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127 AC, Dragonstone – Aegon's Garden
Amid towering black trees and wild roses, the overgrown garden bore witness to the rhythmic clash of steel against steel.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Daemon Targaryen had grown more composed and steady with time, his battle-hardened experience evident in every movement. At this moment, he was engaged in a bout of swordplay with a handsome black-haired youth.
The young man, brimming with youthful vigor, favored offense over defense in his swordsmanship, unleashing his sharp and aggressive strikes without reservation.
Yet, in the face of his fierce onslaught, the battle-hardened and highly skilled Daemon remained as immovable as a towering mountain.
When the young man's initial fierceness had begun to wane and exhaustion crept into his limbs, Daemon made his move. With a precise flick and slash of his blade, he struck the youth's sword hand with force.
Clang!
The longsword slipped from black-haired youth's grasp and fell to the ground, the sharp ring of steel marking the end of their contest.
It was fortunate that they were using blunted training swords—had they been real, Daemon's final strike would have severed his opponent's hand outright.
"Father, I lost again! As expected of the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms!"
Jacaerys winced, rubbing his aching fingers. Yet, instead of frustration, admiration shone in his eyes.
Daemon, ever prideful yet unwilling to show it, was pleased by the praise but merely responded, "The greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms? Rubbish. Over twenty years ago, I lost to Criston Cole in a tourney before the eyes of all."
"That was only because you underestimated him and started celebrating too soon!"
Jacaerys inwardly grumbled but did not voice his thoughts. Instead, he continued to flatter Daemon with a bright smile. "I don't know if that story is true or not, but I do know of your legendary feat—riding alone into the Stepstones and slaying the 'Crab Feeder'!"
Daemon let out a dry chuckle.
"Haha! That's just an old tale. No need to bring it up again."
Still, the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly, betraying his pleasure. However, he quickly caught himself, narrowed his violet eyes, and scrutinized Jacaerys.
"Jace, you're acting unusually flattering today. What do you want?"
"Heh heh," Jacaerys chuckled sheepishly, scratching his head.
"Baela and I want to visit Driftmark to see Grandma Rhaenys and Rhaena. Could you put in a good word for us with Mother? I promise we'll only stay for a few days and come right back!"
Daemon raised a brow, easily seeing through his stepson's ploy.
Six years ago, out of concern for certain… political matters, the Uncrowned Queen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Countess of Driftmark, had personally come to Dragonstone to take the twin sisters with her.
However, after Baela had witnessed Jacaerys' dragon-riding and training, she had become utterly captivated by it. Thus, in the end, the countess had only taken Rhaena back to the Driftmark, leaving Baela behind.
Daemon's smirk widened slightly.
"Oh? And you truly wish to visit Driftmark for a simple family reunion?"
His tone was laced with amusement, clearly unconvinced by Jacaerys' excuse.
Yet, he did not press the matter further. Instead, he merely tossed the training sword back to Jacaerys before turning away, striding off without another word.
After seven years of living with him, Jacaerys had come to understand Daemon's temperament quite well.
This response from Daemon was as good as a silent agreement.
Sure enough, a little over twenty minutes later, a servant hurried over to inform Jacaerys that the Prince Consort was waiting for him in the Chamber of the Painted Table.
---
Stone Drum Tower – Chamber of the Painted Table
Perched atop the Stone Drum Tower, the Chamber of the Painted Table was a vast, circular hall. At its heart lay an immense black wooden table, meticulously carved with a map of Westeros in stunning detail.
It was a creation of Aegon the Conqueror himself—a relic of war and ambition.
The table's sheer size was almost excessive. It stretched over fifty feet in length, its widest point spanning twenty-five feet, while its narrowest section measured only four.
Crackle!
The grand fireplace roared with life, its flames casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. Seated beside it, clad in a flowing black gown embroidered with golden dragons, was Rhaenyra Targaryen.
Jacaerys hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.
"Mother."
Rhaenyra's gaze lifted, her expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, she motioned for him to sit beside her.
"Come, Jace."
As he settled into the chair, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek with a rare tenderness. A wistful look flickered across her face.
"Time passes so quickly… You're already thirteen now—grown into a handsome young man."
Rhaenyra had always been a devoted mother. For the past seven years, she had done her utmost to care for and educate Jacaerys.
Yet, deep within Jacaerys' heart, there remained an unshakable sense of distance—an invisible wall he could never quite tear down.
Even though he played the role of a dutiful son, Rhaenyra could still sense the lingering estrangement between herself and her eldest son.
She exhaled slowly, her gaze growing heavier.
"For years, you've searched for every excuse to leave Dragonstone, and I have denied you each time."
Her voice softened.
"But today, I think Daemon was right about one thing—if I keep holding you back, you'll only fight harder to escape. After all… I once did the same."
Her voice softened, her gaze filled with a mother's worry.
A flicker of surprise crossed Jacaerys' face. He had braced himself for resistance, and had prepared countless justifications for why he should be allowed to leave. Yet his mother's raw sincerity caught him off guard.
"Jace, the world beyond these walls is dangerous. I only wish to protect you, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys."
The Viserys she spoke of was her second son with Daemon—Viserys Targaryen, born in 122 AC, and now only five years old.
Jacaerys had prepared countless justifications for leaving Dragonstone, but he had not expected Rhaenyra to open the conversation with such raw sincerity.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Jacaerys straightened his back, his voice steady.
"Mother, grandfather's kingdom is filled with unseen currents. The future may bring many unexpected storms. I simply want to take my destiny into my own hands!"
Something in his words struck a chord within Rhaenyra.
Her jaw tightened slightly, a shadow passing through her violet eyes. Then, after a long pause, she finally spoke.
"I will allow you to leave Dragonstone. But under two conditions."
Jacaerys leaned forward eagerly.
"Name them."
"First—you must take Vermax with you. Second—you must send me a raven every seven days."
"No problem! Mother, I promise to do exactly as you say!"
His answer came without hesitation, brimming with relief.
Rhaenyra cupped his face with both hands, pressing her forehead gently against his. Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with worry.
"Jace… if you ever find yourself in danger, ride Vermax and return to Dragonstone at once. Do you hear me?"
Jacaerys swallowed, nodding solemnly.
"Mother, I swear—I will return safely."
Hearing his promise, Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a brief moment, then pressed a kiss to his forehead in quiet blessing.
When she pulled away, her voice was steady once more.
"Alright then. Go and prepare for your journey."
"Yes!"
Fearing she might change her mind, Jacaerys answered swiftly and turned to leave the chamber without another word.
As she watched him leave, Rhaenyra found herself recalling her own youth—the days when she had first been named heir to the Iron Throne. The weight of expectation, the yearning for freedom, the quiet fear of the unknown… and the heavy burden that came with destiny.
---
Jacaerys' traveling party consisted of sixteen people in total.
Aside from Baela, the rest were the fourteen sworn guards who had trained under him and accompanied him daily.
Lucerys was notably absent. Whether due to his naturally mild temperament or the lasting effects of blinding Aemond as a child, he had never shown interest in violence or combat.
Beyond that, he suffered from severe seasickness, vomiting uncontrollably whenever he stepped aboard a ship.
And while his dragon, Arrax, would likely be strong enough to carry a rider by next year, it was not yet ready for such a journey.
For all these reasons, Jacaerys had never considered bringing him along in the first place.
As a side note, Baela's dragon, Moondancer, was even smaller than Arrax. At best, she would need another two years before she could carry a rider.
---
Dragon's Claw Village
That very afternoon, Jacaerys and his party arrived at the port of Dragon's Claw Village.
There, a medium-sized flat-bottomed ship awaited them, its mast bearing the sigil of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon unfurled in the wind. Over forty meters in length, the vessel was well-built, sturdy enough for the voyage ahead.
However, something about this ship was unusual.
Typically, when members of House Targaryen left Dragonstone, their destinations were either Driftmark or King's Landing—short distances easily covered by coastal oared ships. Those relied on rowers rather than sails, making them more suited for quick trips along the Narrow Sea.
Only when embarking on longer journeys did they either fly on dragonback or take ships like this flat-bottomed vessel.
After giving final instructions to his daughter, Daemon strolled over to Jacaerys and, lowering his voice, spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.
"Jace, over the years, you've often asked me about my past. So I already knew where this journey of yours would lead. That's why I made arrangements for this ship ahead of time."
He paused, his violet eyes locking onto Jacaerys'.
"Let me remind you—your swordsmanship is sharp and aggressive, but your defense is lacking. The scum outside won't hold back like I do."
His voice grew graver.
"Of course, the Old Sea Snake won't stand by and let you walk into danger either. And finally—protect Benylla."
Jacaerys met his gaze and nodded firmly.
"I will!"
Whoosh!
The great sail unfurled, catching the wind. The ship surged forward, slicing through the rolling waves with purpose.
Above them, a massive green-scaled dragon soared through the sky, its wings casting a vast shadow over the sea. Its body, nearly a third the length of the ship below, gleamed in the afternoon light.
With a powerful beat of its wings, it let out a series of excited roars—raw, untamed cries that echoed across the waves, as if celebrating its escape from a cage!
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[Chapter End's]
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