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beware-of-pity · 1 month ago

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You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) I

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Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Summary:

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

A/N: This is a blend of both the show and the book, so if most characterisations (mostly the greens) don't add up to you, it's because of that. (since the show has been....something, as of late). Also, Silverwing is your dragon, for story's sake.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter I: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed.

The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

After the Blacks captured the capital and killed your brother Aegon and the rest of your family, your sister ruled the Seven Kingdoms unchallenged. Prince Jacaerys, her son and your nephew, was named the prince of Dragonstone in front of the whole of the realm. Her other sons were given high places of honour at her court, her family was praised and became the subject of songs and tales through the realm, while you and your remaining family became royal afterthoughts.

Rhaenyra had been unsure of what to do with you when she had taken hold of the capital. At the time, you had the comfort of your older sister Helaena, who you comforted and held most of the time, especially after she had fallen into the grief of madness at the death of her eldest son. She had allowed you relative freedom, more than your mother was allowed, as she had been confined and chained to the dungeons of the keep, gaining her the name ‘The Queen in Chains’. In her ways, you suppose, she had tried to get close to you in an effort to reconcile the break the war had caused to your family, and despite how you had never seen her in the same way your mother had all her life, you remained unresponsive to her approaches. The wounds were too deep, and you weren’t sure you could forgive what had taken place the night Blood and Cheese stormed the castle, even with the knowledge that she had not been the one to orchestrate the siege but rather your uncle Daemon, in the name of revenge for the death of your nephew Lucerys.

But when Helaena had thrown herself off the highest window of the keep, losing her life after getting impaled by the spikes surrounding it, Rhaenyra had given up hope for reconciliation. Helaena was the closest family member you had, after your mother, never properly gettin' along with your brothers, except for Daeron. Safe to say, her death had broken you and left you unresponsive to each news of peril coming to your faction.

When the news of Aemond’s death at the end of your uncle Daemon reached you, you did not shed a tear, and when Daeron died you said you had no time for them. They would be futile, tears did not reach the dead, after all.

Amidst bloodshed and warmongering, there was but one person you allowed in the solitude your life had taken hold of; Your nephew, Jacaerys.

It was he who had dismissed the attempts of his mother’s council of sending you away to Old Town to become a Septa or making you a lady in waiting to his step-sisters Baela and Rhaena, who they too took no comfort in the notion. You were their prisoner, yes, but no one must forget that you and Jaehaera were their family, of royal blood, and with peace now upon the realm, proving discord lingering still was not how the House of the Dragon would rebuild itself.

Jacaerys had convinced them to keep you hostage, using you to keep in line the great houses that had fought alongside the greens - but that was a notion he used only for his allies and councillors. You were more than just a hostage for him, always having been. You were his aunt, one he cherished so.

Since you were the same age, you had grown up together. You shared a wet nurse in infancy and were often taught your lessons by the same measter.

You never shared the same dislike your brothers had for him and his brothers, and even so, you thought the notion of Jacaerys stealing Aegon and Aemond’s birthrights, which they and your mother believed in, to be utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t steal something that was not theirs in the first place; he got what he had from his mother, your sister, who had rights over the iron throne long before they were even born. To say you were heartbroken when your sister had taken residence on Dragonstone, taking her children with her, would be an understatement. You were more pained when the next time you saw him was the same night Aemond lost his eye.

Aemond played the helpless victim of a deliberate attack by your nephews and cousins in public as he spouted devious words about them in private while gloating at his great accomplishment, claiming Vaghar for the greens. Words you tried to reprimand him for, which, in turn, turned his anger to you. It’s not that you didn’t condone his lost eye, but for him to be rid of guilt and his part in the ordeal always ticked you in the wrong way. His anger had always been his least strong suit, narcissism only growing from there, thinking himself invincible, which only resulted in him making rush decisions that gained him but a brief advantage, such as marching to Harrenhall and leaving King’s Landing undefended, giving the perfect opening for your sister to fly and claim as her own.

You had been among the few asking for Aegon to send for peace. The damage was done, the throne was usurped, though everyone refused to call it so, and you couldn’t do anything about that. When Helaena suggested peace terms, she did so with your support as well as that of your mother and grandmaster Orwyle.

But Aemond had to go and ruin everything.

You thought of escaping then, wanting to bring Helaena and her little ones along, flying on Silverwing and Dreamfyre to Dragonstone, bending the knee and seeking protection before Rhaenyra’s wrath befell your family. But how could you? Helaena and you had been separated from Rhaenyra since you two were young, occasionally seeing her when her family visited King’s Landing, you didn’t know the woman or how she would react to you showing up at her doorsteps.

Besides, you two had been securely under Alicent's thumb for your whole lives, and the thought of your mother thinking you a traitor filled you with panic. You couldn’t betray her or make her believe you had. You and Helaena had been robbed of autonomy your entire lives, but you did try to help Rhaenyra when you two could. So, when Helaena was punished alongside Aegon for something Aemond had done, you felt all the more guilty for not having done more for your siblings.

If before you had been worried about losing everything, now that you had nothing, you spent your days mute, not doing anything. When your mother was allowed to visit, you turned her away, not wanting to hear of her maddening and secretive plans to place you or Jaehaera on the throne.

You were told she mostly cried, ripped her old gowns and threw the books given to her out of the windows of her room. You cared for her still, but not enough to deal with her when you too were not doing any better.

You were not allowed outside, in case you tried an escape, unless Jacaerys or a group of guards accompanied you. You were not allowed to dine with everyone in the great hall and most of all you were deprived of Silverwing. The last you saw or rode her was before Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing…..and how long ago was that? A year….two? You couldn’t tell….you had lost perception of time.

Jacaerys always proved courteous and kind, just as he had before the war. Even when you were stripped of your room and placed in a smaller one, your staff diminished to only a few trusted maids of his mother, and your gowns relegated to simple, black ones, he always made sure you had everything you needed, which you were grateful for. What he couldn’t give you though, was the thing that pained you the most.

He brought you books, needles and points to pass your time, and kept you company when he was free of his duties. But it was all futile, nothing could quelch the sting of pain in your heart.

You wandered the halls like a ghost, the black of your gowns making you blend in the darkness. Some say you were dead inside or having died the day your sister had. Nevertheless, Jacaerys’ attempts at bringing light to your life never ceased. He brought you flowers which you kept in vases in your room, but that with barely any light or air in the smallness of it all, died by the days. As so, he’d let you plant your flowers in the gardens of the Keep. Even though you barely spoke after the death of your entire family, taking care of the flowers made you happy.

You were allowed to bring Jaehaera with you, the little girl taking to you as if you were her mother, and if you were mute, she was another case altogether. Jaehaera was born tiny and slow to grow. She did not cry or smile or act as babies normally would. Her lack of emotion continued as she grew older. She is sweet but a simple girl in mind. She loved the flowers you planted, which you encouraged for her to pick and take with her to her room.

You two were often asked to attend court, to remember others of your presence and what they meant. Jaehaera would clutch your hand as you held hers, standing as close to you as she could and more so she could hide behind the panels of your skirt. Those days were those she dreaded most; she hated being looked at, especially by so many people, but your presence beside her gave her enough strength and courage to withstand the ordeal.

Those were also the days you had begun begging your sister to allow you for things. You would kneel, if necessary, in front of the iron throne which she sat upon, asking her in front of the eyes of the court to allow you for simple things, the simple pleasures you had long forgotten the taste of, such as one more gown for you or Jaehaera, the companionship of more maids, or for you to see your dragon.

She would accept every request of yours except for the last, she never accepted the last. But you held the same stubbornness every Targaryen was born with, one she had, and saw in her children too. Your requests became more frequent, sometimes, they were frantic, at times, you cried, while at others, you just asked with the monotony of a dead woman. How low of you, some thought, a royal princess, the daughter of a King long gone, having to beg her sister on her knees.

While it pained Rhaenyra to turn you down, the pain you felt was one she would never understand. Jacaerys would watch from the sideline all the time, knowing he couldn’t interject with his mother’s word, but none of it made it easier for him to see you so torn down by the reality which you now lived in.

So, one night, he went to his mother, suggesting the one thing he could only come up with.

“Let me take her on Vermax” he had said “if you’re worried about her flying away, with me beside her and on a dragon not of her own, she surely will have nowhere else to go”

Rhaenyra couldn’t object to her son’s words, as so, she relented, though not without a few warnings and orders on her part, which Jacaerys was more than happy to relent to.

At last, when he came to your room the morning after, he did so with an air so light, it startled you.

“You wouldn’t mind dressing in your riding fit, would you?” He asked, taking you by slight surprise

“What do you mean?” You didn’t know if he was making fun of you, and if he were you thought he was doing so in a really bad taste

“I want you to come ride with me” he walked closer, taking your hand in his “Fly on Vermax with me. I know you wish to take to the skies, and Mother has agreed to my request,” he said.

Vermax was small, having grown only to the size of a middle-sized dragon. When you sat upon his saddle, which was tight for two people, such as you and Jacaerys, you only reminisced about Silverwing’s leathery one. Only having to hang around the handle, not being able to pull at the reins or command the dragon, only deepened your yearning for the many rides you had taken in the past and the freedom to do so again.

You had thanked him, but the gratitude felt hollow when your heart ached so much, and perhaps he had seen through you too. You felt guilty for complaining about such an opportunity and the rarity you had been given. You should be grateful, but what was here to be grateful for when you were a caged bird, in a golden cage, whose wings were ripped from its body?

You had become hot-tempered, wishing harm on others and yourself, cursing in despair, and picking up one of your mother’s most destroying traits, her nail picking. Your cuticles were often raw and bloody from you either picking at or chewing at them. You did the same to your lips, pulling at the dead skin, drawing blood, the sting making you hiss and following you for days.

You ordered for the curtains of your room not to be drawn, preferring the glow of candles and the scent of incense, even during the day. You visited the sept, the royal one in the Red Keep, not the Grand one in the city, always followed closely by your Septa and guard, lighting candles for the lost souls of your family and for those that had fought for you.

You picked at your food, often leaving it untouched; you had no fondness for meat and mead, leaving you famished and pushing down food when your stomach was begging you for substance.

Eating yourself alive was the last thing you thought you would be doing if you were to look into your future long ago, but now even the feel of your skin made your fingers crawl over it with the intent to rip and tear apart. How hypocritical of you to send your mother away because of her descent into madness when you were carrying yourself down your own.

But you weren’t mad, you were unhappy, and unhappy people often were also depressed, which you were.

You only wanted to be happy, to be free, to do as you pleased after years of having been conditioned to the bids of others. First, it was your mother’s, and now they were Rhaenyra’s and her family's. You dream of a time when you could live for the simple pleasure of living, not someone else’s life but your own, not the one others envisioned for you but the one you dreamt for yourself. To breathe the open air, to walk where you wished, whenever you wished so.

Was it so wrong of you?

The gods are cruel, that’s why they’re gods, and the curse of your family being usurpers now laid all on you. You suffered from the sins which your mother perpetuated, from those her own father sowed the seeds he planted with his ambitions in the dirt laid and worked by your ancestors. You held the rage of all those women before you, your mother’s, her mother’s too, that of your sister and the people at her heel and call.

All because of who you were.

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