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Chapter Text

Reference map of the Seven Kingdoms!

I did not create this map, and I am not in any way claiming it as my own work. All the credit is to whoever created this wonderful map (seriously, fantastic job). This is a map of Westeros in 301 AC, after House Targaryen got booted from their ruling status after Robert's Rebellion against the Mad King in 282 AC, so there are a lot of noble houses on here that don't exist at the time of the Dance of the Dragons (129-131 AC) or are missing due to other historical events (House Reyne would still be here, for example). However, I think it is a quite useful map to place locations in Westeros, and to see most of the general allegiances. All of the ruling Great Houses present on this map are correct, in regard to the areas of the constituent regions that they each control respectively. Plus, I think it's very a colorful and nice map to look at. I just decided to put this here in the story in case it helps anyone's imagination perk up when thinking about Westeros, or they want to get a quick look at where the locations are in this story (Highgarden, Lannisport, Pyke, etc.); that's what this map does for me!

I assume it will also be helpful for those that are fairly new to the Game of Thrones universe, and don't have too big of a grasp on the locations. Think of it as a painted table reference of sorts! The moment someone creates a detailed map like this for the House of the Dragon (HOTD) era in 129 AC, I am going to replace this map. 

I hope the new folks clicking on this for the first time enjoy reading this fanfiction! Now, onto the story! :)

Chapter Text

KING'S LANDING, CAPITAL OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS

RED KEEP

QUEEN'S BALLROOM

Ugh.

I'm drowning in here. 

Prince Aemond Targaryen was in yet another sour mood. The secondborn son of Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, he desperately tried to drown out the rampant chatter filling his ears—for all the good it did him. 

Aemond didn't favor court gatherings, no matter the reason or function. Not quite the oddity for him however, as much of a quiet boy that he so often was. Aemond's attendance to such gatherings always tied to his evergreen mother, Queen Alicent of House Hightower. She always instilled upon Aemond that appearances were important, and that they as royals had a duty to the realm; a duty to be present.

But even mindful justifications did not aid Aemond's mind.

The shroud of the night had long since enveloped the whole shining capital, as much as King's Landing could shine. 

The grand Queen’s Ballroom, built within the even grander tower of Maegor’s Holdfast, was littered with gossiping, colorful nobles, all attending a function hosted by the queen herself, a quite common occurance for the royal palace, as Queen Hightower was frequently the spearhead of any such events. 

Aemond took a glance down at the main longtable, and spotted his father, King Viserys, having been seated and looking amongst the crowd. The man wore a tired expression, with the crowd's noise seemingly making it worse for his patience. The Hand of the King, Aemond’s grandfather Otto Hightower, was standing next to his chair, keeping a watchful eye upon his king. Aemond watched as Otto leaned down to his king's ear, whispering about something. 

Aemond shook his head, once his thoughts began to drift towards his father's illness. 

King Viserys, as much power as he held within his grip, was just as subseptible to the ailements that could afflict any human. The king had long endured an odd wasting disease, one that had him slowly deteriorate as he continued to sit upon the Iron Throne. It began as a simple infection on his hand, and had erupted into a rancid wound that required two of the king's fingers to be removed. 

Aemond had gazed upon a detailed portrait of his father once before, proud and smiling, able to stand well on his own. He was almost in awe of how young and proud the man looked in the depiction, a stark contrast to how his father appeared in the current day. 

For as long as Aemond had been alive, the king suffered from his illness, with his hair constantly falling out in strands, and forced to use a cane to properly walk. Viserys spent many days at rest, too tired to strain himself to any strenuous length. Aemond had once overheard Grand Maester Orwyle—a fine, decent, and learned man of the Citadel of Oldtown—once consider severing Viserys' infected arm completely off as a recourse, as his condition had not turned for the better as they had hoped.

Thankfully, that did not come to pass, though Viserys' condition remained steady. The  illness' pursuit had since stalled for a while, perhaps by the grace of the Seven themselves.

But Aemond heard the whispers that echoed through the halls. It was only a matter of time before it begun again; inevitable, as all things were. 

Hrrmph. 

At least he can still laugh and be merry. 

Sometimes.

Aemond sighed to himself, scanning his eyes around the ballroom.

Much of the gathered nobles attending hailed from the Crownlands—the only kingdom of the united seven that swore its fealty and bannermen directly to the Iron Throne.

Aemond saw many of the attending familiar faces on a regular basis, as they often middling in royal court, weaving their way into the king's favor. 

As Aemond stood atop the second floor balcony and peered his eyes, he could spot many of the shiny brooches attached to the apparel of the frequenting nobility, each of them bearing the proud sigils of their respective houses. 

Lord Arthur Sunglass of Sweetport Sound, an aged man in his sixties, had a distinctive star-shaped brooch attached to his shoulder. Aemond often spotted the war galleys of House Sunglass when they sailed through Blackwater Bay. 

Lady Greta Buckwell, now the head of House Buckwell after the death of her husband, who supposedly fell off a cliffside, had a brooch in the shape of antlers, bright and gold; a harmonizing symbol of their house words, ‘Pride and Purpose’. 

Lord Bartimos Celtigar, the proud head of House Celtigar and Lord of Claw Isle—one of the last remaining Valyrian houses—had two parallel brooches of vertical golden diamonds on his person, with crabs engraved into the centers, both connected by a golden, shining chain. 

Lord Gunthor Darklyn, Lord of the Dun Fort, a large coastal city on the Crownlands' seaside, was in conversation with his wife, Lady Meredyth Chelsted. Gleaming on his person was a silver brooch of seven escutcheons—the striking and well-known sigil of House Darklyn, denoting how many Darklyns had been accepted into the Kingsguard; enough to total the brotherhood guard in all of its slots.

Aemond thought it was quite sweet how Gunthor was showing his wife open and eager affection, the aged, thin, and bearded man seeming a dutiful and respectful husband. 

Aemond could not spot his eldest son, Steffon Darklyn, one of the seven Kingsguard, with the boy assuming he had been posted elsewhere.

Lord Nelucce Stokeworth, Lord of Castle Stokeworth—or the Lord of Large Mustaches as Aemond often thought of him—had a brooch in the shape of a golden goblet attached to his deep green sash. Aemond assumed that Nelucce was not so prideful with the lambs sported on his banners, perhaps having been mocked for it in the past. 

Lord Palmer Cargyll wore a brooch in the shape of a golden goose, and he wore it without a hint of shame on his aged face in stark contrast to Lord Nelucce. The proud father of the twins Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, both esteemed members of the Kingsguard and two of the more incredible knights in Westeros, wore fantastic, extravagant robes, threaded red-and-black as in line with his flashy house banner. The man’s striking white hair and beard seemed to have been grown out for years on end. 

Aemond knew each and every house sigil and words by name—from as far as the Starks of Winterfell, to as low as the Goodbrothers of the Iron Islands. As a prince growing up under the ruling Targaryen dynasty, studies were of the utmost importance, and that meant learning all he could, no matter how small the detail. Since Aemond was studious by nature, it caught his interest to actually learn them all. 

But even so, that did not mean Aemond favored the nobles that frequented the Red Keep. Aemond could naught forget that nearly everyone around him was vying for a chance to get near the Iron Throne. 

All the smiles.

All the kind words.

All were laced with ambition. 

All for that stupid, ugly iron chair.

As crude and jagged as the Iron Throne was, with its melted swords and sharp edges, none could deny its power. It was coveted far and wide for a good reason. Few men know the grace of absolute authority in their hands. It seemed a natural thing for most to seek out such power themselves. 

Aemond however, did not seek power. 

In the line of succession of the royal family, the Targaryen prince was sixth in line to the Iron Throne. So close, but yet so far. 

To a more ambitious or cruel lord, like the disdained and reviled King Maegor Targaryen of the past, they might see it as an opportunity to eliminated the ones ahead, and claim the Iron Throne and its kingdoms for themselves. Maegor had done such a thing himself, killing his own nephew in a climatic battle above the God's Eye in the Riverlands. The stain Maegor left upon Westeros had never faded, and every child still knew his name. 

The Targaryen boy had concluded one thing about the christened Maegor the Cruel—he had indeed changed the rules. 

Aemond was content with his place in the royal line, and heconcluded himself far too reserved and discreet to enjoy a life of ruling with a crown atop his head. 

Even with his illness battering him, King Viserys remained an active ruler, being so involved in the day-to-day running of the Kingdom, mediating the complaints of this high lord and that one.

But such duty meant he had limited time spent for his actual family, an unfortunate reality that pained Aemond frequently. 

Aemond dropped his eyes as the plump Lord Hollard looked his way, not wishing to make direct eye contact with anyone below. Aemond had been standing in the same corner for what felt like ages, unsure of what exactly to do with himself.

He was a decent way from most of the chatter, but he didn't see an opening to sneak out quietly. Someone would ask where he was going, and Aemond wanted to avoid even being noticed. He felt like hiding underneath his hood, but he knew it would not be proper of him to raise his cloak in such an event. 

Watching group of nobles below cheer about something, Aemond thumbed his fine robes for a moment, letting his fingers feel the silk. The whole of Aemond’s attire was of a striking, defined green, with his cloak long enough to reach just past his knees. 

Though Aemond bore the name Targaryen, his relation to House Hightower could never be denied.

House Hightower, the self-proclaimed Beacon of the South and Defender of the Citadel, was one of the more mighty noble houses in Westeros. Maintaining a significant amount of influence in the Reach, the most populous region of the country, known as the breadbasket of the kingdoms, the reach of the Hightowers was deep, deep enough to reach as far as the frozen North.

Though House Hightower remained a vassal under House Tyrell's rule, who served as Lord Paramounts of The Reach, House Hightower was no mere vassal. Having control of Oldtown, Westeros' second largest city and its southermost port, and the Citadel, the university of academics of which all houses obtained a studious maester, the Hightowers were more seen a permanent institution than nobility.

House Hightower could also field far more men than the Tyrells could directly, and together with all the houses of the Reach, the Hightowers made up close to half of the region's bannermen.

House Hightower had married into the Targaryen line before, when Maegor the Cruel took Ceryse Hightower as his wife, bedding her when he was just thirteen years of age. Their union however, bore them no children; a fault of black magic according to some maesters.

Such a predicament might have stained the Hightower name for generations, if not for the outrage Maegor had caused by taking multiple wives in an effort to replace Ceryse's failure.

With Queen Alicent Hightower giving birth two four Targaryen children, their influence was all but secure. Marrying directly into the royal family line granted them substantial stacks of influence and power unlike whay they had enjoyed prior. House Hightower was further aided by the presence of Otto Hightower, who had served as Hand of the King for over two decades, advising both the Old King Jaehaerys, and the current ruling King Viserys I. 

House Hightower's deepening involvement in the Red Keep had led to a notable split within the royal court. Two unofficial factions—the blacks and the greens—had emerged in the passing years, with the political divide having been fairly defined since Aemond had been a small child.

The greens of the court followed Queen Alicent Hightower, maintaining her circle of influence. Though they had no particular base, many of the greens' factional members hailed from the Westerlands and the southern regions of the Reach. 

As a mirror, The blacks of the court followed Princess Rhaenyra, Aemond's very own half-sister, backing her claim as heir to the Iron Throne and Lady of the Realm. 

The split members of court would denote themselves by wearing bands on their shiny brooches, green and black respectively, for whatever side they so chose. Though Aemond would think it obvious, King Viserys either did not understand or did not mind, with Aemond unable to recall a moment of him having mentioned it. 

Aemond glanced over and spotted the very Princess Rhaenyra sitting at a cloth-draped table. She was smiling brightly as she conversed with Lord Allun Caswell, the calm and kind Lord of Bitterbridge in the Reach—and one of the members of the party of the princess. Aemond's eyes focused on her shadowy black dress, the detailed embroidery and metalwork so striking that even he could see from a distance away. 

Rhaenyra’s situation was most certainly an unusual one. 

She had remained the stated heir to the Iron Throne for over a decade—the first woman to do so in the history of the Seven Kingdoms—whilst Viserys had a firstborn son. Many had assumed she would be replaced as heir upon Aegon's birth, but she had not been supplanted after all. Though the greens did not openly question the king's unbending decision, with much of the hostility confined to whispers, they certainly did behind closed doors.

Aemond heard plenty of it himself, he was no fool, and he was always listening. 

Aemond groaned as he listened to the spat beyond the wall, pressing his ear to the stone. 

"Spoiled cunt." Ser Criston Cole grumbled. 

"Rhaenyra spurns the whole of us, and she expects our fervor for her claim!?" Lord Jasper Wylde complained. 

" Ba-ha! Ridiculous! If she believes us her savior in support, she is sorely mistaken." 

Aemond didn't care for such filth.

Rhaenyra was his elder half-sister, and in his eyes she seemed plenty fit for the task of Queen; her parts did not make any difference. 

Though they lived under the same roof, and though they were decent with one another, neither were particularly close. Both were in far different scales of life, with Rhaenyra more than double his age. 

Perhaps they were too far apart in age and life's course to really understand each other on a deeper level.

And perhaps that was alright.

Despite that, Aemond respected her as both a Princess and his sister. Rhaenyra was one of the first who had taught him their native Valyrian tongue, though Aemond taught most of what he had learned to himself. 

Aemond glanced around the ballroom again, his eyes stopping at two notable, dark-skinned silver-haired girls, conversing over a round table with a defined blue cloth.

They were Rhaena and Baela Targaryen, both daughters of Prince Daemon Targaryen—or Rhaena and Baela of Pentos, as they were more commonly known by.

Their late mother, Laena Velaryon, a proud and strong dragonrider had been deceased for some time, with Aemond having attended her funeral over six years ago. The two had then been placed as wards to House Velaryon by their father, being raised under the Velaryon household until they grew of age—to which their majorities were fast approaching.

Both were seasoned dragonriders, and both were fierce. 

Baela was wearing one of her staunch black dresses, the color light in texture, which contrasted with the defined blood red designs across the material. Even from far enough away, Aemond could spot her golden necklace—one that was shaped in the form of a rising sun. As she was wearing a black shoal, so she likely was a bit too cool even in the middle of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Aemond took a glance at Rhaena Targaryen, recalling oncemore why many often confused her with a young Laena, as his her very own mother had stepped out of the grave. She was wearing a gleaming golden dress in opposition to her sister, with it ending at just above her chest with an even brighter golden ruffle. Her silver hair was taken out of its dreads like Aemond had seen her last, letting most of her silver curly hair down past her waist. She had a peculiar golden necklace on her person, one that bent in three different circles, almost like a triumvirate. 

Aemond was certain it once belonged to Laena Velaryon herself. 

"You drunken fool. You're dripping it all over the table!" 

"Wait—wait, I got this, Jace. No—fuck, stop spilling!"

Aemond sighed, looking in the direction of where the particular conversation had erupted. 

Of course.

Those two. 

It was his older brother, Aegon Targaryen, and his elder nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon, the firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and second-in-line to the Iron Throne. Aegon had filled his wine glass full to the brim, balancing it towards his mouth, and clearly failing in the process. 

Drunken idiot. 

Both of them. 

Aemond could readily admit that Aegon and Jacaerys' strong friendship completely threw a sword in the greens' attempts at dividing the court.

No matter what anyone said, and no matter how many times anyone said it, Aegon blatantly refused to separate himself from Jacaerys for any reason. The two practically slept in each other's rooms on the frequent, spending their nights drinking, playing dice, and getting up to other foolish, irritaring shenanigans that they so favored. 

The times when all of the royal children would gather in one of their rooms, usually for a common night's sleepover, Jace and Aegon were always tussling around, rough housing each other as drunken idiots. 

Looking up from his book, Aemond absentmindedly watched Jace and Aegon as they wrestled rough, the two having been tangled in a flurry of limbs as the Velaryon and Targaryen scrambled for dominance over the other. 

"Urrrf!" Jace grunted, as he was swiftly picked up by Aegon and tackled, thrown roughly on his back after having been knocked off from straddling his waist. 

"...You good?" Aegon asked, looking down at his nephew with concern. 

Jace nodded, panting, his tired eyes meeting his uncle's. "Y-yeah. I'm fine. You just slammed me a bit." 

Aemond shook his head, whispering to himself.

"...Idiots." 

It took Jace a bit of growing before he could finally best Aegon. 

Though they were politically opposed, Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent found cokmon cause in managing the leash for their elder sons, but the two always found a way to slip out of their grasp, one way or another. 

Aemond amusingly recalled how angry their mother had once been, when Aegon had decided on a whim to fly atop his dragon all the way toDragonstone without permission, just in order to see Jacaerys, as he had grown lonley with his absense in court, as Princess Rhaenyra took leaves of absence to attend her duties as Princess of Dragonstone, usually solving petty disputes among merchants. 

Aemond was quite sure then that the volume of his mother's screams put dents in the brick of the keep's walls. She screamed even worse when Aegon first flew atop his Sunfyre horribly drunk—something he still did from time to time. 

Aegon, as an older brother commonly was, was quite taller than Aemond. Though Aemond had been growing more recently, he was still shorter than many of the noble boys his age. Aemond was often annoyef at how easy it was for Aegon to pet him on the head; an amusing thing for his older brother, and an irritating resignation for him. 

"Augh! Stop it!" Aemond whined, swiping Aegon's hand away. "You're messing up my hair! Now I have to brush it again." 

"Oh, don't be such a broken stick!" Aegon complained, ruffling Aemond's hair oncemore. 

"Stop it!" Aemond whined. 

Aegon was very much a free spirit, and renouned connoisseur of spirits and drink. Almost every tavern, inn, and bar that was worth a damn in King's Landing knew him by his drinks of choice alone.

Not only was Aegon famed in King's Landing for his drinking, but he was also known for his lovemaking.

Aemond hadn't known when Aegon had lost his first—nor did he want to know. But clearly Aegon was long past a novice, so much so that Aemond couldn't begin to pin down a guess. Aegon often snuck out of the Red Keep to frequent the high-end brothels on the Street of Silk, sometimes bringing girls back to his bed, and sometimes even convincing some of the serving girls to sleep with him. 

Aemond, with his room adjacent to Aegon's, even with both separated in their respective suites, would sometimes have to cover his ears with his pillows, as Aegon's headboard knocked against his wall—usually when he was far too drunk to realize how loud he was. 

"Yah!" Aemond roared, kicking in Aegon's door.

Aemond would've been horrified had he been in a better mood, but he was far too enraged to think clearly. Aegon and whatever serving girl he was bedding quickly covered themselves up, grabbing hold of the scattered blankets around Aegon's bed. 

"Aemond!" Aegon yelped. "What the Seven hells?" 

Aemond growled. "'What the Seven hells'?! How about you ram your serving girl QUIETER?! I am trying to sleep!"

To Aemond's annoyance, Aegon's expression dropped. 

"....Well you don't have to be so rude about it." 

"Fuck. You." Aemond muttered, rolling his eyes as he closed Aegon's door with a slam. 

Aemond was grateful that their walls were thick enough to where noise was mostly negligible.  

Aemond refused to understand how Aegon could be so comfortable with lovemaking, and making love with scores of girls and women as he did. To Aemond, the activity seemed quite the frightening prospect, certainly nothing he could ever have with so many. But perhaps that was a part of an already held hesitation towards girls. 

"You'll learn to bed girls like me one day, little brother." Aegon teased, ruffling Aemond's silver hair. 

"We'll soon both fuck our way through the Streets of Silk." 

"Argh! Stop messing up my hair!" Aemond complained, pushing Aegon away, making his older brother laugh. "And no! Absolutely not! You're gross!" 

Tye eponymous prince was most certainly no Aegon The Conqueror, but he made up for that loss of namesake with an incredibly happy personality. Aegon always wanted to get drunk, spent time lovemaking at brothels, or find new and innovative ways to make the nobles at royal court spin their heads. 

In another stupid foolish act Aemond could recall, Aegon had teamed up with the king's fool—the dwarf known as Mushroom—to roll barrels of rotten eggs down the winding staircases of the Red Keep, leading to stained and ruined silk clothes, loud screaming, a messy cleanup, and a harsh reprimand from their mother. 

"Dammit, Aegon!" Alicent roared. "Eggs?! EGGS?! What in the Mother's good name is wrong with you?! Why can't you act ever like a proper Prince of your station?!" 

Aegon consistently drew the ire of their mother, mostly due to Aegon's lack of proper etiquette, or proper anything. 

Due to his excessive consumption, Aemond wondered how Aegon had such a strong bond with his golden-rainbow steed, Sunfyre. Their bond however, seemed one that lacked any true worldly explanation, and certainly not one Aemond could ever analyze properly.

Despite Aegon's ridiculous and inflated sort of nature, he was a good big brother to Aemond, in that protective sort of manner. 

Aemond recalled when his older brother had gone as far as to snap a whip to the back of one teasing noble child, a Bar Emmon boy, who had cruelly thrown sand in Aemond's eyes for a laugh.

" Yah! " Aegon roared, snapping the whip at the young Bar Emmon heir. The plump Duram Bar Emmon squealed in terror as Aegon continued to chase him. 

"You'd best fucking run as far south as south goes! Yah!" 

Aemond watched as Aegon drank the full of his wine in one gulp, sighing in annoyance watching his older brother. He patted Jace on the back in victorious spirit, the dark-haired Velaryon laughing with him.

Aemond was not close with Jacaerys Velaryon, but he thought well of him. Even if Jacaerys fell to similar vices as Aegon, he still remained studious and proper in most instances. Jace had recently hit a growth spurt, and now stood as tall as his eldest uncle and close friend. 

Aemond almost couldn't recall how unsure of himself Jacaerys used to seem, the small boy in too-big training armor that he once was.

Out of the four eldest boys in the royal family, Jace demonstrated some of the best promise with sword fighting, and he was getting better with every bout in the training yard. Aemond himself had trouble sparring with Jace, only lucky to end at draws in most cases. 

Perhaps Jacaerys would be knocking fully-grown knights off their horses soon enough. 

"Brother!" a tiny voice shouted from below. 

Aemond's eyes followed the loud squeak, smiling slightly as he finally laid eyes upon the boy. Joffrey Velaryon, Rhaenyra's thirdborn son, was running on quick feet towards Jacaerys, carrying a wooden dromond toy in his hand, one with a red and white sail and at least ten tiny oars.

"Hey, little brother—ack, you're so heavy!" Jace groaned, as Joffrey practically jumped into his lap. 

"Brother!" Joffrey cheered, kicking his feet. "Look at this! Mister Derry gave it to me!" 

"Lord Derry." Jace gently corrected. 

"Right." Joffrey agreed. 

“It’s a very nice toy, Joff.” Jace said, admiring the toy ship. “You should show this to Luke; maybe then he’ll be able to sail such a tiny thing without hurling. Hahahahaha!”

Aemond smiled, watching the tiny Velaryon giggle with his older brother. The Targaryen boy thought nothing but fond things of Joffrey.

Only eight years old, the little boy carried the aura of a child's spirit, cutting a sharp edge through the political tension that enveloped the Red Keep. He was destined to be a dragonrider like his siblings, though the egg in his cradle did not hatch unlike his older two brothers. He kept the egg in his room in a pyre, sometimes carrying it around with him. 

It surely would only be a matter of time. 

Joffrey hadn’t often spent much time alone with Aemond, but even so, Joffrey did seem to have a sort of strange a fixation on his older uncle, for whatever reason that was; perhaps the boy just enjoyed Aemond’s quiet demeanor, or perhaps he found things more interesting when they were afar. 

Aemond remembered Rhaenyra allowing him to hold Joffrey as a baby, not too long after he was born. 

"This is your big uncle Aemond, little one...” Rhaenyra cooed, looking down at her newborn son, as Joffrey was staring at Aemond curiously, as an infant child does.

Aemond made sure to keep his arms steady, as he protectively held the tiny Velaryon. 

“Hello, Joffrey.” Aemond said quietly. 

Joffrey had grown old enough to begin training with swords in the pits, though he was only allowed wooden swords— something that Aemond and the rest had long since graduated from—under the tutelage of Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard.

Aemond hoped both he and Joffrey would grow into fine warriors. 

Looking away and closing his eyes, Aemond let the strings of the harps and violins fill his ears for a moment, before renewed chatter drowned out a good portion of the music. 

"Lady Elinor is showing her belly once more." Lord Gylver said to Lord Wallace Merryweather, the Lord of Longtable in the Reach.

"Seems she has more breeding to do, hmmph." 

Aemond knew little of Lord Merryweather, but he seemed to have a stalwart reputation as a significant lord in the Reach. 

“I hear Lord Rosby’s daughter has been promised to one of Ser Akram's squire.” Lord Spencer Mallery said to another crownlands lord, albeit a very minor one.

Aemond noticed that Lord Mallery didn’t have any identifying white stars or violent-threaded attire, seemingly keeping his person down in the shadows, after the shame placed upon his house due to his brother Raymond Mallery’s defection from the Kingsguard, a consequence that led him to a lifetime sentence to the Wall in the farthest reaches of the North.

Even with a King so hated as Maegor, it was seen an incredible dishonor for a Kingsguard to abandon their sacred trust for any reason but death.  

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Ridiculous! Even his sellswords are dull men! That’ll be the day!" 

Aemond eyed the obnoxious Riverlands lord boasting. He assumed it must have been the Lord Vance of Atranta, but he couldn’t be sure, as the head of the house had a twin brother who shared his exact same features, and the two were commonly confused together. 

“It has been good to have you back with us, Lord Strong.” Lord Beesbury praised, tapping the man in question on the shoulder. 

“I’ve been back to the capital for two days, Lord Beesbury.” Lyonel Strong corrected. 

“....You first greeted me then.”

“....Oh. That’s right.” Lord Beesbury remembered. 

Lord Beesbury of Honeyholt was the Master of Coin for King Viserys’ small council. Aemond, of course, was not alive to see him in his prime, but he had apparently been a much more booksmart and sharp man when he had his mind. Now, he had aged quite a bit, and his sharpness had long since dulled, though he was apparently still quite good with numbers.

Lord Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws, was a notable lord from the Riverlands, having charge of the castle pf Harrenhal, the old and ruined stronghold of House Hoare, before it was bathed in Balerion’s fire by Aegon the Conqueror himself. Even as a spectacular, unmanageable ruin, it still held the title as the largest castle in Westeros.

House Strong had a stellar history, and dound itself often involved in the Targaryen dynasty. Lyonel’s aged uncle, Ser Simon Strong, had six grandsons and seven granddaughters, all of which were set to become involved in Red Keep politics as they were nearing close to their majorities; the young Bentheon Strong in particular.

Lyonel’s sons, Harwin and Larys Strong, were both involved members of royal court, with Ser Harwin as Lord Commander of the City Watch, the law enforcement body of King’s Landing, and Larys serving as both Master of Whisperers and Lord Confessor. Ser Harwin spent a significant amount of time in the Red Keep despite his duties as Lord Commander, with the Targaryen boy finding his face a common one.

Aemond thought him an admirable man, especially since he was such a fine, incredible warrior. Aemond remembered how easily Harwin had lifted him when he was smaller. Harwin wore the nickname of "Breakbones’ due to his reputation as one of, if not the, strongest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Harwin was also Rhaenyra’s champion, and frequented the princesses' circle.

Larys Strong, in contrast to his elder brother, was much more of mysterious and clouded figure. Though he seemingly never much left the Red Keep, he somehow had information from all over the Seven Kingdoms, with Aemond concluding that he had an incredible network of spies and confidants, one that remained invisible.  

Aemond could understand little how a man so silent could have such a large reach.

"The Iron Islanders are such a petty and small people. Too busy fighting over spoils they can't bear to make themselves. Dalton Greyjoy is a menace, as is the rest of his band of up-jumped pirates. He claims he is not responsible for the raids upon the Northern shorelines, but we all know the truth. With the Seven willing, I hope the Starks manage to give them their proper due."

Aemond turned to the voice of Lady Anabel of House Fell, one of the principle bannermen of the Great House Baratheon in the Stormlands. Aemond thought she seemed like a sweet lady, one certainly proud of her house. The Targaryen boy could spot the silver crescent moon necklace she was wearing, one that gleamed in the candle light dotting the ballroom. 

"The Triarchy will try us again, that is for certain," Lord Hamming of the Spike said to another noble. "Daemon did not eliminate their spirit in full; it still stews in the pot. We must be ready for anything. The King would be wise to keep both eyes open." 

Aemond groaned in defeat, choosing to cease fiddling with his fingers. 

Ugh. Bah with all this chatter. 

I need something to eat. 

There was no shortage of foods available at the ballroom gathering; lots of appetizers and small dishes were placed on the gathering tables, including larger meals atop the long tables where many nobles were seated. Aemond had avoided eating for the duration of gathering, seeking to sulk instead, but it was then he could no longer deny his stomach. 

On soft feet, Aemond quietly stepped down the back stairway, his eyes lowering as he passed a couple of red-armored Targaryen knights. Aemond tepidly walked past Ser Erryk of the Kingsguard, the man giving the boy a small nod within his silver helmet. He made it to a small table in a corner of the ballroom, which hosted a delightfully steamy tray of bread rolls. 

Oh, how beautiful. 

Aemond took one of the bread rolls and quickly bit into it. He was pleased by how warm and delicious the stuffed cheese and tomato sauce was within the bread. 

"Mmmm..." Aemond hummed to himself, stuffing the rest in his mouth, and opting to grab another. Aemond tried to keep his chewing steady, but his hunger was betraying his calm. 

So good. 

I love food. 

Aemond grabbed one of the several glassed of hippocras that was left on the table, drinking from it and grimacing from the sweet taste. 

Ick. 

I wish I had cider instead. 

Aemond’s eyes drew to a boy walking across the ball room, his bright red cloak fluttering with his steps. Aemond knew the ten-and-five boy to be Arthor Celtigar, the youngest of the sons of Bartimos Celtigar.

His silver hair was shorter than Aemond’s, still long and reaching past his neck, but certainly much more shaggy. Aemond noticed he wore the same golden brooches like his father did, like a copy. Aemond knew very little of Arthor, or even House Celtigar for that matter, but he knew that Arthor was known to be quiet just like he.  

Arthor was the unsual pride of House Celtigar, as he had a dragon born to him, from an egg gifted to House Celtigar from House Targaryen. Urrax—having taken its name from a tale of legend—was a dragon of medium build, not so far off in size from Jacaerys' jungle-green dragon, Vermax. It apparently had unique features, including large, blood red frills on the sides of his head, as well as a long neck, and piercing eyes of deep orange.

Its scales were supposedly of a deep scarlet, which perhaps was fitting, since the banners of House Celticar bore striking red-shelled crabs. 

Aemond had never once seen the dragon, with it having spent most of its time nested on Claw Isle, away from much of the activity in the Crownlands. With Urrax having not accompanied to Celtigars to King's Landing, Aemond assumed perhaps Arthor did not much ride the dragon, either. 

Focusing back on the food, Aemond grabbed another stuffed bread roll, stuffing it in his mouth. He enjoyed chewing it, savoring the flavor of the cheese and tomato as he swallowed it. He was about to grab another stuffed roll, before he was interrupted. 

"....Prince Aemond?" a voice said behind him. 

"W-wha?" Aemond mumbled with a full mouth, spinning around and hiding his chewing underneath a hand. 

Aemond's eyes settled upon Patricia Redwyne, the young granddaughter of Lady Joselyn, who ruled as the head of House Redwyne after her late husband Paxter Redwyne passed away years ago.

Around Aemond's age, she had sun-kissed skin, owing to her living on the Arbor, as well as bright orange hair, a contrast from her grandmother's aged white strands. Her dress was a deep blue, with more fine designs in a darker burgundy, owing to the sigil of her house; a grape cluster on a field of blue. 

"Oh! Uh, um, m-My Lady!" Aemond stammered, apologizing. "I—I am s-sorry for my lack of e-etiquette."

Asmond chewing quickly, sinking a bit into his glass of hippocras. He swiped a stray piece of herb that had gotten stuck on his cheek, feeling said cheek heat like a furnace.

Patricia smiled at him, seemingly amused. 

"No need for such apologies, My Prince. I interrupted you, did I not?" 

Aemond shrugged, not answering. 

Patricia gave him a curious look before continuing. "Might I ask what a Targaryen prince is doing, spending their time alone at such a fine gathering?"

Aemond met her eyes briefly but dropped them, putting his glass down and fiddling with his fingers. 

"I…I don't know. I…I'm not…I'm not much an enjoyer of these sorts of events."

Patricia smiled. "Neither am I, truth to be told. You should see how boring these gatherings get on the Arbor."

Aemond nodded, still nervous with having to talk with anyone, especially one he didn't know much about. 

"I love your white hair. So kingly." Patricia said suddenly. 

Aemond sighed. 

It's silver. 

Not white.

"....Thank you, M-my Lady." Aemond stammered, clearing his throat. "Your hair looks…marvelous as well."

Patricia grinned, seemingly blushing from the statement. 

It was right then and there that it clicked in Aemond's mind. 

Someone had sent Patricia over to come speak with Aemond. It wasn't Lady Joselyn Redwyne herself, seeing as she was currently nestled back at the Arbor, so the young prince quickly deduced it was on the part of his mother and grandfather. 

Of course. 

What better than a powerful fleet on the sway of the greens?

Marrying a Targaryen was certainly all the rage throughout the Kingdoms. Noble girls and boys dreamt of the day they could marry into the Targaryen line—it seemed everyone wanted a dragon and Valyrian blood for their offspring, as the histories only showed how incredible leap of power such an honor was for one's house. 

However, Aemond never much took a liking to any of the maidens that were sent his way, the many times it had happened before.

The girls were decent and kind, pretty and notable, and he treated them with respect and royal courtesy, but they never lit any sort of spark inside of him worth pursuing. 

For all Aemond had learned, he had never known himself to be anything but nervous and uncomfortable around girls, not knowing what to say to them. 

The only girl Aemond was truly comfortable with was his sister. 

Aemond briefly glanced back at his sister in a separate corner of the ballroom, the silver-haired girl having kneeled down, clearly playing with a spider of sorts in her hands. Aemond was certain she was dirtying her dress—one in the color of emerald green like his own attire—but she clearly didn't mind.  

Helaena Targaryen was a unique girl in all aspects. To have an expectation for Helaena, was to not know her. She was not particularly sociable, very much like Aemond himself. Both Aemond and Helaena spent much of their time together, the two having understood each other's quiet and reserved natures. 

Both would often settle in the Red Keep's expansive library together, with Aemond sinking into books, and Helaena admiring her favorite bugs. He often read her stories, some of which she was clearly disinterested in, but she listened to all regardless. 

Though she perhaps was timid more so than other noble girls her age, Helaena was no weathervane. She was a dragonrider, being the rider of Dreamfyre, a large pale-blue dragon that had hatched during the days of Aegon The Conqueror. Dreamfyre was the largest of the dragons housed within the Dragonpit currently, a feat that perplexed many, confused by how Helaena had even bonded with Dreamfyre to start without losing her life in the attempt.

Helaena was not betrothed to another, just like Aemond was. Though boys certainly pined for the idea of princesses, lords seemed to show some hesitancy with her to propose an offer, seemingly viewing her as a fairly odd bug. Helaena's fascination with insects of all kinds, regardless of their admittedly revolting nature, also drew much issue with the more pompous lords and their younger, pompous offspring. 

Aemond did not mind his sister's quirks; in fact, he found it made her quite striking of an individual. Aemond would often find her new insects that he caught around the Red Keep, to support his sister's interest, the same way she supported his reading habits. 

"Yuck! Ick! Gross, gross, gross, gross!"

Aemond shuddered in horror as the giant beetle in his hands buzzed its wings, certainly trying to escape its prison. Aemond ran quickly, beginning to practically fly up the stairs towards Helaena's chambers. 

"Ack! STOP MOVING! Just a little bit more, Aemond! Just a little bit more!"

Above all, Helaena had a good and kind heart, though she certainly had her moments of sarcastic flare. 

"Shall we dance, My Prince?" Patricia asked, offering her hand. 

Aemond froze, shaking his head. "I…I don't know. I am not very g-good at it."

Don't make me go out there. 

Please. 

"Oh, come now!" Patricia encouraged. "I'm sure you're quite fine! And if not, practice aids perfection, am I right?" 

Aemond gasped as Patrica grabbed his hand, beginning to pull him towards the center of the room. Aemond felt himself dragging the heels of his boots. 

"Wait, wait, w-wait—" Aemond began. 

Patrica didn't even look back at him, still intent on dragging him to the floor. 

No!

I can't!

Too many people!

Patricia began pulling Aemond through a crowd of nobles. The boy apologized as he bumped into a cluster of them, earning stern looks from many of them. 

Patricia was holding onto Aemond's hand so tight that even when he tried to pull away, it felt like he was stuck in a vice grip. Aemond began putting effort into pulling away, seeking to duck away from Patricia in the crowd of nobles. 

Let go!

Let go!

Let go!

LET GO!

The anxiety was too great. Aemond finally freed his hand from her grip, quickly ducking between a crowd of more nobles, earning more puzzled looks. 

"Aemond? Where did you go?" Patricia asked from a widening distance, seeking out where he had slipped away to. 

Aemond didn't answer her call, ducking behind a table and crawling under it. Aemond knew that it was beyond uncourteous, but he wanted to get away from the Redwyne girl as quickly as possible. 

Aemond sighed, embarrassed how he was on all fours underneath a table. He waited for a decent while, until he finally thought he heard Patricia scurry off. 

I'm such an idiot. 

And a coward. 

But I…I don't like her! 

It wasn't right.

"… Aemond?" a low voice asked. "Is that you? What are you doing under there?" 

"Ah!" Aemond squeaked, when he heard the very close voices right next to his ear, whipping his head in that direction.

Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, and the head of House Velaryon, as well as his esteemed wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, were staring back at him. The two had pulled up the table cloth to see the boy hiding out like a fool, probably having seen him crawl under it from the start.

Lord Corlys was wearing one of his fancier robes, threaded with gold, and with a silver hippocampus on the chest. House Velaryon was the richest noble house in Westeros, equal to only the Red Keep's coffers, something of which Lord Corlys made often known with his splendid flare of dress. He had an imposing nature, tall and dark-skinned with long silver dreads, denoting his heritage from the Summer Isles. 

Rhaenys' dress was just as gold as Corlys' attire, though with plenty more colorful jewels. Her black hair, streaked with a bold silver line, was tied back, almost as if she was preparing to ride on dragonback at a moment's notice. 

House Velaryon was one of the few Valyrian families that survived the Doom, the apocalyptic event that destroyed the Valyrian Freehold for all time. Due to Corlys' excessive influence on both the sea and that of the Seven Kingdoms, he was a long defined member of King Viserys' small council, being the Master of Ships and admiral of the Royal Fleet, owing to his powerful reputation as a legendary captain and admiral.

Aemond couldn't help but admire Corlys, the boy in awe of a man with so much power, and so much of it built by his own hand. 

Rhaenys Targaryen did not wear the name Velaryon, but her marriage within it only earned the house more distinction. Rhaenys was a Princess of the Targaryen dynasty, and the rider of Meleys, a scarlet-scaled, spiked dragon that was one of the largest living. Her signature black hair was just as defining as her steed, a distinct trait from her Baratheon lineage.

Princess Rhaenys was now an aged woman, but she still held her defining flare, still an incredible dragonrider in her later years.

She had once been a contender for the Iron Throne, the same as Rhaenyra was now as heir. The Queen Who Never Was, many often called her, and depending on who said it would be the determination of whether Princess Rhaenys would take offense. 

Aemond only knew bits and pieces from the Great Council of 101AC, but what he knew for sure, was that Rhaenys got rejected by a wide margin in favor of his father—or so the tale goes. Though he had studied as much as he could, much of the records of the council were sealed, their documents remaining in the Citadel's deep vaults. 

Aemond quickly scrambled out from under the table, bowing to both Corlys and Rhaenys with beet-red cheeks. 

"I…I am so sorry! I…I don’t k-know what I was d-doing…uh…I was hiding…sorry…I'm an idiot…s-sorry." 

Rhaenys looked to Corlys for a moment—who still held an utterly confused expression on his face—before smiling at Aemond. 

"It's alright, dear. Though, you might not want to dirty your clothes like that."

Aemond nodded, still feeling the embarrassment on his cheeks. 

"Y-yes, grandam." 

Rhaenys was in actuality Aemond's grandcousin, but grandam was the more fitting title for a woman so worthy of respect. 

Aemond noticed some noble eyes begin to glance his way, feeling even more embarrassed than he already had been. 

“I–If you’ll excuse me.” Aemond stammered, walking away from the Lord of the Tides and the Queen Who Never Was. 

I am such a fucking idiot. 

Now what is everyone going to think of me?

Can the Seven strike me down for being such a nunce? 

Looking around, Aemond felt relief with no Patricia in sight, clearly having lost sight the boy. Feeling more eyes on him, Aemond quickly scurried out towards one of the back entrances, making his escape from the gathering. Almost running into a violinist by mistake in the process, he ducked under a curtain covering the doorway. 

Aemond felt his cheeks heat up, as his green cloak whipped from his brisk pace. 

I just need to get away.

Just get away.

_______________________________________________________

LATER

OUTSIDE

HIGH CLIFF WALL OF THE RED KEEP

It’s a nice night, at least.

Aemond pressed his palms on the rough stone ledge of the high seawall, watching the waves crash mildly at the bottom.

He had successfully fled the ballroom gathering, and saw fit to spend some time outside alone, letting the moon shine over him, the night air kissing his skin. He released his hair tie, letting his silver mane fall all the way down to its length, which reached just at the small of his back. He had settled on a far section of the high seawall overlooking Blackwater Bay, one that protected the Red Keep from any rough incursions from the sea, especially during the terrible storms that would sometimes hit the city. 

Aemond ruffled through his pockets, picking out a particular item that he had carried with him.

It was a king piece, the most important unit in the game of cyvasse; the one that was to be protected the most. Cyvasse was one of Aemond’s favorite games, mainly because it considered a significant deal of strategy. The king piece could only move one space at a time, and with it being the intended piece for the other player to capture, it was the most vulnerable on the board.

This particular king model was made out of Valyrian steel, polished enough to see its ripples gleam under the moonlight. It felt cool in the palm of his hand, and the carved crown at the top of the piece dug into his skin when he closed his fist; something he sometimes did when he became too stressed.

Aemond took a glance back at the Red Keep, stretching and leaning on his arms. The pale, red-stoned castle was quite the place for Aemond to call home. The Red Keep was so large it stood at least fifty stories high—with Aemond’s suite and room on one of the highest floors in Maegor’s Holdfast, in the lofty royal apartments. Despite it being quite the climb from the library to his room, Aemond enjoyed looking out his window, sitting in the windowsill and observing everything below.

Living in a tower so high that it touched the clouds. 

Aemond had no real understanding of what it felt like to be on dragonback, but that was likely the closest he’d ever get to experiencing it. His room however, though he spent much time in it, was not his favorite part of the castle. That, was the godswood of the Red Keep.

Aemond often scurried down all those steps just to spend hours and hours under that strange red tree, usually getting through one of his many books as he leaned against it. He spent so much time there that he often fell asleep, napping under the shade. 

“....Aemond?” a voice said quietly.

Aemond shook his head, rubbing his eyes, waking himself up.

“Oh—uh—sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to fall asleep like this.”

Aemond’s cheeks turned red as he straightened his hair, pulling out a red leaf from his silver strands. 

“Better here than a tavern, right?” Alicent said softly, smiling. 

Aemond shifted on his feet, using a hand to wrap his green cloak around him tighter, shivering from a gust of wind. 

Aemond thought it was a bit strange, and fairly ironic, that the comfort he so enjoyed in the Red Keep was thanks to likely the cruelest king in Westeros. Maegor was a scion of House Targaryen, and though he was recognized as king, Maegor was often spoken of with ill, by both smallfolk and nobility alike.

From the readings Aemond had scoured through, Maegor seemed to have a grandiose and arrogant personality, personally initiating massive construction outfits to emphasize the power of the House of Dragons. The Red Keep was built up to twice its intended size, and the Dragonpit on Rhaenys’ Hill was born from Maegor’s insistence; a gargantuan, stone structure—more a colosseum than a mere building—that served as the stable for the royal dragons of House Targaryen. 

Maegor might have been seen as admirable had he kept faith with his grandiose vision, but instead, he terrorized everyone that merely questioned him, choosing fire and blood rather than sheathing steel.

To the horror of the kingdoms, Maegor had also become the rider of Balerion, once the largest dragon in the world and the steed of Aegon the Conqueror himself—an aspect that made it all but certain that most would submit to his rule. Maegor’s mysterious death on the Iron Throne in 42 AC ended his reign of terror with Balerion, leaving a vaccum which the then young Jaehaerys Targaryen had filled, ushering in an era of unprecedented peace for Westeros for over sixty years, a peace that continued with Aemond’s father Viserys. King Jaehaerys ruled for so many decades that he wore the name of the Old King—but now even he had passed. 

No man or woman is safe from death’s embrace. 

Death is beautiful in its own strange way; it is equal. 

It happens to everyone. 

Out in Blackwater Bay, Aemond spotted a few war galleys sailing across the timid waters. One of them had a distinctive blue sail, sporting the silver eagle of House Mallister. Aemond assumed it was on its way back to Seaguard in the Riverlands. 

Another ship, a trading galleon with a golden prow in the shape of a woman bearing a shield, was headed off in a farther direction, possibly in destination of one of the Free Cities in the distant lands of Essos. 

Aemond often heard of stories from the continent, especially more so in his books. Such an expansive continent seemed to hold so much mystery and wonder. He found much of the Essosi stories to be very captivating, and quite an aid to the imagination. The Free Cities were some of  Aemond's most often read about topics, and wanted to see them all for himself one day, especially Braavos, supposedly the greatest of them all. 

Aemond let out yet another sigh and closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards, embracing the wind. He allowed his mind to trail off, as his long silver hair flowed in the night's current.

His brief trip from reality was shaken when his king piece slipped from his hand.

"Ah! Fuck!" Aemond hissed, as he tried to catch it—but it was far too late.

Aemond thought he heard the sound of a small 'pang' as he watched it fall and hit the bottom of the stone wall, dropping into the sea to be swallowed by the waves of Blackwater Bay. 

"No…" Aemond muttered, irritated with himself, bouncing his foot in frustration. 

Maybe if I had a dragon, I could easily retrieve that damned piece.

How disappointing.

The son of a house of dragons, had no dragon to speak of. 

Aegon and Helaena would always encourage their brother that he would one day have a dragon, no matter how long it took. But in Aemond’s eyes, it was much easier coming from them, who had already so well bonded with Sunfyre and Dreamfyre respectively.

Even his younger brother, Daeron Targaryen, a boy of just thirteen, had bonded with Tessarion, a uniquely cobalt-blue dragon that remained in the Dragonpit, as Daeron had been sent the Oldtown in the Reach, to serve as a ward for House Hightower. 

Aemond found it incredibly difficult to not be jealous of his siblings. And yet, the fear remained. Dreamfyre, the last dragon that he had encountered in the Dragonpit’s undervaults, had terrified him beyond measure. 

“YVARRRRRR!” Dreamfyre screeched, the turquoise-scaled dragon spitting a volley of dragonfire in the air towards the boy. 

“AHHH!” Aemond screamed, falling onto his back, feeling the ends of his silver hair singed by the intense heat. With embers falling down on top of him, Aemond scrambled to his feet, running out of the undervault, as Dreamfyre continued to roar. 

Aemond scrunched his eyes closed as he felt shame wash over him. 

It was a memory that constantly repeated in his mind. It did not matter that no one else was there to see his shame; though Queen Alicent scolded a soot-covered Aemond after she learned he had gone down to the undervaults alone. 

The fact that Aemond could not bond with a dragon left the boy in a constant state of uncertainty. 

The thoughts lingered like a horrid tumor.

Aemond leaned over on the edge, resting his head on his arms as he looked out at the sea. Aemond focused on his hair being gusted by the wind, absentmindedly finding himself looking back towards the Red Keep, the silhouette of the castle illuminated by scattered torches. 

Aemond’s eyes widened suddenly, as they laid upon a particular figure walking down the path along the high cliffside wall. 

Lucerys. 

Wait.

Lucerys?!

Lucerys Velaryon was the secondborn son of Princess Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, same as Aemond himself was a second son.

Though his mother was Targaryen, he wore the name Velaryon like both of his brothers from Laenor’s charge, though Jacaerys was to bare the name Targaryen once he sat upon the Iron Throne.

But that wouldn’t be for a long time. 

Panicking, Aemond quickly tied his hair back, not wanting Luke to see his hair down completely as unkempt as it had become from the wind. 

Aemond felt even more nervous as he watched Lucerys continue to walk down the pathway, the distance closing between them.

In all the times that Aemond and Luke had spent time together, neither of them had been alone with one another; Jace, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, and Joffrey were always around more or less. And to make it worse, they never said much to each other when they did speak, other than cordial and common statements. 

Aemond continued watching Lucerys walk down the path, the boy still far enough to where Aemond was unable to yet hear his approaching footsteps. 

Aemond hadn't seen much of Lucerys at the ballroom gathering, the silver-haired Targaryen assuming the Velaryon had slipped away from the gathering like he eventually chose to. 

Aemond could see Lucerys' gray cloak fluttering along with his movement. Aemond had never asked him, but he assumed it was one of Luke's favorite colors, as he so commonly wore cloaks and attire of that color. Luke kept his hands hidden underneath his cloak, staring down at his boots, his dark curly hair rustling a bit from the night's wind. 

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat when Luke looked up from his feet, finally meeting his uncle's eyes. 

Fuck. 

Aemond quickly looked away, embarrassed, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Aemond felt himself grow even more red, as he finally heard Luke's footsteps, steps of which had only grown closer. Aemond tapped his foot, trying to calm his nerves. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

What am I supposed to say? 

Aemond grimaced as Luke's footsteps only grew louder, finally choosing to look his way again. Aemond felt his breath catch in his throat when he looked upon his nephew again. 

Luke finally stopped, the boy nervously rubbing his arm. 

"…Uncle." 

Aemond gulped, but nodded in Lucerys' direction. 

"Nephew…"

Aemond felt himself rubbing his own arm, as he looked down at his feet. 

Say something you fucking nunce!

"Um…" Aemond began, clearing his throat, "...Did you, uh, flee out like I did?" 

Luke shrugged, shifting on his boots. 

"…I guess you could say that. I…I wanted to take a walk." 

Aemond nodded. "O-oh. Alright. Well, I don't mean to trouble you further–"

Luke waved a hand. "It's quite alright, Aemond. You aren't troubling me. I…I've done enough walking now, I suppose." 

Aemond nodded nervously again, rubbing his forehead in continued embarrassment. 

Luke finally looked up to meet Aemond's eyes again. "Could I…could I just…uh…stay out here with you? I just…I walked all that way, and I don't want—"

"Sure!" Aemond answered quickly. "I mean, uh, sure." 

Fuck.

Fuck.

I'm an idiot. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Lucerys nodded to Aemond, giving him a slight smile. "Thank you, uncle." 

Aemond nodded, still feeling his beet-red cheeks. "It's n-not any problem."

Aemond pressed his palms on the edge of the cliffside wall, as he watched Lucerys do the same, the Velaryon leaning against it and looking up at the moon. 

Have his cheeks always looked so soft? And pink?

Fuck!

What am I saying?

Aemond shook his head, trying to think of something to say, as the silence between them began to grow uncomfortable. 

"Uh," Aemond began, "Why did you leave? I mean—uh—did you just not like it?" 

Lucerys sighed, shrugging. 

"…Not particularly. Um…some people were…staring at me…" 

Aemond didn't need to ask why. 

Strong. 

There was a particular, distasteful rumor that made its way through every nook and cranny in the Red Keep.

This rumor espoused that the sons of Princess Rhaenyra, specifically her three Velaryon boys with her late husband Laenor, were not trueborn as they had been so paraded their whole lives. 

Rather, they were the bastards of Ser Harwin Strong. 

Aemond wasn't sure how prevalent such rumors held outside of the Red Keep, but many of the greens at court made sure their fellow contemporaries knew of such matters when they arrived at King's Landing. Aemond tried his best to ignore said chatter, as pressing as his own mother and grandfather tried to make it seem. 

He harbored no real ill will towards Jace, Luke, or Joffrey, and he didn't much like the rumors to begin with. 

"I'm…I'm sorry, Luke." Aemond said quietly. 

Aemond stole short glances at Lucerys, trying to discreetly ascertain his mood. Lucerys looked dejected and sad, and for whatever reason, Aemond's heart began to tug painfully, like a string pulled from a threaded line.

Aemond hadn't seen much of Lucerys being emotional, at least not in front of him, but even just a moment of seeing Lucerys in such doubt brought great pain to his mind. 

Luke nodded, still looking away. 

"....It’s alright. I’m fine." 

Aemond felt the heat upon his cheeks spread when Luke caught him side glancing, but Lucerys only looked away once more. The two had settled into yet another uncomfortable silence. 

Aemond found himself at an impasse. 

He was wrestling for something to say, but he could not find the words. He had no true idea how to comfort Lucerys, as much as he wanted to. 

But why did he feel such an urge to keep Luke's company?

Aemond's mind raced for anything that he could say to him, desperately hoping to change the falling mood. Without much thinking, he absentmindedly sidestepped a few inches closer to Luke. 

Lucerys, noticing, turned to him. Aemond briefly withdrew his eyesight from his, feeling a wash of embarrassment, before bringing his eyes back upwards. Aemond, for as slight of a moment as it was, felt himself entranced with the color of Luke's eyes; deep brown irises that reminded him of the aging marks of wood. 

Luke seemed to have been of the same mind, leaving the two ending up staring at each other. For perhaps a bit too long.

Fuck. 

What am I doing?

The two both grew visibly nervous as they realized their gaze had grown long, quickly averting their eyes away. Aemond felt his cheeks turn into garden beets once more. 

Fuck. 

Despite his embarrassment, Aemond still felt a strange, unfamiliar beckoning stew within his belly. Without thinking again, he reached out for one of Luke's hands. Aemond almost gasped when he took it, feeling upon the soft skin of his nephew's palm. 

Luke's eyes instantly shot towards him when he did so. Luke eyed Aemond with almost with an inquiring look, and he did not pull back hold of his hand. 

Why did you do that, Aemond?!

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

IDIOT!

"S-sorry..." Aemond stammered, quickly letting go of Luke's hand and looking away from him, mentally twisting a sword into his neck.

Why do I have to be this embarrassing?

"...It's alright." Luke said, smiling softly.  

The taller Targaryen boy felt that strange warmth thrash inside of him. The feeling of heat on his cheeks had begun to grow unbearable. Aemond managed to compose himself despite it all, trying to keep his mind steady. 

"Umm....I....I w-was just going to s-say...." 

Aemond drew out a big sigh, trying to expell his nervousness.

 "....that I'm willing to keep you company for the rest of the night. I-if you'd l-like."

Lucerys' eyes darted back and forth, almost as if he was dipping into Aemond’s own purple irises. "Oh! Are you sure?"

Aemond grimaced. 

Idiot. 

I'm such a fucking moron. 

"Uhhhh—I'm only o-offering, you d-don't need take me up on it."

Aemond watched Luke as he contemplated his offer, the Velaryon looking down at his boots. Aemond felt his heart stuck in his throat, waiting on bated breath for Luke's answer. 

Please say yes.

Please say yes. 

Wait, what?

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!

Luke finally looked up at him, giving him another soft smile. Aemond felt he could melt right then and there. 

"....I would appreciate that, uncle. Thanks."

Aemond nodded slowly but happily, still feeling nervous and unsure of himself. As Luke pressed his palms on the edge once more, Aemond felt the desire to reach out for his hand again. 

Stop thinking about his hand!

Why do you want to hold his fucking hand, anyway?! 

Why are you such an idiot?!?!

"Actually, that reminds me..." Luke began, cutting through the silence. He reached underneath his gray cloak, seemingly fumbling through one of his pockets.

He pulled out a black glass bottle, one with a swing top, and full of a liquid that blended with the color of the glass. Ruffling through another pocket, he pulled out a small loaf of black bread. 

"Took it off a table." Luke said in an amused tone, shaking the bottle. "Same as the bread."

Aemond couldn't help but smirked at him. 

Somehow that sounds like something you'd do. 

Luke gave him a smirk back, clearly pleased with himself. Aemond puffed his cheeks. "Um, should we sit down?" 

Luke nodded. "Uh, yes. We should." 

Aemond looked around the seawall, seeing if he could find a good spot. 

"There." Aemond pointed, Luke turning in that direction. 

It was a short way down the seawall. The path lead to a wider viewing foyer, which the King sometimes used as a viewing space for arriving ships to King's Landing, especially in regards to other nobility from around the country arriving at royal court.

Luke shrugged. "Works for me." The two boys walked side-by-side to the wider ledges, neither of the two saying anything. 

Aemond felt that uncomfortable silence once more. He grimaced when his hand accidentally touched Luke's own as they walked together, but thankfully Lucerys didn't seem to mind. 

Reaching the wider ledge, they both sat atop it, scooting over to the edge so their legs would dangle over the side. 

Aemond felt a bit nervous without the familiar security of his room's window to protect his fall, but Lucerys had no such hesitation, who seemed to be handling it well, confidently settling himself into his spot. 

Of course. 

All he does is fly. 

Aemond fiddled with his fingers, kicking the back of his heels on the stone wall, watching as Luke ripped the black bread in half, handing the larger piece to Aemond. 

"Here you go." Luke said with a smile. 

"Thanks." Aemond said quietly, taking it. 

Aemond glanced at Luke again, as he pulled off the top of the bottle with his teeth. Aemond felt his cheeks grow red as Luke kept the top between his teeth. 

He looks…cute. 

Argh! You idiot! 

What are you even saying?!

Aemond shook his head as Luke set the top down, looking up at the moon. Aemond bit off a piece of the bread, chewing it slowly, and trying to calm his ever stirring mind. Aemond racked his mind for yet another thing to say, as the two continued to sit in silence. 

"Ummmm…" Aemond began, "....do you……do you know who was giving you looks?" 

"Mmmm?" Luke asked, ceasing drinking the ale from the bottle. 

"The guests." Aemond clarified. "Did you know any of the people that were staring at you?" 

Luke looked down, thinking about it. 

"Ummm…yes! Yes, I do. It was uh….one of the Trants. And someone…some lady with a porcupine on her dress." 

Aemond nodded, chewing. 

"Ah. House Trant. House Trant. I've never been to the Stormlands...but I've heard not so great things about them. A house ripe with idiots, morons, and evermore dull things. I believe it takes fools of low cunning to brazenly sport hanging men upon their banners—they’re not good enough to to come up with anything else. ‘So End Our Foes’, is it? So end my imagination."

Fuck no, I'm not funny. 

Aemond grimaced, bracing for a lack of reaction from Lucerys. 

Aemond could have sworn his own heart skipped three beats when the Velaryon boy started to giggle genuinely. Aemond couldn't quite place the feeling, but whatever it was made him smile wide. 

"Heh, and the porcupines?" Aemond continued, rolling with his flow. 

"I believe that is House Blount. Not so great a house, either. Quite fitting for people who wear porcupines to be such bloody pricks." 

Fuck.

I'm not funny.

Aemond cringed terribly at himself once more, but to Aemond’s further pleasing, Luke giggling again, the Velaryon taking a bite out of his piece of black bread.

Am I actually being fun?

He’s enjoying this?

“She did look like a prick.” Luke chuckled, putting a hand over his mouth as he chewed. 

Such a neat eater. 

Aegon could never. 

Aemond found himself blushing again, but he managed a chuckle, the boy absolutely giddy over managing to perk Lucerys' mood upwards. Aemond’s conversational skills were never the best, so he was surprised he hadn't ruined things—at least not yet. 

Luke licked his lips, handing Aemond the bottle of ale. Aemond took it, grimacing slightly when he drank down a gulp. The two fell into silence again, but unlike the hesitation and awkwardness before, now it was comfortable and relaxing, the two calm under the moon's light. 

Aemond felt a gust of wind ruffle his hair, as he stared up at the floating celestial. 

“.........So why did you leave, Aemond?” Luke asked. 

Aemond looked towards Lucerys' way for a brief moment, his eyes drifting back up at the moon again. 

“Oh! Um…I was being chased around. Patricia Redwyne was the culprit. The girl who sailed in on that fabulous The Vine dromond, the one with that weird grapevine bow? I sort of...embarrassed myself trying to escape her grasp.”

Lucerys nodded, thinning his lips. “The Arbor girl, eh? She likes you?”

Aemond shrugged. “I…suppose so.”

Luke nodded again, taking the last bite from his black bread, wiping the crumbs from his hands. 

“You don’t like girls chasing you, do you?” Luke asked, turning his head inquisitively. 

Aemond looked down at the waves below, kicking the back of his heels on the stone of the wall. “No. Not really.”

Lucerys yet again took the bottle from Aemond, drinking from it. “....Might I ask why?”

Aemond shrugged, kicking his heels again. 

“....I…I don’t want to be wed in such a manner. By someone else’s insinuation and influence. That’s…that isn’t me. At least…I think it's not me. I…I don’t know what I want, or who I want. I'll readily admit that. But I do know that…I won’t resign myself to being a piece on the board. I…I want it to be real. I want it to mean something, rather than just...you know...politics.”

Aemond felt embarrassed revealing so much, but Luke didn’t seem to judge him for it, humming in contemplation.  

“Many might think that a selfish desire,” Lucerys countered. “You’re placing your own wishes over what is best for your house. Over your duty.”

Aemond shrugged. “Mayhaps so. But I’d rather be selfish than miserable.”

Aemond looked to Lucerys, who gave him an amused, genuine smile, tipping the bottle in his direction. 

“Well…I think that’s admirable, in a way. And sweet.”

Aemond blushed, hugging himself. 

“T-thank you, Luke.”

The Targaryen looked up at the moon again for a moment, before he felt Luke nudging his arm. 

“I heard you tapped Cole on the armor yesterday.” Luke said happily. 

Aemond nodded, biting down the last of his own bread. “I did. Just the one, though.”

"...Impressive!" Luke responded. "I wish I was there to see it." 

"Really? You think so?" Aemond asked him, turning to the boy. 

Luke looked at him, smiling. "Yup. Cole can be a dick, but he’s no doubt a warrior."

Ser Criston Cole, in Aemond’s frank opinion, was an asshole. 

The Kingsguard walked around with a constant chip on his shoulder, and it seemed to by far and away almost always involve Rhaenyra. Aemond had been alive for longer than a decade, and yet Cole never changed his tune. Being the Queen's personal sworn shield, it was no coincidence that many of the closed-door discussions that Aemond was secretly privy to almost always involved. Cole. 

It was a wonder that Cole didn’t ever openly show such disdain to Rhaenyra’s face, always conducting himself in a coldly courteous manner around the royal heir. 

Criston’s house, House Cole, was a very minor noble house that hailed from the Stormlands, so minor that they were merely the mere stewards of the proud House Durrandon, with no lands or titles of their own. Criston Cole had unexpectedly changed the game for House Cole, rising to the highest feat that a Cole had ever climbed.

Incredibly, his appointment to fill the Kingsguard slot left barren by the late Ryan Redwyne, was made by Princess Rhaenyra herself. 

What discord could have occured between them to have led to such a deep fissure?

Aemond smiled back at Lucerys, grateful for his praise. “Thank you.”

Hiis heart felt like it was swelling. 

"I'm still not much of a warrior, to be said." Aemond concluded, straightening out his silver hair from a light gust of wind.  

"Well, you’re more warrior than me.” Lucerys said. “At least you can swing a morningstar." 

Luke drank from the bottle again.  

"Come now, Luke." Aemond encouraged. "You aren't so bad yourself. We’re pretty even, you and I." 

Luke shrugged, handing Aemond the bottle. 

“Hmmm. If you say so.” 

Luke puffed his cheeks for a moment, kicking the back of his heels on the rough stone, his gray cloak threshing from the wind. 

“....I think I agree, Aemond.” Luke said suddenly. 

“Hmmm?” Aemond asked.

Lucerys eyed him, his eyes sparkling. “...I wouldn’t want to be with someone I didn’t choose, either.”

Aemond held his expression, before drinking from the bottle, feeling the heat on his cheeks erupt yet again. 

“I suppose you'll have plenty of freedom come marriage. Since you will be Lord of the Tides one day.”

Luke nodded, crossing his ankles. "Y-you're right. I will." 

Most nobleborn secondborn sons did not stand to inherent much from their family's holdings, relying upon other means to find status. Aemond's grandfather was a second son, and Otto's incredible influence was tied to his incumbency as Hand of the King. If he were to lose his position, his influence would surely collapse. 

Lucerys however, was set to be the Lord of the Tides after the passing of Lord Corlys Velaryon. He would have command of both House Velaryon and the Velaryon fleet, along with surely taking the position of Master of Ships on the small council.

House Velaryon boasted the most powerful fleet in Westeros, numbering over 800 ships in total; greater than the Redwyne, Iron, and Lannister fleets combined. Aemond had never asked Lucerys how he felt about his future prospects, but he was sure Luke understood how incredible of a responsibility it would be. 

“...That won’t be for a long time.” Lucerys said, looking up at the moon himself.

“Lord Corlys is as aged as the sea, and yet he lives.” 

Aemond nodded, drinking the last of the bottle and setting it to his side, looking out at sea. Aemond took yet another glance at Lucerys, and he felt himself unable to breathe for a moment. 

Lucerys' pale skin was illuminated in the moonlight, his curly dark brown hair continuing to flutter in the wind. Aemond thought Luke looked so innocent and unbothered in that moment, without a worry in the world. 

He's beautiful. 

Aemond shook his head, blushing. 

Beautiful? 

What am I saying?

Aren't only girls beautiful?

Aemond felt his cheeks redden even more as he kept thinking about Lucerys, taking some solace that he could hide it well enough under the night's glow.

Why am I thinking this way?

Aemond wasn't sure what he was feeling. His experience with anything even slightly romantic was confined to the pages of his many books, he read far too many boring, repetitive stories of the oh so dashing knight saving the beautiful princess from incredible danger; sometimes from an evil dragon, sometimes a brutish thug.

But for all the variety of those stories, one thing remained constant. 

It was always a man and a woman. 

Luke isn't a girl. 

This isn't right.

Why am I feeling like this?

Aemond breathed through his nose, attempting to quell his thoughts. He tapped the back of his heels onto the wall in frustration. 

Shut up, mind. 

Shut up, mind.

Shut up, mind!

Aemond's thoughts were broken with Lucerys playfully kicking his foot. 

"I should've grabbed more black bread," Luke said with a smile. "Oh, and some butter! Ugh, I didn't eat enough like I should have."

Aemond nodded, looking his way. 

"Me neither. I only had some bread rolls before this." 

"Were they good?" Luke asked. 

Aemond nodded. "Oh, yes. Pretty good. I think I'll dream about them tonight." 

Luke giggled at him, kicking his foot again with his own. Aemond giggled the same, feeling yet another blush across his cheeks. 

"Uh...would you want to sneak in the kitchens and grab some more?" Luke offered.

"I think I saw some breadsticks when I walked past. The garlic scent would've made even the Seven kneel down in worship." 

Aemond chuckled for a moment, Lucerys doing the same.

"Sure! As long as we don't have to go back to that ballroom."

Lucerys nudged him with an elbow. "Wasn't planning on it."

Aemond was the first to slide off the side of the wall, hopping to his feet quickly. Before Lucerys could do the same, Aemond stopped him. 

"W-wait, Luke. Let me help you."

Aemond cringed at himself again, his mind continuing to run past his pace. 

Idiot.

Idiot. 

Idiot.

Lucerys turned his head in confusion for a moment, but smiled softly. "Alright then…"

Aemond held out his arms, unsure what particular feeling was driving him at the moment. Lucerys quickly used his shoulders as a brace, hopping to his feet the same as he. 

"Thanks, uncle." Lucerys said with a grin. 

Aemond felt himself grow red again as he let his eyes linger on Lucerys' features. 

His thick and curly dark hair. 

His soft cheeks, and warm brown eyes. 

How his attire seemed such a perfect fit for him. 

Aemond noticed that Luke was doing the same, both boys observing each other silently. Aemond grew quite embarrassed when he realized he was again staring for far too long. 

"S-sorry, Luke…again..." Aemond apologized, dipping his head down in shame. 

“It’s okay…” Lucerys said softly.

Aemond glanced up briefly, seeing how Lucerys had dipped his head down as well. The Targaryen boy could have sworn his cheeks had grown red the same as his.  

"S-should we go?" Luke asked, cutting through the uncomfortable aura. 

"Yes! Yes, let us." Aemond said quickly as he refocused, swiping up the bottle of ale and beginning to walk. 

Aemond and Luke walked side by side together, both of them silent but comfortable as they had been before. Aemond kept his fingers occupied, tapping them on the glass of the bottle, stealing side glances at Lucerys, thinking about him. 

Is he really beautiful?

Did I just have too much ale? 

I suppose so.

Aemond hadn't ever contemplated about Lucerys in such a manner. So why now? The Targaryen boy desperately tried to shake his thoughts away as the two continued along, walking back towards the Red Keep. 

But no matter how hard he tried, the thoughts would not cease.

It was as if it was a symphony without end. 

_______________________________________________________

LATER
RED KEEP
GODSWOOD

“And one of these explains how it worked?”

“Hmmmmm. I think so. A-ha! There we are. The Dragon’s Gate.”

Aemond and Lucerys had since made off with their heist from the kitchens, swiping a full basket of breadsticks and a bowl of brothy tomato soup, one decorated with green onions and thinly sliced scallions. 

Having juggled options after they made their successful escape, they chose to settle together in the godswood of the Red Keep—but not before Aemond and Luke scurried all the way to the library, just so the Targaryen could grab a particular few books and scrolls. 

Even with the night haveing been an unsual one, beneath the weirwood still felt like like place of comfort that Aemond loved it for. 

Pale moon light seeped through the red leaves as they settled under the tree together, sitting opposite of the face carved into the white trunk. 

The air was calm and quiet, the chatter of the ballroom so far away from where they were. The fireflies were out and about in the godswood, their abdomens glowing like candle lights in the night. 

Aemond’s first book was an incredibly thick novel 

It had no clear author, and its pages were fragmented; even its title was faded out from wear. The thick book was in complete High Valyrian, and it detailed various information regarding Old Valyria, from their dragons to their oligarchical governing structure, though even that information was incomplete due to the fading of the book's pages. 

Aemond’s second book was about as thick, but much more modern, and in quite good condition. It was a guard’s notebook from the reigning days of King Aenys I himself, written by some long dead Targaryen soldier that had guarded various places within the Red Keep, including the chambers of the royal family.

The cover blue in color, it had a strange symbol of a wheel and three triangles, of which Aemond could not place its origin. Aemond’s interest in the book stemmed significantly from the details of the hidden corridors of the Red Keep, some of which Aemond tried out himself, though much of them were either altered or replaced once King Maegor I ordered the grand reconstruction of the castle. The notes stopped past Aenys’ death, so Aemond concluded that this particular guardsman had fled in the wake of Maegor’s usurpation of the throne, leaving his logbook to the histories. 

Luke neatly stuffed pieces of the breadsticks in his mouth, dipping them first, curiously listening to Aemond as he delicately flipped through the ancient pages of the Valyrian tome. 

“This gate led to a pathway where dragons roamed free without consequence,” Aemond explained, feeling Luke lean towards him.

“Thousands and thousands of dragons roamed this realm beyond the pale. I believe, if I’m not mistaken, that this gate could only be opened by dragons themselves. Not humans. I…I tried to scour what exactly the realm was beyond the gate, but…it seems to have faded out...unfortunate.”

Luke nodded, chewing with earnest. “You think it’s still there?”

Aemond shrugged. “Who knows. The whole Valyrian peninsula was destroyed, so...I suppose it’s not so likely.”

Luke leaned closer, pointing half a eaten breadstick at a particularly strange symbol. 

“What’s that?” Luke asked. 

It was an odd symbol in the shape of a bent spiral. 

“Oh!” Aemond said, excited. “That’s the symbol for this ancient village called…Aracdia? Aracdius? Not sure—the lettering is off. It was a village in the center of a desert in a far away land. Humans and dragons lived in harmony—and these dragons were supposedly quite intelligent.”

“Could Arrax learn to play cards there?” Luke joked, chuckling. 

Aemond chuckled himself, nudging Luke’s shoulder with his own. 

Lucerys was the rider of Arrax, a young and growing dragon, one with beautiful pearlescent white scales, and bright, red-violet frills. Arrax had hatched alongside Lucerys’ own birth, a similar phenomenon that occurred with his older brother. Lucerys was unable to ride Arrax until he was ten years of age—to which Arrax was no bigger than a war horse at that point. Arrax had since grown larger, but he was still one of the smallest of the growing young dragons.

Even with Luke having a less mighty steed than his other siblings, Aemond was still jealous of the connection he shared with his dragon—as he was of all his family who flew in the sky.  

“What’s in the scrolls, Aemond?” Luke asked while chewing, ripping another breadstick in half and handing the even piece to the Targaryen boy. 

Aemond smiled, chewing on his newfound piece of bread. “Ah! These…these are some fun ones.” 

Aemond picked up the scroll that was fastened by a blue string; the scroll was a deep purple color, with an insignia of a golden shield at the front. Aemond carefully unrolled it once he removed the fasten.

The inside of the scroll was lined with a strange sort of gold, one that was thin enough to evenly line the long page. The language one the page was a foreign one, and one that was completely unknown to them. 

Aemond swallowed. “If I’m correct…this was a set of lessons laid out from a great swordsman of old who was once sealed away. Instructions for how to become a great swordsman. Too bad I can’t decipher a whiff of it…”

Aemond watched as Luke leaned over more, observing the odd lettering. Aemond felt himself grow red—for what must have been the hundred time that night—as he inadvertently focused on Lucerys. 

His dark curly hair.

His pink cheeks. 

His pale skin. 

Fuck.

FUCK!

I’m doing it again. 

Stop it. 

“W-what do you make of it?” Aemond stammered, feeling the heat of embarrassment. 

“Hmmm…” Luke hummed, seemingly unbothered by their close distance. “...No idea. It’s just blather to me. But mayhaps the secret to being a Ser Breakbones is in here somewhere, heh.”

Aemond shrugged and chuckled with hesitation, still focusing on Luke.

“M-mayhaps so.”

Luke then met Aemond’s eyes suddenly, and Aemond felt his face erupt into flames. 

FUCK!

Aemond quickly dipped his eyes downward. “S-sorry, Luke.”

I did it again...

Idiot, idiot. 

Hesitantly meeting Luke's eyes once again, he noticed that the Velaryon had not moved at all, and remained close enough for Aemond to see the blush upon his cheeks. 

“For what?” Luke asked, smiling. 

Aemond felt his heart drop in such a way that felt utterly incredible, enough to make time grow still.

Is he…

Is he comfortable with it?

My gods... 

Aemond cleared his throat, trying to yet again shake the thoughts away, reaching out to grab another breadstick. Aemond felt Luke watching him chew on it, as he glanced over at the malvales bushes not far from the weirwood tree. 

“Aemond?” Luke asked. 

“Hmm.” Aemond hummed as he chewed, making sure to slow down. 

“You’re not bad company at all.” Luke said simply. 

Aemond felt his heart skip again, as he met Luke’s eyes. 

Brown.

So damned brown. 

“Thank you, Luke. You’re…you’re great company as well.”

Luke smiled. “Does that mean we’ll be the best of friends now?”

Aemond nodded. “I could certainly use a friend. I…I find myself lonely…quite a lot.”

Aemond internally slapped himself. 

Shut your mouth, moron. 

Dammit. 

Aemond grimaced at himself for being so loose lipped, dipping his head, but what happened next completely shattered every thought in his mind.

Aemond tensed up completely as he felt Lucerys touch his hand with his own. His head snapped right up to meet Luke’s eyes again, perplexed by his action.

What is he doing?

Lucerys drew his hand back for a moment, sensing Aemond’s hesitation. Aemond relaxed himself, calming down his mind. Luke, seeing the opportunity to continue, touched his hand again. 

Aemond gulped, his face on fire. 

So soft. 

So soft. 

Aemond shivered when Luke gently linked his fingers with his own, holding his hand. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK!

What is happening?!

Aemond was internally flipping circles, as chaotic as Aegon flying Sunfyre in drunken spins in the sky. Though his mind was running wild, he had absolutely no desire to let go of Luke’s hand. The two were silent as they looked into each other’s eyes, the both of them with faces lit by coals. 

Aemond felt his heart stop, once Luke decided to lean his head on his shoulder, sighing. 

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHATTHEFUCKINGFUCKWHATTHEFUCKINGFUCK!

Aemond did not say anything, feeling himself remain tense like a statue, unsure of how to handle the novel experience. Quickly, he began to deflate, relacing himself, and allowing Luke settle into him, the two still holding hands. Aemond felt a strange, odd sort of protective feeling wash over him, a rampant feeling that granted him a great desire—to shield Lucerys from any and all harm in the world. 

Aemond did not know why, but it felt good.

“...You won’t be so lonely anymore, I assure you.” Luke whispered. 

Aemond smiled to himself, feeling a surge of happiness within him. 

The two boys didn't speak a word for a while, just settling and enjoying the physical touch. Luke finally let go off Aemond's hand, but only to help him further fold into Aemond easier, yawning as he settled himself once more. 

Aemond felt his heart race even more, as Luke nuzzled his head further onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Aemond couldn't put it to words how much he enioyed the moment. He liked being close to Luke, and the way that it made him feel. Even better that Lucerys was comfortable enough to feel the same way, having grown even more relaxed than Aemond was. 

It felt like a dream.

Without much thinking, Aemond gently placed his arm around Luke's neck, slightly nuzzling his own cheek into his nephew's.

Oh my gods. 

What the fuck am I doing.

Aemond didn’t understand any of it, but perhaps he didn’t need to understand it. All that mattered was keeping Luke nuzzled into him. 

Aemond, feeling an urge of instinct, placed his chin on top of Luke's head. The taller Targaryen boy sighed, closing his eyes, and breathing through his nose. The fireflies danced around them as the two remained relaxed in position. 

This is perfect. 

Incredibly perfect. 

"....I just had the best idea." Luke said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Aemond opened one eye. "What idea?"

Luke broke away from Aemond’s grasp to meet his eyes, grinning. 

"You've never ridden a dragon before." Luke said, in sort of an oddly mischievous manner. 

Aemond blinked. "....Is that supposed to be an idea?"

Luke shook his head.l, groaning. "No, idiot! Let me finish."

Aemond gulped when Luke grabbed both of his hands, their fingers linking together as they once had been. 

"What if....what if I could take you out flying on Arrax?"

Aemond leaning back in surprise, feeling a pang of unease and fear.

"What?! You aren’t serious, are you?" 

Luke turned his head in confusion. “Of course I’m serious, Aemond. I think it would be fun for the both of us!”

Aemond felt the hesitation within him grow along with something else he was feeling—fear. 

As much as Aemond desired a dragon for himself, he still was frightened at the mere prospect of being on a dragon’s back. He had always denied being flown by his siblings, scared of being up in the sky in such a manner, and at the mercy of such a beast. 

"...I...I-I..." Aemond stammered, hesitating. Lucerys waited patiently, not voicing opposition. 

"....W-why do you want to take me out flying?" Aemond asked, his voice stammering. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Luke pouted, frowning, his cheeks growing red.

"I—I, um…I want to spend more time with you. T-this is a good way for us to do it. And even better—you can get some experience for yourself! For when you surely claim a dragon for your own." 

Luke looked shy, but determined to convince Aemond with his plan. 

“Aemond…” Luke continued, looking down for a brief moment, but eventually raising his sight. “This has been great. Truly great. I don’t want this night to end just yet. Please?”

Dammit.

Why did you say please?

Ugh.

Aemond did his best to ignore the admittedly convincing look that Lucerys was giving him. 

“We’ll get into trouble." Aemond said, shaking his head. "Lots of it."

"No, we won't!” Lucerys protested. “Well, not if Arrax doesn't roar about."

Aemond frowned. "He definitely will." 

"Bah." Luke countered. "Arrax is well-behaved; he listens to my commands." 

Aemond sighed, looking down at Luke’s fingers linked with his own. Aemond held his hands with more grip, trying to calm himself with how soft his skin felt. 

“We'd need some way to get to the Dragonpit," Aemond said, "and that's not a walk to the kitchens. How must we sneak past the guards at the gate? Or even get past the gate itself?"

"Oh, I have a plan for that," Luke said with a smile.

"Thought of it oh-so spontaneously. Lord Commander Harwin is our ticket, if we can yet find him. He'll let us out, surely. It’s how my mother snuck out of the castle back in her very own youthful days."

Oh, sister.

Aemond sniffed, sighing. "Spontaneous, eh? Of course she did. Figures."

Lucerys snickered. "Come on, let's dooooo it! Don’t let me down, uncle. We've both a need to end our night on a high note. Please? Pleeeeease?"

Aemond sighed, still feeling the hesitation and fear. 

"Look, I may—I may not exactly be good at handling it. I’ve never flown on dragonback. I…I-I just don’t know...."

Lucerys shook his head, locking eyes with Aemond again. "It's alright. You don't have to be sure about it, trust me, I wasn't my first time around. The last thing I'd want for you is to get hurt, uncle."

Luke grew a smile.

"I was scared the first time I flew on Arrax, and look how I’ve handled it! It’s something you ease into...but you have to start somewhere. I won't let you get hurt. All you have to do is follow my lead." 

Aemond contemplated his decision.

Luke was giving the Targaryen boy his most convincing eyes ever, almost like a small puppy begging. 

Dammit.

How can I say no to him?

Finally, Aemond folded.

Fuck it. 

Fuck it!

Fuck it all to the Seven hells. 

"Alright…" Aemond relented. "...we can go to the Dragonpit."

Lucerys let go of Aemond’s hands to clap happily, grinning from ear to ear. Aemond smiled as Lucerys hugged him, both holding each other tightly. 

“YES! Aha-ha-ha! Let’s do this, uncle! You'll have so much fun, you'll see!”

Aemond grinned himself as he nuzzled his face into Lucerys' neck, still feeling nervous, but taking in Velaryon's encouragement. 

The two smiled at each other as they parter. Aemond grabbed Lucerys’ hand once more, and the smaller boy linked their fingers together as they had. 

"First," Aemond proclaimed, "We're both in need of some hiding cloaks. They'll catch us in these proper ones. Perhaps I know where to get some."

"Aegon?" Luke asked.

"Aegon." Aemond affirmed, nodding.

Luke let go of Aemond’s hand and stood up, practically hopping on his feet, his gray cloak whipping from his movement.

“Let's go already; the night won't last forever!" 

Aemonnd grinned as he stood up with him, taking his hand again. 

“We can just leave this stuff.” Aemond said quietly, focusing more on the softness of Luke’s palm in his mind. “We'll snatch it up later.”

Luke nodded, holding Aemond’s hand tighter.

“Grabbing onnnnne more breadstick, though.”

Aemond held onto Luke’s hand as he bent down to grab a breadstick. Unfortunately for the both of them, Luke’s boot slipped, causing them both to tumble to the ground. 

“Ack!”

“Ouch!”

Aemond rubbed his head, having slightly hit it, but he lost all focus on that once he understood the position he was in.

OH NO! 

NO, NO, NO, NO! 

Aemond had completely fallen on top of Luke, practically straddling him as a consequence of their fall. Their faces were close together, enough to where Aemond could feel the heat radiating from Luke’s cheeks. 

Aemond and Luke were practically frozen, just staring into each other’s eyes. Aemond finally gathered his senses, sitting up and scratching the back of his head, feeling very much embarrassed.

“Sorry…” Aemond apologized.

Luke sat up with him, blushing and not removing his eyes from Aemond’s. 

“Y-you alright, Aemond?” Luke asked, the Velaryon stammering.

Aemond nodded. “Y-yeah. Didn’t hurt so bad. You?”

Luke nodded. “N-not so bad either. Unfortunately for the breadsticks..." 

Aemond looked upon the now scattered basket of breadsticks with a grim expression. 

Rest soundly in the heavens, poor breadsticks. 

Standing, Aemond helped Luke up to his feet again, Aemond didn’t even think about it before he grabbed Luke’s hand, the two staring at each other like before. 

Luke grew a small smile, which encouraged Aemond to do the same. 

And so they finally were off, skipping along to find the stalwart Lord Commander Harwin.

Aemond felt something stir within him.

Something that he hadn’t felt the whole night until that exact moment. 

It felt like tightening pressure around his own heart, but one that was so very unique to what he was feeling before. 

It was both intoxicating and terrifying, in it's own way.

But it felt good. 

It was a feeling he could certainly get used to.

Chapter Text

 RED KEEP

ALONG THE MAIN WALL

"Fuck. It's times like this where being the most powerful house in the realm bites us in the rear. "

"Shhhhhh!" 

Aemond and Luke were ducking through corners. 

Due to the fact the Red Keep was teeming with noble guests, security was thicker than usual. The Targaryen and Velaryon boys did their best to stay out of the guards' line of sight, making progress with careful footsteps. 

Thankfully, with most of the Keep's inhabitants still gathered in the ballroom in Maegor's stalwart tower, it was mostly quiet near the front bronze gate, outside of the soldiers patrolling the area.

“I think Harwin is supposed to be towards the front." Lucerys whispered, annoyed at the number of guards. 

"Do you see him?” 

"Shhhhhh! No, I don’t see him." Aemond whispered back. 

Lucerys almost groaned, keeping ihs voice low, as the two hid behind a wall. 

“Ugh, you’d think black-and-gold armor would stick out like a horse in a haystack.”

Aemond scrunched up his nose. “‘Horse in a haystack’? Who came up with that sort of phrase?”

Luke simply shrugged. “...Me?”

Aemond sighed, peeking out and scanning his eyes. “...I still don’t see him.”

“Hmmm....” Lucerys hummed, stepping forward a bit. “Mayhaps he’s at the rightmost cornerfort, over there? We can—”

Aemond quickly grabbed Lucerys, pulling him backwards and pinning him back against the wall, as the Targaryen boy heard chatter heading their way. Aemond kept Luke pressed against the wall, as the footsteps grew louder, Aemond focusing on keeping his eyes on them.

“And I told her, ‘how much for your little clam?’”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Two Targaryen soldiers, dressed in full black and red armor, walked by both Aemond and Luke, swords at their sides and flaming torches in their hands. Aemond gulped as the torchlight shined upon their faces, but both of the men were far too busy in conversation to begin to notice the two boys. 

Aemond sighed as their passing footsteps grew quiet. 

"That was too close." Aemond whispered.

The Targaryen boy noticed just how close he was to Lucerys, having backed him up against the wall as he did. The two met each other’s eyes and held their expressions, but didn’t remove them, opting to stay silent and take in each other’s presence; almost as if they were having a conversation without words. 

What am I doing?

Aemond felt his cheeks grow beet-red again as he finally looked away, Lucerys doing the same. 

“S–sorry…” Aemond apologized, quite embarrassed of himself, pulling away from him. 

“Me too…” Lucerys mumbled quietly. 

Aemond shook his head, meeting Luke’s eyes, ignoring his self-consciousness. 

“Let's just make sure we don't get caught, shall we?" 

Luke nodded quickly. “R-right.”

Luke and Aemond continued along, sneaking around more corners, and avoiding even more guards. Still, Harwin was nowhere in sight. Aemond assumed that Harwin must have left the castle premises, likely attending to some matter in his capacity as Lord Commander. 

"You sure that he's still around here?" Aemond asked Luke, the two hustling along and sneaking through another pathway. 

"I'm sure of it.” Luke answered. “I doubt he’d have gone far—”

Aemond and Luke turned the corner, and ran smack-dab into something heavy and solid.

“Ack!”

“Oww!”

That something, was Ser Harwin Strong.

Aemond rubbed his forehead for a moment, before looking up tepidly at the armored man. Harwin had his black-and-gold armor on like he seemingly always did, his golden shoulder cape long and defined, denoting his status as the leader of the City Watch. Harwin gave both Luke and Aemond a disapproving expression, clearly having understood the two were up to something they weren’t supposed to be. 

Aemond and Luke gave each other a brief look.

“....Ooops.” Luke said quickly.

Harwin sighed, putting his hands on his hips. 

“....And just what are you two doing?”

Whoops.

_______________________________________________________

NOT SO LONG LATER
STORAGE ROOM

"I cannot believe you children!"

Lord Strong had quickly and quietly ushered them into an empty storage room, away from prying eyes. When the man was practically spilling flames from his ears, enraged at hearing their stupid plan. 

"Do you even know what sort of danger the both of you would be outside of these castle walls?!" Harwin shouted.

"Must I remind you that there is no shortage of vile actors populating the city, actor of which that would so very love to take advantage of boys such as yourselves, royal or no?!"

"We understand, Ser!" Aemond argued. "That’s why you should take us to the Dragonpit."  

Harwin almost dropped his mouth open.

“You've lost your mind! I am not doing that. Absolutely not. If anything, I’d rather escort both you lads to bed myself and make sure you stay there—”

"We're part of the royal family, are we not?” Aemond said quickly, cutting Harwin off.

“In your station as Lord Commander of the City Watch, you swore an oath to remain faithful to the king, did you not?" 

"Of course!” Harwin shouted, throwing his hands up. “That has quite absolutely nothing to do with this-" 

"I disagree!" Aemond protested, stamping his foot. "We are descendants of the King—he is my father, and Lucerys is his grandson. Your oath extends to protecting us as well as the king, does it not?" 

Harwin didn’t budge. “You won’t turn me, boy. It has nothing in congruent with this...”

Aemond sighed, fiddling with his fingers for a moment, before gathering more determination within him. 

"If you want us protected Lord Harwin, then protect us. Escort us both to the Dragonpit under your protection, and we won't be nearly at risk of danger if we went alone. No one would dare touch you, not even the vile men of Flea Bottom. You escort us to the Dragonpit fairly often, this is no different!"

"Under routine circumstances!" Harwin countered. "During the day and with the Crown’s knowledge! And why would I make such a gamble? The King would surely never forgive me, and I cannot bear to contemplate what the Princess and the Queen would do if they heard about you both being missing—up in the sky no less!" 

Aemond contemplated for a moment's time. 

"You make a well point, Lord Commander. I will vouch for you. Lucerys will as well—right?"

Lucerys shook his head vigorously up and down.

Aemond looked to Harwin again. 

"You have done this before, anyhow. Lucerys told me that you allowed my sister to wander the streets of the city with Daemon many years ago, once upon a time. Why allow her but not us?" 

Strong eyed Lucerys.

"....When in the Seven hells did Rhaenyra tell you that?!" 

Lucerys looked like a stag out of its wits.

"Uhhhh—" 

"...Nevermind, I don't want to know." Strong huffed, cutting him off with a swipe of his hand. 

Strong lifted his head upwards, sighing and irritated, closing his eyes in annoyance. 

Aemond tapped his foot in anticipation. 

Come on.

Come on.

Come on.

"Gods damn it all!” Harwin relented. “Fucking fine! I will take you to the Dragonpit." 

Lucerys and Aemond both smiled and jumped. 

“Woo-hoo!”

“Yes!”

Harwin wagged an armored finger, pointing it.

"Stop jumping, the both of you! If I’m going to escort you both, you both are going to listen to everything that I say. Everything. No complaints or whining, or anything of the sort. I need enough of my wits remaining to withstand the headache that I’m most certain to receive." 

Lucerys saluted cheerfully. "We will follow you to the letter, o' Lord Commander of the City Watch!"

Aemond couldn't help his chuckle. 

"You better.” Harwin grumbled. “Now…here's what we'll do..." 

_______________________________________________________

 LATER

OUTSIDE OF THE RED KEEP

Ack. 

Bumpy. 

Aemond and Luke were stowed inside of a cart. Lord Harwin Strong had chosen an inconspicuous wagon from the stables, pulled by two black mares that easily carried it along. Harwin had informed the front bronze gatesmen that he was making a clandestine delivery to the Guildhall of the Alchemists under the cover of night. 

Of course, the true contents under the tarp covering the cart were two royal boys that had no business being in there to begin with. 

Aemond felt an excited rush in his veins, as the cart shook back and forth, the two horses galloping along the cobblestone streets of the city.

Aemond wasn’t much for breaking the rules, but tonight he was certainly going above and beyond disobedience, at least for him. 

This is turning out to be quite the interesting night.

Aemond thought to his mother. The queen would be absolutely furious at him, but all hesitation Aemond had felt before in that regard had faded away in total.  

As Lord Strong continued riding along, the boys heard the constant salutes by the City Watch patrolling the city, those who’d had obviously spotted their commanding officer in his gleaming, black signature armor. 

"Lord Commander..."

"Lord Commander."

"Lord Commander!"

"Loooord Commmanderrrr..." Lucerys joked to Aemond, as he made a humorous salute, hitting the top of the tarp in the process.

Aemond snickered. 

“A-HEM!” Harwin coughed very loudly—a signal for them to pipe it shut. 

The boys were seated side by side together, as the cart continued riding forward. To Aemond, though the ride was certainly a rough one—with Harwin wanting to arrive at the Dragonpit quickly—he found it strangely relaxing for his mind. Aemond closed his eyes and leaned back on the wood of the cart, resting his head. 

Aemond quickly snapped his eyes open, once he felt Lucerys take his hand again. Aemond watched as Luke gently intervene their fingers, the two holding hands as they did before.

Luke…

Aemond felt himself grow red again, as Lucerys smiled at him, seemingly enjoying the fact that he could make his uncle blush so quickly.

But Luke was blushing just as much.

Aemond managed a soft smile back at Luke, before closing his eyes again as the cart continued trotting along. 

As the Red Keep grew more and more distant, and the gained closer to the city proper, the chatter and bustling of the night began to fill there ears. Both Lucerys and Aemond heard music and shouts of people from all sides; something clearly was going on.

Aemond kept his eyes closed, until he felt Lucerys let go of his hand. Aemond watched Luke as he leaned towards the side of the cart,beginning fumbling with the tarp that kept them hidden. 

"What are you doing?" Aemond hissed.

Lucerys waved his now free hand. "Calm yourself, uncle. I'm just taking a quick peek."

Aemond wanted to stop him, but he chose otherwise, not wanting to risk making more noise and drawing the ire of their armored escort.

"Woah." Luke gasped, keeping his head poked out, shining the city’s torchlights through the opening.

"What?" Aemond whispered. 

"Come look for yourself, Aemond." Lucerys mumbled. 

Aemond sighed, relenting and moving next to Lucerys to make his own peephole out of the tarp. 

The streets were absolutely packed with people. 

Aemond gasped as he saw a hooded, green-eyed sorcerer—seemingly a low-rate one—light his hands with fire, connecting his palms and making them spark.

That's incredible!

Aemond looked up and saw an artist on a third-story building, walking along a thin rope above a narrow street, one absolutely crowded to the brim, which was connected to the adjacent building on the other side. The man slowly walked as he maintained his balance using a long pole, his face calm and still. 

Aemond laughed quietly in amusement, finding it quite the skillful act. 

Well done. 

Aemond spotted a few men walking around in dresses and painted faces, which the boy concluded were mummers, likely having been on their way to act out another play in a different corner of the city. 

Detailed busts of dragons littered the thickened streets, entertainers blowing fire out of the heads, each burst illuminating Aemond’s pale face. 

They passed stall after stall, each of them packed with lines of people buying food and drink, some of the delicacies looking particularly appetizing, Aemond feeling himself slightly entranced by the wonderful smells. 

One stall attendant was stirring a giant pot full of seafood stew, intermittently pouring in clumps of seasoning from a few bowls, which Aemond could see the claws of red and blue crabs sticking out of the bubbling broth. 

That looks quite good. 

Another seller was offering cooked chicken and large fish, stuck up on upright bamboo skewers to his patrons, each of them packed to the ends stuck in square sandbox, one with a fire burning at the center, cooking the fresh ones, as well as keeping the cooked ones hot.

One stall was selling what looked like the tentacles of an octopus, cooking them in a deep, round-bottomed metal pan. Aemond scrunched up his nose when the pink tentacles began moving in the pan.

Another stall, likely for the most lacking of coin, was cooking skinned rats in a simmering pan, the cook throwing another freshly-skinned rodent onto the hot metal. Aemond couldn't help but frown. 

Well...

I suppose everyone has to eat.

The longest line Aemond could spot was a man cooking on a large iron grill, one lit by a sizable fire beneath it, cooking even larger portions of fish than Aemond had seen earlier. 

Aemond saw the cook was accepting mere handfuls of coppers as payment, a surprisingly low amount for the service and food in the Targaryen's mind. 

"Augh! Yes! Fuck! Fuck me!" 

Aemond grew a blush as they passed an alleyway, spotting a man and a woman making love quite loudly against an establishment's wall. Both were young and both were ravenous, the two colliding against each other as if they were quarelling knights. 

Though the woman’s high-pitched moans broke through the boisterous chatter of the crowd, people paid them no mind at all, passing by and carrying on with their own activities; surely a frequent, normal occurrence this late in the night.

Aemond wasn’t sure if she was a prostitute or not, but it was a likely enough conclusion to make, as the streets of King's Landing were littered with working girls and boys—certainly a great benefit for his older brother.

Admittedly somewhat mesmerized, the boy watched as the man tensed up his form, both groaning in unison. The woman embraced the man with a satisfied expression upon her face, moving to kiss him deeply. 

Seven hells. 

How can people do this so openly?

And not on a bed?

“Out of the way, now!” Lord Harwin barked. Aemond could see the silhouette of the man waving his armored hand at a crowd of people. 

“Mmmm-hmmmm-hmmmmmm…” Luke hummed. 

Aemond smiled as he looked over at Lucerys, who gad begun humming along to music being played by bards out in the streets. One of the musicians that Aemond spotted had a huge harp, gaining a crowd of many out of the wandering city folk. Another was hitting the drumheads of his row of timpanis, the sounds loud and towering over much of the noisy aura. 

Aemond spotted a musician playing a shawm, the notes coming out in the tune of the Battle of the Bitter River; when the Brackens and Blackwoods banded forces to rout the forces of House Justman long ago.

Didn't they lose that battle?

“Boy! Stop!” A city watch patrolman chased after a street urchin, who likely had stolen something. The boy was quick, and soon disappeared between a crowd of chatting cityfolk, leaving the golden caped officer scratching his head. 

Aemond spotted another musician—this one having YiTian features—stringing the biwa he had settled in his lap. The sounds reminded Aemond of a distant echo. 

“WOOF!” a fluffy brown dog barked as it scurried into a dark alley, chasing a golden-feathered chicken that must've gotten loose; one so shiny it was gleaming. 

As he studied more faces and smelled more strange foods, Aemond found himself smiling wide. 

King's Landing never sleeps.

That's for certain. 

The city feeling as alive as it was gave the boy an incredible heap of excitement. The most experience he had with the city proper was seeing the streets in a royal carriage. Seeing the city this way was entirely new for him—and he only wanted more. 

Aegon must know every side and corner of these streets. 

With how often he’s out here.

“That's so swell…” Lucerys whispered to Aemond, nudging his shoulder. Aemond's eyes followed, seeing the stuntman swing a ring of fire into the sky, catching it with his leg in skillful fashion. 

Aemond gave his nephew a grand smile.

“...Quite.”

_______________________________________________________

OUTSIDE OF THE DRAGONPIT

WINDING PATH

“We’re good enough along the path. We're almost there."

The Lord Commander and the two hidden princelings had finally reached the vicinity of the Dragonpit.

As Aemond pulled away the tarp, he could see the massive stable looming in the distance as they drew closer, holding onto Luke’s arm as the cart rocked on the rough dirt road. Aemond thought he could hear the faint roar of a dragon from a distance, but which one he could not determine. 

Aemond looked back for a moment, seeing the torchlights littering the city like the fireflies in the godswood. The Red Keep was not far away in a relative sense, but to the Targaryen boy, it felt like it was a thousand miles away. 

“Almost there…” Aemond mumbled. 

“Yeah…” Luke murmured.

The Dragonpit was located in a heart of its own within the city, past the tight knit and crowded sand-bricked buildings. The dirt road lined with many thick trees and marking stakes, the Dragonpit’s path was mostly covered in green forestry as the three continued on. The chatter of the city had become subdued as they traveled forward. Street urchins would sometimes make their business sneaking around near the stable, but most stayed clear of the Dragonpit, in fear and in reverence of the massive flying beasts.

Even the birds and street animals would keep their distance from the gargantuan stable—and for good reason. 

Dragons don’t understand what is theirs and what isn’t. 

Land, livestock, children…

It wasn’t a mystery why so many considered the Dragonpit to be the most dangerous place in the world. 

Aemond thought it was good that the Dragonpit was as relatively secluded as it was, or as much as it could be within such a populated city. At the center of the city's forestry, the dragons were able to enjoy some relative quiet and privacy deep within the undervaults of the stable. 

Aemond looked up at the towering structure, finding himself in awe. It was so tall that Aemond couldn’t even see the massive dome from where he was viewing. 

A stable for dragons indeed.

Harwin led the horses around the entire circumference of the Dragonpit, Aemond still keeping his eyes on the massive structure. He focused on the details engraved on the great carved stones as the cart rocked along, gripping Luke’s arm with a firmer hand. 

The Dragonpit was ordered built by the reviled King Maegor himself, as a new structure to stand atop the bones of the Sept of Remembrance, which was completely destroyed from Balerion’s fire in a brutal suppression of the Faith Militant.

Aemond thought it was ironic how two of the biggest identifiers of the Targaryen dynasty, the Red Keep and the Dragonpit, owed their grandeur to such a despised king. From what Aemond had read, the Old Sept was once itself a grand structure, but the Dragonpit had surpassed it over three times in size. 

"Keep your cloaks up, boys." Harwin warned. "We need not spies seeing you." 

Lucerys and Aemond did so, covering their faces with their cloaks, as the cart continued along. They rode all the way around to the undervault entrances; where the dragons entered and exited the stable. The undervaults were connected in the shape of a ring, allowing the dragons a simple layout, and supposedly preventing any territorial behavior. 

Aemond and Luke looked on as the cart reached one of the exiting vaults. Harwin brought the cart to a stop after reaching the immediate inside of the entrance tunnel, woahing the horses and quickly exiting and hopping off. 

“Come, boys.” Harwin beckoned, extending out an armored hand. Aemond and Lucerys followed the Lord Commander’s lead, exiting the cart with his aid, being helped down to their feet. Aemond and Luke looked up at the high ceiling of the entrance, one that stood tens and tens of meters past their height.

Aemond shivered a bit as he heard a murmur from another dragon, the sound echoing across the tunnel. 

Harwin grabbed an oil-dipped torch and a knife from the cart, striking it until it lit.

"Use this to light your way, boys." Harwin said, handing it to Aemond. 

Harwin sighed for a moment. “I'll stay here until you fly back down. Be safe. Don't be unbothered and harm yourselves. You two are far more keen on dragons than I will ever be, but please…don’t be fools.”

Aemond and Luke both nodded.

"We will be safe, Lord Commander." Aemond promised. "Thank you for the escort."

Harwin looked at both with a forlonging look, hesitation visible in his eyes. Harwin gave them a final nod. 

"Look after each other." Harwin said, the two both nodding. "I shall await your return." 

Aemond and Luke met each other’s eyes, both their faces illuminated by the torch. 

“You ready?” Luke asked.

Aemond gulped, but nodded. “Yes.”

The two boys continued into the tunnel, the light growing dimmer and dimmer as they walked deeper into the cavern. Aemond took a look back at Harwin, who stood watching them walk down into the darkness, before beckoning the horses to turn the cart back around, apparently positioning himself to leave as soon as they returned. 

As the inside of the cavern grew darker, Aemond instinctively grabbed Lucerys' hand, only the light of the torch guiding them forward. 

Aemond's heart jumped when he felt Luke's fingers tighten their grip. 

So soft. 

Stop it, Aemond. 

“Such a grand place for so little of dragons.” Luke mumbled, his footsteps quiet.  

Aemond hummed. "Who knows? A hundred years from now, there might be too many dragons for even this place." 

Luke chuckled. "That would be maddening, I'm sure. Especially if they all get as big as Vhagar." 

Vhagar. 

The Queen of All Dragons was an incredible sight to behold, and nothing less than an incredible, legendary dragon. 

She was the last living dragon born before Aegon’s great conquest, hatching some fifty years before the invasion began. Her first rider was Queen Visenya Targaryen, one of the Conqueror's two sister-wives, and considered to be the more fierce of her opposite, Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. 

Vhagar, along with Balerion and Meraxes, had been instrumental in securing the Targaryen dynasty’s grip on Westeros, and uniting the continent as one. After the Targaryen regime had been established, Visenya utilized her great steed in razing the Principality of Dorne to cinders, after a scorpion bolt from the defiant Dornishmen killed Meraxes and Queen Rhaenys, as the Dornish had never accepted Targaryen rule, continuing to rebel against the authority of the freshly forged Iron Throne.

The period was known to history as the Dragon’s Wroth, and Vhagar’s concussive dragonfire left almost nothing standing in its wake. The masters of Oldtown in the past had written that Vhagar’s dragonfire had burned so hot that it could cooked armored Dornish knights from the inside, enough to leave their remains in total ash. 

Once Visenya had finally embraced death, Vhagar was riderless until Baelon Targaryen, the father of King Viserys and Aemond’s long deceased grandfather, claimed her as a steed. Baelon had utilized the great dragon in yet anotner conflict with the Dornish fleet, when the hostile principality made another attempt to invade the Stormlands. Vhagar burning all opposing dromonds to ash, alongside Vermithor and Caraxes. 

When Baelon suddenly died of a burst belly, Vhagar was left riderless once more. 

Adrift and free, Vhagar roamed the world for years and years without end, with the occasional sighting from the ports in Spicetown from time to time. The mighty dragon eventually made nest along the coast of the Narrow Sea, though none dared tread too close to her lair. 

By this time, Vhagar had grown far too large for the Dragonpit’s confinement. The years of free roaming likely did Vhagar much good, as nothing seemed to stop the beast from continuing to erupt in size. 

By now, Vhagar was said to be so large that one could ride a horse down her gullet. 

Vhagar had last been claimed by Laena Velaryon, the daughter of Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, at just the age of ten.

Aemond thought Laena must have been unusually determined or incredibly foolish to attempt to claim such a massive dragon at a very young age. But however she truly felt, she managed to succeed. 

But for as far as she flew into the sky with Vhagar, the vulnerabilities of being human kept her addled on the ground. Laena had perished during a difficult childbirth, one that resulted in the loss of both her and her unborn child. Aemond heard rumors that Laena had beckoned Vhagar to incinerate her into ashes, not wanting to die anything less than a dragonrider’s death. 

Aemond wondered how his uncle Daemon took Laena’s death deep down, as he had never mentioned it, nor did Aemond dare to ever ask him about it. 

Now riderless like before, Vhagar had remained on Driftmark ever since, perhaps not wanting to stray too far from Laena’s remains. Aemond had once seen Vhagar resting on the beach near High Tide himself during Laena’s funeral, listening to the dragons’ sad song as it lied in the sand. 

Lucerys kicked a rock with his boot. "Grandfather was lucky to be bonded with Balerion, even if for a short while." 

Aemond hummed in agreement. "He was." 

When his father was just a young prince, he managed claim Balerion the Black Dread himself, the Conqueror's steed, as well as Margor's. Balerion held the reputation as the largest of all of the Targaryen dragons, so large it could swallow an entire town in its shadow when it flew in the sky. By the time the then-Prince Viserys had claimed Balerion, the once mighty dragon had grown old, lethargic, and lazy.

Viserys only flew atop Balerion a few times in his youth, but the old dragon was unable to fly even a short distance to Dragonstone. 

Balerion soon died of old age, and Viserys never claimed a dragon again. 

Aemond never asked why his father never claimed another, but as Viserys kept Balerion’s skull in a place of honor on pedestal behind the throne room, the boy concluded that his father found their bond irreplaceable with another.

Aemond’s thoughts drew to the living Vhagar.

I wonder what it would be like to ride her. 

To truly ride her. 

To command such a divine beast with my hand. 

Aemond shook his head. 

No.

Vhagar would sooner devour me than accept me as her rider. 

The boys reached the tunnels leading to each of the undervaults, both of them hearing the dragons growling and stirring within, though some seemed as if they were snoring. 

The first vault they passed was the temporary dwelling of both Seasmoke and Moondancer, Rhaena and Baela's respective dragons, with Aemond able to spot Moondancer's striped patterns deep within the tunnel—something enough to make the boy shudder. 

Moondancer was a young dragon, having been hatched when Baela was a very young child; her egg hatched before she could even walk, a contrast to Rhaena's own gifted egg never having hatched. Slender and pale green, Moondancer sported black stripes all across her back, akin to that of a tiger cat. The dragon had a long tail, long enough to be used as a whip. 

Despite Moondancer's youth, she had had a strong spurt, growing enough to rival Vermax's size. With the dragon being quick and fast, Baela often used her dragon for hunting in the Crownlands, felling game with crossbow game as Moondancer dived close to the ground. 

Seasmoke was a gray, ash-colored dragon, one of medium age compared to Moondancer, and one even more swift.

The dragon had grown a significant amount since its time in the Stepstones, and Lady Rhaena Targaryen, after claiming the seastone dragon for herself, built up a reputation as a respected and feared dragonrider.

Seasmoke was a dragon originally bred by House Targaryen, though it had been given to the now deceased Laenor Velaryon as a hatchling to claim. It was a trade in effort to rekindle its relations with House Velaryon, after the results of the Great Council of 101 left the naval house in a sour position. 

Laenor Velaryon had met his end within the halls of High Tide, killed by Qarl Correy, a household knight of House Velaryon, and a supposed lover of Laenor—if the rumors were to be believed. 

Though Laenor’s death had inadvertently led to House Targaryen’s resumed control through Rhaena Targaryen, Seasmoke resided primarily on Driftmark with her rider, only nesting within the Dragonpit when Rhaena flew to King’s Landing.

Seasmoke had remained riderless and adrift on Driftmark for years after Laenor's death, making its nest there alongside Vhagar. From what Aemond had been told, Rhaena had attempted to claim Seasmoke once she turned eight, but the dragon had outright and aggressively refused her, almost killing her in the process.

Rhaena however, did not cease her efforts. Seasmoke refused her advances for years and years, almost claiming her life multiple times over, until Rhaena finally turned thirteen. 

Perhaps Seasmoke was mourning the loss of Laenor as his rider, and sought to renew that bond with another; or perhaps Seasmoke was impressed with Rhaena's stubborness. Rhaena often flew Seasmoke above and around Driftmark, with both Seasmoke and Moondancer being a common sight above High Tide and Spicetown. 

The next vault led to the dwelling of The Red Queen. 

Aemond could see the smoke coming from the tunnel, smoke that was surely emanating from Meleys’ nostrils. The Red Queen was a more notable dragons of the Targaryen dynasty, having been hatched during the days of the Old King Jaehaerys. Her first rider was Alyssa Targaryen, the late mother of Aemond’s father and uncle, who was supposedly an avid dragonrider in her prime days. Meleys was then after been claimed by Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, who had become respected as a powerful woman in her own right.

Meleys was the swiftest of all the dragons, outpacing all the rest easily, even as she neared over sixty years of age. Meleys had scarlet scales and a crown of bright copper horns, giving the dragon a mighty fearsome appearance. 

Aemond had only ever seen Meleys up close once, and Aemond was utterly terrified at the giant beast’s presence. Meleys’ deep yellow eyes might as well have burnt into his very own mind, as he could not forget the image. Even simply standing outside her lair was enough to send shivers down the boy's spine. 

It took Aemond and Lucerys longer to reach the next dwelling, but Aemond knew it to be the vault of Caraxes, with the banner of a three-headed dragon lined with gold hanging above it.

The Blood Wyrm was another terrifying dragon of the the Targaryen-hatched line, having also been born during the reign of the Old King.

The dragon had first been the mount of Aemon Targaryen, one of the many sons of King Jaehaerys. As a young dragon, Caraxes had been considered so fierce by the dragonkeepers that they had named him the ‘Blood Wyrm’; analogous to the fearsome strength of the fire wyrms that were said to rampage across the ruins of Old Valyria.

Red-scaled with a horned beard, and with a serpentine body, Caraxes was unlike all of the other dragons in appearance, seemingly having been deformed from the egg, though that certainly did not hinder its power.

Caraxes had unusual formed membranes in the shape of wings on its legs, which helped the snake-like dragon fly into the sky. Now being the mount of Prince Daemon Targaryen, it gave many great reason to fear the infamous Rogue Prince. With his controversial marriage to Rhaenyra Targaryen, it all but assured her looming reign would not be challenged by dishonest actors.

Aemond couldn’t help but admire Daemon and Caraxes in a way, looking up to him as a example of the seasoned dragonrider he wanted to be. 

But I'll never be him. 

Aemond held onto Luke’s hand tighter when they heard a low yawn from the next vault, almost sounding like a snore. The banner hanging above was Rhaenyra's personal banner, quartered into four; two squares with the three-headed Targaryen dragon, and the opposite squares sporting the raven of House Arryn and the hippocampus of House Velaryon. 

It was the dwelling of Syrax. 

A yellow-scaled, green-eyed dragon, Syrax was the esteemed, pampered, and proud mount of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen of Dragonstone.

Though a dragon she was, Syrax acted more like a domesticated animal than a dragon of war, having earned a reputation for being lazy and engorged moreso than the rest. Syrax was a moody dragon, uncomfortable with flying in bad weather and stormy skies, requiring a certain amount of cattle to satisfy her hunger daily, and who spent a majority portion of her days sleeping and snoozing away, be it settled in the Dragonpit or lounging on Dragonstone. 

Syrax was born before Rhaenyra’s birth, but none had ever ridden or named her until she claimed her at the age of eight. Since then, Syrax had grown substantially, being of the same size as both Caraxes and Meleys.

Aemond thought Syrax had one of the more unique looks out of the dragons, especially its long, inverted horns, and its thick, armored neck. 

Syrax was the dragon that Aemond was the least afraid of, but he still held hesitation towards such a sizable beast. 

Aemond and Luke continued walking along, finally reaching another tunnel entrance. Aemond raised the torch, his eyes looking up as he spotted a hanging banner—a Targaryen banner of a three-headed dragon colored gold on a field of shadowy black—the personal sigil of his older brother, Aegon Targaryen. 

It was the dwelling of Sunfyre, also known as Sunfyre the Golden. 

Sunfyre was an unusual dragon in regards to strict appearance. Considered to be the most eye-catching of all the dragons, its scales were of a bright golden—so bright that when sunlight gleamed off scales, it reflected a beautiful, rainbow-like prism, almost as if Sunfyre’s scales were not so different from the inner structure of diamonds.

Even the horns of the dragon seemed to be of a marble-like texture, though they were not so delicate as the material. Sunfyre’s wing membranes were of a pale pink, which complemented the bright color of his golden scales. Sunfyre also had a long, whipping tail, which the dragon could use to smash things with relative ease. 

Aegon had claimed Sunfyre as a little boy on the Dragonmont on Dragonstone, when the golden dragon had recently hatched from its egg. Aegon kept the golden egg shell, keeping it displayed in his room. The dragon was small enough then to carry around on Aegon’s head, which he did, quite often. Over the years however, Sunfyre had grown substantially in size, rivaling even the width of Caraxes and Syrax.

Sunfyre had a proud and boastful personality, perhaps taking its prime traits from its rider. Aegon and Sunfyre shared one of the strongest dragon bonds out of the Targaryen dragonriders, with the golden-rainbow dragon heeding Aegon’s every command ever since he turned ten. Even when Aegon was drunk and flew Sunfyre—a feat that drove their mother to the edge of madness—the golden dragon was able to understand his commands, as well as turn itself upright when Aegon would spin Sunfyre upside down. 

Aegon had consistently offered to fly Aemond out on dragonback with Sunfyre, wanting to get his little brother accustomed to dragonriding. But Aemond had denied him, too scared to fly atop such a swift dragon, no matter how golden and bright. 

Aemond and Luke continued along, reaching the next vault. 

Aemond gulped hard, looking up at the hanging banner of a golden-silver, three-headed dragon on a field of plain white, swinging in the stale, humid air.

Aemond knew this particular dragon dwelling all too well. 

It was Dreamfyre’s nest, the mount of Aemond’s older sister, Helaena Targaryen. Dreamfyre was the oldest and largest of all the dragons in the Dragonpit, having been hatched during the reigning years of Aegon the Conqueror himself.

Despite her seasoned age, Helaena Targaryen was only her second rider. The blue-scaled dragon remained riderless for decades after Rhaena Targaryen’s death, the long-deceased daughter of King Aenys I.

Helaena had claimed the formidable dragon at the age of six, with the Targaryen girl being the youngest to do so in House Targaryen’s history; a both mysterious and admirable feat, with such a little girl claiming the largest dragon she could bond with.

Helaena and Dreamfyre’s bond had grown closer and closer ever since their union, especially more so when Helaena had grown old enough to ride atop her saddle, something Helaena often did.

Dreamfyre seemed not so fond of Aemond however, the boy recalling their terrifying meeting in the undervaults.

Aemond gulped, before keeping his feet moving, as Lucerys had resumed walking. The Targaryen boy grimaced as he felt a particularly sharp rock under his boot, kicking it away.

It was a moment later when the two reached the entrance of the next tunnel; a three-headed dragon banner colored a violet blue on a field of black—the personal sigil of Daeron Targaryen.

It was the dwelling of Tessarion, the Blue Queen. 

Only thirteen years of age, Daeron, Aemond's younger brother, and the youngest of the Queen and the King's children, had spent the last few years in Oldtown, serving as both a page and ward under the auspice of House Hightower.

Aemond truly missed his little brother; though he outwardly loathed Aegon's brotherly affection, he did enjoy it, understanding the protectiveness that an older brother felt by nature, having felt the same with Daeron. 

Though he had been in Oldtown for years, Daeron still looked up to Aemond as a role model. When he was younger and living in King's Landing, he followed Aemond around and mimicked him almost like a cat would to another. Daeron often snuck out of his room at night to crawl into bed with Aemond, wanting to be close to his protective older brother, as well as joining him in the Red Keep's library.

It had been years since Aemond had even heard Daeron's voice, having only the letters he often sent to King's Landing. Aemond always wrote him back, usually wriring to him about new books that had read, and strange things he had seen, reminding Daeron that he loved him very much and missed him greatly. 

As a condition of Daeron's time as ward until he grew of age of six and ten, his dragon Tessarion was kept in the Dragonpit in King's Landing, as Oldtown was not too fond of dragons roaming near the city. Tessarion had remained nested in the pit, rarely coming out of her dwelling.

Tessarion was a unique, violet blue-scaled dragon, with twisted bronze horns and frills of a beaten gold color. Daeron had also claimed Tessarion on the Dragonmont—which he affectionately called Tessa—when the violet blue dragon was just a tiny hatchling. The dragon had since grown in size despite spending most of its life inside of its dwelling. Whatever the reason for Tessarion's growth, the dragonkeepers were not certain. Tessarion had grown enough to reach even to Sunfyre's width, and showed no signs of stopping. 

Daeron would surely be in shock at her might now.

“Almost there…” Luke mumbled, as they continued walking along. 

The next tunnel entrance they encountered was without a banner, and with sheep bones scattered across the floor. It was not a dwelling for a specific dragon, but rather, the home of three dragons—Morghul, Shrykos, and Morning.

Each of the dragons had hatched less than ten years ago, as well as being unbonded. The three dragons nested together, and often snapped at the dragonkeepers—unless they were bringing new slaughter for them to eat.

They were relatively small dragons, each being around the same size as Arrax; rideable, but not by a great degree. Aemond hadn’t had much interaction with any of the three dragons outside of Morghul—which had once violently rejected Aemond when it was just a tiny hatchling. 

Aemond shook his head, as they continued along the underground circle. 

Aemond and Luke finally reached one of the last vaults, looking up at the banner that hung over the entrance.

It was the dwelling of Vermax.

Hung over the tunnel was a detailed and unique banner, with a red three-headed dragon and a silver hippocampus on a sea green and black field, and with gold linings the same as Daemon's—Jacaerys Velaryon’s personal sigil. With the prince to take the name of Targaryen once he ascended the Iron Throne after his mother, Jacaerys had saw fit to have his claimed sigil honor both his Velaryon and Targaryen heritage.

Vermax was a tropical green-scaled dragon, one with curved horns, bright yellow eyes, thick armor, and red wing membranes. Aemond recalled when Vermax was not much larger than a war horse, though now the dragon had grown past double that of Arrax’s size, and was growing larger every year. Vermax had an irritated and impatient temperament, especially when it came to his meals, which seemed fitting for Jacaerys, who was eager to step into his responsibilities. 

Aemond felt Luke let go of his hand as they finally reached the last tunnel.

“Here we are!” Luke said happily. 

Aemond lifted the torch again, the fire illuminating the banner that hung above the tunnel. It was a three-headed dragon, undetailed and colored a plain silver, on a field of sea green—Luke’s own personal sigil.

With him to one day become Lord of the Tides, it was only fitting for Lucerys to sport a personal sigil with the colors of his house. 

“Come on." Lucerys said, beginning to step forward. "Let’s give Arrax our greeting.” 

Out of fear and instinct, Aemond quickly grabbed Luke’s hand, stopping him from moving. Aemond looked down at his boots, embarrassed, as Luke turned to eye him curiously. 

Fuck.

I’m such a coward. 

Aemond felt Luke hold his hand tighter, as the boy fought his own nervousness.  

"You don’t have to be afraid." Luke said gently.

Aemond sighed.  "I-I know. I’m…I’m just…”

Gods.

It's horribly embarrassing to feel this way.

“It’s alright, Aemond." Luke assured, his voice soft. "Just…just keep holding my hand. Alright? It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

Aemond raised his eyes to meet Luke’s, staring into his brown irises.

"Do you trust me?" Luke aske, smiling at Aemond with a torch-lit glow.

Aemond gulped, but nodded. “I-I do.”

Lucerys nodded as well. “Good! Let me lead, then. Arrax is going to be more agreeable if he sees me first." 

Aemond grew a worried look. "What? He'll try to burn me to cinders?"

Luke shrugged. "Well, noooo, but he may snap at you." 

Aemond sighed again, defeated. "...Alright, just lead the way." 

With Aemond still holding the torch, he kept the light of the flame ahead of Lucerys' eyesight, as they walked deeper into the tunnel. As they walked into the tunnel, the snoring of the pearlescent-scaled dragon grew louder and louder. Aemond kept moving forward on hesitant footsteps, determined to at least be in the presence of Arrax without recoiling in fear. 

The two boys reached the end of the tunnel, having led to a cavern that Arrax made its dwelling within. Aemond lifted the torch, and his eyes scanned over the sleeping dragon, Arrax curled up on the ancient grounds.

The Targaryen boy felt himself cease to breathe. The dragon had grown since he'd last seen it, and though Arrax was still small relative to a dragon, he was more than big enough to fit two riders. Aemond stopped completely in his tracks, as Lucerys turned to him again.

“I’ll nudge him awake. Just keep holding the torch, will you?”  

Aemond nodded, gulping again. “R-right.”

Luke let go of Aemond’s hand and began to slowly walk forward, reaching his own hand out towards the sleeping dragon. Luke gently kneeled down, hovering a hand over Arrax’s snout. 

“Arrax…” Luke cooed. “Arrax, jiōragon bē…” Arrax, wake up…

He's fantastically fluent.

Lucerys had taken to his High Valyrian studies quite quickly. Despite how often Aemond studied, Lucerys held the superior grasp upon their old language among all the Targaryen children. 

Aemond backed up when Arrax stirred, ceasing its slumber and displaying its yellow eyes, shinning in the wobbling torchlight. Lucerys still kneeled, holding out his hand.

Oh fuck.

Arrax seemed to be shaking off his grogginess, but his eyes dilated once he realized who was nearest to him. Arrax stood up on his legs and charged towards Luke, crawling forward and almost tackling the Velaryon boy.

“Luke!” Aemond shouted in fear. 

“A-hahahaha! Rytsas, Arrax. Kessa, hen rhinka, nyke ao tolī.” Hello, Arrax. Yes, of course, I missed you too. 

Aemond watched as Arrax nuzzled into his rider, licking his face with his tongue. 

“Augh! Gross!” Lucerys whined, still laughing as he hugged Arrax’s neck. “You smell like ash!”

Aemond felt a familiar pang of jealousy, as Arrax began growling endearingly at Lucerys. He’d never understood what such a bond was like, and with Lucerys was displaying it in front of his face, it made him pine for it even more than he had already wanted it. 

Aemond still kept a healthy distance back from the dragon, not yet willing to move forward. Luke tended to Arrax, giving the young dragon a healthy amount of pets on his scales. 

Aemond thought that Arrax was almost purring like a cat. 

Luke gave Arrax a few last pets on the snout, before pointing back to Aemond. 

"Jurnegon, Arrax. Nyke maghatan nykeā raqiros." Look, Arrax. I brought a guest.

Arrax instantly tensed up once he acknowledged Aemond's presence. He growled slightly, perhaps seeing Aemond as a threat. Aemond gasped, backing up as he grew fearful of the dragon. 

Lucerys frowned, reprimanding Arrax with a whisper. "Arrax, lykirī." Arrax, be calm.

Luke softly brushed his hand on the dragon’s scales. "Ao gīmigon zirȳla, Arrax. Ziry's issa kēpus." You know him, Arrax. He's my uncle.

Arrax still seemed hesitant to Aemond, unsure of the boy’s intentions. 

Lucerys beckoned Aemond over.

"C'mere, hold out your hand."

Aemond’s feet were firmly planted on the ground. 

"...Are you certain?" Aemond asked, worried. 

Luke eyed his uncle.

"Only one way Arrax will take a liking to you. I wouldn't be telling you if I was not. Like I said before—you don't have to be afraid." 

The sincerity in Luke's eyes was enough for Aemond. 

Alright. 

I trust you.

Gathering his nerves, Aemond walked forward slowly. Arrax reared his head back in an inquisitive manner, keeping his eyes on the taller boy. Aemond kept his steps light and slow, as Luke took the torch from his hand. Aemond slowly raised his hand up, feeling it shake, as Arrax curiously looked down at him. 

Aemond gulped. 

Don’t eat me.

Don’t eat me.

Don’t eat me.

After a while of holding out his hand, Arrax tepidly inched closer, sniffing it. Aemond took his chance, slowly placing his shaking hand upon Arrax's scales, causing its pupils to dilate. To Aemond’s shock, Arrax almost began to purr. 

“Heh!” Aemond laughed, in complete awe, not able to help but letting out a laugh of satisfaction. Lucerys smiled at him, very much proud of his uncle. 

"See? I knew you could do it! Not so bad, isn't it?"

“Not at all…” Aemond mumbled, still in awe as he continued to pet Arrax. Aemond giggled as Arrax began licking his hand, something a bit gross due to the dragon’s saliva, but as endearing as if it were a dog. 

As Aemond wiped off his hand, Lucerys walked forward slowly, placing a free hand on Arrax’s neck, still holding the torch.  

"Arrax, nyke māzigon kesīr naejot iepagon mirrī hen nykeā vaoreznon. Coulo ao gaomagon mirros syt īlva?" Arrax, I came here to ask for a bit of a favor. Could you do something for us?

The dragon blinked, letting out a snort in response. 

_______________________________________________________

LATER

"Oh fuck, we’re completely done for!"

“Ack! We need to keep moving!”

Leading Arrax out of the Dragonpit was far more of a hassle than either of the two boys expected.

Arrax, having been abruptly woken up, was still fairly sleepy. In his stupor, he inadvertently knocked into a few walls along the way, despite them carrying the torch for the dragon to see its way through. 

The walls of the Dragonpit were more than strong enough to deal with a few wrong turns, but it still made a loud noise, shaking the tunnels. One of the now-awake dragons, Daeron's Tessarion, was not so pleased to hear Arrax moving about in the dusk of the night.

Tessarion spit blue-colored dragonfire at them in retaliation for being disturbed, spitting a far enough volley for it to reach the entrance of its tunnel.

“AHHHHH!” Luke and Aemond screamed, as they felt the intense heat from the blue flames, Aemond feeling some of his own silver hair singed from the heat. The other dragons began stirring, clearly hearing the commotion in the tunnels.  

Aemond was holding onto Luke for dear life, as he sat behind him on Arrax’s saddle. For a first time experience on being on dragonback, it certainly wasn’t what Aemond had expected it to feel like. Arrax crawling forward on its claws and legs was quite the rough experience, so Aemond had no choice but to hold onto Luke tightly, as he would surely be thrown off if he didn’t. 

“Fuck!” Luke grumbled. “The dragonkeepers definitely heard all the ruckus! We need to keep moving!”

We’re in so much trouble. 

Sorry, mother. 

Arrax stomped forward as he made his way out of the tunnels, the dragons stirring once more, as each of them had clearly grown irritated. Aemond was relieved when he saw moonlight shining at the end, the two having reached the exit once more. 

As Arrax stomped closer, Aemond felt his heart stop. At the exit stood two dragonkeepers, each gripping their obedience staffs, ready to stop them both. 

“Uh-oh…” Aemond mumbled, looking at the exit. 

“Fuck. We’re caught.” Lucerys grumbled. 

The two watched as one of the dragonkeepers stepped forward, surely having identified the both of them. 

"Keligon! Sir! Prince Lucerys se Prince Aemond, jiōragon pryjagon Arrax paktot sir!” Stop! Now! Prince Lucerys and Prince Aemond, dismount Arrax at once!

Aemond glanced past the dragonkeepers to spot Harwin's cart, to which he was in the middle of bickering with a dragonkeeper. 

Welp. 

There goes the scheme. 

Aemond held onto Luke tighter. “What do we do?” he hissed. Aemond watched Luke grip the reigns with a harsh grip, wrapping them around his wrists. 

“We fly.” Lucerys said finally. 

Aemond’s heart dropped. “Wait, wait, Luke—I…I-I don’t know about this any longer, mayhaps we should go back—”

“No!” Luke complained. “We’re already this far! We came out here to fly, so flying is what we’re going to do!”

Luke finally looked back at Aemond, meeting his uncle’s nervous eyes. Luke still had determination on his face.  

"Aemond! Come on. You can do this."

Aemond gulped.  

Just do it, Aemond. 

JUST FUCKING DO IT!

You’ll never have your own dragon if you’re too cowardly to fly!

So do it!

FLY!

Aemond nodded to Luke, finally relenting. “A-alright. Let’s do this.”

Luke gave him a brief smile before looking forward, taking hold of the metal grips of Arrax’s saddle.

“Keep holding onto me, Aemond. Hold on tight! You’ll be fine, just make sure to not let go for anything. Once we get up in the clouds, we can ease ourselves. But not until then, you understand?”

Aemond nodded, wordless. 

“Let’s fly!” Luke shouted. “Arrax, naejot!” Arrax, forward!

“PIIIIIH!” Arrax roared, as it began stomping forward on quick legs, causing Aemond to gasp and hold onto Luke’s waist tighter. Arrax gained momentum as it neared the exit, the two dragonkeepers still opposing them, holding their obedience sticks in an offensive posture, as if they could do anything to Arrax but mildly annoy it. 

“Nykeōragon ilagon! Ỹdra daor gaomagon ziry!” Stand down! Don’t do it!

Arrax continued barreling forward. Aemond kept holding onto Luke tightly, exhilarated from the anticipation. Arrax was already spreading out his wings, ready to slip into the sky. 

“Sōvegon, Arrax! Ezīmagon se jēdar!” Fly, Arrax! Into the sky!

With one quick swipe, Arrax had lifted itself off the ground, hovering just enough to glide over the two dragonkeepers, both of whom ducked for cover as they hit the dirt. Arrax flapped its wings quickly, as it began lifting itself in the air, climbing into the night sky. 

“WOO-HOOO!” Luke shouted victoriously. 

Aemond couldn't stop screaming.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

It was nothing short of terrifying for a first-time experience.

Aemond had always felt a degree of security having both his feet planted on the ground of the world, but atop a dragon, he felt that familiar feeling of safety completely slip away, as if it never existed at all. Aemond did his best to not look down, as that would surely make his heart drop in even further fear. The wind hitting his face was considerable, filling his ears with a whooshing noise, a sound that surely one could only ever experience on dragonback. 

But despite Aemond’s fear, he couldn’t deny to himself what an exhilaration it was. 

Aemond tried hard not to crush Lucerys with his grip around his waist, though he was holding onto his nephew for dear life. The wind was loud against his ears, his silver hair and cloak flapping wildly against the harsh winds trailing across Arrax’s wings. 

Lucerys however, was laughing.

"WOO-HOO! Lua eglikta, Arrax!" WOO-HOO! Keep flying higher, Arrax!

Arrax continued to barrel into the sky, flapping its wings quickly as it climbed higher and higher. Aemond finally ceded his urge to look down, and screamed in horror.

“AHHHHHHH! WE’RE SO FUCKING FAR UP!” 

King’s Landing had grown distant, the two of them high enough to where if they did fall, they would surely be killed. 

We're in so much fucking trouble.

Aemond looked forward, seeing Arrax flying directly towards a cloud. 

“Here we go!” Luke shouted.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Aemond screamed. 

Arrax swiftly bolted into the cloud, masking the boys’ field of vision in the ice crystals. Aemond held onto Lucerys, scared at not being able to see the way forward. 

“HAHAHAHAHA!” Luke cheered. 

Aemond closed his eyes, unable to keep them open as Arrax continued to carve its way through the cloud. 

Finally, Arrax reached the end, bolting out the other end as quickly as it had entered it. 

Luke tapped Arrax’s neck. "Sȳz, Arrax! Sȳz! Ilie hen!" Good, Arrax! Good! Level out!

Aemond felt the wind grow calmer as Arrax began to keep itself steady, now gliding on its wings. Aemond felt secure enough to open his eyes again, gasping in awe as he did so. 

The night sky was full of clouds; large ones that seemed to blend and stack into each other. It was nothing but a serene view, and Aemond felt his nerves grow completely calm as he began to subside into the comfort. 

“This is amazing…” Aemond mumbled, still in awe. 

Lucerys chuckled. “See? It was worth all the hassle.”

Aemond nodded, looking around at the clouds in the open sky. Feeling himself grow comfortable, he reached out with a hand to feel a nearby cloud, feeling the dampness of it on his palms.

Oh wow. 

Fantastic. 

The moon of the night shined over them, emitting a wondrous glow over the dragon and both of the boys. Aemond didn’t know if he truly believed in the existence of the Seven, but in that moment, he doubted even the heavens felt so high and lifted. 

It was enough for Aemond to let go.

Aemond finally let both arms free, keeping his hands out and feeling the wind’s calm current across his palms. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, focusing on the feeling of his silver hair flowing at the dragon's pace.

This is what it means to be a dragonrider.

This is where I belong.

I was born for the sky.

Opening his eyes again, Aemond met Luke’s own as he looked back at him, the Velaryon clearly amused at his uncle’s enjoyment of it all. Aemond grinned for a moment, but he dropped it almost as quickly.

It was right then, that Aemond felt something terribly strange.

Something peculiar that he hadn’t felt the entire night. 

Desire.

Not the desire to fly, or to run his fingers through the clouds. 

Desire for Lucerys. 

It was innocent enough as it stirred within his heart—no, his soul—but the feeling began weighing him down like an anchor did to a ship. Lucerys had held a smile for a moment as well, but had dropped it almost the same time Aemond had. The two were both staring at each other, as Arrax continued to glide along on his wings, flapping so gently that Aemond could barely hear it. 

Aemond didn’t know for sure, but he felt enough assurance that Lucerys was feeling the same manner as he did.

Aemond gulped, not removing his eyes. Lucerys’ own brown irises were filled with what seemed like curiosity and hesitation. Neither of the two said anything to each other, seemingly waiting on the other to make a move.

Aemond felt himself glancing down at Luke’s lips, losing focus on his eyes. Aemond grimaced internally at his instinctive actions, but he could see that Luke was doing the same.

Does he mean to…

There’s no way.

How can that be possible?

Aemond was thoroughly confused. He couldn’t lie to himself any longer; he did want to kiss Lucerys. Whatever it was—his curly black hair, his soft skin, his agreeable personality—Aemond couldn’t pin down for certain. But he knew that he wanted to kiss him. 

But why? Aemond had never taken interest with another boy before this moment. So why now?

Aemond felt Luke’s eyes grow wider with desperation, seemingly having the same internal battle as he. At that moment, Aemond decided to let go of his fears, and drive himself on his instinct. 

I’m already this high up in the clouds.

How hard can a kiss be?

Aemond breathed in and out of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment before giving Luke a determined look. 

Fuck it. 

Aemond shut off his mind and leaned forward, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Luke’s own. It was an awkward motion, with Aemond tepidly pressing his lips, not moving them. 

Aemond was internally flipping barrels. 

What am I doing.

What am I doing.

What am I doing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

Aemond couldn’t see it, but Lucerys had kept his eyes open in shock. But as their kiss continued Luke had closed them, the two folded into a comfortable silence, letting the wind and Arrax carry them along. 

Aemond finally broke off the kiss, gulping for air. Aemond gave Lucerys a worried look, uncertain of his nephew's reaction. Luke started back at him blankly for a moment, with Aemond unable to read his expression. 

Fuck no.

Fuck.

I ruined it.

I ruined everything.  

Aemond felt his heart burst out of his chest, when Luke’s lips started to curl upwards into a smile. 

This is happening.

This is happening.

This is happening.

This is happening.

BY THE GODS, THIS IS HAPPENING!

Aemond watched Luke lean forward, the Targaryen boy quickly followed his lead. The two melted into another soft kiss, Aemond quickly fluttering his eyes closed. It was as gentle and curious as their first, though the boys carefully moved their lips together rather than keeping them still.

This is great.

This is great!

I LOVE THIS!

Aemond grew emboldened, placing more force in his kissing, though certainly not enough for it to be heavy. Aemond moved to tenderly hold Luke's cheeks both of his hands, the Velaryon only humming in response. 

Aemond began leading, and he thought Luke almost swooned as he followed the Targaryen boy's direction.

Yes! 

Yes!

HE LIKES IT!

HE LIKES ME!

Aemond had never kissed anyone before this, but it felt like kissing Lucerys was as natural to him as anything else. 

It's so right. 

Aemond pressed one more kiss to Luke's lips before he broke it apart, taking the time to nuzzle his forehead onto Luke's own, causing Luke to giggle. 

“Piiiiiih…” Arrax hummed. 

Aemond had a terrific smile plastered on his face. Never before had he felt so happy and complete; free in the sky, and warm from the flames of desire. Aemond could not begin to describe the feeling he attained from kissing Lucerys.

Aemond felt a strong desire to kiss Luke until the moon dropped. 

Aemond kissed Luke once more, Lucerys eager to return it. They moved their lips together with more effort, the two boys growing more comfortable with the action. Aemond couldn’t get over just how soft Luke’s lips were. To him, they felt as smooth and soft as sweets made from mallow plants.

As they broke apart again, the two smiled at each other, unable to keep the stupid grins off their faces. Turning back around, Lucerys gripped the reigns of the saddle, looking back to his uncle.

"You might want to hold on for this." Lucerys said suddenly. 

Aemond's face fell to confusion. “Uhhhh, Luke? What are you going to—”

Luke whipped the reigns. “Ropagon ilagon!” Dive!

And dive Arrax did. 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Aemond screamed, wrapping his arms around Lucerys’ waist as tightly as he could, both of their cloaks and hair flapping rapidly as the wind current increased its speed. Aemond felt his stomach drop as Arrax barreled downwards, the intoxicating feeling only making him scream louder. 

Lucerys pulled Arrax to climb higher once more, keeping a firm grip on his dragon’s reigns. “Hahahaha! That was fun! I love doing that!” Luke cheered.

“Just tell me first before you do that!” Aemond groaned, keeping his arms wrapped tight. 

The two boys kept divebombing in the clouds for what felt like a day, but Aemond admittedly couldn’t focus on much else but how he had kissed Luke. 

I can't believe I kissed him; I can't believe he kissed me!

Does that mean he likes me?

Like a man does a woman?

…Do I like him? 

Aemond couldn't stop his heart from threating to burst from his chest. 

All he wanted was to kiss Lucerys again. 

And suddenly, in a flash, their whole world was shattered.

“EEEEEEEEEEEE-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

"Oh, seven hells!" Lucerys shouted.

“Shit!” Aemond gasped. 

Aemond was quite familiar with that dragon’s roar. 

Daemon.

Like a snake slipping through a hole, Caraxes burst from the clouds below, its long neck slithering as it flapped its deformed wings rapidly, quickly gaining on the small dragon. 

“What do we do?!” Aemond shouted.

“I…I have no idea!” Luke shouted back. 

Well, this was going to happen eventually.

Caraxes practically tore through the sky as it pursued Arrax, bearing its sharp teeth as it dashed ahead. Instead of slamming into the boys, Caraxes flew past Arrax, gaining a degree of distance.

Suddenly, Caraxes pulled its wings back, blocking Arrax's path forward, and causing the dragon's advancement to cease, flapping its wings in place. 

Aemond could see Daemon gripping the reigns of his own saddle, having directed Caraxes to pull back in such a manner without even a word; Lucerys may have been a dragonrider, but the Rogue Prince was the far more seasoned of the two.  

"BOYS!” Daemon almost growled through the night sky, echoing across the clouds. 

“LAND! NOW!"

The two boys looked at each other with worried expressions. Lucerys finally sighed in defeat, directing Arrax downard, as they returned to the Dragonpit. Aemond looked back at Caraxes flying in a circle, before beginning to barrel back downards, following Arrax back to the Dragonpit. 

As Arrax broke through the clouds, and Aemond spotted King’s Landing once more, he felt an ever-growing lump in his throat. 

We are so fucked.

Chapter Text

A TIME LATER

RED KEEP

SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBER

“Do you mean to chip away at my lifespan, Aemond?! How could you have agreed to do something so stupid?!” 

Aemond had never felt more shame than in this moment.

Having come down from the floating high feeling of the night, now Aemond felt nothing but shame. With Aemond and Lucerys having been confiscated and returned to the Red Keep, they were brought up to the Small Council Chamber, where the  adults of the family had gathered. Lord Commander Harwin was standing at attention, bearing a face clearly racked with guilt. Aemond could not even face his direction, completely ashamed of having harmed his reputation. 

Aemond heard his father’s sighs through his mother’s screams. 

He kept his eyes scrunched shut, sinking into his chair as his mother gave him another lashing of the tongue.

"I'm, I-I’m sorry mother, I am!" Aemond protested, finally opening his eyes. "We d-didn't mean to cause such an uproar…" 

Alicent jammed her finger at him. "No matter your intention, you did. You almost sent the castle into a revolt! How could you, Aemond?! You are ten and five of age, you know better than to fall into such acts!” 

Aemond bowed his head even more, feeling another wave of shame wash over him.

Fuck, I am such an idiot.

 “I expect this from Lucerys!" Alicent shouted. "Not from you!” 

Aemond’s heart dropped at the comment. He slowly turned to look towards Lucerys next to him. Luke had his eyes to his lap, unable to look up, with tears slowly running down his face. 

Aemond felt his heart rip into pieces.

Rhaenyra, who was sitting across from Aemond, absentmindedly rolling the sphere placed within its table pedestal, rolled her eyes at his mother. 

“This is hardly the character for Lucerys, My Queen. This is as new of behavior for him as it is for my little brother. Hastily narrowing the scope is not necessary.”

Aemond looked up at his mother, who rolled her eyes in counter, waving her hand in an offensive manner. “Of course, you would make excuses…” Alicent mumbled. 

King Viserys let out a frustrated sigh, slowly placing a frail hand upon Alicent's shoulder. 

"Alicent…” Viserys wheezed. “You must rest. Allow me to handle…this further." 

Alicent gave him a dangerous look. "Surely my love, you don't mean to handwave this matter-" 

Viserys cut her off. “Alicent.” 

Alicent did not budge, pressing further. “Viserys, don’t do this—”

"Alicent!" 

"Aemond is OUR CHILD!" Alicent roared. Aemond shook in his chair. 

"ALICENT! STOP IT!" Viserys roared back, quickly falling into a fit of coughs as he finished. Viserys almost leaned back in his chair, as he put a hand on his cane, his fingers running over the details of the Balerion-shaped golden grip. 

“Stop…stop it. I need…I need you to leave. I will discipline them—Lucerys and Aemond both. But making this a screaming matter will do no good. I need a stern hand here. Do you understand?”

Aemond looked up at his mother, who was giving Viserys a glare, both eyes full of daggers. Alicent looked down to Aemond for a brief moment, before eyeing her husband bitterly. 

“It’s always me…it’s always me…” she muttered. 

With that, she stormed out of the room quickly. Ser Criston followed behind her, his eyes trailing in Rhaenyra’s direction, almost in the form of a glare. Aemond thought he saw a hidden scowl painted on his face as well.

Otto shifted on his legs, before walking next towards the King’s chair. 

“I will…attend to her, Your Grace. Calm her mind. I have no doubt that you will give them a king’s discipline.” 

Viserys nodded, wheezing, patting the Lord Hand on the arm. “Very good, Otto.”

Otto bowed to the King as well as the Princess. Aemond’s eyes drew to his sister, and he could see she was bowing her head in return, in what seemed like a mocking display of respect. Aemond watched Otto exit the chamber, Daemon standing by the doorway. As Otto neared the door, Daemon quickly stepped closer to him, shoulder checking him as he halted his path. 

“Ooops.” Daemon mumbled. "My deepest apologies." 

Aemond couldn’t see Otto’s face, but he assumed he had an angered expression. Otto stood in opposition of Daemon for a moment, before slowly walking around the rogue, the Kingsguard opening the chamber doors for him. 

Daemon stood back and leaned against wall as he had been, crossing his arms and keeping the amused smile glued to his face. Viserys shook his head in annoyance. 

Aemond’s eyes drew to his lap, as King Viserys eyed them once more. 

“You boys…should not be proud of what you have done. You both…understand the importance of House Targaryen maintaining its respect amongst these kingdoms?”

Luke and Aemond both nodded, wordless.

"Dragons are our power…our blood. Many see our authority through them, and how we choose to wield them. I have…allowed so many of you to enjoy such bonds, because I believe you all, as my descendants, have the responsibility to handle such beasts. How do you think our reputation would fair further, if these incidents became commonplace?! That House Targaryen lets its heirs fly its greatest assets around without a degree of regulation?!”

Aemond sank in his seat further.

I am such an idiot. 

“Do you both understand why what you did was wrong?" Viserys poked sternly. 

"We do, father." Aemond admitted quietly. 

"W-we understand, grandfather." Lucerys mumbled, sniffling. 

Viserys sighed, shaking his head slightly. Aemond felt tears beginning to form in his eyes, but he held them at bay. 

Viserys eyed Harwin Strong, almost glaring at him.  "And you. You are the Lord Commander of the City Watch, and you not only allowed them out of the Red Keep without my knowing, but you took them. Harwin—are you nothing but mad? Have you no respect for your King? I thought of you a finer man than this!”

Aemond looked towards Harwin, feeling knots twist in his heart from how exposed the man had seemed, such a contrast from the Ser Harwin Breakbones as he was so revered. 

Lord Commander Harwin bowed his head, the flames from the hanging chandelier reflecting off his black armor. "I am truly sorry, My King. There is no excuse."

"Certainly not." Viserys scoffed. 

Aemond felt a spark go off within him. 

"....It's not his fault!" Aemond shouted suddenly, enough to have Rhaenyra to stop rolling the sphere for a brief moment. 

Viserys tapped his cane. "Oh? You mean to tell me you overpowered a full-grown knight? Forced him to do your bidding? Took him against his will?" 

"No father!” Aemond shouted back, feeling himself deflate a bit.

“It was....my idea. Not his. If…if Luke and I weren't able to find Harwin, we would have found a way to get out—I would have found a way. Harwin escorted us…and protected us.” 

Aemond swallowed before continuing, blinking away water in his eyes. 

“Do…do not blame Lord Harwin, father. It was me. Not him. Please...do not remove him as Lord Commander. Please." 

Lucerys tried to speak, seemingly disagreeing with Aemond’s attempts to take the full blame, but he only lowered his head back down, hiding his eyes underneath his dark curly hair. Aemond looked towards Harwin, who eyed him for a brief moment, with Aemond unable to read his particular expression. 

Forgive me, Lord Commander. 

Rhaenyra had her eyes to the small council table, though it seemed like she wanted to express herself in a manner, though Aemond was not sure what exactly was on her mind. Coughing for a brief moment, King Viserys further composed himself, lifting a hand towards the City Watch commander. 

"I will give you this one further chance Harwin; but no more. Any further incidents like this will be answered. Do I make myself clear?"

Harwin bowed in respect. "Yes, Your Grace." 

"Good.” Viserys huffed. “You may leave us." 

Harwin bowed once more, putting an armored hand on the hilt of his sword, walking towards the exit. As he left the room, Daemon patted him on the shoulder, leaning back on the wall as cool as he had been. As Aemond met Daemon’s eyes, the man gave him a smirk.

Almost like the entirety of the debacle was nothing but amusing to him.  

Aemond looked to his lap again, as the sound of Rhaenyra rolling the sphere cut through the silence. 

"I hope you use this night as a teaching lesson." Viserys said finally, rubbing his head, and adjusting Jaehaerys’ golden crown on his head. "This is not behavior becoming of princes of your stations. Keep it in mind as you grow older." 

The two boys nodded. 

“Yes, father.”

“Yes, grandfather.”

Viserys leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on the table, coughing briefly before clearing his throat. "I…I love both you boys very dearly.”

Aemond felt a tear fall down his cheek, as the saddened way his father said it made his heart twist into even more knots. 

I’m so sorry. 

“The last thing I'd ever want,” Viserys continued, “before the gods take me as they may, is for you both to endanger yourselves to no return. I cannot…I cannot bear such worry at this age….and certainly not with my health. I cannot. My boys, don't wade this old man through these waters. That is all I ask, not as a king…but as a grandsire, and a father." 

Aemond felt his throat hitch, tears falling. 

"I'm so sorry, father. I'm so sorry..." Aemond wept. Unable to hold back his tears, they trailed down his cheeks freely. 

I am such an idiot.

Viserys sighed. “I will not punish either of you, no matter whose idea it was. I believe the point has been made quite clearly. Sleep it off and have a well fresh start in the morning.”

Aemond nodded, sniffling. Lucerys nodded as well, though his eyes were still glued to his knees. 

Viserys wheezed as he slowly rose up out of his chair, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Harrold Westerling, following his movements. Aemond felt his father’s hand touch his shoulder, patting him before it moved to Luke’s own shoulder. With that Viserys exited the room, the remaining Kingsguard, Ser Erryk, closing the chamber doors shut. 

Daemon was still cooly leaning against the wall, having nodded to his brother before he left. Rhaneyra continued to roll the sphere on its pedestal.  

"....Are you disappointed in me, sister?" Aemond asked, still sniffling, his eyes glued to his lap in shame. Rhaenrya flicked the sphere once again.

"Hmmm.” she hummed. “Well…you boys knew better than to get up such things. You both are not court jesters; you are princes of the ruling dynasty." 

Aemond sank into the chair again. 

"You both put Lord Harwin's life at risk.” Rhaenyra continued. “If my father was a king with a tenacity for ill tempers, Lord Harwin might have lost his head. I would be without a friend, and a champion." 

Aemond sunk into his chair even more. 

I am such an idiot. 

"But the King has chosen otherwise. And you both, for worth granted, made the smart choice of obtaining an escort. As reckless as it was, at least you two didn't do something terribly foolish to that end."

Rhaenyra leaned forward.

“In this life…I know one thing. Family…family is all. It’s all that matters. And we’ve no choice but to protect each other, no matter what befalls us. But we do have the choice to keep our more reckless pleasures at bay, don’t we?”

Aemond nodded, still looking down in shame. Aemond felt Rhaenyra stand from her chair, walking around to their side of the council table. Aemond briefly spotted her black dress as she moved around, and it was always like a shadow how it moved. Rhaenyra kneeled as she took a hand from both Aemond and Lucerys, linking their fingers together in a warm embrace.  

"You both are what matters. When I am queen, I do not seek to hold you in my court because of advantage, I need you because you are family. I love you both. I wish not for you to foster jeopardy because of your whims and off-the-cuff desires." 

Aemond nodded, as he began slightly shaking, tears still trailing down his eyes, as he sniffled hard.

"I'm—I'm s-so sorry, s-ister. I do not—sniff—wish to e-ever—sniff—disappoint you again." 

Rhaenyra, to Aemond's surprise, smiled at him, in such a warm and welcoming manner that almost felt like a trance. She let go of Luke’s hand, so she could further embrace Aemond, placing a speck of kisses on his forehead. Aemond closed his eyes, feeling strangely enfolded by her affection.

“Don’t feel so bad, little brother.” Rhaenyra said gently. “I was not so different at your age. Your uncle would know.”

Daemon chuckled from where he was still leaning, drawing Aemond’s eyes to him. 

“Mhhmhmhmm. I would.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes drew to Luke as he lifted his own, tears streaming down his face. Aemond felt his heart twist again, even more so when Rhaenyra embraced her son as well.

“I’m sorry, mom…” Luke cried. 

 “Oh, my sweet boy, it's alright." Rhaenyra cooed. "Shhhhhhh…”  

Rhaenyra stood up after releasing Luke, straightening out her dress. Aemond and Luke’s eyes followed her as she walked around the other side of the table again, chuckling to herself. 

“It was quite fun, wasn’t it?” Rhaenyra said to Daemon. 

Daemon’s smirk grew. “...It had its moments.”

Aemond could only imagine what the Princess and Prince Consort had gotten up to so long ago—how deep they had slipped into the crevices and caverns of King’s Landing. 

Rhaenyra placed a hand on the table, still smiling to herself. 

"I was young, and I enjoyed being young. There was no shame in it. I…I don't want either of you to feel ashamed for your youthful spirit. It's inherent for boys your age to have such desires. It’s bloody natural." 

Aemond felt himself grow further composed, his tear shaving stopped, though the stains of them still remained on his cheeks. 

"But temper them the best that you can, hmmm? Have the fun you can manage, and never forget the duty you have to this family." 

Aemond and Lucerys both nodded. For the first time of the night, they met each other’s eyes, the moment so brief that they parted just as quickly. Aemond had so many thoughts spilling his mind over, but of course, even through all the scolding and the discipline, one thought kept repeating, and never once faded into obscurity. 

I kissed Lucerys. 

I kissed him!

“I believe the both of you would well profit from some sleep.” Rhaenyra said softly. 

“I'll send for hot baths to your chambers. You both stink of dragon’s ash."

_______________________________________________________

LATER

AEMOND’S CHAMBERS

BATHING ROOM

I kissed Lucerys. 

I kissed him. 

Aemond poked at the thick sponge floating atop the water, his mind consumed with thought. 

With the bath having been prepared for him, he had soaked within the water for some time, collapsed underneath the soapy bubbles that had piled up. The size of the silver bath was a good parts larger than Aemond’s form, so he had practically sunken into it. 

The bathing room itself was much less spacious that Aemond’s bedroom, but the quaint feeling only served to add a more intimate aura. The warmth of the bath was aided by the illumiated fireplace just directly behind it, the sound of the crackling wood dancing in Aemond's ears. He had a towel thrown on a rack, and a cup and flagon of tea sitting on a side table—one he had not bothered to touch. 

Aemond’s eyes drew to the burning chandelier illuminating the room, focusing on the fire.

As relaxing as the bath was, Aemond couldn’t stop the one mantra repeating in his mind. 

I kissed Lucerys. 

I kissed him. 

Frustrated at his stuck mind, Aemond dunked his head in the steaming water, trying to block out the noise. But alas, it played on like an organ note with no end.

I kissed him.

I. 

Kissed. 

Him.

Aemond crossed his arms, his ears deafened by the weight of the water. 

It was just a kiss. Why can’t I just stop thinking about it?

Aemond shook his head.

You know you’re just lying to yourself, idiot. 

It wasn’t just ‘a kiss’ to you. 

Having held his breath for long enough, Aemond broke to the surface for air, still battling his thoughts as he gulped air, sitting up and hugging his knees. 

I can't believe I kissed him! 

What came over me?

Aemond’s mind drifted off to their shared kiss, recalling how Lucerys himself was receptive to the kiss. 

He curled his toes at the thought; just thinking about it set off sparks in his mind. Aemond could not help the smile he grew on his face, grabbing the sponge floating on the water and beginning to rub his arms. 

I'm glad my first kiss was with him.

Aemond couldn’t lie to himself that he found Lucerys to be quite dashing. Perhaps that was why he was always drawn towards Lucerys in a strange way, even as distant as they were, though he certainly could have never pinned down the feeling until this very night. 

It was an incredibly strange thing for Aemond to accept. Perhaps he does like men rather than women. Aemond knew of the concept from his readings—as subtle as it was to catch—but he never considered himself to ever be of that persuasion. Aemond thought he’d be like every other boy soon enough, pining after women just like his eldest brother did. 

Was I always going to be this way?

Did I do something wrong?

Though Aemond had always known those sorts of couplings to be disgraceful and of distaste by many, it didn’t feel disgraceful to him. 

It felt good. 

Aemond grimaced as self-consciousness began to seep into his mind.

Does he feel the same way?

Aemond shook his head, annoyed at himself. 

Shut your mouth, mind.

Of course he does.

When Aemond and Lucerys had finally drifted back to their apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast, Lucerys was near silent, except for the sniffling he couldn’t help. Aemond had tried to say something, but he himself couldn’t find the right words, keeping himself tight-lipped the same as Lucerys. Aemond had considered reaching out for Luke’s hand, but decided against it, not wanting to push the subject. 

He only needs to sleep it off. 

He’ll be better tomorrow.

Right? 

Aemond dunked his head back in the steaming water, thoughts of worry scattering in his mind.  

Fuck me.

I hope he doesn't regret it.

Aemond felt as if his heart had become a flaming torch in the night over—and all because of Lucerys. Whatever the feelings that were stirring within, he did not want it to extinguish for anything.  

That must not happen.

It cannot. 

_______________________________________________________

MORNING

“Hmmm……”

Aemond was adjusting his collar in the mirror, making sure it was even.

Aemond had refused to get up for a time, shielding his face with his pillow, but he knew to get out of bed before he drifted too far. The morning had come, and light swept across every angle in his room.

Aemond's chambers were more than well kept together.

The Targaryen boy hated clutter, as discord made it difficult for him to think properly or even to sinply read. In the times he did allow his room to turn for the worst, and he'd try curling up in bed with a book, the mess would make him squirm and toss around, forcing him to clean it up.

Having an incredible canopy bed, it was more than enough space to fit himself, leaving him great room to stretch and roll, something he often did when he was deep into a book. His bed was also elevated, with Aemond having to hop up a couple of steps to climb underneath his covers, the boy sometimes amusing himself by using the steps as a launch into bed. The blankets and drapes were as green as the Hightower's bright war flame, all with incredible softness to the touch.

His bookshelves and enclosed cabinets, which sat across from his bed, had their shelves lined with books he had either borrowed from the Red Keep's library, or had obtained as gifts, as he often recieved novels and literary works for his name days. A few of cabinets were also stored with stacks of blank papers, wax, containers of ink, and pens—all materials for Aemond's use, when he so felt like writing or sending out a raven. 

He also kept a pouch stuffed with ravens from Daeron, as he did not intend to ever throw them out, especially with his little brother still resigned as a Hightower ward. Aemond even had a few letters from his great grandfather, Hobert Hightower, but he had left most wrapped in a secure string, as the ones he did read were mainly cordial and dispersonal, greatly disinteresting the boy. 

Aemond's display desk, where he often sat writing, was neatly crowded with models of various dragons, from Balerion the Dread to Silverwing, including lesser known Targaryen-bred dragons like Vermithrax, Essovius, Ghiscar, and Archonei. They were all wooden figures, having been carved by Aemond himself. Aemond was no expert carver, but he did enjoy it as a pastime, sometimes preferring it over a good book, as it allowed his mind to drift. 

Readying himself, Aemond grabbed his clothes—one of his usual formal, button-up green garments—as well as his favorite green cloak. He leaned back on his heels as he finished adjusting his collar, breathing through his nose. 

Having rested well enough, Aemond felt his mind far more at ease, the guilt of the night before having faded. 

But the organ still played on. 

I kissed him. 

Aemond frowned, as he straightened out the buttons on his green formal garment. He had no true idea what he was going to say to Lucerys, only that he had to say something to him. Aemond couldn’t go on by ignoring it, nor would he have wanted to. 

Aemond moved to sit on the green, silky blankets of his canopy bed, slipping into his boots. Aemond eyed the sunlight shining through his window, birds chirping from afar. 

Should I head to his room?

Aemond shook his head.

No. 

I’ll leave him be until he’s ready. 

Aemond took the hairbrush sitting on the bed, beginning to brush out his silver hair. As Aemond tied his hair back, standing up and facing the mirror once more, he sighed, feeling another worried frown grow on his face, as he anticipated the near future. 

Breakfast it is, then. 

_______________________________________________________

DINING ROOM

"Boo. That's not exactly fun. I'd rather talk to the roaches in the kitchen." 

"There's roaches in the kitchen?"  

"Yes. And they are quite rude." 

Your feet are not made of Valyrian stone. 

Move them. 

Aemond hesitated for a while longer, keeping his feet planted. He had reached just outside the dining room, the doors left wide open. Unfortunately for him, the table was already occupied, meaning Aemond couldn’t scarf down breakfast without a word like he had hoped. 

Aegon, Jacaerys, Helaena, Joffrey, Princess Rhaenys, Baela, and Rhaena were all present, conversating and eating their food eagerly—with no sign of Lucerys. 

Some of the yellow-attired Targaryen servants began to eye Aemond strangely, unsure of what the prince was doing. 

Fuck.

Well, I can’t stand here all day.

Breathing in his nose and balling a fist, Aemond walked forward into the dining room, soon feeling the eyes at the snap to his direction. As Aemond quickly hopped up the steps, he saw Ser Erryk’s eyes through his helmet—who was keeping guard by the doorway—the man giving the boy a curious nod. 

“Morning, brother!” Helaena said in a cheerful manner. 

“Uncle Aemond!” Joffrey cheered, chewing on an apple slice, before dipping an unbitten soldier into his dippy egg. 

Aemond smiled slightly. 

Hello, Joff.

“Good morrow, cousin!” Rhaena greeted simply, as she was poking her fork at a piece of ham.

“Mmmm...” Baela hummed, twirling a fork in his direction, seemingly disinterested in him. 

Rhaenys gave Aemond a gentle smile, though the boy didn’t see it. 

Aegon groaned as he practically leaed over his plate, holding his forehead. “Fuck—I am never, never, never drinking that fucking cranberry shite again…” 

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhh…” Jace groaned, who was sitting next to him, enduring the same morning after respite. 

“Good morrow, everyone...” Aemond muttered, quickly sitting down next to his sister. 

Helaena, with all her illustrious silver hair down, had already eaten half her food, and now had occupied herself with a jumping spider, who was staring up at the girl with its curious eight eyes. 

Aemond rubbed his eyes as he adjusted his chair at the feasting table, still feeling slightly groggy from his slumber.

Aemond looked around the table, and felt the hole in his stomach pine for him to scarf down a full plate. There was no shortage of breakfast foods; eggs cooked sunward, scrambled, and over easy, slices of black bread with butter, a bowl of sausages and ham, bacon cooked both black and brown, biscuits with jam, toasted bread, and a bowl of stewed baked beans. 

Aemond began filling his silver plate, taking no time at all to start tearing through a piece of bacon.  

Mmmm.

Bacon.

I love bacon. 

"Damned morning fog.” Jace groaned. “The worst fucking feeling ever."

Aegon groaned in agreement. 

Helaena scoffed at the both of them, as she allowed the jumping spider to crawl across her hand. "I do not understand why the two of you complain about it so often, and then drink to excess again, anyway. "

Aegon groaned again. "Because drinking is fun sister, that's why." 

“Doesn’t seem so fun.” Helaena countered. 

“In the moment, it is.” Aegon said, shrugging. 

"You have lots of moments, don't you?" Helaena said sarcastically. 

Aemond shook his head, biting down another piece of bacon. 

“I hear you’ve finally flown on dragonback!” Helaena said happily, smiling at Aemond. The Targaryen boy almost felt a piece of bacon get stuck in his throat, wanting to avoid any conversation from last night, but swallowed it carefully. 

“Uhh—yes.” Aemond stammered. “Y-yes, I did.” 

“So?” Helaena asked, leaning on her arms. “Did you favor it?”

Aemond shrugged, feeling eyes on him. “I…..I think I did.”

Helaena grinned. “That’s great! Well, now I must take you out flying on Dreamfyre! It’ll be even better now with her new saddle!”

Aemond grimaced. “Uh, Dreamfyre is quite large. I don’t think I am ready for that yet, sister.”

Helaena pouted. “Oh, come now! It’s not bad at all! Dreamfyre flies quite gracefully.”

Aemond shook his head. 

No. 

Not yet. 

“Give him time, Helaena.” Rhaenys said gently. “These are his first steps. He’ll get there.”

Helaena nodded, watching the jumping spider crawl across her palm. 

“Yes, grandam…”

After pouring himself a glass of citrus juice, Aemond bit down on another piece of bacon. He almost choked when he eyed the hallway, spotting the one person that had been on his mind all night and morning. 

Household attendants bowed their heads in Lucerys’ direction, as the Velaryon boy timidly entered the dining room, dressed in another silky gray garment and cloak as he so often preferred. His curly hair was immaculate, clearly having brushed it heavily. After swallowing correctly—Helaena aiding him with slaps to his back—Aemond’s eyes were fixated on Luke, as he walked up the steps. 

“Good morning, Lucerys.” Rhaenys hummed. 

“Uuuuuuuugggggghhhhh…” Jace groaned. 

“Big brother!” Joffrey cheered, with a half-eaten soldier in his mouth. 

“Good morrow, Luke.” Rhaena greeted. 

“Mmmm.” Baela mumbled again. 

Lucerys bowed his head for a moment. 

“Good morrow, everyone.”

Aemond felt his heart stop beating when Luke’s eyes drew to him. The two stared at each other for a brief moment, before looking away. Aemond felt his cheeks heat up. 

Aemond attempted to distract himself by grabbing more bacon slices, stuffing a few in his mouth. As he chewed, he listened to Luke’s footsteps moving around the table. He felt like choking again when Luke chose to sit right next to Aemond, sitting down slowly. 

Aemond eyed Luke again, and with pleased surprise, Luke grew a small smile. 

Fuck.

I’m going to melt!

Aemond gave him a small smile back, feeling his cheeks heat up, as Lucerys began to fill his own silver platter. 

"I heard you got into some proper trouble, Luke." Helaena gently teased. 

Aemond shot her an annoyed look, but she just shrugged. Luke grabbed himself a handful of bacon, placing it on his plate. 

“Uh—a bit, yes.” Luke answered. 

“Well I for one, commend you on your devious streak." Helaena said happily.

"Did he scream?"

Aemond groaned. “Helaena.”

Helaena just shrugged again. 

"Mhmhmhmh." Baela chuckled. 

“I recall I screamed plenty when I first rode Meleys.” Rhaenys added, rubbing Rhaena’s arm gently.

“It's an exhilaration that takes a beating to you. For a while, at least.”

Aemond eyed his grandmother as she grew a smile. 

“But we all take time to grow our wings, don’t we?”

Aemond gulped down an egg. “....Y-yes, grandam.”

Aemond took two slices of toast, using a knife to spread the butter onto each flat surface. Aemond gently handed one slice to Luke, who gave him a smile, before taking it. 

Yes!

Yesyesyesyesyes!

YES!

I'm so glad you don't regret it. 

Whew. 

Aemond's eyes drew to the open doorway, spotting Rhaenyra, in a lighter, sky-colored dress, one that revealed her shoulders. She confidently walked up the steps, putting a gentle hand on her belly. 

I always forget she's pregnant. 

It's like it doesn't phase her. 

"Good morrow, everyone." Rhaenyra said gently, everyone responding back to her. 

"Good morrow."

"Good morrow!"

"Good morning, mommy!"

"Uuuuuuuugggggghhhhhh…"

Aemond watched as Rhaenyra moved to the opposite of the table, where Aegon and Jacaerys were sitting. 

"Aegon, sit up." Rhaenyra chided. "You are going to hurl if you keep stuffing your mouth that way. Especially with you and the bottle ache."

Putting down his half-eaten buttered roll Aegon begrudgingly sat up, whining to himself.

"Ugh—yes, sister." 

"That means you as well, Jace." Rhaenyra chided further. 

"Uuuuuuuugggghhhh…" Jace groaned, finally sitting up in his chair.  

Gods, they are both such idiots. 

"How's father?" Helaena asked her elder half-sister, still occupying herself with the jumping spider. 

"He's well enough. Your mother is tending to him."

"Is he alright? What happened?" Aemond asked, worried.

Rhaenyra shrugged. "He had a fall. Nothing too terrible, as the maesters said. He'll be able to attend the small council meeting—one that has become urgent." 

Aemond sighed in relief. 

"What's so urgent?" Lucerys asked, putting a hand over his mouth for a moment. 

Rhaenyra sighed. "The Triarchy."

"Aren't they mostly wiped out?" Lucerys asked. 

Rhaenyra fiddled with the rings on her fingers. "Well…it's like the saying…cut off one head, two more grow in its place."  

Lucerys nodded, swallowing a piece of bacon. 

"Don't worry, though. I'm sure the matter will be dealt with swiftly. In the meantime, I hope you boys attend your arms training with Ser Criston with clear minds—that means you both, Aegon and Jace." 

Aegon and Jace both groaned. 

"Why mom?!" Jace groaned, rubbing his head. "I'll be quite poor in this state. Ser Criston might as well knock me into the dirt." 

Helaena grew a devious smile. "He already does that."

Baela snickered again. "Heh." 

"Well," Rhaenyra responded, "Mayhaps Ser Criston can knock some sobriety into you with that flail of his." 

"Uuuugh." Jace groaned, knocking his head on the table. Aemond felt like rolling his eyes, but was interrupted when Luke began quietly giggling at his brother's antics. 

Aemond smiled. 

The way he laughs…

I can't get enough of it. 

Aemond didn't think as he slowly reached out for Luke's free hand, which he kept on the edge of his chair. As nervous as he was with the bold action, he didn't cease himself until he had briefly touched Luke's fingers. 

Luke's eyes snapped to meet his, and Aemond had to fight off the nerves he felt when Luke eyed him curiously. 

Aemond sighed in a pleasing fashion when Luke understood, linking his fingers together with Aemond’s. The Targaryen boy did his best at keeping himself cool, despite how much Luke's soft palms were making his insides thaw out. 

Aemond and Luke quickly let their hands part, once Rhaenyra began walking around to their side of the table. Daemon placed a gentle hand on her belly, making the woman smirk. 

"Did you boys sleep well?" Rhaenyra asked the two. 

Aemond and Lucerys both nodded. 

"Yes, mom."

"Yes, sister."

Rhaenyra smiled. 

"Good, good! New day, new start." 

_______________________________________________________

LATER

TOWER OF THE HAND

SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBER

“I was hoping our negotiations with Sunspear might persuade them to see reason. To trust a Martell is to be disappointed.”

Princess Rhaenyra was rolling her sphere in its pedestal, as she sat in her chair at the council table. She felt herself quite irritated, in opposition of the greens’ lack of foresight. 

The Stepstones had been a tumultuous place for as long as Rhaenyra had known them to exist. 

No entity could claim dominion over the scattering of isles, no matter how hard they tried. That is, until the Triarchy was formed (or the Kingdom of Three Whores, as Daemon so eloquently referred it as).

An alliance formed by the Free Cities of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr in Essos, it solidified itself as an entity after the Battle of the Borderland in 96AC, just two years after the death of Balerion the Dread. With the defeat of Volantis, the Triarchy sought to secure the Stepstones for themselves, carving out territory to eliminate the pockets of pirates that made their nest on its islands. 

The effort was led by Craghas Drahar, a man known as the “Crabfeeder”, due to his inventive and horrid execution methods, killing inacapitated enemy soldiers with crabs by using their claws to rip out their insides. He was a man severely afflicted by greyscale, a terminal, degenerative disease that turned one’s skin in the appearance of stone—though it had not slowed his tactical mind. Craghas was known to once affiliate with the slavers of Meereen, but had suddenly left their service, making cause with the Triarchy.  

Westeros initially welcomed the Triarchy’s clearing of the Stepstones, until they began levying high taxes for the ships that would cross into their waters, and even siezing some, having captured many boys and girls  as slaves for their perfumed pillow houses. 

Rhaenyra’s husband took charge in defeating the Triarchy, after he was exiled from King’s Landing by his ruling brother. Daemon, along with Lord Admiral Corlys, Vaemond, and Laenor Velaryon, fought for a year against the Triarchy masses with the backing of the Velaryon Fleet, House Celtigar, House Staunton, and House Sunglass. 

The Triarchy was cunning and intelligent, ducking and hiding into cave systems to negate the impact of Caraxes and Seasmoke, turning the war into a prolonged, grueling effort. However, when King Viserys sent word that he would send the royal fleet to aid the efforts, Daemon initiated a surprise assault on the spur of his mood, successfully catching the Triarchy off guard, and tricking most of their men to reveal their position. This final effort led to the defeat of the Triarchy in the Stepstones, along with the death of Craghas Drahar, shattering the alliance’s forces. 

Since then, the Triarchy had retreated back to the safety of their cities, up until they found common cause with Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne. Dorne was a principality that maintained its independence, fending off the Conqueror’s invasion through unbending will. Though the Seven Kingdoms it may have been, the Iron Throne truly had dominion over only six.

Unbowed, unbent, and unbroken indeed.  

“I propose a second strike on Bloodstone would be the wisest course of action.” Lord Corlys, Master of Ships emphasized, pointing at the map that he had rolled out on the table.

“Sharako Lohar is leading men through the caverns as Craghas had before him, staking out their position. They know we must intend to combat them.”

"An incredible assumption." Otto chided, almost glaring at the man sitting at the other end of the table.

“Daemon’s war in the Stepstones fourteen years prior was one not under the Crown’s advisement—it was under the insistence of yours. You assume that of what you've already had taste for.”

Corlys almost growled. “Oldtown’s ports would have been beggard the same as my own had the initiative not been taken. Has House Hightower lost its needy desire of influence across these kingdoms?”

“Friends, please.” Viserys coughed, waving a hand. “We need not bicker like petty children. We all agree that the Stepstones are an issue at hand. The question is what is to be done.”

“And where, I wonder, is our famed Master of War?” Lord Jasper Wylde, the Lord Justiciar spat out like a uncouth fool.

“Or I suppose I should call him ‘King’, as he styled himself when he won a battle there... once.” 

Rhaenyra wanted to groan, but withheld herself.

Lord Jasper Wylde hailed from the Stormlands, having lived most of his life in the Rain House, a stone keep on the edge of the Rainwood foorest, and against the often stormy seaside of the Stormland waters. With the death of his father, he now served as the head of the Rain House and its accompanied lands, though his brother had taken up daily operations in his name.

He was an unbending man, both in his attitude to law and his adherence to being annoyingly pompous. As a staunch political green, he allowed his disdain for the Princess to be well-known, though Rhaenyra never once folded to his arrogance, nor did she ever plan to. 

“He’ll be here soon.” Rhaenyra chided, rolling her eyes at the Stormlands Lord. “He’ll surely contribute more to this end than you have, Lord Wylde. As it always is.”

Wylde gave Rhaenyra a disgusted look, to which she simply raised her eyebrows in opposition. 

Say something, craven.

“Have we discussed the Stepstones yet—” Lord Beesbury added, his voice raspy.

“Yes, Lord Beesbury.” Lord Jason Lannister, Lord Treasurer, and the Westerosi ambassador to the Iron Bank of Braavos groaned, clearly irritated by the aged man.

“WE ARE DISCUSSING THE MATTER AT THIS VERY MOMENT.” Jason emphasized, slowing down his words and sharply raising his tone. 

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“.....Oh.” Lord Beesbury said simply. 

Lord Jason Lannister was just like any Lannister: arrogant, foolhardy, and covered in golden lions. The man never once found a time to not brag about his wealth and family exploits, exploits of which he had no hand in himself, and were rather the work of either his father, the late Lord Tytos, or his twin brother Tyland, the Lord of Casterly Rock, and the only respectable Lannister Rhaenyra could name by heart.

Why King Viserys tapped him of all people for Lord Treasurer was still a mystery to Rhaenyra, but she did not question his decision. The Lannister was apparently able to keep Beesbury's books in well order, despite being a green on Alicent's side, so there was some benefit to his company. 

“What happened before does not matter.” Lyonel Strong emphasized. “Bickering over it matters even less. The only truth that is laid before us is the Stepstones have been left undefended.”

“We have left it undefended.” Rhaenyra added, cutting in, all eyes turning to her. 

“There should've been fortifications built, watchtowers, a fleet of ships, a garrison of soldiers sent to hold our ground.”

“We cannot afford it.” Queen Alicent countered, leaning on her elbows. “Our coffers are great, but not infinite. We must consider the cost to our subjects.”

“I must agree.” Viserys added.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, emphasizing them enough so Alicent could see them. 

“The cost of war is greater. But we have been lax, and the old monster now lifts its head.”

“The Princess is of the right mind, Your Grace." Corlys said, supporting the princess. 

"I believe action must be taken, sooner than later. Lest all our subjects suffer due to our willful ignorance.” 

Rhaenyra watched as Alicent shook her head, picking up her goblet. 

“The Crown has heard your proposal, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement.” Otto said coldly, giving Corlys a look. 

“We should at least send a small expedition force to gain an accurate read on their forces.” Grand Master Orwyle added.

“Dragonback would be too conspicuous. I advise that we—”

Whistle!

Whistle!

Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped to the open doorway, Lord Westerling turning his head towards the sound as well, as that of the rest of the council. Whistling, Daemon walked confidently into the room, his hand rested comfortably on the hilt of the splendid Dark Sister. 

“You’re late.” Viserys chided.

“My deepest apologies, Your Grace.” Daemon bowed, in a bit of a sarcastic manner. 

Rhaenyra gave her husband a critical look. 

Daemon continued to whistle as he walked over to the serving table, pouring himself a goblet of wine from a tall, golden pitcher sitting on it. 

"You should get a new cupbearer, Your Grace.” Daemon said in an amused tone.

“I believe your Hand of the King knows how to fill cups in a dignified manner.”

“Dear me.” Beesbury groaned. 

Otto glared at Daemon, silently sending daggers through the man with his eyes.

“I should make you cupbearer.” Viserys chided. “It might keep you from being late from these proceedings.”

“Mm-hmm-hmmm.” Daemon chuckled, walking around to Rhaenyra’s side of the table, and sitting next to her. Rhaenyra went to hold his hand as he sat down, the man cooly drinking his wine with the other. 

Rhaenyra gave him a critical, but amused look.

You’re a fool. 

Daemon raised his eyebrows, smirking contently. 

“Now…” Viserys began, tapping his hands on the table. 

“Shall we continue?”  

_______________________________________________________

ROYAL GARDENS

“Are you going to bring the food, or do you mean to starve us to death?”

Helaena's mind was somewhere, but it certainly wasn't in the royal gardens. 

She was blowing bubbles, dipping her bubble stick in a soapy mixture and watching the bubbles form and pop as they drifted in the air. 

Helaena continued blowing bubbles, as the Velaryon servant in the corner of her eye quickly scurried off for the lemon cakes—a delightful little delicacy that was common amongst royal feasts. 

Helaena was spending time with both of Daemon's daughters, as well as that of the Queen Who Never Was herself, the four sharing a cup of afternoon tea at one of the foyers in the royal gardens, one overlooking the mouth of Blackwater Bay. 

Helaena enjoyed Rhaena and Baela far more than her own ladies-in-waiting, which made it disheartening that she didn't often see them. 

Olympia Mullendore and Maylene Webber were both pretty and proper Reach girls, being of the same age as Helaena. The two enjoyed plenty of the things girls so commonly enjoyed: fashion trends, embroidery, and learning how to be a proper lady. 

Helaena herself enjoyed those same things, and enjoyed the time they spent together, but she hadn't a connection with either of the two like she had with her brothers. And despite her efforts to turn them over, neither Olympia nor Maylene much favored Helaena's interest with insects—despite the fact that both of their houses bore sigils of such. 

Rhaena and Baela however, brought with them an enticing nature whenever they traveled out to King's Landing from Driftmark. The two, being young dragonriding noble girls, were often the talk of Hull and Spicetown—the two largest settlements on the island. Rhaena even had a song named after her, That Lady of Pentos, though it was more so a crude sailor's song than anything she would consider tasteful. 

“I’ve recieved far better treatment at The Twins, hmmmph.” Rhaenys complained, drinking from her tea cup. 

“It’s not so bad, grandmother.” Rhaena said gently, pouring milk into her tera, beginning to stir it. "You should have yourself attended in Pentos; you'd yearn for this there." 

"You exaggerate, sister." Baela countered. "Pentos wasn't such a peril."

Helaena smiled, as Baela attentively pet her monkey, Ook.

Ook was a unique creature, even for being exotic. Unlike most monkeys—though Helaena hadn't much seen a usual monkey herself—it had fur of a gray and purple texture, including a tuft of white hair that sat atop its head. 

Ook was found by a group of Lengi poachers, deep within the ruined cities of Leng, who sold the monkey to Lord Corlys for a steep price—though not so steep for the man's pockets. 

Ook had become Baela's companion ever since the animal was presented to her as a nameday gift, and their bond was as deep as her own with Moondancer. Besides being given to his handler, Ook rarely strayed far from the Targaryen girl. 

"'Wasn't such a peril'?" Rhaena complained, huffing. "I question your memory! The plum cakes tasted like sand! Oh—and the attendants! How rough they were with my hair. Pentosi have no skill with my sort of hair."

Helaena leaned back in her chair, blowing more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

"Rhaena," Baela continued, "If my eyes are open as wide as I think, I believe we have folks who go hungry quite often, all around us. Who don't get to complain about service."

"I know!" Rhaena pouted. "You don't need remind me. Even with, I can well complain about it all." 

Helaena blew more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

Rhaenys wagged a finger. "Mmm. Pentos I've managed to avoid the whole of my years, so I best continue to, fine plum cakes or not." 

"...Good to stay clear of it, with the Triarchy making its resurgence. Men are often ripe with green and envy, so perhaps it's a matter of wait before Pentos becomes yet another platter for their appetite."

Rhaena scoffed. "I thought we wholly defeated the Triarchy. Left little of any alive—father killed Craghas himself. How is it that they haven't yet folded?"

"...Some things do not bend, granddaughter." Rhaenys said simply, looking out at Blackwater Bay. 

"And what happens to things that don't bend?" Rhaena asked, smirking. 

Rhaenys smirked back. 

"....They break." Helaena mumbled, blowing out more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

Rhaenys leaned on her chair, crossing her leg, eyeing the absentminded Targaryen girl with a gentle gaze. 

"...You've any thought on this, dear?" Rhaenys asked softly. 

Helaena blew more bubbles. 

"Not particularly." Helaena said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I know nothing about warfare. Just what Aemond tells me."

"Being?" Rhaenys asked. 

Helaena shrugged her shoulders again, blowing more bubbles. She had adjusted herself to sit cross-legged in her seat—perhaps an odd thing to do, for anyone else that wasn't Helaena. 

"He talks plenty about battles…how men die on the battlefield, so many dead without songs or glory. How everything is severed by war." 

Helaena looked out to Blackwater Bay, feeling her colored dress flutter from a pick up in wind. 

"....War doesn't change. Only we do."

The table was silent for a moment, until the Velaryon servant returned with the plate of lemon cakes, stepping forward quickly to the foyer, moving to place the silver platter on the table. 

"Bring us some cheese." Rhaenys said firmly. 

"The cheese will be served after the cakes, My Lady." the servant said, his eyes a bit wide, as the woman grew visibly irritated. 

"The cheese will be served when I want it served." Rhaenys said, with an even firmer voice. "And I want it served now." 

"Y-yes, My Lady. Of course." 

The servant quickly bowed, hopping off to find the cheese. 

Helaena's blew more bubbles, amused by the interaction. 

"You've always had a bark, haven't you grandmother?" Baela asked, as Ook began climbing onto her shoulder. 

Rhaenys gave her granddaughter a smile. 

"Us both, dear. Something even your grandfather never quelled. An eternal flame my patience is most certainly not." 

Helaena blew more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. 

"Girls, did any particular Lord take your fancy?" Rhaenys asked. "The ball did earn quite the crowd, more than I honestly expected."

Rhaena scoffed. "No, grandmother. I'm not looking for a match."

"Most of those boys are awful, anyhow." Baela agreed. "Isn't that right, my wonderful Ook?" 

"Eeep!" Ook squeaked, as Baela ruffled his tuft of fur. 

Rhaenys picked up her tea cup. 

"I don't expect either of you to marry a Lannister, if that be your concern. But marriage comes for us all, even you, my dears. Best to strike the match that is most fitting." 

Helaena blew more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

"And was grandfather the most fitting match for you, grandmother?" Rhaena asked. "How many men asked for your hand before?" 

Rhaenys chuckled a bit. "Oh, I had quite the line. Be it our blood or our dragons, men would crawl over each other's corpses just to wed a Targaryen girl." 

Rhaenys went silent for a moment, drinking from her cup. 

"Before your grandfather, I was offered the hand of Lord Celtigar, that old git from Claw Isle."

"Really?" Baela asked. "That fool?" 

"Oh, yes." Rhaenys said, with a chuckle. "He offered me wonderful riches, as many as I so desired. The man certainly did try to woo me, but he was boring. He stared at Meleys more than he did me. I knew he wouldn't do."

Helaena blew even more bubbles. 

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Rhaenys put a hand on her chin.

"Not long after then that your grandfather returned from from Yi-Ti, gold stuffed in his twenty ships' loading. A man with so much gold, one who built his house name by hand...and yet he charmed me with his smile. The way he could make me laugh. When I informed the Old King pf my desire, we wed in a fortnight. What a wedding that was. One for the histories."

"You arrived on Meleys, didn't you?" Baela asked.

Rhaenys smiled. "Of course. Landed her right on High Tide's foyer. A wedding is woman's moment, wouldn't you agree?" 

The two Targaryen sisters both chuckled together. 

Helaena finally put her bubble stick down on the table, growing bored with it, as the Velaryon servant arrived on quick feet, with a heavy platter of cheese. 

"Ah, here comes my cheese." Rhaenys said, as Helaena straightened out her colorful dress. 

"Where did you go for them, Volantis?" Rhaenys quipped, as the servant bowed in haste, quickly scurrying off.

Helaena began spooning excessive clumps of sugar in her tea, stirring it in a circle, not in the back-and-forth way she had been taught for etiquette.

"How about you, my little dear?" Rhaenys asked her. "Any of those courageous lords and stalwart knights strike your eye?"

Helaena moved the cup to her eye, observing the liquid rocking inside of the cup. 

".....No. I have little interest in those men and boys. Mother never understands that."

Rhaena waved a hand. "See? Princess Helaena has the right idea."

Rhaenys hummed. "Can't say I blame you, dear. Your mother often tries to see you a match, doesn't she?" 

Helaena put down the cup. 

"....Tries." 

"As so expected of the Queen." Rhaenys said simply. "I'd say I'd be worried for your prospective match, but that should truly be for him, with that dragon of yours." 

Helaena couldn't help but smirk.

Heh. 

"Dreamfyre is a calm beast. She's a lady." Helaena said, still smiling.

"Not when she hasn't been fed her dinner, I'm sure." Rhaena said, wagging a finger.

"Seasmoke also gets antsy that way." 

"He's quite the irritation when he's in a spit." Baela groaned, shaking her head. "Even more than Moondancer."

Rhaenys looked out to Blackwater Bay. 

"...What kind of women would we make without our steeds?" 

Helaena looked out to the sea as well, feeling the wind rustle her silver hair. 

"....We'd be broken." Helaena said softly, her eyes tracing over the waves.

_______________________________________________________

LATER

TRAINING YARD

"Look, Luke! I'm a tourney knight! Yah!" 

Aemond was crossing his arms, watching Joffrey Velaryon smack the straw training dummy with his little wooden sword. The little boy had taken a bronze helmet from the assortment of weapons and armor, one that was far too big for his tiny head, to the degree that it sunk into the helmet. 

All of the boys had dressed into their training attire—gambeson coats with padded armor, with mail inside of the lining to keep the boys safe from any pokes or slashes. They also strapped on breastplates as an overlay, granting them twice the protection.   

Aemond and Aegon's gambeson coats were of a deep green, owing to the colors of House Hightower, where they drew their heritage through their mother. Aemond had only ever been to Oldtown as a very small child, but he certainly felt proud wearing Hightower colors, feeling the pride of relation to one of the most powerful noble houses.

The Velaryon boys were dressed in gambeson coats with black and red weaving, denoting the colors of House Targaryen, the contrast splitting at the middle. Aemond thought Joffrey looked especially precious in his, the little boy having been so delighted to be training with his brothers and his uncles. 

The training yard in the Red Keep was connected to the south bronze gate, where traffic from in and out of the castle would ferry, especially when the main entrance of the Red Keep—a tall climb of stairs that Aemond hated—was almost always packed with crowds of nobles. 

Thankfully, there were only a few nobles milling about; one lady from House Windsor from the Westerlands, which Aemond knew had a quartered sigil of lions, a red-haired young boy his age from House Leydell of Tumblewatch, a minor house from the northern Reach that had a flaming tree as a sigil, and an aged, bearded lord from House Balson from the Riverlands, whose house sported a fairly humorous sigil of three golden alligators stacked in a vertical row.

Aemond always felt himself grow quite uncomfortable when there were too many nobles around watching; it made training far more distracting, and he second guessed himself from all the eyes on him. Aemond sometimes found comfort, when his father would watch from the viewing stands, but even King Viserys couldn't make the eyes of others disappear. 

The training yard was scattered with a handful of training dummies made of straw, which Aegon and Jacaerys were taking turns slashing with their real swords. Aegon had named his dummy Ser Strawman, and took pride at besting the object with his sword again and again. 

The training yard had other fine weapons available for training; spears, bows, axes, maces, and knives included in the collection.

Aemond remembered the time years ago when Luke was near Joffrey’s age, and attempted to swing Ser Criston’s morningstar. 

" Ooooops !" Luke shouted, as the morning star slipped from his tiny hands, smashing into the stone frame of the gateway. 

Ser Criston sighed in annoyance.

The morningstar's mark still remained in the wall, having never been healed. 

Aemond never delved into the assortment of weapons, sticking to his arms—a wooden shield and a humble longsword, one forged by a famed Qohori blacksmith, a man by the name of Rusl, who traded his wares on the Street of Steel. The blacksmith inlaid the sword with the horns of a goat, giving the steel added strength. 

It wasn't a Valyrian steel sword, or anything of particular fancy, but Aemond had become tethered with it in his training experience, and sought no other blade to compare. 

He had his knife as well—a long thin knife with a golden handle in the shape of an octagon—but he mainly used it for food, and twirling in his hand. Aemond had grown quite good at spinning the knife with an absent mind.

Around the training yard, there were plenty of barrels full of ale and water, for when the boys needed to take a breather. 

Aemond drank water from his flask as Joffrey swung at the dummy once more, knocking his bronze helmet into his fearsome foe of straw.

"The mighty Ser Straw yields to Joffrey Velaryon, the finest knight in Westeros!" Luke cheered, who was standing next to Aemond, clapping his hands.

Joffrey jumped around in a circle, cheering, pointing his wooden sword in the air. "Yes! I am the best dragon knight! I am the best dragon knight! La-la-la-la-la!" 

Aemond couldn't keep the smile off his face. 

He's so cute. 

Aemond felt Luke nudge him on the shoulder.

"He loves you." 

Aemond eyed him. "Hmmm?"

Luke nodded. "Yup. You're the quiet and mysterious uncle to him. Makes you more enticing, it seems."

Aemond shrugged. "I…I didn't know he held me in such high regard." 

Luke smiled. "Well, why wouldn't he? You're an interesting person."

Aemond felt himself blush, kicking the dirt with his boot. 

"Thanks."

Aemond’s eyes drew to Joffrey as the boy ran towards the two of them, his bronze helmet clanking. 

"Uncle Aemond! I'm going to be the best knight ever!"

Aemond smiled, handing Luke the flask and kneeling down, as Joffrey moved closer. 

"You'll be the greatest knight that ever lived. Joffrey Velaryon the Valiant, they'll name you." 

Joffrey's bronze helmet rustled. 

"What does valiant mean?" 

Aemond smirked. "It means when you have courage. When you act with bravery. I see no one more fitting of a title than for you, little Joffrey."

Joffrey smiled in a toothy sort of manner. "You're brave too, uncle Aemond! You flew on a dragon, like me!" 

Aemond nodded, patting Joffrey gently on his bronze helmet. "Thank you, Joff." 

Aemond looked up at Luke, who was grinning at the both of them, clearly pleased with their bonding moment. 

I'm brave because of you, Luke. 

"Alright, form up!" a stern, familiar voice shouted. 

Aemond put a hand on the hilt of his sword, looking towards the Kingsguard. 

Ser Criston motioned to the boy, as Luke drank more water from his flask. 

"Come, Aemond." 

Aemond nodded wordlessly, eyeing Luke. 

Luke gulped down another drink of water, making Aemond grow an amused smile when he wiped his mouth. 

"Come on!" Joffrey cheered, grabbing Aemond's hand. Aemond allowed himself to be led to the center of the training yard, Luke walking alongside him. 

Aemond’s heart jumped when Luke's hand swiped against his free one. The two boys gave each other a quick glance before looking away; Aemond fought the blush that was growing on his face. 

He was fighting the urge to hold Luke's hand the whole time, and it was a war he was losing. 

Wait.

Wait until we're alone. 

Then…

"Alright." Cole instructed, tapping his sword on the ground, as the boys gathered around, Aegon patting Jace on the back. 

"Today, we're ceasing with simple lessons. Most of you are nearly men-grown; you must learn how to fight, and fight hard . No quarter to your enemies. Give it everything you've got." 

Aemond nodded, feeling determined, picking up his wooden shield. 

"We'll do this in partners." Cole continued. "First, I want Lucerys—" 

Aemond froze as Cole snatched Luke's chestplate, roughly dragging him a distance away from the others. Aemond felt something stir within him as he watched Luke stumble on his feet, grunting as Cole forced him back. 

Aemond felt anger. 

"—to spar with Aemond. Second son against second son." 

"Might you go a bit easier, Ser?" Aemond asked, his voice in a low growl, feeling Joffrey hold his hand tighter. 

Cole looked to the sky for a moment. 

"A gentle hand isn't an aid in these bouts, My Prince." 

Aemond shook his head, still disapproving. 

You don't have to drag him like that. 

You cunt.

Luke dusted himself off, putting a hand on the hilt of his own sword.

"Step forward, My Prince." Cole gestured to Aemond. Aemond stepped forward, but not before Aegon patted him on the back.

"You've got this, little brother." Aegon encouraged, rustling Aemond's silver hair. 

"Ack." Aemond groaned as he swiped Aegon's hand away, walking forward and standing opposite Lucerys. 

Cole pointed to the both of them with a gloved hand.

"Draw your swords." 

Aemond locked eyes with Luke, who had grown a sly smile at this point. Aemond smiled back, unsheathing his sword, and holding it with both hands, the blade still in his palms. 

Luke drew his right after, the shing! of the metal hitting Aemond's ears. As Luke held his own sword with both hands, he could see it wobble slightly. 

Luke wasn't the best warrior now, but neither was Aemond. Perhaps he was more in tune with the blade than the Velaryon boy was, but they both still had a far way to go. 

Aemond moved closer as he readied his blade, keeping his feet steady. Luke did the same, but moved on more nervous footsteps. 

Aemond gave Luke a reassuring look, trying to let him know he wasn't going to go too hard, as much as Cole would enjoy that. Luke nodded, but Aemond wasn't sure if he understood. 

Cole held up a hand for a moment, and brought it down swiftly. 

"Engage." 

"Hah!" Aemond roared, moving forward on swift feet, rushing Lucerys and swinging his sword. Luke swung his at just the right time, the steel of their blades meeting in a loud clash. Aemond and Luke grunted as they struggled against each other. 

"Good!" Cole shouted. "Drive him back!" 

Aemond did so, using his wooden shield to push Luke's blade out of the lock, causing Luke to stumble back. Aemond slashed his sword once more, and their blades met, but Luke stumbled back once more, almost tripping. 

"Keep going!" Cole encouraged. 

"Woo!" Aegon cheered.

"Come on, Luke!" Jace shouted. 

Though Luke was faltering, he wasn't giving up, still holding a determined look on his face, though he had begun to perspire like before. Aemond himself felt the droplets on his brow, as he continued to exert himself. 

Aemond swiped the sword once more in Luke's direction, but instead of hitting Luke's blade like he intended, they missed, and the tip of Aemond's sword hit Luke's arm. 

"Augh!" Luke cried, falling onto his back and clutching his arm. 

No. 

No.

NO.

NO!

WHAT DID I DO?!

"Luke!" Aemond shouted, dropping his sword and shield, scrambling to his knees to attend to the Velaryon boy. 

"You alright?" Aemond asked, deathly worried. Luke grimaced as he held his arm, sitting up. 

"I-I'm fine. Just a bad poke is all. I don't feel a cut." 

Aemond sighed in relief. 

Thank the gods.

"Enough of that," Cole chided, the man almost rolling his eyes. "Get up." 

Aemond growled in annoyance. 

Cunt!

"....Shut up." Aemond muttered.

Cole turned his head. "Hmmm?"

Aemond felt his anger rise, as he helped Luke to his feet. 

"I said SHUT UP!" Aemond roared. 

Cole raised his chin, seemingly confused by Aemond's opposition to him, but standing firm anyway. 

"Come on, then. Have at me."

Luke put a hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Aemond, wait—" 

CUNT!

"YAAAAAAH!" Aemond roared, as he swiped his wooden shield and sword from the dirt, quickly charging Cole. He swung right at his head, but Cole ducked all the same, walking backwards. 

Aegon and Jace were watching on in near shock, with Jace holding Joffrey's hand, as the little boy had grown worried. 

"You'll have to do better than this to bow me." Cole chided, almost in a mocking manner.

Aemond's eyes of red only grew deeper. 

FUCK YOU, CUNT!

"YAAAH!" Aemond roared, bringing down his sword again, once more missing Cole, who kept cooly walking backwards. Cole reached towards one of the displays, grabbing his morningstar from the rows. Aemond swung at his hand with his sword, but Criston moved his arm just in time, leaving Aemond's blade to collide with the weapons on the display. 

Aemond felt steam coming out of his nose, as he twirled the blade in his hand, readying his shield. 

Cole still seemed unimpressed. 

"A lot of anger. And poor skill."

FUCK YOU, CUNT FACE! 

"EYAAAAH!" Aemond roared, swinging towards Cole. The Kingsguard ducked, and skillfully swung the morningstar towards Aemond's head, with the prince ducking at the last moment—though he still felt the flail hit his silver hair. Aemond raised his shield as Cole twisted the flail, smashing it into Aemond's wooden shield, and causing it to break. 

"AUGH!" Aemond gasped, as he fell onto his back, his sword clanging to the ground. 

Aemond grunted in irritation and defeat, as he looked up at the King's Landing sky. 

Fuck. 

He's just too good at this.

I can't beat him.

Aemond eyed a different part of the sky as Cole walked slowly towards him, looking down at him as a master did a student.

"In the midst of battle, in the thick of the smoke, fairness and wellbeing are not taken into account. It is not an equal dance. You must be ready for anything and everything, regardless of who or what makes you angry, or what you find unpleasant. Understand?"

Aemond eyed Cole, keeping a growl contained as the man held out his hand. Aemond didn't answer him, but took his hand, dusting himself off as he was brought back to his feet. 

Aemond eyed Joffrey, who seemed somewhat scared from Aemond's outburst. 

Fuck.

I'm sorry, Joffrey.

Aemond looked towards Luke, feeling guilty, but Luke seemed to have understanding eyes. 

Cole began pacing once more.

"Alright, next will be Jacaerys and Aegon—move child." 

Aemond felt himself shake with newfound rage, as Cole had knocked into Joffrey, causing the little boy to gasp and stumble back on his feet.

CUNT!

CUNT! 

YOU FUCKING CUNT FACE!

"Don't push him!" Aemond roared again, picking up his sword once more. "He's a child!"

Joffrey ran behind Jacaerys, shaking a bit under his huge bronze helmet. Jace, Aegon, and Luke were all giving the Ser glares. 

Cole rolled his eyes. "I did not push him. But see it how you will, My Prince." 

Aemond blew even more steam out of his nose, but knew that assailing Cole further was useless. He sheathed his sword, jamming a finger in the man's direction. 

"Fuck you. Fuck you, Cole!" Aemond roared. "I AM DONE!" 

Aemond quickly walked over to Luke, as the Velaryon was sheathing his own sword, taking his hand out of instinct.

"Come on, Luke. Let's go." Aemond huffed, taking Luke’s hand and leaning him out of the training yard.

"Uh, alright—" Luke stammered, walking along with Aemond's lead. 

Aegon and Jacaerys were looking on in dumbfounded confusion, with even Joffrey having taken off his bronze helmet.

Aemond didn't bother looking back at Cole, but he could hear the slight chuckles coming from the man—ones of a mocking tone.

Just keep walking forward.

Ignore him. 

Aemond led Luke up the steps, Velaryon knights standing at attention, and giving them both an odd look. 

_______________________________________________________

NOT SO LONG LATER

GODSWOOD

"I fucking hate him." 

Aemond and Lucerys were settled under the great weirwood tree in the godswood once more, though with the glow of the day basking upon them. 

Both of the boys had shed their armor and rested their sheathed swords against the tree, attempting to relax. 

Aemond however, could not cease his rage, incessantly stabbing into the dirt with his knife.

"Some honorable knight he is." Aemond growled, stabbing the dirt again. "Must make him feel real proud and strong pushing little children around." 

Luke sighed, rubbing his arm. "He's awful." 

Aemond nodded with a growl, stabbing into the dirt once more.

Lucerys hummed. "It's hard to believe my mother and Ser Criston used to be close. Impossible, really."    

"Ugh," Aemond sighed. "So much bad blood in this place, I'm quite over it."

Aemond sighed in frustration, ceasing his stabbing spree, and leaning back against the tree, leaving his knife stuck in the grass. 

"Is it so much to ask for everyone to get along?" Aemond grumbled. 

Lucerys said nothing, only choosing to lean on Aemond's shoulder. Aemond was still angered, but he felt himself calm down just from that inkling of Luke's affection. His calm grew tenfold when Luke smoothly intertwined his fingers with his own.

"It's not all bad, right?" Luke said softly, smiling at his uncle. Aemond met his eyes, and couldn't help but grow a subdued smile himself.

"...Not all bad, no." Aemond said softly. 

The two boys didn't break from each other's eyesight. Aemond felt strangely comfortable rather than conscious of his own self. Luke's eyes darted quickly, as if he was reading into Aemond, wanting something from the taller boy. 

Sigh. 

Here we go. 

Aemond, emboldened by Luke's silent ask, moved to press a kiss on his cheek. Aemond heard Luke hum quietly as he pressed his lips on his skin, the two boys smiling at each other as they broke apart. 

Feeling even more confident, Aemond nuzzled his nephew's forehead with his own, enjoying the feeling of Luke's warm breath on his cheeks. Lucerys smiled, clearly pleased by it all, pressing a gentle kiss to Aemond’s nose.

Yes!

Aemond swooned, finally moving to press a kiss to Luke's lips. The two boys let their lips stir slowly, Aemond leading their gentle embrace. Aemond felt an urge to be on top of Luke, and slowly adjusted their positions, so Aemond could feel himself completely in control. 

Their kisses grew rough after a while, both the boys desperate for more of their shared intimacy. 

He's such a good kisser. 

Where did he learn how to do this? 

Aemond swooned again as Luke pressed a gentle hand to his cheek, only sparking Aemond’s desire even further. Luke hummed in Aemond's mouth as the Targaryen boy deepened the kiss, pleased by the intensity. 

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

Aemond had forgotten entirely about Cole.  

The two broke apart for air, keeping their eyes on one another, their cheeks pink as they panted lightly. Aemond felt his heart tumble wildy when Lucerys smiled up at him. 

Dammit, why does he have to be so cute?

Gods damn it all.

Aemond folded, moving in for another kiss, Luke humming in content just as before. Aemond swooned as Luke grew even more comfortable, parting his legs so that Aemond could settle between them. 

Aemond quickly took the suggestion, continuing to kiss Lucerys eagerly. As the two boys parted for air once again, Luke crossed his ankles, planting his heels on the small of Aemond’s back. 

Aemond shivered from the connection.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

So good!

Aemond kissed Luke again, noting the amused smile on his face when they parted again.

Fuck!

He did that on purpose!

You little bugger.

Lucerys raised his head off the roots, meeting Aemond's lips again. The two kissed breathlessly under the protection of the tree, as the birds chirped in the far off gardens. 

Aemond thought he heard the bellow of a dragon flying above, but he didn't care to spot which. 

Red leaves fell from the branches, tangling in both of the boy's silver and dark curly strands—though it did naught to keep them from kissing. 

Aemond wasn't sure if he fancied boys in general, but he certainly knew he fancied Lucerys. 

It was an indescribable feelinh knowing that Luke felt the same way about him. Aemond had never known what it felt like to be desired, and now that he had experienced it, it was as delicitable a feeling as a jar of sweet honey. Aemond didn't have all the words to describe his feelings for Lucerys, but he was certain that what he felt wasn't so incongruous with the love between a man and woman. 

Aemond and Luke pressed their foreheads together, the two panting heavily, feeling the heat of each other's breath. 

I enjoy this so much. 

Does that mean I'm strange? 

It's not like I can make love with him. 

We're…we're both boys.

Aemond's thoughts were cut off as Luke kissed him eagerly, placing another hand on his cheek. Aemond moaned quietly when Luke gently squeezed his leg's grip around his waist, sparking an intoxicating feeling that made Aemond's desire for Luke shoot into the sky. 

Oh, boy.

Tumescence had quickly come. Aemond grimaced as he tried to move himself, so Lucerys wouldn't feel, but Luke kept his wrapped legs in place, apparently not minding the feeling. 

Aemond almost shivered. 

Fuck.

He's amazing.

Aemond knew what it felt like to touch himself, as rare as he had done it. He remembered the first time he had piqued his curiosity, and how incredible it felt for the first time. But all the times he had done it, he was more focused on how it felt, rather than pinning his thoughts on a particular person. 

But now, Aemond was connecting those same feelings to Luke. 

Aemond broke off the kiss, panting for more air. Luke kissed Aemond on the nose, breathing hard as well, seemingly amused that he lasted a longer spell than Aemond. 

Aemond pressed his forehead against Luke's, sighing in content. Luke kept his eyes on Aemond's, his cheeks red as beets. 

The Targaryen far more emboldened, completely taken by his nephew. Aemond took the reins of their intimate bout, roughly pressing his lips onto Luke's. As their kisses grew even more forceful, Aemond parted for air, before diving towards the crook of Luke's neck, curious to explore more. 

"Mm—mmm…" Luke shuddered quietly, as the older boy trailed neat kisses across the smooth skin of his neck. 

The sounds he makes….

Aemond felt his tumescence grow worse. 

Luke tilted his head back, exposing his neck to help Aemond kiss it easier. Aemond's mind fogged like mist, mesmerized at how Luke shivered from his kisses, almost growling when the Velaryon brought a hand to his silver mane, gently tugging his hair. 

Aemond planted a soft kiss to the middle of Luke's neck, briefly swiping his tongue. 

"O-oh…" Luke moaned softly. 

Aemond shuddered from the noise he made, but also grinned internally at himself. 

Yes!

I'm pleasing him!

Luke gently tugged Aemond's head, wanting to kiss him again. Aemond quickly folded, kissing Luke quickly. Luke kept his hands on Aemond's cheeks as they continued to kiss, with Aemond feeling more settled with his place on top. 

What are you—

"Ack!" 

Aemond had been caught off guard, and found himself flipped onto his own back, fallen red leaves making nest in his silver mane as they switched. 

"Heh, I got you." Luke teased, straddling him. 

"Psssh. You little prick…" Aemond groaned.

Aemond shivered from the feeling of Luke completely on top of him. 

Oh gods…

It feels good.

Aemond felt Luke shiver as well, the both of them very much enjoying the sensation. 

Luke brought his hands to Aemond’s cheeks again, kissing him quickly. Aemond kept his lips in pace with Luke's, making sure to savor every little moment. Before Aemond could place his hands on Luke's waist, the Velaryon intercepted, lacing his fingers with Aemond's, keeping them anchored to the ground. 

Luke kissed Aemond's nose as they broke apart again, the two breathless. Aemond looked up at Luke with needy eyes, finding himself in yet another dazed trance. 

There's no girl or woman in this world as pretty as him. 

Not one.

Aemond tried not to gasp when Luke giggled at him, as he was sitting right in his lap.

"Heh-heh. You look like a lost stag fawn without its mother." Luke teased. 

Aemond narrowed his eyes. 

"Luke…" Aemond said softly. 

Luke blinked nervously. "Oh, did I say something wrong? I didn't mean—ah!"

Aemond had quickly flipped their positions, taking his place back on top. Luke gasped as he was flipped on his back, grunting from the movement. 

"Hey! Not fair!" Luke laughed. 

Aemond didn't respond, nuzzling his forehead against Luke's, who was more than happy to return the gesture.

Aemond felt more pleased than he had ever felt in his life. 

He felt complete.  

Aemond moved to kiss Luke's nose, but stopped after Luke gave him a muddled sort of look. 

"Aemond?" Luke asked, birds chirping in the distance.

"Yes?" Aemond asked, feeling Lucerys grow stiff. 

"Umm...." Luke began, looking away, seeming a bit shy on the subject about to leave his lips.

Aemond however, didn't look away from Luke's direction, keeping gentle eyes on him. 

"Um...." Luke stammered. "What…w-what is this?" 

Aemond's confidence crumbled into pieces.

"Oh—this? Uh, I don't...I don't—I don't quite know e-exactly."

Luke blinked, his face apologetic. "I didn't mean to embarrass you—"

"No, no, you didn't." Aemond assured. "I simply need a moment to uh—collect m-myself." 

Aemond sat up, enough for Luke's feet to fall to the ground. He scratched the back of his head as his self-consciousness returned like a rampant tide, unsure of how exactly to place the words. Luke sat up with him, adjusting himself so he could sit cross-legged. 

Aemond sat cross-legged as well, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them, keeping them locked with Luke's. 

"Um…all I know, r-really, is that I…I like being with you in this way. I enjoy it—um—I enjoy it d-dearly. I don't know w-why, or anything of that sort, but I just—um, I just—"

Luke kissed him, cutting Aemond off, leaving the Targaryen boy to flutter his eyes closed. 

Luke smiled as he gently parted back. 

"The interrogation is over, uncle. As much as I enjoy your rambling…" 

Aemond snickered for a moment. "You like my rambling?" 

"Mmm-hmmm. Just a bit." Lucerys teased.

Aemond shook his head, knocking a few red leaves out of his silver mane. Aemond eyed Luke with concern, as the shorter boy grew a saddened expression. 

"What is it?" Aemond asked gently, almost reaching out to hold him. 

Luke looked down at the dirt, taking a red leaf out of his curly hair. 

"I'm…I'm sorry about last night, Aemond. I got us both into some awful trouble. It was all my fault."

Aemond shook his head.

"No, Luke. I chose to take you up on it. I was an equal member of the scheme." 

Sensing Luke's uncertainty, Aemond gently laced his fingers with one of Luke's hands, holding them firmly. 

"I don't regret anything we did last night, Luke. Anything."

Luke took in the statement for a moment, before smiling, moving in for another kiss. The two boys met their lips once more, their kisses soft and gentle. As they parted, Aemond kissed Luke on the nose again, to which Luke giggled, kissing him back.  

"Uncle?" Luke asked as they parted yet again, turning his head. 

Aemond kissed his nose. "What?" 

Lucerys face was serious. "Could we...keep doing this?" 

Aemond smiled. "Oh, at this moment? I wasn't about to letup."

"Well yes," Luke clarified, "but I rather mean that....I want to keep spending time with you like this. I know…I know we can't tell anyone. But…we can…um…find ways to uh—t-to d-do this together without people finding out, r-right?"

Aemond breathed through his nose, eyeing Luke intently. Lucerys face had grown terribly red, and as he held his hand, he could feel his fingera wobble from anticipation.

"I e-enjoy this too, Aemond." Luke said softly. "I truly do."

Aemond saw Luke's cheeks grow even redder, perhaps from embarrassment. Aemond felt his own heat up, but in a good way.

He really does want me.

And to think of where we'd be if I had denied him last night. 

Aemond felt his blush grow severe. 

"I…I—I–that's wonderful. I…I want to keep doing this as well…I like this…I…I like y-you, Luke."

Luke smiled, the blush on his cheeks just as proud as Aemond's own. Luke kissed Aemond on the nose, smoothly wrapping his arms around his neck. 

"Well?" Luke asked sarcastically. "You going to keep kissing me? Or do I need to wait all day?" 

Aemond smiled. "Heh. Of course." 

The two met each other's lips once more, falling into another bout of kisses. 

_______________________________________________________

Lord Strong needs to know. 

Unbeknownst to the boys beneath the weirwood tree, they had been observed for a time. 

Arthur, a house servant of House Targaryen, just a boy of nine with dirty hair and deep brown eyes, had been fishing for whispers and information around the castle whilst pretending to be focused on his cleaning duties—a great aid to his work as a spy. 

As he scrubbed the last of the floor tiles in the patio leading to the gardens, making sure to stay hidden, he observed the two. 

The two princes were kissing—the silver haired one atop the curly haired one—whom Arthur knew as Prince Aemond and Prince Lucerys. Arthur did not remember much of his parents, as they had died when he was so young, but he understood that they must have felt the same way his parents did when they showed affection for each other.

They looked happy.

Arthur watched on as Aemond bit Lucerys' ear—seemingly not hard, as it made the Velaryon laugh. 

Quietly sneaking away, Arthur kept the sponge in his hand, as he headed towards the northern wall.

Leaving the two boys beneath the weirwood tree, without a worry in the world. 

_______________________________________________________

LATER

OUTSIDE OF THE DRAGONPIT

Just say something nice, you idiot. 

Please don't make a damn fool of yourself. 

Jacaerys Velaryon felt his feet stuck firmly into the ground, as if the dirt had consumed them. 

Lady Rhaena, Lady Baela, and Princess Rhaenys were departing for the island of Driftmark.

Seasmoke, Moondancer, and Meleys had been guided out of the gargantuan stable by the dragonkeepers, and all three dragons were stretching their wings, preparing for flight. 

Jace, Aegon, and Helaena had accompanied them along the journey to the Dragonpit, though both Aegon and Helaena had since scurried off inside to greet Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, after saying their goodbyes to the Targaryen girls and the Queen Who Never Was. 

Lord Corlys had also come along, with him saying his goodbyes to his wife as he remained in King's Landing to attend to his duties as Master of Ships. Jace had kept him in the side of his eye, seeking to give his grandfather his privacy with his wife.

Jace was nervously trying to think of something, anything to say. He was observing Rhaena conversing a distance away with her father, who had flown in on Caraxes only a short moment before, the snake-like beast eyeing the other three dragons as it twisted its neck. 

Jace’s eyes snapped to the ground when he saw Baela look his way, the girl seemingly confused by his behavior. Baela only shrugged her shoulders, leaning back on Moondancer. Ook, who was hanging on her arm, also looked towards the Velaryon prince, blinking.

Fuck. 

Just say something nice. 

That's all you have to do. 

As much as it pained him to admit, he had long been infatuated with his younger cousin, having had a crush on her since when he was small. Rhaena was Jacaerys’ first fall, and though Jacaerys should have moved on, found another girl who would have certainly desired him, he found himself stuck in place.

Unluckily for Jace, he didn’t often see Rhaena. She was absent during much of his early childhood, as she was away at Pentos with her family, only ever seeing her on brief occasions. And with her at ward at High Tide, she spent more of her days at Spicetown than she ever did King's Landing. The times they were able to spend some sort of time together, he always found himself horribly nervous, like he was bound to trip over his own feet—which he did, a few times. 

Jacaerys was always considering who he would eventually marry. With he now being ten-and-six of age, he was considered a new man, though how little he felt like it. Marriage prospects had already filled a great many pouches in the Red Keep's rookery, with noble girls of all across the kingdoms eager to marry who would become the future King of Westeros. 

Rhaenyra had once offered a marriage tour for her eldest son, as she once had one herself; though her own had ended in failure. Jacaerys decided against the idea, uncomfortable with the idea of a bunch of girls groveling to him in such a line, saying whatever he wanted to hear for a chance. 

Jace wanted it to be genuine. 

Out of everything, his stirring feelings for Rhaena were real. Perhaps that is truly why he could never truly forget her. Jacaerys had first fallen for her when he was only 11, during a royal ball hosted at High Tide, one so so packed that Jacaerys had to squeeze past noble after noble. 

“There’s too many people here!” Jace complained, putting a hand on his forehead.

“I can’t even find Luke, he must be out on the foyer somewhere.”

Rhaena chuckled. “Horrid day for High Tide to not be such a grand castle, eh?"

Jace nodded, finding himself strangely captivated by her smile. His breathe ceased when Rhaena gently took his hand. 

"You want to scurry off?" Rhaena offered, holding out her hand. "I may stand alone, but I want some fresh air.” 

Jacaerys couldn't stop thinking about her hand, nervously hiding his eyes underneath his long brown hair. 

"Y-yes." Jace stammered. "Please." 

The two had walked together on the beach, the night air calm and peaceful away from the crowded High Tide, Vhagar’s mournful bellows not far away. The two bonding over their love of dragons and dislike of crowds. 

Rhaena nudged Jace's shoulder. "You should take me flying on Vermax. Grandmother says I'm quite good at handling Meleys' speed." 

Jacaerys smiled softly, kicking sand with his boot. "Would you like to? I've only been riding him for a year. When he gets bigger, you'll be my first passenger." 

Rhaena grinned. Jacaerys grinned back, but he found himself fixated again. Jace always knew girls were beautiful, but Rhaena was a particular sort of catching that he couldn't describe. 

Rhaena soon made a suggestion that made Jace’s mind stop in his tracks. 

“...You’ve never been kissed before, have you?” Rhaena asked, turing her head slightly. 

“What?” Jace said, almost in a shout, feeling his cheeks grow red.

“Kissing." Rhaena repeated, with the same tone in her voice. "You’ve never been kissed before.” 

“Uh—” Jace stammered, shifting on his feet. “No—no I haven’t, but—I mean—I don’t—”

Rhaena waved her hands, as a wave crashed onto the beach.  “Alright, alright, you needn’t be so flustered.”

Jace ruffled the hair on his head with a hand, still feeling the heat on his face. 

“Well—have, h–have you ever been?” Jace asked. 

Rhaena shrugged. “....No.”

Jace didn’t know why, but he felt relief at the statement. 

Rhaena smiled at him, making Jace’s blush grow even harsher. "All of the roudy girls at Spicetown boast about their first kisses. This one girl was bragging how she kissed a man, but he was a much older knight. I thought that more horrid than impressive." 

Jace grimaced. "Agreed." 

Rhaena spun on her heels, a smile on her face.

“...Should we kiss? Just to see what’s so worked up about it all.”

“ What ?!” Jace shouted, his face bursting into flames, as if he was a goat that Vermax blasted with fire.

Jacaerys eventually agreed—after the boy calmed himself down enough to gather his faculties. The kiss they shared was a fleeting one—just lasting for a moment, and barely even a peck. 

“Not as peculiar as I imagined.” Rhaena said simply, shrugging her shoulders. 

Jace cleared his throat, still feeling his blush as he looked out to sea. 

“Y-yep. Nothing special.”

But of course, Jace had lied to himself then. It was something special, no matter how small of a moment it had been. That night he had punched his pillow in frustration, annoyed that he hadn’t asked her to try again.

It had run through his mind over and over even after they had left High Tide, clouding his thoughts completely. As much as the kiss affected him, it seemingly didn’t do anything for Rhaena. She had never brought it up in the aftermath, and Jace was always scared of bringing it up, fearing what she might say. 

Does she think about it? 

Is she just hiding her feelings?

Oh, don’t fool yourself, Jace. She doesn’t care for you that way. 

Jace’s eyes rose again, spotting Rhaena and her father hugging lovingly, Daemon placing a kiss on her forehead before they both parted. With Daemon now walking over to say his goodbyes to Lady Baela, Jacaerys saw his opening. 

Alright! Now’s my chance. 

Just say something nice. 

Don’t be a disturbing fool. 

Jace fiddled with his fingers underneath his gray cloak, before finally finding the strength to walk forward. Rhaena had turned back to Seasmoke, the ash-scaled dragon having bent down its neck, allowing his rider to pet him gently. 

Jace shook his head, hitting his hip with his fist. He watched Caraxes wiggle his neck, something that apparently amused Meleys, as she exhaled a snort of smoke. Jace felt h8mself stop, hesitation overwhelming him. 

Should I have gone to get Vermax instead?

No!

Stop being a coward!

Just say something! 

Jace gathered all of the determination he could muster, and walked forward, feeling the rocks underneath his boots.

Rhaena continued petting Seasmoke, until the ash-colored dragon spotted the young prince’s advance, snorting at him and lowering its neck. Rhaena  turned to look towards Jacaerys in response, growing a inviting smile. The Velaryon found himself entranced by the girl's beauty; her brown skin, purple eyes, and her incredible curly silver hair. 

Jace almost threw himself off his guard, but he did not let it show. 

Fuck. 

Steady.

“You don’t need say goodbye twice, Jacaerys.” Rhaena said simply, still smiling. 

Jace sighed as he finally stopped, ruffling his dark curly hair with a nervous hand. 

“You’re right of course. I…I wanted to…I wanted to say that I’m sorry we didn't get to spend more time together, for as short of a time as you’ve been here.”

Rhaena shrugged, putting her hands behind her back. “You said it yourself; it was a short outing. No need for an apology. Isn’t that right, my dearest Seasmoke?”

“Grah…” Seasmoke huffed, snorting again. 

Jace nodded, trying to keep himself talking.

“Alright, then. I…I hope we can spend some time together soon. As…as—uh, cousins.”

Rhaena gave him a curious look, perhaps reading his expression, but grew a smile anyway.

“Well then...I’ll be at High Tide for just a while longer now. My wardship is finally nearing an end. High Tide is wonderful, but I do get bored. We’ll be seeing each other more, that is for certain. You’ll have to show me around King’s Landing proper when I come to live here —I don’t know much of my way around.”

Jace smiled, excitement bursting within his heart. “I'd love to—ah, I mean, I will certainly do that.”

Rhaena nodded, opting to move to hug him.

Despite his rhesitation, Jace took no hesitation at her suggestion, hugging her back. He held her gently, not wanting to reveal his excited heart. 

Oh gods. 

Oh gods.

“Be safe, cousin.” Rhaena said softly. 

“You as well, Rhaena.” Jace responded in kind, desperate to withhold himself. 

Rhaena had chosen to break off the hug, leaving Jace feeling somewhat awkward, the Velaryon finding himself fiddling with his hands. Seasmoke positioned itself for its rider to climb, as Rhaena walked towards the dragon, raising her hand. 

“You need some help up?” Jace asked. 

“Nope!” Rhaena answered, beginning to climb up to Seasmoke’s saddle without any effort at all. Jace grew a slight grin as she settled into the dragon's saddle, beams of sunlight gleaming off the metal finish of the hippocampus. 

“Come onnnnn, Baela!” Rhaena shouted. “I want that razorclaw crab for dinner!”

“Oh shut up!” Baela groaned from afar. "It'll be on the platter no matter how long we take!"

Jace watched as Baela hugged her father in a lasting farewell, before Daemon backed off, allowing Baela to climb atop Moondancer's saddle, quickly wrapping the reigns around her wrists, her monkey having taken his place in a secured pouch on Moondancer's saddle.

Caraxes let out a squeal as Rhaenys climbed atop Meleys’ saddle, the spiked scarlet dragon adjusting its wings, preparing to fly. 

“Goodbye, father!” Rhaena shouted, as Baela held onto her waist, Ook holding onto his owner. 

“Fly well!” Daemon shouted, waving a hand. 

"Goodbye Jace!" Rhaena shouted, meeting his eyes. Jace smiled back, waving his own hand. 

"I'll see you!" Jace shouted.

“GRAHHH!” Seasmoke growled, as it extended its wings, stepping forward.

Jace backed away further, allowing the dragon room to stride forward. With a short stride forward, Seasmoke flapped his wings, quickly climbing into the sky. The force from Seasmoke’s wings was enough to ruffle Jace’s hair, with the young prince fixing it after Seasmoke was a good distance above him. 

"KYAUNNNN!" Moondancer bellowed, its pearlescent frills shaking with its cry. The dragon quickly jumped up, flapping its wings rapidly as it began climbing into the sky. Jace was sure he heard the tiny Ook squeal.

“AEEEPRA!” Meleys roared, loud enough to make Jace cover his ears on instinct. The scarlet dragon quickly dipped into the sky, having gained enough speed in such a quick moment to have already outpaced Seasmoke and Moondancer, though both had begun to catch up in pace.

Jace found himself walking forward, watching the three dragons grow farther and farther, heading towards a particular cloud in the direction of Driftmark. 

Bye, Rhaena. 

See you soon.

_______________________________________________________

LATER

“I always thought I’d be the one to take him out flying first.”

“You know he’s deathly afraid of Dreamfyre! He’d never get close.”

"Bah. He would've eventually."

Jace was looking out the window, as the large silver carriage ferried the three royals back to the Red Keep, with Ser Westerling riding alongside the carriage on guard. Daemon had opted to stay behind at the Dragonpit, attending to Caraxes for a while longer. 

The carriage ride was bumpy, a mercy for Jace, as he could better drown out the thoughts of Rhaena in his head. 

Aegon had taken a goblet from the holder in the carriage, but he had begun spilling the wine he had filled it with, as the rocking of the carriage made it an impossible balance. 

“Ah, fuck—” Aegon groaned, as another hard rock sent a slosh of wine to the carriage floor, Jace moving his foot before it could hit his boot. 

“Just drink it all, fool!” Helaena complained. “You’re going to ruin my dress.”

“Alright!” Aegon huffed, drinking the rest of the wine from the goblet, tipping it over to get the last drops. 

Jace breathed through his nose. 

Gods.

I love you uncle, but you're a fool. 

I suppose we're both fools. 

"Aemond would have much enjoyed Sunfyre for a first flight than Dreamfyre, anyhow." Aegon said it in almost a snobbish sort of way.

"Sorry beloved sister, but my golden stallion is certainly more agreeable to a second rider. And a better flight. Oh-ho-ho." 

"Blaaaaah, blaaaah, blaaaaah…" Helaena complained, rolling her eyes. 

As the brother and sister stuck their tongues out at each other, Jace sighed again, his eyes viewing the smallfolk on the streets of King's Landing, many eyes watching the silver carriage roll by. 

"Did Luke speak to you about his misdeeds last night, Jace?" Aegon asked, pouring more wine into his goblet.

Jace put his hands on his lap, leaning back into his seat. "No. Didn't think he'd do something like that." 

"I'm glad that he did it!" Aegon said simply. "Aemond needed to fly on dragonback sooner or later. With as many of us having dragons as we do. I might have tied him to Sunfyre myself if he wanted too long." 

Helaena cheered. "Lucerys and Aemond haven't ever talked much before, so this is wonderfull! It's all working out well for us. We'll be able to get him to talk more, surely." 

Jace nodded. 

Jace was decent with Aemond, but certainly not close to him like he was Aegon. Jace just thought it was moreso Aemond's reserved personality, not him having silent disdain for everyone around him.  

His newfound friendship with his little brother was certainly a good sign, as well as for Luke himself. As Luke's older brother, Jace often felt fiercely protective over him. Lucerys had followed him around since they were small children, and Jacaerys always looked out for him. The two brothers were closer than most, having even shared a room until both had turned ten, though Lucerys would always find nights to crawl his way into Jacaerys' bed. 

Whether it was attending to their dragons, wrestling together, learning to horse ride, or arms training with Ser Cole, Jace always kept Lucerys in his mind, as if it was he that needed to keep Luke safe from anything that could possibly harm him. 

But Luke was no longer the goofy little boy that he was, now being close enough to ten-and-six. 

Perhaps he didn't much need Jace's protection anymore. 

"He and Luke will be like us both, eh old friend?" Aegon said as he grinned at him, holding up his goblet. 

Jace grinned slightly. "If the gods are so willing." 

Aegon drank from the goblet again, tipping it over. 

Aegon was about to fill his cup again, but Helaena snatched the thin wine decanter from his hand. 

"You've had enough." 

Aegon only complained. "Whaaat? No I haven’t! I need at least five more cups!"

_______________________________________________________

DUNGEON

LORD CONFESSOR’S LABORATORY

“Prince Aemond and Prince Lucerys…coupling?”

“I—I think so. It’s what I saw.”

Arthur stood nervously in the damp, dark place. His eyes remained on the back of Larys Strong of Harrenhal, as the man remained seated in his stool. Lord Strong was observing some peculiar red-colored substance underneath an eyeglass in a glass vase, one that swirled strangely in circles. 

Lord Larys’ laboratory was a dark and dreary place, one cluttered with various items and tools he used for his work—large needles, various tonics and potions, hourglasses, and other odd, strange items in jars that Arthur could not place. For the few years he had been spying for the Lord Confessor of the King's Justice, the man had never told him of the exact curiosities he was exploring in is laboratory. 

“How…peculiar…” Larys hummed, continuing to observe the unknown substance. 

“What a complication this brings….” 

Arthur shifted on his feet, wiping a dirty cheek with his hand. 

“What does it mean, milord?” Arthur asked. 

Larys turned slowly, smiling in a sly manner at the boy. “....The Queen must learn of this. Such a thing will…dull the green of her drapes, I’m sure. Do you understand the importance of marriage, Arthur?”

Arthur shrugged, kicking his foot on the ground. 

“....It honors the Seven. Like my mother and father. When the village septon wed them. Before they died.”

Arthur watched as Larys began to stand from his stool, taking his golden-studded cane in hand. Larys' golden necklace shone through the flames of the torchlights in the laboratory, as the man moved forward slowly, dragging his afflicted leg across the stone floor. 

Arthur didn’t understand what was wrong with him. He had never seen a leg like that, not in the way it twisted at such an awful angle. Arthur thought it might have been painful, but Larys had shown no issue with it. 

Larys chuckled to himself. "Oh, the mind of a child." 

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his legs. 

“Marriage….” Larys began, tapping his cane, “...Is a tool. Like a thread weaving knots. For those with powerful names….ambition is a forever ladder. Perhaps in a different world…princes and princesses could follow their own hearts and whims…but that is not this one.”

Arthur looked down at the floor for a moment, before raising his eyes, focusing on the golden beetle engraved in the man's cane. 

“That reminds me…” Larys added, turning back to the table. He took a black box in his hand—one of several boxes, moving to hand it to Arthur. 

“Guess what I happened to acquire today…” Larys muttered. 

Arthur took the box from the man, opening it. 

“...Candied plums from Dorne.” Larys said with a smile. 

Arthur felt his stomach growl, feeling hungry. It would be a good while later until he was able to eat a meal in the castle kitchens. Arthur began stuffing his mouth with the plums, savoring the sugary taste. 

“....You’ve done well, Arthur.” Larys praised. “....Continue giving me whispers…and you’ll have all the sweets that you’ll ever need.”

Arthur nodded, gulping down another plum. 

“mmmmm...Yes, milord.”

_______________________________________________________

As the boy walked back up the steps, exiting his laboratory, Lord Larys hobbled back to his stool, sitting down, and grasping his cane. His fingers traced over the beetle engraving on its golden grip. 

As Larys stared at the red swirling substance in the jar on his desk, the substance flickering in his eyes, the man slowly began to smile.

“Ufufufufufufufu…” Larys chuckled to himself. 

Larys breathed in and out of his nose, sighing, and growing an even greater smile, one that spanned from ear to ear. 

It is time, then.

My path has begun. 

_______________________________________________________

LATE EVENING

DINING ROOM

MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST

Mmmm.

It's good soup. 

House Targaryen was attending supper. 

Suppers in the Red Keep were always quite involved affairs for the dragonlord dynasty, with King Viserys insisting that they all dine together as often as possible. 

Such an ask may have not much bonded the adults of the family, but it certainly did the children. Oftentimes Aemond himself didn't speak much of a word, seeing fit to focus on eating his food; not wanting to have any attention focused on his person. But Aemond was more comfortable with his family surrounding him than not. 

The family was dining over a giant cooked steak; one so large that Aemond thought it at least half of the thigh from a cow. It was paired with green tomatoes, onions, mashed potatoes and green beans, adding to a incredibly filling meal.

A whole turkey sat out on the table, with Lucerys having eaten most of it on his own.

Jacaerys had taken to more of the giant cooked moonfish that also engulfed part of the table, biting the pieces of fish off his fork like he had something else on his mind. 

Helaena was amusing herself pouring an exorbitant amount of lamb sauce on her steak slices. 

They all shared a few bottles of red sparkling wine from the Arbor, known as the Taste of Diamonds, one of Redwyne's most expensive brews. The processes required a certain method with red grapes, one that the noble house continued to guard as a cherished secret formula.

What might of been a once in a lifetime gift for many folk, was little more than a special treat for House Targaryen. Aemond favored it, as he could taste the grape much more than he could the alcohol.  

Aemond had passed on all options, instead eating a hearty bowl of brothy stew, one stuffed with potato slices, carrots, onions, and oxtail meat, with toasted slices of garlic bread to dip into the soup. 

He tried to fight the frequent urge to lift the bowl to his mouth. 

Etiquette, etiquette. 

As Septa Marlow always says.

Joffrey was the most gleeful of the bunch, happily kicking his feet in his chair, as he ate small, triangular slices of bread, which he dipped in condensed milk. Joffrey had sat between Aemond and Luke, grinning up at both his older brother and uncle, as he stuffed his cheeks full. 

"Did your training go to your liking today?" Rhaenyra asked the boys, chewing. 

Aemond felt eyes on him as she said it, having to cease his chewing, lest he choke on a piece of carrot. 

"U-uh…" Aemond stammered. "It went…fine…"

"Aemond fought Ser Criston!" Joffrey cheered, looking up at his uncle, still swinging his tiny legs. 

Aemond bowed his head in embarrassment. "Uhhh…."

"Oh? How did that fair?" King Viserys asked. 

Aemond shrugged his shoulders, spooning his soup. "....Better than I expected." 

"They say Ser Criston is the finest knight in these kingdoms." Viserys said, coughing a bit. 

"I wished I had the fortune of viewing his tourney performance at Maidenpool myself, as smashing as I heard it was. But all knights have their time—you'll be as good as he when you reach his age." 

"Criston is a meanie for a knight." Joffrey complained, stuffing his cheeks full again. 

Aemond growled in his throat. 

Big meanie.

"Were you ever a tourney knight, grandfather?" Lucerys asked, chewing on a piece of steak. 

"Oh, no, no, no." Viserys clarified. "Fighting was never my forte. Daemon is the more tourney man than I ever was." 

"Hmmm." Daemon hummed, poking his fork at his food. 

Aemond could spot his grandfather giving Daemon an annoyed look, though he couldn't exactly read why. 

"Did you see Rhaena off?" Luke asked Jacaerys. 

Jacaerys nodded, biting down a piece of turkey. "Y-yes. I did." 

Lucerys grinned in amusement. "What did you sayyyy?" 

Jace groaned. "Shut up, Luke."

Lucerys snickered. "You'll have to ask her to dance sometime. I'm sure she's waiting for it to leave your lips."

Jace groaned again. "Shut up, Luke." 

Aegon slipped a piece of turkey in his mouth, slapping Jace on his back. "No worries, Luke. I've taught him well in the art of women." 

"Gods, you both are insufferable…" Jace grumbled. 

Luke narrowed his eyes at Aegon. "I'm talking about romancing her, not bedding her."

"Hey!" Aegon challenged. "I well know how to romance a girl! I do!" 

"Mmm–hmmm." Lucerys mumbled. "Sure." 

Aemond twirled his knife, stabbing a potato slice from his soup and biting into it, trying to drown out the conversation. 

Potato.

Just think potato. 

"That's enough of that." Rhaenyra chided. 

"What's bedding?" Joffrey asked, curious. 

Aemond almost smacked his forehead. "I—uh—you'll figure it out when you get older, Joff." 

"Anywho…" Helaena whistled, changing the subject.

"I should have my new ivory dress soon. Darach is finishing up the last touches. He's modeled the sapphires like Dreamfyre's scales—he told me that they came all the way from the Tarths on Sapphire Island. I can't wait to wear it to a ball." 

Aegon frowned. "Why? You never even pay attention during those damned things." 

Helaena shrugged. "It's still nice to wear it. Not that you pay much attention either, Ser Wine Bottle." 

"Mhmm-mm-hmmm." Daemon chuckled. 

"Says Ser Butterfly—" Aegon jokingly sneered. 

"I can't be a ser, I'm not a man." Helaena countered.

Aegon grew a mockingly shocked face.

"Then you're just a butterfly. Are your wings strong enough to carry my winecups for me? My arms have grown somewhat sore." 

Helaena slowly clapped in a mocking sort of manner. "You're not funny." 

Potato. 

Potato.

Just think potato. 

Queen Alicent interrupted their bickering, picking up her goblet. "I'm sure it will look perfect on you, as do all your others." 

"Thank you, mother." Helaena said, smiling. 

Otto cut through the chatter, raising his goblet. "To Helaena."

The table raised their glasses in unison. 

"To Helaena!" everyone said—all except Daemon, who only tipped a goblet in her direction. 

Aemond quickly gulped down his champagne, eyeing Joffrey for a moment. 

"Could I try some, Uncle Aemond?" Joffrey asked. 

"Uhhh…" Aemond stammered, looking to Rhaenyra for aid. 

Help me, sister. 

"I'd stick to the cider, Joff." Jace said. 

"Awww…" Joffrey grumbled. "I'm eight, not a baby." 

"In the Arbor, children drink wine commonly with dinner." Aegon said in a matter-of-fact manner. 

Aemond rolled his eyes. 

Of course you'd know that. 

You drunk dunce.

"And when Joffrey is in the Arbor or tangled in the vines of Highgarden, he can have wine then." Rhaenyra stated. 

"A small sip won't hurt." Daemon encouraged. 

Rhaenyra gave her husband a sigh, putting her hand on her head. Rhaenyra finally relented, looked to Aemond and nodded. The Targaryen boy handed Joffrey his own goblet of champagne. 

"Here you go…" Aemond muttered. 

Joffrey eagerly took the goblet, bringing it to his mouth and sibbing. 

"Ewwwwwww!" Joffrey complained, wagging his tongue.

The table broke out into amused chuckles, though Otto was the most subdued of the group. 

"It's so bubbly…" Joffrey whined, Aemond taking his goblet back. 

"It's an acquired effort, Joffrey." Aegon said, leaning on his arms to look down at the boy.

"Good for a first try." 

Aemond chuckled himself, spooning more of his soup. 

“The dragonkeepers gave Dreamfyre a good scrubbing today.” Helaena interjected. “She always loves her scales ungrimed.”

“They should give one to Arrax soon.” Luke said, cutting another piece of steak with his knife. “Dirt shows quickly on his scales.”

“Did you dirty Arrax more last night, with your escapade with Aemond?” Rhaenyra teased in a motherly manner. 

Aemond felt himself grow red from embarrassment, having nearly let soup go down the wrong pipe. 

“Ack!” Lucerys stammered, embarrassed. “I—I—we weren’t flying for that long, he probably didn’t get that dirty!”

Potato.

Potato.

Potato.

Potato. 

Rhaenyra chuckled, amused at her son’s embarrassment. 

Aemond sighed through his nose, closing his eyes.

Well, at least none of them are sore about it.

“I am proud of you, son.” King Viserys said suddenly. Aemond’s eyes opened to meet his father’s, intrigued by the statement, as well as feeling a small rush of pride.

“Dragonriding is a peril. I still remember the horror of flying on Balerion’s back. For as much disdain I had for your behavior…it is good you have learned how to fly a dragon.”

Aemond shrugged, moving the head of his spoon around in his soup. 

“...I wouldn't say I learned. I…I just did it.”

“Well, one step closer to learning, right?” Viserys cheered, hacking out another cough. 

Aemond grimaced from the sound of his father’s hacking. “...I suppose so.”

Viserys coughed again. “...You are well on your way to begin trying to claim a dragon for your own.”

Aemond’s heart stopped in his chest.

“Uhhh—” Aemond stammered, gripping his knife tightly. 

“Sounds like a good idea.” Aegon said simply. “I think he can do it.”

“Syrax laid a new clutch of eggs.” Rhaenyra said, twirling her fork. “I can offer an egg for you to hatch if you’d like, Aemond.”

Aemond’s heart remained frozen in place, the boy embarrassed by all the attention focused on him. 

“Or take your chances at the Dragonmont, if you want a dragon already grown!” Viserys said in a happy tune. “I believe you can do it.”

Aemond felt his knees wobbling slightly, ceasing it by moving to bounce his foot rapidly under the table. 

"Sheepstealer has not been seen in years…” Viserys continued, “but the other wild dragons—Vermithor, Tyraxes, Silverwing…they are all ripe for the taking."

"Though I'd stay clear of The Cannibal, to be safe." Rhaenyra added, flicking her wrist. 

Aemond gulped, looking down at his half remaining soup. 

“I’ll…” Aemond said briefly, before clearing his throat. 

“I’ll think about it. Lend me some time…” 

Aemond’s eyes glanced to Lucerys, but he quickly looked away, as Luke was eyeing him in a gentle sort of way, one that made his cheeks heat up more.

"Mom, can I eat my sweets now?" Joffrey asked, sauce on his mouth. 

"Not until you finished your proper food, dear." Rhaenyra said gently. 

Joffrey grumbled. "Awwwww…" 

_______________________________________________________

LATER

ROYAL APARTMENTS 

AEMOND'S CHAMBERS 

Sigh. 

Aemond was looking out of his window, skillfully twirling his long-bladed knife in his hand.

Having since dressed himself for sleep, his long silver hair was down to the middle of his back, brushed and straightened. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and sleep pants that he tied around his waist, as well as double-layered, thickened socks, ones intended for winter, but a swell fit for the night.

Aemond felt quite relaxed, sitting in his large windowsill and looking out at the dotted embers of King's Landing. 

Though he couldn't hear anything, Aemond was sure the streets were as lively as he had seen them the night before. 

King's Landing doesn't sleep. 

The only thing Aemond did hear, was Aegon's headboard knocking into his wall, as well as the revolting sound of his moans, though it had now been silent for some time. 

He better sneak that girl out on the morrow before mother finds out. 

Aemond rubbed his cheek with his hand, yawning, twirling the knife. 

His eyes narrowed at the Dragonpit's gargantuan structure, which seemed so far away from where he was sitting in his sky-high. 

Aemond smiled to himself. 

He was incredibly proud of himself, for finally finding the stones to ride on dragonback. It was an experience he'd dreamed about for so long, and he had finally achieved it. But even that first flight on dragonback held secondary to Aemond’s newfound relationship with Lucerys. 

He's more exhilarating than a dragon. 

Hmmm.

I suppose he is a dragon.

Aemond smiled to himself thinking about Lucerys. He couldn't get over how pretty and sweet he was, no matter how hard he tried. 

It felt as if he wanted to hold him tight forever, and not let him go. 

Knock!

Knock!

Knock!

Aemond's head snapped to his door at the subdued knocking, ceasing twirling his knife. He got up from the windowsill, landing on his feet and moving to his door. 

Aemond resumed twirling the knife as he approached the door, peering out of the aperture. 

"Psssst. Aemond. You awake?"

It was Lucerys, dressed for sleep just like he, just with a seagreen color to his own attire, his curly black hair brushed out. He held a glass bottle in his hand, one he was holding by the bottom, as it seemed a heavy bottle. It was filled with a yellow drink, one that looked creamy and smooth. 

Aemond quickly unlocked his door, excited that Lucerys had come to see him at this late an hour. 

"Hey, Luke." Aemond smiled, opening the door. 

"Hey, dragonback rider." Luke teased, as Aemond allowed Luke through, shutting the door and locking it behind them. 

Aemond eyed Luke as the Velaryon observed his room. 

"How have I never been in here before?" Luke asked himself. "I didn't think you'd be so tidy, personally. Your room is nice, Aemond."

Aemond felt a blush on his cheeks. "T-thanks." 

Clearing his throat, he pointed to the bottle in Luke's hand. "What's that?" 

"Oh!" Luke smiled, shaking the liquid around, "It's liquor. A milk banana mixture. Gift from the lovely Aegon the Elder. Thought it would be a nice treat." 

Aemond shrugged, kissing Luke on the cheek. "Sounds swell. I couldn't find sleep, anyhow." 

Luke kissed Aemond on the nose, standing on the tips of his toes to do so, making the Targaryen boy snicker. 

Aemond and Luke pressed their foreheads together, about to kiss, before they were interrupted. 

"Meow!"

"Waaah!" Aemond gasped, looking down at the black furred cat that had wiggled between their feet. 

It was one of the many castle cats that roamed all through the Red Keep, making their home in the palace. The Lord Hand had instituted the measure, seing their presence as a much better alternative to ratcatchers. 

"Balerion!" Luke gasped. "When did you come in here, you gallant boy? You sneak in through the door?" 

"Meow." Balerion mewed. 

Aemond bent down to pick Balerion up, to which the cat happily curled into his arms, purring. Together, the boys sat down on Aemond's bed, Lucerys and Aemond taking turns petting the cat. 

"I had a really good day today…" Aemond mumbled, petting Balerion’s ears. 

Luke smiled, taking off the top of the bottle. "Here's to many more, huh?" 

Aemond nodded. "Many more."

Luke let the bottle hit his lips, taking a swig of the drink, grimacing. 

"Augh. Here." 

Aemond took the bottle, and quickly brought it to his mouth, swallowing. Aemond grimaced the same from the sweet taste, though it wasn't bad. 

"Good, right?" Luke asked.

Aemond nodded. "Good."

"If he knows anything, Aegon certainly knows his spirits." Luke praised. 

Aemond breathed through his nose. "Quite so. I should hope he could learn other things."

Luke giggled as he rubbed Balerion’s ears, making the black cat purr once more. 

"I remember when Arrax was this small…" Luke mumbled. "Seems like such a long time ago. Mother never wanted me to have him in my room. But I did—a few times."

Aemond nodded. "I remember that." 

Luke smiled at Aemond. "I'm glad Arrax likes you." 

Aemond drank from the bottle again, grimacing. "It…it's quite incredible he does.." 

Luke kissed Aemond on the cheek, holding his free hand. 

"When you get a dragon for yourself, we can fly all across Westeros together! See some of this country we spend too much time reading about." 

"So much to explore…." Aemond mumbled.

Luke nodded, taking the bottle from Aemond and drinking from it. 

As Aemond watched Balerion jump off the bed, walking towards the windowsill, Luke held onto Aemond's hand tighter. 

“You do want a dragon for yourself, right?” Luke asked. 

Aemond sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I…I think so.”

Luke turned his head. "Come now, Aemond. You're perfect for a dragon. I agree with grandfather; I think you should go to the Dragonmont. I can take you, even."

Aemond sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I…I do want a dragon. It's not that. I'm…it's all still new to me. And I've only flown on dragonback once. I'd…I'd like to keep flying with you, until I'm ready to claim my own. I–if that's fine with you, of c–course." 

Luke smiled softly, moving forward to gently kiss Aemond on the lips. Aemond closed his eyes, his lips slowly tracing over Luke's. Aemond shivered at the feeling of Luke's palm on his cheek. 

He tastes like a banana. 

Aemond's eyes fluttered open as they parted, Lucerys doing the same, just with a goofy grin. 

"Of course I'm fine with that, Aemond. Until you're ready—I won't push you. This way, Arrax will surely grow to like you even more." 

Aemond nodded, last night's memories still fresh in his mind. Aemond eyed Luke for a moment, gripping his hand tighter. Luke noticed, moving his face closer to his. 

Aemond gently pressed his forehead against Luke's, feeling his cheeks heat up. Luke had grown just as red, captivated by his uncle's presence. 

What am I doing?

Luke pressed a small kiss to Aemond’s nose. 

"Have I told you that you're quite handsome?" 

Aemond blinked, grinning slightly. 

"You think I'm handsome?"

Luke nodded, grimacing as he drank from the bottle. "It's partly why I so enjoy kissing you." 

Aemond laughed, rolling his eyes, moving to kiss Lucerys on the lips. Holding the bottle with his thighs, Luke eagerly met his lips with his own, the two kissing quietly. Luke wrapping his arms around Aemond's neck, sinking further into the kisses. 

I still cannot believe I am actually kissing him. 

It's like a dream!

A bloody good dream!

Aemond kept his hands on Luke's lower back, a bit dazed at holding Luke so close. Their breathing drew to pants, as they continued to kiss. 

"Meow." Balerion mewed, the black-furred feline swinging its tail as he observed the two boys. 

Aemond almost hated how he needed to breathe, desiring every possible moment to kiss Lucerys. 

"Ugh. I think I'm already drunk—mppph… " Luke giggled, before being cut off from another kiss. 

Aemond panted as he broke it off. "....You're light of weight. Of course you are." 

Luke pouted. "So are you! We both weigh less than clouds. Who's that fat lord from Whitewalls? Lord Tommard Butterwell? He'd crush us both just by sitting on us." 

Aemond laughed. "Ha! He would. They say he eats half of the feats when he hosts guests at his keep." 

Luke puffed his cheeks. "Oh, I believe it. The food and the table." 

The two boys snickered together, the alcohol certainly having taken to them both. 

Aemond and Luke smiled at each other as they fell into silence. Luke drank from the bottle one last time—the liquid having gone past the halfway mark—before fastening the top back on, bending down to place it on the bed steps. 

Aemond smiled as Luke scooted back to him, moving to hug him. Aemond hugged him right back, and the two boys held each other tight, sighing and relaxing into each other's embrace. 

Sigh.

I'm so calm. 

Luke nuzzled his face into Aemond's neck, mumbling something quietly, making Aemond shiver slightly. 

"Hmmm?" Aemond whispered. 

"Could I…" Luke began. "....Could I stay? I…I just want to be with you. I couldn't find sleep because of it." 

Aemond found himself blushing. 

"Oh! Y-yes. You can stay. You're my nephew. My room is yours, too." 

Luke smiled at Aemond tiredly, kissing Aemond on the lips. Though not as rough of a bout as their last, Aemond gently kissed him back, their lips curiously tracing over each other's. 

"...I'm glad I have you, uncle." Luke whispered, as the two parted. 

Aemond swooned, nuzzling his nose against Luke's. "....I'm glad I have you, too." 

They were about to kiss once more, but Luke let out a yawn, covering his mouth. Aemond couldn’t help himself from laughing. 

"....Mayhaps we should try to find sleep together?" Aemond offered, smiling at him. 

Luke nodded, rubbing his eyes. 

Aemond kissed Luke on the forehead, before crawling underneath his thick green blankets. Luke crawled right after him, settling himself underneath the covers. 

Aemond prompty took off his socks, throwing them at the windowsill, landing near where Balerion was laying. 

"Meow." Balerion mewed.

Luke giggled at Aemond, before snuggling close to him. Aemond snuggled him the same, the two nuzzling each other for further warmth. 

Aemond held onto Luke's hand, the two keeping their fingers linked as they fell into silence, both boys listening to their breathing. 

Lucerys was the first to fall asleep, his breathing growing quiet and calm, almost like a whisper. Aemond kept his eyes on Luke's features, mesmerized by his soft face, like Lucerys was the most innocent person in the world. 

Aemomd gently kissed a sleeping Lucerys on the cheek, the Velaryon undisturbed from his slumber. Slowly, Aemond grew a smile. 

I'm never going to let him go.

Never. 

Chapter Text

RED KEEP

KING VISERYS’ CHAMBERS

"What do you think caused the Doom, father?"

“Hmmph. Now that is a question.”

Aemond was greately admiring the Valyrian Freehold—or rather, the model of what it once was. 

In the King’s chambers sat a great model of Valyria—the capital city of the wonderous and long destroyed Valyrian Freehold. The model was a large one, enough to dwarf the king’s supper table thrice in size. Each intricate detail had been taken into account, following closely to the King’s pouring of Valyrian histories and the remnants of the city plans.

Eddard, the king’s head stonemason, had the most gentle hand, being able to carve such great beauty out of mere stone. 

Aemond’s father had great love for his stone model, as the boy so often caught him tinkering with it in some manner. Aemond himself was in awe of the model, amazed at having a visual of the Valyrian Freehold; something only his imagination could do when he read.

The Valyrian capital was built into the heart of a great volcano, much like the island of Dragonstone. The highest upper echelons of Valyrian nobility lived at the volcanic face, closest to the source of their magic and power. 

Aemond thought it was terribly ironic how his family house, a house once with no true major influence in the workings of the Valyrian Freehold, had been spared the destruction of the Doom, allowing them to rise as the most undisputable house in the world known. 

Over a thousand dragons lived in Valyria, with a navy large enough to span the seas of the world. Now, there was nothing left of the city but ashes and a fading memory. 

“The Anogrion,” Viserys continued, pointing at the particular part of the structure. “The blood mages were an ambitious sort. There was never a time where they felt they could not obtain more power.”

Aemond’s eyes traced over the Anogrion, where the blood mages of Valyria worked their craft. The structure was similar in design to Dragonstone castle, especially in the jagged edges of the roof. 

Viserys only continued. “Those keener on arithmetic, say that the Freehold was destroyed by a volcanic eruption, from the Fourteen Fires. Not an incongruent thing to conclude, as the city lay within the bed of a volcano. But...."

Viserys rubbed his hands. "...I believe it is not quite that simple."

Aemond pressed his palms on the table, listening to his father. 

"The magic they used..." Viserys said, slowly rising from his chair, taking his cane, and beginning to walk around the table supporting the model. 

"It seemingly was far too great. They overplayed their station—became entrapped with greed and power. Perhaps the blood magic disturbed the very land itself—the earth snuffing out such unholy measures. And so…the land gave Old Valyria its final answer.” 

Viserys made a 'boom' sound with his mouth, shaking his free hand.

Aemond bowed his head, chucking slightly. 

"But my theory is not the only one.” Viserys continued, Aemond still observing the model. 

“In my brief time at The Citadel, I read of an accounting. The Valyrian miners dug deep into the world. They sought out gems, stones, precious minerals—things of both prosperity and greed. The Valyrians dug so deep, so great that they reached an incredible depth. They dug deep enough to wake something below the very earth itself—something so terrible without form or name. If that is to be true, what nature of creature it was…I could not possibly say. But if it is indeed the truth, it destroyed the city of Valyria, and shattered the peninsula for all time."

Aemond looked up as his father turned to him. 

"What do you believe, my son?"

Aemond contemplated for a moment, putting a finger on his chin.  

"...I suppose I don’t have any true certainty. We only know what we can best assume, and we cannot assume much.”

Aemond picked up a dragon model, one that looked strangely like Quicksilver, or at least, how he gathered the dragon to have looked like

“...Most of all we have is just memories of the Valyrian Freehold at its height. Whatever the Valyrians might have said if they had survived…they did not.”

Aemond held onto the stone model with delicate features. "But perhaps such a conclusion is unneeded."

Viserys raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" 

Aemond shrugged, slowly turning the dragon in hand. 

"No matter the answer, Old Valyria will never sing again. But…mayhaps the end is the beginning, in a sort of way? We are the last of the Freehold, and though its history might be distant, we can learn from their mistakes."

Aemond shrugged again. "....We need not rule with cruelty or fear. Or ambition."

Aemond looked up as he eyed his father stepping closer to him, his cane tapping on the floor. Aemond kept his eyes on his father as the withered man placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"You truly are my son."

Aemond smiled, bowing his head. 

"...Thank you, father."

Viserys chuckled briefly. "Your mother has raised you admirably; you are a gallant, strapping young lad. I've no doubt you will craft a fine legacy for our house, Aemond. Whatever path you choose, I will believe it to be the right one."

Aemond nodded, giving his father a genuine smile. 

Viserys patted his shoulder, beginning to chuckle. "And if you'd so grant me the honor, I'd hope to see some grandchildren from you before I pass."

Aemond's eyes snapped to the floor, the boy feeling his cheeks heat up. "Ack! M-maybe."

"Hahahahaha!" Viserys laughed. 

Aemond sighed internally, trying to ignore his blushing embarrassment.

You don't know the half of it, father. 

"Oh, father!" Aemond said suddenly, changing the subject. "I found a book in the library that I thought was quite good." 

"Ah?" Viserys inquired, as Aemond moved to the sack he had placed on one of his father's chaises, pulling out a withered, red-binded book, its pages colored purple. 

"It's called The Tales of Horntail Hall. It details these underground fighting rings that they used to hold in the Freehold—between dragons of all things! I thought it was incredible—" 

Aemond's head turned as the doors to the bedchamber opened, Lord Commander Westerling having opened them. 

A very young, blonde-headed attendant, no more than seven of age, dressed in a red-threaded servant's uniform, walked into the room, hands behind his back. "Your Grace, the Lord Hand has called for a meeting of the small council—a new report regarding the Triarchy."

"Very good, Jon." Viserys greeted, as the little attendant bowed, exciting the room.  

"Dad?" Aemond asked, still holding the book in his hands. "Did you want to look at the book?"

His father placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course. Unfortunately, my duties call me away for now. I will remember." 

Aemond eyed Westerling for a moment before looking to his own father. 

The boy couldn't help but feel a familiar pang of disappointment. 

Aemond looked down at his feet, holding the book tighter.  

"....Of course, father. You are the king."

"Good, good!" Viserys praised. "...I love you, son."

Aemond nodded. "...I love you too, father." 

Aemond smiled, though it had been one he had to force himself to make. 

Aemond felt his father pat his shoulder again. "I'll see you at dinner. Lord Commander, let us be off."

"Your Grace." Westerling answered, bowing. As Westerling held the door open, he looked towards Aemond, who had his eyes glued to the floor, having gripped the book even tighter.

"...Sorry, lad." Westerling apologized quietly. 

Aemond looked to the man, before the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard tepidly bowed his head, closing the door completely.

Leaving Aemond alone.

Aemond sighed, resigning himself to sit down on the chaise, holding the aged book in his lap. 

"E—yah!" Aemond squeaked, tossing the book to the other side of the chaise, its pages fluttering out.

Aemond held his head in his hands, beginning to feel sadness flood his mind. 

_______________________________________________________

ROYAL APARTMENTS

HELAENA'S CHAMBERS

CLOSET 

Let's see…

Who will I be today?

Helaena was deciding which dress to wear. 

Her closet, an expansive room enlightened by the stained-glass ceiling of the roof, was crowded with dresses, each one fitted onto a mannequin befitting Helaena's stature. 

Much of her dress collection had been crafted by Darach, Helaena's household tailor.

A man in middle age, he was a nobleman of House Andreas, a Braavosi noble house known for its expert tailors and seamstresses.

Helaena knew House Andreas’ sigil by memory, as she never saw Darach without his sparkling brooch; a gleaming golden shield, with red, blue, and black diamonds on an offset red banner. 

Darach had been in House Targaryen's service ever since he resettled in King's Landing, taking over the affairs of House Andreas’ manse on the Street of Silver. In Braavos, Darach had built himself an esteemed reputation for crafting fine dresses, a reputation of which that drew the attention of the Red Keep, who quickly sought out his services in perpetuity.

Darach had been handling Helaena's dresses since she had begun to wear them, and the man was one of the very few she was comfortable with helping her fit. Darach's category was as diverse as a rainbow's color, utilizing all sorts of unique fabrics, allowing Helaena's catalog stand out amongst the masses of noble girls in court. 

“The dress is your voice, Helaena.” Darach would sometimes tell her.  

“...What do you want to say? It is up to you to choose.”

Helaena's dresses varied in both color and material, with  many having been crafted for special occasions; tourneys, festivals, suppers, ballroom gatherings, and so much more. 

Helaena ruffled her long silver hair, as she began scanning over her choices. 

Should I go with simple? 

A bright blue dress, one with handmade pink flowers stitched into its design, was one of Helaena's favorites, often wearing it to gatherings when she was in a chipper mood. Its design was to symbolize the beginnings of spring; to the coming bountiful harvest. 

Helaena shook her head. 

No.

That won't do.

Helaena glanced up at a few of the mannequins that were on a higher stand, with one in particular earning a small smile out of her. 

The dress on the mannequin was of a deep ocean blue, almost black in a certain light. The vertical neck dress had long sleeves that touched the ground, and was firm around the form, tracing the curves of the wearer. The shoulder of the dress had a detailed patch in the design of Dreamfyre's scales. 

It was Helaena's riding dress, one that she always wore when she would fly out with her dragon. As a riding dress, the material was made of tougher stitches, and far more accustomed to endurance. Helaena only had  to simply dust the dress off after riding Dreamfyre, though it did not dampen the smell of ash.

Fun. 

But not today.

Helaena put her hand on her chin. 

How about a butterfly?

Darach had crafted multiple dresses utilizing the natural pattern designs of insect wings, owing to Helaena's favoring of the lovely creatures.

Each of her butterfly dresses, from monarch orange to blue morpho, were all intricately designed, with each of them made to look as if the creatures had grown a few sizes and placed their wings on the dress themselves. 

Helaena scanned her eyes over the insect dresses, eventually growing a small frown on her face.

No, no.

That won't do. 

Helaena's eyes fell on a group of mannequins, each of them bearing distinctive dresses that Helaena knew fondly. 

Maybe one of mother's dresses? 

Queen Alicent Hightower had handed down all of her dresses to her only daughter, seeing as Helaena would grow into them. Helaena was now close enough to the same size that her mother once was, allowing her fit into the dresses properly. 

The dresses themselves were unique, also of Darach's handiwork. 

One of the dresses was white in color, with long sleeves, and a weaved top that almost seemed like crossing roads. The dress was indended for tourneys, but Helaena rarely pulled it out of her closet for such events. 

Another was of a saturated blue, made of soft, fine material, which sat quite firmly across the mannequin, the dress made with quite a slim fit. The dress also had an open in the length of the arms, a more unusual design for a maiden's dress. Helaena found herself wearing the dress a fair amount, especially on days where the sun would scorch the land. 

Another was of black and red in color, one of Queen Alicent's older queenly dresses when she was younger. Though her mother was seldom caught without green thread, the dress seemed to echo a much more enthusiastic mindset for the Targaryen dynasty, with not even a single design on the dress alluding to House Hightower. Helaena thought that perhaps her mother had some unwound feelings on the matter that she kept to herself. 

As if that green flame had filled her spirit, Helaena's eyes glanced at the two green dresses on the display mannequins. They were two of her mother's most prized dresses, both for starkly different reasons. 

The first was a deep green, reminiscent of an emerald jewel, with sleeves that ran as long as the dress proper. The fabric was detailed intricately to create a floral pattern across dress, along with striking golden fastens in the shapes of clovers. 

It was a dress that Queen Alicent had once debuted at the wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, perhaps an undue time to take the spotlight. 

The gossip of the dress however, had run deep in political circles, and was supposedly the catalyst behind the Queen's faction—the party of the queen—being commonly known as the greens.

Though Helaena had only worn the dress a few times, it had drawn a fair amount of attention when she wore it—eyes that she didn't want on her. 

No. 

Far too much. 

The second dress, also of a deep emerald texture, was detailed just as intricately, but in a way that made it a stellar piece in its own right. It was a high-waisted dress, and the bodice was designed like the green flames of that Hightower in Oldtown, with even the arms sporting the same design. It showed off a good portion of Helaena's shoulders, though not anything that would be considered improper. 

No.

This one is not it. 

Not today.

Helaena was about to scan her eyes over another dress, until she heard the sound of footsteps nearing the grand closet. Helaena put her hands on her hips as the doors swung open softly. Ser Lorent Marband of the Kingsguard gave the Princess a smile, before ushering in Darach, the man of which wore a warm expression. 

“Lord Darach, My Princess.” Ser Lorent said formally, bowing and turning on his heels. 

"Thank you, Ser Lorent." Helaena said cheerfully, giving Darach a smile. “Good morning, Darach!” 

Darach bowed formally, holding his wrist. 

“Good morning, Princess. Have you chosen?” 

Helaena shook her head. “No. I'm having trouble on deciding.”

“Is that so?” Darach asked, beginning to slowly walk the perimeter of the closet. 

“How are you feeling today, Helaena?” 

Helaena shrugged. “I'm...not too sure.”

Darach shook his head, swiping his hand across a mannequin. “In the time that I've known you, you've always been sure about so many things. Most of all your mood.”

Alright. 

Got me. 

Helaena bit her lip. “I suppose I feel…I feel like I'm anticipating something.” 

“Hmmm? Uneasy?” Darach asked. 

Helaena shook her head again. “No. Prepared.”

Darach put a hand on his chin, before ceasing his walk, looking to a dress on the second story. 

“Mmmmm…” Darach hummed, taking a turn to eye the colorful dresses. “Might I suggest…this one?”

Helaena looked up a the dress Darach had spotted. It was one of Helaena’s simple green dresses; long sleeves with open flaps, a golden-threaded chest band, and a dress that reached just to her ankles. The sleeves were more detailed than the outer body of the dress, having more complicated flower patters; all threaded in green. It doubled with a cloak as equally green as the dress, and long enough to reach the floor. 

Though Helaena understood it was a subtle symbol of opposition from her mother’s party, the dress was plenty comfortable—and she did have Hightower blood, no matter the Targaryen name she wore. It was the easiest of her dresses to run around and jump in, making it one of her favorite dresses for casual settings and gatherings. 

Helaena grew a small smile on her face.

“....Perfect.”

_______________________________________________________

AEGON’S CHAMBERS

"It's true what they say about Northern girls it seems—urrrrf…"

Prince Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Lust and Low Cunning, had—once again—lost himself in a fierce bout of lovemaking.

He was coupling with Scarlet, a serving girl from the kitchens. She had long brown hair, olive skin, and was just a few years older than the young prince. She was tall for a girl, about as tall as Aegon himself—which only enticed him further, as he loved girls with long legs. 

Though they had begun quite commonly on his bed, it had grown into quite ravenous of an affair, with Aegon even pounding her against his wall, her legs wrapped around him.

The two furthered their coupling on the floor, on a bed of green blankets and pillows that Aegon had dragged off his mattress. The pair had been coupling all throughout the morning; Aegon had spilled his seed thrice over, and his jaw was strained from pleasing her directly with his mouth.

Scarlet was born and raised on Bear Island. It was a remote island in the North ruled by the obscure House Mormont, though she had often traveled to the Northern mainland. Scarlet was the Mormont Keep's kennelmaster's daughter, though she had since moved to her aunts’ manse in King's Landing, seeking out a different trade, and a different life. Finding employment in the kitchens of the Red Keep was a great achievement for her, and what fated her to meet the golden, dragonriding Aegon the Elder.

Offering her coin for her time, Scarlet quickly accepted his trade, with the two mutually attracted to one another. 

"And what do southerners say about girls in the North?" Scarlet asked, kissing the head of Aegon's length, making him shudder.

Fucking Seven hells.

So good.

Aegon sighed as she took him into her mouth again, digging his fingers into her lucious brown hair. She fell back into routine, reaching all the way to the base of his length. She used her lips well and proper, granting Aegon every ounce of pleasure she could give. 

Fuck!   

She's a bloody natural. 

A bloody fucking natural. 

Aegon let out a moan, as she focused particularly on the head of his length, swirling her tongue. 

"They—fuck—they say women of the North—nnnfff—are like direwolves in bed. Unmuzzled and wild—honed for the hunt." 

Aegon moaned again, as Scarlet's laugh vibrated his length, making him grip her hair tighter. Aegon sighed, curling his toes further into the green blankets, as Scarlet continuef circling her tongue, gently sucking his length. 

"Fuck…" Aegon moaned, sighing as she released his length from her mouth with an audible pop, beginning to stroke him. 

"Direwolves." Scarlet teased. "Direwolves are boring. They're nothing when you learn how to track them." 

Aegon grunted, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling. 

"Black bears on the other hand…" Scarlet whispered, "....Meet one, and you'd best pick the god you believe in and pray." 

Aegon nodded shakily, gulping as she kept her hand moving. 

“Have you hunted—urrrf—one before?” Aegon asked.

Scarlet smiled, continuing to stroke.

“A few. With my father and Lady Mormont herself. Milady is an especially good hunter. Makes the villages quite fond of her.”

Aegon grunted. “She sounds like quite th—fuck—quite the woman.”

Eventually Scarlet settled, straddling him to kiss him eagerly. Aegon returned the kiss, holding onto the girl. 

Gods you're good.

Taking his chance, Aegon used the opportunity to flip their positions, placing himself firmly on top of the girl. 

"Nice one." Scarlet said with a smile, giggling.

Aegon didn't answer, moving to kiss her deeply.

Scarlet giggled as Aegon further asserted himself, holding her wrists down to the blankets. Aegon kissed the girl with a more rough flare, which she returned in equal measure; the two colliding quick enough to knock their teeth together. 

Aegon groaned as Scarlet placed her heels on his lower waist, causing him to thrust his hips forward on instinct. Scarlet moaned the same as Aegon continued rolling his hips, allowing her head drop completely onto the pillows. 

Fucking Seven hells. 

I need her again. 

Aegon ceased rolling his hips, desperate to continue their bout. “Alright…” Aegon said quietly, quickly stroking himself, before lining up his length at her entrance.

Aegon briefly met Scarlet's eyes, and bending down to quickly kiss her. As they broke apart, Scarlet's smile made Aegon's heart flip, and he lined himself up like before, Scarlet keeping her legs parted. 

"Urf..." Aegon grunted, as he slid himself completely back inside, beginning to excitedly thrust his hips. Scarlet moaned in agreement, kissing Aegon on the lips, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

"Fuck—so good…" Aegon moaned, entranced by her warmth, feeling delightful shivers run down his spine. 

"Ah—fuck." Scarlet moaned, grinning up at the boy. "You really like Northern girls—don’t you, My Prince?" 

Aegon grunted as he thrusted forward with a single, strong stride, making Scarlet moan and throw her head back onto the pillows. Aegon kissed her deeply for a brief moment, the girl returning the kiss with as much effort. 

"—I am guilty…" Aegon muttered as he broke it off, settling himself as deep as he could inside of her, the sparks from the swift movement making them both gasp. 

Fucking hells!

Tighter than a vice grip, this one. 

Aegon began thrusting forward with renewed effort, pounding with enough vigor to cause their skin to collide in loud claps. Scarlet moaned louder, tightly wrapping her legs around his waist. Aegon felt a grin slip on his face, her embrace only pushing him to thrust further.

Plap!

Plap!

Plap!

Plap!

Aegon observed her features as he continued to thrust his hips forward, completely focused on the pleasure. Scarlet's face was flushed and red, strands of her brown hair sticking to her forehead.  

Aegon pounded her with as much force as he could without hurting her, earning a tired yet satisfied expression upon Scarlet's face. Her warmth was electrifying, stirring his mind with pleasing thoughts, only pushing him to pierce her further. 

"Hah. Just like that…" Scarlet moaned, Aegon feeling her shiver. Aegon grinned to himself, unashamedly pleases at having struck her particular spot. Though it wasn't a deep secret among women, most of the noble boys and men who frequented brothels never cared to find it, only finding the desire to plow for their own pleasure. 

Aegon however, could not thoroughly satisfy himself without his own partners' needs addressed the same. 

Scarlet arched her back as she shivered yet again, looking up at the dragonriding price with needy eyes. Aegon kissed her once more, continuing to roll his hips. The two embraced each other as Aegon buried his face into her neck, putting no letup into his hips as he kissed her soft skin. The Northern girl moaned pleasingly, holding the prince close. 

Managing to raise himself up, Aegon began slamming his hips down, their harsh connection creating more loud slaps. 

Plap!

Plap!

Plap!

“Aughh!" Scarlet gasped, placing her hands around his neck. Aegon moved one of her legs to brace upon his shoulder, granting him a much finer angle. Though he endured for some time, Aegon's hips had grown unsteady and rocky, the boy reaching ever closer to his finish. 

"I'm—I'm close—fuck–" Aegon grunted as he bit his lip, his hips wobbling.  

Scarlet tangled her fingers into Aegon's silver mane, as the boy buried his face into her neck. 

"C-come inside me…" Scarlet asked, moaning in his ear.  

Aegon nodded, grunting loudly as he continued to pound her. Aegon's hips were relentless, his moans in volume with Scarlet's, the kitchen girl had becoming undone the same as he. Scarlet held him firmly, digging her fingernails into his back, enough for him to feel it. 

But he didn't care, as it only motivated him further. 

"I'm—" Aegon gasped, feeling the all-too-familiar, satisfying shivers of his climax about to be achieved. 

"FUCK!" Aegon moaned, throwing his head back, as his seed burst forth from his length. Aegon groaned as he held onto the girl beneath him, his seed continuing to spill. He shook as he curled his toes tightly into his soles, a billow of harsh shudders running down his spine. 

FUCK!

Releasing inside a girl…

…Feels like the fucking heavens!

"Augh..." Scarlet moaned, arching her back, curling her own toes enough to where they cracked.

Aegon bucked his hips wildly, enjoying the pleasure he felt, burying his face into her neck once more. Scarlet took fistsfulls of his long silver hair, still moaning from the prince piercing her.  

As Aegon felt the sparks course through him, he heard a familiar dragon’s roar from past his window ledge, and far within the Dragonpit; a roar that he could feel within his very heart. He briefly opened an eye to spot Sunfyre's broken egg on its pedestal, the shell still gleaming in the morning sunlight. 

Do you feel what I feel, oh Sunfyre?

Aegon lifted himself to rest his forehead against hers, the both of them glistening from perspiration. Her expression was a pleased one, having yet again enjoyed the feeling of Aegon’s completion inside her. The two kissed gently, and Aegon swooned as she placed her hands upon his cheeks. 

 With a quick motion, Aegon slipped himself out of Scarlet, laying down right next to her, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Whew…" Aegon panted. "I’ll...huff...I'll get you some moon tea. I know a lady that makes it well and often."