Jena

"Jena, I believe that this is an unwise decision."

Daeron spoke these words gently, but Jena did not doubt that he would put his foot down if necessary.

She had approached Daeron with her request before the small council was set to assemble, in the hope that he might not feel so defensive. But he appeared as resolute as ever. It did not help that Myriah was absent due to some minor sickness.

"Your Grace," she urged, "I understand your concerns, but I worry for Valarr. He was always happiest on Dragonstone, and Baelor's absence is such a dreadful thing for him to bear…"

Daeron's expression softened as a pained expression flashed across his face. "I promise you, Jena, my son's absence is felt by all."

Then, he recovered himself and shook his head. "All the same, I cannot countenance that his family should go to Dragonstone in time of war."

Jena wanted to scream with frustration. She was going half-mad from her desire to leave the Red Keep. It was a dour place, to the point that Jena's dinners in the Queen's Ballroom felt more and more like a farce. The joy was hollow, and nobody was fooled by Jena's desperate search for good cheer.

The children were the least convinced. Valarr, his cousin Daeron, and their younger brothers were miserable and sullen, wavering between missing their fathers or resenting their absence. Kiera of Tyrosh was no more cheerful than they, keeping to herself.

The only solution which Jena could think up was a return to Dragonstone. She had never imagined that she would long for that island, but it had grown into a beacon that only she could see. Many a night went by that she had stood on the walls of King's Landing, or the highest towers, in order to catch a glimpse of that distant island. She had been happiest there, with her family. Perhaps it was there where she could be happy again.

Daeron seemed to sense her distress, for he straightened in his high-backed chair and made a conciliatory gesture. "The masters will be arriving. You are free to go or remain if you wish."

You are growing tired of my presence. Invite me all you wish, I can sense your true feelings. All the same, Jena did not wish to inflame Daeron's stance against her. She swallowed her scorn and animosity for the king, and sat at his left side.

Ser Donnel of Duskendale and Ser Lucas Rollingford escorted the councilors into the room. His Lord Commander, Gwayne Corbray, was watching over Prince Maekar, so it fell to these two knights to serve the council in his stead. Lucas Lords Ronnel Penrose, Folgrim Hayford, Sigfryd Velaryon, and Steffon Banefort entered first, followed by Grand Maester Elial and Brynden Rivers' replacement until he returned.

Jena misliked Shiera Seastar, but she felt conflicted about this ill will. She wondered whether it was simply resentment since none of the lords dared dispute her right to sit amongst them. Only the grand maester allowed himself a disgruntled expression, but even he kept a civil tongue around Shiera.

She was only seventeen years of age, and she was utterly beautiful. However, Jena felt that her beauty was marred by a strange malignant air which hung about her wherever she went. There was a danger to her, and all sensed it so that none wished to offend her. For her part, Shiera seemed to take this fearful respect as her due, and she took great enjoyment from its effects play out.

As always, Shiera flounced her way into the room, wearing a dress that seemed to shimmer with jewels sewn into it. Her mismatched eyes were wide and expressive, but there was a coldness to her smile which unsettled Jena. Small wonder that Brynden Rivers loves her so much. She is the only woman in the world who can overshadow him.

Jena turned away from Daeron as they nodded their greetings to the newcomers. The knights of the Kingsguard stood over the table as the council took seats.

"Firstly," Daeron began, his eyes lingering on Shiera Seastar with no small amount of wariness, "I wish to know of any news that has come to us."

Shiera gave a bloodless smile as she answered the king's request. "There is much news to tell, Your Grace. The Westerlands are spent. Daemon Blackfyre and Quentyn Ball have broken Lord Lannister and his bannermen. We can expect no more help from them in this war."

Even as the others recoiled at this devastating news, Shiera turned to Steffon Banefort. "My condolences, Lord Steffon. Your brothers have fallen in battle with Robb Reyne and Gaul Westerling."

Jena had always thought Steffon Banefort to be a stuffy and tedious man, but as he lowered his head to hide his stricken grief, her heart went out to him.

Daeron offered his sympathies to Lord Banefort before turning back to Shiera. "What else?"

"There is better news, Your Grace," Shiera assured him. "Donnel Arryn has secured the Vale. Jon Waters still lives, and he has joined forces with the Arryns. They report that the Blackfyre supporters of the Vale have gone to join Daemon in the Riverlands. They suspect an attack upon King's Landing. Lord Arryn promises to secure the high road and lead an army south to defend you."

"Thank the gods!" Elial sighed.

Daeron was also relieved. "Fine news, indeed. It has been sorely lacking this year."

Shiera, however, was not finished. "I am also pleased to report that your son has secured the Boneway alongside Prince Maron Martell. Brynden sends his compliments alongside this victory."

The lords cheered this development, even the sour-faced Ronnel Penrose.

His mood had declined sharply over the last few weeks, and Jena had a terrible suspicion as to why. When she wasn't fretting over her children, Jena was fraught with suspicions that Ronnel was aware of what his wife did with Michael Manwoody.

"When the adulation subsided, Shiera spoke a third time. "There is also word from your eldest son, Your Grace. It seems that the North has finally decided that Daemon presents a greater threat than the stoneborn. Baelor is sailing south with the remains of his army."

Jena could not stop herself. She cried aloud in joy, clapping her hands. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed upon Shiera. How could I ever have been so harsh in my thoughts of her?

Daeron, too, was overjoyed; his voice was constrained and low, as if his sense of ebullience were choking him. "The Queen will recover more swiftly with this news."

"All the same, Your Grace," Shiera continued. "Brynden does have a word of caution. He thinks that the Blackfyres might yet attack us in King's Landing before Donnel Arryn or your son arrive. He himself is sailing back with Prince Maekar as we speak."

Jena was astonished; it seemed as though Shiera had been outside in the hallway, listening to every word that Jena had spoken.

Still, she was not about to question such good fortune, especially as Daeron gave her a thoughtful glance. She hoped that her innocence was plain to see.

"Duly noted," Daeron said in answer to Shiera. He turned to his Hand, Lord Folgrim Hayford. "Would you remind me how many men make up the garrison of Dragonstone?"

Lord Hayford hesitated, then adopted an apologetic tone. "I confess that I do not have the numbers before me, but I believe we left some thirty men."

"How many men can we spare?"

Hayford was reluctant to spare any men from a possible siege, but it was decided that thirty more men would escort Jena and her sons to Dragonstone. All three of Jena's lady companions were joining her, along with a handful of maids.

Queen Myriah was too ill to travel, Dyanna Dayne was too far in her latest pregnancy, and Alys Arryn was essential to keeping Prince Rhaegel's moods in check. Truthfully, Jena was relieved that Dyanna would not be joining her; Valarr was growing friendly with his cousin Daeron, and he was far too willing to ignore Kiera in favour of playing with Daeron and other children. Jena hoped that Kiera and Valarr would be the only children of their age.

At one point whilst discussing these details, Daeron turned his attention to his master of coin. "I trust that your wife will accompany Jena?"

Lord Ronnel Penrose nodded curtly. "I believe that she has already spoken of the matter with the princess." He did not even look at Jena as he spoke of her. Jena shuddered. What does he suspect about my role in his wife's affair?

Despite her feelings, she had promised Elaena to bring up another matter. "Your Grace, might I also suggest we take Ser Michael Manwoody with us?"

This time, Penrose looked at her, and she wished that he didn't. Even from the corner of her eye, there was no mistaking the malevolence in his expression.

Daeron was frowning too. "Ser Michael is a hostage."

"All the more reason why he should be taken to Dragonstone, Your Grace," Jena offered. "How can he escape from an island? And besides, he is one of only a precious few that manages to entertain Valarr."

This was no lie; Valarr did greatly enjoy Michael's music. But that was not the sole reason why Jena wanted him at Dragonstone. She squirmed in her seat as she thought of Elaena's request, begging her for the chance to leave her husband behind and spend time with Michael undisturbed. Jena had almost refused, but she could not forget that she was alive because of Elaena. Can such a life-debt ever be repaid?

Daeron pondered her words, then gave a nod. "Done, then. But you will take Ser Willem Wylde and Ser Lucas Rollingford with you as well."

When Daeron adjourned the council, Jena left without preamble. Only a voice calling her name caused her to turn back in the hallway.

Shiera Seastar approached her at a casual pace. Her lips were stretched into what might have been a friendly smile if any other woman had given it. Instead, it chilled her to look upon that beautiful face. There was an uncanny sense that Shiera was somehow lesser, somehow different, but Jena couldn't explain what that meant, even to herself.

All the same, Shiera had been crucial to persuading Daeron, so Jena offered her a courteous smile of her own. "How may I help you?"

"Since you are offering, I do have a humble request for you, Princess," Shiera replied. "When the princess Elaena joins you, be sure to offer my greetings to her. And my condolences."

"Condolences?" Jena's good cheer vanished. "You said her son was alive and well!"

"Indeed," Shiera answered calmly. "My words concern the dying, not the dead." The smile still had not left her face, nor did it diminish as she made her way past Jena.

Jena was rooted to the spot. Shiera's words echoed in her thoughts as she slowly made her way back to her chambers. Did she have some sort of prophetic vision? Is there anything to be done which might spare Elaena this evil fate?

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Elaena was thrilled when Jena told her the good news. "I have been waiting so long for this. Finally, a chance for Michael and I to relax! No need to look over our shoulders, no need to avoid trailing guards, no more waiting for the war to end!"

Jena nodded; she was happy for Elaena, but she also felt too miserable to share in Elaena's exultations. Shiera's words were also hanging over her head.

After a moment, the princess took note of Jena's gloom. "Is there something amiss?"

"Yes," Jena replied. She spoke of Shiera Seastar, and delivered her message to Elaena.

The older woman was far less affected by the words than Jena had been. She tossed her head scornfully and waved a dismissive hand. "Let her talk. She is a spoiled young girl who thrives on spreading mischief and chaos."

"It was a strange thing, what she said," Jena continued. "Perhaps she has the gift?"

Elaena flinched. "If she does, then it was not given by her Targaryen blood. I would suspect some other source, far more malevolent." She shuddered again, then shook her head. "I will hear no more of Shiera's words."

"As you say," Jena relented.

Elaena tilted her head to the side. "Is there something else?"

"Your husband," Jena reiterated. "He knows more than you wish to suspect."

Elaena shook her head. "Ronnel is a bitter man. The war has put an end to most of the crown's concern with money. His position is a mere formality until Daemon is defeated. He is growing bored, that is all."

Jena was growing very tired of Elaena's dismissal of her own husband. But perhaps she was right to do so? She was imprisoned by her own brother, raped by her cousin on her wedding night, and she has spent over ten years wondering whether her sister was murdered by her family. What harm could Ronnel Penrose do that is worse than that?

After that, she sought out her eldest son; she found him playing with Daeron in the training yard, swinging his small wooden sword as Ser Willem Wylde offered advice and encouragement. He was reluctant to abandon this when Jena called him away, but his sullenness vanished when Jena told him of Baelor's return.

"When will he come back?"

"I do not know," Jena admitted, "but he wrote that he is on his way. He left just after sending that message. It won't be long before his ship comes back south. And he will come to Dragonstone first."

As she had hoped, Valarr practically sprang up and down on the spot. "I want to go back home! We can wave to his ship!"

Jena smiled and nodded. "I've already asked your grandfather, and he said yes. We will be going back, along with Gwenys, Elaena and her girls, Aunt Aelinor…"

"And Daeron?" Valarr asked without hesitation.

Jena faltered. "No, he will be staying here. But Kiera will be with us."

Much to her dismay, Valarr's face fell. He did not say anything, for he knew that Jena would not allow him to speak ill of his betrothed.

He will come around, Jena thought desperately. Things will improve when we go home.

Unfortunately, it took longer than she expected to arrange the return to Dragonstone. Supplies needed to be assembled, ships were assembled, and then the weather was unfavourable for sailing. The worst news was when Elaena Targaryen approached Jena. She was red-faced and red-eyed, wavering between despair and outrage.

"He's coming with us!"

Jena did not need to ask who she meant. "He is needed on the small council! Why woud Daeron allow him to leave?"

"Don't be stupid," Elaena snapped. "I'm the one who does the bloody work, and Daeron does not need me to stay in the Red Keep. Ronnel asked for leave, and Daeron had no reason to refuse!"

Jena forgave Elaena's rudeness; she had never seen Elaena look so desolate. It was frightening. "What will you do?"

"What can I do?" Fresh tears sprang to Elaena's eyes. "I cannot escape this prison." She suddenly gave a wild laugh. "Of course. It never changes. Ever since Daeron was killed, I've been imprisoned in one way or another. The Maidenvault, Aegon, Ronnel…" She trailed off as her aspect became grim with anger. Without another word to Jena, she walked away.

Jena was stricken; she could not think of anything to say or do which might assist Elaena. It was already an effort to be composed while waiting for the chance to go back to Dragonstone. I want to go home. I want my husband back. I want my children to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

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The castle had not changed. In the face of so much tumult and chaos, it warmed Jena's heart to see Dragonstone exactly the same as she'd left it.

Kiera of Tyrosh was mystified; she had never seen anything like this castle, and it enthralled her. She eschewed her native tongue and began asking questions of Jena. Jena was surprised, but she was happy to oblige the excited girl. They explored every inch of the castle as she looked with awe at the various ornate carvings of black rock. Day after day, she would walk the curtain walls and study each grotesque, each gargoyle, or else she was in some other part of the castle, staring wide-eyed at the various dragons, doubtless imagining what they could look like if they could move.

Valarr swiftly resumed his own wanderings. Jena often saw Willem Wylde lingering in Aegon's Garden, with an occasional sighting of Valarr as he climbed one of the tall trees. Much to Jena's chagrin, he preferred isolation to Kiera's company, and Kiera was equally unwilling to spend time with him.

"They are children," Gwenys reassured Jena one morning as they lingered in the hall over breakfast. "They hardly know what marriage means."

Jena sighed, but she did not dispute Gwen's words.

Nearby, Elaena sat with Ronnel, picking at her own food. Husband and wife both looked utterly miserable. They could not go a single day without devolving into a shouting match or furious argument. Their quarters were in the Stone Drum, as befitting members of House Targaryen, but this meant that the vast keep echoed with their angry words. Their daughters spent little time with either of them.

Michael Manwoody was also keeping his distance, preferring to dine with Jena and her entourage. They were the only ones who treated Michael as any other guest of Dragonstone. The problem with that was that Michael sought Jena's advice on what to do about Elaena and Ronnel. He was just as bereft as Elaena, and being a young Dornishman, his passion was even more fiery than that of the dragon princess.

"It is maddening," Michael grumbled as he walked with Jena along the cliffs after breakfast. "He neglects her. He ill-uses her!"

"He suspects that his wife is unfaithful," Jena mused quietly.

Michael turned on her with an astonished expression. "How can you defend him?"

"I don't," Jena retorted impatiently. "But I know what it looks like when a man beats his wife. Elaena is not being beaten."

The anger faded from Michael's face. "What do you mean?"

The wind was cool on Jena's face. Cool winds often put tears in her eyes.

"My father made sure that my mother never went a week without earning marks of his affection." Jena's voice was bitter as she spoke of her parents. "He would force her to submit to him when the mood suited him, and he took other women as he pleased. He was a cruel man, often drunk, and always angry. I don't know what strange demon tormented him, but he beat his children too. He beat my brothers, and he struck me too on occasion."

Michael stared at her, horror-struck. "What sort of man is that?"

"Men like my father exist all over Westeros," Jena retorted, tired of the young knight's naive notions. "All over the world, for that matter. Ronnel is not a pleasant man, but he is not the worst I have seen. And any man, good or evil, would be infuriated that his wife was seeing someone else behind their back."

She was not sure what she expected from Michael. Shame? Contrition? Instead, his face became grim with defiance. "We cannot choose whom we love."

Once again, Jena did not disagree, but it meant that everyone was caught in an intolerable stalemate. It did not help that Dragonstone, for all Jena's desperate attempts to return, now seemed doubly grim and gloomy. It was not long before Jena was crying herself to sleep once again.

The days went on, and the guests became despondent. Michael occasionally sang, but he seemed incapable of singing anything jubilant. Only Kiera and Valarr were content, but it did nothing to bring them closer together.

At Gwenys' suggestion, Jena allowed the children to wander. Kiera was at least pleasant and eager to learn more about this castle. Thanks to stories from Baelor, Jena was able to tell her a great deal of its history.

"The Targaryens came here a long time ago," she explained one morning to Kiera as they went for a stroll through the castle after breakfast. "A Targaryen daughter had a dream. She claimed that she foresaw a terrible destruction. Her father took her dream seriously; he brought his household and dragons to this island. The great lords of Valyria mocked him, but forty years later, they were caught up in the Doom."

Kiera's eyes shone with excitement. "I always wanted to go to Valyria. I always wanted to see a dragon!"

"Prince Baelor said the same once," Jena replied with a smile. "But Valyria is a cursed place. An ancient Lannister king once sailed for Valyria's ruins. He was never seen again."

Kiera was already thinking of something else. "Why didn't the other Valyrians believe the dream? She saw the future! Why were they such fools?"

Jena opened her mouth to answer, but a shrill horn sounded instead. Alarm.

She grabbed the little girl's hand and ran towards the Stone Drum. Men and women milled about in surprise and confusion. "Follow me," Jena shouted, leading them inside.

Ser Lucas Rollingford met her when she entered the keep. "What is going on," Jena demanded as she approached the young Kingsguard knight.

"I don't know," Ser Lucas replied, looking helpless.

"Where is Ser Willem?" Jena suddenly grew frightened. "Where is my son?"

"Before Ser Lucas could give an answer, another Targaryen soldier ran towards them. "Four dead men on the shore! Two fishermen found them and raised the alarm."

Jena felt herself growing cold. Not here. It can't be happening here too.

"Where is my son?" She made to run back outside and search Aegon's Garden for him.

"Your Grace!" It was Owen, a guard who had served at Dragonstone since before Jena had lived there. "He is beneath the castle. I saw him and Ser Willem going to the crypts."

Jena sighed with relief. Willem Wylde was one of the best knights in the realm. All the same, she addressed Owen with urgency. "You must go and find him! Take others with you. Bring my son back."

Owen gave a hasty salute and ran off.

Now Jena thought of her second son. She had left him in the care of a wetnurse whilst escorting Kiera.

Thankfully, Gwenys was among the men and women assembled in the Stone Drum. Jena stared at her. "Where is Dacey?"

"In your chambers," Gwenys replied. "She will be safe."

At that moment, Jena heard someone else cry out. As she turned, she saw a white-cloaked figure emerge from a turnpike staircase which led down to the cells. He held a boy with one arm, while his other hand grasped a sword.

"Valarr!" Jena ran forward and took her son from Ser Willem's arm. Only then did she see that the knight's armour was stained with blood, as was his blade.

"Not mine," Willem answered when he saw Jena's eyes. "Invaders. Blackfyre men in the caves."

"Gods be good," Jena clutched the squalling Valarr even more fiercely. "What has come upon us? How did they know we would be here?"

"Someone told," Willem answered bitterly as he wiped his sword clean on his cloak. "Someone always tells."

Before they could say anything else, a woman screamed.

Everyone heard it, and they looked up in shock as the echoes continued after the scream ended.

Gods... Jena looked at Willem. "That was Princess Elaena!

The Kingsguard knight drew his sword and bounded up the stairs.

Jena gave Valarr to followed him, ignoring the cries of Gwenys. It was difficult for her to follow Willem, for he was unencumbered by a dress. He had already reached Elaena's chamber when Jena caught up with him. He had lowered his sword, standing stock still in the doorway. When Jena stood beside him, she saw the reason why.

Ronnel Penrose was sprawled across the floor, lying in a mixture of wine and blood. Before him stood Elaena, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her face was pale and wet with tears. There were red marks along her neck and on one cheek. Jena recognised the meaning at once, and she began to tremble. For one mad moment, she did not see Elaena, but her own mother.

"Princess," Willem gasped. "What is the meaning of this?"

Elaena pointed at her husband and answered in a harsh, clear voice. "He tried to kill me."

Jena's blood ran cold. She had dreaded this, but seeing it come to fruition was more horrible than anything she had imagined.

Willem seemed unable to understand what he had witnessed. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"I do not know," Elaena protested, her voice rising. She was shaking as she dropped the bloody knife beside her husband's body. "He was drunker than I've ever seen him before, he put his hands to my neck, he tried to-" She broke off, clasping a hand to her mouth as she stared in horror at Ronnel's still form.

Jena fought an urge to vomit. She could piece together this puzzle and comprehend the missing pieces. Ronnel had been suspicious for a long time. He would never have dared to act on those suspicions, however, not unless he was utterly sodden with drink. Of course Elaena would defend herself from such an attack.

She had never liked Ronnel. He had been a haughty, arrogant man who had always resented the wife to whom he owed his position at the small council. It had been an open secret that he had no talent for sums. How long had he resented that it was his wife who held the responsibilities of his job? How long had he suspected that she was unfaithful to him? He was many things, but he did not deserve to die like this.

Elaena was looking at her again. There was fear, relief, but something else which unnerved Jena. There was a pleading expression in her eyes; it was the first time she had ever seen such an emotion from Elaena. But the message could not have been clearer.

"Ser Willem," she began. "You spoke of Blackfyres in the castle?"

Willem did not understand what she was doing. He gave her a strange look, even as Elaena did a double take at this bit of news.

"Were they all in the caverns? Perhaps there are others about?"

Willem understood. His face froze, then it hardened. "Perhaps, Your Grace."

Jena felt a sliver of guilt at the look in Willem's eyes, but the qualm was fleeting as she looked at Elaena's red marks. "I suggest you seek them out. And speak of this to no one."

Willem paused, but he put a hand over his heart nonetheless. "I am sworn to obey." Then he turned and walked back down the staircase. His boots seemed to thud louder than before.

Elaena was still breathing heavily as she approached Jena. "Thank you."

Jena nodded in reply. "All the same, we cannot hide this forever. Daeron will want to know about this."

"Know about what? That his kinswoman was nearly killed by her own husband?" The fire had returned to Elaena's eyes.

"All the same," Jena suggested, "it might be prudent to say that he died fighting off those Blackfyres."

Elaena regarded her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "So be it. Let him have an honourable end."

The rest was easily done. Several Blackfyre men had scattered, making their way out of the caverns into the castle. Some even managed to enter Sea Dragon Tower and the kitchens. A thief was also caught while trying to flee the castle amidst the chaos. Willem Wylde had slain him when he'd drawn a dagger, and discovered that the man had been carrying several ancient dragon eggs in a large satchel.

None questioned it when Jena and Elaena declared that Ronnel had been slain fighting against the Blackfyres. Elaena embellished their tale by claiming she had been attacked by a Blackfyre raider, and Ronnel had only barely fought him off before succumbing to his wounds. The maester was ordered to spread the word of this sinister and cowardly attack upon the royal family.

Jena felt no qualms about this, nor did she think of what Rohanne would say to these accusations. Those raiders knew how to enter Dragonstone because of her visit. She used our friendship to attack me. This realisation, coupled with the discovery of Ronnel's attack upon Elaena, left her feeling melancholic and bitter.

As word spread of the failed attack, Daeron sent ravens insisting that Dragonstone was not safe, that the royal family must return to the safety of King's Landing. Jena did not argue this time.

Kiera was furious at having to leave Dragonstone, and she resumed sulking. It was Valarr that worried Jena more; he had been the one to find Blackfyre raiders amongst the caverns and catacombs beneath the Dragonmount. Although Willem had swiftly taken him away from the fighting, he'd seen and heard more than enough to leave him quiet and subdued. He no longer went exploring as he'd done before. Sitting in the garden was as far as he went, and even the trees did not excite him as they'd once done.

Elaena's three daughters were also miserable. They had wept and wailed when Elaena told them of their father's passing, but when Elaena openly sat with Michael, the girls were outraged at their mother.

Jena, too, was flabbergasted by Elaena's actions. It was not for love of Ronnel, or respect for him, but it was unseemly that a freshly widowed woman should brazenly embrace her new lover.

When Jena tried to broach the subject with Elaena, just two days after the attack, Elaena proved highly unwilling to heed her advice.

"You ask me to wait? Wait how long? As long as I waited for Alyn Velaryon to return? Must I wait until Daeron gives me another husband? I will not wait anymore."

"Your girls just lost their father," Jena pointed out. "They do not know how he treated you."

"And who is to blame for that?" Elaena snapped. "You were the one who urged me to let him die nobly."

Jena had said nothing more except a hasty apology. From thereon out, she turned a blind eye to Elaena and Michael, as well as a deaf ear to anyone that complained or gossiped about them.

She ought to have felt content for her friend; had she not finally been set free? But the cost of that freedom was far greater than Jena could have anticipated. And the more she pondered it, the more questions were raised, especially when Elaena spread the detail that Ser Michael had rescued her from her husband's killer.

A pall had been cast over Dragonstone as Jena prepared to leave once again. It was not lifted until the fourth day since the attack, when dozens of ships were seen approaching the island.

Men, women, and children flocked to the water, standing on the shore and on the docks, hailing the red dragon which flew proudly from every ship's mast. Jena screamed Baelor's name as she held her infant son in her arms. Valarr jumped up and down, waving his arms in the hope that his father might see him.

He seemed older when he stepped off the foremost ship. Although his hair and eyes were dark as ever, his face was more lined, and old scars were still healing. His arm was no longer broken, but he still held it stiffly as he waved to the welcoming crowd.

It was not until he locked eyes with Jena that his smile warmed. He strode forward with renewed vigour and embraced Valarr. Father and son wept aloud, and Jena wept to see them reunited.

Baelor Breakspear arose again, holding his son's hand in his own, and approached Jena.

"My love," he murmured. She heard him, even over the hundred voices that cried out around her.

"Welcome back," she declared, unable to hold back her sobs.

Baelor kissed Jena's tear-stained cheeks, then looked down at the baby boy in her arms. "What did you call him?"

Jena carefully lifted up their son so that Baelor could hold him for the first time. "Matarys."