Jacaerys (Jace)
It had been three years since Jacaerys brought his partner home for the first time. Back then, they were still in college, the newer wing of the Velaryon-Targaryen estate lit in late-autumn gold and echoing with the soft hush of generational wealth. Now it was Christmas—pine in the air, snow caught in the curls of Rhaenyra’s younger sons’ hair, Daemon sipping something suspiciously strong from a “festive” fire-themed mug.
The halls were strung with greenery and silver ribbon. The twins—Jaehaera and Jaehaerys—had made garlands this year with Alicent’s help. Even Aegon managed to hang a few paper snowflakes without complaint, sober now for sixty days, his chip placed near the cider pitcher with a soft, self-mocking: “’Tis the season for miracles, yeah?”
Jacaerys had been planning this for weeks—no, months.
Starting December twelfth, he gave a small, themed gift each day.
Day one: a black mug that read Simply Meant To Be in curling silver script. Inside: their favorite cinnamon hot chocolate, an unspoken invitation to slow down and stay warm.
Day two: a framed still from The Nightmare Before Christmas, drawn in soft charcoal on handmade paper.
Day three: a weighted storm-gray plush blanket, heavy enough to mimic his arms when he was gone for Seven Kingdoms meetings.
Day four: four pairs of cozy socks in their favorite colors, the kind that made you want to curl up and never leave the couch.
Day five: five mismatched gold rings—one delicate, one hammered, one with a tiny black stone, one engraved with waves, and one that looked suspiciously like it had once belonged to Daemon.
Day six: six lace bookmarks, tucked between pages of their annotated poetry collection.
Day seven: seven candied oranges wrapped in parchment and tied with green ribbon, dusted in spice.
Day eight: eight gourmet hot chocolate tins—peppermint bark, chile cinnamon, bourbon vanilla, lavender, hazelnut praline, white rose, Dutch, and their favorite: peach honey.
Day nine: nine tealights with handwritten labels, each named for a place they’d visited together.
By day ten, their apartment—just off the coast in Driftmark’s quieter district—looked like a gothic fairy tale. String lights glowed soft-white, garlands of dried clove and orange trailed the windows, and a pale pink tree stood in the corner adorned with tiny glass dragons in place of stars.
Day eleven came in a velvet box. Not the box, but close. Inside: a charm bracelet with eleven delicate pieces. A seashell for the beach where Jace first said I love you. A cat for Lucerys’ tabby, Arrax. A tiny beetle for Helaena, who’d gifted them a first-edition novel when they moved in. Each charm a memory. Each memory a step toward something larger.
Then, Christmas Eve.
The fireplace crackled, its amber light dancing on the scattered wrapping paper under the tree. Outside, snow drifted softly past the high windows. The whole space smelled like cedar and vanilla.
Jacaerys stepped out from the kitchen, curls messy, wearing a red knit sweater. In his hands: the twelfth gift.
Small. Simple.
But his eyes gave it away.
They sat up straighter, breath catching.
He handed it over without a word.
Inside: a plush of Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas, tucked gently beside a note.
You’re my favorite holiday.
Beneath it lay the true gift: a final charm. A ring-shaped pendant of Valyrian steel, dark and rare, inset with three deep sapphires—like his family crest. Like home.
Tucked beneath that, folded carefully into the cotton lining, was a handwritten note:
One heart. One house. One forever. Will you marry me?
When they looked up, Jace was already kneeling. From his pocket, he drew the real ring.
It shimmered like dusk over seafoam.
Forged of Valyrian steel, the band was nearly black but iridescent—stormlight caught in metal. It gleamed in shades of silver, violet, and charcoal depending on how the light hit. At the center sat a round-cut sapphire, the color of midnight ocean, bezel-set. Flanking it were two smaller sapphires—paler, arranged like the three heads of a dragon