The heavy scent of incense and burning candles filled the dimly lit chamber, flickering light and casting shadows across the ancient walls of Dragonstone. Rain lashed against the windows in relentless sheets, every droplet striking the glass like a tiny, pounding fist. Outside, the wind howled and flashes of lightning illuminated the dark sky, casting shadows across the room while thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the castle's very foundations. The storm's fury seemed uncontainable, as if the Seven themselves had unleashed their wrath upon the world.
Padmé pulled the dark furs tighter around her body against the chill, rubbing a hand up and down her swollen belly as she watched the fire flicker as it ate up the wood and spat out its ashes. She tried to hold together the fraying pieces of her composure, she was a daughter of Oldtown, after all, but fear gnawed at her, tearing at the strength she had so carefully maintained since the war began. Ever since she was born, she'd been educated and trained for the politics and trials of courtly life, but war? War was another matter entirely.
And now it was no longer only her own life she had to worry about.
They'd made a home out of Dragonstone this past year, hidden from the kingdom and protected by the handful of Kingsguards who'd loyally followed Anakin here. It made her heart weep as she accepted, one way or another, that everything was about to change. Padmé wished they could stay here forever, safe on this isolated rock, far from the politics and battles raging throughout Westeros. But King Plagueis was dead, slain by their enemies, and it was time for her husband to claim his throne.
A soft creak broke through her thoughts. She looked up from the flames as Anakin entered, his sharp Targaryen features softened with concern as he pushed the door shut behind him. He was dressed in his heavy, black battle armour, the sigil of the three-headed dragon embossed onto his chestplate. His bright blue eyes, so different from the cold, nefarious violet so prized in his bloodline, held a warmth reserved for her alone, but beneath, Padmé saw the edge of the raging storm within him.
"You should be resting, my love," his voice was low and full of tenderness as he crossed the room to her side. "The maester said you need to preserve your energy."
Padmé tried to smile for him, but ice-cold fear inside her forced her face into a grimace instead. "I can't rest, Anakin. Not with what's coming," she shook her head. Not even the child within her giving a gentle kick was enough to clear her worry away. Her hand rubbed across the spot, the only reassurance she could offer the little one for now. War was ugly, messy and unforgiving… and she had no idea what was going to happen now.
Anakin knelt beside her, his large hand gently stroking her belly beside her own, as if his touch alone could protect their unborn child from the dangers descending upon them. His golden hair fell forward as he bowed his head to press his lips to her stomach, murmuring a quiet prayer in High Valyrian. Padmé had learned a few words of the ancient language since their marriage, enough to understand it was a promise to their child. What exactly that promise was, she didn't know.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he whispered, looking up at her with those intense, burning eyes she'd fallen in love with. "To either of you."
Padmé's hand found his, squeezing it tightly. She wished those words could be enough to calm the worry pulsing inside her or the guilt that tugged in her gut. How many thousands were going to die because they decided to love each other? Because they broke their oaths and swore unbreakable marriage vows to each other instead of those who were chosen for them? Did the choice to follow their hearts make them selfish monsters?
As if sensing her thoughts, she caught the same guilt and devastation in his azure eyes. "You must wish you'd wed Rush Baratheon rather than binding yourself to a Targaryen bastard," his pained gaze dropped away from her own. "None of this would be happening if you'd remained with your betrothed."
"You were legitimized, Anakin – not that it matters to me. You could be a stable hand or fisherman from the docks and my heart would belong to you just the same," Padmé brought his hand to her lips, as if the light kiss she pressed to his knuckles could convince him of the truth in her heart. For a moment, she swallowed down the fear and the guilt as she thought only of him. "I love you… Your uncle can spout all the hate he desires, but your father recognized you as heir, not him."
Padmé was too young to remember the scandal of King Plagueis recognising the son he had with his mistress, Lady Shmi Strong, as his true heir, but her mother had once said the decision set the entire kingdom on fire. Prince Sheev Targaryen, the presumed heir had promised war if his nephew tried to claim the throne… and now Anakin had personally handed the old man the allies and a just cause.
"My heart belongs only to you," Anakin swore, "There has never been another, my Angel. My uncle has spread vicious lies about us, as does Rush Baratheon," he laid another kiss upon her stomach. She'd read the ravens, she knew what they claimed. That her husband was a beast who took her against her will, who forced himself upon her and sullied her honour. "If they do not yield on the battlefield, then I will make them pay for it before I return to you."
"You can't promise that," she said softly, "House Targaryen may be strong but our enemies all want our heads, Anakin. They want revenge for the embarrassment we've caused…" Not to mention several great Houses still swore their alliance to Sheev, claiming he was the only trueborn heir. "If something happens to you, if they come for our child…" she trailed off, the thought too terrifying to finish.
She knew what war could do, everyone knew the stories of the horrors it caused. The kingdom was fracturing in half, Anakin's supporters against Sheev's. The fires of rebellion were spreading faster than even the dragons could quell. Anakin climbed to his feet, his tall form casting a shadow over her as he pulled Padmé to her feet. He gazed down at her with an intensity that made her heart race. In the firelight, the scar across his eye stood out proudly against his tanned skin, proof of his skills and experience on the battlefield.
"You are a Hightower," he said, his voice steady and fierce. "You come from one of the oldest, proudest Houses in Westeros and former bastard or not," he smiled wryly, "I am blood of the dragon. Together, we are unstoppable. No matter what our enemies attempt, we will rule this kingdom and make things the way we want them to be."
Padmé searched his face, her worry mingling with the fierce love she felt for him. As King and Queen, they could build a golden future for Westeros, she truly believed that. They could make things better! But she knew that no one, not even the greatest Houses were safe from the terrors of war. Her own House had suffered before and barely built itself back up by the time she was born. Her betrothal to Rush Baratheon had been to further their climb. But now they had true enemies once again, enemies who sought fire and blood…
"Anakin…" She whispered, "I'm afraid. What's to stop the Lannisters and Baratheons distracting you on the battlefield while Sheev flies here on Vhaelor to burn the castle down around us?" Half the realm was furious beyond words at their actions. Anakin had snubbed the richest family in Westeros by refusing to wed Miraj Lannister and with their might combined with the Baratheons… Was it even possible for them to win this war?
His expression softened and she saw the Targaryen Prince – the rightful King – become just a husband and father-to-be. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, holding her as if he could shield her from the world. "You're afraid of a dragon leagues away while mine sits outside these walls for your protection?"
"You're leaving Valyrex here?" She pulled back to look at him. "Is that wise?" Anakin going to battle without his dragon felt dangerous. He couldn't ride to face Rush and his uncle without his greatest asset!
"What kind of King would I be if I left my Queen and my heir," his hand stroked her stomach again, "without proper protection?"
Padmé didn't know if this made her feel better or worse. He'd already told her that a handful of his chosen Kingsguard were staying behind to ensure her safety, his most trusted, loyal men. She knew Ser Rex and Ser Cody would give their lives before they let anything happen to her or the baby. She closed her eyes, resting her head against his cool chest plate again, feeling the strength of his arms around her. She knew the black-scaled dragon loyal to Anakin alone would follow his commands and fight to the death against any others that dared to come here and endanger her or the child, but what if he rode into battle and his uncle was atop his dragon? How could he hope to survive?
"I don't want you to go," she sniffled, hating herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. She was supposed to be strong for him! To send him off with her blessing and love, not tears as if she was mourning already! Part of her wanted to take him by the hand and climb onto the nearest ship to Essos, where they could be safe and free for the rest of their days. But neither of them could walk away from their duty or the legacy they were trying to build, even if the world seemed determined to rip it away from them.
Anakin's hold on her tightened, a hint of frustration slipping through his calm exterior. She knew he hated leaving her, especially now when she was so close to giving birth. He could win this war and claim his throne just to return to her dead from childbirth anyway. Gods, she was so afraid.
"I won't be gone long," he promised, "I'll return to you victorious before our child comes, I swear it."
Padmé pulled back again, looking up at him through the blur of tears. "And if you don't?"
Anakin cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing away her tear as it slipped down her cheek. "I will," he said firmly, but there was a flicker of something shadowed in his eyes. Doubt? Fear? Even he, for all his bravado couldn't ignore the uncertainty of war. "I have left a letter with Maester Yoda recognising you as my wife and our child as my legitimate heir. If the worst should happen, Padmé, take the letter and the gold I have here and go to Essos to raise our child. They can return when they're old enough to claim what is rightfully theirs." More tears fell upon her cheek and he dutifully wiped them away. "Our child is the future of the House of the Dragon and I will burn anyone who poses them any threat."
His words were violent but the tenderness in his eyes was still there, grounding her. For all Anakin's strength, for all his power, he was still the man she loved – the man who, despite the darkness of the war, was trying to protect her and their future. Padmé took a deep breath, placing her hand over his as they felt the baby kick. "I believe in you," she whispered. "Come back to me quickly, beloved."
Anakin pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a brief moment of peace amongst the storm that raged around them. "I will be by your side again before you know it," he whispered.
And with that the storm outside seemed to grow quieter, even if just for a moment, as they stood together—husband and wife, King and Queen, holding on to each other even as the world threatened to pull them apart.