Chapter Text
She had not worn an abundance of green before her father's death. Upon her betrothal to her cousin, Jaehaera discovered every inch of the color had been removed from her wardrobe. Her chambers too. Right down to the embroidery thread in her basket.
One spool short of a set.
"Her basket isn't the only thing missing a few things..." Cassandra Baratheon's joke earned her a chorus of stiffled giggles.
Jaehaera ignored them, as she always did. The ladies of court forced themselves on her each day, invading her chambers with their false smiles and pretty courtesies.
As their queen, she was expected to host them, to welcome them with open arms and the hand of friendship.
Jaehaera did not.
Her arms stayed closed. Her hands clasped in her lap.
She allowed them to sit with her, to chatter on around her as she practiced the stitches her septa taught her. As she read the books the maester sent for her. As she stared out her window to watch the ships make port and the courtyards below her room fill with people.
Occasionally, Jaehaera even listened to their words, though she remained silent.
"Can she even speak?" one of the newer ladies whispered, brow furrowing as her gaze settled on Jaehaera's back. "Or even hear us?" Cassandra snorted.
"Oh, she can," Cassandra raised her voice, calling out to her. "Always been a quiet one, haven't you, your grace? Contrary little mouse! Aren't you?" She laughed, eyes rolling, "Even at Storm's End. My mother tried for months, but she rarely said anything."
Jaehaera ignored her.
Eyes fixed on the horizon, Jaehaera waited. As she always did.
The hosting of visitors and the details of feasts or tourneys was left to her husband's sisters. The Lady Baela and the Lady Rhaena. Both married now.
They returned to the Red Keep often. Baela flew Moondancer across the Blackwater at least once a forenight. Checking on her little brother. Arguing with the Small Council.
Corlys was gone, but Baela had taken up the mantle to speak for the king's best interest. As much as she could, at least. Ladies did not command the same respect as their lord husbands or fathers. Even Targaryens.
Both Baela and Rhaena insisted on keeping their last name. The Targaryen name. Same as their grandmother had.
No one respected this. Not even in the Red Keep, where they held the most power. Where their word and names ought to have meant something.
"I heard the Lady Velaryon was left with more than just the Driftwood Throne when her husband left on his voyage," a lady giggled and a round of speculative gossip circled the room.
Any conversation regarding the succession lasted far longer than necessary. They all ended the same as well, with eyes flicking to her, assessing her.
Waiting, just like her.
The court would have to wait for her courses to start a bit longer though. She'd seen to that.
Jaehaera stood from the window and walked to her door. The ladies kept talking. They paid her movement little mind. Prattling on without her.
In all the years she'd been married, Jaehaera had always kept to her chambers during the day. And most other times too.
Save for feasts and other formal affairs that required the royal couple to make an appearance, Jaehaera had been allowed to sequester herself as she saw fit. Hiding herself away in the Holdfast.
She went only one place of her own volition.
"Hello, my sweet," Jaehaera whispered as she arrived at the dragon yard. Her voice cracked as she spoke for the first time since her last visit.
Morghul cooed beneath her hand. Scales darker than the inky black of the evening sky rising above them.
The sun had set. Baela had not come.
"We shall have the whole night together, I think," Jaehaera sighed as she settled beside her dragon in the center of the large courtyard. The largest, in fact.
Only two dragons resided in the Red Keep. Others might visit, fill the space with their growing bodies, but since the Shepherd and his flock had stormed the dragonpit, most had returned to Dragonstone. Safe under the care of Rhaena Targaryen and the few surviving adult dragons who could care for them.
Shyrkos screeched as she nudged at Jaehaera's side. Jaehaera hummed as her brother's dragon coiled with her and Morghul. Her smaller head resting in Jaehaera's lap as she leaned into the croak of her own dragon's neck.
Dreamfyre had saved them. Protected them. The largest dragon in King's Landing, Dreamfyre had managed to shelter half a dozen young dragons and hatchlings with her own body as the dragonpit fell. Morghul and Shyrkos among them.
Even far away, in Storm's End, Jaehaera had felt her dying. Felt the fire that burned in Dreamfyre fizzle out.
The last remnant of her mother in the world. Her last roar echoed still, in every move Jaehaera made. A tremble in her hands, a shiver in her bones.
Her mother had not been able to save her brother, either of them, but Dreamfyre had saved the dragons. Hers and her brother's. Morghul and Shrykos lived on. And Jaehaera too.
Syrax had done the same, answering her fellow dragons' call for aid. Her body smaller and more lithe than Dreamfyre's. Tyraxes had risen from beneath her body only after the golden dragon's rider had fled the capitol.
Dragonstone had more injured dragons than healthy ones according to the gossiping ladies in her chambers. Not that any of them could truly know.
The king had not returned to their ancestral home, not even to visit his own dragon. Jaehaera had never been at all.
"You've grown bigger, I think," Jaehaera cuddled with the dragons. Her hand never lifting from the green maw. Morghul tittered. He nosed at her arm until she lifted it to lay her other hand on his head. "Every time I see you, you grow just a bit more, I think."
The dragonkeepers said wild dragons and those allowed to roam grew fastest. Jaehaera had read every book the maester had allowed her on the subject.
Shyrkos had not grown even an inch since her brother's death. Morghul had outpaced her long ago. Large enough to fly even, maybe, though Jaehaera had not asked to try.
In her time as queen, she'd made only one request. Asked her husband for just the one thing. One mercy.
Jaehaera had lost both her brothers. She would have begged, if necessary, to keep the dragon who'd hatched in her cradle alongside Morghul.
She had not needed to.
"You are a beautiful dragon," Jaehaera whispered to Shyrkos, kissing the top of her head, "Jaehaerys would say the same, I know it."
Morghul whined until she peppered his maw with kisses next. He tittered and Shyrkos screeched, rolling onto her belly.
With a soft laugh, Jaehaera ghosted a hand down the dragon's underbelly. She tickled at green scales. The only green left in the Red Keep. The last remnant of her brother. Of her family.
A throat cleared. Jaehaera stiffened. Morghul's head rose, nostrils flaring as the kingsguard assigned to her stepped into the courtyard.
Ser Mervyn flinched as Morghul growled. The knight had not approached. He knew better than that now, lingering on the edges of the courtyard to avoid the dragons snapping at him again. He rolled his shoulders back.
"The, uh, the king has asked to see you, your grace."
Jaehaera blinked. The knight pursed his lips. He repeated himself. She blinked again, mouth falling open.
"Now, your grace," Ser Mervyn tried, jaw clenching as he gestured towards the door, "He wishes for you to join him in his chambers for dinner."
Oh. Jaehaera inhaled slowly. Her chest tight as she rose to her feet. She ran a hand down the front of her skirts and stepped from the warm refuge of the dragons.
A chill ran up her spine as the wind blew her hair out. The silver-gray strands caught on her face and Jaehaera didn't bother to brush them away.
Her husband had never called for her before. Not once. They'd hardly spoken since their wedding. Or before. Whether they'd spoke to each during the ceremony was probably debatable even.
Twice. She'd conversed with her cousin only twice.
Once for the dragons. Once for her grandmother.
"Jaehaera," Aegon greeted her as she entered his chambers. His throat bobbed. His gaze flicked over her. Surveying her as everyone always did. Assessing and judging.
She wondered, vaguely, if he found her lacking. Aegon was nearly a man now. Tall and lithe as many Targaryens were, with pale silver hair and prominent features that grew sharper each year.
Handsome, according to the ladies of the court. Jaehaera knew their words were more flattery than truth. Most of them saw him as little more than a boy.
A young and broken king. Unable to throw off the shackles of his regency.
Not yet.
Dropping in to a quick curtsy, Jaehaera ducked her head. She kept her silence as she rose back up. Her gaze rising with her, meeting his eyes.
Vivid and dark, the violet of his eyes was striking. Piercing. But Jaehaera matched them. They always matched.
For she was younger than him. And more broken. Cassandra said as much at least once a week.
Jaehaera was a shell. Voiceless and mindless. A hollow queen. His hollow queen, haunting the Red Keep.
She would not cower before him.
"I spoke with the Small Council today," Aegon said as he waved the kingsguard away. Leaving them alone in his private chambers. She clasped her hands together, willing them to stop shaking.
His face flushed and Aegon shuffled his feet, taking a step back. Jaehaera said nothing. She watched, and she waited. She was good at that. Waiting.
She was always waiting.
And this time, Jaehaera did not have to wait a particularly long time even.
"They, uh," Aegon exhaled, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut. He grabbed a basket sitting on the table.
The otherwise empty table.
Not even the pretense of plates to support his request for her. No food. no drinks. Not even a cup of water.
With a huff, Aegon dropped the basket at her feet. Jaehaera swallowed thickly as she took in the contents. The burnt remnants of her sheets. A few red spots were still visible through the ash.
"They presented me with those," Aegon told her, standing closer now. Only her bloody sheets between them. Her lashes fluttered as his jaw clicked, "The dragonkeepers found them this morning." His brow furrowed. "It is- they would like us to..."
"They want you to fuck me," Jaehaera whispered and her husband flinched back at her words. Her cracking voice. His hands fisted at his side. Jaehaera waited. Again. Her husband exhaled, nodding slowly.
"We are to consummate our union," Aegon informed her, voice quiet. Nearly a croak. He swallowed thickly, whole body stiff and still as he forced himself to continue, to finish. "As soon as possible."
Her chin rose up even as her bottom lip trembled. She looked to the bed behind him. The large canopy and the red silk hanging from it. Half-hidden behind the looping iron of the tall dividers that separated it from the rest of the room.
Vision blurring, Jaehaera gasped as something tickled at her cheeks. She trembled. Her hand reaching up to touch her face, she stared at damp fingertips as they rose from her skin.
Tears. Tears were streaming down her face. Jaehaera hiccupped. She was crying.
The court needn't wait for her anymore after all it seemed. They'd finished waiting. Her time was up. Their patience gone. She'd be expected to provide an heir now, to do her duty, as Baela and Rhaena had been. As they did.
At least they'd let her keep her name.
Jaehaera sucked in a breath and looked back at her husband. His wide eyes and slack jaw.
A dragon roared and his head snapped around, breath hitching. Morghul filled the air with his voice, with hers. Jaehaera shook as fire filled his mouth and bile hers. She collapsed to the floor, hands twisting in her skirts.
The last thing she saw were violet eyes. An inky purple, just like Morghul's flames. Like her brother's eyes.
Jaehaerys had been the one who liked green. But no one remembered that. There was no one left but her to do the remembering after all.