Chapter Text
Lucerys’s eyes trailed along the beaded cuffs of his doublet. The thing was sewn of the finest ivory silk that could still be found after the war. He fingered the fabric, let his hands trail down the sleeves. The item was plain but for the small rubies stitched to the wrists, banding about them twice, thrice, before spreading slowly up the arm, spilling like blood. His doublet and trousers were matched by his maiden cloak, looking as stark and as empty as he felt inside. The ivory silk lined chenille was warm in the cooling winter air, soft and lovely to the touch. Lucerys mused it would be the only soft and lovely thing about this folly of a marriage. The cloak was long, dragging on the ground. He was glad for its length. He could pretend to be armored inside it, safe for a small time.
It was unusual for a wedding outfit to be so sparsely decorated. For a royal wedding which demanded ostentation, Lucerys’s modesty was a choice made of defiance. The court surely expected to see the remaining wealth of House Velaryon put on display for its precious heir, but Lucerys refused to be a reflection of the Velaryon legacy when its lord had so thoroughly dishonored it. In protest, Lucerys would wear no pearls in his hair, nor seahorse sigils upon his breast. His grandfather was unworthy of consideration or celebration. Why should he respect a house that led to his mother’s downfall? Now the man had brokered a marriage that would lead to his own. The grandfather Lucerys knew was dead, and he had no kindly thoughts about the Sea Snake slithering amongst the green court.
A shuddering breath left Lucerys, and darker thoughts rushed to him like the tide. He should have died in the freezing waters over Storms End, his corpse laid upon a bed of coral and pillowed in sea grass. The Merling King should have been merciful and spared him the heartache and loss and this neverending grief. Gods were capricious and unknowing, and instead of joining the embrace of his father and aunt, the sea spat Lucerys out upon an unforgiving shore. The prince’s breath shivered along his ribs, winding down the bones of his spine to curl coldly in his stomach. He wished he had died then.
Now he was at the Red Keep, about to meet a slower death.
He felt removed from himself as he was bathed and dressed by plain faced maids, their eyes cast downwards and lips thinned to pale pink lines. Armored footsteps echoed bedside him, the swish of white cloaks and clanking armor muted under his heavy thoughts. Lucerys’s mind wandered to another wedding.
The smell of sulfur and salt spray had stung his nose while roiling grey skies warned of an approaching storm. The air was hot, and he remembered feeling sweaty under his stuffy clothes as his mother and step father chanted words in High Valyrian. Jace’s hand in his, squeezing reassurance. Purple eyes of his new step sisters meeting his across the altar. A kiss with blood, fires twisting along the Dragonmont.
There would be no blessings of the fourteen to be found here.
Lucerys’s thoughts were still swirling in the ash of Dragonstone when the doors to the great sept groaned open. He held his chin high, and refused to gaze at the traitorous nobles of his uncle’s court. They were as important as the dirt beneath his shining leather boots. He walked slowly down the cold grey stones of the sept, trying to hide his limp under the heavy embrace of his maiden cloak. Flashes of color caught his eye as he passed, the yellow and red of House Bracken, the gold and red of Lannister, the orange and grey of House Peake. Lucerys refused to look but straight ahead, eyes locked on his doom.
As his cloak dragged past the wooden pews, whispers started humming in the air. Surprised breaths and hissed voices were the choir accompanying Lucerys to the altar. The young prince thumbed the ivory stitches on the edge, lips twitching into a facsimile of a smile. He limped towards the remnants of House Velaryon, buoyed by the astonishment of the lickspittle lords and ladies. His remaining pride did not let him glance at the pew to see the dark expression on Baela’s face, the severe lines of Rhaena’s brow, or the sorrowful look in Lord Corlys’s eyes. Lucerys walked on, and the intake of air from the Sea Snake was music to his ears. Lucerys viciously hoped what he saw cut the Sea Snake’s heart.
For on the back of his maiden cloak, a broken dragon stitched in blood red thread and rubies fell from an unforgiving sky. Arrax, forever immortalized over the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. Lucerys’s failure, the start of the Dance, the first sacrifice of the war if Lucerys was to be the last.
The young prince climbed the steps of the sept, eyes flitting up to the man who stood across.
“Your Grace.”
And so it began.