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After ensuring his father’s well-being, Baelon wasted no time and immediately flew to Dragonstone when they received a misty message comprising the grave news that his mother had died.
He'd foreseen this happening, had even prepared himself for the worst to come, but the heartbreak and loss was devastating all the same.
The kingdom lost such a notable matriarch, their Queen, but to his House, his family, his mother had been the one figure who was constantly there, despite all of their quarrels and misunderstandings and misguided attempts that would grant them a better life.
And now she was gone, at peace in Balerion’s realm with the rest of their family. He hoped, sent a prayer to the gods, that his mother hadn't hurt and suffered too much to get there.
“My condolences, Your Highness,” Cliantha solemnly expressed when Vhagar dropped him off directly by the looming entrance doors, his dragon heading straight to the sandy shores.
She offered an unexpected curtsy and stiffly stood back, her delicate face muted and austere, hardened in a way he wasn't fond of and so unusual of her.
He deemed the respectable distance between them unacceptable, frustrating him on top of his grief. He took the necessary steps forward and enclosed her into his arms but despite the familiarity he showed, Cliantha remained tense, her arms like hardwood that remained on her sides.
Her arrival had been the most talked about in Dragonstone for many moons and yet Baelon remembered the memory quite vividly as if it only happened yesterday.
It had been a perfectly pleasant day, sunny and warm for a mercurial island like Dragonstone. Baelon had been visiting his Mother and had thought of doing a quick flight to stretch his legs and his dragon's wings, as well as to escape his Mother's precocious matchmaking attempts. The ferocious winds that swiftly came had taken him by surprise. However, nothing could prepare him and the entire occupants of the castle and perhaps the entire island, for the deafening roar of an unknown dragon.
And when he sprinted outside, the sight that had greeted him from above made his heart drop onto his frozen feet.
A pale dragon had been falling from the sky and just a couple of distances ahead of it was a tiny blot of a dark figure he assumed was its rider.
It was every rider's nightmare, falling from their mounts, and Baelon, despite his terror, had managed to find his voice to order for the Maester's immediate presence. Before he could call for Vhagar however, despite the free fall, the pale dragon had let out another desperate screech and tried to catch its bearing.
It had managed eventually, and like a swift arrow, plunged straight and unimpeded, and had caught up to its rider before swooping them on its back. They tumbled heavily onto the shores by the beach, landing too abruptly, too harshly, especially for the unknown rider.
They’d had trouble consoling the distraught yet enraged dragon to give them leave to care for its heavily injured rider, had endured the cantankerous dragon when it decided to prop itself onto the roof of its unconscious rider's healing chambers, to which their efforts were later on rewarded when days after, one Lady Cliantha Potter from the Unknown Lands woke up and eventually decided to stay in Dragonstone as his Queen Mother's ward.
That had been years ago, and everything had been going so smoothly.
Until now…
“You lost her too, Cliantha,” he whispered in her hair, her head bowed and laid against his chest. “You took great care of her despite both of our circumstances and I know she was happy as well, having found a companion in you when all of us weren’t so easily there for her. I can’t express how grateful I am and my family for that.”
After a couple more moments, he heard her sniffle and with her hands clutching his clothes tightly, she let out a nod.
“Now…” he started when they slightly pulled back from each other, his hand framing her reddened cheeks as he wiped away her tears. “Tell me what you've been doing so far and I'll take care of it while you get some much needed respite. I don't think you've had one when you remained at my Mother's bedside for days. And you can't deny it,” he scolded her, just a little bit, as he regarded her with a critical eye. “Maester Henri has been giving me reports, on my orders, mind you, about how well you're taking care of yourself and I haven't liked the letters I've been receiving recently.”
“Well, clearly, the Maester wouldn't disobey such an order from the Prince of the realm,” she fired back weakly with another snuffle.
“Your Lady Oriane certainly doesn't have any trouble ignoring my missives,” he answered, sounding amused, as he ushered them inside the castle, an arm winding around her waist to support her even when he knew she didn't need it, only ever wanting to be close to her.
“Don't blame her,” Cliantha defended, said attendant already waiting for them inside. “She's simply doing the best she can, being saddled with me.”
He tutted in disapproval. “My dear Cliantha, don't sound so bleak. If she could risk the ire of a Prince, that surely is a sign of her deep loyalty to you. The grief is clouding your mind. And exhaustion.” He gave her a critical eye before turning to her attendant. “Prepare her a bath and make sure she rests.”
Cliantha scowled up at him. “Don't give Oriane a hard time. She's been attentive to all of my needs.”
“But her Lady is the one giving her trouble for being so stubborn.” With a kiss on her forehead, he bid her, “Go. I'll have a talk with the Maester instead. We'll wake you in a couple of hours and by then, the rest of the family will have arrived.”
“Fine,” Cliantha let out in a huff. “There are only a few more things needed to be done anyway. I'll take my leave.” But not before proving him right by letting out a yawn, to which she flustered and left with a flailing hand of farewell, Oriane giving him a grateful look and a bow before following after her mistress.
Baelon couldn't help the chuckle that came out of his mouth, humored as always by Cliantha's eccentric, stubborn ways. Then, he looked around, the quietness suddenly becoming oppressive. He expelled a heavy breath and braced himself before making his way towards the Throne Room.
His family was not unaccustomed to death, and the hurt that came with it was menacingly familiar and grim. His House, however, will continue to endure, like they always did.
-o-
“Cliantha has done splendidly, managing Dragonstone.”
“Indeed.” Viserys turned to his father. “It would be beneficial, for her and for us, if she would choose to stay even after Grandmother’s death. Has she mentioned her plans, Father?”
Baelon frowned, having no idea what his son was talking about. “What do you mean?”
Daemon gave him an odd look, remarking, “It was Grandmother who persuaded her to stay, Father. She never said anything otherwise, but we always thought she'd leave after Grandmother passed away.”
“That's…preposterous,” he stumbled out, utterly taken aback. “She's happy living here, she said so herself.”
“But she did mention how she'd like the chance to travel,” Aemma reflected aloud, a commiserating look on her as her husband nodded in agreement. “We all know she's remarkably capable and despite not knowing the terrain, with Caerus with her…”
“Grandsire will not like it if she goes,” Daemon cautioned with a frown, “He's already displeased that someone who's not directly from our line has bonded with a dragon. A dragon not from our lands, as if he could do something about it.”
“Grandsire is still much too overcome with grief,” Viserys pointedly reminded them, “But when he eventually clears his mind, there's no stopping him from whatever he'll command of her.” He paused and almost like a whisper, a little bit terrified to voice such a thing out, “And let us all acknowledge today that he can be callous at times and Cliantha abhors being forced to do something she doesn’t want to.”
“Simply put, the both of them were merely tolerating each other because of Grandmother,” his younger child butted in, sending his older brother a surly look for taking too long to make his point. “What do you think will happen, kepa, when we have a King who thinks every word of his shall be followed and a headstrong witch who can literally turn him into an ugly frog if he's pushed her too far, hmm?”
His gooddaughter glared at him and argued back, “Cliantha isn't a violent woman, Daemon.”
“Not yet,” Daemon reiterated sagely, “But everyone has their limits and dear Cliantha has been patient enough despite the whispers.”
“It's rather unlikely to happen,” Viserys interjected before their argument could escalate, flinching when it earned him the attention of both his bristling wife and his contemptuous younger brother. "Cliantha has prevailed rather splendidly despite the rumors circulating around. She's been around long enough to know not to let everything get to her head."
His younger son was being himself as always and, dare he admit, a tad callous just like their Patriarch, but Cliantha had become Aemma's dearest friend despite how completely different the two women were. Never minding the distance when there was a dragon that could carry her whenever, his gooddaughter had become her most unwavering supporter and didn't take it kindly when something unsavory was being said to her friend.
Not when Cliantha had been the greatest of help when Aemma birthed his granddaughter, Rhaenyra, and was likewise steadfast on this current one, making certain that both the babe and the mother would be completely fine even after the birth.
“But the possibility is there.” Viserys didn't have to look at Daemon to know he was giving Aemma a smug smirk. “It is difficult for me to say this, but even if Grandsire has Vermithor and the support of all the realm, what could we possibly do against a woman who has magic, who likewise has her own dragon?”
Daemon scoffed. “Forget about surviving the incoming harsh winter, brother. You'll have to survive an angry witch first.” Then, he groaned and distastefully eyed the half-empty wine flask on the side table. “If this is going to take longer than I've anticipated, discussing how to keep our resident witch, I'll need more wine and perhaps some food for you, goodsister? Can't have you starving when you're eating for two.”
As Daemon rang a servant to replenish their refreshments, Baelon was dumbstruck, left speechless on his seat as he struggled with his spiralling thoughts.
The possibility of Cliantha leaving them might have crossed his mind during the first few moons she'd arrived. They hadn’t been close and she'd been understandably unhappy. The younger woman definitely found it difficult to adjust to her new life after her unusual displacement into their world, but Cliantha had persevered and saw another purpose perhaps, when she accepted his Mother’s help and became her companion in this formidable fortress.
Or perhaps she'd stayed out of respect for her, for the person who fought for her right to stay in a familiar place. His Father had conceded rather easily to his wife’s requests for debatable reasons but now, with his sons and Aemma gathering in his rooms, Baelon could finally see the entire picture.
Or had he been willfully blind, believing that she would stay and be with him—with them—always?
When the servant came and went, Baelon already had a plan. “Never mind the other things, the worst Father could do at the moment would be to force her into an unwanted marriage. He wouldn't want her marrying far, regardless of the boon it will bring to us.”
Daemon's eyes widened in realization, his wine on his hand momentarily forgotten. “You mean…?”
“Yes, Daemon, but we shall cross the bridge when we get there,” he hissed, startling his son, and certainly himself, by how prickly he sounded. He closed his eyes momentarily and let out a breath as he tried to compose himself. “I apologize, son. I’ll talk to Father and convince him to allow her to remain castellan of Dragonstone until we can come up with another suitable plan. I do not think he'll disagree, given the commendable reports, but it is better than nothing.”
Daemon waved his hand, understanding, but not before giving him a suspicious look. “And I don't think she would go this instant.” He gestured at Aemma. “Not when you're expecting and clearly about to give birth.”
“And after that? When she does decide it is time for her to go?” Viserys prodded, his face twisted with worry. “I don't think she'll never come back, not when we've all grown fond of her and she to us, but…”
“Rhaenyra would be the saddest of us all,” Aemma muttered, a crestfallen look on her as she caressed her protruding belly, her other hand held by Viserys as he offered her a comforting look.
Baelon sighed out deeply and finished the rest of his wine. “I'll talk to Cliantha and see what her thoughts are concerning all of this current mess.”
Deep down, right on the part that he thought he'd lost with Alyssa, was a fervent hope that Cliantha would choose to stay, no matter the reason.
-o-
The door was flung open and a dishevelled Cliantha appeared, uncaring of how savage she looked, unaware of how glorious she looked in Baelon’s eyes.
Her brilliant emerald eyes passed each and every one of them until it landed on Viserys. “Aemma is fine but she's asking for you.”
“And the babe?” Viserys asked, distraught and wringing his hands.
“Strong and with the complete appendages,” Cliantha reassured before smiling at him. “But not just one babe. Congratulations, Your Highness, you have twins.” Then, she shot Daemon a victorious smirk, goading, “And I win. You know better than to bet against me.”
Daemon growled, displeased by his loss yet happy for his brother and the addition to their family. “You smug little—Fuck! Get off of me, Viserys!”
“Twins, Daemon!” Viserys crowed in flagrant delight as he tightened his hold on his brother. “Isn't my dearest Aemma great? Oh, thank the gods!” He leapt at Cliantha and gathered her into his arms. “Thank you, Cliantha, for giving us another great gift!” And then smacked a kiss on her cheek before merrily skittering towards his wife.
“It’s the midwives you should be thanking, the bloody man didn't even mind the mess on me,” Cliantha grumbled as Daemon eagerly followed after his brother. “And I think it's poor manners to squeeze the life out of your supposed savior.”
“Forgive him, Cliantha,” Baelon replied, humour coating through his voice, going closer beside her. “He's simply ecstatic they’re all well and healthy.”
Cliantha chuckled. “I don’t hold it against him, especially knowing what Aemma had gone through before.” A flash of sombriety came across her for the unpleasant thought. She inspected herself and how she looked and let out a grimace. “I suppose I'll tidy myself up as well. Go and be with your newest grandchildren, Baelon. I'll meet you all later, if Aemma is still accepting visitors.”
Baelon nodded. “I've asked the maids to prepare you a bath, should you want one. Oriane passed by moments ago, just as everything was coming to a finish. I suspect she's preparing your things.” And because he couldn’t resist, suddenly possessed with some sort of assertiveness, he drew her in and brushed his lips on the top of her head. “I am grateful that you are here with us, especially for Aemma.”
A fleeting look of surprise and her eyes brightened as she smiled, her face endearingly flushed. “It was a pleasure.” He watched her leave, waiting until she made a turn before going inside to meet his grandchildren.
He never noticed his Father standing on the other side of the corridor, cloaked by the shade, a pensive look on his wrinkled face, witnessing everything.
-o-
“What are your thoughts about remarrying?” His Father asked once they were left alone. The King had asked him to stay for a little longer as Aemma and Viserys bid their leave, taking their children with them to retire for the night. Gods knew where Daemon went, probably lurking around and scaring some poor, unfortunate souls.
Baelon blinked in surprise but couldn't come up with an answer immediately. Instead, his mind conjured the image of one captivating woman and his thoughts might've shown on his face when his Father cleared his throat, snagging his attention back to their conversation at hand.
With keen eyes staring at him, his Father speculated, “You would've easily shot down such a suggestion before, but now I can see you hesitating. You have someone in mind.”
“Is it wrong of me to reconsider? To unexpectedly have a change of heart?”
“Bah! You don’t fool me, child. Unexpected, you say?” He shook his head and outright stated, “I may be old, but I’m not blind. You’re all fond of the girl, yes, but… It’s more than mere fondness for you.”
“So what of it, Father?” he sighed.
He’d been grieving for Alyssa, true, and didn't think he would ever entertain such thoughts again. He'd been indifferent when Cliantha arrived, uninterested even, regardless of how fascinated he was with her and her magic, a defiance for almost everything Westeros believed in. He was ashamed to even admit it, but he did once think that she was merely a lost woman whom his Mother took pity on and gathered under her wings when she was too unsteady to stand by her own two feet.
It took him moons but in time, with his occasional visits, Baelon grew to deeply know her, eventually rousing something more than plain interest in him. He could spend the entire night describing what a wonderful person Cliantha was, a helpless and smitten poet in the face of his radiant muse, but he doubted his Father would want to hear how irresistibly drawn he was to her.
The licentious thoughts he'd been having was enough to drive him mad, his longing for her barely curbed and his self-control stretched into astonishing lengths. He wasn't one to restrict himself, no, but it never crossed his mind to vent his frustrations by laying with another nor was he tempted to do so.
Baelon had wanted to be certain that Cliantha knew he was true with his intentions, even when he wasn't courting her yet
It wasn't love, but he was more than willing, more than eager, to welcome such a potent sentiment once again. With Cliantha, it would be effortless.
The King levied him a heavy look. “Let us speak plainly, Baelon.” And when Baelon nodded, he continued, “Alysanne had not mistaken on placing her trust in her Cliantha and I cannot disregard the lady’s dedicated efforts for her and for Dragonstone either. However, even if I admit that she’s an accomplished lady of her own right from strange and unknown origins, some things will remain the same unless we decide to do something about it. And I’ve concluded, with her dragon, her knowledge and her magic, that Lady Cliantha will bring more fortune to our House and further us to greater heights.”
“Her tacit allegiance is not enough. You intend to marry her into our House,” he brusquely inferred.
“Yes, and seeing as there are only two suitable candidates at the moment, I would suggest you talk to your son.” His Father’s gaze turned soft and knowing. “But I don’t think you would want that. Therefore, I will honour my words to your Mother and Daemon will have his chance for whoever he’ll choose and you will have my blessing for whatever you decide. The choice is both up to you.”
“And what about Cliantha’s choice? Did you think she’ll be happy when she knows you’ve forced her hand into this… this madness? Did you even think about that?” Baelon couldn’t help biting out, bitterness coating his voice, outraged on behalf of Cliantha.
“I’ve seen enough,” was his cryptic reply as he stood, signalling the end of their conversation. “Talk to Cliantha and you may be surprised with what you’ll hear.”
-o-
“Has the King finally given me an ultimatum?” Cliantha sounded comical but Baelon knew she was feeling anything but when she was fiddling with her teacup and looking out the window instead of him.
Baelon, who was seated beside her, tried not to wince. “I gathered it was only a suggestion but he is hoping…” He exhaled heavily, resigned. “Implied more likely, that it would be better if you would accept.”
“Oh?”
“My Father isn’t a fool. He’s aware that you’re more than capable of flying away but—”
She interjected, “But why would I? When there are little ones who wouldn’t understand why I’ve suddenly disappeared?” She turned to him, her eyes twinkling like precious gemstones even when pressed to make a life changing decision.
Baelon was mesmerised, slowly putting him in a trance and nearly tuning her out until she let out a scoff, jarring him back to the present. “The King understands I’ve no care for him, I mean no offence, Baelon, but for you and everyone else? I am not so apathetic and His Majesty knows what he’s doing.”
Feeling guilty for many reasons, he avoided her eyes and lamented, “I’m sorry, Cliantha.”
Placing her cup down atop the saucer, she reached out a hand and gave him a few comforting pats. Thoughtlessly, Baelon enclosed his much larger hand around hers as she answered, calm and understanding, “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Now, I already have an idea what it’s about, courtesy of a little bird.” Here, she gave him a playful nudge, to which he rolled his eyes, knowing who it was. “But I still want to hear it from you.”
Baelon gathered his courage and like the dragon he was, purposefully laced his fingers through hers. “Father proposed a union.”
“And?”
Her fingers remained locked with his, and Baelon took it as an auspicious sign to continue, hopeful purple eyes meeting her gentle viridian ones, “And I would like to court you, with the intention of marriage thereafter.”
“Not Daemon?” she toyed.
“After you fiercely advocated for his right to choose his own bride? He admires and respects you for it but not enough to want to tie himself to you.” He chuckled and shook his head in fond exasperation when she pouted, feigning insult. “But I was fair and I did ask him, if it eases your mind.”
“But you know I’m not the Valyrian wife he wants,” she quipped, even when her words rang true.
Baelon shrugged, his thumb a delicate caress on her skin. “Who am I to deny him?”
“If it removes your only competition, why would you?” She let out a sigh. She contemplated aloud, her eyes now trained on their joined hands. “But that is the question, isn’t it? I haven’t the foggiest idea why you would offer yourself with this foolish idea.”
“Don’t you really?” his question came out as a whisper in constrast to the numbing uproar happening inside his chest. “I don’t think I’ve been too subtle with my affections. I’ve flown here from King’s Landing far too many times for me to count and undoubtedly, I would always find myself with you and enjoying your company.” He huffed. “Don’t get me started with Oriane’s suspicious looks either.”
She snorted out a laugh, giving him a fleeting look of disbelief before quickly averting her eyes.
She then mumbled, “I thought it was just something I imagined.”
“Well then.” Baelon had enough hearing her doubt herself and perfunctorily tugged her closer, earning himself a surprised yelp from Cliantha. Her hands swung before she found her footing by leaning against his chest and Baelon, to his pleasure, heard her suck in a breath.
With a grip on her chin, he tipped her head upward so she would look at him. “I would like to make myself clear, my precious flower, and dispel whatever reservations you had.”
Her face grew red. “What—”
“I am deeply interested in you, you exquisite and incredible woman. You cared for my ailing Mother and, my Father notwithstanding, you cherish the only family I have left, indulging the spirited little ones which definitely rouses something in me I have no care of stopping. You offer friendship and your undying loyalty and you don’t even see how it saved us from this weary life, knowing we can trust you.
But for me, darling? You drive me mad, with your fiery temper and your smart mouth and your brilliant mind.” He shook his head in amusement. “You can’t even fathom the thoughts I have about you and I won’t even start, lest I scare you away and gods forbid, make you run for the hills or probably towards Daemon’s arms.”
He grabbed one of her hands and without looking away, grazed his lips on each of her fingers, witnessing how she panted at every breath she took, how pretty she looked with her blown, wide eyes and her crimson cheeks.
“I adore you, sarcastic and pessimistic as you are at times. I was going to wait until all of this is over but as always, my Father makes it his pastime to aggravating and hurry things along. It’s as if he has no romantic bone in him at all.”
Ah, and there was that smile he longed to see. He kissed her cheek in response, framing her face with his hand.
“So, if you thought I was forced, then no, my sweet, nor have I thought of this as an obligation. My feelings for you are sincere and most definitely far from being platonic.” He paused and wistfully added, “I will always treasure the time I had with Alyssa and of what she’d given me but I don’t want to wallow in dejection anymore. I found myself wanting to move forward with my life and with you in it, if that is also what you wish.”
Cliantha only stared at him but Baelon was content to let her be. It meant she was considering, that she was taking him seriously, and that she was mulling everything that he'd said quite thoroughly, rather than rejecting him outright.
But he wasn’t stupid either. She might’ve affirmed a tiny bit of her interest for him but she could always look the other way and choose the other option. It would sadden him but Baelon would handle the loss graciously.
Because as much as he’s taken with her, he’d rather have her wholeheartedly, just as she was, than have half or even less of her.
However, after mere moments, it seemed like he was worrying over nothing when he suddenly found himself stuck on the settee with an armful of an irresistible Cliantha. She sat astride his lap, making herself comfortable and equally sending him into a discomforting position with the stirring of his cock and the tightening of his pants.
He was certain she could feel him too, the mischievous vixen that she was, judging from the shameless smirk stretched across her face.
He placed his hands on her waist as she cradled his face with her warm palms this time, flippantly saying, “I thought you were supposed to give me something, to help you sway me into entering a courtship with you, but well... I suppose this will have to do for now.”
She surged towards him and took his mouth with unrestrained hunger he didn't know she possessed.
-o-
“Father, have you seen—” Daemon stopped short as he took in his father’s solar, especially eyeing the array of bouquets, all in splashes of vivid colour and various proportions, littered around. “I didn’t know you liked flowers.”
Baelon openly laughed, unembarrassed. “Neither did I, but Cliantha kept insisting I deserve them.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow. “And I just know you gave her something equally outrageous.”
Baelon wore a haughty smirk on his face. "Of course. If you look hard enough, you might see her wear the pearl earrings for supper later. It wouldn’t do for me to lose, you know.”
“You mean the jewellery you asked Rhaenyra to sneak in to her rooms,” his son drily corrected. “Stop using my niece for your errands.”
“My granddaughter is happy to be included. She said so herself,” he emphasized without a bit of remorse, pointedly lounging back on his seat.
“That’s because you keep bribing her.” Daemon huffed and groaned. “Only you and Cliantha would turn a courtship into some sort of competition.”
“The blood of the dragon runs hot,” Baelon shrewdly proclaimed. “If that’s what keeps us going, then so be it.”
“I did not need to hear that, Father.”
-o-
“How did you find the ceremony?”
“Hmm… Which one, the exhausting one or the sanguineous one?”
Baelon let out a chuckle, low and muffled, his face blissfully shoved in between her breasts. “Have I thanked you for granting us to wed by Valyrian traditions, my love?”
His wife carded her fingers through his hair, her nails raking through his scalp, pleasant and sleep-inducing even when it sent a tingling sensation down to his back. “You have, but I won't stop you from showing me more of your heartfelt appreciation.” Then before he could protest as to why she stopped with her gentle caresses, he felt her move, placing a kiss on his head. “And thank you, for keeping your promise.”
“You should’ve put a little bit of faith in me.” He turned his face to look at her, his tone lightly chiding even though he couldn’t really blame her for being sceptical.
Cliantha resumed her actions. “You are your Father's Heir. I know that spending an awful time away from the Court is unwise, especially with the King's current health.”
Baelon shut his eyes as he replied, languid and teasing, “Sacrifices should be made if I want to keep my young wife happy.”
Said spry wife faintly tugged on his hair for his cheek.
Baelon let out a chuckle before propping himself up to nip at her lips. “The King figured we should take it as an opportunity to make use of it as a royal but completely casual progress, if you will. We can spend a few moons in the East before making our way up to the North. You’ve always wondered what the North looks like.”
“That's true.”
“Well, now you'll have the chance to see it. Viserys and Aemma are here and surprisingly, Daemon has mentioned he'll be staying for a longer period of time. Both of my children have learned how to bear their responsibilities really well, thanks to your urging. My sons can help their Grandsire with the governance in my absence.”
She snickered. “If we had to make a bet on it, they wouldn't last a year without you.”
“Aemma can set them both straight. Now,” He swiped his tongue on her nipple and yanked her on top of him, her moans sending fire down his belly as his hardening cock nestled between the outer lips of her cunt before sliding its way inside her. “That's enough talk, wife, and focus on your needy husband instead.”
-o-
“How does it feel to be King, husband?”
Baelon turned his back from the sea beyond his solar and abandoned his despondent musings to grace his eyes with the beautiful sight of his wife, his beloved Queen, instead, still adorned by her opulent silk gown of black and red.
Baelon knew his darling wife had a diverse wardrobe, opting to try shades and styles that suited her best—and most of the times, distracting him most fervently with overwhelming lust with the few revealing gowns she kept after their time at the warm Essos— but seeing her wear his House colours always gave him profound satisfaction and smugness.
It reminded people, especially the men who couldn’t seem to keep their lecherous eyes to themselves, that while she was a Targaryen by marriage, she was all the same a dragon and was not a timid and ordinary woman to be messed about.
The jewels were gone this time, the sapphires and diamonds that delectably went well with her dress, secured into her jewellery box somewhere she deemed safe, but Baelon felt his throat go dry as he was left to stare at her bare, slender neck. The daring and plunging neckline of her gown was not helping but just as he noticed, the marks he left from their lovemaking last night were also not there.
“Baelon?”
Perking up, he recalled why they were luxuriantly dressed more than usual and gave her a smile. But Cliantha was too perceptive, his precious girl, and drew closer to him, wrapping him in her arms as she soothed him, gentle yet determined, “You'll be fine. The family will be fine, we'll make certain of it.”
He thought he was done crying for his Father—they had burned his body just yesterday, for gods’ sake—but here he was, on the verge of shedding more tears as he felt his eyes sting and water.
He felt her hand caress its way into his head and tugged as she guided his head into her shoulder. Her hand remained, fingers softly carding through his hair, effectively soothing him when he eventually, unhurriedly, went slack in her embrace.
Baelon took in a deep, monumental breath and let it go.
He needed a moment to take everything in, to settle his mind of what had happened and where they were now going.
The crown was on his head and a substantial burden, heavier than the one before, was now resting on his shoulders. Baelon would strive his best for Westeros to be better, perhaps even better than his Father the Conciliator, for as long as he was King but, as he clung tight to Cliantha, not to the extent that would leave his family in shambles, he should hope.
“Did you have fun today, my Queen?” he asked when he calmed down, his hands running up and down her back.
“Queen Consort." She never get tired of corecting him. “And when I was not-so subtly insulting your Lords and Ladies?” She scoffed. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did. Especially when they were so oblivious to it, thinking I was just one strange, exotic lady that caught your fancy.”
“You simply relish when you're underestimated, only to prove them wrong in the end.”
She giggled. “You know me so well, husband.”
He drew back, but not before leaving a kiss on her bare shoulder, keeping his hands on her. With a warm look of unwavering understanding, she asked, “Feeling a tiny bit better now?”
He kissed her. “Yes. Thank you, sweetling.” And couldn't resist brushing another kiss on her.
“You’re welcome.” She smiled sweetly and then softened. “Is the day finally catching up to you?”
“Hmm.” He led her to the daybed he decided to have by the window when he began relocating his things from the Tower of the Hand. “My Father was old and we foresaw this coming, but… the finality of it is… startling nonetheless.” He let out a laugh, soft and wry. “One would think he'd live on forever and ever.”
“I think the late King has grown tired of everything, even more so after Alysanne passed, and was just at Death's door,” she pondered aloud, “But knew he just couldn’t leave without properly securing the fate of the kingdom.”
Baelon nodded, but looked distracted, his eyes once again bound to what is beyond his window.
“Husband?” she prodded gently.
He looked back to her, and noting the concerned look she wore, gave her a smile that he hoped was at least reassuring. “I'm truly fine. Just thinking.”
She hummed, understanding. “Change is unavoidable I suppose, but it'll be a small adjustment since you've been Hand of the King for years. You'll mostly need to be apprised of what’s been happening when we were off gallivanting.”
Baelon remembered the reports his sons had given him earlier and he couldn't be more proud when he replied, “Not too much to really think about. Viserys and Daemon did a wonderful job, truly. You, on the other hand…” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll have more responsibilities on your hands.”
“Then thank Merlin I already had experience when your Mother offered I handle Dragonstone,” she answered, completely unfazed by the daunting task. However, with narrowed eyes, she tersely added, “I’ll be starting all over again but it'll all be worth it in the end and you'll thank me for it later.”
Baelon regarded her in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“You don't know?” his wife asked in return, her face similarly, and yet adorably, scrunched in confusion.
He retorted with sarcasm, “Would I ask you if I knew what you were talking about, wife?”
“Don't get smart with me,” she quipped with a pinch on his arm. “But, really? Your Mother didn't tell you?”
Baelon shook his head dutifully, having not a clue what she's pertaining to, only for dread to crawl up on him when she fully turned to look at him after putting on a privacy ward.
“Oh, well… Considering Alysanne's state at that time, I suppose I could understand why you haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, but Baelon, did you think Dragonstone is what it is now if I hadn't gotten rid of the spies living under our roof with us?” she revealed. “A few of the Lords are not so genuine with their loyalty to you and to your House—”
“Our House,” he instinctively interjected with a pointed look.
She looked sheepish and amended, “Our House.” She paused, her face thoughtful, and carried on, “And they're looking for ways that would temper the Targaryen's hold of power. Mind reading isn't really my strong suit and you know I don't do it just so I could invade people's privacy, but it's a different story when some people are projecting their animosity so loudly that one passing look could easily portray so many thoughts.”
She held his clenched hands, hers warm and oddly calming, or at least, that was what he perceived them to be, as he let her be when his wife gently pried them open, as he struggled to keep his anger from boiling over. His own hands felt rigid as a bloody stone, and the coldness shocked him into a devastating realisation that seemed to lock his entire body, threatening to smother the rest of him if he didn't get a grip of himself.
“Why do you think only a few of you have managed to survive up until now, Baelon? Silliness aside, Alyssa had once been a spirited and healthy, young woman who successfully gave you two sons. Did you never wonder why she had trouble with Aegon?” His breath trembled and quickened at the implication, but Cliantha’s gaze was steady and crushing. “Why do you think I employed the midwives and the healers? Persuaded Aemma to spend her days in Dragonstone when she was pregnant, and for her to give birth there?”
Baelon swallowed a hard lump in his throat as he tried to force the words out. “Someone is trying to eradicate our House.”
“Exactly and I'm not a fool to think it's simply one person."
"Fuck," he breathed out, detachment thawing and pure, hot anger coursing through him, shaking him back into the harsh reality they were in. "I'll fucking burn them all!"
"They've managed to make their way to Dragonstone, your ancestral seat for many years. Did you think the Red Keep is devoid of treasonous rats?" Her hands went to frame his taut face and Baelon found himself staring back at her stony green eyes, full of promise and retribution this time. “Now, my brave dragon, what do you say about spilling a little blood, hmm? Daemon’s been bragging about his Gold Cloaks too much and I am so, so close to turning him into a bird just to shut him up. Let's make use of his skills and keep his hands occupied, shall we?”
-o-
His door was flung open and the poor thing smashed itself against the stone walls with a bang but Baelon hardly jumped in surprise anymore, not when his wife made it her task to perpetually try and catch him off guard.
“The Queen. Your Grace,” belatedly came from Ser Harrold, his voice as dry as the deserts in the far, far East and a commiserating look sent over his wife's shoulder when Baelon caught his eye.
“At ease, Ser Harrold,” his wife mirthfully trilled as she skidded to a stop right across him.
Already knowing what she wanted, Baelon chuckled as he leaned forward just as she did and received a very ardent kiss from her, noticing Ser Harrold respectfully averting his eyes before signalling his leave and closing the door a little more gently.
“You really should stop giving Ser Harrold a difficult time, sweetling,” he murmured against her soft lips. “The poor man is already suffering enough, considering he's already endured most of our salacious moments.”
“Don’t they all?” Cliantha let out a snort as she moved beside him, plopping herself comfortably right on his lap when he made room for her. “I reckon the whole Keep has already caught us in various compromising positions, in every room, nook and cranny.” She nestled her head close to his neck and as if to prove her point, swept her sensuous tongue on his skin.
He let out a groan, torturous and guttural, his hands clamped tight on her as he ground his stirring cock against her clad thighs. Dragonriding clothes were customised to fit and made highly durable but Baelon will be damned if something as insignificant as mere clothes would stop him from undressing his insatiable wife and having his way with her.
But before he could continue further, his little minx pulled back and declared, “But let's not traumatise the boys today. I have news to share with you!”
Baelon let out another groan, pained and in dismay this time, and tried to entice her with light, tantalising caresses down her back. He shifted forward and with his lips barely brushing against her lobes, he whispered in her ear, “My precious flower, can’t it wait until I’ve had my fill of you?”
Cliantha let out a moan, a momentary win for him, before she pulled herself back and halting his ministrations by encasing his face with both of her hands.
“I’m serious,” she insisted with a pout.
“Of course,” he relented with a sigh. “Good news, I hope?”
“That depends.” She bit her lip, now looking unsure and Baelon frowned as he straightened on his seat, attentive and worried as he tried to recall any issues that were particularly being worrisome. Aside from what she and Daemon were merrily up to, terrorising traitors and putting fear on the pompous people of King's Landing, he couldn't come up with a single thing.
“Tell me what’s troubling you, sweetling,” he gently coaxed her.
“I wouldn’t call it trouble, but…” And, as if she was steeling herself from something, she let out a sigh and grabbed one of his hands to place it on her stomach. “You never noticed because I’ve been so, so careful but I’ve been feeling sick for these past weeks—”
“Are you ill?” he frantically asked as he firmly held onto her, on the verge of calling for the Grand Maester.
“No, not ill,” she quickly assuaged. “But I’ve been feeling nauseous and well, I haven’t really thought much about it, with how close we are to finally ending our little cleansing project, and I felt so stupid for not realizing sooner, especially when I could barely hold down my food…”
“Damn them all to hell! Are they tampering with your food!?” he roared, his whole body quaking with anger. He tried to stand up, to demand Ser Harrold to detain every single one of the servants and associates that handle the kitchens and their food for questioning, and as impossible as it sounded, Baelon himself was far from being sensible at the moment.
He didn't think he'd become so lenient on his subjects, for them to think he would be so easily deceived once more. It wasn't enough that he had to find out about the horrifying, hard truth of teas and poisons meant to destroy the body of the women in their family, all being done under his roof, but Baelon didn’t think they would be so foolish to try again so soon after the perpetrators and their evil misdeeds had been exposed.
“No! No, no! Baelon, look! Look at me and listen!” she sputtered out, startled yet vehement, her hands flying to his face as she forced him to look back at her and to see the truth in her words. “That is over and done with. It is not something you should worry about anymore, you have to believe me, but fucking hell, I'm completely blowing this up and making it worse… Bloody—I did a spell, alright! A fucking spell, Baelon, and it simply confirmed I’m pregnant!”
Her hands took hold of his shoulders and shook him hard as if she was trying to shake away every single thought he'd had except for that one thing she blurted out, leaving him blank and staring back at her in shock.
“I'm pregnant,” she growled with narrowed eyes. “And you better believe I did my utmost best to cast the Contraceptive Spell every time we had sex because we agreed it wasn’t the best time, not with the utter shite we're dealing with, but with how awful we are at keeping our hands off of each other, I assume I missed a day or two for casting it.
Now,” she ground out, hell bent on having her way. “I've decided to keep it, but I assume you may want a moment with your own thoughts so I'll leave you to it. In the meantime, I'll be off flying and will be taking Gaelyx with me so I won't be back until it's time for dinner.”
She planted a kiss on his slack lips before hauling herself off of him.
Baelon however, was disinclined to let her get away after she basically hurled those words at him and yanked her back into his lap, ravaging her mouth as his tongue plundered its way inside, acquainting with the taste of her once more.
Words would have to come later. For now, he would rather show his lovely wife how thoroughly pleased he was. He placed her flat on her back on his table and wasted no time shoving down her breeches and pushing aside the rest of her garments before licking his way to her bare cunt. He relished the moans she let out, panting for breath after breath as he fucked his tongue on her. His fingers were busy and nestled inside her wet, delicious heat, and with his teeth delicately nipping her clit, Cliantha let out a cry as she came.
He refused to let her rest, didn’t give her time to savour the receding pleasure. He freed his rigid cock from his trousers and brushed the head of his cock on her sensitive, little pearl before pushing his way in.
“Fuck, you feel so good, darling.” He grunted. “My lovely Cliantha, such a good girl for taking my cock so well.”
His pace became faster, emboldened by how loud his wife had become.
“You'll look so beautiful, round with my child,” he groaned breathlessly, “Fuck, let me fill you up once again, my love. I can never get enough of you and your pretty, tight cunt.”
“Baelon, I can't… I'm so close…”
He kept pounding on her, devouring her moans as she became delirious with pleasure, trying to roll her hips together to meet his eager thrusts. He finally spilled inside her with a shout and when her cunt clamped around his spurting cock as she came, Baelon kept pushing his spent cock inside her until he eventually stopped, careful in putting all of his weight on her this time.
“We've been here for a while now. Neither a peep nor a squeak.” She sighed. “Ser Harrold and Ser Adeon clearly know what we've been up to.”
“And I'm sure they're immensely grateful that you remembered to place some Privacy Spells this time.” He paused. “Unlike the other previous ones.”
She giggled. “They must think it's a new induction they have to undergo as part of the Kingsguard. From what I've heard, you've always been a lecherous man.”
“I think you mean passionate, dearest,” he drolly contradicted.
“You are a cause worthy for such a delightful distraction, my King,” she appeased.
“Hmm…” He lifted his head from her chest and stretched upwards, giving her a kiss, sweet and heartfelt. “I love you, Cliantha.”
She sucked in a quivering breath as her teary eyes met his solemn gaze. Her silence spoke volumes but Baelon patiently waited until he was rewarded with blinding joy when she lifted a hand to caress his cheek, softly breathing out, “As I love you.”
-o-
“How are you feeling this time, my love?” she heard her husband ask for what she felt like the thousandth time.
With narrowed eyes, she shot back at him, “I feel like I want to geld you since you keep asking me that question.”
“Such cruel thoughts when you and I know you'll miss my cock too much to actually do it,” he beatifically answered. She was almost tempted to fling a Curse at him if it weren’t for the newborn he was currently holding.
“Don’t be such a bad influence,” she scolded, “I would expect such crude words from Daemon, not you.”
“But you know you love my dirty mouth,” came another of his sly remarks.
Cliantha took in deep and steady breaths, all while convincing herself not to truly hit her impertinent husband.
She supposed she could forgive him for why he kept asking. She’d just given birth after all, and even though they had done their best to prepare and make sure everything would be fine, with her stupid luck and this family’s grim history in connection to childbirth, there was always the tiniest chance for something to go wrong.
Baelon softly chuckled, mindful of the slumbering baby in his arms, and with careful steps, treaded towards their bed and laid down beside her. He propped his back against the headboard for support and with an arm wide open and a pointed look directed at her, she slowly wiggled closer to him, mirroring his stance.
“All good?”
She hummed in confirmation. “It's nothing I can't endure.”
“But you will tell me if you want something to numb the pain, yes?” he insisted, shifting a concerned glance at her. “Grand Maester Henri had already prepared the potions in case you needed it.”
She held herself back from rolling her eyes. “Of course, my love.” But then she shifted, hissing when she moved wrong, and bless her man, but he was looking at her like she was so close to keeling over, and so she hastily said, “I’m fine, I’m fine! But fuck this shite, ugh, I’ll have it later then, right before I go to sleep. I want to stay up a bit longer and keep staring at this pretty face so stop worrying."
“Really, darling, the potion is right there,” he maintained, unconvinced and apprehensive.
“And I will have it later. Really,” she wrangled out.
After some time, he conceded.
Letting out a sigh of relief, she crooned, “I can’t believe we made someone this adorable, Baelon.”
He gave out a sound of agreement. “Do you think she’ll have my eyes or yours?” he marvelled. “I have no preferences either way but I’m hoping she got your eyes, since yours are such a lovely shade.”
“You don’t need to flatter me any further. You already have the daughter you’ve been crowing about,” she quipped. She laid her head on his shoulder and without looking away from their little wonder, mumbled, “You remembered our deal, don’t you?”
“Of course, wife.” He pressed a kiss on top of her head, and sounding a bit more teasing, continued, “You truly need to stop doubting and have more faith in me.”
She couldn't help but flush. “I'm just making certain you haven’t changed your mind.”
“And I am,” he concurred patiently. “I am not so spiteful to deny you for wanting to honour your family tradition.”
Tearing up as she suddenly thought of the important people she'd lost, she burrowed herself further into him, silently cursing her erratic hormones for making her feel this way, likewise grateful for having such a sweet and loving husband.
“Have you thought of a name?”
“Of course, I have,” she sniffed. But before she could actually share the name she had in mind, there was a knock on the door, followed by Ser Harrold’s gruff voice asking if they were still accepting visitors.
Knowing exactly who their visitors were, Baelon relayed his permission and their door was instantly thrown open by Aemma’s twins, Gaelyx and Ornella, unexpectedly wide awake and brimming with energy.
“They were fast asleep when I went to check their rooms,” Aemma explained when Cliantha gave her a questioning look. “But I suppose Gaelyx slept rather lightly and was quick to rouse his sister when I wasn't being quiet enough.”
“And Eurion couldn’t be bothered to detach himself from his bed?” she smirked, despite already knowing the answer.
Aemma shook her head with a smile.
That child was far from being a morning person and once he was in his nest of a bed, all warm and cosy with his fuzzy blankets and fluffy pillows, it was quite a challenge to get him out of it, especially with his newly hatched dragon protectively hovering over him.
The twins had already clamoured their way into bed after Viserys’ stern warning to be gentle and as Ornella curiously peered at the bundle in her grandfather’s arm, Gaelyx’s attention, the more sensitive, ever thoughtful twin, was on her.
“Are you all right, Grandmother?” he asked with knitted eyebrows, his purple eyes twinkling with apparent concern.
“As fine as I can manage, darling,” she answered with an consoling pat on his plump cheek. Gaelyx looked doubtful despite her reassurance but took her word for it and slowly cuddled himself close to her as he also took a peek at the baby, his face gradually slackening into unconcealed awe.
“She has a lot of wrinkles,” Ornella pertly remarked, scrunching her nose. “Is our ñamar supposed to look like that?”
“You looked like that when you were that small,” Viserys pointed out and smothered a grin when said daughter whirled a horrified look at him.
“And how’s my hāedar?” Daemon cut in, and Cliantha blinked a few times, surprised as she took in his dishevelled and rough form.
“Difficult night, Daemon?” Baelon wryly drawled when he glanced at his younger son.
He shrugged. “You could say that.” And then, with a proud smirk stretched across his face, showed them a pale dragon egg, earning a gasp from her and a murmur of appreciation from the others. “I was already on my way out of the Dragonpit when Dreamfyre started getting cranky. I barely even managed to dodge her claws!”
“So, that's what you’ve been up to,” Viserys spoke, and when Daemon asked him why, he answered with a shrug, “I was on my way to your chambers to let you know when Cliantha began her labours, but Ser Felix told me you weren’t in.”
“Ser Felix was kind enough to confirm what was happening much earlier and seeing as all of you were otherwise occupied…” Daemon rolled his eyes.
“And what about the announcement made by your Gold Cloaks about free ale and food served in the taverns, hmm?” Baelon sarcastically pressed.
His usual snark turned into fluster and Daemon gave his Father a cheeky grin, to which Baelon simply scoffed.
“The common folk are happy with the free provisions and Daemon is fortunate he has great reflexes. Let's leave it to that,” Viserys mulishly stated before giving his Father an imploring look to hold the baby, to which Baelon relented, but with a pout.
“This one has most of her looks from you, Father,” Daemon commented when he’d placed the egg on the baby’s cradle and was now regarding his new sister with a critical eye over Viserys’s shoulders. He shot her a sly look. “Like you weren’t even there when you made this one, dearest stepmother. Are you certain this hatchling is yours?”
Feeling very put upon, she snarled back, “I'll have you know that she came out of my cu—”
“What do we call this little one?” Viserys interrupted before more bad words were said and heard, sharing a despairing look with his wife, cooing when said baby began to fuss.
Shooting a scathing glare at a grinning Daemon, Cliantha turned at her husband, whose disapproving look smoothed out, giving way to an encouraging smile.
She beamed widely at him before saying, “Her name’s Oleana.”
-o-
She and Baelon hadn’t really talked about how many children they wanted. Cliantha however, had very limited family members and with the numerous Weasleys she grew up with, she was amenable to the thought of having a big family.
Unsurprisingly, so was Baelon, and who could really blame her for taking advantage when she had a handsome and virile husband?
So they had Aelius when Oleana turned three, who was later followed by Braelor after another few years. Cliantha thought she'd stop at three, but when Aemma gave birth to their fifth and allegedly last child, Aenor, she began having feelings about wanting another child.
Almost a year after Aemma and Viserys had Aenor, she gave birth to Gaemion, the little darling that took most after her, with his obsidian hair and green eyes to name a few.
She'd honestly, really thought that Gaemion would be the last but she and Baelon could never keep their hands off of each other for too long, which eventually resulted with the twins, Dianella and Aelys.
However, she had a little bit of trouble delivering her latest babies and after that entirely unpleasant ordeal, Baelon, vehement and sounding a tad maniacal, had insisted no more children after that, to which she didn’t really put up much of a fight to disagree. She wasn't getting any younger and even if she persisted, with her being a witch, she didn't really want to risk it either.
She wasn’t keen on dying early, leaving her children and her eventual grandchildren behind. She couldn't do that to Baelon either, who had gone pale and haunted when he realised something had gone wrong, looking like his world was being plunged into darkness and was simply waiting for it to be over, making him a single parent once more.
They've had enough traumatic experiences in this life and Cliantha knew her husband would never recover, having been given a second chance of a blissful life, all for him to lose it all over again.
Baelon was particularly possessive after the twins, a steadfast yet terrifying presence at her side whenever they went and whatever they did. Others found his constant hovering ridiculous, an unbecoming behaviour of a King, but the both of them didn’t care for such disparaging whispers and Cliantha simply, wordlessly, did something to take care of it, in her own special way.
She was never known to be a gullible nor a submissive and complacent Queen, nor will she ever be, especially when it came to her family.
Her husband's desperation receded over time and like a dark, thunderous cloud finally dissipating, the other residents of the Red Keep could breathe easily again, but that was until something else happened, something all of them hadn’t really expected. Though, they really should've, considering they were Targaryens.
Now the family stood on the shores of the beach, and Cliantha lifted her head, watching as the two dragons passed by her and her children.
Syrax had grown much bigger, she mused, especially when they decided to unchain the dragons and Rhaenyra's Golden Lady preferred to lay on the smaller isles on the Blackwater Bay.
Nesting with Caraxes no doubt, seeing as the two dragons were currently engaged in a complex aerial dance that would horrify any other normal person.
Cliantha didn't imagine their rider's ardent feelings towards each other would bleed through their bonds, but she really shouldn't be surprised, what with Daemon's wilful tenacity at times.
Similarly, Rhaenyra took great delight in being courted and wooed and it seemed like Syrax, the coddled Lady that she was, also revelled in being Caraxes' focus of attention.
“I told them no blatant flirting in public,” her husband grouched beside her, disrupting her thoughts. “These brats have no respect for their betters.” And then, in a fit of unadulterated pettiness, turned to his dragon and simply uttered, “Vhagar.”
And Cliantha had to roll her eyes as the enormous dragon promptly humoured her rider, if not a bit too eager, and let out a cautionary roar towards the pirouetting dragons, as if she was some ornery grandmother-dragon who never failed to scowl whenever she saw sweethearts dallying around with their public displays of affection.
Caerus was heavily amused, the menace that he was, always on the lookout for the tiniest reason to cause and add trouble. A warble was their only warning before he began badgering the two lovebirds, nipping at Caraxes’ tail and herding the younger Syrax away, much to Caraxes' frustration, who immediately started chasing after them.
“Don’t be such a child, Baelon,” she berated as she turned to look at her husband who had a ridiculous look of smug satisfaction on him. “You reassured them that you don't have a problem with their relationship and verbally promised they could marry in Dragonstone and that the whole family would be there as witnesses.”
“I don't and I did,” he replied, incredulously sounding gleeful in spite of his previous actions. “But I didn't say they wouldn't have a difficult time either.” He also gave her a pointed look. “You should also heed your own advice, darling.”
The nerve of this man. “I don’t control Caerus.”
“No, but you and him are figuratively an embodiment of chaos and mischief, my love.” He slithered his arm across her shoulders and gave her a kiss on the side of her head, sighing. “It fills me with great joy to see you like this.”
“Temperamental and stressed?” she scoffed. “The twins are unruly enough.”
He chuckled. “No. I meant happy, wife.” He continued to lean on her, his words brushing against her hair as he admitted, “You smile so easily now and there is a lovely shine in your eyes that hadn’t always been there before. You look unburdened most of all, so unlike the despondency you carried around, just barely living… As if one wrong move, one tiny, debilitating thought and you'd go away.”
She hummed, immediately understanding, as she clung back at him.
She remembered how miserable she’d been, like a leaf drifting among the wind with no home to return to. She recalled feeling utterly lost and sick out of her mind, even with the mere thought of moving on and making a new home for herself.
A frazzled witch almost at the end of her tether, weary of the world, both old and new, but also afraid to let go, not wanting to disappoint and break another promise.
Ultimately, she overcame that as well, she glanced at her husband with bright, enraptured eyes. It might’ve taken a bit of time and even more convincing, but these eccentric people had welcomed her, had given her purpose and had gotten to really know her.
She was with family now, had once more found home and love without choking on immense guilt, and she hoped the others could see her, wherever they were, thriving in bliss and upholding mischief.
“I am happy. It is you and me and the children and our growing family,” she eventually said, giving him a tender kiss. “And I love you.”