- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ CHAPTER FORTY THREE ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
CALIFORNIA
❛ come and get me out of california
no leaves are brown
i miss the seasons in missouri
my dying town ❜

౨ৎ disclaimer
unedited , last chapter before i lock
in for finals! more updates after
friday!

EUDORA.

"What do you mean? I thought they forbade the marriage."

"Apparently they changed their minds, Aemond is rather convincing. He said that now that I go here often, one could say I worship the Seven now," Eudora sneered, hands folded in front of the candles. She and Elinda met once more in the Great Sept, a sigh escaping her lips. "Elinda, how soon could you bring news to Dragonstone?"

"I'll have whatever message you need to be brought before tomorrow noon if I could."

Eudora bit down on her inner cheek, looking around her as if the walls had ears. "It will take about nineteen days for Ser Criston and Aemond to arrive at Harrenhal, they plan to march by the week's end once we are," she winced at the thought. "Once we are married. It gives Daemon and his host to leave and regroup. My cousin's men will arrive in due time."

Elinda nodded at her words, staring at Eudora– her expression undoubtedly painful to look at. "You don't have to do it, you know? If they will be leaving soon, then it will only be a matter of time till Rhaenyra wins— you won't need the second one," she told her, handing Eudora two vials before the girl pocketed them in her dress.

The Stark only shook her head. "If all else fails, I don't want them to be the one to finish me."

"What of Jacaerys?"

"... Let's hope we don't have to think about what he's thinking."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The moon hung heavy in the sky, its pale light pouring through the tall arched windows of the Sept. Elinda has long left, a lot of the people did, yet Eudora lingered at the altar, staring at the candles once more. The vials she had felt heavier than they were, their weight pressing against her mind.

Elinda's final words echoed through her ears. "What of Jacaerys?"

Eudora's jaw clenched, swallowing down her emotions. There was no room for weakness here, not anymore. The Red Keep has stripped her time and time again of everything– her freedom, her choices, and now her love. She couldn't afford to sit and wait, to dream of rescue or salvation. The only taste of victory was going to be survival, and the vials in her pockets were her last weapon.

Her eyes continued to stare as if the flames would burn right through them, their dance almost hypnotic, reminding her of the north winds that once swooped through Winterfell's woods. For a moment, she was reminded of herself there– free, unbound, alive.

The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. Eudora sharply turned, watching as Aemond approached her, walking closer to the light. "I was told you haven't returned," he said coldly. "What troubles you?"

Her gaze turned back to the altar. "What doesn't trouble me?"

She could hear him stepping closer, his presence a looming shadow beside her. His hand reached out, brushing against the fabric of her sleeve, a gesture meant to tether her, reminding her who had the upper hand. "You're restless, I can sense it," he said, his voice softening into something deceptively tender. "Speak your mind, wife-to-be."

The Stark's breath caught.

Wife-to-be.

The words tasted sour in her throat. It wasn't just the fact that he was calling her so, it was the fact that he discarded the mere thought of Jace being her husband. She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing at him. "And what exactly would you like to say?" she spat. "That I eagerly await the day I'm shackled to you in a union I never wanted? That I oh so dream of a future in this god-forsaken prison you call a home."

"You once called this place your home," he sneered, his eye intense. "When your family begged to ward you in time of trouble at Winterfell. You'll find that defiance only goes so far, Eudora."

"I've found that submission leads nowhere."

"Do not test me, Stark," he warned. "I've been patient with you– merciful, even. But patience has its limits."

She didn't want to argue any further, fearing her plans might be sabotaged by her own words. Aemond watched her expression shift, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips before he walked away, prompting Eudora to follow– knowing it was time to leave. She'll play their game for some time, but if the Greens thought they could break her, they were wrong.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

JACAERYS.

He's had the same dream every night.

And every night, he seemed to get closer but never within arm's reach with her.

How many days has it been? Three? Four? He was tired of it, of everything.

Jace sat at the edge of his bed, his hands pressed against his knees, fingers curling and uncurling like they didn't know how ot be still. The cool air of Dragonstone brushed against the back of his neck, carrying with it the sharp tang of salt from the sea. He could still smell it, even now.

That morning, he hadn't moved since waking. Not necessarily. His hair hung wild around his face, damp with sweat from the same nightmare that clawed at his mind. The taste of saltwater from the Gullet lingered on his tongue, and every few seconds, he swore he could hear it– the waves crashing growing louder, closer, like the sea itself was coming to claim him.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut. It didn't help.

Her face was still there.

Eudora. Standing on that beach. Her back to him.

Her hollow eyes.

Her bloodied mouth.

"Look at me," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He pressed his palms harder against his eyes. "Just, just look at me."

He could see her so clearly. Her lips moving like she was trying to speak, the dark red that endlessly spilled from her mouth, soaking into the sea as she walked forward– away from him. He felt the sand that had gripped him, how it pulled at his feet and refused to let him go. He didn't want to forget her, how she looked, how her eyes watched him knowingly— but every night he's found himself replacing the color of her eyes with the empty sockets that visited him in his dreams.

Jace lets out a breath so sharp that it hurt his throat, his chest rising and falling like he just fought a battle once more.

Everyone in Dragonstone noticed it. How his patience shortened. His voice harder, sharper. The servants stepped lightly around him, bowing heir heads when he passed. Even his brothers felt it– when little Aegon would ask him if he could accompany him at night and read him a story, Jace snapped, "find your mother."

He regretted it immediately, but he didn't apologize. Because apologies didn't bring back Harwin Strong, it didn't bring back Laenor Velaryon, it didn't bring back Luke, and it certainly wouldn't bring back Eudora.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

His hand gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, listening to Mysaria as she relayed the words of Elinda in front of the council. "That's all she had to say as of now, but of course we'll have to wait for–"

"How has waiting ever benefited us?" Jace spat, interrupting Mysaria's words which caught the council off guard.

"Jacaerys–"

"Send word to Harrenhal, we've lost a third of our men during the Gullet, we are not risking anything else," he continued– interrupting his mother now, one of the council members nodding quickly and left to do such orders.

"Jace," Rhaenyra spoke, catching his attention. "I understand your desperation, but we cannot be making rash decisions–"

"No, we have to be making these rash decisions. Didn't you just hear what Lady Mysaria said? Aemond will be mobilizing soon and by the gods if you want to lose this war then be my guest. But I'm not going to sit here and watch you all talk nonsense after nonsense as if the enemy isn't pushing forward–"

"Calm down–"

"Why should I?" He questioned Corlys, glaring at the man who stood beside him. "Your men died because of them, and I'm supposed to let that happen once more with our land army? We have risked too many deaths at this point because we have been too fucking slow with–"

"Jacaerys Velaryon, what is wrong with you?" his mother interrupted. "Could you come to your senses for a second before you continue to spit fire at the rest of us?" He looked at the council, who began to whisper and murmur amongst each other.

His jaw clenched tightly, and in a matter of seconds he slammed his fist onto the table, making everyone flinch before he left. His absence caused the room to fall silent for a minute, not knowing how to react with his sudden outburst.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Another lonely morning passed, he was awake before dawn. Jace's body moved before his mind caught up with him. He dressed quickly– pulling his already long hair back, then made his way to the training yard.

It was still empty when he arrived, the stone courtyard lit only by the light of the early morning. Perfect. No guards, no knights, no one to watch him.

He drew his sword from the rack, the steel cold in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, letting out a huff of air before facing the row of straw dummies lined up before him. The cold bite of the wind stung his cheeks, but he didn't care. The first swing of his sword was messy.

Too slow.

Too wide.

Nothing to his liking.

The prince cursed under his breath. Again.

He swung once more. Harder, faster, this time, the blade hit the dummy's side with a dull thud, cutting into the straw and jerking his arm back. It wasn't enough. His cut wasn't deep enough.

The pain in his ribs still ached, but Jace had to push it aside. He only squeezed the hilt of the sword tighter, his nails pressing into his palm.

Again.

He swung the sword harder this time, slicing through the dummy's neck, straw spilling to the ground like blood. He breathed out through his teeth, his face twisting in dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough.

Jace moved onto the next one, then the next, each movement of his was faster, each strike harder. The Velaryon's breath came and fast and uneven, his muscles burning with every swing, stitches and wounds that were supposed to be healed fighting to open once more. Jace's jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, but he didn't stop.

No, he couldn't stop.

Because he wasn't seeing straw figures anymore.

He was seeing Aemond.

The smirk. The ring. His mere image punishing Jace's mind.

"Fetch it, boy," Aemond had said in his dreams.

The boy then let out a yell so raw it tore his throat. His blade came down on another dummy with a sickening crunch, splitting it clean in half. The top fell to the ground, rolling, scattering bits of straw everywhere. His breath came in ragged gasps, his arms tired.

Jace dropped the sword, it hit the stone ground with a loud clang. His eyes then darted to his hands– they were shaking so hard he could barely keep them still. He noticed how his nails had cut into his palms, the half moon marks starting to stain with red.

"Jace?" Baela called, quickly he turned to face her. The girl's eyes were wide in shock. But he dared not to give an explanation, only leaving the training yard with a heavy sigh.

(( 🫗 ))