Chapter Text
Their departure had been imminent since the moment they came back from Driftmark. The ships bearing the King's family docked early in the morning on the Blackwater, two small vessels with black sails in the wind. Originally, it was going to be one big ship to carry them all to his capital, but his mother had personally asked their grandfather Corlys for another ship just for them alone, and looking at her, Lord Velaryon couldn't deny her for anything in the world.
Grandmother hugged them each before departing from the island, her dark, fragrant hair as familiar as their own. Once, Jace heard her boasting that she was glad her grandsons took after her own looks, that way she wasn't alone in that sea of silver and gold. Jace felt proud at that moment, now it tasted like ashes in his mouth. He hugged his grandmother tighter before running down to where his mother was ordering the servants to carry their luggage to the ship.
Where Dragonstone felt oppressive with its fumes and history, Driftmark had always been a solace from King's Landing. Lord Corlys with a new story from his travels, taking him and his brothers through the halls filled with the most wondrous jewels, tapestries, and mementos from worlds too far away for Jace to completely feel real. In those moments, the minding of his youngest brother fell to Luke (they feared Joff's two left feet would cause a permanent ban from Castle Driftmark) because Jace never stopped their lord grandfather from going on and on from Essos' people and places. Then, he liked to imagine himself as one of House Velaryon's bold adventurers. Grandmother let them ride with her on the Red Queen, their own dragons following them as they were still too small to be ridden; other dragonriders would sometimes join them too, and they would make a race of it.
Of Prince Daemon and his twin daughters, Jace knew very little, only that their time was spent in Pentos. And after everything, Luke and I are still betrothed to our cousins. A few days before the funeral, they met under the watchful eyes of his mother, and while Baela he thought too reckless, Rhaena he thought too quiet. A sort of sadness clung to her like a second skin in a way that seemed unnatural for a girl of Luke's age. Watching Vermax fishing near the beach, he thought he could understand the misery of one's egg never hatching. We were lucky ours did , he thought with scorn now.
Laenor Velaryon's death hit everyone differently, but his mother was too calm in the face of losing her husband of a decade. Jace himself hardly understood his own grief, angrier now than sad, and his brothers tried to appear brave, but he resented her stoic posture and quietness because she had never been one to swallow her rages and storms. At least pretend. When she was angry everyone knew it, but now the reason they've gone to Driftmark was merely an afterthought for her. Before— Before Laenor's death, there had been a big argument and now after, the breach between him and his mother was still a gaping wound.
He couldn't bring himself to think about it even now.
The Queen's sons were uncharacteristically somber, no doubt threatened by their mother. Only Helaena seemed more sympathetic than merely sullen. Jace hadn't wanted anyone there, no one who would manipulate their family's sorrow for their gain; Joff crying in their mother's skirt didn't deserve to be whispered about later, nor grandfather Corlys' red eyes and the way grandmother was still visibly angry because she was outvoted in whether to burn Laenor as was his right as dragonrider or give him the usual Velaryon rites. Jace didn't care and mother hadn't either, they only wanted to leave it behind.
When the ship docked in King's Landing, mother explicitly gave the order of unpacking only the necessary, they weren't staying in the capital for longer than a few moons.
And where exactly are we going, mother? As always, no answer was forthcoming. Mother spent more and more time on her Syrax flying to Dragonstone and back. Luke protested daily and Joff cared only for his swords. While Jace found himself deeper and deeper in his own thoughts, going back and forth between the quiet places of the Red Keep, places where he didn't have to engage with his young uncles or other courtiers with their false words of consolation. The Godswoods was always a good spot and it was in there that he most often found the Master of Whisperers, too.
What he knew of the Strongs of Harrenhal could fill a large tome, most of it was what Ser Harwin had told him once, but most importantly it was that though they descended from the First Men, House Strong was a Riverlands house, which meant they worshipped the Seven just like any southern house. Finding the man at the same time Jace was there to think, was more suspicious than he wanted to admit. He had never heard him speak but knew he went to every feast and celebration. He was the Master of Whisperer, councilman to Jace's grandfather, and yet his mother distrusted him as much as she did the Queen. Lord Larys was never seen with either faction, but the Strongs had been his mother's biggest supporters. A cripple, yet considered dangerous by most. Ser Harwin's tale of his childhood mishaps didn't have a large cast of participants, only sometimes a few children of servants and often his siblings: Daring Alys and careful Larys, much later joined by two baby sisters by a different mother.
There was no one he could ask now. Ser Harwin was killed in an accident in Harrenhal along with his father, the Lord Hand. The news had been terrible for all, but most of all it was the first time he had seen his mother cry and the first time he'd seen his parents embrace in public. Jace shook his head, he didn't want to remind himself of that afternoon, or the way Ser Harwin had visited before leaving them saying that he would return, that he promised. Promises are worthless, he thought with bitterness. What good is promising something if one couldn't be sure to fulfill it later? It was better to promise within one's own power or not at all.
Mother lasted only an afternoon locked in her room. When she emerged, she was dressed in a new gown and her hair was unbound, making her look younger and more beautiful than ever before. Jace hadn't wanted to say anything, afraid that their fragile truce would be broken. Joff jumped from father's lap into their mother's and started crying anew, maybe from her absence or the general misery of the apartments. He forgot that though Joff was clumsy and ridiculous, he was still the youngest of them. Luke came later, kneeling at her feet and resting his head against her knees. Everyone looked at Jace now. I won't , he thought. I won't , he repeated, looking at his father's sorrowful face. I can't, said the shake of his head.
Instead, Jace's father sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
The fourth time he found the Master of Whisperers near the godswood of the Red Keep, Jace thought that it must be more than a coincidence now. He nodded politely as the man let out a quiet "My prince", before leaving the flower bush he'd been admiring. Jace didn't sit down on the roots of the weirwood as he was wont to do but went to the flower bush after he made sure the man had gone. It was just a bush. Red flowers, not more smelly than any other plant in the gardens, maybe taller than most but Jace didn't know much about anything green to be really sure.
He's Ser Harwin's brother. Lord Lyonel's son, the thought slowly filled his head instead of the usual routine he did when he was alone (father, father's death, mother's absence, forgiveness, and promises). He was the last Strong in the Keep, he could ask— No, he couldn't. But maybe...? Irritatingly, mother's voice kept warning him: You are a Targaryen. That's all that matters. But did it? Jace never used to have doubts, but now he did. Not after— Thinking about their last argument made his head and teeth ache. He was glad he never confided in his brothers.
Lord Larys had taken the eastern hallway, to the courtyard, and then to the Great Hall. Maybe he would go to the Small Council chambers or leave the keep entirely, Jace wasn't sure and the discovery of something new filled his head with purpose. It was not a princely pursuit or one of his duties as his mother's heir but he did it anyway. He kept to the walls and avoided any unwanted eyes, hiding behind tapestries and doors; when he reached the Great Hall, he did a double take that almost made him crash against a servant behind him. He was still there! But now where to hide? Lord Larys' voice floated through and reached his ears when he thought to hide behind one of the pillars along the hall.
"—told what I... After all... The royal family must... " He pushed his hair off his eyes in frustration. He didn't know what he expected to hear, but this far from the conversation it was impossible! He couldn't even guess with whom the Lord Strong was speaking either, only that they had a softer voice that didn't carry to his hiding place.
He sat still hidden with his arms around his knees, careful to keep his feet tucked to his body. Lord Larys' steps were easy to discern as his cane made a clear sound against the floor, they told him the pair were leaving the hall, still talking in hushed tones. What am I doing here? Aside from them, no one else entered, the servant had left quickly and now Jace felt ridiculous. I am a prince of the Seven Kingdoms, I shouldn't be doing this. He and his brothers never spied on anyone, not even in jest. Their games were more of a physical nature: Come-into-my-castle or pretending they were Aegon the Conqueror and Orys Baratheon or maybe Ser Ryam Redwyne and Ser Clement Crabb breaking lances in King Jaehaerys's tourney.
The clack! clack! of the cane stopped, started again, and then began to fade as the Master of Whisperers and his companions left the hall through another door. A relieved sigh left his lips, maybe too loud for the situation, but it allowed him to release the tension in his body. He had accomplished nothing because he didn't know what he wanted to do in the first place. He won nothing, he lost nothing. He let out a laugh when a rat scurried quickly near his hiding place. A rat has better things to do than me.
When he reached the family apartments, Luke was waiting for him with a furious expression on his face.
"Luke—"
"Where were you? You told me you were coming back before lessons!"
Lessons with the maester , he realized after it dawned on him. I was planning to go to the godswood only for a few minutes to breathe. Instantly he regretted going after Lord Larys.
Luke hadn't finished and with a truly impressive glare, spat: "Stupid Daeron was there again! He knows he's better than me at sums and when the maester asked he kept whispering the wrong answers to humiliate me. Where were you?"
"I'll make it up to you, Luke. I'm sorry," He answered instead. You are a fool, Jace , he heard in his brother's gaze. "I got caught up with something."
Ever since the King made them share their lessons with the Queen's sons, Jace had promised himself to intercede between the two groups. Sometimes fruitlessly and to no avail, but while he understood that, his brothers only saw Jace as their shield. The wood of the shield was brittle, the bright colors a pale shadow now.
"I hate him," Luke pursed his lips with a look very reminiscent of their mother. "He thinks he's so much better than me."
"Let's forget it. Daeron doesn't matter. Remember you beat him last time in training," He cleared one of the desks in the solar and called for one of the servants to bring them supper. "Have you eaten? Where's Joff?"
As Luke began telling him the long and unfortunate tale of their little brother's mishaps in the maester's library (a sprained wrist when the dusty tome he'd been looking for fell on him), Jace forgot all about the earlier events. He could almost pretend mother was coming in at any moment, taking down her hair and greeting them each with a kiss on the cheek. Of course, mother didn't come, Syrax was still skybound or maybe perched on one of Dragonstone's many peaks. I could take Vermax and no one would know , the idle thought made itself known as Luke launched into another history.
Making up to Luke meant that when his brother asked him a few weeks later to raid the kitchens, Jace couldn't say no. Joff wanted to come too but his clumsy nature only made him more of a liability than a proper partner to sneak through the keep. Most often he was assigned the role of guarding their backs as Joff had an uncanny ability for making animal noises, which Jace suspected was half the reason tiny Tyraxes hadn't tried to bite him yet.
"Raiding the kitchens" was a very loose term for simply approaching the head cook and soliciting very sweetly for a basket full of sweets. Objectively, both knew Luke had the best chance of it all, so when Luke entered and raised a commotion inside, Jace took his place near one of the cupboards right outside of the uncomfortably warm rooms. Joff was probably sticking out on a window by now, calling birds to him with a bit of pocketed bread from their breakfast, idling until they returned. Jace would be worried about his brother falling off the window ledge if he hadn't already seen Joff try to climb it unsuccessfully.
A few rats made their presence known inside the open cupboard and with distaste, Jace moved farther away from it, nearly crashing with someone.
"Spying the spymaster, my prince?"
Lord Larys stood there, tall and imposing in a way that Jace didn't understand. He looked around and noted that the hallway was as still as before, the kitchen noises suddenly drowned by Jace's blood rushing to his head. That was the first time he'd spoken to him.
"No, my lord. I—" He tried thinking of something else to say but he did spy on him, hadn't he? Maybe not today but before in the Great Hall. He doesn't know, he doesn't know. "I am waiting for my brother. Lucerys is in the kitchens, you see."
Better a lesser truth than incriminate himself outright.
"I do see," A funny expression crossed the lord's face then, and suddenly he didn't seem as scary as before. "I used to do the same with my own brother once."
The unspoken reminder of Ser Harwin stung him like never before and with it the determination to get his answers from Lord Larys. Am I a bastard? Is Harwin Strong my father? Are you my kin? The questions burned hot within himself like the first time he had asked, unlike dragonfire, it didn't leave ashes but a cold, piercing feeling behind. Mother hadn't answered and what was to say that this man, the king's advisor, would? If I were — If I were what? A Targaryen prince? But as suddenly as he made up his mind, Lord Strong had made up his. Like the sea, he drove everything left on shore back to its depths, to never be seen before. His expression cleared and he was again another stranger in his grandfather's court.
"I suggest you don't dally so near the servant's quarters, my prince, much could be said about that."
Clack! Clack! Clack! His cane hit the stone without mercy until the sound was lost. He almost ran to the man before he turned the corner, to speak the unspoken, or to stop him and demand him to explain better. What do you mean when you said you used to do the same thing for your brother? Do you think we look alike? Did you mourn as I did? It was all such a wretched game of pretending. Pretending he didn't mourn for his real father and pretending all his mourning was for his supposed father, pretending his mother hadn't hurt him, and pretending he wasn't angry at her for hiding it. Pretending to his brothers and pretending to court. The thought of the Master of Whisperers feeling the same way sometimes comforted him a little, but it didn't quite take away the sting.
Luke's basket was filled to the brim with all the sweets the cook could spare. There were some of Jace's favorite fruit tarts too, but most catered to Luke and Joff's taste. Distantly he thought that his father had been the only one to share Jace's taste for sharp flavors, rather than his wife's and younger sons' sweet tooth. Now I'm alone in that, too.
When they reached the apartments, servants were coming in and out of them, packing and transporting tapestries, furniture, and what seemed to be their trunks and training things. Puzzled, Jace put Luke and Joff behind him and entered the rooms first: In the center, Princess Rhaenyra, like the High Septon guided the flock of servants and preached what was and what wasn't to be packed. Her dresses and jewelry only to be handled by her maid, dragon or seahorses ornaments were meant to stay in those rooms except for the most valuables, which would be packed carefully in another trunk and taken to the ship with the rest; letters, parchment and any missive laying around she would do herself.
This is what a queen looks like , he thought idiotically. Mother smiled widely when she saw them and kissed each of them everywhere on the face in greeting, even when Jace jerked away instinctively, she only laughed.
"Mother, where are we going?" He managed to ask when he extricated himself from the six-armed beast that was his mother and brothers hugging.
"Dragonstone, my love."