regent

———-

My heart ached as I watched Jaehaera, sobbing on the floor. Her cries cut through the applause, and it felt as though the room was closing in on me.

To lighten the mood, she was gently guided away from the hall by Alicent and other attendants, but seeing her leave only deepened my sorrow.

The crown Eustace had placed on my head felt itchy and uncomfortable, hastily made with uneven gold. Every shift seemed to dig the jagged edges deeper into my scalp, as if I were wearing a crown of thorns.

I hated it.

I wanted my father back, not this crown.

I barely slept the night before. I tossed and turned, haunted by father's last hug, the hug we shared many times before, the warmth of his embrace and the scent of wine still fresh in my mind.

But now, he was gone.

He can't hug me anymore.

I can't hug him anymore.

Instead I have this crown.

And this monstrous throne.

I had seen the Iron Throne many times before, but this was the first time I had to sit on it.

Carefully, I approached the Iron Throne. Each step felt like a mile, my small frame dwarfed by the cold, looming iron.

I climbed the steps carefully, every movement measured as I navigated the sharp edges. When I finally reached the top and settled onto the throne, I found that it was as unforgiving as its reputation said it would be.

The iron was harsh and unyielding, its jagged edges pressing into my bottom.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Despite the crown's relentless itching and the throne's discomfort, I had to focus.

I knew what needed to be done.

Vhagar's injuries must be kept secret at all costs. I knew if it reached Rhaenyra, she would likely attack King's Landing.

My throat was tight, and my eyes, dried from a sleepless night, felt empty.

I managed to choke out.

"I am young." my voice trembled and wavered.

"I rely on the regent to rule until I come of age." I continued.

I knew this was important.

We were in a precarious position.

"Upon my uncle, Prince Aemond returning..." I paused for a moment.

By appointing Aemond as regent, it would make it seem like he was here with Vhagar. And with him at Rook's Rest, appointing him as the regent allowed me to handle things more directly.

"I shall name him Prince Reagent and Protector of the Realm," I finished.

I wished nothing more than leaving this throne to do something more important.

But the ceremony began with the courtiers stepping forward one by one, each bowing deeply and saying. "Your Grace."

I don't know how many people come and how many times I have heard "Your Grace."

As the ceremony came to an end, I carefully stepped down from the Iron Throne.

The weight of the crown felt slightly lighter as I made my way out of the hall.

My first thought was of Jaehaera.

When I finally got out of the Great Hall, I lifted the crown from my head and handed it to Ser Rickard.

As I did, a brief sense of relief washed over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of my grief. I turned and made my way toward our chambers, feeling the hollow echo of my footsteps in the empty corridors.

The courtiers bowed as I passed, their gestures as respectful as ever, but they felt distant and cold. It was no longer the young prince they bowed to but a king.

Each step felt heavier than the last, my heart weighed down. I still remembered how father had gently held my little hand, guiding me through this grand and beautiful castle. Now, everything felt empty, and all that remained were memories.

When I reached our chamber, I took a deep breath before pushing open the door.

It creaked as I stepped inside. The sight that met me nearly shattered me. Jaehaera and Alicent sat together, weeping and sobbing. Jaehaera's face was streaked with tears, her hands covering her eyes, and her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs. The sight of her brokenness struck me like a dagger in the chest.

I crossed the room with heavy steps, each one feeling like a weight pulling me down. Kneeling beside her, I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close in a tight embrace.

Aegon, Jaehaera, Maelor, they used to be just characters from a novel, existing only in pages and ink. But now, these once fictional figures were real, as was the depth of my love and the weight of my sadness.

Jaehaera clung to me, her sobs muffled against my chest. Her small frame trembled as she buried her face in my tunic. I patted her gently on the back, trying to offer some comfort and ease her pain.

"I—I'm scared, Jae," she whispered, her voice quivering with each word. "Wh-why is all of this happening? Wh-why did this have to happen to us?"

Her voice broke like fragile glass, just as my heart did.

As I held her, I felt my own tears begin to fall, despite believing they had already dried. My grief poured out anew. I continued to pat her back, hoping to provide some solace.

Her sobs gradually subsided into quiet shudders as I continued to hold her, my heart aching with every breath. I pressed my cheek to her head, feeling her warmth against me.

Alicent, seeing our shared grief, moved closer and wrapped us both in her embrace. Her own tears fell freely as she held us tight

"We will get through this together," she said softly, her voice quivering with emotion.

———-

As the Kingsguard opened the heavy wooden doors, a wave of silence swept over the chamber. All eyes turned to Tyland Lannister, Master of Coins. The councilors, Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Larys Strong, and Ser Otto Hightower, who Jaehaerys had appointed as his advisor, were already present and seated. Their serious expressions mirrored those from the night King Viserys had died.

Tyland approached his seat and settled into it, but his respite was brief. The heavy wooden doors creaked open again. The boy king entered the chamber, his small figure solemn as he made his way to the head of the table. The councilors rose to their feet as Jaehaerys approached his seat, the chair that had once been his father's.

When Jaehaerys finally settled into the chair, the councilors slowly resumed their places, the room filled with a heavy silence.

Tyland watched as the seven-year-old Jaehaerys, with his round cheeks still soft and plump, took his place at the head of the table. The contrast between the boy's innocent appearance and the gravity of his decisions was striking. His small stature, barely fitting into the large chair once occupied by his father, only highlighted how out of place his mature, calculated decisions seemed.

As Tyland observed Jaehaerys, memories of the previous day surged forth. He recalled how, upon receiving the news of Aegon's death, the boy's facade had crumbled. Tyland remembered the sight of Jaehaerys, the young prince who had spoken of revenge and political maneuvering with a maturity beyond his years, reduced to a heartbroken child.

"With Vhagar's injuries, the city is left vulnerable," Jaehaerys began.

"To strengthen our position, I want my uncle Daeron to fly on Tessarion back from Oldtown."

While having the entire Reach on our side would be ideal, our immediate need is to ensure our survival.

Tyland thought.

The councilors exchanged glances of agreement, fully aware of the precarious situation. The decision to call Daeron back was unanimous.

"But we must prepare for the worst," he continued, his gaze intensifying. "If the Blacks were to attack King's Landing, we won't have enough dragons to face them. And the Gold Cloaks's loyalty is unreliable."

Tyland understood well the precariousness of their situation. The only dragons that could defend King's Landing were Jaehaerys's and Jaehaera's, and they stood no chance against Meleys should she be brought to bear against them.

There's Dreamfyre…shame her inaction is causing significant harm to our cause, Tyland thought bitterly.

"I propose we start the secret evacuation of the court."

A heavy silence followed as the councilors absorbed the implications of Jaehaerys's orders. Then Ser Otto spoke up, breaking the silence. "Your Grace, where do you propose we evacuate to?"

"Storm's End," Jaehaerys answered decisively.

The tension in the room was palpable. The councilors exchanged uneasy glances.

"The River Gate is the nearest point to the Kingsroad leading to Storm's End. If the Gold Cloaks were to betray us, we must ensure that the River Gate is secure. I want this select group of Gold Cloaks to guard it," Jaehaerys explained.

"I need a list of trustworthy Gold Cloaks. Lord Larys, I am counting on you to provide this list," he turned to Larys.

"I will prepare the list immediately, Your Grace," Lord Larys replied with a nod.

"But I will not simply hand the city over on a plate." As he spoke, Jaehaerys turned to Tyland. His indigo eyes, which looked mature beyond his years, now locked onto Tyland's green eyes flecked with gold.

"If Rhaenyra were to take the city, she would find not a single coin left for her," Jaehaerys declared.

"We will use part of the treasury to increase our popularity among the people, perhaps through charity. The remaining treasure should be sent to Storm's End."

Tyland began to realized the ingenuity behind the king's plan.

"If we emptied the treasury and used the funds for charity, the people would come to see us as providers." Tyland said.

"When Rhaenyra takes the city, with the emptied treasury, the charity will cease. People would remember who had cared for them during their time of need, and Rhaenyra's inability to provide would fuel their resentment." Jaehaerys nodded thoughtfully, as he turned to Larys.

"I want Lord Larys to remain in the city and sabotage Rhaenyra's reputation, stirring rumors and creating chaos to make the people hate her." Jaehaerys ordered.

"Yes, your grace," Larys responded, bowing his head.

Ser Otto turned to Tyland.

"How much gold do we have in the treasury?"

Tyland considered the expenditures already made and the funds still available. "We have already divided and sent most of the treasury to Oldtown, Casterly Rock and Iron Bank. After all that, we only have around five hundred thousand gold dragons left. However, with the planned charity and the need to prepare for the evacuation, we must be cautious."

The council members began to debate how much gold would be needed for charity. Orwyle suggested a conservative estimate, "Perhaps we should allocate around fifty thousand gold dragons."

"We will need to transport the gold in stages to avoid drawing too much attention. We should consider sending it in smaller, more manageable shipments." Tyland noted.

"And We'll need trusted guards to protect the caravans. We must ensure that these guards are numerous enough to deter bandits but not so large as to attract undue notice." Otto suggested.

"How long do we expect before the Blacks might attack King's Landing?" Lord Jasper asked.

Tyland thought that given the current circumstances, they could be looking at a couple of months to half a year...or at worst as soon as a week.

He didn't want to voice his thoughts as grim as they were and looking at the faces of everyone else in the chamber no one else did either.

"Ser Tyland, I trust you to oversee this," Jaehaerys said with resolute determination, his indigo eyes meeting Tyland's again.

He wondered if the old king had possessed such eyes.

.

.

.

As the councilors began to disperse, the weight of Jaehaerys's decisions settled heavily on their shoulders. The young king's resolve, though impressive, was a stark reminder of the precariousness of their situation.

As Tyland prepared to leave, he reflected on his mixed feelings about the boy king.

On one hand, he was reassured by Jaehaerys's wisdom, which were crucial in these tumultuous times. On the other hand, he was unsettled by the realization that a child so young should possess such a cold, calculating mind.

———-

Aemond sat alone in his tent, the flickering light of a single candle casting a shadow on his face. In front of him lay Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword. As he gazed at the blade, he recalled the grim sight of his uncle's remains: burned to a crisp and blackened beyond recognition. The body was so scorched and shriveled that it barely resembled the great warrior it once had been.

Next to the sword, Aemond held the crown of the Conqueror, a magnificent piece adorned with gleaming red rubies that glinted ominously.

This was the very crown his brother had worn during his coronation at the Dragonpit. Aemond had once believed it would suit him better. But now, as he traced the fiery rubies with his fingertips, a deep sense of failure overwhelmed him. The very things he had once desired now felt hollow, their allure gone, serving only as painful reminders of his brother's death.

Unable to contain his grief any longer, Aemond wept silently, tears falling freely as he clenched his fists, not as the Kinslayer but as a brother, a child who had lost an eye on Driftmark.

"May I come in, my prince?" The tent flap rustled as Ser Criston's voice called out.

Aemond quickly composed himself, strengthening his posture and adopting the hardened demeanor of the Kinslayer once more. He couldn't show his weakness.

"Yes."

As Ser Criston entered, his expression mirrored Aemond's sadness. He approached Aemond with a bottle of wine in his hand.

Then Criston sat on the seat he deftly uncorked the bottle, the pop of the cork a sharp contrast to the silence in the tent.

As he poured a measure of the rich, dark liquid into a goblet and then another for himself. The deep red hue of the wine was a stark, unsettling reminder of Aegon's blood, which had stained Dark Sister so vividly when Aemond had found it. The blood had been a dark, almost black stain against the steel, a grim testament to his brother's demise.

Now, the wine seemed to echo that blood.

Aemond picked up his goblet and took a slow, deliberate sip. The wine was rich and full-bodied, with a flavor that was both earthy and slightly sweet.

Yet, it left an acrid aftertaste that seemed to cling to his tongue.

As he set the goblet down, Aemond's gaze fell to the floor, his thoughts spiraling into a dark abyss.

The war he had started, the death of his nephew, and the loss of his brother.

Each sip of the wine seemed to deepen his guilt, the rich flavor contrasting sharply with the bitterness of his regret.

Criston offered a sympathetic glance and attempted to comfort Aemond, but before he could say anything, Aemond cut him off.

"Were Caraxes and Daemon's heads sent to King's Landing?" he asked, his voice almost cracking.

Criston nodded, his own expression somber.

"Yes, my prince. As you ordered."

It should have been me, Aemond took another sip.

"Where is Sunfyre?" Aemond asked.

"Sunfyre went west, my prince, burning everything along the way," Criston replied.

It should have been me

———-

The room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

A gentle voice broke the silence.

"Jae," Jaehaera whispered.

She reached out and shook him lightly. When he didn't respond, she gave him a gentle push.

Jaehaerys stirred, blinking against the darkness. His indigo eyes, still heavy with sleep, focused on her small form beside him.

"What is it, Hera?" he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

"Are you asleep?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Yes, he thought.

He shifted, rubbing his eyes to pull himself awake. Sitting up, he saw her troubled face in the dim light. Sitting up, he saw her troubled face in the dim light.

"No," he replied gently.

"I can't sleep," Jaehaera admitted.

"I keep thinking about everything…"

Without hesitation, Jaehaerys drew her into a tender embrace. She nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, seeking comfort.

"Can you tell me stories to help me sleep?"

Jaehaera asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded, a small, bittersweet smile forming on his lips.

"Alright," he said gently. "I'll tell you a story."

Jaehaera's eyes softened as she settled closer.

Jaehaerys took a deep breath and began, choosing one of her favorite tales.

"Once upon a time, in a beautiful underwater kingdom, there was a mermaid…"

He spun the tale of the Little Mermaid with care, his voice soothing as he described Ariel's magical adventures. As he spoke, Jaehaera's breathing began to slow, her body relaxing into his embrace.

By the time he reached the end, Jaehaera was holding onto him with a tender grip, her arms wrapped around him. Her breathing had become steady and deep, and her small frame felt lighter as sleep overtook her.

Jaehaerys found himself unable to stay awake any longer. As her breathing grew slower, his own eyes grew heavy. The softness of the bed and the warmth of Jaehaera's hug made it easy to succumb to sleep. With a final contented sigh, he fell into a peaceful slumber, his body relaxing fully as he drifted off.

In the quiet room, under the soft glow of the moonlight, the siblings lay entwined in an embrace, both finding solace and rest in each other's presence.

———-