Chapter Text
A FATHER AND HIS DAUGHTER.
134AC, harrenhal
"I'll not take a side in such petty matters," Darik spoke as he walked along the muddy slope of the hill seated just outside Harrenhal's front entrance, stripped of his household cloak despite the darkening weather. Lucas followed behind him silently. "You'd think such bother over something so minor would of been shadowed by a war between dragons that near ruined our lands. It appears my cousin would disagree."
Ser Paddy Wode, with his greying hair and kind eyes, nodded solemnly. "I agree, my Lord, of course. Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood are said to be. . . well, it's proving a risk, I mean. If Riverrun mean to do nothing about this," His boots sunk into the mud and he fell back a pace, Darik's eyes catching the man's fight to have his foot released from the wet soil, "then surely the King Jacaerys must."
"Hardly necessary," Darik felt the heat of his refusal burn his lips with the quickness in which he responded, ignoring the surprised glance he's sent.
Ser Paddy was a loyal man, once a good-named knight, and his own son would soon follow in Paddy's steps in running their household keep, but Paddy tended to ignore truths written before him. Not once had he ever acknowledged the rumoured tension between Darik and their dark-haired King.
"They'll drag us into this mess over harvests and land," Ser Paddy urged again, ignoring the state of his boots. "Farms have hardly recovered—"
"I'll be speaking to my cousin, Ser Wode, and sternly warn him against any action, but if the Blackwoods and Brackens wish to waste men over something so—" Darik's hand came up to wave with dismissal, "—settled, it is neither a concern of yours nor mine. It is the King's and Lord Paramount's duty to stop this Bracken-Blackwood bickering."
A hand gripped Darik by the shoulder as he stepped up to the top of the hill, turning to see Lucas staring up at the stone walls of their home. The shouting of men seemed to whisper in the wind from over, constructing as a tower was in the process of being removed for half it's height. It had taken a year so far, and seemed like to take another few more, the first was near done already. But the first steps of his plan had begun to ring true.
"Besides," Darik added, "there's Blackwood blood that runs through me. Marriage pacts and truces can not stop those two from this ridiculous tradition by now."
"I only worry, my Lord."
Darik's eyes softened a fraction as he met Ser Paddy's, "Your concerns hold merit, I just don't intend on letting senseless hatred reach us once more."
Ser Paddy's face lost it's tension as relief took root.
The Riverlands had lost much in the Dance of the Dragons, the succession war between Targaryen's had torn brothers from brothers and sons from mothers, but many knew House Strong had lost more than most. The damage Aemond Targaryen had thrown upon House Strong had reached all corners of the realm, and Darik had received help where he had least expected it, allying alongside the gold Tyland Lannister had repaid for Darik's helping hand and House Strong's coin.
It would soon not be enough, but the fertile lands surrounding the Gods Eye and Trident held a holding in Darik's plans. Where his grandfather had failed to ensure their house, he would not. He intended to see it thrive. Even if he had to take some of it apart.
At that, he wanted to crush the curse that is said to haunt the walls of Harrenhal. Squeeze it between his grasp until there was no truth to it.
So of course, Darik would not desire that sort of conflict to reach his—their—lands again. Their home. Where he meant for rebirth, for Strong's, folk and vassals alike to develop and live again. He didn't want war and destruction and tragedy to fall upon them twice over, where they had once bled and saw death with nobody granted the gift of mercy. Not only capable men, but seniors and women and children.
Dragons didn't care for those beneath them. But those beneath them took care for one another.
"Lord Darik!"
He stopped short from speaking to Lucas to instead turn, spotting his page running along the stoned foot trail before diving off the side.
Young Hosteen Frey, the youngest born to Darik's aunt, straightened despite the deep breath he took to regain his posture. He had been in Darik's service since the boy was seven, and he was now ten.
Darik nodded toward him, "Why are you not with the master-at-arms, Hosteen?"
Hosteen's cheeks flushed, "I apologise, cousin. . . I. . . it is the Lady Jaehaera, she says it is an urgent matter. She asked me to send for you."
Lucas turned in his direction as Darik stared at Hosteen for a second, before turning to Ser Paddy, only for the man to nod and turn, beginning his way down the east side of the front walls. Toward where construction was being carried out for a large opening and a road was starting to be dug out to connect with the kingsroad own. The pillows of trading would soften the edges of worry where it came to maintaining the parts that Darik was separating from his own holdings.
He followed up after Hosteen, his hand reaching to rest on the hilt of his blade, his large strides that kicked up dirt from the foot trail between him and the gate. It was rare that any of Darik's children called upon him when he was not within the busy comfort of their castle, but if they did, it was near often always to be Jaehaera who wanted her father.
"An urgent matter," Darik repeated, a small shake to his head. "Let us go and see what urgency my daughter means."
Hosteen nodded with all the seriousness of a boy wishing for the favour of not only his lord in service, but his closest cousin.
Three years had gone by that Hosteen had been raised in Darik's care now, and he had rejected the suggestion that he go back to the twins to visit his mother in hopes he'd be able to stay instead. Darik's aunt had been forced to come to Harrenhal, and hadn't relaxed once during her near week stay, her eyes catching the shadows behind pillars and round stairways, expression torn between fright and hope that perhaps she'd spot the face of her father.
She never did. Even if she did write of her worries that Darik was stuck in a maze of curses and ghosts.
It took some time to reach back to the main quarters where Darik's family resided, where Lucas held his own chambers nearest to the ground. Hosteen was dismissed back to the yard with stern instruction that he not leave it again no matter what either of the twins called down toward him with little reason.
"Following to witness this?" Darik asked his uncle.
Lucas coughed the slightest to cover his laugh, "I am your sword and shield, little lord."
Darik eyed the household captain, but said nothing more.
It wasn't until he pushed open the weighted chamber doors that Darik finally gave pause, mud trekking up his ankles and his fingers halted against the wood. He had not stopped by elsewhere on his way to answering his daughter's command, and that was evident.
Jaehaera turned, her long silver locks decorating down her back in unbrushed waves after being released from her braid, and her eyes brightened at the sight of him. Usually, she took to latching onto whatever part of her father that she could, and this time was no different. She reached for his hand as he neared, her other hand quick to grip onto his elbow, "I found them by the bench of the godswood, father—"
"The godswood—?"
"Could I keep them?"
The two cats, strays though not malnourished, sat lazily upon his daughter's velvet chaise lounge. One was spotted, white and black, and the other entirely white. He'd wish to say he'd never seen either of them before, but Jaehaera had already promised four before them that she'd care for, so he was quite certainly not certain at all.
"What were you doing in the godswood, Jaehaera? Where is your septa? Your lessons of the Vale—"
"I don't want to learn about the vale," Jaehaera lost some of her excitement but clung to him nonetheless, her mother's eyes blinking up at him. From the doorway, Lucas grinned, already much used to this sight. "And I lost my septa."
His other hand came up, meant to rub at his temple in a way he was sure was due to be called a pattern by now, but instead he rested it upon the top of his daughter's head as he looked towards the two strays she had found. "You are not meant to run from your septa, Jaehaera, not in this castle. Not in any. Just as your brother always has a companion, you must as well." He lightly lectured her doings.
Her hand came out, letting go of his elbow, to point towards the unnamed cats.
Unnamed to him, not her.
"Pepper and Pox were with me, I was not alone."
"That is not— you have named them?"
Jaehaera smiled small, a gesture so scarcely seen years ago in Kings Landing as she'd hide behind the skirts of her mother or the legs of Darik in the nursery, "They asked me. I could not say no. It is unkind."
She was thirteen, his sweet girl. Thirteen, small for her age, and eager to hold his hand where she could. She still called for him to calm her if a storm brewed outside or the night did not silence so she could sleep. And her dolls and cats and quiet company were otherwise her favourites.
He had never been able to deny her. Not when she was a babe, and he fourteen, the closest Helaena had to a friend, and not now, her mother's second husband who Jaehaera called her own father.
"You have named them now so I see no reason to refuse," Darik ignored Lucas's chuckle from behind him, "But stop this wandering alone. Not even I do."
She peered around him towards his uncle, shyly tucking herself back into his side after, before nodding. Pepper and Pox—which of which he did not know—did not move, unaware they'd be amongst Jaehaera's most beloved, and Nymeria's—well, the black cat that bravely claimed Harrenhal and had done so since Darik had been a boy—wrath. She was no fan of any of his daughter's animal friends, but was found watching one of the children or Darik.
Little Lucien was Nymeria's favourite.
"I mean it, Jaehaera, let this be the last time you risk getting lost in the godswood," Darik bent so he was knelt before her, her height that did not match her age making it easier to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She nodded, and he smiled, "Would you like me to escort you back to your lesson?"
The silver-haired girl shook her head, "The new Maester says Jae needs to know it more than I, and. . ."
Darik's smile dipped at her reveal, his fingers coming to grasp her own as he peered over his shoulder towards his uncle. Their old Maester had been cherished by them, living in the red keep as Darik grew older in his lordship, but his health had declined since the Dance, and he'd submitted to death in his sleep, casting a mourning period over the unfinished, already grieving estate.
The other took to tending Helaena and Lucien, fixing up a semi-stable partnership with Alys, but this new Maester had ultimately just proven he could not remain. A shame. He was highly spoken of by Lady Samantha Tarly, a close friend to Darik, but such praise only caused new waves of disappointment.
"That will be handled," Darik promised her, beginning to stand, "But you are a daughter of this castle and you'll not lack the same education your brother receives."
"I don't want to go."
A sigh escapes him, quiet in his thinking, before he adds, "There will be a new Maester before the next moon arrives, sweet girl. Until then, I will read to you and your brother of the Vale and North."
Life sparked in her at the compromise. The mean old Maester would not remain and she'd have books read to her by the one who had always done so. She let go of him abruptly, rushing to gather up one of the cats in her arms and his foot stepped forward, almost panicked in his response that this new creature did not truly know Jaehaera, but the one she whispered Pox to only sank quite happily in her grasp.
Defeat made a home in him.
As it so often did when it came to his daughter. Much to the amusement of his uncle and wife.
There was no smile upon her face when she turned back to him, but the light in her eyes made up for that. "Can we visit mother and the babe?"
"Not with Pox. Maester Liddle will see to them first," Darik stared toward the stray who seemed to glare up at him, wondering what he'd done for such treatment, "Bid your goodbyes, and your uncle will take them to the Maester while we visit your brother," As she went to make her complaint, he grounded his terms with one warning, "Jaehaera."
Her fingers brushed over her cat's back but she did as she was instructed.
"And do stop sending my cousin for matters that are not so urgent, Jaehaera, Hosteen has much to be taught himself when he is not serving me, and I do not intend—" his voice broke a little in his seriousness when she reached back for his hand, "—on him having any excuse to say he did not know."
Her fingers squeezed his and he was right back to ignoring Lucas attempting to hide his amusement. He did not mind it, truly. Did not mind answering to all her calls and questions. His father had never done that for him, but he'd do it for her. And her brothers. Darik would do anything for them.
"Hosteen does not mind," Jaehaera whispers.
Hosteen has a bothersome crush, Darik furiously thinks, remembering the times he'd told his cousin off for his blushing cheeks and wordless responses. He was ten only, and yet Darik thought there was some resemblance between himself and his aunt's youngest in that regard. He'd not have it.
( "What is the matter?" Darik asked.
Hosteen cleared his throat, a young and happy lad eager for each day, "It is nothing, my lo—cousin, nothing, I swear it!" But he had been gaping at the silver-haired girl sat by her mothers side, slow to listen, and Darik wanted to pinch his little cousin's nose upon the realisation.
"No more staring at my daughter, the Lady Jaehaera," Darik warned his page with stern eyes, "No more of it."
Little Hosteen Frey looked as if he might cry, and he looked like their grandfather then, for Lord Lyonel bound them of the same family tree, but for once, Darik did not let up in the fondness he held for kin. "I... cousin, I won't, my Lord." )
Lucas holds the two cats next as Darik exits with Jaehaera clinging to his hand, and there was no hiding the laughing smugness that grew in the Lord's eye at his Captain. "Best of luck, uncle."
Without the presence of Jaehaera, it seemed the cats awakened truly. One made attempt to jump from the knight's hold, but Lucas held them both to his chest, muttering curses under his breath and that was the last sight Darik saw before he turned a corner.
"Should we send for ravens to find true companions for you?" Darik asked her, a question he did most often. Sometimes he worried, something his wife did not share for Helaena had once commented her daughter valued her privacy rather than open spaces, but he simply did not want her feeling alone at any time. He understood her love for silence, but. . . it was different. He supposed this was how his mother had felt when he was a boy.
She shook her head in reply.
Arriving at his shared chambers, Darik urged the silver-haired teen forward before pushing open one of the doors. Jaehaera wasted little time, practically running forward ahead of him as he stepped calmly after her, the click of the room closing once more bringing him to turn and face the scene.
Candles lit the room, though the curtains were open for the resting mother and new-born.
The mirror of his love sat at the near foot of the bed, assumingly besides Helaena's legs, before Jaehaera reached for the ageing carved butterfly that Darik had gifted Helaena years ago. She'd asked for it, some time ago, but not even Helaena—despite reaching womanhood, marrying twice, surviving a war, birthing children, and uprooting all she knew to settle elsewhere, the magnificent woman that she was—could give up that butterfly. It was a beacon of sorts for her.
Helaena's face broke into a smile as she looked over her daughter's head towards him. Everything softened down to just her as he closed the distance.
"He is sleeping," Helaena spoke first, eyes leaving him to glance towards the cradle not far from her. The twins still sometimes crept into the bed of their parents, and so it came to no to surprise to the maids that they'd keep their youngest as close as they did now too. "He is so quiet."
Darik hummed, glancing down at the babe Helaena had birthed with strength he knew not of. His hair was thick despite his infancy, dark like Darik's, but his eyes. . . one brown, common and curious like his father's, and the other a pale lilac that caught perfectly in the light like his mother's. Lucien was quiet, and such quietness sometimes panicked Darik much to Helaena's whispers of reassurance.
He is dreaming, she'd say. And not in a way that babes and children should.
And it did heavy his heart, for he knew dreams unsettled his wife. And she was so sure their son would carry those same visions.
( Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he was only quiet and fond of silence as his elder siblings were, though Jaehaerys by the day grew more into a young lad fit with companions that would one day be strapping knights of the realm, more accustomed to the shouts of boys than the peacefulness of his twin sister. )
"Like his sister," Darik commented, glancing to Jaehaera to see her fiddling with the butterfly, cheeks blushed. "Bring me the water pitcher for your mother, sweet girl."
Jaehaera glanced over her shoulder, the opposite side of the room, before nodding, getting up to do as she'd been asked.
Darik, in turn, took the opportunity to kneel before the bed, fingers just about dancing along the skin of Helaena's forehead as her eyes closed, "A raven arrived from Kings Landing. I sent one in response to inform the King we have a son and not a daughter, and that we named him for my uncle, but. . . the King may arrive here soon enough despite."
"I won't marry them to Jace's children."
"We won't," He reassured her, thumb brushing her temple, "I promised to you none of ours would marry the crown."
Helaena opened her eyes to look up at him, sleepiness embedded in her Valyrian eyes, but whatever she saw in him must of settled her worries for she relaxed. Jaehaera placed the pitcher down on the bedside, turning to glance upon her brother.
"He looks much like you, father," Jaehaera whispered. "Do you think he'll have a dragon too?"
No, he wouldn't.
Darik's other hand grasped onto Helaena's, who shifted—with his aid—to sit up against the pillows stuffed behind her. There was a flash of sadness across her face at the question, something Darik would never understand. He was no Targaryen. He'd sat upon the back of Dreamfyre, but he was no rider. He felt no bond. His blood would never burn like hers, not for the skies. He did not know what it meant. Helaena and her—their—children understood perfectly.
And King Jacaerys had to change things.
He'd taken the titles of Helaena's children, no longer Prince and Princess, and was no doubt being warned by his Queen Baela about Aegon's blood remaining at Harrenhal, and had stated that no further eggs would be gifted to Helaena's future children. If Dreamfyre hatched a clutch, they would be returned to the crown. Only she had remained with her royal title, for she had been a king's daugther, and a queen's sister after.
The King was Jace no longer. Not to Darik and not to Helaena.
( And yet. . . of late, since Helaena's pregnancy, he'd called upon Darik by raven, hoping to reconcile, to bring back his Hand. He'd spoken of a betrothal, if Helaena birthed a girl for the recent Crown Prince, for Helaena was a Targaryen. It made sense, he'd reasoned. To unite the two bloodlines and bring peace.
Though he'd yet to replace Darik as he should of when Darik left, as Darik had insisted the King he must.
You're a boy no longer, Darik had told him, ignoring the frustration and hurt he'd been stared upon with, you're a man now, and a man you must act. Station Alyn by your side, or Joffrey or Aegon when time is right. Until your future heir can replace them.
People at court look toward you, Jace had argued, they'll see this as a disservice for your loyalty and ties. Helaena has a dragon, the twins each their own. What would you have me say?
Perhaps not the truth, that I do this for your benefit and mine own, had been Darik's answer, we are grieving. My mother and Helaena's both died here. It is easy enough to excuse our absence with that in mind. As for the dragons, you are the King. That is your choice.
It hadn't been, really. Not with the support Darik and Helaena held at court, those in the Reach and West and Riverlands. Helaena and her children had done nothing in the war, it would be to punish the innocent. Jace and Rhaena and Joffrey had theirs. )
"No, he won't fly," Helaena answered, hand tightening in his. "But he will grow big quickly. He will love to hear stories, Jaehaera, many stories."
"I can tell him stories," The young girl promised, but she did not touch the babe. "I have so many I can tell him, Mother."
Happiness took place in his wife's eyes as she smiled toward Jaehaera hovering over the cradle, "He will be glad to hear them. They will be his armour." Jaehaera glanced to her mother at that, before becoming distracted at the stretch Lucien begins, and Helaena, more quietly, adds, "He will be much like me. . . I think."
There's no fear, no worry, as she tells him this. Just a sure thing.
He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, his hair sweeping over his eye sight, his other hand reaching to pour her a cup of water. "Good. How better off we will be for it."
He hoped she shined most through all their children. It was no secret Helaena Targaryen was the largest part of him, the one that beat through him and was willing to be beaten for.
There would always be an everlasting reminder that he had almost lost her, and the twins, but. . . his knees bending as he offered himself in place of them so Helaena and her children would be spared would never leave her in return. And when the memory threatened to make her bleed, he knew, just as he always did, and he ensured she knew all was fine now, that she was not alone.
"And you?" Her question brings him back to her, cup in his free hand, and when Darik meets her eyes, there's a frown upon her face, "He has your hair, and your eye. That is important."
A laugh near broke through him.
The babe's hair was dark, and one eye was Darik's, and Jaehaera's young sight saw that first and foremost. But. . . it was Helaena's face that Lucien possessed already, her nose and mouth, the shape of her eyes. He was so new to the world and there was slight discomfort that Darik found buried deep within him, for the boy had been born in a home that had not long cried in horror and desperation to be saved from a dragon's fire and it's rider's wrath. And Darik could not save them. He had failed.
Lucien was the life that Harrenhal needed after it's loss and it terrified Darik. Of the possibility somebody would come along and take his children too.
"No need for softened words, my darling," Darik smiled as Helaena drank her cup full, "My pride is not bruised that he takes after his mother. He is perfect as he is."
A faint blush powered her face as she pressed the cup back into his awaiting grasp. A boyish grin lit up features.
( Helaena thought her husband looked younger than he was then, unburdened by the weight on his person. He carried those well enough to not pull her down, his demons and nightmares failed to reach her.
She loved his eyes most when his smile reached them. Somehow, perhaps the gods had made fit to do so for her daughter was not of her husbands blood, on the most rare occasion that Jaehaera smiled, she did so like Darik. The two ladies sat around her bed as she aged would one day do so as well, though she told Darik nothing of this. Their faces blurred, but she saw the life in them.
But her sons. . . they were her. All her.
And Aegon. )
"I have finished what I made for you," She glanced to the other side of the bed, "Your new jerkin."
Darik stretched, leaning no weight of his on her, and gripped what she'd been embroidering for him. The soft silk calmed his fingers as he sat now, holding the new clothing, thumb rubbing over the clothing of his house.
She should of been resting, he thought, these past weeks since birth, but his wife did not like to do nothing, he knew. And this had been something she'd started during her last few moon turns of pregnancy.
"I will wear it tomorrow," He promised her, remembering the light blue one she'd made him, in the same shade as her dragon, and the one before, red and black. "It is beautiful, Helaena, as beautiful as those you've made me before. Thank you."
Her head buried back into the pillows, "I was inspired." Helaena's gaze slowly drifted to the cradle where two of her children were. "I made Jaehaerys one the same. I have nearly finished Jaehaera's dress, can you see the butterflies?"
His eye caught that, just beneath the collar. Embroidered with blue and silver and white. There was one on the opposite side, facing the other, a little bigger than the first he saw. He was sure the one she'd made for Jaehaerys was as beautiful, no doubt matching as she'd done before.
"Thank you, mother."
He pressed another kiss to Helaena's hand, "Get some rest. Dinner's to be sent here later. We'll have it here again."
"Petey's made lemon and cream cakes." Jaehaera added as she straightened, gathering her skirts in one hand. Darik was evidently moving too slow, not yet raised from his seating, "Will you be quite alright without Mother then, Father?"
Both of them turned to their daughter at that, her lilac eyes sparking with a mischievous glow that had faded for a long time. Helaena hid her smile against her shoulder, nesting into her silk cover, while Darik rose his eyebrow, turning slightly, "What is that to mean?"
"I only wonder if you require a Maester in Mother's absence."
Helaena could not hide her giggle, the sound echoing through the chamber as Jaehaera joined in.
Darik watched the young girl for a second more, keeping this moment close to his heart, “My pride is quite bruised now."
And that only made them giggle at his false misery further.