moonlight

Vermax himself had been uncouth to Dany. Jace had said it was only because dragons are never handled by anyone else other than the bonded rider and dragon keepers. Jace had also told her that Vermax is of a bad temperament.

Dany nodded, looking up towards Drogon and Rhaegal. She could understand. Those two are also of a bad temperament.

They both stopped and were offered water by her blood riders. (Jace hasn't the faintest clue what that means) It was silent between them. Dany was too embarrassed to speak, and Jace was too ashamed to look her in the eye.

He had woken crying.

It brought deep shame to him. Jace could feel his face go red in embarrassment every time he even caught her eye.

And Dany? Well, she can't help but feel grateful that he doesn't look at her, or he would see her face go red, and not from the sun. Jace watched the cream colored dragon land on her shoulder. The black and green soon landed.

If she is the one his family drove themselves mad for, he can understand. Jace had never seen anything like it. Not even with him and his own dragon. Dragons had always been some sort of pet to them. Jace is sure that somewhere in a deep, dark room on Dragonstone, there is Vermax's old leash and collars he used to have when Vermax was small enough to walk around inside Dragonstone. But these dragons acted more like children than anything.

Cream, black, and green.

Jace breathed out a small laugh. She turned to him, and his mouth went dry. He cleared his throat and looked over to Vermax, who lay off on a rock, taking in the sun.

"Yes?" She asked, and his heart raced.

For goodness sake, Jace was no green boy to these matters! He actively played in kissing games with Baela! He married Sara! He performed his marital duty to her! Jacaerys Velaryon, for the life of him, cannot figure out why he acts in this way with Dany!

It ought to be her who shouldn't be able to speak to him! After all, felt her touch on his face! Heard her whispers! So why is it he who cannot even look at her without resembling a tomato? "They have the coloring of the c-conquers dragons." Jace managed to speak out, and gods, he wanted to die.

"My children?" Her voice sounded so steady, but the gods know otherwise. Dany, just as he, panics, knowing of the countless days and nights she spent murmuring her life to him. "I am aware, though I don't know much of my — our family history. Only what Ser Barristan tells me, and what my brother told me."

"Your brother?" Jace looked towards her and was willing himself to keep looking at her. He had seen her a dozen times before and heard stories a thousand more times.

"Viserys," Dany spoke, looking down as she brought Viserion off her shoulder and into her lap.

Jace paused, trying to think. Dany was clearest to him. He had spent over a century and a half sleeping, but it was only a matter of days to him. He awoke crying, thinking it a terrible dream of what befell his family, only to then be greeted by Dany. He had cried and mourned for his family, for he knew it then that his dream was no dream at all. "Your mother is Rhaella?"

Dany nodded, looking up to him. Jace looked down. "I wished I could've helped like your brother wanted me to." Vermax stretched and walked closer to Jace until his grand head rested near Jace. Rheagal and Drogon growled; Vermax growled in return. Jace placed a hand atop his dragon, and Vermax exhaled smoke, sending the two smaller dragons rolling back. Dany laughed, and Jace smiled before looking to her. "Viserys would crawl under my bed and ask when I would wake. He told me to wake soon so that I may crush the usurper and ride alongside your brother, Rhaegar, with three dragons behind me."

Dany looked down at her young children. She could not imagine bringing them to war. Handing Dragon over to the slavers in Astapor had already been too much. Dragons aren't tools of war. Her children belonged in no war.

"When your mother went into labor, Viserys begged for me to help her." Jace looked away, ashamed of his own uselessness. "I could do nothing. I watched your mother labor with you for what must've been hours. I heard the storm of your namesake. I saw your mother pass. I saw your brother hate me and curse me. I wish I could apologize to him."

Dany remained silent. She had known of this. Viserys had cursed Jace's name several times, of course. That he was no true dragon and that he was nothing but a sleeping corpse who would never return. "My brother would not have forgiven you."

"It is not forgiveness I seek."

Dany opened her mouth to speak before Ser Barristan stepped in. "Forgive me, my Queen, but we must make haste to Yunkai." Dany gave a nod before standing. "You ought not think of it too much," Dany said, tossing Viserion into the air to fly. "My brother is dead."

Dead? Jace paused. For how long has he been dead? Jace thought about the sweet young boy who came to him for help. His hand clenched at the thought of it. Still, Jace mounted his horse and rode forward until he grew tired of it. He looked back towards Vermax, who seemed annoyed. What dragon had ever marched a whole league? Still, Jace had no saddle to ride Vermax on. No Targaryen had ever attempted to ride a dragon bareback. Not any he can recall anyway. Still, Jace wished to ride horses no longer. He was never one for riding anyway. Nowhere to ride to on Dragonstone after all.

He'd fly atop Vermax, racing with Baela and her Moondancer.

Jace cannot complain despite the sores starting to form inside his thighs and the pain in his rear. Dany has not, and what does a Prince (is he still a prince? House Targaryen only consists of the two of them. House Targaryen was conquered. Should his title not be forfeited? Then why is Dany still called Queen?) look like complaining before a Queen?

Is Dany Queen of the Seven Kingdoms as self-proclaimed, or Queen of those who follow her now? If so, is Jacaerys King? Then would that not force Dany back into a Princess? He'd rather not. Neither her blood riders nor her followers would accept him as King; he is sure. In any case, Jace has no intentions of taking Dany's title. But the question remains: is he still Prince?

He was his mother's heir, but a King cannot rule asleep, so the title passed to Aegon, but he remained heir apparent. Not even when Daeron was born did Aegon proclaim otherwise. Jace remembers his little brother's words well. The crown would be given to him if he should wake.

Time passed, and Jace remained a Prince. Little Egg had said Jace should be King when he woke. A proclamation of a King, but the last King was Aerys, and his heir was Rhaegar. Aerys never spoke to him and only kept him in the Red Keep for Rhaegar. But is his title now forfeit without a monarchy? Does Dany bring a new monarchy? One he is not a part of?

What would his title be? Does he have one? Or shall he give his Targaryen name away? He would only become Targaryen upon his accession to the throne. Right now, Jace still holds the surname of Velaryon. He is salt and sea, and would've only become fire and blood sitting the throne. He is a Lord now, then? Lord Jacaerys of House Velaryon? He is no ser, for he was knighted. Why would he be? He was heir to the Iron Throne.

Should he be knighted now? Should he commission a saddle be made for Vermax and fly back to Westeros? Will Dany ever return to Westeros and take back the throne? He doesn't know. He groaned at all the questions swimming in his mind.

Jace doesn't want to stay in Essos. It is not home. His home is across the sea. But Dany's? Is it here? Or is it the red door with the lemon tree in front? The place where he took shelter in his dream.

Dany had told him he always smelled of lemons. Perhaps it is because in his dreams he would eat lemons.

He wants a lemon pie. Or just a lemon. He is hungry.

Still his questions remain. Shall he go back and take back the throne himself? He has a dragon, but he has no army. Are there still those who long for Targaryen rule? He promised his first daughter to Cregan. Perhaps now it should be he who marries the Starks' oldest daughter. The Northern army is mighty. But what of the Reach? The Tyrells. He could marry one of them, he is sure, but they took no side in the war. An Aryen would mayhaps suit him better, or the Tullys.

Shall he take multiple wives? Like Aegon the Conqueror did? Instead of sister-wives, just two wives. A Stark wife and a Tully wife. Tully for the Riverlands. Always the best place for wars, which he is sure will break out if Jace goes back to conquer. Can he do it by himself? It took Aegon three dragons all bigger than his own, and two sisters to do it. Even then, he lost one to Dorne. But Dorne ought to be eager for revenge, should they not? What did happen to Elia?

Or shall Jace remain here and serve Dany? What does she intend to do? Free all the slaves? It would take half their lifetime, and Jace wants to go home.

Jace plagued himself with these questions all the while watching Dany ride up front. Ser Barristan was next to her, and her three blood riders beside her. Three small dragons were flying above her.

"If I look back, I am lost."

Words echo in his mind. Words not of him. A weight fell upon him.

Jacaerys Velaryon. Salt and Sea.

Or

Jacaerys Targaryen. Fire and Blood.

Before Jace could answer, they arrived at Yunaki. Jace dismounted his horse and stood behind Dany.

Fire and Blood, or Salt and Sea? The throne for which he was born or the woman before him? Essos or Westeros? To be the sword of House Targaryen, or the sword of the Prince who was Promised?

"From my blood," Rhaegar began, and the doors of Yunaki opened. "Come, the Prince that was promised," Jaehaerys continued, and slaves walked out. Slaves who looked no different than he. "And his shall the song of Ice and Fire," Egg spoke as Daenerys walked out into the crowd who chanted 'Mhysa'

"When the red star bleeds red," Daeron said with his sandy blonde hair covering his face. "And the darkness gathers," Aerion spoke, his tone harsh. "Azor Ahai shall be born again," Aerys spoke, his voice old and filled with the knowledge of the thousand books he loved to read. "Amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone," Rheagal, brother of Maekar, Aerys, and Baelor, spoke, his voice sounding for the first time and no longer filled with the delusions he suffered his whole life.

Jacaerys looked out as the chant for Daenerys continued. They lifted her into the air.

"The long night is coming," His mother spoke, and Jace froze. "Only the Prince who was promised can bring the dawn," A voice sounded. A voice he'd never heard. Jace looked up towards the three dragons that flew above Daenerys. The three dragons grew and grew. To the size of Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion.

Aegon The Conqueror.

His dreams led him to take all Seven Kingdoms.

All the dreamers dreamt of her.

He remembers Daeron the Drunken coming to him, speaking to him of riddles he can now understand.

He remembers Daemon II Blackfyre coming to him, speaking of the Conquerors' dragons reborn again.

He remembers Aerion Targaryen coming to him, boasting proudly that he would be one of the three dragons to return.

He remembers Egg burning, saying that even if it is not him to bring dragons, three dragons shall wake from stone.

He remembers Bloodraven coming to him, racked with guilt of his doings. The death of Baelor. The death of all those so that Maekar, and then Aegon, could be king. From them comes Daenerys.

He remembers Sheira teasing him about how love-sick he will surely be for Daenerys.

He remembers Viserys coming to him asking when he will wake. When the three dragons will wake from stone.

He remembers Aegon telling him to wake so that he may be a knight in his service.

He remembers his mother speaking of the Promised Prince that would wake her Prince.

Jacaerys remembers it all.

He watches the fruit of his family rise in front of him, and still does he question?

No, he cannot. Jacaerys Velaryon died in Salt and Sea, but Jacaerys Targaryen returns to Fire and Blood.

Behind him, Vermax lifts into the air for the first time in over a century. Jacearys stands tall. Regardless of title, Jacaerys is Targaryen as has always been intended.

The Valyrian Empire shall weep not, for in dragon fire and usurper blood will House Targaryen and Valyria be born again.

Previous/Next

She loves him differently than all her other children. She loved Luke, she loves Joff, she loves Aegon, and Viserys. But her Jace? Oh, her sweet Jace, he is her world. With Jace, there were colors. The flowers bloomed the day her boy was born. The bird soared higher the day he took his first breath. The voices turned to song with her boy.

His hair was the richest color of brown, and curls that the sun yearns to warm. His eyes were brighter and more beautiful than the stars themselves. With her first, the world became like one. One heart and soul that beat within them. He made her world bright.

And now? There are no colors. There are no colors as he lies still. Not even his body has colors. His hair, his brown hair, is dull. His curls are now simple waves, having lost their life.

There is no color for Rhaenrya. The flowers have wilted in his absence. The birds cannot fly. The music is gone.

His eyes cannot show her the stars any longer.

The world is dead without her boy. A part of her is gone.

Jace had made her a mother, and without him, she does not feel like a mother.

Rhaenrya cannot let Jace rest. She has him embalmed with honey in the coldest room of Dragonstone.

The world has ceased as Rhaenrya lies in bed. Only the soil remains on the world, yet it has no life within it. Only waters remain, yet there is no life within them. Only the skies remain, yet there is no life within them.

The world remains, but there is no life.

She can scarcely hear Daemon whispering about a Prince. What does it matter? It is not her Prince. He speaks of a false song.

"Rhaenrya, the words are wrong." And? "Prince or Princesses. It is her. The girl in the desert with three dragons suckling at her breasts."

What does she care for a girl in the desert? Does he believe the child is theirs? How?

Why would her child be in the desert?

But still, three dragons. Rhaenyra is young; she may have more children. If her daughter is to come with three dragons, then she will bring back her boy.

So with a deep breath she stood up. "Bring me, Jace."

"Rhaenry-"

Her hand shot up, silencing him. "Bring me, Jace."

There was a book she read. It had been a book chosen at random. A book to spite Alicent and her terribly annoying speeches of the Seven. She chose a book of blood magic. Magic of Old Valyria. In it was a spell, a spell that spoke of life and death. A life for a life. Her son's life, though already forfeit, could be brought back. She would bring back Jace.

She spent night and day preparing her son's body. She brought Vermax's eggshell and placed it on her son's chest. She took the blade with the prophecy and slit her hands.

He rested atop a pyre, and her blood-soaked hands cradled his face. "From my blood, may the Prince that was promised come, and with him, my boy shall return." With her words spoken, the blood on his face sparked and ignited his body. She gasped and stepped back.

Daemon caught her. She looked up to him; his eyes were set on the pyre on which her boy burned. She turned around, and her court stood and watched.

Jace burned, and Rhaenrya could only pray her magic worked. Old Valyria is gone, but its magic is not. Dragons fly, Targaryens live. Their old empire is not forfeit yet.

As the day became night, and night became day, the fire ceased. Smoke came, and Rhaenrya looked over; in the ashes lay her boy, unburnt.

And colors returned to him. As if he were only sleeping. The sun warmed his brown hair, and his curls returned. Rhaenrya smiled, looking at her sleeping boy.

A glass coffin was brought, and her sleeping boy was laid to rest. He laid his head upon the softest and finest swan feathers covered in silk that was embroidered with dragons. He dressed in Targaryen attire from the old days of Daenys the Dreamer. Across his chest was a chain, and its clasp was a three-headed dragon.

Only when all three dragons and the prince came would he come.

Her sleeping boy lay in his room. The room that belonged to the ruler of Dragonstone. His rightful place. Rhaenrya visited him every night. Whispering to him stories of his boyhood, speaking her troubles to him, kissing him, and wishing him a good rest.

When she left for King's Landing, she continued to fly back every week to her boy. When she lost King's Landing, she confided in her boy. She showed Aegon his eldest brother, assuring him that whenever he had issues, his big brother Jace would be there to listen. When her usurper brother came for her, she hid Jace.

Rhaenyra did not cry out as she burned in the halls of Dragonstone. She had no worries, for she knew her first boy would be there for Aegon. If the girl in the desert did not come from her, then surely from her son.

Aegon never visited Jace as much. He never set foot on Dragonstone after his mother was burned. It hurt, but he left his brother. When his son, Daeron, became Prince of Dragonstone, Aegon was torn on whether or not to take Jace from his place in that room. Was he still Crown Prince? If he awoke soon, would he be King?

Aegon would gladly give him the crown. Jace was made in his mother's image. Jace was always the better one out of all of them. He remembers him well. He led his mother's council well. Had he not died, Aegon is sure his mother would've sat the throne longer, and all Aegon would be is a knight. Aegon would be pleased with that.

But alas, so came the choice. Aegon chose to keep his brother in his rightful place. Should he wake, Aegon would give his crown to him.

Time passed, and Daeron was King. Daeron never met his uncle. Has no memory of him living. His father told him that his grandmother, Rhaenrya, said that he would wake one day. On the day a girl with three dragons who wake form stone. His father didn't like dragons. Daeron doesn't have to wonder why. But still, all Jacaerys is a sleeping boy who does not age. Once Daeron was younger than him, then he was the same age as him, and now he is older than him. His room was Jacaerys' room. Daeron decides to let him stay.

Time passed, and Daeron died young and without heirs, so Baelor came to the crown. Baelor knows little other than this body is not holy. It may be his family, but it is a body that should've been gone. Instead, it is held by magic not of the Seven. Still, Baelor cannot fault a body. So he lets it remain.

Time passed, and Baelor refused to marry and passed without heirs. Viserys became King. Viserys did not recall his eldest brother as much as he should. His brother died for him after all. It haunts him. Viserys tries not to visit, but he can't help him. His big brother. Two opposites. The youngest and the eldest. One with Targaryen coloring, the other without. One who lived his entire life with his mother, the other who did not. One who was always heir to the Iron Throne, the other who was not. Viserys let Jace be.

Time passed, and Viserys passed, and Aegon became King. Who Jacaerys was, he could care less. If anything, in his eyes, he was nothing more than a bastard. Jacaerys was placed in a dark room. That era of Targaryens was over. Jacaerys had no importance to him. That room now belonged to his preferred son. Daemon. After all, if a bastard could live in this room, why not another? If one bastard could be heir to the Iron Throne, why not his own?

Time passed; Aegon the Unworthy died fat and treacherously. He legitimized all his bastards. Daeron rose above it and still became King. He does not know what to do with Jacaerys. His great uncle who he only knows died for his grandfather, Viserys. But Daeron does like Jacaerys. Grew to like him more when his Baelor was born. Dark brown hair and a perfect heir, just like his great, great-granduncle. He took Jacaerys from the dark room and placed him in Aegon's Garden. He figures his sleeping grand uncle would rather wake in a garden rather than a lone room. Baelor asked about him once; all Daeron could say was that his great-grandmother used the magic of old Valyria to put her first boy to sleep until dragons wake from stone. Daeron spent more time thinking of Jacaerys when Baelor died at Ashford. In the moment he learned of his first boy's death, he understood Rhaenrya. Had he known the spell, Daeron would've put his boy to sleep too. Daeron could hardly bear it when Baelor died. His first boy. His first child. The firsts are always special.

Time passed, and Daeron died of the great spring sickness, mourning his first boy and his grandchild. The crown passed to Aerys. Aerys left Jacaerys in the garden. Jacaerys always intrigued him. He did not know what book his great-great-grandmother used to preserve him, but he would very much like to read it.

Time passed, and Aerys died without heirs, and Rhaegal passed, choking on a pie. Aelor only saw Jacaerys once before he too died; Aelora never set her eyes on him before killing herself. And so the kinslayer, the one who everyone says killed his own brother to take the throne himself, even though the gods know it to not be true, Maekar Targaryen took the throne. Maekar kept Jacaerys there in the garden. Sometimes, if the skin was tanner and his hair shorter, he could picture Baelor in that glass sleeping away. He too wishes he could have Baelor sleeping alongside Jacaerys.

Time passed and Maekar was killed in doing what he did best: putting down rebellions. Daeron died, Aerion went mad and died, Aemon refused the throne and went to the Wall, though he too spent much time with Jacaerys, and little Egg took the throne with Ser Duncan by his side. Aegon never spent much time with Jacaerys until he did.

"Ser, did you know that my great-great-great-granduncle, Jacaerys, firstborn to Rhaenrya, will awake when dragons awake from stone?"

Aegon took him to Summerhall. When Jacaerys wakes, Aegon would make sure to be there. When the great fire of Summerhall happened, Aegon worried Jacaerys would burn. He didn't, but Aegon did. Aegon burned in front of Jaehaerys. Aegon begged for Jacaerys to wake. He did not, for dragons did not wake from stone.

Jaehaerys took the throne and took Jacaerys back to Dragonstone. His father spent much time with Jacaerys. Jaehaerys did as well when he learned why his father spent so much time with him. "When the red star bleeds red, and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone." So had spoken the red witch who came to court. Jacaerys would wake soon; Jaehaerys would see to it. He brought Jacaerys to the Red Keep, where all came to see the last dragon prince sleeping.

Robert Baratheon saw a sleeping boy who would never wake.

Eddard Stark saw a boy of old.

Tywin Lannister saw an impossibility.

Cersei Lannister saw a man who, had it not been for his plain coloring, would have been better-looking than Rhaegar.

Jaime Lannister saw a fallen heir.

Tyrion saw a boy who used to fly with dragons.

Barristan Selmy saw a relic.

129 years, the last dragon-riding prince slept. Jaehaerys knew that he would wake soon. He made sure the last dragon prince saw the union of his two children, Aerys and Rhaella.

Time passed, and three short years after taking the throne, he passed, and Aerys took the throne. Aerys kept him in the Red Keep. Rhaegar was fond of Jacaerys. Rhaegar would play his harp for him. Rhaegar would ask him about dragons. Rhaegar often asked Jacaerys if he was the Prince that was Promised. When Rhaegar became Prince of Dragonstone, he took Jacaerys with him. Jon Connington often watched Rhaegar become enamored with Jacaerys. Rhaegar believed Jacaerys would wake soon. Rhaegar would hope to talk to him about dragons, though three dragons would wake soon, would they not?

Elia bore their first child; he took her to see Jacaerys. She returned once more with Aegon. Rhaegar told Jacaerys he saw that his daughter would be the one to wake dragons from stone, that he would have one more child. That when that daughter was born and of age, when dragons woke from stone, when Jacaerys woke, Rhaegar said his last daughter would be married to him. A marriage to bind House Targaryen. Dragons of old, to dragons of new. As if dragons never went.

Time passed, and Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark. Rhaella came to Dragonstone. Viserys spent his time sitting underneath the sleeping dragon Prince. Viserys liked looking at Jacaerys. Viserys liked being with Jacaerys. He would wake soon, and this war would be over. Jacaerys would come back with three dragons in tow and the Prince that was promised. But when his mother began his labors, Viserys forced the masters to give birth in a room where Jacaerys slept. Jacaerys would keep his mother safe.

He didn't. Jacaerys only slept. Rhaella died giving birth to Daenerys Targaryen.

Jacaerys was no dragon.

Viserys loathed Jacaerys. He loathed him when they crossed the Narrow Sea, where he died. He loathed him when he was forced to sell his mother's crown. He loathed him when he had to marry Dany off, and he loathed him when he died.

As for Jacaerys, he stayed on Dragonstone.

Robert Baratheon threw him into the sea where he belonged. Where he should've stayed. A damned Targaryen Prince. A son his mother gave up for the throne. He ought to find his rotting dragon in the sea too.

Jacaerys drifted in the sea for sixteen years, asleep. The sun did not burn him, for he was already burnt with fire. His fine clothes broke down after the first five years, his chain broke off, and on the tenth year, his sleeping body bumped into Vermax. The dragon, which too had been put to sleep when his mother burned his eggshell alongside him. His saddle was long broken off. The bolts in his neck were gone, and the wound was scarred shut.

And then six years later another pyre burned with three stone eggs. A pyre similar to his own. Three young dragons roared. Three young dragons suckled at their young mother's breast. But Jace did not wake. He remained asleep, drifting in the sea.

From Black Water Bay, to the Gullet, to the Narrow Sea passing Tarth, to Cape Warth, Estermont, Bloodstone, the Stepstones, to the open seas, the Smoking seas of Valyria took everything that was not of Jace or Vermax, to then the Gulf of Grief, to finally Slavers Bay. Jace drifted for another year.

Until he was taken by Astapor Slavers. They dragged his and Vermax's sleeping bodies from the sea. They cleaned his skin that despite being at sea for so many years, was without blemishes. His body was too hot for anyone to touch for too long. As if fire coated him. His dragon was equally as hot. As if the two bathed in fire.

They splashed them, trying to wake them. They cut Jace trying to wake him; his wounds only closed, and he did not wake. So they instead splashed their hands in water to dress him without getting burned. They propped the dragon up to have a view of all of Astapor.

They propped him inside to be viewed. He lay back in a bed of flowers and was perfumed daily.

A couple of months later, a Prince and three dragons came. She asked why they had a dragon. The Prince worried a dragon would not be enough since they had one already. They still accepted her dragon.

The Prince set fire to them and freed the slaves.

Breaker of Chains. She ordered the dragon down. They got burned. The Promised Prince went to the sleeping dragon. She cut its ropes and came down. She watched the sleeping green dragon with awe. Its warm breath soothing her.

The bride of fire walked, letting her hand roam over the dragon scales, disregarding the warnings of her advisors.

She stayed in Astapor until every slave was freed; all the while she spent her time with the dragon. On the fifth day, an unsullied came to her about a sleeping man. The sleeping man that came with the dragon.

Azor Ahai smiled and ran to the man who lay asleep on his wilting flowers. She looked over and onto the handsome man. She tapped his face. He did not wake. He only slept. Slowly she traced her finger along his face. His nose, lips, freckles that made her head tilt. He had a faint summer blush on his cheeks. Her hands drifted to his curly dark hair.

Her advisors suddenly came, and in embarrassment, she pulled her hand back, nicking her finger on a thorn. She winced before turning around.

Ser Barristan Selmy paused, looking at the man. "The last Dragon riding prince…" He murmured, looking upon him as he slept. "Jacaerys." Dany looked to Ser Barristan Selmy, then back towards this…Jacaerys. She asked about him, and so he told her of the tale of Prince Jacaerys. That when he died, his mother, in her grief and unable to lose her first son, performed magic of Old Valyria to have him slumber. He told her of how he had been asleep for 153 years of Targaryen rule. He told her that her brother, Rhaegar, loved to speak with him. That Viserys sought comfort in him. That her father was married in his presence, and that her grandfather was fond of him.

"The red witch said that when the red star bleeds red, and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone and only then will the Prince awaken." Ser Barristan spoke and tilted her head.

"Then is our Queen not Azor Ahai?" Jorah spoke.

"Perhaps there is a ritual that has been lost to time." Ser Barristan responded, and the dragon queen pouted. She wondered what stories Jacaerys would tell.

"Bring him and load him onto a wagon; we shall take him and his dragon."

And so it was done. Dany spent most of her time with him. She would ride in the wagon simply looking at him. She sometimes would whisper and ask what her brother Rhaegar would say to him. Other times she would tell him about Viserys and how he used to be kind or of her dreams. But mostly, she'd trace his features. Were all men of her family as beautiful as him?

Dany had said at first she was only with him because he was all she had of her family, but in truth the more she spoke to him, the more she began to imagine. If she is meant to wake him, how?

She admires him, speaks with him, eats with him when she can.

She lies beside him, tracing his face. He has 153 freckles. She's counted. His eyelashes are long, but she yearns to know the color of his eyes. His lips are full, though she yearns to know how he sounds when he speaks. His nose is tall, and she traces the slope of it.

As the days grow together and they close in on Meereen, the ideas start popping into Dany's mind on how to wake her sleeping prince. Perhaps blood?

She pricks her finger and lets it drop into his mouth. He does not wake. She whispers Valyrian sayings to him. He does not wake. Mayhaps milk from her teat? Drogon, Rhaegal, nor Viserion drink much. She tries to squeeze out a drop of milk, just a singular drop. She collects it and drops it into his mouth. Nothing.

Her dragons often spend their time sleeping by him and her, or by the other slumbering dragon.

It isn't long before they do arrive in Meereen and the Breaker of Chains rises once more. She keeps Jacaerys close. Keeps Vermax near her camp. Jacaerys stays near on her bed and hidden behind curtains in her tent. She meets the sellswords. Stormcrows and Second Sons. She meets an envoy from Yunkai; Grazdan mo Eraz. She speaks with the two captains of the Stormcrows; Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor the Bald. She can see the consideration in Daario Naharis, a man who takes her interest. That interest lacks with Mero, the captain of the Second Sons.

Dany offers gold, gold she doesn't intend on paying. She gifts him wine to share with his Second Sons. Grazdan mo Eraz offers gold; she refuses. She tells him they have three days to free their slaves. If they do not, she will sack the city.

She'll sack the city tonight. While the Stormcrows argue over her offer and the Second Sons become drunken, there is no one to protect Yunkai. She waits in her tent, spending her time with Jacaerys while Ser Barristan speaks more of Jacaerys and his dragon Vermax. He tells her of how at the age of Dany, he was already considered a man worthy of the Iron Throne. That he was the mind behind his mother's council.

And Dany can't help but wonder what advice the Prince would give her. Her plan was, well, she thought, would he give her a better one?

That night when Ser Barristan leaves, she traces over his features once more. She is enamored with him as she assumes her brother was. So Dany looks around, as if embarrassed of what she is about to do; she leans in, smelling the sweet perfumes and feeling the heat that can only belong to a dragon envelop her, and she kisses him. A sweet, soft peck of a girl who has a simple crush on a man.

She looks at him. He does not move. There is movement outside. She turns and misses the twitch in the Prince's face. She stands up from her bed and looks to the man before her.

Before her stands Daario Naharis holding the heads of Prendahl and Sallor, his fellow captains, and pledges the Stormcrows to her service. She gives a smile, nodding before hearing someone take a deep breath behind her. She twists back and looks towards her Prince as he gives groans and small whimpers. She crawls back to her Prince's side, watching him in awe as he seems to wake.

She tressures the sounds that come from his mouth; she waits for his eyes to open. She turns back to Daario before telling him to leave her. He does. Her Prince still hasn't opened his eyes. Did her kiss wake him?

Should she kiss him again?

She does. Her hands cup her Prince's face, kissing him once more. He kisses her back, and she melts into him. She breaks away and watches him, half asleep, attempting to chase her lips. And slowly she watched him begin to blink.

Eyes more beautiful than the stars themselves opened and closed, adjusting to everything. Dany stared in awe.

170 years later, the last dragon prince woke.

Note: This was inspired by a TikTok I saw. Thought it would be cute.

Jace knelt beside you, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand. You placed the beetle in his palm, trusting that he would be as gentle as you always were with the world’s smallest creatures. He turned the insect carefully, his thumb brushing away the mud that had ensnared it. You watched him with a mixture of fascination and love. Jace was patient, where others would have dismissed your concern as childish or odd. He never once called you mad, not like your mother had whispered behind closed doors when she thought you weren't listening.

“Are we taking it to our room?” Jacaerys asked with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours. His brown eyes, warm like honey, always made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way that no one else did. Not your mother, not the maesters, not even your father, who tried to love you but could never understand you.

You gave a small laugh, one that sounded more like a breeze whispering through the trees. "I don’t think it would like the room," you replied, brushing a stray silver-gold strand of hair from your face. "It belongs out here, I think."

Jacaerys nodded. He understood. He always understood, even when you struggled to explain yourself. He placed the beetle back on the ground gently, and you watched as it scurried off into the grass. The small moment passed, but it left a warmth in your heart. These moments with Jace were everything to you.

The wind shifted, and you froze. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You could feel them again — the ghosts. The invisible presences that followed you everywhere, the ones no one else could see. Your chest tightened, your breath quickened, and the world around you blurred at the edges.

Jace was by your side in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He didn’t ask what was wrong; he didn’t need to. He knew. He always knew. The panic that clawed at your insides like a ravenous beast began to subside under the familiar pressure of his embrace. You focused on the steady beat of his heart, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his breathing.

“They’re here again, aren’t they?” Jacaerys whispered into your hair, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, burying your face in his chest, the rich scent of his skin calming you further. “I can feel them,” you whispered back, your voice trembling. “Watching… waiting…”

Jacaerys held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to believe that the things you saw, the shadows that loomed just beyond the edge of sight, were only in your mind. But how could you, when you could feel them so keenly? When they whispered to you in the dead of night, filling your dreams with images of things long dead and forgotten?

Your mother, Alicent, had always looked at you with a mixture of pity and fear. From the time you were a child, she had treated you as if you were fragile, almost breakable. The day she had agreed to your marriage with Jacaerys had been one of the rare moments when you had seen relief in her eyes — as if you were finally someone else’s responsibility, no longer her burden to bear.

But Jacaerys never made you feel like a burden. He had taken you as his wife not out of duty or convenience, but because he had truly wanted you. He had seen your strangeness, your peculiarities, and had loved you for them. Even now, as you stood in the fading light, haunted by the unseen, he held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I’ll chase them away if you want,” Jacaerys said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand brushed against your cheek, his touch feather-light.

You managed a small, shaky smile. “You’d do that?”

He smiled back, that lopsided grin that made your heart ache with affection. “Of course. I’ll chase them all away, every last one of them.”

You knew he would. You knew he would humour you, would run through the garden or the halls of Dragonstone, waving his arms and calling out to the ghosts to leave his wife in peace. It was absurd, but Jacaerys never cared about appearing foolish, not when it came to you. He had done it before, on more nights than you could count — banishing your invisible tormentors with all the seriousness of a knight battling real foes.

But tonight, you didn’t want him to chase them away. Tonight, you only wanted him to hold you, to remind you that no matter how strange or broken the world seemed, there was still something real and solid in it: his love.

“I just want you to stay with me,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest.

Jacaerys nodded, his arms never loosening. “Always.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, standing in the middle of the garden as the sky darkened, the first stars appearing overhead. The wind whistled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed against the cliffs, but here, in Jace’s arms, the world was quiet.

The ghosts were still there. They always would be. But with Jace, you could bear them. He was your anchor, the one thing that kept you tethered when everything else seemed to slip away. You knew that the whispers would return, that the panic would strike again, and the shadows would come creeping back into your mind. But as long as Jacaerys was there, with his steady heart and his unwavering love, you could face them.

He was the husband you never thought you would have. The kind of man you had been told you didn’t deserve, that you would never find. But Jace had chosen you, strange as you were. And he had stayed through all the dark nights and haunted days.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “I love you,” you whispered, the words so quiet they were almost lost to the wind.

Jacaerys smiled, his hand cupping your face as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, you believed him. You believed that no matter how haunted your mind was, no matter how broken you sometimes felt, there was still something whole and good in the world.

It was him.

It was Jace.

And for now, that was enough.

The morning air is thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea as you stand by the cliff edge, Caraxes sprawled before you, his great, sinuous body stretched luxuriously along the rocks. His scales glisten, the deep crimson reflecting in the morning sun as his slitted eyes, always watchful, follow your every movement. The dragon’s head rests lazily beside you, large enough that one of his breaths could likely knock you off your feet, yet gentle as he huffs softly, nuzzling your hand as you scratch just beneath his horned jaw.

“You’re spoiling him,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind, laced with a tone that’s both disapproving and… sulking? You smirk without turning around, knowing full well what that look on his face must be: arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed, mouth drawn into that familiar pout that’s often mistaken for mere arrogance but, today, has a hint of jealousy.

“Am I?” you respond, your voice light with feigned innocence as you continue to scratch Caraxes. The dragon rumbles in pleasure, tilting his head like a hound angling for more affection. You can feel Daemon’s eyes drilling into your back, but you don’t let up, laughing softly as Caraxes leans closer, nearly knocking you sideways in his enthusiasm.

“Yes, you are,” Daemon steps closer, his dark cloak billowing slightly as he stands beside you, looking down at his dragon with mild disdain. “He’ll be insufferable now, demanding pets and scratches like some slobbering mutt.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you tease, glancing at Daemon. “You’re as spoiled as Caraxes is.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow at the comparison, though a glimmer of amusement tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Spoiled, am I?”

Caraxes’s head shifts, his large, amber eyes drifting from you to his rider as if sensing Daemon’s displeasure. He rumbles again, a deep sound that vibrates the rock beneath your feet, and Daemon gives his dragon a flat look.

“Not you too, you great overgrown lizard,” Daemon mutters. “I am your rider, remember? Mine, not hers.”

Caraxes blinks slowly, looking almost unimpressed. You swear, for a brief moment, that the dragon’s gaze shifts back to you with what could only be called affection. It’s as if he’s saying, “Oh, but she’s my favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at Daemon’s expression.

“I think he’s simply decided that I give better scratches,” you say, grinning.

Daemon arches a brow, eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and feigned affront. “Is that so?” He steps closer, nudging you out of the way so he can place a hand on Caraxes’s scales, patting his dragon’s neck with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You like me, don’t you, boy?” he asks, scratching roughly—too roughly, if Caraxes’s sudden flick of his tail and indignant huff are anything to go by.

“See?” you laugh, folding your arms as you watch with a smirk. “Gentleness, Daemon. Perhaps Caraxes prefers a softer touch.”

Daemon looks at you with a pointed glare. “Are you suggesting I’m not gentle?”

“Oh, Daemon, of course not,” you reply, lips twitching as you fight a smile. “You’re a Targaryen knight in shining armor.”

“Knight, indeed,” Daemon snorts, but there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes as he takes your bait. He shifts closer, one arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to him with a quick, possessive motion that sends a thrill down your spine. “Tell me, then. Should I be jealous of my own dragon? Or are you so starved for attention that you’ll take affection where you can get it?”

His words are laced with mock offense, but his hand holds you firmly, his thumb brushing against your waist in a way that belies his teasing tone.

“Jealous?” You raise a brow, feigning surprise. “Of Caraxes?”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Perhaps I ought to start breathing fire to gain your favor, then.”

You tilt your head, amused by the thought. “Imagine how well that would go at court,” you muse. “The Rogue Prince, reduced to petty flames for his sister’s affection.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound warm and rumbling, yet his hand on your waist tightens. “I’d reduce more than just my pride to flames if it meant keeping your attention on me.”

Caraxes huffs suddenly, a low rumble that sounds suspiciously like laughter, if a dragon could laugh. He lowers his head to nose at your shoulder, nudging Daemon’s hand away in the process as if to say, “She’s mine, actually.” You burst out laughing, leaning into Caraxes’s scaled cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin.

“Seems like he’s made his choice,” you say with a sly smile, watching Daemon’s face flicker between exasperation and humor.

“Oh, has he?” Daemon drawls, arching a brow as he watches you and Caraxes, clearly unimpressed. “Well, perhaps I should be jealous, then. I might have to fight him for your favor.”

You laugh, raising a hand to smooth over Daemon’s arm. “Poor Daemon,” you tease, your tone laced with affection. “Unseated by your own dragon.”

He rolls his eyes, though the warmth in his gaze softens his expression. “If Caraxes intends to keep you for himself, he should remember who his true rider is.”

Caraxes turns his head slightly, eyeing Daemon with a look that, impossibly, feels smug. You laugh again, patting the dragon’s neck in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Caraxes. There’s room enough for both of you.”

Daemon grunts, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer as he casts a sidelong glance at Caraxes. “You’re lucky I tolerate you, you red menace,” he mutters, though the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.

You were absolutely everything to him. The reason for his existence he thought often. His heart walking around, blessing everyone for your mere existence.

You danced around the floor with Aegon, a wide grin pulling at your beauty lips as your head was tilted back your laugh spilling out into the loud hall. It would have gone unnoticed to anyone else due to all the other sounds, but not to Valarr. Never to Valarr.

He stood on the outskirts watching, waiting patiently for his turn after you made it through your younger siblings. That was always the deal, and Valarr would have waited years to simply have the pleasure of dancing with you.

Though he much proffered when you would drag him off into the gardens, slipping past all the guards. Not because you would kiss him, though that was always a plus. He liked the quiet. When the two of you could exist without the watchful eyes and the pleasured of the crown.

Your eyes looked with his again, and you smiled at him. He could feel his own lips turn up slightly before Aegon pulled you once more attempting to spin you.

Valarr was so lost in his thoughts that he did not even notice the presence next to him. Though he probably should have due to the loud drunken steps, and the stench of wine that never quite left the man.

"If you stare any longer you might scare her off," Daeron mused, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. "Though I think she does like your attention."

He rolled his eyes, "I am admiring my future wife is all."

"Are you sure about that?"

The mismatched eyes turned meeting his violet ones. "What?" he asked, in confusion.

"My father has been speaking to Lord Tyrell about marrying his grandson," he answered with a shrug.

Valarr's eyes widened in horror. This was the worse possible thing he had ever heard in his entire existent. The thought of you married to anyone that was not him. That just would not do!

There had never been a formal betrothal, but he thought he did not need one. It was not secret how fond you were of the other, and he thought…His eyes then moved to the high table looking to Maekar who sat beside Baelor.

He would make this right. He then decided.

The Prince was moving through the crowd without a second thought, pausing before you to alert you of his intentions. You looked up as if you had felt his presence meeting his eyes. You beamed at him and he lost his train of thought pausing monetarily in his place as he simply stared at you, "Have you finally come to dance with me, Val?" you asked.

He could hear his heartbeat picking up. Your smile, your beauty, your angelic voice and the way you said his name. "No not yet, my love," he told you gently.

You frowned slightly, and it almost made him forget the task at hand due to how much he hated that sight. He moved forward cupping your face gently. No one in the crowd even paused to look at you continuing to spin around the pair of you, "I have to go have a talk with your father," he said.

The disappointment from only a moment ago, replaced by something that he had seen so often with you. In the quite moments when it was only you and him. No loud noises. No distractions.

It was the love you held for him. The one you confessed so loudly compared to his quieter admissions. It was the all consuming feeling that filled you both.

"Are you…" you trailed off, but you did not need to finish. He knew you better than that, as if you were an extension of his own thoughts and you never needed to complete yours, because he always knew.

"I am," he nodded in agreement. He reached down gripping your hand before pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"Do not leave me waiting long," you told him.

He grinned at you, "I wouldn't dream of it."

With a strength he did not quite know he possessed he pulled himself away from you, and began toward your father. He sat talking about something with his eldest brother, Valarr's father. The younger's face was a gruff as always as he rolled his eyes at something the elder said.

And before he knew it he was standing in front of the two men, "Valarr

"I request an audience with you," he suddenly declared, looking at his uncle.

Maekar turned looking to his brother, "What the fuck is he talking about?"

Baelor shrugged, "It is Valarr than requests an audience, Maekar. Not I," he reminded the younger.

He scoffed then turned back toward his nephew, "What the fuck do you want?" he then asked, not moving from his seat.

Valarr was undettered. This was Maekar's typical personality. Cold, stern, and harsh with his words, but underneath all that was a man who loved his children. Who loved you his first born, his precious girl, and only wanted the best for her.

And he believed he was that for you.

He puffed his chest out slight, trying to appear bigger than he was. He wanted to seem impressive, to seem worthy, but that was harder to do with a man that had earned the name of the Anvil.

"I wish to marry your daughter,"

"No," he answered immediately.

The young man's face immediately fell, but he was not going to take rejection that easily, "I will get on my knees and beg," he said.

The uncle's mouth turned into a grin as if he was tempted to see just how far he was willing to go. "Maekar," Baelor warned, knowing his son would do exactly as he said.

"I will do it," he repeated.

"You will get down on your knees in front of all these guests? The heir to the heir on his knees begging for my daughter's hand like an insolent child?" the stern man asked, leaning forward.

Baelor's eyes flickered around watching half in intrigued,and the other. making sure no one was witnessing this scene, because his brother was being his stubborn self.

Valarr nodded immediately, "Yes I will," he took a deep breath steadying himself, "I love your daughter more than anything in this world, and I will work every day to be the man she deserves. Getting on my knees and begging seems inadequate to the love I hold for her so if that is what you need I will l do it."

He then went to sink to his knees, but his uncle's hand shot out stopping him, "Do not get on your fucking knees. Maekar let out a sigh, shaking his head, "I will discuss it with your father. Now go and dance with my daughter so she will stop glaring at me," he instructed.

Valarr grinned widely, "Thank you," he said, with a bow before practically sprinting off toward you. As you awaited him, your hand already extending indicating exactly what you wanted. Both men watched as he complied, as you both danced around, matching grins on your face.

"Is there even much to discuss?" Baelor asked, once his eldest was out of ear shot.

"Oh, no. She already asked, but told me not to do anything until he did himself. I do not possess the ability to tell her no, and neither does he it seems."

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