Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 4

As soon as Aenyra stepped into the room, her breath caught in her throat.

There was Ser Harwin, kneeling in front of her brothers, his large, calloused hands gently ruffling their curls as they giggled under his touch—too young to understand the meaning behind his softness. He was smiling, but his eyes... they looked tired, heartbroken. When he turned to Rhaenyra, the air between them shifted—thick with the words they wouldn't speak aloud. Her mother couldn't even meet his eyes. She stared past him, jaw tense, as though if she dared to look, her resolve would crumble.

Then came the kiss—a soft press of his lips to baby Joffrey's head. A moment that might've seemed insignificant to anyone else, but not to Aenyra. She knew what it meant. She felt it in her chest, in the way it ached.

When his eyes found hers, all the breath she'd been holding escaped her in a sob.

"Don't leave us!" she whimpered, the words cracking in her throat as tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

Harwin moved to her immediately, dropping to one knee in front of her as she shook with quiet cries. His warm hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the wetness on her skin. He said nothing at first—just looked at her with the kind of sorrow that burrowed deep.

"I must go," he said softly, voice thick with grief. "But this will not be the last time we see one another. I promise you that."

"But it feels like goodbye..." Aenyra whispered, voice small, breaking.

Harwin's jaw tensed, and his gaze flickered to her lips—her trembling chin—before meeting her eyes again. "Aenyra, listen to me. You must be strong—for them," he said, nodding toward Jacaerys and Lucerys. "You're the eldest. You're your mother's heir. They will look to you, especially when the tides have shifted."

She stared at him, the words digging into her like thorns. How could she be strong when she felt like an important piece to her wasnt going to be there?

"I don't want to be strong," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want you to stay."

Harwin's eyes glistened at the girl who he has always looked to as a daughter, his fingers tightening gently against her cheek. "And I want nothing more than to stay, princess. But I must protect this you, your brothers and your mother  in the only way I can now."

Feeling the walls inside her start to give way, Aenyra leaned into his touch, wrapping her small hands around his and squeezing them tightly—desperate to keep him there, even for a second longer.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment before rising back to his feet. His voice lowered as he turned to Rhaenyra, but Aenyra still heard it.

"Princess, please—allow Aenyra to train with the sword," he said, his voice steady but earnest. "She should know how to defend herself, should there ever come a time when she must stand alone."

He turned then, his gaze softening as he looked down at Aenyra. Gently, he cupped her cheek in his calloused hand, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye.

"Let her become what the realm would never expect."

Rhaenyra's face broke then, the mask slipping. A single tear traced a line down her cheek as she nodded. "I will," was all she could manage, her voice barely audible.

Harwin gave one final look to each of them—soft, aching, full of love—and then he was gone. The door closed behind him, but the silence he left behind was louder than anything Aenyra had ever heard.

The stillness didn't last.

"Is Ser Harwin our father?" Jacaerys asked, voice quiet—too quiet for a boy his age. "Am I... a bastard?"