Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER I

–♛♛♛–

“You and I, we were born to die”

JACAERYS

Jace had a foreboding feeling in his stomach, and recurring dreams he was beginning to believe were prophetic. They were too real, too vivid. Dragons dancing, the realm bathed in flames, the decimation of himself and his family. The beginning of the end for the Targaryens. 

After all, the only thing that can tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself. He rubbed his head as he sat up in his bed. And oh, was it being torn down.

Blacks against Greens, dragon versus dragon, brother versus sister, uncle against nephew. This would not end until one was dead and the other on the throne, the ugly iron chair that Jace thought was not worth it, with the cost it was demanding.

Should things go to plan, he would inherit that seat one day. He did not envy his mother, nor his grandsire. Yet, he knew others envied him. For inheriting something so cursed, so wretched. Power is an ugly thing.

Just look at Viserys. All the power in the world, yet wasting away, dying, and his family already fighting over his inheritance like a pack of hungry hunting dogs when they smell blood. The one way it could truly be avoided, and it was ironic to Jace, was through the power of family. 

And they can’t mend bridges long burned if they live on Dragonstone. Mother can not solidify her rule if they live on Dragonstone. The realm must see them, must love them, and they must stand united.

He snorted to himself, knowing even now that Aemond would find his fleeting thought funny.

Stand Strong.

Jace knew, he had known, and he had done the best he could to shield Luke and Joffrey from the nasty muttered words. 

Bastard . Slithering around them, like a shadow of Death shrouding their shoulders. Always there, never forgotten in the background. He surveyed himself in the Myrish glass in his chambers. Dark, curly hair, pale skin, but his eyes. Valyrian purple. His cheekbones are high and angular, like his mothers. His nose, straight and perfectly forming to his face, his lips pink and in a cupid's bow, like his grandmother Aemma, according to his mother. 

It mattered not to him. He could look just as Valyrian as Daemon, and the vipers would still whisper. Discredit his mother, ruin her reputation, and slander her were all the Hightowers had done since Alicent married Viserys. 

And poisoned his family along with the rest of the realm. 

He sighed, exhaling sharply through his nose as he dressed and left his room. They would be flying to King’s Landing, per his suggestion.

After all, he was sure Daemon and mother missed his Grandsire, and he them. And wouldn’t it be perfect to finally begin to consolidate her rule? Solidify her claim? He felt a twinge of guilt for manipulating his mother and Daemon, but he knew what must be done. 

His dreams had never held much weight, but deep down in his heart, it was known that this would happen. That the Targaryen dynasty should fall. He sighed, looking into the dying embers of the fire in his chambers, the morning sun high in the sky as they prepared for their return to King’s Landing. 

His mother, just the night before, had taken him into the council chambers, the legendary painted table of Aegon the Conqueror lay before him, taunting him.

From my blood will come the Prince that was Promised. 

“And his will be the Song of Ice and Fire,” Jace whispered to himself softly. He looked at the letter in his hand, preparing to send the raven before mounting his beautiful emerald dragon, Vermax, and flying away from the place that had become his home in the past seven years. 

He shook his head free of his thoughts regarding the prophecy, and ran a hand through his dark raven curls. 

Despite his hair, he looked a pure Valyrian. High, angular cheekbones, a straight sloped elegant nose, full lips, and his amethyst colored eyes. 

He was told they were the color of Baelon the Brave and Prince Aemon’s eyes. He wished he had known them, wished he could know a time where his family was happy, and they were united. 

He straightened his back, standing at his full height (he was now taller than Daemon, and idly wondered if he would reach Harwin Strong in height, if he had lived) and walked straightened his doublet. 

He walked down to where they kept the ravens on Dragonstone, and sent the letter. 

He would be in King’s Landing once it reached its intended recipient. 

He rolled his shoulders and sighed, clenching his fists. He inhaled deeply, as though preparing himself for what was going to be a tumultuous time, he knew. 

By the time he arrived at the dragonmont, everyone was waiting for them by their dragons impatiently.

“What took you so long?” Daemon asked huffily. 

Jace shrugged. “I was sending a raven, Kepa. ” He climbed onto the back of his dragon with expert precision and began strapping himself in, ignoring the strange, searching look that Daemon was giving him.

Vermax is growing rather quickly , Jace thought proudly with a smile. Vermax over the past year had grown volatile when chained, preferring to roam free. It led to Jace believing that chained dragons had stunted growth, once he saw how big his Emerald King had become outside of his chains, he encouraged Luke, Joff, Egg, Baela, and Viserys to unchain their own dragons, and the adolescents were growing by leaps and bounds.

Jace was sure Vermax was nearing the size of Seasmoke, his father’s dragon before Laenor had died. 

He tried to shove the thought away as they were in the air, but he could not help but think of Aegon and Sunfyre. 

He was sure that Vermax would at least be the same size as the beautiful golden dragon, should it come down to a dragonfight, Jacaerys was sure he could win. 

“Rystas Vermax, are you ready for the journey to King’s Landing?” He felt Vermax’s response down the bond the two shared, Vermax anxiously fluttering his wings in the air. 

Jace rubbed a soothing hand down the beautiful glittering scales of his beloved soul bonded dragon and he whispered softly. 

“I will not let anyone chain you, sweetling.” He soothed Vermax throughout the entire flight there, just as Vermax soothed him and his anxieties regarding seeing his Uncles and the Greens once more. 

As he saw the Red Keep from above the clouds and the dragons circled the dragonpit in order to land, Jace’s mind idly wandered to the raven he sent, wondering if it had reached its destination yet. 

But, as he dismounted and noticed the royal family standing there, awaiting their arrival with pinched expressions on their faces, he schooled his expression. He should act as befits his station.

Second in line to the throne, he answers to none except his mother and grandsire, the King and Princess of Dragonstone. His Grandsire was there, looking as though he was rotting more and more everyday, with barely enough strength to breathe, let alone stand.

He knew from this that he did not have enough time with his grandsire, and decided to speak to Daemon. Perhaps, healers from Essos can do what the maesters from Westeros cannot. Or, will not. Once dismounted from his dragon, he pressed his forehead against Vermax’s, and he chuckled a bit when the dragon affectionately blew smoke in his face. 

He turned his gaze to the dragon keepers, who had the chains ready. 

“You will not chain my dragon, nor any of my families.” He said perfectly and clearly in High Valyrian. 

“My Prince, it is procedure to–” 

“I care not,” he drawled slowly. “Should I find out any of the Dragonstone dragons have been chained, I will see to the hiring of new dragon keepers personally.” he said lowly, not noticing the raised eyebrows of Aegon and the furrowed brows and scowl of Aemond as they listened to his perfect High Valyrian. 

Unlike their own, which needs some work. 

They bowed their heads, tossing the chains away and carefully beckoning the dragons to go into their old caves and dwellings. 

He turned around and faced the royal family, bowing to his Grandsire and nobody else. 

He waited for his mother to speak. 

“Father,” she said warmly, kissing his cheeks, uncaring of the rot staining his skin. “It is lovely to see you.”

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys rasped. “I have missed you so, my daughter.” 

Introductions were done, with them very stiffly greeting Alicent, Aegon, and Aemond. 

Jace did not even bother looking in Otto Hightower’s direction once. 

Daemon had his hand on the pommel of Dark Sister as he eyed Ser Cole and Otto with open disgust and hatred. It was once they walked into the Red Keep that none could bite their tongue any further. 

Daemon snorted. “Change of decoration, brother?” He said mildly, eyeing the totems and idols of the Seven with thinly veiled disgust. It was everywhere. 

“The seven serve as a beacon of guidance in these trying times.” Alicent said softly with a tight smile and Jace rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, well, it’s…lovely.” Rhaenyra said with a poorly disguised laugh that she tried to hide as a cough. It made Jace snicker, and she gave him a reproachful look.

It did not work, as she was clearly fighting her own smile and laugh. It merely made Jace and Luke laugh all the more. 

“Is something funny, nephews?” Aemond said with a predatory glint in his eye. Jace straightened his back and met Aemond’ gaze unflinchingly. He had not seen his Uncle since the night his little brother had taken his eye. 

“Nothing at all,” Jace said simply. “While I find the decor to be…” he reached for the word, and then smirked once he remembered it. “ Sentimental , it will not be this way much longer, rest assured.” 

“This is my house hold,” Alicent said stiffly. “You have no authority–”

“Actually, I do,” Jace said simply. “You are the Queen Consort. You are not born royalty. I am of a higher station, in the direct line of succession. My mother, Daemon, I, and my family, can do as we deem fit.” He said genially, his hands clasped around his back as he looked at her with an amiable smile. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged troubled glances as they stared at him, but he stared at the Greens with no hesitation, nothing but a kind smile on his face and a glint in his eyes that Jace was sure only Aemond noticed.

Jace knew that his Uncle recognized it for what it was. They may be the Greens, they may have held all the power whilst his family was back on Dragonstone, but this was all but a declaration to Alicent, and to Otto.

They are here now, and Jace will thwart them at every turn. 

“I am your Queen .” She spat, her cheeks flushed with anger, her green dress skirt billowing around her as she tried to move forward but was held back by her father. “You will address me with respect, Prince Jacaerys.” 

“My apologies,” Jace said simply. She relaxed for a moment before he continued. “I do not know where you got the notion that I was being disrespectful , when I was merely reminding you of your place, Lady Grandmother.” He said. Your place, below me. It went unsaid, but it was heard and known. “Or is it…Lady Step Grandmother?” He mused idly, then laughed. He turned to Daemon and Rhaenyra, who were smirking and he shrugged. 

“You never know, with our family, after all.” It was a joke that had their faction of the family smothering laughs, and the Greens glaring at them all with undisguised hatred. 

Soon, whispers traveled through the Red Keep.

The Black Prince thwarted and humiliated The Green Queen. 

Daemon looked at Alicent with a wolfish grin. 

“Kids.” He said simply, as though that one word said it all. 

– ♛♛♛ –

Miles away from the Red Keep and the Targaryens, a raven arrived in the cold, snow covered lands of the North. His vision was blurring from reading accounts, taxes, and ravens from his Lords about betrothals and hunting trips. He sighed, rubbing his temples in agitation. 

He had not a wink of rest since the death of his beloved wife, and had been running himself haggard. Thankfully, his mother was able to take on the duties of Lady of the castle until he remarried. He heard a knock on his door. 

“Come in,” He called out, his gruff voice even deeper from the lack of use in the past hours he had been locked in his solar. He ran a hand through his hair as the door opened to reveal the Maester, his sister, and his mother, Viserra. The most beautiful of the daughters of Jahaerys and Alysanne. 

“What is it?” He asked shortly. “I must get back to the trade routes I’m negotiating with Essos.”

“Lord Stark, a raven has arrived.” Maester Snow said simply, passing the small letter to the Warden of the North. 

He looked at the emblem, a three headed dragon embedded in the wax seal. He raised his eyebrows. 

“It appears our Targaryen cousins from the South have remembered us.” He said in amusement. His mother snorted, her white long hair falling down her back in a beautiful Northern style braid and her amethyst eyes narrowed. She had not let go of her bitterness against her parents and her family in the South, as they had scorned her for running away from her marriage to the Manderly Lord. 

Ran away, right into the arms of his father, Rickon Stark. 

Lord Cregan Stark, 

We have not met, which is a shame, as I know us to be family. I intend to remedy that. My family and I fly to King’s Landing at this very moment, and should have already arrived by the time you receive this raven. 

It would be my utmost pleasure to invite you and the rest of our family to visit the Red Keep, once winter has finally left us, which I suspect to be rather soon. I do hope to learn more of you, and of the North. 

Please, think on the invitation. 

Warmest of regards, your cousin,

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Second in Line to the Iron Throne. 

He looked up from the letter. 

“Thank you, Maester.” He said kindly. “Excuse us.” The man bowed, and shuffled out of his solar. Cregan waited once the door was shut before he looked at his mother and sister. 

“It appears Prince Jacaerys has invited us to visit with our family in the Red Keep.” Cregan said softly. Elaena snorted, dropping down in the seat in front of him unceremoniously. 

Her shiny raven hair was left alone in waves, cascading down her back elegantly. She looked at the letter with scrutiny in her purple eyes, one of the only features they had inherited from their Valyrian mother. 

“And why should we go?” She asked imperiously. “It is not as though they had cared about us before.” 

“Tides are shifting,” Viserra said, staring into the fire intently. It was dancing in the reflection of her eyes, making it look as though there were amethyst flames alight in her gaze. Cregan sat up, his spine straightening. His mother had delved into the Valyrian magics, just as her children had dabbled in both Valyrian and First Men magic since they were young. 

Cregan’s direwolf, Shadow, lifted his ginormous head, ears perked up as though he, too, was listening to their conversation. 

“We must go.” Viserra said softly.

“No, mother.” Elaena said defiantly, shaking her head. “It is known. Starks do not thrive in the South.” 

Her mother smiled sharply, and caressed her daughter's cheek, before looking at Cregan. 

“You are Starks, yes. You have ice in your veins and the magic of the first men in your blood. You run with direwolves and you warg into your familiars in the night. But do not forget, you are not merely wolves. You have fire in your veins just as well, and you are meant to conquer the skies. Starks do not thrive in the South.” She said, her elegant footsteps echoing in the halls of his solar. She met his gaze fiercely. 

“But, you are not just a Stark. You are also a Targaryen . It is time, I think, that the realm is reminded of that.” She said primly, a devious glint in her eyes.

“You shall go, then.” Cregan said simply. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Mother.” 

“We shan’t be gone long, my son.” Viserra said simply. “Besides, there will be a Stark in Winterfell. One who would rather lay his head on a chopping block and face White Walkers than betray you, Cregan.” 

For a moment, Cregan thought she was talking about his cousin, Alyn, before he painfully reminded himself that Alyn was killed by his own brothers when Bennard tried to Usurp Cregan’s position as Warden of the North. 

But the only other person that could have taken this position while Cregan was away would be his little brother, who was one year older than Elaena, at eight and ten. But he could not, for he left two nights ago to journey to the wall. 

“Baelon is journeying to the Wall,” Cregan said, shaking his head. “He is set on taking the Black. I have tried to convince him otherwise, but he would not listen to reason.” 

“Baelon may have the name and look of a Targaryen, but he is of the North. He would rather hang himself from the ramparts of Winterfell than journey to King’s Landing.” Viserra said simply. 

It was true. Baelon, however Valyrian in appearance, with his white hair and purple eyes, scorned anything to do with the South. And, this way, Cregan could have his little brother by his side for longer.

Perhaps, some experience with manning a castle such as Winterfell will prepare him for the gift Cregan was planning on bestowing him for his nine and tenth birthday, before Baelon decided he was going to become a brother of the Night’s Watch. 

“It is still day,” Elaena said nonchalantly, looking at her nails as though they were the most interesting thing in the world. “If you ride now, without stopping, you can reach them by tomorrow.” 

Cregan said nothing for a long moment, before he abruptly sat up from his chair and stormed out of his solar, intent and determination in his gaze. 

Elaena and Viserra were quiet for a moment, before Elaena snorted looking at her mother.

“I knew you would find an excuse to make sure Baelon stays home. Even if it means going to King’s Landing.” She said with amusement in her gaze.

Viserra smiled, grabbing a glass and pouring herself some northern ale. She took a large swig of it, before she smiled at her only daughter. 

“Baelon is my son. The lone wolf dies, but..”

Elaena smiled sadly, looking down at the reminder of her beloved father. Viserra felt a pang in her heart as she thought of her late husband. 

“But the pack survives.” She whispered. 

Her mother nodded. 

“Baelon’s destiny is not to rot at the Wall,” she said, a far off gaze in her eyes. 

“Well, mother,” Elaena said simply, a discouraged look on her face. “Let us go pack, shall we?” 

A being long thought dead and gone arose within her. She did not rise from her chair as Viserra Stark, Lady of Winterfell. 

No, for the first time in many years, she rose from her seat as Princess Viserra Targaryen, daughter of King Jahaerys, The Conciliator and the Good Queen Alysanne. 

“Let’s.” She said graciously, then scathingly thought I have a few things to say to my ‘family.’ 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER    II 

– ♛♛♛ –

“I was tame, I was gentle

Till the circus life made me mean

Don’t you worry folks, we took out all her teeth,

Who’s afraid of little old me? 

You should be.” 

JACAERYS 

In the weeks since their return to the Red Keep, Jace, Daemon, and Rhaenyra had all the Seven heraldry stripped away, placed with their Valyrian and Targaryen emblems once more. It gratified him to see the sour look on Alicent’s face, but he knew if they were to be a family, he could not afford to antagonize further.

At least, not antagonize them much . He knew it left the worst taste in Otto Hightower’s mouth when Grandsire demanded that Jace enter the small council sessions as an advisor, an offer never presented to his own sons. Small victories were assured, and slowly the Blacks were gaining the love and soon, loyalty, of the realm. 

But, it was not happening fast enough. Which is why when this morning he received the raven from Cregan Stark that they would begin the journey shortly, he could not have been happier. He did the calculations in his head, he would have sent the raven right before making the preparations to set off, which would mean that by the time Jace would have received the letter, they would already be venturing down South. He decided that it was time to tell the family what he did, hence his impatience sitting in the Small Council chambers currently.

“We must invite everyone for the celebrations regarding the birth of the Princess’s…er sixth child?” Grand Maester Mellos said, a questioning, sardonic look on his face. Rhaenyra protectively cradled her baby bump. 

“All the important Lords of the Realm have been notified,” Otto said, waving his hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Oh?” Jacaerys perked up. “I assume you have written to Lord Cregan Stark, then?” 

“The Starks?” Tyland Lannister snorted derisively. “What do they matter?” 

“What do they matter?” Jacaerys repeated in disbelief. “They are not only the longest ruling family of Westeros, but they hold the allegiance and love of the largest and strongest Kingdom of all of the Seven. They are the most respected House in all Seven Kingdoms, who had no casualties during the Conquering.” He said vehemently, eyes narrowed. 

He smirked when he saw the way the council shifted uncomfortably. 

“Not to mention, they are our cousins.” He said simply.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra inclined her head. “My Great-Aunt Viserra married Lord Rickon Stark.” 

Viserys had a sour expression on his face. “They bore three children from that union, I believe.” He said gruffly. 

Another key difference would be the rise in health for Viserys, much to the Maesters’ chagrin. Daemon had called the healers from Essos as Jace had requested, and once they arrived Viserys truly had no choice but to accept their treatments.

Treatments which had been working, and he was improving by leaps and bounds. He no longer needed a cane as much, his gait becoming steadier as the weeks wore on. His bald patches were now growing hair again, his rotted skin healing – after most of it having to be cut off – new, pink scarred skin growing in its place. Healthier skin. 

Viserys was by no means well, and he probably never would be again. But some color coming back into his cheeks – a bittersweet hope for an outcome that would never truly come – was good enough for his family.

The ones that cared for him, anyways. Jace knew they were merely delaying the inevitable. He would eventually succumb to his illness, but for now, he had more time. 

“Yes, they did.” Jace answered. “Cregan, the Lord of Winterfell, Baelon Stark, and Elaena Stark.” 

“She named her son Baelon?” Viserys asked, his eyes wistful, only for a moment. 

“Didn’t she want to marry grandfather?” Rhaenyra asked with a raised brow.

“Bullshit,” Daemon snorted, speaking for the first time. “She merely wanted to be free, and she thought the only way she could be was to become Queen.” Viserys sighed.

“She may not have truly wanted to marry father, but she loved him fiercely.” He reminisced. 

“I’m glad you think so fondly of her, Grandsire,” Jace began, his face a frozen mask of indifference. “Because I took the liberty of sending them a raven and inviting them to visit the Red Keep.” 

“You did what?” Otto snarled, the entire council and his family stunned to silence.

“Why would you do such a thing, Jace?” Rhaenyra demanded.

“We have been estranged from our Northern cousins for long enough,” Jace said simply, and stared significantly into Daemon’s eyes as he spoke these words. “It is important for us to strengthen familial bonds with the Crown and its largest Kingdom.” 

Realization dawned in Daemon’s eyes as a smirk was raised upon his lips, and he inclined his head. 

“Yes, I believe it… prudent! ” He said simply, stressing the word as though he only recently discovered its existence, searching for a word on the tip of his tongue but not quite placing it. “A wonderful idea, Prince Jacaerys.” 

Jace, making a show of it, preened under Daemon’s praise, and spoke clearly in perfectly accented High Valyrian.

“Kirimvose, Kepa. Ziry iksos tolī jorrāelatan pār mirre naejot kustikagon īlva ties rūsīr īlva jelmōñe ānogar.” 

Thank you father. It is more important than ever to strengthen our ties with our northern blood.

“Ao jāhor ivestragon issa skoros bisa iksos bē, byka dārilaros,” Daemon whispered softly in his ear from his spot next to him. 

You better tell me what this is about later, little prince.

“ Kesan, kepa. ” Jace answered back softly. 

“That was not your right to do that on the Crown’s behalf,” Ser Otto snarled. “You do not have the authority–”

“Excuse m–” Rhaenyra had begun, but Jacaerys beat her to it by slamming his hands on the table, the noise cutting off all whispering and murmuring, leaving complete, shocked, silence in its place.

“I do not have the authority?” He echoed the question calmly. “I do not have the authority, not only as my mother’s heir but as a Targaryen, to write to my Northern kin?” He repeated the question with such sincere bewilderment that he had everyone in the Small Council chambers shifting and murmuring uncomfortably. 

“You do not have the authority to make such important invitations–” Otto began once more, his face a perfect shade of red that made Jacaerys think of beets. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. He stretched, showing the three headed dragon emblem sewn into his black leather doublet.

“I cannot invite members of my family…into my home? Is that what you’re trying to say, Ser Otto?” The question was once more framed so innocently, so innocuous that there was no proper response. For, at the end of the day, who was Otto Hightower to tell a Prince who he can and cannot write to? 

“Enough of this, Otto,” Viserys said brusquely, a disapproving frown on his face. “Jacaerys may write to whomever and host whomever he wants in his own family home. This is nonsense.” His voice was cold, and Otto clenched his jaw and glared at the table as though he was a nine year old child, and the table had personally offended him. 

Jacaerys had a triumphant smile in his eyes as he exited the Small Council room, feeling as though he had accomplished much in his short time of being in King’s Landing. 

The only thing he had not yet begun to make progress on was getting close to his Uncles. In the weeks he had been here, they had trained together, ate together, studied together with their tutors, and yet not one of them had exchanged a word. 

Cool indifference was difficult. Jacaerys did not plan for cool indifference. He planned accordingly, betting on hot headed anger and hatred. He could work with those conditions. But these?

Fortunately, it seemed as though the Gods were aiding him in his journey (one he was entirely sure was orchestrated by them) as he stumbled across a peculiar sight. It was Helaena, and he thanked his stars for it. His sweet tempered aunt was always the easiest to get along with, though he thought her strange as a child.

He knows better now, and knows in his bones that his darling aunt is a Dreamer. Helaena was alone in an abandoned room that had sheets of white linen covering what seemed to be furniture, and he could see the dust particles floating in the air, illuminated by the blinding single ray of sunlight that came in through the large window, leaving only the farthest of corners in the shadows.

Helaena sat in the very center of that ray of light, causing it to dance off her silvery blonde hair, making it glow as though she had a divine halo stretched around her. She looked ethereal, yet entirely out of place in a green dress that was too big for her.

“Helaena?” He asked her softly, watching as she startled out of the dazed trance she was in, her hand in the shape of a cup, as though she was holding an insect that had long since left her and she had not noticed, so dazed and in her thoughts she was. 

“Oh,” She said softly, and he realized it was the first time he’s heard her voice since he was a child. It was as soft and sweet as he remembered it, and he felt a twinge of regret. “My apologies, Prince Jacaerys, I seem to have forgotten myself.” 

“It’s just Jace to you, Helaena.” He said amiably, and stood awkwardly in front of her. He gestured to where she was sitting, on a setteé shaped object, covered in dusty old linen. “Can I..”

“Oh, of course,” Helaena said softly, scooting away so that he may sit. He was careful not to touch her, and instead looked at her with a gentle smile on his face.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly.

She nodded, not looking at him as she softly picked at the skin around her fingernails, and he noticed they were red and slightly irritated. His hand twitched, wanting to reach out and soothe her but not allowing himself to. 

“Helaena,” he said her name with a sigh, causing her to stop picking at her skin, evident she was listening, but still not looking at him. So, he ran his hand through his hair. 

“Helaena, look at me.” He commanded softly, and she immediately met his own purple gaze with her startling lavender eyes. “Is it Aegon?” 

She shook her head. “Aegon mostly ignores me,” She reassured. Then his heart plummeted when she continued. “Except sometimes, when he’s drunk.” 

“Was he drunk recently?” He asked casually.

“Oh, he’s drunk all the time now,” She responded in her sweet voice. “But no, it was not Aegon.”

“Then?” Jace prodded. He knew she was hesitating, saw it in the way she looked away and bit her lower lip. “We’re family, you can trust me.”

She sighed, water filling her eyes. She reached for him , holding his hands tightly. 

“I always see myself falling,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fall. Please, you have to help me,” She whispered. “Bloody cheese, falling, spools of green and spools of black,” and at this final statement, it was as though his blood ran cold. “The Dance of Dragons will end us all.” 

The Dance of Dragons .  

“Shh, Helaena,” Jace said, gathering her in his arms and running his fingers through her hair. He felt his heart ache for Helaena. “I know you dream,” he said, ignoring the way she stiffened for a moment. “I saw it too,” he admitted. 

She relaxed in his touch, and he heard her unasked question as she tapped on his arm from where he was holding her. 

“I saw fire, pain, screaming,” He admitted. “I saw us all, dead. House Targaryen had fallen.” He was lost in his own dreams and his own thoughts now. “Not a single dragon left.” 

“So you agree?” She wrenched herself out of his grip, staring at him intently. “You think we should stop this?”

“Yes,” Jace admitted. “It’s why I’ve convinced my family to move here.”

“We can stop it?” She breathed in shock, and he nodded, a smile overtaking his handsome face. 

“Yes, Helaena,” he said simply. “We can stop it.” 

She smiled a breathtaking, alluring, smile. She thanked him softly, and hesitantly planted a kiss on his forehead as she practically skipped out from the room, and he felt a tinge of hope for this absolutely insane plan that had a very low chance of working. 

He only hoped that his family did not think him mad at the end of the visit with the Starks. In order for them to succeed, the dragons must be united. 

All of the dragons. He remained in that room for a few moments longer, contemplating his conversation with Helaena. Were they now working together? Were they friends? He didn’t know, but he hoped that they were. 

He decided to journey down to the dragonpit as seeing Vermax always raised his spirits, and so he set off, his mind on his emerald green dragon. Once he reached the pit, he was surprised to see the dragon keepers were not there, and thought they must have been dismissed for the moment, or perhaps went to eat food as it was nearing lunch. 

He ventured into the caves, passing Syrax and Caraxes, where his dragon was resting. Jace noted Vermax’s cave was near Sunfyre, and he could not help himself but to venture a bit closer to see the beautiful golden dragon he had not laid eyes on since he was but a boy. 

He heard whispers and decided to venture closer, knowing the risk that would be posed to him should Sunfyre notice his intrusion. 

“I don’t know what to do, Sunfyre.” A male voice, one Jace knew to be Aegon whispered to his dragon. Jace had to stifle a gasp as he saw them. 

Aegon had bruises all over his face, a split lip, and his hair was matted down with sweat. Sunfyre looked mournfully at his rider, a chain wrapped around the poor dragon’s neck. A chain that was too tight and was damaging the outer layer of the dragon’s iridescent golden scales. 

“I do not wish to be King,” Aegon whispered. “I have no wish to rule. What kind of brother steals his sister's birthright?” He asked, obviously not expecting an answer back, but Sunfyre gave a mournful trill and nudged Aegon’s head with his own. 

Jace felt his heart stop, and wondered just who would leave those bruises on Aegon. The only person that could harm a Prince, was the King. But Viserys was too weak to inflict such damage upon his son, not to mention, he would never dream of harming his children.

He would neglect them, he does neglect them, but never would he lay a hand to them. And so, Jace wondered if it was Alicent, or if it was Otto that decided to beat Aegon into submission. To turn him into the perfect puppet King. 

It was no wonder why Aegon was always engaging in drunken debauchery if this were the life he had led in the Red Keep for an odd twenty or so years. 

Jacaerys steeled himself for a moment and decided to make his presence known with loud footsteps, ignoring the years of stealth Daemon had instilled into him. He saw Aegon tense.

“Who’s there?” He demanded, false bravado in his voice. Jace entered his line of vision, hands up in faux surrender to show he meant no harm. 

“Apologies, Uncle. I’m unused to the dragon pit, I merely wanted to visit Vermax.” Jace said simply.

“Vermax’s cave is next to this one, on the right.” Aegon said simply, wiping his eyes discreetly and turning away so Jacaerys could not see his bruises. 

“Thank you,” Jace said, though he already knew that. He hesitated, before reaching out an olive branch, hoping Aegon would take it. “Do you remember when we were children?” he asked wistfully for a moment.

Aegon tensed. “Yes.” 

“We were friends,” Jace mused. “We always promised once our dragons were grown enough, we would fly together. Does that promise still hold merit?”

It was Aegon who hesitated now. 

He opened his mouth then closed it, and for a moment Jace thought he would say no. Not that he would blame him, knowing now that this went further than Aegon wanting to be King and hating his mother, but that he did not want that at all, he did not hate Rhaenyra at all. 

He wondered just what Otto and Alicent were saying to him that made Aegon so scared, so bitter. He wondered what they were doing to him that turned Aegon from a mischievous fun loving child to a drunken letch that’s visited all the pleasure houses in King’s Landing. 

“Alright.” Aegon said stiffly, and Jace couldn’t help the grin that split his face. He turned to walk away and prepare his dragon, watching as Aegon undid the chains, and he paused. He turned around. 

“Aegon.” He called, and Aegon looked up from undoing the shackles around Sunfyre’s neck, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Chains are not good for dragons.” 

Aegon merely stared at him with an unidentifiable look in his eyes and nodded. 

– ♛♛♛ – 

Once the dragons were prepped and ready for flight, Rhaenyra and Daemon entered the dragonpit with Luke and Joffrey. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as she took in Jace and Aegon, ready to mount their dragons for a flight around the city. 

“Mother,” Jace said with a grin, walking over to her and leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. Aegon averted his gaze from them. 

“Jace,” She said warmly. “Aegon,” Her tone didn’t change its warmth, but it was filled with a wariness that he hadn’t heard from her before. Daemon’s face was impassive as he stared at the green prince. 

“What are you doing here?” Jace asked them. 

“We wanted to go for a flight!” Luke said proudly. “Joff is going to mount Tyraxes for the first time today.” His little brother was vibrating in excitement and Jace couldn’t help his grin. 

“And you, Prince Jacaerys?” Daemon asked with a white brow raised. 

“I convinced our dear Uncle to race!” Jace said with excitement, making a show of wrapping an arm around Aegon – it was odd, he was taller than him now – and grinning. “I want to see who is faster, Vermax or Sunfyre.” 

“Sunfyre, obviously, nephew.” Aegon said with a sniff, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing himself to get comfortable. 

Jace noticed Rhaenyra and Daemon’s eyes on the bruises that littered Aegon’s face. 

“You jest,” Jace deadpanned. “Vermax is the swiftest dragon in our generation.” 

“I don’t know, sweetling,” Rhaenyra jumped in teasingly. “Sunfyre did come from Syrax, and my Golden Lady is the fastest and most beautiful dragon.” 

“Vermax came from a clutch of Syrax as well,” Jace said with a good natured eye roll. “And, I’m sure Grandmother would disagree with you. The Red Queen is by far the swiftest of the dragons.” 

“Meleys is older than Syrax,” Rhaenyra countered. “Youth before experience.” 

“Isn’t the saying ‘age before beauty’ wife?” Daemon jested and kissed her on the forehead when she turned a very adorable kitten-like glare to her husband. 

“You'd know, wouldn't you?” She countered jokingly and Daemon pressed a hand over his heart in faux hurt. 

Jace heard Aegon stifle a laugh. 

“Well, let’s settle this shall we?” Rhaenyra said, looking at her little brother with something akin to hope in her eyes. “All of us shall race, may the fastest dragon win?” 

Luke and Joff cheered, but Daemon, Jace, and Rhaenyra had their eyes on Aegon, who’s eyes were darting from Daemon to Rhaenyra in trepidation, before he swallowed thickly and pasted a grin on his face. 

“Thank you, sister,” he said simply. “Sunfyre appreciates your vote of confidence.” 

It was silent for a moment before a startled laugh escaped Rhaenyra’s mouth and Daemon’s lips twitched imperceptibly upward. 

“Oh Aegon,” She said musically with a slightly sad smile on her lips. She walked towards the dragon pit and turned her head so she could look at her little brother, who looked so much like her, and sighed. “You and I are going to get along just fine.” 

Jace watched Aegon’s reaction as his eyes widened and a small smile touched his lips. 

Within ten minutes, the family were mounted on their dragons and they flew in the air. Laughter and liveliness could be heard from everywhere in the city, as patrons stopped to watch the dragons fly in the air and hear the bell-like sound of child-like laughter linger in the breeze. 

“Aegon!” Luke shouted from the sky, causing Jace and Aegon’s head to turn towards the younger boy and his smaller dragon. “Watch this!” 

Daemon and Rhaenyra were lingering behind after the race had finished (and Syrax had won, much to Rhaenyra’s delight and Aegon and Jace’s chagrin) to care for Joffrey as he handled his first solo flight. 

They watched in horror as Luke tried to do a barrel roll and his fastenings of the saddle became undone. He was hanging from the saddle, his grip slipping and Arrax’s wings fluttering in panic. Daemon and Rhaenyra were too far to be able to help, and Luke was about to fall. 

“LUKE!” Jace called. “Vermax, circle Arrax to calm him down! ” He urged his dragon and they flew, Aegon flying low beneath Arrax. 

Luke was panicked. “Lykiri, Arrax! Dohaeragon nyke!”

“It’s okay, Lucerys!” Aegon called from below. “Calm down, Arrax is reflecting your emotions!” 

Jace caught on. “If you calm down, so will Arrax!” 

But it was too late, the final strap came undone, and so Luke fell. Jace felt his heart drop as Arrax righted himself and dived down to the ground, the dragon keepers swarming them so they could calm the adolescent dragon and Rhaenyra and Daemon taking to the skies once more after delivering Joffrey safely. 

But Aegon was faster as he tucked his wings and flew at such a breakneck speed that he was a golden blur in the blue sky diving after Luke. 

Jace felt he could finally breathe again once Sunfyre steadied under the weight of an added, unexpected person and he saw the panicked visage of Luke clutching onto Aegon’s waist as though he were a lifeline. 

Once they landed, Aegon dismounted and helped Luke down. 

“Don’t ever do that again!” Aegon scolded, eyes wide as he checked the boy over for injuries. Luke laughed shallowly, his eyes wide and scared as he tried to make a joke. 

“Didn’t know you cared, Uncle.” He said, panting and trying to calm his racing heart. 

Aegon looked as though he’d hit the boy. 

“Luke!” Jace shouted as he jumped from Vermax and ran to his little brother, enveloping him in a fierce, crushing, hug. “Never do that again.” He whispered, running his hands through his hair. Daemon and Rhaenyra were hot on his heels.

He pulled away and cradled his brother’s face in both of his hands and stared at him, touching his forehead to Luke’s and closed his eyes. 

“Never.” 

“Oh Gods, Luke!” Rhaenyra breathed, hugging her child fiercely, tears running down her face. She was shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, muña ,” Luke said softly. 

Rhaenyra pulled away from Luke to allow Daemon the honor of hugging him. 

And hug him he did. He held Luke so fiercely, so tightly, but once he pulled away, Daemon hit Luke upside the head. He leaned down and pointed a shaky finger in the boy’s face.

“If you ever try anything like that again, Little Prince–”

“I won’t, Kepa ,” Luke huffed, tired of being fussed over now. Rhaenyra swiftly turned to Aegon and without a word, she whimpered and enveloped him in a crushing hug.

Jace was amused as Aegon floundered, awkwardly hugging her as well and patting her back. She pulled away and cradled his cheek. 

“Thank you, valonqar ,” she said softly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome… mandia. ” He whispered. She gave him a final watery smile, and went towards her son. 

“You all are strange,” Aegon says to him once Daemon and Rhaenyra are out of earshot. 

“Strange? How?” Jace asked in confusion.

Aegon floundered. “You… care for each other…like–” 

“A family?” Jace asked, brows raised as the pair said goodbye to their dragons and began the trek up to the Keep. 

“No,” Aegon said simply. “Like you like each other.” 

“We do,” Jace said simply. 

“I wonder what that’s like, is all.” Aegon said simply, but Jace had a feeling he was talking to himself more than he was to Jace. Aegon would not admit troubles so easily, and the far off look in his eyes made Jace think he was lost in thought. 

“Well,” Jace said with a forced grin as he put his arm around Aegon’s shoulders. “Wonder no more, Uncle.” 

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“We’re here now,” Jace said simply. “We enjoy the presence of family.” 

“You consider me family?” Aegon asked before he could help himself. Jace shrugged.

“Of course,” He said simply. “Especially after what happened back there. My mother…she’s always wanted siblings, but by the time she got them it was tainted. She’s older now, wiser,” he paused, licking his lips before looking Aegon in the eyes. “She wants to make up for her mistakes.” 

“I’ve never had an elder sibling,” Aegon said. “I wonder what it would be like, to be taken care of.” 

Before Jace could respond he heard the bells ring and the bustle in the courtyard. A shadow overtook them and he heard the roar of a dragon that had become as familiar to him as Caraxes in the years he spent visiting Driftmark and his grandparents. 

He turned to Aegon and grinned. Aegon looked up in the sky, mesmerized by the beauty of the Red Queen. 

“Grandmother is here.” He said simply, and ignoring Aegon’s look of trepidation – he really needed to find out who left those bruises on his face – he grabbed Aegon’s wrist and pulled him to where he knew Corlys Velaryon would be. A proper introduction should be made. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER       III 

– ♛♛♛ –

I’d let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

RHAENYRA 

They greeted Corlys and Rhaenys as they always do, with smiles, hugs, and open arms. It was Jacaerys that all but dragged Aegon to meet his grandparents properly that caused a few eyebrows to raise, and a glare from Otto and Alicent directed at their eldest son. 

Rhaenyra found herself pondering the strange turn her day took as they ran into Aegon at the dragonpit, and Aegon subsequently saved the life of her darling sweet boy, Luke. She thought she would be too late to form any significant bond with Aegon and Aemond, saving her hope for Daeron and Helaena, but it seems as though Jacaerys had already made significant progress.

She had to try very hard to avoid looking in Aegon’s direction, for she knew the concern and anger at the bruises would be written all over her face, and she had no inclination on pushing him away from her, despite how far he already is. Her heart melted when he called her his mandia , and she found that she had been longing to hear that word for years once it was uttered from his lips. 

“Go take a bath,” She commanded the children, ignoring the look from Alicent as she ruffled Aegon’s platinum blond hair with a fondness, suppressing a smile as she noticed him slightly leaning into her touch before he remembered himself and pulled away. She wrinkled her nose in faux disgust. 

“You all smell of dragon.” 

“Not anymore than you do, muña ,” her darling eldest boy said with a cheeky smile and she waved him off with an air of faux superiority, and the children walked away laughing and smiling, with a quiet Aegon at their side. 

“Come, let me escort you to your apartments,” She said graciously, locking arms with Corlys as Daemon did the same to Rhaenys. 

Once they were out of earshot, Rhaenys turned to Daemon and Rhaenyra with a brow raised. 

“Will you explain why your son and Aegon have appeared to imprint upon each other like little ducklings?” She asked sardonically with interest in her eyes. 

“And why you are in King’s Landing in the first place?” Corlys added in his deep timbre. 

“Jace,” Rhaenyra sighed. “He convinced us to come here, saying it was not right that the Greens were consolidating their rule whilst we stay here, complacent on Dragonstone.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Corlys said simply. “A very bright lad, that grandson of mine.” He said with a proud glint. 

Rhaenys’ face flickered for only a moment before shuttering and transforming to what Rhaenyra deemed her ‘Queen’ face when she was a child, and even now, it was an apt name. 

“It seems he believes war can be avoided,” Daemon said, distaste splayed across his features. “By learning to be a family .” 

Rhaenys raised a brow. “By being a family?” 

“I know,” Daemon scorned. “As if we could ever be family with that Hightower spawn –” 

“Hightower or not,” Rhaenyra snapped at her husband, feeling protective over her half siblings for the first time in her life. “They are Targaryens.”

“Please,” Daemon snorted. “They know nothing of our House, our traditions, or our customs.” 

“Because we have neglected them,” Rhaenyra sighed, feeling a pang in her heart. She did that. She scorned them first, and they scorn her now. “We were remiss, and now we must remedy that.” 

“How?” Rhaenys asked curiously. 

“That is why I have invited you,” Rhaenyra said softly. Jace had taken initiative and called their distant Northern kin, while Rhaenyra had a plan that was a bit closer to home. 

“Corlys, I would love it if you took the children, my siblings included, and taught them sailing, once a week.” She said, then turned to Rhaenys. “Good-mother, I would beseech you to teach them the skills of dragon-riding, as you are the most experienced rider of us all.” 

Corlys and Rhaenys were silent, before he spoke.

“And what would you do, whilst we educate them all?” His voice was curious. 

“Daemon and I shall teach them High Valyrian, and Valyrian histories.” She said with a proud glint. “I plan to bring forth these terms at the Small Council meeting tomorrow, which I ask you to attend.” 

“We hold no seats on the Council,” Rhaenys said slightly bitterly. Rhaenyra grinned. 

“Not formally, however, I am allowed to bring in any advisors I deem fit,” She said with a cheeky smile. “The Small Council will be expanding soon enough,” 

“Oh?” Rhaenys raised her brow. “Who else will be joining?” 

“Our beloved Aunt,” Daemon said sarcastically. “Viserra Targaryen is traveling down South once more.” 

“ Oh ,” Rhaenys grinned. “Oh, this shall be interesting.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra began, an amused smile on her face. “I’d say you enjoy the chaos.”

“Well,” Rhaenys sniffed. “Good thing you know better.” 

Daemon snorted. 

– ♛♛♛ –

“I suppose we shouldn’t call it a Small Council anymore, should we?” Jacaerys joked to cut through the tension in the air. It was silent for a moment before the lull was broken by the hoarse chuckling of Viserys, that turned into a few dry coughs at the end of it. 

“Quite right, grandson.” Viserys croaked for a moment, and Rhaenyra cracked a smile at her heir, who beamed back at her in answer. She felt warmth grow in her belly at the sight of him. Her firstborn, her heir, the first being and person she ever loved so selflessly, so purely. 

Lucerys was her sweet, darling boy, but Jace, he was her pride and joy. She grew with him, she raised him, she watched him turn into the man he is now. 

In the Small Council chambers sat two factions, much like their own family. The Blacks, and the Greens. 

As Hand of the King sat Otto Hightower, and next to him was the Grand Maester Mellos. As Master of Coin sat Lyman Beesbury, a staunch supporter of herself, for which she was grateful. 

As Master of Laws sat Lord Jasper Wylde, whom she had no opinion on, and the Master of Whisperers was a man she loathed and was, in truth, terrified of. Larys Strong. The Clubfoot second son who she was sure was behind the death of her love, Harwin Strong. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sat her old sworn shield from when she was a child, Harrold Westerling. 

He was a father figure to her, someone she knew was unflinchingly loyal, and for that he would always hold her esteem, and her love. Tyland Lannister as Master of Ships, and she knew Tyland was a firm green, and nothing she would ever do could change that.

Daemon sat once more as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, and she sat as Heir to the Iron Throne. Now, Jacaerys, Corlys, and Rhaenys sat in these chambers as chief and esteemed advisors.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra began. “I would like to put forth a petition to ask that the children be excused from their lessons for the foreseeable future.”

Mellos began to open his mouth – and probably give a scathing retort – but Viserys spoke first. 

“Why would you want to do that, Princess?” Viserys asked in confusion. 

“I have asked for Rhaenys and Corlys’ help, and they have agreed,” Rhaenyra inclined her head to them, and they did the same in return. “Daemon and I intend to take over the childrens’ education.” 

Jacaerys perked up with a smile but then, Otto spoke. 

“That is preposterous, what would you be capable of doing that the maesters cannot?” Otto scorned. 

Rhaenyra glared but did not lower to his level. 

“It has come to our attention,” She said, gesturing to both herself and Daemon, “That since our stay at Dragonstone, my siblings have not learned much about their Targaryen side of the family.” She said primly, then smiled at Otto. 

“It is not their fault, as they are always surrounded by their Andal blood, but the blood of the dragon runs thick, father.” She turned her gaze to her father. “As you well know.” 

“I see,” Viserys said simply. “What would you be teaching them?” 

“Everything the Maester does,” Daemon answered. “With the added classes of dragon riding, Valyrian and Valyrian histories, and sailing.” 

“What would they need to learn to sail for? My King, this is merely a waste of time.” Otto urged the King, not wanting Daemon and Rhaenyra to have such easy access to his grandchildren. Rhaenyra grinned as Corlys snarled.

“If you know how to sail, you know how to live. You have a moral, you learn to survive.” Corlys said gruffly. 

“Very well,” Viserys said simply. “It will be good for my children to bond with yours, and learn of their Valyrian roots.” 

“Your Grace–” Otto interrupted, but Viserys raised his hand. 

“No, Otto. It is done.” He said simply, before turning to his Master of Coin. “Lord Beesbury, how goes the treasury for the upcoming feast and tourney?” 

“Very well, My King.” The old man said, shuffling through pages of paper work. “We have the needed funds set aside already as preparations shall be made.”

“Excellent,” Viserys said simply. 

“Your Grace?” Jacaerys interrupted. “The Starks shall be here soon, within the next few days, I expect.” 

“I shall have apartments prepared for them.” Viserys began, and Rhaenyra had an idea. 

“Prepare them in my wing of the castle, Father. It would be good for them to be close to family.” She offered graciously, and Viserys smiled lovingly at her. 

“What a lovely idea, my child.” 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

He left the Small Council meeting with a spring in his step because that meant that he would be spending a lot of time in close quarters with the aunt and uncles, and he halted in his steps because that also meant another thing.

Luke and Joffrey would be spending a lot of time in close quarters with Aemond . 

Aemond, who was honestly a copy of Daemon, for how much he professed to hate the Rogue Prince, he sure loves to emulate him. He needed to find a way to approach his Uncle without ending up on the other side of a duel with the hot headed dragon maniac. 

And so, he hatched a plan. He looked outside of the window in the corridor and found the positioning of the sun to be around the time Aemond begins training with Criston Cole. 

He grimaced at the thought of Crispin , as Daemon likes to call him. Should he fight with all his strength and effort, if it comes down to it? 

Aemond may be a year older than him, but Jace was trained by Daemon Targaryen for the past seven years. Not only Daemon, but Daemon brought in fighters from Essos and even Braavosi water dancers to help in his instruction. 

He had heard Aemond was fierce with a sword, and there were no such rumors about Jace for a reason. He did not want his enemies to be prepared for him. He debated with himself for a moment, before deciding to go see Aemond in the training yard. 

He walked in on a very impressive spectacle, of Aemond dueling Criston. But that’s what it was, a spectacle. It looked performative, but still intimidating. Aemond, he knew, was very well studied, and very good with a sword. 

Jace wanted to test his mettle, but it would be best to stay his hand. 

“Nephew,” Aemond sidled over to him with a disturbing smile on his face. “Did you enjoy the show?” 

“Uncle,” Jace greeted stonily, yet not unpleasantly. “It was quite an impressive display.” 

“Care to join me for a spar?” Aemond asked with a hungry glimmer in his eye. 

“I was going to ask if we could go for a walk in the Godswood, actually.” Jace said simply, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. 

“Are you trying to court me, Jacaerys?” Aemond asked dryly. “I am flattered, but I don–” 

“Oh, shut up,” Jace snorted in amusement. “Yes or no, Aemond?” 

Aemond was quiet and considering for a moment, before he nodded. The pair began walking, with Criston trailing after them, far away after a glare from Jace. They had reached the beautiful Godswood, filled with greenery, flowers, and the hauntingly beautiful Weirwood that was crying red sap.

“Aemond, I just wanted to apologize for that night on Driftmark,” Jace said after a long silence. Aemond stopped walking, and stared at Jace. 

“It was never our intention for that to happen.” He said quietly. 

“Yet, it did.” He said coldly. “Why should I accept your empty apologies now?” 

“They are not empty apologies, Aemond.” Jace sighed, shaking his head. 

“It was not you who put out my eye,” Aemond said, his voice so chilly that Jace could have shivered. He did shiver at the pure hatred Aemond had for his little brother.

“Aemond, Luke was a child.” Jace whispered.

“We were all children. He took out my eye because I called you bastards, and it’s not as though I was wrong.” Aemond spat, glaring at Jace. Jace tensed, his face stone and voice cold as he spoke.

“Do not speak as though you had no fault in that night, Aemond. Hiding behind the guise of knighthood and piety can only get you so far, especially when I see right through you.” He challenged, leaning further into Aemond. The pair had completely stopped walking now, standing in front of the Heart Tree glaring at one another.

“Luke did not slash your face with a knife merely because you uttered a vile insult.” Jace continued, his arms crossed as he leaned away from Aemond and leaned towards the Weirwood. “You knew very well what you were going to do with that rock, poised to kill me.” 

“I wouldn’t have actually–” Aemond began, before shaking his head and his glare intensifying. “It doesn’t matter. You and your little bastard Strong brother tormented me for my not having a dragon–”

“Watch yourself, Aemond.” Jace hissed, eyeing the surroundings. They may have appeared alone, it did not mean they were. “And they weren’t meant to be taunts, they were meant to be fun.” 

He sighed, shaking his head and staring into Aemond’s purple eye. “It was cruel, but we were kids…we…we didn’t know any better.” Jace beseeched. 

“Well,” Aemond snorted. He crossed his arms, his long, silver hair glistening in the sun and his face screwed up in anger. “Isn’t that just your excuse to everything, Jacaerys? We were children , and that makes it okay for a little bastard to take my eye with no consequence?” He hissed the words with pure rage dripping from his tongue, but Jace was not to be deterred.

“You said it was a fair exchange,” Jace spat. “Don’t tell me you’re a liar?” He goaded.

“I demand recompense,” Aemond roughly grabbed Jace by the shoulders. Jace made no move to deter him, letting Aemond keep his bruising grip. “An eye for an eye.” 

“You think you’re the only one with scars from that night, Aemond?” Jace hissed, his eyes lighting up like purple fire. He looked every inch a dragon as he batted Aemond’s hands away as though his grip were as weak as the stem of a daisy. 

His rumored blood-father was known as Break Bones for a reason, and it seemed Jace lived up to that legacy as well. Aemond stepped back, eyes inquisitive. Jace turned around, and parted his hair. At the base of his skull, hidden under his hair, was a jagged scar that looked as though it would have been incredibly painful. 

“That is from when you cracked my head against the rocks on the ground.” Jace ground out. He turned around and faced Aemond once more.

“It may not have been an eye, but you are not the only one bearing marks from that night.” He turned, and looked at the Heart Tree for a long moment. Aemond was standing in the same spot as before, eyes on the back of Jace’s head, as though seeing the scar still. 

He turned to Aemond once more.

“You speak of justice? My mother has a scar on her wrist where she bled for the atrocities that happened that night. Was your mother punished for attacking the Heir to the Throne?” 

Aemond was quiet still. Jace took another step forward, looking at him. Jace clenched a shaking fist as he stared at Aemond, no discernible expression on the older man’s face. No hatred, nor remorse. 

Simply nothing. Pure, emptiness. 

“You may not have felt that way,” Jace whispered. “But I thought you and I were friends at one point. If you had waited,” he shook his head. “Just a day , Aemond, I would have gone with you. I would have celebrated if you claimed Vhagar.” 

“What did my waiting have anything to do with it?” Aemond snapped harshly. “I cared not for Laena Velaryon.” 

“But other people did .” Jace spat. “People in your family. It was out of courtesy.”

“And whom did I owe courtesy to? The family that belittled me and ignored me? Treated me as though I was nothing?” Aemond spat.

“Are you so far deep into your hatred that you do not remember a time where we were happy?” Jace asked softly, eyes losing all of their righteous anger and placed with a quiet sadness. 

“A time where we all went on picnics, snuck into the kitchens and had sweets and lemon cakes after lessons? A time where you and I explored some of Maegor’s passageways and got lost, so we waited for someone to find us, and our parents were sick with worry? A time where you were upset without having a dragon and Luke – sweet Luke – gave you his favorite dragon toy because he thought it would make you happy?” Jace paused, running a hand through his hair.

“Can you honestly say you do not remember? Or that you do not care for those memories?” 

He looked at him beseechingly, pleadingly. To just realize they are not the enemy, that they don’t have to have such bitterness and hatred between them. He saw it, for a moment, a mere second but it was there. The barest of flickers, the slightest of twitches.

But he knew then Aemond was remembering all those times from when they were happy, and was clinging to the vestiges of anger he had. But as soon as it came, it left. Aemond steeled himself, the snarl being painted across his face once more.

“Memories which have been tainted,” Aemond whispered softly, before he harshly ripped the eyepatch away, and Jace gasped to see a glowing sapphire in the place of an empty socket. “By this .” 

“Aemond–”

“I need no further apologies, nephew.” He sneered, covering his eye once more. “Nor any more trips down memory lane.” He straightened his doublet and spine, getting ready to leave. Jace let him walk away for a moment, before he called out for him. Aemond stopped, and turned only his head to look at Jace.

“The walls have ears here, Uncle.” Jace said coldly. “I would not want anyone to think that the royal family were feeding into such vile accusations against the Heirs to the Iron Throne.” 

Aemond smiled coldly. “Oh nephew, of course not. You are so strong to bear such a burden, the very image of your father, Ser Laenor.” 

“I can assure you, Uncle,” Jace said simply, a bitter smirk on his lips as the two stared one another down. “I am my mother’s son.”

Aemond turned on his heel and walked away, and Jace was left alone in the Godswood. He looked at the Heart Tree. 

“I don’t care if it is the Old Gods, The Seven, or the Fourteen Flames, but whatever you are playing at,” he sighed, shaking his head bitterly. “I could use some help.” 

The breeze picked up and it whistled in the bark and the leaves. He could have sworn that the wind was answering him.

He just wished he knew what it was saying. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     IV

– ♛♛♛ –

Blood runs thicker than water

But both feel the same when your eyes are closed

JACAERYS 

The Starks arrive today, and Jace has never been more nervous than at this moment. He often wondered what they were like, and as a child he secretly longed to go to Winterfell and explore the Wall. 

In the South he’s surrounded by gallant knights and silver tongues that spread rumors about you and speak niceties in front of you, and he longed to go to a place where people could just speak plainly. The North was full of hardened warriors and First Men magic that had always fascinated him. 

He stood with his family, nervously fixing the positioning of his doublet and ignoring Aegon’s amused glances. He noticed from his peripheral vision Aegon and Helaena share a knowing glance that suggests familiarity, and he smiled lightly. Perhaps the strained relationship they had was getting better, and they were making an effort to be friends.

Afterall, Helaena was Jace’s partner in crime in trying to fix and restore the Targaryen’s before he was burnt down into ash and bone. Aegon was slowly integrating himself into their family, and he steadfastly became Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey’s favorite Uncle.

Luke was far more wary, and Jace stared at him as he stood with Baela and Rhaena. He was hit with the realization that since arriving in King’s Landing, he hadn’t spent much time with his sisters and his brothers. He was spending all his time either in the Small Council meetings or trying to get through to the Green’s. 

He wondered if they resented him, before he shook his head and shoved the thought away, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to be thinking that way. 

The procession came to a halt as there were a hundred guards from Winterfell, all on horseback. They were tall, mean looking, gruff bearded men. Jace found himself star struck for a moment. 

It is only during war that Southerners get to see or interact with Northerners. Well, war and the rare royal tourney and feast. 

A tall man dismounted from a large black war horse. He had a fur lined cloak draped from his shoulder, held together with a silver direwolf head pin. He was far taller than any of them, even Otto Hightower. He was muscular in a way that Jace had never seen before.

He had seen lean muscles, and he had seen bulky bulging muscles, but never had he seen such a combination of both. It appeared as though Cregan Stark’s arms were the size of his mother’s head. 

Cregan had brown hair, cropped and shaved at the sides with the hair at the top of his head being longer. He had dark purple eyes that seemed gray at first glance. He had dark ink trailing the skin of his arms, creeping up to his neck. 

Ice, the largest Valyrian steel sword in Westeros was sheathed at his side, and then Jace’s eyes went lower. 

A direwolf, nearly as large as Cregan’s war horse shadowed him like an angel of death. Its fur was pitch black, its eyes an ethereal, almost glowing, purple. Jace nearly shivered as the wolf stared at them with intelligent eyes, as though assessing who could be a threat to Cregan and who wouldn’t be. 

“Lord Stark,” Rhaenyra said simply, being the first to regain her thoughts and composure and she inclined her head. 

“Crown Princess,” Cregan answered, kneeling before the royal family until he was instructed to rise. 

“Where is your mother, Lord Stark?” Daemon asked, cutting straight to the point. Cregan smirked wryly for a moment.

“She wanted to make an entrance, my Prince.” Cregan said simply, his eyes darting to the forest. Everyone’s gazes followed and Viserra Targaryen Stark and who could only be her daughter, Elaena, came from the forest. 

Viserra on the back of a pure white stallion as she appeared to be dressed in hunting clothes, and Elaena on the back of a gray direwolf that appeared to be the size of Cregan’s.

The dire wolf's maw was bloodied and it appeared to have some leftover meat from its hunt stuck in its very large teeth. 

Elaena jumped from the back of the wolf and helped her mother down. Viserra glided over to them, her beauty not even being touched by age. There was a reason she was considered to be the most beautiful of the daughters of Jahaerys and Alysanne. 

“Nephews,” She said simply, staring at them coldly with ice in her eyes. “Niece.” 

“Aunt Viserra,” Rhaenys said cordially. 

Viserys and Daemon echoed the greeting. 

“We have much to discuss.” She said stiffly, then eyed the pin on Otto’s jacket. “You. Go have the servants take wine and cakes to the Small Council chambers. My family and I have some things to discuss.” 

“You cannot command me–” Otto began to snarl, but a cold look from Viserra and a pleading one from Viserys had him second guessing himself. 

“Go.” She said simply, then turned away from him as though he were an irritant. Jace had to stifle a laugh. 

“I’m Jacaerys,” Jace said, cutting through the tension and introducing himself. He nudged his head to the direwolves wryly. “They’re very beautiful.”

“And intimidating,” Aegon muttered underneath his breath. Cregan barked a laugh. 

“You ride dragons, and find direwolves intimidating?” He asked, his voice deep and gruff and so very Northern . 

Jace grinned. “You have the ability to ride dragons as well. Shall we take you for your first flight in the coming days?” 

Cregan eyed him for a moment, before he inclined his head. 

“I must admit, of all the dragons I was always partial to the Blood Wyrm.” Cregan said simply, and Daemon smirked.

“Caraxes and I are famous even in the North, I see.” Daemon said haughtily, causing Viserra to scoff. Cregan chuckled.

“Mother always told me stories of her brother Aemon and the Blood Wyrm, Prince Daemon. I am afraid it has nothing to do with you.” His tone was polite and his eyes innocent, but the mischief in his eyes told Jace it was everything but. 

Rhaenys laughed heartily. 

“Telling stories about Aemon and Baelon, are you, Aunt Viserra?” Rhaenys asked and Viserra sniffed. 

“They were my brothers, of course I was telling my children bedtime stories about them.” She said simply. 

It was silent for a moment, the awkwardness palpable in the air, and Jace took the time to survey the Stark family. 

They cut a truly intimidating image. Each of them tall, and each of them exceptionally beautiful. But not beautiful in an exotic way, the way the Targaryens were with their angelic features and strange white hair and purple eyes. 

Their beauty screamed of danger. Where Targaryens were fire, hotheaded and impulsive, Starks were ice. 

They were patient, cold, and deadly. Their jet black hair glimmered with different shades in the sun, their pale skin was smooth as porcelain, littered with black ink across their arms. Elaena’s hair flowed down to her waist in loose waves, while Cregan’s was cropped close to his head. 

Cregan wore boiled leather and a regular white tunic, while Elaena wore hunting clothes in the colors of House Stark. They only had the trademark Valyrian purple eyes, and their mother’s nose and cheekbones. 

Jace was deep in his observations, he didn’t know that Cregan Stark was staring right back at him, with an appraising look in his eyes. 

“My Prince,” Cregan said gruffly in his deep Northern brogue. “We’re heading to the Small Council chambers now.” 

Jace cleared his throat. “Call me Jace, Lord Stark.” 

“Very well,” Cregan said, looking him up and down in a way that made Jace all of a sudden feel inadequate next to Cregan. He resisted the urge to fidget. “Jace. Call me Cregan.” 

Jace smiled. 

They shuffled into the Small Council chambers. 

“You may go.” Viserra said simply to Otto and Alicent. “This is a matter for Targaryens.” 

“And what makes you think you have the authority to tell the Hand of the King and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to leave the chamber?” Otto sneered at Viserra, who remained cool and collected. Her face did not change, not even for a second. It was blank, as though carved from pure marble. 

“I may not have the… authority as you so eloquently put it, to order you and the Queen from the room,” She agreed, inclining her head. “But I have the right to ask those not of my blood to leave. This is a matter for Targaryens .” Her voice was stone as she spoke, her eyes staring unflinchingly into Otto’s. 

Jace noticed Alicent looking at her husband, as though trying to tell him that he cannot allow a member of his own family to disrespect his wife in such a way, but it seemed to Jace that Viserys would stay willingly ignorant for however long he could manage to. 

“You Andals simply don’t understand the way we do things .” Rhaenyra said simply, her eyes now staring into Alicent’s. “Us Targaryens have some queer customs, after all.” 

“Otto, this concerns family.” Viserys said simply, his eyes never straying from his aunt. 

“My daughter is your family.” Otto snarled with a clenched jaw. Viserys for a moment looked apologetically at his wife. 

“ Blood family. Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena are all staying.” Viserys said simply, and so Otto and Alicent had no choice but to leave. 

Viserra watched their backs as they walked out and did not speak until their footsteps faded away and the chamber doors shut. She surveyed all of them critically. 

“Had I known my absence would cause this family to fall into strife and warfare amongst our own,” Viserra spat acerbically. “I should have strung you all up on the rafters.” 

“Aunt Viserra–” Rhaenys opened her mouth to interject but Viserra shook her head.

“I want to hear none of it, lēkianna .” Viserra held up a hand. “You are bitter over the old bat, may he rest in the Seven Hells, passing you over as heir for my brother Baelon, and then once more during the Great Council. I understand,” She shook her head. “But what’s done is done. What is past is now gone and you are estranged from the only people left from your childhood.”

“But I–” She began once more. 

“I am not finished.” Viserra said sharply, and Rhaenys sighed. “All these plots I’m hearing of.” She scorned, shaking her head. “We do get Southern gossip up in the North, you know. Selling your daughter at her age to marry her off to your cousin? I wonder who’s idea that was.” She sneered, the subliminal insult of Corlys very evident. 

Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond were watching with varying degrees of shocked and awed silence. Jace noted Cregan was simply staring at the family sitting around the table with a blank expression of disinterest, whilst Elaena was smirking as though she was vindicated. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon were looking down at the table as though trying to stifle their laughs – Good , Jace thought. She’ll come after them next – and Rhaenys looked as though she swallowed a lemon. 

“All this scheming for a gods damned throne .” She sneered at Rhaenys, then turned to Viserys. “ And you .” She said acidically. “Alicent fucking Hightower?” 

Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena bristled. Aemond especially, as he glared venomously at Viserra. 

Jace kicked Aemond underneath the table, and his glare turned towards him. Jace inclined his head in the direction of Cregan, who’s eyes were now narrowed at the one eyed Prince for the way he was looking at his mother.

Jace wondered just where Cregan got the dagger from that he now fingered dangerously, his gaze never leaving Aemond, who had now schooled his face into a pleasant expression. 

“Viserra it just–” Viserys tried to explain himself. 

“I do not want to hear it.” Viserra cut off. “All but declaring war at Rhaenyra’s wedding.” She scorned. “And you did nothing !” 

“You did not do anything either,” Daemon found himself saying, his glare meeting Viserra’s. “All this posturing speaking about our faults and what we did wrong. If you knew so much and you were so outraged by our own behavior, why did you not crawl out of the hole you burrowed yourself in? Why did you not come sooner?” 

The temperature in the room decreased dramatically. Viserra stared at Daemon with such anger that Jace felt it burning through his own body, as though his nerves and veins were on fire. 

“Perhaps my mother did not wish to come down here because of the way you all treated her .” Cregan acidically stated. Daemon met his gaze, and Cregan stared him down unflinchingly. 

The wolf would not be cowed by the dragon. Not now, and not ever again.

“We did nothing to her.” Daemon scorned. “Do not speak of what you don’t understand, wolf pup.” He leaned back in his chair, and Cregan leaned forward in his own chair. 

Jace did not know much, but he knew the body language of Cregan – though languid and unbothered at first glance – was aggressive. The way a wolf may look a moment before it pounces on you and rips your throat out with its teeth. 

“ Vain Viserra Targaryen. Vapid , selfish, wants only the throne, so much so that she'd seduce her brother after the death of his wife to get it.” Cregan sneered. “History is not kind to women, and it appears House Targaryen is even less so.” 

“Neither of you reached out to me after my practical exile to the North, to marry that fat gluttonous Manderly Lord. Why should I have been the one to come down here?” Viserra sneered. “Why should I have fixed the hell and mess you all made of this family? Look at them!” She gestured to Viserys’ sons and daughter. 

Aemond looked offended. 

“Excuse me?” He snarled. “Just who in the seven hells do you–” 

Jace sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cregan slammed his fist on the table, knife pointed in the direction of Aemond. 

“Be careful how you speak about my mother, Prince Aemond.” He said lowly. 

“Don’t point a knife at my brother.” Rhaenyra countered coolly. “We are all adults here.” 

Jace noted Aemond’s expression turned from anger into slight shock as his gaze traveled to Rhaenyra, who was staring at Cregan. 

“How about we all calm down?” Jace suggested. “Let’s not pretend Lady Stark did not speak the truth.” 

“Your children dress in Hightower green.” She snapped. Then switched into their mother tongue. “Do they even know High Valyrian?” 

“ I am fluent in High Valyrian,” Aemond ground out, and Viserra sneered. 

“You speak like a maester. Not a true Targaryen. You do not speak as though it is your mother tongue, merely a language you have learned.”

She turned to Rhaenyra, “And you,” She sighed in disappointment. “I had the highest of hopes for you. You, a woman who was named the heir to the Iron Throne. You, who had all the pieces on the table of the cyvasse board stacked against you, and instead of solidifying yourself, you ran away to Dragonstone.” 

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw and looked down, before looking up from her lashes, her gaze stormy as she stared at the older woman. 

“If you are done laying out our faults and transgressions, and acting as though you have none of your own, Great Aunt Viserra, might we move past this? We are a family.” 

“That we are,” Viserra said, her composure regained. “And that is why I am here. This family is on the verge of doom, and if we do not come together, the dragons will die, and House Targaryen will fall.” 

“What ever do you mean by that?” Aegon sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’m sure you all are aware that Cregan’s wife, Arra Norrey died in childbirth with his son, Rickon.” She said simply, and Jace watcheed Cregan, but his face remained stony. 

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said gently. “I am so very sorry.” 

“You had your Maester executed.” Aemond said stonily. “It was the talk of the Reach, Old Town was positively wroth with anger.” 

“You’d know all about Old Town,” Elaena Stark said snarkily, eyeing his Hightower green clothing as though it personally offended her. “Wouldn’t you?” 

Aemond wisely ignored her barb. 

“The Maester,” Cregan snarled. “Had cut her open. Much the way your first wife, Aemma, had perished.” 

Viserys and Rhaenyra bristled. 

“You allowed that?” She asked lowly. Jace knew Aemma’s death was something that would never truly heal in his mother, and he felt for her. Just as he now felt sympathy for Cregan, losing his wife in the same way.

“I wasn’t even told she had entered her labors.” Cregan said gruffly. 

“What?” Daemon gaped in shock. “How were you not told?” 

“I had gone hunting earlier in the day.” Cregan spoke, his eyes far off as though he were somewhere else. “Normally, they should send a guard of Winterfell to relay the message, I had not gone far. But the Maester sent nobody, and after five hours into her labor, when they realized the babe had been turned the wrong way, the Maester sliced her open and killed her.” 

“Who authorized it?” Jace asked, not understanding the true severity. 

“Nobody.” Elaena snarled coldly. “He did not even tell me nor my mother, nor our brother Baelon that the babe was turned the wrong way. He butchered Arra.” 

“So,” Viserra breathed in a shaky breath. “Once we realized Cregan was not notified, we sent a messenger to him. Cregan came back, and beheaded the gray rat himself.” 

“Northern justice,” Luke breathed. “I’d heard of it.” 

“The one who passes the sentence must swing the sword.” Cregan said solemnly, as though echoing words thousands of years old. Perhaps he was. 

“What happened then?” Jace found himself asking. 

“We sent for another Maester, a northern one, who said he was shunned in the Citadel for worshiping ‘false gods ’.” Cregan scorned. It made sense, despite the mistrust, they could not get along without having a trained maester for long.

“It was then we did our research. Countless Targaryen women died from childbirth. Baelon, my own brother, died of a burst belly. There was no witness but the Maester.” She said simply. “How is it that we Targaryen women have such issues delivering babes?”

“What is it that you’re suggesting, Viserra?” Rhaenys asked softly. 

“What is being said must not leave this room.” She said instead. Her eyes narrowed in on Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena. “I will know who spoke of it.” 

They shifted in their seats, but Aemond glared defiantly, jutting out his chin towards her. She nodded. 

“The maesters are slowly killing us, of that I am sure. Do not let them near your dragons, do not let anyone near the dragons except yourselves and the dragon keepers. For births, get midwives with no affiliation to the Citadel and Old Town.” 

“That is preposterous–” Aemond began, but Viserra shook her head. 

“No dragon has reached near the size of Vhagar and Balerion, why?” She asked. “Why are they not growing as they once were? How many of our family have died in childbirth? Or in otherwise mysterious circumstances, whilst in the presence of a Maester?”

“But Rhaenyra is fine, she’s given birth to many healthy children.” Viserys refuted. 

“Maester Gerardys is trustworthy,” Rhaenyra said softly. “But that does not mean they all are.” 

“Not to mention, mother has her trusted midwives.” Jace said. “The maester does not much get involved once mother has entered her labors.” 

“Is that why you came here?” Rhaenys asked. “To warn us?” 

“To unite us.” She said softly. “We have enemies looming. If we do not stand together, we fall.” 

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose and surveyed the room. 

He did not like anyone here, Jace knew. He in fact loathed the majority of the people in this room with the exception of Helaena, but he took pride in his Valyrian ancestry, even if he was not as well educated in it as he thought. 

He took pride in his dragon, in his powers, and in his status. 

He would not let anyone threaten it, even if he had to work with those he thought slighted him. 

Jace noticed his stare linger on Luke, who steadfastly looked at everyone but Aemond. 

Jace stared at him, and Aemond turned his gaze towards him. To anyone else at the table, they were having a silent conversation with one another. 

But they knew what this moment that passed between them was. Not forgiveness, far from it. The enmity had been there for too long for it to pass in just a mere moment. But it was a momentary truce, until they had unraveled what was merely an unsure conspiracy, but one worth investigating nonetheless. 

Aemond opened his mouth, and looked directly at Rhaenyra, not at his father. 

“We will need to retrieve Daeron from Old Town.” He said simply. 

Rhaenyra smiled a cold smile that Jace had never seen on his mother’s face before. 

“Well then valonqar ,” She said to Aemond. “Shall you and I do the honor of gracing Old Town with the presence of Vhagar and Syrax?”  

“We shall.” He said simply. 

“I’d rather burn Old Town to the ground.” Jace added his own thoughts on the matter. 

Cregan smirked. 

“Only if you allow me the honor of being with you.” He said simply, then shrugged at the incredulous looks of his family. “Should it ever become an option, of course.” 

The tension seemed to leave the room and everyone slipped into a form of deranged, grief stricken laughter. 

It was never said that Targaryens were sane , after all. Only powerful. 

Jace looked at his family around the table, with the new additions from the North, and vowed to himself that he would make sure they remained powerful. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     V 

– ♛♛♛ –

A minute from home

But I feel so far from it 

JACAERYS 

Jace and his family began lessons with Daemon, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Corlys soon after what his generation had begun to call the ‘Family Council Meeting.’ It had only been a week since the discussion had been had and the Starks arrived and Jace was already exhausted. 

Between Valyrian history lessons (He, Luke, Rhaena, Baela, Cregan, and Elaena were exempt from High Valyrian) the sailing lessons and the regular lessons he had with the Maester, he was bone tired. He rarely had time to fly with his beloved Vermax and when he wasn’t doing any of that he was in Small Council meetings or sword training with Daemon and Luke. 

He felt bad that he wasn’t able to spend as much time with his brothers, or Baela and Rhaena but they understood that as Heir of the Heiress to the Iron Throne, he had responsibilities that had only increased ten fold once they came to King’s Landing. 

He had not spoken a word to Aemond since the family meeting, and he had seen little of Elaena, but he and Cregan got along with one another well enough. 

Jace stood in the courtyard with Luke at his side as they watched Aegon swing his sword against a practice dummy. 

Jace stood with his arms crossed surveying Aegon impassively as the boy’s swings began to get sloppier, his footwork all over the place and his eyes giving away the direction of his every next move. 

Luke stood next to him, wincing at the display expressively. Though Jace was better with a sword, mace, and war hammer, Luke excelled in stealthier weaponry. 

Luke was amazing at archery, daggers, and spears. Luke – being ambidextrous – was able to wield two daggers at once, and always had a set of daggers sheathed underneath either his sleeves or his ankles. 

“Aegon!” Luke called, causing Aegon to stop in his efforts and look questioningly at the younger boy. “Your footwork isn’t right.” He said softly, going over to Aegon and standing next to him. 

Jace saw they were attracting attention in the court yard and he already imagined the whispers forming. He watched silently as Luke and Aegon interacted with one another. 

“Here, copy my stance,” Luke said softly. “Keep your feet like this ,” He moved his feet just about shoulder width apart, and pointed them forward. “Stand firm, keep yourself grounded.” 

Aegon copied Luke, staring at the ground trying to get them exactly the way his little brother did. 

“Good,” Luke praised with a large smile, causing Aegon’s lips to twitch up. Jace bit back his own smile at the wholesome interaction between them.

“Now, bend your knees so your center of gravity is aligned.” Luke said, the lecture falling from his lips as it did from Daemon’s years ago when he first began to train them.

Luke walked over to Aegon and gently touched his back and shoulders to help him adjust, and once Aegon was positioned correctly, Luke stepped away. 

“Try that.” Luke said softly, watching as Aegon was able to swing the sword much easier and maneuver his body easier than he did before. 

“He’s good,” a deep voice said from behind him, causing Jace to whirl around with widened eyes. Cregan laughed, a low, raspy rumble that Jace thought quite suited him. “Sorry, Princeling. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“You didn’t frighten me,” Jace said, straightening up and puffing his chest out with false bravado. Cregan looked at him in amusement. 

“Right,” He drawled. “As I was saying, Luke is a very good teacher.” 

“Yes, he is,” Jace agreed with a soft smile. “He’s very patient.” 

“He has a soft heart,” Cregan said, the pair of them staring at Luke and Aegon as the pair began to spar, with Luke teaching him quick disarming movements and Aegon mirroring his actions. 

Jace sighed, quietly shaking his head. “He does,” He agreed once more. “It is a blessing as well as a curse.” 

“Aye,” Cregan whispered. “In this world you cannot afford to have a soft heart.” 

“No, you cannot,” Jace inclined his head. “That is why I’m here.” 

“Oh?” Cregan asked softly. “Why you removed yourself and your family from the safe haven of Dragonstone to the viper’s nest?” 

“We need to be here,” Jace said simply. “Not only to survive, but to keep as many kind hearts that way for as long as possible.” 

“Were things truly that bad?” Cregan inquired. “I’d heard rumors of course, the Blacks and the Greens, but..” Cregan trailed off, shaking his head. “You all just seem like a family.” 

Jace shook his head bitterly. “Alicent and Otto Hightower would do everything to tear down even the smallest amount of progress we make with our Uncles and Aunt.” 

Cregan remained silent, and Jace took that as his cue to continue. 

“Aegon does not even want to be King.” He admitted softly. “But I fear Aemond’s hatred for us is too deep to reconcile.”

“Why does he hate you so much?” Cregan inquired. “You two are a lot alike, if not for the fact that Aemond is a bit…” 

“Intense?” Jace supplied lightly. 

“I’d say slightly unhinged, but sure,” Cregan said graciously. “Intense works.” 

Jace let out a brief spark of surprised laughter before he sobered. “There was an incident at Driftmark, at Lady Laena’s funeral.” 

Cregan raised a brow and crossed his arms, turning his gaze towards Jace. Jace looked into the older man’s gray purple eyes and sighed, shaking his head. 

“Luke took his eye.” 

Cregan’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, his gaze going to the young lad with an easy smile, who was quick to laugh and quick to worry when he had done the slightest thing he felt may have upset someone. 

“Luke?” He echoed in shock and doubt. 

Jace nodded. “Soft hearted he may be, but even at the little age that he was, he maimed someone to protect me.”

“Yeah, that would cause some resentment,” was all Cregan could say. 

Jace snorted. “Just a bit.” 

Cregan shook his head as he surveyed Jace with an inscrutable look in his eyes. 

“You’re a strange family.” 

“You’re a part of it,” Jace shot back, quick as a whip. 

“Never said I wasn’t strange,” Cregan rebutted, with a small grin that caused Jace to laugh. 

“The blood of the dragon runs thick,” Jace echoed the words he had been hearing all his laugh. 

“We have a similar saying,” Cregan said. “Except it’s wolf blood.” 

“Starks and Targaryens are not as dissimilar as we like to think, it seems.” Jace said softly, his face slightly dazed.

“Fire and ice,” Cregan said softly. “Magic in our veins that goes back thousands of years.” 

“Say that again?” Jace asked, frozen and his eyes wide. He whipped his head towards Cregan, who now looked alarmed and concerned.

“Magic?” Cregan asked in confusion. 

“No,” Jace shook his head. “Before that.”

“Ice and fire?” Cregan echoed, his confusion only growing but Jace was having an epiphany. 

He whispered, so soft he was sure Cregan wouldn’t hear. 

“And his will be the song of Ice and Fire.” He whispered softly. 

“What are you talking about, Jace?” Cregan asked, now impatient and Jace turned his head to him. 

“Can you tell me of any Northern stories?” 

“Uh,” Cregan mumbled, thinking back. “There’s the children of the forest.” 

“No, something that has to do with Winter, and a war.” Jace added, looking to be more specific. Cregan wet his lips with his tongue as he stared consideringly at Jace for a moment. 

“There’s the story of the Age of Heroes, and how they fought during the Long Night.” 

The Long Night echoed in Jace’s head like a bell that kept ringing. He leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. He reached forward and gripped Cregan’s shoulders and Cregan placed his hands on Jace’s own shoulders. 

“Not until you tell me what this is about, Prince Jacaerys.” He said softly, earnestly looking into features that mirrored his own.

Jace supposed he looked more Stark than Targaryen, especially when standing next to Cregan. 

He looked around, Luke and Aegon were still training. The yard was bustling, and so Jace nodded at Cregan and the pair left prying eyes. 

Cregan remained silent as Jace led him through the halls, twists and turns making their heads spin as Jace reached for a passageway he knew had not been used in ages. 

He found the trick stone in the wall, and entered, beckoning for Cregan to follow. He had to marvel at the trust the Northerner had in him, and resolved to place some of that same trust into the lord. 

“You swear you cannot repeat any of what I tell you.” Jace demanded, and he stared beseechingly at Cregan. Cregan eyed him skeptically for a moment, before nodding. 

“I swear it.” Cregan answered softly. 

“There is a story in our family, passed down from King to Heir.” Jace whispered. “My mother recently passed it down to me.” 

As he explained the Pact of Ice and Fire, it all made sense to Cregan. Houses Stark and Targaryen were inexplicably connected. One cannot exist without the other. The moment this pact was made it sealed the deal for what was always meant to be. 

Stark and Targaryen. Fire and Ice. Dragon and Wolf. First Men and Valyrian. 

The Starks had always been the most equal to Targaryens in terms of power. They had the most magic hidden within them, deep in their blood and their very core. 

“The Long Night is the story of the Night King,” Cregan whispered. “A wielder of cold, dark, and death. The harbinger of the death of man, turning the world into a land of eternal winter.” 

Jace listened with rapt attention as Cregan recounted the story he heard told to him as a child, just as it had to every child of the North. 

“The Age of Heroes included Bran the Builder, the first Stark. Garth Greenhand, his alleged brother and the first Gardner. Lann the Clever, real name Lann Casterly. Durran Godsgrief, of House Durrandon. The Grey King, the Winged Knight, Simeon Starry Eyes and more.” 

Starry Eyes? He wondered who that could be, before Cregan answered for him. 

“Rumored to be a Dayne, the Sword of Morning from their age.” Cregan said softly, and Jace inclined his head. 

“The sun never rose, the cold seeped into their very bones, they fought an army of the undead. Imagine, watching your friends fall, then seeing their bodies desecrated, and you have to kill them all over again?” Cregan’s voice was gravelly, his eyes haunted with the imagery seeped into his brain. 

Jace flinched at the idea of him having to fight Luke’s dead body. 

“Did they kill him?” Jace found himself asking, like a child wanting to know that the good guys won in the end. Cregan almost didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“They merely defeated him. The place where he fell, was the place I was born. My home. My domain.” 

“Winterfell,” Jace breathed in awe. 

“Where Winter fell .” Cregan agreed. “There is a reason my house words are Winter is Coming. It is a warning. The Long Night will come again.” 

“And a Targaryen and a Stark must stop it,” Jace answered. “Together.” 

“It may not happen in our lifetime, Jace.” Cregan reminded. 

“Perhaps not,” Jace agreed. “But it will happen, and our families must be prepared for it.” He had a stubborn set to his jaw and a defiant look in his eyes. He will protect this family, or he will die trying. 

– ♛♛♛ –

AEMOND 

“Qana paktot, Vhagar!” Aemond shouted in High Valyrian, telling Vhagar to make a sharp right in order to avoid grazing the side of the cliffs they were flying over. Vhagar ignored him, continuing on this path. He commanded the same thing a few more times, frustration in his gaze and voice. 

They were getting way too close to the cliff and he was going to scream, when a gleam of gold entered his vision and he saw Rhaenyra and Syrax steering them towards the path. He sighed in annoyance.

He found himself wondering why in the seven hells he agreed to a prolonged trip on dragon back with his whore of a half sister, alone, for the fifth time that day. 

The silence that permeated the air quite honestly made him want to gouge out his only remaining eyeball left with a dulled spoon. It was suffocating. And honestly if he had to watch her make sad dragonling eyes at him one more time he really thought he’d just do what Vhagar’s previous rider did, and have her set him on fire. 

They had been flying for hours, and they still had a day's journey ahead of them, so Rhaenyra had signaled for them to land in the clearing they saw below that would be big enough for Vhagar. 

Vhagar and Aemond landed first, Syrax circling the skies above for a few moments before touching down as well. He watched in consideration as Rhaenyra kissed Syrax on the snout and affectionately called her sweet girl . 

His bond with Vhagar was different, in a way that it was hard for him to maintain control. Vhagar was old, and many times did as she pleased. They loved one another, truly, but it was always a power struggle with her. 

He silently sat down and made a fire in the center of their dragons, avoiding her burning gaze. 

Minutes had passed and not a word had been exchanged, so Aemond, not lifting his gaze from the fire, broke the silence. 

“Is there any particular reason you are staring a hole into my skull, Princess?” His voice was cold and unbothered, but his fists were clenched and she noticed immediately. 

She turned her own gaze into the fire. 

“Apologies, Prince Aemond,” She said formally. “I had not had the opportunity to truly look at you since my arrival.” 

“Not as if you truly looked at me before you left in the first place,” Aemond dryly pointed out, reveling in her flinch. 

“It’s true,” She allowed. She wrung her hands together. “I wasn’t the most attentive of older sisters.” 

Aemond snorted, but she valiantly continued. 

“I intend to correct that, now.” Rhaenyra said simply. “If you’ll allow it.”

“Does it matter whether I allow it or not?” Aemond asked wryly, shaking his head. “You and your firstborn bastard have not left well enough alone since you left that godsforsaken rock.” 

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened as she stared at Aemond. 

“You and I may not be on the best of terms, and I know you will not understand the truth of it,” Rhaenuyra began coldly. “But I did what I had to do to survive in the circumstances your family put me in.” 

“Oh do enlighten me Rhaenyra, on how cuckolding your husband was what you had to do.” Aemond asked sarcastically, a bite in his voice that she had never heard before. 

“It was well known what Laenor’s preferences were,” Rhaenyra opened up. “I was lucky enough to find a friend in the sham of a marriage I was forced into. Then of course, Criston Cole had to kill Laenor’s love at our own wedding.” She shook her head bitterly. Aemond’s ears perked up, he had not heard her own side of this story. 

He found he was listening to her words, wanting to know what else happened, though he knew this story ended in the mysterious death of Laenor and the birth of three bastard boys with his name. 

“We tried to conceive,” She whispered. “It was awful, we were beginning to hate each other, and hate ourselves.” Her gaze lifted from the fire and met his, the golden warmth of the firelight dancing on her face and leaving a gleam in her eyes. 

“And then what?” He asked. 

“And then I found another way.” She whispered. “I am the heir, and I am a woman. No matter what I did, they would hate me. I tried to get close to you and your siblings at one point, and Alicent thwarted me at every turn.” 

Why? What is the history between them? 

He had been raised on the simple truth of this: The moment Rhaenyra ascends the throne, he and all his siblings shall be beheaded. She had certainly never shown him any behavior to make him think otherwise. 

And yet here she is. 

“I even offered to betrothe Jace and Helaena,” She said. “To make peace.” 

Aemond snorted. 

“My sister deserves better than a–” He began, and she cut him off spitefully.

“Is she much happier with Aegon than she would have been with Jacaerys?” She snapped. “Say what you will, but my son is a good man.” 

Aemond could not say anything different. Aegon did not treat Helaena the best. His sweet sister would have been happier married to the bastard.

“Happiness never matters for people like us,” Aemond said simply. 

“I know you resent the loss of your eye,” Rhaenyra remarked softly. He tensed. “But you are not the only one who bled that night.” 

“It was your son who did this,” Aemond snapped. 

“And it was your nephews and friends that you threatened that day.” Rhaenyra snapped back with as much bite as he did. She would go to whatever levels he did if it got him to see sense. 

Aemond snapped his jaw shut. 

“Like it or not, the simple fact is that those boys adored you and Aegon.” Rhaenyra whispered. “When did you become so poisoned against them?” 

“I was the only one without a dragon,” He spat. “Why should I have none, looking the pure Valyrian, the perfect prince, while they hatched their eggs in the cradle?” 

“That’s it?” She asked incredulously. “Daemon and father only claimed Caraxes and Balerion later in their lives. Because you did not have a dragon at ten did not mean you would never have one.” 

He chuckled bitterly. Though he could acknowledge that her circumstances were not the best, she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She could have children, but they would obviously be bastards. Or she could leave herself vulnerable with no heirs to solidify her claim, and be rumored to be infertile and unfit to rule the Seven Kingdoms. 

But his pain regarding dragons and his feelings of inadequacy was something she would never understand, nor would it be something he would ever tell her. Whatever relationship she tries to build with him, if he even decides it’s in his best interests to allow it, will never be what she wants it to be.

She will never be his sister. 

“You would never understand.” He snarled. “I have Vhagar now. She is mine .” 

She sighed. “Vhagar is old, Aemond. Yes, the bond is still special and irreplaceable, but I am sorry you did not get to have a bond from the very beginning.” 

“Vhagar thought me worthy,” He snapped. “I can only strive to be.” 

“You are worthy, but bonds take years to nurture,” Rhaenyra responded. “Do you spend much time with her?” 

He hesitated. “Not as much as I’d like.” 

“I noticed her resisting some of your commands,” She pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Does that happen often?” 

Aemond looked as though he ate something bitter, with the way his face scrunched up. Rhaenyra sighed. 

“Bonds take years, hours of time, dedication, and love.” She whispered. “I will help you nurture your bond with her,” she offered. It was a last ditch effort, something she knew he would find difficult to refuse. She may know little about her brother, but she does know he is a dragon fanatic.

Aemond looked up at her, shock on his face and his visible eye widened. She furrowed her brows in what he could only describe as sadness, and moved forward, as though to touch him before she stopped herself. 

“I know I haven’t been the best sister to you,” She admitted. “But I want to try, now. If you could allow me to help you, and prove I mean you no harm…I would greatly appreciate the chance to show you that I want us all to be a family.” 

Aemond was still silent, and he stared at her. He knew it was making her uncomfortable as she began to shift and fidget in her seat. 

“Fine.” Aemond said brusquely, turning his gaze away from her and looking into the fire. “But if it doesn’t work–” he began to threaten, wagging his finger in her face with an irate look in his eye and stopped when she waved him off. 

“It will help. I promise.” She said with a soft smile and honest eyes, and he nodded tightly. He looked away from her once more, and they descended into silence.

But, he did not need to look at her to know that she was smiling at him. He clenched and unclenched his fists as they rested awkwardly in his lap, before he sighed in something that sounded like exasperated annoyance. He awkwardly patted her knee, once more avoiding eye contact. 

She merely patted his hand with her own in response. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER      VI

– ♛♛♛ –

The way you sold me for parts

As you sunk your teeth into me

Bloodsucker, famefucker

Bleeding me dry, like a goddamn vampire

AEGON

tw: this chapter has depictions of abuse and injuries as well as verbal abuse.

He often found himself wondering how he found himself here. It happened in moments, such as these where he felt like he was floating outside of his body, watching the events happen with an emotionless detachment. He felt the sting of the hand against his cheek, or even the sharp pain as the rings cut his face and the nails dug into his skin. 

He stared blankly at the figure raging in front of him, at the pure wrath upon the face of Otto Hightower as he abused his grandson, beat him black and blue with words and deeds. 

“You stupid boy!” Otto sneered at him, pacing in front of him frantically. “ You disgusting failure!” 

Aegon simply stared, knowing his mother and Helaena heard every hit and word that was being thrown at him, sitting in the other room. 

“How dare you allow yourself to be seen with those sinful bastards?” Otto snarled, grabbing the collar of his shirt and gripping it, his nails cutting the skin on Aegon’s neck. He barely registered the sting. “Let alone looking inferior to them! You are the heir to the Iron Throne! You are to be King! ” 

Normally, at this point in the argument, Aegon would remain silent in hurt resentment, hating that he was born first, hating that he was born a boy, or even hating that he was born at all. He didn’t know what rose up within him now, a steady fury that had been building in the weeks and moons that he had spent befriending his sister and her family that now burst like a dam. The water seemed to rush over him, the cold knocking him back into his own body as he stared defiantly at Otto, his jaw set, and he spoke. 

This would be his act against Otto, he mustered every fiber of strength and courage he had left, and he spat in Otto’s face. The man recoiled, anger burning in his eyes like the fury of a thousand suns, but Aegon paid no heed. 

“I shall not entertain these thoughts anymore,” Aegon croaked, gathering up the last vestiges of strength and putting them to his voice, so it could not shake. "I am not the Heir.” He managed to snarl, his purple eyes narrowed in a glare. “Rhaenyra is the heir, and she would make a far better ruler than I.” 

He knew from the insane glimmer in Otto’s eyes as they stared at him with such unadulterated rage that he should brace himself. 

So he tensed, closing his eyes in anticipation, waiting for a hit that he feared would never come. 

But oh it did. He heard a loud CRACK and his entire body seemed to collapse within itself as he keeled over. He wasn’t expecting that . It was never as bad as this. Poisoned words and scratches and slaps, maybe a kick, but never this. 

He held his ribs, and could not help the cry of pain that escaped his lips. The pain was blinding, there was no tuning it out, no stepping away from his body, because oh gods oh gods he was in it and fuck if it didn’t hurt.

He tried to get up from the floor, trying to spare whatever strength and dignity he had left, but he lay still on the floor, flinching at even the thought of moving when it hurt so much when he was still . He lay right where he was, and right where he had been since the moment he was born, if he was being honest with himself.

And, he so very rarely ever was honest with himself. 

On the floor, cowering, forever beneath the heel of Otto Hightower. But, Aegon would take it. He had taken it since his birth. He had been the shield between his siblings and Otto Hightower. 

He was battered and he was broken but he held strong and will hold on for as long as he must, if it meant that they didn’t have to endure the pain he did in this very moment. He knew he wasn’t perfect. 

He was a drunken whore, a terror, an awful brother, often taking his anger out on his siblings, and he knew they hated him. He knew he was a monster, but he was made a monster for them. He would let himself become any kind of monster for them.

He didn’t know when this same sense of protection and sacrifice extended to his sisters family and nephews, but it did. He was shaking, and he thinks he whimpered too, but he wasn’t quite sure. 

Footsteps neared him, each one haunting him as though it were Earth shaking, as though Death itself marched towards him. He saw the large shadow crouch before him, and felt a hand touch his head for a moment.

Otto stroked his hair tenderly, before he dug his hand into his skill and pulled his hair, pulling his head up. Aegon cried out in pain, the tears and snot falling down his face as he was forced to make eye contact with his grandsire. 

He looked into Otto’s muddy brown eyes, staring at his own reflection within them. He looked a fright, but he saw a glimpse of something in his eyes he hadn’t seen in years. 

Defiance . It leaked from him through every pore in his body, he stared at Otto with contempt. An emotion he hadn’t been able to muster in years. 

“Once I kill your filthy whore of a sister , and her filthy bastard sons, and that demon and his spawn, you will sit the throne. You will become King, Aegon.” Otto said almost conversationally, before he tugged more on Aegon’s hair. He flinched, but not a sound was made from his lips. Aegon wondered how a man could be filled with such hate, with such greed and loathing. Before he knew. 

Otto Hightower was no man. 

Otto let his head go, and he fell unceremoniously to the ground, his head smacking against the cold tile of the floor. He felt his vision blur, and watched the retreating figure of Otto Hightower. 

He was at the door when Aegon was able to call out, his voice shaky and yet cold as the ice in the North. 

“And you will go to the seven hells.” He spat. He watched Otto tense, before he slammed the door. His vision swam, and he found his vision filled with a blurry Helaena looming over him, looking at him with worry. 

That can’t be right, Helaena had never looked at him like that. But, he was glad his sweet sister was the last thing he saw before he died. He thinks he’s dying. He’s not sure. 

He might not be. But he secretly hopes he is dying. The least he could give his sister after all these years, is the gift of peace. She would get it upon his death. It was his gift to her, and perhaps the best one he ever could have given. 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS

Jace was roaming the halls with Cregan, looking for Aegon. They wanted to see if he would go riding with them. (Horse, not dragon. Yet.) 

“Are we almost there?” Cregan asked, looking around the halls with a helplessly lost expression. Jace laughed. 

“Castle too big for you, Stark?” He teased good naturedly, rubbing his head after Cregan smacked the back of it with a smirk. 

“Please, Winterfell is as large as the whole of King’s Landing.” He paused for a moment. “Possibly larger.” 

“That’s just,” Jace shook his head in awe. “I cannot even comprehend.” 

“It’s not my fault every hall in this blasted castle looks the same,” Cregan grumbled. 

Jace shook his head with a grin. 

“We’re almost there, stop being such a child.” He said, an amused smile on his face as Cregan grumbled. 

“I’ll show you child,” He grumbled, causing Jace to throw his head back in laughter. 

They stopped in their tracks, the servants in the wing staring at the situation in shock. Helaena was disheveled, her face streaked with tears and a panicked expression on her face. Her beautiful soft blue dress was stained with dark blood. 

She seemed to collapse in relief upon seeing him and she called out for him. 

“Jace!” Her voice cracked. “Please–” 

But they were already rushing to her side, Cregan with his sword out and an alert look in his eyes. The servants were whispering as the two men were ushered into her chambers and the door slammed shut. Jace felt his heart pounding in his ears and his blood singing underneath his skin. 

He was not prepared for the sight before him, and his heart dropped to the floor. Queen Alicent lay cradling the head of her son, crying and beseeching any god that was listening to help her. 

Jace didn’t know what happened, but he felt red flood his vision. He knew only one person could do this, and he would wager the entire Iron Bank that it was the same man who left what appeared to be finger-like bruises on the Queen’s wrists. He registered the sound of Cregan sheathing his sword, and loosening his stance. 

In shock, Jace would presume. 

“Jace, please,” Helaena begged softly. “You have to help him.” 

But Jace’s throat was dry and his body was frozen as he stared at the visage of Aegon who looked more like a walking broken bruise rather than a human. His eye was swollen to twice its size, an ugly bruise already forming. A cut on his lip and cheek, both of which were bleeding. 

Small strands of hair that seemed to have pulled out lay on the floor. His breathing was labored, like his chest was caved in. 

He wet his lips with his tongue, begging for some moisture as he croaked out. 

“We have to get a maester.” He said hoarsely. 

“No!” Helaena shook her head profusely. “No maesters!” The nail beds of her fingers were red and raw. She gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes on the pair of them. Jace and Cregan exchanged a helpless glance.

“Helaena,” Cregan whispered. “Look at him, sweet girl, he needs a maester.” 

“No maesters.” Helaena said quietly, but firmly. Cregan pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Okay, get me warm water, a wash cloth, bandages, Daemon, and one of the Essosi healers.” Cregan said sharply. He stared for a moment, but Jace could not tear his eyes away from Aegon. 

“Now!” Cregan snapped, and Helaena began to run out. Jace could hear her bell-like voice shouting for warm water, bandages, and cloth.

“I can’t leave him, Cregan,” Jace whispered. “I can’t.” 

“We need Daemon and the healer, Jace.” Cregan whispered. “Her Grace the Queen probably does not realize we are even here .” 

Jace nodded reluctantly, and with one last glance to Aegon, he ran from the room. He ran through the halls, lords, ladies, and servants sprinting to get out of his way and wondering what was going on. But Jace paid them no heed, his mind set on one destination. 

He was breathing heavily by the time he reached Daemon, sweat beaded on his brow. Daemon was speaking to one of the gold cloaks in the courtyard, and stopped their conversation upon seeing the panicked visage of Jace. 

“Jace?” Daemon asked, meeting him half way and catching him, steadying his son. “What’s wrong, Jace?” 

Jace spoke between breaths. 

“Kepa, Aegon has been beaten. I know it was The Hand who did it.” He inhaled sharply, looking meaningfully at his father. “ He’s not well, Cregan’s with him now, in Helaena’s chambers .” 

Daemon took a sharp intake of breath as his eyes flashed in anger and mild worry, he turned to the gold cloak who was watching them warily. 

“Call for Viserra and Rhaenys,” Daemon said in a calm voice, his face now in a blank expression. “Tell them to go to Helaena’s chambers. There’s been an incident.” 

The gold cloak nodded, pity on his face. 

“Womanly matters are difficult,” The gold cloak said in understanding, and Daemon did not react for a moment, before he nodded. 

“Yes,” He agreed. “Now, go.” He said, and sharply turned on his heel. They walked briskly until they were away from prying eyes, before the pair stared at one another and broke out into a run. It seemed like mere moments where they grabbed a healer and all the herbs and salves they saw despite his protests and all but sprinted to the room where Aegon was. 

The scene they arrived in was quite brutal, and Jace felt it like a swift punch to his abdomen. 

Aegon’s shirt had been cut away from him, now a ruined peace of linen on the floor. Helaena was dabbing a cloth, cleaning the blood from his wounds which were now glaringly obvious. 

It seemed as though his entire abdomen was black and blue, and if Jace looked hard enough he could swear he saw a dent. 

Daemon let out a slew of creative curses, half in High Valyrian as he leant against the wall in shock, staring at Aegon. 

Alicent was catatonic next to him, as Cregan was speaking rapidly with the Essosi healer. 

“Daemon.” Jace said, nudging his head to Alicent. That seemed to sober Daemon up as he made a face.

“You cannot be serious.” He deadpanned, and Jace glared at him. 

Daemon struggled for a moment, before he sighed in annoyance and walked over to Alicent, Jace in tow. 

“My Queen,” Jace said softly, but she simply stared forward, making no acknowledgement. “Your Grace,” he tried once more, ignoring Daemon’s sigh of annoyance. No difference, no response.

“Alicent.” Daemon said softly, trying to be gentle. Alicent twitched. “ Alicent .” He snapped. 

Her gaze snapped towards him. He reached for her, she tried to shove him away. 

“No, no no no no !” She began to shout. “That’s my son! Do not touch me!” 

Daemon grabbed her wrists in a firm grip and kneeled before her, his eyes staring into her own. 

She looked terrified, and awful, Jace thought with a wince. She flinched. It did not help that Daemon grabbed her right over the bruises.

“Daemon!” Jace called harshly, lowering his hands. Daemon’s eyes narrowed in on her wrists, and looked at her in shock. 

“Alicent,” He said, his voice as gentle as if he was talking to a wounded child. “Who did this?” 

She did not answer, merely staring at him in terror. 

“We are helping him,” Daemon said soothingly. Viserra and Rhaenys burst in, stopping short at the sight, both of them gasping. Jace noted from his peripheral vision they promptly went to the healer, and spoke a few words. Immediately, Viserra was crushing and cutting herbs while Rhaenys was grinding them into some form of powder or paste within moments of their entry, both princesses taking orders without a word. 

Cregan was soothing a shaking Helaena whilst they tended to his wounds, all the while answering questions the healer was spouting rapidly in Valyrian.

“We need to know who did this.” Daemon asked, and Jace felt his anger burst forth. He reached forward, ignoring the shouts and protest of those around him. 

He reached for Alicent, in place of Daemon who was staring at Jace in shock. But Jace was seeing only red, all he saw was Aegon’s broken body and this godsforsaken war between them had gone on for far too long. She was going to answer them, he’d make her if he had to. 

“Alicent!” He snapped, and he turned her toward Aegon. 

“Look at him.” He demanded, but she could not. She looked away, tears running down her cheeks as she shook her head. 

“No,” She whispered. 

“ Look at him! ” He shouted in her face, forcing her to put her eyes upon the broken visage of Aegon. “He is your son.” 

“Jace, stop.” Daemon said softly. 

“He is your son and you allowed someone to do this to him!” Jace all but shouted in her face as he ignored Daemon, staring at Alicent who was still silently crying and shaking her head. He didn’t care how much she cried. He knew she was in shock, and he needed to get through to her.

“Jace!” Rhaenys reprimanded, but he ignored her too. 

“I know you love your children,” Jace said softly. She stared into his eyes. “I’ve always admired that about you. I hated you, just like you now hate me, but I always admired how fiercely you protected your children.” 

She was staring into his eyes as though she had never seen them before, he knew for a moment she was imagining his mother. He had Rhaenyra’s eyes. 

“Protect him now, when you could not before. We will help him. But you have to let us.” Jace urged, his eyes so wide and so earnest that he knew Alicent had given in before she uttered the confirmation they all needed to hear in order to move forward. 

“It was my father.” She whispered.

It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. Nobody uttered a single word until the door opened once more, and every head swiveled in that direction. 

They were tense, Daemon, Cregan, and Jace with their hands on their weapons. The door opened to reveal Elaena and Luke, and they all relaxed as they saw the familiar faces. 

“Why is everyone in here?” Elaena asked in annoyance, the expression causing her nose to scrunch up cutely and her brows to furrow. That expression washed away to be replaced with one of pure shock as she paled and laid her eyes on Aegon. 

Luke let go of Elaena’s arm and ran to Aegon’s side, kneeling before him. Jace watched as he reached out a shaky hand, so as to touch Aegon’s face, but lowered his hand gingerly as he stared up at them all with a fierce expression. 

“Who did this?” Elaena asked softly, her voice quiet, and it caused  shivers to go down Jace’s spine. He looked over to Alicent, who was still sobbing with her head in her hands, possibly half for Aegon and half in disbelief her father would ever do this to Aegon, leaving him in such a condition. 

Jace’s eyes were blazing, Cregan still kneeling next to Aegon as he now comforted Lucerys. 

Jace listened to Cregan’s voice as he talked to Luke, allowing his deep timbre to calm him down. 

“It’s alright, Little Prince,” The Northerner drew Luke into his arms and held the shaking boy. “We got here in time, he’s okay.” 

Jace allowed Cregan’s voice and now familiar Northern accent to get him to relax his muscles and stop being tense. 

He looked at Alicent, opening his mouth in the beginnings of an apology before she caught his wrist, and he eyed her warily. 

She opened her mouth so as to say something, but words did not come out. He and Daemon spied the bruises on her wrist, and Jace turned to the healer. 

“ Do you have some of the left over bruise paste, Healer?” He asked kindly in Valyrian, and the Essosi healer responded by passing the pot that held the mixture of herbs in it, and Jace nodded in his thanks. He gently grabbed Alicent’s wrists and applied the paste, all the while knowing everyone, including the Queen, was staring at him. 

Daemon passed the cloth over to him as he gently tied it around the area where she was hurt, and he looked up and warily nodded at her. Once he tried to move, she grabbed him once more. This time, when she opened her mouth, she did say something. 

“Thank you.” It was a croaky whisper, but it was genuine nonetheless. He watched as she turned her gaze to Daemon and nodded, one which he returned with some hesitance. 

He knew in this moment as they all stood shrouded around Aegon, there had been an irreversible shift. 

He also knew he was going to fucking kill Otto Hightower, once exchanged glance between him, Daemon, Cregan, Viserra, and Rhaenys cemented that fact. The only issue is, would Aegon let them? 

This was Aegon’s battle, and it was Aegon’s decision on what to do with the cunt. Jace steeled himself as he walked to Cregan and Luke, sitting with them, huddled around each other. Helaena and Elaena sat with them, the children forming what seemed to be a protective wall. 

They may not always see eye to eye, but whether or not you wanted to kill them sometimes, family was family.

Viserra, Daemon, and Rhaenys exchanged a glance. It was about time they realized that simple truth as well. 

They all sat in silence, Viserra and Rhaenys holding onto Alicent’s hands, Daemon standing behind them, like a vigil, and he reluctantly placed his hand on Alicent’s shoulder.

And, well, if Jace saw her take comfort from the touch, he would never tell a soul. 

They waited for Aegon to wake up, not even noticing that the healer slipped out of the room. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER VII 

– ♛♛♛ –

You crush my heart and say it’s nothing

You broke me down, I keep on cutting

I bleed for you and now I’m gushing

I bleed for you, but you never cared

RHAENYRA

The rest of the trip with Aemond had gone smoothly, and she would even use the word comfortably. She had long grown used to flying with a giant behemoth such as Vhagar since her old friend and beloved cousin Laena had been Vhagar’s rider. From the air she signaled to Aemond that she saw Old Town, and that she will fly down and demand for her brother whilst he and Vhagar circle the skies, as the dragon is too large to land here comfortably. 

Aemond nodded in the affirmative, and she watched as she descended the way he and Vhagar circled the Hightower in a protective way, she just wasn’t sure whom it was that he was protecting. 

She landed Syrax and jumped off her Golden Lady, looking every inch a Targaryen warrior princess. Her long white hair was held back in a braid, her black and red leathers glistened in the sun and she stared imperiously at the trembling guard before her. 

“Tell Lord Hightower that Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heiress to the Iron Throne, is here to retrieve her little brother, Prince Daeron.” She said coldly, staring at the man clad in green with a shaking spear in his hand. 

She watched blankly as he ran away to relay her message. She leaned against the leg of her dragon, arms crossed as she waited and stared up at the sky, watching Aemond and Vhagar. 

Many minutes later, Lord Ormund Hightower arrived with Daeron standing behind him, and a flash of blue filling her vision. Her brother's dragon, Tessarion. 

Daeron was of an age with Jace, and his dragon a few years older than Vermax, and the last she had seen, Tessarion was larger than Vermax when Daeron went off to foster with his Hightower kin. The same could not be said for now. 

Tessarion had just barely grown, just barely large enough to ride. She looked downtrodden, and she spied the chain that stayed wrapped around the dragon’s ankle and neck, some of the scales damaged around the area. She spied Daeron behind Ormund, who was tall but appeared to be making himself look smaller. He avoided her gaze, though that was to be expected. 

“Princess,” Ormund said in an unpleasant tone. “Why have you come here? Daeron’s fostering is not yet over.” 

“I owe no explanation to you, Lord Hightower.” Rhaenyra said, looking down at him from her nose. She jutted her chin out, and straightened her posture, moving away from Syrax and walking closer to the small entourage Ormund deemed proper to bring with him. 

“But, he is a Prince of the realm and a Targaryen, his place is at home.” She said, and stared at him meaningfully. “With his family.” 

Daeron lifted his gaze and she inhaled sharply, because his eyes were the exact same shade and shape that her mother’s were. She tried to convey her message to him, that he could trust her, that he was safe. But she spotted bruises on his neck, obvious that they tried to hide it with the collar of his shirt and doublet.

Her gaze grew cold as she turned her eyes to Ormund, who was watching her gaze nervously. 

“Did you come alone, Princess?” He asked conversationally, and as though answering for her, Vhagar roared from the sky, and the sun was blotted out by her. Ormund and the others lifted their gaze to the sky in slight fear, and she smirked.

“No, I did not.” She said simply. “Prince Aemond accompanied me on this trip,” She relished in their looks of shock and confusion. “He so desperately wanted to be reunited with his younger brother.” 

“Come, valonqus. ” Rhaenyra said softly, her heart aching for a moment as Daeron hesitated, and looked warily at what she would consider his captors rather than his kin. 

They were interrupted by the shadow that loomed over them getting closer to them, the wind whipping from Vhagar’s giant wings as Aemond decided she had taken far too long to collect their little brother. 

He landed her, despite the lack of room to do so, and jumped from his saddle and landed next to her. She was sure they cut an intimidating image. 

The pair of them in their riding leathers, their dragons behind them, standing shoulder to shoulder. Aemond was far taller than she, and he had a glare on his face, made all the more intimidating with his scar and eyepatch covering what Jace had told her was a blue sapphire in place of an eye. 

Personally, she thinks he’d look far more badass without the eyepatch covering the gemstone. 

“Brother,” She greeted. He inclined his head at her. 

“Rhaenyra.” He said simply. 

“I thought I told you to just circle the skies,” She said, slight teasing in her tone. Aemond bristled for a moment, before he realized she was only joking and not too serious, then he relaxed. 

“You were taking far too long, and I haven’t laid eyes on my brother in many years.” Aemond said, his posture relaxed and body language languid. She sighed. 

“It appears the Hightowers do not wish to part ways with young Daeron.” She said simply, staring at her nails. “ His dragon is far too small, Aemond. And Daeron, look at his neck.” 

Aemond’s gaze darted to Tessarion, then to Daeron’s neck, very obviously eyeing the bruises that wrapped around his little brother's pale skin. Daeron shifted uncomfortably, and Ormund chuckled nervously. 

“Of course we don’t, Daeron is a lovely young lad. It will be sad to see him go,” Lord Hightower said smoothly, and Rhaenyra stared at him up and down as though he were an insect. She turned her eyes to Daeron, now far warmer, and stretched her hand out.

“Come, Daeron.” 

Daeron moved this time, reaching forward to grab her hand. Tessarion was still chained.

“Undo the chains on Tessarion,” She demanded to Ormund, her voice low and threatening. “Now.” 

She ushered Daeron to the hold of Aemond, who held his brother by the shoulders and was rapidly running his gaze along the boy, checking for other injuries. She watched as they unchained the dragon, Tessarion flapping her wings and beginning to fly in circles, amusing Syrax as she purred at the younger dragon, and Vhagar huffed smoke in amusement. 

“Good day, Lord Hightower.” She said simply, turning on her heel and turning her back on him. She walked toward Daeron, who was Aemond’s height and once again far taller than she. He had muscles, and his hair was cropped short, close to his head. He looked like a spitting image of her grandfather, Baelon. Handsome, imposing, and every inch a Targaryen prince. 

“I didn’t know your size,” Rhaenyra said apologetically, glancing at his green clothes with a grimace. “I had some riding leathers commissioned, using Aemond and Jace as a guide. If they do not fit well, we shall have them altered when we get to King’s Landing.” 

Daeron stared at her curiously before taking the black riding leathers from her hand gingerly. 

“Why are you here?” He asked her, and she sighed. 

“We are family.” She said simply. “I was not going to simply let you rot here. You belong with the rest of us dragons, in the Red Keep.” 

He stared at her blankly for a few more moments, before nodding his head curtly. 

“Can you fly?” Aemond asked his brother lowly, catching him on the arm. Rhaenyra pretended she could not hear them, to give them the illusion of privacy. 

“Yes,” Daeron nodded. “She tires quickly, though.” 

“She is far smaller than she ought to be,” Aemond said quietly, and Daeron clenched his fists. 

“I know, brother.” His voice was low, hatred in his eyes as he stared at the Hightowers. 

Rhaenyra decided they had enough ‘privacy.’ 

“We can begin rehabilitating Tessarion at King’s Landing.” She said softly. “She will be at her proper size in no time, Daeron.” 

He stared at her blankly, and she felt like fidgeting for a moment, but she stood firm and held his gaze with her own. He nodded. 

“Thank you, Rhaenyra.” He said quietly. 

“What did they do to you?” She asked him quietly, making sure only Aemond could hear them. Daeron’s gaze shuttered for a moment, his eyes going dark and misty with thought. He turned on his heel and walked from their sight, to change into his riding leathers.

“I think the better question,” Aemond murmured softly, his face thoughtful and considering, a look she had never seen before and could not define in his eyes. “Is what didn’t they do to him?” 

Rhaenyra and Aemond stood with one another in silence for a moment, and their eyes met. Determination in hers, vengeance in his. 

“I do believe we’ll have to come back here with Jace and Cregan,” Aemond mused, and Rhaenyra couldn’t help it. She laughed. 

I’d rather burn Old Town to the ground , Jace had said with an amiable expression on his face, as though speaking of the weather. 

Aemond had been so blasé about it, just like her eldest son and their cousin Cregan, she was delirious and angry and tired. 

She was still laughing, and she knew the Hightower cunts were staring at her like she was crazy, though they could not hear their conversation, and Aemond was staring at her the same way, before he too, descended into laughter. 

She supposed this was how they were. The blood of the dragon runs thick, and she was sure their family were the only people that would laugh about Old Town being bathed in dragon fire. 

And that was how Daeron found them, green clothes folded neatly in his hand, staring at them like they were insane, and perhaps they were. 

“What are you laughing about?” He asked, slightly exasperated as he eyed them. She smiled at him. 

“Nothing,” Aemond said simply, staring at his brother as though drinking in everything he could about Daeron. She was struck with the thought that Aemond probably hadn’t seen his little brother at all since he was sent off to Old Town.

He wouldn’t know that they were laughing about setting this place ablaze. He didn’t know that if they did, it would be for him. It didn’t matter that she practically did not know him, that they were strangers to one another. 

That she didn’t know the first thing about him. What she did know, however, was that he was her little brother, with the face of her grandfather and the eyes of her mother. What she knew was there were ugly purple blue and yellow bruises around his neck, and she knew who put them there. 

He didn’t know that she’d bloody her hands and paint the lands red for anyone daring to touch him. Touch any of them. He didn’t have to know, because as she saddled him onto Tessarion and climbed onto the back of her own dragon, he would soon see. 

They rose from the ground together, flying in a formation that had Aemond in the center and Syrax and Tessarion on either side of the larger dragon. They were going home. 

– ♛♛♛ –

DAEMON

It had been two days since Aegon had been beaten black and blue by his grandfather, and Daemon was at a loss. For once in his life, he did not know what course of action to take. 

He had been torn between staying at the lad’s bedside until he woke and going and killing Otto Hightower with his bare hands. The cunt had acted like nothing happened, his hand pin glistening on his shirt as he had the audacity to visit Aegon. Not only visit him, but visit him in their presence. 

The children had not left Aegon’s side since they found him, whispering amongst one another about things Daemon did not have the heart to pay attention to as he stared at the broken body of Aegon. He didn’t know why he cared. 

Weeks ago if someone had told him Aegon had his chest caved in by Otto, he wouldn’t have cared beyond the fact that the cunt Otto Hightower dared to lay a hand upon a Targaryen. 

Even if he classified Aegon and their ilk as half breeds. And yet, when they arrived here, Aegon had not only integrated himself into his family almost seamlessly, but he had saved Luke’s life. Oh , how it had felt like ash in his mouth to thank him for saving his son, because that’s what those boys were to him, his sons. 

It seemed as though if he wasn’t training Jace and the boys, or seeing Jace in the Small Council chambers, he saw Jacaerys with Aegon, and now with Aegon and Cregan. The three had taken to one another like ducks to a pond, and he found himself remembering when Rhaenyra would recount her days in King’s Landing with the boys and Laenor. 

How she had regaled him with stories of Jace and Aegon, attached at the hip they were. The best of friends, always in some mischief with one another. If it wasn’t them, it was Jace and Luke, or Jace and Aemond. She had told him so many times how they were friends, and how they turned into bitter enemies. 

Lamented that it was like watching her and Alicent Hightower all over again, and he honestly didn’t care, until now. 

Because while he wasn’t looking or paying attention, he had grown to care for Aegon. He had grown to care for the boy perhaps in the way he always should have, as an Uncle should have always cared for his nephew. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he didn’t before, but he did now, and oh gods how it had hurt like a knife to the gut seeing Aegon laying as still as he was, his breathing labored and choked. 

He was at the boy’s bedside now, lingering in the corners of the room like he was some kind of guard dog, one eye on Aegon and the children and another on the door. He was tense, poised to attack. Stuck in incredulity, after the conversation he had with his brother. 

It was the day they found him, and he had been able to pry Alicent from the bedside of her son to go speak to Viserys, the King. 

“He will not do anything, Daemon.” Alicent said wearily as they approached the door to the King’s bedchambers. 

“Of course he will,” Daemon scoffed. “Aegon is his son.” 

“He may be his son,” Alicent agreed. “But the only child Viserys ever had room for in his heart was Rhaenyra.” 

He wanted to refute this claim, say it could not be true, but it was. He knew, because his family had used this to their advantage at every point they could have. It was a boon when they hated each other, when they were one step from a war. 

But now, when they were learning to like each other, live with one another, when they had to be united, the idea was like poison in his veins. So, he merely stared at her, her face puffy and her eyes red and tear tracks on her face, but she held his gaze with a burning defiance that made him almost admire her for a moment. 

She was not born a dragon, but after living with many for years, he supposed she became one. Much to her chagrin. 

Crispin was trailing behind him, glaring at him with a vengeance and he had to try not to laugh at the puppy. Daemon received a handkerchief from his person and handed it to Alicent. She took it with a questioning gaze and wiped her face, and Daemon avoided meeting her eyes in favor of opening the door.

Viserys’ improved health didn’t mean he was not weak, and more often than not he was in his room, adding to his model of Old Valyria. That was where they found him. 

“Brother!” Viserys greeted jovially, then with some confusion but still joy, noted Alicent. “Wife.” 

“Husband,” Alicent said cordially. 

“Brother,” Daemon said softly. “There’s been an incident.” 

“Are the boys okay?” Viserys asked him. “Is Rhaenyra alright?” 

He could not ignore the way Alicent deflated, the way her eyes revealed her true brokenness. 

“The boys are fine, as is Rhaenyra,” Daemon said, pushing past it. “It is Aegon.” 

Viserys sighed, sinking into his chair and rubbing his temples. 

“What did he do now?” 

Daemon was slightly taken aback, but soldiered on. He wanted to shake his brother, tell him to show some bloody concern, but did not. 

“He’s in the care of the healers.” Daemon said instead. “He had been attacked.” 

“Who would dare touch him?” Viserys said with a frown, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Otto.” Daemon said, and Viserys sighed, his glare turning towards Daemon. 

“I have had enough of this posturing, Daemon. I know you mislike Otto, but to accuse him of such–” 

“It is no accusation,” Daemon said sharply. “He attacked Aegon. There are witnesses, and when the boy wakes up he can tell you himself.” 

Viserys looked at Alicent, who was pointedly staring at the ground. 

“Is this true, Alicent?” 

She hesitated. “I was there, in the other room, Viserys.” 

Viserys’ frown turned deeper, and he sighed. 

"Then why did you not stop him?" Viserys asked, obviously skeptical. Daemon bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, because all he could see was the way Alicent Hightower flinched, and he could not help but wonder if she had tried to stop it once before, and faced her own set of consequences. 

"Brother." Daemon's voice was low with warning, and Viserys sighed, turning his gaze to Daemon who stared at him with such incredulity that Viserys spoke.

“I will have to wait for Aegon to wake, and he can tell me the truth of it.” He had decided, and Daemon gaped at him. 

He hoped so desperately his brother would tell him he was japing, and would turn and say ‘ Daemon, bring me that cunt’s head ’ but he did not, and Daemon scoffed. 

“Will you not even see him?” He scorned. “He is your son.” 

“Since when have you ever cared for any of my children, beyond Rhaenyra, Daemon?” Viserys spat back, and Daemon nearly recoiled. 

He was right. He didn’t care, not before. But he did now, and he hoped it counted for something. 

Alicent stood up, and Daemon stood with her. The pair walked out of the room together, and when the door was shut, Alicent shook her head. 

“I told you.” She had said simply, as though she had grown numb to it. 

He merely stared at her. They walked back together in silence to where Aegon was now, and if they took the slightest bit of comfort in one another’s company, well, they would never tell. 

He shook himself free of his thoughts as the door burst open and he tensed, hand on his sword as everyone in the room turned. 

Jace, Cregan, Luke, Elaena, and Helaena had taken up vigil at Aegon’s side, and all heads swiveled to the door. Alicent was sitting quietly in the corner, and she looked up from her needlework and stared. 

Rhaenyra entered the room, Aemond behind her, and what Daemon could only assume was Daeron walking in. 

Rhaenyra ran towards Aegon, and gently with a shaking touched his hair, running her fingers through it. Her gaze grew cold, Aemond and Daeron staring blankly at Aegon laying still on the bed. He barely registered the twin presence of Viserra and Rhaenys, now standing beside him.

Alicent whimpered and ran to her son, dropping her needle and silk, hugging him fiercely. Daemon was sure the boy would break, but after a moment, he returned the hug with just as much fervor. 

Daemon spied the bruises on his neck peeking through his riding leathers. 

He spied Aemond’s fists, clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. He locked eyes with Rhaenyra, tears welling in her gorgeous purple stare. 

“Who did this?” Aemond asked in a deathly quiet voice. 

Rhaenyra walked over to him, and held his hand tightly. But Daemon’s eyes were trained on Jace and Cregan as they ushered Aemond and Daeron to them, greetings stilted and tense. He watched as the four boys bent their heads together and began whispering, two black of hair, two white of hair, all four with Targaryen blood in their veins. He wondered how they looked now, four powerful older Targaryens standing with one another. He held onto Rhaenyra’s hand, Viserra holding his other one, Rhaenys holding Viserra’s.

Daemon tore his gaze away from them and looked at his beloved wife. He kissed her forehead gently, and she leaned into his touch. She looked at Alicent, her old friend.

Alicent looked at them. Rhaenyra reached out her free hand. Alicent’s gaze turned to Daemon, who was staring blankly at her. The Green Queen hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between the Black Princess and Rogue Prince.

She took Rhaenyra’s hand. 

They will burn them all. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     VIII 

– ♛♛♛ –

A storm is coming

Desire burns

A war is calling

The tides are turned

JACAERYS 

Jace supposed that this was a penance of some sort that he was paying. A penance for his stupidity, for daring to think that their instruction of Aegon in public would not have consequences on the young man. He sat there at his bedside, forgoing any attendance of Small Council meetings because he knew the second he laid eyes on Otto Hightower, nothing would stop him from running his sword through the man's throat and watching him bleed out on the floor. 

He had Cregan attending in his place, and Cregan swore to him that Jace would owe him for the rest of his life. Jace couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh when the older man had said that to him, rubbing his temples as though it would physically ward the headache away from him.

He was alone next to Aegon now, everyone attending to duties one way or another, having to keep the realm running. He had sent his own mother away, because she needed to relax and sleep. She may not be too far along in her pregnancy yet, as the tourney was being prepared and still many moons away from her due date, but his mother was still with child and he would not see her neglect herself. 

He would see to Aegon. He had taken it as though it was his own personal duty. Perhaps that was because he took what happened to Aegon as his failing. He should have protected his Uncle. He should have known. But he didn’t. So he sat quietly by the older man’s bedside, waiting for Cregan to come back from the Small Council meeting so he didn’t feel as alone as he normally did. 

Cregan’s company, even if they sat with one another in silence, brought him a form of peace he had not known since his recurring dream that led him to coming to King’s Landing in the first place. He was so busy being worried, protecting everyone around him, it felt nice to be around someone he knew he would not have to protect. 

Jace had a wet washcloth in his hand as he held it to Aegon’s forehead. He developed a minor fever, and the Healers said he was not waking because of an apparent head injury. Head injuries were always nerve wrecking, as they never knew what was going on internally. He remembered with vague recollection the panic his mother and the maesters had regarding his own head injury after Driftmark. 

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” Jace whispered softly. “I should have protected you.” 

“There was not much you could have done,” A melodic, feminine voice said softly from behind him. Jace whirled around so fast he was surprised his neck didn’t break. He relaxed his body when he saw the now familiar and welcome face of Elaena. He had not spent much time with her since the Starks’ arrival. He regretted that, but there was only so much time a man had in a day, and his priority would always be his duties and his family. 

He had to remind himself that she was family, for a moment. He stared at her, and she stared back coldly. Her direwolf, the large creature was as intimidating as it was beautiful, padded into the room and circled Aegon’s bedside for a moment, before curling up and settling at the foot of the bed. 

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Jace said gruffly. “I did not know you were there,” he turned his head back to Aegon, turning his back on her. He was not in the mood for company, and it appeared she did not care, for she settled in the chair next to him elegantly, and smirked. 

“It is I who should be apologizing, Prince Jacaerys. I did not mean to startle you.” She said simply, crossing her hands in her lap, playing with the rings on her fingers. He snorted.

“You Starks should come with a bell,” He joked softly, and she smirked. 

“Wait until you meet my brother, Baelon.” She mused, and he noticed her eyes mist over for a moment, as though lost in a memory. 

“You miss him.” He said simply. It was a statement, and she nodded, her dark hair falling in her face like a curtain. Jace, for reasons unknown to him, had the urge to reach out and touch it. It looked so shiny, and smooth. Like a blanket of darkness. 

“I do,” She agreed easily. “I am thankful he is not going to the Night's Watch any longer, however.” 

He perked up. 

“He was going to take the Black?” Jace asked, curiosity humming through his veins. “Why?” 

Elaena tensed for a moment before answering. 

“Stark family troubles.” She said tersely, and Jace, though brimming with questions, simply nodded. He would not force her to speak, should she not want to. 

They were silent for a few moments, just basking in one another's company, before she broke the silence once more. 

“It was not your fault,” She repeated, gesturing to Aegon. “For what happened.” 

“I could have stopped it.” Jace said simply. 

“No, you could not have.” She disagreed, shaking her head, causing the light to bounce off her hair in a beautiful glow. “You would never have gotten close enough.” 

“You don’t know that,” Jace refuted. “I could have gotten him away.” 

“The only reason we even know what’s going on is because Hightower made a mistake .” She spat, her eyes flashing with disgust. “He made it impossible for Aegon to hide the bruises and the aches and pains this time. He made a mistake, and he went too far. Else, we would have been none the wiser that it was Otto leaving those mysterious bruises on Aegon.” 

“I was suspicious it was him from the moment I laid eyes on Aegon.” Jace argued with her, desperation filling his veins. He could have stopped it, he wouldn’t have been useless in this. He could have stopped it. 

She reached a hand out, and laid it on Jace as she leaned toward him, eyes wide and earnest and understanding and it made Jace want to crawl out of his skin and rip his hair out because she should not be looking at him like that. He did not deserve anyone’s sympathy, it was not as though he was the one laying broken in a bed. But he could not help but stare back at her, getting lost in the amethyst pools of her eyes that held so much depth he felt as though the ocean could not even compare to them. 

“There is a difference,” She began softly, her voice kind but her eyes made of steel. “Between suspecting and knowing. The cunt made a mistake, we know now, we have proof, and we can get him for this. He will burn for this, my Prince.” 

“Jace,” He said softly. “Call me Jace.” He took his hand away from hers, and she pulled back, sitting straight in her chair. 

“Alright, Jace.” She said, his name falling from her lips and rolling off her tongue as though she had always spoken it. “Call me Elaena.” 

“Alright,” He said, lips quirking up. “ Elaena ,” he dragged her name out, as though it were art and poetry leaking from his lips, gilded in gold. 

“He will be fine.” She said simply. “There is nothing you can do, except be a friend when he wakes.” 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, as though all the fight left him and he displayed the weight that rested on his shoulders for the first time. 

“I suppose you are right,” He said, resigned and soft, all the strength leaving him and a tired man sat in the place of the always cool and composed Future King. 

“I always am,” She said simply, sniffing and staring down her nose at him, like a pompous lady. He laughed, not being able to help himself. 

They heard a low groan, and Jace felt a clammy hand squeeze his own and they looked down at Aegon, eyes wide. It had been three days and he had not made a single move, and Jace held Aegon’s hand tighter.

“Aegon?” Jace asked softly, moving closer to his Uncle. “Aegon, can you hear me?” 

Aegon’s eyes fluttered open, and Jace saw a flash of purple before the young man groaned and closed his eyes again, the light hurting his eyes and causing his head to pound. Jace looked at Elaena. 

“Can you go inform everyone that Aegon is awake?” He asked her softly, and she nodded, standing up and beginning to speed out of the room before Jace called back.

“Elaena?” She turned her head, the curtain of her covering her back as she stared at him curiously. 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you,” Jace said, his voice and eyes sincere and open and oh so vulnerable. She softened visibly, and smiled. 

“You’re welcome,” She said softly, and she turned back and ran from the room. 

“Aegon?” Jace asked once more.

“Hmm?” The man hummed. “Why do I feel like I got trampled by a stampede of horses?” He croaked out, his voice hoarse and raw from the lack of use. Jace grabbed some water, and gently tilted Aegon’s head to drink it. 

He did so, looking at Jace thankfully before he groaned and held onto his side. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Jace asked softly. Aegon snorted painfully.

“Yes, I spat in the face of my cunt of a grandfather.” He said simply. “It felt great, till he nearly broke my body in half.” 

“You have three broken ribs, two bruised ones, a mild concussion,” Jace listed off, and Aegon winced. “And a few cuts and scrapes.” 

“Seven hells,” Aegon muttered. “I need a fucking drink.” 

Jace snorted, shaking his head. 

“If you weren’t in so much pain, I’d hit you for this.” Jace said ruefully. 

“What?” Aegon gaped. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Scared the ever loving shit out of me and everyone in this family,” Jace deadpanned. “Aemond, mother, and Daeron were going to ride back to the Hightower and burn it down. Can you believe it was Daemon that calmed them down?” 

Aegon let out a bark of startled laughter. “You’re joking.” 

Jace shook his head. “It’s a sad day for us Targaryens when Daemon is the sane one.” 

“I take offense to that,” said man quipped from behind Jace. “Young Prince.” 

Jace turned to him and smiled sheepishly, and soon everyone swarmed Aegon’s bedside. They were all hurriedly asking questions and checking him over and hugging him, kissing him, ruffling his hair. Jace noted Aegon looked embarrassed, but a pleasant flush was on his cheeks and his smile was so wide it was probably incredibly painful for Aegon, considering the cuts on his face. 

But as Jace watched the scene, he felt warm inside, and wondered if Aegon felt the same. If he felt loved. He hoped he did. 

He noticed Cregan’s absence, and the way Daeron stayed on the outskirts of the group, his eyes never leaving Aegon’s but never daring to touch him, as though he did not belong in this scene. Jace got up from his seat and walked to the boy he shared a wet nurse with, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. 

The boy was tall, but Jace was a few inches taller than him, and slightly bulkier than the other boy. 

“You can go to him, you know?” Jace said softly, startling Daeron. He held his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, Daeron.” 

“‘S’alright,” Daeron mumbled, his eyes not leaving the scene before them. Alicent holding Aegon’s hand, Rhaenyra holding the other. Luke smiling so widely and talking so rapidly that he could tell Aegon had trouble keeping up but he was trying and he was smiling at Luke, squeezing Rhaenyra and Alicent’s hands. 

Daemon stood at the foot of Aegon’s bed, the direwolf next to him as his eyes stared smilingly at Aegon, even if his lips weren’t pulled up in a smile. 

“I don’t want to disturb them,” Daeron said softly. 

“You’re their family,” Jace said firmly. “It would not be a disturbance.” 

Daeron observed him, his eyes unwavering and intelligent and so tortured that Jace felt taken aback and he felt the wind knocked from his chest. 

“I haven’t been here in years,” Daeron said simply. “We are all so different now, practically strangers.” 

“Then, allow us all to get to know you again. And in turn, you shall get to know us.” Jace said simply, bumping his shoulder playfully against Daeron’s. The pair had never had any bad blood between them. Daeron snorted, and bumped his shoulder into Jace’s right back. 

Jace urged Daeron forward, and smiled as he saw Aegon’s face turn into one of breath taking happiness as he drank in every detail he could of Daeron, who shuffled his feet. 

“I’d hug you, but I can’t seem to move.” Aegon said, and Daeron snorted, leaning down and softly hugging his eldest brother. 

“Hello, Aegon,” Daeron said softly. 

“It’s good to see you, valonqus. ” Aegon said just as softly. Daeron swallowed, and Jace smiled. 

“It’s good to see you too.” Daeron expressed. 

The moment was interrupted when Elaena walked in with a grim Aemond. Elaena’s lips were pursed into a thin line and her eyes were flashing dangerously. Jace repressed the urge to run to her and ask her softly what happened, and instead locked eyes with Aemond.

Aemond walked over to him, grabbing Jace’s arm and dragging him to a corner of the room where they could not be heard. 

“What is it, Aemond?” Jace asked, his eyes searching the boy’s face. Aemond was staring at Aegon for a moment, before he tore his gaze away and met Jace’s eyes. “What’s happened?” 

“It’s not good, Jace.” Aemond said softly. Jace was taken aback, he had never heard Aemond speak this gently, this softly. He had never seen Aemond have as much quiet fury flooded in his veins. 

Aemond was hot blooded. He angered quickly, and he exploded. He never simmered in his anger, it was never quiet, nor was it ever cold. Aemond was the essence of Daemon Targaryen, and they were the truest representation of blood of the dragon Jace had ever seen. 

Hot tempered, shoot first ask later. But now, it appeared as though Aemond was carved from marble and ice filled his veins. 

“What is it?” Jace asked, gripping Aemond by the shoulders. They were not the best of friends by any means, but the truce they had settled on had grown into a partnership in the few weeks since they had all begun attempting to get along with one another. 

“The triarchy are attacking the Stepstones again,” He said simply. “Lord Corlys will be preparing his ships and armies to sail by the end of the week.” 

Jace inhaled sharply. “Are we sure it’s the triarchy?” 

“Yes, they’re in alliance with Dorne.” Aemond snarled. “This infighting must cease. Someone must be sent to treat with Dorne, and we need to burn those fuckers ships to the ground.” He was angry, Jace knew. But for some reason, the foreboding feeling that entered the pit of his stomach deepened. 

“We will deal with Dorne, and the Triarchy, Aemond.” Jace said softly. “Perhaps…does Qoren Martell have a daughter?” 

“Two,” Aemond said simply. “His Heir, Aliandra, and his second daughter, Coryanne.” 

“Perhaps, if we arrange a marriage between a Prince of the Realm and his second daughter, we can come to an agreement.” Jace said simply, his mind spinning with possibilities. 

“That is not your decision to make,” Aemond snapped, before he calmed himself and inhaled sharply. “But once Aegon is no longer bedridden, we shall discuss it amongst ourselves. The idea holds merit.” 

Jace nodded sharply. “Is there anything else?” He asked, staring at Aemond searchingly. Aemond opened his mouth, but the door was once more burst open. 

Viserra and Cregan walked in, and Jace assumed Rhaenys was off with Corlys making preparations. Cregan looked grim, and Viserra looked wroth with anger. 

“Vis?” Daemon asked. “What is it?” 

“I was pulled from the Small Council meeting by a gold cloak,” Cregan answered instead, his voice cold. “There had been an incident in the city.” 

“What incident?” Rhaenyra asked warily. She looked tired, dark bruises underneath her eyes and what seemed to be permanent tension in her shoulders. 

Viserra sighed shakily, shaking her head and staring at her family gathered around them, and spoke, dread in her tone. 

“The Faith Militant,” She said. “They have come again.” 

“What?” Jace spat angrily. “We have done nothing to offend the Faith, nor have we broken the agreement they came to with King Jahaerys.” He felt his body shaking in anger, and barely registered the vice like grim Aemond had on his arm. 

“Nobody say another word .” Elaena snarled. They all went silent, and she began to survey the room with her direwolf, Winter, walking agitatedly around the room and standing guard at the close door. She checked every vent, every corner, every hidden thing she could find, and when it was clear, she nodded. 

“It is safe to discuss.” She said simply, and Jace had to admire her attention to detail, as it had utterly slipped his mind to check for spies.

“They do not like that you are consorting yourselves so closely with us,” Cregan seethed, his voice a low hiss, his purple eyes flashing with wrath, with a promise of death. “ Filthy barbaric pagans , I think they called me and my family.” 

“That’s insane!” Daemon snapped. Jace’s gaze looked at Alicent, who was staring down at her hands. 

“Queen Alicent?” Jace asked. “Do you know anything about this?” 

“Jace,” Aemond snapped. “Leave her out of this.” 

“She is a devout follower of the Faith, Aemond.” Jace retorted, tearing his arm away from the man’s hold. He looked back at Alicent, who was staring at him now. “Do you?” He prodded. 

“I know nothing of this, Jacaerys.” Alicent refuted, shaking her head. “I hadn’t even heard a whisper .” 

“I have.” Daeron said softly. Every eye snapped to him, waiting for him to speak. “I spent years in Old Town, where the Hightowers are deeply involved with the Citadel and the Faith.” 

“And?” Viserra urged. 

“It seems when they reached the understanding with Jahaerys,” Daeron said softly. “That agreement ended with Jahaerys.” The room was silent. 

“What does that mean?” Luke asked softly, eyes wide and fearful. 

“It means this goes beyond Maesters, Luke.” Jace said softly. “Enemies are rising from every corner. First the Triarchy and Dorne, and now the Citadel and the Faith.” 

“They believe us freaks of nature,” Daeron spat. “Unnatural. Walking sins and demons among men. They hate us, our customs, our dragons, and our magic.” 

“They don’t just mean to destroy House Targaryen,” Aegon murmured in shock, through his pain and slight delirium. “They mean to destroy all magic .” 

“What do we do?” Luke asked softly, and Daemon caressed the boy's hair softly.

“We do what we do best,” Daemon said simply. “We destroy them all.” 

“I have a plan to deal with Dorne,” Jace said softly. “But the Faith and Maesters,” Jace shook his head, at a loss. 

“We must cut off the head of the snake,” Alicent surprised everyone by speaking up. 

“You have no reason to stand with us,” Viserra said, eyes glaring into Alicent’s. Alicent glared defiantly back. 

“I may be a Hightower, I may follow the Seven, but they mean to destroy my children.” She spat, anger in her eyes. “Those all became secondary the moment I became a mother.” 

They stared at one another for a few moments, before Viserra inclined her head. Jace knew the Targaryen princess would be keeping a very close eye on the Queen. 

“And who would be the head of the snake?” Rhaenyra inquired. “The Citadel, or the Faith?” 

“Neither,” Aegon said calmly. “It would be the Hightowers.” 

“Wait,” Luke said softly, standing up from his seat. 

“What is it, sweet boy?” Rhaenyra asked him softly, and his eyes darted around, eyes wide with worry.

“Where is Helaena?” He queried

That had everyone on high alert. 

“I looked for her,” Elaena said softly. “I could not find her anywhere.” 

“She’s probably in some dark room, playing with her bugs.” Aegon said, trying to sound dismissive but the worry in his eyes and voice made the pit in Jace’s stomach fall even deeper. 

Alicent stood, gathering her skirts and rapidly exiting the room. Jace cursed and followed her, Cregan, Daeron, and Aemond hot on their heels. She ran through the halls and finally found the pair of guards normally assigned to her daughter, walking aimlessly through the halls, searching and searching for something. 

“Where is Princess Helaena?” She demanded, knowing they would not have the answer. She looked around frantically. The guards stared at one another warily. 

“We don’t know, Your Grace.” 

“You don’t know?” Jace seethed. 

“How the fuck do you lose a Princess?” Cregan snapped. Daeron and Aemond looked wroth with fury and torn with worry for their gentle sister.

“Where is my daughter?” She nearly bellowed, looking around the castle and breaking out into a run. Jace felt his blood run cold. 

Helaena, he thought desperately. Where are you?

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     IX 

There lies my sanity 

There goes my mind, I could not save

I don’t trust what I see right in front of me

I don’t know who to betray

This is how villains are made

– ♛♛♛ –

CREGAN 

tw: depictions of violence and implied SA as well as miscarriage in this chapter

Cregan was not having a good day. No, he was not having a good day at all. It was enough that the blasted Lords of the Small Council were staring at him like he was some kind of interloper, as though he wanted to be in this bloody suffocating room filled with people more pompous than a fucking peacock. 

They can have their flowery words and their empty promises filled with a viper’s poison. The fact that among the Small Council members, the only people he could count as allies were Rhaenyra and Daemon were worrying enough. Not that he had anything against them, but in the weeks since he arrived here, they were among the people he had interacted with the least. 

And Rhaenyra wasn’t even here yet, having just landed from their flight from Old Town, and Daemon, for all the man had been falling asleep – not that Cregan could blame him – may as well not be here either. 

So, when discussions were being said about funds and tourneys and trade routes, Cregan was trying not to show the pure boredom on his face, the council chamber doors were opened. 

“I said we are not to be interrupted,” Viserys said coolly. Cregan resisted the urge to bare his teeth at the King, after hearing what his reaction upon hearing Aegon’s condition had been. How could one be so indifferent to their children? 

It didn’t help that he had to stare at the smug, smirking face of that despicable thing with the name of Otto Hightower. 

“My apologies, Your Grace,” The Gold Cloak said, bowing lowly. “There’s been an incident in town, we need Lord Stark's assistance.” 

Daemon had perked up. 

“I am the Commander of the City Watch,” Daemon said, his eyes flashing. “Why would you need Lord Stark?” 

The Gold Cloak cringed. 

“It’s a delicate situation, Lord Commander.” The man said softly, and Cregan, filled with intrigue and curiosity, rose from his seat. 

He gestured for his direwolf, Shadow, to follow him. He smirked at the way many Small Council members gulped and tensed in their chairs. They tried to get him to leave Shadow in the stables, and he had nearly cut their throats out. 

Suffice to say, nobody had complained about Shadow’s presence since then. They left the room, his large direwolf trailing after him, hackles raised and teeth bared menacingly as they exited the Keep and went out into the city. Cregan could hear the screaming sounds of a brawl all the way from here, and he gripped the pommel of Ice so hard his knuckles turned white. 

“What’s happened?” Cregan asked the man gruffly, who looked pale as he stared at the direwolf, but he tore his gaze away from the wolf and stared at the man. 

“There’s been an uprising, my lord,” The man said, eyes wide. “We cannot contain it.”

“And you think the efforts of one man will help, whereas a whole contingent of Gold Cloaks cannot?” Cregan asked incredulously. 

“They speak of you, my lord.” The gold cloak said, and Cregan felt his intrigue grow, just as he felt his stomach fall. 

“My mother was supposed to be in the city today,” He said softly, as though he was speaking to himself. 

“What was that, my lord?” The man asked, and Cregan opened his mouth to speak but was stopped when he heard a blood curdling scream pierce the air. 

Cregan broke out into a run, Shadow right next to him as they followed the sounds of chanting and screaming. 

What he saw before him was carnage. There were eight men still standing, a grotesque seven pointed star carved into their foreheads. The wounds were bleeding, open, oozing and painful. They had a fanatic look in their eyes. 

They were dressed in threadbare robes and had crude versions of spears and swords at their sides. Stands were destroyed, people were bleeding on the ground. These peoples’ weapons were bloodied, and they continued preaching and killing those who protested. 

“The Crown has fallen! They have renounced the Faith the moment they welcomed those pagan barbarians into their walls! What was once Holy and blessed by the Gods is now made of sin!” One of them shouted. 

“Their unnatural practices have damned them to the Seven Hells, and if you do not rise and take up arms with us, you will burn with them!” The older man, who appeared to be a Septon screamed, and Cregan surveyed with wide eyes as he threw a small glass filled with some kind of liquid on the fallen rubble of the torn down wooden stands, and lit a flame. 

The screams could be heard as the green fire ignited and danced against his face, he felt the heat radiating onto his skin. 

“Leave us be!” A woman begged. “We just want to live in peace!” 

“By choosing no side, you have chosen the side of wickedness,” The man said softly, almost sympathetically. “May the Seven have mercy on your soul.” 

And then he slit her throat. 

“MOTHER!” A little girl screamed, but she too was silenced by one of the Faith militants. Cregan felt the horror flood his veins, the helplessness that he was not quick enough to stop it. Then, the anger sat in. That was a child, and a woman. They did nothing wrong, and yet, they were murdered in the street for all to see, like some kind of sick display.

“ENOUGH!” Cregan screamed, his deep voice carrying through the riot, silencing everyone. What he assumed was the Leader looked at him with a look of pure hatred and disgust in his eyes. Cregan felt ice settle in his veins. 

“You Northern heathens are corrupting the good and true honorable followers of the Seven.” The man spat, brandishing his sword towards him. “You lead lives full of sin and blasphemy, and your soul will be damned by eternal flame, and I will not allow you to corrupt the rest of us!” 

“You’re fucking mad. You call me barbaric, yet you butcher women and children.” Cregan spat, unsheathing his sword and preparing himself for a fight. “I’ll send you back to your beloved gods right now.” 

One of the younger ones, the ones with the star branded onto his head, stepped forward. 

“It is necessary. They would be better off dying and preparing for judgment by the Seven Who Are One than they would be living a life of sin, filled with false gods and depravity.” he said tonelessly. Cregan bit his tongue and lunged forward, catching the man by surprise and running his long Valyrian steel sword through the mans neck, the spray of his blood splattering against Cregan's face.

“SEE! The barbarism that is the North! Corrupted by pagan beliefs in false gods and prophets! By greed and demons! Join us, and we shall lead you to salvation. The Royal family is corrupted beyond repair, and together, with the Light of the Seven, we shall create a new world order, free of monsters, demons, and of sin!” The Septon roared, waving his hands around.

“You talk far too much,” Cregan snarled, baring his teeth as he attacked the old man. He watched the small gray man pale with widened eyes as he tried to run away. But Cregan got there faster, and after quick thinking he decided not to kill the idiot. He smashed the pommel of his sword against the fanatic’s head, and watched as he crumpled to the ground. 

The other seven of the Faith Militant banded around him, their crude weapons in their hands as their eyes darted from one another in apprehension. He smiled, a wild grin. 

“Shadow,” He said softly, his voice like Death coiling around them and chilling the air. “Attack.” 

Shadow pounced, and so did he. The blood was dripping off of him as he became to be covered in it from his hair to his tunic as he made short work of the men. They couldn’t even fight. He was slashing and hacking and stabbing all he could, and in what seemed like minutes the deed was finished. The bodies lay before him, a brutal massacre that he could not find it in himself to feel even the slightest bit guilty for.

His face was stained red with the blood, his hair matted down, his white tunic now dyed scarlet. He felt the taste of iron on his mouth. He smiled a bloody, crazed smile as he made eye contact with the final one yet to die, his teeth covered in their blood, as though he had ripped out a mans throat with them. The man was taking struggled breaths, trying to crawl away. Cregan took mercy on the man, and stabbed him through the heart.The small folk were torn between terror and thankfulness as they began to gather their dead, and Shadow’s fur was bloodied as well as he feasted upon the bodies of the remainders of the Militant. But he was not stupid, he knew more would be coming. 

He looked at the Gold Cloak. 

“Take him to the black cells,” Cregan said coldly, blood dripping from his sword, and he knew he cut a terrifying figure. He found a girl, too skinny, very short, and dirty with rag-like clothing, hiding behind a pillar, a doll just out of reach. He softly picked it up, and walked over to her, crouching.

“Is this yours?” He asked softly, and she nodded shyly. “Here you go,” He said kindly, and she gingerly took the doll. 

“Thank you,” She said, her voice high and soft and so innocent, but her eyes haunted. “There will be more of the bad men.” She said, in a scared tone, but her eyes told much of her story.

“How do you know?” He asked her softly. He was surprised he didn’t frighten her, for a ghastly sight he must have been. Covered in blood and gore and skin, his direwolf looking much the same. 

“The bad men never leave,” She said softly. “They visit the orphanage and say things.” 

“What do they say?” He asked her quietly, as kindly as he could. Keeping his voice soft and pleasant so as not to frighten her. 

“They talk about the Seven, but I don’t believe it.” She said, as though she was sharing a life ending secret. 

“Why is that, little one?” He was still crouching, his knees beginning to hurt but he stayed where he was. 

“Gods that let them do the things they do to us are not nice Gods.” She said simply. “Thank you, milord.” She murmured softly, and Cregan wanted to open his mouth, beg her to explain what she meant, but she disappeared into the crowd, and Cregan knew he would never find her again. 

“Cregan?” He heard the voice of his mother, and stood, turning around. She looked at the carnage, the still burning wildfire and the dead bodies on the ground, and her blood covered son. “What happened?” She cradled his face, uncaring that the blood now stained her hands.

“The Faith Militant, mother,” Cregan said softly. “They’ve come again.” 

– ♛♛♛ –

And though the events leading up to when he cleaned himself up and entered Aegon’s rooms were unpleasant, the events that occurred after were even more so. So now he found himself, fear gripping his heart like a clawed hand made of ice as he, the Queen, Aemond, Jace, and Daeron were running about the Red Keep looking for Helaena. 

Her guards were going to receive hell for this oversight, and he would make sure of that personally. 

“Where could she be?” Daeron asked, and Aemond sighed, shaking his head.

“Anywhere,” Aemond responded. “She could be anywhere.” 

Alicent looked overwhelmed with worry and fear, gripping her hair as though she was going to tear it out. Her eyes filled with tears and Cregan approached her, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

“We will find her, Your Grace.” He said softly, kindly. She inhaled sharply and she nodded. “But being panicked will not help us find her any faster.” 

She took deep breaths under the guidance of Cregan, and held his arm as it was laid upon her shoulders. Her grip was vice-like, as though he were anchoring her. 

“I can’t lose her,” She whispered brokenly, looking at them all with a desperate look in her eyes. “She’s my only daughter.” 

“We will find her, mother.” Aemond urged softly, and just like it was sent from the Gods, Shadow came running to Cregan, jumping at him and trying to drag him. 

“What is it?” Cregan asked, and shared a wary look with Jace before they all followed the large direwolf. After many twists and turns, the direwolf led them to the Godswood. 

They found her, with her hand on the Heart Tree and her eyes milky white, her face etched with the expression of pure unadulterated fear. 

“By the Gods,” Aemond breathed, and Cregan’s eyes were wide with shock. He felt his heart pounding in his chest so loudly and so fiercely he was sure the others could hear it. 

“What’s happening to her?” Alicent asked softly, and Cregan heard the whispers already by servants and courtiers. Cregan unsheathed his sword and stared at them all with cold eyes, Shadow growling at them and moving closer with his hackles raised and blood still on his muzzle. Cregan watched with satisfaction as everyone left the premises, leaving them alone in the silence of the Godswood.

“It’s the Old Gods,” Cregan answered, his voice grave and eyes haunted. “They’re showing something to her.” 

“They’re real,” Jace breathed, and before Cregan could stop him, Jace stepped forward and gently laid a hand on Helaena, trying to get her to snap out of it, before Jace gasped and his body went taut and his eyes turned the same milky white blankness as Helaena’s did. 

It seemed like hours before the pair gasped, their eyes returning to their normal purple, and Helaena began to sob. Uncontrollably, she cried as she hugged Jace fiercely. Alicent, Aemond, and Daeron carefully approached them, but Cregan stared at the Heart Tree for a few moments longer. He was wary, understandably so. 

The Faith Militant has risen once more and now Jace and Helaena get a vision from the Old Gods? It seemed everything was yielding more questions and no answers, and he knew he needed to send a raven to Baelon. 

Baelon needed to come South, but he didn’t know who would guard the North while the Starks were in King’s Landing, and it begged the question, what were they going to do? They couldn’t leave, not now, not when everything was going to the absolute depths of the seventh circle of hell. 

“Helaena?” Aemond asked softly. “What was it, sister?” 

“Oh, Aemond it was horrible,” She whispered. “It was horrible.” 

“You can tell us, sweet girl,” Alicent whispered, making helpless eye contact with Cregan who crouched in front of her and smiled at her softly. 

“Helaena?” He asked, and her gaze snapped to his, eyes wide and scared and shiny with tears. “Can you tell me what you saw?” 

"Clear everyone away." Jace demanded, eyes wide and frantic as he gripped Cregan's arm with bruising strength. "Make sure we cannot be overheard." 

"We are alone, Jace," Cregan breathed. "Shadow cleared them all away." 

“I…I saw monsters made of ice,” She whispered. “A never ending darkness, a winter that killed us all. I saw the death of the last dragon, I saw the fall of our House,” Cregan shivered. “I saw the death of Queen Aemma.” That had caught him off guard. If the Old Gods were showing them the impending Doom of House Targaryen - and magic as they knew it - what did they have to gain by showing the infamous death of Aemma Arryn?

Alicent inhaled sharply, and Cregan and Jace tensed. “I saw it too,” Jace said softly. 

“Why?” Aemond asked softly. “What does the death of Queen Aemma have anything to do with the fall of our House?” 

Jace and Helaena shared a look, so sad and soft that Cregan felt the wind get knocked from him. 

“It has everything to do with it.” Jace said softly. “Because it showed Otto Hightower and the Maester plotting to kill her.” 

Alicent stumbled back as though she had been stabbed, and she shook her head. 

“No, no, that is impossible!” Alicent said, shaking her head. “It is a lie!” 

“It’s true, mother.” Helaena said softly, eyes wide and earnest. “I…It was terrible.” 

“But why?” Cregan asked softly. “What would they gain?” 

“They smothered baby Baelon with a pillow,” Jace said coldly. “The maester did, that is.” 

Cregan felt his stomach lurch, he wanted to grab his son Rickon and hold him and never let go but he could not. Rickon was in Winterfell with Baelon, too young to travel such a long distance. Cregan ached for him, ached to hold him, and to tell him he loves him. 

Cregan may not be dead, but the saying still holds true. Starks do not do well in the South. The carnage and death and issues arising from every corner, enemies long hidden making themselves known made it feel like they were all marked for Death. Like Death was looming, hovering over their shoulders. Barely there, but never forgotten. 

“Oh gods,” Daeron mumbled, looking green. 

“Why?” Aemond snarled. “Why? ”

“To put your mother on the throne,” Jace said softly, looking at a catatonic Alicent. “And then, to get their blood on the Iron Throne. Keep enough Targaryen blood so they could ride dragons, but dilute it with Andal blood, stop our practices and customs. Then eventually it would be a Hightower on the Throne with the ability to ride a dragon.” And eventually, the dragons will be gone as well went unsaid, but it was heard regardless.

“All this for a fucking throne?” Cregan grumbled. “I have half a mind to just melt it down.” 

Daeron made a noise of agreement. 

“Not just for the throne, Cregan.” Helaena said softly. “They are scared of what they don’t understand, of what they can’t control. The moment Targaryens conquered the Seven Kingdoms, the more the power of the Faith and the Maesters dwindled.” 

“They’ll be nothing but ash and bone when I’m done with them.” Aemond said coldly. 

“What are we going to tell Rhaenyra?” Alicent asked, eyes wide in horror and her hands clutching her chest as though she were in pain. “Gods, what will we tell her?” 

“Tell me what?” A voice asked softly, and they all turned around to see Daemon and Rhaenyra standing behind them. 

“How did you find us?” Jace croaked, looking at his mother with a heartbroken expression. 

“We asked the servants,” Daemon said softly. He looked at Alicent. “Tell Rhaenyra what, Alicent?” 

Jace squared his shoulders, and walked over to his mother. Cregan watched as he held her hand gently and steered her away from their range of hearing. 

Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, and Alicent all watched grimly as Jace spoke to her. Watched as she clutched her growing stomach, watched as her face and her body crumpled. Watched as Daemon’s expression turned from shock to simmering anger, to heartbrokenness as he caught Rhaenyra and held her body to his. 

He was the only thing keeping her upright, and though they were far away, the five of them flinched as they heard her wail and cry. 

Even Aemond stared at the scene with a clenched jaw and shaking fists and sympathetic gaze that Cregan had never seen. He had only seen a quiet, cold, cruelty, and now he was watching Aemond watch Rhaenyra’s grief, and then they stilled. 

For underneath Rhaenyra’s body was a slow puddle of blood forming around her, and she pressed on her stomach harder. 

Alicent looked on in horror. 

“She’s only six moons along.” Alicent whispered. 

“Oh gods,” Aemond whispered.

“ Fuck,"  was Daeron's eloquent way of putting it. Cregan agreed with him. 

They ran forward to help, and Cregan bellowed for guards as he reached her, Daemon holding her arms and Cregan grasping her back gently so she did not fall as she groaned in pain. 

“Alicent?” She whimpered. 

“I’m here,” Alicent said. 

“The baby–” Rhaenyra said frantically. “You have to save my baby!” 

“Let’s take care of you first, Princess,” Cregan whispered. The guards were taking too long, and Cregan was running out of patience. He gently hoisted Rhaenyra up, carrying her in his arms bridal style. She was crying, and he ignored the look Daemon gave him in lieu of securing the Princess. They all knew that probably other than Jace - obvious reasons that went without saying - Cregan was the most physically strong one of them all.

“Jace,” Daemon said gravely. “Get the healers and the midwives and take them to our chambers.” 

Jace protested. 

“I should be with my mother!” 

“And you will be,” Daemon said. “Go get the midwives.” 

“ I will be here, we will all be with your mother until you come back. ” Cregan said softly in High Valyrian. “Go.” 

Jace eyed his mother for a long moment, before breaking out into a run. Without saying, Daeron followed Jace. 

“I’ve got you, Rhaenyra,” Cregan whispered, tightening his hold on her as they took her to her chambers as fast as they could, grimacing at the trail of blood left in their wake. “I’ve got you.” 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     X 

The evil it spread, like a fever ahead

It was night, when you died

My firefly 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

Daemon ran off an hour into the screaming, Jace recalled dully. He wanted to scream at the older man. Where the fuck are you going? He wanted to shout. She needs you! And yet, he could not, because he stayed pacing outside of the doors, as he was prohibited from entering. He knew his mother had her midwives with her, along with Viserra, Rhaenys, and Alicent to help her. 

Aegon had hobbled from his sick bed to Rhaenyra’s side, despite everyone’s protests. They all sat outside, hearing her scream and cry and beg the gods. For what, Jace didn't know. 

“Push, Princess!” 

“I am pushing you fucking cunt! ” Jace winced at the blood curdling scream, and he could only imagine the horror she was enduring. They all sat in silence, Baela and Rhaena present with Luke in this rag tag group. 

The silence was broken by Aemond slamming a fist on the desk, causing everyone to jump except Jace and Cregan. 

“What did that desk ever do to you?” Jace asked drolly, causing Aemond to subject him with his glare. Jace remained unaffected. 

“Is it not driving you mad?” Aemond snarled. “Sitting here, listening to–” Rhaenyra screamed again, crying out for her mother, the sobs being heard from even where they were. “ That. ” He shuddered. “And not doing anything?” 

“What can we do?” Daeron slouched further into his chair, arms crossed. “Deliver the child for her?” 

“Something!” Aemond shouted. “We can be doing anything!” 

“I have an idea,” Elaena said simply, wetting her lips with her tongue as her eyes were wide. 

“What, sister?” Cregan asked softly, and she smirked. 

“You said the vision showed you proof of that..” She trailed off, and Jace nodded tensely. “Well, we cannot accuse them without proof, and I doubt a vision from the Old Gods would be admissible in trial,” She said wryly. 

“Get to the point, Elaena.” Aemond snarked, ignoring the pointed gaze he received from Cregan and the glare from Elaena. 

“The point ,” She growled. “Aemond, is that the Maester is still the same. He should have his records.” 

“Do you really think,” Aegon began dubiously, but winced, and held his side. “That he would be as stupid as to leave proof of that? All these years later?” 

Elaena shrugged. “It’s worth a try, is it not?” 

Aemond had a hungry gleam in his eye. “I know just how to do it. We need a distraction.” 

“What kind of distraction?” Daeron asked skeptically. Jace grinned. 

“Aemond, it’s your lucky day.” Jace said simply. Aemond raised a brow. 

“And why is that, nephew?” Aemond asked, crossing his arms and smirking curiously. Jace grinned. 

“Because, you’re going to stab me.” It was silent for a moment, before they all rose up in uproar. 

“Stab you?” Baela repeated incredulously. “Jace, don’t be mad.” 

“He’s not going to stab you,” Daeron repeated in shock. 

“Come again?” Aemond asked bewildered, rubbing his ear as though he did not hear Jace correctly. 

“We need a distraction to get Mellos away from his office!” Jace said, his voice raised to talk over the others, who began to quiet down. “An injury is the best bet.” 

“Or,” Cregan said, a smirk on his face. “I have another idea.” 

– ♛♛♛ –

It was supposed to be simple, really. Cregan and Elaena were going to have the direwolves scare Mellos into a room, and they were to lock him in. Mellos would not see who the culprits were, as they’d stay out of his sight until the direwolves pushed him into a room. Cregan and Daeron would stand guard outside the door, and to passersby would tell them that they were guarding Princess Helaena after her terribly distressing ordeal. It should have been easy, gone off without a hitch. 

But of course, nothing ever goes to plan. A servant called out for Aemond, and Mellos’ attention was on the group of Princes and Princesses. Aegon was grudgingly sent to his room, complaining that he never got to be a part of the fun stuff. 

Helaena stayed with him. 

But Baela, Rhaena, Luke, and Elaena were with Cregan, Aemond, Jace, and Daeron. 

“My Prince,” Mellos greeted Aemond first, then hesitantly the rest. Jace fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Aemond opened his mouth and closed it a few times. Baela stepped in, a bright smile on her face as she grabbed Mellos’ arm and placed her arm in the crook of his. Rhaena did the same thing on his other side, and they began to walk. 

“Actually, Grand Maester, I was going to ask about the Citadel!” She said, turning her gaze back to them and mouthing ‘ Go! ’ 

“You two–” Jace began, staring at Cregan and Daeron. 

“Follow them.” Daeron said curtly. “We know.” 

"I'm here too, y'know," Luke said in faux annoyance, and Cregan grinned, ruffling the lad's hair. 

"You'll be with us, Little Prince." He said with a fond smile. Luke grinned up at the Northman. 

“Elaena, Aemond,” Jace said, and nodded his head. The three ran, Aemond leading them to the Grand Maesters’ chambers. 

Aemond jiggled the door, and it was locked. He groaned in annoyance as Jace looked at Elaena. 

“Do you have any hair pins?” He asked impatiently. 

“I–what?” She asked, eyes wide. 

“Hair pins. To unlock the door.” He gestured brusquely.

She reached in her hair, thankful she decided to pin it back today and undid them, her hair falling down against her face in black waves. He grabbed the pins, and gently shoved Aemond out of the way. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Aemond hisseed lowly. 

“Undoing the lock,” Jace replied. “Now shut up, I need to concentrate.” 

Aemond grumbled curses under his breath, but shut up regardless. He eyed the halls to make sure that there would be nobody watching them, and Winter stood guard at the other end of the corridor, on high alert. 

Jace was leaning down, his curls falling into his face, his brows furrowed in concentration and his tongue slightly sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He grinned, and the lock clicked. 

“Thank you, my lady,” He winked at Elaena, ignoring Aemond’s eye roll of disgust when she laughed and tucked her hair pins away into the folds of her dress. 

“Let’s get on with it,” Aemond snapped, and shoved the door open. They walked inside, and Jace nearly groaned in dismay. Papers were strewn everywhere, potions and corked bottles of unknown substances laying about on the desks and small tables, books half read and open on chairs and window sills. 

“This is going to bloody take forever,” Elaena groaned, immediately grabbing a large stack of papers and plopping down, beginning to read. 

“Let’s hope Baela is good at talking,” Aemond sighed, and Jace snorted. 

“You have no idea,” Jace said fondly. 

– ♛♛♛ –

Cregan, Daeron, and Luke silently trailed Baela and Rhaena as they guided Mellos everywhere in the castle, taking him to the farthest wing from his own. 

“Of course I know I’m just a silly little woman,” Baela simpered, her hand still in the crook of the Grand Maester’s arm. “But I am oh so fascinated with the knowledge and wisdom learned at the Citadel, please tell me everything!” 

“Are there books on dragons?” Rhaena piped up. 

“Books on Valyria?” Baela added, Mellos opening his mouth to speak but being cut off once more. 

“Oh what about the Faith?” Rhaena asked, eyes wide in wonder. “I would love to know more about the true gods, the Seven Who are One.” 

“Well, My Lady, becoming a Maester is no easy feat.” He said, swelling up with pride, then looking at Baela and Rhaena with a smile. “One I fear you will never accomplish, it is not a woman's place.” 

Baela’s already fixed smile turned deadly for a moment, before she looked kind and loving all over again in a moment. Daeron and Cregan glanced at one another. 

“She’s fucking scary.” Daeron muttered, and Cregan grinned.

“She’s the Rogue Prince’s daughter.” He said simply. 

– ♛♛♛ –

Aemond was rifling through the papers on the main desk, while Jace was having a look around, trying to see if there was anything out of place. He was knocking on the walls, trying to see if any stone or wall sounded differently – more hollow – than the others, making sure there weren’t any loose floorboards. 

“I found some old letters,” Elaena said after about fifteen minutes of them reading and looking around in silence. “They don’t seem like much.”

Aemond dropped what he was looking at and walked over to Elaena, gently taking some of the papers from her. Jace watched as his eye darted across the page, reading the most likely coded correspondence. 

“This is from the Maesters at the Citadel,” Aemond said simply. 

“Read it.” Jace demanded, and Aemond sent him a glare, but then he began to read. 

“ The substance will be delivered, ” He read out loud, brows furrowed. “ Let the Citadel know if it bears fruit ? What's that supposed to mean?” Aemond frowned. 

“What substance?” Jace asked with a frown, and Aemond and Elaena rifled through the letters of correspondence. 

“ The dragons are notably shrinking ,” Elaena read. “ Prince Daeron’s dragon Tessarion has not grown since his arrival .” 

Jace rifled along the desk, his muscles tensing as he heard the letter. 

“So it has something to do with the dragons?” Jace asked softly. 

“Are they still being chained?” Elaena asked lowly, and Aemond shook his head. 

“No, and they’re growing much quicker now that they are not.” Aemond said simply, and Jace tried to open a cupboard, but it was locked. 

“Elaena?” He asked, and she passed her pins over without another word. He grinned at her, and she winked. Whilst he undid the lock on the cupboard, Aemond continued reading. 

“ Dragons are smaller. Dragonsbane is effective .” Aemond said, growling. His eyes were wide, and Jace stopped what he was doing to share a look of horror with Elaena and Aemond. 

“Dragonsbane?” He whispered. “What the fuck is that?” 

“Look around for it.” Aemond snarled, clenching his fists tightly. “It should be here somewhere.” 

Jace shook himself from his stupor and began to jiggle the lock once more, muttering a soft ‘aha’ once he heard the tell-tale click of the lock becoming undone. 

He rifled through the cupboard, finding nothing of importance. He frowned, looking through the papers. It was a bunch of medical notes, which Jace found to be gibberish to his eyes, but tried to read it regardless. He frowned, squinting his eyes. 

These notes seemed to be from Queen Aemma’s pregnancies, it was written as though he had written down the medicines she would need. But Jace had a strange feeling in his stomach, and he read the list of herbs that were given to Aemma during her pregnancies.

White hellebore. Tansy. Angelica root. Yarrow. 

He hurriedly searched through a mountain of books before he found one on herb lore, and fingered through the pages before he landed on Angelica root. 

Helps inflammation of the brain. Encourages healing of open wounds and vessels. Relieves joint pain. Blood thinner, extensive bleeding. Unsafe for child bearing. He felt dread rise in his stomach as he looked through the books for information on the other herbs, and it seemed they all had one thing in common. 

In the herbology books it was stated very clearly that those herbs are harmful for child-bearing women, and yet according to the Maesters notes, he had prescribed them all to Aemma for her numerous pregnancies. 

Just as he was about to open his mouth and exclaim what was found, Aemond and Elaena made noises. 

Aemond was holding a letter in his hand, and Elaena was holding a jar of a sickly green powder substance that made Jace’s stomach recoil on the sight of it. 

“Aemond?” Jace asked softly, noting his skin's pallor and how he seemed to look as though he wanted to throw up whatever he had eaten that day. 

“Aemond?” Elaena echoed, stepping forward and placing the jar on the desk. She put her hand on his arm. “What is it?” 

“A correspondence from Mellos and Ormund Hightower.” Aemond said dully. He opened it, and read. “ The falcon is dead, and the hatchling mysteriously stopped breathing in the night. The deed is done .” Jace clenched his jaw and glared furiously at the floor. 

Aemond laughed incredulously, shaking his head, a mad glint entering his eyes. “Ormund Hightower used the same paper to respond back, the lazy shit, and responded.” 

“What did he say?” Jace asked softly, and Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“ The Citadel will be rewarded, and we will continue to fund your research. May the Seven Bless you.” 

“He killed my grandmother and uncle…” Jace said, his voice cold and calm. “For research funding ?” 

“Jace…” Elaena began cautiously, stepping forward. Jace grabbed an empty glass and threw it across the room, the shards scattering everywhere, glinting in the sunlight from the open window. 

“How many gold dragons were their lives worth, I wonder?” Jace scorned. He paced around the room frantically, hands cupping his mouth as he tried to calm himself down, but the anger was bubbling within his body like a poison spreading from his veins, leaking out of him. 

“Clean this up,” Aemond snapped. “He cannot know anyone was in here.” 

“Does it matter if he knows?” Jace snapped back, then cruelly with a bitter, humorless smirk that looked out of place on his face, he sneered. “He will be dead by the end of the week.” 

Aemond and Elaena exchanged a glance that Jacaerys did not see, and his eyes narrowed in on the jar of the sickly green powder. 

“What is that?” He asked, and Elaena shuffled her feet. 

“I think it’s the thing he called ‘dragonsbane.’” She said softly, her gaze on the ground. 

“Do you know what’s in it?” Jace asked, surveying it strangely. 

“It appears to be a mix of many things,” She said, passing on a small piece of paper. 

“Where did you find this?” Aemond asked, walking over to Jace and reading it over his shoulder. 

Elaena smirked. “It was hidden inside the jar, underneath the powder.” She said, then grimaced. “I didn’t want to touch it, so I used a pair of forceps he had on his desk to reach and dig for it.” 

Nightshade. Belladonna. Hemlock. Wolfsbane. Hellebore. Arsenic. 

“These are some of the deadliest poisons to humans,” Aemond said softly, eyes wide. 

“So they won’t kill the dragons,” Jace murmured. “Not immediately. Just weaken them, and if they’re given generationally then–” 

“Then cause the newer dragons to be weaker than older ones.” Elaena concluded. “But how are they getting it to the dragons?” She asked, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I don’t know,” Jace admitted. “Aemond?” 

Aemond shook his head, his jaw clenched and eyes flashing in anger. 

There was a knock on the door, and the three tensed and stared at one another. They quickly shuffled everything back in place and pocketed the papers they would need to damn the Maester during trial. 

“It’s me!” Cregan hissed in a whisper through the door. “Mellos is on his way!” 

“Let’s go,” Aemond muttered, dragging Jace and Elaena out of the office. 

“Did you find what you need?” Cregan asked them as they began walking away, making sure nobody would see them. 

“Yes.” Jace said tightly, his eyes glaring daggers at the walls ahead of them. Cregan stared at him consideringly for a moment, before he nodded. 

“Let’s get back to Rhaenyra,” Aemond said softly. “And tell the others what we discovered.” 

They walked in a tense silence, each of them with their thoughts and minds running furiously about the implications found. Jace was surprised they found what they did, but he supposed they were hidden well enough. 

He personally thought Mellos was stupid for not burning the correspondence, but that’s what happens when people get complacent and think they’re untouchable. They soon find out, they’re not. 

They reached Rhaenyra’s apartments, and were accosted by Baela, Rhaena, and Luke. Daeron looked up from where he was sitting and locked eyes grimly with Jace for a moment, before looking away.

“She’s at the end of her labors now,” Baela said softly, grasping Jace by the hand. Jace was felt with the overwhelming sense of tiredness and love for Baela. He had grown up with her, was raised with her, and she and Rhaena had always had their own special ways of calming him down. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back and gave him a wobbly smile. 

Alicent exited the chambers after twenty minutes of them sitting in silence. Her green dress was brown with blood, her hair undone and her face pale. Everyone sat up in their chairs, and Daeron broke the heavy silence first. 

“Mother?” He asked softly, and Jace saw the look in his eyes. It was a vulnerable worry, and Jace wondered just how much Daeron cared for his mother. It seemed that there were few people Daeron was comfortable with, and for some reason Rhaenyra seemed to be one of them. Perhaps because it was her that rescued him, or perhaps because he wanted to get to know the sister he never really knew. 

“Is mother okay?” Luke asked her, eyes wide and doe like and so innocent that Alicent’s face crumpled. 

“Rhaenyra is fine,” She said softly. “But..” 

“The baby?” Jace asked gravely, and Alicent shook her head. 

“I’m so sorry,” Alicent whispered, she looked down and wrung her hands together. “I’m so so sorry.” 

Jace had a feeling she was apologizing for more than just the loss of their youngest sibling, but he wasn’t going to make her vocalize just what she was sorry for.

“Can we see her?” Rhaena asked softly, and Alicent softened.

“She’s not in the proper state to see you,” Alicent said gently. “She’s very distraught.” 

“But–” Jace began, stopping himself. He swallowed the lump from his throat and blinked away the burning of his eyes. “Was it–” 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Couldn’t bring himself to know if he lost a little brother, or if it was a little sister. 

“It was a girl,” Alicent said gently. “Her name was–”

“Visenya.” Jace said shortly, clearing his throat and discretely wiping his eyes. 

“Yes,” Alicent breathed. Jace felt Cregan’s hand on his shoulder and he leaned into the older man for a moment, before he straightened his spine and cleared his face of any emotion. He looked at Luke, his gentle, soft hearted little brother who’s eyes were big and wet and his lips were wobbly and he grabbed Luke and pulled him in for a crushing hug which his little brother returned.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered softly into Luke’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “She’s going to be fine, Luke.” 

Luke nodded from where he had his head buried in Jace’s chest, and Jace looked up, making eye contact with Aemond and Cregan. 

“Get me Daemon.” He said, his voice a soft command that normally Cregan and Aemond would roll their eyes at – the three of them were leaders, not followers – but they spared a glance with one another and nodded their heads. 

“We’ll bring him to you.” Aemond said softly, and Jace nodded. He looked at Alicent. 

“Tell mother I’ll prepare the funeral arrangements for Vi–the baby.” He said softly, and Alicent nodded. She hesitated, stepping forward with her hand reaching out before she stepped back and continued to wring her hands in front of her dress. 

Jace bridged the gap for her, and softly held her hand. 

“Thank you for being with her.” He said softly, and it was all that needed to be said. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER      XI 

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me

Lying on the floor, where were you

Where were you?

– ♛♛♛ –

DAEMON 

He left. He knew he shouldn’t have, he knew he should have stayed with her, as he had done with her previous pregnancies. But he couldn’t bring himself to stay. He couldn’t bring himself to witness the loss of their child, to witness her losing their child. 

So, he instead decided to busy himself by gathering his gold cloaks. He stood in front of them, teeth bared and eyes sharp and angry. Gods, he was so so fucking angry and he knew he couldn’t take it out on his family and so he would take it out on them because they were stupid today. 

“It’s come to my attention,” He walked in front of them, noting their blank faces and stiff posture. “That there was an incident with a small contingent of the Faith Militant.” 

“Yes, My Prince.” Ser Luthor Largent said stiffly, a bead of sweat running down his brow. Daemon knew this man was loyal to him, and narrowed his eyes. 

“And, instead of gathering me, or even the entire Small Council, there was only one of you present, and you thought it a good idea to get Cregan Stark to intervene for you,” Daemon said, his voice low, like a seething whisper. “Is that correct?” 

“I was not present during the incident, Prince Daemon,” Ser Luthor said stiffly. “I only found out about my fellow gold cloaks' conduct after the fact.” 

“Citizens of our City died today,” Daemon said softly. He sounded like a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security. “That reflects poorly not only upon all of you,” He said sharply, and narrowed his eyes. “But on me as well.” 

“It won’t happen again, My Prince.” Ser Luthor said stiffly. 

Daemon chortled lowly. “No,” He agreed. “It will not.” 

They stared at one another, uncertainty in their eyes, and one brave soul piped up. 

“My Prince?” The man asked softly, and Daemon’s eyes snapped to him. 

“As of today, you are all placed on probation.” He said sternly, pacing in front of them. “You will answer either to me or to Ser Luthor. Each of you new recruits,” He eyed the man that called Cregan to begin with. “Will have a senior member of the Watch with you at all times. You will do nothing .” He said coldly. 

“You will earn your place amongst these ranks once more.” He snapped. “None of your positions are safe. If you do not follow orders I will strip you of your cloak and make sure the stain of dishonor follows you for the rest of your days.” 

There were glances exchanged, fear and anxiousness in their eyes and he smirked coldly. 

“Is that understood?” He asked sharply. 

“Yes, Lord Commander!” They all shouted as one. 

“Never, ever endanger a member of my family again.” Daemon snarled, sword pointed at them. “Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Lord Commander!” They shouted once more. He stared at them, teeth bared. 

“Now get out of my sight.” He snapped, and watched as they all scattered like mice, scurrying away from him. 

He heard a slow clapping, and turned around sharply, sword drawn. He relaxed once he saw it was Aemond and Cregan, the pair leaning against a stone wall. Cregan was the one clapping, an unimpressed look on his face. 

“Brilliant speech, Daemon.” Cregan said gruffly, his back against the wall languidly.

“Passionate,” Aemond agreed drolly. Daemon eyed them. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked instead, sheathing Dark Sister. 

“Jace sent us,” Cregan said coldly. “You know, your wife’s son .” 

“I know who Jace is, Cregan.” Daemon countered coolly. “I just didn’t realize you two allowed Jacaerys to order you around like dogs.” 

Aemond rolled his eyes, lips pursed. 

“He does not order us around.” Aemond snarled. “It was his request we grab you. So you can go see Rhaenyra.” 

“You know her too, do you not?” Cregan asked, picking at his nails with a dagger. He lifted his piercing purple gray gaze to meet Daemon’s. “Your wife that just lost a child? Your wife that you left alone to shoulder that burden?” 

“I know very well what happened.” Daemon snapped. “You have no right to come here and speak to me as though I am not your superior.” 

“How about we come here and speak to you as family .” Aemond sneered at the word. “You, who profess to do everything for those you claim as yours, left Rhaenyra to suffer. Left your children to listen to their mother scream and cry as she begged for you. But you did not come.” 

Daemon fought a flinch. 

“When did you ever give a damn about Rhaenyra?” Daemon snarled. “You know nothing, Prince Aemond.” 

“I never claimed to give a 'damn' about my half sister.” Aemond shook his head. “I never claimed to care for her or the spawn she was giving birth to, and even so, despite that, I was there.” 

Daemon felt like he had been stabbed in the heart with a sword, because he was right. 

“Aegon was there.” Cregan mused. “Crawled from his sick bed and did not let anyone move him, until we all left to do some business.” 

“So you left too,” Daemon snorted. “And yet you’re here, scorning me.” 

“We left for her,” Aemond snarled. “To get some proof on recent discoveries.” 

Daemon perked up, eyes alight in intrigue. “Did you find any?” 

Aemond snorted, and Cregan shook his head in disappointment. 

“You will find out with the others.” Cregan said, and his eyes flashed in an emotion that Daemon could only describe as distaste. Cregan stared him up and down, and snorted. 

“I never deluded myself into thinking you were a soft hearted man, Daemon.” Cregan said simply. “A warrior, certainly. Family oriented, of course. Cold blooded killer? Yes. Of all the things I knew you were, the good, the bad, or otherwise.” He kicked off from the wall and walked closer to Daemon, their height difference not substantial but evident as Cregan looked down at him slightly. “I never thought you to be a craven, however.” He sized Daemon up, and then continued. "Until now." 

Daemon growled, and grabbed Cregan by the throat, pinning him to the wall. Aemond watched in amusement with his arms crossed, his unmarred eye darting between the pair. 

Daemon’s hands were around Cregan’s throat and his back was to the wall but he didn’t flinch, nor did his expression change from the pure ice mask he had on. His eyes were cold as he surveyed Daemon, still looking intimidating even though it seemed Daemon had the upper hand.

How dare he? Daemon snarled in his head. How dare this uppity northern half breed dare call  me  a craven?

“You forget yourself,” Daemon snarled. “ Lord Cregan .” 

“I do believe it’s you who forgets himself,” Cregan snarled. “Me being a Stark in name and blood and appearance does not make me inferior to you, Prince Daemon. ” 

“And yet, I am still a Prince, and you are but a Lord.” Daemon snarled. “Do not dare presume to lecture me about things you do not understand.” 

“Well,” Cregan snorted dryly, nose to nose with Daemon. “Let me tell you what I do understand. I understand that Rhaenyra discovered some distressing information. I understand it led to an early labor, and the subsequent death of your child.” He said, then snarled. “It was a girl , in case you were curious.” 

Daemon stumbled back as though Cregan had punched him, and Cregan stepped forward. 

“And I understand that you were nowhere to be seen.” He said coldly, and watched blankly. 

Daemon felt a range of emotions bubble up within him. Hatred, anger, sadness, and yet the strongest of them all was a tidal wave of pure self loathing . 

As much as he may hate to admit it, Cregan was right. Aemond was right. The crux of the matter was that he wasn’t there, and he knew it would be a stain upon his marriage for the rest of their life. He knew Rhaenyra would forgive, but she would not forget.

She shouldn’t forget. 

“You weren’t there,” Aemond said, his voice soft now, and slightly understanding. If Daemon were in a better mental state at the moment, he’d make some passive aggressive joke about how his copy seems to have emotions other than pure hatred and anger, but he stayed silent. 

“But, you can be there now.” Aemond finished, and stared at him imploringly. 

Daemon stared at them, face hard as granite and eyes blank. They stared back just as unflinchingly. Daemon inclined his head, turned on his heel, and left. 

Before he was out of ear shot, he heard Aemond speak. 

“How badly do you think Rhaenyra will kill him, once she recovers?” 

Cregan’s answering snort was enough. 

Daemon pushed his smirk down at the interaction of the unlikely pair, and straightened his shoulders. He raised his head, and prepared to face his wife, the love of his life, his twin flame. 

They burned bright, and they were always meant to burn together. He would face her disappointment, and he would spend the rest of his days trying to make it right. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow – despite their newfound mutual respect and unconventional friendship in light of recent events – that Alicent Hightower was there for his wife when he had abandoned her. 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

He sat in the Small Council chambers the next day, his mother notably absent, and in her place sat Viserra. Alicent was present, as she usually was, and it was refreshing to consider her an ally instead of an adversary for once. 

Maester Mellos was burning a hole into the side of Jace’s skull, and Jace simply stared ahead at his Grandsire, who looked far older than he should and frail, as though Rhaenyra losing her child had an adverse effect on him . 

“Considering the…ah, situation ,” Mellos said simply, his eyes flashing. “Regarding Princess Rhaenyra, I believe it prudent to cancel the Tourney and celebrations.” 

“We’ve already spent money on the builders and decorations, the ravens will be sent out in a moon,” Otto argued, shaking his head. “It would be a waste to cancel it.” 

“Canceling the name day tourney for the Princess’ lost child would be the correct course of action, considering recent events.” Tyland Lannister said, surprisingly sympathetic to the plight. Then Jace remembered, his own wife recently suffered a miscarriage. 

“Prince Aegon’s birthday is three moons from now,” Otto said, pressing forward. “I propose we repurpose the tourney to be for him.” 

Jace grit his teeth and leveled a glare at Otto. Daemon snorted. 

“Of course,” Daemon muttered underneath his breath. 

“How uncouth,” Viserra said coldly, staring Otto down. “You would repurpose tourney celebrations for Prince Aegon when Crown Princess Rhaenyra has just lost a child. House Targaryen lost a princess in Visenya, and thus House Targaryen should be allowed to mourn.” 

“It would be a waste of the Crown’s resources, Your Grace,” Otto said, a slimy attempt at a sympathetic smile on his face. “I mourn this loss as you do, but you must think of the Crown.” 

“That’s all you think of, isn’t it, Ser Otto?” Jace couldn’t help himself from asking, his voice cool and eyes narrowed into slits. Otto smiled patronizingly at Jace. 

“Of course, as Hand of the King, it is my duty.” Otto said. 

“You care far more about the Crown’s wasted resources, ” He spat, and leveled his glare further at Otto. “than those in line to inherit it, it seems. Why are you so invested in the loss of a few hundred gold dragons?” 

Otto opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Jace once more, as he pressed his palms down on the table and leaned forward, a snarl on his lips and daggers in his eyes. 

“Or perhaps it is what it would represent? Prince Aegon, the eldest son of the King, having yet another large celebration for his name day. Another excuse to pander lords to him, to have my grandsire name Aegon heir.” Jace snarled, and the temperature in the room decreased exponentially. It was a gamble, to be so forthright and blunt. To so boldly call out Otto for trying to name Aegon heir. 

Viserys could not keep his eyes closed to this comment, could not pass it off. Otto tensed, turning red and glaring. 

“My King has made the succession clear.” Otto said tightly. 

“And?” Jace prodded, a smirk growing on his lips. Daemon had a wild grin on his face and Viserra had a look of smug amusement. Otto’s lips turned down in disgust, and he tried to look for an ally in Alicent, who steadfastly refused to look at him. 

“I want to hear you say it, Ser Otto.” Jace said, a cruel lilt of his lips. Say it. Say what you so despise. Say it in front of them all. All the lords and maesters that act as though the sun shines from your ass. Acknowledge the truth you’ve spent decades fighting. 

“That is enough, Jacaerys.” Viserys said tightly. “Otto is my Hand.” 

“Your Hand which seems to have trouble acknowledging a simple fact,” Jace snarled at his grandsire, uncaring of his opinion. The old man had fallen from grace the moment he decided to ignore Aegon’s plight and still employ Otto. “I merely want to hear Ser Otto acknowledge a simple truth.” 

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto spat. “Is the Heir to the Iron Throne. This is a known fact, disputed though it may be amongst the Lords of Westeros.” 

“There is nothing to dispute,” Viserys said sharply. “I have made my decision. I made it twenty years ago, and it remains the same. Rhaenyra is my heir. She will sit the Iron Throne after my death. Anyone who denies it shall be beheaded for treason.” His voice was cold. "I assume I can count on the members of my Small Council to be steadfast in their support of the Crown, and to put down treasonous thoughts such as these, can I not?"

Silence reigned throughout the chambers, the Greens shifting uneasily and Jace and Rhaenyra’s faction smirking at the face of Otto Hightower, who looked as though he swallowed a lemon. 

"Of course, Your Grace," Otto said, softly, and the rest murmured their agreements.

“The Tourney shall continue,” Viserys went on to say, and a smirk rose up on Otto’s lips as he glanced at Jace, who nearly bared his teeth at him and snapped, but he held onto the reins of his anger tightly. 

“Your Grace, that is–” Jace began, and Viserys cut him off. 

“The Tourney will not be for Aegon,” Viserys said, waving his hand, and his eyes narrowed in on Jace, who was startled, just as the rest of the chamber was.

“I beg your pardon?” Otto spluttered for a moment. “Then who will it be for?” He demanded. Viserys inclined his head towards Jace, who reared back in shock. 

“Your name day is a moon before Aegon’s, is it not?” Viserys asked simply. 

“It is,” Jace began. “But I–” 

“Then it is settled.” Viserys said. “The tourney celebrations shall continue as planned, but the ravens must be sent now. Preparations shall be sped up, for Prince Jacaerys' eight and tenth name day.” He said, looking at the master of coin, Lyman Beesbury who nodded. 

“Your Grace–” Otto began once more, but Viserys raised his hand.

“It is done, Otto.” Viserys said simply. “Now, any news about the Triarchy?” 

Daemon spoke this time. 

“Corlys will be sailing to the Stepstones by the end of the week, and a week after that, Rhaenys and I shall follow him on dragonback.” He said simply. “We’ll burn their fleets to the ground.” 

“Something must be done about Dorne.” Viserra said sternly. “They have allied with the triarchy.” 

“We will burn them to the ground as well,” Daemon said coldly. 

“No,” Jace disagreed. “It’s time to bring Dorne into the fold. I propose we offer them an alliance.” 

“An alliance?” Viserys asked. “Entailing what?” 

“One of their daughters marries a Prince of House Targaryen.” Jace said simply. Viserys thought for a moment, before he inclined his head. 

“The idea has merit, it shall be discussed amongst us.” Viserys said simply, effectively saying the Small Council will have no input regarding the matter, much to the chagrin of Otto and the green faction. 

The meeting continued, with everyone slowly shuffling out of the room. Otto lingered, probably to speak to the King, but Daemon and Viserra remained as well, staring Otto down with fire in their eyes until he conceded he would not speak to Viserys, and left. Jace’s eyes narrowed as he followed a fair distance away, and watched as Otto caught Alicent after the meeting. 

He stopped short behind a wall, where he could still hear and see what was happening. Otto grabbed Alicent’s wrist, and Jace did not miss the way she flinched. He tightened his hold. 

They were in the open halls, which Otto seemed to realize as he pulled his daughter close to him and hissed at her. 

“Why did you not say anything?” He snarled at her, and she stared at the floor. “To protect your son, to protect Aegon, why did you not push for the tourney to be for him?” 

“Surely it does not matter who the tourney is for,” Alicent muttered softly. Otto grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. Jace clenched his fists as he watched.

“That bastard will inherit everything that was meant to be Aegon’s .” He hissed. “And you’re allowing it to happen.” 

“I will do anything for my children,” Alicent snarled, some fire entering her eyes. “ Anything .” 

Otto shook his head, a glare fixed on his face. “You disappoint me. Rhaenyra and her bastards will put your children to the sword the second they can.” 

Alicent flinched, and Jace noted her skin was red, and bruises will form on her jaw and wrists within a few hours. He decided it was time to make himself known.

“Unhand her.” He said coldly. Otto turned around sharply, and narrowed his eyes.

“This is a family matter, Prince Jacaerys.” Otto snarled. “Leave us.” 

“No,” Jace snorted, stepping in between Alicent and Otto. She now stood behind him as he faced her father, a genial smile on his lips. “I will not.” 

“You dare to intervene where–” Otto began, and Jace cut him off. 

“I do,” Jace said evenly. His fake, placid smile on his lips. “I know that until recently, you allowed yourself to take certain liberties with the royal family, under the guise of a doting grandfather.” He whispered, his voice low enough for the three of them to hear but no passersby would be the wiser. 

“I would like to inform you that it stops now.” Jace said simply. “If you lay a hand upon anyone in this family,” Jace began, face still smiling but voice and eyes colder than the Wall in the far North. “I will know. And that hand will be forfeit.” 

Otto snorted. “Do you truly believe I’m scared by your pathetic threats?” 

“It is no threat,” Jace said simply, his face dropping and his eyes fixed in a glare. “It is a promise.” 

“You forget yourself, Prince Jacaerys.” Otto snarled. Alicent grasped Jace’s wrist, and made eye contact with her father. Otto’s eyes narrowed in on where her hand grasped his arm and glared.

“You disgust me, Alicent.” He hissed.

“You disgust me , father.” She snarled back. 

“I forget nothing,” Jace said, bringing his attention away from Alicent as he subtly moved her behind him, away from Otto’s direct field of vision. Jace fingered the dagger he had hidden under his sleeve, the metal glinting in the light for a moment. 

“You cannot hide behind my Grandsire for much longer, Otto. Once that good will runs out,” He smiled sharply as he said the next part. “And believe me, it will, you will remember this moment.” He was close to Otto, and stepped closer, twisting his body in a way that the space between he and Otto was concealed from sight.

And, quick as a whip, unsheathed his dagger from the holster on his wrist and cut a small, tiny line into Otto’s wrist, the fabric of his tunic and doublet cutting as well and a small, steady trickle of blood flowed from the wound. A twin wound, like the one Alicent left on Rhaenyra that night on Driftmark. 

Before it could be seen, Jace sheathed his dagger once more. 

“And you’ll know it was me.” Jace said simply. Otto grasped his wound and glared. 

“You will not get away with that.” Otto snarled, and Jace grinned, looking around. 

“Won’t I?” He whispered, then loudly and making a show of it, pressed his hand to Otto’s wrist tightly. “Someone get the maester!” He bellowed. “The Hand is injured.” 

Within a few moments, the guards returned with the Maester, who had not gone far since exiting the Small Council meeting.

“What happened, My Lord Hand?” The maester asked with a frown. “You will need stitches.” 

“It was silly,” Jace said airily. “I was discussing something with the Hand and the Queen,” He inclined his head to Alicent, who straightened her spine. “And it seemed the Hand’s wrist got caught in this,” He gestured to the candelabra mounted on the wall beside them. 

It was designed as a three pronged dragon, the dragon mouths holding the candles. The three dragons met in the middle, their body becoming one, and at the very bottom splitting down into two curled tails. The tails were sharp, glinting in the light innocuously. 

“The tails are very sharp,” Jace said, demonstrating his point by pricking his finger against it, drawing a small bead of blood. 

“An unfortunate accident,” Alicent intoned, looking at her father stonily. “Was it not?” 

“Most unfortunate.” Otto said through gritted teeth. The maester tutted. 

“My Lord Hand, come to my office,” Mellos said. “We’ll get you sorted in no time.” 

The final thing Otto Hightower saw before he was being ushered away by the maester was Jace taking Alicent’s hand into the crook of his arm, and the pair walking away. 

“Thank you.” Alicent said softly, and Jace smiled. 

“We seem to say that quite a bit to one another as of late, do we not, My Queen?” He said in amusement, and Alicent snorted. 

“Call me Alicent.” She said simply, and looked at him earnestly. “I believe you have more than earned that right.” 

“Can I call you grandmother?” He said cheekily, and she stared at him.

“Don’t push it,” She deadpanned. He laughed, and she echoed it after a moment of hesitance. 

“Then, call me Jace.” Jace said simply. “It’s what my family calls me, after all.” 

She smiled at him softly. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER    XII 

Lover, hunter, friend, and enemy

You will always be every one of these 

– ♛♛♛ –

RHAENYRA 

tw: miscarriage, slight gore, dead body, and a lotttt of emotions in this chapter

She felt like her insides were being torn from her as she had screamed. Screamed her throat hoarse and raw and angry. The tears trickled from her eyes, down her cheeks like twin rivers, never stopping, never drying, and ever flowing. She thought she knew pain. 

For years, she thought she knew pain. Thought she knew what it felt like for her heart to be torn in two, to be standing on the edge of a thin line and waiting for a gust of wind to blow her one way or the other, forever in a numb limbo of a never ending, never depleting, flowing river of pain. 

Rivers of ghosts from her past, ghosts from the past, groaning and moaning and dying and haunting. She thought as she was screaming that the pain was one she knew, one she knew well. It is every woman’s own battlefield, as her mother had told her. As many women had whispered to their daughters as they lay dying in their beds, the blood running between their legs (a river of death) as the last of their strength leaves them. 

But no, no she did not know pain. Not when she birthed Jace, or Luke, or any of her beloved boys. Her brave boys. Her sweet boys. She thought she knew pain when she was denied her love, when she was denied Daemon. 

She thought she knew pain when the man that was her best friend, the man that was her husband, wasted away at her side and she could do nothing. She thought she knew pain when her best friend and cousin - Laena, darling Laena - died in the birthing bed.

She thought she knew pain when her sister in all but blood, her confidant, the woman that would always hold a shard of her heart – sharpened and brittle with time, but gods it was still hers – married her father and snuck into his bed when her mothers ashes were not yet cold.

And gods, she thought she knew pain when her mother, her falcon, her hope, her love, her light, her comfort, her mother. Mother mother mother . She thought she knew pain when Aemma Arryn died. When she was split open and her little brother Baelon followed not long after. She had felt the ache like losing a limb. 

But no, she realizes. She did not know pain at all. She knew it now, when she held what was supposed to be her daughter in her arms. The babe not fully developed, merely a fetus, covered in slime and blood and gods , she was supposed to be hers and she was supposed to be lovely and beautiful and she was supposed to become a person. 

She was supposed to live long enough to be . But, fate had other plans, and now she knew why Daemon had forsaken any faith. 

I don’t believe in Gods. If they were real, they’re cruel cunts. 

She cried and wailed and held her baby to her chest and kissed what was supposed to be her forehead and she screamed. She cared not that Alicent, Viserra, and Rhaenys were watching her with sympathy as she mourned her child, and she cradled her baby’s body to her bare chest and lifted her knees and she rocked back and forth and she cried and she knew she whispered nonsense. 

She knew she must look insane, and she knew the hours passed and blurred. That was how her love, her dragon, her twin flame, her soulmate found her. Daemon. 

He had come for her. He wasn’t there. She tried not to feel bitter, to push away the stab of anger and irrational hatred for a moment. She looked at his face, and she knew she loved that face. She knew she loved those hands and she knew with all her heart that she loved him, but she looked at him now and she felt cold, pure, irrational hatred.

“Meet your daughter,” She said dully, and she noticed he flinched. Good , she thought viciously. She wants to make him hurt, hurt the way she does. He wasn’t there.

Daemon slowly stepped forward and climbed onto the bed, on his knees. He reached for her, and she violently pulled away. He reached for her again, and she struggled against him, against his hold. 

“I’m holding her,” She whispered, voice cracking. “ Please, just let me hold her.” 

“Rhaenyra,” He whispered softly, taking the bundle from her arms and placing the corpse of their dead babe – dead before she even lived – gently on the nightstand. He reached for her again, and she allowed him to hold her wrists, even as she refused to look away from Visenya. 

“Please, look at me,” He whispered, and begged. Gods, his voice was so soft, so vulnerable, shaking with emotion, and yet.

“No,” She whispered, her own voice wobbly, the lump in her throat and the burning in her eyes and the shaking in her hands were evident. Just as the catch in his breath, and the shining of his eyes. Just as the clench of his jaw and the tight grip of his fingers around her soft wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered roughly, eyes boring into her, though she still did not look at him. “Rhaenyra please, ñuha jorrāelagon, ñuha idaña perzys,” He inhaled a shaky breath and began to kiss her hands urgently, his lips warm against her skin, as it always was. He begged and he begged. 

“ Shijetra nyke ,” He pleaded brokenly, his lips now trailing up to her jaw, her cheek, her forehead, her hair, and gods she wanted to lean into him just as much as she wanted to wrench herself away from his grip. She wanted to cry with him and mourn with him just as much as she wanted to scream at him. 

“Forgive me.” He beseeched of her. His voice guttural, raw, a pain she had never seen etched upon his face. She looked at him now. She could not help it. Her gaze would always find Daemon’s, just as her heart does. In this lifetime and in the next, her soul will always call to him. 

His touch was a mere whisper of what it was, ghosts etched upon her skin like invisible scars that only she would see. Only she would wield. 

“I begged for you.” She spoke roughly. “I screamed for you, and you were not there.” 

“I know,” He said roughly, his voice thick and on the verge of breaking. “I know.” 

“I lost her, Daemon,” She whimpered, and stiffened her lip and narrowed her teary eyes. “And you weren’t there.” 

He bowed his head, now avoiding looking at her. She felt her lip curl, felt her anger bubble up within her and it would explode, it festered and it rose and it –

And it died. She gently cradled his chin and lifted his head to hers. 

“You and I are alike in the worst ways,” She whispered softly, purple meeting purple. Grief meeting grief. Sorrow meeting regret. “We burn bright without one another, and together we are a blazing inferno. It consumes me.” She said, and laughed. It was slightly fond, slightly bitter, and wholly melancholic. 

“I sometimes do not know where I end and you begin. Where I begin and you end. We are so entwined . It was always meant to be you and I, Daemon.” She whispered. “And yet.” 

“And yet.” He agreed roughly. He grasped her face softly with shaking hands, the tremors being felt by every fiber in her body. “And yet, I allowed myself to be ruled by fear. I allowed myself to leave your bedside because I was afraid.” And his tears now fell in earnest. “I lost everyone , Rhaenyra.” 

Her heart clenched painfully. 

“I heard your screams and your cries and I left because all I saw was my mother, my cousins. I saw Aemma, frail in a way she had never been, and I heard Laena and I watched her as she begged for Vhagar to take her, take her and the babe both and I could not–” He inhaled shakily, sharply, and his voice failed him for a moment. She whimpered, and held him close to her. And she allowed him to hold her. 

“I could not see where their screams ended and yours began,” he admitted. “I was afraid and so I ran, and I left you in the time you needed me most and I–” He broke off again, and he looked imploringly in her eyes and she felt the wind she had left in her lungs be knocked away from her. 

He left her breathless. The love, the devotion, the anguish and hatred and gods so much self loathing in them were enough to steal the breath from her lungs and stop the beat of her heart. 

“I will spend forever, all eternity, earning your forgiveness.” 

And she felt it, past the sharp pain in her legs, the dull ache everywhere else, past the bleeding and tearing of her heart, leaving it a mauled, ugly, thing in the center of her chest. Past the pain of feeling like she wants to claw her skin off and gouge out her eyes and sink into the darkest corner of misery and damnation she could find, she felt it. 

A warmth in her mangled, ugly, heart. It was faint, underneath the darkest corners of her heart (darkness which seemed to spread through her blood like a poison), but it was there. 

She knew well — his fears. For she had them, as a girl. Had them still. When she had just lost her mother and felt that same, suffocating, hand of Death crawl around her heart and throat and just begin to squeeze until — she knew his fears well. 

She could not bring herself to resent him. Not when she knew him better than anyone. Not when she knew him as well as she knew her own name, knew her hand, as she knew her dragon. Nobody else would understand the shared pain. Nobody understood the true brevity of life, not like them. 

They had all lost someone. There was not a soul in House Targaryen who did not know loss or pain, in one way or another. And gods, isn’t that just a somber thought? It makes sense, considering the way we all are, she supposes. 

But she knew the pain in Daemon’s heart like it was her own. 

And so, she opened her lips and stared into his eyes so meaningfully, translating every word she could not say into two clashing pools of amethyst purple. 

Understanding. Sympathy. Heart breaking. Anguish. Fear. Love. Love, love, love, love. So much it was earth shattering and world ending and everything from the wind to the earth. 

She whispered the only words she had the strength to muster now, putting every fiber of strength into them. 

“I know,” Her voice was a soft, breathy whisper, ghosting his skin and taunting the air between them. He broke, then. He held her fiercely as he cried into her chest — her chest that was supposed to be for her baby — and she cried into his hair.

And together, they mourned. 

And the next day, though Jace had been cold to him, he had never been more proud of his son (because Jace was his, they all were his) for defending his mother. His strong, otherworldly mother.

– ♛♛♛ –

CREGAN 

He sat with Jace that night, after all was said and done, the dust had settled, and the sun had set. Jace was once again at his vigil at Aegon’s bedside, regardless of the fact the young man was up and talking, albeit, in pain. 

He listened distantly as Jace whispered softly in High Valyrian all that they had discovered. He watched in detached fascination as Aegon’s emotions played on his face, so obviously with his wide eyes, or his open jaw, or his clenched jaw. If he could not see that, he only need recall when Aegon threw up in a bucket, upon hearing the fate of Aemma. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Aegon whispered, eyes wide. “Cregan and Aemond went to go get Daemon ?” 

“Aye,” Cregan grumbled in amusement. “It was quite the conversation.” 

Jace smirked.

“Cregan called him a craven.” Jace said, arms crossed and wry amusement in his eyes and an upturn of his lips and thankfully finally some light in his eyes. 

“He’s gonna fucking kill you,” Aegon had said bluntly, and Cregan had laughed. Honest to gods head thrown back in laughter. 

“He will do nothing to me.” Cregan said assuredly, and Jace snorted. 

“What makes you say that?” Jace asked Cregan challengingly. 

“Because I gave him the kick up the ass he needed,” Cregan said smugly, resting his heels on Aegon’s bed and kicking the legs of his chair back, leaning nonchalantly. “If nothing else, Daemon respects honesty.” 

“Can’t deny that,” Jace acknowledged, a grim smile on his lips. 

“He and Rhaenyra will overcome anything,” Aegon snorted, smiling fondly. “They breathe for each other.” 

“That they do,” Cregan whispered softly, remembering. Soft echoes in the wind, of soft touches, lips smiling against his, giggles against his neck and fingers in his hair. Whispers of his name and promises of love, forever , into the night, in the safety of the darkness and pale fingers, lifeless arms and blood — No.  

He shook his head. He should not dwell on what is lost, gone, broken bits of treasured pasts. Conversation soon slipped, his mind wandering as the Hour of the Wolf began in earnest, and all that was in the air between them were the soft sounds of Aegon’s slightly uneven breathing.

So lost in his thoughts he was, he was almost startled when his companion whispered, sounding like a boom of a warhorn in the quiet air. Almost . 

“You do not have to be here, you know?” Jace whispered softly, hours after they had moved to other discussions, after Aegon had already fallen under a dreamless sleep. 

“I know,” Cregan said simply. And yet.

“So, why are you?” Jace queried. “You are under no obligation.” 

Cregan snorted, a wry grin on his lips as he looked at Jace, tilting his head slightly. 

“Aye,” He agreed. “I am not. But still, I stay.” Cregan said simply, for he never had the head for flowery words that shield poison barbs and silver tongues. 

Jace tore his gaze away from Aegon, and stared at Cregan with a flat expression, lips pursed in a thin line. Cregan thought the boy looked rather adorable, though he supposed Jacaerys would never be intimidating to him. 

Jacaerys was the perfect, hot headed echo, to his cold blooded brother. His brother that guards Winterfell and his son. Targaryen in appearance, yet only the North and Winter flowed in his veins, made pure ice and cold. And Jacaerys, more traditionally first men in appearance, and yet was the definition of a quick tempered, silver tongued, sharp eyed Targaryen with Fire and Blood flowing through him. Two boys grown far before their time. Jace should not have the hunch in his shoulders and the look in his eyes. He had not even reached eight and ten yet. He was struck that the imposing, cut from marble Black Prince, could look so small, and so young.

“I do not need a babysitter.” Jace snapped, annoyance in his eyes. But Cregan knew it only veiled the grief and heartbreak underneath. 

“I am no babysitter, Jace,” Cregan said lowly, shaking his head, with a sound of fond exasperation in his voice. His eyes narrowed in on a movement, noticing Aegon shuffling underneath the blanket. The boy was awake, he was sure. 

“You do not need one.” He grasped Jace’s shoulder and squeezed, looking at him meaningfully. “I am here, because I thought you needed a friend.” 

And just then, Aegon made his lucidity known, and Jace’s jaw wobbled. His eyes wavered, and his nostrils flared. 

“I’m sorry,” Aegon whispered. “If I could shoulder your pain, I would.” And his eyes were so open and honest and Cregan knew that Jace was going to—and he did. 

He crumpled, like all the strength left his body and he could no longer sit up, and Cregan felt tears wet his tunic and felt Jace’s arms wrap around him and dig into his tunic, and claw and grasp desperately at him because Jace needed an anchor, and Cregan let him. 

He held the boys shaking shoulders, and Aegon had a hand on his back, Cregan stared into his sad, wide — guilty, guilty, my fault— eyes, he could read every emotion in them and, Cregan looked away. 

This is no one's fault. No ones, except the Hightowers and those Maesters and those fanatic, heretic , faith following Gods fearing Southern Septons. 

He didn’t care what Viserys Targaryen First of His Name who fucking cares did or wanted. Come hell or highwater, they would all end up dead. 

“Do not worry, Princeling,” Cregan said softly. “We will avenge them.” 

Jace pulled away with tears and snot on his face, his cheeks red and his lip curled in a snarl and he spoke. 

“I want them dead, ” He spat, vitriol spewing from his lips like barbs and threats that happen in the whispers in the night, covered in darkness. “I want their heads mounted on spikes .” 

“If you want them dead,” Aegon whispered, voice solemn and serious, like Cregan had never heard it before, eyes grave as the winter, just as sure of a death sentence. “Then we will kill them. All. ”

“Winter is Coming,” Cregan said solemnly, bleak and painful, but with a tone that dug into his bones, buried in roots of ice and spread through every orifice and fiber of his being. Whispered it like a prayer .”  

“And with it,” Aegon said, Jace and Aegon glancing at one another as they in tandem spoke the words of their House. House Targaryen. “Fire and Blood.” 

Cregan’s quirked up, and he inclined his head. “ Fire and Blood .” He intoned, like a promise, a soft promise of death, littered in the wind, echoing softly. Lingering. 

Ever lingering. 

Valar Morghulis. All men must die. But they weren’t just men. They were gods among men. Stark, Targaryen. Ice. Fire. Power. Power, power, power. All men must die, and they must meet their deaths in the Ways of Old. 

By their swords. By their jaws. By their flames. By Winter, and Fire, and Blood. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER      XIII

Everytime you curse my name

I know you want the satisfaction, 

It’s not gonna happen

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

tw: brief mentions of SA in this chapter and blood and gore kinda 

What was officially dubbed the ‘Family Council’ met two days after the death of Visenya. His mother, though still unwell and in pain, had made it down from her recovery for this, as had Aegon. The Small Council Chamber doors had been sealed, and the wolves guarded the passageways and darkened corners, watching for little birds who sang sweet songs. 

Viserys cleared his throat. 

“Let’s begin with what happened to Aegon.” He said simply. “I will hear the truth of it, from you.” His eyes unnervingly stared into Aegon’s, whom Jace was watching intently. 

Aegon shifted uncomfortably for a moment, before he nodded, clenching the side of the table in a white knuckle grip. 

“Grandfather did this to me.” He said softly. They had all bristled, their postures tensed. Nobody had liked the way the King had handled the situation regarding Aegon and Otto. Viserys had fallen from grace from many an eye. It seemed he was the last to know that little tid-bit of information, evident in the way they all poised themselves ready to strike, with poisonous stares aimed at him. 

“Why?” Viserys pressed forward. “What happened?” 

“Grandsire had been angry,” Aegon said dully, his eyes misted over, as though he were living it all over again. I will kill Otto Hightower. Jace vowed to himself viciously, his anger boiling his blood to a level he had never thought possible. 

“With?” Viserys pressed further, leaning forward as though he’d get the story faster that way. 

“Luke had been showing me proper sword stances that day, in the yard.” Aegon muttered and Jace saw Luke violently flinch, and Jace knew his precious little brother was blaming himself with the fury of a thousand suns. His heart ached for Luke. 

“Grandsire did not like that I made myself look inferior to a—” He cut himself off, looking down at the table glaring furiously. 

“Say it.” Viserys said sternly. When Aegon made no move but clench his hands tighter, Viserys repeated it. “Say it, Aegon.” His voice was low, full of warning. Jace met Aegon’s eye, and smiled reassuringly, if a bit tight. 

It’s okay, he urged softly. I don’t care, Aegon. And he didn’t. He had grown past it, and he had hoped under his fierce tutelage, Luke had as well. Their claim came from their mother, and Luke would marry Rhaena. Velaryon blood will rule the Driftwood Throne in the end, just as Targaryen blood would rule the Iron Throne. 

“ Bastards.” Aegon hissed ferociously, slamming his hands against the table and leaning forward, all frustrations and anger coming out in that moment. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Father ?” He sneered. “That Otto called them bastards, that since I was a boy said I would be King! Ha— what a laugh!” Aegon’s eyes were watery and his voice was shaky but he was staying firm, staring Viserys dead in the eyes. Those around the table watched in either horror — From the ( former?) Green kids — or in morbid fascination. 

His mother held his father’s hand tightly in her own, her hands shaking and her lip trembling. 

“That since I was old enough to walk ,” Aegon spat, laughing humorlessly. “He told me Rhaenyra would kill us all if she became Queen?” 

Alicent violently flinched, Jace noticed. So did his mother, recoiling in horror as she stared at Alicent, in pure betrayal, clutching her still slightly protruding tummy in horror. 

“I had to live with the fact that the person who was my older sister , living under the same roof as me, would kill me.” Aegon whispered. “And so, when I denied this to him, and I said Rhaenyra was the heir,” He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “He did this to me.” 

They were watching in stunned silence, Aegon was breathing heavily and his eyes were wildly darting around the chamber. Jace was the first to recover. 

“Aegon,” He whispered softly. “It’s not your fault.” 

“But I—” Aegon inhaled sharply, shakily exhaling. He blinked his wide, teary eyes. 

“No,” Jace said firmly. “I don’t care what grandsire says,” He threw a wayward, scathing look at his grandfather, who flinched, and looked back at Aegon. “I will have Otto Hightower’s head.” 

“Head?” Viserys asked, eyes wide. “We could perhaps exile him—” 

“He laid a hand on a Prince of the Crown,” Rhaenyra said sharply, although her voice was slightly weaker than it normally was, it was definitely not lacking in steel. “That is an immediate death sentence.” 

“And it will be even moreso,” Aemond began silkily. “If you hear what Elaena, Jacaerys, and I, have to say, Rhaenyra.” His voice was smooth and low, and Jace watched as his mother paused for a moment, before inclining his head.

“I would like to intervene,” Jace interjected before the letters and notes could be read. “This will be very,” He grimaced, exchanging a look with the other two. “Upsetting.” 

“I think we’ll manage,” Daemon said dryly. “Can’t be worse than what we know so far,” He said meaningfully, and Jace grimaced. 

“Grandsire,” he turned to Viserys. “Helaena and I were blessed with a vision from the Gods,” He noted Viserys immediately straightened his spine. “Upon touching the Heart Tree in the Godswood.” 

“Go on,” Viserys urged impatiently, and Jace bit back his tongue. Wait for it, you decrepit little— no, he would remain calm, and collected. 

“It showed us Otto Hightower with the Maester, conspiring to kill the Late Queen Aemma.” He watched Viserys carefully, who seemed to have every muscle in his body paralyzed, his eyes able to chill even the hot Dornish air. “And, suffocating Baelon in the night.” 

The temperature in the room decreased dramatically, everyone having varying reactions. Those who knew — namely, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Alicent, Rhaena, Luke, and Baela — were grimacing in discomfort or anger. Rhaenyra whimpered for a moment before she steadied her wobbling chin and blinked away the water from her eyes. 

“What?” Rhaenys asked softly, quietly, her voice barely above the smallest of whispers. But Jace was not fooled, this cowed and quiet demeanor was her at her deadliest. At her highest moments of pure fury.

“So,” Aemond plowed forward, taking over for Jace, as if knowing the boy’s voice began to fail him. Jace nodded thankfully. “We had the idea to sneak into the Maesters offices, to see if there would be any evidence—” 

“Is there?” Viserys snarled, his nails digging into the skin on the palm of his hand, drawing blood. Jace remembered for the first time, Viserys The Peaceful — what a load of shit — had been the last person to claim and mount Balerion, the Black Dread. 

They took the letters and notes out, and began to read. Aemond read the correspondence about the dragonsbane first. Elaena had quickly written a copy of the ingredients before they left, and read them aloud to them all. The silence was so stifling, Jace felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like the air was being sucked from his lungs and he was drowning and his head was exploding and gods he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe —a hand was on his shoulder. 

He turned his head and came face to face with Daeron, staring at him with a look so meaningful it made Jace’s head spin. 

You’re okay, it seemed to say. I know, I’ve been there, I got you. Jace found his shoulder lessening in their tension, and he noted it was his turn to speak. 

“I—,” He began hoarsely, clearing his throat. “I came across the herbs he had prescribed Queen Aemma through her pregnancies.” Jace whispered, valiantly staring firmly into Daemon’s eyes, not staring at his grandfather or his mother, knowing their pain would debilitate him from the pure rawness of it. 

“Angelica root, white hellebore, tansy, and yarrow.” Jace said softly. “I found those herbs in a herbology and medicinal book he had. It all said in the descriptions that it was known to cause miscarriages.” 

Not a sound could be heard, not a particle of dust falling from the ceiling to the softest of breaths. It seemed like the whole room — the whole world — had gone still. 

“Then,” Elaena said softly. “We found it. A letter from Maester Mellos to Ormund Hightower.” She carefully unfurled the paper, and read the words softly yet with no hesitance. “‘ The falcon is dead, and the hatching mysteriously stopped breathing in the night. The deed is done.’ ” She surveyed their expressions with a grimace of sympathy, and turned over the parchment. 

“This was Hightowers response to the Grand Maester. ‘ The Citadel will be rewarded, and we will continue to fund your research. May the Seven bless you.’ ’ 

It was the same eerie quiet for a long moment, before the sound of nails against the table screeched against his ears. His head snapped towards his mother, who was clenching her jaw with a furor that Jace was afraid she’d grind her teeth to dust.

“I want them dead,” She said hotly, eyes crazed and filled with a blood lust he had never seen in his mother. “I want their heads on platters, I want to burn them all to the ground —” 

“Calm yourself, Niece.” Viserra said shakily. “We will get our revenge. But we must be smart.” 

“Now is the time to strike!” Rhaenys spat. “They’ve made a mistake—” 

“A mistake that will cost them, yes.” Viserra inclined her head. “But executing Mellos and Hightower will only cause anger and war.” 

“Good!” Daemon snapped harshly, hand slamming against the table as he stood from his chair. “To war!” 

“We will be attacked on all sides, you fool!” Viserra hissed sharply. “We know not how deep this goes. Is it only in Old Town? Is the same conspiracy in the Riverlands? Westerlands? Which Maesters know of this, which do not?” She asked, knowing nobody had the answer. “If we kill Otto and Mellos they will only know that we are on their tail, and the banners will be called before we understand how deep it is and everyone involved.” 

“Mother speaks sense,” Cregan said gruffly. “Even if you cut the head of the snake, it does not mean there aren't ten more snakes hidden in the bushes, poised to strike.” He said grimly. 

“So what?” Rhaenyra scoffed incredulously. “We do nothing?” 

“No,” Helaena said softly. “Not nothing. We focus on other things.” 

“Such as, sister?” Aegon asked dryly.  

“Keep undermining the Maesters. Take care of our dragons,” She gave her mother a sidelong glance and inhaled sharply. “Kill Larys Strong.” 

“Larys Strong?” Viserys echoed, frowning. “My Master of Whisperers?” 

“Yes,” Helaena agreed, her voice even. “He only serves himself, in the end.” She whispers softly, her eyes far away, staring without seeing. 

“Hel,” Luke whispered softly. He touched her arm briefly, and she snapped her head to him, her eyes clear. She smiled softly. 

“Sorry,” She whispered insecurely, staring at her hands as she twiddled her fingers. 

“On what grounds?” Jace asked, brows furrowed. 

Helaena exchanged a glance with Alicent, who sighed sadly. 

“I—” She whispered, choking up. “He had offered his services to me, years ago. I agreed but he—I swear to you Rhaenyra, I did not ask this of him.” She begged softly. “I didn’t want this—” 

“What did he do, Alicent?” Rhaenyra asked coolly, staring her old friend firmly in the eyes. 

“He— gods — he killed Lyonel and Harwin Strong.” She whispered, tears filling her eyes. Jace felt a stab in his heart, an old pain he had never allowed himself to feel. His gaze snapped to Luke, who was staring at him in heart broken horror. 

Cregan tried to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Jace flinched away. He couldn’t handle any touch now. He felt his heart splinter in two as he stared intently at the wood table, every aged ring, every scrape and scratch in the wood, he stared until his vision grew hot and blurry. 

Gods, he fucking killed his own father and brother and fuck fuck Harwin, Harwin echoed in his head as the name faded into a screaming voice of a child — of his voice — father father father!

“W–What?” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice breaking. 

“ Kinslayer ,” Daemon hissed, eyes narrowed in hatred. Harwin had been his friend, in a way. 

“What did you give him in exchange?” Jace found his voice, lifting his gaze to Alicent’s wide eyes. She looked panicked, frantic even. 

“I–He..” She stuttered, trailing off with a disgusted look on her face. Jace recoiled. 

“Did he touch you?” He asked softly, his voice a deadly whisper. She flinched.

“He didn’t touch me–”

“Did he violate you?” Jace hissed, and she closed her eyes and recoiled. Jace felt that was all the answer he needed, for he nodded his head and got up from his chair, hand on his sword. Cregan pushed his chair back and it clattered to the floor, and he grabbed Jace’s arm. 

“Where are you going?” He hissed at Jace. Jace wrenched his arm away from Cregan and whirled around. 

“I’m about to go kill a clubfooted, kinslaying, pervert,” He spat with vitriol, like acid on his tongue, eyes spewing a fire that would burn all those who came near it. “It would be wise for you to not try and stop me.” 

“It would be wise ,” Cregan hissed through gritted teeth. “For you to calm down and control your emotions, Jacaerys.” 

“He deserves to die !” Jace hissed back, leaning into Cregan’s face. “To die painfully .” 

“I promise you, Jace,” Cregan said to him firmly, grasping the back of Jace’s neck. “If you sit down and allow us to think this through ,” he stared meaningfully, purple clashing purple gray, and thousands of unspoken words passed between them. “He will die screaming .” 

Jace stood for a few more moments, staring defiantly, before he deflated and sat down in his chair, righteous fury still in his eyes. 

“Until we know anything further,” Rhaenys spoke, her eyes on Alicent but her voice steady. “We cannot attack the Maesters. But, we can kill Larys Strong.” 

“A trial?” Viserys asked wearily, eyes heavy on his wife who steadfastly avoided his gaze. “We have no evidence.” 

“We can make it look like an accident,” Aemond offered, grinning like a bloody thirsty shark. Jace knew Aemond would be the blood thirstiest of them all, especially as he adores Alicent. 

“We can kidnap him,” Luke suggested. “Question him for information. He is the Master of Whisperers.” 

They all stared at him in shocked silence, a beginning of a smirk on Aemond’s face before he wiped it away and assumed his neutral glare. 

“What?” He asked sheepishly, blushing. 

“Didn’t know you had it in you, little brother,” Jace said smoothly. Luke’s blush turned even deeper. 

“He’s a bad man. I won’t lose sleep over causing him some pain.” Luke said simply, softly. 

“He’ll conveniently go missing,” Rhaenyra said softly. “There’s a spot deep in the Black Cells with his name on it, I think.” Jace could see the conflict and heartbreak in her eyes. Harwin Strong would forever be a wound in his mother that nothing would heal. Not even Daemon. 

“It’ll be done,” Aegon said coolly. 

“As for Otto,” Jace began, his voice cold. “We may not be able to kill him for Baelon and Aemma,” he ignored the way his mother and Viserys flinched. “But we can certainly punish him for Aegon.” 

“How would we do that?” Viserra asked with a raised brow. 

“I told him if he ever laid a hand on anyone in this family,” Jace began coldly, his voice as strong as Ice, the ancestral sword of the Starks. “I would have his hand. I believe it’s time to make good on that promise.” 

Daemon grinned. 

“Oh please , Viserys, can I do it?” Daemon asked with a bright grin, and it caused them all to descend into half mad laughter. They had gone through many a painful revelation, and they needed some light heartedness. 

Especially if it came at the expense of Otto Hightower. 

– ♛♛♛ –

Viserys had called for a meeting in the Throne Room, with all members of the Court and Small Council present, as witness. 

Daemon helped Viserys walk to his throne, but Jace had his eyes trained on Otto. It was clear he was unaware of what was going to happen. Jace also knew that Otto did not like being in the dark one bit. He felt the cruel smirk pull against his lips before he shoved it down, because gods he was waiting for this moment. 

“We stand here to dispense punishment,” Viserys began, his voice carrying throughout the quiet room, soft and hoarse, but steady. “Lord Otto Hightower, step forward,” Viserys said, and whispers erupted in the room. Otto hesitatingly stepped forward, and kneeled in front of the throne. 

“I don’t know what it is I am accused of, Your Grace, but I assure you they are lies .” Otto protested fiercely, and Jace hid his snort. 

“You laid a hand on Prince Aegon,” Daemon said coolly. “We have the word of two witnesses, as well as Prince Aegon himself.” 

Otto glared at Daemon with hatred. 

“It is well within my right as a Grandfather to dispense punishment as I see fit–” 

“It would have been your right,” Rhaenyra agreed softly. “If your grandson was not a Prince of the Realm. Laying a hand on him is treason.” 

“Your Grace,” Otto said disbelievingly. “This is a farce ! Surely–” 

“You have served me,” Viserys screwed his face up in disgust as he spat the word. “ Loyally ,” it was said with the purest of hatred Jace had ever heard in Viserys’ voice. “For years. But, you should have never laid a hand upon my son.” 

“Alicent,” Otto called out, but Alicent merely clenched her jaw and turned her head, her hand resting on Aegon’s shoulder. 

Jace felt the sick satisfaction fill him at the sight of Otto Hightower, on his knees before the Iron Throne, facing justice. It wasn't what he deserved, in fact it was the least they could do, given the circumstances, but Jace wants him to know. Wants Otto to know it was him that did this, that was slowly digging the grave of first Otto's reputation, and then, the grave his body would eventually lay in, broken and forgotten. Otto would fade into history, just a mere footnote in what would be a far larger story. And gods, Jace wants him to know that he did this. The bastard, the unworthy Black Prince. 

“For this grievous crime,” Jace began, he stepped forward. He needed to dispense justice himself, needed to follow through on his threat. It was decided. “For laying a hand on a Prince of the Realm, that hand shall be forfeit.” He said coldly. He ignored the gasps and whispers and stared at Otto, who stared at him with pure hatred. Jace stepped forward. 

“I told you, it was a promise.” Jace whispered, his words being only heard between them. He didn’t flinch when Otto spat at the floor in front of his feet. He merely grinned. Feel that anger, he thought sharply. Look closely. This is all you will ever be. A lowly bottom feeder, who's only rightful place is on his knees below them. 

“In honor of our Northern Guests,” Jace said, gesturing to Cregan’s family. “I believe we shall dispense Northern justice.” 

Daemon stepped forward, and offered him Dark Sister. Jace looked meaningfully at his father and grasped the hilt of the blade. They laid Otto’s right hand — his dominant hand — upon a block. The man struggled and struggled, to no avail. Jace lifted the sword, glinting in the light of the windows and candles. 

“I, Jacaerys Velaryon, Heir to Crown Princess Rhaenyra, find you guilty of harming a Prince of the House Targaryen. For this slight, your hand shall be taken from you.” 

And he swung. 

The squelch of the sword passing through skin, tissue, and bone reverberated throughout the quiet room, and Jace marveled at how easy it was. The blade ran through his wrist like a hot knife through butter, and the blood sprayed against his tunic and stained the blade. For a moment, it was silent. His hand dropped to the ground with a soft ‘thump’ and a bleeding stump was in its place. 

Then, he screamed . And screamed. And screamed. Jace sighed, grabbing a piece of cloth handed to him and cleaned the blood from the sword.

“Someone, take him to a maester!” He said incredulously, and watched in exasperation as people began to unfreeze from their shock and usher him and the Grand Maester away for the ahem, wound to be dealt with. He handed the blade back to Daemon, who grasped his arm and whispered in his ear.

“You did well, Young Prince.” He whispered softly, and Jace nodded his head stoically. 

“It was a clean cut,” Cregan said approvingly, then smirked. “We may make a Northman of you yet.” 

And Jace couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

If the court thought he was insane, well, none of them dared to voice it, lest he cut out their tongues the way he did to Otto’s hand. 

Not that he would, of course. But, they didn’t know that, did they? 

“Feel avenged yet?” Daeron joked softly to Aegon, who snorted. 

“I’ll feel avenged once he’s dead in the ground.” He said shortly. “Once they’re all dead.” 

Jace watched the interaction, and more importantly, watched Daeron. The light in his eyes dimmed, his lips pursed and his expression tightened. His hands flexed, and his jaw clenched. 

“Me too,” Daeron whispered. 

Jace wondered, not for the first time, what the fuck happened to Daeron at Old Town. 

But, he supposed he’d have to wait for the other boy to tell him. For now, they all retired to their chambers, the days’ events taking their toll on them all. He had to mentally prepare, for tomorrow would be his little sister’s, Visenya’s, funeral. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER     XIV

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

It was sunny, and hot. Normally a type of weather Jace would love, but this time he couldn’t take a day off from his duties as heir to the heir. He couldn’t take out all his siblings, from little Viserys all the way to Luke and take them down to the beach. Couldn’t play around in the water and let the sun hit his face and allow the moment to just be. 

He stood with the rest of their family in the blazing sun, their dragons around them and a pyre built in the center. He watched as his mother shakily removed herself from Daemon’s grasp and gently laid the small bundle upon it, heaving a shaky, teary breath. He closed his eyes and steeled himself as she opened her mouth. 

“ Dra—Draca— ” She began shakily, but her voice broke and her sobs began and she shook her head. She clutched her stomach and she began to sob, earth crushing, soul shattering wails of a grieving mother with a never ending river of tears leaking from her eyes. 

Jace stepped forward, a hand placed softly on her arm and she turned to him. He was taller than her. He of course knew that he towered over her, but he had never felt it so keenly until now. She had such an imposing presence about her, the presence of a Queen. His mother had never allowed herself to look small, always jutted chin and perfect posture and steel in her voice. 

But gods, he felt it now, felt how small she truly was as she tucked herself underneath his arm and cried into the crook of his shoulder and held him. He felt it then. The burden of being the eldest child, the eldest son. 

He ignored their stares and held her as she cried, and he spoke.

“ Dracarys.” 

Syrax didn’t take orders from anyone but her rider, that was a given. Vermax opened his maw and rained fire on the pyre, but what was surprising, was Syrax did as well. The two dragons together streamed a golden fire that blazed against his skin, he felt the discomfort of the heat but he didn’t care as he stoically watched the corpse of his would-be little sister burn to ash. 

Nobody commented about how Syrax seemed to follow his order, though it would be whispered about in the days to come. How the Prince not only commanded his own dragon, but the dragon of his mother as well. 

He had cultivated a relationship with all of the dragons in a way, since he had stopped them from being chained he had spent a strong amount of time with them all. They had become friends of a sort, and Syrax was no different. 

He was the first of her mother’s children introduced to the Spoiled Queen, and so she had begun to look after them as though Jace was her own hatchling, the bond between his mother and Syrax being as strong and as pure as it was. He found it quite lovely, being mother henned by a dragon. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the burning pyre and holding his crying mother before Daemon had come and taken Rhaenyra into his own arms, and Jace had soon gotten surrounded by Luke, Joff, Aegon, and Viserys. 

He hadn’t seen his littlest brothers in what felt like years, with them either being in their lessons or in the care of their nurse maids, and the eldest of the family being embroiled in the conspiracy that seemed to never truly end. 

He held Joffrey tightly to him, kissing the crown of his black hair and holding the boy who didn’t truly understand what was going on, but knew something sad had happened. Everything that happened after the funeral pyre held for Visenya was a blur. He had gone back to the Keep and scrubbed his skin raw in the bath. He scrubbed and scrubbed until his arms were inflamed, red, and angry — just like him. 

He walked aimlessly in the halls, ignoring the looks from passersby. It was odd — to see him alone, that is. Normally he’d be accompanied by Erryk Cargyll, Cregan, Aegon, and as of late either Aemond or Daeron. 

He wouldn’t say he was friends with Aemond and Daeron, not the way he was with Cregan or Aegon. He had not cultivated a deep bond with the other two Uncle’s. They were with one another for information, or they worked together for the most part, and that formed a strange bond of its own. 

He and Aemond would likely never sit down and spill their grievances and feelings to one another, but Jace knew in his heart and soul, if he ever needed back up on the battlefield, if he ever got wounded, he would be avenged by Aemond with fire and blood. 

For the moment, that was enough. 

He had no destination in mind, and found himself in front of Aemond’s chambers. He stayed in front of the door for a long moment, not sure if he should knock or if he should just leave. He didn’t know if he could enlist Aemond’s help in this — not sure of how much help the other Prince could be — if he could be of any help at all. 

But, the war within him was stifled by the opening of the door, giving way to Aemond. The gust of wind had fluttered his long platinum hair back, and Jace noticed he wasn’t wearing his eye patch. 

“What do you want?” Aemond asked brusquely, and Jace looked past his shoulder to see Criston in his chambers. He raised a brow, but Aemond stayed silent as he glared at him with narrowed eyes. 

“I want to talk.” Jace said simply. Aemond side stepped from the door and opened it a bit further, and Jace entered, his eyes now locked on Criston who was staring at him in thinly veiled disgust. His face remained blank as he eyed the Kingsguard. 

“Alone.” Jace said, and Aemond stared at him consideringly for a moment, before he looked at Criston.

“You can leave.” Aemond said simply, and Jace noted that Cole didn’t like that. 

“My Prince, I must protest–” He began, and Aemond sent his cutting gaze to the knight.

“I said leave , Ser Criston.” Aemond hissed sharply. “I have nothing to fear from Jacaerys.” 

Jace eyed the older man who had now clenched his jaw and glared at him, and he smirked in dry amusement. 

“My Prince,” Criston inclined his head to Aemond, and walked to the door, trying to shoulder check Jace, but the Prince didn’t even flinch, nor did he move a muscle. He stared at Criston with an unimpressed expression and watched as the man stormed out, closing the door behind him. 

Aemond gestured for Jace to sit down upon one of the chairs that surrounded a small table, and he did. 

“What do you want?” Aemond asked, and Jace stared into the fire in silence for a moment.

“Why do you wear that eye patch?” He inquired, tearing his gaze away from the dancing flames — he had seen enough fire for one day — and looked at Aemond, who hid his shock well enough. 

“Why does it matter?” Aemond responded back, raising a brow. Jace shrugged.

“You look more intimidating without it, is all.” Jace said simply. Aemond bristled. 

“More disfigured , you mean.” He spat back. “Why are you here?” He demanded once more, his voice colder. “I know it’s not just to discuss my lack of an eye.” 

Jace fought the flinch, and sighed. 

“I’m here because you’re probably the only person that won’t ask me how I am .” He said. “You don’t care.” 

Aemond stared at him, before speaking dryly. 

“You’re right, I don’t.”  

Jace snorted in amusement. 

“I need that, right now. I need someone who won’t let the emotions of the day stop them from acting.” He said, and looked into Aemond’s eyes meaningfully. “I need your help.” 

Aemond froze for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and appraised him. He met his gaze unflinchingly, defiantly . 

That’s how they had always been. They met each other in every aspect. Barb for barb, glare for glare, and blow for blow. 

He supposed the competition always made them strive to be better, strive to always be on equal footing with one another. He liked that, in a strange way. Liked that he could never push Aemond around, liked that he could never be pushed around by Aemond, even as children. 

“With?” Aemond drawled. 

“I need to get to Flea Bottom. I assume,” He began wryly, a smirk on his face. “With the amount of time you’ve spent collecting Aegon from its many distinguished establishments ,” Aemond grimaced, and his smirk spread wider. “You’d know the way.” 

“What are you looking for?” He pressed, and Jace bit his tongue, a smart remark making its way past his lips but he clenched his jaw and pressed forward.

“ Who .” Jace corrected. He looked at the wall in front of him, and turned his head back to the other Prince. “Come, and you’ll find out.” 

It was silent for a moment, a standoff between them. A test of wills, one Jace knew he would win. He was proven right a moment later when Aemond stood, closing his eye with an eye patch and rummaging around the room for a moment before tossing a black cloak to Jace, who caught it.

“Let’s go.” He said sharply, and covered his head with a hood. Jace snorted and covered his own hair and face with the dark cloak and the pair set off. It was sunset when he had arrived, and it seemed an hour had passed since. 

But now the night had fallen, the heat had given way to something milder, the cooler beginnings of a summer breeze upon his skin as he walked. He trailed behind Aemond as they navigated the streets of Flea Bottom, the smell of piss and shit ever present in the air. They took darkened corners and alleys until Jace found what he had been looking for. It was a brothel. 

“Seriously?” Aemond grouched as they entered. “You took me to a fucking brothel? You grabbed the wrong brother.” 

Jace laughed. “Quit your whining, and wait .” 

“I don’t whine .” Aemond grumbled, glaring at Jace, who ignored him. 

A girl, her chest bare and a thin layer of see through fabric covering her bottom made herself known to them, draping an arm on Jace’s shoulder. He reflexively moved from her touch. 

“How may I help you fine gentlemen?” She asked, surveying them from head to toe with a smirk on her face.

“I’m here to see the White Worm.” Jace said simply, and the girl straightened, her expression clearing and she nodded. 

“This way.” She said softly, and they followed her down a winding hall that eventually led to a door at the end of it. “She’s in there.”

“Thank you,” He said with a smile, and Aemond merely brushed past her as they walked. He rolled his eyes.

“It wouldn't kill you to say thank you.” Jace said with a frown, and Aemond rolled his eyes. 

“It just might.” He snapped back, and the prince shook his head, his black curls brushing against the skin of his face. 

“You can be really unpleasant sometimes, did you know that?” He snarked, and Aemond smiled humorlessly. 

“Good.” 

Jace exhaled loudly and knocked on the door, waiting for the feminine voice to call out. 

“Enter.” 

And he pushed the door open, Aemond following, and he stared at the woman. She had pin straight black hair, a beautiful face with pale and unblemished skin. She looked imposing as she stared at them from her desk, and gestured them forward. He and Aemond sat in front of her, and he spoke. 

“Lady Mysaria,” He said softly, and Aemond’s eyes snapped to him, but Jace only looked at her. He uncloaked himself and stared at her, watching as she inclined her head and the corner of her lips pulled up in a slight smirk. 

“Prince Jacaerys, Prince Aemond.” She greeted. “What brings you here?” 

“You know all about King’s Landing, do you not.” Jace stated, the words being a question but his tone making it as a statement. She stared at him consideringly for a moment, before she nodded.

“I know enough.” Her voice had a knowing lilt to it as she eyed him critically. “What sort of information do you require?” 

“I need someone to do a job for me,” Jace said coldly. “For a price. I need you to point me in the right direction.” 

“What job?” She questioned, and he ignored Aemond’s searching look. 

“Does it matter?” He countered smoothly. 

“I say it does,” Mysaria countered back with a raised brow. “Who are you trying to kill?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Jace said simply. “Not kill. Merely, capture.” 

Understanding dawned upon Aemond, who now turned his fierce glare to Mysaria, who wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. 

“The Red Keep and King’s Landing have many rat catchers and dishonored soldiers,” Mysaria said blithely, as though it were only in passing. “Two of them frequent my establishments. In fact,” She said, rustling a few papers and leaning forward, a smirk on her face. “They’re here now.” 

“Retrieve them for me.” He said to her. A demand, not a request. She raised a brow. 

“Be careful, My Prince.” She warned. “Some people don’t appreciate being ordered by green boys.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her defiantly. 

“Are any such people in the room with us right now?” He countered. She gracefully rose from her chair, a smirk on her face.

“You truly were raised by Daemon Targaryen.” Was her answering reply, and she swept away from the room. The door had barely shut when Aemond whirled around to him, a critical look in his eye.

“What are you planning?” He demanded.

Jace turned to him. “I’m going to get us Larys Strong.” 

“By hiring assassins?” Aemond hissed. “They’ll likely kill him before we can ascertain anything worthwhile.” 

“They will not kill him.” Jace said confidently. 

“How are you so sure?” Aemond queried, intrigued by the situation they found themselves in. Jace grasped Aemond’s shoulder and stared into his eyes, thousands of words in his face that bubbled just beneath the surface. 

“Because I shall make it clear, if they kill him, I’ll kill them.” 

Silence enveloped them for a moment, but that was enough. Mysaria walked back in through the door, the two people he had in mind following her. 

Daemon was not the only one prone to eavesdropping, hence how Jace knew about Lady Misery, and how he knew about these two men. Blood and Cheese.

Jace stared at the grimy, gruff men with glints in their eyes. “Leave us.” He said to Mysaria, who for a moment stayed still where she stood, before she inclined her head and swept away from the room.

He unsheathed his dagger and fingered it as he spoke to them. 

“I need you to do a job for me.” He said, touching the sharpened edge of his dagger and stared at them. “You shall be paid. Handsomely .” 

“What do you need us to do?” One of them asked gruffly, he didn’t know which was which, and he didn’t honestly care. 

“Tonight, you will sneak into the Red Keep at the Hour of the Wolf.” Jace said simply. “You will find and deliver Larys Strong to the entrance of the Black Cells, where I will meet you. Unharmed.” 

“We’re bloody assassins,” One of them spat. “Not errand boys.” 

“Should you get carried away and kill him,” Jace continued as though he had not spoken. “I will kill you in retaliation.” 

“And why should we do what you say?” The other asked, and Jace lifted a pouch full of gold which he tossed to them. 

The larger one caught it, eyeing him. Jace ran the dagger along the wooden desk, the metal scraping against the wood causing a grating sound to fill the air. 

“You shall get the rest when you’ve delivered Larys Strong to me.” He made eye contact with the two of them. “Do we have an accord?” 

He knew Aemond watched in interest as the events unfolded, and the smaller one answered. 

“Deal.” 

It was a few hours later when Aemond and Jace had roused Cregan, Aegon, Daemon, and Daeron from their slumber and they made their way — with secret passages — down to the entrance of the Black Cells. They had arrived during the guard rotation, waiting for them to leave, knowing they had fifteen minutes to smuggle in Larys Strong unseen. 

Blood and Cheese found them there, and Cregan whistled lowly. Larys was struggling against their grip, a sack over his head, muffled sounds escaping him. 

“Nobody saw you? Or heard him?” Jace questioned coolly. 

“He only just woke up,” One of them said gruffly. “We had to hit him over the head.” 

Jace shrugged, not caring if the weasel of a man was mildly concussed. Daemon eyed them critically before he threw the second pouch of gold at them. 

“Go.” Daemon demanded. “Make sure nobody sees you.” 

They slinked and disappeared into the shadows, and the man hauled a struggling Larys Strong into the heart of the cells. Cregan lit the way with a flame in his hand and Aemond and Daemon held the man by his arms, tossing him into a cell. Jace nearly grinned at the thump he heard when his body collided painfully to the ground, and did grin at his moan of pain. 

Daeron ripped the sack from his head, and the man blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the light from the flame. His eyes widened as he realized just who had him in their grasp. 

“My Princes,” he greeted croakily. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“Don’t act innocent, Larys.” Aegon said dryly. “Your treasons have finally caught up with you, it seems.” 

“I—forgive me, I don’t know what you’re referring to.” The smarmy man spoke, eyes wide with barely veiled fear. “This has to be a misunderstanding–” 

“You killed Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong at Harrenhal.” Jace said coldly. “There is no misunderstanding.” 

The man stilled, then a smirk spread across his face. 

“What does it matter?” Larys asked. “Missing your father, are you?” 

They eyed Jace, thinking he would lose his temper and lunge, but he merely smirked. 

“Jealous?” He asked. “Because no woman would go near a disfigured, ugly little cretin like you? Whereas your brother,” He said, a grin growing as he crouched, leveled with the man whose expression had fallen to an ugly glare. “Oh he was handsome, strong , and caught the eye of a beautiful Princess?” 

The man nearly lunged for him, but Jace stepped back and Cregan quickly grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him back down with a painful breath as Cregan was none too gentle. A pop filled the air and the man groaned as the Northman dislocated his shoulder. 

“The only reason you’re still breathing,” Daemon smoothly interjected. “Is because you, as the Master of Whisperers, can answer a few questions for us.” 

Through gritted teeth and panting breaths, the kinslayer spoke. 

“And why should I help you?” 

“If you don’t tell us what we wish to know, we’ll extract the information from you.” Daeron said with a wild grin. “Painfully.” 

“Should you cooperate, we’ll give you the gift of a painless, fast, death.” Aemond continued, and Jace stared coldly in the middle of the two of them. 

“A mercy you did not grant your father and brother.” He said coolly. 

“You’re bluffing.” Larys spoke, and as soon as he did, Cregan stabbed a dagger into his calf. The man howled in pain, the noise being swallowed by the stone, not a person could hear him this deep into the cells. 

“Are we?” Daemon asked dryly. He inhaled sharply, in faux sympathy. “That looks painful. Cregan, do it again.” 

“Stop!” Larys shouted when Cregan removed the dagger from his flesh with a squelching noise, and raised it once more. He stopped, staring at Larys. 

“Breaking already?” He snorted, voice low and raspy from his sleep still. “You’re no fun.” 

“What do you want to know?” Larys asked through his teeth, sweat on his brow and blood flowing freely from the wound on his leg.

“Who is Otto Hightower working with?” Daemon demanded. Larys snorted. 

“You’ll have an easier chance finding a specific piece of hay in a haystack.” Larys said smugly. “Gods,” he snorted in dry amusement. “You cannot even find the right questions to ask.” 

Jace clenched his jaw and grinded his teeth. 

“Or perhaps you rose too far above your station,” Jace suggested. “And you know nothing.” 

“There are many people who want to see the dragons die.” Larys snarled. “I cannot possibly know the names of them all.” 

“But you know enough,” Daeron pressed. “The Maesters, the Faith, you knew of it. Who is behind it all?” 

Larys smirked cruelly. “Who else, but the Hightowers?” Larys asked rhetorically. “They have been plotting for a long time. The web of deceit goes deeper than even I know.” 

Daemon crouched forward, grabbing the dagger from Cregan and holding it to the man's throat, drawing a bead of blood as he hissed. 

“Do not play games with me, Clubfoot.” He snarled. “I will hear the truth of it.” 

Larys swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing against the dagger. “The truth of it?” He echoed. “Shall your son hear the truth about the death of his so-called father Ser Laenor?” 

Daemon tensed, and Jace turned his glare to his father, his heart thumping in his chest, blood roaring in his veins. His ears were ringing. 

“What is he talking about?” Jace asked, and Larys smirked. 

“Now is not the time, Jace.” Daemon whispered. 

“No,” Jace snapped, grabbing Daemon and turning him around. “ What is he talking about?” 

From the corner of his eyes he noticed Daeron, Aegon, Aemond, and Cregan exchange wary glances, and Larys chuckled lowly, a haunting, grating sound. 

“My my,” He crooned. “Is the House of Dragon not as united as you say you are?” Jace clenched his jaw and leveled a glare at Daemon, saying this isn’t over before he stormed to Larys and grabbed him by the throat, lifting the choking man up in the air and slamming him against a stone wall harshly. 

Larys was turning purple, thrashing and clawing and kicking at Jace frantically who remained unmoved. 

“Understand this, Lord Strong.” He hissed. “You will give us what we ask for. I don’t care when it is, I will get it out of you. I will hear you scream, as your father and brother screamed in the fire.” He hissed softly. “As their flesh melted from their bones, as they frantically tried to escape from the death you brought to them. And once you’ve told me all you know, and your voice is hoarse from screaming and pleading, I will kill you.” 

Larys was close to dying now, Jace knew. “Is that understood?” 

The slimy man nodded emphatically, and Jace dropped him to the floor, watching as he clutched his throat, coughing and hacking, rapidly blinking his watery eyes. 

“I will leave you some time to gather your thoughts, my lord.” Jace said softly, turning on his heel and walking away. Daemon reached for him once they left the man’s ear shot and Jace grasped his hand. 

“Don’t.” He snarled. “I will hear the truth of it from you.” He glared. Daemon eyed the others warily. 

“I will tell you.” Daemon said simply. “Later.” 

Jace bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl, turning from the man who raised him since he was but a boy, and stormed away. 

Aemond, Daeron, Aegon, and Cegan followed him until they reached the exit, eyeing the guards stationed in front of them, backs to them. They hid in the shadows, and with a meaningful look at Jace, Daemon stepped forward. 

“My Prince!” The guards were startled. “We didn’t know you were—” 

The voices trailed away as they slipped past once they were distracted speaking to Daemon. Aegon grabbed Jace by the shoulder who tensed and turned to look at them. 

“Come,” Aegon said simply. “You look like you could use a drink.” 

And so, he allowed himself to be steered by Aegon into the kitchens in the dead of night, not a soul to be seen and heard, and watched as Aegon popped open the cork of the wine and took a large swig.

“Is this really a good idea?” Aemond asked, eyeing the drink distastefully. Cregan snorted, taking a large gulp of his own drink. 

“What else do we have to do?” He asked gruffly, and Aemond shrugged. The five men sat in the dimly lit area, each nursing their own cups in silence as they drank together. 

“What do you think he knows?” Daeron asked softly, referring to Larys. 

“Nothing.” Jace snorted. “He knows nothing, I’m almost sure of it.” 

“So why don’t we just kill him?” Aegon snorted, and Jace shook his head ruefully. 

“Because I’m not entirely sure of it.” He said in response. “And until I am sure of it, we can’t kill him.” 

“We’re in over our heads.” Cregan said, taking another deep gulp of his drink. “We don’t know anything.” 

Aemond sighed, sipping his drink. “If we have burn them all, we will. We’ll rebuild the Citadel with allegiance sworn to the Crown if we must.” 

Conversation faded from that, the lull between them being a comfort in the silence, and soon the drunker they became, the conversation soon became filled with wild jests and boisterous laughs. 

Jace felt a warmth — not from the alcohol — fill him. He had missed moments like these, where they weren’t soldiers. 

He was glad he got to see Aemond’s mischievous smirk, Aegon’s boisterous laugh, Cregan’s fond eyes, Daeron’s handsome, dimpled smile. Glad he got to know what it was like to laugh and joke with them, as though an executioner's sword wasn’t hanging over their very heads. 

He will deal with everything tomorrow, he will be a Prince of the Realm when the sun rises and his duties settle upon his shoulders again. For now, he was a young man, getting drunk and laughing with his friends. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER    XV 

So I bare my skin

And I count my sins

And I close my eyes

And I take it in

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

The next morning greeted Jacaerys with a headache and fogginess that filled his head. He felt like his brain was banging on his skull, like a man hitting a door over and over trying to escape from its confinement. The memories rushed back to him, staying up until the rays of light and the rising dawn peeked from the skies, drinking wine with the others. It was a fond memory, and now — because of the raging tidal wave that was his headache — it was like his nightmare. 

He groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily and his tousled hair, his mouth tearing open with a loud yawn. Gods, he was never drinking again. But then, the memories of everything that occurred the night before came crashing into his mind, waking him up as though a bucket of cold water had been poured all over him. 

Larys Strong was in the Black Cells, and nobody knew. Once they find out all the information he has — if he even has any — they will give him the proper channels of a Lord. He will be put on trial, very publicly, and once he is found guilty, Larys Strong will be executed for treason against the crown and kinslaying . 

The revelations and the betrayals of the night came rushing back, and Jace felt heat prick his eyes. Harwin was murdered by his brother, and now he finds out that Daemon had something to do with the death of Laenor Velaryon. It was his worst nightmare come true. Perhaps because he was a bastard, he was to bear the curse of having no true father at all, as they kept being ripped away from him, be it in mind, body, or soul. 

He tried to tell himself it made no difference to him. Tried to tell himself he long ago made peace with the death of Laenor Velaryon, and Harwin Strong. The circumstances of their deaths may have changed but does it matter? Dead was dead. Neither Laenor nor Harwin would ever come back, and he’d never be graced with the sight of their smiles or the sound of their laughter. Never would he be graced with a strong arm on his shoulder or a gentle soft hand ruffling his hair. 

He thought he had made his peace with that as a child long ago. But now it seemed like those scarred wounds had been torn open by a blunt object, and were bleeding. He was bleeding and it may not show but his strength was waning and he felt the pressure finally settle upon his shoulders in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since the moment his feet touched the soil of King’s Landing once more. 

He sighed and bathed, freeing his skin and hair of the stench of the alcohol intermingling with his sweat. He dressed himself in his regular all black garb and decided it was time to brave the day. Brave the whispers and the stares, brave his duties and the burden that he had willingly placed upon himself. With a sharp inhale and a steel in his spine he exited his chambers and made his way to Daemon’s, like a man on a mission.

He would hear the truth of it, even if the truth would kill him. He knocked on the door, waiting to hear the muffled voice of either his mother or Daemon to beckon him inside. 

“Enter.” It was his mother. He slowly opened the door, forcing himself to swallow his hesitance — he was terrified of the answer he was to receive — and went inside. His mother was dressed in black, as she always was, but this time it was different. 

She was not dressed in black for the colors of their house. She was dressed in black for mourning. He tried not to dwell on it. Tried to move forward. Tried not to focus too much on her wavering smile and her pale face. It had not been long since she lost Visenya, and for a moment he marveled at her strength. 

“Jace,” She breathed softly, a smile on her face and her eyes lighting up. “How wonderful to see you.” 

“You as well, mother.” Jace whispered softly, and his eyes darted around the room. Her smile turned knowing. 

“The room is secure, my son.” She said softly. “You may speak freely here.” 

“Where is Daemon?” He asked, clearing his throat. She furrowed her brows. 

“He is in the other room, bathing. He was just out for a ride on Caraxes.” Rhaenyra said softly. She leaned forward, reaching out to lay her own hand softly upon his home, a worried look in her eyes. 

“What is this about, Jace?” She asked softly. 

He steeled himself, and looked into her soft, loving eyes. 

“Aemond and myself went to see the White Worm,” Jace said simply. “And have since, along with the help of two assassins, Aegon, Daeron, Cregan, and Daemon, deposited Larys into the Black Cells.” 

She gasped softly, eyes wide, and a slow smirk spread across her face and she shook her head, a light laugh escaping her lips. 

“You never cease to amaze me, my son.” She whispered. 

“He allegedly knew nothing.” Jace began. “But he said something of interest, something of which upon seeing Daemon’s face, I knew held some truth to it.” 

He felt her hand tense upon his own, felt her body go still as she stared at him, her smile slowly falling from her lips.

“And what is that?” She asked slowly, her voice growing cold and her eyes distant. 

He inhaled sharply, and looked directly into her eyes. 

“What happened to Laenor?” He asked coolly. “I know Daemon had something to do with it.” 

She was still for a long moment, tearing her gaze away from him to stare longingly outside of the window, as though trying to see somewhere from a land far away. 

“Not just Daemon.” She whispered softly. “But you must understand—” she reached for him, only to violently recoil as he flinched away from her. 

Jace’s blood went cold and he refused her touch. He felt the betrayal flood every vein, filling his blood with a boiling fury. 

“How could you?” He asked softly, his vision blurring as his eyes were pricked with heat. 

“Please my son,” Rhaenyra whispered, her tone begging. “You must understand, we had little choice.” 

“Oh do enlighten me, mother .” Jace snapped fiercely. “Tell me.” 

“Laenor and I were never in love,” Rhaenyra whispered. “He was my cousin, my best friend, and I loved him. But we were not able to do our duties as man and wife.” She whispered. “We tried, though.” 

He listened intently as she spoke, watching as an age old bitterness bubbled up within her. 

“ Gods, we tried.” She spat. “But we could not. Criston killed Laenor’s love, Joffrey of Lonmouth at our wedding. He fell into an awful depression, my son. He was my best friend, I did not like to see him suffer.” 

“So you had children with Harwin,” Jace answered. “Yes, I know all this.” 

“Be patient, Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra chided, and exhaled sharply. Daemon then made his presence known. 

“After Laena had died,” Daemon began. “Rhaenyra and I had… reunited .” He said, and Jace felt disgust flow through him. 

“Gods, you fucked him at his wife’s funeral?” He ground out, feeling a fury bubble up from within his belly and spread to every fiber of his body, the mixed emotions that he was feeling making his head spin. 

“I’ve loved Daemon since I was a girl.” Rhaenyra defended coolly. “Father never let me marry him. It was—we are one half, one soul, Jace.” 

“One half and one soul with little respect for the dead and mourning, it seems.” Jace said coldly. Rhaenyra flinched, Daemon glared. Jace met his glare, defiance with anger. He would not be cowed by Daemon, not now, not ever. 

“Laenor had been broken by Laena’s death.” Rhaenyra said softly, her gaze still on the world outside her large window. “I could not watch him break anymore. Not when I slowly watched everything he was get chipped away while he was here. So, I offered him a way out.” 

“You killed him as a ‘way out’?” Jace scorned, bitterly shaking his head as tears of anger flowed down his cheeks. “Were we so awful that death was his wanted escape?” 

“No!” Rhaenyra nearly shouted, jostling over and kneeling in front of him, gathering his face in her hands. He only now noticed she was crying as well. “No, my sweet boy. Laenor loved you all, loved you so fiercely.” 

“He’s not dead.” Daemon cut in, sighing. Jace’s eyes snapped to Daemon. “We found a drunken wastrel that was already half dead, made it look real.” 

He heard the words like there was water in his ears. He’s not dead. He’s not dead he’s not dead hesnotdead— he felt his heart pounding in his ears. Then the betrayal settled in. He left. He left them all like they were nothing. Perhaps they were nothing to him. He may have been their father, but they were never his sons. Not really. His heart felt torn, as though an animal had savaged it with its claws. 

“Laenor and his lover, Qarl, are somewhere in Essos now.” Rhaenyra whispered. “Living happily, I should hope.” 

It was silent for a moment, mother and father staring at him as though he were to explode any moment. He felt the relief in his veins, before the ice filled him. 

“How could you all be so cruel?” He asked softly. “So selfish ?” 

Rhaenyra recoiled, pulling her hands away and he stood up, glaring at them. 

“I assume Rhaenys and Corlys do not know?” He asked stiffly. “I assume you all let them believe they lost both children so close to one another? Let them mourn, all the while knowing their son still lived and abandoned his duties, his children , and fucked off to Essos?” Jace spat. The anger was visceral in him, it was burning with the fury of a thousand suns, with the fury of a thousand roaring dragons. 

“You will not speak to your mother that way.” Daemon reprimanded sharply, and Jace whirled his body wildly to look at Daemon, a poisonous glare in his eyes. 

“You will not speak to me that way.” Jace spat harshly. “You, Daemon, who is the architect of this farce.” He said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “The Rogue Prince everyone. Daemon Targaryen, master of schemes to get into his niece’s bed.” He knew it was unfair of him to say that. He didn't know who's plan it was, who's idea it was, but he needed someone to blame, and Daemon was right there.  

“Jace.” Rhaenyra snapped sharply. He shook his head. 

“I need some time.” Jace whispered, and he strode out of the room, ignoring his mothers calls for his name. He ended up in the training yard, grabbing a dulled practice sword and hacking away at the straw dummies with a fury that he had never done before. He hacked and stabbed and sliced and slashed his fury against the dummies for hours, until his arms turned to jelly and turned weak and numb, and he still kept going. 

“—ace! Jace!” A voice called for him, he registered it distantly. Not slowing down in his anger. A warm hand on his shoulder. “Jace!” 

He turned violently, sword whipping with him as the person ducked and cursed. The air rippled, the whooshing sound filling his ears as it cut through the air, narrowly missing Daeron's head.

“Fuck! Jace!” It was Daeron. Cregan and Aegon were lingering behind him, their worried eyes upon him. He must have been a harrowing sight to behold. Hair disheveled, eyes wide and burning and bloodshot. 

“Sorry, Daeron.” Jace mumbled. He dropped the sword to the ground with a clatter. 

“What’s wrong?” Daeron asked softly, purple meeting purple. Jace wanted to tell them, wanted to unburden himself with the secrets that now lay shrouded upon his shoulders, another responsibility to weigh him down. Another secret that was not his own to keep. 

“Nothing.” Jace said simply. Daeron shot him an unimpressed look. 

“For some reason,” he began sarcastically. “I don’t believe you.” 

“You have your own secrets, Daeron.” Jace shot back. “I can have mine.” 

Daeron considered him for a moment, staring at him with pursed lips, before nodding. Aegon and Cregan approached. 

“Is everything okay?” Cregan asked simply, and Jace merely stared at the floor. 

“Yes.” he said stiffly. They stared at him for a moment before Aegon spoke. 

“Okay,” He whispered. 

“Is there anything you need?” Jace asked, clearing his throat. 

“We came here to take you to the small council chambers.” Cregan whispered. “Family meeting.” 

Jace nodded, straightening the sleeves of his jacket and his tunic, steeling himself. 

“Let’s go, then.” The four of them walked in an oppressive silence, and Jace felt like he was suffocating. He stopped them short of the doors, and looked at them. 

“I mislike the tension between us.” Jace said softly. “Know, that if it was my grievance and secret to tell, I would have told you.” 

“I understand if you don’t trust us,” said Aegon evenly, gesturing to himself and Daeron. Cregan’s lingering stare made Jace shift. 

“I do trust you.” Jace whispered. “I never thought I would say that, especially about you, no offense,” He laughed for a moment, and Aegon waved him off as Daeron bit back a smirk. But Jace looked at all three of them meaningfully. “I trust you all with my life. Petty childhood grievances notwithstanding, we’ve come so far. You are all my family.” 

Aegon swallowed, and Daeron blinked rapidly. Cregan just smiled, and nodded. 

“We trust you too.” Cregan said softly. “And we trust your judgment, Jace.” 

And so they entered the small council chambers, noting everyone had already sat down. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Jace asked as he sat down. 

“Daemon and Rhaenyra called this meeting.” Rhaenys said. “It must be important, Corlys is setting sail today, I must see him off then prepare for my own travels.” 

Jace tensed. 

“Before we begin on that,” He began slowly, he looked at Aemond, who nodded. They had spoken of this when they were up in the night drinking wine with the others. 

“We will send an envoy to Dorne.” Jace began. “I believe it should be Aemond, myself, and Cregan.” 

“No.” Viserra said sternly. “You are all young, you will not be going alone to Dorne.” 

“Mother—” Cregan interrupted, and Viserra shook her head. 

“No. I shall go to Dorne in your stead. I am older, experienced, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lady of the North.” She said, “What are the terms I will be offering?’ 

“You will not go alone, either.” Jace said simply. “Aemond?” 

“Aunt Viserra shall accompany me on my journey to the Southernmost Kingdom.” Aemond said agreeably. “I have no grievance with that.” 

“The terms will be thus,” Jace began, wringing his hands together. “Aemond shall offer himself to marry Coryanne Martell, the second daughter of Dorne.” 

Alicent inhaled sharply. 

“No.” She said, “I will not have my son marry a woman that would—that would poison him or — or kill him in his sleep !” She spluttered. 

“We must,” Aemond said simply. “We must bring Dorne into the fold, and we must do so amicably. We need allies, and we cannot have them side with the Triarchy as they have. Should they pull their ships from the fleet and blockade at the Stepstones, Lord Corlys’ victory will be all but assured, and we can turn our eyes elsewhere.” 

“But–” 

“I asked Aemond for a reason,” Jace said. “Aemond is the most likely to be able to handle a princess of Dorne,” He said wryly with a small smirk. “He will not let her best him.” 

Aemond smirked coldly. 

“You can be sure of that.” The one eyed Prince inclined his head. “It will be done.” 

“And should they refuse the marriage?” Viserra asked coolly, eyes narrowed in on Aemond who met her gaze defiantly. 

“Then we shall finish what the Conqueror Rhaenys and her dragon Meraxes started, and we shall burn them to the ground.” Aemond said simply, and Viserra inclined her head.

Once Viserys agreed to the course of action they had planned, Daemon and Rhaenyra began to fidget. 

“What was it you wished to tell us, daughter?” Viserys croaked hoarsely. Rhaenyra sighed, looking beseechingly at Rhaenys, who’s confusion was evident. 

“I beg you to forgive me.” Rhaenyra whispered. Rhaenys inclined her head, eyes narrowed.

Rhaenyra began speaking, Jace tuning out the words he had heard before in favor of staring at Rhaenys’ face, watching as a myriad of emotions flickered in her eyes. The furrowing of her brows, the trembling of her lip, the widening of her eyes ever so slightly. He watched the shaking of her hands as she tried to steady them, the way her purple eyes glistened and looked more shiny than before, and the way she steeled herself, cutting all emotions from her face as quick as they came. 

The room was silent once they finished, a pin drop could be heard in the quiet. Rhaenys stared ahead of her, eyes unseeing, glazed over, and she spoke. 

“How could you?” She whispered softly. “How could you do this to me?” 

“It was necessary.” Daemon said. “Laenor was wasting away, Rhaenyra needed someone at her side, someone that could protect her—” 

“Protect her.” Rhaenys snarled. “Protect her from the prison of her own making. How dare you take my son from me? Hide him from me?” 

“Rhaenys—” Rhaenyra whispered. 

“How dare you let me think I lost both my children?” Jace heard her voice crack in tandem with his own heart as he watched her. He knew she didn’t love him, not the way she loved Baela and Rhaena, but she was his grandmother. The only one he ever knew. 

“Please.” Daemon whispered. She tensed, and stood. 

“I need some time.” She whispered, and left the room, dress and skirts billowing behind her. Cregan, Aegon, and Daeron turned their gazes to him, eyes wide. 

“Fuck.” Aegon whispered. 

“Fuck, indeed.” Jace whispered back. He wasted no more time, and strided over to Luke, who looked completely and utterly heartbroken and destroyed.

Viserra immediately began to berate Rhaenyra and Daemon, who bowed their heads at the table and took every barb, every curse, and swallowed every insult. They knew they deserved it. 

“Jace.” Luke whimpered, and Jace gathered Luke in his arms, held him tight as Baela and Rhaena surrounded them as well. He kissed the crown of his head and held the twins’ hands. 

“I’m here Luke,” he whispered, cradling his brother's shaking body. “Your big brother’s here.” 

He didn’t know if their newly mended family could survive the chasm that this news has now bared between them. A deep chasm of darkness, the walls were crumbling, their enemies were closing in, and the House of the Dragon was falling apart. The foreboding filled him, his stomach felt like lead in his body. 

He glanced up into the warm eyes of Elaena, who stared with such heartbreaking understanding that he felt his body being torn in two. 

He didn’t know how he could fix this. For once in his life, Jace did not know what to do.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER       XVI

I feel you crumble in my arms down to your heart of stone

You bled me dry just like the tears you never show 

– ♛♛♛ –

JACAERYS 

He didn’t know why he found himself down at the docks, watching from afar as Corlys and Rhaenys embraced one another in a tearful goodbye, seeing them hold one another and press their foreheads together, sharing a gentle kiss on their lips. He imagined the tear tracks along their faces, imagined the righteous fury in their eyes once they learned of the deception — of not just Daemon and Rhaenyra, but of Laenor as well — and their heartbreak. 

He knew Rhaenys would not forsake them, nor their family, despite everything that was said ( and remains unsaid ) , knows that they need someone to blame, and they cannot bring themselves to place any part of the blame on their beloved son. He shares in their grief, not in the same way they feel it, of course, but knowing that he may not be dead, but they had lost him regardless. He supposes it’s worse, in a way, knowing he chose to leave them, rather than being taken from them unwillingly. 

Jace just hopes wherever he is, he is living a happy life. A life full of selfishness, but a happy one nonetheless. He could not begrudge Laenor too much, if Jace had the chance to leave the blood and the wars and conspiracies and whispers behind, he’s not so sure he wouldn’t take it. 

A lie he tells himself. A pretty one, of pretty words and false understandings. Jace would never abandon his family. But, words of comfort are rarely ever words of truth. This he learned long ago, when his childhood had been officially stripped from him at the realization that he looked nothing like his supposed father, and everything like Ser Harwin Strong. 

He tore his gaze away from them, and turned his back on his grandparents. He knew what he needed to do, and decided to look for the cavalry. 

Aegon and Luke were in the training yard with one another, training diligently under Daemon. Aegon was improving with the sword with leaps and bounds since he began training with them, much to the obvious chagrin of Criston Cole. He decided it was best not to interrupt them. His Grandsire was more often than not left to his own devices, as most of the family could not bear to look upon him at this moment. 

His mother was with Viserra. So, he walked around the castle grounds, going to the Godswood, knowing he could find who he was looking for there. 

Cregan and Elaena sat underneath the Heart Tree together, composing what seemed to be a letter as they laughed and smiled with one another, looking at the purest examples of siblings he had seen other than his own family. The love they had for one another was evident in the barest of glances, smallest of touches. He found himself smiling softly at the display. 

“Just who I was looking for,” Jace said softly. “Am I intruding?” 

Cregan’s head lifted, his smile not fading — it grew wider upon seeing Jace — and Elaena’s eyes traveled to him, her smile remaining in her eyes, if not on her lips.

“You could never intrude, Jace.” Cregan said warmly. “How may we help you?” 

Jace felt warmth bloom in his chest. 

“I wanted to go pay a visit to our friend in the dark, and was wondering if you could accompany me?” He said simply. 

“Of course,” Cregan said, his smile fading and a grim look of business overtaking his face. He turned to Elaena, who was already up from the ground and dusting her skirts off. 

“What?” She asked, indignant. “You didn’t think you could go without me, could you?” She rolled her eyes, and the three of them began their journey towards the castle. 

“I want to grab Aemond and Daeron.” Jace said, and Cregan nodded. 

“They should be in Aemond’s chambers, last I knew.” Elaena said simply, and Jace nodded his head in acknowledgement. The door was guarded by Cole, and Jace suppressed the urge to sigh in exasperation. 

“Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron wished not to be disturbed.” Cole said sharply in lieu of greeting. Jace rolled his eyes. 

“Well, I’m disturbing them.” He said simply, stepping forward. He noted Cole’s grip on his sword tighten, his knuckles going white, and he chuckled coldly. “Are you going to threaten me, Cole?” He all but purred at the man, a smirk on his face. “The last person who did so lost a hand, if you so recall. You do not have the protection of an important name or position the way he did.” 

It was a long moment of a test of wills, and he knew Cregan’s patience behind him was waning. 

“Step aside, Cole.” Cregan said harshly, his Northern brogue making him sound all the more gruff and threatening. 

And with a visibly clenched jaw and gritted teeth, he stepped aside, and Jace opened the door. Daeron was lounged on the settee, sprawled along the length of it with his long limbs. Aemond was pacing in front of a map, and the pair’s heads lifted up upon the entrance of Jace, Elaena, and Cregan. 

Daeron immediately shifted upon seeing them, allowing them space to sit next to him. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Aemond asked. “Again.” He finished dryly. Jace smirked. 

“Is it too much to suggest I enjoy your company?” Jace asked glibly. 

“Yes,” Elaena snorted, and smiled a sickly sweet smile at Aemond. “Nobody enjoys Aemond’s company.” 

Daeron bit back a speck of laughter that sounded more like a huff. Aemond grinned. 

“Oh Elaena, how I have missed your dulcet tones.” He remarked, and Cregan leaned back in the seat, a smirk on his face.

“ Ha ha .” Elaena said dryly. 

“You two love each other, truly.” Jace said simply, ignoring their shared look of offended disgust. “I have come to ask a favor.” 

“I’ve had enough of your favors, Jacaerys.” Aemond snapped. “If I recall, your last favor got me betrothed to a woman that would kill me in my sleep.” 

“You volunteered for that one.” Jace rebutted. “My last favor actually took you to a brothel.” 

“As if that is any better,” Aemond snorted. “What is it?” 

“I need to know what Larys knows,” Jace pressed. “I need a method of getting it out of him.” 

“What else is there to know?” Aemond scorned. “The Faith and the Maesters conspire with the Hightowers to kill us and our Dragons. The only reason they are left alive is because our hands are tied by my dallying fool of a father.” 

“Should we even need his permission?” Cregan asked, eyebrows raised. 

“He is the King.” Daeron deadpanned. “We cannot do anything without his approval.” 

“I say we lock him in his chambers, keep him addled on milk of the poppy for the week and set about beheading Maesters and Hightowers.” Eleana snarked.

They quieted for a moment, and stared at her like she had three heads. 

“What?” She asked in defense. “We look weak and out of our depth. Heads shall begin to roll. We have the letters and correspondence, it need not even be a public trial.” 

“Otto has healed from the loss of his hand as much as he can,” Cregan said simply. “Publicly strip him of his position and send him to Old Town if we cannot kill him.” 

“If we send him to Old Town we will not see what his next moves are.” Daeron countered. “It would also be foolish to think Otto is the only Hightower involved. Ormund and his family are just as a part of it as he is.” 

“Let us go visit our little friend in the cells,” Jace said coldly. “And see if he’s feeling a bit more… cooperative .” 

And so, they go down to the cells, deep into the pit of darkness that seems never ending. Their footsteps echo against the stone floor, in harmony with the dripping of dew and water onto the ground. 

Through the rusted bars they see his crumpled visage on the ground, miserable, small, and malformed — just like him. Jace slammed the hilt of his dagger against the bars, the clanging noise making Larys look up from the ground and into his eyes. He smirked, looking at the gaunt form of the kinslayer. 

“Come to grace me with your presence once more, my Prince?” Larys croaked out, then with a weak smirk and a flash of his eyes, he added “Or shall I call you nephew?” 

Jace snarled. “I see you’re feeling chatty today, Lord Strong.” He eyed him up and down, a cruel smile on his lips. “Good.” 

“You’re going to tell us all you know, Strong.” Cregan said with a wolf-like menacing grin. “Every little detail.” 

“Their plans are ever changing,” Larys snorted. “You discovered their attempts to harm dragons, just in time,” He added. “You’ve discovered their murderous tendencies in the child bed. They have no more cloak and dagger moves to make. All that’s left is war.” 

“War has been all but declared,” Daeron countered coolly. Larys smirked.

“‘ All but’ is sadly not equal to declared , now is it?” Larys said smoothly. “You have no choice, you will be forced to act, and you will have played right into their hands. The Faith Militant by my estimates is no feeble number.” 

“We have dragons,” Jace snorted. “They will not last against us.” 

“Perhaps not, but it won’t really matter now, will it?” Larys hissed. “They’ve killed enough of you through the years, whittled down your numbers and your family like picking apples off a tree. Whilst you dither about waiting for your senile King to allow you to make a move, they’ve already set up the pieces on the board.” 

Jace felt ice grip his heart and freeze the blood in his veins. 

“What are you talking about?” Jace rumbled, his voice deep and laced with fear. 

Larys smiled a slow, disturbing smile. 

“Your family is separated, is it not? A cousin alone, up North, a grandfather set sail,” He taunted, and his smile only grew. “Mothers in Maegor’s Holdfast.” 

Jace unlocked the bars and swung the door open, hand around Larys’ neck before anyone could even blink. The dagger in his other hand pressed firmly against the bobbing Adam's apple in the center of his small, wiry neck. 

“What have they planned?” Jace snarled, his face merely a centimeter away from Larys’. The Strong Lord’s disgusting breath hit his face as he laughed, a wheezing laugh. 

“You are too late,” Larys croaked. “You cannot save…them all. ” The warning bells rang in the distance, and in a rage Jace screamed, the dagger cut like a hot knife through butter, the blood spattered against his face, painting his skin red, making him look like The Warrior made flesh, a being, a deity of war, rage, and hatred. 

“Jace,” Aemond whispered. “Jace we have to go.” 

But his vision was swimming, his hand was shaking, he was drowning and oh, oh gods who was it who was it who was it . 

Larys’ body fell to the floor. Jace fell to his knees. They were calling his name, his vision was swimming with the blurred, panicked images of Aemond, Cregan, Elaena, and Daeron and they were begging him, pleading with him, to just get up and get UP Jace!

“Let’s go.” He whispered, and they hefted him up and they ran. They ran all the way to Maegor’s Holdfast, ran up the towers and to the royal apartments, ran to wherever they could and Jace felt a hand grip him by the wrist, dragging him into an alcove. The hand covered his mouth as he struggled and kicked and screamed, but nothing was heard. He felt a sharp pain, and heard a whispered hiss. 

“The Hightowers send their regards.” He was shoved away, and he tried to run toward his family, but they were too far ahead of him for him to catch up. His blood dripped behind him like a morbid trail as he stumbled across the stone steps.

They were far too ahead of him now and all he could do was scream. He held his body up against a wall and pressed a hand to his side, breathing sharply. He tensed as he felt wetness on his shirt, and when he pulled his hand back, it was covered in blood. His vision began to blacken at the edges, feeling his body teetering on the edge of consciousness, he couldn’t hold himself up. 

He fell. He didn’t know how it could have happened, how he could not have seen this person, his mind racing trying to find answers in blurred memories, his heart pounding furiously trying to compensate for his blood loss, then, in the corner of his eye, just before the unconsciousness sank in, he saw the figure cloaked in black leave the alcove he had just been pulled into (the place of his attempted? murder), a metallic glint showed the dagger covered with his blood. 

The darkness filled him, he heard a thump and a clatter, felt pressure against his wound — so so painful he tried to jerk away, but the hands held him in place — and the final thing he saw was Cregan’s face and blood covered hands. 

– ♛♛♛ –

AEMOND

It was a stupid mistake. He cursed himself for being blind to it now, running to their mother’s to save them from assassins when the number one target, the sole reason for the unification of their family and the discovery of the conspirators was right there. And they had played right into their trap, the assassin waiting for them, for him , right under their fucking noses. 

He and Daeron were the ones who tackled the assassin to the ground, ripping the cloak from his head and eyeing the carved seven pointed star in his forehead with disgust. The dagger clattered to the floor, the blood spattering off of it. Aemond tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the very still and very pale visage of Jace not a few feet away from him. 

Tried to ignore the ever growing pool of blood. Daeron grabbed the dagger in a white knuckled grip, not bothering to wipe the blood as he pressed it to the neck of the man. He was nondescript, with dirty and unkempt light brown hair, an unremarkable face with unremarkable brown eyes. 

Common. Forgettable. And yet, he had managed to wound a Prince. 

“I’m not going to bother asking who sent you,” Aemond hissed, dagger to the man’s throat. The man laughed maniacally. “How many do you have?” 

“Thousands.” The man croaked. “You are too late. You may incinerate us with your unnatural beasts, but the cards are unveiled now. Your Prince will soon die.” 

“That’s not certain.” Daeron snapped, eyes wide and frantic. 

“If the blade didn’t kill him,” The assassin croaked, a manic grin on his face, a mad glint in his eyes, and his fingers twitching. “The poison will.” 

“What poison?” Aemond hissed, but the Faith militant -- in quick succession -- had reached inside his robes, grabbed and swallowed a vial of liquid, and Aemond watched in horror as the man began to froth at the mouth and shake uncontrollably. 

“ For the Seven Who Are One .” He hissed out, and slumped dead against the floor. Aemond screamed, throwing the dagger across the hall and in anger punched one of the stone walls, ignoring the smeared trail of blood left by his knuckles and the sting of his torn skin. 

“We have to get him to a Healer!” Cregan snapped. “Help me carry him.” 

Daeron immediately helped hoist Jace’s body, trying not to jostle the gushing wound in his abdomen. 

“It’s no use,” Aemond said dully. “The blade was poisoned.” He didn't know why a sense of helplessness filled him, why he felt a numbness spread within him at the sight of Jace's crumpled body, looking weaker than Aemond had ever seen him, weaker than Jace had ever allowed himself to be seen. He'd hate this, Aemond thought dully. Not because he was hurt, Jace wouldn't care if he was hurt, he'd hate allowing anyone to see him this way. Aemond felt the visceral ned to shield Jace from prying eyes, to not allow anyone to look upon or to touch him. Elaena was catatonic in the corner, staring with unseeing eyes and shaking hands.

“He’s not dead.” Cregan snapped. “He’s still breathing, it means there is a chance.” 

“He’s not dead,” Aemond agreed. “But he’s as good as.” 

“I don’t have the time to argue with you.” Cregan hissed. “You’re either helping, or you aren’t. So, get out of my way, Aemond.” 

They stared at one another for a moment, before Aemond sighed, picked up the dagger, and the four of them (with Jace's body) made it to one of the Essosi Healers. They lay him down on the cot and watched as the healers shrouded and crowded around him, and Aemond merely stared at Jace’s unmoving body. His hand was limp, the blood still flowing freely, and there was not even a groan or grumble coming from his body. 

His chest was rising and falling erratically, unevenly. His skin was pale, his brow already having sweat collected upon it. He tried not to let it affect him. He never cared about Jace or their ilk before, but he couldn’t stop the beating of his heart — so loud he felt it could be heard up in the North — nor the shaking of his hands. 

He felt a stinging sensation in his eyes as the healers exclaimed that Jace’s heart had stopped, as they began pounding on his chest frantically yelling. As Jace began to convulse. He stood up, knuckles clenched so tightly he felt his fingernails rip into his skin, wanting to look away but not being able to physically tear his eyes away. 

He heard a whimper escape Elaena from his side, a choked up, whispered, strangled ‘ No ’ be heard from Cregan’s lips. 

A colorful curse filled with anger and hatred leaves his brother. But he could not say a word. Could not tear his eyes away from his nephew. From his friend. 

Deny it though he may, Jace had wormed his way into Aemond’s heart, into the small list of people — that now seemed to be ever growing — that Aemond had silently vowed to protect, and he failed in that protection. 

He registered the relieved murmuring from the healers, the rasping, deep breath from Jace, and the shaky, so fragile and soft, grateful release of air from his own. He wiped at the tear that slid down his cheek, and unclenched his fists. 

He registered a small, dainty hand now resting on his arm, and met the relieved, teary gaze of Elaena. She nodded at him, and gave a false, wobbly smile. And Aemond could not help it. They had a unique relationship, he and Elaena. 

He gathered her in his arms and hugged her, and if she felt the shaking of his shoulders, or a few drops of water fall upon her skin, she didn’t say a word, merely wracked her fingers along his back and in his hair, and held him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER    XVII 

A warning to the people

The good and the evil

This is war. 

– ♛♛♛ –

BAELON 

Not for the first time in the six moons that he had been acting Lord of Winterfell, he cursed his brother. Cregan had just dumped his responsibilities onto Baelon and fucked off to play Prince of the North in the court of vipers in the godsdamned South. He knew it wasn’t fair, that Cregan could trust no one else with this responsibility — as was proven by the pathetic usurpation attempt of their Uncle Bennard — and that their ‘family’ needed their presence. 

But, Baelon was family too. Baelon needed his family, the Starks. Not the Targaryen royals who had forsaken them until the moment was opportune to remember their existence. But, he still had his half sister, Sara Snow with him, helping him run the Keep like the Lady of Winterfell. 

Sara was one year older than Cregan, her mother having given birth to her two moons before his mother’s wedding to his father, and so Viserra had no contempt for the girl, as their father had never been unfaithful. She was raised with them, loved them, and gods, they loved her in turn. She had been his faithful companion in the lonely days and nights of ruling, his eldest and beloved sister.

He sat in Cregan’s solar, ruminating over sums and letters sent by the Lords of the North, letters sent by the Night’s Watch requesting aid, and not for the first time wished his brother was here, was home.

His direwolf lounged in front of the roaring fireplace, a large cold gray figure of fur in the corner. Balerion — a nod to his Valyrian heritage he normally ignored — was his fiercest friend, and his only companion other than his sister that he had with him. He noticed Balerion tense, his hackles raised and a snarl on his lips. 

“What is it, Balerion?” he asked his wolf softly. “Hm?” 

He shivered, though he was not cold. He tensed, sitting up in his seat and fingering the dagger he kept hidden within his sleeve. His hair on the back of his neck seemingly stood on end. 

He decided to get up from the comfortable leather seat and open the door of his solar, Balerion following him, snarling and growling lowly. He felt a tug of their bond, and for a moment his eyes flashed and he saw through the eyes of his beloved wolf, noting a shadow at the end of the hall his human eyes could not see, and he was just as soon back in his own body. 

He walked as though he did not know the intruder was there. It was the hour of the wolf, most inhabitants of the castle were long asleep by now, and the guards that had taken the night shift were guarding the gates and doors of Winterfell, or his sister’s corridor. He did not need any guard. 

Whatever cunt that had decided to infiltrate the walls of Winterfell would soon discover why the wolves of winter were feared by all. Not just the damned Boltons and whatever would be usurpers that his family had wiped out root and stem, they were feared all throughout the Kingdoms, and for good reason. 

He smirked devilishly. The South had short memories, and now would be the time for them to be reminded why nobody fucked with the Starks. He walked casually towards the figure hidden in the alcove, never looking in the direction outside his peripheral vision, and once he was close enough, the figure pounced , and Baelon grinned. 

His dagger was out quicker than the man could comprehend, and with quick succession the assassin had been pinned to the ground, Baelon hovering above the still cloaked figure with a dagger pressed to his neck. He ripped the hood away, and nearly recoiled at the Seven pointed Star carved into the man's forehead. 

He heard Balerion snarl, and saw his shadow pounce. He heard a grunt, a shout, and the tell-tale sound of a gurgle of blood.

He turned his head briefly and saw another shadowed assassin had been hidden on the opposite side, and smirked at his wolf, who’s maw was now covered in blood and his eyes were shining with a rabid, wild, thirst for blood.

“Good boy, Balerion.” He crooned, and turned his full attention to the still struggling Faith Militant. 

“I’d ask who sent you,” He drawled, straddling the struggling man, knife digging into his neck. He smirked at the bead of blood flowing down his neck, and the sweat trickling from the man’s forehead. “But I know what the Hightower cunts have been up to.” 

The man tried to reach for something in his belt, but Baelon was quicker.

“Ah, ah.” He clucked, shaking his head. He moved the knife from his neck and stabbed the man through the hand. He relished in the blood curdling scream let out by the assassin, and he himself reached for the pocket, finding a vial of poison. “Amateur.” He sighed, pocketing the vial for his own inspection. 

“Vile heathen.” The man snarled through his pain, and Baelon grinned. 

“Oh darling,” he purred. “I love it when you talk dirty.” 

“You’re insane,” The man croaked, eyes wide. “An insane abomination.” His voice was cloaked with horror, his eyes belaying the terror coursing through his veins, and Baelon’s smile only spread wider. 

He did love playing with his prey. 

“Mayhaps you can enlighten me as to why the Hightowers sent you here?” He asked conversationally, twisting the knife still stuck in the palm of his hand, relishing in his groan of agony, before harshly ripping the dagger from the wound. The blood was dripping from the steel as he pressed it back — harshly — to the neck of his assailant. 

“You will get nothing from me,” The man spat. “ Barbarian. ” 

“You wound me,” He said dryly. “Truly.” He pressed the dagger more firmly to the man’s neck, and the common idiot flinched. “Surely you knew you and your companion would die a horrible death coming here.” 

“I follow the Faith of the Seven,” He ground out. “I will die for my Faith.” 

“So you will,” Baelon whispered softly. “You will die, not to worry.” He confirmed, nodding his head, his silver hair falling in his eyes briefly. 

“Then kill me.” The man hissed. 

“Oh no, not yet. I’m not going to make it that easy.” Baelon grinned. “I know who sent you, I know you mean to kill me. That, however, begs the question: Why?” 

“You are an abomination. A pagan , tree worshiping heathen . A blasphemer .” He snarled, struggling once more against Baelon’s vice-like grip. Baelon nodded, as though speaking of the weather, before the thought settled in his head. 

“And a member of the Royal Family.” Baelon snarled. His eyes widened, a cold realization settling in his chest. Cregan, Elaena, and his mother were in the South, far closer to these uneducated idiotic sycophants than he. “If any of your ilk touched a member of my family, I swear it on the Old Gods, the New, and the Fourteen that I will burn you, your faith, your friends, your family, your fucking goats to the ground. I will kill you all, and laugh as my wolf feasts upon your rotting flesh.” He hissed, his voice coiling around the man like a snake. He leaned his face closer to the man, his rapid, terrified breaths blooming against his face.

“No man, woman, or child, will stand in my way if your ilk has so much as harmed a hair upon their heads.” He snarled, wolf and dragon's blood leaking from him in tandem, power coming off him in waves. 

The smell of piss filled the air, and he recoiled from the man. He stared at him, a pathetic heap upon the floor, staining the stone floor with his blood and piss. A craven, a sheep, like most people in this world. He snarled in disgust. 

“Balerion.” Was all he needed to say, the name spoken coldly, like Death shrouding over his shoulder, ready to collect the soul of the man who stared at him in pure terror. 

The wolf prowled closer to the man, teeth bared in a viscous snarl, hackles raised. The last thing the man saw was the snarling face of Balerion, and the cold glare of his owner as his loyal wolf pounced , teeth ripping into the soft flesh of the man's neck. There was a blood curdling shout that lasted only a mere moment, before his body stilled, and the shout faded into a strangled gurgle, and the sound was no more. 

He wiped his dagger free of blood with the man’s cloak, and whistled for his wolf. Balerion pulled away from the dead body, and the pair casually walked to the nearest guard. 

There were two stationed together, and he smirked. 

“You,” He nodded to the one on the left. “There are two bodies located in the corridor of the Lord's solar.” The man tensed, eyes wide, drawing his sword. 

“Milord?” He asked, licking his lips in apprehension. 

“I am alright,” Baelon waved off. “Please, go take care of the bodies. Have them strung from the gates.” 

The guard bowed, nodding his head. 

“Yes, milord.” he scampered off, and Baelon turned his head to the other guard. This one was a distant kin. His cousin, and friend, Benjen Karstark. 

“Benjen,” He acknowledged. 

“Baelon,” he said back, eyes surveying him keenly. “Were you wounded?” 

“No,” Baelon snorted. “I am slightly disappointed, they did not even put up a challenge.” 

Benjen frowned in disappointment. “This is why you need a guard, Baelon.” 

“Oh hush,” Baelon groused. “I need you to wake the Maester, and Sara.” 

“Whatever for?” Ben asked, eyes wide. 

“The assassins were Faith Militant.” Baelon growled. “Wake them, have them meet me in the dining hall. I need to gather the most trusted of Winterfell's guards still remaining here.” 

“The fucking Faith Militant?” Benjen cursed. “Will we ever be free of those Seven worshiping cunts?” 

“We will be,” Baelon promised. “Soon.” 

And so, he and Ben separated, going off in opposite directions. Within the hour, fifteen guards stood in the dining hall as Baelon relayed to Sara, the Maester, and the guards what had occurred just an hour prior. 

“Fuck.” Sara breathed out. “What do you want to do, Baelon?” 

“Call the banners.” He said coldly, hand in the fur of his wolf. He sat with his back ramrod straight, his hair disheveled and his eyes flashing in a quiet, cold, fury.

“But, my lord, the King has not even called his own banners.” Maester Snow interrupted. Baelon’s face was cold, hard as granite like the Kings of Winter before him. 

“That is the King’s mistake. They came into my home .” He snarled. “Attacked me in mine own castle. I will pay them back a thousandfold. Call the banners . The North will march to the South within a fortnight. If my Targaryen kin in the South wish to add their forces alongside mine, I shall not begrudge them that. If not,” He surveyed everyone in the room coldly. “The North shall have its justice regardless.” 

The Maester bowed his head in acquiesce. “Yes, my lord.” 

Baelon sneered at the thought that the Hightower cunts and the Faith thought they could get away with attacking him. A Stark in Winterfell. Attacking him in his own fucking home. He will kill them all. And should they harm a hair upon the head of any member of his family, not only will he kill them, he’ll channel his ancestor, Theon the Hungry Wolf. 

He will rip the Faith out of Westeros, root and stem if need be. He will burn their Septs, like they burned their Weirwoods. He will kill their Septons, like they butchered the Children of the Forest. He will rain their precious Seven Hells upon them. 

For so long, he loathed his Targaryen family, and now…now he must work alongside them and bring this threat against his blood to heel. 

“Winter is coming.” He intoned, a snarl in his voice and a blood chilling smile on his lips. “With Fire and Blood.” 

That morning, the night sky faded into the pale pink of dawn, and ravens flew to every corner of the Northern realm. Dark wings carried dark words, and soon, his army will march South, and he will raze the Hightower to the ground. 

RHAENYS 

– ♛♛♛ –

The Queen Who Never Was flew through the sky with the wind in her hair and the warmth of her beautiful dragon shrouding her like a shield. She had just seen off her beloved husband, his fleet having set sail a day before him, so he could say his goodbyes to her before she was to meet him on the battlefield. 

She felt her heart gripping her, squeezing her chest tightly, the feeling familiar. Her heart had been seized in a cold grip since the deaths of her children, the knot in her chest never loosening. Some days, she felt like it could cripple her. That the pain would eventually lead to her death, leading to her never breathing again. Nobody quite knows the feeling of a mother losing a child, losing the beings you swore to protect the moment you hear their first squalling cry and hold them against your chest. 

After hours of agony, a woman brings a beautiful, innocent, unmarred human into the world. That is wholly hers and her husbands. The mothers love them like no other, protect them, and raise them. The purest form of love, and the strongest. A mother always knows when her children are in pain, and gods, she knew Laenor was in pain for years. 

She knew of his preferences, and allowed her ambition, her husband’s ambition to blind her. She hurt Laenor, and now it seemed he hurt her in return. There are not many things in life Rhaenys Targaryen regrets. Not many things in life she would claim to dwell upon, as she steadfastly moved forward. Hurting Laenor would be one that she would never forget.

Her sweet, sweet boy. Her daring, courageous, quick to laugh and even quicker to love little boy. He was hers, always. It was easier to blame Daemon and Rhaenyra. Easy to blame them for allowing him to take the cowards way out, rather than face the truth. 

The truth that she and her husband pushed their boy to make that decision. Pushed him to that pain, pushed him into feeling that the only way out would be his faked death. 

She felt like all the grieving she had done, the acceptance she had reached, was ripped away from her. Felt the way she did the first day she found out her children had died. And as the wind whipped in her face, and the beat of Meleys’ wings roared in her ears, she could pretend the tears in her eyes were the result of the cold, dry winds. 

It was then that she saw it, in the far distance, merely a speck in the never ending water. A puff of smoke, a flash of green, and she knew . 

“ Meleys, go to the ship! ” She commanded in High Valyrian, changing their course as her red queen flew to the fire as fast as she could. 

She felt her heart in her throat and her chest felt like she had an anvil strapped to it. She couldn’t breathe, not until she knew for certain. It felt like an eternity and also mere moments as they reached the ship, King’s Landing barely a dot on the horizon. The ship had fallen apart, dead and dismembered and charred body parts floating in the water, pieces of wood still burning with wildfire. 

She saw it then, a lock of silver hair hidden underneath the rubble and wreckage, a hand peeking out from underneath. 

She knew. And she wailed . She screamed and cried and mourned, Meleys roaring and spewing fire with her in her grief. She told herself it was not him, that Corlys was fine, the final person she had in her life had not yet been taken from her, and she told her dragon to go down, sweeping low and had Meleys lift the rubble with her claws, and saw his face.

His oh so handsome face. His eyes were closed, eyes that a few mere hours ago had stared at her with such love, such quiet strength, and she felt the sobs wracked through her body. She was truly alone in the world now. 

“ No no no ,” she mumbled through her cries, through her tears and her shallow breaths. Meleys trilled lowly in pain and sadness, gently picking up Corlys’ body in her claws and flying back in the direction of King’s Landing without so much as a command from her rider. Rhaenys cried and cried and held onto the saddle for dear life as her sweet girl transported them back to the city, and once they landed in the dragonpit she leapt from the saddle and down to Corlys.