It would be stranger to see Baelor at the table alongside his family for breaking fast than him being gone. The prince would leave as early as the sun rose – leaving his wife to deal with the morning fuss with the children alone – to retrieve to Moonfyre, to wake Ser Criston for a morning duel or enter the Maegor's tunnels under the Red Keep, meeting with Myna half way there where she left her husband's chambers.

But this morning, he wasn't found anywhere of his usual spots. His feet dragged across the yard of the Red Keep, a hood over his head to disguise any Valyrian features left on the boy that more resembled a Hightower than a Targaryen – brown, almost auburn hair, not a sign of the typical silver hair. More of her mother's son than his father's. He even acted more like Alicent in ways he could never resemble Viserys – cheming, ambitious, arrogant and in control. Something Viserys could (and will) never be. If he wasn't Aegon's twin brother, the Realm would already start gossips of his true inheritance. Nonetheless, he was a true Targaryen, despite the whispers.

A heavy pouch of coins was stuck to his waist, fingers gripping it tightly as Rolan – a man two years elder of Baelor, from House Karstark, who came in the service of the King barely a year ago but quickly became the prince's personal guard – walked by his side, fixing his brown cap on top of his black as coal hair.

Baelor snickered as they got outside the walls of the Keep and into the busy street, "Rolan, no one knows who you are, you do not have to hide yourself."

"If I must remind you, my prince," Rolan spoke the title with every ounce of sarcasm he could muster because Baelor was always more of a friend than someone higher in place, "I'm a Kingsguard. I'm not supposed to be here, I should be protecting the King."

The prince almost snorted at his words, turning in an alley, "believe me, Rolan, you would not be in the service of the King. More like... chasing my drunken fool of a brother from a brothel. So, either way you would be here. Lucky for you, it is with me."

"Ah, yes, doing the dutiful work," the guard joked, hands clasped behind his back. And while the tilt of his sword – decorated with a white sunburst, his House's sigil, a gift from his father – he didn't seem to care the hawking eyes looking at it, "it's either Aegon or you, so it seems."

Baelor grinned, knocking his shoulder with Rolan's – at least tried to but the guard was a head taller – turning another alley, "you do not need to drag me from anywhere, if I can remind you. I can actually walk home later."

"Besides," he muses again, walking down the half empty street, "it is a dutiful work. Giving money to a bunch of hopeless little children."

"Do you think that will actually help you?" Rolan asked, more calm, more serious as Baelor jumped few steps up to the big, closed doors.

"Help with what?" the prince turned on his feet, looking at the guard who slowly walked up the stairs, "I am merely caring for my people."

Baelor let out another chuckle before banging his fist against the old wooden doors of one of the orphanages in the King's Landing area. Two more rested by the edges of the city, less fortunate than the one that laid closer to the Keep. The doors opened and the owner – some old lady, grey strains of hair, deep, black circles under her eyes – looked at the two, smile growing from eye to eye at the sight of the prince. She quickly bowed her head, "my prince! It is a pleasure to see you again!"

Baelor played the role of the dutiful prince well enough – the fake plasters of smile whenever he walked in the old orphanage, the ruffles of the children's hair, the bags of money placed in the old woman's hands with promises of new ones soon. Of course, his hood was long discarded, letting everyone know that prince Baelor Targaryen cared for the smallfolk, not like his drunken brother who only came to the town for the many whore houses resting down the streets.

"Well, who do you think they would prefer?" Baelor asked, once the two found their way back outside the old orphanage and into the busy streets of the city.

"The firstborn son," Rolan replied, emotionless, no teasing, no jesting as he followed Baelor up the hill towards the Keep – because he knew how things stood around here.

"He's a few minutes older," Baelor spoke matter of fact, trying not to touch any smallfolk walking pass, not knowing that that was the prince of Red Keep, "if he is to be as awful of a King than he is a prince, believe me, the smallfolk will want his head. And what better King to have than the one who cares about them so deeply? The orphanage, the houses – Rolan, I would be a far better King than Aegon could ever be."

"Still the younger one," Rolan mused, his hands clasped behind his back once more, gaining an annoyed hum from the prince.

Just as Rolan wanted to question Baelor why he didn't walk with him through the main entrance of the Keep, the prince already called over his shoulder as he pushed open the door to the Maegor's passages, "I have something to deal with, Rolan. Go inside. I am sure the King needs your assistance."

The Kingsguard rolled his eyes at his jesting, making the prince laugh at how easy it was to rile him up. Stepping inside the dark passage, he grabbed the only lit torch and walked down the hallway. He stopped before the dark wall, leaning his ear against it as if to hear if his younger brother yet left for training. Just as expected, no sound was heard. Baelor pushed the doors open, leaving the torch against the wall, stepping inside.

Myna was still fast asleep under the tower of silk and fur, her face buried deep inside the pillows. Baelor stepped pass the fireplace, leaving the passage door only half open, getting to the bed. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss on the edge of her lips. She stirred in her sleep, letting a smile escape her lips, "you dare a lot, my prince."

"How come?" Baelor asked, plopping on the bed – Aemond's side – his fingers grazing the skin of her bare forearm.

"It has been hours since Aemond left," Myna mused through closed eyes, though her fingers reached for his breaches, "he might come back any moment now."

"Hm," Baelor hummed, his fingers still grazing her bear skin – and it reminded her of Aemond's hums: how he always did that when he was concentrated, when he was thinking of something and he twisted the ring on his fingers.

"I have news," Myna suddenly out, sitting up, fingers leaving his dark green breaches and Baelor almost missed her touch.

"I'm all ears," he leaned closer to kiss her properly.

Against his lips, she whispered, "I'm with child."

He pulled away. His brows furrowed lightly, shaking his head, "surely Aemond's."

Myna looked down where her fingers turned and twisted the white sheet, "it is not."

"You cannot be certain."

"I am," she suddenly looked up to match his expression, "he has only ever fucked me on our wedding night because he had to. He does not share yours or Aegon's appetite. He says it is because of something that happened when Aegon took him to the brothel when they were younger. Or you, I'm not so sure which he said."

"Me," Baelor nods his head and he pulls himself off the bed, fingers grazing across the skin of his forehead and across the small chancre up there that Orwylle tried to get rid off for the past few weeks, "twas me that took him."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Myna mused back because in her head things were alright.

Baelor didn't know if anxiety bubbled in his chest or if he was having a panic attack. His fingers clasped his shirt over his chest. He suddenly felt whispers on his back and where the doors of the Maegor tunnels were closed. He stared at the wall there before Myna gently kicked the back of his leg to bring him back to reality.

"Gods be damned," Baelor whispered, looking away from her.

His nails were trapped in between his teeth, biting on the skin around so harshly blood spilled out, "still. They shall have Valyrian features, it matters not. Say it was conceived on the wedding night."

"Valyrian features," she almost chuckled with the shake of her head, looking out the balcony, "lilac eyes mayhaps. But how am I to explain when it comes out of me with no silver hair?"

"My children do not have silver hair yet they are Targaryens."

"Because you do not have silver hair," she responded, almost baffled at how stupid he was acting, "nor does your wife."

Her voice had to trigger him somehow; to make the little paranoid voices in the back of his head force him to walk to her, to wrap his fingers around her neck and press onto the skin there so harshly that Myna thought she'll either pass out or die on the spot.

She lingered on the thought that Baelor isn't stupid enough to let a dead body on his way to success whatever plan he wanted. Still, she tried to fight him off like she tried to fight off the old men that tried to force themselves onto her in the cold nights of the streets of King's Landing.

"Say nothing to him, do you hear me?" Baelor leans down to whisper to her through her chokes and tears and she nods though she can only hear the buzzing and ringing in her ears, "fucking say it."

"I promise," Myna wheezed out with the last of her breath and she stopped fighting; her fingers curled around his wrist where he held her – once with so much love, now it seems like he was a ghost, a shell of what he once was.

If the guard outside wouldn't acknowledged Aemond walking up the staircase and towards his marital chambers, Baelor was sure he would've killed Myna then. That he'd leave his marks around her neck and her blue turning white body in the bed to be discovered by Aemond. But everything in his bones were pulling him away from it – if he knew then what he knows now, he would've done it without missing a beat.

Baelor pushes himself off the bed and lets Myna try to regain her breathing as he rushes to the half open doors and inside the passage of his ancestor. He pushed the stone back in its original place and leaned his ear against it, hearing the excitement (and confusion) of his brother when he heard the news of his Heir.

Baelor sat under the large tree inside the Godswood. The garden was his mother's escape first and foremost – whenever she missed the gardens in Oldtown, she came to sit here. Daeron wrote in his letters that Baelor just has to bring Genna there one day, that she would love it.

Like she was his extended body, the eldest twin was already at his side.

Alyssa tugged onto a wooden toy in the shape of a dragon, her tiny legs twisting in the stuffy red dress, almost knocking herself over before she reached her father. She plopped herself down at his body, his arms opening to catch her in the act. Her toy knocked against his chest but Alyssa didn't seem to notice or care when she whipped her head up with a smile, the small gap in between her front teeth glistening in the warm day of King's Landing, "do you know what I did?"

Baelor hummed, brushing strains of her hair off her forehead, "surely nothing nice."

Alyssa pouted, sticking her lower lip out, "father."

"Daughter," he mimicked the way she spoke with the same dramatic pout but that quickly turned in a smile, pressing a quick sloppy kiss against the top of her hair, "apologies. What did you do?"

Alyssa pulled herself from her father's chest and back on her feet, seemingly having enough of Baelor's warmth. She held the dragon close to her chest, her tiny fingers wrapping around it so delicately as if she was afraid to break it in half (which she couldn't do even if she tried so), "I trained with Ser Criston!"

His brows rose as he tried to back down a chuckle, "you did?"

"Yes!" Alyssa shrieked out, eager, almost jumping up and down, "he gave me his sword and everything. He showed me – he showed me a trick he does, and – and it was so exciting!"

Baelor laughed gently at how enthusiastic his daughter looked; how she used her hands to show what she did, how she twirled around to explain what Criston showed her. Once stepping on the back of her dress, she tipped back and fell on her bum. Baelor extended his arm to help her up but she refused to take it and stumbled back up on her own, "did your mother dress you?"

"Yesssss," she smiled almost proudly, dragging the s, "she said grandsire might come today. And that he will have lunch with us today. Maybe we can take a walk. She always talks about the beaches from where she was born. Maybe grandsire can tell me more."

His brows furrowed but he let her ramble for as long as she wanted before he finally asked, "did she say what for?"

"Nope," she clicked her tongue at the p, twisting the toy, "for a visit, I think."

And just like the extension of their mother, Rhaella walked more calmly in front of her mother who followed suit. Baelor shifted in the place under the tree before Rhaella made her way to his side. She – without a toy in her hands – dropped by her father's side. She puffed air out of her mouth and Baelor knew she was annoyed; with a swift of one of his arms, he picked her from his side and plastered her across his body, letting her head fall against his chest, "what is it, sweetling?"

"Visenya bit my finger," she puffed out, her fingers wrapping around one of the many buttons of his shirt, gently tugging onto it, almost breaking it off.

Baelor chuckled, pressing a kiss on her temple, "because she is babe, Rhaella. She does not know better."

Alyssa now busied herself with her mother, wishing she could chase her around like she always did. Genna promised that once the babe comes and she'll feel better that she'll chase her around Godswood again like before and like her uncle Aemond often did. Rhaella looked up at her father, "she does not like me."

"Who would not like you?" he gently pinched one of her cheeks with a smile, making her pout, sticking her bottom lip in between her teeth, "she likes you but she is a babe. When she grows, she will adore you as her sister. You also didn't get along with Alyssa, did you know that? But now you're best of friends."

At the mention of her name, Alyssa tugged away from her mother only to stop by her father's extended legs on the grass, her shoes bumping into his, "why didn't I like Rhaella, father?"

"You did like her," he explained, fingers tracing patterns on Rhaella's back while she played with the buttons on his shirt, "but you two were babes. Like Visenya is. She doesn't understand you big girls yet."

"But father we're not big girls!" came a giggle from Alyssa, her arms resting by her sides.

With a swift move, Baelor wrapped his right arm around Alyssa, earning a giggle from her, as he tugged her into his side right next to Rhaella who also cracked a smile. He pressed sloppy kisses on top of both of their heads, "and never – ever become one, alright? Stay tiny for me forever."

"My father is coming," Genna interrupted the giggles of her children, her fingers twitching against the bump covered in red and yellow dress.

"That's why my daughters are dressed like that," Baelor responded almost bitterly, not looking up to see his wife, rather busying himself with Rhaella's hair.

Alyssa pulled Rhaella off Baelor's lap and further in the gardens, their laughter loud (especially when Rhaella tripped against her dress which made her land in a nearby bush of flowers) making him look up at Genna who still stood there, fingers fidgeting against her bump, "stop that."

She looked at him with brows knitted together, her fingers resting against the growing bump, "what?"

"Fidgeting," he responded, pulling himself off the ground and dusting away any dirt from his pants with the back of his hands, "I will not hurt you."

"I know," she lied but stopped her fidgeting, "I – I apologize for the dresses. I just," she took in a shaky breath, "I just wished to surprise my father, I think."

"I do not care," Baelor shook his head with his hands clasped behind him, "all I care is the fact that both girls are dressed in such a stuffy gown that they tripped themselves."

Genna couldn't tell whatever reason he disliked it so much. Still, she looked at him once, diverting her eyes and looking at him again, "I wanted to use another dress but they – they really wanted that one."

"And," she started again, and the urge to fidget grew, "and they do not have much gowns that are not green."

"Did you know my brother is getting an heir?" he asked, ignoring her words with his arms behind his back, his fingers digging in the skin around his wrist as if to avoid the ache in his loins.

Genna looked away from where she gazed at her daughters running around the garden, laughing. Her brows furrowed once more, "Helaena is with child?"

It was his time to divert his look away and shook his head, "not Helaena."

Realization hit her like a wave in the ocean. Her fingers gripped tighter on her dress, the feeling making her drench in sweat. She looked down, "oh."

Baelor looked up, but not meeting her diverted gaze, "it is not mine, if that is of your concern."

Genna looked up, shaking her head, almost as if she was afraid to make him get mad at her, "I – I did not assume that."

His jaw clenched, "good. I would not dishonour you like that."

He was lying, Genna knew that. She wondered if he knew how painfully obvious he was at times. She nodded her head stiffly, Rhaella moving to her side, tugging on her dress, "can we see Visenya?"

Coming out of the wave of realization, pain and suffering, Genna ran her hand through her daughter's hair with a smile, "of course, sweet girl. Alyssa? Are you coming with us?"

"Can father come too?" Alyssa, always Baelor's girl, clung on the back of his leg, head pressed against the side of it.

Baelor looked at Genna, almost daring her to refuse him, to see what their daughters would think of it. But she knew better. She caught her lower lip between her teeth before releasing it and nodding her head, "of course."

Visenya was nothing like Baelor. The only trait she shared with her father at this early age was the faded lilac eyes she opened so widely as if she would see the wonders of the Seven Kingdoms. He tugged his lower lip in between his teeth as he pulled her in his chest; she babbled something in her own language, fingers stretching out to catch a strain of her father's hair.

"Father, father," Alyssa jumped up and down, her hands outstretched, "can I hold the babe? Please, please, please, ple-"

"- Alyssa," her mother stopped her rambling as a warning, "do not be like that."

"Apologies, mother," Alyssa mumbled against her fists as she leaned against the crib that was placed by the edge of the bed.

While Genna struggled to sit in one of the armchairs – helped by the tiny hands of Rhaella – Baelor lowered himself on the ground, allowing Alyssa to gawk at her baby sister like a hawk, "she's so tiny."

"So are you," Baelor whispered back with a small smile, almost pleading for his daughter to never grow up.

Alyssa pouted, sticking her lower lip out, crossing her tiny arms over her chest, "I am not."

Rhaella snuck to her mother's side of the armchair, Genna gently running her hand through her curls. Baelor smiled at Alyssa when she poked her tongue out, "you are. Very, very small."

"I am as big as you are," Alyssa pushed her arms as high as possible to make it seem she was taller, "I will be as big as Moonfyre one day."

Both of her parents smiled at her antics as she started moving her arms up and down like a bird. Baelor slowly rose from the floor, carefully not to hurt Visenya, gently placing her back in her crib, "as big as Moonfyre, yes."

Outside, the yard's doors opened, the House Lannister was announced. With big eyes, Alyssa ran outside on the balcony, towards the fence. Genna called out, "Alyssa!"

"I will get her," Baelor responded quickly, pressing a kiss on top of Rhaella's head before moving on the balcony of the chambers.

The little girl was sticking her head in between the gaps, trying to see her grandfather before being scooped up by her father so she doesn't somehow move in between and fall onto the yard below or be impaled by the spikes of swords down there. Still, she tried to push him away with her tiny hands, brows furrowed in annoyance and determination to get herself away from him, "kepa!" (father)

"Whine all you want, Aly," her father responded, placing her on his hip, his arms tight around her body, "I will not have a daughter of my fall down the balcony for a Lannister."

"What is wrong with a Lannister?" Baelor mentally cursed himself for speaking those words out loud. Now he had the lilac eyes staring up at him, "mother is a Lannister."

"I was only jesting, my love," her father smiled, pressing a kiss on her temple, "look for your grandsire, yes?"

Her head turned around quickly, eyes scanning the carriages within the front yard of the Red Keep. At the sight of Tyland Lannister, Alyssa yelled out, waving her tiny hands, "grandsire! Up here! Grandsire!"

Tyland looked up from the welcoming of Queen Alicent, squinting his eyes at the sunshine. Seeing his granddaughter prompted on Baelor's hip, he gave her a wave. At the sight, Alyssa smiled brightly, turning her head to her father, "did you see that? Grandsire waved at me!"

Baelor smiled, pressing a kiss on her chubby cheek, "I have. Come on, let us go downstairs, yeah?"

Alyssa nodded her head franticly with a smile, trying to get out of her father's grip. Allowing that, Baelor dropped her on the floor, Alyssa already rushing inside to her mother and sister, "grandsire is here, grandsire is here, grandsire is here!"

Before Genna could stop them, Alyssa already grabbed Rhaella by her wrist, pulling her to the doors of the chambers, "girls!"

Once in a while, Baelor showed an ounce of human emotions towards his wife. Instead of going after the girls, he walked to Genna, offering his arms, "come on, let me help you up."

Genna looked up at him and then at the offered arm. Baelor chuckled, "come on, I will not ask twice, you know it."

Placing her hand on the extended arm, she pushed herself up, Baelor's free hand on the small of her back, helping her up. She released the grip on his arm, smoothing her dress on the front, "thank you."

"It is why I am here, no?" he tried to smile from kindness but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Genna nodded, placing a hand on her belly. Baelor offered his arm again. She glanced up at him again with furrowed brows. He had to stiffen back a laugh, "come on, Genna, take my arm. I just wish to help you down the stairs."

She wondered what his intentions were. Still, the pain of walking down was greater. Genna wrapped her arm around his offered one as he led her out of the chambers and towards the staircase. Baelor stepped in front of her, one stair down, offering both his hands. Again, he stiffened a chuckle at her nervous form, "come on, Genna. I swear, I wish to help you. I shall not throw you down the stairs."

She placed her hands in his – cold, cut, bruised. Baelor took a step at the time backwards, helping her down the stairs, biting the inside of his cheek whenever she squeezed his hand. Unaware from Genna (but aware by Baelor), Tyland stood at the end of the staircase. Spinning around once Genna was at the last stair, "my lord."

"My prince," Tyland replied, making Genna look up – now aware why Baelor acted so nice, "daughter."

"Father," Genna replied with a smile, moving towards him, not sure if she should hug him or not.

Tyland placed his hands on her cheeks – pink, warm, glossy – and smiled at her, "how are you?"

She nodded with a smile, almost bathing in the warmth of his lingering touch, not sure when she'll see him again, "good."

"I see your husband treats you well."

Another nod, now without a smile, "he is."

"Kepa, kepa, kepa, kepa!" Alyssa shrieked through the hallway, running towards her parents, Rhaella giggling by her side.

"What, what, what, what?" Baelor spoke dramatically with the same enthusiasm as his children, crouching down.

Alyssa ran into his chest with so much force, she almost knocked him down, "look what grandsire got us!"

Holding up a wooden dragon with shades of all blue possible, Alyssa shrieked with happiness, "it looks like Moonfyre!"

It looked nothing like his dragon, still he smiled, "it does. Did you say thank you?"

"Of course, I did," Alyssa replied with a tilt of her head and her brows furrowed, almost offended that her father would even question her politeness.

Rhaella was buried at the side of her mother's dress. Tyland crouched down at her side, "do you like the toy?"

His granddaughter nodded, burying her head further in her mother's dress. Tyland smiled gently at her, running his hand through her hair, "I'm happy you do."

Tyland was quickly invited to the Council room as the newest addition to the group – Master of Ships. Baelor soon followed, kissing the tops of both his children, quickly passing Genna in order to follow his father-in-law but was stopped by his mother. He furrowed his brows, "what is it?"

"You cannot be there, Baelor," Alicent almost whispered, glancing over her shoulder in the chambers once in a while, "not today."

"I'm there every time, mother," he replied, in disbelief his mother would deny him of it.

"I know," she breathed out, "I know. Not today."

Though he knew well enough his mother was hiding things from him – he was the always dutiful son of Queen Alicent and King Viserys. And dutiful sons never disobey orders from their mother, the Queen. Nodding his head, he took a step back, "alright. Good luck, mother."

Before she could thank him, Baelor disappeared down the corridor – away from his mother, away from his family and back inside the tunnels beneath the Keep. Genna stays where she stood before and doesn't move – she watches Baelor disappear with his own ghosts heavy on his mind and she can't save him. Once she believed she could but then she was foolish and naïve.