Jena
The coldness of Dragonstone had clung to her on the voyage back across the bay.
Valarr and Keira shared the best cabin to themselves, but that appeared to be the only time that they interacted during the voyage. And while Kiera remained in that cabin for the entire journey, Valarr preferred to spend his time on the ship's deck with his cousin Daeron, conversing and laughing together.
When Kiera finally did re-emerge, Jena was struck by her pallor. However, she was unable to speak to her, as she and Valarr took a wheelhouse for themselves. Jena was instead paired with Daeron, much to her private chagrin. The two knights of the Kingsguard - Ser Androw Chyttering and Ser Willem Wylde - took proffered horses and rode alongside the wheelhouses as they made a slow course along the busy streets.
As Jena expected, there was an awkward silence between she and Daeron as they got settled in; Daeron noticed it too, and it had ever been his wont to fill such silences with conversation, no matter how inane.
"Can I ask you something, Aunt Jena?"
You just did. "Go on," she replied.
"Does Uncle Baelor ever have dragon dreams?"
Jena frowned. "Dreams of dragons? I imagine that he has. What of it?"
"No no, I mean… well, yes, I suppose, but I also mean dragon dreams."
Jena, who'd been pondering Kiera and Valarr, was especially irked by Daeron's fumbled speech. It took all her effort not to let her irritation show. "Is this some sort of game, Daeron?"
"No!" He shook his head. "Dragon dreams, like what the Targaryens sometimes have. Uncle Brynden and Aunt Shiera told me that a few Targaryens would be able to see the future in their dreams."
Of course those two would be encouraging this, Jena thought bitterly. Their love for the arcane was well known. "Are you saying that you have been having such dreams?"
"I think so," Daeron replied eagerly. "I mean, I hope so! I've been dreaming that the dragons would return!"
It had ever been a wish of House Targaryen to bring their dragons back. They had died out during the reign of King Aegon the Dragonbane, whom it was said could not bear even the sight of such beasts. Still, even the Dragonbane had tried to hatch dragon eggs, but with no success. Other Targaryens had spent their lives poring through old texts and studying the cryptic arts in order that they might revive the dragons of old.
For her part, Jena was quite content to never see such monsters return; one of her kinsmen had burned to death when King Aegon IV had tried to build dragons with metal, wood, and wildfire. She had also been raised on stories of death and destruction laid out during Aegon's Conquest, the Dragon's Wroth, the Dance, and half a dozen other events.
Against her will, Jena found herself growing intrigued with Daeron. "What happens in these dreams?"
"It's always the same one," Daeron explained. "I dream of a girl. I don't know who she is, but she's certainly a Targaryen. Silver hair and purple eyes," he added quickly. "Anyway, she's pregnant, and she's about to give birth, but no babe comes out of her. Three dragon eggs come out instead. Then she breathes fire on them, and they hatch!"
Jena felt her interest evaporate through the wooden panels of the wheelhouse. "I see."
"It's mad, I know," Daeron quickly muttered. "But Aunt Shiera said that dragon dreams need to be interpreted."
"Perhaps she can do that for you," Jena suggested.
"She can't," Daeron lamented. "She can't figure out the other one I had neither."
Jena could sense what Daeron wanted her to ask, and she suddenly loathed him for forcing her to indulge him. "Other one?"
"Aye," Daeron answered. "Well, it wasn't one dream, truth be told. It was a series of dreams I started having five years ago. I haven't had them for some time now, but I still remember a few things."
Jena was sorely regretting her question. She felt a pang of remorse for her lack of interest, especially given that Daeron was surely still grieving his mother's death. Wasn't I also lamenting my lack of a bond with Dyanna? So, she put on a mask of curious interest and listened as Daeron told his story in fits and starts.
"First I see a red and purple dragon beneath a thunderstorm. They've got a clutch of eggs at their feet. Two little red dragons hatch out of the eggs. Other dragons appear, black and white, red and orange, yellow too. The purple dragon stays with the little reds, but they're bigger now. One of them is sitting on a new clutch of eggs, but they're black and rotten. The purple dragon screams at that, one of the worst noises I ever heard."
Jena was growing weary of this, but there was no polite way to halt Daeron's ramblings now.
The young prince plowed on obliviously. "Next thing I remember is a knight standing beneath the dragons. He's taller than any man I ever saw before, shaggy-haired and sun-streaked, bearing a sigil I still don't recognise. The first red dragon, the one I saw with the purple… it falls out of the sky and lands on top of the knight. But the knight gets up, and the dragon dies. I hear a cry, and turn back to the purple dragon. It's wailing and slamming its tail on the ground, running over to the red dragon where it lies. While it does that, two white dragons swoop down and slay its young. I don't know why, but I wept to see it happen."
He paused, as if overwhelmed by his own recollection. Jena was surprised by his earnest display of emotion; it might be nonsense, but she had never thought he could be so serious about it. "What came of the white dragons, then?"
"Them?" Daeron shook his head. "I saw one of them slaying black dragons. The purple dragon also attacked them in a rage, but the white dragons have wings, so they just fly out of range. Oh, I neglected to mention that. The purple dragon has no wings. Anyway, they don't even fight back, they just screech at the purple dragon. The purple screams louder than ever, and… And then there's this great show of lightning. It was a spectacle."
Much to her own astonishment, Jena was moved by the intensity with which Daeron delivered this bizarre account.
"The lightning caused one of the dragons to flee, shrieking with rage or fear, I don't know. The second was struck by two bolts, and fell down dead before the purple's feet." With that, Daeron suddenly halted. "That's all I recall. I haven't had those dreams for quite some time."
Jena was bereft of words for a moment. There was no meaning which she could glean from those fragments. Like as not, they are merely dreams. She had not the heart to say as much to Daeron, however.
The rest of their journey was quiet; when they arrived at the castle, Baelor and Matarys were speaking with Valarr.
Matarys was growing self-conscious about showing affection in front of onlookers, but his father cared nothing for that. He smiled as he took Jena in his arms and kissed her. "Welcome home, darling."
Jena felt her heart melt; she had often fretted to herself over growing old and stout. She wished that she could age as well as her husband had, but Baelor's view of her never changed. He still looked at her with the same affection that he had when they'd first been married.
Beside her, Valarr greeted Daeron, even as Aemon and Aegon ran forward and embraced their eldest brother. Aerion was nowhere to be seen, but nor was Kiera.
"She went to Maegor's Holdfast," Valarr explained when Jena pointed that out. "She said she was feeling ill." Daeron frowned at Valarr, who merely shrugged.
For her part, Jena was not satisfied with that explanation, and she was irked by Valarr's disregard for his own wife's well-being. Still, she would not publicly admonish him for fear of spreading rumours. Instead, she turned to Baelor. "We should send a septa to visit Kiera."
Baelor nodded, and went to give the command discreetly, so that Valarr would not notice or protest.
When he was finished with that, she linked arms with him and walked with him out of the Great Hall. "Is there any news of Titus or Cassana?"
"A raven came to us from the south," her husband replied. "Titus and Baldric went to recruit Lord Caron for the Vulture Hunt. Besides that, we have heard nothing else."
"So be it," Jena conceded. "But what of you? How do you fare, Baelor?"
"Well enough, though I worry for Father. He is showing his age more frequently."
"Howso?" Jena looked up at him in surprise.
Baelor shrugged helplessly. "He is becoming more stubborn, more obstinate. He still demands wards from those Blackfyre houses to serve us. I do not know how else to tell him that most of the Black Dragon's followers were earnest in their loyalty. An honourable foe will lay down his sword if there is a chance of pardon. But Brynden continues to sway Father's mind. He is adamant that the Blackfyres are conspiring against us, that there will be another attack from them. They will be inspired by the Vulture King, he claims." Baelor sighed, as if recalling the debates alone were enough to wear him out.
It disgusted Jena that Daeron would value the word of such a vile man as Bloodraven over his own heir. She was reminded of what Titus had told her about Bloodraven's confession after the Battle of the Redgrass Field. Neither one of them had dared speak openly of it to anyone, for fear that Bloodraven might find out and strike against them, but Jena had lost respect for Daeron as a result.
"Do you think your father might be losing full control of his senses?"
"Nay," Baelor replied curtly. "He is still of sound mind, if not of sound body."
Jena wished that Baelor could assume the throne. He was thirty-six, and there was not a single man in the Seven Kingdoms who could deny Baelor's worthiness as Crown Prince. The sooner he becomes king, the better. It would not do to say such things to Baelor's face, however; he was nothing if not a dutiful man, and he would hear no slander against his father.
Jena sought to change the subject. "Is all well with Titus' wards?"
"It is," Baelor affirmed in a more pleasant tone. "They are progressing with their lessons, as far as I can tell."
"Good," Jena remarked. She had half a mind to pay them a visit and see how they were getting on. Mayhaps later on. Instead, she leaned her head against Baelor's shoulder. "Have you missed me?"
Baelor understood immediately what she meant. "You know the answer to that yourself."
As she'd hoped, Baelor began to lead her to Maegor's Holdfast, where Jena cheerfully locked the door behind them.
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It might seem to any outside observer that normalcy had returned to King's Landing since the wedding of Valarr and Kiera. King Daeron continued to rule with the aid of his small council, his extended family dwelt peaceably within the Red Keep, and the realm continued as it had for the past ten years.
Jena, however, still fretted over the frigidity between Valarr and Kiera. They were not openly hostile towards each other, but nor were they affectionate. Moreover, they often sequestered themselves from sight; Valarr would train in weapons at night with his cousin Daeron, whilst Kiera would remain in her private chambers.
For her part, Jena began to organise private dinners with the royal family in Maegor's Holdfast. It would not do to have them constantly exposed to the rest of the Red Keep, or so Jena thought. She recalled how she and Baelor had benefited from private moments, either between themselves or with family. She fervently hoped that the same might work for Valarr and Kiera.
Thus, King Daeron and Queen Myriah regularly hosted supper in the Queen's Ballroom, with all their children and grandchildren in attendance. Elaena Targaryen and Michael Manwoody were also present, as were Jon Waters and his family.
It proved not to be as effective as Jena wished. On the one hand, Daeron and Myriah were always thrilled to have such dinners, and they were generous hosts. Michael Manwoody could often be called upon to play his harp and sing a song as Elaena brushed tears from her eyes. Baelor was a consummate ally in Jena's campaign, engaging his son and good-daughter in conversation.
The problems arose from Valarr's natural aversion to social interactions, but also from other members of House Targaryen. It was clear that both Aerys and Maekar begrudged these dinners, while Rhaegel was a frequent disruptor of things. His antics would only inflame the amusement of the younger children such as Matarys, Aegon, and even Aemon.
On one occasion, it was Kiera who astonished those in attendance. She had never been known to have a heavy appetite, but Jena noticed that this seemed to have changed in the past several days. Unusually, there was also a rosy tint to her cheeks. She made no mention of her suspicions until the evening when Kiera arose and declared that she was with child.
So soon, Jena mused. It has only been a month since their wedding. They managed to have their bedding after all.
"Goodness," Queen Myriah exclaimed, then got up to embrace the princess. "That is wonderful news!"
"Hear hear," Prince Daeron shouted, beaming happily as he clapped his hands together. He seemed more delighted than anyone at the table, moreso than Valarr. Jena wondered how much wine he'd been able to sneak in beneath his father's gaze this time.
"Congratulations, son." Baelor put a hand on Valarr's shoulder. Valarr gave his father a small nod, but did not return his bright smile.
"Father," Valarr replied stiffly. He seemed embarrassed by all the attention, even as he clumsily took one of Kiera's hands in his own.
"We should have another tourney," Aerion suggested. He grinned at Valarr. "It would only be fitting, no?"
Jena sensed that Aerion was being cruel. Valarr seemed to sense it too, for he flushed and ignored his cousin's suggestion.
King Daeron, however, was not so alert to Aerion's mockery. "An excellent idea," he exclaimed. "We shall discuss preparations on the morrow."
Reflexively, Jena turned to Elaena Targaryen and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Can the realm sustain another tourney so soon?"
Elaena said nothing, but a quick glance she shot Jena confirmed her fears. Jena turned back to Baelor, who had also heeded Elaena's response. "No matter," he whispered. "We shall dissuade Father as best we can."
Jena also worried for Valarr; it was clear to her that he was not yet the man that Baelor had been when he'd defeated Daemon Blackfyre at the lists. She hoped that his hours of training might allow for enough improvement, but she agonised over what the realm would think if her son was revealed to be insufficient.
After the dinner had ended and the attendants dispersed, Jena prepared to look in on Valarr. She had no intention of openly interrupting Valarr's training, but she was curious to see his abilities for herself.
"You had best leave him be," Baelor urged. "Suppose he should see you?"
"I will be discreet," Jena promised. "He will never know I was there."
Baelor had relented, but he retained his trepidations on the matter. He himself had gone to play games of cyvasse with Matarys, as had become their evening tradition.
Changing into clothing with brown and black colours, Jena made her way through the silent corridors, even avoiding the guards that occasionally made their rounds whilst talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers.
Much to her surprise, the small training yard of the holdfast was empty. No torches had been lit, and there was no sign that anyone had been present for some time.
He must be with Kiera tonight, Jena thought. That was a pleasing thought; Valarr certainly ought to be spending time with his wife when they were expecting their firstborn child. She turned away and began her progress to her own chambers.
As she walked, however, a new troubling thought entered her mind. Valarr's absence was explained, but what about Daeron's? Was he no longer training? There was no shortage of reliable men whom Daeron could count on to assist him, including any of the Kingsguard.
She was soon pacing furiously to Kiera and Valarr's chambers. Much to her surprise, no knight of the Kingsguard stood outside their door. Sure enough, the door was unlocked, and nobody was inside.
As her fears were replaced with confusion, Jena hastened for the drawbridge which separated Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the Red Keep.
As was customary, a knight of the Kingsguard guarded the drawbridge until the hour of the wolf. That night - much to Jena's relief - the knight was Ser Willem Wylde.
"Your Grace," he exclaimed when he saw her. "Is anything the matter?"
"Has anyone crossed this bridge?"
"Yes," Willem replied. "Prince Valarr and Prince Daeron went riding."
Riding? At this hour? As soon as she asked those questions, Kiera felt a sense of revulsion. She had no difficulty imagining Daeron gallivanting off to the Street of Silk, but her son's presence was an affront. How can he do this to Kiera after she announced her pregnancy?
"What about Kiera?" Jena asked. "Where is she?"
"I did not see her, Your Grace. Is she not in her chambers?"
Jena felt utterly bewildered. Nothing made sense to her, and she could barely think properly. "There is something afoot," she mused. "Are you sure that you have seen nobody else depart the castle?"
"Of course," Willem replied. "Servants and guards depart this way too. But I did not see Princess Kiera. Only the princes."
Kiera's absence was a mystery, to be sure, but Jena could only deal with one mystery at a time. Another thought had crossed Jena's mind. Valarr and Daeron. Perhaps they aren't seeking out brothels together… Perhaps…
Frankly, she could well imagine it; they had always been close, and Valarr had always preferred Daeron's company to Kiera's. True, she had heard rumours of Daeron indulging himself with women and drink, but she and Titus had both found pleasure with men and women alike. Now she wondered whether Valarr had inherited that same trait.
Despite that, however, she was disappointed with her son. She had always loved Gwenys, but she had put their trysts aside out of loyalty to Baelor, especially when they had begun a family together. Mayhaps I should speak of that to Valarr, so that he might recall his responsibilities.
It was useless to find Valarr now; she had no idea where he and Daeron might have gone, and Jena was not going to search the Street of Silk for them. There was no surer road to disgrace.
"So be it," she sighed. "But when this happens again," she added with a glance up at Willem, "I want to know where they go. I will need you to assist me to that end."
Willem said nothing for a moment, and his expression became deeply discomfited. Still, he was a knight of the Kingsguard, and his duty won out over any reluctance he might feel. "As you wish, Your Grace," he answered quietly.
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Two days later, Jena and Willem left the holdfast beneath a dark sky. Daeron and Valarr had once again departed the castle, albeit with some measure of discretion. Their clothes were plain-looking, as if they did not wish to draw attention to themselves. Jena and Willem had done the same, abandoning their usual raiments, just as they'd done when they'd sought out Titus in the shadow city. Willem was still armed and armoured, but now he appeared more like a common sellsword. Jena had found a servant's spare set of clothes which fit her as well as could be expected.
They shadowed the princes as they took horses from the stables and rode out of the Red Keep. Jena could hear them speaking together, but she could not glean what they were saying. She felt a stab of remorse that she was working to undermine this happiness between them, but had she not done the same with Gwenys? We are still close, we still love each other, but we also found love elsewhere. This is not the end of happiness, she reminded herself. This is an acknowledgement of duty.
As she'd suspected, Valarr and Daeron did not make for the Street of Silk. Instead, they rode down Aegon's Hill and turned onto the Hook. This narrow street was a curved route that began at the foot of Aegon's Hill and ended at the Muddy Way and Fishmonger's Square.
Jena and Willem needed to take care to avoid being seen or heard by the princes. The hour of ghosts had come around, and almost nobody else was still walking the streets, save for a few figures that Jena was careful to avoid.
Halfway down the Hook, the princes halted before one of the many houses which flanked the street. There was no distinction to this house, and it did not seem to be occupied until they entered it. Jena and Willem led their own horses further down the street before dismounting.
"Wait here," she told Willem as he held the reigns. "I will go and see what this is about."
"Your Grace," Willem murmured. "We can still turn around and go back to the castle. I fear that there will be no good that comes out of this excursion."
Jena felt herself hesitating, even considering this warning. But she had come too far, worried too much, tortured herself for too long. She pulled her hood over her head and went for the house in which the princes had entered.
Only one candle had been lit on the main floor when she slipped inside. There was little furniture, as far as she could see. It appeared to be an abandoned residence, littered with cobwebs. She could hear mice scratching away in the shadows. Is this how far my son goes to find happiness?
As she made her way along the main floor, she came upon a narrow staircase which led to a door. A faint light glowed beneath the door, and she could hear noises emanating from the upstairs chamber.
Jena paused once more, wondering if Ser Willem had been right; she certainly did not wish to see her son in such a state, much less Daeron.
She might have turned back then, were it not for a sudden voice crying out loud enough for her to hear.
"Yes! Oh yes! Fuck me harder!"
Jena's blood turned cold; she recognised that voice immediately, and it was not her son's, or Daeron's. All else was forgotten in the midst of her utter shock. She bounded up the stairs and opened the door.
Kiera had always been proud of her beauty and her heightened sense of fashion. She would regularly spend hours preparing for a social event, determined to be the most poised and elegant woman in the room.
Now she lay sprawled across a small bed naked as the day she was born. Jena boggled at the sight of her beauty in such a sordid little room, but what horrified her more was the man who was fucking her so fiercely.
Even with his face turned away from her, Jena recognised Daeron Targaryen in an instant. His lean body jerked back and forth, his sandy-coloured hair was damp with sweat, his breathing was ragged, and his moans were high-pitched and awkward. That seemed not to matter to Kiera, for she gazed up at him with a blazing expression, full of lust and excitement.
"Fuck me," she continued to beg. "Oh, fuck me, Daeron! Fuck me as hard as you can!"
Daeron was too overwhelmed to reply. His hands gripped her sides as he slammed himself against her, crying out in joy.
Jena was scarcely aware that she had begun to scream. Kiera and Daeron halted immediately and stared at her in horror. So transfixed were they by the sight of Jena that they did not uncouple, or even attempt to cover up their naked forms.
"What in the name of the gods are you doing?" Jena shrieked, staring at Kiera.
The younger woman was bereft of words. Her mouth and eyes were three O's on her face. Her small, pointed breasts rose and fell with each heavy breath she took.
"And you." Jena turned on Daeron, whose fingers still dug into Kiera's pale skin. "How dare you betray Valarr like this! He calls you a second brother! He-"
Daeron was not looking at her. His eyes flickered past Jena to her left. For the first time, Jena turned her head and beheld the biggest shock of all.
Sitting in a small wooden chair, equally naked and equally frozen with terror, was her eldest son. One hand held a drinking horn, while the other was firmly wrapped around his manhood. The suddenness of Jena's interruption had not yet caused his cock to deflate. It was unmistakable what he'd been doing before she'd walked in.
Gods… She had no words left. She thought she might faint. She could only imagine that her expression mirrored Valarr's as he stared at her in utter shock. Then she turned and bolted out of the room as fast as she could.
She did not flee to Ser Willem. Instead, she ran up the Hook towards Aegon's Hill. She no longer feared strangers or cutthroats. Her heart was already pounding in her chest and her breathing so ragged that she felt ready to collapse. Kiera, Daeron, and Valarr refused to leave her mind's eye, morphing into misshapen forms, laughing and screaming like demons.
This was worse than anything her imagination might have conjured. Valarr had not been actively participating; he had been sitting idly by as a passive spectator. And worst of all, he had enjoyed it. He had pleasured himself at the sight of his own cuckolding. What would Baelor think of him? What would Daeron and Myriah say? Gods be good… the realm could last a thousand years and this would be all that they remember him for…
By the time she had fully given in to her hysterics. She thought she might die right there on the dirty road as she struggled to weep and breathe at the same time.
Mayhaps it is best if I die now, she thought wildly. How could I look them in the face after this?
"Mother! Mother!"
Jena looked up. Her son's cries reverberated against the ramshackle buildings around her.
Slowly, driven by some strange instinct which was untainted by her mad thoughts of death, Jena rose to her feet once more. Staggering forward, she followed Valarr's calls until he emerged before her, half-dressed and pale as a ghost.
"Are you mad?" He stared at her in astonishment, keeping several paces between her and himself.
"How long?"
Valarr hesitated. He seemed genuinely afraid of her. "Mother…"
"How long?" Jena almost shouted the question this time.
Her son almost cowered from her. "Keep your voice down, for the love of the gods!"
"Answer me," Jena demanded, oblivious to his terror. How can he possibly have the nerve to fret after what I just saw?
"Well," Valarr mumbled. "Daeron and Kiera started at it about two years ago, before he went back to Summerhall. But I only found out after the wedding. Walked in on them together here on Dragonstone."
Against her will, Jena thought back to what she'd seen. She tried to imagine walking in on Baelor in the arms of a lover, and she revolted at the thought.
"And then…" Valarr shuddered, squirming in his clothes as he avoided eye contact. "Truth be told, I was furious when I first saw them. I was shocked too. I didn't say anything, though; I didn't know what to say. They didn't see me, so they just kept going… and I… I started to enjoy it…"
"Oh gods," Jena whimpered. "Valarr, what are you saying?"
Just then, Valarr looked up again. He was still alarmed and uncomfortable, but in his eyes burned a new defiant flame. "I'm saying I liked it. I liked watching them. So I sat down and started… well, anyway, they saw me and I told them to keep going. Turns out they liked it too. Kiera started bragging how long she'd been… with Daeron, and… other details."
He's not apologising… he's not swearing to make an end of it… "But Valarr," Jena protested. "You cannot mean to continue this!"
A cold realisation struck her. Even though there was no one in sight, she dropped her voice down to the faintest whisper. "How long has Kiera been pregnant?"
Valarr shrugged helplessly. "What of it? Daeron and I are both Targaryens. Kiera's hair is pale gold anyway, so nobody will sense anything amiss."
She is pregnant with a bastard… His own cousin's bastard… "How can you be so cavalier about this?" Jena felt herself growing hysterical again. "You don't know what this will mean!"
"I do, Mother," Valarr declared. Now he sounded defiant. "I don't want it to stop. It's the first time I actually enjoy being with Kiera. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I?" Jena thought she might slap Valarr across the face. "I never… never dreamed that you would… I did not want this!"
"Gods be damned! Did you not wish for me to be happy? Why is that so bloody difficult for you to accept?"
Now it was Valarr who had shouted. The echoes faded quickly, but Jena was still stunned. She could not decide which of them had gone insane. Jena saw that Ser Willem had emerged from his hiding place, staring at the two of them.
"You made me marry her," Valarr insisted, half in anger and half in desperation. "You told me to find happiness in my life, and I found some. And I'm not going to give it up!"
"You foolish child," she gasped. "I have never been so ashamed of you in all my life."
And with that, she turned and staggered towards a stone-faced Ser Willem. She expected Valarr to follow her, or call to her, but he did neither. When she turned back, she saw Valarr going back inside, back to Daeron and Kiera, and whatever disgusting madness they shared between them.
"Speak no word of this to anyone," she hissed, glancing at Ser Willem.
"Of course, Your Grace," came his morose reply.