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The first thing Jacaerys Velaryon noticed about Oldtown was that everything smelled faintly of incense and moral judgment.
The second thing he noticed was that his punishment had well and truly begun.
When his mother, Rhaenyra, had declared that he was to accompany Princess Helaena to Oldtown on a “diplomatic visit,” he knew she was really saying: you embarrassed me at court again and now you’re going to suffer for it . He’d tried to argue that sneaking a lizard into Lord Beesbury’s chamber pot had been a harmless prank. She hadn’t agreed.
So here he was. In Oldtown. Chaperoning a princess he hardly knew, surrounded by three septons, a septa who scowled like she’d taken a vow of eternal displeasure, and enough guards to invade a modest kingdom.
Helaena Targaryen, for her part, was not what he expected.
She was quiet, yes. But not dull. There was a persistent gleam in her eye—the kind usually reserved for madwomen and people who named their cutlery. She spoke rarely during the day, often distracted by the light bouncing off polished tiles or a bird’s shadow on the courtyard flagstones.
They were bored. Hideously so. Every hour was prayer or polite conversation with stiff-backed ladies or long meals where the food was bland and the topics blander. Jacaerys had begun reciting dirty limericks in his head just to stay awake.
That night, determined to save himself from dying of boredom before his seventeenth name day, he dressed quietly in the dark. Loose tunic, traveling cloak, soft boots. He tucked a dagger into his belt — not because he expected trouble, but because it made him feel daring.
Jace had a plan.
He had bribed a squire with the last of his dried cherries for a sketch of the servants’ passage. He had timed the changing of the guards. He had wrapped his boots in cloth so they wouldn’t echo, and carefully untucked his doublet to look appropriately rumpled. He was sixteen, daring, and a prince of the realm—he could sneak out of a dusty tower if he wanted to.
He crept into the corridor, heart hammering in the exciting way that meant something was either about to go brilliantly or go very, very wrong.
He did not expect to bump into her . Quite bodily, in fact.
“Oof!”
A small figure yelped as they collided in the dim corridor. Something clattered to the ground—what looked suspiciously like a glass jar with holes in the lid.
Jace blinked in the gloom. “Helaena?”
She froze like a startled deer. Her silvery hair was wrapped up in what might have once been a scarf, now poorly disguised as a bandit’s hood. She wore gloves. Gloves. At night.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said flatly.
“…At this hour?” he asked.
She glanced toward the windows. “The beetles are more active at night.”
Jacaerys blinked. “Right.”
He started walking.
She followed.
When he turned to confront her, she looked entirely unrepentant.
“This is not appropriate for a lady,” he muttered. “You could get lost.”
“I’m following you .”
“That’s not helping your case.”
She tilted her head. “You’re sneaking out to drink.”
“…No, I’m—okay, yes, but—”
“Then it’s a win-win. You drink, I catch beetles. Everyone gets what they want.”
Jacaerys sighed heavily. “This is a bad idea.”
“I’ve had worse. I bribed a sleepy septon with lemon cake earlier”
He studied her face. She looked young, still, for all her strangeness. Just a teenage girl, probably just as bored as he was. Maybe lonelier. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fine. You can come. But you have to stick with me. No running off into alleys to chase bugs alone. The world’s a dangerous place for an unchaperoned princess.”
She considered this. “Will you still go drinking after?”
“I never said I was—”
“You’re carrying a coin pouch, your boots are muffled, and you combed your hair.” She raised a brow. “You’re either going to a clandestine tavern or a secret wedding.”
Jace opened his mouth, closed it, then glared at the wall. “…Fine. I might be going out for a drink.”
She smiled, victorious. “And I am going out for beetles. And I’ll pay.”
He blinked. “You’ll...pay?”
“I brought coin.”
“…What don’t you have in that satchel?”
“Beetles. Yet.”
He glanced at her again. She was dressed in what might have once passed for a maid’s cloak, though she’d pinned it all wrong and it kept slipping sideways. Her boots were barely laced. Her gloves looked like they’d been stolen from a gardener. And yet—there was something oddly fearless in the way she looked at him. Not rebellious. Just…determined.
She was a teenage girl, he reminded himself. Just like he was a teenage boy. Maybe she was that bored.
He sighed deeply. “Fine. You want beetles. I want ale. We go together. But you stick by me. I don’t want to explain to your mother why you were abducted by candle thieves or knocked over a spice cart.”
Her eyes lit up. “You’ll help me hunt?”
“Only if you promise to stay where I can see you.”
“That’s very chivalrous of you,” she said.
“I’m not doing it to be chivalrous. I’m doing it so I don’t get blamed when you start collecting night snakes instead.”
And just like that, Jacaerys Velaryon found himself beetle hunting with the strangest Targaryen in Oldtown.
The Oldtown night market came alive after sundown like a strange, glowing organism — all flickering lanterns, muttered prayers, and the chaotic scent of cinnamon, fish oil, and horse dung. Jacaerys wasn’t sure if it was charming or repugnant, but the contrast from the sterile halls of the Hightower was welcome. At least no one here was ringing bells and scolding him about posture.
They moved through the crowd like two children trying to impersonate adults. Jacaerys kept his hood low and his voice lower, steering Helaena away from anything that looked like a pickpocket or a puddle with teeth. She, in contrast, walked with her chin high and her eyes scanning every stall and alley for her precious bugs.
“There,” she whispered suddenly, grabbing his sleeve and pointing to a flicker of movement near a vendor’s crate of wilted herbs. “That’s a Lucanus cervus—a stag beetle! Look at its jaws, like antlers!”
Jace squinted. “That’s crawling over someone’s foot.”
“The boot adds scale.”
Before Jace could stop her, she crouched beside the booted man—a cobbler, judging by the tools in his belt—and scooped up the beetle with practiced precision. She popped it into a jar with a reverent grin.
“I shall call him Edric,” she whispered.
Jace gave the man an apologetic shrug. “She’s very passionate about beetles.”
The cobbler blinked. Helaena beamed.
For the next hour, they scoured the edges of the market, Helaena ducking between carts and under barrels. She had brought four jars, each one carefully padded with leaves. By the time they reached the edge of town, she had three more: Bertrand, Pie, and Leofric.
“Pie?”
“He’s round.”
“You need more friends.”
“You’re one to speak,” she replied, not unkindly.
They wove through the market for another hour, Helaena’s pace alternating between darting bursts of energy and abrupt halts when she spotted an intriguing shadow. She had three more jars in her satchel—all labeled with careful charcoal marks—and she treated each beetle she captured with reverent care, even whispering apologies as she coaxed them from leaf piles or vegetable carts.
Jacaerys found himself watching her more than he expected. She moved with the kind of singular focus he usually associated with sword training or dragonriding—and she looked so genuinely happy doing it.
Her fingers, he noticed, were surprisingly careful. She cradled each beetle like a tiny treasure, murmuring to them as if they understood. There was something delicate in her madness. Something… quiet.
Eventually, when she seemed satisfied with her haul and he could no longer feel his feet, he gently guided her toward a narrow alley that twisted behind a bookbinder’s shop. Tucked in the shadows was a tavern with no sign save for a wooden mug nailed above the doorway and the smell of something warm and spiced seeping into the street.
Inside, it was smoky and crowded, but the noise was a comfort. No one looked too hard at them—just two cloaked travelers seeking drink and warmth. Jacaerys found them a table tucked in a corner, away from the firelight, and waved down a serving girl with an easy smile and a single silver stag.
As Helaena pulled off her gloves, Jace noticed her fingers were smudged with dirt and beetle juice. Before she could reach for the mug, he reached into his cloak, pulled out a clean kerchief, and gently took her hand.
“Let me,” he said.
Her skin was cool, her knuckles still smudged with dirt and beetle juice. She stiffened for a moment—not in fear, just in surprise.
Helaena blinked at him, then turned her face away, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. She didn’t pull away—just looked down at their hands, her smile flickering like a candle.
Jacaerys said nothing. He just folded the cloth and tucked it back into his cloak.
They drank slowly, first in silence, then with growing ease. Helaena sipped with curiosity, lips pursed as she considered the ale’s flavor, then promptly drank the rest in two gulps. Jacaerys snorted into his own mug and passed her another.
“Don’t get used to this,” he warned. “Royalty drinking with commoners. It might damage our reputations.”
“I once ate a cricket in the septa’s robe closet,” Helaena replied, utterly serious. “My reputation has nowhere to go but up.”
Jacaerys nearly choked on his ale.
The tavern filled with music, sharp and bright from a fiddler near the hearth, mixing with the scent of spilled ale and something vaguely floral. People pushed tables back to clear space. Laughter rose like steam. Someone began to clap. A few sailors twirled their partners, stomping in time with heavy boots and flushed cheeks.
Helaena nudged him. “Come on.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You fly dragons.”
“That doesn’t require rhythm.”
“You’re just afraid I’ll be better at it.”
“I’m certain you’ll be better at it.”
“Then come humbly.”
He let her drag him into the whirl of bodies, and for a while, they were no longer prince and princess but two teens laughing in circles, stumbling over feet, and trying to remember which direction meant left. Helaena danced like someone who didn’t care who was watching—joyful, clumsy, unselfconscious. Jacaerys danced like someone who cared very much but forgot how to be embarrassed halfway through.
They left the tavern well past midnight, and stumbles back to the Hightower castle, arms bumping as they walked, breath still laced with ale and laughter. The streets were empty. Even the temples were quiet.
“I’m giving you one,” she said, pulling out a jar with great ceremony. “For your protection.”
Jacaerys peered at the beetle inside. “He looks… ominous.”
“His name is Tobias. He’ll guard you.”
“I shall guard him in return.”
And he did. He placed Tobias carefully on his windowsill. Over the next few days, they made a habit of it. Sneaking out became a routine—first for beetles, then for pastries, then just because they could.
One night, after far too much ale and a failed attempt at trading a copper ring for a second pitcher, they ended up stargazing on a grassy hill outside the city. The stars pulsed in and out of focus as they lay side by side, breath misting into the night.
After a long silence, Helaena spoke. “Do you ever get tired of being an heir?”
“All the time. Being perfect isn’t a gift.” he said, without hesitation.
She glanced at him. “I always imagined it would feel like flying.”
“Sometimes it does. Sometimes it feels like falling and everyone’s watching to see if you land on your feet or on your face.”
They were quiet again. Then she said, softly, “They plan on marrying me off soon. I heard them talking about it. Probably some bald lord with lands and a name and a fondness for horses.”
He turned his head. “You deserve more than that.”
She smiled faintly. “I don’t think I’m meant for more.”
“Then the world’s stupider than I thought.”
The silence between them stretched, no longer awkward—just thoughtful. The kind of silence that says I see you and waits patiently for the other to speak.
When they finally rose to go, Jacaerys stood first and offer.ed his hand. She took it, and for a moment, all seemed well.
But he misjudged the pull, and she was still unsteady on her feet—and the next thing they knew, they were tumbling back into the grass, a tangle of limbs and laughter.
Helaena landed squarely on top of him.
The laughter died instantly.
Her hands braced against his chest. His breath caught. Her face was inches from his, silver hair spilling across his cheeks. Their eyes met—wide, uncertain, full of something neither of them had dared name. Not until now.
A heartbeat. Then another.
And then, without thinking, they kissed.
It was awkward, unexpected, a little clumsy from ale and nerves—but soft. Warm. Real.
…They broke apart with a jolt, both blinking like startled birds. Jacaerys stared at her lips a second too long.
“That was—” Jacaerys started.
“---Probably the ale,” Helaena finished, breathless.
“Right. Definitely.”
They scrambled to their feet and made their way back in near silence, cheeks hot, hearts louder than their footsteps.
But the silence shattered the moment they saw the torches.
The Hightower courtyard was swarming—Kingsguard in full gear, shouting orders. Alicent was near tears. Ser Harwin was pacing like a caged bear. And in the center, glowering from her palanquin, was Rhaenyra. Beside her, Daemon’s face was unreadable.
King Viserys sat in his chair, not frail, but very awake, eyebrows arched in calm fury.
Jacaerys and Helaena halted just inside the torchlight, grass-stained, flushed, breathless, and clearly drunk.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Daemon said, very softly, “Well. I see diplomacy is thriving.”
The room was uncomfortably warm despite the hour. A fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the carved stone walls of the Hightower’s private solar, where several of the realm’s most powerful people now sat—or stood—unamused.
Queen Alicent was perched rigidly on the edge of a high-backed chair, her hands clenched in her lap, jaw tight. King Viserys sat beside her in his wheeled chair, one brow raised, fingers tented in royal patience. On the opposite side, Rhaenyra stood by the window, arms folded, still dressed in her travel cloak, her expression unreadable. Daemon leaned against the wall, half in shadow, his arms crossed and his smirk just barely held at bay.
Helaena stood just behind Jacaerys, her hands clutching her satchel tightly against her chest. The two teens were grass-stained, slightly damp, and obviously hungover. The silence in the room was so thick, it might have been considered a form of royal torture.
Alicent was the first to speak.
“I trusted you,” she said, voice trembling with a mother’s fury, “both of you. Helaena, you vanished without a word. No guards, no septa. You could have been harmed—or worse. And you, Prince Jacaerys—what were you thinking ? Do you think this is some kind of game?”
Rhaenyra stepped forward at that, though her voice was softer. “They’re safe, thank the gods. But yes, you could have been hurt. Oldtown is not a playground for royal children to roam at night.”
Helaena looked down at her boots. “I’m sorry, Mother. I only wanted—”
“I take full responsibility,” Jacaerys interrupted, stepping forward quickly. “It was my idea. I let her come. If there’s punishment to be given, it should fall on me. Helaena shouldn’t suffer because of my foolishness.”
Helaena blinked, then frowned and shook her head. “That’s not true. I insisted he bring me. I brought extra jars and everything. I bribed the sleepy septon, remember?”
And just like that, the satchel in her arms slipped, one of the beetle jars tumbling out and rolling to a stop in the center of the floor with a faint clink. Inside, the second Tobias the beetle clawed gently at the glass.
Alicent’s mouth parted in horror. “You snuck out to collect bugs ?”
“Tobias is very rare,” Helaena said defensively.
A silence settled again, now layered with disbelief.
“How long has this… nonsense been going on?” Alicent demanded, her voice tight.
Neither Jacaerys nor Helaena answered.
They looked at each other briefly. The answer, in truth, was hard to count—somewhere between one late night and a dozen; between one dance and a kiss. The silence gave them away.
“That long,” Alicent muttered.
Viserys sighed, the sort of sigh reserved for children, chaos, and fond irritation. He lifted a hand before his wife could speak again.
“I recall sneaking from the Red Keep to attend a puppet show near the Dragonpit when I was their age,” the King said mildly. “Drunken and wearing my valet’s cloak. I was caught, of course, and my mother was apoplectic.”
He turned his gaze to the two guilty figures before him.
“You are not the first royals to chase a bit of foolishness. And you won’t be the last.”
Relief flickered briefly across Helaena’s face. Jacaerys stayed quiet, still on edge.
Viserys’ tone sharpened. “But you will face consequences. Not because of your curiosity. But because you endangered yourselves, disrespected your responsibilities, and—” he paused, giving them a pointed look “— embarrassed the Crown.”
Both of them nodded in unison.
“You are dismissed. For now. But do not think this is the end of the matter.”
They bowed and backed out of the chamber quickly, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud. They walked in silence down the hallway, the hush of early morning making their footsteps echo.
For several moments, nothing passed between them. Then, all at once—
Helaena burst into laughter.
It was sudden and breathless, as if a dam had broken, and she could no longer hold in the absurdity of the entire night. Jacaerys tried to hold his composure for all of five seconds before he joined her, stumbling slightly as he laughed too hard.
“Oh gods,” he said, wiping his eyes, “Tobias really did roll right into the middle of the floor.”
“And you tried to martyr yourself like some tragic knight!” she wheezed. “And I bribed a septon!”
They leaned against the cold stone wall, catching their breath in between bursts of laughter.
After a moment, Helaena’s smile softened.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not letting me go alone. For dancing with me. For beetle-hunting.”
Jacaerys looked at her and gave a crooked smile. “Thank you. You made Oldtown bearable. Even with the boiled carrots.”
They parted at the hall, with a soft goodnight and a shared, secret look neither of them knew what to do with.
The next morning dawned far too early.
The breakfast hall was unusually quiet when Jacaerys entered. The roasted fruits and spiced breads sat untouched. The nobles present wore identical expressions: tight, grim, and mildly scandalized. At the center sat Queen Alicent, Viserys beside her. Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated opposite, unreadable. Helaena sat beside her mother, pale and quiet, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate.
Jacaerys straightened his tunic and approached the table. Before he could reach for a slice of bread, Rhaenyra spoke.
“What were you thinking, Jacaerys?”
“I—”
But Daemon cut in, voice cool and edged with amusement. “It seems someone saw you last night. Or rather, saw the two of you. Together. In a rather… intimate moment.”
“You kissed her?” Alicent’s voice was strangled. “Have you no shame?”
“Mother!” Helaena snapped before anyone else could speak.“It wasn’t—I wasn’t forced. I wanted to. And I would rather kiss Jacaerys than be shipped off to some lord I’ve never met, as you’ve been whispering about behind closed doors.”
Alicent looked stunned. Helaena, suddenly aware of her own volume, shrank slightly in her seat.
But it was King Viserys who leaned forward, raising a calming hand.
“That was never the plan,” he said. “You two were always meant to be engaged.”
The silence that followed was complete. Jacaerys blinked twice. Helaena dropped her spoon. Even Daemon looked surprised for the first time all morning.
“We were what? ” they said at the same time.
Viserys nodded, calm and clear. “It was decided when you were children. A union between the Queen’s daughter and the Princess’s son. To mend the realm. The betrothal was merely delayed until the timing was… favorable.”
A silence settled over the table, broken only by the clink of a spoon dropping to a plate.
“Well,” Jacaerys said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That certainly explains a few things.”
Helaena, still flushed, bit back a smile.
And across the table, Daemon murmured into his goblet, “Told you diplomacy was thriving.”
In the years that followed, the tale of their scandalous night in Oldtown faded into something like legend — whispered in court halls, embroidered in bard songs, and occasionally exaggerated into involving a bar brawl and twelve stolen goats.
The truth was far stranger. And far sweeter.
Not long after that morning in the Hightower’s breakfast hall, their engagement was made public. There was some polite protest from old lords who still remembered ancient feuds, but the people welcomed it with surprising ease. Two Targaryens, one crown. A union that promised peace—not just for banners, but for bloodlines.
Their wedding was held beneath the Red Keep’s great dome, with the dragons of Dragonstone circling above like burning stars. Helaena wore silver and blue, her veil patterned like wings, and Jacaerys looked at her as if nothing else in the world had ever made sense. In a quiet moment before the ceremony, she slipped a small beetle-shaped brooch into his hand.
“Tobias says he approves,” she whispered.
Years passed. Peace, impossibly, held.
Jacaerys ruled not with fire and fury — but with patience, justice, and a wicked sense of humor that often left lords speechless and Helaena laughing behind a fan. The dragons kept their wings folded. The realm breathed again.
They had children three, bright-eyed and silver-haired, each one named for those lost and those reborn. On calm evenings, Jacaerys would walk the gardens with his eldest strapped to his chest, and Helaena would chase beetles with the youngest squealing at her heels. The court called them strange. The people called them kind.
And when the Iron Throne finally passed into Jacaerys’ hands, the realm did not erupt in war.
It settled into quiet.
But then—
Helaena awoke.
She blinked against the warm haze of candlelight, her head resting against a tower window in Oldtown. The hum of insects drifted through the shutters. Somewhere far below, a bell tolled the hour.
She sat up slowly, the dream still clinging to her like silken thread.
It had been so vivid—the wedding, the children, the Iron Throne beneath their feet, the beetle brooch in Jacaerys’ palm. She remembered feeling it. The warmth of his hand. The weight of peace.
But already, it began to slip. Names blurred. Faces softened. Some moments remained, luminous and sharp. Others faded like mist.
Her gaze fell to her side.
There was her satchel, propped neatly beside the wall. Her gloves tucked inside. Three empty jars padded with leaves. Her cloak had been readied—pinned askew, as always.
She stood slowly, heart still tangled in something she could not explain.
Drawn by something deeper than reason, she slipped into the hallway, silent as breath. The corridors were dark, but not unfriendly. And at the end of one—just at the curve near the stair—she saw him.
A tall, cloaked figure moving with the half-guilty steps of someone about to do something they knew they shouldn’t.
Jacaerys.
As if pulled by gravity, she followed.
He turned at the sound of her steps, startled. They bumped into one another.
“Helaena?”
She stared at him, her heart pounding—not with fear, but with something like knowing .
And in that moment, with the taste of prophecy still lingering on her tongue, Helaena smiled.
She didn’t remember everything.
But she remembered enough .
And this time, she was ready to see if the dream would come true.