The Green Dragon - XXIII (Patreon)

Chapter XXIII: Powerless.

Being a Prince was, according to everyone that wasn’t one, the dream life every man wished to live. Princes received the best education, ate the best food, clothed themselves with the best clothes and married the most beautiful girls.
But Jonothor Targaryen had not always been a Prince, and this had been as much of a blessing as it had been a curse.

A blessing because he was armed with enough knowledge to navigate this new life of his with a critical eye and seventeen years of experience, allowing himself to become some sort of prodigy with the humility of a bastard.

And a curse, because his previous life and everything he had learnt in his past, influenced him to do things and think things a normal Prince his age would never ever think of, bringing him more trouble and frustration than he should be feeling.

A day had passed since his little trip into the Street of Silk. Lara and her pregnant belly had been on his mind ever since, preventing him from focusing on anything. He pretended to be sick to skip lunch with his family, he could not cross eyes with his twin in the state he was in, he would have spent the entire meal struggling not to strangle the lustful cunt had he not taken that decision.

Jon spent the day in his room, ruminating like a horse. His mother’s words kept dancing in his head, as if she was sitting next to him to prevent him from doing something stupid.
The worst was that she was right, and this frustrated Jon so much he had shaken with anger. Jon could not take care of this child, he was not Lord Eddard Stark, he was a young Prince, who had never seen his eighteenth nameday in both his lives. He could not take this child to court, could not provide for it in secret without risking being suspected of being the child’s actual father. What was worst was that Jon knew, thanks to Maester Luwin’s history lessons, how right his mother was. Jon had read about the Blackfyres’ rebellions, all six of them, and even though he did not remember everything regarding the battles and the pretenders, he remembered quite well how it all started. Aegon IV, the Unworthy, Daemon and Rhaenyra’s grandson, had lived the life of a debauched man, spilling his seed inside every woman that crossed his path, fathering more bastards than any Targaryen who ever lived. And he had the stupidity to legitimize them all on his death bed. Jon could not even began to comprehend how things had gone this bad, Aegon the fourth had done nothing more than fucking like a boar and pronouncing too many words, and he created conflicts that lasted for generations.

Studying his rule had shown Jon how much power a King truly had, and how awful consequences could be if said power was not properly used.

Jon knew, he knew he simply could not take care of his brother’s bastards, especially since he probably ain’t done siring them and will continue to do so until he becomes too old to get hard.

This was driving him mad, how many nephews and nieces will he have that he won’t be able to help? How many of them will have to sell their bodies to obtain a hot meal? And what was even worse, how many of them will end up looking like their father, and by extension, Jon himself?

Jon grimaced, he imagined the Street of Silk filled with girls and boys that looked like him or his siblings, he felt sick at remembering the boy that had been mating like a dog with a whore that had been more than twice his age, and was now imagining the whore looking like Rhaenyra and the boy looking like Aemond.

He quickly rejected those thoughts, but more kept on invading his mind; he imagined Helaena being at Lara’s place, trying to look seductive while hiding the anxiety and despair her belly and the father of her child were causing her. He felt sick. It was good that he had decided to skip lunch, otherwise he would have filled his chamberpot with vomit. Who was Lara’s father in the first place? Was she their cousin or their sister? Why couldn’t the men of his family realize how terrible a bastard’s life was? At least Rhaenyra was raising Jacaerys as if he was trueborn…
He stopped his own thoughts, he did not want to add poor Jace to his whirlwind of thoughts and problems, even though has was as much of a bastard as Lara.

Jon shook his head, he needed to find a solution, other than castrating Aegon even though he was more than tempted. So he got out of his room and went to the training yard with Ser Criston at his heels. No words were exchanged between the Kingsguard and the Prince, Jon needed to blow some steam and Ser Criston respected him too much to try and make him forget about his brother’s bastard. Or bastards, who knows how many Aegon had sired since his cock had started to work properly? Jon dreaded the answer.

Once in the training yard, Jon picked up a training sword and started beating up the nearest training dummy there was. The images he had imagined kept on poisoning his mind, each one causing him to strike the dummy harder.

Unsatisfied, Jon ended up tossing his blade to the ground and unsheathing his actual sword. He remembered the conversation he had with Rhaenyra, he remembered how he had refused to even consider a marriage to Helaena, but as cut the dummy’s head in half, he realized something horrible: if he didn’t marry her, then his grandfather, his father or even his mother would make her marry Aegon. Aegon… Imagining his beloved sister facing Aegon at the top of the altar of the Sept made him mad with anger, grief and fear. He separated what was left of the dummy’s head to the rest of its ‘body’, and split said body in half.
What he had done had been a mockery of everything Ser Criston had taught him, of everything he had ever been taught in both his lives. He had barely been here for a few minutes and he was already exhausted, his failure to control his breath and emotions had filled him with shame, however, he saw no disappointment in Ser Criston’s eyes when the latter came to enquire on his well-being.

"Do you feel better now, my Prince?"

Did Jon feel better? He was exhausted, hungry, angry, desperate, horrified, nauseous… What else could he answer but:

"No… I don’t."

(-)(-)(-)

Rhaenyra was worried about her favorite brother. It was not like Jon to skip a meal with the family without a very good reason. He was far too dutiful and solid to do something like this unless he actually felt sick, or something he had a hard time carrying was on his mind.

After Lunch, Rhaenyra had returned to her chambers to prepare the next meeting of the Small Council, but furious grunts and the noise of multiple yet uncoordinated strikes had resonated from her window, drawing her attention to the training yard.

Here was her brother, Jonothor, letting off steam on a training dummy with the least graceful blows she has ever seen him deliver. He was angry, more than angry, from what she could see. This was not training, this was Jon trying to appease his mind from something she could not grasp yet. He had not even put on a training gear.

Her eyes widened when she saw him tossing away his training sword like a spoiled brat and unsheathing his actual sword to destroy the dummy.

Jonothor was the most disciplined child she knew, seeing him act like that was more than out of character. She almost suspected that she was watching Aegon, and not Jon. But Ser Criston’s presence and Jon’s short hair quickly dismissed this possibility.

Once they were out of sight, she tried to go back to her work, but couldn’t. She was worried about her brother, seeing him act like this had slightly disturbed her, sometimes, she forgot that he was a child, and recently, she had completely forgotten that fact.
It had all started when she had tossed away Laenor’s seed into the fire instead of using it to have another child like she had done for Lucerys. She wanted and needed another child, but to treat herself like a broodmare once had been horrible enough, and her loneliness had not gotten any better after Luke’s birth. She had not been with a man since Ser Harwin Strong’s death, and Gods did she need one. But she needed a man who could give her children with Silver hair and purple eyes, Jace’s looks were far too obvious for anyone who did not want to look elsewhere. If she were to have more children, she needed them to look Valyrians not to rise even more suspicions and protect Jacaerys.
Her realization that Jon was old enough to lay with a woman and have children had hit her like a dragon’s tail. At first, she had felt ashamed, she had known and loved Jonothor since he had been a babe, despite his fourteen years of age, he was closer to being a child than being a man. Despite Otto Hightower and his daughter’s schemes, Jon had always been loyal to Rhaenyra, he was the only one, besides her father, who had never abandoned her. How could she even consider asking this of him? How could she even think about laying with him, kissing him like the husband she had always wanted to have and have him spilled his seed in her so that she could birth his child?

Rhaenyra felt a chill ran down her spine as she realized how shamefully aroused the mere thought of sleeping with her brother had made her. Was she really considering this? Her who had not felt a man’s touch in almost a decade and that longed to dive into a man’s arms and let her worries being washed away by the comforting thought of being loved and cared for. Rhaenyra did not know what was worse, being desperate enough to even think about it sleeping with her fourteen years old brother, or longing to see it happen like a maiden hoping for a romantic wedding?

There was nothing romantic about this, this was pure lust and desperation born out of loneliness. But there was more to it, apart from her children, Rhaenyra did not love someone more than she loved Jon.

Her father was particular, he was her father, he loved her because he had sired her and because he had loved her mother more than he loved Alicent. His support was natural, making her his heir had been his idea after all.
But Jonothor? Jonothor had all the reasons in the World not to love her. He was a boy that would not inherit his father’s throne because of a sister, his mother despised her, yet he had always loved her, his grandfather wanted him to usurp her, yet he had always supported her no matter what. The Greens despised Jace for being a bastard, Jon had always loved him, trained him, being the fatherly figure Harwin and Laenor could not, hells, he’d even helped her birth him!

How could she not love her brother with all her heart? He had given her and kept giving her so much, yet never asked for anything in return.

Rhaenyra knew he would grow to become even more handsome than he already was, despite the melancholy that seemed to have been written on his face since he’d turned four… Since she had slapped him…

The memory almost made Rhaenyra slap herself, she had been so afraid of him, afraid of a mere boy, a child, how old had he been? Four? How could she have been so blind? So terrified of the one person that had always been on her side…

Yet, as she considered going to speak with him after what she had just witnessed in the training yard, she realized that once again, she was afraid. Not of him, never again would she ever be afraid of him. No, what she was afraid of was the potential reaction she would have if she were to see him after imagining herself bedding him.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, this was not the time to feel sorry for herself, her brother had something on his mind that he needed to speak about with someone. If she could not focus on her work, then she needed to help him, she owed him this much.
So she left her room and headed for his, praying that her inner conflict was not obvious on her face.
When she arrived at Jonothor’s door, she was not surprised -yet nonetheless displeased- to see Ser Criston Cole guarding it. The frown he gave her when he saw her coming was not lost on her, despite all those years he still despised her.
"I cannot believe I gave my maidenhead to this man." She cursed inwardly, hiding her disgust behind a royal mask.
Even now, all desperate and lonely that she was, she’d never make that mistake again. What did she ever see in him to grant him such a privilege?

"I’m sorry, Princess." The man said. "But Prince Jonothor does not wish to be disturbed."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at his audacity, what was he going to do? Physically prevent her from knocking at her brother’s door? He was a Kingsguard for every Targaryen princes and princesses alike, not just the Green ones. Had he forgotten his oath? Though that would not be the first time, he had not cared about the one regarding chastity when she had opened her legs for him.

She did not even deign him with an answer, she ignored him to knock at Jon’s door. She had considered looking at him in the eyes as she had done so, but that would have given him far too much importance.
"Who is it?"

"Jonothor? It’s your sister, may I come in?"

She waited a lot more than she had expected before he opened the door himself. Rhaenyra felt her heart skip a bit, he looked so tired. It was barely the beginning of the afternoon and whatever he did on the training dummy had lasted minutes at best. What was it that was now tormenting him?

Jon forced a smile on his face.

"Please come in, sister."

Once she was inside and her brother had closed his door, she took a sit on his couch and frowned worriedly at him.

"I saw your little… I mean, I saw you destroying that training dummy."

"Oh." Was Jon’s embarrassed answer. "Not my most glorious moment, I’m afraid."

"Jon." Rhaenyra sighed. "What has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you lose you cool like this."

Jon did not respond, he poured himself a horn of ale and offered a cup of wine to his sister. It was a bit soon in the afternoon to start drinking, usually, Jon barely drunk, even at dinner. Where had he gotten that horn? Rhaenyra was pretty sure that if his mother learnt that Jon had discovered himself a taste for ale, she would not approve, especially with that strange horn he had gotten for himself.

That was now drinking from said horn meant that he needed that ale down his throat, and perhaps, Rhaenyra needed a cup of wine as much as he needed his horn of ale.

Jon drank half of his horn before he found his words.
"It’s… complicated… Last night, I went out with Ser Criston under a disguise, to explore the city. You know that I… have had problems with… Well… That as a young man I started looking at women… Differently."

Rhaenyra fought to keep a teasing grin off her face, there was something deeper here than her brother being adorable.

He kept speaking:

"I… I had the idea to visit the Street of Silk. Not to fu…! I mean… Not to… Pay for pleasure. I just wanted to… Strengthen my mind against… Well… I was just training to keep my urges in check."

This time, Rhaenyra snorted, she could not help it. This was definitely something her brother would do, train to be or do better no matter what his problem was. She had a hard time not laughing at the thought of her brother looking at whores and fighting back against the urges in his pants.

"I’m so sorry, Jon. I don’t mean to mock you, I just found it funny that you would do something like this. It is so… You."

Despite his shame, Jon smiled in embarrassment. Rhaenyra found it even more adorable.

But then he dropped his smile, and she braced herself to hear what had shaken him.

"Then… I saw a whore. A… pregnant whore. Her name is Lara, she looks like… us. So I assumed she is our bastard… sister or cousin, I don’t know."

Rhaenyra rose an eyebrow, she did not know if her father had ever enjoyed the pleasures the Street of Silk had to offer, nor did she want to know. It was far more likely for this bastard to be Daemon’s. He had enjoyed the street for more often than anyone in this city.

"She recognized me, telling me… our child had grown in her belly since we last saw each other." Jon said, surprising his sister. "But the truth is she thought I was Aegon. And I’ve learnt… that she had brothers, and that Aegon was using them all for… Whatever he wanted."

Realization dawned on Rhaenyra and she leaned against the back of the couch, sighing. She knew him well enough to figure out what had gone through his mind.

Jon held out his hand, remembering all too well what he had done.
"I touched her belly, and I felt it… I felt the child, our niece or nephew… And I… I promised it that it would not be alone. I promised it. But when I came back to the Red Keep… Ser Criston had told Mother, and Mother… Mother…"

He dared not repeat what she had told him, the wound was too fresh in his mind.

"Told you why such a thing would have been a terrible mistake." Rhaenyra finished. "Oh Jon…"

"I don’t know what to do, Nyra." Jon said, gulping down what was left of his ale, his empty stomach amplified the effects of the drink. His cheeks quickly got redder, but his mind was as turmoiled as ever. "I made a promise to this child. I promised it wouldn’t be alone. How can I keep it? And how many other children of our blood will end up in this disgusting place? Selling their own body like cattle, pretending to be us while we pretend they don’t exist."

He took a deep breath, the ale was having a terrible effect on his mind, he had a hard time controlling his emotions. Carefully, he repeated the exact same words he had told his mother:

"Bastards should not be blamed for their father’s sins, their parents need to take responsibility for them."

His words stroke Rhaenyra harder than she thought it would, she instantly thought of Jace, her beautiful firstborn who had been cursed by his father’s looks. Rhaenyra did not give a damn if he was true born or not, he was hers! She had conceived him with passion, unlike Luke who had been conceived in shame, but was technically true born. She loved both her sons equally, her marriage meant nothing to her given how little joy she had found in it. Without a word, she got up and embraced her brother. Her sweet and lovable brother, who was far too good for this family and this Realm. Jon cared about them all, and Rhaenyra loved him for it. He saw all of their flaws and did his best to compensate, no matter how hard it was or how underserving they were of his kindness. She tightened her grip around him, and quietly sighed in relief when he returned her embrace.

Jonothor was perfect and pure in a way Rhaenyra had never dared dreaming about. He was the father figure for her children Laenor would never be, the mediator between Blacks and Greens her Father could not be, the man she had desperately needed her whole life.

She gently cupped his cheeks, the ale had been effective on the boy’s empty stomach but he was not drunk yet, merely tipsy.

"Jon…" She whispered, her perfume were even stronger than his ale, her eyes more hypnotizing than a dragon’s. "Please, do not be so harsh on yourself, you have already done so much for this family and its children. We would be lost without you, we would have all grown to be miserable had you not been here to take care of us all. Please…"

She gently put her forehead against his, giving him the support he needed and turning herself into his anchor to allow his sorrow to slowly wash away without breaking him. Jon exhaled loudly in relief, drinking in the comfort of his sister. As they look into each other’s eyes, Rhaenyra whispered:

"Never change, Jonothor, ever. For you are the true patriarch of this family."

She slightly moved her head forward, an almost imperceptible movement.

"You are the heart of House Targaryen, the son Father wanted, the brother our siblings needed, the uncle my children deserved…"

Her nose touched his, his eyes widened when he realized how close she was.

Rhaenyra exhaled slowly, the smell of wine invade Jon’s nostrils.

"… and the man I longed for." She said as she kissed him.

AN: For the record, Rhaenyra is not in love with Jon, she is not even lustfully attracted by him, she’s just incredibly lonely and must still conceive more children to secure her rule, Jon is the best option to have children with Targaryen features and she actually loves him, her fantasy is one that is born out of sisterly love, desperation, loneliness and horniness (she hasn’t had sex in almost a decade since Harwin died, she went through most of her twenties and another pregnancy without feeling loved by a man). The more she thinks about him, the more obsessed with him she becomes, because she needs a man and Jon was always too good at giving her what she needs. His declaration regarding bastards sealed her decision to make him the father of her next child, he has all the love she needs, enough for her and her children.