rainstormies

[rainstormies]

(19) thorns and roses

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 5.4k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

SAMIRA

Samira wandered the sandstone corridors of Sunspear, her mind a turbulent sea as she grappled with the revelation that had just shaken her world. It was a slow unravelling, a series of hints and overheard conversations, pieced together like a patchwork of half-truths. And now, standing in the shadow of the great Martell palace, with the warmth of the Dornish sun casting long shadows across the tiles, Samira knew. She was not a Hightower. Not truly. Her father, the man who had raised her, who had loved her, who she had thought she belonged to - Lord Baelor - was not her blood. 

Her true father was someone else. 

Lord Quentyn Qorgyle of Sandstone. 

The realisation had come crashing down upon her like a wave breaking against the shore. Samira had always known that something about her felt different. She bore no resemblance to the pale, golden-haired Hightowers of Oldtown. Her hair was a deep chestnut, her skin kissed by the sun, her eyes darker than any of her supposed kin. She had always felt like an outsider in her own family, a quiet observer in a world of people she couldn’t quite mirror. And now she knew why. 

The last puzzle piece had clicked into place during a quiet afternoon in Sunspear. She had been in the company of Princess Myrcella, who had made a passing comment about how Samira reminded her of the Qorgyles, who had visited only a few moons past. It had been meant as a casual remark, a simple observation about her features, but it had been the spark that set her mind alight. From there, whispers of her mother’s travels all those years ago - how Lady Rhonda had stopped at Sandstone on her way to Sunspear - came flooding back. It had all seemed so ordinary before. Now, it was tinged with something else, something profound. 

Samira sat in the small private garden attached to her chambers, the scent of citrus trees and flowering vines filling the air, but it did little to calm her. The weight of her new knowledge was suffocating, a burden she wasn’t sure she could carry. 

"Quentyn Qorgyle," she whispered to herself, testing the name on her tongue, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it more real. 

Could it be true? The Lord of Sandstone, a man she had never met, was her father? Her true father? What would he say if she stood before him? Would he even remember her mother? Or was Samira merely the result of some forgotten, fleeting moment between them?

Her thoughts churned, and she found herself filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and sorrow. Lord Baelor had loved her, had raised her, and for all intents and purposes, he had been her father. But now that seemed like a lie, a comforting illusion shattered by the truth of her Dornish blood. A part of her was angry at her mother, Lady Rhonda, for keeping this secret buried for so long, for letting her live a life wrapped in falsehoods. Another part of her felt guilty for even thinking that way. What if her mother had been trying to protect her? What if her father - Baelor - had known all along and still loved her as his own?

Tears pricked her eyes, but Samira refused to let them fall. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms as she stood. She had always prided herself on being strong, but this - this was almost too much to bear. 

And yet, beneath all the confusion and anger, a deeper question gnawed at her: Who am I?

She had always defined herself by the Hightower name, by her family, by Oldtown. But now she realised that part of her soul belonged to another place, to another man, a stranger she had never known but who was bound to her by blood. 

She felt her heart pull in two directions. On one hand, there was the life she had always known, her family, her home. On the other, there was the truth - the truth of her Dornish heritage, the legacy of the Qorgyles, a place and a father she had never met. Would Lord Quentyn even acknowledge her? Would he want her in his life? Would he welcome her as a daughter, or would he see her as nothing more than an unwelcome reminder of a past he had long since forgotten?

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. What if he rejected her? What if he had never wanted a daughter, or worse, what if he had never even known of her existence? He already had two sons. The fear of that unknown, of the potential disappointment, gripped her heart with icy fingers. 

As evening fell and the sky turned a deep, bruised purple over Sunspear, Samira made a decision. She couldn’t live in limbo. She couldn’t bear the weight of not knowing any longer. She had to go to Sandstone. She had to see this man who had unknowingly fathered her, this lord of Dorne who might hold the key to her true identity. 

But the thought of it terrified her. Sandstone was not far from Sunspear, but it felt a world away. It wasn’t just the physical distance - it was the emotional chasm she would have to cross. She feared being a disappointment to him. What if she wasn’t what he had imagined his daughter to be? What if he had no place in his heart for her?

The next morning, as the pale light of dawn filtered through her chamber, Samira began preparing for her journey. Her heart raced with each item she packed, with every step that brought her closer to the unknown. 

She was interrupted by a knock at her door. It was Lady Arianne, the oldest of the Martell children, who had been something of a companion to Samira during her stay in Sunspear. Samira’s hands trembled slightly as she opened the door, revealing Arianne’s concerned face. She looked at Arienne, older, more beautiful, and more deeply Dornish than Samira ever felt she could be, with her dark, sun-kissed skin and the effortless confidence of a true Martell. 

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Arianne said, her voice soft with concern. "What’s troubling you, Samira?"

Samira hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should confide in Arianne. But the weight of her secret had become too much to bear alone. She motioned for Arianne to sit beside her on the bed, and slowly, she began to explain everything - the whispers, the discovery, the possibility that her real father was not Baelor Hightower, but Lord Quentyn Qorgyle of Sandstone. 

Arianne listened in silence, her sharp Dornish eyes never leaving Samira’s face. When Samira finished, there was a long pause before Arianne finally spoke. 

"And what will you do now?" she asked, her voice calm but full of curiosity.

"I don’t know," Samira admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I want to go to Sandstone, but… I’m afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Samira looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together nervously. "Afraid that he won’t want me. Afraid that I’ll be a disappointment to him. What if he doesn’t even remember my mother? What if I was just a mistake?"

Arianne’s gaze softened, and she reached out to take Samira’s hand in hers. "You are no mistake, Samira. You are a strong, intelligent woman. If Lord Quentyn is truly your father, he would be a fool not to recognise the gift that has come into his life."

Samira smiled weakly, though her heart still felt heavy. "But what if he doesn’t? What if he wants nothing to do with me?"

"Then that will be his loss," Arianne said firmly. "But you won’t know until you go. You can’t live the rest of your life in fear of the unknown."

Samira knew that Arianne was right. She couldn’t let fear rule her decisions. She had to face whatever lay ahead, no matter how terrifying the prospect seemed.

With a deep breath, Samira stood, her resolve hardening. "I’ll go to Sandstone," she said, her voice more certain than it had been before. "I’ll find out the truth."

Arianne smiled and squeezed her hand. "You’ll do more than that, Samira. You’ll find yourself."

As Samira prepared to leave Sunspear and head toward Sandstone, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its warm light over the desert landscape. The journey ahead would be long and difficult, both physically and emotionally. But Samira knew she had no other choice. 

She had to know who she truly was. She had to meet the man who might be her father. 

And no matter what happened at Sandstone, Samira would face it with the strength of both her Hightower upbringing and her newly discovered Dornish blood. Whatever the outcome, it would be hers to claim. 

ALINA

Alina stood at the window of the villa, the golden light of the Lysene sun spilling across her face, warming her skin. She looked out over the garden, where Duncan was seated, sharpening his sword beneath the shade of a flowering tree. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hands steady and sure. There was a quiet strength to him, a kind of steadfastness that had come to mean everything to her. She had known Duncan Caswell her whole life, but it was only now that she truly understood him - understood the depths of his loyalty, the softness beneath his stern demeanour, and the love he had quietly nurtured for her all these years. 

A love she had grown to return. 

Her hand drifted instinctively to her belly, where their child - Arielle, she had decided to name her - rested. It had taken time to come to terms with everything. The death of Robb, the chaos that had erupted in Westeros, and the knowledge that she carried the heir to the North. But in this sun-drenched city, far from the battles and the bloodshed, she had found a small measure of peace. And in Duncan, she had found something even more precious: a future. 

They would raise their child in Oldtown, she had decided. There was a small castle downriver from the Starry Sept, not far from where she had grown up, and it would be their home. A quiet place, surrounded by the history of her ancestors and the warmth of her family. She smiled softly at the thought, the image of her daughter running through the halls of the castle, Duncan by her side, always watching, always protecting. 

Alina turned away from the window and stepped outside, her bare feet sinking into the soft grass as she made her way toward Duncan. He looked up as she approached, his expression softening immediately. 

"You shouldn’t be on your feet so much," Duncan said, his voice filled with concern. "You’re carrying our daughter, after all."

Alina laughed, a warm, easy sound that she hadn’t heard from herself in what felt like years. “I’m fine, Duncan. I promise. I’ve been carrying her for months, and I’m not about to break now.”

Duncan stood, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek gently. His rough thumb brushed over her skin, a touch that was both protective and tender. “I just worry,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen a woman as strong as you, but that doesn’t stop me from fearing the worst.”

“You’ll have to get used to worrying,” she teased, leaning into his touch. “We’ll be travelling back to Oldtown soon enough, and then you can hover over me all you like.”

Duncan’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re sure it’s safe to travel? You’re-”

“I’m pregnant, Duncan, not an invalid,” Alina interrupted with a grin. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I want our daughter to be born in Oldtown, where she can grow up surrounded by my family. And I want to marry you there too, in front of the Starry Sept.”

Duncan’s face softened at the mention of marriage. “I’d marry you today, if I could,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “I don’t need a grand ceremony. I just need you.”

Alina smiled, her heart swelling with affection for him. “And I love you for that. But after everything that’s happened, I want this to be special. I want my parents there, I want the bells of the Sept to ring, and I want to wear a gown worthy of a Hightower. I never got to have that with Robb. But this time…I want to do it right.”

Duncan looked at her for a long moment, his eyes filled with so much love it almost took her breath away. “You always were the girl with big dreams,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll wait as long as you need, Alina. You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have.”

Alina’s heart fluttered at his words. It still felt strange sometimes, to think of Duncan in this way. He had been her protector, her sworn shield, for so long. She had never allowed herself to see him as anything else. But now, in the quiet moments they shared, in the way his touch lingered on her skin and the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, she saw him for what he truly was - her partner, her love, the one who would father her children. 

“I’m not the girl I used to be,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against his chest. “I’ve changed, Duncan. So much has changed.”

“But you’re still you,” he replied, his hand moving to rest over hers. “You’re still the woman who is loyal to her family, who fights for what she believes in. You’re still the woman who cares more about others than she does herself. That’s what I love about you, Alina. You’ve always been so… good.”

Alina felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She leaned up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, the touch brief but filled with all the affection she felt for him. “And I love you,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I never thought I’d find this again, not after everything that’s happened. But I have. With you.”

Duncan’s hand cupped the back of her head, his thumb stroking her hair. “I never thought I’d have a chance with you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You were always so far out of reach, and I was never going to tell you. I was content to protect you, to be by your side, even if you never noticed me.”

“I noticed,” Alina said, her voice barely a whisper. “Maybe not in the way I should have, but I always felt safe with you. You’ve always been there, Duncan.”

He smiled at that, a soft, almost shy smile that made her heart flutter. “I’ll always be here. For you, for our daughter. I’ll keep you both safe, no matter what.”

Alina’s hand drifted back to her belly, where she could feel the faint movements of the child growing inside her. “Arielle will be safe in Oldtown. We will build a life there, one that’s full of peace and love. And you’ll be a wonderful father, Duncan.”

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be a father,” Duncan said with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of anxiety in his voice. “I’ve spent my whole life preparing to be a knight, to fight and protect. But this…this is something else.”

“You’ll be perfect,” Alina reassured him, resting her hand on his. “You have a good heart, Duncan. That’s all you need.”

He kissed her forehead gently, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back. “I’ll protect you both with everything I have.”

“I know you will,” she replied, her voice steady and sure. “But for now, you’ll have to wait. We’ll marry in Oldtown, in front of the people we love. And then, we’ll raise our daughter in peace.”

Duncan sighed, though there was a smile on his lips. “I’ll wait. But gods, Alina, you’re making it hard.”

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, as if the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders for just a moment. “You’ll survive, Ser Duncan. You’re stronger than you think.”

They stood together in the garden, the sun warm on their skin, the future stretching out before them like a promise. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Alina felt hope. She had lost so much, but in Duncan, she had found something worth holding onto. Something worth fighting for. 

And together, they would build a new life - one filled with love, family, and the kind of peace she had longed for. 

SAMIRA

Samira stood at the gates of Sandstone, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared up at the rugged, sun-baked fortress. The journey had felt endless, and yet now that she was at her destination, fear gnawed at her stomach. She was about to meet the man she had only recently discovered was her true father - Quentyn Qorgyle, Lord of Sandstone. 

The guards led her through the winding corridors of the castle, the thick heat of Dorne pressing against her skin, making it harder to breathe. Each step felt heavier than the last. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if this was all a mistake? She had grown up with Baelor Hightower as her father, a man she had loved dearly, and who had always been there for her. How could she reconcile that with the man she was about to meet, a stranger who shared her blood but nothing else?

When she finally reached the main hall, her heart skipped a beat. Lord Quentyn Qorgyle stood waiting for her, his broad shoulders and weathered face reminding her of Baelor in an unsettling way. There was a similar kindness in his eyes, a certain steadiness that made him appear grounded, much like the man she had called father for her entire life. But the resemblance was superficial - the man before her was undeniably Dornish, with sun-darkened skin and hair streaked with grey. As their eyes met, recognition flared in his gaze. 

"Samira," he breathed, his voice soft, yet filled with awe. 

Samira froze. He recognized her. Without having to ask who she was, without any explanation. She swallowed hard, her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to say, “Lord Quentyn.”

He stepped forward, slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement would scare her away. “I knew it from the moment I saw you. I see her in you - Lady Rhonda. And I see… my mother,” he added with a smile that was warm, yet tinged with sorrow.

“Your mother?” Samira asked, her curiosity overcoming her nerves for a moment.

“Samira Qorgyle,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “The woman you were named after. She passed not long ago, but she was everything to me.” He smiled again, a little softer now. “Your mother met her once, you know, during her journey through Dorne. They spoke of love - youthful, reckless love. My mother saw it in your mother’s eyes, the way she spoke about me. She told me afterward that she hoped I would one day find a love like that. But I was already promised to another.”

Samira’s chest tightened as she listened. “Promised to another?” she echoed, barely above a whisper. 

Quentyn nodded, his gaze growing distant as he thought back to a time long past. “It was my duty to marry, just as your mother had her duties. We were young and foolish, caught up in something we knew couldn’t last. But gods, I’m glad it happened.” His voice grew rough with emotion. “She named you after my mother. She didn’t have to, but she did. It means more to me than you could ever know.”

A lump formed in Samira’s throat. She had spent her entire life thinking she was the daughter of Lord Baelor and Lady Rhonda, that her blood tied her to the Reach. To learn now that her roots were also in Dorne, that she carried not only the legacy of House Hightower but also the Qorgyles, made her feel adrift and anchored all at once.

“I…I didn’t know,” Samira admitted quietly, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “I never knew why my mother chose that name.”

Quentyn smiled, a bittersweet look crossing his face. “We agreed that it would be best for you to grow up as Baelor’s daughter. I couldn’t give you the life you deserved. I didn’t want you to grow up a bastard.”

Samira looked at him, her heart heavy. “You never told me. You were never there.”

Quentyn winced at her words, but he didn’t flinch away. He stepped closer, his gaze intent. “You’re right. I wasn’t there, and I’ll regret that until my dying day. But know this, Samira - I thought of you every day. Every time I looked at my children, I wondered about you. I wondered who you were becoming, what kind of woman you were. And now, seeing you here, I am… so proud. So proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Tears welled up in Samira’s eyes, but she fought them back. “You didn’t know me,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “How can you say that?”

“Because I can see it in your eyes,” Quentyn replied, his voice filled with emotion. “You’re strong, like your mother. And you’re kind, I can tell. I know I’ve missed out on so much of your life, but I know enough to see that you’ve grown into someone truly remarkable.”

Samira felt a mixture of emotions swirling inside her - pain, anger, confusion, but also something softer, something like relief. She had spent so long feeling untethered, not knowing why she had always felt a little different from the rest of her family. And now, standing in front of Quentyn, hearing him speak of her mother with such reverence, it all started to make sense. 

“I’ve always felt…separate,” Samira admitted, her voice trembling. “From Baelor, from my brother and my sister. I never understood why.”

“You’re not separate, Samira,” Quentyn said, reaching out to take her hand gently in his. “You’re connected to two worlds - Dorne and the Reach. You have the strength of both legacies in you.”

Samira stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of going through life as someone torn between two houses, two families, terrified her. But there was also a strange comfort in knowing the truth, in understanding where she truly came from. 

Quentyn’s grip tightened slightly as he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I wish I could have been, but at the time, it felt like the only way to protect you, to give you a future that I couldn’t offer. But I’m here now, and I want to know you, Samira. If you’ll let me.”

Samira blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, her chest aching with the weight of everything she was feeling. She had always felt a strange distance from her mother and siblings, and now she finally understood why. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. 

“I don’t know if I can just…accept all of this,” Samira said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking Baelor was my father. That my place was with House Hightower.”

“And it still is,” Quentyn said softly. “You are as much a Hightower as you are a Qorgyle. No one can take that away from you.”

Samira looked down at her hands, her mind spinning with everything she had just learned. She didn’t know how to feel. Part of her wanted to embrace this new part of herself, to explore what it meant to be a daughter of Dorne. But another part of her, the part that had grown up in the shadow of Hightower, didn’t know how to reconcile the two. 

“I need time,” Samira finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Quentyn nodded, his expression understanding. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

Samira met his gaze, and for the first time, she felt a flicker of connection. It was small, fragile, but it was there. She wasn’t sure what the future held or how she would come to terms with everything she had learned, but at least she wasn’t alone in this. 

“I’ll be in Sandstone for a while,” Quentyn said, stepping back. “But if you ever want to talk, or visit, you’ll always be welcome here. You’re family, Samira. You’ve always been family.”

As he walked away, Samira felt a weight lift off her chest, but a new one settled in its place - a weight of uncertainty, of questions that still lingered. She wasn’t sure where this revelation would lead her, but one thing was certain: her life had just changed forever. 

And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. 

LANNA

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over Oldtown. It was the kind of evening that invited lingering, a gentle sigh of the day’s end. Lanna stood on the balcony of the Hightower, looking over the bustling streets below, where the scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty tang of the harbour. It was a typical Oldtown evening, yet everything felt different. 

Alina had changed, and with her, the very air around them seemed to have shifted. The lightness in her laughter, the spark in her eyes, and the softness of her smile were a stark contrast to the sorrow that had shadowed her for so long. It was as if Alina had shed her grief like an old cloak, and in its place was a glow that radiated warmth and life. Almost all her sorrow was gone. Lanna didn’t dare to hope that it would stay, but for now, her cousin was happy. 

Preparations for Alina and Duncan’s wedding were in full swing. Servants hurried about the house, arranging flowers and polishing silverware, while Lanna watched from her perch like a silent sentinel. Whispers filled the air like the gentle rustling of leaves - a child, some said, was the reason for the haste. Rumours travelled quickly, and Lanna had caught wind of them more than once. “Duncan got her pregnant,” they said, eyes wide with scandalous delight. “That’s why the wedding is so rushed.” But Lanna didn’t care. Let them think that. Better that than the truth - that this marriage was not born of shame but of love, loyalty, and the sweet promise of a life to be lived together. Alina deserved this happiness, and Lanna would shield her from any whispers that might mar her joy. 

Just as Lanna turned to head back inside, the heavy wooden door creaked open. In walked a figure whose presence made the very air seem to shimmer with potential. Willas Tyrell, the eldest son of Mace Tyrell, stood before her, a vision of quiet dignity. His handsome features were softened by the years he’d spent in the shadow of his father’s grand expectations, yet there was a light in his eyes that spoke of warmth and kindness. His cane rested beside him, the silver head gleaming like a star in the fading light. 

“Lady Lanna,” he said, his voice smooth like the finest silk. “You look lovely this evening.”

“Lord Willas,” Lanna replied, feeling an uncharacteristic flush rise to her cheeks. “It’s good to see you here in Oldtown.”

​​“Good to see you,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “It has been too long.”

In the time since Lanna had last seen him, Willas had grown more self-assured, more commanding in his presence. His disability, a burden he carried with grace, seemed to fade into the background when he spoke. There was a gentleness to him that drew her in, a warmth that felt like home. 

“Will you attend the wedding tomorrow?” he asked, and the way he spoke her name sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“Of course,” she replied, her heart quickening. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As they stood there, the conversation flowed easily between them. He asked about her family, her father, and Alina’s happiness. Lanna felt a connection, a spark of understanding. She could see in his eyes that he was genuinely interested in her - not just the daughter of Lord Mathis, but her, Lanna Rowan. The feeling was intoxicating.

“I heard whispers that you were in Oldtown,” he continued, leaning slightly closer, as if to share a secret. “I had hoped to see you.”

“Whispers can be deceptive,” she said, teasingly. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I do believe that you deserve every happiness.”

The sincerity in his voice made Lanna’s heart swell. She had always respected the Tyrells, but with Willas, it was different. There was a depth to him that intrigued her, something profound beneath his affable exterior. 

“I heard you’ve been spending time in Oldtown,” she ventured, wanting to draw him out. “What brings you here?”

“Family matters, as usual. My father wishes for me to expand our connections in the Reach,” he said with a hint of reluctance. “But I confess, seeing you is a welcome distraction from all that.”

“I suppose I should feel flattered,” she teased, trying to keep her tone light despite the weight of his words. “But surely you have other matters to attend to?”

“None that matter more than this moment,” he replied, his gaze steady and intense. 

Lanna felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a warmth that spread through her like the sun breaking through clouds on a cool day. He stepped closer, and she could see the details of his face more clearly - the curve of his lips, the strength in his jaw, and the way his dark hair framed his features. 

“I’ve thought of you often, Lanna,” he confessed, his voice low, sincere. “In the quiet moments when I am alone, it is your laughter that echoes in my mind.”

His words took her by surprise, weaving a delicate tapestry of emotions within her. She had thought him a distant star, a bright figure in the background of her life, and yet here he was, standing before her, speaking of her in such a tender manner. 

“Willas…” she began, uncertain of how to respond. 

“You may find it strange, perhaps, that a crippled man like me would dare to dream of someone like you,” he said, his smile faltering slightly. 

“But I cannot help it. Your spirit shines brighter than any star in the sky.”

“I find it less strange and more… hopeful,” she admitted, a smile creeping onto her face. “I never imagined you would think of me in such a way.”

“I have admired you from afar for so long, Lanna. Your strength, your kindness, your loyalty - there is beauty in all that you are,” he said, his voice steady despite the vulnerability of his words. 

“I’m just me, Willas. I’m just trying to find my place in this world,” she replied, her heart racing. 

“There is a place for you, Lanna, with me if you will allow it,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “You deserve to be happy, and I would cherish the chance to be part of that happiness.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, leaving her breathless. The promise in his voice was intoxicating, a whisper of possibilities that made the future shimmer with hope. 

“Perhaps we could start with a dance at Alina’s wedding?” she suggested, her heart racing as she took a step closer. 

“A dance?” He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You think I can keep up with you?”

“I have faith in your abilities, Willas,” she replied, a smile spreading across her face. “Besides, I’ll be leading.”

His laughter rang out, rich and full of life, as the sun began to dip lower, casting a golden hue over them. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of Oldtown and the promise of new beginnings, Lanna felt a spark of hope flicker to life within her. 

Yes, she would let herself be swept up in this moment, this connection. Tomorrow, amidst the festivities, she would dance with Willas Tyrell and embrace the possibilities that lay before her.

[rainstormies]

(18) veins of gold

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

ALINA

The night had always been her sanctuary. It had always been Alina’s favourite time of day. The villa’s walls were thick, built to shield against more than just the sweltering Lysene heat. The warmth of the air settled over her like a blanket as Alina drifted deeper into sleep, the gentle rustling of palm leaves in the distance lulling her into a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in so long. The silver moonlight filtered through the latticed windows, casting a soft pattern across the floor and bed. 

For the first time since leaving Westeros, Alina allowed herself to rest without the gnawing fear clinging to her chest. She had escaped so much already - the threats, the grief, the pain - and though the future remained uncertain, the softness of her pillow and the distant hum of the city outside were enough to momentarily pull her from the heavy thoughts that plagued her every night. 

Yet, as her dreams became more vivid, a chill seemed to creep through the air, slowly unravelling the fragile calm she had found. The warmth was fading. Alina stirred in her sleep, her body tensing as if sensing something was wrong. But her mind remained far from reality, drifting in and out of the dreamworld. 

The room was quiet. Too quiet. 

A soft sound reached her ears, a whisper of movement that didn’t belong. Her eyes fluttered open, the edges of sleep still clinging to her. She blinked, adjusting to the darkness, her mind sluggishly processing what was happening. A shadow moved above her, but it wasn’t the shadow of the palm trees or the drapes billowing in the window’s breeze. No, this was something else - something wrong. 

Her heart stuttered, confusion clouding her thoughts as her vision focused on the figure looming over her bed. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could release even a breath, a hand clamped over her mouth with brutal force. 

Her entire body jerked in response, a primal, instinctive reaction to the danger. Wide-eyed and struggling for breath, she tried to thrash free, but the weight of the figure pressed down on her, pinning her against the bed. Panic gripped her chest like a vice, squeezing her lungs until it felt as though they might burst. 

The figure above her was dressed in black, a hood obscuring their face. But it was the cold glint of steel - the knife - that drew her gaze. The blade hovered just inches from her, gleaming menacingly in the faint light filtering through the window. The intruder shifted slightly, the knife moving closer, its cruel edge catching the moonlight as it approached her abdomen. 

Her child. 

The thought hit her like a blow, the fear that had been coiling inside her chest exploding into something far more terrifying. This wasn’t just her life at stake - this was her child’s. She had promised herself, and Robb’s memory, that she would protect this child, no matter what. And now, it seemed, she was going to fail. 

Her limbs felt heavy, her muscles unresponsive as she fought against the crushing weight of the figure on top of her. She tried to scream again, but the hand over her mouth silenced her, her cries coming out as nothing more than muffled whimpers. Tears pricked her eyes, her mind racing as she realised how hopeless her situation had become. 

This is it, she thought, her heart pounding so loudly it filled her ears. This is where I die. This is where it all ends. 

She could feel the edge of the blade brush against her skin, cold and unfeeling, and her thoughts went to Duncan, stationed just outside her room. Duncan, her mind screamed, though no sound came from her lips. He was out there. He would hear her. He had to hear her. 

But her mouth was sealed shut, her body pinned down, and the moments stretched endlessly, each second bringing her closer to death. Her mind raced through memories - her time in Winterfell, her love for Robb, the way he had looked at her the day they had wed, his warm smile and the feel of his hand in hers. She thought of her child, her unborn daughter, and how she had already dreamed of holding her, whispering promises of safety and love. She thought of her family, of Lanna, and how she had promised to stay by her side. But now, all of it was slipping through her fingers like sand. 

The intruder shifted again, the knife drawing closer. Alina’s panic reached its peak, her body buckling against the weight on top of her, every muscle screaming for escape. But it was futile. She wasn’t strong enough. This is where it ends, she thought again, despair crashing over her. 

And then, as if summoned by her desperation, the door to her chamber burst open with a loud crash. 

The figure on top of her jerked violently, twisting to face the sudden noise, but before they could react, a sword flashed in the darkness. There was a sickening thud as the blade met flesh, and the weight that had pinned her to the bed was abruptly lifted. 

Alina gasped, her chest heaving as air rushed into her lungs. She was shaking, her entire body trembling uncontrollably as she struggled to sit up. Through her blurred vision, she saw Duncan standing there, his sword dripping with blood, the dark figure lying lifeless at his feet. 

“Alina,” Duncan’s voice was rough, strained with both worry and fury as he rushed to her side, kneeling beside the bed. “Are you hurt?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, her heart still racing wildly in her chest. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The fear, the shock - it was too much. All she could do was stare at the lifeless body on the floor, the cold glint of the knife still catching the moonlight. 

Duncan gently cupped her face, his touch grounding her in the present. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice soft yet firm. “You’re safe, Alina.”

The words broke something inside her, the floodgates opening as the reality of what had just happened crashed down on her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest. Her body shook with the force of her cries, all the fear and grief and terror pouring out of her in a torrent. She clung to Duncan as if he were the only thing tethering her to the world, her hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic. 

“I thought-” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was going to die.”

Duncan wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she trembled against him. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

For a moment, they stayed like that, the only sound in the room her ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. The warmth of Duncan’s embrace was the only thing keeping her from spiralling back into the darkness that had nearly consumed her. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alina pulled back, wiping at her tear-streaked face with shaking hands. She couldn’t seem to stop trembling, her body still on edge, still caught in the terror of the moment. Duncan’s hands lingered on her shoulders, his gaze filled with concern. 

“Who was it?” she managed to choke out, her voice hoarse from crying. 

“I don’t know,” Duncan admitted, glancing down at the lifeless figure. “But they were sent to kill you.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the confirmation of what she had already known. There had been so many dangers, so many threats hanging over her head ever since she had fled Westeros, but now it had become all too real. The world wasn’t going to let her go so easily. 

Her hands instinctively went to her belly, cradling the life growing inside her. My child, she thought, the fear settling deeper into her bones. It wasn’t just her life in danger - it was her daughter’s. She couldn’t afford to be weak, to let her guard down again. Not when her child’s life depended on her. 

Duncan’s eyes followed her movement, understanding dawning in his expression. “We’ll leave Lys,” he said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “We’ll find somewhere safer. Somewhere they can’t reach you.”

Alina nodded weakly, though she had no idea where such a place could be. Nowhere felt safe anymore. But for now, in this moment, all that mattered was that she was alive. She was still here, still breathing. And so was her child. 

Duncan pulled her close again, his hand resting on the back of her head as he whispered soothing words. She let herself lean into him, let herself feel the warmth of his arms around her. For a brief moment, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this. 

The room was still, too still, as the guards carefully removed the body. Alina remained on the edge of her bed, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, staring ahead at the empty space where her assailant had been. Her mind felt numb, trapped in the hollow echo of her own heartbeat, which still thundered in her ears. The distant sounds of movement, the murmur of voices, all felt far away - distant from her in this thick fog of disbelief and fear. 

Lynesse, Lanna, and Duncan were gathered just beyond the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. Alina could hear the rise and fall of their voices, but the words didn’t register. It was only moments ago that she had been on the brink of death, the cold kiss of the blade mere inches from her. The shock of it lingered, settling deep into her bones, leaving her unable to fully comprehend the conversation happening without her. 

Lynesse’s sharp, commanding voice sliced through the air, though softened in deference to the gravity of the situation. "It’s clear now," she said, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Duncan and Lanna, "that Lys is no longer safe for her."

"No place is safe," Lanna countered, her voice laced with frustration. She glanced briefly at Alina, concern flickering in her eyes. "The whole world is tearing itself apart. The War of the Five Kings, assassins, spies, traitors... there’s nowhere that’s truly safe."

Duncan’s voice came next, calm but laced with urgency. "My family in Bitterbridge… my uncle Lord Lorent. He would take her in. He’s a good man, a trustworthy one. And Bitterbridge is far from the fighting."

Alina’s gaze flickered toward them for a moment, her mind sluggishly trying to keep up with the conversation. Bitterbridge. Duncan’s home. It sounded like a distant idea, some far-off place she could barely remember hearing of. But the word trustworthy lingered in her mind, cold and hollow. 

Lanna shook her head. "They say that about every man in Westeros, yet still people end up dead. It’s not about trust anymore. It’s about power, protection, and control."

Alina felt as if she were floating, her body still, but her thoughts drifting somewhere beyond the conversation, tethered only by a thin thread of fear. Her hand instinctively rested on her belly, the fear for her unborn child sharpening as it always did when she thought of her. She would do anything - anything - to protect her baby. 

Lynesse’s voice cut through the room again, harsher this time, drawing everyone’s attention. "The only way to keep Alina safe is to ensure the child is claimed as someone else’s. It’s the only way to stop these attacks." She cast a long glance at Duncan, and Alina could feel her words settling over the room like a storm about to break. 

Lanna’s eyes flickered toward Alina, a cautious glint in them as she carefully tested the waters. "We could say… it is Duncan’s."

Alina’s head snapped up, the fog that had wrapped itself around her thoughts dissipating in an instant. She stared at Lanna, the weight of her words crashing over her like a wave. 

The silence was palpable as Lanna watched her, waiting for the words to sink in. Duncan’s brow furrowed, his confusion apparent as he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He looked from Lanna to Lynesse, then back to Alina, his own shock evident. 

Alina’s heart pounded. For a moment, she could see the world shifting in front of her, the future twisting in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Could it really be the solution? Could she protect her child by claiming Duncan was the father? The idea was strange, unthinkable even - but as her hand rested over her belly, the reality of the danger she faced was all too real. 

"It… could work," Alina said, her voice barely above a whisper at first. She swallowed, gathering her strength. "We’ll have to. Anything to keep the baby safe."

Duncan was frozen in place, staring at her with wide eyes, his usual calm demeanour rattled by the gravity of what was being proposed. "Lady Alina, I��" he began, but his voice faltered, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say, or how to navigate this sudden shift in their lives. 

Alina met his gaze, her own voice steadier now, more resolute. "I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have be my child’s father." Her words, simple and sincere, hung in the air. She looked at Duncan, really looked at him - the man who had just saved her life, who had sworn to protect her no matter what. She knew Duncan loved her, even if he had never said it aloud. The truth was in the way he looked at her, in the way he had thrown himself into danger to keep her safe. Maybe it wasn’t the life either of them had envisioned, but it was the life they had now. 

Duncan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his mind racing. He glanced toward Lynesse, as if seeking her counsel, but her expression remained impassive, unreadable. He took a deep breath, as if trying to gather his thoughts. 

"I don’t know what to say," Duncan said finally, his voice low, full of uncertainty. "What… what do I tell my family?"

Lynesse, ever the strategist, folded her arms and regarded him with sharp eyes. "Tell them whatever you need to, but the truth is that if the child is believed to be yours, the threat against Lady Alina lessens. That is all that matters."

Lanna looked at Duncan, her voice soft but steady as she spoke. "You could say you’re the father. Protect her from the claims of the north and south alike. It would also give your family the advantage of being tied to the Hightowers, should anyone come looking for the truth."

"My uncle, Lord Lorent," Duncan began, his voice hesitant, "he only has daughters. And no brothers." He hesitated, his brow furrowed as if the weight of the conversation was finally settling in. "I suppose that makes me his heir once he’s gone."

Alina blinked, the weight of his words hitting her. "So, you’re the heir to Bitterbridge, Duncan? You never said."

Duncan shifted uncomfortably. "I wasn’t sure. His daughter, Lyra, she has a son. But he will inherit Ashford after his father. So I guess the title does belong to me once my uncle dies."

Lynesse's eyes lit up, as if pieces were falling into place for her. "Then it could work," she mused. "You have a title, a lineage, and now… you could have an heir."

Duncan looked back at Alina, the weight of it all clearly settling over him. His children - Alina's child - would become the future of Bitterbridge. It was a future she had never truly considered, but now, it was unfolding before her like a carefully spun web. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, the responsibility, the change. But more than that, she wasn’t sure how Duncan would feel about it all, about the idea of raising another man’s child as his own, even if it meant protecting Alina and her child. 

Alina’s eyes were locked on him, waiting, hopeful, and yet somehow resigned to this strange turn of events. Duncan stood in silence, but he nodded slowly. "I… will do whatever it takes to keep you and your child safe."

Alina let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She glanced down at her belly, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress. The thought of Robb’s child - their child - growing up without a father, without the love and protection they deserved, had haunted her for so long. But Duncan’s offer, though born out of necessity, felt like a small measure of salvation. 

Lanna, ever practical, leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms as if surveying the situation from every angle. "It’ll work," she said quietly, though there was a note of caution in her voice. "But we can’t rush into this. Alina, you need time to think, and Duncan… this is a lot to ask of you."

Duncan’s jaw tightened, his resolve growing with every passing moment. "It’s not about what I want," he said, his voice low but firm. "It’s about what she needs." His gaze flickered to Alina, softening. "And what the child needs."

Alina didn’t know what the future held for her, or her child, but in that moment, Duncan’s words felt like a lifeline. She nodded, slowly, feeling the weight of her decision sink in. Whatever happened next, they would face it together. And no matter the cost, she would protect her child - their child - from the dangers that lurked in every shadow. 

Lys had proven to be a trap, a place where her enemies could find her. But maybe, just maybe, with Duncan by her side, she could finally find a place where her daughter would be safe. 

Alina sat on the edge of the stone bench in the villa’s garden, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the delicate vines that grew up its side. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. She had always loved sunsets, the way the light shifted and changed, colouring the world in soft hues. But tonight, she barely noticed the beauty of it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the conversation she knew she had to have. 

Duncan sat beside her, his usual stoic expression softened by the fading light. He had been her protector for years now, always by her side, always in the background. She had trusted him with her life, but now, things were different. Now, she had to trust him with her future - their future, if she could even think of it like that. 

“I never thought we’d end up here,” Alina said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The two of us, talking about… marriage.”

Duncan glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her words. "Nor did I," he admitted, his voice low and careful, as if testing the waters of this unfamiliar conversation. "But things change, especially in times like these."

Alina turned her head to look at him, studying his face. He was a handsome man, in a rugged, unassuming way. His dark hair had grown longer over the years, and there were lines at the corners of his eyes from years of frowning and squinting into the sun. He had always seemed so sure of himself, so steady and unshakable. But now, sitting here with her, she saw something different in him - a vulnerability she hadn’t noticed before. 

“You’ve always been there, haven’t you?” Alina said, more to herself than to him. “Even before all of this… you’ve always been by my side.”

Duncan smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “I was sworn to protect you. And… I suppose I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

There was a quiet sincerity in his voice that made her heart ache. Duncan had always been loyal, always dependable, but she hadn’t truly realised how much he had sacrificed for her. He had been there through the darkest moments of her life - the loss of Robb, the danger she faced now, the child growing inside her. And through it all, he had never once faltered. 

"I don’t know what to say," Alina murmured, her fingers still tracing the vines absentmindedly. "This is all so… strange."

Duncan shifted slightly, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, as if weighing his words carefully. “I never thought it would come to this either. I never imagined… us, like this. But I need you to know something.”

Alina looked up at him, her gaze steady despite the uncertainty in her heart. 

Duncan’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I’ve always liked you, Alina. More than I ever let on."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t expected that, not from him. Not now, not after everything. 

"I’ve admired you for as long as I can remember," Duncan continued, his voice steadying as he spoke. "You’re loyal, kind, and… so humble. You never saw yourself the way I did. I always thought I was just the guard. Someone in the background. I didn’t think I had a chance with you, and I was never planning on telling you this. But… I don’t know, with everything that’s happened, it feels like now is the right time."

Alina’s eyes softened as she listened to him. Duncan had always been quiet, reserved, never one to wear his heart on his sleeve. But hearing him speak like this - so openly, so vulnerably - made her realise just how much he had been holding back all these years. She had never seen him like this before, and it stirred something deep within her. 

"I never knew," she whispered. "I didn’t… I didn’t realise you felt that way."

Duncan smiled, a little sadly. "I didn’t expect you to. You were married to Robb, a man I admired as much as anyone. He was a good man. Better than most. I didn’t think there was any room for someone like me in your life."

Alina felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Robb. She would always love him, but the grief wasn’t as sharp as it had been. It had softened over time, becoming a part of her, but not consuming her the way it once had. And now, sitting here with Duncan, she felt something else - something new and unexpected. 

"Duncan, I—" She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "I loved Robb. I always will. But… things are different now. Everything is different."

He nodded, his expression understanding. "I know. And I’m not asking you to forget him, or even to love me the way you loved him. I just… I want to be here for you. I want to help you. Protect you. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. For you, and for the child."

Alina’s heart swelled with emotion at his words. She had known Duncan her whole life, and he had always been there, in the background, steady and reliable. But now, he was offering her something more - something she hadn’t expected. 

"I’ve come to care for you too, Duncan," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "I don’t know if I’m ready to call it love, not yet. But… I think I could get there. In time."

Duncan’s smile was gentle, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in so long. "You don’t have to rush anything. Take all the time you need. I’ll wait as long as it takes."

Alina’s hand found his, and for the first time, she didn’t feel hesitant or unsure. She felt a sense of peace, a sense of rightness, that settled over her like a soft blanket. Maybe this wasn’t the future she had envisioned for herself, but it was a future nonetheless. And it was one she could live with. 

"I just want my child to be safe," she said quietly, her hand resting on her belly. "That’s all that matters to me now."

Duncan’s hand tightened around hers, a silent promise in the gesture. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. You and the baby will always be safe with me."

Alina felt a lump form in her throat, and she blinked back tears. She hadn’t expected to feel this way, hadn’t expected to find comfort in Duncan’s words, but she did. He was offering her something she desperately needed - a future, a sense of security. And she realised, in that moment, that she wanted that. She wanted him by her side, for her, for her child.

"You’ve always been there for me," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn’t see it before, but I do now. And I’m grateful. So grateful."

Duncan’s expression softened even further, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "You’re worth it, Alina. You’ve always been worth it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their words hanging in the air between them. It wasn’t a grand declaration of love, not yet. But it was something real, something true. And that was enough for now. 

As the last light of the sunset faded, casting the world in twilight, Alina leaned her head against Duncan’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his presence soothe the lingering fear and uncertainty inside her.

[rainstormies]

(17) tears of the moon

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 4.9k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

RHONDA

Lady Rhonda had always prided herself on being pragmatic. The world was hard, and she had long since learned that to survive it, one must be harder still. She had not wept when she left her family behind in Goldengrove to marry Baelor, nor had she let her emotions cloud her judgement when managing their household, or their children, for that matter. It was with the same old precision that she had handled the crisis over the years. She had never been a sentimental woman - sentiment, she knew, was a luxury for people who didn’t have responsibilities as heavy as hers. 

The morning sun streamed through the wide windows of the solar as she stood beside Baelor, her fingers drumming on the armrest of her chair. Her husband was seated at his desk, the letter clutched in his hand, his brow furrowed deeply. Rhonda’s eyes were sharp, fixed on him as she waited for his response. She already knew what it said - she always knew what was coming before anyone else did. That was her talent, her curse, perhaps, but she had learnt to use it to her advantage. 

Baelor looked up, his expression grave. “She’s pregnant,” he said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. 

Rhonda sighed, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course she is,” she replied, her voice brisk, devoid of surprise. "We both knew this was a possibility."

Baelor, dear Baelor, always took news like this as if it were a personal slight. His hand tightened around the letter, crumpling the edges. He looked down at the parchment again, as if reading it a second time might change the words. "This complicates things," he murmured. 

Rhonda clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Complicates things?" she repeated, her tone dry. "This is a disaster, Baelor. A child - Robb Stark’s child, no less. And you know what that means."

Baelor’s shoulders sagged. He looked tired, and in that moment, older than his years. "It means every Lannister from Casterly Rock to King's Landing will be after her."

"Not just the Lannisters," Rhonda corrected. "The Freys, the Boltons... anyone who benefited from the Red Wedding. If they catch even a whisper that Alina carries Stark blood, let alone a potential heir to the North, they’ll come for her. And they won’t stop until she and the babe are dead."

The room fell into a heavy silence, and Rhonda let it hang there, twisting the knife. She was not a cruel woman by nature, but she believed in facing reality head-on. Sentiment, she reminded herself, had no place in decisions like this. Alina had been a fool - a young fool, Rhonda corrected herself - falling for that wolf pup in the North. She had warned her daughter about the dangers of marrying into a war, into rebellion, but Alina had not listened. 

"She's not safe here," Baelor said at last, rubbing a hand over his face. His tone was resigned, but his eyes were clouded with uncertainty. 

Rhonda turned to face him fully, planting her hands on the back of his chair. "She's never been safe, Baelor. We should have never let her marry him in the first place. You and your dreams of uniting Oldtown with the Starks," she said, the sharpness of her words cutting through the air. "I warned you this would happen."

Baelor looked up at her, his face pale. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was heavy with frustration. “I tried to save her from herself. But what could we do? You know how stubborn she is.”

Rhonda inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly. "Stubbornness runs in our blood," she said coldly, "but I would not have risked my life or the lives of my children for love. Not for something as fleeting as that."

She folded her arms across her chest, her mind already turning to solutions. They had made mistakes - she had made mistakes - but now was not the time for regret. Now was the time for action. "We need to move quickly. Sending her to Lys was the right decision," she said, her tone firm. "She’ll be hidden there, far away from the Lannisters’ reach. And Miya and your sister will know how to keep her safe."

Baelor slumped back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edge of the crumpled letter. “I never wanted this,” he said quietly, his voice thick with sorrow. “I wanted peace for her, not exile.”

Rhonda’s lips twitched, but she stopped herself from saying something harsh. Instead, she stepped closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “None of us wanted this. But the world is what it is, not what we wish it to be. Alina is in danger now, Baelor. We can’t afford to sit idle.”

Baelor nodded slowly, his gaze distant. Rhonda could see that his mind was still with their daughter, still imagining some way to protect her from a world that had already swallowed so many. It was almost painful, watching him struggle with the reality she had accepted long ago. 

"We need to find out more," Rhonda continued, her voice cutting through his silence. "If she’s truly pregnant, if the child is Robb Stark's, then she’s more valuable than any of us realised. A threat to the crown." She looked down at her husband, her eyes sharp. "We can't let anyone know, not until we have a plan."

Baelor hesitated, then nodded again. “You’re right. We’ll keep it quiet.”

Rhonda straightened, satisfied. There were always ways to manage such delicate situations. She had handled far worse than this in her lifetime. 

“I’ll write to your sister in Lys,” Rhonda added. “Lynesse will keep her safe, and if necessary, she knows how to deal with these matters discreetly.” She paused, then glanced out the window, where the sun was climbing higher into the sky, casting long shadows across the room. 

Baelor stood then, walking to the window, his back to her. He seemed so tired, so worn down by the weight of the past few years - the deaths, the wars, the betrayals. She wanted to tell him to pull himself together, to remind him that they had survived worse. But instead, she softened her voice. "Baelor, we’ll protect her. We’ll protect them all."

Baelor stood at the window for a long time, his fingers resting on the cool stone as he stared out at the sea. Rhonda could sense the tension building between them before he even spoke. His back was still to her, but his voice, when it came, was edged with frustration. 

“She’s in Dorne now,” Baelor said quietly. “And you know Samira is more than capable.”

Rhonda clenched her jaw, the familiar heat of anger rising inside her. “We should have never let her leave. Dorne is not safe. Samira should be here with her family.”

Baelor turned slowly to face her, his expression hardening. “What are you so scared of, Rhonda? It is time the girl learns how to live. You went there years ago.”

Rhonda stiffened at his words, her spine straightening. "It is not the same, and you know that, Baelor," she said sharply. "I had the protection of my House and yours. I knew the customs, the dangers. Samira... she's young, and she doesn't know what she's walking into."

"She's not a child anymore," Baelor countered, his voice growing louder. "She's smart, capable - more than most women her age. You can't shield her forever."

Rhonda took a step toward him, her eyes blazing. "I’m not shielding her. I’m protecting her. Dorne is unpredictable. There are people there who-" She cut herself off, her breath hitching for a moment. "People who might... who might want to use her."

Baelor’s gaze darkened. “Or perhaps you’re afraid someone there might tell her the truth.” His words were sharp, like a blade cutting through the air between them. “How long are you going to keep this secret from her? Do you not think she deserves to know?”

Rhonda’s face went pale at his accusation. “She’s not ready,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly, betraying her otherwise steely demeanour. "And you know it."

Baelor stepped toward her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. “Will she ever be?” he asked, his voice low but firm. 

Rhonda’s heart raced, and she felt the familiar weight of the burden she had carried for so many years pressing down on her. Samira was her daughter. Her daughter, she reminded herself fiercely. And she had done everything in her power to protect her from the truth. The truth that could shatter everything. 

“I will tell her when the time is right,” Rhonda snapped, her tone more defensive than she intended. She looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze. “But not now. Not when she’s off alone in Dorne, with no one to guide her.”

Baelor sighed, shaking his head. “Rhonda, she’s not alone. She’s stronger than you give her credit for. And she has to learn eventually. You can't keep her locked away here in Oldtown forever.”

“I’m not locking her away!” Rhonda shot back, her voice rising in frustration. “I’m trying to keep her safe. You think I don’t worry about her? About what could happen? About what she might find out?” Her breath hitched again, and she fought to regain control of her emotions. 

Baelor stepped closer, softening his tone. "But you can’t let your fear control her life, Rhonda. Dorne is dangerous, yes, but so is the rest of the world. We can't keep her sheltered forever.”

Rhonda crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her nails digging into her skin. "You think I don’t know that?" she said through clenched teeth. "But she’s my daughter. Our daughter. And if she finds out... if she learns the truth..." She shook her head, her voice trailing off. 

Baelor sighed deeply, running a hand through his greying hair. “Rhonda, Samira deserves to know where she comes from. What you’ve hidden from her. She’s been living a lie her entire life.”

Rhonda’s eyes flashed with anger again. “She has not been living a lie. She has been living safely. In a world where she is Lady Samira Hightower, daughter of Baelor and Rhonda. You think it will be better for her to know the truth? You think it will make her stronger, make her happier?”

Baelor’s gaze softened. “She needs the truth, Rhonda. You can't carry this secret alone forever."

Rhonda felt her chest tighten, the weight of years pressing down on her all at once. She had carried the secret of Samira’s true parentage for so long, it had become part of her. A part she couldn’t let go of, no matter how much it strained her. The thought of her daughter finding out the truth - of how Rhonda had fallen in love with a Dornish nobleman, of how Baelor had eventually forgiven her and accepted Samira as his own - was unbearable. 

And yet Baelor, in his calm, unshakable way, was right. The truth was a weight she could no longer carry alone. 

“I just… I just don’t want to lose her,” Rhonda whispered, her voice barely audible now, her gaze falling to the floor. 

Baelor stepped closer, placing a hand on her arm. “You won’t lose her, Rhonda. She’s your daughter. No matter what happens.”

Rhonda swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel. “And if she hates me for it?”

Baelor’s expression softened. “She won’t. She’ll understand.”

Rhonda closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words wash over her. She didn’t know if she believed him, but she knew she had to trust him. Samira’s journey to Dorne was out of her control now, and so was the inevitable truth that would one day come to light. 

When she opened her eyes again, she met Baelor’s gaze, and nodded. “Fine. But we wait. Let her come home first. Let her be ready.”

Baelor’s eyes met hers, and for the first time in a long while, there was a glimmer of trust there. Trust in her. 

She had made too many sacrifices already to let their legacy fall now. 

The children needed protecting. The family always came first. 

LANNA

Lanna had always been observant. It was in her nature to watch and learn from the world around her rather than rush into it headfirst like Alina often did. Her sharp eyes caught details that others overlooked: the way a vendor’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, or how a nobleman’s robe brushed too close to the dust of the street. She’d grown accustomed to the rhythms of different places, the subtle shift in the air when something was about to go wrong. 

Today, they were in the bustling market of Lys, the sun relentless, beating down on the cobblestones as brightly coloured canopies flapped in the warm sea breeze. Alina, ever drawn to the unfamiliar and dazzling, was ahead of her, speaking animatedly with Ser Duncan Caswell, their sworn protector. The Lyseni market was vibrant, bursting with life and sound - merchants shouted out their wares, perfume lingered heavy in the air, and the scent of spiced wine mingled with the salt of the sea. 

Alina moved with an almost carefree grace through the crowd, her long golden hair loose, catching the sunlight as she laughed at something Duncan had said. She was beautiful - everyone who met her noticed that first, and Lanna had seen the way men looked at her, with awe and desire. Duncan was no different, though he tried to hide it behind a mask of duty and knightly honour. 

Lanna could see through it. Duncan wasn’t just sworn to protect Alina; he loved her. It was in the way his eyes followed her every movement, how his hand instinctively went to his sword whenever anyone came too close to her, how he always seemed to be a step closer to her than needed. And yet, Alina, in all her innocence or perhaps her distraction, had never noticed. 

They stopped at a small stall selling delicate silver bracelets. Alina reached out to touch one, the vendor - a wiry, dark-skinned man with a crooked smile - handing it to her with an almost too-eager look. Lanna’s stomach tightened. Something felt off. Her gaze flicked to Duncan, who was already watching the vendor closely, his face as hard as the steel he carried. 

Alina, as usual, was oblivious to the tension. “Look, Lanna, isn’t it beautiful?” She held up the bracelet, the silver catching the light, shimmering like a river of stars. 

Lanna nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Her senses, sharpened by years of caution and care, prickled. There was something wrong with the way the vendor was watching Alina, something predatory in his smile. She opened her mouth to say something when the man offered Alina a drink. 

“A gift, my lady,” he said, his voice oily and smooth, pouring a small cup of deep red liquid from a bottle at his side. “For such a beautiful woman. From Lys, with love.”

Before Lanna could intervene, Alina, ever trusting, reached for the cup. 

“Wait!” Duncan’s voice cut through the noise of the market like a sword. He moved faster than Lanna had ever seen, his hand shooting out and knocking the cup from Alina’s hand, sending the dark liquid splashing across the cobblestones. 

The vendor froze, his crooked smile faltering for a second before he recovered, raising his hands in mock innocence. “I meant no harm! Just a gift!”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, poised and ready. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he said coldly, his body tense, every muscle ready to strike. 

Alina looked stunned, blinking at Duncan in confusion. “It was just a drink, Duncan. You didn’t have to-”

“It wasn’t just a drink,” Duncan said, his voice steady but low. “It was poison.”

Lanna felt her breath catch in her throat. Poison? Her heart began to race as she looked at Alina, who still seemed more bewildered than scared. How could she not understand the gravity of what had just happened?

“Poison?” Alina repeated, her voice softer now, disbelief evident. She looked from Duncan to the vendor, who was already backing away, the crowd shifting uneasily as they realised something was wrong. 

Duncan didn’t take his eyes off the man. “Go. Now,” he said through clenched teeth, and the vendor wasted no time disappearing into the throng of people. 

Lanna’s hands shook, but she forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing. Someone had tried to kill Alina. Here, in broad daylight. It was a bold move, and one that made Lanna’s stomach twist in fear. If Duncan hadn’t acted so quickly…

She glanced at him, watching as he stared after the retreating vendor with a look that could burn through stone. His jaw was set, his shoulders stiff. There was no doubt in her mind now - he would die for Alina if it came to that. He loved her, more than any knight loved his charge. But Alina, still dazed, didn’t seem to grasp the depth of it. She thanked him, of course, her voice sweet and sincere, but she didn’t see the way he looked at her when she turned away. 

Lanna saw it, though. She saw it all. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Duncan kept Alina close, refusing to let her out of his sight, his protective stance never faltering. Lanna stayed quiet, her thoughts consumed by the realisation of how much danger they were in. How much danger Alina was in. 

As they made their way back to the villa, the market bustling behind them, Lanna couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whoever had tried to poison Alina wouldn’t stop. There was a target on her back now, and Duncan’s devotion alone might not be enough to keep her safe. 

Inside the safety of the villa, Alina was silent, still processing what had happened. Duncan stood by the door, his hand on his sword, his eyes never leaving her. And Lanna? Lanna just watched them both, knowing full well that while Duncan might be in love with Alina, it was a love that Alina, in her innocence, would never truly understand. 

But Lanna did. And that scared her more than anything. 

The midday sun bathed the villa in golden light, casting dappled shadows across the marble courtyard where Alina reclined, her skin glowing under the warmth. She had always loved the sun, basking in its warmth as though it could burn away the lingering sadness she carried with her. For a brief moment, as she closed her eyes, she allowed herself to forget the dangers that had followed her from Westeros, the weight of Robb’s memory, and the future she could not see clearly anymore. Lanna, however, was not so easily distracted. 

Inside, Lanna sat with Lady Lynesse, her face drawn tight with the urgency of the situation. She hadn’t expected to speak so openly with Alina’s aunt, but the circumstances left her no choice. If they didn’t act soon, Alina’s secret - her pregnancy - could become dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands. 

"It is no small thing, this child," Lanna began, keeping her voice low, though the villa’s walls were thick. "It could bring ruin to her, or worse. The Lannisters won’t stop until they’ve hunted her down. We must be careful, my lady."

Lynesse tilted her head, her golden hair falling like silk over her shoulder. She was dressed in an elegant robe that shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Her eyes flickered with interest as Lanna spoke. "And what would you suggest, little one? Surely you don’t think Alina can hide forever."

Lanna shook her head. "No, but I think there’s a way to… divert attention. If we can claim the child is not Robb’s, we might save her."

Lynesse raised an eyebrow, her mouth curling into a sly smile. "And just who, pray tell, would we claim as the father? It would need to be someone believable. Someone who wouldn’t invite more questions."

Lanna hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "A merchant, perhaps," Lynesse mused, answering her own question. "A wealthy Lyseni merchant. They can be bought easily enough, and he could serve as a convenient excuse."

"No," Lanna cut in, her voice firmer than before. "Alina would never go along with that. She would see through it immediately, and she’ll never agree to marry someone she doesn’t trust."

Lynesse narrowed her eyes, intrigued now. "You seem to have given this some thought. What is it you propose, then? Who could be father to this child, in your little scheme?"

Lanna swallowed, her pulse quickening. It was risky to say it out loud, but she had already decided. "Ser Duncan."

Lynesse blinked, surprised by the suggestion. She studied Lanna closely for a moment, her amusement growing. "You mean the knight who is infatuated with her?" she asked with a light laugh. "Oh, my dear girl, do you truly believe Alina would entertain such a notion? He’s a guard, and one hardly worthy of marrying the daughter of House Hightower."

"Ser Duncan is more than just a guard," Lanna said, keeping her voice steady. "He’s the son of Lord Caswell of Bitterbridge. His family holds land and title. He’s not some lowborn knight without a name. It could work. Alina trusts him, and she respects him. That’s more than she’d give to a merchant or some foreign noble she’s never met. And Duncan - he loves her."

Lynesse’s eyes gleamed with interest now. "A son of Bitterbridge, you say? Well, that changes things. It would certainly be more palatable than some Lyseni commoner." She paused, tapping her finger against her lips as she considered it. "But Alina is stubborn. The girl has never liked being told what to do. You’re right to think she wouldn’t like the idea of being married again. Not so soon, at least."

Lanna nodded. "Which is why we shouldn’t tell her. Not yet. Let her get used to the idea of Duncan being by her side. Let her lean on him. She trusts him already, more than anyone else here. When the time comes, we can make it seem like the natural choice."

Lynesse leaned back, her expression calculating. "It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, girl. But you might be right. Alina could hardly protest if she felt Duncan was the only one she could rely on. And as for the child..." She trailed off, her eyes flicking toward the window where Alina rested outside. 

Lanna followed her gaze, her heart heavy with the burden of what she had just set in motion. Alina had no idea of the machinations happening behind her back, of the future they were quietly reshaping for her. But Lanna knew that it was necessary - if they didn’t act, the consequences could be far worse. 

Lynesse turned her attention back to Lanna, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. "I’ll consider it. Ser Duncan could certainly be useful, and if he loves her as you say, he might even go along with it willingly. But remember this, girl: Alina is not to know any of this. Not until the time is right."

"I understand," Lanna said, her voice soft but firm. "I only want to protect her."

"Good," Lynesse replied, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "Then we’re in agreement. For now, we let the pieces fall into place. But when the time comes, I expect you to be ready."

Lanna nodded, her heart pounding as she left the room. She had done what she could, but a knot of guilt twisted in her stomach as she glanced once more at Alina, who lay in the sun, unaware of the path being chosen for her. Would she ever forgive Lanna for this? Would she ever understand why it had to be done?

Lanna hoped so. But the truth weighed heavily on her shoulders, knowing that she had just played a hand in shaping Alina's future, without her even realising it. 

The sun was warm on Lanna’s skin as she stepped out into the courtyard, the light breeze carrying the scent of salt from the sea. Alina still lay on the chaise, her eyes closed, soaking up the warmth as if it could heal all the wounds she carried inside her. Lanna approached quietly, her sandals making soft sounds on the stone path. 

Alina opened her eyes and smiled faintly when she saw her. “You were inside a long time.”

“I was speaking with your aunt,” Lanna said, sitting down beside her. She hesitated, unsure of how much to share about the conversation that had just transpired. The plot to secure Alina’s future lingered on her mind, but she pushed it aside for now. “How are you feeling?”

Alina sighed, resting a hand on her belly, still flat beneath the light, flowing gown she wore. “Tired. But better, I think. The sun helps. It makes everything seem… less heavy.”

Lanna nodded, watching her. “And the child? Do you feel it yet?”

Alina glanced down, a wistful look crossing her face. “No, not yet. But I know she’s there.”

"Your child could be the heir to the North," Lanna mused, watching Alina closely. "With Robb gone, and his brothers as well, there’s no one else to claim Winterfell. It could be more than that, you know. You could even push for your child to sit on the Iron Throne one day."

Alina’s expression darkened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don’t want my child on the throne, Lanna. I don’t care about that."

Lanna blinked in surprise. "But it's Robb’s child as well. They could unite the North and the South. Joffrey’s claim is weak, and there’s a king in every corner now. They call it the War of the Five Kings, you know?" She spoke quietly, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them. "With so much chaos, who’s to say what could happen? The Lannisters won’t hold the throne forever."

Alina shook her head, her expression softening but still resolute. "I don’t care about any of that. I just want her to be safe. That’s all that matters."

"Her?" Lanna said, a small smile forming on her lips. "You really think it’s a girl?"

“I know it is.” Alina’s voice was certain, and Lanna felt a strange flutter in her chest at the confidence in her tone. For all the sorrow that had gripped Alina since Robb’s death, there was something steady in the way she spoke about the child. She turned her face back to the sky, letting the sunlight wash over her. "It’s strange... I never thought I’d be a mother so soon. Or that I’d have to do it without him."

Lanna fell silent for a moment, watching her friend. The grief in Alina’s voice was palpable, but there was also a deep strength beneath it. She had endured so much, more than any woman should have to bear, and yet here she was - still standing, still fighting. 

Lanna cleared her throat, hesitant but unable to hold back. “Even if it is a girl, she could still be heir to the North. Robb’s legitimate child - his blood. The northern lords would support her, surely. They loved him.”

Alina shook her head, her fingers tracing absent patterns on her gown. "That would only put her in more danger. Men don’t care about legitimacy when power’s at stake. And she’s just a girl, Lanna. Robb’s sister Sansa is still alive, and there’s Jon - his brother in the Night’s Watch. They’re more likely to be seen as heirs than she would ever be."

Lanna frowned, thinking it through. "But Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen was named queen over her brothers. The lords bent the knee to her, and the men of her line carried her legacy after."

Alina’s eyes darkened, and her voice came out sharper than Lanna had expected. "The Dance of the Dragons, you mean? That war got them both killed, Lanna. It didn’t end with Rhaenyra. It was her sons who ruled, not her. And even they paid the price for it. Things never go well for women in power."

Lanna was quiet for a moment, absorbing Alina’s words. There was a hardness there, a bitter knowledge that came from living through war and loss. It wasn’t just fear - it was wisdom, and it was earned. 

"Maybe things could be different now," Lanna offered softly. But even as the words left her lips, she wasn’t sure she believed them. 

Alina gave a sad smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Maybe. But I won’t risk my child’s life to find out."

"You’re stronger than you think," Lanna said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And your daughter will be, too."

Alina didn’t respond, but her hand tightened around the fabric of her gown, just above where the child grew inside her. 

Lanna looked away, her thoughts drifting as Alina's words hung in the air. Maybe things could be different... but not for us, she thought. She was her father’s eldest child, but it didn’t matter. Goldengrove would pass to her brother Lyonel, just as it always had. 

Lanna wanted to say more, to reassure Alina, to tell her about the plans being made to protect her and the baby. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she simply sat with her, sharing the warmth of the sun and the quiet understanding between them. 

They had survived so much together, and Lanna knew that whatever came next, they would face it side by side.

[rainstormies]

(16) sand dunes and broken glass

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 7.8k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

SAMIRA

Samira stood in the courtyard of Hightower, the salty breeze from the Whispering Sound brushing against her cheeks. The ship bound for Dorne bobbed gently in the harbour below, its white sails snapping in the wind. She glanced back at her mother, Lady Rhonda, who smiled warmly, though her eyes were tinged with sadness. 

“My children are leaving me, one by one,” Lady Rhonda joked, though her voice carried a wistful note. “First Gerold, now you and Alina. What will I do with an empty home?”

Samira smiled faintly, but the weight of the words sat heavy on her. It was true - Gerold was busy with his new wife, Desmera, and Alina... Alina had left so suddenly, whisked away to Lys with barely a word. She couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that had settled in since that morning when she found her sister had gone. 

“She’ll come back,” Samira reassured herself under her breath, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it. Alina had been different after the news of Robb Stark’s death - quiet, distant, broken in ways Samira couldn’t quite understand. But she had always been strong, resilient. She had to come back. 

“Dorne will be an adventure,” her mother said, reaching out to straighten the collar of Samira’s travelling cloak. “You’ll love it there, I’m sure of it. Starfall is not so far from Oldtown. You’ll visit, see the world, and return to me before I even have time to miss you.”

Samira’s lips quirked in a small smile. Her mother’s optimism was contagious, but the gnawing uncertainty about Alina's hasty departure clung to her. 

“Do you think Alina is... alright?” Samira asked, unable to mask the worry in her voice. 

Lady Rhonda paused, her hand resting on Samira’s shoulder. “She’s strong, your sister. It’s been difficult, what she’s gone through, but she’ll find her way back.”

Samira nodded but didn’t speak. Strong. That’s what everyone said about Alina, but strength only went so far when someone was broken. She wished she could have done more for her sister, been there when Alina had needed her most. Instead, she had watched her fade away into grief, and now she was gone, far from Oldtown and far from her family. 

“Come, let’s not linger,” her mother said, pressing a soft kiss to Samira’s forehead, just as Alina had. “The ship won’t wait for us.”

As they made their way down the steep paths leading to the harbour, Samira felt a pang of guilt. She was excited to see Starfall, to walk the sun-baked sands of Dorne, and see the famous tower where the Sword of the Morning was forged, but the thought of Alina lingered in her mind. She couldn’t help but feel like she was abandoning her sister, even if Alina had left first. 

The ship was waiting, its sails high and proud. Samira boarded, glancing back one last time at her mother standing on the dock.

“Write to me when you reach Starfall,” Lady Rhonda called, waving a handkerchief in farewell. 

“I will,” Samira promised, though her thoughts were far away. 

As the ship began to pull away from the harbour, the waves lapping against the sides, Samira found herself staring at the horizon, lost in thought. She could still feel Alina’s absence like a shadow. It had been weeks, but the memory of that night lingered - Alina slipping out of Hightower under the cover of darkness, her departure too sudden to process. 

“Why did she leave so quickly?” Samira wondered.

She had asked their father, but he only muttered about safety and dangerous rumours, his expression clouded with worry. The truth was, Samira didn’t fully understand why Alina had been sent away. Something felt off about the whole situation. It gnawed at her, the unanswered questions about her sister's sudden journey and the cryptic news that had followed. She missed Alina terribly, and the distance between them felt like an ocean. 

The salty wind picked up as the ship moved further from Oldtown, and Samira closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the fresh air. Dorne. A land of heat, of passion, of legends. She should be excited, and yet her heart ached with the weight of everything left behind. 

The journey to Dorne had been long and gruelling, but when she finally arrived at Starfall, the weariness from the road seemed to melt away. Samira had never been so far away from home. 

The castle stood at the edge of a rocky promontory, the white stone towers gleaming like pearls against the deep blue of the Summer Sea. Beyond the walls, the sun-drenched sands stretched out as far as the eye could see, meeting the desert to the east and the mountains far in the distance. 

Starfall was unlike anything she had ever seen. Where Oldtown was grand and bustling, Starfall was quiet, peaceful, yet every inch of it radiated history. The people of Dorne carried a distinct warmth and vibrancy, their skin kissed by the sun, their laughter ringing freely in the air. Everywhere she looked, there were bright splashes of colour - the vivid fabrics of the women’s dresses, the fruit markets brimming with pomegranates, figs, and olives, and the endless flowers that bloomed even in the heat. 

The castle itself was magnificent. Its walls were not only high and strong but built with an elegance that spoke of House Dayne's storied past. And at its heart, the legendary tower where the Sword of the Morning once held vigil. Samira’s heart beat faster every time she glanced at it, her thoughts filled with the history of this place and the warriors who had once called it home. 

She was welcomed at the gates by Lady Dayne, the widow of the late Lord Dayne. The woman was tall and regal, her long silver hair bound in a braid that fell down her back. Though her features were proud, her smile was warm, and Samira felt instantly at ease. 

"Lady Samira, welcome to Starfall," she said, her voice as smooth as silk. "We have been expecting you."

Samira curtsied, feeling a flutter of nerves at being in the presence of such nobility. "Thank you, my lady. Your home is as beautiful as I imagined it would be."

Lady Dayne smiled, though her eyes were touched with sadness. "It is a place of great beauty, yes. But it has seen its share of sorrow too." She gestured toward the sea, where the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the water. "I hope you find some peace here."

Beside her stood Allyria Dayne, the younger sister of the late Lord Dayne. Allyria had the same silver hair and violet eyes that were a hallmark of House Dayne, but her demeanour was different - quieter, perhaps a bit shy. Samira instantly liked her. There was a gentleness to Allyria that reminded her of herself. 

"It’s wonderful to have you here, Lady Samira," Allyria said softly, her voice carrying the faintest trace of the Dornish accent. "I can show you around, if you'd like. It can be overwhelming at first, but Starfall has many hidden wonders."

"I would love that," Samira replied, her smile sincere. She already felt a connection to this place, as if it had been waiting for her. 

The current Lord of Starfall, Edric Dayne, was away, serving as a squire to Lord Beric Dondarrion. From what little Samira had heard, he was still only a boy, not yet of age to take on the full duties of his house. She found it curious to be in a castle without its lord, but it felt alive all the same. There was a sense of timelessness here, as if the legacy of House Dayne could carry on without the need for a ruler. The stars of Starfall watched over it, after all. 

Allyria led Samira through the winding halls of the castle, pointing out rooms and galleries filled with ancient tapestries, mosaics depicting great battles, and statues of long-gone Daynes. But it was the courtyard that took Samira’s breath away. The garden bloomed with exotic flowers, their bright petals shimmering in the sunlight. Roses, orchids, and even the rare starflowers that only bloomed in the light of the full moon. 

"It’s beautiful," Samira whispered, her eyes wide as she took it all in. 

"Starfall is a place of legends," Allyria said with a soft laugh. "And legend says that anyone who comes here is touched by the stars. Perhaps you will find some inspiration in their light."

That night, Samira dined with Lady Dayne and Allyria in a hall overlooking the sea. The breeze carried the scent of salt and wildflowers, and the sky outside was painted in shades of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. The food was rich and exotic—roasted quail with dates, honeyed almonds, and grilled fish caught fresh from the sea. Samira marvelled at how different it was from the meals she’d grown up with in Oldtown. Everything here was flavoured with spices that tingled on her tongue and reminded her of just how far from home she truly was. 

But for the first time, she didn’t feel homesick. Instead, there was a quiet thrill within her - an eagerness to learn more about this place, its people, and its history. She could already feel the difference in herself, a growing independence that she hadn’t felt before. 

After the meal, Lady Dayne took her leave, but Allyria stayed behind to sit with Samira on a terrace overlooking the water. The stars were beginning to appear in the sky, faint at first but growing brighter as the night deepened. 

"It’s said that the Sword of the Morning is chosen by the stars," Allyria mused, her eyes on the sky. "Whoever wields it must be worthy, for the stars are watching."

Samira nodded, her thoughts drifting to the history of the Daynes. She had read about them, of course - about the great Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who had been revered as one of the greatest knights who ever lived. But there was something else nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite place. 

"I found a book in my grandfather’s chambers," Samira said after a long pause, her voice soft. "It was about the history of House Dayne. And there was something about my name - Samira. I always thought it was an unusual name for someone born in the Reach. Do you know of a Samira in your family’s history?"

Allyria looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed. "It’s not a common name, no. But there was a woman... long ago. A noblewoman of House Dayne who was said to be as beautiful as the stars themselves. But her story is mostly lost to time."

Samira’s heart skipped a beat. "What happened to her?"

"No one knows for certain," Allyria replied, her voice growing quieter. "Some say she vanished, disappeared into the mountains or the sea. Others say she fell in love with a man from the Reach and left Dorne behind." She paused, glancing at Samira. "Perhaps you are named after her."

Samira felt a shiver run down her spine. The mystery of her name had always intrigued her, and now it seemed even more connected to this place, to Starfall. Could it be that her family’s history was more entwined with Dorne than she had ever realised?

As she sat there under the stars, the warm air of Dorne wrapping around her like a comforting embrace, Samira felt something stir inside her - a longing, a pull toward something greater than herself. Perhaps her journey to Dorne was not just about seeing Starfall. Perhaps it was about discovering who she truly was. 

Samira woke the next morning to the gentle sound of waves lapping against the cliffs below Starfall. The air was cool, yet the sun already beat down with an intensity that reminded her just how far from Oldtown she was. As she rose from her bed, she took a moment to gaze out of her chamber’s window. From here, she could see the endless stretch of the Summer Sea and the jagged coastline, dotted with patches of green where small villages clung to life. The view was breathtaking, but it also felt alien, distant from everything she had known. Yet, at the same time, she felt an odd sense of belonging in this strange and ancient land. 

She dressed slowly, opting for a simple gown of light silk, far more suited to the Dornish heat than the heavy dresses she wore in the Reach. The fabric was cool against her skin, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like herself. Not the reserved daughter of House Hightower but a young woman free to explore and discover the world around her. 

When she stepped into the hallway, the castle seemed oddly quiet. Most of the household was still asleep or going about their duties silently. Allyria had promised to show her more of the castle, but something pulled Samira toward the older, less-visited parts of Starfall. The tower that housed the Sword of the Morning had particularly captured her imagination. She had read countless stories about Ser Arthur Dayne and the legendary sword Dawn, but seeing the place where it had once been kept filled her with an eerie sense of anticipation. 

As she walked through the winding corridors, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the castle was watching her, that the very walls held secrets. The air grew cooler the deeper she went, the stone floors damp beneath her slippered feet. The castle seemed to whisper around her, ancient and alive. 

She passed a long gallery lined with portraits of Dayne lords and ladies from centuries past. Each face was striking, with the unmistakable violet eyes and silver hair of the family. But there was one portrait that made her pause. It was of a woman, her hair dark as night but with the same violet eyes that marked her as a Dayne. Something about her face tugged at Samira, a distant familiarity that she couldn’t place. 

Continuing onward, she came to the base of the great tower. A spiral staircase led upward, winding tightly like a snake coiling around its prey. Her heart began to race as she ascended, the silence broken only by the soft echoes of her footsteps. The climb seemed to go on forever, and with each step, the air grew colder, the light dimmer. She could feel something building inside her - a sense of purpose, of destiny. She was meant to find something here, she was sure of it. 

When she reached the top of the tower, Samira paused to catch her breath. The room at the top was small and simple, a shrine of sorts. In the centre stood an empty stone pedestal where Dawn had once been placed. A great window overlooked the sea, the light filtering in with an ethereal glow. 

As she stepped closer to the pedestal, something caught her eye - a small, dusty tome lying on the floor near the edge of the room. She bent down, brushing away the dust with a curious hand. The cover was plain, but the pages inside were filled with a delicate, elegant script. Her fingers traced the faded letters, and as she read, her heart began to race. 

It was a journal, written by a woman long ago, someone who had lived here in Starfall. The entries were fragmented and vague, but they spoke of love, of heartbreak, and of a child born in secret. A child whose father was not the lord to whom the woman was wed. 

Samira felt a chill run down her spine. Who had written this? Could it be connected to her? The idea seemed absurd, yet something deep inside her stirred. She flipped through the pages, her breath catching when she found a name - Rhonda. 

Her mother’s name. 

Before she could make sense of it, a sudden noise echoed through the chamber. Footsteps - heavy and fast, coming up the stairs. Samira’s heart leapt into her throat as she shoved the journal back where she had found it and quickly moved away from the pedestal. 

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs - Lady Dayne. 

"Samira," Lady Dayne said, her voice calm but her violet eyes sharp. "I wondered where you had gone. This tower is not often visited by guests."

"I... I was exploring," Samira stammered, her mind racing. "It’s so beautiful here. I wanted to see everything."

Lady Dayne’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before she nodded, though something in her expression seemed guarded. "Yes, Starfall has many secrets. But some are best left to the past, don’t you agree?"

Samira forced a smile, trying to keep her voice steady. "Of course, my lady."

Lady Dayne led her down the stairs and back through the halls of the castle, the conversation light but tinged with an undercurrent of tension. Samira couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Dayne had seen the journal, or perhaps even knew what it contained. 

They returned to the main hall, where the servants were busy preparing for the evening feast. Allyria joined them soon after, and the tension seemed to ease. Samira found herself drawn into the lighthearted chatter, but her mind kept drifting back to the journal, to the name she had seen. 

Later that evening, after the feast, Samira retired to her chambers. She sat by the window, staring out at the sea as the waves crashed against the cliffs. The journal’s words echoed in her mind, along with the strange sense of familiarity she had felt when reading it. 

Her mother had visited Dorne before Samira was born, she knew that much. But what had she done here? What had she hidden? Samira’s thoughts swirled, pieces of the puzzle beginning to come together, though the picture was still incomplete. 

The next morning, Samira found herself alone with Lady Dayne once more. They walked together through the gardens, the scent of blooming flowers thick in the air. 

"Your mother visited Starfall many years ago, did she not?" Lady Dayne asked suddenly, her tone casual but her eyes fixed on Samira. 

Samira’s heart skipped a beat. "Yes," she replied cautiously. "Before I was born. She told me she visited Sunspear after stopping here."

Lady Dayne nodded slowly. "I remember her. She was... different than most of the women who visit Dorne. Strong-willed, yet there was something softer beneath the surface."

Samira glanced at Lady Dayne, trying to read her expression. "Did she... say anything about her time here?"

Lady Dayne was silent for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. "She stayed for only a short time before continuing to Sunspear. But there were whispers, as there always are. Whispers of a... connection between her and a Dornish nobleman."

Samira’s breath caught in her throat. "A connection?"

Lady Dayne’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and knowing. "Your mother was a beautiful woman, and Dorne has always welcomed such beauty. But not all connections are political. Some are personal. Some leave behind... lasting legacies."

Samira felt the blood drain from her face. "You’re saying... my mother...?"

Lady Dayne said nothing more, but the silence spoke volumes. 

That night, Samira couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced with the implications of what she had learned - or rather, what Lady Dayne had hinted at. Could it be true? Could her father not be Baelor Hightower, the man she had known and loved her entire life?

The pieces fit, in a way she hadn’t dared to consider before. Her name, her mother’s connection to Dorne, the journal she had found in the tower. There was a story there, a story of love and betrayal, of secrets kept hidden for years. 

But if her father wasn’t Baelor, then who was he? Was he still alive? And did he know about her?

The questions were endless, and they clawed at her, refusing to let her rest. She thought about Alina, how her sister had always seemed to carry the burden of their family’s expectations. Samira had always been in the background, quiet and unnoticed. But now, it seemed, her past was more complicated than she had ever imagined.

As the dawn broke over Starfall, Samira made a decision. She would find the answers to her questions, no matter where they led. She would uncover the truth about her mother, her father, and herself. 

The next day, Samira found herself wandering the halls of Starfall once more. Despite the lingering tension from her conversation with Lady Dayne, she couldn't help but feel drawn back to the place where she had uncovered the mysterious journal. There was a magnetic pull here, something whispering to her that she wasn’t finished yet, that more secrets lay just beneath the surface. 

It wasn’t long before she found herself in the company of the castle’s older servants, many of whom had been in service for decades. They were kind enough, always quick with a smile or a polite nod, but Samira noticed how their expressions shifted when she began asking questions about the history of the Dayne family. 

She started simply, inquiring about Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning who had died at the Tower of Joy. His legend was well-known across Westeros, and Samira had read about his heroic deeds more than once in the old histories. But when she asked the servants about him, something strange happened. 

One of the older maids, a woman named Nola, grew silent at the mention of Arthur Dayne’s death. Her hands trembled slightly as she folded linens, her eyes flicking up to meet Samira’s with an unreadable expression. 

“Ser Arthur was a great man,” Nola said softly. “A true knight, unlike many of the ones we see today.”

Samira nodded, waiting for her to continue. 

“He... died before his time,” the old woman continued, her voice growing quieter. “At the Tower of Joy, it was said. Fighting for Prince Rhaegar. But… you must know, my lady, that he died long before…” Her words trailed off, and she hesitated, glancing around as though afraid someone might overhear. 

“Before?” Samira prompted, her heart beginning to race. “Before what?”

Nola pursed her lips and set the linens down, her hands clasping together nervously. “It’s just… well, Ser Arthur died long before you were born, my lady. He died… many years before. The timelines… they don’t match, if you were wondering about him.”

Samira frowned, her mind whirling. She hadn’t even been thinking of Arthur Dayne as her father; she had only been asking about him out of curiosity. But now, Nola’s words seemed to stir something in her that she hadn’t considered before. 

Arthur Dayne died at the Tower of Joy, nearly a decade before she was born. There was no way he could be her father. But why had Lady Dayne been so guarded, so secretive when Samira had mentioned her mother’s visit to Starfall?

And then it hit her - the late Lord Dayne, Allyria’s brother, had died only a few years after Samira was born. 

Samira felt a cold chill run through her. Could it be possible that Lady Dayne had been guarding a different secret? That it wasn’t Ser Arthur who had some connection to her mother, but Lord Dayne himself?

She wanted to dismiss the thought immediately. It seemed too wild, too far-fetched. Her mother, Rhonda, had always been a dutiful wife, loyal to Baelor Hightower. She had never given Samira any reason to believe otherwise. And yet, something about the way Lady Dayne had spoken, the tension that had hung in the air when her mother’s name was mentioned, made Samira wonder. 

Had her mother… had an affair with Lord Dayne?

The thought made her stomach churn. No, she told herself firmly. That couldn’t be it. Her mother was an honourable woman, a noblewoman of the Reach. She would never betray Baelor in such a way. And yet, the pieces were slowly beginning to come together. Her mother had visited Dorne before Samira was born, stopping at Starfall. Could something have happened during that visit that had been kept hidden all these years?

Samira bit her lip, her mind racing. What if Lady Dayne was being so guarded because she knew the truth - that her late brother, Lord Dayne, had fathered a child with Lady Rhonda? What if she was that child?

It seemed absurd, and yet… the timelines fit. If her mother had stayed in Starfall and left soon after, Samira could have been conceived here, in this very place. She could be… a Dayne. 

But then again, it all felt too convenient, too easy to fall into this assumption. Samira knew she was jumping to conclusions, weaving a story that might not even exist. The truth was, she had no solid proof. Just a few vague words, a journal she’d barely read, and the strange behaviour of Lady Dayne. 

No, she told herself again, shaking her head slightly. It was just her imagination, running wild with the smallest of hints. Baelor Hightower was her father, the man who had raised her, loved her, and cared for her all these years. He was her father. Lady Rhonda wouldn’t betray him like this. 

And yet… she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was being hidden from her. 

As she wandered back through the castle, her thoughts in turmoil, Samira resolved to uncover the truth. Whether it led her back to Baelor or to House Dayne, she needed to know. She needed to understand who she was, and why this sense of mystery seemed to cling to her like a shadow. 

For now, though, she would keep her suspicions to herself. The last thing she wanted was to stir up old ghosts or offend her hosts. But deep down, Samira knew that the answers were here, somewhere in the ancient halls of Starfall. She just had to be patient enough to find them. 

As she returned to her chamber, she thought once more of her mother. Lady Rhonda was so careful, so proper, always poised in her role as Lady of Oldtown. Could there really be more to her story than Samira had ever imagined? Or was Samira simply looking for something that wasn’t there?

No, she thought once more. Baelor is my father. He always has been. He always will be. 

But as she lay in bed that night, staring up at the darkened ceiling, the uncertainty gnawed at her. And the questions refused to go away. 

The morning sun was bright as Samira prepared to leave Starfall, though the mood in the courtyard was far from welcoming. Lady Dayne, standing stiffly by the entrance, watched her with a cold, assessing gaze, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. 

Samira approached, her heart heavy with the unresolved mysteries she had uncovered. She had hoped to stay longer, to ask more questions, but the time for that had passed. Lady Dayne had made it quite clear that her visit was over. 

“I trust your journey to Sunspear will be swift and uneventful,” Lady Dayne said, her voice clipped and distant. Her tone carried the faintest hint of relief, as if she could hardly wait for Samira to be gone. 

Samira offered a polite nod, though inside she seethed. Lady Dayne’s abruptness had grown more evident the closer she came to leaving. No matter how much Samira had tried to be respectful, it seemed the older woman had grown weary of her presence. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” Samira replied evenly, though the words tasted hollow in her mouth. 

Lady Dayne’s expression remained unmoved. “It was the least we could do for a daughter of Oldtown.” She said the words with a formality that felt more like an obligation than genuine sentiment. “But I think it’s for the best that you continue on your way. Starfall has little to offer someone of your… ambitions.”

Samira blinked at the backhanded remark, biting her tongue to keep herself from replying with something sharp. She had felt the weight of Lady Dayne’s disapproval since her arrival, but this final dismissal stung more than she expected. 

Before she could respond, Allyria Dayne stepped forward, her presence softer, more genuine. “Safe travels, Samira. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Her voice was filled with a quiet warmth that contrasted with her goodsister’s coldness. 

“Thank you, Lady Allyria,” Samira said, grateful for her kindness. “I hope we meet again.”

Allyria hesitated, glancing at Lady Dayne before speaking again. “I’m sorry about her,” she said, lowering her voice so that only Samira could hear. “She has been sour since my brother died, and even more so since her son left to squire for Lord Beric. She takes her grief out on everyone.”

Samira nodded, though the explanation didn’t entirely soften the sting of Lady Dayne’s behaviour. Still, it was a small comfort to know that the coldness hadn’t been entirely personal. 

“Her expectations have always been high,” Allyria continued, her voice almost hesitant. “When you first arrived, she thought perhaps… you would be a suitable match for her son. Edric. But now, with everything that has happened, she no longer believes that.”

Samira stared at her, surprised. A match? With Edric Dayne? The thought had never crossed her mind, and apparently, it was no longer in Lady Dayne’s either. 

Allyria offered a sad smile. “It’s not your fault. She just hoped to secure a future for Edric, and your presence reminded her of everything she has lost. But I can see you have other paths ahead of you.”

Samira’s heart softened a little at Allyria’s honesty, but her frustration with Lady Dayne remained. She had never asked for such expectations to be placed upon her, and she certainly didn’t appreciate being cast aside so callously. 

“She will get over it,” Allyria added gently. “She always does. Don’t let it trouble you.”

Samira gave her a small smile, though the weight of Lady Dayne’s dismissal still sat heavy in her chest. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll remember it.”

Allyria inclined her head. “Good luck, Samira. Sunspear is a long journey, but it may give you the answers you seek.”

With a final glance at Lady Dayne—who barely acknowledged her farewell—Samira turned and mounted her horse. Bria, already mounted beside her, offered a reassuring smile. Samira was glad she had decided to come with. Bria’s presence was always a welcome reassurance. The rest of her company followed behind, household guards tasked with ensuring her safety, though the silence between them spoke volumes. 

As they rode out of Starfall, Samira glanced back one last time. The white stone towers of the castle gleamed in the sun, standing tall against the blue of the sky. It was beautiful, almost dreamlike in its elegance, but there was something in its walls, in Lady Dayne’s icy demeanour, that made it feel less like a place of welcome and more like a fortress guarding secrets. 

Lady Dayne had clearly wanted her gone, but the questions Samira had uncovered lingered. She had thought perhaps she would find answers here, some hint as to why her mother had stopped at Starfall before continuing on to Sunspear. But instead, she had left with more questions than ever. 

As they rode further away from Starfall, Allyria’s parting words stayed with her. Lady Dayne had hoped she would be a match for Edric Dayne, a boy she had never met. It was almost laughable to think of herself tied to Starfall in that way. Yet it also explained the coldness, the way Lady Dayne had seemed to turn on her so quickly. She had failed to meet expectations she never knew existed. 

Her thoughts drifted back to her mother, to the mystery of her journey through Dorne. Allyria had hinted that her mother had visited Starfall before going to Sunspear. Why had she come here? What had happened in this place that made Lady Dayne so guarded?

As they travelled south, the road stretching out before her, Samira’s resolve hardened. She had to go to Sunspear. She had to know what had drawn her mother to Dorne, and why the shadow of that journey had loomed so heavily over her own life. Her mother’s old journal was a comfortable weight against Samira’s leg where she had bound it to the horse’s pack.

Samira’s arrival in Sunspear was nothing short of a revelation. The air was different here - warmer, heavier with the scent of citrus and salt. The sun hung in the sky like a blazing jewel, casting long, lazy shadows across the streets as she and her small company wound their way through the city. 

Sunspear was vibrant in a way that Oldtown could never be. The sandstone walls glowed golden in the heat, and the streets were alive with colour. Market stalls overflowed with bright silks, ripe fruit, and strange spices. Voices filled the air, laughter mingling with the hum of commerce, and above it all, the faint strains of music played from some hidden courtyard. Samira felt her heart quicken with excitement as they passed through the bustling streets. This was a world unlike any she had ever known. 

As they approached the towering walls of the Water Gardens, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. The palace was exquisite, surrounded by lush gardens and reflecting pools that glimmered in the sunlight. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their long leaves casting dappled shadows over the pathways. It was a place of peace, of quiet, but with an underlying sense of power. The Martells ruled here, and they ruled well. 

Inside, they were met by servants who led them through the palace, their footsteps barely echoing in the cool, marble corridors. The heat outside seemed to fade away as they entered, replaced by the soothing sound of fountains bubbling in the distance. 

Samira's thoughts swirled as they drew nearer to the audience chamber. What would she find here? Would this place hold the answers she sought, or would it, like Starfall, leave her with more questions? She thought of her mother, of the path she had taken through Dorne all those years ago, and the weight of the mystery settled heavily on her shoulders. 

The audience chamber itself was grand, yet not intimidating. The room was bathed in soft light, filtering in through ornate lattice windows, casting intricate patterns across the stone floor. At the far end, seated on a modest yet elegant seat of carved wood, was Prince Doran Martell, his expression calm and measured, watching her with keen, thoughtful eyes. His sister, the infamous Princess Arianne Martell, stood nearby, her gaze sharp and assessing. She was beautiful, with dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence and a strength that seemed to radiate from her. 

"Lady Samira Hightower," Prince Doran greeted her in a voice as warm as the sun outside. "We welcome you to Sunspear."

Samira dipped into a respectful curtsy, feeling the weight of their eyes on her. “It is an honour, my lord,” she replied, her voice steady despite the nervous energy that bubbled inside her. 

Beside him, Arianne stepped forward with a welcoming smile. “You’ve come at a fortunate time,” she said. “The gardens are particularly beautiful this season.”

Samira returned the smile, her tension easing slightly at the princess’s warmth. “I’ve heard much of Dorne’s beauty, but words cannot do it justice.”

Arianne chuckled softly. “Words rarely can. Come, you must meet the others.”

As they stepped deeper into the room, Samira noticed a familiar face seated near the fountain. A young girl with golden hair, braided neatly over one shoulder—Myrcella Baratheon. Though her name was not spoken, Samira knew her instantly, the Lannister features unmistakable. She was younger than Samira by a few years but carried herself with a quiet grace beyond her age. 

Princess Arianne caught Samira’s glance and nodded. “This is Myrcella,” she said, gesturing toward the girl. “She has been here as our ward for some time now.”

Myrcella rose, offering Samira a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Samira.”

Samira returned the smile, noting the delicate way the girl moved, the way she spoke - so poised, so careful. "And you, Princess Myrcella. It is a lovely place you’ve found yourself in."

Myrcella blushed slightly at the compliment, though her gaze flicked nervously to the Martells. "It is," she agreed quietly. “Though it is different from King’s Landing.”

Arianne’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Different is not always bad, is it?”

Samira studied Myrcella a little closer now. The girl was out of her element, far from the intrigues of King’s Landing, but there was something almost… peaceful about her. Perhaps here in Dorne, she could escape the poisonous webs that had entangled her family in the capital. Samira wondered what it would be like to live such a life, to be sent far from home under the guise of safety, yet knowing you were still very much a pawn in a greater game. 

But that was not why Samira had come here. Her eyes flickered toward Prince Doran once more. If anyone knew the truth of her mother’s time in Dorne, it would be him. 

As the formalities eased and conversation shifted toward lighter matters, Samira took the opportunity to speak more privately with Arianne. “Princess, if I may—there is something I’ve been hoping to learn more about.”

Arianne’s brow arched in interest. “Oh? What is it you seek, Lady Samira?”

“My mother visited Dorne many years ago,” Samira began cautiously. “She travelled from Starfall to Sunspear, and I’ve been trying to piece together her journey. There are… things I don’t understand.”

Arianne’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. “Lady Rhonda Hightower, if I recall,” she said, tilting her head. “I was young when she came to Dorne, but I remember her. A beautiful woman, very well-regarded.”

Samira’s pulse quickened. “What can you tell me about her visit here? Was it long?”

Arianne considered the question for a moment. “It was brief, as I remember. She stopped in Starfall for some time before continuing on to Sunspear. My uncle Oberyn spoke with her, though I cannot recall what passed between them.” She paused, her lips curling slightly. “But I do remember she left suddenly.”

Samira’s heart sank. “Suddenly?”

Arianne nodded. “Yes, as if she were in a hurry. It was strange at the time, but I was too young to care for such things.”

“Do you know why?” Samira pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Arianne’s gaze sharpened. “I do not,” she said, though there was something unreadable in her eyes. “But I do know this - you will not find the answers you seek here, not in Sunspear.”

Samira’s breath caught, her mind racing. “Then where?”

Arianne glanced at her brother, still deep in conversation with another guest, before lowering her voice. “Whatever you seek lies in Starfall, Lady Samira. That is where your mother’s secrets were born.”

Samira felt a chill run down her spine, even in the warmth of the Dornish sun. She had been so sure that Sunspear would hold the answers, but now, everything pointed her back to the one place she had been ushered away from. 

“Go back to Starfall?” she asked, her voice barely steady. 

Arianne smiled faintly. “If you dare. But remember, not all mysteries are meant to be solved. Some are better left buried.”

The words lingered in the air between them as Samira’s mind spun with questions, her heart beating hard in her chest. There was something darker at play here, something far more dangerous than she had anticipated. But the path ahead was clear - she had to return to Starfall, no matter the cost. 

For now, though, she would play the game, smile politely, and enjoy the hospitality of the Martells. But in her heart, Samira knew her journey was far from over. 

Samira had always loved solitude, but in Sunspear, it took on a different flavour. The gardens of the Water Palace stretched out in endless directions, filled with the hum of insects and the soft murmur of fountains. She wandered alone, the light breeze from the Narrow Sea brushing against her skin, the warmth of the Dornish sun almost intoxicating. The path she walked twisted and turned, its stones warm beneath her sandals, as she followed it without aim. The air here was rich with the scent of blooming citrus trees and the faintest trace of salt carried inland from the sea. It was peaceful, even if her thoughts were not. 

She had not expected the mysteries of her mother’s past to weigh so heavily on her, but now that she was here, in the land her mother had once journeyed through, it felt as though invisible hands were pushing her forward, urging her to uncover what lay hidden. 

Lost in thought, she rounded a corner and almost stumbled into a pair of figures lounging beneath a shade tree. The man was reclining casually, one arm draped over the back of a stone bench, his skin darkened by the sun, his eyes sharp and full of dangerous amusement. The woman beside him was something entirely different - a striking beauty with wild, raven-black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes glittering with mischief. She was draped in a thin silk gown that clung to her curves, a smirk playing on her full lips. 

Samira recognized them at once. Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, and his paramour, Ellaria Sand. 

“Who is this?” Ellaria’s voice was like silk but with a sharp edge to it. She fixed Samira with an appraising look, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were studying something she didn’t quite understand. “Another one of your bastards?” she demanded of Oberyn, her tone laced with mockery. 

Samira’s heart quickened, the insult stinging her pride. “I am not a bastard,” she replied, straightening her back. “I am the daughter of Lord Baelor Hightower, of Oldtown.”

Ellaria let out a cackle, her laugh grating against Samira’s ears. It was a laugh filled with derision, a sound that made Samira’s stomach tighten with unease. 

“You are no Hightower, my dear,” Ellaria sneered, the pet name twisted with insult. Her gaze swept over Samira, lingering in a way that made her skin prickle. 

“My mother is Lady Rhonda of House Rowan, and my fath—” Samira began, only for Ellaria to cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. 

“That might be so,” Ellaria said, her lips curling into a sly smile, “but your father… no, he is a Dornish man through and through.”

Samira’s face flushed with indignation, her voice trembling with anger. “My father will hang you for your accusations! I am noble-born, not some bastard.”

Ellaria chuckled, unperturbed by Samira’s outburst. “You, my sweet little flower, bear none of the Hightowers' resemblance.”

Before Samira could respond, she felt the presence of the man behind Ellaria, his sharp eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Oberyn Martell was every inch the legend she had heard whispered about. His skin was the deep bronze of the Dornish sun, his black hair slicked back from his face, revealing high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. There was a languid grace about him, the way he moved and looked at her, like a snake coiled in the sun, basking but always ready to strike. 

“Hightowers,” Oberyn began, his voice low and smooth, “are golden-headed, like the Andals and the Targaryens. You, my dear, have what we call Dornish features.”

Samira's mouth went dry as Oberyn's words sank in. Dornish features. She had heard it before - her darker complexion, her thick, wavy hair, the way her eyes were not the pale blue or green of her siblings but a deep, mysterious brown. It had always been explained away as a distant ancestor from her mother’s side, some forgotten link to the blood of the Rhoynar. But now, here, in the heat of Dorne, standing before Oberyn Martell, the words took on a different meaning. 

“No Hightower would be as beautiful as we are,” Ellaria said with a grin, stepping closer to Samira. Her gaze flicked down to Samira’s chest, and without warning, she reached out, as if to touch her. 

Samira recoiled in disgust, slapping Ellaria’s hand away before she could make contact. “Don’t you dare,” she spat, her heart racing, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. 

Ellaria laughed again, but this time there was a dangerous edge to it. “Oh, the little flower has thorns,” she purred, drawing her hand back but not removing her sharp gaze from Samira’s face. 

Oberyn watched them both with a lazy amusement, though his eyes never lost their focus. “Ellaria,” he said, his tone holding a note of warning. The woman’s smile faded slightly, but she stepped back, content for now to let the conversation unfold. 

Samira’s mind was spinning. Dornish features, the accusation - was there any truth to it? Could it really be that she was not the daughter of Lord Baelor? The very thought made her stomach churn. She knew her mother, Lady Rhonda, would never do such a thing. Would she? Samira had always been told stories of her mother’s beauty, her grace, her loyalty to her father. But the shadow of doubt had been cast, and it gnawed at her now. 

"I don’t care what you say," Samira said, her voice firm despite the uncertainty swirling inside her. "I know who I am. I am a Hightower, and nothing will change that."

Oberyn smiled faintly, as though her defiance amused him. "Perhaps you are," he said. "Or perhaps not. The blood of Dorne runs strong, my dear. And whether you believe it or not, it may run in you as well."

Samira clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She would not be swayed by their words, not here, not like this. 

Ellaria tilted her head, her eyes still sparkling with mischief. "Oh, little flower, you have no idea what you are, do you?"

With a final, cold smile, Ellaria turned and sauntered away, Oberyn following with a lingering glance back at Samira before he too disappeared down the winding garden path. Samira stood there, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled in knots. 

The encounter had left her shaken, uncertain. But there was one thing she knew - she needed to learn the truth. And if there was anything to the accusations whispered in the gardens of Sunspear, she would find it, no matter how painful it might be.

[rainstormies]

(15) star of the sea

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 7.1k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

ALINA

The sunlight streamed through the narrow windows of the Hightower, casting a golden glow over the chamber. Alina sat at her vanity, her fingers running absently through the fine curls of her golden hair. The mirror reflected a face she barely recognised - paler than it had once been, thinner, the shadows of grief still clinging beneath her eyes. But there was something else now, a glimmer of the person she had been before everything had fallen apart. She was no longer broken, but she was not whole either. 

Robb's death had torn her apart, shattered her world into pieces she thought she would never be able to gather. Yet, slowly, time had softened the edges of her pain, and though the wound still ached, it no longer bled with every thought of him. 

She had learned to move forward. 

As she sat lost in thought, the door to her chambers creaked open. Alina turned, expecting one of her handmaidens, but instead, it was Samira. Her younger sister stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, hesitant as always. But something was different about her - there was a quiet strength in her posture, a grace in the way she carried herself that had not been there before. Samira had grown up. 

"Samira," Alina said softly, beckoning her in with a smile. 

The girl stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I... I thought we could talk," she said, her voice quiet but clear. 

Alina hadn’t spoken to her sister properly in years, not since she had returned to Oldtown. In the wake of Robb’s death, she had withdrawn from everyone, even her own family. But now, as she looked at Samira, she realised how much time had passed. The girl who used to hide behind her mother’s skirts was now a young woman. Her dark curls framed her face elegantly, and her large eyes - so like their mother’s - were filled with quiet intelligence. 

Alina gestured for Samira to sit beside her. "You’ve grown so much," she murmured, her tone filled with wonder. "I didn’t even notice how much I’ve missed."

Samira smiled, a small, shy curve of her lips. "I’ve missed you too," she said, sitting down on the edge of Alina’s bed. "I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long, but... I didn’t know if you were ready."

Alina’s chest tightened. "I’m sorry, Samira. For shutting you out. For not being there."

The younger girl shook her head. "You don’t need to apologise. I understand why. It must have been hard... losing him."

Alina swallowed, her throat thick with the memory. "It was. It still is, sometimes." She sighed, glancing out the window where the sun hovered low in the sky. "But you’re here now, and that’s what matters."

Samira hesitated for a moment, then spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About Dorne."

Alina looked at her sister, intrigued. "Dorne?"

Samira nodded. "I’ve always been fascinated by it. Ever since I was little, I’d read about its history, its culture, the way the people live. I want to see it for myself. I want to... explore."

A smile tugged at Alina’s lips. "You’ve grown so much more adventurous than I gave you credit for."

Samira blushed but smiled back. "I just... I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to look back one day and regret not living. Not seeing the world."

The words struck something deep within Alina. She understood that desire, the yearning to break free, to live before the weight of duty and obligation crushed all possibility of adventure. She had once felt the same way, before war, before loss. 

"Then go," Alina said, her voice stronger than she expected. "Go to Dorne, see it for yourself. Live, Samira. Before it’s too late."

Samira’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face. "You really think I should?"

"Yes," Alina replied, her voice softening. "You’re young. You still have time. Don’t let it slip away from you like I did."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Samira’s face was thoughtful, her hands twisting in her lap. Then, hesitantly, she asked, "Do you know why I was named Samira?"

Alina blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "I... no, I don’t. I always thought it was just a pretty name."

Samira looked down at her hands. "I’ve heard it’s Dornish. I’ve wondered for so long if it meant something. If I’m connected to Dorne in some way."

Alina frowned, her heart aching with guilt. "I don’t know, Samira. I’m sorry. I never thought to ask."

Samira looked up at her, her expression calm but determined. "It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out for myself."

Alina stared at her sister, seeing the quiet resolve in her dark eyes. Samira had always been shy, always quiet and reserved, but now Alina saw just how much her sister had grown. She wasn’t the timid girl who used to hide from the world - she was becoming a woman who knew her own mind, who sought her own path. 

And in that moment, Alina realised how much she admired her. 

"I believe you will," she said softly, a genuine smile warming her face. 

Samira smiled back, and for the first time in years, Alina felt a connection to her sister that had been missing for far too long. 

That night, as the two sisters parted, Alina watched Samira leave her chambers with a newfound respect. She had lost so much, but perhaps... not everything was lost. 

She had her family. And in time, maybe she could find herself again, too. 

SAMIRA

Samira stood in front of her father’s study, her heart pounding in her chest. She had rehearsed this conversation in her mind countless times, imagined every response, every question Baelor Hightower might throw at her. But now, as she stood before the heavy oak door, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, the weight of it seemed more daunting than ever. 

She inhaled deeply, then knocked. 

"Enter," came her father’s voice, calm and commanding as always. 

Pushing the door open, Samira stepped into the dimly lit room. Her father sat behind his desk, a stack of parchment before him, quill in hand. He barely glanced up at first, too engrossed in whatever letters or reports demanded his attention. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, making the room feel smaller, more intimate. 

"Father," she began, her voice softer than she intended. 

Lord Baelor looked up, his grey eyes locking onto hers. He put down his quill and leaned back in his chair, studying her face with a curious frown. "Samira. What is it, my dear?"

For a moment, she hesitated. It had always been easier to let her siblings speak, to let Alina take the lead in these sorts of things. But she wasn’t Alina. She was Samira, and she needed to do this for herself. 

"I want to travel to Dorne," she said, her voice steadier now. 

Baelor’s brow furrowed, and his expression shifted to one of surprise. "To Dorne?" he repeated slowly, as though the words were foreign to him. "And why, pray tell, would you want to go there?"

Samira swallowed hard. "I want to see Starfall."

Her father leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Starfall? Samira, you have never even mentioned Dorne before. Why now? What has brought this on?"

Samira squared her shoulders, trying to appear more confident than she felt. "I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Starfall is not far from Oldtown, and... I’ve always been curious about it. I’ve read about its history, the Daynes, and I want to see it for myself."

Baelor sighed, running a hand over his bearded chin. "You’re not an adventurer, Samira. That has never been who you are. Why this sudden interest?"

She bit her lip, unsure how to explain the deep pull she felt toward the southern kingdom. She had always been a girl of books and quiet corners, but Dorne had sparked something inside her - a need to see beyond the familiar walls of Hightower, to explore the places she had only ever read about. And Starfall, in particular, called to her in ways she couldn’t yet understand. 

"I don’t know," she admitted quietly. "But I need to go. It’s not far, just a short journey. I won’t be gone long, I promise."

Baelor watched her closely, his eyes softening slightly as he studied his youngest daughter. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and Samira’s heart hammered in her chest as she awaited his response. 

Finally, he sighed again, leaning back in his chair. "Dorne is not like the Reach, Samira. It’s dangerous. The people there are... different. Not to mention the current political tensions with the crown. I don’t like the idea of you going."

Samira felt a pang of disappointment but forced herself to stay calm. "I’ll take guards with me. Household guards. It will be safe, I promise. And I’ll return quickly."

Baelor’s expression remained thoughtful, conflicted even. He stood from his desk, pacing for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back. "This is not a place for a young woman like you," he murmured, almost to himself. 

Samira stepped forward, her heart in her throat. "Please, father," she urged softly. "I don’t ask for much. But this... this is something I need to do."

Her father stopped pacing, turning to face her again. For a moment, his expression softened completely, the weight of his love for her showing clearly in his eyes. "You are so much like your mother," he said quietly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "Stubborn when you want to be."

Samira’s chest tightened, hope blooming inside her. 

"You may go," he said, his voice firm. "But only for a short time. I will send some of our men with you - trusted guards. You are not to travel alone. And I expect you to return before the season turns. No delays."

Samira blinked, barely able to process what she had just heard. "Thank you," she whispered, relief flooding through her. "I promise I’ll be careful."

Baelor nodded, though there was still a trace of reluctance in his eyes. "See that you are. You’re my daughter, Samira. And I cannot afford to lose you."

She nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. As she turned to leave the room, she felt a weight lift from her chest. She had won, but more importantly, she had taken a step toward something new, something beyond the quiet life she had always known. 

ALINA

Alina sat at the long table in the dining hall of Hightower, sunlight filtering through the tall windows that overlooked Oldtown. The morning was peaceful, the faint sound of gulls echoing from the harbour below, and the distant chime of bells carried on the sea breeze. Breakfast had been a quiet affair, as most mornings were these days. Her father sat at the head of the table, deep in thought, while her mother, Lady Rhonda, poured herself another cup of tea. Samira, still sleepy-eyed, sat beside Alina, absentmindedly picking at her plate of fruit and bread. 

Alina, however, barely touched her food. She was lost in thought, her mind drifting to the past, to memories of Winterfell, of Robb. Despite the time that had passed, the pain of losing him was still a constant ache. Though she had forced herself to move on, the scars of grief lingered just beneath the surface. 

She had just begun to reach for her cup when the doors to the hall burst open. A knight, clad in the dark armour of Hightower’s sworn guard, strode into the room, his face pale and grim. 

"Ser Osmund?" Baelor raised an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion, his tone calm but tinged with concern. 

"My lord, I bring urgent news from the Westerlands," the knight said, his voice breathless from haste. "It was not safe to send a raven. The message had to be delivered in person."

Baelor glanced toward his wife, his expression darkening. He rose from his chair, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the table. "Should the children leave?"

Rhonda set her cup down with a sharp clink, her voice firm as she shook her head. "No. They are old enough to hear this."

With a subtle gesture, Baelor dismissed the remaining servants from the room. The door creaked shut behind them, and an eerie silence settled over the hall, broken only by the sound of the sea outside. Alina felt a chill creep down her spine, and she exchanged a glance with Samira, who sat up straighter in her chair, eyes wide. 

The knight handed a folded letter to Baelor, who took it without a word. His eyes flickered over the wax seal before he broke it open. He began to read, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing second. The tension in the room grew thick, the air heavy with unspoken dread. 

Finally, Baelor lowered the letter, his face ashen. 

"What is it?" Alina asked, her voice small but urgent. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, though she tried to hide it. Her stomach twisted in knots, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever news had come from the Westerlands, it would not bode well. 

Baelor hesitated, glancing first at Rhonda, who nodded slowly, her face drawn in tight lines of worry. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice grave. 

"There are rumours..." he began, pausing to gather his thoughts. "Rumours that you, Alina, are pregnant with Robb Stark’s child."

Alina felt the world lurch beneath her. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The air seemed to thin, the sounds around her fading to a distant hum. Her heart raced in her chest, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. "What?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. 

"It’s spreading through the Westerlands. This letter... it's a warning," Baelor continued, his eyes never leaving her face. "People are saying that you carry Robb’s heir. And if those rumours are believed, you may be in danger. There are those, like the Lannisters, who would seek to end any claim Robb’s child might have to the North. They may try to kill you, and your unborn child."

The room spun. Alina’s mind raced, a torrent of emotions crashing over her - shock, disbelief, fear. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process the weight of her father’s words. Pregnant? How could she be? She had never felt any signs, any sickness. She would have known... wouldn’t she?

Her mother’s voice cut through the haze. "You must be careful, Alina. If the Lannisters believe this, if they think for even a moment that you carry a Stark child, they will come for you. We cannot let that happen."

Alina’s hand instinctively went to her stomach, a tremor running through her fingers. She looked at her father, desperation in her eyes. "Is it true? Am I...?"

Baelor's expression softened, his stern facade cracking for the briefest moment. "I do not know, Alina. But these rumours, whether they are true or not, are enough to make you a target. We need to protect you, now more than ever."

Samira sat frozen beside her, her face pale. She looked to her sister, wide-eyed and silent, unsure of what to say, how to react. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her as well, and though she didn’t fully understand the politics at play, she could see the terror in Alina’s eyes. 

"I..." Alina started, her voice breaking. She felt trapped, suffocated by the enormity of it all. The idea that she could be carrying Robb’s child, that she might be hunted for it - it was too much. The pain of his loss was still raw, and now, this? How could it be possible?

Her mother reached across the table, grasping her hand tightly. "We will find a way, Alina. We will keep you safe. But you must be strong. For yourself, and for the child, if there is one."

Alina nodded, though her mind was still spinning. She didn’t know what to feel - fear, hope, denial. The room felt suddenly cold, as if the warmth of the morning sun had disappeared entirely. The letter still sat on the table, its words like a poison, threatening to unravel everything. 

"I’ll have the guards doubled," Baelor said firmly, turning to the knight. "No one comes near Alina without my leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," the knight replied before bowing and swiftly leaving the room. 

As the door closed, Alina remained still, her hands shaking slightly in her lap. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, and her mother’s grip on her hand felt both reassuring and suffocating. The walls of the hall, so familiar, suddenly felt like a cage. 

And all Alina could think about was Robb - his face, his smile, the warmth of his embrace - and how now, more than ever, he seemed so far out of reach. 

Alina sat in her chamber, staring out of the tall, arched window that overlooked the bustling city of Oldtown below. The distant sound of waves lapping against the harbour barely reached her ears as she remained lost in thought. Her father’s warning still echoed in her mind, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. The rumours, the danger - everything seemed to be closing in on her. 

She hadn’t left her room in days, not since the news had arrived. Her father had insisted she remain here, surrounded by guards, where she would be safe. But her chamber, once a haven, now felt like a gilded cage. The walls felt closer every hour, the silence almost unbearable. 

Suddenly, the door to her chamber flew open, and Miya and Nella, her two handmaidens, rushed in with panicked expressions on their faces. They moved quickly, gathering Alina’s belongings, throwing open trunks and folding gowns into them with frantic hands. 

“Miya? Nella?” Alina rose from her seat, confusion flooding her voice. “What’s happening? Why are you packing my things?”

Miya, her curly black hair bouncing as she worked, barely paused to answer, her face flushed from the rush. “Lord Hightower has made arrangements, my lady. You are to leave immediately.”

“Leave?” Alina’s heart quickened. “Leave where?”

“To Lys,” Nella chimed in, glancing at Alina with wide eyes before she returned to the task of folding cloaks and shifting items into a leather-bound case. “Your father has decided it’s best for you to stay with your aunt for a while. There are too many eyes on you here.”

“Lys?” Alina’s voice caught in her throat. The thought of being sent so far away, across the sea to the Free Cities, made her stomach twist. “But... I don’t understand. How long will I be gone?”

“As long as it takes,” Miya said, glancing at her. “Your father thinks it will be safest for you there. With your aunt’s protection - and with me, of course - it will be harder for anyone to come after you.” She paused briefly, her tone softening. “You’re to leave tonight, my lady.”

Alina’s head spun. Everything was happening too fast. She understood the danger she was in, but leaving Oldtown, leaving her family - it felt like being exiled. “I need to speak to my father,” she said, though she knew it would do little good. Her father had made up his mind, and when he did, there was no changing it. 

Miya shook her head gently. “He’s already sent word. The ship is ready, and we must move quickly.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “He’s doing this to protect you.”

Alina sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, her mind racing. Lys - so far from everything she knew, so far from the Reach, from Winterfell, from Robb. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had been at his side, and now she was being sent away, like a ghost of her former life. The thought filled her with both dread and helplessness. 

"I... I won’t go alone," she said suddenly, her voice firmer than she felt. “Lanna must come with me. I can’t do this without her.”

Miya looked uncertain for a moment, but then nodded. “I’ll send for her immediately. But you must be ready soon, my lady. There is no time to waste.”

Within minutes, Lanna Rowan entered the room, her expression calm but concerned. Alina looked up at her cousin, relief washing over her. “Lanna, I... I can’t do this without you,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “Please, come with me.”

Lanna stepped forward and took Alina’s hands in hers, her grip warm and steady. “Of course I’ll come with you,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet strength. “I’ll always be with you, Alina. Wherever you go.”

Tears welled in Alina’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. “Thank you, Lanna.”

Lanna offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

As Miya and Nella finished packing the last of Alina’s belongings, a knock sounded at the door. Ser Duncan, one of the Hightower knights - and one of Alina’s oldest friends - entered, his face solemn. “My lady, we’re ready to depart. The ship is waiting at the docks.”

Alina took a deep breath, her heart heavy. “Very well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The room seemed to shrink around her as the reality of her situation set in. She was being sent away, to a city she barely knew, to escape the dangers that followed her. She wanted to protest, to fight back against the fates that had been forced upon her, but there was nothing she could do. Her father had made his decision, and her life was no longer her own. 

With one final glance around her chamber, Alina stood, allowing Miya and Nella to help her into her travelling cloak. Lanna walked beside her, ever-present, a steadying force in the chaos. Ser Duncan led the way as they made their way down the winding corridors of Hightower, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the stone. 

Alina paused just outside Samira’s chamber, her hand lingering on the door. The moonlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting a silvery glow on the stone walls. She hadn’t told her younger sister about the sudden journey to Lys; it had all happened so quickly. But now, standing at the threshold, the weight of leaving without a proper farewell tugged at her heart. 

Pushing the door open gently, Alina stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, and Samira lay curled beneath the covers, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. She looked peaceful, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath, unaware of the world outside - the dangers, the uncertainties that seemed to follow their family. 

Alina knelt beside the bed, her fingers brushing lightly over Samira’s hair. For a moment, she hesitated. There were so many things she wished to say, but none of them felt right. Instead, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her sister’s forehead, the scent of lavender lingering on Samira’s skin. 

“I’ll come back,” Alina whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was a promise she could keep. “I’ll be back for you.”

Samira stirred slightly but did not wake, her lips parting in a soft sigh. Alina stood, her heart aching as she looked at her sister one last time. With a final glance, she turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Lanna and the others were waiting for her in the corridor. Alina straightened her shoulders, pulling her cloak tighter around her as she nodded for them to continue. There was no more time for goodbyes. 

Alina stood at the bow of the ship as it cut through the shimmering waters of the Summer Sea. The journey had been long - far longer than she had expected - but now, at last, she could see the city of Lys on the horizon. The island city rose from the sparkling waters like a vision out of a dream, its white marble towers gleaming in the sunlight, surrounded by an endless expanse of blue. 

As the ship pulled into the harbour, the first thing Alina noticed was the sweet scent of flowers carried on the warm breeze. It was unlike anything she had ever smelled in Oldtown or Winterfell - a heady mixture of jasmine, oranges, and spices that lingered in the air. The heat hit her as well, far warmer than the temperate climates she had grown used to, even in the Reach. It wrapped around her like a soft, silken blanket, making her skin prickle beneath her fine travel clothes. 

She took in the sights of the harbour: sleek, brightly painted ships from all corners of the world were moored beside one another. Sailors, traders, and merchants bustled about, their voices rising in a chorus of unfamiliar tongues. Many were dressed in flowing silks, their skin kissed golden by the sun, with colourful sashes wrapped around their waists and fine jewellery adorning their necks and wrists. Lys was known for its beauty, and it seemed the people were no exception - men and women alike were striking, with high cheekbones, long light hair, and piercing eyes. They moved with a languid grace, as if the island itself slowed their steps, encouraging them to savour every moment. 

Alina could see the famed gardens of Lys cascading down the hills that surrounded the city. Lush and vibrant, they were filled with tropical plants - palm trees, frangipani, and bougainvillaea vines dripping in pinks and purples. The air was thick with the scent of these flowers, mingling with the salt of the sea and the tantalising aromas wafting from the nearby market: roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and the unmistakable tang of sweet wines being poured into goblets. 

A group of finely dressed servants awaited her at the dock, their clothing made of thin, flowing silks in the vibrant blues and greens that seemed to define the fashion of Lys. As she descended the gangplank with Lanna at her side, they greeted her with deep bows and warm smiles, offering chilled citrus-scented towels to wipe away the remnants of the journey. Their accents were musical, each word softly lilting as they welcomed her to Lys. 

"My lady, welcome to Lys," said one of the servants, a tall man with skin the colour of honey and eyes as clear as the sea. "We are to take you to your villa. Your aunt has made all the preparations for your stay."

Alina nodded, still taking in the overwhelming beauty of the city. The streets were narrow, winding up the hills toward the grand villas perched high above, overlooking the sea. Marble statues lined the pathways, their forms both delicate and bold, while fountains gushed with crystal-clear water. Every inch of Lys seemed designed to indulge the senses. 

As they walked through the city, Alina’s mind drifted back to Winterfell, where the cold stone walls and barren trees felt like a world away. This was a different realm entirely - one where the sky burned bright and the people moved with easy confidence, unburdened by the looming threat of winter. 

Finally, they arrived at the villa, an opulent building made of white marble with columns wrapped in flowering vines. It was surrounded by gardens that spilled over with hibiscus and oleander, their petals glowing in the soft afternoon light. From the entrance, Alina could see the view stretched out before her: the endless sea, glittering under the sun, framed by the lush greenery that covered the island. The sound of waves crashing against the shore below provided a constant, soothing rhythm. 

Inside, the villa was just as breathtaking. The rooms were open and airy, with large windows that let in the golden light. The floors were made of cool stone, and each room was adorned with fine tapestries and delicate glasswork. Servants moved about silently, preparing everything for her stay - platters of fresh fruit and sweet wine were set on low tables, and a warm bath was being drawn in an adjoining room. 

Alina let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. This place, so far from the turmoil and chaos of Westeros, felt like an escape. Yet, no matter how beautiful it was, it could never be home. She had left too much behind in the Reach and the North. Still, as she stood there, taking in the splendour of Lys, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. 

Lanna stepped beside her, her face just as awestruck as Alina’s. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. 

“Yes,” Alina replied softly, her gaze sweeping across the horizon. “But it’s not forever.”

And as the sun began to set over the waters, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold, Alina wondered how long she could hide here, in this paradise, before the dangers of the world would catch up to her once again. 

As the water lapped against Alina’s skin, she closed her eyes, letting the warmth soothe her weary body. The bath had been perfumed with fragrant oils - citrus and lavender mingling together in a scent that was both luxurious and calming. After the long journey to Lys, it was exactly what she needed. The villa was quiet, save for the occasional soft footsteps of her handmaidens as they moved about preparing her chambers. When the water had cooled, and her skin had grown soft and flushed from the heat, Alina rose from the bath. 

Miya and Nella were waiting for her with a thin, translucent robe of fine silk, the material barely enough to cover her. As they draped it over her shoulders, Alina frowned slightly, glancing down at her reflection in the rippling water. The silk clung to her damp skin, and she could see the outline of her body beneath it. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling more exposed than she ever had in her life. But here, in Lys, things were different, and she was still learning the ways of this foreign, indulgent culture. 

Just as she was about to ask Miya for something less revealing, the door to the bathing chamber swung open, and her aunt, Lady Lynesse, swept in. Alina had not seen her aunt in years, not since she had fled from Westeros. Now, standing in the doorway, Lynesse Hightower was the very embodiment of wealth and power. Her long, flowing gown of deep red silk shimmered in the light, and her hair - perfectly styled in loose, glossy waves - cascaded down her back. Her face, unmarred by age, was painted with the lightest touch of cosmetics, emphasising her high cheekbones and full lips. Everything about her spoke of beauty, vanity, and the kind of arrogance that came with knowing one’s own desirability. 

"My darling niece," Lynesse said smoothly, her voice rich and melodic as she glided across the room. "I hope the bath was to your liking." She paused, her dark eyes flickering over Alina's barely-clad form. "Oh, what a sight you are."

Alina instinctively pulled the robe tighter around her, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Aunt Lynesse," she greeted her, clearing her throat. "I should probably… dress before we speak."

Lynesse let out a soft, dismissive laugh. "Dress? Nonsense. You look beautiful, Alina, and in Lys, beauty is not something to be hidden away." She gestured toward the robe with a languid wave of her hand. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Here, a woman is admired for her form. You are young, lovely… why not show off what the gods have blessed you with?"

Alina bit her lip, unsure how to respond. She had always been modestly dressed in Oldtown and Winterfell, where propriety dictated a certain reserve. This was different - this was bold, brazen even, and Alina didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Lynesse, sensing her discomfort, sauntered closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "You’ll get used to it, my dear. In Lys, we celebrate the body. We take pride in what we have, and we don’t let silly notions of modesty hide that pride. Look around you - this is a place where beauty rules, and you, Alina, are a Hightower. You belong among the beautiful."

Alina glanced down at the thin fabric once again, still feeling a sense of unease. "It’s just… different," she murmured. "In the North, we-"

"The North," Lynesse interrupted, with a roll of her eyes. "Such a bleak place. I told your mother years ago that it would harden you." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "And now here you are, back in the warm embrace of civilization. You’re too lovely to hide behind fur cloaks and dour Northern traditions. Trust me, Lys will suit you."

Alina didn’t respond, instead shifting her gaze toward the window where the soft Lyseni sun filtered through the silken curtains. She longed to escape the confines of this room, to clear her thoughts. But Lynesse was not finished. 

"Now," her aunt said, her voice taking on a sharper tone. "Tell me, is it true? Are you pregnant with the child of that Stark boy?"

The question hit Alina like a blow, and she felt her chest tighten. She had barely had time to process the rumours herself, let alone confront the truth of the matter. She had felt no signs, no sickness, no undeniable proof that she was carrying a child. And yet… the possibility lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. 

"I don’t know," Alina whispered, lowering her gaze. "I haven’t… I haven’t had any sign, but the rumours…"

Lynesse raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "You don’t know?" she repeated, her voice dripping with scepticism. "Well, you should find out. If it’s true, if you carry the child of the Young Wolf, your position becomes… complicated."

Alina swallowed, feeling the weight of her aunt’s words. Complicated. The very idea of being pregnant with Robb’s child filled her with a bittersweet mix of emotions - love, sorrow, and fear. She had barely allowed herself to hope, to think of what it might mean, and now her aunt’s cold, calculating tone brought all those feelings crashing down on her.

"I will," Alina said quietly, her voice steadying. "I will find out soon."

Lynesse gave her a thin, satisfied smile. "Good. Because if you are pregnant, there will be consequences. But we can navigate those. And if you’re not," she added with a casual shrug, "well, that opens other doors, doesn’t it?"

Alina felt a chill crawl up her spine, despite the warmth of the room. This world, this life in Lys, was already so foreign to her, and now it seemed filled with even more uncertainty. 

"Rest, my dear," Lynesse said, stepping back toward the door. "You’ve had a long journey, and there is much to consider." She glanced back at Alina one last time. "Remember what I’ve said. You are too beautiful to hide. Embrace what you are."

With that, her aunt left the room, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air. 

Alina stood in silence for a long moment, her thoughts swirling like the sea outside. She looked down at her robe again, still feeling the weight of her aunt’s words. Too beautiful to hide. 

The dress they had given her was light, almost weightless, a soft shade of pale blue that flowed like water each step Alina took. The fabric clung gently to her form, accentuating her figure without feeling the oppressive heat of Lys. her skin, still unfamiliar with the southern sun, gleamed under its rays as she strolled through the bustling market alongside Lanna, who was wearing something equally delicate. It was a far cry from the heavy woollens and furs of the North, and even from the more conservative gowns of Oldtown. 

The streets were alive with colour and noise, vendors calling out in the musical Lyseni tongue, their stalls overflowing with exotic goods: ripe fruits in every imaginable hue, fragrant spices that perfumed the air, bolts of silk that shimmered in the sunlight. Alina’s eyes wandered over the vibrant scene, feeling a sense of freedom she hadn’t experienced in what felt like years. Here, no one whispered about wars or spoke in hushed tones of betrayal. For a few hours, she could forget about the shadows that loomed over her life. 

"I could get used to this," Lanna said with a soft laugh, her chestnut hair shining in the midday sun. She reached out to finger a piece of turquoise jewellery at one of the stalls. "Everything feels so alive here, so different from Oldtown."

Alina smiled in response, nodding. "It’s like another world," she agreed, her fingers grazing over the cool, smooth skin of a lemon. She brought it to her nose, inhaling its sharp, refreshing scent. "I never thought I would come here, but now that I have, I can’t imagine being anywhere else."

They moved through the marketplace, taking in the sights. Alina caught glimpses of the blue sea through the narrow streets, sparkling under the sun like a precious gem. The people were different too - bronze-skinned, dark-haired, their faces open and unguarded. The women wore thin, flowing fabrics, much like her own dress, and gold bangles that jingled with each movement. 

As they passed a group of dancers twirling to the rhythm of a drum, Alina found herself smiling despite the weight she had carried for so long. For the first time in months, she felt a spark of something she had forgotten - joy. 

"Let’s head back," Lanna suggested, glancing at the position of the sun in the sky. "I think we’ve seen enough of the market for today."

Alina nodded, though part of her wished to linger longer, to immerse herself even more in the sensory overload of Lys. Still, the villa beckoned, and they began the walk back, the distant sounds of the market gradually fading behind them. 

When they returned to the villa, Miya was already waiting in the courtyard, her arms crossed and a knowing look on her face. She had lived in Lys for years before becoming Alina’s handmaiden, and the heat didn’t seem to affect her as much as it did the others. 

"Did you enjoy yourselves?" Miya asked as the two women approached, her eyes flicking over their sun-kissed skin and the sheen of sweat that glistened on their foreheads. 

"Very much," Alina replied with a light laugh, though she could tell something was weighing on Miya’s mind. 

"Good, but I need to speak with you, my lady," Miya said, her tone shifting slightly, more serious now. She gestured for Lanna to leave them for a moment, and with a quick nod, Lanna excused herself. 

Alina furrowed her brow, sensing something was off. "What is it?"

Miya hesitated, then took a deep breath before speaking. "It’s been many moons, hasn’t it, since you last bled?"

The question hung in the air between them, and Alina’s heart sank as realisation dawned. She had been so consumed with grief, with running from her past, that she hadn’t even noticed. The months had blurred together in her mind, and the familiar cycle of her body had gone unmarked. 

"I…" Alina’s voice faltered. "I haven’t thought about it, but… you’re right." She felt the weight of the words settling over her like a heavy cloak. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, though there was no visible change yet. 

"You must be with child," Miya said softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something else - hope, perhaps. "It’s been too long for it to be anything else."

Alina’s heart began to race. Her? With child? Could it truly be? She had heard the rumours, even feared them, but to have it spoken aloud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. The idea of carrying Robb’s child - his legacy - was both terrifying and heartbreaking. She had barely come to terms with his death, and now this?

"What do I do, Miya?" Alina whispered, her voice trembling. 

Miya placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You protect yourself, my lady. And your child. That is why your father sent you here. No one in Lys knows you, and it will stay that way for as long as necessary."

Alina swallowed hard, her mind racing. Protect herself. Protect her child. If she truly was with child, everything had just become far more dangerous. She wasn’t just Alina Hightower anymore. She was the potential mother of a Stark heir - a threat to the Lannisters and anyone else who sought to destroy Robb’s bloodline. 

“We must tell Lady Lynesse,” Miya urged softly, her eyes darting towards the doorway as if she feared someone might overhear. 

Alina’s heart clenched at the thought of confiding in her aunt. Lady Lynesse, with her opulent life in Lys, seemed worlds apart from the troubles Alina carried. Would she even care, or would this news only bring more danger to her doorstep? Still, Miya was right. Her aunt had influence here, and they would need all the protection they could muster if the truth were to come out. 

Alina nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But not yet. I need time to think.”

Miya hesitated but eventually relented, giving a small nod of understanding. “As you wish, my lady.”

After Miya left the room, Alina sank onto the soft cushions by the open window, her gaze drifting to the sun-kissed streets of Lys below. The scent of saltwater mixed with the sweet fragrance of the citrus groves outside the villa, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside her. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, her thoughts racing. Was it truly possible? The idea of carrying Robb’s child brought a flood of emotions - grief, fear, hope - all tangled together in a storm that she didn’t know how to weather. She had barely survived losing him. Could she bear the weight of his legacy, the last piece of him left in the world?

Alina closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had been running for so long, trying to escape the grief, the pain, and the war that had torn everything from her. But if this was true, if there was life growing inside her… there was no running from this. She would have to face it, protect it. For Robb, for the North, for the child she might carry.

[rainstormies]

(14) between waters

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

SAMIRA

Samira sat in the corner of her sister’s chambers, small and unnoticed, as she often was. The soft flicker of the hearth’s flames cast shadows that danced along the stone walls, giving the room an eerie glow. Alina lay on her bed, curled in on herself like a wilting flower. Her beautiful hair, once the envy of every girl in Oldtown, now lay in tangled knots. The vibrant spark that always shone in her eyes had dimmed to a hollow, vacant stare. 

Samira wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest as she watched her sister. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to help. She had never seen Alina like this before—broken, defeated. The proud, adventurous girl who once smiled so easily was now reduced to tears, her sobs quiet but relentless, like the waves crashing against the Hightower far below. 

Samira’s heart ached, but it wasn’t just from sadness. It was from a deep, gnawing fear. She had always looked up to Alina, always admired her for her bravery, her grace. Alina was the one who could dance at court with the poise of a queen and still laugh like a child chasing the wind. But now, that laughter was gone, and Samira didn’t know if it would ever return. 

The room smelled of lavender and old tears, a faint trace of the oils the handmaidens had left behind after Alina’s bath. The scent was meant to soothe, but it did nothing for the heavy weight in the air. Even the once bright sunlight that streamed through the windows seemed dulled, as if the world itself had mourned with Alina. 

Samira watched her sister’s chest rise and fall in uneven breaths. Her grief was a palpable thing, suffocating the room. Alina hadn’t spoken much in days, and when she did, her words were empty, lifeless. Samira bit her lip, wanting to say something comforting, but the words stuck in her throat. What could she say to ease a pain like this?

She glanced at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. She had always been quiet, always kept to herself. She wasn’t like Alina, who could charm anyone with a smile or a kind word. Samira preferred the company of her books, the quiet comfort of solitude. But now, sitting here in the oppressive silence of her sister’s sorrow, she wished she were different. She wished she knew how to help. 

A part of her envied Alina, even now. Alina had loved someone—truly, deeply. She had given her heart to Robb Stark, and in return, she had known a love that burned brighter than any star. It was a love that had left her shattered, but Samira still couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to love someone that much. To love so deeply that losing them could break you. 

Samira had never known that kind of love. She was only twelve, but she was smart enough to know that she was different. While other girls her age whispered about handsome knights and their secret crushes, Samira found herself more interested in ancient histories and the arcane mysteries of the world. She had always been content in her quiet corner, her thoughts her only companions. But now, watching Alina, she wondered if she was missing something. 

Could she ever love someone the way Alina had loved Robb?

The thought made her chest tighten with a strange mix of fear and longing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

Alina shifted on the bed, her face half-buried in the pillows, and let out a low, broken sigh. Samira’s heart twisted painfully. She wanted to do something, anything, to ease her sister’s suffering. But she felt so small, so helpless. 

Carefully, Samira rose from her chair and padded softly to the edge of the bed. She knelt beside her sister, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to gently take Alina’s hand. Alina didn’t react at first, her fingers limp and cold in Samira’s grasp. But after a moment, she squeezed back, so faintly that Samira almost missed it. 

“I’m here, Alina,” Samira whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m here.”

Alina didn’t speak, but a fresh tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the dim light of the fire. Samira watched it fall, her own eyes stinging with unshed tears. She had never seen someone so in love, so lost without that love. 

In her heart, Samira wished she could be as brave as her sister—to open herself up to someone the way Alina had with Robb. But she didn’t know if she could. Loving someone seemed so dangerous, so painful. She didn’t want to end up like this—broken, with nothing left but heartache. 

Yet, as she sat by Alina’s side, holding her hand and listening to the quiet sounds of her sister’s sorrow, Samira couldn’t help but wonder if maybe - just maybe - love was worth the risk. 

For now, all she could do was be here. Silent, steady, and strong, as Alina had always been for her. And though she couldn’t erase the pain, Samira hoped that her presence was enough. 

After Alina’s breaths had even out and Samira was sure she was asleep, she closed the door quietly behind her, her heart still heavy from the sight of her sister’s broken form. The hallways of the Hightower were dimly lit, and the flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. She stood there for a moment, trying to collect herself, but her hands trembled slightly. The weight of Alina's grief had seeped into her own bones, and it was hard to shake off. 

As she turned to leave, a sound caught her ear - voices, low and urgent, drifting down the corridor. Samira hesitated, her feet instinctively drawn toward the familiar tones of her mother and the maester. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop, but something in the tension of their voices pulled her closer. Staying hidden in the shadows, she moved down the hallway toward them. 

The faint outline of her mother, Lady Rhonda, was visible just outside the Maester Bryndon’s chamber, her hands wringing the soft fabric of her gown. The maester stood before her, his posture stooped, his voice grave. 

“My lady, your daughter is sick. Grief is an illness. Soon, it will consume her until there is nothing left.”

Samira’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t realised how deeply the maester feared for Alina. Grief was a poison, the kind that seeped slowly through the body, twisting the mind and heart. Samira’s chest tightened. Was that what was happening to her sister? Was Alina truly sick with grief?

There was a pause, thick with tension, before her mother’s voice broke through, trembling and desperate. 

“No, I will not have my oldest daughter taken away. Not like this. Not over some wolf who was stupid enough to start a war he couldn’t win.” Rhonda’s voice cracked, heavy with anguish. “I warned her, I told her to come home. And now, she’s so different.” Samira saw her mother lift a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “She’s nothing like herself.”

Samira’s eyes filled with tears, her heart aching not just for Alina, but for her mother too. Lady Rhonda was a woman of grace, strength, and iron-willed resolve. It was rare to see her falter, even more rare to hear the tremor of fear in her voice. But tonight, in the darkness of the Hightower, Samira could feel her mother’s pain as if it were her own. 

Rhonda’s sobs echoed softly in the corridor, the sound foreign and unnerving to Samira, who had always seen her mother as a figure of unshakable authority. But now, with her daughter slipping away, even her mother’s formidable strength had crumbled. 

Samira pressed her back against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes as if it could stop the world from pressing in on her. She hadn’t known it was this bad. Alina was always the one who seemed untouchable, the one who found strength in love, even if it had ended in tragedy. But to hear the maester and their mother speak of her as if she were slowly dying… it made everything feel so much more fragile. 

She wanted to run to her mother, to cry into her arms the way she had when she was little, but instead she stayed rooted to the spot, silent and listening. Rhonda was still speaking, her voice quieter now, a whisper that trembled with both sorrow and a fierce, unrelenting need to protect her daughter. 

“I need her to come back to us,” she whispered. “Not just for her, but for all of us. She must heal. She must…”

The maester didn’t respond right away, and Samira could only imagine the sympathy in his eyes, the gentle, measured way he would deliver the hard truths that no one wanted to hear. But Samira couldn’t bear to listen any longer. 

Without a sound, she turned and slipped away from the corridor, her heart heavy with the weight of her family's pain. She moved quickly, her footsteps barely a whisper on the cold stone floors, her mind swirling with a hundred thoughts. 

Alina, her beautiful, brave sister, was crumbling before her very eyes. And now, she realised, it wasn’t just Alina's grief she had to fear—it was her family’s grief as well. How much more could they bear before they, too, were consumed by it?

Samira sat on the edge of the corridor, her hands tightly clasped in her lap as she listened to the raised voices coming from Alina's chambers. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Her sister’s grief had taken on a new, volatile edge, and it pained Samira to see it. Alina, once so full of light and laughter, was a shadow of herself, and their mother - Lady Rhonda - was growing more desperate by the day. 

From behind the closed door, Samira could hear the argument escalate.  

“He is dead, Alina. Nothing you say or do will bring him back. No matter how much you wish you could,” her mother’s voice rang out, sharp with frustration. 

“You’re still young, we will find you a husband-”

“I don’t want another husband!” Alina’s voice cracked, filled with both fury and heartache. 

Samira's heart clenched at the sound. She had never heard Alina like this, so broken, so fierce. It frightened her, this new version of her sister - so consumed by sorrow that she lashed out at the very people trying to help her. 

Lady Rhonda’s voice softened, though the determination behind it was clear. "Alina, you might not love him, but you will come to love your children. There is nothing in the world like children."

“I told you,” Alina’s voice trembled with barely-contained emotion, “I do not wish to be wed again.”

“I am your mother. If I tell you to marry someone, you will. I have already spoken to several. A Tyrell or maybe even a Dornishman. Lord Tywin, he wishes to marry his son as well.”

"The Imp?" Alina spat the word out like it was venom. "He is already married. To Lady Sansa." Samira saw Alina's shadow flicker through the crack of the door. That poor girl, Alina must be thinking. She refused to end up like Sansa Stark, trapped in a loveless, political marriage. 

“No, his other son,” Lady Rhonda replied, her tone growing more matter-of-fact. 

Alina’s gasp was audible even from where Samira sat, hidden from view. "What? No, he can’t marry. He is a member of the Kingsguard. They shall take no wives."

“Well, his father needs an heir, and he is not likely to get one from Tyrion.”

“I will not marry a sister-fucker,” Alina growled, her voice shaking with disgust. “I refuse.”

Samira held her breath. She had never seen her mother truly angry - Lady Rhonda was always the picture of calm, sweet and soft-spoken. Whenever Samira would break something or leave Hightower when the sun had dipped below the horizon, her mother would never scream. But she did now, her voice hoarse. 

“Alina, it is time for you to start acting like the woman you are.” Lady Rhonda’s voice was hoarse, her frustration bubbling over. “You will marry whoever me and your father tell you to. And you will act like the noblewoman you are, like the daughter of Lord Hightower.”

Samira flinched. The weight of their mother's words was crushing, and she wondered how Alina would respond. 

Alina, however, was not one to be so easily bent. "You shan’t control me like this," she hissed. 

There was a long, cold pause before Lady Rhonda’s voice echoed again, colder this time. "Oh, Alina. I am your mother. It is my duty to control you."

Samira heard the sound of footsteps, heavy and purposeful. Then, the door to Alina’s chambers flew open with a loud slam as her sister stormed out, her face pale and set in a mask of fury. Alina didn't even glance at her as she strode down the hall, her presence like a storm that had just passed but left destruction in its wake. 

Lady Rhonda sighed deeply, as if the argument had drained every ounce of strength from her. She hadn’t noticed Samira still sitting there until the girl spoke softly. 

“Mother," Samira began, her voice quiet but steady. She watched as Lady Rhonda turned, startled by her presence. “She loved Robb, mother. She’s grieving. But it will pass… just like the winter, and soon it will be summer again.”

Lady Rhonda looked at her youngest daughter with a mix of surprise and sadness, her eyes red and swollen from unshed tears. “My sweet, sweet daughter,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She crouched down in front of Samira, brushing her hand gently through her hair. “Oh, how you’ve grown.”

Samira didn’t move, but the warmth of her mother’s hand brought a fleeting comfort. “Your father and I raised you right,” Lady Rhonda continued, her voice a mixture of pride and exhaustion. She paused, her gaze drifting down the hallway where Alina had disappeared. “And Alina... gods, I do not know what to do about Alina.”

Samira’s eyes softened as she looked at her mother. “She lived in the North for years. It is not strange for her to start acting like them.”

Her mother chuckled softly at the girl’s boldness, the sound almost foreign amidst the tension. “Maybe... maybe I was too hard on her,” Lady Rhonda murmured, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guilt. “She’s just a girl, after all.”

Samira shook her head slightly, her voice gentle but firm. “No, mother. I think you did well.”

Samira stood at the edge of the wine garden, watching the soft golden light filter through the vines, casting a delicate glow over the celebration. The sound of laughter and clinking goblets echoed all around her, and the scent of blooming roses mixed with the heavy aroma of Redwyne wine filled the air. Noblemen and women from several houses in the Reach were in attendance, their bright silks and fine velvets turning the garden into a show of colour and luxury. Yet, amidst the joy of her brother’s wedding, Samira felt more alone than ever. 

Gerold stood by the altar, tall and proud, his arm around his new bride, Desmera Redwyne. She was radiant, her auburn hair catching the light as her smile lit up the entire garden. The Redwynes had spared no expense, hosting the event in one of their finest vineyards just outside Oldtown, surrounded by rolling hills of grapevines. Samira knew it was a perfect match for Gerold, the eldest of the Hightowers, who was strong and confident, much like the fertile lands they now celebrated upon. 

Samira shifted uncomfortably as she watched the newlyweds. They were the image of a happy union, but she couldn’t help but feel a bitter emptiness gnaw at her heart. Her brother had always been her steady anchor, and now, with Desmera beside him, Samira wondered if he still had room for her in his heart. She wanted to feel happy for him, truly, but the joy felt distant, muffled by the shadows of the past year. 

Then there was Alina. 

Samira’s eyes drifted over to her sister, who sat with the rest of the family, but her expression was distant, almost vacant. Alina was beautiful, of course - her golden hair pinned up with sparkling jewels and her gown an elegant shade of lavender that made her look every bit the noblewoman she was. But there was a hollowness in her eyes, a kind of stillness that wasn’t there before the news of Robb’s death. Samira knew her sister had pulled herself together for Gerold’s sake, but Alina was no longer the same. She was quieter now, less adventurous, her laughter rare and strained when it did come. The grief over her husband’s death had changed her, and though she tried to hide it, Samira could see through her facade. 

It felt as if Samira had lost Alina too, in the same way she’d lost her sister to the North all those years ago. They were once so close, but now a gulf of silence and grief stretched between them. Samira felt more alone than ever, standing on the outside of the celebration, watching but not partaking. 

She sighed softly, glancing down at the goblet of wine in her hand. Even the wine tasted bitter today. 

"Samira?" a voice interrupted her thoughts. 

She looked up to see Lanna, Alina’s handmaiden, standing beside her. Lanna had a kind smile, though there was an understanding in her eyes. “You’re very quiet. Would you like to join us?” Lanna gestured to a nearby table where some of the other ladies from Oldtown were gathered, laughing and chatting. 

Samira shook her head gently. “No, I’m fine. I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer.”

Lanna nodded, offering her a small smile before turning back to the festivities. Samira watched her go, feeling that familiar sense of isolation settle around her like a cloak. She had once longed for quiet moments like these, but now, in the midst of so much joy, it felt like a burden. She glanced toward Alina once more, hoping for some sign of the sister she had known. But Alina was lost in her own world, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the celebration. 

Samira swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing she could do something to bring Alina back. But how could she compete with a love like Robb Stark’s? Alina had loved him fiercely, in a way that Samira wasn’t sure she would ever understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. The thought of loving someone so deeply that their absence could shatter you - it terrified her. Yet, in some way, Samira envied Alina’s love. At least she had felt something so intense, so real. 

“I hope you find peace,” Samira whispered, though she wasn’t sure who she was talking to - her sister, or herself. 

The wedding continued around her, the joy of the event growing with each passing hour. But for Samira, the weight of everything she had lost hung heavy over her. She had lost her brother to his new life with Desmera, lost her sister to the grief that followed her from the North, and most of all, she felt like she had lost a part of herself in the process. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the beautiful vineyard, the laughter and music feeling worlds away from where she stood. Maybe, one day, she would understand the love Alina had. But for now, Samira was content to remain in the shadows, quietly observing, unsure if she ever wanted to experience the kind of love that could destroy her. 

Samira slipped quietly away from the laughter and music of the wedding, her steps light as she moved through the winding halls of the Hightower. No one noticed her departure, just as she had hoped. She always felt invisible at large gatherings like this, where the attention was on the newlyweds or her sister Alina’s ethereal beauty. But Samira didn’t mind slipping into the shadows. In fact, she preferred it. 

The familiar ascent up the spiralling staircase of the Hightower brought her a strange sense of comfort. It was a long climb, but one she had made so many times before that her legs carried her effortlessly. At the top, her destination awaited—the room that had always been her sanctuary, her grandfather’s private study. 

Even after his death, nothing had changed. The room still smelled faintly of old parchment and the ocean breeze that swept in from the windows. Samira hesitated at the threshold, taking in the sight that had always soothed her. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, a world of knowledge that had once seemed so vast to her younger self. His great oak desk sat in the centre, strewn with papers and tomes, exactly as he had left it. 

She took a deep breath and stepped inside, running her fingers along the spines of the books on one of the lower shelves. She could almost imagine him sitting in his chair, smiling warmly at her, always ready to indulge her curiosity with stories of the Reach, of faraway lands, and of the histories that had shaped their world. 

As she approached the desk, something caught her eye. A large, weathered book lay open, its yellowed pages worn from use. It seemed to have been abandoned in the middle of a passage, as though her grandfather had been studying it before he passed. The title read: The Noble Houses of Dorne. A strange feeling stirred in her chest as she reached out to gently turn the page, her eyes falling on the elegantly inked description of a particular house - House Dayne. 

Underneath the open book was another one, pressed flat beneath the weight of the first. She gently lifted the upper tome and uncovered what appeared to be an older volume. The title on its cover was faded, but she could still make out part of it: The Sword of the Morning: Legends of House Dayne. Samira furrowed her brow in curiosity. Why had her grandfather been studying the history of this ancient Dornish house? He had never mentioned it to her before. 

Her fingers traced the star-shaped sigil of the Daynes on the page, and her thoughts drifted to Dorne itself, that mysterious and beautiful land to the south. She had never been, though she had heard countless stories from travellers and merchants who passed through Oldtown. It seemed like such a distant, exotic place - so different from the Reach, from Oldtown’s towering spires and lush vineyards. Samira had often wondered what it would be like to travel there, to see the sun-drenched deserts and lush oases with her own eyes. 

She let out a soft sigh, leaning back in her chair. The pages of the book rustled gently under her fingers as she turned them, absorbing the words about the Daynes - fabled swordsmen, noble warriors, their ancestral seat at Starfall perched on a cliff overlooking the Torrentine River. There was something in their history, something romantic and tragic that drew her in. 

Samira stared at the open page a moment longer before closing the book, placing it gently on the desk. She glanced out the window, where the moon hung high over the sea, casting a silver glow over the waters below. 

Her thoughts wandered to her own name. She had always been told that she was named after a noblewoman from Dorne, but no one had ever explained who that woman was. It had always been an unsolved mystery in her life, one that her family had never seemed to speak about. Now, as she sat alone in her grandfather’s study, surrounded by the remnants of his research, Samira couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her connection with Dorne than she had been told. 

She whispered her name softly to herself, "Samira." It was such an unusual name for someone born in Oldtown. It didn’t carry the weight of the Reach or the Hightower legacy; it felt foreign, exotic, like something that belonged to another land entirely. Could there be more to the story? Who was the Dornishwoman she was named after? And why had her grandfather been so interested in Dorne before he died?

Her mind raced with questions, her heart beating faster with each thought. She looked back down at the books, feeling as though she had stumbled upon something important - something that had been waiting for her to find it. Perhaps one day, she would travel to Dorne herself, to uncover the secrets that seemed to be woven into the very fabric of her name. 

For now, though, the mystery would remain unsolved. She stood up and glanced around the room one last time, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. This was still her safe space, the one place in the world where she felt truly at ease, even if her grandfather was no longer here to share it with her. 

Samira turned and left the study, the sound of the wedding still faintly drifting up from below. But her thoughts were far away, lost in the sun-drenched land of Dorne, and in the unanswered questions that lingered in the air like whispers from the past. 

Samira slipped quietly back into the garden, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses wrapping around her like a warm breeze. The wine garden of Oldtown, blooming with bright clusters of purple grapes and vines that twisted elegantly along the arches, felt almost dreamlike in the soft glow of twilight. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the sweet tang of ripe fruit, a far cry from the dark, dusty sanctuary of her grandfather’s study. 

As she made her way to the long table where her family and the guests were seated, Samira tried to blend back into the crowd, her steps slow and careful. She knew her absence wouldn’t go unnoticed, though, not here among so many sharp-eyed nobles. 

“Samira!” Colette Mullendore’s voice broke through the hum of conversation just as Samira slipped into her seat. Colette leaned in with a mischievous grin, her golden hair pinned in delicate curls that shimmered in the candlelight. Samira had always been jealous of how she looked more like Alina than Samira did. “Where did you sneak off to?” Her voice was light and teasing, but Samira could sense the curiosity beneath it. 

Samira forced a small smile and shrugged, picking up her goblet of cider to take a sip. The table before her was laden with a feast that would have made even the most decadent of kings pause in awe. Golden platters were piled high with honey-roasted quail, their skins glistening under the torchlight, while thick slices of venison were soaked in rich blackberry sauce, so tender they could be cut with a spoon. Sizzling sausages, spiced with cracked pepper and garlic, lay nestled beside heaps of buttered peas and carrots, their bright colours a stark contrast to the smoky meat. 

There were bowls of stewed apples, sweetened with cinnamon and cloves, and flaky, hot-from-the-oven bread rolls, perfect for sopping up the thick gravies. Pies filled with rich, savoury pork and onions, their crusts golden and steaming, sat next to towering wheels of yellow cheese. At the far end of the table, near the newlyweds, was a roasted boar, its skin crackled to perfection, wafting the scent of herbs and rosemary. 

Dishes of honey cakes - Samira’s favourite - and lemon tarts were passed around. The wine, a deep red Arbor vintage, flowed freely, its rich, heady aroma mixing with the spices in the air. The sweet cider in her cup was nothing compared to the strong drinks her brother and the other lords were indulging in. 

Samira had been looking forward to the food, the feast fit for the finest halls of the Reach, and yet, she found no appetite for it. 

“Just needed some air,” she replied quietly, her eyes flicking away. She didn’t feel like explaining the solace she had found in the high room of the Hightower, nor the mystery she had unearthed. Colette would never understand. 

The older girl, with her golden curls and wide, doe-like eyes, had always seemed to float through life in a dream-like daze. She was the sort of girl who saw the world through rose-tinted lenses, her mind rarely venturing beyond talk of gowns, betrothals, and the latest gossip from Oldtown’s courts. Conversations with Colette were light as feathers, fluttering from one trivial topic to another, never lingering on anything of substance. She smiled often, laughed easily, and cared little for the undercurrents that might trouble others. 

"Oh," Colette said, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face as she realised Samira wasn’t in the mood to share more. "Well, don’t disappear again! You’re missing all the fun." She gestured toward the table, where laughter bubbled around Gerold and Desmera, the newlyweds looking radiant under the starlight. 

Samira simply nodded, glancing at her brother and his bride. They seemed happy, so effortlessly at ease with each other, as if they had always been meant to be. Desmera Redwyne, her gown a rich shade of emerald green that caught the candlelight, laughed brightly at something Gerold had whispered in her ear. They looked perfect together. 

Her eyes drifted back to Colette, sitting across from her, her face glowing with the flush of wine and the joy of the evening. Colette was everything Samira was not - bold, charming, always at the centre of every gathering. The eldest daughter of the Mullendore family, Colette had an easy confidence about her, as if she had been born knowing exactly where she belonged in the world. Her future was already neatly laid out before her. Engaged to Bryan Fossoway, the son of Mina Tyrell and Jon Fossoway, Colette’s life was on a clear path. A marriage into a noble family, a life spent in the lap of luxury and security. 

Samira couldn’t help but think of how simple it must be for her. No real uncertainty, no dark corners to navigate, no mysteries of the past weighing on her mind. Colette was born into privilege, just like Samira, but her life felt so much lighter - free from the shadows that lingered in the Hightower’s halls, from the grief that had slowly consumed her sister. 

Colette’s bright blue eyes sparkled with contentment as she spoke to the others around her, and Samira wondered what it would feel like to have that kind of certainty about your future. To be able to look ahead and know what was coming, to know that happiness - or at least comfort - was just around the corner. 

When Colette spoke of her engagement to Bryan Fossoway, it was with a girlish giddiness, as though the responsibilities and weight of marriage had not yet occurred to her. She seemed blissfully unaware of the complexities of court life, or the darker truths that lurked behind the pleasantries of nobility. To her, the world was a glittering array of balls, suitors, and summer festivals, with little thought for the winter that loomed ahead. 

For Samira, it was different. With Alina lost in her grief over Robb Stark’s death, their once-close bond had faded into something distant and fragile. Samira felt more alone than ever, even surrounded by her family, even in the middle of a celebration. It felt like she had lost not only her sister, but also a part of herself. Her safe places, the people she had once turned to, seemed further away now. 

She picked at the food on her plate, barely tasting the rich venison and sweet apple cider. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that study, to the books on Dorne and the unanswered questions about her name. 

Samira cast a glance at Colette once more, now deep in conversation with her betrothed. The two were laughing, their hands brushing against one another as they spoke. It looked so easy for them, so natural. Samira wondered if she would ever have something like that - a love, or at least a life, that felt easy. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted, but she knew that it wasn’t what her sister had gone through. She wasn’t sure she could love someone with the same intensity that had broken Alina. 

Would she ever find someone who looked at her the way Bryan looked at Colette? Would her life ever feel as light and carefree as theirs?

Her heart ached with questions that she couldn’t answer. It was easier to slip away into her thoughts, to imagine the far-off lands of Dorne, the unknown paths her name might lead her down. At least in her daydreams, she had control. In the real world, she could only watch as her sister's grief consumed her and her family, as her brother’s life took on a joy she couldn’t quite share.

[rainstormies]

masterlists

light the way - game of thrones (alina hightower)

heir of fire - game of thrones (serena reyne)

[rainstormies]

(13) dragon's lullaby

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

BAELOR

Baelor Hightower stood by the great window of his solar in Oldtown, staring out at the mist-covered harbour. His hands were clasped behind his back, the weight of his family’s ancient seat feeling heavier than ever on his shoulders. The wind carried the distant echoes of the bustling city below, but his mind was miles away, fixated on his daughter — Alina — who was in the North, entangled in a marriage that now threatened to brand their house as traitors. 

"You’re too calm, Baelor," Rhonda’s sharp voice cut through the air, and he sighed inwardly. His wife’s footsteps echoed in the chamber, deliberate and angry. "We need to bring her back now before it's too late."

Baelor turned from the window, his grey eyes meeting Rhonda’s fiery gaze. She was pacing the room, her usually composed demeanour shaken. "Rhonda, I’ve sent ravens. I’ve tried to—"

"Ravens?!" Rhonda interrupted, her voice rising. "You sent ravens when our daughter is married to Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, who has declared himself King in the North! Baelor, she’s aligning herself against the crown. Do you understand what this means? If King Robert were still alive, this would already be settled in blood."

Baelor’s jaw tightened. "I know what it means, Rhonda. You think I don’t? But Alina is more than a daughter of Oldtown now. She’s Robb Stark’s wife. Do you think the Starks will allow her to simply walk away without consequence?"

Rhonda stopped pacing and turned to him, her blue eyes filled with desperation. "She is still our child. They will have to allow it. Baelor, she’s only fourteen — barely more than a girl. This is not her war, nor is it ours. We can say she was swept up in the romance of it all, that she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation."

Baelor lowered himself into the high-backed chair beside his desk. "You think it’s that simple? That she’ll just come back, and everyone will forgive her for being ‘a girl in love’?" He rubbed his temples. "You forget that Alina is not just any girl. She is a Hightower. She carries our name, our legacy. We must tread carefully."

Rhonda’s lips tightened into a thin line as she sat across from him. "She’s young, Baelor. Naive. People will believe that. It’s our only way out of this without being labelled traitors ourselves. If we bring her home, we can make it clear that she acted impulsively, and that we — her family — do not support this rebellion."

Baelor shook his head, frustrated. "Alina may be young, but she is not without understanding. Do you think for a moment that she doesn’t know what she’s involved in? She’s clever, Rhonda, perhaps too much for her own good. Robb’s no fool either. They’ve declared war on the Lannisters. Bringing her home now could make her a traitor in the eyes of the North as well."

Rhonda’s expression softened, but her worry remained. "I can’t lose her, Baelor. She’s our daughter. Our child. And this... this war — it’s not hers to fight. She’s only been swept away by the tides of war and love. If we act now, we can protect her, keep her safe."

"I understand, Rhonda." Baelor’s voice was quiet, pained. "But you underestimate how powerful love can be. If we pull her away too forcefully, we may lose her forever. She’s not the girl who left Oldtown anymore. She is the wife of a king now, and that binds her more deeply than any political alliance. To make her leave Robb now... she might see it as a betrayal from us."

Rhonda clenched her hands into fists, her voice trembling. "Then we make her see the danger. Make her understand that she’s jeopardising everything. Baelor, we’re walking a fine line. The Iron Throne will see the Hightowers as traitors if we don’t act."

"I know," Baelor replied heavily. "That’s why we can’t make any rash decisions. If we handle this poorly, we may lose more than just Alina’s love. The whole of Oldtown could pay the price for our mistake."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their positions pressing down on them like a vice. 

Rhonda’s voice softened, barely more than a whisper. "She’s too young to be caught in the middle of this war. I just want to protect her, Baelor."

Baelor stood up, crossing the room to kneel before his wife, taking her hands in his. "We will. But we must be careful. We need to show the crown that she is a child swept up in love and rebellion, not a traitor. We’ll make her return seem innocent — make her seem like a girl who acted on her heart, not on politics. If we do that, we might save her from the consequences of this war."

Rhonda nodded, her eyes filled with fear and hope. "We need her to come home."

Baelor stood, his resolve hardening. "I will make sure of it. But we need to be smart about this. Alina must believe that returning is in her best interest."

Rhonda looked up at her husband, her grip tightening on his hand. "Do whatever it takes. Just bring her home, Baelor."

Baelor nodded, his gaze shifting back to the window, where the grey skies of Oldtown seemed to mirror the turmoil in his heart. 

ALINA

Alina had forgotten how the ocean smelled. The briny tang of saltwater and the crisp breeze that blew in from the harbour filled her lungs as the swan ship approached the towering spires of Oldtown. The Hightower rose above it all, as formidable as ever, its shadow stretching far across the city’s bustling streets. The sight stirred something deep within her, a longing she hadn't realised she still carried. 

Home. 

The ship glided smoothly into the port of Battle Isle, and as soon as the gangplank was lowered, Alina’s heart raced with anticipation. She hadn’t seen her family in years — since before her marriage to Robb, before the war. So much had changed, and yet Oldtown seemed untouched by time. The narrow streets were just as she remembered, lined with familiar vendors selling their wares, the bells of the Starry Sept ringing in the distance.

As her feet touched solid ground, a wave of nostalgia washed over her, but it was tinged with an uncertainty that weighed on her shoulders. Would they see her the same? Or had her choices made her a stranger in their eyes?

"Alina!" a familiar voice called out.

She turned just in time to see her brother, Gerold, striding toward her, his face lighting up with a broad smile. He had grown taller since she last saw him, his once boyish features now hardened into those of a man. Behind him, Samira trailed, her dark curls bouncing with every step, her face still shy but now slightly more mature. 

"Gerold! Samira!" Alina exclaimed, rushing toward them. 

Gerold reached her first, enveloping her in a bear hug. "It’s good to have you back, sister."

"I’ve missed you," Alina breathed, clinging to him tightly before pulling back to look at Samira. "You’ve grown so much," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. 

Samira smiled shyly, ducking her head before wrapping her arms around Alina. "I missed you too," she whispered softly. 

Alina stepped back and looked at her siblings. In that moment, despite everything that had happened, she felt grounded—safe. It wasn’t until her mother and father approached that she remembered how complicated her return was. 

"Alina," Baelor Hightower’s voice boomed as he approached. He was older now, lines of worry etched deeper into his face, but his eyes still held the warmth of a father seeing his daughter after years apart. 

"Father," Alina greeted, bowing her head respectfully before stepping into his embrace. The smell of parchment and ink clung to him as it always had, and for a moment, she was a little girl again, seeking his approval and guidance. 

"You’ve been gone too long," Baelor said quietly, stepping back to look at her. "But you are home now."

Alina offered a small smile, her heart aching with the knowledge that while Oldtown was her home, the North had become a part of her as well. 

"And look at you," Lady Rhonda said, her voice softer than usual as she approached. Alina’s mother was still striking, her red hair streaked with hints of grey, her posture as regal as ever. She embraced Alina gently, as if afraid she might break. "My sweet girl."

Alina’s throat tightened, and she found herself blinking back tears once more. "Mother, I—"

"Shh, we will talk later," Rhonda said, her voice low. She gave Alina a meaningful look, her green eyes serious. "There is much to discuss."

The words hung in the air, casting a shadow over the reunion, but for now, Alina pushed it aside, allowing herself to simply enjoy the warmth of her family’s presence. They returned to the Hightower together, and for a few fleeting moments, all seemed well. Samira clung to her side, Gerold bombarded her with stories of tournaments and travels, and her father looked on with pride. But through it all, Alina could feel her mother’s gaze, watching her closely. 

Later that evening, after the feast welcoming her home had come to an end, Alina found herself summoned to her mother’s chamber. The room was dimly lit, the windows open to the cool sea breeze that drifted through the space. Rhonda sat by the fire, her hands clasped in her lap, her face shadowed with concern. 

"Mother?" Alina asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "You said there was something important we needed to discuss."

Rhonda didn’t respond at first, her eyes fixed on the fire’s flickering flames. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and careful. "Alina, there are things you need to understand about the decisions you’ve made. Your father and I... we worry for you."

Alina frowned, moving to sit across from her mother. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

Rhonda’s eyes softened, but there was a hint of fear in them. "Your marriage to Robb Stark has drawn you into a war, one that could consume all of us if we’re not careful. The crown... they will not look kindly upon your involvement in the North’s rebellion."

"I know," Alina whispered, her heart sinking. "But I love him, Mother. I couldn’t leave him."

Rhonda’s expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "Love is a powerful thing, my dear, but it is also dangerous. And it will not be enough to protect you if things go wrong."

Alina’s pulse quickened. "What are you saying?"

Her mother’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. "Baelor and I... we’ve agreed that it might be best if you came home for good. If you... separated yourself from Robb, from the war. There are ways to make it seem as though you were simply a girl swept up in love, unaware of the consequences. You would be safe, Alina. We would be safe."

The words hit Alina like a blow to the chest. "You want me to leave him?"

Rhonda stood, crossing the room to kneel beside her daughter. She took Alina’s hands in hers, her grip firm but gentle. "We want you to come home, where we can protect you. Where you won’t be seen as a traitor. It’s not about leaving Robb, Alina. It’s about saving you."

Alina felt the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her, suffocating her. The warmth of Oldtown felt suddenly cold, and the love she had for Robb seemed to flicker like a candle in the wind. 

"I don’t know if I can," Alina whispered, tears stinging her eyes. 

Rhonda squeezed her hands, her expression softening. "You can. And we will help you, no matter what happens."

Alina nodded, but deep down, she knew the decision would not be so simple. The love she felt for Robb, the duty she had to the North, and the loyalty she owed her family — they were pulling her in opposite directions. 

The fire crackled in the hearth, but for Alina, the world felt colder than it ever had. 

Alina sat by the window, watching the last remnants of daylight fade over Oldtown’s skyline. The distant sound of waves crashing against the harbour was faint, muffled by the thick stone walls of the Hightower. She let out a long, slow breath. Despite being home, everything felt foreign — different. The weight of her conversation with her mother still hung heavy on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She ran her fingers along the window ledge, tracing the familiar grooves in the stone as if searching for a connection to the past she had left behind. 

"Shall we, my lady?" Lanna Rowan, her ever-loyal handmaiden, stood nearby with a soft smile. Her voice was quiet, knowing not to disturb the thoughts swirling in Alina’s mind. 

Alina turned away from the window, offering a nod. "Yes. Thank you, Lanna."

The other handmaidens bustled around, preparing the bath with steaming water infused with lavender and rose petals. The room filled with the soothing scent, but even the familiar fragrances of her childhood couldn’t ease the tension that coiled within her. Slowly, they helped her undress, the fine fabric of her dress slipping off her shoulders like a whisper. The bathwater embraced her skin with warmth, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. 

But her mind wandered back to the North. To Robb. 

Lanna hummed a soft tune as she gently washed Alina’s hair, the same lullaby that had often been sung to them both in their youth. It was a reminder of simpler times, times when her greatest worries were whether she would get to ride her horse before the rains came or whether the courtyard was warm enough for an afternoon walk. 

Now, those days seemed like a lifetime ago. 

One by one, the other handmaidens finished their tasks, quietly slipping out of the room with soft curtsies and murmured goodnights. Lanna was the last to leave, giving Alina a knowing smile as she wrapped her in a thick, soft towel. 

"You’ll feel better in the morning, my lady," Lanna said, her voice gentle as always. "The night has a way of making everything seem heavier than it is."

"I hope you’re right," Alina whispered, watching as Lanna curtsied and closed the door behind her. 

Alina sat at her vanity, brushing out her long hair, now damp and smelling faintly of roses. She stared at her reflection in the polished mirror, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. She had aged in these past years, not just in appearance, but in the weight of her heart. Her mind was far away, in the cold halls of Winterfell, thinking of the man she had left behind. 

A soft knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, expecting Lanna had returned to fetch something forgotten. 

But it was Samira, her younger sister, slipping through the doorway with her nightgown trailing behind her. The girl’s dark hair was tousled, her large eyes wide and shy as she tiptoed into the room. 

"Samira," Alina said with a fond smile, setting down her brush. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," Samira whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. Without waiting for an invitation, she padded over to Alina's large bed and crawled onto it, pulling the thick furs over herself. 

Alina’s heart swelled at the sight. It was a scene from their childhood. How many nights had Samira crept into her bed, frightened by nightmares or the howling of the wind outside their window? The young girl had always been timid, a stark contrast to Alina’s more adventurous spirit. And yet, even now, Alina couldn’t help but feel protective over her shy, gentle sister. 

"Still having night terrors?" Alina teased softly, though there was no bite to her words. 

Samira didn’t answer, only curled up more tightly beneath the covers. Alina rose from her vanity, crossing the room to join her sister in bed. She slipped beneath the furs, their warmth enveloping her, and lay beside Samira, just as she had done so many times before. 

"Do you remember," Samira whispered into the darkness, "when we used to pretend that we were the ladies of Oldtown and that our bed was a ship sailing across the seas?"

Alina smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Yes. We used to think the world was waiting for us just beyond the horizon."

Samira was quiet for a long moment, her breath steadying as sleep began to claim her. "I wish it was still like that," she murmured, her voice growing softer. 

Alina closed her eyes, feeling the familiar weight of her sister’s presence beside her. "So do I."

The room fell into silence, save for the soft rustling of the wind outside and the distant call of the ocean. But Alina's thoughts were far away, drifting back to Winterfell, to the North. To Robb. 

She imagined his face, his strong jaw and fierce, yet kind eyes. The way he had looked at her before she left—the promise in his gaze. She wanted so desperately to return to him, to the life they had begun to build together. Yet her heart felt split, torn between love and duty, between her family and the path she had chosen. 

As sleep began to tug at her mind, she whispered to herself, "I will return to you, Robb. I promise."

But even as she spoke the words, a coldness settled over her heart, and the weight of uncertainty lingered in the back of her mind. 

The last tear that had slipped from her eye had long since dried, but the ache remained. 

Alina stood on the balcony of the Hightower, the familiar sea breeze whipping through her hair, the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. The sun was setting, casting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and orange, but the beauty of it was lost on her. She had been home for a few days, but it still didn’t feel like home. Oldtown, once so comforting and full of warmth, now felt like a cage, closing in on her. 

The wind caught her gown, billowing the pale fabric around her legs. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air brush against her cheeks, trying to still her racing heart. She had been restless ever since she left Winterfell, ever since she left him. Every day that passed felt like an eternity, waiting for news, waiting for the moment she could return to Robb’s side. 

She heard their footsteps. 

She turned slowly, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her father was standing in the room alongside her mother. It wasn’t supper just yet. His face was pale, his expression grave, and something in his eyes made her heart freeze. 

"Father?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath catching in her throat. 

Baelor stepped into the room, closing the door behind them. He didn’t speak at first, only watching her with the same haunted look that told her everything she needed to know. Her hands trembled as she stepped forward. 

"What is it? What’s happened?" she demanded, though her voice wavered, betraying the dread rising in her chest. 

Baelor hesitated, his eyes softening with sorrow. "Alina... there is something I must tell you."

She could feel the blood drain from her face, her heart pounding in her ears. "Tell me what?"

"It’s Robb." The words came like a blade to her chest. "And Lady Catelyn... they’re dead."

Her world shattered. 

The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp, her legs buckling beneath her. She stumbled, clutching the back of a chair to steady herself, but the room spun around her, the edges of her vision blurring. 

"No," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, it can't be."

Baelor's voice was low, filled with the weight of the truth. "They were betrayed. At the Twins, by the Freys. It was a trap."

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The words didn’t make sense—they couldn’t. Not Robb. Not the man who had promised to make her his queen, the man she had left her home and her family for. Not Lady Catelyn, who had taken her in and treated her like a daughter. 

"Robb is..." The words stuck in her throat, a lump rising so high she thought she might choke. Tears blurred her vision, spilling over before she could stop them. She didn’t care. She was collapsing, crumbling beneath the weight of grief so immense it felt like it would crush her. 

Her mother stepped forward, her hands reaching out to her, but she recoiled from her touch. "How could this happen?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "He was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to win!"

Baelor’s face was drawn with pain, but his voice remained steady. "It was treachery, Alina. The Freys broke their sacred oaths. Robb and Lady Catelyn... they were slain at the feast. There was no mercy."

“A- at the wedding? But it was a wedding!” Alina was now yelling, her voice echoing through the halls. “Do they have no honour?”

The tears came faster, uncontrollable. Alina collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her body shaking as sobs wracked through her. She buried her face in her hands, trying to block out the world, trying to block out the truth. 

“My poor Robb, what did they do to you?”

The images in her mind flashed like lightning—Robb's smile, the warmth of his embrace, the way he had looked at her that last night before she left. He had kissed her, whispered promises that they would be together again soon. Now he was gone, ripped from her in the cruellest of ways. 

Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each one jagged and sharp, cutting deeper into her with every breath she took. 

Lady Rhonda knelt beside her, her hand resting gently on her shoulder. "I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry."

But no amount of apologies could fix what had been done. No words could undo the horror of what had happened. Robb was dead. Lady Catelyn was dead. The Stark family she had come to love had been destroyed, and with them, every hope she had for her future. 

"I should have been there," she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken. "I should have... I should have stayed."

Baelor's face was grim. "There was nothing you could have done, Alina. You would have been killed too."

But she wasn’t sure that would have been worse. 

“Alina. We are your family, think of us, think of your brother and your sister. Your father is Lord now, what will the others think?” Her mother’s words were no reassurance. 

“Lord Stark lost his head at King’s Landing. He was my family too. And they killed him. They beheaded him. Does he not deserve justice too?” Alina was angry. She was angry at her family for ripping her away from Robb. Angry at the Freys for killing her husband. Angry at the world for leaving her behind in such misery. 

Alina pressed her hands to her chest, as if that could somehow hold the pieces of her heart together. But it was no use. She had been shattered, and she didn’t know how she could ever be whole again. 

Alina could do nothing but scream. Scream until her voice ached. Her head hit the floor, her hands covering her chest as she struggled to breathe. 

Alina’s father tried to pull her to her feet. All Alina could do was look up through her tears. “No, you’re lying! Mother, why would you lie to me?”

“My Light, my sweet Alina,” Her parents were just standing there. 

“No, I promised him,” Alina pulls her arms away harshly. “I promised him I would return.”

“You’re a liar! You’re all liars. My- My Robb.”

It was all too much. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

Robb. 

Her sweet, Robb. 

The man she had fallen in love with. 

Dead. 

It couldn’t be. It just-

It just couldn’t be. 

Alina’s throat hurt. But not as much as her heart. Not as much as the truth that her husband was gone. 

She felt arms around her. Lanna. She smelled sweet, like the gardens in Highgarden. Like the roses and lilies that grew there. It was a comforting smell. 

But Alina longed for the musk and sweat, the one she so fondly associated with Robb. 

She would never be able to smell him, or even touch him again. 

He was gone. Just… gone.

[rainstormies]

(12) lamb amongst wolves

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

ALINA

The cold morning air bit at Alina's cheeks as she rode beside Robb, the banners of House Stark fluttering above them. Hundreds of men marched in long columns behind them, their footsteps a steady, unrelenting rhythm against the frozen earth. The weight of their mission loomed heavy over the company. 

Robb was leading them to war. 

Alina kept her gaze forward, focused on the road that stretched out toward the horizon. The North was far behind them now, and with every mile that passed, they ventured deeper into dangerous territory. The Riverlands awaited them, where Lady Catelyn was gathering what forces she could after the Lannisters' brutal invasion. Alina could only imagine what Catelyn must be feeling — mourning her husband while her son prepared for battle. 

Alina's thoughts flickered to Lord Eddard Stark. She had not known him long, but he had always treated her with kindness, as if she were one of his own. His honour had been legendary, and even in Winterfell, Alina had heard tales of his unwavering sense of duty. She respected him greatly. That such a man could meet such a fate filled her with anger and grief. The world was changing rapidly, and the peace she had once known seemed so far away now. 

Robb rode beside her, his expression serious and determined, the weight of his new title as King in the North heavy on his shoulders. He barely spoke these days, his focus turned entirely to the campaign ahead. Alina watched him out of the corner of her eye, her heart aching for him. She wished there was something she could do, some way to ease the burden he bore, but war had a way of isolating even the closest of hearts. 

As they approached the ford leading out of the North and into the Riverlands, Alina shifted in her saddle, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in her bones since they’d left Winterfell. Her mind wandered to her own family, far away in the Reach. What were they thinking now, knowing their daughter rode toward war? Would they have sent her south, away from Robb, if they had the chance?

She glanced at Robb, wanting to ask him how he felt, to share her own fears. But he was lost in thought, his eyes scanning the horizon ahead. A young lord about to lead men into battle. Her husband. 

The word still felt new and strange to her, though it had been weeks since they’d exchanged vows. Their wedding had been a moment of calm amid the chaos, but the duties of leadership had claimed Robb swiftly after. Their time together since had been stolen in brief moments, a kiss before sleep, a whispered word at dawn. Now, as the march continued, Alina wondered when they might find peace again — if they ever would. 

Suddenly, Robb turned toward her, as if sensing her gaze. His blue eyes softened slightly, and for a moment, the weight of war lifted. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice low. 

Alina smiled faintly. “Not anymore. You know I’ve gotten used to the cold.”

He gave a half-smile in return, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be at the river soon. We should make camp before crossing.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say. The silence between them stretched as the wind howled through the trees. Robb was a different man now than the boy she had fallen in love with. Battle plans and strategy consumed him, and she could see the heavy burden of command resting on his shoulders. 

As they rode, Alina caught sight of the Stark bannermen riding in their ranks. The Karstarks, the Umbers, and men from the Dreadfort — all of them loyal to Robb. Yet she saw the worry in their faces. They were marching toward war with the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Her gaze drifted down the lines of men, and then further back, toward the camp followers — blacksmiths, cooks, squires, and healers. The North had come to war in full force. For Lord Eddard. For revenge. 

For the first time since they’d begun the march, she truly understood the gravity of what lay ahead. This wasn’t just about justice. It was about survival. 

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they crested a hill, and below them, the waters of the Trident shimmered. The river marked the boundary between the North and the Riverlands. Beyond it lay the lands controlled by House Tully, Robb's mother's house. Lady Catelyn would be waiting for them, surrounded by the remnants of her father’s bannermen, hoping for the support of her son and his army. 

Alina’s stomach tightened at the thought. She had come to love Lady Catelyn like a mother, and she knew this war must be tearing her apart. 

Robb slowed his horse as they neared the riverbank. “We’ll set up camp here for the night,” he ordered his men. 

The soldiers began to fan out, preparing to build fires and set up tents for the night. Alina dismounted and brushed the dust from her dress, staring at the river that stretched before them like an ominous barrier between what was familiar and the unknown dangers of war. 

Robb came to her side, his gaze fixed on the water. “We’re close now,” he murmured. “By tomorrow, we’ll meet my mother. After that…”

He trailed off, his voice heavy with the weight of what they were heading into. 

Alina placed her hand on his arm. “After that, we’ll face whatever comes. Together.”

Robb looked down at her, his face softening as he took her hand in his. “Together,” he repeated, though the word was laced with an uncertainty she hadn’t heard before. 

They stood there, side by side, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the river in a blood-red hue. 

The river crossing had been slow, the fords swollen from the recent rains, but they had made it. Now, as the campfires flickered in the twilight, Alina’s heart beat faster with every passing moment. Soon, they would see Lady Catelyn. Robb had already sent a rider ahead to announce their arrival, and by now, she would know her son was coming to meet her. 

They rode in silence, the tension heavy in the air. Alina stole glances at Robb, who had been quiet all morning, his jaw set in the same way it had been when they’d crossed the Trident. His men were gathered behind them, the stark wolf banners fluttering in the evening wind. 

As they approached Riverrun, the grand seat of House Tully, Alina could see the banners of her lady’s house waving proudly from the ramparts. The gates opened slowly, creaking with the weight of a hundred years of history, and Alina’s breath caught in her throat. It was her first time seeing the Tully stronghold, its red stone walls and flowing river moat marking a place of both beauty and strength. 

Inside the courtyard, Lady Catelyn stood waiting, her face pale with worry and exhaustion, but her back straight and proud. She wore the blue and red colours of her house, though her expression was far more sombre than the banners that waved around her. 

Robb dismounted first, walking quickly toward his mother. Lady Catelyn rushed to meet him, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. For a moment, all the formality and distance melted away, and it was simply a mother reunited with her son. 

Alina waited a few paces behind, unsure of her place in this reunion. She felt a knot of nervousness forming in her stomach as Lady Catelyn turned her sharp gaze toward her. For all the kindness Lady Catelyn had shown her over the years, Alina had never known how the woman would react to the news that she and Robb were now husband and wife. 

After the long embrace, Lady Catelyn stepped back to examine Robb, her hands gripping his arms. “You’ve grown since I last saw you,” she said softly, her eyes glistening. “But you should not have had to lead these men. Not like this. Not after…everything.”

Robb’s face hardened, but before he could speak, Lady Catelyn’s attention shifted to Alina. She walked toward her, her sharp eyes studying her as if she were seeing Alina for the first time. 

“Lady Catelyn,” Alina said, bowing her head in respect. 

But before she could say more, Robb spoke up. “Mother… there’s something you should know.”

Lady Catelyn looked between them, sensing the weight in her son’s voice. “What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing. 

Robb stepped closer to Alina, taking her hand in his. “Alina and I… we’re married.”

For a moment, Lady Catelyn said nothing. The courtyard seemed to still, the sounds of the men settling down for the night fading into the background. Then, slowly, her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“So it is true,” she murmured. “When I heard you’d left Winterfell together, I wondered…” She took a step toward Alina, reaching out to touch her hand. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Alina said, her voice trembling slightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes swept over her, taking in the furs and Stark colors Alina now wore. “You’ve changed, Alina. You’ve become one of us.” Her smile grew as she looked between her son and his new wife. “I could want no one else for Robb.”

Alina let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, her heart swelling with relief. Lady Catelyn’s approval meant more to her than she could express, and hearing those words lifted the weight of her uncertainty. 

Lady Catelyn took both their hands and squeezed them gently. “I know you will take care of each other, even in these dark times. But know this — war will test you both in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

Robb nodded, his jaw set. “We’ll face it. Together.”

Lady Catelyn’s expression grew sombre once more as she looked to the sky, as if searching for some unseen answer. “We must prepare for what’s coming. The Lannisters have done enough harm already, and they won’t stop until they’ve destroyed everything we hold dear.” Her eyes darkened. “Your father’s death will not be in vain.”

Robb’s grip on Alina’s hand tightened at the mention of Lord Eddard. He had not spoken much of his father since they’d left Winterfell, but the grief was there, heavy and silent. Alina felt it too, a deep sorrow for the man who had been so kind and just. 

The conversation shifted to strategy and plans, but Alina’s mind drifted. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of their new responsibilities pressing down on them. She had married a lord, but now she was the wife of a man going to war. The future felt uncertain, a looming storm on the horizon. 

As night fell, they found themselves in Lady Catelyn’s chamber, where she lit candles and poured wine for the three of them. For a brief moment, it felt almost like peace — a mother, her son, and the girl who had become his wife, sharing a quiet moment before the storm of war fully descended upon them. 

“I’ll ride with you, Mother,” Robb said finally, his voice steady. “Together, we will avenge Father. The North remembers.”

Lady Catelyn nodded, her eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “Then let us ride. For the honour of House Stark.”

SAMIRA

The sky over Oldtown was a velvet expanse of darkness, studded with countless stars that twinkled like scattered diamonds. Samira Hightower stood by the edge of the garden, her young face upturned to the night, trying to find solace in the constellations. Her thoughts were scattered, much like the stars above her.

It had been a strangely quiet evening. The usual murmur of the city below was muffled by the chill of the night air. Samira felt a peculiar sense of stillness, an uneasy calm that seemed to settle over her family’s grand home. It was then that she noticed something unusual — a star, brighter than any other, had appeared in the sky. It shone with an intensity that seemed almost too vivid, too poignant, to be a mere celestial body.

Samira’s brow furrowed as she studied the star. It seemed to pulse with a rhythm that resonated within her, an echo of something she couldn’t quite understand. It was as if the star was trying to tell her something, something profound and deeply personal.

Her mother’s voice, soft but insistent, floated up from the garden below. “Samira, where are you?”

The sudden call jolted Samira from her reverie. She glanced one last time at the bright star, a shiver of unease creeping down her spine. There was something about it. She couldn’t shake that strange feeling. Like something was wrong. An unbalance of sorts. Like Samira had lost something, she just didn’t know what. 

With a deep breath, Samira turned away from the sky and began to descend the steps from the garden. Her mother’s voice grew nearer, and the warmth of the household seemed to pull her back into the comfort of the present, away from the unsettling feeling she had felt. 

Yet Samira knew. She understood. 

As she reached the door, she gave one final glance back at the sky, the star still gleaming brightly, and whispered to herself, “Goodnight, Grandfather.”

ALINA

The quiet night was shattered by the arrival of a raven, its wings fluttering in the dim light of Lady Catelyn’s chamber. Alina sat at the table, trying to shake off the fatigue of their journey and the uncertainty of the future. The message was delivered by one of the guards, his face grim as he handed her the sealed parchment.

Robb was engaged in a discussion with Lady Catelyn about their plans when Alina took the letter from the guard. She recognized her father’s seal and the weight of the message it contained. Her heart sank as she carefully broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. The words on the page seemed to blur as she read:

Dear Alina, 

I write to you with heavy heart and sorrowful news. Your grandfather, Leyton, has passed away. The duties of Lord Hightower now fall upon me, and with it comes the responsibility of guiding our family through this troubled time. Your brother, my heir, Gerold, is also to be married soon — a match I believe will strengthen our position. 

In light of these events and the dangers of the war raging in the North, I implore you to return home. It is too dangerous for you to remain in Winterfell. Your presence is needed here with your family, both for your safety and to support Gerold and the household in this time of transition. 

With all my love, Your Father

Baelor Hightower

The letter trembled in Alina’s hands. The words echoed in her mind as she looked up at Robb, who had been watching her with a concerned expression. Lady Catelyn, too, had turned her attention to the letter, her eyes softening with empathy.

Robb stepped closer, sensing the gravity of the situation. “What does it say, Alina?” he asked gently.

“My grandfather is dead.” Alina felt like she couldn’t breathe. “And my brother, he’s getting married.” Alina read through the rest of the scroll, she set it down on the table, face down. “They want me to come home.” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the letter again, feeling the weight of her family’s request.

Lady Catelyn placed a comforting hand on Alina’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Alina. About your grandfather.”

Robb’s face was serious as he listened to her. He glanced down at the paper that now laid face down. Alina picked it up and handed it to him. 

“Then you shall go.” Robb said, his voice firm as he finished reading the scroll. “Your family needs you.”

“And I need you. I have no wish to return home. I am to stay here with you. As your wife.” Her brother’s marriage… Alina wanted to be there for him. Yet she did not wish to leave her husband either. Alina felt torn between the two. She knew what her mother would say. She had to consider what was best for her family. She knew how much Samira loved their grandfather — more than anyone else in the world. It would be hardest for her, the loss. It was time for Alina to think about her family, wars, diplomacy, politics could wait. 

“My dear wife, you will attend your brother’s wedding.” Robb said. “We will take back Riverrun from the Lannisters, and then we shall be reunited. You as my queen. 

“Are you sure?” Alina said, her voice breaking. 

“I am sure.” This is what she loved about Robb. Through it all, he remained the loyal and understanding man she grew to love. Nothing could take that away from him. 

“Then I shall take my handmaidens with me. As well as Ser Duncan. I will need no further escort.” Ser Duncan was a knight that had accompanied Alina all the way from the Reach. He was the nephew of Lord Lorent Caswell of Bitterbridge, and had grown up alongside Alina. There was no other knight Alina would trust more with her life. 

“Are you sure that is enough, my lady.” A bannerman next to Robb said. 

“My mother, she has arranged for some of our knights to meet us at Highgarden.” Alina replied, she was not too worried about her journey. She did not wish a large party with her, it would only attract unwanted attention. Especially now that she was known as the Young Wolf’s wife. 

“It is a long journey from here to the Reach. Especially for young women.”

“Then choose another man, anyone, and I will take him with me.”

Alina’s mind churned as she waited for an answer. The flickering torchlight cast shadows along the tent, giving the space a sombre glow. She hadn’t expected to feel this uneasy. The thought of leaving Robb weighed heavily on her heart. But the thought of the journey ahead - of the dangers lurking on the roads between the North and the Reach - pressed even more. 

Robb had insisted she take a guard, a contingent of men sworn to protect her. He feared for her safety, as any husband would. But Alina was determined to travel lightly, to avoid the scrutiny and suspicion that might come with a large retinue. She was the Young Wolf’s wife now, a title that could draw more trouble than it would deter. 

Her gaze flickered to Lanna, who sat beside her, watching the exchange with a nervous frown. Lanna had been with her through everything - from the quiet days in Oldtown to the frozen halls of Winterfell - and the idea of dragging her cousin through any more peril pained her. 

"My lady," one of the bannermen spoke up, pulling her from her thoughts. "There is a young knight from White Harbor - Ser Matthar. He’s honourable, skilled with a sword, and most importantly, discreet."

Alina considered the name for a moment, rolling it over in her mind. White Harbor was known for its loyal bannermen, the Manderlys especially. A knight from there could offer the protection she needed without attracting too much attention. "Ser Matthar," she repeated softly. "Do you trust him?"

The man nodded. "He has served Lord Manderly for many years. I believe he would do well to protect you on your journey, my lady."

Alina nodded, the decision settling in her chest. "Then he will accompany us." Alina looked at Lanna, who offered her a small smile, though there was a flicker of worry behind her eyes. 

"We’ll be safe, Lanna," Alina reassured her cousin. "We will have Ser Duncan and Ser Matthar. It’s just a journey."

Lanna smiled weakly, though her hands fidgeted with the sleeves of her gown. "You’re always so brave, Alina. I wish I had your confidence."

Alina reached out and squeezed her cousin’s hand gently. "We’ve survived worse than this. And besides, it’ll be good to see Highgarden again."

Her words were meant to soothe, but as she said them, Alina felt a pang of longing for the warmth and beauty of the Reach. The roses of Highgarden, the rolling green fields, and the laughter of home... it all felt so far away now, like a dream she could hardly remember. Winter had taken hold of her heart here in the North, and yet the thought of returning to the Reach stirred something inside her. 

"Yes," Lanna said softly, though her gaze lingering outside. "But I’ve grown fond of the North. I will miss it."

Alina glanced toward the field as well. "As will I," she admitted, her heart heavy. The cold air that had once seemed so foreign to her now felt like a part of her soul, the people of the North like family. Her love for Robb had only deepened her connection to this place, but now, duty called her South. 

“Who is she? The woman your brother is marrying.” Robb’s voice cut through the silence. Alina had forgotten about her brother, and his marriage. 

“Some maiden from the Reach. Desmera Redwyne. Can’t say I have ever met the girl.” Her mother had sent a letter a while ago where she spoke about the potential match. 

“Well I’m sure she’ll be a suitable wife for your lord brother.” Alina wasn’t sure what to think about it all. She hoped her brother would come to love the woman, to experience love the same way Alina had. 

“House Redwyne - of the Arbor. My aunt Denyse is married to their lord’s little brother. I am sure she stands behind the match” Alina replied. 

Robb’s expression softened, and he took her hands in his. “I understand your loyalty to your family. But know this: I will support you in whatever decision you make. I need you, but I also understand the importance of family. We will find a way to make this work.”

Alina looked at him, her heart aching. “I don’t want to leave you in the midst of this war. But if I stay here, I’m torn between two worlds.”

Robb’s gaze was steady. “Alina, if you feel that your place is with your family, then I will respect that. We’ve faced so much together already. We will find a way to navigate this.”

Lady Catelyn spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. “If you decide to return to Hightower, know that we will manage here. And Robb will have my support, as well as the support of our bannermen.”

Alina took a deep breath, her decision becoming clearer as she weighed her responsibilities and emotions. “I will go back. I need to be with my family, to support them and help with the transition. But I promise, I will return as soon as I can.”

Robb nodded, his face showing both pride and sadness. “Then go to your family, Alina. Do what you must. And when you return, we will face whatever comes next together.”

Alina and Lanna sat in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the room, until Miya approached with a tray of steaming mulled wine. "For the journey, my lady," she said, her voice soft as she poured the drink into their cups. "It will help you rest."

Alina smiled gratefully, taking the cup and inhaling the sweet, spiced scent. The warmth of the wine soothed her nerves, if only for a moment. "Thank you, Miya."

Miya curtsied, stepping back as Alina sipped slowly, her thoughts once again drifting to Robb. He had been so torn about her leaving, his brow creased with worry as he kissed her goodbye. They had shared one last night together before his responsibilities as the Lord of Winterfell pulled him away, and she could still feel the weight of his arms around her, his warmth as he whispered promises of safety. 

I will return to you, she had said to him, her words firm and full of determination. But now, the fear of the unknown crept in as she thought of the long road ahead. Would she return unscathed? Would the war reach them before she could come back?

"I’ll be fine," she murmured to herself, trying to push away the doubts, but Lanna’s worried gaze did little to ease her mind. 

After a few moments, Lanna spoke up again, her voice tentative. "Do you think... when we reach Highgarden, the war will come to us there?"

Alina turned to her, the weight of her cousin’s question settling on her like a cloak. "I don’t know, Lanna. But if it does, we’ll face it together. You know that."

Lanna nodded, though her eyes flickered with fear. "I just... I can’t stop thinking about what might happen to Robb and Lady Catelyn. What if-"

"Don’t," Alina said softly, cutting her off before the fear could spiral. "We don’t know what will happen, but we can’t let it paralyse us. We must stay strong for Robb, for the Starks. For the North."

As Alina rode away from the camp, she glanced back at Robb one last time, her heart full of unspoken vows, and silently promised herself, I will return to you, my love, no matter the cost.

[rainstormies]

chapter ten

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

The warm waters of the bath rippled gently as Serena leaned back against Sam's chest, the weight of the day melting away. Steam rose from the pool, curling around them like soft whispers, and the scent of fragrant oils filled the air, creating a serene, dreamlike atmosphere. 

Pentos had become their home—a place far removed from the dangers of Westeros, from the weight of the past, and from the shadows of revenge that once loomed so heavily over her. Here, she was Serena again. Not Gemma, not a servant or a fugitive, but a woman who had found something close to happiness. 

Sam chuckled softly, his chest vibrating against her back. "Remember the first time we came here?" he asked, his voice warm with nostalgia. "You didn’t trust the bathhouses. You thought they were too extravagant."

Serena grinned, tilting her head up to look at him. "I still think they are," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I suppose I’ve gotten used to a bit of luxury."

He laughed, a deep, carefree sound that made her smile even wider. "A bit?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing her gently as his hand skimmed the surface of the water. "You’ve become quite fond of the finer things, my lady."

"My lady," she echoed, with a playful roll of her eyes. "I’m no lady, Sam. Not anymore."

His hand stilled, and for a moment, the playful air between them shifted into something more intimate, more sincere. Sam’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against him. "You’ll always be a lady to me," he murmured softly, his lips brushing against her temple. 

Serena’s heart fluttered at his words, and she felt a familiar warmth spread through her—not from the water, but from the way he made her feel. Safe. Cherished. Loved. 

She turned in his arms, so that she was facing him now, her hands resting on his chest. "I never thought I’d have this," she admitted, her voice quiet. "With everything that happened... with everything I lost... I never thought I’d find something like this."

Sam’s eyes softened, his hand coming up to gently brush a stray lock of wet hair from her face. "Neither did I," he said, his voice low. "But we found each other, Serena. That’s what matters."

Her heart swelled at the sound of her true name on his lips. After everything they had been through—after running from her past, hiding from who she truly was—here, with Sam, she felt like herself again. She wasn’t just surviving anymore. She was living. 

They had been in Pentos for over a year now, and in that time, they had built a life together. A quiet, peaceful life, far removed from the chaos and bloodshed that had defined so much of her past. Sam had found work as a sellsword, and Serena had taken up small tasks, keeping to herself and avoiding the attention of those who might know of her origins. 

The city was beautiful, with its grand Sunrise Gate and beautiful estates. But what made it feel like home wasn’t the towering temples or the bustling markets—it was Sam. It was the life they had created together, the quiet moments like this where it was just the two of them, with no past to haunt them and no future to fear. 

"I think we’ve done alright," she said softly, her fingers tracing small circles on his chest. "Considering where we started."

Sam smiled, a soft, lazy smile that made her heart skip a beat. "I’d say we’ve done more than alright," he replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. 

Serena melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The warmth of the water surrounded them, but it was nothing compared to the heat between them, the quiet passion that had only grown stronger with time. 

When they finally pulled apart, Serena rested her forehead against his, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. "I love you," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. 

Sam’s eyes darkened with emotion, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. "I love you too, Serena. Always."

They stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the warm water, their hearts beating in perfect sync. 

For the first time in years, she wasn’t running. She wasn’t hiding. She was just... living. 

And for now, that was enough. 

As the warm sun began its slow descent, Sam and Serena walked hand in hand down the winding streets, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of the bustling market. They had just come from visiting Elara, one of the dear friends they had made during their time in Myr. Elara had insisted on treating them to wine and sweet pastries in her lush, flower-filled courtyard, regaling them with tales of her latest romantic adventures in the city. Serena hadn’t stopped laughing the entire afternoon, feeling lighter than she had in years. 

“That story about her almost getting caught sneaking into the merchant’s villa was priceless,” Sam chuckled, squeezing Serena’s hand. “I don’t know how she gets away with half the things she does.”

“She has a way with people,” Serena said with a grin, her eyes sparkling. “That smile of hers could charm the dragons themselves.”

Sam smiled back, but then his expression softened into something more thoughtful. “You have that same way, you know. You always have.”

Serena blushed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, stop it.”

They strolled past the open doors of shops and taverns, their faces glowing in the golden light of early evening. The city was alive with music and conversation, the air thick with the scent of grilled fish and fresh bread. Sam paused, glancing out toward the beach that stretched just beyond the row of whitewashed buildings. 

“Do you want to watch the sunset by the water?” he asked suddenly, his voice gentle. 

Serena looked out toward the sea, its vast expanse of shimmering blue reflecting the warm hues of the sky. The idea filled her with a sense of calm, and she nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. “That sounds perfect.”

They turned toward the beach, their footsteps light on the soft sand as they made their way toward the shoreline. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the water. Sam kept his arm around her waist as they walked, the cool evening breeze tousling their hair. 

It felt like they were the only two people in the world as they settled down onto the sand, the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore. The warmth of Sam’s presence beside her filled Serena with a quiet joy she had never imagined she would have.

They sat close together, Serena resting her head on Sam’s shoulder. The sound of laughter drifted toward them, and they turned to see a group of children playing at the edge of the shore, splashing in the shallow water and calling out to one another with carefree joy. 

Sam smiled as he watched them, his arm lazily draped around Serena’s waist. “They look happy,” he mused, his voice soft and contemplative. 

Serena followed his gaze, her eyes lingering on the children for a moment before she glanced up at Sam. “Do you ever think about it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Think about what?” Sam turned to look at her, his brow furrowed slightly in curiosity. 

“Having children,” Serena said quietly. “Maybe one day.”

Sam’s face softened, and he smiled, the kind of smile that lit up his eyes. He reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “I think about it,” he admitted. “But... I want to see more of the world first. There’s still so much out there, so much we haven’t done yet.”

Serena nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tracing the edge of the bath’s smooth stone rim. She understood that feeling, the same restless desire for adventure and discovery that had brought them here. She had never imagined living a quiet life, not after everything she had gone through. But still, the idea of a family with Sam, something warm and enduring, had crept into her thoughts more than once. 

“We could wait,” Serena said, a teasing glint in her eye. “But after we’ve seen a bit more. Maybe the Summer Isles?”

Sam’s grin widened, and he chuckled softly. “The Summer Isles, huh? I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. Warm beaches, endless sunshine. Sounds like a good place to go next.”

Serena laughed, leaning in closer to him, her lips brushing against his shoulder. “Then it’s decided,” she murmured, her voice full of quiet joy. “We’ll see the Summer Isles first.”

Sam’s hand found hers beneath the water, his fingers threading through hers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, they simply sat there in the warmth of the bath, the sound of distant waves lapping at the shore, the children’s laughter echoing in the background. 

Serena felt the peace settle over her, a deep contentment she hadn’t known she could have. She had found her place, not in the halls of power or among the noble houses of Westeros, but here, with Sam. The future stretched out before them, full of possibility, full of life.

[rainstormies]

chapter nine

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 3.1k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

As the boat glided into the misty harbour of Braavos, Serena stood at the bow, the salt air whipping through her hair, her heart racing with anticipation. The city unfolded before her in a breathtaking display of canals, towering statues, and domed temples. Braavos was nothing like she had imagined—vast and alive with the bustle of trade and the constant hum of water lapping against stone. It was a world she had only dreamed of. 

Beside her, Sam watched the horizon with quiet awe. His hand slipped into hers, his grip warm and steady. Serena glanced at him, and a sudden wave of emotion surged through her. Here they were, together, free from the chains of the past, stepping into a life they were about to build. 

"Look at it," she whispered, unable to contain the wonder in her voice.

Sam smiled, his gaze soft as it flickered to her. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

Neither had she. The city felt like the promise of a new beginning, far from the nightmares of her past, far from the shadow of Tywin Lannister and the ruins of House Reyne. It was a place where no one knew her name or her history. Here, she was no longer Gemma or the hidden daughter of Castamere—she was just Serena, a woman discovering the world alongside the man she loved. 

They disembarked from the boat, Serena’s heart light with a sense of freedom she had never felt before. They wandered through the winding streets of Braavos, marvelling at the architecture, the marketplaces filled with strange foods and silks, and the towering statues that seemed to watch over the city like silent guardians. 

Sam pointed to the Titan of Braavos, the massive statue looming over the entrance to the harbour. "Can you believe something like that was built?"

Serena shook her head, laughing softly. "It’s incredible." But her gaze kept drifting back to Sam, to the way his eyes lit up as he looked at their new surroundings, to the way his hand never let go of hers. She felt a warmth spread through her chest—a warmth that had nothing to do with the foreign sun. 

They crossed over a canal bridge, the water glistening beneath them as the sounds of laughter and foreign tongues filled the air. Serena took it all in, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the man at her side. There had been so many times she’d pushed him away, convinced she wasn’t meant for happiness, convinced that her path was one of revenge and darkness. 

But now, here in Braavos, everything felt different. Lighter. And as she looked at Sam, his face alight with the same wonder she felt, Serena realised something she had been too afraid to admit before. 

Sam was the man she had always wanted. 

He had stood by her when she thought she had nothing left. He had given her a reason to hope when she thought her only purpose was revenge. And now, he was offering her the kind of life she had never believed she deserved—one filled with love, with laughter, with the possibility of happiness. 

They stopped by a small fountain in the centre of a square, where children played and vendors shouted out in the Braavosi tongue. Serena watched as Sam crouched by the water’s edge, splashing his face with the cool water. He looked up at her, grinning like a boy, and her heart swelled with affection. 

"Come on," he said, standing and pulling her toward him. "We’ve got a whole city to see."

Serena laughed, letting him pull her close. She rested her head against his chest for a moment, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was a sound she never wanted to live without. 

As they continued exploring, the day stretched out in front of them like a dream. They walked the streets of Braavos until their legs were sore, stopping by small taverns for food and watching as the city lit up with the soft glow of lanterns at night. Braavos was beautiful, but what made it all the more special was Sam—his presence beside her, his laughter, his endless curiosity about the world. 

That night, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the canals, Serena leaned into him, her hand resting on his chest. 

"This is where we belong," she said quietly, her voice filled with certainty. 

Sam looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "With each other?"

Serena smiled, her heart full. "Yes. With each other."

In that moment, everything felt right. For the first time in years, Serena didn’t feel haunted by the past or weighed down by her desire for revenge. All that mattered was the man beside her, the life they were creating together, and the future that stretched out in front of them, filled with endless possibilities. 

Serena looked out over the water, her hand still entwined with Sam’s, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe in happiness. 

The air in Lys was different—warmer, heavier with the scent of salt and exotic spices carried by the breeze from the sea. Serena stood on the balcony of their rented villa, gazing out over the sun-drenched harbour. The crystal-clear waters shimmered under the midday sun, boats bobbing lazily in the distance, their sails coloured like vibrant tapestries. Beyond, the horizon seemed endless, a promise of far-off lands and new beginnings. 

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. The beauty of Lys was undeniable. Its whitewashed buildings glowed in the light, framed by gardens overflowing with flowers of every hue. She could hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strains of music from the market below, mingling with the laughter of children running through the narrow streets. Yet despite the idyllic setting, a quiet ache still lingered in her heart. 

Serena missed her family. She missed the halls of Hightower, the smell of the sea in the morning, her mother’s voice, and her sister’s laughter. But she knew she could never go back—not after all that had happened. Her past was a closed door now, and no matter how much she longed for it, she knew the future lay with Sam, here in this foreign land. 

They could build something new. Together. 

With that thought, she decided to venture into the market alone, letting Sam sleep in a little longer. He had been training with the local mercenaries to stay sharp, and their long days of travelling had worn him out. She wrapped herself in a light shawl, the soft material draping over her shoulders, and made her way down the winding streets toward the market. 

The market in Lys was unlike any she had ever seen before. Stalls overflowed with goods from across the world—silks from Asshai, spiced wines from Yi Ti, and perfumes so rich they clung to the air like a dream. The vendors called out in lilting accents, enticing buyers with colourful fruits, exotic birds, and delicate jewellery. Serena wandered through it all, letting the sights and sounds wash over her, trying to lose herself in the vibrant energy of the city. 

But as she passed one stall, her eyes caught on something that made her stop in her tracks. 

A young boy—no older than eight—stood chained to a post, his arms bound tightly behind his back. His clothes were little more than rags, his face gaunt and dirty. He looked up at her, eyes wide with fear and desperation. The master beside him, a richly dressed man with cold, calculating eyes, barked orders to the crowd, offering the boy up like a piece of meat for sale. 

Serena’s stomach twisted in disgust. She had seen slaves before in the Free Cities, but this—this was different. The boy’s eyes met hers, pleading silently for help. 

Without thinking, Serena stepped forward. 

"How much for him?" she asked, her voice low but firm. 

The master turned to her, a smirk curling at his lips. "This one? A fine specimen, isn’t he? Strong for his age. He’ll serve well in any household. But for you, my lady... I could offer a discount."

Serena ignored the slimy tone in his voice. "How much?" she repeated. 

"Ten gold pieces."

Her heart raced. She didn’t have that much on her, but she couldn’t just leave the boy here. She reached for her coin purse, fumbling with the strings, but before she could take it out, the master’s face twisted with sudden suspicion. 

"What are you doing, girl?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Do you think you can just swoop in and buy one of my slaves like you’re handing out alms? Who do you think you are?"

Serena froze. The market seemed to quiet around them, people turning to watch the confrontation. The master stepped closer, his breath hot and foul as he leaned in. "You think you’re some highborn lady from Westeros, don’t you? Here to save the poor and helpless? Well, let me tell you something—this is Lys. This is my city, and you have no business meddling in it."

Serena felt a cold sweat trickle down her spine. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but her words caught in her throat. The master’s face was inches from hers now, his eyes glinting with malice. "Walk away," he hissed, "before I have you whipped alongside him."

Before Serena could react, a shadow loomed behind the man. 

"Get your hands off her."

Sam’s voice was low and dangerous. Serena turned to see him standing there, his broad frame tense with anger, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. 

The master sneered but backed away slightly, sensing the threat in Sam’s presence. "And who might you be? Her knight in shining armour?"

Sam took a step forward, his eyes locked on the man. "If you don’t want to lose that hand, I suggest you let her be."

The master glanced between Serena and Sam, his arrogance faltering for a moment. Then, with a final sneer, he turned and yanked the boy’s chain, dragging him roughly back toward his stall. "Fine," he spat, "take your foolish Westerosi nobility somewhere else."

Serena stood there, her heart pounding, feeling both shaken and relieved. Sam gently touched her arm, guiding her away from the growing crowd. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice softer now. 

She nodded, but her thoughts were racing. The boy’s face haunted her—those pleading eyes, the hopelessness in his expression. She had wanted to help, but instead, she had only made things worse. She had forgotten where she was, forgotten that this was a place where power and money ruled everything. 

"Serena," Sam said quietly, pulling her into a side street, away from the bustle of the market. "What were you doing?"

"I... I don’t know," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I saw him, and I couldn’t just walk away."

Sam sighed, his hand running through his hair. "I understand, but this... this place is different. You can’t help everyone. And it’s dangerous to try."

Serena looked up at him, her eyes filled with frustration and sadness. "I thought I could do something good here. I thought I could make a difference."

"You do," Sam said, his voice firm. "You’ve made a difference to me."

The words hit her with surprising force, and for the first time since they’d arrived in Lys, Serena felt the weight of everything she had left behind—the family she would never see again, the life she could never return to. But here, with Sam, maybe she didn’t need to go back. Maybe she could start something new. Something better. 

"I don’t have a family anymore," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I miss them, but... I can’t go back."

Sam gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away the tear that slid down her cheek. "Then we’ll start a new one," he said softly. "Together."

Serena’s heart swelled at his words. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. This was her life now. Sam was her family. And together, they would face whatever came next. 

But as they walked back toward their villa, Serena couldn’t shake the feeling that Lys, for all its beauty, held dangers far deeper than she had anticipated. And she would need to be stronger than ever to survive them. 

The villa in Myr was more beautiful than Serena had ever imagined. It sat atop a hill, overlooking the shimmering sapphire waters of the Summer Sea. White stone columns lined the long pathway to the entrance, draped with lush greenery and delicate purple wisteria that filled the air with their sweet, intoxicating scent. The gardens surrounding the villa were teeming with life—flowers of every colour, vines that twisted and curled around marble statues, and birds that sang softly from their perches among the trees. 

The day was warm, with a soft breeze coming in from the sea, carrying the salty air and mixing it with the fragrance of fresh lemons from the orchard. The sunlight filtered through the villa's large open archways, casting a golden glow across the floors of smooth, pale stone. Inside, the halls were cool and inviting, the walls adorned with tapestries and murals depicting scenes of Myr’s history—rich, vibrant colours that told stories of its warriors, its artists, and its lovers. 

Serena stood at the entrance to the villa, taking it all in. It was everything she had dreamed of and more. This was where she and Sam would begin their new life together. Their wedding was not grand or filled with nobility, but it was perfect in its simplicity, surrounded by the friends they had made here, far from the blood and pain of Westeros. For the first time in a long while, Serena felt at peace. 

Her closest friend in Myr, a local girl named Elara, stood beside her, adjusting the thin veil Serena wore. Elara had been her constant companion since they’d arrived, a bright, spirited girl with dark, shining eyes and a mischievous smile. She had shown Serena the ins and outs of the city—the best markets, the quietest beaches, and the little secrets of Myr only the locals knew. Elara was one of the first people Serena had truly confided in about her past. Though she didn’t know every detail, she had understood Serena’s need for a fresh start, and for that, Serena was endlessly grateful. 

"You look like a goddess," Elara teased as she straightened Serena’s gown, a simple yet elegant white dress that flowed down to her ankles, made of the finest Myrish silk. "Sam won’t be able to take his eyes off you."

Serena laughed, her heart fluttering in excitement and nervousness. "Let’s hope not," she replied, though she knew Sam never had trouble keeping his eyes on her. He had loved her from the moment they had left Westeros, and every day since, he had proven that love in more ways than she could count. 

As Serena stepped out into the garden where the ceremony would be held, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, amber light over the scene. A small gathering of friends and acquaintances waited for her—people they had met over the past months. A Myrish merchant Sam had befriended, a couple from Braavos who had travelled to Myr for business but had grown close to Serena during their stay, and of course, Elara, who stood beside Serena like a sister. 

The air smelled of jasmine and fresh citrus, the breeze carrying the faintest scent of incense from the city below. It was idyllic, perfect—everything Serena had never imagined she would have. 

Sam stood at the altar, his eyes locked on her as she made her way down the aisle. His dark hair fell softly around his face, his eyes shining with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. He wore a simple tunic, the same Myrish silk as her dress, dyed a deep, ocean blue. His smile was warm, filled with a love that made Serena feel like the luckiest woman in the world. 

When she reached him, Sam took her hands, his grip gentle but firm. The officiant—a kindly old man from the city—spoke the words that would bind them together, but Serena barely heard them. All she could focus on was Sam, the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes softened as they exchanged their vows. 

"I will love you," he whispered, his voice low but clear. "For as long as we both shall live."

Serena’s heart swelled. "And I will love you," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, "for as long as we both shall live."

As they kissed, sealing their union under the golden Myrish sun, the crowd cheered, and Elara laughed in delight beside her. Serena felt as if she were floating, the weight of her past finally lifting from her shoulders. This was the beginning of something new, something good. 

Later that evening, they celebrated in the courtyard of the villa. The sky had turned a deep indigo, and lanterns hung from the trees, casting a soft glow over the tables laden with food—platters of roasted lamb, spiced with Myrish herbs, olives and fresh bread, figs and honey, and of course, the local wines, rich and sweet. Laughter filled the air, and Serena could feel the warmth of it all in her chest, a happiness she had thought she might never find. 

As the evening wore on, Sam and Serena slipped away from the crowd, hand in hand, walking through the quiet garden. The stars were out, twinkling brightly above them, and the sound of the sea could be heard in the distance, gentle and calming. 

"This is our life now," Sam said quietly, his voice filled with wonder as they paused to look out over the sea. "You and me, together."

Serena smiled up at him, her heart full. "Yes," she whispered. "Together."

She leaned into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. For the first time, she wasn’t thinking about her past or the weight of her family’s legacy. She wasn’t haunted by thoughts of revenge or loss. She was simply... happy. 

And as they stood there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, Serena realised that this was the life she had always wanted. She didn’t need to go back. She didn’t need to be the lady of a great house. She had Sam, and together, they would create something new, something beautiful. 

For the first time in years, Serena felt truly free.

[rainstormies]

chapter eight

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 2.2k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Gemma stood silently in the corridor, staring at the heavy wooden door in front of her. The flickering torches cast long shadows on the stone walls, and she could hear the faint hum of voices from deeper in the castle. Sam’s room was just behind this door. She hadn’t intended to stop here, but her feet had carried her here anyway, as if drawn by something she couldn’t quite explain. 

She was supposed to be saying her goodbyes—to Kyra, to the queen. Not to him. And yet here she was, standing in front of his door, her hand half-raised as though to knock, but frozen in place. 

Just turn around, she told herself. Leave now. There’s no point in dragging this out. 

But her body refused to move. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and there he was—Sam, standing in the doorway, his expression startled at first, but quickly softening into something warmer. 

"Gemma?" he said, his voice low and rough from the late hour. "What are you doing here?"

Gemma’s heart pounded in her chest, her throat tight with the words she had been holding back. She glanced down the hallway, feeling the weight of everything she had to say pressing down on her. She couldn’t leave without telling him. Not after everything they had been through. 

“I... I’m leaving,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For Essos. Tonight.”

Sam’s brows furrowed, and he stepped out into the hallway, his tall frame filling the narrow space between them. "Leaving?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Why? What happened?"

Gemma looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. "There’s nothing left for me here. I’ve been holding onto revenge for so long, but now... I don’t know who I am anymore. I just... I need to get away."

Sam stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. "You’re not the only one who feels like that."

Gemma looked up at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking more uncertain than she had ever seen him. 

“My mother died when I was young,” Sam began. “She was the only child of her family. My father was Lord Ronnel Cuy of Sunhouse. I was his heir, or at least, I thought I was.” He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the dimly lit hallway. “But then my father remarried. Had another son. Branston. And suddenly, I didn’t matter anymore. It was like my mother never existed.”

Gemma felt her chest tighten as she listened, understanding more than she wanted to admit. 

“I was no longer the rightful heir,” Sam continued, his voice thick with frustration. “My younger brother... he had more of a claim to Sunhouse than I ever would. My father made that clear. It’s as if my parents' marriage didn’t matter. Like I’m the one who should be grateful for anything. Like I’m just... the unwanted one.”

Gemma swallowed, unable to speak. She had never known this about Sam. She had always seen him as strong, confident, a knight who had the whole world ahead of him. But now, standing before her, he looked just as lost as she was. 

“Joining the Kingsguard was my only way out,” Sam said quietly. “The other option was the Wall. And what kind of life is that?”

He met her eyes, his voice cracking. “There’s nothing left for me here either, Gemma. Nothing. I want to leave. I want to go with you.”

Gemma felt her heart ache at his words, a part of her longing for him to come with her, to share the journey to a new life, away from all the pain and betrayal that had marked both their lives. But she knew better. She couldn’t let him sacrifice what little he had left, even if it felt like nothing to him. 

“Sam,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “you don’t understand. If you leave the Kingsguard, you’ll be branded a traitor. You’ll lose your honour, everything you’ve worked for.”

“I’ve already lost everything!” Sam’s voice rose, and he took a step closer, his eyes burning with frustration. “What honour do I have left? My own father didn’t want me. My family doesn’t care. What am I staying here for? To serve a king I don’t believe in?”

Gemma shook her head, feeling the weight of the decision crushing her. “You’re meant for more than this,” she whispered. “I’m... I’m no one. I’m just a girl who’s been hiding for years. I don’t even know who I am anymore. But you... you could be someone, Sam. A knight, a hero. You don’t need me holding you back.”

Sam stared at her, the anger draining from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. "You’re not nothing," he said quietly. "Not to me."

Gemma’s throat tightened, and for a moment, she almost believed him. Almost let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a life together. But reality came crashing down on her like a wave. She couldn’t live in a dream. 

“I can’t do this,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t drag you down with me. You deserve more than that. More than me.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might argue, might try to convince her. But instead, he sighed and took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

"Do you know why I came to the brothel in the first place?" Sam asked, his gaze dropping to the floor. "At first... it was because I had never been with a woman before. I thought if I moved to King's Landing, I could become a new man, leave my old life behind. Visiting that brothel felt like... part of the transformation."

He paused, rubbing his hands together as if trying to rid himself of some unseen guilt. 

"But then I saw you," he continued, his eyes lifting to meet hers, filled with something tender and painful all at once. "You were different. The moment I saw you, I didn't want anyone else. It’s always been you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever been with."

Gemma’s breath caught in her throat as he spoke. A flood of emotions she wasn’t prepared for surged inside her. 

Sam smiled weakly, but there was sadness behind it. "I wish I could say it was the same for you, that you had only been with me, but I know that’s not the life you’ve had. I understand what you had to do to survive. I hate it, but I understand."

His words hung in the air like a weight between them. Gemma felt the sting of shame and guilt settle deep in her chest, yet there was a sense of relief, too, that he had never expected anything different from her. He wasn’t looking for purity, or perfection — just her. 

But still, his admission cut deep. She knew she couldn’t be what he wanted, not truly. “Sam… there’s no going back from what I’ve done,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

Sam shook his head, stepping closer. “I don’t care about the past. I care about you. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” She wished she could let herself believe it. But even now, her heart was too full of secrets, too full of revenge and things she hadn’t let go. Sam could never be part of that darkness. 

“If that’s what you want,” he said softly. “I won’t stop you.”

Gemma nodded, tears stinging her eyes as she turned to leave. But before she could take a step, Sam’s voice stopped her. 

“Be safe, Gem.”

She paused, her heart aching, and for a moment, she wanted to turn back, to run to him, to beg him to come with her after all. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. 

Without another word, she walked away, leaving Sam behind in the dim corridor, knowing that this time, she was truly alone. 

Gemma stood at the docks, staring at the ship that would take her to Braavos. The wind tugged at her cloak, and the salty air clung to her skin, but she barely noticed it. The city behind her was a distant hum, fading into the background as she prepared herself for what lay ahead. 

As the ship slowly drifted away from the docks, carrying them toward Braavos, Serena closed her eyes and let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this new life could be theirs to shape.

Her heart pounded as she took a deep breath and stepped toward the ship. 

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him.

Sam was already there, standing near the gangplank, his armour gone, dressed simply in a dark cloak and tunic. His face was calm, resolute, as if this decision had been made long before she ever stepped foot on the docks. 

“Sam?” Her voice wavered, shock tightening her chest. “What are you doing here?”

He met her eyes with a steady gaze. “I told you, Gemma. There’s nothing left for me in King’s Landing. I made my choice.”

She shook her head, her heart racing. “You can’t just leave the Kingsguard. You’ll be hunted. They’ll strip you of everything.”

Sam took a step forward, his expression unwavering. “Let them try. I don’t care about the Kingsguard anymore. I care about you.”

Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t what she had wanted. She hadn’t wanted him to throw away his future, his honor, his entire life just for her. But the look in his eyes told her that there was no convincing him otherwise. His mind was made up. 

"Sam, you can't—"

"I already have," he interrupted softly, stepping closer. "I’m coming with you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a white cloak, serving a king I don’t believe in. I want something real, something that’s mine."

She stared at him, her emotions a tangled mess inside her. The part of her that wanted him—wanted this—screamed for her to accept it. But the part of her that knew the danger, the cost of defying the crown, resisted. 

"Why?" she whispered, barely able to get the words out. 

"Because I love you," Sam said simply, his voice steady, his eyes locked on hers. "And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending that I don’t."

Gemma felt her heart stop at his words. She had never expected this, never thought anyone would love her again, not after everything that had happened. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her, offering her the very thing she had convinced herself she could never have. 

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. But finally, she found her voice. "This isn’t the life you deserve, Sam."

He reached out, gently taking her hand. “I don’t care about deserving anything anymore. I care about you. About us. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Gemma felt her resolve crumble, the walls she had built around herself cracking under the weight of his words. She had tried so hard to push him away, to keep him from following her down this path. But now, standing there, with the ship waiting to take them to a new life, she realised she didn’t want to be alone. 

She didn’t want to push him away anymore. 

With a trembling breath, she nodded. “Alright,” she whispered. “We’ll go together.”

Sam smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he squeezed her hand. “Together.”

They boarded the ship in silence, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull as they moved toward the cabin. It was a small vessel, nothing grand, but it would take them across the sea—away from the life they had left behind. 

Inside the cabin, Gemma sat on the narrow cot, the reality of what they were doing sinking in. Sam sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. 

After a long moment, he turned to her, his voice soft. "Serena."

The name hit her like a bolt of lightning. She hadn’t heard it spoken in years. Not since Castamere, not since her entire world had been torn apart. She looked at him, her heart racing. 

"Sam…"

He smiled, just a small, sad smile. "I always knew you were more than just Gemma. You’re Serena. And I don’t care what anyone else says. You’ll always be Serena to me."

Tears welled in her eyes, and for the first time in years, she felt like herself again. Like the girl she had been before everything had gone so horribly wrong. She wasn’t just Gemma, the girl hiding in plain sight, serving in the queen’s household. She was Serena, the daughter of House Reyne. The girl who had lost everything—and yet, somehow, found love again. 

Leaning forward, she rested her head on Sam’s shoulder, her heart full of emotion she couldn’t quite name. 

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Serena felt free. They were together, and that was all that mattered. Whatever lay ahead—whatever challenges they would face—they would face them together. 

As the ship slowly drifted away from the docks, carrying them toward Braavos, Serena closed her eyes and let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this new life could be theirs to shape. 

[rainstormies]

chapter seven

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 3k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Gemma stood in the shadows of the courtyard, her heart pounding in her chest. The night was cool, the sky a deep indigo speckled with stars. The castle loomed around her, its stone walls cold and indifferent to the turmoil that churned within her. 

Gemma stood in the shadows of the courtyard, her heart pounding in her chest. The night was cool, the sky a deep indigo speckled with stars. The castle loomed around her, its stone walls cold and indifferent to the turmoil that churned within her. 

What was she doing?

Queen Rhaella’s words echoed in her mind: Tell him before it is too late. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly on the door. 

For a moment, there was no response, and Gemma’s heart sank. Maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe it was a sign that she shouldn’t go through with this. But just as she turned to leave, the door creaked open. 

Sam stood there, dressed in the simple tunic he wore beneath his armour. His face, usually so composed and confident, softened in surprise at the sight of her. "Gemma?" he said, his voice low and laced with concern. "What are you doing here?"

Gemma swallowed hard, her heart racing. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind a thousand times, but now that it was here, the words seemed to elude her. 

"I needed to see you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Sam’s brow furrowed, and he stepped aside to let her in. The room was sparse, a small bed and a single chair by the window. A sword rested on the table, gleaming in the faint candlelight. Gemma glanced at it, the weight of what she was about to do pressing down on her. 

Sam closed the door behind her, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Why are you here, Gemma?" he asked again, softer this time. "Is something wrong?"

Gemma turned to face him, her hands trembling. She had to tell him the truth. Not just about her feelings, but about everything—who she was, where she came from. She had been living a lie for so long, and now, standing in front of the man she had grown to care for, it felt impossible to keep it hidden any longer. 

"I..." she started, her voice catching in her throat. "There’s something I need to tell you."

Sam took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. "What is it?"

She closed her eyes, steeling herself. "I’m not who you think I am."

He frowned, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"

Gemma took a deep breath, her chest tightening with every word. "My name isn’t Gemma. It never was. I was born Serena. Serena Reyne of Castamere."

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam stared at her, his expression unreadable as the weight of her confession settled between them. 

"Serena Reyne?" he repeated, as if the name itself was foreign to him. 

Gemma nodded, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "The Reynes of Castamere. The family Tywin Lannister destroyed. My family."

Sam remained silent, his gaze never leaving hers. His face was a mask of shock, disbelief, and something else she couldn’t quite place. 

"I’ve been hiding for years," Gemma continued, her voice trembling. "I thought I could escape it, but I can’t. I thought... maybe if I started a new life, I could forget. But the past won’t let me."

She wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. "That’s why I came here tonight. I had to tell you the truth. I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. Not with you."

For what felt like an eternity, Sam didn’t say anything. Gemma’s heart sank. She had hoped—foolishly, maybe—that he would understand. That he would still want her, even knowing the truth. 

But how could he? She was a daughter of a fallen house, a girl with nothing left but her hatred for the man who had taken everything from her. Sam had sworn oaths to serve the crown, to protect the realm. He had no place in her world of revenge and bitterness. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and measured. "You’ve been through so much," he said, his gaze softening. "More than I could ever imagine."

Gemma nodded, her throat too tight to speak. 

"But why tell me this now?" Sam asked, stepping closer. "Why tonight?"

Gemma looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "Because..." she whispered, "because I care about you. More than I ever thought I could care about anyone. And I couldn’t keep lying to you."

Sam’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, she thought he might pull her into his arms, that he might tell her that none of it mattered, that he would stay by her side no matter what. 

But instead, he asked, "And what do you want, Gemma? What do you want from me?"

Gemma swallowed hard, the words she had been dreading finally bubbling to the surface. "I want you to leave the Kingsguard," she whispered, barely able to believe she was asking it of him. "I want you to leave and be with me."

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. "Leave the Kingsguard?"

Gemma nodded, her heart racing. "The queen said she would help. She said if you wanted to leave, she could make it happen. You wouldn’t face any consequences."

Sam stared at her, his expression torn between disbelief and something that looked like hope. "You really think that’s possible?"

Gemma nodded. "Yes. She told me herself. If you want, you could be free of your oaths. You could be a knight again. You could... you could be with me."

For a moment, Sam didn’t say anything. Gemma watched him closely, her heart pounding in her chest. She had laid everything bare in front of him, her heart, her soul. Now, all that remained was his choice. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. "Gemma... I care about you, too. More than I should. But..."

Her heart sank at that word—but. 

"But I made a vow," Sam said, his voice heavy with regret. "A vow to serve the crown, to protect the realm. I can’t just walk away from that."

Gemma blinked back tears, her hands trembling. "But you could have a life, Sam. A real life. We could be together."

Sam shook his head, his expression pained. "I can’t. I swore an oath."

Gemma’s heart shattered at his words. She had been foolish to think he would choose her over his duty. She had been selfish to ask him to give up everything for her. She was nothing now. Just a girl with a stolen name and a broken past. 

"I should go," she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. "Gemma, I—"

"No," she said more firmly, her heart breaking with every word. "This was a mistake. You have your duty, and I... I have mine."

For a moment, Sam looked like he wanted to argue, to fight her decision. But then, slowly, he nodded, his face filled with regret. 

"I’m sorry," he said softly. 

Gemma didn’t respond. She couldn’t. 

Without another word, Gemma turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, alone. 

As the door closed behind her, Gemma let out a shaky breath, the tears finally spilling over. She had chosen her path. And now, she had to live with it. 

There was no going back. Not anymore. 

Gemma sat by the window of her small quarters, staring out at the distant glow of the city. The candle on her desk flickered softly, casting a wavering shadow across the room. Her mind was still reeling from the encounter with Sam, her heart heavy with regret. She had known it would end this way. She had known that asking him to leave the Kingsguard was selfish, foolish. But a part of her had hoped—hoped that he might have chosen her, that they could have carved out a different life together. 

Now, the silence felt unbearable. She had pushed him away, and in doing so, had lost the only man who had made her feel something other than the endless ache of loss. 

I should have known better, she thought bitterly, running a hand through her hair. I was never meant for anything greater than this. I'm no longer Lady Serena Reyne of Castamere. I'm just Gemma now. A servant. 

She glanced out the window again and saw movement in the courtyard below. Two figures—Tilly, one of the maids, and Harrold, one of the castle cooks—stood together, laughing softly in the dim light. They leaned into each other, Tilly’s hand resting on Harrold’s arm. It was clear from the way they looked at each other that something more than friendship bound them. 

Gemma watched them for a moment, a strange feeling creeping over her. She had seen them together before, whispering and exchanging smiles in the hallways, but she had never thought much of it. Now, though, seeing them so content, she couldn’t help but wonder. 

Is that what my life will be? she mused bitterly. Will I end up with someone like Harrold—a lowborn man, someone who works in the kitchens or tends the gardens? Is that all that's left for me?

Her heart clenched at the thought. She wasn’t meant for anything greater anymore. Not after everything that had happened. She had been born into nobility, raised with the expectation that she would marry a lord or a knight, that she would rule over a household, command respect. But that life was gone now, buried beneath the rubble of Castamere, just like her family. 

I can never go back, she reminded herself. I can never be Lady Serena again. I can never be the daughter of House Reyne. 

She sighed, her gaze drifting back to Tilly and Harrold. They were smiling, caught up in their own little world. They didn’t have to worry about oaths or titles, about betrayals and blood debts. Their lives were simple. They had found something Gemma would never have—a sense of normalcy, a life built on small pleasures. 

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a pang of bitterness. She had been born to more than this. She had been meant for something greater. She wasn’t supposed to live in the shadows, to serve quietly in the background while others ruled. But that was her fate now. She could never have the life she had once dreamed of. Not with Sam. Not with anyone. 

I’m just a servant, she told herself again, the words cutting deep. That’s all I’ll ever be now. 

The thought weighed heavily on her chest. She had accepted this life because she had no other choice. But deep down, the part of her that still clung to the name Serena Reyne ached at the idea of never being more than a servant. 

I’ll never be a lady again, she thought, her heart sinking. I’ll never marry into a noble house, never have lands or titles. I’ll never have a family of my own. 

It was a cruel reality, but it was the truth. And no matter how much she wanted to change it, she knew she couldn’t. 

With a heavy sigh, Gemma rose from the window and walked over to her bed, sitting down on the edge. The room felt colder now, the warmth of the candle doing little to comfort her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to push away the gnawing loneliness that had settled in.

She had made her choice. She had pushed Sam away, and now she had to live with the consequences.

Maybe this is what I deserve, she thought, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. Maybe I was always meant to serve. 

But as she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, a small, stubborn part of her refused to believe that. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she was just Gemma, a servant to the queen, there was still a part of her that yearned for more. 

A part of her that still remembered Serena Reyne. 

Gemma stood by the window in her small chamber, her hands clenched tightly around the letter she had intercepted. Her heart sank as she read the final line again, unable to believe it. Tywin Lannister, along with half of the court, has left for Casterly Rock and will remain there for a year. 

A year. 

The words echoed in her mind, heavier than she expected. All the tension, all the plans she had imagined, collapsed in on themselves. The window of opportunity she had waited for, hoped for, lived for—gone. 

She slumped into the chair beside her bed, staring at the floor, unsure of what to feel. For years, revenge had been her anchor, the only thing keeping her grounded in this chaotic, treacherous world. It was the one thing that made sense after her family’s murder, after the horrors she’d endured. 

And now, that reason to live was gone. What was she without it?

For a long time, Gemma didn’t move. The soft breeze blowing through the narrow window felt like mockery. She had waited too long, hesitated too much. Now, the chance to kill the man who destroyed her life had slipped through her fingers like sand. 

She stood up abruptly, driven by restless energy, and threw the letter onto the fire. The flames consumed it quickly, as they always did, but this time, she didn’t feel the same satisfaction she used to when watching her anger burn. 

There is nothing left for me, she thought bitterly. I have no purpose, no future here. 

Gemma wandered out of her chambers, needing to escape the suffocating emptiness that had settled in her heart. She made her way down the winding stone stairs, each step slower than the last, until she reached the kitchens. The smell of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air, but she barely noticed. 

The kitchen staff bustled around her, carrying trays of food, sacks of flour, and jugs of wine for the few remaining lords and ladies still at the Red Keep. A cart filled with food from Essos caught her eye—strange, colourful fruits she didn’t recognize, and a box of fine spices that gave off a heady, unfamiliar aroma. 

She paused beside the cart, running her fingers along the edge of one of the wooden crates. The name Lys was painted in elegant script on the side. 

Lys. The word lingered in her mind. She had heard of it, of course—one of the Free Cities of Essos. A land of beauty and mystery, of wealth and power. Beyond Lys was Braavos, Volantis, and all the other free cities Gemma had only heard whispered in the brothels and taverns of King’s Landing. 

She imagined them now—shining cities, glimmering on the other side of the world, far from the shadow of the Iron Throne, far from the memories of Castamere, the bloodshed, and her futile thirst for revenge. 

Suddenly, the thought of staying in King’s Landing felt unbearable. The idea of waking up every day, knowing Tywin was out of her reach, knowing that she would never be able to avenge her family—it made her sick. She would be trapped in this castle, forever serving a crown that had done nothing for her. 

But Essos... Essos was a place she could disappear into, a place where no one knew her, no one expected anything from her. She could start fresh, explore the world on her own terms. She could be free. 

Why not? The thought struck her, so simple, so clear. What’s keeping me here?

Gemma straightened, a new energy surging through her limbs. She had nothing left in King’s Landing. No revenge to pursue, no love to hold her here. Queen Rhaella had her ladies, and she would be fine without Gemma. And as for the rest of the court—they wouldn’t even notice if she was gone. 

The decision was made before she even fully realised it. 

She would go. To Lys, or Braavos, or wherever the winds took her. She would find a ship at the docks tonight, one bound for Essos. There was always trade between Westeros and the Free Cities; finding passage wouldn’t be hard. 

With renewed purpose, Gemma left the kitchens and hurried back to her chambers. She didn’t have much to pack—just a few simple gowns and the small amount of coin she had saved over the years. It would be enough to start, to get her away from this place. 

As she folded her dresses into a small satchel, her hands trembled slightly. It wasn’t fear—it was excitement. The idea of leaving behind her life here, of finally doing something for herself, thrilled her. She would be no one in Essos, and that was exactly what she wanted. 

Gemma tied the satchel shut and glanced around her tiny room one last time. It had been her sanctuary, her hiding place, but now it felt like a cage. 

With a final glance, she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. 

The docks were alive with activity by the time Gemma arrived. Sailors shouted orders, crates were loaded onto ships, and the smell of saltwater filled the air. She moved through the crowds with purpose, her hood drawn up to conceal her face. 

Her eyes scanned the ships, searching for one that looked like it could take her to Essos. A large merchant ship caught her attention, its sails bearing the sigil of Braavos. She approached one of the sailors standing by the gangplank. 

“I’m looking for passage to Braavos,” she said, keeping her voice steady. 

The sailor looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Braavos, eh? That’ll cost you, girl.”

“I can pay,” she replied, pulling a small pouch of coins from her satchel. 

The sailor weighed the pouch in his hand, then nodded. “We leave at first light. Be here by dawn if you want a spot.”

Gemma nodded and turned to leave, a small smile tugging at her lips. By tomorrow, she would be on her way to a new life, a new beginning. 

[rainstormies]

chapter six

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 1.9k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Gemma's hands trembled as she uncorked the vial of clear liquid. Tears of Lys, the most potent and undetectable poison in all the known world. She had bought it from a traveler hailing from Lys itself, a man who had been selling rare wares from Essos in a shadowed corner of the city. It had cost her almost everything she had saved, but it didn’t matter. The price was worth it. 

This tiny vial was the key to her vengeance. 

Tywin Lannister would die, and with him, the last remnant of the man who had destroyed her family, slaughtered everyone she had loved, and erased House Reyne from the annals of history. 

She stood in her small room, dimly lit by the flickering candle on the table, staring at the poison in her hand. Tonight, she would serve Tywin Lannister one of his final meals. She would make sure his wine was laced with the Tears of Lys, just enough to be fatal, undetectable by even the most skilled maesters.

This is it, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. This is the moment.

She moved toward the small mirror by the wall, her reflection staring back at her. Gone was the girl she had once been—noble-born, proud, and protected. Now, she was just Gemma, a shadow of herself, forged in survival. She took a deep breath, tying her dark hair into a neat braid, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

A soft knock on the door startled her, and she quickly concealed the vial in the folds of her dress.

The door creaked open, and Kyra, the maid who had become her closest friend at the Red Keep, stepped inside, her face pale and drawn.

"Gem," Kyra whispered, her voice trembling. "Queen Rhaella... she's fallen ill. She’s asking for you."

Gemma froze, the weight of the words hitting her like a blow to the chest. Queen Rhaella. Her queen. The woman who had taken her in, who had seen something in her when no one else had.

Her stomach twisted with dread. She had known for weeks that the queen was not well. Rhaella had been through so much—so many miscarriages, so much heartache. It was no secret that her health had been deteriorating, but now, hearing that the queen was asking for her, something inside Gemma shifted.

No, she told herself. You have a plan. You cannot be distracted now. 

But the thought of Rhaella alone, scared, possibly dying…

Gemma clenched her fists. She is your friend, her conscience whispered. The queen has treated you with more kindness than you have known since you fled Castamere.

But her anger burned brighter. Your family is gone because of Tywin Lannister. He deserves to die. Nothing else matters.

Kyra’s voice broke through her internal storm. "She needs you. I... I think it’s serious, Gemma. The queen... she’s been so weak, and now this illness—"

Gemma's heart wrenched. She thought of Rhaella, alone in her chambers, as she had been so many times before after losing another child, grieving in silence while the court looked the other way. The queen had always suffered alone, bearing the weight of her losses with grace that no one acknowledged.

The vial of poison was still in her hand, hidden beneath the folds of her dress.

Gemma turned away from Kyra, her mind racing. She had waited so long for this moment, for her chance to strike against the man who had taken everything from her. But the thought of Queen Rhaella, lying ill and asking for her…

I owe her everything, Gemma thought. She gave me a place, a purpose. She saw me when no one else did. I can’t abandon her now.

But revenge. The thought gnawed at her. She had come so far, and this was her moment. If she didn’t take it now, she might never have another chance.

Gemma’s hand clenched around the vial, her thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. What would my family say? she wondered. Would they want me to throw this away?

But she knew the answer even before she finished the thought. Her mother, her father, her family—they had been noble, and they had been proud. But they had never been cruel. Revenge had consumed her thoughts for so long that she had almost forgotten what they had truly stood for.

Her hand slowly released its grip on the vial. She turned back to Kyra, her decision made.

"I’ll go to her," Gemma whispered, her voice barely audible. "Take me to the queen."

Kyra nodded, relief flooding her face as she led Gemma out of the small room and through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. As they walked, Gemma felt the weight of the decision she had made. Her chance for vengeance was slipping away, but in its place, she felt something else—something more profound. 

Revenge isn't worth it. Not if it means losing the last part of who I am. 

By the time they reached Queen Rhaella’s chambers, Gemma had steeled herself. She was no longer thinking of Tywin Lannister, no longer consumed by hatred and vengeance. Instead, she was focused on the woman who had shown her kindness when she had nothing. 

She stepped into the room, her eyes falling on Rhaella, pale and frail in her bed. The queen’s eyes fluttered open, and when she saw Gemma, a small, weak smile appeared on her lips. 

"Gemma," Rhaella whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with warmth. "You came."

Gemma moved to her side, kneeling beside the bed and taking the queen’s hand in her own. "Of course I came, your grace," she said softly. "I’m here."

And as she sat by Rhaella’s side, Gemma felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of peace, of purpose. This was where she needed to be. This was who she needed to be. 

Tywin Lannister would have to wait. 

Gemma sat in the queen’s chambers, the familiar warmth of the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Rhaella rested on her chaise, pale and tired, yet her eyes were alight with a rare flicker of vitality. The queen had been ill for days, her body weakened by yet another miscarriage, and yet she had asked for Gemma’s company, her voice soft but insistent. 

They had spoken little at first, simply sitting in comfortable silence. Gemma’s heart felt heavy, weighed down by the vial of poison still hidden beneath her gown, the decision she had made moments before stepping into the queen’s chambers. She had been so close—so close to finally avenging her family, to ending Tywin Lannister once and for all. 

But when Kyra had burst into the room, telling her the queen needed her, Gemma had hesitated. The image of Rhaella, sick and alone, had been enough to pull her from the edge. Revenge could wait. The queen could not. 

Rhaella’s voice broke through the silence, soft but steady. "You look troubled, Gemma."

Gemma looked up, startled by the queen’s perceptiveness. She forced a smile. "It’s nothing, Your Grace."

Rhaella gave her a knowing look, one that told Gemma the queen was not easily fooled. "Life is fragile," Rhaella said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself as much as to Gemma. "Too fragile. It slips through our fingers faster than we realise, and before we know it, the chance to live... to love... it’s gone."

Gemma felt her throat tighten at the queen’s words. Rhaella’s gaze settled on her, searching, understanding. "You still think of him, don’t you?"

For a moment, Gemma couldn’t speak. The weight of everything—the lost opportunities, the aching in her heart—settled over her like a suffocating shroud. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Your Grace."

Rhaella smiled sadly, her fingers absently tracing the delicate fabric of her gown. "Tell him," she said softly. "Tell him how you feel, Gemma. Life is too short to keep your heart hidden."

Gemma’s heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of hope and fear warring within her. "But he’s a Kingsguard," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "He can’t... he can’t be with me. He’s sworn an oath."

Rhaella shook her head, her expression turning resolute. "Oaths can be broken. Lives can change. If he loves you, truly loves you, then he will find a way. There are other paths for him—he can be a knight, a lord. I will speak to my brother, ensure he can leave the Kingsguard without consequence."

Gemma stared at the queen, disbelief coursing through her. The idea that Sam—her Sam—could leave the Kingsguard for her seemed like a dream too far-fetched to grasp. "You would do that for me?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaella smiled gently. "You have stood by me through my worst moments, Gemma. You have been more than just a companion—you have been a friend. And I know what it is to lose love, to be forced to live without it." Her voice wavered for a moment, but she steadied herself. "I would not wish that on anyone. Least of all you."

Gemma’s heart swelled with gratitude, but fear still gnawed at her. "But what if he doesn’t want that?" she whispered. "What if I’m wrong, and he chooses his duty over me?"

Rhaella reached out, taking Gemma’s hand in her own. "Then at least you will know. At least you will not spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been."

Gemma blinked back the tears that had gathered in her eyes. The queen’s words cut through her like a blade, sharp and true. For years, she had buried her feelings, convinced that there was no future for her and Sam. She had told herself it was impossible, that they could never be together because of the roles they had been forced to play.

But now, hearing Rhaella’s quiet conviction, she realised that maybe... just maybe... there was a chance.

"I don’t know if I can," Gemma said softly, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "I don’t know if I’m brave enough."

Rhaella’s grip tightened on her hand, her gaze fierce and unwavering. "You are stronger than you know, Gemma. You have survived more than most could ever imagine. You have carried your burdens with grace, and you have stood tall even when the world tried to break you."

She paused, her voice softening. "But you deserve more than just survival. You deserve to be happy. To be loved. And if there is even a chance that Sam could give you that... then you owe it to yourself to try."

Gemma’s chest tightened, her emotions a whirlwind of fear, hope, and uncertainty. She had spent so long living in the shadows, so long hiding who she truly was. Could she really allow herself to hope for something more? To believe that she could be more than just a girl with a hidden past and a stolen name?

Rhaella smiled softly, as if she could see the conflict raging within her. "Tell him, Gemma," she whispered. "Tell him before it’s too late."

Gemma nodded, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. Maybe she would fail. Maybe Sam would choose his duty over her. But the queen was right—she couldn’t live the rest of her life wondering what might have been.

"I will," Gemma whispered, her voice filled with determination. "I’ll tell him."

Rhaella’s smile brightened, a flicker of warmth in her weary eyes. "Good," she said softly. "Do not let this world take your heart away from you."

As Gemma rose to leave the queen’s chambers, her heart felt lighter than it had in years. She would tell Sam. She would take the risk, no matter the outcome. 

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a future worth fighting for. 

[rainstormies]

chapter five

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Gemma had just finished her duties for the day and was making her way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, her thoughts consumed with the news she had overheard from the other servants. Tytos Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, was dead. Soon, his son—Tywin, the man responsible for her family’s annihilation—would leave for Casterly Rock to assume full control. The thought made her stomach churn.

Time is running out, she thought, her mind racing with plans she could barely form. She had been biding her time, hoping for a moment, a chance to act. But once Tywin left King’s Landing, that chance might be gone forever.

Her steps were brisk as she crossed the courtyard, her dark cloak pulled tightly around her. The Red Keep’s shadows were long this time of day, and she felt as if the very walls were closing in on her. As she turned a corner, she nearly collided with a knight in gleaming white armour. 

Her breath caught in her throat. It was him. 

Samwell. The knight of Sunflower Hall, they called him. Her Sam. 

The man who had once known her as Gemma, the girl from the brothel, his gem. Now, he was a brother of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the royal family. She hadn’t seen him in years, not since the day she had sent him away from her. Her heart quickened as she tried to avoid his gaze, lowering her head and hoping he wouldn’t recognise her in the sea of servants that always filled the castle. 

But Sam knew her too well. 

“Gemma?” His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that stopped her in her tracks. 

She hesitated, her back to him, every muscle tense. No. Not here. Not now. 

She took a step forward, pretending she hadn’t heard him. 

“Gemma, wait!” His voice was more urgent now, and she could hear his footsteps following after her. 

Her pulse raced, her mind scrambling to think of an excuse, a lie, anything. But she was too late. He caught up to her, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Why are you in the castle?”

Gemma lifted her chin, her expression a mask of cold indifference. “You’re mistaken, Ser,” she said, her voice clipped. “I do not know you.”

But Sam wasn’t easily deterred. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path, his eyes searching her face. “Don’t do this, Gemma. You’re here for a reason. Is it… because of King Aerys?” His voice was softer now, filled with concern. “You’re in his household, aren’t you? Did he-?”

Gemma’s blood ran cold at the implication, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "No," she snapped, her tone sharp and cutting. "It has nothing to do with the king."

Sam blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Then what is it? Why are you here? You never told me—"

"I don’t owe you an explanation," she interrupted, her voice rising with barely contained anger. How dare he. How dare he assume she was here because of the king, that she was nothing more than a pawn in some sordid game. That she could never be more than someone's mistress. She had chosen this path—this role—as a way to survive, to hide, to bide her time. 

But she would not be reduced to that again. Not by him. 

“Leave me alone, Sam,” she said, her voice quieter now, though no less firm. “I am busy. I have duties to attend to.”

Sam stood there, his face a mixture of hurt and confusion, but he didn’t press further. He nodded slowly, his hand falling away from her arm. “If that’s what you want.”

Without another word, Gemma brushed past him, her heart pounding in her chest as she disappeared down the corridor, her cloak billowing behind her. She didn’t look back. 

But as she walked, her thoughts were a whirlwind. She had thought she could handle seeing Sam again, that she had buried those feelings long ago. But his presence had shaken her. He had been kind to her, once. More than kind. She had loved him, in her way, and he had loved her too. But that was a different life. She wasn’t Gemma anymore.

She was Serena Reyne, the last of her house. And she had work to do.

Tywin Lannister was still in the city, but he wouldn’t be for much longer. The death of Tytos meant Tywin would soon be travelling to Casterly Rock to claim his inheritance and tighten his iron grip on the West. Once he left, her chance for revenge would be gone.

The fire inside her grew. It will be too late soon. I have to act before he leaves.

But how? How could she, one girl, strike against maybe the most powerful man in Westeros? The thought plagued her. She had been waiting, hoping for an opportunity, but nothing had come. Now time was slipping through her fingers.

As she made her way back to the Queen’s chambers, her mind raced. She had heard whispers about Tywin’s plans, about his preparations to leave the city. The Lannisters would be travelling with a large retinue, no doubt well-guarded.

Gemma’s hands shook as she opened the door to her small chamber in the servant’s quarters. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the small window, the orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room.

There has to be a way. 

Tywin Lannister would not get away with what he had done to her family. He would not escape her vengeance. But even as the determination burned inside her, Gemma felt the weight of reality settling on her shoulders. She was alone in this, and the task ahead of her was monumental.

But she couldn’t stop now. 

Gemma stood beside Queen Rhaella as she reclined in her chambers, her hand gently resting on her rounded belly. The queen was well into her pregnancy, and despite the many trials she had faced, there was a soft glow to her in these moments. Gemma couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride and happiness for the queen, as if this new child could be a small spark of light in the dark world they both lived in. The room was warm and filled with the scent of lavender, soothing and gentle. It was a rare peace.

"How are you feeling, Your Grace?" Gemma asked softly, adjusting the blanket over Rhaella's legs.

Rhaella smiled faintly, her eyes distant but warm. "Tired. But hopeful," she replied, her voice soft, almost wistful. She placed a protective hand on her swollen belly. "I pray this child is healthy. It has been… difficult, these past years."

Gemma nodded. She knew of the queen's miscarriages, the losses that had slowly worn her down. She admired Rhaella's strength despite everything she had endured. In many ways, the queen reminded her of her own mother. Strong, graceful, but trapped in a life she hadn't chosen.

As Rhaella closed her eyes for a moment, leaning her head back, Gemma's thoughts wandered back to Sam. Her heart tightened in her chest, the memory of his face, the way he had looked at her, still fresh in her mind. She hadn't expected to see him again, not after all these years. Seeing him now, as a knight of the Kingsguard, had reopened wounds she thought she had buried long ago.

"Gemma," the queen's voice broke through her thoughts, and Gemma blinked, startled.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"You are troubled," Rhaella said gently, her violet eyes studying her with concern. "You’ve been quieter than usual. Is something wrong?"

Gemma hesitated. She had never confided in anyone about her past, about her complicated feelings. But something about Rhaella, her quiet understanding, made her feel safe enough to speak. Perhaps it was the loneliness that both of them shared, the isolation that came with their roles. She took a deep breath.

"I... saw someone today," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Someone from my past."

Rhaella’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for Gemma to continue.

"He... we were close, once," Gemma admitted, her heart racing as she spoke. "But that was before. Before everything changed." She paused, swallowing hard. "Now, he’s a knight of the Kingsguard. And we cannot be together."

The queen’s expression softened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing Gemma’s hand. "And why not?" she asked gently. "Why can you not be together, Gemma?"

Gemma blinked in surprise. "He’s taken the white cloak," she said. "He cannot marry, cannot have heirs. His duty is to the king now. And… I am not the person I once was. I have no family, no name. I am no one."

Rhaella’s gaze grew distant again, a faint sadness in her eyes. "Nothing is impossible," she whispered. "Not in love. If the gods had been kinder, perhaps my life might have been different." Her hand moved over her belly once more. "I, too, dreamed of love once. Of a match made by choice, not by duty."

Gemma looked at her, surprised by the queen's candour. Rhaella was always so composed, so reserved, but in this moment, there was a vulnerability in her words, a longing that echoed Gemma’s own.

"Who would you have chosen, Your Grace?" Gemma asked carefully, not wanting to overstep, but unable to stop her curiosity.

Rhaella smiled sadly. "It doesn’t matter now," she said softly. "But there was a time when I wished my heart could guide me. Instead, I was given to a man who..." She trailed off, her expression hardening slightly, and Gemma knew she meant King Aerys. Her brother. 

"The Targaryens believed in keeping their bloodline pure," Rhaella continued after a moment, her voice distant. "For centuries, they married brother to sister, cousin to cousin, all to preserve their line. Some say it's noble, that it's tradition. Others whisper that it brings madness."

Gemma nodded, though she could never imagine such a fate for herself. She was grateful, in her own way, that she hadn’t been born into a family like that. Noble houses carried burdens of their own, and while Gemma’s past had its share of darkness, marrying a sibling, or being forced into such a union for duty’s sake, seemed a heavier cross than any she'd ever known.

She glanced at Queen Rhaella, her heart aching for the woman sitting beside her. For all the power the Targaryens held, all the prestige and honour that came with their name, there was also a cage. A gilded, blood-stained cage of tradition and duty. Rhaella had been forced into a marriage with her brother, King Aerys—once a prince, now, well, Gemma didn’t see the King much, but she knew how he was. 

"I don’t know how you bear it, Your Grace," Gemma whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Rhaella’s smile was faint, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "We all bear our burdens, Gemma. Some of us... we are born with them. Others, we choose them." She looked down at her swollen belly, her fingers tracing the outline of the child growing inside her. "I chose to love my children. That is my strength. And yet, even that love is... complicated."

Gemma's mind wandered to her own past, her family long lost to her, their legacy drowned in blood and rubble beneath Castamere. She had no such bonds to weigh her down now, no legacy of blood purity or tradition. No family at all. Part of her was bitter for it, for losing everything, but another part was relieved. At least she hadn’t been forced into a marriage to keep some ancient bloodline intact. The Reynes had been noble, yes, but free of the Targaryens' chains. She was glad for it, even if the price of that freedom had been high.

"I never had to face such choices," Gemma said quietly, looking down at her hands. "In some ways, I'm lucky. I didn’t have to marry for duty. I didn’t have to wed someone... not of my choosing."

Rhaella’s eyes met hers, filled with a sorrow that Gemma couldn't fully understand but deeply respected. "But you still lost everything," the queen said gently. "That is a burden too, Gemma. Never forget that your pain is real."

Gemma swallowed hard, her throat tightening at the queen’s words. She hadn’t spoken much about her past to anyone, let alone to the queen. But Rhaella seemed to see through her, as if she could sense the weight Gemma carried, even if she didn’t know the full story.

"Yes," Gemma whispered. "I lost everything."

Rhaella reached out and took Gemma’s hand in hers, a simple gesture of comfort that said more than words ever could. For a moment, they sat together in silence, two women bound by their losses and by the paths that fate had forced them to walk. Different as they were, they both understood what it meant to live in the shadow of pain.

"I wish you could have had a love match, Your Grace," Gemma finally said, her voice soft and sincere. "You deserve that."

Rhaella smiled again, though it was a small, fragile thing. "Perhaps in another life," she said. "But in this one... we must find love where we can. In our children, in our friends." She gave Gemma’s hand a gentle squeeze. "In those who choose to stand by us, even when the world feels like it’s crumbling beneath our feet."

Gemma nodded, though her heart felt heavier than before. She had no children, no friends she could truly call her own. The queen was kind to her, yes, but it wasn’t the same. And Sam... Sam had been her only chance at love, and now that chance was gone, lost to duty and her own tangled web of lies. 

And yet, as she sat there with the queen, she realised that perhaps love could take many forms. Not just the romantic, passionate kind, but the love that came from shared burdens, from loyalty, from standing beside someone when everything else had fallen apart. 

But revenge still burned in her heart. And that, too, was a burden she would have to carry. 

"I hope you find your peace, Gemma," Rhaella said softly, her voice a gentle balm to the storm of thoughts in Gemma’s mind. "You deserve that much, at least."

Gemma smiled faintly, though her heart felt like it was tearing in two. Peace, she thought. Would she ever truly find it? Would revenge against Tywin Lannister give her peace, or only more emptiness? She wasn’t sure. But the anger, the desire for justice, still burned within her, like a fire she couldn’t extinguish. 

"I hope so too, Your Grace," she whispered, though in truth, she wasn’t sure what peace even looked like anymore. 

A heavy silence hung between them, the weight of unspoken pain lingering in the air. Gemma felt a sudden surge of empathy for the queen, a woman trapped by duty and circumstance, just like her. For all the titles, the finery, and the respect that came with being a queen, Rhaella’s life had been far from her own. 

"Do not let fear hold you back, Gemma," Rhaella said after a moment, her voice soft but firm. "If your heart tells you to be with him, then do not let anything stand in your way. Love is rare in this world. Too rare to let it slip away."

Gemma looked away, her thoughts in turmoil. The queen’s words struck a chord deep within her, but the reality of her situation weighed heavily on her shoulders. Sam might care for her, but he was bound by vows now. And even if he weren’t, how could she ever hope to live as his equal? She was no longer Serena Reyne, a lady of Castamere. She was Gemma, a girl with no name, no house, no future. 

"I don’t think I can, Your Grace," she said quietly, her voice tinged with sorrow. "I’m not the girl he knew. I’m not noble, or whole, or anything he deserves."

Rhaella’s hand tightened around hers, her eyes full of compassion. "We are all broken in our own ways, Gemma. But that does not mean we are unworthy of love."

Gemma felt a lump rise in her throat, but she nodded, appreciating the queen’s kindness. Still, she knew that her path was set. She had lost too much already. Love was a luxury she could not afford.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Gemma whispered, her heart heavy. "I will think on your words."

Rhaella gave her a sad smile, her hand still resting on her belly. "You will make the right choice," she said softly. "I can see it in you. You have a strength, Gemma. Don’t forget that."

Gemma bowed her head, feeling a mixture of gratitude and sadness. She could not tell the queen everything, could not share the darker thoughts that now clouded her mind. Revenge still burned within her, a fire she could not extinguish, even with the queen’s gentle wisdom. 

As she left the queen’s chambers, Gemma's heart ached with the weight of her choices. She was torn between the past and the future, between the desire for love and the thirst for vengeance. And as she walked through the cold halls of the Red Keep, she couldn’t help but feel that the world had left her no room for both. 

Gemma followed Kyra through the bustling market streets of King’s Landing, the smell of baked bread and roasted meats filling the air. The market was always alive with chatter and movement, but Gemma’s thoughts were elsewhere. She hadn’t been back to see the bakers—her so-called "parents"—since the day they had cast her out onto the streets. She didn’t know why she wanted to see them now, perhaps to prove to herself she was no longer that helpless girl who burned bread and was too clumsy with her hands.

 Kyra looked at her curiously as they passed by stalls selling fruits and trinkets. “You sure you want to stop by their place?” she asked, giving Gemma a sideways glance.

Gemma nodded, her jaw clenched. “I just want to see. I won’t stay long.”

They reached the small alley where the bakery had once stood, tucked between larger buildings. Gemma’s heart beat faster as they turned the corner, but something was wrong.

The shop was empty. The wooden sign that had hung above the door was gone, and the windows were shuttered tightly. The smell of freshly baked bread, the one thing that had always lingered in the air here, was absent.

Kyra frowned, noticing the unusual stillness. "Something’s off," she muttered.

Gemma took a step forward, her mouth dry. “Where are they?” she whispered to no one in particular. She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but the silence, the complete abandonment, was unsettling.

A small boy, no older than seven or eight, was sitting on the steps of the neighbouring building, chewing on a piece of stale bread. He looked up at them as they approached. Gemma crouched down, her voice trembling slightly. “Where are the bakers? What happened here?”

The boy stared at her for a moment before shrugging. “City watch took ‘em. Said they were murdered, bodies moved out earlier this morning.”

Gemma’s blood ran cold. “Murdered?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

The boy nodded, as if it were just another fact of life in King’s Landing. “Yeah, whole place covered in blood. Said it was real bad.”

Gemma’s heart pounded in her chest, her stomach twisting in knots. Without another word, she pushed past Kyra and ran toward the bakery, her breath catching in her throat. The door creaked open under her hand, and as she stepped inside, the metallic stench of blood hit her like a wave.

The shop that had once been filled with the warm scent of bread was now a scene of horror. The wooden floor was stained dark with blood, smeared across the countertops and splattered against the walls.

Gemma felt her knees go weak, her chest tightening. Her vision blurred as she stood frozen in the doorway, taking in the gruesome sight.

This is my fault.

Her thoughts spiralled as panic gripped her. Someone knows. Someone found out who I am. They killed the bakers because of me.

She stumbled backward, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her mind raced. The blood on the floor, the silence that now filled the room—this was because of her. Someone had figured out her secret, and now they were coming for her.

She had never loved the bakers, had never truly considered them family, but the sight of their blood soaked into the floorboards, the violence that had ended their lives... it was too much. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the terror that clawed at her chest.

Kyra was behind her, her voice distant. “Gemma, we need to leave.”

But Gemma couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, the weight of it all crashing down on her. They had died because of her, because of who she really was. I should have stayed hidden. I should have left the city.

“They’re dead because of me,” she muttered under her breath, barely aware of Kyra tugging at her arm. “I caused this.”

Kyra shook her head, her voice sharp. “You don’t know that. This is King’s Landing—people die every day.”

But Gemma wasn’t listening. All she could see was the blood, the horror of it all. And the fear. Fear that whoever had done this would come for her next.

Fear that they already knew who she was.

Suddenly, the fear turned into something else. Anger. A cold, burning anger that seared through her veins. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Tywin Lannister. This was all because of him. It always came back to him.

He had taken everything from her. Her family, her home, her life. And now, even the scraps of safety she had found in this city were being torn away. She had nothing left to lose.

“I’ll kill him,” she whispered, her voice hardening. “I swear, I’ll kill him.”

Kyra’s eyes widened. “Gemma—”

But Gemma cut her off, her mind now set. The panic and fear were gone, replaced by a cold, vengeful determination. Tywin Lannister had taken everything from her, and she would not stop until he paid for it. 

Her breath steadied, and her pulse slowed as she turned toward Kyra, her face expressionless. “Let’s go,” she said quietly. 

Kyra hesitated, but followed her out of the shop. As they walked back toward the market, Gemma’s mind raced with thoughts of revenge. She would find a way. She had to. Tywin would pay for what he had done, for all the lives he had ruined. 

For the Reynes. For her family. And now, for the bakers, who had died because of her. 

She would find the means, and when the time came, she would not hesitate. Tywin Lannister’s blood would flow, just like her family’s had.

And Gemma would be the one to make sure of it.

[rainstormies]

chapter four

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 2k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Gemma’s life at the brothel had become a routine of survival, but as the years passed, she had grown restless. She couldn’t help but think about Sam. The man she thought would eventually set her free. 

For a while - after that night - she had looked at the door every time someone walked in, hoping somehow it was him. But Sam had not returned. 

Men had come, but not to set her free. 

She longed for more than the dim rooms and fleeting encounters with men whose names she never learned. That’s when she met Kyra, a girl not much older than herself, who often visited the brothel. But Kyra wasn’t like the others who came to escape their lives. She worked in the Red Keep, as one of Queen Rhaella’s ladies. 

Kyra would come by now and then, usually to speak with the other girls or deliver messages from the castle. The two struck up an unlikely friendship—Gemma had always had a way of making people open up to her. It was a survival skill she had honed after years of pretending to be someone else. 

“Kyra,” Gemma asked one night after a particularly quiet evening, “what’s it like? The castle, I mean.”

Kyra’s eyes had lit up at the question, and soon the two found themselves huddled together, whispering about the inner workings of the Red Keep. Kyra spoke of grand halls and intricate tapestries, of the politics that shaped the lives of every servant and noble alike. But it was when she spoke of Queen Rhaella that Gemma’s curiosity deepened. 

“She’s kind,” Kyra said, her voice soft. “But… lonely. She doesn’t trust many.”

"Why?" Gemma asked, her brow furrowed. 

Kyra hesitated, glancing around as if the walls themselves might have ears. “Because of the king. He… He’s not like her. And some of her ladies… they’ve been dismissed for getting too close to him.”

Gemma didn’t need to ask what she meant. She had seen enough in her life to know what power did to men. But the more Kyra talked about the Red Keep, the more Gemma began to wonder if there was a place for her there.

One night, over the soft glow of candlelight, Kyra made a suggestion. 

"Why don’t you come with me to the castle?" Kyra’s eyes gleamed with excitement. "The Queen’s dismissed several of her ladies recently. They say it’s because they’ve been with the king… she’ll need new ones soon."

Gemma’s heart raced at the thought. Could she really leave this life behind? The brothel had been her prison, but it was also the only place she had known since fleeing Castamere. But then she thought of Sam, of the fleeting dreams she had allowed herself to have. She couldn’t stay here forever. 

“I don’t think I belong in a castle, Kyra. I’ve lived… I’ve been…” Gemma stammered. 

Kyra shook her head, smiling gently. “You’re more than that, Gemma. You’ve got something about you… the way you carry yourself. The way you speak. I swear, sometimes you sound like a lady yourself.”

As Kyra’s words echoed in her mind, Gemma found herself gripped by two opposing forces. Working at the castle? Under the same roof as Tywin Lannister, the man who had destroyed everything she once knew, who now stood as Hand of the King? She should be running the other way, staying hidden, staying safe. Every instinct told her that coming anywhere near him was a risk, a dangerous game she couldn’t afford to play. 

But then, the other force gripped her — the one that burned hotter than fear. The desire to confront him. The hunger for revenge. She wanted him to see her, to know her face, to understand that House Reyne had not been wiped from the world as easily as he'd believed. That a daughter of Castamere still lived and breathed. 

This could be the best way — to walk straight into the lion’s den. To gain his trust, to stand in the halls of power, to find the moment where she could strike. And when that moment came, she would ensure Tywin Lannister paid for every drop of Reyne blood he had spilled. 

The first few days in the castle felt like walking through a dream. Gemma—now calling herself ‘Gemma’ in truth, no longer clinging to Serena—kept her head down, moving through the halls with an unfamiliar grace she hadn't known she possessed. The other girls whispered about her behind her back, but Gemma didn’t care. She had learned long ago how to be invisible when needed.

She didn’t speak much at first, afraid that someone might recognize her—or worse, see through her act. But when she was introduced to Queen Rhaella, something unexpected happened.

The Queen’s eyes swept over her, pausing on her face for a moment longer than the others. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Gemma, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

Rhaella’s gaze lingered. “Where are you from, Gemma?”

Gemma swallowed hard, trying not to let the panic rise. She had rehearsed this moment countless times. “I’m from the westerlands, Your Grace. My family... they were lost in the war.”

The Queen seemed to accept the answer, nodding slightly before turning away. It wasn’t until later that day when one of the other girls pulled Gemma aside. 

“You impressed her, you know,” Violet said, grinning. 

Gemma blinked, surprised. “I did?”

Violet nodded eagerly. “You don’t act like the rest of us. You speak well. The Queen likes that. She values poise, respect... and loyalty.”

From that day on, Gemma worked diligently, and the Queen took notice. She was given tasks that required discretion and care—organising letters, preparing Rhaella’s chambers, and even sitting with her during her quiet moments. There was a closeness developing between them, a bond that Gemma hadn’t expected. She found herself in the Queen’s good graces, and it wasn’t long before she became one of Rhaella’s favourites. 

The other ladies noticed it too. “The Queen always asks for Gemma,” they whispered with envy. “She never asks for us like that.”

Gemma found herself in rooms where whispers of politics, war, and the Targaryen legacy swirled. She learned quickly to keep her head down and her ears open. Rhaella confided in her, in ways that surprised Gemma. She would talk of her fears, of the king’s rages, and the toll it took on her soul. And Gemma, for the first time in years, found herself feeling needed. 

But there was always a lingering fear. The fear that someone would recognize her. That her past would catch up with her. She was Serena Reyne, the last of Castamere, living in the lion’s den. One misstep, one wrong word, and her true identity could be her undoing. But for now, she had found a new place to belong, even if it was built on lies. 

And as she served the Queen, Gemma vowed to never forget who she really was—even if everyone else did.

-

The day Lady Joanna Lannister arrived in King’s Landing, the Red Keep seemed to shimmer with new energy. Gemma had heard whispers of her arrival days before, the servants gossiping about the beauty and grace of the Lady of Casterly Rock, wife of Lord Tywin Lannister. Some spoke of her warmth, others of the fearsome power she held, not only as Tywin’s wife but as someone who had once served Queen Rhaella herself.

When Gemma first saw Joanna, she understood why the court had so much to say about her. Lady Joanna was tall and regal, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders, bright as the sun itself. Her dress was a deep crimson, embroidered with golden lions, making her look every bit the powerful lady she was rumoured to be. But what struck Gemma most was Joanna’s kindness. Unlike so many of the highborn women she had met, Joanna’s smile seemed genuine, and her laughter was soft and warm, like music. 

Joanna had been walking through the Queen’s garden when Gemma, carrying a tray of wine, passed by. Their eyes met for a moment, and Gemma quickly lowered her gaze, instinctively avoiding the attention of one so highborn. But Lady Joanna had smiled at her, a soft and inviting gesture, as though she could sense something more in Gemma’s demeanour. 

“Is that wine for the Queen, my dear?” Joanna asked gently. 

Gemma nodded, her voice catching in her throat. “Yes, my lady.”

Joanna’s smile widened. “You carry yourself well. The Queen is fortunate to have such attentive ladies.”

Gemma mumbled a thank you, bowing her head. She wasn’t used to kindness from noblewomen, especially not one of Joanna’s stature. As she turned to leave, another maid caught her arm and whispered, “Be careful around Lady Joanna. She used to be one of Queen Rhaella’s ladies... until she was dismissed.”

Gemma frowned. “Dismissed? Why?”

The maid leaned in closer, her eyes darting around. “The Queen believed Joanna was too close to the King... thought she might be his mistress.”

Gemma felt a sudden twist in her stomach. Queen Rhaella, so isolated and paranoid, had cast out someone as kind as Joanna over mere suspicion? It made sense now why the Queen’s mood darkened at the mention of Joanna Lannister. The court’s whispers about the King’s affairs were many, and Rhaella had grown increasingly distrustful over the years.

Later that day, when Joanna returned to the Queen’s chambers, Gemma found herself serving them both tea. She stood at the side of the room, silent, watching the tension between the two women. Joanna spoke politely, but Queen Rhaella barely acknowledged her. The bitterness was palpable, and Gemma wondered what it must have been like for Joanna, dismissed from the Queen’s service for something she had no part in. 

But then, Gemma’s thoughts turned darker. As she poured tea for Lady Joanna, a shadow fell across the room. Tywin Lannister had entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. He was tall, broad, and his golden hair was now streaked with silver. He looked every bit the lion of Lannister, his sharp gaze assessing the room with a predator’s calculation. 

Gemma froze, the teapot trembling in her hands. 

Tywin Lannister. 

The man who had murdered her family. The man responsible for the massacre at Castamere. For the downfall of House Reyne. For her father’s death.

She had never seen him in person before. He was a figure from nightmares, a name whispered in dark corners, a symbol of everything she had lost. And now, here he stood, not ten feet from her, completely unaware of who she was. The room seemed to shrink as her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to scream, to throw the boiling tea in his face, to claw at him with her bare hands.

But she couldn’t. She had to stay still. Stay quiet. She was no longer Serena Reyne. She was Gemma, the Queen’s servant. A girl from nowhere.

She lowered her head, forcing herself to breathe. Tywin’s voice cut through the silence, deep and authoritative as he spoke with the Queen and Joanna. She could feel his eyes briefly glance over her, but there was no recognition in them. Why would there be? She was a nobody. A servant. And to him, the Reynes were long gone, buried under the stones of Castamere.

But Gemma’s blood boiled beneath her skin. She wanted to scream at him, “Do you know who I am? You killed my father! You destroyed my family!” But she couldn’t. She could do nothing.

Tywin spoke for only a short while before excusing himself. As he turned to leave, Gemma’s hands clenched into fists beneath her skirts. The rage inside her burned like a fire, but she swallowed it down, hiding it deep within herself. 

This man, this monster who had ripped her world apart, would never know who she was. She would never have the satisfaction of seeing the fear in his eyes. But maybe, one day, she could avenge them. Maybe, one day, there would be a reckoning for Castamere. 

But not today. Not yet. 

When Tywin left the room, Joanna glanced at Gemma again, her gaze lingering for a moment as if sensing something. But she said nothing, and neither did Gemma. The tea was served, and life went on.

[rainstormies]

chapter three

title: heir of fire

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: a daughter of a lost house, hiding in the shadows of a broken kingdom. as revenge and love collide, she must choose between reclaiming her past or forging a new future

Serena had learned to swallow her pride long ago. Pride had no place in the cold, unforgiving streets of King’s Landing, and even less in the dark halls where she now resided. She had once been noble, once had everything a girl could dream of - silk gowns, servants, the comfort of home. But those days were distant now, so far removed they almost felt like a dream she could barely remember. 

Now, she was Gemma. A name whispered in shadows, a girl who had traded the warmth of home for the harsh realities of survival. 

The woman who had found her outside the brothel had promised her safety, a roof over her head, food, and warmth. But there was always a price, wasn’t there? A cost for surviving in the capital. Serena had learned that well. 

The small cot in the corner of the room was uncomfortable, but it was better than the streets. The girls who lived with her weren’t cruel, but they had their own struggles, their own battles to fight. They were survivors, just like her, some younger, some older, all bound by the same silent agreement: do what you must to get by. 

Serena—no, Gemma, she reminded herself—had become skilled at making herself invisible. She listened more than she spoke, watched more than she acted. The other girls thought she was quiet, reserved. They didn’t know the truth, didn’t know the weight of the name she carried in secret. That name would be her death if it ever slipped, so she let it die in the recesses of her memory, just like her family, just like her home. 

But there were days, moments, when the past clawed at her mind. When she remembered being Serena Reyne, daughter of Roger Reyne of Castamere. The echoes of her old life haunted her sometimes—her father’s laughter, the sound of her mother’s voice, the safety of her aunt’s arms. She’d been loved, once. That thought hurt the most. The love she had known was gone, buried beneath the rubble of Castamere and drowned beneath the wave of Lannister vengeance. 

She was Gemma. And Gemma didn’t cry. 

Gemma liked the older men. 

They treated her with a gentleness that the younger ones didn’t bother with. The younger men were brash, careless, full of arrogance and greed. They demanded, took, and left. But the older ones... they knew the value of patience. They moved slower, spoke softer. They asked questions, sometimes, about her past. She never answered. She couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand, and even if they did, what good would it do?

But then there was him. 

He was young, younger than most who came to the brothel, but older than her by a few years. Handsome, with dark hair and striking eyes, and a way about him that made her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. He had been different from the beginning. He had bought her maidenhood when she was fifteen. Five golden dragons he had paid. 

Gemma saw none of it. 

But she had seen him—again and again. He would visit often, as often as he could. Always asking for ‘his gem’. 

The first time had been nerve-wracking. She had been shaking, afraid of what would happen, of the pain, of the unfamiliarity. But he had been gentle, kind. He treated her with a respect she hadn’t expected. And afterward, he hadn’t disappeared like the others. He came back. He always came back. 

“He’s here again,” one of the girls, Clove, teased her one evening. Gemma had been brushing her hair, trying to tame the wild curls that refused to be tamed, when she had leaned in with a knowing smile. 

“Who?” Gemma asked, though she knew. 

“Ser handsome,” the girl replied, grinning. “He was looking for ‘his gem.’”

Gemma felt her heart skip a beat at the sound of his name for her. His gem. She liked that, liked the way it sounded in his voice, the way he said it with such affection, as though she was more than just another girl in this forsaken place. 

“Is he still here?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager. 

The girl gave her a smirk. “No, he left a while ago. Important business at the castle.”

Gemma’s heart sank a little at that. Of course, he had business at the castle. He wasn’t like the other men who frequented the brothel. He had a life, a real one, beyond these walls. But she couldn’t dwell on that. He wasn’t hers. He never would be. 

She wasn’t Serena anymore. And even if she had been, Serena Reyne had nothing to offer a man like him. No lands, no wealth, no family name to speak of. Castamere had been reduced to rubble, and so had she. There was no going back to that life, no reclaiming what had been lost. 

Gemma closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel human again, if only for a moment. Because at the end of the day, that’s all it was—moments. Fleeting, temporary, and gone before she could hold on to them. 

She wasn’t a lady anymore. She wasn’t anyone. She was Gemma, just another girl in the shadows of King’s Landing, surviving one day at a time. 

The flicker of the candles cast soft shadows against the walls as Gemma waited for him. Her mind raced, as it often did before his visits. She didn't know why she cared. She had told herself long ago that he was just another patron. But that wasn’t the truth, and she knew it. He was different, and that terrified her. 

When he finally arrived, she greeted him with the same smile she always did, but tonight there was something different in his eyes. He seemed distant, distracted. Usually, he had a certain energy about him, a charm that made him easy to be around. But tonight, he was quiet. 

“My Sam,” she teased, trying to break the silence as he closed the door behind him. But instead of pulling her into his arms or brushing her hair back from her face as he usually did, he merely walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, his shoulders heavy with an unspoken weight. 

Gemma’s brow furrowed as she crossed the room and sat beside him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, though the words felt strange on her tongue. She wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to ask. But with him, it was different. It always was. 

He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the pillows. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He lay back, pulling her down with him, though not with the usual hunger that had marked his previous visits. This time, he held her close but didn’t seem to want anything more than the comfort of her presence. 

They lay in silence for a long moment, his hand resting lightly on her arm, his breath steady but slow. She didn’t push, didn’t press him for more. She had learned that silence often spoke louder than words in places like this. 

Finally, he broke the quiet. “I’ve been thinking... a lot lately.”

“About what?”

“About life. About my family. About what I’m doing here.”

There was a pause, and Gemma stiffened slightly. She had always feared this moment—the moment when he would finally realise he didn’t belong here, when he would leave her and never return. She tried to keep her voice steady. “What do you mean?”

He sighed again, and she could feel the tension in his body as he spoke. “My father is a wealthy lord in the Reach. We have lands near a place called Sunhouse. Have you heard of it?”

Gemma shook her head. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She knew of Sunhouse, though—knew it was a beautiful, fertile place in the Reach. A place she would have heard about, once, if she had still been Serena Reyne. But now she was just Gemma, and Gemma had no place in the Reach. 

“I was supposed to be a knight,” he continued, his voice growing softer. “And I am, I suppose. I’ve been trained since I was a boy, like all the sons of noble houses. I’ve fought in tournaments, won some. I’ve served lords and held my sword high in battle. But…”

“But?” she prompted when his voice trailed off. 

“I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I feel lost sometimes. Like everything I was raised for doesn’t matter anymore. And I don’t know why I come here, to you. I just… I need something real. Something that isn’t expectations and duty.”

Gemma swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She understood that feeling better than he knew. Expectations and duty. Her entire life had been built on those words. But here, with him, she was supposed to be free of that. She was supposed to be Gemma, not Serena Reyne, not the girl who had lost everything. 

But then he turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve told you so much about myself. About where I’m from, about my life. But I don’t know anything about you, Gemma. Not really.”

Her heart stopped. She felt it—felt the weight of her past, the name she had buried deep. She couldn’t tell him. She could never tell him. He wouldn’t understand, and even if he did, he would leave. Or worse, he would pity her. 

“You know enough,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. 

“Do I?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “You never talk about yourself. Not your family, your past. Nothing.”

“I’m just a girl from King’s Landing,” she lied, the words burning on her tongue. “There’s nothing more to tell.”

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers for some sign of truth. But Gemma had become an expert at hiding the truth. She had been hiding it for years. 

“You’re not just a girl from King’s Landing,” he said finally. “I can see that. There’s something about you…”

She looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything, to spill the truth that had been festering inside her for years. But she couldn’t. If she told him who she really was, it would ruin everything. 

“I’m nobody,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. 

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “You’re not nobody, Gemma. I don’t know who you really are, but I can see that you’re more than what you pretend to be.”

Her throat tightened, and she pulled her hand away, turning to face the flickering fire instead. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. 

But it did matter. It mattered more than she wanted to admit. Because for the first time in years, she wanted to be more than Gemma. She wanted to be Serena again, even if only for a moment. But that wasn’t possible. Not in this world, not with him. 

She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay strong, to keep the walls up. Because if she let them down, if she let him in, everything she had built to protect herself would come crashing down. 

And she couldn’t afford that. Not now. 

Sam’s voice broke the silence. “I have been asked to join the Kingsguard.”

The room fell into a still, uneasy quiet. The flickering firelight danced across the walls, casting long shadows between them. Gemma sat at the edge of the bed, her back to Sam as she stared at the floor, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. 

The Kingsguard. 

He had said it so plainly, as though it were just another part of their conversation. But for Gemma, it was like a hammer blow. Her heart, which had once leapt at the thought of his visits, now sank. 

Sam shifted beside her, breaking the silence. "I’ve been chosen to fill a spot in the Kingsguard," he repeated, as if she hadn’t heard it the first time. 

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She had always known that he was bound for something greater, something more than the fleeting moments they shared in the shadows of her life. But this—the Kingsguard—meant there was no future for him. And worse, there was no future for them, not that she had ever truly believed there could be. 

She turned to him, forcing a small laugh, though it tasted bitter on her tongue. "The Kingsguard?" she repeated, her voice strained. "So that means... no wife, no heirs. You’ll live for the crown, for the king."

He looked at her, his expression solemn. "Yes. I’ve sworn my vows already."

The words hit her like a stone to the chest. "That’s what you want then?" she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. "To live a life where there’s no room for anyone else?"

Sam hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "It’s not that simple."

But it was that simple. The Kingsguard meant a life of duty, of honour, of servitude to the crown. It meant no love, no family, no future outside the white cloak and the sword he carried. 

And for Gemma, it meant no Sam. 

Her breath hitched as she turned away from him again, her fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. She had been so foolish. So selfish. She was just a girl from the streets, a nameless, faceless figure who had no business wanting more from life than what she had. Smallfolk. That’s what she was now. Nothing more. 

How could she have ever thought it could be different?

"I was a fool," she muttered to herself, biting her lip hard to keep her tears from spilling. "A stupid, selfish fool."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked gently, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. But she pulled away from him, standing up abruptly and crossing the room as though putting physical distance between them could help ease the ache in her chest. 

"Don’t you see?" she said, her voice louder now, sharper. "You’ve chosen your path, Sam. And I… I’m not part of that path. I never was."

He stood up too, his face drawn with confusion and something else—regret, perhaps? "Gemma, don’t do this. You’re important to me. More than you think."

"Important?" she scoffed, shaking her head. "I’m nobody. I’m just a girl who grew up too fast, who learned how to survive in the cracks of this city. And you… you’re a knight, a nobleman. You belong in the world of kings and castles, and I—"

She stopped herself, her throat tight with emotion. She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t admit the truth. That she had wanted to be part of that world, that she had foolishly dreamed of something more. 

"You could come with me," Sam said softly, stepping closer to her. "To the castle. I could take care of you."

Gemma turned to face him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Come with you? To the castle? And what would I be there? Your secret? The girl you visit when no one’s watching?"

His face fell, and she could see the hurt in his eyes, but she pressed on. She had to make him understand, had to make herself understand. "I won’t be that, Sam. I won’t be something hidden away, something you pretend doesn’t exist. I can’t… I can’t live like that."

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw tense as he absorbed her words. Then, with a resigned sigh, he stepped back. "I didn’t want that for you, Gemma. I never wanted to hurt you."

She laughed bitterly, wiping at her eyes. "You didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself. I forgot who I was. I’m just Gemma. Just a whore, a possession."

There was a long silence between them, the weight of the truth hanging heavy in the air. Sam, with his noble birth and future in the Kingsguard, couldn’t give her what she wanted. And she, with her broken past and hidden identity, couldn’t be what he needed. 

"I should go," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. 

She nodded, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. "Yes. You should."

He hesitated for a moment longer, as if there was something more he wanted to say. But instead, he stepped toward the door, his hand resting on the handle for a brief second. He turned back to look at her, his eyes filled with a sadness she had never seen in him before. 

"Goodbye, Gemma."

And then he was gone. 

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, all she could do was stand there, staring at the empty space where he had been. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t let herself. Instead, she sank back onto the bed, feeling the cold seep into her bones. 

He had paid for the night, but it didn’t matter anymore. She was alone again. 

As she sat there in the dimly lit room, the reality of her life settled heavily on her shoulders. She was Gemma, a girl with no name, no title, no family. And she would always be that. 

There was no going back. 

Late one night, the brothel hummed with the low murmur of patrons and the clinking of cups. Gemma was in her usual corner, cleaning up after a group of guards who had come in earlier, loud and brash after a night of drinking. She worked quietly, her mind elsewhere, until a familiar tune caught her ear. 

One of the guards, slurring his words but still strong enough to sing, raised his voice in a drunken chant. 

"And who are you, the proud lord said..."

The other men joined in, laughing and slapping the table in rhythm, their voices growing louder as the song built. 

"That I must bow so low?"

Gemma froze, the rag in her hand forgotten. She recognized the melody, the words biting into her like shards of glass. 

"Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know..."

The Rains of Castamere. 

They sang it with such careless ease, as though it were just another drinking song to pass the night. But to her, it was more than just words — it was a death knell, a memory of blood and ash. 

One of the men leaned back, his chair creaking as he tipped his cup toward his companions, his laughter harsh and sharp. "Did you know my father fought at Castamere? Watched the walls come tumbling down like they were made of paper. Gods, I wish I'd been there."

The others roared in agreement, sloshing ale onto the table. 

"And now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear..."

Gemma’s grip tightened on the rag, her knuckles white. Her heart hammered in her chest, the words stabbing at the raw wound of her past. Castamere. Her home. Her family. 

"Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall," another one of the guards crooned mockingly, his voice thick with ale, "and not a soul to hear."

They laughed again, that same cruel laugh that had echoed through the halls of Castamere when Tywin Lannister had crushed them beneath his boot. 

Gemma felt bile rise in her throat. She wanted to scream, to throw the rag at them, to do anything to silence their jeers. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not yet. 

Instead, she slipped away into the shadows, her face a mask of cold fury, her hands trembling as she clenched them at her sides. 

Tywin Lannister had taken everything from her — her family, her name, her legacy. He had reduced her to this, to hiding, to cleaning up after the very men who mocked the destruction of her house. 

"But now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear..."

The song haunted her steps as she left the room, its melody swirling around her, feeding the fire that had been burning in her heart for years. 

She would have her revenge. Tywin Lannister would pay for what he did. And she would see him fall, no matter how long it took.