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.’