Blood of the Dragon

77 AC

Princess Maegelle Targaryen gazed out from the high window of the Hightower, the sprawl of Oldtown glimmering beneath the pale morning sun. The air was salt-tinged, the distant cries of gulls blending with the tolling of sept bells. At six years old, she had stood at these gates, clutching her mother’s hand, her heart tight with the weight of unfamiliarity. Now, twelve years old and robed in modest grey, she felt like a stranger to that little girl. Her mother’s final kiss lingered in her memory, a gentle touch weighed down by unshed tears.

The days in Oldtown had a rhythm to them, one that could not be broken. Prayer at sunrise. Lessons in scripture. Hours of silent contemplation. By the evening, Maegelle would trace her steps back to her quarters, her body weary but her spirit quiet. The faith taught that such discipline nurtured the soul. But even as she found peace in her studies, there were moments she longed for the vibrant chaos of the Red Keep and the laughter of her siblings.

Septa Rhaella was a lifeline in this austere world. Her cousin, once a princess of House Targaryen, had embraced her vows years before Maegelle’s arrival. To the novices of the Faith, Rhaella was an icon of devotion, her presence imbued with the calm certainty of the Seven’s grace. To Maegelle, she was much more—a thread connecting her to the life she had left behind. Rhaella’s words were wise and measured, but there was a quiet warmth beneath them, a softness that eased the ache of homesickness.

Yet, as Maegelle grew older, she began to see something else in her cousin. Beneath the serenity, there was a shadow. She noticed it in the way Rhaella’s gaze lingered on the horizon, in the pauses before her prayers, and the soft sighs when she thought no one was listening.

One crisp autumn evening, as they strolled through the sept’s garden, Maegelle dared to ask the question she had long kept buried. She was fifteen, older and braver than the little girl who had clung to Rhaella’s robes upon arrival.

“Septa Rhaella,” she began, her voice steady but unsure, “why did you choose this life? You were a princess… you could have had anything you wanted.”

Rhaella stopped. Her violet eyes—so like Maegelle’s own—turned to her, and for a moment, Maegelle thought she saw a flicker of grief. Then Rhaella smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “You think I chose this life?” she asked softly.

Maegelle frowned. “Didn’t you?”

Rhaella’s hands folded before her, her gaze drifting past the garden walls. “There was a time when I wasn’t sure of anything,” she said. “Do you know what it was like, Maegelle, to grow up in the shadow of Maegor the Cruel? To see my mother’s fear, to hear the screams echoing through the halls of the Red Keep? My sister and I… we were so very young. And so very alone.”

Maegelle felt a pang in her chest. She knew the stories of Maegor’s reign, the terror it had wrought, but to hear it in Rhaella’s voice made it real in a way that history could not.

Rhaella drew a deep breath, her hands tightening. “When the war ended, when peace returned, I thought it would bring relief. But the Red Keep remained a place of shadows for me. I longed for escape. For quiet. My sister…” She hesitated, and Maegelle saw the shadow deepen in her eyes. “My sister longed for the opposite. She craved the court’s intrigue, the life of a princess.”

Rhaella turned to Maegelle then, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We switched places.”

Maegelle blinked, confusion flickering across her face. “Switched… places?”

“I was Aerea once,” Rhaella said, her voice steady now. “And she was Rhaella. I wanted the peace of the Faith, and she wanted the life of a courtier. So, we made it so. We became one another, and in time, we even forgot what it meant to be who we were before.”

Maegelle’s breath caught. “You don’t… you don’t know who you really are?”

Rhaella—or Aerea—smiled faintly. “I know who I am now. That is enough. My sister and I still see one another. We still love one another. She has her joy, and I have mine. It is not the life our mother would have chosen for us, but it is the life we chose for ourselves.”

The weight of the revelation settled over Maegelle like a heavy cloak. “What of… your mother?” she asked softly.

Rhaella sighed, her hands resting gently over her lap. “She struggled for many years with the life she was given, just as we all do in different ways. At first, she saw our choice as betrayal—she believed we had turned away from our duty, from her love. But The Mother Above teaches us patience, and in time, she softened. Love endures where anger fades.”

She turned to Maegelle with a serene smile. “Forgiveness is the balm the Gods have given us so we may heal, little one. My sister and I found our way back to her, not through duty or expectation, but through love freely given. And before she left this world, we stood as daughters before her, not as strangers. That was the greatest gift of all.”

Maegelle lowered her gaze, absorbing the lesson. Perhaps, one day, she too would be called to mend what had been broken, not through force, but through faith, love, and patience.

The First Quarrel (82 AC)

Alysanne

The Red Keep was still, eerily quiet, as if it too mourned the loss of Daella Targaryen. The usual hum of life—servants bustling about, children playing in the halls—had faded, replaced by an uncomfortable stillness. Alysanne had returned from Dragonstone in the early hours of the morning, her eyes red and raw, her spirit broken. Her heart, still heavy with the weight of her daughter’s funeral, carried with it an unbearable grief—a grief she could not escape, no matter how far she traveled, no matter how much time passed.

She had been silent on the journey home, her mind a storm of thoughts and questions that refused to settle. How had it all gone wrong? Had she sheltered Daella too much? Had she failed her daughter in the same way she feared she was failing her son, Aegon?

Alysanne stood in the doorway of their chambers, staring at her husband, who was still dressed in the deep hues of his royal garb. Jaehaerys had been there when she left, distant and cold, as though nothing could reach him—not even the loss of their daughter. And now, his posture was no different. His back was straight, his expression unreadable, as he watched the fire burn low in the hearth.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was suffocating, the grief they both felt too vast to bridge with simple words. Finally, it was Alysanne who broke the stillness.

“I have come back, Jaehaerys,” she said, her voice hoarse, a thin layer of restraint keeping the rawness at bay. She barely recognized the sound of her own voice. “And I find I have nothing left to say to you.”

Jaehaerys turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. His gaze was sharp, but it softened the moment he saw her—the disheveled state of her grief-stricken form, the weight of her mourning. He swallowed hard, taking a step toward her.

“I wish you had stayed longer,” he said softly, but there was a bitterness underneath. “I would have hoped that Daella’s funeral would not have been the reason you chose to return so quickly.”

Alysanne's jaw tightened. She wanted to yell, to throw the pain of her broken heart at him, but instead she held it back, barely containing the storm inside. The rawness, the anguish, bubbled beneath the surface.

“I had to leave, Jaehaerys,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “The funeral… it was unbearable. I could not stay, not after—” Her words trailed off as she closed her eyes, but the image of Daella’s still face flashed in her mind, haunting her with every passing second.

Jaehaerys crossed his arms, his gaze hardening as he looked at her. “You should have stayed. We could have mourned together. Instead, you isolate yourself on Dragonstone, leaving me to contend with everything here.”

Alysanne’s eyes flashed with a sudden, biting sharpness. She stepped forward, her voice trembling with the weight of her grief, but also with a growing anger she could no longer suppress.

“Do not make this about you, Jaehaerys,” she spat, her voice cracking with fury. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for what has happened. You should have been there. You should have been there for her, not pushing her into a marriage she was not ready for, not pressuring her to grow up before her time!”

Jaehaerys’s face hardened, his jaw clenched. His voice, when it came, was measured but cold, each word laced with bitterness. “Do not speak to me of what should have been, Alysanne. You think I wanted her to die? That I wanted this for our family?” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “But I did what had to be done. She was a princess, not a child. She had duties—we had duties, and she had to fulfill them. She did not have the luxury of being shielded from the world, not as you so kindly shielded Aegon.”

Alysanne recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. “Don’t you dare bring Aegon into this, Jaehaerys,” she whispered, her voice full of both grief and fury. “Don’t you dare.”

Jaehaerys’s expression darkened. “Aegon is the issue, Alysanne. He is what has brought us to this point, isn’t he? His rebellion, his defiance—his refusal to understand his place in this family. You have coddled him, shielded him from the truth. You allowed him to grow into this… spoiled, arrogant boy who could never be the heir we need. I will not sit here and let you blame Daella’s death on me when Aegon’s own faults are as much to blame.”

Alysanne’s breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, the room seemed to close in around her. She pressed her palms against the cool stone of the wall behind her, struggling to steady herself as the words swirled in her mind. Jaehaerys was cold, relentless—always relentless when it came to their children, their duty. But this time, the anger felt sharper, more pointed, aimed directly at her heart.

“You think I shielded him?” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and grief. “Aegon was never shielded, Jaehaerys. He was lost. And you—” She choked on the words, her eyes burning with a fury she had never directed at him before. “You pushed him away. You thought he was just a child, just a boy who would bend to your will, to your throne. But he was never given the chance to be anything else.”

Jaehaerys took another step forward, his face pale with anger and frustration. “Aegon’s fate was sealed the moment he rejected everything we ever tried to teach him. You think I wanted him to be like this? Do you think I wanted to watch him turn into some pampered brat, drunk on his own arrogance and entitled to everything around him? I had no choice but to make him see that there are consequences for his actions, Alysanne. And now, you come to me, blaming me for the way he turned out?”

Alysanne’s chest tightened, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but she held herself back. “You think you were the only one who suffered from his actions, Jaehaerys? You think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to watch him grow into someone who couldn’t even look me in the eyes, someone who would—” She stopped herself, her voice faltering. The memory of Aegon’s coldness, his arrogance, his distance—it was too painful, too raw to speak aloud.

Jaehaerys did not relent. “You allowed him to be this way, Alysanne. You indulged him. You let him think that he was above us, that he was entitled to everything. Everything.” He paused, as though the words themselves pained him to say, yet he continued, “And now, look at where we are. Look at what he has done to this family. He is as much to blame for Daella’s death as anyone, as much as I am for pushing her into a marriage she wasn’t ready for. Aegon’s rebellion tore this family apart. And yet, you refuse to see it.”

Alysanne’s heart broke with every word he spoke. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as best she could, and spoke with a quiet intensity that belied the rage building within her. “I never shielded him, Jaehaerys. I loved him. And I tried—Gods, I tried—to help him find his way. But you… You never gave him the chance. You made him believe that his worth was measured by your expectations, by the throne, by your vision of the perfect heir. And now, you blame me for the man he’s become?”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, she turned away, her back to him as she wiped away the silent tears threatening to fall. She could not look at him any longer, could not bear to face the man who had once been her partner, her confidant—and now, felt like a stranger. A man who saw their children only as pawns in a game he was determined to win, no matter the cost.

Jaehaerys’s voice softened, but the bitterness remained. “You want to blame me for Aegon’s failures? Fine. But don’t forget that you allowed him to believe he could do whatever he wished, that there were no consequences. And you allowed all of this to fester, until it was too late to fix anything. That is where you failed him, Alysanne. That is where we both failed him.”

Alysanne’s shoulders shook with the force of her emotions, and she turned back to face him, her voice low but filled with years of pent-up hurt. “I did not fail him, Jaehaerys. I loved him. But you—” She took a step forward, her voice growing steadier with each word, “—you pushed him too hard. You made him believe he had no choice but to become what you wanted him to be, not what he was meant to be.”

Jaehaerys’s eyes narrowed. “And what is that supposed to mean, Alysanne? What was he meant to be?”

Alysanne stepped back, the pain of it all catching in her chest. “He was meant to be himself, Jaehaerys. Not some perfect reflection of you. He was meant to be Aegon, my son, not some thing to control and mold. And now we’ve lost him, just as we lost Daella.” Her voice trembled with the finality of her words.

Jaehaerys stood there, silent for a long moment, before he spoke again, quieter now. “So, what do you suggest we do, Alysanne? What is it that you think we can do now?”

Alysanne looked at him, the flicker of hopelessness in her eyes slowly being replaced by something else—something harder. “We can start by admitting that we both failed. I’ll leave for Dragonstone in the morrow. Do not come to my chambers.”

Maegelle

The sea breeze was cold against Maegelle’s face as she sailed closer to Dragonstone, the towering stone keep growing larger on the horizon. Her mission, if it could even be called that, weighed heavily on her. Her visit to her father at the Red Keep had not gone as she had hoped—her father had been irritable at first, dismissing her concerns about his fractured relationship with Alysanne. It had taken time, the careful diplomacy of a daughter who had learned to tread softly through storms, before the walls around her father had begun to crack.

She had reminded him of his own human frailty, that even kings could make mistakes—especially when they failed to see the emotional cost of their decisions. Only then did he reluctantly agree to speak with Alysanne, but his tone had been laced with defeat.

“Alysanne is too upset,” Jaehaerys had muttered, a storm of frustration behind his words. “She will not allow me back to Dragonstone. She refuses to come back to the Red Keep. If you truly wish for things to change, it will fall to you, Maegelle. You are the only one left who can mend this.”

The weight of those words sat heavily with her. The only one left?

When Maegelle arrived at Dragonstone, she was greeted by the familiar salt air and the jagged cliffs that had once been a source of warmth during her childhood visits. Her Septa robes felt slightly out of place here, amidst the tension that hung in the air like a dark cloud. The air of isolation, which had always lingered in the castle, seemed now to press in on her.

As she made her way through the halls, she saw Alysanne sitting by a window, the reflection of the setting sun painting her face with an ethereal glow. She looked tired, older than her years and it broke Maegelle’s heart. Crone, guide my hand.

"Maegelle…” Alysanne’s voice, though soft, was full of emotion as she stepped forward to embrace her daughter, her arms tight around her. “It has been too long.”

Maegelle returned the embrace, feeling the weight of the past months lift, if only for a moment. Her mother, ever the queen, had a way of holding her children that made them feel protected, loved. Even now, despite everything, Alysanne’s embrace had that same warmth, that same comfort.

“I missed you, Mother,” Maegelle said quietly, pulling back to look at Alysanne. “I’ve come to speak with you, to see how you are... how we all are.”

Alysanne nodded, her eyes glistening with an unreadable emotion. "I am... well enough," she said, though the sadness in her voice betrayed her words. She turned toward the small hearth, the soft crackle of fire filling the silence between them.

At that moment, Daenerys, who had been sitting nearby with her younger sister Gael, rose from her chair. Gael, now three years old, toddled over to Maegelle with the burst of energy of a child.

“Maegelle!” Daenerys moved quickly to her sister’s side, embracing her with an unexpected force. The last time Maegelle had seen Daenerys, she was much younger, her hair still tinged with the wildness of childhood. Now, the elder sister stood as a woman full of the strength of her own burdens, her presence calming and soothing. “You’ve been away far too long. I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you,” Maegelle replied, holding her sister tight. The two women pulled apart as Maegelle took little Gael in her arms. “Look at you,” she said, holding Gael up to her face. “You’ve grown so much.”

Gael giggled, her curls bouncing as she wriggled in Maegelle’s arms. “I’m a big girl now!” she said proudly.

“She’s grown so quickly,” Daenerys said with a smile, her voice full of affection. “She’s quite the handful, but so full of joy. It’s a comfort to have her near.”

The conversation then shifted to lighter things, as they talked about the latest news from King’s Landing. Maegelle learned that Aegon had been attending a lavish banquet at Casterly Rock, while Aemon was caught up in the political workings of the Red Keep. Baelon was busy overseeing the construction of his keep in the Stepstones, and Alyssa’s new pregnancy was causing both excitement and concern. The more they spoke, the more Maegelle felt the distance between herself and the family she had left behind. She had been away so long, and though she knew the names of the children born in her absence, the lives they were living felt like distant stories.

“I’ve barely had time to meet Gaemon or Valerion properly,” Maegelle admitted, her voice tinged with regret. “I heard they were both born after I left for Oldtown.”

“They’re a handful,” Daenerys chuckled, though there was something wistful in her tone. “Gaemon is much like Aegon was at his age, headstrong and determined. Valerion is strong like a bull, but so tender and caring. But they are children still, and I am sure they’ll grow to make their own mark in this world.”

As they continued to talk, Maegelle felt herself slowly falling into the rhythm of family life again. She could hear the laughter of Gael, the warmth of sisterly bonds, but the knowledge that this peace was fragile hung over them all.

At some point, Daenerys glanced down at Gael, who was growing sleepy in Maegelle’s arms. “I think it’s time for a nap for my little one,” she said softly. “Why don’t you and Mother have some time to talk alone?”

Maegelle looked at Daenerys, understanding her sister’s subtle hint. She nodded gratefully as Daenerys kissed Gael’s forehead and carried her off to a nearby room. The two women were left alone, the silence between them stretching out, but this time, it didn’t feel as oppressive.

Maegelle sat beside Alysanne, the two of them looking out at the turbulent sea below. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was a lullaby of sorts, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Maegelle allowed herself to breathe.

“Mother,” Maegelle began, her voice soft but filled with the weight of what was to come, “I think it’s time.”

Alysanne’s gaze was distant, lost in thoughts of their past and the weight of the years between them. “Time for what, child?”

“Time to decide,” Maegelle said, taking her mother’s hand in hers. “Time to decide if we’ll continue to carry this pain, or if we will heal together.”

The wind whispered through the cracks in the stone, carrying with it a promise of something new. A turning point, perhaps—one that Maegelle hoped could heal the wounds that had plagued them all.

The Second Quarrel (95 AC)

Jaehaerys

Jaehaerys stood, his eyes narrowed as the sun dipped behind the Red Keep’s towers, casting the room in a dusky haze. He hadn’t seen it coming, couldn’t have, and the realization felt like a weight pressing down on his chest. His hand rested on the windowsill, gripping the stone as though seeking to steady himself, but the rage—no, the grief—had already set in. It churned inside him, dark and suffocating.

His children gathered behind him, their silence heavy. The sound of Aegon’s tentative footsteps barely registered in his mind. He knew the boy had arrived, but in that moment, Jaehaerys couldn’t focus on him. Not yet.

The words he had just heard still echoed in his head: “She is dead to me.” They rang in his ears, even though he had spoken them aloud, colder than he intended. Saera had always been his darling, the one he cherished most, the one he thought would carry the Targaryen name to greater heights. How could she have betrayed him so utterly? How could she have rejected the future he had so carefully laid out for her?

His heart still raced, erratic, each beat a reminder of the betrayal that stung with every breath. His thoughts drifted back to the days leading up to her marriage to Corlys Velaryon. He had arranged it—had promised her a future so grand that it would rival any princess in Westeros. Power. Wealth. The Velaryon name. All that she had ever wanted. And still, she had cast it aside. For what? For a life of debauchery in Lys, far from everything they had built for her.

The image of her last words cut through his thoughts—“Slaves and whores.” A pit opened in his stomach at the thought. How could she say that? How could she throw away everything he had done for her, for the family? He had given her everything, everything she could want, and she had spat on it. She had spat on him. Spat on the very name of Targaryen.

Alysanne’s gentle touch on his arm only made it worse, a reminder of the distance that had grown between him and his children, between him and Saera. She wanted to fix things, to find some way to make it right, but there was no fixing this. He had been a fool to think that she—his darling, his favorite—would be the one to carry their legacy forward. The truth was too bitter to swallow, and no comfort could soften it now.

“I did everything for her,” Jaehaerys muttered, the words coming out sharp, jagged. “I gave her everything... everything she ever wanted. And this is how she repays me?”

His voice cracked, the finality of it hanging in the air like smoke. His daughter—the one he had trusted above all others—had dishonored them. And he could never look at her the same way again.

The air in the room shifted as Aegon’s voice finally broke through the tension. It was soft, hesitant, but it still managed to pierce through his thoughts. “Father… please, don’t—”

Jaehaerys spun on him, the fury rising up again, hot and raw. “Don’t what, Aegon?” His words came out like a lash, sharp and biting. “Don’t speak the truth? Don’t acknowledge the bitter reality of what Saera has done to our name? She has shamed us, Aegon.”

Aegon flinched, taking a step back as though his father’s words had physically struck him. But Jaehaerys didn’t care. Not now. Not when his whole world felt as though it was collapsing around him. The child he had adored, the one he had shaped with his own hands, had turned on him. And no one could understand the depth of that hurt. Not Alysanne, not Aegon, no one.

He turned back to the window, staring out at the fading light. He had been wrong about Saera. He had been a fool.

“She was my favorite,” Jaehaerys muttered, almost as if trying to convince himself. The words hung in the air, thick with sorrow. “I gave her everything. And she threw it all away. She’s dead to me.”

Alysanne’s soft sigh reached him, but he didn’t turn to her. He couldn’t. Her sorrow only made his own worse. How could she still try to find some thread of hope in all of this? There was no hope. There was only the wreckage left by Saera’s choices.

“She’s dead to me,” Jaehaerys repeated, his voice softer now, but the bitterness was still there. This time, it was final. There was no going back.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, and it seemed to stretch on forever.

Jaehaerys left without a word to his family, though they must have known something was amiss. He could feel their eyes on him as he passed through the Red Keep, but he didn’t stop to explain. No words could soothe the gaping wound Saera had left in him. His heart, still raw, screamed at him to do something—anything—to bury the pain, to escape from it, even if for just a few hours. And so, he left, his mind only set on one thing: distance.

The royal process, a series of ceremonial visits across Westeros, seemed the perfect excuse for his sudden departure. He drowned himself in the work, lost in the monotony of it all, hoping that if he kept moving—if he kept his mind occupied—he would find some semblance of peace. But with every passing day, the pain of his daughter’s betrayal grew heavier, suffocating him with each new task, each new court he visited. He buried his frustration in meetings, his grief in petitions.

But no matter how far he went or how much he immersed himself in his duties, Saera’s words followed him like a shadow, haunting him wherever he went. Slaves and whores. They echoed in his mind like a broken record, tearing through his resolve.

The journey to Oldtown had been a blur, a series of meaningless gestures in an effort to outrun the pain of betrayal that gripped his heart. By the time he reached the Hightower, the weight of the past weeks, compounded by the utter destruction of his daughter’s actions, had hollowed him out. His thoughts were a cacophony of guilt and anger. He didn’t want to see anyone—not even his own blood—but somehow, in the quiet of the Hightower’s stone chambers, he found himself face to face with the one child he had not expected.

Maegelle.

She had been a stranger to him for many years, and the distance between them felt more like an ocean than a series of years. Maegelle, who had left the Red Keep when she was no older than a child, and had spent the last two decades in Oldtown, devoted to the Faith and its rituals. His daughter, who had become something else entirely, someone who might have once understood his grief but now existed in a different world altogether.

When she entered the room, her eyes fell on him—eyes that were both full of pity and compassion, yet there was a distance in them that only years of separation could have created. Her features, once so familiar, seemed alien, like a portrait of the girl he had raised, but twisted by time into something new.

"Father," she said, her voice steady and resonant, imbued with the calm certainty of one who had spent her life in service to the Seven. “Aegon and Baelon have sent word. I know what has occurred, and I have come to offer what I can.”

Jaehaerys looked at her, his heart heavy with a thousand unsaid things. Her presence, so calm and composed, only served to remind him how much he had lost.

He turned his gaze away, focusing on the window that looked out over the city. It was as if he could find some peace in the view. “I thought she would carry our name with pride,” he murmured. “I thought she would fulfill everything I had hoped for her. And now... now she’s cast it all aside.”

Maegelle stepped forward, her pace slow, her expression serene. There was no rush in her movements; every step was measured, as though she were walking into a storm with unwavering faith. She was no longer the little girl he had whispered his promises to at night. She was a woman grown, shaped by a different kind of purpose.

“Father,” she began, her tone low, “Saera’s choices are hers to bear. She has strayed from the path of righteousness, and the sins she has committed will weigh on her soul.” She took a breath, and when she spoke again, her words rang with the authority of someone who had studied the sacred texts deeply. “The Faith condemns such actions—prostitution and slavery—both grievous offenses against the Seven. These are not small sins. They are abominations that defile the body and soul alike.”

Jaehaerys’s chest tightened. The words hurt, but they were true. He had known them, deep down. He had known she had turned her back on the very future he had planned for her, on everything that had been built for her. But hearing it from Maegelle, hearing her say it in the cool, measured tones of someone who no longer lived by the same rules as him, felt like a final condemnation.

“I gave her everything,” Jaehaerys whispered, his voice thick with grief. “I gave her a future... a chance to serve the realm. And she... she betrayed me.”

Maegelle's eyes softened, but her voice remained calm and unwavering, like the steady cadence of a prayer. “The Faith teaches that all souls may seek redemption. Even the most fallen may find grace, though it may take much penance. But you, Father, are not the one to bear her burden of sin. The Seven alone can judge her, and they will do so in time.”

Jaehaerys’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, disbelief flickering across his face. “And yet... how can I not be at fault? I gave her everything. I tried to make her understand her duties, to see the path the gods laid before her.”

Maegelle’s gaze held his, steady and firm. “The Seven know our hearts, Father. And they know that you acted in good faith, as a father’s love should be. Your guilt is misplaced. You cannot claim responsibility for the choices of another, no matter how dearly you may have loved her.” She paused, her voice softening. “Saera’s sins are hers, and hers alone. You did not turn her away from the gods. She chose her own path.”

Jaehaerys’s breath caught, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. There was something in Maegelle’s voice, something deeply rooted in the teachings of the Faith, that was almost a balm to his wounded soul. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of hope—a flicker of release.

“But what of me?” he asked quietly. “How do I live with this? How do I carry on when my own blood has betrayed me?”

Maegelle’s expression softened with compassion, her voice gentle but filled with the unwavering conviction of someone who had spent years in the service of the Seven. “The Seven teach us to bear our burdens with faith. They know suffering, and they understand the pain of a father’s heart. But the Faith also teaches us that we are not defined by the failures of others. You are not a failure, Father. You are the king. And it is in the will of the gods that you continue to serve. To heal, and to guide.”

Jaehaerys looked at her, the words stirring something deep within him. He had never expected this from Maegelle—not this calm, religious woman who had turned so far from him. And yet, there was something in her, a steadiness he had not known before, that made him feel less alone. She was right, he realized. Her faith was a gift, and perhaps he could find his own, too.

"I do not know if I can,” Jaehaerys admitted softly, his voice shaking with emotion. “But I will try. I will try for them, for the ones who still stand beside me.”

Maegelle nodded, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “That is all any of us can do. Seek the light of the Seven, Father. And know that the gods are always watching, even when we cannot see their hands.”

The room fell silent, but for the first time in days, Jaehaerys felt a glimmer of peace. He was not alone. The Seven would guide him, as they always had. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way to heal. Not just for himself, but for his family, and for the kingdom.