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His mother is not strong like an oak. She is not so constant, not so stoic. She loves him and his brother fiercely; she hates the Queen with an endless passion; she enjoys wine and insulting everyone and everything. She does not caress his cheek unless she is sure they are alone. His father is far kinder, far happier to spread open his arms and take the weight of an eight year old barreling directly into his arms with joyous laughter. But Jacaerys knows his mother loves him, as sure as he knows the sky is blue and that dragons are wonderful. His mother loves him like a dragon does: fiercely, totally, and with more than a small hint of possessiveness.
Rhaenyra Targaryen is not one who does not feel. No, she feels-- acutely, even. She simply does not always display those feelings. She hides them, where they can't be taken out and paraded as a joke and beaten with sticks. Sometimes Jace thinks his mother is like the Dragonmont, waiting to explode.
Jace loves his mother and his father. So what if his father is always off drinking with his men? So what if his mother isn't the polite, demure sort of lady the songs sing about? They love him, and he loves them.
Jace loves his brother, too, though with more caveats. Luke is occasionally annoying and stupid. Sometimes he refuses to eat his carrots at dinner. Sometimes Jace's mother grins darkly at that and says she agrees, and sometimes, usually after an especially vexing Council meeting, she casts a baleful glare at Luke, and Jace knows that Rhaenyra Targaryen isn't happy. One time Luke got a new doublet of Jace's dirty, which was terrifically awful of him. Sometimes Luke follows Jace around, asking "why?" about absolutely everything, even though Jace just explained, and anyways, he really doesn't know, and Luke should just shut up sometimes.
Still, Luke is loads better than Aegon and Aemond. Aegon is an absolute shit, even when he's wonderfully clever, and Aemond-- Gods, who even cares about Aemond. Jace might almost feel bad about it, but then Aemond will say just the nastiest thing, or throw such a dreadful tantrum as will make Jace's mother smirk and scoff and roll her eyes.
Helaena's alright. She's fine. She's just-- a bit odd. But she's never mean, and she doesn't seem to much like her brothers, so Jace thinks Helaena's not so bad. It's just that Jace also understands that if he were to bring her flowers, she'd blink at them blankly, and go back to her bugs and insects.
And there's Daeron, who Jace hates for absolutely no reason at all. Jace remembers at one point informing his mother that he didn't like his "uncle" Daeron. Rhaenyra Targaryen had smiled with her teeth, her eyes dancing, wine clinging to her hair. "I don't care much for him either," she'd said, "but don't tell him that." Jace had nodded, and they'd giggled about it all night.
The Queen doesn't like him at all, of course, and has never pretended otherwise. Jacaerys truly could not care less. His grandfather, the King, is very old, and very ill. King Viserys will occasionally ruffle Jace's hair with his one good hand. But he's hopelessly partial to Aegon sometimes, and he smells bad, so Jace doesn't really care about him much.
He knows that he does have more family-- Grandmother Rhaenys and Grandfather Corlys, and his father's sister, Laena, and her daughters and husband. Aunt Laena's husband is also Jace's mother's uncle. So Daemon Targaryen is Jace's uncle by marriage on one side, and his great-uncle on the other. "Uncle Daemon" is accurate on both sides, therefore.
Jace had once remarked on this to his mother and father. His father's mouth had screwed up in the way that meant he was trying very hard not to laugh. His mother had looked a bit stricken. "Don't laugh," she'd shot at his father. It was a Father-jibe: Mother never really meant anything when she used that tone, just that he was sort of annoying her, like how Luke sometimes did him.
But anyways, he's not met Aunt Laena's family in ages, so they hardly really count. There's just his family, whom he loves, and the Queen's family, and the Queen's family is technically also Jace's, except not really, except Grandfather would never hear otherwise.
And then, there is Ser Harwin.
Jacaerys doesn't think- much- about Ser Harwin. He doesn't- really- love Ser Harwin. It's just that he sort of admires him, with an admittedly wild fervor, and Ser Harwin's hand heavy on his head, or gently set at his chin, or his eyes steadily meeting Jace's own, or his arms holding Jace when he's crying-- those things are simply just the most wonderful thing in the world other than dragons, sometimes, is all.
Jace doesn't think much about Ser Harwin. Ser Harwin is just the man who protects his mother, who is never snide, who never makes Jace feel bad by laughing at him. Ser Harwin is just the man who--
who...
Luke's opinion on Ser Harwin is straightforward. "He's wonderful," Lucerys declared at dinner one night. Father's mouth had screwed up in the way that meant he was trying very hard not to laugh.
"I quite agree, Luke!" Ser Laenor said cheerfully. "Ser Harwin is the best of men, for looking after my wife as he does! If I were ever to go to battle again, I'm not sure whether I'd be gladder to have him with me, decimating the enemy, or to have him back with you, my love!"
Rhaenyra had smiled, the smile that was really just a twitch at the corner of her mouth. It was the smile that meant she was happy, but feeling vulnerable or nervous, and that she didn't want anyone to notice she was happy.
It's not that Jacaerys didn't know. He has ears. He has eyes. He's not an idiot. He knows that his father spends his time drinking with his men, and he knows that his parents have white hair when he and Luke don't, and he knows that the Queen is a vicious woman who hates him and his mother and has never exactly hidden anything about any of it.
And he knows that Harwin Strong is his mother's friend and protector, and he often extends that protection, generously, gently, like a father, towards Rhaenyra's brown haired sons.
"Strong boys", Jace has heard people say. He is old enough by now to understand that it's not an idly sincere compliment.
But-- !
Well-- !
It's just that it didn't matter. Jace didn't think about it! He didn't care! He had his mother, his father, his annoying brother, his dragon, and that was enough! He didn't--
But then, Ser Harwin was fighting Ser Criston (who was the worst, even when Jace desperately wished to be as good as him someday), and then Ser Harwin was-- was leaving, when baby Joffrey was only just born, and Mother needed him, he'd seen how she'd clutched at his arm for balance. And Joff needed him too, needed to be held by the reassuring arms of Harwin Strong, needed the calm, keen eyes of an adult who didn't think he was silly, needed to know what it was to have Harwin Strong as-- as a father!
Because Laenor Velaryon loved them, and Jace loved Father with all the strength of his bones, but he was always laughing, and always away. Because Rhaenyra Targaryen loved them, and Jace loved Mother with all the fire in his soul, but she was always unhappy and ever mercurial.
And Harwin Strong loved them. He did love them. Jace knew that, the way he knew that Mother loved him, the way he knew that Father loved him.
And now! Ser Harwin Strong was ruffling Luke's hair! Was holding Jace's chin, and telling him to look after his mother. And Jace would do it, would kill anyone who tried to hurt his mother, his family-- but that was why they had him!
And then Harwin Strong was looking at Mother, who was holding Joffrey, and Ser Harwin was bending down to kiss the baby, and when he straightened up, Mother wouldn't quite meet his eye, in the way that meant she was miserable, she was guilty, she wanted to scream and sob, but wouldn't, or couldn't, and then-- he was going, he was out the door, he was gone.
Jace couldn't stand it. This might be the last time he ever saw him, the last chance he had to ask, and so it poured out. He turned to his mother, who was watching Ser Harwin go, and Jacaerys Velaryon asked, "Is Harwin Strong my father?"
Mother was uncomprehending. She was terrified.
Jacaerys went further. "Am I-- a bastard?"
His mother was not an oak. She was not unerring. She was not unfeeling. She worked so hard, all the time, to conceal what she was feeling, but she had no talent for lying. The tempest and the torrent were always there for all to see, the magma rumbling, waiting to roar to the surface.
Guilt-- hesitation-- shock-- fear-- Gods, it was true, that was his father, his father was leaving, was going, was gone!
Rhaenyra said that Jace was a Targaryen. It was true. It was objectively, unimpeachably the truth. Vermax breathed fire at his command. Jacaerys was his mother's son: he knew the truth of her in his bones, in his soul, in the thrum of the Dragonmont in his own ears, in the promise of the rushing wind singing in his blood.
His mother gave no answer. His mother gave every answer. His mother loved him. His mother had no idea of how to love, except to hold on tightly, and cut her losses when she had to.
The news of the death of Harwin Breakbones, the man who had sired Jacaerys Velaryon and his brothers, came when they were on Dragonstone. A messenger came running. Jacaerys was just close enough to his mother to hear the exhale of "NO", said under her breath where no one could hear. Father's one hand was preoccupied carrying Joffrey; the other shot out to grasp Luke before he could rush the messenger, shrieking that he was a liar.
Rhaenyra Targaryen was not an oak tree. She was not unfeeling. She just did not display it, did not say anything more that could worm its way to the Queen or her allies or Rhaenyra's not-quite-allies, did not scream and thrash with grief out there in the hall, did not shriek with rage and swear mighty oaths of dragon's wrath.
The walls went up, and she stood very still. Jace reached out a hand, where no one could see, and took hers in his own.
Ser Harwin had told him to look after his mother. It seemed it would be his duty, for the while.