Chapter Text
The silence in the chambers of King Viserys I Targaryen was dense, broken only by the asthmatic wheeze of his own breathing and the languid crackle of the logs in the fireplace. The Red Keep, that colossal stone edifice he himself had ruled with a benevolent (and sometimes too soft) hand, seemed a world away from that heavy, canopied bed, which smelled of maester's ointments, milk of the poppy, and the stale aroma of flesh slowly surrendering to time and sickness.
Viserys lay among silk cushions that no longer felt comfortable. His body, once robust and given to feasts, was now a gaunt silhouette. The leprosy, or the rot, that consumed him—the maesters changed their diagnosis by the day—had taken a terrible toll: he was missing fingers, the skin of his face was a map of sores half-covered by a gleaming golden mask that rested on the bedside table, and every movement demanded an iron will that the old king no longer possessed.
A royal messenger, sent directly from the mists and cliffs of Dragonstone, had just knelt beside his bed.
"Your Grace," announced the Grand Maester, breaking the silence with a solemnity bordering on reverence. "A raven from Dragonstone. Your grandson, Prince Jacaerys, and his wife, Princess Baela, send you their most loyal greetings..."
Viserys, his eyes clouded by fever, raised a trembling hand, missing two of its main fingers.
"Read it, Orwyle... read it," whispered the king, his voice a hoarse shadow of what it once was.
The maester broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, clearing his throat.
"'To our beloved grandfather, King Viserys, the First of His Name. It is with hearts brimming with pride and joy that we share with you the designs of the gods. Princess Baela carries in her womb the promise of our blood. Dragonstone awaits an heir, a new sprout from the great tree of House Targaryen. Your first great-grandchild through the line of the heir to the Iron Throne.'"
A long, deep, tremulous sigh escaped the king's lips. For a moment, the sharp pain in his left side vanished. A smile, a true smile not seen on his face for moons, stretched his cracked lips.
"A boy... or a girl," murmured Viserys, gazing at the canopy ceiling, as if he could see the future carved into the wood. "What a wonder, once more. The blood united. Jace and Baela. The future is secure."
The king closed his one remaining healthy eye, allowing a tear of pure gratitude to roll down his cheek. Amidst the court intrigues, the factions already taking shape in the shadows of the Red Keep—the "blacks" and the "greens"—this news was a divine balm. His eldest grandson, the youth who would one day sit the Iron Throne after Rhaenyra, was securing the succession. The pact of fire and blood continued.
Two weeks after the happy news reached the monarch's ears, movement in the lower courtyards of the Red Keep announced the arrival of a high-born contingent. Dark cloaks and banners bearing the quartered dragon with the seahorse of Velaryon waved under the grey sky of King's Landing.
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, dismounted his horse with the natural grace of a knight and the seriousness of a ruler in the making. His face, which recalled both the strength of youth and the heavy responsibilities already resting on his shoulders, reflected a mix of anticipation and deep concern.
He had traveled in haste from Dragonstone, but he came alone.
Jace crossed the fortress's hallways, ignoring the icy stares and whispers of the courtiers aligned with Queen Alicent. He cared little for palace intrigues today; his only goal was the royal wing, the chambers of the man who represented the anchor of his legitimacy and the familial love he so missed.
Upon reaching the heavy oak doors of the king's quarters, the Kingsguard immediately made way for him. Lord Commander Ser Harrold Westerling gave him a bow full of respect.
"The king awaits you, Prince Jacaerys. He has been counting the days."
Jace nodded, took a deep breath to prepare himself for the impact of seeing his grandfather's deterioration, and pushed the door open.
The smell of incense and medicinal herbs hit him immediately. At the far end of the room, Viserys's immense bed seemed to swallow the old king. However, upon hearing Jace's firm bootsteps, the monarch's head slowly turned.
"Jace?... Is that you, my boy?" Viserys's voice sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
"Yes, Grandfather. It's me," said Jace, quickening his pace.
Viserys looked at him, and for an instant, the fog of milk of the poppy seemed to completely clear from his eyes. He looked at his grandson: his broad shoulders, his firm jaw, the determined and intelligent gaze so characteristic of him.
"Look at you..." said Viserys, his chest swelling with emotion. "You've become a real man, Jacaerys. A true prince. But... tell me, where is Baela? I hoped to see my beautiful granddaughter, the future mother of my great-grandchild."
Jace smiled softly, though a shadow of concern crossed his eyes.
"She asks for your forgiveness, Grandfather. She wished with all her heart to come see you and receive your blessing in person. But the maesters of Dragonstone have been very strict. She is a little unwell... the pregnancy is taking its toll, and the journey by ship or dragonback was a risk we couldn't take."
Viserys nodded repeatedly, squeezing Jace's hand with what little strength he had left.
"You did well, you did well... A man's duty is to protect his wife and the fruit of her womb. Dragonstone is a harsh place, but safe. Let her rest. The gods know the blood of Daemon running through her veins makes her stubborn, but this is a time for prudence."
Viserys made a supreme effort and, with Jace's help, managed to sit up a little more against the cushions. He refused to put on his golden mask; before his grandson, before his heir, he didn't want to hide the marks of his mortality. He wanted to be transparent, he wanted Jace to see the man who would bequeath him the greatest empire in the known world.
"You cannot know the pride that fills this old, battered heart, Jace," Viserys began, with an intensity that surprised the prince himself. "When I look at you and your brothers, I see the triumph of my house. I see that the sacrifices, the disputes, and the pain I have endured to keep the peace in the realm have not been in vain."
The king raised his gaze to the great model of Valyria that occupied the center of the room, now covered in dust, but still the symbol of his longing.
"Many in this court speak in whispers, Jace. They think I am blind, they think I am a decrepit old man who doesn't hear the murmurs in the corners," said Viserys, and for the first time in a long while, his voice regained the regal tone of the monarch who sat the Iron Throne. "But I know who you are. You are Rhaenyra's son, my firstborn, the light of my life. You are the Prince of Dragonstone."
Jace felt a lump in his throat. His grandfather's words were the ultimate shield against all the infamies and insults his uncles, especially Aemond and Aegon, often cast in the shadows about his lineage.
"Grandfather, I only hope to live up to your legacy," Jace replied humbly. "My mother teaches me every day what it means to rule, and I hope to pass that same wisdom to the son Baela and I will bring into the world."
"You will, Jace," Viserys insisted, and a tear of legitimate pride shone in his eye. "A good king is measured not only by the sword, but by his ability to ensure the kingdom remains united when he is gone. You and Baela... have united the two halves of our family. The blood of the Red Keep and the blood of Driftmark, fire and sea. Your child will be born with the indisputable right to sit that throne of swords."
Viserys extended his hand towards the bedside table and indicated for Jace to hand him a small box of carved wood. Jace took it and placed it on the bed covers. With clumsy fingers, the king opened the lid to reveal a beautiful gold ring, topped by a ruby carved in the shape of a dragon's egg, a relic that belonged to the very Jaehaerys the Conciliator.
"Take this to Baela," ordered the king, pushing the box towards his grandson. "It is for the child."
Jace took the ring, marveling at its brilliance and the historical weight it carried. He looked at his grandfather, seeing beyond the illness and withered flesh. He saw a man who, despite his mistakes and the storms gathering on the horizon, loved his family above all else.
"I will give it to her, my king. I promise you your great-grandchild will know your name and your kindness before learning to walk," said Jace, deeply moved, sealing the oath with a kiss on the old monarch's forehead.
Viserys lay back down, visibly exhausted by the effort, but with a peace he hadn't felt in years. The future was uncertain, and the shadows over Westeros were dense, but in that moment, in that room, the old king knew his heir grandson was ready to bear the crown. The lineage was safe.
---
The east wind blew with icy fury over the Narrow Sea, beating Vermax's wings as the great green dragon descended through the dense storm clouds that perpetually crowned the island of Dragonstone. Jacaerys Velaryon clung to the saddle straps, his face covered by a thin layer of sea salt and frost.
When Vermax roared, announcing his arrival to the island's garrisons, Jace felt the first relief in weeks. The dragon landed on the volcanic stone courtyards with a dull thud, shaking his olive scales and exhaling a puff of thick smoke that quickly dissipated into the damp air. Dragonkeepers ran to secure the beast, but Jace had already unbuckled his harnesses. He dismounted with a jump, his boots ringing firm against the black rock floor.
His body was numb from the high-altitude cold, and his garments reeked of old leather, his mount's sweat, sulfur, and the characteristic smoke of the Red Keep's dragonpits. It was a strong smell.
*"The princess is entering a stage of great sensitivity, my prince. The aromas of the outside world can upset her stomach in an instant."*
Baela was in her second trimester. The secret they had guarded so carefully, protecting themselves from the pain and false hopes an early miscarriage could cause in a family already surrounded by political tension, was finally manifesting undeniably. Her belly was now swollen, a perfect, firm curve housing the future of their line. Now that the danger of the first months was behind them, the reality of their parenthood enveloped them completely, but with it came a vulnerability Jace was determined to protect with his own life.
Without hesitation, he diverted his steps to the private baths on the lower levels of their chambers. He shed his heavy traveling cloak, the thick leather riding tunic, and his mud-and-salt-caked boots. He submerged himself in a tub of hot water the servants hastily prepared, scrubbing his skin carefully with mild lavender soaps and essential oils to erase any trace of Vermax and the stale air of King's Landing. He didn't want his first contact with his wife to be an assault on her senses.
He took his time. He let the hot water relax the tense muscles of his shoulders, cramped from the rigidity of holding the reins and the emotional strain of seeing his grandfather deteriorating. As he washed his hair, the image of Viserys prostrate on that foul bed returned to his mind again and again. The contrast between the life budding in Baela's womb and the death consuming the king was almost poetic, but heartbreaking.
When he emerged from the bath, he dressed in a clean, soft linen tunic, in the deep blue and grey colors of their house, comfortable and free of rigid seams. Before crossing the door connecting to the main bedroom, his eyes fell on the small bedside table in the antechamber. There, inside its carved wooden case, rested the object his grandfather had entrusted to him.
Jace opened the box with utmost care. The ruby, carved in the shape of a dragon's egg from King Jaehaerys the Conciliator's ring, gleamed under the torchlight with an almost living crimson brilliance. It was a piece of unparalleled craftsmanship, a piece of Westeros's pure history, the symbol of the Targaryen golden age. He took it between his fingers, feeling the cold of the precious metal, and gently placed it on the table's surface, right next to a silver goblet, to have it at hand.
He took a deep breath, ensuring one last time that he only smelled clean, and pushed the heavy wooden door to his wife's bedroom.
The room was immersed in a cozy gloom. The dark red velvet curtains were partially drawn, letting in the dying light of the Dragonstone afternoon, while a constant, controlled fire crackled in the black stone fireplace carved with rampant dragon shapes.
In the center of the chamber, on the immense oak canopied bed, lay Baela. She was reclining on her side, propped up on a mountain of silk cushions. She wore a loose ivory-colored shift that didn't manage to hide, nor intended to, the prominent roundness of her belly. One of her hands rested on the curve of her stomach, an instinctive gesture of protection that Jace found absolutely beautiful every time he witnessed it. Her short, bright silver hair, identical to her father Daemon's, framed her face, which looked a little paler and more tired than usual, but lit up instantly upon seeing the door open.
"Jace," she said, her voice a mixture of relief and a warmth that melted the last layer of ice the prince carried in his soul.
Jace approached the bed with silent steps. He sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, being careful not to shake the frame to avoid disturbing her. He leaned towards her and greeted her with a tender kiss on the lips, a long kiss that conveyed all the longing and the need to return home that he had accumulated. Baela returned the kiss, running a hand along the back of her husband's neck, tangling her fingers in Jace's dark curls.
When they parted, Jace kept his face just inches from hers, scanning her features.
"How are you, Baela?" he asked softly, his hand immediately seeking hers to interlace their fingers. "How has he/she behaved in my absence?"
Baela let out a small laugh, a soft sound that dispelled some of the room's solemnity.
"I should be asking you that, my prince," she replied, settling a little better against the cushions, not taking her almond-shaped eyes off his. "You're the one who had to fly into the lion's mouth in King's Landing and deal with the court. Here it's just been the baby and me, growing."
However, Baela's laughter slowly faded as she scrutinized her husband's features. Jace tried to smile, but his eyes betrayed a deep exhaustion, a shadow of sadness and gravity that couldn't be hidden from someone who knew him as well as she did. His jawline was rigid, and there was a slight tension at the corner of his lips.
Baela gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and her tone changed to one of absolute seriousness and concern.
"Jace..." she murmured, looking at him intently. "Did something happen? Your face... it's not the face of someone coming from a simple visit. Tell me what happened."
Jace sighed. He shifted a little higher on the bed, moving closer to her so the distance between them was minimal.
"Grandfather... sends you a gift," Jace said, trying to lighten the weight of the atmosphere before delving into the darker details.
He reached for the adjacent bedside table, took the wooden box he had left there moments ago, and held it in front of Baela. With a slow movement of his thumb, he lifted the lid of the carved wood.
The ring's ruby immediately caught the reflection of the fireplace flames, flashing like a burning ember in the dimness.
Baela sat up noticeably in bed, bracing her hands on the mattress to lift herself. Her eyes opened wide, fixed on the jewel resting inside the black velvet of the box. Color seemed to drain from her cheeks for a second, not from fear, but from pure astonishment. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised it, barely brushing the contour of the polished gold, not daring to take it out of the case.
"What...?" Baela whispered, her voice choked with surprise. "Jace... is it what I think it is?"
Jace genuinely smiled for the first time since entering the room, enjoying his wife's genuine reaction.
"It is," he confirmed, nodding his head. "King Jaehaerys's ring. The Conciliator wore it for decades, and Grandfather has kept it as one of his most sacred treasures. He sends it to you... or at least, he wants you to keep it safe until the baby is born. He said it's his blessing for his first great-grandchild through the heir's line."
Baela remained astounded, looking at the historical jewel as if it were a myth made real before her eyes. The ruby was the size of a knuckle, cut with a precision few artisans in the known world could replicate today. The gold surrounding it was engraved with ancient Valyrian runes speaking of the persistence of fire.
"I didn't think they still kept it," Baela admitted, her voice full of reverent awe. She extended her fingers and finally took the ring out of its case, holding it against the torchlight. "Gods, Jace... it's beautiful. That King Viserys would part with it... that he decided to give it to you for us..."
Baela pulled her gaze away from the ring and fixed it on Jace. The joy of the gift instantly transformed into shared gravity.
"Is it so bad, Jace?" she asked in a whisper, carefully placing the ring on the sheet beside her swollen belly. "Tell me. How did you find the king?"
Jace let out the air he seemed to have been holding in his lungs since dismounting from Vermax. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes with frustration and sadness, before taking Baela's hands in his again.
"He's dying, Baela," Jace said, with a rawness that hurt his throat. "There's no other way to say it. The maesters try to hide it with soft words and ever-increasing doses of milk of the poppy, but the man I saw in that bed... is a shadow of himself. The sickness is consuming him completely. He's missing fingers, his skin is broken, and he barely has the strength to stay upright for a few minutes without the pain debilitating him."
Baela listened in silence, clenching her teeth. Although her own line's relationship with Viserys (through Daemon) had seen years of distance and tension, the king was still her uncle, and the man who had kept the realm in a precarious but lasting peace.
"When I entered his chambers, the smell was almost unbearable," Jace continued, his voice muted. "But what hurt me most was seeing his lucidity. But when he clears... I knew he also knows his time has run out. He knows these are his last moons."
Jace paused, swallowing to dissolve the knot threatening to break his princely voice. "He lamented greatly that you couldn't come. I explained you were unwell because of the pregnancy, that the maesters had forbidden the journey, and he understood perfectly. He was so happy... seeing his face light up when we talked about the baby was the only moment of true peace I witnessed in that damn fortress."
Baela guided Jace's hand towards her swollen belly, leading it to rest on the warmth of her stomach. Jace felt the firmness of the curve, the life pulsing strongly beneath his fingers, a brutal contrast to the image of death he had just described.
"He is afraid, Jace," Baela said softly, analyzing the situation with her characteristic sharpness. "He doesn't fear death itself, but what will come after. We all know what the Hightowers are doing in King's Landing... they are taking positions. Despite all the queen's poison, his will hasn't changed. Your mother is still his heir, and you are next."
"I know," Jace nodded. "They are waiting..."
"We are not alone, Jace. And now... we have the duty to ensure this child is born into a world where his father and grandmother sit in their rightful place."
"I'm so glad to be home," Jace murmured, closing his eyes.
Baela smiled tenderly, relaxing the tension in her body. She ran her fingers along Jace's cheek, tracing his jawline.
"I'm glad you're here," she reminded him gently.