Chapter 125: The Iron Throne Rejected Him, but the People Accepted Him

The Red Kraken was still waiting for the Iron Fleet to gather, as several captains and their ships had yet to arrive. Though the Triarchy had been battered by Draezell's Silver Fleet, they still retained some naval power, and Dalton Greyjoy was not one to embark on a campaign unprepared.

As the Red Kraken anxiously awaited the tardy captains and sharpened his blades for the Triarchy, Draezell and Jacaerys had already flown over every castle in the Westerlands. In each lord's hall, beneath the trees in the countryside, and even in the depths of gold mines, Jacaerys held royal courts. He heard the pleas of commoners and lords alike, ensuring justice for those whose fathers or brothers had marched to the Wall and restoring the rights of the people. Lords, persuaded by Jacaerys' diplomacy, willingly opened their coffers to pay fines rather than resorting to exploitative taxation.

In Lannisport, Jacaerys personally held Jason Lannister's young son, Loreon, as he sat upon the Rock's throne, receiving the fealty of Westerland lords and helping Lady Johanna Lannister solidify her rule. After addressing the region's concerns, Jacaerys wasted no time and flew back to the Riverlands to oversee the distribution of supplies from the south.

Under the watchful eyes of Vermithor and Vermax, the provisions — grain, medicines, and other essentials — were successfully distributed to the people. Jacaerys visited villages and castles stricken by plague, bringing with him the accumulated wisdom of Oldtown's maesters.

Though the maesters could not cure the Shivers or the Dragonpox, they deduced that the former was likely linked to rats, while the latter, with its extreme lethality, was almost impossible to spread widely. With Draezell's help, Jacaerys procured a vast number of cats from Essos to control the rat population and ordered those in King's Landing to employ rat-catchers en masse.

In King's Landing, the riots had destroyed Mysaria's brothel, with the White Worm perishing in the flames to avoid being lynched by the mob. Only Bartimos Celtigar survived, as he was required to remain in the Red Keep to manage accounts.

Under the firm governance of Daemon and the Sea Snake, order was gradually restored in the capital. Corlys Velaryon resumed his duties with the City Watch, and the influx of supplies sent by Jacaerys stabilized the plague-stricken city.

Yet, just as the situation seemed to be improving, Jacaerys fell ill.

He had barely returned from Whispers on Crackclaw Point when he was struck with a fever. At the time, he was far from any castle, surrounded only by Draezell, the dragons, and the desolation of war-torn villages and fields reduced to ash, with bodies hanging from trees.

"Do you regret it, Jace?"

Vermithor coiled its massive body into a circle, providing Jacaerys with a place to rest. Though dragons could not speak or feel complex emotions, Draezell could sense Vermithor's deep concern and affection in its intense gaze. If not for its fiery tongue, the great dragon might have licked Jacaerys like a grieving hound. Meanwhile, Vermax spread its wings, creating a sheltered space for its companions, transmitting to Draezell the grim reality that the young king would not last much longer.

Draezell understood this truth all too well. Though not a medical expert, his family's vast library included texts on medicine, and Jacaerys exhibited the unmistakable symptoms of Dragonpox. However, his Targaryen blood and Vermax life-sustaining bond had delayed the inevitable.

Leaning against Vermax, Jacaerys weakly shook his head. "I only regret that I couldn't do more for them, my lord." He looked to Draezell. "I've seen it now — the true state of the realm and what my mother failed to grasp. The people need peace and stability. They need bread, salt, and ale, perhaps even meat. Not the fleeting glory of honor. My mother believed her rights were inviolable, yet she failed to secure them. I understand now, my lord. A true king's crown is not forged from gold or Valyrian steel. It is forged by them." He raised his hand, gesturing beyond the dragon's wing.

The villagers had gathered at the sight of the dragons. They were soldiers sent home, elders, children, and women ravaged by war. They were peasants whose pleas had been heard by the patient young king. Among them were wandering septons and a few minor nobles, though the latter were pushed to the back by the crowd of ragged commoners.

The young king smiled weakly, lifting his hand to stroke Vermax massive head. "I'm sorry I cannot remain by your side, my friend. May your next rider be brave, just, and worthy of your companionship." The dragon whimpered, nudging Jacaerys' hand gently.

"Lord Draezell, please save the king!" A gaunt septon knelt outside the dragon's wings, shouting desperately. "We know you possess the blessings of the Seven and can perform miracles beyond mortal understanding. Please, save His Grace!"

Draezell looked bitterly at the Septons outside, silently praying for Jacaerys. Among them were those who had once questioned his bloodline, some who had even embraced the Shepherd's fanatical doctrines, and many who had once scorned Draezell's blood magic as the "devil's sorcery".

Yet now, these very people fervently hoped for the survival of the boy they once derided as a bastard, so he could continue as their king. Vermithor stretched his wings gently, keeping the crowd from approaching Jacaerys.

"Resurrection is the domain of the gods," Draezell said. "I am but a mortal. The Dragonpoxs are highly contagious, so please stay back." He looked down at Jacaerys.

Jacaerys smiled faintly. "How long do I have, my lord?"

"When the blisters on your body burst." Draezell sighed as he observed the growing pustules. "Then, the stranger will come to claim your life."

Jacaerys glanced at the blisters on his body. "It seems I still have some time, then."

He struggled to sit up, but Draezell gently pressed him back down. "You're alive now only because of Vermax. Do not leave his body. Otherwise, your time will run out."

"Very well, my lord. Then, as the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, as Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, I command you."

Draezell knelt before the dying boy king, his gaze soft.

"I ask that you remain as Hand of the King." Jacaerys's voice began to waver, and his consciousness blurred. Some of the pustules on his body had already started to burst, though the fluid evaporated instantly under the heat emanating from Vermithor's scales.

"After my death, Baela may remarry freely. My brother, Joffrey Velaryon, shall inherit Driftmark as Lord of the Tides. In exchange, he relinquishes any claim to the Iron Throne. Thus, I name my brother Aegon Targaryen as Prince of Dragonstone and my heir to the Iron Throne. Upon my passing, he shall succeed as king. My stepfather, Prince Daemon Targaryen, will remain regent. If my stepfather should pass before Aegon comes of age, I entrust you to serve as Aegon's foster father and regent until his majority."

Draezell nodded, accepting the weight of the king's final decree.

"My lord, I authorize you to assemble Aegon's Small Council and Kingsguard. Until Aegon turns fourteen, if you allow, I wish for him to remain at Dragon's Nest under your tutelage."

Draezell understood Jacaerys's intent. The politics of King's Landing were far more treacherous than those of Dragon's Nest. While Daemon could skillfully handle them, Aegon, still too young, would struggle in such a complex environment. Mimicking the regency of King Jaehaerys, where the Small Council governed in his stead, and allowing Aegon to grow under Draezell's guidance in the relative safety of Dragon's Nest, was a wiser choice.

This arrangement would also forge a formidable bond between Aegon and Draezell's family, surpassing even the Targaryen-Velaryon ties.

And Draezell welcomed that.

Jacaerys felt his mind dull, his body growing numb, and his hearing dimming. Pustules began to spread into his ears, with crimson and yellow fluid trickling from them and his body, evaporating instantly under Vermithor's heat.

Vermithor let out a mournful wail.

"My lord, as your squire, I have one final request," Jacaerys said, mustering a boyish smile. "Knight me. I don't want to leave this world with regrets Like Luke."

Draezell rose, his eyes glistening. It had been years since he'd cried. His father had often told him that tears were a release, but Draezell knew his people needed an unyielding leader, not one who faltered.

Drawing the Silverblood Blade, he touched it lightly to the boy king's shoulders, performing the knighting ceremony.

Jacaerys smiled contentedly.

The young king slowly closed his eyes. Vermax let out a heart-wrenching wail, echoed by Vermithor's haunting, resonant roar.

The crowd understood. The Septon who had pleaded for Jacaerys's salvation knelt, removing his prayer beads and reciting the Stranger's hymns.

Then the townsfolk joined, their mourning forming a dirge that echoed like tolling bells.

Draezell stood silent, watching Jacaerys's lifeless form. This brown-haired Targaryen, this handsome fifteen-year-old boy, had been crowned in Harrenhal only two months ago. Now, he had departed the lands he had traversed so deeply.

In his brief reign, Jacaerys Targaryen, known as King Jacaerys I Targaryen, had never returned to King's Landing to sit upon the Iron Throne. His rule was forged in the countryside courts of the commonfolk and the great halls of nobles. Despite the stigma of bastardy, this boy king had earned the love of the people. Thousands gathered to mourn him, including his mother's opponents and even the Septons who once denounced him.

"Little Jace," Draezell murmured, lifting the boy's body carefully, "the Iron Throne rejected you."

Thanks to his blood magic, Draezell feared no disease, even the dreaded Dragonpoxs. Vermithor understood Jacaerys's wishes. Without a pyre, the people would insist on sending his body to King's Landing. Indeed, in just half a day, over twenty coffins of various designs had been brought by nobles and commoners alike, each vying to bear their king's body.

But the Dragonpoxs lingered even after death, leaving the corpse infectious. Jacaerys had wished for no one to suffer from his fate.

Vermax circled the boy's body several times, his mournful cries resonating across the barren plains, sharing his grief with all who heard.

Finally, Vermax exhaled a jet of dragonfire, consuming Jacaerys in flames.

"But the people accepted you," Draezell whispered, gazing at the weeping crowd. "You were a true king, Jacaerys Targaryen."

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