Welcome

The breakfast had been a disaster, nothing was mended nor even being close to mended. Alicent was aware Rhaenyra was still angry with her, but how was she to fix it if Rhaenyra would not allow her the time?

Her teeth clamped down onto the edge of her nails, chewing and grinding against it until she heard a clear crack. It did not hurt and Alicent would not have known she was bleeding had she not felt the warm flow of it run down her fingertips. 

Slowly she pulled her hand back to see a few of her nails stained crimson, droplets falling to her sleeve, not that she would worry about it staining, not with the fabric also being red.

For the longest time Alicent stared, watching blood bubble out from the cracks in her nails, warm sensations tingling against her flesh. 

If her father saw this he would scold her. He would tell her not to. He would ask; “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Alicent’s lips lifted in a weak smile and if she were a bolder girl -

A breath was sharply inhaled. 

A woman.

It was important for her to remember that. She was not a girl, but a woman now. If she were a bolder woman she would have snorted at her father’s questioning like Rhaenyra snorted when the princess did not like a question directed towards her, but Alicent was not Rhaenyra. She was not bold nor confident nor reckless enough to show blatant disrespect towards her father like Rhaenyra showed hers. 

If Rhaenyra had an elderly man announce his intentions to wed her Alicent knew that her former friend would snort and wave him off with one of her harsh quips, but Rhaenyra had station, she had power as only an heiress did. 

Alicent had wanted to follow Rhaenyra when they had been excused, but her chest had tightened when the other girl denied her and she feared that a simple harsh word from Rhaenyra would reduce her to tears and that was not how a woman or a queen should act, so Alicent remained in her seat long passed being excused, frozen on the spot. 

She was still frozen, in that same spot, now alone save for some maids who collected and stacked their plates and silverware. The sound of the clinks and clanks were the only sounds to distract her from her thoughts. 

Slowly, Alicent reached inside her dress to collect her handkerchief, one she sewed herself, to wipe the remaining blood blobs from her fingers, only when she pressed the cloth against the nails did she feel the pain; a simple sting from the cloth’s contact. Easy enough to ignore, just like Alicent ignored all of her discomfort these days. 

She waited a moment, mayhaps even two before she withdrew the cloth, tucking it back into her dress, noting to toss it later on.

She finally rose from her seat, her knees wobbly and weak like a fawn taking its first steps, yet she halted, unsure of where to go.

She wanted nothing more than to wait for Rhaenyra outside of her chambers, to beg for her to reconcile their friendship, but she did not. 

Instead she allowed her feet to take her out to the godswood, where she and Rhaenyra used to read together. Alicent could still faintly hear the sound of her former friend's laughter, tugging at her heart. 

How she wished she could travel back in time to fix things, to refuse the marriage with the king and keep her friendship with Rhaenyra..

Alicent slowly lowered herself onto the ground, the blades of grass dewy and cold against the palms of her hands. Carefully, she scooted backward until her back hit against the tree, taking great care not to ruin her dress. 

She sat there for hours, until the sun dipped down painting the sky a mix of gold and orange hues. 

Perhaps, deep down, she was waiting for Rhaenyra to arrive, to sit underneath the tree and rest her head against Alicent’s lap, for her purple eyes, that shone in the rays of sun, to gaze up at her like they used to.

Of course, that did not come to pass and she remained alone until the setting sun painted itself almost as red as her hair, only then did she return to the castle, brushing off the stray grass that clung to her dress skirts. 

The young queen trailed along in the halls, her feet dragging against the stone. She was in no hurry to arrive at her chambers nor to think about the chance the king would request her presence in his own chambers. 

Eventually when she did return, she threw herself upon her bed, burying her face into one of her many pillows. 

They smelled of lavender and jasmine, the oils Alicent preferred to bathe with the most. The oils she scrubbed her skin with until they nearly bled after those nightly duties with her husband. 

She hates it. She thought she hated it more than any wife hated intimacy with their husband. 

Some nights thoughts would bubble in her mind, thoughts of the king rolling off of her and clutching his chest before the stranger would take him. 

Sadly, Alicent did not think that time would come anytime soon. 

She briefly wondered if she should even have the servants dress her for bed, mayhaps if she stayed in the gown she wore all day, she would not be called.

Or she could feign illness. 

Alicent perked her head up at the thought, turning it towards the corner of a room where a servant stood awaiting her to allow herself to be dressed for bed. 

“I am feeling rather ill. I would not want to cause others any discomfort from my condition.” The young queen spoke, forcing out a small cough out of the end of her sentence that she hoped was convincing enough. 

“Of course, my queen. I will let the maester know.” 

“Will you let the king know?” Alicent questioned, keeping her voice small enough so the relief would not seep through. 

“Of course.” The servant nodded, before adding softly, “should I help you undress now?” 

Alicent paused, pondering for a moment. She could still be ill while being ready for sleep. It should not harm her claim. 

She gave a nod before carefully climbing from her soft covers, before sliding down to place her feet upon the cold stone floor. 

She usually had more than two maids attend to her, but she found that she preferred to have the least amount of people touch her as possible. 

She hated feeling the warmth of hands brush against her, it disgusted her. Her stomach always squeezed and flipped so abruptly she felt as though she may throw up. 

As soon as the fabrics of her dress piled onto the floor replaced with a nightgown, so thin she felt the draft from her window against her skin, she returned to her bed immediately tugging the covers over her body. 

She preferred the thick covers, heavy enough to make her feel like she was wearing more clothing than she was. 

She turned her head, pressing her forehead against the softness of her pillow, blocking her view from her surroundings. 

Alicent could hear, faintly, the sound of the servant blowing out her candles before leaving, hopefully, to inform the king she was too ill to accompany him tonight. 

Her mind wandered off to happier times. To sights of the lush green grass of the godswood, to familiar silver hair sprawled across her lap. 

It had always looked soft. Alicent wished she took the opportunity to run her fingers through Rhaenyra's hair when she had the chance. 

Rhaenyra could not even bear to hold a conversation with her during a meal, how would they ever manage to continue their friendship?

How could Alicent convince Rhaenyra that she was still her friend? That this was not her choice, that she did not willingly betray the princess’ friendship for the company of her father?

Alicent's fingers curled against the fabric, digging what was left of her nails into it. 

This wasn't her fault. It wasn't, she was only doing what was expected of her. She was only obeying her father. 

Besides, even if she had Rhaenyra's courage to disobey her father, she would surely be sent back to Oldtown. 

Is that what Rhaenyra wanted? 

Alicent rolled onto her back, her brown eyes landing on the ceiling above her. A small sigh escaped from her, only blending into the soft crackle of the hearth. 

Mayhaps that would not have been a terrible fate. At least she would remain unmarried or she could have found a nice boy her own age to wed. 

What would her life have looked like? Surely a fine, peaceful life and mayhaps she could have even visited Rhaenyra from time to time.

That would have been nice, but no use dreaming of what could have been, not now when she was already wed to a man nearly thrice her age. 

The young queen's eyes soon fluttered closed, allowing herself to drift off to sleep, to dream of better days, days belonging to her girlhood before she was thrust into the cage of marriage. 

The first morning ray shone through the queen's window pulling her quite easily from her sleep. 

She blinked, once, two times, the light burning slightly at her eyes before she slowly sat up. 

Her hands lifted to rub the sleep from her eyes before she froze, a glimpse of silver hair caught in the corner of her eye. 

Her head snapped to the side, eyes widening when they laid against a familiar form seated at her bedside. 

“Rhaenyra?” She croaked out, nearly launching out of bed in her haste, before she halted at the princess' expression. 

It was blank, carefully so, it was unlike Rhaenyra to look cautious in her demeanor. At least around Alicent, that is. 

“Are you with child?” The question brought a chill to the air, Rhaenyra's words cold, almost accusatory. 

Alicent shook her head immediately, hands folded in her lap, fingers lacing tightly to avoid reaching out to try and grasp onto her former friend. 

“No, just feeling under the weather, b - but not because of that!” She quickly assured her.

Rhaenyra eyed her carefully, the rays of sun nearly causing the purple hue of her eyes to glint unnaturally. Like a predator during a hunt, or how Alicent would assume a predator would look like. 

She never cared much for hunting. 

“Would you tell me if you were?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes landing below Alicent's eye line. 

Mayhaps she was looking at Alicent's stomach or trying to? 

The thought brought heat to rise in her cheeks, burning all the way up to her ears. 

She tugged the sheets and covers up to her chest, suddenly aware of how exposed she was in her pale nightgown. 

“Of course I would. I tell you everything -”

“Everything but you seducing my father, you mean.” Rhaenyra cut through her words in a chilling tone, worse than any blade she could have taken to Alicent. 

Seduce. 

It sounded dirty, like Alicent had committed a sin. Like she had crawled into his bed like some lady of the night. 

She wanted to say that she hadn't seduced anyone much less the king, but she doubted that Rhaenyra would listen. Instead, she lowered her gaze to her hands, her fingers already digging into her nails that were already ragged and chipped. 

“That is what I thought. Feel better, Alicent.” Rhaenyra spoke, mumbling her name like it had begrudged her somehow. With that, Rhaenyra turned and left her chambers, allowing the doors to slam behind her with a finality that caused Alicent to grow rigid. 

Alicent's chambers were painfully quiet and she did not dare to leave her bed for hours after. 

How did she wind up feeling worse than the day before? 

" Lord Baratheon's entire face flushed redder than the dresses that you used to adorn.

Particularly that red dress you wore at that last dinner before his father passed, with a cut so whorish Aemond wondered if your mother planned on whoring you out to those strong brothers of yours.

Or, that daughter of Daemon's. You seemed content enough to dance with her.

Baela, was it?

It would not surprise him if your mother's loose morals had been corrupting you before he stepped in.

Vhagar was formidable even whilst standing still she seemed to shake the earth itself below her with each low rumble, smoke blowing from her nostrils.

The scent lingered and burned in your senses, causing your throat to constrict.

Every bit of your body screamed at you to leave, to flee somewhere safer, somewhere Vhagar's beady eyes could not follow, but you could not. Not with the hand of your husband firmly placed against the back of your neck.

His grip was not painful, you doubted he would ever knowingly cause you pain, but it was firm enough to keep you from stumbling away from the mountain of a dragon. 

“You need not fear her. Not while I'm at your side.” Aemond hummed against your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling your sensitive skin. 

His free hand snaked around you, taking hold of your hand. He guided it forward until it rested against the rough scales of the dragon ahead of you. 

You could not help the tremble that took hold, vibrating through your very bones. Vhagar rumbled beneath your touch, much like a cat, if a cat was larger than mountains and could rain fire down upon any city, that is. 

A satisfied hum vibrated from behind you, rumbling against your ear. 

“Hm, see, she will not harm you.” He murmured against your ear. His voice soothed you and gods, you wished it did not. You wished you were not truly considering allowing yourself to ride atop this beast. 

Hands fell to your waist, fingers pressing into your hips before you were suddenly lifted from the ground and placed upon the saddle, the leather worn. Aemond soon took his place behind you, slotting against your back and taking hold of the reins. 

Your cheeks heated when his hand dropped in front of you only to fasten the strap connected to the saddle around you, his touch lingering causing you to feel hot. 

It was embarrassing to desire your husband so strongly even now atop a fire breathing beast. 

A thought lingered; only one strap.

“Aemond, should you not be the one to wear this?” You asked, “it is your dragon after all.” 

He hummed in response, only tightening the strap until it could no longer. 

Vhagar rumbled before launching off of the ground, her giant wings flapping on either side, flying upward until the ground could barely be seen at all. 

You tore your eyes from the vanishing ground, turning it ahead of you, to the clouds that were painted all sorts of colors, hues of pink and orange collided together. 

You felt more at ease than you first had thought you would have, it felt strangely familiar. 

A smile crept upon your lips, the wind that blew against your face felt gentle, like you were fanning yourself with a fan ladies of the court liked to carry. 

You tilted your head backward, to lay eyes on your husband who seemed to be hiding a smile of his own. 

Upon seeing you, Aemond leaned his head down pressing his lips against yours in a brief kiss that did not hesitate in causing your heart to skip a beat. His lips were firm, warm against your own and you found yourself chasing after them once he pulled back. 

“Hm, easy, wife. We are still in flight.” Aemond hummed, before pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

“Is it not you who kissed me?” A grin spread across your face, keeping your head tilted back at an angle to catch the sunlight wash over your husband’s sharp cheekbones. 

You could see a smile tug on the corners of your husband's lips and the sight only widened yours even as his long fingers tilted your head forward. 

“Focus. Unless you wish for a dragon to sneak up on us.” There was a light edge to his voice, but you could not be certain he was not being serious in his request.

A snort escaped you. Vhagar was terrifying, you were sure no person nor dragon would want to invite her wrath. 

“What dragon would dare to sneak up on Vhagar?” 

“A determined one.” Aemond's answer hummed from his lips. His fingers trailed down the column of your throat, his touch light as a feather against her burning flesh. 

Every inch of your body burned for him. You wished terribly to turn around, unbuckle yourself and mount your husband just as he mounted his dragon - well.. truthfully not exactly the same act. 

Shame burned your cheeks. What has become of you, to be so lustful in the open sky like this? 

“You wish for me to focus, but -” The words caught in your throat once his fingers curled around your throat, sending waves of heat to your loins. 

This was hardly fair. Every lingering touch of his seemed to go against his want for you to focus. 

“But I am distracting you.” He hummed his admission. 

“Yes, very much so.” You admitted, your face must've been hotter than the sands in Dorne at this point. 

“It would be a shame if a dragon truly did sneak upon us because you were distracting me,” you added, a smile threatening to twitch across your lips once more.

Aemond hummed in response. Comforting, like it always was. It was almost unbelievable how much of a hold he had on you. 

Another dangerous thought bubbled in your mind. Your fingers twitched, aching to slide them up your husband's distinguished features, all the way up to his eyepatch, where you wished to lift it up to gaze upon that beautiful sapphire that was lodged in place of an eye. 

Truly, you were a lustful woman. You wondered if your husband would favor your lust or if he would shy away from it. You hoped not. You hoped he desired you just as much as you desired him. 

You decided to wait until you returned home or were at least on the ground. 

Your hands grasped tightly onto the saddle beneath you when Vhagar dipped down suddenly, flying through the wispy clouds, back down so the ground was barely within your line of sight. 

Aemond leaned forward, pressing his chest against your back, his head peered over your shoulder to scan the ground below. 

Right, he was looking for something. You had forgotten in all of the excitement. 

His breath ghosted against your ear, causing a shiver to travel down your spine.

He must have not found anything because Vhagar continued to fly onward. 

“Are you searching for the men that fled?” You asked to which he hummed in response, which you took as a ‘yes’. 

You drummed your fingers against the leather surface beneath you. 

“What will you do when you find them?” 

His nose nudged against the side of your jaw, letting out another small hum. 

“They may already be dead.” 

You stiffened. It was said so casually you thought you must have misheard him at first. 

“What would be responsible for -”

“A dragon. We were told it was dead, but it may.. still be breathing. It is possible that the beast took care of them.” 

Ah, so that was why he warned of a dragon sneaking up on Vhagar. 

“It is an unclaimed dragon.” Aemond added, his tone so careful you wondered what he was plotting. Surely, it would not be anything that would put himself or you in danger. 

“Vermithor is what they call him.” He continued on, pausing every so often to glance at your reaction, “large, second only to Vhagar.” 

You could feel his singular eye stare holes through you even while keeping your gaze straight ahead. He was searching for something in your face, you knew it, you just could not figure out what it was he was searching for. 

A strange sense of familiarity washed over you at the name. Vermithor.

It reminded you of a dark cave filled with anticipation and grief, perhaps even anger? 

It was strange. You had never been in a cave, not that you could remember. 

“If he has no rider..” The words you spoke trailed off, you knew it was impossible, stupid even to want a dragon when you were so fearful of Vhagar. 

Furthermore, you were a Velaryon. Velaryon's do not ride dragons and if you had Targaryen blood, surely your husband would have mentioned it by now. 

If you had Targaryen blood your husband would also be kin to you, you wouldn't know how to feel about that. 

“Then he can be claimed.” Your husband finished for you and for a moment you swore he sounded almost pleased with you. 

You held your tongue despite how it urged you to state how you would like to try and claim the dragon. 

You did not know why. You knew not of dragons, but.. it felt right to be the one to claim Vermithor. 

Vhagar neared the ground now, wings flapping heavily against the wind. Gusts of it tugged at your tresses and stung your eyes. 

The mighty dragon thumped heavily against the ground, nearly shaking the surface in the process. 

If you squinted your eyes enough you could see the silhouette of a castle. 

“Why not land closer?” You asked suddenly, turning your head over your shoulder in time to catch Aemond slide off onto the ground, his boots snapping against twigs.

You threw both legs over the side, preparing to follow only for him to stop you with a; “Stay with Vhagar. I will ask if they have seen the dragon or if it even still draws breath.” 

You brows furrowed together, lips tugged down into a small frown. 

“Why can I not come with?” 

Aemond paused. His singular eye narrowing, it was unclear to you why he seemed restless at your question, but he was. You could tell that much. 

Moments passed by before Aemond responded and even so it was slower, almost hesitant. 

“Lord Baratheon does not.. take kindly to women.” 

You blinked.

Excuse you?  

He did not take kindly to women? What did that even mean, that he did not like their existence? What sense did that make?

With an attitude like that it almost made staying with Vhagar all alone sound welcoming, almost. 

“I would not speak with him. Only be at your side -”

“He does not like the sight of them.” 

“I am sure he is not a pretty sight himself.” You quipped, not able to hide the disgust in your voice. 

“Hm, no. He is not.” Aemond agreed, before turning on his heel and leaving.

A huff escaped your lips before you slid from Vhagar’s saddle, unbuckling yourself and landing on the ground with a soft thump. 

You would listen to Aemond, but you did not trust Vhagar enough to remain atop of her without him. 

Your eyes drifted down to the edges of your skirts, a sigh escaped when you noticed you had gotten dirt on the green fabric. Out of all the dresses you could have worn, this one was the worst to brush dirt off of, everything stuck to the velvet fabric.

It was pretty though, as pretty as green could be. Sometimes, you found yourself wishing to wear any other color, but you would rather not be considered spoiled or ungrateful.

Besides, you were sure your husband had other things to worry about than your wardrobe.

Perhaps, one of these days you would be permitted to visit the seamstress or towns so that you might pick out something for yourself.

Blue would be nice, pink likewise, perhaps red, that would be grand.  

Vhagar rumbled beside you, bringing you from your thoughts before she unceremoniously dropped her head to the ground, nearly knocking you from your feet in the process. 

“Gods above, Vhagar.” You practically groaned underneath your breath. 

Loud snores soon penetrated the air. It truly shocked you how fast she seemed to be able to doze off. 

Alicent had much liked the color blue. To her blue was the color of freedom, the color of carefree days and giggling through the halls of the keep. 

The color blue was Alicent being able to dream of love and chivalry while Rhaenyra shook her head and spoke of being a knight. 

The color of blue was Alicent being able to sleep through the night without feeling disgusted with herself or having to scrub her skin with scalding water until her flesh burned red. 

Red. The color that was on every one of her outfits that she wore now, with accents of black. Devoid of life and any grace of happiness that Alicent had felt in the past. The color of blood and death, the blood that came to her each month and the death she wished the king would meet.

An ugly thought, Alicent was well aware of, it was not the king’s fault that she wished him to die, he was not privy to her disgust of him. In fact, she was sure that the king thought she may love him. She wished she did, that would make her duties much more bearable. 

Alicent knew that Viserys did not deserve death; she just could not help the resentment that clung to her soul each night she came to him, if he was gone then she could be free like she once was, but if he was gone Alicent knew that it would shatter Rhaenyra and leave her parentless. 

A heavy guilt settled against Alicent at the thought of wishing death on her friend’s only parent left. 

The young queen shook her head from those thoughts as she watched the servants pull back the covers to reveal the stained crimson sheets; evidence of her failure to her wifely expectations.

She knew her father would be disappointed, but Alicent could not bring herself to share in the disappointment nor did she rejoice at her empty womb. It was just a fact that her body had failed the expectations that had been placed on her narrow shoulders, though Alicent wondered how many times her womb could reject the king’s seed before he decided to annul the marriage. 

Or if he even would. She doubted it. 

A sigh escaped from Alicent’s lips before she rose from her seat, knowing she needed to make herself look presentable for the breakfast that the king wished to have with her and Rhaenyra.

It was a rarity to see her former friend these days and she could not help but hope that they could mend the rift between them.

The sounds of silverware clanking against glass plates were the only noise in the grand dining room for the longest time, not that Rhaenyra would be the first to end the silence, at least not while Alicent was in attendance. 

“I heard the flowers in the garden are in full bloom.” Rhaenyra’s former friend spoke, catching Rhaenyra’s brief attention, glancing from her plate over to the chestnut haired girl.

Rhaenyra fought to keep her eyes from rolling in the back of her head. She had no desire to engage in small talk, not while Alicent remained her stepmother. 

The princess tapped her fork against the meat on her plate, prodding and pushing it rather than eating it. 

“Rhaenyra, is that not wonderful, mayhaps you and Alicent could go for a walk later on?” Rhaenyra’s father spoke, urging her to agree. 

Rhaenyra was not a fool; she could tell he wanted her to engage with Alicent, to pretend that what she had done was not a betrayal, to pretend like everything was normal, but it was not. 

Losing her mother was not normal, having her former friend supplant her mother, especially so soon, was not normal.  None of this was and Rhaenyra refused to behave like it was. 

“I have studies to attend to.” Rhaenyra stated, her fingers tightening on her fork, downcasting her gaze down to her plate. 

“Perhaps, I could help you.” Alicent interjected before the king could respond, her voice nauseatingly sweet causing Rhaenyra’s stomach to churn violently. 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to refuse, but her father’s response cut in instead,

“That is most gracious, Alicent. I am sure Rhaenyra would love to share your company.” 

“I'd rather not.” The words grumbled from the princess’ mouth before she could think it through, her face flushing with anger, reddening her once pale cheeks. 

Her father opened his mouth to question her grumble, but Rhaenyra remained steadfast in her response repeating it louder for not only for her father, but for Alicent as well to ensure the words sunk into the other girl’s head. 

“I’d rather not.”

The rest of the meal was painfully quiet, save for the clinking of silverware against plates.

Each time Rhaenyra happened to glance Alicent’s way the girl had the most grating sullen expression imprinted on her features. 

It was almost like the girl was trying to guilt Rhaenyra, it made her want to scream. 

Rhaenyra left without a word once she was excused, reminding herself not to glance over her shoulder towards Alicent, just to keep her eyes ahead of her as she walked. 

Only after the thick doors shut behind her with a loud thump did the princess let out a breath, glancing behind her finally to let her eyes rest on her sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole. 

She wondered what the man was thinking, the blank expression he had on gave away nothing that might be on his mind. 

“Do you think me unkind?” Rhaenyra suddenly asked, spinning around to fully face the man. She did not know why she even cared about what the man thought, but she found that she was..curious. 

“It is not my place to think anything, Princess.” The knight responded in a tone that could only be described as careful. 

Rhaenyra paused for a moment before deciding to push the topic at hand, her Valryian eyes meeting his dark ones,

“But, I am asking you for your opinion on the matter. Would you refuse me?” 

The princess watched as the man before her shifted his gaze to the side for a brief second before returning it to her. 

“No, Princess,” He paused for a moment taking a breath before he continued on, “I do not think you unkind, mayhaps blunt at times, but not unkind.” 

Rhaenyra nodded thoughtfully, even though she thought she had been rather polite given the situation. 

The princess gave a small smile to the knight for answering her question before wordlessly turning on her heels and continuing to walk far away from the dining hall. 

A lingering thought prodded the back of her mind; Perhaps she was too harsh with Alicent.

Yet, the young princess could not shake off the anger that burned at her core each time she laid eyes on her former friend. 

A heavy sigh left her lips before she sped up, calling out from over her shoulder, “If my father asks for me, tell him I’ve gone riding.”

The young princess trailed off the halls down to the dragonpit where her beloved Syrax was resting in. 

Rhaenyra waltzed in, heading straight towards her winged companion, throwing her arms around Syrax’s scaled neck. 

At least she had Syrax, no matter what happened she knew her yellow scaled companion would remain loyal and by her side, unlike a certain Hightower. 

Rhaenyra shook her head from those bitter thoughts, grasping onto the reins and hauling herself up onto the leather saddle.

“And my father, is he living?”  Aemond heard you ask, while he had his head turned, focused on lighting the match he had between his longer fingers. 

He struck it once, twice, a third time before it finally lit a small flame flickering against the top before the prince reached out placing it above the candle, the orange flame flickering before it traveled to the wick of the cande. He watched the flame, feeling the warmth ghost over his fingers as he kept them hovering over the flame.

He could not see the expression you held but he had heard the slight hope lingering in your voice, a hope that surely would falter once he answered. 

“No, he passed some time ago.” He replied, his voice soft and it was true. Laenor was dead. He died like your real father did, burnt to a crisp for their own foolish mistakes. One for allowing his wife to cuckold him, one for the sin of bringing bastards into the world. Fitting how they met the same fate. 

Of course, without their mistakes he would not have the fortune of having you by his side so perhaps Aemond could forgive their transgressions. 

“Oh,” You breathed out, the sound shaky on his ears, “How did he..?” The words trailed off, but he understood. 

He paused, dropping the rest of the unburnt matches onto the table before leaning backward, resting against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other.

He knew that telling you that your ‘father’ had been shoved into a fireplace might be too cruel, even if you did not remember him. 

“I do not recall. I do not think you had ever confided in me with that information.” 

Another breath left you, just as shaky as the former one. 

Just as his hand rose to reach over to comfort you, the doors to his chambers suddenly opened catching his attention and his fury. 

“The king has requested to see you in the council room.” A servant spoke, shrinking back when the prince’s single eye laid on them, wide and intense. 

Aemond clenched his jaw. He doubted that Aegon was even coherent enough to stand up straight, much less call a meeting, in the condition he saw the fool in the last time they had crossed paths. 

Aemond inhaled sharply through his nostrils before his head turned back to you, his lone eye meeting your two, that were casted down to your lap at the information that was new to your mind. 

A quiet sigh left him, wishing to remain by your side, to comfort you, to have you rely on him, to have him be the first person you come to above anyone else. 

He reached out, his fingers tucking a stray curl behind your ear, letting the touch linger before he withdrew.

“I will return soon enough.” He assured you watching as you gave a slight nod and an offered smile.

Any warmth that might have been on the prince’s face vanished when he turned back to the servant, waving them off with a wave of his hand before he stalked out of his chambers, down the many stairs and to the small council doors. 

He threw the doors open, storming into the room as his gaze flicked over each member that were there, including Aegon who looked awful, barely keeping his eyes forward, his gaze unfocused like he had just finished downing an entire pitcher of wine, which Aemond had no doubt of, though if that was the case then the man should have waited to call a meeting. 

Aemond plopped down into one of the chairs, his fingers lingering on the edge of the table watching as his brother instantly perked up upon seeing him, the signs of fatigue instantly vanishing from his face. 

“Aemond, brother, surely you’ll agree with me!” He exclaimed.

Aemond’s lips twisted into a wry smirk. Amusing he would think that when he sought to humiliate Aemond mere hours ago, not even a full day had passed, but nonetheless Aemond hummed in response, the soft sound vibrating in his throat. 

He watched Aegon jab his finger into the table, “We march to Dragonstone and lay it to ash!”

That caught the prince’s attention, his hands folded underneath his chin as he cocked his head to the side. He could not deny there was a thrill that ran through them at the idea of getting rid of the bastards and their mother, but the decision was abrupt. 

“Or,” His mother piped up suddenly, her voice hoarse, “we come to an agreement -”

“Fuck agreements. They flew over, threatened the smallfolk to mock me. They think me weak so we shall repay it by burning the lump of rocks they call a castle!” Aegon raised his voice, hopping from his seat to point assumingly to Dragonstone on the map, though Aemond could barely see past Aegon’s big head.

Aemond’s fingers twitched. 

They, which they flew to King’s Landing? How had he not been informed of this before? 

Perhaps it was Lucerys? 

He would be the kind to retreat with his tail between his legs or was it another scouting their defenses?

“My half-sister wants to play a game and I am returning the favor.” Aegon continued on causing an irritated groan to fall from their mother.

Though despite his rash behavior Aemond could commend his brother for not slurring his words, perhaps he was not as drunk as Aemond had assumed.

“They were hardly threatened. Are we sure this is even true or are they rumors cried out from frightened people?” Alicent questioned from her chair. 

“Regardless, we cannot bring the battle to Dragonstone. They would burn our ships, not to mention the unclaimed dragons that would surely frenzy from the commotion.” Otto spoke up, his hand raising in the air for a brief moment as if shushing his mother, but that was an assumption on Aemond’s part. 

Aegon’s hand dropped to his side at their grandsire’s response, his shoulders sinking. 

Aemond was inclined to agree, even if he wished to lay that island and its inhabitants to ash more than most. With them gone there would not be any loose ends to try and pry you from his arms, but he knew he had to appear more rational than Aegon did, so he remained silent on the matter.

Instead, he shifted the conversation towards news of Vermithor,

“What of the men we sent to Storm’s End?” 

“We have not heard from them since they departed.” Ser Cole answered, standing by Aegon’s chair while the king slowly, at a snail’s pace, returned to his seat. 

Aemond hummed. It was strange, they should have heard back from the men. Surely, it could not be difficult to inform if a dragon was dead, or the corpse was stolen or if the beast managed to survive. 

“Perhaps, Vhagar and I should journey over ourselves.” 

“Do you think that wise after you’ve snubbed his daughter?” His mother, Alicent, questioned, her disapproval clear in each word she spouted. 

“Hm, he can endure.” The prince replied coolly. 

“A grand idea, but you mustn’t engage violently with the beast if you do find it living.” His grandsire urged him,

“mayhaps, it would be best to bring your lady wife along, if her mind is still.. compliant. It should encourage the beast to not attack.”

A slight unease swelled within Aemond’s chest. He had thought he could have kept the knowledge of your dragon from you, but if he agreed to his grandsire’s plan that would not be possible.

Would the sight of Vermithor spark her memories? Aemond did not want to find out, but having another success under his belt could earn him more power, more trust from the council in the future if something happened to Aegon down the line..

Would it be worth the risk?

Each breath you let out was shakier than the last. The knowledge that your father was dead when you could not even think of what he looked like hurt more than it should have. 

Your chest ached, yet you did not cry. To cry over someone you knew nothing of felt too foolish to accept, so you refused, swallowing down the lump that tightened in your throat. 

You decided to try and distract from the pain in your chest, leaning forward to grab hold and spin one of the coins against the table's surface, watching it spin round and round before clattering off the surface, landing on the stone floor with a quiet clink.

The sound of the chamber doors suddenly being thrown open caught your attention, your gaze falling on your silver-haired husband standing in the entrance, staring down at you with an intensity that you found quite unsettling. 

It made you wonder what news the king had told him to cause such a reaction. 

“Have I re-introduced you to Vhagar?” His calm voice asked, his head tilting to the side as if studying your response.

“Vhagar?” You stood up, curiosity taking hold. 

“My dragon.”

Your chest squeezed, something akin to panic briefly flashing through you for reasons unknown, for reasons you may not even want to know. 

“I -” You tried to refuse only to be cut off by your husband who seemed determined for it, his soft hummed out response easing your fear if only a slight inch. 

“You have nothing to fear. I will remain by your side the entire time.”

“I should hope so!” You squeaked out before he could cut you off again, “Why the sudden want for me to see your dragon?” 

“Some men have fled their duties. I am going in their stead.” 

Face scrunched in confusion, you stared at the man silently for some time. Surely, he could not be planning on bringing you, who had never held a sword a day in your life, along? 

“Well, I will see you when you return. May the seven guide you, husband.” You spoke, swallowing back your worries. Perhaps this would be all the hint he needed to know that you should not be making the journey with him. 

“May the seven guide us both, dear wife.” His response soon came, a small smile curving on his lips. 

You swallowed back a disappointed sigh. 

The last thing you wanted to do was travel on the back of a dragon while gushing blood from in between your legs. What if the smell of blood caused the beast to try and swallow you whole? 

You were about to swallow your dismay and agree to save face, but surely a husband ought to be aware and understanding of his wife’s condition so you open your mouth to excuse yourself from this travel,

“I am afraid that I am unwell and may cause Vhagar to frenzy.” 

“Vhagar cares not for women on their moonblood. You are safe.” Aemond hummed out, his head tilting to the side to further study you and you thought you could see amusement in his lone eye for a few moments. 

Rather blunt he might be, you had no other choice but to agree. 

“How grand.” You grumbled before giving the much dreaded nod in agreement. 

Everything had changed since Rhaenyra’s father decided to announce his intentions to wed her friend, Alicent Hightower. Out of all the ladies he could have chosen he chose the one girl that belonged to Rhaenyra. 

Alicent was her friend, her confidant, her companion, not his. 

Now Rhaenyra had no one, not her father who coveted what was hers and not Alicent who was now bound to the king in ways that she could have never been bound to Rhaenyra. 

The familiar halls that were once filled with vibrant, joy-filled memories now felt like they were openly mocking her, filled with giggles from the court ladies about the newly wedded couple.

It made Rhaenyra want to vomit. The young princess could not think of an event less deserving of such praise. 

Every time Rhaenyra walked the halls, they felt suffocating like the stone walls would close in on her at any moment, mayhaps Rhaenyra hoped they would so that she may soon join her mother and leave her traitorous Alicent in the arms of her father. 

The heir of the Iron Throne and yet that title did little to reassure Rhaenyra that she was wanted, mayhaps the realm wanted her but not the auburn-haired lady, but that was who Rhaenyra desired to want her.

Yes, Lady Alicent Hightower, because that was who she would always be to Rhaenyra. Not queen Alicent, not her step-mother, just Alicent, just Lady Alicent Hightower. Who her friend was always meant to stay, a lady and by Rhaenyra’s side. 

The young princess ran her fingertips over the rough stone of the wall, while she lamented over her friendship with Alicent, whose curls reminded Rhaenyra of a late fall evening.

Mayhaps it was fitting since fall rotted and stole anything that summer left behind, like Alicent stole her late mother's husband after her death. 

A sigh escaped her lips.

There was nowhere Rhaenyra could be that did not remind her of Alicent, even mounting Syrax to take flight reminded her of not so long ago when she dreamed of taking Alicent with her to explore the seven kingdoms.

There was nothing for her here. Not anymore.

Alicent had never wanted this and she certainly did not want to lose the only friend she ever had and yet she had, left with a husband who was the age of her father and her father’s pride. 

She knew she was meant to act like a queen, a woman, but it grew more difficult to act like it as the days went by. Most of the courtly women were much older than Alicent with years of experience being wives and mothers, which Alicent had none of.

Alicent had gone out of her way to look the part of a respectable queen, keeping her hair tied up in nets, dressed in the rich colors of House Targaryen, the red and black fabrics feeling like a cage. It was all a facade, one she did not think was all that convincing.

The young queen lingered near her bed, trailing her fingertips over one of the bedposts. Her chest clenched tighter each moment that passed, each moment that grew closer to nightfall, grew closer to when she would be called to the king’s chambers. 

Each breath she took grew labored and more difficult, her chest squeezing to the point of sharp pains spreading through her chest bone. Her hand grasped onto the wooden bedpost, fingernails digging against the material to the point where the young queen could feel her nails chip and crack in the process.

She did not care, the discomfort was nothing compared to what she felt while laying underneath the king. She hated it, hated the constant sting she felt while he impaled her. The same rhythm, the same sting, the same sticky mess that she was left to clean up, night after night.

Alicent knew this was what her father wanted, for her to become queen, for her to bear the king’s children, but surely it was not supposed to feel this disgusting. 

The young queen wanted nothing more than to speak to her friend about the situation she felt trapped in, but Rhaenyra no longer wished to speak to her. Even if she did, it was not as if Rhaenyra could ever understand the position Alicent was in.

Alicent was a married woman with all the difficulties that marriage brought weighing on her shoulders and Rhaenyra was not.

Rhaenyra still had the shield of girlhood she could live behind, Alicent did not. 

Alicent inhaled sharply through her nose before she slowly pried her fingernails from the bedpost, opting to sit on the edge of her bed, hands folded on her lap instead, while time ticked by. 

It would not be long until she would be called to her husband’s chambers. The young girl barely paid much attention to the servant that informed her. She just gave a nod in response, before she began to walk to the room like one would the gallows. 

Alicent’s hand rose, slightly trembling in the air, before her knuckles gently rapped against the grand wooden doors to her husband’s chambers. 

A few silent moments and Alicent could only pray that the king had fallen asleep or changed his mind about seeing her that night. Just as hope began to settle within her heart that she may have been free, at least for this night, of her duties, the man’s voice rang out, muffled through the thick door,

“Come.”

That brief flicker of hope immediately turned to ash, replaced by dread. Dread that caused the young queen to nibble at her already cracked fingernails before she stepped inside of his chambers, hearing the heavy doors shut behind her. 

The smile that spread across her husband’s face made her stomach curl, not because the smile was cruel in any way, but because it was kind, genuine. It would be easier if Viserys was not kind, then Alicent would feel vindicated in feeling disgusted by him, but he was. The kindness in the man only served to cause guilt to follow behind the disgust.

The girl knew she should feel lucky that Viserys was kind, that is what her father always said. That not many lords were kind and less kings, but Viserys was. Kind and peaceful, it should feel easy for Alicent to do her duty but it never was.

“You look as beautiful as ever, Alicent.” The king spoke, his voice soft and low, like he was speaking to a skittish fawn, which perhaps he was for Alicent felt no braver than the wild animals that were hunted.

Mayhaps she should not have been so nervous; this was not their first night together, afterall. 

“Thank you, husband.” She found herself responding, her voice thin and faint, though she did not think the king noticed. He never seemed to notice her discomfort, though no one did. 

The man waved her closer to which she obeyed, one foot in front of the other. She felt each tremble that consumed her legs and she truly felt no different than a fawn stumbling through a meadow with their weak knees. 

Alicent attempted to offer a smile, but her lips barely lifted. If her father saw her then he would chide her for her impoliteness, Alicent knew that much.

Once the young queen reached her husband, he rose from his seat, placing his hand on the small of her back, an act that caused a shiver to travel up Alicent’s spine. She could feel her knees buckle as if every inch of her body was telling her not to do this, that it was wrong, but how could it be wrong when they were married?

She allowed her husband to guide her towards the bed where they would perform their marital duties and where she would eventually, soon she hoped, conceive a child. The faster she conceived, the sooner she could stop visiting the king’s chambers nightly. 

Alicent crawled into the grand bed, her movements slow as she reached the middle of the bed, laying on her back as she did the times before. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling to which her husband did not seem to mind or mayhaps he just did not notice. 

It mattered little to the young queen, the act was the same either way. 

The mattress dipped underneath the king’s weight as he climbed atop her, settling between her thighs, already parted for him like the nights beforehand. Alicent’s breath hitched, her throat feeling as though it was closing in when her nightgown was pushed up her thighs to reveal her small clothes that were unceremoniously pushed to the side.

Though kind her husband was not one for touching her before thrusting in though perhaps no man was, Alicent had heard stories otherwise of lovers engaging in other acts beforehand but they had been mere whispers that she had barely caught wind of. No one ever spoke directly to her about such things, she never had a friend with experience. 

Her teeth caught against her bottom lip to stifle any sound of discomfort that may have tried to erupt from the sensation of her husband’s manhood pushing inside of her dry crevice, her flesh burning with each thrust, all too slow or quick never in-between or enjoyable, for her at least from the grunts that escaped her husband it was possible he was enjoying himself. 

She felt his hand grasp onto hers, a touch she did not reciprocate, her fingers remaining limp against the sheets even as he clutched them with his own. 

The slow, uneven thrusts caused the bedposts to unrhythmically scratch against the stone floor beneath it, every sound Alicent was painfully aware of, every shadow that crossed the ceiling, anything to take her mind off what was happening to her body. 

A loud grunt brought her attention back to the man above her, feeling her husband still above her, his hot, revolting seed spilled deep inside of her. Only once the king removed his manhood from her unsatisfied cunt and rolled off of her did Alicent allow herself to move, her fingers tugging her nightgown back down to cover herself.

Daeron had been used to being haunted by his dreams, draining whatever energy he managed to gain during the day. 

He had never thought there would be a time when he would be caught off guard by any dream that might accost him, but that had all changed one night Daeron stumbled to his chambers, drunk like every other night. 

Eyes drifting shut when Daeron managed to fumble against the plush material of his bed, still dressed in the clothes he met the day in, he drifted off to sleep;

Dark curls caught the dim light of the candle, resting on the prince's bedside table. The expression was calm, peaceful, unburdened by what haunted Daeron. 

Daeron knew the expression belonged to his younger brother, Jacaerys, unlike Aerion, Jacaerys never grew into a little monster. He stayed sweet, he stayed good, the golden light that shined upon their family. 

The younger prince was sat against his bed, before scrunching the ends of his curls with what looked like a cream of some kind? 

The ones that the ladies of the court would purchase for their own hair. 

Moments passed by and Daeron began to wonder what sort of dream this was. Usually, his dreams would be filled with death and destruction, but this.. this seemed rather peaceful. 

Jacaerys lowered himself down to his bed after, assumedly, his curls had dried, if the cream worked like that Daeron did not know. Not even the power of his dreams could answer that question. 

In an instant the environment shifted from the warm, comfortable chambers to a roaring sea, arrows flying everywhere all at once, it was difficult to keep track of all of them. 

It seemed like the Battle of the Gullet, from that book his younger brother was always reading. 

One thing he could see was Jacaerys already floating above the waves, an arrow embedded into his neck, the water around him staining crimson. 

A flash of lightning shot down and he could see right back into the familiarity of his brother's chambers. Except, it was not his brother that laid on his back staring up at him. 

No, the expression on his face was too hardened, eyes too dark and too cold. This was not their Jacaerys, that much Daeron knew. 

Daeron shot awake, his lungs gasping for air. Sweat drenched through his tunic, but all he could think about was that dream.

What the fuck did that mean?

It was clear while he was in it, but.. surely it was not possible for something to take the place of his brother. 

There was no point in worrying, mayhaps Daeron had just been served wine that had spoiled. 

He took a deep breath, urging his hammering heart to calm down. Perhaps he could ask a servant to look in on his brother, just to check if he was acting any differently. 

If Jacaerys was indeed replaced then he could not look in himself, he could not behave in any way that would cause suspicion. 

Daeron stumbled from his bed, boots thumping against the floor. Right, he had forgotten to undress. 

Good, then he can slip from his chambers to the hall without having to worry about being lectured or having his feet whipped for being ‘sloppy’.  

He did just that, slipping out of his chambers out to the hall, searching for any servant available to do his bidding. Luckily enough for him, he soon found a servant girl, the mousy one. 

Daeron could not recall her name, but he supposed it did not matter. 

Daeron made his way over towards her, one uneven step at a time.

“You, you attend to my younger brother, Jacaerys?” It was not truly a question, but Daeron preferred to sound, at least, polite before he ordered around the help. 

“N - No, my prince. I attend, most times, to Aerion's quarters.” The servant girl replied, her voice quiverful. 

There was no reason to be this fearful. Daeron was not a violent man, not like his younger brother, Aerion. Not even close. 

“I insist, you attend to the quarters of Jacaerys for a few days. Let me know if he seems different.” Daeron spoke, watching the girl's breath catch. 

He wondered, briefly, if it was because Aerion's jealous fury knew no bounds. He had frightened off plenty of servants before, but Daeron assumed she'd be fine as long as she did not misstep. 

Either way Daeron would get his information.

“Yes, of course, my prince.” She responded, bowing her head and running off swiftly, her shoes clanking against the hard wooden floor. 

Not a very quiet walker, it seemed. No matter. 

Everything would be alright, it might already be so and if it was not.. Daeron did not know what he'd do. It seemed his dream was trying to show that their sweet hearted Jacaerys had been switched out with.. 

Who was the figure that had died during the

Battle of the Gullet? 

Many had perished in the fleets could it be one of those? 

Daeron hoped not. He hoped his brother was not switched with anyone.

A terrible thought probed the back of his mind. 

What if it could be the Velaryon prince that had died in that very battle? 

Daeron hoped that wasn't the case either. 

Not only because that would mean the body she was floating, pale and stiff, in the water was indeed their Jacaerys instead of just a man who looked like him; the other Jacaerys, the Velaryon one, but also because that would mean a man out for blood and vengeance was in the body of his brother. 

A heavy sigh escaped from him and even when he returned back to his chambers he could not find sleep. Mayhaps, that was for the best, lest he be terrorized with more images of his poor brother. 

The news of Jacaerys’ illness and delirium had spread throughout the halls quickly. That only solidified what his dreams had shown him. 

There was no other explanation for servants to be whispering about Jacaerys speaking about dragons and his mother coming to free him.

Daeron's heart sank to the pit of his stomach, the sound of it fading from his ears. Jacaerys was gone. Jace was gone. His sweet brother that would do no harm was gone. 

A lump formed in the back of his throat nearly choking him in the process, but he swallowed it down. There was no use letting himself mourn, not when everyone else still thought their Jacaerys was alive and well. 

No more than a day passed by before his chamber doors were thrown open, slamming against the walls that held them. The sound echoed throughout his chambers, causing him to grow rigid against his seat. 

He did not need to turn his head to know who would be standing in the doorway. 

“Did you not think to keep an eye on your brother?” The harsh words of his father hissed throughout the air, growing colder by the second. His father had that effect on rooms like that. 

Daeron slowly turned her head over his shoulder, peering over at the stern figure of his father, a scowl already adorning his features. 

“Did something happen to Aegon?” He asked, he was sure that his younger brother was running around the halls by now. 

He watched his father's jaw clenched before biting out a, “No. Aerion.” 

Oh, gods be good. What has his little monster of a brother done now? 

He bit his tongue. He would rather not let anything loose about Aerion that his father did not already know. 

“I have looked past his.. perversion many a times and I was told that he had stopped sleeping in Jacaerys’ bed a fortnight ago and yet..” 

Oh.. no. 

Daeron held his breath.

What had Aerion been caught doing? Hopefully nothing that would bring punishment or scrutiny upon Jacaerys as well as him -..

Right.

Well.. he supposed Jacaerys wouldn't be enduring any scrutiny, not their Jace at least just an imposter, that could never be as bright and lively as Jace was. 

Daeron was not one to judge another's tastes, especially not those of his younger brother but not everyone shared that mindset. 

His father raised a brow and Daeron could just hear the questioning, ‘well?’ on the tip of his father's tongue. 

Daeron swallowed whatever saliva he had in his mouth, fumbling for an answer that would not throw Aerion under the carriage wheels of his father's fury. 

“Aerion might just have been scared. It - it is easy to be worried for him considering..” Daeron spoke carefully, hoping all Aerion had been caught doing was sleeping. 

He watched his father's reaction carefully, watching the stern mask slip just an inch at his words. His father was surely thinking of how their mother had passed. 

“Sleeping is hardly a perversion.” Daeron added. 

“Is that what it was?” His father countered as if Daeron would know. He wasn't there to witness anything, he had no way of knowing. 

Though, Daeron had a hunch that the recent encounter was not what he was questioning him on. Daeron had no plan on answering what his father truly wanted to know. 

Some things were better left unsaid. 

He remembered the first time it clicked that some boys did not fancy girls, or mayhaps they did also but liked boys more. 

Nonetheless, Daeron remembered when he learned of his brothers tastes;

He had finished up on his studies and had been planning on collecting his brothers for a trip to the pond. 

Daeron had rounded the corner to the library where the two twins had often frequented, they weren't any older than thirteen back then. 

The quiet sounds of giggles and laughter met his ears before anything else.

It had brought a smile onto Daeron's lips back then, before his eyes had landed on the two boys. 

A glimpse of Aerion's silver hair had flashed towards Jacaerys in a second, lips met lips. Only for a moment and Daeron had pretended not to see.

The twins had always been close, always sneaking into each other's chambers, but Daeron had ever thought anything of it. 

It was easier to pretend he did not see anything, easier to pretend that they were normal. That they would be safe from the jeers and curses from the nobles and smallfolk alike if knowledge of them ever leaked out. 

Daeron blinked those memories away, half of the boys in those memories were gone now anyway. 

“What else would it be, father?” He countered, finally. 

The man retracted, stepping back before giving a single nod. 

“Perhaps it would be best for someone to keep an eye on them. Jacaerys has.. not been well, it would suit him if someone was making sure he was well.” His father spoke, his tone making it clear that it was an order to be followed. 

Daeron nodded, pushing his hair back out of his face. There was no point in arguing with him.

“Take Aegon too. I do not like him wandering off alone. Take them to the pond or a nearby creek.” He added to which Daeron nodded once again. 

“I will take them tomorrow.” Daeron responded, trying to swallow back a sigh. The last thing he needed was to appear disrespectful. 

“Very well then. Sober up. I will not have Aegon drowning because you are too drunk to watch him.” The man added before leaving his chambers as quickly and abruptly as he came. 

Daeron wanted to bite out how Jacaerys was more than capable of watching Aegon himself, but.. considering how their Jacaerys had been switched out for the imposter, that was debatable. 

Daeron's head dropped down to his palm, allowing a groan to leave him. 

No one would believe him even if he were to tell them the truth about Jacaerys. Even if they did believe him then what.. they would have to come to accept that their Jacaerys had been dead for hundreds of years now?

That was no solution. Daeron knew it. Everyone would be crushed. His father would be crushed, he might never recover from the loss of Jacaerys. He barely recovered from the loss of his wife. 

Aegon was too young to go through another loss. Rhae was too young to go through another loss.

Aerion.. oh gods, Aerion if he knew that his precious twin was dead he might not only kill the imposter, who everyone thought was his brother, he may lose the only bit of good he had left inside of him. 

Daeron could not do that to them. It would be selfish. Too much so, the least Daeron could do was bear the truth himself. 

That night he drowned himself in wine, until the knowledge of his sweet younger brother had faded, even if it was only temporary. 

The morning rays were unwelcome against his eyes when he awakened, still seated at his desk like he was the night prior. 

A groan fell from his lips when he managed to drag himself up to his feet. 

Daeron pushed his hair from his face and stumbled from his chambers, his footsteps uneven no matter which direction he headed towards. 

Where was he supposed to be meeting his brothers at? Daeron had no clue. 

He only continued to walk, or stumble down the hall, eventually he'd meet his brothers. Which he did, laying his gaze against his two brothers and the imposter. 

A strangled gasp left the imposter, eyes bulging when he looked at Daeron, for reasons Daeron had no clue of. 

He watched the imposter's nose twitch, his expression surely none too pleased and why should he be? 

He had to drag himself out of his chambers and act as though his brother was alive and well when he knew that wasn't the case. 

“Back to the living, I see.” Daeron spat. He would keep the fate of their brother to himself but he would not act affection towards the man that took their Jacaerys’ place. 

“I never stopped.” The imposter responded, his voice sickeningly similar to his brother. 

“Right then. I assume you're no stranger to the pole.” Daeron spoke, his eyes squinting to see the difference to the imposter's face and to his horror there was none, other than his expression. The nose, the lips, the freckles all the same. 

Daeron's stomach churned. He felt sick. Sicker than he ever felt while hungover.

The imposter would burn for this, Daeron hoped. Hoped this man would burn in all the seven hells for this impersonation. 

“No more than you're a stranger to drink.” The imposter quipped. 

The corner of Daeron's lips twitched up. 

The gull of this man to impersonate his brother then mock him for his drinking. He was bold Daeron would give him that. Or he was cruel. Perhaps both. 

“Good then.” Daeron forced out, failing to hide the ice in his tone. 

Instantly he knew his mistake, his younger brothers looked puzzled at his reaction and Daeron could not blame them. They didn't know the truth. 

“You sick too, Daeron, or just drunk?” Aerion piped up, a scowl tugging on his lips. Daeron knew that tone, it was the tone of his brother right before he threw a tantrum. 

He would rather not deal with Aerion's jealous fury so he quickly forced the coldness he felt down before responding;

“Always drunk, brother.” His tone had barely managed to take on a more familiar tone. 

“Can we go now?” Aegon's small voice piped up to ask, causing Daeron to switch his gaze from the imposter to his little brother. 

A small sigh escaped from him. 

Right, he had to hold it together in front of them, Aegon especially. 

Before Daeron could respond to the boy Aerion started to speak again, petulant and the typical jealousy of Aerion coating every word he spoke aloud;

“For once Aegon is right. We should go, before you forget where you are.”

Daeron watched Aerion's hand shoot out to clutch onto the imposter. He said nothing, despite the hairs on his arms raising at the sight. 

This man was not the sweet prince that Jacaerys was, surely he was violent and unpredictable as the riders of Dragons were known to history.

Aerion doubted that the imposter held the patience their brother did, it was only a matter of time before he got himself hurt acting like this. 

Daeron held his tongue turning to lead them from the castle walls, yet he could not help to glance over his shoulder from time to time seeing how the imposter's jaw clenched and shoulders straightened. 

His hand reached out behind him to grasp onto the littlest brother's hand, tugging the boy over to walk in front of Daeron, despite the boy's protests. 

He would rather be able to easily keep an eye on Aegon if things were to escalate to violence behind him. Aerion could, hopefully, hold his own. 

Daeron continued to walk, keeping Aegon in front of him, leading them away from the castle onto the lush grass and towards the familiar pond he used to take his brothers to when they were young. 

That was when he realized he forgot to inform any servant to have their poles ready.. Hopefully their father did that for them. 

Though, it was not like Aerion needed one. No, when he was a boy he would try to catch them barehanded. 

The memory brought a fond smile onto his lips if only briefly. 

“Been drowning yourself in the usual whores, Daeron?” He heard Aerion ask from behind him. 

A scoff followed though he was sure it did not belong to Aerion, but the imposter next to him. 

“Usual and unusual, brother. Does not matter to me.” Daeron replied, his voice still rough from sleep. 

The familiar pond came to view, the water holding a greenish hue to it. It was never large enough to drown in, Aerion used to stomp inside of it years ago and Jacaerys he used to.. 

No, stop. There was no point in reminiscing about the brother that was now gone. 

He could faintly hear Aerion whispering to the imposter now, surely about Daeron and his habits. It was usual for Aerion to gossip about any that he thought Jacaerys had taken an interest in, which was near everyone Jace made eye contact with. 

Aerion was worse than the ladies of the court in that way. Always running with more gossip and rumors.

Daeron could remember a time where one of the ladies of the court had been sent off to ward after word traveled that she had slept with a kitchen boy. He could not prove it but he had thought Aerion responsible for the rumor spreading. 

That particular lady had been set to be betrothed to Jacaerys back then, or so he had heard, her father and their father had many conversations. Of course, it had never come to pass, not after word had reached their father's ears. 

Though perhaps the lady was lucky that Aerion did not maim her. It could have been much worse. 

Daeron paused in his steps when he reached the edge of the pond, eyes scanning beside it for the wooden poles and thankfully he found them propped up against a nearby stump. 

Aegon was the first to run over and grasp ahold of his, Daeron had to bite back a laugh even in this circumstances, at the imagery of his small brother running around with a pole twice his size. 

Daeron wrapped his hand around his, before taking a spot on the grassy surface near the water. 

“Are you going to use a pole this time, brother?” Daeron called out over his shoulder, “or would you rather jump in and try your luck barehanded?” 

“It wouldn't be luck. I've caught many that way as you know.” Aerion immediately boasted, a bold grin spread across his face, though he had walked over to retrieve a pole for the imposter, assumedly. 

Daeron had turned back to his own pole, dropping part of it into the water, watching it ripple in the greenish hued water. 

His gaze occasionally glanced off to the side, keeping an eye on Aegon who seemed transfixed on his own pole and the pond below it. 

Frantic cries could be heard throughout the halls of Dragonstone, each desperate yell ricocheting off the walls belonging to the Black Queen, herself. 

“Where is he?” The question echoed, only rising in volume each moment Rhaenyra could not find her young son, Lucerys, storming through the castle in hopes of laying eyes on him despite the guards previously telling her he was no longer within the walls just moments ago.

Following in tow was her eldest child, Jacaerys, panic that nearly rivaled her own was evident in his dark gaze while they stood in Lucerys’ chambers, finding his bed empty.

“Mother, Arrax is gone.” He spoke and Rhaenyra’s blood ran cold, chilling in her veins. 

The queen froze in her steps before turning her head towards the boy, her eyes wide in terror as the realization came crashing down on her. The room spun around her, the air around her felt as though it was closing in on her seeking to crush her where she stood. 

If Arrax was gone then that meant Lucerys was not only missing but that he had gone of his own accord. Rhaenyra knew exactly where the boy would have flown off towards and the thought sent cold chills down her spine.

To not only have her daughter captured by the Green’s, her other daughter stillborn but also her son who was surely flying to his own death felt as if the gods themselves were punishing her for something. 

“I can go retrieve them both -” 

Before Jacaerys could finish those chilling words Rhaenyra had snapped, her words firm and final, “No!”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a few moments to compose herself before she turned back to her dark haired son. She raised a hand gently resting it upon his cheek, her thumb caressing against the soft skin apologetically.

This was her fault. 

She had kept Lucerys from the council meetings in hopes of protecting him from further fear, after what he had gone through, but clearly this had backfired and the unknown had caused the young one to fly off to rectify the situation himself. 

It was up to her to fix this, to stop her brave boy from flying to his death, to arrange her sweet daughter’s safe return, all of it. 

“No, I will go.” 

“You can not, mother, if you die all will be lost. You are our queen!” Jacaerys exclaimed, his hands waving in the air, fingers tensing with what Rhaenyra could only imagine to be stress of his siblings’ absence. 

“Yes, I am, but what else would you have me do?”

Her son’s eyes bulged from his head, his hands still waving all around him,

“Send me.”

“To the jaws of Vhagar, or your capture?” Rhaenyra questioned, her lips dropping into a scowl, “I already have one son flying off to danger, I do not need another.”

“But I can stop him, bring him back and - and I could even -”

“No.” Rhaenyra repeated firmly, knowing exactly where her eldest mind was going,  “that line of thinking is what caused Luke to fly off in the first place.” 

Jacaerys’ hands dropped to his side, clenching his jaw in response. Rhaenyra could feel his frustration, it was the same frustration that was plaguing her as well. 

His reasoning was not empty, she knew that, but she was not willing to lose another child to capture or worse.

Rhaenyra gave a sharp breath before repeating her earlier words, “I will go, find Luke and bring him back. You will remain on Dragonstone, in case he returns on his own.” 

They both knew he wouldn’t, but it served as an excuse to keep her eldest on the island so it would do. 

She stood there watching for her eldest’s reaction, seeing him clench his jaw tighter before he turned and stormed off, the doors slamming behind him.

She knew he did not like her decision but it was her responsibility as a mother to keep him safe and be the one to save her other children as well.

The queen took a deep breath to steady herself before she turned to waltz from the younger boy’s chambers, yet when her hands pushed at the wooden doors she found that they refused to open. 

Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed before pushing her shoulder against the thick wood. Still, it would not budge. Her stomach dropped, her mind instantly drifting to Jacaerys.

Surely he would not lock her inside and fly off himself, even as the thought came Rhaenyra knew, deep down, that Jacaerys had done exactly that. 

The queen balled her hands into tight fists pounding them against the thick wood, to cause as much noise as she possibly could, thumping against the surface,

“Help, unlock the doors!” She yelled until her voice grew hoarse, not at Jacaerys who surely had left Dragonstone by now, but her guards or anyone else who might be walking past the rooms she was trapped in.

“Let me out, I command you!” Rhaenyra shouted, her voice growing shakier by the moment praying that there were servants or guards nearby, the longer she was trapped, the longer her eldest had to put himself in harm's way.

Rhaenyra doubted that the prince would stop at catching his younger brother, it was quite clear he was intending on bringing all of his siblings home, even the one trapped in the KIng’s Landing castle guarded by who knows how many harmed forces, surely guarded by Vhagar and Aemond, himself. 

A frustrated scream soon ricocheted off the thick walls, loud thumps following with each time Rhaenyra slammed all her might into the doors to no avail. 

Jacaerys’ pace was quick after he had barred the doors from the outside, thankfully for him, there seemed to be no one near enough to prevent him from doing so. 

He knew his mother would be furious, but he had no other choice, the queen could not endanger herself and his sister and brother needed his help. There was no other option. 

Jacaerys sped out of the castle, his legs making quick work of the distance, nearly running towards where his dragon Vermax rested, he mounted the saddle with quickness before urging his dragon up and forwards, speeding through the wind, not as cold as the north but it tugged on his dark curls and bit at his nose all the same. 

The prince had urged his dragon forward, flying quicker than he even did flying back from Winterfell. It did not take long for him to reach King’s Landing, circling the sky around it, eyes scanning the ground for the familiarity of his brother or his dragon. 

A sigh of relief escaped him when he finally spotted the pearly scales of Arrax barely seen behind a woodland area, the shine of the scales peeking through the thick wood despite being a smaller dragon. 

Jacaerys steered Vermax over commanding his companion to land near the other, “Konīr, paktot konīr! (There, right there!)”

Vermax landed with a thump against the ground, stray branches snapping beneath his weight. 

Dark eyes searched and flickered around Jacaerys’ surroundings, his heart dropping when he saw no sight of his younger brother. 

He had no horse so did he mean to walk to the castle?, Jacaerys groaned internally at the thought, before tightening on the reins of Vermax. He was not foolish enough to walk into a trap like Lucerys was, if he had the chance of running into Aemond he wanted to have Vermax with him.

Mayhaps he would see the chance to burn the fiend to a crisp, that would surely solve the Vhagar issue and it would avenge you and whatever vile act his uncle had done to you.

With a short command Vermax kicked off of the ground and into the sky once more, keeping low as to easily see the ground in case he caught sight of the younger prince. Not long after that thought bubbled in Jacaerys’ mind did his eyes land on the dark haired boy, dressed in plain clothing, walking before his eyes widening when he also spotted Jacaerys above him, Vermax’s shadow overshadowing him.

“Jace?” The boy squeaked, his mouth falling open, his steps halting, “What are you-”

“No, what are you doing, what were you thinking?” Jacaerys hissed in question, his voice raised enough so the other could hear him,though a spark of relief washed over him at the sight of his brother unharmed. 

“Rescuing -”

“With your dragon left behind?” The older boy cut him off, his eyes widening at just how foolish the younger Velaryon’s plan was. 

To sneak from Dragonstone and just walk the distance once he reached King’s Landing? What was he to do if Aemond was waiting for him when he got there?

Jacaerys steered the dragon around in a circle before landing in front of the other, cutting off his route, before he leaned down, catching his arm in a firm grip. 

“Get up here. Now.” The command growled from Jacaerys’ mouth, his head beginning to throb each time he thought of Lucerys’ half baked plan. 

“Are we flying to rescue Y/N?” The other asked hopefully, his matching brown eyes flicking to meet Jacaerys’.

The prince of Dragonstone’s eyes bulged from his head before shaking his head, still tugging the younger boy over, 

“I am. You are returning home before our mother dies of fright.” 

Lucerys’ face contorted at his response, now attempting to writhe his arm free from the eldest’s grip. 

“But I can help!” 

Jacaerys shook his head at his younger brother’s response immediately. Of course, he could not. He did not even have the forethought of thinking of what could happen to him. Even if he could help, Jacaerys would feel much better if the younger boy was safe and secure on Dragonstone. 

“I am taking you back home -”

“No,” Lucerys swiftly interrupted, ripping his arm from the other’s grasp, stumbling backward, “I won’t go, not without Y/N.” 

A sudden shriek shot out through the air, causing both princes to freeze. 

“A scaled beast is here, we are doomed!” 

In a split second the younger prince leapt onto his brother’s dragon, his hands grasping onto the other’s fabric. Both knew that with the wailing of a witness would only bring more screeching smallfolk and the gods only know how many people that would bring. 

They had Vermax with them, yes, and Arrax was not too far, but mobs caught attention. Attention they could not afford, two small dragons against the ones that the Green’s had access to. 

Jacaerys chest clenched violently as if realizing whatever plan he had for valiantly rescuing his sister after returning his brother was a fool’s dream. 

With a curse Jacaerys flew up, not bothering to circle around to return to Arrax, he would follow his rider and Jacaerys did not want to risk taking more time than what was needed. 

Their return was nothing short of a disaster, their mother free from confinement screeching her fear and lectures, her face contorted in more anger, more rage than either of the boys had ever seen. To the side of her stood Daemon, his expression unreadable, choosing to say nothing and just stand at the side of his queen.

Before Jacaerys could manage to speak in his defense the woman bristled and snapped, like a mother dragon to her hatchlings,

“Say nothing. The both of you, to your rooms now.” 

A moment passed, both still frozen.

“Now, go, the both of you!” She raised her voice just enough to cause the two to scramble off.

“The prince Jacaerys has not left his chambers the past two days.” 

Aerion continued to fiddle with his blade between his fingers, his eyes lingering against the servant girl before him.

He already knew that, that was not what he was asking. He wanted to know what Jacaerys was doing and if by chance he was feeling better and more coherent than he had been. 

“And?” He prompted, the tip of his finger tapping against the edge of the blade. He wondered how it would look slicing across the lowly girl's face.. 

Would she scream? She looked like a screamer. She looked like she would collapse at the slightest of pressure. 

Surely this girl had more information than that, she had been the one attending to his brother whereas Aerion had been kept away from his ill Jacaerys. 

“A - and?” She echoed, sputtering out. Her voice sounded meek and pathetic to Aerion's ears, grating on his patience. 

Gods above, this woman was stupid. 

“Think. You've been in his chambers. Is he resting?” Aerion prompted, his voice growing colder with each folly from the servant. 

Surely, his father could hire more competent servants. Ones that did not need everything spelled out for them.

The servant hesitated, her gaze lowering to the floor before answering,

“No, my prince. Reading the histories.” 

Of course he was. His brother had always been quite fond of a particular era that Aerion never cared for. While Aerion was more fascinated with ‘Maegor the Cruel’ and the story about taking the throne, his brother seemed more content with reading about his namesake. 

That era Aerion always found quite depressing.

The extinction of their House's symbol and power all because of one king's weakness. Truly if that old fool believed his daughter should be heir then the least he could do was spill his seed in whores instead of taking another wife. 

Regardless, if that was what calmed Jacaerys down from that strange fit then so be it. He only wished their father would stop keeping Aerion from those chambers. 

Surely, the past few days were punishment enough? Why should he and Jacaerys continue to be punished by being kept apart?

Aerion knew his brother more than anyone and he wanted Aerion by his side even if the fever did cause him to say otherwise. 

“He seems quite moved by one of the books. It is always in his grasp when I walk in.” The servant girl spoke once again, her voice sounding far too excited for Aerion's liking. 

His stomach churned at the thought of such a lowly girl making eyes at his Jacaerys.

Aerion should plunge his blade into this stupid girl for making him lose his appetite, but he was to be on his best behavior according to his father, so he opted not to. Luckily for her. 

“Shut up. Do not act as though you know what he likes.” He managed to keep his tone calm as he chastised the stupid girl. 

Aerion tilted his blade downward burying it into his table, causing the wood to splinter underneath the strike. 

A pleasing wave of emotion washed over the prince as he watched the servant flinch, her eyes immediately dropping to the floor, all of the color draining from her face. 

Like it should have been already. 

“A- apologies, my prince.” 

Aerion felt his eyes roll in the back of his head, so much so that the prince was surprised he did not see a flash of purple from his own eyes. 

He waved the girl off with a flick of his wrist watching her scramble to leave. It was almost laughable how skittish she was. Almost, but Aerion found it hard to laugh at much when his other half was being kept away from him. 

Two days. He had not laid eyes on his Jacaerys in two days. Surely, that was punishment enough. Even the pain of his nose had faded away, albeit it was now crooked slightly to the right. 

He missed the lingering smell of salt that clung to Jacaerys and truly it would only be fair to let him return the hit, though he'd rather not break anything on his brother's face, perhaps he should strike him elsewhere on his body. 

Jacaerys had quite a pretty face, prettier than any maiden, and he would rather not ruin that face. The face that had light freckles dusted over his nose, that had a strong jawline and still managed to be prettier than all the ladies of court with eyelashes that fluttered against his skin with every blink. 

Aerion rose from his seat with a soft scoff escaping his lips. 

Despite knowing he may be scolded or even confined to his chambers for disobeying, he found himself leaving his chambers and heading towards Jacaerys’. 

His stride was swift in the halls of the castle, expecting to see the same two knights guarding his brother's door, what he wasn't expecting was seeing his younger irritating brother, Aegon. 

The young boy was stood in front of the doors, staring at the heavy wood. Perhaps he had been trying to convince the guards to let him in and failed. 

The corners of Aerion's lips lifted at the thought. 

Serves the little rat right for trying to ake his place. Always scurrying over to Jacaerys side, trying to take a place that would never be his. 

That puny boy would never be as close to Jacaerys as Aerion was. He was made for Aerion, created in the same womb from the same blood.

The only mistake the gods made was not giving Jacaerys a cunt for Aerion to sink into, to pump his seed into and watch the brunette’s stomach swell with their heir, but no matter. Cunt or not, Jacaerys was his either way. 

The boy mumbled something under his breath that did not reach Aerion's ears. It could not have been too important, because Aegon did not dare repeat it. 

Regardless, Aerion turned his attention towards the two guards, expectant. 

“Well?” The prince prompted before tilting his head towards the doors, “let me through.”

“Prince Maekar has ordered us not to let you in, especially, my prince.” 

“That was days ago.” Was Aerion's response, his voice snipping out. 

Still neither of the armed men seemed to care for his answer. 

They were fools who could not see that Jacaerys would only worsen without him. 

“The order still stands.” One of the knights spoke up. 

Cunts. The lot of them. 

“What about me?” The sound of Aegon piping up all high-pitched and grating, nearly caused Aerion's ears to ring, “May I go in?” 

A pitch that only Aegon and the wild mutts on the streets could muster. 

To Aerion's absolute shock, the guards who prevented him from entering, parted and opened the door for Aegon. 

Aerion eyed the boy carefully, watching the little whelp enter the chambers that Aerion should be entering. It took all of his strength to prevent himself from barging in regardless of what anyone thought. 

The thump of the heavy doors echoed in the vast halls, leaving Aerion behind. 

That little rat better sleep with one eye open from now on. Mayhaps Aerion should have held that pillow against the boy's face for longer, to make the boy truly fear for his life, then surely Aegon would be more mindful.

Aerion shifted his gaze towards the two guards, a scowl cementing on his features. Of course, none of the men commented on it nor did they stop him from leaning towards the doors. 

The prince shifted, pressing an ear against the hard wooden surface. He could not manage to make out the low voice belonging to Jacaerys or his younger brother's shrill voice. 

All he could hear was the floorboards creaking underneath the weight of their footsteps, two sets so Jacaerys must also be standing. 

Frustration built inside of Aerion, his hand falling against the handle of the door, his palm pressing against the cool metal. 

“Prince Aerion.” Warned one of the guards, his voice nearly sounding patronizing. 

Aerion almost wished he would cross the line to patronize him, it would be nice to make an example out of the man.

Or, he could make a show out of being offended and bring it to his father. That would distract his father from not allowing Aerion in Jacaerys' chambers, surely. 

The thought sounded rather pleasant, more pleasant than being abandoned in the cold hall, while Jacaerys gave all his attention to Aegon. 

His fingers curled tightly around the handle, his head tilted towards the knight that spoke. 

The corner of his lips twitched upward before he jerked the door ajar, just open enough for the knight to slam it closed with his forearm and just enough for it to be possible for his finger to find its way through. 

It did not matter whether or not Aerion's finger was truly caught between the two doors or if it was truly even harmed in the process. All that mattered was that it was possible. For it to be believable that he was harmed. 

Aerion forced a hiss to leave his lips, clutching a finger into his hand. He made an effort to howl like a man that had just had his finger jammed into the rough edges of a door or two.

He could see the guard’s face pale.

Perfect. 

“You've wounded me.” Aerion gasped, dropping his jaw to look shocked, appalled even, “my father will not have this.” 

“I was only -”

“I think you've broken it.” Aerion interrupted swiftly, raising his hand that was still clutching a single finger. 

“Don't fret. You can make it up to me, then I won't have to inform my father of your act of violence towards me.” He added, trying to hide the slight glee that slipped in his tone.

His eyes shifted from one guard to the other, before tilting his head forward towards the doors that led to his brother, Jacaerys. 

None responded, but they did, thankfully, stand aside to allow him to pass by.

Once Aerion arrived inside of those familiar chambers his attention immediately fell on his dark haired Jacaerys, curls messy across his face.

His lips were tugged into a pout while Aegon rambled to Jacaerys about whatever was happening in Aegon's insignificant little life. 

However his little ramblings stopped when Aerion entered the room. The boy seemed to subconsciously slink towards Jacaerys, hiding himself into the taller one's side. 

It made Aerion's stomach twist. The little rat was doing this on purpose. 

Aegon knew how much Aerion hated when people invaded the space that belonged to the older prince, that was why he was doing it. Not because he found Jacaerys’ company enticing or comforting, no, it was to slight Aerion. 

The little whelp was always insistent on trying to take Aerion's place. 

It was selfish, he was selfish. Aegon had his choice of sisters, he did not need Jacaerys’ company. 

Jacaerys belonged to Aerion that was why the gods chose for them to share a womb. To deny that is not only foolish but selfish to the highest degree. It should be punishable. 

Of course, there was nothing Aerion would do to the brat in front of Jacaerys. His brother loathed violence, or he used to before that night where he struck Aerion. 

“Why are you here?” The words were hissed from Jacaerys’ lips. 

An overreaction truly. He must not have been feeling better, or his mood had been dampened by Aegon. 

Still, Aerion did not allow that to dampen his own mood.

“To visit you.” Aerion responded simply, his hand raising to gesture to his nose as well, tilting his head to the side to show how it crooked slightly,

“And to have an apology. For the maiming.” He added. 

He did not miss the way Aegon's lips twisted into a brief smile, the boy's eyes flicking, presumably towards the obvious difference in Aerion's nose. He would be sure to return the favor later on.

If Aegon wanted to mock Aerion could give the rat a matching injury. 

His dragonic eyes lingered on his brother's expression, who did not seem pleased nor humored at his words.

Aerion could see the other's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping somewhere in his cheek. He could not help but allow his gaze to linger against the hard line of Jacaerys’ jaw. 

“Whatever I had done to you was warranted as you accosted me in my sleep.” Jacaerys snapped, his nose scrunching up in a snarl in a way only Jacaerys would be allowed to do towards Aerion. 

The corner of Aerion's lips twitched, his tongue swiping against the bottom of his lip in thought before his gaze fell down towards Aegon. 

A response laid against the tip of his tongue, debating whether or not he should say it aloud in front of company. Especially, company that would surely run off to their father at any jest that upset the boy's sensitivities. 

“Hardly.” Aerion settled. 

Jacaerys’ expression twisted, his eyes darting around the chambers like he could not believe his ears. 

For once in Aerion's life he could not tell if Jacaerys was acting or not. Usually, it would be easy to figure out if he was playing the fool or teasing, but since the fever..

Perhaps it was because he did not want Aegon to know that they shared a bed.

That must be it, because there was no way in all of the seven hells that Jacaerys would want to sleep alone. Especially when he wasn't feeling well. 

Knowing how their mother died, Jacaerys was not one for sleeping alone, unless he was still delirious?

Aerion was not sure what was going on in his Jace's head. 

“Daeron wanted to know if he -” Aegon's puny voice paused before adding a, “we,” with great reluctance, “wanted to come fishing.” 

An interruption but for once Aerion would allow it. He was a kind brother after all, even if Aegon was a nuisance. 

Besides, he did enjoy fishing and so did Jacaerys. It should bring his usual joy back to him.

“We'll come.” Aerion stated for the both of them, since Jacaerys still seemed to be in a pouty mood. 

“Do not speak for me.” Jacaerys grumbled underneath his breath, those dark eyes dropping down to Aegon for a moment before adding a softer, “I already said I would.”

Jacaerys always had a soft spot for their younger siblings before, but now Aerion could not help but notice there was a hint of.. mourning in his eyes. 

He wasn't tearful, not anymore, but those dark brown eyes that always had so much life in them had dulled, similar to how they did weeks after their mother's funeral proceedings. 

There was no reason for it, especially not to look at their younger brother like that. They had never lost a sibling, not that Aerion could recall. 

Aerion eyed Jacaerys carefully, allowing his gaze to travel down his rumpled night shirt. It hung loose off his frame. Not in any appropriate attire to venture outdoors.

Was it possible that he lost weight in these few days? Aerion hoped not. He'd hate to be prodded and poked with bone next time he accompanied his brother to sleep. 

“You should wait outside, Aegon. Give Jace privacy.” 

Aegon cut his eyes up towards him, his small face scrunching for a moment before walking behind Jacaerys to leave,

“He prefers Jacaerys now.” The rat quipped over his shoulder before he slipped out the doors. 

He waited until he heard the doors click shut, leaving his brother and him alone in the silence of the chambers.

He took his time to rove his gaze over Jacaerys’ expression which was still pulled into an angry pout, a line had formed between his brows. 

A soft breathy chuckle left Aerion. 

“Careful, you're beginning to look like our father.” Aerion teased, but the light tone did not last when he watched his brother grimace and turn away, the pout on his lips everlasting. 

What in the gods name was wrong with him? Still ill or was it something else?

“You have not been the same since you fell ill.” His voice dipped lower than he meant it, but he wouldn't back down. 

He stared, keeping his line of sight steady, watching how Jacaerys stared back at him with too much rage to make sense. 

His attitude had been entertaining for a short while but now.. now it looked like he hated Aerion. 

His chest clenched at the idea and he swore pain erupted throughout his being. He hated feeling like this and only Jacaerys could manage it, though his brother had never caused him such pain before. 

His mind spun, flipping through all the possibilities that could have caused such change.

Could it be the servant? No, she was not much of a beauty, not Jacaerys’ type surely. 

His vision began to blur until he could barely even see Jacaerys anymore. In fact, everything began to blur and bleed away from his sight. His head pounded with what felt like hundreds of canons firing in his ears. 

His fingers twitched with every second they remained empty. 

He needed to grasp something, anything.. where the fuck did he leave his dagger?

Was it Aegon? Had he told Jacaerys something he ought not have? That little rat, that puny little fucker -

A single sigh brought Aerion from his thoughts, returning him to his senses. The sigh sounded heavy and weighed down with something unknown to him. 

“Our mother..” His brother trailed off, his voice tightening. 

Oh. Oh.

Of course, their mother had passed from illness. Of course the reminder would have caused him to act different from his usual self. 

Aerion's mouth grew dry. Any response he could have said flew from his mind. 

He never knew what to say when it came to their mother, though perhaps that was the few things he had in common with their father. Their father never knew what to say on that matter either. 

“With your energy you were never in danger of succumbing to the same fate.” Aerion managed, his voice dropping to an almost monotone voice. 

The thought of Jacaerys following their mother into death was.. not an option for Aerion. 

His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, glancing away from his brother for a few moments. He would rather not linger on the subject of their mother, not even for Jacaerys. 

“Her fate..?” 

Aerion shot Jacaerys a warning glance. He knew very well what happened to their mother, he did not need to hear Aerion say it aloud.  

“Right. Th - that is why I am acting..” His brother trailed off, his voice dipping into sounding vaguely confused then accepting..

More strangeness with Jacaerys. Grand. He hoped it wore off soon. 

“I gathered.”

For once in many days Jacaerys’ lips lifted into a smile, however brief and anxious looking it was. 

The urge to nip against his soft lips had never been stronger, but he would hold off while his brother was recovering. 

“I still want an apology.” Aerion added. 

“I still think it was warranted.” Jacaerys countered, a scowl returning to his plump lips. 

“You'll issue me one at a later date. That we both know.” Aerion took a step closer, his weight creaking underneath the floorboards. 

Jacaerys blinked in response, his lashes fluttering against his pale ivory skin. His mouth parted in response, before clamping it shut like his words had escaped him. 

“Nevermind that for now,” Aerion waved it off, not wanting to dampen the mood once more, 

“You should dress. Our father would be none too pleased if you waltzed out dressed in your night clothes.”

His hand reached out, fingers only just barely reaching the soft fabric of his tunic, smoothing out the wrinkles to it. 

He could feel the way Jacaerys stilled under his touch and he just knew that his brother's face was surely redder than the dragon on their banner was. 

He pressed forward until his palm was resting against his tunic, against his abdomen feeling the defined muscle beneath it. 

Good. It seemed he did not lose that muscle like Aerion thought. 

“I can dress myself.” Jacaerys hand shot out to wretch his grasp from his clothes, only releasing Aerion when he, himself, took a step back to withdraw. 

His grip had been firm but not painful. Perhaps he was done with his fits. 

“As you say.” Aerion stepped back once more to gain a better view of Jacaerys. The entirety of his face was indeed flushed red. 

Jacaerys stared at him, dark eyes widening like that had any chance of scaring him away. A dragon did not scare, especially not away from his chosen mate. 

“I will do so, alone.” Jacaerys claimed his voice firm and yet Aerion did not move, however it did earn a chuckle from him. 

“Do not act a maiden, Jace -”

“Jacaerys.” 

“Jace.” Aerion reiterated, tutting softly, “we have seen each other in a state of undress many times.” 

“For what reason?” Jacaerys croaked, his face growing even hotter. The faint freckles were nearly hidden underneath the reddened flesh now. 

Tease. 

“Do not play the fool.” He chuckled softly, before trailing over towards his brother's bed, the sheets rumpled. Aerion could nearly smell the scent of Jacaerys pouring from them. 

Ah, there's that book the servant talked about. Sprawled against the sheets, with the pages crumpled, some even torn from it. His eyes landed on the spare pages that scattered the edge of the book.

Now, that was strange. Never in all their lives had his brother ever treated anything with such disregard. The way some pages were torn in more than one piece was.. very unlike him, it almost seemed rageful. 

“I - er.. saw a bug.” Jacaerys called out to him, his voice sounding unsure of it even as he spoke it. 

“Must have been quite a frightening one.” Aerion quipped, his hand dropped down to collect the scattering pages and place them back inside of the book, before carefully closing it. 

He would make sure to have it mended and fixed before their father could notice the damage done. 

The things he did for Jacaerys.. he truly was a good brother. 

“Right.” Grumbled his brother from behind his back. Aerion could hear the shuffling of fabrics. 

Jacaerys must have taken the opportunity to change when he wasn't looking. He would allow that this time, keep his eyes on the tattered book before him. 

Aerion tossed it against the bedside table, hearing it softly thump through the quiet chambers. 

“Are you done yet?” Aerion questioned, growing bored of staring at the leathered worn book. 

A pause lingered in the air before Jacaerys finally responded, “yes.” 

Aerion turned to face him, eyes roving over his brother's form, now dressed in the fine fabrics of their house. 

Their house colors always suited him even with his dark hair and eyes. He looked akin to a bronze dragon, ferocious and untamable, especially with his mood as of late. 

“Good. I'm sure that Aegon's growing more impatient by the second.” Aerion said, tilting his head over towards the heavy oak doors. 

Jacaerys gave a single nod. 

The boots, that Jacaerys must have slipped on and tied very quickly for Aerion to have missed it, clacked against the wooden floor. 

Aerion followed soon after leaving from the same doors that his brothers had, letting it thump closed behind him. 

Of course, Aegon was waiting just right outside the doors, being the nosey rat that he was. 

Aerion remembered when he, Daeron and Jacaerys used to fish together. All three of them were close then, before the death of their mother and the complexity of manhood. 

Some part of him missed Daeron, the boy he was back then when he would grin and tousle Aerion's hair, before he distanced himself from the younger prince. 

It was not that much of a great loss though, Aerion had Jacaerys, like he always had. That was all he needed. 

Aerion followed Jacaerys closely while the two.. well three, including Aegon, walked through the halls. 

He watched each measured step Jacaerys took, the line of his shoulders tense even now, after speaking of his worries. 

Aerion rose a brow at the way his Jacaerys snapped his head towards every single servant that passed them by. 

They were meant to be ignored. He needn't spend time to look at them. 

Right when Aerion was about to question where their drunken brother was waiting for them, he caught sight of the dark messy blonde locks of Daeron. 

Unkempt as always Daeron stumbled down the hall to meet them. Dark circles rimmed below his eyes, his expression seemed none too pleased to be awake and dressed.

Rude, as he was the one to invite them to fish.  Unless Aegon lied, he would not put it past him. 

A strangled gasp caught his attention, turning his head towards the direction of Jacaerys, who seemed absolutely shocked at something Daeron did, or so he assumed. There was nothing else he could think of to cause that reaction. 

Whatever it was Jacaerys’ eyes were wide, nearly bulging as he looked the drunk up and down, his nose twitching from what Aerion assumed as the heavy scent of wine. 

Aerion turned back to the stumbling Daeron who paused in the middle of the hall, also staring intently at Jacaerys. 

How grand. Now two brothers were acting strange. 

“Back to the land of the living, I see.” Daeron finally spoke, his voice almost bordering on accusatory. 

“I never stopped.” Jacaerys immediately responded, his voice snipping through the air that had grown tense between the two. 

“Right then. I assume you're no stranger to the pole.” Daeron spoke, his eyes squinting as he continued to stare at their dark haired brother. 

Aerion blinked. 

Strange thing to spout off. Perhaps Daeron drank himself so silly he did not remember their previous trips to the pond or the many creeks, lakes and even the sea. 

“No more than you're a stranger to drink.” Jacaerys quipped, his nose twitching, now Aerion was certain, from the smell of alcohol. 

“Good then.” Another strange response from Daeron. He sounded awfully accusatory bordering on cold. 

“You sick too, Daeron, or just drunk?” Aerion piped up.

If he was indeed coming down with something Aerion would rather not breathe the same air, he would rather return to Jacaerys’ chambers or even his own and spend his day there instead.

“Always drunk, brother.” Daeron responded, his tone switching to a more familiar one.

“Can we go now?” Aegon spoke, his tone impatient as he always was. Aerion could only assume what face the boy was pulling now, he was far too busy watching Daeron eye Jacaerys.

He knew Daeron had no interest in Jacaerys. Their older brother preferred to drink himself stupid and fall into the nearest whore, but still.. Aerion found himself growing irritable at the prolonged eye contact.

Perhaps Daeron was finally bored of whores. Aerion's jaw clenched, teeth grinding against teeth at the mere idea that his eldest brother would forget himself. 

Aerion was aware Jacaerys was pretty but he was not a whore and Daeron should know better than to look too long at something that wasn't his. 

“For once Aegon is right. We should go, before you forget where you are.” Aerion announced, his hand grasping ahold of what was his. 

It only tightened further when he felt Jacaerys’ arm begin to writhe. His grip tightened until his nails surely made an indent into the other's arm through his sleeve.

He hoped so. He hoped the other's flesh would permanently hold the shape of Aerion's nails, to show everyone who might come across his dark-haired Jacaerys in a state of undress would know exactly whose marks those belonged to. 

Even once Daeron's eyes retreated and once they all continued on their way Aerion kept his hold on his twin, refusing to let the other stray a mere few steps away from Aerion. 

Once they were out of the indoor castle walls of summerhall, he loosened his grasp but did not release him.

Each step Lucerys took down the hall caused the young prince to hold his breath, worried that the quiet thumps of his boots would gain the attention of his mother, Jace, or even Daemon. 

He assumed all would be busy with planning on the council, one of many he was not in attendance, his mother thought him too fragile after what had happened with his uncle and sister, barely surviving the encounter himself. 

By pure luck or mayhaps fate, Lucerys managed to sneak from the Dragonstone castle, hauling himself up onto the pearly white dragon, clutching the reins in his grasp. 

His mind buzzed as he soared upward into the sky, urging his dragon to move quickly, to reach further away so he would not be seen from the small rocky island. It was not until he was far from it that it occurred to him that he had no idea where to hide Arrax so no one would report that his dragon had been sighted over the city. 

He swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat, urging the confidence to continue before directing his dragon down away from the cities, to behind a woodland area.

It would be quite a walk, but the heir to Driftmark had little choice as he could not fly Arrax to the doorsteps of the keep without fear of facing off with his uncle and the fearsome Vhagar once again.

Deep breaths, Lucerys reminded himself, take deep breaths.

He had to stay brave, for you, who was surely more terrified than he would ever be, trapped all alone surrounded by Greens without an ally in sight. 

Aemond stormed from the castle halls, his hands clenched so tightly into fists he felt them tremble. His mind was racing, he knew he had made a mistake. He should not have snapped at you like that, he should have kept his mouth shut or done anything else that would not serve to push you away or cause your suspicions to grow. 

Aemond had no one to speak to about the matters of wives and how to soothe their upset. Aegon was a terrible husband, Ser Cole had never and could never be married and his mother was not fond of you.

There truly was no one he could turn to with such matters and yet he found himself seeking answers amongst the street of silk, in the walls of the brothel. The prince tugged down the hood of his cloak to hide the shame that flickered crossed his expression as he stood still. 

The place still reeked of alcohol like the last time he had entered this establishment. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the lingering memory of his boyhood.

He shook his head from those thoughts. It was different now, he was now a man grown, not an inexperienced boy being brought by his drunken fool of a brother. 

“My Prince, is there someone specific you’re looking for?” A nearby whore asked him to which he barely turned his head to look at her, he did not come here to ogle whores. 

“The Madam Sylvi.” He kept his tone purposely blunt, monotone. He did not want to give even the appearance of being interested in another woman, not when he had you, even if you were ill with him, in his grasp. 

Aemond kept his eye staring ahead, not letting it rest on any individual for more than a breath, not until the all too familiar brunette madam entered his gaze.

His hand already reached into his cloak to grasp onto the bag of coins, tossing them over to the woman. The prince could hardly pay attention to what the woman was saying, his ears ringing even as he followed her to a private room. It was better this way, the more private setting the harder it will be for bystanders to eavesdrop on his conversation.

“I have no need for comfort, just guidance.” He spoke once they were in private quarters the curtains pulled shut to ensure privacy. 

The Madam's lips curved up in an almost amused smirk and that nearly caused his cheeks to flush under her gaze, a reaction he could not quite push down for reasons he loathed to think of. 

“I fear I have upset a woman who is very dear to me and I would like to rectify it.” Aemond stated, crossing his arms behind his back. 

“Well, may I ask how you upset this woman?” Madam Slyvi questioned, placing herself onto the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to her signaling for the prince to come closer to which he found himself doing, placing himself next to the older woman, the mattress dipping underneath his weight.

Aemond’s jaw clenched so hard it had clicked. It took a moment for him to mull over being honest or not before he spoke,

“She believes that I am hiding things from her.”

“Are you, My Prince?” 

An instant nod. Aemond turned his head fully to the side, his singular eye resting on the older woman’s expression and he was thankful no mirrors were in this room, because he was sure he wore his guilt clear on his features, as if he was a little boy caught misbehaving.

“Yes, but I can not speak of it. Not without losing her.” His voice nearly caught in his throat, having to force the rest of the words out. 

“This woman, is she highborn?”

“Yes. She is my wife.” Aemond spoke, the word wife on his tongue sounded so right, it nearly brought a smile to his face before he remembered why he was there. 

“I know not of highborn marriages, but if I was in her position I would appreciate it if my husband was honest with me.” The madam spoke, her tone soft and caring.

Her hand reached over to caress the sharp cheekbone of the prince, he turned his cheek, pressing it further into the woman’s touch. Her touch was soft, softer than how he remembered it. 

“And if you were a married woman and your husband lied to you about..” Aemond paused in his words, lifting his head from her touch to which he cursed himself for even leaning into.

He was a man now, a married man, he should not have even entertained leaning into another’s embrace, even if it was as simple as a warm hand against his cheek. 

He inhaled slowly, clearing his mind before he continued on, his voice lowering to a near mumble,

“About many different things.” 

His singular eye darted across the woman’s expression, that never once shifted to one of judgement, though perhaps that was because she surely has heard far worse confessions in a place like this. 

“If I may say, I think that continuing to lie will only further her upset.”

Aemond nodded in response and he knew that she was right, the longer he lied the more angry you would be, but.. If he spoke the truth he would surely lose your love for him, perhaps he could twist the details of what he told you enough to keep it, but the thought of adding more lies made Aemond’s head spin. 

A slow exhale left his lips before the sudden sound of a curtain opening caught his attention, his head snapping over to be met with the sight of his drunken fool of a brother cackling, the other’s face flushed no doubt from some kind of ale or wine. 

Aemond was glad he was at least fully clothed, if just sitting next to the whore caused such laughter he could only imagine how Aegon would react if he had been caught in a vulnerable position.

“All these years of pining after the girl and here you are in the arms of a whore!” The eldest cackled, nearly doubling over the bed Aemond was seated on. 

Aemond’s jaw clenched at the accusation, but said nothing to defend himself, refusing to give his brother more material to spin for his amusement. He rose to his feet, pushing past him while the others around them parted willingly for Aemond to pass. 

“Oh, do not let me ruin your night, brother!” Aegon called after him, in between bouts of laughter.

Aemond did not even bother to turn his head to look at him nor the madam he had been in a conversation with. He would rather not deal with his brother’s drunken imagination, let it fizzle out during Aegon’s nighttime prowl, it was not to be a cause for worry to Aemond. 

The prince soon returned to the castle just to be met with the sight of you, once again, engaged in a conversation with his mother.

Heat rose to his head and he barely managed to stifle the growl that nearly slipped from his mouth. 

How many times did Aemond need to warn his mother before she took him serious? 

Aemond strode over to the two of you in rushed steps, watching his mother’s face go pale and hastily shush you. 

“Am I interrupting?” He questioned, a wry smile pressing to his lips and he was sure his eye was also wide and wild staring at the two women, but perhaps that would serve as another warning to his mother. 

“Yes.” The blunt response left your lips before you deliberately turned away from him and when he saw you reach out to grasp onto his mother’s arm, his blood boiled.

“As you can see we are in the middle of a conversation, husband. Perhaps you can storm off once more?” The snippy tone of your words only further boiled his blood, though he knew why you were still angered with him, it still did not excuse brushing him off like so, in favor of his mother of all people. 

“Anything you can speak to my mother are words you can speak to me. I am your husband, afterall, secrets have no place in our marriage.” He found himself saying, his arm reaching out to snatch you away from his mother, the grip iron against your arm.

He spun you around to face him, watching your face flush before you barked out, “And yet you never answer even the simplest of my questions!”

Aemond paused, flicking his eye towards his mother who just stood there, pale faced and fidgety, like she had told you something she should not have. 

“She told you.” The words were cold, the air around them seemingly dropping to chilling temperatures or mayhaps that was just Aemond being overcome by cold chills and the fear that everything had been ruined. 

“No, no, I did not!” His mother exclaimed, her head shaking furiously. “She asked who -” 

“Rhaenyra is?” You cut the woman off with a biting tone, whilst attempting to writhe free from his grip that he only tightened each moment that you continued your antics, “Yes, I did. I want answers.” 

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his heart hammered in his chest as he desperately thought how he could spin this, how he could answer this without igniting your memories. He knew he could not refuse to speak, it would just fuel your paranoia. Perhaps Madam Slyvi was right and he should just come clean but then he would lose you.

His mind buzzed and head ached, a ringing took place in his ears raising in volume until he could not hear anything around him. He stayed frozen in place, staring down at you desperately. 

It felt like an eternity before Aemond felt his lips move on their own, “A traitor.” 

He finally loosened his grip allowing you to slip your arm away. 

“What?” 

“Rhaenyra is a traitor who seeks to kill us all.” He repeated, the ringing quieting down in his head enough for him to be able to think.

He watched you swallow in response, your expression slowly shifting to one of almost.. Disappointment? Before you shifted to rub the arm he had gripped too tightly. 

“Oh.” You paused before trailing off, “Is that who also..” you gestured towards the eyepatch to which he swallowed, mirroring your act from earlier. 

“Her son did.” Aemond flexed his fingers at his side, letting out a slow breath. It was the truth, but he knew he had to be cautious not to allow you to remember them as family, no, he wanted you to know them as nothing more than traitors, people you needed to be protected from by him, your dutiful husband. 

“And the house I belong to?” The next question that left your lips was softer, no longer holding the anger from earlier. 

Aemond reached out, this time waiting until you grasp onto him instead of snatching your arm, his movements cautious like he was approaching a spooked animal. 

“Velaryon. Might we speak privately?” He urged, his tone gentle, “I will answer any and all questions you have. I swear it.” 

He watched you nod before you took his offer, your warm hand grasping onto his. His thumb caressed your knuckles in slow movements while leading you away from his mother, away from the halls and back up to his chambers. 

Something was different with you, Aemond could feel it in his bones ever since that day where you had broken down, shouting how you did not know who he was or you. He could not have offered information, not truly, not without fear that you would suddenly remember everything that had happened. 

You were beginning to grow suspicious of him, he could feel it, the way you watched him out of the corner of your eye, the way you slept on the opposite side of the bed to him now. All of it made the prince very aware that he needed to come up with something to ease your suspicions, but he had spun many lies and they began to tangle within themselves until he could not tell what he had told you and what he hadn’t. 

Aemond soon spotted the grand maester to which he swiftly pulled aside.

“I require milk of poppy delivered to my chambers.” His words were clear and calm, giving nothing to anxiety that boiled and swirled inside of him like a deadly concoction of poison. 

The man only nodded, inquiring nothing of the prince’s intentions. That was not the maester’s job after all. 

It had not been Aemond’s intention to keep you drugged during your marriage, but he did not know any other way to, hopefully, keep your mind from repairing to unlock memories best locked away. He knew that eventually he would have to deal with the fallout of your memories returning, but he just needed a little more time where you would love him unconditionally, just as he loved you, as he always loved you.

Aemond inhaled sharply, pushing the unpleasant emotions back down, before preparing to return to his chambers, where you no doubt had your nose buried in a book ignoring his existence. 

However, before he could manage to return to his chambers his mother intercepted him in the hall,

“I thought you claimed Y/N was with child." It was not phrased as a question more said as an accusation sharp and unyielding like his mother already knew the answer. 

“I did.” Aemond kept his response short, not offering her any more information than she may have already known. 

A dry laugh left the woman, sounding bitter in the air between them before she shook her head. 

“But yet a servant informed me she is on her moonblood?” 

Aemond felt himself stiffen, his posture more rigid than it usually would be. He immediately crossed his arms behind his back to keep up his calm, disciplined facade even as his mother sought to ruin him. To take you away just as your mother once had done. His jaw clenched nearly painfully at the thought. 

“Perhaps I was wrong. No matter, she will soon be with child regardless of what you have planned.” Aemond spoke, his tone purposefully cold towards the woman. 

If his mother was truly set on trying to force you apart then he truly did not think he should show her the respect he once did. 

He took a step towards her, using his height as his advantage to tower over her. He tilted his head, allowing a hum that sounded just as cold as his words, to linger between them before he spoke, each word laced with a clear threat of what was to come if she did not cease in her attempts to force an annulment.

“It would be a shame for Storms End to catch ablaze. Do you not think so, Alicent?” 

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening then shutting like a fish out of water for several long moments that stretched between them before she managed to stammer out a response,

“O - Our allies, Aemond. You can not -”

“It would be quite unfortunate for many, yes, but continue on in your path and I will have no choice. I will not marry another.” His eye narrowed down at the former queen, knowing very well that he meant what he said.

The lives of the Baratheons mattered very little to the prince and he would rather see them reduced to ash than have you reduced to a mistress when you deserved to be his lady, his love, his queen even.

Aemond cast one last glance at his horrified mother before abandoning her in the halls to return to his chambers atop the many stairs that led to it. 

You had laid in bed the entire day, letting it pass by you, tucked underneath the blankets refusing to allow the sunlight to bother your eyes.

Something had felt off for a while now and you could no longer shrug it off. Anytime you asked about the past your husband gave no answer and the few times he did, they were vague at best. He had watched you spiral about your identity and offered no answers, answers surely he would know.

The sound of the door creaking open caused your ears to perk up, but you did not find it necessary to unbury yourself from the comforting cocoon of the blankets you had wrapped yourself in, assuming it was just your husband returning. 

Though you were soon proven wrong when you heard two sets of footsteps thud against the stone floor, but just as you were about to poke your head from the covers, they began to speak and you were curious enough to stay underneath the covers and still enough that whoever was speaking would assume she was asleep. 

“I know it is not our place to speak on these matters, but is it not shocking that no one has come for her yet?” One asked, their voice whispered and meek as if they feared to be overheard by the wrong person.

“Vhagar guards the city, I for one, would not be so foolish to want to face him.” Another responded. 

“Princess Rhaenyra has dragons as well.” 

Rhaenyra.

That name sounded familiar, though you could not quite place where you had heard it before, or who she would be coming for or why she would attempt to face Vhagar for that person. 

“Vhagar’s bigger and Prince Aemond is.. terrifying.” The other whispered back hastily. 

You could barely hold in an amused scoff. 

Terrifying was not the word that came to you when you thought of your husband. Infuriating was the word that recently came to mind, yet you could see how his impressive form and diligent training could come across as terrifying to others, especially maids, who you assumed were the ones speaking in your and your husband’s chambers. 

“Mayhaps, but she still has access to more dragons than King Aegon does -”

“Hush before you get us sent to the gallows.” A stern whisper had interrupted the one maid. 

A hurried clink was heard, perhaps a glass set against the wooden table that your husband always used to analyze his maps, before the sound of shuffling feet exited the chambers, the heavy doors slamming behind them. 

You finally sat up, pushing the covers from your face. You blew a stray curl that had landed on your face, brushing the tangled mass of hair behind your shoulders. 

Your eyes scanned around the chambers before they landed on a goblet against the table. Curious, you leaned down to sniff the concoction, an earthy scent that couldn’t help but cause you to stifle a yawn. Clearly this was ‘milk of poppy’, you could still remember the bitter taste on your tongue from the many times you had drunk it after the accident.

You could not help but wonder if this was brought here for your husband.

Everyone knew milk of the poppy was excellent for dulling pain and you knew you were not in any pain that would require such drastic measures, so mayhaps it was your husband's eye, or lack of an eye that required it.

A sense of guilt settled in your chest at how dismissively you had treated your husband and if that had brought him pain or worsened his eye. You had never asked what had happened to it, but surely losing an eye and then placing a gem inside of it would cause it to throb at occasion.

The sound of the wooden doors opening caught your attention, turning your head over to find your husband standing in the entrance, his shoulders tensed for a moment before he crossed the room in a few graceful strides, stopping right by the table.

His eye landed on the goblet resting on the table before it switched to you in absolute silence, one that was as thick as it was uncomfortable, his sharp gaze staring at you unblinking. 

A few more tense moments passed before you worked up the courage to ask; “How are you feeling, husband?” 

“Well enough as one can be when one's wife refuses to look at him.” 

You blinked in disbelief, the guilt that you had felt melting away from how cold his tone was towards you, his wife. 

“Am I not looking at you now?” You responded with a scoff. 

You watched as your husband’s long fingers gripped the rim of the goblet, lifting it off the table and pointing it towards you. He did not respond to your comment, instead changing the topic all together, 

“Drink, it will help with your.. condition.” 

The sound of his voice that was so calm but yet so dismissive made you want to scream.

 Your condition? To your own knowledge being on your moon blood did not require such a drastic concoction. If anyone needed it, it would be Aemond due to obvious reasons.

“And of your condition?” You snipped out, raising your hand to gesture towards the leather eyepatch that covered half of his, admittedly handsome, face. 

“And whose fault is that?” His voice rose for a mere moment, growing tight. His eye narrowed down at you with a gaze that looked too close to resentment for your liking. His fingers tightened around the cup he held, twitching against the material.

You did not know any other word to describe what you felt in that moment other than; unsettled. The way he was looking at you like you had anything to do with it caused a chill to travel up your spine, hair standing up at the back of your neck. 

“I - excuse me?” You stumbled out, your eyes blinking rapidly. You knew you should not have snipped out about his eye, but surely that did not warrant such anger. 

Aemond slowly inhaled, tearing his gaze from you for a few moments before returning it, no longer holding such anger in that remaining violet eye.

 “No matter. Drink.” He commanded more gently this time, but it was a command nonetheless, one that did not sit right with you. 

“No, do not do that.” You urged, taking a step back away from your husband’s arm that extended towards you, cup in hand, “Whose fault was it, it was surely not mine was it?” 

Aemond inhaled sharply, all but slamming the goblet onto the table when you stepped away from him, turning his entire body away from you as he did so.

“No, of course not. It does not matter whose it was.” Even as he said those words you knew he did not believe them, at least not all of them. They sounded forced from his lips, sounding even tighter than he did when he first barked out the question. 

Before you could open your mouth to press further on the issue Aemond had stormed out, slamming the thick doors behind him, the sound echoing through the chambers you stood in. 

You nearly flinched at the loud sound. 

Jacaerys always believed that he would never cry in front of a stranger, much less allow them to touch him.

He had been wrong. The man’s hand resting against the back of his head proved as such. Jacaerys’ fists had long ceased its onslaught, now hanging limply at his sides. 

The wailing remained though now it had faded into breathless gasps. His throat burned, any words he tried to force out dying before they reached his tongue. 

His eyes fell to the floor for a brief moment, towards the candlestick that laid uselessly against the wood. 

Wood, not stone, like his home in Dragonstone had been. He missed the sensation of those cold stone floors, missed how a hiss would escape his lips whenever he climbed out of bed in the morning, the chilled morning air always caused him to shiver. 

He missed that too. 

The flame had been snuffed out, whether that was from when Jacaerys had grabbed it or when it was knocked from his grasp he did not know. He supposed it didn't matter. 

“I - I wish to go home.” Finally Jacaerys’ speech returned to him, but it was broken, sounding much weaker, more like a childlike whimper than he meant it to.  

“This is your home.” The man’s low voice grumbled against Jacaerys’ tresses. It sounded too soft, too familiar to be speaking to a stranger. It made his stomach flip.

He wished to close his eyes and hear his mother’s voice but all that met his ears was the soft, almost eerie hums of the man. Eerie at how he, almost, sounded like Harwin Strong, if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine the knight in his place, cradling his head like Jacaerys were a little boy again

He missed him. Hopefully, Lucerys was with him now and not alone. 

Jacaerys choked on another sob that erupted from his throat, constricting so tight it proved difficult to breathe. 

He hoped Baela still lived. Somewhere, if she was then Jacaerys would find her, he swore it. He would find her and return to his mother’s side and.. and do something. Anything. 

The man gently shushed him. It felt wrong, all too wrong to Jacaerys. He should be in his mother’s arms, feeling his mother’s slender fingers tangling in his hair, not feeling the man’s large and firm hand cradling him, but he was. 

Soon Jacaerys’ head was gently tilted back, enough for the man to meet the man's eyes that held such a gentleness in them still, even when Jacaerys had tried attacking his guards and even when he attempted to strike him. 

He looked at him like Harwin used to, like Laenor, his father, used to. Like a father would look at his son, but this was not his father. He knew that, so why was he treating Jacaerys as such?

“Would you like to have the histories brought to you on the morrow?” The man asked, his low, gruff voice still holding a strange warmth to it, “just rest tonight. I will make sure Aerion does not disturb you again.” 

Histories, Jacaerys tried to attack him and he wanted books to be brought to him? What sense did that make? 

Everything that came from the man's mouth, in fact, every word that came from anyone's mouth here only further confused Jacaerys. 

He swallowed down any stray sobs before forcing out a polite enough response, his voice still rough from sobbing for so long;

“I would like that.” 

He was exhausted. In truth, he did not think he could fight any longer. 

He shot a glance towards the two knights, who stood silently, just staring at him. Pity was evident in every bit of the men's features. 

They should not pity him. Not after he tried to attack them. He meant to harm them, he truly did. They should look at him with disgust or anger not.. like that. 

“Good, good.” The man's hand shifted from the back of Jacaerys’ head to the front, placing a callous palm against his forehead, 

“I will send the maester to check on you in the morrow, I assume you have calmed down from your fits?” 

Jacaerys swallowed down any lingering pride he had left and nodded. 

Soon enough the man stood, easily lifting Jacaerys to his feet as if he weighed nothing. It would be humiliating if Jacaerys hadn't already done so himself by sobbing into the man. 

The man's hand dropped to his shoulder, allowing it to lay there for several moments before he turned and finally left Jacaerys, guards following in two, but he was sure they were just waiting outside his chambers. 

Of course, they were. Jacaerys had proven himself to be a risk. 

Several moments passed before Jacaerys slowly allowed himself to sit, although stiffly, on the edge of the bed.

Despite the man's words he did not trust the madman with silver hair not to try and murder him in his sleep, or whatever ‘Aerion’ was trying to do to him before Jacaerys awoke. 

It could not have been good. The way Aerion looked at him, it was worse than how his uncles back at home looked at him. It was not with disdain or disgust like his uncle's but it was intense, enough to make Jacaerys’ skin crawl. 

Like dozens of insects had crawled underneath his skin, prodding and scurrying underneath his flesh. It made him sick. 

Jacaerys wondered if that's how the ladies at court felt around his eldest uncle Aegon, or perhaps his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. 

His hands balled into his lap, knuckles paling from how harsh he clenched.

If Baela were here she would grab hold of his hand and just.. hold it in her warm grasp that always seemed to ease his tension. But she was not here nor was anyone else Jacaerys wished for. 

Jacaerys sat there, as still as a statue perched on the edge, until the first rays of sun welcomed the sky, painting it a light pink. 

Despite the circumstances it was quite pretty, it reminded him of his cousin, Rhaena. He knew she would love it if she were here. 

Rhaena, right, she rode Sheepstealer now. A dragon so unsightly it was a surprise that Rhaena would go near it. Though, it was no more a surprise than seeing her descend on the battle in the first place. 

Still, Jacaerys hoped she was alright. That she and Baela remained unharmed. 

The sound of the chamber doors creaking open tore Jacaerys from his thoughts, bringing his attention towards a serving girl that stood at the entrance of his rooms, holding a tray in her hands.

He could smell the broth from where he sat. The warm salty scent that lingered in the air and caused his stomach to growl. He silently cursed himself, he would be a fool to eat anything they gave him.

Still, he did not want to be overtly rude, not towards a girl who already seemed nervous enough.

Jacaerys could see how her hands shook against the tray, causing the silverware to vibrate against its surface. 

He didn't blame her, if he were common and made to serve a violent hostage he would be anxious as well. 

He did not know what to say to ease her worries or to show that he wasn't going to attack her with a candlestick, so he said nothing, opting to stare down at the floor until she left, leaving the tray, assumedly from the sound of it clicking against wood, on the small table in the middle of the room. 

He waited until he heard the doors click shut before he raised his gaze. 

He let his gaze linger against the ceramic bowl that sat against the tray. It did smell good with the warmth wafting up in the air, the rich salty scent teased his nose even though he was sure it was poisoned or drugged. He would rather not lose consciousness again, there was no telling what he would awaken to. 

Jacaerys stayed perched on his spot, slowly shifting so he was facing the heavy wooden doors directly, if the madman returned he’d know and have enough time to do something about it before Aerion would even be able to touch him. 

Moments later, the doors opened again revealing a man in maester’s clothing and the same servant girl from earlier. 

In the girl's arms held various books. It seemed the older man had kept his word. 

“My prince,” The maester bowed his head before continuing to speak, “how did you sleep?”

He didn't. 

“Well.” 

No one need know that. Jacaerys would not give another reason for them to call him delirious. 

“May I?” The maester took a step forward, gesturing towards Jacaerys, causing him to bristle immediately.

“No.” Jacaerys bit out, his jaw clenching despite his efforts to seem calm, polite even. 

“Of course, if you feel worse I have remedies -”

“No, I am fine.” Jacaerys interrupted swiftly, grimacing at the memory of that bitter liquid pouring down his throat. 

The maester nodded, his eyes lingering on the untouched bowl before he took his leave, leaving only the servant girl who quickly placed the leather bound books against the table, next to the ceramic glass, before soon following the man. 

Jacaerys waited until the doors thumped shut before he finally stood from the bed, his bare feet thudding softly against the hardwood floor, not as cold as the Dragonstone floors were. 

He made his way over towards the table. His eyes drifted over the various book titles, shifting them off to the side one by one. 

The Blackfire Rebellion, The Conquerors, Dance of the Dragons.

Jacaerys knew of ‘The Conquerors’ story many times. Of course he had, his younger brother had been named after one of them, his younger sister had been named after another. 

The other two however he had never heard of. 

Blackfires? 

He had never even heard of that House and the other book held no familiarity either, but at least it would cure his boredom. He would like to learn more about how dragons attracted their mates.

Jacaerys took the book titled ‘Dance of the Dragons’ before returning to his spot on the bed, hearing it creak beneath his weight. 

Resting the book against his lap, he ran his fingertips against the rough leather before flipping it open. To his shock he was met with information about his mother’s early childhood and even more lies. 

Disgusting lies that made his stomach churn. His mother would have never done such things, venturing to brothels, doing fellatio on his uncle, Daemon, before marriage.. It was a lie, all of it. 

Vile lies. Whoever wrote this needed to have their tongue removed from them. 

The more he read the more his face burned. 

To suggest his mother had his own father, his legal father, killed? Who would write such a thing? 

Yet, despite his anger rising and stomach churning, he continued to read through the pages, about rumors and lies about nearly everyone he held dear, everything he held dear, including his own love for Baela. These stupid pages accused him of betraying Baela, of marrying some woman that he had never even met!

He knew of Cregan Stark, he spent days with him, but a woman named Sara? He did not recall that. 

He had never even slept with a woman before. He was waiting until he could wed Baela, to have that first experience with his lady cousin. This book would have others believe he was no better than Aegon, with wandering eyes he did not have. 

Still, he persisted, no matter how much he desired to throw this written mockery in the flames. 

Some, some, of the things written in this book Jacaerys found true, but that did not stop his mind from lingering on the lies and fallacies. 

By the time he finished reading, hours had passed and the sun was now steadily in the sky, still Jacaerys felt like all the light in his life had been vanquished. According to what was written on the pages nearly every single person Jacaerys cared for was dead, the ones left broken beyond repair. 

His mother? Dead, burned by his usurper uncle’s dragon. 

His little brother Joffery? Dead.  

At least his younger brothers lived, but their lives were shrouded with sadness, if the book was truthful about that fact. 

Oh, and Daemon? Dead, but at least he took Aemond with him. 

His beloved Baela? Stuck married to a whoremonger, who Jacaerys hoped had died at sea when he, supposedly, disappeared. 

Alyn of Hull was the bane of his existence and Jacaerys was not even supposed to have an existence anymore. Fucking bastard could not even keep his eyes on Baela, a woman more beautiful than any Jacaerys had ever seen. 

Jacaerys would have never betrayed her. He would have loved her, more than Alyn of Hull ever could. Jacaerys would not be so selfish as to have bastards to humiliate Baela, he would not humiliate her at all.

If he had lived he would have saved his mother and his younger brothers. Joffrey would have lived and his youngest brothers would not have had to live without their family. 

His throat burned, constricting on the little air Jacaerys managed to suck in. He felt as if he might bawl like a babe again. He wished nothing more than to curl up in his mother’s arms again, to breathe in her rich perfumes and apologize for disobeying her in the first place. 

He knew she would kiss him on top of his head and forgive him. She never could stay cross with him. 

The book thudded against the floor. Jacaerys could not care less, he hoped a rat would scurry from the dungeons, and ripped those filthy pages to bits. 

If his family was dead there would be no point in escaping now. If his family was dead Jacaerys might as well join them - where the hell was he if all his life and family’s life was written in a history book?

Was he even in Westeros? 

He supposed it did not matter. He had nothing left to return to. 

“This is your home.” Is what the man had said, but even if that was true and Jacaerys did somehow get thrown into a family who wore the same colors as Targaryens by the gods or even if they were Targaryens, Jacaerys did not want to be a part of it. 

He wanted his family, his true family, not whatever they were and he certainly did not want to be known as a man that shared a womb with Aerion. He would rather return to the sea and be shot with another arrow than be in the same family as Aerion, that vile mongrel who dared to touch him. 

Jacaerys slowly brought his feet back up onto the mattress, tucking them underneath the sheets, though he kept himself in a sitting position. 

He did not know what to do. There was nothing for him, so he just sat there for a long time. He did not sleep nor eat, watching the sun dip down until the moon took its place, stars decorating the dark sky. 

Jacaerys wondered if his brothers were now among them. They would make radiant stars, mayhaps his mother was with them as well. 

Wet lashes fluttered against his cheek and Jacaerys knew then he had broken down, at least his tears were silent this time. 

At least this time he was alone and not crying into a stranger's arms. Even if that stranger had comfortable strong arms that held him with such care.. 

Why had he been brought here instead of the gods allowing him to die in the battle? Why would they bring him here where he knew no one, had no one, not even his dragon by his side. 

Was he meant to be a bastard in this life as well? 

The gods were never kind to him, but at least he had a dragon, but now.. now there was no proof he was a Targaryen, mayhaps if his mother was here she could protect him, but she was gone also.