Crowned Stag (rhaenyra targaryen x male oc)

I Can't Stop

Mason woke up from his deep sleep. The morning sun was just beginning to rise and peek through the curtains of their chambers. Elenda lay next to him, bare but comfortable beside him.

He had given in to her advances in the middle of the night when she revealed that she was not drunk when they had argued the previous night.

His mind had been elsewhere when he was performing his duty to his wife. He felt immensely guilty that he was doing this while he had laid with another woman just a few nights before.

Mason had told Rhaenyra that Elenda was possibly planning on having another child and if it were true—would she be mad at him?

"I don't blame you for performing your duty," Rhaenyra had told him, "Your lady wife is your duty. Who am I to stop you?"

While the Princess understood—it tugged at her heart that they would both never truly be able to love each other the way they wanted to.

And so Mason stood and got dressed for the day. He kissed little Ellyn, who slept soundly and went to go check on Cassandra and Maris who slept in the connecting chamber.

He quietly opened the door to find them both in their respective beds and asleep.

He smiled to himself.

•

Lord Desmond sat at his desk, looking over some of his letters and reports of the incoming supplies.

Mason knocked two times.

"Enter!" Desmond hollered as Mace opened the door and grinned at his uncle.

"Morning, uncle," Mace muttered and Desmond Lord Desmond sat at his desk, looking over some of his letters and reports of the incoming supplies.

"Morning, Mason. Come in, sit down."

Mason entered and closed the door behind him, settling into the chair across from Desmond. He eyes the stack of petitions and reports, "What's going on?" Mace asks as Desmond leaned back in his chair, tapping a parchment with his fingers. "Supplies are running low, and the winter ahead looks harsher than we anticipated."

Mason bounced his knee and cleared his throat.

"The Stormlands has a surplus of supplies that is usually sent to the knights at the Dornish Marches," Mace explains, "But the Dornish have backed away from those lands at least for now. I can write to my father to send a few portions of those supplies—should you want it?"

"Those are your supplies. They are not mine to take!" Desmond argued.

"You are family and I want to help," Mason replied and Lord Manderly gave it some thought before nodding.

Mason lifted his chin, "I'll send word to my father."

"Good," Desmond said, but his eyes were sharp, noticing Mason's off behavior. Same as yesterday. "How is your father?"

Mason hesitated, then met his uncle's gaze. "My father is aging rather quickly. Forgets things sometimes. But he never seems to forget that my daughters are not sons."

"Hmm," Desmond clears his throat. "He's right, you know. Who will be your heir? Carry on your name for centuries."

"I already have an heir, uncle. Remember? My eldest daughter, Cassandra."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "She's a bright girl but she won't remain your heir for long. Has she sat in on your council meetings? Have you taught her the laws of men? She needs to learn it all."