Chapter Text
Early autumn of 135 AC
Queen Jaehaera's chambers
In the dim glow of the late afternoon, Jaehaera sat by the arched window of her chamber, her small fingers carefully stitching silver and green thread through delicate fabric. Sunlight filtered softly through the narrow panes, casting dappled patterns across her lap, where a half-finished embroidery of an old Valyrian dragon took shape beneath her careful hands. She was utterly absorbed in her work, her pale features serene but focused, her small, almost ghostly frame bending slightly over the task at hand.
Across from her, seated gracefully on a cushioned bench, was Larra Rogare, watching with quiet fascination, her violet eyes, which reflected the light as they rested on the young queen. She had begun to think of Jaehaera as a little sister of sorts, despite the court's cruel whispers about the girl’s frailty. She admired the way Jaehaera found solace in such a quiet, solitary craft, in a way she also saw a bit of herself in Jaehaera and also a bit of her own sisters.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the chamber door, and a young servant entered, carefully balancing a large, intricately carved wooden chest. The servant bowed low, glancing nervously at Jaehaera before speaking. “Your Grace, a gift has arrived for you, from His Grace the king,” he said, his voice tentative, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile stillness in the room.
Jaehaera looked up, her large, solemn eyes fixing on the chest with a faint glimmer of surprise. It was rare for Aegon to send her gifts—rarer still for them to come unannounced. She set her embroidery aside, folding her small hands in her lap as she studied the chest with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
“Open it,” Larra suggested gently, her voice a soft murmur. She could see the hesitation in Jaehaera’s gaze, but there was also a spark of interest there, a faint flicker of excitement that had been missing from the young queen’s eyes for some time.
The servant knelt and carefully lifted the lid, revealing an array of beautifully crafted dolls nestled in soft velvet. Each doll was unique, crafted from fine porcelain, wood, and fabric, adorned with intricate clothing that seemed almost otherworldly. Their faces were painted with delicate features—some smiling, some serene, each more exquisite than the last.
Jaehaera’s eyes widened as she took in the collection. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and her hands went to her mouth in astonishment. Her usually impassive face softened, her expression blossoming with a rare, quiet joy that even Larra hadn’t seen before. She reached out slowly, almost reverently, to touch one of the dolls, a small figure with shimmering silver hair and emerald-green robes.
“Thank… my lord husband,” Jaehaera whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, but there was warmth in it, an appreciation so deep it could not be hidden. The servant bows their head and leaves quietly.
Her gaze lingered on the dolls, a fragile smile playing at her lips, as though she were afraid to let it settle fully on her face. “These are… they’re beautiful.”
Larra leaned forward, her own eyes wide with intrigue as she examined the dolls. A few, in particular, caught her attention. She gently picked up a small doll with ivory skin and painted silver eyes, dressed in richly embroidered lavender silks. “This… this one,” she said, her voice filled with a touch of wonder. “It’s a collector’s item, popular even in the highest circles of Lys. Dolls like these… they are not only rare, but nearly impossible to find outside the private collections of Lysene noblewomen. They’re worth a small fortune, and to see them here, in Westeros…”
She trailed off, her gaze returning to Jaehaera. “The king must have spared no effort in acquiring these for you,” Larra said softly. She didn’t add that Aegon must have gone out of his way to learn of such items, a surprising gesture given his usual disinterest in courtly matters.
Jaehaera cradled one of the dolls in her hands—a slender figure with golden hair and a gown of deep blue silk. She traced a finger along its cheek, marveling at the exquisite detail. She was silent, her eyes shimmering with a hint of unspoken emotion. It was as if, for the first time, she felt seen, recognized, in a world that so often treated her as little more than a shadow, a frail and tragic figure to be pitied.
“Thank you” she whispered to herself, almost as though speaking to the doll rather than the absent king. Her heart felt lightened, a warmth spreading through her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. In that moment, the harsh whispers of the court, the cruel rumors that plagued her, all faded into the background, leaving only the quiet joy she felt for this unexpected gesture of kindness.
Larra watched her with a soft smile, sensing that something had shifted, even if only slightly. “It seems his grace knows you well,” she said, her tone gentle, almost teasing. “Such gifts are not given lightly.”
Jaehaera looked up, meeting Larra’s eyes with a shy, tentative smile. She felt as if, for a moment, she could let herself be something other than the silent queen, the ghostly figure people whispered about. Holding the doll close to her chest, she nodded, her voice small but filled with gratitude.
“Yes,” she said, glancing back at the array of dolls with a soft, lingering gaze. “Perhaps… he does.” Larra smiles to herself as she knows her plan has worked, conveniently saying to Viserys that Jaehaera loves dolls while Aegon was around has planted the seeds to make Jaehaera a slightest bit happier.
As the days passed, Jaehaera found herself drawn to one particular doll from Aegon’s gift, a delicate figure with blonde hair, violet eyes, and a dark green dress that shimmered softly under the light. Though she couldn’t remember her mother’s face, this doll stirred faint memories of Queen Helaena, the few recollections she could cling to.
Sitting by her window with the doll in her lap, Jaehaera would study its face for hours, her fingers lightly brushing over its features as though searching for pieces of her mother in the doll’s expression. The gentle curve of the doll’s smile, the soft waves of its golden hair, and the kind yet distant look in its painted violet eyes seemed to call to Jaehaera in a way she couldn’t explain. It was as though the doll held a hidden comfort, a reminder of something she had lost and could never regain.
One afternoon, as she sat quietly with the doll, Larra entered the room. She paused, noting how absorbed Jaehaera was, her gaze fixed tenderly on the doll’s face.
"That one, it seems, has become your favorite," Larra remarked softly, stepping closer to her. She smiled as she recognized that the young queen has taken to the particular doll.
Jaehaera looked up, her large eyes reflecting a rare vulnerability. “It… it reminds me of her,” she admitted quietly, as though saying it aloud might break the fragile connection she felt. Her voice was small, hesitant, but there was an honesty there that Larra hadn’t heard before.
“Of who your grace, if i may ask?” Larra said gently, understanding at once. She could see the wistfulness in Jaehaera’s gaze.
Jaehaera nodded, clutching the doll a little closer to her chest. “My lady mother, sometimes, I think I can remember her… singing to me,” she whispered, her fingers absently brushing the doll’s blonde curls. “But it’s so faint. I wonder if I’m only imagining it.” She looked down at the doll, her expression a mixture of wonder and sadness.
“Memories are strange things, Your Grace,” Larra replied, placing a comforting hand on Jaehaera’s shoulder. “Sometimes they fade, but feelings tend to stay"
Jaehaera’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the girl appeared almost at peace. “I think… I’d like to believe that,” she murmured. Holding the doll close, she allowed herself to close her eyes, imagining a distant lullaby, one sung by her mother’s voice long ago.