Archive of Our Own

Upon reaching the seas of Storm’s End, as expected, there is an upcoming storm. Dark clouds hang above the castle towers of House Baratheon. Lucerys could only hope that regardless of what will Borros’ response is, he will be able to deliver the Queen’s message as he was tasked to do so and to represent his family’s name with honor as a prince with a duty to perform.

He had hope for well but he may have forgotten that storms are bad omens in some tells across the seven kingdoms.

He stands, chins up, and eyes straight—straight until he catches on a familiar figure on his left. 

Shit

Throughout the whole [insufferable] time dealing and talking with an illiterate Lord, Lucerys used certain seconds to let his eyes gaze on and off to the eyes that seem cool on the surface but there is an evident fire behind the ice. He may have done it due to the probability of a beast emerging beneath to claw out his eyes, or due to some bizarre magnetic pull.

(OR they just literally eye-fucking each other the whole time they just happen to not be aware at that time yet)

And then the question is asked.

“Which among my daughters are you going to take to wed?”

He may not openly express this side of him but Lucerys is fighting every urge to roll his eyes at the lord. “My Lord, I’m not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.” 

Again, he won't know why his eyes fall right away to Aemond’s when he said those words. There’s no sensible explanation, he couldn’t have done so just to hope to rise something out of his uncle (OR maybe he did so). He felt there is a beat—a shift in the air—after.

An eye blinks and a quiet him of interest at that.

“Then you come with empty hands. At least, Prince Aemond here came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

The other words were a distant ringing sound. Lucerys cannot hear anything else after the part about Aemond offering a marriage pact. He only got back to his senses when Borros Baratheon presses on his reply to The Queen’s message.

“Leave, tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” 

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord.” With that, Luce turns on his feet and starts marching out of the hall.  

“Wait!”

He halts at his steps, not giving the satisfaction of his attention to the voice.

“My Lord Strong.” As it may sound like some sort of mockery for the other people in the hall, between the two it is a poisonous bite but there is something different about his tone that made Lucery turn and return to his previous footing. “Did you really think that you can just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne?”

“I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight’s merely a challenge. No, I want you to take out your eye as payment for mine,” he declares as he takes off his eyepatch, revealing a shining orb of sapphire, much like the color of the seas at Driftmark. “I’m planning to gift it to my mother.” He then pulls out his dagger, and tosses it to Lucerys. 

The prince watches the dagger slide on the stone floor towards him, and he is back on looking at sapphire. “No.”

“Then you’re a craven as well as a traitor. Give me your eye!” Aemond’s voice roared through the high ceilings of the room, and it reverberated under Lucerys’ skin. 

The silver-haired prince took long angry strides towards the blade he threw, picks it up, and poises like he in is the training grounds. The little prince then, by reflex, pulled his sword, only holding it on guard not pointing it at the challenger foe.

Before Aemond can say any more words or take another step forward, Lord Borros intervened, weary. 

“Enough!”

The two princes keep their eyes on each other, barely even hearing any of Lord Borros’ following words. It is as if their eyes burn for each other and each other only, just like back when they sat facing each other from the ends of the long table.

“If you want to play like dragons, though I don’t know how exactly, but if you wish to with fire and blood, I suggest not in my house. I will not have bloodshed over some filial matters go out of hand under my roof. Escort Prince Lucerys back to his dragon.”

Lucerys sheaths his sword back and Aemond twirls his dagger back into his pocket, both still unmoving their eyes away from each other. As four knights escort Lucerys out of the room, a princess steps forward to speak to the dragon.

“Why didn’t you do it, march straight to him, and take out an eye?” 

Aemond glances over his broad shoulder to see which among the girls is brave enough to say a word to him. It is Marris, the second eldest daughter.

“You said he cut off one of your eyes, did he cut off one of your balls too?” 

“The audacity of this stag ,” Aemond thoughts to himself as he narrows his eyes to her with the intention to scare her off, but it does not seem to affect the princess. 

And she did not stop at the question. “Hm, that’s too bad because you’re quite good-looking for a prince with one eye. It’s a good thing that my father will surely endorse my older sister to you, I prefer my man with complete parts.”

That is where Aemond clicks his tongue. Of course, he must hold it not to upset the upsetting princess, or else his work here in Storm’s End is all for nothing. Well, maybe not all for nothing since he got a chance for his clouds to clash with his dear nephew.

He turns around, fully facing the princess with the corner of his lip lifted in an unreadable [but menacing] smile. Hopefully, the princess can distinguish that. 

“I am also glad about it since I prefer my mates quiet. I prefer those who know how to keep their tongues in the safe premises of their mouth.”

Before the princess can react, Aemond turns his back on her to face Lord Borros and bid him his gratitude and farewell. 

“But you have not yet picked which of my daughters you will wed, my prince.”

Is there not a thing that is not annoying in this house?

“I prefer it to be your choice, my lord, whichever of your daughters you deem fit to be my bride. Because I do believe it is a father’s choice that is best for his children.”

The bite of sarcasm taste delightful on his tongue because the illiterate lord and everyone in the room will not get it but the maesters and one of the squires had wide eyes.

“Please do send a raven to my mother regarding your choice by the morrow.” With that he courtly bows and turns swiftly on his feet, walks out like a gust of wind of a storm.

The storm has gone stronger; the clouds roared with threatening lights, indicating that it will not calm down any second. The winds are harsher than the waves crashing upon the rocks of the walls of the castle.

Arrax has been feeling uneasy, Luce knows and feels it too, because he has been anxious since he set foot on the rocky grounds. He also knows that a dragon will sense any strong emotions its rider feels within. As much as his heart is pounding and his ears are ringing, he recalls his mother’s warm, ensuring words.

I believe in you, Lucerys. You’re going to be a fine Lord one day.

He closes his eyes, inhales, and exhales, feeling a small wave of courage in his chest. “ Focus! Pay attention, Arrax! Respect! Obey!” He commands in High Valyrian.

Arrax follows his commands even though the dragon itself, and Luce, know deep inside that this kind of weather is not to be underestimated as any beast can appear behind a dark cloud. Luce hears those words in his aunt Heleana’s innocent voice whenever she tells of her strange dreams. He mounts the bronze seat on Arrax. 

“Fly, Arrax!”

The white dragon flew despite the weariness upon the loud thundering of the clouds above. Actually, it wasn’t the storm really but the looming shadow of a giant beast.

Flying through the clouds, Luce hears the distant sound of wings and rumbles, which is clearly not coming from the clouds. There is it, the lightning showing that the shadow is above them. Following the rumblings, a cackle erupts from the shadow. Luce knows who it is, he definitely knows who it is. The shadow shields every raindrop, which means only one thing.

“Nephew!”

Lucerys curses under his breath as he maneuvers Arrax to fly away from the gigantic beast and from his uncle.

“Lucerys Velaryon doesn’t act Strong . Don’t be foolish.”

“Sod off!”

“Oh ho, someone’s stingy. Halt, Luce! Both you and Arrax can get swept off by the wind if you fly further in this storm!”

“Since when did that matter concern you, uncle?!”

Aemond groans in irritation at his nephew’s witty reply that instead of replying words back, he maneuvers Vagar to fly past Arrax and into the grey clouds. Luce already knows that his uncle is surely plotting a different route or scheme to catch him, so he directed Arrax toward the narrow formation of rocks. Unfortunately, Vhagar’s size compensates for her speed which means that even if Arrax is a fast dragon, he stands no escape from her reach.

Aemond commanded Vhagar in high Valyrian to grab Arrax with her strong tail. The small dragon roars a squeak as it fights the hold of the dragon. Aemond looks over and sees that his nephew is only holding onto the handles of his seat shouting in High Valyrian for Vhagar, for him to release them. He chuckles delightfully before tapping on Vhagar’s nape, gesturing for her to fly them back down.

Vhagar lands on one of the shores of Storm’s End. Aemond jumps down from his seat, then Vhagar loosens her hold of Arrax only for Aemond to pull Lucerys down to the ground. The little prince wrestles against his hold, which takes him by surprise because the prince is showing a marginal improvement in strength. 

Aemond grins and then watch the little prince stumble on the sand with shaky legs. He turns to Vhagar and speaks in high Valyrian. “Watch over the little dragon, Vhagar.”

Vhagar acknowledges his command with a low growl.

It only took three long strides of his long legs to reach Lucerys, grabbing him by his red cloak. Lucerys managed to kick Aemond’s shin, making him fall beside him on the sand.

“ You little shit,” Aemond growls in Valyria, eliciting a heaving chuckle from the other.

“Unhold me!” Lucerys replies in Valyria as well, scrabbling to put more distance between him and his uncle. Though he might’ve underestimated something about the odd dynamic between them two; no distance, no sea, no land can ever last long between them, the fates will always find a way for their clouds to clash.

Clash they did, wrestling on the sand, Lucerys mostly did the squirming and puts out the most effort to get out of Aemond’s hold. The latter, though, only did a minimal effort to keep his hold on his nephew and allotted his attention to enjoying tormenting Lucerys.

(Targaryen family bonding, am I right?)

In the end, Lucerys got tired so Aemond took that mere moment as the opportunity to drag Lucerys up on his feet, and then hauled him like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. He takes them both to the nearest shallow cave he can see through the heavy pouring rain.

Lucerys quickly crawls toward the walls of the cave. He sends glares to his uncle that is smiling so smug at him. He hates his uncle more and more. Then he hears Arrax’s roars behind Vhagar’s gigantic stature.

“What else is there that you want from me?! I took your eye so take one of mine right here if that’s what’s going to please you just don’t hurt my dragon.”

The sentimental worry of dragon riders for the safety of their dragons is reminiscent of a mother’s care for her child. 

Aemond settles on the space next to Lucerys. “Don’t worry about your dragon,” he says in Valyria. He lets out a heaved breath. “Do you really think that me taking your eye is enough payment for everything you took from me, huh, Strong ?”

If he only had enough energy to argue more but Lucerys uses the remaining left in him to roll his eyes sincerely at his uncle. “You said it yourself; you may have lost an eye but at least you gave a dragon. Not just any dragon but Vhagar. I was just defending my brother and cousins  from you.”

They give each other the liberty to be quiet so they to regain their breathing and energy to fight again.

“I didn’t really intend to claim Vhagar,” Aemond speaks first. “I was a kid, fumed with hatred and envy, how can I expect such honor will dawn on me? Vhagar chose me for a reason. She could’ve swallowed me or burned me to death but she didn’t. She accepted me as her rider, I don’t see any injustice there. There were days that your sister could have attempted to build a bond with Vhagar while their mother is still alive but she didn’t.”

Lucerys did not reply for the first five seconds, letting the back of his head lean back uncomfortably on the bumpy wall behind him.

“I get your point, uncle, and I agree with it, as ridiculous as it may sound but I really do. If only you didn’t push Baela to land the first punch.”

“I didn’t push them…well, perhaps I did just a little.” They chuckle at that. “But Baela, then Rhaena, and Jace, and then you, all four of you started to throw punches at me. I was just a child like all four of you, but I was all alone to defend myself. Yet at the end of the day, I got to be the villain. The one-eyed cold monster since then.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Too little too late for that, dear nephew.”

There is something that crosses between them when they both turn to look at each at the same time. When their eyes meet, not filled with fear nor intimidation or anything but. Something about how their eyes softened at the sight of one another. 

“Rest. I will not do anything to you or to Arrax. At least not today.”

“I can literally run right now and cross the sea back to Dragonstone.”

“You’re a dragon not a fish, Lucerys. Sleep while I’m still not in the mood to kill you.”

Lucerys sighs then turn on his right side and attempt to find slumber between the discomforts of the cold, wetness, and rocky position he is in. On the other side, Aemond just grumbles something before turning to his left, crossing his arms on his chest.

At the distance, Arrax has found shelter underneath Vhagar’s enormous wing, while Vhagar stands beneath the rain.

Somewhere in the middle of the storm, a silver dragon shares warmth underneath a shallow cave.

Lucerys could not remember when or how he fell asleep but he did and now the yesterday has melted into the morrow. The sky has calmed down, softly shining two shades of blue; one from the night and one from the morrow that is about to step into the horizon. The warmth beside him that may have helped him fall asleep is nowhere, but only the black jacket that is tucked around him fills the cold.

Arrax walks towards him and nudges him to see if he is awake and well. The prince beams at his dragon friend. He sits up and reaches forward to wrap his arms around Arrax’s snout

“Good morrow, Arrax. Had you slept well?”

The dragon grumbles as to what Lucerys can understand as a reply of yes. Lucerys smiles and extends his arm to pet his dragon, which Arrax purrs on. Sometimes, Lucerys thinks of Arrax as a cat.

Lucerys then looked at his surrounding; Aemond is nowhere to be found so does Vhagar. Then he remembers his mother, his deeply worried mother due to his long absence with no words heard from him. With that, he scrambles up his feet, puts on the black leather jacket, and runs to mount Arrax. 

“Fly, Arrax!“ He spoke in fluent High Valyria. “We must go home this instant. Mother must be really worried.” 

Off they cross the shore and leap off the sky over the sea. 

From the top of one of the rock formations behind the low clouds, a dragon watches while quietly praying to the gods for the little prince’s safe flight back home. Vhagar cranes her neck down to use her temple to nudge her current rider, the prince with one eye. The prince acknowledges the gesture, which he returns with a light pat. 

Right at the very second Arrax lands on the mountains of Dragonstone, Caraxes, Syrax, Meleys, and Vermax swarm over him. Before Arrax acknowledges them, he crutches down so that Luce can jump down safely. As Lucerys is at a safe distance, the dragons start communicating, checking, and asking questions and explanations from Arrax. Lucerys may not understand Dragon's words but he sure can tell that he will also have the same fate once he walks back into the castle—or maybe right now already as his mother, brother, and step-father are running towards him with their night dresses.

Rhaenyra pulls him and holds him tight as if he might disappear. “Lucerys Valaryon where in the heavens were you?” She asks in ragged, worried breathing as she cradles her son’s face.

“I…I—“ It just occurred to Luce what will he exactly tell his mother. He cannot lie, he does not want to lie, though this time he may have to. “The storm is really pouring, I was afraid that the wind might sweep Arrax and me to the waters, so we seek shelter at a cave in one of the rock formations around Storm’s End.” He lets his explanation ring in the air between him and her mother as he feels her hands grip his arms.

“Alright,” his mother sighs. Then she takes a deep breath and sighs again before pulling her son into another tight embrace. “I will never send you off there ever again. I’m so sorry for doing so.”

Lucerys tightens his embrace too, burying his face in his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize, mother. I accepted and took the duty of my own will. I wanted to prove myself that I am a prince, soon to be a lord, that can represent and speak for his queen and house.”

“And you bravely did, my prince,” Rhaenyra says, planting a deep kiss on her son’s hair. She lets him go only then for him to be pulled by his brother.

Jacerys’ embrace is obviously tighter than their mother’s. “I’m so bloody worried about you.”

“Brother, I can’t breathe,” Lucerys humor while tapping on Jace’s shoulder. 

Jace lets his brother go, then eyes for any injury but the presence of the black leather jacket around his brother’s shoulders catches his eye more. He runs his hand over the collar, slightly feeling recognition. “Where did you got this?” He asks.

Lucerys feels his heart knock on the walls of his chest. And then his blood runs cold when his step-father steps in and touches the sleeves that hang over his hands. There is a glint of mutual understanding between them; of course, Daemon will recognize the jacket right away.

“Nice jacket you got,” Daemond comments, which surprises Luce. “Surely it has kept you warm through the storm.” Lucerys nervously nods. 

“Felt like the same leather material they use to make eyepatches.” Daemon is a menace at words, his vocabulary does not have the words ‘hold your tongue.

“I—I own this, though I don’t find the weather here for it to be comfortable to wear.”

“Of course.” Daemon takes a sharp breath through his nose. “Let’s head back now. I’m sure you need rest, and so do your mother and brother. Everyone is worried tired for you, Luce.”

He could only nod his head at his step-father. Rhaenyra pulls him to her side whilst sending a glare to Daemon. If the gods have given any blessing to all people in the realm that prays for peace and harmony, those people should be thanking the gods for the birth of Rhaenyra, one could only imgaine what kind and sort of trouble Daemon is capable of doing without someone like Rhaenyra to ground him to the right timing of words.

Rhaenyra walks Luce to his chambers, as well as help him change. Though there is a slight moment where Luce flinched at her gesture to take the jacket off. As she holds the jacket, feeling the leather of it, she doesn’t have to verbally guess what was in Daemon’s mind while he was asking questions about the jacket a while ago.

“He’s also there wasn’t he?” She asks without lifting her eyes from it. “Aemond.”

Luce halts from removing his boots, though he keeps his eyes towards the fireplace. He can stand lying to his brother, to his stepfather, to anyone really, except to his mother. “Yes.”

“You had his jacket, how?”

“He lend it to me while I was asleep at the cave I took shelter.”

“He lends his jacket to you so as to keep you warm, why?”

“I do not know.”

“Lucerys.”

He puts his boots and gloves on the side of the bench, sighing as he lifts his gaze to meet his mother’s. There is no anger, only worry. “I am telling the truth, mother. I do not know why or what’re his intentions.”

Rhaenyra hums. “Very well. Would you want me to help you change or you’re big enough to do so yourself?” She teases as she has been more used to pampering Lucer in a longer time period compared to Jace. 

Lucerys whines and shakes his head, which elicits chuckles from his mother. Rheanyra crosses the room to reach for him in another embrace. Relief flowing in her mind and heart as she feels her son safe and sound in their house and in her arms. 

“Sleep well my little brave prince,” she says while kissing his forehead and feeling the soft locks of his hair in her fingers.

Lucerys Velaryon lays on the comforts of his bed only to end up sleeplessly seeking for the kind of comfort that once wrapped around him in the middle of the storm. The fireplace crackles with fire that is near gone, which indicates that morrow is already at the horizon. 

The sun is in the middle of the sky when Rhaenyra knocks on the door of Lucery’s chambers. She expects to not hear any response as she knows that Lucerys will definitely seek longer hours of rest after the exhaustion from Storm’s End. She expects to see her son sleeping soundly but what she saw surprises her; Luce has the jacket on top of him, using it as a blanket, and at the same time, he is holding the collar near to his face. 

“Your grace,” a young maid softly knocks at the ajar door. “I’ve brought clean clothes for the prince.”

“Ah…yes, thank you. You may leave it there at the table,” she replies and gestures at the table beside the chair at the fireplace.

The maid did as she was asked. “Will there be any need of my service, your grace?”

“No. I shall call you again if ever. Thank you, you may leave now.”

“Your grace,” the maid replies then bows before exiting the room.

Rhaenyra turns to her son again, a small unsure smile on her lips.

Alicent waits by the windows of her chambers that has the view of the Dragon Keep. She has been worried and restless upon waiting for the arrival of Aemond, though she knows she can rest herself assure that her son will be back safe and sound. There will be no lord or man or house foolish enough to challenge him or Vhagar. But it has been the middle of the night and there is still no sign of either dragons in the horizon. 

“Mother.”

Heleana’s sweet voice made Alicent jolt in surpise a little. She truly must have been too preocciued with worry that she did not hear nor feel her daughter entering the room.

“Heleana, what brought you here? Having troubles sleeping again?”

“No,” she shakes her head then walks across the room to approach her mother. “I just thought to accompany you since I feel you’re worry about Aemond.”

“Hm. He should have been here long ago but the sun has set and he is still not.” Alicent turns her gaze back to the window as if in worry that she might miss the very second Aemond arrives. 

Helena reaches for her mother’s hands, noticing her habit of biting the nail of her thumbs when she’s under anxiety. 

“Fire and Sea have found peace in the storm.”

Alicent looks at Heleana once again. “Sorry, what—what did you say?”

“Fire and Sea have found peace in the storm,” Heleana repeats then looking at her mother’s confused eyes.

Alicent breaks into a soft smile while shaking her head. “You and your dreams, my little starlight.”

“But do you think it is possible for fire and sea to be foes no more?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. The sea can kill the fire, turning it into smoke; while fire can turn the sea into salt. They can never be together without changing the other drastically.”

In the distance, the bells toll from the Dragon Keep indicating an arrival. The princess and the queen both turn to the window, and both let out a sigh if relief.

“Aemond,” Alicent calls while pulling the front of her dress off the ground so that she can walk faster toward her son.

Aemond hops off and immediately strides toward his mother. “Mothe—“ he got cut off by his mother pulling him into a tight embrace, which results in her getting soaked by his drenched clothes. “You might catch a cold from me, mother. Your dress and hair are soaked.”

“I don’t care,” ALicent quickly replies. “Where have you been? I told you to leave right away once you secured Lord Borros’ words to fight for your brother.” She pulls away but keeps her hands on Aemond’s arms.

“I—“ Aemond falls quiet for a second, unsure what or which words he must say. “There’s a strong storm,” he swallows thickly on that word. “I could only find shelter in a small cave to take shelter in until the storm calms down. Apologies for worrying you too much.”

Alicent sighs. “It’s all right. What matters is you’re back here. Come, you must’ve been exhausted. Oh, where’s your jacket?”

Aemond tenses at the question. “I—ah, I think I might’ve left it or it flew off on my ride back here.”

Alicent frown and her eyebrows furrow. Aemond will never take off his jacket, like ever, not unless he is summoned at the dinner table. “Well, we will just make another of it for you.”

“Brother,” Heleana greets as she sees her brother enter her chambers.

“Sister,” Aemond greets back as he closes the door carefully not to wake any of the babes. He opens his arms to welcome the always-comforting embrace of his sister. 

“I’m happy to see you back. How’s your voyage? I heard you faced a strong storm at Storm’s End,” she giggles at her own play of words with ‘storm’.

Aemond can only offer her a small smile. Strong , that word again.

“It’s fine. Nothing really eventful.”

“Hmm. Brother, I had a dream of you.”

“You did? What was I doing in your dream this time? I hope I will not lose another of my eye,” he attempts to humor, only that Heleana offers him a small smile. 

“You were flying over the narrow sea with Vhagar but there is another dragon flying beside you. A dragon as white as a pearl with golden auburn eyes.”

Aemond hums while he feels his hands sweat coldly.

“I do not find it odd at first,” Heleana continues, now furrowing her eyebrows as if conflicted on what to feel about her next words. “But I see you laughing. You were smiling out of joy. You were happy.”

A snort slides out of Aemond’s lips. “And that is why it is only a dream, sister. Dreams are the prayers of the hearts that no god will ever bless of coming true. But I thank you for delighting me with a good dream. I must go back and rest. You should too.”

He walks Heleana to her bed and helps her tuck herself under the silk blanket. 

“But dreams to come true, Aemond. The gods prefer listening to the prayers of our hearts rather than the prayers from our mouths as our hearts can never lie.”

Aemond only hums and nods. “Good night, dear sister.”

“Good night, brother.”

In his chambers, at his bed, Aemond cannot sleep in fear that the gods may truly hear his heart’s prayer.

The Hand of the King calls another meeting for the council once again to talk about plans of ‘defense’ against the Rebel Princess and the Rogue Prince in case they decided to attack King’s Landing.

‘Attack King’s landing’ . Aemond rolls his eye at such words. It is because it is funny as the first person that did truly attacked anyone is their grandfather and the people that are greedy fools that agrees to his sentiment of not letting a woman sit on the throne. Aemond, honestly, finds the fight petty. If he is given a choice, he would’ve pushed their grandfather to the front if Princess Rhenys did command Meleys to breathe fire at them.

Words, blabberings, bullshit exchange across the table. Aemond cannot blame his brother for not wanting to be king, especially if the people that you will have to bare with are people that can barely make sense of whatever trash of an idea they have to share. Well, that is the point as to why their grandfather chose these people to be member of the new council under Aegon’s reign.

The room is filled with nonsensical noise until Ser Criston mentions that name. 

“Her sons cannot fight,” Criston says. “Can barely hold a wooden sword upright. Jacaerys does appear to be able to put up a fight, but Lucerys,” he snickers mockingly and arrogantly, “he may look like a boy but he acts more like a—“

Before he can slip the word of insult out of his worthless mouth, a strong, heavy fist punched the table, jolting everyone in the room. They all turn to the direction of the silver-haired prince, whose gaze surely carries sharp ice that can cut anyone in half. Criston feels the sharp ice piercing into his skull.

Aegon and Alicent are shocked and alerted as Aemond does not get fuming that way not unless someone truly pissed him off or offended him gravely. Unspoken between the mother and the son, they both have a clue as to what word the arrogant knight said that ignited the flames in Aemond. Otto on the onther other hand is being Otto, an ignorant selfish power-hungry old man that only turns his eyes to his grandchildren if there is drama to stir.

“What were you about to say Sir Criston?”

Hesitant, Criston glances at Alicent, which he only recieve a blank expression. He turns his eyes to Aegon’s. “I was only saying that there is nothing for us to worry about in regards of Rheanyra’s boys as they are not knights nor warriors, my prince.”

“No, no, you were about to say a word about Lucerys.” By that, Alicent and Aegon lets out a sigh and their eyebrows quirk up as they have thought right.

“Aemond,” Alicent softly calls his name, her hand crippling to reach for him. But her son presses on.

“Go on say it, since you have a tongue as sharp as your sword.”

“Aemond,” Alicent repeats as the flames of the candles on the columns seem to burn more, mirroring the range Aemond is feeling.

Criston holds his tongue as he knows the kind of scenario when the temper of the prince is fired up.

Taking in a deep breath, Aemond finally listens to his mother’s voice, calling his name to calm down. But he will not sit down without leaving a threatening reminder.

“No one at this table, no one in this room, no one in the realm gets the right to say such words or names to my nephew, or to anyone in his family or mine. It is only me and only each one of us in our family that have the right to call each othe names. Am I clear?”

Of course, the old idiots just nod out of dread not out of understanding the weight of sincerity Aemond has on his words. Sir Criston nods stiffly, and then replies, “Yes, my prince.”

“Good,” Aemond says in a chilly, haunting voice. 

Shortly after, the meeting ended and everyone are speedily walking out of the room. Aegon pats Aemond’s shoulder, gesturing him to follow him but before Aemond could step away from his chair their grandfather calls for him.

“What was that about, Aemond?”

Aemond, clenches his jaw in annoyance. “I am only reminding everyone, including the loyal dog,” he says with poison as he sends another sharp gaze to Criston, “to know their limits and their position. Family is family, grandfather, and only family can burn each other.”

Otto can only hum as he too cannot stand the cold gaze of the one eye staring at him. 

Aemond turns his attention back to Sir Criston. “I shall never hear any words of insult from you especially if it is directed to Lu—to any of my family, even my half-sister’s. You’re just a loyal dog wearing a knight’s armour, Cole. Above all else, I believe you should not forget who is the one that put the title and that cloak on you.”

Criston tightens his knuckles that are clenched behind his back. “Yes, my prince.”

Aemond grunts before pushing his seat back so he can join his brother at the door.

While walking down the stairs, Aegon snickers suddenly.

“What are you snickering about?” Aemond asks.

“Nothing really just delighted to see that you are still the same after all these years, dear brother.”

Aemond frowns. “I do not undertsand. Are you perhaps drunk again?”

Aegon shakes his head earnestly. “No. I haven’t had a cup of wine since I’ve been crowned king. Say, if you don’t believe me, how about we take our dragons for a flight.”

“Are you really sure you’re not drunk or have hit your head somewhere?” Aemond says as he eyes his brother who is, not questionably, walking in poise and truly does not look drunk at all.

“There is also a matter I need to talk with you about since I believe you will understand and take it more seriously than our mother or our sister.”

“We can talk in your chambers if it is clean, or in mine. Why prefer the sky?”

“Because the clouds don’t have ears,” Aegon quickly replied, taking his brother by surprise by his stern voice, which is very rare to hear. “Every wall of this castle has ears, eyes, and mouths.”

Lucerys wakes up when the sun is close to setting for the moon to rise. The first thing he breathes is the leathry scent of rain. He doesn’t know but he finds comfort in it. Then reality hits him hard that he jolted himself up from his bed and throws the jacket to the floor. His breathing suddenly quickens as his mind spirals.

What is wrong with me?  

Nothing about this is normal or right.

Lucerys get a grip on yourself! You’re a boy! You’re betrothed to a girl!

Wake up and pull youself from this fantasy.

“ This is wrong, everything about myself is wrong, ” he says to himself quietly in his mind as a sob escapes his lips.

He starts to recall those rumors that people whisper about his father, Prince Leanor, and as to why it explains why he and Jace are definitely not, by any miraculous chance, a son of him. It wasn’t their appearance really because their great grandmother is a Baratheon with brown curly hair, but the fact that Laenor is known to favor boys over girls. 

That rumor is the one that lingers in his mind the most as he may have been noticing the way their father acts affectionally with their mother is different when he is with Sir Qarl or training with the other knights. He has heard of the tragedy that happened at the feast of his father and mother’s betrothment, that his father weeped like a widow at the dead body of his friend.

But that rumor also is something he clings to as proof that he is Laenor’s son. That kind of attraction he thinks is ought to be passed down. Although there ain’t really many boys he has to find himself interested to other than—

A soft knock cuts him from his thoughts.

“Lucerys? Are you awake?” Rhaenyra whispers as she peaks her head from behind the door. A smile lands on her lips as she sees him sitting up. “I brought you a bowl of your favorite soup. You have slept all through the day I thought you might be hungry then.”

She places the tray on the bedside table. Her smile slowly goes down as she notices the distress on her son’s face. She sits on the side of the bed and reaches for Lucery’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” And that’s when the sight of a jacket on the floor caught her eye. “Lucerys Velaryon, I demand you, as your queen, to tell me what really happened at Storm’s End.”

 “Nothing!”

“Lucerys! The truth!”

The air in the room stills a tear rolling down the cheeks of the prince, and he no longer can hold back the sobs. Rhaenyra realizes that she never raised her voice to any of her children. But she stood her ground, she must hear the truth.

“He was there first, already delivered the message from his brother. As I delivered your message to Lord Borros, I can feel his eyes on me as if he wants to devour me, rip me in pieces, pull out one of my eyes.” 

Rhaenyra cannot cool down the anger in her chest that she pulls her hand away from her son’s shoulders, then places them on her lap, gripping tightly on the seams of her dress. She is then taken aback by a confession.

“I did not felt fear under his gaze, rather I liked it.” Rhaenyra lifts her gaze up to Lucerys. “It wasn’t because of the attention but because I know that I too have an affect on him. And when I turn around to walk back to Arrax, I can still feel his eyes on me. It sends chills down my spine, making me weary of what he can do at that moment since my fate will be on his hands. I cannot fight him, nor Arrax be able to fly away or fight Vhagar, but once it was just him and I in the storm, there’s something in my chest that I cannot figure out.”

“He commanded Vhagar to grab Arrax using her tail, and then he dragged us to the shore. Vhagar watches over Arrax, she removed her hold of him but her gaze and growls are enough for Arrax to stay on foot, only able to gaze from the distance as I wrestle against Aemond’s hold on me. I told him to just take an eye but he didn’t. He pulled me up by my collar and then hauled me over his shoulder. He set me down on the rocky floor of a small cave where he took us for shelter. We talked about the night I caused his eye.”

Lucerys pauses as he sighs a shaky breath.

“It wasn’t fair. We were four against him, a child like me, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena. Maybe you really should've let me pay for my debt, mother. An eye for an eye.”

That is where Rhaenyra cuts him off from his train of thought by grabbing his hand, and holding it tenderly.

“You did nothing wrong, and you owe no one any debt. If you did not do what you did there, then a life would’ve bee taken instead of an eye, which is a heavier debt to be paid.” 

With her other hand, she reaches to softly pet Lucerys’ hair then drops her hand to his cheek to lift his face to her. She reads those auburn eyes, now filled with emotions that she has never seen before.

“Mother, did father truly weep like a widow at the feast of your betrothment?”

“He…he did.”

“Why? Was it because he lost his friend? Sir Joffrey, if I’m not wrong.”

“Hmhmm, he did lose his friend, a noble, brave, loyal knight.”

“There were rumors about the true nature of their relationship.” Rheanyra blinks nervously as this is the first time that matter brought up by a child of hers. “Are they true, or is one of them true?”

She doe not want to lie, especially to Lucerys. 

“Sir Joffrey is Laenor’s dearest friend, favored comrade in battle, and sworn protector. They know and love each other since they were boys. To lose a friend, a love that you will never find from anyone, a candlelit that will never light anymore is a grave tragedy.”

“He loved him more than a friend loves a friend,” Lucerys condenses her words. “Just like you loving uncle Daemon; a niece loving her uncle more than she should.”

“What are trying to say for me to connect, Luce?”

Lucerys stares at his mother’s eyes and then shakes his head. “Nothing. I just pointed out my observations.”

“No. Lucerys Velaryon, if you ever think that there is a line to draw for love, a correct form, that thought is wrong. The love between your father and his friend is love. The love between him and I is love. The love between me and my uncle is also love. If you seek the warmth of the jacket that has kept you warm through the storm, there is nothing wrong with it.”

The room falls quiet as realization dawn on the prince. The queen mother smiles a small smile.

“It is alright, Luce. What you’re feeling, and to whom you're feeling it. Though it is just surprising and a bit complicated that you’re feeling it for an enemy.”

Luce mirrors his mother’s small smile. “Do you think it is impossible, for our families to find peace with each other?”

There is melancholy on Rhaenyra’s face as she also has been asking and seeking an answer to the same question for years.

Days has passed, same things, the same duties done like clockwork. Aemond Targaryen mounts his dragon. Aegon Targaryen mounts his, Sunfyre, after struggling on his Valyria.

“You should at least try to spend time reading and studying rather than drinking and fucking, brother,” Aemond says, watching from Vhagar’s back. “Just a suggestion.”

Aegon didn’t mind that suggestion until he has successfully seated on Sunfyre. “I’ll take your suggestion, if only I’ve bumped my head somewhere and, miraculously, would now want to be king. But unfortunately, my head is still my head.”

Aemond snickers at his brother’s reply. “Are you truly serious about his plan of yours? No turning back once we’re there.”

“Of course,” Aegon pauses, letting a genuine smile fall on his lips. “It’s rare for me to ever use my head to think right. And this is what is right, Aemond, for all of us.”

He does not of he is feeling true but he feels proud of his brother for the first time. Aemond bows courtly at his brother, who is confused at his gesture, before telling Vhagar to fly. Sunfyre and Aegon following right behind

The have reached the waters of Dragonstone. Both of them feel nervous as their arrival will most definitively not going to be treated kindly. They land their dragons by one of the hills. While getting off of their dragons, two knights with the armor and cloak of the Kingsguard. Aemond recognizes one, Sir Erryck, who proceeds to approach them while the other stays at a marginal distance.

“Prince Aemond, Prince Aegon, what brought your presence here?” He asks, still respectful.

Aegon glances at Aemond, who glances at him too then send him an encouraging nod.

“We came here to have a word with our sister,” he answers, earning a scoff of disbelief from the other Kingsguard. “We’re here by ourselves. No scheme, no tricks, no lies.” He takes a deep breath, feeling nervous upon the stern, skeptical gazes at him. “I’m here to surrender the throne to the queen. To confess my crimes committed against her grace.”

Sir Erryck squints his eyes at him, walking closer to them, making the dragons growl by instinctive protectiveness to their riders. “Tell your dragons to behave first, before I bring you two to her grace.”

The appearance of her half brothers is the very last thing Rhaenyra expects, let alone dreamt about, after stealing what is rightfully hers. Although, there is this throb in her chest at the sight of seeing them grown and not boys anymore. She grew up not having any siblings, so perhaps that may explain the roots of that brief warm wave in her as she watches the princes escorted in front of her.

Aegon and Aemond will not verbally express how they fell in intimidated awe at the sight of how regal like a dragon their half sister sits at the stone throne.

“Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond of House Targaryen,” the knight that went with Sir Erryck announces.

Sir Erryck continues to walk toward Rhaenyra while the three stand behind him. “They came to ask to have with their sister, your grace. To surrender the throne and confess for their crimes.”

Daemon scoffs, mockingly, in disbelief, smugly, upon hearing such. Rhaenyra glares at him. He turns at her from where he stands. “You’re not seriously believing these? For all we know, this can be a scheme for us to bend our knees to that piece of shit.” He throws an indignant eye at the boy, who tries not to be a coward from a stare. “I will not stand another fact that these greens gets to fools us again with their bloody goody-two-shoes act.”

“They came here with their own volition.”

“Hmm, so?”

“Daemon you’re not helping the matter at hand.”

“Why don’t we hear them out?” Jacerys suggests upon entering the room, turning the gazes in the room at him. “We can judge how pathetic their convincing will be.” His brother follows behind him. 

That is the first time that Aemond got his eye move away from Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s and fell upon the prince.

“I’m swearing under the eyes of the seven, for my mother’s honor, and in respect to the grave of our father,” Aegon proclaims. He holds his eyes to Rhaenyra in hopes that if she will not be convinced of his honesty through words then maybe his eyes can. A dragon will know if another dragon is telling the truth or not.

“I present to you the crown they put on my head.” He pulls it out from the satchel slung across his body. He holds it for everyone to see, though his face soured at the sight of it. He then tosses it to the ground. “I never wanted to wear a crown, any crown, but I was taught by our grandfather to hold it like how princesses balance a book on their head.” He lifts his eyes off the crown, back to meet his sister’s, his uncle’s, and his nephews’.

“I ran off, attempted to escape the fateful doom I am to be crowned of. I never want the crown.” The air in the room shifted, becoming thick. “I never wanted to marry my sister nor be a prince. I never asked to be named heir. Grandfather is the only one who wants it, that’s why he put up on me being his grandchild. He’s obsessed with it. We all just fall victim as his pawns on this fucking game of power.” He holds back the sob of distraught and repressed agony.

Rhaenyra’s lips quiver as she sees a shadow of Alicent in Aegon’s words. Otto Hightower is indeed a wicker man but he is more cruel of a father and grandfather. She clenches her jaw, closes her eyes, and shakes away the rising anger inside her.

“What do you suggest for us to compromise over?” She asks. “We still have doubts about your sudden surrender as I see you can put up a war against me and houses will stand by you because you’re the male heir they’ve been waiting for to disinherit me.”

Aegon scoffs a sad sarcastic laugh. “Those men did not stand by me to fight against you, sister,” he hesitates but he seems for it to be better for a younger brother talking to his eldest sibling. “They were saying they’re swearing to protect me just because they’re afraid of Vhagar, and they’re just like grandfather.”

Daemon’s blood boils more and more on that note. Jacerys and Lucerys are also fuming, as well as Sir Erryck who had a glimpse of the greed and evil of Otto Hightower. Aemond is between holding the anger beneath the surface and being distracted by the urge to let his eye trail to the right.

“I do have a plan to propose if you will allow me, your grace.”

Rhaenyra feels her heart flutter at the sudden address Aegon to her as queen. Daemon’s eyebrows cocks up in surprise and are impressed.

“You may, my prince.”

Aegon hated that but for the first time after hearing it address to him with genuineness, it feels different, a good different.

“Otto Hightower should be prosecuted publicly, in front of hundreds of people, and exposed his evilness in front of every lord and house, and to expose the others that played a role in his cruel games to take power and abused authority.”

Daemon walks toward Aegon, halting when there are roughly three steps apart. He eyes the prince with a grin. “If we will agree to play along with your plan, will you give me the position to execute your grandfather?”

The question is cruel though fair.

Aegon nods. “You may do as you wish. I will only ask you to spare my mother, my sister, and my children.”

“Of course,” Daemon replies quickly, his grin growing wider upon the many ideas of tormenting Otto Hightower flowing in his head.

While all of that is going on, two individuals give themselves the liberty to be pulled by their urges to glimpse at each other. Two eyes manage to catch each other across the distance from standing from different sides.

The Queen, her husband, her children, and her brothers came into an agreement upon the proposal, although there is part of the plan that is still to be discuss, particularly the day and place their plan will take place.

“You may stay here for the night, brother,” Rhaenyra offers. Aegon is fluttered and at the same surprise to hear Rhaenyra for the first time acknowledge him as a sibling of hers.

“That is a very kind offer, the very first I’ve ever received from you heh. As much as I would love to accept, I think it is best for us to head back so as to not rise any worry or suspicion. Though perhaps after all of this we may be able to accept it, dear sister.”

They share soft smiles, the very first in the years.

“Have a safe flight back, the two of you,” Rhaenyra says, looking at Aegon and then at Aemond. There is something that crosses between them; Rhaenyra knows that Aemond knows that she knows about Storm’s End. She pushes it aside in the meantime. 

She turns back to Aegon. “Thank you for coming forward, Aegon. I assure you, we will do our best to free you, your brother, sister, mother, and children from that wicked man.”

Aegon bows regally and with great gratitude. “Thank you, your grace.” 

Aemond follows, and when he lifts his head, he catches on that gaze again.

The two brothers turned on their feet, and start walking but a voice called for them. 

“Wait,” Daemon calls, stepping toward the middle of the room. 

Lucerys trembles in anxiousness as he knows what his step-father might say. Rhaenyra on the other hand is confused, conflicted, and also worried as any words that Daemon might utter can ruin the good progress that has just litarelly started seconds ago.

Before turning around, Aegon sends at look to his rother as he have heard of what happend at Storm’s End too. As much as he is glad that for once he is not the one who created the trouble, this is truly not the right timing that Aemond could’ve picked. Aemond only blink back at him.

Daemon looks at Aemond’s sole eye that is coldly staring back at his fiery ones. “Before you leave, there is a matter I would like to address.”

“What could that be?” Aegon decides to speak up first.

“You were at Storm’s End, were you not? Two days and a night ago.” Both brothers know to who he is specifically directing the question to.

Aemond lifts his chin up and responds. “I was. I was there as an envoy under our grandfater’s scheme.”

“Hmm,” Daemon hums then purses his bottom lip. “Funny because Lucerys was just there too. Did your clouds not clash?”

The hall stills. Luce glances at Aegmond and then at Daemon. 

“Sadly not. I left right away after delivering the message I have to deliver.”

“Hm, alright. Jacerys and Lucerys will walk you two to your dragons.”

“Uncle,” Aemond bids to Daemon, then he turns to Rhaenyra. “Sister. Your grace.” Then he quickly glimpses to the right where a pair of auburn eyes that have been watching him.

The four begin walking down the hall. Aemond smoothly waited for Lucerys to be a few distances from him before turning on his feet, while Jacerys catches up with Aegon’s reach. 

Rhaenyra walks to Daemon’s side. “What was that about?”

“I just had to confirm a suspicion, my wife. There’s something interesting that is about to happen.”

Rhaenyra clicks her tongue, done at her husband’s interest in family drama in their family.

Jacerys lends a hand to help Aegon, who clumsily mounts on his Sunfyre. They shared brief laughter as memories of the past when they use to push each other playfully on the ponies they were to ride as practice before dragons. 

“It’s good to see you in better instances like this,” Jace says, in an attempt to have a few words exchanged with his uncle Aegon.

Aegon smiles fondly. “Same goes, Jace. Honestly, I like things better this way.”

“Fly safe back in King’s Landing.”

“Hm. See you soon, Jace.”

“Uncle.”

On the other side, on another dragon. Lucerys is less anxious about approaching Vhagar now, perhaps because of what has happen two days ago. It wasn’t just being near the giant beast but also being near Aemond. There is an evident difference between their atmosphere, a good difference.

“How have you been?” Aemond asks, surprising Luce. 

“I’ve been well. Oh, here’s your jacket, uncle.” Luce pulls the jacket from his arm and hands it to Aemond’s direction. “I thank you for lending it to me in the middle of the cold storm. I’ve asked the maids to wash it so that—“

His words got cut off because of the rush pull of the jacket from his hand. He stares at the jaws of his uncle clenching in irritation. Reason is unknown and confusing. That irritation then melts into a different emotion that can be deemed odd to see on the crystal cold face of the silver haired prince. 

Aemond, as surprised to himself as Lucerys is, looks stunning as his fist tightens its hold on his jacket. “You shouldn’t have bothered,” he whispered in a forced indignant tone. “Lucerys a—about the conversation we had at Storm’s End um…hm, forget it,” he waves his gloved hand in the air in a dismissive way. “I’m off.”

Lucerys is confused about what he meant by ‘forget it’. What should Lucerys forget: this pathetic excuse of a conversation between them, or of the things and words they exchanged at Storm’s End?

On the few steps Aemond has taken towards Vhagar, Lucery’s heart begins to knock on the wall of his ribcage as if pushing him to follow or to say something. What is the dragon's breath is going on in him?

“Have a—Have a safe flight back, uncle!” The best thing he can come up with is a final plea. It worked—or, more like did something—because Aemond pauses on his reach to climb on the ropes around Vhagar. 

He stood there, but he suddenly turned around, marching big determined steps towards Lucerys. The young lad didn’t move nor flinched when he reached him. 

Their breaths hover between the small space between their faces. Aemond stares deeply and intensely at those brown orbs that never once stared back at him with fear. It was always fond curiosity; the very information that baffles and sends waves on his still cold waters.

“Not because I didn’t insist on having Vhagar rip Arrax apart, and for me to take an eye out of you at Storm’s End, and for me and my brother to want peace between our familiar, doesn’t mean that I have forgotten what you took from me and for the things that you’re doing to me.”

Lucerys swallowed thickly but he keeps his chin up and eyes in place to stare back. “I’m right here, uncle, the object of your ire. If you wish me to pay for my debt to you, you’ll have to take one of my eyes, or better yet take both so that your thirst will be quenched. Go on, pull your knife out, and be done with this bother.”

Aemond stands still, his chest starts to rise and fall. His furrows as a whirlwind of emotions begin to form inside him. He pulls his face away. “Don’t speak such dares with fear beneath your breath, dear nephew,” he says. 

Lucery’s breath hitches when Aemond reaches and cups his cheeks, a little harshly. 

“One day, you will pay for your debt,” Aemond says in High Valyria before patting Luce’s cheek in a confusing fond, and mocking manner.

“I shall wait for that day then,” he didn’t hold his tongue from replying back in the same tongue.

Aemond only hums as he takes a couple more lingering seconds on staring at those eyes that is staring back at him with the same intensity. With every restraint and senses in him, he had managed to hold himself back from letting his eyes trail down. 

“What was that? Did he threatened you or said something?”

“What? I don’t understand what you mean, Jace.” No, Lucerys absoluety knows what his brother means. Denial is a better choice for keeping secrets.

“I saw Aemond march back to you. What did he say to you? Luce, tell me, I will not care if he and Aegon went here to proclaim their wish for peace between our families if he still—“

“Jace!”

The brothers stilled in the middle of the sandy path uphill back to the castle. Jacerys never once heard his brother raise his voice in a stern tone nor look at him with a cold gaze. 

“Leave it be. Whatever that is between me and uncle Aemond is a matter between me and him only. And don’t come up with any ideas that cause you to worry too much.” With that, Lucerys turns on his feet and starts walking again, leaving his brother in a stunned state.

It is night when they reached King’s Landing. Upon taking their dragons at the Dragon Keep, Aegon pulls Aemond to the side. 

“What’s the matter with you and Lucerys? Is this still about your eye? Move on, brother. It’s been years.”

Aemond pulls his arm calmly from his brother’s hold. “Don’t worry yourself about that matter, dear brother. Rather, worry yourself about your plan for having peace in our family.”

He didn’t wait for any reply before walking in huge steps towards the side exit of the keep. Aegon can only let out a deep sigh, silently praying for the hope of it all.

Aegon and Aemond arrives back to the castle grounds with horses.  Aegon then uses his position, for the first time, to command servants to make sure that no one will enter or be near the doors of their sister’s chambers, which is where there mother and sister are, lulling the children to sleep.

“Mother,” Aegon greets. “Sister, we have something to tell you.”

Alicent is worried but not surprise because she is expecting to hear another mention of a maiden. She is stand corrected.

She is mortified upon hearing something much more worse, an impulsive act her son has done this time. She and Heleana set the children in their beds first before going back into the matter. Before she can start questioning everything questionable about her eldest son, she went speechless as he kneeled down before her.

“I don’t want the crown.”

“Oh, by the gods, Aegon, we’ve had this conversation for thousands of times.”

“I don’t want our family falling apart just because of your cruel, evil father.”

Alicent stills. “What?”

Aegon lifts his eyes off the floor, then continues to speak. “I never want the crown nor to be named heir of the throne. You never asked to be wed to a man three times your age, and be forced to ruin your friendship in replacement of obeying your father’s wishes.”

Her lips tremble.

“You may have had no choice but to stand back before because you have no one by your side, but right now you have me, have us, your children, and Rheanyra here for you. Let yourself, and all of us, free from the chains of your father. Please, mother.”

Aegon breaks into sobs as he pleads with his hands positioned as if praying to the heavens. Seeing her son kneeling in front of her, begging her to listen to him enlightened something inside her. Perhaps she should’ve been listening to her children more than to his father and the internal grudge she has been carrying.

She kneeled on the floor and pulled Aegon into a tight embrace. Heleana walks to them, then kneels beside their mother, also wrapping her arms around them. 

“I’m so sorry for failing all of you,” Alicent sobs. 

“You did not fail us, mother,” Aemond says as he kneels behind Aegon, placing his hand on top of his mother's hand on Aegon’s shoulder. “It is grandfather that failed you, that failed all of us. We will make him answer for his crimes and pay for his debts, to end all of this.” He squeezes their mother’s hand with conviction.

Alicent smiles at him, proud of the man Aemond grew up to be; a man that is willing to do anything for his family. Their family might’ve rooted in the most unfortunate chains of reasons, but they’re still family. 

After they all calmed down and wiped off the tears, chuckling at each other, Aemond asks their mother for a word before he returns to her chambers. He needs to talk with someone that has also gone through what he is going through.

They settled in to talk in his chambers. 

“What is it that you confide me with, Aemond?”

“Rhaenyra,” he starts while slowly striding towards the fireplace to place more wood, “You were never really angry at her, you just love her too much to hold onto the grudge because you have to let her go before you can even have her.”

Alicent blinks in both shock and confusion. “I’m sorry. Where—where did you hear these?”

“I do not have to hear words when I can see them with my own eye whenever I look at how your eyes quickly sadden whenever she is brought up. You were sad then angry, then sad again.” He turns around and faces his mother again. “You love her still.”

There is no point in saving face anymore, so Alicent only croaks a chuckle, surrendering to her son. “We were never going to be allowed to be together anyway. The realm, the kingdom, the gods will rain fire on any people to ever covet such sin.”

“When did loving someone a sin, mother?” Aemond snaps, cold eyes now sharpening under the illumination of the fire burning. “It is alright for brothers and sisters, uncles and nieces, cousins, fathers and daughters to marry each other out of duty, but everyone draws a line when a girl loves a girl, and when a boy loves a boy.”

Alicent feels her eyes get damper.  She cannot lie anymore about how much sadness she feels about that fact, and now her son seems indignant about it too. 

“Is this about Lucerys?”

Aemond’s nerves settle in calm waves. He only hums, which is enough for Alicent an answer.

“He took one of your eyes, Aemond. Mutilated you, flipped your whole life upside down.” She challenges.

“Aye.” His voice is unmoving, unreadable almost. “But that did not stopped me from wrapping my head about him. Everything I did to be tha e better son, better fighter, better scholar in this family, I always go back to what he did to me. And I find myself—“

“Obsessed about him,” Alicent finishes his sentence. The confirmation on her son’s eye feels reminiscent. “Love and hate roots from the same purpose.”

“Obsession. I truly am your son then.”

They both break into a brief chorus of laughter.

A silver glint crosses her mind. There is a new reign that will rise and destroy those chains of patriarchy and law. If she and Rheanyra were robbed of a chance to live a life of love and friendship not of duty and conformity to men’s game, who is she to deny her son the chance right now?

She reaches for his face and cups his cheeks endearingly. “If I let the world take away the one love, one happiness I’ve ever had and will long for ‘til the end of time, I shall not stand in the way for you to put up a fight for yours. Fight for him, Aemond, with fire and blood, let the realm and let the gods be damned.”

When the morrow sun breaks into the dawn, Aemond flies back to Dragonstone to deliver the message and the proper plan. So, here’s the plan.  At the feast of Aemond’s betrothment with Borros’ eldest daughter, Aegon will do a speech and that is where he will smoothly slip in the truth, backed up by chief commander Sterling, Alicent, the maesters, and the members of the council and lords that stood loyal to their oath to Rhaenyra. 

Of course, Daemon being Daemon just have to ask a question unrelated to the plan.

“You’re betrothed?” He asked in a bemused tone and expression.

“Unfortunately still am,” Aemond simply answers.

“Do you have any plans to cancel it?” Daemon sends a glance to the side, which Aemond is quick to notice since it is obviously meant to send a message to him too.

“We will be needing their swords and banner in the future. Even if Rhaenyra will be queen, Lord Borros is an illiterate fool who will be easy to be bought by any bigotry. If the time will come a rebellion will be formed by those who still have the balls to stand against Rhaenyra sitting on the throne, at least I have Storm’s End under my palm to control and use.”

“So you’re willing to be tied with a girl you do not love just so you can claim her father’s seat? Not bad.”

Rhaenyra swears at her sharp intake of breath. She is eager to land a hit on her dear husband’s shoulder at this moment.

For the first time since his arrival at the meeting room, Aemond allows his eyes to gaze on the tense figure hiding behind one of the pillars on the right. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him, why he sounds very willing to marry himself as if he just didn’t have a conversation with his mother last night.

“Very well prince Aemond,” Rhaenyra says. “You can count on our presence and support for the whole plan.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Aemond bows. “We shall see each other again on the day after the morrow.” He offers a smile, a smile that is not out of menace but out of genuine. “I shall fly back now before the sun sets.”

“Wait. Why don’t you join us for supper?” Daemon invites, earning a stern gaze from his wife, his queen. 

Oh, you can only imagine the thickness of the tension at the dinner table.

Prince Aemond is escorted by one of the maids to the dining hall. Rhaenyra and Daemon stay in the room, the wooden carved map of Westeros rests cold.

“I do not like how you’re being smug to the prince, Daemon,” Rhaenyra says, evidently annoyed and disappointed. “Is it necessary for you to ask such questions and express such comments?”

“I am only trying to see the other side of his purpose of coming here, Rhaenyra. We both have eyes, you see what I see. That boy could’ve killed Lucerys at Storm’s End, he didn’t. He could’ve just sent a raven here but he took Vhagar, the biggest dragon in the whole of Westeros, and fly here. It’s impossible to not rise suspicion from anyone there with that kind of dragon.”

“What are you trying to say Daemon?”

Daemon lets out a sigh. “Aemond also likes playing the long game with the only person that has been able to keep up with him. We both know who that person is.”

Rhaenyra did not reply to that, only keeping a stern look at Daemon. She walks around the table, leaving a tight space between her and her husband. 

“I can tolerate you and your amusement in games, Daemon, but not of the game involves my son. So, please, be at your best behavior not to stoke the fire at the dinner table you just set.”

Lucerys barely had the appetite, the same goes for their guest. The princes barely dare to glimpse at each other after knowing they’re of knowledge of what was discussed at the meeting room. Without having any more will to sit and breath in the same table as the other does, Lucerys excuses himself and stand up, not waiting for any reply from the people in the table. Aemond follows him with his eye. When he turns his eye back to the table, he catches on Rhaenyra looking at him. No words were spoken between them, only a nod and the silver haired prince is off down the same hall where the other prince went.

“Should I follow him, mother? Just in case he might do something to Luce.” Jacerys, who has his guards up since Aemond joins them at the table, asks.

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Jace,” Rhaenyra gives him a reassuring smile of her best. “If their flames were to cross each other, let them.”

“Fire cannot kill fire, Jacerys,” Daemon adds.

Aemond had searched through all chambers and corners of the castle only for him to find Lucerys outside, sitting by the small field of tall grass.

“The fuck!” He exclaims while stumping through the river tall grass. 

Lucerys is sitting crisscross applesauce, watching the solemn waves of the sea crashing on the rocks down the shore. He did not even flinch the slightest at Aemond’s exclamation, though his heart is drumming on the bones of his ribs. He tries to find calm in the breeze before the storm enters his endosteum. 

When he receives no reaction nor reply from the other, Aemond storms to Lucerys, and grabs him by the arm to pull him up on his feet. His anger is fuming but it subsides upon seeing the moisture surrounding the auburn eyes he has been obsessed with through the years. 

Aemond Targaryen never had fears or weaknesses, but everything about Lucerys makes him bring down the walls of ice he has built around himself. Funny how ironic it is that the dragon seeks protection behind the ice, only for the ice to melt by the sea.

“What is it about you that makes me want something I shouldn’t?” he speaks in High Valyria, igniting the flames with them.

Lucerys had the audacity to smirk mockingly at that. Only he had the right to have such infuriating audacity. “Perhaps it is my eyes, my looks that do not shout Targaryen nor Velaryon, or that I am the son of the rightful heir to the throne that you so desire very much?”

Between him and his brother, Jacerys, he has always been the one that is fast to learn to speak and understand the language of High Valyria; the one trait he takes pride in. Initially, it is to prove his possession of Valyrian blood in him but perhaps it is solely to argue with someone using that tongue.

Aemond growls, tightening his hold on Luce’s collars, pulling him closer, making their chests press flush, feeling their hearts throb. Auburns burning along with sapphires. If a seahorse can play with dangerous tides, a dragon should also be allowed to play with flames.

The silver haired prince chuckles, an annoyed, conflicted one. “You always invite me to take an eye of yours. Are you really that eager for my blade to cut into your skin, nephew?”

“As if you didnt dream about it every night since I took one of your eyes, uncle.” Lucerys starts to lean his face closer, like the waves whenever the moon is full. “You craved for my blood to be at your fingertips, don’t deny it.”

Truly the audacity of his nephew riles him up.

“Don’t speak to me as if you don’t share the same desire, the same obsession.”

“Aye, but sadly we cannot dwell to quench our thirst for each other’s blood for we are now bounded with duties of our own,” Lucerys reminds with an evident tone of sadness. In contrast to him, Aemond has a sour expression.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m betrothed!” He slaps Aemond’s hands off him. “You clearly are still betrothed!” He jabs a finger in Aemond’s chest.

“Do you really think I want to be betrothed to any of those girls?” Aemond shouts back.

Lucerys flutter his eyelashes as he slowly lets out a sigh and leans his face away from Aemond. “You do, for the sake of earning a house, banners, and swords, and for you to sit on a throne.”

In a flash, Aemond’s gloved hand grabs Lucerys’ jaw, steadying him not to lean further away from Aemond’s reach. “Why shall I tie myself to some girl that can only give me a throne made out of wood, when I can have a prince that can give me a throne made of the rocks carved by our ancestors?”

He is expecting a flushed expression from the other prince but he receives a heartbroken one, which made him loosen his hold, shakes off his prideful, arrogant disposition. He regrets his words but the prince spoke words of a wounded heart.

“So you lend me your jacket, kept me warm in the storm just to win your way to a fucking chair?”

The following words of the prince made Aemond deeply regret his words.

“Here I am thinking that you did it out of the small silver lining for peace between the two of us.  What a fool truly I have been.” He is shaking his head in distaste, while also stepping away from Aemond. Then he ran back to the castle, leaving the other by himself.

Lucerys descended to his chambers and have the night sky listen to his sobs, and for his pillow to wipe the tears on his cheeks.

Aemond angrily cries in his seat on Vhagar.

There is no storm but the cracking sounds of hearts are as loud as when thunder roars behind the clouds.

Over a day and a night, everything and everyone is set to execute the plan.

Rhaenyra and her family prepares for their flight to King’s Landing, while the Greens are in the position in the middle of the preparation of the feast for Aemond’s betrothment.

He…he has been deadly silent, not cold but disassociated. So does the other prince whose eyes seem to not sparkle, looking puffy too. Both mothers are worried; their sibling had attempts on talking with them, failing to receive any reply other than ‘hm’.

The Blacks along with the Velaryons take flight on their dragons and ships. The Greens put on their best armors and wore their color for war.

The feast is held at the Dragonpit as Aegon announced it to be an big important celebration as two strong families are about to be united by marriage. Otto only hums, internally grimacing at his grandchild’s drunken antics. That is his first mistake.

As per tradition, each house guests will be introduced while walking in the aisle towards the big table to present themselves to the king and his family. Aegon, Aemond, and Alicent sit in poise, greeting each family that walk up the steps. When the bell tolls came from the distance, that is the cue for Heleana to take her children out there, to safety. Before she leaves with two maids assisting her in carrying her children, Aegon catches her wrist.

“Yes? Your grace.”

“No, no, um…just, keep the children safe.”

Heleana processes whether Aegon said it for the sake of the plan or if he has hit his head while drinking a little wine to sell the act of his usual stupor. Nevertheless, she gives her a kind smile and nods before fleeting off. 

Aegon knows that he is the least deserving son among the sons of a king to be named heir, he is most definitely the last man that deserves to be called husband to a woman as kind and loving as Heleana, and father to the sweetest twins in Westeros.

Two more families before it is House Baratheon, and then after them it will seem like there’s no family left to be introduced until they’re all proven wrong.

When Lord Borros walks up the steps, his daughter Cassandra standing on his left, Alicent and Aegon stand up and say their line. There is an empty air after Alicent complimented the princess’ yellow dress. 

Aemond has been staring at the small flame on the wick of the candle placed in front of him. 

“Aemond,” Alicent touches him on the shoulder.

“Oh, right. Apologies.” He clears his throat and greets Lord Borros and the princess. 

Right after, Otto leans towards Alicent. “What is wrong with your children lately? They’ve been acting strange.”

Alicent narrows her eyes at her father, frowning at him. “I do not know what you mean, father, but my children have been acting but themselves. You’re the one acting strange.”

“Since did you learn to turn my words against me? I thought I taught you better.” He says in his usual disappointed tone.

Alicent chortles. “You’ve been drinking too much since I was a girl, father. You’re remembering wrong.”

“I never had the thirst for wine.”

“No, you do not.”

“But the thirst for power, yes.” A voice came behind Otto.

Rhaenyra steps out of the shadows, wearing a black dress that resembles a dragon’s skin. The crowd gasps in shock upon seeing the ‘Rebel Princess’ wearing the late king’s, her father’s, crown. 

“What—what are you doing here, princess Rhaenyra?” Otto asks, evidently trying to disguise the dread with a poisonous bite. Sadly, poison doe not shut down fire, it ignites it more.

Alicent, Aegon, and Aemond stand from their seats, all calm and not surprised. There is a commotion at the doors; The Blacks and Velaryons have arrived. 

Sir Crispin Cole is immediately at Alicent’s side. “My queen, I believe we should leave. There are dragons surrounding the area, and so does knights from their side. This is an ambush.”

“No, I will stay,” Alicent says. “Let them in for this is not an ambush but a public prosecution.”

Daemon strides along the aisle, Baela, and Rhaena on his right and left, and Rhenys and Coryls follow behind. All of them walked with regal and honor. There were commoners that, by reflex, bends their knees upon the entrance of the family. The Kingsguard stood, not sure whether to unsheathe their swords or not, Daemon is on the verge of cackling.

“I am here to claim back what is mine, and to serve justice by exposing you of your crimes in front of the whole kingdom.” Rhaenyra did not stop on her steps. 

Only Otto moved an inch back when Rhaenyra is within arm’s reach. “Guards! Arrest her! And arrest those rebels!” He points indignantly at them.

The princess chuckles. “Who do you think will follow your orders, Otto of Hightower? Your time’s up. All of you that conspired my father’s death and to disinherit me!” Her voice roared like a dragon’s through the whole keep.

“Where is your proof, princess? I will never do any harm to your father as I deeply cherish our friendship, unlike you to yours and my daughter’s. How dare you question her son’s legitimacy to fulfill your father’s dying wish?”

“No. How dare you abuse the trust and second chance my father gave you? You used him as your biggest chip for your game to gain power. You and everyone in the council.”

The old bearded men sitting at one of the grand tables on the left tensed. Daemon turns his head in their direction. His stare is enough for one of them faint on his chair. 

He walks to their table, disregarding the hand of the Kingsguard, halting him from approaching. “Hello, my good sirs.”

“Daemon,” one of them acknowledges with a tone of dread and false-arrogance. 

“You’ve been exiled dozens of times,” Larys Strong says, feeling brave as he sees that he is on the side with the upper hand. “Setting your foot in King’s Landing is high treason to the king’s law.”

He purses his lips and then leans his head to the left, a gesture he does to mock and piss off people. “Who is the king are you referring to, lord Larys? Last time I checked it was my brother sitting on the damn chair, now I see many peasants, even a crippled one, using their asses to keep the throne warm.”

Larys clenches his fists, not able to utter another word.

“I suggest you be careful of your accusation, princess. I have the Kingsguard on command.”

Rhaenyra smirks. “I have the Kingsguard too. The real ones. Sir Westerling.”

The Lord Commander steps forward from the crowd, disguised with a black hooded cloak. Criston Cole clenches his jaw upon seeing his commander standing on Rhaenyra’s side. 

“Did you know that your grandsons flew to Dragonstone, surrendering the false crown you put on him, and confessed the crimes you pushed them to commit?”

Otto sighs deeply. “ Of course that idiot will do such a thing.”

“Lies!” His voice roared with a dramatic pitch. “I will never do such things to my grandchildren. I love them.”

“No!” It is Aegon. “You never loved any of us. We only mattered to you as long as we serve a purpose for your cruel intentions.”

“Alicent, control your son. He seems to have emptied another bottle.”

“Do not speak ill to my son!” 

Everyone stilled. 

“Oh, so you’re all in this plan together?” Otto does not need to hear any words to know the answer. 

“You’re with Rhaenyra?” Cole asks, shocked and seemingly scandalized by the fact. “You swore to me.”

Alicent laughs, glancing at the other queen looking at her with a similar grin as hers. She turns to Cole, and fully faces him. “You said she made you break your oath, I guess that makes the two of us now.”

Cole feels conflicted and angry, betrayed and infuriated. He despises people who cannot keep their promises, their oaths, and their words.

Jacaerys and Lucerys appear at the door with the grand maesters. All eyes and heads turn to them. The princes walk the maesters down the aisle, stopping at the beginning of the stairs to the table where the confrontation is taking place on both ends of the table. Again, an eye liberated itself to look while the other sternly glued his forward.

The grand maester turns to the people. “I am here to confess a crime, a heavy act of treason to the crown I committed, along with the council, the Kingsguard, and with the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.”

“No,” Otto swear under his breath.

“Aegon Targaryen, the second of his name, is not the true heir of the throne.” The whole Dragonkeep gasped in shock, as well as the houses seated on the long table. “The Hand and the council conspired to disinherit Princess Rhaenyra, and crown Prince Aegon instead. It is a huge shame as I swore to the eyes of the seven to never do such crimes. If there is any final act I can do as a grand maester before the heavens punish me, that will be for me to crown and declare Westeros’ rightful ruler, a queen.”

There are lords who begin to stand up from their seats, ladies, princes, and princesses too. 

Aegon climbs  on top of the table and walks over it, not really caring if he looked ridiculous. He stands there and takes off the crown. He looks at it, feeling the want to throw it rather than wear it. “I am born not fit to be king,” he starts. “I confess my involvement in the Hand’s scheme.” The crowd started making noises, some were awful, a few are shouting and calling him names.

Alicent goes to her son and pushed Cole out of her way. Once she reaches Aegon, she takes the crown off of his hand and throws it on the table. She covers his ears from the crowd.

“So you’re both surrendering to her?” Otto asks a grin of disbelief etched on his face. “Fools! She will have your heads by tomorrow! And you!” He turns to Rhaenyra, indignant at the sight of her [rightfully] winning. “You’re nothing but a sack that is supposed to be filled with seed, to produce children, and to warm a king or a prince’s bed. That is your true duty , Rhaenyra.”

Sir Westerling and Daemon immediately have their swords pointed at Otto’s chest and neck.

“I will be very careful on my next words if I were you,” Sir Westerling says in stern warning.

Otto knows he will not hear any words from Daemon, as Daemon is a man that lets his sword save his energy from speaking.

“So be it. You win, princess.” He said with poison while still poising his chin up like some royalty.

“Not yet, Otto. I will have you pay for your crimes, as well as your fellows.” Otto can see the actual fire in her eyes. “Sir Westerling, please escort Otto Hightower and the whole council, as well as the Lords present here to the cells in the castle for the prosecution of crimes of treason in conspiracy against the crown and of my father’s death.”

There are commissions as some of the Lords, namely Baratheon and Lannister, protest against the charge put open them. Alicent only watches her father down the stairs with a stern glare while still protecting her son from the shouts of the crowd. There is no protest from the council, only pleas of mercy. Rhaenyra pays them no mind as there is one more person that is to be charged.

She stares at him, feeling the anger of the flame inside her indignantly burn more. “I also hereby charge Sir Criston Cole for the murder of Sir Joffrey Longmouth and of Lord Lyman Bessbury.” 

The Dragonkeep became louder with commotion and murmurs. Daemon is standing on Rhaenyra’s side, ready to drag Cole down the four set of stairs if he will put up a fight.

Crispin Cole stares back at Rheanyra, then scoffs as if everything she just said is a joke. He is wrong.

“Take off your cloak, Cole,” Daemon orders. “Only a knight with true honor on serving the crown is worthy of it.”

Upon realization, the cloak, title, name, and sword were to be taken off of him by the person who gave those all to him when no one believed that he is worthy. Perhaps those people right all along, he was never worthy since the beginning.

“No,” he replied with his full chest. He unsheathes his sword just because.

Daemon clicks his tongue. “Don’t make me force it off of you.” 

“I dare you to try.” He directly points his sword at Daemon.

Feeling that a fight is about to happen, Jacerys guides the grand maester down the stairs, while Lucerys walks to Alicent and Aegon. “We have to go now,” he says, and when he looks at where Aemond was standing a second ago, he saw no one there anymore. 

The former knight of the realm changes against a dragon. Oh boy, what an idiotic way to be prove you’re a bigger idiot than more have perceived you. Daemon did end up dragging Cole down the stairs after disarming him with his sword. 

Everyone has cleared the front area, and some people have already run out of the keep. Only a few remained, perhaps to witness the end of the fight put up by a simple knight against the Rogue Prince.

Daemon threw his sword to Rhaenyra; she caught it flawlessly. He sends her a wink and a smirk before turning back to deal with a dog.

Criston heaves, lifting himself with his fists.  He knows he is on nearing his end, so why not make the final fight memorable for it to be written down in Westeros’ history. He catches on the sight of a familiar mop of brown curly hair, reminiscent of another knight, the former commander of the city watch. If Rhaenyra can take away everything from him, he may as well take something from her.

He pulls a dagger, kicks himself up, and drags the prince by the cloak. Shouts erupt from each side this time, not from the crowd. Daemon, Jacerys, and the knights all have their swords pointed at him, but all were weary so as not to make the wrong move, hurting the prince in the spans of rescuing him. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, is two steps forward than any of them.

Criston stare intensely with indignation at Rhaenyra’s alerted eyes. He pulls Lucerys up, pressing him more in his hold. “You may be the one who bless me that title, gave me the honor, and put the cloak of Kingsguard on me, but you were the one who made me break my oath because you’re nothing but a slutty cunt who like to use her crown and name to do whatever she wants. Bed whoever she wants.”

Daemon takes a step forward but is still standing behind Rhaenyra. He knows he had the capability above all of these knights to swing the sword at the dog and save his stepson, but this is a fight the mother of the prince is taking. Demon, being the unhinge Rogue prince, may be reckless in picking fights left and right to satisfy his twisted, sadistic preference for enjoyment, but he also knows when a fight is for him to step in or not.

Looking at the left corner, a silver platinum of hair is also looming behind the shadows, waiting for the right time to breathe fire.

“If you wish to hurt someone for vengeance, why not me?” Rhaenyra challenges. “Come on, I don’t have a sword, and I’m a woman raised to hold teacups rather than blades.”

“How thick for you to say such when you have knights, FOOLS, that will bend a knee for you just because of your name and your dragon. They will never honor nor serve with true loyalty any woman.”

“Then a man who will choose their ego and pride over honor and respect for any woman is no man but a coward.”

The room stills, heavy breaths, and loud heartbeats. Lucerys’ gaze then falls to the left, catching on the icy gaze that will always find his. Blinking a couple of times, he finds his voice to whisper, “Save me.”

A flame was then ignited inside a sapphire orb.

Cole snickers arrogantly, showing that he is more scared which makes him predictable to read. That desperation and guilt in his eyes drove him into the grasp of madness and desperation. He points the blades closer to  Lucerys’ face, making the prince squirm in panic and in pain from his hold.

“I will never let a bastard of a royal whore sit on any throne,” he says with poison on Lucerys’ ear as he raises the dagger near Lucery’s face. “How about I ruin that pretty face of yours, huh? Just like what I did to the whore of your father.”

“Let go of my son!” Rhaenyra commands as she takes three more steps forward, already eager to let the fate of her life be damned as long she will be able to pull her son into safety. “One more spiteful word and I will have your tongue.”

“I cherished the little friendship we had, Rhaenyra,” Criston says in a sad shaky voice. “You believed me worthy to be a part of the Kingsguard, to be sworn protector of you.”

Rhaenyra sees the man, the young knight that just wants to prove himself and give honor to his family’s name. She did love that man, cherished the time he was the only one that listened and sided with her when everyone around her, including her father, did not. That man will never do her or her children harm. Sadly, that man is not the man she is looking at right now.

“Let go of my son, Criston Cole.” 

The removal of ‘Sir’ in addressing him does hit him strongly, especially when it is the person that gave him that title who permanently strip it out of him. 

“ So be it,” he says in his mind as darkness forms in his eyes and his grip on his dagger tightens.

It happened so fast but Aemond is faster, although he is a second too little too late.  

Everything is ringing in Lucerys’ ears, even when he knows he is screaming, he cannot hear anything but the deafening ringing in his ears. He opens his eyes to see what is happening around him but all he see is blood and darkness. Somewhere among the ringing, he can hear a voice, a voice that speaks to him a private language.

I got you, my prince. I got you….

Lucerys feels his consciousness pulls him awake. He feels numb, sore, and pain all over his body. The ringing seems to still be there in his head. A groan slips out of his lips as he pushes himself to sit up on the board of the bed. In a second he hears someone stirs awake on his right.

“Lucerys,” a familiar voice comes from the same direction. The prince wonders as he can only darkness in that direction but he knows he has both his eyes open.

It dawns on him.

Criston cole holding a dagger in his face.

His mother reaching for him.

Shouts and swords around them.

A silver hair swiftly swinging a sword.

“Lucerys,” that voice calls his name again, now with calloused hands gently cupping his cheeks. “You’re awake.”

With his left eye, the prince finally gets a clear vision of who is the one calling his name and cupping his cheeks so gently. Aemond.

“What happened?” Lucerys asks in a hoarse voice. “How long have I been in bed?”

Aemond sighs, reaching for the cup at the bedside table. “Drink water first. I’ll answer your questions.”

Lucerys did as he is asked to. The feeling of water sure does feel good. Aemond takes the cup back to the table, and then he helps Lucerys sit comfortably and then puts pillows on his back. The gesture elicits a soft chuckle from the prince.

“Since when did you learn how to take care of a wounded person?”

“Well, if you have an older brother who spends more time running into troubles and street fights, rather than studying and training, you will get used to it,” Aemond replies in an unfamiliar gentle tone.

“Did I—did I lose an eye?” Lucerys fumbles his fingers, anxiously waiting for the obvious answer.

Aemond reaches for Lucerys’ hand, holding and squeezing them. “Yes.”

“Hm. Well, at least we are on equal footing now.”

“ Lucerys , do you think this a time to be sarcastic? You lost an eye to some coward that thinks so highly of his dick being more worthy for your mother to turn her back to her family and birthright.”

“You lost your eye to a coward too,” Lucerys points.

“I never deem you a coward. I’ve never seen any Velaryon man as strong and brave as you are.” That is the first time Aemond ever says the word so tenderly and endearingly. 

Their eyes meet, though instead of feeling uncomfortable or uneasy, they felt at ease. Smiles fall upon their lips, but then Aemond turns his gaze to the floor, and so does his smile fall into a sad frown.

“I was right there but still acted too little too late to save you.”

There is silence in the air. A gentle hand reaches for both of his sharp cheeks, lifting his face to meet the same auburn eye that burns for him, and only for him.

“You did save me, uncle. That’s what matters.”

Aemond lifts his calloused hand to hold Lucerys’ tender, uncalloused ones, moving them to his lips for him to place a feather kiss on each heel. “I’m sorry for causing pain in your heart. I’m an idiot when it comes to expressing what I feel.”

“You’re forgiven. We’re both idiots on that matter anyway. Spent six years holding on to grudges and fears instead of…. Well, it’s all in the past now. Let me apologize for causing you to lose an eye and making you build walls around yourself.”

Aemond hums deeply in his chest, then he leans forward, placing his forehead on top of Lucerys’. “You’re the only one who had and can melt it, nephew. In all honesty, I think you’re the one who has kept me warm through the storm. The fire you ignited in me is the thing that has kept me fighting, proving myself to those who looked down on me.”

The two princes nuzzle on the warmth of the breaths fanning over their faces, and the air pulling the distance too close between their lips. Aemond scoots closer as one of his hands finds a home on Lucerys’ side and the other on Lucerys’ neck. Lucerys has his hands resting on top of each of Aemond’s.

“Burn me, uncle, take me into the flames of your heart.”

“I’ll burn you, so drown me, nephew, engulf me in the deep waters of your soul.”

Their lips open as they gravitate forward, like when the strong winds push and pull the silver waters, creating waves, clashing with each other, fiercely and tenderly upon the shore. Both were experienced in the physical gesture but equally inexperienced in the emotions being driven inside of them through the feeling of their lips.

A gasp breaks the two princes apart, both flushed and embarrassed to be caught, not just by anyone, but by their mothers.

“Mother,” Lucerys calls in ragged breathing.

“Your grace,” Aemond says as he slowly, not really wanting to, moves away from his position, and stands up. “Mother,” he greets his mother, who is standing beside the queen.

Rhaenyra and Alicent were as embarrassed as their sons for interrupting the such an intimate moment.

“Apologies. I believe we should’ve knocked at the door,” Rhaenyra says.

“We were just about to check on your condition, Lucerys, but from what we can see, I believe you are feeling a bit better.” Alicent says with a small smile, sending a glance to her son.

“I am, your grace,” Lucerys replies respectfully, mirroring her smile.

“Um, would you like to join us for dinner or you’ll prefer it to be served here?” 

“We will join you at the table, mother.”

The fact that Lucerys answers the question by addresing that it is a ‘we’ not an ‘I’ that does things to Aemond. Both of their mothers did not fight back their smiles on their sons.

“Alright, we shall see you both there,” Alicent says. “Would like us to call for the maids to help you dress, or do you prefer each other?”

Rhaenyra can’t help but snicker at Alicent’s on-time teasing as it made both the princes blush.

In the hallway, the queens cannot hold back their chuckles and giggles. It is heartwarming and nostalgic since it has been a very long since the last time they share such a moment.

“Did you see their faces?” Alicent asks in between giggling and wiping the tears in the corner of her eyes.

“I’ve never seen Luce so flustered like that.”

“And I’ve never pictured a day will come where I will see Aemond blush.”

“Honestly, I must admit, I never thought that our sons will ever get along,” Rhaenyra says, gesturing her hands along with her words, a mannerism she has since she was a girl. One of the small things that Alicent will never fail to catch nor will ever forget.

Alicent gives herself the liberty to smile tenderly at that before saying her comment. Truly, some things never change. “From what we have just witnessed, our sons are definitely getting along.”

Rhaenyra burst into giggles and softly bumps her arm on Alicent’s. This is the warmth, the happiness that Alicent had wished to be surrounded with.

“Will you give your blessing to Aemond if he will ask for Lucery’s hand?” She asks as they take a turn at the end of the hall.

“Will you give your blessing to Lucerys if he asks for Aemond’s?”

Alicent smiles. “If you asked me before, I will perhaps be scandalized by such an idea. A prince loving a prince, the realm and the gods will surely hail fire from the depths of the earth. But, thinking about it, it is better than most because it will be one of the first in the whole realm that is done out of love not of duty.”

A saude expression falls upon their eyes. Oh, what a lifetime wasted, forever unlived.

“To answer your question, yes. Yes, I will definitely give my blessing to Lucerys if he will ask for Aemond.”

“I too will do the same. They deserve to be happy, even though it is surprising that they have found it from each other.”

Then Alicent remembers Heleana’s words. Perhaps Princess Heleana does not only dream odd dreams but of destinies.

On the day of Rhaenyra’s coronation, Aemond holds onto a velvet box while he gathers all courage in him to knock on the doors of  Rhaenyra’s chambers. When he knocks, he feels his bones tremble, and his heart races. When the handles of the door rattle and the door opens, appearing behind is his half-sister.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” She greets warmly.

“Good—good morrow, your grace.” He stammers as his hold on the box behind his back tightens. 

“Please, you may address me as your sister whenever it is just us and our family. No need to be formal all around the hourglass.”

“Hm, I suppose, sister. Ah, can I speak with you, privately?”

Rhaenyra nods and then pull the door open. “Of course. Come inside.”

Seeing her in a black dress weaved to look like dragon scales with few lines of red streaks, and her hair done majestically with braids, she truly evokes the poise of a queen, a Targaryen queen. A truly rightful heir to the iron throne.

“What would you like to speak with me, brother?”

“I—I would like to ask for your permission for a gift I wish to give Lucerys.”

For a second there, Rhaenyra holds her breath but then Aemond shows her a velvet box. He opens it and reveals a precious gift. Her heart warms. She looks up at Aemond again and smiles brightly at him.

“Of course. Of course, you may. He will definitely love it.”

Aemond lets out a breath of relief, but then he remembers the other question, for which, to his surprise, he received a reply without asking the words yet.

Lucerys checks on his clothes again, making sure there are no creases or folds. Then his eye darts to the eyepatch on his right eye. He sure will have to get used to only seeing, moving, and doing things with one eye. A knock on his door makes him turn his gaze away from the mirror.

“Come in!”

Silver locks of hair and all black, leather jacket step in.

“Uncle.”

“Nephew.”

Those words poise as bites with poison before, but now both feel more of a call of endearment.

“What brought you into my chambers?” Lucerys asks as Aemond beelines across the room to him, looming over him.

“I have a gift for you,” Aemond spoke smoothly in Valyrian, shifting the air between them. He pulls out the velvet box and shows it to Lucerys.

“What’s that? Please don’t tell me this is my severed eye.”

Targaryen family, their sense of humor falls between three categories: dark, sarcastic, and questionable.

“It surely is an eye,” Aemond replies.

Lucerys squints his eye with a grin to his uncle, catching on the line of joke. “An eye you say.”

A precious orb of honey topaz sparkles upon the velvet cloth it sits on. Aemond then takes the orb and bends his knee in front of Lucerys, his prince, his lord strong , his warmth through the storm.

“Are you seriously bending the knee to me before to my mother, the queen?”

“I am merely doing what our ancestors do in offering their hearts as love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling.”

Lucerys reaches to touch the orb, cold but electrifying just like the gaze of the very man kneeling before him. 

“Will you accept it, my gift to you?”

“Put it on me, please.” He then tugs Aemond’s hand, pulling him to stand up.

“Of course, my Lord Strong.” The chosen name to address would’ve stung but it is said with such emotion of endearment that Lucerys can only melt more for the man. “May I?”

Lucerys nods.

Aemond lifts the eyepatch off with utmost gentleness. He sees the scar, traveling the same length as the one on his, and the hollow cavern that once houses an auburn eye. He runs his calloused hand on the apple of Lucerys’ cheek.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he mumbles as he raises the orb over the hollow cavern.

It did sting a little but the coldness of the orb cools those down. The weight of the orb feels foreign as it definitely is heavier than an eye but it feels right. He turns around to look at himself in the mirror. 

He turns to Aemond again, beaming at the eyepatch. “May I?”  

Aemond nods and lowers his head a bit for Lucerys to lift the eyepatch over his head. Lucerys stares at the beauty of the orb and then turns back to the mirror. Both of them look at their reflection.

Sapphire and topaz

Second sons

A prince and a lord

Fire and Sea