Chapter Text
She didn't know how long she laid in the cabin, the ship groaning and shuddering under the assault of the storm, her body wracked with tremors. Time dissolved into the rhythm of the waves and her own ragged breathing. The babe lay cradled against her breast, wrapped tightly in what little dry cloth could be found, his skin growing colder with each passing moment.
The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that swayed with the ship's lurch, making it feel as though the whole world moved in slow, unsteady circles. Somewhere far above, men shouted to one another, boots pounded on soaked decks, the rigging snapped and strained. She could feel the vessel buck beneath her, fighting against the pull of the sea's fury.
Her mind drifted, exhaustion pulling her under and yanking her back without warning. She would wake with a start, fingers tightening around the babe in her arms, afraid that if she loosened her grip for even a heartbeat, the sea would come and take him again. She pressed her lips to his tiny forehead over and over, as if her breath alone might breathe life back into him.
When the door finally opened, it was not the guard but a broad-shouldered sailor, his face drawn tight with something between duty and sorrow. He crouched beside her, water dripping from his hair, his voice low and halting. "You have to let me take him, my lady."
She shook her head violently, clutching the babe tighter, curling her body around him like a shield. "No. He's mine. He's all I have left—" Her words broke into sobs, her throat raw.
The man hesitated, his weathered hands trembling as he reached for her. "Please," he said quietly, though whether it was for her sake or his own, she couldn't tell.
It took both him and another sailor to pry her fingers away. Her nails scraped their hands, her voice rising into a desperate, broken wail that cut through the crash of the waves. They took him, as if the child were sleeping, their boots leaving trails of seawater across the planks as they stepped away.
The moment her arms were empty, the cold hit her like a blade. She folded forward, pressing her forehead to the wet boards, her body heaving with silent cries. The ship rolled and pitched, and still she stayed there, the hollow where her child had been feeling wider than the ocean itself.
The storm had passed by the time land rose on the horizon, but the sea still heaved beneath the ship, its swells sluggish and heavy like the breath of some great beast. Nella stood at the rail, her hands gripping the salt-stained wood, the wind tangling her damp hair. Her eyes, rimmed red and hollow, did not lift to meet the jagged coastline ahead.
When they docked, the cold hit her first—sharp and unyielding, a winter's breath that sank through her soaked cloak and into her bones. She stepped onto the creaking pier as if in a dream, her boots slick with frost, the boards groaning beneath her weight. The world here smelled of brine and smoke, but it carried none of Dragonstone's warmth, none of its volcanic heartbeat.
Men paused in their work as she passed. Sailors, fishmongers, guards—faces turned toward her, and something in their gaze lingered. It wasn't just the sight of a young woman, heavily cloaked and pale; it was the way she moved, slow and deliberate, as though each step had to be remembered. It was the way her eyes seemed fixed on some place far beyond the present moment.
The grief clung to her like a shroud, so tangible it made people drop their voices as she neared. No one dared ask who she was or what she had lost—they only knew, somehow, that whatever it was had left her less alive than the day before.
A gull screamed overhead, the sound slicing through the still air. She didn't flinch. The cold seeped deeper, but it couldn't touch the numbness that had already claimed her. Somewhere behind her, the sailors were unloading what little cargo had survived the crossing, their voices rising and falling like distant echoes.
As Nella began to stumble away from the ship, hugging herself as if trying to hold a stranger, a figure stepped into her path. A guard, tall and stoic, his armor slick with rain, blocked her way.
"Your Grace," he said cautiously, voice raised over the wind and crashing waves. "You shouldn't—"
"I need time," Nella interrupted, her voice raw, trembling with grief. "I need... a moment alone. I will return. I promise." Her eyes, brimming with tears, avoided his. She pressed her arms tighter around herself, trying to create a barrier against the world, against the memories that clawed at her.
The guard studied her for a long moment, the storm lashing against them both, rain and spray soaking them to the bone. Finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. "As you wish, Your Grace. I will wait."
Nella walked on, each step heavy, dragging through puddles and mud as the storm continued to rage around her. Her cloak, soaked through, clung to her like a second skin, and the cold bit deep into her bones. She hugged herself tighter, rocking slightly with every step, as if she could shield herself from the sorrow that threatened to consume her entirely. The city around her seemed alien and hostile, streets slick with rain, lanterns flickering weakly against the wind, the cries of the storm mingling with distant shouts and clanging metal.
Her mind wandered, or perhaps it refused to wander, replaying every horrid second of the birth, every wave that had tossed her like a doll in the tempest, every heartbeat that had stopped. Her grief weighed her down like a physical force; she felt hollowed, emptied of hope, and yet the ache of her loss pulsed as sharply as ever.
And then, slowly, a shape, a street, a wharf, a scent—something familiar pricked at the edge of her fogged mind. The buildings, whitewashed and cold, the smell of salt and fish, the narrow streets where she had once walked with less shame but more survival—White Harbor.
Recognition hit her in a cruel rush. She knew this place too well. The memory of younger days, of desperate nights and borrowed warmth in a world that had offered her nothing but hands and coin, surged up, unbidden and unwelcome. Her misery deepened; it was no longer just sorrow for the child she had lost—it was the bitter reminder of everything she had endured to survive, everything she had carried alone.
Her steps, almost automatic, carried her through streets she had once known like the back of her hand, down the alleys and paths she had walked every day when she was simply Nella of White Harbor. The life she had led here, the girl she had been, felt like a different person entirely—distant, untouchable, as if separated by decades and lifetimes of sorrow.
Her gaze fell on the familiar shape at the end of the street, the building that had marked both her survival and her shame. The brothel. Its red-lacquered sign swung lazily in the wind, the same faded curtains in the windows, the same faint glow from lanterns inside. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.
She stopped, heart hammering painfully in her chest, and simply stood there, staring. The memory of herself stepping through that door, timid yet bold, desperate yet alive, pressed on her mind. She could see the girl she had been, hear the laughter and the whispers, feel the chill of the floors beneath her bare feet, the clink of coins in rough hands.
And yet, standing there now, soaked, shivering, hollowed by grief, she felt like a ghost, an echo of that girl. Nella the girl of White Harbor had vanished, replaced by someone unrecognizable to herself: a woman who had lost too much, carried too much, and whose heart now bore a wound that no storm or sea could ever wash away.
The sound of the door creaking pulled Nella from her reverie. She froze, the drizzle soaking her hair and clothes, heart skipping as the door cracked open just enough to reveal a shadowed face. Dark hair framed sharp features, eyes wide with disbelief, and the severe expression was unmistakable.
Her breath caught. It couldn't be—could it? And yet, every line of that face, every familiar curve and sharp angle, struck her with undeniable recognition. Her old mistress, the one who had shaped so much of her youth in this city, stared back at her.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Time slowed in the rain-soaked street, the soft hiss of water on cobblestones mingling with the echo of memories too long buried. Nella opened her mouth, but no words came.
Then, as quickly as the door had opened, it slammed shut, the sharp thud cutting through the quiet drizzle. The click of the lock resonated like a verdict. Nella was left staring at the closed door, chest tightening, mind racing with the sudden, painful collision of past and present.
Her fingers trembled, dripping water onto the stones beneath her, as the rain continued its steady assault. The city felt both familiar and alien, and for the first time since leaving the storm-tossed ship, Nella felt the raw, unyielding weight of being utterly, painfully alone.
Yet she didn't speak. She didn't call out. She didn't even glance back at the door of the brothel, though the image of her old mistress's shocked face burned in her mind. The rain had stopped, but the streets were slick and glistening, reflecting the pale, exhausted light of a timid morning sun. Her cloak clung to her like a second skin, wet and heavy, pressing down on her shoulders already bowed with grief.
Each step felt impossibly heavy. Her arms instinctively wrapped around herself, as if holding onto someone she had lost, someone she could not bring back. She walked past the wharves, past merchants beginning to unpack, past sailors muttering in the drizzle, but she noticed none of it. The world moved around her, alive and real, while she felt hollow, untethered.
The guard's voice cracked the haze of her thoughts. "Your Grace, you'll need to take this carriage—"
She lifted a hand, almost mechanically, and shook her head. Her voice was low, hollow, yet edged with a bitter finality. "There's no need to call me that anymore," she said, her eyes fixed on the wet cobblestones before her. "I am no one now. Nothing ties me to this life... nothing."
The guard hesitated, unsure whether to press further. His words caught somewhere between duty and sympathy.
She took a shaky breath, her gaze turning to the gray sea beyond the docks, the water heaving under the lingering storm. "I have lost my husband... my child... everything I ever held dear," she continued, the words spilling from her in a tremor of sorrow that seemed too large for her frame to bear. "The titles, the crown, the life I thought I had—it's all gone. I am nothing."
For a moment, the guard said nothing, merely watched as the grief that had weighed her down for months seemed to anchor her to the world yet detach her from it all at once. She turned away, hugging herself as if holding onto some fragile remnant of herself—or perhaps the memory of what she had lost.
She didn't even ask where it was taking her; curiosity had abandoned her, leaving only exhaustion, despair, and a numbing certainty that the world had nothing left to offer her.
The carriage waited, its wheels slick with rain and mud. She climbed inside, the soft interior enveloping her like a fragile cocoon, a temporary barrier against the chaos of her own emotions. She let herself fall onto the seat, her face buried in her hands, trembling as she finally surrendered to the weight of everything—the loss, the storm, the sea, the child she had held only to lose.
The horses stirred and began to move, the carriage jolting slightly over the uneven stones, rocking her gently yet cruelly, as though the road itself mocked her grief. Outside, life continued, indifferent to her suffering: the docks bustled, the gulls cawed, the wind whispered against the buildings. Inside, she drifted in a haze, the motion lulling her into a fragile, restless sleep.
Even in sleep, the memories clung. The tempest at sea, the violent rocking of the ship, the red, broken body of her child in her arms, the distant, haunting cries she thought she heard—all of it replayed endlessly in her mind. Her hands remained clutched as if she could still hold something, anything, that belonged to the life she had lost.
And like that, the carriage carried her away from White Harbor, away from the life she had once known, leaving only a hollowed, broken woman in its wake.