Chapter Text
18 years later
Even over the distance, he could hear Rhaenys' bright laugh as they took to the skies over King's Landing. Missandor's large body felt as strong as ever under him, though it was Ērinnon's that shone in the morning sun as his sister – and, since quite recently, wife – took her dragon on a steep ascent.
Below them, the others rose into the air. Visenya, Rhaenys' twin sister who was only younger by a few minutes, rode Vēzendio with his copper scales and pale blue horns. Below, he could see their younger brother Daemon take flight on the red and orange Perzys, and then Naerys on Embar, blue and green like the sea he was named after. Missandor was the largest of the dragons, though barely any bigger than Ērinnon, but all of his younger siblings had been able to ride them for a few years at this point (not that their mother had allowed Naerys to do so until about a year ago).
Of course, they were all dwarfed once the queen took off on Drogon, but that was a given.
King's Landing was always a beautiful sight when the sun shone upon its roofs, but it was best enjoyed from dragonback. From up here, Jaehaerys could see the Red Keep in all its glory, and the Great Sept and Great Temple on the smaller hills below. Their people and their houses looked so tiny from above, yet he could pinpoint many places in this city he knew so well – the Street of Flour, where the bakers were always so eager to give him and his siblings all the free pastries they could heap on them, before Ser Daario or Ser Grey practically forced them to take payment. The Street of Steel, where Rhaenys and Naerys loved to admire all the fantastical armour, even though Ser Grey and their father were always utterly unimpressed, and found their rare points of agreement in telling them that it needed to be practical above all else. River Row was usually the point where both Visenya and Daemon would be begging to be let out to the harbour by themselves so they could speak to all the sailors, which would inevitably end in half the Queensguard having to accompany them. Then there was the area around the Street of the Sisters where the Guildhall of the Alchemists had stood before their mother had moved them outside the gates, now the centre of King's Landing's ever-growing Essosi communities. This was Jaehaerys' favourite part of the city, where he could practice the different varieties of bastard Valyrian, taste foods he knew of from his mother's stories, and hear the whispers of Qohorik mages and shadowbinders from Asshai.
Drogon's unmistakable roar told him that it was time to stop dallying, and he saw that the others had already turned southeast. The flight to Sunspear would take a while, but would give them great views on this clear summer day, and he was looking forward to being in Dorne again.
Still, the journey was laced with sadness. When they returned to King's Landing, Visenya wouldn't be with them; would remain in Dorne as Daron Yronwood's wife. Jaehaerys liked Daron well enough (even though Daemon couldn't stand him), but he still didn't like the idea of him getting his hands on his sister. The Red Keep would be feel emptier without her, and of course Rhaenys had been crying about being separated from her twin for days – when no one but him could see, naturally. The only good thing was that Visenya would be able to get on Vēzendio to come see them whenever she wanted.
Once they got to the Sea of Dorne, he flew Missandor closer to Ērinnon. “Two weeks!”, he shouted at Rhaenys, who answered with a wide smile so similar to their mother's.
In a fortnight, they'd get to journey east; something he'd wanted to do his whole life. They had been to some of the Free Cities before – their mother liked to take it upon herself to conduct diplomacy; sending ships ahead in advance and then making the journey on Drogon. When he'd been fifteen, she had permitted him and the twins to join her on a voyage to Braavos, then Pentos. Two years later, all five of them had accompanied her to Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys.
This time, it would just be him and his wife (as well as the many guards and retainers they'd sent ahead). They would pay a brief visit to the Archon of Tyrosh to relay the queen's greetings, then spend a few days with the magisters of Lys. But after that, it would be on to Volantis, the fledgeling theocracy of the Lord of Light. It would be good to show some Targaryen faces to their High Priestess, their mother had decided, and Jaehaerys had jumped at the opportunity. Finally, they'd board ships to the Bay of Dragons; a place he'd always wanted to see. The queen had granted Meereen its independence more than a decade ago, but they'd still be very welcome in the former slave cities, and he couldn't wait to finally visit the region his mother had transformed so completely. And then, there was also something of even greater interest in between Volantis and Meereen.
They slowly descended over Sunspear, aiming for the large clearing that had been created in front of the shadow city's gates in order to accommodate six grown dragons. Their father was already here, having travelled down by ship with Prince Anders, some of the Queensguard, and all the staff they needed in order to prepare their arrival. They could've done the same, of course, but their mother liked to say that the realm needed regular reminders of their dragons, and it meant that she hadn't had to stay away from the capital for too long.
When their father knelt before their mother, Jaehaerys thought for the millionth time just how strange it would be to one day see his siblings do the same for him. Then again, his relationship to them was very different from that between his parents.
The night before his wedding to Rhaenys, he'd spoken to his mother on one of the balconies of the Red Keep. It had been a lovely summer evening and they'd had some Arbor Gold while watching the dragons circle over the city when he'd finally asked: “How is it that you never executed Father?”
She'd laughed at that, sipping on her cup. “At first, I wanted to. Then, when I was in Valyria, the gods told me I needed him to have children.” She'd nodded towards him. “And was it not good that I listened? He has given me the five of you.”
“I am not complaining I exist”, he'd said, “but it must have been so hard, Mother. Whenever I think back on all you have been through, I find it so difficult to comprehend that you had it in you to keep him alive. Even though he is the blood of the dragon.”
“Well”, she'd replied, tone dry, “right after I had found him beyond the Wall, he was in such a bad state that keeping him alive was actually worse than killing him. He begged me for death, you know.” She'd shrugged. “And then we had you, and then the others, and I did not want to deprive my children of their father. You surely do not want him dead.”
“Of course I do not.” Even though they weren't as close as him and his mother, Jaehaerys still loved his father, most of the time. He was the man who'd first put a sword in his hand, who'd taught him to ride a horse before his mother would inevitably appear and show him the Dothraki way instead, who would sit them all down in the godswood and tell them northern stories, who had taken them up to Winterfell and the Wall a few times.
He was also excellent at being the most deferential of consorts, like now. Jaehaerys somewhat doubted that Rhaenys would be quite as subservient once he was king.
Their mother's myriad of titles was announced, some of which he'd one day inherit. For now, he was the Prince of Dragonstone, though he'd like to add some great deeds of his own.
Between Volantis and Meereen, Jaehaerys and Rhaenys would take their dragons and fly to Valyria, he'd decided. Their mother had not mentioned the possibility to him, though he'd heard of her own experience there, and could only imagine that she suspected he had such intentions.
It would be dangerous, yes, but his dreams couldn't be without reason. The dreams where Missandor and Ērinnon soared between enormous black towers under a red sky, where he read ancient scrolls speaking of magic cast through fire and blood, where him and Rhaenys made love on a glowing altar made of dragonglass.
Either he was right, or he was going mad. And as his mother liked to point out, Targaryen madness was historically more of an exception than a rule.
The next day, in the sept, Visenya looked just as beautiful as Rhaenys had at their wedding. Out of the siblings, only she and Daemon had their father's black hair, though Naerys' was somewhere in between; like polished iron. Now, Visenya's dark locks were tied into the intricate braids their mother had always favoured, a flowing red gown trailing behind her as their father led her to the altar.
Jaehaerys knew that she didn't mind marrying Prince Daron. He was six years older than her, tall like his father Lord Ryon, and someone they'd all known their entire lives. He also had a little bit of Targaryen blood in him, as his family had oft intermarried with the Martells of old. It was still sad to see her go, and if it hadn't been for their mother's old accord with Prince Anders, Jaehaerys would've preferred to see her wed someone more Valyrian. Vaena Velaryon's son, perhaps.
“Tell Daemon to stop staring at Lady Dyanna”, Rhaenys whispered to him, and he nudged his brother. The girl was, admittedly, a sight to be stared at. She stood between her Dayne father and her mother, Gwyneth Yronwood – who, as on every single other occasion he'd seen her, was at the side of Yara Greyjoy. As always, she'd left her husband at home; a man going by the slightly ridiculous name of Tristifer Botley. Jaehaerys couldn't wait to find them at the feast and hear more of Princess Yara's travelling stories.
His own wedding had been a larger affair, he thought as he watched the sept while Visenya said her vows. Not that this wasn't grand, but his had been the largest event the Seven Kingdoms had seen in a long time, as could be expected. All the Wardens and Lords Paramount had attended with their families, and so he'd seen his distant cousin Eddard Stark once more, and the Arryns and Tullys and Lannisters and Caswells and Baratheons – all Houses their parents had quite a lot of complicated history with, while Jaehaerys and his siblings only knew them as vassals, and occasionally friends. Minisa Tully had been Rhaenys' lady in waiting for some time and Jeyne Arryn had been Visenya's, while Orys Baratheon had served as the king consort's squire alongside Jaehaerys before they'd both earned their knighthoods fighting a small uprising of minor western lords against Lucion Lannister.
This, however, was a much more Dornish affair than his wedding, and Jaehaerys was hoping for a thoroughly Dornish feast.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love”, Daron Yronwood said, and he joined in with the cheers breaking out across the sept.
“And it is done”, Rhaenys said in his ear, repeating what she'd told him at their own wedding. “Three of us are married. We are adults now, brother.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “That does not have to be a bad thing, my love. We can go on our journey now, see the old empire of our ancestors, and then rule on Dragonstone and assure the most important thing of all.”
“I know”, she sighed, turning back to watch Daron and Visenya, a certain melancholy still on her face. “The future of our House.”