#jace velaryon fanfic

[catsteeth]

Ivory Gown HEADCANNON

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader

+:✿ HeadCannon Request ✿:+ :

Request: “So we know that Jacaerys wasn't a fan of the bedding ceremony but how did he initially react when StarkReader mentioned it? Did he even know what it was? You can decide if you want bullet points or paragraphs!” CW: NSFW themes, misogyny, threats of violence, Jace being protective/possessive, fluffy fluff.

I think Jace would know what it is. He is a royal who has probably been to multiple Westeros weddings, where it is commonplace. However, I think his knowledge about such ceremonies would be fairly general. I don’t think they prep the boys for their weddings as they do for women. 

I think his opinion of it is that it is distasteful and generally disrespectful and demeaning towards the bride. Even though some brides look forward to the ceremony. 

If you brought up the ceremony to him he would likely reassure you it wouldn’t happen. He would be stern and determined that it wouldn’t even be up for question, but with you his words would be gentle and honest. Though if someone else were to bring it up be would likely take offense that they would even consider it. 

Like imagine you and he were walking around the Great Hall with the Septon and a handmaiden and planned the wedding:

“Any foods you would request, my Lady?” The septon asked as the handmaiden continued to write down each word spoken. 

You raised your eyebrows not expecting to be spoken to. You shook your head, “I have no opinion.” You said instinctively, not wanting to impose on the house you did not feel was your own yet.

Jace took your hand gently and subtly as he stepped to your side. “She prefers duck in meat and trout in fish, " he told the septon and the handmaiden scribbled away.

The septon nodded, “Very well.” As you three continued to walk across the grand hall, you smiled up at Jace softly. Touched by his attentiveness to you. Jace rubbed your knuckle gently with his thumb as the Septon turned back to Jace, “The Lady’s gown will have to be altered,” He began but you interrupted him before he could finish, “Altered? That was my mother’s gown.” You didn’t wish to sound ungrateful or disrespectful but this dress held great sentiment to not only you but to the North itself. 

The septon turned his attention from Jace to you, he stammered a bit before he could get out his sentence, “A simple alteration is all, the gown’s trail though elegant is far too long. It may cause some difficulty during the bedding ceremony.” 

Jace was not the one interrupting him. “Bedding ceremony? Who decided that?” he asked, letting go of your hand and walking closer to the septon with anger in his voice. 

The handmaiden who had written everything down suddenly looked up from her quill and parchment, looking between the septon and the prince. “It is tradition, my Prince. Without the bedding ceremony, there is no proof that the marriage was consummated.” The Septon said without much confidence. 

“They’ll have their proof when the princess is with child.” Jace had a habit of already acting as though you and he were married. Referring to you as the princess even though that title had not become your own yet. He stepped closer to the Septon looking at him with daggers for eyes, “I’ll not have men’s hands on my bride, and I certainly won’t have them ripping her mother’s gown off of her.” He stared at the Septon, daring him to question him, when he did not Jace stepped back towards you, “Her dress will not be altered, and anyone who wishes for a bedding ceremony will answer to my sword.” He said finally before leading you out of the great hall with him. 

Jace huffed as he walked down the hall. You liked seeing him so angry, it made your blood hot, and wish that you were already wed so you could let him take out his frustration onto you. You smirked at him as he continued to march down the hall, looking forward with angry eyes.

You took a gentle hold of his fingers as he marched, “I am gladdened by your choice.” You said softly.

Jace scoffed and shook his head, “It is a barbaric ceremony.” 

You nodded then shrugged, “There’s worse ceremonies that are performed.” Jace looked at you with a raised brow not knowing what you meant, “The first night ceremony.” You said and he still looked at you with confusion, “You’ve never heard of that one?” Your smirk pulled into a smile and you held back a giggle, you leaned in closer to him as you whispered, “Any man whose name ranked above the grooms could claim the first night of marriage.” 

Jace looked at you in shock, disgusted by what you’d just told him, “You cannot be serious.”

You shook your head, “I have never been one to joke about such things.” you said casually, though Jace’s disgusted demeanor did not go away. “Do not worry, your great-grandmother outlawed it in all her wisdom.” You said attempting to ease his mind.

“I’d kill any man who even jested of it.” He said shaking his head already angry at the thought of it. 

You smirked at him and stifled a laugh, “I did not know I was betrothed to such a protective man.” 

He squeezed your hand that held his own, “I will always protect what I love. Til the end of my days.” He spoke with sternness, but as always was gentle with you.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ Dead Men Don't Sing ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!stark!reader words: 9.5k requested: yes synopsis: “it is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” jacaerys admits, hesitating, “but there are other duties,” he murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.”  notes: thank you to the anon who requested this, it was months and months ago <3 i found this written and dusty in my drafts and realized how much i liked the concept of it so i finished it up, changed up a lot of plot (sry). peace & love (thinking abt when @softspiderling said that cregan & r had chemistry in this fic. fuck you) warnings: canon-typical marriage betrothals. something something heavy belief in the divine right of kings (cringe!), jace is so in love again guys, fluff and flirting, feelings of anxiety & worry, heavy on politics and the targaryen prophecy. doubts of magic and light religious tones. kissing. requests closed. masterlist.

THE CRYPTS BELOW WINTERFELL ECHO WITH FOOTFALL.

A dripping thing, echoing through low ceiling and sliding over stoned walls; your pace moves slow, measured. 

Aboveground yields a morning snow; it is no harvest season, yet you worry so of the rime which curls its way over the tender shoots of crop; kissing a delicate crust atop glacial lakes in the near distance, lining the roofs across Winter Town. 

Down below such crust of earth, the crypt holds no true warmth, instead boasting a rather eerie silence; though you’ve always felt drawn to such quietude in certain times – moments punctuated only by the rustle of fur cloaks, the steady drip of tallow wax candles that burn beneath the proud visages of ancient stone.

A gentle sigh escapes your lips. 

Your breath, barely visible in the cold, dissipates like a whisper of a cloak around a corner; The man beside you paces with deliberate slowness, though still his long strides force you to quicken your own. 

A familiar rhythm from childhood. 

He broods – or perhaps merely reflects; it is difficult to tell, though his introspection proves an unwelcome distraction and concern alike. 

“You think far too loudly, brother.”

Your voice, a stone dropped onto the serenity of a glassy pond; stirring, your brother beside you lets out a soft huff of amusement, turning to glance at your profile. "Aye, it seems I do,” he acquiesces, though he seems more than content to leave it as such.

And the ensuing quiet – his scrutiny of your features becoming almost unsettling. You purse your lips, folding your arms over the furs that ward off the chill, slowing to a halt – he, in turn, slowing beside you.

“Cregan,” you cast a guarded glance his way, “I appreciate your company, but…” You pause, clearing your throat, “Why did you ask me here?”

You cannot ignore the furrow of his brow, nor the weary sigh that escapes him. “I do not wish to burden you with troubles, sister,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting – mindful of spirits; watching, listening. “But there is something we must discuss.”

You, softly gesturing for him to continue under the flicker of torchlight. 

Yet, he does not speak at once; instead, guiding you further along the shadowed path. You allow him the moment of silence, a foreboding drop stirring unbidden in your chest. Has the time come to prepare for the Wall – will you set the Greybeards alone to fight in the Southern war? Dribbling wax slides over the edge of a wyck - a white tear falling to the frozen earth below. Winter is coming, you know; and so does war. 

You stop before a weathered stone – Cregan, his face so hardened even with young age; you recall in the earliest recess of your memories a more youthful visage – the brother who dangled you by the ankle in the Great Hall; who dragged you along to target practice in the yards, who met your gaze with mirth when you were scolded at the dinner table. Much has changed. 

“A raven came from Dragonstone this morning,” his voice is steady – the mention flares a mild concern in you; your brows furrow. 

“Different from the letter that arrived at my chambers just moments ago?” You wonder – the scroll was penned by Prince Jacaerys; though this is an occasion not extremely uncommon, as you’ve grown to write to him often in the past months of his departure. 

But your brother nods. “Aye.” He affirms, “It was signed by Queen Rhaenyra.” 

You blink up at him, breath bated – palms, growing moist though the cold nips gently at your nose: Never has the Queen herself sent letter by raven. Cregan utters your name, and you meet his gaze. 

“Prince Jacaerys has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Of the many possibilities you’d imagined, this was not one of them; shivers of flattery over your spine, quivering your breast in an icy shock.

And a scroll unread, perched upon your drawing table in your quarters – has Jace written to you to ask you himself? Your lip, plump under the pressure of your teeth. 

Though not wholly unpleasant, it is still a sudden shock to you, and your mouth opens – then closes with a soft click. You find yourself momentarily lost for words.

A breath, warm against the cold, escaping your mouth, fingers restless within your thick gloves. “Did–” You pause, clearing your throat, willing your heart to steady its foolish race. “Have you sent a response?”

A flicker in an otherwise stoic facade, gone in an instant: Some amusement laced into his visage that vexes you in a way only a sibling can.

 Quietly, your brother denies. “It was requested by the Prince for you to send a response yourself. The Queen wishes to be assured this is a marriage that will bring strength to the realm – one that will be strong from the beginning. She does not choose the future queen regent lightly, it seems.” 

A heat that grows twofold; and a sprouting dizziness as the proposal hits you. The future queen regent – Gods be good. 

The proposition is far from traditional. 

As the sister of the Warden of the North, you have always assumed your path would lead to a marriage with one of the High Lords of your own region – though with great war comes change, you understand well – and Cregan has mentioned it satisfactory to find a Targaryen princess among your House; perhaps you and Jacaerys will serve in such a steed. 

 A glance to the stone man before you; an ode, to Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt. 

A shiver of reality. Leave Winterfell, as a Targaryen bride – to go to the war brewing in the South – and there grows a flicker, beneath your concern. Hunger, pride. 

You’ve always known what’s expected of you; and Starks do not shy nor cower from responsibility. 

“This is no small task.” Your words, quite blunt as they often are – another nod from Cregan. 

“I remind you,” He assures, “It is no done deal.” 

A flicker of your lashes as your breath clouds before you; above your head, you wonder if the flakes which flutter from the sky have ceased in the wake of the day’s far sun. 

It is indeed a thought to consider; the North, your endless horizon of snow and stone – of moors and fields, of steep slopes and commanding eminences, carved by the hands of gods more ancient than the first of men. 

That cold kiss of wintered forests, of towering pines in snowed shadows; gnarled branches of the Wolfswood, icy rivers of threaded silver untouched by the frills of southern decadence; and the cold less endured than revered, a landscape of beauty drawn within the fierce devotion of its people. 

An unshakeable and profound sense of soul that tugs you towards the frozen earth, to the bodies brought back through turns of Winters, of endurance, of love, of life. 

“I would mislike to leave Winterfell,” You admit; a child once more, tucking toes beneath warmed covers as you hid from shadows upon walls. 

Perhaps he recalls those same nights; when you’d stayed awake against the syrupy droop of eyelids, listening to your Lord father’s tales of hunts and beasts beyond your comprehension. 

“As would I regret to let you leave,” His voice comes after a moment. “Your insight is not to be understated. Perhaps this is why the Queen wishes you to join her council in my stead.” 

Another shock to you – to marry the Prince, yes, but to join the Queen’s council? A flash of pride, conspicuous, licking up your spine – though you’re lost in the trappings of memory; of loss, of life. 

“What is it father said?” You muse quietly, watching shadows flicker over a contoured face of stone. “The South…Where men smile with daggers behind their backs.” 

Some huff from weary lips. “I hold no concern for how you might fare against a dagger, sister.” He reminds you; your fingers, calloused in the grooves of a longbow – you placate a wry huff, mind saturated with thoughts. “A serpent's lair, the Crownlands are.” He gruffs.

It is solemnly that you nod; a wistful memory of your Prince, curls entangled with the sharp wind, embedding pearled snowflakes into tresses. 

“I am not without my own doubts,” Cregan slowly admits, “Leaving the North – in wartime, as well – holds few assurances of safety, even at Dragonstone.” 

Your voice is considerably less steadfast than it’d been an hour past, when you’d directed the letter from the Prince to wait until your duties with Lord Stark were through – “I would not leave my home, my charge, merely for some Prince.” You mutter. 

Yet, the glance from your brother brings a small grin to your lips. 

He perhaps agrees with your stubborn resolve; you two, cut and sewn from the same sturdy cloth, borne with the same pelts upon your back. A tilt in his visage, looking at you. 

“Our father’s word was given. It is our duty to uphold it.” He murmurs; and then, a melting of such a look – as if Lord Stark has retreated, yielding Cregan in his wake: “You’d be queen one day, long after the war.” 

Still reeling, a warmth to your face as you consider the Prince – rosy cheeks, with that smile brighter than snow; he, with a fur cloak gifted to him in his visit to treat with your brother those months ago – a regal face, if you’ve the grace to know what such a thing is. 

The boy with kind words and genuine laughter; a fleeting brush of his hand on yours as he’d greeted you to his ancient beast; The square of his shoulders as he’d solidified Northmen for his Queen mother’s banners. A look, shattered and wet, as he mounted his beast in the wake of his brother’s death. Septa’s voice from the vestiges of adolescence: Heavy is the crown, my dear. 

“It is my duty,” you murmur more to yourself than to your brother, “To Winterfell, to the North. To our Queen… and the realm.” 

Cregan’s hand finds your shoulder in a grasp, “Sister.” Your eyes meet his own. “I would not have you do it if I did not believe it was the right choice. Jace is a good man. He will treat you right.” 

Indeed, a union of your house and the Prince’s would strengthen the North; you could ensure the maintenance of autonomy – and loyalty, a venerable duty long upheld by your house for hundreds of years. A marriage that serves not only your people, but such enduring legacy of kin. 

“Just as well,” He adds, “the prospect of marrying Jacaerys might prove rather agreeable to your sensibilities, would it not?”

He jests. The corner of your eyes narrow as you shoot him a sharp look; a smile emerging despite your efforts to conceal it. The warmth of anticipation creeps across your cheeks, a delicate flush across your face despite your valiant efforts to contain it. 

"You overreach, brother,” you speak, though both you and he can hear the fondness in your voice. 

A quiet moment, in which a memory surfaces – Jacaerys, bidding you farewell months past; a pain in his eyes, ragged with grief and urgency to return – his younger brother, killed by Aemond One-Eye.

A shaky kiss upon your knuckles, the cracking of a voice otherwise proud; the last glance of that massive beast swallowed up by the clouds. Your heart skips a beat at the knowledge of him, as your own. 

“I will marry Prince Jacaerys,” You agree, hoping to conceal the eagerness from your tone, “...for the good of the realm."

Cregan huffs, pulling you into a brief embrace, your eyes both stuck on the statue before you. "Aye, and perhaps a bit of warmth for your heart, too.” He jests; a rare occurrence, and certainly in these days of war and the eve of winter. 

“Is that not what you’d wish for your sister?” You jest in return, hiding the fluster of your cheeks. 

His expression sobers minutely. “You bring honor to our house.”

The long, stone face of Torrhen Stark watches your breath rise and fall from your lips. 

Hesitance melts away, leaving a giddiness, a sense of duty softened by an affection in your heart. “A wolf in the South,” you murmur. 

And a dragon at her side.

VERMAX IS RATHER DISPLEASED TO FLY NORTH AGAIN. 

Huffs and whining screeches; saged scales that melt tiny flakes of snow around the saddle - Jacaerys consoles his steed with a huff of amusement. “Se iōrves kessa daor umbagon syt mirre, Vermax.” He insists; The cold will not last forever. 

It is not until the sloping valleys and rolling mountains give way to dusting of snowcaps and frozen-earth that his stomach begins to burn with that odd feeling; excitement. 

Trees that reach up towards the heavens – ever green in their life, barely stirred by the beating of Vermax’s wings high above. 

Otherworldly, the North is; and Winterfell, with towering walls, sprawling courtyards, the frosted roofs that glint even through the thick of cloud – pure earth, that ancient knowledge within the ground, held for thousands of years past. Wisdom, sewn into rings upon rings within trees – depths of icy pools, glistening cold as glacier’s tears even in the dead of summer. 

Something, an aching feeling returns; not an ache for home, but for you. 

Eyes, amber and anticipatory, searching the grounds so far below – a wall, dark and thick in the sprawl of the low cirque. Vermax breaks through the clouds with a call, the whipping Northern wind blowing icy shards into Jacaerys’ inhale. Still, he looks with a fire, an intent – battlements, courtyards, all bustling and brimming.

The familiar banner of black and red, raised by the men sent weeks ahead in anticipation of the Prince’s arrival – and the Stark banner, hanging large enough to just see from the outskirts of Winter Town. 

The East Gate opens; a company awaits his arrival, bustling in the yard of the Great Keep – squinting against sharp air as Vermax circles in agitated descent. It is an odd thing, to see the expressions of men, women, and children become clearer in descent – to see the fear, the astonishment, the reverence in the ancient being in the sky. But he searches each visage turned up towards him; and then, there – with a grin and a flip in Jacaerys’ stomach, he finds you. 

Piled, swathed in thick furs that bring out your hair; standing straight beside your mass of a brother; a warmth that blossoms into heat as your head tilts, tracking Vermax in the sky.  

A heavy thud against the muddy ground encrusted with a fresh layer of crisp rime; the rich shades of green across the North have been kissed by some fae of frost that barely cowers under the heat of his ancient creature – and though it retreats in his molten wake, Vermax huffs at the feeling of frost and snow. 

Jace dismounts Vermax; pressing his forehead to the dragon’s thick neck, the warmth a final solace before he faces the unforgiving weather of the North – a mutter to his steed, running his palm over the scales, “Sȳz, vermax.  Ao ipradtis; ao gōntan sōvegon sȳrī.” 

Good, Vermax. You must eat; you flew well. 

He is accompanied, then; two dragonhandlers bowing to him, draped in borrowed furs as they tend to his weary beast. It is rather comfortable, to hand him off to them; a luxury, he supposes, when they are here to tend to the Valyrian rituals that will come in just over a week’s time. A skip in his heart as he thinks of the night to come: You and he, bound for life. 

His title is announced in the quiet of the Keepyard; he enters, feeling rather foolish as just one man faced with such a company – his eyes, unable to unstick themselves from you. The young Lady Stark; the Northern Star, some have called you; He finds himself agreeing. 

Head high, he walks as the prince he is, nodding to Lord Cregan; Formal proceedings that are blinked away in moments with a very present preoccupation of trying to keep his stare off your face. 

And then, after a lingering moment, ravens circling the sky, wind howling down the slopes of distant mountains, Cregan steps forward, arm extended – Jacaerys returns his grin, a camaraderie returning in his chest. 

In the grasp of his forearm, in the rough hug he shares with his friend, Lord Stark murmurs. “I see now why you were so reluctant to leave the first time, my Prince.” Cregan’s voice, rich with mirth; a sheepish grin that grows upon Jacaerys’ expression. Laughter between them, as easy as it ever was, the weariness that’d built in Jace’s flight northward dissipating. “I’ve been told a wise man knows when he’s found something worth returning to, Lord Stark,” Jace quips in response, the heat on his face deepening when his gaze darts in a glance towards you. Your brow, lifted at his words; full of grace but with a smattering of warmth across your cheeks, a small smile. 

The cold air seems to have brought a flush to you – dipping into a graceful curtsey, the wolf clasp of your cloak catches in the cloudy light of afternoon. His heart flips as you greet him: “My Prince,” and gods, your voice – “I hope you and Vermax found no undue hardship enduring such a journey.” 

It’s all Jacaerys can afford to bow deeply in return, eyes remaining on your own gaze; a gesture of respect and courteousness, but a strike of something far more personal lingering behind his stare. Your palm is bare, he’s shocked to see; and lifted within his own, his lips brush over your knuckles. 

Your cheeks darken, and he feels his heart race. “The purpose is far worth the journey, my Lady.” His voice, earnest, polite. 

Your smile widens just so. 

THE GREAT HALL IS DOUSED WITH LIT HEARTHS. 

The celebration is a swell feast – Jacaerys sits, having dined on a hearty meal and several goblets of wine: Roasted game, honeyed bread, mulled wine. At the high table he sits, and the din of the hall rumbles around him, drifting slowly into the high-beamed ceiling. 

A lingering storm has momentarily lifted in the warmth of familiar faces, of the unrelenting bite of cold that still yet lingers in bones weary from flight. There is a dread that has stayed within Jacaerys for many turns of moon now – a mourning thing, one that has left him with less and less smiles to divulge with each passing day. 

The horizon brews; a clouded thing, one dark and full of smoke and whispers – and yet here he sits, warmed by furs, by hearth, by ale – and by you, aside him. 

A girl no older than himself – a friendship kindled merely in the beginnings of formality, of happenstance; polite smiles and high chins, eyes lingering as he followed your brother into the study. 

A peculiar thing it is now, to sit beside you, to feel that string pull between you so inevitably; and though he is turned away from your warmth, well engrossed in a discussion with Lord Stark, he feels that tension – that tautness that soon will be severed with unseen shears, which will seal a dream conjured years before your birth. 

And throughout the evening, his gaze has more than often wandered to your own visage, carved in those same harsh winds of beauty – a smile warm and true, a depth sinking into his stomach; for as Jacaerys has dined heartily, his appetite for food has given way to an appetite for conversation. 

The hall boasts cheer, laughter; an odd thing, in the tide of coming war, in coming strife even this far North; the Lord returns to the Wall not even a fortnight after the wedding, and with him goes half the rations of crops saved through the Northern harvest. 

With Jacaerys will go his new wife – and with you, a secret untold to any but those who sit the throne. 

The fire in the hearth is great, and it swallows Jacaerys’ eyes as he sips from his cup; licks of flames, screams unheard through halls – the final breath of many, the staggering gasp of death. 

Outside, snow blows harsh and cold against the walls – a breath of winter, howling and iced. 

It is a song that lingers in Jacaerys’ mind, even as the music inside the hall crescendos and the ale flows; and finally, he is torn from his trance with the departure of a lord from White Harbor from before you, leaving you finally by your lonesome. 

Jacaerys turns to you – and at his stirring, you glance to his hoping gaze; your cheeks warmed in the same breath as his own, you glow in the firelight. 

He gestures gently before you, towards the hall brimming with people, “A celebration in our honor, yet it seems finding a moment alone has proven rather difficult.” His voice remains as warm as he’d hoped, though evergreen and mantled by duties, by composure. And you, a flower of grace and stoicism, nod kindly - he's always found the dance of formalities to be amusing.

“It seems the whole land has anticipated your arrival once more, Prince Jacaerys.” Your voice is tinged with that same warmth he remembers from those moons ago.

He ought to accept your kindness with compliment; or perhaps ask how the owl that’d nested in the rook outside your chambers during his last visit fares – but indeed he is met with that insistence of passing time, of his mother’s words fallen onto his shoulders; of a whispered dream of years to pass and years still to come.

When he looks at your visage, honeyed by the glow of firelight, some warmth mixes shockingly with an icy knowledge of what is to come. 

“It has been too long since we last met,” He says - and, perhaps in a moment of insecurity, his lip is bitten and pulled from pearled teeth. “I have missed your company.”

He does not miss the soft growth of affection that blossoms upon your countenance, nor the shift in your hips as you turn to face him more, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your goblet in a mirror of his own nervous habit. 

“And I have missed yours,” your voice is equally quiet to his own, in some conspiratorial hope to remain private while remaining in a room full of guests. Your lip is caught between your teeth just as his was – he wishes to unfurl it with the soft of his thumb. “Though, I confess, it is strange to know that soon we will no longer need ravens to speak to one another.”

A soft chuckle from his lips – a thought indeed that crossed his mind after sending his last raven Northward; and in the shadow of looming war, what a relief it may be to have you beside him. 

If he were any more a fool, Jacaerys might worry indeed for your safety in the coming times – and though that thought lingers still in the stoop of his mind, he is no more ignorant to your abilities than he is admiring them. 

A memory, one of fresh falling snow and the youthful innocence of only half-year ago; before the shift of tides, before the moonlit jaws of Death found his brother – before the death of the young one in the Red Keep, and the fall of Rhaenys and Meleys just days ago at Rooks Rest; before it all, when still the horizon brimmed with a more peaceful hope for settled war, there was time of laughter. Of a hunt drawn about for a Royal Guest in Winterfell, when he came with wishes of an alliance, of oaths sworn in blood and brotherhood. The hunt brought anticipation - and, in his foolish Southern ways, Jacaerys had wondered if you’d see he and your brother off in the courtyard of Winterfell – perhaps with a favour of yours to gift him, and a kiss upon his cheek for well-hunting. 

It was not such delicate smiles and whispers he was met with; no, instead he found another horse, saddled with your frame and a bright grin upon your face, your hair plaited away from your peripherals and a longbow strewn across your back. 

A fond memory, those days watching you traipse across snowstruck Wolfswood – and the snap of a string, the fall of a buck into the earth below. Your grin, your appearance; so unlike your kin, and yet so shared in hardiness with your brother – a warmth now so foreign in a world laced by such ominous ideas as fate. 

Jacaerys chuckles at the memory, and also at your words, sobering as they are light. “Strange,” He repeats, tilting his head to you. “-But welcome, I’d hope?” 

And though it is a tease sent with the efforts of putting the thick tension of betrothal at ease, there still lingers a fear of the answer; and a leak of hesitance in his words. 

When you hold his gaze for a moment, he nearly doubts the flicker of affection that still drips from your rosy cheeks. But your expression softens, and your earnesty is undeniable. “Of course,” You beam and it sends his heart into a flutter, “It will be quite welcome.” 

And it is in this moment, a quiet one, that Jacaerys nearly cracks; a split that would leak out the foreboding world of prophecies, of danger and fear and worry – if only in search of some comfort, of some assurance that the truths he lives are merely the whisperings of a bloodline destined to rule. 

Though he loses the moment when you turn to the revelry before you; and Cregan rises from his seat beside Jacaerys, drawing his attention away from blistering flames and flurries of chill that strike through his heart. 

YOU FIND A MOMENT TO CATCH YOUR BREATH IN THE MORNING.

The sun is high in the sky for such an early hour; perhaps a reflection through of the sheet of thin gray which stretches from one horizon to the other. A sweet light over the rather empty training grounds – and your skirts drag along snow as you brush hair from your cheek, nocking another arrow. 

The target, more than plenty paces away, is riddled with arrows from your work – the bow in your hands, warm and smelted to the form of your grip, carries that same woody scent from youth. You draw back with an inhale. 

Though you know very soon of a presence in the morning courtyard; You can feel the gaze upon you as soon as he enters. And with a small tremble, it occurs to you – no matter where the Prince goes, it seems you can always feel him near. 

You resist a small grin, exhaling as you release the arrow; it embeds itself into the center of the target, a light thud that presses your heart against your ribs. 

Jacaerys watches you; this, you know – and you nock yet another arrow. 

The prince leans rather casually against a post just a few paces to your right, though there is little casual about the heat of his stare upon you – your glance is merely through the side of your lashes, a short thing in effort to pretend you are less effected by his presence. 

Though, you cannot deny the burning in your cheeks, a determination in your throat as you draw the bowstring once more. 

A murder of ravens scatter across the sky to the South – you let the arrow fly; It notches just to the right of your previous shot. A smile, tugging the corner of your lips once more before you drop your arms, glancing to your audience. 

“Impressive as ever, my lady,” Jacaerys muses; his gaze is imbued by lashes and the sun, though there is some esteem within his stare that brings a flutter to your stomach. 

Impressive. 

A heat on your cheeks – as if you’re a blushing little maiden, complimented for the very first time. Though, you remind yourself, he’s spent his life in the highest courts of the land; he himself squired for many years, acquiring fair skill in such trades – and you hum, mind filled with visions of men from all stretches of the realm and beyond – jousts, tourneys, all to show at the King’s court. 

 “Well,” You brush the hair from your cheek once more against the faint wind, nocking and drawing a fresh arrow, much less focused this time, aware of his gaze burning through your frame. “I’m sure Southern men like you have seen feats far more impressive.” You tease, eyes locked down the line of the arrow.

Jacaerys huffs a small laugh at your jest, stepping further into the training yard. The wind blows, and you wonder if you should have taken another fur; but his voice is warm and you are put at ease.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, voice nearing your focus, “But some Southern men certainly know to appreciate what we cannot find back home.” 

You’re lucky you’ve released the arrow just as he finishes his sentence; your stomach flips, butterflies sprouting within your chest at his gentle flattery. He is quite the charmer - and though you find amusement in his attempt, still grows your warmth at the attention.

It is still in the courtyard, and Jacaerys nods toward the target, where your arrow has hit the mark. An approving hum, brows lifted to underscore some coming point: “Like a woman who can outshoot any knight in the realm.” 

A blatant praise – and you lower your bow, hoping to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Why don’t you try your hand?” you suggest, your tone teasing in attempt to flit such fluster upon the Prince instead. 

He grins in a way that brings to mind a time less full of strife – always one for a friendly back-and-forth; Hands upon the hilt of his sword, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m not foolish enough to challenge you, my lady. I’ve learned to respect northern steel – be it by sword or arrow.”

You tilt your head, unable to school such a playful glint in your eyes. “So you’ve come all this way just to be bested by a woman?”

A provocation; perhaps testing the waters. And it shows in his expression, the stark divergence between your brother’s personality and your own; you suspect he is pleased with the opportunity. 

His grin, as you’d hoped, only widens – cheeks reddened by the morning chill, eyes bright against the sun. “I’d consider it quite an honor.” A flick of his gaze to the target and back. 

A roll of your eyes – highly inappropriate for a lady, especially to the Prince - but he only seems to find it more amusing. The smile tugs at your lips; you tamper it with your teeth, “I don’t believe flattery helps your aim, Jace.”

At his nickname, his cheeks seem to glow – a name he’d insisted you’d call him in the dark solitude of the Godswood during his initial visit to Winterfell those many moons ago. 

He shakes his head, ever the charming Prince: “My aim is of no consequence. I am more than content to watch you hit the mark every time.”

The space between you has begun to narrow, and you can just make out the freckles which kiss the bridge of his nose. You hold the bow to him, “Come now, my prince.” You insist – and he acquiesces, stepping forward with a growing smirk. 

You, in effort to see the blush upon his cheeks again, send him a smile. “Aim for the center, and you might impress me.” 

The look he gives you is mildly amused; his shoulders, proud and brushing against yours as he handles your weapon. Deft fingers wrap around the bow as he tries to mimic your stance; and it is rather clear, as it’s been the handful of times you’ve seen him in the yard sparring, that he is far more comfortable with a sword in his hand than a bow. 

And your smile grows at this; the heir to the Iron Throne, trying to impress you with a weapon that is not his own. 

Your amusement is not so concealed; in a moment, he glances to you and huffs, arms still stretched to aim for the target. “I see your confidence growing, my lady,” he chides, and you lift a brow – he grins boyishly, eyes returning to the target, “Perhaps you mean to humble me.”

A feigned thoughtfulness as you tilt your head, tresses of silken hair glinting against your furs, “Humble you, Jace?” You feign surprise, blossoming at the growing smile upon his countenance, “That seems an impossible task.” 

There's a warmth lying low beneath your jest – and whatever sharpness delivers with your wit is softened by the candid affection you hold for your newly betrothed. He laughs, and it is a song you wish to remember for the rest of your years.  

His cheeks are that same very pink you’ve cherished for many moons - and he lets the arrow fly; though it strikes the target, it lands fingers shy of the center, and you conceal a laugh. 

Your prince sends you a look, and though his mouth opens with some likely sharp words of humility, he is interjected by another voice in the yard. 

“–Impressive,” Cregan’s voice cuts through the morning wind, startling you and Jacaerys alike. Jacaerys turns, hands lowering the bow as he nods almost sheepishly; Cregan steps closer – an expression only mildly imbued with amusement. 

He regards you first, then your betrothed. “I see our prince has found a new skill.” 

Flustered as though caught stealing wine from the feast table, you busy yourself adjusting the bowstring; and though Jacaerys chuckles, the sound is tight. 

“It seems I’ll need more practice,” He says easily, eyes flickering to your own warm gaze and leaping away when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Cregan merely claps him on the shoulder, a grin small and amused upon his visage, “Come with me, then. You’d best not distract my sister.”

A sheepish glance with hot cheeks between you and Jacaerys before you bow to him, sending a sharp glance to your brother.

The two leave you to your practice in search of a hearth in which to discuss before; and you nod to them, cheeks alight and eyes trailing over the silver dragon holding together the Prince’s furs. 

THE DAY JACAERYS TELLS YOU IS A DAY BROUGHT ON BY A SQUALL OF ICE AND SNOW.

Since his arrival, days have fallen in succession of clear skies and silent winds; and with the weather has brought a change in your betrothed. You have spent most days watching frost curl over begging pines from your chamber windows with growing unease - though your warmth is still shared well and kind between you, Jacaerys grows agitated in his time away from the war; a thing you understand too well, and wish to ease in the coming days. 

And, unlike the days of his arrival, there is too much to do now to any longer relish in the still-present small moments – the times which bring in the smell of holly and pine, of clove and spiced wine, of wide smiles and the steaming scales of your betrothed’s ancient accompaniment. 

The wedding has been planned – and in only a few more days, you and Jacaerys will become one; you will whisper words long thought and wondered, you will bind your palms, you will share your blood. 

Though in no way unsure of the union, still lingers the presence of something unspoken – in the growingly distant amber eyes, in the insecure stuttering of words, in the shaky palm which soothes over your own underneath leathered gloves. It seems Jacaerys furrows his brow in riddles more and more these days – and a darkness follows, some weight that brings his lips to drop and his voice to taper in the ends of sentences. 

You have begun to wonder once more why indeed a union between you and Jacaerys was so suddenly proposed by the Queen. 

Your breath shows against the casement; The day has brought with it more than a chill – and in search of an excuse, you wonder if the Prince has drawn a large enough hearth, if he has found furs thick enough to stave the chill. Yourself, a girl sewn and grown from Northern soils, still finds a strike of shiver from your veins when you rise from your own hearth; and so, with a small flash of worry and a gathering of pelts from your own bed, you set off to the guest quarters. 

JACAERYS SITS BEFORE HIS HEARTH. 

He welcomes you with a nod and a gesture to join him upon the settee; you deposit the armful of furs upon his bed with a gentle breath and murmured words – and though it is well into the morning by now, Jacaerys looks as though sleep evaded him in the night previous – teeth-bitten lips, mussed curls, a heavy gaze that lingers upon the melting flakes of snow in your hair. 

It is only moments of gentle conversation; a tale of the nesting owl above your chambers that brings a gleaming smile to Jace's eyes, a wonder of the turned crops coming from the Neck; mere half-hour passes before he, ever mindful, shifts towards your visage. 

“What troubles you?” he wonders – a stare that leaks with some unknown vulnerability, that stiffness that has still pervaded the pair of you despite your comfortability. 

And perhaps that very observation is it; you swallow down the rising resistance - a melting of icy hesitance, a heavy weight shared between shoulders so different yet destined.

Jacaerys watches unblinking – you notice for perhaps the first time the signet ring that perches upon his smallfinger, glinting black and ruby in the daylight. Your own ring – a wolf, dark and proud, sits upon your middle; and you wonder how indeed a wolf will fare in a den of dragons. 

You’ve spent enough time with Jacaerys – though this has been swaddled in the nest of the North; your own comfort of life, of family and that sweet soul-binding heritage. Perhaps what troubles you is this – of the impending binding of your life to his own by duty and blood: To know him and be known for the rest and beyond; of fighting a war not of your own making but of your own fate – and yet, with your love and devotion for him fostered and growing, leaking from your very core, it still feels foreign.

“I do not know,” you admit in a surge of emotion, glancing into the open pit of emotion within his gaze. “I cannot help but wonder…why,” you utter slowly, eyes shifting under the uncomfortable embrace of vulnerability. 

And his own vulnerability shows upon his sleeve as he turns to face you fully, drawn in silhouette from the glowing embers that warm the chill in your heart. “Why?” He repeats, eyes searching your own. 

You do not fear your betrothed; you know nothing but faith and conviction laced between your hand and his own. Jacaerys is of good blood; not in the sense perhaps that his ancestors might boast, but that of the same very blood your Northern people acclaim – honorable.

He, even in the unlikely instance of a lack of a lasting affection or love, will always hold you honorably as his wife, and in time his Queen – and this, indeed, you hold in common.

You will perhaps always hold flame for Jacaerys, even if time passes in your marriage and he does not hold such equal affections – and this is some comfort in itself, to know that he will protect you no matter where you lie within his heart. 

 Your words come easier in the passing moment, as Jacaerys awaits your gospel with the veneration of a knelt pilgrim – and you come to understand that somewhere within his breast is a flame alight; an affection returned, with your name burning there. 

Your lips part, and his eyes track the motion. 

“Our union. It is…” You swallow, “Unusual.” 

Your heart aches only in the flickered trace of sorrow that paints his gaze; he leans back to the settee, an expression clouded by unnamed emotions. It is not any absence of affection, then, from either of you – a coupling not lacking in love, then, but instead marked by a trace of fate that drags your heart into worry. 

After some time, your prince speaks. “It is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” Jacaerys admits, hesitating. Amber eyes, flickering deep into the hearth, as if trying to light the embers that die down with just his stare; you wonder, faintly, if he could. His words are an echo of many nights swirling in doubt above your bedposts – and to hear them, a warmth of relief in your breast.

 “But there are other duties,” He murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.” 

His tone has reduced to a rather trance-like state; your eyes, roaming the rich of his furs before focusing in the distance; a ring of clouds, circling the light of the sun just out of view. 

Beams of heavenly breath, breaking through the cold sky; a break in the squall, some gasp of mercy from the Old Gods – and a ring of light, sprouting from Jacaerys’s head. It is some ancient song, an echoing you’ve only truly felt in the silence of the crypts low below your feet – you blink twice at the sight of such a reverent sight, his grace outlined in the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. 

His voice is lower than a whisper when it comes once more. 

“Aegon.” 

Rather struck by the light of heaven’s breath breaking around Jacaerys, your brows furrow; you tilt your head, rising to follow as your betrothed leaves the settee. His eyes are stuck on the flutter of snowflakes from the heavens, his back aflame with the fire of the hearth – and he stops before the window, blinking away frost. 

An odd, ancient feeling stirs in your mind – your shoulder brushes the fine tailoring of his cloak as you join him at the casement overlooking the Godswood; Your voice is clear against the blanket of quiet. 

“The Usurper?” 

His lips are pursed for a moment before a gentle shake of his head. “The Conqueror.” 

It is once again awakened – this seed of uncertainty, the knowledge of the trickling poison which drips from the old blood of Valyria and poisons the minds of those men upon their Stone – but you tilt your head to your Prince, considering his words. 

A breath that plumes against the crawling chill of snow, and Jacaerys’ voice is distant once more. 

 “I’ve heard his song.” 

Perhaps Jacaerys has been kept inside too long: In that way the cold can take a man’s mind – curl around it with frost, trickle ice into veins so sewn with fire; turn him mad. 

You take a small step closer; cold air upon your face, the warmth of his arm brushed against the peak of your shoulder.

It is an attempt, youthful and unsure, at comfort – though he accepts it as he turns to look at you. A gentle gaze, the kind he’s always saved for you, warming the side of your visage; you’re much too gone in thought, eyes stuck at the peek of red bleeding through the pines in the distance. 

The leaves are frosted, though they remain ever crimson, ever watching. You whisper to Jacaerys, eyes upon the godswood. 

“Dead men don’t sing, my prince.”

YOU FIND YOURSELF REFRESHED IN THE BREAK OF WINTERSNOW THAT AFTERNOON.

The Godswood; a sheltered overhang provided by the sprawling branches of the Weirwood – your knees floated within the chasmous snow pelted fresh-fallen and sweet onto the frozen earth.

Jacaerys rests near you – perched on what below lies a boulder, he watches the flakes fall gentle onto the surface of the pooled spring behind you, your quiet words deadened in the blanket of snow. 

The wind is forgiving today – and you can only hope, as you rise from your knelt position before the tree, that it will extend its mercy unto the ceremony in three day’s time. 

There is only the plume of your breath and the muffled compaction of your boots against the settled snow that accompany the short distance to your betrothed. 

Steam rises in tendrils from the warmth of the pond’s depths; a simmering fate from the icy flakes which flutter onto its surface, giving the last breath of their life in sacrifice for its own. 

“How fares Vermax?” 

Your voice carries with it that sullen evergreen repose – Jace looks up at you from where he sits, a small smile gracing his countenance. “He has found a cave to the West.” 

You nod with a knowing smile, lowering yourself to perch beside your betrothed upon the soft snowed earth, your furs dark against the bright kiss of the Gods. “I wondered if he might,” You murmur, recalling the natural springs not unlike the one you sit before; their warmth a relief to any who are graced by their presence within the caves of the slopes. “It would do him well to return home soon.” You murmur, eyes roving over the hands, ungloved and calloused with cold and fight, which rest in Jacaerys’ lap. 

Perhaps in resistance to the weather or from the heat of your attention, he flexes his lithe fingers; and with the breath he takes, he looks to you. “He’s never quite agreed with the North.” He admits with a soft smile. You nod thoughtfully, wondering indeed how such a being of fire could fare against the land of ice. 

“And his rider?” You wonder then, eyes hinged on a swaying pine in the distance, its needles shed of snow as a pile falls to the ground. 

Jacaerys looks at you with that expression once more – a warm one, but one hesitant by nature. “I’d say he is learning to weather it,” Jacaerys answers with a lingering smile, though his gaze shifts momentarily to the horizon, where the faintest sliver of dusk begins to creep through the flurry of snowflakes. “He's come to learn that it grows on a man, much like its people.”

Your lips curve in a bout of shy flattery, and you shake your head. 

A loss for words stretches on into more; the water is calm in its reflection, and you watch snowflakes flutter from the stretch of gray, kissing your hair and tangling in your lashes. The clearing is large, though still so very intimate – it is not long before your thoughts meander to the days ahead, to the many preparations still to be done despite your moment of respite. 

After a beat, you speak into the blanket of quiet. 

“Three days.” You muse, blinking away flurries of white and turning to your betrothed. “Does it not feel strange to you, that in so little time, we are to be bound?”

Jace exhales, his breath clouding the air which swirls before you, and you look up to him in wait. He tilts his head just so, blinking away flakes as they come to kiss his flushed skin. You watch them melt to his lips with some faint lick of envy. 

His voice is hardened by the deadened air of winter, though you know there is nothing but kindness laced within. “There is no hesitation in me, if that is what you ask.”

A warmth pools within you at his chosen words, at the thought of he and you, under the very tree which you now sit, joint in hands and bound by blood. 

Perhaps it is that small yearning that festers unsaid in your heart – or it is the residual worry of his words of songs and men long-dead this morning in his chambers; but you press on gently. “And why is that, my Prince?” 

He looks into your eyes, then – and you see some search for verity amidst the downfall of snow; your fingers are cold, and they itch to hold his own. “Do you hold your own reservations?” In his tone holds no such judgement; merely the curiosity of a boy no older than one and twenty – and you, in the same turn of years, shake your head. 

“No, I–” Your lip is bitten once more, and his eyes remain upon them despite the flush on your cheeks. “I suppose I just wish to know,” You whisper, swallowing thickly, “If it is all… for strategy.” 

Jacaerys takes a moment; you allow it, watching as the flakes fall into the curls, as his eyes skim over the Northern edge of Winterfell, falling somewhere far, far beyond. “It is not simply a duty for me,” He chooses, tracing your visage with the care befitting of one who’s known you for life. “I believe you know this.” 

And perhaps you do; you smile under his accusation, tilting your head. “I suppose so, though I should like to hear you say it,” You admit, looking towards the very horizon he’d worried over. A murder of ravens, cutting dark through the gray blur of afternoon. “You speak too much in riddles these days.” 

It seems as though your words penetrate whatever foggy worries swirl within his sharp mind; and he nods solemnly. 

“You’re right,” and his voice is quieter now, guarded; unsure whether to reveal what such odd whisperings might mean. “I must have you know,” he starts, glancing to you, “that my care for you goes beyond duty.” 

His words are a balm to the brunt of fate that now befalls you; his cheeks as pink as your own, and he whispers kindly. “I have long held an affection for you in my heart, and hoped you might feel the same.” 

Any words of agreement are halted upon your lips when Jacaerys takes another breath, one laced with the weight of a realm divided: “But after Lucerys…” He clears his throat once more and you are struck with his pain.

Your palm finds his knee in some hope of comfort provided; his own falls atop it. “Princess Rhaenys and Meleys fell at Rooks Rest while I travelled North; a war wages still - and yet I had to come. I know you wonder why, and you deserve to know.” 

And you wait with breath bated, as you have for many days in wonder of why indeed now seemed fit for the Prince to come to the North for you. 

“My mother… shared something,” he begins once more, his tone low, “Passed down through our blood, through King and King – from long before Viserys, to my mother, and now me... A prophecy.” 

Your stomach has grown a pit of anticipation, some dreadful cloud gathering above you. Your Prince blinks to you shortly, brows drawn in consternation - as though it is a far crime and violation, what he is to tell you. 

And then he begins: words strung with the cloudiness of destiny, of doubt lingering in a stream of worry – and you sway where you repose, in a blinking dread when mentions come of a common enemy, of a terrible winter long to come.

And you, then, are struck with thoughts – of the long nights at Castle Black; of the men who patrol the wild lands, who speak in hushed voices and train with hard hands – of the old memory of Death, which lingers in the dreams of Northern children and on the tongues of Septas sat before hearths. 

You turn your gaze from the Weirwood’s branches above to Jacaerys, who looks out over the horizon to the breath of twilight leaking through.

A song – a dead man’s dream; of the ice of the north, he explains, and the fire of Valyria. 

It is a cold many minutes in which you breathe, a dread lingering between you and your beloved prince, hands clasped together and hearts beating as one. It does not do well to play on a foolish man’s beliefs – though your prince is no foolish man, and the hands of fate are too tightly bound. 

“You speak of fire and blood,” you whisper finally, “Of dreams that burn through the night?” 

The eve that falls is quiet, and the wind forgives your trespassing. He nods solemnly, your prince; and his absence of further response lets your mind wander.

Swirls of snow dance along the footprints left in your previous wake; the wind blows strands of hair across your vision.

Jacaerys’ eyes are amber pools and you drown in them, in the heat that has grown in the knowledge of words dreamt by a long dead man, in the legacy which leaks through each new crowned Targaryen. You drown in the knowledge that perhaps, in some way, a truth rings within this so-believed prophecy; secret as the lands which lie far to the North.

Your lips are wetted gently, shaking your head as you continue your thought. “But magic does not only run hot,” you murmur, “It does not only belong to the South.” 

His expression turns – and a weight which indeed shrouds him finds you too, cocooning you and your betrothed, binding you with threads of fate long ago tied and drawn. The woods whistle with the breath of winter, and you hear their song. 

“It is in the roots of the tree, in the bones of this land,” You admit, “My ancestors prayed to the Old Gods, and in return they whispered in the wind, spoke in the silence. And they, too, endure.”

Jacaerys shifts beside you and your palm is taken into the cradle of both his own. “I do not wish to burden you with such things.” He murmurs - and a memory of your brother's same words the day this very betrothal became so; it is forever, then, that the men of your life will wish to protect you from harm.

In the moment’s breath, you speak quietly: “–But such things are ours now, are they not?” You wonder aloud; and in the relief of a smile, he nods smally.

“There are threats to face sooner; I know it is no small ask to bring you into the throes of conflict. But perhaps our blood,” He murmurs, cheeks tinged pink, “might one day save the Realm.” 

An odd thought – but still one that does not change the truth: You go into the heart of the fire in three days’ time; but you will go with Jacaerys, and you will not be alone. A wolf in the South – and a dragon by her side. 

In the lingering peace of companionship, Jacaerys huffs gently. “I wish I could have done more,” He murmurs, “Ensured a proper betrothal.” His cheeks remain stained in that crimson colour against the fading light of the sky, and you resist the longing feeling to feel his lips against your own. 

You laugh, a short thing in the muffled quiet, “It matters not, Jace,” You promise, a smile small and kind upon your visage. In his shift, you slide gently between his knees – and your palms squeeze his own. 

“I’d have courted you,” He insists in that boyish nature you remember from those moons ago – and the air that’d frozen your lungs in the moments fallen behind has thawed into a budding giddiness. You smile at his tone, tilting your head. “Is that right, my Prince?” You tease, lifting your brow, “Taken me for strolls in the gardens, picked me flowers?” 

His smile is so boyish and hopeful; your heart skips as he nods. “Of course.” His grin grows softer as you shift. 

It is when the space between you narrows in a moment that you purse your lips gently, eyes tracing the curve of his own cherried lips. “Though my duty is to the North, it is also to the Queen,” You begin. His eyes fall to your own lips. “And to you. I hold love for you in my heart, Jacaerys,” You admit, cheeks warm, “And I am quite pleased to be your wife.” 

His hand leaves your own – and in its ascent, you see a slight tremor; when your face is cradled by his palm, you let your eyes flutter shut. 

It is only a momentary shock when lips, cold and light, press to your eyelid; a brushing so gentle, you wonder if it will not melt into the snow itself. 

Jacaerys’ breath lingers, a quiet warmth as he moves to your other eye, kissing away the flakes of snow which cling to you in reverence. A stirring in your breast as your hands find his cloaked arms, strong beneath your grasp; a whisper into the earth around you as snow falls. 

He pulls away only in a plume of warm breath that you feel against your visage; your eyes open to find his own, warm and wanting. A fire burns in you, and it calls his name – somewhere in the distance, Vermax roars. The edges of the pond lap over a small crust of ice, and your touch warms against your betrothed. 

“I was made for you,” He murmurs, lips chilled against your warm cheek; and you believe it. He says your name, and it falls from bitten lips with a desperation that sets your nerves ablaze; "I will love you with everything I am," He promises; and fingers trace the curve of your jaw, a gentle thing – a lingering of breath with your own, a hitch to your lungs as desire claws at your throat. Your smile is small and melts under the weight of heat.

In a moment, you cannot bear the space which lingers, small and unforgiving, between you; Without hesitation, your palms slide over his furs, kissed with snow – and soon, you card your hands through the curls at the nape of your betrothed’s neck. 

It is a pull towards your awaiting lips, and soon Jacaerys kisses you soundly. 

Hands slide to your waist, dropping from your jaw to cradle you between his legs, flush in the heat of shared life; and you, a blossoming flutter of affection and anticipation for nights to come. Hands tremble – yours, around his neck, his, curved around your waist. 

The snow falls heavier still – and a howl of wind that blows you closer to Jace, a short share of giggles between you, giddy and alight with some small kernel of hope. The Godswood is quiet, and your lips slide together in a shy, lingering sweetness; he pulls away from you only to press small kisses upon each exposed breath of skin you offer, and you laugh into the quiet, heart beating as one. 

“I am yours.” 

And for some time, a soft exploration of affections beneath the sprawling limbs of the tree – and the words fall from lips taking and giving, smiling and sighing, pursuing and pressing. 

The woods sing with the bells when supper is called; and so with hair tangled, cheeks warm, you rise together. 

Arm in arm, your betrothed and you retrace footprints kissed with the gift of fresh-fallen snow; words quiet and half-burdened with the weight of the future – but still remains the lingering of hope, the promise of love even in the dreary eve of fate. 

The Godswood of Winterfell echo softly with footfall; The warmth of the Great Hall awaits you both. Jacaerys presses a kiss to your knuckles, and you push open the doors together.

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[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

[myownevils]

jacaerys velaryon favorites

house of the dragon

one shots

Conspriracy of Hearts - @astrxq

Black and Purple - @simpingland

prisons & prophets - @curseofaphrodite

Solace - @myladysapphire

Your Reflection - @jacaerysgf

On Sunny Days I Go Out Walking - @eldrith

Silken Streets - @eldrith

picture of you in an invisible locket - @softspiderling

intrusion - @gracexthoughts

i'd go blind (just to see you) - @eldrith

can i go (where you go?) - @softspiderling

First Impressions - @princessbellecerise

Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit - @princessbellecerise

Reunions - @ireneispunk

series

a call to arms. - @annwrites

DRAGONSPEAR - @rennalaqotfm

SPOILS OF WAR - @luvrottt

Flowers - @jacaerysgf

A Golden Cage - @eldrith

WHAT HONOR DEMANDS. - @swordgrace

knuckles bruised (like violets) - @drgnmnts

[h4lfaheart]

The Great Hope for a Dynasty, a House of the Dragon fanfiction

“Let it be known that Aella of House Targaryen and Jacaerys of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

ao3 // wattpad

{jace velaryon/oc}

{oc edits made by @/ccarmyy on tiktok}

[sunnyie-eve]

2 | Bastards

Series: Calamity Within | House of the Dragon

Pairing: (Jacaerys Velaryon x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!) (Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: slight bullying

| MASTERLIST |

-

Once again it was time the King wanted Lilibet to come for a visit. After her last visit, she stayed for a good four months before going back home. This time Damon didn't mind as much since he was planning to go out and make deals.

Arriving this time, Ser Cole was going to help her to the Queens chambers but luckily Ser Strong approaches them saying Rhaenyra wanted to see her.

"I have direct orders from the Queen."

"I have direct orders from the Princess, who the King gave her permission." Harwin mentions so Lilibet steps closer to him.

Since the last time she was there Rhaenyra told Harwin everything that Lilibet said she heard before running away and that she knew the truth too. And for the remaining time she was there last time she avoided Criston Cole every second in hopes not to bring up him seeing her.

Lilibet quickly follows Harwin to Rhaenyra's chambers leaving Criston Cole alone, "Does the Princess really want to see me?" She asks him.

"The Princess doesn't know that you were coming to visit." He looks back at her.

"Thank you." She lets him know so he nods his head.

Entering the room before he could announce her arrival, Rhaenyra says her name excited since it's been two years since she was here last. "You're finally back. Come meet your new cousin. She smiles.

"What's his name?" Lilibet asks with a smile.

"Joffrey." Rhaenyra tells her.

"Laena is pregnant and is expecting soon." Lilibet tells the news.

"Really? What are you wanting a brother or another sister?" Rhaenyra asks her as she lets her hold the baby.

"I want a baby brother. Laena don't care what the babe will be. I think father would love a boy though." Lilibeth laughs, "I say such a thing because my father me training. I have a bow down very well but I'm working on the sword."

"Your father, my dear uncle, has you practicing with weapons for what?"

"To be able to protect myself. Which I'm fine with because there will be a time when I'll need to." Lilibet explains to her.

"Why don't you go find the King? I'm sure he'll want to see you. Giving the time he's probably watch the boys practice." Rhaenyra takes Joffrey back so Lilibet leaves the room going to find them.

The King was happy to see Lilibet arrived before talking to her and the hand about the boys practicing. Lilibet automatically could see Ser Cole was being biased towards the white hair boys compared to the dark hair boys.

When Harwin started talking to Cole it started a big tiff so Lilibet leaves her uncles side rushing down the steps as Ageon was overpowering Jace.

"Lilibet?" Aemond was surprised to see her as she took the wooden sword out of his hands going over to Aegon hitting the sword out of his hands as she swung hers taking them all by surprise.

Harwin then grabs Aegon moving him away from Jace and Lilibet as she helps him up, "You okay?" She asks him before Harwin and Cole start to fight because he pushes his buttons.

The kids are told to go off and Aegon grabs Lilibet's arm, "Are you insane? Striking your Prince?"

"You were going too far out there. Jace was down crawling away from you. You weren't going to stop so I stopped you." She explains to him as the two stood alone.

"Still striking your Prince. What when the time is right in the future you'll do the same to stop me from taking the throne."

Lilibet can't help but laugh at him, "What is this suddenly? You wanting the throne? Since I can remember, when we were closest, you hated the idea of it. You hated the thought of responsibilities. Now you want to be king?"

"I'm the first born son,"

She cuts him off, "Why does it have to be the son? Where is it written in the rules? Women can rule the seven kingdoms just as well. I stuck you in the yard so women can do anything." She leaves him alone.

When she rejoins Jace and Luke, Jace questions her about why she was so good at disarming Aegon. She tells him the same thing she told his mother about her father wanting her to know how to protect herself.

Lilibet has been staying in her chambers after hearing the Queen and King talking the other day after leaving a council meeting.

Alicent went on about how she would never marry her daughter off to one of Rhaenyra's plain featured sons. Then at least Lilibet had the Targaryen features and if any of her child were to marry, she'd gladly take her for either of her sons.

As she was reading, Jace enters her room alone, "Am I needed?" She puts her book down.

"I'm a bastard. Ser Harwin Strong is my real father." He tells her.

"Jace, I know." She tells him and he just stares at her, "I promised your mother I would never say a thing."

"You knew I was a bastard this whole time?"

Lilibet nods her head, "Did you know I'm also a bastard? Unlike you, I fortunately got my Targaryen genes from my father." She lets him know, "My mother and Father were had an affair. My father didn't even know I existed until my mother died and the King told him about me."

"You don't see me differently for being a bastard?"

"Of course not, Jacaerys. So what your father is Harwin Strong? He's well known and you get his strong features. I had to I'm sorry but I prefer you this way and no other way." She gives him a hug and he hugs her back.

Rhaenyra brings news to her children and Lilibet about how they were leaving for Dragonstone and she could join them or stay with the King. Lilibet of course decides to accompany them not wanting to stay in Kings Landing alone.

By the time they arrived they got a letter telling them of Laena's passing. Laenor was heartbroken by the news and Lilibet was as well. After all she saw her as a mother and she felt worst not being there with her sisters when their mother passed. She couldn't wait till she rejoins them to comfort them since she knew her father wouldn't be much help.

[queers-gambit]

I LOVE the Black Dread. It's soooo good. She'd be stubbornly undecided. I think she'd find Jacaerys irritating and even more annoying than Aemond. It might add insult to injury that even though he doesn't look like a Targaryen he's (for the most part) been given everything she should have been given despite sharing the same reasons she was not (if that makes sense). Also, how will Vermax ever entice Balerion into friendship or romance? Vermax, though cute, is a measly offer of companionship. However, she may be team Rhaenyra. Aemond on the other hand is a handsome prospect. He's a dragon rider who might acknowledge her as a Targaryen because she is a legitimate child like the Velaryons and he'd be enamoured that she claimed Balerion of all dragons. he'd be intrigued, probably into her and slightly jealous. Vhagar and Balerion have history as well. That could sway Balerion and in turn sway her. Daemon would probably admire her as well...but she seems like she'd be DONE with all of their shit. Before she picks a side she seems like she'd need payback for not being acknowledged or included before.

love this take. love this message. love the thought and consideration, the analysis. love that you picked up on a lot of the foreshadowing soon to come!

i'm working on part two which is gonna finish setting up a lot of the plot and details, and THEN we'll get into the more specified bonding moments between her and Aemond / Jace.

really excited to see what you guys think! keep the messages coming! all my love 🖤

[venusbyline]

hii weird and super off topic but did you follow or know annwrites?

She (I think, sorry) was trying to find an anon that was harassing her a LOT about the Jace stuff and yesterday dropped off the face of the earth 😭 Trying to search up the account to see what happened with the 'reveal' but it was all gone I don't know if I'm going crazy or what

sorry you're getting so much shit about your Jace stuff. Your work is AMAZING and I hope you never lose that drive ✨️

omg yes, i did. i follow her and i always read her fics. btw i'm almost sure that it was precisely with her that i talked to about i'm also receiving harassment/hate about my Jace fics in October. but now her account no longer appears to me, it's as if it had been deactivated or something like that

i'm gonna post about her situation on my blog, trying to find her or someone who knows what happened. if you find out sooner, pls let me know :(

and tysm for the compliment and your support, i'm really happy and grateful about that <3 <3 <3

unfortunately, being a ficwriter is getting more complicated every day with so much anon harassing, but we shouldn't give up <3

[venusbyline]

OH MY GOD THIS IS SO PERFECT 😭😭😭😭

i luv husband!Jacaerys so much, he's so cute and kind... i need to marry him RIGHT NOW

Mine to take care of

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!reader

Warnings: brief talk of gore, talks of menstrual cycle, slight description of menstrual blood, smut alluded

Genre: Fluff

Prompt: Jace taking care of his wife who’s on her moon blood

A/n: You’re next Cregan Stark

You changed your position on the four-poster bed for what felt like the hundredth time as your mind bops in between sleep and wakefulness. You had a long and irritable day just wanting to sleep but your body had other ideas as it writhed in some unknown pain that worsened throughout the night.  Finally accepting the fact you weren’t getting any sleep you allow your body to fully wake up and once your mind comes back to the waking world, your eyes burst open when you realized what was keeping you from sleep. 

You jolted to a sitting position ripping the furs from your body. Your eyes snapping down and a string of curses leaving your lips and you leap out of bed. The room was  somewhat dark, all the once tall and bright  candlesticks now mere stubs hardly sputtering flames and the fireplace reduced to embers. Yet you could still make out the dark bloodstain, a stark contrast to the white sheets. You are pulled from your panic when you hear soft mumbling and Jace shifting awake. You move quickly and hide the stain covering it with the furs.

“What is it?” He mummers out still half asleep and his voice raspy with sleep.

“It is nothing my love,” you stutter out, failing horribly to conceal the distraught in your tone. “Please just go back to bed.” Though you had succeeded in covering the truth on the bedsheets with the furs, you failed to remember it also seeped through your rather thin and white nightgown.

“If it were nothing then why does your voice-” he pauses mid sentence once his eyes land on you, his mind still not quite in the waking world “what is that on your-”  his eyes then widen in realization and you prayed to all the gods above to end you right there.

Despite being betrothed for two years, it was not until a fortnight ago that you two were married and started to share a marriage bed. Thus there were still a few more intimate and more private things yet to be revealed in your relationship, your moon blood being one of them. While from the very first day you had met Jacaerys he had been nothing but kind and gentle with you, at this moment your insecurities got the better of you making you feel ashamed and embarrassed about your own moon blood. 

Jacaerys was not as savage nor dumb like many of the other men of Westeros when it comes to a woman’s anatomy (something you found out rather quickly on your wedding night). Due to reading and having female family members he was more than aware of what a moon blood was. This however was not enough to prepare him for how it truly looked and he can not help be slightly taken aback. He had been to war, he has  seen men’s heads crushed, animal’s stomachs ripped open, people skins bubble and burn from dragon fire, but seven hells was that a lot of blood for a person who was not injured or cut.

“Oh is that your… you know” He desperately tries to act casual.

His words go through one ear and out the next, not only was the lower part of your nightgown stained with blood but as you sleeped with nothing more than a nightgown the blood also dripped and stained down your legs.

Mayhaps it was the lack of sleep or the raging and unpredictable emotions that always came with your moon blood but your eyes immediately became watery with tears. 

 “Sorry” your voice breaks and you prepare for him to make any signs of disgust or try to pretend he doesn't see anything and go back to bed as you told him early. 

This is more than enough to snap him out of his surprised state, he mentally slaps himself for his initial dumbfounded reaction. He quickly shifts right back to the loving and caring man you know so well and needed more than ever at this moment.

“Hush now my love, there is nothing to apologize for,” he is at your side in an instant “this is a natural part of a woman’s body and you should never apologize for it.” His voice is soft and gentle. Despite his encouraging words he can still see your heart aching and it doesn't help when your arm quickly wraps around your abdomen when a painful cramp surges through. “Come now, let's get you out of that and cleaned up” he says as he reaches for the laces of your nightgown.

You recoil, not because of him but because of yourself. “I am repulsive, I should do it myself”

His face twists in disappointment, his disappointment pointed toward your words not at you. His hands grab your biceps slightly squeezing them in an attempt to stop you from walking away from him and for you to listen to what he had to say.

“Stop that you are anything but, what you are is my queen, my woman and you are mine and i intend to take care of what belongs to me” he ends the sentence with a soft kiss on the forehead before undoing the laces. Once undone he slips it over your head leaving you completely bare, you both instantly noticing how even bloodier in between your thighs were.

“This is a womanly thing, many men would be off-put by this so I will not shame you if you are.” you know he said just a few moments ago it was fine, but seeing blood stains was one thing and seeing its source was a whole other.

“Don’t you dare compare me to those dimwitted fools,” he takes your hand and leads you to the wash basin “a real man will not be fazed by his wife's body functioning  the way it's supposed to.”

Once at the wash basin, he picks up a clean cloth and soap. He kneels in front of you getting to work at cleaning off all the blood, you can feel the tender love and care through his touch. It was quiet the entire time he washed you, but a it was a comfortable silence as you two reached a new level of intimacy.

Jace felt honored that you allowed him to see this side of you. So raw and vulnerable yet you still trusted him and for that , he did not think it was possible, but he fell in love with you more. After the cleaning is done he leans forward pressing a long and gentle kiss where your womb would be.

“Guess what,” he murmurs, his breath felt warm against your skin “Your womb has not been seeded yet.” he stands once more “so that means I can try again and again until my seed starts to bloom in your beautiful garden.” 

He pulls you flush against him and you laugh at his words, his heart swells being able to hear the sound again.

“And once you give birth to our beautiful king or queen  I will plant hundreds more.

You bite on your bottom lip, the insecurity from earlier passing and you feel more bold now.

“Well then what is stopping you from starting now?”

“Nothing my heart” his eyes darkened with love and desire, he lifts you up taking you two to the bed.

[vqltairstears]

i have an old oc x jace fanfic that i started writing a few months back but then dropped, kinda thinking of finishing and posting it because that man has been serving face and sass all season!!

[catsteeth]

Blood & Steel

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+

Request: “After the incident with Blood and Cheese when the Greens send someone to retaliate, instead of finding Rhaenyra they find Reader. Jacaerys goes feral against the attacker. Make him pretty intense since he's become extremely protective of Reader.”  CW: MDNI. Mention of arranged marriage, violence, graphic depictions of violence towards children, canon typical violence, nsfw themes, angst, arguments

Word Count: 7k

Since you arrived at Dragonstone, you grew more and more fond of your arranged marriage. Particularly you grew fond of the man you were to marry. Jacaerys was a kind and patient man. Something you did not think you would be fortunate enough to marry. 

You and he often spent your free moments looking for solitude from the talks of war and politics. Soon, you and he would spend time on a small patch of land separated from Dragonstone, hardly an island. It was only about twenty miles wide if that. But it became your haven. You could spend hours away from the weight of the war. 

You missed your home, but here on the island sand, you found comfort in the presence of Jace and Vermax. And Jacaerys found the same in you. 

That day you had been away from the castle for hours, and you knew sooner rather than later, someone would come looking for you both. You sighed as you tore your eyes from the calming and consistent waves crawling up and down the sands of the beach. You turned to look at your betrothed who lay on the sand with his eyes closed. Desperately trying to push out the fact your time was running slim. 

You sat beside him, running your hand through his hair trying to gain his attention. You lay down, getting closer to him, “My prince.” You whispered teasingly. 

“Mm?” He hummed furrowing his brows but refusing to open his eyes.

You continued to play with his brown curly hair as you smiled softly, “We’ve been out of Castle far too long.” You said begrudgingly. You knew it was time to return though you were not looking forward to the return of somber and formal interaction between you and high lords. 

Jacaerys groaned, “Ah,” he rubbed his eyes before finally and reluctantly opening them, “I can’t find sleep there.” 

You breathed a laugh, “You seem to find it well enough out here.” your fingers finally left his hair as you were about to stand. 

As soon as Jacaerys felt your touch abandon him, he grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Only because you are beside me,” he said with an earnest gaze. 

You understood him. He had an unbearable weight on top of himself, one similar to the one on top of you. You knew he could only find pure comfort in the presence of something… familiar and uncomplicated, love. You thought on it for a moment, wishing to help him. “Perhaps you could sleep beside me tonight.” You said without any real thought of how it might have sounded until Jacaerys looked at you with wide, but excited eyes. “Meaning nothing so bold-” You choked on your own air as you corrected yourself.

“Course you did not,” Jacaerys said quickly with a shake of his head as he sat up. 

You sat quietly for a moment, “What of it then?” you asked.

Jacaerys looked towards you trying to hide a smile, “I cannot promise I won’t feel temptation.” 

You smirked, “Temptation?” You scooted closer to him, “Temptation for what?” You teased. It was not a secret to either of you that you both wished to hold closer intimacy with one another. Though Jacaerys was not a pious man he did take the opinions of high lords and ladies seriously. They already thought lowly of the bastard prince, he would not have them think lowly of their future queen. He wished to protect your character and your reputation. Though you held the opinions of high lords and ladies to almost no value at all, you reluctantly respected his wish. 

“You tease me?” He asked faining offense. 

“Do I?” You pretended to be shocked by the accusation, but soon your facade was wiped away by an earnest smile, “Sleep in a chair beside the bed if you must. I merely wish for you to find sleep.” You said plainly without any hint of lust or jest. Simply wishing to help him in any way you could. 

He held onto your hand slightly tighter, “What if someone were to find out I was sneaking into your chambers?” He asked with a smirk, teasing you back. 

You scrunched up your nose and scoffed as you looked out into the ocean, “Fuck what those high lords and their hypocrisies think.” 

Jacaerys stifled a laugh, “Is that any way for a queen to speak?” He asked as he leaned in closer to you.

You shook your head and smirked, “Not queen yet. Still a Lady, and hardly that.” 

“You are very much a Lady.” He mumbled as his danced over your facial features and down over your body. 

You pushed his shoulder and stifled a laugh, “You’re a dog.” You said scrunching up your nose at him. Feigning disgust, when really you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

He playfully pulled you closer, “And you a wolf.” he said as his eyes sparkled in yours. “May I kiss you?” He asked softly. 

You smiled, “You needn’t ask.” You said as if he asked you a ridiculous question. 

He returned your smile, “I like to hear you say ‘yes’.” He said as he stared longingly at your lips. 

He didn’t move an inch, waiting for your approval. You rolled your eyes and with a smirk, you conceded, “Yes.” And his that, Jacaerys pulled your lips into his with a hand grasping at the back of your head gently. You could not wait until your wedding, so eager for this man to become yours in the sight of the Gods. All you could think of each time your lips met was how rare this kind of love must be. 

Though you could not think of it long, your haven was interrupted by the loud and shrill sounds of a horn. “What was that?” You questioned as you looked over to Dragonstone.

Jacaerys looked over to Dragonstone as well. He knew the horn was to call members of the council together in an urgent meeting. Though it was only used when in times of critical importance. He took your hands and helped you stand, “We’d better get back.” He said, trying to keep you calm, but also trying to return as soon as possible.

“Has something terrible happened?” You asked as Jacaerys ushered you over to Vermax as quickly as he could. 

As Jacaerys helped you climb on top of the green beasted he shook his head, “I cannot be certain.” He spoke honestly, and strapped you into the saddle before he climbed on, “If it has, I promise you will not be affected.” He said in an attempt to comfort any anxieties you might have been feeling. 

You couldn’t understand how that was meant to help, “If you are affected, I am affected.” 

Jacaerys however, did not respond, merely he pulled on the reins of Vermax as he took off into the sky, set on returning to Dragonstone. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Upon your return, you were rushed into the council chamber. You were told of a vile act that had taken place within the Keep, an attack on the Greens. Normally this would have been a beneficial evil. But this time, the act was so gruesome it was hardly an attack on the Greens' claim, it was an attack on the Blacks’. 

Two men snuck into the chamber of ‘Queen’ Helena’s children. Maester Gerardys relaid the rest of the story to the Queen and the rest of the council, “It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.” 

You felt sickened by the description of the attack on the babe. You placed a hand on your chest, over your heart. Jacaerys took your hand and held it under the table. Wishing to comfort you while hiding your emotions from the High Lords. 

Rhaenyra shocked spoke with disbelief, “And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?”

Maester Gerardys nodded, “It appears so. There have been messages sent to that effect. Throughout the realm.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “We must send our own messages, denying this vile allegation.”

“I will do so at once, but I am not sure they will be received in good faith.” The Maester said cautiously. 

Rhaenyra paid no mind to the comment, “And we must double our guard, here and in Driftmark. There will be swift retribution in one form or another–”

“I have seen to it, Your Grace.” One of the lords spoke. The idea made you feel weary. She was right, it did not matter whether she did have a hand in the murder or not. The Greens would blame her for it and would see to it that they were avenged. 

Jacaerys stood from his seat, “Let me fly out on Vermax.” Rhaenyra looked at him with concern. Jacaerys however spoke with courage and ambition, “Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from Kings Landing.”

“No,” Rheynera said quickly with a shake of her head as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. 

She saw Jace as a fragile and delicate thing, something she could not jeopardize more than she already had. You understood how she felt, she’d already lost one son on dragon's back she didn’t wish to lose another. And if you were honest, you were somewhat grateful for it. 

Though you could see the frustration, and embarrassment grow on the expression of Jacaerys’s face. As he sat back down you placed a hand on the back of his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Just enough for him to ground himself back into reality, and know you were with him. 

“It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable, at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause.” Some high lord spoke again through the tension building in the room. 

“But it’s a lie.” Rhaeynera scoffed, finding the accusation ridiculous, “Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helaena, of all people. An innocent!” She proclaimed.  

Alfred Broome, a high lord who had grown too comfortable with his position began, “The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution-” 

As you felt anger rising in your chest, the Queen shot up from her seat and charged towards the arrogant man. “Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?” She nearly spat her words at him in disgust.

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste.” He stammered, 

“Mind yourself.” You said out of near instinct. Your anger had gotten the better of you but it seemed well warranted. 

Her grace stood staring down the overly confident man. However, exhibiting far more strength than you would have had, she sat herself down. 

Once she was sat she looked over towards her husband and uncle, Prince Daemon. You felt weary of the man ever since you had heard the stories of his brutal and seemingly erratic behavior. Daemon now in this council meeting, discussing the beheading of an innocent babe was smirking. 

It made your stomach turn as it did Rhaenyra’s. Her face dropped, and she then dismissed the council meeting. 

Jacaerys angered by his mother’s decision to coddle him, stormed off down one of the halls. Rather than follow after him you allowed him to go his own way, you decided to wait in your chambers for his blood to cool. However, it was not long til you yourself were summoned by the Queen. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As you walked down the hall towards the council room, you noticed an enraged Daemon storming out of that very room. 

You stuck to the stone wall and kept your eyes on the ground. You never felt particularly welcomed in his presence. As he stormed past you he did not speak a word nor did he look at you at all. 

It was times like this when you wished you were back home in the North. 

As you entered the council chamber, you noticed a broken glass of wine on the floor, and the Queen wiping tears from her eyes. 

You entered the chamber cautiously, “You wished to see me, your grace?” you asked softly, not wishing to upset her further. 

She seemed somewhat startled by your sudden presence. She stood, wiping another tear away. “Our position has been weakened as you know.” She said as she walked towards you, “You are a great asset to us, the greatest we have now.” Her words hung heavy over your head, but you knew it was true. “Send a raven to your brother, Cregan Stark. Please try to persuade him to send more men. We need the North more than ever.” You nodded, and just as you turned your back to her, about to leave she spoke once more “You must know I did not order this.”  

You turned back around to face her, “Never.” You shook your head and spoke with conviction. You stepped closer to her, “I shall send the raven at once. My brother will know this is merely a tragedy and a vile rumor.” 

She took hold of your wrist and hand, gripping onto you tightly, “I depend on you.” As she spoke you could hear the desperation in her voice as it wavered. You could tell her words were true. 

Rhaenyra was gladdened to have you there. You would be Queen one day, you had to witness the hardships of that role. And she was grateful to see you could weather them, and stay loyal to her house.

You bowed your head to her with the utmost respect you could offer, “I’ll not fail you, your Grace.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The day was long. 

Daemon had fled Dragonstone on Caraxes. You had no knowledge of where he was to be going when he would return, or what this meant for your soon-to-be husband’s future. The Queen had fled Dragonstone as well. For what purpose you did not know. But you were confident she would return. It was not in her nature, nor her character to abandon her children. 

The castle felt cold and empty. All you could hear was the sounds of whiny children, Joffrey asking for his mother, while Ageon and Viserys cried as their nurses cradled them. 

You could not find comfort in a place like this. It felt eerie and unsettled. Like the ocean before a storm. As you struggled to find sleep you longed for the company only Jace could provide. 

Hoping his blood had cooled enough, you dragged yourself out of bed and sought him out. 

You found him in the first place you looked, the library. He was always in the library. “Jace?” You beckoned out softly as you entered, wrapping yourself tighter in the robe you were wearing. 

Jace was sitting at a desk, holding his head in his hand as his other flipped through the pages of a book, “A child was beheaded. The lords' faith in my mother waivers. And she flees.” He said without looking at you. It was clear he was still frustrated, no angry. 

Though you did not know where the Queen had gone, you knew it had to be a reason of importance. But you could understand Jacaerys’s anger.

You began to step closer to Jace, not intimidated by his anger. “Your position is a difficult one, I would wager.” You leaned against the desk he sat at, “As I imagine her position is also a difficult one. I cannot pass judgment on her actions.” You said softly.

Jace looked up from the book on the desk, “Has this shaken your belief in my mother's claim?”

“No.” You asserted quickly, “Your mother did not want for this. It was clear she rebuked the act with all her heart. Her claim was given to her by birth, no force but death will change that.”

Jace looked back to the book he was reading, “Not all of the realm sees it the way you do.” You could feel the frustration building in him.

“I’ve written to my brother. He shall send us more men. Spread the truth about the murder about the realm.” You said hoping it would ease his mind, though you could see it did nothing. You sighed “You should sleep.” 

Jacaerys scoffed, “How can I? Damon has fled to plot his own war, my mother vanishes from her responsibilities, and now our claim has been weakened by the death of an innocent child.” He rubbed his eyes, “I am alone with these responsibilities with lords who pester me for answers.”

“You are not alone.” You said as you ran your hand through his hair, “The burden is a heavy one, let me hold it with you.” You said as if you were pleading, “I can send ravens and bark at the lords who dare pester you.” Jacaerys did not respond to you, ignoring your words and continuing to read. You removed your hand from him, growing frustrated with him, “And how will reading thousand-year-old histories hunched over a desk in the middle of the night help that?”

“Someone has to do something.” He muttered.

You sighed, “If you insist on it, perhaps you could read in my chambers. Maybe the company would help you feel less lonely. Or I could sleep here-” 

Jacaerys interrupted you, “I don’t feel lonely. I am alone with my mother's war to fight. A letter to the North will do well. But it might do nothing at all. So by all means, sleep, and make yourself easy.” He said, his words dripping with anger and frustration. 

You stood, shocked by his reaction. “My apologies my prince, I merely wished to ease your anxieties.” You said in a mocking tone. 

As you stormed out, Jacaerys knew he had made a terrible mistake. He allowed his anger to take hold of his emotions and lashed out at the one person who wished to make things easier on him. 

You stormed down the hall, wiping a tear from your cheek. Your face was red from a strange mixture of heartache and anger. You thought of how Rheanyra looked after Daemon stormed away. You didn’t know what happened in that room but you could assume. 

Maybe it was true what all those women in the North said. All men are the same, they are all born of the same nature. You felt foolish to have had such hope for Jacaerys. 

But you knew, hot blood has a way of blinding you. You decided it would be best to sleep and wait for you and Jacaerys to calm down.

Once in your chambers, you splashed your face with warm water, washing away your teasers. You then turned to Liana, your Handmaiden. She handed you a cloth to pat your face dry. Once you did, she took the fabric from your hand. You smiled coldly at the girl, “Thank you, Liana.” 

The girl bowed her head to you before leaving your chamber. 

As you lay down in your bed, you tried your best to sleep. You tossed and turned, hitting and folding your pillows in a desperate attempt to get comfortable enough to find rest. The cries of the babes still echoed throughout the castle’s stone walls. 

Frustrated,  you once again tore the blankets off of you. Holding a candle to light your way, you followed the sounds of cries. 

As you entered the babe’s chamber you saw a sleeping boy in one cradle, and a Handmaiden bouncing the other child in a desperate attempt to comfort him. 

“My lady!” The handmaiden called out, surprised by your sudden appearance. “I am sorry, I cannot seem to put him to rest.” She said worrying she’d upset you and your night. 

“Seems like a common problem here.” You said with a weak smile. You set down your candle and walked towards the handmaiden. “I find singing soothes them best.” You suggested softly as you tucked your loose hair behind your ears. 

The handmaiden chuckled, “I’m not much of a singer I fear.” She said as she continued to rock and bounce the child to no avail. 

You stood for a moment looking at the boy. Though he had silver hair, he reminded you of your siblings in the North. “May I?” You asked as you held out your hands towards the babe. 

First slightly unsure, the handmaiden placed the boy in your arms. 

You held him gently as you swayed him back and forth. You began to hum a melody that your mother would sing to you. The hum soon turned into vocalization. The babe calmed in your arms finally. 

He gripped onto a strand of your hair that fell loose over your shoulder. He didn’t pull it, just absentmindedly toying with it. 

This boy must have been Viserys. It could be hard to tell at times, but Viserys had curls, whereas Ageon did not. And Aegon slept much better than Viserys did. As evident from the silver-haired boy sleeping soundly in the cradle and the other in your arms. It surprised you how well Aegon could sleep through such noise. 

You looked back down at Viserys. As he looked up into your eyes you noticed he and Jacaerys shared the same eyes. It made you think of being a mother to the future King, or Queen. And maybe many other princes and princesses. You wondered what those babies might look like. A bit of you, and a bit of him. 

Soon the boy's eyes became heavy and he drifted into a light sleep. 

“Can I get you anything my Lady?” the Handmaiden whispered, not wishing to disturb him. 

“Perhaps a tea for sleep? I can’t seem to find it but I shall see to it that the boy sleeps.” You whispered as you continued to sway the boy back and forth. 

The handmaiden nodded and swiftly but quietly left the chambers. 

As you turned your attention back to Viserys you realized the boy was limp and heavy in your arms. He breathed calmly and deeply, snoring even. ‘Finally’ You thought to yourself. 

You played the babe into the cradle beside his brother. As you looked down upon them you thought back again on your daydream of you and Jace’s children. 

It made you feel excited and hopeful to think of that future. But with this recent turn in the war, and your fight with Jacaerys, you felt doubt. But you were willing to fight for that feeling of hope. 

You ran your hand over the boy's silver curly hair once before you heard the chamber door creek open. You turned towards it, expecting to see a Handmaiden holding a hot cup of tea. Instead, you saw a knight, one you recognized. 

You wrapped your robe around you tighter, “Ser Erryk?” You asked with concern. Though he looked at you with pity, and what was stranger was his eyes didn’t look like his eyes at all, “You’re not Erryk, are you?” You mutter quietly as you hold onto yourself tightly as your anxieties rise. 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach once you saw a cloaked man behind the Knight posing as Ser Erryk. 

Viserys began to stir from his sleep, whining slightly. You took a step back, keeping your eyes on the men in the doorway. You placed a hand on the wooden railing of the cradle holding the two young princes. 

“It’s the real Targaryen boys.” The cloaked man rasped to the Knight. 

With that, the two began to inch their way into the chamber. You moved to block their view of the infants sleeping in their cradles. 

“There's gold, silver, anything you desire I will give. Just leave the babes.” You whispered, not wishing to wake the infants to such a horrific scene. Though your heart began to pound so quickly you thought that alone might wake Viserys. 

The man in the cloak smirked at your attempt to derail their plan as he got closer and closer to you. His filthy hand tore off your mother’s necklace that hung around your neck. He examined it in his hands before placing it in his pocket. “Blood must be spilled.” 

The knight, however, did not find humor or joy in the act he was anticipating. “You’ll take us to the Queen.” He whispered. It was a command, but it felt like a plea. As if this armed intruder had no desire to bring harm to you. But you knew he had the ability and the will to. 

You shook your head, “I’ll do no such thing.” Your eyes were wide and filled with terror.

“You will.” The knight said, again, it sounded like he was desperately pleading with you. 

“The Queen fled Dragonstone this evening.” You said almost mockingly, “Even if she were here, I’d not take you to her.” 

The cloaked man began to walk towards you with a rotten and crooked smile, “You then.” He said with a giddy high chuckle as he raised a dagger towards you. 

You moved away from the children, not wishing to bring that terrible creature near them. The man followed after you, “Please-“ You pleaded quietly as he grabbed hold of you. His stench was thick, nearly choking you as he pressed a knife to your throat. He held one of your hands while your other attempted to pull his knife away from you. “I rebuke the act with all my heart-” You quietly pleaded as you felt the knife begin to drag against your skin, cutting into your throat ever so slightly. 

You squirmed and the cloaked man began to giggly snicker in your ear. But the knight stepped forward raising a hand to the man halting his action. The man’s snicker died out, as though he was upset he was being interrupted. 

“Perhaps-” The knight began, “If you returned to Kings Landing.” The knight was speaking to you, but his eyes stayed on the man, “If you married Prince Aemond, give the North’s power to the Greens.” His eyes then fell onto you, “Then we could spare you.” 

“That wasn’t what he asked for.” The cloaked man barked back to the Knight. The knight however did not respond to the man, only looking at you with pleading eyes. 

With eyes widened and your heart racing. You felt the cold blade beginning to split your hot skin as sweat trickled down your brow. Terrified, and vulnerable. Still, you knew you would never betray the only man you ever loved or the true Queen. “I’d rather you put my head on a spike.” You said, your voice shaking but your eyes did not show fear, but contempt. 

The man holding the knife to your throat grew giddy once more, and the Knight sighed as he grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword. “Then, believe me, I have no choice, " he said with a regretful sigh. 

The knight drew his sword, making you gasp and your eyes grew wider, so wide you thought they might fall out of your head. The knight approached the sleeping babes in their cradle and you squirmed violently in the grasp of the cloaked man. As you did the blade only cut its way deeper into your skin but you did not care. 

“No!” You pleaded desperately. 

“Only one needs to die.” The cloaked man said you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Which will it be?” He asked with a giddy chuckle. 

Tears began to fall from your wide eyes down your red cheeks, “Spare-spare them- take me- me- me-” You desperately and quietly pleaded. The man's giddy chuckle only grew more erratic. 

But the knight did not move, “I cannot.” The knight said with shame as he looked down at the infants in their cradle. 

The man who held you tightly against his blade threw you down onto the ground, “You take care of the woman.” He said with frustration as he made his way towards the babes. 

You stood quickly and grabbed a hold of a golden pitcher within the room. You hit the man over the head with it. Making water splash over him, and the babes waking them instantly. The babes screamed and cried as the golden edge of the pitcher cut the scalp of the man open, and he fell to the ground in pain before he picked himself up and ran out of the chamber disappearing in the shadows of the halls. 

The knight’s large hand rose and fell on your face, knocking you to the ground. It was at that same moment you heard the shattering of glass hit the floor. It was the handmaiden dropping your cup of hot tea onto the ground. “M’Lady!” The woman shouted.

You looked up from the hard ground to the woman, “Find Ser Lorrent!” You called out. You wanted for a moment to call for Jacaerys, but you would never forgive yourself for bringing danger to him. 

As the woman ran down the hall, the Knight begrudgingly grabbed a chunk of your hair as he pulled you off the ground. As he looked into your tear-stained face he noticed the damage he’d already done. 

A bruise to your cheekbone that rose to your eye, and a cut to your lip. You could see the shame in his eyes as he brought his sword to your neck. 

“Brother!” A voice yelled out. You looked over to the door to see the true Ser Erryk. He drew his sword.

Without exchanging many words, they unsheathe their swords. You took the opportunity to grab hold of the wailing children and run to the door. All you could hear was the sounds of steel clashing and blood splattering the floor. Their identical fighting styles and knowledge of each other’s tactics result in a deadly stalemate at first.

The clash of swords echoes through the halls, as Ser Lorent finally arrives. He did not know who was who, and at such a distance you did not either. 

Ser Lorent kept you behind him, as he watched the battle continue. You watched on in horror holding onto the crying children.

You jumped as you felt hands wrap around you. But as you looked you noticed it was Jacaerys, his expression was one of terror and rage. 

“Jacaerys!” You said with relief, as he pulled you and his siblings further away from the fight.  

He held your face, observing your injuries, “Where are you hurt?” He asked frantically, “Where did he touch you?” He repeated the question several times but you were far too frightened to speak. 

You heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, as you turned you saw one of the knights fall dead onto the floor, and his sword along with him. 

The surviving Knight, you could only assume was Erryk, stepped forward. His eyes were filled with grief and guilt. 

You looked towards him with sympathy, you didn’t know what to say, but you would not have a chance to think of anything before the knight stumbled into the hall. “My Lady,” He said as he turned his sword towards himself, “Forgive me.” He said as he fell onto his sword.

“No!” You screamed out, but it was too late. Erryk lay dead beside his brother.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You spent the rest of the night locked away in your chamber with Viserys, Aegon, and Joffrey. The guard around your chamber was nearly tripled at the command of Jacaerys. 

“We have no idea how they penetrated our walls.” Ser Alfred began. 

Jacaerys marched across the council room, exuding every once of rage he felt, “And where were the members of this council when the traitors threatened their Queen, their Princes, and their future Queen?” He questioned, ignoring Ser Alfred's words. “My betrothed is our stronghold.” He barked at the men in that room. He then marched towards Ser Lorent, stopping inches from his face, “And where were you while the Prince and my Lady were threatened?” His tone was oozing with contemptous rage. 

Ser Lorent looked down like a child who was caught misbehaving, “I was abed-”

“A bed!” Jace shouted, interrupting the Knight. “She could have been killed!” He nearly screamed as he continued to march around the room. 

“It is not the time for blind accusations.” Lord Corlys began, attempting to settle his grandchild’s rage but failing.  

��If I may-” Lady Mysaria began, “The guard has detained someone.” This captured Jacaerys’s attention, “The men whom they have captured are not known to us. However, they were caught attempting to flee Dragonstone in a small boat. With the Ladys necklace.” She said holding up the necklace Jacaerys knew was your mother's. 

Jacaerys felt that cold sting of rage crashes through his chest, he grabbed a hold of his sword as he walked towards the door to the chamber, “I’ll kill him myself.” Jace, his eyes watery with angry tears. 

Lord Corlys, placed a hand on Jace’s chest, stopping him, “I believe it may be best that we approach this with a level head.” He said in a hushed tone. 

“A level head?” Jace scoffed, “He had a knife to her throat!” He barked.

“And he will pay for such an insult.” Ser Alfred said, in an attempt to aid Corlys in calming Jace.

“Insult?” Jace repeated in a mocking tone offended that he would compare what was done to you to an insult. 

“Jacaerys.” Corlys said, redirecting Jace’s attention back to him, “We must first extract all the knowledge they have of the attack. Who ordered it-”

“We know who ordered it!” Jace shouted,

Ser Alfred stepped forward once more, “They paraded the boy throughout the streets after his death. Shouting of the depravity of Rheanyra the Cruel.” Jace turned to face Ser Alfred, he looked at him with contempt. Weary of what he was to say next. “We cannot parade the Lady and her injuries to the public but we can send letters detailing each act- the horror they inflicted-” 

Lord Corlys buried his eyes in his hand.

“No.” Jace asserted, “I will not allow my wife’s honor to be compromised.” He began emotion building in her voice. 

No one said a thing, but they all noticed how he spoke of you as his wife though your wedding had not even been planned yet. 

Despite Jacaery’s anger, Ser Alfred continued, “Will the Lords of Westeros support Aegon once they have heard of their depravity, or will they rather not denounce the Greens?”

“I will not let her be seen as weak,” Jace said, his voice dripping with fury. 

“Not weak. Courageous.” He attempted to rationalize, “She protected the prince and the queen, nearly costing her own life to do so. Her misfortune will do more for our cause than a hundred thousand knights.” 

“I said no-” Jace asserted once more before he was interrupted by a handmaiden.

“I apologize, my prince.” The handmaiden said cautiously, “The Lady has requested such action be taken.” She said weary of how the Prince might receive this information.

“What?” He asked breathlessly.

The handmaiden fidgeted with her fingers, nervously, “She has said, she understands, as a representative of the throne she must make sacrifices-” 

Jace shook his head, and rubbed his brow, “She needn’t sacrifice anything.”

“My Prince, the lady has insisted. She has expressed she will not turn her cheek.” The handmaiden said before turning back to leave. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

In the Dungeon, Lord Corlys entered the cell holding the badly wounded man. 

“I would suggest you speak of whom sent you.” Sitting in front of the man, Lord Corlys intimidated him well enough on his own, he did not need much to convince the man to speak. 

“I was sent by Ser Criston Cole under the order of the King Aegon Targaryen.” The cloaked man said, still holding onto his bleeding scalp. 

“What was the anticipated outcome of this mission?” Lord Corlys questioned.

“Kill the Rheanyra, kill the true born sons.” The man spoke the truth, in a desperate attempt to avoid any more harm. “Arryk muddied it all up. Didn’t know where the right room was. Then didn’t want to kill the boys.” He spoke with haste and fear, “I don’t know any more than that I promise.” With that, Lord Corlys nodded and stood. The man looked up at him with confusion. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” He said calmly, “But I cannot vouch for the Prince.” Corlys said before leaving the cell.

The man’s breathing grew rapid as he saw the prince enter the dungeon.

Jacaerys entered the dungeon, with clenched fists, holding a large Morningstar mace. Jace looked more disheveled than when Lord Corlys saw him in the council chamber. His shirts were unbuttoned and his hair was a mess. His eyes were darker than they normally were. His feet marched along the stone floor as he came into the cell holding the man. 

The man did not plea, he only gritted his teeth knowing what was to come. Jacaerys clenched his jaw as he looked down at the man. He thought of the injuries he saw on his betrothed. The cut on her upper lip, the bruise on her cheek, the cut on her neck, and the bruising on her wrist where the man held her against him. The rage grew inside of him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out. 

The man began to cry as he stared up at Jacaerys. It only made the rage within Jace grow. How dare this man cry after what he had done. 

Jace could no longer hold in his fury, he swung his mace over his head and down onto the man’s already cracked skull. 

He brought the mace down onto the man, again, and again, and again until the man’s groaning, whimpering, and twitching ceased. 

Jace breathed heavily, exhausted by emotion and physical exertion. His face was covered in blood splatter and sweat. 

He stood tall over the man, dropping the mace down onto the man's skull before turning and leaving the cell. 

Lord Corlys watched as Jace said not a word and left the dungeon. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

Afterward, word traveled quickly of what the Prince had done to the man in the Dungeon. 

It took no time at all for you to have heard of it from several handmaidens. Though it made you feel a certain comfort you still wished Jacaerys would see you, would apologize to you. You valued that much more than violence. 

But it would not be long for that either. As you sat by the fire, you watched over the children sleeping in the well-guarded chamber with you. You jumped slightly once you heard the chamber door open softly. Despite you knowing how well you were guarded now you still were on edge. Though your anxieties dissolved once you saw it was your betrothed. Deshovled, with what looked like blood splattered onto his shirts. 

Jace had washed his face but had not the patience to change before he could see you. 

“You saved my brothers.” Jacaerys spoke gently despite his gruesome appearance, “You showed the realm your heroic bravery.” He said as he approached you. He tried to move your hair to see the cut on your neck, “Show me please.” he said softly but you moved your head so he could not look. 

You didn’t look at him, still holding resentment. “Tis nothing.” You spoke dismissively. 

Jacaerys got onto his knees, placing his hands on your lap, “I must beg for your mercy.” He bowed his head in shame, “My behavior was abhorrent.” he said shaking his head. You still said nothing. Jace looked up at you, “Speak, please. Plainly, even if they are words meant to hurt me I just wish for you to speak.” He pleaded.

So, you did. “You made me feel useless, unwanted.” You said looking at him with hurt eyes, “I only wished to comfort you. And you pushed me away.” You sighed, “I am not a hero, and I am not brave, Jacaerys. I am hurt and far from home.” 

He took in your words for a moment, nodding, “You alone have given us the North, you have saved the Prince and the Queen.” He spoke calmly, “And you have made me a true man and bewitched me, mind and body. I want no one else, and our house could not survive without you.” He took hold of your hands and looked at you with eyes that spoke of the love and devotion he felt toward you, “I was an arrogant fool to make you feel otherwise. Blinded by my own anger towards matters that were not caused by your hand.” You saw his eyes begin to tear up, “I could have lost you. It was so narrowly avoided. I imagined it when I saw those men who attacked you. Losing you… You are my way of life, without you, I could not go on.” He said before sniffing and swallowing whatever emotion was consuming him, before he looked back to you “If I have proven unworthy, I will see to it you have safe passage to the North. No action will be taken against your house.-” He began but you interrupted his ridiculous words. 

You scoffed, “I am not going to leave you over an argument, Jacaerys.” You placed a hand on his cheek, “I said I loved you and I meant it.” 

“I will live to earn your forgiveness.” He said gripping onto your hand tightly. 

“You have it you fool.” You said stifling a laugh. You found it hard to hold resentment toward him any longer. 

He smiled softly at you, and then he ran a hand gently over your hair, “May I?” He asked and you nodded. 

He moved your hair to see the cut on your neck. He grimaced at the sight, not out of disgust but out of anger for what they had done. 

“I said it was nothing.” You said trying to comfort him.

“It is something.” He insisted. 

You pushed your hair forward covering the mark, “The maester said it will scar, but can easily hidden.” 

“You���ll not hide anything.” Jacaerys said as he placed a hand on your cheek, “You did not have to send those letters.” He said shaking his head. He felt shame for allowing such a thing to happen. 

You shook your head, “I couldn’t lay back and make myself easy.” 

“You did much more than that,” Jace said sternly, he would not allow anyone to make you think otherwise. 

You looked at his disheveled appearance, “Is it true what they said?” You questioned softly, “You-You killed the man who did it?” He looked at you with conviction, “I will not allow someone to threaten harm to my wife and live.” 

“Your wife?” You asked with a smile,

“You are quite nearly that.” he smiled back.

You shook your head one last time, “Not near enough.”

[eldrith]

How about a sneak peak of the request ''escaped from the greens, reader..." pls🥹

anything for you darling! sneak peek (0.6k) below the cut <3 [also this is angsty bc it is a slow burn fic, but not all of it will be haha. this is the best i can give without giving too much away]

YOU ARE NOT ALONE THE NEXT TIME YOU RETURN TO THE ALCOVE OVERLOOKING THE SEA.

The moon casts a peculiar glassy reflection upon the deep; lit by torches along the ramparts, you walk with your mind in the clouds, still stuck up where you’d just been, flying with your shadow. 

You do not anticipate encountering anyone this late; A wry smile tugs at your lips as you stow the leather gloves you'd been given, their purpose fulfilled.

The Cannibal remains ever wild and unyielding - for safety’s sake, the dragon handlers have entrusted you with his tending, leaving you weary yet resolute.

As you make the final ascent to the overlook, you nearly collide with a figure seated upon the banister—a figure you had not anticipated.

“Gods!” you exclaim, your hand rising instinctively in a half-hearted gesture of defense. The figure swivels sharply at the sound, and you take an instinctive step back, the suddenness of the encounter leaving your heart racing.

Your eyes widen in recognition as you find Jacaerys, perched upon the banister, his gaze ensnared by yours.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. His nod is stiff, and the faintest signs of sorrow reveal themselves—a reddened rim around his eyes, the tip of his nose touched with pink. The melancholy seems to hang upon him as you shift uncomfortably on your feet.

When he speaks your name, a subtle tremor betrays his composure. “I did not expect you here.”

You blink, concern stirring within you. “I was merely…” You swallow, “I often come up here for solace,” you reply, feeling the awkwardness settle between you like a heavy cloak. Jacaerys and you do not often find yourselves alone together. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“It’s alright,” he interrupts, his tone curt but not unkind as takes a step towards the stairway down. “I was just- leaving.” he discreetly wipes at his eyes, and you avert your gaze as the last vestiges of his sadness are hidden from view.

In the ensuing silence, memories of youthful nights emerge unbidden - the cruelty of your brothers, the growing disdain in Jacaerys’ gaze when he’d see your family within the Red Keep, his chilliness despite your earnest attempts at childish friendship. You wonder if he too recalls these days, as the weight of those shared shadows lingers between you. 

Sometimes, it seems to be the solitary thread that binds your past to his.

He’s been crying - those large eyes, glossy with the remnants of sorrow. A pang hits your stomach - Jacaerys, who stands in front of you in his traditional Targaryen clothes, yet was just perched upon the banister like a young boy; Jacaerys, who cannot afford to let his head dip down because one day he must bear a very heavy crown.

You almost say something; there are hundreds of words you could say to Jace, but it is not your place. Your shoulder is not the one he chooses to lean on, to cry on. You are not his betrothed. 

“You don’t have to leave, my Prince-” You say, but he shakes his head suddenly.

“-I’d rather you call me Jacaerys when we are not at court.” His voice softens slightly, though his eyes struggle to stay on yours. “I find it’s too formal.” He adds, fingers toying with the dark band that lies around his finger.

When you were young, Helaena often played with her rings similarly when anxious. The memory makes your chest ache.

"Jacaerys," you start tentatively, “It’s... alright,” you murmur, struggling to find the right words. “To take a moment. To breathe and... reflect.”

Though you need not utter his brother’s name, Jacaerys understands you speak of him; of the war’s relentless shadow.

You can only feign ignorance as he bites back his anguish, jaw tightening and breath hitching in a suppressed sob. A tear is wiped away from his cheek expeditiously; your eyes find the black waters along the horizon. With an effort of courtesy, Jacaerys excuses himself in a whispered tone.

His final nod is but a swift and false gesture—an empty formality, yet a small, tentative bridge over the chasm that has long kept you apart.

You do not let your own tears come until his figure has well disappeared within the depths of the castle below.

[ taglist: @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley ]

[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, character death, violence, smut

1.03

The cold night air blows through the castle, carrying with it the faintest scent of damp stone and dragon. You rub at your eyes tiredly. Dragonstone was full of people, yet you felt isolated walking silently down a dimly lit corridor towards the queen's quarters while hearing the faint voice of Helaena’s soft whispers in the background.

It wasn’t real.

It was just your imagination.

Distracted by the nonsense going on inside your head, you walk directly into a member of the queen's guard. “Oh, forgive me, Ser Erryk.”

“Princess.”

The look in his eyes is... haunting. A chill shoots down your spine; you get the same uneasy feeling when you were a child and your twin would tell you that ghosts roamed the halls of the keep.

“My apologies; I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

He says nothing until you attempt to walk by him towards the door leading towards the room Rhaenyra would be in. The knight steps in front of you and says, “The princess doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“It is a rather important matter,

The knight stares at you blankly. “She was clear on her instructions; nobody is allowed in.”

You’re taken aback by his stern demeanor. “I shall speak with her grace in the morrow then; goodnight, Ser.”

—

You let out a defeated sigh just as your halls leading to your private quarters came into view. You would apologize to Rhaenyra in the morning, hopefully before she held her next council meeting. You’d even apologize to Daemon if the queen wished it; however, you would draw the line at apologizing to that fool, Ser Alfred.

“Princess.”

You blink a few times trying to process the person standing in front of you. You had walked the halls alone and had no memory of anyone else overtaking you. “Ser…”

“Ser Erryk, princess,” he offers you a smile. “Are you returning to your chambers, or do you wish to be escorted to another part of the castle? Prince Jacaerys informed me you wished to speak with her grace tonight, and you don’t yet have a sworn shield.”

The knight was giving you whiplash; the last you spoke, he said you weren’t to speak with Rhaenyra, and now he was saying he would escort you... even though he was just standing guard outside her room. “No…no, this isn’t right,” you whisper to yourself. “I just spoke with you outside of the queen's quarters.”

“I have just returned from escorting Prince Jacaerys and princess Baela from the dragon mount.”

“The princess doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Arryk! It must be your brother I spoke with!”

Ser Erryk immediately starts to run down the hall in the direction you just came from. “Stay in your quarters, princess, and lock the door!”

You should do as he says, but you momentarily freeze on the spot before fear and adrenaline kick in. You vaguely remember which part of the castle the members of the queen's guard slept in when their shifts had ended.

The sounds of your shoes slapping against the ground echoes off the walls as you yell until your voice is raw. Hearing the commotion, a knight steps out of his room dressed in casual clothing, but sword in hand.

“Ser Lorent! Ser Lorent! You must go now; the queen is in danger!”

—

“My Prince,” you link your arm with Jacaerys as he walks back towards Dragonstone. “Can I do anything?”

“You’ve done enough.” He lets out a deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That came out differently than I meant it. What I mean is you’ve done enough already; if it wasn’t for you, my mother would have been killed.”

Ser Erryk had made it in time to save his queen, but in doing so killed his own brother, his twin. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt fell on his own sword. The queen had ordered for the brothers to be buried together, which Jacaerys thought was disgraceful. Not that you blamed him; he was frightened; it would be long until something like this happened again.

“Arryk may not deserve the queen's kindness, but Ser Erryk did. Her grace has done an honorable thing, but letting two brothers who were born together remain together in death.”

Jacaerys eyes almost completely close when he turns to face you, and the sun shines directly onto his face. “Would you want that, if it was you and Aemond?”

“No, but then he and I were never that close. I wanted to be close to him as a child, but there was always a wall between us.”

“I’m not surprised; he is a... brute. While you are kind and nurturing.”

A brute was generous wording from Jacaerys, and you knew it was for your benefit. “I sometimes feel as if I don’t belong without you by my side.”

“You are my betrothed; Dragonstone will be mine when my mother takes her rightful place on the iron throne. You belong here more than most.”

You walk in silence until you reach the gardens that overlook the sea and the long bridge that leads up to the castle. The view was breathtaking. You smile watching Midnight, Moondancer, and Vermax fly together, the dragons playfully nudging at one another. Your dragon was the largest out of the three but the most gentle, which is why the idea of flying her into battle so much.

“They never put eggs in our cradles; I’m unsure if it was my father or mother’s doing, but I believe this is where a lot of Aemond’s anger comes from. He was jealous when Aegon and Helaena bonded with their dragons, as he desperately wanted one of his own, but then I bonded with Midnight; he acted as if I betrayed him.”

“Do you think after he claimed Vhagar his anger came from what happened with me and Luke?” Jace asks, his voice shaky with emotion.

“No, no,” you tilt his chin gently so he’s facing you, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. “My brother claimed the largest dragon in the world, and things didn’t change in the way he expected.”

“What didn’t change?”

“After the incident in Driftmark, my father never once acknowledged Aemond losing his eye or claiming Vhagar. My mother treated him as if he was an adult; my grandsire saw him as a weapon of war. Aegon continued to pick on him relentlessly, to the point Cole tried to intervene. Me and Helaena tried to comfort him the best we could, but Aemond did not want to be loved; he wanted to be respected.”

Not knowing else to say, Jacaerys brings your knuckle to his lips and presses a gentle kiss. A sweet gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed.

—

A few days had passed, and the castle still had an eeriness to it. You knew they had a sworn shield; however, you didn’t feel it was necessary to have them escort you while you returned from the Dragonpit with Princess Baela and Jacaerys by your side. She bids you goodbye when she reaches her chambers so she could change out of her riding clothing and into something more suitable for the remainder of the day.

It was only a short walk to your room, but before you reach it, Jacaerys wraps his arm around your waist and pushes you up against a dark corner of the cold stone walls. You kiss passionately; his hands stop right below your rib cage, but before things can become more heated, he steps back.

“I cannot wait until I can kiss you whenever I want.”

Since Elinda walked in on him pleasing you with his mouth, he wasn’t allowed in your bedchamber unless there was a lady in the room. Although you were thankful Rhaenyra had never mentioned it directly, just a discreet comment that she wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea of a prince was seen coming and going at all hours.

“I cannot wait either, my prince,” you whisper into his ear. “I tried to touch myself last night; however, my own fingers don’t feel as good as yours.”

He clears his throat and tries to suppress a smirk. “I should walk you back before someone comes.”

You take his arm and walk beside him. “I think it will be rather good when we are married. Just think when the war is won we will be able to finally race to kings landing and back on our dragons.”

Jacaerys laughs, then kisses the side of your head. “Vermax is the fastest— your grace.”

Rhaenyra is waiting outside your bedchamber with at least a dozen of her ladies-in-waiting behind her. She looks exceptionally beautiful; her dark maroon gown reminds you of the fancy dresses ladies used to wear during feasts in the red keep. Except hers had more detailing and the fabric was richer.

“My queen.”

“We’ve been waiting for you for some time.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I had no idea.”

Rhaenyra strokes your cheek and smiles, “Jacaerys, there is a bath being prepared in your chambers as we speak. I will stay with Y/N and help her get ready.”

“For breakfast?”

“For your wedding.”

—

Your stomach was in knots as the sweet-smelling oils on your skin and hair filled your nostril. Rhaenyra was waiting on the opposite side of a separator as her ladies-in-waiting finished helping you step into your wedding dress. The white sleeves draped down, and the bust of the dress fitted perfectly but didn’t reveal too much. A golden fabric was used to lace the back of the dress together.

When they are finished, Elinda quietly says, “She is dressed, my queen.”

Rhaenyra steps out from behind the screen, and her eyes immediately begin to water. She looks at the ladies and says, “I can take over from here.”

“What would you like us to next, your grace?”

Apparently the great hall was currently being decorated with beautiful flowers, and a grand feast was being prepared in celebration.

“Baela and Rhaena ladies may need assistance to finish getting them ready.”

When it's just the two of you left in the room, Rhaenyra comes up behind you with a gold necklace in her hand. “This belonged to my mother; I want you to have it.”

“Rhae—my queen I cannot. This is such a precious thing, I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

She cups your cheek. “My mother was very dear to me. As you are to Jacaerys.”

“The prince has a kind soul; I’m extremely grateful to have him as my soon-to-be husband.”

Her hands shake as she claps the necklace around your neck. It was beautiful. A silver chain with a light blue diamond that dangles down to your collarbone. “You look beautiful,” she says. “I remember helping Alicent get ready before she married my father. It’s almost scary how fast time has gone by.”

You remember your mother telling you about it. It’s hard to imagine them ever being friends, especially when you grew up hearing how awful Rhaenyra is from your mother and grandsire.

“Can I ask you something, your grace?”

She nods.

“I thought the wedding was to be held after the war was over; how come it has been changed?”

“Jacaerys needs this; he needs to know he’ll always have someone by his side.” She pauses briefly. “You will remain by the prince's side, won’t you?”

To some, the question may have been inappropriate or deemed intimidating coming from a queen, but the look in Rhaenyra’s eyes was pleading. She needed to know Jacaerys would have a companion to always watch his back and be by his side.

“Yes, your grace, I will.”

“I’m glad. We need something to celebrate before... Never mind. Let’s focus on the wedding for now.”

—

Your wedding to Jacaerys was performed in secret, and on the same spot, Rhaenyra was crowned queen. Only the master, Rhaenyra, Joffrey, young Aegon and Viserys, princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, Rhaena, and Baela were in attendance. Although unsurprisingly, the queen's guard was close by at all times.

Following the Old Valyrian custom, both you and Jacaerys cut each other's lips with a fine blade of dragonglass, which is what led to you returning to your old chambers to change into another white gown.

When you and Jacaerys kissed, the blood on your lips mixed together and dripped onto the dress.

You returned shortly after with a couple of ladies in tow to help you change quickly so not to keep everyone else waiting, but just as you changed into the second gown, a simple plain white shiny fabric that was immediately being laced up at the back Jacaerys appeared. You dismissed the ladies, and Jace stood behind you so he could finish lacing the last few loops and tying the ribbon into a neat bow.

His touch felt like fire; you craved him. You suddenly felt freezing, and the only warmth you could get was from Jacaerys mouth on yours, his body against yours.

“Oh fuck.”

Jacaerys hips jolt upwards, causing you to gag. The sight of his pretty wife staring up at him through watering eyes while sucking on his cock was enough to make him come undone.

This needed to be quick, anyway. You didn’t have any experience in this before; however, you heard Aegon and his friends talking about getting blowjobs in brothels enough to know the basics of what to do. You needed to touch Jace so badly, but now wasn’t the time to consummate your marriage, so you dropped to your knees much to his surprise.

Your nimble fingers work in tandem with your tongue, driving him mad with lust as you expertly coax out his every moan. Jacaerys fingers dig into the side of the chair he’s sitting on when your tongue swirls around the head of his shaft. Jace completely loses control.

“I’m going to—”

Your mouth is suddenly filled with the taste of his saltiness as his seed goes down the back of your throat. You can’t help but giggle while wiping the saliva off your lips. Jace’s face was a shade of red you’ve never seen before.

“We should go, my prince, before the queen sends a search party or worse comes looking for us herself.”

—

Your cheeks heat up when you take your place at the table. The dragon twins shared a knowing look before smirking; they definitely knew. In truth, it might have just been paranoia, but whatever you were feeling disappeared when Jace discreetly placed his hand above your knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

While the meal is being served, you notice the sadness in Rhaenyra’s eyes, which was unexpected since she had lost so much in such a short space of time. Her daughter, her son, her father, her throne, and Daemon was not responding to her letters. It could also be the fact she was also murdered in her own bed, but you feared there was something else going on.

Princess Rhaenys’s face remains stone-faced, even when her husband spoke with her. She could take her eyes off of Rhaena.

A little time passes, and the mood seems to have eased slightly. Lord Corlys was to thank for that; he was keeping the mood light by telling jokes and tales that remind you of the ones your father would say before his health became so bad. You wipe the cream off the top of the small cake in front of you and turn to face Jacaerys, who is holding one of his younger brothers, and wipe the cream on the tip of Viserys nose. The young boy burst into hysterical laughter.

While others laugh as well, you look up at Rhaenyra, who is holding back tears. You hear a faint whisper that sounds scarily familiar to Helaena’s voice.

“Children are so small and easy to take. A mother must make great sacrifices to keep them safe. She will miss them dearly.”

It was only then you understood why the wedding was sprung on you that morning and why all the handmaidens had been so busy packing and moving things. At first you thought it was because you and Jacaerys were now moving into a larger martial bedchamber, but now it made sense. Rhaenyra was sending her sons away to keep them safe.

—

You find Jacaerys in the study looking over different scrolls. “It’s late, my prince; you should try and rest for a few hours.”

Approaching the desk, you look at all the different scrolls trying to figure out what he was looking for. An answer to why this happened? A few hours after you figured out what Rhaenyra’s intentions were, she announced it to her children, shortly after Joffrey, Aegon, Viserys, and Rhaena were sent to the Vale to be temporarily housed by house Arryn.

Jacaerys was heartbroken.

“I’m sorry I ruined our wedding night.”

You kiss the top of his head when he rests his head against your chest. “All I care about is how you are feeling.”

“I just feel so useless. Like I can’t do anything to help.”

“But you already have. The queen can only do what she thinks is best, but they will return once it’s safe.”

Jace picks up a small dragon toy that was sitting on the desk that belonged to Joffrey and holds it tightly. “I’ve lost them; I’ve lost all of them.”

Not knowing what to say, you pull him into your embrace and try your best to comfort Jacaerys as he sobs. Mourning not only one brother being gone but four.

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

[h4lfaheart]

The Great Hope for a Dynasty, a House of the Dragon fanfiction

{jacaerys velaryon/oc}

written by AimeeMK on ao3 and wattpad