Jena
Although summer had long ago passed away, it was still warm in the gardens of King's Landing.
The peace and quiet was broken by yells of delight. Jena looked up as Matarys ran past her and shouted with wild abandon. It might have been unseemly for a Targaryen Prince to do so, but he was joined by Maekar's younger children as well. Aemon ran nearly as fast as Matarys, leaving his younger brother and sisters behind. Rhaegel's own children - twins named Aelor and Aelora - were too young to join in, and Aerion was too old to take part in such youthful recreation.
They were playing a game called cats and rats. Two cats competed with each other to catch the most rats. Whichever cat lost would surrender their place and join the rats. The last rat to be caught took their place as a cat, unless there were rats remaining who had eluded the cats entirely. If two such rats remained, they replaced both cats.
The small council must be finished, Jena thought to herself. Matarys, Aegon, and Aemon were all serving as pages to their grandfather. This left them with much less leisure time than they'd been accustomed to, but it was essential for their education.
Jena watched the children play, until she noticed who else was absent from the game. Not again.
She waited for Matarys to catch his cousin Daella before calling his name. "Come here!"
Matarys groaned, then turned to the others. "No catching anyone until I come back, Aemon!"
Jena fixed him with a stern expression as he approached her. "Where are Barba and Miru?"
"They didn't want to play," Matarys answered, but with such alacrity that Jena became suspicious.
She folded her arms. "Did you ask them?"
Matarys began to fidget. "Aye. But what does it matter? They can't play anyway."
"Oh?" Jena frowned. "And why is that?"
"They can't touch us," Matarys replied, looking at his mother as if he were explaining a basic truth which she ought to have known.
Jena understood immediately, and she felt a wave of disgust overcome her. "Matarys, those girls are your cousins! They are Titus' daughters!"
"No they're not," Matarys objected. "They're not his daughters, they'll say the same!"
That much was true, Jena knew that, but she was not going to concede anything in the face of her son's arrogance. "How do you suppose your father treats smallfolk? Do you think he looks down his nose at them?"
Now it was Matarys' turn to falter. "He should," he protested. "He is a dragon!"
Jena felt an urge to scoff. Baelor would never be so pompous as to call himself a dragon just because he wore one on his clothes. "Who put that notion into your head?"
"Valarr said so," Matarys remarked. "So does Aerion."
Gods be good… Jena greatly misliked this attitude, but she could not be surprised. She herself thought Titus had gone out of his way to create an exceptionally difficult situation, but she had promised him to look after the girls whilst he was away.
After she left Matarys to his games, she went to find Baelor. He had spent the entire morning in the small council session, and now she found him eating a late breakfast in Maegor's Holdfast.
"Darling," she murmured as she approached him and kissed his forehead.
Baelor gave her a clumsy smile as he chewed a mouthful of food, but the smile faded as he took in her disposition. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "What is the matter?"
"Matarys is snubbing Barba and Miru again," Jena confided as she sat beside Baelor.
A low sigh left Baelor. "That is unworthy of him."
"But not unexpected," Jena observed. "Valarr and Aerion share that sentiment, as does Daeron, no doubt. But where do these children learn such lessons?"
A look of discomfort crossed Baelor's face as he put down his knife. "Exceptionalism was ever a thorny matter in our family's history."
Jena knew what he was referring to. During the reign of King Jaehaerys the Wise, he had arranged a precept with the Faith of the Seven. It had been necessary, due to the prior conflict between the Faith and Jaehaerys' predecessor, Maegor the Cruel. The practice of incest, deemed by House Targaryen as traditional, was a violation of the Faith's laws. The Doctrine of Exceptionalism had been the Conciliator's compromise. Targaryens were different from Andals, and the gods had deemed it so; their ability to tame and ride dragons had been the strongest example of their distinction.
Even now, long after the last dragon had died, the Targaryens were deemed to be different, exceptional, and this had helped cement their place as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.
Jena shook her head, giving voice to her concerns which she'd hidden from Matarys. "May the gods forgive me, but Titus has made the thorny matter more complicated."
"He has a good heart," Baelor allowed gently.
"Of course," Jena allowed impatiently. She did not need to be reminded of her brother's virtues. "All the same, so long as he allows his children the chance to call him father or not, that makes their legitimacy even more complicated than before. Are Miru and Barba his daughters or not?"
"Truthfully, that might be the least of Titus' problems," Baelor remarked with a sigh.
Jena stared at her husband. "Howso?"
"Lord Bloodraven," Baelor answered, emphasizing Rivers' title with exasperation. "He has presented complaints from several nobles whom Titus has visited. They speak of soiled reputations, of Titus behaving as a tyrant…" He gave a wave of his hand to indicate his low opinion of such accusations.
Jena, meanwhile, was worried. Her brother had always been quick to make enemies. He had always laughed away such concerns, due to his own opinionated stubbornness, but his position on the small council was not as strong as he seemed to think.
Stronger than these fears, however, was her revulsion for the accuser. "Brynden Rivers has plagued my brother's life like a louse! Of course he would wait until Titus was absent to discredit him to your father!"
"Strange that Brynden would go out of his way to try and keep Titus present," Baelor mused, almost to himself. "If he had remained behind, he would be able to explain himself, defend himself against these accusations."
Jena had no answer to that; she was just as puzzled as Baelor. "What did you say to all this?"
"I did what I could." Baelor shrugged helplessly. "I told Father that it was unseemly to hear such complaints when Titus was not present to answer for them. I questioned the veracity of these reports. But that is all I can do; I was not there, and for all I know, Titus is very much guilty."
He looked uncomfortable as he said it, giving a sad smile to lighten the mood. He and Jena were well aware of Titus' carnal appetites. Matthias Dondarrion was proof enough of that.
"The other accusations, though," Jena remarked, wishing to change the subject. "Titus has always had a heightened sense of justice. He is surely not corrupt, I cannot believe that of him. That was why you suggested him in the first place."
"Among other reasons," Baelor agreed. "All the same, I cannot protect him from my father if he decides that Titus is too much of a liability."
It was meant as a warning and an apology; for her part, Jena fully understood the difficulty of Baelor's position. She put a hand on his knee to indicate such.
They sat in silence as Baelor resumed eating. Jena was not hungry; her mind simply wandered from thoughts of Titus and Bloodraven to Matarys, the other children, and Valarr.
He was still on Dragonstone with his bride. Daeron had not returned, nor had any of those in their wedding party. Not a single night had passed since the wedding where Jena hadn't gone to bed worrying about Valarr.
"Jena?"
She looked at Baelor. "Yes?"
"What is troubling you?" Baelor had put his knife down again, looking at her with concern. Once again, Jena was warmed by the simple affection she was always shown by her husband.
"I wish to go to Dragonstone," Jena answered quietly. "I want to see him for myself."
Baelor hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Father is also growing curious about him. Mayhaps it is time that somebody go and see how he is faring." His countenance became sad, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "When you see him, do give my love to him."
Jena's eyes filled with tears at the longing in his voice. Time and time again, Baelor had been the strong pillar in her life. She loved him more with each passing year, marvelling at her good fortune to have found such a man to be her husband. She often forgot that he was only a man, with his own anguishes and miseries, and that he worried about Valarr just as much as she did.
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The sea spray was cold on her face, and not even the sun could abate the chill. She had spent much of the voyage in her cabin, but now she stood on deck, beholding the grim majesty of Dragonstone looming up before her.
She had always loved being there before the Blackfyre Rebellion, dwelling in isolation with Baelor and Valarr, enjoying each day as a new gift. Every little discovery that Valarr had made as a boy, every thought he'd lisped eagerly to his parents, every new lesson he'd learned… those moments were as precious to Jena as sapphires and emeralds. Now she could scarcely recall that they had happened to her.
The war had swept over Dragonstone; it had been a cold and lonely place without Baelor, and her retreat to the island had only brought about disaster. The enemy had attacked, and Elaena Targaryen's second husband had died under circumstances which were like to haunt Jena until the day she died.
Dragonstone had lost its appeal after that, even with the war's conclusion. Now it seemed that there were only ghosts on that island fortress, including a shade of her former self.
Truthfully, that had not been the only reason for her avoidance of Dragonstone; Baelor had become the King's Hand, and Valarr had required new training as an older boy. Matarys had also preferred the bountiful and colourful King's Landing over a grim and dark island fortress, and Jena preferred to indulge him rather than deprive him of happiness. She dreaded making the same mistake twice.
The ship bobbed alongside one of the docks as Jena was helped down the gangplank. She had come without an entourage, even without Gwenys. Her companion was in love, though she would not reveal who it was. Jena had not had the heart to take her away from King's Landing on this errand borne out of her own anxiety. Besides, Jena had reasoned, I will not be here for long anyway.
As always, Willem Wylde had accompanied her. Ser Androw Chyttering had been sent across the Narrow Sea with Valarr, Kiera, and Daeron, but it was decided that Jena should be escorted in case something happened on the voyage across.
Baelor had written ahead to inform Dragonstone of Jena's arrival. As a result, they had prepared a welcoming party for her.
Valarr, Kiera, and Daeron were present, as were the foremost of Dragonstone's household and many who served in Dragonstone's garrison. Ser Androw Chyttering was beside Valarr, standing to attention with a hand on his sword hilt.
Valarr approached Jena as she stepped off the dock, allowing her to embrace him. "Welcome, Mother."
"Valarr," she greeted in a quiet voice. "I apologise for intruding, but I wished to see you again."
She turned to Kiera, who had followed in Valarr's footsteps. "Your Grace."
"You are my family now," Jena reminded her as she embraced her in turn. "You need not be so formal."
"As you say," Kiera replied. Like Valarr, she was stiff and uncomfortable with Jena's embrace.
Daeron was friendlier by far. He smiled as he leaned in to kiss Jena's cheek. "Aunt Jena."
"Hello, Daeron," she replied. "I hope you have been enjoying your time here."
"As much as I hoped." Daeron grinned wider, as he was wont to do. He'd always been a bumbling boy, Jena recalled, and he had become an awkward man. She pitied him for the loss of his mother and the sternness with which his father treated him, but she could not deny that his conduct was lacking. He had ever shirked responsibility and conflict, retreating into his own amusements rather than learn strength or endurance. The harder Maekar pushed him, the further he fled. Jena could see how the cycle was going, but she was in no position to intervene. Nor did she particularly want to, either.
Ser Harriman Scales approached her next. He'd been the castellan of Dragonstone for nine years.
"We have prepared your chambers, if you wish to rest before supper."
"My thanks," Jena replied, "but I wish to see Dragonstone again." She turned to Valarr. "Will you accompany me?"
"Of course, Mother." To Valarr's credit, he did not sound aggrieved or irritated by this request, but nor did he sound pleased. Without a single glance at Kiera, he took Jena's arm and led her up the slope alongside Dragonstone's curtain wall.
"How is Father?"
"Very busy," Jena replied. "He wished that he could come with me, but he sends his best wishes to you and Kiera."
The words felt so customary, so empty; they conveyed very little of how Baelor had looked and sounded when he spoke to Jena before her departure. It had been enough to make Jena weep as the ship began to sail. Her husband was still the best man she had ever met. Baelor took on the realm's troubles as his own, he was never too proud to speak to the lowest of his subjects, and he never shied away from the truth. So many times, Baelor had been the pillar against whom Jena could lean. It was not often that Baelor gave voice to his own vulnerability, but it was almost always over the welfare of their children.
"What of you," Jena asked. "How do you fare, my son?"
"As well as can be expected," Valarr replied. "We are very comfortable here on Dragonstone."
"Your grandfather will be pleased to know that," Jena observed, "but he also wishes to know when you will return."
"Does it matter?"
"Not that I know of," Jena answered tactfully. "He simply wishes to know your plans. You have much to learn in his court."
"No doubt," Valarr acknowledged. "Perhaps we'll go back to King's Landing with you, then."
He did not sound angry, or even resentful. Jena was heartened by that, though she still noted how he did not sound cheerful either.
Slowly, quietly, she proffered another question to Valarr. "Have you found happiness with your situation?"
Valarr paused, then gave a sigh. "I wish you would cease this constant prying into my life, Mother."
She might have let it go, but she had not travelled across the Narrow Sea to be snubbed. "You are my son," Jena reminded him sharply. "And one day, you may grow to miss my prying, when it is too late to tell me so."
Valarr said nothing to that; a look of discomfort crossed his face as he focused on the stone steps before them.
After they passed beneath the outer wall, Jena looked upon the castle which she had called home. There was the Stone Drum, the Sept, the Great Hall, the Sea Dragon Tower, and more. The buildings all resembled dragons in various stances and states of repose. Thanks to the arcane arts of Old Valyria, the castle's black rock had been as smoothly formed and molded as if it were clay.
The black rock of Dragonstone reminded Jena of her first home, and so she turned back to her son.
"There is something else I need to tell you, Valarr," Jena resumed. "There is a new Vulture King in the south."
She told him about his cousin's murder, the embroiling Vulture Hunt, the threat against anyone who bore the Dondarrion name.
Valarr was concerned, but not sorrowful. He had never been close to his Dondarrion cousins, but he had learned well from Baelor that the bonds of family must be honoured. "Why didn't you tell me before? I could have gone south with Uncle Titus!"
"You would abandon your own wedding to risk your life in battle?" Jena sighed. She shouldn't have been surprised by that. "That is why we did not tell you."
"Father would have gone," Valarr muttered as they went up another flight of stone stairs.
"Your father did not go," Jena reminded him.
"You know what I mean," Valarr retorted. "If he wasn't the King's Hand, he would have ridden the Vulture King down. He led the campaign against Skagos. He fought Daemon Blackfyre. He wouldn't have remained in King's Landing whilst other men fought."
"He was not sixteen when he did those things," Jena replied. "In fact, when I first knew him, he was only a year older than you. I saved his life on a hunt in the Dornish marches."
For the first time, Valarr turned to look at her. "He never told me that."
"Why would he?" Jena shook her head. "He did not even tell his parents of what happened. He insisted that it was an accident."
"All the same," Valarr interjected, "I must needs prove myself as he did."
Jena forced herself not to sigh. It was an old problem, one which reminded Jena why Valarr was so close with his cousin Daeron. They were both in similar predicaments, trapped beneath the shadows of their fathers. It did not matter how sternly Maekar applied discipline, or how gently Baelor sought to encourage his son. They were falling short in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, and they knew it.
She put that out of her mind when she realised where they were going. Whether by intuition or by coincidence, Valarr had led Jena to Aegon's Garden.
On an island as grey and grim as Dragonstone, Aegon's Garden was a haven of greenery. Some two hundred years of cultivation and care had been put into the garden, and it showed.
A hundred memories crowded into Jena's mind: walking amongst the flowers with Baelor, chasing after Valarr as he learned how to run, watching him climb trees as he call down to his laughing father. Now the little boy was taller than she was, and newly married.
"Pity that the pines do not change their colour," Jena lamented. "It would make for a wondrous sight." She had always loved the autumn colours, but all the leaves had fallen by the time the first year of autumn was finished.
Valarr nodded in assent. "It would. But colour does not matter to me. I still find this a wondrous sight." His wistful tone was unfeigned as he took in a deep breath to smell the trees.
Jena felt a surge of relief that Valarr still loved these gardens. It was an affirmation that she hadn't realised she needed so desperately. But as she thought of Valarr playing as a boy, she remembered his younger brother. "Matarys is taking a leaf out of your book."
Valarr turned to her, surprised by her change of tone. "What do you mean?"
"Titus' children," Jena explained, looking her eldest son in the eye. "Did you give Matarys the idea that he could snub them?"
Valarr sighed. "They're peasants, Mother."
Jena was relieved that Titus was not nearby. "Your uncle took them into his household. Andrew and Sadog are Titus' sons by the king's decree, and the others are legally his heirs. Whatever they were or might still be, they are family. "
"Why? Because Uncle Titus is fool enough to raise them above their station?" Valarr shook his head. "I will not play his mummer's farce."
"Take care how you speak of my brother," Jena warned. "He lost everything and more during the Blackfyre Rebellion. It is thanks to him that you can still draw breath, let alone call yourself a prince!"
This cowed Valarr somewhat, but he was not remorseful enough for Jena's liking. Instead, he changed tactics. "Why didn't he just remarry, if he wanted heirs?"
"That is your uncle's concern," Jena retorted. "His and his alone!"
"How convenient for him."
The words had been muttered under Valarr's breath; when he saw the look on his mother's face, he seemed to regret the impulse immediately.
Jena glared at her eldest son. "What was that?"
Valarr's resentment overcame his hesitation. "I said it is convenient for my uncle that he may refuse a marriage pact. If heirs were needed, mayhaps I could have collected a few orphans for myself."
"Shame on you," Jena snapped. "You have great responsibilities which Titus does not have. You think that being king means you can do whatever you like?"
"Last I looked, that was what all Targaryen monarchs did," Valarr retorted.
"Ah yes." Jena's voice was scornful, sarcastic. "Good King Aegon II did what he liked. As did Maegor. As did Aegon IV. What glorious reigns they had! Do you wish to rule as they did?"
Valarr seemed on the brink of rolling his eyes. "If we are done here," he suggested icily, "I must go and see my wife before supper."
Jena almost flinched at his tone, but kept her composure as he turned and walked away. This was a mistake, Jena thought to herself as she walked aimlessly in the garden. Whether she meant the journey to Dragonstone, the marriage between Valarr and Kiera, or something else entirely, even she was not sure.