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Baelor Targaryen couldn't remember where or under what circumstances he met her for the first time.
She was always somewhere on the edge of his vision, and then disappeared every time his gaze tried to catch her. He saw her many times in the castle and even more in the sept. That was probably where their first conversation took place. At least the one he remembered for the rest of his life.
"What are you praying for, my prince?"
Turning his head, Baelor met her gaze.
To his shame, he'd already forgotten the color of her eyes. Not brown. They were light. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember the exact colour. They were deep and piercing, he could tell that.
She hadn't introduced herself, but it would have been rude not to answer a simple question. It was simple for Baelor.
"I pray for my family and for peace."
A smile flickered across the girl's lips.
"And for yourself?"
This time he was the one smiling.
"Don't worry, my lady, I have someone to pray for me."
Throughout this whole conversation Baelor had been trying to figure out who he was talking with. His memory hadn't failed him. It never had.
"Lady Hayford, right?"
She nodded. Baelor turned his whole body to face her, regarding her thoughtfully. Mourning didn't suit her — she looked too pale against the heavy black dress. Mourning suited few women, though.
"I'm sorry for your loss, my lady. Your husband served the realm faithfully, so did his brother before him. It was an honour to sit with them on the Council."
Lady Hayford nodded politely again, and Baelor suddenly felt as if he'd missed something important.
Something very important to her.
Later, one of the servants told him that Lady Hayford had lost her one-year-old daughter along with her husband, both had been carried off by illness. Baelor felt genuine sympathy for the poor girl. She looked no more than twenty — so young, yet she had already lost her child.
Next time they also met in the sept, but this time Baelor addressed her first.
"What's your name, my lady?"
Lady Hayford seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
"Ethel."
Ethel. Ethel. Her name was like honey on his lips.
A strange thought — Baelor immediately dismissed it.
"Ethel, I'm sorry for your daughter. The gods will take care of her, as they take care of all children who die ahead of time."
She merely shrugged.
"I would prefer the gods to take care of me and leave the care of the daughter to her mother."
The prince tilted his head slightly.
"You think the gods don't care for you? Don't hear your prayers?"
Ethel closed her eyes. What was their colour? Light, he remembered.
"They hear. They listen and they hear. But they cannot save everyone who asks for it. And I need saving, Prince Baelor."
She moved her lips silently, and Baelor realized she was praying.
He left the sept quickly.
After that conversation, he often thought about her words. The gods cannot save everyone.
And after a while, he began having frightening dreams.
At first, he suspected nothing. It was just a nightmare — everyone had one.
But when Baelor died at the end of the dream, time and again, he realized it probably wasn't supposed to be that way.
It shouldn't hurt so much when a dream ends; it's just a dream. But afterward, his head ached as if it were real. It pounded so hard he wanted to howl. And from then on, every morning he began with the drumming in his head, sometimes replaced by Ethel's soft voice.
Gods love you, but not enough to save you.
Baelor initiated their third conversation. Not in the sept, but inside the castle, when he accidentally spotted her in one of the wide corridors.
"What do you need saving from, Lady Ethel?"
She didn't look at him, though Baelor tried to catch her eye.
"From the same thing as you, my prince. From death."
Baelor's breath froze in his chest. She couldn't know, could she?
He barely resisted the urge to turn her around by the shoulder and pry what she meant, but Baelor quickly curbed the urge. She would tell him herself — he only had to ask. He wasn't sure if he wanted to ask.
"We all die sooner or later, my lady."
Ethel glanced at him sideways but still refused to face him.
"Better late than early. I don't want to die without knowing love."
Baelor raised his eyebrows.
"You think this is what awaits you? To die without knowing love?"
Now Ethel was clearly embarrassed, and Baelor noticed she finally looked her age. In fact, it was the first time he'd seen any emotion on her face, and the slight flush on her cheeks was much more pleasing to him than her empty eyes and even voice.
"Well, perhaps love won't pass me by."
"You didn't love your husband, Lady Hayford?"
At the mention of her late husband she seemed to calm down again.
"I did. But not with the love women have for their husbands. It's more like... human love. Yes, that's it. I loved him because he was a good man. Do you understand what I mean, Prince Baelor?"
Baelor didn't answer right away. Of course, he understood that marriage doesn't always guarantee love. He was lucky — though their marriage had been arranged by his father, Jena was a wonderful wife and mother, and he loved her. In every sense. However, he was well aware that this wasn't the case for everyone. Aerys, his younger brother, had never been able to love Aelinor Penrose, nor had she him. It was sad, but that's how the things were. Perhaps they felt that human love for each other Ethel spoke of. Baelor hoped so.
He suddenly realized he'd been taking too long to answer.
"More likely yes than no."
Ethel remained silent, but Baelor wished to continue the conversation.
"Does that sadden you? That you didn't love your husband in the way a wife should?"
"No. But I want to experience that feeling at least once in my life. Before I die."
He frowned.
"You are still young, my lady."
Ethel bit her lip and finally looked him straight in the eyes. But he couldn't remember their colour. They were beautiful.
"I will die soon. If it's meant to be then it will be, Prince Baelor."
If it's meant to be then it will be.
Baelor understood the meaning of her words, and it frightened him. You can't change fate no matter how hard you try. The gods decide everything, not men.
He didn't want the fate that haunted him every night. And Ethel didn't want hers. And he shared her feelings.
"Nothing is yet predetermined, my lady."
Ethel covered her face with her hands, and from the stifled sobs, Baelor realized she was crying.
They saw each other almost every day in the sept. Sometimes they talked, but more often they prayed. He prayed for his family and for peace, as he had said, and she prayed for her daughter's soul. They also prayed for each other.
Perhaps Baelor could persuade the gods to have mercy on Ethel.
Perhaps Ethel could save Baelor with her prayers.
Sometimes he wondered if she dreamed of death, like he did. How did she know all the things she told him? For the first time in his life, Baelor couldn't confide his thoughts to his family. Not to his father, not to his wife, not to his brothers. They wouldn't understand anyway, not the way Ethel did. He felt the connection between them, had felt it the very first time they met, and he knew she felt it too.
If it's meant to be then it will be.
That's what Baelor thought about when they shared a bed for the first time. It felt right, as it should be. They weren't husband and wife, and he certainly wouldn't call Ethel his lover. She was there, that's all. Not innocent, but so pure that Baelor felt almost no remorse. Almost. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought flashed that what they were doing was wrong. But if it feels so good, how could it be bad?
Holy Ethel, the embodiment of the Maiden, trembled in his arms as if it were their wedding night. She whispered his name like prayers. Maybe she was actually praying. Baelor was so used to it that he wouldn't have been surprised.
When she arched toward him once again, throwing her head back, he leaned in and kissed her pale neck. Not the kind one usually kisses in the heat of passion, no — it was a gentle kiss. As gentle as Ethel herself. Ethel, like honey on his lips.
"Baelor."
He met her gaze. Her eyes seemed even brighter in the moonlight.
"Thank you," her voice was hoarse, but just as soft as before.
Baelor frowned in confusion.
"For what?"
Ethel smiled. Gods, how it adorned her beautiful, youthful face. It was far more beautiful than the oppressive mourning for her daughter, which she had to bear every day, body and soul.
"Now I know how it feels."
For a moment, his heart seemed to stop. And then it became so bitter that it squeezed in his chest, and the pain spread throughout his body, all the way to his fingertips.
"I'm not your husband, Ethel."
She closed her eyes and hugged him tighter with her arms.
"I know, Baelor. I know. I don't care."
She did care. And that made it even worse. Apparently, what they were doing was bad after all. But he didn't want to stop, and Baelor knew she didn't want either. It would be selfish to leave it as it was, but stopping now and never returning would mean the end. The end for Ethel. The end for them.
Baelor didn't stop.
He thrust into her again and again, drawing soft moans and whimpers from her that were immediately drowned in his shoulder. Sometimes he felt like she was about to scratch his back, but each time Ethel controlled herself and nipped the urge in the bud. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms. Baelor noticed this afterward, otherwise he would have stopped her. Small crescent-shaped marks reminded them both that it had hurt. And it had felt good.
When she arched one last time, calling his name louder than ever before, and clenched around him, Baelor didn't hold back. A few final, rough thrusts, and he came onto her belly with a groan.
After rolling over onto his back, Baelor's gaze lingered on Ethel's belly. It was flat now and glistening with his seed, but there were stretch marks from her first and last labor.
He ran his fingers over the smooth skin, lingering there.
"How old were you when you were with child?"
Ethel turned her head wearily to the side.
"Eighteen. The year after I got married."
Baelor said nothing in response, continuing to gently run his hand over her belly.
"Don't you want to get married again?"
For the first time in their entire relationship, she looked at him like he was a complete fool. Baelor didn't understand. Or didn't want to understand. She'd told him a hundred times. And she would tell him again and again, and she would tell him until she died.
"I'll be dead before the end of this year. I have no time for anything, Baelor."
He had no reason to doubt her words, but he desperately sought them.
"You're not even trying to fight. How can you accept fate so easily? It's not right, Ethel. I don't understand it."
Ethel placed her hands behind her head and looked him over gently. He could see she was choosing her words. She never said anything she didn't mean. Baelor waited. Gods, he was ready to wait all night, if only to finally get an answer to his question. Why? Why had she given up?
"My father told me if they strike once then you just hit twice as hard. But there are seven gods, and I'm alone. How hard do I have to hit to defeat them all? I'm tired, Baelor. I begged them, but they just listened and remained silent. Silent, Baelor. And so it remains, my whole life. I always knew that in the end no one was coming save me, so I just prayed, and I keep praying. I don't know what I'm praying for, but it's all I know."
Tears welled up in her eyes, and now Baelor didn't want to hear any more. Instead, he held out his hands to her.
"Come here, sweetheart."
Ethel cried in his arms. Mourning for her daughter, mourning herself. And mourning for him, Baelor, too. She said so herself.
"I don't want you to die. You're a good man, Baelor. You can't die. There are no men like you."
He tried to calm her, but she continued.
"I will pray for you every day. I will beg the gods to keep you safe. You deserve it."
"So do you, Ethel."
She looked up at him, her eyes tearful.
"Yes. So do I."
They spent night together, and in the morning he left her chambers.
The days dragged on, oppressive and ill-omened. Baelor and Ethel prayed. They were together, they were apart, but most importantly, they were alive.
Baelor Targaryen learned of Ethel Hayford's death from the servants. He suspected something was wrong when she didn't show up at the sept for several days. But one summer's evening, he received word that the lady had broken her neck after a fall while riding. A freak accident, the servant told him. Baelor remained silent.
A couple of days later, a girl ran up to him in the castle corridor and thrust a piece of paper into his hands. Baelor tried to stop her, but she had already disappeared around the corner.
In his bedroom, he unfolded the piece of paper. It was a short letter written to him by Ethel.
Dear Baelor,
We both knew this would happen. I told you, and you finally heard me, so I don't think you're surprised or upset. You know it's meant to be. All I want is for you to live. That was my dying wish, and perhaps the gods will not turn a deaf ear to me for once. But I'll never know.
You know what's funny? I still haven't turned away from them. They turned away from me, but I couldn't. I tried, but I always returned to them. With hope and love. The gods are cruel, but we love them. They are unfair to those who have done nothing wrong, and they punish the innocent with a light hand. I'm afraid for you, Baelor. That's why even now, in these final days of my life, I continue to hope. Someday you will tell me if you were able to defeat fate. And I pray that this will happen as late as possible.
I love you, Baelor. Thank you for everything.
Ethel
He thought a lot about her words. About all the ones she'd ever said, and about the ones she'd written to him in her letter.
And when, in Ashford, he put his hand to the back of his head and felt something warm and soft on his fingertips, he knew it was the end.
He heard screams all around him, felt his knees hit the ground. But none of that mattered anymore.
What he wouldn't give to be in sept at that moment.
Ethel was wrong. The gods are neither cruel nor unfair. His family will live, and the world will prosper. Without him, but what does one life matter when others live? Baelor knew he hadn't died in vain. He hadn't defeated fate, but that wasn't the gods' fault. It had to be that way. If it's meant to be then it will be — that was the simple truth for the sake of understanding which the gods sent Ethel to him.
I forgive it all as it comes back to me.