From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

Chapter 3: Together

It would be so easy to give Freya the name Waters, as was custom for all bastard children born in this region. It was a name that would settle things, make it clear to the lords and nobles where Freya stood in the hierarchy of power. She could not bear the Targaryen name. For all Rhaenyra's progressiveness, this—this was something that the Lords of Westeros would never accept. Even if she gave Freya her name, it would never truly belong to her. And like these boys, she would live in a world where whispers followed her, where her identity would always be questioned, her lineage a shadow lurking behind every conversation.

But giving her the name Waters came with its own burden. Bastards were treated differently in Westeros—less. They were judged, shamed, kept at arm's length from power and opportunity. They lived in the margins, despite being of noble blood. Rhaenyra didn't want that for Freya, just as she didn't want that for her sons. She wanted a world where her children, and this innocent girl, could walk with their heads high, unburdened by the circumstances of their birth.

She had sworn to protect Freya, but that oath went beyond physical protection. It meant safeguarding her future, her name, her place in the world. Words and whispers, Rhaenyra knew, could pierce just as deeply as a sword. And in Westeros, a name could be a weapon—or a shield.

Her gaze shifted to me, her eyes soft yet conflicted, as if seeking answers, guidance, anything that could ease the turmoil she felt.

I met her eyes, feeling the unspoken question hanging between us. What should Freya's name be? How do we protect her from a world that was already so unforgiving?

Then, as if something had clicked into place, Rhaenyra looked at me differently—a spark of realization lighting behind her violet eyes.

"Elizabeth," she said, her voice suddenly clear, almost ringing through the room. "What is your surname?"

My eyes widened. She couldn't possibly be thinking what I thought she was thinking. I blinked, searching her face for any hint of hesitation, but there was none. She was serious.

"Arden," I answered softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm..." said Rhaenyra and I could see her contemplating it.

"Rhaenyra..." I started, not knowing how to finish the sentence. My chest felt tight, overwhelmed by the implications. This was more than just a name. It was Rhaenyra's way of binding us together. It was her trust, her love, and her declaration to the world.

Rhaenyra cut me off with a soft smile, one that reached her eyes this time.

"Elizabeth, you saved her life. You named her. You are part of her now, just as much as I am."

My heart leapt in my chest, shock and disbelief mingling with something deeper—something that felt dangerously close to hope.

"Rhaenyra, are you sure...?"

She nodded firmly, not breaking eye contact.

"It is fitting. She has become part of your life as much as mine. She is ours to protect, and in this, she will carry both our legacies."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Even the boys had gone quiet, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

Freya Arden.

It was a name that didn't carry the weight of being a bastard, nor the impossible expectations of a Targaryen. It was a name that felt like a bridge—between my world and hers, between the past and whatever future we would carve out for her.

I swallowed hard, nodding as the full weight of her decision settled over me.

"Freya Arden," I repeated, testing the name on my lips. It felt right. It felt like the start of something new.

Rhaenyra's lips curved into a soft smile, and I could see the relief in her eyes, like a burden had been lifted. The boys exchanged looks, Joffrey grinning a little as if excited by the idea. Lucerys, though still unsure, seemed content just to be a part of whatever decision his mother had made. And Jacareys... he studied me, his expression unreadable, as his eyes went between me and his mother, as if trying to connect something.

"Does that mean Freya will have two moms?" Joffrey asked, his innocent curiosity cutting through the moment like a knife. Just as I was taking a sip of my wine, I nearly choked, coughing as Freya stirred grumpily in my arms.

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief at her youngest son's bluntness—a trait I couldn't help but think he had inherited entirely from her. It was a moment of poetic justice, watching her grapple with the candidness she often displayed, even if it came at my expense.

"Joffrey," she began, her voice a mixture of surprise and a hint of amusement, "that's not—"

"But it is, isn't it?" Joffrey pressed on, oblivious to the weight of the conversation we had just navigated. His face lit up with excitement, eyes sparkling as he looked between us. "Freya will have you and Elizabeth both! That's like having the best of both worlds!"

Rhaenyra paused, momentarily at a loss for words, and I could see the tension ease from her shoulders, replaced by a reluctant smile.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she finally replied, shooting me a glance that was both exasperated and affectionate.

The corners of my lips turned upward, warmed by the unanticipated joy that filled the room. Joffrey's innocent enthusiasm was infectious, reminding us all of the love that bound us together, despite the complexities of our situation. I cradled Freya a little tighter, feeling the gentle weight of her against me as if she were the embodiment of hope itself.

"And we'll take care of her, right?" Joffrey continued, his expression serious now, though his eyes still shone with that childlike brightness. "We'll make sure she has everything she needs."

I glanced at Rhaenyra, but before she could answer, I found myself speaking, my voice steady, filled with conviction.

"Absolutely," I said, meeting Joffrey's earnest gaze. "We will protect her, just like we protect each other."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhaenyra turn toward me, her expression softening in a way that made my heart ache. There was something in her eyes, a depth of emotion I wasn't sure I could fully grasp at that moment, but I could feel it—her gratitude, her trust, her love.

Lucerys, his earlier confusion now replaced by a wide grin, nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! We're a family now, right?" His voice was full of certainty, the kind that only children seem to possess—the unwavering belief that family, no matter how unconventional, would always hold strong.

Rhaenyra's smile broadened as she turned her attention to her sons. There was a radiant mix of pride, love, and something deeper that glimmered in her violet eyes as she gazed at them, but when she finally answered, her eyes weren't on them—they were on me.

"Yes," she said, her voice soft but resolute. "We are a family."

The words hung in the air like a promise, heavier than they seemed. A warmth spread through me, a quiet assurance that, despite the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded us, this—what we had here—was real. It was something we could hold on to, something that could carry us through the battles ahead.

Freya stirred in my arms, her tiny fingers curling tighter around my thumb as she let out a soft coo, as if she, too, was claiming her place in this newfound family. I looked down at her, then back at Rhaenyra, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the flicker of hope that sparked within me—a hope that maybe, just maybe, we could survive this.

Together.