#Jacaerys velaryon fic

[softspiderling]

est-ce que tu m’aimes? | j.v

summary:

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

OR; Jace’s reaction truly confuses you, you settle in at Dragonstone and a surprising addition to the team makes themselves known.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: Jace being a little mean (we all know he’s capable of it)

word count: 5,6k

author’s note: yoooo pt. 2 is finally here!! i hope you love it sm!!! pls don’t forget to reblog/leave comments etc if you liked it!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I cannot believe you would let her waltz into our home like that! She’s putting all of us in danger!”

In less than two days, you were sat outside a study as a heated argument about you took place behind closed doors. It was merely a coincidence that it was within the same family.

After Jace had stormed into the council room, meeting you with open hostility, Rhaenerya had asked you to give them some privacy. You had barely left the room before Jace had started spitting ill words about you.

“She saved me, Jace!”

“What if this is some plot for her to put herself in our midst and feed information back to King’s Landing?”

“Was she not residing in Oldtown with Daeron ever since we left for Dragonstone? It is doubtful she has been let in on the plans to usurp the throne.”

Jace let out a frustrated groan and it was silent for a few moments before Rhaenyra spoke again.

“It seems to me you have a different issue with her… Is it because you have feelings for her?”

Your breath stocked in your throat, your hand stilling against the door. Jace’s behavior towards you confused you deeply. It seemed like he harbored resentment, but you weren’t sure when it had started, when you had suddenly become a traitor in his eyes, instead of a friend.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

The way Jace scoffed hurt you more than ten daggers in your back, and you pressed your lips together, refusing to let the words of a man affect you.

“I only wish to protect you.”

Swallowing thickly, your hands balled into fists and you jumped back when the door suddenly opened, a knight gesturing for you to step in.

Hesitantly, you entered the room, the tensions still high and you looked at Jace, but he refused to meet your eyes, turning his head away.

Rhaenyra on the other hand stepped up you, taking your hand in hers, cradling it gently.

“I will never be able to repay the debt,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes warm. “You saved my son, even though you weren’t obligated to do it. For that, I will offer you a place here, at Dragonstone, and a place in my council, if you wish to take it.”

“Mother!-“

Rhaenyra ignored Jace’s protest, her voice unwavering. “I believe your insight into our enemies will give us an advantage to win this war.”

“I do not wish to cause a drift between you,” you said honestly. “If Jace does not wish for me to stay-“

“It is not his place,” Rhaenyra said and Jace only scoffed. You fought the urge to glare at him, you didn’t want to antagonize him even further.

“Thank you, your Grace,” you said, lowering your head. “I would very much like to stay.”

Frankly, you wouldn’t know where to go, had Rhaenyra not offered for you to stay, you weren’t sure what expected you, would you return to King’s Landing; it surely wouldn’t go over well.

“And the seat on the council?”

You pressed your lips together. It was an honor, an offer like that, but you could tell Jace wanted you to say no with the way he was looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“May I think about it?”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, squeezing your hand. “Ser Lorent, escort the Lady to her chambers. I think the ones in the West Wing will be fitting.”

Ser Lorent bowed, before gesturing his arm out to you. “My Lady, if you please follow me.”

You bowed your head to Rhaenyra, turning to leave, but just before you stepped over the threshold of the room, you glanced back. Luke gave you a small smile, but Jace had turned his back to you again. You tried not to let it go to your head, but your mind was racing with questions after Ser Lorent had dropped you off in your chambers.

The sun was shining through the windows when you awoke the next day. You had chosen to take supper in your chambers the night before, trying to give Jace some space. There had been no maid to wake you, so it must still be early. A loud clang of swords floated up from outside and you wrapped a robe around your shoulders as you got out of the bed, glancing out the window.

It turned out that your chambers laid directly above the training grounds, where Jace and Luke were currently in the middle of training. It was nice to see Jace without a scowl on his face for a change, and you took the opportunity to look at him.

He had grown into a very fine Prince, his hair long, curling around his face, his cheekbones high. You had always known he’d grow up to be very handsome. It was hard to imagine he’s the same boy who had told you to write to him every day.

Now, he hadn’t spoken to you a single word after his agitated discussion with his mother.

“Lift your sword up higher when you are in offense, but when someone is advancing on you, make sure to defend the lower part of yourself as well.”

Luke sighed, dropping the point of his sword on the ground, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. “We have been training since the sun has risen, can we go break fast now?”

“No, you need this.”

“What am I to do with a sword when Aemond descends upon me with Vhagar? Slash at her wings?” Luke scoffed. “I’m not lacking in swordsmanship.”

You pressed yourself against the window as Jace laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, lending him comfort similar in a way you have done with Daeron.

“It will not happen again, Luke. I will make sure Aemond will not get the chance to get near you again.”

Jace let out a breath, his face pained, you could even see it from a distance.

“It was foolish of me to suggest we go deliver the messages,” Jace sighed. “I should’ve gone with you, you had no protection. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“Jace…” Luke looked at his brother, his forehead creased. “It wasn’t your fault. Our uncle behaved himself with no honor.”

“I should have expected that.” Jace smiled at him wryly. “You were lucky to escape Vhagar when you did.”

“I wasn’t lucky, I had help.”

Jace let out a loud sigh, giving Luke a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Let us go break fast, then.”

“Oh so now you want to end training,” Luke nagged, resheating his sword. “Because I mentioned Lady-“

“Do not speak her name to me,” Jace snapped, stopping Luke in the middle of his sentence.

Luke only sighed at his older brother.

“Jace… None of this is her doing. You cannot-“

A knock on your door quickly made you push away from the window, your cheeks red, almost having been caught eavesdropping.

The two young women standing in front of your chambers gave you a friendly smile, their hair - already twisted in intricate fashion despite the early hour - immediately told you of their parentage.

“You must be Baela and Rhaena.”

One of them, you assumed Baela, as she was wearing riding gear and last you had heard, Rhaena had yet to claim a dragon, inclined her head in yes. You gave them a smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m-“

“Oh we have heard all about you.”

Rhaena gave Baela a jab in the side, glaring at her sister and even though Baela had fallen into your word, it did not seem like she had done it in chargrin, as she had a friendly look on her face.

“We were about to break fast. Her Grace asked us to extend the invitation to you,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“Thank you. Let me get dressed and I will meet you in the dining hall.”

After getting dressed and making yourself presentable, you made your way to the dining hall. Well, you tried, at least. The keep was much bigger than you had anticipated. Finally you rounded the corner, thinking you had reached the dining hall, but instead you were standing in a hallway that split into three more hallways.

“I could have sworn this was the way to the dining hall,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in confusion, when someone called your name.

“… Are you lost?”

Luke stepped out of his chambers, lingering in the doorway. He must have gotten changed after training in the pit, his doublet a little askew as he walked towards you.

“I was exploring the keep.”

Luke gave you a suspicious look, a grin growing on his face.

“How long have you been wandering around?”

“Why do you assume I wasn’t waiting for you to walk me to the dining hall?”

Luke laughed, offering you his arm, which you accepted gratefully as the two of you walked together. You found it was easy to converse with Luke, he was telling you about Arrax and how he has been faring ever since you got back, and that he wished for some more meat instead of fish. His cheeky grin reminded you a lot of Daeron when he was pulling one of his jests on his uncle. It was nice, to have something to remind you of home in a place that felt so unfamiliar.

“And here we are, at the dining hall,” Luke announced as you stepped into a completely different hallway, the large doors to the dining hall open.

“I never would have found my own way here,” you admitted and Luke laughed.

“I know.”

Judging by the sound of easy conversation coming out of the hall, you were the last to arrive. You were hesitant, unwilling to cause any tension but Luke tugged on your arm, sensing your discomfort.

“Come. You shall sit with me.”

You relented, following the young boy inside. The conversation at the table ceased as you entered, everyone bidding you a good morrow. Well, almost everyone.

“Have you slept well?” Rhaenyra asked as you sat down next to Luke. You nodded, giving her a smile.

“Yes, thank you. I am very grateful that you have offered for me to stay. And for the clothes, of course.“

Next to Rhaenyra, her lord husband Daemon only gave you a subdued smirk.

“It appears we are the ones who have to offer our thanks,” he said, his fingers circling the brim of his cup. “You acted when it was easier to do nothing. You showed true courage.”

“Please,” you said, nearly melting into your seat out of embarrassment. “I did what was right.”

You ignored how Jace visibly rolled his eyes, turning his head as he took a sip from his cup. He seemed incredibly displeased by this all.

“You should have seen her,” Luke said, nodding fervently. “She leapt from Vhagar to Arrax just above the clouds like it was a small jump over a beck.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“It was. I truly do not know what came over me in that instant.”

“Sometimes we don’t know how brave we are until the moment asks for it,” Rhaenyra said with an encouraging smile and you nodded, your cheeks red. Thankfully this scene of praising you was interrupted by the servants starting to serve food.

“You have been living most of your recent name days in Oldtown, is that right?” Baela asked curiously, leaning towards you.

“Yes, Alicent sent Daeron to Oldtown and asked me to accompany him to make the distance from home easier.”

You have always thought it cruel of Alicent to send Daeron away from his family, his siblings. But now you wondered if Daeron was better off for it.

“It was really different from King’s Landing. The grandmaesters were incredibly wise and I have learned a lot from the them,” you told her, a smile on your face. “Daeron of course always dragged his feet, but I knew he enjoyed it as well.”

“How old is Daeron now?” Luke asked, swallowing his food.

“Eight and ten,” you answered. “Not quite a man just yet, even if he believes otherwise.”

The family laughed, and even Jacaerys cracked a smile, though it seemed more unkind than the rest.

“That seems to be running on his side of the family, no?” he asked, taking a sip from his cup. His voice was so cutting, and the light mood seemed to dissipate at once. “Aegon, Aemond, none of them display characteristics of a what a real man is… I wonder if Daeron turned out any better than his usurping and kinslaying brothers, though I-“

Before Jace could continue, you slammed both of your hands on the table as you stood, the tableware clattering. The table grew quiet, the tension thick as everyone laid their eyes on you, but you paid them no mind, your focus on Jace as you glared at him, and he seemed surprised at your outburst.

“Please excuse me,” you pressed out, eyes gleaming with anger. You barely waited for Rhaenyra to excuse you as you left the table, your food still untouched on your place.

As you hasten out of the dining room, you could hear Rhaenyra raising her voice.

“-unacceptable behavior!”

“Why are you all rushing to her defense? Or Daeron’s? She’s just being sensitive!”

“I have lived with you about as long as she has with Daeron,” Rhaena argued. “Would you not come to my defense if someone spoke ill about me?”

You didn’t wait to hear Jace’s answer rushing past the Queensguard that was standing by the door. By some miracle, you easily found your way back to your chambers, the heavy door falling shut as you threw yourself on the bed, letting out a scream of frustration.

You were at a loss.

Jace seemed to use every opportunity to antagonize you, treating you like an enemy instead of a friend he had grown up with. You were no damsel in distress who couldn’t handle tough words, but it was to hard to hear them from someone you harbored feelings for.

You wished you could talk to someone about this. You wished you could talk to Daeron about this. A part of you longed for the days when you were in Oldtown, before any of this occurred.

A knock brought you out of your thoughts and you lifted your head from the cushions, frowning.

“I wish to be alone for a little longer,” you called out. It was probably a handmaiden Rhaenyra had sent to check up on you. You hoped she would respect your wishes, but the knocking didn’t cease and with a small sigh, you pulled yourself up, heading to the door.

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

“I have been told that my behavior this morning was unbefitting for a Prince,” he ground out, the words like gravel in his mouth. “I’m here to extend an apology.”

You bit back a scoff, rolling your eyes. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

He guffawed at your words.

“If you are going to be like this, I am not sure it makes much sense for me to apologize,” Jace said haughtily and you snorted.

“If I were to believe that a single word of your apology were genuine, I would readily accept it.”

Jace only scoffed, shaking his head but not denying your accusation. His nostrils were flared and you searched for his eyes, but he refused to meet your gaze. Exhaling softly, trying to let go of your anger, you uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides.

“Why are you so angry?”

Suddenly, Jace’s eyes snapped up to yours, his lips parted in disbelief.

“My mother’s claim to the throne has been stolen by her usurper brother, my uncle! Whereas my other uncle tried to murder Luke, and you ask why I’m angry?”

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Forgive me, I should have been more clear. Let me rephrase,” you said. “Why are you angry with me?”

Jace took a step back, surprised by your question.

“You treat me like I myself have usurped the throne, Jace.”

You looked at Jace expectantly; his mouth opening, like he wanted to say something, before he closed it again, his words unspoken. Before you could demand an answer, hurried steps came down the hallway, Ser Lorent appearing, stopping next to your chambers. Jace seemed relieved at the distraction as the knight inclined his head at him.

“My Prince, the Queen has requested your presence for the council meeting.”

Jace nodded, giving you one last glance before stepping towards Ser Lorent, expecting him to leave right away, but Ser Lorent turned his eyes on you.

“You as well, my Lady.”

Jace let out a scoff and turned on his heel without waiting.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked away. You sighed, glancing at Ser Lorent but he only extended his hand in silent invitation, leaving you no choice but to go with him.

The painted table in the council room was already fully seated, save for one empty space, two seats down from Jace. Most of the council consisted of lords of various houses, who eyed you sceptically as you took your seat next to Baela.

“What is a girl like her doing at a council meeting?” The Lord sat across from you asked, clear disdain on his face. You only stared back at him, not knowing how to answer yourself, but disliking his tone towards you only for the fact that you were not a man.

“This girl,” Jace replied, and you already resigned to another slight at you, “Has saved my brother up thousand feet on the air with no training. What have you achieved for my mother, Lord Bartimos?”

Lord Bartimos only let out an aggrieved sigh as he leaned back in his seat, while you turned to Jace with a surprised look on your face. He didn’t meet your eyes. Luke on the other hand, was ducking his head to hide a grin, failing miserably.

“She can offer us insights into the plan of the usurpers,” Rhaenyra said, effectively stopping any more arguments. “I hope we can avoid any bloodshed.”

“Avoid?” Daemon asked, leaning forward with a crease in his forehead. “They blatantly attacked a messenger after you wished for some time to think about their offer.”

“Daemon is right.”

Jace’s voice was strong as he agreed with Daemon, his shoulders tight.

“This is not the time to sit back and watch their plans unfold. We have come too close to unimaginable tragedy.”

Jace’s eyes flickered to his younger brother, before he turned to look to his mother. “We need to fight back.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, seemingly to disagree with her eldest son, but a commotion outside caught everyone’s attention.

“Dragon!”

“It’s a dragon with a rider!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other, unsure of what was happening when a knight from the watch outside came storming into the room.

“Your Grace!” he called, bowing quickly. “There has been a dragon sighted with a rider, he’s headed straight for Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra’s forehead creased in concern.

“Do we know who it is?”

“No, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra stood, her strides quick as she walked outside, the rest of you were not too far behind her. Outside, the folks were rushing in, trying to get to safety from an imminent attack from the dragon.

“I will mount Moondancer,” Baela said, already turning on her heel but Rhaenyra stopped her, shaking her head.

“No. We do not know his intention yet, another dragon might provoke him into attacking.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, sight blinded by the sun for the first few moments. The dragon’s movements seemed familiar to you, and as your vision adjusted, you let out a laughter, relief coursing through you.

“That’s Tessarion!” you exlaimed, turning to Rhaenyra with a smile. “It’s Daeron!”

You broke out in a run, skirt of your dress lifted as you skidded down the stoney hill, ignoring how Jacaerys was yelling after you to wait.

Tessarion landed on the green grass, stretching her orange-blue wings, as Daeron slid off his saddle, feet on solid ground again. He oriented himself looking around, before relief took over his face when he saw you.

“Sister!”

“Daeron!”

You fell around his arms like countless times before and he held you so tightly, you were afraid he’d never let you go.

“You promised,” he whispered into your neck in a choked voice. “You promised you wouldn’t abandon me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you mumbled, squeezing Daeron. You didn’t let go of him until his hold on you lessened, knowing he needed to realize that you were, and not gone. Pushing his hair out of his face, you gave him a watery smile.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Brother.”

Rhaenyra’s voice brought you back to reality, as the both of you stood straight, Rhaenyra’s face null of emotion. Jace was furious, his eyes flitting between you and Daeron continuously, while Daemon stood behind Rhaenyra.

“Are you here to deliver a message from the false King that is your brother?”

“I am not a messenger,” Daeron said, his voiced heated. “And as I recall he’s your brother as well.”

His tone is starting to border on disrespect so you glanced over to him, your eyebrows creased. Daeron let out a small sigh.

“I hold no loyalty to my brother,” he added, his voice softer. “Nor am I here to deliver any messages.”

“Then what is your purpose of being here?”

“I’m here because she is,” Daeron answered simply, squeezing your hand. “She has been more kin to me than either Aegon or Aemond. I want to stay on Dragonstone, if you allow it. Fight alongside you.”

“Are we offering shelter for anyone who comes here now?”

Jace’s voice was directed at Rhaenyra, but Daeron narrowed his eyes at him.

“What happened to him?” he muttered to you under his breath. “I do not recall him being this miserable.”

“Daeron!” you hissed, the corners of your mouth tugging up anyways. Jace scoffed, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra.

“If you are willing to trust me, you have to trust Daeron,” you said, looking at Rhaenyra. You understood that she was wary, she and Daeron barely spent any time together, he was a stranger to her. But you hoped that her trust in you was only half as strong as your trust in Daeron. “If anything, it adds another dragon on your side.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a impressed smile, giving a small nod.

“Very well. You might stay, Daeron,” she said; behind her, Jacaerys and Daemon exchanged a look, neither of them happy about her decision. “However, I wish to speak with you, alone.”

Daeron nodded, and you squeezed his hand as you followed Rhaenyra back inside the keep, trying not to let Jace’s piercing eyes on you bother you.

“I think it odd. Seeing Rhaenyra again after all this time. My sister.”

You were sitting out in the grass, Daeron’s head in your lap as he talked. He had spent the last two hours in the council room speaking to Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure what exactly they had talked about, but when they both came out, they seemed calm, almost peaceful. You didn’t pry, knowing that Daeron would share whatever he felt comfortable with.

“Does she feel like kin to you?” you asked, knowing how distant Rhaenyra was to Alicent’s children, even when they were younger.

Daeron shrugged, ripping up a blade of grass with his hand.

“She was polite enough. She knows what advantage she has having me on her side. I cannot see us become closer,” he said. “Like us.”

Daeron peered up at you with a grin and you rolled your eyes. Something was still nagging at you, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your head until you had answers

“What happened when Aemond got back? How did you know I was here?”

Daeron’s smile dimmed a little and he looked away, his eyes focusing on the blue sky above you.

“I was already searching for you by the time Aemond returned. I could tell by the look on his face that something had happened, so he told me that he had been out in Storm’s End to secure pledges for Aegon, and that you had come with. Luke had arrived just shortly after Aemond had negotiated with Lord Borros and he got angry, starting a fight, bringing up what had happened at Driftmark.”

Your brows furrowed. You had suspected that Aemond wouldn’t tell the truth, but blaming Lucerys for his bad temper? Anything to paint you as the villain.

“Aemond said you took Luke’s side, your feelings for Jace swaying you.”

Your cheeks reddened. You hadn’t realized that your affections for Jace were so apparent that Aemond would take notice. Daeron continued, unperturbed.

“- and that was when Aemond returned to King’s Landing.”

“That’s not-“

Before you could finish, Daeron interrupted you, his eyes finding yours again.

“I know, Rhaenyra told me what truly happened.”

“But did you really believe what Aemond had told you? That I would just go with Luke because of an argument, leave you?”

Daeron shrugged with his shoulders, his eyes downcast.

“I did not want to. But what was I supposed to do? Call Aemond a liar? I don’t think that would have gone well,” he argued. “I did not have choice but to accept his truth as mine.”

“Then why did you come here if you thought me a traitor?”

Stilling, Daeron pressed his lips together.

“Helaena… She was behaving peculiar… I was sitting with her in the day room, watching Jahaerys and Jahaera play, and all she kept saying was “To save her brother, you must trust your sister” while looking between me and Jahaera,” he told you and you frowned.

To save her brother, you must trust your sister?

“What does that mean?”

“I am not quite sure,” Daeron said, shaking his head. “But I knew it must mean that Aemond was not telling the truth, that you had left because of something else.”

You bit back a smile; it amused you how Daeron did not hesitate to think of you when someone mentioned his sister, but hummed in thought, unsatisfied with his words.

“What if she did not mean me? What if she was talking about Rhaenyra?”

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel leading up to the small cliff made the two of you paused. You both looked up just to see Jace arrive to the top, stopping at the edge of the field stiffly. Daeron propped himself up on his elbows, glancing to you, then back to Jace slowly before he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes.

“I should go to the dragon mount. See how Tessarion is faring.”

You knew exactly what he was trying to do and you shook your head quickly, pulling yourself up.

“Daeron…!” you almost shouted, but the young Prince already departed. As he passed Jace, the older gave him an almost imperceptible nod, before Daeron disappeared down the hill. You let out a small frustrated huff, your eyes flickering to Jace before you turned away again. His steps were careful as he came closer, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, not looking at him as he came to a stop next to you.

You were the first to speak.

“I am surprised you didn’t call Daeron a traitor as he passed you.”

In hindsight, you could have chosen less biting words. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jace clench his jaw.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I am not!” Jace sighed. “I did not come to argue with you.”

“Then what have you come for?”

Jace fell silent again and you shook your head in exasperation. It was hard for you to read him; he seemingly had made it a habit to guard his emotions. When Jace finally spoke again, his words surprised you.

“I always envied him.”

“What?”

“Daeron,” he clarified. “When you wrote to me that you were to be sent to Oldtown with Daeron, I was furious. I begged mother to let you come with us, but she said it would be seen as disrespectful towards Alicent. She wanted to avoid a fight.” Jace scoffed, shaking his head. “The irony does not escape me.”

He paused, his gaze on the horizon. Two dragons had made their way out of the dragon mount, flying in the sky, stretching their wings. One, you were able to recognize as Vermax, with his orange green scales. He had grown exponentially since the last time you saw him. The other dragon was unfamiliar to you, but the dragons seemed to have a bond as they flew around each other playfully. You took your eyes off of the dragons to look at Jace. He was already looking at you, his cheeks pink.

“I looked forward to your letters every day,” Jace admitted, ducking his head. “… It eased my longing, if only slightly.”

Your lips pursed into a pleased smile.

“You longed for me?” you teased.

“Did you not long for me?” he asked quite bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “Or was what you had enough for you?”

Letting out a small huff, you shook your head, knowing what he was insinuating; the same thing that Aemond had hinted at only a few days prior.

“Daeron and I are like brother and sister, I do not long for him in any way than you do for Luke.”

Jace nodded, his smile delighted. But you let out a sigh, wringing your hands.

“If you truly felt like this… Why have you treated me so horribly ever since I’ve been here? Why have you stopped replying to my letters?”

“It’s not…” Jace trailed off, pulling his face into a frown. “After we received the news of my grandsire’s passing, mother has been on edge, preparing for war. We all have. And I felt guilty, I didn’t want to be distracted by anything, and whenever one of your letters arrived, I couldn’t get my mind on anything else than sitting down to write back to you. So I just… Stopped answering. And I thought I could write to you when all of this is over, but then you were suddenly… Here.”

Jace broke off, pressing his lips together. “You were supposed to stay in Oldtown, far away from the war that is brewing. Now you quite literally launched yourself right into the middle of it all. I thought it incredulous that you would just show up and save my brother… Like in a dream.”

Your chest ached. You had not realized how worried Jace was for you.

“But you thought I was spying for information,” you reminded him.

“I didn’t really believe you would be capable of doing so… But I couldn’t let my feelings cloud my judgement. Mother counts on me, and as her heir, I have to fulfill my duties.”

Biting your lip, you nodded, your chin low. While you understood why Jace had been behaving the way he was, it still hurt to be treated that way.

“I dislike causing you anguish,” he said quietly. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“The way to forgiveness may not be easy,” you warned him, a small smile on your face. “I am not known for being very forgiving.”

“Then it will be so much more rewarding,” Jace quipped, smiling at you.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, staring out in the distance, the dragons dancing in the sky. You almost flinched when you felt Jace hesitantly reach for your hand; it was the first time he let go of the hilt of his sword since you got to Dragonstone. Swallowing nervously, you laced your fingers with his, feeling the tension bleed away from his limbs. For a while, you just stood there, hand in hand, lending each other comfort in the silence. A silence Jace soon broke.

“Do you want to go for a ride on Vermax?”

Your eyes lit up at the sudden invitation, but you held your excitement at bay, not wanting to seem too eager. Seeing Jace’s face however, it told you that you better work on masking your emotions. While the imminent war brewing in the near future scares you, you didn’t want to forego small moments of happiness, you were sure the war held plenty of misery and frustration. You would enjoy every single smile you could shed.

“I’d love to.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: before you ask, i’m not planning on writing another part! maybe a few drabbles in the future! 🫶🏼

[maidragoste]

Hiiii!!!! I (18) was wondering if you could write a Jace x his mothers handmaiden reader, where they have a secret relationship 🤙🏼🤙🏼❤️❤️

anon, sorry for taking so long to write your request. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading 🥰💖💖

btw it wasn't clarified so I didn't write reader as a low-born handmaiden (that is, the ones who clean the urinals and that) but as a high-born one.

likes, comments and REBLOGS are always greatly appreciated 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

A frustrated sigh left your lips as you tried to break free from Jacaerys's grip only for the prince to press your body even closer to his so you couldn't get out of bed. You turned to demand that your lover let you go but you remained silent, watching Jace's face. Even though he had his eyes closed you were sure by the lazy smile on his face that he was awake. He looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful but these moments only belonged to you. You wanted to wake up every day next to him but you couldn't. Your duty was to Princess Rhaenyra, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted. Besides, if she found out that you were having a secret relationship with her beloved son, she would throw you out and your family would be very disappointed in you for having wasted the opportunity that the princess gave you to choose you as one of her handmaidens. Not only that but your reputation would be ruined, if rumors spread that you no longer possess your virtue then it would be impossible for you to get a husband. You are a fool to continue with this romance, someday Jace will marry a girl from an even more important house than yours and you will have to sit silently watching everything. There is no happy ending to this.

“My prince, I have to go,” you said, hoping he would stop playing dumb and let you go.

“No,” he complained, lengthening the “o.” Your place is at my side” he moved his face closer to kiss you but you moved, he tried again but you avoided him again “What's wrong” he asked, letting you go so he could sit properly on the bed.

"It's late, I should go. At any moment your mother will wake up, I have duties to do” you responded without looking at him as you got up. You didn't even have a chance to look for your shoes when he tugged on your arm making you return to the bed. He turns you around so that you both face each other.

“What is wrong?” asked again the prince. “Talk to me, please, my lady,” he asked, looking at you with concern while gently taking your face in his hands.

“I think we should stop seeing each other, my prince.” The uncertainty in your voice was clear but still, your words were a dagger for Jacaerys.

“Why?” Your heart ached as you heard the confusion and anguish in his voice. “. I don't understand, yesterday we were fine”

“Yes, we were. But we won't always be. Someday you will have to get married and you will leave me. “I think the easiest thing for my heart is for us to finish our thing now,” you said, closing your eyes without being able to see the sadness in his eyes anymore. If you continued seeing him you were afraid you would go back on your decision.

Your heart skipped a beat when you stopped feeling Jacaerys's hands. You froze as you listened to him get out of bed and get dressed. You should take the opportunity to leave, it's probably what he wanted but you couldn't move. You really had finished everything.

You opened your eyes as you felt the prince's hands in your hair. Your heart raced as he carefully untangled the knots. Once he finished, he kissed your shoulder. “Finish getting ready so we can go talk to my mother.”

“We?” you repeated.

"Yes. I have no intention of marrying anyone but you,” Jacaerys said calmly as if his words wouldn't change your entire world.

“Jacaerys, marrying me is an idiotic move, my house is not that important, and the lords” your chatter was interrupted by the prince's lips capturing yours. You should be firmer and move away, but you can't, so you surrender to enjoying the taste of your lover's lips, feeling more loved than ever.

"I love you and if my mother wants me to be her heir, she will have to accept it," Jace declared and there was no room for argument in his voice. “You are the only wife I intend to take,” he promised before kissing you again.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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hotd masterlist

[aemondwhoresworld]

⚠️ HOTD2 SPOILERS (18 GIFs)

Jacaerys Velaryon — House Of The Dragon S2E4

[astrxq]

Hiii I saw that with the requests still open, if you're picking it up you could write something in which the reader joined the group of bastards to try to tame a dragon, she ends up taming Vermithor, Jace was already nervous about the idea of bastards taming dragons then when he discovers that a girl tamed the biggest dragon he becomes more nervous about the situation, perhaps the appearance of the reader that led him to this judgment (short and delicate) over time she proves worthy and Jace ends up becoming affectionate for her, despite his behavior at the beginning being quite rude towards her...if possible, the two even end up having a relationship pls

Dragon's Embrace

jacaerys velaryon x dragonseeder!reader

words: 20k

notes: non-canon events. ooc... kinda mean!Jace. idk a few arguments, mentions of death, wounds and war. not really enemies to lovers. kissing, making out, m!masturbation, talk of wounds.

The High Valyrian words rolled off your tongue with surprising ease, each syllable a flicker of ancient power. You sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of Dragonstone's great hall, your silver hair catching the light from the nearby braziers. Around you, a couple of other dragonseeders – bastards with the blood of Old Valyria flowing through their veins – repeated the phrases in unison.

"Sōves," you murmured, tasting the word for 'fly.' Your mind drifted to Vermithor, the great bronze beast you had somehow managed to tame. Even then, weeks later, it seemed impossible that the second-largest dragon in the world heeded your commands.

To your left, Addam recited the words with quiet confidence, his dark hair gleaming in the firelight in comparison to yours. Ulf, seated nearby, stumbled over the pronunciations, his face flushed with frustration and too much wine.

And there, lurking in the shadows at the edge of the hall, stood Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. Jace. Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son and heir. His dark eyes scanned the group, lingering on each face with barely concealed suspicion. When his gaze fell on you, you felt a chill that had nothing to do with Dragonstone's perpetual dampness.

"Again," the Maester intoned. "Sōvegon. Ilagon. Dracarys."

You dutifully repeated the words – fly, land, dragonfire – your mind half on the lesson and half on the brooding prince. You had noticed his growing unease as the dragonseeds proved their worth, claiming mounts that had been riderless for years. But it was your success with Vermithor that seemed to truly rattle him.

A girl, his age, with the features he lacked – silver hair and a bone structure that could only belong to a Targaryen.

You had heard Ulf mock the Prince, knowing he could be hanged for treason, mentioning his dark hair and questioning his heritage. Ulf’s careless words – “the prince might not be a true Targaryen at all” – dripped with a venom that seemed to hang in the air like a curse. And while Ulf was quick to dismiss it as drunken rambling, you couldn’t help but wonder if the Prince’s wariness of the dragonseeders was out of fear, rather than hate.

The shadows cast by the flickering flames danced across Jace's face, revealing fleeting glimpses of his thoughts. His posture was rigid, a prince’s bearing that spoke of duty and the burden of expectations. When he turned away from you and strode toward the far end of the hall, you felt a pang of unease. It was as if he were a storm cloud, his presence casting a shadow over your achievement. 

"Do not forget the inflection," the Maester advised, his voice a rasping whisper that seemed to echo off the stone walls. "High Valyrian is not merely spoken; it is felt, breathed, and lived."

You nodded, trying to push aside the disquiet his gaze stirred within you. Addam’s voice rose, clear and untroubled, as he continued the recitations, while Ulf's attempts grew increasingly erratic. The wine must have dulled his senses, for his slurred words were a stark contrast to Addam’s precision.

A sound of metal scraping against stone drew your attention to the Prince’s direction. Jace was examining a set of ceremonial swords displayed on a nearby rack, his fingers tracing the engravings with a careful, almost reverent touch. The contrast between his practiced indifference and the raw emotion simmering beneath the surface was palpable. He was both a prince and a young man grappling with his place in a world that seemed to have shifted beneath his feet.

You glanced sideways at Addam, who met your eyes with a nod of mutual acknowledgment as he repeated the words, his pronunciation far more advanced compared to yours. Ulf, however, was lost in a haze, his mind far removed from the lessons at hand.

Jace's approach was inevitable. His footsteps were deliberate, each one echoing off the stone as if he were trying to measure the distance between himself and the rest of the world. His dark eyes finally locked onto yours, the weight of his stare a palpable force. The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.

Jace’s voice broke the silence, sharp and clear, cutting through the murmurs and distractions of the hall. “Enough of this,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of impatience. The usual rhythm of the lesson faltered as everyone turned to face him.

“The High Valyrian lessons are important,” Jace continued, his gaze fixed on the Maester, who nodded in acknowledgment. “But we are at war. The true value of the dragonseeders lies not in their ability to recite ancient tongues but in their readiness to fight.”

You watched as Jace’s fingers drummed rhythmically against the hilt of one of the ceremonial swords. His frustration was evident, and you could sense the tension in his posture, like a taut string waiting to snap. 

“We need to be preparing for battle,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the group. “The dragons are our strength, but it is not enough to simply ride them. We must train as if our lives depend on it – because they do.”

Addam’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his focus shifting from Jace to you. 

Ulf’s head lolled to one side, still clearly affected by the wine. He mumbled something incoherent, and you could see the disdain in Jace’s eyes as he glanced over at him. The prince’s patience was wearing thin, and he was not in the mood for leniency.

Jace strode purposefully to the center of the hall, his boots echoing sharply against the stone. “You will take your lessons outside,” he declared, his voice resolute.

You could feel a mix of apprehension and excitement in the air. The idea of training outside was both daunting and exhilarating. The raw elements of the world would push you to your limits, but it would also forge you into a more formidable force.

The Maester sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and understanding. “Very well, Prince Jacaerys,” he said. “We will arrange for the lessons to be held in the training grounds.”

“Which one’s this, again?” Ulf leaned his body to yours, his breath smelling of wine as he spoke.

Jace glared.

“It is the prince, Ulf.” you replied.

“Ah! The young prince!” Ulf hurried to stand, almost stumbling as he walked towards the prince. He was stopped from the attempted hug by Jace’s arm on his torso, making him take a step back. 

Jace’s face was a mask of barely contained irritation as he eyed Ulf with a mix of contempt and concern. “I suggest you keep your distance,” Jace said, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge. The prince’s warning was clear: he would tolerate no nonsense, not from the drunken Ulf or anyone else.

You felt a rush of embarrassment on Ulf's behalf, even as irritation prickled at your skin. His drunken antics were becoming a liability, and you knew they reflected poorly on all the dragonseeders. Your eyes met Jace's for a brief moment, and you saw a flicker of something in his gaze as you gently but firmly guided Ulf back to his seat.

"My apologies, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. "Ulf is... enthusiastic about his training."

Jace's lips twitched, almost forming a smirk before he schooled his features back into their stoic mask. "Enthusiasm is one thing," he replied, his tone dry. "Sobriety is another. See that he's fit for tomorrow's outdoor session."

You nodded, accepting the responsibility without complaint. As Jace turned to leave, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him, you couldn't help but wonder at the conflicting emotions his presence stirred within you. There was admiration, certainly – for his dedication, his strength of purpose. But there was also a lingering resentment at the way he seemed to look down on you and your fellow dragonseeders.

The Maester cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. "Well," he said, his voice tinged with resignation, "I suppose that concludes today's lesson. Rest well, all of you. Tomorrow will bring new challenges."

As the group dispersed, you lingered, helping Addam gather the scattered scrolls and tomes. He shot you a sympathetic look. "Don't let the prince get to you," he said softly. "He's under a lot of pressure."

You sighed, running a hand through your silver hair. "I know. It's just... frustrating. We're risking our lives for this cause, same as him. Why can't he see that?"

Addam shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe he does. Maybe that's what scares him."

His words stayed with you as you made your way through Dragonstone's winding corridors to your modest chambers. The castle was a maze of dark stone and flickering torchlight, every shadow seeming to hold secrets. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, though whether by ghosts or spies, you couldn't say.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a chaotic swirl of dragons and dark-eyed princes. You woke before dawn, your body tense with anticipation for the day ahead. As you dressed in sturdy riding leathers, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the polished metal of your water basin. Your silver hair gleamed in the early morning light, a stark reminder of the heritage that both elevated and isolated you.

The training grounds were shrouded in mist when you arrived, the first hints of sunrise just beginning to paint the sky. You were surprised to find you weren't the first one there – a solitary figure was already moving through sword forms with fluid grace.

It was Jace.

You hesitated, unsure whether to announce your presence or simply wait for the others to arrive. But before you could decide, Jace spun, his practice sword coming to a stop mere inches from your throat. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in recognition.

"You're early," he said, lowering the wooden blade.

"As are you, Your Grace," you replied, striving to keep your voice neutral.

Jace regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he tossed you a practice sword. You caught it reflexively, the weight unfamiliar in your hand.

"Show me what you can do," he said, falling into a fighting stance.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I... I'm not trained with a sword, Your Grace. My skills lie with dragons."

"And if you're unseated in battle? If your dragon is injured? Will you be of no use then?."

His words made sense, but you couldn't shake the feeling that this was some kind of test. Still, you had never been one to back down from a challenge. You mimicked his stance as best you could, trying to recall the few times you'd seen swordplay up close.

Jace didn't give you time to overthink it. He lunged forward, his wooden sword a blur. You reacted on instinct, bringing your own blade up to parry. The impact jarred your arm, but you managed to deflect his attack.

"Not bad," Jace said, circling you slowly. "But you're too tense. Relax your shoulders."

You tried to follow his advice, but it was hard to relax with his intense gaze fixed on you. He came at you again, this time with a series of quick strikes that had you stumbling backward.

"Footwork," he barked. "Mind your footing!"

You gritted your teeth, frustration building. You were aware that he was testing you, to see if a dragonseeder – a bastard – was as capable as him, he was making himself respectable. 

You struggled to keep up with Jace's rapid movements. His strikes were precise, each one designed to expose weaknesses. The early morning mist seemed to thicken around you, adding to the sense of suffocating pressure. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, the wooden sword feeling like an alien extension of yourself.

“Focus,” Jace commanded, his voice cutting through the mist. “Your footing is off. You’re overcompensating.”

You adjusted your stance, trying to follow his instructions. Every time you thought you had a handle on it, Jace’s next attack would force you back into defensive maneuvers. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, seemed to search for any sign of weakness or hesitation.

“Remember, you’re not just fighting with a sword,” he said, his voice low but intense. “You’re fighting for your survival. For your place here.”

A pang of frustration shot through you. The implicit challenge in his words was clear: prove your worth or be dismissed. You wanted to shout back, to remind him that you had tamed Vermithor, that your bond with the dragon was no small feat. But you swallowed the words, channeling your frustration into your movements.

Jace was relentless. He pressed the attack, pushing you harder with each passing moment. His precision was almost mechanical, each strike aimed at testing your limits. Sweat dripped down your brow, mingling with the mist and making it hard to see clearly.

When you stumbled and nearly fell, Jace stepped back, his sword lowering slightly. There was a brief moment of silence, filled only with the distant sounds of the castle waking up.

“If you cannot wield a sword,” he started, breathless. “Then you are of no use in the battlefield.”

Your chest heaved with exertion, anger and frustration warring within you. Jace's words stung, but you refused to let them break you. With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and met his gaze.

"With all due respect, Your Grace," you said, your voice low but firm, "a dragon is worth a thousand swords. I may not be a master swordsman, but I have tamed Vermithor. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

A flicker of emotion passed across Jace's face – surprise, perhaps. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, you spoke again. 

“And I believe you’ve been in as many battles as I have.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed, a storm of conflicting emotions playing across his face. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might retort sharply, but he halted, as if reconsidering. He dropped his sword next to your feet, indicating he was taking his leave. 

“If you falter in battle, the dragons will not be enough to save you,” he said.

You stood there, breath coming in ragged gasps, your grip on the practice sword tightening as you fought to steady yourself. The mist around you seemed to thicken, shrouding the training grounds in an almost tangible silence.

Jace’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a final nod, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the distant castle, his cloak billowing behind him like a stormy banner.

"Hey."

The voice startled you, and you whirled around to see Addam approaching, his own practice sword in hand. His eyebrows rose as he took in your disheveled appearance and the two swords at your feet.

"Was that Prince Jacaerys I saw leaving?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You nodded, bending to pick up the discarded swords. "He was... testing me, I think."

Addam's expression softened with understanding. "Ah. And how did that go?"

"About as well as you'd expect," you said wryly, picking up the swords from the ground. "I'm no swordsman, Addam. I'm a dragonrider."

He took the sword, twirling it experimentally. "We're both, actually," he corrected gently. "Or at least, we need to be. The prince isn't wrong about that."

You sighed, knowing he was right but still feeling the sting of Jace's dismissal. "I know. It's just... frustrating. We've proven ourselves with the dragons. Why isn't that enough?"

Addam was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful. "Think about it from his perspective. We're bastards, given power that even he, a trueborn prince, doesn't fully understand. It must be... unsettling."

You considered his words as the two of you began to warm up, moving through basic sword forms. Addam was patient, correcting your stance and grip with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to Jace's intensity.

Ulf arrived last, looking worse for wear but mercifully sober. The Maester appeared shortly after, clutching scrolls and looking decidedly out of place amidst the clanging of practice swords.

The day's training was grueling. You alternated between physical drills and lessons in High Valyrian, your mind and body pushed to their limits. Through it all, you couldn't shake the memory of Jace's dark eyes, the challenge in his gaze.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself alone once more. The other dragonseeders had retired to the great hall for the evening meal, but you felt drawn to the cliffs overlooking the sea.

The wind whipped your silver hair around your face as you gazed out at the horizon. In the distance, you could see the massive form of Vermithor circling lazily, his bronze scales catching the last rays of sunlight. 

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled you from your reverie. You turned, expecting to see Addam or perhaps the Maester, but instead found yourself face to face with Prince Jacaerys once more.

His dark eyes swept over you, taking in your windswept appearance and the way you stood so close to the cliff's edge. For a moment, something like concern flickered across his features, but it was gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"You should be at dinner," he said, his tone clipped and formal.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep a hint of defiance from your voice. "As should you, Your Grace."

Jace's jaw tightened, and you braced yourself for a reprimand – or perhaps, a push. He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the whistle of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. When he spoke again, his voice was hard. 

"Riding a dragon is dangerous," his voice sharp. "Don't forget that. One moment of weakness, one lapse in control, and he could burn this entire island to ash."

You turned to face him fully, your eyes narrowing. "I'm well aware of the risks, Your Grace. But I also know that Vermithor would never harm me. Our bond–"

"Your bond," Jace interrupted again, his voice sharp, "is based on blood and chance. You're a dragonrider because of your Targaryen ancestry, not because of any special skill or worthiness."

His words stung, more than you wanted to admit. You clenched your fists at your sides, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Then why did you allow us to attempt to claim the dragons in the first place? If we're so unworthy, why take the risk?"

Jace's eyes flashed with anger, but also something else – uncertainty, perhaps. "We need every advantage we can get in this war. But make no mistake, your loyalty will be tested. And if you're found wanting..."

He left the threat unspoken, but it hung in the air between you, as palpable as the mist rolling in from the sea. He glared. You knew he’d heard Ulf’s mocking of the dragonseeders and their Targaryen claim, having joked about being owed the same opportunities as the prince simply because of illegitimacy. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze steadily. "I am loyal to Queen Rhaenyra and her cause," you said firmly. "I would never betray that trust."

Jace studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes seeming to search for any hint of deception. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "See that you don't," he said. 

"You speak as if our bond with the dragons is nothing but a fluke," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you. You clenched your fisted hold on your skirts, trying to remain calm. 

Jace's eyes narrowed at your words, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "A fluke? No. But it's not the grand destiny you seem to think it is, either. You're a tool, nothing more. A weapon to be wielded in this war."

His harsh assessment hit you like a physical blow, but you refused to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Instead, you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze defiantly.

"If I'm a weapon, Your Grace, then I'm one that chose its wielder. I could have claimed Vermithor and flown far from here, far from this war. But I didn't. I chose to stay and fight for Queen Rhaenyra's cause. That has to count for something."

For a moment, something flickered in Jace's eyes – surprise, perhaps, or a grudging respect. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of cool indifference.

"Words are wind," he said dismissively. "It's actions that matter. And so far, all you've proven is that you can sit on a dragon's back. That's not enough."

You felt your temper flaring, the frustration of the day's training combining with Jace's dismissive attitude to push you to the edge of your patience. "Then tell me, Your Grace, what would be enough? What do I need to do to prove my worth to you?"

Jace seemed taken aback by your direct challenge, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"Prove your worth?" he finally said, his voice low and intense. "Prove that you're more than just a bastard with a lucky bloodline. Prove that you understand the weight of the responsibility you've been given. Prove that you're willing to sacrifice everything for this cause. Prove that you will not attempt to usurp mine and my mother’s claim because you share Targaryen blood."

It was almost as if he spoke more to himself than to you. You weren’t blind, his dark hair and sharp features reinforced the claim of bastardy of the Prince, and you understood the weight of his words. His unspoken insecurities about your place in this war – the way your bloodline might stir fears of rivalry or discord – were laid bare in that moment.

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm.

"I understand the weight of this responsibility better than you might think, Your Grace," you said quietly. "Every time I mount Vermithor, I'm acutely aware that one wrong move could mean death – not just for me, but for countless others. I don't take that lightly."

Jace's expression remained impassive, but you thought you saw a flicker of something – curiosity, perhaps – in his dark eyes. "Fine words," he said. "But words alone won't win this war."

"No," you agreed. "They won't. But neither will distrust and division among our own ranks."

For a long moment, Jace simply stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode back towards the castle, leaving him alone with the wind and the waves.

You pretended not to notice his stare as you walked away, his eyes glued to your loose silver hair and his mouth flinching an angry frown.

________

The following days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and frustration. True to his word, Jace had moved the dragonseeder training outdoors, and the elements seemed determined to test your resolve. Rain lashed against your face as you struggled through sword drills, and biting winds made it nearly impossible to concentrate on your High Valyrian lessons.

Through it all, Jace's presence was a constant, looming shadow. He watched your every move with critical eyes, quick to point out flaws and slow to offer praise. It was as if he were searching for any excuse to prove that you and the other dragonseeders were unworthy of the power you'd been given.

One particularly grueling morning found you paired with Addam for sparring practice. The two of you circled each other warily, wooden swords at the ready. You had improved since that first humiliating session with Jace, but you were still far from comfortable with a blade in your hand.

"Remember," Addam said quietly, "keep your guard up and watch my footwork."

You nodded, grateful for his patience and support. As you began to exchange blows, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, your movements becoming more fluid and natural.

"Better," a voice called out, and you stumbled, nearly dropping your sword as you realized Jace had been watching. He strode towards you, his own practice sword in hand. "But still not good enough. Step aside, Addam. I'll take it from here."

Addam hesitated, glancing at you with concern. "Your Grace, perhaps–"

"That wasn't a request," Jace said sharply, and Addam bowed, retreating to the sidelines.

You squared your shoulders, trying to prepare yourself for whatever test Jace had in mind. He didn't keep you waiting long, lunging forward with a speed that took your breath away. You barely managed to parry his first strike, the force of it sending shockwaves up your arm.

"Too slow," Jace barked, pressing his advantage. "A real enemy won't give you time to think."

You gritted your teeth, focusing on staying on your feet as Jace's attacks came faster and harder. Sweat stung your eyes, and your muscles screamed in protest, but you refused to yield.

"Is this how you'll defend yourself if you're unseated?" Jace taunted, his dark eyes glittering with a mix of anger and something else you couldn't quite name. "Is this how you'll protect your dragon?"

The mention of Vermithor sparked something within you. With a surge of strength you didn't know you possessed, you pushed back, your wooden sword clashing against Jace's with a resounding crack.

For a moment, surprise flashed across his face. Then his expression hardened, and he redoubled his efforts, driving you back across the muddy training ground.

"Better," he said, his voice low and intense. "But not good enough. Not nearly good enough."

With a lightning-fast move, he knocked your sword from your hand, sending it spinning away. Before you could react, the tip of his practice blade was at your throat.

"Dead," he said simply, his chest heaving with exertion. "And your dragon left riderless, vulnerable to our enemies."

You glared at him, frustration and anger boiling within you. 

"If you can't keep up, you'll be left behind." he said.

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you standing alone in the mud, your practice sword hanging limply at your side and Addam’s apologetic eyes meeting yours.

As the days wore on, Jace's challenges became increasingly difficult. He seemed determined to push you and the other dragonseeders to your breaking point, as if hoping to prove once and for all that you were unworthy of the dragons you'd claimed.

One morning, he announced that you would be flying a series of complex maneuvers with your dragons. The sky was overcast, threatening rain, and a chill wind whipped across Dragonstone's craggy peaks.

"The enemy won't wait for fair weather," Jace declared, his dark eyes scanning the group. "You need to be prepared to fly in any conditions."

You exchanged a glance with Addam, who looked as apprehensive as you felt. Ulf, on the other hand, seemed almost eager, a dangerous glint in his eye that made you uneasy.

As you made your way to where Vermithor was waiting, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jace was watching you. When you turned to look, you caught him quickly averting his gaze, his jaw clenched tight.

Mounting Vermithor, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Whatever challenges Jace might throw your way, this was where you belonged. The great bronze dragon rumbled beneath you, his scales warm against your legs.

"Sōvegon," you murmured, and Vermithor launched himself into the air with a powerful thrust of his wings.

The wind howled in your ears as you climbed higher, the ground falling away beneath you. You could see Addam and Ulf on their own mounts, keeping pace on either side.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Addam and his dragon, gracefully cutting through the air. Addam seemed more at ease with each passing moment, his form moving with practiced ease, his commands to Seasmoke calm and assured. A glance to your other side revealed Ulf, struggling to maintain control over Silverwing, who was clearly restless. The dragon's erratic movements were a stark reminder of the challenges that came with taming such powerful creatures.

Jace stood on the ground below, his gaze following your every movement with a critical intensity. You could feel his scrutiny like a weight on your shoulders, but for once, it didn’t seem to impede your focus. Instead, you channeled the pressure into your flying, pushing Vermithor to execute the complex maneuvers Jace had outlined the Maester to teach.

When you landed, the ground felt solid beneath your boots, a welcome contrast to the swirling winds of the sky. Addam and Ulf followed closely, their expressions reflecting a mix of relief and exhaustion. Ulf’s face was flushed, but his dragon seemed to have calmed, at least for now.

Jace approached, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a lilac hue to them. You braced yourself for the usual barrage of criticism, but to your surprise, he merely nodded, his face a mask of contemplative silence. 

You held back a prideful smile as his attention turned to the Maester’s corrections on Ulf’s pronunciation to help him control his dragon, knowing that you’d exceeded Jace’s expectations. 

________

Jace couldn’t sleep.

The night was restless, a tumult of thoughts and emotions swirling within him. He lay in his chambers, the heavy tapestries of Dragonstone’s stone walls casting long shadows across the room. He tossed and turned, the silken sheets tangling around him as if trying to restrain the turmoil within.

His mind replayed the day’s events on an endless loop. The sight of you, mounted atop Vermithor with such ease and grace, had struck him with an unexpected intensity. It was a raw, unsettling mix of admiration and envy. Your fluid movements in the sky, so effortless, contrasted sharply with the years of struggle he had endured to achieve the same mastery. It wasn’t just your skill that unsettled him – it was the ease with which you seemed to command the dragon, the naturalness of it.

Jace’s fingers clutched the bedclothes tightly, his knuckles white. The image of your silver hair cascading like a waterfall behind you, the fierce determination in your eyes as you navigated the winds, ignited a fire within him. 

It was a fire that he was unprepared for, one that was fueled by a mix of desire and frustration. 

He thought of your beauty, how it shone even in the harsh light of training. You were everything he was not. A dragonrider born of Targaryen blood, your claim was untainted by the bitterness of his own struggles. His mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions – an ugly, fierce jealousy tempered by a begrudging respect.

The ache of his own inadequacy gnawed at him. The more he scrutinized you, the more his insecurities surfaced. You were the embodiment of everything he could never be – confident in your heritage, untarnished by doubts. It was a cruel irony that you, an illegitimate Targaryen, could be so effortlessly perfect in a role that he had fought so hard to master.

Jace's breathing became uneven as he imagined the way you had ridden Vermithor, the way you’d handled the dragon with an ease he had once yearned for. The sight had stirred something primal within him, a frustration that was both physical and emotional. 

He could feel the heat rising in his body, his mind unwilling to acknowledge the true nature of the desire that had taken root. In a moment of reckless abandon, Jace’s hand drifted beneath the sheets, his touch unsteady as he tried to quell the overwhelming sensation. 

His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm echoing the throbbing ache between his legs. He was painfully aware of how the sight of you had roused such an intense response, one that he could neither ignore nor fully comprehend.

The more he thought about you – your commanding presence on the dragon, your fierce retorts, the way you had held your own against his relentless testing – the more his frustration mounted. 

Jace’s hand grew more insistent, his movements fueled by a mixture of anger and longing. The room seemed to close in around him, the cool breeze from the window doing little to soothe the heated tumult within. 

He cursed under his breath, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft rustle of sheets and the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves against Dragonstone’s cliffs. A quiet moan left his mouth as he tried to angrily remind himself to stop thinking about you.

His efforts were useless. 

His thoughts wandered to how you would look and feel under his own hands. The combination of tactile details – the smoothness of the leather riding attire, the grip of the gloves, the precise knot of your hair – created a vivid, tantalizing picture that his mind couldn’t escape.

It was a cruel irony that what drew him to you with such fervor was also what separated you from him. 

Eventually, the intense heat inside of him subsided, leaving him with a deep, uncomfortable emptiness. Jace laid back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and stared at the darkened ceiling. The overwhelming urge to understand the complex emotions he had experienced gnawed at him, but for now, he was left with the stark reality of the night’s revelations. 

The shadows on the walls seemed to mock him with their silent judgment.

He finally closed his eyes, trying to silence the storm within. The echo of your voice, the sharpness of your defiance, and the image of you riding Vermithor continued to dance at the edges of his consciousness. Sleep came reluctantly, a fitful rest punctuated by dreams that blurred the line between reality and the fantasies his mind could not fully grasp.

________

The following morning dawned gray and dreary, the sky a brooding expanse of clouds that mirrored the restless turbulence of Jace’s mind. You awoke feeling the weight of the previous day’s exhaustion and frustration still heavy on your shoulders. Sleep had been elusive, leaving you with a vague sense of unease that clung to you as you dressed in your training clothes.

Dragonstone seemed to groan under the oppressive weight of the clouds. As you made your way through the castle's winding corridors, your boots echoed loudly against the cold stone. The chill in the air made the castle feel even more somber, its narrow hallways and flickering torchlight adding to the oppressive atmosphere. You braced yourself for the day ahead, knowing that Jace’s scrutiny would likely be even sharper after yesterday’s performance.

Your breath misted in front of you as you took in the scene – Addam and Ulf were already there, their dragons waiting nearby. Ulf looked more subdued than usual, his face a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

Addam’s eyes met yours with a nod of encouragement. “Good Morrow,” he said, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie despite the weather.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice subdued. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and you could see the steam rising from the dragons’ nostrils as they shifted impatiently.

Jace appeared at the edge of the training grounds, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked with purpose. His gaze swept over the assembled dragonseeders, his expression unreadable. You noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor, a stiffness in his posture that spoke of inner turmoil.

The Maester, joined by one of the guards, called the group to attention with a sharp, commanding tone. “Today, we’ll be working on endurance and control. Dragons are powerful, but they are not invincible. You need to be able to ride them through the worst conditions, maintain your composure, and execute your orders flawlessly.”

The rain began to fall more heavily, drumming against the stone and making the practice swords slick and unwieldy. Jace’s eyes flickered to you, a brief flash of something that might have been residual frustration or something more.

“Pair up,” Jace instructed. “Addam, you’re with Ulf. I’ll work with you.”

You felt a mix of apprehension and determination at his command. Addam and Ulf moved to their positions, their dragons snorting and stamping in the growing downpour. Jace approached, his demeanor as stern as ever.

“Ready?” he asked, though his voice carried a note of distraction. 

You nodded, gripping your practice sword tightly. “Ready, Your Grace.”

Jace’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, and you couldn’t quite read the expression in them. Then, without further ceremony, he lunged forward with surprising speed. The wet ground made each movement more challenging, and you found yourself slipping and struggling to keep your footing.

Jace’s attacks were relentless, his wooden sword a blur of motion. You fought to maintain your balance, your arms burning with the effort to parry his strikes. The rain pelted down, making it difficult to see clearly and adding an extra layer of difficulty to the already grueling exercise.

Jace shouted over the roar of the rain. “You need to adapt to the conditions. You can’t afford to be thrown off by a little water.”

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the discomfort. Each parry was a battle in itself, the wet sword slipping in your grip, the muddy ground threatening to send you sprawling. Jace’s intensity didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on you once again.

As the minutes ticked by, exhaustion began to set in. Your movements grew sluggish, your grip on the sword less sure. Jace seemed to sense your fatigue, and his strikes became more focused, each one designed to test your limits.

“Steady,” he said, his voice cutting through the rain with a fierce edge.

You knew he was right, and you pushed yourself harder, fighting through the rain and mud to meet his relentless assault. The clashing of swords, the splashing of rain, and the shouting of commands became a cacophony that drowned out everything else.

Finally, with a final, decisive strike, Jace knocked your sword from your hand, sending it skittering across the ground, he took a step forward, accidentally causing you to slip on the muddy floor. The practice sword at your throat was a cold, wet reminder of your defeat as well as your now soaked and dirtied skirts.

“Dead,” Jace said, repeating his words from the other week, his voice heavy with a mixture of frustration and something else that you couldn’t quite place. “And your dragon left riderless.”

You sat there, drenched and panting, as Jace stepped back. The rain streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and mud. Your chest heaved with exertion, but you refused to let the frustration show. Your stomach burnt with rage, seeing Jace’s defeat as mocking, like all of his tests seemingly focused on only you for the past weeks.

Jace’s eyes softened ever so slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in them – perhaps an understanding, pity, or a grudging respect. 

Feeling the Maester’s eyes on him, he extended his hand out for you to grab. 

You looked up at Jace, your breath coming in heavy, visible puffs against the rain-slicked sky. His hand extended toward you, glistening with raindrops and a subtle, yet unexpected gentleness. The muddy ground beneath you was cold and unforgiving, and you hesitated for a moment, fighting the surge of anger and frustration that had been building inside you.

With a deep breath, you reached out and grasped his hand. His grip was firm, and he pulled you up with surprising strength. As you stood, the rain continued to pelt down, streaming off your hair and soaking your clothes. Jace’s eyes remained locked on yours, and you could sense the conflict swirling within him.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the exhaustion and lingering anger. There was an edge to your tone, but you forced yourself to keep it respectful.

Jace’s breath heaved, matching your panting in exhaustion. His fingers lingered on yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the contact fleeting yet unexpectedly warm. The touch was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and he pulled his hand back abruptly, as if struck by the realization of the gesture.

Jace cleared his throat, his voice regaining its authoritative edge. “Best get cleaned up before our leave at dawn.”

In the warmth of the castle, you peeled off your drenched garments, the cold air of the corridor biting at your damp skin. The sound of the rain became a distant murmur as you headed toward your quarters, where a hot bath awaited you. The steam rising from the water seemed to promise a moment of solace, a brief escape from the relentless pressure of your training.

You sank into the bath with a sigh, the warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The heat helped to soothe your aching muscles and eased the sting of the rain-soaked bruises that marred your skin. As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. Jace’s stern demeanor, his seemingly endless expectations, and the fleeting touch of his hand all jostled for attention in your thoughts.

The knock at your door was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to rouse you from your reverie. It startled you from your thoughts, and you quickly rose from the bath, wrapping yourself in a simple, damp robe. The warmth of the water still clung to your skin, but the cold air of the castle’s corridors nipped at your exposed shoulders.

You padded to the door, the sound of the rain growing louder in your ears as you approached. Thinking it was your assigned handmaid, you swung open the door with expectation. The sight that greeted you, however, was far from what you had anticipated.

Jace stood in the doorway, his cloak still damp from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes met yours, and for a brief, disconcerting moment, the stern facade you had come to expect softened, revealing something more vulnerable beneath.

“Your Grace?” You stammered, confusion and surprise evident in your voice. You instinctively tightened the robe around yourself, the simple garment feeling inadequate against the unexpected intrusion.

Jace’s eyes flickered over you, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. He cleared his throat, not meeting your gaze. “I wanted to speak with you,” he said, his voice more subdued than usual. “I assume now is not a good time?”

At your silence, he cleared his throat again, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll come back later if now is not the best time.”

You hesitated, your mind racing to reconcile the image of the harsh, demanding instructor with this more vulnerable figure standing in front of you. 

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” you said, your voice wavering slightly. You stepped back to let him in, the act feeling both awkward and oddly intimate. “Please, come in.”

Jace entered, his movements measured and deliberate. He glanced around the modest quarters, the flickering light from the single candle casting long shadows on the walls. The steam from the bath still lingered, adding a sense of warmth to the otherwise chilly room.

His back was to you as you shut the door behind you, you took your chance to fix your robe again. 

As Jace turned to face you, his eyes briefly flickered over your form before quickly averting his gaze. The silence between you was thick with tension, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windows.

"I..." Jace began, then paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "I wanted to speak with you about today's training."

You nodded, maintaining a careful distance between you. "What about it, Your Grace?"

Jace's jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words. "I may have been... overly harsh," he finally said, the admission clearly costing him.

You felt a flicker of surprise at his words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the frustration that had been building for weeks. "Overly harsh?" you repeated, your voice taking on an edge. "Is that what you call it?"

Jace's eyes snapped to yours, a hint of his usual fire returning. "I'm trying to apologize," he said, his tone sharpening.

"Are you?" you countered, emboldened by the privacy of your quarters and the lingering warmth of the bath. "Because it sounds more like you're trying to justify yourself."

Jace took a step forward, his eyes flashing. "I'm doing what needs to be done to prepare you for war. Do you think our enemies will show mercy? Do you think they'll care about your feelings?"

"And what about you, Your Grace?" you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you care about our feelings? Or are we just weapons to be sharpened and discarded?"

Jace's face contorted with a mix of anger and something that looked almost like pain. "You don't understand," he said, his voice low and intense. "The responsibility, the weight of it all–"

"I understand more than you think," you interrupted, taking a step closer to him. "I understand that you're pushing us – pushing me – harder than anyone else. Why is that, Your Grace? What is it about me that threatens you so much?"

Jace's breath caught, his eyes widening slightly at your boldness. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, but instead, he seemed to deflate slightly.

"You don't know what it's like," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To have everything you are questioned, to have to prove yourself every single day."

You felt a pang of sympathy, but your anger was still too fresh to let it go entirely. "And you think we don't?" you asked, gesturing to yourself. "You think being a bastard with a dragon makes life easy?"

Jace's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of vulnerability in them. "You have what I've fought for my entire life," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "The Targaryen look, the natural bond with a dragon... it all comes so easily to you."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Easily? You think any of this has been easy? I've worked just as hard as you, Your Grace. The only difference is, I don't feel the need to tear others down to prove my worth."

Jace's eyes flashed dangerously. "You have no idea what I've been through, what I've had to endure–"

"And you have no idea what I've endured!" you shouted, your control finally snapping. "You've judged me from the moment I arrived, pushed me harder than anyone else, all because you see something in me that you can’t accept in yourself!" 

Your voice echoed through the small room, reverberating off the stone walls. The tension between you both was palpable, thick enough to cut through with a sword. Jace stood there, stunned by your outburst. His eyes burned with a mix of emotions – anger, frustration, and something deeper that you couldn't quite place.

He stepped closer, his face inches from yours. "And what exactly do you represent?" he growled.

"Everything you fear you're not," you said, your voice low and intense. 

Jace's breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. Instead, he stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, a living thing that seemed to crackle in the air.

"You know nothing about me," Jace said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And you know nothing about me," you replied, matching his intensity. "Yet you've judged me, pushed me, tried to break me. Why, Your Grace? What are you so afraid of?"

Jace's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something – doubt, perhaps, or a hint of remorse. But then his walls slammed back into place, his expression hardening.

"This conversation is over," he said, his voice cold. "I expect to see you ready to depart at dawn."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of your quarters, leaving you standing there, your emotions a tumultuous storm. As the door slammed shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the confrontation settling over you like a heavy cloak.

You sank onto your bed, your mind reeling from the intensity of the argument. Despite the lingering anger and frustration, you couldn't shake the image of Jace's eyes in that final moment – the vulnerability you'd glimpsed, the pain that seemed to lurk beneath his harsh exterior.

________

As the first light of dawn crept over Dragonstone's craggy peaks, you stood at the edge of the castle's courtyard, your breath misting in the cool morning air. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on your mind, the echoes of your heated exchange with Jace still ringing in your ears. You adjusted the straps of your riding gear, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the turmoil of emotions swirling within you.

The sound of approaching footsteps made you stiffen. You didn't need to turn to know who it was; Jace's presence was unmistakable, carrying with it a weight of unspoken tension.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice carefully neutral as you turned to face him.

Jace stood before you, his dark eyes unreadable. The vulnerability you'd glimpsed the night before was gone, replaced by his usual mask of princely composure. Yet there was something different in the way he carried himself, a subtle shift that you couldn't quite place.

"Are you prepared for the journey?" he asked, his tone clipped and professional.

You nodded, meeting his gaze steadily. "Yes, Your Grace. Vermithor and I are ready."

For a moment, Jace's eyes flickered to the dragon behind you, a mix of emotions flashing across his face too quickly for you to decipher. When he looked back at you, there was a hint of something almost like respect in his gaze.

"Good," he said, his voice softening slightly. "We have a long flight ahead of us. Stay close to the formation and be prepared for anything."

You couldn't help but notice the absence of his usual harsh criticism, the lack of a cutting remark about your abilities or your place among the dragonriders. It was a small change, but a noticeable one.

"Of course, Your Grace," you replied, surprised by the lack of hostility in your own voice.

Jace opened his mouth as if to say something more, then closed it, seemingly thinking better of it. Instead, he gave a curt nod and turned to address the rest of the group.

As he walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you. The tension was still there, crackling beneath the surface, but it felt different now – charged with a new kind of energy that you couldn't quite name.

You mounted Vermithor, settling into the familiar grooves of his scales. As you waited for the signal to depart, your eyes were drawn once again to Jace. He stood tall and proud, every inch the prince and leader, but now you could see the weight he carried, the pressure that bore down on his young shoulders.

As the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, Jace gave the signal. With a powerful thrust of his wings, Vermithor launched into the air, and you felt the familiar rush of exhilaration as the ground fell away beneath you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that buffeted Vermithor, causing him to dip slightly. You instinctively tightened your grip, leaning into the dragon's movements to help him stabilize. As you regained your balance, you caught Jace looking back at you, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he quickly turned away.

The journey continued in relative silence, broken only by the occasional shout of a command or the distant rumble of thunder. You knew you were heading towards enemy territory, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold air rushing past you.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Jace signaled for the group to descend. You guided Vermithor down, following the lead of the other dragons. The clearing Jace had chosen was small, barely large enough to accommodate all the dragons, but it was well-hidden by a thick canopy of trees.

You dismounted, your legs stiff from hours of riding. As you stretched, trying to work out the kinks in your muscles, you noticed Jace approaching. His face was set in its usual stern expression, but there was a hesitancy in his steps that you hadn't seen before.

"We'll camp here for the night," he announced to the group. "Set up a perimeter and tend to your dragons. We move out again at first light."

As the others busied themselves with their tasks, Jace's eyes met yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension from the night before hanging in the air between you.

"Your flying has improved," Jace said finally, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You handled that wind gust well."

The compliment, small as it was, caught you off guard. "Thank you, Your Grace," you replied, searching his face for any hint of mockery or condescension. But his expression remained neutral, almost carefully so.

He nodded, straightening his posture before walking towards Addam, who was already working on the makeshift tents.

The night settled in around the camp, the sounds of the forest a constant backdrop to the low murmur of conversation and the occasional snort or rumble from the dragons. You found yourself unable to sleep, your mind too active with thoughts of the day's journey and the impending dangers that lay ahead.

You sat up, wrapping your cloak tightly around you against the chill night air. The embers of the campfire glowed softly, casting long shadows across the clearing. Your eyes were drawn to the edge of the camp, where a solitary figure stood silhouetted against the starry sky.

Jace.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you rose and made your way towards him. He turned at the sound of your approach, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword before recognizing you.

"Your Grace," you said softly, coming to stand beside him. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Jace shook his head, his gaze returning to the darkness beyond the camp. "No," he replied, his voice equally quiet. "I couldn't sleep either."

You stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Finally, you gathered your courage and spoke.

"About last night," you began, but Jace cut you off with a raised hand.

"We don't need to discuss it," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "What's done is done."

You nodded, accepting his words but feeling a twinge of disappointment. Part of you had hoped to clear the air, to perhaps reach some kind of understanding.

Jace's profile was cast in a soft glow, the shadows accentuating the lines of his face. His eyes, usually so hard and unreadable, now seemed softer, more contemplative. The silence between you stretched, heavy with the weight of your mutual regrets. 

"It's beautiful here," you said softly, almost to yourself. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting pale silver patterns on the ground. "Hard to believe we're heading into battle tomorrow."

Jace glanced at you, his expression softer than you'd ever seen. "It's always like this before a fight," he murmured. "The calm before the storm. It makes you appreciate the small things… even if just for a moment."

You could feel the weight of his words, the weariness of a young man who had seen too much, felt too much. Despite your differences, despite everything that had passed between you, you found yourself wanting to offer him something, anything that might ease that burden.

“I apologize for my tone yesterday, it is no proper way to speak to the prince.”

He didn’t meet your eyes as he shook his head, grip tightening on the sword on his side. “My anger was misplaced.” 

Jace's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the darkness beyond the campfire's reach seemingly mirroring his own internal struggles. His shoulders were squared, but there was a weariness in his posture that spoke of more than just the physical exhaustion of the day's journey.

"I shouldn't have pushed you so hard," Jace said after a long pause, his voice carrying a rough edge.

You turned to him, studying his profile in the dim light. There was a rawness to his admission, a vulnerability that seemed out of place against the backdrop of his usual princely demeanor. "We all have our burdens to bear," you said quietly.

Jace's gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment, the shadows of the forest seemed to swallow him whole. 

The shadows around you deepened as Jace stood silent, his expression lost in thought. The night air was cool, tinged with the earthy scent of the forest and the faint crackle of the dying campfire. The weight of unspoken words hung between you, thickening the silence.

Jace finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were confessing something he had kept buried for too long. "I've been told all my life that I must be strong, that weakness isn't an option for someone in my position. But the truth is, strength comes at a cost. It... it's lonely."

The admission caught you off guard, revealing a side of him you had never truly seen before. He was the prince, a leader, someone who had always seemed so unyielding, so focused on his duty. But beneath that armor, there was a young man who had been forced to grow up too quickly, who had been carrying the weight of expectation for as long as he could remember.

"You don't have to bear it alone," you said softly, your voice filled with an earnestness that surprised even you. "We may be warriors, but we’re also human. We can be strong and still lean on each other. That doesn't make us weak; it makes us stronger."

Jace's gaze lifted to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw the flicker of something in his eyes – relief, perhaps, or gratitude. It was subtle, but it was there, a crack in the armor he had worn for so long.

"I'm not used to this," he admitted, his voice low and uncertain. "Letting people in. Trusting them with... with more than just my commands."

"You don't have to trust everyone with everything. Just... start small. We’re all here for the same reason, facing the same dangers."

Jace looked away, his jaw tightening as he considered your words. The silence stretched between you again, but it was different now – less tense, more reflective.

"I pushed you harder because I saw potential in you," he finally said, his tone more measured. "The silver-haired Targaryen bastard girl who claimed Vermithor." he quoted the whispers that ran in the towns and the halls about you.

He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I don’t have the hair or the eyes that mark our bloodline. I don’t look like them, not like you do. And because of that, some people question whether I truly belong – whether I’m really worthy of the name 'Targaryen.' Even if they don't say it outright, I see it in their eyes, hear it in the way they speak to me."

Jace's words resonated with a deep-seated pain, one that came from being constantly measured against a standard he could never fully meet. You could see the struggle etched into his features, the way his identity had been chipped away by years of doubts and whispers. You grew up with the same feeling.

"I’ve had to fight for every shred of respect I’ve earned," he continued, his voice growing rougher, more raw. 

He glanced at you then, his eyes holding a flicker of vulnerability, as though he was finally letting you see the part of himself he had kept hidden from everyone else. "You, with your Targaryen look, your natural bond with Vermithor – everything that was supposed to be mine by birthright, you have. And I envy you for it.”

His gaze flickered to yours, searching for sincerity in your words. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. “It made me push you harder, made me want to test your limits. For that, I apologize.”

You listened, the raw honesty in his voice catching you off guard. Jace, the ever-stern prince who seemed unshakeable, was confessing something deeply personal. His envy, his insecurities – they were laid bare before you, revealing a man struggling to reconcile his sense of duty with his own humanity.

"I never wanted to outshine you, Your Grace," you replied softly, your tone gentler now. "I’ve only ever wanted to do my part, to prove that I belong here, just like you. We’re all fighting the same battles, even if they look different."

Jace's shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight of his burdens had grown heavier with his admission. But there was also a sense of release, like a pressure valve slowly easing open. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

His frustration flared for a moment, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. How could you compare your childhood to his? How could you understand what it was like to have your very claim to the throne questioned every day of your life, simply because of illegitimacy? 

But then he stopped himself, the sharp retort dying on his tongue. He looked at you more closely, taking in your beauty. Your silver hair, once a source of pride for those who bore it, had become a symbol of isolation for you. It marked you as different, as other, just as his dark hair had marked him. The whispers, the sidelong glances, the subtle digs – perhaps they weren’t so different after all. 

He wondered if you, too, had tried to hide your hair when you were younger. Had you ever thought of cutting it off, of trying to blend in, just to avoid the stares and the whispers – just like he had? 

His anger faded, replaced by a quiet understanding that settled deep within him. Before he could speak again, you interrupted. 

“Your eyes have a pecs of lilac in them,”

Your words hung in the air between you, soft and unexpected, like a breeze that carries away the last remnants of a storm. Jace blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He hadn’t expected you to notice such a small detail, let alone comment on it. His eyes – his Targaryen eyes, though dark – held traces of that lineage in their depths, a subtle glimmer of lilac that hinted at the blood he carried, despite what the whispers said.

He looked at you, truly looked at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you standing there under the stars. 

"You're the first to ever mention that," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of disbelief, as if he wasn’t sure whether to accept the observation as a compliment or a revelation.

The fire crackled softly behind you, casting flickering shadows across Jace's face. His fingers loosened their grip on the hilt of his sword, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding released.

“Lilac,” he repeated, almost to himself. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s barely noticeable,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “But it’s there.”

Jace’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to hint at one. His gaze held yours, the distance between you shrinking as the night deepened around the camp. His eyes, once guarded and stern, now softened as he processed your words. It was as if that small observation, something so easily overlooked, had breached the walls he had spent years constructing.

"You seem to see things others don't," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the whispering wind.

You shrugged your shoulders, you eased yourself down beside the campfire, the warmth of the embers a welcome contrast to the chill of the night air. Jace settled next to you, the earlier tension between you seeming to dissipate into the quiet intimacy of the moment. The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played across the forest clearing.

You started talking about the following day, the conversation slipping into the familiar rhythms of strategy and preparation. Jace listened intently, nodding as you discussed potential scenarios and contingencies. The wariness between you had faded, replaced by a shared focus on the task ahead. 

The warmth of the fire, coupled with the soothing hum of Jace's presence, began to weave a calming spell over you. Your words grew softer, more hesitant, and the exhaustion of the day began to take its toll. You found yourself leaning slightly against Jace, the weight of your head coming to rest on his shoulder. He did not move away, allowing the small gesture of closeness that had begun to form between you.

Jace’s body, though tense from the day’s travel and the weight of his responsibilities, seemed to relax as you drifted into sleep. His breathing evened out, and the night seemed to embrace you both, holding you in a fragile moment of peace.

The warmth of the campfire, combined with the gentle rise and fall of Jace’s breath, lulled you into a deep sleep. You were unaware of how the hours passed, lost in dreams that seemed to blend with the soft glow of the embers and the subtle presence of the prince beside you.

But the peaceful interlude was not to last. The sound of Ulf’s unmistakable voice pierced through your dreams, a sharp and playful contrast to the calm of the night. His voice was loud and mocking, carrying the unmistakable cadence of someone who reveled in mischief.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the prince and his shadow, all cozy by the fire!” Ulf's voice carried a teasing edge. “Should I come back later, or are you two planning on making this a nightly tradition?”

You stirred, blinking awake to find yourself still nestled against Jace, whose own eyes fluttered open with a groggy confusion. The warmth of the campfire seemed to have been replaced by a rush of embarrassment as you quickly disentangled yourself from Jace’s side.

Jace looked at you, his face a mix of surprise and embarrassment, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You straightened yourself, trying to regain your composure, while Ulf’s laughter continued to reverberate through the clearing.

You shot Ulf a look, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Ulf, must you be so loud?”

Ulf’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction he’d provoked.

Jace cleared his throat, a more serious expression returning to his face as he rose from the ground. “Enough, Ulf. We have a long day ahead of us. Let’s focus on the tasks at hand.”

You exchanged a glance with Jace, the earlier intimacy of the night still lingering in your thoughts, even as the responsibilities of the day pressed upon you. Almost immediately, you got up to stand next to a readied Addam, his battle armor already on, a sword smaller than Jace’s hanging from his hip.

The camp was abuzz with activity as the dragonriders geared up for the impending battle. Dragons roared and snorted, their breath forming clouds in the chilly air. Jace moved among his men with purpose, his usual commanding presence restored. He glanced at you occasionally, his gaze unreadable but not unkind.

The journey to the enemy stronghold was uneventful, the clouds rolling in thickly as if they, too, anticipated the day's violence. When you arrived at the battlefield, the sight was grim. The ground was churned into a muddy mess, dotted with the remnants of previous skirmishes.

You could see Jace at the forefront, his stance firm and resolute as he surveyed the battlefield. The sight of him, standing tall and unwavering despite the looming threat, stirred something within you.

Hours passed in battle, you could feel your arms and legs begin to pain in exhaustion, you were sure your hands would grow to be calloused because of the sword. You’d lost Addam, you realized, and Jace. You could only make out the figures and the armors of the men on your side, and yet there was no sight of your known faces.

As the battle raged on, you caught sight of Addam in a tight spot. He was surrounded by enemy forces, his movements increasingly desperate. Without a second thought, you signaled to Vermithor and descended toward him, determined to aid your comrade.

The sight of the enemy closing in on Addam made your heart race. You urged Vermithor into a steep dive, your focus entirely on clearing the way for Addam. In the chaos, a sudden burst of enemy fire caught you off guard. You tried to maneuver out of the way, but it was too late. The attack struck your side, sending a searing pain through you as you struggled to stay conscious.

You heard Addam's shout of alarm, saw his face twisted in concern as he fought off his attackers. With a grimace, you pushed through the pain, landing awkwardly near Addam and helping him fend off the enemy. The effort took everything you had, your vision blurring as blood seeped from the wound in your side.

By the time the immediate threat was subdued, Jace had arrived, his eyes scanning the battlefield before landing with the precision and authority of a seasoned leader. He saw you slumped against Addam, the blood staining your clothing, and his expression turned to one of furious concern.

________

"What were you thinking?" Jace's voice cut through the din of the tent the second your eyes opened, his tone harsh as he rushed to your side. "You could have been killed!"

You winced at the pain as Jace's hands gripped your shoulders, his eyes flashing with anger. "I was just trying to help Addam," you managed to say through gritted teeth, the adrenaline of battle fading, leaving only the sharp sting of your injury. 

Jace's face was a mask of frustration, his gaze shifting between you and Addam. "You’re not supposed to throw yourself into danger recklessly," he snapped. 

The intensity of his anger was palpable, and though it was directed at you, it was clear that it stemmed from a place of deep concern. 

Addam, now safe but visibly shaken, looked at you with a mix of gratitude and worry. "You didn’t have to do that," he said quietly, helping you to sit as the maesters were alerted of your awakening to tend to your wound.

Jace paced back and forth in the tent, his anger radiating off him in palpable waves. His earlier softness seemed to have evaporated, replaced by the stern, unyielding demeanor you'd grown accustomed to during your training.

"This is exactly what I've been trying to prevent," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch. "Reckless behavior, disregard for orders, putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Did all those lessons mean nothing to you?"

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. The connection you'd felt with Jace by the campfire, the understanding you thought you'd reached, seemed to have vanished like smoke in the wind. His dark eyes, which had shown glimpses of warmth and vulnerability, now blazed with disappointment and frustration.

"Your Grace, I-" you began, but Jace cut you off with a harsh gesture.

"No excuses. You could have compromised the entire mission. Did you even consider the consequences?"

His words stung, each one feeling like a step backward in the relationship you'd hoped was improving. You lowered your gaze, unable to meet his intense stare. The progress you'd made, the understanding you thought you'd reached – it all seemed to have crumbled in the face of his renewed anger.

As the maesters entered to tend to your wounds, Jace turned away, his posture rigid with barely contained fury. You couldn't help but feel that you were right back where you'd started – a disappointment in his eyes, someone who couldn't be trusted to follow orders or make the right decisions.

The silence in the tent was thick with tension as the maesters worked on your wounds. You could feel Jace's presence, a storm of barely contained emotion, even with your eyes closed. The pain of your injury seemed almost secondary to the ache in your chest at his harsh words.

As the maesters finished their work, Jace dismissed them with a curt nod. You braced yourself, expecting another barrage of anger. Instead, you heard him let out a long, shaky breath.

"Do you have any idea..." he began, his voice lower now but still taut with emotion, "...what it would do to our cause if we lost you? What it would do to–" He cut himself off abruptly.

You opened your eyes, surprised by the shift in his tone. Jace stood with his back to you, his shoulders rigid, hands clenched at his sides. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was a complex mix of anger, fear, and something else you couldn't quite name.

"Your Grace," you said softly, wincing as you tried to sit up straighter. "I never meant to–"

"To what?" Jace interrupted, his voice rough. "To throw yourself into danger? To disregard everything I've tried to teach you?" He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You're more than just a soldier, more than just a dragonrider. You're..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle with his words.

You waited, heart pounding, as Jace visibly wrestled with his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost vulnerable.

"You're important," he said finally, meeting your eyes. "To the cause, to... to all of us. I can't have you risking yourself like that."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You could see the conflict in Jace's eyes, the battle between his role as a leader and his personal feelings.

"I couldn't let Addam die," you said quietly. "Not when I could do something about it."

Jace's jaw clenched, but some of the anger seemed to drain out of him. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of your cot. "I understand that," he said, his voice low. "But we need you alive. I–" He hesitated, then continued, "I need you alive."

The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this small, quiet space.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," you said softly. "But I'm not sorry for what I did."

Jace's lips twitched, almost forming a smile despite himself. "I know," he said, shaking his head. He reached out, hesitantly, and took your hand in his. 

You looked at your joined hands, then back up at Jace's face. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was tempered now by a deeper understanding, a connection that couldn't be easily broken.

As you looked at your joined hands and then back up at Jace's face, you could see the complex mix of emotions playing across his features. The anger that had initially flared was now tempered by concern, relief, and something deeper that made your heart quicken.

Jace's thumb absently traced circles on the back of your hand, the gentle touch at odds with the tension still evident in his posture. His eyes, dark with their hidden flecks of lilac, searched your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

"You should know better," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The words were not the scolding you expected, but something softer, almost pleading. The gentle brush of his thumb against your skin sent a warmth through you that rivaled the heat of the fire that had crackled between you the night before. 

Jace’s gaze didn’t waver from yours, though a flicker of something – perhaps pride, perhaps something deeper – flickered in his eyes at your words. He shifted slightly, bringing his free hand to rest on the edge of the cot, as if steadying himself.

“You’re brave,” he said, his tone hushed, as though the words were not meant to be heard by anyone but you. “Too brave, perhaps. And too important to lose.”

The weight of his admission settled between you like a tangible thing. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but hold onto the connection that had formed between you, tenuous yet strong. 

His words, “I need you alive,” echoed in your mind, carrying a significance that went beyond the battlefield.

The harsh reality of your situation, the war raging outside, seemed to fade away as Jace leaned in closer. His hand tightened around yours, as if anchoring you both in this fragile moment. The heat from his body, the warmth of his breath as it fanned across your face, chased away the lingering cold from the injury and the battle.

And then, just as you thought he might say something more, something that would change everything, he leaned back slightly, releasing your hand with a reluctance that you could almost feel.

“You need to rest,” he said softly, the stern commander reasserting itself, though the gentleness in his tone remained. “We’ll talk more when you’re healed.”

You nodded, though a part of you longed to reach out and pull him back, to hold onto the moment that had passed between you. 

After what felt like hours of patching and cleaning your wounds, Jace had managed to slip through and speak with you. He refused to let you back into the battlefield – specially with a gash on your side – but when you insisted on the need for Vermithor’s advantage over the enemy, Jace had reluctantly agreed, but only after making you promise to stay airborne and avoid direct combat.

________

The battle was over, but the aftermath lay heavy on the land, a tapestry of mud and blood woven with the remnants of conflict. The once-vibrant battlefield was now a somber expanse, littered with the debris of war. Exhaustion clung to every soldier, every dragon, every inch of the ground. As you mounted Vermithor, the gash on your side throbbed with each movement, a sharp reminder of the earlier chaos.

Jace’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes carrying an unspoken command. "You’re still too weak to fly alone," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. "I’ll ride with you."

You wanted to protest, to assert your independence, but the weariness that settled deep in your bones made you reconsider. The sharp sting of pain with every shift in position, the bruising fatigue that had crept into your limbs, and the sight of Jace’s determined face all contributed to a reluctant acceptance of his offer.

As you climbed onto Vermithor’s back, Jace followed, settling himself behind you with a firm yet gentle touch. His warmth pressed against your back, a reminder of the closeness you had shared earlier. Vermax, with its deep green scales shimmering in the dimming light, followed closely behind, the dragon’s eyes scanning the horizon with a vigilant gaze.

The journey back to Dragonstone was slow, each beat of Vermithor’s powerful wings a measured rhythm that spoke of both strength and weariness. Jace’s arms were steady around your waist, his presence a solid anchor against the turbulent sea of exhaustion and pain. The rhythmic whoosh of the dragon’s wings was soothing, a constant and reassuring pulse that contrasted with the chaotic clamor of the battlefield.

Jace’s breath against your neck was warm and steady, a comforting presence that eased the sharp edges of your discomfort. Occasionally, his fingers would tighten slightly, a silent reminder that he was there, that he cared. The quiet between you was filled with an unspoken understanding, a deepening of the connection that had sparked amidst the chaos.

When Vermithor landed, the soft thud of his massive body against the earth was both grounding and comforting. Jace helped you dismount, his hands steady and careful as he guided you down. The pain in your side flared with the sudden shift in position, but the presence of Jace, his unwavering support, provided a solace that tempered the discomfort.

"You did well today," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of both praise and relief. "We’ll get you patched up and then, you can rest."

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. As the maesters took over, tending to your wound with practiced efficiency, Jace remained close, his presence a steady source of comfort amidst the flurry of activity. The tenderness in his eyes, the concern etched into his features, spoke more than words ever could.

Addam made it a point to stay by your side, along with Jace and a bored Ulf.

Jace’s gaze was unwavering, his attention split between the maesters and you. His expression was a complex blend of concern and relief. Each time you glanced up, you found his eyes fixed on you, offering silent encouragement. His earlier sternness had softened, replaced by a more personal, almost tender vigilance.

Addam lingered nearby, his face showing a blend of gratitude and worry. Ulf, as usual, was there too, leaning against a nearby pole with a smirk that seemed to suggest he found the whole situation amusing.

“Just a flesh wound,” Ulf quipped, trying to lighten the mood as he fiddled with a small dagger. “You should see the other guy.”

Jace shot Ulf a sharp look, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. “This isn’t a time for jokes, Ulf.”

“Just trying to make things less grim,” Ulf said with a shrug, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “Can’t be all brooding and maudlin all the time.”

The maesters continued their work with a practiced efficiency, and soon enough, the immediate pain began to ebb. They wrapped your wound in clean bandages, applying a soothing ointment that smelled faintly of herbs. You winced slightly as they finished, but the relief was palpable.

Addam and Ulf were soon shooed out by Jace, who insisted on staying with you for a little while longer. The place was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of the halls. Jace sat beside your cot, his presence a calming constant as you drifted into a fitful sleep.

He stirred as you moved, his eyes moving to meet yours with a look of relieved affection. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice gentle and laced with concern.

“Better,” you replied, though your voice was hoarse. “Doesn’t hurt as much.”

Jace’s lips curled into a soft smile, though the exhaustion in his eyes was still evident. “That’s good.”

Jace’s smile was soft, a faint curve of his lips that warmed the exhaustion etched in his features. You could see the toll the weeks had taken on him – the weariness in his eyes, the lines of tension that hadn’t fully eased from his face. Yet, there was something else in his expression, a quiet relief, as if the sight of you awake and coherent had lifted a weight from his shoulders.

“Rest,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace that had settled over you both. “You need to regain your strength.”

You nodded, feeling the heaviness in your limbs, the dull throb in your side where the maesters had tended to your wound. The pain was still there, a constant reminder of the battle, but it had dulled to a manageable ache, thanks to their skilled hands and the calming presence of Jace at your side.

“Stay with me?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could think to hold them back.

Jace’s eyes softened further, a mix of tenderness and something deeper flickering in their depths. He didn’t answer right away, but the way he reached out, his hand finding yours and holding it gently, spoke volumes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice steady, unwavering. His thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a soothing gesture that matched the comforting rhythm of his breathing. “Not until you’re well, and even then...”

He trailed off, the sentence left unfinished, but the weight of his words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Even then, he wouldn’t leave. Not unless you wanted him to.

The quiet that settled between you was different now, not the heavy silence of exhaustion and pain, but a peaceful, shared moment of understanding. The flickering light from the lantern cast soft shadows across Jace’s face, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

As your eyelids grew heavier, the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rise and fall of his breath, became the last things you were conscious of before sleep claimed you once more. You knew, even as you slipped into the depths of rest, that when you awoke, he would still be there. His presence was an anchor, grounding you in a world that had been so violently upheaved.

And when you did wake again, hours later, the first thing you saw was Jace, still by your side, his head bowed in sleep, yet his hand never letting go of yours.

You stirred, the movement bringing a sharp reminder of your injury, but the pain was more bearable now, the throbbing a distant murmur rather than the sharp, immediate agony of the previous day.

Jace’s head was still bowed, his dark hair falling in disheveled strands over his forehead. He looked peaceful in his slumber, the tension of the past days momentarily eased. His fingers were still wrapped around yours, a quiet testament to the unspoken promise of support that had lingered through the night.

You shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, and he stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was a moment of disoriented surprise in his gaze, quickly replaced by a soft, relieved smile.

He shifted slightly, brushing his hair back with his free hand. You tried to sit up a little, but the movement brought a wince of discomfort.

“Careful,” Jace said quickly, his hand tightening around yours. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

You nodded, sinking back into the pillows with a grateful sigh. 

“The maesters said you’ll need a stick to support you while you heal,” he repeated, glancing briefly at the corner of the room where a simple wooden staff leaned against the wall. “It’s just a precaution, but it should help ease the strain on your injury.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing Jace’s hand gently..

Jace’s eyes softened at your touch, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a comforting rhythm. “I owe you many apologies” he said quietly.

The words seemed to carry a weight that went beyond the simple apology, touching on something deeper and more profound. “For the way I’ve treated you these past months.”

You blinked, surprised by the confession, but the sincerity in his voice was undeniable. You could see the turmoil reflected in his eyes, the shadows of frustration and regret that spoke of unspoken battles fought within himself.

“I’ve been... difficult,” Jace continued, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “I let my envy and confusion cloud my judgment. I saw what you could do, what you were capable of, and instead of acknowledging it, I let my insecurities get in the way.”

You squeezed his hand gently, the gesture meant to offer comfort as he navigated his feelings. His admission was unexpected, but it spoke of a profound self-awareness and a willingness to confront his own failings.

“I was jealous,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, almost lost amidst the soft rustle of the room. “And I didn’t know how to reconcile that with... what I felt.”

There was a raw honesty in his confession that made your heart ache. The realization that Jace’s harshness had stemmed from his own internal struggles added a layer of complexity to your understanding of him. It wasn’t just a matter of respect or authority – it was deeply personal.

You took a deep breath, letting his words settle within you. The apology was unexpected, but it was a crucial step toward understanding the shifting dynamics between you. The revelation of his jealousy and confusion didn’t excuse his actions, but it did offer a window into the complexity of his emotions.

Jace’s fingers tightened around yours as you spoke, the weight of your words mingling with the burden of his own revelations. The flickering lantern light cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability that had become so evident in his gaze.

“I didn’t understand why you were so hard on me,” you continued, your voice steady despite the pain. “I felt like I was always under scrutiny, like my every move was being judged.”

“I know that my actions hurt you,” he continued, his voice soft yet firm. “And I regret that deeply.”

You let his words sink in, feeling the truth of them settle within you. There was still a part of you that carried the hurt from those months of tension and misunderstanding, but Jace’s willingness to confront his own flaws and his desire to make amends touched something deep inside you.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness right away,” he added, his voice a gentle murmur. “But I hope you’ll be able to see that I’m trying to change.”

You squeezed his hand again with a small nod of your head, his fingers moved to trace patterns over yours. 

________

The pain from your wound had dulled to a manageable ache, but the stiffness in your side reminded you of its presence with every movement. When you attempted to rise from your cot, the wooden staff Jace had spoken of the night before was already by your side, a silent companion to aid your steps.

You reached for it, and just as your fingers closed around the polished wood, Addam’s familiar face appeared by the door. 

“Morrow,” he said, his voice gentle as he offered his arm for support. “Council’s called. They want you there.”

You nodded, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders. “Help me up?”

With Addam’s help, you eased yourself to your feet, gripping the staff tightly as you found your balance. Your wound protested the movement, but you swallowed the discomfort, knowing that there was no time to indulge in weakness.

As you made your way to the council, each step was deliberate, measured by the steady rhythm of your staff tapping against the ground. Addam’s presence beside you was a comfort, his hand hovering near your elbow in case you faltered. 

The council tent was already filled with the familiar faces of your comrades. The air inside was thick with the weight of decisions yet to be made, the tension palpable as discussions buzzed low and serious. Jace stood near the center, his back straight and his demeanor composed, though his eyes softened when they found you.

“Glad you could join us,” he said quietly as you approached, his gaze flickering briefly to your staff before returning to your face. There was no trace of the vulnerability he’d shown you the night before, but you could sense the shift in his demeanor, a gentleness that hadn’t been there before.

You nodded in response, taking your place at the table with a small sigh of relief as you eased into the chair. The council members turned their attention to you, the murmurs quieting as they awaited your input.

One of the older commanders spoke first, his voice gruff yet tinged with concern. “Given your injury, it’s too risky to have you ride Vermithor into battle. We need you to recover fully before you’re back in the field.”

The words, though pragmatic, carried a sting of frustration. You’d always been one to lead from the front, to be where the action was fiercest. But you also knew that, in your current state, pushing yourself too hard could lead to greater harm.

“What do you suggest?” you asked, your tone even despite the undercurrent of disappointment.

Jace stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “There’s another task we need handled – something that doesn’t involve direct combat but is crucial to our strategy. We’ve received reports that the mood among the smallfolk in King’s Landing has been... shifting. We need to gather information on their sentiments, to understand what’s happening within the city walls.”

You frowned slightly, considering the implications. The smallfolk’s loyalty could be a powerful force, swaying the tides of public opinion and, by extension, the decisions of those in power. If unrest was brewing in King’s Landing, it could be both an opportunity and a threat.

“And you want me to go to King’s Landing?” you asked, the weight of the task settling in your chest.

Jace nodded, his gaze steady on yours. “You and I will go together.”

You held back the smallest of smiles that urged to show on your face at the thought of being paired up with Jace again, this time in a more calm setting. 

A murmur of agreement passed through the council, and the meeting continued with discussions of logistics and preparations for the journey. Jace remained close, his presence a steadying force as the details were ironed out.

As the council dispersed, and you found yourself standing once more with the support of your staff, Jace lingered beside you. 

“If you feel it’s too arduous, you must rest.” he said softly, his concern evident even through his professional demeanor. “We’ll take it slowly. I’d rather have you well than risk aggravating your injury.”

You nodded, appreciating the care in his voice. “I’ll manage,” you assured him, though the stiffness in your side was a persistent reminder of your limits.

The pre-dawn air was crisp as you and Jace prepared for your covert mission to King's Landing. You both donned simple, nondescript clothing, far removed from your usual attire. Over these, you draped heavy cloaks with deep hoods, the fabric rough but ideal for blending in with common folk.

Jace handed you a length of cloth, his eyes meeting yours briefly. "For your face," he explained, demonstrating by wrapping a similar piece around the lower half of his own face. 

You took the cloth from him, your fingers brushing against his as you did. The touch was fleeting, but it carried a spark that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. The intimacy of the moment, the proximity of his body to yours, made your heart race. You felt the warmth of his breath against your cheek as he helped you adjust the cloth, and the proximity stirred a deep, unexpected longing.

The cloth was soft and slightly coarse, its earthy hue blending with the dark colors of your cloak. Jace’s fingers were gentle as he wrapped it around your face, his touch both firm and tender. You could feel the heat of his body radiating against your side, a stark contrast to the cool morning air.

As he finished securing the cloth, his hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his fingers grazing the edges of the fabric with a lingering touch that made your breath hitch. His face was close to yours, his eyes focused intently on the task at hand, yet you could sense the subtle intensity in his gaze.

"There," he said softly, his voice carrying a reassuring warmth. "Now we’re ready."

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. The closeness of his presence was intoxicating, and you struggled to mask the flush that crept up your cheeks. The brush of his fingers, the warmth of his breath, it all conspired to make the moment feel charged and intimate.

Jace stepped back, his eyes sweeping over you with a quick, assessing glance. The softness in his gaze was tinged with something more, something that mirrored the emotions roiling within you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken feelings and a shared understanding.

With a final nod, you both made your way to the stables. Jace mounted Vermax first, then extended his hand to help you up. You settled behind him on the saddle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his waist for security.

"Hold on tight," Jace murmured, his body tense against yours as Vermax spread his wings. “Tap my shoulder if you’re hurting.”

With a powerful leap, Vermax took to the air. The sudden rush of wind threatened to tear away your hood, but you held it in place with one hand, the other still firmly gripped around Jace. As Dragonstone fell away beneath you, the vastness of the sea stretched out ahead.

The journey was mostly silent, the wind too loud for easy conversation. But there was a palpable tension in the way Jace's body remained rigid, alert to any potential danger. Your own senses were heightened, aware of every shift of the dragon beneath you and every subtle movement of Jace's body.

As you and Jace approached the gates of King's Landing on foot, having left Vermax far behind, the bustling crowds provided excellent cover. You both adjusted your disguises one last time, exchanging a nervous glance.

"You feeling alright?" Jace murmured, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of nervous energy. As you joined the flow of people entering the city, you stayed close to Jace, your shoulders occasionally brushing. The guards at the gate seemed bored and distracted, barely glancing at the steady stream of travelers.

Jace placed a protective hand on your lower back as you passed through the gate, guiding you forward. The touch, though brief, sent a jolt through you. You caught his eye, seeing a flicker of something intense in his gaze before he looked away.

Once inside, you both breathed a sigh of relief, stepping to the side of the busy street. Jace leaned in close, ostensibly to adjust your cloak, but his proximity made your heart race.

“We should make a stop at a tavern first, so you can sit. Maybe have something to refresh ourselves with.”

Jace guided you with practiced ease, weaving through the throng of people while keeping you close. The weight of his hand on your back was reassuring, and every now and then, his fingers would brush against your side, a gesture both casual and intimate.

The tavern Jace chose was a modest, unassuming place nestled between larger buildings. As you entered, the warm, dimly lit interior was a welcome contrast to the cool morning air. The scent of ale and roasted meat mingled with the faint aroma of wood smoke, creating an atmosphere of comfortable familiarity.

Jace led you to a quiet corner, away from the main hustle of the tavern. You eased into a seat with a sigh of relief, the discomfort in your side lessening as you finally rested. Jace took a seat opposite you, his gaze scanning the room with a practiced vigilance.

Jace ordered two simple meals and a couple of mugs of ale as you shifted to comfort for your wound. As the innkeeper went off to prepare the order, Jace’s attention returned to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You managed a small smile. “I’m alright. Just glad to be off my feet for a bit.”

Jace’s gaze softened, a mix of relief and admiration in his eyes. He reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours for a brief moment. His thumb lightly grazed your fingers, a gesture so intimate that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how strenuous it would be.”

“It’s not too bad,” you assured him, though the truth was that the strain of the journey was wearing on you. 

As you ate, Jace continued to observe the room with a watchful eye. His attention was sharp, taking in every detail of the patrons and their conversations. You could sense his focus, his determination to gather information amidst the seemingly mundane activity of the tavern.

You hoped that no one recognized the prince while his face was uncovered by the cloth. A few curly strands had fallen to his forehead, revealing more of his features. He was a handsome man, it was a known fact about him, and the thought of being recognized made your stomach turn in anxiety. 

“So, what are we looking for?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his expression serious. The warm glow of the tavern's lanterns cast flickering shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features and the intensity in his eyes.

“We need to listen for any hints of unrest or dissatisfaction among the smallfolk,” he began, his voice low and deliberate. “Rumors, complaints, anything that might suggest a shift in public sentiment. It could give us a clearer picture of the stance in the city and help us understand if there’s something brewing beneath the surface.”

As you ate, the door to the tavern swung open, allowing a gust of cool air to sweep through the room. You glanced up to see a man storming in, his face flushed with anger. He was a burly figure, his clothes worn out and his expression set in a scowl.

The man approached the bar with a determined stride, his voice rising above the murmur of the tavern. “I’ve had it with this place!” he roared, slamming a mug onto the counter. “The food’s been slacking for weeks, and I’m sick of excuses!”

The innkeeper, a wiry girl with a tired look in her eyes, tried to placate him. “We’re doing the best we can,” she said, her voice strained. “The shortage of resources is affecting everyone. The prince regent’s policies–”

“The prince regent!” the angry man interrupted, his voice filled with scorn. 

Jace’s attention snapped to the scene, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened as he processed the man’s outburst.

The innkeeper, looking flustered, tried to calm the man down. “I’m just a servant of the Crown’s orders. It’s not my fault–”

“It’s not just your fault!” the man retorted, his anger palpable. “But you’re the one we have to deal with every day. We’re struggling out here, and all we hear are excuses. The prince regent’s policies are driving us to the edge!”

Jace’s expression hardened, his eyes locked on the angry man. 

You glanced at Jace, catching the flicker of determination in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing the implications of the man’s words, his mind clearly racing with thoughts and strategies.

“Sounds like we’ve hit a nerve,” you murmured, leaning in slightly so Jace could hear over the ambient noise.

Jace nodded, his gaze never leaving the scene at the bar. 

Eventually, after what seemed like ages of complaints from the man, still fuming, he stormed out of the tavern, leaving behind a trail of murmured conversations and uneasy glances.

After a while, Jace signaled for you to leave, and you both prepared to make your way back to the safety of your lodgings. The streets of King’s Landing were still bustling with activity, but the weight of the information you had gathered hung heavily in the air.

As you exited the tavern and stepped back into the cool evening air, Jace’s hand once again found its place on your lower back, guiding you through the crowded streets.

You, leaning on your staff, moved with a deliberate pace. Despite the comfort of the bustling market, you still felt the nagging stiffness from your wound. 

At one stall, a vendor with a grizzled beard and a jovial demeanor was offering stolen gems. Jace nudged you gently, a subtle invitation to enjoy the brief moment of everyday pleasure.

The vendor, noticing Jace’s interest, gave a friendly nod. “Good day to you both,” he said, his voice warm. “Fine weather for shopping, isn’t it?”

You leaned closer, examining the gems with an appreciative eye. The sunlight caught their facets, casting brief, colorful reflections on the stall’s wooden surface. Despite the circumstances, there was a certain charm in the way these stolen treasures seemed to capture the essence of the market’s spirit, although you could hear people’s desperation for the merchant’s fish only a few feet away.

Jace’s hand brushed against yours as he reached for a particularly vibrant sapphire. You looked up to find him watching you with a soft smile, his gaze carrying a hint of mischief.

“You want it?” Jace’s smile widened slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “If you like it, it’s yours.”

The vendor’s eyes widened, anticipation for some coins evident on his face.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice tinged with genuine admiration. 

Jace’s hand lingered near yours, the closeness of his touch amplifying the warmth you felt. “Then it’s yours,” he said, his voice playful yet sincere. “A small token of appreciation for your help today.”

The vendor, still eagerly watching, cleared his throat. “Aye, a fine piece it is.”

You glanced at the vendor, then back at Jace, your heart fluttering at the simple act of kindness. “Are you sure?” you asked, though the gleam in Jace’s eyes made it clear he was entirely serious.

Jace nodded, his smile unwavering. “Absolutely. Consider it a gesture of gratitude.”

You took the sapphire, feeling its cool weight in your hand. The vendor’s grin widened, clearly pleased with the transaction.

“Thank you,” you said softly to Jace, feeling a surge of affection for him. Although half of his face was covered, you could see his eyes wrinkle up to a smile as he handed coins to the vendor, mumbling something and giving him some extra ones.

As the day wore on, you and Jace moved through the city, gathering snippets of conversation and avoiding contact with any guards. The bustling market you had enjoyed was quickly becoming a place of hurried whispers and hasty exits. The clamor of vendors packing up and the hurried footsteps of people hurrying to their homes filled the air.

Jace's hand was firmly clasped around yours, his grip tightening as he guided you through the crowded streets. The sudden presence of guards moving purposefully through the city sent waves of unease through the crowd. Their commanding voices and stern expressions made it clear that they were enforcing an early curfew.

"Come on," Jace urged, his voice urgent but low. “This way.”

He guided you swiftly through the narrowing alleys, his grip firm and reassuring. The streets, once crowded and lively, were now eerily quiet as people hurried to their homes. You could hear the clanging of armor and the distant shouts of the guards as they enforced the curfew.

Jace led you down a narrow alley, its walls closing in around you. The dim light filtered through the high buildings, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. As you reached a secluded corner, Jace pulled you behind a stack of crates, his eyes scanning the alleyway for any sign of pursuit.

The proximity of his body, the urgency of the situation, and the adrenaline coursing through you all combined to create a heady mix of emotions. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, his heart pounding against yours.

You panted, the wound stinging at your side because of the running and the lack of rest during the day. When he noticed you wincing, almost wailing in pain, he softly shushed you.

“We need to stay quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

You nodded, your heart racing not just from the danger but from the intense closeness of the moment. His gaze locked with yours, a look of fierce determination mingled with something deeper, more intimate.

As the sounds of the guards faded into the distance, the tension between you and Jace grew palpable. His eyes softened, a flicker of something that went beyond the urgency of the situation. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you in that narrow, dimly lit alley.

He leaned in, moving the cloth away from his mouth, reaching for yours as well. His breath warm against your ear as he spoke in urgent, whispering tones. “Are you alright?” His voice was barely more than a murmur, filled with concern.

You nodded, though it was clear that the pain was sharp. “Just... give me a moment,” you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the throb in your side. You could feel the steady pulse of Jace's heartbeat through the proximity, each beat syncing with the rhythm of your own nervous pulse.

Jace’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch gentle but firm, offering support. “We’ll stay here until the coast is clear,” he said, his tone soothing as he kept a vigilant watch over the alley. His fingers traced a comforting pattern on your back, the touch both grounding and tender.

The closeness of his body was overwhelming. The small space behind the crates allowed for little separation, and the soft brush of his clothing against your skin was electrifying. Every shift, every breath, seemed amplified, drawing your attention to the intimacy of the moment. The warmth of his body against yours was both reassuring and intensely distracting.

You caught the flicker of his eyes as he turned to face you, their intensity softened by concern. “I didn’t mean to push you too hard,” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I just... I want to make sure you’re safe.”

You met his gaze, your heart racing for reasons that went beyond the danger of the situation. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though the truth was that the pain was more pronounced due to the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. “It’s just... the pain.”

His fingers tightened slightly on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your neck in a soothing motion. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assured him, your voice faltering slightly as the proximity made it hard to focus. 

Jace’s gaze lingered on yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space. The intensity of the moment, the urgency of their escape, and the closeness of his body created a charged atmosphere that made your heart pound. His face was mere inches from yours, his eyes locked with yours in a silent exchange that spoke of shared emotions and a growing connection.

As the pain in your side began to dull slightly, you allowed yourself to relax, if only a little. The tension in your muscles eased, and you leaned slightly into Jace’s comforting presence. The tight quarters of the alleyway seemed to shrink even further, narrowing the world down to just the two of you.

Jace took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Once the guards are gone, we’ll move again. But for now, we must stay quiet and keep ourselves hidden.”

Minutes passed in quiet anticipation, the sounds of the city’s night life serving as a backdrop to the cocoon of intimacy you shared. The pain in your side slowly became a more distant murmur, overshadowed by the electric closeness of Jace’s body and the warmth of his gaze. The sounds of the street faded into silence, the only faint sounds coming from the tavern’s glass clinking from some of the guards and the brothel. 

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your body responding to the warmth and closeness in ways you were trying to suppress. The soft brush of his clothing against yours, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the heat of his body made it almost impossible to focus on anything but the way he made you feel. His proximity, the intensity of his gaze, and the intimate setting created a heady mix of desire and connection.

As the silence stretched between you, the world outside seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you in the narrow alley. The flickering light from the street cast shadows across Jace’s face, highlighting the sharp angles and soft contours of his features.

You tried to suppress the wave of desire that surged through you, reminding yourself of the critical nature of your mission. The sensation of his hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his body, and the closeness of his gaze created a magnetic pull that was difficult to resist. 

You shifted slightly, attempting to distance yourself from the overwhelming proximity and regain some semblance of control.

His thumb continued to brush lightly against your neck, a tender gesture that seemed to defy the urgency of the situation. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again, his voice a soft murmur that carried an undercurrent of worry and care.

You nodded, though your voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m... I’m fine,” you managed to say, though the truth was that the proximity was making it harder to think clearly. “Just need a moment.”

Jace’s eyes searched yours with a mix of worry and something deeper, his thumb brushing against your neck in a tender, soothing motion.

“Are you sure you’re alright–” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, when you, feeling overwhelmed by the closeness and the surge of emotions, took a breath and made a decision.

You leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Before either of you could fully comprehend what was happening, your lips met his. The kiss was sudden, fueled by the intensity of the moment, and it seemed to silence the world around you. His eyes widened in surprise, but that shock quickly gave way to something more primal and eager.

Jace’s response was immediate and fervent. His hand, which had been gently resting on your shoulder, slid to your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened as his lips moved against yours with a hungry, passionate urgency. You could feel the heat of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat, and the way his touch seemed to electrify every nerve in your body.

Jace's hands gripped you with a fervor that matched the intensity of the kiss, his fingers pressing into your back as if to draw you even closer. His mouth moved with a determined, almost desperate rhythm, as though he wanted to savor every second of this unexpected, profound intimacy.

Jace’s tongue brushed against yours, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His kiss was a torrid mix of heat and longing, each touch of his lips and flick of his tongue adding to the overwhelming intensity. His hands, now gripping your back with a firm, almost possessive hold, pulled you closer, making every brush of his skin against yours feel electric. 

The desperation in his movements matched the deep, primal need that surged between you.

You felt his breath coming in quick, ragged bursts, mingling with yours as the kiss grew even more fervent. His lips were warm and demanding, parting yours with a force that made your heart race faster. The kiss was wet and passionate, a tangle of tongues and fervor that made it impossible to think of anything but the overwhelming need you both seemed to share.

Jace's hands roamed over your back and neck, his touch both urgent and tender, as if trying to convey everything he felt in that single, intense connection. The closeness of his body against yours, the heat radiating from him, and the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat created a heady mix of sensations that made the kiss feel all-consuming.

Managing to pull off the hood of his cloak, your hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, tousled strands as you pulled him closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, the alleyway seemed to have transformed. The dim light from the street filtered through the narrow passage, casting an ethereal glow on Jace’s face, which was now flushed with a mix of surprise and desire.

He looked at you with a mix of wonder and urgency, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I–” he started, but his words faltered as he struggled to regain his composure.

You met his gaze, feeling a rush of vulnerability and exhilaration. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you knew the apology was unnecessary. The kiss had been as much for you as it had been for him, a release of pent-up emotions that had been building between you.

Jace’s expression softened, and he shook his head slightly, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be,” he murmured, his voice low and intense. 

Finally, the sounds of the guards’ patrol receded into the distance, leaving you and Jace in a quieter, more serene moment. 

“We need to...” you whispered, your voice trailing off as you tried to regain your composure.

Jace nodded, his expression a mix of determination and tenderness. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice carrying a new, intense undertone.

With a final, lingering look, Jace stepped back, his hand sliding reluctantly from your back. The warmth of his touch lingered, a reminder of the connection you had just shared. He straightened his cloak and adjusted the fabric around his face, ensuring that his disguise remained intact.

You did the same, pulling your hood back up and securing it around your face. The urgency of the situation reasserted itself as the sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, a reminder that the city’s dangers were far from over.

Jace took your hand once more, his grip firm but gentle. “We’ll need to move quickly,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Follow me.”

You both reached the city gates with a cautious optimism. The guards were preoccupied with a scene unfolding nearby – a drunken man who refused to leave the gate area and kept stumbling into their path, much to their exasperation. The guards’ frustration provided a crucial distraction, offering you a window of opportunity to slip past them.

Vermax’s eyes glowed softly as he recognized you both, and with a gentle nudge of his snout, the dragon seemed to sense the urgency of your return.

As Dragonstone’s silhouette loomed on the horizon, you could feel the weight of the long day lifting, exhaustion taking over you. 

The familiar surroundings of Dragonstone welcomed you, the cold stone walls and the scent of the sea providing a comforting reminder of home.

You both took a moment to gather yourselves, the quiet of the castle grounds a soothing balm after the frenetic pace of the night. Jace’s gaze lingered on you, a soft smile playing at his lips as he took in the relief and exhaustion etched on your face.

“Get some rest,” he repeated, his voice gentle. “I’ll check in on you later.”

Neither of you made a move to leave. Instead, Jace stepped closer, mumbling. “I hope this is alright, too.”

Before you could fully process his intent, he leaned in again, his lips finding yours with a gentleness that belied the urgency of the situation. The kiss was soft and lingering, a tender caress that conveyed more than words ever could. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate warmth, each touch a reminder of the connection you had shared in the alley.

You responded with equal tenderness, your hands reaching up to cup his face as you deepened the kiss. The warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat created a cocoon of intimacy that was both comforting and exhilarating. The kiss was a balm for the exhaustion and the stress, a moment of pure, unguarded connection amidst the chaos.

“I’ll be here if you need me.” he said again, his voice a soft whisper as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. 

You nodded. With a final, lingering glance, Jace stepped back, his hand slipping from yours as he watched you make your way into the castle.

The echo of Jace’s voice, soft and reassuring, lingered as you made your way into the castle. Each step felt heavier with the weight of the day’s trials and the emotional intensity you had just shared. 

As you lay in bed, the soft rustle of the linens was the only sound breaking the stillness. The warmth from the fire seeped into the room, and you found solace in the quiet. The day’s exhaustion made your limbs heavy, and the steady rhythm of your breathing gradually lulled you toward sleep.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

> > > next part, part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[jacesbeloved]

for the kingdom: part v

summary: being the youngest daughter of alicent, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel restraint until you had been betrothed to the eldest son of queen rhaenyra for a pact. for who? for the kingdom.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content, cunnilingus, dirty thoughts in a church, porn with (little) plot, dirty talk, slightly public sex, overstimulation | if you liked this, pls do leave a heart or comment, it’d be greatly appreciated ^w^

part: I, II, III, IV, V

ftk taglist: @kentarosbaby @lady-ashfade @simrah1012 @mfrnchsk @sexualityisajoke @elsyyie @instabul l @ephemeralninon @chrisevansgirlfriendsposts @mainstreambitchlife @alexandra-001 @writer-lee5 @nightly-polaris @m4nd0l0r @roroswitherose @how2besalty @eds-gryff f @icantpickausername @solacestyles @blue1006 @highexpectationsgurl @doe-inluv @kitkat-writes-stuff @alex4040 @cl-0-vr @frogoerson @neo-weareone @theamuz @illainebedeakin @littletargaryens-blog @ietss @ttae-yong @daevinvan333

Alyrie Florent.

Alerie Hightower.

Viserys Targaryen.

"Mother," Alicent jumps at the sudden call. Her eyebrows confusedly joining together as she stares at you, rugged and breathless.

Clearly, you had not remembered of your commitment to come with your mother to the Sept at early morrow.

She stares at you from top to bottom before you invite yourself to the place beside her, kneeling and clasping your hands together as she had always told you to do once you arrive at the Sept.

"My goodness, daughter, it is only early morrow... why do you look like that?"

You run a hand through your hair, your chest heaving up and down as you close your eyes. "Look like what?" You ask although you could not really care for an answer.

"Nothing. Pray for your father." Thank the gods you thought.

The run from the inn inside the Streets of Silk was far from the Sept. Not to mention, the hundreds of steps that you had to walk up both in the Red Keep to get dressed and to the Sept itself.

As you finally feel the silence around you, visions of last night cannot be stopped as it runs through your mind again.

"I expected more from you, princess," the teasing tone of Jacaerys' voice hits just the right buttons. His hips hitting your pelvis in slow, hard strokes that has you seeing stars by the minute. The moment his cock entered your cunt, you knew it was over for you.

"Just fuck me, Jace," you say in between moans. Your hands going up your head and into your hair as you desperately pull at it. You hear a deep chuckle come from him as his hands hook your legs around his waist, snaking his arm across your chest and to the back of your neck before his pace quickens.

You scream his name, the sound entering his ears like one of the greatest songs ever sung by poets. That pushes him further. His lips latching onto one of your perked nipples before his warm tongue lovingly laps circles around it. You put one hand on his head, messing up his hair as your sanity decreases by the⎯

"Daughter, did you hear what I said?" The images in your head disappear and you are faced with a furious look from Alicent. Sighing discreetly, you look back at her, giving back the same look. "I didn't catch you clearly."

She shakes her head disapprovingly, "Your uncle, Uncle Gwayne, might return. However, I do not know when exactly he'll come back."

For such a meaningless sentence, you hum and simply throw her a question as you exhale loudly. Feeling your body slowly heat up again. "Really? Why is he bothering to come back?"

Once you heard your mother's continuous flow of words in answer to your question, you peacefully close your eyes again. Hoping to all of the gods that it would keep your mother at bay. You gulp nothing but saliva down your dry throat, feeling all of the tingles and touches you felt last night.

"That's it... Keep your eyes on me, princess. You're doing so good," Jace's eyes lazily look up at you, a grin etched on his lips as you bounce up and down his length. This new position hitting places you never thought one could reach.

Your thighs were burning. You feel the pain in your hips going stronger but the pleasure overpowers it by a league. You wished the two of you could have stayed like earlier where he was the only one moving but after he makes you release in that position, he kisses you messily then pulls you off of the cushion.

His big hands hold the sides of your hips, helping you bounce, even thrusting up on his own every now and then to catch you off-guard. Your eyes close for your own sake as you feel another release close by. Jace watches you with amusement in his eyes as your hips begin grinding on his length, no longer bouncing like you used to, chasing after your release.

So close. Your eyes close shut even firmer. You can taste it⎯

A hand breaks your thoughts again. On the brink of sanity now as the hand belonged to your sister, Helaena, who shows you a caterpillar that she sets on the concrete ground before kneeling beside you.

Gods, you are cruel. You say in your mind. Letting your face do the talking while Helaena opens up about her insects.

"It looks nice." Alicent smiles. You have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes as both your mother and your sister converse with each other while you kneel there in the middle. When you close your eyes, Alicent speaks again. "You two must bear the Hightower name."

What is this woman talking about? The thoughts in your head are all over the place. Helaena being too pre-occupied in watching her caterpillar to even bother reply to your mother.

"You married me off to a Targaryen, remember?" You say in a low voice. Clasping your hands together.

Alicent puts a hand on your shoulder and bicep, "It was for the better. Besides, it would have been Jacaerys, Queen Rhaenyra's eldest, or Lucerys. Would've you rather rule over the seas than the seven kingdoms?"

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, mother, now please let me pray in peace."

You peek at her by opening just a small portion of your eye, your mother shaking her head once more before she closes her own eyes. Pressing her hand to her forehead as she too, probably, prayed.

Jace's arms instinctively pull you closer. Wrapping his arm around your waist as he pounded inside of you from over edge of the bed. He's only came once while you couldn't even count how many times your legs shook at his expense.

"How does that feel?" Jace asks in your ear, feeling his hand snake through your stomach and down the apex of your thighs where his fingers skillfully rub against your cunt. The contact making you dive further into the mattress if not for the his arm holding you up by your waist. "Does it feel good? Are you pleased, princess?"

No words leave your mouth, only moans and whimpers as his thrusts got deeper. Each thrust into your delicious cunt making him feel delirious. After delaying his own release numerous times, his release was approaching him now just like a wave.

"Don't stop, Jace, fuck," you grit, gripping the sheets as another orgasm awaits.

Continuous groans and grunts leave his mouth. The veins in his neck just as angry as the ones that line his cock. His hands rush to pull your upper body up, placing his hand flat against your neck as your back is now flush against his chest. His other hand stimulating your clit. Every part of your body was on fire and he knows it.

His hand around your neck tightens ever so slightly and you feel your vision turn white. Everything becoming too much. "I'm close. Fuck, I'm coming again, Jace," you cry out.

"It's okay, princess," he grunts, feeling his own release come about as your legs shake, cunt tightening around his cock with a scream escaping your lips. His lips ghosting all across your ear and the side of your neck as rubs soothing circles on your belly. "I got you."

"Y/N, are you okay?" The question from Helaena makes you jolt. Sweat beading on your forehead as you rush to stand up. Both Alicent and Helaena looking at you with great concern. Your face was pale and your clothes had numerous wet spots because of the sweat.

You laugh uncomfortably, "I am. Are we going now?"

"You're the only one we're waiting on." Alicent tells you with a nod, turning around and walking away.

Brushing the feeling of last night off, you hurriedly follow your mother and sister out of the Sept and into a carriage back to the Red Keep.

Before the council meeting later in the day, you have a good amount of time to rest in your own shared chambers with your husband.

He hasn't arrived yet so you use the time to take back some strength after tiring yourself out last night. It may be the low-end cushion that you laid yourself on last night but your bed now has never been comfier. You were tossing and turning all around it while hugging your pillows.

Your handmaidens had their own affairs to deal with, thankfully, it meant no random hair braiding and no anything that would disrupt your peace in your haven.

That is if your brother only bothered to take the locked door as an answer.

"Does my door being locked mean nothing?" You ask at Aemond, having to walk back to your bed after opening your door for him. His return meant the others have just came back as well, it was only a matter of time now before Jace comes to both of your rooms and your peace is disrupted.

Aemond takes a seat near the fireplace. "You sneaked out last night, didn't you?"

Your brother knowing wasn't too surprising for you. He knew of all things, even things he shouldn't know in the first place. So when he asks, you answer with honesty.

"Are you telling Mother?"

Your brother hums, shrugging subtly as he inspects the things you had on the table. Random stacks of books and golden chalices filled with water. Jewelries of various design scattered all over.

"Alicent scolding you does give me some pleasure," Aemond says but you know he's just being an asshole. "It does not give me any use though."

You sigh. Dramatically falling on the soft cushion of your bed as you speak again. "Then tell me what I have done to warrant this astonishing visit from you, Aemond."

A thought hits and you jolt, "You're betrothed?" The scowl on his face says otherwise. "Found a girl?" "Aegon's dead?" You exclaim in a theatrical manner.

Aemond snickers, "Have you seen Otto?" The sudden question goes past your mind as you ask him about the mission last night.

"It was just me and Cole working. Our brother and Jace were as useful as a dragon without wings," Aemond shakes his head, standing up from his chair and exploring the room. The constant walking around bugged your senses.

You glare at your brother's remark. "Honestly, brother, shouldn't you be reporting to the Queen about what happened to the mission?"

"Shouldn't you be welcoming your husband with open arms outside?" Aemond retorts before he holds up a finger, "Oh, apologies, you already welcomed him with open legs last night."

"You should visit a brothel, brother. Or talk to Cole if you are truly irritated with the world," you throw him over an old mirror compact that you had on your nightstand, your brother catching it perfectly before settling it down on a random surface.

Your door opens and just in time, Jace enters. He looks surprised seeing Aemond first thing inside of your room.

Gazing at him, he had his usual clothes back on and not the cream-colored shirts and pants. His hair was in a different way disheveled, there were some strands that look naturally curled compared to how his hair used to look like the first night when you two married.

Aemond glances at him before he turns to you. With a nod, he leaves your room in silence.

"What's your brother doing here?" Jace asks as the door closes. Opening his closet and placing his clothes inside.

"I don't know either," you shrug indifferently. Lying back down on your bed as you watch him move around. The curls on his head bringing back a certain person that you met only once or twice before.

Jace notices you staring at his hair and so he speaks, "It is better not to comment unless you want to be deemed treasonous, my dear wife." The grin on your lips telling him everything he needs to know about what was in your head.

A meeting was called into the council room. Something about an update regarding the recent mission that finished last night⎯or so you thought.

"Where were you?" Your curious eyes go over Otto's figure. He definitely looks surprised when you stop him before he enters the council room. Your grandfather's presence giving you an unsettling feeling as he comes from one of the farther connecting hallways within the keep.

He raises an eyebrow at you, "If it pleases you, I came from Maegor's Holdfast." The way he says it has a condescending tone that you would rather not point out.

You nod quietly, going inside the small council that was now full of people.

Rhaenyra's way of ruling always boggled you. She is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and yet her small council is crowded. Not only are the seven mandatory positions already here but, Rhaenyra's children were there, Baela and Rhaena Targaryen were there, you and Aemond were even there despite not having any official position in it.

"I want everyone to feel included," as Rhaenyra said on the week that she was able to compose her own small council.

As you walk through the room, your eyes immediately lock with Jace's. It was clear that he had just finished bathing, as evidenced by the wetness of his hair, curls bouncier and more evident than before. It would be a crime for you to say it was not refreshing seeing a new hairstyle on him.

"Dearest wife," Jace nods at you with a small smile.

Contrary to his greeting, you sneer lowly, "Husband."

You take a stone ball from the middle, occupying the vacant seat beside your husband as the council chamber quiets down. The queen nodding at her other council members before she starts.

The meeting at the council went smoothly. Majority of Rhaenyra's council members did their job exceptionally well. Food was not scarce, problems were given solutions, and houses were given adequate attention in terms of their worries.

Whilst the Queen went on about the operations within the city, an occasional share of ideas from you and your mother, you could feel your husband's stare boring into you every time you look away to stare at Her Grace.

He figured that was not enough. His fingers brushing past your hand like a sin. So discreet, so subtle underneath the table as if you two did not consummate your marriage the night before.

You feel his hand creeping on yours again, this time you feel the warmth of it stay a little long before he withdraws it fast. "Jace? Aemond? How did the task go?"

Jace clears his throat, gesturing at Aemond who seemed to already have an answer to the Queen's question.

Aemond starts, "The task cannot be said as a success, your grace. It is clear from last night that more men must be employed in the field, not just Prince Jacaerys...nor Prince Aegon," he raises an eyebrow at your direction. Giving him back the same look before he clicks his tongue and turns back to Rhaenyra.

"I believe the perpetrator has someone inside of the Red Keep, as well as outside, where they hide their other men. They cannot hide this long if not for said allies." Aemond pulls off of the stone table and rests on the chair.

"What do you propose we do?"

This time, it's Aemond that gestures at Jace. "We need to set out more guards on patrol. Not just guards wearing their uniform but guards that are civilians. If these perpetrators do have men inside of King's Landing, we can only know if we live within King's Landing and see its every day operations without raising any suspicions."

People around the table nod, some even proposing additional ideas to it but Rhaenyra seemed to be well pleased with what her son and your brother suggested earlier.

"Your Grace, I fear this has not reached you yet but the mercenary that Prince Jacaerys and my granddaughter bought here is allegedly from the North."

Your head turns, "He's not."

All of the attention zones on you at the sudden interjection. "The man is from Essos. He has burns on his wrist to his arm. There's a group of people within Essos that have those."

"And how would you know that? You have not travelled to Essos nor have you seen this prisoner face-to-face," Otto says with another rather condescending tone. It was clear from the look on his face that he was undermining the information you're giving.

Your jaw clenches. Scoffing in disbelief at your grandfather's statement. "I would know that because I was the one attacked, as you should have known," you put your elbow on the table. "You do know that, right? Jacaerys was not the only one attacked—Hells, it was me that was attacked not him. I killed him."

"That is not something to be proud of," Alicent whispers from beside you.

"Let her be," says Aemond with a bored tone.

Otto does not say any more as an uncomfortable silence settles around the small council. Rhaenyra, sensing this unsettling atmosphere, clarifies the situation before her orders are officially given out.

Jace glances at you as a check up after the cross between you and your grandfather. He was nibbling on his lips as you two lock eyes once more.

"Am I the one speaking?" You question him rhetorically, rolling your eyes at him as you lean on your chair and listen to the politics between them one more.

The thought that you would soon be in a higher place than you are now—clearly not in Rhaenyra's place as the ruler of the iron throne—but still in a high position as the queen consort, having to listen through all of this talk and plans and politics, then plan treaties and feasts together with the other houses, it suffocated you.

Your husband knows that too but, he says no more.

Years of your life was spent within the four wall of your own room. Now, you stand outside of it as numerous servants usher in and out of it while holding different furniture.

You did not want to dwell on the thought of your own space being changed now that your mother's going to occupy your previous room before the marriage but, it stood right across the door from the library—a reason on why you loved your room as well—you cannot just ignore it.

With a deep sigh, you turn around, going inside of the library only to find it empty.

The gods may have hated you enough to take you away from the room you call home, but they do have some conscience to let you have the library all on your own.

Studying was never your forte, reading was. Folklores, history, stories of the maesters, you loved reading about them all.

"I figured you would be here," a voice speaks from the reading area. You were in between the bookshelves, looking for another book to read along with the five that you already have stacked on your hand. "No one loves the library as you do."

"I'm occupied, fortunately, you can go back to our chambers, my beloved husband," you huff, pulling out another book from the shelves before you head out to the open area for reading only to see Jace holding a stack of books himself.

You fake a gasp as you point at him, "I didn't know you can read."

He ignores your attempt to ridicule him and instead places his stacks of books beside yours. You raise an eyebrow at him and he already feels another joke coming up. "I knew you couldn't read! Do you want me to read them then summarize 'em for you, my dear husband?"

"I had this delivered from the Citadel's Library. I figured my beloved wife could use more books to read to...broaden her horizons." Jace crosses his arms, hip leaning on your table.

"I din't take bribery, Jace. What do you need?"

The prince's forehead creases in disbelief, "Are we not allowed to give gifts now?"

"You're awfully suspicious," you reply back fast, standing up from your seat and going back to the stacks of bookshelves.

Jace doesn't reply, instead, he watches you look for books again. He swears he could feel his life span decreasing each time you act like that—like how? He doesn't know as well. The poor man massages his temples as he grabs the book at the uppermost stack from those he bought before walking over to you.

"Your servants have told me that you have almost finished all of the books in the library so I sent a raven to ask for more books. You are free to read them as they are yours and I will make sure the books in our chambers are sorted out as well, if that's okay."

You tap your fingers over the spines of the books, Jace slipping the one he held in his hands at the end so you go past it as well.

"And why would you do all that, husband?" You ask, staring into his eyes as you stand in front of him.

Jace keeps his cool, clasping his hands together, "You said it yourself. I am your husband. It is my duty to keep you entertained."

"Oh but there's a lot of different ways to keep me entertained," you say with a sly smile, the rising ends of your lips making his breath hitch. His mouth falls open but no words leave it, his eyes, however, darken.

The prince replies back, "I'm sure I know a way or two to keep you entertained."

You grin, thinking he's not getting the signal and so you run a hand through his curly hair. "That hair suits you... but I think I know how your hair could look better."

"And how's that?"

"In between my thighs."

Jace scoffs, looking through the cracks behind the bookshelves go check if anyone sneaked in. When he sees no one, he does the first contact as he backs you slowly into the other side of the wall.

The two of you no farther than an inch away from each other as he places his hands on your sides with much care. Pressing his lips on yours before you feel the sides of your dress be bunched up by him.

You willfully open your mouth to him, letting him explore it with his tongue as you did his. Sucking on the wet muscle while you tangle your arms around his neck like a second nature. You could feel his lips stretching into a smile when he starts to pull away.

The dashing smile on his lips seemed to have put you under a spell as you nod eagerly when he nods first. Jace keeping his eyes on yours as he went on his knees in a hurry. He bunches up your skirt, your urgent hands grabbing a hold of said skirt so his hands would be free to—

"Jace!" You hiss, getting caught off-guard when he pushes himself in between your legs. Gripping your thighs tightly as you start to feel his hot breath right where you need him the most. Praise all of the gods for letting you wear a kirtle because it made everything all the more easier. Your legs nearly give out when you feel him lick a stripe up your slit. Mouth falling open in pure ecstasy. It's only been a day since he last touched you but it felt like a year. His mouth laps at you like a starved man. Nose poking at your bud which made everything much more pleasureful. Your hands naturally find solace in his hair, pulling and tugging on it until groans vibrate through your core. He nips at your cunt, the contact of his teeth to the sensitive bud making you yelp.  It doesn't take long for him to have you screaming quivering in his grasp. His name spilling out of your mouth like a prayer. You tasted so good, the prince feeling addicted to your taste as he can't even stop himself from fucking his tongue in and out of your hole.  "Seven hells, it feels so fucking good, Jacaerys," you mewl, shamelessly grinding your hips on his mouth. His curls scattered all over your hands as you slowly feel that release coming up.  He abruptly inserts two fingers inside as he pulls away, chin glistening with your release. You nearly come at the erotic look on his face. His lips crashes with yours again, silencing your moans while you taste yourself on his tongue. His fingers thrusting in and out of you in a quick motion.  "I'll make you feel so much better later, I just need to fuck you now," his voice is strained. Desperately untying his trousers. You were so caught up in your own pleasure that you didn't notice his shaft poking against his trousers so when he finally undoes them, you pull it down in one swift motion. The sight of his erect cock making your mouth water. Jace puts one of your legs up to his hips, whispering, "Jump," as you do so enthusiastically. Your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as both of your legs hook around his waist. You pull him into another hungry kiss, Jace navigating the two of you until he finds a counter. He pushes everything off of it and places you gently on it, the sounds of books and metal hardware falling onto the carpeted floor. He didn't care, nor did you.  "I need it so bad, Jace," you whimper, pulling away to look down your middle. The sight of your husband holding his cock as he runs it up and down your slit making you roll your eyes way back as your head falls back. You were biting your lips to try and stop more of your sounds from coming out.  He thrusts in one swift motion, the blunt head of his cock hitting the sweet spot of yours that he seems to have memorized already. The two of you moaning loudly in unison.  Jace wastes no time in fucking you. His pelvis snapping aggressively into yours as your legs desperately try to pull him closer. "I'm so close, Y/N," he grunts, putting more force into his thrusts as he chases after his own orgasm.  Your cunt clenches greedily on his cock. The sensation making Jace bite his lips to stop himself from spilling before you do. He drops a hand to your clit, instantly getting a reaction from you. Your back arching off of the table as you scream about the pleasure. One, two⎯a few more strokes to your spot and you almost⎯ "Can I have a word with my sister once you two are done?" You thought it was only your mind making up scenarios but it wasn't. Another knock sounding, "Oh, and keep it down. Halaena is trying to put Jaehaerys to sleep." 

[thebadboyfanclub]

Will You Teach Me? (Jacaerys x Reader)

Oh I’m on fire! Ok so I think I’m getting my groove back and I’m actually really proud of this one cause it’s been a while since I’ve written something that is so fluff and I hope you guys enjoy it too!

-

(Y/n) Starks name and legend were one that the starks would always bring up when it came to honor and loyalty, the first of their house to have the crown of the seven kingdoms placed on her head, she was two years older than her lord husband Jacaerys and excellent at the art of archery, “the kind she-wolf” was the name that the realm bestowed to her.

Princess (y/n) was the one that had urged Rhaenyra to protect Jacaerys claim, the greens might have been able to digest their defeat but like snakes (y/n) had guessed that they were just waiting for their turn, raising banners to come and swear to protect Jacaerys claim and promising her daughter to the Reach, her eldest son to the daughter of Baela Velaryon and her youngest son to the daughter of the lord of Arryn, ensuring that everyone else beneath them would follow.

The mutual respect and love Queen Rhaenyra shared with Lady Stark was well known in history, they were many witnesses on the morrow that (y/n) brought her second born child to present it to the queen and informed her that the couple has decided to name her Rhaenyra, with tears in her eyes the queen hugged her son and good daughter and thanked them for such a generous gift.

As Princess Rhaenyra was hastily made queen before her dearest father passed, he had commanded to let her take the throne so he could watch his firstborn rule better than he ever could, in reality, he feared what would happen if he passed, as much as he trusted Otto with certain affairs the matter of Rhaenyras realm was delicate and having a queen for the very first time had to be handled with utmost care.

The lady (y/n) had attended the coronation along with her brother Cregan, she had bowed before the new queen with a smile of admiration on her lips, Rhaenyra had seen the girl before, she was a little girl back then but she could recall how well she and Jacaerys had played in the garden, back then (y/n) was wearing a light pink dress that had gotten caught on some type of thorn and Jacaerys patiently worked around the fabric to free her.

“It is an honor to stand before you, my queen”

“You are very sweet, you have grown so much since we saw you last, you are already so beautiful”

“I am trying to catch up to our queen I suppose”

“I hope you remember my son, Prince Jacaerys”

“How could I forget?”

It was the first time that (y/n) broke eye contact and looked at the floor, her cheeks were already a tad rosy and after Jacaerys took a step towards her it grew closer to the color of a tomato. Jacaerys cleared his throat before he took the lady’s hand and placed a subtle kiss on her knuckles.

“My lady”

That was when Queen Rhaenyras's eyes met with Cregans and they both nodded in unison, any person with good vision could see what was happening here, the pair had grown into their comely selves and with brave heart, still, the jitters of the first heartbeat took them over like a storm.

“It is not often that we have the pleasure to have the guardians of the north in our court, may I suggest you stay for another morrow or two”

“I am afraid I must go back and tend to my duties, however, my sister can stay, if that is something that she wishes”

“Can I brother?”

“It is settled then, Jacaerys please escort the lady to all of our available chambers, let her have her pick”

“You are so generous my queen, I must thank you”

(Y/n) bowed again before mother and son, Jacaerys only turned his gaze to his mother and closed his eyes briefly, he mustn’t say anything else, a mother knows when her son is compelled by the eyes and the smile of a woman.

“Go now”

“Right away, my queen”

Jacaerys jested and instinctively took (y/n) 's hand to scurry away, as they walked away as fast as they could without causing trouble Cregan and Rhaenyra watched disappear to the crowd, Cregan adored his youngest sister and Rhaenyra held such undeniable love for her eldest son, the first fruit of her love with Ser Harwin.

“You promise to take care of her?”

“As she was my own, well technically she will be my good daughter, do you promise that she won’t murder my son in his sleep?”

“Unfortunately I cannot, one time she threw a rock at the back of my horse so I would be knocked off because she wanted it”

“Then she will make the perfect queen”

-

(Y/n) had been nervous to attend supper with the Targaryens, her betrothal with Prince Jacaerys had just been announced and so many decisions had to be made, she must be perfect so she can honor her house.

“It is such a blessed day, my grandson is to be married to the lady Stark, a wonderful match that will bond our houses for reigns to come, let us drink to love”

“You do know how the act is done right? Do not sweat I shall be there to watch it all happen I can even happily replace you if you cannot rise to the occasion”

“You can be as nasty to me as you wish,  but hold your tongue in front of my betrothed”

(Y/n) was thankful for the hushed lash back of Jacaerys, Prince Aegon thought himself to be clever with such remarks ever since she stepped foot at court, his gawking made her uncomfortable and now she found herself squeamish of such behavior.

(Y/n) turned her attention to Jacaerys and mouthed a thank you to which Jacaerys responded with a smile and reached for her hand for the gentlest of touches, as the morrows passed the couple was growing their bond little by little, learning new things about one another and spending hours talking about anything they could think about.

As the supper went on smoothly, laughter and chatter filled the room, Jacaerys had left (y/n) side for only a moment so he could entertain his niece Heleana, a timid girl who seemed to keep to her own, (y/n) did not mind, on the contrary, she watched as they messed around and danced, all she could see was how endearing her betrothed prince was.

“I would also like to raise a toast”

“Aemond” Alicent pleaded

“To the health of my nephew Jacaerys, may he grow old and wise in his wedlock, and to the lady of the hour, (y/n), it is not common for such beast as a wolf to have the honor to exist next to a dragon”

“You are vile”

“Why? ‘‘Twas only a compliment, I thought starts took pride in being loyal dogs to their master”

That was enough for Jacaerys to lash out like never before, landing a punch to the eyed prince's face and Aemond responding with a shove, everything else happened in a blink of an eye and Aegon had pushed Lucerys head on the table, (y/n) felt like this was the best time to finally have a go at him and with all her might shoved the silver head drunken fool off the poor boy, when he took a step to attack her (y/n) grabbed a knife that was laying on the table and pointed it at Aegon.

“Come on you low life, let us have it then”

“Wait! Wait”

Daemon was heard in close range, causing the ruckus to stop, (y/n) remained still, she did not trust Aegon enough to give up, a man of his…ways would probably not play fair enough for her to give up her weapon or turn her back on him.

“Go to your chambers, all of you”

Still, (y/n) waited. Aegon eyes were fixated on her with an evil grin, (y/n) held on to appear poised and courageous but her breath was ragged and uneven, she was almost shaking from the sudden rush of emotions, it was only when queen Rhaenyra stuck her hand out with the palm up towards the princess that (y/n) glanced away from him.

“(Y/n)”

Her tone was steady and warning, yet with a touch of softness to reassure her that (y/n) would be safe if she gave away her knife. (Y/n) exhaled deeply and let the knife rest on Rhaenyras hand, at that moment it was when she heard footsteps and turned just in time to watch Jacaerys walk out of the room.

“Go on”

Rhaenyra could read the concern on the lady's face like an open book, (y/n) cared for her son and that brought her comfort, she was ready to harm a prince to protect her good brother, and loyalty ran through her veins, a trait that many lacked.

(Y/n) curtsied swiftly and then shuffled away, as she went up the stairs one after the other she thought over what she shall do, mayhaps the prince wished for some time alone, but on the other side, the comfort one gets from a pair of arms wrapped around you is the remedy to most wounds.

For a few moments, the lady paced in front of his door like she was guarding it until a young chambermaid approached with a wooden bucket.

“My lady, are you alright?”

“Yes I am fine, what is that?”

“The prince has requested more hot water for his bath”

“Oh, give it to me”

“My lady, are you sure”

“Do not fret over it, you may go”

The young girl handed the bucket over and walked away, without thinking over it she knocked on the door a few times only to be met with a man this time.

“My lady, the prince is bathing”

“I am aware, you may go as well”

“My lady-“

“What is it Alfred?”

Jacaerys questioned from inside. (Y/n) did not allow herself to think over this, she stepped into the room and was met with Jacaerys sitting in a tub, his arms spread on the side and the water was so hot that steam came out of it.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat as she stood there, bucket in hand and her lips merely moved halfway up to show some type of an extremely awkward smile.

“Leave us”

Jacaerys simply said. (Y/n) found it quite interesting that when they talked to her they questioned her motives, but for Jacaerys it only took two words for them to literally disappear. As the door closed behind silence overtook them, (y/n) walked closer and leaned down very slightly so she could tilt the bucket over and let the water run without splashing.

“Thank you”

“The water might burn your skin off”

“It helps after sword practice, it is often that my legs ache”

“May I?”

She interrupted him whilst she showed him the sponge, insinuating if she was allowed to scrub him with it. Jacaerys nodded and (y/n) sat on her knees before she dunked the sponge in the soap and let it touch the prince's skin.

Jacaerys skin glistened under the candlelight, (y/n) was holding on to any decency she had to not drool over the prince, as the muscles on his chest seemed to be carved onto him the lady guessed what the rest of his body looked like, his arms also had the appearance like they were drawn to perfection, as the sponge was the only thing that kept her from gracing his skin she let her mind run off to the idea of what it would feel like when he would pull her close.

“Thank you, for defending me”

“You are to be my lady wife, I will always be there to defend you, my nephew had it coming, I should be the one thanking you for protecting my brother”

“As much as I do not wish to see Lucerys get hurt a part of my motive was that I have been praying for a time were I can put my hands on Aegon”

Jacaerys cackled at the little remark of hers, seeing her wash over his skin so gently and how her eyes sparkled was something he did not know he needed, as the lady rose and took a cup that was there she then let her hand touch the top of his forehead before she let the water run on his long hair.

“You are far more careful than the servants”

“I shall hope so, when the time comes I wish for us to not need them for such affairs”

“Is that your way of admitting you’ve been dreaming of seeing me in such a state?”

“No, no my prince, I would”

“You are quite the sight when you get flustered do you know that”

A devilish snicker escaped Jacaerys lips while (y/n) placed her hands on her hips in defense while she pouted, Jacaerys could watch her furrowed eyebrows with pursed lips all day, like a child that was denied cake.

“Ah my eye”

“That is what you get”

(Y/n) reported in triumph after she let the soapy water run over his eyes causing the sting that everyone hates, Jacaerys shook his head in defeat in the meantime he let his head hang back and relaxed his shoulders, as he recalled her childish demeanor he caught himself thinking about having a daughter, dark long hair and piercing eyes that would pout just like her mother, oh how whipped would he be for that little girl.

“If I’m being frank I always wondered what it would be like to run a brush over those locks”

“I like to braid my hair before I sleep, my mother used to say it helped with keeping it neat, she would always make one thick braid in the middle of my head”

“Seems simple enough, will you teach me?”

“Gladly”

Instinctively (y/n) bends down and lets a kiss in the middle of the princess's head. The second she did it her eyes went as wide as they could, her torso snapped straight back and her hand went up to her mouth to hide her gaping lips.

Jacaerys was also taken aback and had followed her on the small gasp of surprise but seeing her so shocked over such a simple matter made him giggle once again, her cheeks turning rosy as he continued to laugh, seeing her in such distress over such a small act was rather amusing.

(y/n) always strived to portray herself as strong and untouchable by anything, being able to view her acting so delicate and sweet made him feel special like he was being let in on this secret world of hers, it made Jacaerys wonder what else would he be able to discover as the years would progress.

“I apologize, I should go”

“No, what is the problem? It was only a kiss, I promise I won’t tell a soul, besides, I need help rinsing, dearest”

Jacaerys had held her by the hand to not let her walk away, as he finished his sentence it was his turn to show his affection by leaving a kiss on her knuckles, the lady bit her lip as she thought over what to do, alas the little voice in her head that pushed her to stay won and (y/n) walked back to her original spot to a prince that grinned from ear to ear.

Jacaerys enjoyed being pampered, as the firstborn son his duties knocked on his doorstep when he was far too young, he never complained though, he yearned to make his mother proud, but there was no harm in indulging in (y/n) 's soft touch.

“It might not be the right time though I was hoping we could discuss something”

“Anything you want”

“I know we have not declared when we shall be wed, however, I wanted to express my concern over a certain part of it”

“Do not worry about anything, no matter what it is it shall be yours”

“It is not a thing I desire, I am afraid it is more complicated”

“Then what is it?”

“I do not wish to have a bedding ceremony”

She blurted out, her movements came to a halt as Jacaerys closed eyes opened to meet hers, (y/n) had kneeled to his eye level so it was not hard for him to stare right out her, her expression showed a hint of fear and a pang of guilt struck him right in the middle of his chest.

“I should have known”

“A public one is what I do not want, my septa has informed me about my wifely duties so I will not resist the ceremony as a whole, I am more than willing to give you children it is just the fact that-“

“You mustn’t explain yourself, I had just completely forgotten about that part since I’ve thankfully never attended to one”

“I understand it is tradition, however, I thought since your mother is the queen and if she agrees we can overlook it”

“The ceremony won’t take place, at all if that makes you happy, I will not start our wedlock by letting everyone see us like that”

(Y/n)s frown quickly turned back to a beam of pleasure, her eyes shining with hope. (Y/n) dreaded the moment ever since she found out about it, to be naked in front of numerous people and let them see her lord husband- no, no, no just the idea made her shiver.

Jacaerys had been honest when he said that he had forgotten about it he could not have been more sincere, he had the arrogance of a man since a ceremony of that nature would not fall heavy on his shoulders as much as if he had been the lady, of course, it is not as nice as a walk on a warm day but being intimate with your lady wife was something sacred.

That time he reached for her hand again, their faces inches away from one another and all one could hear was their deep and shallow breaths along with a few drops of water as Jacaerys remained completely still, (y/n) saw his other hand that extended over to neatly tuck her hair behind her ear before his fingertips casually followed along the line of her chin, his touch was hot and damp though (y/n) felt it was perfect.

For the briefest of moments (y/n) dared to imagine what their future would be like, Jacaerys with grey hair and wrinkles around his eyes bouncing their grandchildren on his lap as they drank tea in the garden, one thing that she could not deny was that amid chaos and the burden of the crown, Jacaerys was her peace, the comfortable silence amongst mindless chatter.

“When I was younger I asked my mother when I have a wife, knowing my mother had lost her first husband, she told me that when I feel like my heart will come out of my throat and when I would be willing to get on my dragon to bring the stars to her”

“I do not-”

“I will bring you the moon if that is what you long for”

“I long for love, honor, and respect”

“Promise me you will never shy away from speaking your mind to me”

“Careful, my brother would advise you to take your words back”

“I quite enjoy your blabbering, your voice is like a song of angels”

Requests are open!

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Where Kings Land

Part 1

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

a.n: I finally get the hype about Jace. This right here is one fine man. the hair, the freckles, the big nose. ALL of it. this is part 1 of the miniseries for House of the Dragon, and it's my first time writing outside of the regular asoiaf series. Enjoy and please lmk what you think!!

Warnings: manipulation, not proofread, yelling, cursing? talk of beheading and treason.

Word Count: 4,900

masterlist link

summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

...

The heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, echoing through the granite corridors of Winterfell. Y/n Stark—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark—strode purposefully down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow. She yanked her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, warding off the perpetual chill that seeped through the ancient stones. The servants scurried out of her path, lowering their eyes as she passed. Y/n barely noticed them, her mind occupied with the litany of tasks that lay before her. The castle, a sprawling behemoth of grey stone and timber, was a living, breathing entity, and Y/n felt the weight of its responsibilities press down on her.

Cregan, her brother, was a warrior, a leader born to the battlefield. He thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the shouts of battle. The day-to-day running of Winterfell, the endless paperwork, the constant negotiations, the delicate dance of alliances and diplomacy… these fell upon his shoulders. He was a silent force, a steady hand guiding the ship through the turbulent seas of politics and power.

Reaching the grand hall, Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. Their conversations buzzed like a hive of bees, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She longed to be amongst them, to share in the joy of a feast, to ease the burden of her thoughts, but the weight of the impending winter hung heavy on her heart.

The biting wind whipped around Y/n's face as she ascended the final steps to the maester's tower. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and old magic, a familiar and comforting aroma despite its inherent chill. Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the piles of scrolls and tomes that littered the floor. Y/n's boots clicked against the stone floor, a sharp counterpoint to the rustle of the raven that perched on the window sill, its beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence. The bird was a harbinger of news, always, and today, its arrival had filled her with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You've got ravens in your hair,” the maester, Alyn, said with a dry chuckle, his voice raspy from years of whispering secrets into ancient texts. He was a frail figure, his fingers gnarled and stained with ink, his eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to encompass the entirety of the world. She brushed at her hair, dislodging a stray feather that had become entangled in its braids. 'They know I'm coming for them,' she said, her voice tight. 'They always seem to.'

Alyn nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. 'King's Landing sends more than its fair share of worries north,' he said, gesturing to the table in the centre of the room. It was an imposing piece, carved from ancient oak, the surface groaning under the weight of a mountain of sealed parchments. Y/n sighed, letting the weight of the responsibility settle upon her shoulders. Every one of those scrolls contained a new burden, a new demand, a new headache she would have to unravel. The North had always been harsh, a land of unforgiving winters and fiercer people.

'What's the news, maester?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alyn shuffled through the pile of scrolls, his gaze searching for a particular one. “They're now threatening us with dragon fire, my lady,” he stated solemnly, the chain around his neck clinking softly.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pile of letters that lay on the table before her. Her jaw clenched, her anger rising like a tide. “Burn them,” she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Burn all the letters. We will not answer, nor will we cower.”

Alyn's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Y/n's resolve only grew stronger. “Prince Jacaerys should be here any day. We will make good with the Blacks.”

Maester Alyn leaned back in his chair, studying her face. 'Are you certain, my lady? This is a dangerous game we play. The Green's dragons—"

“Are no more fearsome than the winter that forged us,” Y/n cut him off. She moved to the window, gazing out over the frost-covered courtyard. “My brother may be in the north of the Wall, but we will not be cowed by southern threats.”

Her words echoed through the frigid halls, carrying with them a resolute determination that belied her youth. “You are right, my lady,” he said at last.

Y/n turned to him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Maester Alyn. Please, have the letters burned. We must prepare for the prince's arrival. We’ll show him true Northern hospitality. And maester," she added, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, "make sure we have plenty of that strong northern ale. We'll need it for the toast when we pledge our support to Queen Rhaenyra."

Maester Alyn nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reached for the candle on his desk, ready to carry out her orders. "As you wish, my lady. there's one more," he said softly, holding out a sealed parchment. "It arrived separately... and it's addressed to you personally."

Y/n hesitated, then took the letter. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but something about it seemed different. More... personal. With a swift motion, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, and her face hardened.

"It's from Aegon," she said, her voice tight. She began to read aloud:

"My dearest y/n,

The silence between us cuts like shards of Valyrian steel, slicing through my soul. Do you remember the stolen moments in the godswood, under the watchful eyes of the old gods? The promises we made beneath the heart tree?I await your reply to our ravens with bated breath, much as I once awaited your stolen glances across the great hall.

But make no mistake, my white wolf. Your beauty will not shield the North from my wrath should you choose wrongly. Aemond grows impatient and Vhagar hungers for blood. With one word, we could reduce Winterfell to nothing but ash and bone.

Remember this, my sweetling: fire destroys ice. And dragons do not forgive.

Choose wisely. Choose me.

Yours in fire and blood, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"

y/n’s hand shook as she finished reading, her knuckles white where she gripped the parchment. The maester watched her, concern etched on his weathered face.

"My lady," he began cautiously, "what—"

"Burn it," Y/n interrupted, her voice cold as the Wall itself. "Burn it with the rest." She tossed the letter onto the pile, her eyes blazing with a fury to match any dragon's flame.

…

Amidst the icy grip of the winter, the last traces of sunlight had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when a thunderous beating of dragon wings shattered the bleak silence. Y/n stood in Winterfell's snowy courtyard, her chilled breath leaving clouds in the frigid air as she looked up to witness the dark shape descending from the sky.

With ethereal grace surprising for its size, the dragon landed with a resounding thud and steam rising from its scales as they met the frosty ground. As its rider dismounted, y/n found herself frozen in place, her carefully prepared greeting dying on her lips.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon strode towards her, his Valyrian features softened by Stark coloring. Dark curls framed his face, windswept from the flight. But it was his eyes that caught y/n off guard - soft and kind, yet holding a depth that spoke of burdens she had yet to find out.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Y/n's heart raced as she stood before the prince, a stranger yet somehow familiar. She couldn't explain the sudden pull she felt towards him, as if they shared a connection beyond words. But at the same time, fear and doubt crept in, questioning if this was all just a dream or a cruel trick of fate.

Jacaerys approached, his movements as graceful as the dragon he rode. His brow furrowed slightly at her silence. He glanced around, perhaps wondering if he'd made some misstep. Finally, he bowed low, breaking the spell. "Lady Stark," he said, his voice a low, warm timbre that sent a shiver down her spine. " I am honored to meet you. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Y/n blinked, suddenly aware of the eyes of the entire courtyard upon them. She straightened, pulling her mask of cool composure back into place. "Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Winterfell welcomes you. Please, come inside where it's warm. We have much to discuss."

As she turned to lead him into the castle, Y/n caught the prince studying her with curiosity. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of her own. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The fate of the North hung in the balance.

Yet as they walked, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of his presence just behind her, like the warmth of a flame at her back in the cold northern night.

…

The Brown Room lived up to its name, with rich walnut paneling and fur-draped chairs that spoke of comfort in the face of long northern nights. Y/N led Jacaerys inside, the scent of beeswax candles and old parchment greeting them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered table where ledgers and letters vied for space.

Y/N gestured to a high-backed chair. "Please, sit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached for a decanter, the crystal cool against her fingers. "Would you care for some wine, my Lord? It's a Dornish red – my favorite one."

Jacaerys settled into the chair, his eyes roaming the room before settling on Y/N. "Thank you, my lady. And please, call me Jace."

As she poured, a drop of wine escaped, staining the cuff of her sleeve crimson. Y/N barely noticed, too aware of Jace's proximity, the warmth radiating from him in the cool room.

"What did you wish to discuss, my lady?" Jace broached softly, accepting the goblet with a nod of thanks.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Y/N's heavy fur cloak, a necessity in Winterfell's drafty halls, now seemed unbearable. She shed it, draping it over the tall oak chair behind her. The firelight caught the silver direwolf clasp as it settled.

"Our support," Y/N replied, forcing herself to meet Jace's gaze. His eyes, she noticed, were flecked with gold in the candlelight. She swallowed hard and continued, "We have two thousand men. Strong northern fighters. We call them Winter Wolves."

Jace leaned forward, interest piqued. "Winter Wolves? An apt name, I'd wager."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "Indeed. They're as fierce as their namesake and twice as loyal." She moved to the table, rifling through the papers until she found a particular map. As she spread it out, the familiar scent of ink and parchment helped ground her.

"Here," she pointed, "is where we've gathered them. They await only my brother's word - or mine, in his absence."

Jace stood, moving to study the map. His arm brushed Y/N's as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of leather and something else - perhaps the lingering scent of dragon scales. Jacaerys studied the map closely, tracing his fingers over the different markings and symbols. He was impressed by the precision and detail of the Winter Wolves' gathering points.

"Your brother must be a formidable leader to have gathered such a force in such a short time," Jace remarked, straightening up and turning to face Y/N.

"Yes, he is," Y/N said with pride.

"This is... more than we dared hope for," Jace admitted, his voice low and warm.

Outside, a wolf howled in the distance, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Y/N's inner turmoil. She squared her shoulders, pushing away the unwelcome feelings. Jace's brow furrowed as he studied Y/N's face. "My lady, are you well? You seem... flushed."

Y/N startled, realizing she'd been staring. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, painfully aware of the dampness at her temples. "I'm fine, my- Jace," she corrected herself. "I was... under the weather a few days ago. Nothing serious."

Jace's eyes softened with concern. Jace's hand hovers near Y/N's elbow, his fingers poised as if ready to reach out and catch her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she can sense the electricity between them, even though he's not quite touching her. "Perhaps you should sit. We needn't discuss everything tonight."

The gentleness in his voice made Y/N's heart flutter. She sank into a nearby chair, Jace following suit. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention. His eyes were pools of liquid silver, soft and caring as they searched Y/N's face.

"Tell me," he said softly, "how are you truly faring? It can't be easy, managing the North in your brother's absence."

Y/N's carefully constructed walls began to crumble under his earnest gaze. "It's... challenging," she admitted. "Especially with the constant stream of demands from King's Landing."

Jace's expression darkened. "Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of Aegon's... correspondence."

Y/N couldn't hide the flash of frustration that crossed her face. "Correspondence," she scoffed. "Threats, more like. Your cousin seems to think he can bully the North into submission."

"My cousin," Jace said, his voice low and intense, "forgets that winter roses have thorns." He reached out, this time taking Y/N's hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "You needn't face this alone, my lady."

Y/N found herself lost in his eyes, warm and sincere. "I... thank you, Jace," she murmured.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Jace glanced at the flames, then back to Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "You know, where I come from, they say the dragonfires pale in comparison to the warmth of a northern welcome."

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. "Is that so? And how does our hospitality measure up?"

Jace's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch feather-light. "Oh, it exceeds all expectations, my lady. Though I must confess, I find myself most warmed by present company."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but for once, she didn't mind the heat. A small smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she gazed into his captivating eyes. "You're quite the charmer, Prince Jacaerys."

"Only when properly inspired," is all he replied.

…

The pale light of dawn crept over Winterfell's stone walls, casting long shadows across the frosted courtyard. Y/N stood in the stables, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Her fingers, slightly numb from the cold, worked methodically on the leather straps of her horse's saddle. The familiar motions were soothing - tighten, adjust, check, repeat. The rich scent of hay and horse sweat mingled with the earthy aroma of leather oil.

As she worked, Y/N caught herself glancing repeatedly towards the castle, anticipation building in her chest.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart quicken. Jace appeared in the stable doorway, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He stifled a yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Y/N noticed the slight disarray of his dark curls and felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them.

"My lady," Jace greeted, his voice husky with sleep. He cleared his throat, offering a sheepish smile. "You're up early."

Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "The North waits for no one, Your Grace," she replied, handing him a set of reins. Their fingers brushed, and Y/N pretended not to notice the warmth that spread from the point of contact. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

As they set out, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone gave way to the muffled thud of earth. The misty woods enveloped them, tendrils of fog curling around the horses' legs. Droplets of dew clung to Y/N's eyelashes, refracting the weak sunlight into tiny prisms.

Y/N led the way, her posture relaxed and confident in the saddle. She navigated the invisible path with ease, ducking low-hanging branches and steering around hidden roots. Behind her, she could hear Jace's horse snorting softly, its rider muttering gentle reassurances.

"I can hardly see the path," Jace called out, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Y/N twisted in her saddle, catching Jace's eye with a mischievous glint in her own. "That's because there isn't one," she replied, allowing a rare, playful smile to cross her features.

The forest was a symphony of morning sounds. Birds trilled their dawn chorus, their songs echoing through the mist-shrouded trees. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, sending leaves skittering across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whiff of wild mint when Y/N's horse trampled a hidden patch.

Hours seemed to pass as they wound their way through the increasingly dense forest. Y/N found herself hyper-aware of Jace's presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her back, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder more often than necessary.

Finally, they came upon a rocky outcropping. Y/N dismounted with practiced grace, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She patted her horse's flank, murmuring soft words of thanks. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jace dismount, noting the slight stiffness in his movements after the long ride.

Jace stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. His brow furrowed as he surveyed their surroundings. "My lady," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I hate to question your expertise, but this looks suspiciously like a dead end."

Y/N's laugh echoed off the rocks, startling a nearby bird into flight. "Patience, Your Grace," she said, her eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "The best treasures are often hidden."

She reached out, taking Jace's hand in hers. His palm was warm against her cool fingers, and she felt a flutter in her stomach at the contact. Pushing the feeling aside, she led him towards what appeared to be a solid rock face.

As they drew closer, a narrow opening revealed itself, barely visible unless one knew exactly where to look. Y/N squeezed through first, tugging Jace along behind her. The passage was tight, the rough stone scraping against their shoulders. Cool, damp air enveloped them, carrying the faint mineral scent of underground water.

Jace's breath was warm on the back of Y/N's neck as they inched forward in the dim light. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the way his chest occasionally brushed against her back in the narrow confines.

Suddenly, the passage opened up. Y/N stepped aside, allowing Jace to fully enter the cavern. She watched his face intently, savoring the moment his eyes widened in awe.

Sunlight streamed through an opening high above, illuminating a spectacular waterfall. The water, tinted an ethereal light blue by minerals in the rock, cascaded down in a thunderous rush before crashing into a pool below. Mist rose from the impact, creating tiny rainbows where the light hit just right.

"By the gods," Jace breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the falls. He turned to Y/N, wonder written across his features. "It's incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his reaction. "Welcome to my secret place," she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. "Not even Cregan knows about this."

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice low and sincere.

They settled on a smooth rock near the pool's edge, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The mist from the falls cooled their skin, a welcome relief after the long ride. Y/N pulled out a small bundle from her saddlebag - bread, cheese, and a flask of sweet northern ale.

The conversation lulled, replaced by the constant rush of the waterfall. Y/N traced patterns in the damp sand with a stick, her eyes distant. Jace watched her, noting the slight furrow in her brow.

"A copper for your thoughts, my lady?" he asked softly.

Y/N looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking about duties," she said. "They never seem to end, do they?"

Jace nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The burden of our birthrights," he agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be free of them."

"Free," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the mist between them. She sighed, tossing the stick into the pool. "Cregan writes often of my duties. He's pressuring me more and more to find a husband."

Jace's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I... I apologize if I'm intruding, but may I ask why you haven't? Surely you've had no shortage of suitors."

Y/N met his gaze, finding unexpected comfort in the warmth she saw there. "Because I want love," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want a simple life, filled with moments like this." She gestured to the cavern around them. "But how can I promise forever to someone when tomorrow is so uncertain? How can I build a life amidst a war?"

Jace was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Love in wartime," he mused. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps... perhaps it's the very thing that makes the fight worthwhile."

Y/N felt her heart quicken at his words. "And what of you, Prince Jacaerys? What does your heart seek in these troubled times?"

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I seek a partner," he said quietly. "Someone to stand beside me, not behind me. Someone who understands duty but hasn't lost sight of dreams." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Someone who knows the value of secret waterfalls and stolen moments."

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility. Y/N felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame, but held herself back. This was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"It seems we both seek something rare and precious," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jace nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps the gods will be kind," he murmured.

…

The iron-bound gates of Winterfell groaned open, admitting Y/N and Jace as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of approaching frost. Their horses' hooves clattered against the worn cobblestones, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls.

As they dismounted, Y/N felt the day's exertion in her muscles, a pleasant ache that spoke of adventure and freedom. She caught Jace's eye, noticing how the fading light caught the silver threads in his jerkin, making them shimmer like starlight.

"Jace," she began, her voice low and tinged with an emotion she dared not name, "today was—"

"Lady Y/N! Lady Y/N!" The frantic shout shattered the moment like a stone through ice.

Y/N's transformation was instantaneous and mesmerizing. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting as if an invisible crown had settled upon her brow. The softness in her eyes hardened to flint, sharp enough to cut.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice crisp as a midwinter morning.

The guard skidded to a halt before them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My lady, there's been... an incident. You're needed urgently."

Y/N nodded curtly. "Lead on," she commanded, then turned to Jace. "Your Grace, I must attend to this. Perhaps we could speak later..."

Jace stepped forward, close enough that Y/N could smell the leather of his riding gloves and a hint of something spicy—cloves, perhaps. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to accompany you.”

Y/N hesitated, then inclined her head in agreement. They followed the guard, their footsteps echoing through Winterfell's torch-lit corridors. The warmth of the castle was a stark contrast to the chill outside, yet Y/N felt a different kind of coldness settling in her bones.

They entered a small, dim room that reeked of fear and desperation. A man knelt on the floor, the rattle of his chains a counterpoint to his broken sobs. In the flickering torchlight, his tear-stained face looked ghastly, almost skull-like.

"What has he done?" Y/N's voice cut through the room like a blade.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. Y/N's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, her words sharp and filled with accusation. The man shrunk back in his seat, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately tried to defend himself.

"My lady," he stammered, "I beg you... I was only going to King's Landing, to pledge myself to King Aegon, my children. Is that such a crime?" His voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking as he awaited her judgement.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, seeking any sign of deceit or treachery. Observation seemed to be her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with expert precision. Y/N's lips thinned. "If you wished to leave, you could have done so freely. We do not hold men against their will in the North. Or have you forgotten our ways so quickly?"

The guard cleared his throat, the sound like gravel underfoot. "There's more, my lady. He attempted to steal half the winter rations and one of our best horses. Caught him in the act, we did."

The man's sobs crescendoed. "You can't behead an innocent man!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "You and Lord Cregan, you'll be the death of House Stark! The North will remember this betrayal!"

Y/N stood motionless, but Jace saw the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremor in her clenched fists. The room fell silent save for the man's ragged breathing and the soft hiss of the torches.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. Jace watched as Y/N stood motionless, her face a mask of stoic determination, but he could see the anger burning in her gaze.

"Send him to the Wall," Jace suggested, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Y/N's chest. "It's a harsh sentence, yes, but one that allows him to redeem himself in service to the realm."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Or I could let him go," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then, what message would that send? That theft and betrayal go unpunished in the North?"

"Take his fingers, my lady," the guard interjected. "It's an old punishment, aye, but effective. He'd bear the mark of his crime, but keep his life and limbs... most of them, at least."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and in that moment, Jace saw the weight of the North resting on her shoulders. When she opened them again, they gleamed with resolve.

"You've given me much to consider," she said, her voice steady as the foundations of Winterfell itself. "I'll not make this decision in haste. Guard, take him to the cells. See that he's fed and given water. I'll pass judgment when the sun rises."

As the guard led the prisoner away, his pleas fading down the corridor, Y/N turned to Jace. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the weariness in her eyes.

Jace moved towards Y/N, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, a welcome warmth against the coldness that had nestled in her chest. He spoke gently, never breaking eye contact with her. "You carry your burden with grace, my lady," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing.

Y/N held his gaze for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his words. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She took a step back, "Grace," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grace is a luxury, Your Grace. In the North, we survive on harsher virtues."

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a wintry gleam. The soft curves of her face seemed to harden, as if the very stone of Winterfell was seeping into her bones. With those words, Y/N turned away, her cloak swirling around her like a shroud. As she walked deeper into the shadows of Winterfell's halls, Jace was left with the unsettling feeling that he'd glimpsed not just the Lady of Winterfell, but a portent of the harsh days to come.

The torches guttered in a sudden draft, and for a moment, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the light returned, Y/N was gone, leaving behind only the echo of her words and the lingering chill of premonition.

...

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under the weirwood

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

summary: requested by anon: "rhaenyra trying to talk jace into approaching reader:-(shes just so supportive mshdhshs"

notes: y'all when i tell you this made me BLUSH! he's actually adorable i might be perhaps in love no warnings! just fluff

jacaerys velaryon was a learned boy of eight-and-ten, prince of dragonstone and heir to the iron throne of westeros – yet he was completely tongue tied anytime you were near.

you first met the prince when he came to winterfell to visit your brother – lord cregan stark. he arrived on dragonback, sending up plumes of snow when he landed. assembled with the other lords and ladies of the keep, you retreated further into your fine furs. winter had come, and it was a cold one.

“my prince,” lord cregan announced, welcoming jacaerys as he entered the gates, now on foot, “the north welcomes you.”

“i’m pleased to make your acquaintance, lord cregan,” jacaerys smiled, warm and open, “many thanks to your house for such a welcome.”

cregan nodded, then gestured to you, “my younger sister.”

you dutifully stepped forward, curtsied, and introduced yourself, “welcome, your grace. i have heard many tales of your bravery.”

was the prince… blushing?

he seemed to stutter for a moment before he nodded stiffly, “my lady.”

for a feast held in his honor, the prince did not seem to be enjoying it much.

you, however, were in your element. the north was a large place, so cold and empty that you rarely had guests. to have so many of the great houses together? you were delighted. 

from the moment the dancing started, you didn’t leave the floor. you accepted every man who offered his hand, twirling and spinning and giggling with the other ladies until you practically fell over.

when you returned to your seat beside your brother's, you were flushed and panting. he was off somewhere you did not know, so only an empty chair sat between you and prince jacaerys.

“you do not dance, your grace?” you questioned, pouring yourself a cup of wine.

“i confess it is not my forte,” he looked away with a laugh, “and please, call me jace.”

you took a sip of the deep red liquid, “only if you will grant me a dance. jace.”

you held out a hand, and grinned when he took it. he took the lead from there, leading you out onto the center of the floor. the light grey fabric of your skirts swirled around his dark leather, the silver embroidery shining in candlelight.

“i don’t wish to imply you are a liar,” you began, spinning away from him, then back in, “but you are quite the dancer, my – jace.”

he just chuckled, ducking his head, “you are far outshining me, my lady.”

the next day, jacaerys brought news at breakfast, “my lady mother will be joining us tomorrow. she will only stay for a short while, but wishes to make your acquaintance, lord cregan.”

“how delightful,” you smiled, “to think, brother – the queen, here!”

“yes, yes,” he huffed, then looked at the prince, “we would of course be delighted to host queen rhaenyra.”

“will she be arriving on syrax, jacaerys?” you inquired, and when he nodded, you grinned even wider, “i never dreamed i would see a dragon in this lifetime, but to have two right here at winterfell!”

“would… would you like to go see vermax, my lady?” the prince proposed.

“oh, brother, please,” you sighed, “may i?”

cregan only waved his hand and continued eating.

within half an hour, you and jacaerys were standing in front of the dragon. he was sleeping when you arrived, but a huge golden eye opened as he sensed your approach.

you froze as he examined you, but jacaerys held his arm steady at your back, “it’s alright, my lady. he’s – he won’t hurt you. he’s a gentle creature.”

you were so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him when vermax fully awoke, raising his head up.

you stumbled back, but jacaerys put himself in between you and the dragon, “umbas, vermax.”

he helped you move closer, and whispered, “lykiri. this is lady stark, vermax.”

the dragon huffed, almost like a petulant child, but when jace moved your hand to his snout, he didn’t object.

you laughed in amazement, “what did you say to him?”

“it’s high valyrian – umbas means ‘stay’, and lykiri means ‘calm’.”

“lykiri,” you whispered, running the tips of your fingers across his smooth scales, “how do you say hello?”

he smiled, reaching out to stroke the dragon, “rytsas.”

“rytsas, vermax,” the word was unfamiliar on your tongue, but vermax lowered his head. still awake, but clearly relaxed, “he’s beautiful.”

“he is,” jacaerys agreed, but he was watching you.

queen rhaenyra, true to her word, arrived the next day. once again, you bundled up in your finest furs to await her arrival. syrax’s entrance was grand, yellow scales glinting in the sunlight as the queen landed her. she was enormous, bigger than vermax, but seemed docile.

as your brother introduced you, she eyed you carefully. but, you held your head high, smiled brightly and curtsied as low as you could.

“the young lady stark is quite beautiful,” rhaenrya stated to her son, “have you had much chance to become acquainted?”

she was resting on a chair by the fireplace in her quarters, warming herself after the freezing ride to winterfell.

“a bit. i took her to meet vermax,” he sighed, leaning on the mantle, “i confess – i can scarcely speak to her. everytime i do, i make a fool of myself. i’m the prince of dragonstone, and i start stuttering like a child”

“oh my darling,” she smiled knowingly, “you have affections for her?”

he knew before he answered. everytime you smiled at him, it was like dragonfire warming his insides. your touch sent sparks down his arms, the way you moved when you danced entranced him. even vermax seemed to like you.

so, he nodded, blushing creeping up his neck.

“you must tell her then,” rhaenyra decided, leaning back in the chair, “you are the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, but i will give you leave to pursue your own choice in wife. and the lady stark would not be an unwelcome match.”

“what?” he furrowed his eyebrows.

rhaenyra sighed, “jace. if you like her, you must make your affections known. if you wish to marry her – you have my blessing. though i cannot speak for cregan stark, i believe it would be an excellent match.”

after begging his leave from his mother, jace nearly sprinted to your quarters. when he arrived, he found only a servant who informed him you were in the godswood. by the time he found his way through the labyrinth of trees, he was panting and sweating despite the cold.

you heard footsteps and looked up from the tome you were reading by the weirdwood in the center, “my – jace?” you stood as he approached you, “are you alright?”

he could scarcely breathe as he took your hands in his, “can i kiss you, my lady?”

you froze, mouth agape, searching his face. you tried to say yes, yes, please, but no sound would leave your throat. all you could do was nod and his lips were on yours. his hands moved to cup your face so tenderly, while yours curled in the fabric of his tunic. it was breathless and sweet and over all too soon.

jace was nearly gasping by the time he let you go, “i – my apologies. i ran here.” his hands moved to hold your waist.

“wh–,” you laughed, cupping his cheek, feeling the hard line of his jaw, “why did you do that?”

“i wanted to ask you to marry me,” he let out a nervous breath.

you froze once again. a pause.

“you don’t jest?” you whispered.

he shook his head vehemently, “no, no, never. i confess i have made a fool of myself time and again, but you – you are everything wonderful in this world. you are bold and tender and i completely adore you. please,” he breathed, “please, marry me.”

“yes,” you murmured, moving closer until your foreheads touched, “a thousandfold, yes.”

when his lips met yours again, you could feel him smile against them.

[house-strong]

— LOVE, PARENTS, and truths ʾ ⋆

summary ; requested by anon.

“can u do one where the reader is married to jace and they are having their 2nd or 3rd child and Alicent disapproves as he is a bastard?”

pairing ; husband!jacaerys velaryon x pregnant!hightower!reader

notes ; i had the lovely idea of making this a family argument so this is a vent post with happy ending!! also he looks so happy and handsome here?? dunno if the word ‘auntie’ exists in got dialect but it does now!

“i want to go back to court.”

the statement draws the attention from prince jacaerys, his brows furrowing as he lifts his head to look at you. he opens his mouth surely to protest, but he closes it and straightens his back instead. his study’s across the painted table are abandoned, and instead, he crosses the room to be by your side.

your eldest boy, with hair as black as night and soft curls twisting the ends, he looks up at his father and babbles something incoherently. your hand immediately go to your sons’ hair, ruffling it gently.

“i thought you said that you never wanted to go back to court?” he asks.

you look down at the small loom in your hand, already beginning to fiddle with the spools of cloth that hung from it. you avoided his eye contact and focused on your stitching instead. you knew jacaerys had no like for your family; your cousins, ever the charmers, decidedly always sneered at jacaerys and lucerys and your aunt always seemed vexed at the presence of princess rhaenyra’s family. you never understood the rivalry that begun for the targaryen children of the late king viserys. you were lucky enough to be sired from alicent’s brother and thus out of range for their spewing hatred.

somehow, love had blossomed between you and jacaerys with your time at court. you had defended him whenever your cousins came around and oftentimes you embarrassed aegon and aemond as a result. jacaerys found warmth within you, the kind that made him feel safe and wanted; a warmth that burned within a castle and kept it warm despite the outside cold, and he liked it. he wanted to call you home one day, so thus began his attempted courtship.

with your father outside of court and entrusting you to his sister, queen alicent, she was oftentimes the spoke-person for your hand. you were grateful she didn’t marry you off to just anyone, but she gave jacaerys more trouble than she should have. when jacaerys had asked for your hand, she didn’t tell you that she had ushered him away and told him you were promised to another. that was a lie, of course. when he came to your room, begging an audience and the truth, you decidedly ran from court with him.

his mother, rhaenyra, wasn’t happy about how upset the court was going to be, but she allowed you and jacaerys to hide behind her wings.

that was almost four years ago.

“my aunt wants to see our children,” you say after a moment of thought. jacaerys’ eyes widen for a moment and he kneels down to play with his son as the silence settles between you. “she sent a letter not too long ago, pleading for me to return to court with them.”

he inhales deeply, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“no, but she is my family, jacaerys.” your hold tightens on the loom, enough to turn your knuckles white. your father had caught wind of the elopement between you and jacaerys. he came to dragonstone himself, wished you the best, and said no ill will. you were glad your father was more understanding. “i can’t keep my family away from her forever.”

jacaerys wants to remind you of the obscenities that he endured while he resided at the red keep when he was barely a teenager. he wanted to tell you how vile your cousins were and how unwanted he felt in the presence of your aunt’s side of the family. as he returned his gaze upon yours, the look of hope and bargaining was evident in them. he gnaws on the inside of his cheek, absentmindedly fiddling with his sons toy.

“i’ll make the preparations then.”

in two days by sea and carriage, you, jacaerys, your son and daughter, had arrived at the red keep of kings landing. your welcome was more than what you thought it would’ve been, a small procession of lords and lady’s sworn to house hightower had welcomed your arrival. though, their obliviousness to the prince jacaerys was awfully obvious. you had to introduce him yourself, which instilled a deep annoyance for the velaryon prince who, due to his station, was used to being formally greeted.

it was also hard to miss the fixed gaze queen alicent had on your children.

the welcome party had moved to inside the castle and soon, you and your children were in queen alicent’s private room. she was playing with your daughter and wearing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“your children are adorable,” your aunt says, setting your daughter down on the floor where she began to babble to her brother. “they are spitting images of,” she pauses, almost as if to swallow her pride and the bile in her throat, “your husband.”

your jaw becomes set as you relax your back against the cushion of the chair, “beautiful, aren’t they?”

alicent is hesitant to respond, but she nods her head and mutters a spiteful yes. there’s a silence that falls over both of you, one that you almost grow comfortable in. however, alicent mumbles something under her breath.

“hm?” you respond, your gaze moving from the spot where your children played to where the queen sat on the opposite side of the room. she has a grimace on her face, one that only softens once she locks eyes with you.

she shuffles to the edge of her couch, her hands gathered in her lap, “they’re bastards, dear (y/n).”

the sentence alone is enough to make your blood boil. you feel your body begin to flush with warmth and the tips of your ears grow hot. you bite your lip and attempt to stay unbothered. maybe you should’ve listened to jacaerys’ attempts to stay on dragonstone.

“why does my husbands parentage vex you so much?” you ask. alicent hesitates and avoids your gaze as if there was some unspoken and undying hatred that would’ve been revealed in her gaze. she frowns, playing with the skirt of her dress. “i asked you a question, auntie.”

alicent attempts to ease the tension by reaching for your hand across the small, glass coffee table, but you pull your hand away.

“he’s a bastard with no royal claim, you’ve condemned both you and your kids to a life of regret,” she pauses for a moment, but you don’t hear the next words that come out of her mouth. you assume it was some fretful sentence where she claims she’ll help you.

you shake your head and scoff audibly, “his mother is the princess rhaenyra. he came out of her womb and he bears royal blood through her.”

“but, my dear–” she attempts to reach out for you again, but you swat away her hand.

“but nothing, aunt alicent.” you spit towards her. your teeth gnash together and you’re sure you’re going to get a toothache later. you stand up, shaking your head in disbelief. “jacaerys advised me not to come here–he told me that this is what you would say.”

you laugh, tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill over, “i thought you would have set this petty rivalry aside and be happy for me–happy for anyone else for once, but your selfish disdain for the feelings of everyone else makes me realize what you truly.”

the words that come out of your mouth are hurtful, yet alicent understands. your feet carry yourself to where your children sat and carefully and slowly, you pick up your daughter. you blink through tears that have blurred your vision and your brows furrow.

“goodbye, alicent.” her name spills like venom off your tongue. the once sentimental name now felt foreign and distasteful.

you reach down for your sons hand and usher him to his feet, practically pulling him as gently as you could to the door. the door is opened for you and you exit, making a beeline for your own assigned, personal quarters. the multiple stares you receive as a result of trampling through the corridors with a cloud of despair following did nothing to help the ache in your heart.

when you enter your quarters, jacaerys looks up with a smile on his face, but it quickly disappears when he notices the tears that have slipped down your face. he moves to you, sliding off the bed with ease and taking your daughter from you. he cups your face with his other hand before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“it’s alright, my sweet love. what happened?” his voice is warm and genuine, full of everlasting concern. you can feel his chest vibrate with the baritone and it does it’s best to soothe your discontent.

you steady your breathing before pulling away to look at your husband, “you were right.” his chest cavity once again moves with a tremor as he hums in acknowledgment. he knows what you’re alluding to; the topic of conversation he had warned you about. some part of you felt stupid for believing you could get around that.

you notice that his jaw has becomes set with prominence and his eyes were fueled by a fire you couldn’t name. you gently stroke his clothed bicep as if settling an animal.

“it doesn’t matter what they think,” he begins, though his voice is thinly laced with annoyance. all these years and they still bring up his bastard parentage. “what matters is me to you, and you to me.”

his sentence seems to be for more himself than you, but it works wonders to dull the hurt in your rib cage. you muster a fond smile at him, raising a hand to stroke his cheek and fiddle the small mullet at the back of his head. he leans into your touch, grasping your wrist gently with his own hand before placing the ghost of a kiss on its skin. the toddler in his other arm babbles quietly, reaching out to grab your hair.

you both laugh and you give her cheek a kiss.

“it’s just me and you.”

[softspiderling]

can i go (where you go?) | j.v

summary:

“Hey, it’s me.”

After a short beat, you opened the door to look at him, your hair wet around your shoulders, water droplets wetting his shirt you were wearing. Despite the early morning hours, Jace felt a some rush of excitement running through him seeing you standing in his shirt in his bathroom.

“You good?”

“I think I just met your brother,” you said lightly, your cheeks pink.

OR; 5 times Jace’s family meets you (and the one time you meet them)

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: just incredibly tooth rotting fluff. i’m actually in love with them. in this modern universe, Alicent is married to Rhaenyra’s younger brother Baelon, Rhaenys and Viserys aren’t related, and Addam and Alyn aren’t Corlys’ sons. I think I solved the inbreeding, lol. Also, Harwin and Rhaenyra are happily married <3 (there will probably be more fics in this universe🤭)

word count: 7,2k (HOW)

author’s note: everyone knows i love a good 5 + 1 fic. this was born out of @eldrith and me just coming up with modern au headcanons and modern!jace consuming my thoughts at work. happy happy reading, I hope you're obsessed! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I Luke

“Jace… Hey, Jace.”

Jace let out a groan, burowing deeper into the cushions, hoping to drown out the voice.

“Jace!”

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him violently and Jace groaned, his eyes fluttering open just to see his brother peer down at him, his damp hair plastered against his forehead. Jace knew it was entirely too early for him to be awake with the way his body still felt too heavy. He glared at Luke, his annoyance clear as day.

“Luke, what the fuck.”

“Hey, I’ve just come from the gym, the showers in my dorm were blocked off because a pipe burst, can I shower here?”

Jace whined, turning his head to face the pillow, hoping it would smother him. Anything to be unconscious again.

“Couldn’t you just have showered at the gym?”

“I have a class at 10,” Luke replied, as if that answered the question.

It didn’t.

Jace didnt react, hoping that Luke would just leave if he feigned falling back asleep, but Luke grabbed him by the shoulders again.

“Jace.”

“Oh my god, just go use the shower, you’re here already!”

“Thanks, you’re the best!”

The mattress dipped again and footsteps receded before Jace was finally alone again, falling back into a slumber.

Wait, had he been alone?

He could distinctly remember you coming home with him the night before but the bed was empty when Jace reached his hand out looking for you. You must have snuck out in the early hours of the day. Jace would definitely confront you about that as soon as he was awake enough to do it.

Just as he was about to drift back to dream land, a high pitched squeal woke him right up, and he shot up in bed, wide awake.

“Oh my god, I am so so sorry!”

A door slammed, hurried footsteps came towards his bedroom before Luke barged through the door with wild eyes; shutting it behind him.

“There’s a girl in your bathroom!” He said, his voice accusatory as he glared at Jace, with his back against the door. Luke’s cheeks were red, and Jace wasn’t sure if it was the remaining flush from the gym or because he was embarrassed.

Jace only blinked at him, before wiping his palm over his face.

“Fuck.”

Luke frowned at him. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“She’s not-“ Jace broke off, sighing. “It’s not important.”

He got out of the bed, shooing Luke away from the door and padded towards his bathroom, trying to make sure his younger brother hadn’t completely scared you off. The bathroom was locked and Jace leaned against the doorframe, rapping his knuckles against the door.

“Hey, it’s me.”

After a short beat, you opened the door to look at him, your hair wet around your shoulders, water droplets wetting his shirt you were wearing. Despite the early morning hours, Jace felt a some rush of excitement running through him seeing you standing in his shirt in his bathroom.

“You good?”

“I think I just met your brother,” you said lightly, your cheeks pink.

The corner of Jace’s mouth tugged up and he flexed his hand around your waist, pulling you closer. Luke was lucky he met you so early in the day, your temper still subdued from sleep. Had it happened in the afternoon? Luke would’ve gotten an earful.

“Are you okay? I can make him leave if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No it’s fine,” you huffed, hiding your face in his shoulders. “I was not prepared to meet him.”

Jace wrapped his arm around your waist, leaning his chin on your head with a grin. “You don’t have to be prepared to meet Luke. You just meet him and go “what a dork”, there’s not much else after that.”

“Yo!” Luke crowed outside. “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!”

“Can I just take a shower please!!!”

Jace rolled his eyes, his hand dropping down to lace his fingers with yours. “Come on, I’ll make you a coffee.”

He pulled you into the kitchen, turning his coffee machine on, meanwhile hearing Luke flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. By the time his younger brother emerged again, his hair towel damp, you and Jace were sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand, your feet in Jace’s lap.

Luke stood in the door way like a deer in headlights as you and Jace looked at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you said lightly; Jace only snorted into his bowl.

“Sorry again… About earlier. I’m Luke,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck, but you only waved it off as you introduced yourself. Luke glanced between the two of you, the wheels in his head must be turning a mile a minute. Jace did not look forward to whatever he was going to say.

“So… Are you guys like going steady?”

You pulled a face and Jace only sighed. Of course he chose to be a dick.

“Get out.”

Luke grinned, having expected the reaction. “Kay. Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he called over his shoulder, “Bye Jace, bye shower girl!”

The door fell shut in its hinges and Jace welcomed the silence that followed.

“I should’ve never given him the spare key,” he muttered, but you only pressed your heel into his leg.

“Stop it, he’s sweet.”

“He’s a menace.”

“He’s your little brother,” you laughed, pushing your empty bowl on the coffee table. “He’s supposed to get on your nerves, it’s literally in the job description.”

His bowl soon joined yours on the table as Jace wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his lap. You grinned at him, tucking his hair behind his ear, as he played with the hem of his shirt you were wearing.

“I like that you feel comfortable enough at my place to take a shower,” he mumbled, nosing along your neck.

“Shut up.”

II Rhaena

“Man, that was way too close,” Addam groaned as they walked into the locker room. Their game against the Stags of Stormlands University had ended with 2:1, which was criminal. It should’ve been at least 3:1 and Jace wasn’t even being arrogant. That one goal they scored against them was pure luck.

“Coach is gonna be on our asses during the next practice,” Alyn said as he tugged off his jersey.

“As if he needs a reason to make us run suicides,” Cregan pointed out and Jace shrugged.

“It wasn’t entirely our fault, though. The audience was crazy today. What happened after half time? There was some commotion in the stands.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” Alyn snickered. “Apparently some girl punched Criston square in the face after he made some of his usual comments.”

“What?” Addam asked, his eyebrows risen as Jace only laughed.

“No way. That girl’s my hero.”

“I’m buying her a drink,” Cregan declared. “Do we know who it was?”

Alyn shook his head in no. “Nah, I just overheard some guys talking about it…” he then turned to Jace. “You coming to the bar with us?” Alyn asked. “My treat.”

“I can’t,” Jace replied, but before he could elaborate, Cregan wrapped his arm around his shoulder, squeezing him.

“Lover boy is meeting his girlfriend, he told me all about it.”

Jace’s cheeks tinged pink and he shoved Cregan off, huffing.

“Fuck off.”

“Leave him alone,” Addam said lightly from the bench, untying his shoes. “If I had another choice, I wouldn’t go to the bar with you either.”

“Thank you Addam,” Jace said, giving Alyn and Cregan, who were snickering to themselves, a pointed look. He grabbed a towel and his shower caddy from the locker, turning back to his friends.

“Have fun at the bar. I’ll see you guys around.”

Jace ignored how they made kissy sounds after him, rolling his eyes at them fondly. After taking a quick shower, and getting dressed, he made his way to the spot you had agreed to meet him. He passed a few familiar faces who congratulated him on the win, but he made no attempt to stay in a conversation too long, not wanting to keep you waiting. When he got to the gates of the football field, you were nowhere to be found though. Maybe you were held up by your friends. Jace shot you a text, telling you where he was, then pulling up his family group chat. His parents and Joffrey had gone hiking over the weekend, but his dad had received updates on the game via the uni’s newsletter, both of them sending him well done’s. Luke had watched the game with his friends, and Jace had no doubt he was now at the same bar his team mates were headed to. Jace then pulled up the text chain with you, but his texts to you went unanswered. With a sigh, he opened Find my..? frowning when he saw your icon float over the building that held the student med center.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself, shoving his phone into his pocket, walking to the student med center in quick strides. The building was dark when he arrived, but the door was unlocked when he pulled on it. Jace stood in the dark for a while, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, when he heard voices coming from somewhere. Following the sound, he reached the examination room, the voices becoming more distinctive.

“-never punched someone, why has no one ever told me that it hurts so much? He’s the one who should be hurt, not me!”

“You’d be surprised. You can actually break something while punching someone.”

Jace paused in the doorway, watching as you sat on the bed, ice pack in your hand, while another girl was rummaging in the cupboards with her back to him. You looked up when he called your name, and the smile on your face nearly made him forget how worried he was.

“Hey,” you said, “Rhaena, this is my-“

“Jace?”

Of course it was Rhaena. Out of all the student meds, it had to be his cousin tending to you. You glanced between them your eyebrows high.

“You guys know each other?”

“Rhaena is my cousin,” Jace explained, distracted, his focus on your hand. “What happened?”

“Supergirl over here punched Cole in the face.”

“Criston Cole?”

“The one and only.”

Jace sighed, sitting down next to you to lift the ice back from your knuckles, frowning when he found them bloody.

“She’s bleeding!”

Rhaena rolled her eyes, holding up some gauze and disinfectant spray. “Yes, I was looking for the gauze, thanks for reminding me.”

Jace frowned as Rhaena sat on your other side.

“This is probably gonna sting,” she warned you, before spraying disinfectant on your wounds, but you winced anyway. Jace watched as Rhaena patched you up, the frown on his forehead not easing.

“Alright, we’re all done,” Rhaena said, balling up the wrapper. “I want you to keep that ice pack on for twenty minutes, it can reduce the swelling. And maybe try to keep it elevated, and lots of resting!”

“Okay,” Jace said, matter of factly.

Both you and Rhaena looked at him - you looking amused, while Rhaena looked exasperated - and he only shrugged.

“What? You know damn well you’re not gonna do anything she just said,” he argued and you grinned, turning to Rhaena.

“Duly noted, thanks Rhaena.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Rhaena said, throwing the wrappers in the trash before shooeing you and Jace out of the building. As you walked outside, you and Rhaena seemed to be get along like a house on fire as Jace held your purse, and by the time you were standing out front, you had exchanged numbers.

“Hey, so really come by when I’m working, and I’ll treat you for a coffee,” you said while Rhaena locked up.

“Sure, that’ll be nice,” Rhaena replied, packing her keys away. “It was really nice to meet you.”

You beamed at her. “You too!”

His cousin smiled at you before turning to Jace. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yep. Thanks Rhae.”

Jace gave her a hug, and she quickly hugged you as well, before waving in good bye.

“Bye, see you guys!”

“Bye Rhaena!”

Jace pulled you close as you walked, his forehead still creased. You were supposed to go out for dinner, but by now your reservation had probably fallen through, so Jace might as well just cook you dinner at home. He couldn’t help but glance at your hand, which you noticed immediately.

“Jace, I’m fine,” you insisted with a laugh, grabbing his hand to reassure him, but no dice.

“I know Cole is a pain in the ass, but why did you punch him?” he asked, his forehead creased. “You could get in trouble. And on top of that, you got hurt!”

“It’s just bruised knuckles and a little blood, it’ll be healed before you know it,” you promised him. “Besides, Cole had it coming. He was sprouting bullshit about how he should’ve made the team instead of you and was just being a dick.”

Jace froze mid step, and you were dragged back by him, not having expected the sudden stop.

“You were defending my honor?”

You glanced at him, lips quirking in a smile.

“I’ll always defend your honor.”

In that moment, Jace was so overcome with emotion, he thought he might do something stupid like tell you that he loved you, so he just pulled you into a deep kiss. You sighed softly against his lips, before you pulled back, looking at him in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“Can’t a guy thank his knight in shining armor?”

You snickered, lacing your hands with his.

“You can thank me by getting some food in me, I am starving.”

III Joffrey

“It’s nice here.”

The sun was shining, reflecting its rays over the surface of the water. It was rather still today, a stark contrast to the strong waves that usually lapped at the shore of Driftmark. The small coast town was only an half an hour drive from uni and since you had never been here before, Jace had decided to take you for an impromptu trip, armed with a blanket and some snacks, but not much else. The two of you were sat on said blanket, you sitting between his legs, head resting on his chest. Jace wished it could be like this forever.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to Driftmark,” he said, amused. “My parents used to take us every weekend when we were younger. Luke and I used to fly kites, but his always fell nose first into the sand.”

You laughed, pressing yourself closer into Jace.

“That’s sweet,” you mumbled softly, your voice trailing off. “So how many girls have you taken here?”

Jace rolled his eyes fondly, his finger tracing your arm. If only you knew. He hummed, as if in thought.

“Let’s see, there was that one girl from Lambda Psi, then Jessica from my International Relations class…”

You laughed, squirming in his arms as you smacked his hand away.

“You’re an ass.”

He tightened his hold on you, a grin on his face. “You started it!”

Giggling, you settled back into him and Jace let out a happy sigh, but the moment was quickly interrupted by his phone ringing. He had half a mind to decline the call, but he paused when he saw the caller ID.

“Why is my mum calling me?” Jace said, frowning at his phone before picking up the call. “Hey mum, is everything okay?”

“Jace, thank god,” his mother sighed in relief. The background was noisy, if Jace had to guess, she must be at work. “My meeting is running longer than expected and I won’t be able to make it in time to pick up Joffrey from school, is there any way you could make the drive down here to pick him up?”

Jace glanced at his watch. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and on a good day, it took 25 minutes to get from Driftmark to Joffrey’s school in King’s Landing. But that meant, you’d have to tag along, because there was no way he’d make it in time for Joffrey’s school’s out if he dropped you off beforehand.

“… Mum, can you give me a second?”

His mother paused. “… Sure.”

He muted the call from his side and you had already turned around to face him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s going on?”

“My mum is stuck at work and she asked me to go pick up my brother from school,” Jace started. “I’m not going to make it in time if we’ll make the drive back to Oldtown-”

“Jace, oh my god, it’s fine, let’s go,” you exclaimed, already standing up and collecting all the things you had brought.

Jace stared at you for a second, slack-jawed, before he dipped his head, smiling to himself. He quickly unmuted the phone call while he got to his feet.

“I’ll pick him up mum, it’s not a problem,” he said, while helping you put away the blanket with one hand.

“Thank you, Jace,” his mother said, her tone hesitant, like she was holding back a question, but before she could ask it, another voice called for her. “I’ll call the school and let them know you’re coming,” she said distractedly.

“Okay mum, thanks. Have fun at the meeting!”

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned to see you with everything packed.

“Come on, let’s go!” you hurried him, taking his hand to drag him to his car, missing the blinding smile Jace had on his face.

The drive to King’s Landing was quicker than expected, with the streets being free and Jace made it to Joffrey’s school right around 3:30, the cars from several other parents already lined up to enter the pick up zone.

“Are you okay waiting in the car?” Jace asked, turning to you, “I’ll be in and out in no time.”

“Yeah, of course,” you assured him, patting his knee.

Jace couldn’t help but lean over to press a kiss on your cheek, nearly missing his turn to find a temporary parking spot, but the security guard waved him along.

“Keep it moving, son.”

“Isn’t this the pick up zone for school?” Jace asked, unbuckling. “I can park here, right?”

The security guard eyed his license plate, before checking his clipboard. “Don’t see your license plate on my list, you gotta keep it moving.”

“You’re joking.”

The man blinked at him, clearly not joking.

“I only need to go in and grab my brother, it won’t even take five minutes,” Jace argued but the security guard shook his head, unrelenting.

“Can’t make an exception, rules are rules.”

Jace opened his mouth to try to make another argument, but behind him, the cars started to honk their horns at him, parents impatient to pick up their kids. Jace’s ears grew hot but before he could lash out at the security guard, you laid your hand on his arm.

“Jace, I can go get your brother.”

“Are you sure?” Jace asked, frowning. He felt bad for making you go along, ruining the day he had planned. You didn’t sign up for this and he didn’t want to make you go into a school full of kids to pick up his brother.

“Yes, I promise,” you said, a smile on your face as you squeezed his hand and he sighed, nodding.

“Okay.”

He gave you a rough description of the way inside the school and Joffrey’s classroom number, before you got out of the car, as Jace exited the pick up zone, but not without giving the security guard a dirty look. He drove around the block, parking his car next to the curb when his phone rang announcing a facetime from you.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Jace asked as he picked up. The screen was blurry, and you were barely visibly as you stared at something behind the camera

“Hey, no, Joffrey just wanted to make sure I wasn’t lying,” you said, distractedly. “Alright Joffrey.”

The camera panned away from you until Joffrey came into view. His baby brother looked sceptical, clutching the straps of his red backpack, but his frown eased when he saw Jace.

“Hi Jace.”

“Hi Joff,” Jace said, his voice soft. “I know mum was supposed to pick you up, but her meeting ran long so she asked me to get you. I’m waiting in the car, alright? Are you going to be okay walking with my friend?”

Joffrey looked off camera, assumedly at you before turning back to Jace, scrunching his nose. “Mummy said I shouldn’t go with strangers.”

“And she’s right!” Jace quickly interjected, knowing his mother would kill him if he unraveled all the things she had been teaching Joffrey ever since he was old enough to talk. “But this is my friend, right? Not a stranger.”

With a purse on his lips, Joffrey seemed to think his words over before nodding.

“Okay.”

Joffrey waved at him through the camera before looking up.

“Can we go now?”

Jace heard you suppress a laughter as the phone shook. Joffrey didn’t look phased.

“Yes,” you said. “Come on, let’s go.”

You offered your hand to him, before you quickly panned the camera on yourself again. “See you in a bit, Jace.”

The call ended and Jace quietly laughed to himself as he tossed his phone on the passenger seat, driving back towards the school. He didn’t wait long in front of the curb when you and Joffrey came walking out, you carrying his backpack and Joffrey carrying a booster seat.

“Alright, now let’s get your backpack in here-” you said, opening the door to put Joffrey’s backpack on the backseat, then scooching it over to put the booster seat on as well. “And then you go into the booster-”

“Hi Jace!”

Jace turned around, smiling as he watched Joffrey settle into his booster seat comfortably while you fussed over him.

“Hi Joff.”

“Okay, now the seatbelt… Is this too tight?” you asked as you buckled Joffrey in, but he shook his head. You gave him a thumbs up, before shutting the door behind him, climbing back into the passenger’s seat so Jace could pull away from the curb.

“How was school?” Jace asked Joffrey with a quick glance at him through the mirror.

“Good,” Joffrey replied, “We learned about shapes.”

He then fully launched into a retelling of how his classmates thought circles and triangles are the same and Jace meant to give you an apologetic look, but to his surprise, you seemed to be listening intently.

“No way! I bet his mind was blown when you told him about rectangles!”

“He thought I was lying!”

Jace quietly snickered to himself and you grinned at him, as Joffrey continued to babble on in the backseat. Without thinking much, Jace had started the drive back to Oldtown.

“Is it okay if I drop you off at home?” Jace asked, his voice quiet, even though Joffrey was humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar to Jace as he looked out of the window, content after telling you about his school day. “I think I’ll drive back to King’s Landing and spend the night at home.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said, smiling at him and Jace’s heart did a stupid flip in his chest. He reached over to squeeze your hand, forgetting about his brother in his backseat for a split second.

“What kind of friends are you?”

His neck grew hot and he almost reflexively pulled his hand back, but you tightened your hold.

“The bestest friends,” you said, turning around to look at him with the most serious expression you could muster. Joffrey pressed his lips together in an attempt to bite back a smile, but a giggle escaped his lips.

“Bestest is not even a word.”

“Well, I made it up because Jace and I are bestest friends.”

“You’re silly,” Joffrey laughed and you gasped, faking affront.

The rest of the drive continued about the same until Jace pulled up in front of your building. Your hand was on the door handle, but you threw a look to the back at Joffrey, clearly reluctant to go.

“Bye Joffrey, it was really nice to meet you,” you told him with a smile.

“Bye!”

Your eyes turned to Jace, who desperately wanted to kiss you, but he wouldn’t, not in front of Joffrey, so he only inclined his head at you, hoping you knew.

“Bye,” you said softly, cheeks pink as you got out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

“Bye!” Joffrey called, waving at you through the window until you disappeared inside your apartment building. His baby brother then turned to him, a smile on his face.

“I like her.”

Pleased, Jace settled back into his seat, putting the car back in drive, his eye on his brother through the mirror.

“Me too, buddy.”

IV Aegon

“I don’t get why you won’t just make it official when you’re obviously so into her.”

“Can we not talk about this?”

The music coming from inside was loud, but Jace wished it was louder so he didn’t have to talk about this. Of course he’d rather officially call you his girlfriend than… Whatever it was he was calling you right now. But it was complicated, the both of you starting out casually, no labels.

That was almost four months ago and things had changed. For him at least.

Cregan kicked his foot, forcing Jace to look at him.

“I’m serious, Jace. You’re insanely into her and she obviously likes you too.”

Jace pretended like hearing that didn’t make him happy, looking around for you.

“Where is she anyway?” Jace asked and Cregan only sighed at the obvious attempt of changing the topic.

“Last I saw, she and her foxy friend were trying to get drinks.”

Jace rolled his eyes, pushed himself up from the chair.

“I’ll go look for her,” he said, taking a few steps before turning back to his friend. “And don’t call Alysanne foxy.”

Cregan’s bellowing laughter made Jace grin, and he only shook his head, opening the patio door to head inside. The air was stuffy and smelt of alcohol, but he was used to it as he squeezed past a kissing couple, craning his head over the crowd to try to spot you somewhere in the crowded house. He usually didn’t like splitting up with you at parties because it was a pain finding each other again. You also had an habit to make so many friends in a short amount of time.

When Jace finally made it to the kitchen, he saw the back of your head and he let out a sigh of relief. His face blanched however, when he saw who you were talking to. Calling out your name, you turned around with a cup in your hand as he walked up to you.

“Jacey!”

His cousin grinned widely at him as Jace joined you and Aegon by the kitchen island, as you slotted yourself against his side. You seemed content, like you were enjoying yourself. Jace took that as a good sign.

“Hi Aegon,” Jace greeted him lightly, before turning to you. “I see you’ve met my cousin.”

“Rhaena‘s brother?” You asked, eyebrows raised.

“You met Rhaena?”

Aegon’s brows were even higher than yours as his eyes flitted between Jace and you curiously, sipping on his drink. Jace already knew this would make it into the cousins’ group chat in a matter of minutes.

“Aegon’s from the other side. Kind of,” Jace answered, pulling a face. “It’s complicated.”

You smiled at him and Aegon’s grin only widened. Jace wished he would disappear the way he always did when their grandpa asked for help in the garage.

“So how did you guys meet?” he asked, voice nonchalant. “You don’t look like a PoliSci student to me.”

“I’m not,” you replied, laughing. “Jace always gets coffee at the coffee shop I work at.”

“Oh, which one do you work at?”

“Blackwood’s, the one on 50th?”

Aegon’s eyes widened and he nodded his head quickly. “Yes, I know that one. Do you think you could give me the recipe for the almond croissants? I’ve tried recreating them so many times and they never turn out like the one’s at the coffee shop.”

“I can ask my friend, if you want me to,” you offered. “It’s her uncle’s coffee shop, he’s gotta have the recipe.”

“Oh and what about the syrups, are those-”

“Alright, this isn’t 20 questions,” Jace interjected, knowing there was no stopping Aegon if he started talking syrups. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Aegon?”

Aegon pressed his lips together in a grin, shaking his head. “Fine, Jace, I’ll leave you guys alone. But only because I know I’ll have other opportunities to ask for recipes.”

Jace narrowed his eyes at his cousin, but he had turned his attention to you.

“Nice talking to you,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you at one of our family events, yeah?”

“Bye Aegon.”

Jace could hear Aegon cackling to himself as he lead you away, his hand on your lower back. He was mortified. Out of everyone at this party, you just had to run into Aegon. To Jace’s luck however, you seemed mostly amused by his erratic cousin.

“I like him,” you said and Jace huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to lie. I don’t like him either.”

You snorted, shoving him playfully. “I’m not lying. He’s very outgoing, but I like him.”

Jace pressed closer to you as you made your way out of the pation and you turned your head over your shoulder, glancing at him.

“So is your entire family just enrolled here?”

“Basically, yeah,” Jace sighed, “The only cousin of mine who’s not at this uni is Daeron but apparently he’s transferring next term.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet all of them.”

Jace let out a laugh, wrapping his arm around you when you finally made it out of the house, Cregan still sitting on the sun chairs, Alysanne next to him as they talked. Jace had wondered where you had left her.

TARGTOWERS 2.0

Aegon [01:21 am]: have y’all met jace’s new gf yet??

Jace left the chat.

Aegon added Jace to the chat.

Jace [02:04 am]: I hate you

Aegon [02:05 am]: <3

V Harwin

“If my husband doesn’t look like that like 25 years down the line, I definitely did something wrong.”

Jace only caught the tail end of the conversation, but knowing you and Alysanne, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what you were talking about. The two of you found the most bizarre things to talk about, it was astounding.

“What are we talking about?” he asked nevertheless, pulling out a chair next to you.

“There was this hot guy at the coffee shop earlier today, trying to find a good restaurant for dinner with his son,” Alysanne explained and you nodded.

“Super hot.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

You quirked a grin at him, leaning over to kiss him, your hand on his leg. Eagerly, Jace returned the kiss, deepening it which might be a tad inappropriate for the library, but he didn’t care. He never did when it came to you.

“Eurgh,” Alysanne said, rolling her eyes. Jace paid her no mind, already used to her antics, but you pulled away before it could any less PG13.

“Hi,” you mumbled, licking over over lips and Jace resisted the urge to kiss you again. “Am I seeing you tonight?”

“I might come over a little later than usual,” he said with a sigh, playing with the straps of your top. “Luke said he wanted to meet me for dinner.”

“Can you guys please go to Jace’s?” Alysanne interjected “I’d really love to have one night without hearing you guys have sex.”

“Oh come off it, Aly,” you laughed, swatting at your friend and she snickered. “You’re literally on the other side of the apartment and we barely hang out at our place.”

Alysanne stuck her tongue out at you and you only flipped her off before turning back to Jace.

“So eleven?”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he said, nodding. “But I’ll text you, yeah?”

You hummed, and Jace pulled your chair closer to his, almost forgetting he had come to the library to study for a test. Next to you, Alysanne was rolling her eyes but he could tell that she was pleased by the way she let her hair fall over the side to give you privacy.

Well, as much privacy there was in a university library.

“How did you find out about this place anyway, dad?” Jace asked, reaching for his beer.

Turned out, Luke didn’t want to get dinner. Their father did. He had a work thing in Driftmark and decided to make it to Oldtown for a quick visit, surprising Jace. His dad felt bad for missing Jace’s first game of the season; he had always made it to Jace’s first game of the season ever since he started playing football when he was 7 years old. It was like an unspoken tradition.

Harwin Strong was a man of tradition and loyalty, and even though Jace had promised him it wasn’t that much of a deal, he had felt guilty either way.

“This nice girl at the coffee shop recommended it to me,” his father said, and Jace nearly spat out his beer all over the table. So it must have been his father you and Alysanne had been talking about earlier in the library. God really loved to play games with him.

“What coffee shop?” He asked as nonchalantly as possible. Maybe it was just a coincidence, right? There were lots of coffee shops in Oldtown.

“Blackwood’s I think? She said this was her boyfriend’s favorite restaurant,” his father explained, glancing over the menu. Jace’s heart stuttered in his chest at the word boyfriend before his father grimaced. “Well, she paused between boy and friend. It seemed like there was more to the story but I didn’t want to pry.”

“How funny,” Luke said, peering over his menu. “This is Jace’s favorite restaurant, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jace pressed out, glaring at his brother while kicking him in the shins.

“Ow!”

“Boys, please.”

Jace and Luke exchanged dirty looks, before turning their attention back on their menus.

“You know what I don’t understand?” his father started, but Jace interrupted him before he could continue.

“The steak sizes are their thing, no one actually orders the 14 oz steak.”

His father furrowed his eyes at him, confused.

“What? No, I’m going to order the fish,” he said, shaking his head. “What I was trying to say is, what is it with your generation and casual dating?”

Jace’s ears grew hot and Luke howled in laughter, nearly falling off the chair. His father glanced between them.

“Did I miss something?”

“No,” Jace said pointedly in Luke’s direction before turning back to his father. “I’m not saying that casual dating is good, or whatever, but sometimes it’s… Complicated.”

“Complicated?” his father echoed. “Either you love someone or you don’t. When I first met your mother, I knew immediately that she was the one for me. I wasn’t going to waste my time on casually dating her.”

“That sounds really smart,” Luke said, nodding earnestly, but Jace only rolled his eyes. What an idiot. “Sounds like something a lot of people our age should do.”

“How was Econ 101, Luke?” Jace asked, his voice low and Luke narrowed his eyes at him.

“Wimp!”

“Narc!”

“So!” their father said, clearly ignoring their exchange, laying his menu down as he looked at his two eldest sons. “Are there any people in your life I should meet, Jace?”

Jace only sighed, leaning back in his chair while Luke burst out in laughter again.

“Dad, come on.”

+ I

You had been quiet for the most of the drive, which made Jace nervous. You hadn’t been his girlfriend long before his grandpa’s birthday rolled around. Actually, Jace had finally broke down and asked, begged, you to finally go out with him for real the night he got home from dinner with his father and Luke. Something about the way his father spoke about him and his mother just made Jace realize he hated this unlabeled, uncertain situationship he had with you. He wanted something real.

He was scared shitless when it took you a good minute to reply God, it took you long enough!

About a month later, his mother had texted him about the plans for his grandpa’s birthday and he had decided it was about time you met his family. You had met most of them already anyway.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” you suddenly said, eyes darting outside the window.

“What? Why?” Jace said, glancing over at you. He had half a mind to stop the car, but it was less than 2 minutes before he’d be home.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Babe.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

Despite being one turn away from his house, Jace pulled up to the curb, turning off his car. Uttering your name softly, he reached over to grasp your hand.

“You don’t need to worry, I promise,” he assured you. Your hands were clammy, you must be so much more nervous than he had initially thought, which was endearing, really. “You’ve already met most of them, remember? And they all love you.”

“So far,” you corrected him and he sighed in exasperation, giving you a fond smile.

“You’ve already met the worst person in my family and Aegon still spams our groupchat with pictures from the pastries he’s baking with the recipes you gave him. The rest of my family is harmless compared to him.”

You quirked a smile at him, letting out a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jace hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He squeezed your hand, not letting go as he started his car again. Even when you walked up to the front porch, past all the cars in the drive way, you were still holding onto his hand, like a lifeline in a storm.

It didn’t take long until the heavy wooden door opened, and Luke stood before them, grinning.

“I was wondering when you guys would get here,” he said, turning to his side. “Mum, it’s Jace and his girlfriend!”

“Thanks for that, dummy,” Jace hissed, punching Luke’s arm as he passed him. Luke winced in pain, glowering at his older brother, waving at you with a smile. Jace lead you through the entry hall into the living room when Joffrey came running around the corner, latching himself to your legs as he called out your name.

“Hi Joffrey,” you laughed, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “How are you?”

“So good!”

Your nerves seemed to calm as you chattered away with Joffrey, having dropped Jace’s hand for his brother’s, but Jace didn’t mind. Your feet came to a slow stop however, when you reached the living room.

His mother was fixing up the flowers on the table, beaming when she saw you come in.

“Jace!”

“Hi mum.”

Jace hugged his mother in greeting, before taking your hand. “Mum, this is-”

“Oh, welcome to the family,” his mother said, pulling you into a hug as well, surprising you as you let out a laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” you said shyly, smiling at his mother when she pulled away to look at you.

“And you! I have been waiting for the day Jace finally introduced us! I just knew that he was with a girl when I asked him to pick up Joffrey,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “He was so defensive when I tried to ask for details.”

“Mum,” Jace protested and his mother only waved him off.

“Your father must be wrangling with your cousins in the kitchen… Honey, Jace and his girlfriend are here!”

“I’m coming!”

His father walked into the living room with a strawberry cake in his hand, a smile on his face when his eyes laid on you, before turning to Jace, then back to you, realization dawning on him.

“That’s the boyfriend?”

You flushed, nodding with a laugh.

“Yes.”

His father only shook his head, giving you a brief hug before glancing at his son.

“I taught you better, son.”

“I know dad,” Jace sighed, ducking his head when his father reached out to ruffle his hair.

His mother seemed confused, though it didn’t help when his cousins and Luke tumbled out of the kitchen, bickering. As usual.

“- stop it! You’ll ruin the cake!” Aegon lifted the cake out of Baela’s grasp, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Oh, hey! Told you we’d see each other at one point!”

“Supergirl, how’s the hand doing?”

“Supergirl? She’s obviously shower girl.”

“… Do I even want to know?”

His mother glanced around the room, starting to connect the dots.

“Am I the only one who hasn’t met you yet?”

“I haven’t met her yet!”

The rest of his cousins rushed forward to introduce themselves and you nearly sank into a wave of white hair with Joffrey still hanging off your arm. You seemed to be doing well, though, Baela and Helaena laughing as Rhaena recounted the story of how you met and Aemond and Daeron trying to give you tips on how to punch someone without getting injured.

“I like her,” his mother said as she bumped his shoulder.

Jace’s chest warmed, though he shrugged. “You barely know her yet.” Even though he knew his family would like you no matter what, it felt good to hear it spoken.

“She seems to be handling herself well around your cousins and it looks like to me she already won half of them over,” his mother pointed out. “Most importantly, she makes you happy.”

“Wait, you punched Criston Cole? But I like him.”

“Of course you like him, Aegon.”

Your laughter rang out between the bickering, and you turned to catch Jace’s eyes, beaming at him. He smiled, ducking his head. God, he was so in love.

“Yeah.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: what are we thinking???

[maidragoste]

Chapter Three: He ruined it

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader

Chapter One Chapter Two

A/N: I'm happy to bring you a new chapter of this series, sorry for the delay in publishing and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. Thank you for reading 🥰🥰💖💖

My inbox is open so I’m always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions 🤭💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

The elevator ride takes less than a minute since the training rooms are below the floor of your floor, but Jacaerys could still feel the tension in the air. He doesn't know if it's because you're nervous like him about seeing who they'll have to face in a few days or if, like him, you're upset because Larys told you two to spend all your time in public close to each other. Jace doesn't understand the reason behind his uncle's instructions, first, he made you two hold hands at the parade and now it seemed as if he wanted you to become friends while training. Jace doesn't like this, he doesn't want to get attached to you. That would only make things more difficult in the arena, but when he complained his uncle reminded him that he had already promised that he would do whatever he told him. He had to do it if he wanted to return home to Lucerys and Joffrey.

When they both get out of the elevator they find a giant gym full of weapons and obstacle courses. It's not even ten o'clock, yet you two are the last to arrive. The rest of the tributes are gathered in a tense circle, each one has a piece of cloth attached to their shirt with the number of their respective district. While they give his number, Jacaerys in a quick assessment realizes that you two are the only ones who are dressed alike. Was it another way to appear like a united front to others?

Once you and Jacaerys join the circle the head trainer steps forward and introduces herself as Atala and then begins to explain the training schedule, how each position has an expert in the skill in question, that some positions teach tactics survival and other fighting techniques. She also warns that it is prohibited to perform combat exercises with another tribute and that if someone wants to practice with a partner, there are assistants.

“We don't have to be together all the time if you don't want to,” you whispered to him, once Atala finished reading the list of skills and gave them the freedom to start training.

“But Larys said”

“Larys isn't here,” you interrupted, making him frown. “He's not going to know if we don't follow what he tells us one hundred percent.”

“If you don't want to train with me just say it” he snapped, feeling annoyed although it made no sense because he should be happy that you don't want to train with him either after all Jacaerys wanted to avoid spending as much time with you as possible.

“I'm not the one who complained at breakfast,” you reminded him, making him blush and feel ashamed of himself for his attitude. If he weren't so impulsive he would have at least waited for you to go to your room before complaining to his uncle.

“I'm sorry about that,” he apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you shrugged, downplaying it, but even so, your district partner still felt like a fool because of his attitude. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let's tie some knots,” Jacaerys responded, thinking that his uncle had said not to attract attention so he was forbidden to take a bow at least until the private session with the gamemakers. Besides, Jace had no desire to be around the professional tributes, who had gone straight to the weapons that looked more deadly and handled them without difficulty, nor the trembling tributes who received their first class of knives or axes.

The stall is empty so the coach seems excited when the two approach. When he realizes that Jacaerys knows something about traps, he teaches them how to make a simple trap that would leave another tribute hanging from a tree by their leg. They practice for an hour until they both master the technique well and then move on to the camouflage station. Jacaerys notices that you seem more excited in this position as you mix mud, clay, and berry juice on your skin. It also seems easy for you to braid costumes out of vines and leaves. The coach for this position is excited about your work.

"I make the cakes" you blurt out of nowhere.

"The cakes?" He had been concentrating on watching Royce Baratheon swing a mace directly into the chest of a mannequin.

"Those from the bakery. I make the decorations"

Jacaerys remembers those cakes, which are on display in the shop window, with flowers and other pretty designs on the icing. Before he went to live with Uncle Larys he was never able to eat one of those but since they lived with him there was always cake for special occasions like birthdays and New Year's. Every time they went to buy the cake Joffrey and Lucerys always argued about which one looked the best before choosing which one to take. If he came home he didn't think he would be able to accompany them back to the bakery. He couldn't see your father and brothers in the face again. Nor could he see the disappointment in his brothers' eyes when they saw that the cakes were no longer as pretty as before.

"They're cute, but you won't be able to glaze someone to death," he hadn't meant to sound so scathing but thinking about your death, your family, and his siblings put him in a bad mood.

"You never know what might be in the arena what if…?"

"Let's continue with another position" he interrupts you, he wasn't in the mood for some joke.

"Okay, go ahead with whatever you want, I'll stay here a little longer. I'll catch up with you later" you responded.

The smile on your face had disappeared and Jacaerys felt a tightness in his stomach but he decided to ignore it, he just nodded and went to the fire-making station. He is so focused on the coach's instructions and getting the technique right that he doesn't even realize that he has spent so much time there until they announce that it is time for lunch. Jacaerys looks at you with the idea of telling you to have lunch together. He frowns when he sees that you are no longer alone but are talking to Jason Mallister, the thirteen-year-old boy from District 4. What were you doing? Larys said not to attract attention and you found yourself talking to one of the professional tributes, of course, that would attract attention.

Annoyed, Jacaerys went to the carts that had been brought with food and began to serve himself and then sat alone at one of the tables. Professional tributes gathered around a table. They were loud, unlike the rest they seemed carefree, as if they were not afraid.

A few minutes later you sit next to him. Jacaerys can't hold his curiosity for long so he asks you.

“Why were you talking to him?”

“Stop frowning, we're supposed to be friends,” you scold him in a whisper and he struggles to put on a friendlier face. “He reminds me of Joffrey,” you admit.

“My brother is nothing like him,” the brunette denies instantly. He wouldn't tell you but when you two saw the District 4 reaping he also thought about his brother when Jason appeared on screen. But he couldn't allow himself to see his brother in one of his opponents, that would only hurt him in the arena, so he instantly forced himself to push that thought away from him. The only thing in common between the two of them was that they are both thirteen years old, he just repeated to himself.

"I just showed Jason how I made my camouflage and I remembered when I tried to teach Joffrey how to frost a cookie." Jace must have made some funny face in his surprise because you were smiling again. "He made a mess, I don't know how he ended up with frosting on his hair and face, the only reason my mother didn't get mad is because Joffrey bought the cookies he ruined. If you ask me, he didn't ruin them, he just took artistic liberties" You said the last thing as if you were telling him a big secret, leaning towards him and putting your hand a few centimeters from your face, hiding it from the other tributes, as if you didn't want to they will try to read your lips. At your antics and the image of his younger brother covered in icing, Jacaerys can't help but laugh.

"I didn't know Joffrey spent so much time at the bakery."

"And with you", he added in his head. He couldn't help but wonder why his brother never told him. Although he shouldn't be surprised because at home there is always some bread or cookie from the bakery, but he always thought that the one who was going to buy it was Uncle Larys. He might have missed some things by spending so much time in the forest and the Hob with Baela.

"Your brother is addicted to sugar so he usually comes often after school to buy something. He says he deserves a treat after spending hours locked up in hell."

Jacaerys notices the affection with which you speak of his brother and he can't help but feel warm. He has the feeling that you have even more stories to tell about his brothers and he wants to hear them all.

"Yeah, that sounds like Joffrey," he agrees with a smile.

During the rest of the days of training, Jacaerys feels a whole mix of emotions fighting within him. You two continue training together in some positions such as setting up shelters, recognizing edible plants, and throwing knives and spears, but at some point, you always end up separated by your decision because you want to train with a partner so you look for one of the assistants. In those moments Jace can't help but distrust you because for a while he sees you fighting with the assistant but then the next time he sees you you are in the same section as the professionals, he never sees you talking to one of them but he still can't avoid feeling restless. On the other hand, he can't continue denying that something is forming between the two of you; it's impossible not to form a kind of friendship after sharing so many anecdotes during lunch. At first, you were the one who did most of the talking, telling him more about Joffrey's visits to the bakery, but then Jace wants to know about you and starts asking you more about you and your brothers. And before he least realizes it, he is also sharing his own stories. He tells you how Uncle Larys once made them believe his house was haunted only to make them stop wandering around at night because they wouldn't let him sleep. You laugh when he tells you how he once challenged a bear to fight in the woods to keep a beehive and how his father had never scolded him so much.

On the second day of training before you go to train with an assistant you whisper to Jacaerys that he has a shadow. When he turns to see Rue, the little girl from District 11 spying on them, you encourage him to talk to her but Jace refuses because he has no idea what to say to her and also because he is afraid of meeting her and she will remind him of his brothers or Baela's little sisters.

When the private sessions arrive with the gamemakers it is evident that both you and Jacaerys are nervous because neither of you tries to have a conversation while waiting your turn or even when the two of you are alone after Rue enters.

"Good luck," Jacaerys wishes you as he stands up when he is called. He couldn't tell you later because once a tribute finishes the session he has to go to his apartment "Try throwing the weights, impress them."

"Thank you" It is evident that you were not expecting his words because you keep looking at him impressed "Lucky for you too. Remember to shoot well" you smile at him.

He nods and starts walking towards the door.

He ruined it. What the hell was he thinking? No, he didn't think about it. He just let his anger get the best of him, he was outraged that the guards had stopped paying attention to him after he missed his first shot, he was furious that he could die within a few days and they wouldn't deign to watch his entire performance, so he took the arrow and shot at the gamemakers' table. Of course, he didn't shoot any of them, his arrow hit right where he wanted it, in the apple that the pig had in its mouth. When all eyes were on him he sarcastically thanked them for their time while bowing. He didn't wait to be fired, he stormed out of the training room still feeling his blood boil. Only when he was alone in the elevator did he feel the weight of what he did, he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and his throat was burning. He ruined it. He hadn't tried to kill any of the gamemakers but maybe someone would think that. He was sure he must be the first tribute to do something like that. He lost any chance he had of winning the games. But what scares him the most is that because of his attitude, they will now punish his brothers. He would never forgive himself if something happened to them because of him.

When the elevator doors opened, tears had already begun to roll down Jacaerys's cheeks. He ignored the questions from Effie, who was waiting for him in the hallway, and locked himself straight into his room. It didn't take long for knocks to sound on his door and the woman's voice asking him to come out but he didn't move from the bed. When silence came he thought that he had finally given up and they would leave him alone. But minutes later he heard the cold voice of his uncle:

"Jacaerys, open the door. Stop acting like a child."

Jacaerys was about to ignore him but then he realized that the only one who could help him protect his brothers was his uncle. So he took courage and got out of his pile of blankets. He unlatched the door and nervously opened the door. For a moment he thought he saw something different in his uncle's eyes. He couldn't figure out exactly what but that only made him more nervous. Without saying anything he went to sit on the edge of the bed while he watched Larys enter and close the door again. Surprising him, did his uncle think that he would try to escape in the middle of the conversation?

Larys took the chair that was at the desk placed it in front of the bed and then sat down.

"I ruined it," said Jacaerys, his voice breaking when he saw that his uncle did not seem willing to start the conversation. "They are going to punish Luke and Joff because of me." The teenager's desperation was clear by how he tugged at his curls as he spoke."You have to do something, uncle, please. It's my fault, let them punish me."

"What did you do?" the victor demanded to know.

Then Jace told him everything, how the gamemakers were drunk and how after he missed his first shot they stopped paying attention to him, missing the circuit he made and how he hit the center in the rest of his shots, that he didn't think about his actions, that he got carried away with anger and shot at the apple that was in the mouth of the pig that the gamemakers were about to eat, gaining their attention again and how he left the training room without waiting to be fired but not before thanking them sarcastically for their attention. As Jacaerys continued speaking Larys's hand turned white from the strength with which he gripped his staff.

"I told you that you won't attract attention" his uncle's biting tone only made Jacaerys' discomfort increase and he couldn't help but take one of the blankets again and wrap himself in it. It's not like he expected Larys to comfort him but he also shouldn't have been surprised that the first thing he did was scold him. "But you can rest assured, they're not going to punish your brothers." There was that strange look in his eyes again.

"Are you sure?" The uncertainty in his voice was clear, he wanted to trust his uncle but at the same time, he couldn't help but think that Larys would tell him any lie as long as he kept concentrating on the games.

"If they are going to punish Lucerys and Joffrey, they would have to tell what you did in the entertainment center so that it has some effect on the districts, but they won't because it's secret," Larys explained with a little more patience. "The only one you hurt with your actions it's you"

Upon hearing that nothing would happen to his brothers, Jacaerys felt that part of his discomfort disappeared. He still had to worry because surely the gamemakers would now make his life miserable in the arena but at least he knew that his brothers would be safe.

"I know, the gamemakers will make my life miserable in the arena" he stated "And today they will give me the worst score so I won't have any sponsors" he sighed thinking that now it would be even more difficult for him to survive in the arena without sponsors, the food wouldn't be a big problem because he knew how to hunt but if he got hurt then he would need medicine.

"Don't worry about the sponsors, I'll take care of that," Larys promises and this time Jacaerys doesn't doubt his uncle because he looks too confident. "Well, it's done, it's not something we can change. Stop getting depressed and let's go have dinner before they give the scores."

During dinner, Jace barely joins the conversation and feels your worried gaze the entire time. It seems that Effy told you about the state he arrived in after his private session.

In the middle of dinner, Effy can't stand his curiosity anymore so he asks them both how it went. Jacaerys wasn't going to say anything until he heard you speak.

"I don't think I impressed them, some paid attention to me but others were more focused on whatever was on the table," you said resignedly.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry" he apologized, feeling guilty because apparently he had also harmed your private session.

"How is it your fault?" Cinna asked curiously.

"I shot them an arrow," Jace replied.

At first, he ignored Effy's indignation and the rest of the team's questions, focusing more on your reaction. You still looked at him with concern. He was relieved to not see you angry. The truth is, he couldn't blame you if you got angry with him after all his act had attracted the attention of the gamemakers when it was essential for you to have a better score.

"I actually shot an arrow at the pig's apple they were about to eat. They were drunk and I got angry because they weren't paying attention to me."

"And what did they tell you?" You asked anxiously and looked at the doors as if you were expecting that at any moment the peace officers would come in to look for him.

"I don't know. I left"

"Did you leave without permission?" Effie asked to see if she understood correctly.

"I gave it to myself" Jace replied and a laugh escaped your mouth, you quickly stifled it with your hand before Effie's gaze. Jacaerys was pleased to see the worry disappear from your face.

"Larys, aren't you going to say anything about it?" Effie questioned evidently expecting the victor to side with her and scold them.

"It's done, Effie. There's nothing we can do," he responded boredly as he buttered a piece of bread.

"What was their face?" you asked, looking at him curiously.

"They seemed terrified. A man stumbled backward and fell into a punch bowl." At the time Jacaerys had been so angry that he couldn't enjoy the watchman making a fool of himself but now he remembered it with fun.

Everyone laughed, except for Effie but she seemed to hold back a smile so Jace didn't take it the wrong way.

“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” you said with a smile. If Jacaerys hadn't been so focused on you then he would have noticed that his uncle seemed to be studying the two of you.

Once everyone finishes dinner they go to sit in the living room to watch the scores announced on television. How every year a photo of the tribute appears while Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith announce the score. What is striking with the group of professionals is that this year not everyone has a score between eight and ten like previous years, but the boy from District 4 gets a seven. The same score that Rue gets, Jace can't help but wonder how she managed to get that score. But any thoughts of the little girl from District 11 disappear and are replaced by euphoria when he hears Caesar announce his score. An eleven.

Applause and congratulations filled the room. Jacaerys smiles until he realizes that his uncle is quiet and doesn't look as excited as the rest about his eleven. He starts to feel the anxiety in his body and he wants to ask his uncle what the problem is but he doesn't want to have this conversation in front of everyone.

“Good” is the only thing Larys says after they also announce your eight. And Jace feels stupid for worrying so much, surely his uncle didn't say anything before because he was still hanging on to your score after all he wasn't the only tribute Larys had in charge. “You should go to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow” he ordered them while motioning to the avox to bring him more wine.

You and Jacaerys say goodbye to the entire team and head toward the hallway where your rooms are.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to break the bad streak of twelve and go down in history?” you said while leaning on your door.

“You're exaggerating,” Jace said, trying to sound exasperated by rolling his eyes, but there was no annoyance in his tone.

“I'm not,” you shook your head, smiling. You just beat the score of the professionals, I think it's impressive” you said while crossing your arms. “Surely the entire Capitol is talking about you and you are going to monopolize all my sponsors.”

Your last words brought Jace back to his senses. You two were in a competition and his live were at stake. He couldn't keep joking with you. He should be focused on making a good impression on Caesar and the people at the Capitol tomorrow.

“We should go to sleep,” he said abruptly, resting his hand on the handle of his door, trying not to feel guilty as he saw how the spark in your eyes seemed to go out at his tone. “Have a good night,” he didn’t even wait for you to respond before walking into his room and closing the door. His father would be disappointed in his treatment of you.

a/n: I'm grieving because I had to delete the scene I had with Larys and Sea Dragon bc if I left it, then there were going to be things in Cathing Fire that didn't make sense 😫

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as I always say the comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

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[aemondwhoresworld]

HOT2 spoilers alert

Jacaerys Velaryon in House Of The Dragon S2E3

[jacaeryssworld]

of flame and flesh

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x elaenya targaryen (oc)

trope(s): childhood friends to strangers to lovers, arranged marriage, he fell first but she fell harder, misunderstanding

warning(s): angst, fluff, main character(s) death, violence & blood mentions, mentions of teen pregnancy

rating: pg-13 (no smut, but suggestive themes are mentioned)

summary/snippet: “Jacaerys Velaryon had always had his eyes on the youngest Princess of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, Elaenya Targaryen. She always treated him and his brothers with kindness when her elder brothers relentlessly teased them.  They were close,  in certain aspects.  Albeit the Princess having much better things to do than hang out with her nephew,  the two still engaged with one another quite frequently.  The more time he spent with her as a child,  the more he felt for the Princess.  Young Jacaerys didn't realize the full weight of his feelings until he was of age and already on Dragonstone,  far from King's Landing and essentially Elaenya.  Perhaps that is why he was so excited to return to the Red Keep after so many years of being away,  disregarding the ill reasons as to why he and his family returned to the palace.  He was finally able to see her after so long apart and maybe he would get to speak to her again.  Even if it was only a singular word,  he'd be content with speaking only a word to her for that one moment meant everything to him.  And he'd get his wish,  but not in the way he expected.” — snippet from synopsis

playlist!

synopsis

casting

act one. rumors, lies, truths, and blood

chapter one. words too heavy to understand

chapter two. of real dragonriders and cowards

chapter three. goodbyes are the hardest part of leaving

chapter four. the incident

act two. amongst a sea of black is a sheep in wolfs clothing

chapter five.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part two

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part: receiving the Princes at Highgarden and a little flashforward.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread < < < previous part, part one: read here > > > next part, part three: read here

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, more set up, depiction of anxiety, i think that's it and that's suspicious

You winced when the seamstress pinched your waist again while hemming the gown you modeled in front of a trio of mirrors atop a pedestal. "Apologies, my Lady," the woman with a heavy Braavosi accent excused with a quirked thick brow, "I appear off my clock, think I am seeing double."

"Expected after such long travels," you nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we should pause to let you rest, we can resume later - "

"No, no, nope, we have no time," the jittery ginger Maester Keiff Foral insisted, hands rushing in a flurry from where he was pacing behind you, "we have to get your dresses done now before the Princes arrive!"

"This is so superficial - "

"Stand straighter."

You huffed, "Tell me in earnest, why are we even entertaining these proposals?"

"Because war - "

"Not our war."

"Ours now that you've claimed a dragon!"

You sighed, just watching Madam Oraena Ostiris work in the reflection. "So we come to it," you whisper.

"To what, child?"

"You are angry I have claimed Balerion!"

Maester Foral pursed his lips, moving around to sit at the available table. "Angry? At you? I am weary," he admitted. "Bringing The Black Dread here, it has put a target on us, my Lady. The Greens and Blacks both were content to look the other way, we had declared ourselves neutral; they need Harrenhal more than they need Highgarden - and Oldtown's on their own, but now? Now, your dragon has beckoned them to our door."

"I can always refuse them," you mused.

"I do not know how the Princes would handle rejection from you in that dress," Foral chuckled. "Your father would choke if he saw you, my Lady."

"I suppose it is good he will not see again," you sighed, petting the material of your new gown. It was modern, chic, new; albeit revealing and daring, it was different. "I suppose I should ask, is there news?"

"No, my Lady. Your father makes no change."

In the tallest tower of the Highgarden Keep, your father, Lord Paramount Tyrell, laid in a bed; unmoving, unwaking, still breathing, as he has for the past 4 years following a swift and sudden infection. Your Targaryen Princess mother passed just a year prior to King Viserys, leaving you to inherit the lands, riches, titles, and all that comes with Lordship Ladyship of The Reach. This was until your brother, Ryden, now ten, came of age in another four years. Technically, he could assume Lordship at ten-and-three, but it was so stipulated he would remain under education until ten-and-four, pending your father's health.

"What do you think I should do, Maester?" You asked stiffly. "Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys both fly for us this day, what should I do?"

"Well, what feels appropriate?"

"As if that matters," you scoffed. He waited as you and Madam Ostiris chittered over your dress; making necessary changes in posture to let the seamstress hem and sew.

"Humor me, pretend it does," Maester Foral spoke to you through the mirror.

You frowned, rolling your eyes, "Well, ideally, I'd have time to get to know them both before being forced to choose who I want to bind myself to for life."

"Reasonable."

"For the love of the Gods, be helpful, Keiff, or get out," you huffed. "Do not just agree with me, please."

He chuckled, "All right, all right. You are the acting Lady of the House, you hold more power than you realize, and you now ride the largest dragon in the known world. So, receive them both and offer accommodations for the week their mothers have bartered for, and in that time, make clear you wish to spend equal time with them both before you declare for either side."

"I'm able... To do that?"

"Why not? If Rhaenyra can be Queen, why can you not take a week to get to know suitors you might possibly wish to spend your life with? Times are changing, my Lady, just look at the dragon you now ride, the position you hold." Keiff paused to take a long, deep breath, "You know, all-in-all, perhaps this will not be too bad."

"How so?"

"I hear both princes are rather becoming."

Your eyes rolled as Madam Ostiris snickered and softly mused, "Sounds as if, at least, whoever you choose will be someone pleasing to look at. There are worse fates, worse prospects of husbands, my Lady."

You hummed in acknowledgement, admiring your figure cut in the dress, directing to Keiff, "Do me a favor, old friend?"

"Of course, my Lady, anything."

"Keep me logical. If I fall prey to emotions, keep my head straight - I want to make the best, most logical, strategic pact for our people as possible."

"Do not be so pessimistic. Love can be so - "

"This isn't about love, it's about strategy, and at the very least, compatibility. A single week to decide who I will spend this life with, a week to consider which scales I tip in this war. This is about survival and stability, Maester, not love."

He sighed, watching Madam Ostiris tighten the laces of your exposed corset in a finishing touch to your attire. Since you were a babe, Maester Keiff Foral served your family; a surrogate father, nanny, tutor, friend, brother, the fun uncle you run away to when pissed at your parents. He hated how repugnant you sounded at love - wanting that magic for you, never wanting your marriage to be akin to a sales transaction.

Maester Foral, however, knew you to be a noble and honorable woman and if duty compels, someone who would agree to a marriage pact for other's benefit. So, he wasn't surprised by your determination to do your duty, but the way you spoke, the hostile acid used when speaking about marriage, about love - it saddened him. He knew you had so much love to give with nowhere to put it, nor were you equipped to accept authentic love - let alone give it a chance to let a flame catch and ashen.

One of the servants entered the chamber, hesitating only a moment before informing, "There's been a dragon sighted, my Lady. The watchmen predict no farther than 10 minutes from our location."

"Thank you," you breathed, Madam Ostiris finishing her work, allowing you time to finish prepping to your pleasure. "Maester Foral, please, uh, gather members of our court to the Throne Room. We'll receive the Princes. Oh, we'll need their rooms finalized, please, send some maids to double check the guest chambers are ready, as well. Ensure they're in separate wings."

"My Lady," he agreed, bowing out of the room to go do as you asked while you heaved a grand huff of breath.

There came a long pause as you looked at your dress, nodding in approval. "It becomes you," Madam Ostiris noted casually, packing up her sewing kit.

"Hmm?" You hummed.

"Power," she smirked.

"She's right," a voice chimed, Grandmother Celia came into the room; lips spread in a smirk, hands clasped before her. "Power becomes you, sweet petal," she chuckled. "That dress is exquisite."

"Madam Ostiris is a genius," you complimented, stepping off the pedestal. "I'm glad you're here. Tell me," your arms spread in bravado, "is this appropriate to meet our royal convoy in?"

"I would say," she approved, petting the skirt you wore. "Thank you, Madam Ostrich."

"Ostiris," you swiftly corrected with a smirk. "Madam, you've been shown your quarters, yes?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you."

"Thank you," you dismissed softly, watching her scoop her personal sewing kit into her arms and scurry out of the room. "Grandmother," you directed, pouring a goblet of sweet wine, "would you attend today's affair with me? I do not wish to stand alone."

"Maester Foral will be there."

"I would feel stronger with another Tyrell at my side."

She chuckled and took your arm, patting it in assurance. "I will always stand with you, my girl," she assured. "Are you prepared for their arrival?"

"As best I can be. I feel as if I am standing trial."

Celia chuckled, watching you take a nervous gulp. "To what crime?"

"Claiming to be a Targaryen is a heinous declaration, bordering on a punishable offense. None believed me, said I did not look akin to my claims; now I ride Balerion and am fielding marriage proposals from Dragon Princes. It's as if I am defending myself from tension that brewed in my mother's generation, and none of it feels real."

Celia nodded, "And yet, you carry this responsibility beautifully."

"Begrudgingly," you corrected with a smirk. "Shall we?" You finished your wine, setting the goblet down and offering your arm to her withered hand.

"To the Throne Room?"

"Courtyard," you corrected. "I intend to meet the royal envoy."

"Then we shall meet inside," she decided, "there's no chance I'm traipsing through the mud. Nor nearing your beast."

You agreed, watching her part as you were swept up by a swarm of maids and guards all escorting you towards the front of the Keep.

"My Lady," your usual lady's maid rushed up to you, "there's a dragon - "

"Yes, Eyme, I'm aware," you smirked, waving her to follow. "Did you have the guest chambers made up?"

"Yes, my Lady, in the East and West wings."

You nodded, "And the kitchens?"

"Stocked and preparing tonight's welcome feast," Eyme confirmed. The winds swept your dress skirt back when the doors opened, surging down the stairs as more of your Household Guard joined the procession.

"Open the gates," you commanded, leading the way out of the Keep. Things seemed relatively calm as the dragon in the distance was a growing speck, but then, the peace shattered when Balerion lifted his head and released a loud, reverberating growl. "Shit," you muttered, "stay here, stand at the ready!"

You rushed to your dragon laying in the valley beneath the Highgarden Keep, trying to use broken High Valyrian but making absolutely no sense - turning into a blubbering mess out of panic. There was no true calming your beast, especially when he lifted onto his feet and bared his teeth in threat. You cursed again.

Balerion stretched out, making you keep pace at his shoulder as the distant dragon drew closer. "You know them?" You asked The Black Dread casually, sighing and patting the scaly hide of his ankle - the only place you could honestly reach. "Is it a familiar smell?"

He grumbled and in truth, you had no honest idea if he understood the Common Tongue or not - but after so many years, perhaps he did to an extent.

"They're guests," you warned your dragon, who breathed heavily; shoulders hulking, leering in threat as the other dragon became more defined. "They're kin," you sighed. "One is your old rider's son, and the other, his grandson. Did you ever meet her? The Black Queen, Rhaenyra? Daughter of Viserys?"

Balerion huffed and you smirked, successfully distracting him. "I haven't either," you told him. "We'll judge them fairly, yes? You sniff out their dragons, see if they smell deceitful." When he grumbled, you patted his hide again, "Good lad." The dragon began it's decent, you musing, "Here we go..."

The first dragon that touched down was tiny in comparison, your curiosity peaking when another dot was spotted in the distance. "Easy," you told Balerion, "Vermax is young, he's not a threat." Your dragon grumbled as the dark haired Prince dismounted. "Vhagar approaches, she's who makes me nervous. Remain vigilant, that's a good lad."

You did not move far from your dragon, standing a few paces beside him as his head leered in an arch to watch the exchange as you faced the Prince. His dragon leered at your own; hissing and spitting, backing up a few paces as you smirked. When he was close enough, you greeted, "Welcome to Highgarden, my Prince."

"Lady Tyrell," he halted himself, eyeing Balerion with mistrust. "What a pleasure it is to make your formal acquaintance. I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

You relaid your full name, using your manners to ask, "I trust your travels were safe?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Though I regret to ask - "

"Vermax will be provided ample feeding," you smirked, clocking his breath of relief. "We've prepared for your arrival... And mine own, I suppose."

"I've often wondered, how much does The Black Dread consume?"

"Enough to feed several villages," you chuckled, glancing at the large head that dropped beside you. You laid an arm on him in a show of affection, "He's very good at self sustaining; though, I buy his love by feeding him livestock. I hope it makes up for my inability to speak High Valyrian."

"Perhaps we could arrange some lessons," he smiled prettily.

"That would be appreciated," you nodded. "In fact, I was hoping for your opinion on a tutor, while you're here. I'd like to learn of my heritage, but being able to communicate with Balerion is paramount."

"Of course, my Lady."

You watched as Prince Jacaerys was welcomed into your court as Vhagar eventually made her descent. You required a moment or two to collect yourself, swallowing nervously in the presence of the Velaryon Prince; a young lad you found almost dreadfully attractive. Despite his thick head of dark, luscious curls, he was every bit Targaryen you were - perfectly one half, on your mother's side.

For some reason, to the Realm, the mother's lineage is erased and forgotten - but blood doesn't lie. Neither do genetics, but that was a conversation for a different day.

You thought the Prince was well groomed; his thin face angular, high structured, and sharp, framed by his corkscrew curls. Though lean, he appeared to have the makings of muscle; standing taller than you, freckles sprayed across his nose and cheeks, lips plump and perfectly pouting.

Balerion bellowed when faced with Vhagar - even at a distance. You were unsure what word to use, but smoothly, you heard Jace provide the High Valyrian word for clam, "Lykiri."

You repeated the word with a stutter, Jace gently repeating himself to allow your tongue to form the foreign word. After another try or two, you were rolling your pronunciation; Balerion shifting his weight and growling, even under your patient hand. You muttered a few words in the Common Tongue, the beast glowering with literal smoke wafting from his nostrils as the One-Eyed Prince stalked across the short distance between dragons.

"Prince Aemond," You greeted kindly, "welcome to Highgarden."

As you went through the usual spiel, you got a good look at the Kinslayer Prince. He was handsome in a much more unique way; perhaps unconventional, but certainly alluring. His jaw (and nose) came to a point, his expression full with his single eye; stoic yet oddly expressive. His pin-straight platinum locks were down, pieces at his temple tied back simply to accommodate the strap of his eyepatch. His cheeks were chiseled. His scar was a dark pinkish-tan against porcelain flesh, indicating years of healing. Thin, bowed, quirked lips - even with a neutral and passive expression.

Handsome, indeed.

After hearing your court greet Aemond respectfully, attention had shifted towards you again. You told both Jacaerys and Aemond smoothly, "I hope to come to know the extent of our hospitality during your stay here. I apologize for greeting you outside the bounds of the Keep - I was unsure how Balerion would react to visitors. And I should apologize for our lack of Dragonpit, I understand the anxiety you might feel from leaving your dragons exposed; there's never been need to host dragons at Highgarden before."

"Mh," Prince Aemond hummed, "though appreciated, no apology is necessary, my Lady. Thank you for granting me your audience. The King was most pleased to learn you accepted our parlay invitation."

"No thanks necessary, my Prince," you shot back, saving Jace from rebuttal, "but I have yet to bend the knee, and therefore, encourage you do not mistake my hospitable curiosity to receive your envoy, my Prince, for alleged proclamation of support in the war ravaging the Realm. Yet while I do not declare for either of your sides yet, it's akin to alining with both." You paused, lips straightening in tight emotion, "I've learned those who refuse kings - or their kin - end in demise, so, at the very least, I'd be a fool to reject your entry under my roof."

"Nevertheless, the King appreciates your cooperation."

Balerion growled as if in disagreement with the term "King", but you just hushed like a parent would a child, "Aht! You behave."

Seeing them both offer kind amusement to your words, you noted how effortless Jace appeared and how Aemond's expression appeared to host veiled impatience. You remembered this wasn't some romantic meet-cute, but a very disingenuous way to marry; to find a partner; to start a new life - what very well could be the rest of your life.

Something in your gut stirred.

You were pretty as a petal, protected by dragon hide; knowing that when people saw you, they saw a meek, unmarried maiden and concocted their own narrative, snap judgements, harsh in their opinion. They thought you looked weak - a death sentence in this day and age; looking the part of vulnerable, all but offering for others to take advantage and manipulate you - only to dine on them. As dragons do.

Pretty girls were viewed as prey, appearing as easy targets. It was sickeningly frustrating to always be the bigger person; to remain ladylike, soft, kind, seen and never heard even in the face of adversity.

Like your grandmother said, it was time to be a dragon - who don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Dragons leave absolutely zero room for disrespect, and they never ask for respect - it's given, warranted, collected, nonverbally demanded all out of fear. Respect universally bestowed to the top apex predator who could end life in a single stream of fire, crush anyone or anything under their legs, decommission entire cities; talons that can easily eviscerate, teeth that could shred human flesh and bones like cheese on a grater.

Be a dragon.

So, you smirked, "Follow me, then, my Princes, Grandmother will be eager to meet you."

Two guards walked ahead of you, leading the procession into the Highgarden Keep. Maids and other guards placed themselves strategically between the Princes, but it seemed the Prince in green leather followed you closely at an even pace, lanky legs moving him with a distinct swagger; feeling almost magnetized to you while gliding through the Keep.

Upon entering the Throne Room (which wasn't a real "throne room" but instead, the room the Lord of the Reach would sit when receiving his peers, guests, counterparts, and citizens), you saw Maester Keiff Foral with your grandmother, Celia, standing at the front of the room with your brother, Ryden, around the seat you were to occupy.

Not feeling secure enough to sit in your new dress, you remained standing while introducing the two Princes - but it was still obvious, you were at the helm of Highgarden.

"Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys wish to discuss an alliance between our Houses - we are going to hear their marriage petitions," you announced officially, finally taking a seat - but in a perch, teetering at the very edge. "Now," you cleared your throat, "you both sent words of parlay that we have agreed to hear. Are you both designated to offer terms of negotiation?"

"Yes, my Lady," Jace nodded, your eyes shifting to Aemond, who nodded and repeated his words.

With a hum, you continued, "Then I encourage you both to listen closely. As Lady of this House, I will do whatever is right by my people - not this war. I am not currency for either of you to collect, this is about negotiating terms of peace. Nobody today is present under false pretenses, yes?"

There was a murmured wave of agreement.

"Then we are all aware that this alliance means the fighting rights to Balerion." There was another few nods. "I would see peace return to our land, to this Realm, but first, we have much to discuss. So, I will offer you both one week. In this proposed week, I will attempt to spend equal time with you both and learn of you; since marriage is served over a lifetime, I want to be sure about the man I willingly spend it with. Is this agreeable?"

"I accept your terms," Aemond nodded.

"Oh, you haven't heard my terms yet, love, sit tight," you mused; longer fingernails drumming on the armchairs. "Is this agreeable? A one-week term?"

"Yes, my Lady, most gracious of you," Jace agreed.

Aemond's head tilted to the side, slowly regarding those who ruled The Reach - all watching him like a wild dragon. "Tell me," Aemond leered, "when Lord Tyrell passes, who inherits Highgarden?"

You scoffed gently.

"Lady Tyrell, my Prince, until the new Lord Tyrell comes of age," Maester Keiff Foral answered strongly. "Your father, Gods rest his soul, was a peaceful King and the Realm is forever grateful that the Quiet Age lasted this long after King Jaehaerys ruled - but Viserys was not the first man to name a woman heir. Yes, first woman to the Iron Throne, but there are known keeps and kingdoms under the leadership of women - The Reach, for example. The Vale and Dorne, too."

"I am well aware. Does Lord Tyrell have any bastards?"

"Uh, n-no, my Prince. None that are known...?"

"Can anyone lay claim to her inheritance?" Aemond asked plainly, cutting off anyone ready to scold him for his brash questions.

"No, but she is expected to rule until her brother ages, and Gods forbid, if something happens to Ryden, she is to birth presumably the next Lord of Highgarden," Keiff answered slowly, as if piecing the idea together in real time.

"Then, forgive my hesitance, but why bother with Prince Jacaerys?" Aemond dared. "If he's to inherit the Throne," he mocked, "Lady Tyrell would have to forfeit her duties and the family's ancestral seat for a time, produce heirs for her husband's line, stand at the King's side when she's meant to rule here. Begs the question who Prince Jacaerys means to propose for this alliance? Surely, not himself as he's previously betrothed - to his cousin, uh, stepsister, Lady Baela?"

"And what of your engagement to Floris Baratheon?" Jace shot back.

Sure, his question was being answered (both engagements broken) and actually spurred conversation around the room, but Aemond couldn't hear anymore. Yes, he started this, but salty, warm, pressurized waters had flooded the chamber through sealed windows to trap Aemond in waves of anxiety. Suddenly, his nerves compressed, lungs emptied but couldn't refill; veins dilated to accommodate his worrisome racing heart, throat closing immediately after.

Jacaerys... Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who would be a legitimized, recognized, acknowledged Targaryen upon succession... Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jace... Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace...

Memories flashed to silently - privately - remind Aemond of that day when Vhagar killed Lucerys - the little bastard brother of Jacaerys. That infamous day haunts Aemond, feeling unfamiliar guilt and shame with himself - which didn't say much considering Aemond's entire life was a steady-handed written tragedy. Now, the other object of his ire would face off with him as Luke had... Vying for a Lady's hand...

Aemond wondered if Jace - being older with dropped testicles - would scream, and if so, would it be like Luke's? Shrill? Or something "deeper"? Lucerys screamed in sheer terror before being swallowed whole; arguably the day that started the war, but definitely being first blood shed (unless you believed that to be Lord Beesbury). Blood was going to be spilled one way or another! This was war, after all!

Aemond hated being mere feet from Jacaerys, but for the sake of the Realm, he restrained himself.

Yet nobody in that room was stronger than Jace - who stood, patiently, pleasantly, mere feet from the man who murdered his beloved baby brother in brutal cold blood. There would never be a more opportune time to strike for vengeance, but Jace kept his cool - insisting to himself that if he remained patient, he'd get his chance. Or perhaps karma would get Aemond! But one thing was for sure: Jace refused to "lose" you to this Kinslayer. So, he kept calm.

Aemond was sent to Highgarden by his mother; by the Green Council; by anyone not himself. Jace, sure, had been sent by the Black Council - but he had wanted to do his duty to his mother, in this war; to history. Jace felt honored to be received by your Ladyship - and by Gods, it showed.

Eventually, you spoke clearly through both Prince's internal thoughts, turmoil, and monologues:

"In this week, you are both welcomed guests, and all of Highgarden's amenities, resources, and services are at your disposal, my Princes. What livestock can be spared, your dragons will be fed - though do not be startled if they venture off with Balerion, he enjoys hunting in the surrounding areas. You're both to be hosted in different wings of the Keep," you laid out plainly, "and under no circumstances shall violence nor taunting be permitted. I understand the animosity between you two, there's been plenty of rumors - so I will not see bloodshed in nor around my home," you directed at Aemond, "to one another, myself, family, or dragon; nor any staff members, occupants of the Keep, and / or citizens. Can you both agree to these terms?"

"I agree," Jacaerys almost instantly accepted.

"I agree," Aemond nodded stiffly.

"Good. Then, come next Sunday, I endeavor to have a decision for you. I ask you both to consider a single question that I will expect answered in the coming days: what role would you have me play in this war? What would you see me do? Have me do?" There came a pause. "If there are no questions, I think we have much to discuss - privately."

When neither Prince argued, you and Maester Foral lead the terms of negotiation. You worried mostly over how The Reach would either suffer or benefit; hardly caring about personal expectations, you wanted to know who would overhead the barley production that season - since ale was so precious to the Realm. You wanted to know who would be funding the new irrigation system. You wanted to know how quickly either side would retreat once their alliance was made - essentially asking how long this war was expected to last post alliance. You wanted to know how best to help your people, fearing they'd suffer if you chose the wrong side to aline with.

After several hours, you understood the terms set by the Blacks and Greens; insisting they disperse for supper and get a fresh start for tomorrow. When the chambers emptied, leaving you, Keiff, and Celia, it was eerily quiet for several long heartbeats.

"What is it?" Maester Foral asked, leaning his crossed arms on the tabletop. "What do you think, my Lady?"

"This feels... I don't know, futile?" You struggled to think rationally, sighing deeply. "Like, what's the point? Rhaenyra isn't gonna let her claim to the Iron Throne go. And Aegon is more likely to tap dance naked in the streets of King's Landing than stand off the Throne. His mother, I hear, would probably shove him out a bloody window if he dared give up the Throne she stole for him. No matter what, Keiff, both sides think they're right and it's too late now. So, what do we do? Do we affirm this usurper's claim? Or do we help the Queen get her birthright back?"

"It is not a simple thing I can answer."

"Nobody can - yet I am expected to," you huffed. "They won't back down... We all know they won't - neither side will consent. So, no matter what I do, who I choose, I'll be on the frontlines with Balerion. They'll expect us to commit some incredible yet treacherous acts, like The Conqueror fucking burning Harrenhal. No matter what we choose, this war isn't gonna end, will it?"

Celia just sighed as Maester Foral was quiet, then he, too, sighed deeply. He spoke softly, "In truth? I always worried this would happen. There's nothing wrong with a woman heir, I never understood the fuss. Yet this country is so - so - so...?"

"Traditional?" Celia guessed. "Stubborn?"

"Closed minded," Keiff found the words, you nodding along. "They think because we started with a King, we should end with a King, and nowhere between should there be a ruling Queen. I don't know if Rhaenyra stands a chance winning..."

"What do you mean?" Celia asked stiffly.

"Even if she defeats the Greens, takes back her Throne, she'll still have to face the entire Realm - who whisper about her predicted downfall. A Queen will never rule," he frowned, "and the people would become restless and unhappy, betrayal would always brew - someone would always plot against her. She wouldn't be winning the war - but affirming it."

You frowned, "Who would think they have better claim than Rhaenyra?"

"Aegon - "

"Besides him," you chuckled.

"Prince Aemond, probably. And by the same right, Prince Daeron would have a claim - being Viserys' seed," Celia considered. "Could even be a bastard or two lingering in the shadows. Consider if Baelon had bastards, huh?"

"Prince Baelon? Bastards?" You laughed. "The man was devoted to his wife!"

"Devoted men can still fuck around! A cunt is still a cunt!"

"Oh, Grandmother, don't say that - I don't think you're allowed to say that and I certainly don't wish to hear it!"

Keiff spoke over you both, "There could be any number of bastards - from any number of royals. But there's no real proof of lineage, less the sire steps forward, and in this case, all sires are dead. So, I wouldn't worry about any bastards trying to raise and lay claim."

The night was still young and the questions only just starting.

ONE WEEK LATER

Dawn would peak in less than an hour, and yet, instead of being safe and warm in bed, you were slipping in dew-dotted grass while carting a wagon full of sickly lambs. In a tremendously unladylike fashion, you cursed like a sailor, annoyed with nature; pacing further from the border of the Highgarden Keep.

After clearing the dewy hill, you descended into the valley Balerion had curled up in. His head lifted as you approached, his grumble causing the earth to quake and send birds squawking into the skies. "Yeah," you panted, "I'm hungry, too, love, just gimme a second. Good lad."

For the past nine weeks you've had your dragon, you had fallen into routine of bringing him little treats. Cattle, goats, chickens, sometimes dogs or horses; and today, after an entire litter fell fatally ill, lambs. Vhagar and Vermax were in the sky above the Keep.

"All right, love," you sighed, approaching your beastie. With a tentative tongue, you tried the commands in High Valyrian both Princes had taught you that past week, "Serve, Balerion."

No story could do this beast justice. He was magnificent, but also absolutely terrifying - horrifying - devastating to gaze at. It's said “his wingspan was so large that his shadow could engulf entire towns when he passed overhead. His teeth were as long as swords, and his jaws were large enough to swallow an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths that are said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.”

In person, he was the living embodiment of Death.

You repeated yourself, listening to your dragon huff before lowering his head. "Be calm, Balerion," you commanded with a stern voice, smirking when he grumbled, "be calm. Easy... Easy," you chanted, extending your hand. His lip twitched as his snout extended, allowing you to lay a gentle touch to his cracked ebony scales. "Good," you praised, "good, be calm."

He breathed deeply, eyes bright and blazing a menacing flame red. You were lost in thought as you stroked his face, mind whirling with all that happened the past week; mind nagging about the stark differences in Dragon Princes. Balerion did not find his feet, there was no need; lifting his head only slightly when you pulled away to overturn the wagon before him. At your feet, the lambs were too sick to run away, bleating helplessly; the great large beast locking eyes with you and waiting for permission.

After several steps back, you smirked and called, "Eat, Balerion."

Behind you, a voice called your name. Balerion didn't care, indulging in his breakfast treat, allowing you to peak back and locate your best mate, Alora Flowers, waving you down. "C'mon, love," she called.

"You! C'mere," you told her, lugging the now empty wagon behind you.

"Gods, no!" She squeaked. "You get up here! I'm not going around that beast, you know this!"

"Coward!"

"Absolutely! Proudly!"

You laughed, lugging the wagon to a certain height and then leaving it to meet Alora on the hill incline. "Still scared of him?" You teased.

"Of the big arse dragon?" She laughed, "Yeah! I'm still scared! Even at this distance, he could reach out and snack on us."

"Good thing he won't," you assured, nudging her to sit down. "What're you doin' out here? It's early."

"You were not in your chambers," she noted, "and today's the day you announce to the Princes... I wanted to check on you, see how you're feeling about everything."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as she revealed the miniature picnic basket she brought. As Alora unpacked an array of fruits, some cheeses and breads with jams, honey, and dried meats, you admitted, "I've no bloody idea what to think anymore."

"Oh, that's not good."

You hummed, biting into an apple as Balerion crunched three lambs between his jaws at once. "It's been a touch overwhelming," you muse. "But either Prince has made an impression, I am now tasked with choosing a side in this Godsforsaken war."

"You could truly turn the tide in it," Alora nodded, biting into a plum. "Take the Realm in a direction it's never been before... Or support it going in the same direction it's always gone. Which, you know, lead us here anyways."

Your eyes rolled, "Well, when you phrase it like that..."

"C'mon," she nudged your shoulder. "They're both very handsome, but for different reasons."

"Hmm?"

"Prince Jacaerys is handsome in a stereotypical way. You know, cut jawline, chiseled cheekbones, luscious curly hair. He's young, but in a charming way - seems green to the ways of the world. He'd be a match to learn with you," she chuckled, sighing to herself.

"You seem enraptured - surely, you'd hate me for choosing Prince Jacaerys since you sound so taken by him."

"Unless the Prince's penis suddenly reverts within his body, I don't envision myself with him," Alora teased, making you both laugh loudly. She flinched a little when Balerion grumbled and lifted his head to seemingly glare at the pair of you for interrupting him. After clearing her throat, she continued, "On the other hand, Prince Aemond's handsome in a rugged way. He's entirely chiseled, mysterious and confident. His entire presence drawls you in."

"All seems so simple when comparing men on parchment," you frowned, leaning back onto your elbow as the sun began its ascent above the horizon.

"Well, let's break it down."

"How?"

"If you aline with the Greens, what would that look like?"

You paused to consider her question, answering, "Chaotic."

"Think deeper."

Chewing a piece of bread with cheese, you considered, "Probably a logical choice, since the Realm has only ever known men to sit the Iron Throne. It wouldn't challenge norms, would relatively keep the peace since there's plenty to be expected when a man rules. Balerion would be put to use; that, I can all but guarantee. Things would... Become predictable, but perhaps that's preferred. After decades of peace, perhaps it's best to not change the status quo."

Alora nodded, "Alining with the Greens would keep Aegon on the Throne."

"Use Balerion would neutralize Rhaenyra, though?"

"Probably. And anyone who offers Aegon insult."

"And if I aline with the Blacks, then I would dethrone a usurper..."

"What an adventure that sounds like," she chuckled, you agreeing. "Keep going, we could expect what outta you alining with the Blacks?"

You huffed, "Chaos."

"Bitch."

Laughter felt a little misplaced, but still, you shared in the exchange of amusement. "Rhaenyra's the emotional choice - where it almost doesn't matter her qualifications because the Realm swore to her; she was declared and her claim upheld by her father, the King. We would be putting a Queen on her Throne, as intended. The Greens would be extinguished... We'd be heralding in a new age. Her son would sit the Throne after her..."

Alora blinked, "Am I just realizing that now?"

"What?"

"If you marry Aemond, you'll be the King's sister-by-law. If you marry Jace, you'd... You'd be Queen one day."

"What a fate after all I've been denied," you scoffed bitterly, "all my mother and aunt were denied."

"The Vanished Princess and the Queen Who Never Was. Quite a pair."

"I hear, in their youth, they were," you frowned with a sigh. "We'll never see their likes again."

"No... But perhaps, we'll see something new in you. Answer me this, who did you think was nice?"

"Oh, fuck off - nobody cares for that - "

"I do," she snapped. "Now, answer me. Who do you think is nice? Which Prince? Either? Neither? Both?"

You hummed in consideration, answering nervously, "Jace was nice - is. Is nice, Jace is nice."

"Who do you think you have more in common with?"

"Maybe Aemond."

"Are either of them funny?"

"Jace has a sense of humor, Aemond is so very... Rigid and stoic."

"I imagine it takes longer than a week to truly know someone, perhaps he is anxious?"

"Or perhaps he is simply doing his duty," you scoffed gently. "At the very least, Jace seems... Somewhat..." You shrugged, "Excited to be here, maybe even intrigued."

She nodded. "So, no matter who you choose, we're looking at war - but the end of the war, so... Where do you wish to stand? Since it's inevitable, I think this comes down to what kind of chaos you want to see - a chaos we've endured or one we've never seen before? I mean, never before has a woman come so close to the Throne..."

There was a long silence. Like, several minutes long. After deep-enough contemplation, you whispered, "If this past week if any indication..." You trailed off, sighing deeply for the hundredth time; staring at Balerion. "I think I know what I should do."

"Oh?"

"Talking it out helps."

"Then talk," she leaned back in the grass. "Tell me about this past week - tell me about the Princes."

And where to start?

< < < previous part, part one: read here

> > > next part, part three: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[jacesbeloved]

handmaiden ✷ j. velaryon, b. targaryen

✷ ⎯ summary: wherein jace and baela’s marriage looks for just a wee bit more spice and who better than you, their favorite handmaiden.

✷ ⎯ pairing: jacaerys velaryon x handmaiden!reader x baela targaryen

✷ ⎯ warnings: 18+, consented threesome, m/f/f, slightly innocent!reader, oral (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight voyeurism (probably more i just forgot abt some)

A soft call of your name from inside of Princess Baela's and Prince Jacaerys' chambers disrupts your current activity. You were busy in assisting the other handmaidens with their daily chores when their call echoed through the corridors.

You had grown rather fond of the couple, having known them ever since you were just a little girl when your mother was still teaching you her ways. Sometimes, you'd even get scolded by your mother because of how much you stay with Jacaerys and his brother. Whenever Baela visits King's Landing with her sister, of course, you stay with them as well.

It takes a minute for you to arrive at their door but when you do, you knock and there's no response. You knock again and you hear Baela's voice calling you inside.

"Yes—Oh my, I'm sorry. I'll come back another—" surprises screams through your tone as you hurry out of the room after seemingly barging in during an intimate moment. Baela was straddling Jace's lap, making out with each other.

Your eyes go wide as you clutch your chest, breathing heavily while leaning on the wall beside the door.

What in the actual seven hells did I just see?

You swore Baela called you inside, it wasn't just some hallucination or anything, she really did. You remember it as clear as day. If you didn't hear her clearly, you wouldn't have came in the first place. You're not that close with them.

"I thought you heard us called you?" The voice behind you makes you jump. Baela's head peeking from their door. Words get caught in your throat. Nothing but a confused, stammering mess as you tried to reply to her. "You, uh, you and Prince Jacaerys were busy. I apologize for intruding on such a time I just heard you, uhm, yeah."

"I know, silly! We were calling you."

You point a finger to yourself, scratching the side of your head with your other hand. "Me...?"

Baela lets out a lighthearted huff, looking around the corridor before pulling you inside of the chambers by your wrist. The sudden contact making you stumble inside as you stand there frozen like a statue with your eyes closed shut.

You hear their chuckles around you. Still hesitant to open your eyes in fear of what might be in front of you.

"It is okay to open your eyes, don't worry," you hear Jacaerys' soft voice speak from somewhere inside. "She's cute, closing her eyes." Baela adds on and you already know she's smiling.

Slowly, with a few more convincing from the two, you open your eyes. As if the world has not surprised you yet, it's definitely surprising you now.

The top of Baela's dress was down, hanging around her waist as it would only take a simple pull from you and everything she had covered in her southern region will be out in the open. You glue your eyes above her neck, trying your best not to look at the beautiful pair of breasts that she displayed proudly.

Your throat goes dry as you still can't find the right words to describe what you're feeling.

"You're scaring the poor girl, Beloved. She looks like she'll faint any minute now," you internally thank Jacaerys for noticing that. You honestly didn't know how you can handle the situation, your mother never trained you for situations such as this.

"Please don't faint," Baela frowns, holding your hand. Your heart instantly beats faster than before. "We haven't even gotten to the fun yet."

You inhale deeply, "What fun?"

The woman in front of you grins, tightening her hold around your hand before bringing you to the enormous bed where Jacaerys had been sitting on since earlier. His lips puffier than it already is, numerous love marks on his chest.

"Okay, for your sake, let us explain first in very simple terms," you nod at Baela's introduction, still keeping your eyes above level as you see Jacaerys eye her chest down, his hand lovingly holding one breast before he presses a kiss on it like you weren't there.

"We want to invite you to our bed." Baela says in a straightforward manner, with a smile.

"Your..?"

"Yes, as in our bed. Here. Now." She adds, looking at you with a genuine look but confusion was the only thing you felt.

Why were they inviting you of all people?

Baela answers the question on your mind, "We want to try new things in the bedroom and frankly...you're the only one we trust the most to be with."

"We don't want to pressure you to do things you don't want to, okay? You don't have to accept the invitation right—"

Your head nods before you can even overthink your decision. The couple just as surprised as you were. They look at each other, a laugh eliciting from the both of them making you laugh awkwardly as well.

"Are you sure?" Jacaerys asks, his eyes expressing concern.

You nod again, "Yes, my prince, I am very...sure."

Your voice came out breathier than you had intended but who could blame you? They may be a friend of yours but the way they looked at you now is like they're ready to swallow you whole.

"You need not to call us formally. Jace and Baela are perfectly fine. We are friends here, and we'll not do anything you are not comfortable with." Jace notes, signaling to Baela with a nod.

"You can start by pulling off my dress, sweetheart," Baela says, guiding your hand to the dress pooling at her waist. With careful hands, you pull it off, finally letting your eyes wander across her body until you've fully pulled the dress off.

The older woman steps out of it, reaching behind you to undo your own dress which takes her no more than a minute to do so.

Her eyes marvel at the sight of your naked breasts. Not being able to stop herself as she presses a warm kiss on the two erect buds. A soft moan coming from you as you feel her tongue circling your nipple while she pulls the rest off.

Now, you were both fully naked. You turn your head to Jace's direction, the prince slowly palming his trousers making your cheeks heat up.

"I think Jace needs some help, sweetheart," Baela grins as she takes a quick glance at her lover. The said man's lips stretching into a smile as Baela helps you onto the bed, hitting your ass excitedly.

You sit next to him, Jace taking the liberty in initiating the kiss first. His tongue swiping across your lip as you happily open your mouth, letting him explore every part. You could feel his hand groping your chest as you let him do as he pleases.  A groan escapes his lips making him pull away. Your eyes dart open and you see Jace looking down on where Baela was, his cock out and angry as she runs her hand up and down. You feel a surge of heat in your core when Baela licks the underside of his cock all the while batting up her eyelashes at both you and Jace.  Baela notices you press your legs together and so she gestures at you to come to her. You do as she wants, going on your knees to crawl to where she was and you feel something foreign from behind. Without any warning, you feel Jace's tongue on your hole making you yelp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you halt due to the sensation. You melt into the mattress with no more care anymore. Wanton moans resonating around the walls.  "How does Jace's mouth feel, sweetheart?" Baela coos, holding your face up to press a kiss on your lips before lying down on her back in front of you. You feel your throat go dry when Baela spreads her legs right in front of your face, her drenched cunt looking so enticing that you didn't even notice you staring directly at it. She reaches down to tap your chin, "I asked you a question."  You whine, "It feels so good." Satisfied with your answer, Jace inserts a finger, pumping it slowly inside you making you moan louder. Baela spreads her own folds, calling your attention. "Have you eaten out a woman before, sweetheart?"  "I haven't," you say, thinking to yourself How hard could it possibly be to pleasure a woman?   "Don't just look at it. Eat it," you first dive in, licking her slit before swirling your tongue on her clit. She tasted heavenly. Saying it was better than any meal you have eaten in your life is not much of an exaggeration. The long and satisfied moan that you hear from her spurs you on more as you lap her juices faster.  For someone that hasn't done anything with a woman, you definitely exceeded her expectations.  You try to focus on licking and flicking your tongue across and inside of her folds but Jace is making it hard to do so. He's become a lot more aggressive with his ministrations, pumping in three fingers while he sucks on your clit hungrily.  Jace hits just the right spot and you had to pull away from Baela's pussy to cry out from the pleasure. Feeling so close to the edge. Baela props herself on her elbows, watching your blissed out face.    He feels you clench around his fingers, tell-tales of your orgasm prompting him to quicken up. Soon enough, your head drops down with a loud moan. Your legs quivering on his face as he licks every drop from your pussy.  "Sit up, come on. We're not finished."