Chapter Text
The ink was still wet, so Lucerys read his own letter more than five times before he could roll it up. The boy had no plans to give it to anyone; in fact, he would hate for anyone to find it. He had written it only for his disposal, and its contents were addressed to only one person. His pulse trembled a little, he could hear the hubbub in the castle, much of the service was moving to get into the ship. And all because of him.
His Uncle Aegon and Aunt Helaena had married and had children, and for all those years they had not been invited to King's Landing. They hadn't seen them since the accident at Driftmark. And they had spent some six years of peace and quiet totally apart from the Greens. A pity that good things don't last forever, something in the air told the prince that this trip would end in tragedy. And if it didn't happen there, then it would happen soon after they were reunited. He had also lost his father, Prince Leanor, supposedly murdered, a few days after Luke and Aemond's accident.
The good thing would be that they would get to see their grandfather, Viserys, again. And they would also get to meet againg with sweet Helaena and her two sons. Maybe they could have time to tour the castle where he and Jacaerys grew up. His brother might be willing to talk about Harwin Strong, something he had always refused to do.
But that was precisely why they had been called to court. Because they were both bastards, and everyone knew it. They might not be to blame for it, but Lucerys was aware that they both enjoyed rights that were not theirs, at least not his. For Jacaerys was, after all, as much Rhaenyra's son as he was, and promised to be a great king, with the blood of kings and the queen his mother would one day become. But for Luke it is different. His greatest inheritance was from the blood of his father, Leanor Velaryon, whose blood he clearly did not share at all. His grandfather had been (and he prayed he still was, wherever he was) a great captain, a fearsome sailor, and the sea was part of him. Luke was also a son of dragons, but not of sailors, and even he thought it was unfair to command above those true soldiers. He could never say so, even if he thought he could avoid conflict with Vaemond Velaryon. To admit that he does not want the throne of Driftmark would be to admit that he is not a true Velaryon and that would embarrass his mother, strip her of her future crown instantly and also humiliate her utterly in the eyes of the seven kingdoms. He could never do that, he would die first, that was the duty of a prince, and that is what he was thanks to his mother.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, startling him, Luke crumpled the paper, but making just enough noise for Rhaenyra to notice.
"It's time to board, Luke...what have you got there?"
The princess gave him her usual smile, cocked to one side, slightly mischievous but never losing the tenderness, a tenderness Luke knew was only for him and his siblings.
"Nothing, Mother...an old message? I think it's from Jace" he lied, turning red, clearly.
"Of course," he knew he was lying, but Rhaenyra was far too much of an adult now to be so hesitant, much less her children. "Come on, we're waiting for you."
They set off together, before boarding, Luke stroked his dearest Arrax's forehead. Jacaerys was already settled on the ship, though Luke could see a bored expression on his face. Clearly they preferred dragon riding. It was faster, more fun, a thousand times better than a boat. Sadly, it was what they had to do when there were also children as young as Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys.
"Aren't you afraid Arrax will forget about you all this time?" The eldest asked him.
"We're not going to be at King's Landing that long, Jace," he teased. Though he couldn't be so sure either. Even he didn't believe what he was saying but Luke had always wanted to keep the balance between him and Jace, as he would never feel on his level. If Jace is more cautious, Luke is more direct, if Jace is more pessimistic, Luke is more positive. Both were willing to do anything for each other, though, and that night on Driftmark proved to be unconditional proof of brotherhood. "Besides, you should be glad. You're going to see Baela."
And so he managed to wring a small smile and colour from his brother's cheeks. Jace gave him a gentle punch on the cheek as he laughed.
~
He'd done it again. Everyone in the castle knew it. The young maid had fled as stealthily as possible, but the wailing and crying had been deaf to no one and the facts were spreading like wildfire. Everyone knows that what is supposed to be a rumour is absolutely certain to be true if it has anything to do with Aegon. And the collateral victim of all this will always be Helaena, his sweet sister. The young prince Aemond had already changed into his training clothes when he peeked into the room of the princess.
She was putting one of the twins to sleep in her arms, and by the doll she was holding in her strange little hands, he knew it was Jaehaera. The child was red, and she was crying a lot. Her mother rocked her from side to side as she crooned listlessly, as overwhelmed as the child.
"She has a fever," she said without looking at him. "She's been constipated since last night and she's hardly slept...and she won't. She can't."
As he approached them both, Helaena looked up and her teary eyes were visible. Without needing to ask, Aemond took his niece, and snuggled her in his arms. He walked with her from side to side as Helaena relaxed. Since they were only hours old, both twins had been at ease in Aemond's presence. They liked to touch his face and hair, and Helaena was sure it was also because the prince gave off a special scent. For Aegon usually reeked of alcohol, Alicent of incense, and Helaena herself smelled too much of mud from the insects. But he smelled of scented water, he didn't like the smell of dragon and he used to pour down water over himself every day, which was rare in the castle. His sweat was also different, as it came from exercise, not heat. When Jaehaera finally fell asleep, he only had to put her in her cot, next to Jaehaerys, for Helaena to give her terrible news.
"They have come. And no one has received them...." Aemond was about to sit beside her, but the news made him turn away from her.
"I suppose she's brought his bastards too..."
"They're seeing Father now..."
"I have to leave for training..." he watched as Helaena ducked her head again, nodding. "Dear Helaena...will you be alright if I leave you here?"
She nodded and smiled. When the children slept, she sewed or went back to investigating the worms among the plants in the living room. Watching her entertain, Aemond decided to leave her behind.
Ser Criston had already chosen his sword. And Aemond decided to pick the first one he brushed against. That was to be his challenge today, chance. It had been a common occurrence, for a long time now, that when he trained, a circle of admirers and audience began to form. According to the Knight, that was something to be proud of, but to Aemond it seemed like a lot of bullshit. He felt watched, part of a circus in which he wanted no part. He was training to be a great fighter, a real protector, not a juggler. He hated the applause, the tournaments and the praise. He had spent years working his ass off in that courtyard to be a real soldier, and all that crowd didn't know what violence really was. So much appreciation ended up as a great understatement.
Like most of the times for over two years now, Aemond had begun to find Cole's weaknesses. He knew there was something different about the area because of the heads turned promptly in the seconds of the break.
The bastards. He saw the two dark-haired, blue-cloaked boys moving around the courtyard. Years ago they had been studying together with Cole in the same place, and though he had heard no more of them after they left, Aemond was absolutely certain that he would be able to surpass their skills with the sword. He would be able to surpass anyone, but that was no excuse for abandoning his apprenticeship. Ser Criston was an example, a great swordsman who was losing his powers with age, and yet Aemond won because he was already familiar, but not everyone would dare to face him.
When he finally had Ser Criston fully exposed, Aemond slowed and listened to the stupid applause. In the audience now stood his two nephews. Watching him, the older one with a look of admiration, the younger one...the younger one with fear. He was doing well.
"Well done, my prince..." Cole was catching his breath. "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."
"I don't give a shit about tourneys" another amusement, no, Aemond wasn't born for that. "Nephews... You've come for traine?"
The look on both of their faces confirmed what he already knew, and had it not been for the opening of the doors, he might have had the chance to make them eat dirt in a single moment.
But Vaemond Velaryon had stolen that chance. He and all his followers crossed the courtyard with airs of dignity, and Corlys's nephew did not miss the chance to cast a spiteful glance at Lucerys. At least Aemond could take that. From a distance he could see the young man grieve on the spot.
They had changed enough, both brothers. But no matter how much they stretched or matured, they still didn't have a single remotely blond hair. Young Luke retained the curls that had always characterised him as a boy, only slightly softer, and the brown had darkened. He had lost a lot of cheeks and Aemond wondered if that had taken away his privilege as a spoiled baby. Luke had begun to look like a man, something that should help Luke's understanding of himself as a venomous, evil critter.
~
When Luke returned to the old room, Jacaerys was still talking about Aemond. At no point had he paused to look at his brother, who could barely breathe properly, filled with nerves. In a matter of seconds, the young man had come face to face with a man whose right of succession he was about to take away, and a boy whose eye he had gouged out. The paper he had brought from Dragonstone lay crumpled inside his sleeve. It had been a miracle that the ink had not spread, but it was still there, where Lucerys had put it. He had read the note every night during the journey. And he still didn't know when to use it. Nor had he dared tell Rhaena, whom he considered a very good friend. And now was not a good time to tell her, as she found herself making up as much time as possible with her sister, Baela.
Jacaerys was right that Aemond had been impressive, but that detracted from the fixation he had had with them in the immediate aftermath. He did not understand the danger from someone who had been so alert, who had proved to be so skilled with weapons. He had found it hard to recognise. He was definitely a Targaryen, with that platinum hair and the eye patch. What he had struggled to recognize was the boy Lucerys had known. As a boy, Aemond moved with pacing, weariness, and though he had some arrogance, there was also some insecurity about him. Today he had seen the opposite of that. And though he had not yet seen Aegon, Luke was sure he did not look half as grown-up as his younger brother. He doubted he had changed his life. He had not even come down to greet them, as had been agreed. There were also a great many women surrounding the confrontation, and Luke doubted whether it was out of admiration for Cole or admiration for Aemond. He certainly looked like a fanciful gentleman, and from then on he thought he should be sympathetic to Jace. If he hadn't been the one to blame for his disability (though it could hardly be called that), Luke would have spent the afternoon reminiscing about the display of talent they'd just seen. Aemond would still be furious, and that had not assuaged Lucerys's suspicions. He was absolutely certain that Aemond wished to kill him.