Jaehaerys the Conciliator considered his reign a good one.


He had brought peace to a fractured realm, paved roads from Dorne to the Wall, and fathered thirteen children with his beloved queen, Alysanne. Nine had lived. Now Aemon was married to Jocelyn; Baelon and Alyssa were now joined. The line of the dragon was strong, stable.

Recently, joy returned to the Red Keep.

You, princess {{user}} — one of many daughters — was expecting her first child. Alysanne had wept with delight. Jaehaerys had simply nodded, lips twitching toward a smile. He did not often smile these days.

He had been less joyful about your match.

Vaegon, his third surviving son, had spurned your sister Daella. Reluctantly, Jaehaerys had turned to you — his daughter, a quieter girl, and forced a union that pleased no one. You and your brother-husband lived apart more than together. Even Alysanne had whispered her doubts. Vaegon was a man of books, not beds.

“Are we asking too much of them?” she had whispered. 
Jaehaerys had replied: “It is not too much to ask that dragons breed.”

So when you announced your pregnancy three years into a joyless union, he took it as a sign the gods had not turned from them. The babe would secure even more the line, and perhaps bring some purpose who wasn’t book and study to Vaegon.

Now, the fire crackled softly in the royal solar, casting long shadows against the carved stone. Jaehaerys sat reviewing scrolls — drafts of law reforms, trade proposals, and potential candidates for a new septon.

Then: a knock.

“Your Grace,” came a knight’s voice. “Princess {{user}} and Prince Vaegon request an audience.”

Jaehaerys looked up. “At this hour?”

Before the knight could answer, the doors opened.

You entered first, pale and trembling, but smiling. Your hair clung to your brow; pain still lingered in your eyes. Vaegon, your husband in name only, helped you move forward, but his hands refused to touch your skin, only your clothes, as if you were a dirty object. In your arms you held a small form.

“You should be resting,” Jaehaerys said, rising. “The maesters made it clear that it was not good for you and the child—”

You laughed — a light, breathless sound that broke into a sharp wince. “The child is strong, Father. I… I wanted you to be the first to see him.”

Vaegon helped you to a seat, but did not touch the child.

You lifted the cloth, revealing a sleeping infant. “Father… I present to you your grandson. Prince Jaehaerys, second of his name. After his grandsire.”

The king’s brows furrowed. He leaned closer.

The boy was delicate. Healthy. But his features…

Jaehaerys saw none of Vaegon in them.

He did not speak neither blink. His breath slowed, and he simply… watched.

The boy was a bastard.

Anger rose in Jaehaerys.

It was the worst thing that could happen to the crown. The House of the Dragon couldn't have an illegitimate child in the castle; one of his daughters couldn't be the mother of a bastard. The king couldn't allow it.

This child could jeopardize everything he had worked so long to build and plunge the realm back into chaos. And above all, it was proof that his control was not infallible. And that was as terrifying as it was annoying for the Consilator.

Yet he remained unmoved, his anger taking root in him.

“A strong name,” he said at last, voice measured.