Chapter Twenty-Six.
Golden Shrouds
The Great Sept of Baelor always reeked of sage.
Frankly, Ren hated the smell. Too bitter and sour for her liking. Not at all what you wanted to smell when you visited your families crypt. Her stomach turned with the stench, nausea that had been plaguing her since the moment she stepped into the sept.
The eyes of the Seven stared down at her, making Renfri feel impossibly small. Ren had never been pious, but she felt as if they could see right through her soul, judging her for the things she had done.
She traced her fingers over the golden lettering in front of her, her lips moving silently as she mouthed the words that she had read a hundred times over now.
King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name.
Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Husband to Cersei; Father to Renfri, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen.
King Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name.
Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Husband to Margaery.
Princess Myrcella Baratheon, First of her Name.
The three stone slabs were stacked on top of each other. She tried not to think about how their bodies lay just beyond the panels.
You need to hold it together.
"You would have liked the woman she grew into." Jaime murmured behind her, his eyes locked on the slab containing Myrcella's body. "She reminded me so much of you."
Ren half-laughed, closing her eyes.
"I doubt that."
"I'm being serious. She argued with me about the low-cut of her dress and drank wine with the Dornish prince. So similar to the way you were."
Were. That word stuck on his tongue.
"That's surprising." Renfri mused, her fingers tracing over the lettering. "She and I were always so different."
"Not so surprising." Jaime came to stand at her side. "You were sisters, after all."
Renfri blinked.
"Half-sisters." She murmured, surprising herself.
She felt Jaime's eyes snap to her.
She wanted him to know that she knew. That she had no intention of pretending that the rumors were not true, that she did not see the obvious truth before her.
A long, tense moment passed as she waited for him to react. To say something, anything.
"Have you decided, then?" Jaime asked. "To go?"
Ren pondered this. His offer had truly prompted thought, as she had been forcing the idea of returning North to the back of her mind for weeks now.
Returning to Jon.
But Ren had made her choice.
Her hand left the lettering, clamping down over her stomach as she took a deep breath to combat the nausea growing in her gut. The fine silk dress felt foreign and unusual on her skin, although she had worn it countless times in her youth. It clung to her chest, her breasts straining against the material, far too snug to be comfortable.
"No." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm staying."
The wave of nausea passed. She breathed, opening her eyes.
"Tommen is my brother. I refuse to live to see his name in this sept."
Jaime's eyes flickered to her.
"Renfri, are you alright?" He asked. "You look pale."
"Fine." Renfri grimaced. "Six weeks on the road is just catching up with me, I suppose."
She sniffed, turning away from the graves, another wave of nausea crashing over her.
"Let's get you back to the palace." Jaime took her arm, guiding her out of the sept. The entire ride back, Renfri resisted the urge to hang her head out of the window of the carriage, the bumpy ride only worsening the nausea she felt. Her body was sore all over, her head pounding.
She wondered if it was just the surreality of being surrounded by the bodies of her family. Of finally seeing their graves, not just hearing in passing news of their deaths.
Jaime escorted Renfri back to her room before leaving her, the sun beginning to grow dim outside.
Cersei must have sent someone to clean while she was gone, because the room had been dusted and polished, the sheets removed from the furniture. Renfri breathed deeply in and out, crossing the room and lowering herself onto the fresh sheets of the bed, hand gripping her stomach.
Renfri ran her free hand along the fine cotton sheets of the bed, unable to remember the last time that she had slept on something so luxurious. After many years sleeping on the ground or on the hard beds of Castle Black, it felt almost too soft, like she was sitting on a cloud.
She gripped the sheets in her hand, frowning.
This had been her bed since she was old enough to be out of a crib. How many times had she awoken to the sun flooding her chamber that overlooked the sea? How many times had Koki awoken her, or Cersei, or her sister? Sleepless nights in this bed as she waited for the sun to rise, to announce the arrival of some event that she had been excited for or dreading.
Her mouth ran dry.
The first time she had ever bled had been in this bed. Koki had run in at the sound of her screams, helping her to the bath before stripping the sheets. Somebody had fetched her mother who had burst in, glowing with pride.
She knew that stress could throw her off, and she had been under quite a bit lately. But Ren had not bled since before Hardhome, now well over ten weeks ago.
"That isn't possible." Her voice cracked.
Renfri had been old enough to remember when her mother was carrying Tommen. The way she had been so queasy for the first few months, taking three hot baths a day to combat her soreness.
How could she have been so stupid?
She had not even given it a thought. She was too wrapped up in the war to the South, the war to the North. Too enamored in the bliss that surrounded her every time she was in Jon's presence, the sheer thrill he gave her.
Jon.
It had been his primary concern when they had fell into each other. He had vowed to father no sons, it had been his greatest fear. How would he possibly react?
How could she possibly get back to him with a baby in tow?
The thought flashed across her mind before she could stop it. Essence of Nightshade, the tiniest of doses. One night hunched over a chamberpot and it could all be over. He would never have to know. Nobody had to.
But...she did not want to. If it had been any child other than Jons, the decision would be easy. So simple that she would treat it as casually as an afternoon stroll.
But she longed for his child. Their child.
It was insane. She felt insane. She knew that her fantasies of a white-haired Jon sunbathing in Myr, surrounded by their grandchildren, had been just that. Fantasies. The wandering mind of an idyllic woman in love. The timing was terrible, the circumstances far too grim. An army of the dead marching further south with each passing day, Renfri surrounded by lions in a palace hundreds of miles from Jon.
Renfri could not cry, so she laughed, clapping her hand over her mouth in surprise. Her mind ran wild with thought against her will. The image of little feet, little hands. Soft black curls and big brown eyes, Jon's nose and her dimpled chin.
She wanted it so badly. She couldn't, and yet she still did.
Renfri had to think. Not of Jon, not a far off future. It was time to accept the present as it was.
What would Cersei say? What would she do? She certainly would not react well, her daughter carrying a Northern bastards' bastard baby.
If she could hide it long enough, she could deliver in secret. Find a friend in King's Landing. Koki, maybe, if Ren could track her down. Pay her a handsome sum to pass the baby off as her own until Renfri herself could come to collect.
But Ren did not have many friends left in the South. Loras was being held prisoner at the Sept. Koki was god's know where. Tyrion and Varys had fled to the unknown after Joffrey's death. Sansa and Arya were in the wind. Jaime and Tommen were both too close to Cersei. Her friends were in the North, but they were all warriors. Tormund, Karsi, Edd, Davos. Nobody able to sit out of the fight to coddle an infant.
There was Sam and Gilly, who had a baby of their own. But she had no way to reach them, not with Sam studying at the Citadel. And she couldn't ask Gilly to ride for King's Landing alone in a land so unfamiliar to her.
Tommen and Jaime were her only chance. If she could get the support of the King and her uncle, she had a single shot in seven hells. Under the protection of the King, her baby could even have a name.
But not if she still wanted to get Tommen out of King's Landing.
Renfri had a choice to make.
It was an impossible notion. She pictured the conversation.
Hey, would you give up the most powerful and influential position in the world to come live in Myr with me and my bastard child? Leave your wife and family and faith to come farm berries with me?
Renfri stood up, taking a breath.
She only had one choice. She needed to tell Tommen. Gain his protection.
The rest would come with time.
Slowly, she crossed to her writing desk, pulling out fresh parchment and ink. She would give the letter to her handmaiden in the morning, hoping it would reach Jon by the end of the week.
Jon,
Words escape me. I am safe, I hope. I miss you dearly. How is Goji? Any news from the North?
Things are complicated here. Harder than I could have expected. I may return to you sooner rather than later.
Love,
R.B.