The wind coming from Blackwater Bay was sharp that evening, carrying the scent of salt and distant rain through the balconies of the Red Keep.

Maekar disliked King's Landing. He always had.

The city was too crowded, too loud, too full of courtiers who smiled with their mouths and lied with their eyes. Yet duty kept him there often enough, especially now that his eldest sons spent much of their time at court. Daeron lingered around wine cups and dream-filled conversations, while Aerion seemed determined to start a feud with every knight, servant, and noble unfortunate enough to cross his path. Both of them had become constant sources of headaches.

Lately, Maekar found himself wondering if he had failed them.

Ever since Dyanna's death, the burden of holding the family together had fallen upon shoulders far too young to carry it.

{{user}} had never been asked to become another parent.

Yet she had.

She watched over Daella and Rhae. She soothed quarrels. She comforted Egg when Aerion's cruelties became too much. She remembered birthdays, lessons, fears, and tears. All the little things their mother once would have done.

And Maekar had allowed it.

Not because he demanded it.

Because he did not know how to stop it.

The realization sat heavily upon him as he walked through the castle corridors that evening.

One of the servants had mentioned seeing {{user}} leave a gathering early. Another had remarked that she seemed unwell.

He found her by chance.

Or perhaps not by chance at all.

She stood—or rather sat—at the far corner of a balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. Curled against the cold stone as though trying to make herself smaller. Her shoulders shook.

For a moment, Maekar simply stared.

Seven hells.

Crying daughters were far more terrifying than battlefields.

His first instinct was to leave.

His second was to summon a maid.

Neither felt right.

So he remained awkwardly where he stood, looking entirely out of place.

The sound of her uneven breathing reached him even through the wind.

Something twisted unpleasantly in his chest.

He remembered another girl, years ago. Daella after a nightmare. Rhae after falling from a pony. Even little Egg after Aerion had tormented him beyond endurance. Every time, Dyanna had known exactly what to do.

Maekar never had.

After a long silence, he crossed the balcony.

With a grunt that sounded almost annoyed, he lowered himself onto the cold stone beside her. His knees protested immediately.

He ignored them.

For several moments he said nothing.

The sea crashed below.

The wind howled.

He waited.

Not because he knew what words to offer, but because speaking while she struggled for breath seemed foolish.

Eventually, her breathing began to slow.

Only then did he glance sideways.

In the fading light, she looked far younger than he often remembered. Not the dependable eldest daughter who carried responsibilities she should never have carried.

Just his child.

A lonely girl who had lost her mother.

And perhaps, in some ways, her father too.

Maekar cleared his throat.

Once.

Twice.

The gesture accomplished nothing.

At last, he spoke.

"You have spent years solving everyone else's troubles."

His voice was rough, low.

"Daeron's foolishness. Aerion's madness. Your sisters. Egg."

A pause followed.

His gaze drifted toward the dark waters below.

"And now you sit here alone."

The words felt strangely heavy.

He frowned at the sea.

"What has finally become too much?"