JACE

No one is there to greet Jace when he lands in the usual field, but he is unsurprised. He'd left a day earlier than he'd sent word for. After Baela had made it clear she had no interest in being disturbed in her lair, the Northmen had made someone else clear to Jace.

"You're no doubt a target," Lord Cerwyn had warned him at the nascent war council. "I do not believe it wise for you to arrive when you are expected anymore. You say that Dragonstone is currently full of guests, some of whom will no doubt pass word to King's Landing. If the Hightowers have demonstrated anything, they've demonstrated that they have no qualms with ambushing an emissary."

Jace considered his point for but a moment before agreeing. Besides, there had been little more he could do in the North for now. The Northmen had their own affairs to organize, and Jace…

Jace needed to go home.

"We'll take care of her," Cregan had assured him as he readied for departure. Lord Cerwyn stood beside him. "Though, I do not believe we should announce her presence here for all the realm to hear. Lord Cerwyn's warning extends to the Princess as well, no doubt."

Jace nodded in agreement. Baela made for too tempting a target. And Moondancer was still in no shape to flee. Yet she was considerably friendlier to those who disturbed her than her rider was.

"Tread lightly when she wakes for good," Jace warned. "Ask your men who've met my stepfather and you'll understand. For better or worse, if you've met him then you've met my wife." He could only hope that Daemon is more coherent than his daughter.

"Worry not," she'd assured him as he informed her he was leaving. She did not even open her eyes. "It's a myth, that lightning cannot strike twice. It's actually quite common. I have the skills needed. So does Jof. When you get back… start volcano climbing." And then she did open her eyes. "Jace. Promise. And Jof needs the normalcy as well. He'll guide you."

He'd agreed, first, to encourage her to resume her rest. The more she rested, the more her true exhaustion had come through. But mostly out of gratitude that she'd paid him mind. Baela had been abed a full day, only rising to yell at people for disturbing her. It's even worse than dragon-week.

But with that thought he did hesitate. Luke always said it was rude to abandon Mother and Baela during dragon-week, even though neither ever wanted company for those first two to three days. And for a moment, he wondered how the Greens will contend with dragon-week. If they will contend. No. Daemon will not allow it. Then again, he thought Daemon would not allow Aemond to hurt them. But Daemon is only one man. Or one dragon with many heads. This is beyond him.

And then, leaving Moondancer content to sleep in the stables, Jace took to the air.

"So," he heard Lord Cerwyn say as he flew overhead. "How the fuck do we take care of a dragon?"

He made camp overnight in the southern Vale, and flies into Dragonstone that next morning. One full day before he was expected. He cannot help but wonder what maniacal scheme of Daemon's he will walk in on. This time, he even hopes for it. Because this time he has no intention of stopping Daemon.

Whispers of his early return reach the inner castle grounds before he does, and Lord Bartimos hurries to meet him at the gate closest the field. While he seems eager to receive him and relieved that he is home, he also seems uncomfortable. "My Prince," he says, making a notable effort to hide whatever discomfort he carries. "We were not expecting your arrival until the morrow. I'm afraid the Queensguard are all occupied securing the island, and Lady Rhaena and your grandparents have given explicit instructions that they are not to be disturbed. Though I'm sure they'll make and exception f—"

"Where is Daemon?" Jace asks.

The way Lord Bartimos grimaces tells him that he'd been hoping Jace would not ask that particular question. All in earshot shift in discomfort.

What's he done now? Daemon didn't launch a one-man attack without him, did he? And then Jace asks as much. Because Jace has not had much of a filter as of late.

"No, no…" Lord Bartimos looks helplessly to the bystanders. No one offers any assistance. "Let me send word to your family. I'm certain they'd be willing to interrupt whatever—"

"What's happened?" Jace demands.

Lord Bartimos sighs and gestures for Jace to follow him down a longer garden path to the castle — one without bystanders. He waits until they are alone to speak. "How much did the Princess tell you?"

"Only about Luke…" he cannot. Now that he is on Dragonstone, he cannot. "Otherwise, she was not interested in… discussing much."

And then the Lord looks to him with sympathy. "Ah. Were you Baela-ed as well?"

"What?"

Lord Bartimos shakes his head. "I only received a few sideswipes and that was bad enough. I cannot imagine how your stepfather and your… stepfather. Your… uncle and… your uncle? Are still functioning."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh. Just a term someone coined. You know, for how the Princess took Blackfyre," he nods to Jace's belt, "along with Prince Aemond's manhood, then came right home, tore into everyone who crossed her, and then completed her day off by ripping Prince Daemon's heart out and feeding it to the pyre." He shakes his head. "I cannot claim to have ever seen a man taken apart in quite a thorough, and might I say cruel, manner. Even your grandparents were too horrified to enjoy it. Though I imagine had she only waited a day, they might have had a different attitude."

"What?" Jace asks again. To everything he just heard. "Nevermind. Where is Daemon? I need confer with him right away."

The discomfort returns in full force. "My Prince. I am sorry to inform you that Prince Daemon has departed — along with Aegon and Viserys."

Why would Daemon take the boys on a murder mission? Why wouldn't he wait for Jace? "Where is he?" he demands once more.

"By now, Essos, most likely."

"What!" Why? Mayhaps he was bringing the boys to safety first? But why not take Jof as well?

Lord Bartimos is still reticent to give up information, but Jace has had enough. He steps ahead of the lord and stops in his path. "My Lord, I must insist you tell me what's happened. What's happening."

And then Lord Bartimos gives him a look he'd become well accustomed to these past days in Winterfell, and since his mother was taken, to an extent. He looks to him with sympathy. Yet that discomfort remains. "My Prince, I do not think it's my place."

But Jace is tired of being in the dark. He still does not even know exactly how Luke—

No. They're talking about Daemon. "Where is my stepfather?"

"He's… no longer legally your stepfather."

"Yes, I know. Hightower lies and all."

"No, My Prince. I, he. He signed the annulment. It's done."

"Why!"

"He had no choice. Or… he had no good choice. He did it in part for you, I am told. So his crimes would not impede your own claim — or jeopardize the Velaryon support."

Jace manages only a stutter as the lord guides him back into a walk.

Lord Bartimos appears lost in his own musings. "I have to admit… the possibility crossed my mind. Well, more than crossed. Alright, I pretty much assumed along with everyone else. But that shadow of a doubt made it easier. If I'm being honest, I miss that shadow of a doubt. I honestly think Beesbury was a fool to bring those papers to light at such a time! Could he not have waited? Or better yet, burned them? It's not like tearing apart our cause will bring their son back, after all!"

Jace trips over a rock. "What!"

Lord Bartimos stops as well, to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, My Prince. But Lord Beesbury brought forth evidence that is apparently irrefutable. Prince Daemon did indeed order the murder of your father."

No. No.

Over the years, Jace had gone through great pains not to think about the machinations behind Laenor's death. Because he'd feared that once he opened that box, he'd never be able to look at Daemon without wondering. And wondering was just as dangerous as suspecting. So he'd taken all those thoughts, and he'd sealed them all away in a manner that would make Grandsire Viserys proud. But now that box is open, and there's no closing it.

My stepfather killed my stepfather.

But the worst thought. The most shameful thought that occurs to him is also the strongest.

Why did he have to get caught? Why did he have to get caught right now?

Seven Hells no! Why does Jace have to think like that? Is Baela right? Has he picked up more from Daemon than he'd thought?

Lord Bartimos continues to ramble as Jace's mind spins. "It was not pretty," he says as he leads Jace inside. "I heard from the maids that at one point, they were even hurling chestnuts at each other! Hopefully, your grandparents are able to be a bit more diplomatic outside of that case, since diplomacy is pretty much all we have left."

Jace decides to embrace his favoured word of the day. "What?"

"For the Grand Council, whenever it may come."

"I thought we decided against a Grand Council."

"That was when we had Caraxes and Ar—"

Jace's heart falls. As does Lord Bartimos's face. "Arrax would have benefited us little on the field," Jace admits. But it's not just an admittal. It's an accusation. Why would Aemond murder Luke when he posed so little threat? It was a murder out of spite alone.

If the Greens love spiteful murder, they will have it.

But Lord Bartimos is still following Jace's spoken words. "You would think. But Moondancer is smaller than Arrax. And the Princess is far smaller than Arrax." Lord Bartimos walks far faster than comfortable for either of them, and Jace wonders if he's eager to pass him off to someone else. To pass the uncomfortable truths off on to someone else. And before he can wonder for much longer, they're standing in front of the office Lord Beesbury had claimed for himself. "Here we are. Lyman was there; he should be able to explain better." And then he knocks with urgency.

"Co— Enter!"

His escort visibly relaxes as he sees his duty come to an end, and wrests the door open. "Prince Jacaerys," he announces.

"Ah, good!" says a frenzied Lord Beesbury. He sits in front of an assortment of ledgers, with several scribes scattered throughout the room still absorbed in their work. "Please, take it!" he begs as he thrusts Purraxes's old bed towards Jace.

And in the cat bed sits a baby dragon. "What in the—"

But Lord Beesbury is too harried to see Jace's confusion. "Someone might have warned me that baby dragons are essentially cats. They're vocal, they hate closed doors, and they love to sit on and scatter whatever papers you're working on!"

Jace approaches to retrieve the dragon-cat in the dragon-cat bed. It's pink, a colour he had never seen on a dragon, and clearly no more than a few days old. Despite its youth and unexpectedness it already wears a custom black leather collar encrusted with pink and red beading, and a long thin leash that leads to a matching bracelet around Lord Beesbury's wrist. He eagerly removes that too and hands it to Jace.

Jace takes the dragon onto his arm and sets the bed down, but still asks his question. Or rather, demands his question be answered. "What's happening? Who is this?"

Lord Beesbury blinks. "Oh, forgive me. I assumed Lady Rhaena sent you to retrieve him—her— ah! I can see now why you prefer to discuss dragons in High Valyrian. This is Morning." He then switches to a garbled Andal-accented Valyrian that makes Jace think he's only accustomed to reading the language. "Please get them away from my papers!"

He eyes the baby dragon, who returns his curious stare. "Mourning?" he asks. And Daemon accused Mother of choosing the worst name in Purraxes! He supposes that's one way to honour Luke, whom Jace is painfully aware he himself is falling short on honouring — or remembering from moment to moment. And then he realizes there might be other options. "With a U?" he confirms.

Lord Bartimos and Lord Beesbury exchange looks. "Is it?" Lord Bartimos asks. "I had not thought to ask. I assumed it was for h… ah." He switches to High Valyrian. "I had assumed it was for their colour."

Jace does decide to help. "For simplicity's sake, in Common, we typically refer to a dragon as being the same sex as their rider, until they prove otherwise by laying an egg." Though most curiously, dragons tended to share the sex of their first rider.

But now is not the time for ruminations on dragon sex. Daemon is unavailable, that much Jace has processed. He needs to find Rhaena — and the presumed future rider. "Where is my stepsister?" Or good sister. Seven Hells, so much to process!

Lord Beesbury eyes Lord Bartimos before answering. "I am not quite certain of where they decided to… practice," he says mysteriously.

Practice?

"But Prince Joffrey would know," he continues. "He should be in the nursery — umm, office."

Lord Bartimos steps towards Lord Beesbury — and away from Jace. "Perhaps I might assist you with finishing the report," he offers in a transparent attempt to avoid having to further explain to Jace how his cause, family, and life have all fallen apart in a matter of days.

Jace had been scratching the head of the baby dragon that's made its way to his shoulder. "Report?" he asks.

"It's scathing, I trust," says Lord Bartimos as he edges deeper into the office. "My concern lies more with whatever tale the Hightowers spin. As commendable as your consort's feats were," he looks to Jace for a brief moment, "I do worry that her sex will speak against our account to the public eye. I almost wonder if we should… omit some details so that it might be more openly received."

"The details are what confirms our testimony," says Lord Beesbury. "And Blackfyre is not our only evidence," he says as he nods to Jace's belt. "He will have to show his battered face — and hand, in Court."

It appears everyone assumes Jace is working with more knowledge than he actually is. But then he does remember Baela mentioning possibly breaking Aemond's hand — and his mother biting it. He embraces his Grandsire's ghost in deciding not to ruminate on the situations that would lead to that particular outcome.

The two Lords are caught in a discussion of their own. Lord Beesbury continues. "I do hope being humbled like this will at least keep that pretender out of the field for some time." And then he actually smiles. "He should have read our message by now."

"I don't know," says Lord Bartimos. "If I was flying the largest dragon in the world and some girl managed to jump onto my dragon, pummel me, and take my sword, I think I'd be too busy applauding them to be traumatized."

"I'm sorry, what!" Jace exclaims.

Both the Lords turn to him. "Oh," Lord Bartimos says. "I would have thought she would have told you. I mean no disrespect, but the Princess is not exactly one I would call… humble."

"I don't think pride is her primary emotion in regards to that night," says Lord Beesbury.

And then Jace does think of that night, and why grief might be Baela's primary emotion. And it should be his — but nothing makes sense right now! "I— I'm going to go find my family," he says before the Lords can reference any more confusing events.

"Very well," says Lord Beesbury. He retrieves a notebook from the bottom of his pile and hands it to Jace. "This is a rough account that I'm finished with. I might recommend reading it. Otherwise… it is quite a lot to explain."

Lord Bartimos nods. "We still have a few people saying that she punched a storm."

Jace and Morning with a possible U then hurry to the nursery, where hopefully matters will start to make sense. Passersby stop to eye the dragon with wonder and curiosity, but not with surprise.

Aegon and Viserys will not be in the nursery though! Daemon had taken his brothers without so much as a goodbye! Left Jace without a goodbye.

I know we weren't on particularly good terms when I left after he strangled me and I then poisoned him, but you'd think six years of slightly antagonistic familiarity would warrant a personal explanation!

And what of Mother! Jace wonders as he makes his way up the stairs. For all his faults, Daemon was revoltingly obsessed with Jace's mother! So much so that he killed Laenor.

Daemon killed my father.

And Jace had known. They'd all known, and simply chosen not to know. Precisely because knowing meant the worst possible outcome. Knowing meant this. Meant dividing their cause and their family. And for one moment, he lets himself be grateful that Luke is not here to find out that the father figure he idolized murdered his father. Or, father figure.

Because Luke would not have truly suspected. Luke saw the best in people. Even in Daemon. Even in Aemond — whom he probably never believed would actually murder him.

Then again, neither had Jace.

There are guards posted outside the nursery, which is not unusual for a time such as this. What does catch Jace's attention is the stylized parchment sign on the door.

Master-of-Arts-and-Crafts

Drop-in: Late Midday to Supper

Or by Appointment.

Now recruiting.

Being both Joffrey's brother and the Prince of Dragonstone, Jace decides to knock outside of drop-in hours without having made an appointment.

Mushroom opens the door. "Oh no, we only just banished that loathsome, paper-scattering beast!"

Jace steps past him into the play area, which is nowhere near as vacant as he would have imagined with Aegon and Viserys's absence. In fact, it's bustling with serious-looking children and several maids. Overlooking the room at the back window sits Joffrey, at an oversized desk presumably brought in from one of the studies.

"Jof," Jace calls as he makes his way across the room. "How are you?"

Jof looks up from his work and grants him a world-weary sigh. "Jace, I am swimming in commissions right now, not to mention the projects I must decide to commence myself! And since I've yet to select Aegon's replacement for deputy, I must look through these applications myself! So you bring the project scatterer back into my workspace? Just be sure to keep the leash on."

"Jof," Jace reasons. "You should be with family."

Jof looks to him as if he's missing the obvious. And Jace cannot wonder if mayhaps he is. "Umm, did you not hear F—Kepa? We're to channel our grief and rage into projects and important missions that will come together to further our cause, Jace." He motions his hands around his desk until he finds a wax tablet with a short list. "Oh, right." He looks around suspiciously and then whispers in Valyrian. "You weren't there when I gave Kepa the Asshai shopping list but when I asked he said that if Rhaena builds her skills enough you can send yours through her but 'no promises'. He has other concerns, obviously."

"Asshai?"

"Shh!" Jof hisses, then looks around the room. "Of course not," he says for the benefit of their audience. "I believe they're to stay in Volantis for now. Traitors."

Mushroom skips across the room. "I hear it's not just them. I hear Lady Elinda decided to ride the dragon to, and in, Volantis."

"That's enough, Mushroom," Jof orders. "Focus on antagonizing the people you're assigned to." He shakes his head. "I truly need a proper deputy. Mushroom just does not have the discipline."

Rather than engage with Daemon's hinted infidelity, Jace looks to Jof anew. He sits atop one of the study chairs, but must use a booster seat to reach the desk. His desk is covered in applications made of thin papers that feature the basic information on candidates and drawings of dragons. Some of Daemon's previous attempts at 'helping' the children with art are scattered throughout the mess.

Jof notices Jace's distraction. "Oh, I'm using Kepa as a reference point. As in, if their art is worse than his, there's nothing my training can do to help them."

Jace's headache has a headache. Also, there's a baby dragon on his shoulder. He reaches for anything to discuss. "Kepa?" Jof hasn't called Daemon Kepa for nearly two years.

Jof makes sure their previous observers have returned to work, then rolls his eyes. "He says I cannot call him Father anymore because people will get confused when… F-Father gets back so I have to go back to calling him Kepa like the babies do."

So Daemon's coming back? At least Jace has summoned the wits to hold his tongue. Enough so that all that comes out is, "What's happening!"

"Oh… you have no idea!" Jof finally realizes. "Rhaena and our grandparents are in the study. They'll explain everything." He waves him away. "Now please, let me get back to work. And take the project scatterer with you!"

Jace does, grateful that he finally knows where to find Rhaena, who will finally tell him what's happening!

"I'm sorry, My Prince," says the guard at the study door. "I have explicit instructions to allow for absolutely no interruptions."

But Jace is about to lose his mind. He's so close to losing his mind that he brakes the sacred rule of Dragonstone and enters without knocking.

"Grandsire, we need more than this," says Rhaena's voice.

"I lit it, did I not? I did my part."

The door swings closed behind him, and Jace is blinded. "Ah!" But at least he's not blinded by images that will never leave his head this time. This time he's blinded by light.

"Exactly!" Rhaena says. "How to even use it if it hurts to look directly at it? Oh, hello Jace. You're early." And then she seems to actually realize he's there, just as Jace regains his vision and realizes she's standing next to a burning obsidian pillar. "Jace!"

Grandsire then puts the pillar behind a shelf to rid them of the distraction. "We weren't expecting you yet. I…" and then he looks as uncomfortable as the lords. "I haven't thought about how to explain yet."

Forgetting about the pillar, which Jace is far too exhausted to ask about, the four of them take their seats. "Please," Jace begs, passing an eager baby dragon to Rhaena. "What is happening?" He cannot bear to mention Luke so he settles for "What's going on with Daemon?" before closing his mouth and realizing he just brought up their murdered son. So he redirects with, "I hear we're now to have a Grand Council?"

"No," Rhaenys says. And to Jace's relief he sees his reference to Daemon, and therefore Laenor, seems to have evoked no reaction in his grandparents greater than discomfort — and consideration.

"But we're… calling for one," Rhaena says. "We want the Greens to think we want one because it takes some time to arrange and they'll hopefully leave us alone until Father—" And then she sees his utter confusion. "Did Baela truly tell you nothing? I know she didn't know about our change in plans, but I assumed she overheard us when…" she shrugs.

"Baela… was not really in a state to tell me much," Jace admits. And he does allow himself for feeling guilty for leaving her, until he remembers that she herself insisted. And also remembers the disaster they find themselves in. "What are we doing?"

Rhaena and their grandparents all exchange looks, until Rhaena speaks. "It sounds insane is the problem. But… you're the one who took such an issue with Father's delivery, Grandsire. I'm sure you can do better."

Jace turns to his Grandsire expectantly. But Grandsire is deep in thought. "This is hard. Alright, I'm giving Daemon a break."

"What?"

In a heartbreaking similarity to Luke when lost, Grandsire searches the room for inspiration. His eyes rest on the fireplace.

The fireplace.

"Grandsire… Did Daemon truly…" but he cannot continue in his presence.

"Right. Um…" He turns back to Jace. Rhaena watches with amusement, whilst Rhaenys observes with fatigue. "No."

Jace falls from the sky in relief. And then he remembers his dream of falling from the sky. But then he falls back into the room, where Grandsire still looks upon him. "So why is everyone saying he did? Why is he gone?"

Grandsire appears to give up. On what, Jace is unsure, but regarding something Grandsire has certainly given up. He sighs. "No one tell Daemon," he orders the room. And then he turns his attention solely to Jace. "You see… Qarl was standing by the fireplace, and Daemon was standing behind a curtain by the door…"

Two phrases alone cycle through Jace's head as Grandsire continues.

What the fuck, of course.

But more importantly, Thank the gods.

Rhaena takes him and Morning without a U for a midday walk along the cliffs afterward, though the dragon is young enough that she mostly looks around curiously from her shoulder. "Father says, or wrote, that I'm to stare at distant objects after every time I practice." She punctuates her statement by staring at a ship on the horizon.

"I'm sorry, Rhaena," he says, remembering that she is Luke's widow. "And I'm sorry that I wasn't here."

She looks back to him. "Jace… you had a job to do. And I am not going to claim grief over you. He was your brother near all your life."

But Jace is not ready to lose it, not with so many more questions. He breaks his gaze away. "So, what did Daemon say when he woke up and realized you poisoned him."

"He said we're not allowed to poison him anymore."

"And?"

"He locked all the tincture away. But he gave me the key as he left, just in case. Though he did send the jar that we mixed to the Greens because he said we put too much in and they also needed to fill up the package. I think he's half-hoping it will make its way to Rhaenyra."

Trying very not to focus on his mother, or why she might need poison honey, Jace keeps his focus on Daemon. "He didn't explode on you?"

"No more than usual. I think he felt bad even before Baela erupted." She shakes her head. "You weren't there, you… cannot understand."

"Ironically, it's the Daemon on my shoulder that somewhat wishes I could have seen it." At that Rhaena laughs. Jace continues. "But he rewarded you for poisoning him by giving you an egg?" Perhaps they should have poisoned him more often.

"He gave me fourteen, actually."

"What?"

"He wanted to be sure one would hatch. And make a point, I suppose. And that was before Baela." And then she starts to skip along the path. "After, he embraced teamwork and honest group communication! And then, we did arts and crafts together. And then, we talked honestly about feelings! And then he went to bed on time. And then, we talked about boundaries. And then, I made him comfort crying women and after the second one he pretended to be dead and I had to call the boys to help me drag him but then he gave up and got up even though I think he did somewhat cheat by teaching Elinda archery. And then, we talked even more about feelings!" She's fully hopping up and down by the end, Morning flapping her wings to compensate — or mimic.

"Daemon talked honestly about feelings? Was it regarding murder?"

Rhaena smiles and twirls. "No! And he hated it!"

Rhaena's shoulder might be occupied by a dragon, but that glee no doubt stems from the Daemon on her shoulder.

Rhaena continues. "Though he did throw sand in my face. But then we wrote you a letter. And then he threw sand in my face again so he could presumably write something inappropriate at the end and seal it before I could stop him. I'll fetch it from my room later."

"Letter?"

"I made him apologize," Rhaena practically sings. "But like I said, probably with an inappropriate conclusion. And he did already feel bad regardless. In fact, he said he actually left you a gift in your room."

Jace stops. If Daemon was in a 'give Rhaena fourteen dragon eggs out of guilt' type of mood, there was only one gift that would suffice for strangulation. One gift Jace had so subtly, and then gradually less-than-subtly hinted for.

This day, this fortnight, might finally bring forth a single positive moment. "I have to go!" Jace says, running back to the castle.

Rhaena calls after him. "Jace! I worry your shock is causing you to fixate in strange ways to avoid confronting your grief! Which is perfectly normal, but be wary of the image you present to those uninformed! Image is all we have at the moment!"

He runs the whole way back inside, and the whole way back to his room he'd yet to return to.

And there on his bed sits a package.

"Daemon, you're finished with tourneys, are you not?" he'd asked so-casually that last time in the study.

Daemon looked up from his book and regarded him suspiciously. "I suppose."

"And… even should war come, it's unlikely you'd ever need wear a Valyrian steel helmet again. Since you're getting ol—" Daemon had glared and Jace redirected. "Oh… so… skilled as to not need it." But Daemon's glare continued, and had chased Jace from the room.

Even from the way it sinks into the blankets he can tell the box heavy. Jace scampers over and undoes the ribbons. He rips off the lid to reveal—

Rocks. A box of rocks.

He sighs. Daemon. At least now he can be sure he wasn't murdered and replaced by a secret non-evil twin. The stories of his past few days had honestly made Jace suspect as much.

There's a note amongst the rocks.

Jace,

You really let yourself get choked by an old man. How embarrassing. Here are some rocks to lift. Try not to be so feeble when I return — especially if you're still going to be annoying.

Definitely still Daemon. Then again, Daemon has many sides. Jace picks up the note to read the other side.

If Baela ends up dragging you through her whole to-do list I found, I promise that I never fucked your mother on the Vale.

Also, look under your bed.

He does. And another package does reveal itself! Jace slides it out and places it atop his bed. A note is secured atop it bearing a short message.

One rule: No dragon fights. No dragon fights.

Jace opens the lid. A layer of burlap covers whatever 'gift' Daemon presents, with a message painted across it in large words.

No. Dragon fights.

And Rhaena accused Jace of fixating. He removes the burlap, only to actually come upon the coveted Valyrian steel helmet! Jace immediately goes to try it on, but a crumpled note falls onto his head. He sets the helmet aside to investigate.

Jace,

You're stupid enough as it is. I cannot imagine how much worse you would be with a head injury. Here you go.

Also: No dragon fights.

Jace can accept that that's pretty much as close as Daemon will come to being nice to him. Seven Hells, from Daemon, it's practically sentimental.

Before he can process further, the Master-at-Arms comes by to inform Jace that Daemon did, indeed, leave instructions for a new training regimen. Strangely enough, Joffrey was supposed to help him. It's not until he's bathed and readied himself for supper that the thought reoccurs and fully forms.

Did Daemon just give me instructions about how to fuck his daughter on the Painted Table without triggering my traumatic childhood memory of walking in on him fucking my mother on the Painted Table?

Apparently, his talk with Rhaena regarding 'boundaries' had been insufficient.

The secret council, or Small Council, convenes for supper in a private dining room to prepare for the next Black Council. Mother's ladies-in-waiting oversee the meal arrangements so that no other staff will overhear. Also among them are both the remaining Queensguard, Maester Gerardys, Lord Beesbury, Jace, Rhaena, and their grandparents.

Morning perches atop a post to overlook them all. Rhaena tosses her a piece of fish.

"You know," Jace says. "It's almost like having Purraxes around again." Rhaena frowns at the mention.

"Purraxes?" his Grandsire asks.

"A kitten Rhaenyra got from one of the cats that live by the docks," Rhaena explains. "She brought him home shortly after Stormcloud become too big to keep inside. She said it was to teach us about caring for a life, but I think she missed having a little creature running about."

Jace smiles. "Daemon was so annoyed. Especially when she named him."

"Yes, because Father 'hates' cats," Rhaena says with a glint in her eyes. But then the glint darkens.

Grandsire did not pick up on the darkened expression. "So where…"

"Purraxes liked exploring the hot caves and geysers too much," Jace explains. "We were always having to call Daemon to fish him out before he got burnt, and he did warn us that Purraxes would have to go live somewhere else if he insisted on trying to commit suicide by dragonmont. So one day when Purraxes went missing for a while Daemon went to find him and he came back with burnt hands and looking upset — I think he liked Purraxes more than he let on."

"No, really?" Rhaena laughs. But she still looks sad.

Jace continues. "And he told us that Purraxes cut it so close that time that his fur got a little singed and even Daemon's hands got a little burnt because he found him and pulled him out just in time. And he realized Purraxes was never going to be safe living here unless we locked him inside which he would never accept. And on his walk back he came across a ship full of rat-hunting cats which he knew Purraxes would be perfectly suited for and be happy with but we didn't have time to say goodbye because the ship was in a hurry because the cats had an important mission—"

Whether it's saying it out loud, or the piteous stares, Jace finally sees the truth. He gasps. "Oh no. Purraxes!"

"To be fair to the Prince," says Ser Steffon, "we all found life simpler when we decided not to… question Prince Daemon's explanations." He casts a look to the Velaryons.

Rhaenys nods. "I think it might be time to end that habit."

Jace does not catch what they discuss next, because Jace is caught in a thought of his own.

Luke loved Purraxes.

"I still cannot believe Prince Daemon took Ser Erryk," Jace hears Ser Lorent say when his mind returns to the table. "We could have sent him to King's Landing as a spy."

Rhaenys is unconvinced. "And what happens when he runs into himself?"

Ser Lorent rests his elbow on the table and his face in his hand. "I suppose. I'm just lost for now, trying to get a message through. The Greens rounded up all the rat-catchers, and I hear they're going to replace them with cats. And Prince Daemon's contact is still maintaining a low profile."

"Lady Fell is likely still at Court," Lord Beesbury says. "If you can reach her she might be of help. She'll believe it if we can prove the message comes from me. We're quite familiar."

Jace trades a look of curiosity and fear and disgust with Rhaena. They let the Council ramble as they engage in a silent conversation of speculation for a time, until their Grandsire summons their attention.

"Jace, Rhaena, are you listening?"

Jace stops himself from jumping. "Yes. No."

Grandsire at least regards him with pity rather than annoyance. "I've made my decision and we're to announce it tomorrow."

"Regarding what?" Rhaena asks.

"The agreement Viserys and I made all those years ago was that Jacaerys would take on the name Targaryen when he ascended. But in light of the fact that we're missing a Queen, I think it's best to do so now. And it…" he eyes Jace apologetically, "would also help to shift the focus to his maternal inheritance."

"But," Ser Steffon says, "might it not come across like you are… backtracking?"

"Perhaps," Rhaenys admits. "But it was well known that Viserys intended for Jace to one day take the name Targaryen. The details, however, were never shared. We might simply say he has always been meant to be a Targaryen when he becomes Prince of Dragonstone."

"We'll announce it with the other change," Grandsire says. "So it comes across as us adjusting to… Luke's loss."

Because Rhaena is heir, Jace had been informed. Rhaena is heir because Luke is gone.

Not gone. Taken.

"Other change?" Rhaena asks.

"Starting tomorrow, you will bear the name Velaryon," Rhaenys says. She looks pointedly, and solemnly, to their Grandsire.

At first Jace wonders if the rush to change Rhaena's name is the Sea Snake wanting to maintain a supply of dragon-bonded Velaryons, but he's quick to prove Jace wrong. "Diplomacy is our best weapon at the moment. We need allies, but we have a military disadvantage. And the best way to secure allies when you lack a strong military position, is to have something else to offer. Now we do. We have the future of House Velaryon to offer."

The whole table turns to Rhaena.

Because Rhaena is a widow. And Rhaena is now his heir. But she's not just an heir, she's also a woman.

Which means she is a key. A key to a powerful house for a worthy ally. A reward for their support.

You sold our daughter? Baela had yelled.

As if anticipating protest, Grandsire continues. "You will of course be involved in the process, my dear," he assures her.

But Rhaena offers no protest, she offers nothing but a nod and a polite smile. And while Jace remembers Baela's outburst, and Daemon's warning from all those years ago, he then remembers Rhaena's response.

So long as my husband is kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.

Mayhaps Rhaena and Baela truly are cut from different cloth. Jace had just made two betrothals, had he not? And this is Rhaena, the girl who made Daemon Targaryen talk about feelings; she can handle her own, surely. And if Rhaena makes no protest, then why should he? So he doesn't, and instead lets a new thought overtake him.

Because it's not strange for a young woman of Rhaena's rank to seek a strategic match. No. What makes it strange is that it's Rhaena. Because for almost as long as Jace had known her, he'd never thought she would be seeking a match. Even before the betrothals, he'd always assumed she'd marry Luke. And she had.

And now she is a widow.

His Grandsire once more must call him back. "Jace?" he calls. Gently, as if he knows why he's not paying attention tonight.

"Hmm?" is all he can manage.

"We were saying that, since the North is won, the Vale will likely come when Laenor returns, and the Stormlands are likely lost outside of Tarth, we should focus on the houses of the Riverlands and Northern Reach."

Jace plays with his long-abandoned food. "Good plan."

"And…" his Grandsire hesitates. "If you feel it too much a risk I'll understand. But right now, I think you should divide your time between Dragonstone and conferring with the Houses. The larger ones especially, whilst the pretender likely recovers."

Rhaenys is more insistent. "It's harder to plead ignorance or confusion in person," she reasons. "And you might also be able to gauge if the ones that say 'no' are either a lost cause, or might be persuaded once your mother's two imbecile husbands return."

She does make a good point. Jace says as much. There's only so much he can do at Dragonstone whilst they're forced to pretend to do things, after all. He does pass forward the Northmen's concern about an ambush, however. And they all soon agree that he will take unexpected routes, will not send word ahead, and will never stay the night with anyone who is not an explicit ally. And once it is decided that he will spend the next fortnight treating with the Riverlands and Reach, including delivering a message to Lord Beesbury's daughter, Jace then does excuse himself.

Because he realizes they've all accepted that the Hightowers will hold his mother for at least another fortnight. And probably longer.

And again, Rhaena is a widow.

It's too much.

"Jace," Rhaena calls from behind him. He stops. "Here." She passes him what is presumably the swordpoint apology letter.

This should be good.

And it is. The letter is also mysteriously composed of two different writing styles.

Jace,

I'm sitting here as Rhaena looks over my shoulder every other word and holds a sword to my throat. He's lying

We're at war. And I should not go away without telling you this. Because I could not bear it if something happened to either of us before I was able to tell you about how you were conceived because it's actually very funny and depraved. No

To tell you that I'm sorry. For trying for so long to do complicated math to prove that you were Cole's. But it's important for you to know that I didn't think you were annoying because you were Cole's, I thought you were Cole's because you were annoying. Thin ice

Fine. In truth, I did tell you that you were a pain in my neck. Mayhaps I simply sought revenge in too literal a way. I did consider granting you one free pass to strangle me back, but since I've never been strangled outside of a non-carnal context, that would likely end up confusing and uncomfortable for the both of us. Worry not, if she sees fit, your mother is still free to strangle me. Again. Look, we'll work something out when I return. Just don't endeavour to take your own revenge. You're too stupid to work it out for yourself and I am not interested in getting poisoned again.

Now this I want you to take to heart. You are not in charge. You are a boy of five-and-ten. Do you know what I was at the age of five-and-ten? An imbecile. Though probably not as much as you are. Your job is to stall until I get back, and display bravery and wisdom impressive for a boy of five-and-ten. I am not Vermax, and it is not your job to tame me. I am not your weapon, nor am I your charge. I am the adult here, and I'm sorry that I haven't always acted like it.

That was not at swordpoint. But still, you have no idea how long it took to get that out of him. And now I'm writing this as he's pretending to die in the sand.

Now, I leave you with one important rule: No dragon fights. In the Stepstones, my enemies learned to run and hide when they saw Caraxes's wings or heard his roar, but they had no dragons of their own. It is no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons, and have. I will not throw our dragons against the usurper's unless I have no other choice. There are other ways to use them, better ways. And should it be necessary for us to slay Vhagar, we will do so with no less than the combined force of Caraxes, Seasmoke, Vermax, and probably Baela slaying Aemond with Moondancer. But no suicide missions, is that clear?

Rhaena does not know about this part, because I've cleverly distracted her eyes by throwing sand in them again.

…

Oh.

Rhaena leans in. "So what did he write?"

Jace rolls it up before she can see. "You were right. Something inappropriate. Trust me, you don't want to know."

He leaves before she can inquire further, and therefore before he must process yet another problem.

He's only just readied himself for bed when he's called to the Sea Dragon Tower. Rhaena gives him a look of gratitude when he meets her and the maids at the door. "He… had a breakdown. Now he won't come out, and I'd rather not have him dragged away." And then Jace sees just how tired she is from taking care of everyone.

"Go to bed, I'll handle it," he assures her. "You already have a baby dragon to take care of, and something tells me you've dealt with enough grief-fueled dragon tantrums as of late." He dismisses the maids as well before he enters.

"Jof?" he calls as he looks around the room.

Jof is curled up in the bed. "I wanted Mother's old locket, the one she keeps by the bed. The one with the paintings of you and Luke. But F—Kepa and Rhaena packed it in Mother's trunk!"

"Well, I'm sure Mother will appreciate it." And Jace imagines that Daemon appreciated imagining Alicent's discomfort when she finds it. That might be the most passive-aggressive trunk ever packed.

Jof nods, though Jace can now see there are tears in his eyes. "I don't think Mother is used to sleeping alone."

Jace can only hope she'll be sleeping alone until they free her, but he can hardly say that to a six-year-old who thinks the Hightowers declared war because 'they don't know the difference between oranges and grapes'. "Well," he says instead, "mayhaps she'll appreciate the break from Daemon the blanket hoarder." And then he remembers how Daemon always had help with blanket snatching during storm nights, and wonders if he should start practicing now to prepare for Baela the Blanket Bandit.

If she ever comes home.

But she has to! Baela has burns, and Jace suspects she did not bring any lykāpas perzot, nor does he think it will grow in the North this time of year. And Jace allows himself to reminisce of reapplying and reapplying and reapplying the flesh to poor Luke's skin, skin Jace had thought would never heal, until it did.

He smiles for some reason, and for a brief stupid moment, he cannot wait for Laenor to find out that Luke burnt himself by tanning using his special oil.

But Laenor will just be sad. Because Laenor will never see Luke again. Luke will never see Laenor. He never even got to find out that Laenor is alive.

Both he and Jof have gone silent under the weight of their despair. So strange, is it not, that loss has such a heavy weight. And Jace realizes that Luke's is not the only loss that weighs Jof down.

Until only a few days ago, Aegon and Viserys slept in the nursery. And despite claiming for the past several moons that as a dragon rider he was therefore 'too old to sleep with the babies,' Jace suspects that Jof regrets that the gods were cruel enough to grant that particular wish.

Also, ever since Jof joined the scary story side of the bed, Jof slept next to Luke during storms.

Jace slides into the blankets on his mother's side of the bed. Jof says nothing, but he does immediately cuddle into him.

He tries to read to Jof from the book they'd listened to during the last storm, but Jof is not satisfied. "You're not doing the scary voice right," he complains. "And your timing is bad."

"Well, when Baela comes home, I'm sure she'd be glad to show you Daemon's scary voice." Again, Jace realizes, and regrets the mention.

But Jof has apparently recovered from Baela's outburst, because he has a different concern. He clutches Jace's nightshirt. "Baela's not coming back," he whispers. "She's gone."

"Jof…"

"Everyone's gone."