Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 79: Chapter 79: White Cloaks and Purple Banners

Vaeron met his niece the morning after his return.

He had come to my chambers washed, shaved, and dressed in clean black wool, though travel still clung to him in ways soap could not immediately defeat. His face had sharpened in Essos.

The boyishness he had once despised in himself had thinned into something harder, and command had settled into his posture without asking permission. Duty’s Thorn hung at his hip, plain-hilted and familiar in shape, though it no longer belonged to me in any meaningful way.

Rhaenyra sat near the window with Aemma in her arms, sunlight turning the child’s silver hair almost white against the blanket. Celeste stood behind Vaeron with Aegor and Vaerya at her skirts, both children eager enough to make stillness look painful.

Vaeron stopped a few paces from Rhaenyra and bowed properly.

"Princess," he said. "I am told you have survived another campaign while my brother contributed mainly by worrying in corridors."

Rhaenyra smiled. "Your information is accurate, though perhaps kinder to him than he deserves. He also attempted to frighten the midwife by looking severe, which failed completely."

"The midwife sounds formidable. I respect anyone who can make Othorion useless without drawing steel."

"I was not useless," I said. "I was strategically restrained."

Vaeron looked at me with open doubt. "That is a phrase men use when they have been denied anything useful to do."

Rhaenyra’s smile deepened. "You have been missed."

That softened him more than he expected. I saw it before he hid it.

Rhaenyra shifted the bundle in her arms. "Come and meet your niece."

Vaeron approached with the care of a man walking toward an unexploded siege engine. Aemma slept through his arrival, mouth slightly open, one hand curled near her cheek. He looked down at her for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"She is very small," he said at last, "for someone who has already caused half the court to rearrange itself around her."

"She has only been alive a few weeks," Rhaenyra replied. "Give her time before judging her political ambition."

"I am not judging her. I am noting early promise."

Aemma stirred at the sound of his voice, opened unfocused eyes for half a breath, and then closed them again as though Vaeron had failed to impress her.

Celeste laughed softly. "She has dismissed you already."

"That is wise of her," Vaeron said. "Infants should be cautious around uncles who arrive with soldiers and unpaid accounts."

Rhaenyra held the child out. "Would you like to hold her?"

Vaeron’s face changed by less than a fraction, but I knew him well enough to see the panic beneath his calm. He had commanded men through battle, negotiated pay under threat of betrayal, and once argued with a Braavosi factor for six hours over grain spoilage. A newborn girl unsettled him more than all three.

"I would not wish to disturb her," he said.

"She has five brothers," Rhaenyra replied. "She was born disturbed."

Celeste placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Hold your niece, Vaeron. You look ridiculous trying to outmanoeuvre a baby."

That decided it.

He took Aemma with stiff care, one arm supporting her head exactly as instructed, the other forming a careful cradle beneath the blanket. For a moment, he barely breathed. Then Aemma made a small sound and settled against him.

Vaeron looked down at her, and the room quieted around the sight. "She weighs less than a ledger," he murmured.

"Try not to enter her into one," I said.

"I make no promises. Every household needs accurate records."

Rhaenyra leaned back against the pillows, watching him. "Her name is Aemma."

"I know," Vaeron said. "Othorion told me yesterday."

"And what do you think of it?"

He did not answer quickly. When he did, the dryness had left his voice. "I think a name can carry grief without being made of grief. That is better than most honours manage."

Rhaenyra looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once. "That is well said."

Vaeron seemed relieved to return Aemma to her mother, though he did it gently. The instant his arms were free, Vaerya pushed forward on her toes.

"Father said there would be cousins," she announced, looking around as though the boys might be hidden under furniture.

"There are many cousins," I said. "Too many for peace, though not enough for your father’s sense of dynastic accounting."

Aegor stood straighter. "I would like to see Jacaerys and Lucerys train. Father said they have proper teachers now."

Vaeron’s eyes shifted to me. "I have heard that as well. I would like to see what the Cargyll twins have made of them."

"So would Jasper," I said.

At the mention of his name, Jasper appeared in the doorway as if summoned by criticism. He was broader than when I had last seen him, though perhaps that was because his patience had worn thinner in Essos and left his shoulders to carry the difference. A scar near his jaw had healed pale. Rollis stood beside him, grey-bearded, leaning on his cane, eyes sharp enough to make age seem like a disguise.

"My prince," Jasper said, bowing to Rhaenyra with a soldier’s respect rather than a courtier’s flourish. "Captain said we were to pay respects, and then he told me not to frighten the baby by looking like myself."

Rhaenyra studied him with amusement. "The baby has survived her brothers. I suspect she can endure you."

Rollis bowed more carefully. "May Princess Aemma have long years, strong lungs, and fewer fools around her than most children of great houses are forced to suffer."

"That may be the kindest blessing she receives," Rhaenyra said.

Vaeron handed Aemma back fully to the nurse, then looked toward the window, where the training yard could be seen below. "If the boys are at their lesson, we should watch before court duties swallow the morning."

Jace and Luke were already in the yard when we arrived, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk instructing them beneath a pale sky. A few knights trained at the edges, but the Cargyll twins had claimed enough space for the princes to work without being crowded. Two Unsullied stood at a distance, silent and watchful.

Jacaerys had grown steadier in the past months. At nine, he still lacked reach and strength, but his feet were learning discipline. He no longer rushed every opening as if courage alone could fill it. Lucerys moved with less certainty, yet he did not retreat from the lesson. The flinch near his face had not vanished entirely, but it no longer ruled him.

Jasper watched without speaking. That was unusual enough to make me look at him.

Rollis leaned on his cane beside me. "He is counting mistakes."

"Jasper always counts mistakes."

"He is counting which ones belong to boys and which ones belong to teachers. That takes longer."

Ser Arryk corrected Jace after a poor turn of the wrist. Ser Erryk slowed Luke through a defensive drill, making him repeat the same movement until his shoulders stopped rising before the blade passed near his cheek.

Vaeron stood on my other side, arms folded. His face gave away little, but his attention stayed fixed on the boys.

"They barely remember me," he said quietly.

"They remember enough to know you matter."

"That is not the same as knowing me."

"No, but it is a place to begin."

He accepted that without answering.

Jace noticed us first. His eyes brightened at the sight of Vaeron, then sharpened when he saw Jasper and Rollis watching. The boy immediately set his feet with too much care, which made Ser Arryk tap his ankle with the practice blade.

"Prince Jacaerys, if you arrange yourself like a statue, you will fight exactly as well as one," Ser Arryk said. "Your uncle’s men are not here to carve you in marble."

Jasper grunted. "Marble cracks badly when struck from the side."

Jace flushed, though he did not lose his stance completely.

Ser Arryk looked toward us and bowed his head. "My princes. Captain Vaeron. Sers."

Jasper’s mouth twitched. "I have been called worse than ser, though usually by men who wanted something."

Ser Erryk smiled faintly. "In this yard, courtesy costs less than conflict."

"Then your yard is better funded than most."

The Cargyll twins took that in good humour, though they remained alert. Kingsguard did not relax easily around sellswords, even ones standing beside the prince they guarded.

Jasper stepped closer to the training line. "May I see the older boy work?"

Ser Arryk looked to me first, then to Jace. "Prince Jacaerys has been improving, but he is still in lesson."

"That is why I asked to see him work rather than praise him."

Jace straightened. "I would like to try, Ser Arryk, if Father permits it."

I studied him for a moment. He wanted to prove himself, but not with the wild impatience he would have shown a year earlier. There was hunger in him, yes, but also discipline enough to ask.

"Jasper will not flatter you," I said.

Jace swallowed. "That may make the lesson useful."

Jasper’s eyebrows rose. "Good answer. Pick up your guard, my prince, and do not treat me like a knight in a song. I have never been polite enough for it."

Ser Arryk handed Jace a fresh practice sword and stepped aside. Jasper selected a blunted blade heavier than the one Jace used, then removed his cloak and tossed it to Rollis, who caught it with visible annoyance.

"I am not your squire," Rollis said.

"No, but you complain with the authority of one."

Jasper faced Jace and lowered the point of his sword. "Come when you are ready."

Jace began carefully. Too carefully.

He advanced with the structure Ser Arryk had drilled into him, blade angled, feet set, eyes on Jasper’s shoulders. Jasper let him close, parried the first strike, and pressed forward at once. He did not swing wildly. He crowded. He took space the way infantry took ground, step by step, leaving Jace less room than the boy expected.

Jace yielded, recovered, and tried to circle. Jasper turned with him and tapped his ribs.

"Again," Jasper said. "This time, do not give me the yard because I asked for it with my feet."

Jace breathed, reset, and tried again.

The second exchange lasted longer. He blocked the first press and managed to slide away before Jasper could trap him. Then Jasper feinted high, shifted low, and struck the inside of Jace’s thigh with enough force to sting without bruising deeply.

Jace hissed but stayed upright. Ser Arryk watched closely, his face controlled. Ser Erryk had moved nearer to Luke, who observed with wide eyes and a practice sword held against his chest.

Jasper lowered his blade. "You have good teachers. Your guard knows where it should be when the lesson behaves."

Jace was breathing hard. "You are saying the lesson does not always behave."

"I am saying men who want you dead do not care what order your master taught the cuts in. They will crowd you, lie to your eyes, step on your foot, spit in your face, and use the sun if it is kind enough to blind you for them."

Jace nodded slowly, embarrassed but listening.

Jasper pointed with his sword. "Again. This time, when I push, decide whether you are yielding or making room for me to fall into. Do not drift because I made you uncomfortable."

The third exchange surprised me.

Jasper pressed as before. Jace gave ground, then stopped yielding half a step earlier than expected. He angled his blade well enough to catch Jasper’s strike and turned his shoulder, not beautifully, but with purpose. His return cut came late and would have failed against a grown warrior, but it was aimed at the opening Jasper had left to test him.

Jasper caught the blow, shoved him back with controlled force, and ended the bout with the practice blade resting near Jace’s collarbone.

Jace froze. Jasper held the position long enough for the lesson to settle, then lowered the sword.

"There," he said. "That was the first moment you made a choice instead of reciting one."

Jace flushed again, this time with pride he tried not to show. "I still lost."

"You are nine," Jasper replied. "If you had beaten me, I would have had to drown myself out of professional shame."

Rollis gave a dry cough. "He says that now, but he would have blamed his knee, the weather, and possibly the crown’s poor maintenance of the yard."

"I would have blamed all three accurately," Jasper said.

Luke smiled at that, then looked away when Jasper’s attention shifted to him.

Rollis noticed. He did not call the boy out in front of everyone. Instead, he moved closer to me, voice lowered.

"The younger one has learned to come back to fear," he said.

I glanced at him. "You saw that from ten minutes?"

"I saw him flinch and stay. Most men manage one or the other."

My throat tightened more than I wanted. "Ser Erryk has done good work with him."

"So has the boy," Rollis said. "Do not give all his courage away to the teacher."

Before I could answer, a new voice cut across the yard. "It seems the Red Keep has grown generous with its training grounds."

Ser Curtis Crakehall stood near the far arch with Aemond beside him. Curtis wore the white cloak as if it had been stitched onto his bones. Aemond remained silent, one eye fixed on the scene before him.

Curtis continued, calm and cold. "Once, these yards were reserved for princes, knights, and sworn men of the court. Now sellswords test the King’s grandsons under the eyes of the Kingsguard."

The yard quieted by degrees.

Ser Arryk’s hand shifted slightly on his practice sword. Ser Erryk stepped half a pace toward Luke without making the movement obvious. Jace looked from Curtis to Jasper, suddenly aware that the lesson had changed shape.

Jasper turned slowly. He did not raise his blade. That made his anger more dangerous, not less. "Aye," Jasper said. "Times do change. Once, a white cloak meant a man knew better than to draw steel for a queen demanding a child’s eye."

The words struck the yard harder than any blade had.

Ser Arryk’s face tightened. Ser Erryk went still. Neither twin spoke. Their duty required order, but Jasper had named a truth that order had failed to punish. Curtis did not move, though something in his green eyes sharpened.

Aemond’s jaw flexed. Vaeron stepped forward, not enough to intervene, only enough to remind everyone that Jasper did not stand alone. Duty’s Thorn rested at his hip, untouched.

Curtis looked at Jasper as one might look at a stain on polished stone. "You speak boldly for a man whose profession is loyalty sold by weight."

Jasper’s mouth twisted. "And you speak proudly for a man who needed four Unsullied to remind him that children are not quarry."

Ser Erryk inhaled softly. Ser Arryk looked toward me, asking without words whether this was to be stopped by command or allowed to burn one breath longer.

I let the silence hold. Not long. Then I stepped between the lines of sight, facing neither man fully and both of them enough.

"This yard is large enough for knights and soldiers both," I said. "If any man finds honour too cramped by another man’s presence, he may leave before proving himself smaller than the ground beneath his boots."

Curtis’s eyes moved to me. "I intended no insult to the princes."

"You intended it toward the men beside them," I said. "Do not insult me by pretending your aim was poor."

The Cargyll twins held themselves still, but I felt their relief that someone had taken ownership of the moment before it demanded steel.

Curtis inclined his head by the smallest measure. "As you say, Prince Othorion."

Jasper gave a short laugh without humour. "Careful, ser. That sounded almost like obedience."

Vaeron’s voice cut in before Curtis could answer. "Jasper, you have made your point clearly enough that even a courtier could not miss it. Do not cheapen it by decorating the corpse."

Jasper held Curtis’s gaze a moment longer, then lowered his practice blade and stepped back. "As you command, Captain."

Aemond had not spoken once. His eye moved to Lucerys.

Luke stood beside Ser Erryk, pale but steady. He did not hide behind the knight. He did not meet Aemond’s stare for long, but he did not crumple beneath it either.

Curtis placed a hand lightly at Aemond’s shoulder. "Come, my prince. We will train elsewhere."

Aemond allowed himself to be turned, though his gaze lingered on Luke until the final moment. Then he walked away with Curtis through the arch.

Only after they were gone did the yard breathe again.

Ser Arryk turned to Jasper. "You spoke truth, but truth can still draw blood in the wrong place."

Jasper rested the blunted sword point-down against the ground. "If truth draws blood, perhaps the wound was already close to opening."

Ser Erryk’s expression remained troubled. "Perhaps. But there are children in this yard."

Jasper looked toward Luke, then Jace. His face changed, roughness giving way to something almost apologetic. "A fair rebuke. My anger should have remembered them sooner."

That admission did more to ease the Cargyll twins than any denial would have.

Jace looked at me. "Father, was Ser Jasper wrong to say it?"

Every adult in the yard seemed to hear the danger in the question.

I chose my answer carefully. "He was not wrong to remember what happened. He may have chosen a hard place to speak of it. Those are different matters, and you will be old enough for both sooner than I would like."

Jace considered that with painful seriousness.

Luke looked down at his hands, then toward the arch where Aemond had vanished. "I do not like when people talk about my eye being taken."

"Your eye was not taken," I said.

"I know," he replied, voice quiet but steady. "That is why I do not like it."

No one answered for a moment.

Then Rollis leaned on his cane and spoke gently for once. "Some words are shields, Prince Lucerys. Some are spears. The trouble is that frightened men often grab whichever one is closest."

Luke looked at him. "Which one was Ser Jasper using?"

Rollis glanced at Jasper, then back to Luke. "Both, I think."

Jasper said nothing. For once, silence suited him.

Vaeron came to stand beside me as the boys returned to their places. Ser Arryk resumed the lesson with admirable steadiness, though he began with footwork rather than blades. Ser Erryk spoke quietly to Luke before setting him through a defensive form, and Luke followed, pale but listening.

My brother watched them for a long while. "The boys have grown," he said.

"They had little choice."

"That is not what I mean."

I looked at him then. Vaeron’s eyes stayed on Jace, who was now repeating the movement Jasper had forced from him. "They are being taught by everyone around them, even those who do not mean to teach. Knights, soldiers, queens, fools, grieving boys with dragons. All of it leaves marks."

"I know."

"I think you do," he said. "I am less certain you can stop it."

The words were not cruel. That made them worse.

Across the yard, Jasper corrected Jace’s stance with unexpected care, and Ser Arryk allowed it after only a brief hesitation. Rollis spoke to Luke in a low voice that made the boy listen without shrinking. The Cargyll twins watched the Dread Legion veterans, and the veterans watched the white cloaks in return.

Suspicion remained. So did respect, perhaps unwillingly. That was often how useful things began.

I looked toward the arch where Curtis and Aemond had disappeared. The air there seemed empty now, but the shape of the confrontation remained. Jasper had struck a wound hidden beneath polished vows. Curtis had not bled openly. Men like him rarely did.

Vaeron followed my gaze. "You have collected dangerous company in my absence."

"I was lonely."

"That is a poor excuse for filling a castle with armed grudges."

"I will put it in the accounts as household atmosphere."

He looked at me sidelong. "You joke when you are worried."

"I also joke when I am correct."

"That must be exhausting for everyone near you."

For the first time that morning, I laughed properly. Jace glanced over, surprised. Luke did too. Even Jasper looked faintly offended that amusement had survived his temper.

The yard returned to motion. Wood struck wood. Instructions resumed. Boys learned. Men watched. Somewhere beyond the walls, court continued its endless work of smiling over knives.

Vaeron had come home with soldiers, scars, and the same dry tongue that had kept me human more often than he knew. Jasper and Rollis had looked at my sons and seen not symbols, but boys who needed different lessons from different men. The Cargyll twins had not yielded the yard, and the Dread Legion had not bowed itself out of it.

For one morning, all those truths stood together beneath the Red Keep’s pale sky.

Not comfortably. But standing.