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Chapter Text

He was dreaming about a train and a plane. He was tired of sailboats and riding horses. They were too slow.

"Are you drinking again?" The sound of his mother's voice gave him a headache.

Jaehaerys looked around in a daze. Rhaella Targaryen watched him with compassion. She didn't seem to appreciate his condition, but she understood his feelings. But she misunderstood him; his alcoholism wasn't due to recent events.

Alcohol was an old friend. It was a necessary one if he wanted to stay sane.

"I've been challenged to a duel. You know who: Daemon," he whispered, referring to his nephew. The son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. "A duel to the death. I want to give him the advantage," he said, stumbling to his feet. He ignored his mother's horrified expression.

He was obviously lying; he had no intention of dying. Nor did he plan to lose. His plans were as steady as the hand offering him support.

Slap!

His mother's hand colored his cheek red.

"I will not see my blood spilled over a stupid dispute," she said fiercely. She paused and thought. "You're going to fight a duel. By now, the lords must be arguing about it. You can't cancel it. I'll talk to Daemon and tell him you'll win. You'll spare his life," she said, gathering her skirts as she walked out of the room.

"He won't accept. He wants a duel to the death to prevent His Highness from arranging another marriage for Daenerys. If I die, he'll marry her. If he dies, he won't live with the shame of seeing the woman he loves warming my bed." His mother stopped her steps and looked at him in pain.

"Daenerys will be your wife. You will not call her a bed warmer as if she were a common whore," she finally said, educating him. "I will find a way to convince Daemon. I will call some maids to prepare you. There will be a welcome banquet for you, followed by a tournament, as you may have noticed. You have been away from the capital for a long time." She tenderly took his cheek. It was the same cheek he had slapped, and regret filled her violet eyes. "Your sister will be an incredible wife. She is an educated and beautiful girl."

"She's in love with another man," he replied bitterly. Even if he didn't want to cancel the wedding, it still hurt his pride to think of his future wife in love with someone else.

"A youthful love that will pass."

"It's not just a youthful love, and you know it. They grew up here together, while I grew up in the cold north. I'm a stranger who came to break up everything they had."

Rhaella turned away. Deep down, she knew Jaehaerys was a better match for her than Daemon, and she agreed with the marriage.

She couldn't understand her eldest son's reasoning. She knew he wasn't stupid and that there must be a hidden motive. Rhaegar feared that there would one day be a fight for the throne. Therefore, the best option would be to marry Daemon and Daenerys. That way, he would have no allies.

There was also Viserys, who, according to the king, had his eyes on the Iron Throne. Rhaella hoped she would never see her family's blood spilled over a piece of iron. But every day, Viserys looked more anxious.

Rhaegar chose Jaehaerys. He didn't say why, only that it was a good idea. Her younger son was the most peaceful and the last one she would see usurping a throne. She didn't question him because, deep down, she was happy with the outcome.

"She will fulfill her duty," she finally said. She knew the two would find respect, if not love, as husband and wife. "I wasn't in love with your father back then. My heart belonged to another man. I fulfilled my duty."

'Of all the examples, you chose the worst,' thought the prince.

"I don't want Daenerys to suffer as you did with Aerys," he said in an extremely soft voice. He did not refer to the old king as his father because he did not deserve such a title.

"You are not Aerys," she whispered, her voice nearly lost among the birdsong. "You will take care of her, promise?"

"Of course I will," he began, but his mother's eyes stopped him. "First, I will win the duel. You don't need to talk to him. I will win fairly."

"Jaehaerys. You don't understand. Daemon is a monster with a sword. You were raised among books, not swords." From the moment he set foot outside King's Landing, Rhaella had Varys watch over her son.

"The prince only set foot on the training grounds once. No one has ever seen him with a sword in his hand. He prefers ink and books over... anything else," the eunuch told her in one of his many reports.

Jaehaerys looked at her with a gentle smile. He seemed unconcerned by her words.

"I will spare his life. You need not worry." He had seen him fight. He was good, but not better than him. "People will gossip if the Queen Mother appears distressed during her son's welcome banquet." He dismissed her quickly.

"Jae—"

"Your Grace, we are here as you ordered." Two maids entered, waiting for orders. Rhaella simply looked at him. Her stubborn son began to undress. He was unmoved by any reaction from the maids.

"Clean him up and dress him. I have matters to attend to." She left in search of her only daughter. The daughter she loved most.

The maids prepared hot water, almost boiling it. They had to be careful not to get wet while scrubbing the prince's body. They looked at each other with knowing smiles as they took their time enjoying the sensation. The prince's body was muscular—something they would not expect from a scholar.

The prince's mind was not on the two maids in his room. He was living his life in this world. He had had a life before, a boring one filled with books. He had been a student. A failure. He had a basic knowledge of many subjects but never delved too deeply into any of them. He knew about chemistry, physics, and engineering, but he could not call himself a master of any of those disciplines.

He could recite books from his past life from memory, but his mind seemed to slow down when he tried to remember everyday things. It was almost as if he didn't need to know about it.

'Daemon,' he thought.

Everything in this world seemed familiar to him, yet it didn't. It was as if a cloud had been placed over all his memories.

'Wolves, deer, lions, dragons,' he thought. All the pieces were there, but they didn't fit together.

It felt like a simulation, and he was on the verge of entering and exiting the Matrix. He lived with a constant headache. The only way he could ease the pain was by numbing his brain. It was a torturous childhood. Only when he grew up was he able to drown it in alcohol. He had tried poppy milk, but he stopped because he was afraid of becoming addicted.

His life in this world was princely. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. In his early months, he heard whispers of war. Apparently, his older brother wasn't the brightest. Taking a second wife was a stupid idea. He would have understood if there had been dragons flying around, but not like that.

Taking her without the consent of her Lord Father, the guardian of the North, was even stupider.

Honestly, the Targaryens are only still on the throne thanks to Tywin Lannister.

It was a debt he didn't like to owe. He had interacted with the lion a few times; it was in Essos, and they were both using other hands. The old lion tried to stick his hands in Jaehaerys' business.

Rhaegar did everything he could to keep the kingdom together, and one of his actions directly affected Jaehaerys.

On his eighth name day, he traveled north to be raised. He didn't have the chance to say goodbye to his grandmother or his niece, Rhaenys, who was his age. A servant informed him of the trip, and a knight of the guard and a small group escorted him north.

Eddard Stark was a cold and direct man.

He was never rude, but rather, he was courteous in all his interactions. He taught him enough, but they never formed a true bond. The man despised him and his family.

This is why he felt no remorse when he stole his daughter's virginity.

"Sansa," he whispered with a hint of nostalgia.

The girl must be devastated by his impending marriage. For a long time, she believed they would marry. Jaehaerys liked the idea. She was kind and dreamy, beautiful and delicate like a flower. He could see that she truly loved him. Unlike the ladies from his childhood in the red fortress, she wasn't cunning. She would never betray him.

She would never love another man.

At first, she was bland and a bit boring, but she became quite talkative when he was inside her. Over time, she loosened up a bit. She liked to ride horses and talk about tournaments and legendary knights. She was naive. It was in her innocence that he found such pure love.

'Maybe I shouldn't have done that,' he thought. The girl was genuine, and at the beginning, he wanted to do something to go against her father. It was after that that he began to like her. 'Will Rhaegar call off the wedding with Daenerys if we talk?' He doubted it. Besides, he wasn't sure if he would give him the castle he promised if he did. Still, he would prefer not to have problems with a swordsman known throughout the continent as Barristan the Bold equal.

"What can you say about Daemon?" he asked the two maids, who seemed eager to offer their services.

"He's the reborn rogue prince," one of them said, enthusiastically washing his arms.

"People whisper about whether he's a red dragon or a black dragon," said the other, lowering her head when the prince turned to look at her.

"Are you one of those who whisper?" Any insult to the House of the Dragon was an insult to him. His plans depended on his family's reign. The last thing he wanted was another dance. Daemon had even taken the name of the first Blackfyre pretender. History seemed to be repeating itself with Daenerys' hand being denied to him and married to another man.

"No, my lord, my prince! I only repeated what I've heard," she said. He ignored her slip as he ran a hand through the maid's hair.

"There are some things that are better not repeated," he said, feeling her tremble under his touch. His body was hot from the water and hurt her a little sore.

He still wasn't used to it since his arrival at KingsLanding. People seemed to fear the royal family. In the north, contempt for dragons was common.

Both women began to hurry. They no longer seemed as happy while washing his body.

'The Rogue Prince, eh?'

Chapter Text

"The king's younger brother. A prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Jaehaerys Targaryen," the herald announced. The man entered the hall. Dozens of lords stared at him as he passed. He smiled modestly as he looked at them.

The House of the Dragon shared a single table. The king sat with his two wives, Elia and Lyanna. Viserys was seated with his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell. The young heir, Aegon, sat with his wife, Myrcella of House Lannister—the eldest daughter of Jaime Lannister and Catelyn Tully.

Tywin Lannister's reward for his services was, "A Lannister will be queen."

Rhaenys remained unmarried, though rumors in the city said her destiny lay in Dorne. The princess greeted him with a cheerful smile. They had not spoken since his arrival in King's Landing.

Another unbetrothed princess is Visenya, who just turned nine. She is the youngest daughter of Rhaegar and Lyanna. She is a young girl with dark hair streaked with silver and purple eyes. If the rumors were true, she was wild and constantly repressed.

Daenerys looked like a porcelain doll; her beauty was enormous, almost unreal. "The purest Valyrian woman in generations," an Essosi merchant said when he looked at her. She was the same age as Sansa.

Queen Rhaella was seated behind Daenerys. The prince was expected to take a seat between his betrothed and the queen mother.

"Begin the banquet," the king said, not acknowledging him with so much as a nod. As always, he seemed more focused on his duty than his family.

Jaehaerys took his seat as servants began serving the most exquisite dishes available at that time.

"Mother, you look beautiful today. Princess Daenerys, may the gods bless me to be at your side," he said, flattering both women. Both smiled at his words, but the princess seemed on the verge of tears.

The princess opened her mouth, but no words came out. Music and murmurs filled the room as Daenerys drank a whole glass of wine to wash down the bitter pill.

'Shit,' he thought. He knew that ignoring his betrothed was the best way to maintain his family's image.

That image would be shattered the moment Daemon interrupted and shouted, "I'm going to kill you." Jaehaerys looked at the door as he waited, glancing behind the table at the entire royal guard except Dayne. 'He must be with Daemon,' he thought. 'Sir Barristan will lend me his sword if I ask him, won't he?', he wasn't a swordsman, he prefers other weapons.

"Princess, would you grant me this dance?" A bold man approached the royal family's table, ignoring all decorum, and asked a woman to dance right in front of her betrothed.

Darkstar, the dangerous men in Dorne, or that so whispered the KingsLanding voices. He was a tall, handsome man who appeared to be physically fit. Jaehaerys wondered if he was as good as the rumors said.

"Of course," the princess murmured as she ran to take the Dornishman's hand. He smiled as he looked at Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys looked at his mother in disbelief. She wasn't even looking at him; her eyes were digging holes in Viserys's head.

'A little fish from High Hermit wouldn't act like that unless he had backing,' he thought, annoyed.

"I wish to dance with my betrothed," he said, standing up. He took Daenerys's hand, which was trembling. 'She just wanted to escape from me,' he thought sadly.

But if she ran into the arms of another man to start the dance, it would damage his image.

He didn't know how to calm the young woman down. She looked like a fawn caught by a hunting party.

"She doesn't seem comfortable with the idea," Dayne said, frowning. "It is my duty as a knight to protect maidens."

"Does that mean my son intends to harm his betrothed?" the queen mother interjected.

The Dornishman searched for a polite way to respond to the queen mother. His gaze faltered as he bowed his head in defeat. He looked for Viserys, but he seemed to ignore him in favor of his betrothed: Margaery.

"I apologize for my words, Your Majesty."

"It is my son whom you accused of those vile actions," she said, not relenting.

He clenched his teeth as he replied. "My prince, I apologize for my comments," he said, turning on his heel and leaving the hall. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.

"Come, princess. We must start the dance." Many lords continued eating, but the situation warranted an exit. "In a world of appearances, we are not allowed to cry in front of others," he whispered as they walked. She simply clenched her teeth and nodded. She was a dragon, not just any lady.

As they danced, many lords and ladies commented on how Jaehaerys and Daenerys seemed to have been born for each other. They communicated in a secret language with their eyes. However, others pitied the princess, who had to endure the touch of a man she did not love

-----

Daenerys looked at her betrothed's face.

Like everyone in the Targaryen family, he was handsome and charming. He had purple eyes and white hair, a rare color even in the dragon's family. Viserys and Rhaegar were handsome, yes, but not masculine. They could easily pass for princesses in a dress. It wasn't the same with Jaehaerys, though. His face was masculine, like a warrior's. However, according to the lords, he was far from being one.

Daenerys thought of Daemon, her love. The night before, they had argued. He had asked her to spend her first night with him so he could talk to her father. She refused. It wasn't because she didn't want to; it was out of respect for Jaehaerys and herself. She was a princess, not a prostitute like the ones Viserys frequented.

She did not want to marry Jaehaerys. However, she also did not want to dishonor herself or her betrothed by doing so. She knew of Daemon's plans: a duel. She was against it, of course. She tried to persuade him not to cancel the fight.

At the very least, she wanted to spare his brother's life. She didn't want to make her mother sad, nor did she want her brother to die, even if he was a stranger. In the end, Daemon promised to spare his life. Under certain conditions.

"The Free Cities are beautiful," she said. Her voice, though nervous, was as soft as the whisper of silk against skin.

"Do you want to go there? After the wedding?" her brother asked, his voice thick. She was captivated for a moment. "Baratheon still alive there. It's not safe", she frowned. But according to Daemon, the Dothraki didn't enter cities.

"Daemon will spare your life. As long as you agree to live there," she replied. Her feet continued to slide across the stone floor of the hall.

"Daemon can't beat me," he said confidently. she blinked at his blind confidence.

"He's the best—"

"Is he?" he interrupted. "You're shaking like a leaf," he said. "Is my presence so unpleasant, princess?"

"Ladies swoon in front of you," she said, flattering him. She tried to shake off her earlier nervousness.

"A few moments ago, you looked like you were about to throw up just from touching my hand," he continued.

"I don't want to marry you," she said. With more firmness than she had expected. He almost smiled.

"Neither do I want to marry you," he said. "There's a girl in the north I'd rather be with," he said, half lie, half truth.

Daenerys frowned.

Maybe it was a bit cruel, but she hadn't expected him not to want her. It was just a game of egos. Someone who had been called beautiful since birth had a certain pride in his appearance. She might be shy, but she knows she's beautiful.

"Is she more beautiful than me?" she asked without meaning to. Jaehaerys had gotten into her head.

"They're different kinds of beautiful," he replied, not meaning anything by it. His hand brushed her waist. "Be that as it may, neither of us will be with the one we desire," he continued. "I don't expect you to share my bed. I would never force you to do such a thing."

"Will you live in celibacy? Or will you bring women to our bed?" Her eyebrow movements were charming to Jaehaerys.

"I am capable of living without carnal pleasures," he said. Not so sure. He had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh since he was young. It was a great way to relieve stress. "You seem to accept our future union."

"I don't," she replied, blushing. "You'll live a good life in the East."

"If I ever visit the other continent, it will be by your side." He heard her snort in an unrefined manner. "Daemon will live in the north. It'll be good for him. Maybe they'll treat him better than they treat me. After all, he's a Stark."

"The North?" she said worriedly.

"Yes," Jaehaerys replied. "You don't expect me to just accept you warming his bed during the King's Landing."

She stopped dancing. The look on her face showed genuine anger.

"I'm not a whore. If you think it's that easy to sleep with me, you're going to be disappointed."

"I didn't mean to," he said, a little embarrassed. He saw his mother's character in Daennerys at times. He was bothered by the fact that they wanted to send him to Essos, considering the threat across the Narrow Sea.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen, of the houses Stark and Targaryen," announced the herald. Jaehaerys felt Daenerys try to pull away from him.

He stopped her.

"Can you avoid looking like a maiden in love with another man?" he whispered in her ear.

"Are you afraid of what the world will see? Do you care about anything other than appearances?" she asked him.

"I care about our legacy. You may not understand, but our family's position is not as stable as it seems. If the sharks smell blood, even from a small wound, they will pounce on us."

Chapter Text

"Daemon," he greeted. He glanced sideways at Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who followed Daemon like a shadow.

"Jaehaerys," his nephew said, not so warmly.

The two men looked at each other. The people in the room could feel the tension in the air. Jaehaerys had his arm around Daenerys's waist. She seemed to be admiring the fabric of her dress.

Daemon glared at his uncle's hand on his beloved's waist, clenching his teeth. He had to restrain himself from tearing his uncle's head off.

Rhaegar stood up, drawing all eyes to him as if they were moths to a candle. "In the days before, my decision to unite Princess Daenerys with Prince Jaehaerys was questioned. Several have expressed their discontent." His eyes scanned everyone, lingering a little on Viserys. "My son Daemon was one of them," the king said. Queen Lyanna looked at him reproachfully. "He requested a duel to the death for Daenerys' hand," he paused. The room held its breath. "I have refused. I will not see my blood kill each other. The union of Daenerys and Jaehaerys is final. It's for the realm's peace". Jaehaerys looked at Myrcella, who was nodding.

Daemon looked at him, his face red with anger. "Your Grace, if you will allow me, I would like to accept the duel," said Jaehaerys. His mother, who had sighed with relief, looked at him in surprise. "I do not wish to kill my nephew. I suggest exile for the loser," he continued. Though not as concerned, his mother was still upset by this.

"I agree," said Daemon, his eyes never leaving the princess.

The king seemed to ponder for a few minutes, his eyes fixed on Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys returned his gaze, showing neither defiance nor submission.

"So be it, then. Jaehaerys, given your lack of martial skills, I will allow you to choose a sword to fight for you." Jaehaerys could choose anyone he wanted: Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan. The king seemed bored by the situation, but deep down, he hoped Jaehaerys would choose one of the kingdom's best knights.

"Aōha riñnykeā's ondos jāhor sagon va aōha ȳrgos skori morghon māzigon." A red priestess had told Rhaegar. He remembered those words every time he looked at his most warrior-like son.

"You can choose two if one is not enough for you," Daemon said confidently.

Prince Daemon was handsome and masculine. His Stark features—such as his long face, gray eyes, and black hair—did not diminish his beauty but made him unique among the Targaryens.

"I will fight on my own, Your Grace," he said. He heard one of the lords snort in disdain, and the ladies sighing dramatically.

"No one will judge you. We all know you prefer books to steel. A scholar is respectable... for a maester," said his nephew in a mocking tone, earning a few laughs from the crowd.

"I can't imagine the honor the knights feel in challenging a maester to a duel," he said as the laughter died down. If only out of embarrassment.

"A man does what he has to do," he replied.

"He does. Even if you're as good as the bards sing, you'll be in for a surprise," he said, taking a small jab.

"I'll be surprised if you start throwing books at me in the middle of a fight," he answered with an amused grimace. A chorus of laughter followed.

-----

Daenerys lowered her head. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her. But she had loved books since she was a child. She had even wanted to be a maester one day. The day after she talked about it with her mother, her lessons with the septas began. Even then, she had a collection of books that she enjoyed reading. Others were boring stories about princesses and princes; she enjoyed more challenging books.

The girl felt a hand caress her waist. It was as if he had sensed her discomfort. Jaehaerys looked at her with a hint of concern. She was touched to see him worry about her. But she hated herself for being happy about it. She loved Daemon. 'I do, I do,' she repeated to herself.

"It would be quite the news story: 'The reborn rogue prince defeated by a book.' I can imagine the songs the troubadours would sing," Jaehaerys said, and some nobles laughed at his joke. Daenerys laughed too, before realizing her mistake and covering her mouth. She glanced at Daemon, who seemed to be looking at them in pain.

"Books don't win duels."

"They win wars," he replied. "They prevent us from dying of disease. They remind us of our ancestors, and they ensure that our descendants will remember us. They're not as shiny as steel, but they last longer."

Daenerys looked at him, moved. He had defended books in front of a city full of men who despised them. She glanced at a few who were sneering, unwilling to accept his words yet too cowardly to refute them.

"Enough," the king said. He had allowed the discussion to go on too long. Now, he looked at Jaehaerys reproachfully. The king hoped Jaehaerys would choose a champion capable of defeating Daemon and sending him away. "Jaehaerys, will you not change your decision?" He could force his hand. But he decided against it; it was best to remain neutral in this conflict.

He really wanted Daemon gone.

"I stand by my decision, Your Grace. I will fight for myself."

"The duel will take place on the fifth day of this month, which gives you three days to prepare," the king decreed. The timing coincided with the end of the tournament held in honor of Prince Jaehaerys.

"I will withdraw first, Your Grace. The princess is indisposed." The king simply nodded. Jaehaerys walked past Daemon with his head held high. He held Daenerys's hand firmly, and she did not resist being escorted away.

"I didn't know you liked books so much," the princess began. It was a small lie; everyone knew about the King's Landing.

"I always have," he said, remembering earlier times. "I remember giving you a book on your fifth name day, a month before I left for the North." Daenerys looked at him, confused. She didn't remember that.

"Really?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yes, it was Great Women of Westeros. I thought you'd like it since you used to dream of conquering kingdoms when you were little."

"I..." The book was her favorite. It made her dream of being a conqueror, like Nymeria, who led her people to another continent. Or like Rhaenys and Visenya, who conquered Westeros alongside their brother-husband. She wanted to be remembered for something. She had dreamed of awakening the dragons from their stone slumber. "I wanted to be the Mother of Dragons," she said aloud by mistake. She often dreamed of three dragons.

"Mother of dragons?" A twinge of pain shot through Jaehaerys's temple as if he had heard that title before. He hadn't drunk any wine during the banquet, so his mind was clearer than it should have been, and the pain was higher too.

"Just forget it," she had told Daemon about the dream.

"Dragons no longer exist. Only swords and armies remain. Don't waste your time dreaming about them. The only dragon you need is me," Daemon said, trying to comfort her. It didn't work.

"I'd like to see dragons," Jaehaerys said. "I'd like to touch the clouds with my fingers," he said, looking out the window.

The moon was hiding behind the clouds. "If you ever get a dragon, I'll steal it from you," he joked.

The princess was still too embarrassed to answer him.

"My chambers are ahead," she said, trying to change the subject.

Her dreams were silly; they always had been. Waking dragons. Being a maester. These were things she could never achieve.

"We're not going to your chambers," Jaehaerys said suddenly, his eyes lost in the red flames of a torch. "We're going to mine." He said as he led her away.

Daenerys's face turned red with anger. All the sympathy she had felt for her brother vanished in that moment.

"If you think you—"

"Do you want to see dragon eggs?" he whispered in her ear. She stopped fighting. The offer might have been a lie, but it was tempting.

Chapter Text

"It's so big and warm. It feels good," Daenerys said, holding Jaehaerys's eggs.

"Warm?" he asked, touching the same black egg Daenerys seemed so obsessed with. A warmth covered his palm. He could feel the heat, too. But others couldn't. When others touched the eggs, they were cold, though only Brandon, Torrhen, and Ros had done so.

There were three eggs in total: one black with dark purple spots visible only near the fire. The second egg was silver with a black line running through the middle.

The last egg was copper red with gray streaks like steel, and it was the smallest of the three.

He believed his Targaryen blood made them react to his touch. Because of that, he had felt special. And he was.

But apparently, his betrothed was just as special.

Jaehaerys began to thank Rhaegar silently. Although he hadn't been convinced about the marriage at first and had only accepted it to obtain land and a castle, it now seemed that his sister's lineage would help him: "Mother of Dragons." He liked the title.

'Only Daemon remains,' he thought bitterly. If Daenerys weren't in love with someone else, everything would be much simpler. They seemed to have a lot in common.

The prince thought about why he had taken her to his room. He had always been very careful with his belongings. The twinge in his temple served as a warning sign. It told him that she had to see them. 'Can I trust her?' he wondered, already knowing the answer.

'I can't,' he thought. After the princess left her chambers, he decided he would hide the eggs somewhere else.

"Are they alive?" she asked incredulously. "Forget it," she said, realizing she had said something stupid.

"Dragons are magical creatures. Fire made flesh," replied Jaehaerys. "It would be foolish to assume they're not alive," he finished.

"Can I have one?" she asked, her violet eyes shining with innocence and joy. The prince was about to give in.

"For now, they must remain a secret," he said, perhaps a little too curtly.

"I see," the princess replied naturally. Her ears turned red.

"Maybe... once we're married," he said.

The girl looked at him with conflicting emotions. She was torn between her desire for the dragon eggs and her feelings for Daemon. She remained silent. Jaehaerys cursed himself internally. What he said sounded more like a condition than the casual comment he had intended.

-----

Daenerys wondered what her life would be like with Daemon. He was an accomplished warrior and was respected by the lords; no one dared to mess with him. She would probably be a beautiful rose by his side. They would have sons as talented as their father and daughters raised the same way she was.

Then she thought about her life with Jaehaerys. Perhaps she could be freer at his side. He was a scholar. She had heard some knights call her betrothed "The Prince of Scrolls." The warriors did not respect him, even if they never said it to his face. Dany wondered if, since he was so intelligent, he could teach her something. Or at least allow her to learn on her own? Perhaps he could demand that the maesters teach her. An intelligent man like him shouldn't be seen with a foolish wife, should he?

Daemon would never do such a thing. She had often tried to convince him to borrow a book from the maesters' library for her to read. He obeyed, but he always brought back a book about chivalry and romance. When she asked for something more academic, he mocked her, saying that if she learned such things, she would take the maesters' jobs away.

She didn't want to accept that. Her mind seemed to want Jaehaerys to win the duel tomorrow, even though it was impossible. She felt guilty instantly. Although she hoped for a better life with Jaehaerys, she still loved Daemon. If she married Jaehaerys, she would feel like she was using him.

"Hide!" Jaehaerys urged, scaring her. She took the eggs and hid them under the bed.

Then, he dragged her behind a piece of furniture. He was rough; Dany would have moaned if the prince's muscular hand hadn't silenced her.

He manipulated her as if she were a rag doll. For the first time, she realized how big Jaehaerys was. He was at least half a head taller than Daemon, who was much taller than her. He moved her with alarming ease. Contrary to her initial thoughts, the idea that he could subdue her so easily didn't seem so bad.

The door opened slowly, and soon they heard footsteps approaching.

"What is your purpose here?" Daenerys heard the prince speak, accompanied by the sound of a chain. She received no answer.

Then, she heard steel being unsheathed. It was a sound she had grown accustomed to. Whenever Daemon asked her to watch him train, she went.

Her heart raced in her chest. Her first impulse was to cower.

"Surround him," said one of them in an accent similar to Queen Elia's. A Dornish accent.

"You may withdraw now," said the prince, his voice firm but not carefree.

'Damn it, he's brave!' the princess thought. She wished he would run for his life.

The men let out small, stifled laughs.

"Shut the hell up," said the only one who had spoken. "Let's do this quickly," he ordered.

Daenerys screamed into her hand when she first heard steel clash against steel. Tears began to fall from her eyes at the thought of losing her brother. They weren't very close yet, but she had grown fond of him in a short time.

"Son of a bitch!" she heard one of them shout.

"Damn monster!" The fear was palpable.

"They said it would be easy!"

"I'm out of here. This shit isn't what they told us."

Dany poked her head out. The sight made her stomach churn. Jaehaerys was fine, standing in front of two bodies. In his hand was a strange tool. It was three metal tubes joined by a chain. Dany had never seen a weapon like it. She could see that it was dark iron, stained bright red.

"Please," a third man, whom Dany hadn't seen before, began to plead.

-----

"Who sent you?" The man remained silent.

Jaehaerys let the weapon slide down his hand until he grasped one end. With a slight arc, he broke the man's leg at an odd angle.

"Ahhh! I can't. Please," the man whispered. His hands were unable to support his broken leg. Daenerys saw Jaehaerys raise the tool again.

"It was Darkstar! He swore it was him. Please forgive me," the man sniffed, squealing like a pig about to be sent to the slaughterhouse.

"Darkstar?" Jaehaerys muttered incredulously.

The man wasn't capable of sneaking five men into the red fortress as if it were nothing. Jaehaerys thought about how the man looked at Viserys and realized he had found his culprit.

'Is he that stupid? An attempted murder in broad daylight?' Rhaegar wasn't the most affectionate man, but he knew Viserys craved the throne and saw Daenerys as a tool to help him get it. Had he succeeded, the investigation would have led back to Viserys, giving Rhaegar an excuse to eliminate a rival for the throne.

Jaehaerys began to think that Daemon wouldn't be his only problem in the capital.

The sound of approaching footsteps distracted him from his thoughts. He soon felt a small body grab him from the side. The princess held him tightly, burying her face in his chest. He held her tenderly. The poor girl must have been scared.

"Jaehaerys, are you all right?" To his surprise, the concerned voice came from Viserys, who was accompanied by a group of knights and white cloaks. 'Hypocrite,' he thought, seeing the look of concern on Viserys's face. He felt an urge to break his arms when he reached out a hand, apparently to check if he was okay. "Dany?" he said incredulously.

Chapter Text

"I'm fine, brother. Thank you for your concern," he said, looking him in the eyes.

Jaehaerys was a bad actor. He was sure he hadn't been able to hide the suspicion in his eyes. Viserys said nothing; he just continued to stare at Daenerys. He couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was as if he wanted to reprimand her but didn't dare.

He moved his hand, causing the chains to clash together. Viserys looked at the bloodstained weapon, then at the bodies in the room. He swallowed hard.

"We must take this matter to the king immediately," he said, with a hint of venom in his voice when he said "king."

"I would like a few minutes to calm my betrothed," Jaehaerys said.

Viserys gritted his teeth and looked sadly at Daenerys. He nodded.

"You know where the council chamber is, right? Go there as soon as you can. Lorch, protect my brothers. The rest of you, take the bodies away," he ordered.

The knights accompanying him dragged the bodies away. It was not a task befitting knights, but facing a Targaryen was akin to a peasant facing a lord.

"Lorch, wait outside the door," the prince ordered once everyone had left.

"My prince, if anyone tries—"

"I'm sure I can defend myself until you come to my rescue," he snapped.

The man nodded, his gaze angry. He left the room, probably listening at the door to see what he could report to Myrcella or Cersei. He was a Lannister creature.

"Are you okay?" he whispered to Daenerys.

She nodded; the words were stuck in her throat. Dany felt safe in his arms. Jaehaerys looked at the tear in the princess's dress, running from her stomach to her right thigh. Her milk-white skin was tempting.

"You're... strong," she said, looking into his eyes.

Daenerys had just noticed how his body felt. He was muscular, though you couldn't tell from his generally loose-fitting clothes. It was as if he were trying to hide his physique.

"I am," he admitted without shame as he let her go. He began searching through a trunk. Dany continued to look at him.

His broad back was certainly an asset. And his butt was—

"Put this on," he said, not noticing her gaze. It was a linen shirt and pants. She looked at him, confused. "Really?" She brought her hand to the part of her hip that was exposed.

Daenerys blushed and looked down. If she had moved a little more, her private parts would have been exposed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Jaehaerys turned away and approached the window. An eagle appeared seconds later. He seemed to whisper unintelligible words to the animal. Then, the bird took flight. She hurried to change, discarded the dress, and quickly dressed in her betrothed's clothes, which were not as nice as she was used to and were too big for her.

"Are you done?" He hadn't taken his eyes off the night sky while she was changing. She was sure. She had looked in his direction several times.

"Yes," she said. "Aren't you going to change?" she asked, pointing to his bloodstained clothes.

"It's not necessary. My modesty is not affected." His clothes were intact, just a little wrinkled.

She nodded.

Jaehaerys walked toward the door, his weapon in hand. His footsteps were silent. With a quick movement, he pulled the door open. Amory Lorch stumbled but quickly regained his balance. He looked down the hallway. Two men were approaching. Tran was about to draw his sword. But the prince's hand stopped him. Neither man said a word; they just entered the room.

"They're coming with me," he said. "Daenerys," he called to her. She went to his side and shot the royal guard a contemptuous glance. Jaehaerys put his hand on the girl's waist and led her outside. "Once you are in your room, bolt the door. One of my men will bring you a letter with a drawing of an elephant. You can trust him," he said. He saw Lorch's ear twitch.

"Your men?" she asked. He had arrived with only a handful of Northerners who had escorted him and then immediately returned to their frozen wasteland. She had never seen the two men who entered her room. "I'm going to the meeting. I'm a witness," she said, deciding it was a priority.

"You're not ready," he said, looking her up and down. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything," he said, trying to persuade her.

"If we get married, will things always be this way?" she asked. His words reminded her of Daemon's. "Will I be the typical Lady who doesn't interfere in her husband's bussiness?" Her voice held traces of irritation. Daemon was always leaving her out.

"When we get married," he emphasized. "I have no idea. I never thought about such things. You'll have all the freedom you want as long as it doesn't include other men in your chambers," he said.

"Try me. I want to be at that meeting," she said.

Amory Lorch snorted.

"Something funny, Ser?" asked Jaehaerys, stopping short.

"No, my prince," he said, bowing his head.

"Go to the council chamber. Tell them I'll be there soon."

"My orders—"

"Go!" he interrupted. The little man cringed, took one last look at him, and left. "The drawing, by the way, is not of an elephant. It's of a white eagle with gray eyes."

"Is that so?" she said. She filed his words away in her mind. After all, it was relevant information.

"Why do you want to attend?" he asked. "You know that women's voices aren't heard very much."

'Daemon wouldn't let me go,' she thought, but she couldn't tell him that. She wanted to see how he compared to Daemon.

"Will you listen to me?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes," he replied, looking into her eyes.

"Take me, then." They looked at each other for a few seconds until he gave in.

"Do you want to go dressed like that?" he asked. A Princess wearing male clothes will raise eyebrows.

"My room is on the way. I'll grab a dress there," she said, walking ahead.

"I should have told Amory Lorch that we're going to be late."

"But you did," she said with a smile. He smiled back.

"Did I?" he asked rhetorically.

They reached the room in no time. Jaehaerys entered after Dany. She quickly took off her pants. They were uncomfortable; the fabric was rough compared to silk.

Jaehaerys looked at her. His shirt was too big, so he didn't see anything he shouldn't have before their wedding night. He quickly turned away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

He heard her rummaging through the chests. It seemed like an eternity before he heard her again.

"I'm ready," she said.

She was beautiful. She was wearing a red dress, simpler than before because she hadn't been able to call a maid to help her get dressed.

"Let's go, then," he said. His hand naturally went to her waist.

Soon, they arrived at the council chamber.

Varys greeted them with a friendly smile. Jaehaerys thought of the children he bribed in the north to give false information.

At the eunuch side was Petyr, although he seemed more like a harmless bootlicker. The Grand Maester made a clumsy attempt to stand up, only to fall back into his seat. Dany looked at him with pity. Jaehaerys looked at him with disdain.

The ship's counselor, Paxter Redwine, stood up to greet him. The war counselor, Randyll Tarly, greeted him with a nod, unable to hide the contempt in his eyes.

Aegon was present. Rhaegar had selected him as Hand of the King after Jon Connington abandoned the position. Rhaegar was also present, his crown adorning his head with pride. Viserys and Queen Rhaella were also present. She walked urgently toward him when she saw the blood on his face.

"By the gods!" she exclaimed, looking worried.

"The blood is not mine, Mother," he said, letting go of Daenerys's waist. He realized only then that her red dress was to hide the blood on her.

He heard a murmur of contempt. Daemon was there too, standing next to the Sword of the Morning.

"We have been waiting. Lorch announced your arrival some time ago," Rhaegar's son said.

"Oh, he must have misunderstood my orders. I told him I would be late because my betrothed needed me," Jaehaerys replied. He rejoiced when he saw him grit his teeth. He wondered if he had leaked his code to his mistress. He hoped so; he needed gold. By that time, Brandon and Torrhen should be outside Daenerys' door.

"The council is assembled," whispered the king. He ignored the absence of Oberyn Martell, the master of laws, who was probably on the Street of Silk. "We have matters to discuss," he said, his violet eyes meeting those of his younger brother.

Chapter Text

"I will accompany Daenerys to her chambers. She must be tired," said Daemon, stepping forward. The other lords said nothing. Dany lowered her gaze, unable to refuse.

"The princess has already been to her chambers and decided to join us. Your intentions are unnecessary, Prince Daemon," replied Jaehaerys. He directed Daenerys to an empty chair set aside for him. Then, he brought another chair over and sat down beside her. He left his bloodstained weapon on the table. Several men looked at him with frowns.

Daemon looked at them with a small smile, as if he had just remembered a joke.

"The council is no place for women!" Tarly's voice echoed through the room.

"My betrothed was involved in the incident," said Jaehaerys. "She will be heard."

Tarly clenched his teeth.

"Time is of the essence, My Lords," Prince Aegon said coldly. He was a smaller version of his father, though he preferred to braid his hair, likely influenced by Rhaenys.

"Wise words, Lord Hand. If I may," Viserys began.

Although he did not hold a position on the council, no one would ask him to leave. At that moment, he was a witness. Even if he were not, he was a Targaryen.

"Continue."

With the king's permission, Viserys began recounting his version of the story. He had received a warning from Varys that assassins had infiltrated the castle. Their target was Prince Jaehaerys.

"I took the men I found along the way. When I reached my younger brother's chambers, I found two corpses and a man crying on the floor," he continued.

"You cried, Jae?" Daemon asked with a smile.

"No, the prince was standing with Daenerys by his side, holding a bloody weapon. The man crying was one of the assassins, as were the two corpses. Everyone was removed, and the survivor was taken to the dungeons," Viserys continued.

Part of Jaehaerys hoped that something would change. But, to his surprise, his brother was quite faithful to his account.

"You want us to believe that he killed them?" asked the rogue prince.

"He did," Daenerys's voice rang out.

"What were you doing in his room?" Daemon asked suddenly, ignoring her statement.

The girl remained silent. She couldn't tell him that she was looking at her betrothed's dragon eggs. It was a secret. Still, Daemon's disappointed look left her frozen. She felt the need to justify herself, but she couldn't lie or tell the truth.

"It's not uncommon for betrothed couples to get to... know each other before consummating their union," Baelish replied cleverly.

"Did you get any answers from the survivor?" asked Prince Aegon, not in the mood to mediate between the two.

"None," said Viserys. "At least not after the interrogations." He looked at Jaehaerys.

"Darkstar," Daenerys said for the second time.

The room fell silent. The girl seemed to shrink under the stares.

"Are you sure, princess? Know that this is a very serious accusation," Paxter Redwyne said.

"A frightened woman can misinterpret sounds," said the maester.

"Her ears work as well as mine. That was the name he whispered," said Jaehaerys. "If he is truly the mastermind behind this, it is a mystery," he said. "Two men fled. I forgot to mention that," he said, glancing at Viserys, who frowned. 'He's not going to defend his friend?' he wondered.

"The city guards found them," Varys began in a low voice. "Apparently, they resisted arrest and were... dealt with," he said, looking at the Master of Coin.

'Subtle,' thought Jaehaerys. Perhaps Baelish was not as harmless as he initially thought.

"Gerold Dayne will be considered a suspect. Varys, I want you to tell me where he was today. And yesterday, and the entire previous moon if necessary. For now, he will be detained and questioned. Any objections?" the king asked. He looked particularly at Viserys, who seemed nervous. "I also want the survivor to be questioned again. I will send my men to do so," he finished.

"That won't be possible," said Viserys. "He's dead," he continued.

"Dead?" asked Tarly.

"Yes, the wounds that Prince Jaehaerys inflicted on him were fatal. He died before the interrogation even began." Everyone looked in his direction.

"What a pity. We could have learned so much from him," said Baelish smiling.

"Indeed," said Aegon.

Viserys did not look like a guilty man. He was either a good actor or innocent. Jaehaerys would bet on the first option.

"I hit him pretty hard. I'm not surprised he died," said the prince, drawing patterns on the table with the blood from his weapon.

"I hope Varys can properly investigate the trial," Queen Rhaella interjected.

"I'll put all my birds on it," he said, nodding his bald head.

"The session is adjourned, for now," said the king. "Dismissed. Except you, Jaehaerys," he ordered.

"Of course," said Jaehaerys.

Everyone quickly left the room. The queen accompanied Daenerys, and Ser Barristan escorted them. Soon, only Rhaegar and Jaehaerys remained.

The king placed the crown on the table.

"Five men couldn't kill you," the monarch said, walking toward Jaehaerys. When he was close, Jaehaerys crouched down slightly, making himself shorter than the king. "It's heavier than it looks," he said.

He was referring to his brother's weapon. He had to make an effort to lift it properly.

"It's a weapon for brutes, Your Majesty," he replied humbly.

"For men with superhuman strength. You are far from being a brute," he said, his hands stained with blood. "Who do you think tried to kill you?"

"Conjecture is not my strong suit," he said, not wanting to create conflict within his family and preferring to handle things himself.

"You are the most intelligent man I know," said the king.

"I don't deserve such praise," he replied humbly.

"You think it was Viserys," the older brother continued. "Like everyone else," he said melancholically. "It's no surprise. Viserys has been trying to marry Daenerys himself, which is why he delayed her marriage to Margaery Tyrell for so long," the king commented.

"Isn't he wanting Daemon and Daenerys to marry?", Jaehaerys frowned.

"That's also true. Viserys was seeking the Starks' support by uniting our sister with Daemon. Daenerys grew up close to him," The king commented.

"Why would the Starks support him? If they were going to support a candidate for the throne, it would be Daemon, not Viserys." Jaehaerys wasn't agreeing with his older brother.

"The goal would be to overthrow my reign. And Aegon's. They would start a war, draw in the Starks, and put Daemon as the king. Once Daemon gets the throne, getting rid of him would be easy. If he hasn't fathered any children, the throne would pass to Viserys," said Jaehaerys. "The same would happen with the Tyrells," he added.

'Or he could take two wives like the previous king,' he dared not say.

"It's not a clever plan. Viserys isn't as smart as you," the king said, assessing him with a glance. Jaehaerys realized he might have said more than he should have. "If he were, he wouldn't have orchestrated that attack today," he finished.

"No, it's a desperate attack," he said, still thinking that something was wrong. His brother's explanation was too weak. In that case, Viserys would not need to marry Daenerys to Daemon.

It was all too obvious; his brother seemed too guilty.

"It is. Plans like that can cause harm to both the instigator and the target. Even if Viserys is found to be behind it all, there will be no justice for you if you're dead," the king finished. "He will pursue Daenerys. He sees her as his property."

"And yet you betrothed her to me," he said without reproach.

"I didn't expect him to be a kinslayer. Your martial skill was a pleasant surprise," said the king. "Do you think you can defeat Daemon?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

"It wasn't specified. But you will be the one to choose where he will be exiled," he said, taking his seat. "Essos will be a good place for him," he said, looking at Jaehaerys with his violet eyes. Jaehaerys was tempted to obey without further ado.

"I plan to send him north," he said. "Baratheon is in Essos. It will be dangerous for him," he finished.

"He would send you to Essos without a second thought," the king said with a frown.

"Is there a reason you want to send him there? Are you afraid the Starks will rebel?" Jaehaerys asked. He knew Eddard well enough to know that he hated war. He saw it not as an ambition tool but as a duty.

"It's because of Robert Baratheon. I want him dead, and I want Daemon to kill him," he said casually.

"He has fifty thousand men under his banner. If not for the fact that five and forty thousand of those are Dothraki, he would have launched a campaign against Westeros by now. No matter how skilled Daemon is, he doesn't stand a chance," he reasoned.

Robert had been wreaking havoc in Essos. He started a mercenary company with men who left Westeros after his defeat at the Trident. Then, after fighting a khalasar, the Dothraki wanted to join him.

Little by little, he adopted the customs of the horse lords until he became Khal Robert. They said he had so many wives and children that he couldn't count them all on his fingers. But he was looking over the whole continent for a northern girl. He wanted a Lyanna.

"I believe in my son's abilities," said the king.

"I will not send him to certain death."

"He is more capable than you think." The king stood up. "Even so, it was only a suggestion. We can deal with Robert in other ways," he finished, looking at a painting of the Conqueror and his two wives. "You may leave now," he said, dismissing him.

"With your permission, Your Grace," he said, bowing slightly as he walked to the exit.

"Are you interested in a position on the council?" the king asked before Jaehaerys left the room.

"No, I will take charge of developing Harrenhal. It will need my full attention," Jaehaerys replied, feeling grateful. His brother was foolish to start a war over a woman. But he seemed to have matured and become a good king.

"That's a shame," Rhaegar murmured wistfully.

Chapter Text

"What were you doing in his room? Playing with dolls?" Daemon asked, his sarcasm concealing his anger.

Daenerys looked down at the floor, ashamed.

"His life was in danger, Daemon!" Queen Rhaella scolded him. It did nothing to quell his fury. "Do you think that's the question you should be asking right now?" Her words made the boy pause for a moment.

The young prince shook his head. He looked Daenerys up and down. He noticed the change in her clothes.

"Did you sleep with him?" he asked, looking down at her.

"No...he taught me," she began, but stopped.

"He taught you?" Daemon took a step forward.

"His books," she whispered.

It was a weak excuse, but a believable one. If Daemon had known her for that long, he would have known that she loved to read.

"Books?" He seemed amused now. "Weren't all the ones I gave you enough?" he asked.

"They're not the same. I wanted—"

"Ah, you wanted to be a maester. I'm sure The Prince of Scrolls had plenty of those," he scoffed at his uncle. "Books won't stop me from cutting off his head," he said coldly.

"Daemon!" Queen Rhaella faced him, looking like a dragon about to breathe fire. "You both agreed it wouldn't be a duel to the death. Remember?" she scolded. "Or do I need to remind you?"

Ser Barristan watched as Daemon's fists clenched. The leather of his gloves made a characteristic sound. The old knight took a few steps forward, hoping he wouldn't have to intervene. The prince, in his anger, was unpredictable.

"I remember, Grandmother," Daemon said, taking a step back. "I hope I still remember by then." With that, he turned and left.

Daenerys was confused. She was torn between sadness and anger. He was bothered that he looked at Jaehaerys's books, even though it was a lie, but Daemon didn't try to listen to her at all.

However, her sadness overpowered her anger. Daemon had been her first friend and her first love.

He had been by her side since she was a little girl. Seeing him so angry over a misunderstanding still made her feel bad. Her heart ached at the thought.

"Come on, Dany. Sir Barristan," the queen mother said, putting a hand on her shoulder as she led her to her chambers. The Bold followed them without saying a word.

They walked in silence through the corridors. The lords had long since retired to their rooms. Only a few drunkards still staggered through the hallways. Some of them looked at the princess and her mother lustfully. The gleam of Ser Barristan's armor stopped any impure thoughts they might have had.

"You seem to want me to marry Jaehaerys and not Daemon," the princess said. She had noticed her mother's behavior from the start. She spoke well of Jaehaerys, saying that the princess would be very happy with him. She never spoke ill of Daemon, but didn't praise him too much either.

"You've met him. Who are you more compatible with?" the queen mother asked.

"I love Daemon," she replied quietly, not answering the question.

"You love him? Or is he the only man you interact with besides Viserys?" her mother pressed.

"I..." The queen had a point.

Daenerys only interacted with Viserys, who was oppressive. He wasn't abusive, but he liked to demonstrate his leadership and dominance. She could never see him as anything more than her brother.

Daemon, on the other hand, had always been by her side. They were similar in age and were very close. When they reached an age where they became interested in the opposite sex, he began flirting with her, and she fell for his charms.

"Daemon is not a bad boy. Even with his recent outburst," said the Queen Mother, who was a little worried about her grandson. "But you won't be happy with him. I know you as only a mother can know her daughter," she said.

"Is that why you have to force everything?" The words made sense, but love did not.

'Love, right?' She began to question her feelings.

"Force?" Rhaelle raised an elegant eyebrow. "It was Rhaegar who organized everything," she said. "I won't deny that I thought it was a fantastic idea, but I never discussed it with him," she finished.

Daenerys remained silent. Soon, they heard the sound of swords clashing. Sir Barristan was the first to hear them and drew his sword faster than the two ladies could recognize the sounds. He stood in front of them.

"In the name of the king, stop fighting," he said, taking a step forward and making sure out of the corner of his eye that the princess and the queen were all right.

Two groups faced each other. Some knights in elegant armor fought against men in worn, dented armor. Two wounded knights lay on the ground, gasping for breath and blood dripping from their mouths.

"We are men of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen," said one of the knights. "We found these men trying to enter the princess's chambers." The princess's mother squeezed her hands tightly. "Princess," he called out, holding out a letter.

"Throw it," ordered Ser Barristan. The man stopped short before obeying the order.

"They lie," said one of the other men, his voice like a bear's growl. Their attention was drawn to his northern accent.

The white cloak caught the letter in midair and offered it to Daenerys with his left hand. His right hand never let go of the hilt of his sword.

Daenerys opened the letter; it was in the shape of an elephant.

"You," she called to the men in worn armor. "Letter?" she asked nervously. She cursed at how foolish she must have sounded.

"Here," one of them said in a hoarse voice. An elegant letter appeared in his hands. It was not rolled up, as was customary. Instead, it was rectangular.

They repeated the process until the letter reached Daenerys. It appeared to be sealed. Her mother had helped her. There was a triangular fold that had to be lifted up. Inside was a white sheet of paper, which contrasted sharply with the yellowish tone of the scrolls and papers she was used to seeing.

Daenerys looked at the white eagle with gray eyes inside.

"Ser Barristan," the queen mother said. "Those in shining armor. Capture them," she ordered.

She had regularly exchanged letters with her son. It was a unique form of communication; only Jaehaerys sent letters that way. With that kind of paper.

The old knight did not question the order. The knights fled—or at least tried to. Jaehaerys's men stood in their way. It was only a matter of minutes before they were defeated. Ser Barristan stood between the battle and the ladies; more than one person wanted to take advantage by taking a hostage.

"Not on my watch," said the brave knight, his mind as sharp as his sword.

"Can you recognize any of them, Ser?" asked Queen Rhaella.

"Their faces are familiar, yes. But I cannot associate them with anyone in particular. I apologize, Your Grace," the old knight said humbly.

"I'm sure the dungeons will open their mouths. Or their necks," Daenerys heard, feeling a chill run down her spine as she heard her mother's bloody words.

In the end, there were six attackers: two were dead, and four were wounded. None of Jaehaerys's men had more than a new scratch on their already worn armor.

"I didn't know Prince Jaehaerys brought an escort. I only remember the disgraced maester who arrived with him and a red-haired girl."

Ser Barristan did not lower his guard, even with his supposed allies.

"The prince's business is the prince's business. We follow orders, nothing more," said the man with the raspy voice. They took off their helmets out of respect for Daenerys. Their faces were thin, their hair dark brown, and their eyes brown and gray. They were northerners, or so their features shouted.

"Jaehaerys told me about them, Ser Barristan," said Daenerys. She recognized the two who had entered Jaehaerys's room earlier.

"The prince will be here soon," said the other. "It's just a matter of waiting. If you allow, Princess, one of us will inform the castle guards about the infiltrators." He did not consult Ser Barristan or the queen. His orders did not include them.

"Go," she said when asked. "Will you also notify Jaehaerys?" she asked.

"Not necessary," a male voice said from behind her. "More assassins?" he asked his men.

"No, impostors. As you predicted," one of them replied.

"I need an explanation, young man," her mother said, looking at him in confusion.

"Just dealing with a useless knight," he replied cryptically, not saying the whole truth. Daenerys seemed to understand, as evidenced by the sound she let out. The prince was grateful she wasn't a fool.

"And where did your men come from, son?" his mother asked, leaving the political game aside.

"From the snow, Mother, from the snow," he whispered, his voice traveling against the castle walls.

Chapter Text

"I heard that last night they tried to assassinate Rhaella's youngest son," said Tyrion the Imp as he cut a sausage. "Then they tried to kidnap his betrothed." He chewed his food as he looked at his brothers with his mismatched eyes—one black and the other green.

Cersei drank a glass of wine, swirling it gently. Her full, pink lips glistened.

"A pity," she said without looking at anyone. 'A pity they didn't succeed.'

Cersei wore a revealing dress. Her skin was lightly tanned from the scorching Dornish sun. She had embraced the culture of her late husband, Oberyn Martell. Their union was a way for Tywin to further secure his hold on the throne. His granddaughter would be queen, and marrying Cersei to Elia's favorite brother was a way to solidify his position. The numerous trade agreements between Dorne and the West also contributed to this.

"A pity?" Tyrion said after swallowing the sausage. "I hear that Amory Lorch is in the black cells right now. He's the prime suspect in the kidnapping attempt. I wonder what he'll have to say." His sister seemed indifferent.

"Cersei?" Jaime said to her. Then he shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it."

Jaime was dressed in elegant clothes befitting his position as heir to Casterly Rock. In another life, he would have worn a white cloak until his death. But in this life, he had been released from his vows after the loyalists won and Rhaegar replaced his father, Aerys, as king.

Jaime was the father of the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. His wife was Lysa Tully. She wasn't the prettiest or smartest, nor the best mother or wife, but... she was the one his father had chosen for him.

They rarely saw each other. Cersei was in Dorne, and Jaime was on the Rock, learning from his father.

"He won't talk," she said confidently. Although she still felt uneasy.

"Are you still upset because the princess rejected Joffrey?" Tyrion asked. "The boy enjoys whores as much as his father. I recall that he attempted to take the princess to his bed a few moons ago. He ended up with a broken lip. The girl has fire," he said between bites.

"That little minx doesn't deserve my son. But a Lannister always pays his debts."

Her father would have liked to see her married to a Lord Paramount, but there were none eligible at the time of her marriage. The only worthy candidate was Edmure Tully, who was now betrothed to a Frey. Given his young age and that the Lannisters were already married to a Tully, Tywin preferred to marry her to the prince Martell, with whom she had two children, Joffrey and Serena. Her mother intervened, wanting to unite her blood with that of her friend, Princess Deria Nymeros Martell, mother of Oberyn.

"And how do you plan to pay the debt now?" Jaime asked, not looking as amused as Tyrion or as indifferent as Cersei. "Must I remind you that my daughter will be queen, and I must ensure that she is? You cannot act as if you were on the Rock, doing as you please."

"Lorch will die in his cell before he speaks," Cersei replied, her nostrils flaring.

"It would be wise to consider how much gold you are willing to give," said Tyrion. "There are rumors that the boy will have a castle. Knowing the king, he won't give him anything important—probably an abandoned one. One that requires a lot of gold to rebuild." He smiled as he watched Cersei's rosy cheeks flush. "We Lannisters shit gold. I'm sure you can fill a cart with our shit," he said sarcastically.

"Disgusting," Cersei said, wrinkling her nose.

"And true," said Jaime. He was no longer the boy who dreamed of being a knight. He was a father now and the son of the most powerful lord in the kingdom. His father continued to educate him, even now in his adulthood. "I'll talk to Jaehaerys. I'll negotiate a price."

"That would be admitting we did it."

"You did," Tyrion corrected. "And the boy already knows it. In case you didn't realize, all that talk about the code was a trap. A good one," he said admiringly.

"You seem to like the boy. Is there anything you can tell me about him?" Jaime asked. Knowing the players was important; it was a lesson he had learned from his father.

"He's quite intelligent. More than me, I'd say," The Imp replied. Cersei snorted at his words but didn't intervene. "We had a little academic chat. There are a few things I enjoy more than good wine and a whore between my legs," he said unabashedly. It was just the three of them; the children were outside.

"Did you enjoy chatting with him so much?" Jaime asked, ignoring his sister's grimace.

"No," Tyrion replied, using a napkin to wipe his mouth. "But maybe three or four chats would even it out," he said, laughing softly.

"I'm not interested in the pleasure the boy gives you. Tell us what we can use against him," Cersei said. She didn't find the comparison so amusing.

"I thought years of spreading your legs for the Dornishmen would relax you," Tyrion sighed sadly.

"Watch your tongue, Imp," Cersei said, blushing as she looked at Jaime.

One of her husband's good qualities was his skill in bed, and the fact that he didn't care how many men came to her bed. Even a bastard would not be a reason for separation.

Oberyn had only warned her that, should she have a bastard, he would not give the child the Martell surname, just as he had not given it to any of his daughters. She had been tempted to return to Dorne pregnant. That was why she was concerned about Jaime's opinion. The blond man didn't even look at her as he laughed with Tyrion, which infuriated her.

"The boy is smart. Very smart. At least, academically speaking. From the way he managed to turn this situation to his advantage, he knows how to play the game," he said, washing down her food with sips of wine. "He'll probably ask for gold. But he may also ask for other things, such as craftsmen or carpenters to help him rebuild the castle." He paused. "I doubt he'll make it difficult for you or seek revenge. He's quite pragmatic."

"I know there's no love between him and Daenerys, but his wife was in danger last night," Jaime said.

"She wasn't. Not for a moment. The prince's men are seasoned warriors. Ser Barristan praised them. He singled out two of them, saying that he'd have trouble beating them: They have the skill of a Kingsguard. And the boy has his absolute loyalty." Ser Jaime's eyes widened. Although his priorities were no longer tournaments or fights, he was still passionate about them. He would never feel as good as he did with a sword in his hand.

"No loyalty is absolute," Cersei said.

"That's the wisest thing you've said all day, sister," the dwarf said mockingly. "Although I hope you're not planning to seduce one of them to make him your man," he continued, watching her face flush.

"I wouldn't do that, dwarf," the lioness denied angrily. Although the idea had crossed her mind.

"We don't want any more trouble, Cersei." Said Jaime, he glanced at his younger brother. He seemed to understand and left, leaving them alone. "I can't clean up your mess forever," Jaime said. He sounded like Tywin Lannister. At least he had the decency not to scold her in front of Tyrion. "Listen. I don't care if your son was rejected. Believe me, if he asked for Joanna's hand, I'd refuse him, too." Joanna was her second daughter with Lysa, a beautiful girl with red hair and green eyes. "You have to control yourself. Trying to hurt a princess was stupid. What were you thinking?" His voice was a whisper.

"They were only supposed to scare her, nothing more," she said, her voice sounding hurt. In reality, she had asked them to rape and abandon her in Flea Bottom.

"I don't care. It won't happen again. You're not a child anymore. Have you thought about what they would do to your children if they found out about your involvement?" The woman's lips pressed into a thin line.

She felt the same way she did when her father called her out.

"Jaime," she said, her voice vulnerable and beautiful. "Please, you know I didn't mean to—"

"Take your hand away, Cersei. I decided long ago never to cross that line again," he said, pushing away her hand that was reaching for his crotch. "We're twins. I know exactly what you meant. Our father made a mistake teaching you how to be cruel, but not when to be cruel. Your stupidity will cost us gold, but it could have cost my daughter the crown if you had succeeded. I thank the gods you don't have the intelligence to achieve it." He was angry. Her attempt to seduce him to calm him down only annoyed him more. "I'll give him gold in the hope of appeasing him. But if I have to choose between my daughter and you..." He left the words hanging in the air.

'Damn coward,' she thought. 'I would have been a better choice for our father's heir,' she thought, but she didn't dare say those words.

"It won't happen again," Cersei said as she stood up. "Lord Lannister," she added, curtsying before leaving.

Chapter Text

"Lord Jaime," The Prince of Scrolls greeted. Jaime looked him up and down. If the rumors were true, then last night he had faced five assassins and won. Everyone thought he was nothing but ink and books. Everyone was wrong.

"Prince Jaehaerys," he said, bowing his head slightly to show respect, not submission. He was a lion of the Rock.

"I hear your wife is pregnant again. Congratulations," he said. Lysa had become pregnant in King's Landing, which surprised the blond man. It seemed that the capital acted as an aphrodisiac for her. "I hope she gives you the heir you desire." Up to that point, the Lannister had not had a son, only two beautiful daughters.

"I appreciate your wishes," the blond man said with a smile.

"I was on my way to the dungeons. I wanted to see the people who tried to kidnap my wife yesterday. They dropped a name: Amory Lorch." His purple eyes flashed. "Would you accompany me, my lord? I would feel safer with a former king's guard at my side."

Jaime tensed. He wasn't stupid enough to think the prince didn't know who Ser Lorch answered to.

Still, the prince seemed to be offering him a way out, which would make everything easier.

"I'd love to. I've heard you wouldn't have any trouble."

They both began to walk, exchanging compliments.

The conversation was pleasant. Few would have expected it from a scholar and a swordsman. But they understood each other well.

Jaime would always prefer a sword, but he knew it wouldn't solve all his problems. Jaehaerys preferred to solve problems with his mind, but he knew that sometimes steel was needed to fulfill his duty.

"Ser Amory Lorch. I should have brought bread. I forgot," the prince said, the man was looking up at the prince from the ground. He was in terrible condition, bleeding from everywhere.

One of his eyes was closed, surrounded by a purple stain.

"Your Grace, there was a misunderstanding," he began.

"Torrhen. Cover his mouth," he ordered one of his men.

The former royal guard tried to protest through his tears. No one heard him.

"Did he say something?" Despite the pleasant conversation, Jaime remained uneasy.

"Perhaps, but I can't quite remember," the prince began. "My mind has been preoccupied with developing my new lands. The king will give me gold, but I fear it won't be enough." His eyes never left the man on the floor.

"Gold, eh?" Jaime asked. "The Lannister house has a little," he said with false humility.

"I couldn't ask you..." He tried to refuse halfheartedly. Jaime had to admit that the prince was a bad actor. At least he was on this occasion. Jaime could read his desires easily. 'Maybe he knows I can't refuse,' he thought.

"My daughter will marry your nephew," he said, alluding to family. "As long as you maintain a strong castle, my grandchildren's reign will be more stable." Jaime wanted to negotiate and leave. He wanted to spend more time with his eldest daughter, but he would soon have to return to the Rock.

"That would certainly ease my fiancée's concerns. She has trouble sleeping, fearing that they will come for her again," he said. It was true; Daenerys had woken him before sunrise. She hadn't slept a wink all night. Only after chatting for a while did she manage to fall asleep in his room. "She'll be glad to know that the castle where she sleeps is safe," he said calmly.

"May I ask what fiefdom you will get?" Jaime didn't think this would come cheap.

"Harrenhal," said the prince.

Jaime held back the "shit" that wanted to come to his lips.

"I will send half a million gold dragons in the hope that it will ease the princess's concerns." He wasn't going to offer too little. No matter how upset he was with Cersei, she was his sister, and he loved her. Besides, his daughter's crown could be affected. "You'll need craftsmen, carpenters, and blacksmiths. I will send a few," he added.

"That's quite generous." Jaehaerys had hoped to get two hundred thousand gold dragons. 'The Lannisters shit gold,' as they usually said. The fact that Jaime was willing to hand over that amount in one go spoke volumes. The men were also a surprise, but he would have to keep an eye on them. He didn't want spies on his land. He could have negotiated a higher price, but he didn't want to sour relations with the Lannisters.

"I remember now... Ser Amory confessed to desiring the princess and ordering her kidnapping. It was a repugnant crime, don't you think, Lord Jaime?" he asked.

"A horrible crime," Jaime replied. He had no love for the man in front of him. Losing a Lannister in the capital would be annoying, but this one was more loyal to his sister than to anyone else.

'She probably bewitched him, letting him taste the sweetness between her legs,' Jaime thought with disdain. His sister had been more wild since marrying Oberyn.

"What do you think would be an appropriate punishment? I was thinking about the wall." The knight's eyes sparkled with hope. Jaime understood; the prince was giving him the opportunity to save the man's life.

"That's quite kind," said the blond man. The man seemed ready to throw himself at his feet and kiss them. "But attempting to harm the royal family is a crime punishable by death." He watched hope leave Lorch's eyes. 'I wouldn't spend a gold dragon on an idiot.'

"Torrhen," the lord and the prince said, turning to leave the dungeons. They heard muffled moans and the familiar sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. Then, a thud like a deer falling to the ground.

"I have a visit to make. I'm sorry I can't accompany you, my lord," the prince said.

"I know the way, my prince. I hope that you can visit my family's castle in the future." He extended his hand, and the white-haired man took it. Jaime noticed ink stains on his fingers.

"I hope I have the opportunity. When I transform Harrenhal into a castle worthy of its name, I will extend an invitation to you."

"I'll be waiting," he said. With that, they both left for different places.

-----

Jaehaerys walked to a cell where he found a man with hair as dark as coal and a silver streak. He was of Valyrian descent. He was an attractive man, almost on par with the royal family.

"Prince," he said, sounding anything but worried. "I heard you almost died."

"Unfounded rumors," he replied gracefully. "Your men didn't come close to touching me," he continued.

"They weren't my men. They weren't following my orders." He wasn't defending himself or begging for forgiveness or mercy.

"You don't seem worried."

"I trust my sword."

"So did the five men," the prince replied.

"Five men together don't make a Darkstar." He was an arrogant man.

"A title you give yourself doesn't make you a warrior." The man's smile faltered. "A trial by combat, then?" he asked.

"Yes. I will challenge Arthur. I will bring the sunset to the Sword of the Morning," he said devotedly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. You won't fight him. It will be my hands that take your life." He turned to leave.

"Make sure you don't die at the hands of Daemon. I'd have no choice but to comfort little Daenerys." Jaehaerys gritted his teeth, but didn't stop walking, even with the laughter that followed that comment. He was a patient man.

"Could you ask them to send Rhaenys? It would be good to have her motivate me before a battle. It wouldn't be the first time." Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow, but continued walking. Most of King's Landing believed that there was a forbidden romance between him and his niece. This was just because they used to play together when they were children.

'I have enough funding,' he thought, ignoring the man. He would kill him later. Perhaps it was arrogant of him, but he wasn't worried about duels at all. He was faster and stronger than anyone he had ever met. Maybe only the mountain could match his strength, given that he was said to wield a broadsword with one hand and split men in two with a single blow.

He didn't like fighting. Had Gerold attacked any other member of the royal family, he would have let Ser Barristan or Arthur deal with him. Still, Gerold had allegedly attacked him. Allegedly. He looked more like a peacemaker. Viserys was the real culprit, but even that didn't feel quite right. He didn't want to believe that his brother would stoop so low.

His head began to ache as usual. He wanted to find some good wine and sleep with Ros. But he didn't want to disrespect his future wife. She already had enough on her plate with being forced to marry a man she didn't love, so she shouldn't have to worry about him cheating on her before the wedding.

'Just wine will suffice for now.'

Chapter Text

The king had decided that the duel between the princes would take place the day after the joust. This meant that it could be extended or brought forward from the initial date. Jaehaerys arrived at the stands. He greeted all the nobles he passed with a polite bow.

Rumors spread like wildfire. Many lords viewed him differently after learning how he had defended himself against the mercenaries. Jaehaerys felt disgusted. They admired him for his killing ability. He didn't have a problem with killing. He had killed more than one bandit in the north. But to admire him for that? It made him feel sick.

He sat in the royal box. Only Targaryens and their relatives, as well as members of the small council, were present.

He looked at Prince Oberyn Martell with his dark hair and matching eyes. He was thin and tall with a blonde woman at his side—his wife, Cersei. She was as beautiful as they said she was. Still, she looked like a girl with leprosy compared to Daenerys.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at the small council. I had other needs," the Dornish prince said. He did not introduce himself; he didn't need to.

The prince looked at a figure like a diamond drawn on the Dornishman's forehead.**

"The matter was resolved without incident. Gerold Dayne's trial will be soon," he said politely.

"And the other matter, the traitor Ser Lorch?" The prince suddenly seemed more dangerous, like a snake baring its fangs.

"The king allowed me to deal with it in my own way," he said, not giving many details.

"And Ser Lorch?"

"Somewhere in the ocean," he said simply. He looked at the woman next to the prince, who looked at him with a grin.

Jaehaerys was not a vengeful man. But he couldn't let that woman think she could attack his betrothed and just carry on as if nothing had happened. He wouldn't move against Cersei just yet. However, opportunities arise, and he is an expert at capitalizing on them.

"Ah, my beautiful wife, Cersei Nymeros Martell," the prince said as he took her hand and kissed it. The blonde smiled. There was a trace of affection between them.

"Your beauty does not do justice to the rumors, princess. If the Targaryens didn't exist, I would have proclaimed you one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms," he said. Looking at her smiling face, he tries to hide his anger.

She earned the title of princess through her marriage to Prince Oberyn. However, it did not carry much weight outside of Dorne.

"I am flattered, my prince," she said, ignoring his comment, allowing him to kiss her hand. Cersei held her breath as she watched the tall prince extend his hand. A primal desire arose within her. Prince Oberyn was not much different.

Jaehaerys ended up shaking her hand. Cersei shifted uncomfortably, insulted.

"It seems my betrothed is calling me. I hope we can meet later," he said, bidding her farewell.

"I would like to see the weapon everyone talks about," said Prince Oberyn. His eyes narrowed, a hint of anger in them. His mood went from lustful to offended in seconds.

"I'll be happy to show it to you," he said.

'He's dangerous,' he thought about Oberyn. He seemed more dangerous than Daemon and Gerold combined.

"Daenerys," he greeted the girl who looked at him. "Brandon", that was one of his guards. He left him with Daenerys to ensure her safety.

She seemed torn between smiling at him and ignoring him. She didn't know how to behave in public around him. She had accepted that the idea of marriage didn't displease her. Her mother's words about her infatuation with her nephew had also made an impression on her.

"Jaehaerys," she greeted him. Finally, a tender smile appeared on her lips, unintentionally. It disappeared as soon as she heard a snort behind her.

"Daemon!" Queen Lyanna scolded her son. He rolled his eyes, but stopped causing trouble.

"I hope you slept better, princess," he said. The girl nodded.

"I did," she said. 'Knowing you're close calms me,' she thought, too embarrassed to say it out loud. Her face flushed at the thought. "I also enjoyed the books you lent me. I'm embarrassed to say, though, that I have some questions. There are some things I didn't quite understand," she said, feeling Daemon's eyes on the back of her neck. She wondered whether she should say anything at all. She really enjoyed talking to Jaehaerys.

"I'll be happy to answer," said the prince.

"The tournament is about to begin," they heard the Master of Coins say. "Perhaps you'd like to place a bet, my prince?" His smile was sharp and unpleasant.

"I'm not very knowledgeable about tournaments, Lord Baelish," he said, declining.

"Ah, yes. You grew up in the North. I sometimes forget," the little man said with a smile. "I was friends with Catelyn Stark when we were children. Perhaps she mentioned me?" he asked, wanting to strike up a conversation.

"I remember her once speaking of a foolish, weak young man who tried to win her hand from Brandon Stark." His words were more poisonous than he intended. He felt he had to be on guard with the man. They heard Viserys stifle a laugh.

"I did. I have an ugly reminder of that day. Thanks to Catelyn's mercy, I'm still alive." If Baelish took the comment badly, he didn't show it.

The trumpets announced the start of the joust. Crown Prince Aegon stood up and gave an opening speech. Jaehaerys paid no attention beyond the moment he was mentioned, raising his hand when he received an ovation from the audience.

A figure among the participants caught his attention.

"The Mountain," he muttered. Daenerys, sitting beside him, wrinkled her nose.

"I don't like him," she said. He always looked at her too much, as if she were a piece of juicy meat.

He wondered if Gregor's strength was superior to his. "I'm curious to see how strong he is."

The first joust was between Sir Arthur and a knight from a lesser house. The knight broke three of the royal guard's lances before being thrown from his horse. Ser Arthur, Ser Loras, and Ser Barristan seemed to be the favorites. There were others, such as the Clegane brothers and some knights from the Valley. Prince Daemon would have normally participated, but he did not want to take any chances, given his upcoming duel. He took the rumors seriously.

The clashes continued. Ser Arthur swept past his rivals. The Hound unhorsed Ser Barristan after breaking eight lances. Soon, Loras was facing the Mountain. The next duel would be between Ser Arthur and the Hound.

"Princess Daenerys, not in a thousand lifetimes would I be worthy to stand before your beauty," said Loras in a chivalrous voice. The princess smiled demurely. "Would you grant me the honor of carrying your favor?" he asked, raising his lance.

Normally, Loras would ask his sister for the favor, but this time, he asked the princess.

Daenerys looked at her betrothed, the question in her eyes. He nodded, knowing the sodomitic nature of the man. Besides, everyone knows he was being considered for the white robe. It wasn't inappropriate. Jaehaerys nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaehaerys saw Daemon grit his teeth as Daenerys tied a ribbon to the tip of her spear.

"I wish you the best of luck, Ser Loras," the princess said before returning to her seat.

Both competitors took their places at opposite ends and prepared themselves.

"It seems Sir Gregor is having difficulty controlling his horse," said Aegon's wife, Princess Myrcella.

"Loras is riding a mare in heat. Dishonest, but clever," said Petyr Baelish.

Daenerys's lips formed a soft line. She had given her favor out of obligation. It would have been disrespectful to deny him in front of all the nobles when he asked. Now, seeing him use a dishonest tactic, she regretted it. She accidentally looked at her betrothed, perhaps hoping he had said no when she asked him.

The knights broke the first lance. Gregor managed to stay in his saddle by a hair. On the second, he wasn't so lucky and was thrown from his horse.

"Sword!" he roared at his squire.

With one blow, the horse's head fell. Jaehaerys was a bit surprised. But he could do the same. He had once decapitated a bear with an axe.

"Why?" he heard his betrothed ask. She seemed angry about the horse's death.

Amid the crowd's cries, Ser Loras gloated. He did not look at the approaching mountain behind him. Dozens of screams made him turn just in time to block a sword blow with his shield. The wood shattered on impact, and he fell to the ground.

Seeing Ser Gregor's raised sword, ready to deliver the final blow, Jaehaerys grabbed with one hand an empty chair by one of its legs and threw it with all his might. It flew through the air about thirty yards before hitting the Mountain in the back of the neck. The blow knocked Ser Gregor off balance, almost causing him to fall, allowing Ser Loras to escape.

'That blow would have knocked out most men.' Jaehaerys thought, surprised.

"Stop this in the name of the king," roared Prince Aegon, his face stoic despite his shouting, showing no agitation. "Good father," he said, looking at Jaime.

"I'll take care of him," said the Golden Lion.

Both competitors looked at the box.

'Gregor seems to want to rip my head off. And Loras... Why are you looking at me like that?' the prince thought with concern.

Jaehaerys ignored everyone's stares as he left the stands. The whole situation was giving him a headache.

'Maybe I need a stronger drink. Whisky. I wonder how it's made.'

Chapter Text

He emptied another cup of wine. His headache subsided as more alcohol reached his bloodstream. Every so often, the pain increased. Certain situations or people brought it on: Certain names, phrases, and houses. No matter what he did, the pain never went away.

Alcohol didn't take the pain away, it just made it easier to ignore. He had tried painkillers, but only poppies worked.

"It wouldn't be a good idea to fight tomorrow with a hangover," he heard a velvety voice say beside him.

"I'll take the risk. Rhaenys," he said, looking at the newcomer.

She walked over to him, took a silver cup, and poured wine from the jug. The wine flowed, filling the cup.

"There are rumors about you, one man against five," she said. Her violet eyes had tiny brown flecks.

"They're true," he said.

"Oh, I believe they are. The mountain saw it for himself." Throwing a wooden chair thirty yards was something few could do. Even then, the chair only stopped because it hit Ser Gregor.

The crowd in the box continued to discuss the prince's strength.

"Perhaps I'll let myself get carried away," the man said.

She let out a charming giggle. Jaehaerys felt her hand caress his thigh.

"Don't you want to show me what else you can do with your body?" she asked. Under other circumstances, the prince would have accepted without hesitation. But he was betrothed to someone and was inside the Red Fortress, where the slightest indiscretion would reach the king's ears.

"You'll see tomorrow when I fight Daemon," he said, subtly removing her hand.

Rhaenys clenched her teeth as she forced a smile. It was fake, but to anyone else, it could have passed for a genuine, beautiful smile.

"It promises to be interesting," she said, not mentioning his refusal but continuing to talk. "You're fighting for Daenerys."

"It's Daemon who's looking for a fight," he said, hastily finishing his wine.

"I always thought I would marry you," she said contemplatively. "I dreamed of it since I was a little girl, and now...you're marrying someone else." Her voice sounded bitter as she directed the reproach toward him.

"Did you think of me when you were with Gerold?" the prince asked.

Rhaenys was silent for a long moment. Her eyes widened in confusion. She and Gerold had shared a dance, and afterwards, he had stolen a kiss from her. She remembered vomiting afterwards

"He asked you to come to his cell. He wanted motivation to fight me afterwards," the prince said, leaving her to return to the box. He regretted that the alcohol was still affecting his speech. But he hadn't said anything he hadn't thought before.

To him, his niece's love life or sex life was irrelevant. He understood the hidden meaning in the girl's words: "Can't you fight for me?" She seemed to want to shout at him. He couldn't find the strength to tell her that she wouldn't come with Harrenhal and the lands. It was better to pretend that he cared about her sleeping with DarkStar. That should stop her.

"My thanks, Prince Jaehaerys," he heard a lilting voice say before returning to his seat next to Daenerys.

He looked at his betrothed. Daemon now occupied the seat to her left. Not too close. Brandon had his eyes on both Daenerys and her nephew. She was uncomfortable, and he could tell by her body language. It was the same as when they had shared a dance.

"You have nothing to worry about, Lady Tyrell," he said.

His brother Viserys's betrothed was beautiful. She had brown hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Her skin was white, and her eyes were almond-shaped. She wore a red dress that revealed just enough of her cleavage to avoid being vulgar.

"Still, I am grateful," she said, nodding at his words. He added nothing more. "My brother is very dear to me, and you saved his life." Margaery continued.

"You exaggerate," he said carefully. "Anyone would have intervened."

"There were knights closer by, but you intervened," she continued gratefully. "Viserys seems to be waiting for me. I hope we can continue this conversation in a less crowded place," she said, curtsying slightly before walking toward Viserys.

'Continue what?' thought Jaehaerys. He watched as Daemon stood up and extended a hand to Daenerys; he intended her to follow him. Daenerys seemed unsure of what to do. Jaehaerys considered approaching and intervening, but he was curious about his sister's actions.

She shook her head. Lyanna's son's face darkened. With the grace of an angry lion, he withdrew. Their eyes met, and Jaehaerys could see pure hatred in his.

He walked through the box, ignoring the whispers directed at him, and sat down next to Daenerys. He caught Aegon looking at him with an inquisitive expression, as if analyzing him.

"He looked angry," he said to his sister, ignoring the heir.

"He's furious," she whispered. It was barely audible among the voices of the crowd. He looked at her, her eyes filling with tears.

He took her hand in comfort. She shuddered, but did not pull away. His fingers traced circles on the back of her hand.

Back at the tournament, Ser Loras waited for the joust between Dayne and Clegane to end.

The Hound and the Sword of the Morning broke eight lances before the king's guard emerged victorious.

The final was between Ser Arthur and Ser Loras: Two skilled knights, separated by nearly two decades in age. The murmurs grew louder, and people began to place bets.

To the surprise of many, the joust was quick.

Loras's first lance struck Arthur squarely in the chest. Screams from the ladies filled the arena.

Ser Arthur could barely stay on his horse. His back hit the horse's hindquarters. But he managed to stay on.

One more lance, Arthur passed Loras's shield and struck him in the side. The young man was not so lucky, falling from his horse with a thud.

The crowd applauded, including Loras. He accepted his defeat gracefully and praised Ser Arthur. The maidens sighed his name. The king's guard rode up to a box where he found his niece.

Lady Lyarra Dayne was named queen of love and beauty. Her name gave a clue as to who her father was. Jaehaerys looked at the Lady. She was accompanied by another woman who seemed older but was just as beautiful. It was her mother, Ashara Dayne.

Many whispered that it was either Brandon or Eddard. Some even dared to say that they were both responsible for sleeping with her at Harrenhal. Ashara kept her mouth closed. Elia requested that Rhaegar legitimize her as a Dayne, even though she had no right to Starfall.

The girl was just as beautiful as her mother. Her eyes were different colors: one purple and one gray. Each eye had a little of the other's color. The girl received equal parts praise and ridicule. Despite her origins, nobles fought for her hand just as they had once fought for her mother's.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Daenerys asked.

"She is," he replied sincerely. "If the Targaryens didn't exist, she would be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms," which seemed to please her a little.

Although he wasn't completely honest. Lady Dayne's beauty was more seductive. Whereas the Targaryens were closer to a perfect appearance. They weren't the same, and he would have a hard time choosing between them.

"Daemon always stares at her. There are even rumors that he slept with her." Jaehaerys was surprised by this. "Would you sleep with her?" she asked. Her eyes were still sad. He could tell she felt insecure.

"I'm promised to you. I don't love you, but I won't dishonor you," he said. What he didn't admit was that before he knew about the engagement, his eyes had been on the Dornish girl. She would be the second of Eddard's daughters he slept with.

"What if I said it was okay for you to sleep with any woman? Would you sleep with her?" Those words sounded strange. Jaehaerys didn't understand her game.

"The idea seems to bother you, so no," he answered, but his answer did not appease her. But it didn't worsen her mood, either.

"We'll see," she said.

"See what?" Women were complicated beings.

"Make sure you win tomorrow," she said, squeezing his hand, words he never thought would come out of her mouth.

He shook his head as he walked her back to her room. People had begun to return to the castle for the banquet.

'You lose before the fight, Daemon?'

Chapter Text

"Have you placed your bets, Prince Viserys?" Littlefinger's high-pitched voice distracted him.

They were back in the stands.

The field used for the joust the day before would be used for the duel of honor between the two princes for the princess's hand.

"I won't bet against my brother or my nephew," Viserys said. He had a certain moral code about that.

"Oh, I'm sure your whole family doesn't feel the same way," the man said.

"Did someone place a bet?" he asked curiously.

"Princess Daenerys bet," Littelfinger said.

Viserys started feeling bad when he heard that.

In the distance, he looked at his sister. She was sitting next to their mother. He wanted to go over and sit next to her. But he had to stay close to his "rose" for appearances' sake. The girl did not arouse any desire in him. Unlike his sister, whom he had watched grow up since she was a little girl.

He still remembered when they were young and he read her stories about her family, about their pride. He told her about dragons. He had always thought they would get married.

Then she started spending time with Daemon. They were close in age, which caused them to form a stronger bond. Over the years, that bond turned them into lovers.

Viserys's hands dug into the arms of the chair.

He could feel the king slowly putting obstacles in his way. Someone was trying to pit him against his brother. The circumstances were in their favor.

Viserys had no idea who ordered his brother's murder. Supposedly, it was Gerold, and everyone believed he was behind it. Viserys regretted ever befriending Gerold. Now, everyone believed Gerold to be a bloodthirsty killer, although they didn't dare say so for lack of proof.

He felt a burning hatred when Daenerys's hand was promised to Jaehaerys while he had to settle for the farmers'.

But he would never kill his brother. It hurt him deeply that his entire family believed that lie. Little by little, he felt more and more isolated. The oppression in King's Landing seemed like a noose tightening around his neck. He still didn't know who was tying the knot.

"Betting on Daemon will only cause her trouble if Jaehaerys wins," he said. Deep down, he knew Jaehaerys would win. And that terrified him. He believed that Daenerys could come to love him in a way that she never loved Daemon. He could see her affection for her nephew, but it was usually devoid of desire or passion—just youthful infatuation.

But with Jaehaerys... he remembered the dance they had shared. Despite her reluctance, his sister's eyes didn't lie.

"I'm not betting on Daemon," Littlefinger said, leaning closer as if about to reveal a great secret. Viserys leaned toward him. "He bet on Jaehaerys. Five thousand gold dragons."

"What?" It was an absurd amount. Normally, they wouldn't have let that bet into the betting house, which was run by Littlefinger.

"She bet against Myrcella Lannister. Apparently, they had a heated argument yesterday," the man said.

Viserys swallowed. His sister was already starting to fall in love with Jaehaerys. How long did it take? Three or four days. Viserys achieved nothing in years.

He always felt inadequate. He was a Targaryen, well educated; he knew how to wield a sword. He was handsome and tall.

But he didn't excel at anything. He wasn't the best warrior—that was Daemon. He wasn't the most learned, either; that was Jaehaerys. He wasn't the most charismatic, either; Aegon, even with his stoic face, was able to win over the lords. He wasn't the most handsome, not even close. The maidens used to whisper about Aegon and Daemon, although lately, they had added Jaehaerys to the list.

Viserys was not usually part of those discussions. He knew he was handsome compared to the low-born lords without dragon blood. But within his family, he was average.

Too average. This embittered him, leading him to turn to whores and alcohol. He cursed his birth. He deserved better.

"Ah, it looks like it's about to begin," said Baelish.

-----

Jaehaerys looked at the stands. Hundreds of lords stared at them like animals on display. The king and the entire royal family were present. Their expressions ranged from neutral to encouraging.

He noticed the smile on his mother's face. He also noticed how Daenerys's brow was furrowed with concern. Last night, after the banquet, they had shared an intimate moment in her chambers. They didn't sleep together; they didn't even kiss. She simply asked him about a book she had read. He took his time explaining it to her and found her to be a dedicated student.

He looked at his opponent.

Daemon wore black armor. A dragon was carved on the front, and a wolf was carved on the shoulder pads. His helmet was simple yet imposing. It was a magnificent piece. The prince held a steel shield with a white dragon carved on it. This was very different than him: Jaehaerys wore leather armor. He had chosen agility over defense.

He had his reasons.

Daemon held a one-and-a-half-handed sword. A dragon was carved into the pommel, its wings forming the guard. Its black blade was shiny with characteristic waves.

Rhaegar had retrieved DarkSister from the wall where Aemon had kept it after Blood Raven took it with him to the Night's Watch.

Maester Aemon sent it saying that Daemon had proven himself more than capable of wielding it. The old maester wanted to give it to Jaehaerys, but the latter showed no signs of being a warrior.

He wondered if Rhaegar would get the sword back before banishing his son to the North.

"An iron stick?" asked the rogue prince with a smile. "And you won't wear armor? I can wait for you to tie some books to your body for protection," he said sarcastically.

"Daenerys doesn't like steel. She said I'm more handsome without wearing a helmet," he said, trying to provoke him.

And it worked. The mocking smile on his face turned sour.

"It's good that you enjoyed her. I know firsthand how tight she is," he replied vulgarly. There seemed to be a hint of contempt in his voice when he spoke of her.

She had told him that she was a virgin. He hadn't doubted her.

"I know you're lying. The blood on the sheets is proof enough." Looking at Daemon's angry face told him that Daenerys wasn't lying about her purity. He would apologize to her later. It wasn't polite to talk about a woman that way. Fortunately, there was no one around who could hear them.

"Can we begin?" Daemon couldn't stand it any longer. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"Today, under the watchful gaze of the gods, we gather to witness the battle of wills between two men. A duel for the hand of Princess Daenerys, whose beauty surpasses all the gold in Westeros," said King Rhaegar.

"A man's honor is as strong as the weapon he wields. My brother and my son have brought this dispute to me, and they have decided that the winner of the duel will be worthy of my sister's hand. Let it be known that their fight is not for possession, but to prove themselves worthy husbands to Princess Daenerys. The loser's fate will be exile to Essos."

Jaehaerys turned to look at him.

"Daemon's exile will be to the North, as agreed," he interrupted. He would regret it later.

May the gods curse him for contradicting the king in front of everyone. But he would not cause his mother's worried face.

"It is true. Prince Jaehaerys's exile will be in Essos, while Daemon's will be in the North, alongside the Starks." He gave his wife, Lyanna, a kind look. She was pale but forced a smile.

Princess Visenya stood beside her, casting angry glances at Jaehaerys.

The king's gaze returned to Jaehaerys, showing nothing. But he could see the sparks of anger in his purple eyes.

"With the gods as witnesses, Begin!" he ordered, taking his seat.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys watched his opponent lunge forward. Daemon didn't ask if he was ready. His sword traced a fine arc. The sound of steel reverberated across the sand. The staff stopped the blow. The blow was powerful, but it barely moved him.

He had chosen the full staff over the staff divided into three sections. It's not that the staff wasn't lethal, but it was more controllable, which means less chances of killing his nephew. It was a weapon nearly seven feet tall and weighing nearly forty-five pounds. Useless to anyone but him. Its rough surface allowed for a good grip. The black steel glinted with purple specks in the midday sun.

The black-haired man took a step back, and Jaehaerys wasted no time. With one blow of his weapon, he bent the shield in his opponent's hands, who, his eyes wide with surprise, took steps backward while shifting his focus. Now he looked with more respect at the weapon in his hands.

'Fuck' He almost broke Daemon's hand.

The prince of scrolls let his hands run along the staff. He found a small notch.

'Valyrian steel is amazing,' he thought. The weapon had been struck before, but it had never been damaged.

Both men circled each other. The seconds seemed to drag on. Jaehaerys knew that a blow from the sword would be devastating. And his opponent was also afraid of the staff.

"Are you going to run away the whole time?" asked the white-haired prince.

"I could ask you the same thing," the rogue prince replied.

"You're the one who challenged me," he said, looking through Daemon's visor as his eyes hardened at his words.

Daemon approached, made the same strike as before, but changed direction at the last moment. The vertical strike became horizontal.

He took a step back to dodge it. He heard the air buzz as it was cut. He maneuvered his staff to hit him on the shoulder with one of its ends. The blow was dodged, unfortunately for him.

'Should I just throw myself at him?' he wondered. He dismissed the idea immediately. One bad blow and his nephew's brains would be scattered across the ground.

For a moment, he even thought about dropping the staff and punching him. But that would be too humiliating for his nephew.

He threw powerful but slow blows, hoping his nephew would lose his balance while dodging. But Daemon's stance was impeccable.

The duel progressed slowly. The spectators watched from the edge of their seats. It seemed even, but slow. Only the knights knew that one blow would be enough to end it all.

When Jaehaerys took the initiative, his opponent's shield was shattered, leaving him unprotected.

—--

When Daemon moved to dodge a blow, he watched the staff strike the ground. Pieces of earth broke off.

The rogue prince looked at his opponent. He had tried everything, cuts from all angles, feints, and he even hit him with his shield.

Jaehaerys was like a rock. His blows never reached him. It quickly became a duel of attrition, one he was losing. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. He discarded his shield. It was so mangled it was barely useful. His hand was numb from the blows. His uncle struck like Ser Gregor. And Daemon had already defeated the mountain.

It wouldn't be any different now. He looked at his face. The typical Valyrian features, unlike him, who was painted with Northern colors. His uncle's eyes were cold. And a feeling of unease would not leave his chest.

'He's holding back,' he thought.

He wanted to win. No, he needed to win.

Not for Daenerys. The sweet girl no longer looked at him or spoke to him the same way. It hurt to think about it, but she loved his brother, or at least she was starting to. She had begun to read and study with him. Couldn't she see what everyone else saw? Those weren't characteristics a princess should have. At least, they weren't the characteristics he wanted in a wife.

The need to win was only to heal his pride.

He pushed the girl out of his mind. He would deal with her later.

He took the bastard sword in both hands. He had to finish quickly. He lunged, not hastily, but with calculation. His sword struck the staff, sending sparks flying. He didn't strike hard; the recoil would be counterproductive. The steel danced as his uncle covered himself. He tried to aim for the hands holding the staff, but they always managed to dodge him.

'There it is,' throughout the fight, he had noticed a mistake his uncle made. When he raised the staff above his head to strike him, his right foot was on its toes, affecting his balance.

Taking a risk, he slashed at Jaehaerys' left foot, forcing him to move. He watched him fall backwards. 'You're mine,' he thought, striking him again, aiming for his head. He would finish him off.

His uncle's eyes were indifferent.

'Did he let himself fall?' Soon, the sky was in front of the Rogue Prince's eyes.

—--

As he let himself fall, Jaehaerys threw his staff aside, finding his nephew's sword in its path and deflecting it. He braced his hands on the ground as he swept his feet. His nephew's skill was incredible, but insufficient. He knocked his nephew down, grimacing when he hit the steel of the armor.

His nephew fell to the ground. With agility, Jaehaerys got up. With his feet, he picked up his staff and placed it on Daemon's chest.

Everyone remained silent.

"Surrender," he said. Not asking, ordering. He was not happy. Daemon's last blow was intended to split his head open. He had restrained himself; he could have easily broken his legs, but he did not want to be cruel. In this backward world, a broken bone could kill him.

'The stigma of a Kinslayer cannot be washed away,' he thought to calm himself.

He looked at the sword in Daemon's arm. Daemon moved, not to let go, but to launch one last desperate attack.

His leg held the arm in place. He pressed hard a bit more and he would break his arm. Daemon stifled a cry as the armor deformed around his arm.

"Are you so proud? Huh?" he asked. "Will you wish me to break your arms? I've held back long enough. I wouldn't mind honoring your wish," he twisted his foot, causing the rogue prince to grit his teeth.

"I surrender," he said finally.

Jaehaerys stepped back. He turned his back on him, secretly hoping that his nephew would want to play dirty. He gripped his staff tightly. The sun was behind him, so the shadows were cast in front of him. They would warn him if Daemon decided to make one last act of cowardice.

The blow did not come. It seemed that there was some honor left in Daemon.

"He made me sweat a little," he thought. It had been a long time since any opponent had done that.

-----

The crowd's cries were immediate. Everyone looked at Daemon lying on the ground, staring at the sky. His grip on his sword did not loosen. Several minutes passed before he got up on his own.

He walked among the mocking glances. He was not well-liked, only feared for his martial skills.

Apart from his wrist, he was uninjured, except for a few bruises. He had lost, even though his opponent had held back.

He felt terrible. It wasn't just the defeat. It hurt knowing that he had wanted to kill his opponent and that his uncle was holding back. He walked through the castle in his armor. His chambers would be his refuge.

Only when he arrived did he ask for a cold bath, or the closest thing to cold water that could be found. The maids made sure to prepare it. He took off his armor himself.

"I'll bathe myself," he said. His voice cut through the air, and the maids didn't dare to object.

He submerged himself in the water. The cold was welcome to his body. He wondered how cold Winterfell would be, considering that it would be his next destination.

It hurt. Not his body. Daenerys hurt him, not because she had been taken from him, but because she had chosen to leave. It hurt to lose. It hurt that his rival hadn't even fought seriously. He felt anger at the pity his uncle had shown him.

He didn't let the tears fall, even though his eyes stung. The silver whore and her stupid prince of scrolls didn't deserve them. He didn't scream or cry.

He just let the hatred simmer.

Chapter Text

Later that night, his mother found him. Jaehaerys spent the hours after the fight in his quarters. He worked in whisky. He wanted to produce a purer liquor. He was writing down his knowledge of microbiology and chemistry. He would have loved to recreate tequila, but he had never heard of the agave plant in Planetos.

"That vision of you seems more like you," she said as soon as she saw him.

"Thank you. I enjoyed it more, too," he said, putting his pen aside.

His mother approached and carefully took the strange object.

"Another one of your inventions?" she asked.

"Yes, but I just need to change the ink periodically. It's more useful than dipping a quill every twenty words," he continued.

"Would you be willing to give one to your wise mother?"

"You can have it," he smiled. "This box contains cartridges," he said, showing her some thin glass tubes. There was wax at both ends and ink inside. "When the ink runs out, you have to change them. Remove the wax and put it together like this," he said, showing her how to take the pen apart. It was an invention that lightened his workload.

"I've never seen such small Myrian glass," she said, admiring the small device. It was delicate and difficult to produce.

"It doesn't come from Myr," he said. His mother's eyes widened. She nodded at his words.

"Knowledge is dangerous," she said, looking worried. "I don't want anyone to hurt you."

"The last time you thought they would hurt me was before the duel," he said calmly. "I can defend myself."

"And Dany?" she asked. "Can you promise me you'll protect her?"

"With my life, Mother. I'll protect her with my life," he said, taking her hand in his.

Soon, he found himself in his mother's warm embrace. She hugged him tightly. He knew she was worried, but he didn't know how much. Seeing him fight in a duel must have upset her, especially against a skilled opponent with a Valyrian steel weapon.

"The wedding is in two weeks, my children," she said, caressing his face. "I missed so much of your life," she said regretfully.

"When Harrenhal is repaired, I will build chambers for you. They will be fit for a queen." He kissed her hand.

"You still want to go to Harrenhal? I don't know what nonsense is going through your head," she said, walking away. Now, she was upset. "It's cursed and barely habitable," she said in a low voice. "Stay at KingsLanding. There are hundreds of lords who hardly ever set foot in their castles. You can join the small council and live here."

"Why do you always doubt me, Mother?" he asked. Pain tinged his voice. "Haven't I already proven what I'm capable of?"

"The last time I saw you, you were eight. Now you're back as an adult. But I can't forget the image of the child who held my hand as we walked through the gardens. I only knew about you through your letters and Varys's reports." Her eyes filled with tears.

"It's not fair, Mother. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm going to make Harrenhal a great place. Mine will replace the name of Harren the Black. History books will mention me first when discussing the castle. They'll talk about the city around it, too. I'll make you proud," he said in a low, raspy voice.

"Don't talk nonsense. I'm proud of you. Whenever Varys talked about your studies, I felt like my little prince was growing into a strong and kind man," she said, smiling at the memory. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I want to prove myself to myself, too," he said. "It's my ambition, and I need a place to fulfill it. I'm the third son. The king's little brother. I'm not close to the line of succession. I'm fourth in line— Sixth, if you count the princesses. I have to make a name for myself. I plan to make my name ring louder than the king's."

"You shouldn't say that lightly," his mother scolded, feeling moved by his words.

"I don't covet the throne. It would take time away from my research."

"Others won't think the same," his mother whispered more to herself than to him.

"Others?"

"What I'm about to tell you. Be sure to keep it to yourself," his mother said, looking at him with unusual seriousness. "The person who wanted you and Daenerys to marry is Tywin Lannister," she whispered.

"Why? What did Tywin want with the marriage? He got nothing out of it."

"I found out a few minutes ago. I intercepted a letter from the Imp," she said. It was as if stealing information was her daily bread.

"Are you watching the Lannisters? I thought Joanna was your friend."

"And it's because of Joanna that I haven't sent for the lioness to be whipped. Cersei is a stupid and dangerous woman. I'll keep an eye on her," she said venomously.

"I've already taken care of that," he said.

"Yes, Jaime's letter asked his father to send half a million gold dragons to Harrenhal. The stupid lion's face must be hilarious," she said, allowing himself a crude laugh. "Be that as it may, the halfman warned his father about the duel, telling him that his wish to see you and Dany together would be fulfilled soon. I don't know his motives. I only know that he is the hand behind the scenes," he finished in a conspiratorial tone.

"He fears me," said Jaehaerys after considering it for a moment.

"I don't think he fears anyone."

"I have certain business dealings with him. They are small, but they generate a good amount of gold dragons. Tywin tried to take them for himself. All in vain; the business is still mine. He's been trying to take it over for three years," he said, taking a sip of wine.

"Business in those parts?" asked his mother. "Tell me later. Now, tell me why Tywin fears you for that."

"Because I beat him," he said. "He fears that if I ever usurp Aegon, I might get it. Viserys is too clumsy to do it. Daemon isn't interested in ruling, nor does he have a head for politics." His words were not disparaging; they simply expressed the plain truth. "I, on the other hand, have done things there that he doesn't like. I have a small army there."

That's when I realized that Rhaegar's explanations were rubbish.

"An army?" asked Rhaella.

"Yes, to protect my merchandise."

"Merchandise?" she asked.

"A mixture of herbs that cause hallucinations when burned and inhaled," he replied. He created hallucinogens to sell to wealthy Essosians. They were expensive and kept out of the hands of ordinary people. There were others on the market, but they were of inferior quality. "The point is, he sees me as more dangerous than Viserys or Daemon. I'm not saying I can usurp Aegon, but I'm more capable than the two of them." There was no boasting, just the words of a confident man. "That's why using my marriage to Daenerys is the best option. It prevents me from taking a wife who could support me in a war," he finished, hoping his mother wouldn't pry into his drug trade.

Jaehaerys hadn't expected the old lion to be so cautious with him. Still, that was just a theory. He had shown a good head on his shoulders, nothing more. But in this world, though, such a thing was rare.

"If what you say is true, he'll be more cautious with you now that he knows you're a good warrior and that you're extorting Jaime."

"Jaime offered to make a donation," he clarified, but he received only indifference. "I can't marry the daughter of a great house. Even if I'm the best warrior in Westeros, without soldiers, I'm not a threat."

"What about your men?" she asked, worried.

"They're just five hundred, not enough," he said quickly.

"Be careful with him. Don't antagonize his family. He's a ruthless man; only Joanna can curb his cruelty. He won't hesitate to hurt you if he sees you as a threat."

"He can try," he said calmly.

"Jaehaerys!" his mother scolded. "You are brilliant, my son. But you are still mortal. Don't be reckless," she advised.

"I am a dragon. A young one, but no less dangerous," he declared, holding his head high.

He did not consider himself the second coming of Daeron the Young Dragon. However, he would not allow anyone to think he was inferior. If he had, he would have given up his business long ago.

"Suddenly, I feel like I'm talking to a proud lout," his mother said, sounding frustrated.

"Don't worry about me, Mother. It'll be a while before I start breathing fire," he joked.

Despite his words, he was aware of his own weakness when talking about armies. But not all wars are fought with troops. He wished he could awaken the dragons from the stones, though.

"I'm going to assume it's the alcohol making you an idiot," she replied.

She approached him and kissed him on the forehead. "I'm glad you're safe. Don't change that," she said, turning to leave.

Jaehaerys appreciated the silence. He took another pen from one of the drawers, loaded the ink cartridge, and prepared to begin writing.

"Come in," he said when he heard a knock at his door. A man in simple gray armor entered.

"Prince," said Torrhen, one of his guards. "I have news...unpleasant news."

"Be direct," he ordered.

"Gerold Dayne has been found innocent. The man said that it was Viserys who ordered him to hire the assassins. He claimed he was threatened with death," the man said.

'What the hell is Rhaegar doing?'

"Do you know when Viserys' trial will be?" he asked, feigning calm.

"Tomorrow."

"Withdraw," he ordered. The man nodded before leaving.

'Gerold sold Viserys out. The son of a bitch lied to me,' he said, his fingers intertwined beneath his chin. 'Was Viserys the culprit, or did they simply use him as a scapegoat?' he wondered.

'Why did they rush Darkstar's trial? Rhaegar wouldn't be that petty, would he?' He didn't believe his brother would have done it to punish him for not wanting to send Daemon away.

"I need to talk to Viserys," he decided, rising from his seat.

Chapter Text

"Kinslayer!" was all that could be heard in the throne room.

"Silence!" roared the king. On Rhaegar's head rested a simple band of yellow gold set with seven precious stones of different colors: It was the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Rhaenyra Targaryen had sold the crown. The king spent a lot of gold to get it back. He hoped that, with it, he would be seen with more respect as the second coming of the Conciliator. All in all, he had fulfilled his promise despite the rebellion of the stag.

Jaehaerys looked at his brother, who was on trial. If he had had any doubts about his innocence before, he was certain now. He still did not know who the instigator was; he only knew that Viserys was not guilty.

Jaehaerys even thought it might be Rhaegar. But he dismissed the idea. The king was taking advantage of the situation to punish him.

'Did he expect him to fight like Viserys' champion? Or does he intend to send him to the Wall?' When he spoke to Viserys yesterday, he said that Rhaegar asked him to confess and go to the Wall.

The prince stood hunched over on a small platform, given the opportunity to defend himself. Three impartial Lords would judge the prince:

Jaime Lannister, Oberyn Martell, and Mace Tyrell. The latter looked at him angrily. He could often be heard muttering, "And to think that my beautiful rose was about to marry a kinslayer."

Jaehaerys walked among the whispers of the court. His older brother looked at him from the Iron Throne. There was nothing in his eyes.

His nephew Aegon looked at him sympathetically, looking tired.

Viserys looked at him uncertainly, but with hope in his eyes. Jaehaerys nodded in his direction and walked toward Rhaella and Daenerys. They both seemed uncomfortable. The queen mother did not know which side to take. He smiled softly at her as he took his betrothed's hand and kissed it.

"We will begin," the king said.

And the charade began. In addition to Gerold, several other servants were brought in to corroborate his story. They said they saw Viserys give Gerold a heavy bag and speak to him angrily.

There was also talk of Viserys' mistreatment of his employees. Those who spoke of him said he was a man already corrupted by the bitterness of being a spare prince.

There was even a stable boy who said he was used in unnatural ways.

They weren't just accusing him of trying to murder his brother; they were also trying to discredit him. No matter what the case may be, the marriage between Viserys and Margaery Tyrell would never come to fruition.

"Enough!" He seemed dwarfed in court at first; no one expected him to roar like that. "Since those damned imbeciles began to speak, I have heard nothing but lies against me. I am a Targaryen; I am dragon blood. You can be sure of one thing: I would never do anything against my blood or my brother," he said, his voice fading along with his rage.

The three judges looked at him: Jaime with surprise, Oberyn with amusement, and Mace with anger. The latter began to speak.

"How dare you speak? Your desire for Princess Daenerys disrespects the Reach and my daughter. Above all, the thought of a kinslayer sword-swallower becoming the husband of my rose is abhorrent," he said with shame and anger. He did not seem to notice the look the Dornishman gave him. Oberyn was well known for his fondness for men and women.

"Sword-swallower? You don't know how many times I've ignored the Knight of Flowers' advances." Many in the room lowered their heads to stifle their laughter. The Lord Paramount's face reddened further. "And I do desire my sister. May the gods strike me down if I deny it. How could I compare her to your insipid daughter, who seems eager to sleep with Aegon in front of her future husband?" Viserys wasn't exactly brilliant, but when he was angry, he spat fire.

"How could a flower compare to a dragon? Even so, regardless of my desire for her. I will admit that my brother is more worthy of her hand than anyone else." He calmed down and said those words from the bottom of his heart. "Even me", he ended sadly.

Jaehaerys looked at Dany; she seemed uncomfortable. She looks for his hand, trying to find peace.

"My daughter is not—"

"I demand a trial by combat." He interrupted Tyrell. "A dragon should only be pitied by the gods. Men have no right to judge me."

For agonizing seconds, silence reigned in the hall.

"I ask that you allow me the honor of fighting for the crown, Your Grace," said Ser Gerold Dayne as he knelt before the Iron Throne. "I was corrupted and used by Viserys Targaryen. I let fear guide me and did shameful things because of it. Allow me a little redemption." From above, Rhaegar heard everything, impassive.

"So mote it be," said the king, his voice booming through the hall. "Let the gods decide, then. That will ease the pain and doubt in my heart. You have a champion, or you will fight for yourself?"

"I will fight for him, Your Grace," said Jaehaerys. He watched his brother grip the throne tightly for a moment, surprise in his eyes. 'Rhaegar didn't expect me to come out?'

Jaehaerys thought of another reason why the king had brought forward the trial. Was it to give him a scapegoat as an excuse? That was unlikely. Rhaegar should know that he wanted to kill Darkstar.

'No. Rhaegar wasn't that stupid.'

If Viserys's statement had caused silence, then his younger brother's had caused chaos. It was uncommon for someone who had nearly been murdered to fight and risk his life for his would-be murderer.

"Are you sure?" Jaehaerys could taste the bitterness in Rhaegar's words.

"I am. Perhaps it is childish of me, but I believe my brother is innocent. So I will fight for him," he said.

His mother and sister looked on in surprise. They were both feeling better now, though. Not because Jaehaerys was going to fight for Viserys's life, but because he believed in his innocence. Rhaella no longer had any doubts about her son's guilt. Now, she was sure he was innocent. Daenerys squeezed his hand affectionately.

"Very well," said the king. "A date will be discussed."

"Why not right now? Here. Let's get it over with quickly," Jaehaerys interjected. "The three judges are here, and there are hundreds of witnesses. The High Septon is here," he said, looking at the fat man, who cringed at his gaze. "Here. My opponent is dressed in his armor. I have my weapon with me. There is no need to wait," the prince said, showing the three-section staff in his hand. Torrhen had brought it.

"Sir Gerold."

"I... agree," the man said. His voice was tense.

DarkStar had heard about the duel between Daemon and Jaehaerys. They fought evenly, and Jaehaerys won with an unexpected move.

Gerold had not fought the Rogue Prince, but he did not believe that he was less skilled. Still, he would be cautious.

"The rules are simple. The winner of the duel will be the one left standing, whether he kills or immobilizes his opponent. It has always been this way. I cannot make exceptions, not even for you, my brother," he finished with a sigh, as if it hurt him.

"Daenerys, it would be better if you left the room. There will be blood," said Jaehaerys. What he was about to do to the man was not something a person with a weak stomach should see.

"Women see blood more often than you gentlemen," said the Queen Mother. Daenerys nodded firmly and frowned defiantly.

He gave her hand one last caress before letting go, sighed, and walked to the center of the room. He removed his cloak, leaving him in a cotton shirt. His rival frowned.

"No armor?"

"The last man who judged me for that lost."

They formed a circle in the center of the room, leaving enough space for themselves. The lords watched, not daring to blink. They crowded together. Knights of House Targaryen formed a perimeter around Gerold and Jaehaerys.

"Don't hold back," a voice from the crowd said. It caused silence.

"Daemon," Lyanna said. Princess Visenya at her side refused to leave.

"I will leave for the North after witnessing the duel. I want to know what he's capable of," he said shamefully, hugging his sister.

"I don't plan on holding back. He's not lucky enough to share my blood." Jaehaerys said, looking at Daemon angrily. He wanted to get it over with quickly. He didn't want to antagonize Rhaegar, but he also wanted to show that he wasn't a toy to be manipulated at will.

"Supreme Septon," the king said.

Both rivals listened to the septon talk about the Seven Gods and other things.

Neither paid any attention.

"In the name of the Seven, may Viserys Targaryen's innocence or guilt be proven by these two warriors," he finished.

The duel began. The lords joked that the Septon took longer to deliver his speech than the prince took to finish off his rival.

-----

"It's a shame... Prince, but I will keep my promise from that day," in a room full of people, Gerold did not dare repeat his words.

"Do you know what a black dwarf is? It's what the last stage of stars is called... when they die." Jaehaerys said, though the comparison was unfair.

Black dwarfs are the last stage in the life of a small star...

Gerold was barely bigger than a candle.

Gerold didn't respond; he struck the first blow, but Jaehaerys stopped it, letting the sword bounce off the metal.

'He's strong. I couldn't budge him at all,' Gerold thought as he looked into the prince's eyes. They were purple, like his own. Gerold wondered if his eyes appeared that way to his rivals, not with hatred or anger, but with indifference. It was as if this duel were not against Darkstar; it was as if he were about to sacrifice a pig for a feast.

Gerold wished he could inspire half the fear he felt at that moment in his victims.

The second blow came from Jaehaerys. It was an upward arc that struck Darkstar's inner thigh. Grimaces of disgust filled the hall more than the air. The leg was broken with a crack, and the lords watched it rise and twist impossibly.

-----

A cry more befitting a maiden than a knight came from Dayne's lungs.

The cry of a baby echoed it.

"Who ordered you to hire assassins?" the prince asked. All he got was the knight's cry. He spat in disgust as the smell of feces and urine filled his nostrils.

He got no answer. What would he do if he pressed him further? What if he said that Rhaegar had ordered everything? It would make the House of the Dragon look even more broken.

The third blow, also from Jaehaerys, crushed his rival's head, ending his suffering. The prince felt no pity. Anyone who attempts to take the life of a dragon deserves to die by its jaws.

There was no fourth blow.

The murmurs of the lords and the cries of the ladies ceased. Even the baby's crying stopped.

In the hall, only Daemon's footsteps dared to break the silence.

Chapter Text

"I knew you were strong, but I didn't know how strong," whispered the silver-haired princess.

"I don't like fighting," he said simply. He was lying in a tub filled with hot water.

Daenerys could see his chest protruding from the water. Further down, it was dark, and she couldn't see him clearly.

She thanked the Seven because she couldn't contain her blush if she were looking at that part of him.

"And you do it well."

"No, not really," he admitted. "Daemon is better than me. If he had my strength, he would have won." Daemon was not like Sir Barristan—he was better, perhaps even better than Sir Arthur.

"You're not very interested in being a warrior?" she asked him. She wondered if she should help the redhead maid clean her betrothed.

"I prefer books. What do they call me? The Prince of Scrolls." He didn't usually train.

Maybe it was fighting a bear in the Godswood of Winterfell that gave him so much confidence. If a bear couldn't kill him, what human could?

"They're rude," Daenerys said angrily.

"It doesn't matter. It's a good nickname," he said, not bothered in the least. "Do you know what will happen to Viserys?"

"He's going to Dragonstone. It's better if he's isolated for a while. Even if he's declared innocent," she said. "Don't your hands burn?" she asked the maid.

"I've been with the prince for years. I've gotten used to his warmth," the princess heard her, frowning as she found more than one meaning in that sentence.

"Enough, Ros. Leave," the prince said, not wanting to see them fight. The maid curtsied before leaving the room.

"Ros?" Daenerys asked.

"She's been with me since the North. She's been my companion for a long time. Before you arrived, she was giving me information about Cercei's children," he admitted.

"Is she your lover?" she asked first. "What information?".

"No, not my lover anymore. Since our engagement was announced, I haven't been with any other woman." He said, not sounding pitiful. "Serena will be your lady companion."

She hummed in agreement. Serena Martell was a pretty and kind girl. Although she always seemed sad.

Daenerys moved behind him. She admired the muscles on his back. She took a basin and a sponge and began to wash him.

"I don't know how I feel about you keeping her around," she said about Ros, rubbing his arms.

"Do you want me to dismiss her?" She couldn't see his expression and didn't know if he was angry or indifferent.

"No, but if rumors start spreading that you have a mistress under our roof, I'll send her away," she said fiercely. He just kept quiet.

"I never asked you before. What made you agree to the marriage?" He knew it was a conversation with Daemon, but he didn't know exactly what was said.

"Daemon wanted a princess. He wanted the façade I put on. He didn't want the girl who was interested in books. He wanted a pretty face and open legs. Nothing else," she said flatly.

"That's all?" he asked.

"Don't you think that's enough?"

"It is, but you seem to be holding something back," he clarified.

"The day before the tournament, he slept with a prostitute," she said sadly and angrily. "He's done it before. I let it go. But then you said you wouldn't dishonor me by having a mistress, and... he says he loves me, you know? But his lust always got the better of his love."

Jaehaerys remained silent. He knew his betrothed's feelings wouldn't disappear overnight. However, he would be lying if he said it didn't bother him to marry someone who had feelings for someone else.

"Do you still love him?" he asked.

"Love him? I'm not sure I ever loved him. There have been few people I've lived with in my life," she admitted, remembering her mother's words. "I won't say I never felt affection for him, but love? No, I don't love him." Her hands began to stroke his hair, cleaning it.

She heard him purr at her touch, and a small smile adorned her face.

"Do you see the glass container with the blue liquid?" Jaehaerys asked her. "Put some on my hair," he requested.

Daenerys obeyed.

"It foams a lot," she said, amazed by the liquid. She used both hands to spread it throughout his hair. "Did you create it?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, one of many things." Daenerys began to question him about his inventions and studies. She even dared to ask him why he never went to the Citadel.

"You would have learned a lot there," she said.

"The Stark library is vast, and I was allowed to use it as I pleased," he replied. "Besides, I didn't trust the maesters very much," he confessed, frowning.

"Why? Master Pycelle—"

"He fucks whores so often he could die inside one of them."

"He can barely move."

"A fraud. Believe me, I've seen him run like a young man," he replied.

The girl frowned, not quite believing him. She didn't know what the maester got out of it. Was there any reason to hide from everyone?

"Besides," the prince continued, "the way they accumulate knowledge without advancing technology worries me. Westeros has remained unchanged for nearly eight thousand years. We just went from bronze to steel."

"There have been many changes. Like the Andals and the conquest of our ancestors," said Daenerys, remembering her history classes—a subject she was able to study in depth.

"Only the owners changed, but the land remains the same," he said. Dany used the basin to wash his hair and watched the foam fall into the tub.

"I don't understand," she said, frustrated by her fiancé's words.

"You will in time. You'll see the world I want to build." His words were distant.

Ever since he was born, he had hated how backward everything was: Defecating in buckets and the smell of shit in the streets. Traveling for days to get from one place to another. He wanted to change that. He wanted to modernize it. Technology limited him; in his life, he will not be able to see a plane or a car... but maybe his children, or his grandchildren.

He knew that wouldn't be the best way to keep his family in control.

After all, improving the quality of life would lead to education and, eventually, democracy. But that was something for later, for his descendants. He would plant the seeds.

In the modern world, only a few families held power, controlling from the shadows. He would give his descendants an enormous advantage over others.

If they couldn't hold on to power, they weren't worthy.

"What are you doing?!" The princess blushed when she saw her brother standing naked. She looked at his firm buttocks for a few seconds before turning away.

"Why are you scared? We're getting married soon," he said, amused by her reaction.

She blushed even more at that. Her wedding night was only a few weeks away. She would share a bed with a man for the first time. Soon, if the gods blessed them, she would carry his child and give birth.

"I want to talk to Ros," she said suddenly.

"If you want to blame someone, blame me. She was just a tavern keeper's daughter before she became my mistress." He didn't want any unnecessary animosity between them.

"That's not why. Just make her my maid," she said, walking away quickly and not caring about her wet dress.

Before leaving, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Damn it." Just outside, she found Ros. A knight was trying to talk to her. Daenerys could see how uncomfortable the redhead was.

"Princess," the gentleman said, bowing. His gaze drifted to her dress, more specifically to how it clung to her skin.

"The prince will tear your eyes out if you look at his betrothed like that, remember the Darkstar," Ros said, amused and relieved.

Dany frowned at Ros's words. The memory of Gerold's death was brutal and swift. However, she was glad that Jaehaerys had come out unscathed. There was something else there, too: pride. She felt proud that her husband was strong. She felt safe around him.

"I didn't mean to."

"Get out of here," the redhead ordered.

The princess looked at the girl in front of her. She was pretty. Taller and older than her, she had prominent breasts and wide hips. The princess could see why her brother had let her warm his bed. Now, she would use those same circumstances to secure her future.

"Come with me," she said, walking to her bedroom.

"Sure, your highness," the girl replied, walking with her head down and looking surprised.

The silver-haired girl undressed as soon as she entered her room. She put on a robe, a gift from Jae, to cover herself. The cotton garment covered her entire body, leaving only part of her legs bare. It was quite comfortable, although it couldn't be worn outside without looking vulgar.

"I want you to prepare a hot bath for me. Just like Jaehaerys's," she said. The girl hurried to carry out her orders—or rather, to give orders to the other maids waiting outside her room.

"It will be ready soon," Ros said. She had no idea what the princess wanted with her, the former lover of her future husband.

"Now, I need your guidance, Ros," she said slowly. A huge blush spread across her cheeks.

"I'll do my best, Your Majesty," the girl agreed, not that she could refuse.

"I want... I will have," she stammered. "I'm going to have my wedding night soon, and I want to know what I'm getting into," she said quickly.

"Oh! In that case, I have quite a bit of knowledge," the girl nodded, feeling relieved and concerned.

'Would she kill me if she found out everything Jae has done to me?' Ros wondered.

"Will it hurt?" asked the princess.

"With others, maybe. I've only shared a bed with one person. The prince is quite delicate. You wouldn't expect that from someone with that tool at his disposal. But don't worry; he'll be gentle. You'll end up enjoying it."

The girl looked sad, and Dany felt guilty. It was as if it were her fault that the two lovers had separated.

"Tool? Is it...big?" The girl was dying of embarrassment. But there was no one better to talk to about these things. Perhaps one of her good sisters or her mother could help, but she couldn't bring herself to ask.

"Oh, princess, you have no idea," the redhead said, smiling lasciviously. "It's a gift from the gods."

"Does it feel good?" She received a knowing giggle from the maid before others came in to prepare the bath.

"You'll feel like you're riding a dragon, princess. You'll touch the clouds at times," she said dreamily.

Daenerys was a curious girl, and Ros loved talking to her. Dany was sure that Ros's words would make the girls on the Street of Silk blush.

Chapter Text

One hand over the other, joined by a ribbon.

"Father, Father, Mother, Mother, Warrior, Warrior, Smith, Smith, Maiden, Maiden, Crone, Crone, Stranger, Stranger..." They both spoke at once, as if with one voice.

The Sept of Baelor was full of nobles. It was not every day that two members of House Targaryen were married, especially in such a tense atmosphere. Everyone wanted to see Daenerys's legendary beauty; many men looked at her skin with greed and desire.

The well-looking appearance within House Targaryen was, without a doubt, legendary. But who was the prettiest flower in that garden? She could intimidate all the men who saw her. She was once guarded by the rogue prince and is now guarded by the prince of scrolls.

No noble dared to try anything; they only looked. The memory of Darkstar alone was enough to silence them all.

"I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

"I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

Both members of the royal family had their eyes fixed on each other as they pronounced their vows.

Jaehaerys looked at his wife. She was gorgeous and delicate, more than a head shorter than he was. He had looked at her so many times. Her silver hair was gathered into an elaborate arrangement on her head. She looked good, although he would have preferred her to wear her hair loose and flowing.

Daenerys looked at her husband. He was handsome and strong. She could feel his firm hand beneath hers. She felt safe. Even if a dragon came to eat her at that moment, she would not be afraid as long as he was by her side. She had grown accustomed to seeing him in loose, comfortable clothes. She had begun to imitate his habit when she read. But seeing him in that wonderful doublet looked just as good.

"What is joined before the eyes of the Seven, let no man put asunder," the septon cried.

The prince bent down to kiss her, and it was soft and demure. Daenerys had never kissed Daemon before, just holding hands. Jaehaerys's lips were smooth, and he tasted slightly of fruit; his breath was fresh. 'He didn't drink wine today. He know I don't like that.' The kiss was sweet yet aggressive. She was overwhelmed by his skill.

The queen mother's cough broke them apart. They had lost themselves in the moment. Jaehaerys raised their hands so that everyone could see them. He raised it just enough so that it wouldn't be uncomfortable for her.

They moved on to a feast where they were the center of attention. The lords gave them gifts, mostly beautiful but useless trinkets. However, one gift from the Manderlys surprised everyone except the groom—it was a ship. Jaehaerys just smiled, as if he had expected it.

The Lannisters presented a beautiful, ornate sword that Daenerys thought her husband would never use. The Tyrells gave her a silver steed so beautiful that it seemed to glow in the torchlight. They gave him a black horse to match. Its coat was so dull that it looked like a shadow next to the silver steed.

There were gifts exchanged. Daenerys gave him a black cloak with a dragon sigil embroidered in blood red. She had done her best to embroider it, but it paled in comparison to what she received. He gave her an entire library, not yet finished, but he spared no expense.

He showed her the designs for the castle. There was an area of the castle exclusively for her: a library overlooking a vast garden. He did all this because she had mentioned that she liked reading while looking out at the gardens in the fortress.

If the lords found it inappropriate or foolish, they did not voice their opinions; Jaehaerys had earned himself a reputation.

Daenerys could only find one fault with her husband. Just one. His alcoholism. He could hide it well, but most of the time, he was drunk. When she asked him about it, his answer was simple: "It helps with the headache." Even when he fought Daemon and Gerold, he had been drinking. She didn't know whether to call him a fool or be more impressed that he won both fights without getting hurt.

"You look happy," she heard her mother say. She smiled and squinted her eyes as if she had fulfilled a dream, as if it were her wedding and not her daughter's.

"I am," she said. "I'm just a little nervous about the bedding," she admitted.

"Oh, it might hurt the first time, but you'll get used to it," her mother said, misinterpreting her words.

Daenerys wasn't afraid of that. Ros had talked about it in such a way that Daenerys was looking forward to it. She was nervous about the bedding ceremony, in which the nobles undressed her and carried her to her bed. She didn't want dozens of men's hands on her body. She remembered Myrcella and Aegon's wedding. The girl looked like she wanted heads to roll. Even though they didn't get along, Dany didn't wish her ill.

"It's because of the bedding ceremony," she finally said, hoping for support.

"It's the custom," her mother said, not paying much attention to her.

"There will be no bedding ceremony," she heard her husband say. A few nobles turned to look at him; one even glared at him with something resembling resentment. Her husband returned the gaze, making Lords as docile as kittens.

"Jaehaerys, you don't have to—"

"There will be no ceremony," he interrupted his mother.

Rhaella nodded.

Daenerys felt the familiar warmth in her chest that grew every time her brother did something to make her feel good, a sweet side of him that few get to know. She never felt it with Daemon; only Jaehaerys could make her feel that way.

His decision caused discontent, and an idiotic noble even went to complain to the king. Rhaegar dismissed him, claiming that he would respect his younger brother's decision.

Soon, they went out to dance. They opened the dance, of course, and it was a sweet moment before they separated to dance with others. Daenerys danced with Lord Jaime, Oberyn, and even his son, Joffrey, who whispered obscenities at her.

"Unless you want to end up like Darkstar, keep your tongue in your mouth, prince," she said, feeling more confident than she had in years.

The little man glanced at Jaehaerys, who was dancing with Queen Elia, but his eyes were fixed on Daenerys. The boy cowered, bowed, and left.

She ended up dancing with other lords who were respectful, not because they were gentlemen, but because they feared her husband.

Jaehaerys danced with all the ladies of the court: From Ashara and her daughter to Cersei, who seemed to want to scratch the face of the prince, and Princess Myrcella. He even shared a dance with Serena. The girl seemed to look at him with admiration. Daenerys still didn't know how Jae managed to get Cersei to let her daughter go to Harrenhal as a companion lady.

They even saw him dance with Queen Lyanna, who did not seem to hold a grudge against him for her son. Instead, she seemed grateful.

"The bedding ceremony will begin," they announced late into the night. A nobleman, drunk enough to dare, announced it.

Daenerys found herself lifted into the air over Jaehaerys's shoulder, she couldn't help but laugh happily. The prince walked among the men who dared to try to touch her. More than one unfortunate fool learned the power of the prince. Soon, they reached their wedding bed. A few idiots followed them, but her husband's knights chased them away.

"We never talked about this," he said, laying her on the bed. From her seated position, she felt small in front of him.

"Shall we lie down?" she asked, feeling his hand caress her cheek. She leaned in to feel his touch more.

"I don't want us to have children yet," the prince confessed.

"Why?" Her words came out with more pain than she intended.

"You're too young, Dany," he said, calling her the way she asked him days before.

"Mother was fourteen when she had her first child," she said stubbornly. "I'm older."

"Still too young." The risk at her age wasn't that great, but it was still there. "You forget that our mother suffered several miscarriages and stillbirths."

"Do you think it's because she had them too young?" the princess asked, calming down a little.

"Yes, when your body finishes developing..."

"I blossomed years ago," she said.

"You started to blossom." He smiled at her, remembering when she had similar tantrums as a child. "But you still need to mature and spread all your petals."

"I talked to Ros... I wanted to," she admitted, sounding vulnerable. She hadn't desired another man, not for the act itself. With Daemon, she saw sharing a bed as something she would have to do, a duty.

"Oh dear, we don't just sleep together to procreate children," he said, making her look him in the eyes.

Daenerys felt him kiss her tenderly and sweetly as before. But that feeling was lost over time, giving way to desire and lust. Everything Ros had told her came true. The prince didn't rush things. He took the time to get to know her body and how to pleasure her before he was inside her. Dany blushed at the feeling of his rough tongue exploring her body. That was when she had her first climax—or at least, she thought she did.

When he finally claimed her as his wife, there was a slight stinging sensation that eased with time. Her mind was elsewhere for a moment as she experienced the pleasure of being a woman for the first time. The peak of pleasure she had felt before was just a prelude—not an orgasm. The climax left her weak but wanting more. She had to convince him to continue even though he said she was too weak for him.

She almost forced him.

During her conversation with Ros, she only heard stories about the maid's time with the prince. Next time, though, she would ask Ros for advice.

Her lord husband had repressed desire, perhaps from holding back himself for so long. She needed to relieve him; it was her duty, and she took pleasure in doing so.

It was her pleasure to do so.

For hours, she doesn't care about anything, nor the goods, the lords, the lands, and the smallfolk. That moment was just for them.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys woke up satisfied. His wife was sleeping beside him. But not for long. The princess sensed his movements and opened her eyes. He kissed her. They both got up silently. She seemed embarrassed by the previous night.

He took the sheet, stained with blood and other fluids.

He disliked this custom of inspecting the virgin blood after a wedding night.

About an hour after getting up and bathing, Maester Pycelle appeared with Queen Rhaella. They both examined the cloth, finally nodding in confirmation that it was real. He turned his eyes away. But that tradition would ensure that there were no rumors about his wife's chastity.

Rhaella left with a dazed Daenerys. She wanted to spend more time with her before they left for Harrenhal.

Jaehaerys, for his part, walked through the castle. Torrhen was at his side. Brandon followed the queen mother and Daenerys.

Viserys had set sail for Dragonstone. Innocent.

But he was still left with a mystery. Who ordered the assassination attempt? It was someone powerful from the royal family or the private council. Cersei had shown that she could send Lannister men to attack his fiancée. She was a possible culprit.

But Cersei had problems with Daenerys, and the attack was directed at him, not his betrothed. No, his wife. He remembered.

Oberyn, Varys, Paxter, Baelish, Tywin, Aegon, Tarly... Rhaegar.

Oberyn and Aegon could have done it to eliminate a candidate for the Iron Throne. But his hand was already taken, and he had no grudges against any of them.

He discarded Tarly and Paxter; they were lords of the realm who had nothing to gain from his death unless they wanted to marry Dany to one of their heirs, which was unlikely with Daemon around.

Varys and Baelish were more enigmatic. They were unknown characters to him. At first, he saw Littlefinger as little more than a jester. But the man had a sharp tongue and a mind capable of keeping up with him. The look Varys gave Peter when he talked about how the two fleeing assassins died is still on his mind.

Jaehaerys sent his former lover to buy brothels in King's Landing to keep an eye on the capital. She failed to acquire any establishments; to do so, she would have had to relieve the prince of her patronage. According to Ros, Baelish owned countless brothels. It was because of him that she failed to buy anything. How did a lord of a small island come to control the flesh trade in the capital?

How did a man from the Fingers become a master of coin?

Varys, the spider. He knew nothing about him. He could be a loyal servant of the crown. Or he could be seeking the ruin of the House of the Dragon. It was suspicious how he found out so quickly about the assassins and sent Viserys straight to his chambers. In the end, even without knowing his motives, the same question remained.

What did they gain from his death?

Chaos? He could see it, a civil war. They could easily blame Viserys. They would have gotten rid of him. They would have struck a prince and brought down two. It would also sow distrust among the king's sons. If Viserys could kill his brother, why wouldn't Daemon do the same?

Then there was Tywin, although he doubted it. The man wasn't that stupid. The attack seemed designed to pin the blame on someone else, too careless. The only reason Tywin would attack would be to maintain his granddaughter's position as queen. For the moment, Jaehaerys was no threat to Myrcella.

And finally, there was Rhaegar. His brother. He thought he knew him as a good king, but apparently, he wasn't. He was a petty man, willing to punish Viserys in favor of a Dornishman. Jaehaerys' head hurt. The possibility that it was Rhaegar was enormous.

In doing so, he would kill a potential rival and Viserys, who would marry into a great house, one capable of providing him with a hundred thousand swords.

He hated not knowing. He was unable to confirm his suspicions. He wanted to stay in King's Landing longer and dig until he uncovered the truth. But he couldn't neglect his territory. In the capital, he was vulnerable, but in his territory, his men would answer only to him.

He had about five hundred men in King's Landing, though only about twenty in the Red Keep. The rest were in the city, recruiting young men to take to Harrenhal.

He gritted his teeth. He needed information; how he wished he were a green-seer. But he would have to make do with other means. Once trade in his lands began, he would be able to send spies to the capital as merchants.

Walking, he reached the gardens and looked at Cersei with her daughter, Serena. The girl would soon go to Harrenhal with them.

He had found no way to punish Cersei directly. But taking her daughter away from her had been a stroke of luck. He still remembered their conversation from the previous days.

"Aren't the gardens beautiful, princess?" he remembered asking her. The woman startled. The Lannister guards tensed, but luckily for them, they did not draw their swords.

"They are. I enjoy the sun here," she said tensely. "Is there some reason you brought yourself here, Prince?"

"The view is beautiful," he replied, smiling at her. She felt flattered. "I'm used to seeing piles of shit in the city, so any improvement is welcome," he continued. "Tell your men to stand back."

"You think you can talk to me like that?"

"Stand back, or you'll lose your heads," warned the prince. The men looked at Cersei. 'Loyal,' gold was undoubtedly captivating.

Finally, Cersei nodded.

"If my husband were here, you wouldn't dare—

"You can invite him," he interrupted her. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the conversation. It's about his eldest son, after all." He didn't explain where his anger came from. She already knew.

"Joffrey has nothing to do with this," she became more defensive.

Jaehaerys remained silent in front of the woman. Despite her anger, she took care to pose for him, showing off her curves.

"I want Serena sent to Harrenhal. She will serve as a lady-in-waiting for Daenerys."

"No," she refused flatly. "There is nothing in this world that could make me give you my daughter," she said.

"Ah, but you have no problem giving her to Joffrey, do you?" he said sarcastically.

He watched the woman's face turn white. He watched her throat move as she swallowed hard.

"What are you talking about?" she tried to play dumb.

"About how your eldest son visits your daughter's chambers," he said.

"What right do you have to judge a lion?" she said. "Brother and sister, just like you and the princess. Don't my children have the right to love each other?"

"A dragon is judging a cat." He mocked, "We both know it's not love. Your daughter is not consenting to Joffrey's actions," he spat angrily.

It was an unpleasant surprise. The little son of a bitch was a rapist. This was punishment for Cersei, but it was also salvation for the girl. She was only three and ten years old.

"You know nothing," her voice came out tense as she clenched her teeth. Her once beautiful face was contorted into an ugly grimace of hatred.

"Serena plans to throw herself from the highest tower of Red Keep," he said. He watched Cersei's face turn whiter. "I will take her with me," he declared.

"She's my daughter," she said, looking defeated.

"She's also Oberyn Martell's daughter..." The prince's voice trailed off, tickling the back of her neck. "What would he think if he found out? What would he do to Joffrey? What would he do to you? Knowing that you knew and never stopped him." She lowered her head.

"I'll make Jaime give you more gold," she said, trying to negotiate. He was tempted to accept.

"I'll take Serena with me. I've already spoken to her. Her father won't stand in our way. Oberyn always allowed his children a lot of freedom. Only you could stop her from leaving. But if you do," he touched her cheek, enjoying seeing her tremble at his touch. "All of King's Landing will know the truth. There will be a trial and I'll fight against your son, or his champion. I don't care how, but the best fate for your son will be to be a eunuch on the wall." He stood up and left. "And make sure Joffrey doesn't hurt others. If you want to calm your spawn's desires, use your own body," he said before leaving.

He could feel the lioness's eyes on his back, but her claws remained sheathed.

Days later, during the ball, Serena thanked him. The little girl had a small spark of hope in her dull eyes.

He looked at the mother and daughter in the park. Serena seemed uncomfortable, and Cersei, to his surprise, had genuine remorse in her eyes.

That didn't matter. Joffrey was alive because he allowed him to be.

Oberyn was a man known for his hatred of rapists. He might not kill his own son, but he would make him live a miserable life. For now, Joffrey was a weapon to control Cersei.

Jaehaerys shook his head. He had to organize his men to leave the capital soon.

He came to the capital for answers and left with questions.

Chapter Text

"You can ride in the carriage with Serena; you don't need to ride beside me," they were both on their way to Harrenhal.

Jaehaerys appreciated the change of scenery. In King's Landing, even in his small quarters, he had almost forgotten what fresh air smelled like.

Daenerys had enjoyed it much more, having spent most of her life in the capital, only occasionally venturing out to tournaments and DragonStone. She lived in the RedKeep, yes, but even in the castle, the stench was constant, though less pronounced than in the city. The prince thought he would never allow his city to smell like that.

"Brandon said we're only a few hours away. We should be able to see it soon," she added, feeling her buttocks and thighs bruised from the ride.

She wasn't used to riding horses; her mother hadn't allowed it, for fear that her virginity would be lost. Now that it no longer mattered, she was enjoying the learning process.

"You're stubborn," he complained.

"It's a small sacrifice. I like riding," she said to justify herself.

"You don't have to prove anything to me," he tried to appease her.

Her friendship with Ros had resulted in the redhead telling her about his little romance with Sansa Stark. The girl was a good rider, and Dany didn't want to be left behind. It was a childish competition.

"I'm proving it to myself," she said.

"You used to be so shy when you touched my hand, and now—"

"You prefer me shy and weak, Lord husband?" she asked jokingly.

"Of course not, I like fire," he replied. "That's Harrenhal," he gestured forward.

—---

Daenerys frowned at the imposing structure. Massive black stone walls stood proudly, melted in places by dragon fire, though not as much damaged as she had expected. She saw three tall but broken towers; there were supposed to be five, and she hoped to see the other two when she got closer. The entire structure was made of black stone, which she disliked since the first time she saw it.

The castle was built on a small hill on the shores of the GodsEye, a lake known for its mysticism. The Isle of Faces was in the center. However, it was advised not to enter there, as most people get lost. 'He who dares to enter will never leave,' she looked to her brother-husband, who was looking at the island with great interest.

"I hope you don't plan on going in there. You have duties to fulfill," she warned.

"The island is calling me," Jaehaerys felt a twinge in his head, similar to when he showed his dragon eggs to his now wife. It was as if he had to take a raft and go out onto the island.

"I hope you don't answer," she said. "I don't want to lose you," she blushed as she said it and urged her horse to overtake him.

Silver, that was the name she had decided to call the steed. The name suited him well. He was gentle and docile, but fast and agile. Her husband's knights even said he was a horse ready for war, but she would not allow it.

Coal was what her brother had named his horse. It was a direct mockery of her. She made him change the name to Black Sapphire. He rolled his eyes and agreed.

The last few hours of riding tested her determination. She could feel the castle getting bigger and bigger. But not big enough. Sweat was already pooling in her leather garments.

Finally, they arrived. The gates were open. Inside, there was a crowd of people working, which surprised her.

'Gods,' was all she could think. The walls were monstrous. They must have been over eighty feet high and thirty feet wide.

Finally, she could see the five towers. The outer walls were not as severely ruined as the towers. Aegon the Dragon proved that he didn't need to eliminate the walls to bring down the castle. The towers were broken and bent. The stone masonry was melted in several sections.

The hall of a hundred fireplaces was also enormous. They said that during the great council of Jaehaerys the First to select the heir, it was this hall that welcomed more than a thousand lords and their entourages.

However, it was still disappointing. 'This couldn't be called a castle,' she thought. Perhaps the hall and the outer walls were the only things that turned out to be as she had imagined. The five towers were not. She had expected a fortress, but the five towers were not connected; only two towers had a wall between them. The others were connected by bridges, and some not even that.

Between the five towers was a large expanse of land.

Dany looked to her sides, at buildings that should have been a smithy, an armory, barracks, a hanter hall, and a huge stable. She looked at another building in the distance, but couldn't identify what it was from that distance. There were two other abandoned buildings. Two septs. It seems that even the Seven Gods have abandoned this place.

"Ser Brandon, does my husband know that these people are working here?" The men were cutting the grass and piling bricks close to the damaged walls.

"I am not a Ser, my princess," said the man with a northern accent. "And yes, he sent Maester Qyburn to begin the reconstruction. He didn't want you to arrive at a place in such a state," he clarified for her.

Daenerys liked the man. He didn't look at her with lust. Nor did he idolize her; he protected her, doing his duty without question. Jae had assigned him to watch over her; he was her sworn sword.

The girl looked at a man approaching. He wasn't old enough to be called an elder; he was probably about the same age as her mother. Next to him was an elderly woman with an irascible expression: Lady Shella Whent. The woman had lost her children over the years and was no longer of childbearing age. The king had told her that Jaehaerys would take the castle.

She agreed; there was little she could do to refuse. She only asked for a place to die.

"Princess Daenerys," greeted the maester. She looked for her husband, who was entering the castle walls.

"Maester Qyburn, is that you?" The man was a maester who had fallen from grace, one whom her husband had saved.

"Yes, my princess. According to the prince's orders, I will be your teacher for the next few moons," the maester did not seem enthusiastic.

"You don't like teaching a woman?" In recent days, her personality had undergone a change; she had become bolder.

"Forgive me, princess. It's just that the time I'll spend teaching you could be spent on my research," he clarified, still a little curt. The princess frowned.

-----

"She will be a good student, Qyburn," said Jaehaerys before nodding to the elderly Lady Whent. He dismounted his horse, handed it to a stable boy, and greeted the former lady of the castle.

"The Targaryens are blessed, no doubt," the woman greeted him, saying "blessed" as a joke.

She was a wrinkled woman who seemed constantly bitter. "The castle is yours," she said. "No banners are hanging; you can put yours up anytime." The woman said tactlessly. "My new quarters are much better than the dump I lived in before, at least I'll spend my last days in a comfortable bed, even if it's in someone else's castle," she said before turning around and leaving.

Jaehaerys was not upset. The woman had lost everything, which was why he had ordered that quarters fit for royalty be built for her. He couldn't bring her children back, but he could make her life more comfortable.

"Quite rude," Daenerys whispered after dismounting.

"She reminds me of someone," whispered Jaehaerys.

"You want the reports, my prince?" called Qyburn, saving him from a reprimand.

"I want to know how long it will take to finish everything," he asked quickly.

"How many men did you bring from King's Landing?" asked the maester. There was still a crowd arriving at the castle. For the time being, they would camp outside the walls.

"About ten thousand, mostly young men and women, the more youthful are eight, and the more older, five and ten onomastics," he had brought young people who were not so corrupted by the lifestyle. To Rhaegar, losing one percent of his population was not a problem.

"They're from Flea Bottom," he said, a little worried.

"They're people who are going to work. My men here will keep them under control." Six hundred adult soldiers could maintain order.

"Those who are raised among fleas and filth..." the man began. "It doesn't matter. How many will work?"

"About five thousand. The others will be assistants, doing other jobs like preparing and carrying food and things like that." Several women had decided to leave a city that offered them nothing.

"In that case, it would take us a year or less to repair the walls, especially since it will take them a considerable amount of time to learn the trade. It could take up to three years because of the brick production, where new workers will also have to be trained," he said, making quick calculations. "I wanted to ask if you were sure about building the outer walls out of brick. Although it's faster and neater, it's less resistant to siege weapons," asked the master. "The width of the wall will compensate for the strength of the brick.

"If you want to build quickly, you need to use brick. Extracting the stone would take years and require a significant amount of gold. Luckily, the trident is nearby so that we can get clay from there," he added at the end, causing the master builder to nod. "How far is the nearest quarry? One day? Two?"

He had another reason for using brick, but even he didn't know it yet.

"One and a half. If I may offer some advice, Your Majesty."

"Speak."

"The towers are almost useless. However, the stone from them can be used to repair the outer walls. Using the bricks to create a new structure would be quick and more structured, and would also allow you to modify the design to your liking," explained the maester.

"You want to tear them down to repair the wall," muttered the prince. "What about the great hall? Should it be torn down, too?"

"No, the great hall can be saved. The columns are damaged but stable. Although, if you wish, it can be torn down to expand the walls. This could increase the territory within the walls by twenty or thirty acres, assuming we know the amount of material required for the wall. It will probably be less than expected," he added at the end.

"I need to consider it and do my calculations, Qyburn," he said, not because he didn't trust him, but because any man was capable of making mistakes. "Tell me the territory within the castle."

"There are eighty acres of land inside the walls," he said quickly. "The Godswood is next to the western wall; it should be about a third of the total. However, you won't be able to obtain any wood unless you don't want to keep the peace in your lands. That would leave only four and fifty acres of land to build on, more if you want to expand the outside walls."

"How long would it take to expand the walls and build the castle?"

"About five years, less if we can get more men."

"I'll think about it. Now I'm going to tour the castle. Make sure my men get some rest. Serena Martell is a guest; give her a good room. Dany, are you coming with me?" he asked the girl, who had been silent during their exchange.

"Yes," she replied. She was tired, but also curious about the castle. She had felt suffocated within its enormous walls. It felt like she was inside a cage.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harrenhal based on:

Note: ignore the scale

Chapter Text

"I know it's not even close to the RedKeep," he said as they walked. They reached the stretch of land between the broken towers. To the naked eye, he could only guess that one or two football fields would fit between the towers.

Jaehaerys understood why Qyburn had asked for them to be torn down. They were bent, thanks to his ancestor. And they looked unstable. Although Jaehaerys thought it was unlikely that they would be able to expand the walls much with the material they were going to extract. They would only be useful for repairing the walls.

Jaehaerys looked at the walls connecting them. He thought he could use the foundations. They would allow him to build without worrying about having to dig new ones. But, damn Harren... The towers formed a pentagon, but each side was a different length.

"It's huge. The walls are enormous," she said.

"In case of a siege, they will protect us from our enemies. Unless they have Balerion, we will be safe here inside. What do you think about expanding the walls?" he asked, wanting to consider her opinion.

"In a siege, more land inside the walls means more people can get in, right? You'll be able to protect more smallfolk," said the princess, looking at a structure in the distance.

"Should I order them to build it then?" he asked. He had similar thoughts; the land inside the walls was fertile, and if he could farm it, he could maintain the castle indefinitely. However, he couldn't feed too many of the commoners.

"What else will you do with the remaining stone?" she asked in return.

"First, I need to calculate how much will be needed to repair the walls," he said.

"They don't look that damaged. I mean, even dragon fire had trouble melting them," the princess said uncertainly, pressing her lips together as she led her husband toward the structure that had caught her attention.

"They don't look so damaged because they're huge," he said. "That must be the bear pit," he said.

Daenerys looked at the structure. It was a hole ten yards wide and five deep. The walls were covered with stone, and there were several levels of benches on the surface.

"It could be good for holding water," she said. "Water from the Lake of the Gods could be brought here to be stored; it could even collect rainwater."

"You're starting to think a lot. How do we keep the earth from swallowing it up?"

"Replace the soil with stone and use clay to seal it," was the first thing that came to her mind.

"We could do that," said the prince. It could hold a good amount of water, though perhaps not enough for a long siege.

Daenerys blushed a little. It was just a random comment. Ever since he had told her about a system of pipes to carry water everywhere, she had wanted to do something herself.

She didn't understand it yet, but she would study to be useful. She wouldn't be having children for a few years so that she would have plenty of time for that.

It was a small thing; the moat could hold about eighty thousand gallons—enough for a month, considering only its use in the castle.

"That's not much water," said the prince.

"Oh," she looked a little disappointed.

"There must be wells to draw water from. I'll have them tell you where they are. There must be other underground storage rooms in the castle. Harren the Black considered using his castle for prolonged sieges. I'm sure water was one of his concerns." He looked at her, and she was disappointed.

"I see."

"But perhaps he didn't consider the common people," he continued. "Creating water reservoirs for them could be a personal project for you, perhaps?"

"I will," she said quickly. "I'll consult you before I do anything," she added quickly.

It was a need to prove herself; she hated to admit it, but she felt that Jaehaerys had given her more than she could give him in return. At their wedding, she had given him a cape, and he had given her an entire library. That wasn't fair.

Jaehaerys nodded. Keeping his wife happy was the best thing he could do. And if she was helpful in the meantime, even better.

Water, crops, and some fuel to keep the fires burning. That would be the basics during a siege. Not counting the soldiers.

"Let's keep walking."

"You'll use pipes when you design the castle, right?" asked the princess. "I can help you do it."

"You know about pipes, princess?"

"I'll learn."

"When I modify the plans, I'll need your help," the princess nodded.

"We'll need copper. Can you order them to search for mines?" asked Dany.

"Of course," It was unlikely, but not impossible to find mines in his land. He felt his wife take his arm as they walked.

They finished their walk in the Godswood. Daenerys refused to go in, as the sun was already setting, and she didn't want to take any risk. In the end, they returned.

"It's not appropriate, Jae," said the silver-haired woman, being carried like the princess she was by her husband.

She had tried not to complain, but her husband noticed her tiredness.

"I'm the lord of the castle. Who's going to scold me?" He earned a charming laugh from his wife.

"The lady of the castle," she replied with a smile. "Where will we stay during the construction?"

"On the first floors of one of the Towers of Dread. I ordered a small temporary mansion to be built; it will be ready within a moon." He could afford to order the workers to give priority to his home.

"Don't apologize," she said, sleepily. "I can see you'll build something wonderful here. I'm happy to be a part of it."

"Oh, your water systems will undoubtedly be the heart of Harrenhal," he said with feigned pomposity.

"I don't like Harrenhal."

"Is it that unpleasant?"

"No, not the fortress, although I would love a color other than black. I mean the name. Harren the Black was an idiot who had his family killed. Let's change the name," she said, hiding a small yawn with his hand.

"Have you thought of one?"

"No, not yet. But I'll find one. The Silver Castle, doesn't that sound beautiful?" She smiled against his chest. Jaehaerys always smelled good. She envied him for that. On the way to Harrenhal and during the walk, she hadn't seen him sweat. She felt dirty from her sweat.

"The Silver Castle," he hummed the name. "It doesn't have anything silver on it," he said as he looked at the black walls.

"It has me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"That's enough," Jaehaerys considered it seriously. "It doesn't seem very imposing."

"I was joking," she said, smiling before kissing him.

"ArgentStone," he said, alluding to DragonStone. In this world, Argentum didn't mean silver, as Latin didn't exist on Planetos. "Argentum means silver in a forgotten dialect," he said when he looked at the princess's confused face.

"The castle can be ArgentKeep," Daenerys continued, liking it. "What dialect is that? I've never heard it before."

"Latin," he said. "I found it in a book brought from Essos," he lied. He couldn't tell her it came from his old world.

"We can decide later, but I like it," she said.

They both retired to their quarters. Daenerys fell asleep after a short bath, too tired for any nighttime activities.

Jaehaerys began with the logistics of construction. The castle he planned to build was tall and majestic; he didn't want to create something merely beautiful, but something imposing. He wanted the nobles to want to travel to see it.

Using brick was faster, yes, but it was also weaker. It wouldn't support the weight of the entire structure without steel beams or other supports, which he didn't have access to at the moment.

He had around 5,500 workers, including those who were already there. More workers did not mean that they would be able to finish everything in a day; even if he had a million, not all of them could work simultaneously.

He began with a general plan of the castle: seven towers, a mystical number in this world. The structure would consist of five towers on the outside, forming a pentagon with rounded sides. He would have to create foundations for the new towers. That's if he wanted symmetry. He still had to calculate the thickness of each one, but it would certainly not be small. Jaehaerys decided to use black stone for the first floors of the castle. He would use brick, which is lighter, for the higher parts.

The outer towers could be made of brick, with the smallest ones only about 250 feet high. The tallest would be around six hundred feet. He wanted them to grow in size evenly, creating a kind of slope between the walls that connected them. The tower behind the castle's principal gate would be the highest, standing at 600 feet. The two on one side would be smaller, at 400 feet, and the two between the gate will be the smallest.

In the center, the two towers would reach around five hundred feet in height, both of the same height. As the others, they would start with stone walls on the lower levels, tapering as they rose, until the stone was replaced with red brick. Walls would join the most prominent tower and the two central towers, and in that space would be the Great Hall.

He wondered how big to make the castle. He made an initial sketch that would have a total area of nine acres. It was an absurd figure.

He would leave the rest of the design and layout of the areas to Qyburn. He would then review it again to ensure it would not collapse under its weight.

He then proceeded to distribute the men, as not all of them would be useful for construction. He would have them start making bricks. Others would have to lay the foundations, as such a tall castle would need deep foundations.

He also needed to take advantage of the fact that the GodsEye connected to the Blackwater River, which would allow him to reach Blackwater Bay.

A large ship could not travel on the river. So he thought of smaller boats to carry goods to King's Landing. They could be Drakkars, but he needed to know the depth of the river and how it changed at different times of the year. If he couldn't use Drakkars, he could design smaller boats.

His head felt a little dizzy from sleep. He hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day, and yet his head didn't hurt that much.

He looked at his wife lying in the bed they shared. He had never wanted to sleep so badly.

"I'll continue tomorrow," he said, putting away his pen, notes, and plans.

Chapter Text

The first rays of daylight hit his face. His unconscious hand searched the bed, finding no one there.

His wife was already awake, sitting at his desk. Her beautiful face was furrowed in concentration, and Jaehaerys wondered if she was squinting to see better or if it was just a simple gesture.

If she had vision problems, it would be a good idea to get her some glasses, although that would be complicated. He had a pair himself, but he hardly ever wore them.

That reminded him that he needed a quartz source to make glass. His glassmakers were waiting for the raw material. But he also needed strength to protect himself from the Myrians.

"Six hundred feet," she murmured, seeming to be rereading the same part.

"The lighthouse in Oldtown is eight hundred feet high. Or so they say," said the prince as he stood up. He was wearing only black pants.

"I didn't mean to snoop," said the girl, seeming to have reverted to the submissive child he had met during their first dance.

"You don't have to lie," he rang a bell. Two maids appeared immediately. "Prepare the bath, please," he asked them. Without saying a word, they both nodded. The room where they were staying indefinitely was large, like everything else in Harrenhal; giants could live there. Jaehaerys thought that in his new castle, perhaps even a dragon could.

There was room for the bed, the desk, and a tub in the back. There were no large windows; instead, a small hole near the ceiling allowed sunlight to enter the bed. It was probably Balerion's doing, or the architect of that tower was a miser.

Dany looked like a scolded child. She stood completely still, as if waiting for him to do something to her.

"What do you think?" he asked, picking up a jug of wine.

"It's too early for that," the girl rebuked him, drawing fire from somewhere.

"Five towers in a pentagon and two towers inside," he said, emptying the wine into his stomach in one gulp. He wasn't going to argue about his alcoholism.

"Too big," the girl muttered.

"The wall is a hundred feet higher than the tallest tower will be," he wasn't sure if the lighthouse of Oldtown was as big as they said, but the wall was. He had looked at it once when he visited Maester Aemon.

"Harrenhal is already huge. I remember Sir Barristan saying that the castle was expensive to maintain. It was an excellent point during the wars, but in times of peace, it was almost impossible to maintain. How much will it all cost?" she asked. Her brother had offered a dowry of two hundred thousand gold dragons.

"Around two million, maybe half a million more," he heard her sigh deeply.

"We can't—"

"I can," the fortune he had obtained from the Lannisters, plus the dowry and his earnings in Essos, amounted to nearly a million, not counting the projects that could bring them money. "We have a million, we won't spend it all at once. As time goes by, gold will flow into our coffers; you don't need to worry about that," he said.

"If you say so, brother," said the girl naturally.

Jae felt a little uncomfortable being called brother. It wasn't that he was unaware of their kinship. Or that he intensely disliked it; they were Targaryens. Dragon blood. But being called that directly still rubbed him the wrong way. He imagined Arya and Robb the same way he imagined himself and Dany, and he felt disgust.

Incest was acceptable for dragons, but the rest of the creatures would have to find mates outside their nest.

"After your bath, we'll break the fast and you'll go with Qyburn to study. Serena will join you. Be kind to her." Daenerys nodded. "You can choose whatever discipline you like. Qyburn is good at everything, although he's best at alchemy and medicine." He was a fanatic about the human body. Jaehaerys had no qualms about giving him the worst of the worst to study.

The maids brought hot water, and Daenerys dismissed them, not wanting their help in the bath. The tub was large enough for both of them to fit comfortably. They helped each other wash and get dirty. Then they went their separate ways after breaking their fast together.

"Brandon," he nodded to the man who said goodbye to follow his wife. "Torrhen" was another of his men, one who followed him.

"Your Highness," the man called out, sincere and blunt, but polite nonetheless.

"You may call me Jaehaerys. How long has it been since I found you in Wintertown?" he asked.

Brandon and Torrhen were his two strongest men. They were lethal with the sword and the axe. Both were brothers, actually Snow's, the bastard twins of a northern nobleman. They had grown up in Wintertown, where he had met them. He invited them to the castle to serve in the guard, although he always made it clear to Eddard that he intended them to be his sworn swords. The man let him be.

Lord Stark was a complicated man, constantly torn between duty and his hatred of dragons. Time had made him less irritable. But in the snow and cold, there is a saying: The North remembers.

"More than eight, my prince. Although I have had little opportunity to defend you," he said in the same manner. His voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up.

"How far is the village?" There was a small village near Harrenhal, on the banks of the Gods Eye. There were several, but they were far apart. "How many people live there?"

"The largest village is a short ride away, you can see it from the walls of Harrenhal. It has about eight thousand inhabitants. The other villages have around two thousand," said the man. "I don't know about the rest of your land," he bowed apologetically.

The two left, a small entourage behind them. It was made up of men from the north and other knights who had sworn allegiance to him in King's Landing.

The village was small. He could see ordinary people walking around with buckets full of fish. The people used to fish near the lake. The fish there were larger than usual, not enough to shout "magic," but they did attract attention. There was livestock, but it was scarce, and only a few families raised it, something he intended to change.

His procession attracted curious glances from the inhabitants. They opened up, allowing them to pass. The houses were mainly made of wood, although he noticed a few stone ones, likely belonging to a blacksmith. He decided to take a look later.

He looked around the village at the surrounding land. There were crops, but not as many as he would have liked. Some of the workers he had brought from the capital would have to work those fields, although he would give them better tools, of course.

For better tools, he had to increase iron production, but he couldn't just waste gold, or his coffers would be empty in a month.

He came to the village to survey it, as he mainly needed to draw up plans for its expansion. During his reign, it would grow in size. Harrenhal was an excellent location for land-based trade, which had not flourished because the previous rulers were too preoccupied with maintaining the massive fort to spend gold on developing trade.

He also wanted to use the lake to transport goods to King's Landing. A small river flowed from the Gods Eye and connected to the Blackwater. He needed to find a good spot on the lake shore, and if it didn't exist, he would create it.

The village had a leader, not officially recognized by the nobles, but by the people. Jaehaerys spoke with him.

He was one of those who lived in a stone house. He was a nasty little man, utterly oblivious to his own identity. He treated the prince like just another villager, and not in a good way.

The leader ended up hanging from a makeshift gallows. Jaehaerys left one of his men from the north in charge of the village. A few knights helped him. The prince asked him to obtain the professions of the villagers.

Then the prince visited the blacksmith. He was good, not the best at his trade, but he did it well. There were other blacksmiths in Harrenhal, and Jaime would send for more.

He spent the rest of the day visiting other small villages, mainly fishing villages.

When the sun began to set, he decided to return to the castle. In the gates of the castle, he found a trembling Daenerys who was about to go out looking for him.

"We have to leave Harrenhal," she said, frightened. Jae looked at the man behind her.

"Lady Whent started telling ghost stories," said the northern man, not at all frightened. "And a man died today. She says they saw a shadow knock him down on a rock. He was just a drunk man. There's no need to pay any attention to it," the man said indifferently.

"I looked at the shadows moving, Jae, I know I saw them," the girl said fearfully, her voice a trembling whisper.

"Let's go back inside, Dany. Let's talk inside," he said, cupping her cheeks, forcing her to look him in the eyes. The girl seemed to calm down a little before nodding.

'The fucking curse. Was it real?'

Chapter Text

"Harrenhal is cursed. People throughout the Seven Kingdoms talk about the ghosts here. It has seen more owners in three hundred years than any other castle in its entire existence." The old woman's voice was soft and weak. But it was full of malice. "My family was a victim of that curse. I'm sure Harren the Roasted is laughing at us," said "the Roasted" with a smile. Mocking the man was the only pleasure she had at the time.

Jaehaerys had dismissed it as nonsense at first. One death, the shadow could have been anything from Daenerys' imagination of the shadow of a bird.

But since then, every day one more person had died than the day before. A week had passed since then. Seven days, 28 victims. Tomorrow, there will be 36 dead in total.

People were terrified, wondering who would be next. Many had begun to leave. And soon more would leave. Panic grew every day.

And Dany. The girl had stopped studying, spending her days near the dragon eggs, the stones bringing her comfort. She stayed away from anything dangerous. Every day, she begged him to leave, to ask for another castle. But according to Lady Whent, just being recognized as Lord of Harrenhal was enough to fall under the curse.

"And how am I supposed to kill a ghost?" he asked in exasperation. Of all the things that could have delayed his plans, a ghost was not something he could have imagined.

It was absurd, and... fantastic. The existence of ghosts implied that magic was a part of this world. He had thought so when he saw the wall, and now he was sure. Of course, it might have been just one or more people playing a prank. But he had seen it with his own eyes. A worker had died in such an absurd way that no one could have planned it.

"Who knows," spat the old woman. "If I knew how, do you think my family would be dead?" she coughed after shouting at him. "Boy, you should enjoy yourself while you can. Your wife is a beautiful woman. Stop thinking about ghosts and go to her. Maybe drowned between her legs, you'll find a satisfying death. I know many in the castle would wish to go that way," there was a vicious smile on her face. Her pale eyes looked at him. "Or maybe you want to run east. Run as far away as you can. In Essos, I wonder who will catch you first, Harren's ghost or Robert's hammer. But you will die, just as my good brother, my children, and my husband died in your brother's war." Her saliva dripped from her mouth uncontrollably.

"I hope you live forever, Lady Whent," he sneered. "I'm sure the memory of your family keeps you warm on cold nights." He stormed out of the room.

He felt no pity for the old woman. She knew about the curse, and she never said a word, never. She let them into the castle to die for it. She was a woman consumed by hatred and blamed the Targaryens for the death of her family. Even if only her husband died at the Trident. Her children died inside Harrenhal, from disease or accidents. Her daughter was luckier, although not by much. She married a lord and died in childbirth.

Now only she remained, for even her husband's brother, Oswell Whent, had died protecting his king.

"What do you think, Brandon, Torrhen?" They were the two men he trusted most.

"I said it was nonsense, Jae," said Brandon, who was more informal than his brother. "And I stand by that. He must be a troublemaker. Give me time, and I'll find him." Jaehaerys considered his words.

"How do you explain the luck of the woodcutter?" The poor man had died while cutting wood. The man struck the log so hard that the axe flew out of his hands. When he went to pick it up, he tripped over his feet and his left eye fell on a nail.

An accident, no doubt. Like so many others. That alone said that there was no human intervention.

"Coincidence," the man muttered, without much confidence.

"There have been many coincidences, brother," Torrhen spoke. "I don't believe in ghosts or curses... but even I can't deny that what's happening at Harrenhal doesn't make sense. And I can't find any other explanation for it," his voice was heavy. As if what he was saying bothered him.

"I see," said the prince. He wasn't crazy after all. "I'm going to the Isle of Faces."

"Prince."

"Jaehaerys," both brothers said in unison. Neither of them wanted the man to go to the island. No one ever returned from there.

"I'm not asking for advice," he said, determined. "The island is calling me. I don't know if it's because of the curse, but I have to go." It wasn't very reasonable if you asked him.

Ever since he arrived at Harrenhal, his eyes had been drawn to the island. It was always shrouded in mist, but he could feel the magic there. He ignored that feeling and continued trying to develop his land. There was something on the island that he needed. To break the curse, to discover his past. Perhaps even to awaken the dragons. He needed to move. His people were dying with each passing day. His wife was becoming increasingly paranoid. It wasn't a pleasure, it was a necessity. There were so many answers there, he knew it, he could feel it in his bones.

"Perhaps it is Harren the Black who is pointing you to the island," said Brandon.

"Didn't you say it was nonsense?" asked the prince. "You must not tell Daenerys. If I die on the island, make sure you protect her, escort her away from Harrenhal, hopefully the curse won't affect her."

"We'll go with you to—"

"No, I'm going alone," his voice left no room for negotiation.

The two men gritted their teeth. But they nodded.

The prince prepared for his journey; he didn't have much to take with him. He only needed a raft on which to carry his weapon and food for a week. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake and that he wouldn't die on the island.

He wrote one letter to Ros, to Daenerys, and to... Sansa. The latter had been an important part of his life, and he had a place in his heart for her.

He rode with the twins to the shore of the lake. Qyburn said goodbye to him.

The man seemed more intrigued than concerned about the curse. He had even begun to study the behavior of the dead before the accidents occurred.

Jaehaerys felt his eagle land on his shoulder a second before flying away. It had been a long time since he had been so close to her. She had no name, but she had followed him from the north.

He cared for her when she was weak and small. And she had repaid him with loyalty. She understood him in a way no man ever had.

At the edge of the lake was a wooden raft. With two oars at the sides, he could get someone to take him there, even at the risk of their lives. Suddenly, he felt the air tense behind him. He moved just in time to avoid a blow to the back of his neck.

His arm struck Brandon in the stomach, knocking him off his horse.

"I thought you'd know better," he said to the two men accompanying him. One had a cloth sack and the other a rope. "Even attacking me from behind, you couldn't defeat me."

"We wanted to try," said Brandon, worried. The man fell to his feet. "We could have taken you to Essos. They say there's a courtesan in Braavos who will squeeze your balls like lemons. It's your loss." Ah, if Daenerys would hear him now. All the seriousness he had tried to convey would crumble like a leaf in autumn.

"We await your return, my prince. The princess will ask for you. What should I tell her?" said Torrhen, calmer and more serene than his brother.

"Tell her I'm trying to secure our lineage," said Jaehaerys, dismounting from Black Sapphire and walking toward the raft. "Tell her that the little time I spent with her was as real as the ghost of Harren," he said with a touch of black humor.

Brandon laughed out loud, while Torrhen allowed himself a small laugh, which was a rare expression for him.

"Go now, or I'll tell her," Brandon barked, touching his belly where he had been hit.

—--

Jaehaerys got on the raft and sailed around the island. Soon, he was just a white blur.

"If he doesn't come back, I'm keeping his horse. You can have the black steel staff," Brandon said. He climbed back onto his horse and, leading his prince's black horse, rode back to the castle.

"I'll stay here for a while. Take care of the princess, Brandon," Torrhen watched his brother ride away.

He let the air escape from his lungs as he dismounted and sat on the ground. He let his horse graze. The red colt was like Jaehaerys.

He could go away, but he always came back.

He would wait patiently.

Chapter Text

The closer he got to the island, the colder it got. He regretted not bringing warmer clothes. Luckily, he didn't feel tired; his upper body gave him that advantage. Soon, he reached the fog, which weakened his vision. He tried to stay focused. One direction, no stopping. If he stopped, he risked getting lost.

Would he die here? He had always felt that he would do great things. Even his logical, scientific mind told him that he would get off the island alive.

Greenseers. It is said that they inhabit the island; perhaps they were the ones who called him. Maybe they want Valyrian blood for a ritual. Or they want to help him. Jaehaerys was curious about them as much as he was afraid of the curse.

What old Whent said made sense. Houses that once flew their banners at Harrenhal are now extinct. That was enough to raise eyebrows. Seeing the deaths of his subjects confirmed it even more.

Was it duty that brought him here? Was it love? Was it a hunger for knowledge? Was it pride? Did he want to be the first person to enter and leave the Isle of Faces?

The answer was yes to all the questions.

His duty to his land was to protect it. That same duty was linked to pride, which made him want his lands to be safe. Love, for his wife. Although he would not dare say he loved her, he was not indifferent to her affection.

He had been naturally curious since his childhood. What scholar wouldn't want to investigate a mysterious island? Who would turn down the opportunity to see magic, perhaps even study it?

And then there was that part of him that wanted to leave his mark. That part, perhaps from his youth, that made him daring and confident. He was going to leave his name in history, even as the third son, as the lord of a cursed castle.

He is a Targaryen. Madness disguised as greatness.

His children would hold their heads high and speak proudly of their father. 'I will not die here,' even though he would not be the first Targaryen to die in that lake. Daemon and Aemond faced each other here, on their dragons, Caraxes and Vhagar. Daemon's body was never found after he left Dark Sister in the basin of Aemond's eye.

He rowed for hours. But he didn't stop. Finally, he was rewarded. Through the white mist, he could see a little green. His arms oared with renewed energy. He looked at the lake, though he didn't believe the danger of the island was there.

He felt his raft hit the ground and come to a stop. He took a second to appreciate the island.

It was full of trees, and he even wondered if there was human life there, as it seemed impossible to live so long without cutting down a single tree.

"Jaehaerys Targaryen," to say he wasn't scared would be a vile lie. The voice seemed to be embedded directly in his brain. He looked everywhere. "You have come," the same sound, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Where are you?"

"In front of you, behind you, to your sides, in the sky, at your feet," said the voice.

"Do you know why I've come?" asked the prince, his eyes still studying the place.

"For answers," the voice sounded tired. "For your present. For your past. For your future."

"Will I be given help?" he asked now.

"The island does not help. Not without something in return. A trade."

"What could the island want from me?" He began to think that he was talking to the Isle of Faces.

"Death," the voice said mysteriously. The prince watched the leaves sway before falling. "Destruction."

Jaehaerys would not enjoy being a mercenary. But he would do it if he could find a cure for the curse.

"Who?" He did not like being treated like a hired killer. "Is it someone I know?"

"Since childhood."

"Is it my blood?"

"Yes," said the voice. And Jaehaerys thought of his entire family. He had known almost all of them since they were children, except for Visenya.

"I will not kill my blood," his voice was firm. He could not imagine taking the light from any Targaryen. Perhaps Daemon... and if he finds him guilty, Rhaegar.

"Things need explanation," the trees twisted. "Come," the voice commanded.

Jaehaerys left the raft. With his hand, he dragged it further into the ground. He held his weapon tightly. The voice said nothing.

The prince walked through the undergrowth. The vegetation parted for him. It was the most magical experience he had ever had.

He thought of Greenhand. It was said that flowers were rubbed where he walked. Could he achieve the same?

The island knew him, the island called him. It offered an exchange. Would he die if he refused? But could he kill his own blood? Not even Rhaegar or Daemon, with whom he had ended on bad terms.

Soon, he came to a tree, a giant weirwood. The weirwood at Winterfell had been the largest he had ever seen. But this one was two or three times as wide. It wasn't very tall, growing more in width than in height. Its branches spread out far enough to shade a small village and were leafy enough to block out the sunlight, which was already scarce on the island.

He felt small and insignificant in front of the weirwood. He looked at the face carved into the wood. It seemed to look back at him. And for a moment, he swore he saw it blink. He walked toward the tree. Since he arrived at Harrenhal, his headaches had subsided. But there was still that pain he sought to relieve with alcohol.

Here, in front of the weirwood, his mind felt free.

So much so that he wanted to stay there forever; he had grown accustomed to the chronic pain and had forgotten what it felt like not to have it. It was sweet, he cursed, because he couldn't stay there forever, and he couldn't take the tree with him.

He even remembered the face of an old man. His clothes were too modern to be from Westeros. But it was from his other life.

"Touch it," said the voice. And he reached out his hand. He touched just below the carved eye and felt red sap run through his hand.

He was no longer on the Isle of Faces. Now he was in Winterfell, in front of the weirwood tree. He would be ten years old. He frowned as he looked at the little white haired boy and wondered if his children with Dany would look like that.

The boy touched the tree and fell to his knees. He remained unconscious, his hand pressed against the weirwood.

"Ahhh!" The boy woke up suddenly. His hands held his head as he cried. Jaehaerys wanted to bring him to the weirwood tree, where he wouldn't suffer such pain. He remembered crying from the pain as a child until he fell asleep.

"The first time you met that friend," the island said softly.

"No. The pain has been there since I lived in King's Landing," replied the prince. He remembered crying from the pain until he fell asleep in his mother's arms.

The image changed. Now he was beyond the wall. He looked at an icy being. It seemed to be made of pale, icy substance. A crown made of spikes rested on its head. Its expression was bored as it rode a skeletal steed.

There were dozens of similar beings around him. They rested on the snow, still as statues.

The ice man looked at him. His stoic expression changed to a frown. His hand took a spear that was embedded in the ground, and with a fine movement, he threw it at Jaehaerys. The prince moved. The spear passed by him. Soon, he returned to the Isle of Faces.

"One death. One destruction," the voice spoke. "One caused your pain. The other one will cause your death," the island declared.

"How did he cause my pain?" Jaehaerys was not stupid. Just by looking at the white figure, he knew what it was. Their stories in the north were told to scare children in their cribs. 'The others', he remembered the name as if it were something he had known all his life.

He didn't need to be told that. He needed to know who had caused him so much pain in his life.

"One death. One destruction," the voice repeated, like a mantra. "Do you accept?"

He clenched his teeth.

"I accept," his voice firm.

"Then have your answers," said the voice.

And everything went black.

Chapter Text

He watched the red leaves fall around him. He didn't move an inch. After accepting the trade, he fell unconscious from the sheer pain. He felt as if his head was about to burst like Oberyn's when he fought the mountain.

That fight didn't happen in this world. No. That memory came from his past. From his other life.

Gods. The things he saw and read as Erick were so different from his current world. Those newly recovered memories tormented him. In that world, he was not born, or he was stillborn; his mother had many dead children.

"Bloodraven," that man had sealed his memories in the weirwood tree in the Godswood at Winterfell.

"Abomination. But still useful," said Bloodraven. His body fused with a weirwood tree. "You will send Jon Snow north to fulfill his destiny," he said in his memories.

That brief exchange changed everything. His whole life, his plans. He had intended to go to Essos, far from the chaos of the west. A bad idea, so in the end, Brynden Rivers saved him. A shame for the bastard, he saved his future killer's life.

"A death," whispered the leaves. A mission, one he would be happy to accept.

"A destruction," roared the rocks. And he thought of Night King. It was not his desire, but it was his responsibility.

Finally, he stood up. A small cascade of red sap flowed from the face of the weirwood tree. A man was collecting the liquid in a bowl. Dozens of people surrounded him.

Greenseers. He had found them. His heart tightened against his chest. Being able to see everything would help him in his quest for revolution.

"Son of destiny," said a man. Pale, beautiful skin, silver-gold hair falling over his shoulders. He was attractive. There was something around his eyes that made him seem unnatural. Jaehaerys identified him as a Targaryen, without a doubt. But which one? "Can you walk?" He just noticed that he was speaking to him in High Valyrian.

"I can," he replied.

"Follow me then," the man pushed his way through the undergrowth.

"Are you a greenseer?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement. Before unlocking his memories, he had thought that magic might be real. That wargs and greenseers existed. The curse of Harrenhal confirmed it. And his memories opened up a whole new world for him.

"I am," the man replied. He walked confidently. He had the bearing of a warrior.

"Can I be one?" asked the prince.

"I am bound to the island. I was once a prince, a dragon rider. Those were the days," he said, sounding like an old man, but he looked young, about Rhaegar's age.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I am a greenseer. I arrived here by accident a long time ago. I asked the same question. They made me one. I didn't know what I was agreeing to. I will never be able to set foot off the island," the man seemed to lament. "If you wish to be a greenseer, you must forget everything outside: your mother, your brothers, your wife, your daughter. You will own no land. You will be bound to serve a greater good," that was disappointing.

"I don't have a daughter," the man shrugged. "Where are we going?" The man gave him a clay container covered with a lid. When he lifted it, he saw a red liquid moving inside. It was like the arcians, but it seemed more alive and brighter.

"The island wants to give you gifts. We have been preparing them since the day you were born," said the man.

He followed him, walking beside him. 'A prince, a dragon rider,' he searched his mind for candidates and found one easily.

He watched his eagle approach. The man didn't notice it, but Jaehaerys did. He extended his arm so it could land. Just as he was about to ask it what it was doing on the island, he found himself looking at his own face. A second later, he looked back at the eagle.

"I see," it seemed he would not leave the island without some magic.

"Past. Future, what's missing?" asked the Targaryen at his side.

"Present. Harren's curse," said the prince.

"Harren was a fool and an imbecile," said the man. Jaehaerys wasn't expecting insults from what was, in the eyes of all Westeros, a mystical man. "But he was an excellent sorcerer," he said vaguely. "Spells didn't save him from dragon fire," he sneered.

"Did Harren leave the curse behind when he died?" The whispers claimed that the ghost of the man himself was responsible for the curse.

"Indirectly. Every stone in the walls, in the towers, in the hall is filled with spells and blood. Thousands died to soak it with blood," the man explained. They came to a small clearing. There was a clearing where a small weirwood tree sprouted. It couldn't have been more than two feet tall. "Their blood remains in the stones, their souls bound to eternal suffering."

"And why do they attack my men?"

"Why can your men enjoy the sun? See their children and their wives. Even sleep with a good prostitute," he asked back. "Why can your men rest at night and Harren's men cannot?"

"So it's... envy?" It seemed absurd and logical at the same time.

Even adding a dead body every day served to sow panic among the crowd. It was a twisted game.

"A way of putting it. In their suffering, they find a glimmer of happiness in making others suffer," said the man. "When a man leaves Harrenhal, he takes a part of Harrenhal with him. They carry souls that will torment them until they manage to kill them."

He grabbed the earth around the weirwood and pulled. Jaehaerys watched as he pulled out a clay pot, inside which was the sprout of the elder tree.

"There is already a weirwood in Harrenhal," said the boy.

"One contaminated by the three-eyed crow and his singing brats," the man spat.

Jaehaerys thought about it. The weirwood was through which Bloodraven could see the seven kingdoms.

"Should I cut it down?"

"You can purify it," the man said. "The red sap from here. You must put it at its roots. It will look withered for a while, but then it will spread like no other weirwood tree. Even so, one will not be enough to rid Harrenhal of all Harren's cruelty," he clarified, pointing to the vessel.

"I know they are magical, but how will they help destroy the spirits?"

"Destroy?" The man raised an eyebrow. "They will not destroy them; they will put them to rest. They will feed on them. Don't be surprised when you see it grow beyond what you ever thought possible."

"As big as the one on the island?" The man smiled, his cracked lips tightening, but he did not answer. "Is there anything you can tell me about the three-eyed raven?"

"He was a greenseer. He lived right here on this island," the man began as he walked. "The man was not content to remain bound here, no, he wanted more. He used to use ravens to look outside the island; besides being a greenseer, he was an exceptional warg. He left the island. He succeeded, but to do so, he contaminated the trees outside the island. He made them his own and used them for his own will. He became a parasite, semi-immortal. I don't know how long he's lived, or how many bodies he's had. No one on the island knows. For no one has lived that long." His voice grew tenser with each word. "The man knows how to cover his tracks well. We can only theorize about how he managed to change bodies; no one has ever been twisted enough even to try. The man spat on the Isle of Faces. And it was he who gave the shit singers the idea to create the first White Walker." Jaehaerys listened, drinking in every word as if it were Dornish wine. "We can glimpse a little of the future; it's not fixed, it always changes. But if the three-eyed raven lives, no one else does," he finished in a whisper.

In the TV show, the man ultimately becomes the king of the Seven Kingdoms. In the books... only George knows. He was an enigmatic creature who apparently supported humanity.

"The stories say that it was the children of the forest who carved the faces of the weirwood," said the prince.

"They did. At first, it was for the gods of nature. Then they betrayed them, we don't know why, whether it was because they didn't answer their prayers or because the three-eyed raven convinced them," replied the man. "You will carve the face of this weirwood tree," he pointed to the vessel, "when the time comes. The gods will guide you."

"So the gods are real?" asked the prince.

"Are you real, Jaehaerys Targaryen?" he asked rhetorically. "You've already spoken to one," he added.

Finally, they reached his raft. On it, he found a chest that he did not bring with him. He watched the man place the tree on the wood.

"Thank you," he said to the man. "Can I return to the island?" The mysticism attracted him.

"Only the island knows," said the man. "No man can challenge you," he added, knowing his strength. "But you will not face only men, remember that," then he disappeared into the undergrowth. Jaehaerys knew what he had to do.

"I hope it holds," he said, pushing the boat into the lake. It would be a shame to die when he had already achieved everything he needed.

Chapter Text

"He'll be back, princess," Torrhen had barely moved from his position. He had been there for a week, waiting for the prince. Brandon sent him food, otherwise he wouldn't eat.

"You should be hanged just for letting him go," Brandon, at her side, bowed his head at her words.

"We didn't let him go," he clarified. "But we couldn't stop him from leaving either." The man was aware of his weakness.

Daenerys was in a panic. Her husband's men had kept the news of the prince's departure well hidden. She thought he was working on finding another castle or a place to move to. Not for a moment did she think he would abandon her; she trusted him.

She missed his warmth at night. The deaths had not stopped. The day after the prince left, eight died, and the next day, nine. A week after his departure, fourteen died. She had heard Lady Whent mock her misfortune.

Only the thought that Jaehaerys would return comforted her. She didn't know what she would do if he didn't get back.

"He's not coming back. He'll have found another girl and a ship to take him east," the witch Whent had told her. For a moment, she found herself considering her words.

Days earlier, she had received a letter from her mother. King's Landing was near, and it took only a few days for rumors of the curse to reach the Queen Mother's ears. Her mother urged her to return to the capital. And to drag her husband back with her. She would have listened, but where was her husband?

She left the two men, although Brandon followed her, stubborn as a mule. She rode fast, hoping to lose him. But she had underestimated how good a rider he was. Within the walls, there were no whispers. She entered through a small door protected by guards. The gate was closed. She had ordered it on Qyburn's advice. More than a hundred men had already died, and hundreds had left. More would have followed if they could.

The former maester said that Jaehaerys would appreciate it if she kept his people inside. And that even if they left, they would end up dying.

She didn't know if it was the right thing to do. There had been fifty deaths since she ordered the gates closed. Those deaths weighed heavily on her conscience.

'Should I abandon everything and return to King's Landing?' She shook her head. To do so would be to give up on her husband. Although now that she knew he was on the Isle of Faces, she might never see him again.

She looked at the black stone walls. She disliked them, but it was her duty to stay there. To hold it for her husband. 'I am the lady of this land, of this castle. And my husband will come back for me.'

"M'lady," she heard someone call her—a skinny, short young boy. "Please open the doors," he begged. Dany looked at the boy, who couldn't have been more than two and ten.

"Prince Jaehaerys will be back soon," she said from her white steed.

The words were meant to be comforting, but to whom: the child in front of her or herself?

"He has been searching for a solution to the whole problem," she said. She was not used to speaking in front of an audience, so when she raised her voice, it broke.

"Liar!" someone in the crowd shouted. And others followed it.

The cries of the people grew louder and louder, her horse became nervous from the noise, and Dany had trouble staying on. Her hands tightened on the reins.

"We're doomed," some said.

"They brought us here to die," others roared.

Soon, the sound of swords being drawn could be heard. The crowd took a few steps back. Daenerys couldn't let this continue.

"Sheathe your swords," she ordered her men. She didn't want to shed innocent blood.

"Princess, we can't-"

"Sheathe them," her voice tightened as she looked at Brandon. The man nodded and complied, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

"Protect your princess," said the Northerner.

Daenerys looked at the crowd gathered around her. Not all the workers were there. Some didn't care about the curse; they came from Flea Bottom, and going back there would mean a life of misery.

"You're afraid," her voice was firm, and the crowd fell silent. "So am I. I'm terrified of dying. As much as you are," she admitted. She looked at Serena in the distance, surrounded by a large group of knights guarding her. The girl had been stronger than her. A girl younger than the princess had shown more fortitude, as if she had been through worse. Looking at the Martell princess gave her strength. "Jaehaerys," her husband's name, brought a bittersweet taste to her mouth. "He is the brave one. It was my husband, your lord, your prince, who made a journey to the Isle of Faces to find a way to break the curse." The people began to murmur.

"Everyone dies when they enter the island. No one has ever returned from there," said a man.

"And yet... my husband has decided that your lives are worth the risk of the journey," tears welled up in her eyes; the thought of being widowed, of losing Jaehaerys, left a hole in her chest.

Brandon looked at her, sometimes forgetting how young she was.

"I trust him," Daenerys continued. Despite her eyes being moist with tears, her voice remained firm. "He will return, and I will remain here, waiting for him." She spurred her horse, the crowd now seeming calmer. "I will not hold anyone against their will. But I will remember those who stay," she said finally. "Open the gates!" The men obeyed her orders without question.

The princess passed between the men. The men in armor around her were attentive and moved, but alert.

As soon as the gates opened, dozens of men poured out. No one stopped them.

They were few compared to all those who were demanding that the gates be opened. Dany watched out of the corner of her eye as the same young man who had spoken to her stood still, staring at her.

Daenerys had prayed to the Seven. To the mother, the warrior, the father, and the maiden. Her prayers had never been answered. She was tired and decided to go to the Godswood.

Her men advised her against it, but she stood her ground. The first day they arrived at Harrenhal, she and Jae had planned to go, and they only avoided it because night fell upon them.

A small path led to the weirwood tree. Dany looked at the beautiful white tree with its red leaves and felt a mix of peace and discomfort as if something inside the wood was scrutinizing her.

She lay down at the roots and slept, only the gods know how long.

"You're covered in dirt," she heard as she was awakened. She felt someone caressing her cheek.

"Jae!" She threw herself into his arms. 'What a beautiful dream.' She thought.

"Brandon said you calmed the crowd like a queen," he said, stroking her hair.

She shuddered. It felt too real.

"You're back?" she asked. "You came back?" She sounded incredulous.

The cold earth told her the truth. It wasn't a dream; he had returned. Somehow, he had made it off the island alive.

"Yes. Now I have to use those ghosts as fertilizer," he said, stepping away, reluctant. She looked at a clay jar in the prince's hands. "This should revive the tree." As soon as he poured the red liquid on the roots of the weirwood, a flock of crows began to attack it. They couldn't do much damage; their beaks couldn't penetrate the bark. Dany watched from the side, her face twisted in confusion.

Her sleepy mind didn't understand anything. She panicked when she saw the birds attacking her husband, but he kept the same expression. He managed to scare the birds away by waving his arms, each blow killing one or two birds. It looked like something out of a court jester act.

"What happened on the island?" she asked. "How did you get back?" She could think of a thousand other questions.

"The island let me return. I'll tell you later. Now I have to plant a weirwood tree. Can you think of a place?" The prince began to brush the dust off his pants and his wife's clothes. The men who were guarding the princess disappeared, probably on Jaehaerys' orders.

He picked up a large pot from the ground. Daenerys looked at the red leaves and white wood.

"In the garden," the dream vanished. And thinking about how peacefully she had slept at the foot of the tree increased her desire to have one inside the castle. How did her husband get a weirwood? That was a question for later.

"Let's get to it then," the garden was designed to be on the inner side of the five towers. Jaehaerys planned to use one of the central towers as a library, and the garden in front of it.

"Here," Dany pointed to a patch of ground where no grass grew. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it's the best place."

They were in the Flowstone yard, located at the center of the five broken towers. They weren't exactly in the center; Dany chose a spot closer to the wall connecting the Wailling Tower to the Tower of Ghosts.

"I'll trust you, then," said the prince. "I need a damn shovel."

"Here, my prince," said Torrhen, his twin brother at his side. They seemed to have been following them from afar. Dany looked at the men with an apology on her lips for saying she would hang them. "I'll help you dig."

"No need, I want to do it myself," he looked at the steel of the head as if it were the worst piece of trash he had ever seen.

"May I ask where you get the weirwood, my prince?" The man acted as if nothing had been said and took out a second shovel. Brandon looked at the tree from a distance, his brow furrowed.

"I got it on the Isle of Faces. It will help with the curse," he didn't say much after that. Both men set about digging in silence. Daenerys wondered why he hadn't ordered the peasants to dig the hole.

Her husband was a strange man. She let herself fall to the dirt floor as she watched him work.

She allowed herself a small smile of relief. Her husband was home.

Chapter Text

"What do you think of the prince?" Tywin Lannister asked his eldest son.

When Jaime was released from his vows and restored as heir to the Rock, Tywin allowed himself a smile, though only his wife witnessed it.

"He's strong," said the heir with a distant look. "He's ambitious and dangerous if you're his enemy," he added.

"Only if you're his enemy?" asked the Lion, his green eyes seeming to peer into his son's mind.

"Yes. He has no interest in the throne," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine as he listened to his father.

"And yet there are half a million golden dragons less in our coffers," his voice was scathing.

"I had to correct Cersei's mistakes," he said, unmoved by his anger. "My daughter will be queen, and I will make sure that no one threatens her place. Even if that threat is my sister," he said finally with anger.

"Good," his father looked at him with a stony face. "Maintaining and securing your legacy is the most important thing," he didn't show it in his tone, but he was proud of his son. "You said he has no interest in the throne. What about the game?"

"He does," Jaime admitted. "He wants to make Harrenhal into something extraordinary. A center of commerce," he added, remembering their conversations.

"And he has a handful of men who can cause trouble," said his father.

"I don't see him causing trouble," he said. "He's a proud young man. He asked me how to get the tallest tower. He told me there were two ways." His father looked at him, asking him to continue.

"One is to build it directly. It's simple, but the hardest of all. The other is to build a tower not taller than the others. And knock down all the others that exist," he savored the wine. "He said: The first shows strength, the second weakness."

"A fool, then. He won't get far without cutting off a few heads. Harrenhal itself is a curse. The gold your sister gave him will keep him afloat for a few years."

"He's the smartest person I've ever met," Jaime said. "I wouldn't dismiss him so easily."

"Neither would I. But he's someone who only defends himself and doesn't attack, at least from our few interactions," Tywin said.

"Have you met him?" he asked, frowning.

"Do you know why I asked for him to marry Princess Daenerys?" his father asked, ignoring his question.

"No. I only know that you want to keep him without allies through marriage, although I don't know why him and not Viserys or Daemon," Jaime said.

"I considered him a threat to Aegon's throne. The greatest threat within the Targaryens," his father said. "Viserys is an idiot. Daemon is, albeit a better one, but still an idiot. He knows little beyond swinging his sword."

"The prestige of being a warrior will make people want to follow him. Remember Robert."

"I defeated Robert," his father declared.

"He's still alive. A shadow in the east," Jaime said.

"A horse lord. By now, he should be afraid of the sea," his father dismissed him. He was not an immediate danger; his men kept him informed of his movements.

"Yes... I can understand why you fear him—"

"I did not fear him. I respect him," his father admitted. Jaime's eyes widened. "He has business in Essos, did you know that? No. No one in the capital knows, not even Varys. Somehow, he evaded his little birds. I discovered it by chance. He hides well. When I found out he was selling goods, I tried to buy his business. It's no big deal, I just wanted to test his character." Tywin himself was now drinking wine from a golden cup. He was a man of few words, but in front of his son and heir, he could afford to be more open.

"You decided just to be mean?" Jaime had become bolder over the years. In the past, he would not have dared to speak to him in that manner. Tywin was torn between pride and annoyance.

"You should know all the players. I could have them embroider it on your cloak," he reminded him sharply. Jaime remained silent. "He refused. I insisted, I even attacked a few caravans."

"Aren't you afraid of the royal family?"

"They didn't know anything about that business. And if they found out, what would they do to me?" he asked and answered himself.

"I suppose you couldn't get your hands on it?" Jaime was a little amused.

"No. Rumors even began to spread that the mines were running out of gold." His father looked him in the eyes. "He knew it was me who attacked his property, and he counterattacked cleanly and effectively. Do you think Viserys or Daemon could have done that?"

"No. But even then, it's just a small business. Is it worth depriving Daemon of his allies?"

"It's in those small acts that you can see how dangerous the players are."

"Anyone could spread a rumor," Jaime remembered that rumor, but considered it ridiculous.

"We've been mining less and less gold. The mines are drying up, Jaime. He was even able to calculate how long we could continue mining gold," his father said.

"You're joking." his father's face remained stony.

"It's not a concern. More mines remain unexploited. But it's the mere fact that he knows that fact that tells me he's not just any player," his father looked at him directly.

"How do you plan to deal with him?" he asked cautiously.

"It would have been best to marry him to Joanna, your daughter," said Tywin. "But that would deprive us of a possible alliance in case of war. Another Lannister would have served."

Jaime felt insulted that his daughter's hand was considered necessary only as a means of alliance. If it were up to him, he would see her married to the eldest son of the Tyrells, Willas. But he knew his father could sell her even to someone like Walder Frey. He thought of Jaehaerys, to whom he would have offered his daughter as a wife if he had known him earlier. It was a pity that the third prince had only his name and a few men.

"That's not possible. Rhaella would not have accepted the hand of another Lannister of lower rank, no matter the dowry. Perhaps Cersei's daughter, but I can't see my sister wanting to marry off her daughter." his sister seemed to want her children to remain unmarried. And her husband didn't care. 

'But Cersei lost her daughter, too.'

"That's why Daenerys was the best choice."

"He just defends himself, you said. Did you want to take away his potential allies so you could attack him?" His father's face told him everything. "That leaves Daemon's hand free," Jaime added when he saw that his father wouldn't say a word.

"His birth makes many think of him as a bastard. Westeros remembers BlackFire," said his father.

The first Blackfyre was a better swordsman than all the rest, but he died in a rain of arrows.

Jaime didn't object. However, he believed that Daemon was a greater danger than Jaehaerys. Not because the latter was weak—Darkstar and Daemon could attest to the contrary. No, it was because Jaehaerys longed to create. Not that Jaime believed he was harmless in war, but he wouldn't strike a blow without need. As long as the prince of scrolls wasn't bothered, he wasn't a problem.

Daemon, on the other hand, was more volatile and aggressive. He didn't get along well or badly with Aegon, but with the right whispers, he could be made to believe that he was destined for the crown.

Jaime hoped the prince wouldn't find a Bittersteel at his side. After all, this Daemon had also had his Daenerys taken from him.

"Your mother has arranged a banquet for your arrival," said Lord Tywin, rising to his full height.

His mother, Joanna. She had barely survived Tyrion's birth. She was the only person who could soften the stone heart of the Mighty Tywin. She was the one who convinced Tywin to go to the Trident to fight against Robert.

It was thanks to her that his daughter would be queen. Rhaella and Joanna discussed the marriage in letters, behind the Mad King's back. His father and Rhaegar ultimately overthrew Aerys and exiled him to the Wall.

"Don't attack Jaehaerys," he advised. "We are not his enemies."

"When the chance arrive, you have to take it."

"He will have children, Father. He may not be able to forge alliances now, but he can promise the hands of his children." This time, his father remained silent. "Besides, Serena is with him." He still didn't know how he had managed to convince Cersei to give up her daughter.

His father gritted his teeth, knowing that his granddaughter was in the house of a potential enemy, and it did not sit well with him. Jaime thought that that was what bothered his father most about the prince.

"I taught you well," he nodded. Then he left with loud, heavy footsteps.

Despite his words, Jaime noticed that his father did not pay much attention to him. He could only sigh and prepare to cover up any possible damage.

'Jaehaerys liked gold, right? I'll start shitting in his latrine,' he joked to himself.

Chapter Text

A moon had passed since the weirwood tree had been planted. After Jaehaerys' arrival, the death toll stopped rising. At first, the workers remained cautious, though hopeful. As the days passed, their belief in the Lords of Harrenhal was renewed, not only in Jaehaerys, but even Daenerys became beloved by the people.

But Jaehaerys was treated almost like a deity. A mystique began to grow around him. He was the first and only man to have entered and left the Isle of Faces alive. Letters had even arrived from the citadel urging him to recount what he had seen inside the island. The letters became dismissive when the curse of Harrenhal was mentioned.

"Superstition and accidents. Magic has been dead for hundreds of years," said the maesters.

The prince seemed to find no satisfaction in rest, and the few times he left his estate were rare and mainly because Princess Daenerys forced him to take some time off.

"The old tree has grown almost twelve feet in a single moon," the princess massaged her husband's back.

The man was immersed in a book given to him by the man from the island. It turned out that the chest contained a set of books and artifacts from ancient Valyria, as well as others from the First Men. They were not about history, but about magic and dragons. They were academic books, which made them slightly complicated, as they used unfamiliar concepts and words. He felt like a biologist reading an advanced math book.

Jaehaerys already knew how to speak and read High Valyrian, but it was a surprise to him to be able to understand the books of the first men. They were a set of runes, similar to the Norse alphabet of his previous world. How could he read it? He attributed it to a gift from the gods of nature.

"And it will grow much more," said the prince.

"Is it true that it frees the souls of Harren's victims?" Dany had heard this before, but she was still a little skeptical. The fear that the death toll would resume made her hug him tightly every night.

"That's what the green man said. True or not, I have no way of knowing," he sighed with pleasure as he felt the princess's tender hands massage a knot of muscles.

"And the magic you read, is it real?" The princess had glanced at the books. However, she focused more on those about dragons.

"It is. Although Valyria requires human sacrifices, as exemplified by Harrenhal, I can assume that the Doom of Valyria was due to a similar condition. They abused magic so much that it ended up exploding in their faces," said Jae. He wore two pieces of glass in front of his eyes, held together by a wooden strip.

Medieval glasses. Dany had asked for some for herself, just out of vanity, as she thought her husband looked handsome in them. She asked for them more emphatically when she learned that they would relieve her headache when reading and make the letters easier to read.

"I don't want you to sacrifice anyone. Although perhaps Lady Whent would do," said Daenerys.

Jaehaerys thought of a funeral pyre, with Mirri Moz Dur replaced by Lady Shella. Only one substitute was needed for Khal Drogo, who would become Daenerys' husband in the books. He would love to contribute to the rebirth of the dragons, but he valued his own life.

"I'm afraid we'll have to wait for her to die of old age; hopefully, it won't be long." his mood soured.

He felt bad wishing death on someone, but the old woman seemed even meaner after the curse stopped. Her sharp tongue continued to haunt them. Jaehaerys was about to lock her in a tower and not tell anyone; they could find her in the ruins of the tower when they brought the stone to the walls.

"Can't you send her away?" asked the princess. Her hands began to wander over his chest, losing themselves under his woolen shirt.

"As much as I wish I could, giving her a home until the day she dies was part of the deal for Harrenhal," Jaehaerys sometimes wished the woman were alive.

He wanted her to see him transform the castle into something she could never have imagined, even in her wildest dreams.

"That home can be outside Harrenhal," Dany whispered in his ear.

Lately, the girl had begun to use her femininity more to keep him close. He knew she wasn't doing it out of a desire to manipulate him, but rather to stay near him. The curse had damaged her and created a fear of abandonment.

"This is the first time you've tried to seduce me to change my mind," his voice sounded firm. He felt the princess pull away. "You've spent too much time with Ros," he scolded her.

"Once Cersei said that my greatest weapon was between my legs," the girl didn't even understand why she said such a thing.

It was a need to justify her actions. "Do you think Cersei is a good example? You can ask Serena about her," Jaehaerys sighed heavily. She lowered her gaze. "Lady Shella will stay at Harrenhal. If you had made your point without trying to manipulate me, it might have worked." He didn't want this behavior to become a habit.

If he wanted a woman who sought to manipulate him, he would have taken Margaery Tyrell as his wife.

"Ros said—"

"Ros did it to get gold and pretty dresses," he decided he would have a serious talk with the redhead. "Ros is not my wife. Lately, I've had a lot of lords wanting a piece of the Harrenhal lands. I have to be cautious around them. Do I also have to be on guard against my wife?" It was harsh, but he considered it necessary.

Dany was a good person. Even living in King's Landing, she had managed to retain a certain innocence, and he didn't want that to change, not around him.

He felt the girl's arms wrap around him. He turned to look at her. She had a look of sadness, anger, and regret on her face.

"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper.

"Until now, I've trusted you. I don't want that to change. If you want something, you can ask for it, but don't mix our affairs as husband and wife with our affairs as lord and lady." He took her hands in his and kissed them.

'It's not surprising. In the other story, Dany manipulates Khal Drogo into agreeing to certain things that go against the very foundations of the Dothraki,' the idea of his wife married to another man bothered him.

In the silence of the embrace, the prince's thoughts continued to what he knew about the world into which he had been reincarnated.

His memories of the books and the series served him well, not for the plot or to guess the future. The world was so different that he could hardly imagine what would happen.

Jaehaerys, despite his differences with his older brother, would recognize that Rhaegar was a better king than Robert Baratheon could ever be.

The stag never put his fat ass on the throne. Westeros was not in debt; it remained a prosperous region. Although over the years, Baelish could make a dent in that, it would not be soon. Jaehaerys had to consider two things: whether to prepare for war or to prepare to win it, or both.

He would like to argue that war was avoidable, but it wasn't.

He had even sent assassins after Littlefinger and Varys. The assassins failed, plunging the court into chaos for a time. They did not discover who sent them; Jae covered his tracks well. But those two men were his greatest challenge. They were not easy to eliminate.

"How have your studies with Qyburn been?" he asked, breaking the moment.

And the girl seemed to regain her confidence, starting to talk about the pipes. Dany had even searched for copper mines within her territory to produce pipes. Jaehaerys listened to her in silence, intervening from time to time when the girl seemed to forget something or to suggest ideas.

They were a young couple, just like Harrenhal, their foundations still being laid.

Chapter Text

"It's... fascinating, although it will delay the construction of the castle to inscribe those runes on every brick. We've already had to discard thousands of pieces," Qyburn looked at a small wall measuring two feet by two feet. It was a simple demonstration. But that small piece contained something that Westeros had not seen in centuries: magic.

"Giving them to the smallfolk is not throwing them away," the prince reprimanded him.

The young prince had spent much of his day reading the books left behind by the greenseer. He set aside the Valyrian magic, giving Daenerys books about dragons. The girl had spent the last moon with the eggs. And he believed she could hatch them on her own, although of course he would seek to help her.

Among the texts, he found the primary type of magic used by the first men: runes.

Jaehaerys had used two runes of the first men: ᛉ (Elhaz) and ᛏ (Tyr).

Elhaz was a rune that conferred protection and defense on brick. It also had a greater connection to the spiritual, which would help prevent another curse from ever happening at Harrenhal. Tyr, on the other hand, was used to provide greater resistance and increase the structural strength of the brick.

It was a little complicated to work with runes, as a single rune could have several meanings.

The decisive factor was in making them; it was the intention that counted. Of course, it wasn't enough to carve the rune; it had to be painted with red sap to activate it, which would allow it to connect with the weirwoods and activate the magic. That's why he developed a new mortar mixture based on Roman mortar, the best he could create at the time.

That mortar was made of quicklime, volcanic ash, sand, and water. To this mixture, he added the sap from the weirwoods.

The sap was a scarce commodity, mainly because he could only extract it from two weirwood trees. The first was in the Godswood, while the second had just been planted a moon ago.

The tree in the Godswood seemed to be bleeding, and he had ordered his men to collect the sap in large barrels. To date, he had filled two. It was a monstrous amount, although he believed it was due more to the purification process than to natural production.

Even Dany had told him that she felt more comfortable around the weirwood trees since he had returned from the island. 'The three-eyed raven must have been quite frustrated,' he recalled the hundreds of ravens seeking to harm him. But they never sought to hurt his wife; it seemed that she was still important in the story. Or in the story that the raven wanted to write.

For the mortar, it was a matter of knowing what proportion of sap to mix with the mortar. The first men diluted it almost a thousand times to write the runes. The power of the rune was not limited by the sap used, but by the weirwoods. But there had to be a minimum to be effective. Qyburn was working on that. The disgraced maester had asked him to study the runes, and he saw no reason to refuse.

He did not fear his betrayal; the man was hungry for knowledge. And Jaehaerys was an almost unlimited source of knowledge. But one can never be too cautious. He did not let him know about all the books; there were some more advanced ones. The runes he allowed him to study were elemental.

"Has the blacksmith finished the branding iron?" asked the prince.

He looked in the background, where his men seemed to have started a game. They took a hammer and began hitting the bricks together, trying to break them. So far, they had only managed to produce sparks.

Brandon hit it savagely while laughing like a madman.

"Twenty done, my prince. Ten of each seal," said the master.

"Have them start using them on the bricks then," ordered the prince. "Have you found any assistants you're happy with?" He had entrusted him with this task weeks ago when he saw how overworked he was.

"I've recruited a group of young people willing to help. One knew how to read and write, so I asked him to teach the others. For now, they're only doing basic tasks. I need to know how reliable they are," said the maester. "Ah, there's an envoy from Lord Tarly," he said at last.

"An envoy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. If he remembered correctly, the man was Sam's father.

"His eldest son, Samwell Tarly," Qyburn said with a small smile.

"Why did he send him?"

He should be on his way to the Wall by now.

"To fight the curse," the man said.

Jaehaerys nodded. News of the deaths caused by the curse had spread throughout Westeros, and he had even received a letter from Sansa asking about his well-being. He had not yet replied.

If Lord Tarly had sent him, it was in the hope that he would die; in the canon, he threatened him to cause a hunting accident. He did not know what rumors had reached him, probably exaggerations.

"Take him as a student," he said to Qyburn.

He could find another maester after his grandfather.

"Oh? That's not advisable. He's from a noble house and—"

"Take him. The young man is hated by his father. He probably sent him here to die," said Jaehaerys. "By the way, what are the rumors about the curse?" he asked.

"All of Westeros is skeptical. Rumors of deaths are a disease. If someone wants to get rid of their son, sending him away would be a good idea," said Qyburn, still suspicious. "Why would Lord Tarly do that?"

"His son is weak. He prefers books to swords. I remember Rabdyll looking at me with contempt, as if I were a whore. I can't imagine how he treated his son. Talk to him and ask him to explain why he came. Could you get to know him? You'll end up wanting him as a disciple." He didn't order him to, though he could well have done so. But he had already forced him to teach Dany and Serena; he wouldn't be so foolish as to antagonize him too much. He was an intelligent and valuable man, one worth keeping happy.

"Then I will do as you say, my prince," the old man nodded. "Do you plan to make the runes public knowledge?" he asked.

"No. I will add them to the new sigil of my house. When they see them on the bricks, they will only think I am a self-important prince. Although they won't be on sight when looking at the castle," The runes were forgotten knowledge. He had not even found them in the enormous library at Winterfell. If anyone recognized them, it would be a huge coincidence.

He could only think of the bronze armor of the Royces.

They also required sap to activate. There were only two trees that could provide it, and they were on his land. The other weirwoods were contaminated. That was why magic had diminished.

"What will your new coat of arms be?" asked Qyburn.

"Two intertwined dragons, one white and the other black. As I said, it will contain the runes Elhaz and Tyr at the feet of the dragons. It will be on an auburn background." He briefly described the coat of arms. His gaze was lost.

"Auburn? That sounds like La-"

"How many bricks will be needed to build the castle?" he asked. He hadn't done the calculations himself.

"A little over five and eighty million. That's just for the towers and the walls. The other buildings have not been considered yet," said the man, knowing when his benefactor wanted to change the subject.

"And how many do we produce per day?"

"Right now, around thirty thousand," said the master. They got a hundred and twenty thousand out of every four days. "There are more than five hundred apprentices. But it will take time for them to learn the trade." Jaehaerys frowned.

That number was ridiculously low. He remembered his grandfather in his previous life, a stubborn old man who made a living making bricks. That was why Jaehaerys was so determined to build the castle out of bricks.

In his previous life, he had failed his grandfather. He wanted to honor him in this one.

It was a stupid reason, yes. But with the runes, it was even an advantage at that moment.

"How many experts are there?" Jaime had sent him artisans in various trades.

"About forty," said the master. That was more than he expected.

"How many steps are there in bricklaying?" he asked. He knew the procedure from his grandfather, but he was unaware of the significant differences it presented in the medieval world.

"Extract the clay and sand; blackwater is rich in both, so it shouldn't be a problem. Add water and knead. Then mold the bricks and let them dry. Once dry, form a kiln; each kiln can hold up to ten thousand bricks. They do three every four days," Qyburn explained. Although Jaehaerys already knew the process. "That would be six steps. Extraction, kneading, molding, drying, forming the kiln, and baking them."

"And I suppose everyone works on the same thing at the same time?" Qyburn nodded.

"Yes. There isn't enough work for everyone. Sometimes you see the young apprentices just watching, which is why I suggest reducing their numbers," he requested.

"No. Order that twelve groups of three craftsmen and nine and thirty apprentices be created. Each of the craftsmen will be in charge of one step: kneading, molding, and baking," he ordered.

The low productivity was due to a lack of organization. Neither he nor Qyburn could be there giving orders, but they could organize the groups.

"There are intermediate steps," Qyburn began.

"Yes. I will send a hundred men to extract clay and sand, and twenty will transport it to the brickmakers' workplace with wagons. If more men are needed to carry the clay from the kneading to the molding, let me know," the former maester took note of his words.

"That will speed up construction. We should increase production by triple. It could be double or triple that when they become more skilled," he jotted down in a small notebook.

"If I'm not mistaken, there are four craftsmen left over. Those four craftsmen will be supervisors. Let them be the best among them. I'll leave the micromanagement to them. Of the remaining thirty-two apprentices..." He closed his eyes as he thought, "Send them to mark the bricks with the runes. They will rotate with the groups," he rubbed his temples. It wasn't pain, as he was used to, but rather stress.

"I will carry out your orders, my prince," Qyburn slowly walked away.

Jaehaerys looked at the men playing; it seemed that it was Torrhen's turn. Brandon was on the floor, breathing heavily.

The wall remained intact.

Chapter Text

Six and ninety thousand bricks every third day. That was the new figure. Two weeks had passed, and efficiency had increased more than threefold. But even at that rate, it would take nine years to produce the ninety million bricks required. He would probably need another ten million for the construction inside the castle.

Besides, he had other things to build that Qyburn hadn't considered. The outer walls were over eighty feet high and thirty feet wide. The stone from the towers would only be used to repair the damage, which prevented him from using it in his initial plan to expand the walls.

The walls formed a perimeter of six thousand three hundred and five and forty feet, covering an area of five and forty acres.

The walls were not symmetrical, and Jaehaerys hated that. The walls formed an imperfect rectangle. Three sides were fine, but then in one of the corners, there was a strange construction. Jaehaerys planned to tear down that corner and make the rectangle correct. The new construction would end up with a perimeter of eight thousand two hundred feet, that's one thousand eight hundred and five and fifty feet more than the previous one.

The towers, although monstrous, were useless for expanding the walls; even the hall of a hundred hearts did not offer that much material. Qyburn was an excellent biologist, but as an architect...

The walls will need an additional thirty million bricks. And depending on the dragon eggs, he had other projects that would add another thirty million bricks.

That increased the work to almost fifteen years. Not counting unforeseen circumstances.

Jaehaerys considered how the Ironborn had never rebelled, and the feeling that a war could come soon made him want to hurry. He had already sent letters to the Manderlys offering them a commission.

Jaehaerys thought about sending more men. But he couldn't do that without stopping another process. The men were in charge of building the castle's foundations and expanding the outer walls, although the latter could wait. It would take about eight moons to finish the foundations, considering that they couldn't use those of the towers already built.

On the bright side, he could expand the walls much more than he had initially planned. However, it would still take five years. No one rested in the castle.

He felt a little bad about giving his people ten-hour days. But they had food and good pay. Their conditions were much better than most lords offered. Small groups of workers had arrived, people looking for opportunities. He had taken them on and put them to work quickly.

'Bricks, bricks,' he began to think of solutions.

He decided to give them better tools for kneading and molding. It would allow them to modify the bricks in the kilns for better results. He would order the carpenters to make wooden molds. Enough to make four bricks. It should increase efficiency.

'But it's not enough.'

"So, Will, where do you think the problem is?" The man had just reported on production. He was one of the supervisors.

"In the kilns, my lord," the man replied. He didn't dare look him in the eye.

"In the kilns?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, M'lord," the man swallowed hard, seeing the prince's narrowed eyes. "Ten men are kneading, eight and ten molding, and two and ten in the kilns. Each man produces about four hundred bricks. That would be seven thousand two hundred a day," he had been selected for his ability to count. "But we can only make eight thousand every three days because of the klin."

"Two and ten men can't do it?" He opened his eyes wide. His grandfather was capable of tending a kiln by himself, albeit on a smaller scale.

"The men need to rotate shifts. We can handle one kiln, but not several at the same time," the man wiped his forehead.

"I see," he narrowed his eyes, looking at him. "How many men do you need?" he asked, starting to play with a knife.

"At least ten or twenty more per group," the man nodded, looking at the sharp steel with fear. 'Don't lie to him, doesn't matter what,' he remembered Qyburn's words. "The young men are learning quickly. They could start molding five hundred bricks by the next moon. That would be seven and twenty thousand bricks every third day, per group, of course," the man calculated two kilns of five and ten thousand.

"What if you make the kilns smaller?" asked the prince.

"The quality of the brick decreases, and it would need more manpower. I would also need more wood," said the man. "About the wood..."

"What about it?" The whole situation was upsetting him. It was a problem of patience; it required time. Medieval industry was slow.

"I," the man clenched his hands in fear. "In Westerlands, we use coal. It burns hotter and is more efficient. We would use about a third of what we use in wood."

"I will take care of that. I believe there are several mines..." He stopped before he began to ramble. "I will send men and have them given better tools. I hope that improves production," he said to the man. "Order the kilns to be used in stages. Start one furnace one day, another the next, and another the third. That should speed things up," he asked at the end.

"Yes, m'lord," the man would figure it out.

Jaehaerys thought about correcting him on how to address a prince, but the man was trembling.

The prince gestured to the man, who knew when he was being dismissed.

Jaehaerys gave the orders and began to think about more recent problems.

He needed to obtain gold. He had spent approximately one hundred thousand golden dragons in the last two moons, almost a tenth of his total fortune. He would have to spend it on putting the mines to work. There were eight hundred men laying the foundations outside. Expanding the walls was not a priority beyond his annoyance at not seeing them symmetrical.

He could send five hundred to the mines. He would send the rest to make bricks. He put down his pen and donned a dark purple, almost black cloak.

He left for the village to check on the construction of the Drakkars. People thought that name was a variant of "Dracarys", which meant "Fire" in Valyrian.

He did not correct them.

He rode in silence with Torrhen's shadow beside him. They reached the village in no time.

He had prepared shipyards for the construction of the ships. He wanted small ships about sixty feet long. Agile for navigating the Blackwater. The carpenters of Westerlands were quick to take orders. They had never built anything like this before, but they were not out of their element. He had purchased the cured wood from Lord Mooton of Maidenpool.

Three small boats were already in the makeshift harbor. Some villagers were offended, as they considered going so far out onto the lake a sin against the gods. It was his trip to the island that convinced them all.

"The gods allowed it. If they hadn't, he wouldn't have come back," said the smallfolk

He decided to send Ros to King's Landing. He trusted her enough to sell products, mainly perfumes, soaps, and oils. He will send twenty armed men for her protection.

Thinking about the TV show, he was a little surprised. In the show, the girl had been a prostitute in Winterfell. He changed her destiny. She was the daughter of an innkeeper. One night, while looking for people to recruit, he came across that inn.

He remembered a nobleman about to buy her first night. Her father greedily accepted the gold. The man who paid, a knight lost in the north, took her by the waist and was about to take her to a room arranged by her father.

"Girl," he said back then. She seemed intelligent and observant. "Bring me more beer," he asked.

She ran to his side.

Her father frowned but said nothing. The knight looked at him with hatred. No one said anything. He was a prince; he could have taken her virginity for free if he had wanted to.

He took Ros with him. The girl wasted no time in trying to warm his bed. She could read and write, which alone made her very valuable in that medieval world. But she still feared abandonment.

Jaehaerys was not a man without desire and claimed her maiden as if it had always been his. He remembered the blood.

She was his first woman in both his lives. Out of respect for his wife, he had not been intimate with her again. Now he was sending her to sell goods. He didn't want her to stay by his side just as a decoration. After all, she had a good head on her shoulders.

He hoped that word would spread and merchants would come to Harrenhal. He had many things to sell, even if he needed to refine his processes.

He returned to the castle near sunset. Looking for Ros. When he found her and explained his plan, she got mad.

"You're sending me away because of Daenerys?" was the first thing she said when he ended up talking. Jaehaerys had a separate study. He couldn't spend all day in his chambers working at his desk.

"No. I'm doing it because I trust you," he said softly.

"I don't want to go, I want to be here. With you," she seemed on the verge of begging him.

"It will only be a week or two. The trip down the river should take three days at most," he said. "You'll come back with me," he said, standing up and caressing her cheek.

"And when will I return to your bed?" She wanted to sound angry, but she couldn't. "Even when you and her," she alluded to Sansa, "were sleeping together, you still kept me with you. Gods, I remember you had us both at the same time. How many times was that? Ten, twenty?" she asked him.

"I'm married now," he defended himself.

Remembering Sansa hurt him, made him remember the letter he had not replied to. He shouldn't have been her first man. If anyone found out, she would have little prospect of marriage. Although the idea of his Sansa being married bothered him. Sometimes he wished he could call her Daenerys' lady-in-waiting. But he stopped himself.

"Married under gods you don't worship," she said. Jaehaerys preferred the old gods to the new ones. That wasn't anything new. The Isle of Faces only reaffirmed his beliefs. "The old gods don't care if you had more than one woman," the girl tried to kiss him.

"It's not about the gods. It's about my wife," he pulled away from her.

"Then you don't know your wife as well as you think you do," the girl said with a mysterious smile.

"What are you talking about?" he frowned at her comment.

"I'll tell you when I get back from King's Landing," she almost growled. "If I don't find a rich and handsome husband," she turned on her heel and left.

That idea soured Jaehaerys' day.

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After this chapter, I'll probably be using Arabic numbers in big numbers. 

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys never ceased to be amazed by the growth of the weirwood tree. It grew three feet in a week and thickened to the girth of two men. One man, if you counted Wyman Manderly. Daenerys sat on a bench around the weirwood tree. Thousands of men were working on the foundations. By that point, they had already demolished one of the five towers, the King's Pyre Tower. It was the furthest from where he and Daenerys were staying. It suffered the most from Balerion's fire, as it was the tower where Harren and his family used to live.

It would be the only tower whose foundations he could use. He wanted to start building the new tower so they could move in as soon as possible. He had already sent letters to Viserys asking for volcanic ash. Dragonstone was one of the few places in Westeros where he could find it. The valley probably had volcanoes, but he had never heard of any.

"I hear you fired Ros," in the last days, Dany had ordered a fence to be built around the weirwood tree. Some followers of the faith were unhappy with the tree, although there were no septons in Harrenhal. Religions were mixed there.

None of them did anything, either out of respect for their lords or out of fear of them.

There were several wooden benches by the fence, also at the princess's request. The girl liked to read by the weirwood tree. For now, she used a parasol, but she hoped that when the tree grew, its leaves would protect her from the sun.

"She'll be back soon," Jaehaerys sighed.

From where he stood, he could see the workers digging. Others were preparing the two towers closest to the central tower for demolition. The most critical workers were laying the foundations for the two central towers. There was a distance of four and fifty feet between these towers. The prince planned to build the library between them. Both towers would be five hundred feet high. The library would be one hundred and fifty feet high, allowing a view over the monstrous walls of Harrenhal.

He would connect the two towers using a bridge-like structure. The connection would begin 120 feet above the ground, forming an arch between the two structures. It would be built on top of this joint until the floor was level. He planned to create a balcony outside. He would use large windows to separate the library from the balcony. These windows would have exits, although they would generally be closed. He planned to build stairs outside the towers, but he was still undecided; he didn't want his future children to fall down them. He also didn't want to give the killers a direct entry point.

"I like her. She apologized and told me why she made me act that way," the princess turned a page in a book on her lap.

"Would you share that with me?" He glanced at the book. It was about water, focusing on its ways to harness its movement. She had spent the last few weeks with her nose in books about dragons, but he had ordered her not to take them out of their chambers. They were kept in a locked chest.

"No," she bit her cheek. "It's private," she said, hoping he would leave her alone.

"Then you don't know your wife as well as you think you do," he remembered Ros's words from the day before.

"Would you like something from the garden?" he decided to change the subject.

"A lake," she replied quickly. She closed the book. "The arbor tree is right in the center. I want the paths to be built around the edges. Near the walls, maybe thirty feet away, ditches would be dug and filled with bricks and then clay. These would connect to the small lakes," she seemed to be thinking on the fly.

"Lakes?" She changed the number instantly. That told him that she hadn't given the garden any thought.

"Yes, two lakes. I want them to be connected underground," she wrinkled her forehead as she thought. "A path will be built from the entrance, which will fork to the sides of the weirwood and then rejoin to pass between the two central towers. That's why you want to build the library up high, isn't it?" The girl looked him in the eyes.

"Yes. Besides, I thought you'd like to see everything from above. You'll get used to it by the time we get to ride dragons," he said quietly, making her laugh.

"Then it's too low..." she said. "Raise it to two hundred and fifty feet. Is that possible?" she asked.

"Yes, it's possible." Using the bricks with runes, he could build structures worthy of Minecraft. He didn't do it because the weirwoods were a weak point in the castle. "I want to build water channels around the weirwood. Leave an area of one hundred feet between the tree and those channels. They'll be wide. The weirwood will be connected to the roads by bridges," he told her. It would be a way to prevent anyone from accessing the tree. Having water nearby could help put out fires in case someone tried to burn it down. But he was planning in runes to protect it too.

"Sounds good. It would give it more prominence," she nodded. "You said you had prepared a temporary house for us?" He had mentioned it a few days ago.

"A small mansion... it has low walls around it, and with the men guarding it, it will be safe," he told his wife. "It's more comfortable than the tower we currently live in," he added.

"Good. Have the men already started moving things?" she asked.

"Yes. They'll be done in a few hours. It's close to the goodswood," he looked at her. She nodded and remained silent.

The idea of building such a large castle was, first and foremost, for prestige, and secondly, to use it as a factory. He planned to divide the castle into two parts. One part would be where his family would live. The other part would be where goods would be produced, specifically those that needed to be kept secret. He preferred to keep them close by.

Of course, those that could be produced in that way. He couldn't put a shipyard inside. However, he could also establish distilleries for perfumes, alcohol, and oils, as well as glass blowers.

Those men worked on secrets he needed to keep close.

He wondered how Ros was doing. He had distilled the perfumes. He had hundreds more in reserve. They were fresh and innovative scents. Medieval perfumes tended to have an intense aroma that, to him, was unpleasant when you smelled it for a long time.

He also managed to create modern soaps with a pleasant scent. It was basic, but he had to start somewhere. His business in Essos would cause him problems if he introduced it to Westeros. Perhaps not immediately, but when the children of important people began to become addicted.

His idea was to innovate and establish his lands as a trading post. In time, with enough Drakkars, merchants could bring their goods down the river. No one had exploited the rivers in this way before.

Some traveled on small rafts, but they didn't have the carrying capacity of a ship.

"My prince," said a young man as he approached. He was chubby and not very agile. His cheeks were red and his forehead beaded with sweat. "Maester Qyburn sent me," said the boy.

Qyburn was cruel to send him as a messenger. However, it looks like the old man wanted to improve the boy's health. His obesity would kill him sooner or later.

"You are Samwell, aren't you?" asked the prince. "The son of Lord Tarly," he added.

"Yes, Your Highness," he bowed his head in reverence. "Or is it My Lord?" he asked in a thin voice.

"My brother allowed us to keep the title of prince. My wife and I," he said, pointing to the young woman beside him. She looked up from her book to greet Samwell.

"Lord Tarly," she said. To Sam's ears, it was the most beautiful melody he had ever heard. "Qyburn mentioned that you would be joining us to study," she said.

"Yes," the boy nodded enthusiastically.

"What message does Qyburn have for me?" Jaehaerys interrupted.

The prince's gaze made Samwell wonder if he had improperly looked at the princess. He was not a lustful man. But the princess was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

"He said he already has the red liquid's performance," the maester gave him that message. But he didn't explain what the red liquid was; it seemed to be a secret.

"That's magnificent," said the prince. "Tell me, Sam. Do you know how to fight?" he asked with a smile.

"No, my prince, no," he hastened to say. "It has always been my weak point," he said nervously as he looked at the prince. He had heard about Darkstar. 'Two blows,' he thought. He was a little relieved not to see his weapon next to the prince. 'Oh, he would probably kill me with one punch,' he laughed nervously at his thoughts.

"You'll learn," the prince declared.

"I'm not a fi-" he was interrupted.

"I know," the prince said, looking at his chubby face. "I received a letter from your father. He wants me to make you a warrior." Lord Tarly had offered crops in exchange for taking his son as a ward. The boy was only a few years younger than him; it would be unusual, but not unheard of.

Barley was usually harvested on Lord Tarly's land. And right now, he needed it to make whiskey.

"My studies with the maester..." he began worriedly.

"They will not be interrupted," he said. "I don't want you to be a great warrior. Just a decent one," 'And don't die of obesity,' those words were too cruel to say. "If you don't accept, you'll have to go back to Horn Hill." He really wanted to keep him as a scholar to screw Tarly over. But he wasn't so stupid as not to see the benefits of getting the barley. He could start distilling whiskey. There weren't enough people on his lands to harvest it, not yet.

"I... I'll train," the boy scowled. His gaze was determined.

Jaehaerys remembered an animated cartoon from his previous world: Kung Fu Panda.

"Good, Torrhen will train you tomorrow. First, you need to lose some weight and build up your stamina. Get ready," the boy turned green and nodded before leaving.

'I'll turn you into a dragon warrior, Pomwell,' thought Jaehaerys. 'Oh, that was childish, right?'

Chapter Text

Ros was sitting, drinking tea. The prince's new mansion was quite comfortable. By order of the princess, they even gave Ros a room.

"You're back quickly," said the prince.

"Your mother helped sell it," she said, taking a sip as she spoke.

"Our mother helped?" Dany imagined their mother in a market.

It would be absurd to see the Queen Mother selling trinkets. The princess wanted to picture her mother selling her jewelry.

Queen Rhaella would not sell her crown for anything in the world. (*)

"Somehow she managed to find out I was coming to King's Landing. Oh! I must say that your new ships caused quite a sensation among the inhabitants." She paused to enjoy her drink. "Small enough to navigate the river and large enough to transport goods. I was offered a thousand golden dragons for one of them," she waited for his reaction.

"I was expecting around six or seven hundred," said the prince. "But you missed the point," he urged her to continue.

"Ah, yes. The queen received me. She tried the perfumes and bought several oils and soaps for herself." She smiled. "I sold everything the day I arrived. The next day, I had merchants asking me where I got everything. I just pointed 'ArgentStone,'" she said, looking as if she had done something mischievous.

Jaehaerys thought the buyers would arrive soon. The perfumes were in the Tower of Dread, where they used to live. It was the closest to the gates. It would make it easier to sell them.

"How much did you get for each product?" asked Daenerys. The girl had taken out a small notebook, probably following Qyburn's advice.

"Eighty dragons for each perfume," she said with a huge smile. "The queen bought it for forty, but the nobles want to be like her, right?" Rhaella's purchase had brought not only customers but also prestige.

It might be junk, but if the highest royalty purchased it, everyone else wanted it too. The rest of the products were also inflated in price. Each bar of scented soap sold for four gold dragons.

The oils were ten gold dragons, and the shampoo, an unknown commodity, was twenty gold dragons per bottle. Absorbed amounts that would decrease over time.

"Six thousand, one hundred and ten galleons, right?" asked Dany. "One hundred perfumes, one thousand soap bars, fifty oils, and two hundred bottles of shampoo," she tapped her pen on the paper.

"It was six and ten thousand. The queen bought everything cheaper. Suppose you take away the sailors' wages. I gave each sailor sixty silver deer. That would be ten dragons less," said the redhead, taking the last sip of tea and placing the cup and saucer on a small table.

"Good work," Dany smiled at her.

Jaehaerys quickly did the math. He had 820 perfumes in stock. About 5000 soap bars. 237 oils and 310 shampoos. He had focused on producing perfumes, so he had most of those.

Now he considered it a mistake. Perfumes are expensive, and only nobles buy them.

And not all noble houses can afford forty gold dragons. That was the price he estimated for when the initial boom was over. He could sell in Essos, but until his fleet of ships was ready, he would have to rely on Lord Manderly for that or sell to merchants. With any luck, some merchant would buy all the perfumes for eighty dragons and disappear with them.

Soaps, oils, and shampoos are consumed more quickly. Therefore, they would sell better. The first factories he would set up would be for those products, and he already had some apprentices: former slaves.

He ordered a building to be constructed near his mansion. It was nothing big or extravagant; it would have the basics. Divided into sections for each of the products to be created, it would be made of standard brick, not the magical kind used for the castle. He would have to tear down the building later; if it were made of indestructible brick, he would have some problems.

He felt Daenerys' warm hand take his cheek.

"Ros has left. She got tired of you ignoring her," she said, getting up. A maid entered the room to collect the empty cups and then left. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, gesturing for him to follow her.

"Very well," he said, accompanying her to their new quarters. In this mansion, the room was not large enough to also accommodate a desk, so his work area was limited to his Solar room. It was connected to the bedroom by a door.

"Here," she pointed to a brazier. The flames licked the prince's three eggs. No one entered her chambers; a loyal guard stood watch at the door, preventing any maids from passing. The door had a rudimentary key that only Dany and Jaehaerys carried. "Touch them," she said.

He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her hand approach the flames. She didn't touch them directly; instead, she took the eggs, one by one, and passed them to Jaehaerys.

"They're beating, like a heart," he said in surprise. He wondered if the magic of the weirwoods had accelerated the process.

The fire in the embers seemed abnormal, as if it wanted to reach his body, burn him.

"They're alive," she said, holding the black egg.

"They seem close to hatching," he replied. His hand gazed spellbound at the dark line on the silver egg. "What do the books say?" He had left all that work to Daenerys, thinking he could review it later. He hadn't expected them to revive so quickly.

He felt an unprecedented emotion. 'Dragons.' He was not a man given to war or armed conflict. But a dragon would keep all the people away from his business. But dragons weren't enough. He had to be firm with those he let into his home. He didn't want a new Otto Hightower whispering to his children.

He forced himself to calm down. He left the two eggs on the fire and turned to his wife.

"There is a ritual. But I don't like it. There has to be a sacrifice," she said.

"Human?" asked Jaehaerys.

"I... it didn't specify, it just said 'Nykeā glaeson syt nykeā glaeson.'" Her voice became hoarse when she spoke Valyrian, a sound that Jaehaerys enjoyed immensely.

"A life for a life," he repeated, translating the High Valyrian. "It can be an animal," he said. The Valyrians were not good sorcerers; they were rather crude. They could not use magic effectively and resorted to mass sacrifices to complete their spells.

"They need to be burned. A huge pyre. Another said with magic fire, but I don't want to put the eggs in Valyrian fire. I don't want another Summerhall," the princess's hands caressed the egg so lovingly that Jaehaerys became jealous.

"Magic fire," he opened the door to his solar. He took the book of runes and began to leaf through it. He found the rune he was looking for.

Kenaz (ᚲ) was the rune of fire; well, fire was one of its meanings. He planned to use it in the forges, but he needed to hide the magic, and so far, he hadn't thought of anything. He would have to wait until he built better furnaces.

"Runes. They're from the first men, not Valyrian," she said doubtfully.

"It's magic," he said. "Tell me, Dany. When did they start to feel more alive?" he asked her. The flames moved abruptly. The fire made him uneasy. No, it wasn't the fire, it was something else, but what exactly?

"When the curse was lifted," she replied. "I remember that during the curse, they felt bad, like they were sick," she said sadly. "That was when you planted the weirwood tree. Yes," she said, convinced. "When shall we do it?" she asked, looking anxious.

Jaehaerys hesitated. He had about six hundred men-at-arms at Harrenhal. He could be sure of the loyalty of five hundred of those men, the ones who had followed him from the north. He needed more protection. In the long run, the dragons would scare away all his rivals, but small ones would be targets.

He looked at the fire. The flames danced, lulling the eggs in a delicate embrace. He couldn't look away.

'What if I wait until the castle is comple-'

His thoughts suddenly died. He fell into a trance. He searched among the drawers in his study. A small jar with a brush. He took the eggs from the brazier and used them as a canvas.

"Jae?" It was a distant echo.

Before, he drew the runes with mastery, but they had never been so perfect as in that moment. The red ink covered the eggs. The rune Kenaz was inscribed next to Jera (ᛃ), a rune that meant natural growth, among other things.

He destroyed his shirt in one swift movement. He felt his hand forced to write Othala (ᛟ) on his chest. It was the rune that indicated sacrifice, offering.

Whose hand was guiding his?

'I've lived this before,' he said in his mind.

He closed his eyes and was no longer in the room. He was outside the mansion, looking down on everything from the sky. He recognized this feeling.

Warging.

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*I wanted to refer, but it may sound forced.

Chapter Text

He dove toward the window of his room. He looked at his own naked body from the waist up. Dany looked like she was about to cry as the flames burned more and more intensely. The feeling was strange but strangely familiar. The body wasn't his, but he understood it perfectly.

With the body of his eagle, he descended and dug his claws into his human chest, right above the sacrifice rune. As if it were his hand, he closed his claws. The three front claws closed together, forming three lines that converged at the same point. He had to move away to dodge the blow his body unleashed.

He looked proudly at the three red lines. But one was missing. The heat in the room became unbearable. He hoped the eagle would get scared and fight back. But it lunged again. He had never felt so bad about having such a strong body. He barely managed to dodge it. He looked at Dany. The girl had brought her hand close to his chest, her index finger touching the nail where the three wounds left by the eagle's claws met. His body did not react to her touch; he just stared at the fire. But he can see his hands trembling.

Whatever was taking his body didn't want to hurt her.

Daenerys dug her fingernail in and, with a single scratch, made the last line. A primal rune ᛉ was engraved on his chest in blood. The wounded blood glowed a dark red, so similar to the sap of the arcians that he could have mistaken it for it.

The eagle flew out the window, and seconds later, it watched the flames consume the entire room. But he no longer shared its eyes. The last thing he remembers seeing through the eagle's eyes was a red star splitting the sky.

He returned to his body with a jolt. He felt heavier, and his chest was on fire. With a quick movement, he kicked the book of runes, which had fallen to the floor during the possession. The book slid to the door leading to the makeshift courtyard.

The walls were brick; they wouldn't burn, but he didn't trust them not to melt. He looked at his wife, the flames dancing on her naked skin, avoiding burning her.

'Unburned.' He thought.

She would be fine. He took the jar of sap and, smearing it on his fingers, began to inscribe the wall and door with the runes Tyr and Elhaz. He wanted to protect his Solar room and everything found within it.

He had seen magic before. But now he felt it. He felt the wall harden.

Finally, the fire melted the clay jar in his hand. The red liquid dripped onto the floor.

He felt Daenerys' embrace. Inside the fire, it was somehow cold. The princess's hair burned. She moved a few inches away from him.

It was a crazy sight if anyone could see them. Both of them were in the flames, the flames just touching their skin without causing them harm and dancing around them.

He had been burned before. Once, as a child, he touched a red-hot piece of coal. He cried in pain, but he healed without any scars.

This?

What was this?

Magic.

His wife looked beautiful. Her skin contrasted with the fire in a way that made her look like a fire goddess; her purple eyes glowed unnaturally, her pink lips were moist, unaltered by the flames.

Had she always been this beautiful? Was it the fire around her that made her so desirable? Their clothes had been consumed, and only their naked bodies were visible.

The furniture in the room was burning, and toxic smoke began to billow from it. But they were unaffected. It wasn't logical, but when had magic ever been logical?

It was impulse or desire, a mixture of both. He should have taken his wife and left the fire, but no, there was something he had to do there.

They approached each other, dazed by the reflection of the other.

It began with a kiss and ended with them joined together, just as they had been on their first night, and many others that followed. They were husband and wife: a man and a woman.

They were two dragons mating.

With no bed or furniture, he ended up taking her on the wooden floor. Even when the wood charred, they felt no pain, only the ash breaking under their weight.

Ros, Sansa, none of them had ever made him feel so good. Even when he had both of them at the same time, it was nothing compared to this. It wasn't just physical pleasure; it was something more spiritual. He could feel the magic around them vibrate with joy every time their climax were in sync. Their passion fueled the flames.

He split his seed inside her three times.

After the third time, the flames vibrated like never before; the wood on the floor was gone, and the walls looked as if they had been victims of dragon fire.

In a way, they had been.

Then, as she curled up on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, they heard them. Soft crackling sounds. Then moans, like an animal fighting.

They both felt claws climbing up their bodies, but neither moved. Their bodies remained entwined, their souls repeating the action. The peace among the flames was something they had never experienced before. They had never felt so at home as they did at that moment.

How much time had passed? Minutes, hours, days? There was no time when they made love, only him, her, and the magic.

He looked at a crowd of men near where the door should have been; the flames had melted the brick. They were brave men, but not stupid. The fire died down, and the men were finally able to approach. Jaeherys was forced to pull out of her and noticed that there was no trace of his seed between the princess's legs.

'Three dragons,' he thought. 'One life for a life... three.'

The fire took his seed three times.

With that last thought, he used his body to cover his wife's modesty. Even if the men were loyal, the princess's body was not for their eyes to feast on. He looked to his right. The wall and the door to his quarters were intact, only darkened by the smoke.

Torrhen handed him a cloak, which he used to cover her and the dragons.

'Dragons,' just a few hours ago, they were talking about trade, and now they had brought dragons out of the stone. He looked at his wife, and when the flames subsided, her body was covered in ash.

He heard the murmurs of the men as the dragons climbed out from under the cloak. The three eggs had given birth to three majestic dragons.

The first was jet black. When the sun touched its scales, they shone a dark purple, like obsidian. It had two horns where the purple color was most evident. Its eyes were like molten silver.

The second was an auburn color. Two small protuberances adorned its head. He watched as the color changed on its horns, revealing a steel gray. Its eyes were green like emeralds.

The third was silver. Jaehaerys remembered Daenerys' hair just by looking at it. Its horns darkened slightly; they weren't two, he counted eight, even if they weren't that larger than the other two dragons had. Jaehaerys thought they assembled a crown. Its eyes were black with red veins like two burning coals.

They were just as they were described in the books.

Elongated and with two hind legs. Its wings were membranous, similar to those of bats. Its necks were elongated. Despite having the same characteristics, they were not identical.

The black one was the widest and had the thickest wings of the three, and was shorter than the red one. It also seemed temperamental, like an angry old man who was annoyed by the sun beating down on his body.

It blew smoke from his jaws as he looked at the crowd around him, as if they were unworthy of his presence.

The red one was the thinnest and longest, although its small size made it unremarkable. Its wings were also the smallest of the three. It seemed frightened, and as soon as it saw the people, it returned to Dany's cloak.

The silver one had the largest wings. Its body was not as vast as the red one's, nor as long as the black one's. It looked Jaehaerys straight in the eye, without a hint of fear. The prince even felt it smile at him. The dragon looked at the men and moved from Dany's body to Jaehaerys's so it could see them. It seemed curious about these beings.

"My prince," said the men around him. The northerners and southerners knelt before him.

"Hail Jaehaerys Targaryen," said Torrhen.

"Hail Daenerys Targaryen," said Brandon.

"The ones who bring the Dragons back," said a southerner with unbridled devotion.

He touched his chest. The Elhaz-shaped scar was now a few thick red lines. It hadn't healed like a normal scar; no, magic pulsed through it, close to his heart. Thinking about the god who had tried to kill him filled him with hatred.

'The dragons are back. But I'm still alive, and that must piss you off, R'hllor,' he thought with satisfaction. He could feel something new in his body. Maybe the fire resistance was permanent for him.

Then he thought sarcastically, 'I wanted to industrialize this world, and now I have to fight a god.'

Jaehaerys didn't think he could simply use his staff to kill a god in a fight.

He will kill him, as many gods have died before in his last life.

Made the people lose faith in them.

Chapter Text

For four moons, everything went well. The foundations of the three main towers were ready, deep and wide. The bricks were prepared for laying. Now the only limitation was the mortar. A gallon of sap mixed into the mortar allowed it to be diluted enough to lay twenty thousand bricks. In those four moons, he obtained another six barrels, for a total of eight. Seven would be used in construction, and the rest would be for research.

Now the problem was volcanic ash. He obtained several tons of DragonStone. At first, he began a constant supply trip, but it stopped two weeks after the dragons were born.

Viserys also stopped responding to his letters. He sent two letters to King's Landing, one to the king and the other to his mother. They said that obtaining the ash was, for the moment, not possible. It was as if his older brother wanted to hinder the construction process. He had managed to get them to start working with the available volcanic ash, but it ran out during the previous moon.

He sent letters to Jon Arryn, the guardian of the Vale. The man had somehow managed to keep his position, a controversial decision, although his heir, a young man named Hardyng, was being raised at Casterly Rock with Tywin Lannister.

In Arryn's letters, he inquired about inactive volcanoes in his lands and requested the trade of volcanic ash. The old man replied that he would consult his oldest maps, but did not expect to find any.

He would have gone to King's Landing, but the idea of leaving Dany alone pained him. Not only because the administration would fall more heavily on her, but because if anyone discovered the dragons, he would have to act quickly. So he sent Torrhen. He was not a politician, but he was much more talkative than Brandon. He went on a Drakkar and returned shortly after. The king refused to see him. His mother allowed him a conversation, but she did not say much about DragonStone, only that it was not possible to extract the ashes at the moment.

They put him off again and again. Ever since they offered him Harrenhal, he knew it was a poisoned gift, but he accepted it gladly. He knew he could turn it into something extraordinary. And step by step, he was succeeding. If his brother hadn't meddled, everything would have been better.

The idea that it was Rhaegar who ordered his murder was growing stronger.

Even the village on the banks of the river began to grow. Previously, there had been several fishing villages, but they merged to form a city. He had allowed the fishermen to use the Drakkars for fishing, not their best use, but as long as they weren't traveling to King's Landing, it was better to use them for something.

The town was more bustling and lively. Several merchants had arrived to buy the prince's products. He couldn't accommodate them in Harrenhal, so they stayed in the village. It was the representative he left in the town, Edric, who gave him the idea of building more inns. He financed the construction with loans and allowed the villagers to manage them. They would repay the gold by paying higher taxes until the debt was fully covered.

He could have given the gold away, but he didn't want his people to become lazy. Nor did he want to manage each of the inns.

The merchants brought more people with them, and in four moons, more than three thousand people migrated. Some of them were skilled craftsmen, such as carpenters and potters. The former found work in the shipyards, and the latter requested to purchase clay for their work. The prince offered to buy them some vases and plates to give them some initial work and a little recognition.

Little by little, the city offered more. Some merchants even asked to buy a piece of land. He refused, but offered to build warehouses and rent them out. He planned to create a market in the future when the city grew larger.

This market would be built near the castle. The town was quite close to Harrenhal, and his idea was to let it grow around the castle, surrounding it, with a space of half a league between the town and the castle walls. Every two weeks, the city filled a ship with goods, and small merchants bought the products to resell them in King's Landing. Those taxes would not bring him much profit in the short term, but they would help the town grow gradually. At least Rhaegar had not interfered with his trade.

He could not say the same for the religion of R'hllor. His business in Essos was extinct thanks to them. He no longer generated income in Essos and had lost nearly a hundred thousand gold dragons. Of the 500 Unsullied he had in Essos, 200 died, and the rest returned, ashamed. They brought back a group of 600 slaves.

He knew he had to deal with R'hllor, but he wasn't ready to fight against an entire religion just yet.

He needed to know more about R'hllor. Was he a god or a demon? His presence was limited in this world. He had ordered Elhaz runes to be carved into the walls. These offered protection, not only physical but also against higher beings. He did not want Rhllor to reach his door.

He also carved runes on stones that he hid around the weirwoods.

He used the runes Kano (ᚲ), which represented fire and would attract it. Isa (ᛁ), which represented ice, would serve to contain and stabilize the fire. Perth (ᛈ) meant rebirth, and its function was to transform that energy into something else, into magic.

He wanted to add the runes Eiwaz (ᛇ), which would help integrate the energy into the tree, and Fehu (ᚠ), which would turn that energy into prosperity, helping the tree to grow. Kano (ᚲ) was also associated with light, and sunlight was absorbed as a source of energy. The dilemma was whether or not to carve the tree. The books said nothing about the consequences of such an action. He didn't want to offend the old gods.

The previous runes were created with a specific intention in mind. A single rune can have several meanings, but it was the intention behind inscribing it that made it work. That is why inscribing protective runes on bricks was easy, because even if only slightly, during their creation, the intention was to create something resistant.

Jaehaerys stood on the walls of Harrenhal, his wife at his side. A silk scarf covered Dany's hair. The fire had left her bald, both of them, and she was sad to have her hair short, as it was just beginning to grow.

The last few months had been turbulent. And that turbulence was about to increase.

His wife was now helping to manage all the construction. She began by repairing the mansion. In the mansion, she ordered the installation of pipes to distribute water to bathrooms and kitchens. The mansion lacked them, partly because Jaehaerys had already planned to leave that task to her as preparation.

She did a good job, ordering a water storage tank to be built on the roof and the pipes to be laid. Dany made sure that the structure could support the weight of the water and had to order the creation of pillars to reinforce it.

For the pipes, Jaehaerys had to intervene himself to talk to the blacksmiths and explain precisely what he wanted, the plans he had drawn up, and the processes involved. At that moment, he missed Mikken, the blacksmith from Winterfell. He would have stolen him if he could, but he was too loyal to Stark.

They both watched the black banner approach their city. The three-headed dragon was visible. It arrived without warning, probably wanting to take them by surprise. And it partially did. He had recently ordered Ros to create a network of spies; the girl was good at reading people. She had begun to approach merchants, even financing some of them. She managed to obtain information from some, but she was limited by distance. Between Harrenhal and King's Landing, there was only a seven-day distance; it could be 14 if it were a vast army.

Rhaegar traveled light; they were all horsemen. In the distance, he couldn't see how many Targaryens there were, but it should be all of them, except Viserys and Daemon, of course.

"We must prepare to receive them," he heard Daenerys say beside him.

For moons, they had kept the dragons inside their mansion, and then, when they became too large, they sent them to the Godswood and forbade anyone from entering. He even chained them to prevent them from flying away. They melted the chains even though the iron was inscribed with runes to improve its strength.

'Dragon fire can break runes,' he theorized.

Now all of Harrenhal had seen the dragons soar through the air, so it was no surprise to see the king heading there, but he reacted too soon. Rhaegar was obsessed with the three-headed dragon.

"They're a small group, at least we won't have much trouble housing them," she said, more frightened than she wanted to show.

She considered the dragons their children, and Jaehaerys was sure that in some way they were.

"The dragons will be safe, won't they?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes. If Rhaegar brought Visenya, they would be," Jaehaerys wondered if his brother would dare to kill him. There were 600 men at Harrenhal who were his army. 100 kept order in the city, and the rest kept order in the castle.

"She's too young for this," Daenerys was a little apprehensive about his plan.

"She won't suffer, besides, she'll make a good lady companion," he smiled, knowing that the little girl would be chaos.

His first plan was to send the dragons to the Isle of Faces. But the island had not called him, and when he tried to approach it on the raft, the water pushed him away. The island did not want visitors. Perhaps because the old gods had ruled it, and dragons were believed to belong to the Valyrian gods. Dragons were beings that just no one could dominate; he could not send them away without expecting them to become wild dragons, like the cannibal.

"I hope everything goes well," whispered Daenerys.

"Well, if it goes wrong and I die..." 'You could marry Daemon,' he wanted to add in a sour humor.

He often employed a black sense of humor when he was nervous.

"I'll burn Westeros," the princess interrupted him and walked away, Brandon following her like his faithful shadow.

"You're smiling, My Prince," he heard Torrhen say.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar wore black armor on his body. On his chest, the three-headed dragon glowed with rubies. A red cape hung from his body. He rode a brown steed with a white chest.

His procession was about thirty men. He dismounted with ease. One by one, his men got off their horses.

"Your Grace. ArgentStone is yours," greeted the prince, standing. Because of his status as a prince, he was not required to kneel before the king. He offered them bread and salt, granting them guest rights. However, it was only for the king and the royal family.

It was customary that those men under the command of the one who ate the bread and salt were protected, although for the gods, those who did not eat bread and salt had no guest rights.

"You honor me, brother," the king said with a warm smile. But it did not reach his eyes.

Next to his brother were his children, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The youngest rode with her mother, Lyanna. Rhaella had also ridden, which surprised him. Queen Elia was nowhere to be seen. She was known for her fragile health and would not have been able to keep up on a fast journey. Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, Ser Gwayne Corbray, and Ser Loras Tyrell accompanied them.

Another unknown knight wore the white cloak. According to Jaehaerys, he was a new member, Ser Balon Swann. Loras had also recently received the white cloak, a favor to House Tyrell after Viserys' fiasco.

Tyrell's gaze at Jaehaerys made Daenerys a little jealous.

"I must say I did not expect your visit. Even if Argentstone is down for now, ravens still arrive," said the prince.

"The king needs no invitation," said a woman with copper-colored hair. She was gorgeous and wore a necklace with a red gemstone. "The Lord of Light guides his way."

"The Lord of Light will not prepare your rooms or cook a welcome feast," said Daenerys, looking at the red woman suspiciously.

They had met before. Melisandre had shown her in the flames. In them, she saw herself devouring the heart of a horse, and she said it was her destiny. Dany had only seven name days, and she had feared her ever since.

The redhead looked directly at her, her red eyes seeming to see right through her. It made Dany extremely uncomfortable, but her purple eyes remained steady.

"Enough. My men are tired, we'll hurry on the last league of the journey," said the king, stopping the staring contest.

"We have prepared rooms for you and the royal family," said Daenerys. They had designed the tower they had previously lived in, one of the two that had not been demolished. It was the only one available, as Lady Whent occupied the other. The products had been moved to a vault near the mansion. "There will be a banquet later, in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths," she added at the end.

No one mentioned the cloth over her hair. They probably knew how she had lost her hair. And Rhaegar did not seem eager to see the dragons, but he appeared kinder than when he had met Jaehaerys in King's Landing.

"It would be great to rest before the banquet. But I've spent so much time without seeing them that I'll leave the rest for later," said Queen Rhaella. "Instead, I'd like to tour Harrenhal. Oh, it's Argentstone now, isn't it?" she corrected herself halfway through. "It's been almost twenty years since I was last here. At the tournament," she said no more.

The tournament was a subject of great displeasure for Rhaegar.

"That would be lovely, Grandmother," said Rhaenys, her eyes never leaving Jaehaerys.

"If that is your wish," said the lord of ArgentStone, looking at his brother. "I will show you your rooms so you can change into more comfortable clothes," he said, looking at their riding clothes.

"I'll ask for a tour later. Show me my quarters," said the king. The hosts led them to the tower where the royal family would be staying.

Aegon accompanied his father, saying goodbye after a friendly exchange. Lyanna seemed to want to rest, but Visenya, in her arms, wanted to see the castle.

The queen looked sad when she saw the castle, remembering the place where she had been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty, where the tragedy had begun.

After the women had changed, they began a tour.

The small group was flanked by Ser Barristan and Ser Loras, as well as Brandon, Torrhen, and three other knights of the king. The others followed the king and the heir.

"I never imagined you riding a horse, Mother. I thought you would travel in a carriage," Jaehaerys began the conversation as they walked.

"I learned when I was young. Although I'm not used to it. I've only been riding for the last two days. Rhaegar ordered us to hurry, and I didn't want to be left behind," replied his mother. "Every time I see those towers, I get light-headed," she commented as they passed between the Tower of Dread and the Wailing Tower.

"They've already torn down three towers?" Rhaenys seemed surprised. "Will you use the stone to rebuild them?" she asked as she watched the men carry the stone.

"They'll be used for foundations and to expand the outer walls," he said.

"Expand?" Queen Lyanna asked. "More?" She seemed incredulous.

"Yes, more. Argentstone will be bigger than Harrenhal," the prince declared.

They walked between the foundations and reached the two central towers. They had barely built fifty feet of them before stopping due to a lack of mortar. Magic vibrated in them. Others couldn't feel it, but he could. Ever since R'hllor entered his body, he had been more sensitive to magic.

"Why make it so big? You won't need so much space," Rhaella asked.

"You'll find out later," he had begun to hate the way his mother doubted every one of his projects.

"Is it because of your short sword?" said a child's voice.

"Visenya!" Lyanna looked embarrassed, but Jaehaerys watched her fight back a smile. In the books, she was described as wild and untamable, but from what little he knew of her, she was a miserable existence. She only seemed happy around her children.

If he had caused a war and the deaths of his father and brother, he would feel bad too. Perhaps not for Aerys, his father. Nor for Rhaegar, if he was to blame for trying to kill him.

"I once heard a guard say he wanted a castle that touched the clouds. Another said it was to make up for his short sword," the girl said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "But he doesn't use a sword," she added, frowning. "Where's your staff? Can I see it?" Jaehaerys expected a little resentment because of her brother, but found none in her. Or maybe she was just good at throwing barbs.

"Visenya!" Lyanna scolded her again. "I'm sorry, Prince," she apologized to him.

"You can see it later," he replied, not offended. "You'd get along well with Arya," he commented lightly.

Lyanna opened her eyes wide but said nothing.

"Who is that?" The little princess did not react well.

"Your cousin, Lord Stark's daughter. She has wolf blood, like you," he replied tenderly.

"Wolf, look at me, I'm a dragon," she pointed to her purple eyes and hair, more specifically, the silver parts.

"And a wolf. Like your mother," Lyanna seemed hurt by that, but said nothing.

Everyone fell silent at those words. Visenya didn't like being called a wolf. The lords mentioned it in a derogatory way, although they thought she couldn't hear them. The girl sulked at her mother. She tried to remain silent.

"That tree is a weirwood," her previous anger replaced by curiosity.

"I didn't know you worshipped the old gods, Jae," Rhaenys commented, looking at the tree in the distance.

"I grew up in the north. And I brought a lot of it with me to the south," he glanced sideways at the Snow twins.

"The Targaryens have followed the Seven for years," said her mother, looking at the tree with disgust.

"And as long as the king continues to believe in them, there will be no problems," Daenerys interjected this time. "We don't want to burn septs or discredit the Seven," she added at the end.

The old tree grew enormous. Its highest point must have been fifty feet. It stopped growing upward quickly when it reached forty feet. But its branches spread out wide, casting shade thirty feet from the trunk. And they only grew longer and more leafy with time. Its trunk was wider than any he had ever seen, except for the one on the Isle of Faces and the one in Winterfell.

"You don't know how the Faith will see it," Rhaella seemed to want them as followers of the Seven because of their appearance.

"I don't care, nor have we publicly stated which gods we support," the prince said sharply. "The old gods have helped me more than the Seven. They gave me that weirwood." The Faith was not predominant in his castle. Even those who came from the Flea Bottom inns began to worship the old gods.

Harren's curse left a deep mark.

"Ha, that nonsense about the curse?" her mother retorted. Although when she received the news in the capital, she turned as white as fear could make her. "You can't expect me to believe—"

"Believe it or not, that tree will still be there," Daenerys said.

Rhaella appreciated seeing her once-shy daughter speaking like a strong, confident woman. But she didn't like being the recipient of those words.

She swallowed her complaints.

The rest of the tour was sour. The Queen Mother left when they were near the Tower of Dread. They ended the tour in the Godswood, where Lyanna wanted to see the other weirwood tree.

She had been disappointed when she didn't look at the face carved on the other side.

"I'd like a moment to talk to you, alone, my prince," said Lyanna.

He looked at the sun; there were about three hours of daylight left.

"We still have time," he replied.

He watched his wife drag Visenya and Rhaenys away, Brandon accompanying her. Loras hesitated for a second, but the king's daughters were more important than his wife. Even more so if that wife was Lyanna. Two knights stayed close by, Torrhen with them.

They walked away until they could no longer hear them. Then Lyanna started talking.

"Don't give your dragons to Rhaegar." Her face remained unchanged, but he watched her neck tense with anger.

Chapter Text

He didn't know her reasons for saying that. So he decided to play it safe. The king could have sent her to test his mettle.

"My brother is the king," he said.

"He's mad," her eyes looked at the weirwood's. The one in King's Landing had been cut down, and only the stump remained. "Mad, but not stupid. He knows he doesn't have absolute power; he learned that from his father." That hatred was mixed with a horrible terror.

"You speak of the king," he reminded her.

"Another mad king," she spat, composing herself in an instant, looking at the knights from afar. "You know what will happen if he gets a dragon?" she asked.

"The Targaryen dynasty will rule for years," he replied, not believing that his brother was an evil ruler. He was a terrible relative, yes; he may have been a bastard, but he managed to keep the seven kingdoms united—even the Iron Islands. Unlike in the canon, they did not rebel here.

That didn't mean Jaehaerys planned to give him the dragons.

"Westeros will burn," she corrected. "The witch at his side. She gossips in his ear. She asks him for sacrifices," she whispered. "He disagrees, not wholly. He fears the reaction of the lords. But some prisoners have disappeared, and my son, he..." Her voice broke.

"Daemon?" he asked, not so worried. But he couldn't tell a woman that he didn't care much if her son died.

"No. His name was Daeron. He was small, with dark hair and a long face. He was beautiful," she said.

He closed his eyes for a moment while remembering.

"I remember him. The news reached the north. He was stillborn," he said. It had saddened him when he heard the news in the north. "A year before Visenya."

"He wasn't stillborn. He was murdered at birth," she struggled not to sob. She looked up at the sky, preventing the tears from falling from her eyes.

"Murdered?" He knew her brother was no saint. He was mean, with a superiority complex. When he accused Viserys, he had hoped they would send him to the Wall. If what Lyanna said was true, Viserys would have died without his intervention.

"Burned alive. Right in front of me," her eyes became distant as if she could see him right now. "He cried, oh, his lungs were so strong. The flames took him away. I look at his clothes burning, his skin melting." She shook her head and let out a dry laugh. "Rhaegar said it was necessary. Necessary to kill his own son."

"Why?" Jaehaerys had a guess: 'The blood of kings is powerful.'

"Rhaegar didn't need more sons," she whispered. A gust of wind hit them. "He needed a daughter. A Visenya. The red whore told him I wouldn't give him a boy, but he needed ice. So she told him if he sacrificed my son-," her voice broke "if he did it, Rhllor would give him his Visenya. And he would have his three conquerors."

Jaehaerys was silent. All her words seemed real; there was a hatred in her voice that was real. Genuine. She must be an incredible actress or a broken mother. He looked at the weirwood.

"I'm sorry," he remembered Stannis sacrificing his daughter. It was only mentioned in the TV show, but they said he might do it in the books as well. "Rhllor is not welcome at Harrenhal. I only allowed the red whore," he repeated the nickname she had given her, "to enter because she was accompanying the king."

"And you think she'll stay that way if my husband gets dragons?" she said. "No, he will melt your walls with fire if she has to. Maybe they'll sacrifice you, your wife, or your children," she said, feeling angry. But what she said was true. If Rhaegar killed his own son, what would stop him from killing his brother?

"You think if I intended to hand over the dragons, I would have kept them hidden for four moons?" he said. She said nothing, believing that he was the one who had warned the king.

"You didn't warn him," she said, opening her eyes.

"No. The dragons were seen. The king found out and came," he said.

"How do you plan to keep them out of his hands? I tried to poison him, you know?" she said. "It didn't work. One of the men died. But not the king. I know the king's cup contained poison. I added it myself," she confessed.

"How long ago was that?" asked the prince. "If you tried to murder the king, how are you still alive?"

"Yesterday," she laughed. "I know I'll die soon on my way to that shithole of King's Landing. Or once I get there," she didn't seem concerned about her death.

"Why don't you go north?" he asked. "A ship is leaving tomorrow from the small town. You could escape on it." He wouldn't risk his life for her, but he could arrange something that didn't involve him.

"I'm hated in the north. It was my kidnapping that started the war. So many deaths," she whispered. "The Stag Rebellion. They call it. It should be the War for Lyanna's Cunt," she joked. She was broken, he could tell.

"Kidnapping?" he ignored her joke. "Didn't you run away together?" His throat felt dry.

"No. He took me, tried to seduce me, and almost succeeded. If he were a single man, I would have been with him a thousand times." She commented without shame.

"Was it because of Elia that you didn't want him?"

"He was charming, you know? Almost as handsome as you," she looked at his face. "His face always looked melancholy. Sad. But over time, I learned it was just boredom." Her gray eyes were empty.

"So he—"

"He stole me. He often joked that wildings did that to get wives," she didn't seem amused at all. "He said I would feel more northern that way," she added.

"That's cruel." The information about the savages' traditions likely came from Aemon.

"It is," she nodded. "He locked me in a tower and made me carry his child. I refused, I begged him, but he wouldn't listen. I still remember the first time, so much blood, such intense pain," she lowered her head.

"I felt dirty, horrible, ugly. He didn't care about me. He left his seed inside me until I stopped having my moon blood," she turned her back on the knights who followed her. She began to sob slowly.

"My brother—" He didn't know what to say. Comfort her? Hug her? He wasn't good at those things.

"I wanted to resist, to fight. But how could I, at 14, fight against an adult and 3 knights?" It seemed that the title meant nothing to her. "Then I tried to kill myself," she licked her lips, the salty taste stopping her for a second. "He tied me to the bed, left my legs open. I was a toy for his use," her voice was bitter. "He let me go when he confirmed I was pregnant. He knew I wouldn't try to kill myself. Not with my child inside me."

"Daemon," was all he could say. He was speechless. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing why he apologized; he hadn't hurt her.

"Then he made me tell everyone that we were in love. I remember Ned looking at me with those betrayed eyes." She felt bad reliving that moment. "If you want them to live, do it," she said, changing her voice. "That's what he told me," she nodded.

"And you carried the hatred of the North. " His opinion of her was terrible, a maiden in love for whom thousands died.

"I did it and I would do it again. I love my brothers. I love my children. I should thank you for sending Daemon to the north. I don't know how long it would have taken for him to be sacrificed," she held his hands.

"If you die, Daemon could start a war if he finds out who killed you," he told her. He was afraid of that, actually.

"That's why I'll kill myself," she smiled. She seemed happy to long for death.

"Visenya will be an orphan," he said, and her expression changed completely. Daemon was already a grown man, but his youngest daughter was still a child.

"That doesn't change anything... she's strong, she always has been," she consoled herself.

"As strong as you have been," he said, and she collapsed.

He felt her tremble in his arms as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her. The queen wept. She shed tears for her eldest son, whom she would never see again. For her murdered son, whose eyes she had never even seen. For her youngest daughter, whom she would never see grow into a woman.

------

Author: Yes, I chose to go with that theory...

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys looked at the two knights with a frown. He needed to kill them.

He granted the royal family guest rights. Only they ate bread and salt. Usually, this was extended to the entourage, but it was not a rule of the gods; it was merely a custom.

"The men who are here. Do you want them alive?" he asked.

"They will ask questions if they disappear," was all she answered.

"The dragons will eat them," he gestured to Torrhen.

Two heads fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry," she said, unmoved.

"It doesn't matter," he called to the dragons. He felt a bond with the silver one, and Dany felt the same with the black one. The copper one followed the other two; he was the most docile.

"Do you know why I wanted to talk in front of the weirwood tree?" she asked him after they had separated.

"To know that you're telling the truth," he replied instantly. He recognized it before. And he believed that the gods would give him a sign if she were to lie.

"If you don't give him the dragons. If the dragons have already bonded with you or your wife," she began. "Rhaegar will kill you—poison, faceless. He'll use everything he's got," she said. "I didn't hear it from him. But I know him," she said, looking at the corpses on the ground.

"He wants the conquerors," he deduced. Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya. Only their dragons were missing.

"Yes. One represents the Valyrians, another the Rhoynar, and another the First Men. I'm not sure, but Myrcella could represent the Andals," she paused for a moment. "He always believed that his children would be better than the conquerors. That they would do what they couldn't. A prophecy, one he keeps close to his heart." She scoffed. "It wouldn't be surprising if he wanted the new Aegon to have three wives instead of two."

"And he needs dragons to stay in power if he intends to do that. I can't see any other way Tywin would agree. Either he sees his granddaughter sharing the title of queen with two others, or he sees her dead," he said. Tywin would be the biggest problem. The religion accepted that Rhaegar had two queens. It wouldn't be so far-fetched for his son to follow in his footsteps.

"Yes," she said vaguely. She looked among the trees and heard footsteps. Torrhen had moved away from the dead bodies. "Those—gods!" she exclaimed. The dragons were now the size of deer. However, the widest one seemed to have the build of a bull.

She looked at the fire, with three distinct flames: black, white, and red.

The smell of burning human flesh took her back to when she first smelled it. And... for a second she heard her baby's cry.

She felt, within all the bitterness and pain, a flash of happiness, just from hearing her baby again.

The sound of skin tearing between their jaws kept her absorbed. They attacked the skulls first. Within minutes, the flesh was gone, and only bones with small pieces of meat remained. One leg, one arm, and part of the torso of one of the men were almost complete, almost intact, but they were filled before they could reach them.

For a magnificent second, she imagined Rhaegar replacing those corpses.

"I'll need your help," said Jaehaerys. "I want to keep Visenya here," she frowned.

"You want a hostage," she said, not looking happy.

"Yes. And you'll stay with her," he said. "When I negotiate with Rhaegar, I'll ask that she stay here as Daenerys's companion."

"You'll give her dragons?" she asked.

"No, but your daughter will be close to them. It will make her believe she'll be their rider," he said.

"How can you be so sure she won't join him?" she asked.

"If she does, she'll stay here. Raised by you," he said.

"And you'll take her as your second wife," said Lyanna.

"What? No, I don't plan to." He denied.

"But I do. If she manages to tame a dragon, marry her," the queen seemed stubborn.

"She's almost half my age, I can't, no," he refused vehemently.

"I can convince Rhaella to pressure the king. But I want you to promise me that if she bonds with the dragon, you'll marry her," her reddened eyes stared at him intently.

"Why?"

"With a dragon, you won't use her as a weapon. I know you'll have two. Besides, I know you'll protect her," she took a deep breath. "I trust you will survive the assassins, and I trust you will keep Daenerys safe. Rhaegar will not try to kill Visenya, but other lords may think differently." She was selfish.

Jaehaerys thought about how unpleasant it would be to marry a child. However, it was really for the best. The idea of keeping Visenya was to keep Rhaegar in check. He couldn't deal with a war, not without his grown dragons. Knives in the dark were more manageable. And he knew that no matter what he did, they would come for him first. Rhaegar would only do something drastic once he saw no way to kill him in the shadows. His daughter at Argentstone would make him cautious. The biggest problem would be getting Visenya into the castle.

If Rhaegar planned to kill him with assassins, that was more feasible, as he would see her free as soon as he learned of his death. Rhaegar's trustworthiness would be an advantage for him.

"If that happens, I'll wait until she's 18," he said. He already felt bad for marrying Daenerys so young, although his morals had been distorted in Westeros, and he didn't see it as so far-fetched.

"If you wait that long, they might..."

"They won't. If necessary, I'll marry her younger, but it will only be a sham," he added when he saw she was not convinced.

"Good. Do you swear to keep my daughter safe and take her as your wife if she becomes a dragon rider?"

"I swear," and he felt a chain on his arm. "Lyanna, do you swear to do your best to live?" he asked her.

Convincing the king to keep Lyanna in the castle was easy, easier than convincing him about his daughter. She would stay for her daughter, whom she considered too young to be away from her. Rhaegar would agree.

If Jaehaerys were him, after the assassins failed against him and Dany, he would kill Lyanna. That would make the lords distrust him. It may seem like a small thing, but it would turn Visenya against them if the rumors reached her.

And Rhaegar, believing the girl to be a dragon rider, would expect her to escape flying.

"You're cruel," she smiled bitterly. "I swear," and from the way her eyes widened in surprise, he was sure she felt the magic too.

The queen let out a huge laugh. It wasn't funny, but she was happy. She felt safe. She already knew about magic; the red whore had shown it to her. But knowing that Jaehaerys had it too made her even happier.

"Make sure you convince my mother," he said. "That could be quite complicated. She's already unhappy that I'm here," he said.

"Oh, she'll see the fact that her granddaughter is here as a way to extend her influence in the castle," said Lyanna. "You could expect septons and septas. Will that be a problem?"

"No," he replied quickly. "My mother can send whoever she wants; I decide whether to let them in or not." He added.

Lyanna nodded before saying, "Thank you. It's not your responsibility to accept. But you've proven yourself to be more of a man than your brother will ever be."

"They're family," he said, though that wasn't the whole reason. "And you know this will affect me just as much."

"But you didn't have to offer to save my life," she said, her smile sweet.

Jaehaerys didn't respond to that. Instead, he focused on the alibi for the two men's deaths. "The men looked at the dragons and got too close, and they both died. One of the dragons looked at you, and, fearing death, you began to cry." He quickly made up a story. "When you see your daughter, hold her tight. It will reinforce the story."

"If you were a better actor and more interested in the throne, you would be a danger to Aegon," she said. She wasn't the first to tell him how bad he was at acting. "You're like an open book. I saw the sadness in your eyes, maybe that's why I opened up so much," she sighed. "I'll hug my daughter anyway. For the first time, I feel like I have a future," she touched her wrist, where she felt the magic form a bond.

"About the throne," he began. "What do you know about Aegon?"

"Are you asking if he's like Rhaegar?" she asked. He looked at her and nodded. "I don't know. I stayed away from him and Rhaenys. If his stoicism is a facade, he's better at maintaining it than his father. And Rhaegar is very good at maintaining it," she lamented not knowing more about him.

"I see," he said, looking at the weirwood. His face was redder than ever. "The sun will set in less than two hours. We must return," he didn't say why he had asked the question. There was no need.

If Aegon were like his father, another king would have to be chosen.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar looked at the door, and his eldest daughter looked at him with those purple eyes similar to his own.

Rhaenys. She was named after the wife of Aegon the Conqueror.

As the eldest, she should have been named Visenya, but Rhaenys died in Dorne. When his daughter was born with Dornish coloring, he thought, wasn't it fair that Elia's Dornish womb should bring her back?

The King initially believed that the Song of Ice and Fire was about him. But he soon discovered that it wasn't. It was about his children.

Rhaegar always knew that Elia would not give him the three heads of the dragon. The second son was Aegon, in whom his features prevailed. Elia left little of herself in the child. After the birth of his heir, he received the news that Elia could have no more children. He could have forced her, but the resentment of Dorne would have haunted him throughout his reign.

He spent months searching for a place to sow his seed. His Visenya. First, he thought of a Valyrian woman; he even looked at Rhaella. However, the prophecies foretold that Visenya would have black and silver hair. He thought of Baratheon, but there were only sons in that house.

His father's madness began to spread and damage the already fragile foundations of the House of the Dragon. That is why he organized the tournament at Harrenhal, using the flimsy excuse of Lord Whent's daughter's name day.

And that is where he found her. Lyanna Stark. Wild and untamed. The flower of the north. She would give him the last dragon's head. Seduction did not work; she was smitten with him, but she constantly pointed to his wife. Robert, her betrothed, was not mentioned at all.

Was Lyanna's will greater than the will of the prophecy? Of course not, but Rhaegar would do whatever it took if it helped him fulfill his duty. What did the screams of a brat matter compared to destiny? His children were destined for great things. Lyanna would not interfere.

However, his father was there to ruin everything again. He killed the Lord of the North and his heir. Lyanna was important, but she wouldn't start a war, especially when Rhaegar announced his intentions to take her as his second wife. He had already bought off the Septons; The Seven weren't the problem.

But Eddard and Robert's heads were requested by Aerys. And the rebellion began. Rhaegar first took care of Lyanna; he had to secure his seed. Then he spent his time searching for answers in mysticism for the war. House Targaryen would not fall. It would not end. The question was: how to win? He did not find the answer. Robert won battle after battle, and the loyalists began to wonder where their prince was. He had to show up. He left the three king's guards in the tower of joy.

He had to make sure Lyanna didn't escape.

Soon, he found himself at the Trident, looking at the rebel army. The hawk, the stag, and the wolf. They fought well. Better than he expected. The loyalists began to retreat.

Rhaegar faced Robert in single combat. He still remembered his arm burning with every blow from the stag.

He wondered if his younger brother's blows would be as hard. The dragon lost that fight. He fell backward into the river, his sword somewhere underwater. He watched Robert's hammer rise. He was going to die.

Suddenly, he heard horns. Then Tywin Lannister came. The lion flanked the rebels from the side.

Robert made a desperate attempt to kill him, but his hammer struck the river. One of the loyalists knocked him off balance.

Rhaegar didn't remember his name; he was just another one of the many who died in the service of his duty.

Robert fled.

"As long as I live, there will be no peace for your bloodline," Robert's voice echoed like thunder rumbling across the land.

The rebel army was defeated.

Rhaegar won the war as was destined to happen.

The rest was explaining his actions to Lord Stark and Lord Arryn. He told them how Lyanna and he had fled, sharing the blame with her. He apologized for his father and asked for their help. He brought them to their knees and then extended his hand, just as he had learned from Tywin. They had no choice but to accept.

Then he came to make Lyanna sing as he wanted. But when he saw her again, he discovered that she had not brought a Visenya, only a child. Rhaegar's anger was palpable. He thought of naming him Maegor to stigmatize him. His mother, Rhaella, would not allow it, and he ended up calling him Daemon, wanting the lords to think of Blackfyre.

But they ended up making it closer to the Rogue Prince. Rhaenyra's husband, although known as a shameless rebel, was recognized as a great warrior and general.

It was only years later, with a small sacrifice, that he managed to reunite the three heads. He dreamed it. Three dragons are soaring through the skies.

All that remained was to get rid of Myrcella. His mother had exchanged letters, not with Tywin, but with Joanna. Behind his back, they arranged a marriage between their grandchildren. That marriage won the war.

Myrcella had to go. He wasn't ready for that yet. The kingdom was still healing, and the Targaryens held power, not by force, but through alliances.

He sent people in search of dragon eggs. To Essos, to Valyria, although they never returned. Sothoryos and Ulthos were also considered. He obtained two eggs from a Pentoshi merchant, Illyrio Mopatis. The two eggs showed no sign of being anything more than precious stones.

Why couldn't Rhaegar, the father of the three dragon heads, get dragons?

Where he failed, his younger siblings succeeded. Daenerys is a beautiful girl with thick Valyrian blood. And Jaehaerys, with the mind of a maester and the strength of a giant. None of his children was known or mentioned with such effusion. Only Daemon, but he was more wolf than dragon. Rhaegar tried not to think about the people calling Visenya, his youngest daughter, "wolf blood."

His children were perfect. You could see Valyria, the Rhoynar, and the first men in them. The Andalus blood, though not noticeable, still ran through their veins. All seven kingdoms were represented in them.

Why did his siblings, who were not mentioned in the prophecy, overshadow his children so much?

Now he had to come to Harrenhal, or Argentstone, as they wanted to call it now. He wasn't going to beg for the dragons; he was going to negotiate for them. He would offer the hands of his grandchildren or more gold. It didn't matter. He would not leave that castle without the three dragons that his brothers had somehow managed to hatch.

"You say Lyanna stayed talking to Jaehaerys?" the king asked his eldest daughter. He had to kill his wife soon; she had tried to poison him. She was becoming bolder. With Daemon out of his reach, he could no longer threaten her; he would not harm Visenya.

That was worrying. He did not know how much she would dare to reveal.

His brother already held a grudge against him for condemning Viserys. A few howls from the she-wolf, and he could turn against him. Rhaegar could march on Harrenhal with an army. But the lords would see him as greedy.

With dragons, that didn't matter, but he didn't trust himself to raise an army large enough to defeat his brother's thousand men without alerting him. He had heard that some of those men were Unsullied.

An army takes time to assemble and march. Besides, there was no guarantee that other houses would not see this as an opportunity to rebel. The roses were still angry. The trout and the falcon were wounded, although the Tullys, united to the Lannisters by marriage, would not move.

The wolf remained in the cold north, licking his wounds.

"Yes. In front of the weirwood tree in Godswood." His daughter was so Dornish that he sometimes regretted having his children represent the races of Westeros. 'But it's necessary,' he told himself.

"What do the flames say, Melisandre?" The red woman had been a constant support. She understood the value of prophecies and saw Azor Ahai in Aegon.

"The dragons will go to the three heads of the dragon." Her gaze remained fixed on the flames. "It requires a sacrifice. You must give up something you have, only momentarily. The dragon-wolf will ride the copper. The false riders will never achieve their goals," her voice was mesmerizing.

"What could my brother ask of me?" He shook his head. It was only momentary. 'Dragon wolf. That can only be Visenya.'

"What about Aegon and Rhaenys?" he asked the priestess.

"I can see the three dragon heads falling on the Others," was all she said.

Rhaegar hoped that neither Daenerys nor Jaehaerys had managed to join the dragons. He didn't want the stigma of being a Kinslayer.

But if his brothers wanted to usurp the right of his children...

Dragons can have a rider when the previous one dies.

Chapter Text

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was enormous. It was there that the vote for succession took place almost 200 years ago, which King Viserys I ultimately won. More than a thousand lords and their entourages arrived at Harrenhal. Although it was said that there were a hundred chimneys, Jaehaerys counted only thirty-eight. It didn't matter; he would soon tear the place down.

"I'm sorry that the castle cannot provide the comforts that royalty deserves," Jaehaerys apologized. They were seated at a large table. "I tried to do my best to build ArgentStone. Although I've had some mishaps lately," Rhaegar understood when he blamed him.

"The rooms are comfortable. I must thank you for getting it ready in such a short time, brother," the king smiled, ignoring his complaints.

"I'm glad," they began the small feast. Calling it a feast was an exaggeration. Only the Targaryen family was there; Rhaegar didn't waste time bringing unnecessary lords. He didn't want to give his brother a chance to escape.

The hall was empty. They ate on a platform. Only soldiers and knights from both houses accompanied them.

"I heard the workers say that the towers will be 600 feet tall," Aegon sought conversation as a maid served him lamb. "Those towers are taller than the previous ones," he said, cutting the meat with a short knife. His face remained stoic.

"ArgentStone will be better designed than Harrenhal. But it will maintain and increase its proportions," the prince said, eating a pork chop. Remembering the food of his past life, he began to find the medieval food insipid.

"An ambitious project, uncle," Rhaenys was in no hurry to eat, simply taking a glass of wine. Looking at her, Jaehaerys wondered when he had last tasted alcohol. "Are you sure you can complete it?"

"As long as I can get the materials," he replied, wiping the grease from his mouth. "It seems that DragonStone can't give them to me. I've started looking elsewhere. There are rumors of volcanoes in Skåne. If I can't get them from Essos, I'll have to bring them from there," he said, looking at the king, who remained indifferent to the conversation.

It was clear to everyone at the table that he was not happy with his older brother's actions.

They were silent for a while as they all ate. Queen Rhaella continued to question her daughter about her life in the castle. It seemed that her previous anger had dissipated. Lyanna just stared at her plate. Visenya, beside her, looked like she wanted to jump on the table.

"Have you thought about returning to King's Landing, brother?" Rhaegar wiped his mouth. He took a sip of wine.

"My duties need me here, on my lands. Leaving would mean stopping all construction," replied the prince. Everyone had put down their cutlery.

"I've looked at the construction. You don't need to be here. You can assign a castellan." Both men were seated at opposite ends of the table. "Jon Connington has proven himself an excellent administrator." Jaehaerys couldn't stop the amused snort that escaped him.

"Jon Connington has no place here. He should pay more attention to his wife. I hear that in more than fifteen years of marriage, they have not managed to produce a child."

Jon wasn't exactly a man he respected. He had only known him as a child, but even then it was clear that his devotion to Rhaegar was greater than loyalty or friendship.

"At this point, I would have expected you to be pregnant," Rhaella interjected, wanting to ease the tension at the table.

"We have three children," said Dany.

And the table fell into a deep silence. Rhaegar made an effort not to frown.

"Mother of dragons!" Visenya almost shouted. "Can I see them?"

"Later, she-wolf," Jaehaerys replied with a smile. The girl pouted but said nothing.

"So, the rumors are true?" Rhaenys dared to ask.

"Would you all be here if they weren't?" the prince asked back. Rhaenys looked at him hungrily, just like she had during the tournament.

"They are," Lyanna interjected. Her face turned pale. "Sir Roland and Sir Adamm got too close," Rhaegar frowned. He had already heard that story.

"The dragons," Rhaegar began, "are the symbol of House Targaryen. That is why I want you to come with me to King's Landing," he explained in the softest voice he could muster.

"There's nothing for me at King's Landing," the wine stung his throat; he hadn't had a drop since his trip to the island.

"I'll make you my hand. And I'll protect the dragons from the enemies of House Targaryen," said the king, offering him the position of hand. It was the sacrifice he was willing to make.

'Of or from?' Jaehaerys wondered.

"I will not go to King's Landing," he refused flatly. And that uncomfortable silence returned. "I don't understand why I'm being punished," he asked in a low voice. The echo spread throughout the hall of a hundred hearts.

"It's not a punishment," Rhaegar said sweetly, looking sad.

"Then what is it?" asked Jaehaerys. "I can't work in my castle. Why am I being denied volcanic ash? And now you want me to go to King's Landing and abandon my castle?" If he could see under the table, he would see Rhaegar's knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

"There was an alarm that the volcano could erupt again," everyone could smell the lies in the king's words.

"I see," Jaehaerys said without adding anything else.

"Have you joined the dragons?" Said Visenya. Rhaegar would have to thank his youngest daughter for asking the right questions.

"We don't know," Dany replied. "The dragons are close to us, but we'll only know if they're our companions when we ride them," she explained to the girl.

"Can I have one?" she asked eagerly. "I'll give it sheep to eat," she seemed to want to tell them that she would take good care of the dragon.

"You can't have one," said Jaehaerys. "They don't belong to you." Rhaegar's eyes began to burn a hole in his head. "They don't belong to anyone, not even us," he continued, looking his brother in the eyes. "A dragon is not a pet. It is not a slave. A dragon chooses its rider, not the other way around." The tension at the table relaxed after those words.

"Then can I try to be its friend?" she asked with childlike excitement, oblivious to the tension.

"Of course you can. The dragon will decide if it lets you ride it," his eyes looked at his older brother. "It's best if everyone tries," which left them perplexed. Jaehaerys was confident. Aegon would try to summon the black dragon, attempting to imitate his namesake. It wouldn't work, but hopefully he wouldn't die.

The copper dragon was the only one free, but it was also the least impressive of the lot. If anyone tried to tame it, it would escape. Jaehaerys would have to make an effort to get the dragon to approach Visenya.

"You have made a significant contribution to House Targaryen—more than anyone in centuries. I would feel bad if I didn't reward you," the king's voice was sincere. Jaehaerys gave him more than he thought.

He didn't need to negotiate with the hands of his grandchildren, and it seemed that if Lyanna had told him about the rebellion, Jaehaerys had ignored it.

"I want to build my castle. I need more gold. I want no interference when I obtain materials or with the migration of people. I also wish to be independent," he said at last.

"Independence?" The king looked confused. "You want to leave the Seven Kingdoms?"

"No," he denied quickly. "I don't want to bow to Lord Tully," he said. Jaehaerys had been refusing all of the lord's letters of invitation. He always refused, citing his workload, his family, his duty, and his honor. "I want ArgentStone to answer only to House Targaryen," his brother nodded.

"I will send a letter to Lord Tully," he agreed. "Anything else?"

"I don't want red priestesses on my land, and I want Visenya to be a lady-in-waiting for Daenerys. Even if she manages to join a dragon," the other demands were nothing to Rhaegar, but those two made him think.

'Visenya will ride the copper dragon. Keeping her here will be a temporary sacrifice.' It wasn't hard to see that Jaehaerys wanted a guarantee that he would keep his word. Although Rhaegar never thought his younger brother was capable of harming his daughter. He was too kind.

"I accept," he said with a touch of bitterness. "Visenya will remain here, and no red priests will come. Not those I can control." Perhaps he gave in too much, but the dragons were too precious to risk. He had seen the power of the great R'hllor in his sacrificed son. It might upset R'hllor, but he knew Melisandre would agree with his priorities.

"If the girl is to remain here, I think it is right that Lyanna stay with her," said the queen mother.

"I will allow it," the king conceded. Better that Lyanna die within the walls of Harrenhal than in King's Landing. If Visenya began to suspect her uncles, she would harbor resentment against them.

Rhaegar thought that if his brothers were not linked to the dragons, he could let them live. Then he would take ArgentStone from them.

"The false riders will never achieve their goals," he remembered Melissandre's words.

"Then you will see the dragons tomorrow," Jaehaerys raised his cup in their direction.

'I have seen a dragon in my reflection every day,' thought the king.

Everyone at the table missed Lyanna's hand grasping her daughter's enthusiastically, as the corners of her lips lifted slightly.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar looked like he was about to burn a baby alive. It had gone wrong, very wrong. Aegon looked at the black dragon and immediately thought of Balerion. He approached cautiously, carefully. That didn't stop the dragon from lunging at him. Luckily, it didn't breathe fire, or his heir would be dead.

Rhaenys was another disappointment.

As soon as she saw the state of her brother, she decided to stay away from the dragons. She tried to approach the silver one, but as soon as the dragon looked in her direction, she chickened out and backed away. Visenya was the only one who managed to approach the dragons without danger. He wouldn't say she claimed any of them, but they weren't aggressive towards her.

The copper one in particular looked at her with curiosity and apprehension. When she tried to tell it to follow her in High Valyrian, the dragon turned around and left. It was a failure, but there was hope for her. Staying at Harrenhal would allow her to deepen that bond. The king's anger was directed at his brother. He lied to him, and he knows he did. The black and white dragons had joined him and his wife.

It had now been a week since Aegon had been on the stretcher, recovering. Maester Qyburn was more competent than he had expected for a man who had been expelled from the citadel.

"How did you manage to hatch them?" he asked his younger brother as calmly as possible. Jaehaerys frowned, as if it were a bad memory.

"With fire. They were on a brazier. Dany used to spend time with them, as if she were incubating them herself," he said. "One night, the fire was stronger, more intense. The flames consumed us both. We weren't burned, and at dawn there were three dragons around us," he told the truth, half of it; he didn't need to know everything.

"That's all?" His brother didn't quite believe him.

"Yes. Do you remember the red star?"

"A sign from R'hllor," Melisandre said. The king did not express that to his brother.

"Yes, the maesters have not discovered what it meant," he told him.

"It was that same night. I don't know if the star gave birth to the dragons or the dragons to the star." His eyes looked up at the sky, hoping to see it again. The star signified the return of magic. "They are related."

Rhaegar accepted that more readily. If R'hllor was involved, then it might have been as Jaehaerys said.

"It's a pity," he said, not knowing how to hatch the dragons at King's Landing.

The red woman gave him the option of sacrifices.

But thousands of men would die for each of the eggs. Why did R'hllor help his brothers and not him? His brother worshipped trees, and trees did not breed dragons; they burned under their flames. He could only think of how his brother's dragons belonged to him.

"Has Aegon recovered well?" asked Jaehaerys.

There was genuine concern on his face. That made the king wonder if he had truly joined the dragons.

"Yes. Your maester is even better than Pycelle," the king admitted. "Aegon will travel in the carriage. He is well enough for that."

"Then I wish you a safe journey. Argentstone is open to you," his brother said.

"Your Grace, my prince," an immaculate approached. Despite running, he did not seem agitated at all. "The great Weirwood. It's burning."

Jaehaerys jumped to his feet. He began to run out of the tower. Rhaegar felt as though he was looking at a horse, not a man. He could see a red figure in the distance near the arcian. The tree was surrounded by fire. Rhaegar wished the wood would turn to ash. His brother deserved a little punishment.

He approached calmly. He needed composure. He was a king, and he couldn't run like his brother, nor did he care that much about the fire.

"I'm sorry, Jaehaerys," his brother said as he saw the prince holding a sword at Melisandre's throat. "Let her go," it was an order disguised as a request. "The weirwood is intact," he said. To his surprise, not even the leaves looked singed. "There is no damage. I will make it up to you." He began to think that R'hllor was not the only real god. And that idea caused him panic. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he was more potent than the other gods. The only miracles he had ever seen came from the hand of the red god.

"My men will escort her out of Argentstone," his brother said. "Forgive me for doubting. But she does not serve you, brother, she serves her god." Rhaegar nodded. He dismissed his words. R'hllor's will was bound to his own.

Rhaegar sent two of his own men with her. They were not fanatics, but they were loyal. Sending followers of the red god could end up with her convincing them to kill his brother's guards.

"That tree is an abomination; it contaminates the presence of the Lord of Light," said the witch. It was the first time the king had seen her so upset.

"The weirwood is the light of Argentstone," Jaehaerys replied. "I hope not to see you here again. It would be a pity to see your entrails on the weirwood," he warned angrily.

"Jaehaerys!" His older brother interrupted. "You have said enough. Melisandre, wait outside the walls," he ordered.

Rhaegar looked at the weirwood. According to his brother, it had removed the curse that hung over Harrenhal. He would have dismissed it from any other man, but his brother was not a talker. And his brother had given birth to dragons.

Rhaegar thought that perhaps his brother sacrificed the people at Harrenhal and disguised it as the curse. Maybe he brought more people than he told him to sacrifice.

'Why do you bless those who worship foreign gods, R'hllor?' His question went unanswered.

Jaehaerys had left, furious. Rhaegar went his own way.

-----

Soon, the king's procession left the walls of Argentstone. Five people fewer. Lyanna, Visenya, and Ser Barristan remained in the city. In addition to the two Knights of the Crownlands who were devoured by dragons in Godswood.

"Sir Barristan," Lyanna called. Visenya was walking away with Daenerys and Jaehaerys. "I have a question I hope you can answer, good ser," she looked both ways; they were alone.

"I will answer as best I can, my queen," the knight said humbly.

"If the king asks you to kill me, will you do it?" Lyanna took a significant risk. She couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

Sir Barristan remained silent. If there was anyone who knew the darkness of Rhaegar, it was him. Sir Barristan stood guard at the door while Daeron was sacrificed.

"I am a knight. My duty is to protect the innocent, not to harm them," he replied firmly.

"Did you protect Rhaella when the mad king raped her? Did you protect my brother? My father?" she spat angrily. "Do you remember Daeron, Sir Barristan?" Her voice became as sharp as Valyrian steel.

"I could never forget him," he said, lowering his gaze.

How his vows had been put to the test. He remembers little Aegon wanting to see his new brother, the newborn Daeron. Barristan didn't know if the crown prince had seen what happened inside the room; he had tried to avoid it.

"And you dare call yourself a knight? To say that you fulfill your vows?"

"No, Your Grace." The old knight was tired. That was why he offered to be Princess Visenya's guard.

He had tried to leave with Daemon, but the king said his son didn't need a guard. "My white cloak has been soiled by time," he admitted shamefully. He looked at the fabric, white and immaculate, but he knew the truth. "It is my wish to make it white again." The queen did not seem to believe him at all.

"Your vows will be tested. As with Aerys, maybe more" were her words before she left.

Sir Barristan wondered if he had to choose between his knighthood and his white cloak. Which was more valuable? The question was complicated.

Which brought him more misfortune? Which made him want to vomit every morning?

'Keeping vows is difficult. If it were easy, everyone could fulfill their duty,' he tried to justify himself, but deep down he knew they were just lies.

He watched the riders ride away. Rhaegar wore a dark green cloak. Barristan couldn't help but remember the Valyrian fire that Aerys loved.

'Will you make this old man destroy what little honor he has left?'

Chapter Text

"Five Unsullied men remain with you when I am not," said Jaehaerys. "I don't think they will send assassins soon, but I will not take any chances."

Daenerys nodded distractedly. It was still difficult for her to accept the face hidden beneath Rhaegar's mask. She loved her older brother dearly, and it was hard to believe everything Jaehaerys said.

"You got what you wanted," she said. "Besides, you could have a second wife," she added at the end, looking at him suspiciously.

"Lyanna told you," he teased her, seeing her sad expression. "It's... a small possibility, I hope I never have to," he approached her cautiously.

"It doesn't bother me that you're marrying her. I'm used to seeing Rhaegar with two wives," she admitted. "But... why did I have to find out from Lyanna?" she accused him.

"I didn't expect her to say anything," he admitted, not wanting to lie to her.

"Were you planning on telling me?" She looked for the truth in his face. "Of course not," she snorted.

"I can keep Visenya away from the dragon. The normal thing would have been for them to form a bond when they met, like us," he said, appeasing her. "I won't marry her."

"You don't seem to understand, love." Her voice remained sweet, even when she was hurt. "It bothers me that you didn't consult me," she said, taking him by the cheeks.

"Aren't you upset about the second wife?" he asked.

"No. I might even want you to marry her," her cheeks flushed red. "The dragons should remain among us, our family," she said. She didn't seem uncomfortable with the idea of him having another wife.

"I decided on the spot," he confessed, "it was a request from Lyanna. I didn't have time to consult you. What was I supposed to say? Something like, 'I'm marrying someone else, I'll ask the carpenter to make a bigger bed,'" he tried to joke. He watched the corners of his wife's lips turn up.

"It would have been better than silence," she said, pulling away from him. "I'll go with your Betrothed. At least she's fun," she said, separating herself from him.

Brandon and the five Unsullied followed her. The northerner gestured with his hand, palm facing the sky and fingers bent as if holding a stone. Then he moved his lips, articulating: "She's got you by the balls."

Jaehaerys felt like training with the twins soon. It had been a while since he had used his staff.

"Is it fun, Torrhen?" he asked the twin who remained at his side.

"Not at all, my prince," he said. Jaehaerys looked at the expressionless face of his guard. He scrutinized it for a while but found not the slightest hint of a smile.

Rhaegar said that volcanic ash would soon reach King's Landing. He had sent letters to Viserys asking him to fill ships with it. Jaehaerys had to send Drakkars to King's Landing; the ships carrying it could not enter the Blackwater, not without risk.

He needed to review the logistics of the construction. The workers had brought the excess stone to the walls. Soon, he could begin to tear down the Hall of a Hundred Fireplaces. He would have to order the construction of a small house for old Whent before demolishing her tower.

Rhaegar gave him three hundred thousand golden dragons more. It wasn't that he was short of money; the sale of perfumes and other products had left him with a good amount of gold. In the four months since the dragons were born, he had spent nearly two hundred thousand. That still left him with a million dragons or more.

The Drakkars continued to be produced, and he now had a small fleet of twelve of them. Half were stationed. Although he received letters from lords of the riverlands asking to buy or rent some of them to trade at King's Landing, he agreed to lease the ships, as he did not have enough sailors to handle all twelve.

Jaehaerys began to receive a quantity of barley each month, courtesy of Lord Randyll. Sam had turned out to be a blessing. The boy had lost several pounds and his figure had slimmed down. He was still overweight, without a doubt, but he had shown improvement.

He used the barley to recreate whiskey. He did not know the exact procedure, only that it was a progression of fermentations and distillations. He remembered that the product used was malted barley. To do this, he needed to soak the barley and let it germinate. From there, he had to proceed by trial and error. In the end, after malting, he dried it in the sun. He mashed it in hot water, and after the mash, he removed the malt residue. Then he wanted to ferment it.

Medieval fermentation was poor; the ideal was to use a pure yeast culture. But all the yeasts he could imagine separating were contaminated with bacteria. In a fermentation process, bacteria could release acidity that would sour the taste of the whiskey. In the end, he obtained yeast from grapes by placing them in a solution of sugar water. They were still mixed with bacteria in a low concentration, but it worked.

The prince thought about the need for agar to isolate microorganisms. He discarded the idea for the moment.

After fermentation, he proceeded to distill it. The first distillation was almost toxic, smelling like rotten eggs, unfit for drinking. At that point, he restarted the process, believing that the bacteria had ruined everything.

The next time he reached that stage, he got the same taste. The answer to the problem came from Dany when he was complaining about the process.

"What if you distill it again?" was an innocent question. "If distillation is for purification, couldn't it be purified further?" she said when he looked at her frowning.

The second distillation was successful, but not initially very effective. However, he noticed that the extracted liquid was divided into three parts: the first was highly toxic, the third was oily, and the second was the most beneficial of all. However, the rotten smell persisted. Now he had a theory.

It was contaminated with sulfur, and during fermentation, sulfated compounds could be generated. Until then, he had used glass flasks for distillation. Glass had been one of the first things he worked with, which is why the process was so refined. He had five glassmakers under his command, loyal northerners.

He thought about obtaining a precipitate by reacting sulfur with copper, leaving a piece of copper in the tube emerging from the flask. It worked, but only to a limited extent.

Taking a risk, he decided to change the material of the containers to copper, so that it would react during the first distillation process. In his memories, he recalled seeing copper stills, which were closed containers with a tube protruding from the top. Then they spiraled down.

The liquid inside the container was heated until it evaporated, traveled through the tube, and condensed, forming drops that then fell into a container. He had seen them once in college when he was studying chemistry. He saw a picture, but no one ever told him what they were for.

"Professor Wilson was always lazy," he complained.

This time, the whiskey was drinkable. But it was harsh, more like aguardiente than the whiskey he remembered. It needed to be aged for years.

All he could do was wait, so he left it in a wooden barrel. He had to find people he could trust with the process. He immediately thought of former slaves, like at his other distilleries.

The processes of creating perfumes, oils, scented soaps, and shampoos were left in the hands of slaves. They were not taught the principles; only the procedure was taught. The former slaves were extremely loyal, whether out of habit or gratitude. Their quality of life had significantly improved; they were now free people.

Jaeaherys thought about having people swear allegiance before a weirwood. But it would be tedious, and he didn't know if it would apply to those who didn't believe in the gods of the forest.

'I could make contracts with runes,' he thought. 'Not many know how to write,' he said, saddened.

Now he thought about the runes. In his need to use them to detect the assassins, he had begun to look for ways to detect malice. Even nullify poisons. He could sew runes into Dany's clothes to give her protection. As he walked toward the central towers, he saw something that bothered him again.

"Did they try to burn the arcian tree again?" He frowned as he gazed at the fire surrounding the weirwood tree. 'Who would dare? Ah!' He looked at the hunched figure. He had no concerns about the weirwood; if Melisandre couldn't burn it, others couldn't.

"Your old bones were cold, Lady Whent?" he asked the old witch. The former Lady of Harrenhal gave him the perfect excuse to expel her from the castle.

Chapter Text

Dany watched Shella Whent leave in a carriage. She didn't know where her husband had sent her, but she was grateful not to have to see her again. She had never hated anyone. Not even Joffrey Martell, who had tried to seduce her. She had felt disgust and resentment toward the lords at King's Landing. But hatred? Never.

But Lady Shella. She couldn't say. She couldn't forget the horror she felt at the curse, watching the men die. And Lady Whent, enjoying it. She could have forgiven her for not admitting to knowing about the curse. But enjoying the suffering, death, and fear of innocent people was something she could never forget.

She didn't wish her death or a tragic fate. But Dany wouldn't raise a glass in her honor when she found out she had joined the Whent's fate.

"So you're going to Essos?" she asked Brandon. The serious man was good company. He wasn't vulgar or foolish. He always behaved well. If she were queen, she would have given him the white cloak without a second thought.

"Yes, princess. The king ordered me to get more Unsullied," and Dany frowned. She didn't like slavery. Nor did she like her husband participating in it. But she could see how the Unsullied's lives had improved at Silverstone. As had those of the five hundred slaves who had come with them.

They were better off in her castle than in Essos.

"I wish you luck, Brandon." She didn't call him Ser, because he wasn't a knight, nor Lord, because he was a bastard. He didn't have a title, and Daenerys felt he should have one. She would think of something. "I'm curious, how much does an Unsullied cost?" she asked him.

"About thirty gold dragons, give or take," Brandon replied. The prince gave him two hundred and fifty thousand dragons. He should be able to get about eight thousand Unsullied. "Lord Manderly will help us bring them to Westeros," he added at the end.

"I didn't know Lord Manderly had business dealings with my husband," she remarked. "I only remember that he gave us a ship at our wedding," said the princess.

"They exchanged plans a long time ago. Jaehaerys improved his ships in exchange for Lord Manderly giving him ships." It was years ago, but Manderly kept his word. "The ship he gave them at their wedding was the first of 25. After that, the prince will have to pay for new ships, although my grandfather will always give him a lower price than the real one," he slipped up at the end. Dany watched him clench his jaw.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Brandon," she gave him a small smile, trying not to make him feel judged by her.

He didn't speak again. He would leave tomorrow. He would have to go to Astapor and back. The outward journey would take about four moons, as would the return journey. That meant she wouldn't see her guard again for eight or nine moons. Dany hoped he would return safely. She promised to find him a good wife.

Dany then went to her classes with Qyburn. The old maester no longer seemed disappointed in teaching her. At least she managed to change his opinion of her. At first, she thought he didn't like her because she was a woman, but it was because he had to teach her many things, and he was a man with little time.

The way she and Serena learned from him was simple: he let her read things outside of class and then asked her to explain them to him in class. If she explained well, he would add information about things that weren't in the books. If she explained poorly, he would correct her. Dany didn't like to make mistakes, even though he wasn't exactly rude or harsh when correcting her. Being corrected meant that she hadn't learned enough, and her studies would be delayed.

Serena didn't pay as much attention as she did, but she was a good student. She took her studies more as a distraction than as something she wanted, although she often talked about one of her sisters, claiming that she would like the class.

Then Sam arrived. The boy was intelligent. Dany felt surpassed by him as soon as he arrived. But she soon realized that he was not so different from her. He liked to read, but his father did not allow him to do so too much. His father wanted to make him a warrior.

It was not difficult for Dany to find what they had in common. Neither of them was allowed to study anything in depth, except for history and houses.

Even so, Daenerys felt she needed more women to live with. At that time, she only had Ros. And she seemed to spend most of her time busy running Jaehaerys's businesses.

Serena was there too, but she was more distant and reserved, finding it difficult to trust others. Dany had made an effort to become her friend, but found it very difficult to do so.

She considered inviting ladies-in-waiting, but she wasn't sure where she would accommodate them. ArgentStone wasn't ready yet.

Visenya and Lyanna were there, but they weren't his age. Visenya was too young and Lyanna too old.

"Forgive me, Brandon. If my question offends you," she looked at him and nodded. "Do you think any of your..." she paused. "Of Lord Manderly's granddaughters could be a lady-in-waiting here?" she asked. She heard that the eldest, Wynafryd, was around 19 onomastics. While the youngest, Wylla, was the same age as the princess.

"The relationship between my grandfather and the prince is good," he finally said, mentioning his resemblance to the Lord of White Harbor. "It wouldn't be out of the question for Wylla to join. For now, Wynafryd is the heir, so it's unlikely she'll leave White Harbor." Dany nodded. She would ask her husband to arrange it.

She thought of other possible ladies-in-waiting. She remembered Desmera Redwyne; they weren't exactly friends, but they had exchanged courtesies. There were also the daughters of Karyl Vance, Emphyria Vance, and Rhialta Vance. Rhialta was the older of the two, a year younger than Dany, and Rhialta was two years younger. Both had an older sister named Liane.

Dany considered those four. One from the north, one from the domain, and two from the riverlands. She wasn't afraid they would refuse; the rumors of the dragons would bring them to her castle, perhaps with the idea of getting a bastard of Jaehaerys and the chance to steal a dragon. Dany trusted her husband. She hoped none of the girls would be stupid enough to try.

For a moment, he considered Sansa Stark. But if there was anyone who would refuse despite the dragons, it was Lord Stark. She thought about finding other companions for Visenya. There was Lyanna Mormont in the north, and there was also Bethany Blackwood. Both of them worshipped the old gods.

She would have to discuss it with Lyanna, although she didn't think she would refuse.

"Do you know if Jae is busy right now?" she asked her protector.

"He's always busy. I'm sure he can make time for you," said the man, and Dany nodded with a smile.

Dany watched her husband distill a new drink he called whiskey. It tasted awful, but he said the flavor would improve with time. He was also making another drink called mead. Unlike the first, Dany had heard of this one, although it was mostly northerners who consumed it.

As expected, Jaehaerys agreed. As long as the houses decided to send the girls, he would be okay with it. He asked for a moon to build a new mansion for the girls. He had to have a place to accommodate them, along with any guards and maids who might accompany them. One moon, with hundreds of men working, would be enough.

Dany felt happier for the rest of the day. She even helped him with the mead. Then she listened to him talk about fermentation. She had only just begun to learn about microorganisms, so it was a little challenging to keep up with him. Fortunately, he was patient. He answered her questions graciously and without hurting her feelings.

After helping her husband and learning a little more, The princess went to see the dragons. Her black dragon greeted her, looking down at her from above. She did not bow her head; her dragon was the most rebellious of the three, and she could not be weak in front of him.

Jae's silver dragon greeted her by flapping her wings. She was the most docile and beautiful. The copper dragon was not in sight, probably hiding; he was a coward.

The dragons did not have names yet. Dany thought of many for her dragon: Nightdancer, Nightsinger, Nightfury, Nightfyre. Jaehaerys suggested "Nether," and then laughed tenderly, like a child. It was like a joke that only he understood.

Dany looked at the place where the dragons were, the GodsWood. It wasn't ideal, but the dragons knew they shouldn't use fire there; they were obedient. The intelligence in their eyes made her think that humans inhabited their bodies.

Now the princess had to think about building a lair for her children. She felt tired but also useful. It was satisfying to be busy.

Chapter Text

Lady Rhialta Vance and Lady Emphyria arrived exactly five days after the letter was sent. Lord Vance sent them with the idea of forming a bond with Dany, his goal being that the friendship would strengthen his house. Perhaps a marriage between their children years later.

The Manderlys also agreed, although Lady Wylla would take a moon to arrive, Lyanna Mormont would travel with her. The Redwynes also accepted. Desmera arrived three days after Lord Vance's daughters. The mansion was completed before the letters were sent, so they had no trouble finding rooms for them.

Dany still didn't know what orders Desmera had, but she hoped she wouldn't think anything about her husband. The Redwynes had a powerful fleet, and she wouldn't mind seeing her children married into that house. She decided to put her reservations aside; in the end, she was the one who called her. She wanted friends.

The Vance girls were agreeable, perhaps overly servile.

She hoped that would change with time; they seemed more like maids than companions. Both were quite similar, with red hair and green eyes. They were pretty, but not the kind to start wars. Desmera had more presence. She was a beautiful girl with brown eyes like a deer's. She resembled Margaery, which was no surprise considering they were cousins.

Another lady who arrived at the castle was Bethany Blackwood, with gray eyes, dark hair, and pale skin. She was destined to become a beauty. The girl hit it off with Princess Visenya. She wasn't as rebellious, but she enjoyed following the girl in her mischief.

Dany hoped Lyanna Mormont would be calmer than the other two.

"I hope you like the rooms," she heard her husband say. Dany had organized a small dinner party. To her delight, none of the girls looked at him flirtatiously, although she could see that they seemed attracted to him. That didn't matter to her; hundreds of women were attracted to him, just as hundreds desired her. As long as they didn't try anything, she didn't care.

"They are. Although I must admit my curiosity about the buildings," said Desmera, interested. Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow and asked her to continue. "The size of the towers is immense. I think only the Hightower lighthouse is bigger," said the girl, eating demurely.

"It is. The Hightower lighthouse is 700 feet tall. The tallest tower in ArgentKeep will be 600 feet," replied the prince.

They continued chatting amiably. Visenya and Bethany soon slipped away, with Lyanna and a group of guards, including Ser Barristan.

Soon Jaehaerys retired, leaving Dany alone with her ladies.

"I must admit, princess, I envy you a little," Desmera admitted once the four of them were alone. The other two ladies looked at her in surprise. They had invited Serena, but she declined the invitation. Daenerys was upset about it, but Jaehaerys told her to let it go.

"For my husband," Daenerys could imagine. He was handsome, strong, intelligent, and visionary.

"I don't think there are many men like him," continued the Redwyne girl. "I hear you study? Like a maester?"

"I do. Qyburn has taught me. I won't force you to attend, but if you wish, you are welcome." The Vance girls seemed eager to jump at the chance.

"I'll pass. My interest in those areas is limited," she apologized with a smile. She didn't want to seem like a bootlicker.

"And what are your interests, Desmera, may I call you that?" she asked. She wasn't offended by the rejection.

"Gardening and boats," the girl said quickly.

"I would appreciate your support when I design the garden," Dany smiled at her. She liked how she seemed unwilling to please her, but also not disrespectful. She was what she imagined a friend could be. "And you, Rhialta, Emphyria. Do you have anything you like?" she tried to include the girls. She didn't want them to be relegated to the background. She was their hostess.

"I like embroidery and praying in the sept," Rhialta said.

"I like archery," Emphyria said, her head bowed as she spoke. Her sister pinched her leg, scolding her.

"There's a sept at ArgentStone," Dany began, though she was not devoted to the Seven. She had not been the most devout since childhood. Once at Harrenhal, she found peace in the old gods. They were the ones who were with her when she was afraid. "It's abandoned, but I heard you traveled with a septon. You can pray there," she told them.

"Thank you, princess," Rhialta said before her sister could speak.

"And there's an archery range," she said, looking at Emphyria.

"That's not very appropriate. Ignored my sister," Rhialta said.

"Queen Lyanna will teach Princess Visenya and Bethany," she ignored Rhialta. "You can join them, Emphyria," she began to dislike Rhialta.

"Thank you, uh, Daenerys," said the Vance girl. Her sister looked angry.

"She's a princess, Emphyria," she corrected her younger sister.

"Daenerys is fine, Rhialta. You only need to call me princess in public, to maintain decorum," the princess stood up. "I'm usually busy in the mornings. I eat with my husband and then study with Qyburn." She warned them. "I'll try to break fast with you from time to time. If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know," she told them.

The girls accompanied her to her mansion. They were only a few meters away. It was a short walk. Torrhen and a group of Unsullied and guards followed them.

"That necklace is beautiful, and the runes inscribed on it... they remind me of those on the Royce armor," said the youngest of the Vances.

"It's a gift from my husband," said the princess. She didn't mention the magical part of the necklace. It was supposed to heat up when someone had harmful intentions against her. So far, it remained cold against her skin. It could also purify the poison in her body.

The girls stayed at Daenerys' mansion for a few more minutes before going to bed. Their personal guards and Unsullied accompanied them.

She arrived at her bedroom and saw Torrhen pause at the door. According to Brandon, his brother was wilder and more lustful. Dany hadn't noticed those characteristics, but she trusted Brandon.

When she entered her chambers, she looked at her empty bed. It was not unexpected. She walked toward the wall, where a door led to her husband's quarters. She found him reading a book by candlelight, his eyes glazed over.

"What do you think of them?" she asked as soon as she saw him. She watched as he placed a bookmark and closed the book. "My ladies-in-waiting. Do you think they are pretty?"

"Desmera is a beauty," Jaehaerys admitted.

"You are a fool," said the princess. "I heard that Sam knew her," she asked her husband.

"He does. Lord Tarly intended to marry them, to let Sam grow up with the Redwynnes first. Ended badly when Desmera's twin brothers intimidated him, and Randyll took him back to Horn Hill," he told her.

"Perhaps love will blossom between them here," said the princess, hoping a little that it would. Sam was a good boy. She took a seat across from her husband's desk. Then she leaned over to pick up one of the books on it. She watched her husband's eyes get lost in her cleavage.

"Are you tired?" she heard him ask.

"Maybe?" she smiled at him.

She wasn't tired at all.

Chapter Text

"I expect the two central towers to be ready in two moons, my prince," Qyburn said with palpable exhaustion. However, his workload had undoubtedly decreased when Dany became involved in the castle's construction. The girl was loved and respected by the people.

"That's a relief," said the prince. "Will they be habitable by then?" Even though they would only be towers, they had rooms that, although not the main ones for the lords, could serve temporarily.

"They will be," said the old man. "But they will not be completely isolated. The current mansions are safer for you." Jaehaerys nodded. It was easier to post guards at the manor than at a half-finished tower.

They continued chatting about the construction. Eight moons had passed since their arrival at Harrenhal, now transformed into ArgentStone. If the pace of construction continued, the castle would be complete in three years from then. The two central towers were two of the tallest, so they would take longer.

The outer walls will be expanded after the castle is completed. They were not a priority; the walls had been repaired, making Harrehal secure and capable of withstanding sieges.

So far, his brother had kept his word; materials and gold arrived steadily. And Lord Tully stopped sending letters inviting him to Riverrun. His older brother had not sent assassins.

Brandon would take another four moons to return, having left a month and a half ago. The journey from White Harbor to Astapor took up to eight or nine moons round-trip. With the compass he gave the Manderlys, they cut it down to less than seven moons, and as their confidence and skill increased, they could reduce it to six moons round trip. He gave him enough gold to bring back an army of at least eight thousand Unsullied. It would make the houses grind their teeth, but it would keep their swords away.

Dany had a necklace to detect malice and poison. Jaehaerys knew it worked on both. The test subjects he gave to Qyburn wanted to kill him, and he could feel the hot metal against his skin. He also made them resistant to poison. Too bad for them that Qyburn would take it upon himself to test the limits of magic against human ingenuity.

Jaehaerys remembered them crying and screaming when they tested the most horrible and deadly poisons the former maester could think of. But they did not die. They could suffer and wish for death, but they could not die. After a while, their bodies purified the poison, but the mental damage remained.

Jaehaerys had ordered Qyburn to design another tower, one larger than any of those that would make up the castle. Its function would be to serve as a vast, restricted laboratory. At least the upper floors belonging to Qyburn would not be accessible to those they did not trust.

The old man began to design it with enthusiasm, more than the prince had seen him work on the rest of the castle.

"How are the mines going?" He had put the iron and coal mines into operation. More than six hundred men worked in both, mainly in the coal mines, where two-thirds of those men were employed.

"About a hundred tons of coal are being extracted. The problem is transporting it to the castle," the master did not seem very interested. "As for iron, about three tons are being extracted. Once purified, there are about 1,400 kilograms left." The iron was not pure, and the impurities had to be removed.

"Order the creation of a reverberatory furnace and three blast furnaces. You remember, right?" It was a method he had previously discussed with him.

The blast furnaces were used to treat the iron ore, which was impure. They consisted of a tall tower, 33 to 49 feet high and 10 to 16 feet in diameter. Their walls were between 12 and 24 inches thick. There, the ore was mixed with coke, limestone, and iron. The result was pig iron, which still required further purification.

That's where the reverberatory furnace came in, which used indirect heat to heat the pig iron, allowing the gases in it and compounds such as sulfur, carbon, and phosphorus to escape. A slag formed, which consisted of non-metallic oxides. The pig iron never ended up liquid; they had to make sure it had a paste-like consistency, so that the slag would float because it was less dense and could be removed manually.

This method was not yet known in Westeros. The highest quality iron was not as good as the one he planned to create.

"Is there any immediate need for iron?" asked the old maester.

"There is. I want the workers' tools to be made of iron. New inhabitants have also arrived. I permitted them to cultivate land," he recalled encountering migrations after the king visited his castle. He now had about thirty thousand people throughout his land. It was not many, but considering that there had been fewer than ten thousand before, it was a considerable improvement.

"Give them iron?" the maester hesitated. But knowing Jaehaerys, he was sure he had some reasoning.

Although it was also possible that the prince wanted to improve their lives, he had a good heart. Qyburn hoped that the smallfolk would not destroy his trust in them.

"Yes. I also plan to create rails inside the mines, which will allow the minerals to be extracted more quickly. Metal is a necessity, not only for the army," Qyburn finally agreed.

"Then I will order the creation. I have the plans on my property," he said. Part of him was interested in metallurgy, but it was never his primary interest. If it were up to him, he would be opening up corpses and living people all day long, searching for the secrets hidden within the human body.

"Order the brickmakers to add the Kano rune to the bricks used in construction. There is a smithy near the north wall; let them build it there," it was best to use a space already assigned to the blacksmiths.

"It will be done, my prince, do you need anything else?" asked Qyburn.

"Tell me about Marwyn, the wizard." He had received letters from the man, who had expressed interest in visiting ArgentStone to discuss matters with him.

"He is a man who has devoted more time and effort than any other to the study of the mystic arts. I dare say he is more obsessed with them than you are," he said, speaking well of the archmaester. "Without as much success," he added at the end.

"I will allow him to visit the castle. The citadel also intends to send a maester. What do you think?"

"The grey rats hate the taste of magic," he warned.

"You may withdraw, Qyburn." He did not know how to refuse the maester sent by the citadel without becoming its enemy.

Although he was already at that point, his person was surrounded by mysticism and magic. The citadel had neglected Harrenhal. The maester died two weeks before he occupied the castle. It took them eight moons to replace him, which was strange. Even if they despised him, he was a Targaryen, so why did they spend so much time leaving him aside?

Now things were going smoothly; only war could delay the construction of his castle. But the kingdom seemed at peace. Daemon was off the map, and Viserys was subdued and isolated in Dragonstone. There was no basis for war.

Not within Westeros. But the shadow of Robert Baratheon still lingered in Essos. If he managed to get ships and send his people to Westeros, it would bring death, more so for the peasants. The lords would lock themselves in their castles; the Dothraki were not known for their siege capabilities, and the lords did not care about their people.

Jaehaerys began to think about how to maintain the loyalty of his people. Was it right to use magic to maintain loyalty? No.

But what was right would not keep him and Daenerys safe.

The dilemma lay in how to do it.

Inguz ᛝ. The rune represented family union, alliance, and commitment.

It would not be a rune that gave him mental control over his subjects. It would make them naturally more loyal. And it would give him the responsibility to protect them. But how could he apply it on a massive scale? He couldn't.

He could use it, not on the entire population, but on those he needed to keep secrets. The Inguz rune would keep them loyal. The Tyr, Thurisaz, and Hagalaz runes would bring punishment upon traitors. A disease would fall upon them, slowly killing them.

He would not use the last three runes on him, only the first, because he needed a commitment from both parties. If he betrayed his oath to protect them, there would be no consequences other than breaking the contract and having to start a new one.

'I need to experiment with the sap,' he thought, running his hand over his chest. The scar had healed. But he would prefer not to have to cut open his skin to inscribe runes on his body. It was unhygienic. The sap had a high adhesive capacity, and even if it disappeared, it remained magically marked where it was engraved.

'Perhaps I could use a prisoner and inscribe the poison purification runes on him,' he thought. With the population growing, banditry increased in his lands; there was no shortage of volunteers for the experiments.

Chapter Text

Brandon had a love-hate relationship with the sea. He loved the salty smell and watching the waves break to make way for the ships.

But the crew were sweaty, smelly men. No beautiful maidens to court. Hell, he would have settled for a whore.

"I see you've found a good place next to the prince," and the other reason for his hatred of the sea was his father. Wendel Manderly, the second son of Wyman Manderly. He was a robust man. He never knew him until he was under the prince's care, where his father recognized him as his bastard.

"The prince gave me shelter and food when no one else did," he replied, trying not to sound sharp. "Loyalty is repaid with loyalty."

"We'll be in Pentos soon," his father warned. He seemed to have picked up on the annoyance in his tone.

Brandon sighed. He didn't hate all the Manderlys; his cousins didn't mistreat him, even knowing he was a bastard. But his father, uncle, and grandfather seemed to see him as a connection. There wasn't much affection between them. And Brandon knew that if it weren't for the prince, his father wouldn't have made much effort to get close to him.

Family aside. He remembered that the prince had ordered him to keep his ears open in Pentos. And if possible, to investigate the Golden Company. He wanted information about a young man the same age as Aegon, Rhaegar's son.

They landed in Pentos without incident. A fleet of forty ships attracted a lot of attention, but they were quickly dispatched. He knew the Manderlys were there to trade. They planned to empty their ships before reaching Astapor. The journey was quite long as a result.

It was three moons from Pentos to Astapor. Four, if you counted the stops.

He toured the city with a few men from the north. He was glad to see that he wasn't the only one who found the weather extremely hot. He was close to taking off his shirt and walking around naked.

That was what he missed about the north, the cold and the ice. He already had the snow with him. At least the river tent was cool, and he was able to get used to living there.

In the city, he heard rumors about the Golden Company. Apparently, they had signed a contract with Myr to fight in the disputed lands. The disputed lands were an expanse of land between the three daughters, Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys. The lands were in a constant state of war, claimed by all three cities. They seemed to fight over them more out of pride than anything else, as none of the three cities could ever hold on to the territory for very long.

He's heard that the Golden Company has signed a four-year contract in that territory. The company had a reputation for consistently completing its contracts. He heard mention of a young man of Valyrian appearance among them. He was not the only one with those features, but he was the one they talked about the most.

Aegon Waters.

They said he was one of the bastard sons of the Mad King, although they did not tell the name of his mother. Apparently, he was conceived shortly before the old king died. With Rhaella at Dragonstone, it was normal for Aerys to take lovers to calm his excitement to burn his enemies and allies.

Brandon wasn't entirely convinced. But he also heard that Robert Baratheon was heading to the same lands to fight. Volantis offered him a fleet to take his Dothraki to Westeros.

Apparently, Robert was like a demon. People avoided saying his name, as if they feared his warhammer would fall from the sky to crush them.

The people of Essos hated and feared him. He was a Dothraki savage, but a better one. More methodical and strategic. He demanded more than a lord of horses and took pleasure in death and destruction. Brandon discovered that he destroyed the Company of Roses just because he wanted to take one of its captains as his Khaleesi.

The Company of Roses was from the north, founded by the bastard brother of Torrhen Stark, the king who knelt.

The woman he wanted to take as his wife was named Alyssane Stark. She had the characteristic Stark appearance. It was surprising how far Robert had gone with his obsession with Lyanna. It is said that Robert ended up killing her.

'Then Robert against Aerys' bastard.' Brandon could see them tearing each other apart.

The northerner asked about the Company of Roses. They were near Pentos, to his surprise. But Baratheon had hit them so hard that only about a thousand warrior men and women remained.

With a little effort and help from his father, he managed to arrange a meeting with the leader.

"You're Brandon, right? From which house? I can recognize a Northerner just by looking at him," spat the leader. Direct but not necessarily rude.

"A Snow. My father's sigil hangs from those ships," he pointed to the merman with a trident on the flags.

"I see. You wouldn't be a bastard here; there are no bastards in Essos," said the woman.

Brandon was captivated by her. She was the toughest woman he had ever seen. He felt she could crush his head with the mace next to her seat.

"I didn't have the opportunity to be born here," he said.

The girl's eyes were grayish blue. Her skin was tanned, and her hair was platinum blonde, which didn't match her surname.

"And why have you come to me?" asked the woman.

"I want information about Robert Baratheon. I heard you fought him." His words made the woman tighten her grip on the handle of her mace. "I know it's not pleasant, but I'll pay in gold for that information." He took a heavy bag from her belt.

"He's a beast," the woman began. "The Dothraki are savages. But they're predictable: they always attack head-on. They overwhelm you with their numbers and horses." She looked at the golden glint inside the bag. "The Stag changed that."

"I heard that his Dothraki are more organized," Brandon commented.

"They are. I don't know how he managed to convince and train them, but they changed their strategy. He even got them to use spears in addition to arakhs. They flanked us. My company had nine thousand fighters, men and women." She clenched her teeth with hatred. "He killed and enslaved six thousand. He reduced us to three thousand. Among the wounded, another fifteen hundred died and another five hundred deserted." She had a bandage on her abdomen.

"Did you see him?" He asked. He was curious about the stag.

"Seven Hells! Yes, I did. He was huge, must have been six feet seven or eight inches tall," she closed his eyes, remembering. "His arms were massive. But he moved with incredible agility. He killed six of the generals, sparing only me, and took my sister. He stripped her naked in front of my men and raped her." Brandon looked at the hatred in her eyes, tears spilling from them, and it terrified him a little. "She fought back, and the Stag crushed her head with his hands."

Both fell silent. Brandon was not good at comforting people. Princess Daenerys was a witness to that.

"Do you want revenge?" he asked her.

"I do. Soon we will go to Myr to support the Golden Company," said the woman.

"Your strength is small compared to theirs. They will use you as bait," he had planned something with the woman. "I will give you another option," she questioned him with her gaze.

"What option?"

"Jaehaerys Targaryen," he whispered his lord's name.

"Ah, the prince of scrolls. I've heard of him. They say he has dragons," the woman was not interested in his words.

"He does. Three dragons, the last time I saw them, they were the size of bulls," Brandon said.

"So what? Do you know how the Company of Roses was formed?" the woman asked him.

"They didn't want to submit to the dragons. Robert hates the Targaryens; he'll eventually go against them. When that happens, you can have your revenge," he tempted her, wanting to take her with him to Westeros.

"It's still a dragon."

"And you forget how the Golden Company was founded?" Now she was silent. "The Mad King's son is in the Golden Company. Remember? You trade elephants for dragons. Which would win?" The woman was silent for a few minutes.

"What does your prince offer?" Now Brandon had to improvise. He knew his prince well enough to know that he would agree to the terms.

Jaehaerys needed an army, and Brandon was gathering men for him. And a beautiful woman.

"I'll think about it. I'll give you my answer before you set sail from Pentos." She held out her hand. Brandon took her forearm.

"I heard your surname, but not your name." He knew she was a Stark, but that was all.

"Rowena. Rowena Stark," she said firmly.

Chapter Text

"How has your life been here, Visenya?" Jaehaerys asked the little wolf.

"It doesn't smell like poop," replied the girl. Before, her comments were sporadic, as if she could barely control them. Now she seemed to say them naturally.

"I hated that King's Landing thing too," confessed the prince, earning a knowing smile from the little girl. "I heard you stopped spending time with the dragon," he asked.

During her first days in ArgentStone, she used to go to the Forest of the Gods to meet the red dragon. But she gradually went less and less until she stopped altogether.

"The dragon doesn't like me. He runs away from me," she said with annoyance. "He's not my companion. My companion wouldn't be afraid of a little girl; he's a coward!" she complained.

It was no surprise that the red dragon was the shyest, hiding from everyone except Jaehearys and Daenerys. Visenya had to make an effort to get close to him.

"A wolf scares everyone, even dragons," he said, waiting for her reaction.

"I'll make sure to howl if I see him again," she said, looking at Bethany in the distance and running in her direction, leaving the prince alone.

The girl became wilder in her castle, no longer renouncing her Stark side, much to her mother's delight. The girl spent the day running up and down, chasing around the grounds. Ser Barristan followed her. The old knight deserved credit; he never let her out of his sight.

Lyanna also seemed more at ease in ArgentStone. She had begun training with other guards. She wasn't powerful and her skills were stagnant, but she was slowly recovering, even though she often lost fights. But there was one thing no one could beat her at, and that was horseback riding. They called her a centaur. Any horse she rode became tame and obedient.

Jaehaerys thought it was the warg blood the Starks had. The prince noticed certain glances between the queen and Torrhen and had to warn them both that a possible romance should not happen. Not while ArgentStone was so exposed.

The king would look for any excuse to oppress him, and Jaehaerys's man sleeping with Rhaegar's wife would be enough.

Jaehaerys went to visit Ros. The young woman spent her time in the village, talking to merchants. The prince rode up the hillside on which his castle stood and made his way to the village. It had grown. There were tents pitched everywhere and people building wooden houses.

The prince found his former lover conversing with a wealthy, fat merchant. She had a tense smile on her face.

"And riches, my beautiful lady. I swear that if you accept my offer, you will never want for anything in your life," the man had to breathe heavily.

"I'm afraid I'm not looking for a husband at the moment," she declined politely.

"I'll talk to the prince, if that's what you're worried about. I'll give him a huge dowry," the people considered Ros part of his family, like an adopted daughter, so they looked at him when they asked for her hand.

"The prince will refuse," Ros watched Jaehaerys arrive.

"Bah! The prince will accept. I will give him a golden ship as a dowry," the man's eyes lost themselves in her curves.

"That ship would sink under its own weight," the prince interjected with a smile.

The man blushed and looked at the prince's smile. He felt fear in his bones. He gave a slight bow, wanting to bend over completely, but his fat body would not allow it. All the promises he had made to Ros vanished the moment he saw the lord of ArgentStone.

"My apologies," the man withdrew. The prince thought he would lose a few pounds running.

"You're scaring away my suitors," said the girl angrily.

"All the perfume I had on couldn't hide the smell of shit and urine on his body," replied the prince. "Although having a golden ship would have been nice."

"Would you trade me for one?" the girl narrowed her eyes.

"No," he replied quickly. "For two, maybe," he added jokingly.

"Idiot," the girl muttered. "What do you want?"

"Insulting a prince is a crime," he said.

"And what will you do?" she approached him defiantly. "Punish me?" She put her arms under her boobs, pushing it up.

Jaehaerys kept his eyes on hers. He had played that game for years. It no longer affected him.

Not that much.

His eyes dropped for a second to enjoy the view. She smiled, delighted.

"I'll give you more work," said the prince.

"Fuck you. No, even better, fuck me. Yes, tie me up and fuck me," the girl asked sweetly.

"I'm married. Remember," he refused. "I want to know how much you've earned in the last five moons," which was how long it had been since Ros returned from the king's landing—the exact amount of time since the dragons were born.

"Gold, gold, all you care about is gold," the woman snapped her fingers, and a girl brought her a leather-bound notebook.

Jaehaerys glanced through the book. Sales in the first month totaled 84,000 gold dragons. This was less than what he would have earned at the initial price. In the second month, he had no sales because he ran out of stock. In the third month, he earned half of what he had gained in the first month. Sales declined in the fourth month and remained at 26,000 in the fifth month. The main items sold were soaps, oils, and shampoos. Perfumes were less sought after.

Over time, prices fell, as he had expected. In the end, in those five months, he made a total of 178,000 one hundred seventy-eight thousand. Now that the price had stabilized, he expected to earn around 25,000 or 30,000 dragons per month. It wasn't much when compared to the 100,000 dragons that the Lannisters extracted every two moons.

He also had to deduct salaries, raw materials, and taxes paid to the capital, leaving him with about 70 percent of gross income. In other words, the nearly 178,000 he earned in five moons became 115,000.

"And you need 2,000 dragons a month. What for?" At least he was grateful that Ros wasn't lying to him by simply skimming income and stealing money.

"You asked me for a spy network. I'm building it," she answered, and Jaehaerys nodded.

"I can get someone else to take care of the business. I don't want to overload you," and she smiled affectionately at his show of concern.

"I feel so tired and... repressed," the girl reached out to take his hand. She began to caress his forearm. The other girl, who appeared to be Ros's assistant or apprentice, looked away.

"How are you building the spy web?" asked the prince.

"I've opened brothels in the village. There were already prostitutes, I just gave them a place to work. Their lives are better," she said.

She allowed them to work on other things. The girl who helped her agreed to work with her as an assistant. She knew how to count and was a valuable asset.

Many others preferred to spread their legs for a few silver coins, which she respected.

"Only in the village?" The idea made sense; that was how Baelish had started. That meant they would clash at some point.

"I bought one in Maidenpool and another in Riverrun. I'll take girls from here and send them there to gather information," the prince nodded.

"Take as much gold as you think necessary. Just make sure you record it. Build the foundations well, Ros. Don't rush," the prince held her cheek gently.

Shortly after, the prince left. The income was good, but it wouldn't work in the long run. He would start preparing to sell the glass. He needed to set up a space for the blowers to work.

He would not start selling glass until Brandon returned with the Unsullied. But he could start making it. He had left a furnace in the north; he already knew the process, and his glassmakers had been idling ever since.

Chapter Text

Getting into Harrehal was easy. They were recruiting men by the dozen, and slipping in among the workers wasn't tricky.

Lyanna wouldn't be the first high-born lady he'd killed. He had experience. The Unsullied were always around her. That was a huge problem. He'd been in the castle for almost a month and still couldn't find any gaps in their defenses.

The lords' mansions were well defended. He tried to sneak in and almost lost his life. He remembered the Unsullied's spear sticking into the wall where his body had been seconds before. The ball-less bastards were annoying.

He stalked for days. He has to maintain his facade as a worker. They made him prepare mortar and carry it during the day. At night, he was too tired, but he managed to find time for his main task.

After a long time, he finally saw an opportunity. The she-wolf went alone to the godswood, without the little princess, whom he was ordered not to touch, and without guards.

He entered stealthily. He prepared the small dagger in his hand. He watched her kneel in front of the weirwood tree. Exposed to him. He started to run, but his body fell to the ground. Soon, he looked up at the queen above him, staring at him.

"Looks like we found him, Torrhen," he heard her voice, cold as ice. "Should we interrogate him?"

"Qyburn will make him talk; no need to waste saliva," said the man's voice. After that, he just stared at the sole of his boot before losing consciousness.

The next time he woke up, he was tied to a table. His limbs were stretched out. The room was empty, except for a desk with glass jars on it. He tried to free himself, but couldn't. For hours, no one visited him. Paranoia began to take hold of him.

"Ah, I'm sorry I neglected you. I'll attend to you right away," said the old voice that greeted him. He was carrying another stretcher with a man on it.

The old man in question was Qyburn—another of his targets. The king believed that this man was the one who would bring about change, not Prince Jaehaerys.

He was not afraid to die; R'hllor would protect him. Although inside the castle, his bond with the red god had weakened.

"You are a healthy man," the maester looked at him with narrowed eyes as if he were a book for him to read. "The prince asked me to extract information from you if possible. But he already knows who sent you, so that is secondary," said the man. "The main thing is, of course... science!" He watched as the man took out a metal tool with a black crystal at the tip.

He did not know what that man would bring him. But with Rhllor's help, he would endure it.

"See this?" Qyburn showed him a jar. He didn't recognize what was inside; it was a reddish-brown color. It was shaped like a beech, although much larger. "It's a kidney. It helps filter the blood. Sometimes men get sick, and you have to replace the kidney." The killer trembled. "But the body remembers and knows how to recognize what isn't its own. All the patients I've had so far have failed to accept the kidney. Jaehaerys said it was unlikely unless they were related. But you... You'll help me prove that it can happen, right? You'll live, I promise. I want to say the same for the other man, but I can't do two operations at once," the man sweated cold with fear. "But I guess he'll live through you."

The maester did not look at him as a human being, but as an experiment. He did not care about his suffering or his well-being; he just wanted to get information from him, no, not him, from his body.

"But using it like that out of the blue could kill you very quickly," said the old man. "I would like to experiment. But the trauma could cause you to reject the organ even more strongly..." He seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to try something else. "Ah, I guess I'll have to get straight to the point. Your body will serve one way or another," the man took a glass jar with a white liquid in it.

'R'hllor, save me,' the man closed his eyes, waiting to die by the flames of his lord.

"Open your mouth." The old man's hand was strong. "Ah, you have no tongue. That explains why you didn't answer. Never mind, the poppy milk will put you to sleep."

'My R'hllor, My R'hllor, why have you abandoned me?" He thought before sinking into a deep sleep.

---------------

Jaehaerys did not fear common assassins. Only faceless men. That is why he sent an informant to Braavos. All he had to do was watch to see if anyone from Westeros entered the House of Black and White. So far, he had received no signal.

It was no guarantee, but it was something he could do. He did not fear poison; he knew that crystals could neutralize it. And if anyone got close enough with a weapon, the necklace would warn him. He gave his wife a dagger to defend herself in case the last line of her own protection depended on her. He taught her how to use it, and she did well.

Thinking of the faceless men, the best assassins in the world, he wondered: how much is his head worth?

---------------

"A man has asked," a dark-haired man with empty blue eyes looked at the man in front of him.

Jon Connington was on a mission for his silver king. Rhaegar had tasked him with inquiring about the price of the lives of the princess and the prince. The king's two siblings had committed treason.

"And what is the price of his head?" the griffin asked impatiently. Looking at the man with that stoic gaze made him nervous.

"His life does not belong to the god of many faces," replied the flat voice.

"What?" Jon couldn't believe his ears. "What do you mean by that?" But the voice remained silent. "And what about the princess?"

"Seven kingdoms," Jon simply snorted and turned away.

He would have to find other assassins to do what the Faceless Men dared not do. He wanted to return to Westeros as soon as possible. To warn his silver king about the existence of his bastard brother.

He needed to organize the deaths of the younger siblings so that he would not return to King's Landing anytime soon. After the Faceless Men, the best were the Sorrowful Men. Jon heard that they were known for whispering, "I am so sorry," before killing their victims.

The Griffin could send an informant to Rhaegar to tell him about his half-brother, but he wanted to be the one to break the news himself.

Jon returned to the inn where he was staying for one last night. He heard the men whispering about the Manderly fleet. Apparently, the Fat Lord had sent his fleet out to trade. Connington sneered.

'The fucking northerners shouldn't be allowed to leave their cold lands,' he thought angrily of those who had betrayed his king.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys thought of the north. The cold lands where he grew up. Had he stayed there, he would have enjoyed peace and tranquility. Perhaps he could even have taken Sansa's hand and inherited a castle. But the north was isolated and had few resources. And he would have to be under the command of Lord Stark and, after him, the king.

At ArgentStone, he had everything at his fingertips and answered only to the king. And not even to him. The dragons gave him the privilege of ignoring the king if he wished.

Sometimes he thought about taking the throne. He did not doubt that once the lords saw that he had an army of more than eight thousand, they would think he was behind that monstrosity.

Taking the throne meant entering into an even greater drama than he was already in. He would have to appease the Lannisters, the Martells, and find a way to keep everyone happy. It was too much trouble; it would leave him with little time to fulfill his purpose in this world.

The soft moan to his right reminded him of his current situation. Daenerys and Ros were curled up beside him. He didn't even know how it had started, whether it was him, Dany, or the redhead who had taken the initiative. But it ended up like this.

He couldn't help but feel vigorous. In his previous life, he was pro-monogamy, although perhaps that was because two girls never looked at him at the same time. He was a nerd studying three majors simultaneously. Sometimes he would drop one to start another. He never graduated from any of them, but the accumulated knowledge did not escape him.

At times, he wondered if his first life had been merely a prologue, preparing him for this world. To acquire the tools necessary to thrive in this world. His family did not love him before he died, nor did they hate him; they were like background characters in a life immersed in books.

Now, in this world, he had to deal with a god of fire, another god of ice, a demigod with a thousand and one eyes, and his brother, the new mad king.

He got out of bed without waking either of the two women. That day marked ten months since he left Winterfell to answer his brother's call. Ten moons since he traded the cold snow for the warmer and more sinister Harrenhal.

In another three moons, it would be a year. Since sun cycles here were measured every thirteen moons, it was a system of three hundred and sixty-four days. It was a day and a quarter shorter than the solar years in his former land. Although it was much rarer, for years the Earth could remain at a constant distance from the Sun, without moving away or closer to it. This caused a continuous summer.

Then it would decide to move away from the sun, causing a winter that could last for generations, if history has been well documented.

It was illogical. And only magic and the gods could explain it.

His steps led him to the Godswood, where he encountered a surprise in the form of a brown-haired girl.

"Lady Redwyne," he watched her tense up, but did not show her surprise. "Admiring the dragons?" A silver wing could be seen in the distance.

"Everyone who hears about the Targaryens in their heyday is curious to see them," the girl confessed, relaxing when she heard no rebuke.

"I hope Westeros doesn't need to see them anytime soon." He hated war and hated killing. But his hand would not tremble if he had to do what is necessary.

--------------------

Desmera remained silent, still lost in her thoughts. She wanted to look at the dragons and see how they had grown. Her grandmother, Olenna, had urged her to report back, but with the prince discovering her, she hesitated. She saw them tear apart a cow brought by one of the keepers. The ease with which they separated and burned the blood was terrifying.

She did not want to join their victims.

"There are those who say they should never have returned," the comment escaped her mouth.

"When you are at the mercy of another man who is stronger, better armed, more skilled, you think the same thing," Jaeaherys commented. "Several men have told me that before I killed them. Not always with words, but a man's eyes are the window to his soul," the girl shuddered. The prince's voice was raspy and mature. "They say that because they are inferior out of fear. If everyone had dragons, they wouldn't think the same. Don't you agree, Lady Redwyne?"

She hummed in agreement. If her grandmother, Olenna, had had a dragon, she wouldn't have complained when she heard about the birth of three.

"They are magnificent," she said when she saw one take flight. Sometimes the workers can see them flying above the trees in the forest. "A tool of war. But war also brings peace. Prince Jaehaerys, what do you desire?"

"I want to finish my castle. I want to spend the rest of my life developing my land and researching. To have children and watch them grow into men and women," he confessed. "For that, I need peace. And I will use dragon fire on anyone who breaks it," was a veiled threat. The Reach was unhappy with Viserys.

Desmera swallowed hard. The prince was terrifying at first glance, but she didn't believe he would kill her. She had seen the men talk about war; they had smiles and happiness as if the feeling of killing someone made them happy. Jaehaerys spoke of war not with devotion, but with respect, as something that had to be done, even if it was unpleasant.

At times, she considered her grandmother's words.

"Use what you have between your legs to charm him and keep him coming back for more," but she couldn't. Not for lack of desire. It was simply too risky. Olenna knew that, otherwise, she would have sent Margaery. But the Queen of Thorns didn't love Desmera that much.

"Even so, my lady. The forest is forbidden unless you are a caretaker," he said, and she bowed her head and made a majestic curtsy.

"Curiosity clouded my judgment," she excused herself vaguely.

"Dragons usually eat sheep and cows... but humans are not off the menu," he said. She let out a nervous giggle, not knowing if it was a threat or if he was worried that the dragons would hurt her.

"I understand, my prince. I will leave then, the princess wishes to break her fast with her ladies," she walked away with a determined stride. At a certain distance, she turned her head to see if his eyes were following her figure.

But no, they were fixed on the forest. A wave of disappointment washed over her. She had been comparing herself to the princess since she arrived at ArgentStone. With such a beautiful woman as his wife, the other ladies must be like pack mules.

-------------

He entered the forest. The dragons seemed to smell him. The black one looked at him with a small show of respect. The red dragon hid, and the silver one ran in his direction.

'He was an idiot,' he thought, amused and concerned. He wondered if this curious and friendly creature would be capable of burning armies. He remembered her eating Lyanna's guards. Her pleasant attitude suddenly became terrifying.

The dragons were already bigger than him, more than capable of defending themselves against humans. But he still kept them in the forest. Soon, however, it would be too small for them. They were still weak against arrows and spears. He wasn't afraid they would fly away. Only the red one was riderless, and it was too cowardly to stray far from the other two.

Dany and he had been designing a place for them to rest. The initial plans were done. But it would take too long to build. Even then, it would delay other construction projects. They had to finish the dragon pit in less than a year, because at the rate they were growing, they would start knocking down trees just by walking in the Godswood.

Daenerys wanted to replicate the Dragonpit in the capital. But Jaehaerys forbade it. It was confining them in caves that caused them to begin shrinking in size. Her three dragons were special. They were imbued with the Jera growth rune. Their size was abnormal for their age.

The best thing was a tower that would allow them to take flight and live more freely. It would not be a closed tower, like those in the castle, but it had to be able to support the weight of several adult dragons. Dany gave the order to begin digging the foundations for a large tower. They would start with a simple but sturdy floor. The walls would be much thicker than those of the towers, approximately three times thicker. Almost 300 feet in diameter. It was about half the diameter of the Roman Colosseum.

It would have arches to distribute the weight once more floors began to be added. It would not be as tall as the other towers, but it would be much larger.

It was a long-term project and would be built in parallel with the rest of the construction. They could start immediately. But another problem limited them.

'Bricks, bricks again,' he had to increase the production.

Chapter Text

[Five moons later]

At the beginning, Jaehaerys had about five thousand five hundred men to work with. With constant migration to his lands, that number grew to over nine thousand. These men were divided into several groups.

The prince sent enough men to the bricks to complete a thousand. This ensured a production of approximately 300,000 bricks per day. 300 men extracted clay. Another 600 were in the mines, extracting coal and iron. Another 1000 men were responsible for transporting either iron, coal, or clay. Approximately 500 men and women worked in the factories that produced the goods sold.

Around 400 men worked in the shipyards. At that time, he had a total of 15 active Drakkars and 25 stationed. Each ship required a total of 20, so another 300 of his men were there. That left him with more than 5,000 workers dedicated entirely to construction.

The rest of the men were divided between construction, either building the towers or laying the foundations. The construction of the castle constantly required 3,000 men.

The two remaining towers had already been demolished. The foundations, both for the towers and the walls connecting them, had already been excavated, and now the men were busy pouring stone and mortar into them. He ordered them to throw in bricks with runes to improve the foundations. The men shrugged and obeyed.

Children and women were running back and forth, carrying small materials and food, which increased the efficiency of the construction.

The construction of the dragon tower required 500 men, and they had barely begun to excavate. Dany also requested 200 men to turn the Bear Pit into a water reservoir. She planned to expand it and build walls on the land. His wife also asked that another 500 men be hired to dig an artificial lake in the area where the castle would be expanded.

It was a huge, deep lake that could store almost a million cubic meters of water.

The rest of the men were outside, digging the expansion of the outer walls. Their former 80 acres of land would expand to 120 acres. A considerable amount, but in times of war, it would enable them to keep a large portion of their population safe.

Not all the black stone would be suitable for the expansion, but they would supplement it with fired brick. That wall could be built after the castle.

Once completed, the outer walls would form a rectangle measuring approximately 1,800 feet by 2,300 feet. His castle would cover a total of 9 acres, minus the 20 acres of the gods' forest, leaving him with 91 acres of free space, an enormous amount of land where he would grow crops and make room for refugees when war came to his doorstep. Of that space, about ten acres would be for the smithies and their forges, the stable, the armory, and the Dragon Tower.

He also needed to build barracks for his soldiers. He planned to maintain an army of at least ten thousand, which required approximately sixteen acres of land. But if he built three-story barracks, he could reduce that space to about six acres.

Jaehaerys held his chin as he thought.

He had another option, which was to build several fortresses outside his castle throughout his lands and distribute his armies among them. He could keep about two or three thousand men near his castle and send about seven thousand away to keep the peace in his lands.

His land was one of the most extensive in the area. It covered a total of a million acres. However, it was not so densely populated. Banditry was prominent, and he had already heard about how newcomers had fallen victim to it.

He ordered a hundred soldiers to be sent out on patrol, but they were insufficient. To send out more men would mean leaving the castle and the village, where most of the people lived, unprotected.

Brandon should return soon. Jaehaerys had exchanged letters with Lord William Mooton of Maidenpool. In the letters, he asked him to let Brandon pass, as he would be bringing men from the east. The man agreed to his request in exchange for the right to buy 15 of his ships for 400 gold dragons. The man wanted to experience sailing the Trident. Jaehaerys did not refuse. It was less than they were worth, but if they went another way, his men would take a long time to arrive.

From Maidenpool to Argentstone, it was almost a two weeks journey. Considering it was a vast army, it would be about three weeks. The problem was that there was no road between the two settlements. Building roads was something he would think about when he had more men.

The other option was to go to King's Landing and march along the royal road. It would probably take them a week less to get there. But the king could block their passage and request his presence at court.

Brandon could also go to White Harbor and disembark there. But he would have to pass through the Freys.

"Perhaps Brandon will get a wife, then," Walder Frey lacked courage and had too many descendants.

Maidenpool was the most viable option; they would already be halfway there by the time his brother found out. With that small army, he would be a considerable threat. It gave him the confidence to face armies. Even his dragons could now be used in battle. They couldn't roast entire armies, but their value in instilling fear was unquestionable.

He would only fear Tywin Lannister's cavalry and infantry. But starting a war on that scale was impossible. He wondered how many would answer the king's call if he ordered a war against his younger brother for no reason. Rhaegar couldn't say, "It's a preventive measure" without looking afraid. It would make him look weak. No, his brother would begin to repress him.

It was unfortunate for Rhaegar that, in speaking with Lord Arryn, he found an inactive volcano in his mountains. It seemed illogical to him that there was not a single one in all of Westeros. Arryn, despite all the bad blood between their families, informed him of the existence of several volcanoes and said he was willing to trade.

It would be a problem now to have to pay for the ash, but he would no longer depend on his brother. The deception of the dragons served its purpose by buying him time. Now, with a real army, he was not an easy target.

Jaehaerys looked at the map that outlined his territory. It was rough and sparsely populated. The lands along the rivers suffered the most in wars. That is why they are not as rich as the Reach. He marked three points on the map. The five barracks for his soldiers would be built there, spread throughout his territory, not too close to the borders so as not to alert his neighbors.

"My prince," he heard someone knock on the door of his estate.

"Come in." It was a knight, one who had followed him since the king's landing. Some had deserted when they saw him worship pagan gods. But others remained out of admiration.

"There is a letter for you," the man held out a piece of paper folded into a rectangle. Jaehaerys thought about the need to build a paper mill, something he had put aside. He had enormous reserves. However, it could also provide an extra income for the citadel. The letter was from his mother or Brandon.

'Brandon,' he thought when he saw the sender.

"You may leave," the man bowed and left.

The letter made him frown. It announced Brandon's arrival in Maidenpool and informed him of his journey. In addition to the Unsullied, he was bringing civil slaves and a "surprise". He talk about Robert Baratheon's moves. Who, according to the letter, would face the Golden Company. He also warned him of a possible half-brother who was a bastard who rode elephants.

'Blackfyre'

The black dragon against the exiled stag. Jaehaerys hoped they would kill each other.

'Robert would never join a pretender, would he?' The doubt gave him a headache.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure about those numbers, Jon?" The king looked as serious and melancholic as ever. But inside, he was boiling with rage.

"More than ten thousand soldiers. Most of them, Unsullied, they were also carrying slaves," said the griffin, bowing his head as if he blamed himself for not being able to sink the ships in the ocean.

Rhaegar looked around at the assembled council. Today, even Oberyn seemed interested in the meeting, although his position was usually more of a courtesy and an apology to Dorne for taking a second wife.

"Since they passed King's Landing, it means they will take another route, such as Maidenpool," said Pycelle, drawing out his words. Sometimes, Rhaegar wished he would fall down the stairs.

"We can send a letter to Lord William to prevent them from landing," Baelish said with his ever-present sharp smile.

"It would be useless," Aegon said. He had recovered well from the wound inflicted by the dragon. "By the time the letter arrives, his men will have already landed," he added.

"Although, surprisingly, we haven't sighted the fleet," said Paxter. He thought he had made a mistake in sending his daughter with the prince.

"They say it doesn't need to approach the coast to stay on course," Oberyn had his feet up on the table, seemingly unconcerned but attentive.

"It seems the Manderlys have achieved something interesting," said Petyr, scratching the small goatee on his chin.

"I don't think it was the Manderlys," Varys interjected. And everyone fell silent. No one liked the eunuch's voice being so low, but if they wanted to hear it, noise was not welcome. "The prince has already proven himself to be a brilliant mind."

"Perfumes and soaps don't make him brilliant," Jon complained, dismissing his words.

Varys reached into his tunic. A transparent cylinder-shaped bottle appeared between his fingers.

"More than the exquisite aromas of perfumes and soaps. I speak of this," he said, placing the bottle on the table.

Oberyn took it with a quick movement and began to inspect it. Although Cersei had acquired some of these famous perfumes, he had never paid any attention to them.

"A glass from Myr?" Connington scoffed.

"It's not from Myr," said Prince Martell, looking closely at the container. At the base were a J and a T, barely perceptible. "Jaehaerys Targaryen," he said as he passed it to Aegon's outstretched hand. "That's a little egocentric, even for me," he joked.

"Myr's glass is greenish, the prince's is transparent. It seems more refined and pure," said Varys.

"That makes it more dangerous, then. Why, having these creations, does he not share them with the crown?" asked Connington. "Your Grace, your brother has gone too far in bringing an entire army of eunuchs," he paused for a moment when he heard Varys clear his throat, "slaves."

"This isn't the first time my brother has bought slaves and freed them," said Rhaegar, unable to hide his irritation. "Do you have anything to add, Lord Tarly?"

The master-at-arms had remained silent until that moment. He was listening. His mind absorbed the words as he related them to his eldest son growing up with Prince Jaehaerys.

"The Unsullied are the perfect army. And from what my son has told me, the outer walls of Harrenhal—"

"Argentstone," Varys corrected. "It was renamed Argentstone."

"Argentstone!" The man's nostrils flared. "Its outer walls have already been repaired. Taking the fortress with the Unsullied inside would be an arduous task. Walls over 80 feet high," he seemed to rack his brains at the thought of an assault, "it is not wise."

"We can starve them out," Jon said.

"Along with Princess Visenya, Queen Lyanna, Princess Serena Martell, and as I hear it, Samwell Tarly and Desmera Redwyne are tenants at ArgentStone," the spider had a smile on his face. "And let's not forget the dragons."

No one spoke in favor of an assault after that. The loss of resources in attempting to take the castle was not feasible. They could besiege it for years, but that would endanger the king's daughter and his queen. The dragons could grow large enough to be a danger.

"My brother has done nothing unlawful. Right, Oberyn?" the king asked his brother-in-law.

"If it is not forbidden, it is permitted, Your Grace," interjected the Dornishman, master of laws.

"Then let us stop talking about him as a criminal," said Aegon. "While his actions may be interpreted as dangerous, they arise from the need to protect his dragons," he defended his uncle. Despite his words, his hand went to his chest.

Jaehaerys was not mentioned again except for Jon, who wanted to bring him to the capital to exploit his inventions. Although the griffin had no seat on the council after leaving his position as Hand, no one asked him to leave. Rhaegar knew that there were few people more loyal than he. Blinded by loyalty to the point of doing stupid things for him.

The meeting was adjourned, and the king and Connington remained in the council chamber.

"You said you had something to tell me?" Connington had taken the chair that Aegon had warmed, the one closest to the king.

"Yes, Your Grace. It's about the Golden Company and... my mission," he said secretively.

"Speak," the king made a move to take a jug of wine. But Connington, loyal as a dog, stepped forward.

"There are rumors of a bastard of King Aerys in the Golden Company," Connington had waited moons to tell him.

"I know. He is currently facing Robert Baratheon in the disputed lands." Connington's face fell as he poured wine.

"What? Ah, Varys," he replied to himself. "Do you confirm that this is true?"

"As real as any rumor about bastards," the king interjected, "I received a letter from the boy. A commander of the company brought it. Since he is fighting Robert, he asked me for resources." his soft, silky voice seduced Jon, who instinctively leaned toward him.

"And will you, my king?" he asked, his gaze mesmerized by those beautiful indigo eyes.

"I will. Even if he is not my bastard half-brother, he is fighting against Baratheon," he explained. And Jon nodded at his wisdom, without questioning it. "What about the other task?"

"The Faceless Men refused," he said quietly, his eyes looking at the prince's lips, colored red by wine. "I went to Qaarth to hire the Sorrowful Men. We should hear news soon."

"Was the gold not enough for the House of Black and White?" Seeing the king's frown gave Jon a stomachache.

"No. They said the traitor's life does not belong to the god of many faces," he seemed about to fall to his knees.

"And my sister?"

"They asked for Seven Kingdoms for her life," he recalled the assassin's words.

Rhaegar understood the price of a life. Everyone must die, but not all lives are of equal value. The more complicated a person is to kill, the higher the price. But it could also increase depending on that person's importance to the god of many faces. Daenerys' high price could come from her ability to hatch dragons.

Perhaps it was she, and not Jaehaerys, who was special.

"You did a good job, Jon," the prince allowed himself a small smile. "The prices at the House of Black and White are a mystery even to me." His hand caressed the lord's shoulder.

"If my prince asks." Sometimes, when Jon got excited, he made the mistake of calling him prince instead of king. "If the assassins don't work, I'll raise an army and take Harrenhal for you. I'll take the heads of the prince and princess, even if it makes me a traitor to the crown," the man swore enthusiastically.

"And where would I find such a loyal man, Jon?" whispered the king. "No. Could you do something else for me? The ships that carry ash from Dragonstone? Sink them—just two or three. I'll stop the supply.

"I know a pirate, my king." The griffin's hand felt bold and rested on the prince's thigh. "I will sink whatever ships you ask, my king."

"That is enough, Jon," said the prince, placing his hand over Jon's on his leg.

Connington rose immediately. He bowed exaggeratedly and almost ran out.

Rhaegar watched the fool leave. Connington was happy to touch him. The king didn't care. He knew that being a sodomite was frowned upon. Although for him, men and women were equal.

He felt no desire for either.

His only desire was to see the prophecy fulfilled.

'Why do you oppose me, brother?' thought the king, melancholy.

Chapter Text

"Do you want to learn how to fight?" he asked the girl.

"Yes, Prince, please," said Serena Martell.

It was the first time she had approached him to ask him for something. He had made sure she had the best possible living conditions; he wanted to ease her pain a little.

"It's a little surprising that you don't know how to fight; your sisters are renowned warriors." The sand snakes were lethal and, despite their gender, were not to be taken lightly. "I didn't think your father wouldn't allow you to train."

"Father always let us choose. Because of my mother's words, I decided not to learn," she said. Her face was a mask of stone. "Because of my mother's words, I decided to remain silent," she added at the end, her voice unchanging.

"What weapon do you want to use?" He would not deny her request; he had no reason to.

"A three-section staff. That's what your weapon is called, right?" she said.

Jaehaerys' white eyebrows rose. No one had ever asked him to teach them how to fight directly. Although his weapon was imposing, once they tried to lift it and realized that one nasty blow would break their jaw, they discarded any attempt to use it.

They were both in the prince's manor. A Dornish soldier stood at the door, guarding against any indecent acts. Although he didn't seem to care much about the princess's chastity, probably no one in Dorne would care.

"Come, take it," he pointed to his weapon with his index finger. It hung on the wall, the whole staff beside it, and a giant axe accompanying them. Although Jaehaerys planned to make something like a sword breaker, adding a new weapon to his arsenal.

"It's heavy," the girl could barely carry it, making a considerable effort. She had never trained her body before, so it was no surprise.

"Choose another weapon," he said.

She looked at the weapon with a frown.

"No. I want to learn how to use it," she remained stubborn.

"You can't even lift it. Most men can't use it," he said, wanting to spare her feelings.

"I'm not a man," she replied.

"And you're not me either," he replied.

"Why are you so strong? Is it true that the gods blessed you?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know," his words were honest.

When he regained his memories, he only remembered the way he died. It was a rather silly death, actually.

It was in college. He was pursuing her umpteenth degree and planned to drop out at the end of that semester. Microbiology was boring.

You'd think the most dangerous thing in a microbiology lab would be the bacteria you work with, right? However, in reality, there was something else that posed a greater danger.

An autoclave. It's essentially a pressure cooker used to sterilize the materials you'll be working with. If it builds up enough pressure, it can explode.

That was precisely what happened that day. The lid flew off, and he barely had time to turn his head to see a piece of metal flying toward his head.

After that, his vision was blurred and his senses dulled. He was a baby again.

He didn't know why he was reincarnated. It was over the years that he discovered he was... better than an ordinary man. Faster, stronger, smarter. His strength was not logical in any way. Not even the fastest sprinters in his previous life ran as fast as he did, and the strongest men couldn't hold a candle to him.

"And... can't it be lighter?" asked the girl.

Altair thought about it. Initially, a three-section staff weighed much less. It was made of wood, not metal, and weighed about three pounds.

Although he thought it would be a hassle to teach her personally.

"It can be fixed," he agreed. He had tried to teach Daenerys how to use a weapon other than a dagger, but the princess didn't want to. He taught her to use a dagger as well as he could, but it was never a bad idea to know how to use a weapon.

If he taught someone else, a woman, his wife would probably ask him to teach her, too.

"Thank you, Prince," the girl curtsied prettily.

The only good thing she inherited from her mother was her manners. Cersei really took pains to make her daughter a perfect princess, in every sense of the word.

"First, you will learn to wield a wooden staff," he began.

He had a three-section staff forged at the beginning, only to learn that it was actually too difficult to imitate Toji.

So, he first learned to use a staff, then nunchucks, and finally the three-section staff, known in Japanese as Sansetsukon.

He was mainly self-taught; beyond a few videos he had seen, he knew very little about the subject. Perhaps if he had lived longer, he would have enrolled in a martial arts school to learn it.

Leaving his career behind once again, he was already quite good at wasting his life.

'Not this one', he said to himself.

"Why?" asked the girl.

"You need it. After learning from the staff, you will progress to a two-section staff, and then you will be able to use the three-section staff. I must warn you, it is a weapon that can hurt you," she looked at him, blinking rapidly.

"Pain?" she asked rhetorically.

He took a deep breath.

'I suppose few things are more painful than being abused by your family, even having your own mother as your brother's accomplice,' thought the prince.

"I'll have one for you soon. I'll ask you to familiarize yourself with it," the prince dismissed her with those words.

She seemed to understand. She bowed and left.

'A broken doll,' he thought. 'At least she wanted to do something on her own now, ' before she was doing nothing, just existing.

In a way, he could identify with her. In his previous life...

"My prince," a knight arrived to deliver a message.

When Jaehaerys allowed him to enter, he immediately knelt.

"Speak, Ser," the prince poured him a glass of water out of courtesy. The man had come running.

It was unusual for someone of higher status to do such a thing. Some would say it was unseemly, but the man looked at him with gratitude and devotion. He was a follower of the Seven, but not even the weirwood could dent his loyalty to Jaehaerys.

"Brandon, Brandon has returned, thousands of men have been spotted, your blazon stands among them," said the man. He added no titles, though Jaehaerys would make Brandon a lord at some point.

"When will they arrive?" asked Jaehaerys.

"Tomorrow before noon," the man replied quickly.

"Drink," Jaehaerys handed him the cup. The man looked at him, about to refuse, but something in the prince's posture made him obey.

He drank the water slowly, not wanting to risk choking in front of the prince, which would be the shame of his life.

Jaehaerys offered him his hand to help him stand up.

"Your name was Symon, wasn't it?" The man opened his eyes wide and stood still when he was recognized. Not even in his wildest dreams did he think that the prince would remember a knight errant like him.

Jaehaerys helped him to his feet with ease.

"Yes, my pin- my prince, your highness, forgive me," the man bowed his head.

"It is satisfying to have good men in ArgentStone," said the prince, patting the man on the shoulder. "Can you spread the word about Brandon's arrival?" he asked.

"Y-Yes!" the man almost shouted in front of him. "I will, my prince," he left the room so quickly that even the soldier, who was guarding outside, was startled.

'A real army,' he thought with a smile.

Infantry. He still had to get archers and horsemen. He wondered if the Unsullied could ride horses or shoot bows; if so, they would be incredibly versatile.

He had never heard of such activities being carried out by the army of eunuchs, but he would have time to find out.

Before, he would have been afraid to bring such a large army of slaves into Westeros, but now he had brought slaves into his castle. Few lords rose against him.

Most sought to ingratiate themselves, flattering him for freeing the slaves from the clutches of the Essosi.

He was initially concerned about the red priests, but it was possible that R'hllor could not see inside his castle. Jaehaerys had done everything possible to ensure that this was the case. It was also possible that the god wanted the army to fall into Daenerys's hands, as in the canon.

Either way, it didn't matter; the Unsullied were at his gates.

Chapter Text

Brandon brought not only an army of Unsullied, but also a defeated mercenary company. It wasn't just any company; it was the Company of Roses. The man had forgotten to mention that in his letters.

The massive army attracted attention from all sides. The workers, the merchants, everyone paid attention.

The Unsullied moved as one man, like a perfect machine, designed to obey. The only army with more discipline would be that of the dead on the other side of the wall.

Jaehaerys could imagine the cries of the lords, but he couldn't care less. He had an army, he had dragons. All that was missing was his castle. By that time, the foundations were already complete. Three of the seven towers were already built. Construction on Daenerys' library was about to begin.

It had been a challenge to find the right conditions, but with the towers already built, he ordered a harness system to be created for the workers.

Brick production was sufficient at that point.

Jaehaerys looked at his army and even thought about putting them to work. It was not uncommon in times of peace for armies to assist in civilian development.

The prince decided to put men on patrol and assigned the rest to construction. Other lords might consider him foolish, Tywin foremost among them. But he did not care; if it increased construction speed, he would not hesitate to use them.

The men patrolling brought peace to their lands, and with that, he hoped that migration would increase even more.

"Brandon," he greeted as he approached, the man riding alongside a beautiful woman with gray-blue eyes and silver hair.

Jaehaerys wanted to arrange a marriage between Brandon and one of Walder Frey's ugliest daughters, perhaps Lady "Fat" Walda Frey.

"My prince," the man made a move to kneel.

Jaehaerys allowed his knee to touch the ground for a second before reaching out to help him to his feet. The woman beside Brandon only bowed her head slightly.

"I think you forgot to mention a few things, Brandon," the prince said as he reached out his hand to the woman.

She was dressed in leather. She was beautiful, but she did not appear to be a maiden. When she took his hand, he could feel the calluses from wielding a weapon.

"This is Rowena Stark," Brandon introduced her, with a smile, as if he expected Jaehaerys to go mad.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark," he said, not bowing to kiss her hand; the woman gave him the impression of hating courtesies.

"The pleasure is mine, My Prince," she replied. "Brandon has spoken wonders of you. You are as attractive as he describes," she teased the young bastard a little.

"It's nice to see that Brandon remembers me on his loneliest nights. Although it's a little disturbing," joked the prince. "Men with extravagant tastes can rise high, Brandon, but not with me. I'm sure I could find a knight willing to crown you in tournaments," Brandon's face turned green.

"Well, no, that's not happening," denied the bastard of Manderly. "Here, take this," he handed him a leather whip. "This controls all the ball-less men back there. I'm going to find Tohrren," he left quickly, leaving the woman with Jaehaerys.

The prince looked at the army. They had a spear, a shield, and light leather armor. Their faces showed no reaction—only coldness.

"Dany, you can take Miss Rowena inside. I'm sure Lyanna could find common ground with her," his wife had remained by his side.

Perhaps that was why Brandon didn't say anything extremely vulgar. The man somehow had an impeccable reputation with Daenerys and didn't seem to want to change that.

Both women left quickly. Daenerys tried to talk to the leader of the company of roses. The woman was rude and, besides mocking Brandon, was not very talkative.

The woman arrived with six hundred men, who separated from the Unsullied and were now camped outside the castle walls. Brandon had brought another two thousand purchased slaves, who looked at him with indifference.

The Unsullied were not like other men, not in any way. They underwent hellish training to become what they were. The men who trained them were devoid of even the slightest bit of empathy.

Trained from a young age, they endured pain, exhaustion, and hunger. Those who couldn't endure it are no longer among the living.

Jaehaerys remembered that their last training session, something like their graduation, consisted of taking a baby from a slave woman and killing it in front of its mother. It was cruel, but they couldn't refuse, or rather, they didn't have the capacity to refuse.

Among the slaves, there were two types: those who were enslaved and those who were born slaves. The first group would be the most difficult to keep, while the second was almost 100% certain to stay with him.

He had thought about how to avoid the issue of slavery. He could ignore it before, say that they were free men, and that was that; no one would question it. But with such a large army, he couldn't. He had to say it publicly. Both to avoid problems and to gain the loyalty of the Unsullied.

"Everyone!" he shouted. His voice broke the silence like a hammer striking glass—the eyes of the slave warriors fixed on him. "Days before your arrival, I gave an order, a new law. All those who set foot in ArgentStone will be free," he continued. He got no reaction from the immaculate ones. "If you had a family, if you had a place to go, you are free to leave. I'll find a way to help you," he said sincerely, although deep down he hoped no one would leave.

He couldn't keep them there against their will, even though he appreciated their obedience.

"If you stay here, I'll give you a home, I'll give you food, I'll give you purpose," he proclaimed. He watched as some of them looked at him as if nothing had happened, indifferent. "I don't want slaves under my command. I'll have free people. Free warriors," his speech might not have worked.

His argument was weak. They didn't know him. They probably didn't know his name; he was just another owner.

"I want to create a world where there are no slaves, where no mothers are crying because their child was murdered. I want to create a world full of peace," he said at the end. "If you want to stay here, under my command, under my rules, under my protection. If you want to help me create that new world: Take a step forward."

To his delight, most of them did. Only a few of the ordinary slaves remained where they were. He would deal with them later.

"This," he raised the whip. "It's just a reminder of your slavery. You don't obey whips. You are free," he shattered the whip in his hands, the leather splitting apart like freshly baked bread.

The Unsullied began to beat their spears on their shields. The thunderous noise ended with the civilian slaves pounding their fists on their chests to show their support somehow.

They were slaves, at the end of the day. Despite what Jaehaerys said, not all of them had a place to belong. The best he could do was give them a better quality of life.

Jaehaerys had already ordered barracks to be built for the Unsullied, although for now they would have to camp outside the walls. His plans included building several outposts throughout his lands.

At that moment, he needed to speak with Brandon to obtain a more accurate report. And probably negotiate with Rowena.

There was also Lord Manderly, who was traveling to ArgentStone. Apparently, he had spent too much time in Maidenpool and was unable to accompany them. Probably Brandon just left him behind.

Jaehaerys did not particularly enjoy politics, but that was the way it was.

Chapter Text

"This castle used to be called Harrenhal, right?" Rowena commented as they walked.

The Stark's eyes scanned the castle, scrutinizing it as if trying to memorize it completely. That put Daenerys on guard.

"It was. It was built by Harren the Black. It was destroyed by Aegon the First's dragon," Dany said.

"Dragons. Even on the other side of the Narrow Sea, there are rumors about your dragons, princess. One black, one white, and one copper." The woman's eyes begged for information.

"They are magnificent. It is a joy to have them back," Dany couldn't help but smile.

"A joy for the Targaryens," the woman remarked.

A tense silence followed between them.

"A joy for Jaehaerys and me, for Argentstone," said the princess.

The woman looked at the three enormous towers already built. Two twin towers and a larger one behind them. She couldn't help but let out a sigh of admiration.

"Each of those towers must be larger than the Titan of Braavos," the woman remarked.

"The small ones are 500 feet tall, and the largest is 600 feet tall," she said proudly.

Dany felt incredible when she saw the admiring glances of all who visited her castle. She couldn't wait to see when the entire castle was complete.

The dragon tower had only just begun to have its foundations dug. Daenerys would like it to rise above all the other towers, taller than the lighthouse of Oldtown, taller than the wall.

But according to Jaehaerys, it was better for the tower to be built wider, although with enough dragons it might be necessary to increase its size until it touched the clouds.

"I must admit that I have only seen the pyramids in Meereen as something taller. Although given the way they are built, they cannot be compared," began the warrior.

Dany did not know who she really was, only that she was leading a group of men and women. They were probably a mercenary company.

"May I ask about Essos, Lady Rowena?" asked the princess.

"What would you like to know, princess?" Daenerys led her to a weirwood, and the woman's eyes widened as she looked at the enormous tree.

It could easily go unnoticed, as people's eyes tend to be drawn naturally to the towers. But the tree in the middle of the castle was undoubtedly the largest weirwood Daenerys had ever seen. However, Jaehaerys said that the one at Winterfell was still a little bigger.

"About that young man, my supposed bastard brother," Brandon's letter days ago had warned them of the presence of a supposed offspring of King Aerys.

Jaehaerys frowned as he read the letter, as if he had swallowed a jug of his own whiskey in one gulp.

"Ah, Aegon. I know little about him. He appeared in the Golden Company, and it was his Targaryen blood that allowed him to rise quickly. They say he is a skilled and cunning boy, and he has led the company to victory in more than one battle," explained the woman. "They speak of him with such passion. They even compared him to the Warrior," the woman teased a little.

"Don't you think he's that good?" asked the princess.

"He's good. According to the news we got from the disputed lands, he fought the Stag and came out alive; he even managed to wound him," the woman spat out Stag as if saying that name burned her mouth.

"The dragon bastard," Daenerys had heard that nickname.

"I hear some call him the Dragon Knight. I believe you Targaryens had that title before, didn't you?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Aemon Targaryen, the brother of Aegon the Unworthy," said the princess.

Her brother's story seemed strange. He came out of nowhere and rose quickly in a company of mercenaries. The princess hoped her brother Rhaegar wasn't stupid enough to trust him. She had heard that envoys from the Golden Company had arrived in King's Landing, and the king himself had granted them a private audience, although the details were unknown.

"So many Aegons, it gets a little confusing," the northern woman commented lightly. However, Daenerys could see in her as much Valyrian blood as that of the first men.

"Yes, it's a nightmare. I spoke with Jaehaerys, and we agreed that none of our children will be named after the conqueror," she said with a smile. Her hand moved to her belly.

'Until the castle is built,' she thought. It was for her safety. Although she knew it was also Jaehaerys' fear that she would not be able to endure the pregnancy.

She remembers that after the dragons were born, she hadn't had her blood moon. She ended by praying to the old gods to get pregnant. But her blood moon hasn't returned.

"I didn't expect to find a weirwood in the middle of your castle. I thought you worshipped the Seven," the woman picked up a leaf from the ground. Red as blood, it glistened in the sunlight.

Daenerys looked at the moat around the tree. It was empty, but soon it would be filled with water drawn from the Gods Eye. She had been designing a kind of system to transport water. She could order it to be filled by carrying buckets, but she wanted to speed up the work. Besides, they were already using water to make mortar, and using it to fill the ditch would delay the work.

"My husband grew up in the north. In his words, a part of the north came with him. That includes the old gods," said the princess. Thinking of the north reminded her of Sansa Stark.

"So you, princess, worship the new ones?"

"No. When I prayed, I could only feel the presence of the old ones," she said.

"I see... the gods never answered my prayers," the woman said bitterly.

"They answer from time to time. Not always," Daenerys said.

Both women sat down on one of the benches around the weirwood tree. To do so, they crossed one of the makeshift wooden bridges. Around the tree, there was a radius of one hundred feet to where the ditch began, which was about ten feet deep and fifteen feet wide.

The five Unsullied who followed Daenerys walked alongside them, but did not come too close. The woman next to Dany was unarmed.

"You're a mercenary, right? Brandon didn't mention anything about you," said the princess.

"I am. I'm the leader of the Company of Roses," explained the woman with her eyes closed.

The princess wondered for a moment if Rowena was going to fall asleep there, in front of the weirwood tree, which certainly seemed like a good place to do so.

"Stark, are you a descendant of Brandon Snow, the bastard half-brother of King Torrhen Stark?" asked the princess.

"No. Brandon's descendants are all dead. They never dared to take the Stark name. No, I am a descendant of Torrhen Stark, son of Edric, who was the son of Cregan Stark," the woman explained.

There had been several members of prominent houses who had been forgotten. If the members of the houses do not die, it can cause problems in the succession. That is why some members choose to leave home, either to avoid getting involved in the drama or to pursue better opportunities in life.

"I suppose he joined the Company of the Rose over a hundred years ago," Daenerys added, just to say something. "The Stark name carries enormous weight in Westeros; they are one of the oldest and most respected houses," commented the princess.

"I heard they rebelled years ago. They were sent back to their frozen lands," the woman continued, her eyes still closed. There was no emotion in her voice. To her, the Starks were distant relatives she was unfamiliar with.

"They took my father with them. Right now, he's still on the wall, paying for his crimes," said the princess. She was no stranger to the cruelty with which her father terrorized all of Westeros.

"Ha! A king paying for his crimes. Why didn't he make his crimes legal?" asked the woman, with a hint of mockery. It was more of a rhetorical question.

"Because the people will fight against him," said Daenerys, although the question was more for humor than anything else. "Because a ruler can only pressure his vassals until they decide they can put someone else in his place."

The woman opened her eyes wide to look at the princess.

"That way of thinking could lead to you no longer being a princess."

"I know. That's why I believe that rulers must be fair. Not only because we owe it to the people, but because they are the reason we rule," said the princess.

"You have dragons," Rowena said as she stood up.

"I have them. But I would prefer never to use them," Dany closed her eyes. She remembered how, in the Dance during a riot in King's Landing, the smallfolk ended up killing a dragon. Dragons were a formidable weapon, although it pained her to see her children used in such a manner, a superior one but not infallible.

"Princess, my Lady, the prince requested your presence at his manor," a knight approached them both.

Daenerys stood up, thanked him with a smile, and began to walk away.

Just as she passed the man, she heard, "I'm so sorry."

She barely had time to react when the tip of a spear sprouted from the man's leg. Strong arms pulled her away from the man.

"Agh!" the man roared. He looked back to see an Unsullied standing over him, his spear embedded in the man's leg.

"Drop it," said the Unsullied.

Daenerys heard something fall to the grass. She caught a glimpse of steel glinting.

Chapter Text

The man sent by the Sorrowful Men guild had the misfortune of remaining alive after attempting to assassinate the lady of the castle.

Jaehaerys had never experimented on humans. He preferred other areas of science, such as chemistry. But at times, he was quite tempted to join Qyburn.

"What is your name?" he asked the Unsullied who had pierced the man's leg.

"Red Cockroach." The names of the Unsullied were linked to vermin, to remind them of their place.

"Before the slavers gave you that name, do you remember what you were called?" he asked again.

"This never had a name," said the Unsullied.

"What do you think of Rodrick?" asked the prince.

"This doesn't know any Rodrick..."

"I'm giving you a name. The man who saved my wife's life will not be known as Red Cockroach," said the prince. "Rodrick, is that alright with you?"

The man clenched his teeth. He looked confused and moved. He tried to appear indifferent but failed.

"This one doesn't need a—"

"But you want it," said the prince. "You will be Rodrick. The Unsullied are free men now. Please spread the word, they don't need to keep the names given to them by the slavers; they can choose their own. I can't give names to eight thousand people, I hope the others don't feel I despise them," said the prince.

The Unsullied stood still for a few seconds. He was still struggling to process what was happening. For a long time, he didn't even consider himself human. He was born a slave, trained as a slave, and lived as a slave. He even expected to die as a slave. Having a name had never crossed his mind; it was a luxury he never considered necessary.

Even when he entered the prince's service, he did not consider himself completely free. When he defended Daenerys, he did so because it was his duty as her bodyguard.

Of course, he considered the prince and princess to be better masters; they provided him with food and a place to rest. They did not send him on tasks he did not want to do. They did not order him to kill children or hurt the elderly, nor did they look at him as an object. But even with all that, he still considered them his masters. Having a name had never crossed his mind; it was a luxury he never regarded as necessary.

But somehow he liked it.

Now he was "Rodrick," he murmured the name; it tasted sweet on his lips.

"Is there anything you desire, Rodrick?" asked the prince. "You can ask for anything you want," he said sincerely.

"I... want... to protect," he answered like a machine.

He felt honored to have a name, to transition from being "It" to being "He."

He felt he should die protecting Prince Jaehaerys or Princess Daenerys.

"I will order them to give you a better spear," said the prince.

"It is unnecessary, my prince."

"With it, you will better protect my wife. I entrust her safety to you," said the prince.

The Unsullied stood up straight as an arrow. Previously, the Unsullied took turns protecting the prince and princess, but now he would be a permanent guard to protect the princess.

"I am honored."

"Just as you have honored my house, I hope to return the favor," said the prince humbly. "Daenerys is at the training camp with Rowena. You can start your duty right now," said the prince.

The man bowed deeply before leaving. It was not the first time he had bowed before Jaehaerys, but it was the first time the prince truly felt that he was doing so out of genuine respect and not out of habit.

He gave him a name and put him to work. That would help him earn more of his loyalty and that of the other Unsullied. Even if they never interacted directly with him, his goal was for them to feel valued and part of Argentstone.

That did not mean he did not feel deep gratitude toward the man. That was why he had decided to give him a better weapon than the one he had.

The Unsullied, renamed Rodrick, had saved Daenerys. If the man had asked for his weight in silver, he would have given it to him without hesitation. Jaehaerys was a proud man, and that included rewarding those who served him well.

"Sorrowful men," he knew that group of assassins. "I am so sorry" was the phrase they said before attempting to kill their target. In the canon, they had been seeking Daenerys' death.

Jaehaerys learned from his man in Braavos that Jon Connington visited the House of Black and White and left there quite angry.

Probably the price on Jaehaerys' head was too high for the crown to pay. That's why he had to resort to second-rate assassins.

The assassin had tried to kill Daenerys while several men-at-arms surrounded her. It might seem pretty stupid, but in reality, he had left him no other choice. Getting close to the princess was already quite an uncommon feat. The security around her was pretty good. He would have had few better opportunities.

He could try to poison her, but that would be useless. Or kill her from a distance, but the Unsullied kept a fairly tight watch. Besides, Daenerys rarely went outdoors; she usually only went to the weirwood, where a reasonably wide perimeter was formed.

That desperate attempt was his best option.

And what was most worrying was that he could have succeeded.

The necklace Jaehaerys had given Dany, the one that was supposed to detect evil intentions, had not worked.

Somehow, the Sorrowful Men could evade the detection of magic.

"I am so sorry," they always apologized.

Jaehaerys had two principal theories. One was that the amulet did not detect evil intentions because they did not exist. The man truly felt a deep sadness as he carried out his murderous goal.

Another was that they knew some kind of magic capable of nullifying the Archon's power. It can come from two different organizations: The House of the Undying, the main headquarters of the sorcerers, was in Qaarth. They were actual practitioners of magic, so it would not be unexpected for them to have some magic to hide themselves.

There was also R'hllor. But that seemed less likely, unless it were one of the priestesses who followed Rhaegar, they would not give magic to attack Daenerys. The red god wanted something from Jaehaerys' wife.

The second option was troubling because it opened up the possibility that these magical organizations already knew about Altair's ability to manipulate magic and create artifacts. That would take away his advantage and make him an even bigger target. However, it was also possible that the magic was to ward off the dragons.

Unknowns, unknowns.

Jaehaerys left his Solar; he needed to see Daenerys, not talk to her. He just wanted to see her. It made him a little uncomfortable not to see her and to know that an assassin could appear at any moment.

He had already begun to research the most advanced books on magic. If the detection artifacts did not work, he had to create better ones, and for that, he needed a greater knowledge of magic.

There was a small training ground near his mansion. Many men were there. Both the northerners and knights from King's Landing who had come with him, as well as the newly arrived mercenaries and Unsullied.

It seemed they were taking turns keeping watch. The discipline of the Unsullied appeared to rub off on the other men, who attempted to emulate their exact positions and behaviors.

"I can't be worse than a man without balls," they seemed to want to shout.

His wife was training with Rowena. The former captain was teaching her fencing with a small sword. Yesterday's assassination attempt had awakened in Daenerys a greater desire to learn how to fight.

Jaehaerys was not skilled with the sword, so he wouldn't be the best teacher, which is why he entrusted Brandon with the task, who, in turn, entrusted it to Rowena. The woman was a skilled swordswoman, despite her preference for her maze.

Dany didn't have a good foundation, but she did have a decent physique, at least much better than Samwell's, moons ago.

Rowena was not playing; she gave her no chances, correcting her posture gracefully, without resorting to the vulgarity that some male instructors might fall into. Perhaps because she was talking to a princess or because she was in a public place, she did not want to dishonor Daenerys.

Rowena had reached an agreement with Jaehaerys: her men and a group of Unsullied would go out to hunt bandits in the prince's lands. That would be their primary task at that time. The prince gave them some freedom so that their group could gradually integrate into the castle.

Daenerys looked at her husband and smiled. The smile was so genuine that the other men turned in his direction.

Brandon was nearby. He looked at the prince on the battlefield and turned pale.

"Brandon!" the prince shouted as the man turned to leave. "Shall we train?" The northern man's face fell.

Chapter Text

Brandon was a formidable warrior. He truly was. Few men could fight him. He and Tohrren were similarly skilled, although Brandon's aggressiveness led him to win most fights against his brother.

But normal men were one thing, and Jaehaerys Targaryen was quite another. Brandon could fight Ser Barristan and last quite a while until the old knight found an opening and ended the duel.

But when he trained with the prince, the match lasted as long as Jaehaerys Targaryen wanted it to last. The fight was not fair at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end. No, Jaehaerys crushed him with brute force.

He didn't use his three-section staff, nor the whole staff. He used to use a pole from a spear with the tip removed to avoid hurting his men.

And Brandon was grateful for that.

"Are you giving up?" Jaehaerys asked. Brandon was on the ground, holding his leg. It was a training exercise; he wasn't wearing armor, and the blow knocked him down quickly.

'If I had been wearing armor, that stick would have broken,' thought Snow.

'If he had used a real weapon, I wouldn't be able to walk again,' the man reconsidered.

-------------------

Jaehaerys didn't want to train that day. At least that wasn't his intention when he approached. He wanted to make sure Daenerys was okay.

He found himself taking a step back, letting another wooden stick strike the air where he had been before.

"Stop!" he ordered his men, who had drawn their swords and were about to attack the aggressor.

"Oh!" Serena looked at the steel and was frightened.

Jaehaerys had given her permission to strike him at any moment, if she could get close enough to do so.

It was part of a bet between the two of them. Jaehaerys told her that he would not train her in the use of the staff; he would only begin to train her when she moved on to using a two-segment staff.

The girl was not happy with that, saying that no one could teach her to do such a thing. He pointed out that the spearmen were capable of teaching her; it was not the same, but it could serve as a basis.

Serena did not want to accept this, so she asked him to give her a task she could complete, which would convince him to train her from the beginning.

She was not exactly rude; in fact, she was quite diplomatic in making the offer. Jaehaerys would have looked immature if he had refused.

Since then, she had been attacking him at different times of the day. At first, she had been more honorable, appearing, announcing herself, and then launching an attack. When she realized that this would not work, she drew on her Dornish heritage.

She began to ambush him. All of them failed. Altair knew that the girl was still training with the spear with one of her Dornish bodyguards, but even so, she persisted in trying to hit him. It was no longer because she wanted him to train her; at that point, it was more a matter of pride than anything else.

Jaehaerys would never allow a fourteen-year-old girl who had started training a week ago to hit him. He was proud, too.

"Ouch!" the girl cried out when he lightly tapped her wrist with the wooden stick.

The blow still landed, but he could see that she had made an effort to avoid it this time. She was good, quite good, and it was no surprise, given that she had the blood of great warriors running through her veins. In the last attempt to ambush him, Jaehaerys made her drop the stick by hitting her wrist, but this time she managed to keep hold of the weapon and almost dodged the blow.

She attacked again, the staff dancing awkwardly in her hands. She was new, and she had the potential to learn. But until that moment, it was just that, potential. She made desperate but somehow successful attacks. Jaehaerys blocked them all, wasting no time dodging; it wasn't necessary.

"Are you tired already?" he asked the girl, who was breathing heavily.

The physique of a warrior is not built in one night.

Unless you are Jaehaerys Targaryen.

—-----------

Serena took a deep breath to calm down. The wooden stick in her hand was not particularly heavy, but at that moment, she found it quite challenging to move.

For the first time, the girl wondered if it was a good idea to learn how to fight from the prince. It was a unique fighting style, yes, but it wasn't the only one she could practice. The truth was that she wasn't that interested in fighting. The only reason she wanted to learn how to fight was because she never wanted to feel a man on top of her again, in any way possible.

She would kill Joffrey if he ever tried anything like that to her again. Maybe she would even kill him even if he didn't try anything. He was a bastard who didn't deserve to live.

But he was still her brother. Mom would be sad.

'But she never got sad when she saw me crying,' thought the princess.

Cersei used to turn a blind eye when she found her crying. She didn't come to comfort her, at least not right away. It was later, after giving her moon tea, that she would tell her that the family would be ruined and infamy would fall upon them if they found out about the things her older brother did to her. Serena kept quiet for that very reason. Her mother was good at convincing her not to talk.

'Perhaps she could have convinced Joffrey to leave me alone. But she didn't even try.

"Serena," the wooden staff in her hand moved toward where she heard the voice.

Her wrist hurt when the cane stopped abruptly. She looked where it had struck, blinking several times to focus, not realizing when she had started crying. She looked at the piece of wood stuck in the prince's hand. He wasn't looking at her with anger, only concern.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as she dropped her weapon as if it were burning her palm.

She remained silent, waiting for a reprimand.

"You hit me in the end," she heard the prince say. She knew where this was going.

"I don't need pity, Prince Jaehaerys," she said quickly, perhaps even sharply. "I'll find a better way to hit you," she didn't want to take something she didn't deserve.

"Start running with Sam; it will help you endure more," the prince advised.

She had watched Qyburn's fat apprentice run around the castle. At first, she felt a little sorry for him, but gradually, she developed a little respect. The man had initially been so wide that he could have taken up the space of two or three men, but now, although he was still a little fat, he was much better than before.

The knights said he would never be an excellent warrior, but he could learn to defend himself.

Samwell himself was there on the training ground. He was sweating profusely. She felt Jaehaerys push her toward the fat man.

That made her nervous. It wasn't that she had never spoken to the boy before, but she used to think carefully and choose her words with meticulous care. She would first go over possible conversations in her mind before having them in real life. Being pushed so abruptly took her out of her comfort zone.

"Uh," she stammered. Samwell turned to look at her. They weren't strangers, but they had barely exchanged words. He tried to talk to her, but when she didn't respond, he walked away. He was still friendly, though. "When run... where?" The girl wanted Jaehaerys to punch her in the face with all his might.

She heard other men laughing behind Sam. None of them too loudly.

Samwell thought for long seconds. "Sunrise... here?" The boy pointed at the ground, referring to the training field.

She didn't know if he was making fun of her, although, knowing the young man, it was unlikely.

"Now he thinks I'm an idiot," she thought, although she also considered it a little sweet how the man seemed to want to imitate her stupid way of communicating.

"Fine," she said, turning around and leaving the training ground, her faithful guard following her, a little worried.

-----------------

"That was a little cruel," said Daenerys, looking at her husband with narrowed eyes. "She has enough difficulty speaking, especially to men."

"Is that so?" Jaehaerys was surprised. He considered the girl rough, but not necessarily awkward when speaking. "I never noticed her being nervous when she spoke to me."

"She feels safe with you. You indirectly rescued her from her hell," explained Daenerys. Although she never heard directly from the girl or Jaehaerys what Serena had suffered, she could deduce it from her behavior.

"I see..." The man was a little moved.

Jaehaerys ran a hand through Daenerys' hair, which was short but beginning to take shape. Sweat had left it damp, so the princess quickly pulled away.

The short hair gave the princess a different look, as if she were tougher.

"Rowena," the woman watched the exchange from the side. "Are you sure you're leaving with your men? You can appoint someone to lead them," said the prince.

"I am their leader, Prince Jaehaerys," she said. "I want to make sure that the bandits are completely exterminated and that my men maintain their respect for me. I lost quite a few when I agreed to join you. Others have faith, but they doubt me," the woman explained.

"I understand. If you find very young bandits, give them a chance to live. Unless they have committed atrocities or seem irredeemable," he requested. Part of the banditry was due to the poor living conditions of the smallfolk. It wasn't that he would let them go free; he would find a way to punish them.

But a dead man was useless, so it was better to give them a chance to atone for their sins.

"I will, my prince," the woman nodded. "Princess, I hope you will be better with the sword by the time I return," she nodded toward Daenerys. The princess smiled at the woman.

Chapter Text

Lyarra. That was the name of Lord Eddard Stark's mother. A northern name, a strong name. Eddard remembered his mother as a woman of strong character, as well as a homemaker. She was dedicated to her duty, but she also loved each of her children.

Lyarra. That was the name Ashara chose for her daughter with Lord Eddard—the same name as the child's grandmother. Ned was happy when he heard the news. A bitter happiness. He would have done anything to marry Ashara.

'If only Brandon were alive,' he used to think bitterly.

It wasn't that he hated his current life; in fact, he was pretty happy. The wounds of the rebellion healed with each of his children. Lady Catelyn was a kind and devoted woman, charming and deeply committed to her family. Despite the origins of their marriage, Eddard had grown to love her over time. How could he not? She had given him five beautiful children and was pregnant with the sixth.

Eddard had long since stopped dreaming of Ashara. But he could never stop dreaming of his daughter. A bastard, yes, but his blood. He couldn't imagine her face; he didn't dare. He had only heard basic things about her. A woman with olive skin, tanned by the Dornish sun, beautiful like her mother. More southern than northern, with mismatched eyes, purple and gray.

Eddard had dishonored Lyarra's mother. He had taken her without being her lord and husband and had left her pregnant with a bastard. It was not the first time he had felt guilty about it. Ashara remained unmarried in the south. And it was likely that her daughter would not be able to find a suitable husband, even if she were legitimized.

'I did wrong then.'

Eddard looked at the cradle where Rhaelle had been born moons ago.

Rhaelle Snow.

When he found out, he had wanted to send Prince Jaehaerys to the Wall, leave him there with his grandfather. He felt rage and disappointment, his daughter defiled by another man, burdened with a child and a bleak future.

He remembered how Catelyn had cried when she found out. Sansa was the best lady in her mother's eyes; she would be married to a great lord, like Willas Tyrell. Years ago Cat even discussed with Ned the possibility of a marriage between the prince and Sansa. He refused at the time.

'I should have raised him better,' he thought.

When the prince first arrived, he told himself that he would raise him well, show him affection, and try to integrate him into his family. 'He's a child, without guilt, without blood on his hands,' he repeated at the time.

But he never could. It wasn't that he hated him, nor that he mistreated him. He treated him like an unwanted guest. The prince resented him; he knew that, and he didn't blame the prince for it. He wasn't the best foster father. If he had been, the prince wouldn't have taken the maiden Sansa under his own roof.

Every time he tried to act like a father to the prince, he saw his purple eyes and white hair: dragon blood, Rhaegar's blood, the Mad King's blood.

The North remembers. And although he did not pass on his hatred to a child, he could not love him either. He was courteous and taught him enough, but not much more. He never raised him the way Jon Arryn raised him and Robert.

The fury he felt when he learned of his daughter's pregnancy subsided over time. Jaehaerys did to Sansa what he, Eddard, did to Ashara. He wanted to blame and hate him, but every time he remembered his bastard daughter in the south, it became more difficult.

Now, a more complicated issue loomed. Sansa. A woman with a bastard was only well regarded in Dorne; in the north, she was seen as tainted, dishonorable, while in the south, the Seven condemned her.

Ned loved his daughter, despite his disappointment. Catelyn had told him to send his granddaughter to Jaehaerys, to be raised and cared for. That way, Sansa would be free of any ties. She would still bear the stigma of having given birth to a bastard, but her prospects for marriage would be better.

Ned refused. Although he knew Jaehaerys and knew that, all things considered, he was a decent person, he did not realize Daenerys. He did not see how the princess would react to her husband's illegitimate daughter.

Catelyn was an incredible woman, but every time she remembered Ashara's daughter, she frowned with anger. Daenerys was a Targaryen; madness ran through her veins. Eddard would not put his granddaughter in danger. That was why he was raising her in the north, in his halls. Few knew of the girl's existence, and Eddard could keep it quiet, pass her off as the daughter of a servant or a man-at-arms. He could avoid ruining his daughter's reputation.

It wasn't honorable, but Catelyn could have convinced him to do it.

But Sansa refused. She didn't want to be separated from the little one, so even though Eddard managed to keep the baby a secret, he couldn't hide her forever.

Rhaelle herself was a strong girl, extreme. She probably inherited it from her father. Only the old gods know where Jaehaerys' strength came from. He wasn't as muscular as Robert and was perhaps stronger than the Baratheon.

"Have you thought about the options we gave you, Sansa?" Sansa was no longer a child. She was a grown woman with the ability to bring life into the world.

She needed to marry a good man. Someone honorable. Someone from the North. Eddard believed that, even with the baby, no Northerner would dare mistreat Sansa while Eddard was alive.

"I've looked at them... although I want to add one of my own," she said in a soft, low voice. The baby was asleep, and she didn't want to wake her.

"Unless you approve your mother's plan... it is likely that many lords will refuse to take your hand," he said sincerely. Sansa smiled sadly at his words.

"I know, but I believe Lord Walder Frey would gladly accept my hand," she said, looking her father in the eye.

"No," Eddard did not know what kind of nonsense his daughter was thinking. But the last thing he would ever see in his life was his bloodline mixed with that of Walder Frey. He would never see his daughter as the lady of the Twins. Walder had had so many wives and so many children that he could well populate a kingdom with his offspring alone.

"It is my wish, Father. To be Lady Frey. I think it's the best idea. I will fulfill my mother's wish for me to marry a powerful lord in the south, and I will be close enough to the north to come to Winterfell from time to time."

Eddard rubbed his temple with his fingers. His daughter's nonsense must have come from somewhere. He thought that perhaps her mother might have orchestrated this, but he didn't believe Catelyn would want to see her daughter married to Frey of all people. The man was old enough to be Sansa's great-great-grandfather.

"No... Walder Frey has had so many wives, all of whom are now dead. I will not see you next to them." Eddard would rather see her as Jaehaerys' second wife than Walder's wife.

"Father. I have made a mistake. I know that. Even though that mistake is beautiful and strong," her hand caressed the little girl's cheek. "I cannot offer a good alliance for the family, not from a prestigious family. The Freys are the best allies I can marry," she tried to reason with him.

'So you're doing this because you feel guilty, Sansa?' Eddard wondered.

The only reason Sansa would want to marry Walder Frey would be because she felt she had failed in her duty as a member of House Stark. Eddard could understand that, but even so, he would never allow it. No matter how much Walder offered for her hand, he would not give her away.

"And your daughter? Do you think Walder would allow her to live comfortably in his castle?" he tried to make Sansa reconsider.

"Rhaelle will be raised with Jaehaerys," she said softly, the baby's little face cringing when she heard her name.

"Princess Daenerys..." He didn't want to say it explicitly.

"It may not seem like the best thing for Rhaelle, but I trust Jaehaerys. He will keep his daughter safe," Sansa said firmly. "The best thing would be to invite him to the wedding and introduce him to Rhaelle then. He will raise her, he will be a good father, I know it, I always knew it."

'Jaehaerys,' the name sent shivers down his spine.

Eddard wasn't very good at politics; he found it difficult, but Sansa gave herself away at that moment.

The prince incubates dragons, moons ago; moreover, they should already be of considerable size. Eddard thought of the hopes his daughter might have.

"You think Jaehaerys will prevent your marriage to Lord Frey, right?" he asked directly, seeing his daughter's back tense up, telling him the truth.

Jaehaerys was a cautious man. He would not act solely for his own benefit, no. But if it was about Sansa, Eddard believed the prince could intervene and stop the marriage. Perhaps Sansa longed to end up like Lyanna, as the second wife of a Targaryen. The idea repulsed him less than seeing her as Lady Frey, but it still repulsed him.

Sansa smiled guiltily, her cheeks flushed as they had when she stole lemon cakes and was caught by the cooks. Such a childish gesture in a woman who was already a mother was quite charming.

"It is not right to conspire, Sansa. We are not southerners," he scolded her.

Sansa still loved the prince; even upon hearing of his marriage, she did not stop loving him. She was a little girl wanting to play the game of thrones, and Eddard knew that nothing good would come of it.

"I—" Sansa couldn't speak, and Eddard watched the tears well up in her eyes.

"Jaehaerys will not fly in on a dragon to interrupt your wedding. To do so would be disrespectful to his wife." Eddard murmured softly, even though deep down he believed Jaehaerys might do it. "This isn't a fairy tale, Sansa. There won't be a dragon prince coming for you."

"But... if it's for Rhaelle, he would come, right?" she said, looking at her daughter.

Eddard didn't fully understand Sansa's thoughts. Did she want to marry him? Did she want her daughter to be raised with him? Or did she want to see him again, perhaps to see if he had ever loved her?

"Sansa..." Eddard said nothing more, just looked at his daughter, gazing at Rhaelle as if she were the most beautiful gemstone anyone had ever seen.

Chapter Text

Lord Manderly arrived at Argentstone days after Brandon. A merchant group accompanied him, and they traveled slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.

Wendel Manderly was the second son of Wyman Manderly, the current lord of White Harbor. He was a fat man, but agile enough to wield a sword.

Wendel was the father of the twins Brandon and Tohrren, although he never saw them during their childhood. Jaehaerys was not surprised that neither of the twins had much affection for their father, and he even felt bad at times asking them to interact with him.

"My prince, Jaehaerys Targaryen," the man said.

The prince welcomed him at the castle entrance. A camp of Unsullied stretched out around the walls. Wendel was not surprised; after all, he was leading the expedition to bring the Unsullied.

"Lord Wendel, I hear you were delayed by business on your way here." Jaehaerys greeted him politely. He then continued with the ritual of presenting bread and salt to his guests.

Jaehaerys did not have to come out to greet him; he could have sent a trusted man to do so. It was a way of showing respect for the Manderlys.

"Uncle!" said a voice beside the prince. Lady Wylla was a rebellious woman who dyed her hair green. She was Lord Wendel's niece, the youngest daughter of Willys Manderly, Wendel's older brother and heir to White Harbor.

The girl had arrived at ArgentStone moons ago, accompanied by Lyanna Mormont. Both northerners had quite impressive personalities.

The uncle and nephew greeted each other, still maintaining their decorum.

"We have prepared rooms for you, Lord Manderly," said Jaehaerys.

"To tell you the truth, I would like to speak with you as soon as possible, if possible now, even better," said the man seriously. Jaehaerys nodded.

"Let's go to my Solar," said the prince, walking accompanied by a guard. Wylla withdrew, accompanying her uncle's servants, a knight who watched what had been Harrenhal moons ago transform into something more majestic.

"You look worried," said Jaehaerys while taking a seat. The man's forehead was sweating profusely.

"I am. I bring discouraging news," the man said, looking around the room.

"Then speak."

"It's about the Greyjoys," the man whispered. "They've been very active lately." The Manderly family was known for its maritime trade; it was part of their responsibility to see the sea and those who sail it.

Jaehaerys nodded, unsurprised. A rebellion should have broken out years ago. But the only news about the Ironborn was about Euron Greyjoy, the man who wanted to marry Queen Rhaella. He was rejected, and in revenge, he tried to burn the royal fleet. He was repelled and believed lost at sea.

No one had seen him since.

"What kind of activity?" the prince asked.

"They steal wood from the north, small raids that may go unnoticed at first, but over time they accumulate enough to be noticed," said the man, then added, "Also, I saw flags with a Kraken when our ships passed through Lys."

"Sailing is not a crime."

"Robert Baratheon fights over the disputed lands."

"Are you afraid of an alliance?" asked the prince.

"I fear war," said the man. "I fear the chaos and death that Robert Baratheon will bring if he gets ships to transport his horsemen to Westeros," he concluded.

Robert did not get along with any of the lords in Westeros. Not even Eddard. It is said that he asked Eddard to flee eastward together, gather men, and return later. Lord Stark refused; he couldn't flee, he had a wife and children. Robert cursed him before leaving.

Robert and the Ironborn were the worst thing that could have happened at that moment. Robert's war hammer was remembered and feared. Furthermore, it is said that he can turn enemies into allies. Jaehaerys was unsure how he would do that, having been rejected by most of the continent.

"Have you discussed your concerns with anyone else?" asked the prince.

"Lord Eddard is aware of them. He ordered the coasts to be watched and for us to be prepared to mobilize our ships if necessary." Jaehaerys nodded.

"I will send a letter to my brother, warning him," said the prince, though he hoped his brother would ignore his letter out of spite. The Targaryens had a rather impressive capacity for drama.

Jaehaerys did not want a war. His castle was being built, and war would delay everything.

"That is good to hear, my prince," said Manderly. "It is not good to let the ironborn run wild," the man seemed to want to say more.

"You may speak freely, Lord Manderly," said the prince, rising and taking a jug of wine. He took two crystal glasses and placed them on his desk. He poured the liquid into each of the glasses.

"I have two questions, my prince," Jaehaerys gestured with his hand, asking him to continue. The sweet aroma of the wine tickled his nose. "In the event of a war against the ironborn, can your dragons fight?"

"I don't know. Suppose war breaks out immediately, no. They are still vulnerable to projectiles," Jaehaerys didn't know how true that was; the dragons' skin was incredibly tough, his dragons were different than the ones of his ancestors. If they weren't his, he might have wanted to create armor from their skin. "What is the other question?"

"My father wanted to buy the method for creating the compass," he said, with a faint trace of hope in his eyes.

"It's not for sale," the prince refused confidently.

The manufacturing method was quite simple, but it would not be easy to figure it out just by taking one of the devices apart. It would take many years to replicate something of that nature. Risking that information becoming public would allow the Ironborn to obtain it.

At that time, pirates were a nuisance, and giving them the ability to improve their navigation would be like giving a knife to a murderer and expecting him to use it to peel an apple.

"My father offers more ships," said the man.

Lord Manderly had asked him to test the compass. If it was as good as the prince promised, then he should make sure to get the means to make it, no matter the price. What could the Manderlys offer, besides ships?

"The answer is unchanged. I wish to keep that secret close to me. Still, I am willing to sell more compasses to your family," the prince refused, but offered to sell compasses.

Lord Manderly remained silent, probably wondering what the right price for the compasses would be. The journey to Astapor took three and a half moons, although it took only two more to go from Astapor to Maidenpool. Part of the time was spent trading; the Manderlys were not only going to help the prince bring an army to Westeros.

That was a total of five and a half moons. A round trip. Previously, they could do it in eight or nine months, but the compasses allowed them to navigate different routes across the open sea.

He remembered hearing that some sailors claimed they could cover the distance in the same amount of time. And Lord Manderly would agree with them; with a good ship, he could sail from White Harbor to Astapor in six moons.

But that was a single ship; a single ship traveled faster than an entire fleet, one that, despite Lord Manderly's efforts, was more disorganized. After all, they were trying out a new method of navigation; not all sailors could travel with the same confidence, doubts, and lack of faith slowed them down. In a fleet, they had to maintain a steady pace so as not to leave any ships behind. In the event of an accident, the fleet would be further delayed.

Lord Manderly believed that the journey could be reduced to three moons with the use of a compass and a better-organized fleet. It was a dream, of course, but he would fight to make it possible.

To go from one side of the world to the other in a few moons is something that not even the Ironborn, who spend more time at sea than on land, could achieve.

"Do you want gold dragons or ships?" asked Lord Manderly.

Chapter Text

Jaime looked at his father's serious face. There was no expression on it, as cold as a gold coin. The news his father had just told him caused him internal conflict.

“A tournament?” Jaime asked. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but what was unusual were the prizes. “200,000 gold dragons for the winner... obviously, we can afford it, but why?”

“The name day of my granddaughter, Myrcella. The future queen and the birth of my heir, Tommen,” he said in a firm, tense voice.

Tommen was the son of Jaime and Lysa Tully, born a few moons ago. A boy with copper hair and gray-green eyes. He was small, born weak, but he managed to survive.

Lysa was not so lucky.

“So much gold... It's an unnecessary expense,” Jaime commented. The tournaments at Casterly Rock always had quite impressive prizes, thousands of gold dragons, but hundreds of thousands? It was absurd.

“The future queen—”

“Are you looking for a new wife for me?” Jaime interrupted his father. “What are you trying to do?”

His father's eyes hardened, and his nostrils flared slightly.

“You will learn not to—”

“Interrupt you?” Jaime stole the words from his mouth. “My wife just died.”

Jaime did not love Lysa. She was a beautiful woman, not as gorgeous as her sister, but still pleasant to look at. His problem with her was not physical; no, it was that she was mad. Always overprotecting her children, always looking for excuses to spend more time with them, she even tried to breastfeed them when they were four. Always paranoid. She loved Myrcella and Joanna. And the look in her eyes when she looked at Tommen told him she would have loved him madly, too.

He couldn't love her, but he was deeply grateful to her for giving him children. He wasn't going to disrespect her by marrying another woman a few moons after her death. He owed it to her and their daughters. That Tywin dared to create a tournament in the guise of a new wife was something that infuriated him.

“I never took you for a sentimental man,” Tywin said, a slight sneer of contempt adorning his face.

“I did think that way about you,” Jaime said. “I remember when Tyrion was born-”

“Sansa Stark is the best candidate for your wife,” Tywin cut his son off.

“She's Lysa's niece,” Jaime gritted his teeth.

“She's also the daughter of one Lord Paramount and the granddaughter of another. The daughter of one of the kingdoms not bound to the Iron Throne,” Tywin said slowly, as if explaining to an idiot.

“Stark hates you,” Jaime said. “He'd rather rot in a block of ice than marry Lady Sansa to me.”

“Stark needs gold and food to keep his people alive. The summer has been long, the winter will be worse,” his father said.

Jaime closed his eyes. He tried to push Lysa out of his mind. Anger was useless when decisions had to be made. It wasn't easy, but he had to think with a cool head. A marriage to Sansa? Stark had done nothing to him, so he would take no pleasure in screwing up his life a little. Sansa was said to be a beauty. Some said she was the most beautiful woman in Westeros, although with the Targaryens around, that was unlikely.

Personal reasons aside, the advantages of his house would be an army. A good army. Northerners, despite lacking great resources, survive in precarious conditions. Only the strong can survive in the cold. In addition to an army, there would probably be more heirs for his house. Catelyn had already had five children, and his daughter would be similar in that regard.

He didn't know much about Sansa, but since Catelyn raised her, she should be obedient and well-mannered. Most of the rumors about her were about her beauty and her relationship with the prince.

'Jaehaerys,' Jaime opened his eyes suddenly.

“The tournament, it's not even for me, is it?” he asked his father, who raised an eyebrow, questioning. “It's for Jaehaerys,” Jaime watched Tywin suppress a smile. “You want to lure him to the Rock. He needs gold, and if Sansa Stark is here... no, he's unlikely to come even with Sansa. The romance he might have had with her is gone; he's married,” Jaime said.

“He's a Targaryen,” his father said as if that explained everything. “He will come,” he declared, with the same confidence as if he were proclaiming that the sun would rise tomorrow.

“He's not just any Targaryen,” Jaime said.

“All Targaryens are quite greedy when it comes to their dragon hatchlings,” his father leaned back in his chair, watching his son's face go from question to answer to bitterness at learning the truth.

“A bastard,” Jaime said, sighing. “You want to use his child against him... when he supposedly had a son?” He had never heard anything like it in the Seven Kingdoms.

It would have been big news, the daughter of the upright Lord Stark impregnated by the prince. As if history were repeating itself.

“Lord Stark is good at keeping secrets. I'm better at uncovering them,” Tywin looked out the window at the clear sky—a beautiful sight for the observer. But Tywin did not smile or take pleasure in it; he looked up at the sky with caution.

Jaime could understand his fear, even though he denied it and claimed respect; Tywin was afraid not simply because Jaehaerys was a brilliant man. But because he was a clever man with dragons.

Tywin confirmed this by exchanging letters with Serena, although the girl was slow to respond and did not do so very often, which deeply embittered Lord Lannister. By the time Serena confirmed the presence of the dragons, all of Westeros already knew, and the king had been to Argentstone to claim them.

Many lords held their breath as they waited for answers. Jaime, among them, would march with an army to secure his daughter's throne. A new war could break out. But Rhaegar loved peace. And the North and the Vale could come to Jaehaerys' aid, either out of revenge or simply because they considered it just in the case of the Vale. Even Lord Stannis Baratheon could get involved.

The Baratheons had lost their power over the Stormlands; they were no longer its Lords Paramount, but they still commanded the respect of other lords and could divide the Stormlands into two.

The people could rally behind Jaehaerys. Not because they loved him, but Rhaegar was not as beloved as he might seem.

If one day the king decided to go to war against his brother without cause, many would frown, but they would still obey his orders. But with dragons? The dragons, in time, would give them a trump card.

“Jaehaerys is coming to Casterly Rock, so what?” Jaime asked.

“He will suffer the same fate as all who oppose us,” Tywin said.

“It's not certain you'll succeed in killing him.” Jaime might feel sorry for Jaehaerys if he were to die.

He was a good man, and Jaime was sure he could be a valuable ally. But he was also a powerful piece. Whether he liked it or not, Jaime thought about the possibility that one day he might turn against his brother, Rhaegar, and take the throne.

Jaime would not attack the prince if necessary; it was not his style. However, if it had to be done, it was best to ensure it was done cleanly. The truth was that he did not trust his ability to turn the prince into an ally, given Tywin's pressure on the prince. If he had to choose between going against his own family or against the prince... 'My family has always been my priority.'

After serving the Mad King, he put all his efforts into becoming a good father and a good husband. He wanted to leave behind his knighthood; chivalry was no longer a viable concept. He just wanted to live and die for his family. He wanted peace.

“Gregor has had headaches since the tournament at King's Landing,” said his father. “Besides, he's been behaving worse and worse, more uncontrollable.” Gregor had not been able to give free rein to his desires as much as he would have liked, partly by order of the king and partly by order of Joanna.

“I've seen Gregor fight, and I've seen Jaehaerys fight... I can only kill one of them,” Jaime was very confident in his abilities. He would say that only Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan were better than him. If he had continued training as much as before, probably only Ser Arthur would be better.

When Jaehaerys appeared, the list of people he would lose to grew to three.

“In a tumult, a hidden knife can achieve what an exposed sword cannot,” Tywin said, standing up, his eyes still fixed on the window. “Besides, we are not the only ones with the same goal.”

“Who else? The Queen of Thorns?” Olenna was a greedy woman who had sought to marry her niece to Aegon even when he was engaged on his first name day.

“Olenna? Olenna is testing the prince. She fears him as much as she desires his dragons. No, she won't make a move, not yet,” Tywin dismissed her immediately. “She is someone who has sought dragons for years and finally found them, but in the hands of others,” he turned to face his son. His footsteps echoed deeply in the room.

Jaime nodded, knowing perfectly well who Tywin was referring to.

“What if... what if, even with all the people involved, the prince is still alive?” Jaime asked.

“There's still his daughter,” Tywin said before turning to leave.

--------------

Some may not like this, Jaime accepting killing Jaehaerys. But I don't want to romanticize a character; he is more honorable and political than in the canon, yes. However, being more politically aware also helps him recognize when a person is too dangerous.

Or that's what I think about the character.

Chapter Text

"It's a considerable amount," said Qyburn.

"It's also a pretty big trick, if Westeros has ever seen one," Brandon grumbled. "They want you to go, the prize is for you, to kill you within their walls," Brandon.

"This time I agree with my brother, my prince," Tohrren commented.

Jaehaerys looked at the three men in front of him, all telling him the same thing. The tournament organized by Tywin sought to lure him in.

200,000 gold dragons. An absurd amount for a tournament, the most ridiculous thing was not only the prize, but also the way it was offered.

Typically, there were three categories in tournaments: jousting, melee, and archery. Of these three, jousting usually had the highest prize, as it was considered the most prestigious. It was a sport that not just anyone could practice; it required lances, armor, a shield, and, most importantly, a horse. Not everyone can own a horse.

On the other hand, the melee required you to know how to fight, and while not everyone can get good training, it is easier than training for a joust. And archery required a bow and a target.

It is not only that the joust is complicated, but it is also because, with the resources of the time, it is the most privileged to train for and the most spectacular. Even if there is more blood and action in the melee, all the commotion obscures the view, making it less visually appealing.

"200,000 for the commotion, 100,000 for the joust, and 20,000 for archery." The difference in amounts was absurd. Traditionally, the joust was the best paid.

"You could earn a total of 300,000 golden dragons," said Qyburn, a little greedily.

"And my husband could die," the princess said with a frown.

Daenerys did not want her husband to expose himself to the dangers outside ArgentStone. Nor did she want to be separated from him, but if he agreed to take her to Casterly Rock, she could agree.

"If there is anything alive that can kill the prince, that thing is not human," said Qyburn.

For a man who lives his life based on science to say such a thing meant that he had enormous confidence in Jaehaerys' abilities.

"In a riot, you can't know for sure. If it were just one-on-one fights, I'd bet a million gold dragons on the prince, but in a riot, I fear for his life," Brandon said.

Jaehaerys nodded. Under normal circumstances, he would not agree to it. He would not go; he would not give Tywin the pleasure of giving him a place to stab him, no.

"Eddard Stark has agreed to attend," the letter said.

He was sure he hadn't received a generic invitation like most houses, no, that letter at the end was written directly by Tywin for him. 'What does he mean by that?'

'Is it because of Sansa?' he wondered.

Jaime was recently widowed. It wouldn't be unusual for him to be looking for a new wife. Sansa was a pretty good option for him. Jaehaerys felt his stomach twist at the thought of that possibility. Jaime was a good choice for her, and although Tywin was dangerous, he wouldn't mistreat his own family.

But even if Jaime was a good choice, he didn't like it at all.

'Is that how you felt when you found out I was getting married, Sansa?'

Tywin was aiming directly at him, Jaehaerys knew it. He was using Sansa to stir up old feelings in him. But there had to be something else. Sansa was precious to him, but unless Tywin had a spy directly in Winterfell, which he doubted, he wouldn't know how deep their relationship was.

Moreover, why was he so sure he would go? Tywin must have another card up his sleeve.

'What if I'm just overthinking this?'

"The Lord and Lady of Harrenhal and Princess Serena Nymeros Martell are expected to attend," was written in another fragment.

"Everyone leave, except Daenerys," he ordered. The two brothers left immediately. Qyburn seemed to want to say something, but in the end, he went silently.

Dany looked at him with narrowed eyes; her hair had grown a little, already beginning to cover her ears.

Jaehaerys had decided to keep his hair short, more so than hers, to achieve a greater contrast between the two and make Daenerys feel a little better.

"Why, despite our words, are you planning to go to the tournament?" Daenerys asked.

"I don't plan to go, it's just that..." he paused, as if to tell his wife that it was something related to Sansa. Daenerys had stopped asking about her long ago; she was no longer so interested in the Stark girl.

"Stop hiding things from me," Daenerys asked, not aggressively or bossily, but more pleadingly.

Jaehaerys sighed and handed her the letter.

He didn't look at Daenerys's face; he didn't know what expression she wore as she read. He only heard her sigh from time to time. Earlier, he had read the letter to the people in the room, but he had omitted the references to Serena and Lord Stark.

Tywin wasn't going to explain things literally, no, the old lion would give clues to lure him in. No one knew how to use information better than Tywin; you only reveal things at the right moment. Perhaps, before attempting to assassinate him to lower his guard, he had other motives, such as not really wanting to kill him and instead seeking a favorable deal or a way to get Serena back.

"It's because of Sansa, then?" Daenerys' question was as predictable as the sun's trajectory. "Do you want to see her again?" she asked in a flat voice.

The woman tried to hide her jealousy, but the change in her voice gave her away.

And did Jaehaerys want to see her again? Hell, yes. Not out of love, nor out of desire, he wanted to see her. He wanted to know somehow that he hadn't ruined her life by sleeping with her.

"I have things to discuss with her," said the prince.

Daenerys remained silent.

"It's nothing romantic, I just... I think she's still waiting for me somehow, and I don't think that's right for her. I'm married," he said, half-truth and half-lie.

He didn't want Sansa to wait for him forever; she had the right to live and make a life away from him, to marry a good man and live as the lady of a great castle.

But on the other hand, he didn't want to see her married to another man either. That contradiction was stupid, and he knew it. He was not a man without faults. He knew he had desires beyond monogamy; Ros knew him well enough.

He looked at Daenerys. The woman was not at all concerned that Ros had joined their relationship, but that was because Jaehaerys, although he was very fond of the woman, did not love her.

He couldn't say the same about Sansa.

"I think you should go," Daenerys said finally.

"What?"

"I don't think I can have children, Jae," said the princess. Her eyes scanned the room boredly.

Jaehaerys was momentarily shocked.

"Where did you get that idea, Dany?"

"I haven't had my moon blood since the dragons were born." Menstruation, or moon blood, was what indicated that a woman was still fertile. When a girl had it for the first time, she was considered to have become a woman, as she had developed the ability to bear life. And when she stopped having it, it was known that she had lost that ability.

Jaehaerys thought about the canon. Just like in the pages of the books, Daenerys had lost the ability to have children.

'Maybe in the canon it wasn't a curse, and it was because of the ritual that brought back the dragons?' he wondered, intrigued.

"It's... It's temporary, we'll have children in time, Dany," he said to his wife. She had become deathly still when he said that.

"I want to believe you... I had heard of women who didn't have their moon blood for an abnormal time, but it's been nine moons since the last one," she said with a bitter smile.

"It's a matter of time," he said, not with faith or as empty words meant to comfort her.

In the books, it had been theorized that Daenerys regained the ability to have children. It wasn't something he could confirm, but he chose to believe it.

When they made love in the flames, his seed disappeared. One might think it simply evaporated, but if that had been the case, there would have been some trace left behind, and there was none. No, it was magic, a sacrifice.

If it took Jaehaerys' seed, there was a massive possibility that it also took Daenerys' eggs... maybe... maybe...

'It didn't make sense. Even if Daenerys lost some eggs, her period wouldn't stop for so long.'

"Go... don't participate in tournaments, take Brandon and Tohrren for protection. Meet Sansa and maybe..."

"No," Jaehaerys sat down to write a letter refusing to go. He also put second in his mind to find a way to prevent Sansa from getting married to anyone.

He wasn't going to bring another woman to have children with. He wasn't going to spit in Daenerys' face.

Jaehaerys let the ink run across the paper as his mind thought about heirs. If magic took away the ability to have children, magic could restore that ability.

Chapter Text

Rhaella looked at the letter in her hands as she reread it for the umpteenth time. She wanted to pull her youngest son's ears. He had done something stupid by getting Ned Stark's daughter pregnant, as if the tension between Dragons and Wolves wasn't tense enough.

He had dishonored his adoptive father's daughter. What would the lords say? Rhaegar seemed quite surprised, shocked, and even a little amused. He commented on his brother, but Rhaella noticed how his eyes sparkled with happiness.

"How long until we reach Argentstone, Ser Balon?" Rhaella asked the royal guard who was accompanying her to her sons' castle.

'How will Daenerys take it?' Rhaella was a woman who knew the importance of having children. Her youngest daughter had bled long ago and still had no children. Rhaella suspected she was not very fertile, and knowing that her fiancé had a daughter with another woman could hurt her.

"A few hours, my Queen," replied her guard. He was a man with broad shoulders and strong arms. Honorable, like few others, and focused on his duty.

Rhaella was traveling to meet Jaehaerys and take him to the tournament organized by The Mighty Tywin. And partly she wanted to see the dragons again.

It didn't matter to her who controlled the dragons; they were back, and soon House Targaryen would be at the top of Westeros, above any man.

The dragons would serve to maintain peace. Rhaegar's reign was already prosperous, healing the wounds left by Aerys.

"Rhealle." The Stark girl had taken a Targaryen name for her bastard daughter. Rhaella didn't know whether to take it as an offense or a compliment; the name was a variation of her own. She hadn't even heard about her granddaughter's appearance. She wondered if she would look like a Targaryen, a Tully, or a Stark.

To some extent, she hoped she would look like anything but a dragon, that way Jaehaerys could even deny being her father, although she knew her son would never do such a thing. He was not capable of abandoning his daughter; he was a man with a good heart. Too good for this world.

Rhaella looked at the walls from afar. Before, several imperfections could be seen in the outer walls, but now they seemed completely repaired, impenetrable. From a distance, she could see three massive towers, and the imposing structure was visible from a great distance.

Harrenhall was a strange castle. It was enormous, and she had no idea what her son would do with so much space. He would need to have more children than Lord Frey to fill it.

'As long as they're not bastards...' she thought bitterly.

Part of her was excited to have another grandchild, another part was furious and disappointed. The consequences were not yet clear, but Lord Stark would not be happy. That was why she had agreed to marry Sansa to Jaime. Tywin had conspired against Jaehaerys before, but Jaime was a good man.

Rhaella could see how Tywin wanted Jaehaerys' daughter to be raised at Casterly Rock, which was why she was looking for her son to go to the tournament and decide his daughter's future. He was already a grown man, more than capable of taking responsibility for his mistakes.

It took hours to reach the castle, whose black walls gave her a horrible welcome. Everything about that place made her hair stand on end. She entered through the enormous gates, looking at the surrounding camps of men.

"Unsullied, my queen. The best infantry in the world," said Balon Swann when he saw her looking at the men with interest.

"Too thin," she said. They didn't seem to eat enough. She looked at the White Cloak and couldn't see how the Unsullied would ever be better than him.

"Their training method prepares them to survive on the bare minimum. The slave masters in Essos wouldn't want to spend too much on their possessions," the man explained.

"If you fought them, could you win?" she asked curiously.

"It depends, my queen. Individually, they are not renowned for being great warriors. Their training is based on discipline and teamwork. They are a terrifying army, but I would not choose one of them to represent me in a duel," said the man, knowing a little about the way they were trained.

The queen mother remained silent. She was glad that Jaehaerys had a good army under his command, but she couldn't ignore the currents stirring in King's Landing. She had already heard many lords conspiring, whispering in Rhaegar's ear that it was only a matter of time before Jaehaerys rebelled. Rhaella was grateful that her eldest son was not a foolish believer.

Finally, she passed through the castle walls to see inside. There were more people than the last time she had been here, merchants and workers, although at that moment they had all stopped what they were doing as she passed by in the horse-drawn cart. Inside, there was chaotic order. She could see how two other towers were being built simultaneously, and she even noticed a structure connecting the two central towers. Rhaella did not know what magic her son used to keep those towers so stable.

"My son," she said happily, unable to help but look at her son and feel a surge of pride and love well up in her chest.

Daenerys was there too, standing next to her husband, smiling beautifully as she looked at her. The princess's height did not even reach her husband's shoulder, Jaehaerys being too tall and she too short. Dany covered her hair with a cloth, which made her look a bit like a Septa.

The two northern twins were there too, as well as a group of Unsullied guarding the princess. She hoped that Lyanna and Visenya would also appear, but they were not there. The little princess had probably gotten lost, and her mother was looking for her, which happened often in King's Landing.

"Mother," they both said. Rhaella hugged them both, maintaining decorum but still showing plenty of affection. "It's a surprise to see you here," Jaehaerys said, handing her bread and salt.

She ate the bread, finding it far more appetizing than any she had ever tasted.

"I came to accompany you to the tournament at Casterly Rock," she said, watching her son frown while Daenerys gave her a look the queen could not read.

"I sent my refusal to Tywin days ago. I will not be going to the tournament," Jaehaerys said firmly. Rhaella noticed his hand go to Daenerys's waist.

The queen frowned, though somewhat relieved that he did not seem to have much interest in Sansa. She was also disappointed that he had decided to do nothing to face the consequences of having a bastard daughter.

It was not unlike what many other lords did. The number of noble bastards in the kingdom could well equal the number of nobles in Westeros. Most did not even seek to be part of their bastards' lives. But she hoped Jaehaerys would be more responsible, not a man who made mistakes and made no amends whatsoever.

"Impossible. Your presence is needed there," the queen said firmly.

If it were another bastard, from a peasant or even a small house, it could be ignored, but when it was from one of the great houses, it could not be overlooked.

"I don't see how my presence will help in the tournament," Jaehaerys said boredly.

"You don't know, do you?" Rhaella asked.

Jaehaerys frowned, concerned. He tilted his head to one side, reminding Rhaella of when he was a child; whenever he didn't know the answer to something, he would tilt his head in the same way.

"I think it would be best to speak in private, Your Majesty." Ser Balon's interruption could be seen as disrespectful, but Rhaella nodded in his direction as she glanced around.

"Yes, it would be best if we spoke in private," said the queen. The merchants and workers just looking at them made her cautious.

Jaehaerys led her to his Solar, Daenerys at his side. Rhaella watched the affection between the two spouses and felt joy knowing that their bond was strong.

She hoped that the bond would survive the news.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys swallowed hard with every word that came from his mother. A feeling of heaviness settled in his chest; he didn't want to listen anymore. He looked to his side; Daenerys had a stoic expression that he couldn't ignore. Jaehaerys took the princess's hand; it was small and trembling. It must hurt her.

He wondered if Daenerys had his moon blood, would she continue to feel bad after hearing this news?

His romance with Sansa was before he was married, so he was not obliged to remain faithful to anyone. He never felt guilty about it.

"A daughter," he said aloud. He felt Daenerys' hand slip out of his. He take her hand again.

"Yes. Rhaelle Snow," said the queen mother. Jaehaerys could see the look of disapproval on her face.

"Snow." It bothered him that one of his children had been given that surname.

Bastard or not, she was her blood. She might not bear the Targaryen name, but he didn't want her to have the name shared by all those born on the wrong side of the cradle.

"And Tywin wants to screw me over and take my daughter as a hostage," said the prince.

"Don't make enemies with everyone," said the queen, in a reproachful tone.

"He wants to marry his heir to Sansa, thereby controlling my daughter... potentially controlling me and... the dragons," he told his mother.

Anger rose in his throat and made him want to vomit. He ended up swallowing the bitter lump with a glass of wine.

"I thought you had stopped drinking," his mother said, frowning at the crystal glass.

"Tywin can't have my daughter," he ignored his mother's words.

He had to talk to Eddard. It would be an uncomfortable conversation, but he needed to have it. Eddard was not a politician, but he would surely be able to see that leaving his granddaughter with the Lannisters would not be a good idea.

"If the girl has no Targaryen characteristics, it would be best for you to deny your paternity," Rhaella said. "She is bastard no one will blame you"

"I'll blame myself", he answered.

"For the sake of peace", she said, trying to convince him.

"That's impossible, Mother," Daenerys interrupted, to the surprise of both of them. "It would be best to bring Rhaella to ArgentStone, so she can be raised here, alongside her father," she justified her words. Jaehaerys understood instantly what she meant.

'An heir,' thought the prince. 'An heir in case Daenerys never...' He forced himself to stop that thought. It wasn't fair to think that way. He would find a way to restore his wife's fertility.

"I will leave for Casterly Rock at dawn. I want to get there before Stark," said the prince.

"There's no need to rush," said Rhaella, eager to rest a little from the journey.

"You will leave later. In the meantime, you can stay here as long as you wish," said the prince.

Rhaella wanted to interrupt him and force him not to rush, but she couldn't. He was no longer a little boy she could tell what to do; he was a grown man, with dragons and an army.

"Prepare an escort of men, fifty men," said the queen mother, offering him advice. "Daenerys and I will leave in a few days," she said finally, looking at her daughter.

Jaehaeys looked at Daenerys, leaving the decision of whether or not to attend the tournament up to her. He didn't want to make a decision for her. At first, he had refused to let her attend, but he couldn't rule over her at that moment; it would seem excessive.

Daenerys didn't respond, probably pondering whether it was worth attending or if it was better to stay in her castle.

"Dany, you can accompany me to my chambers," said the queen, interrupting her daughter's thoughts. "Every day I grow older and need more rest," she said as she rose effortlessly. Not setting an example with her words.

The princess squeezed Jaehaerys' hand before standing up and accompanying her mother.

The prince remained alone, lost in thought.

"A daughter," he repeated in disbelief. He was a father, of a girl no less.

He wondered what Eddard's face would have looked like when he found out his daughter was pregnant with a bastard—and Lady Catelyn's, who had a natural contempt for bastards. The image should be amusing; in his previous life, it would have been. Catelyn paying karma for how she mistreated Jon Snow.

But not in this life. In this life, his daughter would be branded by society as a second-class citizen.

Crack!

"My prince," Tohrren entered the room in record time. He looked at the table, broken in half. He sheathed his sword slowly as he breathed calmly.

"Get out," said Jaehaerys, picking up the papers that had fallen during his outburst.

"It's not logical for me to react like this," he tried to calm himself. But how could he? He had a daughter.

In the medieval world, a woman's life was quite challenging, often considered little better than that of livestock. A sound bargaining chip for forging alliances. A bastard daughter? She wasn't even suitable for forging coalitions, unless you were a very powerful lord whom others wanted even a small fraction of what you had.

Jaehaerys wasn't that powerful yet, but he had to become so soon.

He looked at the ceiling of his room.

"I can't change the past," he said to himself.

He made a mistake and had a daughter as a result. He couldn't change that. He could only make sure that his offspring's lives were as good as possible, and that included Sansa, of course.

'How to surpass the Lannisters' offer?' He didn't have a fraction of their gold, but he had dragons.

'Give one to the Starks?'

He would be mad to let his dragons out of his family. No, he had to give them something else, something the North desperately needed and couldn't refuse, even if Lord Eddard hated him for it.

He looked at his notebook, his notes. He had been working on several ways to take advantage of the natural resources of his lands.

'This... the Lannisters can't give them this,' he thought, looking at one page in particular. Now he had to find a way to approach Ned without the Lord drawing Ice to try to cut off his head.

---------

"To tell you the truth, Daenerys, I didn't understand your reaction," said the queen mother. Her daughter's face was marked with disappointment, but strangely, also with happiness.

"Neither do I," said Daenerys.

"Doesn't the situation bother you?"

"No. It just... bothers me that I can't give Jae children," she confessed in a whisper. The queen looked at Balon and Brandon walking beside her, and both men nodded.

"It may be difficult now, but they will come in time," she tried to comfort her in a sweet voice. Daenerys tried to smile at her words.

"Maybe they will. But if not, it would be best for Jae to have an heir. What he is doing here in Argentstone deserves to be passed on to his children," explained the princess.

"A bastard is not a suitable heir," said the queen, not wanting to think about the political repercussions and the impact that would have on the faith.

'A bastard from the north taking control of one of the greatest fortresses, if not the greatest, on the continent.' She did not want her family to face problems of that nature in the future.

"Keep trying. You need an heir," said the queen, trying not to sound too demanding.

"I hope to have one. But if not, Rhaelle will be the heir to Argentstone. I'm sure she can be legitimized and become a Targaryen by name; she already has the blood. Perhaps she could marry into a great house to be more accepted," said the princess.

"The heir doesn't have to be a... bastard," Rhaella had nothing against her granddaughter; she just thought it was inappropriate for her to be the heir to the castle. "It could be Viserys," she offered a different solution.

"No. The blood of Jaehaerys will continue to rule this castle," said Daenerys.

The princess loved her husband very much. And she knew how important Argentstone was to him. Perhaps it was partly the guilt of not being able to have a child that drove her to seek a replacement for her non-existent children. Rhaelle would have to do; she would defend the little girl's right, the blood of her husband.

She had previously thought that Jaehaerys could have a child with Ros and pass it off as hers. Daenerys wouldn't have minded. She would never hate anything that came from Jaehaerys.

She wanted children of her own, of course, but she already had three strong, grown children. "Mother of Dragons," she had heard some maids call her by that alias. It made her very proud. She might not have human children, but her children ruled the skies, perhaps with Jaehaerys's offspring.

"Reconsider, daughter, for the sake of the family," Rhaella insisted.

"There is nothing to reconsider, mother. I have made my decision. Please respect it," she said to Rhaella, taking her hands as she spoke.

"I cannot," said the queen.

Daenerys sighed sadly as she hugged her. It would have been wonderful to have her family's support. She had already prepared herself for the possible mockery that would come from the ladies of Westeros.

'Just one roar from Blackfyre will shut them up,' the princess had not made public the name she chose for her dragon, but it seemed inappropriate to her.

It was the name of the king's sword.

-----------------------

Author: I still haven't decided whether to keep that name for the dragon... but damn, I'm finding it pretty hard to come up with a name I like.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys had had time to calm down on his way to Casterly Rock. He had even begun to feel a slight anticipation about seeing his daughter. He still felt regret, of course, but also a sense of excitement.

"Shouldn't you get a gift for your daughter?" asked Brandon, who was riding beside him.

"I've started to prepare one." On the road, between breaks and when the others were asleep, he had begun to carve wood. He wanted to create a figure of a dragon and another of a wolf.

The dragon had begun to take shape. He wanted it to resemble his white dragon. It seemed appropriate for his daughter to have something like that. Although according to his calculations, she was just a baby. She had been born about six moons ago and was probably still nursing from Sansa's breasts.

"Is there anything you're bad at, Jaehaerys?" Brandon's tone was slightly friendly and envious. Although Jaehaerys knew there was no malice in it.

"I'm bad at poetry, singing, and plants." He had tried to have a garden at Winterfell, but he couldn't.

In the end, Sansa had helped him, at first a little apprehensive about getting dirty, but over time, she began to enjoy gardening. Jaehaerys used to get books on rare flowers from around the world, those books for Sansa.

In a leather bag tied to his horse, he carried a herbarium. He had gotten it from a merchant who was trying to win his favor. It was a book with plants pressed, dried, and preserved between its pages. He thought Sansa would like it. He had bought it months ago.

'I'm also horrible at sterilizing things and good at blowing things up,' he couldn't say out loud without being seen as crazy.

"We'll be passing Riverrun soon," Brandon said. "Don't you think it would be nice to meet old Tully?"

"No, let's keep going," he didn't want to deal with Hoster at that moment. Although he found it a bit fucked up that the man was Sansa's grandfather.

"My ass hurts from riding," Brandon complained. They were riding at the head of the group at the moment, with no one to hear them, so he could afford to be a little vulgar.

"On your trip to Essos, did you stop by the Summer Islands?" asked the prince.

"Huh? No," he replied, confused. "Although I'd like to see a woman with 18 tits."

"It's 16," corrected Jaehaerys. "I thought you might have bought a polished stick on the islands," he said with a sigh.

"A what?" Brandon asked, frowning.

"It's a stick that replaces a penis. I see your relationship with Rowena was that strong," said the prince. "No wonder your ass hurts after a short ride. She rides you often too."

"Nothing goes in there; it only comes out." Brandon looked at him as if Jaehaerys had said he killed his brother.

"But you don't deny your relationship with Rowena?" asked the prince.

"That... is complicated. She is a complicated woman," said Brandon.

"Of course, you wouldn't like a normal woman," added Jaehaerys.

Brandon let out a rather prominent laugh. Jaehaerys turned off his mind a little as they talked about topics that no one would expect a prince to touch on.

After a considerable amount of time, he looked back. The men were following them at a significant distance. He looked at the sun; by the time they reached their position, it would be dusk. Both men looked for a small clearing before beginning to set up a temporary camp, although they had to wait for the other men to arrive.

The escort consisted mainly of knights, as they were expected to be able to ride. There were a few Unsullied among them; they had learned to ride during their time at Argentstone and were quite decent at it, at least capable of maintaining order.

Serena rode alongside her Dornish guards. The woman had wanted to travel to meet her father. Jaehaerys warned her of the fast pace it would entail, but the woman had remained stubborn and confident that she could endure it.

Jaehaerys watched the girl's legs tremble; the ride must have exhausted her. She had been raised as a princess, not a warrior.

"Don't try it, not here or at Casterly Rock," he said as he lit a fire. "A sneak attack in the middle of the night could get you killed by one of my guards, and at Casterly Rock it would make you look like a savage," he said, sensing the girl's intention.

"Are you expecting us to be attacked while we travel?" she asked, without fear in her voice.

"Yes, common bandits. We left too quickly for those who want me dead to ambush me. Besides, since we're traveling without banners, they'll hardly know who we are. There are hundreds of groups traveling to Casterly Rock at this time. We may seem like easy prey," he explained to the girl.

At that moment, it would not be a good idea for her to try to attack him, especially in the stealthy way she usually did.

"Do you think my grandfather sends The Mountain and his people disguised as bandits?" she asked aloud.

"You should learn that having a mouth doesn't mean it's okay to speak," Jaehaerys scolded, looking at the Dornish guard, who shrugged. "Although that's quite specific."

"You humiliated Clegane; it wouldn't be strange for him to seek revenge," said the Martell girl. "My grandfather wants you dead, doesn't he?" she asked.

Jaehaerys did not respond, busy with the fire.

"More men are approaching, princess. It would not be wise to continue this conversation," said the Dornishman who followed Serena. The girl reluctantly fell silent.

Her guardian was relatively lax in his duties, letting her do as she pleased. That was why she took his words seriously when he warned her about things she should not do.

"Train me with the spear," she ordered Vaeryn, who was the name of her guard.

"You should rest," said Jaehaerys.

"Vaeryn, come on," the stubborn girl walked away to an open field. She did not use a spear for training, but a smooth stick that resembled a Bo.

Jaehaerys could tell she was pretty good at it; in a few moons, she could start using nunchucks.

The men arrived and helped set up camp. The prince slept in a tent the same size as the others, with a few men inside, while others stood guard outside.

Night fell, and the men rested, except for the few unlucky ones who had to stand guard. Jaehaerys did not have to stand guard, but he had not been able to fall asleep easily lately.

He left his tent, as he had done on many other days spent traveling. He looked for the light of the campfire and was alarmed to see no men on watch. Men might neglect their duty for a few minutes while they went to relieve themselves, but there should have been three men on watch, and none were in sight.

He stayed in the shadows as he explored among the few tents. Soon, he found the corpse of a young knight. His throat had been slit like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Jaehaerys allowed himself half a second of pity before waking his men.

In no time, the camp became active, with men moving back and forth, searching, but they found nothing that night. The other two men disappeared, although they left their horses behind.

Nor did they find anything in the nights that followed. They continued on their way, increasing the night watches.

Not finding the killers took its toll on the men. Little by little, they began to distrust each other, pointing fingers at one another. No other men died, but it mattered little. Chaos had been sown.

"How long until we reach Casterly Rock?" the prince asked one of his knights. The man, like all the others, had deep circles under his eyes.

"A week, although we may not make it," Jaehaerys heard the man say.

He would agree. The person who initiated this attack did so with the intention of causing panic. His men had not slept well and were unlikely to do so.

"They'll probably attack before we get there," thought the prince. 'I should have traveled by river.' He had chosen to travel by land because it was more likely to encounter the Starks that way. He had heard no words about how the Starks were traveling.

Jaehaerys closed his eyes, fatigue affecting even him.

Suddenly, he heard a horn, announcing the approach of enemies.

A group of horsemen charged in his direction. Jaehaerys expected to see a huge figure leading them, but it seemed that it was not what he expected; they looked like common bandits. However, it was difficult for bandits to acquire horses.

"Get ready," he shouted. They were in an esplanade, and it would take the enemies a few minutes to arrive.

Jaehaerys mounted his horse, chose his three-section staff as a weapon, and waited for the enemies to arrive. Their figures gradually grew larger. He looked to his side and saw that a group of Unsullied was already ready for battle.

The prince closed his eyes, wishing he could get some sleep before the bandits arrived.

Chapter Text

The clatter of horses' hooves striking the grass woke him. He had slept for a minute or two, or perhaps not at all. It wasn't easy to tell. He closed his eyes and waited.

His group of nearly fifty men was at his side, and the bandits were in similar numbers. Evenly matched in numbers, Jaehaerys' men would have wiped out common bandits, but at that moment, with fatigue working against them, it was hard to tell.

Jaehaerys spurred his horse forward, frowning. He wasn't used to fighting on horseback. His weapon required precise control so as not to hit himself with it, and on horseback, he would have to be careful not to hit his mount as well.

"Agh," he brought his palm to his face.

He dismounted in one swift movement and patted Coal, or Black Sapphire as Daenerys liked to call him, on the rear. The horse galloped toward the empty camp. Serena will have company.

Jaehaerys took a closer look at the attackers. They did not appear to be common bandits; they wore chain mail and carried steel weapons.

'Someone armed them,' he thought, assuming that his journey by land had not gone entirely unnoticed. He wondered who. The obvious answer was Tywin, but the obvious is not always the correct answer. Whether Tywin would be capable of launching an attack knowing Serena is at Jaehaerys's side was unknown to the prince.

The first man had blue eyes. He could not withstand more than one blow to the chest from Jaehaerys's three-section staff. The second had brown eyes, as did the third. The sixth had green eyes, and he even saw one with gray eyes.

Jaehaerys found it curious how, regardless of the color of their eyes, they all died with the same expression on their faces. Their pupils dilated, and their expressions surprised. Some cried, but they could not beg. A blow to the lungs ended up bursting them; there was one whose head he crushed.

Soon, the burden of men had passed to the prince, who stood up intact, only fatigue affecting him. He had to turn around to continue fighting, attacking the men who were facing his knights from behind.

Many might consider it unchivalrous to attack from behind. Jaehaerys didn't care; it wasn't as if they could withstand a blow from the front.

"Mercy, my lord, mercy!" In the end, there were little more than ten bandits left, begging for their lives.

Jaehaerys walked among the corpses of the attackers. He recognized two men, two knights from King's Landing who had accompanied him, the two who had been keeping watch and who had disappeared days ago.

"Traitors," he felt a slight heaviness. Even though he was not in danger, he couldn't help thinking how screwed up it was that his men had been overcome by panic. He looked at the Unsullied. They were the exception, they never faltered, when they were ordered to sleep, they slept, when they were ordered to keep watch, they did so without fear.

"Unsullied... good work. It's nice to have fearless men under my command," said the prince. The other men bowed their heads, ashamed, some with a little anger. "Everyone fought well today," he said at last, but the men felt no happiness. "According to your contribution, the Unsullied may take whatever they want from the corpses, then the rest of you," he told them.

There were only about fifteen Unsullied, who could have taken everything if they wanted to, but they did not. Until then, they had only been wearing spears and leather armor, so they took the opportunity to take chain mail.

The bandits had gold and silver on them, but the glitter of precious metals did not tempt the Unsullied; they only wanted better armor to protect their prince.

When they were done, the prince gave the go-ahead for the other men to take whatever they wanted.

When a man sees another man not taking advantage of his position, he feels the need to behave similarly. The men took the swords, although they were of lesser quality than the ones they already had; they could be helpful if they needed a spare. They looked at the gold and silver, but taking it would mean they were worse than a eunuch.

In the end, they collected the gold and silver for the prince.

"No one has taken more lives than you, Your Majesty," they said as they presented all the coins they had collected. Jaehaerys took it, knowing he would probably end up using them to pay for his men's food and lodging.

The men looked at the prince with shame and devotion.

Perhaps if the man who praised the Unsullied over the proud knights had been a fat lord who had never touched a sword in his life, they might have held a grudge. But each of them looked at the prince's ability. No one knew how many blows he had struck in battle, but they knew that the number was the same as the people he killed.

With a prince who fought alongside them and contributed the most during the fight, who would be so brazen as to say anything?

"Pri-Prince!" one of the bandits called out to him. Now they were tied up tightly, stripped of their armor and weapons. The prince's men were not kind; he could see the red marks where the ropes were tied so tightly that it must have been painful.

"Ah, yes... who sent you?" asked the prince.

"Nobo-ahhhhh!" the man screamed in horror as he ended up splattered with the brain matter of the man next to him. He felt the prince's steel graze his cheek; a little more, and he would have ended up disfigured.

"Need to ask again?" the prince swung his weapon.

"He was a merchant, a fat man," the man said, staring at the black steel stained red. The weapon swung back and forth like a pendulum, and the man was mesmerized.

Jaehaerys closed his eyes. The man didn't seem to be lying at all. The smell of shit and urine told him how scared he was.

"All the merchants I know are fat. Tell me something more specific," the prince ordered.

The man swallowed, forcing his brain to think, to remember. His eyes went to the left. Jaehaerys could almost see the synapses of his neurons. According to his previous life, when a man looked to the left while thinking of an answer to his question, it meant he was trying to remember, while looking to the right meant he was trying to make something up.

Jae didn't know if it was true or if it had any scientific basis, but the man's eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he looked to the left.

"He had a dragon pendant, his beard was braided, he, he," the man couldn't remember anymore.

"Looks like he shit himself," Brandon said, wiping his sword.

After Jaehaerys, there was no other man who killed more bandits than Brandon.

In tales of war, Brandon would undoubtedly have been a legend if Jaehaerys had not been present.

"And he fainted," Jaehaerys kicked the man's face a little, but he did not react.

'A dragon pendant,' he thought. His mind went straight to Pentos, but the chances of Illyrio Mopatis being the mastermind behind it were slim.

"Are you from Essos?" he asked the men in general.

The men shook their heads, and Jaehaerys could not detect the Essosi accent in which he had asked the question; the others seemed to have features similar to those of the smallfolk in Westeros.

"Do we kill them?" asked an Unsullied.

"No, count how many of our own we lost," the prince ordered. "And ask the men about the nearest castle. We need to leave the prisoners in a dungeon. They will go to the Night's Watch," he said.

"I refuse to freeze in the Nor-" one of the bandits complained, but he couldn't finish speaking before his jaw was torn from his body.

The prince looked at the others, silently asking for their consent.

They consent.

"We have lost three men, one of whom had a daughter in ArgentStone," the unsullied did not flinch at the violence he witnessed. He had lived through and done worse things to more innocent people.

"I see. Order that their bodies be preserved and sent to ArgentStone, with an escort of five men," the prince commanded.

"Are you sure you want to do without five men?" Brandon asked.

"I considered coming with only thirty. The others came because Daenerys asked me to," the prince confessed.

"I will carry out your orders, Prince Jaehaerys, Lord Brandon," said the Unsullied.

"I am not a lord, eunuch," said Brandon, shooing him away.

"Warrior Brandon," the Unsullied bowed and left.

"Now I feel bad for calling him a eunuch," said Brandon. Jaehaerys smiled a little.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys and his group had ridden along the Gold Road until they reached Deep Den, the settlement of House Lydden. Jaehaerys left the prisoners at the castle and allowed his men to rest. Lord Lydden was friendly, but he seemed tense from the moment Jaehaerys set foot in his house.

He gave the impression of wanting to impress him with stories of his house, such as when they married into the Lannister family. Joffrey Lannister was an Andal, born Lydden, who ultimately married the daughter of King Gerold III Lannister. When King Gerold died without a male heir, Joffrey took the surname Lannister and ruled as the first Andal to be king of Casterly Rock.

Jaehaerys was a little intrigued by the story, but not too surprised.

He did not stay long, declining Lord Lewys Lydden's invitation to a banquet. Casterly Rock was only a few days away. He left the prisoners and asked that they be sent to the Wall, even leaving a few gold coins. They could send a letter to the Wall so that they would be picked up when they came to recruit.

On the day of his departure, he had the misfortune of meeting Stevron Frey and his son Aegon Frey. Stevron had been married to Jayne Lydden, Lord Lewis's aunt. Aegon, despite being almost fifty years old, was unmarried. He was a man with... mental deficiencies, and Jinglebell was the nickname he received from the Freys. Apparently, he was a kind of jester.

He wasn't hilarious at all, and his attempts to make the prince laugh didn't work. He was just a dirty, retarded old man. Although everyone around him seemed to laugh. His humor lay in his intellectual disability.

"Didn't you find that funny, Serena?" he asked the girl riding beside him.

Serena had remained hidden by her guards on the day of the battle with the bandits. She was not entirely happy with her, especially when she heard the men talking about what a great warrior Jaehaerys was. She wanted to see him fighting again.

"No. He stank of urine," the girl complained.

"We'll be at Casterly Rock soon. Your family will be there, including—," the prince interrupted her.

"Joffrey, I know," said the girl.

"I'll keep you away from him. I can order Brandon to be your guard. The Dornish may take orders from Joffrey, but Brandon does not. Even an Unsullied will be able to protect you," the prince gave her options. Once at Casterly Rock, he might not have any chance of protecting her personally from Joffrey, but his men could do it.

"Will you use the information about my brother for your own purposes?" asked the princess, ignoring his words.

"No," replied the prince. He had considered it a possibility, but even then, it was not something that would affect anything beyond tarnishing the Lannister family name and causing a little chaos.

"A pity," said the girl.

"Oh, you wanted me to use it?" Serena didn't want to appear weak at all, so she kept that information to herself, regardless of the problems it would cause.

"I wouldn't mind if you used it," she shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the situation.

"I won't use it, it's not my story to tell," the prince put a hand on the girl's shoulder, and she trembled at his touch.

"If you killed Joffrey..." the girl didn't know how to continue.

"Your father trained Joffrey; he's a jerk, but he's not weak. Honestly, you don't stand a chance against him," he was direct and, perhaps, a little cruel. "Kill him in your grandfather's castle, and you'll be discovered, Kinslayer. Being a woman, I don't know what would happen to you if the silent sisters or death," the prince explained the consequences. "If you want him dead, you can tell your father," he said.

"I don't want him dead," she denied, Jaehaerys feeling a little strange at her words. "I want to kill him myself," she finished in a flat voice.

Jaehaerys nodded; she wasn't the first person who wanted to kill her own brother. Within House Targaryen, there was more than one with that ambition.

The days passed, and soon the Rock came into view. It was not a castle built of stone. No, it was a mountain made into a castle. The Casterlys built it and later became the property of the Lannisters thanks to Lann the Clever.

It was enormous, a mountain after all, with labyrinthine passageways carved out of natural caves.

At its foot lay Lannisport, one of the five cities of Westeros. Jaehaerys hoped that the small settlement outside Argentstone would grow large enough to be considered a city.

In the distance, Jaehaerys could see people on horseback approaching, a sun pierced by a spear visible on a pole.

"Oberyn Martell," he greeted the man when he reached his side. Oberyn passed him by and welcomed his daughter.

Jaehaerys shrugged; he didn't care about the man. They had exchanged barbs and compliments at the king's landing. And with Cersei whispering in his ear, it was unlikely that Oberyn would have much goodwill toward him. Not to mention that he might see Jaehaerys as a threat to Elia Martell's children, Aegon and Rhaenys.

"Father, the prince has greeted you," Serena escaped her father's embrace. Oberyn had hugged her awkwardly on horseback.

"Oh, yes, welcome to Casterly Rock," he said indifferently.

"Oh, Serena, I hope you missed your family," Joffrey said as he approached. Serena stiffened for a moment, even bowing her head in submission.

"I really felt a sharp pain when Grandfather asked me to come, knowing I would have to see your stupid face," the girl said. Joffrey was surprised, and even Oberyn looked at her curiously. Serena's father looked at Jaehaerys with a frown, as if he thought his daughter's change was because of him.

"No one blames you, Serena. We're sure the prince keeps you quite busy," said a dark-haired girl, one of Oberyn's daughters. Jaehaerys didn't recognize which one it was, Nymeria or Tyene. He couldn't quite remember her features. It was easy to identify Obara, who looked at him like prey to be hunted.

Oberyn did not react at all to the fact that his young daughter might be having an affair with the prince. Instead, he looked at the weapon at the prince's horse's side.

"I have no desire to fight, Prince Oberyn," Jaehaerys could sense the prince's desire to test his staff.

Oberyn did not stop looking at him, like a snake assessing whether or not it could eat a lamb in one bite.

"Serena, do you remember my words?" he asked the girl.

"I want Brandon to be my protector," she replied quickly. Jaehaerys noticed how, days ago, she wanted to ignore his request. But she quickly changed her mind after meeting Joffrey. Her fear had subsided, but it reappeared when she saw him.

Brandon waited for no orders from anyone before riding alongside Serena, looking at Joffrey with a grimace of disgust that he tried to hide. Oberyn also said nothing as he assessed Brandon.

"I don't swallow swords either," said the bastard.

"It's a shame to limit yourself to the pleasures this world offers," said the prince, having finished evaluating the men.

Oberyn spoke to the prince on the way to the Rock in a more formal manner, seeking to inquire about his intentions toward his daughter. Afterward, he went to the ArgentStone construction site.

At one point, he began to talk about his time at the Citadel, perhaps seeking to gauge Jaehaerys' reaction. The prince glanced at him sideways at that moment, a hint of disdain crossing his gaze, though he quickly hid it not too shortly for the Red Viper.

"Problems with the Citadel?" Oberyn asked.

"None whatsoever," replied the prince, bored. "Their book collection is quite impressive," he continued.

"It's more than a book collection," said Oberyn, not at all offended, simply seeking to discover more.

"They merely record. They rarely create," Jaehaerys shrugged.

"Do you consider yourself a creator, Jaehaerys?" asked one of Oberyn's daughters, who was not dressed as revealingly as the others.

"Creator? I would say researcher, scientist," he replied.

Although the truth was that he had not done much research, he had spent his time in Westeros more focused on discovering how to implement his knowledge of the modern world. "Are you Sarella Sand?" he asked the woman, who had dark skin and curly hair. Her eyes were black like her father's.

"Yes, my prince," the bastard was surprised that the prince recognized her instead of her more famous sisters. "Have you ever been to Oldtown?" the girl asked.

"I don't plan on going anywhere near that place," Jaehaerys would have described it as a nest of vermin if he could have spoken freely.

The prince considered Casterly Rock to be much safer than the Citadel. The Citadel held secrets that he did not yet know. At Casterly Rock, he would find steel beneath the silk.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys separated from the Dornish as they entered the rock. The maze-like tunnels required them to be guided. Serena left with her family, while Sarella seemed to want to talk to the prince.

The prince was surprised that Tywin allowed Oberyn's bastard daughters to walk around his castle as if nothing had happened; one would think he would not allow such "dishonor" to his house.

"Prince, Lord Tywin wishes to see you," a squire sent for him. The boy had given him bread and salt, an insult to the royal family. Jaehaerys didn't mind; he wasn't planning to be so polite.

The boy had golden hair, like most things he had encountered since entering the castle.

"Fine," Jaehaerys entered the rock to find him after all; he did not plan to be a guest in the castle. "Lead the way, boy," he now traveled with two Unsullied and two knights. The rest of his men had gone to Lannisport; entering with such a large number of soldiers was impossible.

Jaehaerys walked through the damn maze for what seemed like hours. He could understand why it was such a complicated fortress to take, even with dragons.

If Jaehaerys had to take the castle... he wouldn't. He would melt every one of its entrances, leaving them no room to escape. Tywin had finished off the Reyne in much the same way.

Soon, after climbing the entire mountain, he reached Lord Tywin's manor. Two soldiers guarding outside looked at the prince's men with suspicion. The young squire knocked on the door, and a simple "Come in" was the reply.

Jaehaerys opened the door.

The office was quite spacious, with a vast window that allowed natural light to enter. The rest was upholstered in gold. Every armchair, bookshelf, desk, even the cups and jugs, were shining gold.

'Even Tywin's clothes have gold on them,' he thought, looking at the man.

Tywin hadn't turned to look at him. His head was bald, with only two horrible sideburns that Jaehaerys could only attribute to the man's desire to appear unpleasant.

Seeing Tywin's lack of desire to talk, a stupid need to control the conversation, Jaehaerys went to the bookshelves to take a book. Most of them were about finance. Although he found one on metallurgy, he took it to read. His reverberatory furnaces and blast furnaces were ready and had been tested before he left ArgentStone.

The prince read silently, sitting down in a padded chair near the window.

"Did you come for the gold?" asked Tywin Lannister.

Jaehaerys did not answer, simply turning the page. He had already read twenty pages before Tywin decided he was worthy of his time, and he would not interrupt his reading for the man. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Tywin, his face hard as stone.

Tywin continued to review and sign documents, trying to ignore the prince's indifference.

Meanwhile, Jaehaerys read the entire book. He didn't know how long it took him, probably an hour or two. It wasn't too long, and Jaehaerys was a reasonably fast reader.

The book didn't teach him much that was new, although it was pretty advanced for its time. He looked out the window and saw the sun beginning to set.

"I was hoping to find Jaime to offer my condolences on the death of his wife," said the prince. He meant it; Jaime was a man he respected to a certain extent.

Tywin hesitated for a moment, his pen still moving across the paper, but he knew that if he didn't answer now, the prince would probably leave.

"Lysa left a legacy to protect," Tywin said coldly.

"Ah, yes. Little Tommen had no noticeable Lannister features—a boy with reddish-brown hair and gray-green eyes. I remember Lord Coin's eyes were the same color," he said, watching Tywin tense for a second before ignoring his words.

Jaehaerys wanted to occupy Lord Lannister's mind with other things. But it seemed that Tywin knew how to discern the time and place for every action. He did not ask about Baelish, as many other lords might have done.

"A strong heir," Tywin lowered his pen to look at the prince.

"Of course," Jaehaerys had heard about the boy's frailty; some said he barely survived. "You wanted to talk, let's talk," he changed the subject with ease.

The prince left the book on the shelf before taking a seat in a neatly carved wooden chair in front of Tywin's desk. He found the seat uncomfortable. He got up and, pushing the chair aside, took the sofa he had been sitting on before and placed it in front of Tywin. The latter looked at him with dead eyes, without intervening.

"Lord Stark will arrive tomorrow," Tywin said as if that were all.

Jaehaerys found it curious how the man always seemed to speak with a period at the end of his sentences.

"Ah, yes, I have unfinished business with my adoptive father," the prince said, unconcerned.

"And with your bastard daughter," the man said bluntly.

"Yes, with my daughter, Rhaelle." He didn't like his daughter to be called a bastard. "I suppose I should thank you, because if it weren't for your warning, my daughter could have ended up in unwanted hands," Jaehaerys said, in a passive-aggressive tone.

"I have decided that Sansa will make a good wife for Tyrion," the man surprised Jaehaerys this time.

Jaehaerys had hoped that Sansa would be betrothed to Jaime, not counting his intervention, of course.

"I remember that Tyrion is married," the prince said. "A smallfolk girl named Tysha," he said, looking the man straight in the eye. Tywin held his gaze, only raising his nose slightly in the air.

"An opportunist who took advantage of a fool," Tywin said.

"A marriage in the eyes of the gods does not discriminate between commoners and lords," the prince expressed, enjoying Tywin's face. The man was much better than he had expected.

Jaehaerys had heard of the girl in his previous life and in this one. In his last life, Tywin had had a group of soldiers rape her in front of Tyrion, making her pass for a prostitute hired by Jaime to deflower the imp. In the end, Tyrion left a gold coin for the woman before being the last man to rape her.

In this world, Tywin's hand had been stopped by the kinder Joanna Lannister, who was still alive.

The woman ordered the girl to be whipped twenty times before expelling her from Westeros, and no one knows the woman's fate. Joanna might seem like a pleasant woman at first glance, but she was as ruthless as Tywin when necessary.

When Cersei and Jaime were discovered practicing incest as children, a maid discovered them and notified Lady Joanna. The maid died on the orders of the lady of Casterly Rock.

"Invalid marriage, I made sure of that," Tywin had hidden that story too well, although he was not too surprised that the prince knew about it.

"I don't care. After all, it's not just what you, Mighty Tywin, want; Lord Stark's opinion matters more than yours," the prince said. "Although I must admit I expected us to talk about other things, not like gossiping ladies talking about marriages and nonsense of that sort," the prince leaned back in his chair.

"Sansa's impending union with Tyrion comes with a small problem," Tywin continued.

"Ah... if it has many problems, it shouldn't happen at all." Jaehaerys shrugged.

"Rhaelle Snow will be raised at Casterly Rock. The king has already given his consent. So as not to dishonor my son, your offspring will be given the Targaryen surname and the right to inherit a dragon egg," Tywin said expressionlessly.

"Ah... no. My daughter will be raised at Argentstone. After I speak with Lord Stark, I will leave with her." He did not include Sansa among the people he would take with him, although he did not plan to take her away from his daughter.

"It is cruel to take a mother away from her daughter," Tywin had a feeble grasp of morality.

"Cruel? Coming from the one who paid to every bard to sing 'The Rains of Castamere,' that's quite surprising," Jaehaerys stood up. "The sun is setting, and I need to leave. My men must have already found a suitable mansion to keep my men and Serena, as my ward must remain by my side," he said. Tywin did not seem at all surprised.

"You'd better leave as soon as possible. The roads from Casterly Rock tend to become dangerous at night," Tywin said with a hint of anger. He lit a candle, illuminating his desk, and picked up a quill.

"Ah... that's just your inability to keep your castle safe. I have a good ability because I know incompetent men like you exist," Jaehaerys scoffed. "I hope there are no problems during the tournament," he said, looking down at the man. "My daughter... if you touch her, I will end your lineage."

Jaehaerys walked away, hearing the sound of the pen in Mighty Tywin's hands break.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys walked away. His men had secured a spacious mansion in Lannisport. He had organized his men's watches and assigned rooms for Serena and her sisters, Tyene and Sarella, who had decided to accompany her. Honestly, Jaehaerys wasn't too thrilled about having to keep Tyene out of his bed.

His mind drifted to his conversation with Tywin.

"Tyrion and not Jaime?" In a way, it made sense.

Sansa was a disgraced woman with few prospects. A marriage to a second son of a great house was a blessing for her. But Jaehaerys wasn't sure Eddard Stark would agree to such a marriage.

"He wants me to let my guard down," Jaehaerys sighed as he calmed himself.

If he considered Tyrion to be Sansa's husband, he could relax and hope that Ned would not accept. But if it was Jaime, it was much more likely that Eddard would accept. A stupid deception. It would not affect Jaehaerys much; after all, he was going to offer the same thing to the North, regardless of who Sansa's possible husband was.

----------------------

Ned rode a gray horse. His furs clung to his sweat-covered body. Despite having spent part of his youth in the South, his body was suited for the intense cold of the North.

He had traveled north with three of his children, Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Robb, Rickon, and Catelyn remained in the north. Rickon was too young to be separated from his mother, while Catelyn's pregnancy made it difficult for her to travel. Robb ruled Winterfell on her behalf.

Upon arriving at Casterly Rock, he received two invitations.

One was from Tywin Lannister, and the other was from Jaehaerys.

Tywin was the lord of the territory where he was, so he attended a meeting with him first. He did not like the man; he had turned the Trident into a slaughterhouse. Even when men knelt and begged for mercy, he gave the order to kill.

While he was on his way to meet Lord Lannister, his children went to explore Lannisport. They should be back before nightfall. The Stark family had been invited to stay at the castle.

Ned had doubts about the marriage between Sansa and Jaime. After all, Jaime had been raised by Tywin.

When he entered the office, he had eyes for nothing but Tywin Lannister. He had aged since the last time he met him, but he remained strong, or at least appeared to.

"Lord Lannister," he greeted him as he entered.

"Lord Stark," the man gestured to the only chair in the room besides the one Tywin himself occupied.

Eddard sat down and waited while Tywin wrote on a parchment. These were painful minutes for Lord Stark.

Eddard did not say a single word before getting up and leaving, furious. Jory Cassel was waiting for him outside the room. He asked a man to guide them out of the castle. He heard Tywin speaking, but ignored him.

Tywin had ignored tradition by not personally meeting Lord Stark at the entrance to his castle. It had been Tywin's brother, Kevan, who greeted him and offered him guest rights.

He was the guardian of the north, a Stark; his lineage had ruled for over 8,000 years. For Tywin to think he could snub him was foolish.

He left Casterly Rock, dizzy from the passages, and had to travel on horseback to Lannisport. Ned thought he could finally get away from all the golden glitz, but that was not to be. Lannisport seemed awash in gold.

He found Sansa, Arya, and Bran in a market. Sansa had her daughter in her arms, while the baby reached out her hands toward a purple cloth. Eddard had forbidden her to be too intimate with the child in public, but his daughter ignored him. Catelyn once told him that a mother's love for her children could not be controlled.

After confirming that his children were well, he ordered his men to find a place to stay.

"The prince has secured a mansion for you, Lord Stark," said a thin man wearing leather armor and carrying a spear.

"Jaehaerys?" The prince had sent one of his men, Brandon Snow, to invite him to his mansion. Many Lords may be offended by being addressed by a Bastard, but Eddard knows very well that Brandon was Jaehaerys's right hand.

Brandon left with the promise that Ned would go to the prince's mansion later. Jaehaerys wanted to discuss matters related to the north.

"Jon, come with me," he ordered, Greatjon Umber, the best warrior in the north. Or he would be second best, if you counted Daemon, who arrived a while ago.

"You want to beat up the prince? Of course, I'll help you," the huge man said as he followed him. He didn't care how the man leading them tightened his grip on his spear.

"Do you want the rest of your family to be taken to the mansion prepared by the prince?" Eddard listened to the man and hesitated. He didn't live on charity.

"Do it, my men will accompany you," Eddard watched as another man, just as thin and dressed in the same way, led his men and family away.

If any lord had offered him lodging, he would not have hesitated to refuse, but Jaehaerys was a good man. Eddard knew he would not harm his family.

—-------------------------------------------------

Jaehaerys finally had Lord Stark in front of him. He greeted him outside the leased mansion—a giant beside the wolf and a handful of men behind them.

"It's been a long time, Lord Stark," he greeted awkwardly. He had left Winterfell almost 17 moons ago. More than a year. His daughter should now be 7 months old.

"A shameless brat," said the GreatJon.

"Ah, Lord Umber, I remember your face buried in the snow and your ass in the air... no one took advantage of you, did they?" Jaehaerys had a good-bad relationship with the man. They fought once, then after Jon was beaten, he wanted to drink with the prince. Once sober, the Umber didn't talk to him again.

Jon looked at him with a mixture of anger and respect. He was a man who followed strength, but he had a natural dislike for the Targaryens.

"Enough, Jon," Eddard said. "We have much to discuss," Jaehaerys nodded.

"Let's go inside," he gestured toward the house.

It was luxurious and gilded; Jaehaerys could not describe anything in Lannisport that was not that way. The prince led Lord Stark to his temporal Solar. Only the prince and Eddard entered; Jon went to a small training ground to beat up the prince's men.

"I hear you agreed to stay in the mansion I prepared," the prince said.

"I haven't fully agreed yet," Eddard said, uncomfortable.

Jaehaerys had expected Ned to lunge at him with ice in his hand. When he arrived with GreatJon, he had expected a fight. But it didn't happen.

"I would like my daughter to be safe," said the prince.

"Your daughter," Lord Stark showed the first flash of anger. Anger that quickly faded. "Rhaelle Snow," he said the name softly.

"Rhaelle..." Jae repeated, honey in his voice. "I'll be brief. I want both Sansa and Rhaelle to live at ArgentStone," Eddard appreciated directness, having raised him, he knew him well.

"What do you want?" Eddard asked angrily. "A mistress? A trophy?"

"I want my daughter in my house, and I don't want Sansa to live in a place where she will be dishonored and mistreated because of my mistakes," said the prince sincerely.

"Mistakes?"

"My mistake... my romance with your daughter should not have happened. If I could go back in time, I would change things. But I can't," he said, even though, ironically, he traveled between worlds. "Sansa will not have a happy marriage, not the one she deserves," he added at the end.

"Thanks to you," Eddard said.

"Yes, thanks to me. That's why I want her to live in—"

"On your lands, in your castle, do you want her to share your bed? Do you want to give Daenerys a toy to vent her anger?" Eddard said.

"Sansa will come to no harm. From anyone, including Daenerys," the prince promised.

"You put me in a difficult position. Sansa would agree," Ned confessed, knowing his daughter's wishes. "But the North would not. In their eyes, you are a stranger who came and plucked the most beautiful flower in the North and then threw it away."

"Your words are not as hateful as I expected," Eddard sighed heavily.

"Ashara... I feel that the gods sent you to punish me," said Lord Stark as Jaehaerys nodded.

Ned was not a hypocrite. Could he hate a man for doing the same thing he did?

"The gods work in strange ways, Lord Stark," Jaehaerys said. "I will never touch Sansa again. She is my daughter's mother. I will protect her with my life and give her everything she asks for," he said, repeating what he had already promised.

"The North remembers," Ned said, not referring to him, but his brother.

"I want the North to remember this," Jaehaerys handed him a sheet of paper.

"Wheat harvested per acre before the improvement: 1,500 pounds in five moons. Wheat harvested per acre after the improvement: 4,500 pounds in two moons." Eddard looked at the detailed document, but his eyes quickly turned to the underlined part. "Improvement?"

"Yes. I tried it on my land before. On a small scale, of course. Before, each acre produced between 1,400 and 1,600 pounds of wheat. I used a method to improve production. The results: more than three times the harvest, and the time was cut in half." That method was, of course, the use of runes.

"And you want...?" Eddard found it difficult to ask.

"I can turn barren land into fertile land. I can't promise that the lands in the north will have this yield, but it will greatly increase what you already have," Jaehaerys said.

The prince knew that he had to convince not only Eddard, but also the north. Otherwise, his reputation would be the same as Rhaegar's, who took a woman from the north and then killed her lord and heir.

The crops would help the North. Some consider it foolish, and Jaehaerys may agree. He will not give them the method, nor the runes; he will carve them and install them. The Starks will have land to harvest, and he will have his daughter home.

"This is... how can I be sure you are telling the truth?" asked Eddard.

"I swear. I swear in the name of my daughter," said the prince, as he waited for Lord Stark's response.

Chapter Text

"Do you know that kicking a prince could get you in trouble, Arya?" Jaehaerys said to the brat who was kicking his shin hard. The girl was undoubtedly looking to vent her anger on behalf of her sister.

"Stay away from Rhaelle, you idiot," she said as she threw a punch at the prince's groin.

Jaehaerys stopped her fist in its tracks. Blows to any other part of his body could be ignored, but not that one.

"She's my daughter. I... want to see her," he said.

He had come from his mansion to the Starks' to see his daughter for the first time. Eddard hadn't accepted the deal yet, held back by a bit of pride or political fear. If he did not, Jaehaerys might have to involve the dragons. It was a resource he did not want to exploit to intimidate others.

He could take Rhaelle without any problem, but not Sansa.

"You can't, she... doesn't want to see you," Arya said, pulling a sharp piece of metal from a sheath hanging at her waist.

'Needle,' thought the prince. In the Arya canon, the girl with dark brown hair, gray eyes, and an elongated face had received a sword from her brother, Jon Snow. In this world, it had probably been a gift from Daemon, which surprised Jaehaerys. Arya was everything Daemon hated in a woman: wild, loud, and defiant.

"Did a baby tell you that?" he asked, stopping the needle between his fingers, watching the guards tense up, both the dragons and the wolves. A look silenced both sides.

"Sansa doesn't want to see you looking foolish. She's asleep," she continued, not allowing him to enter the room. "Let go of it or I'll hurt you," she said as she tugged at the sword.

"Do you even know how to use it?" he asked.

"Just stick the pointy end in," said the girl as she struggled.

"That's the basics," said Jaehaerys as he wrenched the sword from her hands. "I'll keep it for now. You're a danger with it. If you were another lord, you could be in trouble," he told her.

"But you're not a complete idiot," she replied, stroking his palm.

"Oh, no?" Jaehaerys smiled.

"You're an idiot, not a complete one, just a part of one. You're worse than an idiot," she said in defense.

"Sure, little wolf," Jaehaerys opened the door slowly, making sure it didn't creak. He didn't want to startle anyone.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone," he heard a sweet voice sing.

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts," Sansa sang, melancholic.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found," the redhead smiled, moving the little girl's hand as she sang.

"And the ones

Who had loved her the most," she finished, looking in his direction out of the corner of her eye.

"Jenny of Oldstones," Jaehaerys said.

Sansa's eyes narrowed as she turned her back on him. Jaehaerys entered the room.

"Leave it open, idiot!" he heard Arya say before closing the door.

He walked over to the crib containing his daughter and looked at the girl's face. Sansa didn't say a word, nor did Jaehaerys; he just watched her. She looked just as beautiful as the last time he saw her. But she also seemed more mature. She no longer smiled dreamily at him; she bit her lip as if expecting bad news.

Her blue eyes were the same as when he left Winterfell, sad and filled with tears.

"Rhaelle," he said, looking at the cradle for the first time. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt as if his chest were about to explode.

It was a strange mixture of fear and happiness. Like standing on top of a tower and looking down, Jaehaerys believed it would be pretty similar to riding a dragon.

His daughter was beautiful, and although they say that about all babies, his really was. She had white hair with patches of copper. She was lovely, the most precious thing Jaehaerys had ever seen in his life.

Her eyes were indigo, a color between blue and purple that could change with the lighting.

Jaehaerys let his finger caress her belly, tickling her. Then he watched her smile, her little teeth peeking out.

Sansa stood up and, with a gentle movement, picked up the girl. He grimaced, thinking she didn't want him too close to her daughter. Then he panicked when she put the baby in his arms.

"Wait, I can't," he tried to protest, afraid of hurting the baby.

One of the disadvantages of having a strong physique was that, with a bit of carelessness, he could easily destroy fragile things. And at that moment, the last thing he wanted was to cause any harm to the little girl. Jaehaerys heard a little giggle from Sansa, as if she enjoyed seeing him suffer. Or as if she enjoyed seeing the father with his daughter.

"Put your hand behind her neck, don't let her get uncomfortable," Jaehaerys obeyed with clinical precision; she was the expert who had cared for her for almost seven moons.

"She feels so fragile," the prince commented, doing his best not to apply force to his arms.

"She's strong, she's your daughter," Sansa said. That sentence touched his heart.

Jaehaerys watched as the white cloth covering the baby darkened, drops of water falling on it. He shifted position and looked up at the ceiling, expecting to see a leak. But he found nothing there. When he looked back at his daughter, the drops continued to fall. He frowned.

Sansa's hands caressed his face, and Jaehaerys felt the moisture on his own cheeks.

It was the first time in his life that he had cried for something other than physical pain. He felt Sansa's hand gently guide him to a seat. He held his daughter tightly, lest he make a sudden movement and drop her on the floor.

Once seated, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt Sansa's weight settle on his shoulder, a position so intimate that he should not have allowed it out of respect for Daenerys.

He rocked the little girl for several minutes, watching as her expression gradually became sleepy until she fell asleep. Sansa got up, took the little girl from his arms, and then returned her to her crib.

"Do you promise to take care of her once you take her to ArgentStone?" Sansa asked quietly, gesturing for him to lower his voice as well.

"Yes, I promise," said the prince. He didn't need Sansa to ask him; from the moment he held her in his arms, he was willing to burn castles in her name. "I also promised to protect you, Sansa," he said. She opened her eyes, as if she hadn't expected it.

--------------

Sansa had not harbored much hope.

When she thought about marrying Lord Frey, she could be sure that Jaehaerys would not have hesitated to come for her, burn the Twins, and take her with him. Even then, her confidence came from her innocence.

When her father mentioned Lord Jaime, her hopes in Jaehaerys died a little. Her father would accept the marriage if he found Lord Jaime to be a good man and if favorable treaties were signed for the North. After all, the Lannisters were the most powerful family after the Targaryens. However, malicious tongues whispered that lions ruled even over dragons.

With Walder, if Jaehaerys did not go for her, she could leave her daughter in her father's care and then throw herself from the highest tower. But with the Lannisters? Doing such a thing could mean war between the Starks and the Lannisters.

It wasn't just that she died in the Lannisters' care; it could make the lions the suspects. Otherwise, you could say she committed suicide, but that would leave a significant mark on her father and, perhaps, on Jaehaerys.

She had remained uncertain until then, not knowing what to do, which path to take. Jaehaerys' intimidating Lord Frey was one thing; most in Westeros hated him, but Lord Jaime? He was respected by many, who saw him as just as capable as his father, though without his father's cruelty.

She had even heard that Lord Jaime and Jaehaerys were on friendly terms.

"Father said Jaime might become—" she began.

"He might... if I hadn't come," the prince said. "But I did come," he continued.

Her mother, Catelyn, said she had changed since Rhaelle was born. And that when that happened, she would stop seeing Jaehaerys as the "idealized prince" she thought he was.

But her mother was wrong. Sansa could perfectly remember the man she had fallen in love with. That man who, she didn't know how, managed to snatch her from the jaws of lions.

It seems that Jaehaerys has also matured.

Note:

Last chapter, Tywin treated Ned like one of his lords... I wrote it that way for many reasons. 1) He has the upper hand. Sansa is with a Bastard; having a woman with a bastard married to Lannister's heir is something that every Lord would have killed for. 2) Jaehaerys' rage baited Tywin. In the scene, Tywin even removes the sofa where Jaehaerys takes a seat while reading. He was trying to regain control.

That was my logic while writing... it makes sense or not, it depends on how you see Tywin. Perhaps he will not do that for the greater good. But he's a prideful one.

Chapter Text

The royal family arrived three days after the Stark family, a week before the tournament began. Lannisport was becoming even more bustling. Lord Stark was grateful to see a little more color than golden heads.

"And you will accept, Ned?" asked Greatjon Umber at his side. He was someone who had earned the right to call him Ned.

Ned had told him about the prince's plans, about his offer. He would have consulted with other men from the North, but not many had come south. Only Lord Manderly had agreed to come, but he would probably arrive shortly before the tournament; the others were busy preparing for winter.

"If what he says is true, the North will not suffer so much." Eddard could not consider only Sansa's happiness; after all, he was more than a father, he was the lord of the largest kingdom in all of Westeros.

"It's true, Ned," said Greatjon. "The boy may be shameless, but he's not a liar," he finished bitterly.

"I thought you disliked him," Ned inquired.

"I do dislike him, but it's more because of the color of his eyes and hair," Lord Umber admitted. "He's sincere. He once promised he could leave me with my face buried in the snow and my ass exposed for all to see. A braggart, I thought. But he did it, Ned, he did it. If he says he can increase the harvests in the north, I believe him." Umber was a simple man. It was enough for him to see a person's actions to judge them.

Ned closed his eyes and thought. He could wait until he reached the north to make a decision, but Sansa's fate depended on that decision. If he accepted, she would leave with the prince for ArgentStone and probably never have a husband.

Sansa had been raised as a lady. She wanted a large family, many strong sons, and perfect daughters who would be the envy of princesses and queens. Going to Argentstone would take that dream away from her.

On the other hand, since the prince had become more involved in the baby's life, Sansa seemed radiant. She had lost some of her sparkle when Jaehaerys left Winterfell, but she quickly regained it when he was near.

"Lord Stark," he heard a voice behind him. The voice sounded older and worn, but he would never forget the voice of a man like Ser Arthur Dayne. "The king requests your presence," said the white cloak.

Ned looked at him. Ser Arthur's face looked tired and fragile, like that of an old man tired of living. That surprised him; he had once been a man who exuded chivalry from every pore of his skin. What had happened to him?

"I assume the King resides at Casterly Rock, Ser Arthur?" he asked, not knowing the whereabouts of the royal family.

"Yes, I was sent to escort you there," said the knight.

"Too much steel for a short trip," GreatJon interjected, looking at the scabbard at Arthur's waist. Dawn was sheathed.

Arthur didn't even look at the giant man.

"Lead the way, Arthur," Ned gave Jon a warning look as he began to follow him. "Don't start any trouble," he said with his eyes.

As unpleasant as it was to look at the prince. No, not Prince, but King Rhaegar, he had to do it. He had already sworn his allegiance to the man, and he was not a man who broke his oaths.

Eddard was annoyed at having to move from Lannisport to the damn maze that was Casterly Rock. Many applauded the beautiful views, but for him, it was just a nightmare. A golden nightmare.

He was taken to a different room than Tywin's Keep. He recognized it simply because the door was simpler.

Rhaegar was there, sitting, with that melancholy look that drove maidens mad years ago. The same look that Lyanna fell for.

Ned had spent a lot of time thinking about his sister. A girl who fell in love and made the kingdom bleed. His father and brother were victims of that love. He didn't know if the price was worth it.

Eddard could never hate his sister; she was his blood. But he couldn't forgive her for what she did either.

"Lord Stark, I am glad you answered my call," said the king. They were alone; only Arthur and Jon had entered with Ned.

"It was the king's call," Ned said. If it hadn't been a royal command, he wouldn't have cared at all.

"Yes... I hear Catelyn is pregnant again. Will it be the fifth?" The king tried to make small talk.

"Sixth," Eddard said brusquely.

He didn't care that Rhaegar didn't know the family tree of one of the Guardians of Westeros; he didn't want to waste time on useless conversation.

"It has always embittered my heart that the relationship between the north and the south is so... broken," said the king.

"Much blood has been spilled, and wounds take time to heal," Eddard said.

Saying that wounds take time did not mean that Rhaegar could heal them. Lord Stark meant that one of the king's descendants might have a good relationship with the North decades later, when the hatred was not so fresh in everyone's memory. He only thinks that because of Jaehaerys.

"That is why I want to bring my vassals closer together," began the king, looking Eddard straight in the eye. "Jaime is the father of the future queen of Westeros. His hand is envied by many maidens in Westeros," the king began.

"I'm sure the tournament will help him find a good wife," Ned said. He didn't consider Jaime an evil man. He had known him when he was young. He was torn between his vows to protect the king and his desire to kill him.

Jaime couldn't choose. Rhaegar dethroned his father and sent him to the Wall, where he remains to this day.

"Sansa is a beautiful... woman," the king did not say maiden intentionally; after all, having a daughter proved that she was not. "Jaime is a widower. Willing to give a bastard a proper upbringing," Rhaegar sold the man as an excellent prospect.

Eddard began to feel disgust for Jaime just for that.

"Sansa's fate is not decided. Jaime is one option, but not the only one," Ned looked into the king's eyes.

"What other option?" asked the king.

"Jaehaerys has requested an agreement to take Sansa with him. So far, I am inclined to accept," he told the king.

"I see. I shouldn't be surprised. If there is anything that can surpass a Lannister's offer, it must be dragons," Rhaegar said, his gaze unfocused.

"It has nothing to do with dragons," Eddard had not even asked about them. He did not plan to go to war anytime soon.

"I am sure, Lord Stark," the king said dryly. "I will not waste any more of your time," he dismissed him.

Eddard took the opportunity to leave with GreatJon.

---------

"Arthur... do you think you can kill Jaehaerys?" the king asked his loyal white cloak.

Arthur looked at a cup on the table. The gold looked worn, and he was surprised to find such a cup among the king's belongings.

"No. I think I'll die if I fight him," admitted the knight. "Do you want me to try, my king?" he asked, perhaps a hint of longing in his words.

"Eventually... my brother has committed crimes... like bringing slaves to Westeros. I think he needs to pay for them, don't you think?" said the king.

Rhaegar hoped to see Jaehaerys participate in the tournament. Then he could kill him. After all, no man could guarantee survival in there, no matter how skilled he was.

But his younger brother had expressed no desire to participate. It seemed he wanted to agree with Lord Stark.

Rhaegar could not allow such a thing. His brother was not in his castle; he was in a foreign place, without all his men, without his dragons. It was a moment like no other to strike hard.

"Everyone must answer to the king," said Arthur, and Rhaegar nodded.

Rhaegar could not act on his own, after all, he denied his brother bringing slaves as a crime; it was best to have a third party accuse Jaehaerys. Better than one lord, it would be several of them. He had heard that Lord Lydden had arrived at Casterly Rock, saying that the prince had defeated a group of bandits who now resided in Deep Den Castle.

'I have a few pieces... I had better use them well.'

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys stood in front of his brother and a group of lords who looked at him with fear, contempt, and pity. He should have seen it coming. Tywin wanted two things: to control his daughter or to kill him during the tournament. So far, he had achieved neither; he would have to solve the problem another way.

"Are you sure of your words, Lord Lydden?" asked the prince.

Among the audience were Jaime, Tyrion, and Tywin; Tywin's wife was with the Queen Mother, Rhaella, elsewhere. From House Targaryen, only the king and his heir, Aegon, were present. Cersei and Oberyn were there, the former watching the prince as if he had won a prize. Serena was with them, trying to keep as much distance as possible between herself and her brother.

The lord who had given him asylum and to whom he had entrusted the prisoners pointed at him as if he were the most horrible person ever to set foot in Westeros.

"Yes, the prince arrived and killed dozens of men who were patrolling my lands," said the man angrily, his broken voice betraying his lies.

"Did you send those men to attack me, Lord Lydden?" Jaehaerys shook his head. The poor man had sweat dripping from his forehead as if he were in a sauna.

"The men were patrolling my lands, good men, whom you murdered!" The man glanced sideways at Tywin Lannister.

"What a fucking farce," the prince muttered in annoyance.

"Besides, the prince has brought slaves from another continent!" said another man.

"Slavery is forbidden in Westeros," muttered one of the lords in the room.

They appeared to be involved in foul play, feigning surprise and anger. 'This was actually Tywin's idea?'

"So much hatred and desire for justice," Jaehaerys scoffed. "Why didn't you come to my castle to complain? I would have listened to you and taken your words into account," the voices did not echo again.

The men had heard of dragons and ghosts. Only fools would seek death by confronting the prince on his own lands. Although, despite having heard of dragons, they did not remember how hot their flames were.

"Murder and slavery," said Lord Tywin. "How do you plead?"

"I am as innocent of murder as you are of exterminating House Reyne," said the prince. Tywin's face remained impassive, but he could see Tyrion Lannister shifting in his seat. He didn't know if he was uncomfortable or enjoying the spectacle.

"And the slaves?" asked Tywin.

"They have been freed. Dozens of them asked for help to return to their homes, and I granted it," he said sincerely. He was not guilty of anything.

"My men were murdered!" Lord Lydden continued, just as the entire room began to look to see where the verdict would fall.

"The word of a prince against the word of a lord. Every time you open your mouth, you tarnish my name. The name of the Targaryen family," Jaehaerys used his family as a shield.

The man looked at the king, who remained neutral in the whole affair. The king said nothing, only looked at his brother.

"I spoke of justice," the little Lydden man said, lowering his tone. His words were beginning to lack weight.

It doesn't matter how much the lack of field Lord Lydden's words start to see to everyone. It will end in an unresolved matter. A fight, they wanted him to ask for a trial by combat. But do they really have a champion strong enough to face him? 

"You speak lies," another voice interjected this time.

Jaehaerys watched Tywin's face wrinkle slightly in a grimace of disgust.

"Do not speak out of turn, Princess Serena Nymeros Martell," Tywin scrutinized her with his gaze, and the girl cringed in her place, finding an incredible resemblance between Tywin's eyes and Joffrey's.

"I remember the men charging at us. I was part of the group. I could have died that day. I didn't know who those men belonged to, but Lord Leddyn has already pleaded guilty; he attacked your granddaughter. Why isn't he in chains?" the girl continued, watching the little lord's face transform into despair.

"Serena, come here," Cersei identified her father's bitterness and moved to control her daughter.

"I almost died, Mother!" said the princess. "But you don't care about that, do you?" she almost shouted in front of everyone. "You didn't care when Joffrey—" The princess's face turned ninety degrees to the right.

"Those are private matters," Cersei began to drag her out of the room, after she slapped her. "Sandor, get her out of here," she ordered the dog.

"No," said Prince Oberyn as he approached. "What did Joffrey do?" he asked his daughter as he caressed her cheek, where it was beginning to swell. He looked at his wife with a hint of anger.

The room held its breath; they had come initially to judge the prince, but the situation had shifted too quickly. Now, everyone wanted to know what secret the princess of Dorne was keeping, and that her mother wanted to prevent from coming to light.

"He-he..." Jaehaerys felt bad seeing the princess stammer as she searched for the words. Serana's black eyes met Jae's purple ones, and she found her courage. "He raped me," she whispered. "Mother knew it, she ordered me to stay silent, she said I would destroy Joffrey's life if I talked."

Jaehaerys couldn't see Oberyn's reaction, but he seemed to tremble and curl up, like a snake about to strike. He didn't utter a word.

"Lies!" Cersei shouted, panicked. "It was Jaehaerys who ordered you to say that, wasn't it?" she asked her daughter softly. "There's nothing to fear; he can't hurt you." She tried to caress her daughter, but the girl recoiled in disgust.

"He saved my life," Serena said, not to Cersei, but to Oberyn.

"Enough!" roared the lion of Casterly Rock. "Everyone except House Lannister and Targaryen, leave!" Disappointment and anger were palpable on his face, not toward Serena, but toward Joffrey, whom he glared at furiously. If Oberyn didn't kill his son, Tywin might well do it himself.

The lords quickly left the room. None questioned how Tywin seemed to act more like the king than Rhaegar himself.

"Help!" Joffrey cried as he fell backward. "Damn bastard bitch," he yelled at Obara, who had attacked him with a dagger, a red line opening up on his chest. If it weren't for Sandor's quick movement, the dagger would have ended up embedded in his heart.

"Get her! What are you waiting for?" The Lannister men moved toward Oberyn's bastard daughter.

"Touch my daughter, and I'll kill you," said Oberyn, who continued to stroke Serena's head.

When he said that sentence, he looked directly at Joffrey, who broke out in a cold sweat.

"Get Joffrey out of here and confine him to his chambers," Tywin ordered.

"Yes... Protect him," Serena said wearily. She watched as the men who had been trying to capture her sister turned to Joffrey and took him out of the room.

"Joffrey didn't do anything. It was all Jaehaerys' fault! He was the one who forced me to send Serena to his cursed castle. Oberyn, he threatened me, said he would kill Joffrey if I didn't do as he ordered. I swear to you, I swear by our children," Cersei lunged at her husband, who remained still.

"Serena didn't lie," Oberyn said. "I remember when she was little and didn't want to behave like a lady; every time she wanted to confront you and tell you she didn't want to sew or paint, she would look at me, seeking the courage to tell the truth. She did the same thing today, but she didn't look at me; she looked at the prince," he continued with pain. Oberyn felt like he had lost his daughter's confidence.

"The truth is uncertain. A child's behavior is not reflected in adulthood," interjected the king, Rhaegar. "We need to get to the truth," he said, looking at Jaehaerys. "Did you order her to lie?"

"I can't order him to do anything," said the prince. "Although I indeed threatened Cersei with killing Joffrey if he continued to rape other women. I hope he stopped, it will be a shame for him to die," he confessed, looking at the woman who turned pale.

"I'll take care of Joffrey, stay out of it," Oberyn said sharply.

"You can't believe your son would be capable of such barbarity. You raised him, you made him a formidable warrior," Cersei reproached her husband.

"And a horrible man," Oberyn clicked his tongue. "We don't hurt little girls in Dorne, even less our family."

"It's Tywin's daughter's word against the prince's," Rhaegar said. "A greater trial will be needed," he continued.

"I demand a trial by combat," the prince said. "I will defend my word or that of Princess Serena," Tywin's face soured.

"Wielding a weapon like a barbarian is not what makes us noble, brother, you should know that by now. You can't end every trial that way," Rhaegar said. "Everyone knows your strength. The nobles will not accept it as valid unless it is a trial by seven and—"

"Then let it be a trial by seven," the prince said wearily. Walking toward the exit. They had no one who could win in a single duel, but seven men... they also haven't them... they fault had been so delusional. "Choose the date," the guards looked at Tywin as he approached the great doors. They opened them afterward. "Serena, are you coming?" he asked his ward.

"Yes," she replied.

"Stay away from my daughter, you bastard!" Cersei shouted.

"Go, Serena," Oberyn said. "Tyene, Sarella, go too, protect your sister." 'As his father couldn't,' he added in his mind. The Red Viper's voice was silky and broken.

"Oberyn!" Cersei complained.

"I need to talk to our son," he said. He walked toward Jaehaerys.

The two princes glanced at each other; neither said a word before Oberyn sought out his eldest son's chambers, ignoring the desperate cries of Cersei, who Sandor held back on the orders of her father, Tywin.

Chapter Text

"You didn't have to do that, you know?" Jaehaerys said to the princess.

He wasn't terrified of the trial; he could always request a trial by combat, just as he ended up having to fight in the end. It was foolish, really; Rhaegar was looking for any excuse to screw him over.

"I already did it, what does it matter if I had to or not?" the girl snorted, trying to downplay it.

"Today I will receive Lord Stark's answer. After the trial, we can return to ArgentStone, unless your father has other plans for you," said the prince, sensing the princess's anxiety.

"I don't care about the drama; Grandfather will save Joffrey; he'll live, probably in exile," she shrugged. "I'll find him eventually," she whispered at last.

Jaehaerys was not so sure about Tywin wanting to save Joffrey's life. He wasn't soft-hearted; if he needed to cut his family three, he would do it.

"And the looks, what do you think of them?" he asked her. On the way, they had encountered many lords looking at the princess with pity. One or two ladies even covered their mouths as they stifled sobs.

"I don't care, there are no looks like that in your castle," she said sharply. Her sisters walked behind them in silence.

------------------------

"Did you allow that, Cersei?" Tywin asked, without shouting, without making a scene; it was that low voice, but it contained everything but calm.

"That's a lie!"

"Your offspring's eyes screamed his guilt; don't take me for a fool!" Jaime and Tyrion were there, watching—one with disappointment and the other with amusement.

"They... Serena and Joffrey loved each other. It was Jaehaerys who intervened; they would have been happy together," Cersei began to rave, making up nonsense—a desperate woman.

"Lannister!" said Tywin. "What does that name mean to you?"

"It reminds me that we are superior to others." She said, her head high, "What does the opinion of sheep matter to a lion?" she replied proudly.

"Lannister... is legacy, now tarnished by your stupidity. Perhaps I should have sent you to become a Septa instead of marrying in Dorne," said the older man.

"It wasn't my fault, Father," she whispered, as if begging for mercy.

"You saw it and allowed it. At first, I didn't understand Serena's reluctance to discuss the prince in detail. But now it's all clear. She hates you and, therefore, she hates us," Tyrion interjected thoughtfully.

"She doesn't hate me," Cersei bristled at his words.

Tyrion seemed to want to say something else, but his father silenced him with a glance. He shrank into his seat; despite everything, he respected the older man. He feared him even more.

"You will remain on the rock from now on. Serena condemned the act in public, so even if she refuses, the voices will continue to scream. An, no. I don't care about the sheep's voices, but the Dragon's. " Tywin told Cersei, like a father sending his daughter to reflect in the corner. Rhaegar is unhappy with the marriage between Aegon and Myrcella, and he sees this as an opportunity. 'No... Rhaegar is too cowardly.'

"What will happen to Joffrey?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

"We should hang him and completely disown him from our house," said an angry voice at the door. Joanna strode in. "I heard everything, the damn voices are screaming it everywhere," Joanna looked at Cersei in disbelief. "You knew? And you allowed it?"

"It's a lie, they... they loved each other," she tried to justify Joffrey.

"Cersei, even though you've been away from me for so long, I still know perfectly well when you're lying to me. Your own daughter... why? If anyone had laid a finger on you, I would have thrown him into the sea in a lead suit of armor, melted with their flesh," Joanna asked with anger and sadness.

Cersei shut her mouth. No matter what she said, no one seemed willing to defend Joffrey.

"Joffrey will be judged," Tywin decreed.

"No, not him, Father, please. He's your grandson; he is a kid." Cersei fell to her knees as she pleaded.

"He's a plague, one I must clean up quickly. I don't want him to end up affecting everything else," her father said, ignoring even his daughter's tears. Joffrey had been considered a possible heir to the Rock if Jaime had no male heir, but at that moment, it was no longer necessary.

He had an heir. "I remember Lord Coin's eyes were the same color," the prince's words echoed in his head. Would Lysa have been capable of bearing another man's child? He didn't know, but from that moment on, he couldn't see any resemblance between Jaime and the baby.

"And the prince's trial? There's a chance the prince will lose against seven men in battle. I'm sure the king will provide his own if necessary," Jaime said.

"And if Jaehaerys wins, we Lannisters will lose twice. First, by defending a rapist, one who went against his own blood, no less. Second, in a trial. I don't think Jaehaerys is kind enough to spare the lives of the seven warriors," Tyrion interjected. "Who would the king send, his royal guard? It's unlikely he'd risk losing them. I don't think there's anyone besides the Sword of the Morning who could stand up to the prince," he narrowed his eyes as he thought. "Not even you, brother," he silenced Jaime when he opened his mouth. "Jaime, don't you feel repulsed when you think of Joffrey?" Tyrion thought of poor Serena. If anyone deserved what happened to her, it wasn't her; it was Cersei.

Jaime remained silent. "He's a Lannister... we protect our own."

"We're protecting Serena," Tywin said, as an excuse. He was really looking to protect his reputation.

"Even so, the king seems to want a trial," Tyrion added.

"It doesn't matter what the king wants," said Tywin, walking away angrily, his feet pounding the floor, the echoing noise mingling with Cersei's sobs.

"If Joffrey admits his crimes, he will be sent to the Wall, a fitting fate for him," said Tyrion.

"HE IS NOT GUILTY!" Cersei shouted for the umpteenth time. Saliva flew grotesquely from her mouth, her bloodshot eyes touching Joanna's heart.

"Otherwise, he will die," said Tywin's wife.

"If Prince Oberyn hasn't killed him already," said Tyrion, grimacing, not wanting to sound happy.

Cersei screamed as she rushed to her son's chambers. This time, there was no Sandor to stop her.

"The queen mother, how did she react?" asked Tyrion.

His mother, Joanna, had been tasked with distracting Rhaella and keeping her away from the prince's trial. She had to feign dementia, as if she didn't really know about the trial and just wanted to have tea with her old friend.

"She was angry at first," she said with a sigh. "Then she laughed out loud, not in the demure way she usually does." Joanna's frown was pronounced.

"Ah... I can imagine what news made her laugh so much," Tyrion said with a smile.

"You look happy, brother," Jaime said, his eyes suspicious.

"It's not happiness, it's amusement. They're not the same thing," said the Imp. "You should get ready and talk to Myrcella, tell her what story she should tell. She can't open her mouth to defend Joffrey. She has to condemn him, too." Jaime listened. "I think you will talk against Joffrey", Tyrion commented.

'If I wanted to control Cersei, I need to be someone she believes is on her side', Jaime thought, but just shrugged his shoulders. He left in silence.

"You are cruel, my son," Joanna said softly, stroking the white hair of her youngest son, her favorite son.

"Of all my nephews, the only one I dislike is Joffrey. To a certain extent, I think it's good that he has been exposed publicly. That way, Father won't be able to save him," Tyrion said. "There will be justice, even if for Father it is only a way to maintain his reputation."

"You are a Lannister, one with a reputation as a womanizer and an alcoholic," said his mother, holding his hair a little tighter. "People will see a little of Joffrey in you," she warned, wanting to tell him not to rejoice too much over public justice.

"But I paid with gold, I don't need to force anyone," he pushed away his mother's hand, who, despite her age, continued to caress him as if he were a small child. 'Bad things about being a dwarf, you don't grow up,' he thought.

Tywin had prepared letters against Prince Jaehaerys, accusing him of controlling his daughter, the tournament, and even the desperate attempt at a trial; none of it worked. In Tyrion's eyes, his father's biggest mistake was his interaction with Lord Stark.

Tyrion remembered his father ordering that only two chairs remain in his Solar, including the one he occupied. The prince had pissed him off; apparently, his power play had been entirely useless against Jaehaerys. When he tried to regain his lost ego by making Eddard Stark, a Lord Paramount, wait for him.

Tyrion shouldn't rejoice in his family's misfortunes, but they didn't help themselves. If his father had done things the right way and treated Lord Stark as an equal, Sansa would now be betrothed to Jaime.

But his father had no equals, not even the king.

Or so he thought.

Tyrion was amazed by how people forget that Jaehaerys controls three dragons.

'Do the people think they are not unburned?', Tyrion wanted to visit ArgentStone. But maybe he would not return from there.

Chapter Text

Lord Lydden was found dead in a tavern, his head seemingly crushed with a mace. Jaehaerys did not care about his death. At that moment, he was spending time with his daughter, reading a letter from his wife, Daenerys. His mother had brought it to him.

His wife had rejected the idea of going to Casterly Rock.

I don't want to leave our castle alone. Besides, I'm preparing something, it will be finished before you return.

The letter did not say what she was preparing. Although Jaehaerys imagined it was one of the projects she had been working on.

The trial was canceled, and they sent him a message saying he did not need to appear at all. Joffrey was to be tried that same day, and Jaehaerys attended, more for Serena's sake than his own.

But the brat didn't show up. He was nowhere to be found in the castle.

His mother, Cersei, had disappeared with him.

Serena nodded, somewhat relieved that revenge had not been snatched from her hands.

"Your Highness, Prince Oberyn wishes to speak with you," an immaculate man told her.

"Let him in," she said, cooing to her baby with more confidence than in previous days.

"That's Rhaelle Snow, right? Your bastard. I heard Lord Stark agreed to let her and her mother go with you to ArgentStone," the prince's Dornish accent broke the silence.

"He has. She will be raised in my castle," said the prince. "Did you help Joffrey escape?" he asked the man, leaving the baby in her crib.

"No... apparently, Cersei seduced a captain to get them out of Westeros. She took a chest of gold with her," Oberyn said as if he didn't care at all.

"Escaping under the nose of Mighty Tywin himself. How absurd," the prince walked over to take a jug of wine, bringing one for the prince.

"Cersei used to talk about Casterly Rock, its hidden passages, and how she knew every corner, how she could get in and out undetected," said the prince melancholically.

Jaehaerys could think of Cersei as a bitch, based on his memories of the canon. In this world, she was still a bitch, but so was Oberyn; they were kindred spirits. The Dornishman's voice was full of pain; he was devastated, having lost his wife and daughter, and realizing that he had failed to protect his own daughter.

"What will become of Serena?" the prince asked.

"She will go wherever she wishes. I feel I have lost the right to tell her what to do," said Oberyn, taking the wine served by the prince. He emptied it in one gulp.

"I will teach her to fight," Jaehaerys said.

"Good. I should have taught her, but Cersei stopped me. And Serena herself was not very eager to learn. A mistake. I should have given her the tools to defend herself." He approached the cradle and looked at the baby.

Jaehaerys said nothing. "we don't hurt little girls in dorne" Prince Oberyn used to say. And he had no reason to hurt his daughter, yet Jae couldn't help but clench his fist around the cup.

"Ahh, yes. You understand me. I had nine daughters, eight bastards, and one legitimate. I loved none of them less than the other..." Oberyn seemed to have stopped considering Joffrey his own son.

"It's strange, I trust you won't hurt her, but—"

"You're prepared in case I do something," Oberyn nodded. "I understand. I want three of my sand snakes to go with you to Argentstone. They will be Serena's confidantes."

"Fine," having snakes under his roof was dangerous, but not unfeasible. "May I know who they will be?"

"Nymeria, Sarella, and Elia," said the Dornish prince.

"I will order suitable quarters to be prepared," said Jaehaerys. He had already postponed the decision to live in one of the towers. He wondered if the time was right.

"Good. They will teach Serena to fight, although she mentioned a desire to learn to use your weapon. I hope she is a good student," Oberyn began to withdraw. "By the way, have you heard about the tournament?"

"I haven't heard any changes. Has it been canceled?" he asked, unsurprised. With all the scandals, it was possible that it would be canceled.

"No. They increased the prizes. One million for the melee, half a million for the joust, and a hundred thousand for archery," said Prince Oberyn. "It seems they really want you dead. Will you attend?" he asked curiously.

Jaehaerys exhaled heavily. The initial prizes were outrageous, but it seemed Tywin wanted people to stop thinking about his wayward grandson.

'Is it worth it?' Jaehaerys had promised not to fight, to his mother, to Daenerys.

But that prize would double his fortune.

"Hundreds of men will attend the melee. It will be like a small-scale war," said the prince of Dorne, interpreting his silence. "It's dangerous. Take it from a man known as Viper," he said, walking away silently.

--------------

"I'm still not happy with your decision," Queen Rhaella said, her arms crossed over her belly.

Jaehaerys stood in front of her, cradling his little girl. He had become more confident since the first time he held her.

"She's my daughter, my blood... just... look at her," he said, showing her the baby, who smiled when she saw her grandmother.

Rhaella let out a sigh.

"Even so, taking Sansa to ArgentStone, do you know what people will say?" said the queen mother disapprovingly.

Jaehaerys looked at his mother's red dress; Daenerys had given it to her.

"The prince of scrolls... he may be the lustful prince, or perhaps they will begin to compare me to Maegor or Aegon the Unworthy," he shrugged.

The prince knew that a smear campaign would begin against him as soon as he left the Westernlands. Rhaegar would not waste this opportunity to screw up his life a little. The people of Westeros remember. Honestly, since they didn't have many ways to entertain themselves, remembering history was one of the few things they could use to distract themselves.

"You've become bolder. Let Sansa return to the north, even if you don't want her to marry another man," Rhaella tried to convince him, jumping a little when the baby coughed.

She instinctively stood up and took the baby in her arms. Her granddaughter. She was beautiful, and she was sure that if she had been born legitimate, she would have been the envy of the whole kingdom. But the privilege of having Jaehaerys' legitimate children fell to Daenerys.

"I thought you weren't opposed to Sansa and Jaime's marriage," the prince commented, watching his mother's reaction.

"Fuck the Lannisters," she said unconsciously. Then she looked around the room, as if expecting someone to come out and kill her. "Joanna can feign insanity all she wants, but I know she kept me away from your absurd trial on purpose. I enjoyed it when all the gossip about Joffrey came to light. Damn that little bastard." She paused, looking at her son's reaction." I still remember him harassing Daenerys. Everything would be better if his head were on a pike, at least poor Serena would have justice," she said as she caressed the face of her granddaughter, who smiled at her wildly.

Jaehaerys had had countless problems with his mother. From her doubts about his plans to their disagreements about religion, but he never doubted that she loved him. He would make sure his daughter felt the same way about him.

"And to think you told me I could deny her," said the prince, watching his mother smile.

"It's easy to say that when you don't have her in front of you. If you had denied her, I would never have approached her. An old woman's heart is fragile and easily moved," said Rhaella, as if explaining her entire behavior. "She has the bearing of a Targaryen," she added at the end, as the girl held her gaze.

"She may not have the name. But she will be raised as one, Daenerys agrees with that," he said when he saw his mother about to deny it.

Jaehaerys continued to watch Rhaella and Rhaelle, who seemed to enjoy each other's company.

The prince heard his mother's anger toward the Lannisters, but he didn't hear her say anything against Rhaegar. He wondered whether his mother knew that her eldest son was involved in the whole fiasco, or whether she refused to accept it.

At the end of the day, he couldn't force his mother to choose sides. He could try to convince her that Rhaegar was evil, that he was a psychopath, a madman like Aerys. But there was no guarantee she would believe him.

What mother wanted to hear such things about her own son?

"It's a shame Lyanna and Visenya didn't want to attend the tournament," his mother commented after playing with the baby, about to say goodbye. "It looks like it will be quite interesting. The biggest since Harrenhal."

"Tragedy haunts Lyanna... I don't think it's an enjoyable idea for her," Jaehaerys put his daughter to sleep in her crib.

"Tragedy... yes," said Rhaella before leaving.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar looked up and down the stands, searching among the boxes for his brother. He had invited him to sit with him; he needed to see him up close, to keep an eye on him. Perhaps even slip some sweet poison into his drink. Although, according to Varys, Jaehaerys had given up his drinking habit. A pity for the Redwynes and the Dornish.

He looked at the participants. That's when he frowned. His brother, who had refused to participate, was preparing for the joust.

Tywin had organized the tournament to begin with the joust, followed by archery, and finally the melee as the main event. The melee had more than a thousand participants seeking glory. Tywin had allowed anyone who could wield a weapon to enter.

'Poor fools,' the Smallfolk might think they had a chance, but the knights and lords had been raised for war. They would be nothing more than meat to be cut down by swords.

The jousting had been more strictly regulated, although it really mattered little. More than 120 men signed up. On the first day, participants would be allowed to choose their opponents until only 64 remained; some would not even participate.

His brother had armor, good armor, black armor. Rhaegar wondered what kind of steel it was; the king's armor was black too, but it looked different.

Less impressive at first glance.

"It looks like our uncle will represent his own house," Aegon said to Rhaenys.

The two siblings were close, but not as close as Rhaegar would have liked. Not as close as the three heads of the dragon should be.

The king looked at his brother's coat of arms. Two dragons, one black and one white, intertwined. Not fighting, but dancing in sync. A copper-colored background. He looked at strange symbols engraved on the shield, ones he had never seen before.

"The first participant, Ser Arthur Dayne, will select his opponent," said the announcer.

Usually, Tywin or someone from the Lannister family would have given a speech, but he was not a man of many words. He had already made clear with his actions what he intended for this tournament. Extravagance.

Although Rhaegar knew that initially it had been to eliminate Jaehaerys.

Eliminating the prince during the tournament was almost impossible. Not even Ser Arthur had enough confidence to destroy him.

For a second, Rhaegar considered ordering everyone to kill him. The deepest part of his mind whispered to him to do so.

'Aerys would have done it,' thought the king.

It wouldn't be long before people saw him as his father. No one wanted a second Mad King. Although Rhaegar did not consider himself one, he did everything for a purpose, an ultimate goal. He felt no pleasure, only the weight of his responsibility.

Not to mention that Daenerys was still in Argentstone with Visenya, backed by an army and dragons. He wondered if his little sister would seek revenge for her husband. Perhaps she would. According to Varys, they both showed genuine affection, even in King's Landing.

Ser Arthur directly challenged Ser Lyn Corbray. He was a renowned warrior, though not the most pleasant to meet. That's what the lords said. The man was quite docile in Rhaegar's presence. That same man killed Lewyn Martell at the Trident. A skilled man, if it weren't for the murder of a white cloak, who was his wife's uncle, and his conceited and proud character, Rhaegar would have given him the white cloak.

Ser Arthur was an excellent jouster. But even so, he needed to break several lances to knock Ser Lyn Corbray down. The lord of the valley fell to the ground with a thud. His heavy armor made it difficult for him to get up.

"My sword!" the man shouted.

Rhaegar almost rolled his eyes at all the cries from the crowd. The man had been quite good, but he had lost. He had lost to Arthur Dayne, the best warrior in Westeros, if Jaehaerys was not counted. Now he was challenging him to a duel. He had the right to do so, but he had no chance of winning.

"Lady Forlorn," he looked at the Valyrian steel sword with a hint of greed in his eyes. How he wished he had another sword for his house. Now he had Dark Sister with him, but that was Visenya's sword. It was not Aegon's, which is why he did not allow his heir to carry it, although the latter did not seem too interested in doing so.

The duel was less even than the joust. Ser Arthur wielded Dawn, the sword of his house. It was not a Valyrian steel sword, but it could be compared to them. It was made from a meteorite, according to the stories.

"Enough!" roared the king when Lyn fell to his knees. "Let the tournament continue." He wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

He would not see his brother die that day. But in the melee, perhaps. If Jaehaerys had entered the joust, he might also seek the gold of the melee, the highest prize. That made Rhaegar feel a little anticipation. Daenerys could not avenge her husband if he died by accident. Perhaps she could burn some man who participated in the melee, but she would have no grounds to go after the royal house.

The men rode past and competed with each other. The sound of wood breaking echoed in the king's ears. When Jaehaerys competed, he selected a random man, the bastard who had the misfortune of being next to him—a wandering mercenary.

One lance and the mercenary fell. His horse whinnied in fear.

"Our uncle doesn't seem to be a very good jouster," said Rhaenys, who had watched dozens of tournaments.

"No... I don't really think he's ever competed before. But his strength could give him a good advantage," said Aegon. "We all know Ser Gregor, he's not exactly known for his skill, but for his monstrous strength," the man he referred to was in the arena.

Gregor was still, though Rhaegar could swear the man was trembling with rage. The king hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid. He needed him alive for the melee to go against his brother.

Luckily, Gregor couldn't choose. The next participant was Loras Tyrell, who was part of the Royal Guard. Also from the Tyrells were Lady Margaery and her older brother, Garlan, who was also participating in the tournament. The young Tyrell directly challenged Gregor.

"Oh, it looks like the Knight of Flowers is going to go up against the Mountain again," said young Myrcella. Rhaegar didn't even turn to look at her.

This time, the Mountain seemed to have lost his patience. He did not want his failure to be repeated. He attacked the young knight's horse directly at the feet.

"Loras!" Garlan shouted as he moved toward his fallen brother.

Luckily, the horse did not fall on top of him, and although his leg was stuck, he seemed unharmed.

Gregor looked at Jaehaerys, as if warning him of what would happen if they met during the tournament. Jaehaerys wore a helmet, so his reaction was unknown to everyone present.

"How dishonorable," he heard someone in the crowd shout. Margaery said it with contempt for the Mountain.

Rhaegar had his doubts about how to deal with the Tyrells. He had thought that giving them a place in the royal guard would satisfy them, but no. They had been seeking a marriage between Daemon and Margaery as a form of compensation.

'Perhaps I will have to pluck some flowers from their garden,' the king would let Jaehaerys sit on the Iron Throne before he would let Daemon and Margaery marry. He heard nothing about his son in the north. The last thing Varys said about him was that he was going to the Wall to visit Maester Aemon.

The rest of the tournament continued regardless of this mishap. Some jousts ended in a single exchange, usually between the experienced and those who tried their luck. Prince Jaehaerys knocked down two more men. It seemed that with each joust, he became more accustomed to the tournament.

The tournament ended when only 64 participants remained. More would be held the next day. Two days until the end of the tournament, then it would be a day of archery, which would serve as a break before the melee.

Rhaegar waited eagerly.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys had decided to participate in the jousting tournament. Half a million gold dragons. He could obtain them with a fair degree of certainty. The matches would be one-on-one.

The first and second days had been the most boring for Jaehaerys. His opponents were not the best and posed no challenge. That day, the tournament ended. There were 32 participants left. On the first day, he knocked down three men, and on the second, only one, Edmure Tully, Eddard Stark's good brother.

Edmure was a much more capable man than the TV show made him out to be, where he was little more than a buffoon. He managed to withstand three lances before falling from his horse. The red-haired man did not give him a second glance; probably, thanks to his father, he did not have a good impression of him. And since the affair with Sansa, even less so.

On the third day, more interesting names remained. Ser Arthur, Ser Garlan, Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Balon Swann, who was a knight of whom his mother had a somewhat favorable impression. There were other names, none of which Jaehaerys remembered as being impressive. They were good, but not on the same level as those mentioned.

Ah, there was also that big monster who seemed to salivate when he saw him. Gregor Clegane. Jaehaerys expected the man to lunge at him at any moment. The Mountain jousts had been anything but honorable. The man played dirty, as if nothing mattered to him but winning.

Jaehaerys felt a little touched that he was the reason the man was so focused on winning.

"The Prince of Scrolls, Jaehaerys Targaryen," they announced. His first battle would be against "Garlan the Gallant," a terrible nickname if you asked Jaehaerys.

His rival was one of the best. Jaehaerys could see him winning the tournament above all others. He was everything Loras was, but better. Without that arrogance and desire to show off. And much more skilled.

Jaehaerys thought he might lose to him.

"I need to climb the mountain, my prince," the man said, as if apologizing for fighting seriously.

The mountain had wounded Garlan's brother, Loras. His injuries were not serious, but they were enough to make him angry. It was a simmering anger. He was serious and focused, his emotions serving as fuel.

Jaehaerys found his desire to win the gold inferior to Garlan's desire to avenge his brother. But that didn't mean he would let him win. No way.

Ser Garlan was a different opponent than those he had faced before. He felt it on the first pass. Garlan's blow hit him in the chest, dodging his shield. The prince had practiced for the first time two days ago; the Tyrells had been practicing for years.

The prince looked at his chest. The blow almost knocked him off his horse; on land, it would never have moved him. But while riding, inertia did not favor him when receiving a blow. The prince threw down his shield. Honestly, he couldn't concentrate on blocking the lance while riding.

He grabbed his horse's reins, holding on so he wouldn't fall. Good old Coal groaned a little.

The second spear hit him in the chest again, but his also struck, shattering the shield decorated with roses. Both were now on equal footing. Not for long, though, as Garlan asked for a new shield.

The third and fourth were similar. Jaehaerys struck the shield and broke it, receiving blows himself. The steel of his armor cushioned most of the damage, but it was starting to hurt a little.

On the fifth, Jaehaerys changed hands mid-stride. His left was not as strong as his right, but it was enough. He found a new angle, striking Ser Garlan in the stomach. The man fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. Jaehaerys breathed a sigh of relief. He expected a challenge, but Garlan just shook his head.

"The horse..."

"You can keep it," said the prince; if he had been more selfish, he would have had five extra horses at that moment.

"No," Garlan said. "It's yours," he said gallantly.

It was tradition that during jousts, the winner would obtain the other's belongings. Jaehaerys had refused when his rivals offered him their belongings. For most, their horse was a large part of their belongings.

In the end, the prince kept the horse. Although Garlan kept his armor. The prince allowed him to pay for the animal when he realized that the man would not let him "give" it to him.

"You can think of it as a gift from the domain. In fact, it is your horse's brother," it had been House Tyrell who gave him the horse he was riding at the time.

"Really?" The prince was a little surprised.

Garlan's horse, now his, was dark brown with white speckles. It was large and imposing, the same size as his own.

"Yes, same mare, same stallion," the man nodded. "My grandmother... she invites you to the domain; she hopes you will be able to come at any time," the man said, then walked away. He seemed a little embarrassed.

Jaehaerys rode his new horse toward his squire. He had initially planned for Brandon Snow to be his squire; that would have been quite amusing. Unfortunately for him, another, smaller Bran had latched onto him from day one. Ned had allowed it.

Bran Stark was not his page, nor his squire. But during the tournament, he would serve as one. He did not believe Lord Stark would be willing to leave another of his sons in his hands. However, the prince would like to annoy the bloody Bloodraven a little more.

"Here, order them to take him to the stables," he said, handing him the reins. The young Stark obeyed quickly.

Behind him, the tournament continued. Arthur passed, as did Ser Gregor. Jaehaerys' next opponent was Ser Balon Swann.

The man was burly, but not as fast and agile as Garlan. He didn't want to offend the royal guard, but after facing Garlan, competing against him didn't seem so difficult.

The next round was against Ser Addam. A friend of Jaime Lannister, he was described as someone with a good head on his shoulders. His spear was good, but again, he was not as good as Garlan.

Then he faced Ser Arthur. Of all the men he recognized at first, he faced each of them individually. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he realized everything.

In the final round, if he won against Arthur, he would face Gregor Clegane, who had destroyed a knight from the Stormlands. The Joust was brutal. Ser Gregor broke his lance in the poor man's neck.

Ser Gregor faced weak opponents. Meanwhile, Jaehaerys went up against the best in the tournament.

"Ser Arthur," he nodded in the man's direction.

The knight nodded without saying a word.

That joust was... surprisingly easy. Ser Arthur seemed tired, or rather, he seemed unwilling to fight. He fell on the third lance. The crowd went wild, while others began to shout that it was unfair, that it was rigged.

Jaehaerys couldn't help but agree with them; it was rigged.

Finally, he looked at the mountain in front of him. The man seemed impatient.

"I will destroy you," said the man.

"First, you need to touch me," replied the prince, going to the other end of the arena.

The commentator didn't even say a word before the Mountain that Rides began to charge at the prince. His spear went straight for the feet of the prince's black horse. The prepared prince jumped. The spear grazed the ground as the prince struck the mountain's shield.

Jaehaerys laughed loudly. He watched the mountain charge again, this time the spear aimed at his chest. The prince's shield exploded, and he felt his hand go numb.

The prince didn't bother to ask for another shield. Just a spear. His horse reared up.

Ser Gregor went for the horse's legs again, trying his luck once more.

To do so, he had to lean his body slightly, and Jaehaerys struck his helmet as his horse jumped. The prince heard the metal bend and, for less than a blink, listened to the mountain's muffled groan of pain. The tip of the spear entered through the eye socket and exited through the back of the head.

The prince let go of the reins and quietly dropped to the ground. His body hit the ground with a thud.

Silence reigned; his brother was probably screaming with joy in his head. He heard footsteps approaching and tensed.

"I'm here, Jaehaerys," he heard Brandon whisper.

Jaehaerys just closed his eyes, making an effort not to move a finger.

Chapter Text

"Absurd, absurd, he's my son. Do you think I would hurt my own son?" Queen Rhaella looked at Brandon, who was guarding the prince's door.

"These are Princess Daenerys' orders. If anything happens to Jaeaherys, don't let anyone in to see him except the maester who is attending him. No exceptions," the man explained.

"I'll put your head on a pike if you don't let me see my son," Rhaella warned, or threatened.

Brandon laughed a little; he couldn't help it.

"The princess warned me something similar. Although she used dragon fire as a threat," he told the woman. "The prince is safe. Or so the maester says," Brandon found all that talk annoying. His brother Tohrren was the good talker.

"The prince is fine," said a tired Sansa as she left the room where Jaehaerys was being treated, her daughter in her arms.

"The royal family is not allowed in, but a Stark is?" This time, it was Rhaenys who spoke. She looked at Sansa and her daughter with no small amount of resentment.

Brandon wanted to bang his head against the wall. The prince really was an annoying bastard for putting him through all this. Gods, he wouldn't be surprised if Jaehaerys knew precisely what he was causing by starting this whole charade.

"Orders," Brandon shrugged. He looked at the immaculate man beside him, who seemed concerned about the prince's health. "I'll guard the room from the inside," he said, leaving the eunuch outside.

Inside the room, there was a lump on the bed, too still to be human. In the deepest part of the room, where it was impossible to see from the door, was the prince, writing. All possible entrances or avenues for espionage were covered.

"You look overwhelmed, Brandon," whispered the prince when the bastard got close enough.

"As if you didn't know..." He stopped complaining. "How was the fall?" Despite it being a charade, the prince fell from the top of his jumping mount. The fall must have been at least two meters.

"Fine, my chest hurts more thanks to Garlan. Have you heard anything from the mountain?" asked the prince.

"Dead. That's what happens when you crack someone's skull," he said sarcastically. "Oh, his brother, the puppy, seemed to be looking for you," the prince smiled mysteriously.

"Well... he could come back with us to ArgentStone. Do you know if he'll be participating in the melee?" he asked.

"No idea." He hadn't exchanged many words with the man, only what was necessary.

"Find him and ask him if he wants to team up with me." The prince stretched, his bones cracking. "The knight with the red cape," Brandon nodded, knowing what he meant, and quickly left.

--------------------

An assassin. He would only have to send an assassin to Jaehaerys's chambers. One man, one dagger, and it would all be over. He didn't even have to wait for the melee. Tywin had proven himself a most capable man, wearing his brother down in every encounter until he reached the mountain.

Rhaegar was surprised by his brother's skill. Even when he killed Gregor, he didn't seem to have suffered much damage. His fall from his horse was attributed to the blows he had received earlier.

"The best man, I don't want any mistakes," he said to Tywin.

"It will be done, Your Grace," said the Lannister before leaving.

Rhaegar had contacts in Lannisport, but he did not trust them to send a man to the prince's chambers to assassinate him. There were at least forty guards, and the Starks had another forty there. The mercenaries needed for an attack would be too many and too conspicuous.

Rhaegar looked down from the heights of Casterly Rock. Lannisport was prosperous and well-regarded, unlike King's Landing, which seemed like a joke compared to this city. The capital was a pile of shit, only relevant because the royal family resided there.

Rhaegar walked to the dining room, where he had organized a small dinner with his family to wish his brother a speedy recovery. The king was actually celebrating his brother's descent into hell.

Everything on the table was gold. Rhaegar said nothing against it, although he always thought silver was better, more refined, and beautiful.

"Has there been any news about my brother?" he asked Rhaenys and Rhaella directly. Both women had gone to the prince's mansion earlier.

"He is alive and stable, though still unconscious," said Rhaenys.

The queen mother frowned with concern. Rhaegar almost felt sorry for his mother; she had already lost several children in the past, and reminding her of that pain was cruel but necessary. Jaehaerys did not need to live.

"I hope for his speedy recovery. He was always a strong man; I'm sure he'll pull through," Rhaegar said, the lies stinging his mouth as he spoke.

"You should send a maester to check on him. The Lannister's maester," Rhaella said suddenly.

"I will, I will order Tywin to send him," said the king.

The poison could work on his brother. If the assassin failed, the maester would only have to slip a few drops, and he would die. Then he would have to kill the man, but a small sacrifice for a greater purpose never weighed on Rhaegar's mind.

"I doubt the Prince's men will let him near," said Rhaenys. "Even we weren't allowed to set foot inside his room," she said, looking angry, like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Jaehaerys was capable of eliciting that reaction in her. Although they were no longer the closest, Rhaenys was still much more sensitive to the prince than to anyone else. Rhaegar remembered his daughter asking, no, begging him to let her marry Jaehaerys.

He almost threw her into the flames right there and then.

"You weren't allowed in, Grandmother?" Prince Aegon spoke, sweating, even though Rhaegar didn't find the room hot.

"No. Daenerys' orders, in case anything happened to Jaehaerys," Rhaella said reproachfully.

"Daenerys' word is beneath that of the king. Order his men to let you see him. The maester will follow you," said the king.

"They are immaculate, most of them. They probably won't take orders from you," said Aegon. "Their obedience is to their owners, or liberators," he said at last. After all, they were no longer slaves, but free men under ArgentStone's command.

"I will send Ser Arthur to ensure their obedience," the king added, somewhat displeased that a simple man would want to obey an order above his own.

"And start a fight?" Aegon refused. "Do you have any idea how the news will reach my aunt's ears?" he asked. "It could look like an attempt on the prince's life," said his heir. And Rhaegar found himself listening to his words.

After dealing with Jaehaerys, he had to deal with Daenerys. The girl was not as good as her brother, but she had good men by her side. Qyburn and Torrhen stayed with her at ArgentStone. Rhaegar did not know the bastard, only that Barristan and Varys had told him he was a fierce warrior like his brother.

He knew from Qyburn that he was a man who broke the rules of the Citadel for the sake of his research, for the pursuit of knowledge. The king thought he would have been a good man under his command, helping to decipher the prophecies.

Rhaegar remained silent. A direct attack on the prince could mean that Daenerys would take it as a declaration of war. She was a woman, a hurt woman who could go around burning everything like a madwoman. He couldn't risk it; his Visenya was still in ArgentStone.

"Send for the maester. It will be up to the prince's men to deny their lord the best treatment," he said at last. He couldn't stir things up too much without consequences.

'Not yet.'

'I could take Daenerys as my wife. I could produce other children of strong lineage to marry Aegon's children,' thought the king.

But first, he would have to eliminate Lyanna and Elia.

The she-wolf had been evading death for a long time.

Chapter Text

The melee had to be held in a large field—almost thirty acres. The stands had been built on top of a mountain, although it was unlikely that the lords would be able to entertain themselves. According to the instructions, once about 100 men remained, the melee would end and resume the next day in a smaller space.

It was like a small-scale war. Large groups had been formed, each with about three hundred men. The most powerful lords had promised gold to those who fought alongside them. Jon Connington was leading one side, with men from the Stormlands and the Crownlands following him.

Edmure Tully led the men from the Riverlands. The Great Jon joined him at Brynden's request, as did another group of northerners.

And then there were the Tyrells. Loras and Garlan led a motley crew of men, most of them from the Reach, and they were the most numerous.

"You're the Hound, right?" the prince heard a red-haired man address Sandor Clegane.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane. He was the younger brother of Gregor Clegane, whom Jaehaerys killed. The man went and swore allegiance to his brother's killer. He was not a handsome man; he had a burn on his face, a gift from his older brother.

"What do you want, cunt?" The man did not address Lord Edmure Tully gently or respectfully, and Edmure's face fell as another man, with gray hair and black armor, laughed a little beside him.

"A thousand gold dragons if our group wins. There are ten of your group; you have little chance of winning on your own." The man, named Brynden Tully, was the uncle of Edmure and Catelyn Tully. He had a rather famous nickname: The Blackfish.

Sandor shrugged as he accepted. Jaehaerys had ordered him to join a group at the earliest opportunity.

"I almost thought you'd raise the price," said Blackfish. "We're discussing how to attack," said the man, dragging his nephew along. "The Griffin and the Roses are closer to each other than we are," he said, referring to Connington and the Tyrells. "With a little luck, they'll fight each other."

"And with bad luck, they'll join forces against us before fighting each other," said Jaehaerys. Blackfish looked at him, but his entire face and hair were hidden under his helmet; he had made sure his eyes were not visible.

"What is your name, boy?" asked the legendary warrior.

Jaehaerys remained silent, simply pointing to his red cloak. Brynden frowned and walked away. The prince shrugged. The old man might think he was a spy for the Tyrells or Connington. He didn't care, as long as he wasn't fighting 1,000 against 1, he was confident he would survive until the cut.

GreatJon looked at the prince suspiciously, probably recognizing him by his voice. But he said nothing; the North and Jaehaerys were allies at that moment, and there was no need for the man to make any blunder.

Jaehaerys waited. He had ten of his men with him, all of whom were not Unsullied. The Unsullied stood out like a sore thumb, so if he wanted to conceal his state of health, it was better not to bring them.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Blackfish finally revealed his strategy. In the distance, the armies of Tyrell and Connington had merged into one—an army of about 700 against Tully's 300 men. The prince was given a blue cloth, and the other men had one of the same tied around their arms. It was a way to identify allies from enemies on the battlefield.

"We'll wait for them to advance. They have the numbers, they will attack," said the Blackfish in a general's voice. "We have the advantage of position; they will have to climb. We will divide into three blocks, and Edmund and I will lead the center. Greatjon will lead the left block," at which the giant man raised his broadsword in the air with a shout. A handful of boisterous northerners cheered him. "Lyn Corbray will lead the right block," he said, with a hint of ill-concealed annoyance.

"Hound, you'll come with me," said the knight of the Vale. Sandor looked at Jaehaerys, who shrugged. The group approached the man.

Then they gave further instructions. The plan was simple: they would retreat up the mountain. The left flank, led by GreatJon, consisted of 80 cavalrymen. The rest —the center —was purely infantry, a decision that alarmed Jaehaerys. On the right flank were another 20 horsemen. They were mainly knights, knights no one would probably remember.

The men would retreat, giving the Tyrells and Jon a false sense of security. That could cause the Tyrell brothers to approach recklessly. If cracks appeared in their defense, GreatJon would lead a flank charge, seeking to break their ranks; otherwise, they would stick to the initial plan: retreat and wear them down.

According to Blackfish, the greatest threat was Jon Connington, after all, the man had already fought a war. The Tyrell brothers, despite their reputation as skilled warriors, had not experienced the horrors of the battlefield.

Jaehaerys held his sword as he mounted his horse, the brown horse with white speckles he had obtained from Garlan. His group was the only one with horses on the right flank.

Finally, the sound of a horn alerted everyone. The men in the distance began to approach. The composition of both armies was similar in terms of the proportion of men. The Tullys had about 100 horsemen and 200 infantry. There were no archers, as there was a high possibility of killing with a bow, and melee is supposed to be a non-lethal event.

Although it always ends in broken bones or a skull.

The Tyrell-Conningtons had about 230 horses and some 470 infantrymen. Their force was more than double that of the Tullys, and the battle seemed decided from the start. Jaehaerys wondered if they had agreed to divide the spoils or if they would tear each other apart after destroying the Tully army.

Jaehaerys didn't even know how they were going to divide the spoils. That is, after this battle, they would take 100 men —those who were left standing —and go on to a more traditional melee. How would they select them? If the Tyrell army wiped out the other armies, would they fight among themselves until there were 100 left? Would Garlan and Loras select the men?

'I just have to stay on my feet,' he told himself.

The enemy men charged, the horsemen ahead of the rest—a foolish move, at least initially. The forces focused on heading directly for the Tully banners, intent on taking down Edmund and the Blackfish.

'Cunning old man,' Jaehaerys thought. That would leave the Greatjon with a better opportunity to attack.

The enemy army stopped, at least part of it, with about half the horsemen slowing down. The rest continued to charge, ignoring orders.

'They lack discipline,' thought the prince. It was the first time these men had fought in this manner; they were probably looking for glory. Now, about 120 men on horseback continued riding, ignoring the orders of Connington and Tyrell to withdraw.

"Scatter!" shouted the Blackfish.

The men separated, leaving spaces between them before the cavalry arrived. These men were suspiciously disciplined. 'Tully guards?' thought the prince. The cavalry reached the center. They did not arrive simultaneously. The climb drained some horses' energy and strength, causing them to arrive at different times.

Scattering the men reduced the stampede's effectiveness. Tully's men attacked the mounted men.

The battle in the center developed favorably for Tully. The horses passed through the gaps the men had left. They lost their collective mass, leaving their flanks exposed. At that moment, being uphill, they were more vulnerable, and Blackfish's men took advantage of that to attack.

"Advance!" Greatjon began to charge the cavalry from the side. Jaehaerys looked into the distance; Connington's other men were advancing at a slow pace, waiting for the infantry. It would be best to concentrate the men against the men who had just arrived.

The northerners' charge struck the enemy horses, the men wielding swords on horseback, each blow frightening the enemy. Seeing a giant man wielding a sword as if it were a toy frightened both men and horses. The attack was a great advantage for the Tullys.

"Now we have to focus on the next wave."

Because of GreatJon's movement, the formation changed.

At first, there was the left flank, then the center, and finally the right. Now the left flank moved next to the right one. Leaving the arrangement from left to right as: center flank, left flank, right flank. The hillside prevented the GreatJon from easily returning to his position.

The men who charged at the beginning were already practically defeated. They fled with their pride and, perhaps, a broken bone or two.

Now the remaining men of Tyrell-Connington advanced slowly. They stopped at the foot of the hillside. They seemed in no hurry to advance. Their initial idea of attacking the center would be easier at that moment, since Brynden was now exposed on the left. But that also meant that if the enemies attacked directly there, the GreatJon's forces could easily flank them.

"And Lyn seems to have no intention of moving at all," thought the prince.

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Author: Dunno, never wrote a campal battle before.

Chapter Text

"Fall back!" said Lyn Corbray, obeying Brynden's order. The men began to saunter, climbing up the hillside. Soon Jaehaerys saw men lying on the ground where Brynden's men had been before. The fallen, wounded men withdrew, those who could, carrying other men with them.

Those were the rules; in real combat, those men would be dead or maimed. Although probably more than one had ended up seriously wounded.

Tully's men mounted their enemies' horses and stole them. Jaehaerys counted that they had gained about 60 more riders. Jon lost about 15 in his charge, leaving them with about 145 men on horseback against about 130 from the Tyrell-Conningtons. Some of the men who had rushed to attack managed to escape and rejoined them.

The difference was in the infantry; at that moment, House Tyrell had about three times as many men on foot. Jaehaerys waited to see how the battle would continue. Although he was not the protagonist, he found himself learning from it.

The Tyrells slowly began to climb the hillside, probably to conserve energy. Jaehaerys looked at the men, most of whom wore at least chain mail armor. They could not move as nimbly as they would have liked.

The men also seemed to have formed three blocks. They imitated the Tully formation, charging the cavalry in the side blocks and leaving mostly infantry in the center. Brynden's men continued to retreat. It was a matter of patience at that point. If the enemies rushed to attack, it would benefit the Tullys.

But it seemed that Jon was better than Jaehaerys had expected. Honestly, he had always taken him for a buffoon and underestimated him. He looked into the distance at the Tyrell brothers, advancing together as if to cover each other's backs. If Jaehaerys took them down, it would be all over.

He spurred his horse toward the Great Jon.

"Come back here!" Lyn shouted as she watched him leave. "I'll have you executed for disobeying orders!" he shouted again when the prince didn't respond.

'Maybe Lyn will die in the turmoil,' Jaehaerys said to himself. The man took the bloody event as if it were real.

"You can't break ranks just like that," said the GreatJon when he saw the prince approaching, though he didn't reprimand him too harshly. "One starts, the others follow."

"If I take down the Tyrells, the enemy army will fall," he told the man. "They're at the front, exposed and quite visible," he said. GreatJon didn't ask to take them down. Between Jaehaerys and GreatJon, they could take them down with relative ease. Even the prince could do it alone, but in a tumult, it was uncertain.

"If you fail..." said GreatJon.

The Tyrells were in the block that would face GreatJon, mainly cavalry.

"Still, we have the momentum, we'll pick up speed, our charge will wipe out theirs," said the prince.

"We need a distraction, red cloak," the man told him.

The Tyrell army continued to advance slowly. At that moment, they were still about 500 feet away. It would take a while before they arrived; they would probably stop at a distance and wait for Tully to attack. It was best to surprise them before that.

GreatJon called a young man, similar in build to himself, probably his son. He gave him instructions and sent him as a messenger to Brynden. Minutes later, he returned.

"Two horns," said the boy when he returned. Now the Tyrell-Connington men were about 200 feet away.

And soon, Jaehaerys heard it, one horn, then another. Then Brynden's men charged, first the infantry, leaving gaps between them. Then the cavalry advanced rapidly, passing through the gaps, so that both arrived at almost the same time.

Greatjon reared his horse, a beast to match his size, and charged at the Tyrells. Jaehaerys rode alongside him. His horse quickly picked up speed. The Tyrells' slow charge worked against them when the men collided. Brynden's charge struck first, breaking the ranks. Brynden fought at the front, alongside Edmund.

Jaehaerys looked at Loras and Garlan. They did not hide, but drew their weapons and charged at the prince and GreatJon. Jaehaerys knocked Garlan down with a single blow. Meanwhile, GreatJon collided with Loras, and both were quickly knocked down.

In a battle on foot, both men might have had a better chance, but on horseback, with the charge against them and against men of brutal strength, they fell from their horses.

Jaehaerys sheathed his sword, picked up Garlan and Loras, and carried them off the battlefield. If anything happened to them, the Tyrells would be pissed.

His horse managed to move with the weight of the three men, leaving both brothers on the sidelines of the battle, in a safe place. There he watched as Tully's men achieved an initial victory, but when the initial charge passed, Connington managed to rally his men and defend himself. He would be the next one Jaehaerys had to attack.

"It seems that the rumors of his injury are exaggerated," said Garlan, his armor was bent.

"Should I defeat you both?" asked the prince, who really wanted to move as quickly as possible against Connington.

"No, my prince," said Garlan, much to the confusion of Loras, who looked at Jaehaerys with the same desire he had always had since Jaehaerys saved him from the Mountain at the tournament in King's Landing.

"Good," said the prince, moving to return to the battlefield. Some of Tyrell's men had scattered, while others had joined Connington.

"Now you move?" the prince cursed as he watched Lyn descend, seemingly heading straight for Brynden and Edmund.

'Did he betray them?'

---------------

"Charge!" Lyn shouted, his voice booming across the battlefield.

He had teamed up with the Tullys, trusting Brynden's ability to lead the battle. But he had not planned to stay with him too long. After all, he did not want to share the prize.

"Attack all the men! Tyrell! Connington! Tully!" he told the men who followed him. Some of them looked at him apprehensively. "I'll give you a thousand gold dragons each!" he lied. He had no intention of giving them anything.

"I've already been offered a thousand," he heard the Hound say, who looked at him bored.

"I'll give you ten thousand," he said.

He would find a way to kill him on the battlefield. Sandor accepted with a shrug. Lyn drew his sword. Lady Forlon, it was forbidden to bring a bladed weapon, but who was going to check him?

He looked at the battlefield, and the Tully and Connington men were at a stalemate. The Tyrells were nowhere to be seen. He had watched the guy in the red cloak drag them away from the battlefield. An honorable action. Something only a fool would do.

"Men, follow me!" he shouted as he began to spur his horse on.

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Sandor's sword struck Corbray's head, a disgusting crack telling him he had broken a bone in his skull. He was probably dead. He shrugged. The men following him stopped their charge.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Support Tully. I'll fuck the asses of those who stand still!" he added at the end when none of the men seemed to want to move.

He watched a man pick up Corbray's sword and let him be; he was one of the prince's men.

Sandor rode toward Connington, the man barking orders from behind, not daring to engage in direct combat. The Hound growled when he crashed into a wall of men. He couldn't reach the general, so he threw himself at the men to knock them down.

All those men were fucking little pussies. One blow from his sword was enough, not to defeat them, no. The bastards could take more, but when they felt the strength, they shit themselves in fear.

After making more than one man shit himself, he watched a bastard throw a man through the air—a bastard in a red cloak. 'The knight with the red cloak,' he sneered inwardly.

The man who was thrown into the air hit Connington, knocking the Griff from his horse. The Tully men were filled with adrenaline; they felt victory there and charged with more force.

"Fucking cunts!" shouted the dog when he saw the enemy retreat, only their leader had fallen, and they could no longer continue.

"Keep formation!" he heard a stupid, brave man shout.

Sandor lunged in his direction. The man stopped his sword with his spear and returned a dangerous blow. He almost lost the battle at that moment. Sandor looked at the enemy men; they had gained a little hope from the man he was fighting. He had to fuck him up again.

But he was too good.

Sandor and the man continued fighting for minutes, the chaos around them not interfering with their battle, as if they had been given space on purpose. Well, they learned how to do it, a small knight tried to sneak attack the Hound. Now he had a good injury. Sandor didn't know where he had been hit, but he didn't hear the crunch of bones breaking, so it wasn't serious.

"Enough!" he heard someone shout.

When the dog looked around, he noticed that only a few were still standing, mostly the Tullys. Some were watching their duel, others were resting on their backs.

"After the Red Cloak Knight knocked Connington down, many fled," Brynden said as they approached.

"There are about 200 men left," said a young man with platinum blond hair. Sandor recognized the heir, Aegon, and Arthur riding along with him. "You can fight among yourselves until there are 100 left. Or you can select 100, Ser Brynden, as long as everyone agrees," said the prince.

"I'll pick them," replied the veteran. "You've already gotten your pay!" shouted Blackfish. "Unless you win the tournament, you won't get anything more than that. Those who agree, leave, the gold will come later," he told them.

Sandor noticed the men retreating, more than one of them looking in the same direction. At the man in the red cape. In the end, only about 60 men remained. Sandor looked at the man he was fighting. It seemed that, as a tacit agreement, they would let him participate even though his side had lost.

The Hound snorted as he walked toward one of Prince Jaehaerys' men. He would fight the next day.

Chapter Text

Finally, a man took down the names and appearances of each of the participants who would fight tomorrow in the Meele. The prince was among them.

"You want to maintain the appearance of a mysterious knight, eh?" said the man, looking at him suspiciously. "The men will go after you, you know, you took down the Tyrells and Connington," said the man.

Jaehaerys shrugged. He had registered under the name "The Knight With the Red Cloak," even though he wasn't even a knight.

He looked into the distance at Connington. The man accepted defeat with shame. To tell the truth, Jaehaerys expected more of a reaction from him. That he would go mad, or deny he had lost, anything like that.

He seemed more depressed.

Jaehaerys wanted to take off his helmet to show him his face, to see if knowing his identity would change his opinion about how he felt at that moment, to see if sadness would turn to anger.

Jaehaerys left the battlefield quickly, took out his horse, and when he arrived at his mansion, he locked it away from prying eyes. He felt a little bad, but it would only be for a day. In the meantime, he had to go to his mansion to continue working on his castle. After all, fighting in the melee was only a means to an end.

----------------------

"And I struck down the Rose with a single blow!" Jon Umber shouted, loud as ever.

The man, along with the Tullys and Starks, had organized a small banquet at the Stark mansion. The giant man was shouting about his exploits on the battlefield. Brynden was in a corner, drinking mead. Eddard walked in his direction.

"Congratulations on the victory," Ned congratulated him.

He had won a battle against all odds. It was admirable, even though Ned himself despised tournaments. After accepting the deal with Jaehaerys, he had only stayed at his children's request, who wanted to experience a tournament.

"That boy won, the one in the red cape. Damn beast!" said the man. "I've never seen a man fight like that. He used his sword like a damn spoon. Still, no one could beat him," he said, a little indignant.

Jaehaerys, of course, Ned knew who the man was, had fought masterfully on the battlefield, cutting off the heads of the leaders. He moved in and out of the ranks with incredible ease. Ned didn't believe that even Robert could do such things in his best moment.

"The king wants to meet him in person. He plans to give him the white cloak after the tournament, regardless of whether he wins," said Ned, taking a swig from a horn filled with beer.

"If he wins the million, I don't think he'll want to wear the cloak," said Brynden, shaking his head. "Either he's from a good family, or he's an ambitious bastard," he explained. "The boy has a good head on his shoulders, you know? And he's not afraid to take the lead... I doubt the white cloak would suit him," Ned knew that Jaehaerys would never accept the white cloak. He had things he couldn't put aside. And he didn't seem to have a good relationship with the king.

"Corbray is dead," Ned said in a more bitter tone.

Brynden shrugged. He didn't seem happy about the man's death, nor did he feel remorse for him. Accidents happen, and to Brynden, he was just another man who died in the tournament, a man who sought to betray him as well. The details of his death were not entirely clear; some say the dog smashed his head in.

"And Lady Forlon disappeared," said Brynden. House Corbray had offered an enormous reward for whoever found her and returned her to the house. "He carried a deadly weapon, and he lost it. The Corbray family must be furious."

"An ancient weapon, stolen," Ned said, finding the situation bitter.

"Yeah... poor fool," Brynden emptied the contents of his horn in one go. "Speaking of fools, who is the idiot bothering my niece?" he asked.

----------------------

"100 yards. I can hit a sparrow 100 yards away, you know?" Sansa heard Theon Greyjoy bragging.

She had had the misfortune of falling victim to the charms of the Iron Islander. The man had already proposed that they run away together. Only the decorum of the occasion had prevented her from slapping him in the middle of the impromptu banquet. The young man had snuck in with a group of northern men, whom he had beaten at archery.

"Very impressive," said Sansa.

And it really was quite an incredible feat. Few could do such a thing. But the way the man bragged made her nauseous. He was like a little boy who had only one good quality. He was the son of the current Lord Greyjoy, Balon. He was third in line to inherit the lordship of the Iron Islands.

"I know, that's why it was no problem for me to win the tournament," he said as he took a glass of wine. "Won't you have a drink, my sweet lady?" he offered her a glass.

"I heard you came in third, Jalabhar Xho and a boy named Anguy surpassed you, my good lord," said Sansa, watching the ironborn's face sour.

She had tried to be polite, but his crude comments and bragging did nothing to make Theon seem likable. His eyes wandered too often, and Sansa even wondered if the clothes she was wearing that day were too revealing.

"What is Prince Jaehaerys like?" Now it was Sansa who was bitter. "I heard he fell off his horse... a pity for him. If My Lady feels lonely..."

"A dragon for a squid? Sounds like I ended up changing gold for copper," she said before walking away. "Let go of me, Lord Theon," she said. Theon had taken her by the wrist. "I'll assume the drink is clouding your judgment."

"Listen to me!" Theon quickly let go of her, as if remembering where he was. "I can make you my salt wife. The salt wife of the next Lord of the Iron Islands," he said confidently.

"Salt wife?" Sansa asked, as if the man in front of her had lost his mind.

"It's a lot for a woman with a bastard," he shrugged.

Sansa looked at him. He seemed drunk, but not drunk enough to say such stupid things out loud.

"The salt wife of Balon Greyjoy's third son," she scoffed, it will be more prestigious to be the wife of Walder Frey.

"I will be the Lord of Pyke," he told her. Sansa walked away. She had already wasted too much time with this guy. She wanted to see her daughter; she didn't think it was right to make the little girl lose sleep over the banquet, so she had sent her to Jaehaerys. "Oh! You'd rather be the dragon's whore!" the man shouted at her.

Sansa didn't even stop, though she lowered her head as she walked. She felt a strong arm on her shoulder. "Father," she knew who it was before she looked up.

"Go, I need to have a word with young Greyjoy," Eddard said. Sansa smiled a little. Her father was a good man, protective. He wasn't one to allow anyone to disrespect his family in public. He was the man who wielded the sword.

'What would Jaehaerys do in this situation?', she wondered.

She watched him walk toward Theon, who was drowning himself in wine, and choked when he saw Eddard approaching. Sansa didn't hear what Ned said to him, but she certainly enjoyed the Ironborn's expression of pure panic.

Chapter Text

The melee was fast and frantic. It took only a few minutes before most of the men were out of action. At first, Jaehaerys held back a little with his rivals, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. But later, it wasn't necessary. In the end, two of his men remained: Brandon and the Hound. The Blackfish and Balon Swann were also still on their feet. Balon seemed to be getting into everything.

Balon and Ser Sandor fought, perhaps seeking to resolve the conflict from the previous day. That left only Brandon and Blackfish.

"Goodbye!" Brandon threw his sword to the ground as Jaehaerys walked toward him. His reaction drew boos and laughter from the crowd, but the northerner didn't care at all.

"Here you are again," said Blackfish. "What will you do with the prize?" he asked. Jaehaerys glanced sideways at the other duel. They seemed evenly matched.

Sandor was incredibly strong and fast. He was a furious fighter. Balon, on the other hand, was more methodical and agile. Jaehaerys thought he was watching Brandon and Tohrren fight.

"How much did you offer the men?" asked the prince. He would pay what Brynden promised. A good reputation would serve him well.

"A total of about 30,000 gold dragons," said the man.

"I'll pay them. Although it seems you gave up before you even fought," commented the prince, extending his blunt sword toward the man.

Brynden shrugged before charging. The man was agile and direct. His movements were neither pretty nor elegant. They were effective. In terms of skill, he was quite good. Jaehaerys thought that all the warriors, except Ser Arthur, would have difficulty fighting him.

"Do you surrender, Ser?" he asked after disarming him.

The combat lasted a few minutes; it was a tournament, after all. However, many people seemed a little disappointed. Perhaps the previous day's pitched battle had set expectations too high.

"What else can I do?" Brynden said. "What is your name, boy?" he repeated the same question from the previous day.

"Jaehaerys," the prince replied.

Brynden's eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled and finally frowned as if he remembered that the prince had impregnated his niece.

"Clever, you took all the attention off yourself," he said without reaction, then walked away.

Jaehaerys watched the fight between Balon and the Hound.

Balon deserved the white cloak. The man fought with a spear, he was very good with it, managing to keep Sandor at bay. Jaehaerys couldn't bet on who would win the fight. Although Sandor seemed to grow more desperate with each passing second, he wouldn't be surprised if he made a fatal mistake.

Jaehaerys waited.

He waited.

And waited.

He continued to wait.

"You two against me," he said after growing weary. He lunged first at Balon, who managed to dodge him, then at Sandor. The man seemed irritated, which led him to hold nothing back against the prince to whom he had sworn allegiance.

Both men worked together, attacking the prince. Jaehaerys heard the crowd roar. He allowed himself to give them a show for a few minutes.

'Nah, I don't have that much patience,' Jaehaerys had already spent a lot of time on Blackfish.

His sword broke Balon's spear in one blow, took the upper half, and pointed the tip of the spear at Sandor's neck; his sword pointed at Balon's.

"Pah!" Sandor spat on the ground as he dropped his sword and limped away. Balon let go of the shaft of his weapon.

"My king wishes to meet the Knight of the Red Cloak," said the White Cloak with dignity.

'A man like that is wasted under Rhaegar's command,' thought Jaehaerys. Although Balon used to protect his mother, which was a good thing.

The cheers of the crowd numbed the prince's ears. He looked up at the stands. The king stood up with a smile on his face. He must be happy. Brandon had reported that the prince had fallen ill with a fever.

Jaehaerys walked over and stood in front of the man. The king looked down at him. He looked regal, and if the prince didn't know him, he might say he looked like the true king of Westeros. But Tywin seemed to have his spoon too deep in the soup.

"The king wishes to see your face, Ser," Balon said again.

Jaehaerys nodded as he removed his helmet. He looked at his brother's face, his pale skin suddenly turning paler, as if he were ill. Then he smiled, uncomfortably.

"The kingdom rejoices at your recovery, brother," he said softly.

The crowd shouted wildly. Partly out of confusion and partly out of joy.

"I wanted to enjoy the tournament a little as an unknown. I didn't want privileges," said the prince.

By 'privileges,' he meant not being attacked by a horde of 1,000 men. He wasn't sure how many men Rhaegar and Tywin might add to the melee if they knew he was going to participate. Speaking of the Lion, Tywin looked at him from his seat, not acknowledging his presence.

1.5 million gold dragons. Tywin had given him 1.5 million dragons. Jaehaerys had no doubt that Lord Lannister would give them to him. "A Lannister always pays his debts." He had a reputation to uphold, one he would not throw away. After organizing the tournament with the biggest prizes, he couldn't be seen as a liar.

He looked at Lord Eddard, who seemed to already know who he was. Bran and Arya cheered him on, even though the girl seemed to be shouting obscenities at him.

"Prince. Because, despite winning the joust, you were unconscious. It was decided that the winner of the Meele would be the one to crown a Queen of Love and Beauty," said Tyrion Lannister as he gently threw him a crown made of yellow flowers.

"In that case, I don't have to think too hard," said the prince as he took the crown in his gloved hand, walked toward the Stark box, and watched Ned's eyes widen as he began to sweat. It was indeed a sight to behold, although he didn't want to bring back bad memories. Jaehaerys paused for a second to pick up a spear, removed the tip, and hooked the crown onto it.

"Jaehaerys, no," even Sansa's voice seemed panicked. He didn't care.

"The most beautiful lady in this tournament is undoubtedly... little Rhaelle," Jaehaerys extended the crown toward Sansa, who was holding her daughter.

He felt Ned breathe easier, even Sansa, and was a little glad that the redhead didn't want him to crown her.

After the coronation, a stifling silence ensued, broken only by Queen Rhaella's applause. Soon, more lords joined in awkwardly.

Jaehaerys watched as Sansa placed the crown of roses on the little girl's head. His daughter applauded, imitating the audience, then removed the crown and tried to eat it. Sansa gets the flowers out of her mouth in a second. The girl moved her mouth as if she were flavoring the flowers.

Everything was laughter and joy, albeit forced for some, until he noticed his little baby beginning to cough uncomfortably. He watched his daughter's face turn purple, her little hands go to her own neck.

He looked at the man who gave her the crown, Tyrion, the Imp, who looked as surprised as Jaehaerys.

Jaehaerys would remember Sansa's scream for the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

"Someone tried to kill my granddaughter, Rhaegar!" Rhaella shouted at her son.

The king remained silent, although no one missed the vein that stood out on his forehead. The tournament almost turned into tragedy when Jaehaerys' daughter nearly lost her life.

"A bastard child. Don't let people know that you favor her," the king ordered, then softened his expression. "I am very sorry about what happened. We are investigating the source of the poison. It wasn't in the crown initially; someone added it at some point," he told his mother. Rhaegar had not attacked the little girl; it really wasn't him who put the poison there.

But who could have predicted that Jaehaerys would crown his bastard?

Who expected Jaehaerys to participate in the melee? Someone had beaten Rhaegar to it, and that made him feel uncertain. If Jaehaerys had crowned Rhaenys, one of the three heads could have been dewinged before they could fly.

"Bastard or not, she has dragon blood." Rhaegar wanted to frown; his mother seemed to have become quite close to the girl. "I don't know how Jaehaerys saved her, but I thank the gods that he did," he finally sighed.

"Yes... The gods have always favored my little brother," Rhaegar said monotonously, but there was envy hidden in every word.

"I want the Imp's head," said Rhaellla.

"We don't know if it was him. There will be a trial, a proper investigation," said Rhaegar. He didn't really care much about Tyrion Lannister's life, but he was Tywin's son, not just any scapegoat.

"The Lannisters have been attacking the royal family for a long time, ever since this damn tournament began," said Rhaella, with the same calmness as a knight in the midst of battle. "Every time you let them get away with it, you look weak to the kingdom," she reproached him, trying to be tactful, but it was impossible.

"Watch your words, Mother," Rhaegar warned.

No one knew better than he what he was dealing with in every interaction with the Lannisters. They had a lot of power, and that favored the royal family, for the moment. But soon the time would come when the dragon would teach the lion its place. Melissandre had promised him. She had found a way to bring the dragon eggs to life. She needed sacrifice, and the battlefield was the ideal place.

His half-brother, Aegon Waters, would help him.

"You have been a good king," Rhaella calmed down a little. "But you cannot allow the Lannisters to feel that they are above us. What will happen to Aegon? Will Myrcella control him? A pawn of the Lannisters?"

'Over my dead body,' thought Rhaegar. Myrcella would be Aegon's third wife, a mere hostage, and her children would have no rights beyond the Rock.

"Peace is fragile," said Rhaegar. When the truth was that he lacked power, he lacked support. After the war, he granted the Lannisters too much freedom. They had ties to the Riverlands, and Tywin was raising the heir to the Vale. There were three kingdoms. Not counting the Stormlands and the North, which were very unlikely to support him.

"So is your will," Rhaella said as she turned and stormed out of the room.

'My will will save the kingdom, Mother. You are too blind to see the whole image,' Rhaegar thought, his fist clenching around the worn gold cup, the only cup from which he ever drank.

------------

"The prince cannot..." The guard lost consciousness after his head hit the wall. Jaehaerys did not know if he killed him; he was just a poor idiot who got caught in his path.

He kept walking, knocking out every man who stood in his way. He didn't spill blood, not with his face showing. Finally, he reached the "cell," although it was more like a room in the Red Keep. Inside were the two Lannister brothers, Jaime and Tyrion.

"Jaehaerys," Jaime reached for the hilt of his sword. Jaehaerys's hand prevented him from drawing it. "You can't—" The panic in his eyes faded as he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Finally, he looked at the main suspect, Tyrion. At first glance, he didn't seem scared, sitting there with a glass of wine in his hand. Jaehaerys watched him sweat, his mismatched eyes darting around the room, except for him.

"Can you turn him over?" he asked, pouring another glass of wine for the prince.

Jaehaerys kicked Jaime, who ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"It seems rather luxurious for what would be a prison," said the prince. There were books and a huge bed; he wouldn't be surprised if the dwarf were waiting for prostitutes to relieve the tension between his legs.

"You came unarmed," Tyrion pointed out. Jaehaerys took the glass from the table and spilled the wine on the floor. Then he closed his fist, and the glass gave way, left deformed like the face of the little man in front of him. "Impressive," said the dwarf. Tyrion tried to repeat the feat, but the metal did not yield, leaving only his fingerprints on the cup.

"You look so guilty," said Jaehaerys.

"Did you come to kill me?" asked Tyrion.

"It depends on your answers," the prince's voice was dry. He wouldn't mind killing the dwarf, but getting his men out of the Westerlands would be a mess.

He didn't know if Tyrion had poisoned his daughter; it was doubtful. Not even the Lannisters would be foolish enough to do that. If the Lannisters had known he would be participating in the tournament, they would have sent more men to participate. They could add men until they reached 100 participants. No one would say anything to them.

No, it was someone else, someone who knew he would participate, someone who hoped he would win. It wasn't the Lannisters, nor Rhaegar. The king's distraught expression was genuine.

"An interrogation, then? Is wine permitted?" Tyrion asked, raising the cup to his lips.

"Go ahead, it'll be like a last drink before I die," the Imp choked before laughing awkwardly, his eyes watering slightly. "I want to see your hand."

"Maybe it would have been better if I had stolen one of my sister's jewels. She left quite a few behind before she left," the dwarf joked lightly.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you," Jaehaerys said, not in the mood for his nonsense.

The dwarf's hand was red and covered in small purple dots. The amount of poison on them was minimal, not enough to kill him for holding the crown for just a few seconds. No, whoever put the poison there planned for whoever wore the crown to absorb the poison slowly.

Strangler was the name of that poison. It wasn't a pleasant name, and its effects were even worse. In the series, the poison used to kill Joffrey was one of the most enjoyable scenes. It acted extremely quickly after being ingested. In this case, they placed it on the crown so the skin could absorb it. His daughter got that crown in her mouth, so the poisoning just accelerated its process.

Jaehaerys thought about those involved in the contest. At first, he thought the target was him, but there were other possibilities. Who had the best chance of winning? Balon Swann, Sandor Clegane, and the Blackfish. Who would they crown? Balon would likely crown someone from the royal family, probably Queen Rhaella, or Myrcella. Sandor would throw the crown on the ground or crown a random lady. The Blackfish would crown Sansa or Myrcella too, both of whom were his nieces.

"Who designed the crown? Who looked after it? Who delivered it?" asked the prince.

"Jaehaerys!" Eddard Stark entered the room with his guard following him.

"Ah, Lord Stark, you came?" Tyrion asked.

Ned calmed down when he saw the room was free of blood. He glanced at Tyrion, pure contempt contained in his gray eyes.

"I need to talk to you, Jaehaerys," he said before leaving the room. "Don't kill the Imp," he warned. Eddard probably wanted him dead, but he didn't want him to die without a trial.

"I don't know who designed the crown, or who looked after it, but it was given to me by a blonde girl, quite beautiful. A whore, I recognize them. I'm a good taster," Tyrion said.

'A whore,' thought Jaehaerys, leaving the room to meet Ned. He heard Tyrion vomiting inside the room after he left.

"You made a mess," Eddard said. "The Lannisters won't be happy."

"And do I look happy, Eddard?" Jaehaerys asked, his eyes fixed on Lord Stark's. "You spoke to Baelish, didn't you?" Ned's surprised expression told him everything. "I wondered why he hadn't come to the tournament. It turns out he was in the shadows."

'What other bastard would want to start a war?' Jaehaerys wondered.

"What? He told me that Tywin's brother, Kevan, bought the strangler from an Essosi merchant." Eddard gave up waiting for an answer.

"Do you know where Baelish is?" Eddard told him the brothel where the master of coins resided.

Probably Ned, innocent Ned, believed that Jaehaerys wanted to get information from Peter Baelish.

Chapter Text

Night fell, and the yellow color of Lannisport dimmed. Only slightly, though; it would not disappear completely, even if the sun went out.

The Golden Maiden

A giant golden sign outside a big building. Men entered carrying bags full of coins and always left carrying less.

Jaehaerys did not enter through the front door. After talking to Ned, he went to his mansion. He needed to eliminate several targets at once. He would start with Baelish.

The prince hunched over; it would be strange to see a ragged guy with a straight posture. He had to play a role. He wandered around the premises, observing. The sound of revelry and the fake moans of the prostitutes began to revolt his guts.

Finally, he entered through a window that was too low—an empty room, smelling of musk and fish. Jaehaerys resisted the urge to cover his nose, walked across the creaking wooden floor, and went out into the hallway. Outside, women were leading drunken men into rooms. All of them were beautiful blondes.

He walked through the building, passing each room, the same sounds coming from each. All the girls moaned in the same way, almost as if they had taken a course on the correct way to moan to please idiots. He couldn't find an office in any of the rooms.

"You look lost, good Ser," a mature voice said as it approached him.

She was too old to be a prostitute. The matron of the place, perhaps.

"And you seem just what I need," Jaehaerys dragged her into a room. She laughed, surprised by how easily the man manipulated her.

"And do you have enough to pay me?" the woman asked coquettishly. Her eyelashes fluttered in the air.

"Do you accept steel?" Jaehaerys showed her a dagger inside his tattered cloak.

"GU-," Jaehaerys covered the woman's mouth.

"Shhh," Jaehaerys felt no satisfaction at seeing the woman's tears well up. "I didn't come for you. I came for someone else. I need their location. You'll be nice and give it to me, right?" The woman nodded frantically. The prince sighed, a little indecisive. "Peter Baelish," he whispered his name, the matron's eyes widened. "I know he's here, hiding like a rat. Take me to him," he asked.

He had risked saying Peter's name. He really hoped the woman would guide him correctly and not try anything dirty. He didn't want to kill her. But her neck would turn as easily as a windmill.

"Downstairs," she said when Jaehaerys loosened his grip on her mouth a little. "His office is downstairs," the prince nodded.

"Lead the way," the prince ordered. "If we walk into a trap, I'll kill you," he warned. The poor woman trembled like a frightened fawn. "Wipe your tears and compose yourself. Surely you know how to put on a brave face, don't you?" Jaehaerys was sure that his years of experience would serve him well that day.

The woman took a box of powder out of one of the drawers in the room, which seemed to be a standard feature in all the rooms. Jaehaerys watched the woman's movements, screamed, and threw the dagger at her neck.

"This way," the woman said quietly, feigning a smile, loosening her clothes a little, and dragging him out of the room.

The blonde woman took him downstairs to a room, even though she could hear activity inside. They didn't get many looks; the girls were used to situations like this. She stopped in front of the wooden door.

"Normally... normally there are six men in there," she warned him. "Under the bed, there's a trapdoor that leads to an office, that's where Baelish is," she tried to walk away.

"I hope you're not lying," said the prince.

Jaehaerys picked her up and pushed open the door, pretending to be drunk. Just as she had said, there were six men inside. Two were on top of a red-haired woman, who was moaning even though her face looked more dead than alive. The other four were in a corner, playing cards.

"Get out!" said one of them, mistaking him for a drunk.

"No room for one more?" Jaehaerys staggered, with the matron at his side, and the woman tensed.

"The table is full," said one, smiling.

"Ah, what a shame," Jaehaerys slit the man's throat. A second of shock as the men tried to react, the woman next to the prince let out a huge gasp at the sight of the blood. Jaehaerys dropped her to the ground.

Jaehaerys killed the other three just as quickly, slashing their throats. One raised his hands, but that only left him with one arm before he died. Another fell from his chair to the floor with a thud. The fourth managed to dodge the slash as he threw himself backward, fell to the floor, and before he could get up, Jaehaerys kicked his head against the floor. His brains splattered on the floor.

Then he threw a dagger at the face of one of the men fucking on the bed. The dagger missed, ending up hitting him in the neck. A stream of blood spurted out like a geyser, soaking the woman underneath.

'It's not that she is not used to fluids,' Jaehaerys thought.

The last man managed to react, pulling out of the woman as he tried to run out of the room. There was a crack! His face ended up on his back at 180°, and he fell to the floor.

Jaehaerys looked at the girl on the bed. She had stopped moaning abruptly and was staring at the ceiling. It was as if she had been programmed to moan when she was with a man; she didn't even react to the amount of blood on her body. She looked like a Pavlovian victim.

Jaehaerys looked at the bodies, some still twitching post-mortem. He felt only disgust at the sight of them, their blood staining his clothes.

The prince moved the bed, looked down at the trapdoor, and lifted it. There were steps down there, about 10 or 12 feet deep. There was silence. He couldn't believe Baelish hadn't heard anything.

"Ah... Madame," Jaehaerys called to the midwife. "Come with me," he dragged her down with him.

In the dim light of the room, a faint light shone. Jaehaerys stopped the dagger aimed at his face. He looked at the attacker's face, a short man with gray-green eyes and a pointed beard adorning his chin.

"Ah, Baelish, I didn't expect to see you here," said the prince. The man swallowed hard as he tried to free himself.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding, Ser," Baelish had not recognized Jaehaerys, he couldn't see his face.

"You tried to kill my daughter. Was she the target? Was it a miscalculation? I don't care," said the prince.

"I am a man with many contacts. I can give you a lot; you will gain more than you will get by killing me. What do you want? Women? Gold? Land?" The man whispered, his voice soft as silk. "I can give you all that," he offered, trying to seduce him into accepting.

"All that... I already have, Lord Coin," said the prince. "Get out of here, Madame," he said to the woman who was watching everything in terror. He showed his eyes to him.

"It's you, Ja-," the prince covered Baelish's mouth. When he saw the matron leave, he let him speak. "Is it because of Rhaelle? Horrible thing... I know. I know who was responsible," said Baelish.

"Of course, I don't think there's anyone who knows you better than yourself," the prince smiled.

"It was the Lannisters. I have witnesses who saw them buy—"

"Chaos is a ladder," the prince said. "In chaos, you would thrive. My daughter dies, and I rage and start a war against the Lannisters. Or perhaps you intended to kill Sansa? Myrcella?" Baelish smiled bitterly.

"The target was Myrcella. The tournament is in honor of her name day. Brynden had crowned her. The Hound probably would have too. So would Ser Balon Swann," said the man.

He directed the target toward the person with whom Jaehaerys had the least connection.

"Clever."

"The Lannisters have accumulated too much power..." said the little man.

"And that power... would be better in your hands, right? Myrcella dies, Lannisters against Targaryens. Chaos. Sansa dies, Stark against Lannister. Again, chaos. You thrive in chaos, while others fall down the ladder, you climb it..." Jaehaerys said, looking at Baelish's face.

"Your daughter was not the target, I swear, I would never harm Catelyn's offspring... I... I love her," he confessed through tears. "It broke my heart to see her suffer," he tried to convince him.

"I don't give a damn. My daughter almost died because of your obsession. If I let you live, you'll lead Stark to the Lannisters or to me. Eddard is a bad player. He doesn't understand bastards like you," said the prince.

"Let me live, and I'll tell you all the secrets of the kingdom. Your allies, your enemies... where there are opportunities, where a single move is enough to start a war. I'll be your right hand, your best man. I'll swear allegiance," Baelish pleaded. "I know who sent assassins to ArgentStone," he said, as if trying to tempt him.

"Your tongue is quite impressive," Jaehaerys said as he released his arm. Baelish sighed with relief for a second.

Jaehaerys's hand went into his mouth. He reached in, grabbed his tongue, and with a slow pull began to rip it out. The man screamed, kicked, and hit him, but Jaehaerys did not stop. He heard the tissues and muscles crack as blood began to pour from Baelish's mouth.

Teark!

With one last movement, Jaehaerys ripped out his tongue. The man curled up on the floor. Jaehaerys lifted his head, grabbing him by the chin, and made him look up at the ceiling. Blood began to accumulate and enter his airways, obstructing them.

Peter fought back, but he was no good at fighting. He was good with words and intrigue.

He began to spit blood upward, like a broken fountain. But even that did not save him. The retching continued unabated, and Jaehaerys' hands were covered in blood. The air smelled of iron, feces, and urine.

The man died thanks to his greatest attribute.

Chapter Text

The Golden Maiden was the victim of a fire. The septons began preaching about the fury of the Seven against debauchery and degeneration. There were no deaths, only injuries from burns. That left room for speculation about who had caused it; it seemed like someone generous who felt guilty about killing innocents.

'Jaehaerys,' Ned thought bitterly. He had spoken to him, and he went and killed Peter Baelish. Peter was a friend of his wife, Catelyn; they had grown up together in Riverrun. Now he was dead, thanks to Jaehaerys.

"Why did you do it?" Ned confronted the man he had raised, though not in the best way.

"He tried to kill my daughter," said the prince. "Actually, my daughter was a mistake. His target was Myrcella or Sansa," he explained to Eddard.

"How can you be sure?" asked the man.

"Baelish confessed in the end." He explained. "He wanted a war, Eddard. In war, small men like him can climb," said the prince.

"Even so, if he was guilty," Ned wasn't entirely sure about that. "He should have been tried," said Ned.

"He was, I judged him myself," the prince said to Ned. "I questioned, judged, condemned, and killed him," he said in a firm voice. "I looked him in the eye as he died. Eddard, you once said, 'If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. … A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.' I looked him in the eye, and I heard him confess. He deserved to die." Jaehaerys remembered those exact words; he had heard them from Ned's lips and on the TV show.

"He deserved a trial," Ned said vaguely, though no longer with much force.

"Just like Joffrey. Where is he now?" he asked rhetorically. "You don't belong in the south. In the south, there is no honor. Duty doesn't matter. All that matters is climbing, no matter the cost," he said.

Ned remained silent, understanding what the prince meant. The intrigues in the south turned his stomach. But that didn't mean he was happy. The right thing was the thing that had to be done. Perhaps the only thing stopping Eddard from accepting that the prince was proper was that Baelish had not confessed publicly, that he had not heard him. If he had, perhaps it would have been Ice who cut off his head.

—------------

"She's asleep, Jae, don't make any noise," Rhaella scolded Jaehaerys when he entered Rhaelle's room. The little baby was healthy, her pale skin looking healthy. The only thing left of that horrible memory was those red marks on her neck, the baby herself had scratched her skin in desperation.

There was a silver necklace around the baby's neck, the same device Jaehaerys used to detect evil emotions and purify poisons. It was that necklace that saved Rhaelle's life.

The necklace had been vibrating since he entered Lannisport, in the Meele, in the streets, always sensing evil emotions. Those who wished to harm him were countless, so he learned to ignore the sensation.

The necklace now seemed weaker than when he first brought it; every day, it seemed as if its "battery" was running low. It was effective around the Weirwoods; their magic kept it working. But here, far from ArgentStone, it was like a tool with limited energy.

The baby opened her eyes, as if sensing her father's presence near her. She smiled, her uneven teeth bringing a smile to the prince's face.

The Queen Mother patted him on the head.

"She wants to be with her father," said Jaehaerys as he lifted the baby into his arms.

"Make sure she gets enough sleep," the queen mother said as she rose. "Tomorrow will be the Imp's trial, if he requests trial by combat. Kill his champion, who will surely be Jaime. Take two sons from Tywin," said Rhaella. Jaehaerys was surprised by the amount of hatred that overflowed with each word.

"Tyrion was not to blame. The culprit is already dead," said Jaehaerys.

"How?" Rhaella asked in surprise.

"A brothel burned down yesterday. Did you hear about it?" said the prince to his mother. "And they will need a master of coin... Tyrell, perhaps?" Having a Rose join the Privy Council would keep the king more stressed.

Of course, Rhaegar would only need to be stressed if he made it out of the Westerlands alive.

"Baelish... why?"

"The things a man does for love... and spite, are wonderful," said the prince. Rhaella seemed to remember something before leaving the room.

"I am glad to hear that."

Jaehaerys hugged his daughter to his chest, and the little girl laughed, as if he had tickled her. He looked around the room and saw a storybook on the nightstand. Rhaella had brought one to read to the baby. The woman who had asked him to deny the little girl was now spoiling her.

Jaehaerys picked up the book as he sat down with the baby on his lap.

He began to read to her, not in the common language. He wanted to teach her High Valyrian. She was his daughter; she had to know it. The baby clapped her hands, as if she understood every word.

"Wah-wah," the little girl pointed to a giant creature. Reptilian and winged. A dragon.

"Zaldrīzes," Jaehaerys said as he pointed to the creature. "It means 'dragon.' You'll get to know them when you live in my castle, there are three there," he told the little girl, who clapped her hands as she listened.

"Grraarrr!" the little girl roared, mimicking the dragon's open mouth.

"Dracarys," Jaehaerys pointed to the fire coming out of the animal's open jaws. "It means 'dragon fire'. We, the Targaryens, use it to let the dragons know that we want them to breathe fire," he explained calmly. "Little Rhaelle. We don't command dragons. We talk to them, and they understand us. Our control over them is not complete. I'll make sure you remember that. A dragon is not a pet," he kissed her head after giving her a little lesson she would forget in the next five seconds.

"Da-da-da," the little girl was about to say her first word, but she stopped.

He continued reading to his daughter until she began to doze off. Jaehaerys wanted to sing her a lullaby, but his voice was so horrible that it would make her cry. Luckily for him, a melodious voice came from the doorway. Sansa was a good singer, and the girl in his arms looked at her mother, her eyes sparkling with excitement before slowly closing them to the melody.

Jaehaerys finally laid her in the crib.

"Thank you," the northern woman whispered.

She hugged him from behind, burying her head in his shoulder blades. It was the first time they had interacted since Rhaelle nearly died. Jaehaerys clenched his teeth. He turned around and hugged Sansa gently. There was no desire or lust. There was the affection and respect he had for his daughter's mother. But, he would be lying if he said he felt nothing for Sansa.

But he loved Daenerys.

Agh!

The Prince of Scrolls was a stupid and bloody man.

—----------

Rhaegar continued writing, the ink staining his hands. He hadn't slept well. He hadn't slept because of the excitement. Jaehaerys was still alive, but his hatred was directed at the Lannisters, not at him. His little brother could prove useful and finish off every one of the lions, starting with the Imp. If Tyrion dies, Joanna will not rest; it will be a matter of time before a cold war, with daggers and poison, begins.

But that wasn't the reason Rhaegar was so happy. No.

It was because of Melissandre.

"Soon. I saw it in the fire. You will have your dragons soon," she said, her voice bewitching.

Rhaegar looked into the flames. First, he saw black. Then he saw three eggs break. One black with red markings, another green with bronze markings, and a third cream-colored with gold markings. Rhaegar initially had only two dragon eggs; the third came from his bastard brother, Aegon.

'If only Jaehaerys were so helpful.'

"The king works harder than anyone," he heard in the shadows.

"Who's there?" Rhaegar had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice when he entered the room. "Jaehaerys," he said fearfully. The pen in his hands slipped from his sweaty grasp.

"I just wanted to stop by and say hello," said the prince. "I brought something to help you get that bitter taste out of your mouth. A fine wine, and it has a special touch," the prince took a flask from his clothes. Then he poured it into a worn golden cup. Jaehaerys felt the magic in the object.

"A special ingredient, you say?" Rhaegar looked at the wine suspiciously.

"Yes... It's called... give me a second to remember," the prince looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. "Ah! Yes! It was the strangler," he said with a smile.

Rhaegar looked at the liquid. Then he emptied the cup in one gulp.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys felt slightly dizzy, as if he had drunk wine and was becoming intoxicated. He looked at Rhaegar's cup with some suspicion. If he had added poison to it, he would have ended up poisoning himself.

"How interesting," said the prince as he sat down. "Is the cup a magical artifact? Or is it something inherent in you?" he asked.

In the books, Melissandre had played a similar game. Stannis' maester, whose name Jaehaerys couldn't remember, had tried to poison her. The result: the maester died, a victim of his own poison.

"Of course you wouldn't poison me. You're my brother, I trust you," the king said with a smile. As if drinking from the cup were a test of trust and not a murder attempt.

"Oh, no. There was poison in there. But the poison can't harm me," the prince lied. At that moment, he didn't have a new poison purification necklace, which is why he didn't dare to slip on the strangler; Lyanna had already warned him. She had tried to poison Rhaegar, but another one died in his place.

"Sure, brother," the king dismissed it as a joke, doing his best to sound friendly, but Jaehaerys could smell the fear through his clothes.

"When I sent a message about the Ironborn, you ignored it," Jaehaerys said, though he had certainly expected that outcome.

"I discussed it with the council," the lie was as palpable as the air. "We have investigated and found no suspicious behavior," he told him.

"And I also heard that they had begun sinking ships loaded with volcanic ash from Dragonstone." That had been recent; a pirate had begun attacking ships belonging to the royal family.

"That's why... I'm sorry, but I can't maintain supplies to your castle," Rhaegar said guiltily.

"A mere pirate is blocking you, Rhaegar? Everyone is right about you, you know more about prophecies than you do about ruling," Jaehaerys said, mocking his brother.

Rhaegar fell silent, his feigned kind expression gone, replaced by a frown of disappointment.

"I've heard about magic in Argentstone," the king did his best to say the castle's name correctly. "I thought you would understand the power of prophecies better."

"Following a prophecy doesn't mean you should neglect your kingdom. You are too weak to rule. I admired you at first, you know? My older brother, capable of keeping the kingdoms united after The Stag's Rebellion." Jaehaerys said with a hint of truth. "A rebellion you started yourself," he added with contempt. "But... do you really keep them united? No, you don't. It's as if the kingdoms keep you tied down. Unable to do as you wish," Jaehaerys said at last, Rhaegar's face turning purple, as if he had drunk poison.

"I could do things better... but I can't just pressure the lords, I don't have—"

"Dragons," Jaehaerys interrupted. "But I do. I could have used them to maintain your rule. Eventually, the dragon eggs would go to Aegon's children, the family would return to its former glory," he said, not entirely untruthfully. His children and Aegon's could have married; his grandchildren would have dragons, that was what he had thought at first. "But you had to try to steal them, to put your hands where they did not belong," Jaehaerys finished.

"I have lived under the prophecy... living for it, to fulfill it, to protect the kingdom from evil. And the gods mock my efforts," Rhaegar seemed to have completely removed his mask as he spat. "They give you everything on a silver platter... what have you done for the kingdom, Jaehaerys?" he asked rhetorically.

"And you? What have you done? Stole the daughter of a Lord Paramount. You tore the kingdoms apart, you spilled gallons of blood alongside our father," Jaehaerys reproached him.

The war began when Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, but it could have stopped there. Men would not go to war over a woman. But then Aerys intervened, believing himself to be a dragon, and ended up burning alive Rickard Stark, then Lord Stark, and his heir, Brandon. Then he demanded the heads of Eddard and Robert. The rest is history, a tragic one.

"Don't compare me to him!" Rhaegar roared. "I've been working to mend all his mistakes. I won and fought a war because of him," he said, justifying his actions.

"You started the war!" Jaehaerys cried. He didn't care about the sound, no one would come that night, "and hid while others fought for you. When you got tired of raping Lyanna, you went to the battlefield," Jaehaerys reminded him. "And... winning? It was Tywin who won the war," Rhaegar stood up abruptly, furious.

"Why do you hate me, brother?" asked the king.

"You're a fucking monster. You still have the nerve to ask?" Jaehaerys almost burst out laughing. "How many times have you tried to get rid of me?" he asked, standing up.

Before, in King's Landing, he used to stoop a little so as not to tower over Rhaegar, but now he didn't care. He stood up to his full height, a few inches taller than Rhaegar. He looked down at him.

"It was Lyanna, wasn't it?" Rhaegar pretended not to hear. "That witch has been putting ideas in your head. Rape? The bitch begged me to fuck her," he began to imitate the language of a sailor. Rhaella would be disappointed.

"Did she also beg you to kill Daeron?" asked Jaehaerys. Rhaegar's face fell.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, avoiding his eyes.

"Did Lyanna also ask you to send assassins to my castle?" he asked again. "You know... I had never felt death before," he said thoughtfully. "Every assassin you sent was quickly repelled. Subdued, tortured, and finally discarded. They were a mockery; not even the best could accomplish anything. They never came close to killing me or Dany," he said. Only once did one of them manage to get close to Daenerys, a last desperate attempt, but they failed to touch her.

"I didn't send the Surrowful Men." Rhaegar shook his head in disbelief.

"When did I mention them?" asked Jaehaerys. Rhaegar opened his eyes wide, then began to laugh.

"You're insane," Rhaegar said, walking to the window. Jaehaerys followed him.

"Perhaps. Even though I knew you were sending assassins to my castle, I didn't act. It was more of a sport to hunt them down; they never managed to make me feel in danger," he said to his brother. "But when I saw my daughter's face turn purple. When I saw her suffocating... I felt fear," the prince said in a sincere voice, the most heartfelt he had used since then.

"I didn't touch your daughter," said Rhaegar.

"It doesn't matter... I realized how fragile life is, I need to protect her. That includes getting rid of those who can harm her," said the prince, quickly grabbing Rhaegar by the back of the neck. "Anyone who tries to take something valuable from me..." He planned to go after Tywin next.

"ARTHUR!" the king shouted furiously.

"He won't come," said Jaehaerys. "We haven't exactly been quiet, brother." Jaehaerys had used a runic device to isolate the sound—a prototype he had brought from ArgentStone.

"Brother... I can—"

"Is the king going to beg for his life?" asked Jaehaerys.

Before Rhaegar could answer, they looked into the distance. A fire had started on the docks. Jaehaerys strained his eyes, and in the darkness he could see flags approaching from the sea. Black and gold. From the distance he couldn't see exactly who they were. But the colors... they were Greyjoy's.

"Jaehaerys!" The king turned, panicked, but also with some hope. "We need to go, now. A stupid dispute between us is not more important than this. The Ironborn are coming," said the king.

Jaehaerys clenched his teeth as he watched the flags approach.

"The kingdom will need a good king in times of war," said Jaehaerys.

Rhaegar almost smiled, as if he were saved.

"I promise you—"

"You have already proven yourself inefficient, Rhaegar. I hope Aegon will be better," Jaehaerys grabbed Rhaegar's jaw and, with a quick movement, his head turned.

Jaehaerys held the king's body for a few seconds, feeling its weight on his arm. The heat was slowly leaving him. He looked into his brother's eyes, inert, lifeless. He looked down. There was a cliff below. Jaehaerys twisted Rhaegar's neck again, the skin beginning to tear, then threw him out the window. If people find him, they could think the IronBorn killed him.

Jaehaerys left through a passageway in the room. The crunching sound seemed like background noise in his head. He felt no guilt for killing him, but his mother... oh, he didn't want to face his mother.

Hiiii-hiiii!

Jaehaerys looked at the little rodent. It had been this little creature that had allowed him to enter the castle so easily. He had been exploring Casterly Rock for days through the eyes of the rat. He didn't know all the corridors, but he had a pretty good idea of the castle, enough to find Rhaegar's office.

Jaehaerys looked at his hand, a small drop of blood protruding from his thumb.

He started running. His mansion was quite far from the coast, so his family should be fine.

They should be.

Chapter Text

"Everything will be okay, Rhaelle," Sansa told the little girl in her arms as she ran. Arya stood beside her, Needle drawn. Their father sent men to protect both, but the IronBorn had already killed them.

"I'm going to kill anyone who wants to hurt you," her younger sister said, addressing her niece. Rhaelle was silent as she watched the fight unfold.

A large group of Ironborn had attacked their mansion. Her father was fighting outside. Lord Stark didn't have to; he could have stayed behind and waited for his men to resolve everything.

But Eddard Stark wasn't that kind of man.

"This way, Lady Sansa," Brandon directed her. "Agh!" He groaned in pain.

An arrow pierced his leg, and the man fell to his knees. Sansa looked down the hallway. Theon and a group of six men entered.

"Ser Brandon!" Sansa panicked. The man was the only one who could protect his daughter. If he fell...

"Go!" Brandon whispered; he didn't even correct her, as he always used to do. "At the end of the hallway, turn left. There, behind a painting of a stupid man with blond hair, is a passageway to the outside. Jaehaerys' mansion is nearby," the man said as he broke off the tip of the arrow. "I should have gotten better armor," he sighed wearily, dragging his feet. "What are you waiting for?" she shouted at him.

Sansa began to run, hugging her baby. Arya followed her, although she seemed to want to stay and fight alongside Brandon. Sansa prayed to the gods for the man. She had known him since she was a child; he was a friend of Jaehaerys. He... he would be sad if he died.

She turned down the hallway and came to the painting of the blond man. She let out a hollow laugh when she understood why Brandon had called him stupid. It was the Smiling Lion, Tywin's father.

The painting was heavy, so she finally left her baby with Arya to move it, setting the painting aside. Behind it was a red door. She opened it and let Arya go first. When she was about to pass, an arrow stuck near her hand. Theon looked at her, smiling.

"A salt wife. I asked you nicely..." said the man. "Now... I'm going to ask you nastily," he said as he approached her theatrically. Sansa watched Arya run down the hallway, probably thinking Sansa was following her.

"Salt wife," Sansa said, her saliva turning bitter.

"Yes," Theon was getting closer. The man walked with his bow in his hand. Sansa waited, her hand still holding the paint. Finally, she watched Arya leave the passageway and sighed, with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. She hoped she could get to Jaehaerys safely.

Sansa could have run; she might have been able to escape on her own. But carrying her baby? That would slow her down, and Theon could shoot those arrows; it was better for her daughter that Sansa stayed there, even if she died. Arya could run faster. She would be better off with Rhaelle.

"Greyjoy," Sansa said. "What do you think Jaehaerys will do?" she asked. Theon didn't hesitate.

"Cry?" he said with a smile.

"What the Greyjoys did today... attacking Lannisport," Sansa began. "Tywin will pursue you; there will be slaughter. That's madness. But to attack my home, my daughter. Jaehaerys will burn the Ironborn to the ground," she said, looking Theon in the eye.

"Oh yes... his little dragons, how frightening," he scoffed. "Harlaw the Reader told us about them. Ferocious creatures, yes, but they take time to grow, and the longer we wait, the stronger they will become," said Theon. "By the Drowned God, you are beautiful."

Thud!

Sansa dropped the picture on the floor. A cloud of dust rose.

"Even without dragons... It's six kingdoms against one," Sansa said.

The man was a braggart. If the Greyjoys had alliances, he would reveal them at any moment. He wanted to show off, to win her approval. So... stupid.

"My uncle Euron and I attacked Lannisport," he said proudly. "My older brother, Rodrik, is attacking King's Landing. My uncle Victarion... he gets the best. Right now, he's at Harrenhal, and Princess Daenerys is probably his salt wife," said Theon, his gaze lost in her cleavage.

"You all really are mad," Sansa said. The Greyjoys would burn in the Seven Hells. "Jaehaerys' wife..."

"Ah... that will be a spectacle," Theon said with a satisfied smile. "Jaehaerys will attack knowing we have his wife..." His voice sounded excited, and Sansa felt repulsed. She wished no harm to Princess Daenerys. "And his daughter..." he said finally, looking at Sansa.

The redhead fell to her knees. Her breathing became agitated. Theon approached.

"Don't touch my daughter, please, I'll do whatever you want," Sansa said in a soft, broken voice. Her hand moved her dress to reveal her cleavage. 'By this point, Rhaelle and Arya must be safe,' she thought to herself as she searched under her dress.

"I'll take it anyway," he sneered.

"But... do you prefer an indecisive lover? Or a woman willing to please your every desire?" Sansa's hand finally grasped the hilt of the dagger Jaehaerys had given her, which she always carried strapped to her thigh.

"Oh... now you're a pleaser?" the bastard said, as if he had already won the jackpot.

"Come closer," said Sansa, her gaze still fixed on the floor. If she tried to look at Theon with a submissive or innocent gaze, the man would notice. Sansa couldn't hide the hatred and disgust in her eyes. "Unbuckle your belt," she said, almost vomiting as she spoke.

Theon didn't notice, so lost in the moment that he dropped his leather pants in seconds. Sansa was grateful that he wasn't wearing any steel armor.

"Well, you're going to use that mouth for AGHHHHHHH!" the man screamed as the dagger in Sansa's hand slashed his cock. She cut it in half.

Sansa felt a hard slap across her face and fell backwards, twisting her ankle.

"You thought you could take me?" Sansa laughed in his face, not caring if she died that night. She had distracted Theon long enough. Her daughter was safe, if the gods willed it, in Jaehaerys's hands.

"Stupid bitch!" Theon yelled as he held his cock. It wasn't just the pain because she had castrated him; he had to stop the bleeding. He ended up vomiting from the pain.

"My prince, we have to go!" Two Ironborn approached Theon, surprised by his condition, but said nothing. He pointed his sword at Sansa.

"Don't kill her! That bitch is mine," Theon was torn apart by pain. "Tie her up!" A man obeyed, tearing Sansa's dress and using the fabric to tie her up. His movements were quick and frantic, and he ended up tying Sansa's hands so tightly that she almost started to cry.

"My prince," Sansa sneered. "You wanted so badly to be like Jaehaerys that you made the few men who swore allegiance to you call you that?" Theon slapped her again, the vomit on his face making him look even worse.

"The others?" Theon asked between grunts of pain.

"That man killed them," one of the men replied.

Sansa looked down the hallway. Brandon approached, dragging his sword and his foot. Their eyes met, and the man began to move faster. Not even six men could overpower the wounded man. 'He's alive,' she thought while looking at him, who fell to the floor. 'At least Jaehaerys won't be sad about his death,' she told herself.

"Let's go!" The Ironborn grabbed Theon and the rope he had tied Sansa with. Theon staggered out, too overwhelmed by pain to walk appropriately.

They left through the tunnel, and Sansa was glad to see no sign of Arya. The street was mostly empty. Theon grabbed her by the hair and tried to drag her, but he couldn't. His men had to do it for him.

The city was in chaos. Theon avoided the crowds and took a less-traveled road.

"Wah-wah," Sansa heard a baby cry.

Theon staggered toward the sound, the men accompanying him like loyal soldiers.

'Black hair,' Sansa almost fainted with joy. Hidden there was a young girl with dark hair, a baby with a shock of hair the same color in her arms.

"What are you doing?" she asked Theon. She received a blow to the stomach from the Ironborn. "NO!" she let out a muffled scream.

'How can anyone be so cruel?' Sansa thought after watching the scene before her. 

She looked in those eyes... the mother, she didn't know how to call her, after all, there is no name for when a mother loses a child. She felt the mother's despair; those screams were like her own when she watched Rhaelle being poisoned.

No... They were probably worse.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys finished off the last Ironborn with his own hands. He had run out of the castle. He hadn't had a chance to help those around him, and that gnawed at his stomach. But a man has priorities, and his family is one of them.

He finally reached the Stark mansion. The northmen were better than the Ironborn, but they were outnumbered. The battle was dragging on too long. He killed every fool who stood in his way, eventually clearing a path for the northerners. Victory came quickly.

A direct attack was something only a fool would plan. The Ironborn were not very capable warriors on land; their advantage lay in their ability to surprise and attack when you least expected it. The northerners would have won that fight; it just would have taken them longer.

"Where's Brandon?" he asked Ned.

"Protecting Sansa," the man said between heavy breaths. "Rhaelle is with her," the prince heard no more. He ran into the mansion.

"Brandon! Sansa!" he shouted for them to hear him, but no one came out, no one answered his cry. He began to run, rushing through the rooms as he shouted.

'Rhaelle, Rhaelle, where is my daughter!' He ended up running toward the secret exit of the mansion. The landlord had described that same exit. Jaehaerys had ordered that it be guarded closely. Now it could have been helpful if Sansa and the others had decided to escape. But Brandon would not do that. He is not someone who runs away from danger.

Jaehaerys reached a hallway, four men dead. A devastating fight, it seemed. He didn't look at any of the dead northerners.

"Brandon!" he shouted when he looked at the man lying on the floor. Brandon was crawling.

"That way, that way," he said between gasps as he made an effort.

"Brandon, listen to me!" The prince took him by the face.

"Oh, no. Jaehaerys," Brandon began to cry. "They took them, the passage, that way, that way," Brandon tried to crawl again, but couldn't find the strength. Jaehaerys looked at the scene on the floor.

Brandon wouldn't lose to four men. They're too few, thought the prince, before shaking his head. When you're protecting someone, you can't fight the way you used to.

"They took them? The... The Ironborn?" Jaehaerys asked.

Brandon didn't answer, his head hitting the ground as he continued to crawl.

"I... can't dissa...point... the... prince," Brandon wasn't quite sane. He had lost blood.

"Jaehaerys!" he heard Eddard say.

"Bring someone to heal him," said the prince as he stood up.

'Are the gods punishing me?' he wondered as he slapped his face. 'Shouldn't I have killed Rhaegar?'

"Jaehaerys, what's wrong?" he heard Ned say.

"I need to go," he said as he ran out. "Sansa... she's not here, send people to look for her." He had no time to waste in lamenting. If the gods punished him, why would they go after his daughter and Sansa? That's not justice, it's revenge.

He needed to run, but where was he supposed to go? He moved; it was unlikely that the Ironborn would move through the crowd. There was a quieter path between the alleys.

"My... son," he heard a broken voice say.

A dark-haired woman. Her eyes were darkened by grief. She looked at him, her eyes empty, she didn't smile, she didn't scream, she wasn't scared. It was as if she had lost the ability to feel.

"My... son," she said again.

Jaehaerys looked at the ground; there was blood. Her son was probably dead. Why didn't they take her away? The Ironborn were known for taking salt wives. What was the point of torturing the poor woman?

He shook his head, feeling sorry for her, but he needed answers.

"Ironborn, where did you go?" the prince asked.

She did not respond verbally; her mouth was half open, and saliva dripped from her lips. Jaehaerys stood up and couldn't help but be annoyed. A glint caught his eye. On the floor, a strand of copper shone in the moonlight. Jaehaerys picked it up.

"Sansa," how could he not recognize her hair? Even covered in dirt. He looked at the ground and, in addition to the hair, found a continuous trail of blood, as if someone had been wounded and there had been no time to stop the bleeding.

He found them. As it was not a busy road, he could still make out the tracks of a few men. He continued down through the city, following the trail of blood and copper hair, hoping he had not misjudged the situation.

Finally, he reached a house, the bloodstains leading him there.

Jaehaerys didn't bother to knock. He heard banging from inside and kicked the door down—two Ironborn were about to draw their swords. Sansa was on the floor, and another man was Theon; Jaehaerys recognized him. The prince killed the two men with swords in a matter of seconds.

"No, you shouldn't be here," said Theon, his crotch still bleeding. "He said you'd be hunting dragons and lions today," he said in panic.

"Sansa," Jaehaerys approached the redhead. He let out a sigh of relief. But her eyes did not look at him. She seemed as empty as that woman whom he had found before.

"Rhaelle... Rhaelle," she said. "Rhaelle... she's... she's..." Her lips moved, but Jaehaerys heard nothing.

"My... son," Sansa's voice, her expression, everything about her reminded him of that woman.

She fainted, Jaehaerys took her pulse, and she was still alive. Theon's men had been beating her, not trying to kill her but to hurt her. She had bruises all over her body. Her scalp was red, as was her face, splattered with blood.

"No... no..." Theon kept murmuring.

Jaehaerys wrinkled his nose. The smell of burnt flesh stung his nostrils. It looked like one of Qyburn's experiments. He looked in the direction of the scent. A brazier was burning, and a small body wrapped in a blanket lay there. Jaehaerys approached. He recognized a small human figure.

He wanted to deny it, to tell himself it wasn't true. That Rhaelle was fine.

"Listen to me, Jaehaerys," Theon crawled away from him. "She's-"

Jaehaerys lunged at Theon. His fist struck his face, and he felt the bone break beneath his fist. That distinctive crack he had grown accustomed to.

Jaehaerys beat him until there was nothing left to win, just a red puddle on the splintered wood. Jaehaerys watched as the blood and brain matter stirred. Tears fell from his eyes.

The prince walked over to Sansa. Her body was sprawled on the floor, her hair disheveled and her dress torn. They had beaten her body, but her mind, her mind had suffered the worst punishment.

Jaehaerys forced himself to walk to the brazier. He looked at the bundle wrapped in cloth, his throat closing with horror. He took it from the flames, the blood on his hands bubbling before drying. Jaehaerys could withstand the fire well.

'And why couldn't my daughter?' he thought, his heart in knots.

The prince carried his daughter's body. He looked at the house; it was a mess. The owners had probably escaped as soon as they saw the Ironborn on the coast. He found a piece of cloth. It was dirty, but he couldn't carry his daughter with his carbonized flesh at eyesight. He wrapped her carefully, and for a moment a piece of charred flesh stuck to his hand.

He gritted his teeth and continued.

Finally, he placed his little girl on top of Sansa's body as he carried them. He prayed all the way back that Sansa would not wake up. He walked through Lannisport with his back straight.

He did not look around; his ears did not even work. He walked the way he had come. He arrived at the same place where he had found the clues to find Sansa. He looked at one of his Unsullied, a group that approached him.

Jaehaerys watched their lips move, but he didn't hear a word. His brain was dizzy, and the blood in his body burned along with the block of ice that had formed in his heart.

He looked at one of his men, who was carrying the three-section staff. Jaehaerys watched Eddard approach, the man quickly taking Sansa and the little girl wrapped in cloth. Eddard looked at him strangely.

Jaehaerys thought, painfully, that Eddard's father and brother had died in the same way, burned, burned by Jaehaerys' father.

"Protect Sansa," said the prince, or at least that was his intention, as he could not hear his own voice. He moved toward the immaculate man with his weapon, took it, and began to walk. It was there that he saw more people. Sansa was with her father and his men; she was safe.

Jaehaerys... he had things to do.

-------------

Arya hugged the little girl in the Altair mansion. She was in the prince's solar; she had snuck in there. It was the only room where Rhaelle was happy.

"Da... ca... ys, Da... cays."

"No, it's Dracarys," Arya corrected, a little fed up. "And there are no dragons here. They're in ArgentStone."

"Lady Arya..."

"No," Arya didn't want to hand Rhaelle over to the nurse. Sansa had given the baby to her; she trusted her. And Arya ran off with the baby in her arms.

She didn't know where her sister was; she hoped Jaehaerys was with her.

"Dacays," said the little girl with difficulty.

"I wish a dragon would burn all the squids," said Arya, hugging her niece. Tears began to fall from her face.

-------------------

Note: I'll be honest, I initially planned not to reveal that Rhaelle is alive until the attack is over, which means not having the previous chapter just these after the 81 and without the final part.

Chapter Text

Another crack. Jaehaerys let the staff slip through his hands as he killed another man. He had lost count of how many he had killed. The men around him had formed a circle, allies and enemies alike. Although Jaehaerys had not killed any allies, he did not want to take any chances.

"I surrender!" shouted a man in front of the prince. The IronBorn were already leaving.

Such was his bad luck. That day, the prince was not listening to pleas. His staff swung in a horizontal arc and struck the man's chin, causing his jaw to fly off.

Jaehaerys frowned; the Ironborn had stopped approaching him. Every step he took made them retreat.

Whip!

An arrow grazed the prince's ear, who barely had time to move. His senses were what got him out of the way. The archer was quickly shot down. He wasn't the first to try to take advantage of that.

'Have I always been able to dodge arrows?' the prince wondered.

Since the day he resurrected the dragons and marked his own body with runes, he had changed. He did not become physically stronger, but he did become more aware of his surroundings. His senses, once incredible, became supernatural.

Crack!

Jaehaerys broke another arrow in midair with his staff.

He had grown tired of spilling blood, but his body kept moving. He wanted to kill every man with Iron Island blood.

"We surrender! We surrender!" shouted the Ironborn.

The whole field came to a halt. The islanders began to throw down their weapons. They were close to the sea, but the ships had begun to set sail, all except one. Jaehaerys walked over to where the men were tying up the Ironborn. They had surrounded them in a vast circle.

"We will send him to the dungeon," said a knight on horseback, his armor impeccable, who had just arrived.

"To the dungeon?" said Jaehaerys. "When did I regain my hearing?" he asked into the air. No one answered him.

"Who—Oh, my prince!" the knight said enthusiastically. "Allow me to take care of this now," he said kindly. Jaehaerys didn't give a damn.

"How many innocent people died today because the fucking islanders wanted to raid these shores?" asked the prince.

The men around him gripped their weapons in anger.

"I understand, my prince, but—" the knight continued.

"Kill them all," the prince whispered. His voice was low, but everyone heard it.

"They surrendered," said the knight, horrified.

"And the villagers they killed didn't? The women they raped and kidnapped today didn't surrender? Did they wanted to fight!?" the prince shouted at the man. He had pardoned that group of bandits, deciding to send them to the wall. Where were they now?

"I am a knight of House Tyrell, my lords are kind. If an enemy has surrendered, the right thing to do is—"

Crack!

Jaehaerys smashed an Ironborn's skull.

"And a knight is going to give orders to a prince?" Jaehaerys asked, watching the Ironborn piss themselves.

"I don't mean to—"

"You don't mean to fight. You just arrived at the last moment. Did it take you that long to put on that impeccable armor?" Jaehaerys asked. "Or did you order it to be polished?"

"I was... fighting elsewhere." The Knight said, ashamed.

"In bed, perhaps? Biting pillows?" asked the prince. "Not a drop of blood or dirt. What right do you have to come here and give orders?"

Crack!

Another skull. The Ironborn began to try to flee. The men obeyed the prince's orders. The unarmed islanders could not resist, crushing each other in a desperate attempt to get out alive.

Jaehaerys watched the chaos with indifference. He frowned as he walked toward the shore, noticing a group of men following him. They were not knights; many were peasants. He saw tears streaming down the cheeks of some of them. They were not warriors; they were men seeking revenge.

When Jaehaerys got close enough to the ship, he could see something strange as a figurehead, a female body. She had no arms or legs, and blood ran from her mouth. Blonde hair. Her face was contorted.

"A Lannister?" thought the prince.

He walked closer, stepping onto the wooden dock, and came to a stop right next to the enormous ship. The salt filled his mouth, and he could see the woman's face clearly.

"It's Cersei Martell," said one of the men accompanying him.

"So she fell into the hands of the Ironborn?" asked another, wearily.

None of the men said anything that implied joy. Even though the woman was hated, it was too grotesque a sight to rejoice over. Not even Jaehaerys found satisfaction.

"Do you have a bow?" asked the prince. They handed him one, made of old wood, probably from some hunter. They gave him an arrow as well.

The prince aimed, praying his marksmanship would work from that distance. He drew the string, careful not to break the bow as he had done before, took aim, and shot. The arrow pierced Cersei's chest.

A storm suddenly broke out. It was as if, by killing Cersei, the gods had decided to punish the earth.

"Ahhh, so soon?" he heard a male voice say. "I was hoping she would live a little longer," he continued.

Jaehaerys was not surprised to see the man. He had read the name of the ship some time ago.

Silence.

It was the ship sailed by Euron Greyjoy.

"Are you coming down? Or do I have to come up?" asked Jaehaerys.

"Oh, you look angry. Did my nephew do something wrong?" asked Euron. "Or did you fail to kill everyone you wanted? Who's alive? The Lion? The Dragon?" he asked as he climbed down a rope.

"The IronBorn are alive. I couldn't kill them all. For now," said Jaehaerys, glancing at the man. "You, go," he said to the men behind him as he handed them the bow. They didn't react. Jaehaerys looked at them out of the corner of his eye; they were all frozen as they stared at Euron Greyjoy. "Get out of here!" he shouted at them.

They finally reacted and ran toward the shore.

Euron was a middle-aged man. He was tall and handsome, with a touch of malice. He had a black patch over his left eye. His lips were unnaturally blue. His armor gleamed; it was black, composed of scales, with a shining red-gold hue, and arcane symbols engraved in the steel. In one hand, he held a black helmet, while an axe hung from his waist.

"I live... and I will live. Above lords, princes, kings," he said as he put on his helmet and walked towards Jaehaerys. The prince looked at the axe now in his hand. It was dark and had patterns like Damascus steel in his previous life. "Even above gods," the man lunged at Jaehaerys.

"You will not live above me, I assure you," said the prince as he dodged his attack.

If his weapon were made of Valyrian steel, one touch would be enough to harm the prince; he could tear his bones out if he touched them. Jaehaerys struck him in the back, and the man staggered forward.

"How's your daughter, Jae?" the man asked casually, using that nickname as if they were friends. Euron Valyrian armor took Jaehaerys' attacks with ease. "And that redhead you were fucking, did they die? Did you change the path again?" Euron asked.

The man was strange. Even in the books, he was one of the most sadistic and insane characters. A man mixed with the supernatural and the divine. He was terror made human.

"Change path?" Jaehaerys' mind was not that clear at the time. Every mention to her daughter send his mind in other direction.

"Yes, the path, that path that only you and I know how to break," the man said with a smile. "After all, there's a reason I wanted to meet you," he confessed. "I don't like your existence."

"Did it overshadow yours?" Jaehaerys sneered. The wood beneath his feet was slippery; he had to be careful on every step.

"You are the only man who can become like me," Euron said.

"A fucking lunatic? I know several," Jaehaerys said mockingly. "Like that blond idiot who accompanied Cersei."

"Yes, yes, I remember him. He sold his mother in exchange for a free pass to Essos," Euron recalled. "But the mundane doesn't matter. What matters is what I want from you," Euron said.

"I just want to kill you, man. I'm not in the mood to talk," said the prince.

"But a few hours ago you talked to the king, just before you killed him," Euron said with a smile. "You want to know how I know?"

"Magic. What other fucking explanation? One of the blue-lipped guys on your ship helped you. Or when you visited Valyria. I don't care, your skull will crack as easily as other men's," said the prince as he lunged at him. His staff struck the man's armor as Jaehaerys dodged the axe. He sought to attack him under the chin, so that his helmet would fly off, and once his head was exposed, his skull would be broken.

"You don't even care how to bring your daughter back to life?"

"No," Jaehaerys replied sincerely.

"Because you already know it. We both... know and have seen things that transcend this world," Euron boasted. "That's why there can't be two like us. I'll kill you and take everything special about you from your corpse," his voice became more serious. Jaehaerys felt the sea stir, as if it recognized Euron's words.

----------

Note: Euron is fucking hard to write.

Chapter Text

About 50 pounds. That was the total weight of the three-section staff Jaehaerys used. That weight, combined with his strength, would have destroyed the bones of most men. But not Euron's.

Valyrian steel armor protected him, and the man was good at avoiding blows to the chin. Every blow Jaehaerys landed on his torso ended up making him move by inertia. Valyrian steel sang differently than any other steel he had ever heard, and Jaehaerys could feel the air around him vibrate with every blow.

The water hit the dock hard, and the wood shook. His mouth was full of salt and the taste of iron. The ship, Silence, slowly moved away from the shore, leaving its leader behind. Jaehaerys wondered if the men had betrayed Euron, but if they had, the latter did not seem surprised at all.

Both fought fiercely; Euron was aggressive. Probably used to overwhelming his opponents, but against Jaehaerys, he quickly ended up on the defensive.

The wet ground and falling rain also hampered the prince, but Euron seemed to fare better in that environment. Was he the Drowned god? But there was more to the Storm god's field, and the two were enemies. Would a servant of the former benefit from the latter?

"I have served ten thousand gods," Euron said, as if reading his thoughts. "Why settle for one? I have traveled the world from east to west, north to south. The world knows my name; they fear it. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray," he said. Jaehaerys remembered that quote from his past life.

Jaehaerys remained silent, not interested in responding to the man. Euron smiled, his axe shining in the moonlight. Jaehaerys couldn't knock Euron down; no matter how hard he hit him, he remained standing. That amused him; it was the first time he wanted to kill someone so badly but wasn't capable of it.

'Can Valyrian steel cut Valyrian steel?' he wondered.

He took the staff from the middle section, the other two hanging to either side. He attacked, aiming his blows at the man's face. Euron backed away. Jaehaerys, this time taking the weapon from the section closest to the prince's body, aimed again at the chin, an upward arc. Euron's axe went to block the blow. Then the prince struck the middle section to one side, the section furthest from his body spun around.

The chain became entangled in the axe handle. Euron pulled; he was strong, but not strong enough. He gave up and threw the axe at Jaehaerys' face. The prince tilted his head and body. His foot slipped, almost causing him to fall. He felt heat and burning on his cheek. Euron lunged at the prince.

"Shall we switch?" said Jaehaerys.

He threw his staff at the man, and Euron unconsciously caught it, the weight causing him to stumble. Jaehaerys went to pick up the axe a few feet behind him. The weapon in his hand was light, as if he were lifting a sheet of paper.

"Do you know why I asked for your mother's hand?" Euron said suddenly. He was a confusing son of a bitch. "Ahh, so much silence, you'd make a good crew member on my ship," he taunted Jaehaerys. "I need a Valyrian womb," he said with a sordid, mocking smile. "Your mother is no longer useful, but Dany—"

Jaehaerys cut him off with the axe. He had already lost his daughter that night. The thought of losing his wife clouded his vision for a few seconds. Euron jumped back. That man, still unarmed, kept smiling, as if he had everything under control.

"There will come a time when she leaves Harrenhal..." Jaehaerys didn't wait and attacked, faster, harder. This time, the weapon struck the man's chest, where the Valyrian steel hit the armor, denting it slightly, and Euron fell to the ground. Then he aimed for the neck, a blow stopped by Euron's gloved hand. The glove was not made of Valyrian steel, judging by how Jaehaerys cut through it. He cut off the hand, taking with it the piece of flesh that held the four fingers. But Euron got time enough to dodge.

For the first time, through the eye slits in Euron's helmet, Jaehaerys saw something like surprise. But don't fear. Even as he raised the axe again, Euron did not look at him with fear, but with expectation. Jaehaerys looked at his patch, which covered his eye, then felt heat in his chest.

Jaehaerys did not hesitate. But the sea was against him. A massive wave hit the dock, and Euron moved his body in the direction where the water was flowing. Jaehaerys gripped the handle of the axe, the dark wood creaking under his knuckles.

Euron disappeared. Jaehaerys wasn't so full of rage to get himself into the ocean.

--------

Euron gripped the rope tightly. The sea had carried him there, to his ship. He ordered his men to pull him up; he couldn't climb with only one hand.

"Damphir... to my cabin," Euron said to his younger brother. "Bring a Warlock." He arrived soaked, his Valyrian steel armor gleaming. The crew stood to one side, watching him, waiting for orders.

Aeron was an Ironborn, a priest of the Drowned God. Euron knew him well, deeply, inside and out. He had tormented him so much as a child that he ended up becoming a priest.

"Is the prince dead?" asked the priest. But he then saw the armor deformed and his brother's half-hand missing.

Euron did not answer. He just stared at the wooden wall.

"The Warlock?" Euron visited the House of the Undying during his journey around the world. He had explored the world in search of riches, knowledge, and magic. He wanted to know everything that was out of control. And he tried to control it. He touched magic like no other man had ever touched it.

His hand went to his left eye. He always hid it suspiciously under his patch. He had tried to see Jaehaerys' truth with it, but the prince was protected. Not to much, but there was something in his chest that avoided Euron's sight.

"He's here."

And there he was, a man with thinning hair and blue lips. The man trembled and avoided Euron's gaze. Too battered to resist when Euron took the Warlock's hand, then clasped it with his own, they were similar in size, although the sorcerer's was much paler.

He took an axe and cut, severing the sorcerer's hand at the wrist, who let out a squeal of pain like a rat. Euron placed his severed hand on top of the sorcerer's. He made another cut, right where Jaehaerys had cut with the axe.

"Bring a bowl, Damphir," he ordered his brother. "And start praying."

Aeron brought the bowl, but did not comply with the second request. Instead, he protested.

"You lost a hand?" he asked the obvious. "This is not something the Drowned God can help you with," he said.

"Pray to me, not the Drowned God. To me," said Euron. "I am your god, brother. You'll be my first priest," he said.

"Do the gods bleed, Euron?" Aeron asked, looking at his severed hand.

Shlunk!

Euron slit the sorcerer's throat. Blue blood began to fill the bowl.

"By the Drowned God," the priest said, frowning at the blood.

"The Drowned God? When have you ever seen him work blessings like this?" Euron dipped his hand into the blood, joining it with the part he had severed from the witch.

Then he sang, in Aeron's ears it must have been a horrible sound, full of growls, like a thousand voices merged into one. Voices full of anguish and despair. When Euron withdrew his hand from the blood, the blue liquid dripped, but now he had a complete hand. The skin tone from one part to another was marked.

"It doesn't make sense," Aeron muttered.

Euron grabbed him by the back of the neck with his new hand. "Do you understand now, brother?" he asked, his light blue eye fixed on Aeron's eyes. "It didn't come from those you worship... it came from me. I, who am more god than man," Aeron trembled and writhed.

"You're not..."

"Shhh," Euron silenced him. "Cersei is no longer here to tend my bed," he had spent many nights with the blonde; she tried to seduce him, but he was not a man who would fall for her charms.

"Euron, please," Aeron spoke, his voice stuttering.

"Do you remember when we were little? When I visited your bed... I always wondered, were you trembling with fear... or excitement?" he asked his brother.

"Let me go," Aeron said, his voice low.

"Have Cersei taken down and sent to me... her body has not yet rotted," Euron ordered as he released him. Aeron fell to the floor before running out of the room.

Euron looked at his new hand.

Euron was obsessed with the idea of the gods. But no, in Euron's mind, the gods did not exist. But the miracles that men attributed to the gods, those were real. He had seen them; his left eye had revealed it to him. All those forces of chaos were there, and Euron wanted them for himself; he wanted to break down that wall between the mortal and the divine. He wanted the world beneath his feet, to destroy it, rebuild it, and destroy it again.

But he couldn't take them. Not yet. He had gone against destiny, he saw where men did not see. But his body was still fragile, human. He believed that the Valyrian steel armor would elevate him. And it did.

But not against him.

Not against Jaehaerys Targaryen. Euron thought about the Valyrian; that night was not the first time he had looked at it. The prince was a critical piece; he was just what Euron wanted.

That's why he wanted Rhaella's hand; he wanted to see if her womb could replicate the feat, and if so, he would find a new level on the physical plane. He would take what makes man special and elevate his presence even further.

His brother, Victarion, went to Harrenhal to get Daenerys, but Euron already saw him fail. No, he had to look in another direction. Maybe that dragon in the East. Now, the Greyjoys are rebels, and most of them will die. Euron will be back in Westeros on time.

Jaehaerys was above men, he was, but the idiot hadn't realized that yet. He was still trapped in that human shell and didn't dare to rise any higher. Or he didn't know how. Euron did. He had already distorted his own existence, rituals, sacrifice, magic, and everything he could change; he changed.

He didn't care if he lost his humanity; in fact, that was precisely what he was looking for.

Chapter Text

Jaime wasn't sure what the men were saying.

The Ironborn arrived before the city could prepare an adequate defense, landed, and pillaged. The areas most affected were, of course, those near the coast. The entire Lannister fleet had been sunk or stolen. They were silent and swift, just as was their style.

There was only one other isolated attack in the city center: the attack on the Stark mansion. From what Jaime heard, the Ironborn were quickly dispatched. Jaehaerys intervened.

Then came more fanciful tales, the prince's exploits more legend than ordinary man. And Jaime... he doubted. Men exaggerate easily.

He swallowed hard as he remembered the melee. He had not been ruthless, but cynical and quick. He did not fight; he stood his ground and won. His hand went to his chin, Jaime remembered how fast Jaehaerys knocked him down.

"He drove the Islanders back all by himself," said one of the men.

The problem was that it wasn't just one man. There were hundreds of men saying similar things. Jaehaerys became a nightmare for the IronBorn. They left soon because of him. It's not that Jaehaerys killed a thousand people, not, but the Lannisport's men saw him as a Savior and their fervor just went to the skies.

'Damn it,' Jaime thought. 'If what these men say is true, we owe him a lot,' and a Lannister always pays his debts. Just thinking about his own father's bad mood made his stomach knot.

"And he put an arrow through Princess Cersei's heart," Jaime heard the men gossiping as he walked among the corpses and ashes.

"What did you say?" He turned to the person who had spoken. His voice trembled, anger?, sadness?

"Princess Cersei was on the pirate Euron Greyjoy's ship... Jaehaerys shot her with a bow and arrow," the man repeated.

"We saw it," said another, and voices echoed.

Jaime felt the ground beneath his feet move. Cersei... she was an idiot. She was a horrible person, greedy and miserable. But she was also his sister, his twin sister—the one who had been with him since the womb. The one who dressed like him went sword training. They were inseparable in their childhood, until one of their mother's maids found them kissing.

"She's dead?" No matter how angry he was with her. The news made his heart feel as if it had been bound with chains.

'Why Jaehaerys... no, it's not like him. Did he tire of my father's plans? Is this his way of taking revenge... against a woman?' Gods, Jaime spurred his horse to the docks, the sun just beginning to rise.

There were still a few ships standing, but they would need repairs. Jaime rode along each of the docks until he found a figure sitting on the wood, calmly watching the sea.

The rain did not wash all the blood from his body.

"Jaehaerys!" Jaime shouted, with more anger than he intended. He saw a shiny axe next to the prince. The prince turned his head, looking over his shoulder, his eyes empty as the moonless night, a red line in his cheek, 'someone actually hurt him?', Jaime wondered. "Did you kill Cersei?" he asked, having to hold on to his horse's reins.

Jaehaerys nodded.

"By what right do you dare to—" Jaime began. Cersei, even if she died, should be treated like a Lannister: a trial, a sentence.

Hiii, hiii!

His horse whinnied as it tried to turn around.

"She had no legs or arms," said the prince, standing up. His eyes were red, blood had fallen into them. "No tongue," he continued. "Tied up like a decoration. She was suffering. I saved her from that suffering," the prince finished. He did not apologize or show guilt.

"She—" The description was so gruesome that Jaime felt dizzy for a second.

"Are you suffering too, Lord Jaime?" asked the prince, raising his axe and reflecting the sunlight.

Jaime backed his horse away.

He could not win against Jaehaerys. Not even on horseback, not even in full armor. And... was Cersei worth it? From what the prince said, he killed her out of mercy, like when a horse breaks its leg and has to be put down.

The sound of hooves pounding on the wood snapped him out of his daze. His father approached, leading a group of dozens of men, Lord Stark at his side. Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

------------

Jaehaerys walked past Jaime's horse and Tywin's. He resisted the urge to cut off both their heads.

"You're welcome," he said, meeting Tywin's conflicting gaze. The man tensed his shoulders, looked at the axe with interest, but didn't say a word. His tongue was too numb with pride to thank him.

"Jaehaerys," he heard Eddard call him. "What happened?" he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It was as if you weren't listening to our words."

"I wasn't," said the prince, walking away. He looked at the Great Jon, his armor stained with blood; the man had been hunting fish.

He walked to his mansion, the men parting as he passed. Lucky for them, they didn't want to interrupt his path. If Jaime had continued to fuck around because of Cersei, House Lannister would have lost two members, not just one.

'I killed a Lannister, but not the one I wanted to,' thought the prince. After killing his brother, Rhaegar, he planned to kill Tywin Lannister.

"Rhaegar is dead," he heard a man's voice behind him say. The Old Lion had followed him on horseback. He didn't thank him or ask for explanations about Cersei. "Aegon will be crowned king here," he warned him.

The man was probably gauging his reaction. Jaehaerys didn't give a shit. Aegon... he didn't know his nephew yet. He could well be another lunatic or a good king. 'Tywin wants to know if I want the throne?' Jaehaerys didn't want it. He didn't want to be at the center of all that shit. He was tired of the conspiracies and betrayals that left him with knives in his back.

"Long live the king... may he rule better than the last," he said, looking into the old man's green eyes. "It would be a shame if they shared the same fate," was a warning not just for Aegon, but for Tywin. Rhaegar had left too much influence on Tywin, which took away his power. If Aegon was the same...

'Who's next? Daemon. I'd rather take the throne for myself,' thought Jaehaerys, resuming his walk. He would kill Tywin later. Death waits patiently.

If Aegon did not serve well as king, only he, Viserys, and Daemon remained. Rhaenys could be an option, but with male heirs, she would be displaced.

He entered his mansion, his boots hitting the stone with a wet sound. "Jaehaerys!" he heard a small voice call out. Bran Stark shouted at him from a distance. "Rhaelle is crying, and Sansa still won't wake up."

Did the boy want him to slap him red in the face? What stupid joke was he trying to play?

"Wah-wah," and yet, even knowing the truth, he heard a cry in the distance—the cry of a baby.

"Am I imagining it?" he wondered, but the crying was still there, steady, loud.

He walked, his feet feeling like lead. He was afraid, afraid that when he found the crying, it would be a baby with black or golden hair, a refugee. Afraid that the little hope in his chest would explode and finish destroying him.

He opened the door; the expectant creak did not stop him.

"You stink!" Arya said as soon as she saw him. She was trying to calm the baby, but she herself seemed immensely irritated by everything. Arya's eyes were red and swollen. "I see where Rhaelle gets that smell from," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Jaehaerys looked up at the ceiling. It was made of polished stone, shaped like an arch, the stones held together by medieval mortar.

Then he looked down. Now the baby was silent, looking at him as she stretched her arms out toward him.

The crushing feeling in his chest was gone. It was as if someone had removed the stones he had been carrying on top of him. His daughter was alive. Jaehaerys didn't know who the charred baby he had picked up was. And he knew it was wrong, but he was glad it was someone else's child and not his.

"Da-da," was she going to say her first word? Was it Dad? "Da-cays," she said, then snorted. Then she waited silently.

Jaehaerys took her in his arms, ignoring Arya's requests for him to take a bath first. He felt her weight and how she felt in his arms. She was perfect, as she had always been. The girl kept shouting Da-cays and snorting. Jaehaerys felt the little girl's drool fall on his face, and even that felt good.

"You were in danger... I'll make sure that never happens again. I promise you that. No one will be able to hurt you, my love," he said softly, if he could sing with that sweet voice, the ladies would pray him to sing every time they saw him.

"Da-cays! Da-cays," the girl said enthusiastically.

"Yes, little dragoness... Dracarys," the prince repeated.

Chapter Text

"Gifts, you say?" Daenerys received a man at her castle. Tohrren was at her side, as were Barristan, Queen Lyanna, and Princess Visenya. They were in a small, impromptu council, receiving Victarion Greyjoy.

The man had sailed through the Blackwater; his ships were small enough to move in the river.

"Yes... Gifts, my princess," the man looked directly at her. He tried to hide it, but his eyes were looking at her with desire, not lust, but as a lover. Daenerys felt insecure in his presence. Ever since Jaehaerys left, she had felt insecure.

"For what reasons, my lord?" asked the princess. If she cut off the head of every man who looked at her inappropriately, she would have enough to build a tower.

"Simply for allowing me to admire your beauty. It is as legendary as they say," the man flattered her, but Daenerys felt indifferent to his words.

"My husband is a happy man, indeed," she reminded him of her husband's presence, hoping to see him squirm a little. Most men did.

"Many envied Prince Jaehaerys, myself included," but it seemed that the Ironborn was made of different stuff than most men. Looked dumber.

"You could tell him that in person when he returns," said the princess, but the man did not back down. Instead, he continued solemnly.

"The prince... on my way here, I get a letter. Jaehaerys Targaryen is dead, against the mountain," Victarion said, his head bowed to the ground.

"You lie," Daenerys said, not believing the man's words for a moment. Jaehaerys would not die against the mountain. No.

"A letter from the queen mother," the man pulled a scroll from his clothing. Dany looked at the paper.

With a glance, Tohrren approached Victarion. The Ironborn looked at the northerner with something resembling anger, then at the princess. Finally, the letter passed into Dany's hands.

She recognized her mother's handwriting. It detailed Jaehaerys' situation and reprimanded her for having the men prevent her from seeing her son. Daenerys frowned in confusion; she had not forbidden anything. If those were Brandon's words, then they were Jaehaerys' orders. The princess wondered what her wayward husband was up to.

"And why is this letter in your hands, my Lord?", Daenerys asked.

"One of my men found the raven's death, and the letter with it," the man said. Truth was other. He ordered his men to kill the raven, he wanted to deliver the letter himself. He knew the content because of Euron's words.

"It doesn't say anything about him dying. He is a strong man, like no other. I have faith that he will survive," the princess said to the man, playing along for a moment.

"The prince is already dead... that letter is late, a new one should arrive in a few days. He died poisoned in his bed," Victarion said so firmly that Daenerys almost believed him.

But he was full of shit. The necklace around Jaehaerys's neck would not let him die of poisoning.

"You come from Blackwater... from King's Landing. Does news of my husband reach the capital faster than his own castle?" she asked, seeing how far he was willing to take the lie. "If he died, they would have sent a raven".

"I learned from a letter from my nephew, Theon, who attended the tournament. He was the one who gave me the gift," the man didn't even flinch.

"And you decided to bring a gift for what? To celebrate my becoming a widow?" she asked firmly, her voice rising.

The men at her sides stiffened. Dany looked at Tohrren; he was calm. Lyanna, on the other hand, looked horrified, as if she were losing her faith. Her hand was on Visenya's shoulder, who looked confused.

"My gift is vengeance, My Princess," he looked up, his eyes locked with Daenerys's. "I know the assassins," the man said, opening his arms. "A gift and a proposal. The gift is the names of your husband's killers. The proposal is an alliance... by marriage," Daenerys fought back the feeling of disgust rising in her stomach, making her want to puke.

"Marriage?" Daenerys asked. "I have just been widowed," she said, though her face showed no sign of grief. She glanced at Lyanna, who was glaring at her. She would have to explain later.

"An alliance. My ships and your dragons, with them we will avenge your husband and claim the Iron Throne. We will lash the coasts and burn castles until they melt. Our children, our heirs, will rule the sky and the sea. Men will tremble when they hear their names." He spoke with unbridled fanaticism. "Princess, the gods have chosen us," Victarion said.

The man began to remove a leather glove.

"In the seven hells!" Ser Barristan said, his hand going unconsciously to his hilt.

Daenerys remained silent. Victarion's hand was black, not shiny, but charred. She could see smoke rising from it, like smoldering coal.

"The gods have blessed us!" The man took a step closer. Tohrren drew his sword; Ser Barristan did the same. "Little men... You don't understand. The gods have marked me; they favor me. The gods made you bring the dragons back to the world. Magic springs forth, and the gods are happy," his eyes glowed with fanaticism. He was a big man, with more strength than brains. "You were brought to my path, just as I was brought to yours," he told her.

"Enough!" Daenerys was beginning to worry. The hand in front of her was not natural, by any means. It was special, and she feared what would happen if a battle began there. "My husband is alive. I ask that you take your ships and sail away." she cut the conversation short.

She walked outside, Tohrren accompanying her, his unsheathed sword posing no threat to Victarion.

Victarion would not give up. He walked behind her outside, into the open air. Daenerys felt safer seeing him outside. She sighed to the sky. Victarion had not come alone; he had brought a group of ten men with him.

"Don't you understand?" he asked, as if she were a little girl who needed things explained to her carefully. "It is the will of the gods."

"Which gods?" Daenerys asked, wanting to buy time. She did not trust Tohrren and Barristan's ability to deal with magic. Daenerys had a total of ten men with her, the same number as Victarion, as a sign of respect. How foul she was. 'I should have gotten more', that doesn't matter right now, Castle's guards were looking now in their direction, ready to act if needed.

"The Red God, the Drowned God, all of them! I am his chosen one. My brother, Euron, thinks he is special, but he is just a blasphemer," Daenerys frowned, she had heard that name before, he had asked for her mother's hand in marriage.

"The Red God sends you?" Dany's voice turned venomous.

"Yes, the very same. The one who helped you hatch the dragon eggs. Look," he showed her his magic hand again. It was unpleasant to look at. "This is his doing. Listen to me, I truly have not told a single lie since I entered your castle."

The man was foolish. Either he was an idiot with a plan, or he had simply been deceived. Perhaps by Euron?

"I ask you to leave my castle. Take your hand to another woman, one who is unmarried and willing to be your partner. I'll rather die than marry a R'hllor fanatic," the man seemed a little pathetic at that moment, as if he didn't understand why things weren't turning out the way he thought they would.

"My brother will come for you... Euron is not kind. Allow me to take your hand. I will keep you safe," he said, and Daenerys looked at him calmly, her violet eyes fixed on his.

The air felt heavier; a shadow covered them all. Eyes looked up, and the men began to murmur. Then came a roar from the sky.

The dragons were not accustomed to showing themselves, although with their size, it was becoming increasingly impossible for them to remain hidden from view. People were already aware of them, but they did not know how large they were or how fierce they were.

"I don't need your protection..." said Daenerys. "Leave my castle," she told him.

Victarion looked at the dragon, the creature dwarfing him and glaring with fury. He looked at his own hand and then at the dragon, both black. The eyes were like two burning coals, his hand burned constantly... that dragon was his to claim.

"Return to the ships," he told his men.

Euron sent him there. He was supposed to take Daenerys to him, with a dragon. Meanwhile, his nephew, Rodrik, attacked King's Landing; he found a way to Argentstone. Victarion wanted the princess's hand, with her and the dragons; his return to sea would have been easy.

Not for a second did he doubt his plan would succeed; the gods were on his side.

His brother assured him that Jaehaerys would die. He didn't believe it at first, but it was confirmed in the letter he intercepted. That was why he was so bold as to ask for the princess's hand. Euron wanted her. But Euron wasn't a devotee; he was damned, a blasphemer.

And an idiot. Euron gave him a horn, a horn with the ability to control dragons. He didn't want to use it at first; he planned to win the princess's hand through the resentment she would feel over her husband's death. Now she, a fragile woman, would need a strong man to protect her.

But she still didn't understand. The horn... the gods gave it to him. It was a test.

Perhaps when Victarion uses the horn, she will see what he means by "the chosen one of the gods."