Desires Be Damned • Aemond Targaryen

Chapter Eleven

Jacaerys

Six years later

An ache pulsed within Jace's skull, its pain intensifying the more he concentrated, and wished his mind could recall what he had just learned minutes prior. Pacing beside the painted table, he closed his eyes and thought carefully.

"The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army," he translated for Maester Gerardys.

"Se Blakuta Rasho dranot vilinio viartis," the maester continued.

Exhaling as he worked out the High Valyrian sentence structure into that of the common tongue before translating the words, he turned around and looked up to see his mother, Princess Rhaenyra, descending the stairs, her belly swollen with her seventh child.

"And landed at the Blackwater Rush," Jace answered confidently when he was facing Maester Gerardys again. As she neared, she noticed his mistake and gently repeated the word that had eluded him.

"Dranot."

"Dranot. Dranot," Jace muttered, scouring his memory. "Dranot. At the end?" Jace guessed, his confidence waning slightly into frustration.

"The mouth."

"Mouth! Ah, come on, Jace, you knew that," he scorned himself. "Dranot. Dranot," he chanted, hoping it would stay with him this time. They had been at this for hours with only little progress to show for it.

"Dranot vilinio viartis," Maester Gerardys repeated with emphasis.

"Dranot..." he tried once more, leaning against the large table.

He heard a quiet giggle sound to his left, already knowing it had come from the person sitting at the far desk reading her book where the sun's rays poured through the windows. She had insisted her presence was solely because the lighting was preferable there, but Jace knew his twin found entertainment in watching him struggle during his High Valyrian lessons, a language she had devoted herself to mastering years prior.

"Perhaps that's enough for this morning," Rhaenyra suggested.

"No, no. I want to keep going," he persisted.

"Kessa pryjagon zȳhon ēngos lo ziry gaomas daor keligon," Dyaena spoke as she rose from her seat and closed the book in her hands. "Snap right in his dranot."

Rhaenyra stifled a laugh and even Maester Gerardys fought a smile. Turning towards her with an exasperated look, Jace wished Dyaena didn't feel the need to rub salt on the wound. They were both seventeen years of age and he was making a great effort to quickly catch up in the areas his studies lacked, areas that his younger sister thrived in. He was his mother's heir after all, and wanted to learn all he could before inheriting the throne.

"Do you have to be here, sister? I'm sure you could find Luke and train with him in the yard," he said gently, trying to hide his aggravation. "Or perhaps Sunflower has a new song he wrote for you to learn?"

"Well," Dyaena lightheartedly said while grabbing her bow from the back of her chair and weaving her head and arm through it so that its string rested between her breasts, "last I heard, Luke went flying with Arrax, so no." She pulled her long hair free from the bow's confines before continuing. "Sunflower told me this morning that his latest masterpiece is only half-finished, so no again. But do not worry, brother, I was just about to leave anyhow. This is painful to watch." Walking towards him, she ruffled his hair before moving to peck their mother on the cheek. "I'm off to the stables. Gera needs tending to before I take him out to ride."

"We have stablehands for that, you know," Rhaenyra reminded her.

"He doesn't let those poor boys near him because he's more stubborn than an ass," Dyaena said before bending down to place a kiss atop Joffrey's head. Their little brother, who was being read to by a handmaid next to the fireplace, smiled up at his sister as she rose.