It wasn't your fault, was the one thing you kept hearing, over and over and over again. You'd lost count of the times the cursed words graced your ears, and each time you heard it, you believed it less and less.

You'd carried this weight and burden since your very first breath. As Rhaenyra's firstborn child, the responsibility of everything was one you took upon yourself. You were the one that kept everyone together. You were the one they all turned to when things got tough. You were the one that fixed it all. But who fixed you when you were cracking? When the pressure began to build so much, that you felt as if you might break?

The heaviness of your emotions was destroying you, but you didn't dare to let them show. You blamed yourself for Lucerys's death. He was your little brother, and you failed him. His blood might as well be on your hands.

Rhaenyra would never forgive herself for being so blind to your pain. The grief of losing her son had consumed her thoughts, leaving her oblivious. You'd remained so strong and steadfast, a rock in the raging storm around you. You'd pretended for so long, until it all became too much. She could see it in your eyes then, as you entered the council room, fresh from a ride of gathering the banners that were still fealty to your mother's cause. It was empty, except for the two of you. Mother and child.

You spoke with a lump in your throat, pain in your gaze that went well beyond your years. Rhaenyra stood from her chair, crossing the distance between you with such grace. “Sweet child,” she whispered, her own voice strained with emotions. Her hands lifted, cradling your cheeks like she used to do when you were young. Rhaenyra doesn't need you to speak to know what you're thinking. Even now, moons since it passed, you blamed yourself for your brother's death. “It wasn't your fault.”