If she had known the last conversation she had with her father was indeed to be the last time she ever saw him, Jaedys would have stretched their moments together for as long as possible. But she had been both desperately tired and devastated by the loss of Aemond. Her father had found her weeping in her mother's chambers, still perched at the window seat as dusk settled over Driftmark. Hours had passed since her grandsire's ship was long out of sight and even longer since she could spot the large dragon on the horizon. She hadn't had the stomach to hold down food, nor the desire to move from her perch. Wordlessly he had sat with her as she wept into his chest, rubbing her back and leaning his cheek on the crown of her head. At some point he had scooped her into his arms and walked her to the chamber she shared with her brothers. Her brothers had been mid-conversation when they entered but paused when they caught sight of her cradled by Ser Laenor, her face tucked under his chin like a small child.

"Is Jade alright?" she heard Luke ask, his voice still slightly altered by his broken nose.

"Yes, lads. She just needs some quiet. The maesters say it's time she slept," her father murmured back.

"Does she need anything?" Jace asked from his bed.

"I think we've got it all in hand, thank you, Jace. Maybe just pour her some water from that pitcher there," Laenor replied moving further into the room.

"I was going to ask her what she did with the drawing I did of her," whispered Lucerys, "I wanted to show Mother."

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask her later, Luke. Your sister's very tired just now," her father said as he settled her down on her bed. She looked up at him through heavy eyes and reached for his hand.

"Kepa?" her voice quivered vulnerably.

He caressed her brow as he leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to her nose.

"Edrugon, byka embar dyni (Sleep, little sea monster)," he whispered, "You've been through an ordeal and you should rest."

She nodded and brought the covers up to her chin. "Nyke jaelagon ra sia hae pōnta istin sia (I wish things could be as they once were)," she whispered.

"Nyke gīmigon (I know)," he said pressing his brow to hers, "Time will help you heal in more ways than one from your woes. This I promise you."

"Has it helped you heal?" she asked. He smiled sadly sitting back.

"I hope it will," he said softly. She wouldn't understand what he'd meant by that for a long time– not until years later when she'd have the strength to replay this moment in her mind without the thought of Ser Laenor making her ache.

She looked at him inquisitively.

"Think nothing of it. Sleep, riña. We'll go sailing tomorrow and play in the tidepools like we used to," he said softly.

"Goodnight, Kepa. Kirimvose (Thank you)," she replied tiredly. He smiled at her a moment longer before rising.

"Goodnight, lads. I'm going to see how your mother's mending. Lights out now. You all need your sleep," he said before striding out of the room.

Jace began to blow out the candles around the room, but Luke sat still and watched as his sister began to doze, much as she had the night before the skirmish in the tunnel. As he surveyed her and the new stitches on her brow, he couldn't help but ask the question that had been flitting in and out of his young mind.

"Jade, are you angry at us?" he asked in his small injured voice. When she didn't reply he figured she had simply fallen asleep quickly and began to settle himself into bed.

"No, Luke. I'm just sad," he heard her whisper as she turned to face the wall. He exchanged looks with his elder brother then shifted his gaze back to his sister. Nobody said anything else that night. Jace finished blowing out the candles and all three Velaryon children settled into a troubled, desperate slumber.

They were all roused before sunrise by the mournful screams of a woman– their grandmother, she realized. Jade's dark eyes shot open in fear, meeting Jace's across the room, and she sank back under the sheets too terrified to move.

That was a fortnight ago.

Jaedys barely registered the misty chill of Dragonstone. It hardly rivaled the dull iciness that had settled within her bones. She had paled and lost weight since the murder of Ser Laenor in the halls of Driftmark. In her young life she had buried two fathers, lost her home and best friend, and now felt hopelessly set adrift. She hadn't spoken since the funeral, not even when her mother had told her, with apprehension, that she was to immediately remarry. It was the silent lack of reaction that had worried Rhaenyra more than the boys' shock and protests.

Feeling rudderless, she had gone where she'd been told, worn what she'd been bade to wear, and shifted through life like a ghost since yet another father had been burned alive and stolen by The Stranger. Emotionless, she stood between her brothers; Baela and Rhaena were on Jace's other side– my new stepsisters, she thought to herself bitterly. She'd never had sisters and had dreamt what having such a relation might be like, but to be tied forever in the same household to the instigators that had cost her Aemond was more than she could bear at the moment. She couldn't even look at herself in the looking glass without being harshly reminded of what she had lost.

Her eyes were fixed on the ceremony before her. If she'd had any feeling in her besides bitterness and sorrow, she would think it beautiful. It was like a dance, but holy and intimate, the way they clustered together on the side of the cliff to watch her mother and Daemon joined together in the tradition of their house. Rhaenyra, she noted, looked more giddy and youthful than she had seen ever seen her, even with Ser Harwin. The thought made her burn within as she observed the interloper who cut her mother's lip and mingled his blood with hers. This stranger would live in their house, eat at their table, train her brothers, and would by law be her new father. She felt sick at the thought and wanted, more desperately than she had since the funeral, to be swept up in Ser Laenor Velaryon's arms once more. She was desperate to ride off into the woods with Ser Harwin and leave all their troubles behind. Daemon was a stranger to her, but she hated him nonetheless for occupying a space which should not be his.

Jaedys was no idiot. She could tell that Jace had similar musings. They had locked eyes and had a silent conversation when, mere days after Ser Laenor's death, their mother had presented Daemon as her betrothed. Jace for his part would not entertain for long the thought that their mother had been party to their father's demise. Rhaenyra had cared for Laenor, they knew. Daemon, however, was a dangerous unknown from across the sea. In the few moments they'd been in his presence, he had struck Jade as wily and as lethal as the Blood Wyrm he rode. Daemon Targaryen was responsible for her father's death; of this she was certain. He smirked before he kissed her mother, sealing them together for life. Jade felt her jaw clench and her eyes narrow. Like the twins and her brothers, she still dressed in mourning clothes. Appropriate, she thought as she watched her mother wed the unwanted intruder, it feels like a death.

Baela had been sent back to Driftmark to be fostered by their grandmother. After the death of their son, the Sea Snake had left for Essos and was gods knew where. Sending his favorite daughter to Rhaenys had been a peace offering. Despite her absence, Daemon had not wasted time in making himself quite comfortable on Dragonstone. The dragonkeepers deferred to him, her mother had given him her seat at the head of the table, and he'd even taken to frequenting her favorite section of the library on the histories of House Targaryen. Jade could not escape him in this new home and, to add insult to injury, he was already more comfortable in these new surroundings than she was, having lived there once before.

Her disdain for him culminated six months into their new living arrangement when Daemon chastised Jace's dismal knowledge of the Valyrian language at dinner.

"Rēbagon se lopor, Dārilaros Jacaerys (Pass the salt, Prince Jacaerys)," he had said with a practiced absentminded air. Jace recognized his name and looked to Prince Daemon. He reached for the water jug on the table, but Daemon tsked twice. "Se lopor, Jacaerys. (The salt, Jacaereys)."

Jace looked at his mother who looked between husband and son, nodding to the latter encouragingly. Jace reached for the wine and Daemon scoffed.

"That's averilla, boy. I am asking for the lopor," he said in dark amusement. Jade watched her twin's cheeks flush in embarrassment. Luke and Rhaena too were watching quietly, their dinner left forgotten. Jace looked across the table at her and her eyes darted to the salt and back to him. Jace tentatively reached for the salt and passed it to Daemon. Daemon took it and eyed it in his hand appreciatively.

"Kirimvose, my Prince. No need to ask your sister; that means 'thank you,'" said Daemon casually as he salted his pork. Jaedys caught the hint of disgust in his voice. "He'll never command the Seven Kingdoms as a Targaryen king if he doesn't master his High Valyrian, ābrazȳrys (wife)."

"He won't need to. Jaedys is my heir, valzȳrys (husband)," Rhaenyra said sipping from her wine. In the past Jade might have given her mother an appreciative look. But that was before. Now she only looked ahead to the shame on her brother's face.

Daemon smirked to himself as he drank from his goblet, "Se lyka riña mijegon iā zaldrīzes (The mute girl without a dragon). The lords of Westeros will fight themselves for the privilege of being the first to bend the knee."

Jade said nothing but clenched the knife in her hand more tightly. Jace watched her in silence.

"Jade is a fierce warrior, my love; trained by Ser Harwin himself," said Rhaenyra smiling to her daughter. Jaedys could detect the attempt at peace.

"Well, that will be useful once war comes," said Daemon under his breath. At this, Jade looked at him sharply. "Surely you didn't think Otto Hightower would allow your mother to ascend the throne without trying to usurp her with his dimwitted grandson?"

Jade looked at her mother. Rhaenyra looked uncomfortable at the turn of conversation. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss the matter."

"They ought to know," Daemon said nonchalantly as he cut at his meat, "Your daughter did draw first blood after all. The Greens won't forget."

At the mention of the blood she had drawn, Jaedys saw white. As she stormed out of the dining hall she was only half aware of the knife she had thrown inches from Daemon's hand, burying it into the oak table. She ignored the calls of her mother as she wove through the castle to her chambers. She remained silent when her mother came to her room later that night, angry at first then begging and crying.

"Jade, please," she had cried, "It pains me so to see you like this. I know this has been a painful time for you and so much has changed in such a short while, but you cannot withdraw into yourself like this. You won't speak to anyone, you won't smile. Don't you want to be happy again?"

Jade had given her an accusatory look at this question. Happy like you?– the look had said.

"Do not think I don't miss them, my love. I do, but there is nothing wrong with finding happiness anew. Please, Jade, can't we try?" her mother had pleaded. Jade said nothing and after a while Rhaenyra gave up and left her to her thoughts. Jade cried herself to sleep that night like she had so many nights before. She had to wonder whether her mother had truly loved Ser Harwin or even her father. Yes, the grief had consumed her…for a time. Yet Rhaenyra had allowed herself to be swept off her feet like some young maiden by Daemon without shame or discretion. Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? She heard the Queen's words in her mind. Jade was disgusted to admit that for the first time in her life, she could see the version of her mother that Alicent had painted.

In a way that felt almost as permanent as the death of her fathers, Aemond was lost to her. Even six months later she could not find happiness without him. No, she decided, her mother had not truly loved anyone but Daemon. Her seething put an end to her tears.

That had been three moons ago. She had turned eleven in that time. Aemond had also had his nameday. The temptation to write to him had been so overwhelming, but Jaedys didn't know what to say. They had parted on such ugly terms, and he had not regretted the vile things he had said about her parentage. He had also said he would not forgive her if she left him in that moment…and she had left. There was a part of her that wished desperately to be reunited with him in King's Landing, but even that–she knew–would not be the same.

She sat perched on her usual boulder outside the Dragonglass cave where she had taken to reading by the tidepools. It was peaceful and reminded her of Ser Laenor in a way that didn't feel like a wound. Today was a hard day: it would have been Ser Harwin's nameday.

For I saw the flames consume every man, woman, and child of the Freehold; the dragons consumed by the volcanic mouth of the very mount that had birthed them millennia before. Yet within this sight of death was also a vision of life—the propagation of the House of the Dragon…

"Doing some pleasure reading?" she heard a smug voice call from a little way down the beach. She knew who it was before he approached. "Ah, Signs and Portents by Daenys the Dreamer. An interesting choice."

Jade said nothing in response, merely looked down at the page, and feigned reading.

"Your mother mentioned today is Ser Harwin's nameday," he said eyeing the dagger at her hip, "I would think it an odd choice to read about burning bodies today." She shot to her feet and grabbed for the dagger, but his hands stayed hers, pinning her hands to her hip as she wrestled against him.

"Do not misunderstand me," he whispered as his eyes softened in a way she had never seen, "I do not mock you. Do you forget I too lost one I love to flame?"

Her eyes welled as she stared at him, jaw still resolute and limbs still struggling for her dagger.

"You have a fire within you, Princess, more even than your mother had in her youth. If you would but let yourself embrace it rather than retreat like a beaten dog, you would be the fiercest queen since Visenya herself," he said solemnly, "Your father, your real father would weep if he could see you now, cowering inward instead of acting the fighter he trained you to be–"

"SHUT UP!" she raged shoving him off.

Regaining his balance on the sand he straightened himself and appraised her. "Ziry ȳdragon (She speaks)."

"You know nothing about Ser Harwin. You know nothing of me," she hissed.

"You're right that I know nothing about you," he mused walked lazily toward her, "Only the praises your mother and brothers speak or what my girls say of how valiantly you sought to end the fight in the tunnel that night. But you're wrong in saying I no nothing of Harwin Breakbones."

She watched as he unsheathed Dark Sister and began to drill slowly on the surf.

"I chose him to succeed me as Commander of the City Watch. We lived in the Red Keep for many years. We fought together, trained together, and even came to love the same woman," at this he paused to look at her, "I respected him. And your mother will tell you I cannot say that for many people."

"Why are you telling me any of this?" she asked.

"You are your mother's heir; chosen just as she was by Viserys. This means that you are the future of my house," he said simply, "If you would allow me, I would like to prepare you for what that means. I know that your father would–"

"Don't talk about my father. You murdered my father and took my mother for yourself. Ossēnagonil (Murderer)," she hissed.

Daemon smiled and looked at her. "And if I swore to you that I never laid harm on Ser Laenor nor ordered his death, would you believe me?"

She gave him a hard look and looked out at the sea. "It wouldn't matter."

"Keligon bona (Stop that)," he snapped thrusting Dark Sister into the sand, "Quit pretending as if you care not. A dragon like you cannot hide what she is."

"What did you call me that night at dinner?" she muttered still looking out at the horizon, "A mute girl with no dragon, I believe it was. I am no dragon. I am the future of no one's house."

Daemon suddenly grabbed her shoulders. "If Ser Harwin was here now, would he allow you to speak as you do? Would Ser Laenor? You've lost your father. You haven't lost yourself. You are the future of our house, the future of the realm."

She felt the tears betray her as they fell down her cheeks, "That future is lost."

"It isn't," he said shaking her, "Your future is what you make of it, because you are the dragon. Ser Harwin knew it, as did Ser Laenor. If nothing else, you are the daughter of knights— fierce warriors who defended the realm and did their best to train you to be ready for the day you're crowned Queen. Will you betray them and their efforts?"

She swallowed down a sob and glared at him stubbornly. He had manipulated her, but he had been right. "I don't like you."

"Understood."

"Nor do I trust you," she muttered icily.

He sighed, "I understand your resentment."

She eyed him steadily, "For Ser Harwin's sake…I will let you train me."

At this he nodded appreciatively. "We begin after dawn."

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

He surveyed her where she stood shaking, suddenly so full of adrenaline and a need to put it somewhere. She really did look like her father. "Take the day to mourn your dead. Don't bury them away, Jaedys. If you don't face your ghosts occasionally, they will haunt you."

She watched him for a moment, "Do yours haunt you?" He gave her a small smirk for a moment before he turned, collected Dark Sister, and made his way back up the coast to the castle.

Jaedys wasn't sure how long she stayed standing in the surf, allowing herself to sob and hurt for the first time outside her chambers. Her first words in so long had been to Daemon. Something about him had broken the dam and summoned all the emotions she had tried to bury. She hated that he'd been right about Ser Harwin. Her fierce, loving protector had been like a fortress to her. Within his care she had built herself up to be strong, formidable. Yet, how quickly she had crumbled in his absence. He would be ashamed.

Feeling a desperation to feel close to him once more, she dragged herself out of the waves, grabbed her tome, and made the hike to the outskirts of the castle. There, she knew the Godswood waited.

She felt a burning in her chest and legs when she reached the heart tree. Its weeping eyes stared back at her own and drew her towards its blood-red canopy. Drawing nearer, Jade could see the differences between this face and the one back in King's Landing; a nose slightly off-center, a mouth slightly more agape, a tighter brow. She stared into the face and felt a chill go through her. Almost as if some invisible companion whispered instructions to her, she felt her hands act of their own accord and unsheathe Ser Harwin's blade. She poked at the end of her pointer finger until the blood spurted slowly and poured the fat drops into the mouth of the tree— an offering to the gods.

"I've been weak," she whispered, "I've been wounded…I just miss you so much and I'm not sure who I am without you. Any of you." She sniffled and wiped her face. "I'm not sure how to find my way, Ser Harwin. And Ae–the person who should be here to help me through this…I've abandoned him. Please…help me, Father."

She rested her head against the heart tree and shut her eyes in prayer, imaging Ser Harwin's laugh in training, Ser Laenor's soft voice singing in Valyrian. The lines between her waking self and the dreams that overtook her were blurred. She was in a grand hall that was unrecognizable to her, old and decrepit, the ceilings vaulted and open to the skies above. The stone walls around her seemed to have melted and whatever grandeur they had possessed had wasted away exposed to the elements. Their baroque design made the derelict state of them even sadder. Harrenhal. She had never been, but the ghostly, opulent halls around her could be no other Keep.

She stood unsure of which direction to venture. Suddenly an echo reached her ears, that of the laugh she missed more than any other sound.

"Ser Harwin?" she called. She moved in the direction of the sound and kept going. The ceilings were higher than any chamber in the Red Keep and darker than night. She felt as if she moved through an empty void, desperate to find the source of the voice. The laugh rang out again as an echo, ghostlike reverberating along the walls, which suddenly seemed to grow brighter. Flames, she realized, began to engulf the halls. She needed to find him before the flames took him, before he was lost to her once more. All the halls looked the same though, and she felt the air choke at her. The breaths became more laborious, and her eyes stung as she called to him desperately. They grew hotter and hotter as she became more desperate until finally, she rounded a corner and there he was.

He looked just as he had so many times: armored, burly, curly-haired, and warm-eyed. The flames surrounded them, licking their way to the open ceiling above them, kissing at their feet. This was what the seven hells must be like, but she only had eyes for him.

"We have to go," she cried reaching for him. Instead, he took her face in his hands.

"Why do you worry for me?" he begged of her smiling, "I am in no pain. I cannot be harmed."

"But…but the flames," she sobbed, "I need to save you."

He shook his head, "You saved me every day I lived as your father. You have been my life."

She sobbed at this and rested her forehead against his, "Everything is wrong. Everything is lost and I don't know my way forward."

He laughed and pulled back, rubbing her cheek as he smiled at her. "You know the way forward. Now you only need take it."

She looked down the hall, the flames coming closer to them. "But the fire…"

He kissed her brow and pulled back, "You are a dragon, Jaedys. Fire cannot kill a dragon." He stepped back from her and she followed tentatively.

"I will honor you," she sobbed, "I will. Every day that I live, I will honor you. I swear it."

"You honor me by drawing breath, my girl," he said softly, "You will become something quite remarkable to behold." With that Ser Harwin was gone. She wanted to cry out, but he had set her on her path. She would not stop now. Swallowing her tears, Jaedys stepped forward, down the hall Ser Harwin had stood. The flames hissed around her, flicking luringly at her heels. The suffocating heat which had her gasping before now felt warm and inviting, like the kiss of an old friend. The flames grew hotter, she could tell, but all Jade could feel was the buzzing within her own belly as she came to a chamber door. Her hand on the doorknob, the buzzing spread to her whole body, the flames seemed to consume her, until she pushed her way through and came before a pair of great yellow eyes.

She woke with a start against the heart tree, a pressure tugging her to the Dragonmont.

Aemond was recovering slower than he would have liked. The maesters and his mother had forced him to carry himself gingerly, to be patient with himself as he relearned how to navigate through the world. His perception of depth altered, his balance changed, he would grow frustrated and fly into destructive fits. Not even Helaena could help assuage his frustrations.

He thought that surely on his nameday, Jade would send something. But she had not. Not that he had written her either. He had started and stopped countless times, but she had been the one to leave. It was not for him to write her and prostrate himself. What a misery it had been without her, his nameday most of all. He would not soon forget his "gift" from Aegon. The woman's mouth on his had felt disgusting and salty in comparison to Jade's kisses. He shuddered the thought away.

Aemond strode into the family dining hall, his Kingsguard close behind. His mother had insisted he not wander the Keep alone since their return from Driftmark. Even with Ser Rickard acting as his shadow, it did not quell the utter loneliness her absence left.

The rest of his family had begun to break their fast around the table. Aegon and Helaena were seated closer together now that they were betrothed. His mother busied herself cutting his father's food as one of his attendants opened the King's correspondence. The Queen had been much more attentive to her husband since the events on Driftmark.

"Good day, darling. We had some of those little fish prepared this morning," said his mother, "and some exotic fruits from Dorne."

"Hmm" he said in assent to his mother.

"News from the North, Your Grace," said the attendant, "Lord Cregan Stark has retaken Winterfell with Your Grace's support."

"Excellent, that is good news indeed," said his father as he stabbed one-handed at the food his mother had cut, "Such a horrid ordeal."

"Indeed, Your Grace," replied the attendant as he opened another raven scroll. Aemond jolted slightly. Even with one eye, he recognized the dragon seal. "A report from the Princess Rhaenyra, Your Grace."

"Oh?" said the King becoming taciturn. His father, he knew, was still sour at the marriage that had taken place on Dragonstone without his consent or invitation.

"Concerning the Princess Jaedys." Aemond's heart clenched painfully and he stilled his eating. Alicent observed him.

"Indeed? What news of my granddaughter?" asked his father perking up slightly.

"It seems she has claimed a dragon, Your Grace. Princes Rhaenyra reports that she has claimed the Cannibal," read the attendant. A stillness hung around the table before his father began to laugh jovially.

"She always was such a clever girl!" he celebrated, "And think how formidable she will be on the throne with such a beast!" A part of Aemond wanted to smile. They both now had their dragons, something they'd discussed hundreds of times hushed in the library, on the platform by the sea, under the heart tree. Yet, her claiming the Cannibal made the divide between them feel even wider. She had not written to him to tell him this most important news and she had done this without him. Hadn't he done the same with Vhagar? He shook the thought away. That had been for them. Though done in her absence, he had claimed Vhagar with her best interests at heart. She had claimed perhaps the most vicious of beasts and had no need of him. The sacrifice of his eye to secure their future mattered not. He felt himself grow cold.

As their father continued his praises, he turned to Aegon. "Let's go back tonight."

"Back where?" asked Aegon hungover from the night before.

"Where you took me on my nameday," he said sharply.

Aegon smirked, "Oh? Any particular reason why?"

Aemond bristled, "Do you care?"

He took a long drink from his glass before answering, "Not particularly."