𝜗ৎ᭪　We were in a race
to grow up / yesterday,
through today, 'till
tomorrow.

nettles — ethel cain 🕊️

CHAPTER ONE.

A chill ran down Jace's spine before he could fully process what was right in front of him.

The letter lay on the table, unopened but heavier than anything he had ever held. Eudora stood across him, arms folded over the swell of her stomach, watching him carefully. The children had been ushered outside to play, their laughter filtering through the open window, a cruel contrast to the silence between their parents.

"Well?" Eudora finally asked, her eye burning into him.

Jace exhaled through his nose, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface before reaching for the letter. He turned it over in his hands, as if expecting it to just disappear. "I don't need to read it," he murmured. "I already know what she's asking."

"And what are you going to do?"

"The same thing I've been doing for the past four years, ignore it," Jace answered, running a hand through his hair.

Eudora could only laugh. "You think you can ignore your mother, the queen, forever?"

"I've done a damn good job doing just that so far."

She stared at him, long and hard. It was the type of look in her eye that Jace knew he had to avoid. "Jace—"

"What do you expect me to say, Eudora?" He then asked. "That I wish to go back to the war rooms? That I'll allow myself to be swallowed by the throne, by duty, by politics?"

For a second they held a stare before Jace looked away. She could only sigh, moving towards him. Her hand then rested over his, her thumb brushing absently against the old scars on his knuckles from long days of hard labor. "I know what you're afraid of."

He didn't respond, only turned his palm over to lace their fingers together. It caused her to give his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Jacaerys," she murmured– and he hated how her voice softened whatever anger and frustration burned in him. "You're not just a prince, you're the prince– the heir. If there's one thing I know about your mother is that she'd call for you because she needs you–"

"And what if I don't want to be needed?"

Eudora's lips twitched, a sarcastic smile. "Since when has it ever been about what we want?"

His grip on her hand then tightened for a brief moment before he decided to let go, running a frustrated hand over his face. He knew she was right. After all their years together he knew better to question Eudora– because Eudora was always right.

But he had fought so hard to leave that life behind. To be just Jace– a father, a husband, a man who had no title looming over his head. Not a prince, not a leader holding a realm together. "We built something here."

"Now Jace–"

"No, we built something here. We have a family, we have a life where we could just exist. It's what we've always dreamed of, and I'm not letting that all go just because of some letter–"

Eudora interrupted him. "Some letter that your own mother sent out to you–"

"The entire realm believes us dead."

"Jace–"

"And what of the children?" He then questioned, his voice rising in tone. "If this is urgent, I'm not willing to put their safety at risk. Eudora, you're with child– I'm not allowing it." Silence fell upon the pair rather quickly. They've had disagreements, they've fought and made up over the smallest things, but this was different.

"I lost you more times than I could count," he then added, voice low, trembling with the fear of it all. "Once in that gods-forsaken battle, again to The Greens, and once more when I thought you'd died when you fell. And every single day after, when I'd look at your ghost in my dreams and wake up thinking I'd never see you again."

The man watched as Eudora's expression faltered.

"I won't lose you again, Eudora," Jace continued– his voice sharper. "I won't let this– any of this– come between us again."

She shook her head. "You have a home waiting for you–"

"You are my home! The children are my home. We've given up too much, and if they think they can take that from me–"

"No one is trying to take us from you," Eudora said gently. "This isn't just about us, Jace."

"Everything is about us!" He snapped, louder than he meant to. The words echoed in the small cottage, Jace then watched his wife flinch, saw the ache flash across her face. "You think I've forgotten what this war did to you?" His hand reached out, brushing the side of her face– her scarred cheek, the place where her eye once had been. It was gentle, delicate, but his voice cracked when he continued, "You lost your eye, my love– your face bears the memory of it. I promised myself I wouldn't put you and the children in harm's way ever again because I've seen what it costs us just to love each other."

He listened as Eudora inhaled sharply, yet she didn't pull away. Her hand reached up, cupping his wrist where it stayed at her face. "And I still chose you, didn't I? After everything," her voice barely a whisper. "Don't you see that? You weren't the only one who was scared of losing something. But we chose this life."

She then left a kiss on his lips, her grip on his hand still firm. "Read the letter," she insisted. "At least read it before you come to any conclusion."

Jace didn't answer, but he closed his eyes as she stepped back and let go of his wrist, leaving him alone with the parchment once more. The sound of the children laughing outside as they saw their mother continued, but the soft cracks of the fire was all that he could focus on. His body moved to sit down slowly, fingers trembling as he unfolded the letter.

Immediately he recognized his mother's handwriting, noticed the urgency in the strokes. He knew, then, that this was bigger than he expected.

To my dearest Jacaerys,

I've written this a dozen times over, but never found the right words. I hope this finds you, if the gods are kind enough to spare me some hope. I do not know if you are, indeed, alive. I do not know if the rumors are true.

But there are whispers, Jacaerys. Whispers of a red-haired woman who speaks with a Northern tongue, who bears the scar that matches one described to me long ago. Whispers of a man who walks with the pace of a soldier and the eyes of a Velaryon.

I know you, my son. And if you are out there...

Then I beg you to come home.

The world is not still, peace is cracking.

I've been told there is word from the Reach and beyond that Aemond is back to his restless searches and schemes. I'm worried for you two, and wish for your safety.

Come home, Jace, before it's too late

He could only lower the letter as his face paled. The fire beside him popped once more, but Jace didn't flinch. As much as the heat danced around the room, he only felt the chill that covered his entire body. His hand still trembled with the weight of the parchment.

Come home, Jace, before it's too late.

The man read the line again.

And again.

Until the words blurred till they might've been written in blood. "Come home," he whispered bitterly, the words souring his tongue. "As if I ever had one to return to these past few years."

If he was still the young, aspiring, and strategic Jacaerys he was, he would've jumped on horseback to return to his mother immediately. But as he stared into the fire, he saw it all over again– Aemond's blade, the arguments at the Painted Table, the sea of bodies lost to war, his own brother and fathers, even the thought of Eudora's "death" made him grow a bitter hatred towards the crown.

And yet, the part of him that still bore the name Velaryon, the part of him that still remembered the warmth of his mother's laughter, the sand that he and Luke would play upon, the cool stone of Dragonstone beneath his boots, and the way Rhaenyra had once held him through his tears– that part refused to die with his name. He took a shaky breath in, his eyes flickered to the window then, where outside Luke chased Margaret by the pines, both children shrieking with joy as their mother stood watching.

Gods. He would've given up the entire realm to keep that sight just for one more year.

One more month.

One more day.

But how long until Aemond actually finds them? How long until that peace they have is nothing but another ghost of a memory? "Papa!" Jace heard Luke shout as the kid raced into the cottage, his sister following him close behind. He didn't realize how long it's been for him to not notice how much time has passed. "Mama said I could help prepare dinner tonight because Margaret is no good!"

"I did not say that, I only meant Margaret is still too young to– Luke you're getting mud all over the floor!" The boy ran around the house with a stick for a sword, giggles echoing while he disappeared into his own room. It prompted Eudora to sigh, sharing a glance with Jace. "So?"

He didn't need to give her an answer to know his distress.

"We don't have to do anything about the letter just yet," Eudora then concluded, resting her hand on Jace's shoulder. "Just... Just know that whatever decision you make, we'll all follow."

🍂🪹🪾🐾

FRANKIE SPEAKS.

No but seriously though I tried my best to power through this chapter because I actually miss Eudora and Jace too much (specifically Eudora because Casey and I keep talking about how Myra and Eudora would be such good besties— promo promo read Of Fire and Sea)! I already had a lot for them planned so IM NOT ABANDONING SHIP! Hell yeah huzz, I'm slowly trying to update so patience is a virtue 🐇🦤🕊️🦩🦨🐁🐀🐿️🦦

Also if you skipped the prologue and just went straight to the first chapter.... Read the prologue first there's a lot of context yes 🐦‍🔥(get it? Cuz im a phoenix rising from the ashes because i'm writing again-ish)