Jace
His father insisted they meet near the entrance to Maegor’s Holdfast.
Jace took care to dress in his best riding clothes and comb his hair so that it would not fall into his eyes.
Though always kind and loving, his father seldom took him anywhere anymore.
Jace wanted to make this time count.
Mayhaps that would convince him to do it more often.
Ser Laenor greeted him and Ser Steffon at the drawbridge.
With a wave of his hand, he bid the guards lower it so the two of them could cross.
The Kingsguard fell in step behind them as they made their way out into the keep.
To Jace’s relief, his father’s friend, Ser Qarl Correy, was nowhere to be seen.
“A fine day for a stroll, is it not?” his father mused, a smile on his face.
Jace always thought he had a funny smile.
Tense and lopsided, as if it took him much effort to keep his lips peeled back.
“Yes,” he agreed, relishing the sun on his skin.
The sky was clear and cloudless, rife with the scent of flowering marigolds.
“Will we go for a ride?”
A small part of him hoped his father meant to take him flying on Seasmoke to see the Blackwater.
He had done that when he and Luce were babes, much to their mother’s horror.
“Oh, on dragonback?
No, no, not today.
I fear Seasmoke is too tired.”
From what?
His dragon had spent weeks languishing in the pit, same as the others.
Still, Jace held his tongue.
“No, I thought you and I might take a stroll and have a chat, man to man.”
He peered up at him.
“About what?”
“Oh, I do not know.” His father shrugged.
“How have you been?”
A million words battled to escape his lips.
Instead, Jace settled on saying, “Fine.”
His father’s brows shot up.
They trekked down the cobbled path, passing scores of servants carrying sacks of supplies back into the keep.
A few nobles were milling about as well, and his father paused to give them a polite greeting.
“Is that so?” he said, exchanging nods with a passing lordling in blue.
“Your mother tells me you have caused quite a bit of trouble of late.”
Jace’s fingers trailed the front of his doublet, latching onto the buttons in a fury.
“It was just a jest.”
“Oh, I know.
Harmless fun amongst boys,” his father waved his hand.
“But it was still not proper.
You should not go along with everything your half-uncle says.”
When they neared the northern parapets, overlooking the Hill of Rhaenys, his father knelt to be at eye level with him.
“I know you are struggling, son.” He paused, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You have few friends, and you feel as if you do not belong at court.
I understand that.
I have felt that myself.”
Jace ceased turning the buttons.
“You have?”
His father nodded.
“Yes.
I am a knight, a dragon rider.
I was made for sailing and battles, not family dinners.
Court life was never my lot.
Seven hells, war is afoot in the Stepstones right now, and I have half a mind to join the fighting.”
The elation Jace felt withered.
“You want to leave?”
“Well, naturally…” The smile he had borne so proudly faltered.
“No, I do not want to leave you, of course.
Just the court.”
Uncomfortable silence filled the air around them, and his father squirmed.
Pressing his lips into a firm line, he seized Jace by the shoulders and gently drew him closer.
“You and your sister are the most important things in my life.
And for you, I have learned to endure all manner of things I do not like.
To perform my duties as Prince Consort and royal father.
And you…” He patted him on the chest.
“Shall do the same.
You may not like it.
Gods know I do not.
But you will behave yourself and be a proper prince.
Alright?”
Jace held his gaze, getting lost in the pit of his dark eyes.
His fingers yanked on one of the buttons so hard, the threads snapped.
“Alright,” he forced out.
Despite the sun beating down on his brow, he felt cold.
His father noticed nothing.
“There is a good lad!” Giving his chest a good slap, he rose back up to tower over him.
That smile was back on his face.
Tense and lopsided.
Lacking any earnestness.
“Now off you go.”
Jace almost asked him to stay.
So they could continue their walk and talk some more.
So he could hug him, regale him with tales of his adventures in the Stepstones.
Just like he did when Jace was younger.
But one look at his face bid him to stay quiet.
His head was craned to the side, eyes affixed on the northern gate and the city beyond.
His body might have been here, but his mind was not.
It was already plotting his escape.
Something hot burned in his throat.
You must not cry.
With a resigned nod, he turned on his heels and marched right back up the path.
When he and Ser Steffon came upon the drawbridge, he sprinted.
“My Prince!” the knight bellowed after him, but Jace was too flustered to care.
He barreled past some serving girls up the winding staircase that led to the Queen’s apartments.
Ser Lorent Marbrand stood watch outside the door, but Jace was not deterred.
“My prince, what are you doing here?” the knight peered down at him through the slits of his iron helm. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“I came to see Aegon.
Is he here?”
The knight shuffled in place, his mail crackling.
“He is still abed, I am afraid.”
“I want to speak to him.”
“My Prince,” the cry sounded, and moments later, Ser Steffon marched down the corridor, breathless.
“Gods spare me; you cannot go running off like that.”
“I want to see my uncle, Aegon!” He reached out to seize the door handle, but a gloved hand pulled him back.
“Come now, I shall take you back to your mother.”
“Seven hells, what is all that noise?!” a shrill screech sounded from the other side of the door, bidding Ser Steffon to stop.
Moments later, Aegon cracked it open and peered his head through the slit.
“Oh Jace, it is you.
What are you doing here?”
Jace wiggled out of the knight’s grasp.
“Can we talk?”
“Now?” his uncle scrunched up his nose.
His hair was so tangled, it looked like some wild animal was nesting atop his head.
“It is not even dawn yet.”
“It is almost midday, my prince,” Ser Lorent interjected.
Aegon squinted at him.
“Oh.
Well then, come in.” Pushing the door open, he disappeared inside.
Jace quickly followed after him, not sparing his escort another glance.
The first thing that hit him was the smell.
Strong wine and unwashed clothing.
Thick curtains covered all windows, blanketing the chamber in darkness.
Jace stumbled over something but managed to steady himself before he fell.
With a loud grunt, Aegon parted the draperies, allowing a stream of sunshine to beat the black away.
Jace half wished everything had stayed dim.
The scattered bedsheets, discarded boots, and empty wine cups littering the floor did not make for a pleasant sight.
“So, what did you want?” Aegon asked, contorting himself into a stretch.
His sleeping shift was on backward.
Jace stared for a moment, dumbstruck.
Then, the words came pouring out of him like water breaking through a dam.
He relayed the conversation with his father, not pausing for air once.
Aegon did not seem to pay it much mind at first.
But the more he spoke, the deeper his grimace became.
When Jace was finally done, he released a deep sigh.
“Oh, so your father likes to ignore you too,” he spat out, his voice hoarse.
Jace cleared away some small clothes from a chair and sat down.
“Grandsire does not ignore you.
He has always been very nice.”
A giggle burst from Aegon’s lips, and he moved to splash some water on his cheeks.
“Yes, very kind.
When he is reminded I exist.
But, for the most part, he is content with pretending he has only one child.”
Jace misliked how resentful those words sounded.
Nevertheless, he pushed them aside.
“But he has never told you he wanted to leave you.” The lump in his throat choked him, and he bent his head to hide the tears.
Aegon let the silence linger.
“He did not have to say it.” The gravity in his voice made Jace wonder if he was even speaking to the same person.
He had never heard him be this serious.
His uncle assuaged his doubts when, a moment later, he scoffed and tossed his messy curls back.
“In any case, what do you want me to do?
I am not your damn nursemaid.
I cannot make you feel better about it.”
Jace stiffened, his fingers pulling on the button.
The thread snapped with a soft pop.
“Well, I thought.
I mean.
You are my friend.”
The laugh he let out cut worse than steel.
“I am certainly not that either.” Kicking a goblet to the side, he moved to scour the floor for some clean garments.
“Look, I have my own worries weighing me down.
My mother has not stopped nagging me about the jest you pulled on Aemond.”
“Me?!
That was your plot!” he protested.
“Yes, well.
You should not have indulged me.”
His head low, he dug through the clothes as if he were hoping to unearth hidden treasure.
“Edric was right.
You are just a mewling boy.
I never should have invited you to play with me.
You are a bad influence.
You make me do childish things.”
Silence descended on the room like a heavy weight.
Aegon finally discovered what he was looking for and rose to his feet with a huff.
When he dared to cast a glance at him, his expression fell.
“Jace.”
“Fine then!” he shrieked and leapt out of the chair.
“I never wanted to be your friend anyway!”
“Wait, no, Jace.”
His hand pulled on the door handle, yanking it open with force.
Ser Steffon seemed bewildered at his temper and tried to stop him from running off.
Jace had the fortune of being smaller and swifter and lost the knight along the winding corridors.
It was only when his chest started hurting and his lungs screamed for air that he stopped his mad dash.
The physical pain did not ease the hurt that lingered within.
Why does nobody like me?
His sister, his father, and now even his uncle.
They all spurned him, for no reason.
It was not fair.
He was the prince, the heir.
By all rights, he should have all the friends in the world.
Instead, he had no one.
He needed to hit something.
Aemond appeared as the perfect target.
He found him hiding in one of the hallway antechambers, his pointed nose buried in a book.
Jace did not even know what he said to him exactly.
He just flung whatever taunt came to his mind, hoping for a rise.
Infuriatingly, he stayed silent.
In the end, it was his sister of all people who answered his jabs.
She appeared out of nowhere to defend the self-righteous idiot and tease Jace about his reading.
It was only the threat of Septa Melara that stopped him from shoving her down.
Ser Steffon had told her I had run off.
He could have managed the Kingsguard being cross with him, but not the Septa.
That woman’s wrath was something to behold.
And worse still, it always ended with him confined to his chambers, forced to read from the Seven Pointed Star till he perished from boredom.
He fled again, running past courtiers and servants, hardly paying attention to where he was going.
When he finally stopped, the blood-red canopy of the castle’s weirwood was staring back at him.
Jace sucked in breath after breath as he entered the castle godswood, green grass whispering beneath his boots.
The face carved into the trunk was one of serene contemplation.
Watching the red tears stream down its cheeks, Jace hiccupped a sob.
That was how Ser Harwin found him.
Huddled beneath the heart tree, weeping into his hands.
“My prince?
What has happened?” The burly knight rushed over to him, the golden cloak of the City Watch billowing behind him.
“Nothing, I am fine,” his voice cracked, and he moved to wipe the tears away before the knight could see.
“I was just resting.”
The man paid no mind to his attempts to brush him off.
“I can see,” he said, his face softening into a smile.
It struck Jace how much the wrinkles around his eyes reminded him of Lucera’s.
Her eyes also crinkled like that when she smiled.
“It is no easy thing to outrun a Kingsguard.”
Jace blew a breath.
“Ser Steffon is looking for me, is he not?”
The knight chuckled and moved to sit beside him.
“That he is.
He and the others have been scouring the keep for you.
He gave Prince Aegon a stern talking-to for making you run off like that.”
The mention of his uncle’s name made him ball his fists.
“Ah, I see the young prince is the reason you are so cross.”
“He is an idiot,” Jace cut him off.
“You will get no argument from me.”
“A stupid idiot who only knows how to say hurtful things and drink wine.”
“Well.
Sometimes our friends can say hurtful things.”
“He is not my friend,” he spat the words, expecting the anger to flare.
Instead, sadness stung his eyes.
“He has told me so himself.”
The tears followed suit, and he bowed his head, trying to hide them from Ser Harwin’s gaze.
The gentle touch on his forearm made him look back.
“I know, lad,” the man said, brows knitted together.
Jace immediately thought of his own father and the understanding he had extended.
Somehow, Ser Harwin’s concern rang truer than Laenor’s platitudes ever did.
“Perhaps it is for the best,” he continued.
“You deserve a friend who will uplift you, not bring you down.
And sadly, the only thing Prince Aegon can lift is a cup of wine.”
Jace’s lips peeled into a small smile.
He gingerly accepted the handkerchief the knight had offered.
“But I do not have anyone like that.
Nobody really likes me.”
He squeezed his fists again, vision blurring.
“That is not true, lad.
You have your mother, the princess, your royal grandfather, and your sister.”
“Pft, Lucera does not care.
She is too busy looking for adventures.”
A small pause ensued, and the hand brushing his forearm moved up to tap his shoulder.
“You have me.”
He jerked away, craning his head to look at him.
He bore the oddest expression on his face.
Stoic and determined, yet filled with uncertainty.
As if he were doing something bad.
“You?
I hardly even know you.”
Save for the tales he heard about his fabled strength, Ser Harwin Breakbones was but a distant fixture to him.
He had occasionally exchanged kind words with him when he was out in the training yard and bid him to chase off Edric Florent when the idiot was being especially vile.
Otherwise, he mostly hovered on the periphery, sometimes appearing in his mother’s chambers to whisper things to her that always left her either upset or inexplicably happy.
“Well, you can, if you want to,” he halfheartedly commented.
His tone was light and jovial but still poignant.
“I may not be a prince or have a dragon of my own.
But I can teach you how to fight.
How to skin a deer and sharpen your sword.
And when you are upset, I can lend you my ear.
If you need it.”
Jace side-eyed him, turning the words over in his head.
He could use more practice with a sword.
Ser Criston was not particularly keen on paying him attention during their yard sessions.
And having someone to confide in sounded rather nice.
“I would like that but.
Do you promise not to leave?
To go fight in the Stepstones?”
The question seemed silly, and Jace regretted asking it.
Still, the way Ser Harwin’s brows furrowed took him by surprise.
His slanted brown eyes glistened with a bright sheen, and he squeezed his shoulder into a tight grip.
“No, lad,” his voice came out airy.
“I will not leave you.
I promise.
As long as there is still breath in my lungs, I will never leave you.”
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