Chapter ten           𓃦           Love like ghosts.

Jacaerys' steps were urgent – Daenys' were not. She stood on the balcony that overlooked the yard and main entrance to the building she has been calling home for the majority of her life (a strange, eerie place where no man walks that wishes good things upon her), eyes following the horses approaching. She tried to twist the ring on her finger but there was none left.

She, however, could feel the presence in the chambers. Without turning around, she spoke, "did everyone knew before I did?"

Robb didn't like to lie, especially not to Daenys. The fabric of his cloak was being twisted in between his fingers as he watched Aranna gently rock the twins' creaking beds, "we didn't want you to know from us. I mean – I thought they would send a letter. Your family, I mean."

"Is it true what they whisper?" she asks then, watching as the guards pulled the entrance's doors open, "what my mother did?"

Aranna looked up and gently shook her head to Robb. He, however, spoke the ill truth, "they say so."

It didn't hurt she was the last to know of her father's death. She half expected it from when she visited King's Landing. But when she heard the rumours of her mother and Ser Criston locking her father's corpse in his chambers, she vomited for hours. Hence, why she was prohibited from leaving her room. Her fingers gripped the railing of her balcony, "they locked my father in his chambers to die alone and afraid. They usurped my sister after our father spend devoting his entire life to her. He never cared for any of us but Rhaenyra. Why would he change his mind and say Aegon should be king?"

Robb didn't reply nor did Aranna – it was mostly just Daenys' speaking to herself. She watched Jacaerys dismount his horse, swiftly followed by Cregan. She looked back over her shoulder when her twins babbled something, "I've spent all my life in her shadow."

Aranna's brows furrow and she looks at Daenys, "you wish for our lord to fight for your brother, then?"

"No," she shook her head and slowly walked back inside, "even if I did want that, I'd never force Cregan to do something against his family's oath. I do not wish to fight for Aegon. He is my brother and I love him so dearly for that but . . ."

She let out a shaky breath and stopped when her knee reached one of the cribs, "but he is an awful person. I know him and I know he had – has – no desire to sit that throne. I know someone made him do it."

"I will fight for it," she continued before anyone could say anything, "I have lived in Rhaenyra's shadow, yes, but it doesn't change my father's mind. He spent his entire life claiming Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra only. I have heard the tales that lord Bennard said – how the Houses bent their knees and swore their alliances to Rhaenyra when she was younger, when the late Queen Aemma died. My father did not change his mind."

The doors pushed open in urgency. Cregan stepped inside – dishevelled hair from riding, the scar almost bright red and aching. Daenys stepped forward and reached for his face but his fingers curled around hers, leaning his cold forehead against her warm one when he whispered, "Lucerys is dead."

She looked up, her sticky forehead still in contact with his, "what?"

Cregan didn't reply for a moment before the back of his fingers gently grazed the belly where he knew still ached, still pained her. He was gentle with it. He didn't need to say anything further; it has always seemed Daenys could read his mind. She sucked in a deep breath, letting out a shaky exhale like the air was punched from her chest. Her face fell in the open palms of her hands and Cregan wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. The confused Robb and Aranna looked at him when he mouthed: Aemond.

Jacaerys was already half through the doors of his chambers when Daenys stopped him. He was, rightfully so, a mess – hair in all places, eyes read and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. He looked at her like he has seen a ghost (he has).

"Nephew – Jacaerys," she corrected herself when she realized how formal she sounded, how much she sounded like her family, "I – uhm. I – I wanted to say that I am truly sorry for his death."

"You wanted his eye," he barked back, grief and madness taking over his mind like a plague.

"I was a child," she replied back, fingers twisting the edge of her nightgown around her wrist.

"So was he," Jacaerys said – he was a child back then; when he defended his brother and he was a child now that he was brutally murdered in the sky.

Her fingers reached out for his hand – they were aching, in pain, like he was gripping onto something so hard it left scars – and grasped in in her own. She held them gently, "I apologize for what I did when I was a child. I acted in . . . I wanted to protect my brother. When I realized I failed to do so, I acted on instinct and that was foul of me. I didn't want to hurt Lucerys, I wanted to give my brother peace and a life where his eye wasn't taken and he wasn't in pain."

Jacaerys pulled his hand from his aunt's, "we both share that fate, I suppose then."

Neither of them could protect their brothers from what happened, he meant. She nods solemnly and takes a step pass him and inside the chambers. He stays where he stood though he looked over his shoulder – she moved to the table where wooden wolves laid; decorated in the shades light pink shades as a tribute for Meraxes. Her fingers wrapped around the toys, "I know what it feels like . . . to lose someone you love. Not a sibling, no, but . . . someone of your blood."

Jacaerys was placed within the chambers in which Daenys and Cregan's children were supposed to live and play in but were left deserted for years and will for a long time until the twins grow. She'd often visit it – the toys were there, so were some cribs by the wall while a make shift bed was placed in the middle if guests would arrive or if she'd fall asleep there, praying for her children and their safety with the Seven. Jacaerys turned around, fingers twisting the edges of his cloak. He hesitated for a moment before breathing out, "I'm sorry."

"No need," she looked up and she wore a small smile – it was full of grief yet not lived through, "they're with Mother now. I think they are doing better than the world and life they would be stuck to."

She places the wolf back on the table, "but I know what it is like. I never knew them for more than a day but . . . they were with me for months on end and I loved – love them dearly."

He watches her as she doesn't move from the table, her fingers still holding the sides of the wooden wolf, "so, I cannot imagine what it's like to lose someone you knew your entire life. I was devastated by their deaths and I knew them for six months or less. I cannot imagine what I would feel if I lost Cregan, Robb, Theon or the children. And . . . I cannot change what my brother either. All I can do is say my condolences."

For a moment, Jacaerys still hesitates before he breaths out, "thank you."

She nods her head and rests the wolf sideways by the others. It's a smaller one and it was meant for Baelor. As time passed, Cregan made the direwolves bigger but the children for who he made them never lived pass a few moons and never survived the night. The skin around her nails aches and turns violently red when she picks on it, "I do not wish to fight with you either. I have no ill feelings against you, Jacaerys. If I . . . If I ever said or did something in our shared youth that made you cross with me, I apologize. I ever wanted to impress my brothers."

There was a small smile that twitched on his lips, "you never made me angry. Nor did Helaena."

Another nod from her, "she remains the best of us. Her and Daeron. The rest of us are . . . rotten, I think."

"I don't think so," he shakes his head – he's seen her with her children, he's seen her guiding Cregan as the Warden and the love she has for him, he's seen her treat Theon's wounds and angry fits, he's seen how she cares for Robb and his education or how she treats the servants and maids. If anything, Daenys Targaryen was the best of them.

Neither of them speak for a moment before Jacaerys clears his throat, "I must go now."

She played with the edge of her sleeve as she nodded, "you should. You are welcomed back. I think Cregan took a liking of you."

Her nephew nodded again, "I will."

"Tell your mother than I'm sorry," she spoke when Jacaerys took a step out of the chambers – sorry for what my brother did, for how I treated you, for everything that I didn't do.

"I will," he nods his head, "farewell, aunt."

"Kostagon se Warrior tepagon ao strenght va se flight arlī, nephew. Se kostagon se muñnykeā mīsagon ao," she breathed out but he was far gone. (May the Warrior give you strength on your flight back, nephew. And may the Mother guide you.)

Cregan Stark was an honourable man, that much was known to the Realm. He followed his father's oath and will do that until his last breath. Even now; when he wasn't sure what his wife wanted. She didn't fully grasp it herself yet.

Daenys sat on the floor of their chambers – they were cold in contrast to the burnings on her skins from when she almost drowned herself in the hot bath a few moments ago. The start of her needlework sat in between her fingers, needle piercing through the fabric like she often wanted a dagger to pierce through her heart. Grey and golden fabrics laid on the floor by her feet and nightgown, the babes sleeping in their cribs near the bed and her. She didn't hear his footsteps when he walked inside until she saw them in her view. She looked up and was met with his smile – he was always gentle around her; especially after the birth and the pain, "hi."

She smiled back at him, "hello. They just fell asleep."

"I can tell," he nods his head at the soft snores coming from Jon. He slides on the floor by her side, leaning back against the bed. His dagger rests on his hip, his right hand sliding up and down her back, "what do you want me to do?"

Daenys doesn't stop from threading a golden dragon in the fabric even as her fingers ache, "to follow your oath."

He hums before speaking, "it was my plan either way. Especially with the lords in the council."

"Then why ask?" she speaks, turning her head to look over her shoulder at her husband.

"I want to know what you think," he replies without missing a beat.

"I think . . ." she starts and then sighs. She doesn't know how to tell him what she thinks, feels. His arms reach for her shoulders and gently tug her back until she rests her back against the bed and next to him. His fingers trace patterns on her exposed collarbones as she starts again, "they usurped her. She's the firstborn. I want . . . I want to fight for her but . . . I'm terrified."

"As am I," he whispers back like a secret – the might Warden of the North terrified of the war and what's to come, "I think we all are scared."

There's a moment of silence before Cregan speaks again, "I don't want you to fight. Not in any battles, at least, if it's to come to it. I don't . . . I don't want to lose you."

"I ride the largest dragon in the world, Cregan," she whispers back, afraid that if she'll speak too loudly her horrors will come true, "I can help them better than anyone else. Meraxes keeps growing; she swallows sheep's full."

"You didn't ride her in years," he replies in a quiet tone, fingers still tracing patterns, "you've ridden with her perhaps what? Four times in your entire life?"

"She chose me," she speaks with a small nod, fingers clasping at her stomach that ached, "she chose me when I was a child; she still chooses me. It doesn't matter how many times I spend on her back; she still sees me as her rider."

"I don't mean that," he whispers back and his patterns stop.

Daenys twists her head to look up at him, "I will not face Aemond and Vhagar. Not alone, at least. Vhagar is almost the size of Meraxes. I'm not scared of my brother though. He wouldn't hurt me."

"We all hurt someone we love," he replies and looks down at her, the thumb of the arm around her shoulder touching the skin of her cheek, "especially in war. You're on opposite sides of the war now, Dany. If he wants Aegon to sit the throne, he's going to hurt you."

"No," she shakes her head, "not Aemond."

"Yes, Aemond," he confirmed with a small nod, "I know you love him but . . . he would do it. Will do it, if it comes to it. That's why I want you to stay away from the battles if they come. It's not just yourself you should think about Jon and Daella now too."

The dagger on his hip made it seem so easy – she could've reach for it and slit her throat in matters of seconds and Cregan wouldn't have the time to react. He'd call for Kennet but he couldn't help. All that would be left of her would be her lifeless body and her slit throat. Perhaps the head would fall off too. But Daenys Targaryen was a coward; a sheep in dragon skin.

"Avy jorrāela," he whispered then to bring her out of her thoughts as if it was halfway to a prayer. (I love you)

She smiled then and leaned her head further in his neck, "avy jorrāela."