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marble-parents-au · 25 days ago

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Acquired Child

Cw: abandoned baby, mentions of alters being a 'problem'

Tim groans as he slowly wakes up. The sun was too bright and water was softly lapping at his thighs. He briefly wonders if Masky dragged him out into the forest again. The texture of dew-wet leaves and sticks under his chest answer him.

He layed on his front on the forest floor, a bone deep ache attached to every joint. Yup, Masky threw them into a body of water, in the middle of winter no bloody less. He groans again, rolling over onto his back to try and see if he recognises anything.

The trees and branches all look the same to him after years of doing this. He pushes up onto his elbows and drags himself further up the river bank. From the thighs down his legs are drenched in water and he can already tell he's gonna have a hell of a time walking back with his old leg injury.

That's when he finally hears it, just as he's sitting up and starting to dry off. A cry, small and meak, but clearly from a very young child.

To his left lay a small bundle and moving closer on all fours confirms his suspicions. A baby, very small too, can't be much older than a newborn. An arm peaks out of the bundle, reaching for him as it sniffles. He can't help but wonder who would leave a baby out here, again, in the midst of winter.

He lets the baby grab one of his fingers, bulky and long compared to the chubby little hands. The blanket is mostly dry, but the slight wetness on it, despite the sun doing it's best to dry it up, gives him the impression that the baby had been in the river.

So at least Masky had a good darn reason to chuck them into freezing waters.

He sighs and wiggles his finger free, standing up to see if his legs work properly. It takes a good minute before he finds his balance again, but thankfully he does. Then he picks the baby up, only now noticing it was shivering and it's little fingertips we're starting to turn blue.

He figures he'll be fine in just his winter flannel and shirks off his jacket, also mostly dry now, to wrap around the little bundle. That should do until they get back home.

Tim glanced around, now with a baby in his arms, and picked a random direction to start walking in. That's usually how he found his way out of the forest after these situations. It hadn't taken long before his uneven gait lulled the little guy to sleep.

It was another hour before he reached a path that he recognized. It leads almost directly to the little house he and Brian lived in on the outskirts of the forest.

Brian, right. How was he going to explain a random baby to his lover? Hopefully Masky hadn't kidnapped the kid, but he wouldn't put it past said alter if he saw the parents being nasty to the kid.

Another half hour walk before they finally reached the little house. Tim just wanted to take a shower and sleep in a warm bed, but the light shining through the kitchen window told him Brian was awake already, so he'd have to explain himself before he could do either of those and his leg wasn't helping. Every step sent fire from his shin up to his hip and he momentarily resented Masky for causing them that injury, even if it was indirectly and years ago.

The front door was unlocked and he kicked his shoes off immediately once he got inside. As he'd thought, Brian was in the kitchen, apparently making something for breakfast.

"Hey Bri," he says as he walks into the kitchen. He's learned to announce himself because if he accidentally sneaks up on Hoodie, he's bound to get a knife or gun pointed at him. He still doesn't know where or how Hoodie got that gun, but they can never seem to find and dispose of it when he isn't around.

Brian turns around with a massive smile, "Morning Tim!" His expressiveness already tells Tim it's Brian he's dealing with and not Hoodie. That, and he was talking, which was a dead giveaway.

Brian's eyes look him over, giving him a sympathetic look at his disheveled appearance and then stops on the bundle in his arms. "Tim... Is that a baby?"

Tim chuckles nervously and hands the kid to Brian, who takes it like it's second nature. "Found a kid out by the stream where I woke up. No idea who or what it is and no other humans in the vicinity. I couldn't just leave the kid there," he gestures slightly, wanting a smoke but the packet he had was soaked through. He'd need to buy more.

"Okay, I get that, but what are we supposed to do about them? I know we talked about maybe expanding our little family, but seriously, this could be someone's kid that Masky just grabbed," Brian worries, turning to shut off the stove after a moment.

"You think I don't know that? But Masky isn't one to go stealing kids, adults maybe," he had a vague flashback to that tape where they were kidnapping Jessica, but a kid seemed improbable. "Just let me grab a shower and clean clothes and we can decide what to do next," Tim sighs and when Brian gives him a nod, he takes that as his cue to go do just that.

After a quick, warm shower and a change of clothes that weren't covered in mud, river water and forest debris, Tim rejoins Brian in the kitchen. Brian was cradling the kid in one arm and using the other to eat, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Across from him, on the table, stood another plate and steaming cup, which Tim assumes is his then.

Just as he sits down, Brian gets right to the elephant in the room. "So maybe we should ask around town if anyone has a missing baby or knows about one."

Tim nods, taking a bite of eggs. He hadn't realised he was hungry until he was tasting food. "That could be a good start. We don't know how long we'll be saddled with this kid, so maybe we should get it some supplies," Tim suggests. He'll never get used to just how amazing Brian's cooking is.

"Like a change of clothes and diapers," Brian adds, getting a nod from Tim. "What do we do if we can't find their parents though?" Brian adds and the way Tim paused tells him he hadn't thought of that.

"Then maybe we get paperwork done and adopt them," Tim adds with a shrug, drinking some of his coffee. Brian was thankful he had finished his food or he'd have choked.

"Just adopt them? Just like that?" Brian seems flabbergasted and Tim isn't sure why. "Dear, I know we talked at vague about adoption, but we aren't in any situation to take on a kid now."

"We'll make it work, besides as long as we don't get the cops involved and we twist the arms of people at the office where we'd have to do this paperwork, we'll be fine." Tim shrugs.

Brian would admit he hadn't thought Tim of all people would get attached to a random kid he picked up in the forest. "Alright, and I agree, no cops involved."

With that settled, they finished breakfast. Tim climbed into bed afterwards, while Brian set out to head to town and get a head start on trying to find the kid's parents, nevermind the fact that they were still wrapped up in Tim's old yellow jacket.

#tim wright #marble hornets #brian thomas #toby rogers #the kid is Toby #its mostly implied for now #marble parents au

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marble-parents-au · 20 days ago

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Essentials of Childcare

Cw: momentary homophobia (like one sentence), mentions of shaken baby syndrome (don't worry, Toby is fine), dubious childcare (because the alters don't know much about kids), implied gun violence (Hoodie flashes his gun at a Karen lol) and said Karen implies mental health means you shouldn't have kids (she's wrong btw).

It's been three weeks since Tim found the baby out by the stream in the woods. They've taken turns and tried every way they knew, except going to the police, to find the kid's parents.

Nothing.

So they started on the paperwork. Brian had a friend in the office, a lovely woman by the name of Jessica, who helped them acquire and deal with the paperwork. Now, they were just waiting for the final stamp to say they officially adopted the kid.

They had scrunched together every last penny they had to spare and went out to get anything and everything they would need for him. A camping cot, bottles, milk powder, car seat, you name it.

Tim was currently sitting with the kid in the living room of their small house. It was quiet today, since Brian was at work. It didn't help that Tim couldn't keep a job for long, which meant he was stuck on babysitting duty most of the time.

Toby, as Brian had started calling the kid, was a quiet child. He didn't scream and he didn't cry. Tim had started setting up a schedule of when to feed and change Toby because the kid gave no indication of either of those needs, even if he clearly still had them.

Tim had momentarily wondered if Toby had come as a weird gift or something from the Operator. A quiet, low needs, kid, for two fucked up men to have a family. He'd shaken off the thought as soon as he had it. That would be insane.

A soft tune played on his phone and he got up to go make Toby a bottle, the baby still happily relaxing post-nap in his arm. At least now he was wrapped in an actual soft baby blanket and had several changes of clothes.

The bottle didn't take long to make and soon Tim was perched on an open spot on the kitchen counter with Toby drinking. The first couple days, he'd barely drank anything and wouldn't just take the bottle when it was offered, so Tim had learned to entice him by letting a couple drops drip onto the tiny lips.

Toby had taken fast to their little routine. Eat, burp, change and nap, repeat. He wasn't particularly fussy over it, but there has already been several nights where Tim had stayed up because he couldn't get the little boy to sleep at all. Thankfully, despite his insomnia, Toby hadn't screamed, so Brian had slept just fine the entire night. Unfortunately, staying up so long had caused Masky to front when they'd finally gotten an hour of sleep.

Masky had woken on the couch from Tim's phone chiming a reminder. It read 'feed Toby'. He'd put on the mask, which they stored in the bedside table for him and gone to check where he could hear babbling in the other room. He'd stared at the kid from the doorway, surprised Brian, Hoodie and Tim had decided to keep them.

When he'd gone closer to the travel cot, he'd found the kid, Toby, who stopped babbling and just stared back at them. How was he supposed to feed the kid? Little hands reached up from under the little blue blanket and he had the urge to pick him up.

He was careful, still unsure, and now alone with the kid, assuming Brian was at work. He took the kid to the kitchen to see if he could find anything to feed them. There was a can he didn't recognise and upon closer inspection, he realised it was powdered milk for babies. Following the instructions on the tin, he made it, heated it up to a lukewarm and sat on the floor to perch Toby on his legs before giving the kid the bottle.

With one hand holding the bottle for the baby, Masky checked Tim's notes app. They often left notes and information for each other in there. There's a note with a schedule for feeding, bathing and changing the baby and one that simply explained a couple things from the past week and a half.

Toby finished the bottle just as Masky finished reading. Another reminder on their phone said to burp him, which left Masky wondering how one did that. How much movement would be too much movement? He remembered one of the nurses giving a baby shaken syndrome in the asylum and didn't want to risk doing that.

It was times like these that he actually wished he could force Tim to front, but with how tired their body felt and how far back Tim was, he knew they were beyond tired.

He moved Toby from his legs to lean against his shoulder and tapped his back gently. A little burp sounded not too long after, which made him sigh in relief.

He heard the front door unlock and heavy work boots thud into the house. Brian must be back from work. Toby had settled on his shoulder and even though he didn't sleep, he was just staring at him.

"Tim?" Brian's voice called out. Masky doesn't speak, so he just knocked on the cupboard door behind himself to alert Brian to his position. He'd long since stopped running away from Brian.

Brian stepped into the kitchen carefully, seeing Masky sitting on the floor with Toby. It wasn't uncommon for Masky to perch on furniture like a creature or hide inside small spaces, so seeing him sitting on the floor instead of a chair wasn't odd to Brian.

"Oh, hey Masky," Brian greeted, a tired but still sunshine-esque smile on his face. Brian reached down to pick Toby up off Masky's shoulder, but he turned away to keep Brian from taking him. Brian just chuckled.

"It's okay, I just want to change him, then you can have him back," Brian explained. Another reminder went off on his phone and Masky assumed that was for a diaper change.

He carefully let Brian take Toby and got up to follow his companion to their room.

"Do you know how to change him?" Brian asked as he laid out an old towel on the bed. Masky shook his head, but stayed in the doorway.

Brian put Toby on the towel and grabbed a bag from beside the bed. "Well, come closer and I'll show you. You need to know if you're ever alone with him and need to change him," Brian said, waiting for Masky to stand beside the bed before he changed Toby, explaining what he was doing the entire time. Masky listened intently.

Once Brian was finished, he picked Toby up and gave him back to Masky. He knew the alter was protective of his things and if he was protective of Toby then it was better to let him hold onto him.

"How'd you even find him? If you don't mind me asking?" Brian asked, going to wash his hands before he started on dinner. Knowing Tim and Masky, Brian was sure they hadn't eaten all day.

"Saw floating in river, instinct to save," Masky signed to Brian. Brian nods, "I figured as much. Did you see anyone else around? Anyone who could've thrown him in or been his parents?" All he got was a shake of the head from Masky as his answer.

"Okay," was Brian's reply before he started gathering ingredients for dinner. They spent the rest of the hour in comfortable silence, with Masky and Toby quietly interacting.

Brian then had to explain to Masky how to bathe the baby and showed him how before he dressed for bed.

"You can go out, if you want to. I'll watch Toby for tonight," Brian offered as Masky put Toby to bed in the cot. Masky turned to him with a blank look, not sure if he should.

Eventually Masky had left into the woods and Brian went to bed, the baby monitor sitting on his bedside table so he'd wake up if Toby did.

By morning, the roles were switched, Tim woke up on the couch with a headache and Hoodie stepped out of their room with his hood and mask on.

"Morning Hoods," Tim greeted as he passed Hoodie in the hallway, going to get Toby for a change and then breakfast. Hoodie just gave him an acknowledging nod.

"Are you heading out for work today?" Tim asked as he entered the kitchen. Hoodie had his mask up to his nose, eating a can of something he found in the cupboard. He handed the already made bottle of milk to Tim, who gave a soft thanks and started feeding the baby.

"No, day off," Hoodie signed to Tim, who nods again. "Okay then. Brian and I wanted to go out to get a couple more things for Toby today. Are you gonna come along?"

That's how Hoodie ended up in the passenger seat of Tim's truck while Tim drove into town. He stayed in the car with Toby while Tim got more supplies, the baby held in his arms and the windows open to let the wind flow slightly through the truck.

It was slightly odd to them how Toby wasn't bothered by their masks. He didn't fuss or cry when they switched, just stared at them and occasionally giggled when he could see parts of their faces, like Masky's sideburns or eyes or Hoodie's nose and mouth.

The baby suckled on some of his fingers, so Hoodie pulled out the pacifier they had for him from the diaper bag and held it out for Toby to take.

The backseat opened and Tim put a couple bags in the truck, then he got back into the driver's seat. "You're really good with him," he says, not expecting a reply.

"Want to take him to the park?" Tim asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. A nod is his answer, so he drives out to Rosswood park, the one with picnic tables and other people.

Toby had gotten ahold of Hoodie's mask as they sat down at one of the tables, Tim lighting a cigarette and pulling two bottles of water out for them. Hoodie took the water thankfully, because even if it was winter, it got hot under the hood and mask.

Toby was pulling on Hoodie's mask, so Tim asked, "Should I take him for a bit?" Another nod and Hoodie handed Toby over to Tim from across the table.

"You two shouldn't be allowed to have children!" An older woman yelled at them from another table. She seemed to be out with her grandchildren.

Tim ignored her, watching Hoodie to try and keep him from doing something that would get them into trouble. Hoodie sneered at the woman but thankfully stayed where he was sat.

"It's bad enough they let the gays adopt nowadays but you two are insane. You shouldn't have kids!" She went on.

Tim sighed, "Ma'am, respectively, shut the fuck up." He didn't want to deal with Karens today, his week has been rough enough.

She wouldn't shut up though, going on and on, throwing insults and rude comments at them. Her husband, they assumed, was trying to get her to leave them alone, but she decided to get up and go over to them.

Hoodie stood up, intervening. "Hoodie," Tim said in a warning tone. He stood in front of the woman and just stared her down as she went on. Then he sneered and pulled the hem of his hoody up slightly, flashing his gun at her.

"Hoodie!" Tim called, getting up as well, Toby now happily asleep in his arms. Thankfully the lady finally got the message and backed off.

Once he was sure she wouldn't follow them, Hoodie turned around and took Tim's shoulder. He gestured out at a walking path in the forest and Tim sighed, "Sure, let's take a walk."

Hoodie threw the diaper bag over his shoulder and grabbed their waters with the other hand. Tim walked beside him with Toby still fast asleep. He wasn't sure why Toby decided to sleep while they were outside when he would barely sleep in their house, but it was a relief that he was sleeping at all.

Hoodie led the way to a warmer hideout he used to have out here. It was still decrepit and in ruin, but at least they had a quiet, calm place to feed and change Toby away from people who acted like that Karen. Tim was used to following Hoodie out to these places and didn't mind the dirt. As long as they were safe and Toby was happy, it was fine.

They stayed there until the sun started setting, then made their way back to the truck and back home for the evening. It was going to be a wild ride raising this kid, but they'd make due, they always did.

#brian thomas #marble hornets #marble parents au #tim wright #toby rogers #toby is a baby for now #masky and hoodie are DID alters

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quitealotofsodapop · 4 months ago

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after re-reading this post about Bai He in the Century Stone Egg au, I just realised that in any au where MK has a different parent or is raised by someone else (example Wukong and/or Macaque), Pigsy is a natural dad without a kid.

So easy way to fix this?

Pigsy (+Tang) having a kid in the form of Bai He.

Chef Pigsy's perfect baby girl who can do no wrong - except according to her Papa Tang who often reminds his husband of their daughter's unfinished homework.

A tiny little girl bold enough to chase alley cats, and ends up harbouring a primordial entity while her parents tear across all of China to find a way to free her.

Perhaps still a cat demon

#lmk bai he #lmk pigsy #lmk dadsy #lmk tang #freenoodles #freenoodles being parents #freenoodleshipping #lmk aus #lmk #lego monkie kid #cicada lily au #century stone egg au #marbled stone egg au #post jttw stone egged au

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rafecameronssl4t · 3 months ago

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Could you do reader and rafes reaction to when they found out easer is first pregnant for the force’s marriage au? LOVED the first part!!

First pregnancy || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: this fic is a 100% how i think rafe and reader would react in this situation

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, angst if there's anything else lmk

Word count: 1,457

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

You flip over the pregnancy test, your heart sinking as you see two lines. Of course. It was inevitable, given the life you’ve been cornered into. You sigh, throwing the test into the bin with a mixture of resignation and dread.

Leaning against the cool marble sink, you catch your reflection in the mirror—your eyes heavy with a sense of inevitability that’s become all too familiar. The pristine bathroom feels suffocating, its sterile white tiles and polished fixtures reflecting the stark reality you’re trapped in.

Leaving the bathroom, you make your way downstairs to the living room, each step heavy with the weight of what this means. Rafe had left for work a few hours earlier, leaving you alone in the house. It’s been this way for a while—his absence during these crucial moments only magnifies the distance between you.

The quiet of the house, broken only by the soft footfalls of the servants, feels more isolating than comforting. In the corner of your eye, you notice Anita descending the stairs. She’s one of the few people who’ve been with you since you were young, a steady presence in the chaos of your life.

You assume she’s just finished cleaning your room, making everything perfect as always. “Anita?” you call out, your voice softer than intended. She stops, turning to you with a gentle smile that’s both comforting and bittersweet. “Yes, Miss?” she replies, her tone warm and familiar. You look up from your phone, hesitating for a moment.

“Not a word to Rafe, please,” you say, your voice firmer this time, carrying the weight of the secret you now bear. Anita’s eyes soften with understanding. She doesn’t need any more explanation. “Of course, congratulations to you both. Your parents will be overjoyed, they’ve been waiting for this,” she says before continuing on her way.

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. Of course, your parents would be thrilled. This is all they ever wanted from you and Rafe—a continuation of the family bloodline, a legacy to carry forward. They didn’t care if the two of you were unhappy, if this marriage was more a prison than a partnership. As long as the family name persisted, nothing else mattered.

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice echoes through the quiet house, sharp and impatient. Anita’s calm response cuts through the tension. "She isn’t feeling well, Mr. Cameron," she says, her tone polite and soothing. Rafe grunts in acknowledgment and takes his seat at the dining table, his eyes scanning the empty chair opposite him—usually filled by you each morning.

Later that day, as you and Rafe drive to your parents' house for lunch, a wave of nausea washes over you. You place one hand protectively on your lower stomach, the other coming up to cover your mouth as you close your eyes and focus on steadying your breath. Morning sickness has been relentless lately, more intense and persistent than before. While you’ve managed to keep it hidden from Rafe up until now, the strain is starting to show.

Rafe’s gaze flickers to you briefly, his eyes narrowing with concern. Without a word, he reaches into the console and retrieves a bottle of water, handing it to you with an absent-minded flick of his wrist. He doesn’t even glance at you as he passes it over. "Thanks," you murmur, your voice barely audible as you unscrew the lid and take a slow sip, your eyes fixed out the window.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of your family estate, Rafe is already unbuckling his seatbelt, eager to get this over with. But before he can move, you reach out, your hand covering his, halting his actions. He glances at you, confusion etched across his features. You swallow hard, struggling to find the words, your eyes searching his before you turn away, staring blankly out the windshield.

You feel his gaze on your side profile, waiting, perhaps sensing the gravity of what you’re about to say. "I'm pregnant," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unyielding. You feel Rafe tense beside you, the atmosphere in the car growing thick with unspoken emotions. His reaction is immediate and sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Are you seriously telling me this right now? Just before we see your parents?" His voice is laced with anger, catching you completely off guard. You turn to face him, your expression one of disbelief. Is he seriously getting mad right now? Of all the reactions you had braced yourself for, this wasn’t one of them.

"I just told you we're having a child, and this is how you react?" you snap, incredulous. Your disbelief quickly morphs into anger as you watch him look away, his jaw clenched in frustration. His silence only fuels your rage. "Fucking unbelievable," you mutter under your breath as you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove the car door open.

The door slams shut behind you with a resounding thud as you storm toward the front entrance, your emotions boiling over. You’re only a few steps away when you hear Rafe’s car door fly open, followed by the sound of his voice, sharp and laced with frustration.

"What do you expect me to say when you just laid that out on me?" he calls out, his anger evident in every word. You whirl around, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your eyes narrowed as they lock onto his. His expression is a mix of confusion and fury, as if he’s grappling with the enormity of your news and how it collided with the timing.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the tension between you crackling in the crisp air. "I expected you to care!" you finally snap back, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. Rafe’s eyes widen, caught between defensiveness and something that almost resembles guilt. "I do care," he retorts, his voice softer now but still edged with frustration. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you.

"But you couldn’t have picked a worse time to tell me. We’re about to walk into your parents’ house, and you drop this on me like it’s nothing?" You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips. "You think I planned this? That I wanted to tell you in the driveway? I’ve been dealing with this alone, trying to figure out how to break it to you. But every time, you’re either too busy or too angry for me to even get a word in."

His expression falters, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of understanding in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar mask of indifference. "And you thought now was the best time?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What do you want me to say, Rafe?" you ask, your voice raw with emotion. "That I should’ve kept it to myself? Pretended everything was fine until it wasn’t? We’re having a child, and I needed you to know before we walked in there and pretended to be the perfect couple again."

Rafe looks away, his jaw clenched tight as he struggles to process the situation. You watch the conflict play out in his eyes, the tug-of-war between the emotions he’s expected to feel and the reality of what he actually feels. His frustration is palpable, and after a tense moment, he sighs heavily, bringing his hands up to massage his temples.

"Can we just get through this lunch, please?" he finally says, his voice soft, almost pleading. His tone catches you off guard—there’s a vulnerability there that you’re not used to hearing from him. You stare at him, torn between wanting to push the conversation further and knowing that now isn’t the time.

His request isn’t unreasonable, but it stings nonetheless, a reminder of the emotional distance that still exists between you. "Fine," you reply after a moment, your voice tinged with resignation. "But this doesn’t change anything. We still need to talk about this—really talk about it."

Rafe nods, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "I know," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the unspoken hangs heavy between you as you both turn toward the imposing front door of your family estate, ready to face the charade of normalcy that awaits inside.

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chloe-petrichors · 3 months ago

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seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins.

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers. “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

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