Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 128: Chapter 128: Sons Beneath the Throne

Jace began standing differently after Rhaenyra became regent. Not proudly. Not at first. Pride would have been easier to correct.

He stood as if someone had added weight to his shoulders without warning, and he had decided complaining would only prove he was too young to carry it. In the throne room, he watched his mother with a stillness that made him seem older than he was.

In corridors, he stepped aside for councillors with more care. When servants bowed, he acknowledged them more deliberately than before, as if each gesture had become part of an examination he had not agreed to take.

Luke noticed less of the structure and more of the cost. He watched Rhaenyra’s face. That was the difference between the two boys. Jace watched the room because he had begun to understand that rooms held power. Luke watched the people inside them because he feared what power did to them.

The morning after the final Velaryon judgement, Rhaenyra held court again.

Not because she wanted to. Because stopping would have made the court think the judgement had exhausted her, and in King’s Landing exhaustion was never allowed to remain human for long. It became weakness by supper if enough people found reason to repeat it.

So she sat beneath the Iron Throne, not on it, with the same carved chair before the black swords. The lords came again. The smallfolk came again. The ordinary needs of the realm came again, patient and unembarrassed by noble drama.

Jace and Luke stood with me along the side of the hall for the first hour.

Rhaegar and Aerion had been permitted to watch for a shorter time, under strict instructions from Rhaenyra not to whisper loudly, argue about dragons, or attempt to correct any lord unless directly invited by the regent herself. Aerion had accepted the terms with wounded dignity. Rhaegar had asked whether correcting factual error counted as interruption if the error was relevant to judgement.

Rhaenyra had looked at him for a long moment before saying that it especially counted then. Now the twins stood beside Luke, both trying to look as if stillness had been their own idea.

A potter from the city had come forward with a complaint about clay being seized for repairs to a royal kiln without fair payment. He spoke too quickly, stumbled over the names of the officers involved, and started again twice. Rhaenyra did not hurry him. She asked for the account ledgers and directed one of the clerks to note the dates.

Jace watched the exchange carefully. Luke watched Rhaenyra’s hand.

It rested on the arm of the chair, still except when she turned a page or lifted her fingers to slow a petitioner. That hand had held him when he was small. It had smoothed his hair after nightmares, struck tables in anger, lifted cups at feasts, held reins, cradled Maelor, and now decided whether men received coin, justice, punishment, or delay.

Children learned slowly that parents belonged to the world before they belonged to the house. Royal children learned it in public.

When the potter’s matter ended, Aerion leaned closer to Rhaegar and whispered loudly enough that I heard every word. "He should have brought a sample of the clay. If someone stole my clay, I would bring evidence."

Rhaegar did not look at him. "You do not own clay."

"That is not the point."

"It weakens the comparison."

I placed one hand lightly on Aerion’s shoulder before the answer escaped him. "The next whisper becomes silence."

Aerion took the warning seriously for almost ten seconds. Jace’s mouth twitched, but he kept his eyes forward.

The next petitioner was a baker accused by his neighbour of using false weights. The matter was small enough that half the hall lost interest, which made it useful. Great disputes taught princes how men performed under pressure. Small disputes taught them whether rulers had patience when no song would remember the judgement.

Rhaenyra heard both sides, then ordered the city officers to inspect the baker’s measures and those of the accuser as well. Aerion looked impressed despite himself. Rhaegar nodded once, as if confirming a sound conclusion.

Luke frowned. I bent slightly toward him. "What is it?"

He took a moment before answering, choosing his words because court had taught him caution even when speaking to me. "Mother listened to both of them, but they both looked unhappy when they left."

"That happens often."

"Then how does she know she judged rightly?"

"She does not always know at once. Sometimes judgement means choosing the answer that can be defended after anger has cooled."

Luke looked toward Rhaenyra. "That sounds lonely."

"It can be."

Jace heard that and turned slightly, though he said nothing.

The hour ended with a request from a septa for protection of a small charity kitchen near the river after repeated thefts from its stores. Rhaenyra assigned two goldcloaks to patrol the lane, but also ordered the kitchen’s accounts examined so the court could see whether the losses came from thieves or from those entrusted with distribution.

Rhaegar whispered, softer this time, "That is sensible. Theft near charity can hide inside charity."

Aerion gave him a sidelong look. "You are enjoying this."

"I am learning."

"You enjoy learning when it makes everyone else uncomfortable."

Rhaegar considered that. "Sometimes."

I moved them from the hall before the twins could become a petition of their own. We went out through a side passage into the training yard, where the air smelled of leather, dust, and damp stone. Ser Erryk had Luke’s practice sword waiting. Ser Arryk stood with Jace’s.

The twins were sent to lighter drills with a household master-at-arms, though Aerion tried to argue that watching court had sharpened his mind and therefore his sword arm deserved a more difficult opponent.

The master-at-arms told him that sharpened minds still began with footwork. Rhaegar accepted this with satisfaction. Aerion did not forgive either of them.

Jace trained hard that day. Too hard. Ser Arryk noticed before I needed to. He let Jace press through the first exchanges, gave ground where it suited, then caught him on a rushed step and struck his shoulder with enough force to sting through padding.

Jace grimaced but reset immediately.

Arryk lowered his blade instead of continuing. "You are trying to win the whole yard in one pass, my prince. That usually means you are not thinking of the man in front of you."

Jace breathed through his nose, frustrated. "I was thinking."

"You were worrying. Worry wears armour badly and calls itself thought."

Luke glanced over from Erryk’s side. Jace saw him watching and straightened. That was the problem. He had begun to correct himself before others could, which made every mistake heavier.

I stepped into the yard. "Rest a moment."

Jace looked as if he wanted to refuse, then remembered refusing would look childish and obeyed. That, too, annoyed him.

We moved toward the shaded edge of the yard, away from the ring of practice. Luke followed after Erryk nodded permission. The twins drifted closer with the instinct of children sensing a conversation they were not meant to miss. I allowed it. They were part of this, whether anyone found them ready or not.

Jace removed his gloves and stared down at them. "I know I did poorly."

"You did not do poorly. You did impatiently."

"That is worse."

"Not always. Poorly may mean you do not know enough. Impatiently means you are trying to arrive somewhere before the road has finished with you."

He did not like that. It was good for him not to like it.

Luke sat on a low wall, practice sword across his knees. "Is this because Mother is regent?"

Jace’s answer came too quickly. "No."

Aerion looked between them. "That means yes."

Rhaegar folded his hands behind his back. "Usually."

Jace shot them both a look. "You are not helping."

Aerion lifted his chin. "I was helping accurately."

"You were helping loudly," Rhaegar corrected.

I raised a hand before Jace could decide brotherhood needed violence. "Enough. Jace, Luke’s question deserves a real answer. Not because you owe every feeling an explanation, but because your brothers can see the shape of it even when you hide the name."

Jace looked away toward the throne room windows visible above the yard. For a while, the only sounds were practice swords striking and Aerion scuffing one boot against the dirt despite knowing I could hear it.

At last Jace said, "When Mother sits there, everyone looks at her as if she has to prove the same thing again every minute. If she listens too long, they think she hesitates. If she decides quickly, they think she already chose before hearing them. If she accepts Lord Otto’s advice, they say he guides her. If she refuses it, they say she is proud. I keep watching and thinking one day they will look at me that way too."

Luke’s expression changed. "They already look at you."

"I know. But not like that. Not yet."

Aerion’s earlier boldness faded a little. He was still too young to carry the full meaning, but old enough to feel the seriousness of the room created outside walls. Rhaegar spoke with unusual care. "Then training harder today does not solve the problem. Court will not be frightened because you hit Ser Arryk sooner."

Jace turned toward him, irritated, but the irritation weakened because Rhaegar was right.

Aerion added, "It might help a little if you hit him properly."

"Aerion," I said.

"I said a little."

That made Luke laugh despite himself. Jace tried not to, failed, and looked younger for a moment. Good. I let the laughter settle before speaking.

"Your mother has not become someone else because she rules in your grandsire’s name. You are seeing more of what she has always had to be. The difference is that the court can no longer pretend her strength belongs only in private rooms."

Jace listened, jaw set.

"You are right that they will look at you one day," I continued. "They already do more than I would like. But you do not answer that by trying to become a man in a single morning. You answer by becoming one properly. Study law when you would rather ride. Listen to petitioners who bore you. Train without making every mistake a prophecy. Learn which men speak truth unpleasantly and which men flatter toward a trap. That is enough work for a boy who is still allowed to be a boy."

Jace’s voice lowered. "Am I allowed?"

The question struck harder than I expected. Luke looked down at his sword. Rhaegar became very still. Aerion stopped moving his boot. I crouched slightly so I was closer to Jace’s height, though he was getting tall enough that I would not be able to do that much longer without making us both feel foolish.

"Yes," I said. "Not always in the way other boys are. That would be a lie. But in this family, in this yard, with your brothers, you are allowed to be unfinished."

Jace swallowed. Luke spoke then, quieter. "Mother does not seem unfinished when she is in court."

"No," I said. "She seems careful. There is a difference."

"Does she like ruling?" Luke asked.

"I think that is a question for her."

He looked uneasy. "Would she answer?"

"Yes. Perhaps not simply, but she would answer."

The answer came later that evening.

Rhaenyra returned to our chambers after court with fatigue hidden well enough for strangers and not at all for her family. She found the boys waiting because subtlety had never survived long among children with a purpose.

Jace stood first, too formally. Luke followed half a heartbeat later. The twins were already in the room, though Aerion had arranged himself near the hearth as if he had been invited specifically to improve it.

Rhaenyra looked at all four of them and then at me. "What have you done?"

"Parenting," I said.

"That sounds suspiciously broad."

"It covers many crimes."

Aerion stepped forward before Jace could decide whether courage required permission. "Luke wants to ask if you like ruling, but he is worried it might be rude, and Jace has been standing like a statue all day because he thinks everyone is measuring him for a crown even though Mother is the one doing all the work."

Luke stared at him in betrayal. Jace closed his eyes. Rhaegar sighed. "That was an inefficient summary."

"It was complete," Aerion said.

"It was loud."

Rhaenyra looked at me again. I lifted both hands slightly. "I did say parenting was broad."

For the first time that day, she smiled properly. Not for court. Not for reassurance. For them.

"Come here," she said.

They came, though Jace still moved as if formal behaviour might save him from having feelings. Rhaenyra sat near the hearth and gestured for them to sit as well. Aerion immediately took the best cushion. Rhaegar looked at him, decided the argument was beneath him, and sat on the second-best with enough dignity to make the choice seem intentional.

Luke sat closest to Rhaenyra. Jace remained standing until she gave him a look. "Jacaerys," she said, not sharply, "if you stand there like one of my petitioners, I shall be forced to ask what grievance you bring before the Crown."

He sat. "Good. Now, Luke, your brother has accused you of curiosity. Is he guilty of truth?"

Luke glanced at Aerion, then nodded. "I wondered if you like ruling. Not being regent exactly, but sitting there and having everyone bring things to you. You look calm, but sometimes you look as if every answer hurts someone."

Rhaenyra’s face softened. She did not answer at once. The boys saw her thinking, not performing.

"I like that people are heard," she said. "I like that a widow can stand before me and speak of her roof, or a boy can be protected from a cruel goldcloak, or a debt too small for lords to care about can still be judged because it matters to the man owed it. That part feels right."

"And the rest?" Jace asked.

"The rest is heavier. Every judgement leaves someone dissatisfied. Sometimes both sides leave wounded because the truth did not love either of them enough to belong wholly to one. Men watch my face and decide whether I am weak, proud, merciful, harsh, guided, stubborn, or afraid. Sometimes they decide before I speak. That is ruling too."

Aerion frowned. "That sounds unpleasant."

"It often is."

"Then why would anyone want it?"

Rhaegar answered before she could. "Because if the wrong person has it, the unpleasantness spreads to everyone else."

Rhaenyra looked at him with approval. "Yes. That is part of it."

Aerion considered that, then nodded as if accepting a treaty.

Jace’s hands were clasped too tightly. "I called you ’Your Highness’ this morning when Lord Staunton passed. I did not mean to make it strange. I only thought people were listening, and if I spoke too much like your son, they might think I did not respect what you are now."

Rhaenyra’s expression changed in a way that made my chest ache. "Oh, Jace."

He looked embarrassed at once. "I know it was foolish."

"No. It was thoughtful. But thoughtfulness can still make a wall if you place it badly."

He looked up.

"I am your mother before I am your regent," she said. "Not before I am heir, not before I am a princess to the realm, but to you. You may show respect in public without turning me into a stranger. If the court cannot bear to see that a ruler has sons who love her, then the court may endure the hardship."

Luke leaned against her side, not quite a child’s movement and not yet a boy too old for comfort. Rhaenyra placed a hand on his hair.

Aerion watched this with interest. "So Jace can call you Mother in public?"

"In most circumstances, yes."

"What about during a judgement?"

"If I am deciding whether to hang a smuggler, I would prefer not to hear commentary from my children."

Rhaegar nodded. "That seems reasonable. Emotional interruption may weaken the authority of the sentence."

Aerion stared at him. "You are the only person who could make not interrupting a hanging sound boring."

"It is not meant to be entertaining."

"It is a hanging."

"Aerion," Rhaenyra said, with the warning tone of a mother who had ruled all day and still found reserves.

He sat straighter. "I withdraw the point."

Jace laughed then, softly but genuinely. Luke followed. Even Rhaegar’s mouth twitched. The room eased. That was what I had wanted for them, though I had not known how badly until it happened.

For a while, Rhaenyra let them ask questions. Not the formal ones masters would have praised. Real ones.

Luke asked whether the people who came to court were frightened before speaking. Rhaenyra said some were, and that fear was one reason a ruler had to listen carefully rather than mistake stumbling words for lies.

Jace asked whether accepting Otto’s advice made her look dependent on him. Rhaenyra answered that rejecting good counsel only because it came from an opponent made a ruler easier to manipulate, not stronger.

Rhaegar asked whether every judgement created future precedent.

Rhaenyra looked at me then. "Your son."

"He came with that already installed."

Rhaegar ignored us both. "Does it?"

"Many judgements do," Rhaenyra said. "That is why wording matters. A decision should answer the matter before it without accidentally inviting ten others."

Aerion groaned. "That is why Lord Jasper always looks as if words have personally offended him."

"Yes," I said. "And to be fair, they often have."

Rhaenyra smiled again. Later, when the twins were finally sent away before Aerion could discover another philosophical position on public executions, Jace and Luke remained a moment longer.

Jace stood near the door, more himself than he had been that morning. "I will try not to stand like a statue tomorrow."

"Good," Rhaenyra said. "Your father already does enough looming for the family."

"I do not loom," I said.

All three of them looked at me. Luke tried to hide his smile. "You do a little."

"Occasionally," Jace added. "But usually with purpose."

"That is worse," Rhaenyra said.

"I am surrounded by betrayal."

Luke laughed, and the sound was light enough to feel like something rescued. When they left, Rhaenyra sat quietly for a while, looking at the closed door.

"They are growing too quickly," she said.

"Yes."

"I know they must. I know what waits for them. But I hate seeing the court place its hands on them before they are ready."

I sat beside her. "We cannot keep the court from touching their lives. We can make sure it is not the only hand they know."

She leaned against me, tired enough not to hide it.

Outside, the Red Keep went on whispering. It would always whisper. About decrees, blood, inheritance, power, and the throne waiting behind a chair Rhaenyra would not yet climb.

But that night, for a little while, our sons had been sons. Not claimants. Not symbols. Not answers to rumours.

Just boys learning that their mother could rule a realm and still reach for them when the doors closed.