Is it not my duty as a son to ensure my mother is well? ( He can sense that is not what she means. But even if his own mind goes to the duty of an heir, it all still stands. He would give up much of himself to ensure their victory, to ensure that their family survives the war and peace returns to the realm so they can prepare for the Long Winter and the horrors that are coming.

Rhaenyra's hand is cold and Jace wraps his fingers around it, wishing he had more warmth to offer. ) I fear it is not big enough to share. Perhaps if I was as young as Joffrey still.

( If he were young and small, still a boy who could cling to his mother's skirts and hide inside her grand coats when the cold air chose to bite. Or crawl into her bed when the chill plagued the halls of Dragonstone, cuddling close when her bed was only her own until his brother's trickled in as well. It has been long since Jace grew past it, shed boyhood to become a man. Sharing body heat is the answer now, but it feels almost foolish and childish to suggest it now. )