CHAPTER FOUR
AN IMMINENT FALL

"Girl, aging girl, is haunted by own nothingness & devours views from windows with continuous feeling she is 'just about', miraculously, to come into her own—her own life."
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

The Red Keep
282 AC.

The scent of burning flesh fills the throne room, thick and acrid inside the confines of the castle walls. Moments before, Jaime had watched in horror as a charred corpse was dragged from the foot of the king's throne. Bile had burned in his throat and he had forced his gaze away from the macabre scene, focusing intently on the cavernous ceiling above his head while breathing carefully through parted lips to keep himself from being sick. It was the first time he had ever witnessed a man burn to death. Somehow, he is certain it will not be the last.

He had not truly understood how fitting a moniker the Mad King was for King Aerys Targaryen II before this day, but he does now. Jaime understands better than ever before why Princess Naerys often wakes in the night screaming from dreams that are not dreams at all; understands that sometimes, the waking world is a more terrifying place than any nightmare could hope to be.

Jaime spares the princess a glance. From his place at her side, he is able to see the quiet tension contained in her frame; her stiff-backed posture and her tightly clenched hands, the knuckles stark and pale against her skin as she folds her fingers into fists. Her face is as white as a sheet, but the expression on it gives none of her true feelings away; a perfect porcelain mask.

He had not given her enough credit before—she is a better liar than he'd initially believed her to be.

As if sensing his attention on her, the princess's gaze flits over towards him and their eyes lock. A small furrow creases her brow as she looks at him and frowns imperceptibly; a hairline fracture in the mask, revealing a fleeting glimpse at the emotion concealed beneath the surface. Jaime wonders what it is that has displeased her so.

"It'll be alright," Princess Naerys whispers, so softly that Jaime nearly misses it. She reaches for one of his gloved hands and takes it in hers, gripping it tightly to still the tremors he had failed to notice wracking his body. "It will be alright, Jaime. I promise."

Jaime realizes then that it is him that had displeased her. He had betrayed his fear and she had seen it written plainly all over him. Shame courses through him at the realization. Kingsguard knights do not show fear; nor do Lannisters of Casterly Rock. He wonders what his father would say if he saw his son shaking apart like a weakling, being consoled by the young girl he was assigned to protect. His face burns with humiliation and Jaime straightens his shoulders, pulling his hand free from the princess's grasp and resting it on the pommel of his sword. A wounded expression flickers over her face before it is quickly replaced by the mask once more. Guilt sinks through him to the pit of his stomach and Jaime casts his eyes away, no longer able to bear looking at her.

When King Aerys finally dismisses his court, everyone in attendance appears to be eager to leave. Jaime and Princess Naerys depart in utter silence. Not a single word is spoken between them throughout their entire walk from the throne room to the princess's chambers in the Maidenvault. It is not a comfortable or companionable silence. Rather, it is the sort of silence that seems loud, almost deafening, to the point that Jaime considers saying something—anything just to break it. But he does not know which words are the right ones to break it with, so instead he says nothing at all.

Thankfully, he is spared the burden of having to come up with something to say when the princess stops just outside the door to her chambers and turns towards him, hands folded together contritely. "I apologize, Ser Jaime," she says formally, "if I offended you earlier. It was not my intention to be so familiar. It is only that I know how... shocking the king can be when he is—"

Jaime winces at her words, feeling the guilt from before stirring up inside him. He couldn't allow her to apologize to him when she'd done nothing wrong. "Don't," he interrupts, cutting her off. "There's no need to apologize, Princess. You did nothing to offend me."

Her brow furrows. "I was quite forward."

"You were kind," he admits with a sigh before reluctantly adding, "I was not expecting it. Witnessing the... the king's justice caught me off guard and I reacted in a way that was unbecoming of a knight. If anything, it is I who should be apologizing to you, Princess, for not keeping my composure as well as you did. It will not happen again, I assure you."

Something flickers in the princess's eyes, bright and fiery and entirely at odds with her previous contrition. Anger, he thinks, but not anger that is directed at him. "Don't you dare," she says fiercely, "apologize for that. You are a knight, Ser Jaime, but that does not mean you are not human. That you do not feel."

Her words startle him and Jaime finds himself speechless once again; entirely disarmed by her compassion. Even if he knew the right words to say, he is not sure that he would be able to speak them around the lump in his throat. Averting his gaze, Jaime sniffs and clears his throat before speaking again. "Why?" He asks lowly, his voice rough with pleading. "Why does he do it?"

He doesn't know if the princess will have an answer for him aside from the obvious: that the king is mad, mad, mad. But he wants so desperately for there to be a reason; something Jaime can make sense of, if only to understand the rules of this game he has found himself a player in. Cruelty with purpose is not a foreign notion to him—(his family's history is plenty bloody and his father's hands have never been clean)—but he cannot find any method to the king's madness.

Princess Naerys does not say anything for a long time. Jaime wonders if perhaps she does not know either. But then his eyes meet hers and the fear in her expression makes his heart sink.

"Because he loves it," she whispers, quiet venom bleeding into her words. "He thinks himself a dragon trapped inside a man's skin. Nothing would please him more than to set the world on fire and watch it burn. And since he cannot sprout wings or spew flames of his own, he makes do with what he has."

Her words feel like a confirmation of his worst suspicions. Jaime closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath, willing his voice not to shake when he speaks again. "How do you live with it?"

There is silence before she finally answers him. "My mother," Princess Naerys says, so softly that he nearly misses it. "She taught me that I could... go somewhere else in my head when I could not bear the world before my eyes a moment longer."

"Somewhere else?" Jaime repeats.

The princess nods, but her eyes grow distant; as if she has stepped away from their conversation, leaving it and him behind. The mask she'd worn before settles over her face and she is perfect porcelain once more. "Somewhere better. A better place... A better life. When I'm there, I look but I don't see. Not really. Because I am not there at all. I am somewhere better."

Jaime fights back a shiver at the flatness in her voice, devoid of any trace of emotion. "Where do you go?"

Long, pale lashes dust her cheeks as the princess blinks away the hazy expression that had made her seem so far away. A melancholic smile touches her lips when she answers him, wistful and full of longing. Jaime does not think he has ever seen a smile look so sad.

"Anywhere that isn't here."

♠

The Red Keep
282 AC.

A white raven arrives from the Citadel and brings with it the forecast of an imminent fall. The so-called spring that had bloomed so suddenly at the year's start ends just as swiftly as it began; as false in nature as the courtiers of King Aerys Targaryen II's court. Autumn settles bleakly over the kingdom in the same way that a sinking sun sets beneath the horizon, extinguishing the last of its light and warmth and plunging the rest of the world into darkness. In the godswood of the Red Keep, trees begin to shed their leaves, bleeding crimson and gold, and a frigid chill creeps into the air. Winter, as the Starks of Winterfell so often like to remind the rest of the realm, is surely coming.

But tidings of the season's change are not the only news to arrive at the Red Keep by raven. As the days grow shorter and the nights longer, word from Dragonstone is received—a proclamation announcing the birth of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia's second child.

A son, Rhaegar writes in a letter addressed to the King and his court. Named Aegon, after the Conqueror himself.

A second letter from Dragonstone follows the first. It is received with little fanfare, addressed to Queen Rhaella alone. Naerys offers to deliver the letter to Maegor's Holdfast herself, eager for any excuse that will grant her the opportunity to see her mother. But when she brings the message to her mother's door, she watches the queen's face crumple as she reads the message before she wordlessly hands the scroll to Naerys, who takes it from her with trembling fingers.

Rhaegar insists there must be one more, she reads, the words penned in Princess Elia's elegant handwriting. A dragon with three heads. But Aegon's birth was nearly fatal for the both of us. The maesters do not believe I would survive a third.

Though winter has yet to arrive in earnest, Naerys feels a chill at Elia's words that turns the blood in her veins to ice. She looks to her queen mother, searching for reassurance. "Rhaegar wouldn't—" Naerys begins, hoping that her mother will agree with her and assuage her fears for her good-sister. "If it meant... Surely, he wouldn't. He has a son now; a male heir. Is that not enough?"

As a girl, Naerys had learned the worth of a son over a daughter in the eyes of a father. Men begged the gods to bless them with sons, but had no such devotion when it came to their daughters. Only sons were seen as worthy to inherit the crowns and titles of their fathers, while daughters were worth nothing more than whatever alliances and future sons their wombs and marriages could offer. A son secured Rhaegar's position as their father's successor. It meant an heir to the kingdom once Rhaegar ascended the Iron Throne. There was no need for another child; Aegon should have been enough.

All the color seems to have drained from her mother's face, leaving her expression as hard and impenetrable as stone; a cold and lifeless statue carved from pale marble. Naerys's stomach twists with dread as she watches her mother retreat behind the walls inside her head. She no longer wants to hear what her mother might say, suddenly fearful of what her answer will be.

"Rhaegar," Queen Rhaella says quietly, "will do whatever he believes is best."

It isn't the answer Naerys had wanted to hear. It's hardly an answer at all, in truth, and it does nothing to put her mind at ease.

But her mother does not choose to elaborate. She bids Naerys a brusque farewell, sending her away with a fleeting kiss pressed to her temple to soften the blow of her abrupt dismissal. Yet the sound of the queen's chamber doors slamming shut and the lock sliding into place seems to echo in Naerys's ears for hours afterward; the encounter leaving her cold and hollow. Even after she crawls into bed and burrows beneath the warmest of her blankets, she still feels numb.

Rhaegar will do whatever he believes is best. But best for whom—for Elia and their children or for himself?

And what gave him the right to decide what was best for someone else? What gave any man that right, whether he be a king or a prince; a lord or a commoner? It was rarely them who suffered for their choices in the end; it was their wives and their daughters, their sisters and their mothers who most often paid the price for their actions. Naerys had witnessed the truth of that in her own mother's suffering; in the suffering of countless other women across her family's tarnished history. So many of those women had lived such unhappy lives... Would that be Elia's fate now? Would it be Naerys's fate someday, too?

Suddenly furious, Naerys slips out from beneath her stifling bedsheets and begins to pace her room. Her anger makes her blood run hot and she crosses the floor to the nearest window, flinging it open to let the brisk nighttime air fill her chambers. Pale moonlight spills into her room, illuminating the world outside. Naerys lowers herself onto the seat beside her window, resting her head against the frame with a dull thud. A cool breeze kisses her skin, lifting loose strands of her silver hair from her shoulders and tickling her face. The curtains draped from her window billow and swell with the sudden gust of wind that ripples through her room, reaching as far as the silken canopy draped over her bed and the woven tapestries strung from her walls. Even then, she feels as if she is suffocating.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the Red Keep is neither still nor silent. Naerys watches from her window as guards and servants roam the courtyard down below. She spots the occasional lord or lady returning to the castle after a night out and feels envy kindle inside her, wishing that she too could have the luxury of choosing to come and go as she pleases. It had been over a year since she had last left the walls of the Red Keep. She'd had no idea then that it would be the last time she would see the outside world. If she had, she might have taken more time to appreciate it.

Would she ever leave this place again? There had been no talk of betrothals or future husbands for Naerys. No end in sight or means of escape from her confinement. Somewhere deep down inside, she fears that she knows why. It is the same reason her father has turned away every lord or lady looking to make a marriage pact between their daughter and Viserys. But even considering that possible future is so revolting to her that Naerys refuses to allow herself to dwell on it for long. She would sooner join the Silent Sisters than marry her little brother. Her life would not be the same as her mother's; Naerys does not think she could bear it.

Something restless stirs inside her. It has always been there—this restlessness—but it has never been so awake before. Her skin is cold to the touch from the biting chill of the autumn air, but the feelings simmering beneath her skin are enough to keep her warm. It feels like the beginning of something. Or an ending. Perhaps the beginning of an ending. Mostly, it just feels like she is running out of time. Every falling leaf serves as an unwanted reminder of how time continues to pass her by; tangible proof of the world outside her window turning, changing, leaving her behind. How much of life had she missed while cooped up inside the castle walls? If she ever escaped someday, would it even be possible for her to make up all that lost time?

There must be more to life than this, she thinks.

Another thought follows. I will not share my mother's fate.

And, lastly, unbidden, Something is going to burn.

♠

Escape presents itself to her when Naerys least expects it.

In a way, she has her father to thank for it. It had been one of his fits of rage that had sent Viserys running to Naerys's chambers to hide and it had been Viserys who had hidden himself behind one of the intricately woven decorative tapestries hanging from Naerys's walls. The tapestry is one of her favorites, depicting a likeness of the Maiden clutching a bouquet of pastel wildflowers between hands clasped over her chest, eyes closed and hair fanned out on a bed of soft-looking petals. It stretches from the ceiling to the floor, with similar depictions of the Mother and the Crone on separate tapestries to each side; a holy trinity of woven women. Though the Mother and the Crone's tapestries had remained undisturbed, the Maiden's had become lumpy and uneven and had two small feet poking out at the bottom.

It had taken a great deal of coaxing from Naerys to convince Viserys to come out of hiding. When she first approached him and tried to pull the tapestry away, her little brother had screamed and screamed at her. She then resorted to sitting on the floor beside him, ducking behind the tapestry with him as if the two of them were in a fort of their own making. Even then, Viserys remained in foul spirits, but the promise of finding Ser Arthur Dayne and asking him to show them his legendary greatsword, Dawn, had been enough to tempt him.

Afterwards, Naerys had allowed herself a moment to sag against the wall, relieved that she'd been able to soothe her brother's temper. (A feat that was becoming increasingly difficult as Viserys grew older and his moods became more erratic; something that worried her more than she liked to admit.) Even through the fabric of her dress and the tapestry's thick weaving, the wall had been cold and hard against her back, the grooves and furrows in the stone digging harshly into the notches of her spine.

And then it moved.

Naerys had nearly shouted, scrambling away from it and whirling around to stare wide-eyed at the spot where she'd stood. She did nothing but look at it for several long seconds before slowly pushing the tapestry away, discarding the Maiden for the moment in exchange for what was hidden behind her: an intricately carved indentation in the wall that seemed to almost resemble a...

With trembling hands, Naerys had pressed both palms to the stone and pushed. The wall—not a wall at all, in truth—gave way, swinging open like a door and revealing an entrance to a small, darkened corridor.

An escape.

Her feet had moved towards the threshold almost of their own accord, toeing the edge of it before stopping short, unable to fully cross over. She'd been standing there ever since, silently warring with herself about whether to stay or go.

It would be sensible for her to stay.

(She has little use for sensibleness right now.)

It would be reckless of her to go.

(What good has being cautious ever done her?)

She decides on a compromise: she will go, but not on her own.

Naerys allows the tapestry to fall back into place, watching as the Maiden settles over the secret door and conceals it from view. She feels almost cross with the deity for keeping such a thing hidden from her for so long. Naerys had once heard a septon say that the gods keep their own time for their own reasons and to question such a thing was to question the gods themselves. In light of that, she supposes that the Maiden must have had her reasons for keeping it hidden until now.

Turning away from the tapestry, Naerys straightens her shoulders and smooths any wrinkles from her dress. She tucks away a few stray flyaway hairs that have fallen out of place to make sure she appears presentable and put-together—the sort of person one would view as practical, levelheaded, sensible. The sort of person whose plan to sneak out of the castle you would agree to.

Once she is satisfied with her appearance, she approaches the door to her chambers and quietly cracks it open. Ser Jaime is just outside her door, as always, his expression unmistakably bored. His eyes appear glazed over and his golden head is bowed so that a few loose curls have fallen over his gaze. Naerys thinks that perhaps it won't be so hard to convince him to sneak out with her after all, lest he keel over from boredom. She opens the door wider and watches him jolt upright, assuming a more alert stance. His head turns and he catches sight of her, offering her a sheepish smile when he realizes she'd seen the whole thing.

"Princess," he greets, inclining his head towards her.

"Ser," she replies, unable to resist teasing him just a little. "I'm glad to see you vigilant as ever at your post this evening."

He answers her with a look of annoyance that makes her grin. "Is there something you need, Princess?"

"Quite so," Naerys agrees. "I'm in need of an escort."

Ser Jaime's eyes narrow. "To where?"

Naerys takes a deep breath. "The Sept."

His expression relaxes. "I see."

"Baelor's Sept," she clarifies.

This garners more of a reaction from him. Ser Jaime's eyes widen with incredulity before he laughs, sharp and biting. "Yes, I suppose we'll just stroll right through the castle gates," he says mockingly. "I'm certain the king won't mind at all."

Naerys resists the urge to scowl at him. She would not rise to the bait this time. Practical, levelheaded, sensible people did not convince people of their practical, levelheaded sensibleness by throwing tantrums. "We wouldn't leave through the gates," she tells him, her voice even and steady. "I know another way out."

Ser Jaime presses his lips together and arches a skeptical brow. "Do you?"

"I do," Naerys says, which isn't strictly true considering that she has no idea where the secret passageway in her room leads to, but Ser Jaime doesn't have to know that.

"How?" He asks, still sounding doubtful.

"I'll show you," she tells him, gesturing for him to follow her into her chambers.

He seems to hesitate for a moment before crossing the threshold and entering her room. Naerys leads him to the tapestries hanging from her wall, pushing the Maiden aside to reveal the door hidden behind her likeness. She watches Ser Jaime's expression change, lips parting and brows raising ever so slightly at the sight. Naerys feels the tiniest bit smug that she has managed to surprise him with this. He cannot scoff at this discovery so easily or deny that what she has found may prove to be of some merit.

"And you know where it leads to?" He says, glancing over at her.

Naerys sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. "Out?"

He shoots her an exasperated look. "You mean you don't know?"

"Well, I've only just discovered it," she says defensively. "I haven't had time to investigate any further."

Some of his previous superiority returns. "Ah. I see. And what if it leads to the kitchens?" He asks patronizingly. "Or the throne room. Gods forbid it should lead to the king's rooms. What will you do then?"

This time, Naerys is unable to keep herself from scowling at him. "Then I won't be leaving after all!" She says with a huff. "But I think it leads out of here. I have this feeling—"

Ser Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, good. You have a feeling. Silly me for doubting this plan for even a moment."

"I'm going," Naerys interrupts him. "I have to see where it leads. You don't have to come with me, but with how miserable you've seemed lately, I thought you might be glad to get out of here for a change."

He sets his jaw, glaring at her. "You're not going alone," he says. "If anything were to happen to you, it'd be my head on a spike."

"I could manage by myself," she disagrees, but even to her own ears the words sound feeble at best.

Ser Jaime scoffs. "Have you ever left the castle by yourself before?" He asks. "Gone anywhere outside of it on foot?" Naerys glares at him, but does not contradict him. "I didn't think so."

"It doesn't matter!" She exclaims, blazing with the same heat she'd felt some nights ago when her mother had sent her away. "I don't care what might happen to me. This may be the only way I am able to leave this place behind, even if it is only for a night. But I cannot bear the thought of never seeing the outside world again; of remaining here like a prisoner forever. I can't even remember the last time my mother left these walls and I have had to watch her waste away for years, into this—this hollowed out husk of whoever she used to be. I will not let that be me, regardless of the consequences."

When she finishes speaking, Naerys is surprised to find herself trembling; not with fear, but with anger and conviction in her words. Something in her tone seems to have silenced Ser Jaime for the moment. He is all quiet, his face impassive and difficult to read. Naerys knows that he could stop her, if he truly wished to. He could go to the Lord Commander and tell him of the door and her plans to sneak out. Even worse, he could go to her father directly. It is the sort of thing Ser Harlan would have done, regardless of whatever fondness her old sworn shield had felt for her. His loyalty always belonged to her father first before it belonged to her. If Ser Jaime feels the same, Naerys will never leave the Red Keep again. Of that, she is quite certain. Her father would have her locked away in some tower, guarded day and night, with septas sleeping at her side, making sure she never dares to stray from her prison again. He would force her to marry Viserys when he finally comes of age and Naerys would be her mother then; a mirror of suffering, repeated across history.

And it would kill her.

Ser Jaime opens his mouth to speak. Naerys holds her breath, waiting for him to say the dreaded words that will condemn her to her fate. I'm taking this to the king, Princess, for your own safety...

"You're not going alone," he says instead, repeating his words from before. "Because I'm going with you."

Her knees buckle and Naerys almost collapses, sagging against the wall in relief. She covers her face with a hand, hiding her expression behind it in an attempt to maintain what little remains of her composure. "Truly?" She asks, her voice tremulous with disbelief. "You won't go to my father?"

"I wouldn't do something like that," Ser Jaime says quietly, without a trace of his usual mockery in his words. "Not to you."

Naerys finally releases the breath she had been holding in. She had never had someone who was loyal to her before they were loyal to her father. It feels like salvation; the answer to a prayer she has been praying her entire life.

"Oh, thank you," she breathes, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "Really, Ser Jaime, thank you."

He looks away abashedly, shrugging off her gratitude. "I wasn't about to let you have such an adventure without me," he replies, some of his typical wit and good-humor creeping back into his voice. "This place is so dreadfully dull, after all."

Naerys cannot stop herself from laughing, giddy with the knowledge that it was really, truly happening. They were leaving. She would finally get to see the outside world again.

"But," Ser Jaime interrupts, cutting off her racing thoughts before she can get too far ahead of herself, "if we're really doing this, we need to make a plan..."

AUTHOR'S NOTES.

heyyy besties... it's been a while hasn't it! so sorry for the wait with this chapter. the holidays hit and then i was traveling and then i started classes again and work was crazy and i had a few weird health things happen and some other personal stuff which made it difficult for me to sit down and focus and write which is why this update has been so delayed. originally, it was going to have more scenes but then it kind of got away from me word-count wise, so i decided to save the rest for the next chapter. hopefully that one will be up sooner than this one! 😬

speaking of next chapter: if you're wondering what to expect, i re-watched tangled to get in the mood to write it, so that should probably be a good hint for you. (granted, it won't be as light and whimsical because this is not a disney movie but still.) if you have any predictions for what kind of shenanigans naerys and jaime may or may not get up to outside the castle, let me know!

one more thing: i have updated one of the faceclaims for this fic and done a soft reboot of the layout. instead of elle fanning, naerys ii will now be played by alexandra dowling because 1) i adore her in the musketeers and 2) look at the material!

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. as always, thank you for reading. i look forward to seeing you all in chapter five! 🫂