Red Keep ― Small Council chambers...
"It's not a matter of when they've resorted to violence," Tyland argued. "It's a matter of how and why."
"Really? I've read the report, Ser Tyland. More than 115 people have been killed in two weeks. One side chooses to attack, the other retaliates by stepping it up a notch. These fanatics are getting out of control," Jasper retorted.
"But surely they must have been receiving some financial backers? Otherwise, how else would they have been so well-funded?" Lyman asked.
"And yet," Rhaenyra chimed in, "both sides claim the other is responsible for the recent tragedies that have occurred while denying such deeds themselves – regardless of who supports who."
Lyonel sighed with exasperation. "These... Blacks and Caltrops won't cease their squabbling unless one side remains the powerhouse in the capital. So long as the internal dispute continues, I expect we'll be seeing more attacks in these next few months," he said. "Prince Aeonar," he turned to his right. "Have your people reported anything back?" he asked.
"Of the 115 dead, 37 of them were my men," Aeonar replied. "While my spy network has taken a hit, it will take some time to trace the lines connecting the malcontents who thrived in my absence and despise the uncertainty."
"Would you at least tell your Blacks to stand down?"
"They pledged themselves to the crown, not to me." From my perspective, they're trying to prevent an outsider from usurping what is rightfully theirs. Fighting back against these... sycophants.
"The same could be said of the Caltrops. If that's the case, then the matter shall be deferred to our managing of the king's laws," Jasper rolled his eyes.
"When my spiders get dragged into it, I'm afraid it does become my problem, Lord Wylde."
"I am the king's Master of Laws, my prince―"
"And I am the king's Master of Whisperers... as well as your future king," Aeonar warned coolly. "And you will not interfere in my investigation into the matter." Especially since those were my men who were butchered like animals.
"My lord Hand―" Jasper tried to protest.
"No, I will allow it," Lyonel said. "The prince will be permitted to oversee the investigation into the attacks with the full support of the crown."
"Thank you, Lord Strong." Huh. Five Caltrops dead for one individual member of the Blacks. They'll be feeling the sting of this for quite some time, but we'll be ready for them. I'll make certain of that. "Now... if there's nothing else, I'll be taking my leave."
Aeonar and Rhaenyra left the small council chambers.
Following the recent session, the princess knew her brother was understandably angry at the recent attack on his spy network. Upon deploying the Lykirī Mēre to coordinate efforts with the City Watch, the Blacks were able to retaliate by isolating Caltrops members or sympathizers – inflicting the same punishment they did with them, sometimes worse: a death sentence by being burned alive with wildfire, courtesy of the Alchemists' Guild. Rumored to be a distant cousin to dragonflame, wildfire was described as a volatile, flammable murky green liquid that once set on fire can burn for a long time – burning so hot that it can even melt human flesh, wood, stone, and even steel. Hell, not even water could extinguish it.
Rumors suggest that, even in the dead of night, one of the Caltrops – member or sympathizer – would hear the screams and shrieks of those being burned alive with wildfire as punishment for provoking the Blacks.
"You know they're going to come at you again from different angles, brother," Rhaenyra commented. "With each one felled, the Caltrops grow increasingly more desperate."
"Let them fumble in the dark. It's pointless to challenge our house's power, Rhaenyra," Aeonar replied. "But I must admit, whoever is providing them with the information is a clever man indeed... or a woman."
"Have your people provided any clues as to who could be backing them?"
"Not yet, no. And with each suspect caught, the results have always been the same. Their tongues were cut out."
"So that means whoever hired them is going through painstaking measures to ensure their identity remains hidden."
But for how long? They all get exposed eventually. "Indeed. We appear to have some decent competition since our agents began crossing paths. Their arrival was barely an interruption. All their deaths cost me was time."
"Well, we do know that Beatrice isn't clever enough to handle this herself – so she had to look elsewhere for a mutually beneficial partnership. Whoever they are, they won't remain hidden for long. Aren't the Lykirī Mēre renowned for blending in with the shadows?"
"The Lykirī Mēre's reputation was well-known in Old Valyria – before the Doom, before the Faceless Men. Much of the known world simply forgot how deadly these assassins can be."
"Speak for yourself. That little stunt with wildfire wasn't exactly... subtle."
"Extreme, but necessary. You don't enter the dragon's lair unless you're prepared to face the consequences."
"Just be sure you keep your tracks covered, brother."
"No need to worry yourself, Rhaenyra. I always have a contingency plan just in case something goes wrong."
Rhaenyra looked skeptical. "In anything, I've already arranged for a celebration for Jay and Aemma this afternoon for claiming Vermithor and Silverwing," she informed. "I figured it appropriate for their father to celebrate this momentous occasion with them."
"Already?"
"I didn't sit with my hands on my ass doing nothing all day. Jace and Luke offered to make it more festive. The boys wanted to help their cousins."
"I see."
"One way or another, you will be spending time with your children. Ser Harwin and the others will take care of the rest in the meantime."
Aeonar rolled his fine. "Fine," he conceded. "But the first sign of trouble, I need to know about it."
Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...
Later that evening, in the great hall, a celebration was being held in honor of the newest dragon rider; all the lords of the Narrow Sea had been invited.
Lord Bartimos Celtigar, who had brought several casks of his finest wine from the Arbor, raised a goblet towards Jaehaerys. "To the new rider of Vermithor, who shall one day ascend the Iron Throne as Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name. May he be as wise as his namesake." He turned to Aemma. "And to our young fair princess – for taming Silverwing as our late Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen did before her."
"Here, here!" the assembled party exclaimed as they raised their drinks to the blushing prince, unused to so much praise and attention.
Jaehaerys scratched the back of his head.
"Here, Jay," Rhaenyra presented a gift. "Your mother and I know how much you love books. So, to commemorate the momentous occasion of taming Vermithor, we brought you something to read in your downtime."
Jaehaerys accepted the gift. The book was titled Wonders Made by Men – from what the young prince understood, it was one of two written by Lomas Longstrider, the famous traveler who recorded nine man-made wonders of the known world. It was also the same book his mother Alicent read in her youth forty-seven times and was relentlessly teased for. "Thank you, aunt Rhaenyra," he said appreciatively.
"Here, Aemma," Lucerys approached his cousin. "For you!" he gave her a flower crown.
"T-Thank you, Luke," Aemma bowed.
Jaehaerys turned to Viserys. "Hey, grandpa? There's... something else I'm making for you." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silhouette of a model based on Viserys's likeliness carved from driftwood. "Here," he said. "It's not done yet, but..."
Viserys, who had been sitting at the head of the table, looked carving and felt his eyes water slightly, clearly moved by the gesture. "Oh, my dear boy," he said as he hugged his grandson. "This... this is a wonderful gift."
At the other end of the table, where Aeonar and Alicent sat together, Alicent smiled genuinely and looked at her husband, who silently watched. She placed her hand on Aeonar's and leaned forward and whispered. "My love, don't you think this is a good time for you and your father to speak and mend the rift between you."
"The decision was set in stone," Aeonar dismissed. "But I will not discuss the matter further while within earshot of her," the Young Dragon motioned his eyes towards Beatrice, who simply stared at them with contempt.
For a while, all was going well... until an audible crunch was heard. Everyone looked to see Aegon the Elder with a broken figurine in his hands.
"My model!" Jaehaerys shouted. He stared at the broken figure with a look of horror, mouth agape and trembling.
"Oh, my Gods. Jay!" Alicent rose with shock.
Viserys noticed that was another wooden figure his grandson was carving for him. The boy worked so hard to make it for him, as evidenced by the bandages and faded cuts on his fingers, and to see it destroyed... it was utterly devastating. "Aegon!" he scolded angrily.
"Hey!" Aegon the Younger stood sharply from his seat.
"What's the matter with you?!" the younger Viserys exclaimed as well.
Although they were mischievous pranksters, even the twins Aegon and Viserys understood the difference between right and wrong. What their uncle did was only plain cruel.
"What's the deal about a toy?" the elder Aegon rolled his eyes. "You can always make another one."
"I was making it for grandpa... and you ruined it!"
"No, I just broke it you crybaby... this is ruining it," Aegon sneered as he threw the pieces down hard onto the stone floor and then stamped on it with his foot.
Jaehaerys looked at all his hard work, shattered in mere seconds and then all he saw was red. Before anyone could intervene, he punched his uncle square in the jaw – causing him to stumble backward before lunging at him and tackling him to the floor. The two of them rolled on the floor like vicious dogs.
"Hey!"
"Stop this now!"
"Hey, hey, hey, hey!"
"Stop it! Both of you!"
Beatrice and Alicent shouted for their respective sons as they leaped to their feet. Ser Harrold moved like a blur of white lightning, in an instant he pulled the two princelings apart and held them by the collars of their shirt. Though their quarrel had been brief, their faces were covered with already forming bruises and red welts. The old knight had to keep a firm grip on them as they both seemed determined to continue fighting.
"Enough!" Ser Harrold commanded in a firm tone, prying the two boys apart. "That's enough! Both of you!"
"Jay! Jay," Alicent rushed over. Her maternal instincts shifting into overdrive, she hurriedly examined him for bruises. Although her son wasn't that badly hurt, she spotted a light pink swelling on his left cheek.
"Meanie! Meanie! Meanie!" Daeron angrily shouted as he beat his little fists on Aegon.
"Hey! Someone get this kid off me!" Aegon the Elder shouted.
"That's enough!" Beatrice stormed over.
Alicent, spotting the queen, instinctively put herself between Beatrice and her children – her arms spread out wide. "You stay away from them!" she warned.
"Out of the way! That little brat is as wild as his brother. He touched my son. I demand punishment." Beatrice tried forcing her way past.
"Go away!" Aemma screamed.
Rhaenyra instinctively held Jacaerys and Lucerys back, shielding them from the carnage.
"Leave mother alone!" Aegon the Younger shouted.
*SMACK!*
The room fell silent. Beatrice stood in temporary surprise as she felt a stinging sensation on her cheek. Once the queen recalled what transpired, she saw Alicent barely able to control her breathing – her right hand had swung past her. She slapped her! The Hightower princess consort slapped the queen!
"Don't you ever... ever... come near or touch any of my children," Alicent warned.
Beatrice, now realizing what Alicent did, was livid. "Why you little brat," she hissed. Raising her hand high, she prepared a slap of her own. Alicent stood firm, ready to take the hit.
Aeonar, however, was quick to react. With astonishing speed, he grabbed his stepmother's wrist. "Try it, Beatrice, and the arm comes off. Go ahead. Try it. I dare you," he warned her.
"Ngh! Unhand me, you brute!"
"ENOUGH!" Viserys erupted, silencing the room. The king coughed, clearing his throat; the stress was more than he could handle. It's bad enough that his second wife and first children get involved in an altercation – especially when there are children involved. "Such infantile behavior is unbecoming!" He panted wearily, looking across the room. The model remained in pieces at his feet, his eyes glancing between his second son and eldest grandson. "Jay," he inspected him. "Get someone to tend to his cheek." He turned to his son. "And you," he glanced at Aegon, "why would you do such a thing?"
Aegon said nothing.
"AEGON!"
"H-He hit me first!"
"Inexcusable, though after what caused that display, I'd say that was more than warranted! We are a family! All of you! We do NOT turn on each other!"
"So you say, but the display here suggests otherwise," Aeonar retorted before turning to his son. "Jaehaerys, however you feel compelled to want justice for what he did, violence is not always the answer. You don't hit your uncle." He then turned to his half-brother. "But I can."
Aegon the Elder flinched as his eyes went wide. Before any could respond, the Young Dragon smacked Aegon across the back of the head very roughly. The young prince exclaimed in pain and held his head, flinching again when he saw his half-brother raise his hand in the air again.
"The next time you put your grubby little hands on Jaehaerys or anything that belongs to him, I'll discipline you twice as hard until you learn." Aeonar turned to Viserys, anger flaring in his eyes. "It seems you have some more parenting to do. Blood of my blood – king or no king – no one touches my son. He worked very hard to make that gift for you, and now look at what your insolent brat did. Discipline your kids properly... or I will do it for you."
Viserys looked at Aeonar; he knew he wasn't joking.
"Alicent, Rhaenyra. Take the children to their rooms. I'll send my maester to have a look at that 'scratch.' The rest of you, get out of my sight."
––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Later that evening, Maester Alwyn was looking over the bruises on Prince Jaehaerys's face, applying dock leaves to soothe them and reduce the swelling and puffiness while Aeonar and Alicent watched. The young prince, looking at his father with his innocent purple eyes, finally mustered up the courage to speak.
"Father? Why were you so mean to grandpa?" Jaehaerys asked. "He didn't do anything bad; it was Aegon who started it. I... I only wanted to..."
Aeonar said nothing but retained a stoic yet cold expression on his face. His arms were crossed. "My son," he said calmly yet sternly. "Your grandfather may be a good man, but by not taking appropriate measures to rein in your uncle's entitled behavior, such passivity is what led to a further escalation." The Young Dragon picked up the broken model. "I'll have the stonemasons work on repairing this. But until then, you return to your studies." Aeonar handed the remains to his guards. "You'll get your chance soon enough... but be patient. A sharp mind will always prevail over the sword."
Jaehaerys gave a respectful bow to his father and kissed his mother before accompanying Maester Alwyn out of the chamber, leaving the Young Dragon alone with his wife.
Alicent fiddled with the ring on her finger. "If Viserys went and reigned in the behavior of all of his children, you wouldn't be the man you are or have accomplished as much as you have," she said softly.
"Someone has to," Aeonar slumped in his chair. It seems I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands. "That's it. From now on, I'll be training our boys in the Lykirī Mēre martial arts."
Alicent stared at Aeonar in shock. Though she was grateful for the additional protection and service that the order provided her husband and family, she nonetheless found the ancient order of assassins to be unsettling. Now and again she occasionally held a candle into the shadowy corners just to make sure she was truly alone. "Aeonar, no. They are too young; they still need to use practice swords in the training yard," she argued.
"They won't be young forever, Alicent. And they will need to learn how to defend themselves. I won't be here to protect them. They'll one day need to look out for themselves and each other."
Alicent stared at Aeonar, she could hear it in his voice. "You think that there is going to be a war, don't you?" she asked as she took a tentative step forward and placed a hand on her husband's shoulder.
"It is inevitable. When my father dies, knives will come out," Aeonar said cryptically. "Our boys will need to be prepared for what's to come."
Red Keep ― Balerion's shrine...
Aeonar stared at the enormous skull of Balerion the Black Dread. It had been almost ten years since he's been down here, but the Young Dragon felt compelled to return to the place he was once brought to – where he learned the secrets of House Targaryen, the secret that set him on this path. The burning braziers blazed fiercely; the candle wax melted slowly being exposed to such heat. For years, Balerion, we thought you were all that was left of the Valyrian Freehold. You, the largest of all the Targaryen dragons yet the only one to last see Valyria before its untimely destruction, helped Aegon the Conqueror to unify the seven individual kingdoms into a single realm and forge the Iron Throne... with fire and blood. Discovering the Lykirī Mēre's survival changed all that. A part of our long-lost history can finally be recovered... with you at first, and now with them. It's a pity you had to die. But that was the reason. You were too old, Balerion. And the one egg you left behind with Vhagar... is now mine. So, in a sense, a part of you still lives on in the next generation of dragons.
"Father?" Aeonar turned around to see a tired Jaehaerys approaching him; his hands rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Father? Why did you wake me up? Is something wrong?"
"208."
"What?"
"That's how old Balerion was when he died. A year before I was born."
Jaehaerys looked up at the skull. "Really?" he asked, still tired but slowly waking up. "He's even bigger than Vermithor, Silverwing, Vaelor... or Vhagar."
"Mm... So tell me, son," Aeonar said. "When you look at our dragons, what is it that you see?"
"Me?" The young prince observed Balerion's skull; his eyes taking in the majestic scenery of the largest Targaryen dragon ridden by Aegon the Conqueror himself, the most powerful beast whose wingspan could cover an entire town in darkness and swallow a mammoth in a single bite. "I... I see so much history – all that remains of our ancestral homeland. The dragonlords of Old Valyria held them sacred as if they were living gods. I... I felt it when I bonded with Vermithor; it was like... like our souls intertwined and became one," Jaehaerys explained. "Dragons are the embodiment of uncontrollable, raw power – but they're also the source of our power. Without them, we're the same as everyone else."
An interesting perspective, Jaehaerys. Huh. I've heard that somewhere before. Good. You're proving to be a quick learner to understand this at your age. "Hmm." Aeonar reflected on his childhood, the day he was named Prince of Dragonstone; about the prophecy that his father once passed onto him when he was a small boy. The Young Dragon felt that it was now the time to pass it on to his son. "Your grandfather once took me down to this exact spot when I was your age. The day he named me heir to the Iron Throne, King Viserys told me an important secret – a secret passed from king to heir since Aegon the Conqueror's time."
"A... a secret?" Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow; now the boy was curious. "What secret?"
"Our history tells us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land ripe for capture. But it was not ambition that drove him to invade Westeros. It was a dream."
"Like with Daenys the Dreamer foretelling the Doom that ended Old Valyria?"
A very quick learner than I thought. "Yes, Jay. And just as Daenys prophesized Valyria's destruction, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men. A terrible winter from the frozen wastelands of the distant north – and the darkness that came with it, threatening to destroy the world of the living. And when that Great Winter comes, Jay, all of Westeros must stand united against it. It might happen tomorrow, or next year, even well past our lifetime... but it's coming. And if the world is to survive, a Targaryen must lead the country from the Iron Throne, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark." Aeonar pulled out a Valyrian steel dagger from the embers, the blade burning red to reveal ancient Valyrian runes. "Take a look for yourself," he instructed.
Jaehaerys hesitantly grasped the hilt. His eyes traced the runes carved into the dagger, knowing they would only be exposed to intense heat. "'Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo...' 'From my blood come The Prince That Was Promised, and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire.'" He soon looked up at his father. "F-Father... T-Then this is...?"
"Yes, my son. This is the secret my father – your grandfather – entrusted me with to carry and protect. And should your time come when my end draws near, Jaehaerys, you, your brothers, and your sister... will need to carry on the legacy of our forebears."
"I... I understand, father. I-I won't let you down."
"Good." Aeonar acknowledged. "Tomorrow, bright and early... I'll be training you myself. Our history, our philosophy... the Lykirī Mēre will show you the way. But you will not be alone on this path. You have the support of our family." For one day, Jaehaerys, you... will have to surpass me.