 

The jape made her laughter so loud he could hear it down the hall. Making him smile to himself, laughing was one of sounds he most liked to hear, but hers was his favourite, and his to create. 

He asked the handmaids to draw a bath, and they scented the hot water with thyme and cinnamon. It was certainly a welcomed feeling, after the soreness of dragon rising last night. Which was exhilarating yes, but not without its pains. ‘How does Rhaenyra do this while still with child?’ Then it occurred to him that maybe because they were dragonriders, the Targaryens had more tolerance to pain; for how much they liked to claim they were not like the common men. 

After he was finished, he changed into his new clothes and walked down to the main dining hall, where his wife was already eating at the nearest chair to the right of the head. So he sat across from her and observed the food for today: hot bread, butter, and honey, blackberry preserves to also go along with it. A rasher of bacon and a soft-boiled egg. Rhaenyra had left the jam untouched, much to his confusion. 

“You know,” he started the conversation, “I’ve noticed lately that you haven’t been eating sweets all that much. You ate a slice or two of our wedding cake.” 

She looked up from her bitten egg and answered him. “You can also blame our child for that. I haven’t had the craving for any sweets ever since you impregnated me.” Rhaenyra emphasised with accusation. 

The tone only made him laugh. “We really are having a boy then.” 

“I shouldn’t blame you,” she sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m just frustrated that I can’t enjoy some of my favourite food anymore because I’m repulsed by it.” 

Then a notion came to his head, “We should name our son something really ugly to get back at him.” 

The Princess was bewildered. “What? These strange cravings will pass, if we give him the wrong name, he’ll be made fun of for the rest of his life.” 

“I’m serious,” Jerrel insisted. “Surely there’s some odd Valyrian names out there.”

She was silent for a moment, as if pondering something. “I mean there’s Aenar and Gaemon. I’ve also seen Aegor in a tome or two. Aethan’s the name of a powerful Velaryon lord. But I’d have to look at the naming conventions book on Dragonstone.” 

“Aegor…” he mused. “I like it, but it resembles Aegon too much.”

“Mayhaps for some grandchild then. What do you think of the name Aethan though?” Rhaenyra asked. 

He thought about it for a moment. ‘Aethan Bracken does have a nice ring to it.’ And the name was unique enough to only have been used at least once before. 

“I like it as well, but it would be best to get the thoughts of my family before it’s set in stone. After all, he’ll be living here with them.” Jerrel made his case. 

“True, speaking of namesakes, are you named for Ser Gerold?” She questioned out of the blue. “I couldn’t help but notice your names were really similar.” 

He nodded his head, and recalled the story. “Yes, I am. He saved my mother’s life when she was pregnant with me. She had a horse race with my father, as is very common here, but there was a collision with her palfrey. Had Gerold not been there to catch her, she probably would’ve broken her neck.” 

Her magenta eyes widened in shock. “That sounds an awful lot like Princess Viserra’s tale; except it ended with her dying.” She said with a droll tone. 

He was so shocked, he couldn’t help but laugh. Even if he felt guilty for doing so. “Excuse me for laughing at a princess’ death, but the way you said it was so--” 

“Funny?” She finished for him. “Gods I hope so. I’d hate for you to grow bored of your own wife.” 

Jerrel howled, “I could never tire of you, Rhaenyra.” 

Her lips broke out into a grin. 

“Oh, I just remembered. You mentioned building a dragon pit.” Rhaenyra recollected her memory of the day before. 

“Ah, yes, I was planning on having your dowry money being used to fund that. It’s certainly enough,” He reassured. 

“I’m confident in that, but how big would it be? Syrax won’t be the only dragon, you know.” The Princess had a coy smirk. 

‘That’s a subtle way to ask how many children I want.’ 

“Oh, I’ll make sure of that. Would three doors work? It’d be smaller than the dragon pit in King’s Landing for sure but--”

“That works for me,” she smiled. “I never planned on having too many anyway.” 

“Good, let’s go visit the castellan.” They quickly finished their meal and left. 

He took her hand and led her to the chambers of an elderly man with auburn, balding hair streaked with grey. He stood up to greet them and bowed his head, he also had brown crow eyes. “Ah, Jerrel, and you must be Her Grace, Princess Rhaenyra.” 

She held her hand out to make his acquaintance, “And you are?” 

“Ser Bernard Bracken, your good uncle,” he shook it. 

She squinted her eyes and tried to recall him from the celebrations, but couldn't. 

“You weren’t at the wedding, were you?” She realised. 

Bernard shook his head, “No, I stayed behind to manage the household. I was the only one to do so.” 

“Brackens do love a good gathering,” her husband grinned. 

Bernard only smiled exasperatedly at that response. “Anyway, what did you come here for, you two?” 

“We came to discuss what we want to do with my dowry,” Rhaenyra responded.

He tilted her head for them to explain further. 

“We want to build a dragonpit for Syrax, and for any others that follow.” She said confidently, putting her hand on her stomach. 

But the man merely raised an eyebrow in scepticism, “And you think the king will give you dragon eggs to be hatched and raised away from the Crownlands?”

She scowled at that, “And who said anything about the king? Syrax is a she-dragon, my lord. Any eggs she lays that hatch would need to be kept somewhere, no?” 

“That is true, but you do know that it takes two to dance, right?” Bernard shot right back at her. 

“Perhaps for man and other beasts, but dragons aren’t common like them,” The Princess claimed, “They are fire made flesh, and are linked to magic. They do not obey our laws.” 

The castellan merely scoffed, but seemed almost impressed. “You might be right, you may be wrong. In any case, this is a good idea.” 

“So you approve?” Jerrel asked hopefully. 

“Yes, we’ll begin construction as soon as possible, once I have the funds of course.” 

They smiled and skipped as they now had something to look forward to. 

But reality had hit her, the sum of 55,000 golden dragons was still on the Kingsroad with the rest of the Brackens. 

‘Dammit, why did I have to be impatient and leave early with Syrax?’ Rhaenyra cursed herself. If she had stayed behind, she could’ve had the chance to see the castles of Hayford and Stokeworth, even wretched Harrenhal, and danced on tables as she was in her cups. 

She’d always wondered what it would be like--to laugh and drink and whore until dawn rose. Things she would’ve never been allowed to do on account of her sex. 

Although, she didn’t see the appeal of sleeping with another man now that Jerrel rode into her life. 

“You seem sad, Rhae,” her husband took note, using that pet name that was almost annoying but endearing. “Is something the matter?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…” she trailed off, not wanting to burden him with her own rues. 

“You wish you had gone with them, don’t you?” He interrogated bluntly. 

She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. “Don’t tell me you can read minds now.” She asked drolly. 

He chuckled, “No, but I wish I did. So I reckoned we shared the same regrets.” 

“Why did you agree then? I wouldn’t have been angry if you rejected.” 

Jerrel rolled his eyes, “If you were in my boots, and you had the chance to ride a dragon with your wife no less, you would’ve chosen common activities like drinking and feasting?” 

“Yes,” she answered him adamantly. “I’ve had Syrax since I was a little girl but I’ve never been able to proper fun in a tavern.” 

“Really?” The notion seemed ridiculous, until he remembered, “Ah, I almost forgot you were born a princess. Of course such worldly pleasures seem wondrous to you.” 

They walked in silence like that for a moment, until her husband impressed an idea upon her. “How about this: we take advantage of the quiet without all of my explosive family around and I give you a proper tour of Stone Hedge? Both inside and out.” 

Her eyes widened in hope, “Even the village?” 

“The village included, yes,” he reassured. 

Thus, husband and wife went hand in hand as they went down corridors. Portraits and paintings and tapestries were depicted on both sides of the cold, grey walls. “That, there,” he pointed to a portrait of a brunette man with a close-cropped beard and a winged helm riding upon a russet horse. Golden scales on white with a blue border was his sigil. In his other hand was an earspoon spear. “Is Benedict I Justman, a King of the Trident. And a bastard of Blackwood and Bracken alike.” 

“Are today’s Brackens descended from him?” She asked.

“No, unfortunately, his line ended when Bernar II’s sons were killed by Qhored Hoare, an ironborn king. After the fall of the Justmans, the riverlands were never the same after that.” He mused ruefully, casting his eyes downward. 

But he quickly moved onto more happier subjects, but one tapestry in particular caught the Princess’ attention. One that depicts a Bracken shoving his spear up a merman. 

“What is it, Rhae?” Jerrel asked as he accidentally left her behind walking through the hall. 

“Nothing, it’s just, this tapestry is quite strange. Why shove your spear up through the arse rather than in the belly?” She said, perplexed.

“Hmm, that is quite strange. Why would-” Then his eyes widened in realisation, “Oh.” ‘That spear is no spear at all,’ he thought to himself. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She questioned. ‘That it’s portraying sodomy?’

“Let’s go look at the other tapestries,” he took her hand, trying to stray their minds away from the topic. 

The ones further down had nicknames like, “Bowbreaker, Ravenfeeder, and Ironheart” attached to the people depicted. 

After the tapestries and portraits, he went to a bedchamber near hers. It was around the same size and had a bed with a yellow blanket and canopy veils lined with red outlines and details. At the foot, a huge box, presumably for possessions. On the desk near the window with sunlight spilling out were a couple of books. She looked at the spines, one was the Seven-Pointed Star --as expected--another A History of House Bracken, the same one she had been reading back at the keep before she left. A wooden cradle was next to the bed as well. 

“Whose chambers are this?” She turned to ask him. 

“Our son’s,” he said confidently. “They are now, at least. Before they belonged to an aunt of mine when she was a maid.” 

“When did they?--” 

“The moment they found out we were betrothed,” Jerrel grinned. “My family’s overeager.” 

“They were so sure I’d choose you,” she mused. “Despite your lower station.” 

Her husband then approached her and approached her, “Well, is it so bad if they were right?” 

Rhaenyra then intertwined their hands and went on her toes to kiss him. “Let’s not linger, you said you’d give me a tour, no?” 

The smile on his face was the only approval she needed as she pestered him to show her the outside as well. 

He did, not wanting to deprive her of anything. The keep was built with grey stone and seemed more akin to a fortress than a castle, and its grounds seemed endless. It was an eternity before she looked upon the hedge maze outside. 

She remembered it from last night. Where Jerrel had to hold her hand and guide her through. In bright daylight, she was able to appreciate it in full. She thought about Dyana Tyrell’s tales of Highgarden, a lady from the court. 

‘A lady who still has not chosen her side,’ Rhaenyra pondered. Much recently, the court fashion had changed from her memory: the colours green and black became popular. Alicent and Baelon were the heralders of such. But Dyana was one of the few to not dress in either, she seemed to be on neither team. 

“You could get lost here,” she japed. 

Jerrel put on a playful grin, “Only if you don’t know your way. Now, be quick, there’s more than just this.” 

He led her through the maze and to the stables, where his trusty, russet stallion--Hendry--was. He fed him an apple and petted him. “It’s been long overdue to show you one of our most popular pastimes.” 

The Princess approached the horse and held out her hand to him, “Is it now? Last time I was near one of your horses, I almost died.” She said to her husband. 

He howled in laughter. “That was mine own fault, not his. Either way, I mean to race you.” 

“On horseback?” 

He nodded, “Come on, I’ll give you a spare.” 

Jerrel walked over to a white charger, with silver-gold hair just like her. “Her name is Serena.” 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful mare,” she noted. 

“And one fit for you,” he flattered her. Even now he still knew how to make her flush like some innocent maid instead of a pregnant wife. 

“Come, I don’t wish to wait any longer,” he demanded, and before long, she was mounted upon her moon-coloured steed. And now the two were in the eternal, green countryside. Unlike the rolling hills, the path ahead was straight and paved with a beige road, wide enough for many horses to race side-by-side. 

“Are you ready to be beaten?” Jerrel teased. 

Rhaenyra smirked, “You wish, Bracken.” 

Then they were off. Rhaenyra and Jerrel put all their might and trust into their steeds. The sensation reminded the Princess of Syrax, but easier to be balanced and more grounded. 

Back then, Daemon and her would race their dragons in the sky much like now. And those always made her hot blood rush. 

But now she could see her husband up close. His brown hair swept in his face. And his smile was bright and full of glee.

The gods made some men to ride, whether by sky or by land. She was one for the clouds, while he was for the earth. There to keep her grounded while she is there to lighten him, a balance the two maintain.

In the end, she got there first, winning the race. To her surprise, he didn’t seem disappointed, in fact she saw the opposite on his face: pride. 

“You really are the only one for me,” Jerrel declared. “This is the first time I’ve been beaten in ages.” 

She chuckled, “Get familiar with the feeling then.” 

“Oh, shut up,” he rolled his eyes, making her laugh harder. 

To her awe, the sun was starting to die as red, pink, and orange painted the horizon. “We should head back,” he advised.  

“Agreed.” 

The two headed back to retire after an adventurous tour of Rhaenyra’s new home. Even if that wasn’t the last of everything to see. 

-🐎-

55 days later

The rest of their family had finally arrived after many days of riding up the kingsroad, and going left on the river road to Stone Hedge, with all of Rhaenyra’s possessions and her ladies-in-waiting in tow. 

Jerrel had been with his half-brother, Raylon, in his chambers. The bastard was pacing his room back and forth in worry, while the other was sitting backwards on the desk chair and put his arms on the top rail while he leaned his head on them. 

“Stop worrying so much, Ray, you’ll probably be accepted,” he tried to reassure him. 

Raylon had taken his family’s suggestions to heart about squiring for the Sea Snake’s son. And sent a raven to the Velaryons as soon as he could, and the aftermath was this conversation. 

“But what about Lord Corlys?” He brought up for what seemed like the hundredth time. “He already doesn’t like the fact that his heir was a known pillow biter and had a lover. You really think he will accept another?” 

Jerrel rolled his eyes, “Good grief, as long as you do your damn job; don’t be obvious; you’ll be fine.” ‘It feels like we’ve been over this a hundred times.’

“Ugh!” Raylon cried out and put his head in his hands. “You make it sound easier than it is. And besides, why should a great lord like Corlys even accept my proposal, I’m a bastard.” 

“Need I remind you that just because the Sea Snake acts like a Great Lord doesn’t mean he is one.” He noted with a biting tone. “And besides, maybe you can help mend the rifts between the Velaryons and the Targaryens. God knows that man’s pride has been bruised multiple times.” 

“And you don’t think he’ll take it as a slight, having a bastard for his son’s squire and possibly his lover?” He scoffed. “There’s more reason for him to refuse than accept.” Raylon was the most polite and gracious of the Brackens, but even he had their stubbornness. “He’s probably scared that I’ll sleep with his son.” 

Jerrel howled in laughter, “And have you not already warmed Ser Laenor’s bed? Don’t think I’ve forgotten your antics at the tourney.”

Rivers groaned, “I didn’t sleep with him! That was someone else.” 

His brother raised an eyebrow, “Who?”

“I’m not telling you!” Raylon refused. 

“You’ve told all the men you’ve had in the past, why not now?” ‘Why’s he being so secretive?’ Jerrel and Raylon were the closest of all three brothers, and thus shared many secrets. 

He took a deep sigh, and bowed his head in shame before confessing. “If you really want to know, he was in the lists.” 

‘From the tourney? Oh gods,’ “Please tell me you’re not the reason why our brother can’t ride a horse anymore?” 

He derided, “Strong? Oh no, of course not.” 

“Then who?” He was dying to know. 

“You’ll just have to guess,” his brown eyes twinkled playfully while he smirked. 

He recalled all the fighters he could, ‘Could it have been Daemon? No, everyone at court knows that he prefers Valyrians. Joffrey and Laenor seemed to be loyal to one another. Marband, Fell, and Brych are unlikely since they’re all older than him.’ 

“One of the Kingsguard twins, mayhaps?” He asked. 

Raylon shook his head, “No, it wasn’t a Kingsguard.” 

‘Then that also eliminates Cole.’ With that, only one man was a possibility. “Oh gods be good, is it….Hightower’s son, Gwayne?” 

He meekly nodded his head and Jerrel’s jaw dropped. “The Hand’s son, the Queen’s brother? Raylon!” 

“What, he asked me about the rumours,” he explained. “It’s not my fault he didn’t care. He was interested in me.”

“So did he seduce you then?” His brother was confused, usually Raylon was the one to initiate. 

“Yes, I’ll admit, it wasn’t that difficult. I swear on the Seven that that man was using sorcery or something of the sort with how hypnotising he was.” Rivers claimed. 

“Don’t swear on the Seven if you’re going to be talking about sorcery or premarital sex.” His brother scowled. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall Gwayne’s face at all. “What does he even look like under that lofty helm anyway?”

“Oh he’s so handsome under it,” Raylon sighed. “He has sandy blond hair and blue eyes. Really handsome, Ser Gwayne was also shorter than me, surprisingly.”

“You’re taller than Hightower?” Jerrel wanted to laugh, the family with origins in the Empire of the Dawn was infamous for its tall members. 

“Yes, I’m two inches taller than him,” that would’ve made Hightower 5 feet and 9 inches since Raylon was only a shade under six feet. 

‘They’re not called the Hightowers for no reason,’ Jerrel mused. “I need more than that.” 

“He wears his hair short and swept to the side.” Rivers recalled from memory. “He’s also clean-shaven. Oh gods, you should’ve seen him, he was gorgeous!” His brown eyes went wide, and his pupils were black. 

He rolled his eyes and ignored his rambling when a knock at the doorway interrupted his thoughts. It was his wife, leaning on the frame with a smirk on her face. She wore a simple, dark yellow dress with an empire waistline, and her pregnant belly was starting to become a bit more noticeable. 

“So, a little dragon told me that you slept with Ser Weasel’s son?” She japed. 

He laughed raucously, “Who came up with that nickname?”

“My uncle Daemon,” she curtly said. “Anyway, I think luck’s on your side. Because Laenor’s nameday is coming up.”

“When?” Raylon inquired. 

“The 20th, he’s turning two-and-twenty.” Rhaenyra answered, it was currently the 5th moon of the year. “If Laenor wants you to become his squire, then I think Lord Corlys will be more inclined to accept.” 

“The raven you sent will certainly arrive by then,” Jerrel noted. 

“I wouldn’t lose sleep over it if I were you, Raylon,” Rhaenyra reassured. “Corlys will probably summon you to Driftmark first before he makes a decision.” 

The thought of that seemed to make him even more anxious. But a servant at the door summoned them for dinner, interrupting any tension. 

The three went down to the dining hall and noticed the course for that night: roast duck, boiled goose eggs, strawberry pie, dishes of peas and onions along with drinks of beer and wine with different flavours and scents. 

Humfrey sat at the head of the table. Amos, Perra, and Alys all in a row on his right. With Jerrel, her, Raylon, and an older woman she didn’t recognize next to her. 

Bernard was next to Alys, while the rest of the extended family—primarily Humfrey’s other brother’s wife and children—filled the remaining seats. 

“Who’s the woman next to you?” She whispered to Raylon. 

“Oh, her?” He cocked his head toward her, grabbing her attention. “She’s my mother, Aubrey.” 

The woman in question reached over to shake her hand before sitting back down again. Her dark brown hair fell down her shoulders in curls with eyes of the same colour. She seemed to be around Lord Bracken’s age with laugh lines on her face. Rhaenyra even noted the identical noses, which were big and aquiline. 

Rhaenyra, Raylon, and Aubrey dug into the roast duck while Jerrel, Amos, Humfrey, and Bernard preferred the goose eggs. 

As the Princess ate, she learned more about Humfrey’s paramour. “So, Aubrey, are you from Stone Hedge?”

She looked up from her plate and wiped the food from her mouth with a napkin. “Yes, you must be asking because of my nose, huh?” 

‘Did I offend her in some way?’ She cursed herself. 

“Oh, don’t be flustered,” Aubrey noticed her embarrassment. “To answer your question: I am, but my parents weren’t. My mother was a seamstress, my father a sailor, both Gulltowners.” 

“Hey, Rhaenyra,” Jerrel leaned in, “Don’t you have Vale blood yourself? From Queen Aemma.” 

“I do in fact,” she answered. “From Lord Rodrik Arryn, my grandsire.” 

“Ah, I remember her. She did a royal progress here in the Riverlands with the King. The Queen was kind and generous, especially to me and the rest of the smallfolk,” Aubrey recalled. 

The mention of her mother made her nostalgic. And made her want for her brother’s presence. 

“Do you think that…” The words fell out before she could stop them. “I’m like her?”  

Aubrey stared at her curiously, squinting, as if discerning something. “I don’t know you well, but so far, I’d say so.” 

“How do you mean?” She persisted. 

“You’re kind and courteous,” Aubrey explained. “You don’t look down upon my son for being a bastard, or me for my low birth.” 

She didn’t realise she held no distrust or dislike for either of them. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jerrel genuinely enjoyed going out in town and visiting both the bannermen and the common people. 

One day, he insisted on coming with him, and she reluctantly agreed. And was surprised to find it quite pleasant. He was charming, much more than her. And much more comfortable with all sorts of people compared to her distant awkwardness. 

“A lord should know his people,” was Jerrel’s justification. But that didn’t hold up as he was a second son and wouldn’t inherit anything. 

“Lords and Ladies!” A slender man with greying brown hair bellowed. 

“Who’s that?” Rhaenyra whispered to her husband, there were too many of them for her to remember. 

“That’s Uncle Brynden, one of Father’s younger brothers,” Jerrel explained. 

She nodded her head in understanding and went back to paying attention. 

“I think…that it is past time that we show our Princess one of our best ballads.” Brynden raised his cup and looked directly at her, making her redden at the ears. “Be warned, Your Grace, it’s a tragic one that will make you weep.”

She only scoffed, that’s what the singers always said and very few actually accomplished the deed. 

Brynden then commanded the singer with his lute to commence. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he recalled a tale of brothers that grew to resent one another. 

“In the hedge, our story begins. The Brackens were blessed with twins, Lyle and Olyver. Both dreamed of knighthoods. But life would make them foes. Lyle to the Seven’s Swords and Olyver to the White Cloaks. Despite being devoted to their cause, they met and wept for one last time as brothers. The next time they met would be as enemies, only to reunite in the life after death. ” 

She was familiar with both vaguely, as Olyver served as one of Maegor the Cruel’s Kingsguard while Lyle was a Warrior’s Son, who opposed that very monarch. 

Brynden was right, for she found a stray tear falling on her cheek. But she was far from the only one, Jerrel was contemplating with a fist covering his mouth and watery eyes. And Aubrey’s own were red and puffy. 

How could she not weep? The tale was tragic, especially so because circumstances forced the twin brothers apart. 

The story was all too familiar to her. She and Alicent had been so close before her mother’s death. But now she was cold and distant not only with her but Baelon too.  They used to be closer than sisters and now they were no more than strangers. 

Rhaenyra hadn’t realised that more tears fell when her husband wiped them away. “If you need to go, go,” he offered. 

“I want you to come with me,” it was past time she told him, after months of courtship and marriage. 

Jerrel nodded, “Of course.” 

He took her hand and together they left the hustle and bustle behind them for their chambers. They laid in the bed as he wrapped an arm around her. 

“You were crying about something else, weren’t you?”

Her husband always knew, even if he didn’t know the exact details he could always tell if she was upset and not saying anything. That was one of the many reasons she loved him. 

“I was, to be honest, it was about Alicent,” she confessed quietly. 

He looked at her with widened eyes for only a second. “I almost forgot you two used to be close. Did the song make you think of her?” 

Rhaenyra nodded, “Yes, the brothers being pitted against each other made old resentments emerge

“And you resent her for being cold to Baelon.”

“And for marrying my father without telling me. That, I will never forgive him for. He should’ve just married Laena. If not to placate the Sea Snake.” She admitted scornfully. 

“I fear we’d have a similar situation on our hands if that occurred. Lord Corlys Velaryon and Otto Hightower are the same in terms of ambition,” Jerrel disagreed. 

“Mayhaps, it doesn’t soothe my anger nonetheless. Especially at that cunt of a Hand.” The Princess snarled. “I didn’t realise it back then, but he must’ve been the one to help encourage my father to marry his daughter, using her as a whore to try to get his blood on the throne.” 

“Baelon is heir no matter what sons pop out of the Queen’s womb,” he pointed out. 

“Not if they’ll have their way. They and those grey rats that killed my mother see him as a threat.” She couldn’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth, and somehow she didn’t want them to. 

Her husband merely nodded his head. And then brought up something else and got up to look at her, leaning on his elbows. “Just how close were you two?” 

She took many moments to respond. Not sure of how he would respond. “Do you promise to keep this between us?” The Princess still recalled the incident with his friends which led to a fight in her family. 

“I swear by the Seven,” he never swore by those gods, he was serious. 

Rhaenyra sighed before confessing. “When Lady Helena--Alicent’s mother--was still alive, she caught us red-handed.” 

“Doing what?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“We were playing simple kissing games, as many young maids do, but it turned into something…more. And suddenly we were embracing each other as we’d seen the lovers do. Kind of like how we did.”

“Really? When was this?” He asked. 

“A year before Lady Helena died, when we were 13,” she explained. 

Her husband took a moment to process, but there was no disgust or hatred, not even jealousy. “Do you still…?”

“No,” she responded quickly. “All passion died when my father took her to wife and when she grew distant.” After all, it was hard maintaining a fire when cold gusts were blowing against it. “Do you hate me?” She questioned in a faint whisper.

“How could I ever?” Jerrel matched her pitch, then kissing her on the forehead. “My brother likes his same sex, even if I can’t understand why.” 

She smiled, relieved of huge boulders on her shoulders and chest. “I feel a lot better now.”

“Good,” he grinned. “Don’t ever get the notion that you cannot come to me about anything.”

“Thank you,” she said as she felt her eyes drop. “I’m feeling drowsy so I will be turning in the night.”

“As will I,” he replied before giving her a kiss on the lips and her growing belly, wishing good evenings to her and their son both.

Chapter Text

I will be discontinuing this story because of personal reasons. I haven't found the motivation to keep writing it because I stopped being friends with a ghostwriter and the biggest supporter of this story. And because the idea of Baelon living and the Dance of the Dragons doesn't make sense.

So I will stop updating. Instead, I will orphan it, so others may still read it. 

But I have ideas to replace this with a different concept altogether. And you are welcome to read that when it comes out. 

I love all my readers and appreciate your support. 💙