6 The Keys

Chapter 7 : 'The Northern Dragon's childhood'

Chapter 8 : 'The North remembers'

Chapter 9 : 'The Bastard of Winterfell

Chapter 10 : 'Bonding with a Snow'

Chapter 11 : 'The Ghosts of the Past'

Chapter 12 : 'Siblings'

Chapter 13 : 'The Dream'

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Alicent loved reading to her King. It had become her most important duty, her favorite hobby, her greatest pride. She had spent countless hours in the library, looking for books about the North and its myths. Her Father had given her all the time she had needed to fulfill her duty towards her King, and Alicent had been so grateful and so overjoyed by this unusual excess of freedom that she had spent an entire day, climbing on the library's ladders to find the most exciting books there were under the watchful eye of her brother Gwayne. Said brother had then been forced to carry the tremendous amount of volumes his sister had selected after a long day of research, and bring into her room where Alicent had spent the next morning choosing the first book she would read to her king.

To her great disappointment, she had not find any tales of 'Bael the Bard' as Jaehaerys had asked. So she settled for a book about the Children of the Forest and their war against the First Men. A topic that had immediately caught her King's interest.

Jaehaerys had nothing but praises for her, her lovely voice, her perfect manners, her shy nature and passion for history had conquered the King's worn heart. It was so easy for him to pretend that it was his young darling Saera, behaving like a princess he had dreamt her to be, accompanying him in his slow travel towards the other side.

Alicent had easily overcame her timid nature when alone with her King, and the tales she had been reading her had bewitched her with how extraordinary they seemed. As a young Lady of the Reach, Alicent had been taught to be wary of magic, and all mystical creatures that were abominations in the eyes of the Seven. But how was magic heretical? Weren't Targaryens magic? Weren't their Dragons mystical creatures?

When she had asked the King for clarity, he had chuckle, coughed, and answered:

"There are the Gods, and there is the Faith. The Gods create, they give and they take. The Faith pretends and speaks in the name of the Gods without the Gods consent. Cherish the Gods, my dear, but be wary of those who pretend to speak in their name, for not all of them wish for the greater good."

Jaehaerys himself would never forget about Septon Mattheus, the fat septon who had always covered himself in the finest silk and best jewels, the fat septon who had tried to curse his wedding to his beloved Alysanne. The extreme opposite of The Old King's lost friend; Septon Barth. Barth had been more than just a septon or a Hand for Jaehaerys, he had also been a very close friend and the one servant of the Seven that the son of Aenys had listened to. Those words he had told Alicent, had been Barth's years ago.

However Jaehaerys was wise enough to advise Alicent to keep what he had told her for herself, for it was quite possible that her septa would not appreciate their wisdom.

Alicent had read for her King for almost a fortnight now, and except for the few times when she had to remind him that she was not Saera, it had been the greatest moments of her very young life.

Being the dutiful lady that she was, Alicent had taken if upon herself to bring her King water when he needed, had held his hand when his wavering mind stirred up his painful guilt, had brought him news of Jon and Rhaenyra whenever he'd asked. And for all of this, the Old King and his Great-grandchildren were grateful, so much so that Rhaenyra had knocked on her door one day to drag her to the garden in order to play with her and Jon. According to the little Princess, they had needed another girl to play Aegon's conquest, and that was how Alicent had been stuck being Princess Rhaenys, -Aegon's one and only love according to some sources- for a whole afternoon. To say that Alicent had been embarrassed to act as if she had been Jaehaeron's wife would have been an understatement. Yet, her Prince's beautiful and confident smile as well as a few words of reassurance had been enough to slow her heartbeat and cool her cheeks. Rhaenyra was a force of nature, a terror according to some handmaidens and servants, but a loving one with a contagious smile. The only one who could possibly control the Realm's Delight was her cousin Jaehaeron, who was nicknamed 'Jon' by his family, except his father who always referred to him by his Valyrian name. Alicent never asked him why he would rather be called 'Jon' than 'Jaehaeron' she simply hoped that one day, he would be familiar enough with her to allow her to call him 'Jon'.

The little Lady from Oldtown had noticed many things about her prince; his intelligence, his niceness, his confidence. Yet, what had held her attention had been Jaehaeron's melancholia, or 'brooding' as Rhaenyra called it.

It had surprised Alicent when she had noticed the sadness in her Prince's beautiful purple eyes, she had reported it to her father as soon as possible, hoping that Otto would give her sound advice to make her Prince happy. Her

"Our Prince probably feels sad due to his mother's absence." The Hand of the King had told her. "Perhaps your company will help him in his grief."

Alicent had tried, she had really tried to get her Prince to open up to her. But she couldn't have possibly known that Jon would never confide in a six-year-old girl. Alicent had felt quite ashamed with herself because of her failure, and her Prince had gone back to his studies with his wildling teacher, a woman who would rather stay out of sight from any court member -to the Court's great relief-.

Alicent had then confided in King Jaehaerys, whose face had turned as sad as his great-grandson's.

"Jon came to this world burdened by a terrible secret," he had told her, much to her horror, "I doubt he'll ever be a boy, responsibility has been crushing him since his birth."

Alicent had remained silent, unable to comprehend what she had been told.

Jaehaerys had looked at her with sad eyes.

"Do not concern yourself with Jaehaeron's mood, my dear, for there is nothing you can do about him for now. A friend is all you need to be."

But she wanted to be more, he was so perfect, so princely, so sad. Why couldn't she do more?

Yet Alicent surrendered, she was not worthy of her Prince. But with her Father's help and the will of Seven, one day, she would be. And she would make him smile every single day.

For now though, she focused on King Jaehaerys, who was always kind and helpful to her.

The Old King's health was deteriorating a little more each day. His breath was getting heavier, he was sweating almost all the time, and the handmaidens had been obliged to stay in the room while Alicent was reading in case he needed to go to the privy. Jaehaerys hated this, he hated being old, he hated being useless. He envied Daemon from being able to spar in the yard with Jaehaeron, he envied Viserys for his happy marriage and his little girl he spoiled. He was so tired, in so much pain, gnawed by so much guilt. He wanted Jaehaeron by his side, but couldn't take him away from his duties. Alicent was all he had. How he wished she was Saera.

His reeling mind was suddenly struck by a flash of lucidity as an icy chill gripped his spine, there he was, it could only be him; the Stranger.

Jaehaerys' breath became erratic, his pupils dilated, he gripped his sheet until his knuckles turned white as snow.

Jaehaerys was dying.

"Where is Jaehaeron?!" He screamed, startling Alicent who dropped her book. "I-I n…eed to see him!"

The handmaidens rushed to their King's help, but he rejected them with a violent backhand that hit nothing but air.

"Find my great-grandson, and bring him to me, now!"

The young girls all exchanged wary looks, but they obeyed their King and left to find their Prince, leaving Alicent alone with him.

The little lady was still afraid, she considered going on with her reading but chose not to. His grace would probably want a moment alone with his great-grandson.

"My King, I shall take my lea…"

Jaehaerys suddenly grabbed her forearm, in doing so he almost fell off his bed as Alicent yelped while she looked at his sweating mad face with terrified eyes.

"Saera…"He whispered as tears were falling down his cheeks. "Saera… I am so sorry I was not there for you to teach you better…. I am sorry I could not prevent you from becoming what you became. I wish… I wish I was a better father…"

Alicent did not know what to say, she did not know what to do, she simply stared at his purple eyes filled with regret.

"Saera… listen to me." Jaehaerys breathed as he felt the last of his strength left him. "Jaehaeron is the key, the key to the Song of Ice and Fire, he needs your help! The House of the Dragon needs to recover its strength! Jon is the key, he is our future! You need to help him, Saera! Promise me!"

Alicent wanted to reason him, but she was so terrified she could only answer:

"I-I promise…"

The features on Jaehaerys' face softened with relief as he gradually burst into tears. His grip on the girl's forearm gradually loosened as he fell back onto his pillow. He was breathing heavily.

Alicent gently grabbed his hand, hoping to appease him as he kept crying. But as she rubbed her tiny fingers on his wrinkled skin.

Jaehaerys looked at the ceiling, his pupils were still dilated.

"May the Gods have mercy on my soul."

"They will" Alicent assured him. "I will pray for your soul myself, I promise!"

The Old King looked at her and smiled.

"Thank you." He whispered. "You are such a sweet child."

No more words were exchanged between the Old King and the young Lady, Alicent simply held his hand and listened to his breathing as the Stranger came to collect his life.

When Jaehaeron was brought to his Great-grandfather's room, he found the Old King dead with a smile on his face while the little lady was holding his hand and saying a prayer for his soul. Her own tears were shed in silent.

(-)(-)(-)

Jaehaeron Targaryen had slept terribly that night, the image of his Great-grandfather's corpse holding the young Lady Alicent's hand was quite vivid in his mind. Jaehaerys Targaryen had been the one man who had renewed his conviction, who had given him purpose, who had given human explanation regarding his resurrection.

He had been a confident and a wise teacher, one of the few people to have his complete trust. One who had taught Jon what being aa dutiful Targaryen truly meant.

Jaehaeron Targaryen would never forget his Great-grandfather's lessons, and all the warnings regarding their own house of Fire and Blood. Now, Jaehaerys Targaryen has passed, and Jaehaeron would continue his legacy. This, he vowed.

The whole Targaryen family had dressed in black to mourn the Old King, Rhaenys and her husband Corlys had come on Meleys' back at dawn to pay their respects to the former's grandfather. The looks that Viserys, Corlys and Daemon had given to each other had been deprived of any warmth in Jon's eyes, fortunately, Rhaenys held herself with more dignity, and the black Prince could tell that she was truly affected by the death of the Old King.

However, the one that was actually on edge was his father, Daemon.

The Rogue Prince had been furious to discover that his grandfather had died with no one by his side but Otto's daughter and actually suspected some kind of plot. Alicent had only been sparred from Daemon's wrath by none other than Jon, who had assured his father that Jaehaerys had died smiling thanks to the little lady. Yet, the black prince could tell that that hadn't been enough to cool his father's anger. For when the Rogue Prince had asked for his grandfather's last words, Alicent had only answered:

"He called me Saera."

If disgust had a face that day, it would have bee Daemon's.

Fortunately, Aemma had intervened to prevent her brother-in-law from going too far, and the matter had finally been closed.

Rhaenyra had looked for Jon for comfort, her cousin was, after all, her big-brother-figure. And Jon was always here to give her a hug when she needed it. She had spent the entire time since the bells had ringed with him, leaving him only when it had been time for her to prepare for the Old King's funerals. She returned by his side as soon as possible, her parents had not scolded her for her behavior, they understood that she needed someone to support her. As the new rulers of Westeros, Viserys and Aemma had to act with more dignity. If anything, the fact that Rhaenyra was clinging to her cousin was a good sign of unity among the House of the Dragon.

The descendants of Old Valyria had been seen walking down the stairs of the Red Keep with Viserys and Aemma in the lead, followed by Jaehaeron and Rhaenyra, then came Daemon, who remained as close to the children as he could to show his overprotectiveness, Corlys and Rhaenys Velaryon were the last to exit the Red Keep, to the Sea Snake's obvious discontent. Jaehaerys' body was brought to the Dragonpit, where Caraxes incinerated him before his family. Jon held Rhaenyra close to him as she wept in silence. His face had looked like stone, as if carved in dignity itself. No words were exchanged among the blood of the Dragon, they all remained dignified and strong.

While Jaehaerys' ashes were being collected, the members of the Kingsguard and of the Small Council gave their condolences to the royal family. Viserys accepted them, as was his role as the new patriarch of House Targaryen, and told his Hand Otto that a week of mourning was to be declared before his coronation. Otto Hightower obeyed his new King and bowed, while his daughter, dressed in black, never took her eyes off Jaehaeron since they had arrived in the Dragon Pit.

Jaehaeron never took his eyes of his great-grandfather's ashes as the dragon keepers collected them, his heart was bleeding, as was another's.

He could feel him through their bond, the pain, the rage, the sadness, he had been the creature who had known Jaehaerys the longest, and he hadn't been allowed to watch him being cremated or even cremating him himself.

So Jon had allowed him inside his mind, so he could through his eyes the funeral of Jaehaerys the Wise.

Now, the creature was mourning, he needed comfort and company.

Something Jaehaeron would provide, and much more.

"Rhaenyra?" He whispered discreetly. "There is something I need to do, could you go to your mother?"

The little princess frowned, confused.

"What are you going to do?"

He whispered something at her hear, her eyes suddenly widened, she nodded, let go of his arm and went to grab her mother's hand.

Once Jon was alone, he crossed his father's curious gaze, nodded to inform him that he knew what he was doing, and slowly slipped away to go inside the Dragonpit under Daemon's prideful smirk.

No one else noticed his departure as they were all focused on their new King, only a little girl with brown eyes saw him, and as he was disappearing in the darkness of the cave. The words of the Old King still resonated in her head; he was the Key to the Song of Ice and Fire, whatever that meant, Alicent renewed her promise secretly.

(-)(-)(-)

Jon had never entered the dark corridors of the Dragon Pit before, he had been too young and dragonless to be here. But even if he did not know the place, he knew exactly where he was going, for someone was guiding him.

Jaehaeron Targaryen stoped in front of a specific cave, where the torches of the corridors were not bright enough to light the darkness. Yet, he saw two orbs of melted bronze emerged from the shadow.

Jon pulled the key his great-grandfather had given him moons ago, unlocked the massive Iron gate, and pulled it with all the strength his little body could muster. Once nothing but darkness separated him from the two bronze orbs, he pulled his dagger, opened his palm, and let his blood run on the ground as he started singing the song his father had taught him.

Drakari pykiros Fire breather

Tīkummo jemiros Winged leader

Yn lantyz bartossa But two heads

Saelot vāedis To a third sing

Hen ñuhā elēnī: From my voice:

Perzyssy vestretis The fires have spoken

Se gēlȳn irūdaks And the price has been paid

Ānogrose With blood magic

Perzyro udrȳssi With words of flame

Ezīmptos laehossi With clear eyes

Hārossa letagon To bind the three

Aōt vāedan To you I sing

Hae mērot gierūli: As one we gather

Se hāros bartossi And with three heads

Prūmȳsa sōvīli We shall fly as we were destined

Gevī dāerī Beautifully, freely

Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, covered the ceiling of his cave with his flames in a roar, illuminating the darkness and rose to his full height facing the child who had appeared in front of him. The dragon's molten bronze eyes and the prince's tyrian eyes hypnotized each other. Then they rolled back.

Their bond, already strong since the disappearance of Jaehaerys, strengthened considerably as dragon and dragon rider shared their feelings, their sadness, their rage, their determination, and when they faced each other again, they knew each other better than twins.

Jaehaeron Targaryen did not say a word nor did he need to. He contented himself with advancing towards the gigantic creature which lowered its wing to allow him to climb on its back. And when the six-year-old Prince clung to the spikes of his dragon, he let it lead him out of the cave, into the open air, into the sky where all the children of Valyria thrived.

Vermithor let out a thunderous roar that startled everyone still standing in front of the remains of the pyre. Except for Daemon, who was now grinning broadly, Vermithor emerged from the darkness of the Dragonpit and rushed through the air, spreading his great tan wings that covered the Sun. The Bronze Fury flew so fast it pierced a cloud, and when it finally reached the point where King's Landing was nothing more than a maroon blob on the green landscape, the dragon and its rider roared in unison. Bronze flames evaporated the clouds, leaving only a blue sky that had been set ablaze. Vermithor flew around King's Landing three times, faster than he had flown in the Fourth Dornish War. The people of the capital of the Seven Kingdoms rushed to the streets in celebration, for they mistakenly believed that their beloved King had returned from the dead to resume his rule over them. Then, the Bronze Fury returned towards the Dragonpit, where it landed abruptly. Vermithor no longer roared before the stunned stares of the members of the court, instead, he had went towards what was left of the funeral pyre to mourn his dearest friend. Jon climbed down from his back, stroked his dragon's muzzle to comfort him, and walked towards his father while the Bronze Fury was bereaved by the loss of its previous rider. Jon dove into Daemon's arms who hugged him proudly, but when the Rogue Prince felt his son's tears against his cheek, he loosened his embrace a little to console his grief. Years later, Grand Maester Runciter would write that on that day Westeros had lost its peacemaker, but the Bronze Fury had found another.