Chapter Text
“It can’t be that bad.”
The look on Baela’s face told him that it could, in fact, be that bad, as she dipped her fingers in the water yet again in an attempt to tame his curls for the second time this morning.
“We’re going to be late to breakfast,” Jace said as she worked both hands into his curls and shook his entire head in an attempt to fluff them.
“And whose fault is that? I recall being ready to leave a quarter-hour ago.” She fussed at his hair once more before finally removing her hands from it and gesturing towards the door, “And now we are ready to leave again.”
Or, we could stay, he wanted to say, wanted to take her by the hand and lure her back into the depths of their quarters. Coax her away from the door with the promise of a breakfast sent up by a servant and another hour or two of peace. In a bedchamber with his wife’s skin against his, there were no dead brothers, no stillborn sisters. In the heat of his wife’s touch there was no war outside, no looming darkness on the other side of the bay. It was an incredible temptation, the opportunity to not think about it at all, to pretend that Luke would be in the dining room when they someday emerged from their quarters.
It must have shown in his eyes as she reached out to him once again, a hand on each side of his face.
“We can always come back when the weight of it is too much, but we cannot stay here forever.”
“Dragons are faster than ravens,” It felt like years had passed since he'd said it, “Send us.”
He nodded, laying his hand over hers on his cheek so that he could turn in her hold to kiss her palm.
“Breakfast,” She insisted and he laughed, dropping his hand from hers and opening the door for her.
“To breakfast, then.”
. . .
Daemon was outside the dining room when they arrived, watching them walk down the hall with Viserys, sniffly and flushed, in his arms. He smiled at his daughter, holding out an arm to stop them before they could enter the dining room.
“A word, daughter.” He turned to Jacaerys, “Your mother is hurting today, take care with her.”
Jace nodded, chest suddenly tight, and Viserys reached out for him with a hiccuping sob. Daemon handed him over, running his now free hand over the babe’s pale curls as Viserys tucked his head into Jace’s neck with a wet sniffle.
“He’s missing your brother this morning.”
I am too, Jace found himself wishing that he could weep as much as Viserys clearly had, that he could let everything out until he stopped feeling like he needed to scream. Like he needed to kill Aemond Targaryen before he’d ever be able to sleep soundly again.
Baela squeezed his other hand lightly and reached up to rub Viserys’ back before Jace left her and Daemon alone to talk, letting the dining room door fall shut behind him. His mother was at the table, her eyes red and cheeks blotchy, and Joff was in her lap, his little arms around her neck.
“Mother,” Jace greeted, leaning down to kiss her cheek before he took his seat next to her, turning his chair to face her properly.
There was a frailty to his mother in her grief that unsettled him, dragged him kicking and screaming back to those moments surrounding the arrival of a raven that detailed the accident that took the life of his father at Harrenhal. Before her council she was hardened, sharpened like steel, but in the quiet moments the pain broke through and could not be ignored.
“My sweet boy.”
Her hand came up to his cheek, cradling it before she dropped to rub her hand over Viserys’ back like Baela had.
“You look happy,” Rhaenyra said fondly and Jace couldn't help the blush that rose up on his cheeks.
I am happy, he wanted to say, because he was. How could he not be happy in Baela’s arms and how could he not cling to that once he had to reemerge into a world where Luke was still dead? It kept him afloat, his head just barely above the dark waters that hunted them all.
“Our days of late have not been easy, it’s nice to be able to find some light in it all.”
“It’s a blessing to marry the one you love.” His mother held his free hand in hers, Joffrey shifting around in her lap to look at him, “I’m glad that you and Baela chose to do so.”
She squeezed his hand warmly as the doors opened once more to admit Baela and Daemon. Rhaena followed behind after a couple seconds with one of the nursemaids, who was holding a squirming Aegon in her arms. His wife’s brow was knit with annoyance as she sat down next to him, giving him a small smile when he turned his chair back to the table and took her hand beneath it. He glanced at Daemon but found there was nothing in his expression to tell Jace what had her so frustrated after their private conversation. Viserys sniffled loudly into his collar, his little hands curled with fistfuls of doublet and the hair at the back of his neck.
Aegon went into his seat with his nursemaid without a fight, despite his squirming, a wooden horse clutched in his chubby fingers and shiny with drool. Viserys, however, had had enough. When his nursemaid came around to retrieve him and gently touched his back, he let out a scream shrill enough that Jace worried he’d be deafened in his right ear. He had to let go of Baela’s hand to try shifting the boy away from his chest, but all their attempts just upset him more.
A glance at his mother showed the very fine cracks spreading rapidly across the mask of composure she’d made for herself, and he knew if someone didn’t take back control it’d end in tears for more than one of them.
“It’s fine, just,” Jace said, wincing after another attempt at taking the boy that ended in feeling like his hair was being ripped out and his collar damp with tears and spit, “Just leave him. Move his plate closer to me.”
Viserys wept pitifully into his collar and Jace felt his own composure waver. Joffrey was tense in his own chair, pushing his breakfast around and picking at it restlessly, and Aegon didn’t look much better. The silence was horribly awkward, lingering long after all the occupants of the table had been served, and the worst part of it all was the gap at the foot at the table, directly facing his mother. Not just an empty chair, but a missing one. A gaping wound.
Jace suddenly didn't feel like eating, instead offering one of his pieces of buttered bread to Viserys, who clutched it in his chubby hand.
“I want to cut my lip,” Joff said suddenly, sulking in his seat and glaring at Daemon’s butterknife at the place setting next to him.
Daemon sighed.
“Did we not already discuss this?”
“I still want to.”
“You’re too little, Joff,” Baela interjected, a suppressed laugh in her voice, “You’ve got to be taller before you can cut your lip.”
“Jace isn’t tall.”
Baela’s cough didn’t quite cover her laugh well enough and Jace sent a halfhearted glare in her direction, the corners of his mouth being pulled up by his own amusement as he took her free hand again under the table.
“What?” Joff huffed in his chair, breakfast abandoned, “He’s not.”
The tiniest laugh he heard leave his mother next to him made the humiliation almost worth it. Baela’s shoulders trembled and something in her face must have set little Aegon off. Giggles poured out of him like water, juice spilled from his cup onto his little doublet and syrup sticky on his hands. Jace huffed out a laugh, setting off the boy again, and Viserys even pulled his head out of Jace’s neck to look for what the fuss was about. He slumped across Jace’s chest, laying his head along the shoulder of the doublet so he could watch down the table, closing his eyes lazily as Baela reached out to wipe the half-dried tears from his chubby cheeks.
Jace watched as Daemon moved his eyes from the babe and to his eldest daughter instead, fixing her with a sharp look that she returned just as fiercely. He squeezed her hand under the table, raising his eyebrow when she looked back at him from Daemon, but she only shook her head slightly, mouthing later.
The doors to the dining room opened then to admit Maester Gerardys, his face drawn solemn and grave. There was a scroll in his hand, one that bore a broken green seal, and he brought it to his Queen’s chair.
“News from Kings Landing, your Grace.”