This chapter is dedicated to my best friend maryetudor_ as I told you
literally yesterday, that I couldn't ever finish a book. And you thought
it was making you feel guilty. Don't feel guilty my love, I finished her.
I finished Illicit Affairs, I love you so so so much. Enjoy the read :3

176 AC

KING'S LANDING

Jacaerys was aging, his once-strong body now frail and weakened by time. As he lifted a trembling hand to touch her face, Rhaenya's heart ached. His hand, cold and unsteady, cupped her cheek, and her tear filled eyes met his.

He was leaving her. The truth loomed like a dark storm, and she wasn't ready.  Please," she begged, her voice breaking under the weight of her despair.

"Thank you for being my wife," he whispered, his voice soft and fragile, yet filled with love. His thumb gently brushed against her cheek, and she clung to the warmth of his touch, though she could feel it slipping away

His strength was fading, his once-powerful presence now reduced to a shadow of what it had been.

"Jacaerys don't go," she whispered desperately, holding him close, her tears falling freely. "I need you with me..."

He gave her a faint smile, his eyes filled with both sorrow and love. "Thank you for being my queen," he murmured, his voice barely audible. And then, his body stilled.

His hand which had rested so gently against her face fell lifeless. His warmth gave off an icy chill, and the light in his eyes was gone. He was dead. Her love, her king, her Jacaerys, was gone.

Rhaenya's cries filled the room as she clung to his body, refusing to let go. She pressed her face into his chest, now cold and still, her sobs shaking her entire frame.

The world around her seemed to collapse. She would not let anyone go near him, not yet. Her grief was a wall, keeping everyone at bay. She gently removed the once worn crown from his head and placed it into his arms.

A final act of love and reverence, he was her king, and now he would rest with those who had gone before him.

"You're with them now," she whispered through her tears. "Lucerys, your mother, your father. They'll keep you safe." Her voice broke, and the emptiness inside her grew, an unbearable void. She wasn't ready to let go, wasn't ready for his body to be taken away.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered the room. Visenya, the eldest, stepped forward, her face etched with sorrow. She approached her mother quietly and wrapped her arms around her from behind, offering comfort as best as she could.

"Mother, please," Visenya whispered, her voice trembling as she rested her head against Rhaenya's shoulder. She had never seen her mother so broken and vulnerable.

Rhaenya couldn't pull away from Jacaerys, but she knew her daughter was behind her. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, "Take good care of my son, Aemon, please Jacaerys," she begged, leaning down pressed against his cheek, her tears soaking his lifeless form.

Visenya held her mother tightly, her own tears falling silently. Slowly, she began to pull her mother away, her arms firm and gentle. Rhaenya resisted for a moment but eventually let herself drawn into her daughter's embrace.

Her strength was gone, and she clung to Visenya as if her eldest daughter was the only anchor she had left. 

The door opened once more, as the rest of their adult children entered the room. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with grief as they approached their father's body.

Rhaenya's heart shattered anew, knowing that she had denied all of her children to say goodbye. But she had honored his last final wish--to spend his last moments alone with her.

As her children gathered around their father, Rhaenya felt an unbearable wave of guilt. She reached out to each of them, pulling them close, offering what comfort she could through her own anguish. The room was filled with quiet sobs and the heartfelt  silence of loss.

The silence in the room was deafening, pressing down on Rhaenya like weight she couldn't escape. The air was thick with grief, and yet there was a fire inside her that refused to let her rest.

She couldn't afford to collapse--not now. The weight of responsibility pressed harder than ever before. Her hands trembled as she wiped away her tears, each drop carrying the pain of a loss that was too much to bear.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be, She had a crown to protect, a kingdom to lead, but today, everything had changed.

"I cannot do this alone," Rhaenya whispered to herself, her voice breaking under the strain. Her gaze flickered to her children... each of them old enough... now all ruling their own land and having their own family. And that thought to be alone brought a sharp ache to her chest.

Visneya's eyes met hers, filled with an understanding beyond her years, and silently followed her mother out of her room. Rhaenya's feet moved insitictvely, though her mind felt frozen, trapped between what was real and what she had to force herself to accept.

She couldn't hide herself in the shadows of grief for too long. She had to move forward and do what was right for the sake of her family, the sake for the throne. She had no choice to plan the funeral, no choice to prepare  what was next.

Her breath came in ragged sobs as she reached the door to her chambers. The silence of the hallways was eerie, as if the walls were holding their breath in anticipation.

Inside, her personal space felt foreign, too small, too confining. She glanced at her bed, where she and Jacaerys shared so many moments together, where they planned, where their love had flourished. Not it felt... empty...

"He has to be wrapped... he has to be burned...." The words came from her mouth before she could stop them, though they made no sense. Yet, in her mind it was all she could do to keep the next step in motion.

His body needed to be prepared, cremated, and set to rest. She had to do it---she had to honor him, her heart shattered with every passing moment.

A soft knock at the door broke her spiraling thoughts, and Visenya stepped in, her presence a steadying force. Her daughter's gaze was heavy with understanding, and she knew since she was young, she had inherited her mother's strength.

Rhaenya looked at her daughter, Visenya was no longer the small girl who clung onto her skirts. She was a woman now, strong and steady, with wisdom in her eyes that mirrored her own.

Time had passed so quickly yet the memories of when she was Visenya's age felt as fresh as the breeze outside her window. She could still feel the weight of her own crown's resting on her head, now the cycle continued.

"I can't do this anymore," Rhaenya said softly, her voice trembling but determined.  Her hands reached out, clasping Visenya's tightly. "I can no longer bear the weight of the crown. Whatever I have inherited, whatever your father and I have built, it must pass to you and Viserys now,"

Visenya's lips parted in shock, her composure faltering as tears filled her eyes. She had known this moment would come, but it didn't lessen the impact.

Her chest tightened, as she tried to blink the tears away from fall. She had watched her mother carry the kingdom through triumph and tragedy, her strength unyielding. Now it was her turn.

"Mother," She whispered, her voice breaking. She wasn't sure what to say. The honor of becoming a queen, it was what she had been raised for all her life.

Her father and mother had trained her to be the queen, that the kingdom needed. But more than anything, the realization that her mother was stepping down-- a symbol of the end of an era--made her cry.

"I'm getting too old, I don't have your father anymore, I can rule alone, but it is not the same," Rhaenya admitted, her voice soft but with unspoken weariness. "My time has come and gone, Visenya. Now it's your time. We have helped you enough and you can do it yourself now,"

Visenya held her mother's gaze, searching for words that wouldn't come. Instead she pulled her mother into a tight embrace, holding onto her as if her mother would be gone soon. She couldn't lose her mother, but she knew. It was time, it was time for her and Viserys to take the throne.

"I'll make you proud," Visenya looked at her mother's eyes as her voice trembled with emotion. "I promise."

Rhaenya held her daughter's cheek as she smiled at her, "You already have."

The days stretched endlessly as Rhaenya wrestled with grief, an unrelenting madness threatening to pull her under. Each breath felt heavy, each step harder than the last. She kept her chin high, though the effort it took to maintain a strong composure. She had to carry the weight of the kingdom on her shoulders.

The queen was faltering.

The mourning stretched into its fifth day, and with it came a bitter reminder-- Jacaerys' body was ready for cremation.

She had wanted to take him to Dragonstone, where the winds sang mournful dirges and the flames of their ancestors burned bright. That was where he grew up. But the journey was impossible, not now.

She could not delay this any longer, nor could she bring herself to do what must be done. He was a king, and yet even in death, she found herself unable to fulfill her final duty to him.

The decision was made between her and the council, as they had wanted to take his body to Rhaenys' Hill, a place stepped in reverence. It was practical, but it wasn't what her heart desired. It was another failure she added to a growing pile that threatened to crush her spirit.

When the Silent Sisters informed her everything was ready, she found herself unable to respond. Instead, she called for someone--anyone--to act in her stead.

"My dear Leyla?" Rhaenya's voice cracked as she summoned her young lady-in-waiting.

Leyla Hightower entered, her light hair catching the light as she curtsied before the queen. Though young and sweet in nature, there was a maturity in her eyes as she took in Rhaenya's mourning state.

"Rise, child," Rhaenya murmured, her voice soft and strained. "No need for that today. I have a request. Will you escort Princess Aerea to my chambers? There is something I must ask her."

Leyla nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Your Majesty." Her voice was gentle but resolute.

As the queen waited, pacing her chambers made her feel like she was suffocating, she bit her fingers-- a nervous habit she hadn't indulged in for years. Her thoughts swirled, chaotic and consuming, until the door opened and Princess Aerea entered.

The sight of her daughter was both a balm and dagger. Aerea rushed to her wrapping around her mother, and Rhaenya clung to her in return.

"My darling girl," Rhaenya whispered, stroking Aerea's hair as tears stung her eyes.

"Mother," Aerea's voice quivered, thick with her own sorrow. "What do you need?"

Rhaenya's breath hitched, and she pulled aback to look her daughter in the eyes. "I have one request," she said, in her voice barely above a whisper. "And I need you to do it for me. Please."

Rhaenya swallowed hard, her composers threatening to crack. "I need you to cremate your father." Her voice broke as she spoke the words, each one heavier than the last. "If I do it, I cannot-- I will not survive it. It would be an act of honor, of duty, if you do this. For him. For me."

The words hung heavy in the air, and Aerea gasped softly, the gravity of the request settling over her. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she leaned into her mother's embrace, clutching her tightly.

"I will," she whispered through her sobs. "I will do it, Mother."

Rhaenya held her daughter close to her heart breaking, as she kept her sweet girl close to her chest. Aerea's tears fell freely, but her resolve solidified with each passing moment. She would carry out her mother's request... This is what her father would've wanted.

The day had arrived, though no one was truly ready. The funeral was somber, the air thick with sorrow. Family gathered in silence, a sea of faces marked by grief.

Rhaenya's children, their spouses, and her grandchildrens stood alongside extended family. At the center of it at the top of the hill was the funeral pyre, where Jacaerys' body lay wrapped in ceremonial cloth, a still and silent figure, regal even in death.

Rhaenya stood at the forefront, her gaze fixed on the pyre but unwilling to truly see. Her heart clenched painfully, her tears spilling from her eyes as grief consumed her again. She couldn' bear to look long, couldn't reconcile the man she had loved, her king, with the lifeless form behind her.

Behind the pyre, Embarlys, Aerea's blue silver dragon, loomed solemnly, tamed by Dragonkeepers. The great beast's normally sharp and alert eyes seemed dulled, as if sharing the pain of her rider.

Seeing the pain in his mother's eyes, Rhaenya's eldest son, Jacaerys stepped to her side. He reached out, taking her trembling hand in his own. She turned her head slightly toward him,but couldn't meet his eyes. He was too much--he looked so much like his father, a reflection of all she had lost.

Instead, she squeezed his hand tightly and leaned into him for support, her tears soaking fine cloth of his tunic.

Her crown was absent, deliberately so. She couldn't wear it--not today. She wasn't a queen anymore, not without Jacaerys. They had done everything together. She felt like a hollow version of herself, a mother and a widow grieving the man who had once stood beside her in all things.

Her daughter Aerea stood at the forefront of the pyre, her face streaked with tears. Rhaenya couldn't bring herself to look directly at her either; the weight of their shared sorrow was too much. Around them, her other children wept, their quiet sobs echoing the ache in her heart.

Cregan, the old and steadfast Lord of Winterfell who had been a friend and confidant to the family, stepped forward. He placed a reassuring hand on Aerea's shoulder, his voice steady and low. "He would be proud of you," he said, his words a balm against the rawness of the moment. "He always spoke of how proud he was of his children, of you most all."

Aerea broke into fresh sobs leaning into Cregan's broad shoulder. For a moment, it was as if she were held by her father again, finding to strengthen the warmth of an older protector. After a moment, she pulled away, her face set with determination despite the tears glistening on her cheeks.

Turning to Embarlys, she took a deep breath. Her voice trembled, but carried clear and strong across the gathered crowd. "Dracarys!"
The dragon hesitated, its massive head swiveling toward its rider.

Embarlys let out a mournful rumble, sensing Aerea's sadness and reluctance. But after a long moment, the beast obeyed. A great torrent of flame burst forth, engulfing the pyre in a blaze of orange and gold.

As the fire consumed Jacaerys' body, Aerea collapsed, her legs giving way beneath her. Cregan caught her, his old arms steady and warm as she clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. For a brief heartbreaking moment, it felt like her father was holding her.

Rhaenya, too, crumbled, falling into the arms of her son. Jacaerys held her tightly, his own tears spilling, silently down his cheeks. The Queen's sobbed could be heard by the entire mourning family.

The flames roared higher, carrying Jacaerys' memory to the skies. In that moment, though the pain was unbearable his family stood together, the man who was once a father, a friend, and a husband.

In the weeks following the funeral, the castle fell into a quiet rhythm of mourning, each member of the family grieving in their own way. Rhaenya retreated inward clinging into the memories that filled the walls of their shared life.

She refused to let anyone touch Jacaerys' old chambers. The thought of altering anything in the space felt like erasing him, and she couldn't bear it. Instead, she moved into the chambers herself finding comfort in the lingering essence of his presence.

Her own chambers remained untouched as well, a relic of the life they once shared. She avoided them entirely, unwilling to comfort the emptiness that awaited her there. Night after night she laid in his bed, surrounded by his things, whispering into the shadows as though he might whisper back.

Despite her grief, Rhaenya summoned the strength to see through her final days as queen. With trembling hands she was able to place her crown upon her daughter's head, naming her Queen and her husband King consort.

The ceremony was bittersweet, marked by both pride and sorrow. It was a passing of a torch, a recognition that another Visenya would finally be able to sit the Iron Throne.

Rhaenya spent her days immersed in her family, drawing comfort from their presence. She made every effort to be with her to be with her grandchildren, and children cherishing every fleeting moment.

There was nothing left for her to do, no grand plans to enact, no throne to command. All that mattered was the time she had left with them. Every morning her two granddaughters, Mila and Rhaella, would visit her chambers.

Their youthful energy brought a flicker of light to her dim world. They read to her from old looks, their voices filling the room with life, and shared with the latest gossip from court, their laughter a welcome distraction from the ever-present ache in her heart.

Later on the sons would come together to visit, a united front against their shared fear of losing her. They stayed by her side, lingering as long they could, as though their presence alone could keep her tethered to the world.

At night one of her daughters would slip into her chambers to sleep beside her. It was a quiet return to the days of their childhood when they sought her comfort after a nightmare or a storm. The closeness brought a fragile peace to their aching hearts, even if only for a moment.

But as the moons passed, Rhaenya grew weaker. Her body betrayed her slowly, and her mind began to unravel under the weight of her grief.

Madness crept like a shadow, as everytime Visenya would walk in, she would see her mother talking to her late father. There was something about being in Jacaerys' chambers, it was both a balm and a torment.

She convinced herself that he was still there, that she could feel him, hear him, see him, the quiet flicker of the candlelight.

The early morning light was a pale, ghostly blue as it slipped through the heavy curtains of Jacaerys' chambers. Rhaenya sat near the hearth, her body frail and trembling as though the weight of her memories was too much to bear.

In her hands, she clutched one of Jacaerys' old tunics, it was faded now. The embroidery along the edges wore thin, but it still carried his scent, faint and fleeting.

Tears streaked her sunken cheeks as sobs wracked her thin frame, her frail shoulder raising and falling as though each breath were a struggle.

Mila and Rhaella stood nearby, hesitant and uneasy. It was a sight they had seen too many times over the past moons, but today felt different. Rhaenya's grief seemed sharper, more consuming as thought it had taken hold of her completely.

"Something's wrong," Mila whispered, her voice quivering, as she gripped her dress.

Rhaella, only younger by a year, but often braver, squared her shoulders. "Go get the Auntie Visenya," she instructed, her voice calm despite the turmoil swirling in her chest. "I'll stay with her."

Mila hesitated, looking once more at their grandmother, but Rhaella's firm expression made her nod. She turned and dashed from the room, her hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Rhaella approached her grandmother cautiously, kneeling by her side. She reached for the old queen's hand, her small fingers wrapping around the queen's bony ones. "Grandmother," she said softly, her voice steady though her heart ached. "It's me Rhaella, I'm here with you."

The old queen turned her head slowly, her tear-filled eyes flickering with brief recognition. But the haze of grief clouded her gaze almost immediately, and her hand twitched in Rhaella's grasp. "I have to get up," Rhaenya murmured, her voice faint and broken. "I have to find him. He's waiting for me."

"Please Grandmother," Rhaella urged, tightening her hold on the queen's hand. "You don't need to get up. I'm here. Let me sit with you."

But Rhaenya shook her head weakly, her fragile body trembling as she tried to rise. "He's here," she insisted, her voice cracking. "I can feel him. Jacaerys... he's calling for me."

The young girl's chest tightened, but she didn't falter. She placed a steadying hand on Rhaenya's shoulder, keeping her in her seat on the bed. "He's always with you, Grandmother," she said, her voice soft but firm. "In every memory, in every story, he's here. But you need to rest, let me help you,"

Rhaenya's strength gave out, and she sank back into the chair, her sobs softening to a low pitiful whimper. Her granddaughter stayed by her side, storking her hand gently, her heart breaking with every shuddering breath the queen took.

Moments later, the door opened, and Visenya quickly hurried into the room with Mila following behind her. Her presence was commanding as it always was, but her expression softened the moment she saw her mother.

She knelt before Rhaenya, brushing back the silver hair that clung to her mother's face.

"Mother," Visenya whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's me, I'm here,"

Rhaenya looked at her daughter, her lips trembling as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so tired, Visenya," She murmured. "I've tried... I've tried so hard to keep going, but I can't, I can't anymore,"

Visenya's heart clenched. She wrapped her arms around her mother close to her, as she caressed her mother's cheek. "You don't have to do this alone, Mother," she said. "We are all here for you. We will always be."

That same night, Visenya could not leave her mother's chambers, as she was beside her mother's side. Rhaenya's breath grew shallow. She lay in Jacaerys' bed surrounded by her family. Visenya held one hand. The room was quiet... save for the crackle of the hearth and the faint sound of Rhaenya's breathing.

As the moonlight spilled into the room, Rhaenya's opened her eyes one last time, as she looked at her daughter. Her gaze softened and a faint smile graced lips. "He's here, waiting for me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Jacaerys, I'm here, my love,"

Visenya watched alone, as she saw her loving mother, the one person who was always there for her. The person who taught her everything, she watched as her queen, took one final breath.

Her breath was peaceful. Her mother was two and sixty, she had her time, surviving the Dance of the Dragon, she died, peacefully.

Her hand went still in her daughter's grasp, the faint warmth slipping away like the final moment breath of a fading flame. The room seems to hold its breath in that fragile moment, the stillness heavy.

Visenya's tears broke the silence, a heart-wrenching sob escaping her lips as she clutched her lips as she clutched her mother's hand tightly refusing to let go. She rested her head on Rhaenya's chest, her body trembling with grief.

"Mother..." Visenya whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. She stayed like that for what felt like hours, her tears soaking into the fabric of her mother's gown.

The room was empty save for the two of them, the quiet only broken by Visenya's muffled cries. The now queen finally lifted her head, her face streaked with tears as she gazed at Rhaenya's serene expression.

Her mother's features were calm, almost peaceful as though she had found peace in death. Gently, Visenya placed her mother's hand across her chest, as she saw the grasp of the shirt of Jacaerys still in her other hand.

The girl wiped more of her tears as she smoothed the folds of her gowns as if she was tucking in her for a final rest. Her fingers lingered on her mother's, reluctant to break the connection. "You are with him now," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I hope you've found peace... and I hope you've found him too."

For a long moment, Visenya remained by her mother's side, her tears falling silently. The stillness of the room pressed in around her. She knew her siblings were going to come to see their mother too. She had to be strong for them, she had to be strong for the Kingdom.

Rhaenya Targaryen, the queen who was loved fiercely and would now be mourned deeply, she was finally at peace. Reunited with the love of her life in the next world.

The Golden Reign of Jacaerys and Rhaenya Targaryen: The Rebirth of House Targaryen...

had finally ended....

AUTHORS NOTE:
It was not suppose to be a random Sunday when I was going to finish Illicit Affairs, but I guess I myself had other plans. I had finally finished the book that I have been working on since my junior year in High School. It had been amazing to be able to work on this, as I was able to treat this book as my literal child. I have gotten so much support from this book, and it has been my entire world. I cannot be grateful for the amount of reads this book has alongside with votes, and the amount of support I get on Instagram and TikTok. I don't think my younger self would've ever believed I had written such an extreme book. This book has been such an emotional rollercoaster, and just I couldn't have done without my best friends in the entire world. Without out their continuous support and love I got on my edits, this book truly would've have made it this far. I truly thank every single one of you guys for reading this book, I CANNOT thank you guys enough. But I just have to say, this isn't our goodbyes, there will be sequels to this book, but in perspectives from her children and their storyline.

In the mean time, I am writing another House of the Dragon fic! While you guys wait for the sequels to come out, I hope you guys can support that fic just as much!

Thank you. Thank you reader, for sticking around
this long to see how this book would end.

Sincerely:
evie <3