Jena
Everything was in full bloom; the flowers, the shrubbery, the trees, all of it burst with life, embracing the sweetness of summer.
Jena walked through Aegon's Garden as often as she could, reveling in this oasis on such a grim place as Dragonstone. There was other greenery, to be sure; the island's soil was astonishingly fertile, and the smallfolk made use of any patch of land which wasn't too rocky to farm. Scattered grasses and bushes and even trees clung to life here and there as well. But Aegon's Garden was the only place which stifled the smell of sulfur and brimstone. Here the air was heavy with the smell of pine, thanks to the tall trees which had been growing here since before the Conqueror himself. The biggest ones were so massive that twelve men could wrap their arms around the trunks.
"Valarr!"
He loved to play hide-and-seek in this garden, and he was getting very good at the game. He was only five years old, and already he'd begun to climb as high as he could.
"Valarr, you win! It's time for you to get ready! Our guests are going to be here soon!"
Either he did not hear her or, far more likely, he was refusing to give away his position. This was no time for play; the ship had already been seen, two ships of the Royal Fleet had been dispatched to escort it to Dragonstone's harbour,
"Valarr! I will not tell you again! No supper for you! And if I have to tell your father about this..."
She might have made use of a whipping boy; it was a common practice amongst the kings of old, for their children were considered inviolate. Neither Baelor nor Jena liked the idea of whipping an innocent lad in place of Valarr, however, so they themselves took on the task of disciplining him if necessary. After one such beating, though, Jena and Baelor had agreed that striking their son would do little good.
Thankfully, the threat of another beating was enough to keep Valarr in line. Her son jumped down from a nearby tree, landing badly with a high-pitched grunt. He was a handsome little boy, and although he was paler than his father, with brown hair and blue eyes, anyone could see how much he would grow to resemble Baelor. There was also a small streak of silver-gold running through his hair; a small but unmistakable indication that he was a Targaryen prince.
"I'm here! I'm here!" He ran up to her, his eyes wide with alarm.
"Come along," she ordered him sternly, though she was secretly tickled at how sheepish he looked.
Together, they went back towards the massive castle which had been House Targaryen's original home.
After shooing Valarr into the hands of two maids, Jena went to look for her husband in the Chamber of the Painted Table.
This chamber was at the top of the tower known as the Stone Drum. It was mostly dominated by a vast table, fifty feet by twenty five feet at its widest, and older than the Targaryen dynasty itself. On it was painted a highly detailed map of Westeros. Towns, forests, rivers, castles, bays, mountains, all of them were carefully inlaid into the wood.
Whenever he wasn't busy with one of his many duties, Baelor loved to visit the grand table and gaze upon it. Just the year before, he had also ordered a fresh coat to be added, along with additions to accommodate the changes within the Seven Kingdoms since Aegon had commissioned it.
Upon her entry into the room, Baelor looked up. As always, an easy, tender smile came to his face as he took in the sight of her. A wave of affection hit her every time he smiled at her like that.
"Did you find him?"
"Aye," Jena answered, "playing in the garden again, climbing as far as he could without a care to breaking his neck."
Baelor laughed. "He'll go anywhere which is forbidden to him, just to show that he can." He gave a knowing smile as he took Jena into his arms. "I wonder whom he gets that from..."
Jena shook her head. "That sounds more like his Targaryen side, or else how do you explain the Conquest?"
Baelor gave another gust of laughter before giving Jena an affectionate kiss.
When she'd first travelled to this desolate island, Jena had despaired of it entirely, convinced that she would never grow to love it, yearning for those times when she and Baelor went back to King's Landing. King Daeron wanted his heir to spend at least half of each year sitting on the Small Council, and Baelor insisted that Jena accompany him, much to her utter relief.
Eventually, however, she found a number of things that she grew to like about Dragonstone. For one thing, there was Aegon's Garden, which belonged entirely to her and whomever she invited to visit. For another, Elaena Targaryen and her brood never came to Dragonstone.
She was growing utterly sick of Elaena's bitterness towards her. It had all begun at the same tourney which had resulted in her engagement to Baelor, and also her friendship with Lady Rohanne of Tyrosh, whose husband was Lord Daemon of House Blackfyre. Elaena had never forgiven her for the latter, much to Jena's fury.
As Baelor withdrew his face from hers, the smile faded from his face. "Has the ship arrived?"
"Not yet, but soon." Jena felt nervous speaking about their approaching guests. It was the first time that they were visiting Dragonstone.
A slow, shaky sigh left Baelor's lips. "No good discussing it any longer. We shall see how this goes." He looked thoroughly unsettled; it unnerved Jena to see Baelor so troubled.
"I understand how you feel," she said in a soothing voice, "but this will be for the better. It is no different than bringing Dorne into the fold."
"As you say," Baelor replied. He did not challenge her assertion, but nor did he wholeheartedly agree with it either. Perhaps it's enough that he will go along with it.
His hand reached out and rested gently on her belly, which was beginning to swell. "How do you feel?"
"I feel well, thank you," Jena answered softly. Even feeling his hand there was enough to make her anxious, but saying so would only hurt him, for he would blame himself yet again. He was so protective of her after the last three miscarriages. After Valarr, childbirth seemed to be especially difficult for her. Baelor tried to be as supportive as he could, but Jena could still feel an immense weight of expectation on her back. An heir alone was lacking; a spare would be needed in case something happened. Baelor had refused to speak of such a concern, and did all that he could to ensure she was comfortable. Perhaps this is why he agreed to this visitation.
"* "*"* "*"* "*"* "*"* "*" *"* "*
By the time that the ship came into Dragonstone's harbour and was secured, Jena was standing by the piers alongside her husband and son. An honour guard also stood by, comprised of the ten knights in Dragonstone's garrison, as well as half the men-at-arms and archers which made up the rest. All of them gleamed in freshly polished armour, determined to make a good show for their guests. No banners flew, however; Jena suspected that waving the red dragon might be too provocative.
As well as men in armour, Jena's three lady companions were present. Gwenys Bolt had been a friend of Jena's for many years, and an occasional bed companion before her marriage to Baelor. Jena had ensured that Gwenys could stay with her, so that she need not marry any man, for she desired none.
The other two had been assigned to her by Baelor's mother, Queen Myriah. Janyce Arryn and Faile Jordayne had been meant to instruct Jena on courtly manners which she might not have known about as a marcher lady. They continued to be in her service now, doting upon her and her young son as much as Gwenys did.
The new arrivals disembarked from their ship down the gangplank. First came two twelve-year-old boys, identical in every way except that one's silver hair was shoulder-length and the other's was cropped close to his skull.
Following them was their father. He was tall and powerfully built, wearing a blood-red tunic upon which was stitched the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen in black.
Jena could feel her husband grow tense; he had earned the moniker "Breakspear" by defeating this man in a famous joust at the wedding of his aunt, Daenerys, to Prince Maron Martell. This was also the man whose allies had attempted a conspiracy to put this man on the Iron Throne in place of Baelor's father. They had been born in the same year, but they were uncle and nephew.
Daemon Blackfyre towered over most men, looking as though Aegon the Conqueror had come back from the dead. With his mane of silver-gold hair and deep purple eyes, he was as much a Targaryen as Baelor resembled his mother's Martell side. He was not armoured, but the great sword Blackfyre was sheathed at his side; it might have been seen as provocative to wear that sword in front of the Crown Prince, but Jena suspected that Daemon simply wore it wherever he went, as easily as he wore clothes.
When he stepped off the gangplank, Daemon waited on the pier for the rest of his family to disembark.
First came an eleven-year-old girl whose braided hair was dyed a deep blue. Then three boys followed after her; a six-year-old, a five-year-old, and a four-year-old. All of them had the Targaryen hair, though each had a different shade, one leaning more golden and another leaning silver.
Behind them came two wetnurses, carrying another set of twins. These looked to be three years old, as far as Jena could tell. Finally, a tall and radiant woman disembarked, carrying a squalling infant in her arms. Her hair was dyed a bright shade of purple, which might have been seen as an homage to House Targaryen if it weren't for her husband.
Together, this massive family made their way down the pier, even as other men and women disembarked after them. Daemon and Rohanne shepherded their children to stand in a line, from eldest to youngest before the welcoming party.
Jena was suddenly seized with a worry. Will Baelor insist that Daemon bow to him? Members of the royal family did not have to do such a thing, and Daemon was legitimized. Panic surged through her, but she resisted the urge to speak or intervene.
Thankfully, Baelor was too mindful of the tension to add more. He stepped forward and greeted Daemon as an equal, shaking his hand. "Welcome to Dragonstone, uncle."
Daemon gave a smirk at the title; he was only twenty-five, the same age as Baelor, but when he spoke, his tone was courteous enough. "Well met, Breakspear. I thank you for your invitation."
Jena caught Lady Rohanne's eye and gave a small smile. Rohanne returned the smile, looking apologetic as her infant continued to fuss.
Daemon swept a hand to indicate his children. "I believe you have met my lady wife, Rohanne. And these are your cousins, Prince Baelor: Aegon, Aemon, Calla, Daemon, Haegon, Aenys, Aelyx, Aethar, and Rosheen."
Seven sons and two daughters. As Baelor introduced their son to the Blackfyres, Jena felt an unpleasant twinge which had nothing to do with her pregnancy. She was thinking of the three miscarriages which she'd had since Valarr. Before her was her husband's rival, and his considerable brood suddenly seemed to be a strong reproach to her.
She forced that thought out of her mind as she stepped forward to kiss Rohanne's cheek, and to allow Daemon to kiss her hand. "It is our pleasure to host you and yours beneath our roof," Jena declared gaily.
Two servants in Targaryen livery approached the Blackfyre family, offering a plate of bread and a bowl of salt. It was an ancient custom which went back to the First Men, who'd always held hospitality to be a sacred responsibility. Once bread and salt was offered by the host and consumed by the guest, no harm could be done between the two. So strong was the tradition that the Andals had adopted it from the First Men. Jena had suggested it as further assurance to both sides, and Baelor had seen the sense of it.
Daemon and Rohanne accepted the gift of bread and salt, as did their children. The rest of their party took their own shares whilst Daemon introduced the members of his household to them.
Aside from servants and maids to help look after his children, Daemon had brought ten knights with him, to equal the number that Baelor had on Dragonstone. Jena recognised some of them from the great tourney of 189, and she felt a sense of foreboding by their presence, but it was the last one which unsettled her most of all.
"Ser Gareth the Grey," Daemon said, introducing them one by one as they bowed to Prince Baelor, "Ser Byren Flowers... Ser Edwyn Osgrey... Ser Dain Rankenfell... Ser Lavaine Harte... Ser Agramore Jayn... Ser Karnac Thorne... Ser Icham Rankenfell... Ser Culver Tork... and Ser Robin Horpe."
Jena had seen Ser Robin several times at Daemon's castle, as well as his former master, Ser Lomas Tarly. At first, she had been shocked to see the two of them there, serving the Black Dragon instead of House Dondarrion, and she had avoided any conversation with them. For their part, they seemed quite content to keep out of her way, but now Ser Robin was forced to give her and Prince Baelor a formal bow.
King Daeron II had always been careful to treat his bastard half-brother honourably; he had not only paid the dowry which Aegon IV had promised the Archon of Tyrosh, but he had also granted a generous stretch of land in the Crownlands, with the right to raise a keep on said land. Daemon had quickly established himself, for not only had Aegon IV gifted him Blackfyre, but he'd also been generous with gifts and coin. Thus, House Blackfyre abode in a small but formidable castle, supported by several large villages whose loyalties were quickly won over.
Jena had been ignorant of most of that when she'd first met Daemon's wife, and even after she did, she did not see any of it as a reason to not be Rohanne's friend. Rohanne herself had had doubts, especially when Jena became engaged to Baelor, but their friendship had endured and grown stronger over the years.
Jena and Rohanne had spoken of it many times, but they had not felt comfortable carrying it out, and then when they did broach the subject with their husbands, something always interfered and prevented plans from being carried out. But Jena was resolute that they must come dine with them in Dragonstone; she had often visited Rohanne in her home, and had even been present when four of her children were born.
Now, for the first time, Jena led Rohanne through Dragonstone, showing her around the castle and its surroundings. Baelor and Daemon accompanied them, speaking courteously but formally. Jena was curious to hear what they spoke of, but she was too busy speaking with Rohanne to overhear anything.
"Is it not daunting to be in such a place?" Rohanne asked as she stared at the various grotesques which decorated the curtain walls of Dragonstone.
"I thought so for the first two years," Jena answered lightly. She stepped neatly out of the way as Aegon and Aemon raced past them, laughing as they did their own exploring.
Rohanne, meanwhile, sat down on a bench along the wall to put the baby Rosheen to her breast. As the infant suckled, Rohanne looked up at Jena, particularly her growing belly, "How fares this one?" She spoke quietly, in a sympathetic tone.
Jena sighed, "Maester Baltur is ever vigilant, and he says nothing is amiss. Baelor has also employed a midwife from one of the villages to see me regularly."
Rohanne nodded, "If there is anything I can do..."
"Thank you," Jena interrupted her, wishing to change the subject, "But tell me of your children."
Rohanne gave a weary smile, "They are all in good health, praise Trios. I wish they would get along a bit more, but what more is to be done?" She gave as much of a shrug as she could without dislodging her daughter.
"Some of them are getting older," Jena pointed out, "Are the boys going to serve as squires? Are any of the children betrothed?"
"Yes and yes," Rohanne answered. "Aegon and Aemon are squires to their father. We will send young Daemon to House Cockshaw. He gets along very well with young Alyn, so it would be fitting to have him serve as a squire to the boy's father."
Jena nodded. Alyn Cockshaw was one of several boys who were being fostered with the Blackfyres. Jena marvelled that so many houses from across Westeros were willing to send their children so far to the Crownlands when Daemon ranked little more than a minor lord in terms of land and the numbers of folk who called him their liege lord.
Rohanne was not finished, however. "Calla is engaged as well."
"Congratulations!" Truthfully, Jena thought that Calla was a bit young to get married, but she said nothing of the sort to her friend. "Who will she marry?"
"Ser Aegor Rivers," Rohanne answered in a neutral voice.
It took all of Jena's willpower not to react with shock or disappointment. Of all the knights and lords whom Daemon counted as a close friend, it was his half-brother whom she despised most of all. Known as Bittersteel, Ser Aegor was a morose and brooding young man who was known to be one of the fiercest knights in the realm. He was only two years younger than his half-brother Daemon, and more than twice the age of Calla, but now it appeared that he was set to be his goodson as well.
"A fine match," Jena lied, "I'm sure it will be a fruitful marriage."
Rohanne nodded her head in thanks, but something in her eyes seemed to sense Jena's insincerity. Whether she sympathised with Jena's true feelings or opposed them, Jena could not be sure. Neither of them were willing to speak plainly.
"Where is the groom, then?" Jena asked. She had initially been relieved that Bittersteel was not in Daemon's company, but now his absence confused her.
"He left us a week ago," Rohanne replied. "Daemon said he was going to visit his kin in Stone Hedge."
Jena did not press the issue; it was enough to be hosting Daemon Blackfyre in the castle, much less the man who had almost succeeded in putting Ser Quentyn Ball in the Kingsguard as a Blackfyre spy.
"A pity, in any case," Jena lamented, "that our houses might not have been joined together."
Rohanne nodded, but there was a strange light in her eye, and the ghost of a smile across her face.
"You once told me a great secret," she murmured, "and trusted me to keep it until the time came for it to be revealed. I would return the favour now." She nodded to the spot on the bench beside her.
Intrigued, Jena sat down, listening intently as Rohanne whispered into her ear.
"*" *"*" *"*"* "*"*" *"*
Dinner was a lavish affair, even for the Prince of Dragonstone. Baelor had not wished to appear niggardly to his guests, and so a ship full of livestock had been brought from the mainland in preparation. Now, those same animals were lain out on the tables as main courses.
Baelor had also made a compromise in order to mollify any hurt feelings. He sat in the grand chair meant for the Prince of Dragonstone, but instead of the head of the table, he sat in the centre, so that Daemon could face him almost as an equal. Valarr and Jena sat on either side of the prince, while Rohanne and Aegon sat on either side of Daemon. The households of Targaryen and Dragonstone were lined up on either side of the long table, even as they feasted on the finest dishes of the evening.
The conversation continued as they ate, with Daemon giving young Valarr a look before turning to his father.
"Tell me, Baelor," the Black Dragon asked between bites of suckling pig, "is my wife correct when she says that Valarr is not spoken for?"
"She speaks true," Baelor answered genially, though Jena could tell that he was bracing himself for whatever was going to come next.
Daemon nodded, glanced at his wife, then looked back to the prince. "My daughter is betrothed, unfortunately, but my wife has a niece in Tyrosh who is of a close age to Valarr. Mayhaps you might consider wedding him to her?"
Jena had been expecting it, but she felt guilty for allowing the surprise to continue against her husband, so she attempted to feign surprise when Baelor turned to look at her.
Baelor paused, and a knowing look came across his face. He knows me too well. But instead of speaking to Jena, he turned to Daemon's wife. "Could you tell us more about this niece of yours, Lady Rohanne?"
Rohanne gave the prince a smile and obliged him. "Kiera is eight years old. She is the grandniece of the late Archon and the daughter of the current one."
In Tyrosh, the Archon was their ruler, chosen from amongst their wealthiest and most powerful noblemen, to rule for a term of twelve years. Quaarion Adarys had been Rohanne's uncle, and it was he who had arranged the wedding between her and Daemon. Now, it seemed, one of his other nieces had married the current Archon.
For his part, the Prince of Dragonstone was impressed, but wary. "That is a fine offer, indeed. But do you speak for the Archon?"
"I do not, but I would be honoured to arrange for you two to meet and discuss the matter between you," Rohanne answered humbly, "and perhaps the children can meet as well?"
Baelor looked thoughtful, even as he took a big bite of roast ox to spare himself the need to answer right away. Jena was not sure how he would respond, so she kept her peace.
Finally, Baelor swallowed his mouthful of food and gave his answer, "I think I can speak for my wife and I both," - Jena blushed at his tone of voice - "when I say that it would be a fine honour to betrothe our son to your niece. But we are not entirely at liberty to make a final decision at present. I shall personally take this matter to my father first."
Jena felt something twist in her stomach. She suddenly felt her appetitie diminishing as she tried to imagine what Baelor's parents would have to say about this, much less what his other relatives would say. Mother save me from Elaena when she finds out about this notion...