As long as our friendship does not take a sudden, sour turn, you will be fine. My lord.( He's joking. )
The same magic that tells the dragons that I am one of their own. The magic of old Valyria or so the tales say.( If it is truly Valyrian blood magic, Jacaerys knows not. But he is glad for it, for the bond. It gives him Vermax, yes, but it also solidifies his claim as his mother's heir when his plain features do so much to bring question to it. )
I would like to, once my mother's throne is secure. I hope this is not the last time I see the North, nor do I plan to remain on Dragonstone or the Red Keep like a stranger to the kingdom I will one day rule.
My sense is you are not so fickle as that. [ In friendship, or in temperamentโor perhaps more to say... he wants that not to be the case. That his instincts about the crown prince aren't wrong. That his friendshipโnot lightly givenโisn't to be pettily misspent.
Is it foolhardy to hope for in so short a time, to lean into his gut impression? Possibly, yet the majority of him doesn't believe so. It's been more difficult to put his finger on things about Prince Jacaerys that would sourly curdle his company. ] Nor am I.
[ All to say, no promises.
His temper runs just as hot and should he make Cregan wroth, who's to say if a dragon-blooded boy will learn what cold is truly like with closer inspection of snow and ice. Mayhaps a jaunt during the snowfall would sound very nice, accompanied by that dragon's rumbles and whines? A toothless jest to match, of course. (Or is it.) ]
That is more than the mutters of old children's tales, then?
[ Also not quite what he had half wondered with his query.
No matter. ]
Under better circumstances, you'll have a proper cloak, heated quarters, and the breadth of Winterfell's lands on your return.
I am not to be.( but Jacaerys is still a dragon, the son of a legacy of blood and fire, even if the blood in his veins does not solely weave back through the ages toward the glory of Old Valyria. )
No, not quite. You'll see soon for yourself.
( And that is a promise. After all, upon daybreak the next morn they will visit his oldest friend and Cregan will show him the hot springs that have now captured the prince's imagination.
The thought of a visit with a proper coat, with gloves made for him is another thought that warms his chest. Just as the thought, unbidden, of Cregan visiting his own home. Not the Red Keep, appropriate as that would be, but Dragonstone. That is the place Jacaerys wishes to show him, from the views of the Sea Dragon tower overlooking the Blackwater to Aegon's Garden. One day, he hopes it may be so.
The thoughts warm his chest through the evening, as their conversation lulls with bids of restful sleep.
In the morning, Jacaerys dresses in more layers than previous days. He feels prepared until he steps out into the cold air and knows his ears and nose grow red, does his best not to shiver or scowl when he notices the amusement on Cregan's handsome face. The ride to the caves is not a long one and Vermax finds them quick enough, drawn by bond and hunger. )
He'll always find me, ( Jacaerys answers when Cregan asks how the prince means to call him, eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.
The growing dragon is won easily by the promise of food, allows the Lord of Winterfell closer than most when Jacaerys attempts an introduction. Not close enough to touch, no, but close enough to feel the warmth of him as the dragon nuzzles his great snout into his rider's chest.
After all that, it seems the hot springs are a perfect way to ease what tension may have drawn into the elder man's muscles from his brush with a Targaryen dragon and to warm Jacaerys' bones. He tries to hide the need to rub his nose as they ride back toward Winterfel, missing the warmth of Vermax's frame already. The snow had melted where the dragon had landed, the ground warmed.
Cregan leads him underneath the castle, away from where the servants walk about. There Jacaerys finds himself standing before a sight that reminds him of Dragonstone, of the hot springs below the castle warmed by the volcano and dragons nesting beneath. the steam rising from the pool calls to him and Jacaerys, despite the insistent nagging in his mind to glance over at Cregan as he strips his own layers, hurries to strip bare. The water may be too hot for some, but the sigh he lets out as he wades into the water is close to a moan. )
[ A promise made is a promise keptโthey part ways in the evening only to reconvene the next still and clear morning. A common occurrence, or on its way to becoming one, many daysโmost daysโspent in each other's company to some degree, driven here and there by making introductions, or appropriate courtesies, or more laid-back entertainments in the times between.
Their ride out sits somewhere between the last and cautious intrigue borne from his first brush hosting a dragonrider and all it entails. It's one thing to have learned about King's Landing through his father, a place where dragon cries raining down from the clouds is a given, to hear Jacaerys' dragon at a distance, occasionally breaking up wolfsong outside the keep's walls with trilling draconic notes.
It's another, quite another, to stop the horses and the soon-to-be meal in the grass a ways from the rocky cavern leading deep into the steaming bowels of the earth and witness the prince greet his dragon in flowing Valyrian, close at hand for the halfway familiar smell of ash and brimstone to hit his nose, sharp like the most earthy, pungent hot spring but different, too. Being in their presence is invitation to a singular, special kind of moment, he realizes, pulling his eyes from Jace's gladsome expression to the powerfully built creature. An opal of rolling fire comes to mindโa sheen of shifting greens and oranges atop scale and claw and muscle. Comparatively Vermax is small, he understands, still building up to his full size and might next to what his ancestor must have seen of the Black Dread.
Yetโhowever and wherever dragons first originated in history's misty memory, it's not so surprising to see why Valyrians would turn to veneration, being near one. Cregan had been raised to respect the wild and untamed things in the places men were careful to tread, as all things similar in the North. Here is a wild thing, an untameable thing, belonging to the indomitable beauty of predators.
Still watching, still fascinated, as the green dragon finally slinks out of sight inside the cave dragging the goat's carcass behind: ] He's impressive in his way.
[ And he's grateful, in the aftermath, to have been allowedโand dared to step close toโthe sight.
That is how it comes to be he leads another dragon to the warmth of another hot spring, though this one he enters along with, trekking down stairs beneath Winterfell itself. Not so deep as Winterfell's crypts, deeper and more vast still, but down until the man-made symmetry of carved castle stone begins to give way to natural, untouched rock. Places the builders had built around, or above, or subservient to the land, such as this. Even so, there are signs belonging to the passage of many hands over many hundreds and thousands of yearsโlit torches in sconces rim the cavernous pool, casting dappling, dancing shadows on the water's surface, the rock spring's edges worn smooth from long use. Neatly folded stacks of towels for drying and changes of clothes wait, along with wine, honey soap, and a basin of clean water for rinsing.
The other has eyes for one comfort above all, swiftly discarding clothing as he goes. A hum of some amusement from Cregan at the prince encountering a facet to Winterfell that genuinely pleases him is lost to the swish of feet parting water, accompanying the prince's enthusiastic descent into the hot springs.
Slower, a step behind as he had been in meeting Vermax, he has the time and view to watch the prince do soโslim and fair-skinned wreathed in steam, exchanging the last stitch of clothing for a purring pleasure. ]
You do like it hot, don't you. Does it suit? [ Thick-soled boots make a heavy tread on stone in the quiet posed by just the two of them and the lapping water. He bends to release the laces. ]
( Jacaerys waits for Cregan to reveal more of himself. It is said that Northmen are sturdy, are more beasts than men. Yet no matter what is revealed, the crown prince knows that he is eager to see more of pale skin and what hides underneath Cregan's cloaks.
It is not as if he has not seen him in various states of dress, without the cloaks and in but one layer in front of the hearth. Yet there is much left to the imagination still and Jace's has run hot as the blood within his veins. He finds himself wishing to hoard the site, as Vermax had hoarded the meal they'd offered him. He has drifted off in thought when he hears the timber of Cregan's voice, the northern drawl with which he speaks. ) Hm?
( And then he is glad that the steam rising from the pool gives him a flush. One he hopes the lord before him will dismiss. It takes a moment to remember himself. ) I am quite pleased.
Though, do not fret. I will not forsake the rooms you've given me for this place. ( Jacaerys glances around the cavern, though his gaze does drift back to his host. And when he speaks it is in teasing tones, ) Will it not be too hot for you?
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no subject
Date: 2025-06-11 04:00 am (UTC)The same magic that tells the dragons that I am one of their own. The magic of old Valyria or so the tales say. ( If it is truly Valyrian blood magic, Jacaerys knows not. But he is glad for it, for the bond. It gives him Vermax, yes, but it also solidifies his claim as his mother's heir when his plain features do so much to bring question to it. )
I would like to, once my mother's throne is secure. I hope this is not the last time I see the North, nor do I plan to remain on Dragonstone or the Red Keep like a stranger to the kingdom I will one day rule.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-17 04:12 am (UTC)Is it foolhardy to hope for in so short a time, to lean into his gut impression? Possibly, yet the majority of him doesn't believe so. It's been more difficult to put his finger on things about Prince Jacaerys that would sourly curdle his company. ] Nor am I.
[ All to say, no promises.
His temper runs just as hot and should he make Cregan wroth, who's to say if a dragon-blooded boy will learn what cold is truly like with closer inspection of snow and ice. Mayhaps a jaunt during the snowfall would sound very nice, accompanied by that dragon's rumbles and whines? A toothless jest to match, of course. (Or is it.) ]
That is more than the mutters of old children's tales, then?
[ Also not quite what he had half wondered with his query.
No matter. ]
Under better circumstances, you'll have a proper cloak, heated quarters, and the breadth of Winterfell's lands on your return.
text โ action
Date: 2025-06-22 05:30 am (UTC)No, not quite. You'll see soon for yourself.
( And that is a promise. After all, upon daybreak the next morn they will visit his oldest friend and Cregan will show him the hot springs that have now captured the prince's imagination.
The thought of a visit with a proper coat, with gloves made for him is another thought that warms his chest. Just as the thought, unbidden, of Cregan visiting his own home. Not the Red Keep, appropriate as that would be, but Dragonstone. That is the place Jacaerys wishes to show him, from the views of the Sea Dragon tower overlooking the Blackwater to Aegon's Garden. One day, he hopes it may be so.
The thoughts warm his chest through the evening, as their conversation lulls with bids of restful sleep.
In the morning, Jacaerys dresses in more layers than previous days. He feels prepared until he steps out into the cold air and knows his ears and nose grow red, does his best not to shiver or scowl when he notices the amusement on Cregan's handsome face. The ride to the caves is not a long one and Vermax finds them quick enough, drawn by bond and hunger. )
He'll always find me, ( Jacaerys answers when Cregan asks how the prince means to call him, eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.
The growing dragon is won easily by the promise of food, allows the Lord of Winterfell closer than most when Jacaerys attempts an introduction. Not close enough to touch, no, but close enough to feel the warmth of him as the dragon nuzzles his great snout into his rider's chest.
After all that, it seems the hot springs are a perfect way to ease what tension may have drawn into the elder man's muscles from his brush with a Targaryen dragon and to warm Jacaerys' bones. He tries to hide the need to rub his nose as they ride back toward Winterfel, missing the warmth of Vermax's frame already. The snow had melted where the dragon had landed, the ground warmed.
Cregan leads him underneath the castle, away from where the servants walk about. There Jacaerys finds himself standing before a sight that reminds him of Dragonstone, of the hot springs below the castle warmed by the volcano and dragons nesting beneath. the steam rising from the pool calls to him and Jacaerys, despite the insistent nagging in his mind to glance over at Cregan as he strips his own layers, hurries to strip bare. The water may be too hot for some, but the sigh he lets out as he wades into the water is close to a moan. )
๐
Date: 2025-07-11 03:29 am (UTC)Their ride out sits somewhere between the last and cautious intrigue borne from his first brush hosting a dragonrider and all it entails. It's one thing to have learned about King's Landing through his father, a place where dragon cries raining down from the clouds is a given, to hear Jacaerys' dragon at a distance, occasionally breaking up wolfsong outside the keep's walls with trilling draconic notes.
It's another, quite another, to stop the horses and the soon-to-be meal in the grass a ways from the rocky cavern leading deep into the steaming bowels of the earth and witness the prince greet his dragon in flowing Valyrian, close at hand for the halfway familiar smell of ash and brimstone to hit his nose, sharp like the most earthy, pungent hot spring but different, too. Being in their presence is invitation to a singular, special kind of moment, he realizes, pulling his eyes from Jace's gladsome expression to the powerfully built creature. An opal of rolling fire comes to mindโa sheen of shifting greens and oranges atop scale and claw and muscle. Comparatively Vermax is small, he understands, still building up to his full size and might next to what his ancestor must have seen of the Black Dread.
Yetโhowever and wherever dragons first originated in history's misty memory, it's not so surprising to see why Valyrians would turn to veneration, being near one. Cregan had been raised to respect the wild and untamed things in the places men were careful to tread, as all things similar in the North. Here is a wild thing, an untameable thing, belonging to the indomitable beauty of predators.
Still watching, still fascinated, as the green dragon finally slinks out of sight inside the cave dragging the goat's carcass behind: ] He's impressive in his way.
[ And he's grateful, in the aftermath, to have been allowedโand dared to step close toโthe sight.
That is how it comes to be he leads another dragon to the warmth of another hot spring, though this one he enters along with, trekking down stairs beneath Winterfell itself. Not so deep as Winterfell's crypts, deeper and more vast still, but down until the man-made symmetry of carved castle stone begins to give way to natural, untouched rock. Places the builders had built around, or above, or subservient to the land, such as this. Even so, there are signs belonging to the passage of many hands over many hundreds and thousands of yearsโlit torches in sconces rim the cavernous pool, casting dappling, dancing shadows on the water's surface, the rock spring's edges worn smooth from long use. Neatly folded stacks of towels for drying and changes of clothes wait, along with wine, honey soap, and a basin of clean water for rinsing.
The other has eyes for one comfort above all, swiftly discarding clothing as he goes. A hum of some amusement from Cregan at the prince encountering a facet to Winterfell that genuinely pleases him is lost to the swish of feet parting water, accompanying the prince's enthusiastic descent into the hot springs.
Slower, a step behind as he had been in meeting Vermax, he has the time and view to watch the prince do soโslim and fair-skinned wreathed in steam, exchanging the last stitch of clothing for a purring pleasure. ]
You do like it hot, don't you. Does it suit? [ Thick-soled boots make a heavy tread on stone in the quiet posed by just the two of them and the lapping water. He bends to release the laces. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-28 02:23 am (UTC)It is not as if he has not seen him in various states of dress, without the cloaks and in but one layer in front of the hearth. Yet there is much left to the imagination still and Jace's has run hot as the blood within his veins. He finds himself wishing to hoard the site, as Vermax had hoarded the meal they'd offered him. He has drifted off in thought when he hears the timber of Cregan's voice, the northern drawl with which he speaks. ) Hm?
( And then he is glad that the steam rising from the pool gives him a flush. One he hopes the lord before him will dismiss. It takes a moment to remember himself. ) I am quite pleased.
Though, do not fret. I will not forsake the rooms you've given me for this place. ( Jacaerys glances around the cavern, though his gaze does drift back to his host. And when he speaks it is in teasing tones, ) Will it not be too hot for you?