Jaehaerys sat quietly, completely engrossed in his own little world as he played with his dragon statuette. Cushions were carefully arranged all around him, creating a soft barrier in case he lost his balance and toppled over.
His expression was one of intense focus, his tiny mouth set in a serious line as he moved the toy back and forth with deliberate precision. His pale violet eyes were narrowed with concentration, tracking every motion as though he were commanding a real dragon in battle. He was so absorbed in his play that he hardly seemed aware of anything else—not even his mother, who sat just a few feet away.
Joana had placed her chair on the far side of the table, positioning herself so that she could easily lift her gaze and check on Jaehaerys whenever she needed to. Her new book lay open in front of her, its thick pages filled with dense text. She had only managed to get through the first few sections, and even that had taken considerable effort.
Reading it was no simple task. The writing style wasn't meant for someone like her—it was the kind of book written for seasoned scholars or people who had grown up with books in their hands.
Each sentence felt like a small mountain she had to climb, every paragraph requiring her to pause and re-read just to understand even the most basic ideas. The words themselves felt foreign and heavy on her tongue, difficult to pronounce, and even harder to grasp. Still, Joana pressed on. She didn't want to give up. Each time she circled back to a passage, struggling to make sense of it, she forced herself to be patient and keep going.
In the back of her mind, she began to collect a list of questions—things that didn't make sense, things she wanted someone to explain. But the more questions she gathered, the more unsure she became of who she could even ask. Could she go to the Mother? Or Aegon? Technically, neither of them was supposed to interfere with the matter of succession, beyond ensuring that the Emperor's younger brothers were removed from the line.
It was considered a grave offense for an Emperor to favor one son over his brothers. The tradition was sacred. And Joana wasn't willing to take a risk only to be met with silence or rejection.
Sometimes, she wondered if she ought to feel bitter—angry at the people who had left her to figure all of this out on her own. But bitterness was a luxury she couldn't afford. If she let herself dwell on those feelings, if she gave in to her frustrations, she might make a mistake. Mistakes could put Jaehaerys in danger. She wouldn't let that happen. There was no space in her life for anger or regret. She had come into the harem as a concubine, but that wasn't how she intended to leave. She was going to leave as a Mother—and not just any mother, but the mother of a future ruler, if fate allowed it.
Turning a page, she arrived at the beginning of the second chapter. Her eyes slowed as they passed over the lines, and something the Archmaester had written caught her attention. It pulled her thoughts away from her worries and brought them into sharp focus.
The war doesn't start at first blood, the passage read. It starts years earlier, with the growing anger from one side to the other. In these first months, it's imperative to gain information about your enemy and his court, his government.
Her eyes scanned the next lines more quickly now, her mind clicking into place.
Famously, the imperial small council contains a position for a master of whisperers, to gather information and secrets for the Emperor.
Joana blinked. For the first time since she'd started reading this book, the meaning came to her immediately. There was no confusion, no second-guessing. Archmaester Hobert wasn't using vague metaphors—he was being direct. If she truly wanted to stand a chance against Desmera and Margaery, then she would need information. She would need eyes and ears in their 'courts'.
Without a word, she closed the book, her thoughts still racing. Her gaze moved instinctively toward Jaehaerys again. He was still there, still playing quietly on the floor, his little fingers clutching his dragon, his round cheeks glowing with the pure contentment of childhood.
He was a good boy. A gentle soul. Always calm, always cheerful. Joana would do anything to protect that peaceful world he lived in. She would spy on the Stranger himself if that's what it took. She would brave the fires of the Lord of the Seven Hells without flinching. Her son's life was worth more than her morals, more than any vague idea of honor.
But the question remained—how was she going to do this?
Both Desmera and Margaery were highborn Ladies, and each of them had twelve maids in constant attendance. That was twenty-four women in total, any one of whom might be hiding secrets—or willing to share them. Joana needed just one. One person who could be turned, bribed, or persuaded. But she didn't know any of them, not even by face. They moved in different circles, and Joana had never had a reason to pay close attention to their attendants before.
That would have to change. She would need to observe more, watch carefully, and notice who seemed weaker, lonelier, and more talkative. And even then, it would take time—maybe months—before she could make a choice. Then would come the even harder part: turning them into her eyes and ears.
As she sat there, caught in the tangle of plans and possibilities, a small movement pulled her back into the moment. Jaehaerys had looked up at her. His soft little face turned toward hers, and he gave her a wide, toothless smile. It was gummy and joyful, his eyes lighting up the way only a child's could. He dropped his dragon toy without a care, his small hands reaching toward her, fingers grasping and eager. Drool clung to his lips as he blew spit bubbles in her direction.
Joana's heart warmed, and she laughed aloud.
"Hello, darling," she said, her voice softening as she waved her hand at him. "Hello, my baby. Hello, Jaehaerys."
"Ae!" he babbled, his voice full of delight, as if trying to say his own name. Joana's smile widened, and she couldn't help but laugh again.
"Ae, ae, ae!" he repeated, his high-pitched giggles filling the room. Then, just as suddenly, his eyes shifted back to the little dragon on the floor. He seemed to remember it all at once, his attention pulled back to it as he leaned forward to grab it again. The pure, innocent happiness on his round face made Joana's chest ache in the best way.
He was such a sweet boy. Still so little, still in the early stages of life, still relying on her for everything. He needed her not just for love and care, but for safety and guidance. And she would give him all of that—whatever it took.
Joana pushed back her chair and stood, walking over to join him on the floor. Her reading could wait for a little while. A short break wouldn't hurt. She knelt beside him, letting herself be part of his game, letting herself soak in this quiet moment between them.
Later, after she had eaten her midday meal, she put him down for his nap. She watched as he nestled into the blankets, his eyes already heavy with sleep. He sucked softly on his lower lip for comfort, his little chest rising and falling with each gentle breath.
Only after he was sound asleep did she return to her book, her fingers trailing over the pages as she reopened it—determined now more than ever to learn what she needed to know.
The text in front of her remained just as long-winded and complicated as it had been that morning, its paragraphs packed with layered meanings and archaic phrases that often left her squinting at the page in frustration. The words still didn't come easily. They seemed to resist her understanding, refusing to give up their secrets without a fight. But Joana was nothing if not stubborn. She was determined to push through, no matter how slow the process.
Archmaester Hobert continued his detailed discourse on the value of espionage, building upon what he had introduced earlier. This chapter, at least, stayed focused on that theme. He went on to explain the many benefits of information gathering in times of conflict—how knowledge could sway the outcome of a war long before swords were drawn or blood was spilled. His examples spanned centuries, reaching beyond the golden age of the empire, back into the distant past when the land had been divided into seven separate kingdoms, each locked in constant warfare with its neighbors.
He spoke of spies and secret letters, of false treaties and alliances shattered by a single whisper in the wrong ear.
He described kings and queens who had built their strength not through armies, but through cunning and patience—through networks of informants who moved like shadows across the courts of their enemies.