Black Reign

Interlude: The Conciliator

The Red Keep, King's Landing

 103 AC

Jaehaerys was tired. 

His family saw that and had taken much of the work that burden him as they could. Corlys had come back as Master of Ships, Rhaenys and Viserys took over the more day to day runnings.

Daemon had taken control of the City Watch and had beaten obedience, order, and discipline into them before whipping them into shape. Jaehaerys made rules to the petty criminals merely got a year of community service, with a warning that next time it wouldn't save them.

The crime rate had gone down extremely after Daemon unleashed the City Watch after two years of training onto the city.

He was thankful. He had been ruling since he was fourteen—but despite over fifty years, he could still clearly remember his father's face and laughter, his brothers Aegon and Viserys's faces, his mother's enchanting singing voice and face, Rhaena's face (not the bitter, defeated face after Aerea's tragic death, but before her marriage to Aegon, when she was beautiful and young) and her singing.

He could still remember that, no matter how much time passed. 

Alysanne's death had hurt him deeply. He missed her so much, his constant companion ever since they had fled with their parents to Dragonstone.

Only flying Vermithor made him feel strong and young again. The Bronze Fury was fond of Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys knew when he died, Vermithor would only let Jaehaera claimed him (he made Vermithor promise to do his best to look after Jaehaera and Rhaenyra).

And there was his great grandchildren.

He didn't see Laena, Laenyx, and Laenor much. 

But he had made Jaehaera (his namesake, and so much like Rhaena in her youth, before the tragedies and hardships made her grim, bitter, and defeated, that it hurt) his cupbearer. Teaching her as many things as she could before she died—such as writing to the letters to the lords of Westeros.

How to be polite yet not a push over, how to sound pious but not a devoted imbecile, and how to politely tell someone to go fuck their mother. The little things.

Jaehaera, his second oldest great granddaughter he adored, her never ending curiosity and a mind beyond her years like him in his youth. He wished Alysanne was with him, to tell her he was sorry for how he treated Daella, Viserra, and Saera.

Rhaenyra was a sweet yet intelligent young girl, like her twin, but had an air around her that reminded Jaehaerys of Aemon and Baelon—Aemon the future king, and Baelon the future Hand of the King.

His burden was gone, but not the ghosts of his past.

"Grandpapa?" Jaehaera's voice snapped him back into reality. Of the gardens of Maegor's Holdfast and his namesake's presence. "That story was amazing! Who told you it?"

"Visenya, little one." he smiled. "She told me and Alysanne several stories."

"I wish I knew her."

"Visenya was an amazing women, Jae." Jaehaerys smiled. "Now it's getting dark out, almost time for you and Nyra to go to bed."

"And then we can go flying tomorrow on Vermithor?" the violet eyed princess asked, tilting her head slightly.

Jaehaerys hesitated. A persistent ache in his bones had been haunting his bones since their flight that morning over the Blackwater Bay, he didn't know if he would see tomorrow.

"Maybe, little dragon. We'll see in the morning." he forced a smiled, standing up and walking with Jaehaera to her bedroom door.

In the doorframe, she paused before hugging him. "I love you, Grandpapa."

"I love you to little dragon. Never forget that." he smiled hugging her.

The six year old princess hugged him once again before the door close.

(She didn't know that those were the last words her Grandpapa told her.) 

That in the morning, when she tried to shake him awake, and when he didn't wake up, her screams drew the Kingsguard and word spread throughout the castle.

Jaehaerys Targaryen the First of His Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm was dead.

That is today's chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!