I’ll Travel Far Beyond The Path Of Reason

The Feast Hall of the keep was a deafening roar of rustic merriment, entirely too loud for a realm on the precipice of a succession crisis.

Jace sat stiffly at the high table, his fingers curled so tightly around the silver stem of his wine goblet that his knuckles were white. He watched the local lords and smallfolk mingle, laughing and drinking as if the greens weren't currently circling King's Landing like vultures. His mother had brought him here to secure a pledge from a house that didn't traditionally care for dragons, hoping their massive influence would deter a war entirely.

And yet, instead of a private solar and a contract, they were given a feast.

"They are wasting time," Jace muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the lord of the house, who was currently laughing at a jest across the room. "We should be negotiating the terms of the alliance, not nursing ale. Every hour we sit here is an hour Aegon uses to solidify his claim."

Rhaenyra didn't so much as glance his way. She lifted her goblet to her lips, letting him stew for a moment before speaking.

"Have some courtesy, Jace," she said quietly. "You may be king one day, but that means learning how to win people over. These people are opening their home to us. The least you can do is look pleased to be here."

Jace's jaw tightened. Beside him, Rhaenyra took note immediately. She lifted her wine cup to her lips, though the faint look she sent him over the rim was knowing enough.

Jace glanced sideways at his mother.

"I have reason to," Jace replied.

"You always have reason to."

He looked away, his gaze settling on the lord seated halfway across the hall. The man had spent most of the evening laughing with his bannermen rather than discussing the alliance they had traveled all this way to secure.

"We've been here for hours," Jace said quietly. "Every moment spent feasting is a moment wasted." Rhaenyra hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"So does everyone in this hall," she said after a moment. "Yet they still seem capable of enjoying themselves."

Jace followed her gaze across the room. A group of young knights were arguing over some game near the hearth. A cluster of ladies sat together, smiling behind raised cups. Even the older men looked relaxed.

He remained unimpressed. At that, Rhaenyra nudged his arm lightly with her own.

"Try smiling."

Jace stared at her.

"Mother."

"It will not kill you."

A breath escaped through his nose, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"I doubt a smile is what wins alliances."

"No," a voice said from nearby. "But it certainly helps."

Jace blinked, shifting his gaze downward. You were standing before the high table, a cup of spiced cider in one hand and a lazy, knowing grin on your face. Months earlier, at a banquet in King's Landing, the two of you had found yourselves trapped in the same corner of the hall while half the court chased after more interesting company. The conversation had been brief, but memorable. Jace had spent most of it attempting to be polite, and you had spent most of it laughing at him.

"And judging by the look on your face, Prince Jacaerys," you continued, "you could use all the help you can get." 

A smile tugged at Rhaenyra's mouth. And Jace– unfortunately, felt no such inclination.

"I believe you owe me a dance," you said, tilting your head.

Jace’s formal mask slipped perfectly into place, his expression hardening. "No, I don't."

“Oh, you absolutely do,” you countered, stepping closer to the dais, entirely unbothered by his frosty stare. “You promised it in the Red Keep, just before Prince Aegon caused enough of a scene to distract the entire court.”

Jace’s brow furrowed, his shoulders squaring defensively. “I did not.”

“You did–“

“–Then I would remember.”

You hummed thoughtfully, taking a slow, deliberate sip of your cider while keeping your eyes locked onto his.

“Oh, of course you don’t remember,” you said, your smile widening with wicked delight. “You flew here on dragonback, didn't you? The wind must have blown the memory straight out of your head.”

A few local lords nearby snorted into their ale, entirely unawed by the royal guest. Jace's jaw tightened, a faint flush of irritation creeping up his neck.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dropping his voice to a stern register. “I am here on official crown business, my lady. I hardly think a dance is appropriate given the gravity of the circumstances.”

“There really is no cure for princely arrogance, is there?” you mused, turning your head slightly to appeal to the surrounding crowd. “A man makes one promise and immediately hides behind a crown.”

“I made no such promise.”

“You did.”

“When?” Jace demanded, leaning forward slightly.

You pointed at him triumphantly, your grin turning entirely smug. “See? You're asking for the time because you've forgotten it already.”

For a brief moment, Jace simply stared at you, his mouth slightly open as he processed the trap he had just walked into. Months ago in King's Landing, he had thought you mildly amusing. Now, he was beginning to suspect that there had been a grave miscalculation. Meanwhile, the Princess of Dragonstone had gone suspiciously quiet beside him. You noticed immediately, your eyes darting over his shoulder. “Your mother remembers.”

Jace turned sharply toward his mother.

To his absolute horror, she looked distinctly entertained. She wasn't even trying to hide it, her violet eyes dancing with mirth as she raised her chalice.

“I do recall a conversation,” Rhaenyra said smoothly into her wine.

“Mother,” Jace hissed, his ears burning.

“What?” she asked, looking at him with an innocence that fooled absolutely no one at the table. “You should be grateful, Jace. It is not often someone honors your promises better than you do. Go on.” A smirk came up to the side of his lips– “don't keep the host waiting.”

"Official business can wait until the morning," you said, offering a fluid, mocking little bow as you reached out and confidently took his hand. Jace shot you a look of utter, incredulous disbelief at the sheer audacity of the gesture. The gods– he decided right then and there, were testing him today. You offered him one of your most charming, shameless smiles before he could even think to pull away.

"Besides–" you added smoothly, "my father refuses to talk politics on an empty stomach–” you then glanced and nodded towards the parque, “--or an empty dance floor.” You then lowered your voice as though sharing a secret, “it's bad luck."

Jace looked unconvinced but before he could find a polite way to decline again, you stepped back, letting your fingers slide from his as you turned your attention to your sister. She stood a few paces away, holding a massive wooden spool wound tight with vibrant, crimson yarn.

"My lords, ladies, and honored guests!" your sister called out, her voice easily cutting through the din of the hall. A few heads turned. Then a few more. Before long, conversations began to taper off as the musicians eased into a much slower tune. “Before the night gets away from us,” she continued, raising the large spool of crimson wool in her hands, “it is time for the Weaver’s Dance.” 

A cheer went up from several of the local guests. Others laughed and began pushing back their benches, already preparing to join. You glanced toward the high table. The royal party had caught on immediately. Some looked curious. Others exchanged quiet questions among themselves. But only one person remained distinctly unimpressed.

Your gaze settled on Prince Jacaerys. You had to bite back a smile. There was something almost impressive about his dedication to being miserable. Unfortunately for him, you had no intention of letting him spend the evening glowering from the high table.

"A regional tradition," you explained, nodding toward your sister and the enormous spool of crimson wool in her hands. By now, servants and guests alike were helping unwind the thread, passing lengths of it between tables as dancers began to gather in the center of the hall.

"The dancers take the floor while everyone else weaves the string through the crowd." You gestured toward a group of children already running off with an armful of wool. "Usually with considerably more enthusiasm than skill."

Jace's gaze followed the growing web of crimson stretching across the hall.

"And the purpose of this is?" Jace asked, watching as a servant tossed a length of red wool across the room.

You followed his gaze and shrugged. "Depends on who you ask."

Your eyes drifted toward an elderly woman seated near the hearth. She had already wrapped a strand of the wool around her wrist and was murmuring something under her breath as though the thread itself might be listening. "The old women will tell you the thread has a mind of its own," you said. "That it catches people whose paths were always meant to cross."

Jace glanced at the woman, then back at you. "Convenient," Jace said dryly.

"Very." You smiled.

Across the hall, another strand was thrown overhead, drawing a cheer from a group of children who immediately ducked beneath it. "The younger generation mostly uses it as an excuse to trip their cousins and embarrass their friends."

As if on cue, a boy of about ten promptly tangled his sister's feet in a loop of wool. The girl shoved him. That earned a snort from Luke. 

"There it is." You pointed triumphantly. "Exhibit A."

Jace shook his head and ran his tongue across his lips before folding his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly unconvinced despite the flicker of interest in his eyes. "You have a peculiar tradition."

"You've not seen the worst of it yet." And then in a cue– a musician narrowly avoided being clotheslined by a poorly aimed strand, earning another round of laughter from the crowd.

"But every now and then," you continued, turning back to him, "someone ends up tangled with a complete stranger, and by the end of the year they're married."

"I'm sure the maesters would be fascinated by that."

"Oh, unquestionably." You folded your hands behind your back, before stating– "personally, I think it's nonsense."

Jace raised a brow. "But?"

You offered him a look of pure, exaggerated innocence– the kind that fooled absolutely no one, least of all a prince. But the playful tilt of your chin did something unexpected. And foor the first time all evening, Jace’s guarded gaze slipped. His eyes flickered downward, catching the curve of your lips for a single, heavy heartbeat before snapping back to your eyes.

Not so prince-like, you noted with a quiet surge of triumph. Beneath all that heavy velvet and duty, the boy could be unnerved.

"But my grandmother would haunt me from beyond the grave if I said so too loudly." Around you, the hall continued to buzz with anticipation as more strands of red thread crisscrossed the room, turning the space into a loose web of crimson lines.

"Either way," you said, your voice dropping to a smooth whisper as you stepped just an inch closer to the dais, "it's a tradition. And seeing as you're a guest in our hall, it would be terribly rude not to participate. Surely the future king of Westeros isn't afraid of a little local superstition?"

Jace’s eyes narrowed slightly at the challenge, his jaw tightening as he looked down at your outstretched hand. He was a creature of duty, and you were weaponizing hospitality against him with terrifying efficiency.

"I am afraid of nothing, my lady," he muttered, though his tone lacked its previous icy armor.

"Prove it then," you teased.

The dance began. It wasn't the rigid, courtly steps of King's Landing, but something more fluid and alive. As you and Jace moved, circling each other, the music swelled, the heavy thrum of the drums echoing off the stone walls. At first, the prince was predictably stiff, his posture impeccably straight as if he were still standing at attention. "You look as though you're marching to an execution, not a dance," you said, stepping closer as the rhythm shifted. "Relax your shoulders, My Prince. I don't bite unless requested."

Jace’s eyebrows shot up, a sudden flush creeping up his neck, though his expression remained stubbornly stern. "I have a lot on my mind. My mother needs this alliance. I thought your house understood the urgency, yet you treat this like a maiden's day festival."

"We do understand," you said softly, your eyes holding his as you took a step backward, drawing him deeper into the lively pattern of the dance. As the tempo quickened, he was forced to adapt, his hand on your waist tightening significantly to keep up with the pace of the local youth. "But my father believes that you cannot truly know a man's character in a dark room over parchment. He wanted to see how the future king comports himself among the people he wishes to rule. If you are cold, they will be cold."

Jace paused mid-step, a sudden realization dawning on him. He looked around the room over your shoulder, noticing for the first time that the lord of the house– your father– wasn't drinking blindly– he was watching Jace. Watching how he treated you, how he carried himself.

"I see," Jace murmured, a bit of the tension finally leaving his shoulders, though his dark eyes narrowed playfully down at you. "A test, then. And you're the distraction?"

"I prefer the term 'hostess'," you smirked.

From the galleries above and the sidelines below, the onlookers began to toss the long, unbroken strands of vibrant red wool across the floor. The crimson lines arched beautifully through the air like a localized storm, draping softly over shoulders, catching on heavy velvet sleeves, and tangling around the swirling skirts and heavy boots of the dancers. With every passing second, the room was being woven together into a chaotic, beautiful web of bright red thread.

Jace ducked his head slightly as a stray strand brushed over his dark curls, his eyes darting around the room in a mix of wariness and pure fascination. He looked less like a brooding prince now and more like a man caught in a spell, entirely surrounded by the warmth of your hall– and the impossible-to-ignore pull of his partner.

Suddenly, a particularly long, vibrant arc of red string was thrown from the gallery above, cutting through the warm haze of the hall like a streak of wildfire. It dropped directly into the narrow space between the two of you just as the music took a sharp, dramatic turn.

As Jace expertly spun you around to follow the changing beat, the heavy wool caught. With a sudden snap, the coarse yarn hooked itself tightly onto the sharp, ornamental silver buckle of his belt. At the exact same moment, the momentum of your spin caused the loose tail of the thread to whip around your arm, wrapping itself three times perfectly around your wrist.

The sudden, rigid tension snapped the line completely taut, halting your movements mid-stride. The delicate friction of the wool dug slightly into your skin, effectively locking your hand to his hip.

You stopped in your tracks. Slowing down your breathing, you looked down at your bound wrist, then tracked the straight crimson line directly to his waist. A slow, wicked smirk spread across your face.

Jace frowned, completely oblivious to the tradition's rules, and reached down with his free hand to unhook it. "Let me just–"

Before his fingers could even touch the wool, you gave your wrist a sudden, sharp yank.

The pull caught Jace entirely off guard. Stumbling forward, the sheer force of the tug dragged him a full step closer, his chest nearly colliding with yours. To keep his balance, his hand automatically clamped down firmly on your waist, his eyes widening in genuine shock as he found himself looking straight down into your amused face, mere inches away.

The music swelled perfectly with the moment, and around you, a few locals cheered and pointed at the tight, crimson line binding the stubborn prince's hips directly to your hand.

"Where are you going, Prince Jacaerys?" you whispered, your voice a low, teasing purr as you deliberately held the string taut between you, refusing to give him an inch of breathing room. "The game isn't over yet."

Jace’s breath hitched, his hand still anchored heavily to your hip, the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes. He looked at your smirk, then down at the red string, his jaw tightening as he fought a losing battle against a sudden, involuntary smile of his own.

"You are incredibly frustrating," he muttered, his voice low, though he didn't make a single move to let go of your waist.

"And you're incredibly stiff," you whispered, leaning in just close enough to ensure he couldn't look away– "but your heart is betraying you, My Prince."

As you spoke, you deliberately pressed your bound hand flat against the center of his chest. The red string– wrapped tight around your wrist and anchored to his belt, pulled taut between you, dragging your bodies even closer. Beneath your palm, through the heavy layers of his velvet doublet, you could feel the frantic, heavy thudding of his pulse against his ribs– rapid, fierce, and utterly uncoordinated with the rhythm of the drums around you.

At the touch, the air caught entirely in his throat. For all his rigid royal posture and cold sense of duty, his body was completely giving him away– his gaze dropped, helpless, tracking the slight parting of your lips before locking back onto your eyes with a sudden dark intensity.

"And I certainly think you're exactly where you want to be."

Arranged marriages weren’t just what the name implied, arranged. They were strategies used to win other houses over. One could say they were some sort of currency, one the great lords and houses often used. They’d throw around names and children. Deals were made, marriages were set. And the children in question were left in despair. 

Your father did not wish such things upon his lovely daughter. And so he tried his absolute best to postpone this horrendous arrangement for you.

He’d lasted five summers. 

Five long summers before your fifth nameday arrived. Before house Targaryen had come to visit and offer congratulations.

House Targaryen had suffered a setback in alliances and forces after a rather dramatic display of treachery and treason by the Greens– who had attempted to usurp Rhaenyra’s throne. And while most of the lords agreed with Team Black and had sworn themselves to Rhaenyra, other lords hadn’t. Which left the royal family with less allies than preferred. 

It wasn’t until young prince Jacaerys had shyly shuffled your way to hand you a swan’s feather with a dark red ribbon bound to a small pink carnation –one which he definitely plucked from the outer gardens– that your father and his mother, Queen Rhaenyra had shared a knowing glance. 

Thus marrying the heirs to two great kingdoms seemed like a splendid idea. 

It was not. 

KINGS LANDING, fourteen summers ago

You and Jacaerys were informed of your betrothal during your first visit to Kings Landing, the two of you merely six summers old. It was safe to say that both you and the prince were quite unhappy with this arrangement. 

Rhaenyra, who carried a sleeping Lucerys on her hip, found it hilarious to see the both of you try your hardest not to turn your– albeit forced– smiles into a grimace. 

You curtsied, bowing your head politely before speaking. ‘’Good morrow Prince Jacaerys, I am very pleased to meet you. I look forward to spending this summer together.’’

The young prince raised his brow before bowing stiffly and kissing your hand. Then he responded. ‘’Good morrow Princess, I welcome you to the Red Keep.’’

The two of you shared an intense moment of eye contact before swiftly turning away from one another with upturned noses and crossed arms. 

Rhaenyra forced herself not to laugh as she softly slapped Jacaerys on the back and murmured a quick ‘’be polite Jace.’’

That summer was spent in an unheard of and un-ladylike manner. Oh, if the maesters from your lessons had seen you… you were certain you were to be scolded once you’d arrived home. 

Jacaerys was unbearable to be around. He believed you couldn’t fight as he did because you were a girl. So you decided to fight him, while using only your fists. 

You’d won.

He thought you were boring because you’d asked him to play a fierce knight while you played the dragon princess. He angrily told you only lame girls played pretend, and that you could never be a dragon princess– he was heir to the house of the dragon after all. 

He had later begged the ladies-in-waiting and maesters not to tell you that he made them play pretend with him too. 

KINGS LANDING, ten summers ago

‘’Oh princess! Please come down from there!’’ exclaimed your lady-in-waiting. 

‘’I cannot’’ you growled. 

You were stuck in a tree. The Velaryon prince–your self proclaimed sworn enemy, had dared you to climb it.

It was supposed to be a race. A duel to find out which one of you was faster, more agile. But the nasty prince had massively screwed you over. 

After you’d unceremoniously ripped off the outer layers of your ballgown and dumped them on a soddy patch of grass, you’d readied yourself for the battle of a lifetime. At least, to the two of you it was– or so you had thought. 

In truth, Jacaerys faked the start, making you believe he'd simply tripped. 

Jacaerys knew very well not to climb the massive tree located just beside the palace, his mother had warned him many, many times. The tree was old, and the twigs could only handle so much weight.

The once strong twigs held on greatly when you used them as support on the way up, but when you’d tried climbing back down after finding out about the betrayal of the prince, they’d failed you. 

This left you stuck in the highest top of the tree, with no way back down. 

When you heard Jacaerys’ boisterous laugh, you nearly jumped down from the top of the tree in the hopes to crush him. When you had peered down to look at him, you’d found that he had brought along his younger brother Lucerys to laugh at you.  

Little Lucerys–bless his heart, called out to you in a concerned manner. Then, he tilted his head up towards his brother.  

‘’Jace, are you certain she will be alright?’’ 

Luke did not have to wait long for an answer. Because even though his big brother never properly answered his question, your face– eyes wide, brows furrowed and cheeks as red as tomatoes, spoke bookworks. You were pissed, and would do anything to take revenge. 

It was that day that Prince Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark and future Lord of the Tides decided that you were one of the bravest people to roam this earth, much to Jace’s dismay. 

In the end, ser Harwin Strong was the one who saved you from your newly acquainted nemesis, the ever so massive, Lord Tree of the Gardens of the Red Keep. 

Then, when no one paid attention to them he gave the young prince a good clout in the ear, for this was not the way proper knights or princes treated young ladies. 

The first night of Autumn, merely a day after you and your father had left Westerosi soil, the palace awoke from screams coming from Prince Jacaerys’ bedroom. Various bugs and insects had found their way into his bed, along with a note decorated with sloppy handwriting. 

‘’Prince Jacaerys,

This summer, I have made many friends here in Kings Landing. They have long wished to meet my betrothed and so I have taken the honor of bringing my friends to you, my dear prince. 

Have you met Ser Caterpillar of the Leaves yet? He was so very eager to meet you. But you see, he has a very soft voice, so he wished to be somewhere you’d hear him well, the same applies to Lord Samuel Snail of the Earth Kingdom, he spoke fondly of–’’

Jacaerys stopped reading after that, for he was too busy dragging all of the pillowcases and blankets in his room to the Dragonpit, all to be burned by Vermax. 

Luke could be found walking closely behind, giggling quietly to himself. 

NAEDIA, five summers ago

‘’My sweet girl, please. Let us leave now. We cannot keep the prince waiting any longer!’’ cried your father. 

He’d been begging you since sunrise to leave your room. You’d refused. You were ten and fifteen now, an awkward age for both boys and girls. 

Your face no longer possessed the baby soft skin it once had, but was partially covered in small, angry red pimples. Your body had grown taller, but not yet quite big enough to fit properly into the gowns that had been prepared long before this day.  

Your hair, once so shiny and ready to comply, was sticking up in every direction. You refused to show yourself to Queen Rhaenyra while looking this disheveled, or Gods forbid– to Jacaerys! Not because you valued his opinion, absolutely not! 

You knew that if the young prince was to see you in this state he’d pick on every insecurity you have ever known, and then some. 

When the boat arrived at the shores of the Crownlands once again, you took a deep breath as a poor attempt to settle your nerves. 

Your father had stepped off the boat with an elegance only kings carry while you hid behind the mast. You could see Jacaerys and his uncle Aegon inspect the boat– looking for you. 

Jace and Luke were supposed to come and accompany both you and your father to the Red Keep, but the younger boy had fallen ill– and so Aegon, son to the traitor queen consort had come along in his stead. 

You’d desperately wished Helaena had come instead. Helaena was always kind to you. She spoke softly and in riddles, you liked her. You’ve spent many a night in her chambers, begging her to give you fun riddles to unravel– unaware of their true meanings. 

The greens were disliked by many but surprisingly so, many agreed that the blame lay with the former hand of the king, Otto Hightower—followed by his daughter Alicent. The children were much too young to have been responsible, they had received the chance to swear themselves to Rhaenyra– or to follow their grandsire and queen mother to exile. 

Jacaerys’ hands were neatly folded behind his back, but his expression was devious. You saw Jacaerys’ shoulders slump slightly after being unable to lay his eyes upon you. Rats! Was he that eager to take you down? You were actively thinking about climbing the mast of the ship to escape when your father called for you. Then, after a heated internal debate on whether to jump off the boat or to heed your fathers’ call, you’d decided on the latter.

The birds crowed, the waves of the sea lapped  at the shore and the merchants street was bustling. You could smell the salt in the air, the fresh fish from the market and-

Splat.

Tomatoes. The disgusting mix of harbour air mixed with the sourness of the nearly rotten tomatoes engulfed your senses. Your brain vaguely aware of the presence of the red, wet and slimy insides of the tomato on your shoulderblade. It’s juices slowly soaking into the soft fabric of your gown. But what you were truly focused on is the Velaryon meathead staring straight at you. 

His arms, no longer hidden behind his back, hung idly. He sported a shit-eating grin, matching with Aegon–though Aegon's resembled a grimace more than a grin. Jacaerys tilts his head, pondering your next move. 

You inspected him. And wondered how such a thing was possible. For him to be able to look so effortlessly beautiful. His hair– which looked soft and styled– longer compared to the last time you’ve seen him. His hair, once pin straight, had started to develop the slightest curl around the edges. Tis not by much, but it was noticeable, or it was to you, at least. 

It was entirely unfair. While you have been out worrying about the state of your skin, your hair, your body, he was standing there handsome as ever– effortlessly so. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, dark brown with the slightest hint of a beautiful purple, undeniable proof of his Valyrian heritage. 

A true prince of the realm. 

And you were going to kill him. You’d feed him to Vermax himself if needed. His status did not matter, you would get your revenge is what you’d sworn back then. No matter the cost.

NAEDIA, present day

A sharp inhale interrupted the cacophony of noise in the room. Your ladies-in-waiting had taken up the duty of making you look presentable for your travels to Kings Landing. This included a peculiar braided hairstyle, which apparently meant having your hair sharply tugged.

You’re twenty summers old now. Red and patchy skin healed, hair grown long once again, and your body finally able to fill out all your ballgowns properly. But most of all, you have matured, mentally.

If the same can be told of your betrothed you cannot say. 

He has always run a bit behind when it comes to mental development, if you may say so yourself. Another tug at your scalp makes you groan in annoyance. ‘’Are we ready yet?’’ you complain.

‘’Almost, my Princess. Apologies if it is uncomfortable this way, this hairdo looks magnificent on you.’’ Selina, your lady-in-waiting compliments. 

You smile softly at her through the mirror. The woman has been with you since your birth, she has seen you through ups and downs. Seen you excel in studies, and has seen you cry over countless silly matters–many of which involved your betrothed, much to your dismay and her amusement. 

But most importantly, she has seen you grow up. Both you and Jacaerys. And though she knows the two of you will never admit otherwise, she believes you two to be a fine match. 

Far away, across the dark waters of the Narrow Sea, Jacaerys is going through an awfully similar fate. 

‘’Ow!’’ he exclaims. ‘’Must you use this many pins?’’

‘’Yes my prince’’, retaliates his lord-in-waiting before explaining further, ‘’In order to keep your cape in place, you must make use of pins like these. It is of utmost importance that you do so.’’

The man receives an eye-roll as thanks. 

The doors open and the knight guarding his chambers announces the presence of the person on the other side.

‘’My Prince, the Queen and your brother Prince Lucerys.’’ 

Rhaenyra smiles with pride the moment she lays her eyes upon her oldest son. He gently smiles back, dark purple irises softening slightly as he opens his arms for a hug. His mother smells like dragon, she’s been spending a lot of time with her beloved mount in her free time. 

He remembers how his mother loathed the smell during her pregnancy. She used to make him change from his riding clothes into his sleepwear before entering her chambers– believing it to be the only clothes not tainted by the outside. 

But now the dragon queen stood tall, reeking of dragon. The smell overwhelming for many, but a sign of comfort to those who belong to the House of the Dragon. 

The sweet moment was interrupted by bickering coming from the halls. High voices grow louder every step. The three turned towards the door, curious to see who it was that dared disturb them. 

The footsteps sped up and in came Princess Helaena, Aegon and Aemond, together with little Viserys and Aegon– the two had been favouring their white haired aunt and uncles as of late. 

‘’Jacaerys!’’ Aegon beamed. ‘’Don’t you look all Princely today. I am certain your betrothed will be able to look at you without rage for once!.’’

Smack!

Aemond, in a poor attempt at correcting his older brother’s behaviour, had smacked him on the back. All the while stifling his own laughter at Jacaerys' mistreatment– along with the others still present in the room. 

–

You took a deep breath when your ladies-in-waiting practically hauled you from the ship towards the carriage. 

You were certain bruises were to bloom where their hands had grabbed you– but nothing would compare to the sting you’d feel when you were to meet Jacaerys and he’d insult you once more, you were certain of it. 

You had not yet managed to straighten your gown when a small figure bounded straight at you– an even smaller one wobbling behind it. Stumbling upon impact you giggled at the young boys. 

Over the past few years, little Viserys and Aegon had come to see you as an older sister, an extension of Jacaerys if you will. The little boys only ever saw you when you were taking a walk around the premises with your betrothed–arranged by your parents of course–but the young boys knew no better. After all, why would you keep each other company so often if you disliked one another? To them the two of you were extensions of one another. When one was found, the other would follow close by.

Lucerys had laughed at the sentiments of the boys, until Jacaerys reminded him the same fate would befall him soon. Though the young boy reassured his brother that wouldn’t be the case– as he swore that he would never insult and tease his future wife to the point she’d refuse to look him in the eyes. Jacaerys’ eyes dimmed slightly after hearing those words.

‘’I missed you!’’ exclaimed Viserys. Then he said your name with so much adoration you nearly melted on the spot. 

‘’Welcome back sweet girl’’ said Rhaenyra as she approached you happily. Behind her trailed her two oldest sons, one being visibly more excited regarding your arrival than the other. 

After a few horrendous seconds Lucerys opened his mouth, but before any sound was able to escape his throat Jacaerys spoke first. 

‘’We welcome you back, Princess.’’ and for just a moment, you thought his voice did not contain the disdain it had held for years, alas, you did not allow yourself to believe such a thing was possible. 

Rhaenyra urged the family inside, but before you and Jacaerys were able to take a step forward you were stopped by none other than your own parents. 

It was then that you and your beloved prince shared a frightened glance at one another. A feeling of dread creeping up both of your spines. It seemed that for once, the infamous troublemakers of the Red Keep were feeling something unanimously – even if only for a moment. 

‘’The flowers are beautiful this season, won’t you give your betrothed a tour of the gardens?’’ the queen proposed. You anxiously gazed towards your father, who seemed to be using up all his energy in avoiding your eyes and nodding along with the queen's words. 

‘’Mother! We have several fortnights to enjoy the beauty of nature surrounding us, must we do this now?’’ Jacaerys lamented. You hastily nodded along with the prince, begging the Gods old and new to spare the two of you for just a few moments more. 

But upon seeing the stern looks on your parents’ faces you doubt the Gods were listening. 

Rhaenyra seemed undeterred in her decision to play the part of ultimate matchmaker between you and Jacaerys– for the good of the realm of course, no other reason is what she’d tell herself and anyone who dared ask. 

The two of you understood now. If you did not spend time together until at least supper, you would simply not be allowed to enter the castle walls. 

Begrudgingly, Jacaerys turned towards you to extend his hand to you. ‘’If it pleases you My Lady, we shall head towards the gardens. The roses look especially beautiful this time of year.’’ a charming gesture, had he not been speaking through gritted teeth. 

To you it was abundantly clear that Jacaerys had not yet learned how to tolerate you. His attitude still very much resembling his younger self.

In truth, Jacaerys had a revelation several moons ago. After you had unceremoniously declared that you’d rather rest your lips upon a snail than to ever let them rest upon his? Odd as it might be, the dragon prince had found it oddly endearing. 

In fact, the prince had long passed the toleration part. He had long moved on towards more… mature feelings. But he’d rather face dragon fire a thousand times than ever admit such atrocities out loud. 

‘’Very well,’’ you reply while taking your hand out of his. His hands have grown calloused, you notice. The texture strange but not unwelcome against yours. 

 ‘’Though I must admit I prefer the sight of carnations.’’ you grumble slightly. You hastily prepare your gown for the walk to the gardens. It is not far, but your legs have not yet gotten used to walking such a distance in your new shoes, adorned by a higher heel and decorations that do nothing other than weaken your ankles. 

The Velaryon boy takes notice of your uneasiness and holds out his arm for you to hold. ‘’If it pleases you My Lady. You may rest your weight onto me.’’ He makes a desperate attempt at meeting your gaze, purple eyes gone soft and brows slightly furrowed– whether it is in concern or impatience, you dare not speculate. 

Either way, he is met with a stern glare and a sneer from you ‘’I am aware you might believe otherwise, but I am perfectly capable of walking, My Prince.’’ 

His shoulders drop ever so slightly. You pretend you do not notice. 

The walk towards the garden is silent. You know not what you prefer. Though you dislike bickering with him, this eerie silence feels unbearable. 

In a desperate attempt you turn back to face him. Though unfortunate as it seems, both you and Jacaerys had similar ideas. 

‘’How is Vermax faring these days–’’ ‘’Have you been well?--’’

Another devastating moment of silence, though it was broken much quicker than the last. The moment you and the prince had made eye-contact the two of you had burst into giggles. 

Unexpectedly, the afternoon passed rather quickly. And so did the many afternoons which would pass afterwards. You and Jacaerys had found common ground, irritation towards your parents, towards your future duties as heirs and so forth. 

Though the conversations had turned towards issues known to you both, there was one topic your hearts seemed content to dance around. Your betrothal was widely known as hated by all parties involved, and yet the past fortnights had nearly made it seem as if those summers had been but vague stories, exaggerated by the smallfolk. 

Jacaerys had felt this sentiment very strongly. So much so, that upon the second to last day of your stay in the Red Keep, he eventually dared broach the topic. Your families had joined one another in the courtyard, deeming the outside air perfect for one last day together. 

‘’We shall make a fine king and queen when the time is upon us.’’ Jacaerys spoke softly. 

You tilt your head slightly at him. Desperately scanning his eyes for any lies that may be told. ‘’Do you truly believe that, My Prince?’’ a whisper so soft Jacaerys would not have heard it, had he stood just a bit further away from you. 

‘’But of course I do! You shall make the most beautiful queen Westeros has ever seen.’’ he exclaims. 

Your heart skips a beat. Not lightly or fluttering, as many describe it should feel. It is rather heavy, an almost sinking feeling. Bile rises up in your throat. 

‘’What else?’’ you ask him. He cocks his head questioningly. ‘’What do you mean, My Lady?’’

You can swear on the Gods old and new you are able to hear the exact moment your heart stops beating. Will that truly be your fate? After everything, you’ll end up being no more than a king's puppet. To have to sit idly, wearing a crown people do not believe you have earned– to have highborn Lords and Ladies look at you like you do not exist beside your duties to ensure the king’s heirs.    

You muster up the courage to speak once more. ‘’Is beauty all that matters to you, My Prince?’’

You look into the eyes you’d been secretly seeking comfort from. The dark purple swirling through his brown pupils. Eyes of which you have longed to look at you as softly as they do towards his family. Only now you find no softness. His brows are furrowed, in confusion or anger you dare not speculate. 

It is only a moment before Jacaerys opens his mouth once more, and yet it feels like an eternity. 

‘’What else is there?’’ 

A gasp emits from the side of the courtyard. It is Baela who now stares at Jacaerys with wide eyes, not willing to believe the atrocity that has just left the young prince’s mouth. 

You softly shake your head at your betrothed and step back in disbelief. Unable or unwilling to believe the boy you grew up with possessed such a shallow heart and mind.  

Your father and Rhaenyra share a disappointed glance. All that planning had seemingly been for nothing. 

The marriage would still be arranged of course. Your parents had only hoped it would end in one filled with love rather than one solely based on duties. 

‘’What would you have wanted him to say then, my sweet girl.’’ questioned your father. The two of you were now on your way to your beloved kingdom once again, the carriage towards the harbor rocky as ever. 

You sigh deeply before answering. ‘’I do not wish to be stuck in a marriage with a man who does not see past my appearance, father. I long for someone who understands me. Who understands my wants, needs, hopes and dreams. Why is it I who must be trapped in a kingdom of which I do not know nearly as well as my own, while my husband dares not breathe in my direction even though I am squeezing out his heirs!’’ 

Your father quiets down at this and frowns. This was what he had been avoiding, he had sworn to himself to not let such a horrendous fate befall his beloved daughter, and yet it had seemed he had failed after all. 

You feel the blood rushing to your head, a faint pounding slowly making its way from the back of your skull towards the crown of your head. The carriage seems rockier somehow– you know not if it is caused by the horrendous headache taking over your body or if the horsemen have somehow chosen a worse path to ride through. 

‘’What else is there? Truly Jace could you be more daft!’’ Baela exclaims. The white haired girl has been staring at the prince with nothing more than thinly veiled disgust ever since you’d left the courtyard.

‘’I meant no harm! The words just came out poorly’’ came Jacaerys’ poor defense. The young prince had been sulking the moment he felt your hands slip out of his. 

‘’You should write a book’’ interrupted Aemond, located on the end of the couch he shared with Baela. ‘’How to offend women in five syllables or less.’’ 

Lucerys, who’d been in the middle of an intense game of chess with Jacaerys, snorted loudly. As much as the young prince quarreled with his uncle, he couldn’t help but agree. His brother had been foolish.

He always was, when it came to you. 

‘’I did not mean for it to come out that way!’’ Jacaerys yelled. ‘’Of course I see her as more than her title. She’s so… ugh, and she always does this thing that, you know?  So I just.. Don’t you see?’’

Aemond merely scoffed and stood up ‘’What in the hells are you talking about Jace?’’

 I never meant for her to think I do not see her beyond our duties.’’ he’d whispered the last part of the sentence, only now realising he’d messed up indefinitely. 

His family shared concerned glances with one another. Of course they knew the boy cared more for you than he’d ever admit out loud, but to see him openly express such things was new. Before anyone could open their mouths in a desperate attempt at comforting their kin, the doors slammed open. 

In the doorway stood not a knight wearing the familiar white cloak, but a knight  wearing a blue one. Blue, like the official banners of your house. On his chest rested a small emblem, the one declaring him your knight. The one sworn to you– sworn to protect you. A knight who fought for the very same banners who were supposed to be on their way back home. 

Baela and Lucerys stood up in concern. If your sworn knight was here, and not with you, something must have gone wrong– horribly wrong. 

The look on the knight's face was empty. A certain mix of rage and grief swirled around in his eyes. He stood for a moment before declaring something. Something that nearly caused the Crown Prince’s heart to stop beating entirely. 

‘’The Royal carriage was attacked. The king has passed– his injuries were much too grave.’’

Jacaerys found his throat dry, too dry to speak. And yet he mustered up the energy– the courage to do so.

‘’And what of the princess?‘’ 

‘’No body was found, My Prince. We suspect she’s been taken.’’

I am so, so sorry for the delay omg. I wish I had a better excuse, but school is just kicking my ass bro. hopefully this'll make up for it somehow? in preparation for s3, a sort of happy jace fic.