Chapter Text
The thoughts always crept in when the world was quiet.
He understood why Baela had married him. It had made sense, to push Grandmother Alyssa’s motion of allowing the traditions of their house to continue instead of allowing the lords of the realm to push their sons in Baela’s directions…
Or gods forbid, themselves. Who could blame her for doing what was needed to avoid such a thing? And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t wanted to marry her. He had, he very much had wanted to, he just hadn’t thought it a possibility ever since his grandsire had begun raising the idea of him marrying one of the Baratheon daughters or perhaps even a princess of Dorne anytime Jace was in his presence. It’d been Grandmother Alyssa’s interference at a family dinner that had put an end to it, her voice sharp between courses as she cut off the middle of the King’s speech.
“And pray tell, my King, why would we marry Jacaerys outside of the family when your succession has still not been declared? Should we not address that before we think to honor some lower house like a Baratheon or,” she’d shuddered, face screwing up as if she’d smelled something horrible, “a Hightower?”
The King had gone very still at that, staring at his mother who had no issue with staring right back at him, a challenging look in her eye. Jace knew that while the King tried not to have their disagreements in front of the family, his opponent had no such reservations. The Dowager Queen was as sharp tongued and bold as ever, even at two-and-seventy, and had continued on sharing her thoughts without waiting for an answer from anyone around the table.
“As handsome as the dearly departed Ser Harwin was and as comely as his son is growing up to be, it may not be in our best interests to marry him to a Baratheon daughter, or frankly any daughter outside our house, lest we lose our silver hair in a few generations. And besides, and it had been that moment when Jace’s life had been turned upside down, for she’d turned to him and Baela, conveniently sitting next to each other, and said the words that would change his life forever, look at them. How long has this been going on, sweetling? I know you meant to keep it a secret.
Several things had happened all at once in that moment. Baela’s hand had suddenly grabbed him by the thigh, more his knee than anything, but it might as well have been his inner thigh with how it made his brain stumble over itself. Jace had choked on his mouthful of roasted vegtables, ducking his head to keep from spraying the table with it as he clapped a hand over his mouth. Luke, who had been using the distraction the Dowager Queen had been providing to sneak a second glass of Arbor Gold, set the carafe down so hastily that he accidentally knocked over Rhaena’s goblet next to him and spilled her preferred Arbor Red all over their portion of the table. Daemon’s spoon had stopped halfway to his mouth, suspended in midair, and he had looked at Jace with a look of realization that honestly terrified him.
And then Baela had lied, had told their entire family that they’d been together for months, her hand still on his thigh under the table and his heartbeat racing in his ears as he finally managed to catch his breath.
“If you want out of this-“ She’d tried to say, after, when they were finally alone and betrothed but he had cut her off with a shake of his head.
“No, no of course not. It’s a good plan.”
A good plan. He’d wanted to hit his head on a wall after saying that but at the same time he was jittery with excitement. Marrying Baela was something he hadn’t let himself dream of as he'd thought her unattainable. Her father was the presumptive heir while Jacaerys had always anticipated being sent to Harrenhal to take his place as head of his house once Grandfather Lyonel passed, marrying a Riverlands girl to secure his place in the region. But not letting himself dream didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted. Gods, he’d wanted. He’d wanted Baela for as long as he'd understood what wanting felt like and he’d wanted only her.
In that moment, with Baela clutching his hand and looking so relieved that he’d agreed to marry her? He’d never wanted anyone more.
Now he had her and it threatened to eat him alive, even with her asleep on his chest, his neck undoubtedly littered with bruises from her mouth that he’d need to hide in the morning to avoid Luke’s teasing.
Jace feared the day she’d see him as a prison, even as he did everything in his power to not be one. He’d give her all she wanted, all that was within his power, but if she fell in love with another it would all be for nothing. She might sleep in his bed and bear his children and be his wife in name and deed but if she loved another? It would render him defenseless, slaughtered like a lamb, gutted like a fish, and the knife would be in her very hands. It terrified him, the thought of not having her, the thought of being someone she resented.
Baela shifted in his arms, lifting her head and blinking sleepily at him for a moment, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” He said, running his hand over her hair, smoothing it back and behind her ear as she pressed her head into his touch, “I swear it.”
Baela’s skin was hot against his as she shifted, throwing her leg across to straddle his legs. The moon’s light poured in through the windows, the curtains still pulled back, and caught on the curves of her shoulders, her hips, the tops of her thighs as she sat up. His mouth went dry, tongue uncooperative as he was caught up in the sight of her.
“Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head again, mutely, and she giggled and set his heart to racing. Jace didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight than her, all silver curls and dark skin and glittering eyes. She had chosen him? Even if it was for security, even if she didn’t love him, she had chosen him. Surely there was some Velaryon cousin she was fond of, some little lordling skilled with a crossbow and a lute, witty and poetic? A better choice than him.
And yet, she hadn’t picked a poet. She’d lied and conned and claimed him for herself. Surely that had to mean something? Surely the marks she was leaving on his collarbone as her mouth drifted hot and wet across his skin meant something? Hesitantly, he brought his hands up from her hips where they rested holding her steady on his lap and instead drew upwards. The planes of her back, the sharp of her shoulder blades, the slope of her shoulders. She was an addiction, a terrifyingly beautiful one that made him feel like a different person. Her mouth was on his,, his hands in her curls, and how could a man not fall in love like this, drowning in her? He’d never stood a chance, really. Loving her was an inevitablity.
Sharp and sweet and beautiful beyond words, the prettiest sounds falling from her lips as he felt bold enough to leave his own mark on her neck, her pulse racing against him as her hands grabbed at his shoulder and the curls at the nape of his neck.
If this was marriage where a love from the songs was absent, he couldn’t imagine what a returned love must feel like. Maybe someday they would find themselves there, the place where she would look at him the way he looked at her. Maybe someday, he could be perfect for her, could be anything and everything she could ask for, and she would stay forever.
Maybe one day she’d love him too.