The dragon had departed.
After Draezell flew into the sky carrying Jacaerys's ashes, Vermax did not remain behind either. The young dragon didn't return to its birthplace but instead headed south, to the dragonpit it had built itself. Perhaps, in Vermax's eyes, the Dragonpit in Dragon's Nest was its true home.
A humble septon, watching the departing dragon, suddenly stood and called out, "Brothers and sisters, our king gave his life for us and was summoned by the Stranger. Let us give His Majesty one final send-off!" Holding his prayer beads aloft, he cried out to the gathered people, "Let us follow the prince's dragon!"
"Brother, would you betray His Majesty's wishes?" an older septon, supported by several young followers, slowly stood up. "His Majesty chose cremation without the Silent Sisters so we would not have to escort a coffin to King's Landing. Would you waste His Majesty's efforts so soon after his passing?"
The other citizens, hearing this explanation, quickly understood. They began to chide the younger septon, who soon realized his mistake. Indeed, King's Landing's plague had only just been quelled. No one could guarantee that the influx of people wouldn't reignite the epidemic or that hidden carriers weren't still within the city. Any such outbreak would undo everything Jacaerys had worked so hard to restore.
"I understand now, brother. The error was mine," the humbled septon knelt before the elder and confessed earnestly. "May the Crone forgive my folly, and may her lamp guide His Majesty back to the Father's kingdom."
Under the guidance of the septons, the crowd gradually dispersed. Most were eager to return home and pray for their departed king while hoping his successor would be as virtuous.
Lord Rosby sent out ravens, spreading the news across the realm. Barely two months after the war's conclusion, the realm had lost another king.
This led to a dilemma for later historians, such as Archmaester Munkun, when compiling The True History. Should the year 129 AC be labeled the Year of Two Kings, Three Kings, Four Kings, or even Five Kings? By strict definition, four monarchs sat on the Iron Throne during that year, and five bore crowns. In the end, Archaester Munkun chose to exclude Prince Aegon and the late King Viserys from the official count. Considering Jacaerys's popularity and his posthumous veneration during Aegon III's reign, Munkun dedicated an entire chapter to Jacaerys rather than listing him alongside his mother and uncle.
For later scholars, the term "Year of Two Kings" could refer to either Queen Rhaenyra and Aegon The Usurper or Queen Rhaenyra and Jacaerys I, depending on their perspective.
---
King's Landing, Red Keep
This time, the ravens flew faster than the dragons.
Grand Maester Orwyle, recently released from the black cells by Daemon, trembled as he gazed at his assistant holding an opened letter. The poor conditions in the cells had severely affected the Grand Maester's health. He could barely move his legs, his eyesight had deteriorated, but his knowledge and skills remained intact. Thus, he continued overseeing the realm's efforts against disease, which had further drained his strength.
"Grand Maester," the assistant began, his voice trembling after merely glancing at the letter.
"What's the matter?" Orwyle could hear the sorrow and disbelief in the assistant's voice. "Take your time and speak clearly."
The assistant tried to suppress his tears. His family hailed from the Riverlands, where Jacaerys had once delivered justice while riding his dragon. Although the assistant had studied at the Citadel, he hadn't graduated, so he maintained ties with his kin. A recent letter from home spoke of how the young king had resolved their village's troubles and sent aid.
The assistant was deeply grateful to the king and had spent sleepless nights chastising himself for cursing Jacaerys during Aegon's reign.
"His Majesty... His Majesty succumbed to Dragonpox during his royal progress." The assistant couldn't hold back his tears and choked on the words.
Orwyle froze, taking a long moment to recover from the shock. Trembling, he accepted the letter. "The Targaryens... have lost another virtuous king," he muttered, sighing as he struggled to rise with his assistant's help and make his way to the council chamber, where Daemon was presiding over a meeting.
---
"You're lying!" Joffrey stormed toward the Grand Maester, grabbing his chain of office. "You're lying! My brother freed you from the cells, restored you as Grand Maester, and now you curse him? You vile, heartless devil! I... I..." The boy's words devolved into incoherent sobs. Moments earlier, he had been animatedly discussing his plans for Driftmark with Corlys. The news had shattered him.
"Joffrey, calm yourself." Daemon recovered first. The prince pulled the boy away from Orwyle and asked gravely, "Grand Maester, can you vouch for the authenticity of this message? Joffrey, settle down and let the Grand Maester finish."
Meanwhile, Corlys embraced Baela as she stared at Orwyle in disbelief, hoping the terrible news was false.
But her hopes were in vain.
"It is true, Your Grace," Orwyle confirmed with a heavy heart. Of all the Targaryen kings, Jacaerys had most closely resembled Jaehaerys the Conciliator in virtue and wisdom. Yet, the Seven had granted him far too little time. Even Orwyle had cursed the gods' cruelty on his way to deliver the news.
The Lord of Rosby's letter has arrived. By the timeline, Prince Draezell is likely close to reaching King's Landing by now," said Grand Maester Orwyle with a sigh. "The letter mentioned that His Grace reaffirmed Prince Joffrey's claim to Driftmark and named Prince Aegon as his heir. The Prince Regent is to continue handling affairs in King's Landing, while Prince Draezell will oversee Prince Aegon's education at Dragon's Nest until he reaches fourteen."
The Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, stiffened, seemingly ready to speak, but the children's reactions were far more pronounced.
Joffrey burst into tears, wailing uncontrollably, while Baela tried to stand and speak but fainted into her grandfather's arms. Orwyle quickly motioned for his assistant to check on the queen consort.
Daemon himself appeared momentarily dazed. His chest felt tight, as if something heavy was pressing against it. Experienced as he was, the old prince instinctively grabbed a nearby chair and slowly sat down. Memories began to flash before his eyes — young Jacaerys shyly calling him "Father" alongside his brothers, the moment Jacaerys resolutely declared his intent to serve as Draezell's squire, their training sessions in dragon-riding and combat, and the countless letters Jacaerys sent after his coronation.
Daemon had seen the shadows of his grandfather, uncle, and even his brother in Jacaerys. He had believed he was witnessing the rise of another great king.
The prince's thoughts were drowned out by Joffrey's cries, curses, and the general tumult of voices around him. It all culminated in a piercing roar.
Daemon fainted. Fortunately, Grand Maester Orwyle was already nearby attending to Baela. The poor Grand Maester, hobbled by his near-crippled legs, had to divide his attention between the two, eventually rousing them both.
At that moment, a long, mournful dragon roar echoed over King's Landing. Vermithor had returned. The bronze dragon soared above the city, its cries reverberating as it descended into the grand courtyard of the Red Keep.
The last two remaining Kingsguard knights, Ser Steffon Darklyn and Ser Erryk Cargyll, approached. Their faces bore the weariness of months of turmoil. In just four months, the white cloaks had suffered devastating losses; many of their brothers had perished or vanished, leaving only these two scarred survivors to fulfill their oaths.
"I've brought little Jace home," said Draezell, his face etched with exhaustion as he dismounted the dragon. Vermithor lowered its head to the ground to allow its rider a smoother descent. A small, ornately carved urn hung from Draezell's chest—the hastily crafted work of a carpenter using wood from a nobleman's discarded coffin.
Corlys Velaryon was already waiting at the entrance to greet him. The aging Sea Snake regarded the urn in Draezell's hands with sorrow, though a fleeting glint of wariness crossed his eyes, a detail Draezell did not miss.
"So, the old man has finally realized how much power I hold, Draezell thought. Perhaps Daemon has as well, though grief likely clouds his mind for now. But, Sea Snake, your house and the Targaryens will need to rely on Jacaerys' legacy more than ever." He thought.
Draezell nodded solemnly at Corlys before proceeding into the Red Keep. Led by tearful servants and septas, he entered the small sept within the castle.
This was the resting place where royal ashes were kept before burial. The urns of Viserys, Rhaenyra, and Rhaenys were already there.
Yes, even Viserys' ashes were here. The Greens had only managed to cremate him before being driven from King's Landing. Rhaenyra, consumed with financial matters and securing her reign, had seemingly forgotten her father's burial, perhaps assuming the usurper had already handled it.
Daemon stood silently by the altar, holding a sobbing Joffrey and a tearful Baela close. He watched as Draezell placed Jacaerys' urn beside his mother's.
The Silent Sisters and septons approached to prepare for the burial rites, which required a prominent family member to deliver the eulogy. Draezell glanced at Daemon, who sighed deeply and nodded, granting him permission to speak.
"Viserys I Targaryen," Draezell began, addressing the first urn. "During his reign, he preserved the peace of King Jaehaerys' era and successfully reclaimed Dorne. The people remember him for the tranquility of his time, though he bears responsibility for the chaos that followed." Draezell's gaze met Daemon's, and the prince acknowledged the truth with a nod. His brother had indeed brought peace but at the cost of brewing a civil war within their house.
"Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was," Draezell continued, his eyes on the second urn. "Born in blood and fire, she died in blood and fire. A true dragonrider and warrior, she laid the foundation for our victory."
Corlys watched silently, offering no comment.
"Rhaenyra I Targaryen, The realms Delights, and its Bane. You won the crown but nearly lost all we fought for. You owe your children for reclaiming the glory of the crown. From this day forth, the name of Queen Rhaenyra I will endure in history, while your brother's name will forever be cursed as the usurper." Draezell delivered his verdict without hesitation, even eliciting a faint, bitter smile from Daemon. Joffrey, though still sobbing, offered no rebuttal — he, too, had often criticized his mother's choices.
"Finally, my little Jace. My squire. My student," Draezell said, his voice heavy with grief as he stood before the last urn. He hesitated to call Jacaerys his brother, despite how he, Vermax, and the rest had been treated as such. "Jacaerys I Targaryen. Through your deeds, you proved yourself worthy of every crown. You were a true Targaryen. A true king."
Draezell lingered before the urn, unable to pull himself away.
The bells of King's Landing tolled once more, their somber notes met with the weeping and prayers of the city's people, who mourned Jacaerys' passing and honored his efforts.
After the Silent Sisters carried away the urns, Draezell turned to face those gathered in the small sept.
"Now, it is time to address young Aegon's future."