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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

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Every Time Mirrors are Mentioned in Welcome to Night Vale that is Halfway Relevant

[Plain text: "Every Time Mirrors are Mentioned in Welcome to Night Vale that is Halfway Relevant"]

Unabridged

Episodes featured: 19A, 26, 30, 33, 67, 87, 106, 108, 120, 122, 137, 148, 149, 160, 171, 209

Liveshows featured: "The Librarian," "The Investigators,"

CECIL: And now, a look at financial news. A fallow wheat field, grey sky, cut by black Vs of black birds. There is a child dragging a hatchet. His eyes cast down. His eyes tight. His eyes white and red and superfluous. He know not what he sees, but he knows what is there. A single black-wingéd beast, beak cracked, feathers rotting, alights roughly on the child's shoulder. They stop. The bird picks at the cartilage of the boy's ear, as if biting secrets into it. The boy groans, not unpleasantly. Heavy, slow clouds roll and rise, starkly contrasted against the flickering daguerreotype hills, which stoically keep the poisonous rains at bay. A sudden little river, partially walled by palsied shafts of grain, rolls by. The boy walks to it. He bends forward. His blank eyes stare into his reflection. Neither he nor his mirror knows the other is there. But the bird. The bird knows. The bird cackles. Or perhaps cries. Even the bird is uncertain. The boy takes a palm full of the dark water. Most of it runs out through his long, zig-zagging fingers. He licks the remainder from his dusty skin. A sound. Like thunder. Like drums. Like steps. The boy turns and hurls his hatchet behind him. The bird flies up and away. There is a hideous thump. The boy knows not what he has hit, but that it has been wounded. He waits for its retort. This has been financial news.

(Episode 19A - The Sandstorm)

CECIL: Maybe you should try paying more attention when you're at home. Or better yet, destroy all of your mirrors. As my mother used to tell me: "Someone's going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror. Mark my words, child." and then she would stare absently through my eyes until I giggled. I miss her so much.

(Episode 26 - Faceless Old Woman)

CECIL: McDonald’s wants to remind you that the most important meal of the day is Breakfast. So why would you let a morning go by without staring deeply into the mirror until you no longer recognize the face staring back at you, mimicking your every gesture, mocking your every movement.

(Episode 30 - Dana)

TEENAGE CECIL: My mom seems really proud of me too. She hid from me for three days, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things to a...person. Uh, sorry, got distracted. That weird movement is back. It’s closer now.

TEENAGE CECIL: Interning is going great! Mom is gone. Leonard is super nice to me. My brother is gone too. Family, right? I think I’m learning a lot at the station. All of the mirrors in my house are uncovered now. Not sure who did that. I’m standing in front of the hall mirror right now. Am I changed? Am I becoming an adult? I look more grown, I think, more professional. Leonard said if I work hard, maybe I’ll be a radio presenter myself some day. Leonard said he once was smaller too, but that he is larger now, that everything is larger, that everything in the universe is growing to towering sizes, but all at once, all in unison, so no one notices and it is all the same relative to itself. Leonard lolls his tongue out of his thick purple lips. Leonard hisses. Being an intern is great. That flickering movement is everywhere now. Especially looking in this mirror. I see the flickering movement and I know. I know it. I think the radio station is fun. I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet, lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be. I’m looking in a mirror. The mirror is not covered. The flickering movement is just behind me. I- [He screams. There is gurgling. A body falls to the floor. Tape hiss continues. The tape shuts off. End teenage voice]

CECIL: No matter! I’m taking the tape, just now and I’m [GRUNTS] crushing it into little pieces. None of us have to think about it again. I’ll just double check that the mirror in the station bathroom is covered as usual and then that will be that. Done. Forgotten.

(Episode 33 - Cassette)

CECIL: The City Council warned that the mess left from Leonard Burton’s death is likely to draw Street Cleaners and that we should all take shelter. Cover your mirrors. Shade your eyes. Stay indoors and mourn. Stay indoors and mourn.

(Episode 67 - [Best Of?])

CECIL: Item: Big Ricos Pizza is looking for a new cashier. Must have retail experience and be good at not talking if they know what’s good for them. No funny business. No secret wheat speakeasies. Why would you even bring that up? Who have you been talking to? To apply, look at yourself in the mirror for a long time, until your face no longer seems to be your own.

(Episode 87 - The Trial of Hiram McDaniels)

CECIL: I was so frightened, but still I looked into the washroom. He was standing in front of a mirror, looking right at himself. I never look into those things. Or at least I haven't in a long long time. "I think the radio station is fun," he said. "I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet, lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be," he said. I wanted to cry out to warn him. My mother told me to stay away from mirrors. And I knew he was in danger. I opened my mouth and tried to step into the room, but I could not speak, could not move forward. "I’m looking in a mirror," he said. "The mirror is not covered," he said. "Stop. Don't look into the mirror," I tried to say. But nothing came out of my mouth, only spit and inaudible wheeze. Tears stung my eyes. I waved frantically, trying to catch his attention. "The flickering movement is just behind me," he said. And then he looked right at me in the mirror. His eyes grew wide and wet. He said "I-. He said again "I-" and then he choked. Then he screamed. Then I screamed, only again no sound came out. He fell to the floor, and for a moment I remembered. I remembered blue lights and blood in my throat and a dark planet lit by no sun. And then I forgot it, or at least what it looked like, only that it was. Or never was. Or still is. His wallet was no longer in my studio. His...my driver’s license was no longer in my hand. My familiar teenage intern was no longer lying on the ground. The mirror he was looking into is now shattered into thousands of intersecting cracks like parched desert dirt. I approached the mirror, hoping to see a face I knew. A young man's face I just barely remember. But I only saw a multiplicity of me, a man divided, unrecognizably, under razor sharp lines. And behind me a glowing slash in the bathroom wall.

(Episode 106 - Filings)

CECIL: "Better not look in the mirror," Cal said as he nervously simulated the sound of laughter. A dribble of blood ran down his chin and onto his chest.

(Episode 108 - Cal)

KEVIN: Jason and Falisha wanted their friends to know they were happy, so they began to practice smiling in the mirror, but even they couldn't see a change in their faces. Plus, mirrors were upsetting because of all the people who would gather behind them in the reflection but that weren't actually there when they turned around to face them.

KEVIN: Their long house was a long pit. And every single mirror in their home was gone, along with the ghastly figures who gathered in the reflections.

(Episode 120 - All Smiles' Eve)

CECIL: Nazr did not see Barks Ennui. But he was not without his own troubles. He would find, some evenings, that when he looked in the mirror there were two of him. One of him sitting behind the other. He would stand and the second reflection would stand too. It would follow all of his movements from behind his primary reflection. This went on for days. Then, one night, he looked in the mirror and there was only one of him. He sighed, feeling some relief to the tension that had been with him so long as to become his new normal. And that is when, in the mirror, his second reflection stepped into the room, followed by Frances Donaldson. Nazr whirled. The room he was in was empty. He looked back in the mirror. There was his own face, terrified. And behind that, on the bed, there was himself again, with Frances. The two of them were kissing, passionately. He watched himself kiss. And then his reflection and the Frances in the mirror stopped kissing and looked up at him, with startled faces. They stayed frozen that way, and he stayed frozen too. After several moments, the mirror couple smiled. Their smiles got wider and wider, and then they were both dead, blood covered and sprawling at irregular angles. And then they were alive again and smiling at him. He shouted and stumbled back from the mirror. From then on, he took to covering his mirrors, and that worked for a few days, but then one day he came home to find himself in his bedroom, already sitting in front of the covered bedroom mirror. The him that was in his bedroom looked up at him who had just entered with wide eyes and a yawning mouth, and Nazr (who believed himself to be the real Nazr) turned and walked out his house. He checked into a motel and decided to stay there for awhile.

(Episode 122 - A Story of Love and Horror, Part 2: "Spire")

LAUREN: These shadows don't even have faces. We cannot discern their intentions or feelings. They move around in quick jerks and starts, flickering in and out of our vision, sometimes standing just behind us while slowly tilting their heads. And unless you're looking in a mirror, there's no way you can even see that.

(Episode 137 - The Mudstone Abyss, Part 3)

LEONARD BURTON: Let me describe to you the shape of Cecil Palmer. He is a line of leafless mesquite trees. He is a glass factory. He is golf ball-sized hail. He has a voice like distant highway traffic. He loves coffee and handshakes. He wears tight clothing and has never once worked with modeling clay. He covers mirrors with cloth and has an irrational fear of glowing lights beneath locked doors in dark hallways. You cannot know any of this because Cecil is my vision, not yours. He is real, all the same. He is to be my replacement when I retire. But he does not exist. So I can never retire. I am your permanent host.

(Episode 148 - The Broadcaster)

CECIL: I can see myself in their reflective face. I... I do not like this. I do not like this at all. Please go. Please leave. I cannot. I... I am covering this window with a sheet. I do not like this mirror. I do not like it one bit. No.

(Episode 149 - The General)

CECIL: ... [somber] and *that* is what I saw in the mirror that day, and why I do not like to go near mirrors ever.

(Episode 160 - The Weather)

CECIL: Do you ever stare at yourself for so long in the mirror that you no longer understand what you look like? Is this the same effect as thinking about someone you miss so much that you forget the shape of their face? Why would you do that? Why would you refuse to maintain order? Are you refusing? Or are you a victim of your own mind? Do brain cells dictate souls? Is thought matter? Does thought matter? Who can say? Can the person looking back at you from the mirror tell you the answer? Just because you can see a person, does that mean that person exists? Is it you you are looking at? Or is it someone else?

CECIL: Basically, why do I know I am me? How many times have I seen myself in the mirror? Is it bad that the answer is rarely? Shouldn’t we all be afraid of mirrors? Or is it just me? How many times, in a fit of dissociation, do we see someone else behind us? Are you, too, too afraid to turn around? Do you really want to challenge the veracity of your eyes? Do you think disbelief in death will make it disappear? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same? So, what did I see in the mirror today? Don’t we all see the same thing? Isn’t it a person who looks exactly like ourselves? And weren’t they making the same physical gestures? And behind that person, in the reflection, did you not also see, just over your shoulder, a pair of eyes? The curve of a head? And did you notice how that head was human in shape but maybe only a third the size?

CECIL: Who is behind you in the mirror? Or what is behind you? Should I speak in present or past tense? Is the face there? Or is the face gone now? Are you no longer at the mirror? Do you feel safer? Why do you assume that because you aren’t looking in the mirror right now that the tiny face and spiny digits are not still behind you?

CECIL: Are you thinking about it? Are you starting to forget exactly what it looks like? Do you want to go to the mirror again? Do you want to stare and stare at it until you can comprehend what it is?

CECIL: What if we went to the mirror together? If we don’t feel alone in our feelings, could we conquer our fears? Are we in agreement, you and I? What are you even looking at? Is your focus drifting to your shoulder? Can you not do that? Can you resist the urge? What will staring directly into your terror accomplish?

CECIL: When was the last time you saw your mother? It’s been since childhood, hasn’t it? Didn’t she warn you about mirrors? Didn’t she tell you they would be your demise? Or was that just a popular bedtime story?

CECIL: What did your mother tell you about swing sets? What did she say to you when you yelled to her for help? Did she lean over your sobbing face and ask you: “Why are you crying when you don’t even exist?” Did she tell you again about the mirror?

CECIL: Did you figure it out? Could you see past your own mental inventions? Who out there looked beyond the long, gape-jawed figure and its inexplicable whines? Did you see the table? There in the mirror image of your house, did you see the table? You hadn’t noticed the table before, had you?

CECIL: Why was the table only in the mirror? Why isn’t it real?

CECIL: What’s inside the drawer of the rickety table in the mirror? What other uncanny discoveries await you if you could just break through? Is it as simple as breaking through?

CECIL: Do you want to know what’s in the drawer below the table? Shouldn’t it be as easy to obtain as a lightweight, wool button up coat, all black? But nothing easy ever is, is it? How do you get to a table that’s right in front of you, but only visible in a mirror?

CECIL: Are you only concentrating on the table now? And you’re sure it only exists in the mirror? You double checked? Do you want to know what’s inside the drawer on the front of that table? Are you willing to break something? Are you willing to break the mirror, yes, but so much more? Are you willing to go to a place from which you cannot return? Are you willing to learn things you cannot unlearn? Do you have a hammer? Or if not, can you find something heavy that you can lift? Will you smash the mirror? Will you do it quickly? Why are you hesitating? Have you let your comfortability lapse into carelessness? Why did you take your eyes off the creature on your neck? Did you see the blood or feel the pain first? Is it tearing into your flesh? Is that why you’re screaming? Can you still break the mirror? Are you losing consciousness? Are you? Are you? Are you?

CECIL: If you look into the mirror you just smashed do you see that the creature is gone? Cool, right? But isn’t it strange that all about you on the floor are shards of the mirror you shattered, yet in front of you, the mirror remains, fully intact? Strange? Or scary? Wouldn’t you think that the mirror being simultaneously broken and unbroken is strange, while the fact that you have no reflection is scary? Is that true though? Do you have a reflection? Do you see yourself? On the floor of the mirror’s world? Is your body crumpled on the floor like a wet towel? Is your lower jaw hanging open because you died screaming, or because of gravity? Do you have a blanket of some sort? Why don’t you cover that mirror up? Why don’t you cover all the mirrors, in fact? While you are walking about your home, do you notice the antique table by the door, with its tarnished, yet ornate, brass bulb knob? Was that table always there? Did you enter the mirror world? Or were you always in the mirror world? What else is different around you?

CECIL: Now what? Will you cover the mirrors and sweep the floor and pretend it never happened? Will this prevent it from happening again? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same?

(Episode 171 - Go to the Mirror?)

CECIL: Whatever the Distant Prince keeps behind the Narrow Place has left me hollow and shambling. Less and less of me. This time quite literally. When I looked again, I did not have a nose. It is quite upsetting to see your own face but without a nose. Think about this now. Think about looking in the mirror and seeing your face, but the nose is gone. So you will understand why I vomited in the street. And this other me, he vomited too, for exactly the same amount of time, stopping precisely when I did.

(Episode 209 - The Black Coat)

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I am less good at being seen, but I am working on that using a system of whistles and mirrors. CECIL: Huh. Mirrors.

("The Librarian")

EARL HARLAN: Oh yes! Yes, I will wake up that morning, and I will stare at myself in the mirror repeating, “You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl.” Until my reflection says, “You’re right.” And then we’ll brush each others’ teeth, and trim each others’ mustaches, and comb each others’ hair… CECIL: Awwww! EARL HARLAN: …and then step through the mirror and once again switch places in each others’ mirrored world for the day.

("The Investigators")

JEFFREY: Yeah, yeah. Yeah turns out most people are afraid of what they are, so now I’m also terrified of mirrors and reflective surfaces, so…

("ALL HAIL")

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jinjinxedsoul · 29 days

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When The Sun Loved The Moon - Aegon II Targaryen.

CHAPTER 1. FIRE DREAMS

121 AC. King’s Landing.

The hurried footsteps echoed through the halls of the Red Keep; Helaena was running as fast as she could, holding the hand of little Jacaerys, who was only five years old and laughing uncontrollably.

“Hurry up!” Aemond urged her, pushing her towards one of the rooms.

“Don’t make a sound, Jace,” Helaena whispered, covering her nephew’s mouth with her hand.

Behind them was an exhausted and very out-of-breath Aegon, eight years old, with a smiling Jaella hanging on his back, urging him to keep running after her uncles and brother.

“I can’t go that fast with you on my back,” the prince scolded her, though the little girl didn’t seem to care at all. “We’ll never catch up to them.”

Jaella had developed a growing affection for her uncle; out of the three, he seemed to be her favorite, though no one knew what Aegon had done to make the girl like him so much since, in everyone’s eyes, the prince was neither charming nor, at the very least, respectful. Regardless, Jaella didn’t care at all about her uncle’s less-than-decorous behavior; the only thing that mattered was that Aegon had been the first member of her family to meet her, even before her own father.

“There!” the princess exclaimed, pointing with her chubby little hand at Helaena’s unruly, platinum hair peeking out from behind a pile of stacked dirt sacks. “There, Egg!”

“Well, it seems we haven’t found them,” Aegon said, aware of the children’s presence, not only because Jaella had spotted them but because he could hear Jacaerys’ laughter despite the others’ poor attempts to silence him. “I heard they’re making honey cakes in the kitchen, maybe if we go now, you and I can get some before dinner.”

Jaella’s eyes lit up, and so did Helaena’s, as she forgot about her hiding place and lifted her head above the sacks, but Aegon pretended not to have seen her.

“Let’s go, Ella.”

“I want some too!” Helaena exclaimed, which Aegon took as a cue to run off, with the youngest Velaryon still clinging to his back. “Aegon!”

The three children ran after the eldest, hearing his mischievous laughter in the distance.

They didn’t catch up to him.

That afternoon, Aegon and Jaella ate honey cakes to their hearts’ content.

122 AC.

Aegon wasn’t particularly fond of small children; he found them exasperating, especially when they cried. He had heard his nephew Lucerys cry more times than he would have liked, and many of those times Aegon ended up fleeing to his chambers to escape the noise. However, things were very different with Jaella, as she seemed to seek him out whenever she cried, regardless of how much Aegon tried to avoid being around her during those moments.

That afternoon, he had no choice but to endure it, especially since, after much insistence, he had agreed to take Jaella for a walk.

For Aegon, spending time with his nieces and nephews was an unusual activity, one that was particularly scrutinized by everyone in the castle. It was well-known that the queen still questioned, covertly, the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children, and these ideas were passed on to her own children.

Aegon understood, or at least tried to, that the difference in hair color between Jacaerys and Lucerys posed a problem for the court and, in general, for the royal family. However, he wondered if it was normal for those rumors to continue spreading even after Jaella’s birth; in his eyes, and according to the ideas his mother had instilled in him, Jaella was the most deserving of them all.

Alicent, of course, didn’t like her children mingling with Rhaenyra’s, but as it was the king's demand that his offspring live peacefully together, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Aegon wondered if his mother would ever force him to distance himself from the Velaryons or use his closeness as a treacherous means to inflict harm upon them.

Aegon considered how easy it would be for him to dispose of Jaella at that moment.

The little girl was stretching as much as she could to reach one of the flowers growing by the riverbank, whining because she couldn't quite reach it. Aegon watched her with a tilted head, wondering what would happen if he gave her a little push. He wouldn’t need to do much more than wait for her lungs to give out or for the current to carry her out to the bay; if the Stranger was merciful, perhaps her body would be carried to Driftmark, where her grandparents could give her a proper funeral.

The prince stood up and took two steps toward the child. When he was close to her, Jaella looked up at him with her tear-filled violet eyes. There was something in the little Velaryon’s gaze that made Aegon’s heart tighten in his chest, a special spark that he only saw in his sister’s children, as neither he nor his siblings had it.

The idea of extinguishing that light in Jaella’s eyes gave him a shiver and made him stop abruptly. The dark impulse he had felt before faded away like a shadow in the sunlight. Jaella’s gaze, so pure and full of life, even with its childish sadness, reflected what he had lost and, somehow, reminded him of what he could still be if he clung to his humanity.

Aegon crouched down and stretched his arm far enough to reach the flower she was trying to pick, plucked it, and then handed it to her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you” Jaella murmured, settling back onto the grass. Aegon’s hand dared to quickly wipe the tears from his niece’s cheeks, and she smiled at him softly. “It will look pretty.”

He nodded, looking down at the flower crown his niece was making.

“Your mother will like it.”

Jaella smiled widely. She enjoyed making the flower crowns because she knew it would be a while before the crown currently resting on her grandfather’s head would be placed on her mother’s. So, in the meantime, Jaella crowned her with these.

The thought made her wonder what would happen to her uncle once her mother sat on the Iron Throne.

“Uncle?” she spoke, drawing his attention. “When my mother gets her crown, will you have one too?”

Aegon’s insides twisted with pain. He knew a kingdom could not have two rulers, and despite his young age, he was already beginning to understand a bit more about the weight on his shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

“You will,” she said confidently. “I will make sure mom gives you a crown too.”

Aegon smiled. He wasn’t sure he wanted a crown.

126 AC.

“Be quiet,” Jaella scolded.

Jacaerys complied and fell silent while trying to peek through the heavy wooden door’s crack. Lucerys tried to peek as well, but his view was obstructed by the midwives’ skirts, leaving him with only fleeting glimpses

The twins were deeply worried about their mother’s condition. She had started experiencing labor pains in the morning, but as afternoon was approaching, the baby still hadn’t arrived. They weren’t sure how long a birth was supposed to take, but they suspected, from the worried faces of the midwives going in and out, that it was taking too long.

The heart-wrenching cries of their mother sent chills down their spines, and all they wanted was to know if she was okay.

“It’s not proper for the princes to spy.”

The voice behind them made them jump and turn around almost immediately, facing the imposing figure of the commander of the guard.

“Ser Harwin,” Jacaerys greeted. “We just want to see her.”

“You can see her once the maesters deem it appropriate.”

“But—”

“Have you chosen an egg for your brother yet?” Harwin cut off the younger Velaryon’s protests before they could even begin. “Your parents expressed their strong desire for you to do so.”

The three children looked at each other excitedly, and before they could start running, the man stopped them by holding their shoulders.

“Allow me to escort you, my princes.”

═════𖠁 ═════

The three Velaryon were kneeling in front of the clutch, observing the eggs with curiosity. Some were very colorful, but they were significantly smaller than the black one at the back.

“That one,” Jaella pointed out, receiving nods of agreement from her two brothers.

“A good choice, princess,” one of the guards said, preparing to take the egg to Princess Rhaenyra’s quarters. “Your little brother is sure to be blessed with a formidable dragon.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys followed the egg closely, making sure nothing happened to it while Jaella stayed a few steps back, still guarded by Ser Harwin.

“Is something the matter, princess?”

The commander knew that the young girl’s expression always turned nostalgic when dragons and their eggs were discussed. The egg that had been placed in Jaella’s cradle had never hatched, so she didn’t have a dragon like her brothers. Although she tried not to make much of it, it was quite noticeable to the adults around her, especially to Ser Harwin, who seemed quite close to the princess, that he wanted to have one.

“Don’t feel bad,” he encouraged her, gently stroking her silver hair. “There are still enough dragons without riders for you to claim one later, not to mention the ones that have yet to be born.”

“Do you think I could claim one?” she asked, her eyes shining brightly.

That look always managed to melt the older man; Harwin Strong would have fought anyone necessary to ensure that Jaella had a dragon, but that wouldn’t be well received and would only cause more harm.

“I’m sure you can,” he said. “The blood of Old Valyria flows through your veins.”

He regretted those words as soon as they left his lips; he knew well that Jaella’s blood was tainted because of him, and although he loved the girl with all his heart, he couldn’t help but be consumed by guilt whenever he heard her talk about how much she wished to fly on a dragon.

═════𖠁 ═════

She didn’t have anything to do at the dragon pit, but she always asked one of her brothers or uncles to intervene and let her go. That day, it was Aemond who had told the septa, responsible for Jaella’s education, that she wouldn’t be able to attend her lessons beyond midday.

The girl’s fascination with dragons was no secret, so instead of forbidding her, they decided to let her be and see them up close as much as she could.

Jaella clung to Lucerys’ hand as she curiously watched the way Jacaerys seemed to control his dragon. Vermax was still small, but no less fascinating. The girl clapped excitedly when the dragon responded to her brother’s commands and devoured the lamb in front of him.

Jacaerys looked at his twin sister, and she nodded proudly, receiving a smile in return.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” Aegon said, catching the platinum-haired boy’s attention.

“What is it?”

“Something very special.”

Jaella frowned when she saw Lucerys start to run. She wasn’t aware of anything, and knowing how indifferent the children could be towards each other, she grew worried.

“You don’t have a dragon,” Aegon said, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. “And we felt badly about it, so… we found one for you.”

Jacaerys smiled and nodded. Jaella looked at him with a frown that her older twin ignored completely. The girl’s heart pounded fiercely in her chest; she felt that something wasn’t right.

“Behold the Pink dread!”

Lucerys was pulling an enormous pig with a pair of fake wings while laughing shamelessly along with Jacaerys and Aegon.

Jaella felt a terrible heaviness overtake her; her stomach churned and her hand gripped Aemond’s arm tightly. He looked humiliated, his face had gone pale, and his lower lip trembled slightly. In contrast, Jaella had turned red and was gritting her teeth, trying to control the tears that were welling up in her eyes.

“Make sure to mount her carefully, the first flight’s always rough,” Aegon advised with a laugh, patting Aemond on the back.

Jacaerys laughed and imitated the pig’s noise, annoying Aemond. The platinum-haired boy remained still, unsure how to react or what to say, but he knew he shouldn’t cry.

The laughter didn’t last long, as Jaella’s hand struck Aegon’s face, surprising him since she had never been aggressive before, at least not with him.

“It’s not funny,” she muttered, her gaze shifting between her brother and her uncle.

Silence fell over the group like a heavy stone. Aegon put a hand to his face, still shocked by Jaella’s fury. Jacaerys stood still, his smile fading from his lips as he became aware of his sister’s genuine anger.

“We were just playing,” the older twin tried to defend himself.

“I don’t have a dragon either,” Jaella said. “Were you going to give me a pig too?”

“Jaella, you’re a girl, we wouldn’t...” Aegon’s voice trailed off under his niece’s gaze.

“Then why is it different with Aemond?” She knew they would never admit their mistake, so she had no desire to interrogate them until they apologized. “Let’s go, we don’t have to stay here.”

Jaella took Aemond by the arm and pulled him along, leading him out of the area while continuing to look disdainfully at the others.

She and the youngest of her uncles settled for a walk by the river, closely followed by Ser Criston, who was trying his best to overhear something from the conversation between the two children to report back to the queen.

“Do you think I’ll ever get a dragon?” the prince asked, making a face.

They walked with their arms intertwined, and Jaella tightened her grip on Aemond, looking at him with a big smile.

“Sure, you will,” Jaella said.

“Maybe you’ll manage to make more than one egg hatch, right?” Aemond asked, and although he tried to sound nonchalant, he couldn’t help the excitement in his words.

Jaella shook her head firmly, and Aemond frowned.

“When I dream of you with a dragon, I dream of a huge dragon... a freshly hatched one wouldn’t be that big.”

The prince didn’t know why Jaella’s words brought him so much comfort, but they did. She often spoke about the future with such confidence, as if she knew what was going to happen. Aemond was used to this, after all, his sister did the same, though in a more enigmatic way that he usually didn’t understand; however, Jaella was always straightforward, and even though she didn’t share much of what she saw in her dreams, when she did, it gave an undeniable sense of reality.

“Don’t you want a huge dragon?”

“I don’t worry about the size,” she said simply. “As long as it can carry me to fly, I’m content.”

“And what will happen when you have to go to a battle?”

Jaella wrinkled her nose, and her stomach churned. She didn’t like battles, although deep down she knew she might not be able to avoid them forever. She always preferred to stay away from such matters.

“I just want to fly on my dragon.”

═════𖠁 ══��══

The girl made a grimace when her mother detached the small Joffrey from her breast; the princess’s areolas were slightly bleeding from how much the baby was eating.

“Will I also bleed like this when I have a child?” she asked in fear, causing Rhaenyra to let out a small laugh.

The heir to the throne adjusted her dress, cradling her son in her arms while signaling Jaella to come closer. She obeyed immediately, and her mother quickly took her face in her hands, gently caressing her cheek with her thumb.

“My sweet girl, my mother once told me that we have royal wombs and it is expected of us to serve the realm in that way,” Jaella’s brow furrowed immediately. “But as your future queen, I will make sure that you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to have a child,” she declared immediately. “Maybe the Mother will bless me with two children in the same pregnancy like she did with you.”

“And why do you want that?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at her daughter with devotion.

“Jacaerys and I have been together all the time, and I have never felt alone,” she reflected for a moment. “Grandfather says that you were lonely when you were a child, and Aegon also often feels lonely sometimes. If I had two children at once, maybe they would always have someone to share their lives with, just as I have Jace.”

"That is a very beautiful wish," Rhaenyra said, smiling to the side, unable to overlook the mention of her half-brother, with whom she knew Jaella had an affinity. "Has your uncle Aegon told you that? Has he said that he feels lonely?"

"I suppose court life doesn’t seem very pleasant to him," Jaella shrugged. "Maybe the queen can find him a good wife soon."

Rhaenyra felt a pang of annoyance inside her, recalling the conversation she had with her husband a few days earlier.

The rumors about the legitimacy of her children's births continued to circulate through the Red Keep, and she had asked Laenor to be more present at her side to strengthen their bond, rather than spending most of his time indulging his pleasures in Flea Bottom.

During that conversation, the topic of her children’s marriages had come up, especially the older ones, as they were already ten years old. Given the circumstances surrounding them, it was time to start seeking allies for the day when Rhaenyra would ascend to the throne.

The first suggestion was to marry her to Jacaerys, but that wouldn't guarantee any other alliances; the same would happen if she were married to Lucerys. What they needed was to unite their house with another to secure allies.

One of the solutions Ser Laenor proposed was to marry Jaella to one of Alicent Hightower’s sons.

Rhaenyra’s blood boiled at the mere thought.

To give her precious daughter to either of those two boys seemed to her a terrible idea; while it might ensure they maintained peace for a while, it was directly risking her only daughter. She knew Alicent well and knew that she would not hesitate to use Jaella in some twisted way to secure Aegon’s claim.

Giving away a daughter was too much, but obtaining one would put Alicent at a disadvantage and offer at least a few years of stability.

Rhaenyra quickly obtained her father's permission to betroth Jacaerys and Helaena, which enraged Alicent. Despite the complaints and tears she had presented to her husband, he had not yielded and had assured the entire court that his daughter and his grandson would marry.

═════𖠁 ═════

The celebration of Helaena and Jacaerys’ engagement was as grand as one could expect from House Targaryen. Three full days of revelry that delighted the noblest families of all Westeros.

“Are you happy?” Jaella asked, looking at her brother’s future wife.

Helaena looked at her with a small smile and nodded.

“The list of suitors didn’t please me,” she said simply. “But Jacaerys is kind.”

Jaella smiled proudly.

“You had a list of suitors?” Her aunt made a face and nodded again. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know their names,” she said, shrugging. “But they were all old and stinky… and Aegon.”

Jaella’s eyes widened with curiosity at hearing her uncle’s name as a potential candidate for Helaena’s hand.

“You didn’t want to marry Aegon?”

Helaena looked at her as if she had just uttered the worst blasphemy and shook her head again, this time with much more vigor.

“He’s rude and always drinking,” she said, glancing over at the other side of the hall where her brother was drinking cup after cup.

Jaella looked at him with curiosity. While it was true that Aegon’s passion for alcohol was excessive, she didn’t think he was as bad as everyone made him out to be. It wasn’t that she doubted Helaena’s judgment, but Aegon had always been calmer around her, and even though Jaella knew his behavior wasn’t exactly the best, she wondered how a person could be so different with different people.

“Would you marry him?”

She thought about it a little while watching him. Aegon looked over from a distance and raised his cup, giving her a radiant smile.

“Yes.”

═════𖠁 ═════

It was during the last day of the celebration that Jaella grew tired of all the commotion and left the hall earlier than usual, wandering through the gardens to enjoy the tranquility of the night before heading to her room.

Her attention was so scattered that she didn’t notice she was not alone until her body collided with someone else’s.

“I apologize, Princess,” the stranger said.

Jaella blinked a few times. The boy in front of her was clearly older but still looked quite young. His hair was curly, dark, and slightly long, and the wolf-shaped brooches holding his cloak indicated he was a member of House Stark, but she didn’t seem to recognize him.

“I don’t believe I know your name, my lord…”

“Decran Stark, Your Highness,” the boy said, bowing his head, and Jaella smiled.

“Lord Decran, there’s no need to apologize.”

“Had I known you would be alone in the garden, I would not have come, as I wouldn’t want your reputation to be questioned.”

“I appreciate the concern, my lord,” she said with a smile, “but rest assured that won’t happen. Ser Erryk or Ser Harwin must be nearby, and neither my grandfather nor my mother would allow such accusations to be made.”

That was true; no matter how much space the princess was given, a guard was always watching her steps. Usually, it was Ser Harwin, and Jaella was completely sure he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“That reassures me, Princess.”

“Why don’t you walk with me, Lord Decran?”

“It would be an honor.”

The walk lasted long enough for Jaella to learn some basic things about the Northerner and for him to make her laugh several times. Decran Stark was only fifteen years old but behaved like a true gentleman.

Jaella thought about the list of suitors Helaena had mentioned on the day of her engagement party with Jacaerys. She wasn’t sure if her mother had one for her, but she could definitely see the young wolf as someone worthy of being on it.

“Have you been to Winterfell?” Decran asked. Jaella smiled and shook her head.

“I’m sure you would like it.”

The girl played with the bracelet on her wrist, as she always did when she felt slightly nervous. The constant fiddling caused it to come undone and fall to the ground. Decran quickly picked it up.

“If you allow me…” he gestured, asking for permission to put the bracelet back on.

Jaella nodded and extended her hand, smiling.

“Keep your hands off my niece.”

Aegon’s voice made them both jump slightly, especially Jaella, who quickly took the bracelet from Decran’s hands as he took a couple of steps back.

The prince appeared drunk, though less so than on the previous two nights. Behind him was Ser Criston, who seemed to judge Jaella with a look, even though she didn’t understand the evident disdain that Cole had for her family.

“My apologies, my prince,” Decran didn’t seem intimidated by the young man’s presence, much less because he knew of the internal conflicts within House Targaryen and because Aegon was nothing more than a usurper of Rhaenyra’s inheritance in the eyes of the Starks.

“I’m not interested in your apologies,” Aegon said simply, taking a few steps away from Jaella. “I know that in the North they are short of manners, but here you cannot be alone with the princess.”

“Lord Decran has done nothing improper,” Jaella spoke quickly, but Aegon seemed to ignore her completely.

“Do you know, Lord Stark, that if anyone were to see you alone with the princess at this hour, strong accusations would be made against her?” Aegon continued in a disdainful tone, not removing his gaze from the Northerner. He then looked around before turning his gaze back to him. “Since I am the only man close to Princess Velaryon here, it is my duty to ensure that this mistake is punished.”

“Aegon…” Jaella’s voice came out as a trembling whisper.

The prince, clearly affected by the alcohol and his own sense of superiority, didn’t heed her plea. Instead, his gaze became harsher and more determined.

“Ser Criston, bring me the head of Decran Stark for putting my niece’s reputation at risk.”

Criston’s expression hardened. Under different circumstances, he might have stopped to think, but with few witnesses present, he could convince Prince Aegon to distort the truth about the situation and turn it to his favor, earning House Stark’s support for the queen’s children.

Decran gripped the hilt of his short sword, which protruded from his waist, ready to defend himself by any means necessary.

Jaella stepped forward, her heart racing uncontrollably.

“No!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing with an unexpected firmness. “This is not necessary. Lord Decran has been respectful at all times and has done nothing to jeopardize my honor. There is no reason for this violence.”

The princess could have positioned herself between Ser Criston and Decran, but she knew Cole would not react to her pleas. Instead, she stood in front of Aegon and looked him in the eyes, gripping his hands firmly, which surprised the prince.

“Uncle, please,” she begged with tearful eyes, breathing heavily. She was not willing to allow someone who had not harmed her to be punished severely. “Please, do not punish someone who does not deserve it.”

Aegon’s gaze focused on Jaella’s distressed face. His chest stirred with discomfort, and he grimaced as he felt the burning grip of the young girl’s hands. Still, he did not pull away.

“Jaella, I…” Aegon began, his voice wavering as the grimace on his face deepened. He was not used to being confronted in this manner, especially by someone he considered weaker and more vulnerable. The anguish in his niece’s eyes was making him question his own harshness.

“Please,” she pleaded again, stroking the back of the young Targaryen’s hand with her thumb.

Finally, Aegon let out a deep sigh. His resistance crumbled in the face of Jaella’s genuine desperation. He stepped back slightly, looking at Decran with a sneer of disdain.

“Escort Lord Decran inside, Ser Criston,” he said, his voice laden with anger. “I will see that my niece gets to her room.”

═════𖠁 ═════

Honor didn't seem to matter as much now, as when Jaella had invited him to her room for lemon cakes, Aegon had not hesitated for a second to accept, even agreeing to Ser Erryk’s request to leave the door open.

The rest of the night passed peacefully, and the topic of Decran was not mentioned until an hour later, when the children had finished all the cakes.

“Are you sure he did nothing?” Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaella nodded, which slightly reassured him.

“Is my sister already looking for a suitor for you?”

“I don’t know. Though Jacaerys is already promised, so they will probably arrange something for me soon too.”

Aegon made a displeased grimace that went unnoticed by Jaella.

“Are you going to tell your mother you want to marry Decran?”

Jaella frowned. She barely knew the northerner, and while she considered he would make a good suitor, the idea of asking her mother to marry him had not crossed her mind.

“I don’t know who I want to marry,” she said, shrugging.

“You definitely shouldn’t marry a Stark,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong with the Starks?” she asked with genuine curiosity. According to her studies, House Stark was quite honorable.

“I just think you should marry someone of your own blood to keep it strong,” he said simply.

In Aegon’s eyes, it had been a blessing that she wasn’t married to Jacaerys. It would have been a shame for Jaella’s children to be deprived of their mother’s Valyrian traits and instead inherit the common features of his nephew. Aegon was certain that Jaella would bear beautiful children, like herself, and he saw no need to overshadow them.

“You could marry Aemond or Daeron,” Aegon suggested.

“Why don’t I marry you?”

Silence filled Jaella’s quarters. Aegon felt a pressure in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

He knew his mother wouldn’t allow it; she hated Rhaenyra’s children too much, and she had only given them Helaena reluctantly. Alicent would never easily give up Aegon.

“I don’t think that idea would make anyone happy,” he said with a bitter smile. “Not even you.”

“I like being with you,” Jaella said, shrugging as if her statement was a simple truth.

No one had ever said that to him before. He was so capricious and rude that most people fled from him without a second thought. He even doubted his own mother enjoyed his company. But Jaella seemed sincere; despite his bad behavior and the reputation that preceded him, the Velaryon girl didn’t seem to change her behavior towards him, even for a moment.

Jaella, in her innocence, didn’t fully grasp the internal struggle Aegon was experiencing. To her, things were simple. She enjoyed his company and saw no need to complicate things with the intrigues and enmities that seemed to surround their families.

At that moment, Aegon wished he could marry her.

═════𖠁 ═════

His mother entered his room without warning, as she commonly did. From the way her brow was furrowed, Aegon knew she was upset. Even before she could speak, his head started to throb; the night before, after leaving Jaella's room, he had gone out to drink a little more and then retreated to his own room for some pleasure, so he wasn’t in the best condition to receive a reprimand.

“Sir Criston informed me of the little dispute last night.”

Aegon pressed his lips into a thin line. Criston Cole’s extreme diligence in reporting caused him more headaches than he liked. The prince tried to sit up, but the sharp pain in his head made him relent, and he sank back into his pillows.

“Do you have anything to say about it?”

The silver-haired prince sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“I didn’t think it was right for that Northman to be alone with Jaella.”

Alicent squinted at Aegon’s response. The evident concern in his voice only increased his mother’s irritation.

“And why not?” she demanded; her tone harsh. “I’ve told you time and again that the further away we keep Rhaenyra’s bastards, the better. We already have enough with your father deciding to marry Helaena to Jacaerys and now you want to stop that girl from forming distant alliances? Your claim to the throne is at stake, Aegon, and so is your head.”

“Why not save it and betroth me to Jaella?”

Alicent's fury ignited in an instant. Her face twisted into a horrified expression, and her open hand struck her son's face, leaving it red. Aegon gently touched his cheek, feeling the sting in his eyes, but he kept his gaze fixed on his mother, refusing to give in to the pain or the shame threatening to consume him.

"Never repeat those words!" Alicent exclaimed, her voice trembling with anger. "How dare you even suggest such a thing? Our family has suffered enough! Do you want to destroy everything we've built?"

Aegon didn't care about any of that. No one had ever asked him if he wanted to be king, and his father didn't seem too pleased with the idea either—after thirteen years, he still hadn't named him heir. Not that it mattered to Aegon; he didn't believe he was fit to rule.

He couldn't even control what was between his legs—how was he expected to control the Seven Kingdoms?

The thought made him laugh, which only enraged the queen further.

Alicent grabbed his face firmly.

"You don't understand what you're saying. You don't understand the weight of what you're asking. Every word you utter has consequences. You can't just discard your responsibilities because you don't like them."

Finally, she let go and ran her hands over her face, trying to calm herself. She knew well that Rhaenyra would be capable of eliminating every obstacle in her path to the throne. She'd already dealt with Helaena through marriage, but with Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, she wouldn't be so merciful. She wouldn't rest until she saw the heads of her three brothers on pikes.

"You are our future king, Aegon. It's time you start acting like one."

═════𖠁 ═════

When Ser Harwin assured her that she could claim a dragon, the idea took root in her mind, and she resolved to do whatever it took to make it happen. Her first plan was to tame one of the riderless dragons, but her mother had said it was too risky. So, Jaella spent her afternoons by the castle's hearths, trying to give her egg enough warmth to finally hatch.

When that didn't work, she buried herself in the castle's library, searching for a solution to her problem. It didn’t take long before she found what she was looking for. The books mentioned that dragon fire could help eggs hatch more quickly.

That early morning, Jaella leaped out of bed while everyone was still asleep. She used the secret passages she had once discovered to sneak into Aegon’s room.

The prince was sprawled out on the bed, deeply asleep, his breathing steady, and his mouth slightly open. Jaella stifled a silent giggle at the sight, then stood by the bed and began shaking Aegon until he woke up, groggy and trying to focus his bleary eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

Aegon blinked rapidly upon hearing those words.

"Are you alright?" he asked immediately. She nodded. "What is it?"

"I need Sunfyre’s fire to hatch my egg."

Aegon’s brow furrowed, and the remnants of sleep quickly vanished as Jaella explained what she had read that afternoon. The prince didn’t quite understand her obsession with the egg, but he eventually sighed and got out of bed.

While Aegon dressed, Jaella started searching the walls of his room. The prince watched her curiously but didn't question her. Soon enough, Jaella found and opened a hidden door, leaving Aegon in awe.

"Has that always been there?" Jaella nodded. "And you knew about it?" Another nod was her only response.

"Now let’s go before anyone realizes I’m not in bed."

They used the secret passages to leave the Red Keep, despite Aegon’s reluctance to enter the unfamiliar hidden paths. Jaella linked her arm with his as they walked through the streets of the city. Aegon, well-versed in the ways of Flea Bottom, used his knowledge to ensure they avoided the worst of the alleys.

Entering the Dragonpit posed little challenge for them, as they had done it several times before. Sunfyre, Aegon’s golden dragon, was peacefully asleep in his usual spot.

Jaella smiled at the sight of him, and Aegon also appeared proud of Sunfyre. The dragon awoke and made a sound akin to a purr when his rider called to him softly; he nudged his snout against the prince’s chest, making Aegon smile.

Jaella smiled too, because she liked seeing Aegon smile. When he did so sincerely, his smile was radiant.

"Give it to me," Aegon said, pointing to the egg in Jaella’s arms.

Without hesitation, she handed it to him immediately, and the prince placed it on the ground at a safe distance from Sunfyre, who eyed the egg with growing curiosity. Aegon took Jaella by the arm and gently pulled her back, distancing them from the reach of the fire and positioning himself in front.

Jaella clung to his arm and peeked from behind him, waiting for the command.

"Dracarys."

Sunfyre opened his mouth and breathed a warm blast of fire over the egg. Jaella held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the flames envelop the egg.

After what felt like an eternity, the fire ceased, and the two children cautiously approached the egg. Jaella's eyes scanned every inch of it, nervously searching for any sign of a crack, no matter how small. As the minutes passed, there was no indication that it had worked.

A knot formed in Jaella's throat as she felt tears welling up in her eyes, irritating her.

"Maybe it just needs more time," Aegon tried to console her, though there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

Jaella wiped her eyes, brushing away the tears that had already begun to spill down her cheeks.

"It was supposed to happen immediately," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It didn't work."

Perhaps she wasn't meant to have a dragon, perhaps her blood was tainted as everyone said, and that's why her egg hadn't hatched. Maybe her mother had lied to her all this time, and Laenor wasn't her father. Jaella clenched her fists.

She knew Laenor wasn't her father.

Fury surged within her, anger at the world; at her mother, at her supposed father, at Ser Harwin, at herself for believing she would have a dragon...

Aegon could see her suffering, but he didn’t know what to say. No one had ever taught him how to comfort someone, to offer words of encouragement, and although Jaella knew this and wasn’t expecting it, he still wanted to make her feel even a little better.

He couldn't find the words, because he didn’t know how to comfort her. But he stayed close by as she turned and left the Dragonpit, retracing their steps back the way they had come.

The princess didn’t speak the entire way back, and neither did Aegon.

By the time they made it back to the Red Keep through the secret passages, the sky was already beginning to lighten, signaling that the sun would soon break through the clouds. They both sat down on one of the castle's balconies for a moment; Jaella settled there first, and Aegon decided to stay with her.

Throughout their journey, Aegon had been trying to think of a way to console her, and though he had an idea, he wasn’t entirely sure how to start.

"Do you remember when you asked why we couldn’t get married?" Aegon’s voice broke the silence of the early morning. Hearing him speak after such a long time felt strange, but even so, she turned to look at him and nodded. "Mother didn’t like the idea."

Jaella didn’t understand what that had to do with the recent situation.

"But if she ever decides it’s a good idea… I’ll give you a dragon egg as a wedding gift."

The younger girl was taken aback, not only because Aegon was offering her a dragon egg, but also because he was speaking about the possibility of marrying her. She knew it wasn’t very likely, but the fact that he was considering it caused a strange, pleasant sensation in her chest.

"And if we don’t get married?" she asked curiously.

"I’ll give you one anyway."

From that night on, Jaella began to consider the idea of marrying Aegon as one of her dreams.

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