Chapter Text
Dragonstones
Jacaerys burst urgently into the council chambers, interrupting Rhaenyra as she conferred with the small council on strategic maneuvers at the Rook's Rest. Rhaenyra looked at him restlessly, his cheeks flushed with anger.
“Mother, I have heard that Grandmother intends to take the field at the Rook's Rest with Meleys. Is it true?”
“It is her choice, her will. She rides to war for my claim" she lifted her head to gaze at him " for that which was unjustly taken from her.”
“Why will you not send me? I am your heir, Mother,” Jace growled, casting an appraising look around the chamber. “How am I to be your heir if I sit here, doing nothing, while others go forth to die in my name?”
“No!” she mouthed , her voice trembling. “You are my heir. Your place is at my side, sweetling. How could I bear to send you, after losing your brother already?”
“But Mother, I...”
“I said no, and no it shall remain,” she cut him off firmly. “You will stay here. Now go" Her eyes softened "return to your chamber"
She looked over her shoulder. "Ser Steffon, please, accompany him, and keep people from coming or going without my word.”
"Yes, Your Grace" Ser Steffron answered, redirecting his attention to the Prince "After me, my Prince." Ser Steffron said, pleased.
Jacaerys frowned but followed slowly behind him. They moved through a dim hallway, lit only by scattered candles. When they arrived at his chamber, Ser Steffron halted and stood guarded outside.
Inside, Jace lay uneasily on the bed, gasping with frustration. Thoughts of escape churned in his mind. After a moment, he rose and crossed to his desk, searching for the map of the castle he had once stumbled upon while looking for a Valyrian book in Daemon’s chamber.
Jace examined it intently, hoping to find a hidden route that would let him slip away undetected but there was none. All the routes led to the same dead end: the front door.
He nearly collapsed until his eyes caught on the window. His chamber was on the third floor-not too high but high enough so that if he fell he could be maimed.
However, with the fierce spirit he had inherited from his parents, Jace made up his mind. He donned his dragon-riding gear, strapped his sword to his side, and retrieved a rope with which he had practiced mountain climbing with Daemon. Securing the rope to a sturdy anchor point, he prepared to descend.
The wall, however, was slick with moss and still wet from days of bad weather. Jace paused, murmuring silent thanks to Daemon for every hard lesson. He pulled on the boots Daemon had given him when he'd first started training, studded soles designed for grip.
With the rope anchored firmly, Jace leaned back over the edge and began to lower himself, pressing his boots against the cold, damp stone. The descent was slow and cautious. And by the time his boots struck the ground, a third of an hour had passed.
Jacaerys ran to the Dragonpit, where Vermax nested beside her mother, Syrax. At once, he ordered Vermax’s dragonkeeper to bring her outside. His heart burned with a gentle warmth as he approached her, his fierce, beloved companion. He rubbed her warm, dry jaw and traced the scales along her neck, giggling softly when she nuzzled her head into his chest.
“Gaomagon jaelā naejot sōvegon lēda nyke, ñuha sȳz riña?” (Do you want to fly with me, my good girl?) he whispered.
Vermax responded with a high hiss, like a promise.
With accustomed dexterity, Jacaerys climbed onto her back and fastened the safety straps. He perched bolt upright with a proud demeanor, adrenaline surging through his veins like molten lava beneath his skin.
“Sōves, Vermaks.” (Fly up, Vermax.)
Inside the castle, by the window, Daemon watched the entire scene unfold with a faint smile playing on his lips, pride gleaming in the depths of his eyes. After a few quiet minutes, he turned from the chamber, donned his Valyrian steel armor, and made his way to the Dragonpit at a leisurely pace. Under the rising sun above the horizon, he rode on Caraxes' back, bound for Harrenhal./
King's Landing
In the king’s chamber, Aegon sat on the floor, taking heavy sips of bitter Dornish red. Empty flagons lay strewn around him, a reek of red wine mixed with smoke spread throughout the chamber, acidic, melancholic, and clinging to the air. His half-closed eyes stared into nothing, adrift in memory. He missed the eyes, the smiles he had long since lost. A miserable man. The alpha in his soul howled for something he was never sober enough to remember. A nameless longing clung to him, soaked in wine and omegan whores.
A sound of the door opening cut through his thoughts. Footsteps echoed, growing louder until they stopped just in front of him. Aegon glanced up, recognized the figure, and returned to his wine, unconcerned.
“To what do I owe this meeting, Mother?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
“Aegon,” Alicent began, her voice trembling with rage, “what kind of king will you become if you keep drinking like this?”
“What is there still for me to do, Mother?” Aegon snapped, eyes blazing. “I’ve sat through hours of the small council like some puppet on a string. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to wear this fucking crown instead of giving it to Rhaenyra?” He let out a harsh snarl, the weight of resentment thick in his tone.
“You need to marry, Aegon,” Alicent said softly, her voice unsteady, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You have no heir. This is your duty." She hesitated " And Lord Baratheon has sent a raven, offering Cassandra's hand-"
“No.” The word exploded from him. “I’ve never wanted anyone but him.”
His lips quivered as he spoke, the image burned into his memory. He touched his left chest.
“My alpha in my soul has screamed his name for six years.”
Alicent’s face fell. “But you can’t marry him. He might be a Beta,” she murmured with a sigh. “Now. He stands against you. And if he were an Omega, Rhaenyra would have never presented him to you" she turned away, not daring to face him "she’d rather marry him off to one of the lords backing her claim. Maybe Lord Stark.”
" I can be stupid, but not stupid enough not to understand that" Aegon stared at his mother as if searching for something in her eyes as he spoke those words "And that's why I don't want this throne, I don't want this fucking sharp metal chair."
"Aegon,but-"
He immediately interrupted her.
“I said no.”
Then, restraining his tone, he added, “And that is the King’s command. Now, you can leave, Mother.”
He sighed and slumped into the chair by the window.
“Good, good. Do as you please, Your Grace,” she replied with a bitter nod, her voice laced with self-mockery. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall.
She turned and left quickly, as if fleeing a truth too heavy to bear that her son’s mad obsession with his nephew had shrouded their family with darkness. A legacy of sins.
She was out of there, but the damn mood she'd brought lingered like a curse, saturating every corner of his soul. She had reminded Aegon of the one thing even a king could not command: acceptance.
He looked out the window, where the horizon glowed faintly with the flickering lights of the city’s pleasure dens, places where he had wasted countless sleepless nights drowning in wine and flesh. Only there, lost in intoxication and lust, could he forget, even briefly, the torment of being an alpha no one wanted.
Another sleepless night.
Crackclaw Point
Jace found a clearing wide enough to land. It was surrounded by thick pine barren with deciduous trees and evergreens standing like sentinels,soldier pines among steep hills, swamps, and caves. The sparse population made it an ideal refuge for Vermax and him in the days leading up to the battle.
He gathered a few essential supplies, dismounted, and patted Vermax gently, murmuring a few affectionate compliments. Her scales blended seamlessly with the surrounding vegetation, making it easier than ever to conceal a dragon.
Not far from where she rested, Jace discovered a large cave that offered shelter from sudden rain. He lit a fire to stay warm and roasted a thigh of wild boar he had hunted on the way. The rest of the meat he set aside for Vermax, planning to bring it to her once he finished eating. The forest was dense, the trees growing so close that hunting was difficult for Vermax, especially as she was not yet full-grown. So Jace took it upon himself to feed her twice daily, pampering her with fresh boars, deer, and hares.
During the first two days on Crackclaw, his routine revolved around gathering firewood, hunting, and ensuring Vermax had enough to eat. This rhythm of life gave him space to reflect, and soon memories began to surface.
Jace remembered the first hare he hunted on his ninth named day, a celebration his grandfather had arranged. Luke had been thrilled, waiting eagerly for Jace to hunt more. Since their mother had forbidden Luke from using a bow without an adult, he could only watch in awe and admiration.
And by the end of the day, Jace and Luke had managed to bring down a total of five hares. They were proud of their accomplishment until Aemond returned with a boar nearly as large as Luke. His smirk and the sharp gleam of those wisteria-colored eyes quickly deflated Jace’s pride.
Yet Aemond’s triumph was dulled when their grandfather showed clear favoritism. He gave only a curt nod in Aemond’s direction while patting Jace on the head and praising him.
The unspoken rivalry softened momentarily when Jace'd found Aemond, sat next to the campfire, and offered him a portion of hare. Then Aemond, in turn, gave him a cut of boar rib. They peacefully ate by the fire. It seemed that in an instant, all previous conflicts were erased.
But peace never lasted. After dinner, Aemond and Luke had fallen into another argument. Aemond mocked Luke for his inability to hunt alone, and Luke snapped back, calling Aemond "not dragon enough”. When Jace tried to intervene, both shoved him aside in the heat of their quarrel.
That memory made one thing clear: Aemond and Luke had never truly gotten along, though their discord had not always spilled into enmity. Jace wondered when things had gone irreparably wrong. Was it after The Pink Dread ? Or did it begin at Lady Laena's funeral?
Suddenly, the fierce scream of Vermax echoed through the woods, cutting into his chaotic thoughts. Restlessness scratched at his heart, and a sense of unease began to rise. Then, as if from nowhere, a voice urged him to find her quickly.
Jace ran faster than he ever had, paying no attention to anything around him. The only thing in his mind was reaching Vermax’s shelter. She was only a few minutes’ run away, so it didn’t take him long to arrive.
A dozen soldiers surrounded her, spears pointed. Someone was rolling on the ground, screaming under her angry breath, the scent of burning meat in the air.
“Lykiri, Vermaks, Rȳbas” (Calm down, Vermax, focus).
Vermax’s uneasy whistle still carried the threat of sharp dangers lurking nearby, but there was a faint gladness in her when she heard him.
“She’s calmer now, so please, gently drop your spears and back away slowly,” he directed, his tone steady. “Don’t startle her. Back away further.”
He moved forward, step by step, raising his hand to guide Vermax’s focus. When Jace touched her warm scales, her rage almost disappeared. Then, he gave her some compliments in the whispers by their own language, tickling her to make her easy.
"Excuse me," He said loudly "who are you?" a knight, seemingly their commander, asked.
Jacaerys turned, facing the man who had spoken.
"I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," he declared loudly and with confidence. "And I wonder, Ser..." he glanced at the man and frowned "under which house do you serve?"
The men immediately put their hands on their chest and bow to the Prince in front of them.
"We serve under the roof of House Brune of Brownhollow, my Prince," the Commander replied.
"May I have the honor of knowing your name, Commander?" Jacaerys asked politely.
"Bryce Marrick, Your Grace" He introduced himself, giving Jace a doubtful look " a household knight of House Brune of Brownhollow."
"Well met, Ser Marrick. I regret disturbing your peace… and for the harm done to your men," Jace said, his voice low with apology. "I sought only a quiet place."
"We received reports of strange noises in the forest, possibly a wild beast, so we were ordered to investigate, Your Grace," Ser Marrick explained.
When Jace’s eyes fell again upon the charred body lying lifeless nearby, a wave of self-blame rose within him. Pointing toward the fallen knight, he asked, "Does he have a family waiting for him, Ser Marrick?"
"No, he has no family. No one knows where he comes from. He was a hedge knight we hired just today," Ser Marrick answered honestly.
"Ser Marrick, may I ask a favor?" Jace said, taking out two golden dragons from his pocket and handing them to the commander. "Please see that he is buried properly, and buy some fine wine for the others. Everyone has been troubled enough because of me today."
"It is our honor to serve, Your Grace," Ser Marrick replied.
"One more thing," He looked at the knight, "please seal off the area around my dragon. I would not have anyone else hurt. And keep this between us. I will explain with Ser Brune myself."
"Yes, my Prince."
Village around Rook's Rest
Inside a hastily raised tent, Aemond was discussing tactics with Ser Cristian Cole and Ser Gwayne Hightower when a restless feeling caught him. Seemingly from nowhere, a faint whistle blew past his ear, disturbing him from the discussion. Aemond stared at the forest to the East of Rook's Rest, rows of pine trees, with a nameless hunk. Dragon's whistle.
When the sun sank and the moon rose, clouds drifted across the sky, shrouding the night. Mounting Vhagar, Aemond flew eastward through the veiled heavens with a feeling of curiosity and anticipation.
Crackclaw Point
The footsteps were slow, one at a time, moving toward the orange glow of the fire in the cave. Aemond tightened his grip on his sword as the shadow of the young man gradually emerged, a similar slim silhouette.
The figure suddenly lunged, silver steel flashing in the dim light. Aemond quickly realized how the story was going to continue and blocked the incoming sword. The cave rang with the sharp clang of metal on metal. Blow after blow rained down, relentless, fueled by rage and despair, as if every stroke were meant to carve away the very memory of him.
As Jacaerys struck, there was something sharp in the air with bitterness like the burning salt and smoke before the storm. Whatever softness he once carried was gone, burned away by fury.
"Stop it, Jace!" Aemond shouted, straining under the furious assault. His voice carried urgency, but no malice. There was no answer except the ceaseless crash of steel.
“I said stop it.” His tone turned harsh and commanding as he finally disarmed his opponent. “Now, calm down, love.”
He forcefully pushed Jace against the cave wall. One hand rose to cradle the boy’s jaw and cheek, almost gentle, while the other held his waist tightly, refusing to let him pull away.
"Do you miss me, kēli?" His voice was soft, almost mesmerizing. "Because I miss you terribly."
He leaned closer, pressing his lips against Jace’s, seemingly ignoring the burning hatred in the other’s eyes.
Pinned there, Jace drew a breath and tasted Aemond in it. The closeness blurred his senses, stirring reactions his mind rejected, his body tensing in angry resistance rather than surrender.
"Why did you kill him?"
The words were so cold they felt as if no river could ever be colder. They startled Aemond, dragging the nightmare he had tried so hard to bury back to the surface. For a moment, his composure wavered. But he quickly recovered, a sneer curling his lips.
" I just did it by accident."
“You promised you would forgive him if I gave myself to you,” Jacaerys said, his voice trembling. “All of me. Why?” His voice rose into a broken, mournful scream.
"There aren't too many whys here, love," Aemond replied sarcastically. “It was just an accident.”
"You're a BASTARD" Jacaerys shouted angrily. "You're fucking insane!"
“It’s best if you shut your mouth and let me kiss you,” Aemond said coldly, “or I’ll put you down and fuck you right now, my little bastard." as though Jace’s words meant nothing to him.
"You bastard!" Jace yelled and raised his hand, slapping him hard across the face.
"That was a strong slap, Lord Strong." Aemond’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He looked almost amused as if he only wanted to see the fire burning in the other’s eyes.
But, the younger one just smirked."That's why The Mother took away your little bastard."
A flicker of sadness crossed Jace’s eyes as he finished speaking. The air itself felt hollow, emptied of heat.
“What do you mean?” Aemond asked, as if he couldn’t believe the answer hidden behind those words. His grip loosened, as though the truth was draining the strength from his arm.
"You also fucking killed our child, evil!" Jace spat, laying bare the truth in rage as he shoved Aemond away. “Now return to your fucking Seven Hells. You make me nauseous.” The air around became bitterer and acidic.
Jace rushed back to pick up his sword and pointed it at him threateningly. “Get out, or I’ll take your other eye.”
Aemond remained standing there like a statue.
"I said GET OUT!!!" Jacaerys growled.
The scream snapped Aemond back to his senses. When he looked at Jace again, he realized the one he loved was drenched in tears. Not knowing what else to do, he turned and left in a daze, just as Jace had demanded. Like a lost child.
Only when there was no sound left but the crackling of the fire did Jace finally relax his body and collapse onto the cold ground. He cried as though the pain had happened only hours ago, not a few weeks.