She did not register the quizzical look on her face: brow quirked in concentration, tongue caught between her teeth, one eye squinted. Ten-year-old Jaedys Velaryon was very intent on threading the needle just so to complete the needlework she held up to her face. The red thread puckered the fabric slightly before sliding through delicately, completing another delicate sprig of dragon's breath. The flower was her grandsire's favorite, lining the walkways of his late wife's garden and grown in great quantities in the castle's glass garden. Though she had never met her grandmother Aemma, her mother often said that her balance of shrewdness and warmth was similar to that of the late Queen. Her grandfather could not look at her without mentioning how she had inherited her grandmother's nose. This characteristic she possessed seemed to be the only thing inherited from her Valyrian family, for every time she held her own gaze in the looking glass, she could see nothing of Ser Laenor or the Princess Rhaenyra. It confused her why she did not look like either her lord father or lady mother, but she did not question it as she was the very picture of her brothers.
She could hear the thudding of their wooden swords from outside the window as she sat there next to her aunt Helaena, both under the watchful eyes of the septa; she for her impulsive behaviors and Helaena…well, Helaena was different. She leaned to her left, watching as Helaena's adept fingers sank the needle swiftly in and out of the fabric, stitching together the image of a blue-green beetle.
"How in the seven hells did you do that?" she murmured in awe.
"Princess!" chided Septa Fredda.
"Sorry—Princess Helaena, I am in awe of your prowess with the needle!' Jaedys corrected.
Helaena dawned her dewy smile affectionately at Jaedys.
"Stitches across the face make a lasting impression," she muttered happily looking over at Jaedys's own cross-stitch, "Blood-covered dragons are meant to dance together in the breeze."
Jaedys squinted back down at the flowers she had spent a fortnight sewing, "I suppose they do look a bit bloody. I couldn't find the right shade of crimson." Helaena smiled sweetly and patted her niece's hand softly before turning back to her own pattern, swiftly driving the needle back and forth without hesitation.
"If the Princess spent more time on her stitching and less on unladylike activities she might be as skilled as the Princess Helaena," the septa sniped reproachfully. Jaedys looked incredulously at the old woman. Helaena took to cross-stitching as her grandsire Lord Corlys to the sea.
"Perhaps, Septa Fredda, but only one of those skills will surely help me survive on the battlefield," she mused as she knotted the thread and bit off what remained. The septa shot her a look of disgust.
"You are not a beast to be tearing at things with your teeth, gods be good!"
Before Jaedys could respond with a less than Princess-like retort, the door to the chamber opened and Ser Harwin Strong entered the room. "Pardon the intrusion, Septa Fredda, but Princess Jaedys's presence is requested by her mother."
Septa Fredda had the slightest glint of disdain in her eyes as she looked at Ser Harwin, but replied, "Yes, my Lord," in a clipped tone. She gave the Princess a short nod, to which the girl stuffed her stitching in her emerald green cross-bag and followed Ser Harwin down the hall.
"Thank you for rescuing me. I'm certain I wouldn't have made it another five minutes without saying something that would have gotten me in trouble with my Lady Mother," the girl laughed to Ser Harwin with mirthful eyes.
Ser Harwin chuckled tousling her braided brown curls. "You ought not provoke the septas, Princess. Heed what they teach you. It will surely serve you in life."
She huffed as they left Maegor's Holdfast and walked down the serpentine stairs to the training yards. "Septa Fredda doesn't like me."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"It is," she said softly, "She treats me like I'm some wild beast. She likes the Queen and Helaena, but she doesn't like me. She makes a face whenever my mother is discussed, just like now."
He paused their walking and turned to look at her. Jaedys's gaze was a challenge, an invitation to tell her she was wrong. He sighed slightly for he would not insult her intelligence at even so young an age. Bowing slightly to her, he said softly, "I will not tell you that you are mistaken, my Princess. Your keen eyes are precious and will serve you well. But you would be wise not to give in to others' impressions of you. The Septa thinks you wild. You may be wild but choose your moments of willfulness wisely. There are other moments where you must be beyond reproach of those who would be your critics."
"Is this because I'm a girl or because I'm mother's heir?" she questioned shrewdly.
He gave a small smile, "Both." She pursed her lips dissatisfied with his argument but unable to find a flaw in his reasoning. Still, she was a stubborn creature.
"But why in the seven hells should I waste my time on sewing?" She cried, waving her arms dramatically, "If I am to be a great warrior like my foremothers, what use is it?!"
Ser Harwin straightened himself and crossed his arms, a playful look on his handsome face. "Aye, if fate should forge you into a warrior-queen as great as Visenya or Rhaenys before you, then you shall see a great many battles. But say a stray blade or arrow should find its way into your flesh, you'll be grateful your fingers are well-practiced at a fine stitch. It may be the very thing that saves your life and allows you to prevail over your enemies in the end."
She eyed him in annoyance. "I hate it when you do that."
"When I do what?" he teased.
"When you're smarter than me." She scoffed. Ser Harwin burst into laughter as they continued making their way out into one of the training yards near the back of the Keep. He relished these small adventures with the girl, moments where they fell into an easy rhythm, a natural bond away from the prying eyes of the court. She was easily the highlight of his days.
"I like your satchel," he said attempting to make small talk, "Is it new?"
She eyed the green bag which sat at her thigh. Its emerald green linen was embroidered with the sigil of House Targaryen in red and gold hues. "Twas a gift from Prince Aemond and Princess Helaena on my name day last month."
"It suits you," he said before they continued in an easy silence.
The training yard was smaller than the one in which Ser Criston instructed the young princes. Built along the cliffside edge of the Keep, it was ideal for having her run through obstacles or curving her arrows so that they might still find their targets. Her grandsire King Viserys had given them leave of it for the Princess's training, much to the vexation of his wife. Yet given its location, they were left very much undisturbed.
"What shall it be today, Ser Harwin?" she asked brightly as she rolled up her sleeves. She had dressed in an old pair of breeches beneath her dress in anticipation that she might train with the Commander.
"I thought we might start with a quick game of chicken before some archery. What say you, Princess?" At this she smirked. Hers and Ser Harwin's game of chicken was a favorite of hers.
"Splendid!" she smiled as she bounded for the other end of the courtyard. Ser Harwin went to one of the benches along the terrace's edge, opened the seat and pulled out a basket full of assorted leather balls of various sizes. By the time he returned to his place, Jaedys had gone round beyond the curve of the castle wall, no longer in sight.
"Ready?!" he called. She would not reply, he knew. She would choose her moment to dart out and try to take him by surprise. As he expected, she gave it a few seconds before running out at full speed, veering left and then a sharp right as he threw a ball in her direction. Another quick turn to evade another blow of his, until she lost her footing and was hit in the chest. She landed on her rear in a huff.
"Fuck!" she cried catching her breath.
"Mind your language," he said as he ran over and gave her a hand up, "Not very princess-like that mouth of yours."
"None of this is princess-like," she laughed, "and I know for a fact that's Mother's favorite word."
"Yes well," he scratched the back of his neck, "your mother is a special case. Are you done?"
"No!" she said sharply, "I want to keep going."
"As you wish," he smiled. And so, they went several more rounds. Half a dozen times she rounded the corner of the Keep's terrace toward the Commander, getting closer and closer each time until blow by blow she was bested. By the ninth go of it, she was bent over, her hands on her knees as she took deep breaths to collect herself.
"Princess, if we keep at it, you won't have much stamina left for archery," he reasoned. She sighed as she straightened up and swept stray hairs out of her round face.
"I suppose you are right," she huffed, "But I will get you next time. Did you see?! That last time I was not a meter away from tagging you!"
He nodded pleased to see her so proud of herself. She had come a long way in their two years of training. First with small games of balance and endurance before switching to more intensive exercises. "Chicken," as she called it, would make his daughter a difficult target to hit in the future and much more menacing to enemies she was determined to reach.
She readied herself with her quiver and finger tabs as Ser Harwin stationed the targets, scattering them throughout the yard with the last one being just around the curve of the wall. When he reached her, she had already begun her deep breathing, her stance at the ready. She had been able to hit near every bullseye on the targets visible at least once, yet the curved board still eluded her.
"Do you remember the last time you attempted the shot?"
"Yes," she muttered, "I hit the side instead."
"Do not be humble! It was much an improvement over the hedge you hit the time before!" he chuckled.
"Do not laugh!" she cried.
"I do not laugh at you, I promise. That was indeed an improvement," he kneeled patting her shoulder. "What I want you to do this time is wait to feel the wind shift before you let your last arrow loose. Nock it just as swiftly but wait until the time is right before letting go."
She nodded, straightened her back, reached back for her first arrow, and began. She went through the whole quiver as Ser Harwin watched, giving her the occasional command. She would pick up her speed, lose some of her control, and have to take deep breaths again before nocking the next one. Fourteen were bullseyes while the other fifteen landed just off-center on second and third rings. Down to her last arrow, it was her moment of truth. She looked up to Ser Harwin, a moment's nerves showing in her dark brown eyes. The same eyes looked back as he nodded reassuringly. She nodded back, turning, imagining the target behind the curved wall. She reached back, felt the feather tip on her fingers as she slid it into place. Pulling the bowstring back along her cheek, she took a soft breath feeling the wind around her at the edge of the cliff where the Keep sat. She felt her loose hairs softly flutter to her left, noting the change in the breeze before she tilted the bow and let the arrow loose. She watched it fly before it curved with the wind, sailing around the corner decisively and out of sight. There was a dull thud, to which she looked up at Ser Harwin with eager eyes.
"Let's have a look, shall we?" he said adding to her anticipation. They walked the open courtyard together, rounding the corner before setting their sights on the target where the arrow had sank into the second ring from the center.
"Yes!" she cheered jumping up and down triumphantly with her bow still clutched in her hands. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Finally!" He clapped her on the back beaming. The sound of distant clapping pulled their attention to the end of the courtyard. Princess Rhaenyra strolled toward them, smile on her face, as she balanced herself on the cobblestone path. The pregnant belly beneath her gold dress was now so big that the maesters would not permit her to be on her feet much longer.
"I see we've made progress with our aim today, my little archer," she embraced her daughter before turning to the Lord Commander, "You have our gratitude, Ser Harwin. Princess Jaedys has certainly improved under your tutelage."
Ser Harwin bowed his head in thanks. "You honor me Princess," he said before nodding to her swollen belly, "Should you not be resting? Surely if the babe is anything like his father it will be demanding all your strength." She smirked back at his implication.
"I assure you; it is all well in hand, Ser Harwin. I do not expect to reach full term if this babe is anything like his brothers and sister," she said warmly as she rested her hands on Jaedys's shoulders. Jaedys smiled up at the pair watching the exchange between her mother and her sworn protector, the two people with whom she felt the safest.
"Can we pick a dragon egg soon, Mother? For the babe?" she asked looking up into her mother's gaze. Rhaenyra nodded kissing her daughter's forehead.
"Yes, my love, as soon as my labors begin you may pick any egg you like."
"I'll make sure we pick a good one. A Targaryen needs a dragon," she replied with a hint of bitterness. Her own egg, one of brilliant jade, had never hatched and still sat perched on the mantle in her bedchamber. Jace and Luke's had both hatched and bonded with their riders soon after birth.
"Remember, what I said," Rhaenyra turned her daughter in her arms placing her hand beneath her chin, "there is more than one way to bind yourself to a dragon."
"Your time will come, Princess, of that I am sure," Ser Harwin added. As dusk had begun to crawl across the coast of King's Landing, the castle lights became starkly illuminated against the night sky. A figure in one of the stained-glass windows caught his attention. "I do believe you have company waiting for you."
Jaedys moved her eyes up. The circular window three stories above, which bore the image of the Conqueror and his Queens, was the prettiest corner of her grandsire's library. It was a favorite place for her and her favorite companion, whose silhouette she could now make out. She looked to her mother asking for permission.
"Just a short while. You'll need to wash before dinner," Rhaenyra said caressing her daughter's cheek.
"Thank you, Mother," she grinned before turning to Ser Harwin, "Thank you for the lesson, Ser Harwin. Until next time!" She began to run in the direction of the library.
"Wait—your bow!" cried Rhaenyra. With slight chagrin she darted back, giving the quiver and bow to Ser Harwin, who laughed, before she scampered off.
"She's a handful, much like her mother," he said warmly.
Rhaenyra, eyes gazing in the direction her daughter had left, replied, "That's what worries me."
"You should not fret. She's very discerning, your daughter."
"True," she sighed, "But it is without doubt she bears a soft spot for Alicent Hightower's son."
When Jaedys arrived at the library, she found him where she expected him to be, perched at the window seat beneath the image of Queen Visenya, a book in hand.
"Have you actually been reading this whole time, or have you been watching from the window?" she teased cheekily as she placed her hands on her hips. He peeked over the top of his book, an atlas of Essos, before gazing back down at the page.
"I have been here reading about the Great Pyramid of Meereen for the little over an hour. If you happened to be practicing your archery in the courtyard below then I might have happened to see out of the corner of my eye that you came close to hitting your last mark, it is all simply a coincidence," he replied.
"But did you see how close it came?!" she exclaimed as she jumped to the opposite end of the seat beneath the image of Queen Rhaenys.
He smiled back at her. "It was rather impressive. Much more than hitting that innocent hedge."
She scoffed waving her hand, "That hedge had it coming."
He crinkled his nose, "You might have thought to wash before coming up to the library."
"Says you, you stink of the Dragonpit," she said waving a hand before her nose dramatically, "Why do you bother going anyway? You know there are no unclaimed dragons there."
His eyes shuffled back to the book in annoyance. "It will be useful for when I claim my own."
She shook her head. "That bond will be unique. I don't think I'll learn anything watching our hopeless brothers with their dragons. Do you?"
"At least they have dragons," he whispered. She smiled sadly at him.
"I have to believe ours will be worth the wait."
He looked up and gave her a small smile in return. "How long do you have before dinner?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably about half an hour. What do you have for me tonight?" She extended her hand. He reached over handing the heavy tome.
"The Gods of Old Valyria written by Maester Gillen of the Citadel."
She huffed at the weight, "Seven hells, how many gods are there?"
"About forty-three, though some estimate there might have been as many as one hundred and eighty-seven in ancient times. They seem to have become more selective as time went on," he said before getting back to his own reading.
She rolled her eyes, "Then what business have I to read it if you're going to tell me everything anyway?"
"I'm sure you'll make your own inferences. Besides, the text is partially written in High Valyrian and it's always good to practice. Don't you want to be able to teach our children one day?" he said pragmatically.
She sighed, as she opened to the first page. He wasn't wrong. While her spoken Valyrian was perfect, her written Valyrian could use some practice. As for one day being able to teach their children, she absolutely wanted to continue her family's Valyrian traditions. Theirs was a dying culture, as was impressed upon her and Aemond, and she felt even more pressure to pass on the culture if not the features.
She smiled looking over at him as he read. Though he didn't return her gaze, she could see the slightest hint of a smile behind his book. He was her best friend in the world, and she was his. In their childlike fantasies they imagined that was all it would take to remain together forever in peace as they did reading at opposite ends of the window seat beneath the stained glass window.
When neither child showed up to dinner, Queen Alicent knew where she might find her son. Princess Rhaenyra, having gone into her labors just before the family gathered was ushered away to her chambers, asked Ser Laenor to go to their daughter's chambers to alert her of the news. Yet, the Queen knew the young Princess would not be found there. If Aemond was with her, she knew exactly where they'd be. When she found them nestled together asleep at opposite ends of the window seat, legs hooked together, peacefully dreaming she was unsurprised. The young Queen sighed, pinching the top of her nose, at the sight before her. This would surely be a problem.