#jacaerys

Instead the Stranger had taken her in her prime, through dragon fire that had burned her flesh and rotted her core until she had eventually succumbed to it. Or perhaps it was the grief of losing another son, that in the end had been too much to bear. Many in the Red Keep suspected that the loss of Queen Helaena and their youngest son had been what had driven Aegon to madness, until his own men had taken pity. 

Only the Gods knew the truth of it, now all there was for Jacaerys to understand was that the two rulers, legitimate and usurping, who had sat the throne after Viserys were now dead, and the crown had landed on his head. 

Under the looming presence of the Iron Throne, Jacaerys paced the marble floors, attempting to make sense of the utter devastation around him. The high ceilings now felt suffocating, as though the very sky was crumbling over his head. 

“I should not be there,” he said outloud, almost to himself, or perhaps to the Gods, but his faithful friend Cregan Stark still answered his call of anguish. 

Wrists resting atop the pommel of Ice, which he carried at his waist these days, the young lord was watching over him as Kingsguard would, with the sort of silent presence that reminded Jacaerys that he was not alone in carrying his grief. 

“This is your rightful place, my prince,” he reminded him with the steadfastness he had come to expect from the northerner. 

“No it is not. It shouldn’t be, not by decades at least,” he resisted, and Cregan knew him to be right. 

Upon answering the call of the Dragon Queen, never would he have imagined that he would see a great dynasty fall to its knees in such a short time. Dragon riders had risen and fallen as quickly as the tide and as unpredictably, and he feared that it was only through sheer fate that one legitimate heir remained.

While it was not in his character to contemplate potential ruin, he knew the face of the crown could have been a child not even a decade old, would Jacaerys have drowned along with his dragon at the Gullet.

“Why have the Gods allowed it? Why allow my mother to die but me to survive?” Jacaerys lamented, the healed wound in his shoulder throbbing then, a pulsing burn from an arrow that had scarcely missed his heart—in that instant he almost wished it had not, and had allowed him to rest at the bottom of the sea with Vermax, instead of standing to inherit ruins.

“It is not for us to know,” Cregan replied, knowing it was no comfort. Then he cleared his throat, meaning to lead the young king to where he was expected. “They are waiting for you.”

Jacaerys turned to him then, his eyes rimmed with red and his face gaunter than a man of his age should be, the face of a man who had seen the Stranger many a time. “I cannot rule.”

Cregan stepped forward and put a heavy hand on his shoulder—still, the touch felt like the comfort of a brother, the sort Jacaerys sorely missed, and he leaned into it for support. “Then allow me to counsel you. We have been friends, haven’t we?”

Jacaerys nodded, swallowing heavily—the battlefield forged strong friendships, bonds of brotherhood the like he would have never imagined beforehand. “We have,” he confirmed. “There is no one else I trust.”

“Then believe me when I say, you will be a fine king,” Cregan replied, and it planted the seed of an idea in him, that perhaps not all of it was a curse—perhaps this was the call of destiny, no matter how painful, and he only had to answer it. “One I will gladly bend the knee to.”

The Red Keep had been your birth place, and now you were certain it would be your resting place. It had now been a fortnight since Rhaenyra had taken the Iron Throne once more, returning to King’s Landing with an army several thousands strong, made of Rivermen and Northerners, only to find that the revenge she sought had already been taken from her. Aegon laid cold in his bed, and she followed mere days later. 

You had been confined to Maegor's Holdfast, kept under close watch in your rooms most days, as though you were more than you were, more than a woman and instead a danger to the unlikely king now wearing the crown. You had never had to think of yourself as a political pawn until your brother Aegon, having taken the throne once more, had summoned you to the capital. You had obeyed your king, but in the span of a few weeks, he had perished and left you and your mother to face the consequences of his actions.

You loathed him as much as you loathed Rhaenyra and her brood. It was a cruel turn of fate, almost a cruel sort of poetry, that both pretenders to the throne had perished in the pursuit of it, leaving their heirs to scrub their blood from the stone floors and rebuild the dynasty they had destroyed, or pay the price of their pride in their own blood. 

All those that had betrayed Rhaenyra’s faction were now facing justice, and you feared you were only waiting for the executioner’s blade. You wondered whether your nephew’s own sword would do it, or if he would entrust the task to his most loyal man, Cregan Stark. Perhaps they would show mercy and send you into exile, to become a Silent Sister. 

Death or eternal silence,you knew what you would rather endure. 

Thus you waited for the Stranger in the room that had seen your childhood and little else, as you had been sent to Oldtown for your education once the first spring of your womanhood had bloomed. The Faith of the Seven now rooted you and guided you, and you clung to prayers as not to fall into madness.

On the third night of his reign, it was not the hand nor the blade of justice that came to you, but Jacaerys himself, and you wondered whether the following morrow would be the last dawn you would see. 

You stood abruptly as he entered, glancing towards the guard at the door with dread. “Rest easy, you have nothing to fear from me,” Jacaerys assured you. He was dressed in regal clothing made of black, the velvet layer on the inside of his cape a deep red. His hair fell to his shoulders in dark curls, nearly black in the low light of the candles. 

“Don’t I?” you asked, openly weary and hostile. “Where are my niece, and my mother?”

“Confined to their own rooms,” the young man replied with what seemed to you as regret. 

You noticed that he was not wearing the crown, but his head was bowed as though it was weighing on his neck, a constant presence. “Might I see them?” you inquired, but it sounded more like an order you were giving him.

“Your niece, yes,” Jacaerys conceded. 

“She’s a motherless child. Surely you would not have her be confined alone,” you insisted, and it seemed to convince him.

“You will be escorted to see her,” he offered, but it did little to appease you.

You approached him in careful steps until he could see the unshed tears glimmer in your eyes, your brow furrowed in concealed anger. You were trembling, ever so slightly, and when he searched your face for any familiar flicker, he found none—you were his blood, and yet nothing tied the two of you together but hatred.

“What will happen to us, now?” you inquired, gauging him. Standing face to face, you were reminded then of the years of your childhood, and you wondered whether the boy you had known then was still within reach, or if he had perished alongside his kin, replaced by a man you did not know.

“Nothing, for the time being. You are to be confined until trials have been run,” he explained.

Hope burst in your chest then, a starving dragon freed from its chains taking to the skies, ready to burn the lands around it. “And after that?”

Jacaerys looked pained then, a frown between his brows. “I do not know,” was all he answered, and he looked like a child, frightened by his own crown and unable to yield the power he possessed, and you hated him for it. 

“Why have you come, then, if you do not know of my fate?” you accused, your burning tears pearling at the corners of your eyes, your simmering rage like a silent sob caught in your chest, and he did not have any more answers for you.

Once Jacaerys had left, leaving more doubts and fears behind, you realized you had only addressed him in questions. There was a rage inside of you, and a primal fear that was no doubt similar to that of a beast caught in a trap, forced to eat through its own leg to free itself. 

You only had blunt teeth, but you still hoped you could sharpen them in due time.

Over the last pair of years, Jacaerys had sat at many a council of war, at the Painted Table in Dragonstone, but always as a councilor himself, advising his mother—it was only now that he realized how comfortable such a position was, making the decisions without having to enforce them, or without having to consider their consequences.

Now he was the one standing at the head of the table, leading men that sat in front of their marble ball as though they had paid a price for it and ought to claim them with pride, when in truth they had been named because they were alive and breathing. 

Corlys Velaryon was still abed from his wounds, but the men who had advised his mother during her last days were now serving him, waiting for him to name his council as he wished. All of them were taking their orders from a king young enough to be their son or grandson, one or two failing to conceal their contempt for that fact, and Jace wondered if such was the fate of all the kings that had preceded him. 

However what Jace lacked in years lived, he made up for in the devastation he had seen. In many ways grief was his experience, more so than strategy and governance, and he supposed it forged a man just as well.

Before the war he had never realized what came with being king—the grief, knowing the crown had only been passed on because the previous monarch had perished. It was all the more burdensome knowing his mother had barely reigned, and never over peace.

Since Cregan’s declaration of devotion, he had had the time to contemplate the sort of king he would want to be, the sort of legacy he would want to leave behind, whether his reign would be long or short. What mattered to him most was not to assert his authority or to be admired—he needed to rebuild and to leave the crown strong for his heirs. His reign would not be for himself, but for those who come after. 

With such a conclusion he sat before his council that morning, Cregan at his right where the Hand would usually be.

Roland Westerling, an older man with a calm disposition, handed a roll of parchment to Jacaerys, the seal of which had already been broken, a golden stag. “Lady Elenda Baratheon has accepted your terms of peace,” he informed the council as soon as they were all seated. 

“Nearly half of the great houses in the land are now ruled by babes and their mothers as regents,” Unwin Peake commented, as though this simple fact held an inherent flaw.

“I will gladly deal with these women. They might make wiser rulers than their husbands, who took to arm against my mother,” he said, unrolling the parchment and reading it over quickly before passing it along to Cregan. “Lord Roland, your daughter Joanna now rules House Lannister, does she not?”

“Indeed,” Roland answered with a slight smile of pride. “Loreon is a boy of barely five.”

Once great, powerful houses with proud men at their helm, the Lannisters and the Baratheons were now led by women, mothers of their heirs who would now lead the very men that had marched to war refusing to bow to a queen, and Jacaerys would laugh at their fate if he could summon the mirth. 

“There is still unrest in the Reach, I’m afraid,” Thaddeus Rowan said. “Those who remain loyal to the Greens are loath to settle, however the Hightowers are now ruled by a boy of seven and ten. He might easily be reasoned with.”

“Summon him to King’s Landing. I will receive him,” Jacaerys decided, to which Roland took note.

“He has made a rather unusual request to the High Septon,” Thaddeus continued with an appalled expression on his face. “He has asked for permission to wed his own father’s second wife, Lady Samantha Tarly.”

Jacaerys frowned—while there was no blood between a boy and his step-mother, it was still highly unusual and perhaps distasteful, especially since Oldtown was the cradle of the Faith. “How do you know of this, my lord?”

“Lady Sam is my niece, by my sister,” Thaddeus supplied. 

Without a word, Cregan gave Jacaerys a slow tilt of his head. “The Tarlys supported my mother, as did your house, did they not?” Jacaerys asked Lord Roland. “Did Lady Sam’s loyalties lie with my mother?”

Thaddeus observed Jacaerys for a moment. “Indeed.”

“Write to the High Septon in my name,” Jacaerys then decided. “Have him grant the marriage.”

As soon had he given the order, barely breathing after his words, that Unwin Peake cleared his throat. “While we are speaking of marriage, your grace, there is a matter we must discuss,” the man said, sharing a look with the other lords that spoke of a preceding agreement. “I loathe to be the one to say it, but a young king shall need a queen and heirs.”

“My brothers are my heirs,” Jacaerys protested. 

“The future of the realm partly rests on you securing a long-lasting peace,” Roland said. “While we have come to understand that an informal betrothal was made in childhood between yourself and Lady Baela Velaryon, she might not be the wisest match.”

Baela and himself had been children together, and while the expectation had been for them to marry, he cherished her friendship and had rarely considered the prospect. “A marriage is an alliance, a political calculation,” he continued.

Cregan crossed his hands atop the table and leaned forward. “What do you suggest?” he asked, but Jace could tell he already knew what point they were about to make, and he braced himself.

“The breach between the two branches of House Targaryen may be mended,” Thaddeus offered carefully. “Were his grace to wed the remaining child of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower.”

Horror rose from the pit of his stomach, settled only when he caught eyes with Cregan, whose gaze was calm and direct—without a word needed between them, the northerner gave him a slow nod, and with that, his fate was sealed.

Evening was falling, a heavy veil over the Red Keep, made of darkness and cold wind. Winter was settling and the days were darker and shorter, plunging the castle in a grim atmosphere that lasted from the end of the afternoon to the late morrow.

Supper was still an hour away when you were summoned to the king’s quarters. The room was brightly lit with candles and a fire, perhaps even more than was comfortable, as though Jacaerys was attempting to keep the darkness at bay. You stood near the threshold while he remained further into the room, arms clasped behind his back like a soldier at attention.

“I have asked you here to present to you a proposal I hope you will agree to,” he announced, the words sounding rehearsed, empty of all sincerity. “The realm is shattered and House Targaryen is in ruins, but together we might unite it.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, you knew you had come to hear. “Will you wed me, and put an end to this bloodshed once and for all?”

Your answer came like the crack of a whip. “I may not.”

“I understand that this is not what you would have wanted, however—” Jacaerys prepared his arguments, but you did not let him speak.

With a raised hand, you silenced him. “You misunderstand me. This has nothing to do with what I want, but what I can do,” you explained, your face contorting in anguish.

“I don’t understand,” he said, cutting you off as though he suspected what was coming and desperately wanted to keep it at bay, but he could not have known, you thought.

Rage rose in your throat, acrid and burning, but you swallowed it down. You wanted to curse your brother out for putting you in such a vulnerable position, but damning the dead would do you no good, and you did not wish to betray your king’s memory in front of the man who had replaced him.

“A few days before Aegon died, he took me to wife in a secret ceremony,” you admitted, tears clouding your eyes, and Jace’s heart ached in sudden pity. “Ask the Septon and he shall confirm.”

“Aegon is dead, a widow is permitted to remarry,” he countered, and he could tell from your face how impatient you were becoming with him.

“I have not bled since,” you clarified. It had been two moons now, but the Maester could not say with certainty until the quickening, and your morrows remained without any sickness, yet you doubted, dreading the child that might be inside of you.

Jacaerys blamed his naiveness. “Are you implying—”

You looked upon him severely. “I may be carrying Aegon’s child, yes,” you said, and this simple but devastating truth rang loud in the room—it could be your salvation, as much as your downfall. 

“This changes everything,” Jacaerys whispered, and upon noticing the subtle way you were trembling, once more inhabited by fear in his presence, quickly made his promise. “No harm will come to you, you have my word. I shall keep your secret until you are certain either way.”

You knew you should have been grateful, but you hated the mere thought of owing him any sort of gratitude. It was just as well that he ignored your tears, much as he had done the day prior, as though he sought you out not to converse with you, but to shout into a void that echoed back to him. 

Jacaerys waved you away, crumbling once the doors shut and he was alone once more. He might have been young and uncertain of himself, but he knew what would happen if you were to birth a son.

Aegon’s supporters were still many, and his reign was still too fragile. Power often turned loyal men into self-serving traitors ; he could still easily be toppled, be murdered in this very room as Aegon had, and a babe placed upon the throne in his stead. 

Unable to bear the storm inside of him he took hold of the crown resting atop the mantle of the hearth and threw it at the wall, wailing until his voice broke. 

Grief held him by the throat, an invisible hand that felt like that of the Stranger choking his breath from his very neck. The wounds on his shoulders ached and throbbed anew, as fresh in his mind as the day they had been inflicted.

“What should I do, mother?” he pleaded to the night. “What would you have me do?”

Alone and broken, the young king wept. 

its almost laughable how confident you were you would have a quiet peaceful week to do some mundane tasks you never got around to with him around. it was peaceful, for a few days, before suddenly every major news is posting about your boss and you're rushing to the office for an emergency pr meeting at 10 pm.

instead of finding it out from your job or maybe even the news tab on google. you had found out from popbase. like a fucking loser.

its not like he wasn't allowed to date. he was of course, in private. it looked better for business if he was available. so all the business partners daughters or even wives could ogle at him like hes eye candy and beg their wealthy parents or husbands to invest in targ industry's so they could see him again. or if they were lucky get a chance to speak with him.

he'd turn up the charm, flash a smile and suddenly you were getting signed contracted passed along your desk the next morning. it was simple. it worked.

now the team had been scrambling around to issue a formal pr statement, you've probably rewritten a draft statement about twenty times. it didn't help that nobody from Cassandra's team had even bothered to respond to any of your emails.

that ridiculous part of your brain was thankful for all the mess because if you really had any time to think about it you would be devastated. you had no reason to be upset. he was your boss, the two of you didn't even communicate outside of work related conversations, you didn't see him outside of work related events. none of that seemed to matter to your heart since whenever you had a free moment you would look at the pictures posted by tmz with them walking together in the streets of Sicily and feel sick.

it didn't help that he seemed to be purposefully ignoring you. he had been answering his mother, he send a couple emails to addam from the pr team, hell he had even sent an email to criston from the it team who he can't stand. yet it was complete radio silence from him to you. you had cc'd him into a few emails which he seemed to purposefully wait until someone else replied so he can chime in. then of course there were the texts. the stupid texts you had sent him that you grew to regret more and more as the days past.

it had been 2 am, you were still stuck in he office the night the news broke answering emails from whatever weirdo was up at that time of night sending in inquires about the news. you finally had a quiet lull when you pulled opt your phone and shot him a text. the first one was a basic one, wishing him well with a gentle reminder to check his inbox. the second one was the one that you regretted, staring at it now you can't believe you even hit send on it.

'Also, I hope you're enjoying your romantic trip! You deserve the break!'

why would you send that. it didn't help that the little read at 4:05 am sat at the bottom of the text, mocking you. you we're going to be fired. you were so fucked. lost in your own despair you don't notice the presence in front of you before a gentle hand comes down to knock on your desk. your head snaps up and you immediately go to stand before her hand comes down to rest on your shoulder. "come on I've known you for long enough you don't need to stand every time you see me."

rhaenyra was a sweet woman. you had always pictured ceo's to be rude or scary but she was always kind and always took the time to show her appreciation for her employees, including you.

"of course ma'am." she gave you a funny look before sighing."you should go home, take a half day." you roll your neck before shaking your head, as much as you wish to the triple digit number next to your unread emails prevented you from having it.

"i have so much work to catch up on…" the pointed look she gives you has you rethinking how you planned to end the sentence. "but could i cash that in a different day? i swear i will." you can clearly tell shes reluctant to agree but she knows you well enough to know you wont leave even if she tells you too. "fine. but you will cash it in." you eagerly nod while she rubs the bridge of her nose. she leaves with another pointed look telling you not to overwork yourself.

you stay until 10 pm that night. the only reason you even leave is addam walking by your desk and dragging you out with him for the day. "the boss will be pissed if i let you stay." you tried to argue with him but he wouldn't take no for answer. you didn't get to talk to addam much, thankfully because the only times you ever needed to speak to pr meant bad times, but when you did he was a little shy but he was definitely very convincing when he needed to be. especially since he threatened to tell rhaenyra you were still at the office at this time and you knew she would be mad at you.

"have you heard from your boss?" you press the parking lot button a lot harsher than you intended to at the mention of him. addam turns his head to give you a curious look as you put your head in your hands. "no." he gives you a second to add anything more to your answer but you don't, you hear him quietly hum to himself. "he shot me a text 10 minutes ago."

Oh. he's texting addam and not you. great. he doesn't even work with addam like that. you were so fucked. when you groan to yourself at his answer he catches the back of your blazer before you're able to walk off once you arrive in the parking lot. "okay what the hell is up with you?"

you snap. all your pent up anxiety over this comes spilling out of you as you turn to face him.

"i texted mr targaryen what i thought was an innocent text at the time but i guess he didn't like it since he's left me on read for days now and he's texting everyone else expect me which of course means hes going to fire me and im going to be left without a job and i love this job and i can't believe i fucked it all up!" you take a deep breath putting your hands on your knees to catch your breath like you just ran a marathon. addam had completely frozen in place during your whole rant, his mouth had dropped open in shock. "what could you have possibly said to him?"

you pull out your work phone and show him the text log. his face quickly drops into one of confusion when he reads the message. "hmm. you didn't say anything wrong. Marcus from marketing said something similar in the email chain." this news was meant to cheer you up but instead it just dampened your mood even more. "what did he say?" "he just sent a thumbs down emoji and said to get back to work."

thumbs down? what did a thumbs down emoji even mean in this scenario? you couldn't come up with an answer even on your way home, even as you got home and did your nightly routine. as you tried to fall asleep your brain was plagued with one singular question. why wouldn't he text you back? even if it was just too thumbs up the message even if it was a simple thanks why was he blatantly ignoring you?

you shouldn't even care this much. sure your job was on the line but you knew it wasnt your job that was making you upset. it was him. he was your boss, you had no reason to be upset he was seeing her. your rational thoughts couldn't quell the ache in your chest. it couldn't stop the frown on your face. it couldn't stop you from tossing and turning in bed that night.

your coworkers thought he was a bit rude. abrasive. sure he tended to have a nasty look on that gorgeous face and sure maybe he said things that could be taken as rude but you thought he was kind. kind not nice. he always made sure the staff room fridge was fully stocked, he bought the office lunch once a week, he never complained about people asking for time off for any reason.

he was never anything but respectful to you. of course you had a bit of a crush on him who wouldn't in your position. you spent practically every working hour with him. even if you weren't at work you spent most of your time thinking about him, about the job, the trips you needed to book for him, the meetings you needed to set up. everything your life practically revolved around him. anytime you found yourself day dreaming about kissing him or thinking about going on dates your tiktok algorithm liked to remind you that you weren't in love with your coworker you just spend the majority of your time with them.

maybe you did like him. now was not the time to be thinking of that. you barely get a wink of sleep before its almost an hour before you like to get ready for work. you feel like a zombie when you try to get out of bed. you text rhaenyra and ask if you can cash in that half day in the hopes of catching up on some sleep you missed. she tells you to take the day off and she'll see you tomorrow plus a follow up email that says if you even try to log in on your laptop she'll have the it team remotely shut you out.

you shut off your work phone and throw it in your bag with your laptop before you can regret saying yes. you deserve a day off. the last couple days have been shit its good to take a break. you finally manage to fall asleep after you agree. with your work phone and laptop off you miss the plethora of messages you get during the day.

you wake up in the late afternoon for the first time since you started working at targ industry's. even if you didn't work on weekends your body has become so conditioned to waking up early you can't break that habit. you have a normal day off. you eat lunch, you catch up on your chores, watch a movie, its nice. so caught up in your relaxation you don't even think of checking your work stuff.

you wake up the next day feeling a lot better, maybe rhaenyra was right and you should take some more time off. but today was not that day. its Friday, that means one more day until the weekend and three more days until jacaerys is back in the office. all you can do is pray that your work day ends before 8. 6 if you're lucky.

Greg at the front desk gives you a worried look as you greet him. you don't have time to worry about it you're already a few minutes late. just. as your about to power back on your work phone at your desk loud thundering footsteps catch your attention. your breath catches as you see him, he looks furious. maybe you were imagining things but you swear you saw his face shift once he spotted you. you were watching too many romcoms.

you were so distracted by him you didn't even notice Doug trailing right after time. Doug was head of pr, if he was speaking to jacaerys it clearly had to be serious. you had no idea what they had been talking about he looks more and more irritated the more Doug speaks to him.

"in my office. now."

his eyes only leave yours once he walks past your desk. the harsh look jacaerys gives Doug stopped him right in front of your desk. jacaerys slams his office door shut. you turn your head to see him pacing around his office. dough catches your attention by letting out a loud sigh, you watch as he runs his hands over his face, clearly looking upset. he lets out a shout at his phone ringing and you flinch. Doug was a very serious man from what you knew, it was strange to see him all out of sorts.

"can you please try talking some sense into him." even if it was phrased like a question the tone of his statement was clearly meant to be a demand before he stormed off, phone to his ear.

what the hell was happening.

you're frozen at your desk for a few moments as you try to comprehend what had just happened. why was Doug so upset? why was jacaerys back already you very distinctly remember ordering his return flight to be this upcoming Sunday. you had scheduled the car to be there to pick him up from the airport just two days ago.

his office. you were supposed to go to his office. is this the moment where you get fired?

you close the door gently behind you, letting ut a shaky breath before you turn around to face him.

fuck he was so hot.

he was gripping at the collar of his neck while he sighed, the anger and irritation clear on his face. his jaw clenched tightly as his free hand runs along his scrunched up face. the last time you saw him this mad was when he found out one of the guys from marketing had been harassing you during a company dinner, he had been at it for weeks but you never said anything because you didn't want it to effect work. jacaerys had seen him harshly grip your wrist and snapped. he clearly cared a lot about his staff.

"i can get you some water sir-"

"why would you say that to me?"

you froze. your heart feels like it just dropped out of your ass and on to the floor. the 'im sorry?' you let out is meek and quiet. he was about to fire you. this was it this was the end. you enjoyed your time here, you enjoyed him being you very hot boss. it was over.

if it was even possible he looks even more irritated at your words.

"i can take the press, my staff, fuck even my own mother thinking it was some romantic honeymoon trip. but you?" he almost sounded hurt. no. he did sound hurt. the look on his face was one of despair.

what?

it's like your mind had suddenly turned into mush. everything was being thrown at you so fast you shakily sit down in one of the chairs in his office as you try to gather your thoughts.

"im sorry if i overstepped my professional boundaries sir i promise i will never do it again…" your words trail off as you watch him begin to pace around as you speak. "i really love this job i promise to never make such a mistake again."

you were going to be fired this was it. you would have to say goodbye to addam, rhaenyra, and Greg you really liked those guys. it was over this was it. you don't even notice hes stopped pacing, the look on his face has changed at the sight of seeing you so upset. he doesn't want you to be upset. he says your name softly at the same time as you bring your laced hands up in front of your face. "please don't fire me! im so sorry!"

the room is quiet for a few moments. you cant even bring yourself to open your eyes as you hope with all your body he will change his mind. you hear him move, and suddenly your hands are being brought down from in front of your face. your eyes peak open and you are greeted by the sight of his relaxed, beautiful, face. "darling. im not going to fire you."

…..

what? "what?"

he laughs. its small its more of a chuckle but still he laughs. "did you really think i was going to… no no i swear I've never planned to fire you." he covers your hands with his, you notice he's knees are touching the ground. oh my god he's kneeling. "why would i fire you?"

"because you didn't respond to my text… and that sounds super dumb now that I've said it out loud." he smiles, he has such nice teeth… that's such a weird thing to think.

"I'm sorry i wanted to explain everything to you in person." a more serious expression falls on his face as his grip on your hands tightens "Cassandra followed me to Sicily i didn't invite her and she called the paps to spot us together."

a dragged out oh falls from your lips as you feel yourself switch into work mode. "have you informed security?" he waves your concern away with his hand before he stands, the irritation returning to his features.

"i tried to rush home especially after you had messaged me but some of the business partners met me out there and i had to stay for longer than i wanted to." you don't get why your message had anything to do with his decision but you keep your mouth shut as he continues to speak. "when i arrived yesterday you weren't here and pr decides their stupid grand plan will be for me to pretend to date her for a year before we have some dramatic break up."

he slams his hand on his desk as his head twists trying to unwind the tension he feels in his body. he was so so so irritated yesterday and all he wanted to do was see his pretty secretary that day but she never came in. he thinks he had been so pissed he had made one of the boys in pr cry.

"what good would that do?" "something about it being good for business. my 'image' will improve if im shown im able to settle down." you knew he wasn't a playboy despite the fact the tabloids loved to push that narrative. he liked to flirt with the ladies, it was good for business no matter how much it used to make your stomach ache. he never slept around, he never went on dates, even when girls threw themselves at him he would always just come back to you and tell you he's done for the night.

its a good idea. the reception to the news has mostly been positive, Cassandra stans mostly glad the guy she's chosen to date is actually hot. the business part of you wants to tell him its a good idea, do what Doug asked you to do and convince him its good for business. yet that stupid selfish maggot inside your brain tells you to say its an awful idea. because you don't want to have to be the one to schedule fake dinners and call the paps to spot them doing on walks or concerts together. you didn't want to have to see the two of them together. you didn't want the possibility that it could turn into something real on the table.

"im not going to do it." his voice cuts through your thoughts before you can even bring yourself to speak. it had not even occurred to you that you had been sitting in silence. he had been waiting for you to speak. "you should." you look down at your lap instead of at him. you miss the way his face turns into one more sour, the way his posture stiffens. "don't say that. please don't say that."

you compose yourself enough to look up at him and quickly regret it. he looks devastated. he looks like a soppy wet puppy, was he pouting? "why not? its a good idea-," he quickly turns frantic as he rushes towards you, grabbing your hands from your lap and kneeling in front of you once more. "you should stand up sir-"

"how could you ask me to pretend to be date her when i am in love with you."

you feel like a bucket of cold water just got poured over your body. you must have misheard him. maybe he thought he was talking to someone else? he looks confused by the look of horror on your face. "you must have known, you must know.." he trails off as you stand, walking a couple paces away from him as you try to calm yourself down.

"how was… how am i.." you cover your face with your hands as if it'll do something. maybe if you just pretend he didn't say anything you can move on. its not like you weren't happy to hear that of course you were but there's no way he's being serious. of course you're a catch but a jacaerys targaryen level catch? young rich heir to a multi million dollar business bachelor jacaerys? your boss?

you don't get to see how distraught he's become. he had thought you knew. he had thought he was making himself obvious. he would barely give other girls the time of day, if you didn't bring in lunch to work he would buy you some, he would take some of your work load so you wouldn't be as burdened, he would share things with you he wouldn't dare tell anyone else, he let you talk to him more casually since that seemed to get you to relax. he would put a new bouquet of flowers on your desk ever week. he was a fool.

now he's made you uncomfortable. now you'll quit, go work somewhere else and he'll never get to see you again. he's so sick to his stomach he might throw up.

"im sorry. I'll take it back. we can act like to conversation never happened. i can have you moved to a different department. I'll accept the pr relationship contact from Doug-"

"don't."

your voice cuts through his ramble like a hot knife through butter. he finds himself struggling to breath as he stares at your back. you've wrapped around arms around yourself in a hug, you still haven't turned back to look at him.

"don't what?"

"the pr relationship. don't do it."

he hears you take a sharp breath in before you turn around. his stomach plummets at the sight of your glossy eyes. his brain moving a mile a minute on what he can do to get you to not cry. maybe he should just open his window and throw himself out the tower. he cannot bring himself to be hopeful about your words at how upset you look. "why not?"

you chuckle to yourself as he throws your words back at you. he smiles tightly when you do.

"because… if you're not fucking with me. i really like you too." you have a shaky smile on your lips as you finish speaking.

warmth spreads throughout his body as a huge grin ends up on his face. he lets out a huge sigh of relief as he has to use the chair to help himself stand up, his legs feel like jello from how otherworldly he feels. you laugh at him and he loves it. the two of you move towards one another until you're close enough to wear he can cup your face.

you feel like you're dreaming. the way he's looking at you is something you've only ever dreamed about. he looks at you like you've hung the moon and stars, you're sure your face says the same. "let me take you to dinner." his thumb traces your cheek as you grin. "just dinner?"

"dinner. and your companionship. forever?"

you don't know who leans in first but regardless you two seal the deal with a kiss.

you'll probably freak out later. you might even faint after he pulls his soft lips away from yours. but you'll worry about that later. after work.

Not of noble birth and yet very much acknowledged as such through the friendship you shared with the oldest children of Daemon Targaryen, Baela and Rhaena.

Your mother, a maid within the service of house Velaryon, your father a man unknown to you and a bond forged with those two girls so tight they had refused to leave you behind in Driftmark once they moved their home to Dragonstone.

You followed the across the Narrow Sea not as a lady with title and nether as a servant bound to the by duty. You followed as a friend, as someone to confide in when war and battle grew to big for them.

Though you held no claim to dragon or throne, not that you craved either, no one on Dragonstone thought it strange to find you at Baela’s side or with Rhaena’s hand hooked through your arm as the three of you wandered the halls.

Over the years you had become a familiar face within the castle as the cold stone itself, earning warm smiles from guards and servants alike and the occasional teasing remark from Prince Daemon, who insisted his daughters had adopted you long ago. As if he himself hasn’t started seeing you as someone to care for just as he did for his daugters.

The prince consort has never said it aloud, his brash character often off-putting and fear inducing, yet somehow there were little things that contradicted this entirely just like when it came to Baela and Rhaena.

He never asked whether you had eaten, yet somehow an extra place was always set whenever he knew you would return late with his daughters.

If training in the yard left bruises blooming across your arms, a jar of salve would mysteriously find its way to your chambers before nightfall without a servant ever admitting who had sent it.

When the sea winds bit too sharply atop Dragonstone's cliffs, Daemon would grumble at the three of you to "either come inside or freeze together," pretending his irritation had nothing to do with concern.

It was never spoken of, but everyone in the castle understood that any slight against you would be treated as a slight against House Targaryen itself. And for a girl born with neither silver hair nor noble name that was more you should ever be allowed to ask for.

Even the youngest princes, sweet and blissfully innocent, had taken to you like a moth to a flame. Joffery, Aegon and Viserys each demanding to be played with and told a story before bed whenever they had the chance to do so.

Lucerys, grown as he was and seeking the acknowledgement of his mother, still came to you as the young boy he still was. Lingering on the side, pretending he wasn’t as interested in the stories his little brothers greatly exaggerated until you quietly shuffled your skirts around to make space or listen to him talk to you about Arrax and how well he grew.

And then there was Jacaerys, Jace, the only one you willingly called by his nickname and the only one you felt truly comfortable enough to lower your walls of polite respect for the noble family. Then one who as heir to the iron throne should be the one you should be the most distant with and yet there was this unspoken understanding that both of you were allowed to simply be with the other.

IT was in those moments where no judgmental eyes of the court and council where you saw the oldest prince clearly. Not as an heir that was being shaped into the future of the 7 kingdoms, but as a boy that laughed at the silliest of jokes.

When duty weighed heavy on his shoulders, he’d come to you. Sometimes in the dark of night when nobody saw him walk to your chambers, sometimes when you were hiding out in the fields far above the sea. Until he was able to breath again.

In return, you never asked about what it was that had him feeling so frayed, simply listening, offering an ear that was not meant to tear down every thought the prince voiced out in front of the council.

And though neither of you were aware, both of you instinctually looked for the other first in a crowded room.

Jacaerys didn’t have time to himself very often. Not with the prying eyes of the court tracking every movement of his and his mother not allowing him to fight on dragon back as she did Baela or Rhaenys.

It frustrated him, making him feel useless and like a boy being scolded more then a prince wanting to fight for his queens claim to the throne.

Frowning, he left his mother and the lords behind once it was clear that he was no longer needed. Baela walked out just a little before he had, most likely already on her way to the dragonpit to mount Moondancer and Rhaena had left for Driftmark the day before. That only left Luke or you, and honestly, he’d rather go make his search for you then suffer of his brothers brooding.

His feet carried him through winding corridors almost without thought, guided by habit until he reached the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the sea from where he found you exactly as he’d hoped. Seated upon the ancient stone wall with your skirts carelessly bundled up so you could properly climb the stone without getting caught in the fabric of them.

As unbecoming as it was for a lady and as much as Jacaerys knew your own mother would scold you, he didn’t mind your little show of skin in the slightest. Gentleman as he was he of course didn’t look, but he really also didn’t care as long as you felt comfortable.

Yu looked up at the sound of his approaching footsteps, and before a single word was spoken, the tightness in his chest eased ever so slightly at the immediate smile spreading over your face.

“Now why do’s our noble prince look like someone has spat into his dinner?” you grinned, causing a quite laugh to leave his lips.

Leaning his forearms on the worn stone beside you the prince let his eyes trail over your face, the carefree teasing causing his heart to flutter as though he was flying with Vermax through the skies. “I’d prefer that to being stuck here and having to watch my cousin fly out.”

You hummed softly, turning your gaze back toward the endless stretch of dark water below. “Then perhaps Her Grace keeps you here because she knows Dragonstone would lose two dragons if you flew off after them the moment her back was turned.”

Jacaerys let out a long sigh, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him as it twitched upward. “You always have a way of making me sound unreasonable.”

“I don’t make you sound anything, Jace,” you replied with a playful nudge of your shoulder against his. “You usually manage that all by yourself.”

“Is that how you want to talk to your future king, my lady?”

You tilt your head at him unbothered, the wind tugging at your dress. “If my future king keeps sulking like a kicked hatchling, then yes, I think ixll risk it.” You say, eyes glinting with mischief.

Jacaerys lets out a short, incredulous breath though it breaks halfway into something softer as he shakes his head at you.

“I am not sulking,” he mutters, but the way he drops down beside you fully, shoulder pressing lightly against yours, tells a very different tale.

After a moment of silence, he adds quieter, almost reluctant, “I just… hate being left behind.”

Feeling bad for the prince you let your hand rest on his, squeezing gently to comfort you refused to look at him, wanting to prevent a scandal caused by an innocent touch.

“You know why she does it, and you know why the small council says it too. Jace, you aren’t just the son of your mother, you are heir to the throne! They are trying to keep you alive and not lose you to a reckless act of pride that might cost us your live,” you explained, understanding where the hesitancy to let him act came from more then he did. “I wouldn’t want to live knowing I have lost you.”

The last part was quieter in volume but loud in meaning and it had him look at you again. He opened his mouth to reply and got cut of by the load shriek coming from above as Vermax had found his rider sitting outside.

A thought struck the prince.

“Fly with me?”

Your head whipped around quickly, face falling a bit as the request registered within you.

“You are jesting, are you not?”

“Do you not trust me?” he shot back in an instant.

Shaking your head with wide eyes you jumped of your seat on the stones, skirt falling properly as layers on fabric returned to cover you once again.

“It is not a matter of trusting you, but Jacaerys, Vermax is going to eat me before I can even get close enough to touch the saddle!”

Jacaerys knew that Vermax would not harm a single strand of hair on your head as the dragon had taken a liking to you with the years that he rarely did with others.

Yes, his dragon was said to be ill-tempered and yes, more than one dragonkeeper had been on the receiving end of said temper over time but, you? You had been a different story. Always had been ever since you had arrived on dragonstone at two and ten and you had followed Baela right into the dragonpit.

You had stayed back, held your distance as you knew dragons were only really inclined to your riders and that just because Moondancer tolerated through association with her rider, the other bests would not be bothered if they set you on fire out of a mood.

Arrax had been small, not yet as much of a danger at that time, Vermax however had already been the size of a small horse and very capable of doing damage far greater then Luke’s dragon. And yet somehow, the green beast had only clicked and shook his scales , even going as far as to ignore the young boy Jace had still been then to investigate the newcomer.

Jacaery would keep the secret of why his dragon was so tolerating of you until the day he either died, or he somehow managed to convince his mother to betroth him to you.

“He would not. I would not let him harm you, I promise that.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer, the bravado slipping just enough to reveal the certainty beneath it.

You searched his face for any hint of doubt and found none, only quiet unwavering trust in the green beast.

With a reluctant breath, you finally nodded, letting him take your hand as he guided you down from the terrace and toward the distant roar of the dragonpit.

As if he had felt it the dragon came flying, settling low even as he saw you. His prying eyes not leaving you as Vermax watched his rider keep you close.

“Jace I’m not sure if—” you began, fear making your eyes shake and nearly cling to the princes arm the closetr you got.

Jacaerys only smiled, laying a reassuring hand over yours where it gripped his sleeve.

“Look at me, not him,” he murmured, waiting patiently until your frightened gaze left Vermax’s golden eyes to meet his own.

“You trust me when I ask you to listen, do you not?” he asked softly and when you gave the smallest nod, his smile widened. “Then trust that Vermax knows the difference between a stranger and someone his rider…” he hesitated for the briefest heartbeat, “…someone his rider cherishes.”

Vermax let out a low rumble that vibrated through the very stones under you before, to your utter surprise, lowering his enormous head until his snout hovered only a few feet away from you.

You stood frozen and not daring to breathe much as the warm dragon breath almost seemed to caress your face, smelling of smoke, ash and something you didn’t want to know while the great beast merely blinked at you with as much curiosity as you did. The fact that his teeth were mere handwidths away from your face di not seem to settle yet.

“See?” Jacaerys whispered beside you, unable to hide the pride softening his face as he watched his dragon all but demand your attention. “If he wished to frighten you away, we would both know it by now.”

Very reassuring, you thought.

With trembling fingers you slowly reached forward, expecting at any moment for the illusion of safety to shatter, yet Vermax only leaned into the hesitant touch against the warm scales his head, releasing a pleased croon that made the dragonkeepers nearby stop and stare in open disbelief.

Jacaerys smiled brightly because neither you nor anyone else could have known that Vermax had just accepted the girl his rider had long ago given his heart to.

“Not so bad, isn’t it?" He asked, the answer already knowing when you turned to look at him with wonder.

The prince let go off you, climbing up into the saddle fastened to Vermax’s back and held out his hand for you to take.

With shaking fingers you climbed up and settled behind him, feeling Jacaerys breath falter when your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

The moment Vermax’s wings spread, the entire world seemed to drop away beneath you as the great beast launched into the air with a powerful beat that stole the breath from your lungs.

You clung tighter to Jacaerys instinctively, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as he guided Vermax smoothly out of the pit and over the black waters of the Narrow Sea.

Wind tore at you, but instead of fear like before there was only… freedom.

Jacaerys turned just slightly in the saddle, his hand finding yours where held on tight, lacing your fingers together without a word as if it had always been the most natural thing in the world.

He listened to your laugh that you couldn’t hold back, relishibg in the moment of closeness and intimacy he knew he had craved for a while now.