Chapter Text
Jacaerys set down his goblet and looked at Forrest and Sabitha Frey. Negotiations of Harrenhal were set; the Freys would take the castle at the war’s end. He could not help but feel a little proud of himself, for he had improved his mother’s standing alone.
Lord Frey took a bite of his provisions. “There is one more thing.”
Jace looked at him. “What is it?”
“My Prince, you are a man grown. And word has it that you have not secured a betrothal as of yet.”
Jace knew, if only in the back of his mind, that talk would soon arise about this; he would not let future whispers begin, calling him The Heirless King or Jacaerys the Unbetrothed . His mother would be pleased with the Frey’s allyship, but this implication dove into complexities. To secure an alliance was one thing, but to have his feet in another negotiation was another. Vigilance was key.
“That is correct.”
“One of our daughters is eight and ten, two years my Prince’s senior,” Lord Frey said, then pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. “She has not secured a marriage either. After the war is won and Her Grace sits upon the throne, we would like to propose a betrothal between you and our lady daughter.”
A Frey Queen Consort… it was certainly an audacious prospect. Jace had been thankful that his mother had not pestered him about the idea of marriage yet. He had a claim to uphold, not a betrothal to secure. Or so he thought.
Jace knew that he had to choose his next steps carefully. The war was not won yet, and his family were to be dependent on the Freys’ honor until the end. If he refused, they could deny their crossing and obiscience. Looking at their faces made the decision more pressing. He knew that he could not let his reservations show. That would be a weakness.
“Is your daughter here?”
Lady Frey answered. “She is… busy, at the moment. But our offer still stands.”
“I will send word to my mother. I cannot guarantee that she will send her approval, but there is no need to fear the mood of her response.”
“See to it that she hears the advantage of this.”
You were glad that you were not in the midst of the war between the Hightowers and the Targaryens. The Twins was more than a shelter from the war that only suffocated you into loneliness and mundanity. This was the fate of so many ladies of the realm, to keep themselves in one place and never have the agency of motion. It was a fate you wished to resist.
“You plotted my marriage without my consent?” you spat.
“I know that you wished to get married.”
“To get married, yes, but only if the suitor is mine to choose!”
“The wedding would be in weeks of his arrival, there is plenty of time for courting.”
“Then we have a different perception of time, perhaps.”
The Prince was said to be quite comely, but great beauties are only made so by truly knowing them. He could be the most handsome young man in the seven kingdoms, but if he was not fit to be your companion for life, you would have been swept away into a life of misery. Routinely, you spent your days pacing from the West Tower to the East praying that this kind of misery would not find you. And now you feared it did.
“Sweetling, do not be angry with me. You know the difficulties of being a woman and how the lords of the realm perceive us. Having the Targaryens as an ally, and one bound in blood at that, will help us greatly. Your father and I took action at the first moment.”
Briefly, you thought of Queen Rhaenyra. You both shared a similar plight, only the irony was that her son will invoke your own even more. But it could not be denied that you had wanted a romance in your life. You had experienced the bare bones of suitors; they would smile and look at you at feasts, then their attention would be occupied with another lady.
The war had brought another tear upon your life. Your friends, the ladies Roesaynne, Leona, and Gertrude, were frequent guests at your keep, as you were at theirs. But recently, you had been given word that their lord fathers had sequestered them within their castles. You had not seen them since. You understood the reason; dragons were fearsome creatures that may descend from the sky at any time. It was best to keep the nobles safe from that prospect. As safe as they could be, and left for misery to strike them as you suspected it did.
You fidgeted with the velvet sleeve of your dress. “What could you perceive of him?” you asked, your tone much quieter. “His character?”
“He was quite even-tempered.”
You shook your head minutely. Even an hour’s worth of conversation would not be enough. The Prince had not laid waste to the Crossing with his dragon, true, but you knew that the greatest conflicts of the Realm were from disagreements amongst the nobles. There was nothing saying that this would not be the same. And there was the obvious fact: the Prince of Dragonstone was a dragon rider. Wise as you tried to be, you feared him for this. Would your own lord father instruct you to stay inside your castle like your friends were?
There was no place for you here for much longer. One of your brothers, Gunther, three years your elder, would inherit the Crossing, and your sister would soon be married. On paper, marrying the Prince was a miracle.
The door bursted open with a loud thunk . Both you and your mother turn your heads toward it. It was your little sister, Marsella, enthusiasm ripe on her face.
“Mother! I saw him,” she giggled.
“Not now, Marsella.”
Marsella’s face was flush as spring. “I saw the Prince and Vermax, though the others were too stupid to look for him before they went away. He was—”
“Please, leave us,” your mother commanded.
Marsella’s face fell, and your eyes saddened when they found hers. She then turned and left, shoulders caving in. You would see to her afterwards.
“Where, might I ask, will the wedding take place?” Being a lady of the realm meant that you could never be comfortable anywhere. You were told by your mother’s friends not to get attached to any setting, since men, hungry for power and status, often brought in a new environment.
“At the Red Keep, as will your courting.”
“It will not,” you said.
“Do not meddle with the plans that have been so carefully forethought!” Her voice broke midway, and she clasped a hand around her mouth and turned her head to the side. “I am sorry. I have a great stress on me. What is it that you wish to be changed?”
“Not the location of the wedding, that is a logical place for it to be held,” you said. “But the courtship, please, mother, let him come here instead. if you truly want this to be a success, he must know me, and where my roots are from.” You saw the opportunity for this small agency: the Prince, learning about your home from you… you hoped that it would spark a subtle intimacy. You knew it was a foolish thought, but if the war was to be won by the rightful queen, such comfort could be afforded. Or so you hoped.
“Very well, my dear.”