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Chapter Text

In the depths of the night, she had come to his room through the window. Shaera had always been fitter than he was; there was a wildness to her, a spark no one could control. Sometimes Jaehaerys felt that perhaps she should have been born the man instead – she could be a proper knight like Duncan, a skilled warrior like Daeron was shaping up to be.

“Shaera?” He wasted no time in covering her with a blanket; she was only in her bedclothes, and the wind was chilly tonight.

“Let’s run away,” she says, voice soft but full of anticipation, lilac eyes sparkling brighter than the stars. “We’ll run away to someplace where no one can find us. What can Father do?”

“Run away?” The words are so temptingly forbidden, they nearly get stuck in his mouth.

She nods, holding his hands in hers. “I know a place. I mixed sweetsleep in the mead of the men that guard one of the back gates – we can get out just fine, through your window.”

“I-” This was all so sudden. Jaehaerys felt dizzy.

“My love.” Her voice is gentle, as it always is around him – and only for him, she always said. Jaehaerys believed her wholeheartedly, as he always did.

“We will be fine.”

She leaned in to kiss him, but in that moment his legs nearly buckled, and he stumbled backwards.

Her loving gaze turns accusatory. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Don’t be silly, Shaera. Of course I trust you. When have I not?” That softens the look in her eyes somewhat, at least, but Jaehaerys cannot help but feel ill at ease.

“Where did you even find sweetsleep?” He asked. “You know what the maesters say. It’s dangerous.”

“They’re just guards,” she brushes it off callously. “It doesn’t matter.”

Shaera’s begun to tie his bedsheets into a rope, hanging it down from his window.

Peering down from the window makes his stomach lurch.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jaehaerys thinks of little Rhaelle, who they had lost to Storm’s End already after Duncan set aside his betrothed and ignited a rebellion. Even at the age of nine, Rhaelle was the very image of their mother, jet-black hair and large dark eyes. It had been a year since he had last seen her, and she wondered how she was faring. Lady Baratheon would probably not expect a girl so small to be so loud, although it might endear her to Lord Baratheon. If Lord Baratheon’s three children were equally dark-haired, perhaps Rhaelle would fit in nicely. Jaehaerys could only hope.

Lord Tully wouldn’t start a rebellion, right? He has met Lord Tully before, when arranging the betrothal between him and Celia – he was a soft-spoken and pleasant man, but he had been Lord Paramount of the Trident since he was a little boy, so he probably knew and was capable of a lot more than he seemed.

And gods know what would happen if they upset the vast Tyrell family and their Reacher lords.

“I don’t know, Shaera. But when Duncan broke his betrothal…you know what happened.”

“What happened exactly?” She rebuts him stubbornly. “Father won the war, did he not?”

“Can we really risk it again? You’ve met Lord Tyrell. How would he take you breaking a betrothal?”

She keeps her voice low, but her temper is starting to show nevertheless. “Father can solve those problems. You should be on my side, my love.”

When Jaehaerys doesn’t respond to that, she continues.

“Unless you don’t want to marry me? Unless you would rather that redheaded bitch?”

Jaehaerys sighed. “Celia’s not ‘a bitch’. Be nice-”

“So I’m right!” By now, Shaera had completely forgotten she was not supposed to be here. “How could you, Jaehaerys?” Her voice drips with venom, and although Jaehaerys knew how bitter and poisonous Shaera could get, he had never seen it up close like this before, much less directed at him.

The anger bubbles up in his chest as well. What was she doing? All he had tried to do was offer another opinion, and she had gone off the walls, ranting and raving and at this rate, they would be discovered and whatever magnificent plan Shaera had would all be naught-

“Shaera Targaryen.”

Both of them froze. The door was open, and Father was there, dark purple eyes glowering at them.

Jaehaerys isn’t even sure what happened next, as it was all so loud. He’d always been the softest-spoken of his siblings, which is perhaps why Lord Tully looked kindly towards him, but it wasn’t always a good thing, as Shaera’s resulting cacophony gives him a nasty headache.

He shouldn’t be having headaches at fifteen, he thinks, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind when Father turns to him. “Jaehaerys, I want to speak with you.”

Quickly, Jaehaerys snapped back to attention, and clears out a space on his bed for Father to sit on, noticing that Shaera had been brought away – back to her chambers, presumably.

“What happened just now?”

A mixture of frustration and tiredness causes the entire story to come spilling out without much coaxing. Father’s face is serious, but at least he didn’t look as mad as he was before.

“I hope you will continue being more sensible,” Father tells him, and Jaehaerys thinks it’s the closest to praise he has gotten in a while. He knows his parents love him, but he also knows he’s not very capable, or talented; he thought himself boring and bland, and loving Shaera had been the only interesting aspect of his life.

Now it seems that would be gone, too. Marrying Shaera was a distant dream before, but it was definitely impossible now. Shaera’s fury was hard to quell. It pains him; she had loved him so much, declared him her one and only, swore on her life that she would never leave him.

But all it had taken were a few words from him, and she was gone.

His parents, having known of their botched elopement plans, waste no time in bringing forward the date of his wedding. Lord Tully breezily agrees; if he knew anything of the reason behind it, he was doing a good job at pretending he did not.

Celia is as tall as him, and is as different from Shaera as night and day; she is full-figured while Shaera is slender, soft features while Shaera’s are chiseled, with dark auburn hair in heavy curls around her shoulders while Shaera’s straight locks catch the candlelight and shine like cloth-of-silver.

They had managed to coax Shaera out of the room to attend the wedding banquet, although no one could make her attend the ceremony.

Jaehaerys’ heart sinks when he sees her – she is obviously dressed in an attempt to upstage the bride. Father and Mother would be greatly displeased, but none of them could say anything while so many people were in attendance.

He had been speaking to Rhaelle during a lull in the music in between dances – she is nearly eleven now, and has grown quite a bit since the last time he saw her, and she is by all accounts very happy and well-treated at Storm’s End, which puts his heart at ease.

Only for him to see Shaera striding through the crowd towards where his new wife stood, talking to Mother. His blood runs cold.

He tells Rhaelle to write home often, pats her shoulder reassuringly, and quickly moves to salvage the situation.

He is a touch too late. Celia breaks away from Mother and her ladies to approach Shaera alone.

She has spoken before Shaera can open her mouth.

“My goodsister! I am so glad you could come after all. It must be so hard on you, especially since you were too unwell to attend the ceremony earlier.”

None of the ladies at court would speak before Shaera did. “You-”

“I have heard so much about you. You truly are as beautiful as everyone makes you out to be.”

“You had best rely on me in the future, Lady Celia,” Shaera said coolly. “After all, I know His Highness best.”

Jaehaerys felt like he could faint. Mother’s expression was darker than thunder. He didn’t dare to turn around and look at Father.

“I know,” Celia responds lightly, smiling down at Shaera. “My little brother knows me very well too. We are a year apart as well, just like you and my husband.” She places Shaera’s hands in hers gently. “I am very glad for your concern, goodsister. But I am Jaehaerys’ wife, so I think I will manage learning about him on my own well enough.”

Shaera fumes silently instead of throwing a tantrum there and then, and Jaehaerys decides to offer candles at the sept in thanks as soon as possible.

“And there is no need to be so formal with me,” Celia adds. “Since my goodsister is so worried for me, I would feel terrible if we did not become friends.”

When Jaehaerys reaches the bedchamber, he finds Celia already there, gingerly removing the string of abalone pearls that had been entwined in her curls.

He’s thinking of what to say when he hears a snap, followed by her going “Oh, damn these.”

“What happened?”

She looks up at him from where she was seated. “The string broke,” she replies, slightly embarrassed. “This was the most expensive part of my ensemble.”

The pearls shift from indigo to peacock blue and seem to flash a dozen other colours in the candlelight. They’re dark and exquisite, and much like her eyes, Jaehaerys realises.

“Don’t worry too much about them,” he tells her. “I think I can find a goldsmith who can make good work of these.”

She hands him the pearls in a box, and the conversation dries up into awkwardness. Jaehaerys had met Celia several times before their wedding, but it was always with her father, and she hadn’t seemed very inclined for conversation.

Then again, Jaehaerys had witnessed her exchange with Shaera.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Earlier?” Celia runs her hands through her hair to loosen it, unlacing her shift as if she was entirely unaware she was talking to someone.

“My sister can be quite fearsome. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up-”

“Not for long. She’ll be going to Highgarden eventually, will she not? Sooner rather than later, looking at the expressions of your parents.”

He is, frankly, stunned.

“How…how much do you know?”

“As much as anyone else would, I presume. You have to realise your sister isn’t particularly subtle about things. The whole of King’s Landing heard her wailing about being denied you.”

Jaehaerys felt the heat rising rapidly to his cheeks.

“You don’t have to be this anxious. I’ve known about what I’ve been signed up for. Mother made sure I was well prepared for this.” She smiles, but it is a different smile from the one she gave Shaera, or the one she gave him at the sept when he unclasped the nacre brooch that held her maiden’s cloak and draped the cloak of the Targaryens around her. This one is genuine, this one lights up her round face and makes her glow as if she was the moon.

“I think I can handle this. It will be easier if my husband helps me, of course. I trust you will?”

Jaehaerys thought himself boring, but perhaps Celia Tully was interesting enough to make up for it.

Chapter Text

It is awful and horribly unfair.

The redheaded bitch was acting like she was already queen, getting her mother and younger brother to stay at court with her. Over a moon had passed since the wedding and they still showed no signs of leaving. It was driving her insane. She could barely stomach food; it felt like her insides were burning.

And to make matters worse, her own mother, the actual Queen, was delighted at this arrangement and did not even try to hide it. Shaera supposed she should not be surprised – the bitch was half a Blackwood herself – but the fact that her mother would sacrifice her daughter in favour for her sister’s children only served to infuriate her even more. Her mother had told her off for “being disrespectful” at the wedding. She, the eldest princess of the Iron Throne, had to lower herself before a woman born of Tully’s second wife, so far down the family tree she should have been wed off to a hedge knight. Not like any of her half-sisters would have been acceptable brides for Jaehaerys anyway, but if her mother was not so fond of the bitch that was her niece, and took Shaera’s side instead, perhaps she would not have been so mad.

“Oh, big sister.” There goes Danelle Blackwood, in garish red and blue that stung her eyes, an arm slung around her mother’s, all frills and frippery where her mother was spirited and pragmatic. Shaera had idolized her mother so much in the past, and resolved to be as strong a woman as her, but now her mother had grown soft.

“It is so nice to pray at the godswood with you. It is just like when we were children.”

“We have many more chances to do so, as long as you stay,” her mother reassures her.

“I would rather my son find a bride sooner than later, you know,” Danelle play-laments, the tone of her voice giving herself away. “And my lord husband will begin to miss me.”

Betha’s laughter is raucous in comparison. “Miss you! Lord Tully will be fine. Does he not have his elder son and daughter-in-law with him? Come on, now. Your children are waiting for us to start tea.”

Tea for Shaera is held in her chambers. She used to take the largest parlour in the Red Keep for that, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and dutiful servants, but now walking outside and breathing the same air as those scum made her balk. Danelle Blackwood and her Tully son were staying at the Maidenvault, her ladies told her. Ironic, seeing how she was the maiden confined instead.

“What’s this talk about finding a bride for the Tully boy?”

“I’ve heard there’s a lack of noble girls in the riverlands of an age with Benedict Tully. The only one suitable for a match is a Bracken maiden, and Lady Tully would not hear of it.” Melony Tarth reports her findings as she sits by her side and peels her an orange. Shaera thinks she’s the only one of her ladies-in-waiting who can talk with her and keep up with her. Maybe it was because they were cousins.

She scoffs. “She thinks she’s in a position to turn down matches.”

“Lady Tully thinks of finding a highborn bride for her son here, borrowing the connections of Her Majesty. A marriage for one child and a betrothal for the other. She would return to Riverrun in glory.”

“Glory.” She sneers, drawling out the word. She’s suddenly glad she sent that Piper girl home, seeing that her goodsister was one of Celia Tully’s half-sisters, and gods forbid she ran tattling about this. Why the Piper girl was not a candidate for Benedict Tully’s bride, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.

“Melony, what are his chances? Would you want to marry that Benedict Tully?”

Melony looks confused. “Your Highness, I’m already wed.”

“Oh?”

“Sylva is not yet wed, however,” she offers helpfully, pointing at the barely-flowered girl who had been stirring Shaera’s tea for her.

“If he would set aside his name, maybe,” Sylva answers, big purple eyes looking like she was genuinely considering.

Melony shakes her head. “You know he would never.”

Sylva laughs and scrunches her nose, and says something about Benedict being too much a jolly fool, and Melony continues on with some more gossip, now about how Jaehaerys had allegedly refused to let Celia Tully into his bed. She knows they are trying to cheer her up, but the scowl on her face only deepens.

Benedict Tully was definitely no fool, and Jaehaerys was too much a coward to outwardly reject his bride. She had seen him for his true self that night, where they were going to elope. It would have worked, if not for his stupid hesitation. So much for love, she thinks. All everyone does is talk about it. No one acts on it.

Her eyes drift away from the peeled orange slices and tea in her hands, and to her lady companions that had prepared them. Whatever they are speaking of now, Shaera can no longer follow.

She would have to get rid of them soon. Sylva was getting too beautiful, and Melony was getting too clever.

Within the week Sylva Dayne is on the way home to Starfall to recover from a bad chill, while Melony Tarth has left for Parchments after receiving a letter from her husband. Hopefully Sylva’s parents will keep their heir at home where they could watch her better, and hopefully Melony’s husband will keep his wife occupied with her duties. Interestingly, her mother has yet to suggest that the Piper girl come back to court to serve her. But Shaera does not dare hope that her mother is beginning to listen to her wishes.

Her father had commanded her to sup with them today. I have had enough of your tantrums were his words. Well, I have had enough of Celia Tully and her family’s buffoonery was her reply. He had not been happy.

Shaera could continue on with her “tantrums” for eternity, but what makes her decide to go is when she hears that her parents had invited Luthor Tyrell to the meal as well.

He had not arrived at the Red Keep alone. A score of men and women accompanied him, half a dozen of them brothers and cousins, the rest of them various retainers and relations.

One woman in particular, a certain Lady Megga, had been sent straight to her rooms to help her prepare for the dinner. She claimed to be of an age with her, but she looked older, and Shaera felt her much too smiling. She was slight of build, and the large black rose pinned on her hat makes Shaera almost miss it, but she had red hair.

That much is enough to make Shaera wish she was gone, permanently.

She’s betrothed to one of Luthor’s cousins, apparently, and they would be wed soon as well. Almost like a double wedding, the lady said excitedly, and Shaera thinks the slight is nearly as bad as having to witness her brother get married. How could a Tyrell cousin even dare to want to compare themselves to her?

At the dais sits her parents, Jaehaerys, and to her horror, Celia Tully, in a gown rivalling hers in richness, all black and red dyed Myrish lace. She was dressing like a Targaryen, Shaera realises, and she is so furious she almost goes faint. Proudly displayed on her neck is a collar of deep pearls, colours melting and shifting as she moves in animated conversation with her mother.

“That is a beautiful necklace, Your Highness,” Luthor Tyrell’s mother fawns, and Shaera almost responds, but she catches herself in time.

“Thank you so much, Lady Tyrell, but it is not to me you should be giving the praise to.” Celia turns to Jaehaerys with a smile. The brazen bitch had the gall to even attempt seducing her brother at a dinner with guests! “My husband was the one who had this made.”

There was so much wrong at this table, Shaera did not even know where to begin. That whore of Tully had people call her Your Highness now. Lady Tyrell was sucking up her instead of her own gooddaughter-to-be. Jaehaerys, her brother, her man, her love, was buying gifts for another woman.

“Your Highness, please eat! The chicken is stuffed with figs and beans. See?”

Doe brown eyes, soft and innocent, peer up at Shaera as he tilts his plate to face her. The boy next to her – because no matter how many people told her Luthor Tyrell was to be her lord husband, there was no way she would use that form of address on an eleven-year-old – seems completely oblivious to her anger, and possibly also completely oblivious to the fact that his garish green and gold outfit was one of the largest fashion disasters to have ever entered the doors of the Red Keep. He looked like a jester.

Three more small heads turn to look at her. “Luthor,” the oldest of the little heads says in a tired child-voice, “Her Highness has the same food as you on her plate.”

“That’s true…”

Shaera pushes aside the feeling of blood pounding in her head, taking a deep breath and putting on a child-voice of her own. “Luthor, who are they?”

“They’re my little brothers!” He grins. “Gormon, Garth, and Moryn.”

She had no idea who was who, but she didn’t really bother about that right now.

“I’m going to marry you. Do you know what that means?”

He nods briskly. “You’re going to be family.”

Family. The thought of it sends a pang through her heart. Yes, family. Family always supported each other. They always had each other’s back. Her family would have stood by her. Her family would not have stopped her from doing, from loving, from being. Her family would not have sacrificed her interests for an unworthy outsider.

Her family had failed her. They were going to cast her out. They were going to abandon her.

“Your Highness, you look sad,” says the smallest of Luthor’s brothers. Luthor’s expression grows alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” she quickly says, and she swears her headache actually lessens. “Luthor, you know what family means, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Family is the most important.”

“We will be family, Luthor. You will always take care of me, and support me, right?”

“Of course, Your Highness!”

Not all hope was lost. Shaera was a strong woman. She would make this work.

“You can call me Shaera. Aren’t we family?”

“Of course, Shaera!”

Her family had failed her. She would carve a new one. A family that would be hers.

Chapter Text

“Aerys?”

Celia held their son – her son, with his bright blue eyes and copper hair so light it looked almost rose gold. He would grow up to be a handsome, great king, she was certain. She was considering the name Aegon, although its conquering legacy had been dulled by 4 more kings since. Still, it would be a nice show of affection and respect to her goodfather. Or Daeron, perhaps, for Daeron the Young Dragon or Daeron the Good, who both expanded the realm in their own ways – but Daeron was already the name of Jaehaerys’ younger brother, and Celia did not think him close enough to them to warrant naming their firstborn after him. A second or third son, perhaps.

She had never considered Aerys, who had died before she was born, whose reign’s only highlight was that he left all his ruling to Brynden Bloodraven. Just four moons before she had gone into labour, she had received a letter from her older brother: his wife had given birth to their second son, a strong, healthy babe they named Brynden. She laughed softly as she recalled it.

Still, there was no way recreating King Aerys and Lord Brynden was her husband’s intention; she would be surprised if he even remembered his wife’s nephews existed. So she asked. “Why Aerys?”

“Why not Aerys? He was a wise king.”

“I confess, what stood out more to me were the actions of his Hand.” And he should have listened when his Hand wanted to have Bittersteel executed, she thought, but she withheld those thoughts.

Jaehaerys smiled, sitting down in an armchair prepared for him beside her bed. “Choosing the right people to serve you is also wisdom.”

She could not find fault in that.

“Besides, he brought so much knowledge to the Seven Kingdoms. Father has been telling me lately about the tomes he collected in the castle libraries. He has been very impressed.”

“The king said that?”

“Yeah. He told me he’d found a new admiration for his uncle. That he wants to continue the work he started.”

Perhaps the name would be a good one, then. Her husband liked it, it would please the king…and perhaps one day, if her nephew turned out clever, she would have young Brynden fostered with her at court, and her son and her nephew could become close friends.

It amused her to think of it.