Chapter Text
Jacaerys
Jacaerys supposed that preparedness didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What the Gods would have done would be done.
He was beginning to realize how much that was true as he paced the rocks outside the large, overbearing Dragonstone keep. His eyes were on the shore, scouting for enemies, for other dragons, for anything that could keep his mind free of his own thoughts. His anger. Everything else.
He’d returned only hours ago, and had been met with his mother’s tears. He wished he hadn’t left, or that it had been him who went to Storm’s End. The journey was supposed to be quicker, easier. Safer.
He tried to picture the last time he’d seen his brother, when they swore their vow to go only as messengers, and then they’d climbed atop their dragons together. They shouldn’t have split up. He wasn’t sure... no, he didn’t care if he wasn’t sure about anything. He shouldn’t have left Luke.
His mother, his queen, had begged him to stay with her. But Jacaerys couldn’t breathe within the keep. He saw Lucerys everywhere within. They’d been here since they were boys, since their mother had married Daemon.
He was angry with Daemon too. Especially for advising his mother to keep the truth from him. Messages, ravens, everything moved slower in the North. Even dragons. Jacaerys had prepared for his flight North, his flight back. He couldn’t have prepared to leave with his family intact and come back with a piece of it forever shattered.
He wanted to scream into the winds of the sea. He wanted to march into the waves and seek the Gods out himself. How was this fair? Fair to Luke, fair to their mother? She was the heir and she was usurped and her children were being slain while the usurper and his kinslaying brother ate and drank deep in the Red Keep or Maegor’s Holdfast, no doubt.
Jacaerys was tugged from his thoughts by Baela. Her sister, Rhaena, had been sent to the Vale but Baela refused to leave not just her grandmother but Jace. They were betrothed, and she saw no reason she should be separated from him at a time of war. Not even for her personal safety. Jace admired her steadfastness and strength.
“Jace,” she started to speak as she stopped a few paces from him. He slowly stopped trudging along the rocks. “Your mother wants you.”
“I’m aware.” He tried not to sound cold and angry and failed. He hoped Baela would understand.
“We will get through this, Jace.” She was kind as she said the words, but he hated them. He didn’t want to get through anything. He wanted his mother to get her birthright, he wanted his brother to be alive.
Still... “Yes,” he answered even though he refused to meet her dark brown eyes.
Together, they walked back toward the gleaming black Targaryen keep.
Jace swore the dragons carved in the stone watched him as he went, beckoning him inside, leading him toward something within.
—
Aemond
Volantis was much hotter than Prince Aemond Targaryen anticipated.
Granted, he hadn’t really decided to come here until he was already halfway across the sea. He’d had little water and less food and a groaning, pissed dragon beneath him and that was all. Even now, as he walked along a gleaming almost golden bricked road, he thought of that angry dragon.
He wore a hood to conceal most of his features. He’d replaced his sword with two daggers, as a precaution. And Vhagar he’d left far outside this city, just like every other stop. Those who ventured near her were hopefully few and far between. Not as if it really mattered. If they got too close, she would probably eat them. Even if they ran for more men, all it would do was give Aemond a worse headache than he already had.
The first few stops he’d made in Volantis gave him no answers. The people here were open and sometimes warmish, but they seemed loyal to those they deemed deserved the reward of loyalty. Finding where he was now headed had wasted precious days. By now, his family would be more than wondering where Aemond and his dragon had taken to. If they were unlucky, Rhaenyra would be laying siege while Aemond was gone.
He couldn’t decide if he cared.
Mostly, he didn’t think about it.
He thought about it even less as he came to the blue and marble building. The one he’d been trying to find for two days now. He’d only found it today because a drunk patron of the establishment had been singing about it in the town center, much farther down. This place stood alone atop its hill. There were small buildings to the side, each made of the same blue and marble base. Smoke rose through the windows of both. Aemond decided that was where business must occur.
In the main building, Aemond would find what he’d been searching for. He hoped. He begged.
There were no guards, no protections. Surprisingly. There was one man, near the doorway but more inside than out. The doors were fully open, held back by blue threads along them. He was staring inside so all Aemond could really tell was his height, tall, his hair color, like Aemond’s, like Aelyssan’s, and the fact he was in plain pants and a neat shirt. He had a dagger at his hip with a red ruby in its handle. Aemond knew where that came from.
This was Aelyssan’s direct and only full-blooded sibling. Arrion, if he remembered correctly. He’d come for the throne during the Great Council, years and years ago when he had been barely Aemond’s age now. As Aemond got closer, Arrion turned. He had a scar along his chin, but somehow, it seemed to make him look more like a Targaryen, a possible King. Aemond almost wondered if this Arrion would’ve done a better job than his own father, Viserys, did.
Arrion stepped into Aemond’s way before the prince could fully enter the large house. “Rytsas, zaldrīzes-riña (Hello, dragon-ling),” Arrion started, voice smooth over the Old Valyrian words. He was roughly almost twenty years Aemond’s senior, but he still looked young.
“You still carry the blade the Old King gifted you at the Great Council, Arrion,” Aemond spoke easily in the common tongue. He slowly dropped his hood. “I’ve come to speak with your mother.” And your sister. If she’s here. Dark, curling hope stung in his chest.
A woman with hair dark enough that Aemond couldn’t distinguish it from the shadows came forward. She spoke a language low that even Aemond didn’t know. Her eyes were a striking gold, and the way she grabbed Arrion, Aemond could tell they were together. Arrion shifted on his feet as he looked from his wife back to Aemond. Small children were shouting from somewhere far off, but Aemond didn’t see them anywhere.
“She’s been waiting for you to show up,” Arrion relented and moved from Aemond’s way. “You can follow me.” He turned back to his bride and kissed her head, once. The woman turned from both of them and started off down a hall and past a corner. Aemond’s eye could follow her no longer.
Arrion began to lead the prince the other way. They past a girl whose hair was both black and like Arrion’s and Aelyssan’s at once. She also had mismatched eyes, one gold and one brown. She didn’t look more than twelve. She was yelling easily, fluently, in High Valyrian as she scampered past them.
Arrion laughed as the girl ran by. He watched as Aemond stared after her, then grunted. “This is our family home. Not one of my mother’s establishments. Despite what you might’ve been told.”
Aemond barely cared. “Do you all speak High and Old Valyrian?” he asked instead.
Arrion laughed again. “Our mother insists we learn, and we teach our children after us, yes.”
Aemond wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, or the fact that girl was supposedly another of their siblings or one of their siblings children. How much of a family had Saera created here, across the sea?
They past a room where a table full of men and women in many ages sat and ate. They were all speaking a tongue Aemond didn’t know, the one Arrion’s bride had spoken in, along with High Valyrian. He almost stopped to listen, but Arrion continued on. Ahead of them, Aemond could hear a fire burning low and fast.
Arrion led him up a set of marble stairs. From outside, the house had barely seemed this large. Aemond’s head was almost spinning trying to puzzle it altogether. He tried to imagine Aelyssan here, but the thoughts upset his near-empty stomach and he pushed them out.
There was only one room above the steps, and no doorway to it. The stairs lead straight into the heart of the room. A large fire blazed from ground to roof just ahead of Aemond. A woman, crinkles in her eyes that showed her age more than any other part of herself, turned as Arrion and Aemond stepped into the room.
She wore a sweeping gown of black fabric. A gold and blue necklace gleamed along her neck, aside from that, and the fact she was clearly a Targaryen, she was a bit plain to Aemond.
“Mother,” Arrion started, “Prince Aemond Targaryen.”
“Aemond One-Eye,” Saera Targaryen started. Arrion wordlessly descended the steps, leaving Aemond alone with his mother. Another thing that surprised him. “The Kinslayer,” she continued and Aemond had to fight himself to keep from creating fists at his side. “You’ve been asking around for me, kinslayer. Here I am.” She raised her arms, which were fully covered by the sleeves of her dress despite the heat from Volantis itself and the raging fire at her back.
“Saera,” Aemond started. He took another cautious step into the room. He hadn’t actually prepared what to say. He just had to come here. He had to tell Saera what had happened, if Aelyssan wasn’t here. Alive. His heart faltered for a moment.
She sat on a stool ahead of the flames fanning her back. “Come, sit,” she offered before resting her hands in her lap. “Tell me what you’ve come here seeking.”
Aemond moved and sat across from her. She seemed to care little for his presence and her gaze kept drifting to the flames. Aemond was continuously astounded by the fact she didn’t look well into and past her sixtieth name-day. “Tell me what brings a prince of Westeros to me, Aemond.”
He was happy she at least used his name. “Your daughter, Aelyssan.”
Nothing about her faltered. She still barely looked to him, even as she raised a hand toward the crackling flames of the fire. “What of her?”
“Is she here?” He asked, almost stupidly. He began chastising himself in his head instantly.
“I believe we are both aware she isn’t,” Saera answered with a small smile.
Aemond tried to control the anger coiling in him. Why was she smiling if her daughter were gone. “Do you know?”
“Know what?” she asked, a picture of almost perfect mock innocence. She knew, Aemond just wasn’t sure to what extent. After a moment, Saera cleared her throat and continued. “I’m aware she was attacked and supposedly killed in the capital. King’s Landing. A wretched, gross place.” Saera seemed to shiver, even with one hand practically inside the flames of her fire.
“Supposedly?”
“I have felt many die before, prince, I have not felt Aelyssan die.”
Aemond thought back to Helaena, to the way she’d sputtered that she couldn’t see. See what exactly was still unknown to him. But maybe... he shook his head once. “Where is her dragon?”
Saera laughed. “Have you come to steal it back? No, that won’t do. Only Aelyssan can retrieve her pet.”
“She hasn’t?” he tried. He was stupid to hope, to even think she was alive. For all he knew, Saera was crazy. She had already long been crazy enough to leave her status, her kingdom and riches behind, for a life in exile as a glorified whore. But...
The forgotten princess shrugged. “No. Though she misses Aelyssan as much as the rest of us.”
“She?”
“I was raised alongside dragons. I still remember it well.” Her lips thinned and she turned to stare into the flames. They churned and soared higher for a quick moment. “Is that all you’ve come for? To ask on my daughter and her dragon?”
Aemond suddenly wanted to get up. His legs tensed beneath him. “Are yours to enter this war, Saera?”
The woman smiled toothily. She looked like she may laugh, but managed not to. “My children and their children and their families do as they please. Do you believe I sent three of my eldest boys to the Great Council? Please, I told them to stay here. Things are much better here. But power is always desired.” Aemond didn’t like the way she was answering. He tightened one hand under his cape, on the edge of one of his daggers just to calm some of his swirling thoughts.
Saera Targaryen continued, “When you find my daughter, Aemond Targaryen, I fear it will be between bloody and fiery battle.” Her voice sounded far off and empty. He thought to Helaena again. “Regardless, when you do, send her home to me.”
—
Aelyssan
She could walk easily now, thanks to Rhaenys helping her the first day or so that she’d been back fully on her feet.
She could barely eat still, though it mattered less and less. Everyday, she had less of an appetite. She barely drank as well. Rhaenys chastised her for it, but Aelyssan mostly ignored the princess.
However, she wished Rhaenys was with her now as she sat across from Rhaenyra and Daemon. Daemon had one hand over Rhaenyra’s along the long, carved table in their war room. Aelyssan had been surprised when they’d brought her here for her questioning, considering Daemon didn’t trust her at all.
She had been able to walk to the chair left out for her, but barely that. She’d collapsed into the wood hard enough that she was sure her arm would have a vicious bruise within the hour.
“Well,” Daemon started, “tell your story now, Aelyssan.”
And so she did. Her mind had become increasingly clear as the last three days past. She’d hoped to use her final day to entirely gather herself, but Jacaerys had supposedly descended upon Dragonstone in the midmorning, moving up Aelyssan’s appointment with Rhaenyra. She’d hoped Daemon wouldn’t be present. She had almost found him entertaining back at the Red Keep, but now... she could see how much he wanted her dead on his face.
Even as she came to the end of what she knew, what she remembered, Daemon’s entire face still held that look. That raging want. He would use her corpse as a message for Aemond. Not that she was sure Aemond would care. Her heart felt hollow and she forced herself not to think about him, especially not right now.
Rhaenyra looked to Daemon for a moment, but he kept his gaze steady on Aelyssan. With a sigh, the queen turned to her. “You truly knew nothing of what would happen to Luke?” Aelyssan noted that Rhaenyra’s voice almost broke.
Aelyssan’s own voice was hard to muster in reply. “I swear it.” The memory of meeting Luke in the hall flooded to the forefront of her mind. She had to shove it away. She couldn’t chance losing her composure in front of Rhaenyra and Daemon, not now.
Rhaenyra pushed back from the glowing, carved table meant to be lit only for war. “If he were going to leave with you, and forsake the lot of them and their cause, why would he continue to support them when you left?”
“I don’t know,” Aelyssan answered honestly. That question had already long been plaguing her. The only other question that was worse, why had he attacked Luke. Why had he... again, she shoved the thoughts away and took a deep breath.
“Daemon?” Rhaenyra looked to her husband.
“I think she speaks the truth,” he relented after a long moment. He moved his eyes to Rhaenyra, something Aelyssan was grateful for. “But it matters little.”
“What?” she asked.
Daemon ignored her and continued. “We still need to send Aemond a message, a show of strength. Perhaps her actual death would permanently break his spirits.”
Aelyssan opened her mouth to argue when the doors to the war room shuddered and opened. Jacaerys Velaryon entered, with his head raised high. Baela, who had accompanied Rhaenys to Aelyssan’s bedside once in the past few days, stood outside the doors. She dipped her chin to Rhaenyra and Daemon as they closed.
Jacaerys seemed unsure of what to do. He made to move forward, until he spotted Aelyssan, still slightly slumped in the chair she’d fallen into. “Jace, finally,” Daemon spoke and beckoned the boy forward.
Jace stepped toward Daemon, even though his dark brown eyes kept jumping toward Aelyssan. His jaw tensed. She saw confusion and anger on his face. Aelyssan had to look away from his gaze. He no doubt remembered the dinner she’d ruined. He probably also blamed her for what had happened to his brother. Aelyssan blamed herself enough.
“Daemon,” Rhaenyra started.
He shook his head to her once and clasped a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “Do you remember her?” he asked and pointed to Aelyssan.
“Yes.” Jace’s voice was light and plain even as his eyes kept darting from his mother to Aelyssan.
“Tell Jace what you’ve told us,” Daemon ordered, setting his eyes and dark gaze on Aelyssan again.
She moved uncomfortably in her chair, but explained her story again. She told some of it less, only because she was already growing tired. Her body was still healing. Still reeling from her wounds. She was far from healed. When she was done, Jace was unblinking.
“Do you trust her word?” Daemon asked.
Rhaenyra stepped forward like she would say something, but
Jace spoke first. “She was kind to Luke. I trust she had no knowledge of what Aemond planned to do.”
Daemon was clearly unsatisfied with what Jace said. He dropped his hand from Jace’s shoulder. The prince and queen’s consort looked from Jace to Jace’s mother. “Very well, then. We won’t kill her. But we can’t trust her. Throw her in the dungeons.”
Aelyssan supposed that would be the best sort of treatment she could get. The queens-guard seemed to enter without another word. Rhaenyra didn’t speak against Daemon, and neither did Jace. Not that she expected or wanted either of them to.
Aelyssan was almost happy just to be away from that room, away from Daemon Targaryen, as a member of the queens-guard who she recognized even though she wasn’t really sure why pulled her from the room. She leaned a bit of her weight into him, but he didn’t complain. She was glad for that too.
They were almost down the long hall from the war council room when Jacaerys came bounding after them. He looked a bit pale and sick despite how stoic he’d been only a minute or two ago. He stepped in front of the kings-guard and said something, but Aelyssan weirdly couldn’t hear it.
She looked down too late. At some point, probably when she’d thrown herself into that damned chair, the wound in her chest had reopened. Her blood was barely dripping when she first looked down but quickly it began to seep. Her vision became spotty. She wished again she had been with Rhaenys before she collapsed and she was trapped entirely within herself again.