Deep in the abysmal depths of the Red Keep's grand library, in a corner claimed by dust and cobwebs, in a long wooden table decorated with walls of old books, sat one Jacaerys Velaryon, sullen and pensive, reading from an old tome. He had tasked himself to read four books in High Velaryon to improve the language of his forefathers. He struggled, however, to keep his mind to clear, and no method availed in clearing his mind from his grieving thoughts. He thought that perhaps the loneliness of the library could help him but alas, loneliness provoked these thoughts in his head much more than a lively crowd of prying eyes ever could.

What those eyes have to pry? One might ask, and answer to which is Jacaerys' inherited hair colour. Many thought of him as a bastard and many more loathed to look at his brown 'strong' eyes. He thought perhaps learning High Valyrian could make him more appealing, but now he doubted that he would ever become likeable to the eyes of nobles and small folk alike. Such a failure, he was, and yet, he did not cause his failure. His mother did. He blushed in embracement at the thought and apologised to his mother inwardly. His mother was not responsible for the whisperers inside the keep.

To digress from such thoughts, he turned his eyes to the page before him; it was the history of the Ghiscari wars, and Jacaerys could not help but struggle to read one the words written in front of him. He again and again spoke the word and tested it sound, and it always felt wrong.

"Perhaps roll your tongue a little more?" A soft feminine voice whispered from behind. Jacaerys, trying to be polite, raised from his seat and turned to the woman behind him and he felt short of breath when he saw who it was.

"Princess Helaena?" He looked at his aunt's hands, one was full with books and the other held one of her spiders.

"Pardon me, Prince Jacaerys," said his aunt as she looked downwards to her spider, "I happened to hear your struggle while giving a tour to my spider and I could not sustain myself not to help you."

"Oh—thank you, princess. I appreciate it," Jacaerys felt his cheeks blushing and he tried to hide it by turning his head to the book beneath him. He of course expected a reply from the princess, and when she did not give one, he conceredely turned back to check on her, when he saw that she was already moving away from him, becoming ever farther from his reach until she disappeared behind one of the many shelves.

Jacaerys summebed into brooding. He weirdly regretted not continuing his conversation with his estranged aunt. Perhaps he could compliment her silken hair or thank her for her help. Speaking of which, he tried rolling his tongue and it proved helpful, he actually managed to speak the word correctly. He again looked at the spot where she disappeared and mourned even more at the lost chance of thanking her. He sighed in defeat as he went to seat again.

"And thus, an apple blossoms." Jacaerys jumped in shock, his eyes widened and his breath sucked he turned his head to see who had uttered those words. And his eyes caught a man who stood by an old and dusty shelf, disguised in shadows of the morning shade. He wore a faint smile, one that could hardly be noticed if not by an observant eye, and in his hand was a oaken cane. Jacaerys gazed lower and saw a deformed foot and again felt frightened at being left alone with such a man.

"Greetings, my prince," he continued, "Hope I had not scared you."

There were many questions that Jacaerys could ask at that moment, 'who are you?' was the most necessary one. But he chose to not ask it and instead said, "Pardon me for not seeing you. My attention was fully on my book."

"Sure it was," he gave Jacaerys a sly smile, "You stood there, gazing at your 'book' with passion burning in your eyes, like a sunflower who follows her sun wherever he goes."

Jacaerys again felt his cheeks growing hot and decided to just sit down and bury his head in his book. He heard the sound of a cane hitting the ground and felt the man walking towards him.

"Valyria, cradle of civilisation," he mused, "Why would a young prince wander about the old tomes, reading about the fallen Freehold?"

Jacaerys could not tell him the truth, but he also abhorred to tell any lies. So he decided to tell the man only a half-truth, "I'm just interested about the Valyrian Freehold and its history."

He raised an eyebrow, "So interested that you would forgo the training in the courtyard to read the history of the Freehold in High Valyrian?"

Jacaerys felt again short of breath; the man before him cleverly saw through his little scheme. He chuckled nervously, "What can I say? I'm a bibliophile."

An unsettling smile appeared on his lips, "Truly? How great then, I always preferred books to swords as well, for obvious reasons," he gestured to his feet, "It's refreshing to see a youngling loving books too. I would like to spend some time with you, my prince, perhaps we could learn from each other."

He must have noticed Jacaerys' uncomfortable countenance, yet, that did not stop him from uttering the next words, "Or if you do not like my company as a book lover, then you might want my ear for your confessions?"

Jacaerys frowned in suspicion, "Confession? Confessions on what?"

"On how much you admire your aunt, my prince," his smile grew wide as he said that.

Jacaerys displayed disgust and shock, "Wha—you cannot speak such words to me, especially not about Princess Helaena!"

In response, he lower his head, "Forgive me, my prince, I spoke out of turn."

"You are forgiven," said Jacaerys, "I hope I'll never hear such words from you, my lord."

"I am no lord, my prince," he admitted, "Gods have only given me a name; unlike your dear father, Ser Laenor or the brave knights of the Kingsguard, I do not possess the title of 'knight'. I can only ever be Larys Strong."

Jacaerys stopped breathing at once and hardly refrained himself from widening his eyes. The man before him was his uncle—his true uncle. He could not be seen with him, not when rumours ran around the keep of Ser Harwin and his connection to Jacaerys. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, my lord," he said as he began walking away from him.

"Likewise, my prince," said his uncle, "I gather I will see you again in the morrow?"

Jacaerys stopped abruptly but did not turn back, "For what, may I ask?"

"Why, our newly-established regular book reading club, my prince," he answered, "I have already thought of a few books fit for your liking."

Jacaerys turned to his uncle in disguise, "I'm afraid I cannot attend your reading club…"

"Oh, what how sad," his smile disappeared but he did not sound sad at all, "I guess you don't want to see your aunt either, for she roams around these shelves on a regular basis."

Jacaerys blushed as he turned away again. He should have reaffirmed his refusal, he should have warned his uncle not to say such things, but his mouth spoke other words, "I'll…I'll see you in the morrow." He then began running towards the exit of the library, not even daring to turn back to see the smile on his uncle's face.