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Chapter Text

Lucerys Velaryon has a secret.

It's dark and tremendous and would break his mother's heart, if only she knew.

Lucerys Velaryon remembers the day he died.

Every single moment, every flash of lightning, gush of the wind, every cold drop of the menacing rain.

Every command he said, every single one Arrax ignored.

The huge silhouette; a voice screaming, desperate to stop what's to come.

Enormous jaws tearing flesh and bone alike.

Pain searing through his body and his bond with Arrax.

Red hot blood pouring out, quicker than you could imagine.

The fall.

The darkness.

This is where it was supposed to end; the life that once was his.

Only it seems gods have another plans for him.

Luke felt them, in a blink of a second, in a place between life and death, grabbing him like an insect, observing his floundering, making some kind of decision.

The next thing he remembers - the ceiling of his own chamber in Dragonstone.

He dresses up and walks around, meeting his mother, father, brothers.

“Vaemond Velaryon seeks petition with the king,” his mother tells him. “We are leaving for the Kings Landing first thing in the morning.”

It dawns on him then, what it is.

A second change, a weak attempt to change the course of their lives.

His life in particular.

"Do you remember how you died?" A melodic voice calls out and Luke can feel himself freezing in a place.

What?

He turns around and, sure enough, it's just his aunt Helaena, standing there aimlessly, gaze lost.

Luke is confused and tired and he knows no one much listens to that she says, so he replies honestly for the first time since he woke up in his bed after being torn apart by the biggest dragon alive.

"I do," as a coin drops down, his words fall.

"It's good," Helaena hums as she turns to leave, but catches herself in a movement, eyes suddenly sharper than Luke would give them credit to be.

"You do?"

Luke nods, a little insure, feeling trapped but also seeing no harm in telling the truth.

"Yes," he admits.

"In the skies," she presses. "In the Storm. There was a flight, and Arrax burned Vhagar, and then-"

"Yes," he repeats, determined to cut her short, to make it stop.

How does she know?

"I'm sorry for your loss," Helaena speaks plainly. "But I'm glad you do. Remember, I mean," she smiles then, brighter than the sun, relief coming from her in waves.

"I remember too," the princess confesses quietly.

Luke has to take a calming breath.

"And how did you die?" he asks, sudden desperation creeping into his voice.

He hasn't realized how heavy this knowledge was, how hard it was to carry it alone.

Helaena hums in a thought.

"There was a fire in the tower," she says. "So I jumped out of the window."

There are two of them now; Helaena has been asking the same question she gave Luke over and over again, but it seems no one but them remembers, none was grabbed by merciless gods to be tossed back in time either for entertainment or some bigger purpose that evades Luke's sight.

"Let's not die this time," Helaena suggests and he nods.

"Let's try to change things." Lucerys agrees.

He arrives to the training yard earlier than he did last time, alone instead of in a tow with his brother.

He wants, desperately needs to see the man who killed him.

The prince who was the end of Luke and doesn't even know it yet.

It's a little unhealthy, Luke admits, a little bit obsessive, but as he rushes through distantly familiar corridors down, down, left, right turn here, he can't make himself to care.

He all but runs to the training grounds, face flushed, hair a mess, before searching for a telltale sign of familiar silver strands.

Luke shouldn’t have bothered; a voice he last heard wrapped in panic is even and sharp now.

"Nephew," it calls. "Have you come to train?"

The prince spins around and is met with the calculating look of a single violet eye; the other - cold blue gem - is hidden safely under the patch.

Luke feels the desperate need to grab it, to take it off and stare into endless blue abyss that his uncle's artificial eye is.

He also knows it's a sure road for much quicker death, so he restrains himself.

"Yes," a voice Luke recognizes as his own speaks. "I've heard you're the best sword at the keep; teach me."

He sees Aemond's eyebrows climb up, ser Cole's expression behind him a mix of surprise and old resentment.

They didn't expect that, he thinks. They thought they'll see the same kid who left a decade ago.

I've changed, he thinks as he stares into his uncle's face, unwavering.

You changed me.

Aemond smiles, wide and unkind.

Luke already feels all the bruises forming on his body from the training to come.

"Very well," and with that his sentence begins.

He crawls back slowly, making stops at every turn and nook.

He was right; everything hurts, his uncle unleashing on him like a vengeful god.

Still better than Vhagar.

Luke makes a turn and collides face-forward into his brother.

"Where have you been?" Jacaerys demands and then he sees the state Luke is in.

"Who did that to you?!"

"No one," Luke denies. The last thing he needs right now is Jace getting after their uncle's head because of a single training session. "I went to the training grounds."

"Here?" Jace couldn't hide his surprise even if he tried.

"I invite you to train with me over and over again back at home, but this is where you finally decide to step up?"

And okay, it hurts a little.

Luke knows he was avoiding his duties lately, but it still stings then Jacaerys mentions it.

Thing is, Luke is not like Jace or Daemon. He doesn't like to fight.

He also doesn't think he has a choice anymore.

"Better late than never, right?" he manages to grin and his older brother sighs.

"Come on," he motions for Luke to follow. "We'll be late for the hearing."

He realizes the mistake the moment he enters the throne room and sees Aemond.

Who, as it appears, didn't have time to change either.

They're standing there like that; face dirty, hair disheveled, a shallow cut on Aemond's left check, crossing the vertical scar in almost perfect parallel.

Luke's own shoulder hurts like crazy, some of the blood leaking through. He's grateful for the black to cover it.

It's immediately obvious what both of them were doing prior and in whose company.

Luke can feel Alicent's piercing gaze follow him across the room as he takes the place next to his mother.

Mother gives him a single look, sighs and reaches for handkerchief.

Luke endures her wiping the worst of it from his face and immediately meets Aemond's gaze.

The prince smiles at him mockingly, but something shifted. Some of that ire went out of his eye; Luke can see it even across the room.

Maybe letting himself being beaten senselessly in the name of training wasn't such a bad idea.

He nods and is surprised to receive a curt nod in response.

It feels like a winning, no matter how small.

This time he watches Vaemond Velaryon's head fall and doesn't flinch.

The dinner is a familiar scene, comfortable and familial until it's not; mother and the queen trying to make amends and mend things with kind words, Jace asking Helaena for a dance and she - accepting, sending Luke one perceptive look he can't decipher.

The problem comes in the face of the roasted pig, placed right in front of Aemond, just like before.

Luke wills his face to turn into stone as he looks at his uncle, unyielding, the bandaged shoulder aching in a rather distracting way.

They hold a gaze for a long time like that, their mothers noticing.

"Can I have some?" Luke asks in that he hopes is the politest, least mocking tone ever.

He gestures at the pig.

Aemond responding grin is sharp and dangerous.

He rises up, snatches one of the scary-looking knifes from the servants and pierces poor dead meat with it, a sickening sound and smell washing over.

Luke tries very hard not to wince and, if encouraging smile from Helaena has anything to do with it, succeeds.

Aemond cuts a huge ugly piece of the roasted meat and offers it to the boy, knife and all.

"Be my guest."

Luke spends the rest of the night choking on the damn pig.

The fateful toast never comes.

Chapter Text

They stay in the Red Keep for the night, but the morning doesn't bring them any reprieve.

The King is dead.

Lucerys can hear the drums getting louder in his head.

The King is dead and this is just another step further on their road of ruin.

They see Rhaenyra in tears, on the knees in front of the bed where late king Viserys lies, Alicent's hands firm on her shoulders.

"He didn't suffer," she whispers into the silver hair. "It was peaceful."

How long will the peace last?

As it turns out, it lasts exactly until the midday.

It's a show, a spectacle actually; Aegon screaming, trying to wriggle out of the knights' firm hold.

"Control yourself," Alicent chastises him. "Your father just passed away."

Aegon swerves his head to give her the most poisonous look he can muster.

"Yeah," he slurs, obviously hangover, but for some reason not yet drunk again. "And you and Otto will want to crown me next. Let me tell you one thing, mother dearest: over my cold dead body."

Luke stares at him, transfixed, the needless hope fluttering.

Does he remember? A fleeting voice in his head calls out. Does he remember too?

"By the Seven, Aegon, think about the words you're saying!" Alicent orders, repulsed and more than a little bit worried.

She glances back at the Blacks to gauge their reaction to her son's arrogant words.

The queen dowager is either not aware or simply refuses to acknowledge her father's usurping plans.

"There are no Seven!" Aegon bellows, with more fire in him than anyone thought was possible. "Not for our kind!"

He looks around then, manic, before he peers his gaze right into Lucerys' own eyes.

"You here!" he declares. "You know what I'm talking about, right? You're like me."

He gets a slap on his face then, his mother in front of him in a blink, furious.

"What are you doing?" she implores. "What in seven hells are you talking about?!"

The air seems to leave his lungs then, arms falling down lump, all fight gone.

Aegon is slouching to the floor, the knights with stoic faces barely holding him afloat.

"I've died, mother," he whispers then, barely audible, but the words sound like bells in Lucerys's ears.

"And there were no Seven gods; only the monsters of old Valyria. And they were not merciful or kind; they took me in, all I am, all I ever was and all I could be, squinted at the picture they saw and tossed me back with no care," he's sobbing now, tears running down his pale face, eyes rimmed red, lips trembling.

It's a sad sight; a prince in shambles, trembling on the floor in front of his distressed mother.

Here's another, some cold and calculating part of Luke notices. He remembers.

They escort young prince back to his chambers, the queen never leaving his side, her hands shaking.

"The Targaryen curse," he hears the guards whisper. "His coin landed the wrong way."

He's the sanest of you all, Luke wants to scream. At least he sees the future that lays in front of us, while all of you are ignorrant in your blindness.

Otto Hightower's bets on his eldest grandchild are declaring at the alarming rate: no one who saw Aegon just now will accept him as their king.

Lucerys looks around and meets Rhaenyra's gaze; sorrowful, face with tears barely dried out, but regal none less.

Many will remember this moment after the announcement of the old King's death; how his eldest daughter stood tall and proud and how his eldest son wailed in self-pity.

History will remember that.

Luke sneaks into Aegon's chambers the first chance he gets.

He finds his uncle slumped in the bed, still in the clothes he was before, hair a wild nest.

Surprisingly, there's no wine around, no fresh blood red stains on his bed.

"Nephew," Aegon groans. "Have you come to mock me?"

Luke moves slowly, carefully, like he would approach a wounded animal.

"Why would I mock you?" he asks, voice intentionally neutral in a way he observed so many times his mother spoke.

Aegon gestures wildly.

"This spectacle in the hall; I'm sure there are rumors spreading around already."

The prince considers lying and decides against it.

"There are," he agrees. "They're calling you the mad prince."

Aegon laughs bitterly at that, something gurgling in his throat.

Luke prays he never finds out what it is.

"Better the mad prince than the dead king," his uncle manages; eyes frantic and haunted.

"I will not wear this crown even if it will be the only thing keeping me alive," he confides in Luke then. "This damned thing poisons people. You think you'll be the exception, that you'll manage to stay afloat, unaffected. You would be wrong."

Luke sits on a bed tentatively, reaches to brush a rogue strand of hair from his uncle's damp forehead.

"What do you remember?" He asks as softly as only the feathers can be, gently.

Like he cares; because he does.

He remembers Aegon differently; an arrogant and brazen kid, sure, but fun to be around.

He remembers shadowing his uncle everywhere, Aegon's own sneaky and adoring looks brushing over him briskly.

They were close once.

If being close again is that saves this family, so be it.

Aegon is silent for so long Luke gives up any hope of the answer.

Only then he speaks.

"I remember them crowning me; mother and grandsire, Aemond and Helaena, the entire council. They all were there for that, didn't care to ask me, dragged me in by the collar, dressed me up like a doll and send me in," he chuckles softly.

"I remember my tears running dry and the bright, almost miraculous moment of awe then I saw the crowd cheering for me," he stops abruptly, a shadow running over his face.

"I thought I could do it in that moment, if you believe it. I thought I could fill up the shoes and grow up and fit in. And then Aemond came back," his uncle drops his gaze from his hands to peer into Lucerys's face.

"Do you know what news he brought?" Aegon asks, and it's right here in his face; the desperate need to be acknowledged, believed, admitted. The tearing desire to not be alone in the nightmare their life turned out to be.

Luke swallows the lump in his throat, wets his chapped lips and answers.

"He told you of my death."

The change is instant; the light flaring in Aegon's weary eyes, his expression suddenly alert; his body on the move.

The prince sits abruptly, reaching for Lucerys, clapping his nephew's hands in his.

"You know," he whispers with something akin to awe. "You know, but how do you know?"

He peers into Luke's eyes with such intense meaning the young prince wants to look away.

He can't.

"Because I was there," he whispers back, like a promise. "I died there."

Aegon's answering laugh is loud and wild and so, so relieved.

"You were there," he whispers like a litany, a prayer. "And you remember."

Long Live The Queen.

Otto and the small council are planning something, because of course they do.

Only this time they don't seem to have the queen dowager on their side; Alicent tearing herself apart in her attempts of being with every single one of her children.

Which proves to be difficult, since Aemond is always in the training yard, Aegon locks himself in his room more times than not, and Helaena...

Helaena is seen with the second prince Lucerys Velaryon these days, the two of them walking around hand in hand, whispering to each other in low conspiratorial voices.

They grow quiet the moment someone else approaches and stay that way until the intruder leaves.

What these two are up to these days is everyone's guess.

The coronation is set in a week, none of the Blacks daring to leave the King's Landing in a fear of Otto's unwarranted coop. Whom he is planning to put on the throne this time is a good question.

Aemond?

Luke imagines his uncle sitting on the Iron Throne, Aegon the Conqueror’s crown on his head, silver strands of hair catching the morning light - and have to give himself a mental shove.

This man killed you, he reminds himself. Stop sighing dreamily over his mere image.

It doesn't really help.

The funeral is a dreary business in a way only a funeral can be.

Luke has attended more of them than strictly necessary; two if to count his aunt Laena's and his  named father's. Three if you count poor Visenya's in another life.

The funeral he didn't attend was his actual father, Lord Harwin Strong's.

Lucerys hates to admit he hardly remembers the man now; he was higher than the sky - that he recalls - brighter than the sun.

Loved them like it was his only purpose.

Luke misses him like a lung.

It's a traditional Targaryen funeral, with mother's dragon Syrax breathing a fire on Viserys' shroud after Rhaenyra commands in a firm and ringing voice:

"Dracarys!"

And this is it, this is how comes to an end the life of Viserys, First of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.

Luke thinks about his own funeral, set by no one, water taking him in the way Velaryons are beings taken.

He had a good death, he thinks. Honorable. Died like a dragonrider, his body drowned like the kin before him.

Damn them all who speak that he is no Velaryon.

He hears the steps approaching and knows the identity of his companion before she speaks.

"Another dreamer steps on to the stage," she whispers, mindful of the spare ears around. "She sings her hope and her fear and her rage."

"Mother?" he guesses and Helaena nods solemnly.

"Sister," she echoes. "They will try to tear her apart, piece by piece," she turns to the nephew fully, gently cupping his face in her hands. "You're one of the pieces," she informs him.

This time it's him who nods.

Chapter Text

It’s the day after the funeral then Rhaenyra brings them all together.

They sit by the table, the same one they feasted just two days ago; the queen-to-be at the head, with her husband to her right and queen dowager to the left hand.

They, younger princes and princesses, sit according this arrangement, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond on their mother’s side; just as Jacaerys, Baela, Lucerys, Rhaena and Joffrey sit across them.

Aemond can’t fail to notice Lucerys is sitting right in front of him.

Once again.

He also notices the Black’s numbers exceed theirs.

“It’s a troubling time we’re entering,” Rhaenyra begins without any further ado. “My father, our father,” she quickly corrects as she gives her siblings a fleeing glance. “Has passed and he entrusted us with the peace and prosperity of the Realm.”

She breathes through her nose soundly, some nerves escaping, but then continues as if nothing is amiss.

“Our father, the king, entrusted me with knowledge some time ago,” she follows up. “The knowledge he reminded me of just the other day, at the night of his passing. He told me about the prophesy Aegon-“

“Me?” her brother cuts out and is immediately shut down by Daemon.

“Be quiet, you imp,” he growls. “You’re not the only one Aegon in the world.”

The truth of these words rings in Aemond’s ears as he, too, notices, that there’s another Aegon indeed; the son of Daemon.

The notion is not missed by the Rogue Prince himself, if the hunger lurking behind his eyes has anything to do with it.

Rhaenyra clears the throat.

“Yes,” she speaks. “As my dear lord-husband rightfully noticed, there are more than one Aegon in the Realm. The Aegon I am speaking about was Aegon the Conqueror, the founder of our dynasty.”

She waits till all eyes are on her before continuing.

“My father told me of the vision our great ancestor had about our shared future. This vision is intended to be a warning passed from the ruler to the heir; the prophesy served to protect our kin the way Daenys the Dreamer’s one protected her own.”

She looks around the table, eyes landing on one face after another, before they end up on Alicent’s round pale one.
“It is intended to be shared that way,” Rhaenyra concludes.

“But these are troubling times, with the vipers plotting against us; in these times we need to stand strong,” Aemond has to will himself not to chuckle at that and is immediately met with his mother’s warning look. Oh how well she knows him.

“To stand united as one. For this reason and this reason alone I’ve decided to share my father’s words, passed from the king to the king, till they reached my ears.”

She stops, collecting herself, before recounting the words from her head in a perfect harmony, showing she intentionally memorized it.

“Our histories,” she begins and Aemond can actually hear Viserys’ voice in hers.

“They tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land ripe for the capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream. And just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men. ‘Tis to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant north. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king or queen strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream the Song of Ice and Fire.”

There is a silence after that, stretching like an old cloth, embracing them all in a overbearing hug Aemond can’t wait to get rid of.

But it’s Helaena who breaks it.

“Song of Ice and Fire,” she repeats, enchanted. “The great enemy will come from the north, and only fire will put it down,” she nods. “Yes, it shall be.”

Rhaenyra nods.

“It is as our father said,” she responds. “And I hope you understand why I share it with you and acknowledge this vision for the great treasure it is.”

She makes sure to look Aemond right in the eye. Why him, though?

“And what do you want us to do with it?” Daemon intersects, voice harsher than before.

He wasn’t told the prophecy, Aemond realizes. It was told from a ruler to an heir, and he was never a heir for Viserys.

Prince Daemon Targaryen is destined to be just that, the prince, the consort.

Never the king.

These thoughts bring Aemond an immense joy.

“We need to stand together,” Rhaenyra continues, either unaware or uncaring of the thoughts lurking in her husband’s head.

“Together as one. And in that,” the heir to the Iron Throne looks at Alicent Hightower, the real intent finally shining through. “We’ll need some assurances.”

His mother meets the princess' – still a princess – look right ahead.

“What is it you want me to do?” she asks, voice firm, back – straight as a rod.

“Make an oath,” Rhaenyra breathes out, and here it is, the real reason they all gathered here together.

“Your father is plotting to usurp my throne; he’s planning to ignore my father’s wishes in order to feed his reckless ambition. What I need from you is a word.”

“Just a word?” the queen dowager whispers. “And you’ll promise no harm will come to me and mine?”

Rhaenyra stares at her at that, surprised.

“Of course,” she reassures. “Alicent, were you thinking I would-“ she cuts out, looking at her siblings. “Do you believe I’d bring you harm?”

“Well,” Aegon slurs, “We were raised in the belief you’ll cut our throats the moment you ascend the throne, so…”

The Blacks stare at them open mouthed, horrified – save for Daemon, who’s looking all too bored to care.

“Mother would never!” Lucerys exclaims and it’s the first time Aemond allows himself to look at the boy.

His worst nightmare, his nemesis, his entire fate.

It happened one morning then he awoke.

And as he awoke, the dream he had came rushing in.

No, not a dream – a life.

His life, in which he managed to cut another short as easily as one breaks a vase; with a flourishing slip.

Aemond still remembers it, even the entire life lived after – the way they flew, the way Arrax burned Vhagar and all went to every one of seven hells.

The way his dragon’s enormous teeth bit the little dragon and its rider in half.

The torn apart wings flailing in the air aimlessly.

The bitter taste of copper in his mouth; he bit his tongue in the process.

Aemond wonders if he remembers, if the Strong boy has any recollection of that day at the Storm’s End.

He desperately hopes not.

He looks across the table at the boy in front of him, all dark curls and bottomless eyes, plush lips and long eyelashes.

He is shamelessly beautiful, in a way man shouldn’t be; and it turns something in Aemond’s insides upside down.

Lucerys meets the look of the single eye and continues, as if for only Aemond to hear.

“Mother always taught us what we’re family, we’re kin, we’re of the same blood, she would never wish any harm to fall on any of you,” he scoffs and moves his mesmerizing eyes to Aegon. “Who made you believe such a lie?!”

“My father,” Alicent all but whispers. “He told me, day by day; what the moment your mother sits the throne we all are doomed, what the single existence of my children would be a threat to her and her reign.”

She avoids looking at the princess now.

Rhaenyra rises.

“And you believed him?!” she asks, incredulously, and then looks at her lord-husband and signs.

“You were right,” she admits.

Daemon smirks.

“Of course I was, and I’m surprised you are realizing it just now,” he hums.

“I was telling Viserys and I was telling you, day after day,” he mimics Alicent’s own words in his mockery. “What this man cannot be trusted, what he’s spreading his poison through the court. But did you listen, did either of you ever heed my words?”

“We’re listening now,” Jacaerys notices. “And the single notion you were right once doesn’t mean you always are.”

Daemon scoffs at that, but remains quiet.

The princess grabs Alicent’s hand in her firmly.

“You have to believe me,” she starts. “I will swear on the life of me and that’s mine, what I would never wish you or your children,” she looks at them then, a slow realization taking place, “My siblings, any harm. Please, Alicent, believe me.”

The queen dowager grips the hands holding hers in return.

“I believe you,” she whispers.

“It’s a done thing then,” Daemon declares, ruining that even Aemond would call a perfect moment. “Swear your loyalty to your rightful queen and renounce any claim to the throne, and you will be spared.”

His rightful queen gives him a look full of liquid poison.

“The phrasing of yours,” she hisses and turns back to Alicent. “You don’t have to swear it like that. Just swear what neither you nor your children have anything to do with Otto’s schemes, and then we’re done.”

Alicent nods.

“I swear,” she whispers. “I swear by the Seven, by the Old gods and New, by any entity you believe in; what my children and I have nothing to do with my father’s treacherous actions,” she does unspeakable then, she reaches out and brings Rhaenyra’s hands right to her lips.

The room stills.

Aemond can feel Lucerys’ eyes peering into his; something unknown lurking beneath, something deep and dark and primal.

He tries not to drown and finds he’s failing.

Something has changed this time around, Aemond couldn’t not notice.

The meeting in the training yard went differently, Lucerys coming alone and much earlier.

They trained, actually trained, the younger prince enduring every jab and attack Aemond has thrown at him.

The boy is not that bad, despite the obvious lack of experience.

Their walk of shame in the throne room easily overshadowed the execution Daemon provided; Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanging worried looks throughout the entire ordeal.

And then there was the damned feast, where Lucerys looked him straight in the eye and did not laugh.

What have changed, what would make him act differently?

Could he remember?

Aemond feels the hot guilt wash over him, the same image imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

A scream.

The small dragon torn into pieces, falling down.

Gods, let him not know this.

Let him be ignorant of the pain Aemond brought on him.

Chapter Text

The fight breaks before sun even has a chance to rise.

People who know Lucerys Velaryon, a timid, gentle and nervous boy he is, would later say it was like watching something possess him.

Gone are his nerves, gone is kindness; the young Velaryon boy is a manifestation of a fury.

Eyes full of something which upon close inspection would be revealed to be angry tears, an endless fire burning in the pit of them, teeth clenched, firsts heavy with bleeding knuckles; he is more the vengeful god than a boy of young age.

On the other side of said fists is sitting sloppily on the stone floor is none but the very infamous Aegon the Second.

Blood is spilling from his broken lip, one eye quickly loosing it's surroundings, being clouded in ugly purplish bruise.

He sits up, chest heaving.

"I said I'm sorry!" He screams into his nephew's face and hopes the dragon incarnate in front of him hears it. "And again, it hasn't even happened yet!"

"You killed her," Lucerys whispers, teeth clenching so tight his entire jaw hurts. "You fed my mother to your dragon."

"She killed my son!"

The Velaryon prince laughs mockingly at that.

"As if you even care about your children!" he spits out bitterly. "Any mother had nothing to do with it, it was Daemon."

This conversation is a pure madness for any bystander; a knight, a maid or a stable boy.

The princes are finally losing it, generations of queer customs and inbreeding taking its toll.

"You can't know for sure;" Aegon argues and Luke seethes.

"I know my mother," he retorts. "I know her for a wise and just woman she is, not a kinslayer."

Aegon giggles at that manically, with hysterical notes taking place.

"Kinslayer," he repeats. "You know it's Aemond's mantle, don't you? He is the one at fault; he started this damned war!"

"It was an accident," Luke denies weakly. "He wasn't going to, I heard him trying to stop Vhagar..."

Aegon stares at him in cruel wonder.

"How is it you're beating the hell out of me over something you never lived to see but defend the man whose dragon literally bit you in half?" the bloodied and bruised man on the floor demands.

"How is it I'm the big bad and he is poor Aemond, didn't want to hurt anyone, just happened to fucking murder you?"

"It's not about me," Lucerys speaks even as he's trying to drive away the recollection of that fated encounter.

The Storm, the fire, enormous teeth closing in; blood pouring, out, out, out.

"It's about my mother; the rightful heir to the throne you usurped, the sister of yours you made your dragon feast upon."

"I-" Aegon opens and closes his mouth helplessly. "I was angry and I was drunk and Sunfyre was hurt and she was mocking him-"

"So you fed her to him," Luke presses. "Like a fucking psycho you are. Everyone knows you don't feed your family to your dragon!"

It's the moment the cavalry arrives, Daemon and Jacaerys safely pulling Luke away, aware of his rising ire, his clenched fists and murder in previously warm eyes.

"This isn't over," the judging call of Lucerys reaches his uncle. "You hear me, asshole? This conversation is not over!"

"Some conversation it turned to be," Aegon murmurs as he tries to stand up.

A firm hand shoots up to get him on his feet; the prince raises his head and meets a steady gaze of the single violet eye.

"Brother," he acknowledges solemnly. "How much of our screaming match did you hear?"

They're being summoned to the throne room, both of the fighting parties.

Rhaenyra sits on the throne that soon will be her by every right in every single one of the Seven Kingdoms, watching her son with the expert gaze.

Luke is out of himself these days, pale and quiet, always shadowing Helaena and sharing knowing looks with her.

Gloomy, even if he tries his best to hide it, and occasionally terrified.

Rhaenyra doesn't know what made her son change so much in the last several days and can't help but worry endlessly.

Her little Luke, her sweet boy.

There's not a trace of said sweetness now, both boys staring down like there's some indicate mosaic laid on the floor, like all the action takes place there.

Like there's nowhere else to see.

The Queen To Be cleans her throat.

"Mind telling me what was the cause of your fight?" she asks, voice carefully neutral.

What a fight it was; ugly and reckless and very bloody, servants being too terrified to intervene.

It took several knights to just tear them apart; Ser Erryk practically dragging Lucerys away from his uncle curled on the floor, swearing and bleeding profoundly.

But even then the screaming match continued.

The things they said, the acts they accused each other of scare Rhaenyra senseless.

Is it their inherent madness taking its hold or is it something else? Premonition, prophetic vision of a kind?

Rhaenyra finds it awfully cruel that she hopes for the former.

Madness she knows how to deal with; prophetic dreams are the entire thing all together.

The guilty party shares a look.

"It's nothing," Lucerys finally speaks.

He is lying; that was not nothing.

"Is that so?" Rhaenyra cranes an eyebrow and see her not-so-sweet-anymore boy gulp.

"Yes, Your Grace," he insists, voice firm. "It was just a misunderstanding."

It is the understatement of the century.

"A minor one, I gather?" and as her voice sounds calm and smooth, the irony still creeps in.

Rhaenyra sees Luke's lips twitch.

"I did something wrong," Aegon suddenly quips. "Some time...ago."

He is not looking at Rhaenyra but at Lucerys.

"It was cruel and beasty of me and you and your son have my promise it will never occur again."

He sounds honest and also guilty; which is a very bad sign as there are very few things that might make Aegon experience such an emotion.

Rhaenyra hums in a thought.

"Don't suppose you'll tell me what is it that you've done," she considers.

Her brother looks utterly horrified at the mere notion.

"No can be," he manages to speak before abruptly adding. "My Queen."

Rhaenyra wants to laugh at that, because she's yet to be crowned and yet here he is, her main opponent for the throne, already kneeling down.

She also, for some unspoken reason, wants to wail, to cry her eyes out till there's no more water in her body to spill.

Princess looks at the boys in front of her, bloodied and battled, obviously frightened of something, and decided if anything to be done about it, it could not be done yet.

"Do not repeat such a brazen behavior," she orders sternly. "Especially after we just held a meeting where the importance of unity was explained at the great length."

"Yes, Your Grace," they echo each other, neither of them waiting for the coronation before using her new title.

Something in it makes her a little uneasy.

"Then you are dismissed," she allowed. "Your punishment awaits in the Dragonpit. Do not make the keepers wait for you."

They nod before rushing out, eager to get away.

Rhaenyra waits till the echo of their steps stills before she calls out.

"Aemond," and at her words a figure steps away from the shadows covering it. "What was their fight about?"

Chapter Text

Aegon is in the middle of applying the soothing salve to his bloodied and broken nose then the door to his chambers opens.

Lucerys flaunters in like he belongs here, like it’s his room.

“Why the fuck do I owe you that pleasure?” Aegon sneers and misplaces the cloth, causing blood to spill on his tunic.

Fuck, he just changed it!

Luke gives him a grave look before taking the cloth away and turning Aegon around like he’s nothing but a toy to toss and turn.

“Raise your head,” the bastard demands as he reapplies the cloth, careful for it to not hurt beyond the damage he already done.”

“You can’t order me around,” Aegon grumbles but obeys.

He has been sober for the best part of the last three days and it’s absolutely maddening experience.

His head aches like it’s no big deal; his breath is shallow and uneven, no matter how many times he tries to remember these training exercises with Cole.

Breathe in, breathe out, even the air entering and leaving your lungs.

Easier to say than to do!

Lucerys gives him a fleeting glance before returning to the task at hands.

“So why are you here?” Aegon tries again. He’d rather cut his own tongue than admit he is glad Luke is here, the loneliness and sobriety cutting deeper than any blade could.

What a pathetic, utterly miserable thing his life is.

“I hate you, just so you know,” Luke informs him, still not taking eyes from the bruise on Aegon’s face. “But also you’re the only one who gets why. Others keep trying to question me what irked me so, what it is it you’ve done.”

He sighs. “I can’t very well tell them it’s the fact what you’ve murdered my mother in the future we’re trying to prevent. They’d think me crazy.”

Aegon can’t help self-satisfied grin creeping in.

Look at that; his moody nephew needs him, requires his company.

“You are crazy, just so you know,” he informs the bastard boy. “But so am I and Helaena. We’re really fucked up bunch and it brings me so much joy you, of all people, is the one to join us in our madness.”

Lucerys finally finishes his task and gives Aegon an accessing look.

“You’re enjoying it,” he accuses his uncle after several moments of consideration.

Aegon shrugs, shameless.

“It’s better than the life I remember,” he admits. “I don’t know how the mess we found ourselves in is better or what does it speak about the life we’ve lived, but it is better still.”

Lucerys measures him with a careful look Aegon already saw today, on the face of the boy’s royal mother.

Like mother like son, it seems.

“I hate you a little bit less, I think,” he allows the words to slip in as he walks past Aegon to climb into his bed like it’s Luke’s bed and Luke’s room and Luke’s fucking Castle.

Arrogant little shit.

Aegon flops next to him face up, careful not to touch the itching nose.

“Do you think they suspect something?” the boy asks after that seems to be an eternity. Aegon doesn’t bother to open his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Probably,” he admits. “After the show you set up for them, I’d say they do.”

Luke scoffs.

“You were part of that show as well,” the bastard reminds him.

“Yeah, the part that was beaten for the love of his live.”

“You deserved it.”

“I haven’t killed anyone yet,” the prince retorts.

This “yet” hangs in the air above them like a reminder of the horrors to come.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Aegon admits. “You have no idea how it was after your death; a complete mess. Rhaenyra went mad with grief and Daemon was doing whatever the fuck he wanted, and mother was angry at Aemond and more paranoid than she ever was, and Otto was pushing me to cause more deaths, to command forces into the battle and I-“

He breathes out, loud, air heavy. “I hated every second of it, if you believe me. Your death fucked up everyone real bad, especially Aemond.”

That brings up a reaction from the prince.

“He cared?” Lucerys asks in a voice that is too calm to not be controlled.

Aegon laughs.

“Of course he fucking did, you moron,” he bellows. “This idiot was obsessed with you since that time you took his eye, he build his entire personality around it, and for what? Only for accidentally murder you in the middle of the wild chase though the storm he initiated?”

Aegon snickers.

“He was never the same after that. Everyone started calling him the Kinslayer and I think he decided there was no other way but down; because he tried to live up to this mantle, committing atrocities left and right,” he muses as he recollects the parts of the story Lucerys didn’t get to live. “And then he found a Strong bastard girl looking exactly like you and fucked her senseless,” the prince finishes with a flourish and opens an eye to observe the reaction.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Luke sits up as he sputters, face growing deliriously red, and eyes wide.

“You’re not implying-“ he tries, but Aegon will have none of it.

“I’m telling you headfirst,” he exclaims. “The question is not “does Aemond care”, but “how do you stop him”, because I’m pretty sure no one needs a bloodthirsty maniac what my brother is following them around to glower at them menacingly, only to come back to his room later to jerk off to-“ he is shut down as Lucerys brings his hand over Aegon’s mouth, locking the lewd words securely in.

He is blushing so much Aegon surprised a fire hasn’t started yet, boy’s eyes wild and skittering.

“You’re wrong,” he tries and Aegon lets out a muffled “do not”.

“You are,” the boy insists with the desperate force. “You have to be lying, he can’t think of me that way-“

Aha, Aegon thinks. This is it.

He removes the offensive palm from his mouth, a little bit forcefully, but only because Luke refuses to budge.

“You want him to think of you that way,” he slurs and is rewarded with the look of utter horror on his nephew’s face. “You want him to desire you the most carnally, for your name to be the one to leave his lips then he pleases himself, to-“

Luke hits him with a pillow.

“Ouch,” Aegon mumbles through the thick layers of it. “There are other ways to kill me, if you desire to, just so you know.”

Then he lifts the pillow up, he’s alone in the room.

The first person Luke encounters after flying out of Aegon's bedchambers in an embarrassed hurry is said prince's younger brother.

Of-fucking-course.

Luke loathes to think how he might look right now; face hot enough to burn things on it, eyes full of deep and vast shame and longing.

He contemplates turning around and running off to the opposite direction, but something compels him to stay; something suspiciously like Daemon's voice at the back of his head.

I raised no craven or fool.

Luke hates to guess what his stepfather would think of him if he is to retreat now.

So he stands his ground.

"Uncle," he answers Aemond's raised in question eyebrow. "How nice it is to see you."

Oh, but you would like to do more than just see him, would you? The thought that very clearly belongs to Aegon creeps in.

Luke hushes it down.

"Nephew," Aemond responds after a pause. "I was in the belief you're in ire with my brother for some reason; your actions today seemed to be a proof of it."

He gestures to the closed door nearby.

"And yet I see you leaving his chambers in a disheveled state you're in. Care to explain?"

Luke feels like he's being scolded like a child, and the red anger in him quenches an embarrassment a little.

"I came to patch things up," he quips. "To leave no bad blood between us."

Aemond just stares him down, not at all convinced.

Luke decides to change the topic.

"How much did you hear from our fight?" he inquires as casually as he can.

His uncle seems to come to some conclusion.

"Walk with me," he says, completely ignoring the question.

Luke obeys.

They leave the Keep for its inner yard, a huge Weirwood tree spreading its branches around; strange and out of place in this house made of stone, a reminder of the different place, different customs this land holds.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Luke asks after they walk for a while, Aemond content in his silence stretching out.

The one-eyed prince hums.

"You were shouting nonsense," he comments briefly and it takes Luke a moment to realize Aemond is responding to his earlier question. "Something about Aegon killing Rhaenyra and about me killing you."

Lucerys feels a single eye land on his face, gaze heavy like a stone.

"It was...a prophetic vision," he lies and tastes the truth of his words. "Helaena was telling us all kinds of things lately."

The gaze lifts and Luke gulps on air hungrily; he only just realizes he was holding his breath.

"And you believe my sister's words?" his uncle asks after a small pause Luke can't miss.

Did Aemond just give Luke a moment to catch his breath?

"I can't see why not," he replies, trying to form his voice into something sure and calm. He almost succeeds. "She is a Dragon Dreamer, is she not? Daenys the Dreamer was one and she predicted the Doom," he looks Aemond in the eye, willing resolve to stay put. "It would be foolish not to heed her words."

His uncle nods once in acknowledgement.

"You seem to think me being capable of your murder," he implores then and Luke suddenly wants to be anywhere else, literally anywhere. Beyond the Wall will go, thank you very much.

"Only by accident," he smooths any sharp corners to appear. "I don't think you would intend for me to die, only for your temper to get the best of you."

"So I'm easily provoked, is that's what you're saying?" Aemond asks, proving the point entirely.

That calms Luke enough to smile at him.

"You just got angry over the implication that you get angry easily," he simply points out. This might not be the wise way to respond to a man who already killed him once, but Lucerys feels strangely secure in this company of his.

If it's Aemond's hand he dies from, this will not take place today.

The one-eyed prince stares at him in contemplation and the boy has enough guts to stare back.

He quickly finds it's easy to be brave then it's about confronting his uncle.

Funny thing, that.

Aemond is the one to break his gaze, breathing out in that could only be described as annoyance.

Oh? Luke thinks, suddenly mischievous. Do I irk you so, uncle dearest?

He tries not to think about Aegon's words.

"How would you die, did Helaena tell you?" Aemond suddenly wonders and Luke has to return from his daydreaming.

"In a flight," he confesses, careful, way too careful. He still feels the copper in his mouth, the searing pain cutting through his lower body, feels the strength leaving it with his blood.

Lucerys looks away.

"It was an honorable death, from what I could gather," he speaks, eyes trained on the tree trunk in front of him. "On my dragon, in a...what could be described as a fight, if you squint hard enough."

Aemond burning into his head with his intent gaze, but Luke is adamant to ignore it.

If he looks back he's lost.

"There was a storm," he adds after a rather long and painful pause.

"A storm," Aemond echoes right next to him. "And how did it happen; how exactly did you die?"

Must you ask? Lucerys wonders in irritation. Must you torment me so? It was you, you killed me; you ended my short life, claimed it like a trophy to show around. Did it make you happy; has it satisfied your ire? Or was it like Aegon said; were you haunted by my mere visage, obsessed over it even after you personally took my life?

"Vhagar bit Arrax and me in half," he responds plainly, not bothering to sweeten the awful truth. "She is the biggest war dragon alive, is she not?"

Lucerys turns around, a rueful smile forming on his lips.

It dies the second their eyes meet.

Aemond looks...

He looks miserable, that's how he looks; torn apart completely, and it's simply not possible for a single eye to hold so much grief.

Luke feels his throat to close up.

"It didn't happen yet," the young prince tries, voice betraying him. "You hadn't yet maimed me."

Aemond lets out a sigh so deep and sorrowful no living creature should be able to produce such.

And it's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous as this is the man who brought it on himself, who killed Lucerys, accident or not - but all Luke can think about is how he wants to embrace him, to wash away this pain, to ease the crease between two perfect eyebrows.

He reaches out without thinking and his hand brushes the side of his uncle's face.

It snakes up, gently caressing the scar Lucerys once left, until it reaches the eye patch.

"Can I?" the younger prince breathes out and Aemond nods, silent and complying.

He is never complying, if Luke’s knowledge of his uncle has any truth in it.

He wants you, Aegon's smug voice rings in his ears. He has only ever wanted you.

The patch comes undone easily, just a single tug - and the leather piece is falling down.

Revealing the deep sapphire eye Luke has been dreaming about.

"Beautiful," he thinks and as he think it he says it.

Aemond's lost look snaps back into focus.

"Don't jest," he sneers, this ethereal expression of serenity Luke just caught a sight of disappearing quickly. "This is horrendous; and it's you who did that to me."

Luke wants to argue he wants to grasp his uncle by the hand and hold him firm, hold him still as he gently explores the story he left on this face.

He longs to do and say so many things, but none come to life, as Aemond is quick to grab the eye patch, reapply it in one practiced motion, and be gone.

Wait, Luke thinks, desperately reaching for him. Don't go, don't leave!

He finds himself alone in the yard.

He remembers, how could he remember, why would he remember and still-

Thoughts are spiraling in Aemond's mind as he is quick to leave, to run away from the boy who has way too much power over him.

Always had.

And always will be.

Beautiful, he remembers Lucerys whispering; face light up in a genuine wonder.

As if, he bitterly thinks.

No one has seemed to be able to look him in the face since the incident, not even his own mother; the scar crossing half of his face horrendous and the missing eye - even more.

The gem is a poor replacement, a tribute to his own vanity, a statement Aemond isn't ready to share with just anyone.

Beautiful, echoes in his ears. Beautiful, beautiful.

Fuck.

He needs to go and train until his legs give up.

Maybe then his treacherous heart will stop trying to break free.

Chapter Text

Luke dreams of flying through the storm; Vhagar on his tail, Arrax trembling beneath.

A single bolt of lightning cutting the world in half.

He dreams of a young boy; sharp steel in his hands, his brother lying on the sand.

Another boy is holding the stone.

Luke dreams of the boy raising the blade.

He wakes up screaming.

"A bad dream?" a familiar soothing voice asks. Luke finds Helaena's voice to be the only one not being capable of sending him into a frightful shock; he loves his aunt for that.

Young prince sits up and rubs his eyes wearily.

"A memory," he responds.

Helaena hums.

"It's too bad; I find dreams to be more liberating."

"Why?"

"You have a privilege of doubt and uncertainty with them," Helaena explains patiently. "Memories do not bring such relief; they're merely recollections of things that already took place. You can't change or control them."

Luke nods in understanding.

"And control is something we all are rather obsessed with," he admits.

Helaena's eyes shine in recognition.

"Exactly," she agrees. "How did your dance go?"

"My dance?" the boy stares at her in confusion did she nods.

"Yes, with Aemond; how did it go?"

He has to look away; his aunt's eyes being too perceptive for this topic to be an easy one.

"It...went," he trails of lamely. "I haven’t even realized it was a dance untill you said it. I guess he might think Aegon and I are losing our minds; yet he reacted rather mildly to it."

Helaena looks into the distance like there's something out there, something between the layers of Realm only she can see. She smiles faintly.

"He remembers the dance," the princess finally concludes. "He feels your blood on his teeth, your heart in his grasp. It scares him."

"Good thing it does," Lucerys shudders, feeling like he's asking and responding to things he has no recollection of, yet somehow holding the thread of the conversation firmly. "It scares me too."

Helaena shakes her head.

"Less than it terrifies him. You're meant to burn together, I think; but he doesn't know any other way to burn but to aches. You'll have to teach him how to burn and stay aflame."

"Me?" Lucerys exclaims. "How can I teach him anything? He excels at everything, whereas I am fighting for dear life not to fall face down into the dirt. We're of such different levels it affronts both of us."

Helaena suddenly reaches and grabs his face in her hands.

"You're wrong," she informs him. "He thinks the same thing of you as well, but he is wrong as well. You're but two sides of the same coin; you're as familiar as each other's shadows. This is why one can't escape the other; you're not meant to be apart."

Luke feels a traitorous blush creeping up his face.

"This is simultaneously the most romantic and the most threatening thing anyone has ever said to me," he confesses and Helaena smiles, lips parting in a dreamy expression that makes Luke think of milk of poppy, flame dancers, long nights with the sky full of stars and baby dragon's first breath.

She smiles like hope is real, like it's possible for them to outrun their fate. Like outrunning their fate is their fate; their destiny.

"I think I want to dance with him again," he admits; voice barely a whisper, and Luke doesn't have to explain who "he" is - Helaena knows.

"I want to burn with him long into the night and day, and another night, and every night after. I want our fire to never quench."

"He would like that too, very much so," she consoles him. "He just simply doesn't know it yet."

Aemond dreams of the skies, of the openness only the flight on the dragon can provide.

He dreams of the boy, strong and handsome; looking his demise face first and not flinching.

He dreams of the same boy falling down, out of reach; dead before his body hits the water below.

He dreams of a child with a knife in his arms; little hand cutting the knife deep into the flesh.

He dreams of blood boiling then, pooling around, engrossing everything; marring them with the unspoken promise.

He dreams of a gentle hand on his cheek, of the soft lips whispering.

Beautiful.

He wakes up, but doesn't open his eye right away.

Someone else is in the room with him; someone who's familiar like his own fingers.

Someone who Aemond would love to be anywhere but here.

"Stop pretending, I know you're awake," his brother demands impatiently. "No amount of beauty sleep will help you now and you know it."

Aemond sometimes wonders for what crimes he was sent a brother like Aegon.

This is one of these times.

"You have your own room," he reminds his arrogant asshole of a sibling. "And don't have to sit here watching me sleep like some kind of creep."

"Ha!" Aegon barks. "You wish someone would watch you sleep. As the matter of fact," his brother adopts this particular kind of expression that always brings aches on the heads of everyone around him. "I believe you'd love a particular someone to watch you sleep; should I inform him?"

The day is still too fresh for the kinslaying, but it just barely stops Aemond from trying.

"I have no idea whom you might be referring to," he replies and hopes Aegon will drop the topic.

As if he doesn't know his brother.

Aegon will do anything but drop this topic now.

"Is that so?" he muses. "You won't mind then if I get to know our dear nephew closer? The one who broke my nose the other way; I have always believed strong loathing is born out of strong desire."

Aemond turns to him sharply, many obscenities on his tongue, only to be met with mischievously gleaming pair of lilac eyes.

He cornered himself into a trap.

"Weren't you already?" he asks, trying to sound indifferent and to banish the vision of Lucerys, face burning and clothes disheveled, leaving his brother's room in such a hurry.

"Why?" the asshole asks, smiling slyly. "Do you care now?"

I always cared and you know that, he wants to say, but voices instead:

"Not particularly."

Aegon laughs.

"Good, cause I'm starting to really like his company; If you know what I mean," he has an audacity to wink.

Kindlaying is a sin, Aemond reminds himself. It's the biggest taboo to ever exist. Killing the one of your kin is beasty and foolish and rather unnecessary.

He imagines Aegon bleeding to death.

This picture calms him down a little.

"I didn't take you for having such a bad taste," he manages to retort. "The boy is not only a bastard, but a craven and a fool."

Aegon just laughs once again.

"Oh, our dear Lucy is no craven, I assure you. Such a brave little warrior; truly a sight to behold!"

Aemond is contemplating breaking is brother’s arm - just one, he can live with that - then the door opens with a creak and Helaena steps in.

"Are you talking about Lucerys?" she asks and Aegon is immediately grinning vigorously at the same time as Aemond is staring at the farthest wall.

"You do," she concludes even though she received no vocal acknowledgement. "He had another dream," she offers.

It gets her siblings' attention right away.

"What," Aegon asks. "Like the last time?"

His sister nods.

"He didn't see you kill his mother one more time," she comforts him in a voice what is devoid of sympathy. "Only his own death. And your blood pouring through his fingers," she looks at Aemond then. "I'm concerned."

"Why?" he wonders. "These are just memories."

The princess shakes her head.

"They don't feel like memories but like vortex pulling him in. I think our gods have decided him to be their main pawn; and I worry of that might bring."

Chapter Text

He wakes, the bitter taste of tomorrow on the tongue; flares of the destruction still fresh on the back of his eyelids.

He wakes and immediately groans.

"You were mumbling in your sleep," a voice calls out, familiar like the back of his hand. Jace is sitting on the bed in a way only he can; stoical acceptance mingled with grim determination.

Jacaerys approaches life the way one approaches battle; as something to win.

Lucerys wonders if there is really any winning in life.

He brings the cover over his head and hears Jace laugh quietly. There are few things that can bring a smile to lips of the heir of the Iron Throne easily, but luckily for Lucerys, he is one of these things. One of people Jacaerys treasures deeply, even if he doesn't show it often.

"Mother is worried, you know," his brother chastises. "And why wouldn't she, your performance the other day? She thinks you are succumbing to madness the same way Aegon is."

Luke looks at him from under the safety of his shelter.

"How can she know that's what is happening with him?" he asks, wondering if that's what really is happening to them all.

Jace shrugs.

"She can't," he admits. "And neither can I. Helaena tried to reassure her it's only a simple fight of a soul and the wind, but I don't think either of us understood what that meant."

"Soul is a person," Luke explains. "Graced with self-consciousness, cursed with feelings and desires."

His brother looks at him in some new way Luke is yet to decipher.

"And the wind?" He asks plainly and Lucerys shrugs.

"The fate. The future that was, the future to be," he sighs. "I'm not very good at that Dragon Dreams recollection, that's as much as I could gather."

The new undiscovered look is back, settling itself on

Jacaerys' features like the thin layer of spider web.

Luke remembers how hard spider web is to get rid of and wonders if this look will ever leave his brother's face now.

"You're looking at me strangely," he admits and Jace hums.

"Do I?" he questions. "It feels like I don't even know you these days and I can't remember then was the moment I stopped knowing you better than myself. I rather dislike the feeling," he sighs.

"You know you can talk to me whenever, right?"

"Right," Luke nods, feeling an acrid feeling of guilt and betrayal poisoning his mouth. It's the truth he trusts this newfound knowledge more to, let's say, Aegon, than his own brother.

It stings him rather unfair, that.

"Then why don't you?" There is not a single accusatory note in his brother's voice, weary despite the morning that just arrived.

Luke toys with the hem of his sleeping tunic.

"I don't want to worry you, I think," he confesses and Jace laughs at it.

"Too late to think of that, little brother," he reaches and ruffles Luke's wild brown hair, the same distinct feature they and Joffrey share.

The thing that gave them so much grief in the past, but that is being rather revered by boys of late.

Luke grasps for the memories of Harwin Strong every day, cruel time cutting more and more pieces out of it.

Joffrey doesn't even recall the man.

It's a mercy, his mother once told him. If we could remember everything we lost, we would never be able move forward.

He hates how moving forward means leaving something behind.

Luke wants to grab all the pieces of the life they had, both of their fathers alive; warm and kind, firm hands on their shoulders.

But something slips and he always finds himself with his hands empty.

He wonders if this is how Aemond felt in the future left unlived; if he felt the memory of Lucerys dimming with every passing day; Luke feels strangely bitter and possessive over the idea.

His uncle is not allowed to forget about him, ever, period.

"Then I don't want you to be angry with me," he admits, the second reason cutting deep.

Jace gives him a look of confusion.

"Why?"

Luke tosses his blanket away and sits up properly, willing himself to look at his brother properly. He really needs Jace to believe him and take him seriously now.

"Because I've been having Dragon Dreams," he whispers, eyes trained on the ones mirroring him. The same color, the same shape.

They were always been more twins than brothers, years apart meaning nothing to either of them.

"And because I think I'm in love with Aemond," he adds even quieter and hears his brother take a sharp breath.

"That last thing could've been left unsaid," Jace grumbles.

“What, that’s it?” Luke exclaims. 

“No “no, you don’t" or “you can’t he’s our uncle”, or “but he hates you and you hate him"?"

His brother snorts at that.

“Yes you do, actually,” he hums. “And if I ever had problem with him being you uncle, I’d have first to raise an issue with Daemon. You can imagine how it would go.”

“I love Daemon,” Luke admits. “I’m glad mother married him; don’t think we’ll be half as men we’re now if not for him.”

Jace nods. “He beat so much shit out of me, you have no idea. I used to think his trainings are just elaborate plots to get rid of me, but now then I spar with him, I almost feel…equal. And he killed Vaemond like it’s no big deal,” he adds. “For us.”

“To be honest, I feel like he wanted to do that for a long time,” Luke shrugs. “But he did defend our honor and all that, like it’s natural for him to do that. Like we’re his.”

They both are silent for a while, remembering that time then they needed protection in the rather similar way, and Laenor was nowhere to be found.

Daemon was, ironically. Luke thinks it’s his first memory of the man, the first that took home in his head; the Rogue Prince pushing him behind, sheltering with his body from the offensive looks.

People who whisper Lucerys Velaryon is hiding behind his mother’s skirts are not as right as they would love to be.

Half of the time Lucerys Velaryon is hiding behind his stepfather’s steady silhouette.

He thinks he's ought to stop doing that.

He turns their conversation back on tracks, embarrassed but in great need to know Jacaerys’ take on it.

Luke groans and hears his brother laugh. It's a nice laugh, not at all mocking. Jace stopped mocking him years ago; gentle teasing doesn't count.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks, embarrassed.

“I have eyes, you know,”  Jace touches his shoulder gently.

"You look at him like you've spent years in the desert."

"And he's the water?"

"No, he is the poison, but it's the only form of the liquid you are allowed to have."

It's Lucerys's turn to laugh aloud.

"What's quite dramatic," he teases. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Jace gives him a look that lacks any humor in it.

"I don’t think you have ever hated him in the past, or it’s even possible for you to hate him.”

“Why?”

Jacaerys looks at him like he did then they were children, then Luke was staring straight at the page, not being able to read words right in front of him.

Like he lacks some wits in one way or another.

It should annoy Luke, but he wants to know the answer more than he wants to bicker with his brother.

“Why?” he repeats.

“The knife you cut Aemond with,” Jacaerys mentions and his brother cringes immediately.

Oh, that.

“You have never separated with it for longer than a day, and even then it was then the handle broke and you acted like we’re making you leave Arrax behind, not to lend a knife to the smith to fix it.”

“It’s just a knife!” Luke insists even though he knows perfectly well it’s just “just a knife”.

It’s the knife.

“It’s the blade that drew Aemond’s blood,” Jace comments. “So no, I don’t think you ever hated him. I think you wrapped your mind around his image after that fateful day like a protection layer.”

Luke scoffs:

“I did not!”

“I think you began to think about him all the time,” Jace continues like he didn’t hear. “That every time you saw a crow with one eye – you thought of him. Every time a valyrian steel was present – you thought of him. Every time you flew Arrax – you thought of Vhagar and, inevitably, of him.”

Luke stutters.

“I did not- I’m not-“

Jace gives him a condescending gaze.

"You used to ask me what I thought is going on at the Red Keep. How is everyone we left behind? Is Aemond used to being half-blinded yet or is he struggling with every mundane task? Do you think he hates me? Queen Alicent clearly hates me, but I don’t know about Aemond; do you think he might forgive me one day?” Jace mimics and Luke has to hide his face in the blanket.  Curse his brother and his impeccable memory.

“It sounds bad,” he admits. “Like I’m…”

“In love,” Jacaerys supplies. “Like you’ve been in love with him for ages.”

Luke groans.

Chapter Text

You're one of the pieces, echoes Helaena's voice in his head. Her hope, and her fear, and her rage.

Lucerys tries to follow the trail of events that lead him to this moment.

He fails.

This, he concludes, looking up at Otto towering over him, will be a pretty pathetic death.

"I'm not a bargaining chip," he speaks plainly and not for the first time.

Otto gives him a calculating look.

"Of course not, my prince," and Luke can feel the lies building up. Otto Hightower is truly more a spider than a man; always building his thick web to cloak everyone in it, to blind them.

Lucerys wonders how does this man die. He hopes he dies in agony.

"Then I fail to see the necessity of me being here," he speaks calmly as only the dead man can. He died the honorable but also quite terrifying and painful death; he is not afraid of this man.

"We," Otto says and Lucerys immediately wonders who are these "we".

Ser Criston, probably, he never had issues with playing a pawn in Hightower's games.

Larys Strong, possibly - the man benefited quite a lot from his family's demise and seems to inclined to scheme with Lord Hand.

Luke wonders if it was Larys who set his house on fire, quite literally; or if it were ghosts of Harrenhal, the cursed and haunted place to begin with.

He doesn't think it matters much.

Granfather and father are dead and Luke isn't allowed to call them such.

It's ridiculous, it's a farce.

As Aegon once said; everyone knows, just look at them.

Look at him indeed.

Tied up, with his arms already falling asleep from the rough rope used with too much force.

A huge bruise he can feel ripening on his face; one eye is swollen closed by it.

Ridiculous, but it makes him think of Aemond.

Even in this moment, with face bloodied, life threatened, all Luke can think about is his difficult, prideful and lone uncle.

He hopes Aemond won't be blamed for this.

"You're a guarantee of our safety," Otto Hightower answers then Luke already given a hope to be responded to. "Something to ensure none of the people from or serving your family will cause us any harm."

"Who are "us?" Luke asks, more just to stale time than to get an answer.

He suspects he'll get none.

He is right.

"So what, you're just going to keep me there amidst of  nowhere, tied up till you can install a puppet of a king on the throne for you to control?" he questions, irritation bleeding in.

Years living under the same roof as Daemon taught him to use his voice, his tone and his entire posture as a tiny needle sharp knives.

He is using them now.

It doesn't seem to bring any visible effect, Otto being as calm as impassive as always, but it's always worth a try. And who knows, maybe Lucerys could find the man's sore spot and target it just precisely enough.

Everyone bleeds, he thinks, words resurfacing in his mind, once put there by Daemon and hidden until the further notice. And everyone hurts. I wonder what hurts you.

Luke tries his best not to think about what hurts him.

There are too many of them; too close and important for him to not make it an open invitation to abuse the connection.

Family is the most important thing in the world.

Luke thinks of his dream: Aegon, older and more drunk than he knows him now; mother, wounded but standing tall till the death embraces her.

He looks at the man in front of him, the one who made Aegon the man he is now.

He thinks of blood and fire, of valyrian steel and dragon scales, warm under his touch.

Luke wishes he could breathe fire, to enflame the cunt of a man in front of him and be done with it.

"Aegon is the firstborn son of the King," Otto speaks. "He should be the king."

Luke snorts.

"This is news to Aegon," he comments idly. "Are you going to drag him on the throne kicking and screaming? Because I assure you he will kick and he will scream. Maybe even bite."

Honestly, does this man have all of his face nerves atrophied? Luke isn't even sure Lord Hightower is blinking.

"He is just a boy," Otto says and Luke earns to comment how bad of the idea it is to crown "just a boy."

"He doesn't understand the severity of situation; he will learn to respect my decision."

These are very bold words, Lucerys thinks.

And also the words of someone who doesn't know Aegon at all.

Luke is pretty sure his uncle will make Sunfyre eat Otto if Lord Hightower is to insist with his arrogant plan.

He is about to comment on that then the air grows dangerously still.

Luceris has only a blink to recognize this for what it is: a moment right before the dragon breathes out.

"Dracarys!"

he hears and Otto Hightower is no more.

They're once again gathered in the dining room, the calm family meal shattered with the dawning realization of the occurred.

"Aemond," Alicent starts, paler than he ever saw her to be, lips drown tight in a little grieving line.

How can she grieve this man Aemond does not understand.

"I must admit I rather expected Aegon to do something like this,”  Lucerys cuts in and is immediately graced with everyone’s attention.

He looks better than Aemond found him; the bruise still angry violet with specks of yellow, but at least he can use both of his eyes now. There's a minor red layer of irritation on his face where the fire came in way too close; but otherwise he looks unharmed.

It's still not enough to quench the terrifying anger boiling Aemond's insides into soup.

He feels like if there was a single easy solution to murder everyone who ever threatened Lucerys's life, he would use it.

Of course it would mean his own impending death as well, since he's the one to threaten the boy's life more times than is not to become a pattern.

And again, from all the people alive and dead, Aemond is the only one who actually successfully put an end to Lucerys's Velaryon's life.

It still haunts him.

"Aemond," now it's Rhaenyra who is speaking. "You can't just burn people alive; it will create a lot of complications for all of us."

The prince shrugs, not impressed.

"I just dealt with the biggest complication you had, but sure, do scold me," he huffs.

"I am not scolding you," Rhaenyra explains, more patiently than she would love to: Aemond can see irritation building up at the bottom of her irises. "I'm simply warning you from repeating such an occurrence. Can you promise to not...burn anyone alive in the future, regardless if this anyone is in the opposition of my reign?"

"Sure," he shrugs again.

There are many other ways to kill a man.

"Sure what?" His annoyingly persistent sister asks.

"Sure, I promise not to burn alive any more traitors of the crown," he sighs. "Even though it solves more than half of your problems, sister."

He is not going to reveal the real reason he killed Otto anytime soon.

He somehow suspects Rhaenyra knows of it regardless.

"I propose a toast," Daemon suggests, eerie quiet for the main course of the meal, eyes never leaving Aemond. He finds it distressing, but shows none of these feelings.

"To Prince Aemond, who proved to be the real Targaryen; loyal to the true values of the family, ready to protect what's his," something in this phrasing irks Aemond and not him alone; if Rhaenyra's suspicious frown has anything to do with it.

Aegon snorts into a napkin and mother gives him such a look.

Lucerys is the first to toast for that.

"To my uncle," he speaks, eyes firm on Aemond, intense in a way what makes Aemond's skin itch. "Who might not have saved me from death, but definitely released from the capture." His eyes twinkle and there's something scorching hot at the bottom of them.

Aemond tries not to stare back.

Beautiful, echoes the boy's voice in his ears.

Lucerys is the one who is beautiful.

His mother is waiting for him outside.

“Aemond,” she begins, but he waves a dismissive hand at her.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he assures her. “What I’m kinslayer, what you hate me now.”

It stops Alicent on tracks.

“I don’t hate you,” she says and as she says it she brings Aemond closer, wrapping her hands around his torso.

He tenses before he lets go. So many years have passed, so many thing have happened, but there’s a single thing what always calms him down.

His mother’s embrace.

Aemond allows her to hug him, even if he doesn’t hug back.

“He was my father,” Alicent whispers, grief and acceptance mixing in her voice.

“He was a monster,” Aemond responds. “He locked you up in a cage of his own making.”

His mother draws back a little to look at him.

“But this is not why you killed him,” she whispers and he nods. “You killed him because of that boy.”

It should sound incriminating; something for her to blame him for, but all she sounds is tired.

And accepting, once again.

She’s accepting a great deal of things these days, Aemond notices.

He remembers his mother reach for Rhaenyra’s hand, grasping it gently before bringing to her own lips.

He recognized himself in that motion, this desperation, this longing.

Like mother like son.

“He sleeps with the dagger, you know,” Alicent shares and it takes Aemond too long to understand what she’s talking about. She sees his lost look and explains. “The one he wielded then he hurt you. Rhaenyra told me he hadn’t separated with it since that day.”

She sighs, defeated.

“It’s my fault, really,” she admits and Aemond wants to argue. “I gave a birth to the dragons. Surely I wasn’t expecting you to turn into something else,” she smiles bitterly. “You know I’ve never understood it, not really. All this power, all these dragons… Fire and Blood, they say. Why does it have to be fire, why should it have to be blood?” she cups his cheek gently. “Rhaenyra tried to explain it to me, over and over, using the history records, drawing conclusions there I saw none. She always got it, even from the young age. I guess one can’t simply grow into being a dragon; you have to be born it."

He hugs her tighter then.

“You said it yourself,” he whispers. “You bore three of them. Mother of dragons, that ought to mean something.”

Alicent smiles one of her rare smiles; gentle and open, vulnerable and loving.

“It ought to,” she agrees.

Chapter Text

There's a firm knock on his door and as Aemond moves to open it, he is graced with the most unexpected presence.

Lucerys.

The boy steps in without so much as waiting for invitation, eyes searching around in curiosity.

It dawns at Aemond this is the first time Lucerys has ever been on his room.

He feels strangely vulnerable for that.

"Are we even now, how do you think?" the younger prince asks, eyes never leaving his surroundings.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Aemond replies, knowing perfectly well what he's talking about.

Lucerys toots.

"My death," he simply clarifies as if it's something what needs clarifying.

"I sure don't remember killing you," Aemond responds, ever so stubborn.

The boy in front of him sizes him with a long, lazy look.

"Do you not?" he mulls. "I do remember, as insane as it might sound. Prophetic visions and all, right?”

"I recall you talking about it before," Aemond admits while he tries his best not to think of the said event occurring.

“Prophetic visions” his ass.

This day, from the moment the sun rose till the very last glimpses of it, was one big nerve wreck.

Starting with Lucerys disappearing and Aemond turning the earth upside down to find him, cold panic clutching at his insides.

Helaena words, that of pieces cut and pain to come, didn’t help his resolve either.

Yet here he stands now; the reason of his distress, the only person in the world who can make feel Aemond so utterly helpless and him to not mind it.

Luke tilts his head to the side.

"You remember everything I say, it seems," he hums and steps closer.

Aemond is suddenly aware of the space between them, or rather the lack of it.

"I don't," he retorts, but way too weakly for that to be real argument.

"Funny thing," Lucerys mumbles. "I remember everything you said."

He's closer now, impossibly so, a ghost of a breath on Aemond's face.

He reaches up and hesitates.

"Can I?" Lucerys asks in a voice small and quiet, unexpected reverence finding way into it.

Aemond huffs, but lets him.

"What is it with you and my eye?" He asks, steadily ignoring how his own breath hitches then a gentle touch reaches the scar beneath the lost eye.

Luke looks up at him.

"I did it, did I not?" He whispers, look heavy with some unsaid feeling. "I marked you and now you're wearing the proof of it on your face."

These words ought to ire Aemond, they ought to bring fire bright anger in him; but all they do is make him feel impossibly hot, hotter for his own skin.

The prince thinks it shows; if any slight change of Lucerys's expression to something more sly and pleased has anything to do with it.

Is he blushing?

"Blue," Luke mumbles, eyes glazed over. "You know it's my color."

He gently rubs a scar with his fingers, reaching higher, moving for the eye.

"Why did you choose it?"

"Why did you keep the knife?"

Aemond responds with a question of his own, neither of them needing the explanation of that knife he has talking about.

Luke doesn't respond, gaze misty and lost, lost in Aemond, as he suddenly realizes with a small excited jolt.

"I'm going to kiss you now," the boy informs him, casual like it's the most mundane thing.

Like Aemond entire body does not light up at the mere thought of it.

"And if you don't like it, you can kill me later."

And so Luke kisses him.

Aemond will not be killing him anytime soon.

They separate sometime in the future, mostly for the air to gulp at; and at Aegon, who has the audacity, the nerve, walk into the room at the most uncalled moment and to whistle at them upon seeing their choice of actions.

Aemond has never seen anyone look so lovely while being annoyed as Lucerys is now.

His face is flushed, lips swollen; but the look he's giving Aegon is one of murder.

"You wanted something?" the younger prince asks, not even bothering with courtesy.

Aegon gives him self-satisfied grin.

"I told you," he responds. "Didn't think you were into moody kinslayers who will definitely watch you sleep like the creeps they are, but good for you."

Aemond thinks of all the ways he can make his brother suffer.

"Begone," he commands. "Or Otto will not be the only kin I slay."

His brother gives him entirely unbothered expression before he flaunters out of the room.

"Brothers," Aemond murmurs.

Luke chuckles.

"I have some of those," he agrees. "A terribly bothersome bunch, are they not?"

Aemond simply kisses him.

Aemond leans forward and puts his arm on the table, palm up.

It's a simple gesture, unsuspicious and done with a practiced ease, and that ease is that gives it away.

Aemond Targaryen does very few non-fighting things with ease, and reaching out is not one of them.

Luke stares at the palm, skin dry and calloused, just lying there in a silent invitation.

Then he reaches out and puts his own hand in it.

It's a small gesture, but something about Aemond’s fingers curling over his makes Luke light-headed.

He can feel the moment his mother notices, Rhaenyra's gaze suddenly heavy at the back of his head.

He doesn't need to look up to know Alicent has seen it too.

Neither of the princes moves to break the touch, fingers interlacing with the casualty that makes Luke a little hard on breathing.

And of course it's the moment big double-sided doors are creaking open.

And of course, of course it’s none but Lucerys's older brother behind it.

Luke feels like the time freezes, as if someone simply dropped the temperature to the ice level, fixing them in life and a history, just how they're now.

Alicent is sitting by the table, her youngest son next to her. Lucerys' own mother is crouching in front of the pig piece of parchment on the table, head turned at the sound of the door opening.

And Luke himself, his hand resting comfortably in a palm of his uncle, both of the hands laying on top of the table there everyone - especially Jace – can see it.

Jacaerys gives him the look Luke can't decipher, or maybe he doesn't want to. It's part “I-told-you-so’, part something else, but Luke had enough of these looks.

He was died a gruesome if accidental death, came back in time to change the currents and is working alongside the last two people in Realm he thought he would.

He can have some minor handholding as a treat.

It probably doesn't help the case that the first reaction his brother gets out of him is not Luke retrieving his hand.

It's giving the said hand a glance, before giving Aemond a look, as if saying: "Well shit, it happened."

Aemond replies with equally expressive shrug.

Neither of them is willing to break the contact just yet, and Luke thinks this obvious display is that gives Jacaerys all the answers he could ever need.

"Jace, love," Rhaenyra calls, and honestly gods bless his mom. "Do you need something?"

The elder brother finally breaks his stare from his younger one, if only to look at their mother.

"Nothing specific," he speaks. "I'll let you be."

With that he hastily closes the doors behind him.

"Fuck," Luke immediately hisses and Aemond has the audacity to laugh at that.

"Oh, you're enjoying it, aren't you," he accuses the older prince.

"Your brother has a peculiar timing," said prince chuckles and Luke sighs heavily.

"Tell me about it," he complains. "I am not living it down.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” his mother comforts him. “We’re on the road of reconciliation, it’s only natural for you to try and reach out.”

“Still," Alicent voices out. "Hand-holding seems to be rather…excessive.”

Rhaenyra gives her a heavy, leveled with some meaning Luke doesn’t want to decipher, look.

“Says the woman who kissed mine,” she replies smugly.

Alicent stutters.

“I was for the oath,” she protests. “And not for…”

“For what?” Aemond speaks, voice daring his mother to call him out on his actions.

“Not for whatever affair you two seem to be having,” she answers rather meekly, cheeks aflame.

“We do not have an affair,” Luke quips in, voice indignant.

Everyone gives him a look and it’s his turn to blush deep red.

“It’s not an affair, I mean- It’s- “ he stutters.

Why is it so hard? It shouldn’t be so hard. Dying was easier, for some reason.

“We’re together,” he finally manages, not looking at anyone, not looking at Aemond. “I think.”

He’s rewarded with a tug at his hand.

“You think?” Aemond whispers to his ear, clearly undisturbed by the presence of their mothers in the room.

Rhaenyra coughs in a warning.

Lucerys forces himself to look up.

“I do,” he confesses, looking his uncle right into the eye. “I really think we’re together."

Chapter Text

The last thing she remembers is fire.

The last thing she hears is her son's devastated shout.

Aegon...

She wakes up with an agony on her lips, familiar hands reaching for her; to hold, to support the enormous weight that just landed.

Daemon? No, his hands are never so soft.

She reaches out in the dark to trace the picked pieces near of the nail beds on the hands reaching for her.

A bad habits even a lifetime couldn't fix.

"Alicent?" she whispers in a voice meek and shallow. She hardly recognizes yourself.

The news from the Storm’s End, Daemon's violent response...

Blood and Cheese.

Aegon, wide-eyed, mouth a circle of horror, gaping as Sunfyre opens his jaws wide.

Another by the same name behind it, face flushed with wine, eyes red and shadowed.

You killed her, Luke's voice echoes in her ears.

She didn't actually hear him say it, but many who were present reported the words they could hear.

Many, including Aemond.

He was hesitant to share the words, vary of something the way Lucerys himself was lately.

Now she knows of what.

And it's funny, the way thoughts flow freely, unperturbed, then all the body can do is to break apart.

"Alicent," she speaks again, louder; her entire frame shaking with the pain and the fear and such an enormous grief.

She lost all of them, all three of her precious boys.

The last reminder she had of Harwin.

They were ripped away from her arms; by their own kin, the war, the desire to be useful.

They died in a fight like the true dragons they are.

She distinctly feels arms wrapping around her, hears the voice whispering calming things, the repetitive of: "I'm here, Nyra, I'm here, you're alright, you're fine, I'm here." echoing.

How is it what after all that happened, after the years of mutual betrayal and pain inflicted, after drifting apart so much Rhaenyra didn't think it could be mended, Alicent is the one to comfort her through this night; to hold her close then she cries and shatters and falls apart?

How is it she's the only one to know how to put Rhaenyra back together?

"He killed me," she whispers in Alicent's neck, a familiar scent embracing her, as if she never left. "Aemond killed Luke; and then Jace and Joffrey-"

Alicent stirs.

"What is it?" she asks; worry clear in the whites of her eyes.

It pains Rhaenyra that she's the one who has to deal with dragons falling apart all over her. It's not a mystery anymore what happened to Aegon, what weighted her sweet Luke down.

"He killed me," she repeats, a sob in her throat; a girl once again, her mother dead, her father distant.

It pains her to burden Alicent with this madness, yet she doesn't find the strength in her to keep it for herself.

Oh how she understands Aegon now, her brother, her murderer.

How she recognizes the anguish in the harsh words he screamed just some days ago.

There are no Seven indeed.

Only gods of old Valyria.

Only blood.

And only fire.

She clasps Alicent's face between her hands, making the other woman look her right in the eyes.

"Aegon killed me," she whispers, a confession and a curse on her lips. "We have been here before, Alicent. We already walked this path."

She takes a shuddering breath, remembers pieces of Arrax they managed to fish out; no body of her son was found.

Remembers the moment she knew Jace was dead.

Sees a small black spot in the skies; Joffrey, taking in on a dragon what's not his to fly, desperate to prove himself.

She feels blood of her children on her hands and wails.

"We lost," she manages through sobs.

"We walked this path of death and destruction and we lost, every single one of us. This," she raises her head to stare into Alicent's eyes, frantic pools of green against the desperation of her lilac ones. "Cannot happen again. I will not let this happen again. Please," she grabs Alicent's hands and clutches them close. "You have to help me. Please, Alicent, help me."

The other woman looks crestfallen, tracks of tears already appearing on her own face. She looks horrified, but most of it all, she looks gravely unsurprised. Like she expected it to come, predicted the storm of madness to swipe just another person important to her.

"Of course," Rhaenyra hears and feels a cold touch of lips gracing her forehead. "Of course I will help you."

Rhaenyra falls back into her slumber.

Alicent sits there for a long time, face damp, hands - shaking.

This is madness, she thinks. An absolute madness and it's taking Rhaenyra too.

There are no Seven, echoes the raw voice of her firstborn in her ears.

Well, this is clearly no work of the Seven; something darker is playing at hand.

Something older.

Something vile.

She hears the door creak open and rises up immediately.

Daemon is standing at the threshold, face hidden by the shadows, posture loose.

He stands, Alicent realizes with a jolt, in the same way Aegon does then he has one too many drinks.

The Rogue Prince is drunk.

"She had it too, didn't she?" he slurs as he supports his weight on the doorframe.

"I don't understa-"

"The dream!" Daemon roars. "The fucking dream where we all fucking died!"

She winces, words loud and violent, echoing around the room. She's surprised Rhaenyra didn't wake up, though considering the dreams that are haunting her and the toll it had left, it's not at all surprising.

This, Alicent realizes, the place where she makes her stand. She glances at the silhouette hidden under blankets, then back at the Rogue Prince.

Then she stands taller.

Daemon starts to laugh.

"What," he wheezes between half-sobs half-howls. "Do you think I'm here to hurt her? I would never do that, she- She is-" he tries again but fails.

"Rhaenyra is important," he finally manages out. "To me. She's very important to me. I'm here- I'm here because I died, and I think she did too," there's unexpected vulnerability in his face and the sight of it sends Alicent into shock.

This is not what she expected this man to do; this is not how she expected him to act.

Yet he stands there, unsteady, booze ruling his head, and asks:

"How is she?"

And it's a punch in the guts, it's a blade in the heart, it's the worst realization Alicent could ever have.

Daemon loves Rhaenyra, aside from their history and his desire for power, aside from everything else the compilation what their union is, he loves her. For herself, for the girl Alicent loved before she knew what love even was; for the woman she grew into.

They stand there, two people in love with Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Him, trying to enter the chamber; her, preventing him from doing so.

"She will be alright," Alicent promises with more belief than she has. "She will be, Daemon."

He sends her a dark, twisted smile.

"She never wanted to fight you," come the words what sound both like an accusation and a peace offering.

"She didn't want to bring you any harm. I talked and explained and tried to convince her in every way I could, warning her against your father, telling her we cannot stand your drunken cunt of the son sitting on her throne. But she hesitated, she negotiated, she wanted to play peace." his face twists. "Until Lucerys died. Then she was ablaze."

Alicent knows she shouldn't do it, knows appealing to it will only worsens the madness what creeps at everyone around her.

And still she asks.

"How did he die?"

There's murder in Daemon's eyes, a promise of retaliation to come.

It dims as quickly as it comes, leaving Alicent wondering if she really saw it.

"Aemond murdered him," he lets out. "And I killed Aemond".

He turns away.

"Good night, queen dowager," and then Daemon is no more.

Lucerys moves on the bed to sit up and turns around.

Aemond is here, still here, even though the morning has come and the first rays of the sun are creeping the frame of the bed.

Luke sighs.

There he lies, his demise, the reason Luke's heart leaps out of his chest.

His doom, his love.

Aemond stirs in the sleep and Luke moves closer, hands ghosting over the frame, almost caressing the milky-white skin.

To think this is his for the taking; his to hold and his to get lost in.

"Are you watching me sleep?" A hoarse voice calls out. "Really?"

Luke snickers, none of the shame left in his body.

He lets his hand fall on the naked shoulder and move down, feeling the skin underneath his fingers.

"Really," he agrees. "You look...different then you sleep. Peaceful."

Aemond moves around and catches Luke's hand in his hold, bringing to his lips and kissing tenderly.

His uncle will be the death of him.

"I am many things," said uncle replies. "But peaceful is not one of them."

Luke leans in, so close their noses are brushing.

"Oh?" he asks, all feign innocence. "What are the things you are then; care to enlighten me?"

Aemond scoffs but brings him even closer, so close they're skin to skin.

"Only if you ask me nicely," he whispers into Luke's lips and the boy keens.

"Please," he begs and Aemond complies.

They do not leave the comfort of the bed anytime soon.

Chapter Text

She wakes up, washes her face, brushes her hair.

Sits at the vanity, chooses a pearl necklace, then puts it away. Takes the pendant with the dragon scale in her hands and leaves it lying on the table.

Looks at herself in the mirror.

A girl with the woman's face stares back.

The coronation is tomorrow.

She opens the wardrobe, takes one dress out, tosses it away. Takes another, tries it, but can't reach behind to close the gap between two last clasps.

The help of the handmaid would solve it, but Rhaenyra sent them all away.

She looks up again and meets the gaze of the girl in the mirror; a pale sickly looking skin, dark circles under her vivid violet eyes. Tragically lowered corners of her mouth.

She looks like she's mourning more than the death of her father.

It is truth, for she is mourning her innocence.

The door creaks open and another woman comes in.

She startles then she sees Rhaenyra standing still, a monument of her grief.

"You're up early," Alicent Hightower comments. "I fear I kept your husband from entering your chambers last night. The state you were in..."she trails off. "How are you, Nyra?"

The sound of this name brings a ghost of a smile to the future queen's lips.

"Am I Nyra once again?" she tries to joke and sees Alicent frown.

"If you don't like me using it-"

"I like it," she interrupts rather harshly. And adds softer. "It reminds me of much simpler days."

Alicent comes in and wraps her arms around her in a way she used to then they were just girls.

If only this simple gesture could turn back the time.

"I ought to talk to Aegon," Rhaenyra lets out, a vile taste rising in her mouth.

She thinks it might be fear.

She worries it might be ire.

Rhaenyra feels Alicent tense behind her.

"Don't," she asks. "Nyra, whatever dream you saw, whatever you thought happened-"

"You don't believe in it," her friend comments calmly. "In our dreams. In our family talent. You think we all are some fools to be tricked by some vile magic."

Alicent gulps.

"I can't say I understand it," she admits. "Neither can I agree to like it. And if it happened to just one of you, then I could dismiss it as a simple iddle delusion."

She turns Rhaenyra to face her.

"But it's all of you, Nyra," Alicent says as she looks into the clear lilac eyes. She always loved that color.

"It's you and Aegon; and Helaena and Lucerys, it's even Daemon. Madness is a solitary visitor, it does not steal an entire household away."

The queen to be smiles dimly.

"Who knows?" she muses. "Maybe our madness does."

Alicent scoffs.

"I don't believe it," she disagrees. "And it pains me to admit it, but I believe whatever is affecting you is real, at least for you. And it scares me, it terrifies me to my core. And worst of it," her childhood companion confesses. "I feel excluded. Secured in my ignorance, in my separation. You're the blood of Old Valyria, but I am not. I can't walk the path that was chosen for you as I'm guided by the unity of the Seven." She falls silent, but adds after some hestitation. "And they are silent."

"Alicent," Rhaenyra whispers softly, calls out to the deepest depths of her soul. "Do you feel abandoned by them?"

The dowager queen looks away.

"I don't know," she answers.

"Maybe. I feel like the Father stepped away from his throne; I feel the Mother's embrace weaken around me. I feel like the Crone is looking the other way and the Maiden has covered her face. I see the Smith put his hammer down and the Warriors lower his shield. Only the Stranger is watching, unticipating what is to come. And that scares me the most."

She buries her face in the crook of Rhaenyra's neck.

"My Gods do not see my children, they ignore their silent plea for protection. My children are my blood, but they're denied my Faith. Maybe," she whispers hoarsely. "Maybe it truly does not matter. Maybe Aegon is right and all Gods are is cruel."

"Maybe," Rhaenyra agrees. "But we don't need them to be brave. We don't need them to live or to love. Let the Stranger watch; he'll reap nothing from us."

Alicent stirrs.

"Is this why you want to talk to Aegon?" she asks.

Rhaenyra nods. "I can not ignore the pain what was brought upon me," she admits. "But neither can I dismiss the one brought by me or mine. We need...to talk things through. If he is willing, that is."

"Do you want me to come?"

And how Rhaenyra loves her for that offer.

She tightens the embrace.

"Thank you," the queen to be whispers into her most dear friend's hair. "But this is something I need to do myself."

Aegon is wide awake then he hears a firm knock on his door.

Sleep have been eluding him ever since the dream of his demise came.

The memories of his demise came.

He's past the withdrawal suffering, but the need for the booze to dampen his senses is immense.

The fear of the poison is stronger still.

"It's open," he croaks, a voice more a broken sound than an actual sentence.

The unexpected visitor doesn’t make him wait long.

She steps in; in her lean black dress with the texture of scales on the skirts, with the light necklace Aegon recognises as his mother's.

There are dark shadows breath her eyes, and mournful line crosses her lips, but otherwise Rhaenyra is a perfect picture for the annals: the heir apparent before ascending the throne; a grieving daugher of the late king; a royal lady of the ruling dynasty.

She's everything Aegon will never be.

The young prince manages to force a shaky smile.

"Sister," he greets her.

"Brother," she echoes back.

There's something peculiar in her expression, something strange in the way she searches Aegon's face for the traces of...what?

What did she come to find? Did his mother sent her to make sure he's sober?

"Are you well?" she asks and the question is so unexpected it forces a sudden laugh out of him.

Has she ever asked him if he's well? Before today, that's it.

"Could be better," he admits. "I crave the wine like the spineless fool you probably always thought me to be."

She shakes her head slightly, a small motion of it left and right; a minor visual disagreement.

See? Aegon could never express a full sense through a single twist of the neck.

"Could be worse," she supplies and it sounds both like a consolation and a reminder.

The reminder of "the worse" she should have no recollection of.

Unless.

Unless...

Aegon stares at her intently; at the stiff line of her shoulders, at the slight nervous movement of her fingers.

He looks into the eyes of the same color as his own.

What he sees there is a somber, grave understanding.

The horror draws in.

He tries to stand, but missteps and falls instead,elbow hitting the floor and sending a jolt of pain all over his body.

She watches him the way one might watch something unknown, something unexpected, something new.

She looks at him as if she sees him for the first time ever.

The fear is next, crawling up his spine, making him back up, never turning his face away from his sister.

He looks at her and sees the queen to rule them all; a heir he could never become, no matter how hard grandsire and mother tried to meld him into one.

He stares at her, mouth agape, and sees a dragon; majestic scales glistening at her black skirts, the sharp teeth in her tidy little mouth.

"You," he mouths as his back hits the wall. "You can't possibly... You do not..."

Aegon looks at Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, firstborn of the King Viserys, the heir to the Iron Throne and sees...

He sees a girl; twice his age, but a girl noneless. 

He sees another woman tangled into plot after plot against her own agency, against her free will, against anything that defies the clear, clean, cruel norms of this world dominated by men.

He looks at her and sees his mother's counterpart, her braver self.

He stares right into the face who was rumored to dream of his death since the day he was born and recognizes his sister.

"I remember," she confirms. "Now why won't we talk, just you and I?"

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I'm still alive," Aegon confesses.

Rhaenyra scrunches her nose.

"Me neither," she agrees. "Seeing the state you seem to live in. What is this smell?"

Aegon sniffs.

"Oh, this?" he replies. "Probably the meal mother brought in another day; I didn't have the stomach to eat it, so I put it away...somewhere."

Rhaenyra gives him a look full of open disgust.

"Really?" she asks. "And does it not bother you?"

Aegon shrugs.

"Not much," he admits. "I'll just call in some maids to clean it later."

"You ought to learn to clean after yourself," his sister informs him. "This is unbeknownst of the brother of the queen attitude."

He scoffs. "Or really? And do your sons clean their own rooms or is it a special torture you've kept just for me?"

Rhaenyra walks around, careful to not disturb any mess, before she carefully sits at the corner of the unkept bed.

"They do if they make such a mess," she comments calmly. "Our servants are not our slaves and the princes of the realm ought to learn some responsibility."

"There's no responsibility in cleaning the chamber," Aegon scoffs once again.

"There's more responsibility in it than you can imagine," Rhaenyra chastises him. "The mess in the kingdom starts with a mess in the king's rooms."

She sighs. "I can't believe Otto wanted to crown you, you're so not ready."

"So I've been told," he agrees. "Also can I just mention what despite my clear belief no one can be worse than mother then she's all proper and responsibility-driven, you're definitely are. Worse, I mean."

Rhaenyra smiles, all teeth and pride.

"Thank you," she responds. "I'll take it as the compliment. Now sit down, we really need to talk."

Aegon fidgets around.

"Lucerys and Aemond are sleeping together," he blurts out. "Did you know that?"

His sister frowns but otherwise looks unbothered. Shit.

"I suspected that much, yes. Aegon, are you trying to distract me?"

"Me?" he exclaims, all nervous energy and fake surprise. "I would never! Why would you even think-"

"Aegon," she cuts out, voice suddenly two octaves lower, the sound of his name is sharp on her tongue. "Sit. Down."

He obeys.

"I will not hurt you," she says after a while. "Nor I will hurt anyone in your family.

"Why?" he asks. "I hurt you."

"Not yet, no you didn't."

"I killed you," he reminds her, forever a martyr.

Rhaenyra gives him a scrutinizing look.

"And me and mine hurt yours," she replies. "Jaehaerys. I am sorry."

"I don't remember you personally ordering his murder," he admits.

"No, but it's by my silent approval that it was done," she catches Aegon widened gaze. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't tell Daemon to do that. But I also did nothing to stop him. I was," she sighs deeply. "Not myself back then, as poor excuse as it is. Luke's death had torn something out of me, something I fear was my heart."

"You love him a lot," Aegon comments. "All of them. It's clear by the way they act - always acted - how freaking loved they are."

He shuts down for a moment and Rhaenyra doesn't hurry him, patiently waiting for her brother to come back.

"I envy them," Aegon finally lets the words he buried deep in his soul to come out. "They have all the love while we have none."

Rhaenyra reaches carefully before wrapping a hand around his shoulder, bringing him closer.

He leans into the hug, desperate for every ounce of affection given.

Love me, a caged bird beats against the prison of his heart. Love me, care for me, comfort me.

Love me.

He thinks Rhaenyra hears because she brings another hand in and hugs him stronger.

There are tears in his eyes, fucking treacherous tears!

"Your mother loves you more than you can imagine," his sister whispers into the crown of his hair. "She loves you more than the heart can bear."

Aegon snorts.

"She has a funny way showing it."

"She is scared," Rhaenyra hums as she softly rocks him back and forth. "She's terrified for what the life might bring. I'm sure you know what the life of the king's child is not an easy one. Always amidst some plot, always a pawn in someone else's game. I'm sorry I didn't see your pain sooner. I'm sorry I was so angry at your mother for the betrayal I decided was hers what I didn't allow myself to care for you."

He sobs quietly and her grip tightens.

Is this what the Strongs feel every goddamn day?

Is this what being loved, unconditionally loved, flaws and all, must be like?

Aegon would hurt them for having what he himself was always denied, if not for Rhaenyra holding him down.

Rhaenyra, his eldest sister.

Rhaenyra, who will become their queen tomorrow.

"I'm sorry, little brother," she whispers again and this time an ugly sob escapes his throat. He thinks he's ruining his sister's perfect dress with his tears and snout.

She doesn't seem to care.

"Promise me you'll do better," she asks him. "Promise, for your mother's sake, what you'll try to be a man I know you can be."

Aegon would promise her anything at that moment.

So he does.

Aemond is on his way to the library then a familiar frame crosses his road.

Daemon Targaryen looks like he looked the Stranger right in the face.

"Care to enlighten me," the rogue prince begins. "Why were you leaving my stepson's bedchamber just now? Well, Kinslayer?"

Aemond tenses immediately.

"Although it's not the title I particularly like, if it's the price for dealing with grandfather's schemes, then I will learn to wear it well," he speaks the words what are too calm to show his real inner workings.

His uncle smirks unkindly.

"This is not the title I'm referring to," he comments idly. "The slaying of kin I'm recalling is of rather shameful kind."

Aemond feels his world tilt to the side.

"Is that so?" he hears words fall out from his own mouth. "Then it's title we both bear. Should I remind you of Blood and Cheese? Or of the God's Eye?"

The rogue prince's lips part in a cruel smile.

"Things we do," he mulls. "Things what are done to us. We sure are to learn from them, are we not?"

There's a threat of violence in his voice, but the conversation itself is much calmer than Aemond would expect, all things considered.

"We will not repeat our mistakes, will we?" his uncle demands.

"We won't," the young prince agrees.

Daemon smirks.

"I would kill you once again if not for what I have seen in the last several days," he informs Aemond. "Was it ever the hatred or have you always lusted for my son? Did you kill him because you couldn't have him?"

This pulls Aemond out of his calming stance.

"This is not-" he begins.

The door opens and Lucerys looks out.

"Is everything alright?" He asks, eyes darting between two men worriedly. "Father? Uncle?"

"Everything is fine," Daemon responds as he reaches to brush the rogue strand of hair from his son's face. The gesture is unexpectedly gentle. "We were just talking. You know, getting along, catching some missed family time..."

Luke peeks at him suspiciously before he shoots Aemond a questioning look.

"Everything is fine," the prince assures him and Lucerys scoffs.

"Both of you better not be lying," he warns them.

"We are honest to gods genuine, my boy," Daemon proclaims while reaching to pat him on the shoulder.

Aemond wants to cut this hand off.

Seriously, does the man have to touch Luke all the time?

He catches a sly look of his uncle's eyes and realizes his displease was noted.

"I'll leave you two brats be," Daemon declares with a smile too wide and satisfied to not put Aemond at edge. "Be nice," he adds as he leaves, pointedly at Aemond's direction.

"So," Luke exhales. "That went well. What were you talking about?"

"It's of no importance," his uncle shrugs. "I'm more surprised you're awake that early."

Luke looks abashed at that.

"You weren't in bed," he murmurs so quiet Aemond has to move closer to hear. And then he hears it...

"I reached out, but you weren't there. It woke me up right away."

He looks pointedly at anything but his uncle.

It honestly surprises Aemond how fearless and demanding Luke can be in bed and how hesitant and nervous outside of it.

"Would you wish me never leave?" he asks, hands already reaching to grasp the boy's waist.

Daemon's words keep ringing in his ears.

Was it ever hatred of have you always lusted for my son?

Did he ever truly hate Lucerys? Or did he only hated what the boy dared to claim him but seemed to evade Aemond's claims at every moment given?

You're not dragon, his mother once tried to tell him. You're human and will behave as such.

What a great lie it was!

"You're thinking about something," Luke murmurs, pouting, as he reaches to tangle his hands into Aemond's hair. "Stop."

And so he does.

Chapter Text

Lucerys enters Aegon's room the way he does it these days; with no warning and no knock.

There are plenty of things one might expect in the den of the eldest son of queen dowager Alicent and late king Viserys, but Luke's own mother is not one of them.

She's sitting at the corner of Aegon's unmade bed, the prince himself wrapped around her like a blanket, sounds of sobbing loud and clear.

Is Aegon...crying?

No, scratch that. Is Aegon crying in his mother's embrace?

It's one thing promoting peace and unity of the family at every corner, but it's completely different to find the man who was the reason his mother died being comforted by said mother.

If stranger things could happen, Luke doesn't know what they are.

"Mother?" he calls out then it's obvious neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra has noticed his arrival.

There's an immediate reaction to that.

Aegon moves away as if burned, untangling himself from his sister's embrace while simultaneously trying to whipe his very tear striken face.

His eyes are red and puffy and not from the wine, for Luke knows he hadn't had a single drop of alcohol since the day he memembered his death.

"What are you doing here?" Aegon demands. "Haven't your parents taught you to knock?

Luke gives one of his parents a look.

Rhaenyra, compared to the embarassed mess Aegon is, looks hardly affected, elegant and regal even with the dress draped in snoot and tears.

"My sweet boy," she calls out and there's a sudden hitch in her voice Luke didn't expect. "Come here," she pats on the bed next to her while Aegon tries his best to scatter away. "Don't you flee just now, brother."

Aegon makes a face.

"You mock me," he accuses. "You and your runt."

"The runt has a name," Luke reminds him as he flops to the bed next to his mother.

Rhaenyra immediately graps his hand around his in a way she always does, as if to reassure herself he's here with her, alive and well.

"And the runt would also want you to stay. I came to see you, originally."

"Without knocking," Aegon reminds him angrily and Luke shrugs.

"You come in without knock all the time and somehow I still bear your company," he reminds his uncle. "I'm sure you can live without me following every simple rule of etiquette."

"You seem to get along," Rhaenyra comments curiously, hands never leaving Luke's, squeezing them gently. "Which is quite unexpected, considering your late fight."

"Oh please," Aegon scoffs. "You know very well what this fight was about." And, seeing Luke's questioning look, he adds: "Rhaenyra remembers."

Oh, Luke thinks absentmindedly before the thought reaches the target of his brain.

Oh.

"You do?!" he exclaims, turning to his mother at the exact same moment Aegon decides to blow his nose into the bedsheet.

Ew, gross.

"I do," she nods solemly, gripping his hands tigher.

"Last night I woke up from the most vivid nightmare, only it wasn't just that. These were my memories, I believe," she looks Luke in the face intently. "I believe you saw something of the kind, did you not?"

"He did," Aegon responds before Luke has a chance to open his mouth. "He defended Aemond and is sleeping with him now. I don't recall if I told you that, but they're definetely bedding each other."

Luke tries to fight an ugly blush crawling up his neck.

He fails.

"Go drink some poisoned wine, will you?" He suggests with hardly enough vigor in his voice.

Aegon laughs.

"Only after you fall to your death, little nephew."

Rhaenyra stares at them with quite an inscrutable look.

"You have a...peculiar friendship," she finally comments. "And a rather grave sense of humor."

"Perks of dying," Aegon comments. "You should learn it too."

The corner of Rhaenyra's mouth creeps up.

"I'll think about it," she promises. "But right now we have a lot of things to do. Preparations are in full force and I will require the help of you both."

She looks from one boy to another.

"Can I count on you?"

They nod; Luke's nod is vigorous and eager, while Aegon's is a little unsteady and unsure. But he nods noneless and gives his sister a weak smile.

"As much as you can ever count on me," he warns her. "But I will be there. And I will help there I can."

Rhaenyra accepts it.

"Good," she stands up, before kneeling in front of Luke in a sudden, rush movement.

"My sweet boy," she whispers into his unrully hair as she embraces him, desperate. "My dear love. I will never lose you again."

"You won't," Luke promises as he hugs his mother back tightly. "I swear to you, you won't."

She reaches up to cup his cheek and plant three fervent kisses on his right brow.

The gesture is so familiar yet from another world.

Luke remembers mother kissing him that way before his flight to the Storm's End.

He wraps his arms around the woman who loves him the most and breathes out.

They meet in the evening, in the solitude of their own bedchamber.

The the prince-consort and the queen.

The uncle and the niece.

The husband and the wife.

Rhaenyra stubles into him as she enters, Daemon getting ready to leave.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, voice carefully neutral.

She wants to rush into his embrace and cry her heart out, to confess to everything she lived through and all she didn't.

But she looks at her beloved weary face, sees the slight wrinkles crossing his forehead, a new tragic line between his eyebrows and keeps quiet.

Many people would proclaim Daemon Targaryen has no heart, for he's ruthless, he's brazen and he's a menace to anyone who looks his way wrong.

But Rhaenyra knows better than anyone Daemon is what he is not due the lack of the heart, but because of it.

Caring about someone is a heavy burden.

"Out," he answers. "You didn't seem to require my presence today, so I've made plans to breathe out a little."

She frowns.

"Can't you breathe out in my company?" his wife inquires. "Am I suffocating you?"

He winces at that.

"No," Daemon denies. "I said it wrong. I simply implied what I do not desire to burden you in any way or form."

She steps forward, effectively closing any way for him to escape.

Men, she thinks, even though this particular man she's rather fond of. They always complicate everything.

"I am your wife," she reminds him. "It is your sacred duty to burden me with your troubles."

He smiles ruefully at this; Rhaenyra will take it.

"I don't know about that," the rogue prince confesses. "The things I have been burdened with resently... They're a heavy weight and I don't want to put it on your shoulders."

"You think I might not be able handle it?" she accuses. "Try me."

And it's then the real smile comes out; wide and greedy and sharp, familiar like the back of her hand.

Rhaenyra mentally congratulates herself.

"I had a dream," Daemon begins and her heart skips a beat. "About history going the other way, the wrong way."

He steps closer and she leans into him just how she always leant into him; confident and content in her right to do so.

She always knew Daemon Targaryen was hers for the taking, regardless of what father or anyone else thought.

"Did you die in this dream?" she whispers into his neck, lips brushing the tender skin.

He shrudders and Rhaenyra feels triumphant.

If only they knew how helpless he is before her, how deep under his skin she crawled in.

"Did our children?" she continues then no answer comes, if you don't count the circle of arms sliding around her shoulders for an answer.

Daemon breathes out, shaky with something Rhaenyra recognizes.

It's terror, it's grief.

It's rage building at the pit of your stomach.

It's pieces of your little boy's dragon brought back home.

It's no body to burn, no body to mourn.

"Lucerys," she whispers into the skin of his throat. "Then Jacaerys. Then little Joffrey; all ripped away from our arms. Do you remember it?"

His hands tighen around her so much it hurts, but Rhaenyra welcomes the embrace.

Good.

Make it hurt, hold her so tight she can't breathe.

Make her believe this is their truth, not the overly realistic nightmare she lived through this night.

"I do," he murmurs into her hair. "Gods be damned, I remember. I wanted to set the world on fire. I think I did."

"You did," she agrees. "Is it the second chance, how do you think? Are we even allowed the second chance?"

He moves away then, but only to cup her face in his calloused hands, to bring their foreheads together.

"You deserve every chance you get."

"That's not what I asked," Rhaenyra huffs, indignant. "There's no me without you. I asked you if we deserve the second chance." She pinches him on the arm as he keeps quiet. "Answer me, prince-consort."

"Hold your horses now," he smiles, a gentle smile so rare you could count them by the fingers on one hand. And every time he smiles like that, it's at Rhaenyra. "You're yet to be crowned."

"The coronation is tomorrow," she reminds him. Then adds on a whim. "I talked to Aegon."

"You did?" Daemon repeats, surprised. "And what did he say?"

Rhaenyra shrugs, uncomfortable.

"He cried," she admits. "We made peace."

Her husband stares at her intently.

"There's something you're not telling me," be decides. "What is it?"

"It doesn't matter," the queen of tomorrow looks away. "It's in the past."

"In the past?" Daemon reaches to raise her chin with his fingers. "Or in the future? Rhaenyra, what did he do?"

"It's of no importance."

"I'll find out anyway," he treatens. "Even if I have to tear the words out of the boy with my bare hands."

"Don't," Rhaenyra demands.

"He killed me," she adds quietly.

"No-" She grabs Daemon by his hands, the man already moving to take his ire on this pathetic excuse of nephew of his.

"Don't," the commands. "It has not yet happened and the boy griefs enough as it is," his features soften at her mercy.

"He's just a boy neglected and manipulated through his entire life," Rhaenyra informs him. "And he is my brother. Let him be."

"Very well," her husband resigns, not satisfied with the decision but not opposing it. "Your wish is my command."

The future queen smiles at that.

"I wish you to take me to bed."

His roguish smile tells her all she needs to know.

Chapter Text

"Will anyone explain to me why all of us are huddled in this room?" Jacaerys asks then it becomes clear neither of them is planning to leave.

"Mother is getting crowned today," Luke shrugs. "We're helping her to get ready."

"What you do," Rhaenyra comments from the next room. "Is taking all the place and making me stumble all over you as I'm trying to dress up. The only one who's actually helping is Alicent."

"We're providing the moral support," Aegon calls out from his place on Rhaenyra's twin bed.

He's sitting there cross-legged, a piece of chicken in his hands.

Rhaenyra looks out through the doorframe.

"You're eating the very greasy piece of meat on my freshly made bed," she comments. "You're cleaning that."

Aegon makes a face.

"Again? I've already cleaned my room!"

"You've cleaned your room?" Alicent asks as she's to appear next to her queen. "That's new."

"Rhaenyra made me," he whines.

"Good grief," Jace mutters. "It's like you've never cleaned your room before." Aegon shoots him a questioning look and he adds. "Wait, you didn't? Mother made us clean our own chambers until we learned to leave them in a state what would not shame our status or overbear the maids with the mess."

Lucerys nods.

"It took me ages to learn how to clean up the ink. This stuff just spills everywhere."

"Wait," Aegon calls out. "So you really had to clean up your rooms yourself? Rhaenyra didn't lie?"

"Love then you talk of me like I'm not in the room," his sister comments as she proceeds to the vanity and sits at it.

Alicent is close behind, already opening a dosen of smelling bottles, applying some weird stuff on Rhaenyra's face and neck, bringing her hair up and fixing it with the hairpins.

Lucerys weights the crown of Aegon the Conqueror in his hands, spinning it around.

"This thing is heavy," he comments.

"The weight of the people's trust usually is," his mother responds from the vanity.

Alicent hums in agreement, too busy with the work at hands to be able to respond in full.

"Yes, but I meant its actual weight. Are you sure the crown won't weight you down?"

"I'm sure it would," Alicent manages to reply. "That's the point of the crown; to remind its wearer of the duty they hold."

"Gross," Aegon comments. "And to think this thing was almost placed on my head!"

Rhaenyra shakes her head, resulting several rogue strands to break loose and Alicent to hiss at her angrily.

"You're not suited," the future queen responds once she's done apologizing to her friend.

"I agree," Jacaerys nods grimly. "Also, if I may ask, why is it queen dowager who's doing your hair and not, say, the maid?"

Alicent sends him a nasty look and Rhaenyra laughs.

"I'm afraid it's for the same reason she's dressing me up like a doll," she responds. "Alicent believes no one but her will do it right."

"No one but me will do it right," the woman responds firmly.

"They will mess up the garment or the texture, or they'll get the colors wrong, or they'll do the wrong hairstyle.This is the day of the utmost importance, everything has to be perfect!"

Aegon has to admit his mother looks better than she did in a very long time; more fresh and rested than he remembers her to be, with usually torn and bleeding nailbeds almost completely healed.

There's is something possessive in the way she fusses over Rhaenyra's wardrobe, the way she doesn't allow anyone to take a part in the preparation.

She mulls over this necklace and that, tries different hairpins and laces before she puts them away.

"Honestly, this is not that difficult," Aegon murmurs. "Just put on the first pretty thing and be done with it."

He's rewarded with a double scolding stare of his mother and his elder sister, both of the women gazing at him like he's the dumbest thing in the world.

"Honestly," Alicent breathes out, exasperated. "I didn't expect you to know all the little nuances, but I'd hoped you knew at least what every minor detail, every piece of the wardrobe is a story to tell, a statement to make."

Rhaenyra hums.

"Like the green dress," she comments and Alicent fums.

"It was the appropriate choice for the time being," she comments. "Are you going to bring it up forever?"

"What's wrong with the green dress?" Luke asks curiously. He looks the woman all over. "And you're wearing a red one right now; does it mean something?"

Rhaenyra nods slightly, careful to not dusturb her hair being made.

"It's a statement of her support of me," she comments.

"While black would suffice as well, some would interpret it as the color of mourning for her late husband or father. The red is much better and a safer choice."

"And the green was the statement in the support of...the Greens?" Jacaerys tries. "The Hightowers and Otto's Hightower's plot?"

Alicent scoffs.

"I was never into father's plot to usurp the throne," she speaks. "I wasn't informed of it. But yes, the green dress was a statement in support of my family and the ties they hold. It was a bold and, perhaps, rather uncalled desicion, that gained me more foes than allies," she brushes the single strand behind Rhaenyra's ear and the future queen reaches to grab her hand.

"We were never foes," the insists, looking at Alicent through the mirror. "We were just tangled in the plot of someone else's making, torn apart by the other's malicious desicions."

"You mean father," Alicent whispers.

Rhaenyra nods.

"I'm afraid so, yes. But also mine as well; I can't overlook the fact what he took a mere child to bed and to wed; and what he neglected you and your children through and through, even if for my own gain."

"Um," Aegon voices out, quite uncomfortable. "We're still in the room. Just in case you decide to start kissing or something."

"Aegon!" both Alicent and Jacaerys cry out, horrified.

Rhaenyra simply laughs.

It marvels Luke how much calmer she looks these days, how much at ease. He gathers it's parly because of the queen dowager's presense.

And if they are to start kissing at some moment, well, who is Luke to judge?

He is hardly leaving his own uncle's side these days, and if he does, it's like gods themselves are tearing them apart, not some minor duty at the court.

So if his queen mother burns for her friend the same way she burns for Daemon, let it be.

Aegon the Conqueror had two wifes and Luke doesn't see why Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, can't have a husband and a lover both.

She, after all, already had in the past; Luke's single existence is the proof of that.

It's the moment his father, Daemon Targaryen, chooses to open the door with a forceful pull.

"Stop slowing around," he comments. "The ceremony starts in an hour." And, after sending Aegon and his chicken the inquisitive look, adds. "You're cleaning that."

Aegon groans and it brings up a laughter to everyone's lips.

Today is a busy day, but a joyful one.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, is to become the Queen, first in the history woman to sit on the Iron Throne and Rule the Seven Kingdoms.

The ceremony is a grand thing; a lot of people are invited; from the high lords to the common people both.

The doors to the throne room are open for the smallfolk to enter for the day; and the huge crowd gathers to greet their new queen.

Rhaenyra arrives later, with Alicent and Daemon in tow, two of them securing her from the both sides in the display of the full support.

The moment the crown lays on the silver head the crowd erupts.

The noise it overwhelming, so loud Luke can scarcely hear his own thoughts.

It's not until a firm hand wraps itself around his wrist and he's pulled away what he can get a grip on himself.

He turns to the man who rescued him from the hurricane of the people and smiles.

"Some festivity it is," he comments idly.

Aemond shrugs.

"Too loud for my liking," he responds.

"Right," Luke smiles. "Want to get out of here?"

And they do, they run away from the noise and the crowd of the Keep, holding hands the entire way.

Their feet bring them to the Dragonpit and Lucerys gulps.

He can still hear the sound of his own cry and the flesh coming apart, he still feels the blood spilling out.

But it doesn't matter, for these are the memories of something what will never happen.

"Do you want to go for a flight?"

Aemond frowns at him. "Are you sure?"

"I am," he nods vigorously. "I know I have nothing to fear if I have you by my side."

Something in Aemond's face breaks, a crack coming open; something overflows his gaze.

He reaches out to brush Luke's cheek with his fingers; a gesture so gentle it hurts.

"Then let's go," the man Lucerys loves with his whole heart responds. "For where's nowhere I'd rather be than with you."

Back in the Keep the young woman stands on the side, away from the sound and the crowd of the celebration taking place.

She sees her older sister dancing with her husband.

She notices her mother hesitantly joining in; two women circling around each other like long lost lovers reunited.

Helaena smiles.

"Thread of black, thread of green," she murmurs. "Spinning, spinning around. Knots forming there were none, so tight no sword can break."

She looks up to the sky and sees two shadows crossing it.

One is enormous, the other is miniscule compared to it, but moving much quicker.

Two dragons taking a flight, two dragonriders united in the sky.

Helaena closes her eyes and breathes out.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you for responding to my call. Thank you for granting us another chance."

Gods are silent, for they rarely reply to the simple pleas of a mortal kind.

They did once, in another time; in the life none of these mortals will ever repeat, as the young woman fell to her death and with the last taking breath whispered:

"Please, let me change it all."

They granted the little dreamer her wish and much more.

For it is not a common knowledge, but Gods require the ones who believe in them.

Gods need to be revered and prayed to, otherwise the God is not a God at all.

They saw the future unfold; being the creatures beyond the time and space, saw the last dragon die and the endless night fall.

They saw the death of the mankind and did not like it.

So what is a single plea of a dying girl to a God?

What is the spin of time for someone who acknowledges none?

The Gods heard the plea and replied in the only way they knew how.

With Fire and Blood.

And with Dreams.