Requested by: none
Level: green
Plot: Pride. A Thing of Men
Taken from: House of the Dragon

  The Red Keep's parade ground resounds with metal and labored breathing, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the faces of those present. Royal Guard soldiers and a few nobles have gathered around the makeshift arena, drawn by the promise of a clash that, for many, is just a game between princes. But for you, it is not at all. Your eyes are fixed on the center of the square, where Jacaerys Velaryon is preparing to face his uncle, Aegon II Targaryen.The way Ser Criston Cole has assigned the weapons makes it immediately clear that this will not be a fair challenge.  Aegon wields his light sword with the confidence of one who has always been favored. Jacaerys, on the other hand, has a heavier weapon in his hands than is necessary, a weapon that should be meant for a stouter man, not a young man moving with speed and strategy.Your fists clench as you watch Ser Criston give the signal to begin. Jacaerys is the first to move, using his trademark agility. He dodges Aegon's first lunge, looking for an opening. But the heavy sword slows him down, and Prince Aegon's smile widens when he sees him struggling. <<Come on, strong boy!" taunts Aegon, his voice haughty and full of amusement. Jacaerys does not respond, but his eyes burn with anger. He exchanges a series of blows with Aegon, defending himself with surprising stamina, but every time he tries to attack, the weight of the sword slows him down. And Aegon notices.A targeted blow to his side staggers him. Jacaerys clenches his teeth and tries to respond, but his movement is slower than it should be. Aegon exploits it mercilessly, pushing him back with a series of swift slashes.You move involuntarily forward, your instincts screaming to do something. But a hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you. <<Father, we must stop him>> you whisper to Daemon, who has stood aside with his arms folded, his gaze inscrutable.<<No>>.

You turn sharply toward him.

  <<But he's cheating!>> you protest, in a tone louder than you would have liked. Daemon tilts his head slightly, his gaze calm but stern. <<So what? Do you think that in war the enemies will give them a fair weapon? Do you think they will fight with honor?>> His voice is low, but sharp as a knife.

You grit your teeth. You know your father is right, but you cannot accept seeing Jacaerys fight at such a disadvantage.

  In the parade ground, Aegon takes advantage of the superiority and with a well-placed blow, hits Jacaerys in the side with the flat of his blade. The young prince falls to one knee, breathing heavily, while the audience holds its breath. <<Is that all you got, nephew?" laughs Aegon, twirling the sword in his hands. <<You should surrender. Or do you want to humiliate yourself even more in front of our little audience?>>. Jacaerys eyes lift, dark and inflamed. You realize he has no intention of giving in. <<I never give up>>.

  With a sudden jerk, he takes advantage of his own center of gravity to turn and slash the air in front of Aegon with his sword. The blow is faster than his half-brother expects and forces him to step back, surprised. Finally, an opening.Jacaerys gets back up and presses in with a series of more decisive attacks. His sword, though heavy, becomes an extension of his unwavering will. For the first time, Aegon finds himself forced to defend himself. The audience begins to murmur.Aegon grits his teeth, annoyed that the duel did not end as he expected. With a snarl, he attacks with more ferocity, until a sudden feint allows him to take Jacaerys by surprise.A vicious blow to the chest causes him to collapse to the ground. A silence spreads across the square.<<That's enough!" declares Ser Criston, with a satisfied smile. Aegon lowers his blade with a victorious grin, while Jacaerys remains on the ground, his breathing labored and his body shaken with pain.You can't take it anymore. You turn to Daemon with glowing eyes.<<Tell me you are proud of what you saw>> you hiss. <<Was that necessary?>>.Daemon stares at you for a long moment. Then, with his usual calm, he says, <<Jacaerys fought like a true Targaryen. And he lost like a Strong>>. You feel the blood boiling in your veins.<<And you would have allowed them to do the same to me?>>. Your father does not answer immediately, but his gaze becomes sharper. <<You would not have lost>>. You realize that this is not a compliment. It is a warning. A warning not to give in, to fight and never lose, even if you are at an obvious disadvantage.
You turn away without another word, striding toward the interior of the Fortress, intending to follow Jacaerys. You do not care if he is proud. You don't care if he refuses your help. Because no matter what your father says, you are not like him. And you will not let Jacaerys face everything alone.

****

  Torches illuminate the corridors of the Red Keep with a warm, flickering light as you walk down the long passageway leading to the rooms reserved for the princes. You know that Jacaerys will not go to a master. You know him well enough to know that he would rather suffer in silence than show another weakness. That is why you are the one looking for him. You open the door without knocking. You find him sitting on a bench, shirtless, his side exposed to the dim light of the room. His skin is marked with a purplish shadow, the most obvious wound from a confrontation that was never fair. He has a cloth in his hand, but he is not doing much to medicate himself. Perhaps she doesn't have the strength. When the door closes behind you, he lifts his gaze, surprised by your presence. <<What are you doing here?>> his voice is strained, his pride even more wounded than his body. <<I am doing what you should be doing>>. You approach before he can protest. He stiffens when you kneel beside him, but he does not move. You know he would like to push you away, but he also knows it would do no good. You dip a clean cloth into a basin of water and begin to dab the bruise on his side. He inhales sharply, but does not complain. 

  <<I saw you fight>> you say after a moment of silence. Jacaerys does not immediately respond, her dark eyes fixed on the wall. <<So you also saw how it ended>>.

  <<I saw your uncle fight like a coward>> you retort, clutching the cloth in your hands. <<And I saw you resist even when everything was against you>>. Jacaerys laughs, but it is a bitter sound. <<Hanging on is of no use if in the end you are the one who ends up on the ground>>. You pause for a moment. Then you lay the cloth down and lift your chin to look him in the eye. <<Do you really believe that?>> you ask, your voice softer but firm. He does not answer immediately. He just looks at you, and in that look you see frustration, anger, the weight of expectations he carries on his shoulders. His back is tense, his breathing just a little slower than when you started to medicate him. But the air between you is anything but calm.

  <<You should have seen this coming." Your words break the silence. They are harsh, perhaps more than they should be, but you have no intention of sparing him. Jacaerys jaw clenches, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. <<Do you think I didn't know that?>> he retorts, his tone low, laden with frustration. <<I knew Ser Criston would get me in trouble. I knew Aegon would take advantage of any weakness>>. You stare at him, arms folded. <<And yet you fell>>. His expression hardens. <<Yes, I fell>>. There is anger in his gaze, but it is directed at himself more than at you. <<And it won't happen again>>. You take a step closer. <<It won't happen if you stop fighting the way you want to and start fighting the way they do>>. Jacaerys stiffens. <<I am not like them>>.

  <<I know>> you say, calmer now. <<And that's why you have to be smarter than they are>>.
He looks away, his eyes lost in an indefinite spot on the floor. <<Aegon fights without honor. And I am supposed to stoop to his level?>>. You kneel before him, your face now level with his. <<You should stop thinking that honor is the only thing that will make you a good king>>. Your words strike him harder than any slash Aegon has delivered. His breath catches for a moment, his dark eyes fixed in yours. <<You fight with pride>> you continue, in a softer but firm voice. <<But pride is not enough. You have to fight to win>>. He looks at you in silence, his chest rising and falling slowly. There is something in his eyes, a spark that he cannot hide.

  <<What would you do, then?>>

  <<I would study my enemy. I would lure him into his own trap. I would make him fall into his own arrogance>>. You lean forward slightly, your voice just lower, more intimate. <<And then I would finish him off>>.

 Jacaerys breath holds, your words enveloping him like a flame burning slowly but surely. His gaze drops to your lips for a moment, then rises again, meeting yours again. <<Are you telling me I should be more like your father?>> he asks, with a hint of irony in his voice. You let a smile slip out. <<I am telling you that you should be yourself ... but more dangerous>>. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you is tense, charged with something indefinite but undeniable.

  Then, suddenly, Jacaerys moves. His hands brush against your arms, slow, hesitant. You do not retreat. <<What if I already am?">> he whispers. You realize how close you are only when her gaze lingers on your lips for a moment too long. The air in the room changes, becomes thicker, more charged. You do not move. And he doesn't move away.

  With exasperating slowness, Jacaerys lifts a hand and touches your wrist, as if he wants to stop you, or perhaps just feel that you are really there.

  <<You don't have to worry about me, Y/n>>.

  <<But I do>>.

  Your response is immediate, sincere. You know he's stubborn, that he doesn't want to show weakness, but you can't pretend otherwise. Your fingers graze the edge of the bruise, and he holds his breath, but not for pain. <<Why? >> he asks, his voice now lower, more hoarse. This time it is you who does not answer right away. Your heart beats faster, but you don't pull back.

  You realize that Jacaerys Velaryon, the prince who struggles every day to prove his worth, is not just seeking healing for his wounds. He is looking for validation. He is looking for something that no one seems to give him. And you are the only one who can offer it to him.

  Your hand stops on his skin, your breath mixes.

  <<Because you are not alone in this>>.

  Jacaerys seems about to say something, but then stops. For a moment, time seems suspended. Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans forward slightly. And you don't pull back.

  The kiss is softer than you would have imagined, but loaded with everything you haven't said to each other up to that moment. It is a mixture of need, of pent-up anger, of relief. His fingers close around your wrist as your hands move to his shoulders, to the scars left from training. It is a contact made of fire and vulnerability, of something that is not yet entirely clear but that neither of you can ignore.

  When you separate, his eyes are still on you, his breathing labored. Your heart speeds up. You know you should respond, that you should say something, but his touch burns like embers on your skin.

  And then, once again, he moves closer. This time, the kiss is more intense. There is no more hesitation, only the need to grasp what until then has been suspended between you. His hands slide over your waist, drawing you closer. Your fingers sink into his dark hair, squeezing with a strength that says more than any words. It is not just desire. It is frustration, tension, battles not yet fought.

  When you part, her eyes are dark, her expression still tense.

  <<Will you train me? >> he asks, with a smile that is almost a challenge. You smile, with the same intensity.

  <<Prepare to lose>>

  Jacaerys laughs softly, but there is a sparkle in her eyes that wasn't there before.