~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
Vellena stormed through the halls of Dragonstone, her violet eyes blazing with irritation. Behind her, Bennar Lonmouth followed at a respectful but persistent distance, his expression calm despite the obvious fury radiating from the princess.

She whirled around suddenly, forcing him to stop abruptly before he ran into her. "You do not have to follow me everywhere!" she snapped, her voice sharp as a blade.

Bennar, unfazed, crossed his arms over his chest. "Actually, I do, Princess," he replied evenly. "Your mother commanded it."

Vellena let out a frustrated growl, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I do not need a shadow. Or a handmaid to follow me everywhere"

Bennar raised an eyebrow. "I'm neither," he said with a smirk. "I'm your protector."

Vellena scoffed, turning on her heel and storming outside to the training grounds. She had hoped to find a moment of peace while practicing with her bow, but Bennar was still there, watching her every move like a hawk.

She ignored him, pulling an arrow from her quiver and nocking it expertly. She exhaled, steadying her aim, and let the arrow fly. It struck the target but landed just outside the center. Annoyed, she reached for another arrow—only for it to slip from her fingers and fall to the ground.

Before she could even bend down, Bennar was already moving. He plucked the arrow from the dirt and held it out to her.

Vellena narrowed her eyes at him. "I can pick up my own damn arrows," she bit out, snatching it from his hand.

Bennar simply shrugged. "Then maybe don't drop them."

Vellena's jaw clenched as she turned back to the target. She fired the arrow with more force than necessary, hitting the bullseye this time. "You're insufferable," she muttered.

Bennar chuckled. "You're welcome."

She spun toward him. "For what?"

"For keeping you alive. And for fetching your arrows." He smirked, clearly amused by how easily he got under her skin.

Vellena exhaled sharply through her nose. "You are my protector, not my damn servant," she snapped.

Bennar gave a mock bow. "Of course, Princess."

Vellena groaned, spinning back to the target. She pulled another arrow, trying to ignore the feeling of Bennar's eyes watching her every move. She hated this arrangement. Hated having someone breathing down her neck, watching her, waiting for something to happen.

But most of all, she hated that she couldn't shake the feeling that, despite his insufferable nature, Bennar Lonmouth was not going anywhere.

Jace walked along the beach, his boots sinking slightly into the damp sand as the waves crashed softly in the distance. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed, and ahead of him stood Bennar Lonmouth, leaning casually against a jagged rock formation. The knight had his arms crossed over his chest, watching the horizon like a man with no worries in the world.

Jace smirked. "You look too comfortable, Bennar. I thought guarding my sister would be more of a challenge."

Bennar turned his head slightly, his brown eyes flicking to Jace with polite indifference. "She's stubborn, I'll give her that," he admitted. "But I have faced worse."

Jace chuckled. "Have you?" He gave Bennar a knowing look, tilting his head. "What happened to the Bennar I knew in the Stepstones? The one who was as reckless as he was deadly?"

Bennar rolled his eyes. "He's standing right in front of you, but now with the added wisdom of experience," he said, his tone dry.

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Experience, is it? Or just old age?"

Bennar scoffed. "I am one year older than you, Velaryon."

Jace grinned. "And yet, I seem to recall a time when you got so drunk after a battle that you mistook a Dornish sellsword for a lady and nearly—"

"Enough," Bennar cut him off, though there was amusement in his voice. "Unless you want me to return the favor, my prince."

Jace shook his head with a chuckle, but before Bennar could retaliate, a soft sound from behind them made them turn.

Vellena stood a few feet away, bow in hand, having clearly stopped her training to observe them. She raised a delicate brow, her violet eyes flicking between the two men. "How do you two know each other?"

Jace's expression softened at his sister's curiosity. "Bennar and I fought together in the Stepstones," he explained. "We met during the campaign against the Triarchy."

Vellena nodded slowly "I see", digesting the information before glancing at Bennar, who smirked slightly. "Your brother was magnificent, Princess," he said smoothly. "But he was not yet a man, so before we left the Stepstones, I introduced him to a—"

Jace moved quickly, clapping Bennar on the back a little too hard, cutting him off mid-sentence. "—A man who sold books and jewelry!" Jace finished with an awkward laugh. "That's how I got your necklace, haedar."

Vellena raised a skeptical brow, glancing between them as if trying to decide whether she believed that story. Bennar rubbed his shoulder, looking mildly annoyed but also amused.

After a long moment, Vellena shrugged, turning back toward her bow without pressing further.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Bennar turned to Jace with a frown. "What the fuck was that for?"

Jace leaned in slightly, speaking through gritted teeth. "Next time, keep your mouth shut about stupid things."

Bennar chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he watched Jace walk away. "You're no fun, Velaryon."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Vellena sat on the soft rug in her chamber, watching as her kittens, Berion and Mera, eagerly lapped at the small dish of milk she had placed for them. Berion, the feisty one, kept nudging Mera aside, trying to get more for himself, while Mera simply purred in contentment, taking her time.

She smiled fondly, reaching out to stroke Berion's tiny head, his white fur soft beneath her fingers. "You little tyrant," she murmured.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her glance toward the door, which had been left ajar. Jace stepped in, his brown curls slightly tousled, a curious glint in his eyes as he looked down at the kittens.

"They're still tiny," he noted, crouching beside her. "Can I hold them?"

Vellena chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, they're eating."

Jace groaned dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if she had gravely offended him. "Fine," he sighed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Then I'm going to hold you."

Before she could react, he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing a warm kiss to her temple. Vellena giggled, tilting her head slightly against him.

For a moment, they stayed like that—two siblings wrapped in each other's warmth, with only the soft purring of kittens filling the room. But then, her thoughts drifted, a shadow crossing her features.

"Do you know anything about Mother?" she asked quietly.

Jace's arms around her tightened slightly, and he sighed against her hair. "No," he admitted. "She disappeared this morning."

Vellena's brows furrowed. "That's unlike her."

"I know." Jace pressed his lips together, as if debating how much to say. "I asked around, but no one knows where she went. Only Mysaria might, and she's not telling anyone."

Vellena bit the inside of her cheek. Their mother wouldn't just leave without reason. Something was happening, and she didn't like being left in the dark.

Before she could say more, Berion and Mera finished their milk and, now full, began jumping around her feet. The moment of tension faded as Vellena smiled, bending down to pick up Berion while Jace scooped Mera into his arms. Both kittens purred, nestling against them as if seeking comfort.

They placed them gently in their small, cozy crib, watching as Mera curled around Berion protectively. It was endearing, the way the tiny creatures relied on them.

Jace smirked. "They think we're their mother and father."

Vellena rolled her eyes playfully. "Then you're the useless father who just plays while I do all the hard work."

Jace gasped dramatically. "That is a vile accusation, haedar. I am a very involved father."

Vellena giggled, shaking her head as she leaned against him slightly. Even with the uncertainty about their mother lingering in the back of her mind, at least in this moment, she felt at peace.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The gentle purring of Berion and Mera filled Vellena's chamber as she and Jace tended to the kittens. Mera batted at Berion's tail playfully, while Berion huffed and leaped onto Vellena's lap, curling into a contented ball. Vellena stroked his white fur absentmindedly, lost in thought.

Jace, meanwhile, was sprawled comfortably on the rug beside her, teasing Mera with the end of a loose thread from his sleeve. His laughter was warm, easy, and it made something in Vellena's chest ache—something she refused to name.

Then came the knock.

A firm rap on the door, followed by the voice of Ser Bennar Lonmouth. "Prince Jacaerys, Princess Vellena," he announced, his voice carrying through the chamber. "A council meeting has been called for this evening."

Vellena rolled her eyes before Jace even looked at her. "Of course it has," she muttered under her breath, earning a small smirk from her brother.

Jace stood first, stretching before moving toward the door. "We'll be there," he told Bennar. The knight gave a stiff nod before stepping back into the corridor.

Vellena sighed, pressing a kiss to Berion's head before gently setting him down. "I suppose we should prepare ourselves," she murmured.

Jace hummed. "It's only another night of arguing over dragons and war," he said lightly, but there was an underlying weight to his words.

And so, they left the peace of the chamber behind.

The chamber of the Painted Table was dimly lit with flickering torches, casting shadows over the great carved map of Westeros. At the head of the table stood Jace and Baela, both commanding the room with their presence. Vellena, as usual, stood to the side as the cupbearer, a role she had accepted with little protest.

The conversation was as expected—Daemon at Harrenhal, the dragons they had at their disposal, the strategies they might employ. Lords muttered to one another, weighing risks and rewards.

Vellena moved around the room, silent, refilling cups when needed. It was easy to be invisible when men with loud voices and heavier opinions filled the space.

Then Ser Alfred spoke.

"The Princess Vellena does have Silverwing," he said, voice laced with something just shy of condescension, "but she is not helping out."

Vellena froze.

Her fingers clenched around the handle of the silver pitcher as every eye turned toward her.

Before she could form a response, Jace's voice rang out, sharp and angry. "Mind your tongue, Ser Alfred."

The air grew tense. Ser Alfred held Jace's gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and looking away. Vellena exhaled, setting the pitcher down on the small side table beside her.

The meeting ended shortly after. Jace and Baela dismissed the lords for the evening, their expressions unreadable as the room slowly emptied.

As Vellena remained behind, gathering the empty cups, Baela approached her and pulled her into a hug. "Good night, Vel," she murmured.

Vellena closed her eyes briefly, allowing the comfort before pulling away with a small nod. "Good night, Baela."

Baela gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before leaving, the door closing softly behind her.

That left only her and Jace.

Jace stepped toward her, reaching for one of the cups.

"You don't have to help me," Vellena said, glancing at him.

Jace only smirked, taking another cup into his hands. "I want to."

Vellena let out a soft breath, not arguing further. They moved around the table in comfortable silence, placing the cups back onto the small table one by one.

Then, Jace spoke. "Have you heard about Jocelyn and Lord Stark?"

Vellena looked up at him and smiled softly. She had. Their aunt Jocelyn Velaryon had wed Lord Cregan Stark two days ago, and Rhaenys was on her way back to Dragonstone. She should arrive by morning.

"I hope Jocelyn is happy," she said quietly.

Jace nodded. "Me too."

Silence settled between them again, but there was something heavier about it now.

Vellena's hands trembled slightly as she placed the last cup down. The lingering weight of Ser Alfred's words still clung to her.

Jace must have noticed.

He moved behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chest pressing against her back. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her temple, and Vellena felt herself relax into him.

"Ignore Ser Alfred," Jace muttered against her hair. "He's just being a bitch as usual."

Vellena chuckled, her shoulders shaking with soft laughter.

She turned in his arms to face him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. They were so close.

Their breaths mingled in the dimly lit room, his brown eyes searching hers, her violet ones wide and unreadable.

They had promised.

Promised to be Vel and Jace again. Promised to forget whatever had happened in the past.

But here they were, inches apart.

Jace's fingers flexed against her waist. He wanted to kiss her. Seven hells, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe.

And Vellena...

For a second, she almost let herself fall.

Then—she pulled away.

She slipped out of his arms like water between fingers, clearing her throat as she took a step back.

"I should go... to..." She gestured awkwardly, not even knowing where she meant to go, only that she needed to get away.

Jace coughed, nodding stiffly. "Of course. Yes... Good night..."

Vellena nodded quickly. "Good night."

Then she rushed out of the Painted Table, her heart pounding.

She hated herself.

Hated how she had nearly fallen back into his arms, hated how her body had betrayed her, leaning into his warmth.

Jace was her brother.

Her lekia.

They had made a promise. They had sworn to leave whatever had been between them in the past.

But she couldn't deny the truth—not to herself.

She wanted him.

Seven hells, she still wanted him.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

She gritted her teeth as she walked through the corridors, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

She would not fall for this temptation again.

She could not.

The moment the door shut behind her, Jace cursed under his breath.

He ran a frustrated hand through his curls, pacing back and forth, his body still thrumming with the ache of what could have happened.

Gods, he had wanted to kiss her.

He had yearned to kiss her again and again and again until the taste of her was the only thing on his lips.

But she had slipped away.

Again.

Just like always.

Jace slammed his fist against the wooden table, cursing himself for being such a fool.

She would never let him in again.

And he...

He wasn't sure if he could ever stop wanting her.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The morning sun rose over Dragonstone, casting long shadows across the black stone walls. But there was still no sign of Rhaenyra.

Her absence hung over the fortress like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting.

Rhaenys had returned, her dragon Meleys exhausted from the flight. The Queen Who Never Was had barely rested before making her presence known once more in the war councils.

Baela, restless as always, had taken to the skies again on Moondancer, her small but swift dragon patrolling the coastline and the lands beyond.

And so the day passed in uneasy tension.

Then came another council meeting.

The Painted Table was once again surrounded by lords, knights, and warriors, each vying for a voice in the absence of their queen.

Vellena took her usual place as cupbearer, moving silently between the men, her presence often overlooked, though her ears caught every word spoken.

Baela stood beside Jace, recounting what she had seen from above. "Ser Criston Cole's host has taken to exploiting the tree cover to conceal its movements. He now only travels by night to confound our dragons."

A murmur passed through the room as Bartimos Celtigar leaned forward. "And what is Cole's heading?"

Baela spoke with a gulp "It is difficult to say, but there were signs of an army moving northwest, I believe."

A scoff broke the moment. Gormon Massey chuckled under his breath. "She believes."

Vellena bristled at the mocking tone, but Baela did not falter.

She simply walked around the table, coming to stand beside Jace.

Then, Ser Alfred Broome sneered. "You should've burned them when you had the chance."

Baela turned her sharp gaze to him, her voice cool but cutting. "Perhaps you can, Ser Alfred, when you next sight them on your dragon."

A beat of silence.

Then—Rhaenys smiled. Proudly.

Jace straightened, his voice calm but firm.
"The only reason we know any of this is because of Baela's efforts."

But Bartimos Celtigar was not satisfied.
"What do we know, my prince? If you ask me, it is little and less. We know that Cole possesses a host that is growing in strength and that it is a problem."

Another lord, Gormon Massey, leaned forward.

Gormon Massey: "Can Daemon hope to meet it with his own in time? And if I know the Riverlands, he has more disentangling ahead of him than the end of a Lyseni orgy."

Some men chuckled, but the moment was cut short as Massey turned to Baela again. "Have you heard word from your father?"

A heavy pause.

Baela exhaled deeply, shaking her head.
"...No."

Jace reached out and took her hand—not in a way that was romantic, but in brotherly support.

Still, the uncertainty in the room only thickened.

Maester Gerardys cleared his throat.  "Ravens were sent to Harrenhal seeking news of Daemon's progress with the Riverlords. None have, as yet, returned."

A few uneasy glances were exchanged.

Then, as expected, Ser Alfred Broome spoke up again.  "Just so. An enemy host, growing in constitution, marches somewhere in the vastness of the Crownlands. We could, perhaps, act if only we had a host of our own. Or someone here to lead us."

It was clear what he meant.

Queen Rhaenyra was missing.

Jace's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Learn to temper your words, Ser Alfred."

Ser Alfred did not back down. "Do I speak falsely, my prince?"

The tension was palpable.

Then, Princess Rhaenys spoke, her voice commanding. "This council is rudderless. I'm doing my best to steer it, Ser Alfred."

But Ser Alfred, emboldened, turned his gaze to her. "Why should your voice be any louder than ours, Princess? The queen did not name you Hand. It is her voice, and that of the king consort, that we need to raise alliances and command our vassals. But they are gone."

The room fell into hushed murmurs.

And then—

The doors swung open.

A commanding presence filled the chamber.

Lord Corlys Velaryon stepped inside, his cane thudding against the stone floor with each step.

His eyes blazed with anger. "What has come of this council?"

The room fell silent.

Ser Alfred was visibly startled. "M-My lord."

But Corlys wasn't interested in pleasantries.

He strode forward, coming to stand beside Rhaenys.

His voice was low and firm, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it.

"Our enemy is on the march. Is there naught to be done in the absence of the queen, but to grouse and claw for power?"

The lords shifted in their seats.

Bartimos Celtigar sighed. "We do not know the queen's doings."

Corlys cut through his words effortlessly.  "But we must trust that she seeks the same as each of us at this table. An end to this conflict."

A weighted silence followed.

The council, effectively, was over.

As the men filed out, Vellena remained behind once again, quietly gathering the empty goblets.

She felt uneasy.

Her mother was still missing.

Daemon was silent in Harrenhal.

And Ser Criston Cole was moving in the dark, his forces growing.

She placed the last cup on the table, her mind racing.

Would they still be here—waiting, arguing—when the storm finally broke?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

NEXT CHAPTER ROOK'S REST AND JACELLENA GOING BACK TO THEIR ENEMIES/LOVERS ROOTS 😭🥲