aFireFist
A Life in Westeros
Chapter 13 - Part 3
Adian couldn't help a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. The girl was sharp and kind in equal measure. "Pirates, yes. A few of them. The shoulder stings, but I've had worse. Herbs would be welcome later."
Rhaenys beamed, clearly pleased. "I'll pick the best ones. Mother says I have a good eye for plants. I even helped Lira make a poultice last month when she cut her finger."
Little Daenerys, barely two years old, didn't bother with questions. She toddled straight over without a trace of fear, her chubby legs working hard on the uneven stones. She grabbed onto Adian's leg with both small hands and looked up at him with enormous violet eyes and a wide, gap-toothed grin.
"Up?" she demanded, bouncing slightly on her toes and reaching with both arms.
Adian hesitated for half a second. Then he reached down with his good arm and lifted the little girl onto his hip. She was surprisingly solid for her size. Daenerys immediately patted his cheek with a sticky hand, babbling happily in a mix of broken Common and a few Valyrian words she'd picked up.
"Big man," she declared proudly, as if that settled everything. "Sea man. Smell funny."
Adian shifted her weight carefully, mindful of his injured shoulder. The simple trust in the child's eyes hit harder than he expected.
Rhaella appeared in the doorway that led back into the house.
She had changed in the years since he had last seen her from a distance. Still slender and regal in the way only Targaryens seemed to manage, with that famous silver-gold hair braided simply down her back. Her violet eyes carried the weight of everything she had survived — kings, madness, loss, exile. But there was new strength in her posture now, a quiet steadiness that came from years of keeping three children alive and hidden. Motherhood had softened her figure in subtle but beautiful ways — fuller hips, a more rounded softness to her breasts and belly. She carried herself like a woman who had learned exactly how fragile safety could be, and how fiercely she would fight to keep it.
Her eyes locked onto Adian across the courtyard. Recognition hit her instantly. She glanced quickly at Lira, who had followed her out and gave the tiniest, confirming nod. Then her gaze returned to him. A storm of emotions crossed her face in rapid succession — shock, overwhelming relief, a flash of shame, and something warmer, deeper, almost hungry beneath it all.
"Children," she said softly, her voice steady despite everything. "Go inside with Lira for a little while. I need to speak with our guest alone."
Viserys opened his mouth to protest, clearly wanting to ask more questions about fighting and pirates, but one firm look from his mother silenced him. Rhaenys took her little sister's hand after Adian gently set Daenerys down. The three of them disappeared inside with Lira, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving the courtyard suddenly quiet except for the fountain's gentle trickle.
Now they were alone.
Rhaella crossed the courtyard slowly until only a few feet separated them. She studied him for a long moment, taking in the bandage, the salt-stained clothes, the tired lines around his eyes, and the way he held himself despite the obvious pain in his shoulder.
"You," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "The Frey. The one who sent the ship all those years ago. The messages through the years. The gold, the safe house, the arrangements… all of it. It was you."
Adian inclined his head respectfully. "Your Grace."
She let out a shaky breath and took another step closer. Her hand rose halfway toward the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder before she caught herself and lowered it. "Why? Why risk so much for a fallen house? For a woman and children you barely knew? You could have let us burn with the rest of my family."
Adian met her eyes without flinching. "Because some investments take years to mature. And because I wanted to. Simple as that. I don't need songs or glory. I needed something that might matter later."
Rhaella's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She looked away for a moment toward the lemon tree, composing herself, fingers twisting in the fabric of her gown. When she looked back, the loneliness in her gaze was raw and unguarded.
"Thank you," she said quietly, the words carrying years of weight. "For my children. For giving us this life instead of fire and chains. I have spent so many nights wondering who was helping us… fearing it was a trap that would spring someday. But you kept us safe. All this time. You gave Viserys a chance to grow strong. Rhaenys her books and plants. Daenerys… she doesn't even know what she escaped."
The air between them thickened. Adian could see the way her breathing had quickened, the subtle flush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. Years of careful control — of being only a mother, only a survivor, always watching over her shoulder — were starting to crack right in front of him.
He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brushed a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.
"You've carried enough alone," he said, voice low.
Rhaella watched him with those violet eyes that had seen kings and madness and loss. For a long moment neither of them spoke. The fountain trickled softly beside them. Then she gave a small, tired smile that held more warmth than he had expected.
"Call me Rhaella here," she said softly. "There are no graces left in this house. No crowns. No thrones. Just a mother trying to keep her children breathing… and hoping one day they might live without fear."
Adian nodded. "Rhaella."
She stepped even closer, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender soap on her skin, mixed with the clean scent of the house and something warmer, more personal. Her gaze dropped again to the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder, concern deepening the lines around her eyes.
"You're hurt," she said, voice gentler now, almost hesitant. "That looks fresh. Pirates, you said?"
Adian replied with a slight shrug, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at the stitches. "Pirates. A lucky axe swing during the boarding. Nothing that won't heal in a few days with proper care. I've had worse."
Rhaella's fingers hovered near the wound, trembling slightly with hesitation. For a moment she seemed torn — the queen who had once commanded respect warring with the woman who had spent years owing everything to this stranger. Then she took a steadying breath.
"Come," she said firmly. "Let me clean it properly. Lira can watch the children a while longer. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for us. Please… let me help you."
She led him to a small side room off the courtyard, simple and practical like the rest of the house. A sturdy wooden chair sat near a low table holding a basin, clean linens, and a few jars of herbs and salves. Sunlight came through a narrow window, catching on dust motes in the air. Rhaella moved with quiet purpose, rolling up her sleeves and pouring warm water from a pitcher into the basin.
Adian sat on the edge of the chair. She stepped between his knees without hesitation, close enough that her gown brushed his legs. Her hands were gentle but sure as she began unwrapping the rough, blood-crusted bandage the ship's medic had applied. Each tug made the wound sting sharply, but he stayed silent, watching her face.
"You're not what I expected," she murmured as she worked, eyes fixed on the injury. "When the first messages came years ago, I thought you were some merchant playing at mercy. Or perhaps a man with ambitions of his own, the sort who would one day demand something terrible in return. But Lira speaks of you differently. She says you're a man who gets things done—quietly, efficiently—but never without remembering the people behind.
Adian looked up at her. The angle gave him a clear view of her face — the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the way her silver-gold hair framed her features. "I am a Frey. We don't play at much. Songs and glory are for other houses. I prefer results."
Rhaella's lips curved slightly, a small, tired smile. She dipped a clean cloth into the warm water and began gently cleaning the cut. The touch was careful, almost tender. Every time her fingers brushed his skin he felt her breath catch, a subtle hitch that spoke volumes.
"Results," she repeated softly. "You have given my children years they would not have had otherwise. Viserys is learning to hold a sword instead of hiding in fear. Rhaenys has her books and her plants. Daenerys… she laughs without knowing what terror feels like. All because of you." She paused, pressing a fresh cloth against the wound to staunch a small trickle of blood. "I have replayed every message in my mind a thousand times. Wondering who this Frey was. Why he bothered. Now that you're here… I still don't fully understand."
Adian remained still as she applied a salve that smelled of honey and some sharp herb. "Understanding isn't necessary. I saw an opportunity. A queen and her children in danger. A bloodline that might matter again one day. And… I wanted to."
Rhaella tied the fresh bandage with slow, deliberate movements, her fingers lingering on his shoulder longer than needed. The closeness was electric. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, see the faint flush on her neck and cheeks. When she finally stepped back, her violet eyes met his directly.
"No," she said quietly. "I can see that you are not a man who does things without reason. But there is more to you than cold calculation. I can feel it."
She rested her hand lightly on his good shoulder for a moment, the touch warm and steady. Then she pulled away, smoothing her gown.
"Thank you," she whispered again. "For letting me do this much."
***
The rest of the afternoon passed in the courtyard.
Viserys practically bounced with energy when Adian finally picked up the boy's wooden practice sword. The eight-year-old gripped his own blade tightly, eyes bright with determination.
"Show me proper forms," Viserys demanded, voice eager. "Lira only knows the basics, and the cook is too slow. I want to learn how real men fight. How you fought those pirates."
Adian tested the balance of the boy's sword, then handed it back. "Alright. Stand like this." He corrected Viserys's stance, adjusting his feet and grip. "Weight balanced. Don't lean forward too much or you'll fall into your own swing."
They began simple drills. Viserys attacked with furious energy, silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he swung again and again. For all his arrogance and talk of thrones, the boy listened when corrected. Adian let him land a few hits on his shield, then showed him exactly how easily a real fighter could counter.
"You swing like you're angry at the world," Adian said quietly after one exchange where Viserys had overcommitted and nearly lost his balance. "Anger is useful. It gives you strength when you need it. But patience and coin win more wars than dragons ever did. Remember that."
Viserys paused, breathing hard, his narrow chest rising and falling rapidly. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, violet eyes narrowed. "You speak like a commoner. Merchants and coin. Not like a knight."
"I speak like a survivor," Adian replied evenly, tapping the boy's sword with his own to reset the stance. "Knights die pretty deaths in songs. Survivors live to see another day. You should learn both. Now again — slower this time. Control it."
They continued for nearly an hour. Viserys asked questions between bouts — about how Adian had killed the pirates, what the boarding felt like, whether the axe hurt much. Adian answered honestly but carefully, never glorifying the violence, always circling back to practical lessons.
Nearby on a stone bench, Rhaenys sat watching everything with wide, curious eyes. She asked questions constantly, her young voice bright and inquisitive.
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