Jena
Jena stood close to Valarr and Kiera as they received the congratulations of their wedding guests.
The wedding had been smoothly carried out. The vows had been made before half the realm's nobles and ladies, and everyone had joyously celebrated. Everyone except the bride and groom themselves.
She wondered how many others noticed how dispassionate the prince and princess were about their own wedding. Doubtless, men and women would simply commend the couple's composed states. They were marrying for duty, after all, not for love, regardless of what the singers were claiming.
As she'd done so many times, Jena thought back to her own grand wedding to Baelor. Daeron and Myriah had been determined to make the realm forget about the near-disastrous tourney during which the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had been murdered. There would be no such trouble at the wedding of the Crown Prince.
Jena had truthfully spent much of the preparation being miserable. She had felt the absence of her brother, who had immediately embarked on his exile with only a letter which confessed his terrible crime, begged for forgiveness, and wished her well on her life with Baelor.
That had been one of Baelor's finest hours, as far as Jena was concerned. His adoration for her had been unmatched, sitting with her and patiently drying her tears. He had listened to her as she'd unleashed every thought and emotion around Titus and what he had done.
Then she had had to explain the family from which she'd come, how her mother had died before she'd even flowered, how she had never known her three eldest brothers and did not mourn them, how she never spoke to her elder sister, how she had always hated her father, but now felt sick with guilt that she had not wept for him. Baelor had been patient and humble, offering advice and support.
She had already fallen in love with Baelor before then, but she had spent the first five years of her marriage thanking the gods for giving her such a thoughtful and kind husband. She had laughed so delightedly at her wedding, at least when she wasn't weeping tears of joy. Not even Elaena Targaryen's sourness, Rhaegel's madness, or Maekar's surliness had affected her that day. There had only been beautiful Baelor, blessed Baelor, benevolent Baelor.
She saw no such joy in Kiera's face as she stood with Valarr, nor in his with her. Will they ever speak to each other with gentle understanding? Will he hold her and make her feel safe? Will they whisper secrets to each other after they've made love? Will they weep together as they hold their firstborn child? Will they ever share a bond which has saved my life more than once in this life?
All of it was enough to make her sick with misery, but with all her will, she could manage to hide it from almost everyone at the wedding. It was foolish to dwell on such frivolity, after all. Their union would ensure new prosperity for the realm, and they would be loved for it.
Whether Titus could sense it, she did not know; she had not spoken to him since the night before the wedding. She had deeply resented his stubborn insistence that he would stand with his children rather than her, but now she was completely focused on her firstborn son.
Baelor and Matarys stood close by. Their second son had lost patience with the tedium of the wedding. At present, Baelor was holding his arms high in the air as he playfully writhed about, trying to break free.
"Gwenys," she asked her oldest friend, "would you please take the prince back to his chambers? I do not know how long we will tarry here."
"Of course," Gwenys assured her. She and tickled Matarys, who squealed with laughter and lashed out with his feet. "Come along," she told the boy as Baelor released his son's arms with a grin. Gwenys led Matarys into a wheelhouse which also held Princess Aelinor and Prince Aerys.
She turned to Baelor. "Shall we go straight on to the feast?"
"That would be best," Baelor replied. "But I can go on alone if you wish to change your dress."
Jena smiled her thanks before kissing Baelor's cheek. Before either of them could speak, however, they jolted at a sudden cry of alarm.
Titus was frantically looking around, pushing other wedding guests out of the way. "Miru? Miru!" The knights which had remained by his side during the wedding were plunging into the great mass of wedding guests, most of whom were perturbed by this disruption.
Still, some kinder wedding guests looked about for the missing girl, even as Baelor quickly summoned several gold cloaks to Titus' side.
As Titus described the girl, Jena went to the perplexed bride and groom. "Never mind this, you should go prepare for the feast."
A cold look came over Valarr's face, but he did not challenge or dispute her. "As you say, Mother," was all that came out of his mouth as he, Kiera, and three knights of the Kingsguard went away in a wheelhouse.
Another Kingsguard knight, Willem Wylde, remained behind with Jena and Baelor as they approached Titus.
"They will find her soon," Baelor assured his goodbrother. "This is not a battlefield, Titus, no harm will befall Miru."
"You do not understand," TItus countered heatedly. "She is a little girl with nothing but fear for strangers! And for good reasons! Who knows where she might flee in her panic? Who knows what might befall her?"
He turned to look at his other wards, all of whom stared up at Titus in alarm. "What happened? How did she slip away unnoticed? Did none of you have eyes?"
Jena had never seen her brother so agitated. She suddenly saw herself in his panicked anger, his desperation for the child to be found.
Much to her shock, however, Titus rounded on the eldest of his squires, the boy called Cayn, who was only two years from manhood. "What were you doing? How could you let her get away?"
"I was standing by, milord," Cayn protested.
"Standing by," Titus echoed in a scathing tone. "Nothing to do with you, eh?"
Cayn was stung into rebutting Titus' scorn. "You didn't tell me she was my charge!"
"Miru is one of you," Titus shouted. "You can deny it all you want, but this is your family now! And now one of your family is lost!"
Jena sighed awkwardly; her heart went out to Cayn, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes were wide with hurt. She could well imagine how she would have spoken to Valarr if he'd allowed Matarys to wander away, but now she needed to stop Titus from saying something that he might sorely regret.
She stepped forward. "Try to stay calm, brother."
As she expected, Titus rounded on her. "Calm? Calm? You dare tell me to stay calm when that child…" He seemed on the cusp of having a terrible fit before he began to pace back and forth.
"It will not take long, Titus, wait and see." Baelor assured him, speaking in his normal manner, as if Titus weren't in the middle of some terrible fey mood. Jena marvelled at how he could be so reserved, but she knew the truth of it; Titus' concerns were a distraction from their own.
Titus shook his head. "If you knew what that little girl had endured, you would not be so reasonable! You might be a father, but you have no idea what she's been through! And now imagine what might happen to her in this fucking crowd!"
Jena put a hand on Baelor's shoulder and stepped forward once more. "Brother, I understand! You know I do! But we have everyone available looking for her! What more can we do?"
Titus did not answer her question. He simply ground his teeth, furiously cuffed tears from his face, and looked about for any guards bringing Miru back.
Baelor stepped forward once more. "You must be patient, Titus…"
"Damn your talk of patience! I cannot stand here and wait! If anything should happen to her, I'll-"
It was no use. His wards looked on him as if he were a stranger, and not even Baelon Massey was spared Titus' wrath when he tried to intervene as well.
Thankfully, Jena saw the girl. Her half-burned face was unmistakable, as was the sigil which her rescuer wore.
If Titus had any qualms about the sight of Brynden Rivers' man, he did not show them. He simply knelt before Miru and held the crying child as close to him as he could.
"Thank the gods," Jena exclaimed.
Baelor approached her as Titus picked up Miru and thanked Brynden's man for his service. "All's well that ends well," he observed. "Let us go to the feast."
It was still very early by the time they arrived in the Great Hall. Servants were still hurriedly putting things in place. One man who seemed to be delegating the others gave a squawk at the sight of Baelor and Jena.
As usual, the Crown Prince was quick to dispel such fear of him. "We are early," he assured the man. "You are not late. Continue on as you were."
They sat together at the head table, awaiting the arrival of the other guests.
Titus was the first. He was sheepish as he approached the head table instead of the one where he would sit with his wards.
"My apologies regarding my conduct before," he began shame-facedly, but Baelor would not allow him to continue.
"There is no apology necessary," he assured Titus.
Jena smiled at her brother to give him further assurance. He sighed with relief, picked up a pitcher of water, and poured himself a full goblet as the next pair of early guests arrived.
Elaena Targaryen and Ser Michael Manwoody made a startling couple, given that Elaena was more than twenty years older than her husband. It did not help that he'd shaved his face for the wedding and looked even younger than usual. He is only a few years older than her eldest children.
Jena felt uneasy around them; she never did find out what had happened that dreadful evening on Dragonstone, when Ronnel Penrose had been slain under mysterious circumstances. The story that everybody knew was that he'd died fighting against the Blackfyre rebels who'd attacked the castle. Only a few knew the story that Elaena had slain him when he'd attacked her in a drunken rage. But there might be a third story, far more sinister than the first two, but Jena was sure that that story would never be known by anyone who wasn't Elaena or Michael.
Still, they were her friends, and they had only just managed to come into harbour that morning so that they might join the wedding. Jena and Baelor arose from their seats and greeted them warmly, as did Titus.
"It is good to see you now, Lord Titus," Michael declared. "We bring you that withdrawal from the Iron Bank that you requested."
"Excellent," Titus replied, shaking Michael's hand. "I will collect it later." He proceeded to kiss Elaena's hand and praise her elaborate dress of purple and green.
"I missed you," Elaena told Jena as they exchanged kisses. "How have you fared?"
"It is a good day for the realm," Jena answered, unable to bring herself to speak lies, and equally unwilling to speak plainly about her worries.
Elaena was shrewd enough to sense that which was unspoken and to leave them unspoken. Instead, she lowered her voice and changed the subject.
"She was not there to receive your latest letter," the older princess confided.
Jena sighed. "Nothing in reply, then?"
"Has there ever been?" Elaena shook her head incredulously. "You really must let this go, Jena."
"You know better than that," Jena gently admonished her friend.
Elaena frowned. "Do you?"
Jena was spared from replying as more guests arrived.
It was easy to put aside her doubts and concerns when she was playing hostess to the wedding guests. Lords and ladies alike were only too eager to distract her with gossip and news from their own homes. The Archon of Tyrosh was eager to converse, but Jena could only catch half of what he was saying.
The hall echoed with cheers when Valarr and Kiera entered the hall. They led the dancing with great elegance and practised poise.
For her part, Jena focused on herself, dancing with Baelor as if it were their own wedding again. Then she danced with Titus, King Daeron, the Archon, and her second son Matarys, who was even clumsier than the Archon had been.
She could not avoid dancing with Valarr, however. A cold feeling washed over her as she was held stiffly by her son, whose gaze was unfriendly.
Eventually, she was stung into whispering at him. "Come now, Valarr, Is this any way to begin your new life?"
"A life I never wanted," Valarr replied. "You and Father said this was my duty, and that is how I shall carry it."
Jena could not fathom how her heart could still find a way to break. She could barely make her way back to her place at table for the tears.
She tasted none of the dishes placed before her. The wine swiftly numbed her anguish, but she put her goblet down when Baelor gave her a look of concern.
Speeches and japes were made, judging by the laughter and cheers which rang out. Jena cared for none of it. She pretended to listen to the Archon, or else leaned toward Baelor and pretended to listen what he was saying to his brother Aerys.
Finally, Valarr arose and gave a solemn speech, praising his bride's family with lavish words. Then he thanked the guests for their good cheer.
"And lastly, I wish to thank my mother and father," he concluded. "None of this would have been possible without them, and I will never forget it."
Jena laughed then, even as tears flowed from her eyes. She covered her mouth to hide it, even as the hall gave an enthusiastic applause. Baelor put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.
She did not listen to the bride's speech, and it was mercifully short. The mummer's farce was almost at an end, she thought with relief, until she recalled what was left.
She could not tell which drunken lord made the first suggestion, but it did not take long for others to take up the call.
"A bedding! A bedding!"
Jena looked at Baelor with alarm, unable to hide her misery any longer. He cautioned her with a swift shake of his head. Gods…
"Grandfather!"
All turned to look at Valarr, who'd stood up and held a hand upward to halt the chanting.
"Is everything arranged?"
Jena, along with nearly everyone else in the great hall, turned to look at King Daeron.
The old king gave a nod. "As you requested, Valarr."
"Good." The prince turned to Kiera and courteously helped her rise from her chair. Then he turned to the crowded hall and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "It is our intention to spend the first days of our marriage on Dragonstone. We thank you all for your well wishes and your generous gifts!"
Jena looked at Baelor once again. He seemed as surprised as she, and she believed him; he would never have kept such a secret from her.
That surprise was mirrored on nearly every face that she could see. A few lordlings who had grown up alongside Valarr - young men such as Maglor Chyttering, Bryce Darklyn, and Percy Staunton - had clearly expected this announcement, for they arose and approached the groom. Daeron Targaryen was another who stood up, wearing a foolish grin on his face. Kiera's ladies - among whom were Elaena's youngest daughter, Joy Penrose - did the same.
Murmurs of confusion broke out amongst the other guests, but nobody openly questioned the prince's actions, especially since the king himself had been privy to them.
Daeron was not the only one who was smiling, however. Jena saw that Aerion, second son of Maekar, was leaning back in his chair, leering up at Valarr. Anger stirred within Jena as Aerion turned to a companion at his table and whisper something. The rumours are already beginning.
She watched helplessly as her son left the high table with his bride in hand, followed by their combined entourage. Some drunken lords shouted japes at them as if they were off to their bedding, but neither Kiera nor Valarr acknowledged them.
Queen Myriah stood up after the bride and groom had departed. "I for one see no need to end the feast. Carry on!" She signalled to the musicians, who began to play again in earnest. Frivolity slowly returned to those in the hall, but Jena and Baelor were already rising up from their seats.
Baelor approached his parents with a perplexed countenance. "Might I ask how long this plan was in the making? And why was it kept from Jena and I?"
"Kept?" Daeron frowned at his eldest son. "Were you not aware of Valarr's plans?"
This was a mistake. Jena cursed inwardly, but the die had already been cast. "Valarr did not see fit to tell us that he wished to leave for Dragonstone."
"Strange," Daeron mused, glancing at Myriah.
"He asked for it of us as a wedding gift," the queen explained. "He said he did not wish to participate in a bedding, as he found the practice a vulgar one." The look on her face suggested that she knew the unspoken reason for why Valarr did not want the bedding ceremony to play out.
Jena nodded slowly. "I see."
Myriah looked upon her with a sudden change of expression. Pity and sadness were mingled together in her eyes and mouth. "Valarr will come around. I told him as much when he met with us."
Fat lot of good that did, Jena thought ungenerously, if we are among the last people to hear of this plan. She kept that resentment to herself, however, and accepted Myriah's kind words with as much grace as she could.
She sat down beside Myriah, unable to stop a tear going down her cheek. "I never dreamed that I would pray for my son's forgiveness."
"No mother does," Myriah assured her, putting a hand upon her lap. "Aerys hated Daeron and I when we told him of his betrothal. He was only a boy, but he was already barricading himself in the library. But he did his duty as well, and he is still married."
Jena felt disheartened by this story. Aerys had not turned around at all in his attitude toward marriage. She'd once overheard palace guards jape that Aerys would not consummate his marriage until he found a picture of his wife's cunt in a book.
Myriah seemed to sense her disappointment, for she continued. "Oftentimes the most difficult lesson we must learn is that our children will make their own way towards happiness, and we can only choose to accept them for who they are. And not all your sons must produce heirs of their own. It has been a long time since the Targaryen tree has borne so many branches, after all."
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The following days were quiet in Valarr and Kiera's wake. After a message reported their safe arrival to Dragonstone, there was no other word from the bride and groom.
The guests left the capital for their own homes within those days. Maekar, however, was not one of them. He did not wish to return to Summerhall, where Dyanna had just been laid to rest. It was better, so he said, that his children spend more time with their kin.
Matarys was happy enough with Aemon and Aegon joining him at play. He was soon leading them on adventures around the capital when they weren't serving as pages.
With the end of the tourney, the wedding, and other celebrations, life returned to the tedium of routine. Titus and Baelor were kept busy at small council meetings, whilst Jena spent much of her time with her goodsisters, with the queen, Gwenys, and Elaena.
Elaena in particular was in high spirits now that she was a grandmother. Her son, Jon Waters, had married Lady Oona Scales of Dragonstone. They lived in King's Landing, where Jon commanded the City Watch and rested on his fame from the Blackfyre Rebellion. Their son, Alyn, was only two years old, and utterly doted upon by Elaena whenever she was back in the capital.
Despite Myriah's attempt to comfort her, Jena did not feel any better about Valarr's wedding. All she could do was distract herself with other matters and other people.
One morning, she was strolling through the garden with Elaena, Oona, and little Alyn. The boy was still shaky on his feet, but he was walking faster every day. Willem Wylde trailed behind them.
Elaena, who had not been in Westeros for months, still had many questions about the state of the realm. At present, she was questioning Oona whilst holding Alyn's little hands in her own. "Is it true that Lord Rivers still demands lists of Blackfyre suspects?"
"It is," Oona admitted in a low voice. "There are many who still wish to fight for Daemon's brood."
Jena felt miserable. "What hope do they have? Daemon fought his rebellion and lost. They will surely see the folly in prodding the red dragons once again."
"You speak boldly of wisdom, Jena," Elaena replied with amusement. "But who needs wisdom if you have hope?"
Jena sighed. "They will have to sail to us from across the Narrow Sea. What hope is there of invading Westeros with a handful of aging knights and dispossessed smallfolk?"
"It is remarkable where hope can be found," Elaena answered. "One only needs to look hard enough."
Jena wished she could find hope for Valarr and his feelings toward her, but she did not bring up this anxiety. Elaena had had her belly full of such matters.
"Princess! Princess!"
A servant in Targaryen livery was running after them. He slowed his pace to a halt before Willem Wylde and gave a bow. "You are required in the council chambers. You too, Princess," he added hastily when Elaena gave him an imperious glance.
It was a grim council which awaited the two princesses when they arrived. Daeron was there, as were Myriah, Baelor, Ser Michael Manwoody, Titus, Brynden Rivers, Lord Commander Borlad Hardy, and Lord Sigfryd Velaryon, who had succeeded his father as Master of Ships.
"A message from our sister," Titus told Jena as she approached the table. He handed her a large scroll, even as he wore a grim look on his face.
Jena quickly read the message, her blood turning cold with each new word. "Gods be good," she gasped. "Vulture King… there has not been one of those since the Dance!"
"Indeed," Myriah remarked. "This would explain the trouble that my nephew spoke of when he was here. He thought they were bandits touting an old name, but this appears to be far more serious than first thought."
Jena gave a short cry as she continued reading the message. "Orryn Bolt… Lanval Selmy… oh Titus!" She stared at her brother, whom she saw was blinking more than usual. "I am so sorry."
"Never mind me," Titus retorted gruffly. "We must tell Gwenys."
Jena sat down heavily, shuddering at the thought of her old friend finding out about her brother's demise. "What will we do?"
"That remains to be seen," Daeron mused. "This Vulture King must be stopped, but we must do so with discretion."
Jena was astonished at the use of that word. "What is this about discretion, Your Grace?"
"It is a practical necessity," Baelor answered. "Men who call themselves such titles are desperate for infamy. They will draw others to their cause or else disappear until we go home. We must move quickly, but quietly."
Titus raised a hand. "I will go, Your Grace."
Jena was about to protest, when another beat her to it. Much to her shock, it was Brynden Rivers of all men.
"Lord Titus," he interjected. "No man doubts your courage, or your devotion to House Dondarrion, but I believe such an action is too reckless."
Titus scowled at Rivers' interjection. "This is my family's home that we are discussing. I still recall much from my growing up there. Someone must go south and bring the King's authority against this Vulture King. There is no man in this room that is better qualified for it than I."
This time, it was Daeron who spoke up. "Do you really think that authority is necessary?"
"It is, Your Grace," Titus answered. "A great deal of ill will festers among the marchers. Half those houses fought for the Black Dragon, and marchers have always had long memories."
"All the same," Brynden interrupted, "a scroll with the king's seal would surely have the same effect, no?"
"A scroll is easily misplaced," Titus argued, "as well you know, Rivers. And it is easy for those marcher lords to drag their feet when there is no man to hold them accountable."
Brynden sighed. "Have you not considered, Lord Titus, that this might be exactly what the so-called Vulture King wishes to achieve?"
Jena and Titus exchanged a glance as the pale man turned to Daeron. "Your Grace, this Vulture King did not declare war upon the Iron Throne. His only ambition seems to be toppling House Dondarrion, and rendering it extinct."
Jena felt a shiver go through her. She instinctively turned to Willem Wylde. "Find my son and make sure he is safe." The Kingsguard knight gave a short bow before departing the chambers.
"Perhaps Lord Brynden is correct, brother," Jena urged Titus, who stared at her incredulously. "And besides, I doubt Cassana will be thrilled to see either of us back in Blackhaven."
If anything, that argument only seemed to intensify Titus' resolve. "Since when did either of us care what Cassana thought?" He shook his head and turned to the others. "As I said, I will go and help Baldric resolve this matter. And even if I fail, Jena will still be here, along with her second son."
Jena had not thought of that; Matarys would be the new lord of Blackhaven if Cassana's line failed. It was a ghastly thought, and she quickly expelled it from her mind.
So many details needed to be worked out that it was not until supper that the council dispersed. Baelor remained behind to speak with his father, so Jena left the council chambers with Titus instead.
She still had the scroll from Cassana and Baldric in her hands. "I mislike this, brother. They cannot even tell us how many followers this Vulture King has."
"Few enough, I'll warrant," Titus replied. "Else Blackhaven would have come under attack by now."
"Perhaps," Jena allowed. "All the same, you must tread carefully. Too much of this is still a mystery. Until you can make sense of it, do not underestimate the Vulture King."
"I will," Titus assured her. "I've no wish to be the second Dondarrion to get his nose cut off by a Vulture King."
After a moment of silence between them, he spoke again. "Truth be told, what puzzles me the most out of all this sordid mess is why Brynden seemed so determined to keep me from going south."
"Aye," Jena confessed, "it puzzles me too."