Archive of Our Own

Jace knew his duties. Or rather, he knew the duties expected from the heir to the iron throne. He was second in line to inherit it once his mother passes (he hopes she never does. That somehow she inherits whatever that dragons possess making them near immortal creatures. He cannot imagine a world where his mother didn’t exist and he’s left to deal with the crushing weight of the crown. It already weighs him down even though he is still his mother’s heir and not his grandfather’s.)

The duty of the crown prince (or princess) is to be nothing less than perfect. They must always smile. Not too wide, but just a small polite one, but not too small either. Just the right way to show kindness to others but also making sure that kindness cannot be mistaken for weakness. 

They must be knowledgeable in everything. Politics, history, science, language and warfare. They have to be aware of what’s happening in the kingdom they’re meant to rule. They have to know the people.

They have to one day marry, not for love, for duty so that they will have children. Legitimate Targaryen children.

Silver hair. Purple eyes. Targaryen.

Jace is none of the above.

He smiles too wide, too kindly. He is good at his studies but not as good as he should be. 

He isn’t a Targaryen.

“You’re a Targaryen. That’s all that matters.”

It’s what his mother told him. She had held his face firmly in her hands, looked at him with love, so much love that it sometimes overwhelmed him how much his mother loved him and his siblings, but he had also seen the glimpses of what she hid from him.

There was fear in her eyes. She had glanced around quickly when Jace had asked her if he was a bastard.

She was terrified that someone had heard him. It was one thing if there were whispers. As long as the truth was denied by his mother, his ‘father’ and his grandsire then that’s all that mattered.

So Jace never spoke of it again.

If his mother said he was a Targaryen then that’s who he shall be.

If he was to only call Laenor his father then that’s who he shall call father.

If he had to pretend to be composed and perfect so his mother was less terrified of the shadows haunting them then he would do so.

He would live this farce, denying the truth just so that he would never have to see his mother scared.

And he succeeds.

Almost.

Then came the fire.

Fire took Harrenhal.

Fire took Aunt Laena.

Fire took his father. 

Fire took and took and left Jace with nothing but this numbness.

Their house words were ‘Fire and Blood’. Perzys Ānogār. They said Targaryens were made of fire and fire could not harm them.

Then how come it was fire that took everything away from Jace? Why did the fire take everything from him and leave him feeling nothing?

He stood on the shores of Dragonstone, a mere few days after the death of his father(s), as he watched his mother paint his uncle (granduncle? Now stepfather? He doesn’t know. The Targaryen family tree gets more and more entangled) in her blood as they marry in the old ways. Their ways. 

Now Jace is left stranded alone feeling unwinded. As if every act of his is about to come undone. Right on that damn beach in a place where two weeks ago he was training with his father.

Laenor may not have been his birth father but he was his father. He did everything a father did. He loved them. He protected them. He taught Jace how to hold a sword. He took Jace on Seasmoke. He was his father in everything but blood. Now he was gone and Jace was left to shoulder everything.

Luke was young. He would grow and his memories would fade. He would only remember bits of who Laenor was and know of him through the Velaryon. He would have none of that about Ser Harwin. Joff wouldn’t even have memories. Joff wouldn’t even have what little Luke had.

Only Jace is cursed to remember it all. He would be the one left to deal with everything. His memories. His duty.

He wanted to ask his mother how she could do this to him and his brothers. How she could so quickly forget the two men who she held dear, one who she had to have loved enough to sire bastards with, and marry someone just a mere few weeks after the death of her husband.

But he sees her smile. 

Truly smile.

He has only ever seen a shadow of her joy. The joy that named her the Realm’s Delight.

His mother was the realm’s delight. The delight of his dead grandmother who had loved her only child so much and her father who clearly loved her the most. 

But Rhaenyra Targaryen’s delight has always been Daemon Targayren. She bloomed here with him by her side. She smiled more. Laughed more. She was allowed to be with a person who clearly loved her and adored her as much as she adored Daemon.

And how could he take that from his mother? How could he ask his mother to give up that smile even though he knew she would do so for him if he asked.

So again, Jace pretended.

It was easier to live in denial. To live as if he wasn’t drowning in grief like he should be allowed to. It was easier to look at his mother, smile happily and accept Daemon as his stepfather. Especially when mother would look so happy when she heard Jace address Daemon as stepfather. 

He couldn’t be like Baela, the girl who shunned everyone in anger and rage and burned like Targaryens do. He couldn’t be like Rhaena, who was locked up in her grief. He couldn’t be like Luke either, pretending as if things will go back to how it was. 

He was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon who would one day be called Crown Prince Jacaerys Targaryen. He was his mother’s heir. He was best at living in denial and pretense. 

He will continue to do so if that means his mother and his family (and he) will remain happy.

His mother was happy to see him work hard and help her so he could learn the ways to manage Dragonstone when it was his time. She was happy to see him.

Jace doesn’t know if his mother was good at pretending like him too.

Pretending not to see the fraying edges.

His stepfather on the other hand would stare at him with these knowing eyes. As if he knew what Jace was thinking but he never asked him about it.

Jace thinks he probably doesn’t care about Jace to ask him about it. And why should he care? He was Rhaenyra Targaryen’s son. He was a bastard that looked nothing like his supposed father. He was sure Daemon didn’t even consider him a Targaryen. He heard what he said about his uncles and aunts.

‘Hightower whelps.’ 

If he said that about them even with their silver hair and violet eyes then he can’t imagine what he thinks of Jace, Luke and Joff.

But he never says anything. Never taunts them. 

He teaches them.

He teaches them High Valyrian and how to fight. He was a better instructor than Cole. Sometimes, he’d bring Dark Sister and let them see him use it against the guards during training. He didn’t let them hold it. Not that Jace asked. He doesn’t think he could ever ask him that.

He might be a little scared of him.

(He was terrified of Daemon Targaryen. He had heard enough stories about him to know that he should be scared of him. His father would whisper stories about the war at Stepstones before their bedtime. His mother would sigh but she’d relent.)

So he fell into this routine. 

Wake up, eat, attend lessons, eat,  pracitice with his sword, check on Vermax, dinner with the family, read the lessons he’s been given and then sleep.

It was monotonous but it kept him busy. It grounded him.

Until he hears the news that threatens to break him again.

“We thought of telling you all together.” She smiles at them during the morning when they were having breakfast. She looks at Daemon, who looked as if he was smiling slightly, his eyes shining. The same way his mother’s were. “You’re going to have a new sibling.”

For a minute the world goes quiet. Except Jace knows that it’s just him because he can see Luke get excited. Even Rhaena comes out of her eternal sadness. Baela was surprised but she tentatively smiled. They’re somewhat happy and Jace knows soon they’ll be ecstatic. Soon they’ll be planning names like they did for Joffrey and Luke. They’ll be going to the dragon pit to see if Syrax laid a new clutch for the baby.

They will all be happy.

But not Jace.

All Jace feels is a rush of panic.

He feels the urge to cry. 

This baby will be a Targaryen. A pure Targaryen that will not be tainted by accusations of being a bastard. This baby will be silver haired like his mother and stepfather. This baby will have purple eyes that Jace, Luke and Joff don’t have. This baby won’t be haunted by the word ‘bastard’. This baby will be allowed to call their real father ‘father’ in public.

This baby, by the law, is his mother’s first legitimate child. This baby should be the heir to the throne. Not Jace who was half Targaryen and looked like a bastard with no father.

“Jace?” 

Jace looked at his mother who looked concerned at his quietness. He could see her worry and he remembered the maester’s words from when she was with Luke. Worry and stress isn’t good for the mother.

So Jace smiles at her. Tells her it’s fine and that he was just surprised at the news. Lies to her that he’s happy.

Then he quickly excuses himself.

He’s going to break his facade if he stays there any longer.

He can’t keep on pretending. He can’t keep on denying.

But living with this denial is all he knows now. If that’s taken from him then who is he anymore?

He had expected his mother to come talk to him at some point. Coax things out of him with her kind words and gentle hands. She would smile at him and try to soothe his worries. Tell him that he’s her first child and that will always be the truth.

It is not his mother who finds him first.

“Pick up your sword.” 

It’s Daemon.

Jacaerys stares at Daemon who only waits for him. He had followed him out to the beach near the area where they trained. Jace didn’t even realize he had walked over here. Daemon had quietly followed him out here and waited for Jace to pick up the dull, steel sword near him.

Jace hesitated. Daemon waved at him impatiently and picked one up from the sword rack.

Jace slowly picked it up, not knowing what the Prince wanted from him.

“Take your stance.”

He did.

“Now attack.”

Jace blinked.

Daemon cocked an eyebrow.

Jace hesitated.

And Daemon struck first.

Jace quickly pulled up his sword in defense. Daemon kept on attacking and made Jace take several steps back to defend himself.

“If you keep on backing off like this then you’ll lose. Defense isn’t always the best. You need to make your move. Take a step. Otherwise you’re going to end up a coward.”

That struck Jace. He glared at Daemon and pushed against him with his sword.

Coward.

He called him a coward for what? Stepping back? Stepping back and protecting the peace as he should be doing as the eldest child? Not screaming his frustration out? Not telling his mother how he’s hurting? How he wants to go back to King’s Landing even if it is a pit of vipers because it’s his home?

Because he pretends that he accepts this man who calls him a coward as a father even though he would never. He isn’t Laenor with Seasmoke and his stories of battle. Or Ser Harwin the kind protector of Jace and Luke against the Kingsguard who mocked them. 

No, this man does not care for them and Jace does not care for him either.

“Coward? For keeping the peace?”

“Coward for hiding from yourself. For pretending everything is fine when it’s not. If you can’t voice your own thoughts now and stand strong, what will you do when you're the King?”

“I shouldn’t be the King!” He screamed out. “The baby should be the King!”

By now they both stopped fighting. Daemon stood silently, as if waiting for him to air out all his grievances. 

“I am a bastard. Mother says I’m a Targaryen and that’s all that matters. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t look like a Targaryen. Laenor Velaryon may have claimed me as his but people will always know who my real father is. The father I can never mourn because people will taunt my mother with it. But this baby… your baby will be a Targaryen. More than me or Luke or Joffrey. More than Aegon, Aemond and Daeron.”

When he’s done, he feels light. He doesn’t cry even though he wants to. But he feels light.

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, looking almost bored.

Jace should feel offended by his attitude but he doesn’t. It’s almost comforting to see how his words didn’t have the devastating impact he was always scared they would have. It is good to see that his words didn’t break the peace.

He nods.

“You are your mother’s favourite child.” Daemon says.

“No, I’m not. Luke is her favourite.”

Luke who her mother calls his sweet boy. Luke who his mother cradles close to him. Luke who his mother hugs the most.

“Lucerys is a child. Lucerys is her second born who is meant for the driftmark throne that will one day take him away from his mother. But you belong to the Iron Throne. It is easier for your mother to be soft on him than it is to be on you. She must be harder on you. She must let you learn for yourself what it means to be able to stand on your own because she had to learn it too. Like a Targaryen ruler must.”

“You don’t think I’m a Targaryen. You call my uncles Hightower whelps.”

“I call them Hightowers because they act like one. They have no honor or respect for the House of Dragon. They move with the vipers and their mother who wears green and not Targaryen black. Their mother who has no respect for our House is what makes me call them Hightowers. Are you like that?”

Jace shook his head.

“Are you going to honor our House?”

Jace nodded.

“Then that’s all that matters. Your mother is a Targaryen. She’s of my blood and so are you. That’s what matters to me.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“I see no reason to.”

“You don’t like me either.”

“I don’t like people.”

“You like my mother.”

“She is Rhaenyra.”

That oddly makes sense to Jace. He still feels conflicted. Still feels like he is one day going to do something that will mess everything up. He still feels like he’s not enough.

Daemon is walking away from him and he follows after him.

“And you needn’t call me step father.” He says.

“What?”

“You can call me Daemon.”

“Oh.”

So he does. It’s easier to tolerate him when he’s Daemon and not step father. His mother had only looked at him weird when he did that. Daemon had smirked. 

Jace still didn’t like him. He doesn’t think anyone except his mother and his sisters liked him. He doesn’t know if he will ever call him step father.

He is not Laenor. He is not Harwin. 

He wasn’t going to replace them. He wasn’t going to take their place and soothe his worries with kind words. No, he was a man of harsh words and that was okay.

Jace thinks that it’s okay to have someone like that in his life.

Someone like him is perhaps what he needed to tell him it’s okay to not live a lie.