Summerhall,
259 AC
THE KING'S MADNESS had been their disgrace. Their noble, dutiful monarch had dragged them all into the fiery hells, all for his desire to regain what was lost to them so many years ago. It was a curse, a dragon's madness in them that arose later in life as their strength dried up. The promising, lucky, King Who Had Been An Egg, reduced to a shadow of his former self. The unlikely monarch, who had dreamt of building a greater world than the one he had been born in had died in flames.
Fire burned Targaryen flesh all the same.
A cry of pain passed through her lips as she threw her head back, hitting the bark of the tree she leaned against. Her body shook with another sob, and bile threatened to rise from her throat. It is too soon, Jenny thought desperately, pressing her legs together in an irrational attempt to prevent the labor. She was not yet nine moons, just barely into the eighth moon of her pregnancy. She had been so careful, so anxious to carry this pregnancy to term. In her twenty years of marriage, she had only conceived twice before, and she had miscarried both babes before the sixth moon. She had just celebrated her thirty-seven nameday, perhaps passing her most fertile years, and she had long since accepted the fact that the Gods would not bless her, and her prince, with children.
Duncan did not resent her inability to bear children, to give him a son or daughter, and had her told, quietly, lovingly, that he was content with her, that she was the only thing he needed in the world to be happy. The Iron Throne was not enough for me after all, he had said wryly, not after I met you.
And when he was forced to chose between the two, he chose her. He chose the woman he loved rather than a crown that was his by birthright. Disbelieving fools, those great lords, whispered that she had enchanted him, that she had seduced a prince with dark words and magic, in an ill attempt to make herself a queen.
Jenny clenched her teeth as another roll of pain began. I never wanted a crown, Jenny thought mournfully, I just wanted him. I wanted the man who danced with me in the woods, who was charmed by my mysterious words and manners other men scorned as signs of a witch.
This pregnancy, so late into their marital life, had been a complete surprise when the maester announced to the Prince of Dragonflies and his lady that her morning sickness and fainting spell were symptoms of being with child, rather than the illness they feared. Their late child, the heir to nothing but their parents' fairytale romance, was already fiercely loved, by Duncan, by Jenny, even by the king, and queen who had grown to love their firstborn's peasant wife. Others, of a more cynical nature, whispered that the babe quickening in her womb is another Blackfyre in the making, a boy descended from an elder prince who would one day make the realm bleed by staking their claim to the throne.
For that reason alone, to prevent any tensions in the royal family, Jenny and Duncan prayed for a daughter, a sweet little thing that would be their joy, the light of their life. Her name was already settled, a proud, ancient name belonging to her father's family.
Duncan will not be the first face to behold our child, as he promised he would be, Jenny realized. Even with her eyes closed, the taunting, cruel flames continued to dance before her, intent on making her feel their full wrath. They sought to remind her of what was now lost to her, they yearned to tell her that her joy was gone now. The ugly stench of smoke polluted the air, and it burned at her insides, eating them away.
With a sudden burst of force, Jenny of Oldstones let out a loud gasp and opened her hazel eyes to the horror before her. Although she had been led away from the flames, it was still clearly within her line of vision. The guards had not dared to move her further, she was too far along in her labor, and Rhaelle had pleaded with her to stay still, as a brief, irrational, frenzy possessed Jenny of Oldstones to fight them in an attempt to turn back and find her husband. He's hurt, she cried, he needs help or he'll die!
He is already gone, Rhaelle Targaryen had whispered in her ear, voice crackling with emotion. He has joined our ancestors in the Seven Heavens. The formidable Lady of Storm's End, as proud and hot-tempered as her stag blooded husband, had remained alert when the screams began and dutifully remained at her side.
Jenny's body slithered down the bark of a tree until she was practically laying on the dirt, and her hand blindly grasped around until it met flesh, and she sunk her nails into the hand of her good sister. "Jenny, breathe," Rhaelle's voice was miles away. Jenny paid her little attention, eyes locked on the flames licking at the towers of Summerhall. The men at arms, the knights, even the lords, were desperately throwing buckets of water pulled from the river at the flames. Jenny wanted to scream at them to stop such foolishness. The beautiful summer castle of Summerhall was lost to them, consumed by blood and fire, and no amount of water could hope to prevail against the raging, deathly result of a king's mad desire.
Did the structures of Valyria crumble into dust immediately, Jenny wondered, or was it an agonizing, soul-crushing, downfall like this night? There was a tap against her cheek, a quick, urgent call to attention, and reluctantly, Lady Jenny tore her eyes away from the doom.
"Jenny," Lady Baratheon's face was alive with determination, her dark eyes narrowed as she turned her back briefly to listen to the words of the maidservant positioned between her parted legs. Jenny frowned — where was the maester?
"Where is Maester Corso?" Jenny spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.
Rhaelle's determined expression flickered — a quick shudder of fear danced across her pale face. "Rhaella's child is coming as well," she revealed, speaking of the princess named in her honor.
Amidst her battle, her body twisting and shuddering as her babe fought to arrive, she felt immense fear for the princess. Rhaella had been wed only a few moons before her brother husband's seed had quickened inside her. It was barely one moon later that Jenny discovered she was with child. "Gods keep her," Jenny whispered to herself. She understood why the maester, stuck between two laboring women, chose to attend the younger one. Rhaella was so fragile, so clearly depressed throughout her pregnancy that many in the family feared for her health, as she had just barely flowered when her father bid her wed and bedded to Aerys. Even now, Jenny felt shame whenever she looked upon the pregnant princess, for it had been her who brought the woods witch to the court. She had thought her a true child of the forest and the witch had been a marvel for the royal family and their court. They delighted in her fortune-telling and tricks. "We can always count on you to bring us laughter and pleasant times," her good father told her later that night warmly, referring to the countless, colorful characters she brought along from her travels with Duncan.
"The Prince Who Was Promised," her friend had croaked, pointing a finger at the alarmed Rhaella and then to the uncaring Aerys, "shall be born of their line." Prince Jaehaerys had been so convinced, so honored, by her prediction and announced their betrothal at once. Only he and Shaera had wanted the marriage — Queen Betha and Duncan had argued fiercely against it, for the siblings had never been close, while Rhaelle had proposed wedding Rhaella to her own son instead. All their pleas fell on deaf ears, however, and King Aegon had allowed his son to do as he pleased.
"Milady," the maidservant spoke directly to her, "the child is coming now — you must push with all your strength if he is to live. Do you understand?"
Jenny nodded once and steeled herself against the coming waves of childbirth pain. Yet, even as Rhaelle held her hand once again and whispered words of encouragement, a dark thought crossed her mind.
Is it not better if I give myself to the Stranger now? I will take my child with me and Duncan shall greet us both in the Seven Heavens.
As her woods witch friend whispered dark words and the pyromancers towered over the hard, stone eggs King Aegon wished to birth new dragons from, as those closest to him, his family, stood watching silently, without hope, Jenny had dropped her goblet of sweet lemon water, gasping as she felt water trickle down her legs, under her skirts.
As Duncan reacted and ran to catch her before she fell to the ground in shock, the flames were lit and chaos had descended. He had been the first to realize the tragedy about to befall the castle, and he moved quickly to pull his laboring wife to safety. Behind him, Ser Duncan the Tall, his namesake, carried Princess Rhaella in his arms as Daella Targaryen and Queen Betha became trapped amongst the flames.
Both Duncans were dead, having sacrificed their lives, her love for her and their child, and the Lord Commander for the queen in waiting, as his oath demanded.
Rhaelle, perhaps, could read her expression and seemed to understand her dark thoughts. "Do not," she grabbed her shoulders. "For the love you bore my brother, bring his child to the world!" She glanced behind her, and Jenny strained to hear a young woman's scream. Rhaella.
At the mention of Duncan, Jenny's composure hardened and any thoughts of taking her child to the Seven Heavens vanished from her mind. She nodded with determination. Clenching both her teeth and her good sister's hand, Jenny began to struggle painfully, instinct taking over as she began to push.
As Jenny fought, she thought of her Prince of Dragonflies, of his good heart and regal handsomeness. She had loved him since the first time she set her eyes on him, and her heart had beat in tune with his ever since.
Or it had, anyways, for the Prince of Dragonflies' good heart had stopped and his body was ashes now.
"Push, Jenny, push!"
Jenny had been dancing and singing to herself the day Duncan first set eyes on her. A handsome, adventurous prince, Duncan had barely reached his eighteenth nameday when he decided to travel across the Seven Kingdoms, arriving at the Riverlands to visit his betrothed Lady Calla Tully. He had been alone that day when he saw her twirling in the woods near the ruins of Oldstones.
She had stopped singing and turned around, her hazel eyes meeting the laughing dark purple ones of the applauding prince...
Her mouth tasted of blood and metal. Another sob passed her dry lips — lips that would no longer whisper words of passion to a prince as they laid next to each other, the warm furs covering their naked forms.
"What is the name of that song?" Prince Duncan had asked her as they walked mindlessly through the woods, leading his horse behind them.
Jenny had shrugged. "A popular song here in the Riverlands," she responded. "My favorite tune."
"You sing it beautifully."
Jenny shut her eyes and did not notice Shaera Targaryen hurriedly making her way to their spot, lowering herself to whisper into her sister's ear. She opened them in time to catch Rhaelle's brief smile. "Is it Rhaella?" She managed to inquire, her voice shaky.
Rhaelle hushed her. "Yes," she confirmed. "Her labor has ended and she has birthed a son." Despite everything, a small smile graced Jenny of Oldstones' face at the news.
Shaera Targaryen, behind her younger sister, watched her brother's wife — widow — with eyes clouded with worry. "I will bring the maester," she stated, glancing at the inexperienced maidservant. "He is surely done with Rhae and my grandson by now." She stood and ran to where her daughter laid with her own child, lifting her dirty, torn skirts.
"Marry me, my Jenny," Duncan Targaryen murmured against her collarbone. He had claimed her, had claimed her maidenhead, beneath the bright sky and golden sun in the vast fields of Oldstones. It was a warm day, and Jenny gave herself to him wholeheartedly.
Jenny laughed at his words, a bubbling giggle that trailed to sad at the end. "I cannot."
The dark-haired prince frowned and lifted his head to stare at his lady love. "Why not?" He demanded softly.
"Because you are to be king, and you will take to wife some highborn lady or another, perhaps your sister even," Jenny responded logically. No matter how in tune their bodies felt together, no matter how hard Jenny's heart leaped with joy to behold him... he was not hers, he could never be.
Duncan sighed loudly, dramatically, and sat up. Jenny caught how his pale, toned torso shined against the sunlight and smiled softly. "Marry me," he repeated, inching closer to grasp her smaller hands in his, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "Marry me, Jenny, my Jenny," he whispered her name with near relevance as if she was the Maiden herself, a woman worth worshipping.
Jenny remained silent, eyes staring above at the sky, dreaming of what could not be.
Duncan let out of her hands and reached back. Jenny returned her gaze to him and caught the doubt swimming in his eyes of Old Valyria. "Do you not love me?"
Jenny's pink lips parted. It is because I love you that I will not marry you, Jenny thinks to herself, I love you so much that I am willing to break my own heart to free you.
Jenny moved forward and leaned her forehead against him. "I love you," the peasant girl whispered to her prince. "I love you with my every breath, with every beat of my heart, I love you and I am yours."
"And I am yours," Duncan responded faithfully, fingers trailing her lips. "You say your love is true and I hope that it will be."
Jenny smiled at the latter sentence, a verse from her favorite tune, the one he had heard her singing the day they met. "I'd be sure, if I knew, that you loved me for me," she finished the verse.
The prince pressed his lips against her lips once again, gently cupping her cheek, and slowly dipped her once again, laying her down on the warm furs as two became entangled once again in a passionate embrace.
Jenny's mind was torn away from the sweet, distant memory, as she pushed once more. It seems like so long ago, Jenny marveled, were we truly that young?"
At that moment, the wizened maester of Summerhall arrived, still cleaning his blood-stained hands with a dirty rag. Although everything was in ruins, he had remained true to his oath and delivered a princess' son. It seemed he was also to deliver the Prince of Dragonflies' child as well. With relief, the maidservant allowed Corso to take her place between her parted legs, and neither Rhaelle nor Jenny missed his look of alarm. The old man looked up to meet her eyes. "I will not lie to you, madam," he says simply. "There will be great pain." Rhaelle bristled at his words. "You must build up all your strength if your child is to live."
Rhaelle sent him a dirty look and turned to her good sister. She brushed away strands of hair from her sweaty forehead. "Do not allow his words to frighten you," the Targaryen princess instructed, "Your babe is coming. It is an act of pure, untainted love to bring a child into this world and you must do it gently."
She grasped the wedding ring that hung on a leather chain around her neck. "I feel him," Jenny suddenly declared, "the Stranger is here and he has come to collect his due." The local villagers where she had grown up had never liked her, dismissing her as a half-mad witch. It was the mysterious aura that drew Duncan to her, her sixth sense that hinted at magic.
"The Stranger is here for the ones who have perished inside the halls of Summerhall," Rhaelle retorted, shaking her head at her melancholia. "But the Mother Above, she is here to bring you your child."
Jenny stays silent, for she felt it coming... she pushed a final time and then there was a rush and a thrust and an inescapable sense of movement. She felt her child slip from her body and enter the cruel world awaiting it. "It breathes," Maester Corso announced with neither joy nor sadness in his tone.
Jenny collapsed in a heap, breathing in heavily. Dimly, she heard a babe's wail and smiled. "Is it a boy or girl?" Jenny asked as the maidservant dapped at her forehead with fabric ripped from her dress.
Rhaelle Baratheon covered the babe in a heavy, fur cloak, and smiled at how it seemed to drown in it. "It's a girl, it is a lovely girl you have given birth to."
A warm, maternal feeling washed away Jenny's previous fears. She held out her arms. "Give her to me," she demanded. Smiling, Rhaelle gently placed the newborn into her waiting arms, softly shaking her head at the wails. Jenny received her daughter, the only child she would bear it would seem, and cradled her against her chest.
Duncan, she is here, our pride and joy is here.
She was a tiny, exquisite thing, premature by a moon, yet in Jenny's tired eyes, nature had never formed anything so beautiful before. She was Duncan's daughter, with his dark hair and the same rosebud mouth. A streak of silver shone in her head, and Jenny hoped her eyes would be a beautiful purple, just like Duncan's.
She was her parents' love story, made into flesh. Their words of passion, their marriage vows, their hopes, prayers, and dreams... she was everything they had ever wished for.
She looked at Rhaelle and smiled. "You have met your brother's child," she told her. "Meet your siblings' grandson,'' She looked down at her quiet babe. "I will be well."
Rhaelle's eyes watered with emotion and she did as Jenny asked. It is strange, truly, how the Mother and the Stranger have arrived at the same time, to rain down blessings and misery on House Targaryen together. Birth and death.
The maidservant was throwing some bloodied sheets into the river. Jenny turned her attention to the silent, aged maester. "You allowed Lady Baratheon to believe it was my child's life in peril," Her voice was steady. "You were worried — but not for my child."
Maester Corso was looking at her with great sadness. When Duncan had given up his place in the succession for her, Dragonstone was given to Jaehaerys, and Summerhall was given to Duncan. Although she and her prince were too restless to remain in one place for long, constantly traveling throughout the realm, eventually they always made their way back to Summerhall. Maester Corso had served in the summer castle for many years, had seen Prince Duncan and Lady Jenny arrive, madly in love. He had been the one to bore witness to her miscarriages.
"Princess Jenny..." The title sent a shiver through her body, for she was never referred to as a princess, only lady. "You are torn," he said bluntly. "Your bleeding will not stop, and I do not have the tools to stitch you up."
"I will die." It was a statement, something Jenny had already deduced. The Stranger is here to collect his due.
"Most likely, my lady."
Jenny of Oldstones simply hummed at his condemning words, her eyes seeing only her daughter. The maester murmured some more words of apology and huddled away, most likely to announce to the surviving Targaryen women that the moon would see one more death tonight.
Jenny pressed a kiss to her daughter's small forehead. "This was not how you were meant to arrive," she told the quiet babe. "You were meant to arrive on a lovely, golden morning. Here at Summerhall... perhaps at King's Landing. I was to be laying on a soft bed, with clean, white linen, and warm water, with a maester and midwives, attending to me. You were our miracle, we could not risk losing you." She paused suddenly, as her voice cracked. "Duncan was going to be beside me throughout the entire labor, he promised so. He swore to me that when the moment came, when the maester announced the babe was shortly coming, he would push him aside so he would be the one to greet you into the world."
"We would lay awake at night, wondering what you would look like, what you would become. Already, you were so loved..." Tears slipped from her eyes, hot tears both sad and angry. Sad, for her husband, burned alive because of his father's great folly, who did not see his daughter born as he had wanted. Angry tears directed towards to the Gods, for giving her joy in Duncan and the child in her belly, for giving her blissful happiness, only to cruelly rip away that happiness with no warning.
Jenny began to sing a song, the sweet, simple melody that had caught her Prince of Dragonflies' eye. "Once a lass met a lad. You're a gentle one, said she. In my heart, I'd be glad, if you loved me for me," As she continued the song, Jenny closed her eyes and imagined Duncan appearing from the shadows, miraculously saved, and kissing her softly before taking their daughter in his arms. "Could I be the one you're seeking? Will I be the one you chose? Can you tell my heart is speaking? My eyes will give you clues."
As Jenny's hoarse voice carried the tune, the stars, the owls, and the stunningly white full moon gazed upon the newest inhabitant of their world, the tiny dream of her parents forged into reality.
Jenny ended her song on a sad note, her heart aching for the love the tune described, the love she had until tonight.
"Jenny," For a brief, hopeful moment, as she looked up at the sound of her name, she caught the dark hair of her husband and her heart stalled... until the figure drew closer and Rhaelle Baratheon sat on the ground next to her. Shaera was behind her, her face downcast as she held a bundle in her arms. She was immensely surprised, however, to see that Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard was there too, and in his strong arms, he carried the Princess Rhaella.
Jenny remained silent as the knight gently placed Rhaella on the ground, and Rhaelle and Shaera moved to make her comfortable
The fourteen-year-old princess, a mother now, was even paler than usual, dark circles under her beautiful, purple eyes. Yet there was a strange glow around her, Jenny thought, holiness given to every new mother by the Gods.
"I had a son, Lady Jenny," the princess told her and despite the coldness between her and her husband, she was glowing with pride for her boy. "Rhaegar."
"A king in the making," Jenny thought loud, and now her voice was audibly smaller. Shaera moved forward to allow Jenny to gaze upon the newborn prince. He was already beautiful, Jenny could see, with a small button nose and darling tuffs of silver hair. "Gods willing, your boy and my girl shall be great friends."
"They will," Rhaella replied confidently. "For we will raise them to be close and loving."
We? Jenny gave the young girl a sad smile.
"The Gods were kind to us," Shaera Targaryen said quietly. They may have taken the Targaryen patriarch, his queen, his firstborn son, alongside with far too many more, but they were kind enough to allow the newborn Targaryens to survive.
A tremble ran through her body. Glancing down, she saw her legs shaking involuntarily. "You know as well I do," Jenny whispered, "that I am dying."
Rhaelle pressed her hand against Jenny's shaking legs. Her smile was too wide, an awful attempt to soothe her. "Why do you say that? You only need to rest."
"I will rest soon enough," was her response. Jenny sighed. "My soul is calm. I've done my duty — I've birthed Duncan's child and now I will join him in the next world." Truly, she did not want to leave her child in this world, but what Gods have decreed, no man can alter, and they have decreed she will die. "May I ask something of you three?"
"Anything," Rhaella responded quickly, her mother and aunt reaffirming shortly after.
Jenny's eyes filled with tears. "Will you care for my daughter?" She asks. "Will you watch over her? Do you promise?"
"Oh, Jenny," Rhaelle let a sob out. "Of course we promise. Your daughter will want for nothing." Shaera laughed behind her, tears in her eyes as well, and Rhaella nodded furiously in agreement.
Jenny smiled in relief, her one great fear washing away. "Her name is Daenys," she revealed, "for the Dreamer of your House. Duncan and I picked it out moons ago."
"Rhaegar and Daenys, born on the same night," Rhaella mused. "They're worthy names for children who will rise high."
"Yes," Jenny agreed tiredly. Daenys was a proud, ancient name, the name of the maiden who saved House Targaryen from extinction so long ago. "If you excuse me... I'd like to be alone with her now."
It dawned on Rhaelle it is perhaps the last time she would see her friend conscious, alive. As Shaera and Rhaella kiss her cheek goodbye, whispering farewell words to her, Rhaelle watched her with tears in her dark eyes. It had been Duncan's abrupt marriage with Jenny that had sealed her fate as a Baratheon bride, yet she could never begrudge either her brother or Jenny for marrying for love.
As Rhaelle hugged her goodbye, kissing her forehead softly, she murmured words of thanks. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for bringing my brother so much joy."
"It was the joy of my life to love your brother," Jenny smiled. Not a day had gone by that she was not hopelessly, breathlessly, in love with her husband. She had made the right choice that day in the fields of Oldstone, accepting his proposal.
"As it was his to love you, sweet Jenny."
Perfectly alone, mother and child watched as the moon lowered, as the owls vanished and the beautiful birds began their chirping. The newborn babe drank her mother's milk once and basked in the pure devotion that only a mother can give her child.
As dawn broke and the sky shone with pink and orange, as the ravens began to spread the news of the tragedy that had befallen House Targaryen, Jenny of Oldstones kissed her daughter a final time and with a soft sigh, drifted off into her eternal sleep, joining her beloved prince in the Seven Kingdoms to watch over their daughter from above.
In the years to come, many stories and songs would be heard about the Prince of Dragonflies and his Lady Jenny. The bards would make all weep for their tragic demise, Prince Duncan sacrificing himself to the flames to save his pregnant wife, and Jenny of Oldstones following him in death hours later, using all her strength to bring forth his child.
These tales and songs were not their legacy, however. No, their legacy was something lovelier, a soft beauty. Their dream, forged into reality ━━ their daughter, DAENYS TARGARYEN.
R.T