Chapter Text
Highborn lords and ladies mill about in the Red Keep while whispering about the death of King Viserys I. Servants and maids dash down corridors and scrub every inch of tapestries filled with debauchery. Squires sharpen and polish the swords of the Kings, or rather, Queensguard.
The royal family, all the while, readies themselves for the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name.
Jeyne thinks it's rather incredible. She’s getting on in age, but she isn’t so far gone that she’ll forget the sight of a woman ascending to the Iron Throne. The first queen of Westeros. How exciting!
Jeyne has had the privilege of serving Queen Rhaenyra for almost ten years. From a wetnurse to a loyal member of the Queen’s faction. Jeyne prides herself on how far she’s come.
Jeyne knows she is luckier than most and thanks the Seven every day for their blessings. It seems like only yesterday Prince Jacaerys was sharing the dream he had which led to her continued employment.
Jeyne is delighted as Prince Jacaerys offers her a glimpse of his attire for the coronation. Inside his chambers, he turns so his whole outfit can be seen. Deep red and black mix to form a handsome duo-colored doublet and his cloak holds the intricately stitched Targaryen and Velaryon sigils. He looks so regal! Oh, if only that horrid obsidian gem in his eye did not taint his look.
“So much like a prince!” she gushed. “I hope to see you in this attire again, only with the Old King’s crown!”
Prince Jacaerys grinned and turned to stare at the fireplace, the fire making the prince’s lilac eyes look less than human, the gem in his eye gleamed against the radiance of the fire. “I’ve waited for this day, Jeyne. I can only hope King Viserys will look on his daughter proudly and the lords will be silent, at least on this day.”
“Oh, they must. It’s a coronation, not a wedding. Weddings can go terribly, but no coronation can go wrong.”
Jacaerys chuckled at that. His mouth twists into a frown, set into a bitter thin line. “One can hope. I mainly wish the Dowager Queen will be silent. She has been very vocal about her…feelings for muña and me,” he murmurs.
Jeyne did not feel much goodness for the Dowager Queen and her ilk before the Lady Laena Velaryon’s funeral. She remembered Queen Aemma still and would not debase the memory of her by deferring to a new queen. Especially one, who, if the rumors the knights whisper to be true, slid into the king’s bed while Queen Aemma’s body had not yet cooled.
Now, though, Jeyne lets the goodness melt into anger and resentment. Jeyne followed Queen Rhaenyra to the Lady Laena’s funeral, to that awful night on Driftmark. She was there as Prince Jacaerys wailed and writhed in pain over the slicing of his eye, was there as the monstrous Prince Aemond was barely punished for maiming the heir to the Iron Throne’s son. Jeyne’s boy.
There is no respect or love in Jeyne’s heart for the Dowager Queen. There was none when she demanded Queen Rhaenyra to part with her newborn sons. There is none, knowing in all likelihood she will cause another scene at the Queen’s coronation as she did at the Queen’s wedding.
“I shall pray to the gods she won’t,” Jeyne promises.
Prince Jacaerys’ frown lifts into a smile. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jeyne.”
~
Fear courses throughout Aegon’s entire being.
Every time a knight gets close to him and Helaena he has to resist the urge to hurl himself from the nearest window. His older half-sister, Rhaenyra, is to be crowned queen, which means she will put them to the sword soon enough.
Already, they’ve been confined to their rooms until the coronation. Next stop, the dungeons, Aegon imagines deprecatingly. No wine, women, or comforts a prince of the blood should be afforded.
Aegon used to scoff at his mother whenever she spoke such nonsense. His half-sister would not start her reign with kinslaying. The lords of Westeros already despise a woman even being in the line of succession for the Iron Throne. All he and his siblings had to do was not be a threat to her reign and they would live. That was easy enough, right?
Aegon now knows his thinking is foolish. Mayhaps it wasn’t in the beginning, but the loss of his nephew’s eye has damned Aegon and his entire family.
It’s only a matter of time. His mother, Aemond, and Daeron arrived last night along with their grandsire. No doubt, his mother and grandsire are already scheming to put a stop to the coronation.
Aegon longs for the familiar buzz and safety a drink of wine would offer. Helaena is playing with a bug next to him, an eight-legged one not fit to be in the Red Keep. Aegon turns to her, hoping for any sign of safety.
“What will the coronation be like?” he asks her.
Helaena often speaks in riddles that Aegon can never decipher. He has no patience for them, but in such a perilous situation any knowledge could be useful. Helaena is quiet, tilts her head at the creature in her hand, and bites her lip.
“There is a beast above the boards.”
Aegon sighs, looking around again for any sign of wine. He should never have tried. He loves his sister, to be sure, but she’s an idiot. It’s only by sheer luck he doesn’t have to marry her as his mother was planning to. The only good thing their father did for them was die before he could agree to their mother’s awful plans.
They sit in silence until Helaena sits up excitedly. Aegon follows her gaze, seeing Mother, grandsire, Aemond, and Daeron enter the room hastily. Mother rushes to hug him and Helaena tightly, eyes quickly scanning them for any signs of mistreatment.
It has been a mere two or three moons since Father sent Mother away, and yet she looks entirely corpselike. Pale and even thinner than before, heavy circles pool below her eyes. Aegon looks down at her fingers. The skin near her nails has been bitten into disrepair.
“Mother,” Helaena protests, “there is a beast above the boards! We must…the rats…”
“Not now, Helaena.” Alicent sighs. She turns to Otto. “We must prepare Aegon. Thank the gods we got here in time, else Rhaenyra take the Throne and steal his birthright with her bastard brood and sword-swallowing husband.”
Otto nods gravely. “We’ve brought servants and knights loyal to House Hightower. Just as you declared war at Rhaenyra’s wedding, Aegon will declare war on her coronation, loyal knights behind him. With him declaring his faction officially, the lords of the Realm will follow.”
“Yes,” Alicent agrees. “Aemond and Daeron will–”
“Wait!” Aegon exclaims. “Don’t you think I ought to have a say in this? A say in the treason we will be committing? You speak as if I’m not here!”
“Aegon,” Otto warns. Aegon resists the urge to cow in submission but stands his ground. “Rhaenyra will kill you and your siblings if you don’t take the Throne. Already, her eldest bastard has separated you from your mother and brother. Who’s to say the next time, he won’t take his mother’s ear and convince her to have your head in recompense for his eye?”
“Tell that rubbish to Aemond,” Aegon bites out.
Aemond’s jaw clenches, looking away in embarrassment. Aegon notices he, too, has bags under his eyes. There is sorrow, radiating from him. If Aegon were a better brother, he would have comforted Aemond and told him not to worry. Aegon loves his brother, but he is a fool. A fool that has damned them all.
“Aegon,” Alicent pleads.
Aegon sighs, shaking his head. “Jacaerys spared you,” he says to Aemond. “Jace could have demanded your eye. I would have, had mine been taken from me. He…he’s not an evil lecher intent on killing us. I know, that, at the very least.”
What can Aegon believe? Rhaenyra was always indifferent toward him and his full-blooded siblings. Though they tried when they were younger, she turned them away many times, so they did so as well in turn. Jacaerys and Lucerys and now Joffrey, what is there? Amicable relations have deteriorated, and any love between them was lost when Jacaerys was maimed.
The room is silent. Though Otto and Alicent hold the power, it is up to Aegon to fulfill his duties. His birthright. What duties and birthright, he screams inwardly. It’s Rhaenyra’s birthright. Their father made it so, until his dying breath.
Aegon’s horrid thoughts are stopped when a maid enters the room. “Apologies,” she bows. “Prince Jacaerys would like to speak with you all.”
Helaena and Daeron freeze and Alicent quickly places herself in front of them with a swish of her green dress, eyes blown wide in fear. Otto hurriedly corrals Aemond and Aegon behind him, in front of Alicent and the youngest of their family, his hand slowly inching towards a blade in his tunic.
Aegon’s eyes dart around the room, labeling all of the possible escape routes. Secret passageways, windows, and even the door where Jacaerys enters all cross his mind. He shouldn’t have protested, shouldn’t have been so against his grandsire and mother’s wishes. His family is going to die, and it should have been on him to keep them safe.
Jacaerys’ cloak swishes as he enters, the maid who made them aware of Jacaerys’ entrance trailing behind him with a scroll. His eye scans the room and then he offers a tense smile, aware of the atmosphere for him. “Uncles, aunt.” he nods. “Lord Otto, Dowager Queen.”
“My prince,” Otto utters, dagger clutched. “I would have assumed you would have been preparing for your mother’s coronation.”
Jacaerys chuckles dryly, shrugging. “Everything is in order, already, Lord Otto. All that is left is to make sure everyone else is aware of their roles in the coronation as well.”
Aegon can hear Aemond breathing erratically. He can hear Helaena’s disgusting creature crawling on the floor. He can hear his mother, shaking, resisting the urge to bite her fingers.
Aegon finds his voice. “What do you mean, aware?” he asks harshly.
Jacaerys is taken aback by this tone. Good, Aegon thinks hysterically.
Jacaerys blinks. “You’ll all be participants in the coronation. Her grace has planned high places of honor in her court for her siblings. She wanted you all to be aware before the coronation began.”
“Places of honor?” Daeron questions then slaps his hand against his mouth.
Jacaerys nods. “Her grace means for her ascension to be peaceful, with her family surrounding her. Jeyne,” he turns to the maid. The maid places a scroll in Jacaerys’ hands. “By order of Her Majesty, Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Rhaelm, the Prince Aegon will be made her cupbearer. The prince-”
“Hold on,” Otto protests, a sour grimace etched on his face. “Princess Rhaenyra has no power to do anything of the sort. As flattered as Prince Aegon surely is, the Princess is not yet Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”
Jacaerys stares at Otto, incredulity and annoyance clear on his face. Aegon is simply stunned and silent. Cupbearer? Him? Does that mean no more nagging from his mother? No being put to the sword?
“On the death of His Majesty, King Viserys, the Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra became Queen.” Jacaerys proclaims. “A coronation is simply mummer for the lords. A crown sits atop the head of Her Grace, the Iron Throne already being sat on by her. She is Queen of these Seven Kingdoms, Lord Otto, and you will afford Her Grace the proper respect she is due.”
Otto says nothing, mouth open and gaping. Daeron, who was gripping his mother tightly, loosened his grip. Helaena peeked out from behind Alicent, and Aemond, who was ignoring Jacaerys out of regret, stared at him head-on, eyes wide.
“Of course,” Jacaerys begins, “if Aegon doesn’t want to become cupbearer-”
“No, I do!” Aegon interrupts loudly. He nods his head hastily. “I do. Give your mother, uh, Her Grace, my thanks.”
Jacaerys smiles brightly. “Very well,” he bows his head, turning to Aemond. “Of course, Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron will receive high honors at court, too. ‘Tis the Queen’s understanding that you have the making of a fine knight, Aemond. If you wish, Her Grace would see you squire under Ser Erryk Cargyll.”
Aemond is silent, still half-hidden behind Otto. His gaze is far away, but his lip is bitten to the point of redness. “Nephew,” he begins in High Valyrian.
Otto and Alicent share a look. Haelana knows High Valyrian, but Daeron Aegon knows not.
“I…” Aemond’s expression is pinched. “Why would the Queen allow such a thing for me? I maimed you! You should hate me! The Queen should hate me! Already, those in Oldtown whisper that I will be a kinslayer behind my back. I stole Vhagar!”
There is a sheen in Aemond’s eyes, and Alicent goes to embrace her son. Aemond pushes her away, marching to Jacaerys and clenching his doublet angrily. “Tell me!” he demands.
Jacaerys only smiles sadly, responding in their native tongue. “You did not steal Vhagar, uncle,” he responds softly. “A dragon cannot be stolen. It was in rather poor taste to claim Vhagar at Laena Velaryon’s funeral, but I understand the want of a dragon. To answer your fears…I never hated you.”
“What did the bastard say, Aegon?” Alicent whispers. “What did Aemond say that has the bastard like that?”
Aegon shakes his head. He feels like he’s intruding. This is a conversation for Jacaerys and Aemond alone.
“It could have been you, whose eye was taken,” Jacaerys continues in High Valyrian. “It would have been Luke, or Rhaena, or me. We are Targaryen’s Aemond, the blood of Old Valyria. We are stronger when we are united as one. I will not force you, nor will my mother, but if you choose to become a squire, I would be your most ardent supporter.”
Aemond lets go of Jacaerys’ doublet as if it’s burned him. He shakes his head, but not in denial of Jacaerys’ proclamation.
“I…I need to think, please.”
Jacaerys nods in understanding. Then, he turns to Daeron and Helaena. “Her Grace gives her apologies, for she does not know you two well enough to offer any high place at court at this time. She begs you to not take this as a slight, for she wishes for all her younger siblings to live contently under her reign.”
Daeron is silent, but Helaena nods. They have left from behind Alicent, standing next to her. Aemond is off near the window, looking out in brooding contemplation.
Jacaerys looks around the room one more time, then nods in triumph. “I understand this has been a lot to take in. Her Grace is eager for her siblings to attend her coronation.” Jacaerys hesitates for a moment. “Dowager Queen.” Alicent flinches, hysteria slowly creeping into her. “Her Grace has invited the Dowager Queen to a small luncheon, after her coronation. There is to be lemon cake and…and if the Dowager Queen wishes, a flight upon Syrax.”
Alicent is silent. For a while., actually Her gaze is far away, her fingers twitching. Then she nods. “Please tell her…Her Grace that I will accept.”
Jacaeerys nods once more, leaving the room with the maid. Otto waits a moment, then shakes his head, rounding on Aegon with a furious slap.
“Father!” Alicent yelps.
Aemond tears his gaze from the window, pushing Otto away from Aegon.
“This is a farce!” Otto spits out. “You will not be a cupbearer, Aegon, you will be a hostage! You and Aemond, and Daeron and Helaena to follow will be put to the sword! That whore is not queen! A woman cannot take precedence over a man! Especially a wanton woman who flouts around that grasping bastard as her heir!”
Aegon’s hands clench into fists, his dragon instincts overtaking him.
He punches his grandsire, a sickening crunch left in his wake.
Helaena covers her ears, Aemond grasping at Helaena to protect her. Alicent clutches Daeron, and Aegon delivers another blow. The pain is temporary. Anger is for life.
“I’ve had enough,” Aegon hisses. “Enough of your schemes. Enough of your plots. Enough of being treated like a common boy. I am Prince Aegon of House Targaryen. A prince of the blood, son of the late King Viserys, and brother to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You may be my grandsire, but what you just did is grounds for having your hand cut off. Never forget your place, you lowly second son.”
Aegon looked at his mother and his siblings. If Aemond cared about the last part, he didn’t show it. Alicent’s eyes flickered between her father and her son helplessly. Then, she looked at Aegon. Aegon prepared himself for a scolding. For a slap. For her disappointment.
But his mother only looks at Aegon and smiles sorrowfully. “You have no idea how many times I imagined myself doing that.”
All her children look to her as if she’s grown a second head. Pious, rigid Alicent Hightower, their mother, accepting Aegon’s unprincely behavior? But Helaena giggles at the comment, breaking the tense atmosphere. Then they all breathe out in relief.
Otto is gaining his bearings, but he is silent as he does so.
There is still that looming thought, that looming danger. But for the moment, in that single moment, they are happy. Content.
“We have a coronation to get to,” Daeron urges. “Let us not be late.”
~
In the months that follow the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Rhaelm, war does not follow.
Jacaerys imagined there would be. He imagined fire, brimstone, blood, and corpses flooding Westeros. He imagined his death by a barrage of arrows, in a civil war tearing siblings apart.
What Jacaerys imagined, he is happy to say does not pass.
There is unrest, of course. Grasping lords that have to be put in their place. Old maesters and men that need to be reminded of who sits on the Iron Throne. But no rebellions so devastating as the Dance of Dragons.
Jcaerys is alive, and most importantly, so is his whole family. Luke is not swallowed by Vhagar’s maw, instead, he and Aemond get along quite well in the training yard.
Joffrey does not die after the Dragon Pit is stormed. He instead announced his desire to be “even younger than Jace when he mounts Tyraxes” to the mortification of his mother.
Moondancer, Baela’s dragon, grows ever quickly and Rhaena believes one of the newest hatches on Dragonstone will be hers. Rhaena and Luke seem to get along quite well, and Daemon can often be seen lurking around whenever they interact.
Aegon delights in his job as a cupbearer. He has little duties, and Rhaenyra and he grow closer with each meeting of the Small Council. Jacaerys still keeps him away from Dyana, but it seems Aegon has no eyes for her.
Helaena is spared from a marriage with Aegon, and she never throws herself out of a window. In fact, Jacaerys has caught Helaena staring quite often at Aemond when he swings his sword about with Ser Erryk.
Daeron is kept away from any tents. He instead expressed his desire to go back to Oldtown. He claims the Red Keep is stuffy, and wishes to earn his chains and come back as a man and maester.
Aemond and Daemon seem to get along fine most days, though Daemon is sadistic to him in the training yard. He is squire to Ser Erryk Cargyll and rides Vhagar alongside Helaena and Dreamfyre often.
Rhaenyra has confessed her desire to marry Ser Harwin, at some point. She wishes to find a way to free Laenor so he can be with Ser Qarl, and she with Ser Harwin. Ser Harwin, in turn, expressed his desire to have an heir for Harrenhall, if Rhaenyra wished for another child.
Alicent and Rhaenyra, well, Jacaerys wishes to give them privacy. It’s not his place, but he thinks they’re on the road to reconciliation. It won’t be what it was, but it’s enough.
Lord Otto Hightower finds himself without a hand a day after the coronation. Some dare to ask, but Lord Otto will not say how it happened. Was it the queen? Septon Eustace affirms this, but Mushroom is adamant that Syrax bit the hand off at the Dowager Queen's behest.
Jacaerys is the Prince of Dragonstone, and he needs to start thinking of making his heir. The thought disgusts him, still, but Baela is the best option. Still, Jacaerys wants to make sure that he’s capable before even thinking of such things.
It’s a few years later when Jacaerys and Baela go on a Royal Progress to ensure the loyalty of the Seven Kingdoms. He travels to the Wall, and when Gardevoir insists on going no further, Jacaerys makes up his mind.
In Winterfell, the Warden of the North greets Jacaerys, and he does so in turn.
“Lord Cregan,” Jacaerys greets. “Can I ask about your legends and stories? Of the Old Gods and White Walkers?”