Thread of Green, Thread of Black - karategal (2024)

Chapter 1: Helaena

Chapter Text

Helaena startled awake as she did so often these days, neck stiff with tension, eyes wider than the dinner plates at a summer feast, and mouth open in a silent scream. Images flashed through her mind like a kaleidoscope, each of them more gruesome and terrifying than the last. It had been like this for weeks now, with her waking every few hours to the sound of her own pounding heart. And this one had been the worst yet, images so vivid and clear that there was no mistaking what had happened in them.

This can't continue, was Helaena's first thought as she pushed herself out of bed, I can't allow this to continue any longer.

Her hands shook as she reached for her thick outer robe on the bedside table, bare feet immediately going cold despite the plush carpet that surrounded her bed. It was a cold night, like so many had been over the past few weeks. Helaena didn't usually mind cooler weather, much preferring it to the stifling humidity that often settled over King's Landing, but there was something different about this particular cold.

Something foreboding and dark and wrong.

Visions of thunder and lightning and pouring rain spurred her forward and into the adjacent sitting room, body moving without a conscious thought towards the sturdy bookcase she'd received for her tenth birthday. Aside from her original insect collection, it was perhaps the finest and most thoughtful gift she'd ever received from her king-father, his eyes sparkling with life when she'd initially inquired about surviving Valyrian texts and where she could find them. It'd taken less than five hours for the servants to move the bookshelf and more than two dozen books into her rooms, Viserys personally overseeing the entire process himself.

And then he'd scurried off to the keep's rookery, excitedly rambling about which books on Dragonstone would best suit her interests and how quickly Rhaenyra's maester could have them transcribed and ferried to the capital. Helaena had wished to follow, eager to bask in the frenetic excitement of a man who was usually far too sick and depressed to give her any meaningful sort of attention. Unfortunately, a horrific bout of nervousness had stayed her following, fingers pulling at the hem of her sleeves while her feet had shuffled towards the bookcase instead of the door.

In the end, Helaena had remained in her own rooms, quietly skimming through and absorbing what little was left of the great Valyrian Empire. She remembered her father returning at some point, his one good hand waving to and fro as he detailed which books Rhaenyra would hopefully be able to procure for her. However, as happened all too often with Helaena, she'd been so immersed in her readings that nothing—not even her own father, in this case—would've been able to pull her attention away from them.

She hoped that her father hadn't thought her rude, for being so fascinated by the books and thus ignoring him. He hadn't scolded her for it, like Mother so often did, and that had to mean something, right?

With a shake of her head, Helaena brought herself back to the present, fingers instinctively reaching out to feel the spines of each book on the fourth shelf. Even in the darkness, Helaena would know which book she was looking for when she felt it. Aside from her bugs and Dreamfyre, these tattered old books were the closest thing to friends she had, and Helaena always tried to take care of and know every tiny fact about anyone or thing that she deemed a friend.

"Ah, there you are."

Three deep creases and a small tear on the lower spine signaled that she'd found the correct book. Helaena pulled it from the shelf and wasted no time in lighting one of the many oil lamps that littered her sitting room. Once she had some light to read with, it took Helaena less than a minute to find the specific chapter and passage she'd been looking for.

With deft fingers, Helaena picked up the equally tattered Valyrian lexicon that always rested on her reading table, holding both books side-by-side to make sure that she wasn't misinterpreting or mistranslating anything from her latest dream. Even the tiniest mistake could mean complete devastation for all of them.

"Thread of green, thread of black, twined together in an ancient pact," Helaena recited as she compared passages and words. "Blood of blood, kin of kin, fire only burns for those against the sin."

A lump formed in her throat with every sentence she read. It was exactly as she'd feared.

Helaena grabbed both books and made for her middle brother's rooms, footsteps almost frantic as she prayed that she wasn't too late. The Kingsguard and Aemond had spent the entire afternoon and evening searching for Aegon, who'd disappeared shortly after their father's death the day before. Helaena hadn't heard anything from her mother or brother since high noon, so she assumed that they hadn't been able to find Aegon yet.

Good, that was good. Now, she just hoped that Aemond was in his room instead of skulking about the city in search of her brother-husband. This was a conversation that they needed to have without an audience, if there was any hope of him believing her.

"I must speak with my brother," said Helaena when she arrived at her brother's door. "It is urgent."

Ser Erwin Blount regarded her with a raised eyebrow, obviously taken aback by Helaena's demanding tone. Everyone was used to Helaena being the most reserved and quiet member of the royal family, so seeing her come marching up with her back straight and her voice clear must've been quite surprising for the poor fellow.

Let him be surprised, thought Helaena. I have more important things to be handling at the moment.

"The prince is abed, my princess."

"As I am well aware of, good ser, but my brother's current state of restfulness does not lessen the urgency of this matter. I must speak to him at once."

Something in her tone and bearing must've convinced Ser Blount of the urgency, because he stepped aside not a moment later and allowed Helaena to pass through her brother's door without further protest. Unlike certain other members of her family, Helaena didn't like to pull rank with those who served her household unless absolutely necessary, so she was relieved when the Kingsguard didn't put up any more of a fuss.

Once inside, Helaena was not surprised to find her brother's rooms dark and unlit aside from a single candle on the far side of the receiving room. Unlike Aegon, Daeron, and herself, Aemond had always eschewed the use of nightlights and, even as a small child, had laughed in the face of imaginary monsters that could be lurking under his bed or in his closet.

She truly hoped that she could prevent him from becoming the monster that she'd seen in her dreams.

It was a deep sense of urgency and fear that spurred Helaena into her brother's bedroom, only a light knock and quick call of Aemond's name signaling her arrival. She didn't have time for pleasantries this night, and he could very well roll straight out of bed and onto the hard floor for all she cared. And from the looks of it, that must've been what had almost happened, because Aemond was half-hanging out of the bed when she came to stand before him.

"Helaena?"

"Oh, do put that knife away, Aemond. You look ridiculous with it."

Her brother looked down at the knife he was holding in his left hand, good eye widening when he finally realized just who he'd nearly pulled it out on. With a sheepish nod of his head, Aemond slipped the knife back under his pillow and tried to disentangle himself from the bed sheets.

"What are you doing here, Helaena?"

"I need to talk to you." When Aemond opened his mouth, she said in a voice that brooked no argument, "Now."

Aemond gave her a sidelong look, but didn't argue with her, either. Instead, he rolled out of bed and grumbled about the ice-cold floor, only staggering a little bit as he tried to find his discarded robe. Helaena pointed to a chair halfway across the room and he walked off to retrieve it.

Satisfied with his compliance so far, Helaena retreated to the sitting room after that, allowing her brother some modicum of privacy as she considered how to start this whole mess of a conversation. Unfortunately for her, Aemond had always been an efficient individual and thus gave her very little time to think before he was striding into the room, fully dressed and wide awake and expecting answers.

"Well," said Aemond after an awkward moment of silence, "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"You mean aside from our father dying yesterday?"

"Ugh, yes, aside from that, of course."

"And Aegon having disappeared into the bowels of the city to avoid becoming king?"

"Yes, and that, too."

Oh dear, this was going to be even more awkward and difficult than she had feared. Why did everything always have to be so damned hard to explain?

Helaena rarely spoke of her prophecies and visions for good reason, and that was because nobody ever seemed willing to listen to her. It didn't help that her dreams also tended to be vague and impossible to describe, which had led to her own mother and oldest brother calling her crazy and stupid on multiple occasions. Helaena knew the servants and her peers often spoke negatively of her as well, with the nickname of Hare-brained Helaena still popping up from time to time.

She was pretty sure Aegon himself had started that one. But the point was, nobody ever listened when she described her dreams—both waking and sleeping—so she had learned that it was best if she just didn't talk about them at all.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option now, not with what she had foreseen. And unlike usual, these dreams had been painfully vivid and linear in their presentation, showcasing a future in which almost everyone Helaena knew and loved was brutally slaughtered in a pointless civil war. Their dragons, their children, their siblings, their friends, every last person and thing they cared about, would inevitably die until only four sad Targaryens were left to clean up the mess.

It was a terrible, horrendous future that had been caused by selfishness and arrogance and greed. And it would come to pass if Helaena didn't do something to prevent it.

What that something was, Helaena was still trying to figure out, but she had an idea, and that idea involved her middle brother and a half-nephew that had been at war with each other since before they'd even learned to hold a sword. It was one of the stupidest rivalries Helaena had ever seen, and she'd read a lot of books that told tall-tales of stupid, pointless rivalries. But if her dream was to be believed...

Maybe this could all be stopped. Maybe her family—and she meant all of her family—could come out of this without being completely destroyed.

"I had a dream tonight, Aemond. One of those dreams."

That caught her brother's attention, his good eye shifting to stare at her with a sharpened level of attention. Good, that was good so far. He wasn't dismissing her outright like Mother and everybody else did.

It was better than nothing.

"This was the most vivid one I've ever had," said Helaena, her words coming out in a rush. "They're usually so hard to see and interpret, especially the waking ones, but this one? It was so clear and bright and just... horrible."

"Go on."

Helaena looked up and saw Aemond staring straight at her, his sapphire gaze more attentive than any she'd received before. He was taking her words seriously, and this was evident in his straight-backed posture and from the tilt of his head. It was better than she had hoped for.

"I think it was both a premonition... and a literal warning. Showing me an inevitable future, like they always do, but also giving me the key to avert it," explained Helaena. "At least, if I want to, that is."

Pausing for a brief moment allowed Helaena to reorient herself and consider her best options. She knew her brothers, had been silently observing them for almost their entire lives. Social connections weren't Helaena's strong suit, but she at least knew what made Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron tick, and could confidently surmise about what their reactions would be to certain situations. And Aemond, well...

Aemond was a greedy and often selfish man who would do practically anything to receive the approval and love of those closest to him. This craving had led to all of his most self-destructive episodes, including the loss of his left eye. Which Helaena herself had tried to warn him about. And that was exactly why Helaena didn't plan to tell him anything except the barest details about her dream.

Because there was another way to get to Aemond, a far more effective way that would almost certainly result in him doing everything in his power to avert the terrifying future she had seen.

Her brother, more than anything, was a second-born son living in the shadow of his older brother and sister. He desperately wanted something to call his own: his own dragon, his own sword, his own title, his own chosen spouse, and so on. He wanted to feel special in a world and home that viewed him as anything but.

Although she didn't care anywhere near to the same extent, Helaena could understand how he felt, to a degree. It was difficult to be noticed in their family, when all of the attention was always focused on Rhaenyra and Aegon.

Mother ignored them. Father ignored them. Even Grandfather only showed interest when he wanted something from them.

As a woman, Helaena had resigned herself to being little more than a bargaining chip, only meant to be trotted out for weddings and birthings. As a third-son and fifth-child, she was sure Daeron felt much the same, although he wouldn't be doing the birthing himself, of course. And then there was Aemond, always one step behind their deviant lout of an older brother, all thanks to a happenstance of birth order.

Never the heir, always the spare.

But this, well, this would make Aemond feel so special. More special than anyone else in their family, except for the other half involved. If the book was to be believed, it was an occurrence that had been fairly uncommon even in Old Valyria, although far from unheard of. And Helaena had double-checked, making absolutely certain that her dream hadn't been misinterpreted.

The threads she had seen, and the implications of what they truly were in the book, would be too tantalizing for Aemond to resist. He would become obsessed with the very concept, absolutely devoted to making sure that the connection would be fully formed. The first knots had already been tied several years ago, and Aemond would be keen to establish even more, as quickly as humanly possible. It was just the way her brother's personality was and Helaena doubted that anything could change it at this point.

"You're being unusually... well-spoken about this particular dream," Aemond observed. "And you think that means something?"

Helaena nodded, fingers twisting with anxiety in her lap. She had to be careful in how she approached this. Words had never been her strong suit, but Helaena had to use them correctly and wisely for this to go according to plan.

"I saw something else in my dream. Something that I don't think has been seen since Old Valyria. It's so distinctive and was so clear that I don't think it's even possible for me to mistake it for anything other than what it is."

With only slightly shaking hands, Helaena handed the two books over to her brother, relieved that he had taken the time to light several reading lamps while she'd been pulling herself together. Both books were opened and ear-marked to the specific chapter and passages or words that she felt were most important. Aemond was a good reader, both in Common and Valyrian, and she knew that he'd have the page contents devoured in a few short minutes.

"I haven't seen this book before."

"Father used to keep it in his rooms," said Helaena, "Before he gave it to me ten years ago."

Aemond just tilted his head in response, good eye flicking back and forth as he read through each line with swift precision. Helaena had a hard time sitting still through the whole affair, desperately wishing for something besides her sleeves to hold or pick at.

"Hmmmm."

That was the first sound Aemond had made in over two minutes, and Helaena had a feeling she knew which passage he was now working on. It was the one that had immediately jumped into her mind when she'd woken, words matching up with images that perfectly described what she'd witnessed. Aemond being able to connect the Valyrian passages to what she was going to describe would be crucial in convincing him of the truth.

"And this book is supposedly from Old Valyria?"

"Yes, Father said it was an original copy that was brought to Dragonstone by Daenys herself."

"So it's from before the Doom," mused Aemond while flipping to the next page, "And that means it's more accurate that almost anything else in that damned library."

Helaena kept her opinion to herself on that particular subject. She didn't agree with Mother on many things, including her blatant dislike of anything that seemed to be at odds with the Faith of the Seven. The only reason more Valyrian texts hadn't mysteriously disappeared from the library was because Helaena had taken most of them herself, keeping them safely ensconced in her own rooms.

She suspected that Rhaenyra had also taken quite a few to Dragonstone, but Helaena wasn't about to tell her mother that, either.

"I'm assuming that there's a very good reason why having me read this couldn't wait until morning," said Aemond once he was finished. Notably, he hadn't closed either book. "Care to enlighten me as to that reason, dear sister?"

"Thread of green, thread of black, twined together in an ancient pact," said Helaena, eyes going unfocused as she recalled her dream. "Blood of blood, kin of kin, fire only burns for those against the sin."

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her cryptic words, clearly expecting a better explanation. "For the sake of my own sanity, please speak plainly, Helaena."

"I saw threads all throughout my dream, tangled and twisted and burned on the ends," said Helaena, head tipping up briefly to make eye contact. "And almost all of them connected back to you."

"Green threads?"

"Yes."

Aemond paused, cogs turning and turning in his head before finally asking, "And what about the other? The black thread?"

"It was there. In the beginning."

"And?"

Helaena faltered, unsure how to explain what had happened to the black thread without being too straightforward or blunt. People usually didn't like it when she spoke like that, instead preferring sweet lies or half-truths that made them feel better about themselves or a situation. It was one of the main reasons why Helaena didn't like to talk to other people: she didn't like lying, and wasn't very good at it, either.

"And?"

Galled by the impatience in his voice, Helaena looked Aemond dead in the eyes before snapping, "And then it was cut and snapped and burned."

The implications of this statement immediately shut him up, which Helaena was thankful for. She knew what Aemond's next question would be, and she needed a few precious moments to prepare herself for it.

Silence stretched between them for what was likely only a minute, but instead felt like an hour. Helaena could see her brother's eye flicking over the passage again and again, lips barely moving as he struggled to absorb both the words themselves and the information she'd just given him. Although she couldn't be totally certain, not yet, Helaena had a strong feeling that Aemond understood what she'd been trying to tell him.

"Who?"

Helaena didn't say anything at first, eyes trained on her fingers instead. Her brother needed to ask the right question before she'd be willing to answer.

"Who is it, Helaena?"

When she didn't answer him a second time, Aemond leaned forward and pushed the books right in front of her, long fingers pointing at the exact passages that held all the answers to what would undoubtedly become an obsession for him.

"Who is the black thread, Helaena? Tell me."

Although it was far more difficult than she was willing to admit, Helaena managed to lift her head and meet her brother's eye for a long moment. She needed it to be clear as a mid-summer day that she wasn't lying, and for that to be possible, Helaena needed to look him straight in the eye and tell him the truth. It may have left her feeling terribly uncomfortable, but it needed to be done.

Eyes had caused so much grief for their family, so it wasn't surprising that such a thing would be necessary to prevent even more of it, too.

"Lucerys."

Her brother went eerily still as she confirmed his worst suspicions. It was frightening, how Aemond could shift into what felt like a completely different person at the mere mention of another person's name. Helaena herself wasn't frightened of Aemond—at least not yet, so long as that future never came to pass—but she could certainly see why so many other people would be.

"It's Lucerys."

Everything was silent for several long seconds. Helaena almost didn't want to breathe, for fear that she would break whatever odd stillness had settled over her brother. It was unnerving, to see him sitting there like a statue, lost in whatever thoughts were slowly consuming his mind. Not even his fingers were moving, although they were still hovering over the passages about dragon threads.

Helaena hoped that she hadn't been too blunt about it.

And then, when it seemed like the silence was going to stretch on forever, Aemond leapt to his feet and started pacing about the room. Helaena held her tongue and was content to just watch for a little while, not wanting to pull Aemond out of whatever thoughts were racing this way and that through his head. And he was definitely deep in thought, if the hair pulling and pacing and jumbled muttering were any good indication.

"That doesn't make any sense," Aemond whispered to himself. "It just doesn't make any sense."

He paced towards the far bookshelf.

"There's no possible way that that scrawny little bastard could ever be—"

He paced back to the armchair.

"You must've been seeing things wrong. The thread is black, so you could've easily mistaken it in the darkness for—"

"I did not."

He paced over to the far window.

"The Gods, old or new, would never be so cruel or downright stupid to curse me with such a pathetic excuse for a... for a..."

He paced back to the lounge where his sister was sitting.

"No, none of this makes any sense. By the Gods, I swear, Helaena, if you are lying to me, then I will make sure that you never get to see your precious insect collections ever—"

Helaena had stood up at this, shoulders squared and brow furrowed with anger. How dare he accuse her of lying? She had never once lied about these damned dreams that haunted her day and night, effectively separating and ostracizing her from every other person in her pathetic, lonely life. How dare he?!

"I am not lying to you."

Something in her tone must've gotten through to him, because Aemond almost seemed to shrink in on himself after that, shoulders slumping as he tried to reconcile what he'd known before versus what he knew now. Considering the decade-long grudge Aemond had held against Lucerys for the loss of his left eye, Helaena supposed that this information was quite world-shattering for him.

"The green threads led back to you, and the black threads led back to him. All of them," said Helaena. "And both of you completed the blood knot nearly a decade ago by acting like a bunch of hooligans, anyways."

Aemond reached up to touch his eye when she mentioned this, before moving down to his nose. Lucerys had taken his eye while Aemond had broken the boy's nose. The pact had been as good as sealed right then, and had been twisting and twining ever since. Helaena could visibly see as the realization washed over her brother, causing him to all but collapse into the nearest armchair.

"Why—umm, why haven't I felt anything?"

Helaena stared at him in disbelief before saying, "Not felt anything? Aemond, you're obsessed with him."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, yes, you are." Helaena didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "You've been obsessed with him and your revenge for almost an entire decade. If our family wasn't the way it was, who's to say that your threads wouldn't have twined together more naturally?"

"This is ridiculous."

Aemond was slumped over and staring off into the distance now, looking far smaller than his usual intimidating self. Seeing him like this made her wish that it didn't have to be this way, that she could've informed him of the dragon threads in a more... organic manner, but with Father's death and Aegon's gross incompetence, there really was no other way to properly handle this.

"It doesn't have to be," assured Helaena, "If you don't want it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"You read the sixth paragraph, didn't you? The one that details what to do once you're aware of the threads?"

Aemond nodded.

"Then that's where you can start," Helaena encouraged. "And the book provides more details on the threads and how they relate to your dragon in later chapters. You need to read the whole book to truly understand the magic behind the connection."

For some reason, these words seemed to give a small boost to Aemond's despondent mood, his attention drawn back to the book that was resting in his lap. Helaena was heartened to see this change, and walked over to pick up the lexicon from where it'd fallen on the floor and pass it back to her brother.

"Does Mother know about this book? Or this practice?"

"You know as well as I do that Mother has no interest in anything Valyrian," said Helaena with a scoff. "She thinks all Valyrian customs are queer and uncivilized."

"And yet she married you to Aegon."

Helaena sighed and retreated back to her seat. A wave of melancholy always washed over her whenever she thought about her mother's hypocrisy, and the way in which it had twisted her family into what it was today.

"And yet she married me to Aegon. And also insisted on us claiming the largest riderless dragons as soon as we could."

"Hmmmm."

She watched as Aemond read through the chapter again, good eye intent on every word while double- or triple-checking the meaning of several that he'd never seen or heard of before. Helaena provided whatever clarification she could, but even she wasn't overly familiar with the custom or magic of dragon threads.

As far as she knew, Aemond and Lucerys might very well be the first pair to have established such a magical connection since the Doom itself. It was possible that there had been others, of course—possibly King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne—but since none of them had been recorded as such, there was no way of being sure, either. For now, she was operating under the assumption that there had been no others since the Doom of Valyria.

"I should return to my rooms," said Helaena a short while later. "Maelor will need tending and I fear that the morn will be terribly busy for all of us today."

"Mmmhmm."

And there it was, the feverish devotion and energy that Aemond poured into anything that piqued his interest or that he viewed as belonging to him. All Helaena could do was hope that this frenetic intensity would be channeled into something healthier—or at least less deadly—than the thirst for vengeance that Aemond had been thriving on for almost a decade. So far, this appeared to be case, but it was difficult to tell with Aemond sometimes.

His ideas of what was appropriate or morally right were often quite different from hers. But still, almost anything would be better than what she'd seen in her dream.

"Do try to get some sleep, brother."

"Uh huh."

Helaena saw herself out after that, thanking Ser Blount for his service and requesting that if any word came of their older brother's whereabouts before dawn, to please inform Aemond immediately. It wasn't even a lie or half-truth, either. Although it was true that Helaena couldn't care less if Aegon was lost in the city's bowels forever, she was concerned about the situation that would come from him being found and then crowned in place of their sister.

"Thread of green, thread of black, twined together in an ancient pact," Helaena recited, hoping against hope that for once in her life, her dragon dreams wouldn't be completely useless. "Thread of green, thread of black, twined together in an ancient pact."

Chapter 2: Aemond

Chapter Text

Aemond was on the move long before first light.

It had taken less than an hour for him to understand the overall implications of his connection to Lucerys, and then another hour to draft up a short-term and long-term plan on how he could win the boy over to his side. The first step in both plans involved removing Aegon from the equation, in whatever way possible. Aemond would do what he could to avoid killing him, but, well, if it came down to it...

He could easily make it look like an accident, if he had to.

After drafting a quick letter and stuffing it down his shirt, Aemond pried open the furthest of his bedroom windows and climbed out, easily finding the foot and handholds he'd carved into the stone as a young teenager. It took a little bit longer to scale the walls than he remembered, but that was mostly due to the height difference and him having to be more careful about where he placed his hands and feet now. Since tonight was only a quarter-moon, sticking to the shadows was easier than usual, giving Aemond numerous opportunities to sneak past the guards unnoticed.

Once he'd climbed eight levels down and snuck through the hidden passage leading out of the Holdfast, breaking into the Red Keep's rookery was even simpler than he'd thought it would be. The upper corridors were largely deserted this time of the night, which allowed Aemond to sneak from one level to the next without being seen, with him only having to physically climb outside for two of them. Unfortunately for him though, there was no true way to avoid scaling the rookery tower itself, not if he wanted to remain unseen by the gold cloaks and maesters.

"What I don't do for love," Aemond whispered to himself. "Or, well, potential love. Whatever..."

Rookery tower had more holes in its stone than any other part of the Keep, likely due to the natural process of birds digging at the stone to create good roosting spots. Aemond took full advantage of this feathery vandalism and started his climb just outside of the Grand Maester's apartments. Being a dragon-rider had long ago cured him of any lingering fear of heights, but even Aemond knew better than to look down as he scaled what was essentially a sheer drop of more than one hundred and seventy feet. Physically, he was more than capable of climbing the tower; mentally, well, it really was best if he just didn't look down.

He arrived at the top level well before the first rays of sunrise, climbing through one of the tall windows that were left open for the ravens to come and go from. Aemond quickly hid himself beneath a nearby table, listening for the sounds of breathing or footsteps. When all he heard were the telltale sounds of feathers and squawking, he deemed it safe to approach his primary target.

Aemond held out a thick chunk of beef as he walked over to the Red Keep-Dragonstone ravens. A giant black unit of a bird happily accepted the morsel, head tilting back and forth as it considered him for several long moments. Aemond must've passed its internal assessment, because the raven willingly held out its left leg and gave him an expectant look.

"Good boy," said Aemond while tying his letter to the raven's leg. "Now take this to my sister, if you please."

After receiving his second morsel, the raven hopped onto Aemond's outstretched arm and allowed itself to be carried over to the open window, releasing one last squawk before taking off into the pre-dawn sky. With one errand crossed off his list, Aemond didn't waste any time in climbing back down the tower, thoughts already moving onto his next potential target.

He had a pretty good idea of where his brother was hiding out.

Aegon was, in the words of their dear sister, a morally bankrupt deviant at the very best of times, and tended to frequent the seediest parts of King's Landing to find his preferred forms of entertainment. However, with the situation as it was, Aemond figured that not even Aegon would be stupid enough to visit his favorite haunts when half the Red Keep was out searching for him. So, that left a short list of well-guarded places where his brother would normally never go, but now saw as an ideal place to hide from the coming storm.

Once he was back on solid ground, Aemond stealthily made his way through the corridors and down to the lower courtyard where he retrieved the cloak that he kept hidden in a tucked away supply shed. Leaving the Red Keep was quite simple after that, with Aemond taking his usual routes to avoid detection. For anyone who'd grown up outside of the castle, his methods would've been impossible to copy without a detailed map to work from, but for someone who'd spent the better part of their childhood disappearing into the deepest, darkest bowels of the keep for fun, it was actually far easier to leave this way than to take more visible exits like those through the kitchen galleys or the serpentine steps.

The sun was just starting to rise when Aemond blended into the early morning crowd heading towards Shadowblack Lane, servants, guards, and other attendants from the castle's night shift tiredly mumbling and yawning as they dispersed out into the main city. Their morning replacements filtered past from the opposite direction, giving Aemond plenty of cover as he walked past the postern gate in the castle's north wall.

Exiting though the north wasn't the most direct path to the Grand Sept, but Aemond was willing to put in the extra leg-work if it kept him from being found out by the gold cloaks. He knew that Ser Criston Cole and his men would be out to personally look for his brother at first light, and Aemond needed to avoid the Kingsguard for as long as possible for his plan to work.

He was halfway to the Grand Sept when he finally spotted just who he was looking for. The Cargyll twins were dressed similar to him, but Aemond would recognize their posture and stride almost anywhere. He followed behind them at a discreet distance, keeping a close eye out for any other gold cloaks or suspicious figures that might be tailing them. So far, they looked to be alone, and Aemond hoped that they hadn't told anyone else where the White Worm had hidden his brother.

As they drew closer to the sept, Aemond veered off to the side and took a different route through the gardens into the sept-proper, on constant lookout for Cole and any men he may bring with him.

The twins must've known exactly which altar the White Worm had hidden Aegon under, because Aemond could hear his brother's drunken rambling as soon as he entered the Grand Hall. He hung back for a minute, watching the two men easily manhandle Aegon when he tried to spit and claw at them. Once he was satisfied with how things were going, Aemond decided that it was now or never for him to enact his plan.

"Good morning, gentlemen, brother," said Aemond as revealed himself. "Now, with the pleasantries out of the way, I'll be taking over from here."

"My prince?"

Aemond didn't give them any time to react before he was grabbing Aegon by the upper arm and physically dragging him to the back of the sept. His brother struggled the entire way, but Aemond just gave him a good shake or two whenever he got too unruly. He could hear the twins following a short distance behind them, whispering loudly between themselves as they tried to figure out just what the younger prince was doing.

"Brother, please, just let me go! I don't want the throne! Let me go into exile!"

"That's the idea, you imbecile," snapped Aemond as he headed towards the back entrance that they'd often used as children to sneak out of sept services. "Now do stop struggling and making my errand more difficult than it needs to be."

"Wait, what do you—"

"Did I not just tell you to be quiet?"

"No, you told me to stop struggling," said Aegon, voice laced with genuine confusion. "And I'm not struggling anymore."

"By the Gods, you're such a brainless imbecile."

"You already called me that."

Aemond was exactly one stupid comment away from just drowning his brother in the river and calling it a day. Being called a kinslayer would be infinitely more tolerable than being forced to suffer Aegon's presence, which he could barely stand on a good day. Aemond truly didn't understand how his mother could produce a child as kind and sweet-natured as Helaena, or as virtuous and brave as Daeron, while also having birthed a degenerate, irresponsible, selfish c*nt like Aegon first. It was a mystery for the ages, without a doubt.

"I will do a lot worse than that if you don't shut up, brother."

"Umm, my prince?"

He pointedly ignored Ser Arryk as they rushed through the sept's gardens and then down towards Visenya's Hill. Neither of the twins seemed to know what to do, and were still arguing when they started to descent the hill.

"My prince, we were specifically tasked by your grandfather with bringing Prince Aegon to the—"

"The situation has changed," said Aemond while practically dragging Aegon down a flight of stairs, "And I've been sent to deal with my wayward brother instead. Both of you can return to your regular duties, if you wish."

From Aemond's tone, it was clear that he couldn't care less whether they wished it or not.

They were halfway down the hill when Aemond came to a sudden stop, his brother yelping as he bounced off a small garden pillar to their right. The twins managed to be a little more graceful in their remission, their confusion and abashment growing with every minute that passed. Aemond paid them little mind for now, instead keeping his focus divided between the marble plaza to their east and the lightening skies to their south.

"Umm, brother, do you have any idea what—"

"Quiet."

Aegon let out a distressed groan when he was shook, but stayed blessedly silent after that. It was only thirty seconds later, when a dark speck appeared on the horizon, that his three companions all sucked in a sharp breath as realization sunk in.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," stammered Aegon as the speck got bigger and bigger, "There's got to be a better way of getting out of—"

"My prince, this is madness, your mother will be—"

"Arryk, I suggest that we get out of the way before she—"

"Seriously, Aemond, I can just take a ship or—"

With a roll of his eye, Aemond gave his brother another good, hard shake before saying, "Stop squalling like an infant. And you dare call yourself a dragon rider?"

"It's different when it's not your dragon!"

Vhagar's familiar shape could now be clearly seen approaching the city, massive wings spread wide as she prepared to glide in towards them. He could hear the twins muttering to each other, neither expecting this sudden and bizarre turn of events.

"Oh Gods, this is going to be terrible. So damned terrible and—"

"Would you please shut up?"

"Your dragon is an absolute menace! She'll probably try to drop me on purpose just so she can eat me in—"

If Aemond shook his brother hard enough to literally rattle his ailing brains around, then he'd just have to pray for forgiveness from the Mother, because he was downright sick of Aegon's attitude by now and was scarcely two words away from slitting his throat and just being done with it. The only thing that stayed his hand was the thought of how much grief and chaos it would cause for his mother and sister, although he was quite sure that Helaena wouldn't be too broken up about it.

The weaselly little bastard was a sh*t-ass father, anyways. By all accounts, Helaena, the twins, and Maelor would be better off without him.

"My prince, we have company."

And so they did. Marching up the marble plaza of the Grand Sept was none other than Ser Criston Cole himself, with only one other Kingsguard accompanying him. The young prince could feel Cole's eyes briefly pass over him and Aegon without truly seeing them, the swordmaster so focused on his destination and goal that he didn't even appear to notice the hulking behemoth that had just passed over the southern wall.

"Ser Erryk, could you come here for a moment?"

Aemond had to admit that he was more than a little impressed when the other man didn't hesitate, eyes stoic even in the face of rapidly approaching danger. Yes, this was definitely the twin that he needed to speak with.

"I have a request for you."

"Yes, my prince?"

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond held out a small piece of paper that he'd written on earlier. It was much smaller and less durable than the one he'd sent to Dragonstone, but it would serve its purpose either way. Erryk looked at him for a short moment before leaning forward to read what was on the paper.

It simply read: Escort Princess Rhaenys to the Dragonpit. Remain unseen.

The other man's eyes snapped up to look at him, as if looking for confirmation that the request was real. Aemond just gave a sharp nod of his head before crumbling the paper up in his palm and then stuffing it back into one of his pockets.

"It will be done," he whispered. "Good luck."

Panicked voices could be heard shouting from the Grand Sept and its surrounding gardens, the shadow of Vhagar's massive form stretching from one side of the sept to the next. Aemond had only landed her in the city twice before, the first being the day after he'd initially claimed her and the second being a complete accident that he had no plans of ever repeating again. She was simply too large and, if he was being honest with himself, too clumsy to safely land anywhere within the city's walls. Because of this, the people of King's Landing were unaccustomed to seeing her, and were reacting in what could only be described as pure terror.

"Well, this definitely wasn't how I pictured myself leaving the city."

Aegon's drunken hiccup of a laugh was interrupted by the ground literally shaking as Vhagar landed on the hillside. She was so long and wide that she took up almost the entire stretch of the unoccupied slope, the end of her tail just barely clearing a length of homes on the far end. And when her tail did hit a tall lamppost at the end of said street, Aemond could see the old girl tilt her head to the side in mild concern, obviously knowing that she'd broken something she wasn't supposed to.

"C'mon, let's get you out of here before Ser Cole comes running over."

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna puke."

"If you vomit on my dragon, then I can't be held responsible for what happens to you."

"You could still get me a ship."

Aemond grabbed his brother around the neck and hissed, "If you don't get up onto that dragon right now, I will physically drag you up myself. And it won't be pleasant, of that I can assure you."

This seemed to sober Aegon up a little bit, probably because he knew that it wasn't just an idle threat. Aemond was absurdly good at climbing, having trained himself to such proficiency that only professional acrobats could ever hope to best him.

If he wanted to drag Aegon up onto Vhagar, then he would.

"Don't give yourself a busted nut," gasped Aegon around his brother's iron grip. "I'm climbing. And I can do it on my own."

"Good."

Aemond shoved him towards the ropes that hung down Vhagar's upper flanks, not surprised at all to find the she-dragon watching their movements with a scrutinizing eye. Vhagar generally didn't tolerate other people coming near or touching her, and Aegon had irritated her at least twice in the past to the point of snapping at him. The mere fact that she hadn't tried to shrug Aegon off yet was better than he'd originally hoped for.

He reached out and ran a gentle hand along the dragon's side. "Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī."

"Prince Aemond!"

The familiar sound of Criston Cole's voice was what spurred Aemond to jump up onto the ropes and then physically drag his brother the last few feet into the saddle. He knew that the petulant swordmaster would do everything in his power to stop them from leaving, and Aemond couldn't guarantee how Vhagar would react to someone approaching with such blatant hostility.

"Your saddle's not very comfortable."

"If your dick's in the way, I could always chop it off for you."

"Don't you ever oil this thing?"

Vhagar released a loud rumble at this, some of Aemond's irritation evidently leaking through the bond and upsetting her. By the Gods, he really should've just drowned Aegon in the river and been done with it.

"Prince Aemond! Stop!"

"Sōvēs, Vhagar!"

Any delusional hope that Criston Cole had of stopping them was snuffed out like a candle when Vhagar pushed herself up and then raised her mighty wings, the ground shaking in all directions as she prepared to take flight. Vhagar's sheer size and weight often made her takeoffs a lumbering affair, especially when she didn't have a decent-sized cliff or enough space to launch from. Both of these were proving to be a problem here on Visenya's Hill, and Aemond could hear the screams of terrified citizens as her wings and tail whipped straight over their houses.

"Your damned dragon's going to take out half the city before we're even off the ground," Aegon grumbled in his ear. "Oh f*ck... I think her tail just destroyed one of the sept's bell towers."

Okay, Aemond hadn't been expecting that to happen, he was willing to admit. But she'd needed to back up a little bit to get some more distance to launch from and really, this was all Aegon's fault, anyways. Aemond would've never had to bring Vhagar into the city proper if his brother hadn't been such a pathetic excuse for a human being, and an even worse excuse for a potential king.

Any damage done or lives lost were on Aegon's head, not his.

"Hold on tight."

It took more strides than he would've liked, but Vhagar finally managed to launch herself on the fourth, her hulking body just barely clearing the first row of houses that were directly due east of the Grand Sept. When Aemond looked over her left flank, he could see Cole and his companion looking stunned by this sudden turn of events, their heads tilted completely back as Vhagar rose higher and higher into the skies.

They were soaring over Blackwater Bay in less than a minute, Aemond purposely steering Vhagar well away from the Red Keep. He already had their route mapped out in his head, slowly turning Vhagar due south once they were within sight of Massey's Hook. From there, they would keep heading south-southeast towards Haystack Hall, Tarth, and then finally the Stepstone Islands. Aemond always kept Vhagar's saddlebags well-stocked, so they wouldn't have to land for several hours unless bodily necessities called for it.

Unfortunately, since Aegon appeared to be thoroughly sloshed, Aemond would consider himself lucky if the idiot lasted more than an hour. He doubted that Vhagar would appreciate being decorated by his brother's vomit and urine.

"Naejot, Vhagar."

In the end, Aegon lasted about two hours before they needed to land, his liquor-filled stomach no longer able to take the turbulence as they encountered wet weather. And, surprise, surprise, as soon as Vhagar settled down along a lower branch of the muddy Wendwater, Aegon was scrambling down the ropes and then running off into a nearby thicket to puke his guts up.

"f*ckin' typical."

Aemond chose to ignore his brother's pathetic retching and instead focus his attention on double-checking the map and other supplies that were in his saddlebags. He didn't want this trip to take more than two days each way and was also eager to be rid of Aegon as quickly as possible. He did a quick inventory of everything they had, feeling more than a little vindicated by his own paranoia and preparedness. He had spare clothes, extra rations, and enough coin to get his helpless brother sent on his way and without having to live like a total pauper.

Once he had everything accounted for, Aemond settled beneath Vhagar's wing to escape the rain. If his attention strayed for several minutes to Helaena's book and the tantalizing treasure it held within, then he would just have to be forgiven for falling so easily to temptation. And what a temptation it was, every word and verse reaching out to him like a long-lost lover.

As an avid reader, Aemond had come across many works that spoke of soulmates. It was a common theme in Westerosi fairytales and epics, but most people would agree that that's all it was: fairytales.

On the other hand, it seemed that the concept of soulmates was considered anything but in Valyrian society.

Helaena's book was not a work of fiction, but a detailed account of primary and secondary sources on how dragon threads worked. It appeared that this was a very real and very well-documented occurrence in Old Valyria, seemingly popping up at random and without explanation. Even at the very height of the Freehold, it appeared that dragon threads were a rare phenomenon, an anomaly that not even the Freehold's high priests could replicate with the most advanced blood magic. Every Valyrian family prayed that they had a dragon thread born into their ranks, with many of them consulting dragon-dreamers on a yearly basis to see if their children had developed any types of threads.

It was a fascinating subject and Aemond was desperate to know more.

And then, of course, there was the little issue of his other half. His better half. Or his matching thread, as Helaena had called it.

His fingers skimmed over the passage that detailed how blood knots were traditionally formed between threads. Compared to the old Valyrians, who had been actively looking for dragon threads in their ranks, Lucerys and himself had been completely ignorant of their own extraordinary connection. This ignorance had so far resulted in them completing every single rite of passage in the most problematic and violent way possible.

The first knot? It had been tied four hours after Lucerys' birth, when he and his siblings had been introduced to the newborn prince in their mother's apartments. Aemond remembered being fascinated with the new baby, violet eyes wide with curiosity and amazement as he'd reached out to touch Lucerys' tiny hand. He'd even smiled when Luke's chubby fingers had wrapped around his thumb, surprisingly strong for such a small—

And then his mother had smacked Aemond's hand away, eyes wide and fierce as she'd quietly scolded him. "It's a bastard. Don't touch it."

The second knot? It had been tied the day of Lucerys' third birthday, when the small prince had had his very first training session with Criston Cole. Again, Aemond could clearly remember everything from that day, including the moment little Luke had been furtively tripped into a pile of horse dung by Ser Cole himself. Despite knowing that he would likely be teased for it later, Aemond had walked over and reached out to help Luke up, stomach curling when he'd felt the wetness of tears on Luke's tiny hand from—

And then Cole had grabbed Aemond by the shoulder, quickly steering him away from the crying boy. "He can get up on his own," Cole had said, "Or not get up at all. Now get back to your training."

The third, fourth, fifth, and however many other knots? All of them had obviously been tied during subsequent training sessions, the only time in which Aemond and Luke were allowed to physically interact with each other. Every time they'd touched each other had involved violence, usually instigated at the urging of Cole or, as they grew older, an increasingly bratty Aegon. The harsh memories made Aemond's blood boil, now that he knew what those little moments and connections were supposed to truly mean, to truly nurture and create in the long-term.

And all of this, this rare magical bond that should've been cherished and revered by everyone around them, had instead been tarnished by the animosity and discord that had been encouraged to fester between them.

It made Aemond want to scream at the heavens, sword in hand and dragon below as he called a challenge to the Gods themselves. How dare they give him something so special, so rare even in Old Valyria, and then allow it to be slowly destroyed by malicious forces outside of his control.

He would have their eyes for such an insolent offense.

Fingers curling hard around the book's spine, Aemond forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down, only half-listening to his brother drunkenly stumbling through the bushes. He purposely didn't look at the next paragraph, which detailed how the final blood knot was formed. Despite reading it more than a dozen times already, he also knew that now wasn't the time to dwell on it. Not when his nerves and temper were already so frayed. Thinking too much about that day nearly ten years ago would simply make him feel even more unbalanced, which was the last thing he needed while having Aegon and his drunken wails so close.

"Ugh, I hate the f*cking rain."

Aemond ignored his brother's complaints, instead focusing on the familiar rhythm of Vhagar's deep, low-pitched breaths. Her physical presence was a welcome balm to his sanity right now, the mental connection between dragon and rider seeming to help in regulating his bad mood. Aemond had only quickly skimmed over the three chapters that explained how being a dragon thread effected an already established dragon-bond, so that was a topic that would continue to bother him until he actually had the free time to sit down and give it a more in-depth read.

If only Aegon wasn't here...

"We're leaving."

Aegon goggled at him before saying, "Wait, what? Did you say leaving? But it's raining!"

"Your point?"

"Why the hell would you want to fly when it's raining?!"

Deciding not to even dignify this with a response, Aemond simply climbed up to his saddlebags and pulled out the spare clothes and riding gear he had inside. With more strength than was strictly necessary, he threw the bundle straight at his brother's head and didn't bother to hide a smirk when it hit its target head-on. Aegon's startled yelp was worth the loss of his clothes at this point.

"Get changed and then get your ass up here. We're leaving in five minutes."

His brother glared, but didn't say a word.

"And do try not to trip and fall in the mud. There will be no chambermaids to clean up your messes where we're going."

"f*ckin' c*nt."

Despite his initial complaints, Aegon was changed and sitting in the saddle four minutes later, hands nervously picking at his sleeves as Aemond made sure everything was ready for takeoff. He was obviously still quite drunk, but the rain and cool weather seemed to have sobered him up some. And since there was no alcohol in any of Aemond's bags, Aegon would just have to get used to being sober for the next couple days, too.

"We won't be stopping until nightfall," warned Aemond, "And even then it'll only be for a few hours, so if you need to relieve yourself, then you better do it now."

"I, ugh—I already went."

Aemond gave a sharp nod and then commanded Vhagar to take to the skies. He was impatient to get this trip over with and then move on to the next step of his plan. But, of course, that specific plan would only work—without lots of bloodshed, that is—if Aegon was far, far away from King's Landing and their family's influence for the foreseeable future.

So far, it didn't look like Aemond would have to resort to killing his own brother to prevent a civil war. And if Aegon was having any second thoughts about his escape into exile, then he was keeping them to himself.

However, if Aegon did end up getting cold feet and refused to disappear into Essos for at least a half-decade or more... well, then they were going to have a little problem here, weren't they?

Because Aemond was not willing to give up the new future that was laid out for him. Not for Aegon, not for his mother, not for anyone. The petty squabbling and constant backstabbing that had been going on for years in their family was going to stop and it was going to stop now. And if Aemond needed to be the one to wield the last knife against those who disagreed with that change, then so be it.

He would have his other half—his precious black thread, zȳha hubon zōbrī—and no one was going to stop him.

Chapter 3: Aemond

Chapter Text

The weather was dark and foreboding when Aemond finally returned to King's Landing.

It had taken five days for him to fly to the Stepstones and back, with him having to sleep in the saddle for three of them. In one of the few bouts of courage he'd ever had in his life, Aegon hadn't backed down from his self-imposed exile when they'd arrived on Bloodstone Isle, even helping Aemond select which ship he'd be departing to Lys on. And just as Aemond had suspected, their arrival on Vhagar had been met with very little fanfare or scrutiny, with many of the Stepstones' long-term inhabitants being accustomed to seeing other dragons—specifically Caraxes and Seasmoke—flying around in years past.

They'd scarcely been at the main port for an hour before Aegon had decided on his destination. If he was being honest, Aemond had suspected that Aegon would choose Lys all along. His brother had openly debated with himself about where to go during the entire ride, driving Aemond positively batty at several points with his non-stop mumbling and muttering. In the end, Lys was the natural pick because of, you know, the whor*houses and everything.

Aemond almost felt bad for siccing someone as terrible as his older brother on an unsuspecting population, but at the same time, Aemond also just wasn't that good of a person to not do it, either.

He wanted Aegon gone and this was practically the only way to do it without killing him.

It was a little strange, how Aemond felt nothing except relief when he saw his brother board that Lyseni ship. There were truly almost no happy or fond memories to be shared between them. From the earliest point in his life, all Aemond could remember was Aegon being mean to him. The only love that existed between them was that of family loyalty, which had been forced onto them by their mother. It was a false love, one that didn't nurture or uplift anything.

So, no, Aemond didn't think that he would miss Aegon at all.

Ironically, that unsympathetic and detached feeling did not in any way apply to Daeron and Helaena. He could easily imagine that losing either of them would be like losing a limb, something that you never truly recover from and will acutely feel for the rest of your days. Even with Daeron being stationed in Oldtown, that didn't change the fact that Aemond would be absolutely devastated if anything tragic ever befell his little brother.

Aegon, on the other hand...

It was these thoughts that were going through his head when they arrived at King's Landing. The sun had set about three hours ago and Aemond could almost feel the approaching rain in his bones, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up as thunder boomed in the distance. Vhagar released an inaudible rumble at this, body gently tilting to the right as she circled around the city, her dark scales and conspicuous size blending in with the night sky for once. With no moon to provide any light, it was surprisingly easy for them to go unnoticed, Aemond keeping Vhagar far enough above the city that citizens should neither see nor hear her.

Everything looked to be the same as when he'd left, at least from what he could see. Nothing was on fire. That had to count for something.

Just to be careful, Aemond had Vhagar circle around twice more, his single eye squinting to see if anything looked out of the ordinary at any of the city's main landmarks. The Dragonpit was darker than usual, but that didn't necessarily mean that Ser Erryk hadn't been able to free Rhaenys from her captivity. And the Grand Sept didn't look too damaged from Vhagar's rather... inelegant launch the other day. One cleanly cut bell tower could be easily fixed. As for the Red Keep, it didn't look to be any different than any other night, aside from the—

Aside from the giant red snake that was coiled around the top of the Tower of the Hand.

Well, Aemond couldn't say that he was too surprised. His raven should've arrived at Dragonstone the same day he'd sent it out, so Daemon or another rider being here four days after the fact was to be expected.

"Looks like we've returned home to a party, Vhagar."

The rumble he received could almost be described as sarcastic, as if Vhagar was saying, "What the hell did you think was going to happen, you imbecilic moron?!" And considering the current circ*mstances, she would be completely correct in her assessment, too.

As they circled the Red Keep for a third time, Aemond came to a decision that was probably going to get him into even more trouble, but he was also way past the point of caring anymore. In the span of a single week, he'd likely undone several decades worth of planning on his grandfather's part, planning in which his mother and extended family had also been active participants in. The chances of them not ostracizing or outright disowning him were already looking pretty slim, so what did it even matter if he just made things even worse?

"Dēmagon, Vhagar."

The dragon grunted once, as if to double-check that she'd correctly understood his intentions, before turning sharply to the right and descending towards the Red Keep. A light drizzle had started sometime during their second circle of the city, lightning streaking across the blackened skies as Vhagar made her turn almost directly above the King's Gate. As if knowing that this was going to be a tricky landing, Vhagar gave a single hard beat of her wings and then descended into a steady glide, head lowering to better see their intended destination.

As a rider, there was really nothing Aemond could do beyond hold on tight and hope that Vhagar didn't cause too much damage when she landed. They were low enough now that the citizens of King's Landing would be able to both hear and see Vhagar if they looked up, her massive form dwarfing everything around her. He could imagine that it would be especially frightening for any guards who were stationed along the city walls, with what was likely a quiet shift being interrupted for the second time that week by the abrupt arrival of a gigantic, fire-breathing lizard overhead. And then having her arrive in the middle of a thunderstorm, no less...

Oh, yes, Aemond was definitely going to get his ear chewed off for his latest stunts.

They were directly over Fishmonger's Square when Vhagar started to pull in her wings a little bit, body angling down about twenty degrees as she slowly banked to the left, attention entirely focused on the small opening between the Red Keep's towers and the Great Hall. For any other dragon, it would've been an easy stunt to pull off, but for one of Vhagar's size... well, that was a completely different story.

"Gīdemagon, Vhagar. Gīdemagon."

Lightning flashed as they rapidly approached Aegon's High Hill, Aemond hunching deep into the saddle as Vhagar released a rumble of warning: "Get ready to land, puny rider." He could see the turrets right in front of them now, single eye trained on the spot they were aiming for. His entire body tightened around the saddle as Vhagar's wings gave one final flap and then pulled in towards her body, turrets passing on their left and the Great Hall passing on their right as Vhagar angled her colossal bulk sharply down and into the unoccupied space of the keep's middle bailey.

The ground literally shook when they landed, Vhagar's body taking up almost the entire length of the Red Keep's upper yards. Aemond could hear various things—railings and benches and fountains and whatever else decorated the gardens and courtyards—buckling and breaking beneath her immense weight, the inevitable result of having the world's largest dragon land on anything other than vacant soil.

Despite her best efforts, Vhagar couldn't entirely stop herself from skidding across the ground, her claws screeching for several moments on the courtyard stonework. It wasn't one of the grumpy ol' girl's best landings, but the fact that they hadn't crashed into any buildings was also something that couldn't be overlooked. And even once they had landed, Aemond made damned sure not to move from his hunched over position for at least a full minute, his saddle jerking like crazy until Vhagar's momentum finally came to a halt. It was only then, when they had been perfectly still for at least ten counts, that Aemond finally dared to sit up and take stock of the situation.

"Seven hells..."

He blew out a semi-hysterical half-laugh, half-sigh of relief when he looked around and saw that aside from some impact damage to the middle bailey itself, nothing else appeared to be damaged in any way. Even Vhagar's tail, which often seemed to have a mind of its own, was laying placidly on the ground, swaying back and forth in the muddy yard.

"Jaehossas sȳris sātās!" said Aemond with a loud whoop. "Kara botē, Vhagar!"

The dragon shook herself with no small amount of pride, basking in her rider's own happiness and excitement. That was easily the most daring landing they'd ever made together, and Aemond felt like screaming triumphantly into the storm. However, he also knew that they had very little time before being confronted by one of his family or the Kingsguard, so any celebrations about their prodigious flying skills would have to be put on hold for now.

As Aemond was climbing down from the saddle, he heard a distinctive hoot come from somewhere up above them. Even in the pouring rain, it was easy to spot Caraxes if you actually knew he was up there, coiled around the top of the tower in a way no other dragon could replicate. Vhagar rumbled deeply in return, as if saying hello to an old friend that she hadn't seen in years.

Aemond probably would've laughed at the irony of that thought if it hadn't been interrupted by the sound of several voices coming from across the yard. Not wanting to deal with any bullsh*t or questioning beyond what was absolutely necessary, Aemond decided that it was time for him to use the terrible weather to his advantage and disappear into the castle unseen.

"Umbās, Vhagar." He waggled his finger at her in warning. "Ipradis mirtys daor."

He got a petulant grumble in reply, but Vhagar seemed to understand that he didn't want any more damage done if they could avoid it. Plus, she'd managed to catch and eat a full-grown kraken on their flight home, so there was no excuse for being hungry so soon.

"Ipradis mirtys daor."

With one last warning and finger waggle, Aemond used Vhagar's enormous form as cover for him to slip into a side door of the castle unnoticed. No sooner had he gotten through the door did he hear shrill voices coming down the hall, with the words dragon and earthquake popping up in almost every other sentence. Thankfully, this route was familiar and Aemond had no trouble ducking down a side corridor and then through a grain room that he knew would bring him up towards the Great Hall. And since it was so late in the evening, almost no servants would be present in these particular halls, either.

It only took him about ten minutes to arrive in a small service room that was directly adjacent to the throne room, connected by a tall, thin door that servants would use to bring finger foods and refreshments through. The door was hidden strategically behind a pillar, allowing servants to come and go without being seen except for when they were needed. It was the perfect place for him to eavesdrop on any conversations that might be going on in the throne room. And from the looks of the braziers and candelabras, something was definitely going on in there.

"—found him yet, my Queen."

"He knows this keep better than most of that Worm's little birds," said the familiar voice of his mother. "We won't know where he is until he chooses to show himself."

"Well, technically he did show him—"

"That is enough, Prince Daemon," said his grandfather from somewhere across the hall. "And I must insist that you return to your rooms for the night. Your presence is not needed, nor is it appreciated."

"Oh, I'd say my presence is quite needed," drawled Daemon. "Because you see, if Rhaenys or I turn our backs for even a moment, I wouldn't surprised if you or that greed-ridden daughter of yours would find a way to pack up the Iron Throne and ship it off to Oldtown within the hour. Don't you agree, cousin?"

"I'd imagine they would lose a few fingers in the process, but yes, I could certainly see them giving it an attempt."

His mother said something in return that Aemond couldn't hear, but her tone made it abundantly clear that she wasn't happy with the current situation. He wondered how long ago Daemon and Rhaenys had arrived...

"Haven't the two of you already done enough?"

"Both of you still have your heads," said Daemon, "And personally, I don't think it'll be enough until I have both of them mounted on the castle gates."

"Daemon..."

"However," his uncle said without pause, "Unlike you two usurping swine, I also have some modicum of respect for my Queen's wishes. And those wishes were to keep the both of you alive."

"Your Queen's wishes certainly didn't stay your hand earlier this day."

Daemon gave a cruel laugh before saying, "I don't believe her wishes involved granting clemency to lords who turned their swords on her and her children when given the first chance. Oh no, no, that level of mercy was most assuredly not amongst her wishes."

While the adults were distracted by their argument, Aemond had inched forward along the pillar until he could see a pair of ornamental mirrors hanging on the stone wall to his right. To the untrained eye, they looked like nothing more than fancy decorations that guests could observe themselves in. In reality, they were positioned at just the right angle to allow servants to observe the entire throne room without being seen by the royals or their patrons.

"You didn't even give them the opportunity—"

"Do you honestly think you are the only ones with little rats and birds skittering through these halls?" asked Daemon, disbelief coloring his voice. "I know exactly which of those lords willingly chose to bow their heads to an usurper versus those who were forced to under extreme duress."

Aemond watched as his uncle approached his mother, hand instinctively going to his sword when he realized just how precarious the Hightower's situation now was. He had only left five days ago, but a lot could happen in that time and Aemond had truly hoped that his mother and grandfather wouldn't have been foolish enough to keep trying for the throne without Aegon there to claim it.

Evidently, he'd been wrong.

"Twenty years ago, eight of those lords pledged fealty to my wife in this very hall, for all the realm to see. And yet, this very week, they chose not to honor those pledges and instead supported a second-born lout who is more familiar with the cum-stained bed sheets of a brothel than with the table of a council room." Daemon was standing less than ten feet away from his mother and grandfather now, glaring them both down like they were a stubborn stain on the sole of his favorite riding boots. "Their heads were mine the moment they chose to become oathbreakers and pledge to that drunken c*nt of a son of yours."

"I believe the point is," said Rhaenys as she walked over and placed a hand on Daemon's arm, "That neither of you are in any position to be giving anybody orders, and I suggest you remember that."

Aemond's muscles relaxed a little bit when he saw Rhaenys lead his uncle away from his mother, the older woman's posture and tone projecting enough authority to keep even someone like Daemon—or even Aemond!—in line. It was downright impressive, how easily she asserted authority, and Aemond sincerely hoped that Rhaenys would be the one handling his family's treatment instead of his uncle.

"I also suggest that you think long and hard about who may have given the order to have the princes assassinated."

Those last two words felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over Aemond's head, every muscle in his body tensing as he realized that five days really was a long time and he'd obviously missed a lot while he was gone.

"I can assure you on the grave of my mother," said Alicent in a shaken voice, "That I gave no such order. Nor did my father."

"She speaks the truth."

"And that other son of yours? Aemond? He's held nothing but animosity and ill will towards my grandsons since the incident at my daughter's funeral," said Rhaenys, the protective anger in her voice making Aemond's spine curl with embarrassment and no small amount of guilt. "And now he suddenly reappears, in the middle of the night and in a thunderstorm, less than a full day after Luke and Joff were nearly killed in their sleep."

"Well, seeing as Vhagar is parked in the courtyard, I suppose we could just find and ask him ourselves," proposed Daemon. "He has been quite eager for years to even the score and take one of Lucerys' eyes."

"It wasn't him," said his mother, fists clenched at her sides. "He was reported by numerous witnesses to have flown south with Vhagar five days ago. We even received a raven from Bronzegate that they'd been sighted heading in that very direction. Aemond couldn't possibly be involved."

"The assassin was very specific in wanting one of Luke's eyes."

Aemond felt similar to how his mother looked, fists clenched and body shaking as he tried not to explode like a pack of Valyrian candles. Lucerys had been attacked while he was gone? Why? How? None of this was supposed to be an issue with Aegon removed from the equation. Yes, Aemond had been a little concerned that his mother or grandfather might try to establish a regency for little Jaehaerys in Aegon's stead, but that would've been incredibly difficult to get sufficient backing from even their most lords for, given the boy's age and Rhaenyra's claim to the throne.

"It wasn't Aemond."

"Hmmm, I suppose you're probably right," said Daemon. "That middle son of yours doesn't seem the type to let someone else do his dirty work for him. If he truly wanted Lucerys' eye, he'd come and take it himself."

"I swear, we did not give such an order. It wasn't us."

Daemon had gotten out of Rhaenys' grasp at some point and had circled around to stand not far from the Hightowers once again, his posture deceptively relaxed as he paced back and forth in front of them. Aemond easily recognized it as an intimidation tactic, mostly because it was one that he himself often used on others.

"But that doesn't mean you don't know someone else—someone outside the family—who could've given it."

A loud boom of thunder seemed to rock the Great Hall as this was said, flashes of lightning further illuminating the massive room. When Aemond looked up at the stained glass windows, he could see the silhouette of Vhagar's monstrous head looming just outside in the pouring rain, her presence the stuff of nightmares for almost everyone in the world except for him.

"You know as well as I, Prince Daemon, that our positions bring many a personal enemy to our doorsteps," said Otto, in what was obviously a desperate attempt to bring the conversation back into their arena. "Perhaps going through a list of possibilities would be prudent at this point."

Rhaenys was barely able to stop Daemon from drawing Dark Sister on his grandfather, the older prince's face contorted into a furious snarl. Even Aemond's mother had turned to her father with unconcealed fury, angrier than Aemond had almost ever seen her before as she hissed at him to just please, please, please stop making things worse.

"Alright, I believe that that is enough for the night," said Rhaenys as she all but dragged Daemon across the hall. "Ser Erryk, could you please escort the Dowager Queen and her father back to their apartments in the Tower of the Hand?"

"Yes, m'lady."

Aemond watched as Ser Erryk and four other Kingsguard came through the main entrance to escort his mother and grandfather out. Whatever had happened in the last few hours had apparently resulted in the Hightowers losing control of most of the Red Keep. And Aemond had a strong feeling that if he were to walk over to the castle's gates, he would likely see several familiar heads mounted on pikes along the Traitor's Walk. It seemed that Aegon's disappearance into exile—and Aemond's completely unexpected participation in enabling it—had caused a great deal of his grandfather's plans to fall apart.

Everything went quiet for several long minutes after that, Rhaenys and Daemon speaking in hushed tones as the heavens themselves seemed to shake with one roaring boom after another. The atmosphere made Aemond feel antsy, like some greater being was watching and judging him, waiting to see what he would do next and if his choices were worthy of divine guidance.

It was a terribly unpleasant feeling.

After debating with himself about how to best approach the current situation, it was the muted sound of Vhagar's signature rumble and the blood-chilling thought of his Lucerys being attacked again that finally spurred Aemond forward. And so, with hands hanging open and unarmed at his sides, Aemond stepped away from the pillar and out into the open to face his Black relatives.

"Ahhhhmmm."

The older Targaryens whirled around at the sound of a throat being cleared, Daemon immediately stepping in front of Rhaenys with his hand poised on Dark Sister. When they saw who it was, neither relaxed and instead seemed to tense up even more. To show that he meant no harm, Aemond raised both arms up and waved his palms for them to see.

"Good evening, Uncle. Aunt Rhaenys."

"So the worm finally reveals itself," said Daemon after a few tense moments. "You made quite the entrance earlier, boy, landing a beast like Vhagar in that puny yard."

Aemond shrugged and admitted, "It seemed the easiest way not to get caught."

"Probably the easiest way not to get killed as well, I'd imagine," Daemon added. "Wouldn't want the ol' girl burning down the whole keep with everybody in it, right?"

"The thought may have crossed my mind."

Rhaenys just stood there throughout the whole thing, eyes darting back and forth from one man to the other. Her gaze made Aemond feel small and unsuitable, but he immediately pushed those feelings to the side and raised his chin in defiance, refusing to be intimidated by either of his relatives. He had a purpose here and he would see it through.

For Lucerys' sake.

It was Rhaenys who spoke first. "You escorted your brother into exile. And helped me escape."

"Yes."

"Well, for that, you have my thanks." She gave him a gracious nod. "But, operating under the assumption that you were listening to our conversation with your mother and grandfather, I must ask: Did you send someone to kill my grandsons?"

"No."

There was no hesitation in Aemond's voice. He wanted it to be absolutely clear that he wasn't involved in any assassination attempt on Rhaenyra's heirs. Seven hells, it was the exact opposite, in fact. Ever since Helaena had come barging into his rooms with prophecies and fairytales spewing from her lips, Aemond's every little move had been motivated by what was most likely to keep Lucerys safe and happy. He had literally destroyed thirty-plus years worth of Hightower planning to protect a boy who he'd been threatening to maim and kill for more than a decade.

Aemond knew it sounded like pure insanity, and that's why he wouldn't tell them what his true motives were. Not yet.

"They wanted an eye for an eye," said Rhaenys, sharp eyes watching him like a hawk. "Luke said that they were very specific about that requirement. And considering your poor rapport with my grandson, I'm sure you can see why we'd be suspicious."

It was difficult to admit, given what he knew and felt now, but Aemond managed to grind out, "I have said many... unsavory things over the years, in regards to Lucerys and the bad-blood between us. Many people in this keep have heard such words come out of my very mouth, I'll admit. And because of that, I wouldn't be surprised if an attacker would purposely repeat those words to obscure their true intentions."

Maintaining eye contact with the elder Targaryens was a struggle, but Aemond powered through it, refusing to bend or cower in any way. He was facing two people who dearly loved Lucerys, and he knew that one in particular wouldn't hesitate to kill in the boy's defense. And for some reason, he felt the need to prove himself to the both of them. To show that he meant no harm to Lucerys, that although there may still be some complicated feelings between them, he truly bore no grudge and didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

"I see."

Rhaenys' short response made him tense. Unlike Aemond and his full siblings, Lucerys had always had many adults in his life who clearly loved him. Even Aemond's father had favored the curly-haired boy over his own sons, showing a blatant preference for his eldest daughter's bastard children. And now, here was one of Lucerys' two other grandparents, staring Aemond down like the overprotective mama bear that she truly was.

"I'm sure you understand, young Aemond, that those boys are all I have left of my son. My only son," said Rhaenys. "He adored and doted on them, and often worried that the crown would lay heavy on one of their heads. But killed in their own beds on Dragonstone, possibly on the orders of a family member who was supposed to love and care for them?"

His aunt shook her head, clearly disgusted by the whole affair. Aemond couldn't really blame her.

"No, not even my Laenor had thought of that."

Even though she clearly meant every word she said, it was also pretty obvious what Rhaenys was trying to do. By speaking of Laenor and his love for the boys, she was daring Aemond to say something, anything about their rumored status as bastards. And before the last few days, Aemond was more than a little ashamed to admit that he likely would've taken the bait and played into her little game of words. However, even if it was true that the Velaryon boys were bastards, not even Aemond's mother could deny that Laenor had loved those boys like they truly were his own.

Seven hells, it was probably one of the main reasons why Aemond had resented Rhaenyra's children so much. If his own king-father couldn't love him, then why did the little Strong bastards get to receive such tenderness and warmth from someone who wasn't even their trueborn father?

"Don't pay them any mind," his mother had often said, "Lord Laenor is only trying to keep up appearances. He's fully aware of what those boys are."

That explanation hadn't done much to soothe his puzzlement or irritation, though.

Aemond had seen Laenor with his children many times around the Red Keep. The man had been openly affectionate and loving with the boys, acting for all the world like they truly were his own by blood. He could distinctly remember an incident at the tourney grounds when he'd been nine and Luke four. The little boy had tried to climb up onto a tall chair by himself, Aemond watching from several yards away with a knot in his stomach. And as expected, little Luke had toppled down before reaching the top, landing hard on his bum and skinning a hand.

When the inevitable tears had started, Aemond had naturally expected it to be Rhaenyra who'd come running to attend to her precious, sweet boy. But to his surprise, it had been Laenor who had dashed around the table, face pinched with concern when he had spotted his younger son on the ground. There had been no hesitation in him scooping little Luke up, content to hold the boy close as he whispered soothing words and placed kisses upon the boy's brow. This had continued for several minutes until Luke had decided that it hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought and he'd wanted to be put down now.

All Laenor had done was laugh and give the boy one last kiss before allowing him to run off to play with his brother. And Aemond had watched all of this with a confused frown, baffled by the reasons why Laenor would be so tender and loving towards a child that his mother and Ser Cole constantly called a bastard.

But now, with his sister's prophecies and dragon threads weighing on his mind, Aemond could better understand why the Velaryon boys being bastards might not matter so much to some people. His own opinions had certainly changed quite a bit in just the last few days.

"I may not have had any knowledge of the order itself," said Aemond, weighing his words carefully, "But I have a suspicion about who does."

Daemon and Rhaenys both straightened up at his words, a vindictive fury blazing in their matching eyes at the prospect of finding and killing the person or people who'd dared to hurt a single curl on Lucerys' and Joffrey's heads. The bloodthirsty beast that lived deep inside of Aemond wholeheartedly agreed with them.

"And if it is who I suspect it is, then I will give you his head. Quite literally, if you'd prefer."

Chapter 4: Aemond

Chapter Text

"You're certain?"

"I can't think of any other people who'd have the means or the knowledge to attempt such a thing," said Aemond as they stalked through the halls of the Red Keep. "And I have overheard my mother and grandfather speaking with him numerous times over the years. He's not what he seems."

Daemon gave him a sharp, distrustful look when he mentioned this lil' tidbit of information.

"I also don't think my mother was involved in this particular scheme of his. Partly because of how genuinely upset she seemed when speaking to you two in the throne room, and also because he often doesn't consult her before following through with his plans."

They turned down another corner and then entered a side tunnel that was almost impossible to see in the dim light. Daemon was leading them, with Aemond giving him instructions on where their target would most likely be. Nobody save the ratcatchers and Maegor himself knew the Red Keep's hidden passages and tunnels better than Daemon, and it showed in how fast he was moving from one narrow tunnel to the next, never stopping for more than a few seconds to think about which direction would get them to their target fastest.

"He had to know that such a plan would be incredibly risky," said Rhaenys. "If it failed, the Greens would be the most likely suspects and our first target."

"Mother is often upset after speaking with him. I was not jesting when I claimed that he rarely informs her or anybody else of his plans," said Aemond, long strides barely able to keep up with Daemon as he turned one corner after another. "He spends a lot of his time mingling with the women at court. And most people don't realize that his true position is Lord Confessor, not just as a representative of House Strong."

Rhaenys snorted at this. "Mingling with the women. My oh my, he is a clever one, isn't he?"

"I wasn't going to say anything since it's not my place," said Daemon with a wink to his cousin, "But if you believe so..."

"Do grow up, Daemon."

His uncle let out a nasty little laugh before turning another corner and gesturing for all of them to be quiet. They'd purposely been speaking in High Valyrian since leaving the throne room, just in case someone was listening to their conversation through the walls. Daemon claimed that the only truly safe spaces to speak in the entire Keep were located in Maegor's Holdfast, which his great-uncle had specifically built without any secret passages in it.

All this information did was confirm one of Aemond's earlier suspicions. For years, Aemond had tried to find hidden corridors in the Holdfast, crawling through every tunnel and shaft and crosscut that he could find. None of them had ever led back to or inside of the Holdfast and as far as he knew, nothing directly connected to the lone escape tunnel that led out of the Holdfast, either.

Daemon finally stopped about three minutes later, gesturing for them to stay put while he scouted further ahead. The silence between Aemond and his aunt was a little awkward, but not nearly so bad as it would've been with his uncle. Rhaenys for her part didn't look at him much, instead keeping her gaze firmly on the dark tunnel that her cousin had disappeared into. Thankfully, whatever Daemon was doing didn't take him long, and he returned a short while later to beckon them forward.

"We will wait here. No torches."

Rhaenys looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but all Daemon gave her in return was one of his trademark smirks. Aemond wisely kept his mouth shut and didn't say anything at all.

"Don't worry, it shouldn't take long for the spider to come out of his hiding place."

And with that, Daemon put out their torches and they were engulfed by complete darkness. It likely would've unnerved or outright frightened most people, but Aemond wasn't like most people. He'd been half-blind for nearly ten years now and had always had a strange preference for the dim and dark. It'd often bothered his mother, to see him sitting or training in a darkened room. He very much enjoyed flying on Vhagar at night as well. To be honest, reading and writing were just about the only things that he absolutely needed a strong light source for, with his good eye seeming to compensate over time for the loss of its twin. It was just something that he had grown accustomed to and had specifically trained himself into the ground to overcome.

They stood there for quite some time, nothing except the sound of their own breathing echoing through the pitch-black. A sullen orange glow could be seen at the far end of the tunnel, flickering off and on as a stale breeze blew through the passages every odd minute. Self-control was something that Aemond had been working on recently, trying to incorporate morning and evening meditation practices into his already very busy training schedule. If Aemond was being honest, then he'd admit that it wasn't a habit that came naturally or easily to him, but the breathing exercises were proving themselves not to be completely useless right now.

He was on his eleventh round of breath counts when the faint clatter of approaching footsteps could be heard from an adjoining tunnel. Aemond felt a hand lightly touch his elbow, a silent signal from Daemon to follow him towards the light.

Thanks to half a lifetime of experience, Aemond had no problem following his uncle through the darkness, eye slowly adjusting as they came closer and closer to the light. Once they were within ten feet of an iron gate, Daemon motioned for him to stop and stay behind with Rhaenys while he himself crept forward to get a closer look at the source of the footsteps.

Aemond couldn't help but tense up as the footsteps got closer, good eye fixed on the shifting shadows just beyond his uncle's form. The loud clang of an iron gate being opened and then closed was the only warning they got before Daemon threw open their own gate and surged forward, a savage snarl tearing out of his uncle's throat as he full-body tackled their target.

"You!" snarled Daemon from where he was pinning the other man to the floor. "Hahaha, the little sh*t was right, it is you."

Beneath the older prince lay Lord Larys Strong, face twisted with shock and confusion from being attacked in a place he'd obviously thought was secure and hidden. He struggled briefly against Daemon's hold, but was no match for the other man's superior strength and skill. A broken finger was the Lord Confessor's reward for irritating Daemon with his refusal to accept defeat.

"Planning to report back to your master, stumpy?" drawled Daemon. "'Cause that's certainly what it looks like you were trying to do."

Larys didn't manage to get a single word out before Daemon kneed him hard in the groin. After that, the prince grabbed him by the lapels and physically threw him about twelve feet to the right, expression gleeful as he stalked forward like a hungry predator. When the Strong lord tried to sit up, he was met with a brutal boot to the throat and manacles on his wrists and ankles.

"How about we provide some... entertainment to those above us, hmmm? How does that sound?"

Aemond knew exactly where he was as soon as he walked past the iron gate. The younger prince had explored these tunnels often as a young child, back when he'd still been small enough to squeeze between the gates' bars. The small round chamber acted as a juncture where half a dozen tunnels met, with a secret escape shaft and its many rungs rising high overhead. To one side was an ornate iron brazier fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head, and on the floor was a black- and red-tiled mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

It was also, quite conveniently, located right underneath the Tower of the Hand.

"Prince... Prince Aemond?"

Just the sound of Larys' voice speaking his name was almost enough to snap Aemond's tenuous self-control. This man had taken it into his own hands to send assassins after Lucerys and his little brother, with one of those assassins even purposefully incriminating Aemond in the nighttime attack. With their bond already poisoned by past violence and hatred, Aemond couldn't afford for even the tiniest mistake to call his current and future actions into question. But Larys' assassination order had done just that, and Lucerys was likely even more frightened of Aemond than he'd been before.

And that, more than anything else, was something that Aemond would never be able to forgive.

"What are you—"

"Rhaenys, my dear cousin," said Daemon in a cheery voice, "Do you happen to have that lovely dagger on you? The one that Corlys brought you from Leng Yi?"

"I do believe that I do."

"Fabulous! I've just been dying to test it out for, oh, I'd say about twenty-five years now."

"Of course, you have," sighed Rhaenys as she handed the jade-hilted dagger over. "But do be careful, Corlys likes to use it as a glorified letter-opener from time to time, so it's quite sharp."

Even Aemond had to admit, it was a lovely dagger.

"I would expect nothing less," said Daemon while twirling and testing the dagger's weight between his fingers. "Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong, that proper care and maintenance of such things is important? Hmmm?"

For once, Larys didn't seem to know what to say.

"Because I think proper care and maintenance of everything in a man's life is an important trait to have," said Daemon with a faux-smile. "Whether it's your sword, or your occupation, or your family, or by the Gods, even a dragon, it's always important to properly treat and nurture what's been left in your care. Don't you agree, Lord Strong?"

The other man just stared up at him.

"Or perhaps I'm just not explaining myself well enough to be understood," laughed Daemon, as if it was him making a mistake and not Larys. "An example, what would be a good example, hmmmm..."

Daemon stepped on the Lord Confessor's clubfoot as he walked back and forth, pointedly ignoring Larys' pained yelp as he continued to hem and haw over what would be a good example. It made the vengeful beast inside of Aemond purr with satisfaction.

"Ah, I've thought of one! Lord Strong, you know of my stepsons, correct?" Daemon leaned down to stare straight into Larys' eyes. "Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey? The pride and joy of my dearest wife and their late father. And some of the sweetest and most polite children you would ever meet, of that I can assure you. I'm quite sure you'd be charmed if you ever met them."

Everyone in that room knew damned well that Larys had met Rhaenyra's three oldest sons on numerous occasions, back when Lyonel was still Hand to the King. He knew those boys well and yet had still been willing to kill them.

"As their stepfather, it's my responsibility to love and care for them, especially given the tragic absence of their father," said Daemon. "And I take that responsibility very, very seriously. If anything were to happen to those dear boys when I could've prevented it..." Daemon let out a vicious laugh at this. "Well, let's just say that it wouldn't be pretty."

Daemon had knelt down now, left knee digging into the sensitive flesh of Larys' inner thigh. When the other man tried to sit up, Daemon finally brought the dagger to rest against his vulnerable throat.

"Have you ever been shot by an arrow, Lord Strong?" asked Daemon while drawing the blade along Larys' lower jaw. "Or stabbed with anything larger than a needle? It is a most unpleasant sensation, although I found the former to be worse than the latter. At least with a blade—and I'm talking about an unserrated blade, of course—it's usually a fairly straightforward wound and can be sewn shut without too much scarring. But with an arrow, it's the impact that truly does the damage. You can feel every barb as it tears through the flesh and lodges into the bone."

His uncle ran the knife from one ear to the other, as if carving a grotesque smile into the other man's face.

"And then removing it? Why, you've got to take it out through the other side, of course. Or else you'll be severing every artery and vein and muscle in the area with those pesky barbs. It's quite the terrible sensation, and one I had hoped to never experience again."

The dagger was running down the side of Larys' neck, just barely nicking a small patch of skin beneath his left ear.

"Do you know what happened at the seventeenth bell today? After my gold cloaks had mutinied and put to the sword the pathetic swine you'd installed over the last few weeks? After it only took me a single afternoon to reclaim this festering cesspool of a city?"

Daemon paused, knife nicking another cut on the opposite side of Larys' throat.

"I received a raven from my dearest lady-wife, telling me how three hooded men had tried to sneak into my stepsons' bedchambers and murder them in their sleep. And I say tried, because one of your little spiders didn't even make it into the oldest boy's room. I do believe his rotted corpse has been smashed to pieces against the seaside cliffs beneath Jace's bedroom windows."

Larys seemed to flinch at this information, the first visible tell he'd given so far.

"The second found nothing more than an empty bed, devoid of our darling Joffrey. And why was this, you ask? Why, it was because our sweet Lucerys had found a heavily pregnant mama cat just the other week and dear Joffrey was so excited at the prospect of kittens that he'd demanded to stay in Luke's rooms until they were born. As I said, the absolute sweetest of boys, those two are."

Daemon's knee sunk deeper into Larys' thigh, knife sinking in just far enough to draw blood along the full length of Larys' left ear. This time, however, Daemon didn't stop himself from pushing the blade just a little bit deeper, down into the delicate muscle that lay underneath. The younger prince watched the whole process with a hawk-like eye, internally baying for blood at the mere thought of what this wretched man had put Lucerys and his baby brother through.

He wanted to be the person who cut Lord Strong up into little, tiny pieces. He wanted to be the person who made him scream in pain as Aemond sliced through bone and muscle and veins, forcing him to experience just an ounce of the fear that his Luke must've felt. He wanted to be the person who caused the life to drain from his eyes, an unholy avenger who would serve his limbs up on a pike for all to see.

Aemond's fingers twitched with the need to unsheathe his own dagger and join in the torture of his grandfather's very own Lord Confessor. He wanted to hear the man's sins spill from his very own tongue, face coated with blood and tears as Aemond ripped him apart like a stuck pig at the mid-summer festival. Nothing else would quell this dark rage that burned through him.

Well, except for Lucerys himself, of course.

But unfortunately for Lord Strong, his sweet Lucerys wasn't here to extinguish the simmering violence that was threatening to burst forth from him. The only other people with him were Lucerys' very own stepfather and grandmother, who were just as hungry for fire and blood as Aemond was.

"And the third one?" said Daemon, voice little more than a whisper. "Well, he actually managed to reach his target. Climbed right along the narrow ledge that connects my stepson's bedchambers to a nearby bridge. I imagine he had little problem slipping through the side window that Luke likes to prop open, so long as he wasn't too much of a fat f*ck."

Larys grimaced when the knife came up to tap, tap, tap less than an inch from his left eye.

"You probably thought you were clever, sending men loyal to the late Vaemond Velaryon's cause to murder his much-hated grand-nephews. But sadly, you overestimated your assassins and underestimated your targets."

Daemon leaned down to stare straight into Larys' eyes, a vicious smile stretching across his face as he tapped the knife almost directly over the opposite eye. This caused Lord Strong to flinch, and his uncle shook with laughter at the sight.

"Would you like to know what Lucerys did when he heard somebody sneaking into his room?" asked Daemon. "Because the boy wasn't yet asleep when your lil' assassin came through the window. He gets up twice a night to check on that pregnant cat of his, all nestled up in a crate-full of blankets that his mother helped him pick out. I'd dare say that that cat is sleeping better than anyone else in the whole damned keep."

The knife was pushed right up against Larys' eyelid now.

"Lucerys' response to someone sneaking into his bedchamber, to someone stalking towards the shared bed in which his little brother was sleeping, was to take a heavy chamber pot and smash it straight across the invader's face, knocking him clean out. Or, well, perhaps not so clean, considering the weapon in this situation. But I implore you to imagine such a scene: a grown man—a confirmed killer!—having his nose and jaw completely shattered by a boy of four and ten wielding a f*ckin' chamber pot."

The older prince looked so incredibly proud, all but bursting with delight at what his stepson had done.

"By the Gods, what a sight it must've been!" crowed Daemon, eyes downright manic with bloodlust and pride. "My lady-wife says that our sweet Lucerys was in quite the state of shock at his own actions. The child is scarcely willing to unleash his sword against a practice dummy most days and still flinches like a babe whenever he sees the dragons being fed, but an assassin threatens to kill his baby brother?"

Daemon trailed the knife down the other man's throat, stopping at the small dip between shoulder and collarbone. He was smiling all the while, as if he knew some great secret that not even someone like Larys Strong would be privy to.

"That, my dear Lord Confessor, is when the fire and blood comes out."

And with those words, Daemon drove the dagger deep into Lord Strong's shoulder, causing the man to unleash a pain-filled scream that echoed through the tunnels and straight up the chamber's shaft. His uncle had the other man effectively pinned, and when he tried to grab at the dagger, Daemon just twisted it to the left. More screams ripped their way out of Larys' throat.

Aemond smiled.

"Did you honestly think you weren't already a suspect in the fire at Harrenhal? The one that burned your whole family alive?" hissed Daemon as he pulled out the knife and then slammed it down into the opposite shoulder. "Rumors have swirled about that for years, trickling down from the Red Keep to Flea Bottom as you yourself came into new and highly suspect positions. Always at Otto f*ckin' Hightower's beck and call. What say you, Lord Strong? Did you burn your entire family in their home, just to further your own manic greed and depravity?"

The Lord Confessor pinched his lips together and refused to speak.

"Ah, so you're going to be like that," said Daemon with no small amount of glee. "But considering how many secrets you're keeping, I suppose you don't have a choice, do you? What do you think, cousin? Nephew?"

"I think there are many ways to make a man talk without killing him," said Aemond, "So long as you know where not to cut, of course."

"Good answer."

"I'd imagine that Ser Harrold and the City Watch have likely cleared most of the castle at this point," said Rhaenys while inspecting one of her nails. "We could always take him to the black cells, too. I'm sure he'd feel right at home there."

"Hmmm, no, I think I prefer him right here."

Daemon punctuated this statement by bringing the knife up to Larys' left hand, where he stuck the tip beneath one of the fingernails and started to brutally pry it up and out of the nail-bed. Larys couldn't hold back a scream this time, either.

"Yes, let them hear you," snarled Daemon. "Let them know what happens to someone who tries to hurt your Queen's children. And your master will be next, don't you worry. He'll be next."

"She will never... be my Queen."

"No, I'd imagine she won't," this was accompanied by another fingernail being pulled from its bed, "But that doesn't really matter too much at this point, now does it?"

They heard footsteps at the far end of the nearest tunnel, the familiar clank of armor signaling the approach of someone well-armed. Aemond's hand moved to his sword as he positioned himself between the tunnel and his aunt. Daemon paid the approaching person no mind, apparently having total confidence in the loyalty of whoever he'd left in charge of the keep.

"My princes, princess."

"Ah, Ser Harrold, good to see you," said Rhaenys. "How are things going up top?"

"Finally starting to quiet down, princess, and with any hope they won't be riling back up any time soon, either. The City Watch has followed your instructions to the letter, Prince Daemon. There was shockingly little to clean up on their end, apparently."

Rhaenys sighed. "Well, that's certainly some welcome news. As for down here..."

"Ah, I see the young prince's suspicions were correct then," said Harrold, who had been visibly skeptical of Aemond's loyalties and purpose when he'd first arrived in the throne room. "Will you be needing the black cells then, my prince?"

"No, I don't think so," said Daemon as he peeled off another nail. "Not for this one, at least. I'd imagine they're getting pretty full by this point."

Harrold shrugged. "Not any more than they were a few hours ago, my prince. Just different inhabitants now."

"Do what you must, my good Lord Commander."

Everything went quiet for a few moments until Rhaenys gestured to the side, apparently wishing to speak to Ser Harrold in private. Aemond didn't feel as slighted as he usually would, stoically accepting that although his uncle and aunt were willing to work with him to track down Lucerys' attackers, they still had little reason to trust him on most other matters. For now, he would just have to keep his mouth shut and bear it.

As Lucerys' stepfather and grandmother, it was imperative that Aemond earn their trust. If he didn't, then there was little to no hope of him ever getting near Lucerys in the foreseeable future. This especially applied to his uncle, who Aemond was convinced already had a long, detailed, physical list of reasons why he'd like to just kill him outright and be done with it.

This brooding thought was soon accompanied by another scream from Lord Strong. How fitting.

"My, my, it looks like that foot of yours is quite delicate, isn't it? I wonder, does such a condition cause blood flow or circulation problems? Why don't we find out."

Despite the little issue of Daemon very likely still wanting to kill him, Aemond couldn't help but be genuinely impressed by his uncle's ability to slice such a thin layer of skin from Lord Strong's foot. And then another. And then another. Only a deft hand would be able to accomplish such a tedious feat. Aemond wondered where and how he had learned it.

"Come now, Lord Strong, it's just a little blood. I thought you enjoyed this sort of thing?"

Daemon had the knife buried nearly a half-inch deep between Larys' second and third toe, working his way across each foot as the other man struggled to hold back his screams. Lord Strong was only successful about the half the time, the chamber echoing with yelps and shrieks of pain every other minute. Aemond itched to join in, good eye fixed on the craven man who'd ordered the death of his sweet Lucerys. But no, that wasn't something he was allowed yet.

Until Daemon beckoned him forward, he wouldn't be able to partake in torturing the perfidious Lord Strong.

"Hmmm, I do believe that this is where your radial nerve is, yes?" drawled Daemon once he was finished slicing between Larys' mangled toes. "Nephew! Come over here."

Or maybe he wouldn't have to wait as long as he'd thought...

"Over here, boy. Stand to my right," ordered Daemon. "Now, let's see if that bloviating, self-righteous c*nt actually taught you anything. Did Ser Crispy ever show you where a man's radial nerve is?"

Aemond blinked. "Ugh, yes, I believe so."

"Then show me. And with your own knife. I know you have at least a half-dozen on you."

"Eight, actually."

Aemond proved this by unsheathing two knives at once, one from his belt and the other from his right boot. Both were decorated with Vhagar's scales along their hilts and both were sharpened every other day by Aemond himself.

"Which arm?"

"Doesn't matter much to me. Your choice."

"Seeing as he is clearly right-handed," drawled Aemond, "I'll go with this one."

And with that, Aemond shoved his boot knife down into the radial nerve of Larys' right arm. Despite his earlier statement, it was not Ser Cole who had taught Aemond where the radial nerve was located, but one of his past maesters. The younger prince had always been very interested in anatomy and had come up with a compelling argument that had convinced Maester Roelin to further his studies on the subject.

Looks like that interest was going to pay off now.

His uncle let out a snort. "Well, looks like you're not so useless after all. Color me surprised. Now, put that other knife of yours to good use and give our dear friend here a matching scar, eh? Let's make him sing."

Aemond didn't hesitate.

Chapter 5: Aemond

Chapter Text

"By the Gods, Daemon, couldn't you at least use a bag or something?"

"Looks perfectly fine to me," said Daemon, severed head held up high for everyone to see. "Might keep it as an accessory. Caraxes will love it."

"It's dripping all over the floor."

"Part of my duties as Prince-Consort will involve guaranteeing reliable employment for the citizens of King's Landing." Daemon gestured at the bloody trail he'd left behind them. "Bloody mess equals employment."

Rhaenys looked like she was one word away from clobbering him.

"Ser Lorent, could you please escort the Queen Dowager to her former apartments in the Holdfast," said Rhaenys, pointedly ignoring Daemon and his newest toy. "I don't see any point in making this more difficult than it already is."

"I don't know, I think it'd be a pretty good—"

"Daemon!"

"Alright, alright, go get the shrew," conceded the older prince. "And do be quick about it. I want to get this done while it's still fresh."

It took every ounce of willpower and self-control that he possessed for Aemond not to snort at the sight of his uncle waving around Larys Strong's severed head like it was nothing more than a tourney trophy, meant to be ohhhed and ahhhed at by a captivated crowd. Unfortunately for Daemon though, his cousin also just happened to be one of those rare people who wasn't impressed by either trophies or tourneys.

"Must you do that?"

"I'm just taking your advice and trying to get the worst of the blood out before bringing it back inside." Daemon kicked open a nearby door and literally shook the head out in the pouring rain. "See, less bloody already."

Rhaenys sighed. "It's past midnight, Daemon."

"Your point?"

"We'd have been finished hours ago if you'd just left him to the black cells."

"I wasn't about to let him leave that room alive," said Daemon. "The man's a f*ckin' co*ckroach. He probably would've found some way to escape."

"With no hands or feet?"

"I wasn't taking any chances. Not with the boys."

That last statement seemed to quell whatever misgivings Rhaenys had left, fingers tightening around the letters that Ser Harrold had given her. Aemond, meanwhile, kept his mouth shut and stood off to the side, slightly anxious at the thought of having to see his mother any moment now. The older Targaryen seemed to sense this, because she turned to Aemond a few seconds later and pinned him with a sharp, knowing gaze.

"I have several duties I need to attend to, including delivering these letters to the rookery and checking in with the City Watch," said Rhaenys. "Why don't you accompany me, Prince Aemond?"

Despite her benign tone, Aemond could tell that this wasn't a suggestion.

"Of course."

Rhaenys gestured for him to follow her further down the hallway and away from where Daemon would be heading, purposely taking him in the opposite direction of the Tower of the Hand. If Rhaenys was expecting him to object, then Aemond was more than happy to defy her expectations. He knew that she was testing him, waiting to see if he'd try anything aggressive or mutinous against the Blacks' cause.

"I would like to thank you again for sending Ser Erryk to me," said Rhaenys as they walked past the Small Hall. "With the chaos of you and your brother's departure, it was quite easy to make our escape to the Dragonpit. Leaving the city without Meleys was never even an option for me."

"The choice was obvious," said Aemond. "I just did what had to be done."

"Your mother and grandfather don't seem to agree with that statement. They have been quite vocal about not understanding your choice of actions."

"That speaks more to their observational abilities than mine."

He received a sidelong look after saying this, Rhaenys' eyes narrowed and flinty as she tried to parse out what was true and what was not in his vague explanation. It was strange, how Aemond felt more exposed and vulnerable under his aunt's gaze than he'd ever felt when under his own mother's. He tried not to think too much on what this could mean for him and his future interactions with Lucerys.

Perhaps some... partial honesty was called for with this particular conversation.

"My brother has never desired the throne, nor has he tried to hide this lack of desire, either," said Aemond. "He spends almost all of his time in Flea Bottom, carousing and drinking and f*cking his way through the city's whor*houses and underground fighting pits. Learning the art of kingship and good governance has never been a priority to him. Being a halfway decent father and husband, even less so. If he could spend his entire life being the spare, he would gladly accept such a fate. My mother knows this. Grandfather knows this. The entire keep knows this."

Every word Aemond spoke was true. Rhaenys herself had seen on multiple occasions how irresponsible and selfish Aegon was, with the oldest prince even puking into a flower pot after one particularly tense dinner three years ago. Their father had been too high on milk of the poppy to pay Aegon much mind, but Aemond could remember the pinched look on his aunt's face throughout the meal.

She'd left on Meleys early the next morning. Not that Aemond could blame her, considering how indifferent his mother and grandfather had acted during the visit. Aemond himself had been encouraged to avoid Rhaenys whenever possible, his mother's usual warnings about Rhaenyra and her bastard children extending to their grandmother as well by that point.

"The realm would've suffered greatly under my brother's rule, if only because it wouldn't even be considered a priority to him."

"It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this."

Aemond shrugged. "It's impossible not to when you live under the same roof. And Mother speaks often of duty and serving the realm, but has never been able to enforce such a mentality onto Aegon. He's doesn't understand restraint."

"And do you?"

"What?"

"Understand the importance of restraint," said Rhaenys, voice mild and not unkind. "Because I feel like that is a very important question to ask of someone who rides the oldest and largest dragon in the world. Especially someone as young as yourself who hasn't had any formal guidance from older, more experienced dragon riders. When it comes to dragons, no matter their size, nothing is more important than being in control of yourself."

Aemond didn't know what to say.

"It's something I always have to be mindful of when riding Meleys. She has been my constant companion for more than fifty years now, but that doesn't mean that I have complete control of her, either. She has her own mind and has pushed back against me on many occasions. A dragon-rider who has no restraint or control over their own emotions has no business being a dragon-rider."

"You..." Aemond licked his lips before continuing, "You were formally taught how to ride?"

"Of course! It's Valyrian tradition for an older family member to teach a child how to properly bond with and ride their dragon. My father and grandmother were my formal teachers, but it was also quite common for me to learn things from other family members as well. Your grandfather Baelon often flew with me in my earliest years. Did you know that he rode Vhagar, too?"

Rhaenys' question sounded like sand in his ears, for Aemond was struck more than a little dumb by what he was hearing. As far as he knew, neither he nor his siblings had ever been formally trained or guided by older dragon-riders. The only organized instruction they'd ever had had been through the dragon-keepers at the Dragonpit and for a short time, through secretly observing Rhaenyra and Laenor when they had still lived in King's Landing.

Every single experienced dragon-rider in their extended family—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena—had been viewed as an enemy by the Hightowers, so Aemond and his siblings had just had to learn how to ride on their own. And bonding or controlling their dragons? That knowledge just had to come from their chronically absent father or tattered Valyrian history books.

It was frustrating to think that assistance had always been within reach and yet they'd been denied outright, time and time again.

"Umm, yes, I knew. But nothing beyond that."

"We will have to remedy that then," said Rhaenys with a decisive nod. "Better late than never, I suppose would apply quite well here. But now, while we're still on the topic of dragons, I think that we need to talk about the problem in the middle bailey."

Aemond held back a wince at the reminder.

They had stopped under a covered archway that led out to the central courtyards, rain still pouring down as the storm raged outside. In the murky darkness lurked his ol' girl's massive form, taking up almost every bit of available space between the Great Hall and middle walls. Unfortunately for Vhagar, her immense size meant that Aemond didn't have any place available near King's Landing where she could fully escape the elements. Being left out in the rain was pretty standard for them, whether it be in the Red Keep's middle bailey or the shores south of the city.

"I don't presume to know what's been going through your head over the last few days," said Rhaenys, tone smooth and non-judgemental, "But if you plan to stay, then I would advise moving Vhagar by morning."

"Yeah, I don't usually land her here."

"I should certainly hope not. But still, poor ol' girl, always stuck outside in the chilly rain," lamented the older woman. "My Laena used to feel just terrible about it. And at her current size, I doubt even the topless towers of Old Valyria would've been able to support her weight."

As if she could hear the two Targaryens talking sh*t about her, Vhagar's huge head suddenly came out of the inky darkness to stare down at them, long neck twisting at what must've been a dreadfully awkward angle to get a closer look. Aemond watched Rhaenys out of the corner of his eye, more than a little impressed by how she took Vhagar's approach without a single flinch. It was rare for Aemond to encounter someone who wasn't terrified of her.

Rhaenys gave him a knowing smile when she noticed his stare, fearlessly taking a few steps closer to better see the curious dragon. To Aemond, it was a welcome sight. Not even the dragon-keepers liked to come near Vhagar anymore, too concerned by her sheer size and grizzled features to pay her half as much attention as Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Tessarion.

His mother wouldn't even touch her.

"Don't act surprised. My daughter rode Vhagar for more than fifteen years," said Rhaenys with a small smile. "I am accustomed to her presence."

"She appears to remember you."

"I spent many an afternoon with Laena picking and pulling overgrown scales off of her throat and other hard to reach places. Vhagar always tolerated it remarkably well. Never once tried to step on us," she laughed. "And Gods know that the sand dunes around Driftmark were a perfect sunbathing spot for her."

His aunt's eyes glazed over a little when she said this, obviously remembering a time when Vhagar belonged to a sweet-natured girl with dark skin, curly white hair, and an infectious laugh. Laena Velaryon was everything Aemond Targaryen was not, and Aemond couldn't help but wonder if the Queen Who Never Was still resented him for taking the chance to claim Vhagar from her youngest granddaughter.

"But anyways," said Rhaenys in an obvious change of subject, "Figure out how to move her by morning. And try not to demolish anything while doing it."

"I might not be able to guarantee that."

"Well, at least make sure it's nothing more than a wall or two. That's easier to repair than a whole building." Rhaenys had started to walk again, Aemond only a few steps behind. He could still feel Ser Harrold's eyes watching him like a hawk. "And if we're being honest, the middle bailey was due for a renovation, anyways. I never much liked what your father had done with the place."

They both knew that it was his mother who had remodeled the central courtyard, not his father.

"She should be able to take off over the northern walls—in the direction of the Iron Gate—without causing too much damage," said Aemond. "The courtyard is probably a lost cause, though. I'm pretty sure that Vhagar landed right on the fountain."

His aunt hummed in response, footsteps swift as she brought them to a little used meeting room. There were two fully-armored men waiting at the room's single table, gold cloaks clearly signifying what faction they were associated with. Aemond recognized both from prior attendances at the Small Council. His grandfather hadn't been pleased by having to deal with either man, complaining on multiple occasions about their continued loyalty to Prince Daemon and the dangerous designs that the Rogue Prince had instilled into the police force.

"Ser Luthor, Ser Balon."

"Princess."

"How goes the situation in the city?" asked Rhaenys, getting right down to the first order of business. "Ser Harrold was able to give me a short briefing on the current conditions, but a little more detail would be much appreciated."

Aemond immediately felt the eyes of both men turn to him, with Ser Balon Byrch not even attempting to hide his displeasure about Aemond being there to hear their reports. His aunt took their response in stride and gestured for Aemond to sit in a plush chair directly behind her own.

"Do not worry about the young prince," said Rhaenys once she was seated. "He is under my supervision for the time being and we will not be discussing anything that he could use against us even if he wished to. Now, good Sers, let's hear the state of things around the city."

While keeping himself as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, Aemond learned that although his grandfather had installed Green loyalists as officers of the City's Watch, the rank-and-file gold cloaks were still almost fanatically loyal to their founder and former lord commander, Daemon. The mere sight of Caraxes above the city's walls had been enough for the gold cloaks to openly revolt and throw open all seven of the city's gates within less than an hour. Aemond's maternal uncle and second-in-command of the City Watch, Gwayne Hightower, had been slain by Ser Luthor Largent himself.

Considering his uncle's combined bad habit of being overconfident and misjudging people's characters, Aemond wasn't too surprised to learn that he'd been caught and executed early in the takeover. Gwayne rarely ever saw anything coming until it was too late.

Apparently, only replacing the officers in the City Watch had cost the Hightowers dearly. Outnumbered ten-to-one, it had been easy for the non-commissioned gold cloaks to slaughter their Green-appointed superiors. And without a king to be officially loyal to, the Kingsguard hadn't been much better, with Ser Harrold sneaking into the Keep and rallying Black loyalists to his side. Any who opposed them had either been put to the sword or thrown into the black cells, which had been promptly emptied of those who had refused to pledge to Aegon II and replaced with those who willingly had. Without the two princes and their dragons, King's Landing and the Red Keep had fallen to the Blacks in less than twenty-four hours.

The Greens had literally banked their entire victory on Aegon, Aemond, and their dragons. Most specifically, Vhagar.

With everybody and their mother having witnessed Vhagar's departure from Visenya's Hill, it had been impossible for the Hightowers and their supporters to prevent the spread of rumors into every corner of the city. Aegon the Exile, was what everyone was now calling his older brother. A first-born son who didn't want the throne and also didn't want to usurp the former king's chosen heir. A second-born son who helped his elder brother escape a miserable fate that would have almost certainly plunged the realm into civil war.

It was the stuff of epic tales and the people of King's Landing were eating it up like lemon cakes at a mid-summer festival. There was no going back from this, at least not for the Hightowers. Not even Aemond's cooperation would guarantee success at this point.

As Rhaenys asked after the smallfolk and how they were handling the recent chaos, Aemond felt his good eye and shoulders begin to slowly droop, the voices around him blending together as a bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up to him. He hadn't slept for more than a combined ten hours in five days and despite what Aemond liked to think about himself and his training, there was just no way that a human body could keep going with so little rest. That, combined with the plush cushions of the armchair, proved to be too much for even Aemond to resist for long.

With the fuzzy curtain of slumber pulling him under, Aemond couldn't help but wonder if this would be his very last time in the waking world. For he was surrounded on all sides by enemies and without Rhaenys' constant presence, he was little more than walking target practice to almost everyone that was still freely moving about the keep. Unfortunately, even with knowing this, there was little that Aemond could do to stop his body and mind from succumbing to its desperate need for sleep.

For most people, going to sleep was a gradual process, with the brain and body slowly turning off the parts that weren't necessary for slumber. After that was done, the weird ambience of a dream would usually set in, only distinguishable from the real world by the near-constant feeling of something being just not quite right. Helaena had once called this the syrup effect, claiming that it was the main way she could tell her real dreams apart from her not-real dreams. When Aegon had laughed at her for this, Helaena had just leaned over and asked him how dancing with an octopus and two basilisks had gone.

For who knows what reason, Aegon had snapped his mouth shut, swallowed an entire glassful of wine in one go, and then wouldn't look anybody in the eye for the rest of the day. It had been wonderful. And Helaena had looked genuinely proud of herself for having caused it.

However, if Aegon had been hoping that their sister would reveal something similarly weird about Aemond's dreams, then he would be waiting a very long time. She didn't say anything to her middle brother because, unlike Helaena or Aegon, it was rare for Aemond to dream at all.

"A dream of knots," Helaena had said to him one day several years ago. "You're supposed to have a dream of knots. But you don't."

His sister had looked terribly upset by this bizarre revelation.

"It's clouded by green muck, coming from all sides. You should be able to see them, but you can't. It's the green muck's fault."

Despite not understanding what she was saying, Aemond had at least tried to follow whatever peculiar logic Helaena was using to interpret his dreams, or lack thereof. She had seemed so serious, so desperate to explain why knots being choked in green was so important. However, as happened so often, nothing she said had made a lick of sense to Aemond. It had sounded like nothing more than gibberish at the time. But now, four years later...

Now the knots made a little more sense.

And that was why Aemond didn't freak out when he saw that both of his hands were suddenly covered in knotted strings. The fingers on his right hand twitched up and down, one large knot almost completely restricting the movement of his middle and pointer fingers. His left hand wasn't quite as confined, with each finger having one or two distinctly separate strings knotted around the knuckles. For a moment, he wondered what their purpose was.

"We're here."

As if underwater, Aemond's head slowly turned to look at three men standing to his right. Had they been there before? This wasn't like him not to notice.

"Now, here's how it's gonna go."

Aemond looked around him, eyes roving up and down a long hallway that was unfamiliar to him. None of the three men seemed to notice that he was standing there, too busy whispering amongst each other to see a fourth person standing right behind them. Or maybe they couldn't see him? Aemond was quickly beginning to believe it was the latter because at least two of them had looked right at and then through him more than once.

"The littler ones are just down that corridor," said the biggest man. "We'll get them last."

"What about the girls?"

"Not our top priority. Take out the bastards first, and then the younger boys. We'll get the girls last if we can."

"f*ck, it's raining again."

It only took a few seconds for Aemond's foggy brain to realize that these were the assassins. These were the men that Larys Strong and his grandfather had sent to kill Rhaenyra's children. And Aemond was just standing there like a calcified lump, unable to move his body to strike them down like the pathetic little co*ckroaches that they were. His fingers twitched, desperate to draw his sword and bathe the walls in their blood. But he couldn't because his f*cking fingers wouldn't move except in the—

In the direction of that door over there.

As if controlled by some outside source, Aemond turned to stare at a door about fifteen feet to his right, feet starting to move on their own accord a few seconds later. It was as close to an out-of-body experience as Aemond had ever had, a cold shiver running down his spine when he literally passed straight through the closed door like a ghost from his childhood storybooks. He wondered if this was how Helaena felt every time she had one of her weird dream-like episodes.

Nothing about this was pleasant, so he certainly hoped not.

The room he'd passed into was about half the size of his own bedchamber at the Red Keep. It was filled with all of the usual things you'd find in a bedroom, including a full-sized bed, two wardrobes, a writing desk, matching night tables, plush Myrish carpets, and several benches that were covered in blankets and what appeared to be dragon-riding gear. When Aemond ventured a little further into the room, his eyes were drawn to a small lump on the bed, two mangled pillows and a blob of brown hair just barely peeking out of the quilt.

Joffrey, his mind supplied. Daemon said that Joffrey had been sleeping in Lucerys' room when the attack happened.

So, if that was little Joffrey in the bed, then that meant that Lucerys had to be somewhere else in the room. Aemond looked down at his hands, fingers wiggling when the knots seemed to pull a little tighter around each knuckle. He walked to the bedroom's middle, eyes glued on the black strings that seemed to be leading to the far side of the chamber. It was only after Aemond was a few feet from the opposite wall that he noticed a small alcove to his left, almost completely hidden in the darkness thanks to its positioning in a slanted corner.

And there, amongst a carefully organized pile of pillows and blankets, was Lucerys.

Everything in the world seemed to grind to a sudden halt. The only sounds that Aemond could hear besides his own pounding heart were that of quiet breathing from the nearby bed and the distinct patter of rain against the window panes. His hands started to shake, black threads seeming to dance and flutter with excitement as he took one unsteady step closer to the younger boy. Even if this was only a dream, that didn't change the fact that suddenly being so close to Lucerys was more than enough to make his mind practically explode with anxiety and exhilaration.

It was the most overwhelming feeling he'd ever felt in his life.

The strings vibrated harder and harder with each step forward he took, pulling him towards Lucerys like a Walano butterfly drawn to the afternoon sun. It was only when he was close enough to see Lucerys' face in the darkness that Aemond's body no longer felt like it was going to burst apart at the seams, good eye watching as Lucerys' whole body leaned forward to look at something deeper within the pile of blankets and pillows.

"I think you're getting close," whispered Lucerys, voice so quiet that Aemond could scarcely hear him. "Just another day or two and you're gonna be a mama, Sweetpea. What do you think? Are you ready for that?"

Ah, yes, Daemon had mentioned a pregnant cat.

"My mother says that you'll be able to do it all on your own, that it just comes natural. Like she did with me and my brothers. But I don't know..." If he listened closely, Aemond could hear the distinct sound of purring coming from the blanket pile. "That seems like an awful lot for someone as little as yourself."

He watched as Luke leaned over to pick up a small dish and spoon that were sitting just outside of the alcove. The young prince grimaced for a moment, obviously none too happy about the smell, but still scooped up a spoonful to manually feed to the cat.

"I ordered this from the kitchens," said Lucerys, "It's your favorite. See? Roasted tuna in gravy."

Lucerys had just coaxed the cat into eating a few mouthfuls when the quiet sound of something rubbing against the window could be heard from the far side of the room. Despite already knowing what was going to happen, Aemond couldn't stop himself from reaching for his sword, good eye fixed on a now fully opened window that was several feet away from Lucerys' writing desk. And there, dripping with rainwater and muddied stone fragments, was a dark-skinned man who rivaled Aemond in both height and weight.

Heart in his throat, Aemond looked over to the alcove and saw that Lucerys had crouched down into the pillows, head just barely peeking around the corner to see what had made that sound. Aemond could tell exactly when Lucerys realized what level of danger he and his little brother were in, because the dark-haired prince quite literally flinched back when he spotted the intruder moving away from the window and further into his bedroom.

More specifically, towards his bed.

Never before had Aemond felt as powerless as he did right then, physically incapable of helping Lucerys fend off an executioner that was easily twice his weight and more than a full head taller to boot. All he could do was stand there and watch as a panicked look washed over Lucerys' face, pale cheeks draining of all blood as he watched the intruder stalk towards his baby brother. When the man was within eight feet of the bed, Aemond saw something pinched and fierce pass over Lucerys' eyes, the younger prince slowly crawling out of the alcove and towards a nearby bench.

Yet again, despite knowing what was going to happen, Aemond couldn't help but feel his heart lurch at the sight of Lucerys out in the open. Thankfully, the boy's smaller stature came in handy for once, allowing him to move beneath the intruder's field of vision and grab the sturdiest thing he could find. And then, when the familiar sound of a blade being drawn reached their ears, Aemond could only watch as Lucerys lunged out of the inky darkness and used every ounce of his weight to swing and smash the heavy chamber pot against his would-be assassin's face.

The sound of bones shattering filled the room, little Joffrey waking up with a startled yelp as his brother grabbed another heavy object—a brass candelabra this time—and brought it down onto the crumbled man's back again and again. Aemond could see broken pieces of the chamber pot laying all over the floor, thick trails of blood and what must've been teeth strewn around it.

"Get outta the way, Joff! Outta the way!"

The littlest Velaryon didn't have to be told twice and quickly ran over to hide behind his brother. But, to Aemond's surprise, the kid didn't seem to be completely useless, either. The first thing Joffrey did when he was out of harm's way was to rustle through a nearby pile of clothes and pull a small dagger out from one of the pockets. Then he ran back to his brother and handed him the knife.

"Luke! Take this!"

By this point, Lucerys had beaten the intruder into complete submission. From where he was standing, Aemond couldn't even tell if the man was still alive, face mangled beyond recognition and back likely broken from Luke's repeated blows. And now, the little prince was standing over him with a knife, hand steady as he waited to see if there was any fight—or life—left in their attacker.

"Did you..." stammered Joffrey after a half-minute, "Did you kill him?"

"I don't know."

"He's not moving."

"Yeah."

"Then he's gotta be dead, right? Or brain broken."

"I mean, that's what—"

"Should we—"

"No, you stay behind me. There could be more and—"

The sudden sound of a body slamming into the door startled both boys, heads snapping to look at the twisting doorknob. Lucerys pushed Joffrey into the alcove and then threw a pile of blankets over him, just barely diving back towards his bed as the door burst open. Aemond watched as the shortest of the assassins came racing into the room, eyes wild as if he was being chased by—

"Ahhhhhh!"

No sooner had the man stepped next to the bed, than there was a knife sticking out of the back of his left thigh. Aemond's lips twisted into a proud smirk when he saw Luke come rolling out from underneath the bed, pulling said knife out of his attacker and immediately lining up for another strike. It would've been a beautifully vicious strike too, if the shorter assassin hadn't tripped over his own compatriot and went crashing to the pottery-strewn floor.

"Luke! Are you—"

"Stay over there! I've got to—"

The assassin grabbed Lucerys' leg as he struggled to stand up, teeth gnashing as he snarled, "You little f*ckin' bastard! I'm gonna cut out your f*ckin' eye for that! An eye for an eye! Gonna give it to—"

"Luke, don't let him—"

"The prince and then I'll get whatever I want for killin'—"

"Luke!"

"Your f*ckin' worthless piece o'—"

The second assassin never got to finish his last insult before Lucerys slammed another chamber pot down onto his head, knocking the poor bastard out in one hit. Luke had obviously grabbed it from under the bed and had been fully prepared to use it as a bludgeoning weapon for a second time.

Knowing the fate of the third assassin, Aemond could feel the tension ooze out of his muscles, neck stiff from the pressure that had coiled up in his shoulders. He wasn't surprised to see Lucerys in a mild state of shock, hands shaking as the adrenaline came down and sense of immediate danger started to dissipate. It was only the sound of his name being called, of little Joffrey crawling out of the alcove that seemed to snap Lucerys out of his spiraling mental state.

"Luke!"

"Oh Gods, Joff," cried Lucerys, arms wrapping around his brother to hold him tight. "It's alright. I think... I think I got 'em."

As the little boy began to cry, pounding footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. In less than a minute, three guards were bursting through the broken door, swords raised and ready as they looked for intruders. And not far behind them was a frantic-looking Corlys Velaryon, eyes wide as he took in the damaged state of his middle grandson's bedchambers.

"Oh, boys."

Aemond could feel something pulling at him right then, everything going just a little more fuzzy around the edges as more and more people piled into the prince's room. When he looked down, another knot was tying itself around his right ring finger, black thread stretching across the room to where it was solidly attached to Lucerys' own hand. Even while being fussed over by his grandfather, Aemond could see Lucerys looking down at his right hand, a puzzled expression on his face as he turned it this way and that. The movement prompted Corlys to grab the boy's hand and gently examine it for any injuries.

"Does it feel stiff, lad? Maybe you dummied it during the confrontation."

"I don't know."

The entire dream world seemed to fade out after that, fluttering away into little pieces until only a distorted vision of Lucerys was left. Aemond couldn't stop it, couldn't even move, but he could hear Lucerys' last words as everything faded to black.

"I can feel something... warm, I think."

Chapter 6: Lucerys

Chapter Text

"Lucerys, darling, are you feeling alright?"

It was the sound of his mother's voice that jolted Lucerys awake, entire body flinching when his knee slammed into the table and his milk glass tipped precariously to the side. The only reason Luke wasn't drenched in goat's milk was thanks to Jace's quick reflexes, his brother grabbing the glass before it could fully tip over. On his left-hand side, Baela had also reached out to steady his chair before it could tilt too far back.

"Whoa, careful there, Luke."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I just... dozed off a little bit."

This explanation did little to wipe the look of concern off his mother's and grandfather's faces. Both adults shared a quick glance with each other, before turning back to face Lucerys with weak smiles.

"You've hardly touched your cake," said Rhaenyra, fork pointing at his plate, "And it's honey walnut. Your favorite."

Lucerys didn't know what to say, fingers tightening around the seat of his chair when he felt his family's eyes boring into him. This was the fourth time today that he had fallen asleep while sitting up, eyes becoming so heavy and listless that he just couldn't keep them open any longer. He knew that his siblings had noticed, especially Jace and Baela, who had shared lessons with him earlier in the day.

"It's delicious," said Lucerys, forcing out a sincere smile to reassure his mother. "I'm just feeling a little tired today."

"On your own nameday?"

"I don't think Sweetpea or her babies care if it's my nameday."

"Oh goodness, you sweet child," Rhaenyra laughed. "You let her and the babes sleep in your bed again, didn't you?"

Lucerys didn't even try to deny it.

"It's like Laenor all over again," said Corlys with a shake of his head. "Once that egg hatched, it was all but impossible to keep Seasmoke out of the boy's bed. Drove the poor maids mad whenever they needed to change his bed sheets."

"We all know that Luke would sneak Arrax into his bed if he could get away with it," said Jace as he leaned over to sniff him. "And see, he smells like dragon! Was Arrax getting jealous of lil' Sweetpea?"

Luke put his hand over Jace's face and shoved him back into his own seat.

"Well, technically, he and Arrax did share a cradle for quite some time," said their mother, "Just as you did with Vermax. However, despite what you boys may think, it's not exactly safe for an infant and baby dragon to share the same space when sleeping."

"Then that means Jace smelled like..."

Joffrey's voice faded into the background as Luke fought to keep his eyes open yet again. This had been happening for more than a week now, these sleepy spells that just seemed to wash over him no matter what time of day it was. Considering how stressful things had been since their trip to King's Landing, Luke had tried his best to keep anyone from noticing, but he knew that it was only a matter of time until his mother or Jace confronted him about it.

He had largely been able to get away with this thanks to everything being in complete chaos from here to King's Landing. In the span of twelve days, they had had their whole lives upended time and time again, to the point where Luke was beginning to wonder if some kind of conspiracy was at work. He knew that his grieving mother had been getting more and more nervous with each day that passed, wondering what disaster or tumult was going to come next.

Of course, the first bit of turmoil had involved their disastrous trip to King's Landing, in which Lucerys' succession had been called into question by his own grand-uncle, who had been promptly beheaded mid-trial by Daemon before an equally disastrous family dinner several hours later. To the surprise of nobody, Aemond and Aegon just couldn't resist picking a fight with their half-sister's bastard children, and an all-out brawl had ensued right there at the dinner table. Lucerys' ears were still ringing from the scolding his mother had given them.

Daemon, per usual, had been terribly amused by the whole debacle.

The second commotion had come not even two days later in the form of a raven stating in concise terms that the king was dead and the Hightowers were fully planning to usurp the throne through his eldest surviving son. His stepfather had practically exploded at that declaration, snarling about how he'd have all their heads on pikes and then throw their bodies to the fishes—until Mother had grabbed his arm and insisted that he read the last few sentences.

"Who's that little prick trying to fool?" Daemon had sneered. "Does he actually expect us to believe this bullsh*t?"

Just like everyone else, Lucerys had been shocked to see Aemond's signature beneath the last paragraph, accompanied by the royal seal to show that it was authentic. But even more shocking had been the last three sentences, which had claimed that Aegon would be going into exile and forfeiting the throne, with Aemond providing an escape via Vhagar from the city itself. The dour prince had provided no further description beyond that, leaving Luke's mother to wonder if it was some form of elaborate trap to lure her back to King's Landing.

However, all of that skepticism had been blown out the window when Rhaenys had returned atop Meleys not even four hours later. His grandmother had been outfitted in full riding armor, something Lucerys had never seen her wear before. And she'd also looked terribly grim, eyes hard and somber in a way that Lucerys hadn't seen since his grandfather's departure several years earlier. It had made a sour knot form in Lucerys' stomach, nausea roiling as he considered what harrowing events could make his unflappable grandmother look like that. And then he'd heard his name again.

Aemond.

The one-eyed prince had sent Ser Erryk Cargyll to free Rhaenys from her captivity in the Red Keep and then escort her to the Dragonpit. His own departure on Vhagar had provided enough chaos for them to slip away unseen... at least until Meleys had smashed through the floor above her cave and then destroyed the pit's primary amphitheater and main gates.

"Meleys may have knocked out a neighboring wall or two during our escape," his grandmother had said while inspecting her fingernails. "I fear that the dragon-keepers will hold a life-long grudge against me for creating such a terrible mess."

"Wait, wasn't Sunfyre housed in the vault right next to—"

"As I said, such a terrible, terrible mess. Not even the great altar was spared. I gave Meleys a sound scolding the whole way here."

"I'm sure you did."

His stepfather and grandmother had left atop their dragons not even three days later, fully prepared to retake King's Landing from the Greens while their two biggest and most important assets were out of the picture. Several Velaryon ships had sent ravens before the elder Targaryens' departure, claiming to have clearly seen Vhagar flying south by southeast towards Tarth and Shipbreaker Bay.

For reasons none of them understood, it appeared that Aemond hadn't been lying when he'd claimed to be taking his brother into exile.

So, with Vhagar and Sunfyre beyond the Hightowers' reach—at least for the time being—his mother and the Black Council had unanimously decided that this was likely the best opportunity they'd ever get to reclaim King's Landing from Otto and his band of traitorous sycophants. And in his usual headstrong fashion, Jacaerys had volunteered to accompany Daemon and Rhaenys, confident that Vermax would be an asset on such a critical mission.

Mother had shot that idea down faster than a volt of lightning in a summer storm.

"None of you, and I mean none, will be flying anywhere south of Driftmark until we're certain of where Aemond's loyalties lie," their mother had said, eyes skimming across all three of her dragon-riding children. "I won't take any chances with a dragon the size of Vhagar being a potential threat. Caraxes and Meleys are large and fast enough to hold their own against Vhagar, especially if ridden together. That does not apply to any of yours."

"But Vermax could—"

"No, this is non-negotiable. Vermax, Arrax, and Moondancer are simply too young and small to be trusted in such a dangerous situation."

While Lucerys had been relieved by his mother's sensibility and foresight, Jace and Baela had both looked more than a little put-out at being side-lined from what would likely be an important objective in protecting Rhaenyra's crown. As if sensing the oldest two's frustration, his mother had just let out a sigh and beckoned both children to come forward for further discussion.

"Listen, I understand that you feel slighted by this imposition," their mother had said in a soft voice, "But aside from your own safety, I also cannot allow any more riders to leave Dragonstone. At least not while I myself am unable to launch an effective defense if the island were to be attacked."

She had emphasized this by touching her rounded belly. Jace and Baela had both looked contrite after that.

"I need all three of you and your dragons right here, where you can protect Dragonstone and our family if worse comes to worse. Unfortunately, with my condition as it is, we need to plan for the possibility of a delivery at any time. This is a big responsibility, but one that I must ask the three of you to take. Do you understand?"

All three of them had nodded their heads without hesitation.

"I know this isn't easy, but nothing that's worth it ever is," she had said, fingers reaching out to caress each of their cheeks. "And depending on what we hear back from your father and grandmother, there's a good chance that I'll need to utilize your dragon-riding skills yet."

Jace and Baela had perked up at this.

"Oh, don't look so excited. It's just a possibility, if the circ*mstances prove right. Now, back to your lessons. Off with you!"

The rest of that afternoon had been quiet, with his mother and their maesters keeping them occupied with lessons until well after the eighteenth bell. Lucerys had barely been able to stay awake through all of it, eyes heavy and attention spare as Maester Hunnimore oversaw his history lessons on the First Men and their initial reaction to the Andal invasion. As soon as lessons and dinner were over, Lucerys had raced down to the kitchens and asked for a small bowl of roasted tuna with gravy, eager to see if Sweetpea would accept the special treat.

"Don't be surprised if she's not hungry," his mother had warned him. "This kind of labor doesn't exactly promote an appetite when it draws near."

Even with that warning, Lucerys had been optimistic. Sweetpea was always hungry when he returned to his bedchambers for the night and he doubted that she would change that habit until the kittens were literally upon them. He hadn't even made it through his bedroom door before Joffrey was darting past him, declaring that it was his turn to feed Sweetpea and nobody could stop him.

Luke had just rolled his eyes and handed over the bowl.

"Do you think it'll happen tonight?"

"I don't know. Mother and Maester Gerardys say that cats only give birth around those they trust."

"Sweetpea trusts us."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that she'll want us to see the whole process," Luke had tried to reason. "You saw and heard what Mother went through during Aegon's and Viserys' births. Sweetpea might not want us to see that."

"I can handle seeing it. You should never look away from nature's work."

"You heard that from Daemon! And besides, some people are just really private and aren't comfortable letting others see their vulnerabilities. Maybe Sweetpea's just that type of cat, too."

Joffrey had paused at this statement, little cogs in his head turning round and round as he considered his brother's words. It took a few moments, but Joffrey must have come to his own conclusions on kitty privacy, because he picked up a small paper screen their mother had provided and drug it over to the alcove with him.

"See," Joffrey had said while pointing at the even more hidden alcove, "Privacy."

"You're such a brat."

The third disaster had come later that night, shortly after Lucerys had forced himself out of bed to check on Sweetpea's condition. He'd been in the middle of coaxing some tuna into her belly when he'd heard a quiet scuffle come from across the room. One look around the corner had forced Lucerys' heart up into his throat, eyes widening as the intruder had moved towards his bed.

Joffrey.

He still didn't know what had come over him, but whatever it was, it had been as vicious and nasty as anything he'd ever felt before. Just thinking of it made the cake in Lucerys' mouth taste somewhat bitter, eyes trained on his plate as he forced himself to continue chewing. He could only remember feeling like that once before, and that incident had been something he'd hoped to never relive.

However, none of those unpleasant after-feelings changed the fact that Lucerys had felt nothing except wicked satisfaction when he'd slammed that chamber pot across the intruder's face. Just the mere thought of that man touching his baby brother had been enough to make Lucerys' vision go red, fingers grabbing a nearby candelabra to smash down onto their attacker's collapsed form over and over and over again.

Stabbing the second intruder had felt much the same, ferocious anger fueling every blow that he'd struck against the foul-mouthed man. And then he'd heard those cold, familiar words...

An eye for an eye.

Lucerys knew of only one person who would seek such a specific type of retribution. He'd hoped that with their mothers trying to reconcile that maybe, just maybe, they could make a similar type of amends themselves. And despite what Aemond seemed to believe, Luke hadn't truly been laughing at him out of maliciousness or spite. He had simply found it hilariously ironic that of all the places where it could've been placed, the roast pig had somehow managed to be settled right in front of Aemond, not even two feet from the prince's sullen glare.

Once he'd sobered up, Lucerys had felt more than a little bad for his dreadful behavior that night. None of the older children had been allowed any wine since their return to Dragonstone almost two weeks prior. Rhaenyra had said that she was disappointed in how he and Jace had behaved at the family dinner, and that she suspected their consumption of alcohol had been part of the problem that night.

He couldn't find it in himself to disagree with her.

The middle Velaryon enjoyed a good prank or frivolous joke as much as the next person, but he also didn't find any enjoyment in being needlessly mean or cruel just for the sake of it, either. He knew that his half-uncles often spoke harshly behind their backs, calling Lucerys and his brothers bastards whenever given the chance, but he also knew that stooping down to their level just wasn't worth it.

Or, in the words of his stepfather, he should only offer sweetened words full of shrewd guile and spiteful sincerity. Daemon had always been quite blunt about Luke not being a natural born fighter in the visceral sense, but he'd never spoken those words without pointing out other avenues in which the more gentle prince could excel in comparison to his brothers and cousins.

"Never underestimate a well-placed word or comeback," Daemon had once told him. "Sowing doubt or discord through fancy words can be more effective than winning a literal battle, if it's done right. You just need to learn how to do it."

A thick book had been thrown into Luke's lap not five seconds later.

"So, in the interest of familial self-preservation, let's get to work on that vocabulary of yours. Insulting someone without them realizing it is a dying art form that I plan to see revived in this increasingly unsophisticated family."

Unfortunately, all that fancy vocabulary hadn't proved very useful when Jace had decided to take offense at every little slight and Lucerys himself was too drunk to respond as quickly or eloquently as he'd have liked. No, it'd been a gigantic mess that Daemon had had to clean up for them.

Again.

Lucerys tried not to let the rumors and snide remarks get to him, but it was becoming more and more difficult with every year that passed. The gossip followed him almost everywhere he went, with Velaryon and Targaryen relatives alike whispering behind his back or even out in the open now. Just remembering the cruel glares and words of his grand-uncle and Aemond was enough to make bile rise up in Lucerys' throat, frustration and humiliation building up and up and up in equal parts until his head felt like it was going to burst.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to go somewhere he could think without—

"Mother?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Could I take Arrax out for a little while? We won't go far, just around the Dragonmount and eastern shores."

"But you haven't finished your cake."

He could feel his mother's stare like a hot iron brand, burning deep into his flesh as she tried to figure out what was bothering him. And she wasn't the only one. Lucerys could also feel his grandfather, brother, and step-sisters looking at him with comparable amounts of concern, Baela even reaching out to place a gentle hand on his forearm. It was both reassuring and terribly stifling, although he knew she didn't mean for it to feel that way.

"I was hoping to save it for later."

His mother chewed on her bottom lip before saying, "I don't know if you should be flying alone. Perhaps you could take Jace and Baela with you."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt their lessons with Maester Gerardys," said Lucerys. "And besides, it's a clear day and we'll stay in sight of the castle the whole time. You'll be able to see us without issue, I promise."

To Lucerys' surprise, it was his grandfather who came to his defense.

"Since it's the lad's nameday—and he's now a grand ol' five and ten—I see nothing wrong with him taking a short flight," said Corlys with a small smile. "So long as he stays within view of the harbor, that is."

Ah, so that was the Sea Snake's strategy. Not quite as free-rein as he'd been hoping, but Lucerys could live with it.

"Am I to assume that you'll be providing supervision?"

"Five ships from my third fleet arrived in port earlier this morning. I was planning to head down after dinner for a quick debriefing and inventory check with the captains, so it'd be the perfect opportunity for a leisurely flight. And I'm sure the sailors would love to see a dragon in action again."

It was his grandfather's support that seemed to finally win his mother over. She gave Lucerys a knowing smile and pointed towards his half-eaten bowl of creamy potato soup, insisting that he finish his main meal before gallivanting off into the skies. Not wanting to push his luck too far, Lucerys made sure to finish his cake as well, washing it down with a second glass of milk to further reassure his mother and siblings.

Changing into his riding gear and then trekking down to Arrax's lair took a little longer than he'd wanted, but Lucerys figured that it'd be best to give his grandfather a bit of a headstart, too. The older Velaryon was still moving a lot slower than usual, but he'd also insisted on returning to his traditional duties now that Rhaenys was busy in King's Landing. It made Lucerys a little nervous, seeing his grandfather taking on so many responsibilities so quickly, but he knew that anything less would make the older man feel coddled and insulted by those around him.

"How do you feel about an evening ride, Arrax?" asked Lucerys once he arrived in the dragon's cave. "We have Grandpa vouching for us, so best not to go too far, either."

Arrax uncurled from his favorite napping spot and rumbled in excitement when he realized that a flight was in order.

"Yeah, it took a bit of finagling, but Mother agreed after Grandpa said he'd provide supervision." Luke said the last part with a sarcastic eye roll, still a little offended by his mother treating him like a small child. "But it's better than nothing, so we're not going to complain, alright?"

The young dragon gave a happy wiggle in response, as if agreeing to be on his best behavior so there would be no chance of upsetting Mother. Lucerys couldn't help but laugh when Arrax over-rotated a little bit and tripped over his own back feet, tail smacking a nearby stalactite as he startled himself.

"Okay, let's get into the air before you hurt yourself," he giggled while climbing into the saddle. "Mother's right, you must be going through a growth spurt 'cause you've been more clumsy than a newborn foal these last few weeks."

Arrax grumbled at the insult.

"You know it's true. Now stop being so dramatic, we're burning daylight. Sōvēs!"

They were at the lair's front entrance in less than a minute, Arrax only nearly whacking Lucerys on the ceiling twice, which was an improvement over the incident from last week. It was a bright and sunny evening, so coming out to the surface was blinding until his eyes had time to adjust. Arrax, per usual, didn't seem to care and wasted no time in launching himself out of the narrow opening in the Dragonmount's eastern cliffs.

"Whooooo!"

Lucerys gave a loud whoop as they soared out into the bright blue skies, a tradition that he'd upheld since his father had first taken him flying as a toddler. He could only vaguely remember riding on Seasmoke now, cuddled up tight in Laenor's arms as they soared over Blackwater Bay and the Kingswood on a warm summer afternoon, but it was a ritual that Lucerys didn't plan on giving up unless his voice was literally taken from him.

And Arrax certainly enjoyed it too, the young dragon giving a loud roar himself every time his rider whooped with joy. It was exhilarating and fun and something that Luke loved too much to ever be embarrassed over.

"Paktot, Arrax."

The wind whipped through Lucerys' hair as they glided down towards the harbor, sun warming his back as Arrax purposely flew out from beneath the volcano's shadows. He relaxed deep into the saddle, allowing Arrax to take the reins and fly wherever he pleased so long as he remained within sight of the docks.

When they circled around above the harbor, Lucerys made sure to give his grandfather and the Velaryon sailors a hearty wave, showing that he planned to follow his mother's restrictions on where they could fly for today. After that, he hunkered back down and encouraged Arrax to hunt some fish in the eastern shallows. Unlike so many of his family's other dragons, Arrax liked to catch his own food when given the chance and seemed to particularly enjoy whitefish, salmon, and squid, although the latter could usually only be caught on full-moon nights.

Lucerys yawned as they skimmed just above the shallows, ocean spray gentle against his freckled cheeks. He picked at his riding gloves several times, palms sweaty and warm in a way that they usually weren't. Aside from the near-constant exhaustion, this was yet another odd thing that Lucerys had noticed over the past few weeks. He had tried to ignore it, but the ephemeral feeling of flames along his knuckles had been more than a little unnerving. Especially since it tended to coincide with the equally weird dreams he'd been having, too.

"Do you dream, Arrax? Because I've been having some really strange dreams of late and could use some advice."

Arrax gurgled around a mouthful of cod.

"I don't know. The dream I had last night was of what looked like Caraxes and Vhagar attacking a bunch of ships. I couldn't tell if they were working together or not, but I'd certainly hope so. Just the thought of those two fighting each other..."

He shuddered at the possibility, well aware of just how terrible and violent a clash between the two dragons would likely be. Caraxes was highly aggressive and loved to burn whatever he could, and Vhagar was an ancient war machine that had seen more than one hundred battles. Any confrontation between them would surely destroy or outright kill almost everything in the surrounding area.

"Maybe that's a good sign, though, right? I mean, Daemon would probably like to cut Aemond's head off, but my grandmother also said that he'd flown Aegon into exile. I suppose that he could just be trying to take the throne for himself, but if that was the case, then leaving for so long would be incredibly risky."

Arrax stuck his head into the water and caught another fish.

"But then he sent those assassins after me and my brothers," said Luke, brow pinching at the realization of how much his half-uncle must hate him to order such a thing. "I kinda wish that I hadn't hit those men so hard on the head. The only surviving one can't remember his own name, let alone what Aemond ordered him to do to me after cutting out my eye."

All he received in reply was what sounded like a burp from Arrax's throat.

"Yeah, thanks for the advice, buddy."

Lucerys settled himself into a more comfortable position against the saddle's swell, eyes drifting closed as the warm summer sun lolled him into a light doze. He hadn't mentioned that Aemond himself had featured in every single one of his dreams, lilac eye often watching Lucerys' clumsy form from afar. The older prince was usually too busy doing something else to pay much attention to dream-Lucerys, but the fact that he was there at all was enough to make Lucerys nervous and a little fearful. What would real-life Aemond do if they ever met in these scenarios?

He'd probably turn you into a late night snack for Vhagar, was Lucerys' first thought. Well, after he took one of your eyes, of course. Can't forget about that.

And wasn't that a terrible thought, that every single scenario involving Aemond also involved one of Lucerys' eyes being cut out. He truly hadn't meant to take Aemond's eye that day nearly ten years ago. All he'd been doing was protecting his brother from being maimed or worse. Lucerys had just wanted Aemond to stop, and the damned knife had been the closest thing for him to grab. He'd never meant to really hurt him, not like that.

But it had happened and Aemond clearly still despised him for it nearly a whole decade later. With how much time had passed, he imagined that an apology would just be spat on as well.

"There really is no winning when it comes to this, huh, bud?"

Arrax chittered in sympathy, only half paying attention as he got ready to ambush another unsuspecting school of fish.

"I guess I should just give up while I'm ahead."

He was splashed in the face by a light burst of salty water. Arrax let out a trill of triumph.

"None of this would've even happened if I hadn't been born like... this," whispered Lucerys, fingers running through his dark brown curls and down to his eyes. "With this stupid hair and these stupid eyes that make everyone think I'm a bastard who should've been thrown from the walls at birth. Seriously, Arrax, why did all four of them get to inherit traditional Valyrian features while we didn't?"

The paleness of his skin and silky texture of his hair didn't help matters, either. Lucerys knew that his succession claim would likely be challenged again in the near future, likely by several of his own relatives. Another assassination attempt wasn't out of the question, either.

"Maybe it would be best if Baela or Rhaena inherited instead," Lucerys admitted. "It'd at least stop all the in-fighting. And would be much easier on Mother."

He ran a gentle hand along Arrax's pearlescent scales, wishing for the umpteenth time that his plain features matched those of his dragon. No one would be accusing him of bastardy if he'd only inherited his father's hair and eyes. Being able to ride a dragon wasn't enough; Lucerys needed to look the part if he didn't want to be tormented by cruel rumors and accusations for the rest of his life.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated?" he whined around a huge yawn. "It's not fair, Arrax. Completely and utterly not fair."

The dragon hooted at his rider's sad, defeated tone.

Knowing that at least Arrax was in agreement with him about the state of, well, everything, Luke closed his eyes and let the sun's warmth and the familiar motion of flight soothe him into an uneasy nap. He knew that his mother would scold him for going to sleep in the saddle, but Lucerys was just so tired and it would only be for a couple minutes.

He'd be up and fully rested before they even made it back to the harbor.

Chapter 7: Aemond

Chapter Text

It had been five days since the elder Targaryens' arrival and still Caraxes remained coiled around the Tower of the Hand.

Aemond would've been unnerved if he didn't already know about the beast's strange ability to defy gravity at every turn, deformed body allowing it to move in ways that just weren't possible for other dragons. One of the tower's uppermost windows was completely blown out, courtesy of Caraxes serving as his grandfather's executioner at Daemon's command. It had been a brutal yet unsurprising end, if one considered the life-long animosity that existed between the two men.

"The red guard is about to change," said Helaena from where she was working on a new embroidery pattern. "Best not be below when it happens."

"Am I to assume that you're referring to what I think you're referring to?"

His sister gave him a small, mischievous smile, the first that he'd seen on her face in many, many weeks. Some color had returned to her cheeks as well, a sign that even with the trauma and strain of the last few days, something had obviously shifted in the terrifying future that Helaena had warned him about. Aemond knew that his sister wouldn't look so serene and collected if he'd made the wrong decisions and brought true tragedy to their family's doorstep.

"And they dare accuse Vhagar of being uncouth and graceless," said Aemond with no small amount of defensiveness. "At least she didn't desecrate the royal courtyard in such a foul manner."

"The many-legged beast had already passed through over the black abyss."

"You could always just say that Vhagar sh*t out a kraken while we were flying over Blackwater Bay. It would've gotten the point across just as well."

"But where's the fun in that?"

Their shared banter was a refreshing change. Aemond hadn't felt able to joke with his sister in many years, largely due to the extreme stratification that her marriage to Aegon had placed between Helaena and her other brothers. And although Aemond knew that sibling marriage was a common practice amongst their Valyrian ancestors, he would also be the first to admit that said practice didn't work well within their own specific family.

Helaena deserved so much more than being a sacrificial lamb to antiquated traditions. With their grandfather gone and their mother unable to exert any significant degree of influence, Aemond planned to do everything in his power to guarantee the happiness and safety of Helaena and her children.

"Are you aware that your knots are burning?"

His fingers twitched at the statement, immediately going to pick at his knuckles where the burning sensation was strongest. Helaena stared openly at his hands, lavender eyes darting between each enkindled spot without missing a beat. It made Aemond feel a little self-conscious, to have his threads exposed so clearly to someone outside of his and Lucerys' magical union.

"I don't think it's necessarily something to fear or worry over," said Helaena when the silence dragged on. "The knots are like dragons, calling to each other. They're also a lot like a person, too, I think. They don't like being ignored or neglected by their other half."

"They didn't seem to disapprove too strongly over the last fifteen years."

Helaena looked at him like he was only one step up from a pillbug struggling in the dirt. And if he was being honest, Aemond kinda felt like a pillbug right now, all coiled up into a tight little ball of tension that was ready to spring apart at the slightest poke.

"You have burn marks all over your strings, Aemond. They have very much disapproved of your feelings and actions for a very long time now."

"I've scarcely interacted with Lucerys over the last ten years."

"So, I suppose your compulsive thoughts about one-upping Luke wouldn't count as feelings then," said Helaena with a skeptical eyebrow. "Not to mention all those times that Mother and Ser Cole openly wished to have Luke's eye cut out in turn. I'd be surprised if that didn't have a negative effect on the threads."

Aemond tried not to become too upset at his sister's insight. When he'd woken up in his bedchambers after a deeply embarrassing twenty-eight hour nap, he had been unable to resist reading through the book yet again. Of course, this had only been after Ser Arryk had informed him of Vhagar choosing to remove herself from the courtyard nineteen hours earlier, the old girl apparently more than fed up with waiting on his comatose ass to do the job himself.

"She only destroyed one small section of the northernmost wall when she took off," Ser Arryk had tried to reassure him. "And Princess Rhaenys has already gathered the keep's carpenters and masons to begin repairs on both that section and the middle bailey. Shouldn't take more than a few weeks."

"And Vhagar?"

"She seems to be resting on the shores just south of the Iron Gate."

"Good. Just leave her be."

"I'd imagine that anyone who valued their life would do just that, my prince."

"So you would think."

The depth of human stupidity was something that Aemond tried not to underestimate, especially whenever he brought Vhagar anywhere near the city itself. Aemond had seen his fair share of people get recklessly close to Vhagar in the past and he would prefer if she didn't eat any civilians while he was still on such precarious terms with his aunt and uncle.

"It's unfortunate that all of this could've been avoided," sighed Helaena. "Our ancestors usually discovered the threads before the children's fifth year. They must've had some type of... magical surveillance system in place to look for them."

"Maybe they used dragon dreamers," Aemond looked right at her, "Like you."

His sister seemed to freeze up at this, fingers going still and shoulders hunching as the title seemed to settle into the air around them. Aemond supposed that this was the very first time that Helaena had ever put an actual name to her abilities, or at least one that wasn't inaccurate and disparaging. In Old Valyria, her powers would've been well-respected and valued by those around her. But here in Westeros? And in their particular family?

It would've been kinder for Helaena to be born without any such talents at all.

"Perhaps."

Helaena finished off her embroidery with a small flourish, holding it up for Aemond to look at. He wasn't nearly as familiar or fascinated by spiders and insects as his sister was, but he also could never bring himself to scorn or poke fun at her favorite hobby, either. It was endearing, if in a creepy sorta way.

"It's a type of jumping spider?"

"Yes," chirped Helaena with a pleased smile. "Specifically, a bold blue jumping spider. They're native to Driftmark."

"Is there a particular reason you chose this one?"

His sister gave him a shameless grin and said, "I think it'll make a lovely gift, that's all. Don't you?"

"I'm not sure how much Lucerys likes spiders, 'Laena."

"Oh, he doesn't mind them too much." This was said with the utmost confidence, which surprised Aemond a little. "When you bigger boys were playing and got too rough, Luke would sometimes come over to sit with me. He never once made fun of my friends. I was even able to convince him to hold Margrethe a few times."

Huh, now that was surprising. Helaena usually didn't let anyone near her Goliath Moluu tarantula, let alone touch it.

Aemond had just reached out to examine the meticulously embroidered—and it was very, very meticulous from the looks of it—scarf when the door to her sitting room was suddenly shaken by a loud knock. His sister looked unsurprised by this interruption and called out for whoever it was to come inside. Given the current situation, Aemond was relieved to see Rhaenys come striding through the door instead of Daemon; his aunt would be much more considerate of Helaena and her aversion to conflicts of any kind.

"Good afternoon, Aemond, Helaena," their aunt said with a little nod to each of them. "I apologize for interrupting, especially if the children were keeping you occupied."

"It's no trouble at all. The twins and Maelor are taking their mid-day naps at the moment, anyways."

Rhaenys gave another nod before saying, "I'm gladdened to hear that, because I don't come with good news, I'm afraid. Probably best to get straight to the point as well. Aemond, did you know about this?"

What appeared to be a letter was held up for them to see, Aemond immediately recognizing his grandfather's distinctive handwriting. It was only when he'd read through half the letter and saw just who it was addressed to that he understood why Rhaenys had come to confront them herself.

"He contacted the Triarchy."

"Multiple times," said Rhaenys as she pulled three more folded letters out of her belt. "It would appear that your grandfather had been courting them for some time, and decided to officially accept an alliance the day after your father died."

"Aegon was headed for Lys."

"If the boy has any sense, then he'll jump onto the first available ship that's heading further east, preferably to Volantis or one of its sister-cities along the Rhoyne."

"He's burning with the sun. It rose up and will set on the southern horizon."

Both of them turned to stare at Helaena, who had that familiar dazed and dreamy look about her again. Unlike most other people, Rhaenys appeared to be listening quite intently to his sister's words, eyes narrowed and arms crossed as she tried to puzzle through the younger princess's latest riddle.

"If she's saying what I think she's saying," drawled Rhaenys, "Then I suppose Aegon might not be in as much trouble as we'd feared. And I might owe Meleys an apology of fresh sheep and midnight squid, too."

"Aegon always did claim that Sunfyre would find him if they were ever separated, no matter how far," said Aemond with a shrug. "Although I can't help but feel pity for the Summer Isles, if that's truly the way he's heading now."

"Lotus seeds are good for the heart."

Rhaenys gave her a small smile and said, "We'll just have to take your word on that, Helaena."

"Do we know the state of the Stepstones?"

His aunt shook her head. "I know you were just on Bloodstone a little over eight days ago, but a lot can change in one week. If the Triarchy has decided to gather their forces and take advantage of the Iron Throne's present vulnerability, then this would be the perfect time. Your grandfather appears to have strategically weakened the kingdom's southern defenses over the last few years."

This last part was said with no small amount of disgust. Aemond knew that it was the Sea Snake and his Velaryon fleets—along with Daemon, Laenor, and their dragons—who had driven the Triarchy out of the Stepstones nearly twenty years prior. He had been unaware of his grandfather's endeavors to reverse that victory in the name of an alliance.

"Daemon and the gold cloaks have extracted what information they can from wherever it's available, but I personally don't think it's detailed enough to rely on yet," said Rhaenys with a frustrated sigh. "And I would also prefer not to wait for a raven before taking some form of preliminary action. Not when we have other potential sources of information to work with."

The older princess locked eyes with Aemond when she said this, shoulders set and face open as she closely watched how he'd react to her unspoken request. Knowing full well that Rhaenys was likely his best bet into earning some degree of trust from Lucerys and his parents, Aemond didn't hesitate to meet her challenge head-on.

"You wish for me to speak to my mother."

"Correct."

"I hope you realize that she's rather... unhappy with me at the moment."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm well aware. However, that doesn't change the fact that she'll be willing to speak much more candidly with you than Daemon or myself. We are little more than usurpers in her eyes, no matter how ludicrous such a notion may be."

Aemond took a deep breath and reminded himself that all of this nonsense would be worth it in the long-term. The heat of the dragon threads called him to Lucerys like a moth to a flame, but another part of the bond—a part he still didn't wholly understand, damn that book—almost seemed to be insisting that he not move too fast. That he provide a safe and dependable environment for Lucerys to thrive in.

It was pulling him in two different directions and Aemond felt like he was one step away from insanity more often than not.

"Well, I can try to speak with her," said Aemond, with emphasis on the try, "But I also can't guarantee anything, either. Without my grandfather to guide the narrative, I honestly don't know how she'll react anymore."

He followed Rhaenys out into the hallway where Ser Harrold was waiting for them, Helaena giving him an awkward pat on the arm that Aemond assumed was meant to be encouraging, but it could be hard to tell with his sister at times. They only had to descend three floors to reach his mother's apartments, but Rhaenys reached out to lightly grasp at his elbow when they were still a good distance from the receiving room door.

"I see no point in lying about how little I understand your current motivations," Rhaenys admitted. "Whatever it was that changed your mind after Viserys' death must've been incredibly significant for you to have undergone such a drastic turnaround, but know that spiriting your half-witted brother into exile doesn't immediately afford you anything beyond the barest level of trust."

"As I am well aware. Hence, why you've had my cooperation."

Rhaenys gave him a long look before finally saying, "I can't tell you how long it'll be before Daemon insists that you and yours bend the knee. Rhaenyra hasn't pressed the issue yet in regards to Helaena and yourself, but it's coming. You can certainly expect it by the time of your father's funeral."

"I have no desire for the throne. Not anymore."

"Hmm, with that attitude, perhaps you'll survive yet."

Rhaenys gave him a satisfied nod and then walked over to stand beside his mother's door. She gestured for Ser Mathis Harlton to let him through, the Kingsguard looking to her instead of Aemond like he would've just last week. Aemond took a deep breath as his name was announced through the door.

"Good luck."

Despite looking stoic and composed on the outside, Aemond was perhaps more nervous at that moment than he'd been since leaving King's Landing so many days ago. Aside from his chaotic return on Vhagar, he had largely been keeping a low-profile and sticking to his or Helaena's apartments in the Holdfast. Daemon didn't even try to hide his distrust and Rhaenys had thought it best that Aemond stay out of the older prince's way as much as possible.

Surest way to keep all your limbs intact, had been her reasoning. Aemond didn't see any point in arguing against it.

Notably, the one person he hadn't met with in that whole time had been his mother. With the current state of things in the capital, Aemond could easily imagine just how much of a mess she likely was, and he wasn't looking forward to her usual brand of questioning at all. And although he was adamant in his mission to secure the Valyrian bond that was growing day by day between Lucerys and himself, he also knew that his mother would be a major obstacle if she found out about the threads before any of the other Targaryens.

He could already hear her sanctimonious recriminations in his head, voice going from shrill to weepy as she twisted Aemond's actions up into a guilt-ridden pool of orthodoxy and familial betrayal. Just like his grandfather would've done if he'd been given the chance. The mere thought of her discovering Lucerys and their connection was almost enough to—

"How could you do this?!"

Aemond had been expecting the slap as soon as he entered his mother's bedchambers, head preemptively tilted to better absorb most of the impact. He was well aware of how his mother would react to his deception and was prepared to suffer her self-righteous wrath if it meant getting what he wanted. And that was, whether she liked it or not, Lucerys Velaryon and every little problem that came with him.

"You've ruined everything! Killed us all! How could you do this?!"

"I did what I must."

"You did what you—" his mother's eyes were wild as she trailed off. "Have you completely lost your mind? Why would you—"

"Aegon could not be allowed to become king."

His mother looked at him as if she didn't know him, lips trembling and nails bloody as his words were slowly absorbed. Aemond had often seen her like this throughout his childhood, scarcely one or two steps away from a full mental breakdown whenever anything didn't go exactly her way. Or, if they were being truthful, his grandfather's way.

Nothing in their family ever happened without Otto's approval, be it spoken or unspoken. Aemond's decision to escort his brother into exile was probably the first time he had ever truly acted outside his grandfather's purview. For as long as he could remember, it was Aemond who played the role of dutiful son and grandson. It was Aemond who fulfilled his princely duties by learning the sword, studying history and philosophy, mastering multiple languages, and memorizing the name and rank of every single member of the royal court.

It was Aemond who had risked his young life to claim the largest living dragon in the world. It was Aemond who had made sure that sweet Helaena didn't lose what little was left of her already fractured mind when she'd been forced to marry their abusive manwhor* of a brother. It was Aemond who attended Small Council meetings while the purported heir drank and f*cked his way through every tavern and brothel in the city. It was Aemond who comforted his mother whenever Otto's or Hobert's absurdly high expectations drove her to the brink of insanity.

Every goddamned decision he'd ever made in his short life had been to further the reputation and prestige of his family.

The Hightower family.

He was the second son, belittled and forgotten whenever anything important was being discussed. No lands or titles to his name, courtesy of being born so far down the line on both sides of his family. Aemond doubted that he would even have much say in who he married, with his grandfather already scheming about what Great House to auction him off to. Everything was for the family, never for him.

But no more.

Aemond was tired of being a pawn with no control over his own fate. And why should he be forced to live like that, anyways? It was him who had the blood of Old Valyria running through his veins. It was him who rode the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world. And it was him whose actions had altered the course of the realm's succession, effectively undoing decades upon decades worth of plans involving dozens of Great Houses.

His older brother had accused him twice in the past of being their mother's favorite child. And although Aegon was probably right, Aemond now knew that that favoritism wasn't the boon he'd originally thought it was. No, Aemond was only favored so long as he did every little, tiny thing his mother or grandfather asked of him, with little to no concern about how he felt on the matter. As soon as he did anything they didn't like, that went against the Hightower motto of duty and family, then Aemond would be treated with the same disregard and contempt that Aegon and Helaena so often were.

It was a painful and sobering thought.

Mama's boy, whispered Aegon's voice in his head. How's it feel to be the disappointment for once?

He tried not to grimace, thoroughly annoyed that even when hundreds of miles away, Aegon could still manage to make his obnoxious opinions heard. However, Aemond wasn't willing to concede defeat to his brother so easily when it came to this particular situation.

"You don't know what you're talking abo—"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about!" snapped Aemond. "I've spent my entire life doing nothing but cleaning up the wreckage that he leaves behind! I know the city's brothels, taverns, and fighting rings better than my own sword courtesy of having to physically drag him out of them every other night. And the entire f*ckin' city—no, the entire Crownlands—knows to hide their sisters and daughters and wives from him, for fear of them being raped by a drunken cad with too much coin and too little sense."

His mother's eyes had grown wider and wider with every word, shock and horror draining all the color from her face. Aemond could feel a long-buried part of himself howl in triumph at the sight, twenty years of resentment, jealousy, and anger finally exploding from behind an invisible wall of misery that Aemond had erected to protect himself from everyone around him.

"Did you honestly think that nobody else knew? That rumors hadn't spread beyond the city walls about how unfit and selfish the so-called heir truly is? Gods, I wouldn't be surprised if Lord Stark himself had heard rumors about Aegon's seed being sown into the deepest soil of this godforsaken city."

The silence he received was deafening.

"Aegon is better off where he is right now, hundreds of miles away from a throne that would bring nothing but ruin if someone like him sat upon it."

It was this statement that seemed to finally break his mother out of her astonished stupor, lips twisting into an irate grimace as she locked eyes with him. Aemond could practically feel the righteous, guilt-ridden anger that was radiating off of her.

"So that is what you desire? To take your brother's throne because you feel that you would rule better than him?"

The insinuation was so galling and hypocritical that Aemond couldn't help but roll his eyes in response, once again cursing his mother's inability to see what was right in front of her. This incessant blindness was one of the main reasons why Aemond and his siblings were the neurotic, mangled messes that they were.

"I would do my duty, but that doesn't mean that I desire it."

His mother scoffed in disbelief and said, "Have you gone mad? Your desire is why we're now prisoners in our own home!"

Aemond sneered at this, convinced that there was truly no way to show his mother that he was freer now than he'd ever been before. Learning of his and Lucerys' deep connection had opened his eyes and mind to how manipulated and strained every aspect of his life was, with Aemond constantly vying for any pathetic scrap of attention or praise that his family was willing to spare. His mother and grandfather expected him to selflessly serve and sacrifice for the family at every turn, but receive no rewards or recognition for those actions due to his lamentable status as a second son.

Never the heir, always the spare.

The book his sister had given him seemed to burn in his back pocket, it's words calling out to him like a siren song. Why should he have to settle for such a miserable and unappreciated life when the blood and magic of Old Valyria ran through his veins? With every day that passed, Aemond could feel the burn of ephemeral flames on almost every part of his body, a constant reminder that there was something, someone, out there waiting just for him.

And was he really such a disappointment? Maybe to the Hightowers, he was, but what about his Targaryen blood? The Valyrians of old hadn't practiced marriage in quite the same way as the Westorosi did, and that wasn't only in regards to close family unions. Yes, those arrangements were the most common, but the magic in their blood had also given a select few Valyrians the opportunity to bond with their other half.

Or a matching soul, as the book itself had described.

These unions were coveted and well-respected, with pairings showing up at random throughout the population. It was the closest thing to a meritocracy in the Freehold, with even slaves being granted citizenship if they were lucky enough to be born into such a coupling. And although vague in its explanation, the book had made it quite clear that to deny the magic was to invite hardship and misfortune onto your house.

He had witnessed how unhappy and resentful his parents were in their marriage. Every negative emotion shared between them had trickled down to effect Aemond and his siblings, especially in the later years after his grandfather's machinations had finally come to light. And yes, Aemond had heard the whispered stories about how Otto had slyly arranged his parents' marriage within a few months of Queen Aemma's death. His mother thought they didn't know the circ*mstances, but servants talked and little one-eyed boys listened from the shadows while eating pieces of buttered toast.

The Queen in Chains, was what they often called his mother in the Red Keep's corridors. Doomed to be a broodmare at five and ten by an ambitious, power-hungry father who craved the Iron Throne more than his own daughter's happiness. Aemond refused to suffer the same fate. Not when the most coveted of Valyrian bonds was his for the taking, offered up like the juiciest of fruits to a starving man.

"I am no prisoner. For the first time in my life, my choices are my own."

His mother looked like she was on the verge of tears and although Aemond felt wretched for being the cause of this, he also couldn't find it in himself to regret it, either. Burying her head in the sand would help no one, especially herself.

"Your grandfather and uncle are dead because of you."

"No, Grandfather is dead because he overplayed his hand and trusted a nihilistic madman to do his dirty work for him," said Aemond. "And Uncle Gwayne trusted too much in a station he didn't earn. I doubt their decisions would've been any different if Aegon had came to sit upon the throne."

Aemond had had four days to come to terms with his grandfather's and uncle's deaths. Neither man had ever shown him any particular degree of affection or warmth, so it wasn't too terribly surprising when Aemond's overall reaction proved to be even more muted than he had anticipated. He also doubted either man would be accepting of his bond with Lucerys, so they were regrettable if necessary losses in the long run.

"I don't understand," whispered Mother as she collapsed into a nearby chair. "Do you really hate us so much? To condemn us all to death at their hands. We'll be hunted down like pigs for slaughter."

"Funny, but I remember Grandfather suggesting that we preemptively take that exact same course of action just last week."

"Diplomacy and negotiations were still—"

"I didn't realize that assassinations were considered to be a standard part of the diplomatic repertoire," scoffed Aemond. "It's my actions that have prevented Daemon and Rhaenyra from burning everything to the ground, not yours or Grandfather's. If I hadn't flown Aegon into exile, well, let's just say that events would've unfolded in a much different and more bloody manner."

"Blood has already been spilled, Aemond. Our supporters have been put to the sword by Daemon himself!"

The Rogue Prince's name was spat like a curse, his mother's face twisting at the mere thought of what her brother-in-law had done to their closest allies. If this had been a few weeks ago, maybe Aemond would've been more upset at the news, but he just couldn't bring himself to care about Daemon's bloodstained rampage. So long as his mother, Daeron, Helaena, and the children were safe, Aemond could accept the other casualties as they came.

"Perhaps if we'd just listened to Helaena, none of this would've had to happen in the first place."

"You cannot be serious," his mother said around a half-hysterical laugh. "Your sister speaks in riddles and nonsense. Relying on her to foresee the actions or motivations of our enemies would be pure madness."

Aemond had to take a deep breath to stop himself from saying something even more nasty in response. The short pause also forced him to remember the real reason he was here, and why it was so important.

"What do you know about Grandfather's alliance with the Triarchy?"

His mother looked up from where she'd had her face buried in her hands, eyes red rimmed and wide as she processed his question. It was obviously something she hadn't been expecting.

"What? The Triarchy? What are you talking about?"

"The very day I took Aegon into exile, Grandfather sent out multiple ravens to Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys. Copies of those letters were found in his rooms and Maester Orwyle's, all of them referencing an alliance that had clearly been in the making for some time. If those letters are to be believed—and Aegon isn't sitting on the Iron Throne—then we're about to have a bloody war on our hands all up and down the Narrow Sea."

"I... no, your grandfather never mentioned anything like that—"

"Don't try to hide his or Lord Strong's deeds, Mother! The Triarchy has been itching for another war ever since House Targaryen reclaimed the Stepstones, and they'll view even the smallest hint of instability as a reason to invade the Seven Kingdom's southern shores."

"I don't know! Lord Strong acted without explanation all the time and your grandfather kept more secrets than the Stranger himself!"

His mother looked like she was fast approaching a mental breakdown at this newfound knowledge, which hinted to Aemond that she had at least known something about his grandfather's plans, even if she'd wrongfully assumed that he would never go through with them.

"Mother, what did you hear them say?"

"I never thought... it didn't seem to be anything specific or concrete at the time," said his mother while picking her fingernails down to the quick. "Larys was the one that suggested it, reaching out to the Triarchy's High Council. Partially because of... because of how much they hate Daemon. And Father had only scoffed about it, when it was brought up."

Aemond could see Rhaenys just out of the corner of his good eye, completely hidden from Mother's sight in the adjoining sitting room. His aunt was pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head, obviously disgusted by the whole situation.

"They were both concerned about a blockade on the Gullet, especially as your father drew closer to death. But getting into bed with the Three Daughters..."

All his mother's words did was confirm what they'd already feared: that the Triarchy would be operating under the belief that the Greens now controlled the Iron Throne and would therefore attack the Stepstones and southern shores at the earliest opportunity. With the timing as it was, there was a pretty good chance that the Triarchy's fleet had already left port and would be aiming for the Gullet and Blackwater Bay within the month.

"Great, that's just f*ckin' great," sighed Aemond. "I just did all of this and we still end up at war."

Chapter 8: Lucerys

Chapter Text

"Dragon returning!"

The familiar sound of a horn signaled that Arrax was cleared to land, soldiers scattering as the dragon circled over top of a sloped field. With a swift twist to the left, Luke brought them down only several yards away from the castle walls, careful not to accidentally wind anybody as Arrax settled after such a long flight. The burning all along Lucerys' inner thighs was a clear sign that he needed to have Arrax's saddle adjusted, too. Any other possible reasons for that burning sensation were promptly ignored and stuffed into a mental folder that he didn't plan on looking at any time soon.

"No sightings, my prince?"

Lucerys groaned as he climbed down from the saddle, twisting his hips from side to side before giving Arrax an enthusiastic rub along the neck when the dragon chittered at him. One of the soldiers was kind enough to hand Luke a canteen of cool water.

"Nothing besides Velaryon and Targaryen flags for as far as the eye could see," said Luke after taking several deep gulps of water. "None of the fleet captains signaled to me, either, so no sightings or encounters on that front."

"I would love to say that no news is good news," sighed Lord Bar Emmon, "But I'd also rather not sully our prospects with false optimism."

"What are the chances they could circle around from the north?"

"Certainly a possibility, but also highly unlikely without being spotted thanks to you and your brother's daily patrols."

The older man stepped closer and pulled out a small map for Luke to look at, moving his finger along a series of red lines that had been drawn onto it. Luke could see his own patrol routes marked with small blue dots, each of them accompanied by a notation of date and time. He wondered if the lord had a separate map dedicated to each of the dragon-riders and their assigned flotillas.

"Even if the Triarchy took a northernmost route, it'd be almost impossible for them to pass anywhere near Crackclaw Point or Dragonstone without being seen right here and here." He pointed at two spots directly north of Dragonstone. "It would be a bold but also incredibly stupid maneuver to attempt, especially with dragons patrolling the skies. No, they'll just have to come around Massey's Hook like everybody else does."

"I hope so. Patrolling out over the open ocean gets pretty tiring."

"Aye, that I can imagine. Now, come, let's get some warm food and rest into you before your next flight, laddie."

"Do you happen to have any meat to spare? Arrax isn't a picky eater."

"No need to worry, lad. My stablemaster and our local shepherds have made certain that your beast will be well-fed. We can even provide him with some cod and salmon, if that's what he'd prefer."

Lucerys allowed himself to be guided towards the castle of Sharp Point, but not before giving Arrax one last pat to the snout and clear orders to behave himself. The very last thing they needed was another fiery mishap at the stables. Arrax knew that he wasn't supposed to get that close to the horses and Lucerys wasn't about to let such bratty behavior slide a second time. Hopefully, one good kick to the snout had been enough to teach the little dragon a lifelong lesson.

His meal with Lord and Lady Bar Emmon was hearty but quick, with the latter escorting Lucerys to a guest room where he could take a well-deserved nap before moving on to his next destination. With open war and rebellion occurring on both the eastern and western coasts of Westeros, Luke had spent almost every day of the last seven months either patrolling the Gullet or delivering messages between the Iron Throne and its coastal lords. It was exhausting work, especially with all of the recent storms they'd had to fly through, but if it helped relieve some of the burden on his mother, then he would do it.

"Please let us know if there's anything else we can do for you," said Lady Bar Emmon with a kind, almost maternal smile. "I'll have one of my attendants wake you before the evening meal, that way you can depart before it gets too dark."

"There's no need to be concerned about my flying after dark, my lady," Luke laughingly tried to assure her. "Dragons have excellent night-vision and Arrax does all of the work once the sun sets. I honestly just laze about in the saddle and admire the night sky."

"Even still, it's always more dangerous to travel after dark. I'm sure your mother would agree. Now, my prince, get some rest."

"I gladly will, ma'am."

He was left alone after that, tired legs taking him over to the wash basin to clean up before finally shucking his outer clothes and crawling into bed. Lucerys wasn't able to hold back a satisfied moan at the feel of the soft mattress, face smushing right into the pillow as he burrowed beneath the bed sheets and thick quilt. Unlike certain other family members, Luke had always reveled in a good night's sleep or cozy afternoon nap, his mind and body often demanding more rest than the average child or teenager typically needed.

When Luke had been about nine-years-old, his mother had grown concerned enough about his napping to bring up the issue with Maester Gerardys. After examining the young prince and documenting his sleep cycles, he'd concluded that there was nothing to worry about and that some people just needed a bit more sleep than others to function properly. So long as Lucerys didn't start falling asleep at random or needing more than ten-ish hours of sleep to go about his day, then there was no need for concern or treatment. And, until recently, that advice had been valid in regards to Luke's situation.

For the last eight months, Lucerys had been falling asleep at random throughout the day, eyelids so heavy that he just couldn't keep them open at times. It was becoming a genuine problem now, what with him spending several hours each day patrolling for enemy ships. Taking a nap in the saddle when he was flying messages back and forth between his mother and her vassal lords wasn't an issue, but it was a whole different matter when he was on lookout for the Triarchy fleet.

Lucerys had tried to hide his weird sleep patterns as much as possible, not wanting to burden his family with yet another problem on their already full plates. His mother looked utterly exhausted every time he traveled to King's Landing, drained by the combination of dealing with her father's death, the attempted usurpation of the throne by her own family, the stillbirth of her newborn daughter, open rebellion in the Iron Islands, and an inevitable war in the Narrow Sea. His stepfather, meanwhile, had either been doggedly hunting down the most ardent of Green loyalists or flying up and down the eastern coastline, never staying in one spot for very long as he tried to provide his young and inexperienced children with guidance.

Thankfully, from what Lucerys had heard earlier that week, it sounded like the Iron Islands rebellion was on its last legs. He imagined that having Vhagar herself sicced on them was a pretty good reason why they were losing so badly, with his parents and grandparents using the rebellion as a loyalty test for the one-eyed prince. It'd been a complete shock to Luke when he'd first heard about Aemond supposedly switching sides, with the thwarted assassination incident at Dragonstone immediately calling the older boy's about-face into question.

But then his suspicions had been proven wrong again and again. First, by Daemon finding evidence and then getting confessions out of Larys Strong and Otto Hightower himself. Second, by Aemond not interfering in the lead-up to his mother's coronation, or anything after it, either. And lastly, by Aemond volunteering to put down the Ironborn rebellion in the west.

And from the sounds of it, his half-uncle had actually managed to do it, too.

Lucerys hugged one of the decorative throw pillows against his chest and considered what possible motives Aemond could have fueling his most recent actions. Both his stepfather and grandmother had said that Aemond didn't seem to desire the throne, and instead appeared to be acting out of some inclination that they still couldn't pin down. Hence, Daemon's suggested loyalty test against the Ironborn and their wanton destruction of the Westerlands.

All that Luke knew was that whatever this inclination truly was, he was just glad that it had somehow prevented a full-blown civil war between two sides of his family. He also knew that Aemond would scoff derisively at such sentiment coming from him of all people, but Luke meant it all the same. He and Aemond may have never seen eye to eye except for when they were forced to—and by the Gods, that was a terrible pun, he truly was deliriously tired—but Luke much preferred not being on any worse terms with the older prince than he already was.

It was with those thoughts that Lucerys eventually fell asleep, curling deep into the quilt and pillows as the familiar sounds of a bustling castle lulled him into some much-needed slumber. And to his relief when he woke several hours later, it proved to be a mostly dreamless sleep, too.

For once, he actually felt well-rested. How strange.

"Prince Lucerys," said a voice from beyond the guest room door, "Supper will be served before the next bell. My lady wanted to know if you would be needing anything?"

"That's very considerate of her, thank you, but I think I'll be fine," said Luke while rubbing sleep from his eyes. "However, if you could please ask after Arrax's meal, that would be very much appreciated."

"Of course, I'll make sure everything is taken care of, my prince."

It took a few minutes for Lucerys to actually force himself up out of bed, limbs heavy with resistance as he trudged over to start his ablutions and then pull on his outer clothes. As usual, his dark curls were a disaster and it took several minutes of fighting with a comb to get them into some semblance of order. Lucerys was a lot of things, but a disrespectful house guest was not one of them. His dear mother had drilled those specific manners into his head more times than he cared to count, thank you very much.

"My prince, dinner will be served in five minutes!"

With that message, Lucerys gathered the last of his effects and headed towards the main dining hall. The Bar Emmons had hosted him and his stepfather several times over the last eight months, so Luke knew Sharp Point Castle well enough to find his way there on his own. Compared to many of the other eastern lords, Bar Emmon and his wife were refreshingly practical and down-to-earth, always giving Luke his due respect as the Queen's official envoy while also never expecting more of him than he could provide.

In contrast to his current hosts, Luke wasn't looking forward to the next four lords on his message delivery route. Lord Gorman Massey of Stonedance and Lord Wendell Penrose of Parchments weren't bad men or anything of the like, but they did tend to be overly boisterous and long-winded and Lucerys often found himself zapped of all energy after meeting with them. Lord Simon Hasty was the polar opposite, being pious and self-righteous to the point of idiocy, as his stepfather liked to point out every time they were hosted there.

The last delivery on his route was to Lord Borros Baratheon of Storm's End, a maternal cousin of Lucerys' own grandmother who he found to be a pompous jerk. Daemon had been with Luke during his first and only visit, arriving about three hours after Luke thanks to his extended patrol over the Straits of Tarth, only to discover that the new Storm Lord had refused to treat with his stepson unless he agreed to marry one of Borros' four daughters.

Luke could well remember the black anger radiating off his stepfather's frame that day, eyes narrowing the moment he'd seen how uncomfortable Luke was with all of the questioning and haranguing he'd been forced to endure. The verbal evisceration that Daemon handed down had been a thing of beauty, with Lord Borros scarcely able to stutter out a reply to the older Targaryen prince. If Luke had taken refuge in his stepfather's protective shadow at the time, then nobody could truly blame him for it.

After all, Lord Borros' daughters were nothing short of terrifying. Luke would more than happy to never suffer their greedy gazes again.

However, there would be no Daemon to come to his rescue this time around. Lucerys needed to make Lord Borros see that he was a Targaryen prince in his own right and should be taken just as seriously as his stepfather was. If Jace could continue to rally support from Lord Cregan Stark and Baela from Lady Jeyne Arryn, then Luke could do the same with Lord Borros Baratheon.

He'd figure it out. Somehow.

As expected, his meal with Lord and Lady Bar Emmon was cordial and relaxed, with both offering him advice on how to best handle the next few lords on his patrol path. One of the lady's maids was kind enough to pack him some extra food for the flight, giving Lucerys a warm smile as he headed outside to check on Arrax. Of course, when compared to most other Westerosi houses, the Bar Emmons were quite accustomed to the Targaryens' dragons, so it was no surprise to see that Arrax was well-fed and standing next to a small pile of supplies when Luke finally arrived outside the castle walls to greet him.

"Hmm, I can smell rain on the horizon," said Lady Bar Emmon, smile once again reminding him of his own mother's. "Remember to fly safely, my prince."

"I always do, ma'am."

Lucerys accepted the letters on fleet movements and future patrols from Lord Bar Emmon and then took off into the evening sky, heading south by southeast along the coastline towards Stonedance. He flew past several of his grandsire's warships after delivering his first batch of letters to Lord Massey, narrowly avoiding being dragged into a raucous meal by the rotund man. The passing warships proved to be the perfect excuse for him to escape any festive obligations, with Luke giving a quick apology before rushing off to check in with his grandsire's captains.

Of course, all that his check-ins actually involved were some quick signals between warship and dragon-rider, but Lord Massey didn't need to know that and Lucerys was more than happy to take advantage of his naval-dragon ignorance. Lord Simon Hasty was at least much easier to avoid, what with it being the middle of the night when Lucerys finally arrived. He exchanged letters with the priestly lord's maester and was on his way towards Parchments within the hour, more than happy to take a brief, if slightly uncomfortable, nap while Arrax hunted fish in the shallows.

The early morning skies were starting to get very dark and ominous when Luke landed at Parchments, Lady Penrose offering him a quick yet generous breakfast while her husband looked over the letters from his mother and grandsire. Due to the early hour, Lord Wendell was less talkative than usual, allowing Luke to simply bask in his food before continuing on to the last leg of his southern patrol.

He couldn't wait to return home to Dragonstone and sleep in his own bed and spend time with his cats and eat an enormous meal with his grandsire. If Daemon, Baela, or Jace also happened to be there after their own patrols, then all the better.

Lady Penrose seemed to realize that Lucerys was trying to make good time, because she hustled her husband along in writing his letters to Corlys and then escorted the young prince out to his dragon with a small bag of food supplies. The southeastern skies were almost pitch-black now, bright purple lightning streaking in the distance as thunder boomed like a sinister war drum. Arrax flinched beneath his fingers at the sound.

"Are you sure it would be wise to travel in this, my prince?" asked Lady Penrose, eyes fixed on the blackening skies. "We would be more than happy to host you and your dragon until it passes. We even have a sturdy stone marquee in the bailey where we could stable him away from the rain."

"I'm afraid I'm on a tight schedule, my lady. The logistics of my grandsire's plan depends on me delivering these letters as quickly as possible."

This didn't seem to reassure Lady Penrose at all.

"I've flown through a lot of storms these last few weeks, my lady. If it becomes too much, Arrax and I will land and find a safe place to hunker down."

As if realizing that she wasn't going to dissuade him from at least attempting the flight, the older woman just gave a frustrated sigh and signaled for one of her handmaids to quickly fetch something from her rooms. Luke glanced anxiously at the eastern skies, but waited patiently for the handmaid to return. When she did, he saw that she was carrying a small brown brooch with an equally small paper tied to the back of it.

"Here, take this with you. If Borros acts like too much of a cad—as he is wont to do—then present this to his wife, Lady Elenda Caron. She has been a dear friend of mine since childhood and will at least give you proper hospitality if shown this. I was planning to send it by raven, but I think it will serve a greater purpose if delivered by you, my prince."

"Umm, thank you very much, my lady. Hopefully, it will help. Lord Borros didn't seem to like me very much, last time."

"Oh, that man doesn't like anybody," said Lady Penrose with a wave of her hand. "Well, at least not anybody worth liking. And I can't say that I'm surprised by his dislike, either, considering..."

She didn't have to say it out loud for Lucerys to know that she was referring to his mother—a woman—sitting upon the Iron Throne. It was a common prejudice that Luke dealt with almost all the time now.

"Now, do fly safely. And you're welcome to turn around and rest here if it proves too much."

"I will, my lady."

And with that said, Lucerys climbed into the saddle and turned Arrax towards the cliffs just south of the castle walls. The Straits of Tarth were dark and choppy when they soared down from the Parchments bluffs, their southwest destination not looking any friendlier as they followed the Stormlands' rugged coastline. When it started to rain hard enough to sting his cheeks at about the halfway point to Storm's End, Lucerys briefly considered stopping for a short rest in Amberly, where he knew one of his stepfather's old compatriots would welcome him and Arrax with shelter and a warm meal.

But Lucerys must've been feeling stupidly stubborn today, as his grandmother liked to call it, because he continued to push forward even when the steady rain turned into a torrential downpour. Arrax appeared to share his rider's sentiment, the young dragon letting out his trademark little roar as the gales grew stronger and the waves reached up towards the heavens. Despite being as waterproof as possible, Luke's riding gear did little to protect him against the storm's biting cold, his usually hot hands trembling as the skies darkened even further once evening approached.

Lightning and thunder rattled both his nerves and eardrums as they entered the heart of Shipbreaker Bay, Lucerys' eyes squinting hard against the stinging rain as they drew closer and closer to where he remembered Storm's End being. The wind was whipping so forcefully now that Arrax was having a difficult time flying, exhausted little wings flapping twice as hard to compensate for the random gusts. Due to this and the poor visibility, neither Lucerys nor Arrax noticed the sudden break in a nearby cliff until it was almost too late.

"Geptot, Arrax! Geptot!"

The dragon swerved sharply to the left, Lucerys ducking down to avoid being struck by the crumbling rocks. A long canyon stretched before them, jagged cliffs towering up on both sides as water churned violently down below. It looked like the chasm's left-hand side had been cleaved from the continent itself, uneven pillars rising up from the water like spears, ready and willing to slash to pieces anyone stupid enough to enter.

Knowing that there was little he could do, Luke leaned as deep into the saddle as he could and allowed Arrax to take full control, the young dragon's wings drawing tight to his body before quickly reopening on every other flap as they soared through the narrow gorge. Luke couldn't hold back a yelp when they passed through one very, very tight section, head stinging as something sharp hit the left side of his scalp. However, he had no time to worry about it, because Arrax was banking hard to the right not even a second later, just barely avoiding one of those stone pillars that came up out of the water.

If his legs hadn't been strapped tight into the saddle, Luke knew without a doubt that he would've fallen to his death as Arrax took another sharp turn to the right, just barely missing an outcropping of jagged rocks that would've ripped them to shreds. Luke's stomach twisted as they came upon another narrow section, eyes fixed on the wide opening just beyond it.

They were almost out. Just a few more yards and—

With a tired yet triumphant roar, Arrax flew beneath an overhanging rock and out of the gorge. A huge gust of wind almost immediately blew them into another sea stack just to their right, but Arrax was able to pull up at the very last second and bring them safely over top of the cliffs.

"Jaehossas sȳris sātās!" gasped Luke. "Kara botē, Arrax."

He leaned forward to pat Arrax's neck with shaky hands, adrenaline still running high as they were buffeted by another gale. Luke couldn't help but wonder how badly his mother and Daemon would freak out if they knew what he and Arrax had just done.

"That was really close," he muttered to himself. "Let's not do that again, eh, buddy?"

Arrax grumbled in agreement.

"If that goofy-looking sea stack is right, then we shouldn't be too far from—oh, there! There it is, Arrax!"

The familiar silhouette of Storm's End castle could just barely be seen through the raging hurricane, its colossal drum tower thrusting into the sky like a huge spiked fist. Despite his misgivings of meeting with Lord Borros, Lucerys was genuinely relieved to see the castle itself, if for nothing more than survival's sake at this point. With the storm getting more dangerous by the hour, they truly had no other option but to land and seek shelter with the nearest host.

Unfortunately for them, that host also just happened to be a pretentious, self-serving asshole.

"Dēmagon, Arrax. Paerī."

Even circling around to land was proving difficult, with Arrax being blown off course two times before they were able to safely descent down into the castle's front courtyard. Lucerys couldn't hold back a deep sigh of relief when they were on sturdy ground, whole body feeling jittery as he quickly unstrapped himself from the saddle and tried to climb down without slipping on Arrax's wings or scales.

He didn't quite manage it.

After slipping on Arrax's wing and almost face-planting into the muddy ground, Luke wrapped what little dignity he could around his soaked form and walked towards the castle's main entrance. He was halfway there, eyes focused on the two guards that stood just inside of the doorway, when he heard the sound of an ominous rumble and then saw the movement of something massive in his peripheral vision. A streak of lightning illuminated everything around him for a few seconds and Lucerys felt his throat seize up at the sight that greeted him.

"Vhagar."

He couldn't help but stumble a bit when Vhagar's monstrous form rose up high over the curtain walls, horrifying in her sheer size as she seemed to turn and stare down at the front courtyard. Lucerys felt a yawning black pit open up in his stomach, unable to look away from the enormous dragon even when thunder boomed and shook the ground beneath his feet. Or was it Vhagar herself who was doing the shaking? The tremors seemed to correspond with her movements, so that was a definite possibility.

Arrax chattered nervously behind him, the little dragon looking up at Vhagar with blatant fear and apprehension. Calming him down through their bond seemed pointless, mostly because Lucerys himself was battling the exact same bleak feelings. He had never found himself wishing for his mother and Daemon as much as he did right then, the ferocious protection and presence of Caraxes something that Lucerys now knew shouldn't ever be taken for granted. And despite his hands and throat burning like a furnace, he couldn't seem to stop himself from shaking like he'd just trudged through several miles of waist-deep snow.

And, of course, if Vhagar was here, then that meant that Aemond was, too.

"Lykirī, Arrax. Ȳghāpī īlōn rāelza."

His shaky reassurance did little to calm the young dragon, and Arrax let out a crooning whimper when Luke continued towards the castle entrance. The last time Luke had seen Aemond was the night of that awful family dinner, when he'd made the drunken mistake of giggling at his half-uncle and the roasted pig that had been placed before him. In deference to his older family members and their more potent grief, Luke had volunteered to patrol the Gullet during his grandsire's funeral seven months earlier, which had also saved him from having to see Aemond face-to-face so soon after, well, everything.

Lucerys was beginning to wonder how wise of a choice that was, now. Perhaps if he'd had the opportunity to speak with Aemond and apologize for all the terrible things that had happened between them, then maybe he would better know where they stood at the present time. Even knowing that the older prince had apparently changed sides did little to lessen Luke's fears of what was waiting for him beyond those grand doors.

Would Aemond humiliate him in front of Lord Borros? He could see them getting along fantastically in their mutual hatred of the Velaryon prince.

Did Aemond still believe that he was owed an eye for an eye? It would be almost impossible for Luke to win in a physical fight against him.

Was Lucerys even counted as an ally to him, despite being a Black? His grandmother and Daemon had said that Aemond seemed to have his own motivations, and there was always a chance that those motivations involved making Luke as miserable as possible.

Or maybe Aemond was tired of this stupid feud and would just ignore him instead? For the sake of Luke's eyes and limbs, he was willing to admit that this was probably the best outcome he could hope for, even if being ignored left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Lucerys hadn't told anyone, not even his brother, about the odd dreams he'd been having for months now. There was nothing particularly weird or scary about these new dreams, aside from Aemond's constant presence in them. Lucerys had always been an active dreamer, but most of his past dreams had been ephemeral and fleeting, with his memories of them fading within a few short moments of waking up. These new dreams though were the polar opposite, being vivid and memorable enough to feel physically real at times.

And Aemond was always in them, dark eye watching Luke's every move without ever saying a single word. It was more than a little creepy, even if Luke had come to expect no violence from him. So, every night when he went to sleep, Luke had to deal with a creepy dream-Aemond just staring at him, behavior as predatory and unsettling as ever as he stalked Luke through whatever peculiar dreamscape his mind had conjured up.

The glinting of something bright and shiny in Aemond's blind eye was another mystery that Luke never got an answer to. Every time he was almost close enough to finally see what it was, the dream would end and he'd be back in his bed at Dragonstone. For someone as insatiably curious as Luke, it was an infuriating riddle that he couldn't unravel thanks to his own stupid brain working against him.

With a quick shake of his head, Luke banished those thoughts to the far corners of his mind and refocused on his current mission. Gods knew that he would need every ounce of grit to survive the Storm Lord's haughty contempt.

"I'm Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen, as well as two others from Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Gyanna Penrose."

The guards didn't say anything in response, instead just sharing a quick glance before turning around and marching inside the tower keep. Assuming that he was meant to follow, Lucerys glanced backwards to look at Arrax's huddled form, rain pouring down on the little dragon as the hurricane started to unleash the worst of its fury. The pitiful sight made Luke's stomach curdle, pure misery and fright transmitting both ways through their shared bond. However, Luke did know one thing for certain, and that was that he couldn't allow Arrax to stay outside in this storm.

With a new urgency to his step, Lucerys followed the guards further into the keep, fully expecting to be taken to the Round Hall for an audience with Lord Borros. But this turned out to not be the case when they were intercepted halfway there by a middle-aged man wearing maester's robes. It only took Luke a short moment to recognize him as the maester who had read Luke's message the first time he'd been sent to Storm's End six months ago. His fists clenched at the memory, also realizing that this was the same man who'd purposely misread his letter to the illiterate Lord Borros.

"Ah, Prince Lucerys, we weren't expecting you. The hour is late."

"My apologies, good maester, but the Queen and my grandsire thought it best to send Arrax and myself instead of a raven," said Luke with a faux-smile. "It's quite urgent in relation to the royal fleet and their maneuvers against the Triarchy. We also weren't expecting such a fierce storm to hinder my flight."

"Yes, yes, we are in the heart of hurricane season at the moment," drawled the older man. "But I fear there is little be done at this hour. My lord and ladies are all abed, as is most of the keep. You'll have to wait to deliver your messages until morning."

The maester didn't sound particularly upset about this, voice laced with a condescending tone throughout their entire exchange. Luke also noticed how he specifically did not mention that Aemond, another dragon-rider from the same family, was also at Storm's End. Considering how dark and stormy it was outside, Luke could have easily overlooked Vhagar's presence if she hadn't all but announced it herself.

It made him uneasy and suspicious.

"Of course, I understand," conceded Luke. "But if that is the case, would it be too much of an imposition for me to inquire about shelter for my dragon?"

"Whyever would it need that?"

Oh, yes, Lucerys did not like this man. He was nothing like Gerardys or Hunnimore and was entirely too dismissive of Arrax for Luke to ever trust him. How dare he act like the comfort of a living creature was something to be so easily dismissed?

"Because Arrax is still a young dragon and cannot be expected to weather a hurricane or blizzard like his older, more mature counterparts," argued Luke, explicitly playing dumb about Vhagar's equally soaked presence just beyond the curtain walls. "He needs shelter from this storm, especially after such a long and tiring flight. Most other keeps in which I have stayed had some place where he could rest away from the elements."

He watched as the maester's nose wrinkled briefly with distaste, eyes hard and brow irritated as he weighed Luke's words. For someone whose job was to bullsh*t and lie to his liege lord, Luke could safely say that he wasn't very good at it when the other person—Luke, in this case—knew what to look for.

"If you are truly so worried, then I suppose we could find a way to accommodate your beast," said the maester, lips pinched like he'd sucked on a raw lemon. "The stables are quite full at the moment, given the storm, so that's not an option. And I don't believe we have anything else that would serve the same purpose, so..."

Lucerys sucked on his teeth, inwardly bristling at the blase way this man was speaking about Arrax. It made him want to punch him.

In the throat.

"Ah, it must've slipped my mind, but we do have an empty room just off the feast hall in which we could fit your dragon and yourself," said the maester with a smile that was faker than Rhaena's when she stole his desserts. "However, you will need to stay with him the whole time he's inside. For safety's sake, of course."

Knowing that he had no other viable options, Luke pushed down his pride and nodded in agreement.

"Very well, please show me."

The maester gave a few orders to the guards and then signaled for Lucerys to follow him. With a quiet sigh of resignation, Luke made sure not to fall behind as he was led through two short corridors and then into the large feast hall, almost constantly wiping strands of wet hair out of his eyes. The side room that the maester had spoke of had clearly been used for storage and staging, but it was clean and dry and would fit Arrax inside of it, and that's all that Luke could truly hope for right now.

A set of double doors lay on the far side of the room, a series of thin windows showing that the doors opened out onto the main courtyard. Lucerys wasted no time in walking over to the doors, silently urging the other man to move faster than the snail's pace he was walking at.

"Let's hope that your beast will fit through this door."

As soon as the door was opened, Luke darted several feet out into the pouring rain and was greeted by the terrible sight of a wretched-looking Arrax. His dragon was huddled up as best as he could be, shaking and twitching with every volt of lightning and crack of thunder that bellowed down from the skies. Through their bond, Luke could also feel Arrax's intense fear at Vhagar's proximity, small head whipping around every few seconds to look at the curtain walls that were hiding her massive form.

By the Gods, Luke felt like a complete ass for bringing him here.

"Māzīs, Arrax! Māzīs!"

The little dragon turned around so fast that he nearly toppled over in the mud, golden eyes easily finding his rider through the howling rain. Arrax chattered and grunted at him, whole body seeming to wriggle in a combination of excitement and anxiety.

"Māzīs! Māzīs!"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Arrax started to walk over towards him. Lucerys made sure to keep his body language open yet firm, gradually coaxing Arrax through the doors and into the storage room. The relief of finally being out of the storm was palpable, with Arrax bumping his head against Luke's midsection to show how happy he was to be anywhere except outside in that godawful hurricane with that equally godawful old crone nearby.

Still feeling awful for what he'd put him through, Luke made sure to scratch up and down Arrax's neck just how he liked it, crooning sweet words to calm the dragon and help him adjust to this new place. Once Luke was sure that Arrax wouldn't react poorly to being inside, he turned to look at the maester who appeared to be hiding behind the far door.

"Umbās, Arrax."

Lucerys walked over and forced himself to take a deep breath. Unlike this man, he had been raised by respectable parents who had instilled proper manners into him, and Luke wasn't about to sully his mother's good name just because he wanted to punch this man in his ugly, sniveling, condescending face.

Never let it be said that Lucerys Velaryon didn't have an impressive amount of self-control.

"Thank you very much for your help, Maester Malcus. And Arrax would also like to thank you, in his own way. Isn't that right, Arrax?"

Said dragon hooted in response.

"I will remain with him until the storm has passed, of course. Would it be possible for us to receive some food? Or a cot for me to sleep on?"

"I sent one of the guards to retrieve what he could from the kitchens and storage rooms. He should be along shortly with what he could find, although I wouldn't expect much at this late hour."

Despite knowing that such an assertion was bullsh*t, Luke wisely kept his mouth shut. Castles of this size always had extra food prepared in the kitchens just in case of late night arrivals, and an abundance of cots and portable bunks were standard fare in any keep worth its salt. Maester Malcus had to know that a royal prince of Lucerys' stature would be well-aware of this, although the man didn't seem to care.

He just wants to humiliate you, Luke thought. And he knows that you have no other options right now with the storm and everyone else being asleep. Not to mention the little problem of Aemond and Vhagar being guests here as well. Ugh, what an awful night.

Being Daemon's stepson probably didn't help matters, either. The maester had been directly insulted by the older prince during their last visit, and Lucerys was sure that any cruelty towards himself would be considered adequate revenge against Daemon in turn. Being targeted for his stepfather's past actions was starting to become an unfortunate trend in Lucerys' life, especially with him being the Targaryen family's de-facto messenger along the southeastern coastline. Luke planned to have a strongly worded conversation with his stepfather the next time he saw him.

"I look forward to seeing you in the morning, my prince. Sleep well."

And with that, the maester was gone, leaving Lucerys standing in the storage room doorway without any idea what he should do about, well, pretty much anything. Exhausted and more than a little irritated, Luke closed the door and walked over to a confused but also very curious Arrax. The dragon had claimed himself a nice sleeping spot atop several large piles of empty grain sacks, curling up into a little ball as his body temperature returned to normal. Luke pulled off his gloves and ran gentle hands all over Arrax's body, carefully checking for any injuries or cold-spots that might need tending to.

"Well, it doesn't look like you hit anything," said Luke as he massaged along Arrax's crest. "And nothing feels too cold, either. Shouldn't take very long for you to warm up."

Arrax hooted and snuffled against his hair.

"Hey, be careful, I don't need you..."

Luke trailed off when he tried to push Arrax away from his head, left hand coming back covered in watery blood. The dragon hooted again, snout nosing along Luke's hand and then back to his head again.

"Oh, I didn't even realize that I was bleeding."

He received an indignant snort in reply, Arrax pushing forward to snuffle all along his head for a third time, as if that would somehow make Luke's wound go away. Despite knowing that he shouldn't, Luke let the dragon provide whatever comfort he could, quietly hoping that it would keep Arrax from reacting in a more visceral manner.

Wearied beyond the point of being functional, Luke just wrapped his arms around Arrax's sturdy neck and said, "Well, sh*t..."

Chapter 9: Aemond

Chapter Text

"By the Mother, I'm beginning to think this godforsaken rain will never end."

"It has been quite a terrible season."

"My poor potato patch is so waterlogged that I expect they'll be rotted straight through! I knew I should've planted turnips instead."

"I doubt even turnips would be able to survive this month-long flood."

"Oh, you've never grown a single vegetable in your life, Ellya. I'll have you know that if it wasn't for..."

Root vegetables. Seasonal floods. Cotton harvests. None of these were topics that Aemond had ever thought much about, let alone would've found remotely interesting, but compared to the people he'd been stuck with over the last two days, talk of turnips and potatoes sounded like the height of intellectual conversation to his shriveled brain. For all their hotblooded swagger and egotism, the Baratheons had proven themselves to be an unimaginative lot when it came to entertaining guests who weren't interested in marrying their daughters.

And by the Gods, was Borros Baratheon desperate to marry off one of his daughters to House Targaryen. After dinner last night, Aemond had had to use every bit of his wits and wiles to escape from their grasping clutches. The only reason he'd even stopped at Storm's End was to take shelter from the approaching hurricane, which had proven impossible to avoid without crossing over the Red Mountains. That would've added at least two or three more days to his flight, so Aemond had foolishly decided to land at Storm's End until the worst of the storm had passed.

Oh, what a stupid decision that had been.

It had taken Borros less than an hour to start inquiring about his taste in women, and then another hour for him to outright offer up any of his daughters—go ahead and take your pick, had been the drunken lord's words—for immediate betrothal. By that point, Aemond had been well and truly stuck with the obnoxious fool, fingers literally itching to just stab him in the liver or kidney and be done with it.

Good eye glaring at the storm that was still raging outside, Aemond fiddled with the strap of his detachable saddle bag and cursed every f*cking deity he could think of. He had been packed and ready to depart since early last night, only sleeping a few scant hours thanks to the severe ache in his empty eye socket and keenness to get far, far away from this humid, watery hell that the Baratheons called a castle. There was also the lil' issue of his hands and throat feeling like they were on fire, knuckles aching every time Aemond so much as tried to scratch his head.

And to top it off, he hadn't dreamed last night, either.

That last one was particularly galling. He knew that to most people, not dreaming probably would've been a good outcome, but to Aemond, not dreaming meant that he didn't get to see Lucerys. Despite not knowing exactly what he was doing, Aemond had been trying to emulate the book's descriptions of how dragon threads could see and communicate with each other through their dreams. He'd even spoken with Helaena at length about it, but neither of them had been able to figure out the details of how to actually interact with someone else in a shared dream.

Rhaenyra had given them free rein of the library and their father's personal archives, but they hadn't been able to locate any books that explained how dragon dreamers or dragon threads could communicate with others, or share their dreams with another person of their choice. Once they'd exhausted those avenues, Helaena had quietly suggested looking into what was available on Dragonstone, but Aemond hadn't yet been willing to entertain that possibility at the time.

Now, four months later and with no progress beyond getting Lucerys to see a stationary vision of him in their dreams, Aemond was regretting that decision. Their oldest sister had a clear soft spot for Helaena and likely would've granted her request without a second thought. In a moment of resentful stubbornness, Aemond had refused to use this favoritism to his advantage, some deep-seeded part of himself indignant that the exact same request would be denied if it was him asking for it.

And as a result of this impetuous decision, Aemond was stuck with only being able to stare at Lucerys in their shared dreams, but unable to interact with him in any direct way. He wasn't even sure if Lucerys could truly see him. The book obviously wasn't intended to be used as a how-to guide by a pair of f*cked up dragon threads and one perpetually confused dragon dreamer, so Aemond had no idea if his improvisation would work out in the long term or if it would blow up spectacularly in his face once he was finally able to reunite with Lucerys.

Considering how everything else had gone so far, Aemond was willing to bet that it would be the latter outcome instead of the first. The fact that almost all aspects of Old Valyria and its non-dragon-riding magical practices had been lost to the Doom certainly didn't help matters, either.

So, yes, Aemond was having a very, very bad few days.

It was almost bad enough that Aemond wished he was back in the Iron Islands, laying waste to Dalton Greyjoy's fleet as it sieged Fair Isle before moving on to put Great and Old Wyk, Harlow, and finally Pyke itself to the flame. Aemond hadn't been particularly sad to leave those wretched piles of scabrous rubble and stone behind, but he had been profoundly disappointed when he'd learned of Dalton's apparent death.

Murdered by a young girl he had enslaved and forced to marry him, throat slit from ear to ear with his own dagger as he slept in Lord Farman's bedchambers in Faircastle, only a short while after raping the aforementioned salt wife. Perhaps one of the most ironic deaths Aemond had ever heard about, if it turned out to be true. And he had a feeling that it was true, considering the Ironborn's reaction when it had been announced by their own heralds.

Didn't change the fact that Aemond had wanted to gut the rebellious f*cker himself.

And then feed him to Vhagar—preferably in pieces, for all the surviving Ironborn to watch with their own terrified eyes. It would have been a fine retribution, considering the crimes that they had committed against the people of Fair Isle and Kayce. Aemond would be lying if he said that torching their fleet and then hunting them down like the vermin they were hadn't been more than a little exhilarating. As a young boy, he had often dreamed of protecting his people on dragonback from barbarous invaders, just like the Valyrians of old had done along the far flung edges of their vast empire.

But alas, any hopes of gutting the Greyjoy menace would have to remain in his dreams. Aemond supposed that he could freely concede this particular kill to Dalton's own self-inflicted adversary. The brat's salt-wife more than deserved her pound of tainted flesh.

His fingers traced over his favorite dagger now, lamenting that its thirst hadn't been sated in far too long. He had been saving it for Dalton's power-hungry flesh over the last few weeks, but that had obviously fallen through thanks to the other man's rapist proclivities. As if aware of this stolen redress, the metal almost seemed to vibrate in frustration whenever Aemond cleaned it.

With any luck, he'd be able to put it to good use in the Stepstones. Even if the Triarchy fleet didn't make their first move so far south, there were always pirate dens that needed to be cleared out to ensure free trade along the shipping lanes. Apparently, Daemon and Laenor had been the last dragon-riders to flush out the enclaves nearly twenty years ago, and the older prince believed that another deep-cleaning was in order to show the pirates and other outlaws who was still in charge. If that also sent a strong message to Dorne and the Free Cities, then all the better for it.

"—dragon in the castle!"

"Oh, now you've truly lost your mind. There's not a single doorway in Storm's End that would be able to fit a dragon through it."

"No, no, it's a baby dragon! That's what Gedmund said."

Intrigued by the sudden turn of conversation, Aemond stood up and walked over to listen in from behind the door that led to his guest suite's receiving room. Neither of the maids knew that he was awake, and Aemond hadn't planned on alerting them to that fact as they tidied up other sections of the suite. Their whispered conversation had been quiet and unobtrusive enough not to bother him, but this new topic...

"How would a baby dragon even get to Storm's End?"

"I mean, I don't think it's that small, but compared to the one outside, Gedmund said it's positively tiny."

"So, it had a rider?"

"Yes, one of the new Queen's young sons, I believe. Gedmund was on duty when he arrived late last night."

"In this hurricane? Is the lad completely mad?!"

"I don't know, but Gedmund said that he looked worse for wear. The poor dear must've gotten caught up in it at some point."

"By the Mother, I hope he's alright. Do you think his kinsman has—"

"Good morning, ladies."

The maids gasped when Aemond appeared through the bedroom doorway, a glass cup and spoon toppling off the dinner table that one of them had been cleaning. When the younger maid scrambled to pick up the cup's broken pieces, Aemond waved away her apologies and insisted that the fault was all his for interrupting their hard work. Despite what certain relatives of his may believe, Aemond's mother hadn't raised him to be a disrespectful brute and he wasn't about to frighten or scold a young woman over something as trivial as a broken cup.

"I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about just now," said Aemond with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Aegon had always said that it just made him look creepy, though. "You said that there's a dragon... inside the castle?"

"Yes, my prince," stuttered the younger maid. "I heard it from my husband himself just an hour ago. Saw it land in the front courtyard with his own two eyes."

"Do you happen to know where this dragon is?"

The maid only hesitated for a moment before saying, "I believe it's down near the castle's feast hall, my prince. In one of the empty storage rooms just off the courtyard. Or, at least, that's where my husband said he last saw it."

"Would you be able to take me to this storage room?"

"Oh, umm, of course, my prince."

He watched as the maids glanced between themselves, the younger one eventually gesturing for him to follow her out into the corridor. Aemond didn't plan to come back to these rooms, so he grabbed his saddle bag from the bedroom sitting table and hurried to catch up with his twitchy escort. Once she saw that he was behind her again, the maid walked more than halfway down the corridor before taking a sharp right turn and seeming to disappear behind a protruding column. Being well-acquainted with service passages, Aemond didn't miss a beat in following her down the dark and narrow passage, easily anticipating the steep stairs that appeared from out of nowhere.

"It should only take a few minutes to reach the feast hall from here. I can at least escort you to the staging room door, although I don't know if it will be locked or not."

"That is alright. Your assistance is much appreciated."

Aemond didn't say anything else after that, knowing full well that his proximity made the young woman nervous and high-strung. The last thing he wanted was for her to take a wrong turn or lose her way as a result of his overbearing presence.

Despite it being right before the busy breakfast hour, they didn't encounter any other household staff in the service passages. Aemond had a strong feeling that the maid would get into trouble for bringing him through the back tunnels instead of the main hallways, so he was relieved when they eventually emerged from the passages without being spotted. On top of that, there was also the obvious fact that he just plain didn't want to deal with Borros and his unrelenting betrothal demands so early in the morning, either.

From the looks of the new corridor, Aemond could guess that they were somewhere near the castle's kitchens. The maid waved him along behind her again, strides quick as she brought them through a narrow door and into what looked like a furniture storage room. She peered through a small peephole in the opposite wall before walking into the next room, which Aemond immediately recognized at the castle's grand feast hall.

"This way, my prince. It's just over here."

Aemond could feel his whole body start to burn as they got closer and closer to the feast hall's furthest door, stomach twisting and turning with excitement at what might be hidden behind oaken wood and solid stone. He knew of only two dragons that were still small enough to be described as babies yet also large enough to be flown so far by their riders, and that was Moondancer and Arrax. The maid's husband had apparently described the rider as one of the new Queen's sons, which meant that it had to be Lucerys behind those doors.

"We're here, my prince."

With all of his attention focused on the door, Aemond barely noticed the way his escort was obsessively picking at her nail beds. Aside from the strange location itself, that particular nervous habit should have been a major red flag of what he was about to encounter in the adjoining room.

"My husband was a little concerned about a wound that your kinsman had sustained," whispered the maid. "Said it hadn't been attended to after he dropped off the cot, even though the castle's maester had already come and gone twice. Didn't sit right with him."

"Your husband didn't happen to mention where this wound was?"

The maid shook her head.

"Well, thank you for the forewarning. I will see to it with all due haste."

He could tell that the young woman wanted to say more, but she appeared to think better of it and instead held her tongue. After wriggling the storage room doorknob to see if it was unlocked, the maid gave him a wane half-smile and precise bow before scurrying off the way that they had came. Despite being a little unnerved by her bizarre behavior, Aemond turned his attention back to the door and reached out to turn the handle.

It clicked open without any resistance.

Genuinely surprised that it hadn't been locked from the opposite side, Aemond opened the left-hand door as quietly as possible and slipped inside. Thanks to the dim light that was streaming through the windows, it only took a few seconds for Aemond's good eye to adjust and locate Arrax's familiar silhouette in a far corner. The dragon was watching him with distrustful eyes, a low growl emanating from Arrax's throat as his tail seemed to wrap even tighter around his curled up body.

"Lykirī, Arrax. Daorys ao ōdrikilza."

This only seemed to make the dragon growl even louder. So, yeah, not the right thing to say, apparently.

"Skoriot Lucerys issi?"

The young dragon stared at him for several long moments before uncurling his tail and partially lifting his left wing. This action revealed a familiar mess of dark brown curls and pale skin, Arrax's head hovering directly over Lucerys' as the dragon allowed him to see the younger prince. It took every ounce of willpower that Aemond possessed not to run over and check on Lucerys, fingers physically aching with the need to touch his skin and look at the wound that the maid's husband had warned her about. But Aemond also knew that such a reckless move would do nothing more than lose him a limb or two to Arrax's razor-sharp teeth.

He inched forward as far as he could before Arrax really started to snarl, hands coming up to show that he was unarmed and didn't mean any harm against his rider. The younger prince was curled up tight on a small cot that Arrax had managed to wrap his body around, only the fluff of his hair and the uppermost part of his face visible to Aemond's eye. The rest of Lucerys was covered up by a scratchy looking blanket and his red dragon-riding cloak, with Arrax's wing and tail acting as yet another source of warmth for the sleeping boy.

About five feet to the left of Lucerys' cot was a discarded plate covered in crumbs and two broken glasses. Aemond's nose wrinkled at the sight, personally offended by the pathetic show of munificence that lay right in front of him. If this was what the Baratheons called hospitality, then Aemond was tempted to denounce them for gross incompetence and calculated sedition.

There was truly no other way to describe the cruel disregard in how Lucerys—a young, inexperienced, but also well-intentioned royal envoy—had been treated since his arrival. The contrast to Aemond's own welcome of grand feasts and festivities couldn't have been more stark.

Something suspicious was obviously going on here.

Already knowing that he wouldn't be able to get any closer until Lucerys woke up, Aemond settled himself onto a nearby bench and decided that if the other boy didn't wake by the next bell, then he'd just have to verbally wake him himself. For now, he'd just have to be content with rifling through his saddle bag for whatever pathetic medical supplies he had on-hand and admiring the exquisite burn that came from being so close to his matching thread.

And oh, what a wonderful burn it truly was.

Once he had all of his first aid supplies ready and waiting, Aemond took a few minutes to marvel over the way he could now physically feel the threads that stretched from his hands and throat to Lucerys', although he still couldn't see them in the real world. It was a feeling unlike any he had ever felt before, further solidifying the bone-deep connection that existed between the two of them.

Not even his bond with Vhagar had ever felt this palpably raw, with Aemond's blood seeming to sing and dance and burn in response to Lucerys' close proximity. He didn't quite know what to make of it, if he was being honest. It was everything the book had described and more, right down to his almost obsessive need to touch Lucerys, to make sure that the boy was actually there and not hundreds of miles away. That distance had seemed unbearable at times, with Aemond's sanity and bitter compulsions only being mitigated by the consistent presence of Lucerys in his dreams.

Simply knowing about and therefore acknowledging the bond had caused him no end of grief and frustration over the last eight months, but Aemond was willing to admit that it would all be worth it if this was what the dragon thread bond felt like whenever he was with or even near Lucerys. He could easily understand why this particular bond was so highly revered and lusted after in Old Valyria, if this was the feeling that came from being with your other half. Even the near-constant ache in Aemond's left eye had dulled to a paltry thrum, warmth seeping into the damaged nerves and sapphire-filled socket just like the book had said it would.

The blood knot, was what this particular knot had been called. Usually no more than a small cut on the hands, meant to acknowledge and bind two halves of the dragon thread together forever.

It was perhaps the most straightforward and simple of all the threaded knots, if chapter eight was to be believed. Yet in typical Targaryen fashion, the blood knot proved itself to be everything except simple for Lucerys and Aemond. Thanks to their family's vicious quarrels and lack of insight, the two of them had somehow managed to take the blood knot to such an extreme that it ended in Lucerys having a broken nose and Aemond losing his left eye.

The book couldn't even give him any guidance on the matter, because attacking and wounding your other half in such a bloodthirsty manner would be considered absurd to the point of absolute madness in old Valyrian society. Aemond was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was another reason why the Targaryens went to live in exile...

His paternal family tree did seem to have quite the propensity for blood-soaked madness every other generation or so.

Any further thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the castle's bells, signaling that it was both time to get up for breakfast and time for Aemond to stop playing nice and wake up Lucerys from whatever dream he was currently stuck in. Looking around himself for options, Aemond was relieved to see some scattered wax beans on the floor. They would make perfect projectiles for waking up his slumbering target, and hopefully wouldn't get him torched by an agitated Arrax, either.

"Lucerys."

He threw one of the beans and it landed in his target's hair.

"Lucerys."

He threw another bean and it landed somewhere between his forehead and cloak.

"Luke!"

The third bean bounced off of Arrax's snout and fell down near Lucerys' nose.

"Nephew!"

A fourth bean landed somewhere in Lucerys' hair again.

"My little Lord Strong!"

The fifth bean proved to be the charm, hitting Lucerys right between his nose and upwards-facing eye.

"Lucerys, wake up!"

A disgruntled groan came from underneath the blankets, Aemond unable to make out what was being said aside from a few choice curse words. And my oh my, did sweet little Lucy kiss his beloved mother with that foul mouth? Aemond had only ever heard that specific insult in one of Aegon's favorite cum-drenched taverns before. This was simply too good to be true!

"Hmmm, Arrax? What time's it?"

Aemond watched as Lucerys struggled to break free from the cloak and blanket, one arm finally popping out to scrub over his eyes and right cheek. Despite facing away from him, it was easy for Aemond to see the jaw-splitting yawn that seemed to crack every bone in Luke's upper body, the boy grumbling in satisfaction while Arrax took several loud, investigative sniffs around his head.

"Ugh, I feel like death."

"You look like death, too."

"Ahhhh!"

Smug delight coursed through Aemond's body when Luke yelped in surprise, legs and arms flailing inside of the little cocoon he had built for himself. He probably would've laughed out loud if it wasn't for Arrax's irritated glare just daring him to try it. And then it became a whole lot less funny when Lucerys tipped over his cot and crashed onto the stone floor with a pained groan.

"Oh f*ck..."

Aemond tried to run forward, but Arrax curled his left wing over Lucerys and hissed at the older prince to back off. Knowing better than to further agitate an already pissed off and overprotective dragon, Aemond opted instead for staying right where he was and using his words to defuse this rather botched situation.

"Owwww..."

"I didn't mean for that to happen. Truly."

"Who the—Aemond?"

His name was said with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension, Lucerys' head poking out from behind the dragon's wing to stare at him with wide, unfocused eyes. The boy looked like he'd been run over by a carriage, with disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and pupils that were dilated in a way that Aemond found downright concerning. It had obviously not been a good night for the younger prince, and Aemond couldn't help but feel uneasy after seeing Luke's deplorable state.

"I always knew that you were insane, but flying through a hurricane on a dragon that small? Really, Lucerys?"

Luke glared at him and snapped, "If all you've come to do is criticize me, then you can just leave and go back to your rooms, uncle. I have more important things to deal with right now than your petty grievances."

"No, that's not what I mea—sh*t!"

He was barely able to catch Lucerys under the armpits before he face-planted into the floor, Arrax chittering with distress when he wasn't able to break his rider's fall. With a grunt of exertion, Aemond settled the boy's dead-weight back onto the cot, Lucerys all but collapsing onto it as Arrax surged forward to snuffle all around his head. And it was this snuffling that clued Aemond in on what was the real problem.

"You have an open head wound," he said with no small amount of horror and anger. "Did you not see the maester last night?"

"Well, I did see him," said Luke, his words slightly slurred. "But he didn't really do anything besides give me some wet towels and food and drink. See, they're over there."

And yes, they were indeed over there on the floor, thrown into a bloody pile right next to the empty plate and broken glasses. Aemond considered marching straight up to the maester's quarters and gutting him from crotch to throat like the mealy little worm that he was. But that would have to wait for later; he had more important matters to attend to right now.

"It'll need to be cleaned and stitched. Don't move."

He ignored Luke's sputtered protests and went over to grab his saddle bag and medical supplies, purposely ignoring Arrax as the young dragon watched his every move with blatant suspicion. Once he was back in front of Luke, Aemond didn't waste any time in doing a quick full-body check to make sure that the head wound was the only physical injury Luke had sustained. Any thoughts of vengeance and retribution would have to be saved until after he was sure that Luke's health wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Does it hurt anywhere besides your head?"

"Just my hands."

"Hands?"

"Yeah, they're kinda burning right now. Really hot, like I stuck 'em in coals."

That statement made Aemond freeze up for a few moments, thoughts about the threads and the knots and the Valyrian bond swirling this way and that until he savagely kicked them into a far off corner of his brain. He needed to focus, and that didn't involve getting distracted by less... critical problems. He was not like Aegon; he had been trained to be better than this.

"But nothing physical? Like an actual wound?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so."

Aemond nodded and then stood up again, long strides taking him to the feast hall door. He opened it and stuck his head out, relieved to see two servants setting up the long dining table. It only took a snap of his fingers and a stern voice to get both of them scurrying off to retrieve clean cloths that had been boiled in water. Once that was done, Aemond closed the door and grabbed one of the room's unlit torches.

"Tell Arrax to light this," Aemond ordered.

Lucerys just stared at him like he had three heads before finally pointing at the torch and giving the dracarys command. Arrax still gave Aemond his nastiest stink-eye, but did as Luke had requested and lit the torch with a tiny poof of flame. It was more than enough and Aemond quickly made his way around the room to light all of the remaining torches. Once that was done, he sterilized a needle and then went back to sit with Luke.

"I'm going to need to clip your hair up to keep it out of the wound," said Aemond. He held up two of his own hair clips to show Luke. "And I'm going to need to disinfect it with alcohol, too. Unfortunately for us, all I've got on me is a flask of Volantene liquor that I swiped from Aegon's rooms. It'll have to do."

Aemond took a quick swig from the flask and immediately felt his mouth, throat, and eyes burn from the high alcohol content. It tasted far more like sulfuric acid than wine. How his brother was able to drink this f*ckin' sh*t was beyond him.

"Oh, yeah, this'll do."

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the boiled towels, which Aemond snatched up before sending the two servants on their way. Thankfully, they knew better than to ask any questions and hurried back to preparing the breakfast table without a second glance.

"You could've at least thanked them," mumbled Luke as he more closely inspected and cleaned the wound. "Would've been the polite thing to do."

"And I suppose that's what your perfect mother would tell you to do?"

"No, it's what I would tell me to do."

"Well, I'm not you and I'd prefer if they not go tattling their little stories all around the castle."

"...still should've thanked 'em."

Despite his rather sharp tone, Aemond was honestly just trying to focus on the task at hand and not become distracted by all of the other questions that were plaguing his mind. He was more than a little unnerved by how docile Lucerys was acting, and strongly suspected that something else besides the head wound was causing it. He also found Arrax's paranoid and aggressive behavior to be pretty alarming, which just made him even more suspicious of what was going on with Lucerys and his weird submissiveness.

"Tilt your head this way."

And see, there it was! Lucerys would never be this quiet and compliant with any kind of request or order from Aemond, let alone if he was also injured and at the older boy's mercy. If he was feeling particularly delusional, he could claim that it was a side-effect of the bond, but Aemond also knew that that would be a blatant lie. No, something else was causing this and he needed to find out what it was.

"Okay, I have all the dried blood cleaned off," said Aemond. He waited for a snappy retort and received none. "Just let me disinfect the wound and then I'll be able to start sewing it up. Just as a warning, though: this is going to sting."

After coating his own hands and nails in the pale green liquor, Aemond poured a decent amount of it onto the wound itself and started to rub it in with a clean cloth. Luke tried not to flinch, but it was a failed endeavor and Aemond ended up needing to hold him still at least twice as he deep-cleaned the wound. Ignoring the boy's whimpers was enough to make Aemond bite his own lower lip bloody, and he was relieved when that part was finally over.

"I'm done cleaning it now, but I can't say that the next part will be any easier. You might want to hold onto Arrax while I do this."

He reached over for the disinfected needle and thread, the irony of the second object not being lost on him. When Aemond had the needle threaded and ready to go, he turned back to see Luke sitting sideways and with Arrax's head in his lap. It would've been endearing if not for the current reason behind it.

"Just hold still and focus on Arrax," he advised. "You'll feel some pressure and a stinging sensation from time to time."

"Do you... umm, do you know what you're doing?"

"Any type of field medicine is useful to learn," said Aemond as he begun to stitch at the smoothest part of the wound. "I figured it would come in handy someday, even if the maester and Mother thought I shouldn't be concerned about it. That it was beneath me."

"It's coming in handy now."

"That it is."

Aemond tried to work as quickly and as cleanly as possible, but there was one section of the wound that was more jagged than the rest. He was eventually able to stitch it closed without needing to add more thread, but it wasn't as neat or straight as the rest of the stitches. It was only after he'd tied off the twenty-seventh and final stitch that Aemond realized that his hands weren't burning anymore.

Nor was any other part of his body. It was all just pleasantly warm and a little tingly feeling.

His good eye looked down at Lucerys, who was still curled around Arrax's head like it was a lifeline. For the first time in eight long months, Aemond didn't feel anything on his body burning, including his accursed left eye. He wondered if Lucerys was feeling something similar as well, but decided against asking after it.

All in due time, he reminded himself. All in due time.

"That should do it," said Aemond with only a slight tremor to his voice. "The stitches should hold as long as you don't move around too much. But I wouldn't recommend doing anything too—"

"Why are you doing this?"

Aemond went silent for a few tense moments before saying, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you hate me," said Luke, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And because I took your eye and never apologized for it."

Oh bloody hell, this was not something Aemond wanted to get into right now. He just wanted to make sure that Lucerys wasn't going to die of blood-poisoning or a nasty chill or anything else nefarious in this humid sh*thole of a castle. But no, the little gremlin just had to make things difficult by asking equally difficult questions that Aemond didn't want to even think about without at least two or three glasses of wine in him first.

"I'm not going to bother lying, because I did hate you for a long while."

Aemond could see Luke's lower lip tremble at this admission, dilated eyes glistening with the telltale sheen of tears. And f*ck it all to Hell, but he really, really didn't need for Luke to descend into his usual brand of snot-nosed crying right now. The lil' runt had always been a crybaby.

"But things change and I don't see the point in holding onto that hatred anymore."

He didn't bother to elaborate beyond that and instead focused on cleaning up his medical supplies, making mental notes about what things he needed to replace or add to the kit. If he purposely wasn't looking at Luke to avoid answering any more difficult questions then, well, that was his business and his alone. It wasn't like he had any true experience with discussing emotions or bonds or whatever.

Aemond's family didn't do stuff like that. Nope, they just kept it all bottled up inside until it—

"For what it's worth, I am sorry," whispered Luke, voice barely audible from where he was hiding in Arrax's crest. "For your eye and... well, everything."

Oh no, no, no, they weren't doing this here. Nope, no, no—

"I mean, I don't regret protecting Jace, because that rock was a jerk move, but I regret the knife and your eye. A lot. And I'm sorry it happened the way it did. I didn't want to hurt you like that."

Hands trembling where they were brushing aside the broken glasses, Aemond probably would've snapped something rude and unnecessary if a sickeningly sweet smell hadn't wafted up to assault his sensitive nostrils. Being blind in one eye was terrible in a lot of ways, but one advantage it did give him was a significant heightening of his other senses, especially those related to hearing and smell. And this was likely why the stink of those broken glasses stood out to him so clearly, nose wrinkling at the pungent odor that was now dribbled across the floor.

"Luke, what did you say the maester brought you to drink last night?"

"Milk and wine."

His nephew's voice was slurred and sleepy, face completely hidden in his dragon's head crest.

"Did you drink any of it?"

"Just a few sips of the milk. It tasted kinda funny," said Luke around a huge yawn. "Arrax knocked over the wine before I could drink any of it, though."

"Did he now," whispered Aemond. "What did it taste like?"

"Sweet. Very sweet. And I usually like sweet foods and drinks, but this was just way too sweet for milk."

"You don't say."

Aemond leaned down to sniff just a few inches above the broken glasses, nose picking up on the disgustingly sweet scent yet again. He looked over at Arrax and found the dragon staring right back at him, nostrils flared wide open to scent the room. Or, to send a signal to Aemond about what was truly amiss here.

"Luke?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"What was the name of this maester who met with you?"

"Malcus, I think. He kinda hates me because Daemon humiliated him last time we were here."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Lord Borros can't read, and Malcus misread my mother's message to him. On purpose. I kinda called him out on it. And then, well, Daemon..."

There truly was no need to elaborate on just how rude the prince-consort could be. Aemond could easily picture it without any further explanation. And he could also very easily imagine how embarrassed and vengeful the maester might be as a result.

"Ah, yes, Uncle Daemon."

"Yeah, they all kinda hate him here. 'S why they hate me and Arrax, too."

Lucerys sounded like he was back at sleep's door again, only being kept awake by Aemond's incessant questioning. If this was what Aemond suspected it was, then he was amazed that Luke had even managed to wake up at all.

"I see. Luke?"

"Hmmm?"

"I need you to do me a favor. Can you do that?"

"Mmmhmm."

"I need you to stay awake."

"Don't want to."

"No, Lucerys, you don't understand. I need you to stay awake. And so does Arrax."

"Arrax?"

"Yes, he needs you to stay awake. And deliver your messages. Understand?"

"Okay. If Arrax needs it, I can do it."

"Good boy."

Chapter 10: Aemond

Chapter Text

"Tell your lord to be standing outside these walls within the hour. If he's not, then him and all his kin will be entombed in their very own Harrenhal."

Wide eyes stared back at Aemond, the pair of young guards stationed at the castle's front gate unable to hide their sheer terror at what loomed not even a hundred feet behind him. Knowing full well how terrifying Vhagar could be, Aemond didn't even try to hold back a cruel smirk. He had no problem with the two guards drawing their own conclusions about what their fate would be if Borros didn't cooperate.

"Oh, and also tell him to bring his family and maesters with him. I would hate to have to track them down myself."

Aemond watched both men practically trip over themselves to get inside the castle and inform their lord of his demands, a satisfied shiver coursing down his spine at the prospect of doling out retribution against his enemies before burning this dank, oppressive sh*thole to the ground. He briefly considered how irritated Rhaenyra would be if he followed through on the latter option, but was interrupted by a distinct rumble and then several other loud noises from behind him.

"By the Gods, this is ridicu—ahhh!"

The sound of Luke's startled shout nearly sent Aemond into a sprint, heart pounding at the thought of the younger boy hurting himself in a graceless fall or, Seven forbid, accidentally being stepped on by Vhagar. However, when he rounded Vhagar's left flank, it took every ounce of self-control that Aemond possessed not to laugh out loud at the sight before him.

"Well, that's certainly an... unfortunate position, nephew."

"Oh, shut up and go away if you're not going to be helpful," snapped Luke. "My stupid legs don't want to work and it's just—arghhh!"

"Hey, hey, no, stop that before you hurt yourself."

Despite how much he loved to tease and torment Lucerys, even Aemond knew that such behavior wasn't fair given the grisly reasons behind the younger prince's lack of coordination. Arrax was anxiously chittering and whining several yards to Luke's right, torn between wanting to help his rider while also keeping a healthy distance away from Vhagar. Unfortunately for the young dragon, neither scenario seemed possible without some degree of unpleasant compromise, as evidenced by Arrax's despondent shuffle over to Luke's prostrate form.

Vhagar looked distinctly unimpressed by the whole affair.

"Everything feels like it's made of jelly," whined Luke. "And now I've got mud all over my hands again."

"Well, you did just face-plant into the ground."

"I wouldn't have fell over if your stupid dragon hadn't moved without any warning. And you didn't need to—hey, stop that! I can clean myself just fine."

"Oh really? Because you look like you're doing a pretty terrible job of it, if that's the case."

Luke scowled at this accusation, muddy fingers spreading even more mud on his already muddy cheeks. For a long moment, Aemond wondered if dunking him into the sea would be the easiest method of not dirtying his saddle. But no, that would be mean, and Aemond was trying really hard not to be mean. He could hear his mother's voice inside his head telling him to be a proper gentleman and maintain his patience like any reputable prince would be expected to do.

Thankful that he'd remembered to bring two of the unused cloths with them, Aemond pulled one out of his saddle bag's side pocket and started to meticulously wipe mud off of Luke's face, hands, and knees. The boy didn't struggle as much as he'd thought he would, instead seeming to go limp in Aemond's steadfast hold after realizing that there was no escaping the ablution process.

"Are you feeling tired again?"

Luke nodded from where his head had come to rest against Aemond's collarbone. The short burst of energy and sass that he'd just experienced seemed to be fading fast, with Aemond now supporting almost all of Luke's weight. It wasn't a hardship thanks to their size difference, but Aemond didn't like the implications of what this overdose of sweetsleep might be doing to the younger prince's mind and body.

"Well, let's get you up onto Vhagar before it gets any worse."

He felt Luke jolt backwards at this statement, dilated eyes glaring up at Aemond like he'd just done something terribly offensive.

"Are you mad? Why would I ride on Vhagar?"

"You are going to ride on Vhagar because your dragon doesn't look like he's slept at all since you arrived last night," said Aemond while grabbing Luke's wrists. "And that was after flying for who knows how many hours through a raging hurricane, I might add. I'd imagine that the last thing Arrax needs right now is to carry any extra weight, no matter how puny it is."

Okay, that last comment may have been unnecessary, but it still got his point across just fine.

"Arrax is clearly exhausted and needs to focus all his energy on keeping up with Vhagar when we leave. And he can only do that if you're flying with me."

For a long moment, it looked like Luke was going to argue with him about this. Aemond had a few more manipulative lines of reasoning ready and waiting to be used, but this concern turned out to be unnecessary when a series of worried chitters and rumbles came from several feet beside them. With Aemond's right arm wrapped securely around him, Luke was able to turn and look at Arrax's uneasy form.

"I have been asking a lot of you these last few weeks, haven't I, bud?"

Arrax crooned in response.

"Yeah, that hasn't been very fair or nice of me, has it?" admitted Luke. "I'll be okay. All I need you to do is follow Vhagar after this, okay?"

It looked to Aemond like the young dragon understood what he was being told, because Arrax lightly bumped his head against Luke's mid-section and then shuffled back to where he'd been resting before. Relieved that he wouldn't have to fight a dragon on this arrangement too, Aemond lowered his hands down to Luke's waist and slowly steered him towards the ropes that would allow him to climb up to Vhagar's saddle.

"Do you think you can climb up on your own?"

"I think I can manage."

Although defiant and sarcastic in tone, Aemond could hear a slight tremor of nervousness in Luke's voice as well. For perhaps the twentieth time in as many minutes, he wondered just how much sweetsleep that f*ckin' maester had put into Luke's milk. If only a few small sips were still having this much of an effect, then it would've had to have been a lethal dose.

It was with shaky hands that Lucerys grabbed hold of the ropes and started to climb, attention so focused on moving from one rung to the next that he didn't even notice Aemond mirroring his every move just three feet down and to his left. With Lucerys so preoccupied, Aemond was able to keep his own body and right arm at the ready to catch the other boy if he lost his grip. Thankfully, it didn't come to that, and Lucerys was able to reach the saddle without any mishaps.

"Put your feet right here," said Aemond as he grabbed the back Luke's cloak and shirt to pull him the rest of the way up. "I need to replace some of the ropes on this side and that rung over there is probably about to snap in two."

"Wait, have you seriously not fixed any of these since claiming her? They look ancient!"

"Ugh... no, not really."

The stare that Luke gave him could've rivaled a Dornish desert. Aemond tried not to look too embarrassed, inwardly scolding himself for not switching out the damn nets before his campaign against the Ironborn.

"Huh, well, at least the saddle looks clean and stable."

Seven Hells, did the lil' brat have to roast him alive every f*ckin' time they saw each other? This was becoming an ominous pattern...

"I'm so relieved that it meets your lofty standards."

"Color's a little off, though."

Aemond couldn't help the the tiny smile that Lucerys' sarcastic comments pulled out of him. He didn't let the ornery runt see it, of course, but it was a relief to learn that Luke wasn't completely terrified of him. How much of that boldness and sass was from the sweetsleep overdose, Aemond couldn't be sure of, but it was still better than he had originally hoped for.

Unlike the rope netting, Vhagar's saddle and saddle bags had been refitted and expanded before he'd departed King's Landing to deal with Dalton Greyjoy and his merry band of raiders and rapists. Aemond helped situate and strap Lucerys into the saddle, still dumbstruck by the fact that his hands and throat and left eye weren't burning like hot coals anymore. He was very tempted to ask Lucerys if a similar burning had vanished from his body as well, but managed to hold himself back each time it was at tip of his tongue.

As he secured the last strap to Lucerys' left ankle, Aemond's hands ghosted over the custom saddle bag that contained his black and gold armor. He briefly considered the intimidation factor that it would bring to his... negotiations with Borros, but discarded the idea as soon as it had entered his head. His standard black riding gear would be more than sufficient for the job, and it also allowed for a far greater range of movement than the armor. And if they did end up needing to depart with haste, then Aemond didn't want anything obstructing his ability to reach Lucerys as quickly as possible.

"It looks like someone's coming."

Luke pointed towards the castle's central courtyard, which they could clearly see from atop Vhagar's back. It looked like the guards had finally managed to drag their lord away from his wine and breakfast. And that was a good thing for Borros, because if Aemond had to personally go looking for him, then Storm's End and House Baratheon would be in for a world of fire and death.

"Hmm, it would appear that our conniving friend has a backbone after all," said Aemond as he pulled out his cloak and placed it over Luke. "Stay quiet and try not to move too much. We should be far enough away from the walls for arrows not to be a concern, but I'd rather not chance it."

"And if I fall asleep?"

"Then I'll just have to clobber you upside the ear when I come back."

Lucerys wrinkled his nose at this, clearly suspicious of what a clobber from Aemond would entail. The runt had every right to be wary; Aemond had knocked his fair share of opponents onto their backs and asses thanks to a timely and well-placed headshot. Not that dear, sweet little Luke needed to concern himself with that particular skill of his. Not anymore, at least.

"What are you gonna do to 'em?"

Aemond had just started to climb down when he heard Luke's question. The boy's voice had shifted from sassy and sarcastic to quiet and jittery, which was yet another piece of evidence in favor of the sweetsleep hypothesis. While Luke had always been sensitive, gentle, and a bit of a crybaby, these abrupt mood swings were very out-of-character for him.

It infuriated Aemond more than almost anything else ever had and he could feel the black beast that lived deep inside of him claw its way closer and closer to the surface. He doubted that he would be able to keep it contained for much longer.

"Nothing worse than what they deserve."

"Aemond, you can't—"

"Yes, I can."

A tense silence hung between them, only the deep rumbles of Vhagar beneath their feet providing a meager tether to reality. And no matter how much Lucerys didn't like to hear or think about it, that reality involved him being poisoned while under the banner of diplomatic guest-right, very likely in some kind of convoluted ploy to implicate Aemond in the younger prince's death. Aemond wasn't a naive fool, he knew what people whispered about him behind his back.

Violent. Repressed. Spiteful. Bloodthirsty. Cruel.

Those were just a few of the words that Aemond had heard floating through the Red Keep's corridors or between the golden-red tent flaps of a Westerlands' patrol camp. One or two psychotic acts away from becoming Maegor the Cruel, had been one drunk Lannister's estimation. Aemond had been terribly tempted to prove that man right, with Vhagar herself expressing an unusual degree of excitement in the distance.

But Aemond had kept his temper in check and instead leveled that simmering fury against an Ironborn raiding party the very next morning. He heard no further complaints from the soldiers after that, be they from Lannister or westerman alike. And then the mercurial c*nts had f*cking cheered as the famed Iron Fleet was reduced to nothing more than ash and blood, Aemond himself shamelessly reveling in the destruction of every ship that fell to Vhagar's monstrous breath. The blood of his enemies had been thick on the shores of Fair Isle that night, Vhagar feasting and gorging herself on the krakens that had surfaced to consume the dead.

The One-eyed Dragon. And sometimes, the Black Prince.

It only took a single campaign for Aemond Targaryen to earn himself a moniker similar to his uncle's, the mere sight of Vhagar and her rider enough to send line after line of westermen into raucous cheers and hurrahs. Daemon had only accompanied him for the first few weeks until he was needed back along the eastern coast, the oldest prince relishing just as much in hunting and burning and massacring the mutinous Ironborn as Aemond had. And even though he was loathe to acknowledge it, Daemon's extensive combat experience and shrewd advice about dragon-riding had quickly turned out to be worth its weight in gold.

For the first time since claiming her, Aemond actually felt like he was guiding Vhagar instead of the other way around. Even if Aemond hadn't been willing to admit it out loud, Rhaenys' suggestive comments about dragon-riders needing to be in control of their emotions had rung true. It had been quite galling to ask for in the beginning, but his aunt's discreet instructions and counsel had proven more effective than anything he'd ever learned from his father or books in the family library.

"She's two centuries old and a hardened war machine," Rhaenys had said. "You can either learn to work with her through familiarity, self-control, and compromise... or one day you'll end up with a rampaging beast that couldn't care less about the opinions of an inexperienced little boy. Take your pick."

And Aemond had taken his pick, alongside Helaena who had been more than happy to listen to the older woman's experience and wisdom. Their mother certainly hadn't been happy about it, but even Alicent had had to grudgingly admit that such lessons were long overdue, especially for her middle children who had claimed older dragons with well-established and dominate personalities.

It hadn't been pleasant and Aemond had felt more than a little embarrassed at times about how little he truly knew about dragon-riding, but unlike eight months ago, he had also managed to come to an unspoken understanding with Vhagar. It was neither guaranteed nor foolproof, as Rhaenys had repeatedly warned him, but he at least had better control over his emotions now and therefore, a stronger and more stable connection to Vhagar.

Aemond just hoped that that new stability would hold up against what he was about to do.

"They poisoned you," said Aemond, weighing his words carefully. "And they were very likely going to poison Arrax as well."

As expected, Arrax's name was all it took to silence Luke's protests.

"You said that the guard was supposed to bring meat for him, right? That the maester specifically mentioned it when he brought your food. And then when we left, both of us clearly saw a bucket of meat laying just outside the courtyard door, remember?"

Luke chewed on his lip and nodded.

"You know as well as I do that the only reason you're still alive is thanks to blind luck and a dragon's canny sense of smell," said Aemond, hand reaching out to tilt Luke's chin and eyes back towards him. "And when your mother and Daemon would inevitably come for my head—and you know that they would, for supposedly murdering you and spitting on the compromise that we had come to—not a single person of merit in that castle would've spoken in my defense, either."

"What—umm, what about the guard who..."

Lucerys trailed off for a long moment, as if his brain couldn't quite keep up with his lips. The implications and cause behind this deficit just further stoked the black beast inside of Aemond.

"The guard who left the poisoned meat outside?"

"You wish for me to spare him?"

"Of course! He's the only person in that whole wretched castle who's ever been even remotely kind to me! And if what you said is true..."

Aemond carefully held back a smirk, already seeing this for the opportunity that it was. Although vicious when cornered or if his family was threatened, Lucerys wasn't a cruel or vengeful person by nature. He never had been and likely never would be. But Aemond, on the other hand, most certainly was—and he had been trying to think of a way to bypass Luke's more delicate and forgiving sensibilities without making the boy too upset or cross with him.

It looked like he'd found it.

"Then he will be spared," said Aemond, as if it was some great concession. "I cannot guarantee any other—"

"And his family."

Dark eyes stared him down, all but daring Aemond to object to this simple demand. Knowing that an unaffected compromise would work out better for him in the long-run, Aemond gave another nod and allowed Luke to believe that he had won a great victory through securing the guard and his family's release. And if Aemond was a terrible person for taking advantage of the other prince's current susceptibility to persuasion, then, well—what was that saying that his mother used to quote whenever she felt particularly guilty about her actions towards Rhaenyra?

Ah, yes, all was fair in love and war.

With a slightly better idea of how he was going to handle the situation, Aemond only managed to descend two whole rungs before he felt something tap at the top of his head. Eyes snapping up to glare at the culprit, any harsh retort on Aemond's tongue died when he saw Luke leaning dangerously down from the saddle, face less than a foot away from his own.

"Can you please not start a war, either?"

A finger poked him in the nose twice, as if Lucerys was trying to get his point across through some poor attempt at physical intimidation. It didn't work, but Aemond was more than willing to concede defeat if it meant getting the damned boy to stop dangling out of the saddle like that.

"I'm preventing one, you fool. Now get back up there before you fall and break your neck!"

"Oh, okay, just checking."

More than a little disgruntled by Luke's lack of faith in his diplomatic abilities, Aemond slid down one of the single ropes and gestured for Arrax to stay hidden on Vhagar's far side. When the little dragon released a disdainful snort in response, Vhagar solved the problem herself by lumbering several steps forward to completely remove Arrax from the castle's view. She received an unhappy chitter and grunt as thanks for her trouble, too.

It figured that Lucerys' dragon would be just as much—if not even more—of a sassy smart-aleck as the boy himself was. Just their luck...

Vhagar rumbled as Aemond came to stand directly in front of her, massive body unfurling as she prepared to do her part in the negotiations. Aemond didn't even need to give her verbal commands, as was evidenced by Vhagar automatically moving her left wing into a position that protected Lucerys from any possible attacks. Her left wing thumb came to rest within a few feet of Aemond himself, a stalwart barrier against anyone foolish enough to attempt a frontal assault on her rider. The familiar nearness and heat of Vhagar's monstrous head right above his own would serve as yet another obstacle to potential attackers.

The Baratheons and their maesters were arrogant fools for thinking that they could trick and manipulate a dragon so easily. Unlike in the Iron Islands or the Westerlands, Aemond didn't have to concern himself with keeping Vhagar's flames away from friendly forces and civilians here; if this was a conspiracy against his oldest sister's crown, then chances were good that everyone standing with Borros atop the walls would've been aware of it.

Back straight and head tilted high, Aemond watched as Borros and his family appeared atop the front gate, all of them looking quite miserable in the drizzly weather that the hurricane had left behind. He noticed that the lord's lady-wife was absent, but Aemond could forgive that. Lady Elenda had appeared quite ill at dinner the other night and that before it, so there would be no quarrel over her nonattendance.

"You have a lot of nerve, boy," came Borros' booming voice. "I cannot just be summoned in my own keep like some mongrel pup."

"Apparently, you can."

The distance between them was just short enough that they could hear one another across the gap, Borros' enraged grimace showing that he had understood Aemond's disrespectful remark quite clearly. That was good, because Aemond didn't want to waste time nor energy by sending messages through an emissary. He wanted Borros to hear his grievances and warnings from his own mouth.

"I must say, Lord Baratheon, that I wasn't expecting for the sacred law of guest-right to be broken so egregiously while I was resting and feasting in your hallowed halls. It was quite the unpleasant surprise. I thought you better than that, I must admit."

Smallfolk, servants, and guards had gathered upon the furthest reaches of the curtain walls and nearby rooftops, curiosity overcoming their fear of the colossal dragon that lurked beyond the city's perimeter. Aemond was fine with their ears and eyes witnessing whatever was about to happen. Let rumors and gossip spread about what awful hosts and violators of guest-right the Baratheons were.

"You would dare accuse me of such a faithless betrayal!" roared Borros, just as quick to rile and bark as ever. "After I showered you with the greatest comforts that me and mine had to give! I will not allow such slander to be spoken in my own home!"

Aemond made sure that his voice was loud and clear when he said, "You slander yourself by permitting poisoned food and drink to be served to weary guests under the guise of hospitality. And to the Queen's son, no less."

Vhagar shifted just enough to allow for both Lucerys and Arrax to be seen from the city's walls. There was no mistaking the small pearlescent dragon for anything other than what he was. Shocked whispers and gasps rippled through the air.

"Am I to assume that you were unaware of my nephew's arrival late last night? I would think that such an important envoy and member of the royal family would be seen at once by the castle's lord. Or am I presuming wrong about how diplomacy and statecraft is conducted in the Stormlands?"

For several long moments, it looked like Borros didn't know what to say. And that was fine; Aemond could use that response, or lack thereof, to gain the upper hand here.

"It was only by happenstance that I learned of my kinsman's arrival early this morning. Do you often make your guests sleep in a storage room, my lord? Chilled through and wet to the bone with only a rickety cot and a meal of poisoned bread, milk, and wine to show for it. Or is that grand privilege only reserved for the unwanted ones?"

"I was never informed of the prince's arrival," said Borros once he finally found his voice. "There are always guards at the gates to welcome guests. It's standard custom."

"So you didn't know that a dragon was sheltering right next to your own feast room? I find that difficult to believe, my lord. And I must say, if you truly have so little control or knowledge of the going-ons in your own castle, then my original assumptions may not have been grave enough."

For someone who hadn't seemed capable of being quiet even if bribed with several tons of gold, Borros was shockingly quiet considering the accusations that were being leveled against him. Aemond couldn't tell if this strange silence was due to genuine shock and confusion at Aemond's allegations, or due to being caught red-handed and then exposed by his intended targets.

"Whether you truly knew about it or not, that doesn't change the fact that I found Prince Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon locked away in a storage room and more than half-dead with the distinct symptoms and smells of sweetsleep all about his person," snapped Aemond. "And quite frankly, I can no longer say that Storm's End is a safe place for me and mine to seek refuge, which I'm sure Princess Rhaenys will be quite devastated to hear about."

The mention of Rhaenys seemed to unnerve Borros more than anything else. The drunken fool hadn't even been able to recall their exact relation at dinner last night, but Aemond was quite sure that he remembered it now. Rhaenys was both his cousin and Lucerys' grandmother; nothing good would come to Borros from this rather obvious oversight.

"Your hatred of the Queen's middle boy is well-known," countered Borros. "Why should anyone believe the crimes you are accusing me of?"

"Because I'm right here and can attest to it!"

Everyone's heads whipped over to stare at Vhagar's left wing, where a small hand could just barely be seen waving from over-top of it. Although Aemond was grateful to have his assistance, he also felt a jolt of worry at the thought of Luke standing up in the saddle without any proper support. The stubborn runt really was going to fall over and break his neck at this rate.

"Your maester put sweetsleep in my milk and tried to kill me! I'd be dead if it wasn't for my dragon smelling it and breaking the glasses! Go and smell it for yourself, if you don't want to believe the actual victim! It's all over the floor!"

Aside from the drizzling rain and some distant thunder, not a single sound was heard for several long moments until Lucerys mumbled, "Oh f*ck, I think I'm gonna be sick," which was then followed by the unmistakable retching and gagging of what was indeed a very sick person.

"Your bread also had too much salt in it! And it was doughy!"

More retching followed.

"For Gods' sake, at least make the food taste good if you're gonna poison it!"

And now some gagging as well.

Okay, if he was being honest with himself, Aemond hadn't been expecting Lucerys to actually participate in his exchange with Borros. The younger prince looked like death warmed over and Aemond would've preferred if these people never saw hide nor hair of Luke again for as long as they lived—which might not be terribly long depending on Borros' answers and demeanor.

"Lucerys?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a canteen of water in my front right saddle bag. Use it."

"Okay."

Nobody dared interrupt or comment on their brief exchange, not even the usually loud-mouthed Borros or his self-absorbed daughters. With circ*mstances as they were, Aemond knew that he could get away with doing practically whatever he wanted. When Rhaenyra would first hear of the massacre, she would think him little more than a mad dog who should've never been left off its chain. She would condemn him for the senseless bloodshed he had caused, face going painfully blank and cold as it had so often done when he was a child, words cutting deep as she asked what had compelled him to be so blind.

And then all of his brutal actions would be forgiven the very second she learned about her favorite son's poisoning. Rhaenyra had many faults, but her intense love for her children and stepchildren generally wasn't considered to be one of them. And Aemond wouldn't hesitate to exploit that protectiveness if it got him what he wanted, either.

Not to mention what Daemon would do once he found out the truth. If the older Targaryen prince were standing here in Aemond's place, Storm's End would already be a smoking ruin and the Stormlands would be looking for a new Lord Paramount. Rhaenyra was lucky that it was Aemond and not her husband who was confronting Borros; at least Aemond had some degree of self-control and tact before burning everything to the ground.

"If you don't want Vhagar to turn this dank sh*thole to slag," warned Aemond, "Then I suggest that you drag your f*ckin' maester and the guard who attended him out to face their judgment. And I will know if they're not who you say they are."

"You have no right to make such—"

"As a representative of the Queen, I have every right!" Aemond snarled. "Or do you think yourself so high above your station as to deny the attempted murder of a prince in your very own keep, Lord Baratheon? Who would frown upon justice being served... except those behind the traitorous act itself?"

Borros looked like he was only a few words away from having a stroke, but he finally seemed to think wisely of Aemond's warnings and signaled for two of his escorts to retrieve the maester and guard who'd interacted with Lucerys last night.

"I have many guards and maesters," said Borros with a patently false smile. "You'll have to be more specific if we're to avoid any—"

"Malcus and Gedmund."

Despite looking caught off guard by Aemond's swift response, something about the lord's demeanor seemed to change once Aemond said those names. More specifically, that first name. A sharp inhale of breath. Furrowed brow. Posture hunching forwards. Sudden inability to look Aemond in the eye. Each of these reactions by themselves didn't mean much, but Aemond had seen and fought enough opponents—be they on the training grounds or in the Small Council Chamber—to recognize the telltale body language of someone who had just realized that they did know more than they'd originally thought.

"Bring them and any family they have out here. I will wait."

With that said, Aemond turned around and disappeared behind Vhagar's wing, the dragon instinctively covering his retreat with her flame-filled mouth. Once he was able to make his way over to her other side, he gave Arrax a quick once-over and then called up to Lucerys to ask if he was alright. Thankfully, a familiar head of curls popped over to stare down at him.

"I feel like something died in my mouth," Luke whined in the most miserable voice imaginable. "And you haven't burned or fed anyone to Vhagar yet. Is this one of those weirdly slow and drawn-out torture methods that Ser Crispy taught you?"

"One, there's some mint leaves in a small pouch right next to where you found the water canteen," said Aemond. "Two, you shouldn't assume that everyone is as impulsive and ill-restrained as Daemon. And three, I'm not dignifying that with an answer."

"Huh... well, whatever helps you sleep at night." Luke's tiny cheer of triumph must've meant that he'd found the mint leaves. "And I wouldn't say Daemon is impulsive. Just very, very..."

"sad*stic."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like you have any room to talk. I saw the look on your face when Vaemond lost his head."

"Weren't you just feeling ill?"

"It comes and goes. But I am starting to feel sleepy again. I hate this."

Those words reminded Aemond of just how precarious Luke's situation really was, and that he was neither properly trained nor equipped to handle if his health took a sudden turn for the worse. Despite how much he wanted to humiliate and torture and find out exactly what Borros knew, Aemond was also well-aware of how important it was that he deliver Luke to a trusted healer.

"We'll be done here soon," promised Aemond. "Just rest for now. And try not to puke on Vhagar."

"It's a little late for that, sorry."

Once he was certain that Lucerys had settled down into the saddle, Aemond resolved to finish this quickly and walked back around to stand beneath Vhagar's head. She acknowledged his return with a heated snort, body positioned at just the right angle to best protect her three charges while also keeping both eyes fixed on the city walls in case of an attack. Aemond could see that many servants and civilians had disappeared back into the city's interior, likely intimidated by the escalating hostilities between their lord and the Targaryen prince.

Unfortunately, if it did come to fire and blood, then the smallfolk and servants would no doubt be much safer outside of the city's walls than trapped within. The castles of Pyke and Harrenhal were a derelict testament to this.

"Lord Baratheon, I cannot help but confess that I am not a patient man."

The Storm Lord didn't bother to answer his veiled warning, but any irritation that Aemond felt from that disrespect was quelled when the front gates finally opened and a half-dozen figures were pushed through them. From the looks of his grey robes and chain, the first man was clearly a maester of some importance. Aemond could vaguely recall seeing him at several meals and events during his stay in the castle.

Huddled together in their own separate group were a man, woman, and three small children. Aemond immediately recognized the woman as the maid who had led him to Lucerys and Arrax, which meant that her husband was the guard who'd accompanied this same maester in and out of that awful storage room. And if Luke's memory was to be believed, this particular guard had also defied the maester's orders and purposely left Arrax's poisoned meal outside the courtyard door.

Pale and drawn at the sight of Vhagar looming before them, Aemond could feel the maid's eyes linger on him before turning to her children, who were practically hiding in her skirts by this point. Not wanting to draw this out any longer than it needed to be, the prince gestured for the small family to step forward and present themselves to him.

"Gedmund, I believe your name is?"

"Aye, my prince."

"Prince Lucerys says that it was you who brought him the cot and an extra blanket, and that it was you who," he purposely lowered his voice at this part, "Left the meat outside the door. For this and your wife's part in saving his life, I owe you a great debt."

Aemond threw a small pouch of coins at the stunned man, more than enough to see them through several days on the road and to purchase adequate provisions along the way. He was certain that Rhaenyra would be happy to provide more once they were settled in a safer place.

"Head for Amberly and ask after Ser Harlan Rogers," Aemond instructed. "Tell him that Prince Daemon's stepson sent you and that you're under the crown's protection. If he does not believe you, then remind him of the bloodbath on Grey Gallows and the smell of seagull sh*t. He'll believe you then. Now go."

With a snap of his fingers and a rumble from Vhagar, Gedmund and his family were running off towards the treeline as quickly as their feet could carry them. Aemond gave them about two minutes to depart before turning his attention back to the only person left between him and the front gates. He could feel hundreds of eyes staring down at them from the curtain walls.

"Good morning, Maester Malcus."

The robed man refused to meet his eye, instead glaring down at Aemond's feet and not saying a word. Aemond allowed the silence to stretch, only Vhagar's cavernous breaths echoing through the air as a steady drizzle started coming down again.

"Am I to assume that you have nothing to say? No words to defend yourself?"

He received no response this time, either.

"Well, you're certainly not a Silent Sister, so I know you have a tongue. Tell me, good maester, do you know why we're all gathered out here in this lovely weather?"

Nothing but silence again. Not even a twitch.

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose you do know," drawled Aemond, fingers twirling his favorite dagger between them as he stepped a little closer. "Of course, I also think that you know better than to reveal your true motives without... reasonable cause, too."

Aemond heard a familiar growl to his right-hand side, spine stiffening when he realized that Arrax had snuck around Vhagar to confront Luke's attacker himself. It seemed that Malcus had come to the same conclusion, because the other man violently flinched at the white dragon's abrupt appearance. For a brief moment, Aemond considered the merits of allowing Arrax to rip Malcus limb from limb for all to see. It would be an ironic and respectable punishment for what the maester had tried to do to the young dragon and his rider just several hours earlier.

But, Aemond was a selfish person, and he wanted to deliver the killing blow himself.

"It would appear that he recognizes you," sneered Aemond. "And isn't very happy to see you, either. A strange thing, that is, for a dragon as docile and laid-back as Arrax to behave like this."

Vhagar responded to Aemond's silent request without a moment's pause, right wing easily blocking Arrax from coming any closer while her head surged forward to breathe boiling hot air into the maester's face. Aemond wasn't able to hold back a frenzied cackle, his own feet eating up the short distance between them until he had his dagger pressed up tight against the other man's throat.

"You thought that you had it all planned out, huh? How convenient it must've been, for little Lucerys Velaryon to suddenly appear at Storm's End in the middle of a raging hurricane, all while his vengeful uncle was being treated and regaled by the Storm Lord himself. After all, the whole realm knows how and to whom I lost this f*ckin' eye. Poor Aemond Targaryen, forever seeking a debt that will never be paid."

He ignored the shouts that came from the wall, knowing quite well as someone of Hightower blood how appalling his violent actions against a maester must seem to the average Westerosi citizen. But Aemond didn't f*cking care anymore. He was far past the point of caring or playing nice, as he'd forced himself to do for the past hour. Now, they were going to see what happened to those who were foolish enough to cross him.

"Well, I hate to inform you, good maester, but you miscalculated quite severely in your arithmetic this time," hissed Aemond. "I do wonder what were your motivations in murdering Prince Lucerys, hmm? To cause a civil war? To pit dragon against dragon?"

It was very minor, almost imperceptible, but Aemond noticed the slight recoil in the maester's face when he voiced his last question. Oh yes, it looked like they were finally getting somewhere.

"Ah, so that's how it is," said Aemond with a wide grin. "Well, if that was what you and yours had planned all along, then perhaps everyone here would like to see what happens when you threaten a dragon."

He shoved the other man towards the front gate and then stepped back into the shadow of Vhagar's towering head. Even with his Valyrian blood, Aemond could feel an intense heat wafting down from above, just waiting for his command to unleash the fires of Hell upon all who dared to challenge him. His father's and great-grandfather's long peace had caused these people—lords and maesters, septons and smallfolk alike—to forget just how dangerous a sleeping dragon could be.

It was time for him to show them how delusional that misconception truly was.

"Dracarys."

Chapter 11: Lucerys

Chapter Text

"A message from Ser Harlan Rogers, my prince."

Eyes crusty with the after-effects of a long and unnatural sleep, Lucerys pried his right eyelid open to see what was going on around him. It appeared that he was still in the same room as when he'd first arrived several days earlier, body immobilized beneath a thick quilt and at least three layers of tucked in sheets. Another bed lay across the room and nearer to the door, two saddle bags and their contents scattered across its rumpled duvet. On his opposite side was a wide window, sapphire blue curtains with golden tie-backs blowing in the afternoon breeze as sunlight streamed in and illuminated most of the room.

"Thank you," said Aemond's familiar voice. "Please let me know as soon as any others arrive."

"Of course, my prince."

The door closed with a quiet click after that, Aemond too focused on breaking the letter's seal to notice that he was being watched by the room's other occupant. Lucerys didn't move or make a sound as Aemond walked over to the window, good eye skimming over each sentence as he took a seat at the small table in front of it. The bright sunlight was strong enough to blind him at first, but Lucerys was also willing to admit that being given the rare opportunity to observe Aemond without any of his natural defenses in place was well worth it.

For perhaps the first time since they were small children, Aemond didn't look like he was either made of solid stone or one step away from committing bodily harm while in the same space as Lucerys. It was strange to see the older prince looking so... soft and informal, posture relaxed as he slumped uncouthly against the table in a way that Lucerys couldn't picture him ever doing in public. Even Aemond's hair was messier than usual, one side half falling out of the clip while the other appeared to have several fly-aways and bubbles popping up, all traces of smooth perfection banished to parts unknown.

What Lucerys wasn't surprised to see was the small Valyrian steel dagger that Aemond was twirling in his right hand, light glinting off of the sharp blade as it passed back and forth between his dexterous fingers. Its plain dragonbone hilt was inlaid with a small golden starburst at the top, lustrous and glossy and a near-perfect match to the dagger that Daemon always carried around with him.

He wondered what his stepfather would say if he saw that Aemond had inherited his favorite dagger's twin. Actually, scratch that, knowing Daemon and his penchant for menace and bloodshed, he'd definitely suggest that they see which one was sharper and then throw it straight at Aemond's head.

With that homicidal image in mind, Luke struggled to hold back a full-blown laugh at the thought of Daemon chasing Aemond around with a knife, Rhaenyra screaming and yelling at them to knock it off before someone lost an eye. Alicent appeared after that, weeping about the dreadful effect that eye puns had on her son's sanity, and that Rhaenyra had no respect for other people's feelings and problems. By this point, Daemon had tripped face-first into the sand—and why they were on some random beach, Luke didn't know—Aegon's half-dead and drunken body buried in the sand for... some reason that nobody truly cared about.

In her usual dreamy manner, Helaena was ignoring the most temperamental members of their family in favor of a gigantic horseshoe crab, which she was holding up for Luke's siblings and her youngest brother to admire. Only Baela wasn't oohing and aahing over it, eyes trained on Aemond as she picked up her father's dagger and prepared to finish what he'd started. And considering how vicious and shrewd Baela could be, Luke would be an idiot not to put his coin on her hunting down and winning against—

"Ah, you're awake."

Lucerys wasn't able to hold back a full-body flinch when his bizarre little daydream was suddenly interrupted by a voice not too far from his left ear. Apparently, while Luke had been hallucinating about Aemond being pursued by a murderous Daemon, the genuine article himself had noticed that Luke wasn't asleep anymore and had moseyed on over to investigate this new development. He was literally less than a foot away from Lucerys' head, staring right at him with one purple eye that was far more intense than it needed to be.

"Don't try to speak yet," warned Aemond when Luke croaked out a raspy cough. "Your mouth is probably dryer than a desert. Here, drink some of this first."

A metal straw was held up to his lips, Luke gratefully accepting the cool water on his parched throat and tongue. Every part of his body except for his neck and head was still cocooned like a Dornish rouhani, so he had no choice but to go along with whatever Aemond had planned for him.

Fortunately for him, it appeared that all Aemond had planned was to make Lucerys miserable by pulling the straw away every few seconds. How dare he! Couldn't he see that Luke was literally dying of thirst here? Perhaps this was how Aemond had decided to settle their debt, through the simple yet wickedly cruel ruse of torturing Lucerys with the promise of water when he was mere inches from death by dehydration.

"Hey, don't drink so fast or you'll make yourself sick," snapped Aemond after Luke tried to bite down on the straw for a third time. "And stop struggling. I'll unwrap you in a minute. Just have some goddamned patience."

Luke bit down on the straw again.

As if realizing that he wasn't dealing with someone who was all right up in the head, Aemond just ignored the boy's fruitless squirming and pulled the straw out of Luke's mouth with a gentle tug. Once it became clear that he wasn't getting any more to drink, Luke glared up at Aemond's apathetic face and tried to silently communicate just how unimpressed he was with the bedside service so far.

"You would do well to remember that that particular look didn't work on me when we were children," said Aemond while loosening the blankets around Luke's uppermost chest and shoulders, "And it won't work on me now. So, you might as well just save your energy and focus on not strangling to death in your own sheets. There's a good reason why you're wrapped up like this, after all."

That sounded weirdly ominous.

"But then... where?"

"We're at Evenfall Hall, on the island of Tarth. Lord Bryndemere has been kind enough to host us for five days now."

"Five days?"

The disbelief at this revelation almost made Luke choke on his own spit. Five whole days?! How was that even possible?

All he received from Aemond was a long, lingering look, expression pinched as he loosened some of the blankets around Luke's hips and legs. The movements were quick and well-practiced, implying that Aemond had completed this same routine many, many times since they had arrived.

"It has been a very... difficult few days, of that I can assure you."

Luke didn't know what to say in response to this. Honestly, he didn't know what to say to Aemond at the best of times, let alone when he was sick and confined to a bed. So, instead of confronting the main issue and asking why Aemond Targaryen of all people seemed to be in charge of caring for him, Luke wriggled around in his cocoon and decided to take the path of least resistance. Or, to be more specific, the path of least bloodshed.

After all, insulting Aemond and his bedside motives was the last thing Lucerys should be doing right now, anyways.

"You, ummm... you did this?"

"It was the maester who recommended it," Aemond stated, hands easily slotting underneath Luke's armpits to pull him up into a sitting position. "Mostly to keep you from hurting yourself during the worst of the hallucinations. And the rest... well, let's just say that your kicks and elbows were a little too strong for the old man to handle. I am genuinely surprised that you didn't break his nose on at least two occasions."

Luke continued to glare at Aemond from his ridiculous nest of pillows, purposely ignoring the subtle jab that Aemond just had to sneak in. He wondered if the older prince even realized that he was doing it? Or maybe Luke was just being paranoid and there really was no further meaning behind the usage of such a simple, common word? It was a dilemma that Luke really didn't want to think too deeply about... at least not yet.

"I don't... remember any of that."

This was a very disconcerting realization for Luke to come to. He could remember vague images, sounds, and smells from the last few days, but not much beyond that. He could recall landing at Storm's End and being relegated to a storage room with Arrax. The castle's maester had given him some food and drink, though it had been meager and quite awful tasting. After that, Luke could remember feeling more tired than he'd ever felt before, and that Aemond had apparently woken him up at some point, good eye looking very worried and un-Aemond-like.

But why had Aemond looked so nervous? Aemond was never nervous.

"You had a high fever by the time we arrived here," explained Aemond. "The Tarth's maester thinks it was a combination of the poisoning and long-term exposure to the cold and rain. By later that night, you were very... upset and kept calling out for your mother and father."

For perhaps the first time ever, Aemond didn't sound mocking or spiteful when he referred to Lucerys' father.

Despite the continuous rumors and allegations, Lucerys had always viewed Laenor as his father. That sentiment didn't discount Harwin's or Daemon's contributions and affections, not at all, but neither of them had slotted so easily and neatly into the role of father as Laenor had in his life.

After all, it was Laenor who had tucked Lucerys into bed most nights, only departing after giving him an absurdly loud kiss on the cheek and then making sure that Luke's favorite stuffed dragon was nestled in beside him. It had been Laenor who had allowed him to sneak Arrax into the Red Keep whenever he desperately craved the baby dragon's company, which was almost all the time before they moved to Dragonstone. And it had been Laenor who had done all the little things with Luke from day to day, like nursing his skinned knees, carrying him when his legs got tired, collecting the shiny rocks that Luke and Jace found everywhere they went, and bringing sweet treats back from their mother's favorite bakery on the Street of Flour.

Yes, the accusations of bastardy bothered Luke, but it was the insinuations of Laenor not being his father—of Laenor not wanting or loving him like a blood father would—that most upset him.

Thankfully, Aemond seemed disinclined to harass Luke about his supposed parentage today, so the younger prince took that as the gift that it was and didn't snap out a sarcastic retort like he usually would. Maybe they could be civil with one another for once, like they were as children before everything had gone... terribly, terribly, wrong.

"According to the maesters, this is a standard reaction to an overdose of sweetsleep. I checked the Annals of Venom and Poisons in the castle library and their accounts all matched up with what I was able to find myself. So, they weren't lying about that, at least."

Luke didn't object to Aemond feeling his forehead or checking his pulse.

"Your fever appears to have finally broken. And your pulse feels much closer to normal for your age," stated Aemond, voice clinical and detached as his fingers gently pried Luke's eyelids apart. "Pupil dilation has also returned to normal. Fingernails and lips are a healthy pink. Here, squeeze my fingers."

Not wanting to interrupt the other man's train of thought, Luke did as he was told without protest. Aemond was obviously working his way through a mental checklist of some sort, and for whatever weird reason, Luke felt more comfortable with Aemond examining him than a strange maester who he'd never met before. Something about the latter option made his stomach hurt and Luke didn't understand why, either.

Unlike his stepfather and Joffrey, Luke had never had any particular issues with Gerardys or Hunnimore doing his check-ups before. Luke actually found a lot of their texts and methods to be rather interesting, especially those from Old Valyria and a far-off island called Leng that his grandfather had visited during his nine great voyages. The Lengii texts were difficult to translate, even with the lexicons that Corlys had brought back with him, but Luke's mother had been happy to incorporate the time-intensive translations into his daily lessons.

Jace had been horrified when he'd first heard about his little brother's project. Nobody dreaded language lessons more than poor, poor Jace, who shared none of Luke's or their parents' innate talent for learning other languages. Ironically, it was the one trait that Luke seemed to share with their grandfather, who had been ecstatic to see how quickly Luke picked up on High Valyrian, two of its bastard dialects, and trade talk.

Unfortunately for him, none of that natural gift seemed to matter now. For whatever reason, Luke's tongue and brain refused to connect long enough for him to accurately recite the tongue-twisters that Aemond demanded of him.

"Four fine fresh..."

Luke scrunched up his nose in frustration on the third attempt, tongue feeling weirdly heavy around the fs and rs. He'd never had any difficulties with tongue-twisters or word games before. His siblings didn't like to play such games with him because of how good he was at them.

"Green glass globes..."

By the Mother, this was absolutely terrible! Why couldn't he string a few short words together?!

"I can't. It just... it won't come out."

"That's understandable," said Aemond, voice low and soothing. "Just last night, you weren't able to repeat anything I asked of you. The fact that you were able to repeat even half of the tongue-twister means that any long-term damage to your brain should be minimal."

"I was... poisoned?"

"Yes, with sweetsleep."

Aemond's face took on a frightening aura when he said this, jaw clenched so tight that Luke feared for the older prince's teeth. He hoped Aemond didn't crack anything.

"But... why would they want to poison me?"

If possible, Aemond's demeanor seemed to darken even further, fingers twisting a damp wash cloth to the point of tearing its seams. He must've realized that he'd lost his cool in front of a witness, because Luke could physically see as Aemond pulled that cold, indifferent facade back over himself. The older prince wore this facade like a cloak, effectively hiding his true intentions from everyone around him.

Luke found it to be incredibly frustrating, to say the least.

"I'd imagine that they're not too happy about your mother sitting on the Iron Throne," said Aemond, words quiet and measured as he wiped over Luke's grimy face with the warm cloth. "The fact that I also just happened to be stuck at Storm's End when you arrived was a happy coincidence that they couldn't overlook. It would seem that our antagonistic relationship with one another preceded us as well."

"So, what you're saying is that... they were going to poison me and then blame it on you?"

"In plain terms, yes."

Aemond scrubbed at what must've been a particularly dirty spot on Luke's hairline. Despite the harsh expression on Aemond's face, his hands were surprisingly gentle as he sorted through Luke's tangled curls, separating the strands from whatever muck had been left behind. Just the thought of how much dirt and sweat was clinging to his skin made Luke shiver with disgust.

He wondered if Evenfall Hall had any natural hot springs or baths like Dragonstone did? Knowing his luck, probably not...

"That sounds very... risky and dangerous, if you ask me."

"I don't know the specifics of their so-called plan," Aemond admitted with a grimace, "But Borros' reaction to my accusations makes me think that he wasn't fully aware of his maester's plotting. The man's clearly an opportunistic idiot who routinely takes bad advice thanks to his own illiteracy. Your condition was deteriorating fast by the time I'd managed to get us out of the castle, so I was more focused on quickly and publicly humiliating instead of truly interrogating him. It seemed like the better option at the time... unfortunately..."

The last part was growled more than said, Aemond's fingers tugging just hard enough at Luke's hair to make the younger prince wince and yelp. Aemond leapt away like he'd been burned, hands held up as if Luke was pointing a knife at him.

Well, okay, that was a poor analogy, but it was also beside the point.

Lucerys didn't think twice as he reached out and grabbed one of Aemond's hands, strangely desperate to reassure the other that no harm had been done and that there was no need to look so distressed. Aemond tried to shake him off at first, but Luke was having none of it and used his other hand to wrap around Aemond's wrist. He had no hope of dislodging Luke without also hurting him, thus bringing them to a stalemate.

"Sorry," Luke stuttered, "I've always been tender-headed."

All he received in response was a befuddled stare, Aemond's good eye darting back and forth between their hands and Luke's face like the other boy had lost his damned mind. Considering the week he'd had, Luke figured that he could be allowed some degree of insanity. And grabbing his half-uncle's hand would definitely qualify as insane, as Jace would've happily pointed out if he'd been there.

Huh, maybe he had conked his head at some point after being poisoned. It would certainly explain why Luke was feeling so... relaxed and warm, which made exactly zero sense since he was, you know, holding Aemond's hand.

By all accounts, Luke should be down one eyeball and two or three fingers at this point. Maybe Hell had frozen over and nobody had bothered to tell him?

"Do you, umm, do you know if my letters were—oh!"

A dark splotch on the quilt caught Luke's attention mid-sentence, right hand darting out to grab at the little figurine as soon as he realized what it was. The carved wood was smooth and well-worn, fitting perfectly in the palm of his hand. Luke stared down at the small seahorse in surprise, his muddled brain struggling to figure out how it had gotten up here.

"I don't remember... ugh, how did—"

"You were quite upset due to the fever," Aemond explained, voice tense as his fingers tightened around Luke's other hand. "Nothing we tried brought you any comfort or solace, so Daemon suggested that you be allowed to hold onto this at all times. It seemed to work, at least a little bit."

Luke blinked at this admission before realizing, "Wait, Daemon was here?"

"Aye, about three nights ago," said Aemond, shoulders and spine finally relaxing a few degrees as he sat in the bedside chair. "He was at Stonedance when my message arrived and flew straight for Tarth after reading it. He only stayed for a few hours to make sure you were safe and taken care of before flying off to Storm's End to handle the... situation there."

Hearing this must've jogged something in Luke's memories, because he vaguely remembered what could've only been Daemon hovering over him with a uniquely terrified look on his face. Luke had never seen his stepfather look like that before. The older prince was usually stoic and unflappable in even the most stressful of situations. Hell, just the thought of Daemon being scared made Luke feel a little frightened himself.

Some things in the world were just universal, like the setting of the sun or coming of the tides. And in the case of Luke's own little world, one of those universal constants was Daemon being a redoubtable and protective barricade between their family and the outside world.

Nobody except for his mother, Jace, and Daemon knew about the two figurines that Lucerys kept on or near him at all times. The carved horse stayed in one of his pockets while the seahorse was nestled in a special pouch in his smallest saddlebag. The other ten were back at Dragonstone, safely nestled away in his bedroom nightstand and favorite bookshelf.

They were Lucerys' most prized possessions, a pair of matching figurines gifted on each nameday by his father. Personally hand-carved for his sweet little boy, Laenor had always made sure to tell him. Corlys had carved similar figurines for Laenor and Laena when they were children, and Laenor had then carried on the tradition with his own sons.

Daemon knew this.

He must've gone through Lucerys' saddlebags when nothing else would console him. And it was that thought, that Daemon had to go through his saddlebags in order to find one of the figurines, that sent Lucerys into a sudden panic.

"My trousers! Where are my trousers?!"

Luke fought against the many layers that were wrapped around him, desperately clawing his way towards the edge of the bed until a pair of strong hands gently pulled him back into the pillows. Tears pricked at Luke's eyes, breaths coming fast and hard as he tried to fight against Aemond's unyielding hold.

"—need to calm down. Luke, you need to calm down!" Aemond hissed into his ear. "Now, tell me why you need your trousers? What's in them?"

"My horse! It's in the pocket! If they've been thrown away, then my horse is—"

"Your trousers weren't thrown away," said Aemond, left hand catching Luke's chin to hold him in place. "They're right over there. See. In that grubby pile in the far corner."

It only took a few seconds for Luke to see that Aemond wasn't lying. A messy pile of clothes was laying in the furthest corner, Luke's red cloak and boots clearly visible to the naked eye. He stopped struggling after that and allowed the other boy to maneuver him back into a semi-reclined position.

"Do you want me to fetch them for you?"

Luke nodded.

"Can I trust you to stay in this bed and not move while I'm over there?"

Another nod.

"I'll hold you to that. No moving."

For once in his life, Luke actually obeyed one of Aemond's orders. It was a weird feeling, not pushing back against the older prince's bossy demands. Even when Luke had followed Aemond around like a lost puppy when they were small children, he'd still refused to listen to him at least... seventy or eighty percent of the time. To this day, Lucerys didn't know why he tended to behave in such a contrary manner when around Aemond; it certainly hadn't impressed his mother, who'd scolded him on multiple occasions for acting like an attention-starved gremlin.

Not one of his prouder moments, Luke was willing to admit.

"Is this what you were looking for?"

Luke didn't even try to hold back an ecstatic smile when he saw a familiar carved horse resting in the palm of Aemond's hand. The heavy knot that had settled deep in his stomach finally started to unravel when Aemond laid the figurine beside its brother, curling Luke's fingers around both of them like they were some rare treasure.

"It was in the very bottom of one of your side pockets. Daemon must've missed it."

"Thank you."

With his attention focused solely on the figurines, Luke didn't notice the slight flush that colored Aemond's cheeks nor the way that his long fingers compulsively twitched only a few inches away from Luke's own. In fact, now that his initial panic had receded, Luke felt like every ounce of energy had been sucked straight out of his body and couldn't help but slump even further into his giant nest of pillows.

Aemond must've noticed this abrupt bout of exhaustion, because the older prince was rearranging Luke's blankets and pillows into a more comfortable position not even a moment later. With deft hands, he tucked the quilt back around Luke's torso and then went over to close the curtains halfway, blocking out the worst of the mid-day sun.

"Ugh, this is awful," Luke grumbled. "I feel like Caraxes decided to use me as a chew toy."

"I doubt you would survive that."

"With my luck, I'd probably end up stuck between his teeth."

"A truly terrible fate."

Luke could feel his eyes getting heavier by the minute, body thoroughly exhausted by the mundane acts of sitting up and holding a rather one-sided conversation. It was pathetic and embarrassing, especially since Luke was effectively at the mercy of multiple people who he didn't know any better than a random stranger on the street. Not even Aemond could be described as someone that he knew particularly well anymore, as the older prince was demonstrating right this moment by acting so... odd and nonsensical at every possible turn.

Hadn't he wanted to cut out Luke's eye just the other moon? Why was he suddenly being so weirdly nice to him?

It didn't make any sense.

With a grunt of frustration, Luke tossed his body over to the left side and smacked one of the pillows into submission. If he was truly stuck in this bed for who knows how long, then he was going to sleep on his favored side. He could already feel a monstrous kink forming in his shoulders and neck from laying in the same stupid position for so long.

"Where's Arrax?"

The question popped out before he could even think twice about it. His dragon's whereabouts and safety had been one of Luke's first thoughts upon waking up, but he'd been waylaid by a dry throat and other important topics of conversation first. Now, with his tired brain no longer functioning at even half-capacity, Luke didn't even bother with holding back his more personal questions anymore.

"Having himself a nice sunbath out in Lord Bryndemere's central courtyard," Aemond answered with ease. "Our host has been quite gracious with his meals as well. This morning's menu consisted of fresh squid, cod, and beef flank. It appeared to satisfy Arrax's finicky palate for the time being."

"Arrax likes fish."

"Aye, and he's as strange as his rider for it."

Luke scoffed and said, "It's hard to raise lots of cows or pigs on islands like Dragonstone or Driftmark. Eating fish and squid is much more practical for him."

"Vhagar does enjoy the taste of kraken, I'll admit."

He watched through half-lidded eyes as Aemond straightened up the window seat and table, silently admiring the prince's strong back and long fingers while also half-hiding flushed cheeks in his pillow. Luke knew better than to think about anything else beyond that, especially with Aemond himself being less than ten feet away from his prying eyes. And despite what Jace so often said, Luke did value all of his body parts being in one piece, and really, really didn't want to give Aemond another reason to carve out Luke's eyes, either.

"You didn't... burn too much of it, did you?"

"Burn what?"

"Well, Storm's End, of course," said Luke with a slight tremor in his voice. "I mean... umm, I know that Lord Borros and some in his employ have behaved like of bunch of traitorous swine, but surely most of the city's people didn't—"

"The town's still standing and the smallfolk aren't barbecued, if that's what you're concerned about. Of course, I can't exactly guarantee that statement anymore, what with Daemon meting out his own brand of retribution in our absence."

Aemond came over and placed a gentle hand against Luke's forehead, muttering to himself about proper body temperature and how the poison might still be effecting it. This just made Luke want to curl even further under the sheets, face flushed for an entirely different reason than what Aemond was talking about. Oh, could this get any more embarrassing?!

"You should rest," said Aemond as he adjusted the pillows and pulled the quilt up around Luke's neck. "The poison still seems to be effecting several parts of your body. When you next wake, we can have Lord Bryndemere's maester take a closer look and see what he thinks are the best options."

"Okay."

Luke fought back a huge yawn as Aemond sat down in front of the window, whipping out a small book as he settled in for what was likely going to be another multi-hour nap on Luke's part. The thought made a warm, fuzzy feeling crawl up Luke's spine, something inside of him almost seeming to purr in contentment. He would've examined that curious little feeling more closely if he hadn't been so bloody tired, but he was tired and thinking equaled not sleeping and, yeah, Luke really wanted to sleep.

He could think more about... everything some other time. Yeah, that was what he would do...

Chapter 12: Lucerys

Chapter Text

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Luke fought back the urge to roll his eyes and said, "Admiring the view from a cushion of pillows. Look, I even have a blanket."

To show that he wasn't lying and also just for the sake of being a smartass, Lucerys held up the woolen throw for Aemond to see. It was surprisingly light and cozy, which he was thankful for since the afternoon sun was proving to be particularly strong today.

"You're not supposed to be walking without assistance."

"One of the maids was kind enough to assist me," said Luke with an annoyed sniff. "That's what people generally do when you ask them nicely and say please."

He could feel Aemond's glare on the side of his head. The man could certainly project, Luke was willing to give him that. Now, if only Aemond would relax and stop making Luke feel like an invalid for ten seconds, that would be much appreciated.

"Besides, it's only five feet from the bed to here. And Arrax is looking ridiculously cute today, so I couldn't resist."

"He's sleeping in Lady Daryanne's rose garden."

"Eh, semantics."

"For some reason, I don't think the lady of the castle would agree with you."

"I've already sent a message of apology for damages done," said Luke, eyes glued on where his dragon was snoozing in a large patch of white roses. "Unfortunately, the roses are also directly below my window and, well, Arrax is quite insistent on being as close to me as possible, it would seem."

"A most unfortunate dilemma, then."

Lucerys watched out of the corner of his eye as Aemond shuffled through several letters on the nearby table. He had asked after them earlier that morning, and although Aemond seemed reluctant to speak about the letters at first, he'd eventually admitted that most were from the neighboring Stormlords. Apparently, news had spread fast about Lucerys' poisoning and the other lords were eager to prove that they hadn't been involved in any conspiracy against the crown. The ever-looming threat of a bloodthirsty Caraxes probably played no small part in their groveling assurances, too.

"Any new letters?"

"None that you need to concern yourself with," said Aemond. "Although I must admit, Lady Buckler's letter was quite... entertaining, to say the least."

Luke held out an expectant hand.

Aemond handed over the aforementioned letter with only a half-smirk, clearly having learned over the last few hours that Lucerys wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to his own bloody poisoning. If Aemond thought that a measly four-year age gap would allow him to boss Lucerys around like a small child, then he was in for a rude awakening.

The older prince seemed to forget that Luke had spent the better part of a decade with Daemon as his primary father-figure and therefore knew quite well how to handle someone of his... specific personality type. And despite only having spent a few hours one-on-one with Aemond thus far, it was clear as a mid-summer's day that Aemond had inherited a slew of his paternal uncle's more contentious and heavy-handed qualities. Luke wondered if Aemond would feed him to Vhagar for even suggesting such a dreadful resemblance.

"Who is she most displeased with?"

"Her husband was one of the five lords and ladies that were executed on the eve of my brother's exile," said Aemond with a grimace. "So I'd imagine that she's eager for revenge against anyone even remotely connected or sympathetic to his disastrous cause."

"I'd say it was more your grandfather and mother's cause than Aegon's," Luke pointed out. "He hasn't been sighted outside of the Summer Isles since his flight there last year, so he's clearly not planning to come back any time soon, either."

Aemond scoffed and said, "If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay there for the foreseeable future."

"You don't miss him? At all?"

Luke couldn't imagine being separated from his brothers or stepsisters for such an indefinite length of time. Just the thought of not being able to hug Joffrey and Baela, or play cyvasse with Rhaena, or sneak food from Jace's plate to their baby brothers' was enough to make his stomach hurt. Of course, none of his siblings had ever bullied or tormented him like Aegon had done to Aemond, so the situations weren't exactly comparable and Luke could understand why Aemond didn't want his brother around. But that didn't change the fact that he also found it terribly sad how little the Hightower siblings seemed to care for each other.

Well, except for Helaena, but it was impossible not to love her.

"No."

That one word was said with such finality that Luke didn't dare ask after anything else. He could be tactful when the situation called for it, and this one clearly did. After all, it had been many years since Luke had been around either of his uncles for any length of time, and he had a feeling that anything he said wouldn't be received very well.

Probably best to keep his opinions to himself at the moment, at least on this particular subject.

"Hmmm, I suppose it's for the best, either way," said Lucerys as he quickly read through the letter. "I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Lady Buckler would likely geld and fillet him if he was within one hundred leagues of her right now."

Aemond didn't disagree with him on this. In fact, a slight upturn of his lips was proof that he must've found the statement at least somewhat amusing. Aemond had never been much of a smiler, so Luke felt inordinately proud that he was able to get even a half-grin out of him.

Buoyed by this small victory, Luke continued on to the last paragraph of the letter and didn't even try to hold back a snort of amusem*nt when he saw what Lady Buckler had written. She was obviously far past the point of being polite or diplomatic and likely didn't care whether or not her letter offended the royal recipients. His mother and Daemon probably would've been impressed by her profane ballsiness, without a doubt.

"Wow, that's, ugh, quite colorful. Eloquent, but also very, very colorful."

"She wants her pound of flesh."

Luke's brow furrowed as he ran through a list of names in his head, and then said, "I don't think there's any flesh left to offer her at this point, is there? You and Daemon kinda made sure of that."

This statement didn't receive much of a reaction from Aemond, who was busy sorting through a small box that he'd brought with him several minutes earlier. Luke's nose twitched when the smell of something familiar and delicious wafted out of the now opened box.

"Perhaps," said Aemond. "Here, eat some of these. You need more in your stomach than oatmeal and honey."

A plateful of fried potato cakes and a glass of milk was placed in front of Luke, easily balanced on a sturdy tray and throw pillow atop his lap. Aemond also presented him with a small jar of onions and sour cream, long fingers easily manipulating everything into an acceptable meal that literally made Luke's mouth water with hunger. He had been kept on a strictly bland diet since his fever had broken, Lord Tarth's senior maester claiming that anything beyond liquids and soft foods would cause Luke's already fragile bowels to rise up in rebellion.

So, to say that this was the first appetizing meal he'd seen in more than a week would've been an understatement.

"Don't think for a second that I don't see you changing the subject here," said Luke with a waggle of his finger. "But I'll allow it this time since, you know, potatoes. Very underhanded tactic, just so you know."

Aemond conceded to Luke's complaint with an unrepentant shrug of his shoulders, gracefully taking a seat at the table while looking expectantly at the plate. Rolling his eyes for perhaps the hundredth time in not so many hours, Luke pointedly stabbed at one of the potato cakes and then shoved a huge chunk of it in his mouth. Much to his embarrassment and disgrace, a happy little moan slipped out when the familiar taste of oh so delicious potatoes exploded across his tongue.

"Holy gods," cried Luke, "These might be the best potatoes I've ever tasted."

Not caring if he looked like a boorish swine, Luke shoveled another huge slice of potato cake into his mouth, eyes slipping closed in ecstasy as he savored the impeccable mix of salt and other seasonings. Oh, Lord Bryndemere's cooks had outdone themselves.

A choked off sound came from the table, Aemond's good eye staring down at what must've been his favorite book with a disturbing degree of intensity. Luke looked down at his plate and then back up at Aemond, thoughts still a little hazy and much slower than usual thanks to the poison's after-effects. This was likely the reason why it took him so damned long to realize what the obvious problem was.

By the gods, his mother would be so ashamed of him!

Luke scrambled to pick up his plate and hold it out to Aemond, hands only shaking a little bit from the sudden strain. Aemond just stared at it.

"Want some? They're delicious!"

To say that his mother would be upset with him for not offering sooner would be an understatement. Sharing food with family, friends, and guests was a fundamental and irrefutable duty of any half-decent person, but Mother had always made it crystal clear that this applied doubly so to someone of Lucerys' stature. She had tutored all five of her oldest children extensively on how to retain competent kitchen staff, host high-profile gatherings, and accommodate visiting dignitaries who might be of the more... high maintenance variety.

And, of course, they'd been scolded many a time for not sharing food with their own siblings. But in Luke's defense, sharing with Joffrey was always a risky prospect. That boy could bite off a finger if you didn't move quickly enough.

"I truly need to send a note down to the kitchens. They have outdone themselves with what should be simple fare."

He tried to keep his tone enthusiastic and friendly, but Aemond's blank stare wasn't exactly the most reassuring endorsem*nt, either. The older prince had never been a particularly emotive person, and had an unfortunate habit of glaring at anyone who came within twenty-five feet of him, but Luke had hoped for something a little more... propitious with his offering. After all, who didn't like fried potatoes?

Of course, with Luke's godawful luck, it looked like Aemond didn't. Or, at least, not anymore.

He had vivid childhood memories of Aemond shoveling potato wedges into his mouth after sparring practice, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he tried to keep Aegon from stealing off his plate. There had been a good bit of fork-stabbing involved, and Luke hadn't felt the slightest bit of sympathy when Aegon had received a sharp stab to the forearm. Considering how relentlessly the oldest boy had picked on Aemond back then, he'd definitely had it coming.

"Umm, well, perhaps Lord Bryndemere wouldn't mind if I took—"

Lucerys almost leapt out of his skin when the plate was suddenly snatched out of his hands, eyes wide with disbelief as Aemond viciously stabbed a potato cake with his also stolen fork and then stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. This was actually quite impressive since, you know, each fried potato cake was about the size of Lucerys' palm. Unfortunately, the reddish-purpling of Aemond's face meant that he couldn't enjoy this remarkable feat without also watching the other prince die right in front of his eyes, either.

"Holy gods, are you trying to kill yourself?! Spit it out!"

The stubborn idiot refused.

"I said spit it out! You're literally turning purple, you fool! Spit it out now!"

Once he realized that Aemond planned to do no such thing, Luke threw the blankets off his lap and was fully prepared to smack the potatoes straight out of him, if that's what it took to keep the bloody idiot from dying. After the absolute hell they'd gone through over the last week, he wasn't about to let his stupid uncle die via something as ridiculous as a fried potato lodged in his throat.

As if sensing what Luke had planned and thereby being personally offended by his concern, Aemond grabbed the other boy's wrists and forced him back onto the window seat with a gentle push. This resulted in Luke trying to kick him in the gut, but Aemond dodged the weak attack with little issue and looked more than a little sick as blobs of potatoes finally made their way down his esophagus.

They both just stared at each other for a long, awkward minute.

Eyes wide and jaw slack, Luke struggled to comprehend what he had witnessed. Aemond—strict, no-nonsense, grumpy, stick-in-the-mud Aemond—had shoved an entire potato cake into his mouth for... what reason, exactly? To prove some kind of weird point? To establish dominance through taking what had been meant for Luke? To just be a colossal and weirdly inconsistent jerk?

If Rhaena were here, she would've accused Luke of breaking him.

"Ugh, are you... okay?"

The older boy nodded. It looked a bit painful.

"Are you sure?"

Oh, there was Aemond's usual glare. Or maybe it was indigestion. Luke couldn't quite tell the difference between the two right now given Aemond's rather bizarre set of circ*mstances. He supposed it could be a little of both, considering how much Aemond tended to despise him.

"Here, drink this. Please."

For a moment, Aemond looked like he was going to reject Luke's offer, eyes narrowing in that stubborn way of his that Luke remembered all too well. However, common sense must have overpowered his pride at some point, because Aemond didn't say anything snarky or mean when he accepted the small glass of water that Luke was holding out to him.

Luke resisted the urge to comment on the downright weird... thing that had just occurred between them, instead turning to stare out the window as Aemond pretended that nothing had happened and went back to reading his letters. It was disconcerting and awkward and Luke was actually relieved to hear the sound of a familiar roar in the distance. Well, scratch that, he was relieved for all of five seconds before he realized just who that particular tinny roar belonged to.

"What the..."

As if bursting out of the sun itself, Tyraxes announced his arrival with a loud shriek and then twisted over Evenfall's parapets at such a sharp angle that Luke felt his heart leap straight into his throat. The little menace himself was crouched deep into his saddle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he'd just scared dozens—even hundreds—of people out of their wits with his madcap entrance. Their mother and grandparents would've had a heart attack if they'd been here to see it, that Lucerys knew without a doubt.

"That's it," said Luke, "Help me up."

"Pardon?"

"Don't act like you didn't hear me," snapped Luke. "Help me stand up. I have a brother to maim."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, so now you've grown a conscious and are concerned about kinslaying, how very noble of—"

"I couldn't care less if you wish to lob off one of your brother's heads," said Aemond as he firmly pushed Luke back down onto the window seat, "But you can do it from the comfort and safety of this room, and without undoing all of the hard work that Lord Tarth's maesters put into keeping you out of the Stranger's reach."

Lucerys glared up at him. "That's quite manipulative of you."

And the great, bloody asshole had the gall to smirk like he'd just won a royal tourney. If Lucerys had even an ounce of his usual energy, he would've stomped as hard as he could on Aemond's foot and then marched straight out of the room without looking back. The older prince had been behaving so oddly these last few days, that it was anybody's guess how he might react to such an assault.

Would Luke lose an eye? A hand? Maybe he'd attempt to castrate him?

Of course, said hypothetical rebellion mattered little when just walking from his bed to the window had proven exhausting. Not that Lucerys was ever going to admit that to Aemond; the last thing he needed was for another weakness to be lorded over his head. And Luke also wasn't willing to trust that Aemond's newfound civility and tact were genuine, either.

It was so abrupt and bizarre that it just had to be some kind of grand scheme to take revenge for his lost eye. There was no other explanation that made a lick of sense, despite Luke's constant efforts over the last week to figure one out. And now Joff was here...

"Mother is going to be so cross with him," Luke sighed. "To have flown this bloody far by himself? And I very much doubt that the devious lil' gremlin told anyone just what he was planning to do. Ugh, I'm sorely tempted to strangle him myself and save her the trouble of having to come up with a suitable punishment."

"I'm sure he's shaking in his boots."

Luke narrowed his eyes and said, "I suppose you would know better than anybody, wouldn't you?"

Aemond's head snapped up so fast that his neck cracked, good eye wide with disbelief at what had just come out of Luke's mouth. Raising his own chin in defiance, Luke refused to back down and maintained eye contact, silently chastising himself for not being able to keep his tongue in check. Mother had scolded him just the other moon for—

"My princes?"

The sudden knock and creak of the door startled both of them, eyes darting over to stare at Lord Tarth's chief steward. For his part, the older man acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, a tray of hygienic essentials gripped in his hands. Trailing behind him was a young maid whose arms were laden with towels and a small pot of boiling water.

Ah, yes, it must've been time for another one of the maester's joint treatments. The chances of Luke staying awake to greet Joff were slim to none now.

"Good afternoon, my princes," greeted the steward. "As I'm sure you're already aware, another dragon-rider has arrived. I sent my assistant down to greet and then escort them up to your rooms."

The maid squeaked when Aemond took the pot and towels out of her arms. He shooed her away after that, as brusque and socially awkward as ever. Luke wondered for perhaps the hundredth time if such terse behavior was a direct result of poor upbringing or just Aemond's implicit personality.

He suspected that it may be a combination of the two...

"Thank you for your foresight, Steward Mathos. That'll be all for the moment. You may see yourself out."

Or it could be something more.

Lucerys watched as both steward and maid practically ran out of the room, eyebrows raised in disbelief when Aemond acted as if he hadn't done anything wrong. By the gods, how was it possible for a person to be this obtuse? Had Luke's blow gone even deeper than anyone had realized, all those years ago?

It would certainly explain quite a few things, if it had.

"Was that truly necessary?"

"Hmm?"

"There was no need to be so short with them," said Luke in a voice that sounded entirely too much like his mother. "They were only trying to be helpful."

Aemond scoffed. "You'll have to excuse me for being suspicious of anyone who attempts to be helpful towards our family at the moment. Or did you already forget about what the help at Storm's End tried to do to you?"

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean—"

"We are still in the Stormlands, Lucerys, and that means we're still in enemy territory," snapped Aemond, harsh tone belied by the gentleness of his hands as he wrapped Luke's joints in hot, damp cloths. "Not even seven days ago, Bryndemere Tarth and his house were sworn to Storm's End. An alliance dating back several centuries, if you remember from our boyhood lessons."

Luke didn't protest when Aemond signaled for him to hold out his other arm. For one, having his joints wrapped was easily the most pleasant of his many post-poisoning treatments; not only did it feel wonderful on said joints, but it also eased the godawful burning that so often plagued his outer limbs. The second reason was because of the look in Aemond's good eye. The last thing Luke wanted was for that icy fury to be aimed at his current caretakers, especially since he knew very well how awful it was to be on its receiving end.

"If it wasn't for your deteriorating condition and Lord Tarth's camaraderie with Daemon, I would've preferred not to set foot on this island at all."

The older prince certainly made a good point and Lucerys admitted as much. For once, Aemond seemed to take no pride in his correctness, face grave and back stiff as he situated several more pillows along Lucerys' back and right-hand side. The numerous weapons that he had discreetly positioned around the room didn't escape Lucerys' notice, either.

"Should we be anticipating some degree of diplomatic incident from this brother of yours?"

"Joff?"

"You described him as a devious gremlin. In most circ*mstances, referring to someone as such would be considered forewarning about their propensity for mayhem and conflict. I'd prefer not to deal with that kinda nonsense right now."

Luke rolled his eyes. "You don't need to worry, Joff isn't that bad. At least not compared to what you're used to dealing with."

"I doubt anyone could be as bad as what I'm used to dealing with."

A knowing look passed between them, perhaps the most potent exchange of camaraderie that they'd experienced in nigh on a decade. For all their many disagreements and animosity, the one thing they could both agree on was Aegon's inability to be anything besides a useless, self-absorbed, philandering lout.

"Can't argue with that."

Luke didn't object when Aemond took his hands and pulled at the joints of each finger, quietly asking the usual questions about sensation and stiffness. The maester had been concerned about Luke's tense joints during his last visit, so Aemond was following the older man's treatment instructions to the letter now.

"No burning," said Luke when his left thumb was pulled back and forth, "Or at least none of the usual burning, that is."

Aemond's head snapped up so fast that Luke could hear his neck crack from the movement. Again. It must've been quite painful because Aemond had the strangest look on his face after that. Maybe he needed some of Luke's joint treatments, too?

"Usual... burning, you say?"

"Yes, I've had this strange burning sensation in my joints for the past year or so, but it's been especially bad in my hands and knees at times. Maester Gerardys thinks it may just be some growing pains due to my age, but I'm not too sure. They have been feeling better the last few days, though."

The brunette held up his hand a little further to prove his point. Wriggling his fingers didn't hurt at all.

"See? No burning."

Luke tried not to flush when Aemond's fingers glided over his own, skin prickling at the intense attention his embarrassingly soft hands were receiving. The hard callouses on Aemond's fingers and palms were a clear sign of how much time he spent in the training yard, honing a skill that Luke himself too often neglected. Swordplay and other weapons training were something he had a respectable amount of talent for, but didn't particularly enjoy unless the circ*mstances were just right. Flying on Arrax was so much more satisfying, and that was why Luke had readily jumped at the chance to patrol with his grandfather's fleet in the Narrow Sea.

"Of course, my feet have also grown two whole sizes in the past year, so it truly could just be a growth spurt, I guess."

"Hmmm."

"I mentioned it once to Jace, but I think all that did was make him worry that I'll be taller than him soon. I mean, my feet are already bigger than his, after all. Not that that's unusual, what with so many little brothers being taller than their older brothers in our family."

Realizing too late that he was babbling, Luke snapped his mouth shut and tried not to groan with embarrassment. By the Gods, why could he never control his damned mouth when around Aemond? It was like a curse that refused to go away, no matter his age or experience.

"Aegon's shorter than me."

Oh.

"I think it's from all the alcohol. Stunted his growth. In more than one area."

Luke snorted. "Especially his brain, I'd imagine."

"Among other things..."

"No, no, I'd really prefer not to think about that. My poor brain might be stunted from just the thought."

"At least you never had to see it."

Yet another undignified snort came out of Luke's nose. By the Gods, were they truly bonding over height and dick jokes? About Aegon? That bloody poison must've been even nastier than they'd originally thought, because Luke had to be hallucinating and delirious at this point.

There was simply no other explanation for how something like this could be happening. None.

"You can't unsee something like that, trust me."

Luke snorted again.