Chapter Text
Laera – 198 AC
Depending on the individual, leaving home could mean many things. For some, it meant freedom, possibility, the first breath after years of suffocation. For others, it was survival – an act of desperation.
For Laera Targayen, it was an ache. And a cage disguised as duty that held the expectation of her willingness to enter despite knowing the truth.
She would not miss King’s Landing itself. It was a city containing vultures that desired to pick her corpse clean the moment they are given the chance. Eyes constantly measuring her movements and even every breath she took. However, there were a few precious people within the walls that had shaped her life and left her with a heart that was full.
She did not know how to exist without them near, close enough to touch. And she did not know how to take the pieces of her heart that they possessed and give it instead to strangers who lived in an unfamiliar land of ice. But she would try, because it was her duty to do so. To give herself to a man she did not even know.
Rodwell Stark was not unkind, but he was as cold as the lands he was born in. In the fortnight since they had begun to know one another, he had been courteous, distant – but never cruel. That in itself had been a mercy she was grateful for. And when he placed his cloak upon her shoulders and they had been wed, he had offered her a smile.
It had been small. Brief. And it startled something soft and foolish in her chest into life.
He was handsome, undeniably so, all rugged northern roughness – and that single moment of warmth had sent a flutter through her that she did not fully trust nor suppress. It was embarrassing that a Princess like herself could respond so easily to so little.
She did not know him. How could she? A handful of conversations and polite exchanges were not enough to build any kind of bond or understanding. They were strangers bound together by vows that neither of them had truly chosen. He did not know her fears, what brought her joy, or the way she would laugh too loudly when she’d forget herself. She did not know what lay beneath his icy exterior – whether it concealed kindness, indifference, or something colder still.
And yet she belonged to him now.
Because she was a woman. Because she was a Princess. Because she had been born into a life where love was a luxury and duty was above all. And she had always known the day would come when she would no longer belong just to herself and her family.
In selfish moments she would imagine a different life. One that she could choose. But who was she to desire something no other women of noble birth were granted? She was not special compared to them. She was just another woman born into a world made up of men who made and enforced the rules - and who were more than comfortable with how things were. On top of that, it would bring further stability to the realm. A reminder to the North that they had not been forgotten.
Oi, Northerners, here’s a princess. Remember your oaths and do not start a rebellion, please. The thought came to her sharp and bitterly. But she crushed the thought almost as soon as it came to her, ashamed.
Her family did not think of it in such thoughtless ways. They had their own burdens and duties and expectations that weighed them down – likely more than her own. They ruled a realm that could fracture at any moment if they do not move carefully. And they made choices not for themselves, but for thousands. And yet…
Gods, she could think about it logically, yet it hurt all the same. The facts could not soften her feelings – because they were not just the royal family to her. They were everything. More important to Laera than she was to herself.
Leaving them felt like losing a piece of herself she would never get back. It felt like grief.
**
They gathered in private before her departure – a room large enough to hold those who wished to say goodbye. Every single person she held dear was present, all looking at her as if they would never see her again. She felt it was likely that she looked at them the same.
Outside, as she entered the carriage that would take her north, there would be eyes. Judging, measuring, waiting for weakness that they could pounce upon. The Targaryens would have to be composed, standing tall, untouchable.
Within the privacy of these walls, however, they were only a family. Here, they could break where no one could see.
Laera had thought herself prepared. She had rehearsed composure, rehearsed smiles, and rehearsed the words expected of a princess. It was Dyanna Dayne who broke that fragile defense.
She crossed the space between them swiftly, gathering Laera into her arms with a firmness that stole the air from her lungs. The embrace was tight, almost desperate – and unbearingly warm.
Dyanna had always felt like summer to her. Sun-warmed stone, salt air, something bright and untamed that did not belong in King’s landing and yet she made a place for herself wherever she went. She smelled faintly of spice and something floral – and Laera breathed her in as if taking her last breath.
Though seven years her elder, Dyanna was her greatest friend. When she’d arrived from Dorne to marry her brother Maekar, she hadn’t known what to expect – and she had rose above her expectations all the same. Even if she had not married into her family, Laera believed that their friendship was intended by the gods themselves.
“You’re trembling,” Dyanna murmured, her voice low and close to Laera’s ear.
“I am not,” She replied automatically, though the words lacked conviction.
Dyanna huffed softly, not unkindly, before saying, “You know you cannot lie to me. I always see through you.”
That nearly made Laera laugh. It was true. Her fingers tightened in the fabric at Dyanna’s back.
“If I admit it, will you fix it?”
“You know I would,” Dyanna said, and her expression fractured quietly. She pulled back just enough to look at Laera, hands on her shoulders, as if reluctant to let her drift too far even now. The but I cannot remained unsaid but understood. Dyanna’s grip tightened slightly – not painfully – before she grounded herself with a breath and spoke firmly, “You will write the moment you reach Winterfell. And after that, every chance you get. If you think you are sending too many letters, then know that you have not sent enough.”
And before Laera could think of a response, Dyanna continued quieter yet with no less strength, “You will be alright. Not immediately. Not easily. But you will be.”
Laera searched her face, catching something in the woman’s eyes that made her heart ache, and tears welled in her eyes.
“You sound as though you are convincing yourself instead of me.”
“I am,” Dyanna replied plainly. “So do not prove me wrong.”
Laera released a breath, uneven but lighter than before. “I will try.”
Dyanna embraced her once more, “You will do more than try – or else.”
When Dyanna pulled away and stepped back from her, she felt the loss – but when she looked into her eyes and saw the hard look Dyanna sent her, she was nearly able to believe her words.
“…I shall miss you, sister,” Laera spoke. Dyanna softened with yearning, hand suddenly pressed to her swollen belly – for she and Maekar were expecting their third child. The first she would not see born into the world. She would not be one of the first people to hold her new niece or nephew. She may not even meet them until they are grown.
“We will write so often that it will be as if we stand in front of eachother,” Dyanna replied after a moment of silence.
Laera briefly pressed a hand to Dyanna’s belly, and leaned down to say, “And you must behave terribly for your father,” she said mischievously, “but be good for your mother.”
“I heard that,” Maekar’s voice came sharp and immediate.
“You were meant to,” she responded, straightening her posture once more and chin raising defiantly. A smirk spread across her face as she looked to him, lingering just behind Dyanna.
He stood tall with Aerion in his arms – the boy just old enough to be devastated at her leaving. His small face was flushed red, tears streaming freely, his cries now raw and relentless. Laera’s heart twisted painfully at the sight.
“You’re encouraging rebellion before the child is even born,” Maekar stated dryly.
Laera arched a brow, “I learned from the best.”
A pause. Then, faintly – so faintly she might have imagined it – something like smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.
“When will we see you again, Aunt Laera?”
The voice came from Daeron – her sweet nephew approached her and looked up at her expectantly. Eyes wide and hopeful. Everything in Laera softened at the boy’s earnestness. He stood straighter than a boy his age should have to, but his attempt at composure was crumbling quickly.
She crouched before him, her voice gentler now. She chose honesty when she answered, for Daeron was old enough to appreciate that more than pretty lies.
“I do not know for certain, but it will likely be several years… the North is far.”
His lips pressed together in an obvious effort to not cry. She pulled him into her arms immediately.
“You are allowed to be upset,” she whispered against his hair. “You do not have to be brave for me.”
“I’m not- “he started, then stopped as his voice seemed to catch.
“I know,” she murmured. “And I will write to you. Not just your mother – you. And I will love you always. Distance cannot change that.”
That gave him pause. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
Aerion’s cries sharpened, louder now, demanding her attention.
“Oh, come here, sweet boy,” she said softly, reaching for him, which Maekar allowed without protest. The moment Aerion was in her arms, he buried his face against her shoulder as he wailed.
“Don’t leave!” he demanded. She hushed him gently, hand stroking his back in a slow pattern.
“All will be well, little dragon.” She spoke comfortingly, “You still have your mother, your father, your brother. And I will not be gone forever… you are only sharing me with the North.”
“I don’t want to share,” he spat, voice trembling and devastated.
“And I do not want to leave, but I must. Just as you must be very brave for me. Do you think you can do that?”
He sniffled. “…yes.”
Laera kissed his forehead in praise, and Dyanna stepped in thin, easing Aerion into her arms. She expertly soothed her son as he continued his cries, though they had gentled.
Laera’s gaze lingered a moment before turning back to Maekar – who looked as if he had not looked away for a moment. There was something unsettled in his expression, like the ground beneath him had shifted and he did not know how to right himself again. Even so, she admired the constant strength he seemed to hold.
“As my wife has made abundantly clear,” he started, voice dry but quieter than usual, “you will write.”
She let out a short breath of laughter. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes.”
The answer came quick and without hesitation – and she had no choice but to believe it.
She shook her head, stepping closer. “You always were subtle.”
“And you always required direct instruction,” he replied, gaze unwavering.
That, more than anything, broke something in her. She threw her arms around him. He stiffened instantly, because of course he would. Maekar had never been one for easy affection.
“Do not make this strange,” he muttered.
“It is already strange,” she replied with her face pressed to his shoulder. “We are saying goodbye.”
After a brief moment one of his hands came to rest against her back. Firm and steady just like the man himself – holding her there.
“Write,” he said again, lower this time.
“I will,” she promised. When she pulled away, he nodded once, as if a promise had been sealed between them.
And then – someone moved to take his place. Rhaegal. The brother she’d always clutched closest to her heart. Her first friend and confidante.
The sight of him unraveled her completely.
A sob broke free from her before she could stop it, and she closed the distance between them in an instant – clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from drifting away into the sky. He held her carefully, as if she were something easily broken.
They had always been closer than most. From the moment she could walk, she had followed him like a duckling – through gardens, through corridors, and through half-formed stories and strange, beautiful thoughts that only he seemed to understand. She did not always understand the meaning behind the words he spoke, but she understood him. His warm, gentle soul.
He understood her in return, albeit in his own ways.
“They would not listen to me,” he said after a moment, the words brushing against her ear softly. Laera pulled back, searching his face. “About what, brother?”
His gaze drifted, unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the room. The gaze was troubled - or perhaps lost. “You will be trapped in ice, changed by the frost. And then you will fly away.” His words were profoundly sad in tone.
Laera forced a small, steady smile. “I do not change so easily.”
“You will,” came his reply, voice certain. His eyes seemed to sharpen back in to focus. “But you should not have to.” At this, Laera reached up, cupping his face. “Then promise me that you will stay exactly as you are.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I can survive anything if you do. You can remind me of who I was.”
He nodded, though he did not appear convinced. When he stepped away, Laera almost followed. She had never seen him look so distant.
Alys Arryn approached next, the twins’ small hands in hers.
Laera steeled herself before crouching before the two-year-olds and greeting them warmly. She pressed gentle kisses across their cheeks until their delighted giggles filled the space. They did not understand that this was a goodbye, and when they grew, they would not remember their time spent with her. The thought cut deep.
She rose, offering Alys a respectful nod. It was returned in kind – polite, distant, but not unkind.
Not all exchanges held warmth. She did not look at Aelinor Penrose for a single moment. Instead, her attentions shifted to Aerys.
“Aerys,” she began, “I have a task for you.”
He arched a brow. “Already?”
“You must miss me terribly,” she said, a hint of teasing in her voice. “And to ease your suffering, I shall have a Maester transcribe interesting books from Winterfell and send them to you.”
He snorted. “Ah, so this is not generosity – it is strategy.”
“Of course it is, brother. What else would you expect from me?” she replied. “Will you accept?”
“I suppose I must,” he said, pulling her into a brief embrace. “For the sake of literature.” She smiled faintly; gentle amusement mixed with something more painful flowing into her expression. “I will miss you.”
“Yes,” he said, quieter. “And I, you.”
Next her nephew Valarr approached, formal yet clearly shy. He dipped into a proper bow, mismatched eyes watching her carefully.
“Aunt Laera. I will pray for your safety during your travel north.”
Her lips curved warmly as she dropped into a small curtsey in return. “Then I have no doubt I shall arrive without incident.” A beat passed. “Though you should brace yourself, my prince.”
“What?” he questioned with a furrowed brow.
“You shall endure a hug from your aunt.” She said, doing just that, ignoring the way his posture stiffened slightly. When she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, his expression remained carefully neutral – but the flush of his ears betrayed him.
“Wah,” Laera turned at once to the smallest voice in the room. Matarys reached for her from his mother’s arms, tiny fingers grasping at the air. Jena Dondarrion was all warm goodness – so much like the man she married.
“Ah, the littlest prince,” she greeted, offering the babe her finger. He seized it with surprising strength, babbling happily as he waved it about. A laugh slipped from her, quiet and tinged with something fragile. He grinned at her gummily when she pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek.
“Your wedding was beautiful,” Jena spoke gently. “You were radiant. I saw many lordlings eyeing your husband with jealousy when they saw you in that dress.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Thank you, my lady. You honor me.” Laera replied. Though herself and Jena had never been as close as she and Dyanna, Laera respected the woman immensely and believed that there was no one more suitable to be the future queen.
“Jena speaks true,” her eldest brother spoke finally. His voice wrapped around her as something steady and grounding. She turned to him just as he stepped forward, hand coming to rest on the small of Jena’s back. “If only you could have seen yourself,” he continued, pride evident in both gaze and tone. “A woman grown – and grown beautifully.”
“Now you sound like father,” she teased, though her eyes were suspiciously wet. His laughter came easily, and he enveloped her in a feeling of safety when he embraced her.
“Cruel.”
“Honest,” she corrected. He chuckled once more.
“Be safe. And do not worry over us here, or I shall send Maekar north to scold you.”
“Gods – please, no. I have no desire to be the subject of our brother’s wrath,” was her reply, and she heard a huff of amusement across the room that sounded suspiciously like Maekar. Despite her words, she could not stop the broad grin from stretching across her face at the imagery. Already eternally grumpy Maekar forced to endure the cold. He would probably show up breathing fire.
Baelor squeezed her shoulders once before releasing her, warm eyes still watchful and measuring.
There was only one person left. The absence of her mother was felt now more than ever. She had passed four years prior, and Laera had not yet discovered how to fill that emptiness – or if it was even possible to do so. She only hoped that she possessed even half the strength and goodness that her mother did.
Before her was only a man that she never knew whether he would appear as her King or as her father. But when she faced him finally – she knew. For his eyes held a deep love, his stance one of someone who desired to reach out and never let go.
He finally spoke, voice rough and unsteady in a way she had rarely heard. “I am so very proud of you, my girl.”
His eyes shone.
“…your mother would have said the same.”
She stepped into him and held on as if she could anchor herself there – for just a moment longer.
**
(Years later, in the frozen dark of the North, she would remember those goodbyes with a kind of quiet devastation.
It had been the last time she had felt whole.)
**
Laera - 206 AC
The cold had teeth that night.
It sank into her skin, her bones, her very marrow, gnawing at her until she could no longer tell where her body ended and winter began. She felt that she’d endured the cold of the North long enough that she aught to have not noticed. But this was different.
Or perhaps it only felt different to someone who was desperate and running.
Who she was or where she came from no longer mattered. What did matter was an open door – an exit. She’d been reduced to a cornered animal, stripped of dignity and anything else that had once defined her. There was nothing left but instinct. Survival.
She had only memory as her cruel companion. And she could not help recalling Rhaegal’s words all those years ago.
You will be trapped in ice, changed by the frost. And then you will fly away.
Impossibly, a chill ran down her spine as the words crossed her mind. They rang soft and distant as if carried on a wind from another life.
Rhaegal was the only one she could not find it in her heart to blame. He had tried in his own way, and not even Laera had truly listened. She clung to this fact in some hidden part of herself that was still desperate for something to cling to.
Because everyone else –
Her thoughts twisted, sharpened, turned bitter.
I have no family.
Those words no longer felt like a lie. Her breath hitched, chest tightening with grief that she stamped down mercilessly. It was a weakness she could no longer afford. Not anymore.
Another thought followed, even colder than the rest.
You are all worse than him.