The balcony was her one glimpse of freedom. Every morning, Meera stepped out on it to take in the view of the city. The people down below were free, unlike her. Perhaps at another time in her life, she would have tried to use it for her escape. She would have scaled the walls with her bare fingers, sneaking away like a cat in the night. But she couldn't risk the life growing inside of her as easily as her own. She couldn't make her daughter motherless out of recklessness.

Her husband was probably reckless enough for the both of them anyway.

From the balcony, Meera could glimpse smoke rising from the south this morning. The Stormlands were burning, but not from flames but rather from fury. She knew it was Gendry's doing. When crouching down low on the marble floor, she could hear her husband's name whispered from the city below. They spoke his name in fear. They knew he was coming. They worried he would burn the whole city just like the Dragon Queen. Because while the buildings mainly had recovered, the people hadn't. Their scars still lay on the surface, manifesting as fear.

Her hands cradled the growing bump under her tunic. So far, she'd managed to hide her condition from the king. But she didn't know how much longer that was possible. Because despite barely being able to eat a bite--on account of an overwhelming sense of nausea, perhaps caused by both her perilous situation and her physical condition--her belly seemed to grow even faster this time than when she carried Joreen.

It was concerning, both because it made her condition more apparent and because of what she feared was the cause.

There was more than one child in there.

Somehow, she knew that was the truth. Perhaps it was the gods of the redwood speaking to her or perhaps it was a mother's intuition. No kicks reverberated inside of her yet, yet she could feel their presence.

Meera was right of course. Two boys would be born. One with the furious gaze of his father and one with the wild soul of his mother.

Robert and Howland Baratheon. On a bed of blood, they would be born.

The door slammed open, drowning out the whispers below that told of yellow stag banners crossing a blood-filled river.

"The servants tell me you've barely touched your food for days," the king stated in his signature monotone voice.

Meera rose, adjusting her tunic to make sure it didn't accentuate the roundness of her belly. "I'm not hungry," she replied, sitting down on the bed that was almost her whole world these days, as she spent the time moving between its covers and the balcony outside.

"You need to eat," he-who-looked-like-Bran informed her. "I didn't bring you here for you to perish of starvation. I brought you here to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" she snorted. "From my husband and child? I'd rather be unsafe then. I can defend myself, you know. Just like I defended Bran up north. Even if you're not him, you should remember that."

"You do not know the true forces controlling this world, Meera. You think you love him but your marriage wasn't meant to be. You set the world in chaos, making it impossible to control."

She shrugged. "Then let it be chaos. That's what life is like, at least for the rest of us. Chaos is better than captivity. You don't know what comes next. No one does."

"It will end the same," he insisted, without explanation. "It always does."

Meera rose and placed herself right in front of the king in his wheelchair. She wasn't scared of him. "How does it end, Bran?" she asked, trying to coax an answer out of him by using the name she'd known him by. Perhaps that boy was still in there somewhere.

He just stared at her, or perhaps behind her--because who knew where this guy was really looking?--with an annoying smirk on his lips. And then, without lifting his gaze from her, he stood up.

Bran Stark stood from his wheelchair. He towered over her like the man he never got the chance to be, using legs that had been rendered useless years ago.

Meera gasped, but she didn't flinch. She stood her ground.

"You die, Meera," he replied, darkness in his eyes. "That's how it ends. You die just like Lyanna."

She fell back on the bed, unable to process what he'd told her. Intuitively, she clasped her belly. If she died, her children would die with her.

"Take your tunic off," the king ordered her, still standing above her. His body belonged to a teenager but his soul belonged to something else. The light from outside disappeared as he stepped in front of the balcony door, obstructing her one glimpse of freedom.

Meera shook her head, refusing to obey.

The king sighed. "If you don't cooperate I will get someone in here to undress you. It's your own choice, Meera. I figured you wanted to keep your dignity and not be wrangled like a child."

She wasn't scared of him, or what he could do to her. What she did fear was letting the king in on the secret covered by her clothing. She feared he would hurt her children and she couldn't let that happen.

"I won't take advantage of you. Such urges are disgustingly human. I just need to see you."

Meera still didn't reply. She looked down at the floor, refusing to move a finger.

"Ser Brienne!" The king called out. "The prisoner won't obey."

Before the knight entered, the king once again took his seat in the wheelchair. Perhaps not even his underlings knew that particular truth. Perhaps Meera could use that fact one day.

"You called, your grace," Brienne of Tarth stood in the doorway. Her expression was stern and loyal, as always. Even though her features and coloring were similar to her cousin Brynda's, their demeanors were completely different. Meera wished she'd gotten to know the female knight during other conditions, where they didn't stand on different sides.

"The prisoner is refusing to undress," the king stated. "You need to make her do so."

Meera's eyes met Brienne's. Calm and blue like the sea. Just like Brynda's. But currently, there was also an undercurrent of sadness and despair. She didn't want to do this. She probably didn't want to be here at all. But loyalty bound her to protect Catelyn Stark's children.

If only she'd known that the man sitting in that wheelchair no longer had any relation to Lady Stark.

With a sigh, Brienne put down her sword, trying to stall the process. "I apologize, Lady Baratheon," she said, looking down at the floor instead of meeting Meera's eyes.

"Lady Baratheon," the king sneered. "She's the wife of a bastard and shouldn't be addressed as a lady."

Brienne didn't respond. Her manners kept her from protesting but her manners also kept her from not calling a lady by her proper title.

"Would you stand up, Lady Baratheon?" she asked softly. The question was nothing but a whisper, perhaps she hoped the king wouldn't hear her silent rebellion.

Meera did as she was told. No other option seemed viable at this moment, and she didn't want to force Ser Brienne to disobey the king. Such actions could be dangerous and Brienne could be a useful ally in the castle down the road.

"You don't have to undress me," Meera whispered to the knight, standing proudly on her bare feet in front of the king. "I will do it myself."

Realizing she couldn't hide her secret anymore, Meera decided to not give the king the satisfaction to see her unrobed in a humiliating way. It wasn't worth it for neither her nor Brienne.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the hem of her tunic. Slowly, with her eyes steadfastly focused on the king, she pulled it upward. Only a thin linen chemise remained underneath, which puckered noticeably around her growing belly.

"Pull it up," the king commanded, gesturing toward the remaining layer of fabric.

Meera sighed, there was no turning back now. She had to reveal everything. She couldn't protect her children from his all-seeing eyes.

With defiance in her unwavering eyes, she bared her swollen midsection for all to see. There couldn't be any doubt about what hid underneath. Being well-fed wouldn't cause such a shape.

The king didn't look surprised or even upset. "That's what I suspected," he stated, letting his eyes rest on the round shape. "Humans can't help themselves from being human. You can't hide anything from me, Meera. You can't hide your child. I've told you I already know how this story ends because always ends the same. The past and future are the same story."

Letting the fabric fall over her belly again, Meera shook her head. "You don't know everything," she mumbled, realizing that he'd missed something.

While he'd uncovered one secret, he hadn't been able to foresee what she already knew. The king didn't know she carried not just one child but two.

Author's Note: It's all starting to come together... I'm quite enjoying getting to finally fit all these puzzle pieces that I threw out in part 1 together (like there being children named Robert and Howland Baratheon, although I think this is the first time I've revealed that the boys are actually twins).

Hopefully, anyone still reading is also enjoying seeing this all come to fruition :) (and please forgive me if I forget something from what I wrote years ago).