Chapter Text
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Jaenara
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More and more often, Princess Jaenara Targaryen wished the dragons still lived. As she grew older and her duties increased, her responsibilities became stifling, she dreamt of them. Of a scaly body between her thighs, filling her with heat as she soared through the skies. She would be like her namesake, Jaenara Balearys, the woman who flew further south than any before or after her.
If the dragons returned, she would free herself of her prison. Her very pretty, gilded prison.
But in the year 209 after the Conquest, the dragons were dead, and a Princess had responsibilities. As the wheelhouse rolled along, the bumps in the road barely noticeable for the layers of padding and cushions fashioned to protect the comfort of the Royal Family, Jaenara let her thoughts drift.
She thought of her younger siblings, of Aemon hidden behind a stack of books, furiously copying notes in another colorful notebook procured in the Free Cities. Of Daella and Rhae weaving flower crowns in the gardens of the Red Keep. Of little Aegon playing pretend with a stick.
They were near as much her children as her little siblings.
Jaenara did not know how long she had let her mind wander before the wheelhouse came to an abrupt stop. She quickly straightened herself before the door opened, mindful to always present herself with dignity. Her back ramrod straight, her breathing perhaps a little too shallow. She knew who would escort her.
“Sister.”
Jaenara repressed the shudder wanting to make its way across her spine. She swallowed the bile that rose up in her throat. In the Keep she managed to avoid him, caring for their younger siblings and making herself scarce when they did not need her. But here, at the tourney, she would be at his mercy.
But they were the Royal Family, and appearances must be held. She rose, perhaps a little slower than she normally would, and placed her freezing hand in his burning one. Immediately his became a vice, all but pulling her out of the carriage. She had barely the time to rearrange her skirts before he dragged her with him to the keep.
Her walking was undignified, somewhere between a fast walk and a run. She supposed the looked like a horse at those awkward ages, where it wasn’t quite sure how its limbs worked.
“Aerion, please.” She whispered.
His purple eyes fell upon her, her breath catching. But for once there was no fury, nor any of the other looks he often fashioned upon her. Looks the girls at court would beg for. Looks that made her want to shrink herself and disappear into a wall.
A mocking smile played around Aerion’s mouth, but his pace slowed. Jaenara straightened her shoulders once again as they walked, mindful to look in front of her, to ignore the looks given to them.
It took them barely any time to pass though the gates that marked the courtyard of Ashford castle, and the hustle and bustle died down a bit. While a tourney meant lots and lots of people, the lord’s castle remained a place of relative peace. While the grounds outside were covered in tents of all kinds, with shoddy made stables and latrines dug around the edges, inside the castle grounds it was almost business as usual.
But even if they were now in a relatively safe area, Aerion did not release his vice on Jaenara’s hand. He dragged her through the doors of the keep, up the stairs to the room their father occupied.
He barged through the door, not bothering to knock to announce their arrival. No, Jaenara thought to herself, her brother did not feel the need to adhere to the wants and comforts of others. He believed the world owed it to him to please him. He believed himself better than others.
“Father.”
Finally he released her hand. She flexed it once, twice, and rubbed it against the soft fabric of her skirt. Attempting to scrub the feeling of his off of it.
“Aerion, Jaenara.” Her fathers gruff voice sounded. She looked up at him, and noticed the bags under his eyes. He often chided her that his children stressed him, that they were not enough. That she had not done enough. But these bags were darker than usual, and his shoulders were set a fraction lower than they usually were.
Aerion seemed to ignore their father as he slumped into one of the settees by the fire, grabbing a knife from his boot and using the point of it to remove the dirt from underneath his nails. Jaenara remained standing, waiting for permission to sit.
Her father looked at her, their eyes crossing. The deep purple of his meeting the almost blue of hers, and for a single moment, it seemed to Jaenara that a wave of warmth permeated their gaze. Later, in the comfort of her own rooms, she would scold herself for the feeling, tell herself it never happened. But for now, she revelled in it.
A nod, and she herself moved to the other chair. She wanted to remain standing, days in the wheelhouse had made her behind numb. But in the presence of her father she would show respect, so she sat.
“Aegon’s lost.”
A cold hand wrapped itself around Jaenara’s heart. Lost? Her eyes shot to her father, while besides her, her brother barked out a laugh.
“What’s the little shit done now”
She clenched her teeth together. It took everything in her willpower not to smack her brother. But she knew that if she did it would only end badly for her. She’d learned that little fact at a young age.
“Daeron said he was kidnapped. By a large man, tall as a tree.”
Jaenara’s thumb started bleeding as she picked at the skin beside her nailbed. Her father did not look at her, but stared into the fire.
“It’s what your brother told me, Gods know if it’s the truth.”
Another stab to Jaenara’s heart. Like her, Daeron could do nothing right in their fathers eyes. Drunkard he was, and a coward at that. But he was not cruel, never that. In her own way, she loved him, and felt sorry for him.
“Will they look for him, Father?”
“Men have ridden out, to all corners. They can’t have made it very far from the inn.”
She could feel her heart beat in her throat, feel the erratic rhythm of it. She felt cold all over, a constant pressure building in her head. Pure, unadulterated fear. Little Aegon was a child, scarce a year ago he was still clutching at her skirts every time he had to attend a feast. And now he was out there, in the world, all alone.
He was as sheltered as she was. He knew nothing of the world, of its dangers.
Aerion threw his dagger on the table, spreading his legs even further than they had been before. He always needed to take up space, try and command attention in a room. How they could be so different when they shared a womb, Jaenara did not know.
“Well, if they're looking for him there’s nothing we can do.” Aerion’s voice cut through the tension in Jaenara’s head. He moved to get out of the settee. “I’m going out, it’s a tourney for fucks sake.”
Maekar, for one, did not object. That’s why he dragged them all out there to begin with. To show his brother that his sons did not fall short. That his sons were not a disgrace to their house.
As the door fell shut, a deep sigh escaped her father. And for the first time, Jaenara saw him as old. For as long as she could remember he had stood to her a titan, distant and stern. Unyielding and somehow eternal. But now she looked at him and saw a man.
“Your brother wanted to speak with you. He’s three doors down.”
“Thank you father.”
She kept her voice soft, its cadence temperate. It would do no good to try and indulge herself in this image of a man. He would be back to himself tomorrow. He would be back to himself when Aegon was found. He did not love her. She must be strong. She must be realistic.
The rise from her chair was graceful, the steps she took out of his room measured. Unlike in the Red Keep, where there was privacy in the family chambers, she could not know when there were eyes and ears upon them now. The Royal Family must be above scrutiny, and a woman must be beyond reproach.
Three times she knocked on Daeron’s door before he opened. He was drunk. Again. Jaenara could not remember the last time she had seen him sober. She supposed they were lucky he was not an angry drunk, but a melancholic one. A sadness had instilled itself in Daeron since his early youth and had never left.
Just like the dreams, the nightmares, had never left.
Once, he had told her that that was the reason for his drinking. That he was not a drunkard by choice, but by cowardice. Jaenara supposed the reason did not matter, but after the confession she had covered for him all the same.
“Sister”
His voice was much warmer than Aerion’s, and as Jaenara walked into his chambers, her eyes watered.
“What happened, how could you let Aegon be kidnapped?” Her voice was shrill to her own ears, her panic threatening to overpower her.
Dearon’s hands fastened themselves on her upper arms, steading her. They felt like fire upon her flesh, but a more pleasant burn, not the destructive force that came with Aerion’s touch.
“Look at me ‘Nara” Dearon’s voice was soft, his expression sad. Sympathetic.
She looked at him, purplish blue meeting amethyst.
“I lied to our father.” She opened her mouth to protest, her eyebrows almost at her hairline, but he clamped a hand in front of her mouth. “Just, listen please,”
For three seconds she looked at him, the only sound in the room was the fire roaring in the back. She saw no malice in his eyes, but a sadness, a guild. She nodded once, and he removed his hand before he began pacing.
“I was drunk, but then again, I suppose I always am. There was a knight, or I think it was a knight. Big fellow, biggest I ever saw. And Egg, he’d shaved his hair before we left, making up stories, as he does, about discovering the Realm. How he’d become this great knight. And I thought they were stories, a new fancy of his. You know the way he plays pretend ‘Nara.”
He looked at her again, the guilt now plainly written on his face. And she knew, yes, that Aegon played pretend. That Aegon, like her, had wanted more than to spend his life confided to the Red Keep and Summerhall. That he wanted to see the world. But she spent all her days with him, raised him. She could tell his lies and fancies from the truth. But she supposed Daeron, who lived a life almost separate from his family, could not.
“He feels imprisoned Daeron,” a tear slipped down her cheek, “He wants to see the world, wants to be a knight like the Kingsguard. He’s talked of it often”
“I swear ‘Nara, I did not know. I didn't!"
Dearon's voice shot up an octave. “But the knight, he seemed like a good sort, tipped and all. I think, maybe, Egg followed him?”