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Chapter Text

He was falling.

As it fell it spun on itself. With each flip the sky and the sea gave way, and the more time passed the more black waves approached and clouds resembling piles of dust receded.
Above him, among the thick black clouds, he could see one of Arrax's wings slowly gliding downward. It looked like a ship's sail that the wind had torn from the mast.

The rain and wind slapped his face. He struggled to keep his eyes open, the sharp drops hurt his eyelids, and his red cheeks were so cold they were numb icy orbs.
His wet hair was a damp blanket against his forehead. His body and clothes were covered in red, Arrax's blood was hot against his skin.

As he fell he thought how amazing it had been to go through the clouds. When he had passed them he had been out of breath but now that the black sea was approaching him he felt that his breath would be forever short.

A gust of wind pushed him forward and a hand tightened around his ankle. The grip was so sudden that it tore his breath away. It hurt him. He was certain that his foot would break away from his body, tearing tissue and ligaments.

He no longer found himself falling.
Still in midair and with his face turned downward he watched the waves so high they could brush against him.
Arrax's wing passed him gently and disappeared into the darkness.

With a tug he was lifted and pressed against a body warm but damp from the rain. He felt a raging heart beat against his cheek. A hot breath burned in his ears. One hand was clenched against his side, fingers driven hard into his skin, as if they wanted to rip it off.

“Vhagar! Soves Vhagar!” exclaimed Aemond, the tips of his hair brushing against Lucerys' lips.
Vhagar... Aemond... no, thought Lucerys as he lifted his gaze to his uncle's face.
Aemond was a ghost in the night.

လလလ

When he arrived at Storms' End, he was feverish. His forehead was burning and a veil of icy sweat covered his body protected by heavy travel clothes. His neck was hidden by the long, fluffy blue coat, but the softness that he had found reassuring as soon as he left had soon turned into a suffocating grip that made his heart beat fast.

He swallowed and spread the collar of his cloak a little, the fresh air was intoxicating for the few moments it lasted.

The wind was cold against his cheeks. Soon a storm would break out.
I hope Lord Borros has the good heart to offer me a roof, thought Lucerys as a small handful of guards accompanied him down the steps.
He shook his head.
No. I would rather face the storm than stay away from my mother.

What sounded like thunder rattled the cobblestones and a chill ran down his spine. He lifted his gaze just in time to see lightning streak across the sky and Vhagar's huge head rise beyond the walls protecting the palace.
His heart began to beat fast.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Vhagar, he thought as he swallowed.
One of the guards gently invited him to continue.
Maybe he is afraid of Vhagar, too. Of my uncle, he thought as he walked through the heavy door and his title was loudly announced, making everyone present aware of his arrival.

Motionless in the center of the aisle his eyes met his uncle's.
He was the first man to notice. Not Lord Borros, the imposing yet diminutive man seated on the throne. The thick beard that framed a plump face but must have been very handsome in his youth. Not his sweet daughters who enchantingly stood by his side. The long dark, wavy hair that fell down their backs. Not the guards who watched him with well-concealed curiosity. The eyes that darted from his face to the tips of his boots.
But, after all, his uncle had always held a certain attraction for him.
I'm screwed, he thought as he swallowed. His throat was burning and the boiling saliva did little good.

Aemond stood by the side of one of Lord Borros's daughters, tall and magnificent. His long hair fell down his black-covered back, the white scar across his cheek seeming almost an extension of the ever-present cruel smirk.

His purple iris eye was fixed on him. His scent, though minimal but at the same time intrusive, was well in the room.
Minimal because I have not yet presented myself, thought Lucerys.
His eyes fixed on Lord Borros, who was harping on the arms of his stone throne with short, well-manicured fingernails.
It must be suffocating for an alpha like him, he thought as he cast one last glance at his uncle.

And incredibly charming for an omega like her, he thought as he observed the young woman standing still at Aemond's side. She was graceful, modestly beautiful and red-faced.

“Prince Lucerys,” Lord Borros greeted him. The voice came out croaky, as if it had been forced through a thin crack.
“Lord Borros,” he greeted, offering a slight nod.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aemond move in place, shifting the foot on which he was resting his full weight. His hands clasped behind his back and the long sword well in view.

Lucerys took a deep breath, ready at last to address the Lord of Storm's End, and his breath caught in the back of his throat, as if a hand had tightened around his neck. A pale hand with long, sharp fingers.

His nostrils were pinched by a delicious, musky, smoky scent.
Aemond, he thought with a twinge of dread.
He quickly licked his lips and cleared his throat, trying to conceal his surprise.

He ran a hand against his sweaty but inexplicably growing progressively warmer forehead.
I should be freezing, he thought, remembering the long journey through the icy winds and cold spray from the waves.
He launched the proposal his mother offered. He let a guard take the letter to Lord Borros; he feared that taking even a single step might destroy that mask of indifference he had managed to wear.

This is so strange, he thought as he deglutinated.
He felt tremendously exposed. He sensed hundreds of eyes staring at him but only one possessed the ability to immobilize him.
I must go home, he thought biting his cheek.

It was not clear to him what was happening. Why he was suddenly able to perceive scents and smells with such ease. It almost felt like he could feel them on his tongue, a light, smoky weight. An invisible presence but one that filled his throat and made his body burn.
He felt his uncle's eye staring at him. It was hard not to realize its presence, the one purple iris fixed on the side of his face.

He clenched his hands into fists and with what little courage he had left he lifted his eyes. When his met his he felt himself tremble. A shiver ran down his spine and only the desire not to appear intimidated before Lord Borros's court restrained his trembling.

One of the guards gasped at his side and his armor clinked.
Lucerys turned his head with the intention of finding out what had disturbed his companion. His right foot rotated a single inch but that was enough.
He felt something damp slip between his thighs.

Oh, he thought with dread.
It was barely a drop, a sensation, but it seemed to be enough to create panic. His heart began to beat faster.
Not an alpha, he thought with innocence that would surely make his older brother laugh.

He hoped that no one in that room had realized what was happening to his thin body.
The guards surrounding him were the first to realize it.
Lucerys saw them stiffen, sniffing the air and peering at each other, as if trying to figure out what to do.

The young prince did his best to ignore the growing desire but his mouth began to fill with saliva and his knees to tremble. Fear and anxiety would soon begin to leave his body in waves and it would be clear to everyone.
Even to Aemond, he thought as he deglutinated.

He ventured to look at his uncle and saw him. His one eye widened and his lips slightly parted over straight, gleaming teeth. The smile more pronounced, malevolent.
The Lord of Storms' End seemed to be the only one ignoring the affair, too focused on his long speech. Speech that Lucerys had not listened to, too caught up in the changes that were taking place within him.

I must go home, he thought with his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Go home, pup,” Lord Borros said, coming to the conclusion of his speech.
Lucerys bit his lip, eager to defend himself in the face of the man's slander.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his uncle take a step forward and panicked he turned his back on the Lord and rushed out of the hall, his heart beating so fast it hurt.

I must go home. I must, he repeated again as he ran to Arrax.
When he rose into the air his gaze was fixed ahead, where he knew he would find Dragonstone.
And then Aemond swooped down on him.

လလလ

Lucerys was a gentle weight against his chest. His face hidden against his black breastplate, his hair pressed against his forehead and cheeks. Red lips parted and trembled over straight white teeth.

The young prince quivered against him, shaken by the chills caused by fear and storm.
Sleep sleep, little prince, he thought as he squinted his eye, studying his sweet captive.
I was not hoping for something so… delicious, he thought with a grin.

He took one of Lucerys hands in his own and brought it to caress his sharp face. The fingers were thin and cold, but his cheek appeared even colder. Slowly he turned his head, leaving a kiss in the center of his white palm. Lucerys' skin was salty and sweet at the same time. His scent, more intense in the hollow of his wrist, made him salivate.

He loaded his nephew onto his shoulder and carefully slid down Vhagar's side, clinging to the long rope net that wrapped around her massive body.
Thin legs and equally skinny arms slammed against his back and chest. Soaked clothes made Lucerys heavier than he actually was.

Dawn was about to break and there was no sign of the storm. Only small puddles and wet roofs hinted that a downpour had hit King's Landing.

I thought I was returning with a Lady Baratheon, but instead I bring a prince of the realm… a bastard of the realm! he thought, sneering.
He walked along the cobblestones, seating himself inside a spacious carriage that had awaited his return from the moment of his departure. The soldiers who were on guard cast looks full of dismay at the sight of the young prince lying unconscious on his shoulder. Their eyes grew wide as his sweet scent invaded their nostrils.

The journey to the fortress was short. Aemond sat atop soft pillows and Lucerys was snuggled against his side, his face resting against his shoulder.
The town was beginning to come alive outside the carriage windows. The peasants were beginning to head into the fields while the prostitutes retired to rest.
Aemond laid eyes on his nephew and his beautiful face.

“I shouldn't be surprised,” he commented, taking his chin between forefinger and thumb.
“With such beauty you could be nothing but an omega,” he said bringing his face closer to his. He rubbed the tips of their noses together, enjoying the delicious scent coming from his neck.

“And you presented yourself for me,” he said with a grin.
The carriage stopped and the entrance to the Red Keep opened before him.
He grabbed Lucerys by the arms and lifted him up, loading him onto his shoulder as if he had been a sack of flour.

လလလ

“Mother relax!” exclaimed Aegon bringing a hand to his lips, badly concealing a loud, tooth-filled yawn.
He had spent the night wide awake in the company of a young woman and a young man, both of whom had had the pleasure of tasting the Usurper King's cock and tongue.
The Green Queen cast her eyes to the sky and bit her lips. Her fingers twisted painfully. They looked almost like the branches of an old tree. Or the claws of a dragon in terror.

Relax! she thought as she rested her gaze on her son, who with his face resting on one hand was watching the other's nails, removing the dirt with disinterest.

As if I could relax knowing that Aemond has been away from home, she continued bringing her gaze back to the huge wooden doors. His youngest son had ridden away on his dragon more than half a day before and there had been no news of him, at least until a few hours before, when Vhagar's immense body had been spotted above the waves.
“You should be more worried,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest.
Aegon grinned and shook his shoulders, crossing his long legs.

“Any woman would open her legs for Aemond. He will have no problem securing the alliance with Borros,” Aegon said, biting his nails. He tore one off and spat it on the ground.
Alicent wrinkled her nose and took a deep breath. She lifted her gaze to her son who sat on the Throne. Aegon certainly did not possess the same grace as his mother, much less that of old King Viserys.

“Sit composed!” hissed the Green Queen, her eyes fixed on the uncomfortable position in which her son sat. One leg was raised and tight against his chest while his back was fully arched, as if he were sliding down from the Throne.
Aegon cast his eyes to the sky but obeyed his mother's order.

The doors swung open with a resounding thud and Alicent jerked, her hands clasped against her chest. She smiled to see her son advancing toward the Throne, his back straight and a victorious smile bending his lips.
The smile disappeared when her eyes met the small, helpless figure on Aemond's shoulders.

Those are not a woman's boots, she thought, frowning. Dark irises ran down the legs of the unconscious young man, and saliva ran down her throat when she caught sight of the Velaryon crest stamped on a thin dagger clutched at his side.
Let it not be one of Rhaenyra's sons, she thought as she deglutinated.
He is too small to be Jacaerys but Lucerys or Joffrey? To separate them is only a year, she thought as Aemond advanced, the smile gradually growing bigger and bigger, almost obsessive.

Aegon leaned forward, his hands firmly on the iron arms of the Throne. His nostrils quivered and a roaring laugh left his lips.
“I can't believe it!” he exclaimed, clapping a hand against his chest.
Aemond returned his brother's smile and brought one hand to clutch the thigh of his capture, as if afraid that a gust of wind might snatch it from his hands.

Alicent's gaze slid between her elder son and her younger son. She had not yet ventured to take a single breath through her nose, but nevertheless the air inside her mouth was beginning to get heavy.
“He presented! Rhaenyra has kept him well hidden from us!” exclaimed Aegon again, bringing a hand to dry his eyes.

Presented... not Jacaerys then, thought Alicent though he already knew who Aemond had clutched in his arms.
“He presented himself in Lord Borros' court...right in front of me,” Aemond said, letting his nephew slide down from his shoulder and then to the floor. He did not bother to cushion the blow but prevented the young prince from hitting his head against the hard floor.

“By the Seven!” exclaimed Alicent, rushing to the unconscious young man's side.
“Not in front of you. But for you!” exclaimed Aegon, rising from his own Throne. He quickly walked down the long staircase that separated him from his brother and then held him in his arms, vigorously patting his back.

Aemond returned the squeeze, sinking his face into his brother's white hair.
This was not supposed to happen! thought Alicent as she stroked her nephew's completely wet face. Her index finger and thumb dug into the flesh of his cheeks, and an expression of pure hatred distorted her face.

Now that she was so close to him it was impossible to refrain from breathing in his scent. Sweet and sensual, a freshly baked cake in front of a hungry beggar's face. She stroked his hair, moving it away from his frozen forehead.

“What happened?” asked Alicent, leaving Lucerys on the ground, his body disheveled and the small figure trembling faintly. A wet pool was opening beneath him, the icy water slowly leaving his robes to soak the Throne Room.
Aemond turned slowly toward her, as if he had forgotten her presence.

“He came before Lord Borros hoping to gain his support for his slut of a mother. It didn't work out,” he sneered.
Aegon clapped a hand against his back, proud of his brother's words.
Alicent opened his eyes wide, her lips parted over her straight teeth.

“And how-how did he get to Storm's End?” she asked as she stood up, her hands trembling faintly. The hem of her skirt skimmed the floor, and slow water was climbing along the green fabric.
Aemond lifted his shoulders, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Riding his dragon, of course,” he explained as Aegon crouched at Lucerys' side, sniffing the air as if he had been a bloodhound. He grabbed one of his wrists and brought it to his nose, pouring his eyes back in savoring that erotic smell.
Alicent threw her eyes to the sky.
“That much is obvious to me,” she said, taking Aemond's hands in her own.

The Targaryen prince smiled theatrically.
“Arrax is dead. Vhagar devoured him,” he explained bluntly.
Aegon opened his mouth wide, his eyes widened in an expression of pure pride. Again he clung to the younger one, shaking him as if he had been a doll.

“My brother! We must celebrate this victory!” exclaimed Aegon, cupping his face in his hands, stroked his scar and then began to walk around the room, enthusiasm overflowing from his every pore.
Aemond rolled his eyes but smiled at that bizarre display of affection.
“Aemond... how!?” asked Alicent, clinging to his son's arm.
He lifted his shoulders.

“I chased him down and captured him. The death of his dragon was a ... terrible misfortune,” he commented, resting his gaze on his nephew's pale face. His lips still quivered, exposing straight teeth and canines vaguely longer than normal but never as long as Aemond's.

Alicent clenched her hands into fists, her jaw contracted.
“He could have died! Do you realize what would have happened if he had died!?” she exclaimed, looking at the little omega shivering on the floor.
Aemond raised an eyebrow.
“But he didn't! And now he is our prisoner! Mother,” said Aegon trotting toward her. He took her hands in his own and smiled maniacally.
“Lucerys is in our hands! This is cause for celebration!” exclaimed Aegon, grinning.
Alicent lifted her gaze to her youngest son but Aemond's one eye was fixed on his grandson.

လလလ

Aemond laid Lucerys on his own bed. The young man appeared tiny compared to the huge mattress. His clothes were soaked while his hair had begun to dry, curling at the ends. His nose and cheeks were red, despite this, however, small freckles remained clearly visible.
His lips had stopped quivering but his skin still remained pale, cadaverous.

Aemond knelt on the edge of the bed and slowly bent over him, studying him carefully and reverently. He lifted a hand and caressed his cheek, his palm warm against his incredibly hot skin. It seemed as if flames were running beneath his flesh, melting the layer of ice that had chilled his body.

With his thumb he caressed his lips. He pushed his lower lip down, studying the straight, white teeth. He did the same with the upper one, revealing thin, delicate canines, totally different from his own born to mark and tear.

Unconsciously he ran his tongue over his own teeth, feeling the sharp, prickly outline.
He needs a bath, he thought as he lifted himself up with a jerk. The mattress jerked and so did Luke's body.
He walked to the large door, opened it and requested the guards to bring a tub filled with boiling water and scented salts.
Reaching back to the bed he caressed his sweet nephew's face.

Stripping him turned out to be more complicated than he would have imagined; the clothes had stuck to Lucerys' skin.
He rubbed his hands together and then ran them over his nephew's skin, applying gentle pressure so as to reactivate blood circulation.

He stroked his arms, his shoulders and then his chest. His fingers left ominous red marks against the pale skin. He went down his hips and massaged them gently. He stroked his thighs and calves, was delighted to feel the muscles dart under his touch.
His private parts were moist, wet, and Aemond pressed a thin blanket against them.

I must replace the guards, he thought the instant two servants entered carrying the tub of boiling water. With a lightning flick of his wrist he lifted the sheet, causing it to cover Lucerys' naked body.

Omegas will be more than suitable, he continued, dismissing the servants with a gesture of his head.
When the door closed Aemond took Lucerys in his arms. Without the wet clothes his nephew's weight was greatly reduced.
He is not eating enough, he thought as he let him slowly slide into the tub. The water engulfed him like a ship in a storm, and Aemond threw both arms into the water, lifting his face above the steaming surface.

“Fuck!” he hissed, passing a hand against Luke's face, making sure he had not swallowed the water full of scented salts.
He's really out, he thought as he wrapped one arm around his shoulders. With the other he took care to wash it off, removing any traces of saltiness and sweat.

And his dragon's blood, he whispered as he watched the water slowly begin to tinge pink.
He, too, should have taken a bath. His hair had become wavy from the water and his body was sticky.

He sighed and leaned his forehead against Luke's head. His nose sank into the dark curls and the sweet scent coming from his body invaded his nostrils. His mouth filled with saliva and the desire to bite into that soft white flesh became overpowering inside him.

After making sure Luke was warm and well washed he lifted him out of the tub. He did not bother to dry him off before dropping him on the mattress; the blankets were already irreparably wet.
Did Rhaenyra look like this when she was young, too? he wondered as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed against Luke's belly while the other stroked his face.
Puffing, he shook his head.
Of course, otherwise she would never have seduced Daemon, he thought, grinning.

Lucerys moved his head a little, pushing his cheek against the pillow. Perhaps an attempt to seek warmth and comfort, or perhaps an attempt to pull away, unconsciously, from his captor's hand.

Aemond brought his face closer to his, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Lucerys breath was warm and his right nostril, perhaps blocked by something, emitted a soft whistle.
Aemond hid his face in the crook of his neck, his body almost completely obscuring his nephew's.

His scent was sweet, intoxicating. Saliva filled his mouth. Slowly he opened his lips, letting his teeth run down the thin, pale neck. The canines brushed reverently against the soft flesh, leaving fine red, swollen lines.
Lucerys muttered, pouring his head back, leaving free access to his neck.
And Aemond sank his teeth into it.

Lucerys hissed, his eyes still closed and his face sunk into the pillow. Aemond's one eye was wide open, the dilated pupil almost completely obscuring the purple iris. Warm blood had invaded his throat, his taste buds exploded, making him shiver so violently it felt as if lightning had struck him.

He clung to Lucerys shoulders, as if afraid that the little one might escape him.
His teeth continued to sink in, almost closing completely, only then, when it seemed to him that his lips might touch, did he let go, withdrawing with a snap.
The pillow was red and Lucerys face deathly pale. Blood ran down Aemond's chin and neck. His eye was a pit of flaming violets.

Chapter Text

“It is a very serious injury. You could have ripped his throat out,” said the Master who was leaning over Lucerys and attending to stitching him up. With steady hands despite his old age he was running a long black thread from one side to the other, bringing closer the skin that would be scarred forever.
Aemond sat in an armchair placed at the foot of the bed. His legs crossed and a book rested in his lap.

“You didn't make such a fuss when he blinded me,” Aemond commented, stroking the bandage with his fingertips.
The Master merely mumbled, aware that there would be no point in continuing that conversation. As gently as he could he concluded to stitch the wound and tightened a small knot, making sure the thread held the sleeping prince's movements.

“Why hasn't he woken up yet?” asked Aemond, resting his eye on the peaceful figure of his nephew.
The Master straightened his back and joined his hands in his lap, hiding them inside the long brown robe.

“A number of factors. Concern about the usur- the coronation of King Aegon. The presentation in enemy territory and the death of his dragon,” the old man replied. His eyes were fixed on Lucerys' face and yet Aemond could see his clear irises resting on him, a mixture of concern and disgust staining their gleam.

“And when do you think he will wake up?” he asked, closing the book in his lap.
The Master muttered to himself, his eyes turned to the ceiling, as if he were thinking.
“With an alpha like you by his side I doubt he will take more than a few days. The bond between you will allow him to heal more quickly,” he replied, clearing his throat.
Aemond sneered.

Careful words, old man. Are you afraid of ending up like Arrax? he commented, hiding his lips against his palm.
“What about those stitches? How long will he have to keep them?” he asked again, rising to his feet.

The Master stiffened but his posture softened as Aemond sat on the opposite side of the bed, stroking Lucerys face. His temperature seemed to have risen but he was sure the Master had already given him some brew that could bring it down.
“One month. With the right care a few days less,” the old man replied.
Aemond nodded, his lips bent in a slight smile.

“His Heat has stopped. I thought the Bite would bring it back,” commented the Targaryen prince.
And maybe Lucerys would wake up, he thought as he bit his lip.
He was not a monster. He would not take his nephew while he was unconscious. He longed to see her eyes widen and hear the sweet sounds those red lips would make.
The Master cleared his throat.

“The cause is the same as his sleep. I can say with certainty that his next Heat will not be very soon,” the old man replied.
Away from home and in that condition... it could take years, he thought without voicing those words.
Aemond mumbled meekly, then nodded.

“You may go,” he whispered with an eye fixed on Lucerys.
The Master hesitated then, at a brisk pace, left the room and the young prince he had seen born only sixteen years before.
Monster, he thought through clenched teeth.

လလလ

“Don't worry! He gets so excited about making you proud of him that he won't be long in coming,” Aegon commented with his face sunk in a cup of wine.
Alicent sat by his side, her nails clenched between her teeth and her eyes turned out the window, as if she feared to see Rhaenyra riding her dragon ready to burn down the entire Red Keep.

Otto met his daughter's eyes and a sweet but calculated smile bent his lips.
The doors of the Council Chamber swung open and Aemond made his triumphant entrance.
Aegon immediately raised his arms, demanding that his brother be applauded for his incredible deeds.

“Well done, my prince,” Otto commented, granting his nephew a nod.
Aemond took a seat on his mother's right and she reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers for reassurance.
“I will throw a big party in your honor!” said Aegon, smiling at his brother.
Aemond returned the smile and almost shook his head, amazed by his older brother's sudden kindness.

“We'll have to save the time to organize, Aegon,” Alicent commented, and Aegon merely raised a hand, shushing her.
“Don't talk nonsense. My brother deserves to be celebrated!” exclaimed the ruler, again sinking his face into the wine cup.

Aemond smiled maniacally, the mere thought of Lucerys had filled his heart with joy.
Otto found himself nodding to himself.
“The king is right. With Lucerys in our hands we have an advantage,” said the Hand of the King, his eyes turned to the other council members who nodded in conviction.
Aemond inclined his head.

“With Prince Lucerys. Don't forget your place, Grandfather,” commented Prince Targaryen.
Otto squinted, stunned by that comment. Immediately, however, he straightened his back and nodded, agreeing with his grandson's words.
Aegon giggled like a little boy, his face resting on one hand and his eyes fixed on his brother, his smile full of defiance.

“Rhaenyra will not march to King's Landing knowing she can hurt her beloved son,” Otto continued, turning back to the Council.
Aegon did not seem particularly interested in his grandfather's chatter. He seemed to much prefer his cup of wine and the long crack across the table that had become a perfect cradle for his fingernails.

“We have her son. She'll find a way to get him back,” Alicent said, joining her hands in her lap.
He is her favorite son, she thought as she bit her lip.
“He will be under constant surveillance,” Otto commented.

“My surveillance,” Aemond said with an eye fixed on his grandfather's face.
The Hand of the King looked at him with thin eyes and furrowed brows. So did his mother, who in turning away ended up sending a few reddish curls to cover her face.

“Aemond your presence will be required elsewhere. You will be more useful on the battlefield than-” Aemond raised a hand, interrupting his grandfather's useless chatter.
Aegon had his cheek sunk against the table and a fingernail clenched between his teeth. From that position he could make out Larys Strong sitting at the opposite end of the table. The little omega was concealed between Criston Cole and Jason Lannister, silent he watched, his chin resting on his hands entwined above his own staff.

“He is my mate. It's up to me to make sure his stay at the Keep is comfortable,” Aemond said.
Silence fell.
Aegon lifted his face. A maniacal smile bent his lips.
“Your... mate?” asked Alicent bringing a hand to her chest.
Aemond merely nodded, the smile more minute than his brother's but encompassing the same obsession.

“You marked him!?” exclaimed Otto, rising to his feet. His palms pressed against the tabletop and his eyes fixed on his nephew's face.
Those present lowered their gazes, terrified of becoming embroiled in that feud between relatives. Only Larys Strong watched the scene with interest, his walking stick firmly between his legs and his hands intertwined above his wooden head.

“That's right,” Aemond replied.
“Have you gone mad!?” ranted Otto.
“What about your marriage to Lady Maris Baratheon?” asked Alicent at the same time.
Aemond merely shrugged his shoulders.

King Aegon watched the scene with the eyes of a child extremely amused by the situation.
For once I am not the family's disappointment, he thought with a light heart.
“He has presented for me. Lucerys is mine by right,” he said, staring at the purple iris in his grandfather's clear ones.
Otto did not look away and Aemond did likewise. It was a hard struggle but finally it was the Hand of the King that yielded.

“And as for Lady Maris... Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, I can have as many,” he continued, looking at his mother who bit her lip, evidently unenthusiastic about that prospect.
Borros Baratheon will not accept such a proposal, she thought as she looked away from her son's flaming one.
Aegon continued to sneer. Nothing his brother had said seemed to upset him.

Otto cleared his throat and let himself sink into his chair.
“We must warn Rhaenyra that Luc- Prince Lucerys is in our hands,” said the Hand of the King. His eyes met those of Larys Strong, who was already smiling smugly.
“I will take care of it,” said the cripple.

လလလ

Rhaenyra sat on her throne, a pile of stones lashed by the wind. She had one hand pressed against her still slightly protruding belly and the other supporting her chin. Her gaze was fixed outside the window, her eyes scanning the sky in the hope of seeing her middle son.
Rhaenys and Corlys were bustling around the map of Westeros. They spoke softly so as not to disturb the furious Black Queen.

More than twenty-four hours had passed since the departure of her children. Jacaerys should have reached the Eyrie and obtained the alliance of Lady Jeyen Arryn, cousin of Aemma Arryn, her mother.

Lucerys, on the other hand, should have returned several hours earlier.
Rhaenyra had seen the storm batter against the coast and lash the body of Tyraxes, who had abandoned his cave to feed on fish and small cetaceans washed ashore by the current. Thunder and lightning had crashed on waves as high as the Wall, releasing blinding and deadly sparks.

Lucerys had weathered the storm, of that she was certain.
He can't bear to be away from home, she thought as she stroked her swollen but soft belly, Visenya's small body was only a painful and distant memory.
He should be back by now, she thought as she stood up. The black dress, the dress of mourning, slipped down her hips and the skirt encircled her feet like a dark pool, a black hole that would suck in anyone who dared to approach her.

Rhaenys lifted her gaze from the map and watched the queen glide onto the dragon-shaped balcony, her hands pressed against the Valyrian steel railings, bent to take on the appearance of dragon teeth.
Visenya Targaryen lived in this castle, she thought as she stroked the iron reverently, as if she were touching the skin of the queen herself.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and her chest leapt. She set her violet eyes on the vast blue-gray expanse; if she squinted she could see the outlines of King's Landing, where her father had died surrounded by Vipers.

A ticking of footsteps reached her ears. She gripped the railing tightly and bit her cheeks.
Too heavy-it's not Lucerys, she thought as she slowly turned around until her eyes met her husband's stormy ones.

The Prince Consort stood motionless at the edge of the balcony, his hands clasped over the hilt of his sword and his distant eyes fixed on unspecified point beyond the sea.
Perhaps he is dreaming of Valyria, Rhaenyra thought as she took a deep breath. She tried to smile but her lips did not bend upward. Her husband's face was tense, tired and ready to reveal terrible truths.

Rhaenyra and Coryls walked behind the Rogue Prince, a few steps further back. The first kept her hands clasped in her lap, ready to listen to what her cousin had to report. The second held on to his staff, his war wounds aching but hurting less as the storm receded.

“Arrax's remains were found on the beach,” he said, lifting his chin and swallowing. The adam's apple jumped up and down his throat and then stopped, motionless in the center of his neck.
Rhaenyra clung to the railing, her back pressed against one of the dragon's fangs that kept her balanced, clinging to the thin golden chain around her waist.

“A wing and saddle,” Daemon continued, painfully clasping his hands around Dark Sister's hilt. His eyes were lost beyond Rhaenyra's shoulder, far from the truth of that moment.
Corlys's staff fell to the ground with a resounding clink, and Rhaenys grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from falling to the side of her support. The Sea Snake brought a hand to his face, hiding his eyes and the expression of pain that had crippled his face.

Lucerys, he thought, biting his cheeks.

Rhaenyra was motionless, her body trembling slightly and her eyes wide open, her pupil reduced to a tiny grain of sand, her iris swollen and her sclera red. She curled her lips and held back a sob. She turned away, her hair covering her breasts and face. She turned her gaze to the waves crashing against the cliff and her heart stopped beating for an immense, interminable instant.

My son… Lucerys is in those waves… she thought with eyes fixed on the black water.
A clap of thunder rattled the palace, the rumbling of Dragonstone's stomach waking to weep with his Lady.

“How is this possible?” asked Rhaenyra as Corlys straightened his back, his eyes glazed and his hands clasped around his staff, which at that moment made him feel as firm as a toothpick.

Daemon licked his lips and turned his back on his wife. He longed to take her in his arms and wipe away the tears that silently were streaking her face but restrained himself.
The day before he had lost his daughter and his brother. He could not allow himself to mourn; all he could do was plan.

Planning the downfall of the Greens and their whore, he thought, gritting his teeth. Just the thought of Alicent Hightower made his stomach twist in a grip so painful it bent him in two. But he remained still, impassive. Only his smell hinted at how distraught he was, acrid and revolting as a vomit retch. Acidic and boiling, like the breath of a dragon.

He felt Rhaenyra pull up with her nose and a shiver ran down his spine. He dared not turn around; the sight of his wife would have destroyed him.
“Two shepherds were gathering sheep for the night, when they lifted their gaze they saw a huge silhouette ploughing through the clouds and fire cross the sky,” Daemon said, licking his lips.

The peasants he had questioned had watched the whole scene, motionless, terrified that they might attract the attention of the war dragon and its irascible rider.
Rhaenyra lifted her gaze. Her eyes were as red as her dragon's flames, her cheeks ridged with salty tears and her lips battered by bites. She had held back her sobs but now her mouth was bleeding from exertion.
“Aemond!” she hissed in a choked voice, the words disappearing into the back of her throat.

Rhaenys passed Daemon and approached her, wiping away tears with the sleeve of her long gown. Rhaenyra let her, her body quivering as if struck by lightning, her hands clenched into fists and her back hunched in anger.

Daemon nodded, his hands clenched behind his back, fingers intertwined and nails digging into his flesh, causing him only a smidgen of the pain his son must have gone through that night.
Alone and terrified… chased by a dragon that could have swallowed him in one bite, he thought, biting his tongue. He would find his nephew. He would find him and pluck out his one remaining eye. He would have done it carefully, while he was still alive, and made a pendant for Rhaenyra.

“Aemond was in Storm's End. The Boar Baratheon is said to have accepted an alliance with the Green,” he concluded as his voice cracked with distress.
Rhaenyra slumped against the body of Rhaenys who supported her. She had had no one to cling to when her children had been torn from her arms, one within days of the other.

And now my grandson… my Lucerys, she thought as a tear streaked her cheek.
Daemon's smell was the most overwhelming but she and Corlys seemed on the verge of overpowering him, the grief of two parents who had already lost their children and were now forced to watch their grandson die.

The doors to the throne room swung open, and Baela and Rhena made their entrance followed by Joffrey. There was no need to speak; the young princes had seen what lay on the beach.

Rhena burst into tears and her grandfather held her in his arms, stroking her white hair.
Baela and Joffrey stood by each other's side. Her young brother had surpassed her in height and now she could look his older brother straight in the eye. He knew he would soon surpass him, just as he had surpassed Lucerys. His hands were clenched into fists and his dark violet eyes, so deep they looked black, were fixed on Rhaenyra's suffering face as she tried to compose herself, one hand pressed against her belly and one to hide her spirited eyes.

Jace will go mad with pain, Baela thought as his eyes flew out the window.

လလလ

I haven't visited King's Landing since my brother's wedding, he thought as he flew over the red city. He was only eleven years old at the time and his dragon was barely big enough to fly him from Old Town to the Dragon's Pit.
Now he was seventeen years old and his dragon had grown huge.

As big as Sunfire, he thought as he fondly stroked his dragon's long blue neck.
Tessarion, he thought with a smile.
The dragon looked away from their course, aiming his huge yellow eyes at the tiny figure of his rider. The wavy white hair that covered his ears, kept short so it would not bother him during training, the piercing violet eyes and straight nose.

He gripped the reins firmly, leading the magnificent beast toward the Dragon's Pit, where the Guardians awaited them with wooden pikes and the ardor of a squadron of baby ducks.
I doubt Tessarion will listen to them, he thought as the dragon glided into the center of the square, raising a cloud of dust high enough to blind the Guardians and make them cough. He stroked her neck and slid nimbly down from his saddle, stamped his feet on the ground and watched the Guardians approach.

“Feed her and watch out for her teeth,” he said as Tessarion closed her fangs a breath away from the shoulder of one of the black-clad men. The Guardians nodded without uttering a word, and he left them to their work, approaching the carriage that awaited him at the entrance to the Pit.

“Prince Daeron, I am glad to see you healthy. A young alpha,” Criston Cole greeted him, however, without granting him even a tiny bow.
Daeron tilted his head, carefully studying the man who had tutored his older brother. He had few memories of Ser Criston Cole but knew for a fact that he had never liked him.

The man had always had a sick interest in his older sister, and even though he lived in Old Town the rumors had reached him there as well.
Rumor had it that he was in love with my sister and that she rejected him… what a wise choice, he thought as he mounted the carriage without even addressing a greeting. The door closed with a snap and the carriage started moving, leading him along the streets of the city. The first time he had laid eyes on it he had believed that it was the capital of the gods; now, it seemed merely a jumble of buildings and old houses.

He sighed and ran a hand against his forehead covered with white curls. He had flown so long that he could not sit composed, the muscles in his back were on fire and his coccyx jerked with every movement of the carriage.
I hope it was worth it, he thought as he nibbled on the skin of one finger, a habit he apparently picked up from his rather absent mother.

In the letter the King's Hand had sent him was written that the king, his father, had passed away because of illness.
And my brother has been crowned, he thought as he looked out the window covered with woven wood. Life seemed to proceed smoothly, but the people of King's Landing could not have afforded to stop working whenever the royal family had some family problem to solve.

Except that those were not simple family problems.
My sister has been usurped. She will not leave the Throne without a fight, he thought as the carriage came to a halt and a guard opened the door.

He put his feet on the ground and his black boots became dusty. He looked at the entrance to the Fortress but found no one to greet him, neither his family nor any valets.
As I had imagined, he thought with a saddened sigh.

Criston Cole flanked him but maintained some distance, perhaps having sensed the young prince's reserve. Together they stepped forward, past the short stairs and heavy doors.
The Fortress was different from how he remembered it. Green and images of the Seven had taken over, erasing everything that bore the memory of the Targaryens and their ancient lineage.
“Tell me, Ser Criston, is there anything I need to know before I meet my family?” he asked with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The knight's armor jingled with each step, and the long white cloak covered his back like a sheet.
It had been less than a day since he had left Old Town, and yet in a few hours entire kingdoms could be destroyed and power overturned without anyone having time to react.

Ser Criston cleared his throat, and Daeron had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Now he remembered why he had never liked the man.
He acts like a prince but the most he can aspire to is picking oranges, he thought, grinning malevolently.
Pathetic.
“Prince Aemond has won the alliance with Lord Borros Baratheon,” the knight said with a smile full of pride bending his lips.

He would regard Aemond as a son, he imagined as he continued to proceed down the corridors. He had no idea where he was headed but imagined that the Throne Room was the obvious place. He still remembered the effect that the huge pile of swords had had on him, the child self had not understood why anyone would wish to sit atop the agglomeration of sharp iron, and the adult self could not find a reason for it either. But perhaps it was simply his being fifth, fourth now that his brother was sovereign, in line of succession that made him feel no interest.

“While at Storm's End Prince Lucerys came before Lord Borros bearing a message from his mother. Prince Aemond captured him and brought him to the palace as a hostage,” the knight continued, speaking as a proud parent would have spoken of his favorite son. Daeron imagined that he and Alicent had that in common: an unrelenting affection for Aemond.

“Was he a messenger?” asked Daeron, halting in his tracks and then resuming moving forward as if nothing had happened.
Criston hesitated before nodding. He too understood the gravity of attacking a messenger.

“The boy presented himself as omega before your brother and Prince Aemond marked him as his own,” Criston explained. There was no longer pride in his words but a sense of disgust, not because of Aemond's actions but because out of all the young men and women he could have chosen from, the prince had fallen for his older sister's bastard.

Oh, poor Lucerys, he thought, biting his lip. He could not even imagine the terror his poor nephew was feeling at that instant.
In war anything goes, and yet, to torture a young omega like this? he wondered as he stopped in front of a large solid wooden door. The Throne Room stood just behind that entrance.

Daeron remembered his father sitting on that pile of swords, a revolting sight. The old king had not been born to rule and yet the crown had been served to him on a silver platter.
The doors opened wide and a herald announced his name.
There, at the end of the long hall, stood the Throne and his brother sat on top, the Conqueror's crown wrapped around his head and a bored expression bending his handsome face.
Aemond and Alicent stood at the bottom of the stairs, their backs turned toward their king and their eyes fixed on the entrance.

He is taller than I imagined, he thought with eyes fixed on his older brother. He towered over their mother by roughly three full span, his long hair fell softly down his back, and his one violet eye studied him with a mixture of interest and caution.
“Daeron,” his mother greeted him.

She has aged, he thought as she approached him, her hands clasped against her belly and her hair gathered in an elegant bun, adorned with golden flowers and thin yellow netting. The green dress did justice to her beautiful body but at the same time carefully and reservedly concealed it.
“Mother,” he greeted her.

Alicent took his hands in her own, looking at him as if she had never seen him before in her life. But Daeron was not surprised; the last time he had met his mother's gaze he was eleven and she was too busy with his older brother's wedding.
He lifted his gaze to his brothers. Aemond had not moved a single step, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed on him, as if assessing whether he might be a threat sent from Rhaenyra.

He looks like our father, Aemond thought as he scanned his younger brother's face. Sweet face but alert eyes, those he had inherited from Alicent.

“Is that little Daeron?” asked Aegon as he slid down from the Throne. He risked tripping as he put his feet on the ground and Daeron of leaned forward, after all, if he had rolled down the stairs and stabbed himself with one of the many swords scattered along the seat, his would have been the shortest reign of all time.

Aegon passed Aemond and planted himself in front of Daeron, who wrinkled his nose, struck by the smell of alpha and wine emanating from his brother's body. He looked as if he had bathed in a barrel of liquor but it had to be just his guts that by now had absorbed all the alcohol in his body.
“Look at you! So grown up!” he exclaimed, taking his face in his hands. He caressed the high cheekbones, straight nose and juicy lips.

Daeron tilted his head, impressed but not totally surprised. Aegon was married to their sister but he certainly fantasized about his brothers as well, and at that moment Daeron had been added to the list of faces he could have raved about.
“I'll have to take you along the Street of Silk! Show you the world just like I did with Aemond!” he exclaimed grinning childishly.
Daeron shook his head.

I had heard he was always drunk but I did not imagine to this extent, he thought as he lifted his gaze to the one-eyed prince who was slowly approaching them.
“Our brother has faced a long journey, he should rest,” he said laying a hand on Aegon's shoulder who immediately lost his grip on Daeron, rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat.

Alicent did likewise, took a deep breath and smiled at his youngest son, leaving a caress on his cheek.
“I'm so glad you came home,” she said, forcing him to bow his head so she could place a kiss on his forehead.
Daeron smiled but there was no joy in his eyes.
I imagine, he thought as he bit the inside of his cheeks.
Did you remember you had a son before you needed me? he wondered with eyes fixed in her dark ones.

Aegon cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.
“I suppose you know of our brother's achievements,” he said, wrapping an arm around Aemond's shoulders, shaking him with such pride that Daeron longed to be part of that bond.
Aemond smiled and clapped a hand against his brother's back, as if ashamed of that display but also wanting to thank him for his acknowledgments.

“Ser Criston mentioned something,” he commented, smiling at his brothers. He found it easier to express affection for them than for his mother.
Aegon sneered and clapped a hand against Daeron's shoulder.
“Tomorrow night a great feast will be held to celebrate the capture of Lucerys and my brother's new mate!” he exclaimed with applause. The snapping of his hands reverberated through the entire room.

Alicent shrugged her shoulders, her eyes downcast and her lip clenched between her teeth.
If nothing else, she does not look happy about the cruel fate awaiting my nephew, he thought as Aegon and Aemond, each at his side, led him out of the Throne Room and toward what would be his bedroom from that day forward.

လလလ

Joffrey had fled as soon as Rhaena had started sobbing. He could bear her tears but not her uncontrolled sobs, so loud that they shook her from head to toe and made it difficult for her to stand.

Baela had shown herself calm, her anger and suffering well concealed under an unyielding expression, like their father's.
Perhaps that was the difference between alphas and omegas. The former were better able to keep their emotions in check. But after all, his mother was an omega and was the most solid person Joffrey knew.
And now that solidity had fallen apart, shattered by his brother's death.

Luke is dead, he thought with tear-filled eyes.
He passed the guards at the entrance to the palace, the soldiers snapped to attention as he passed but their eyes were vacant and their muscles tense. No one had announced Lucerys' death yet, but the guards who had accompanied him and his sisters to the beach must have spread the word.

The wing and saddle had been taken away but not fast enough for anyone to realize what they meant.
I'll take his stupid eye!he thought as he marched toward Dragon Mountain.

Tyraxes, who had sensed his knight's anger, was waiting for him at the summit, in front of the mountain's entrance. The little red-and-black-scaled dragon moved in place, tail swaying left and right, jaws snapping and saliva running down his dry and black lips.

"We will avenge him!" he exclaimed, pressing his cheek against Tyraxes' forehead, which hissed against his chest, spitting steam against his black robes. He slid down the beast's neck, up his paw and clung to the saddle, lifting his legs so he could get on his back.
"Joff!" exclaimed Baela, appearing at his dragon's side.

Tyraxes hissed but recognized his rider's sister and the hostile attitude turned into one of familiarity. He did not allow her to approach but covered his fangs, his lips bent in what appeared to be a smile, his yellow eyes fixed on her.

"You can't stop me! I will go to King's Landing and kill Aemond!" he exclaimed, tightening his teeth together. The leather reins were clutched between his gloveless hands, his knuckles were red and his fingers were beginning to ache. He had not even worn a cloak to protect himself from the wind, and the cold air of Dragonstone was beginning to dig into his bones.
Baela sighed.

"Do you really think you can kill the most skilled knight in the kingdom? And do you think Tyraxes can compete with Vhagar?" she asked, crossing her arms against her red-covered chest. The dress highlighted her delicate, slender breasts, much like those of her mother, Laena.

Joffrey frowned and lowered his gaze to Tyraxes. His dragon was small, too small.
He is smaller than Arrax. And Arrax was devoured, he thought as he bit his lip.
Tyraxes huffed and Baela's skirt moved along with the breath of the red and black beast.

Joffrey huddled in the saddle, his legs tight against his chest and his arms wrapped against his belly and shoulders. Baela bit her lips and invited him down. The brother sighed and slowly slid down from the saddle, letting her hold him in her arms. He sank his face into her neck, taking a deep breath through his nose. He had not yet presented himself but Baela's strong smell was enough to calm him.

She's a big sister too… like Jace, he thought as he tightened his arms around her belly, letting her stroke his soft black hair.
Tyraxes shook his head and the thorns that ran down his neck and back dangled from side to side, chasing away the moisture that had clung to his scales. He turned his back on them and went back to take refuge inside the cave, his knight's spirits had calmed and there was no more need for his fire and claws.

"We will avenge him but we have to wait for Jace to come back, all right?" she asked, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at her. She was an alpha just like her older brother, betrothed for only a few days and Joff could already say with certainty that they would be two wonderful rulers.
"All right..." he whispered painfully.
She smiled and caressed his face, wiping away the tears that had begun to wet his cheeks.

He quickly wiped his sleeve against his eyes, erasing the marks left by the salt.
"You need to train, get better," she said, laying a hand on the hilt of her own sword. As an alpha she had been allowed to train with weapons but, having only shown up four years earlier, she had not had much time to learn.

This is the misfortune of being a woman, she thought as she gripped the steel tightly.
My brothers have been training since they were children. Even if they showed up as omegas they would still have more experience than me, she thought biting her lip.

"We will train together," she continued, offering a hand to her brother. He hesitated for a moment but then squeezed it, letting her lead him down the mountainside and safely over the palace walls.

လလလ

Fuuuuuuuuuuck, he thought as he tried to open his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, his eyelashes glued together by tears and salt.
He felt he was lying on something soft, his head sinking into a soft pillow while heavy blankets covered him up to his chin, creating a cocoon of warmth and delicious calm.

What happened, he wondered as he tried to move his lips. What came out of his throat was a confused mumble. He managed to turn his head, or simply his neck did not hold and his head fell against the pillow, his cheek pressed against the soft pillow.
A large, warm hand rested against his forehead. A sweet scent reached his nose but he was still too confused to remember who it belonged to.

Courage, he thought as he finally managed to squint one eye. His vision was blurred but he recognized soft white hair and a masculine face. A piercing purple iris met his dark eye then, the iris doubled and tripled.

Daemon, he thought as his lips curved into a smile.
I'm home, he thought as he let his body relax back against the mattress. He was back at Dragonstones safe and sound. He could not remember how it had happened but that was his father. He was sure of it.
"Kepa..." he whispered.

An amused chuckle reached his ears and his hand returned to caress his face.
"Go back to sleep, Taoba," Aemond whispered as he closed his eyes, his mind clear of all worries because now he was home and everything would go right.

လလလ

"Rest, Vermax," whispered Jace against the muzzle of his green dragon. He puffed out a cloud of steam and shook his dark red crest, crouched in the dry grass and closed his eyes. His muscles relaxed but his ears ready to pick up any sound.

I didn't think the North was like this, he thought as he looked around. Innocently he thought the land was covered in snow all year round but at that moment there were no flakes or ice covering the ground, only grass crunching under the soles of his boots.

The gates of Winterfell opened wide and a man, an alpha, with thick white hair and beard of the same color stepped forward accompanied by a small handful of soldiers, all alphas, who peered intently at the dragon dozing in the middle of the meadow.
"Prince Jacaerys," the Master greeted him, bowing his head.

Jace licked his lips and rested a hand on his sword, looking first at the elderly man and then at the four soldiers coming up behind him. They were imposing men dressed in black, the Stark wolf towering over their chests.
"I am here to request an audience with Lord Cregan Stark," he said, swallowing. He kept his shoulders straight and his chin high but doubted he could intimidate those men with their full beards and menacing appearance. They all seemed to be the same age as his father, and Jace prayed that his mother had not been mistaken about Cregan Stark's age.

The Master nodded.

"I will take you to him, he is waiting for you," he said as he began walking toward the gaping gates.
The soldiers opened a gap, and when Jace passed them they came up behind him, following him like a group of hunting dogs.

The Master walked at his side, his hands hidden inside his large dark brown sleeves, the chain slamming against his chest and jerking with each step.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asked, lowering his gaze to the small man with the large round belly.
The Master ran a hand through his beard, his fingers caught in the small knots, tugging at the long curly hairs. He lifted the piercing clear eyes and smiled at the young prince.

"We have seen your dragon, we were just wondering which of the princes would honor us with his presence," he explained, returning to look ahead.
The inside of the walls was peaceful. There were busy men and women walking about, some carrying prey caught that day and some who had just returned from the river carrying clean clothes.

Children played in the narrow streets but stopped when they caught sight of the Master and Prince Targaryen. They watched with big, curious eyes, nudging each other with questions no one could answer. Jace smiled at them and the little ones snapped away, going to hide behind their mothers' skirts.
"Oh, don't mind them! We rarely have guests of a royal nature," the Master explained, continuing to walk briskly despite his stocky appearance and short legs.

Jace smiled and was forced to increase his pace so as not to risk being left behind. He wished he had lingered long enough to look around, observing the small massive stone houses and narrow streets that all seemed to lead in different directions and then all lead to the same place.

"Fear not. My younger brothers are the same age as those children, I don't mind their curious eyes," he said and the old Master smiled at him, his small, half-closed eyes above ice-blue irises. His face was a mass of wrinkles but his gentle appearance and thick beard properly concealed them, making him appear much younger than he actually was.

Following the curate they took a short flight of stairs, coming before a thick black door that was promptly thrown open by two guards in armor. The Wolf of the Starks was an imposing sight against the steel plates.
The corridors were warm despite the absence of heating, thin torches hung on the walls while tiny checkered windows gave onto the outside. Their feet ticked against the hard floor and the creaking of armor created a mournful but familiar background.

"I saw no men besides the guards," Jace commented with eyes that wandered curiously. All the men he had encountered had been elderly, perhaps the same age as his grandfather or perhaps older.

"Oh! The men are out hunting. Recently we've had some... trouble," said the Master without elaborating further.
I hope nothing I have to worry about, Jace thought, frowning. He would not have been able to stand the idea that his uncle's men had gone all the way north in search of support.

"Here we are," the Master said as he stopped in front of a large doorway, tiny compared to the one that had given them entrance to the palace.
The smaller the doors, the more they retain heat, he thought as two soldiers opened the doors, allowing the Master and the young prince to enter. The four guards who had escorted them up to that point stopped and mounted guard.

Oh, he thought as his heart did a flip. The smell of alpha in that room was so strong that his knees threatened to give way. He licked his lips and took a deep breath with his mouth, which was immediately filled with the wild, masculine aroma that hung on his tongue.

Cregan Stark sat on the throne in the center of the room. His hands rested on the armrests, his fingers drumming softly against the hard wood scarred by years of continuous wear and tear. The Wolf was not as sturdy as his men, but Jace recognized much of Daemon in his physicality and posture. His hair was shoulder-length and some of it was gathered into a small ponytail so as to keep the unruly wisps away from his eyes. A slight thread of beard marked his cheeks and chin, making him look more adult than he actually was. His piercing gray eyes were fixed on Jace, his lips bent in a smile.

"Prince Jacaerys," he greeted him without standing up, but Jace did not need him to do so to know that the young Wolf was taller than he was.
"We have been waiting for you," he said, planting his feet on the ground to stand his full height.
Jace bit his cheeks and tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

Chapter Text

The ceremonial hall was packed. Tables and chairs had been brought in large numbers, and men and women were toasting, shouting loudly the name of the Usurper King and his brothers.

All that joy was reminiscent of the wedding night of Rhaenyra and Laenor, before Ser Criston killed two people, sucking the merriment along with their lives.
The king was on his sixth cup of the evening, his cheeks red and his eyes bright. The crown hung over his head and it was Alicent who straightened it at every opportunity, smiling innocently at Lord and Lady who were more sober than they gave them credit for.

Helaena was not at her husband's side. The young queen had decided not to take part in that night's festivities; she claimed that one could not rejoice over the death of one dragon and the capture of another, and so, her place was taken by Aemond.
The king's younger brothers stood one on his right and one on his left, their composure and seriousness would have discouraged anyone from making a move against their elder brother.

Aegon chuckled, his face resting on one hand and his face hidden against the cup of wine sweetened with spices and honey.

Alicent sat at Aemond's side, a thin, forced smile bending her lips, clapping along to the music, giving sweet smiles and giggles to the Lords with whom she crossed eyes.
Aegon rose to his feet, legs unsteady and cup raised upward. Daeron grabbed him by the waist, helping him keep his balance.

He is so drunk that even if he fell he would feel no pain, he thought, sighing heavily. He was beginning to regret the quiet years he had spent in Old Town.
They wouldn't hurt my brother, he thought as he lifted his gaze to Aegon, who drew Lord and Lady's attention.

“Tonight we are here to- to celebrate my brother's vic-tory! Prince Aemond!” exclaimed Aegon, and a shout of jubilation rose from the crowd. The lords clapped their hands against the tables, causing cutlery to jingle and goblets to clink, creating a jarring melody that mingled with the giggles of the court women.

Alicent smiled at her eldest son, applauding politely. The smile disappeared when she laid eyes on Aemond. Her son was looking straight ahead, his lips bent in a proud smile and his back straight.

Poor Lucerys, she thought as she brought a hand to her breast. She despised the boy and his bastard nature, but the way he had been brought to the palace, a helpless spoil of war, had made her blood chill.

But this is the will of the gods, she thought as she returned to smiling.
“Lucerys might have taken his eye,” Aegon continued, moving his arm impetuously, risking wine dripping. A few drops went to stain Daeron's cheek, who quickly ran a hand against his face, wiping it off without anyone noticing the red patches.

“But the gods have finally given him his proper reward!” he exclaimed, and another cry rose from the crowd. Few knew what had happened to the young prince son of Princess Rhaenyra, and Aegon was finally ready to reveal it.

“Lucerys is my brother's prisoner! An omega for an alpha!” he shouted, and the crowd cheered with him. There were many who found that new prospect exciting. The son of the usurper had not only been taken as a prisoner but now belonged in every way to the man he had unjustly disfigured.

“Lucerys has had his punishment!” he said again, and the crowd cheered. This time Alicent also joined the chorus of hands.
Lucerys got the punishment he deserves, she thought with a smile bending her lips. The corners of her mouth bent until all her teeth were clearly visible and the wrinkles around her eyes became evident as deep splits.

Aegon laughed loudly and drank his cup in full. The wine dripped down his lips and soaked the neck of his dark green shirt. Chains surrounded his neck, moistening and sticking to his skin.

He lowered his gaze to his younger brother and smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“But we don't have to celebrate just Aemond!” he exclaimed, running a hand through Daeron's short hair as he bit his cheeks, annoyed by his sticky hands. He longed to pull him off but thought it would either arouse the audience's hilarity or infuriate him.

“My brother Daeron has come home!” he shouted, clapping a hand against his back that vibrated under each hit, causing Daeron's thick white eyebrows to frown and he restrained himself from snorting.
I never left. Not voluntarily, he thought as he turned a glance to his mother. Alicent didn't look at him; she seemed much more interested in the cup of wine she was clutching in one hand.

I was a shrieking child when our mother sent me to Old Town to become her uncle's cupbearer and future counselor to mine, he continued, recalling with nostalgia the only friend he had had in those years, Gwayne Hightower.

He is my uncle but I consider him more like a brother, he thought as he remembered the face of the young man of only twenty-two, with blond hair and a slight beard that covered his chin and cheeks. Eyes of a deep green, like the banners of his ancient family.

Ser Gwayne Hightower, unlike him, had not been called to court. The Green Queen and the King's Hand were not to need him.
“Now that he and his dragon have joined the battle the usurper will have no choice but to surrender!” cried Aegon sneering with bloodshot eyes and lips red from wine.

A roar rose from the crowd. There had been many that day who had seen Prince Targaryen's blue dragon plowing through the clouds as if they were foamy white waves.
Tessarion is the size of Sunfire and lacks combat experience...the dragons of Rhaenyra, on the other hand… he thought without voicing those ideas.

Caraxes and Meleys were veterans, both ridden by their ancestors.
Syrax had known no battles but was a huge dragon, little smaller than the Red Queen. Moreover, with Arrax eliminated, the Blacks boasted three young dragons, Vermax, Tyraxes, and Moondancer. Excluding the small Stormcloud that belonged to Aegon III.

But to my brother numerical scarcity does not matter, he thought as he turned a glance to Aemond.

We have four dragons. Three, because Helaena will not set foot on the battlefield, and two of the three dragons have not known clashes and wars, he ran a hand against his forehead, tired of all the useless talk. He only wished to lay his head on the pillow and let himself sink into the world dictated by unconsciousness.

But he was not allowed to retreat, not until his brother gave his permission.
Alicent clapped along with the guests as they shouted the names of the king and princes. Daeron should have felt welcomed, at home. But he felt nothing but sadness.
Aegon returned to his seat heavily, leaned his arms on the dark wooden arms and smiled at his brothers.

Lords and Ladies had begun to create a long line, all ready to congratulate Prince Aemond and to try to get Prince Daeron's attention.
Aegon passed an arm around his shoulders, and Daeron threw his eyes to the sky, smiling at the old lord who had just bowed before them. There were not many words addressed to the young prince; they all much preferred to congratulate each other on Aemond's victory.

“Do you see anyone of interest?” asked Aegon, breathing against his cheek. His breath smelled of wine, but not the sweet aroma when a servant passed by their side carrying a tray full of goblets, no, it was the smell when a cask had gone too long without being covered and rainwater and dust had settled on the surface.

Disgusting, he thought as he kept his gaze fixed on the young men who walked past him, watching him with winks and eyes full of desire, for him and his position at the king's table.
“I guess I don't have time for this,” he commented, trying to get his brother off his back. Aegon seemed adamant, his arm was heavy around Daeron's shoulders, and his fingers driven into the flesh of his shoulder were piercing claws.

“Nonsense! There's always time for a shag!” exclaimed Aegon, drawing the attention of the Lords who were talking to the Green Queen. When their dark eyes met the purple ones of the ruler, knowing smiles and red cheeks filled their faces.
“Shall I take you along the Street of Silk? There will not be a single brothel that will refuse my little brother!” he exclaimed decisively. He pressed his feet into the ground, and Daeron was forced to rest one hand against his thigh and keep him seated.
Aegon looked at him with furrowed brows and a confused air. He was not used to being denied anything.

There are some. But a no has never stopped me, Aegon thought with a sneer.
Yet my little brother seems so determined to deny me this little bit of fun, he continued, turning a glance at Aemond and his mother.

Aemond did not even seem to realize what was happening. Or perhaps, more simply, he believed that by ignoring it he would not be entangled.
Alicent looked at him with big eyes and half-closed lips over straight teeth. She had heard his words and Aegon could not understand what that expression was due to.

Is she shocked by my words or impressed by my brother's dedication? he wondered, bringing his gaze back to Daeron who was still holding him tightly, arm muscles tensing and eyes fixed on the row of nobles that continued to flow before them.
Aemond looks like the king, Daeron thought, ignoring the piercing violet eyes of his older brother.

The subjects bowed their heads before Aegon but it looked like Aemond was the one they were trying to impress. The prince never changed his expression and it was Alicent who gave smiles and dismissed the lords.
“I can find enjoyment without your help,” Daeron concluded, finally losing his grip on his older brother's leg.
Aegon curled his lips into a thoughtful expression and then nodded. He lifted the goblet and a young woman immediately ran to fill it. He let his gaze wander over the body concealed by black and white skirts.

Daeron looked away, disgusted, just in time to witness the exchange between his brother and Jason Lannister.
“You must keep your eyes open with the blood of the usurper!” said the Ser dangling from one foot to the other, his breath smelling of wine and his cheeks red from all the toasts demanded by the ruler.

Alicent gasped upon hearing those words, saw her son stiffen his shoulders and the lid of his one eye twitch.
Ser Jason drank too much, she thought as she took one of her son's hands, the one that had begun fiddling with the black iron knife sitting beside the fork, in her own.
He swallowed and returned his mother's grip.

“It won't be easy to tame him,” he continued with eyes fixed on Aemond's face, which looked at him with a mixture of amusement and condescension.
He must be used to Aegon's behavior, Daeron thought with eyes that darted from his brother's face to Jason Lannister's.

“His mother refused to marry me. Me! Can you believe it?” he asked, leaning his back forward, as if he wanted to look the prince straight in the one eye.
Aemond tilted his head, daring him to move forward again, his hand free of his mother's had gone to clasp around the hilt of the dagger he clutched at his side, the same one with which Lucerys had taken his eye.
“A foolish decision,” Alicent agreed, and Jason smiled at her.

Aemond took a deep breath and bit his tongue.
Rhaenyra would have fed him to his dragon, that spoiled beast that eats only the most prized sheep, he thought as he watched the Ser walk away, reuniting with his brother who watched him in horror, his eyes running from his twin to the king's table.

Aemond sighed and took his first sip of wine of the evening.
It will be a long night, he thought as Alicent welcomed the new nobles who had come to congratulate him.

လလလ

The waves stroked her feet. The toes of her boots were wet and her toes numb from the icy blue-gray waters. The waves had grown shallower now that the storm had passed, high fog clung to the black cliffs, enclosing Dragonstone in a smoky bubble of misery.

Joffrey tried to escape, or so Baela had reported to her. Her sweet son would fly over the sea with the sole intention of depriving Aemond of his remaining eye. Then, when the revenge would be over he would return home, exhausted and with no purpose left.
Aemond would kill him, she thought as she let a shuddering sigh escape.
Another of my sons torn from my arms, and she bit her lip.

She turned slowly to her left and a tear streaked her face. At her side, buried in water and sand, was one of Arrax's wings. Three times as long as her body and so thin it made her wonder how she could have sent her son on such a dangerous mission alone.
Attached to the wing were a few ribs and skin left, Vhagar's bite was clearly visible, a single tooth of hers had been enough to break Arrax's rib cage, and all together they had sent him to pieces.

She brought a hand to her chest, her heart beating fast. The water no longer seemed icy to her; the thought of her son, lost in the current, was colder.
Why is his body not washed ashore? she asked herself, clasping her hands against her belly. She did not want to accept the fact that perhaps there was nothing left to push ashore.

She fell to her knees in the sand, the long black dress surrounding her like the opening of a well. She ignored the sea stealing the earth from under her feet and laid a hand on Arrax's wing. She almost felt as if she could hear the chirps he addressed to Lucerys every time he visited, his hot skin always leaving her son's hands warm and soft.

Now Arrax's skin is cold, and I will never hold Lucerys' hands again, she thought as she bit her lips.
Warm tears streaked her face, which appeared thinner and more tired. One hand clutched Arrax's flesh and the other the fabric of her skirt. A sob shook her chest and she leaned forward until her hands disappeared into the clear water and her forehead grazed her knees. Her long white hair was being pampered by the waves.

A small hand rested on her shoulder. It was delicate but marked by age, no longer as smooth as hers or her daughters'.

“Are you happy now?” she asked as she lifted her red-injected eyes. The white had disappeared and the violet of her irises mingled with the lumpy violence of blood.
Rhaenys said nothing, her hair loose and cradled in the wind, her hand clenched against her shoulder and her knees sunk into the sand.

She too had lost someone that day. But suffering was not new to Rhaenys.
“Now even I know what it feels like to lose not one but two children,” she said, pressing a hand against her still rounded belly. Soon the signs of pregnancy would leave her body forever.

Rhaenys bit her lips and swallowed. The hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder grew more violent, fingers digging hard against skin concealed by black fabric. The queen jerked under her grip but did not retreat.

“Even though I hold you responsible for my son's death, I would never have wished you to experience the same loss as I did,” she told her with thoughts of her children. Laena, who died while trying to give birth to a son, and Laenor, who died because he was deemed a hindrance.

Visenya and Lucerys died similarly, she thought without voicing those ideas.
Rhaenyra pulled up with her nose and ran a salt-soaked sleeve against her cheeks, only irritating the suffering skin.

Rhaenys took her face in her hands and gently wiped her cheeks, her eyes seeking hers as Rhaenyra's did everything possible to escape hers.
“Now your children are with my Laena,” she said, stroking her head.
Rhaenyra swallowed, her eyes turned skyward.

A wave crashed against the shore and ripped Arrax's wing off the land, dragging it into the sea. Rhaenyra tried to grab it but Rhaenys held her back.
“It belongs to the sea,” she told her, looking at the blue-gray expanse with a mixture of hate and love.

She then returned her gaze to Rhaenyra. Her face was red, the wind had slapped her for a long time and the salt had reopened old wounds. She stood up and stretched out a hand to her, helping and supporting her until the queen could stand on her own strength.
The wing had disappeared beyond the mist. Perhaps she would land in King's Landing, where Alicent could touch her son's handiwork.

“We will avenge Lucerys,” she told her as her mind was flooded with images of her grandson. The rosy cheeks and gentle face, the eyes that lit up every time they rested on a member of his family. The joy with which he had looked at Corlys only a few hours earlier.
All vanished.

“Fire and blood will rain down on King's Landing,” she whispered as a promise.
“Fire and blood,” Rhaenyra replied with eyes so full of hatred they could raze the entire world to the ground.

လလလ

Aemond obtained permission to leave. Not because Aegon had granted him permission but because he did not ask for it. He simply stood up and turned his back to the table and the banquet. He sensed his younger brother's eyes fixed on his own back; there was envy and a desire for him to take him with him. But Aemond had no desire to spend time with Daeron. He could not say that he knew him, and at that moment he had no desire to waste time doing so.

Aegon tried to grab him by the long green leather robe but Aemond was quicker, escaping from his greasy and sticky fingers at the same time. The ruler snorted audibly but was too drunk to try to stop his brother by force.
Aemond passed the two guards protecting the royal quarters and with his hands behind his back walked toward his own room.

The corridors were desolate and the music coming from the ceremonial hall came muffled and garbled, mixed with the soft laughter of Lords and Ladies. The Targaryen banners, the few that remained, had been swept away, hidden in some old tower, far from the eyes of his mother and grandfather.

He stopped in front of Aegon's room. He heard the soft singing of his sister who was probably entertaining her sweet children, telling them nursery rhymes produced by her bizarre mind.

I should make sure he is okay, he thought as he stared at the dark wood.
Helaena knew of their brother's arrival but had not yet had the pleasure of meeting him. Daeron had been sequestered by Alicent who had prepared him for the party, ignoring the obvious fatigue derived from the journey. Daeron looked ravishing but nothing could hide the deep dark circles that marked his face and the muscles that jerked with every movement.

She became queen only a short time ago, he thought as he remembered the day of his brother's coronation, which had taken place only two days earlier. And Alicent had placed a band of thin curved silver in Helaena's white hair as well, calling her queen.
Helaena had seemed neither happy nor sad. She had only rejoiced when Aegon told her that he could make it take the form of one of those flowers she loved so much. And so the crown had been entrusted to the best blacksmith and goldsmith in King's Landing.

She will be fine, he finally concluded.
He found it strange not to want to talk to his sister, but it was hard to conceal the one desire that made his heart flutter hard at that moment.
Lucerys, he thought as he walked back down the hall.

He had left him still asleep. He had ordered the guards to bring him food if he woke up and to call him immediately, knowing that Lucerys would be shaken and would need a familiar face to refer to.

The two omegas snapped to attention, and Aemond did not dignify them with a glance. Replacing his previous guards had been his first move; he doubted Lucerys would feel comfortable knowing his door was guarded by two alphas.
He entered without announcing himself; after all, that was his room.

Oh, he thought as his one eye rested on the empty bed. The blankets were unmade, closed in a sort of semicircle that ended with the pillow. It was evident that Lucerys had been sitting for a long time, probably wondering where he was.

He frowned and looked around. First to the right, where there were shelves filled with books, mirrors and jewelry. Small scented ampoules surfaced from one of the drawers that had been inadvertently left open. Not by Aemond. He took more than care that his room was always in exemplary shape.
His nephew was not there.

He turned to his left and his heart jerked, his lips bent upward.
Lucerys was standing on the balcony. His bare feet pressed against the cold polished floor. As naked as the rest of his body that glowed lit by the full moon. His black hair was stirred by the evening breeze, the scent of salt invading his nostrils. His hands were clinging to the balcony, one leg straight and the other slightly bent, letting his back follow a sensual curve that showed off his small butt cheeks.

Lovely, he thought as he took a step forward.
Lucerys had the body of a young man, toned and muscular. Arms and legs were equally strong. The arms from sword training and the legs from the hard hours spent on Arrax's saddle. Three circles of purplish bruises blossomed on each thigh, reminders of his dragon's saddle.
He still remained more minute than Aemond, short and frail.

The Targaryen prince's gaze went up his sleek back and lingered on the bandages tight around his snow-white neck. The fabric, in places, was stained red, a sign that Lucerys had inadvertently torn some of the stitches placed by the Master.
“You have awakened,” Aemond said.
Luke's entire body went rigid. The muscles in his shoulders jerked and so did those in his thighs and calves. He took a deep breath and turned with a jerk that almost made Aemond jerk. Almost.

I didn't expect him to be so lucid, he thought as his nephew's brown eyes burned two holes at the level of his face. His hands were clenched into fists, his buttocks pressed against the edge of the balcony and his teeth clenched with such force that they hissed.

“Fuck you!” he exclaimed, hitting him squarely in the center of the chest with one of the small bottles he had collected from one of the drawers. It was a lavender-scented oil, a substance Aemond used when he washed his hair. He found it left it soft and pleasant to caress.

Aemond watched as the flask fell to the ground and fell apart.
“You killed Arrax!” he exclaimed again with bloodshot eyes. His cheekbones were sharp, in those two days of sleep he seemed to have completely lost any trace of the boyhood that had refused to let him go all those years.

He cried, Aemond thought with his one eye caressing his nephew's cheeks. The grooves left by the tears were clearly visible. His fingers dug hard against the parapet, as if hoping to grind it to dust.
“You chased me through the storm! You are-you are-!” he continued without finding the words.

Crazy, mad, coward, and he could have gone on and on.
He had clenched his teeth so hard that he began to feel the blood caress his tongue. His gums were on fire and so was his neck.
He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what that overwhelming burning meant. What those red-stained bandages meant.

Somehow he could remember Aemond's teeth tearing the flesh from his throat. He knew he had been unconscious when it had happened and yet the memory was there, painful and indelible.
“You called me kepa,” Aemond told him, and Luke snorted a bitter laugh. His eyes were glazed over again and his contracted lips tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to rise up his throat.

“I thought you were my father. My kepa and not-” he paused only because otherwise an insult would have left his lips and for the moment he did not wish to enrage Aemond.
Not until I know what he wants, he thought as he swallowed.

“Lucerys...” said Aemond taking a step forward. And Luke leapt onto the parapet, sitting down on the cold marble, his buttocks pressed against the smooth surface, his hands firmly harpooned at the edge and his feet swinging holding him in a precarious balance.

Aemond froze, hands raised and eyes fixed on the void that stood behind Luke.
Come on... come, Lucerys thought, biting his lip. He would have let himself fall. He would have rather smashed his head against the floor of the Red Keep than be his uncle's prisoner and endanger his mother and family.
“Lucerys, don't you dare-” Aemond took another step forward and Luke let himself fall backward, hands raised above his head and eyes closed, ready to feel nothing but the air lashing his face.

He did not fall.
Aemond grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him backward. The two princes fell onto the hard balcony. Aemond rolled onto his back and held him pressed against his chest as Lucerys reeled, trying to bite and hit him. The more he moved the more the stitches pulled at his delicate skin and the more blood gushed out, soaking the whitish bandages.

“Are you mad!” shouted Aemond, and Luke burst out laughing in his face, his eyes glazed over and a trickle of saliva running down his chin and throat, further soaking the bandage.
Listen to what a pulpit the sermon comes from! he thought as he planted his hands against his uncle's chest, trying to escape.

“You're a kinslayer! A monster! Do you understand!?Your gods will punish you for what you have done! Murderer!” shouted Lucerys, striking his chest and face but without really hurting him.
Aemond shouted the name of the guards, ordering the Master to be summoned and to bring a sedative.

“No!” shouted Lucerys as Aemond got up from the floor and pushed him against the bed, attempting to wrap him in the heavy blankets, pinning his arms and legs so that he could not hurt himself.
“I'm going to kill you! Do you hear!?” he shouted as the Master burst in escorted by the two guards watching the door.

“This is not my punishment! But yours!” exclaimed Aemond as he finally succeeded in immobilizing his nephew, who found himself squeezed between the blankets, his arms pressed against his chest and his legs tightened in a deadly grip that made his ankles ache.

The two guards watched in horror as the little omega struggled, trying to bite the Master's hand, which pressed a soft white handkerchief against his lips and nose.
Luke gave Aemond one last hate-filled look and then, wriggling less and less forcefully, fell asleep.

လလလ

Mother was not mistaken about Cregan Stark's age, he thought with eyes fixed on the Wolf.
The Master had bowed his head and taken his leave, leaving them alone.

Jace had expected to find the counselors hiding in the shadows of the throne, but the more time passed, the more he realized that the only scent present was that of Cregan Stark. Only a faint aroma was clinging to the walls and his clothes, a sweetish scent, a young alpha.
Perhaps his son. No, Jonnel Stark must be barely nine years old, there is no way he would have presented yet, he thought as he tilted his head to study more carefully the man who had not yet taken his eyes off him.

They were studying each other, and Jace found himself wondering what Cregan thought of him.
“We have seen your dragon sail across the sky,” Cregan commented, breaking the silence.
Jace licked his lips and straightened his shoulders. He realized too late that he should have reiterated his own name and the reason for the visit but the aroma hovering in the air and the room shrouded in darkness had distracted him to the point that he had forgotten his manners.

“What is his name?” asked Cregan, leaning his face against one hand. He seemed to be at ease, his back slightly arched, his elbow resting on one knee and his legs spread wide.

Do he really want-? he wondered, tilting his head. Always the world had looked at their dragons with curiosity, seen the weapons they could be, immense and unparalleled but never had he heard a Lord ask to know the name of a dragon.

“Vermax, My Lord ... the Guardians have nicknamed him the Ill Tempered," Jace replied and his lips curved slightly upward. Talking about his dragon always filled him with glee. He hoped that his little green beast was not creating havoc outside the walls; Vermax's lack of patience was a known fact to anyone who knew the prince.
Cregan chuckled. It was a bizarre sound but perhaps that was because Jace had not expected Northerners to be so easy to laugh.

“Do you also share this nickname?” he asked as he stood up. He descended the three steps with a firm but light step, having none of the heaviness with which other lords tried to demonstrate their presence.
Jace watched him approach and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, letting the Lord walk around him, studying him as if he were a delicious dessert or a fawn in the middle of a bloody hunt.

“I admit that anger often dominates my judgment,” he said thinking back to the night when he had punched his uncle and he had thrown him to the ground with a simple push.

Cregan kept circling him, hands clasped behind his back and eyes running from the top of his hair to the tips of his boots.

He wears light clothes, thought the lord as he reached out a hand to brush the young prince's cloak. At the last moment he withdrew his hand, holding back. The fur he wore on his shoulders seemed to grow heavier, as if to remind him of its presence and how grateful he was for it when the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the frost came to bite his ears.

“You are young, irascible...” he commented, stopping at his shoulders, which immediately became stiff. He sensed the young man's desire to turn around but saw him hold back, the tips of his ears turning red as his muscles quivered.
“You are not much older than I am,” he pointed out with a hint of sourness wetting his tongue.

Cregan laughed and concluded his turn, stopping in front of Jace who lifted his gaze, his chin high and his determined eyes fixed in the gray ones of the Lord of Winterfell.
“As I was saying... irascible,” he said, and Jace felt his cheeks turn red. He would not have blushed if it had been any of his uncles making that comment, and he would not have blushed even if it had been one of his mother's allied Lords.
Then why does Cregan Stark make my skin crawl? he wondered as the Lord turned his back to him and returned to sit on his throne.

“I imagined you taller,” Cregan continued, and Jace felt himself on fire. He was aware of his own height. Luke, who was two years his junior, had now almost caught up with him, and Joffrey, who was the youngest of Laenor's sons, could look him straight in the eye without needing to lift his gaze.

“I guess you take after your mother,” he said again with a fixed look on the prince's face. Another factor he had not prepared for was the chatter of the Lord of Winterfell. He did not believe that a man from the North could have that much desire to move his tongue.
“My lord,” he interrupted him before he could let slip another comment.
Cregan smiled at him and tilted his head, studying him carefully, curious about his next move.

“I am here to remind you of your father's oath. Rickon Stark swore allegiance to-” Cregan interrupted him.
“To Rhaenyra Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I remember what my father swore, and I remind you that a Stark does not break their word,” Cregan said with a hint of irritation mingling with his rough voice.

Jace bit his lip. Despite being there for that exact reason he felt at fault for reminding Cregan of that oath. The man confused him; his manner and behavior were entirely new to him.

“Your mother will have my army, and I will be at its head,” Cregan said as he fixed the piercing gray eyes in Jace's dark green ones. The prince's heart flipped inside his rib cage.
Did I get the alliance? he wondered with lips that threatened to bend upward. He restrained himself but doubted that his face could hide his joy.

“But, I want to know your value first,” he said.
Jace's heart shattered. Noise of shattering glass filled his ears and it took him several moments to understand whether the din was real or whether it was his mind playing tricks on him. When the Lord did not move and no screams were heard coming from outside the throne room, the answer was obvious.

“I don't understand,” he said sincerely.
“What don't you understand?” asked Cregan, leaning his face against one hand and then tilting his head.
Jace licked his lips and sighed. All his inexperience was coming to the surface. He was grateful for Cregan Stark's young age because he was certain that a nobleman with more years of experience would immediately take advantage of his uncertainty.
“I crossed the Continent to have an audience with you… this is not enough?” he asked, biting his lower lip.

Cregan lowered his gaze to the prince's mouth. He could not see his teeth but he could see the way the skin moved under his juicy lip.
He is nervous. Can't blame him, he thought with a smile that threatened to break his lips.

“Your dragon has crossed the Continent. You merely sat on his saddle,” he said gently. He could not claim to know the ways of dragons, but he could argue with certainty that crossing Westeros on a flying beast was easier than doing it on horseback. One day instead of three weeks.
No enemies or brigands… just the clouds, he thought as he turned his gaze out the window. If the young prince had decided to accommodate him in his request he would have liked to ask him to get closer to Vermax, study him more closely without the fear of being charred.

Jace looked troubled, his shoulders tense and his hands hidden under his cloak. Cregan was certain they were clenched into two trembling fists.
“I want you to show me who you are without the help of your dragon,” Cregan explained as he stood up again. He crossed the distance between them and stopped in front of Jace, his arms crossed against his chest and his eyes fixed in those of the young prince who seemed to be thinking.

I will not return to Dragonstone without the alliance with the North, he thought, biting his cheeks.

“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked, his green eyes fixed in the gray ones of the Wolf, who grinned, happy that his plan had succeeded. The canines so long and thick they sent a shiver down Jace's spine.

“A hunt is planned for the morrow. A black bear is spreading terror among my hunters,” he explained, laying a hand on Jace's shoulder.
I thought it would be bigger, he thought as he laid his gaze on the long fingers. They were sturdy, sure, marked by years of hard training, but they retained a certain elegance, seemed like they could be delicate in case they wanted to be. His palm was warm, the boil of his skin overcame his cloak and clothes with ease, and only in that instant did Jace realize how cold he was.

“We will hunt together and you will prove your worth to me,” he finally said, smiling.
Jace returned the smile but inside he felt himself shivering.
He had never participated in a hunt before.

လလလ

I didn't think I could hate him more, and yet… he turned a glance to his older brother, who with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and shaky step followed him singing.

It was an old nursery rhyme in High Valyrian, about a prostitute who ran naked through the palace and bumped into the king and threw him down the stairs, causing his death. The kings wife, rejoicing over the death of the old demon, took the prostitute as her wife and made her queen.

Daeron cast his eyes heavenward and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping him proceed in a straight line to his own bedroom.
Two guards were coming up behind them.
How can they take such a drunkard seriously? he wondered, turning a glance at them. They were two alphas, a request from the Green Queen who evidently did not trust her son enough to entrust him to the care of two omega guards.

The omegas who decide to become soldiers cannot have children but I would not be surprised if Aegon could put a child inside each of them, he thought as his mind raced to some of the guards he had met during the day. Since Lucerys had been brought to the palace it seemed that the number had increased under Aemond's request.

Daeron stopped in front of the door that Aegon, but especially the guards, identified as his bedroom. The prince sighed and knocked on the door, waiting for his sweet sister to give him permission to enter.

This is not how I hoped to see Helaena again, he thought as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, keeping Aegon balanced.
No answer came from inside, and Daeron began to think that his sister had already fallen asleep. But after all, the moon had risen for some time and dawn was closer than he would have liked.

One of the guards cleared his throat, and Daeron gave him a look.
“Your sister, the queen, does not share a room with the king when the king is too... drunk,” he said with fear that those words had been too brazen.
Daeron sighed, extremely tempted to bang his head against the hard wood of the door until he passed out.

He thanked the guard with a nod and lowered the handle, leading his brother inside the large bedroom. The blankets were unmade and there were trinkets and phallic-shaped objects of dubious taste scattered everywhere on the floor.
Daeron wrinkled his nose and gave thanks that he had not met his sister in that room.

He led Aegon to the bed and let him fall into it by weight, he sank his face into the pillow, mumbled the last stanzas of the song and fell asleep whispering a name that made the blood freeze in Daeron's veins.
“Jacaerys.”
Shit.

Chapter Text

I hoped I would never wake up again, he thought as he slowly became aware of where he was. It was not long before the memories of the previous night came over him like a downpour.

He clenched his hands into fists. His arms were weak and even simply moving his fingers was a great effort. He dug his broken nails into his palms, remembering how he had clung to Arrax with all his strength.
Arrax, he thought while holding back tears.

Why am I alive and he is no longer? he asked himself as he took a deep breath. Immediately the scent of Aemond invaded his nostrils. He became still, not at all eager to confront that murderer.

I'm not hurt, he thought as he gradually tried to regain possession of his body. He curled his toes and his legs trembled, muscles awakening. He felt a slight pain in his ankle and his neck also jerked with each beat of his heart but otherwise, he had no cuts or scrapes to complain about.

Even in death Arrax protected me, he thought as he relived the moment when Vhagar's jaws parried before his face. When he was younger he imagined that the knights in his father's stories had a lot of time to contemplate their own deaths but now, that he had been so close to her, he knew that the mind went blank and the heartbeat remained the only companion.

He was certain that Vhagar would devour him, but instead Arrax had moved at the last moment, offering his belly, saving his back and thus his rider. The lace that held the saddle fixed had been sheared off and he had fallen down from the sky, watching Vhagar bite into the flesh of his dragon a second time, reducing him to pieces.

He swallowed and forced himself to open his eyes.
The bedroom was flooded with faint light. The huge windows, including the one from the balcony, had been covered with heavy dark green curtains. Only a thin glimmer managed to get through the thick forest to illuminate the book Aemond held on his thighs.

His uncle sat in a comfortable, green-covered upholstered armchair, he stood under one of the windows, legs crossed and one hand clinging to the armrest, gently flipping through the yellowed pages with the other, trying to make the slightest noise.

Luke pulled himself to his seat, not because he wished to confront his uncle but because he did not want to find himself at a disadvantage if Aemond decided to approach.
He pressed a hand against his white-covered neck. He looked ahead and his own reflection returned the glare.

The Master has changed the bandages, he thought now that there were no more red marks mottling the bandage.
Will he have replaced the stitches, too? he wondered as a sad smile bent his lips.

When he had woken up the night before he had rolled out of bed, unaware of the mark Aemond had left on his neck. He had started searching the room, jostling and opening every drawer that came within his reach.

He had stopped only when he had felt a jolt of electricity go through his neck and then an intense burning. He had thought he had injured himself during the fall but then, when he had approached the mirror, he had realized where the bandages were.

He had fallen to his knees, disheveled and frightened. He had curled in on himself and cried, his face hidden between his bare knees and his body shaking with sobs.
Aemond closed the book with a pop that should have jolted him but did not. Now that he knew the sound emitted by Vhagar's teeth nothing could frighten him anymore.
He shuddered and fixed his glowing eyes on his uncle.

Corlys always said that his irises were coals of fire, and Luke hoped that Aemond might realize that perhaps his fire had subsided but was ready to be reborn at any moment.
“Have you calmed down?” he asked him without rising from his seat, his legs still crossed and his book tightly closed.

He took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the door. He knew that there were two omegas standing guard outside. He had seen them the night before and had seen their expressions of horror and fear when they had met his suffering gaze.
Would they help me escape? he wondered with eyes that threatened to reduce the door to ashes.

Probably not, they are too afraid of what might happen to them-they were wrong to choose Aegon as ruler, with my mother on the Throne they should not fear their own leader, he thought as he returned his gaze to Aemond.
His uncle seemed calm but the slight clicking of his fingernail against the book's binding betrayed him.

“I'll kill you as soon as I get the chance,” he told him with furrowed brows and his heart beating fast. He had presented as omega but that did not take away from all the years he had spent clutching a sword; he may not have been as skilled as Jace or Baela but he could have shown what he was worth.

Aemond sighed and a smile bent his lips. He lifted a hand and pressed two fingers against his neck.
“I'm curious to see you try,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Luke sighed and ran a hand against his neck. If he made an effort he could feel where the thread closed into a small knot. It was minimal, so that it did not bother him, but Luke felt it all the same, a cluster of black thread pinching his skin.

“The Mark only works if born of love and I don't feel a damn thing for you,” he told him, clutching the blankets against his hips.
Where will my clothes be? he wondered as he looked around. The night before he had tried to look for them but in the semi-darkness of the room he had been unable to make out shapes and colors. He knew they had not been destroyed during the attack so they had to be somewhere.

“I can't blame you but you will learn to love me,” he said simply and Luke shook his head, as if he couldn't believe his ears. Did Aemond really believe that he would fall in love with him? After everything he had done to him? And Arrax's death was only the first motivation in a long list.

“You're crazy if you think I'm going to fall in love with you,” he told him, looking straight into his face. Their eyes met and Aemond tilted his head, curious to see him go on.
“There is nothing, nothing! that will make me fall in love with you! Do you understand!?” he said and then turned back to look at his own reflection.

He found himself grown in an almost disturbing way. It took him several moments to realize that the only thing that had changed in him were his eyes. They had grown thinner, angrier, nothing reminiscent of the large dark pools that his nannies idolized when he was still a child.

Aemond sighed and shook his head, as if he did not believe his words.
Who knows what Alicent has instilled in his head, he thought as he rubbed a hand against the bandages.
“How long will I have to keep them?” he then asked, looking at him from under thick dark lashes.

Aemond stood up and walked over to the same cabinet Luke had stolen from the night before. He took a carafe and poured wine inside a cup.
“One month,” he said to hand him the goblet, which Luke accepted warily. He brought it to his nose and smelled it, making sure that no substances other than sweeteners and spices had been inserted.

Thank you Daemon for your teachings, he thought as he took a sip. The wine ran down his throat like a river through a dry land. Refreshing.
Aemond continued tinkering with some of the drawers, pulled out a feather and a parchment.
Luke frowned, continuing to sip his own wine. He did so slowly and with small sips, not wanting to risk the wine being too strong.

“You need to write a letter to your mother. Tell her you're all right,” Aemond explained, moving closer until he placed the feather and paper against the side of Luke's body.
He lowered his gaze to the objects and then raised it back to Aemond.
“I will do nothing of the sort,” he said kicking the paper and pen until they rolled off the bed.

The uncle took a deep breath and bent down to pick up both objects, this time, however, he held them tightly in his hand.
“Your mother thinks you're dead,” he told him, looking straight into his eyes.
Luke bit his cheeks, his heart made a dive in his chest.
Will my mother have planned my funeral? Will there have been a pyre? he wondered as he thought of Rhaenyra bent over herself mourning, in a single day, the death of her father, her daughter, and her son.

“If you wrote to her she would stop grieving,” Aemond said as he brought a hand close to Lucerys's, but Lucerys slapped it away. His uncle's skin turned red where it had been struck and a pulsing vein appeared on Aemond's forehead.
“Do not test my patience, omega,” he said in a low growl.

Luke recognized the tone in which he uttered the last word. The alphas used it when their omegas refused to obey them. Luke should have yielded to that command immediately but found himself feeling nothing, only a slight burning sensation that started from the bite on his neck and slid down to the back of his head.

“I will not write To My Mother,” he said, punctuating each word.
Aemond took a deep breath and closed his one eye.
If this was Aegon I would grab him by the hair and drag him to the desk, he thought, gritting his teeth. But that was not Aegon but his mate.

“Rhaenyra could fly here and reduce King's Landing to ashes,” he told him, clutching the paper until it was reduced to a wrinkled ball of paper. Luke looked at his clenched fisted hand but did not seem to feel fear and in fact, smiled at his uncle.
“I will watch you burn,” he said with eyes fixed on Aemond's. He himself would have died if his mother had really decided to attack the Red Keep and rain fire from the sky but he found that he did not care.

I would rather die than endanger my family, he thought without looking away from Aemond's face.
“Would you watch your cousins die? Jaehaerys and Jaehaera?” his uncle asked, and Luke bit his cheeks, lowering his gaze to the soft blankets.
I had forgotten about my aunt's children, he thought with a weary sigh. The last time he had been in King's Landing he had not had a chance to spend time with the little ones. He knew of their existence but nothing more. He did not even know what they looked like.

Aemond sighed and retrieved a new parchment, tossing the other into the flames.

“I feel no pity or sweetness for your mother's younger children,” he said, closing the drawer with a burst.
Luke lifted his gaze to him, his thoughts turned to his younger siblings, twelve-year-old Aegon and nine-year-old Viserys. His aunt's children were to be a few years younger.

“So let's make a deal,” he said, laying paper and feather on the bed again. Luke did not drop them on the floor; he feared something terrible would follow Aemond's next words.
“You write to your mother. You tell her you are safe and sound and I will not raze Dragonstone and your precious brothers and sisters to the ground,” he said with his lips bent in a slight smile and his eye fixed in his nephew's dark ones.
“You wouldn't-” whispered Luke with his heart beating fast.

“Wouldn't I?” asked Aemond, tilting his head.
He would, Luke thought as he lowered his gaze and swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. He had pursued him without any qualms and killed Arrax without the slightest concern.
He looked at him one last time and when he saw only flames in his gaze he forced himself to get up. He tightened the sheets around his shoulders, hiding his body from his uncle's watchful eye, and dragging his feet he sat down at his desk.

“May I write what I want?” he asked as he dipped the tip of the feather into the ink.
“Anything you wish,” Aemond said firmly behind him, his hands tucked behind his back and his head bent forward.
Luke took a deep breath and began tracing the letters.
Aemond stood watching him the whole time, his lips bent in a smile of victory and his one eye ablaze with joy.

လလလ

“I don't understand,” muttered Joffrey, his back pressed into the sand and Baela's wooden sword pressed against his throat. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and each time the wood pushed harder, as did her foot that was pressed against his flat belly.
His sister smiled radiantly at him, the curls that had slipped out of her bun clung to her sweaty forehead. She took a step back and sheathed her wooden sword.

“What don't you understand?” she asked, offering him a hand to help him up. Joff grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He wiped his sand-stained hands and sheathed his sword.
“How can you be so good-I mean, you've only been training for four years!” he exclaimed, putting on a little pout that made Baela smile.

Unlike me, who has been training since I was born, he thought with an exasperated snort.
A figure came from their left. Until that moment he had remained hidden against the cliff, watching his children train. A frown bent his brows as his fingers were wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

Baela bit her lip as her father approached her.
He is the one who trained me, she thought as Daemon stopped in front of her. He gave her a knowing look and then turned to Joffrey.
“Go back to the palace, your training is over for today,” he told him without expecting an answer.

The young prince shrugged his shoulders but did not dare contradict his parent. He gave Baela a nod and walked away at a brisk pace, risking stumbling over and over again in the shifting sand under his weight.
Baela looked at her father and the smile born after the small victory against Joffrey faded. Daemon drew his own sword and pointed it at her, not a toy weapon like the ones they used to train with but Dark Sister.

“You are distracted,” he said before lunging toward her. Baela discarded to the side, slipped in the sand and fell, slamming her chin into the ground. Her teeth dug into her lower lip and a wave of blood stained her mouth and the sand.
“On your feet,” Daemon ordered as he took a step back, turned his back to her and turned his gaze to the calm sea. The waves crashed gracefully against the shore, the remains of Arrax lost forever in the sea.

Baela forced herself to stand up, wiped her lips against the sleeve of her black and red leather uniform and unsheathed her wooden sword. Daemon turned back to her and smiled as he noticed her position.
Excellent, he thought as he put himself on guard.

“Had it not been your brother but a real soldier you would have been disarmed more times than you could imagine,” he told her assuming the same position Joffrey took.
Baela looked at him uncertainly. It was clear that her father wanted to teach her a lesson but if she did not move they could have stayed there until late in the evening.

“Go ahead,” he invited her, and she finally snapped. She moved in the same way she had confronted her brother, the only difference was that her father parried each of her blows and repelled as many, forcing her to keep more distance than she would have liked. She realized that Daemon was not allowing her to get close and was doing so with such ease that her blood boiled.

She attacked again and again, Daemon drove back her blows until, with an elegant flick of his wrist, he left her unarmed. The wooden sword flew to the sea and the waters carried her away, leaving her permanently without a weapon.
Baela kicked the sand and the headwind pushed a few grains into her eyes, causing her to cry.

“You will not avenge your brother if you are distracted. I did not train you to behave this way,” he said, holstering Dark Sister.
Baela bit her lips and sighed, letting herself fall into the sand, her eyes glazed over and her arms wrapped around her knees. Her sword was now far away, perhaps it would reach as far as King's Landing or perhaps it would sink first.

Perhaps it’ll join Luke at the bottom of the sea, she thought as she bit her lip.
Daemon sighed and dropped to her side on the sand.
“If we burned the Red Keep, there would be no need to fight,” she said with searing eyes fixed on the silhouette of the red palace. She imagined herself watching Aegon as he fell from the balcony of his room and tumbled over the cliff, breaking all his bones and perhaps, dying.
Daemon chuckled.

She had the same idea as me, he thought as he turned his attention to her. Her lip was throbbing from the fall and she might have been forced to get stitches.
“Your mother would rather wait and then ... she doesn't want to hurt Helaena and her children,” Daemon explained with his hands sunk in the sand and his eyes fixed on King's Landing.

Baela nibbled her lips. She had not thought about her cousin and her children. She did not want to harm them however if they had died Aegon would have felt an ounce of the pain her mother was facing at that moment.
No, Aegon does not care about his children, she thought with a sigh.
Otherwise he would not have hundreds of bastards scattered on the streets of King's Landing, she continued, hiding her face against her knees.

Daemon laid a hand on her shoulder and stood up, then offered her help. She refused and stood up only by her own strength. She no longer had a sword, but Daemon hinted to one of the guards who was in charge of guarding them. He immediately abandoned his post and handed his own sword to the Lady.
“On guard,” Daemon ordered and the training began again.

လလလ

“Look,” said Cregan kneeling on the ground.
It had rained the night before, and that morning the air was cool. Jace's clothes had been replaced by heavy pants and wool shirts. A thick fur cloak covered his shoulders and arms.
With them were twenty hunters, but not all of them were as sturdy as Jace had imagined. A couple seemed even more frail than he was.

He flanked Cregan and crouched down, studying the footprint left in the mud.
“It's huge,” he said, extending a hand and letting it hang over the footprint. His fingers barely grazed the ends of the palm, and the claws were longer than his middle finger.
“His species never exceeds two meters in height and yet this one must be twice as big,” Cregan explained as he stood up. He emitted a whistle and four followers splashed to their side, noses pressed against the mud. Jace stepped back so as not to be in the way of the animals, who after a few moments of hesitation sprinted forward, pursued by the hunters on horseback.

Cregan mounted on his own stallion and Jace copied him. He rarely used to ride but found that it was not too different from riding Vermax. His legs were not forced open more than necessary and his feet were comfortably resting in the stirrups. Although he had to admit that he missed the warm, comfortable leather laces that tightened around his thighs and often left purplish marks around his legs.
At that moment he sported three circles on each thigh.
“Does it often happen that a bear bothers you?” asked Jace.

Cregan and he advanced to the back of the line, a way to allow him to ask questions without bothering the men and dogs.
Cregan shook his head.
“We are both predators and tend to avoid each other. Bears follow one path and we follow another,” he explained, leaving a pat on the neck of his own stallion who had risked slipping on a particularly slippery rock.

With Vermax I would have no such problems, he thought as he bit his cheeks.
“This one, though, seems to seek confrontation. It attacked four of my hunters, two died and the other two were badly wounded. One lost an arm while the other had a piece of his leg eaten off,” Cregan explained, and Jace felt himself shudder.
Who knows what it feels like to be eaten alive, he wondered and then hoped he would never find out.

“Vermax may have scared him away,” he suggested, thinking of his own dragon, who had been flying over the forest in those two days in search of prey with which to feed. That morning, before they left, he had caught a deer.
“He might. But we have to find it before you leave, we can't take the risk of it coming back to hunt us now that winter is getting closer,” Cregan said as he looked around.
Jace did likewise even though he doubted he would miss noticing a four-meter bear hiding in the trees.

“My lord... I don't think I would be much use to you in hunting,” he said finally and sincerely. He had spent the entire night rolling around in the blankets with his heart pounding in his chest. He could have hunted a deer but a bear was a different matter altogether. He feared that his inexperience might endanger the lives of all those men, and Cregan had already lost two of them.

Cregan tugged on the horse's reins, forcing him to proceed more calmly. He let his hunters continue, putting some distance between himself and the main part of the hunt.
“Why do you say that?” asked Cregan, turning so he could face him.

“I have never participated in a hunt, My Lord,” he said with an embarrassed sigh. Laenor had never had the interest in going into the woods and getting dirty. Daemon did not seem to want to waste time teaching them something that he said would never be useful to them, even during a battle they would have someone who would be responsible for procuring food for the entire battalion. The only one who could have taught him and his brothers to hunt was Ser Harwin Strong, and their father had died when they were only children.

“So you want to give up without even having tried,” Cregan said with a degree of accusation that made Jacaerys' blood boil.
“That's not what I said! But you will agree with me that the chances of me helping you are much less than the chances of me getting you killed!” he said with cheeks red with anger.

Cregan looked at him with one corner of his lips bent upward.
“Wrathful...” he muttered to himself, and Jace felt himself turning redder than he already was. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, coaxing his cheeks to drain.
“The last time my son used that tone with me I spanked him,” he told him with his lips bent in a smile.

Jace had not yet had the pleasure of meeting little Jonnel. The previous day he had had a very early dinner and in the company of the Lord of Winterfell, then he had prepared for the night, had not fallen asleep but his muscles had had time to rest. And that morning they had risen before the sun had risen and the little one was still asleep.

“I am not your son,” he told him with a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. He moved a little on the saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. Riding a horse was easier than riding a dragon, but the saddle was not as comfortable.
“No, you are not, but I will not hesitate to spank you if you speak to me in that tone again,” he told him, turning a toothy smile on him.

Jace felt himself flare up and the muscles in his belly quivered, interested in the situations those premises might lead to. But the excitement in his belly was not the only one that showed his interest. He squeezed his legs together as tightly as he could, trying to conceal his member that was beginning to swell.
What is happening to me? He is an alpha! A man! he said to himself as the blood rushed down his neck and chest, causing him to flare up.

“You... you cannot...!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low. Cregan's scent had become overpowering, as if he wanted to remind him how close they were and at the same time intimating to his men, those who had fallen further behind, to keep moving forward.
“Can't I? You smell good, My Prince,” he said as his eyes ran down Jace's chest until they stopped at the level of his groin concealed by the saddle horn.

Jace looked away, his cheeks red and the veins on his neck full of blood.
The dogs began to bark, and Cregan's teasing smile disappeared from his lips. He snapped the reins and set off at a gallop.
Jace took a deep breath and chased after him.

လလလ

Her heels clicked along the polished marble floor. A flock of servants stooped as she passed but did not interrupt their chores, continuing to walk toward the kitchens.
Her long green dress caressed her toes and her hair did so with her shoulders. She should have gathered it into an elegant, neat bun but she feared that stern look would only frighten their guest and so, she had opted for a hairstyle very similar to the one Rhaenyra wore when she was upset. Plain, no-frills hair.

Her hands were covered with golden rings, and the Seven Pointed Star necklace bounced on her breasts.
She stopped in front of her middle son's room and the two guards stood at attention. They were two omegas carefully chosen by the Green Queen herself. Their scent was minimal but Aemond had believed that the presence of two omegas might put Lucerys more at ease.

They put me at ease, Alicent thought as one of the guards lowered the handle and opened the door, announcing her entrance.

Her son had gone out early that morning, got on Vhagar's back, and set off inland, taking his giant beast hunting where she could not, accidentally, harm the people. Before leaving, however, he had delivered a letter written and signed by his young mate, and Alicent had seen to it that it was sent as soon as possible.

Within a day Rhaenyra would know that her son was alive.
Alicent entered the room with a shy smile; she could hardly show herself pleased with Luke's condition.
She imagined she would find Lucerys in bed but there was no sign of her grandson. The bed had been made and the young prince's clothes, carefully chosen by the Green Queen, were folded on the edge of the mattress. Dark green pants and a pastel green shirt. Embellishing her grandson's young body would be gold necklaces and rings.

Is he bathing? she wondered as the door closed behind her and she stepped forward into the large bedroom.
Oh! she brought her hands to her mouth, turning away abruptly so she would not have to look at her nephew's naked body.

Luke sat cross-legged in the center of the balcony. His chin was raised and his eyes were fixed on the blue sky. The sun kissed his skin covered with tiny freckles. His feet were tucked under thighs marked by three circular bruises.

“I hope for his sake he didn't go to Dragonstone. Otherwise he's a liar as well as a kinslayer,” Lucerys said without looking at his Grandmother. His eyes remained fixed on the sky, his eyebrows contracted. He had seen Aemond fly off with Vhagar, had caught him heading north but knowing his uncle that could have been a feint.

“Lucerys why are you ... naked?” asked Alicent forcing herself to turn around. She walked over to the bed and picked up the soft clothes. She clutched them against her chest, smelling them as if she feared they might smell bad.
He turned his head and in doing so let a small hiss escape. He brought a hand to his white-covered neck and gently massaged it.

Oh, thought Alicent as she bit her lip. The Master had told her about the stitches and the horrible mark Aemond had left on her grandson. The curate had told her that if he went any further her son might have killed the young omega.

“They are green,” Luke said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, the tepid sun warming his chill-covered skin.
It's not enough to keep me warm but I'd rather die from the cold than wear those clothes, he thought, biting his lip. He had been sorely tempted not to devour his breakfast vegetables solely because they bore the same color as the usurpers but finally convinced himself that he needed all the energy he could get.

“What?” asked Alicent, lowering her gaze to the clothes in her hands.
Luke turned again to look at her.
“They. Are. Greens,” he said clearly punctuating each word. Then he turned his back to her.
Alicent frowned and took a deep breath.
“No more clothes will be provided for you,” she told him as she moved closer so he could lay them behind his back. Then she stepped back a couple of steps, until the shadow of Lucerys' hair brushed the tips of her toes.

“It will mean that I will remain naked,” he said with determination. He certainly had no problem showing his own nakedness. His mother had always been a proud woman and so had his father.

“You can't walk around the palace naked! It's unseemly!” said Alicent frowning. Beginning to regret not having assumed her usual stern air, Lucerys seemed not to fear her presence or even her authority at all.

“Those robes are unseemly,” he said, turning so he could take them in hand. He studied them for a long time, the fabric was soft and warm but he would never wear that color, not even if it was worth his own life.

He rose to his feet and quickly walked to the balcony, tossing the clothes downstairs. The rings and necklace clinked around his feet and he began to kick them, pushing them over the edge.
Alicent grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from throwing the necklace as well.

“Stop! Omega,” she hissed in the same commanding tone Aemond had used on him that very morning. Luke clenched his hands into fists. Of course, that voice had not worked; Alicent was an Omega like himself and his will meant nothing.
He turned with a snap, looking his grandmother straight in the eye.

“How dare you use that tone with me!” he exclaimed, releasing his arm and kicking the necklace off the balcony. His dark irises remained fixed in hers, his eyebrows contracted and his lips bent in a pained expression.

Alicent felt herself chilling. She clenched her hands against her chest, wrapping her fingers around the seven-pointed star.
“You who are an omega like me!” he said still gritting his teeth. He clenched his hands into fists and advanced toward her, forcing her back in fear. Alicent bumped into the edge of a piece of furniture and risked falling to the floor.

“But you never cared about the likes of me! You only care about your beautiful children!” exclaimed Lucerys wrinkling her nose.
Alicent raised a hand, trying to interrupt that flood of hate-filled words. She managed to speak only because the stitches tugged at Luke's skin, forcing him to pause for breath.

“What happened to you was a... tragic accident,” she said, smiling hesitantly at him.
He is Rhaenyra's son… these outbursts of anger he inherited from her, no doubt, she thought as she recalled the times her old friend had raised her voice to her. When her impending marriage to her father had been announced her anger had grown even higher.
Luke burst out laughing and a splash of saliva wet her cheek.

“Accident!? Aemond deciding to chase me on his cursed war dragon is an accident!? However, it was not an accident when I defended my brother and took his eye!” he exclaimed in anger. Because sometimes, when he closed his eyes and was on the verge of falling asleep, he remembered the way Alicent had come at him, the dagger clutched in her hand and her eyes fixed on his bleeding face because of his broken nose.

I would have died if my mother had not saved me, he thought as he remembered the gash that had opened Rhaenyra's wrist.
She almost died, he thought as he closed his eyes.

Alicent bit her lips. She still remembered her son's scarred face and the way he had bitten his lips to keep from bursting into tears as the Master slowly stitched him up.
“It is the punishment the gods have chosen for you,” she said when she had regained her voice.
Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Lucerys. They were all capable of chilling her blood.
“Bullshit!” he hissed, and Alicent jerked, struck by that violent word.

“I would have accepted being a prisoner of war but this,” and he pointed to his neck. His fingertips burned with the desire to rip off the bandages and show his sweet grandmother what her son had done to him. He himself had not had the courage to strip off those bandages and note the damage but soon the time would come.

“This I cannot accept. I am not and never will be Aemond's mate!” he said decisively.
I will stab his heart while he sleeps before I fall in love with him, he thought as he clenched his hands into fists.
“Lucerys...” she whispered, trying to take his hands in her own. He stepped back, refusing to be touched by those slimy hands without regret.

“I have been in the same situation as you-”
“Same situation!?” he asked before Alicent could go on and insult him further.
Luke laughed and shook his head. Laughing was so easy for him, perhaps it was easier than crying and showing off all his weaknesses.

“You married a king who as much as you might dislike never treated you with anger or contempt. You've been more queen by the side of Grandfather Viserys than by the side of any other king and you even have the nerve to complain, to say we're alike?” he asked, gritting his teeth so hard his gums bled. He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her away, hard enough to make her flinch but not hard enough to make her fall.

“I don't want to listen to you anymore,” he said, turning his back on her. He walked to the balcony and sat down in the same spot where he stood just before. He crossed his legs and stroked the bruises left by Arrax's saddle.
Maybe if I pressed them hard enough I could force them to stay, he thought as he tightened his fingers around each circle. But his fingers were not long enough to complete the entire circumference of his thigh.

“I don't want to see you again, and I wish you wouldn't visit me. If you have any respect for my condition you will respect my request,” he said without looking at her, his eyes fixed on the distant sea. If he tried hard enough he could even see the outline of Dragonstone. His mother's castle was still standing, tall and magnificent. Safe.
Alicent straightened her back and pressed a hand against Lucerys' stricken shoulder. Her skin burned.

“Lucerys...” she whispered.
“Go away!” he shouted, grabbing the only ring that had been saved from her fury and throwing it against the Green Queen's chest. The golden band struck her like an arrow, and she recoiled and fled the room.
She closed the door behind her with a resounding click. The guards were motionless but it was clear that they had heard every word; after all, Lucerys had not taken the care to keep his voice low.

Alicent swallowed and took a deep breath.
As she walked away she met one of the servants she had chosen to serve Lucerys. She ordered her to head to the tailor and bring more clothes to the prince's room. All strictly green.
I want to see how long he will continue with these tantrums, she thought as she walked away at a brisk pace.

လလလ

He found Rhaenyra lying on the ground. Her body bent on her side, her eyes closed and her cheeks wet, streaks of salt had marked her cheeks. The sun had been down for several hours and she had not shown up for dinner.

He placed the steaming tray of food on a low cabinet and knelt by her side, brushing her hair away from her face. He lifted her from the floor gently and kissed her forehead and cheeks.
“We will avenge him,” he promised her by laying her on the soft bed, lifting the sheets and covering her up to her chin. He left a caress on her white hair and then kissed her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin against his hot lips.

“I promise,” he told her with blazing eyes fixed on the skyline of King's Landing.
In the night, Caraxes' cry reached the bay.

လလလ

“Tell me little brother, what was it like growing up in Old Town? You know, I think I would have preferred it instead of staying here... our mother can be... suffocating,” Aegon said, taking a sip from his goblet.
They stood in the room that king and queen used to share. Also with them were Helaena and the twins. Jaehaera was clasped in her mother's arms while Jaehaerys had climbed up his uncle's legs, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

Daeron only had eyes for the off-white-haired child. The little wooden dragon he held in one pudgy hand went slamming against his chest, mimicking a low roar.
Adorable, he thought as he watched Jaehaera getting her long braids that were wrapped around her head untied.

“Aegon, I think Daeron would much rather have grown up beside his family,” Helaena said as she looked at him from under thick white lashes.
Daeron smiled at her. Despite the fact that many described her as strange and clueless, his sister seemed the healthiest of her entire family.

Aegon huffed and cast his eyes to the sky. He lifted a hand and squeezed one of Jaehaera's long locks between his fingers, using it to tickle her neck and cheeks. The little girl burst out laughing, trying to push her parent's hand away.
“Not our family,” he commented, and Daeron could not blame him. Although he found it sweet the way Aegon acted around his own children. He seemed to dislike their sister particularly, but the twins were always treated with sweetness and joy.

"I can't say I have deep feelings for our mother, after all, she abandoned me as soon as I came out of her womb," he commented, taking in turn a sip of wine.
Jaeaherys extended a hand toward the cup, and Daeron allowed him to take a small sip.

The wine was not sweetened so that even children could drink it, and in fact his nephew twisted his nose and curled his lips, expressing a disgusted expression.
Aegon burst out laughing and ran a hand through his son's hair, who smiled at him, a tooth missing.

"Rumor has it that our uncle has taken you under his wing," Helaena commented once she had finished undoing her daughter's braids. Jaehaera smiled at her and ran a hand through her hair, blushing when her uncle smiled back.
She is at that age when familial love and romantic love match... although for our family there is no difference, Daeron thought as he sipped once more from his goblet.

"Uncle Gwayne is the only family I ever had," he said without fear that he might hurt his brothers. After all, this was the second time he had met them. Perhaps it was the third for them; it all depended on whether they had known him as soon as he came into the world or whether his mother had sent him to Old Town even before he could utter his first wail.
"Uncle Gwayne... they say he doesn't look like our mother," Aegon commented as Jaeahera climbed into his lap, using his shoulder as if it were the most comfortable of pillows.

"In fact, he doesn't look like her, and he doesn't look like our grandfather either. I think he inherited his looks from our grandmother," he said, however, without being able to be certain. There were no pictures of Alicent's mother.
A soft knock distracted them from the conversation and two nannies entered the room, ready to take the princes to bed. Helaena thanked them while Aegon merely looked at them with ill-concealed lust.
The shred of sweetness that Daeron had felt for his brother disappeared.

"I'm retiring, too," Helaena said. She bent down to kiss her younger brother's cheek and locked herself in the bedroom, completely ignoring her brother-husband.
Aegon rolled his eyes but did not seem particularly saddened by being brutally ignored by his bride.

"Aegon... why did Aemond take Lucerys as his mate?" he asked after interminable moments of silence. He knew the background of what had happened that fateful night in Driftmark therefore, he found it absurd that Aemond had decided to mark Lucerys.
Aegon pressed a hand against his forehead and lifted his shoulders.

"Who understands our brother is either a clever man or a fool," he commiserated, crossing his legs. He stretched and his shoulders emitted resounding pops.
The Throne is more uncomfortable than I imagined, he thought, yawning sonorously.

"It could be a twisted way to get back at him or he has simply fallen in love after all," and he tapped a finger against the tip of his nose.
"It only takes a good smell to make us capitulate to the ground," he said with a grin.

And I guess Helaena doesn't do that to you, he thought to himself, running a hand against his forehead. He missed Old Town but the presence of his sister and nephews made his stay less painful.
"And our nephews have always had something… attractive," Aegon commented with eyes turned skyward and a dreamy manner.

Daeron thought back to the name his brother had whispered before falling asleep.
"Jacaerys," he muttered with eyes fixed on his own. That was enough to set him off. Aegon rose with unheard-of swiftness, grabbed the dagger he held tightly at his side and pointed it straight at his throat, one hand pressed to the side of his face and his nose brushing against his.

"Why do you care about Jacaerys?" asked Aegon, tilting his head, studying him as if trying to read through his eyes. Daeron clung to the armrests and swallowed, lifting his chin and thrusting his face forward, feeling the blade scratching his skin. Aegon did not flinch or give any sign of wanting to withdraw the dagger.

"You whispered it before you fell asleep. I'm just curious, why do you care so much about our nephew?" he asked, posing his own question again.
Aegon seemed to reason with him and then let him go, returning to his seat with a soothing snort and sigh.
Of course, Daeron has never met our nephews, he's just curious, he muttered, licking his lips.

"I like him," he said simply. He took a sip of wine and then another, loosening the tongue that tended to be stiff when in the presence of his children.
"He's so... right, perfect, devoid of any flaws that breaking him must be a real treat," he said, gritting his teeth and smiling grimly.

Daeron wrinkled his nose but tried to acquire a neutral expression as soon as possible; he did not want to risk having the dagger shoved down his throat.
"I want him for myself. I want to destroy him piece by piece until he looks like-" he interjected but Daeron understood instantly.

Until he looks like you, he thought with a pained sigh. At that moment he was glad he had grown up in Old Town; he did not like the madness the Red Keep conveyed to its inhabitants.
"What about you, my sweet brother? Does your heart care about anyone ?" he asked, pressing a finger against his chest.
Daeron merely shook his head.
Aegon sneered.

"Well, we have three nephews, maybe little Joffrey could melt your heart of ice," he commented, starting to laugh madly.
Daeron sighed and leaned his face against one hand.
He missed the tranquility of Old Town.

Chapter Text

Damn, he thought as his eyes met his uncle's lilac one.
There isn't a day I don't wake up with him by my side, he thought as his back was brutally turned to him, his face sunk into the pillow and his eyes half-closed, facing the hardwood door.

That day Aemond didn't sit in the comfortable reading chair but was lying beside him on the bed, his back against a pillow folded in on itself and his barefoot, ankles crossed and a book, different from the previous day's, clutched in his hands.
His hair is not as tidy as it was yesterday, he thought as he gave him a dirty look.

I hope he doesn't sleep soundly, he commented as he snuggled into the sheets. It had rained that night and the temperatures had dropped drastically, chilling the icy wind that came in through one of the open windows.

He's doing this on purpose, he thought as he curled in on himself.
Gray clouds mottled the sky, and perhaps it would start raining again that afternoon.
"You've woken up," Aemond commented as he turned the page. The yellow paper rubbed between his long fingers, rippling over the weather-marked corners.
Luke cast his eyes to the sky and curled his toes, trying to warm them without showing his uncle how cold he was.

"You don't have to stay with me, in fact, why don't you leave and torment someone else?" he asked, clutching his knees against his chest. A new green suit had been hung on the wall, and Luke wrinkled his nose, torn between turning to his uncle so he wouldn't have to see that horrible color or continuing to look at it so he wouldn't have to see his uncle.

Aemond chuckled and turned a new page.
"I think you'd rather have me here, considering the other option is to raze Dragonstone to the ground," Aemond commented without lifting his eye from his own reading.

Luke snapped even before he could think of a plan of action, kicked the book away and sat down on Aemond's thighs, stretching his hands toward Aemond's slender neck; he would have squeezed it until it blocked his breath.

But Aemond was quicker than he expected and grabbed his wrists, preventing him from both strangling and pulling away from him. He let the one eye run down his neck and thin chest, the muscles in his belly were undefined but toned, and so were his soft thighs that tried to lift him off his legs. He noticed the three bruises marking his thighs and remembered that Aegon wore similar ones.

The mark of Arrax, he thought as he lowered his gaze to his own belly. He, like all knights of great dragons, had a belt that wrapped around his hips and held him in place.
"Let go!" exclaimed Lucerys trying, in vain, to free his wrists from his uncle's long, cold fingers.

"I expected you to be wetter," he commented with eyes fixed on his resting member, his intimacy and buttocks rubbing against the fabric of his dark green, almost black, pants.

Luke froze, completely paralyzed by that comment. His heart missed a beat and then began to beat faster as he went back to moving, planting his knees against the mattress and tugging at his arms. Stuck as he was, he was unable to regain his balance, so he snapped forward, hitting Aemond's nose with his own forehead. A dastardly trick his older brother had taught him.

"Fuck!" cried Aemond, letting him go.
Luke rose to his feet, tripped over his uncle's legs, and rolled off the bed, moving as far away as he could until he reached the balcony and pressed his back against the cold glass windows.

Aemond had one hand pressed against his face and blood flowed copiously through his fingers, sliding down his arm, soaking his green clothes.
He should have been worried about his uncle's reaction but all he could think of was his comment.
I shouldn't even be wet! he thought as he placed a hand between his thighs. He felt them moist and hot. The slickness on Aemond's pants did not lie.

“Get away from me!" he exclaimed as Aemond approached him with a quick step, his hand pressed against his bleeding but not broken nose and his other trying to grab it. Luke sprinted toward the door, risked tripping over the sheets that had fallen off the bed as he hurriedly got up and grabbed hold of the handle, opening it decisively.

He went crashing into a sturdy chest and warm hands rested on his hips, preventing him from falling forward and fleeing down the hall.
"Well! If that isn't a sight!" commented a voice Lucerys was more than familiar with. He lifted his gaze, certain to meet his uncle's brazen face but meeting his own were a different pair of irises, sweet and surprised.

He looks like Helaena, he thought as he looked away to focus on Aegon who stood a step back, one hand resting on the shoulder of one of the two guards and his eyes sliding languidly down his nephew's body.

He hit the hands that gently gripped his hips, and the stranger immediately lost his grip. Luke flinched back, eventually crashing into Aemond's body, a drop of blood falling on his shoulder, sliding down his chest and belly, eventually stopping between the dark wisps of his groin.

"Brother! You won't even allow him to dress himself? Perverse," Aegon commented while keeping his eyes fixed on Lucerys' manhood, which refused, though he felt the desire, to cover himself.

Let him look, I don't care, he thought as he tried to move away from Aemond, approaching the omega guard and the white-haired stranger.
"He has clothes but refuses to wear them," Aemond growled with his hand still pressed against the nose that had stopped bleeding. When he pushed his fingers away Luke felt a strong sense of pride. His face was flecked with red, his nose was swollen, and a cut opened on the thin bridge.

"Nephew! Let me introduce you to your Uncle Daeron, just think, he's only two years older than you!" said Aegon approaching so he could clap a hand against his younger brother's shoulder.
Daeron... of course, what a fool, he thought as he lifted his eyes to his uncle who ran a hand against his forehead, obviously upset and embarrassed by his own brothers.

"He is only one year older than Lucerys," Aemond corrected him, and Aegon brought a hand to his chin, reflecting.
Daeron sighed again and slipped his coat off his shoulders, handing it to his nephew.

Luke looked at him with furrowed brows and curled lips, in the end, however, he was forced to accept the offer. The floor was cold against his feet and the air in the hallway was chilly compared to that in his room.

"What a gentleman," Aegon commented as he continued to sneer. He rolled his eyes as Luke tucked his body to his waist, his hands sinking against the long sleeves and the hem of his coat brushing against his ankles.
"Someone must be," Daeron said, hinting at the hand his brother still clasped around the young guard's shoulder. Aegon huffed but let go of the soldier who imperceptibly relaxed his shoulders.

"What happened to your face?" asked Aegon, fixing the piercing violet eyes on his brother's red nose.
Aemond cast his eyes to the sky and fixed the iris on Lucerys' face, who grinned in response.

He wondered if he might attempt to escape but doubted he could get past the three Targaryen brothers and the two guards in obvious discomfort. The omegas kept their heads down; the smell of alpha was so strong it could have nauseated anyone.
Not Lucerys.

The prince remained motionless as Aegon burst out laughing, clapping his hand against the shoulder of the young omega he had been tormenting just moments before.
Aemond gritted his teeth and took a deep breath from his mouth. He grabbed Lucerys by the arm and flung him inside the room. The young man managed to keep his balance but was forced to cling to the wall to keep from falling to the floor.

Asshole, he thought as he squeezed into his Uncle Daeron's black coat. The youngest of the three brothers looked at him with a mixture of pity and curiosity, his gaze shifting from his face to his brother's.
"Why won't he wear his own clothes?" asked Daeron as Aegon continued to laugh. It was late in the morning but he did not doubt that his older brother was already drunk.
Aemond opened his mouth but Luke was quicker.

"They're green!" he exclaimed before grabbing the robes provided by the Green Queen and approaching the balcony at full speed.
"Lucerys don't you dare!" hissed Aemond in the same authoritative tone as the day before. Again it had no effect on his nephew's mind; it only succeeded in infuriating him more.

He opened the French window and stepped out onto the wet balcony. He risked slipping but managed to hold himself up by clinging to the parapet. He looked down to where the muddy earth seemed eager to welcome his green gift.

He sneered and let his clothes plummet to the ground, hitting a guard who was passing by. The man jerked and tore the clothes off himself, looking at them with a mixture of confusion and astonishment. He lifted his gaze to the balcony and Luke greeted him with a wave of his hand, moving his long fingers repeatedly and quickly.

Aemond grabbed him by the shoulder, the same side where his mark stood, and Luke jerked. He dragged him inside the room and closed the door behind him. The glass shuddered under the incredible pressure.
Aegon was clinging to the door, his back bent and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He laughed wildly as the guards gave each other strange looks.

Daeron had ventured more than a few steps inside his brother's room and was horrified to see the way Aemond was holding Lucerys. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the bandages that were wrapping their nephew's neck as he wriggled and hissed, his eyes glazed over but refusing to cry.

"Aemond, leave him!" exclaimed Daeron as he approached the two.
"What!?" demanded Aemond, fixing his glowing eye on his brother's face, which was immobilized by that lilac iris.
Daeron was forced to suppress a shudder. He swallowed and hinted at Aemond's hand.
"The mark..." he said in a lower tone than he would have hoped.

Aemond squinted, lowered his gaze, and immediately lost his grip, letting go of Lucerys, who stepped back, clutching that part of his skin that was already so tormented between his fingers.
Aegon had stopped laughing, his eyes fixed on the scene.

"Shit," Aemond whispered, trying to move closer to Lucerys, who, however, chased him away with a direct slap to his right hand, hissing like a small viper flushed from its hiding place. The scent of struggling omega escaped in waves from Luke's body as he bit his lips, refusing to bend over himself to vomit the bile boiling in his stomach.

"Get away from me!" he hissed, breathing heavily.
"Get him some black clothes," mumbled Daeron before walking away with his tail between his legs and his eyes downcast. He passed by the side of his older brother who sneered, remaining leaning against the door.

"Careful... he might decide to steal it from you," Aegon commented as his younger brother walked off at a brisk pace down the deserted hallway.
Aemond emitted a low growl and Aegon grinned again.
"Our mother is looking for you," he said before walking away from the door, stroked the chin of one of the two guards and walked away whistling cheerfully.

လလလ

She caressed the red sealing wax. Her new seal, Targaryen, Velaryon and Arryn, looked at her with fascination.
She sighed wearily, the small parchment fit in the palm of her hand. It had taken her hours to write that letter, she had torn hundreds of sheets and crumpled up a thousand more. She simply could not write to her son.

Telling him that Luke is dead, she thought, restraining herself from breaking down in tears again. Three days had passed and yet it seemed that not a second had passed since Arrax's wing had been washed ashore by the current.
Rhaenys stood at her side in front of the map of Westeros, one hand pressed against her shoulder while her eyes were fixed on the Master of the Ravens, the one who handled correspondence from all parts of the realm. The man waited patiently for the Black Queen to make up her mind to say goodbye to that parchment she was clutching tightly.

She will risk breaking the seal, she thought as she stroked Rhaenyra's back in concentric movements. No one but Corlys had been at her side since the deaths of Laena and Laenor. Nor had her husband offered her much comfort, preferring to focus on his new heir rather than mourn the fallen one.

Daemon was motionless at the other end of the table, the Councilors still with their backs pressed against the black walls. They waited for their queen to speak but Rhaenyra was silent, mourning.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and handed the scroll to Rhaenys. She thanked her with a nod and approached the Master of Crows, taking a few moments to study the small missive.

The man extended a hand toward her and Baela burst into the room, her hair falling around her face and her breath heavy. She held a scroll in one hand, which had probably arrived as the Master had left his post on the tower.
Baela had been waiting for days for a letter from Jacaerys.

"It's from King's Landing!" she said, breathing rapidly.
Rhaenys' hand snapped back, clutching the parchment between long, age-scarred fingers. She approached Rhaenyra and Baela did likewise, stepping past her father, who looked at her with intense, curious eyes.

Rhaenyra took the missive from her daughter's hands, staring at the seal. She licked her lips and broke the seal, unrolling the letter with swiftness.
The Council became attentive, their busts stretched forward and their ears open, ready to catch every whisper.
Rhaenyra ran her gaze along the letters and only halfway through the first word did she realize that that was handwriting well known to her. Tremendous and full of subtle curves.

"Lucerys..." she whispered as she lowered the parchment, bringing it closer to the fire that glowed beneath the map. She let the flames illuminate the yellow paper as Baela leaned over the letter, reading along with her mother.
"What?" asked Lord Corlys flanking Daemon, his staff firmly fixed in one hand and his eyes darting from the queen's face to his wife's.

Daemon stood motionless, his eyes wide and his lips half-closed above his white teeth.
Lucerys? he wondered, confused and hopeful.
"It’s Lucerys' handwriting," Rhaenyra said as her eyes caressed the delicately curved letters, much like his own in calligraphy.

The cane trembled in Corlys' hands. The old sailor took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying to hold back tears.
Daemon had gone rigid at his side, his hands pressed against the black stone map, completely unaware of the flames simmering beneath the surface.

"It is impossible for anything to have survived Vhagar's attack," Corlys said in an increasingly less certain tone. He longed to believe that his grandson was alive, but everyone in that room had seen Arrax's dismembered body. His white ribs and wings broken by teeth so sharp they could split a ship in half.

"Unheard of but not impossible," Daemon commented with muscles quivering, eager to hear what Lucerys had to communicate to him.
He’s prisoner of the Greens, he thought now that the joy was waning.
Rhaenyra licked her lips and read slowly and carefully, allowing everyone in the room to hear her words clearly. Normally the queen would not be the one to read the enemy's correspondence, but no one had the heart to snatch from her the words of a son she believed to be dead.

My sweet mother,
I would rather have fallen with my dragon than write to you from a Green and Gold cage.
Aemond chased me over the Shipwrecked Bay. I tried to lose him but Vhagar, his cursed beast, was too skillful for my sweet Arrax.
Arrax protected me until the last moment. Vhagar's teeth severed the saddle and I fell into the sea. Aemond found me and took me prisoner.

Daemon took a deep breath, forcing Rhaenyra to stop reading. His sweet wife seemed shaken but the joy of knowing her son was alive seemed to keep her from breaking down. Her body trembled but her voice was firm, her eyes glazed not with tears but with anger.
Oh, Lucerys… thought Baela, unable to imagine seeing her own dragon perish before her eyes.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, as if to calm the flames burning her lungs.

Unfortunately, the bad news did not end. I presented once I got to Storm's End.

A gasp came from the Councilors, and Rhaenys closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt as if she could sense the terror her grandson must have felt that night. The confusion of a new body and the fear of the attack.

An omega. I know you would be proud of it.
Aemond seems to have interpreted it as a sign from his stupid gods. He has marked me as his mate but I promise you, Mother, I will stab his heart as soon as I get the chance. I will not make life easy for him. He thinks he has me in his grasp but he doesn't. His voice does not work on me, he can only force me to cooperate by threatening to burn Dragonstone to the ground. That is how he convinced me to write this stupid letter.
I cannot command the queen but mother, if you have the chance, do not hesitate to do what you think is right.
Your son,
Lucerys.

Daemon flung everything on the map to the ground. The din was such that it silenced the flock of Councilors who had begun chattering among themselves, commenting and looking for a solution to the young prince's words.

He pressed his palms against the table and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Rhaenyra took the parchment clutched in Rhaenys hands and threw it into the flames, watching the paper catch fire and the wax melt.
"We have to bring him home!" said Baela with her heart pounding in her chest. Her parents gave off waves of scent at different rates, Rhaenyra conveyed joy and anger while Daemon communicated nothing but fury. Fire and smoke.

"Impossible. Not if he is inside the Red Keep," Daemon said as he lifted his head, his eyes fixed on his wife's face as she clutched the parchment against her chest. He held out his hand to her and she dropped the letter into it, with some remonstrance.
Daemon reread it quickly, shaking his head each time Aemond was mentioned. He smiled as he sensed Lucerys' anger.

Presenting himself as Omega did not make him any less mean, he thought with a grin plastered on his face. Knowing his son, he was sure Aemond was slowly regretting his rash choices.

"Couldn't we communicate with him? Your Golden Cloaks?" asked Baela again, her hands pressed against her chest. If there was a chance to get Luke home before Jacaerys found out she would do whatever was necessary. She would have flown to King's Landing herself.
Daemon seemed to ponder this but then shook his head.

"My hounds would attract too much attention. No, we must find another way," he said, biting the inside of his cheeks.
One of Mysaria's maidens could sneak into the palace, he thought with eyes that slowly traced the streets of King's Landing.
A little omega should not attract attention, and Aemond will require Lucerys' servants to be no more than that, he continued, closing his eyes.

"Aemond forced him to tell us he was alive. He does not want to risk us attacking King's Landing in revenge," Rhaenys commented now that the letter was back in her hands.
She felt immense joy at seeing her grandson's handwriting.
"Does Prince Aemond wish to protect Prince Lucerys?" asked one of the Councilors, a man with a thick white beard and eyebrows as thick as fingers and as thick as goats' beards.

Daemon sneered and shook his head quickly.
"All Aemond cares about is keeping himself safe," he said, straightening his back.
"I will contact Mysaria and try to arrange for one of her girls to enter the palace," he said, before getting permission from his queen.

Rhaenyra nodded to herself. She had never appreciated the one who had been her uncle's mistress for many years but if she could put them in touch with Lucerys she was willing to bargain with her.
"What are we going to do?" asked Baela.
I must tell Joff and Rhaena that Luke is alive… I must tell the children, she thought, remembering the high flames that had risen from the pyre containing Arrax's remains.

"We must tell Jacaerys what happened to his brother. Now that the news has reached us, it will not take long for it to reach the North," Corlys said, giving a glance to the Black Queen's Councilors. Sooner or later they would discuss it in places less secluded than that room and word would get around. It was extremely likely that the news was already running through the alleys of King's Landing.
Rhaenys nodded, agreeing with her husband's words.

"I will remind him to finish his mission before returning to Dragonstone," Rhaenyra said, clasping a hand against her belly. Her son was irritable and his body filled with a blind fury ready to explode at any moment. But he was also a dutiful young man. He would not return to Dragonstone without Lord Cregan Stark's support.
Rhaenyra turned to her advisors.

"I want a new strategy. You have three days," she ordered before leaving the throne room chased by her daughter.

လလလ

He found his mother drinking a cup of tea, her gaze looking out one of the many windows and her eyes fixed on the bay. She smiled at him when she noticed his presence, put the cup down and invited him to sit with her.
The smile disappeared when, being closer, she noticed his red nose and the cut on the bridge.

"What happened to you?" she asked him, stroking his face.
Aemond sighed wearily and let his mother's long, soft fingers caress his cheeks. He had not slept soundly that night. He had slipped into bed that Lucerys had passed out and yet, despite the Master's recommendations, he had feared that his mate might wake up and stab him just as he had promised.
He had awakened before dawn and waited for Luke to wake up.

"Lucerys," he said without further explanation. Before going to his mother's he had stopped by the Master's and he had revealed, much to his chagrin, that his nose was not broken and that the cut would heal in a few days. He had given him an ointment that would make the redness go away and let him go.
Alicent bit her lip.
The little bugger, she thought as she lowered her gaze to her own cup of tea.

"Daeron thinks it is better to provide him with black clothes," Aemond commented. On his way to his mother's, he had heard some of the servants say that the clothes Lucerys had thrown out the window were discarded, too ruined to be washed.
Alicent gritted her teeth and shook her head.

"He will bend and wear those clothes," she said, pouring Aemond some tea. He thanked her with a slight nod of his head.
"It was foolish of you to mark him. He is not the right mate for you, and word has already reached Storm's End. Lord Borros is not happy that you gave up your marriage to Maris," Alicent said, fixing her dark eyes in her son's.
My poor child, she thought as she looked at his face disfigured again and again by the same person. She could not understand how Lucerys could have hit him but she was certain that Aemond did not deserve it.

Just as he did not deserve to lose his eye, she continued, taking a sip of tea.
"He presented before me, mother. It is a sign from the gods!" he said, smiling at her. He reached out a hand toward her and intertwined his fingers with hers, trying to calm her unnecessary worries.
Alicent sighed but he continued.

"It belongs to me, mother," he said, continuing to smile.
Alicent stroked his face again, touching his nose gently, as if she feared she might break him but Aemond did not even move, as if he felt no pain whatsoever.
"But look what he did to you," she whispered with tear-filled eyes. He rose from his seat and left a kiss on her forehead, whispering reassuring words.

She wiped her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying to further hide her disappointment.
"What are you going to do with him? You can't keep him locked up forever," she asked with her hands pressed against her thighs and her eyes fixed in his. She thought he looked like Daeron, the son she had not seen in six years and who seemed to have no interest in her whatsoever.

If nothing else he spends time with his brothers, she thought as she remembered the two dragons, one blue and one yellow, that had risen in the sky.
"I want to marry him," Aemond replied with disarming simplicity.
Alicent choked on saliva. She repeatedly beat a hand against her chest and only after several moments was she able to regain control of her breathing.

"Marry him!? But... Maris Baratheon?" she asked, clasping one of Aemond's large hands in her own. He merely lifted his shoulders and shook his head.
"I agreed to marry her before Lucerys presented before me, Mother-I cannot give him up," he said with a theatrical grin.

She swallowed, pressing her free hand against her forehead. She could handle Borros Baratheon's fury; after all, Daeron had returned home; she could offer him in marriage to the young Lady. She would resolve the situation, as she always did.
I must confront my father, she thought as she turned back to look at Aemond.

"He, however, does not wish to marry you… how do you think you can convince him? He will kill you Aemond..." she said biting her lip. She knew the Targaryens and their temperament. She remembered wives who had thrown their husbands to the dragons.
But Lucerys no longer has a dragon, she told herself as she licked her lips.
Aemond burst out laughing, terribly amused.

"He won't kill me and don't worry, I know an extremely efficient way to get him to do what I want," he said thinking back to the letter that had been written only moments after his request. Sure, maybe someday those threats would no longer take effect, but Luke would not risk endangering his family.

"You have to be careful, Aemond. That little boy is more dangerous than he looks," she said, clasping his hand in her own. After all, no one would have thought that sweet Lucerys was capable of blinding his uncle.
Aemond smiled at her and kissed the back of her hand.
"It will be alright," he promised her with a smile.
"Lucerys is in my hands," he said in a confident tone.

လလလ

Luke is alive, he thought as he lay curled up in bed, his cheek pressed against the damp pillow from tears of joy. He had bitten his lip until it bled, not wanting the guards or servants passing by his door to hear him sob.
Rhaena was huddled behind him, her forehead pressed to the center of his back and her arms wrapped around his torso.

"He must be so scared..." she whispered, pulling up with her nose. The day she had presented had been terrible, she had felt excruciating pain, and her Heat had not come as it normally did, leaving her confused and exhausted.

Her mother, Rhaenyra, had stood by her side for the entire day, stroking her hair and whispering sweet words to her. She dared not imagine what Lucerys had gone through.
His letter did not tell much about the event, and Rhaena prayed that there was only one reason, that it had not been a common occurrence. That it had not gotten his clothes wet and that he had not begged to be mounted as happened to many omegas.

It had not happened to her, and she prayed that the same had been true for her brother.
"I hope he teaches those Greens a lesson!" exclaimed Joffrey as he pulled up his nose. From what Luke had written it seemed that he was not making life easy for any of them but Aemond seemed to be his main victim.

I hope he takes his eye and wears it as a pendant, he thought as he bit his lip.
Rhaena laughed against his back, a soft, gentle sound.
"I hope so too," she whispered.
And when Jace returns to Dragonstron we will bring Luke home, she thought with a grin.

လလလ

"It seems... crazy to me," she said as she walked back and forth across the room. Her father sat on a low bench covered in green, his legs crossed and his eyes turned out a window. The sun was setting across the sea, illuminating the outline of Dragonstone that stood like a tower in the midst of the waters.

"Lucerys has maimed him and now almost broke his nose and he insists on wanting to marry him... father, what am I missing?" she asked as she took a seat at her parent's side, who took one of her hands in his own, stroking the pale back.
Otto sighed and straightened his back. He planted his feet on the ground and looked his daughter straight in the eyes, reading all her own confusion and anger into them.

"Marriage is a very good idea," Otto said, surprising his sweet daughter, who immediately opened her mouth, ready to retort. He raised a hand, silencing any protest. Aemond's proposal was the best thing they could wish for.
A bastard of Rhaenyra married to the second prince in line of succession, he thought, biting his lip.

Alicent was silent, her hands clasped in her lap and her shoulders slumped, as if she could not find a reason for her father's words.
"Listen," he began, regrouping all his own ideas.
"Lucerys is an omega marked and you know what that means," he said, looking into her face.

Alicent nodded without voicing what was going through her mind.
The bond is unbreakable. It will only disappear with the death of one or both, and until then Lucerys is chained to Aemond's fate, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheeks. She herself had been bound to Viserys even though her husband did not seem to possess any control over her. Only when she was younger did the tingling at the base of her neck seem to remind her of the presence of that bite.

"He was marked before the wedding, like a street omega, and no Lord, Black or Green, will look kindly on this matter," Otto continued, clasping the hands of Alicent who listened to him silently, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to ignore the pain those words caused her.

Aegon's reign has just begun and already he is facing so much pain, she thought as she clasped her parent's long fingers.
"But it's not only Lucerys' good name that is suffering damage, Aemond is also suffering several... criticisms," he said still biting his tongue.

Critical is an understatement. He could still hear the words filled with hatred and resentment that had spread through the streets of King's Landing.
"An omega branded in that horrible way… a marriage could raise the status of both of them," Otto concluded, running a hand against his wrinkled but scarless neck.

Omega did not brand their mates, and Otto wore nothing to remind him of his past love.
Alicent licked her lips, reflecting. Her father was telling the truth; she herself, as Aemond's mother, had been horrified by the conditions in which Lucerys had been brought to the palace and the way in which, only hours later, he had been marked.
She could only imagine what an ordinary commoner might have thought.

A young man without control and easy to anger, she thought as she closed her eyes.
Otto cleared his throat.

"Moreover, Aemond seems obsessed with Lucerys. I cannot pretend to understand the passion that drives him toward the bastard but I cannot deny that it exists. If Aemond wishes to marry Lucerys we will accommodate him because we want to keep him good," Otto said as he gripped Alicent's hands more tightly.

She jerked and nodded quickly. She understood what her father meant. Aemond had never been patient and would take whatever he wanted, whether he had permission from the king and the Green Queen or not.
We don't want him to rebel and make a rash decision, she translated, nodding repeatedly. Reckless decisions were part of her children's second nature.
Otto let her go and went back to looking out the window.

"In any case, Aegon seems to have shown great interest in these nuptials," Otto commented as he thought of his nephew wandering the palace corridors completely drunk, babbling sentences.
Of course he is delighted. He had been waiting for nothing more than such an opportunity to be able to enjoy himself, he thought as he ran a hand over his wrinkled forehead.

"Of course," muttered Alicent.
Of course the man who celebrated Lucerys' abduction would also rejoice in his wedding.

"This marriage also might push Rhaenyra to accept Aegon's ascension to the Throne more easily," Otto commented with his eyes fixed on Dragonstone. He could not imagine what the Black Queen was planning.
Knowing her love of sweet treats she must be gorging herself on cake as she mourns her children, he thought with an amused smile bending his lips. That seemed to be the one trait both Aegon and Rhaenyra had taken from their father.

"The sons of Aemond and Lucerys would, after all, be next in line after Jaehaerys," he continued, licking his lips.
Though I certainly wouldn't allow a bastard's children to sit on the Throne, he thought, sneering.
No, Lucerys will be a minor distraction until the war is over, he muttered with his smile growing wider and wider.
Alicent shook his head.

"Rhaenyra will never bow before Aegon," she said in a tone more confident than she would have imagined. But after all, if Rhaenyra's resilience was the same as her son's, she could imagine that war would go on for a very long time.
"It will mean that we will force her to bend," Otto said without any fear.

လလလ

"You said you were not skilled at hunting and yet you delivered us a splendid deer," commented Cregan as his men carried the animal to the slaughterhouse. Traditionally, the prey would have belonged to the hunter who brought it down, but Jace was more than happy to give it to the two families who had recently lost their head of the family to bear attacks.

"It was purely by chance," Jace replied. It had been Cregan's men who had encircled the beast, and he had had the honor and good fortune to be in its path as he had attempted to escape. From the saddle of his horse it had been easy to strike it deadly. A straight slash to the neck that had left it no chance.

They dismounted from their horses and walked toward the palace, with Jace walking at Cregan's side, letting his mighty figure protect him from the cold wind coming from the Wall.
The guards closed the heavy doors behind them, and Cregan led him toward the dining hall, where they could quench their thirst before indulging in a well-deserved hot bath.

Jace found himself salivating at the thought of soaking in a tub of hot water. He had spent three days riding his horse, his back throbbing and his buttocks jerking with every step.
Cregan filled two cups of wine and handed one to Jace, who thanked him with a smile.

"Do you think we will find the bear?" asked Jace, licking his lips. He found the wine in the North to be stronger; a single sip was enough to set his stomach on fire. He doubted it was the same as what was given to children, such small creatures would not have withstood even the smallest sip.

"I think it will show itself when we least expect it," he said, taking a long sip. He swiped his lower lip against his upper lip, cleaning up the short dark beard.
Jace watched him for a long time, the Adam's apple rising and falling each time he swallowed.
"My lord I...I must ask you," Jace said, placing his cup on the table.

Cregan tilted his head and looked at him, curious.
Jace licked his lips and took a deep breath, restraining himself from starting to fiddle with his own fingers, just as his mother used to do when she was nervous or scared about something.
"What you said in the woods, about the..." he interrupted, his cheeks on fire and his eyes failing to find the courage to meet those of the Wolf, who smiled, licking his own lips in turn, wiping away all traces of wine.

"About spanking you? You are a brave young man, I didn't think it would take so little to scare you," he said, leaning one hand against the tabletop, one leg straight and the other slightly bent so that he appeared relaxed and at ease. His head tilted and a small smile bent his lips.

I'm not scared, he thought as he curled his lips a little, his hands clenched into fists and his cheekbones bright red.
They had not spoken of that conversation again. Cregan had been too caught up in the bear hunt, and Jace did not want to embarrass himself while surrounded by the Northmen.

"I am not frightened!" he said though he was aware that he might come across as a petulant child, perhaps on a par with little Jonnel whom he had not yet met. He imagined the child to be with his teacher.
"Just… I don't understand. Why are you talking to me like this? I am not an omega, much less a woman," he said, lowering his gaze to his own body. He realized that he was small for an alpha, but he also knew that his scent was strong, impossible to mistake. And he had spent three days together with Cregan, without a chance to wash and wearing the same clothes, his scent was stronger than it had ever been in those three years.

But it isn’t as strong as his, he thought as he bit the inside of his lip.
Cregan leaned back against the wooden table, his back pressed against the sharp profile. He crossed his arms and continued to look at him, as if he found his question silly.
"In the North, Southern beliefs don't matter," Cregan said, finally deciding to speak.
Beliefs? he wondered without, however, having time to ask that question.

"Alpha with alpha... doesn't count as long as there is desire," Cregan said as he moved closer to him until their feet brushed against each other.
Jace was forced to lift his gaze so he could look into his eyes. His chin was high and his neck exposed. It was rare for an alpha to decide, of his own volition, to show himself so vulnerable.

Cregan leaned forward a little, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed in Jace's. His lips were bent in a smile as the prince's dark green irises ran from his lips to his eyes.
"You cannot deny that you are interested, I could have felt your arousal even if you had been on the other side of Winterfell," he continued as his eyes ran down his chest, had they been able to slide lower they would have but their bodies were too close to allow it.
"I don't-" whispered Jace with his cheeks growing redder and redder.

"Don't lie. I don't like liars," Cregan whispered, cupping his chin between forefinger and thumb. Jace's heart flipped in his chest as Cregan's fingertips caressed his skin.
A soft knock interrupted the moment.
Jace immediately stepped back, putting more distance than was necessary between himself and the Lord.
Cregan cleared his throat and invited the familiar to enter. It was the Master of Ravens.

"A message has come for Prince Jacaerys," said the man with thick raven hair and sharp features.
Jace raised his eyebrows and let the Master approach to hand him the scroll. He immediately recognized his mother's crest and his heart missed a beat. He prayed that it was good news, but Daemon had taught him that only bad news presented itself by being announced.

He broke the seal and quickly read the contents of the parchment.
He blanched, his heart beating so fast it could be heard by Cregan himself.
"Jacaerys?" the lord asked as the prince stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the yellow paper.

The Master was just in time to get out of the way. Jace crossed the hall with fury, his light feet hardly touching the ground. He threw open the doors as Cregan swiftly pursued him, calling his name loudly without him listening.
Many turned to watch as the prince hurriedly left the safety of Winterfell's walls.

"Jacaerys!" exclaimed Cregan, stopping at the edge of the walls.
Vermax swooped down from the sky like a shooting star and spread his huge wings wide, letting his rider climb onto his paw and then onto the saddle.
Jace turned a glance to Cregan.

I am not running away. I need time.
He fastened the leather laces around his thighs and Vermax took flight, carrying him up, past the clouds, where the water turned to ice and his thoughts were nothing.

Chapter Text

Rhaena did not expect to be called to the Council Chamber. Usually her and her brothers' presence was not required. Although Baela was old enough to fight, their father insisted on keeping her away from the war, unaware that if she had wanted to she would have fled so that she could help fight.

When she entered the hall she discovered that Baela and Joffrey had also been summoned.
Her sister stood at Daemon's side, her back straight and her chin high. Joffrey imitated her but his cheeks were red with anger and a vein throbbed on his forehead. His hands were clenched into fists while his sword was fixed at his side.
He is angry,she thought.

She lifted her gaze to her sister; she was breathing slowly but her nostrils quivered and a light layer of sweat had clung to her forehead.
She is angry too, she thought, biting her lip.
Her mother was standing. At her right side stood Rhaenys while her left side was empty.

It was not clear to her whether her grandmother had become the Queen's Hand, she feared that the place was still occupied by her father.
But then why is he not at her side? she wondered as she looked at her parent who, with his hands resting on Dark Sister's hilt, was looking out one of the many windows, as if trying to conceal his anger.

“Mother... what is going on?” she asked her, stopping at the opposite end of the map, her blue dress falling back around her feet.
Rhaenyra licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“We have decided, for your safety, to send you to the Eyrie, under the guardianship of Lady Jeyen Arryn,” the queen explained, reaching her hands into her lap. The crown was heavy on her head, and the sun that was on the verge of setting turned it a bright orange color, similar to the scales of the dragon egg that Rhaena kept in her room, in a vain hope that one day it would hatch.
Rhaena blinked rapidly, confused.

“I am safe here… mother,” she said with a hint of hesitation.
Why shouldn't I be safe with my family? she wondered, resting her gaze on her siblings.
She was the only omega in her family.
The only excluded Lucerys, she thought as her mind wandered to her captive brother.

Rhaenyra shook her head and Daemon seemed to mimic her, as if agreeing but still unable to accept that decision.
“Aemond has threatened to raze Dragonstone to the ground and should he one day decide to carry out his threats, you... we cannot allow you to fall into their hands,” Rhaenyra said, clasping her fingers more tightly against the black fabric of her dress.
Rhaena looked straight into her eyes, violet in purple. She saw sadness and fear in her clear irises and everything was clear.

She doesn't want what happened to Lucerys to happen to me, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheeks.
She doesn't want Aegon to lay hands on me, she thought again.
Lucerys was safe only because Aemond had taken him as his own companion but Rhaena was certain that Aegon would not hesitate for a moment before taking his nephew as a war bride.

Rhaena sighed. She would have objected but could not find the strength. Even if she had stayed at Dragonstone there was nothing she could have done to help her family. Baela and Joffrey were soldiers while Aegon and Viserys were children, Aemond would not have gone so far as to harm them.

Or that's what my mother hopes, she thought as she returned her gaze to the queen who was not waiting for her permission to start moving the gears. Rhaena was certain that a carriage was already ready to take her to the Eyrie.
“I want to receive constant updates,” she said with eyes fixed on her mother's.
Rhaenyra smiled at her and nodded.

This I can do, she thought with her cheeks tinged slightly red.
“Has Lady Jeyen been informed of my arrival?” she asked straightening her back and lifting her chin, proud of every decision her mother, the Black Queen, had made.
Rhaenys smiled at her, proud of the young woman she had become.

“It was Lady Jeyen who proposed this arrangement,” Rhaenyra explained as Daemon pointed his eyes heavenward, his lips mimicking both insult and thanks.
“For years she has longed to meet one of my mother's granddaughters, Queen Aemma,” Rhaenyra said as a sweet, shy smile bent her lips.

If she saw you now she would be proud, Daemon thought as his eyes found the sharp face of his bride. The resemblance to the Lady his mother had become more and more striking as Rhaenyra grew older. Lucerys himself remembered his maternal grandmother.
Rhaena smiled shyly.

I'm not Aemma's blood but Lady Jeyen doesn't seem to care, she thought. She guessed that the Lady of the Eyrie and her grandfather, the Lord of the Tides, were not so different when it came to blood and names.
“I want to be here when you take King's Landing,” she finally said and her father smiled at her, fierce and haunting.

“You'll be the first to know,” he assured her, grinning.
Rhaenyra nodded and dismissed Rhaena with a single gesture of her head. She hesitated for a moment but then flanked her brothers, bringing herself to Joffrey's left. He smiled softly at her and then lowered his gaze, returning to his own thoughts.

“Lord Corlys brings news, but first, does anyone have anything else to say?” the queen asked, running her gaze over her own Councilors. The men did not move but their silence was more than enough. In addition to removing the weakest and most exposed member of the family, their hands were tied. They could not move against King's Landing until Prince Lucerys was a prisoner, and many alliances had already been formed. No news had yet come from the North about the queen's eldest son, but verified sources claimed that the prince had arrived safely and was having relations with the Lord of Winterfell.

“Mysaria applied five of her girls for the role of servants. Only one passed the Green Bitch selection,” Daemon said with a smile bending his lips.
Rhaenyra smiled in turn. She did not trust Mysaria but now they were one step closer to getting Luke to safety.

လလလ

She found Aemond in the library. Her son was bent over one of the thick dusty volumes, one hand resting on the large yellow pages while using the index finger of the other to help hold the mark. The words had shifted over the years, all tending to slide downward, making it difficult to read.

His nose was no longer as red as the day before, a full night's sleep seemed to have done wonders for his battered skin. The cut was still clearly visible, a slight scab had formed and soon that too would disappear.
“Mother,” he greeted her. He moved the chair that stood at his side and invited her to sit, letting the green fabric envelop her.

She smiled at him, always pleasantly delighted by his excellent manners.
“Your brothers went to the Dragon's Pit, why didn't you go with them?” she asked, taking one of his hands in her own.

Daeron seems to have bonded a lot with Aegon, she thought as she remembered the way her eldest son had wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, guiding him out of the palace without him uttering the slightest complaint.
Aemond squeezed his hand and then returned to caressing the pages of the book.
“I am glad Daeron and Aegon are getting along but I prefer not to neglect my betrothed,” he said, smiling at her.

Yet you are here and not with him, Alicent thought as she tilted her head. Still, even she would rather have taken refuge among those cobweb-filled books than spend an extra second with that little bastard.

“You got him green clothes again...” commented Aemond as he flipped to another page, nodding as if agreeing with the book's author. Alicent wondered what he was reading but gave up prying when she realized the book was written in High Valyrian.
“If he wants to be part of this family he will start dressing like one,” she said simply.

I'm sure he'll stop throwing his clothes out the window, she thought as she bit her lip. The servants were talking behind their backs, enjoying witnessing the inventive ways in which the young prince would get rid of his new clothes. Many said that in pride he was very reminiscent of his mother.
Aemond snorted a laugh but said nothing.

I certainly can't complain, he thought as he licked his lips and fangs. Seeing his mate wandering around their room naked was a heavenly sight, if he allowed him to touch him it would be even more so.
But Lucerys would rip my hand off before allowing me to slip it between his thighs, he thought, biting his red lips.

“So you have considered our nuptials,” Aemond said, bringing his gaze back to her, completely ignoring the book.
Alicent lifted her chin and cleared her throat. She took a deep breath and took both of her son's hands in her own.

“I have discussed this with your grandfather, the Hand of the King, and he seems well disposed toward this...possibility. Now, if Aegon would give us his blessing we could proceed with-” Aemond interrupted her by gripping her hands tightly. There was no malice in that gesture, only much joy.

Alicent squeaked like a mouse but did not try to escape from her son's grasp. That would have been foolish. Aemond was strong enough to break her wrist.
“Aegon will be more than agreeable,” Aemond said with a grin.
Alicent tilted her head, intertwining her fingers with his.
“Have you told him about it yet?” she asked, and he nodded quickly, mentioning a small conversation that had taken place the day before, moments before they both retired for the night.

“Aegon will be more than happy to grant me Lucerys' hand,” Aemond said without any concern. His brother would grant him anything he wished. After all, he and his dragon were his best weapon.
Alicent nodded.
“Then I guess we can start by arranging the ceremony. Of course we will have to invite the lords and-” Aemond interrupted her by raising a hand.

Alicent frowned, straightened her back, and stood waiting for her son to speak. Since Aegon had become king there seemed to be many who had taken to the habit of shushing her with a single hand gesture.
Like a dog, she thought, biting her cheeks.

“It will be a Valyrian ceremony and will be held on the hill where the bodies of Aemma Arryn and Baelon Targaryen were burned,” Aemond said with a smile.
He had always envied Viserys' first male child. Lived for a few hours but loved as if he had fought for millennia. The baby and his mother had been burned together, in front of Rhaenyra holding back tears and Viserys regretting his own choices.

“But... Aemond, that place is-” she interrupted herself, biting her lip.
She still remembered clearly the suffering that had crossed Rhaenyra's face. The way Daemon had consoled her while Viserys had not even thought to stand beside her, too busy hiding his own pain.

“It is perfect,” he concluded, taking his mother's hands in his own.
She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Perfect,” she agreed, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat.

လလလ

The sun rose and set and yet he remains on the saddle. He was exhausted. The three days spent hunting had exhausted him. His muscles jerked with each movement of Vermax's wings. His back was erect, his muscles quivering to keep it in that position, his thighs shaking and his knees squeaking. The tight bands of leather around his legs were so tight that they slowed circulation, digging into the skin and leaving deep purple furrows.
Vermax spat out a column of flames that swept over them but did not injure them. Jace's face found itself covered in smoke, the gray dust marking his cheekbones and eyebrows.
His arms were raised at the sides of his body, a mute embrace of the air around him.

My sweet Jacaerys,
terrible news has come from King's Landing. Luke has been taken prisoner by my brother Aemond.
Lucerys has sent me a letter. Your beloved brother does not give in to the abuse of the Greens, and while we fight outside the walls he fights to make their life a war even inside the Red Keep.
Lucerys presented as he stood before Lord Borros and Aemond accepted him as an invitation, marking him as his own. Lucerys reassures us, the voice does not work on him, and promises to do justice for us and for Arrax.
I know you, my sweet son, I know your veins will flare and you will feel the desire to return home to avenge Luke's capture but I ask you, as mother and queen, to continue your mission in the North. Only with Cregan Stark's support could we take back what belongs to us.
I know you will not disappoint me.
Your mother and your queen,
Rhaenyra.

He wrapped his fingers around the small parchment, squeezing until the last bit of wax was shredded. The red mush was carried away by the wind and melted by yet another blaze.
Could Vermax have sensed his brother's death? he wondered as a tear streaked his face and was carried away by the wind.

He began to scream. He screamed with all the breath in his lungs. He screamed until his belly ached and puke threatened to rise up along his throat. He screamed until he slumped against Vermax's back, and Vermax spun on himself, letting his rider swing into the void, held on to the saddle only by the tight bands around his thighs. He remained upside down, did not attempt to hold on, simply stopped struggling. He imagined that that must have been what Luke had felt, the sensation of emptiness underneath him, only there were no leather bands to hold him firmly to his dragon.

When the blood went to his head Vermax pirouetted again and Jace fell against his back, his cheek flapping against the light green scales and his hands clenched against his blood-red thorns. His head was spinning; the last time he had felt that sensation he was twelve years old and had ridden Vermax for the first time. His dragon had been impetuous, completely different from Syrax.

“It's my fault...” he whispered as Vermax glided toward Winterfell. A light sleet had begun to wet the land, the lights were almost all out, and the moon rose high where the clouds gave way to it.
“It's my fault,” he said, and a new tear streaked his face.

လလလ

The muscles of his legs ached pleasantly.
Like after a good fuck, he thought as he strolled through the corridors of King's Landing, his boots leaving a trail of black mud against the perfectly smooth and clean floor.
His hips were shaking from too many hours in the air. His back and neck ached, one ear whistled from the wind, and his hair was in disarray, escaping the thin pigtail in which he had gathered it.

Daeron had worn him out. Together with Tessarion he flew as if to prove himself to him. He would not allow them to approach, always staying ahead of him, flying too fast when he tried to approach or too slow when he caught up. They had started out together but had not flown side by side.
Tessarion seemed to enjoy teasing Sunfire, his golden dragon who possessed the same wrath as his master.

He's a little shit, that's what he is, he thought as he entered his own room.
Helaena was washing herself. There was a servant behind her, a girl Aegon had never seen within the palace walls but whom he was sure he had met before along the city streets.
A new hire, he thought as he raised an eyebrow.

She did not lift her gaze, too busy rubbing the queen's snow-white back. Long white hair covered her breasts, her nipples brushing the edge of the milky-colored water as steam caressed her red face.

“Out. I'll continue,” Aegon said, hinting at the door. He was still wearing his flight uniform, his pants still holding up the shape they had taken on through the leather straps that gripped his thighs.
She hesitated for a moment but then stood up, bowed her head and left the room as quickly as possible.

She smelled good, he thought as he licked his lips. A smell he had smelled before in other circumstances but could not connect. Yet it was a familiar smell, smelled recently but evidently not recent enough for him to remember.
Helaena squinted one violet eye and observed him. She stretched and crossed her long legs, resting one heel on the edge of the tub.

“You stink,” she commented as Aegon knelt behind her. He picked up the sponge pushed into a shallow tub filled with boiling water and soap. He squeezed it a little and began to rub it over her back and shoulders, massaging the soft skin.
“Who was that servant girl? I never saw her,” Aegon asked, ignoring his wife's comment. He could see for himself that he did not have the best of scents.

“Mother says she came with allies-a gift for the king and queen,” commented Helaena as he kissed her neck. She did not shake him off as she would have done on a different occasion, his scent was not as harmful as when he longed to sleep with her, at that moment it was very reminiscent of that of her children when they longed to be cuddled.

He mumbled and nodded against her shoulder, resting his forehead against the crook of her neck.
“Is it true that you will allow Aemond to marry Lucerys?” she asked, pressing some soap against her white arms.
Aegon frowned but then nodded.

“Our brother has earned a prize,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her breasts, ignoring the sleeves that ended up inexorably wet. In any case, he would have to wash the uniform.
“Lucerys is not a prize. He's our nephew,” she objected, pushing back her head so she could look him in the face.

“And Aemond captured him and brought him here as his mate, he can do what he wants with him, he could even kill him for all I care,” Aegon said as he stood up. He slipped off his flight uniform and threw it on the soft bed, then let himself fall into the scented sheets. If the servant was smart, and Aegon believed she was, she must already be on her way back with a fresh tub of boiling water.

“The death of dragons and kings falling,” commented Helaena with her eyes turned toward the window. The night was dark, the sky covered with stars, and the moon shone high. A dragon was suffering far North.
“Of course Helaena,” replied Aegon who by now had gotten used to her nonsensical words. He rubbed his face against the pillow and yawned soundly.

“The blue dragon and the green dragon,” she continued, clasping a hand against her breast.
“Yes, Helaena,” Aegon said again, his eyes closing and his muscles beginning to relax.
“The white-eyed dragon,” she concluded with her eyes veiled in tears.
Aegon was already asleep.

လလလ

What would Jace do? he thought as he closed his eyes. He was huddled in front of the door to his room, his legs pressed against his chest and his face hidden against his knees. He had one of his older brother's cloaks wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the scent of alpha was intense and had always had a calming effect on him.

He wondered how Lucerys' scent had changed. If it had become sweeter or if it was sour because of all the suffering he had had to endure.
They took Luke away from me and now Rhaena is leaving too, he thought as he bit his lip. It seemed that his family was falling apart before his eyes. He was aware that Rhaena would be safer in the Eyrie. If indeed Aemond had attacked Dragonstone they would have had their own dragons with which to escape and Rhaena would have been merely a hindrance.

The removal of his brothers, however, created a second thought in him. A more frightening and personal thought.
I'm only a year younger than Luke, he thought as he bit his cheeks.
He could have presented himself at any moment. Jacaerys and Rhaena had presented at the same age as him. Baela and Lucerys a year later, when both were sixteen.

What will I do if I have to present as an omega? he wondered, clasping his arms more tightly around his knees, making himself smaller and smaller and more insignificant, as if he hoped he could disappear into his brother's cloak.

I could end up like Rhaena… estranged from his own family to keep him safe.
Or I might end up like Luke, kidnapped and forced to be the mate of a man he hated.
Perhaps Aegon himself, surely his uncle would have felt immense amusement at the idea of possessing his sister's youngest son. Torturing him until she got down on her knees.

He pulled up his nose and covered himself completely with Jace's cloak, letting only the tips of his boots remain exposed to the light coming in through the windows.
What would Jace do? he wondered again as tears streaked his face.
He would go down to the battlefield… but still there is no field to go down on… he thought as he bit his lip to hold back his sobs.

Jace would wait for our mother's command… but I am not Jace, he thought as he swallowed the lump that was preventing him from breathing.

လလလ

When he entered their room Lucerys green clothes were still hanging on the wall. Long fluffy pants and a shirt of the same color. Earrings and pearl bracelets adorned the outfit, and Aemond was surprised at that difference in color. White and not gold.

Is mother starting to give up? he wondered, lifting a hand to caress the jewelry. The pearls had slight shades tending toward pink, nothing green. Perhaps Lady Alicent was beginning to soften or perhaps she had grown tired of wasting precious fabric.
Lucerys sat on the balcony. He had dragged outside the chair that Aemond kept in front of his desk and placed it exactly in the center. He stood with his legs crossed, his feet tucked under his thighs and his hands clinging to the wooden arms.

Aemond wondered how he could stand in that position. His nephew was shorter than he was and yet his legs were too long to allow him to remain in that pose for long without his knees beginning to ache.

If nothing else, he is beginning to have a sense of modesty, he thought as he gazed back at the sheet that had tightened around his waist and precisely concealed his body from hips to ankles.
“Are you beginning to appreciate my mother's gifts?” he asked, mentioning the pearl necklace that wrapped around his still bandaged neck.

Lucerys was fiddling with the jewel, sliding the pearls between his fingers until he reached the clasp, at which point he began again, his lips moving as if he were counting.
Luke froze, his lips suddenly curled with disdain and his eyebrows furrowed. He did not turn in his chair, but Aemond could still sense the wave of anger and longing leaving his omega's body.

“‘It reminds me of my grandfather, Lord Corlys," he said simply. He abandoned the jewel that returned to rest against his collarbones, perfectly wrapping his neck.
“I know who your grandfather is, Lucerys,” Aemond told him, and his nephew merely shrugged and sneered, not at all impressed by his comment.
He liked the weight of the necklace against his skin. The beads were cold, icy, and their coolness managed to overcome even the bandages, cooling his hot skin.

Three more weeks, he thought, biting his lip.
It's already been a week since I was captured... since Arrax died, he closed his eyes, trying not to cling to that painful memory. He knew he would have to let it go or the suffering associated with losing Arrax would drag him to the bottom of the sea with him. But how could he give up anger and resentment?

“What have you come for?” he asked him, turning his head slightly, just enough to look at Aemond but without fully showing him any interest.
Since Aegon and Daeron had visited him and since Luke had almost broken his nose, Aemond tended to spend little time at his side but Luke could not help but be grateful for that, he doubted that he could hit him endlessly and sooner or later Aemond would learn to recognize his method of attack.
“I bring wonderful news,” he told him, smiling.
Luke threw his eyes to the sky.

If it's good news for you it sure is bad news for me, he thought as he fixed his eyes on the shadowy outline of Dragonstone. He wondered if Jace had returned home yet and if he had been informed of his fall. He wished his brother was by his side, holding and heartening him as he always had.

“Our wedding is imminent,” he revealed, resting his hands on the back of the chair, his fingers brushing Lucerys' dark curls.
Luke's shoulders tensed, his body paralyzed with astonishment.
He rose with a jerk, his fist ready to strike but the sheet slipped down his sides and tripped him, sending him to the floor. He tried to cover himself, suddenly shy.
Marriage. That means... wedding night, he thought, biting his lip.

“You can forget it!” he exclaimed as he stood up with some difficulty. He pulled the sheet around his hips and tightened a knot, preventing the fabric from sliding down his thighs. The chair divided them but nothing would stop Aemond from overcoming it.
And nothing will stop me from throwing myself off this balcony, he thought, knowing that that was a lie. If he threw himself into the void Aemond would see it as the perfect excuse to raze Dragonstone to the ground.

Besides, I don't want to die, he thought as he bit his lip. When he had first awakened the despair had been such that it had prevented him from thinking, it had been easy to come to the conclusion that his death would be the solution to many evils. But now he was awake and aware. Above all, he feared the endlessness of darkness.

“It has already been decided,” Aemond said as he passed the chair. Luke spun around it in turn, finding himself now with his back to the room and his eyes fixed on Aemond's, who was looking at him with condescension.
“By whom? By you!?” asked Luke, biting his lip.
“By me and the king,” Aemond replied and Luke interrupted him with a scoffing expression.
“Ah! King!” exclaimed Lucerys pointing a finger at him.

As if Aegon could be called king! All he does is drink and fuck! Otto Hightower is more king than he is, he thought, crossing his arms against his chest. His eyes met the green clothes hanging on the wall. A small smile bent his lips and like a bolt of lightning he sprinted toward them. Aemond, however, who by now had learned to anticipate his now more than predictable moves, grabbed him by the shoulder and flung him into his reading chair, then placed himself in front of him and prevented him from getting up.

“King, Lucerys. Aegon is your king. Aegon is my king. He has given me his blessing and I will marry you,” Aemond said with a hand resting on his mate's shoulder. He did not have a firm grip, yet Luke doubted he could get up.
“What about me, don't I have a say in my own marriage!?” demanded Luke as he clung to the green-padded armrests. He planted his short nails in them and gritted his teeth.

Aemond sighed and ran a hand against his face, stroking the scar that opened on his cheek.
“You can't accept anything easily, can you?” he asked, losing his grip against his shoulder. Luke took a deep breath and straightened his back. He couldn't have gotten up anyway; Aemond's legs grazed his knees, preventing him from moving.

“Forgive me for not being so dependent on you! Perhaps you should marry sweet Maris Baratheon, I am more than convinced she would do anything to please you!” he hissed with a strong degree of irony.

A vein began to throb on his forehead. He licked his tongue, running it over the sharp fangs and clenched his hands into fists. The muscles in his arms were bulging, his shoulders stiff as well as his back.
“Listen to me,” he hissed and with a snap grabbed Luke's face. He squeezed his cheeks between thumb and forefinger, squeezing them until his face was distorted.

Lucerys felt immobilized. For the first time since he had been brought there, the voice had had the slightest effect on him. The base of the back of his neck quivered and the bite throbbed painfully.

“I will marry you whether you want it or not. I will take you to bed and you will give me children. You will be my husband. Mine. You can fight all you want but don't forget who the Bite on your neck belongs to,” he told him in a tone so stern it sent shivers down his spine.
Luke clutched his face and Aemond let go of him, leaving a small scratch on his right cheek.

“You can marry me. You can take me to bed. You can try to put children inside me. You will be my tormentor. You can insist all you want but don't forget that I'll drive a blade into your chest as soon as I get the chance,” he told him, lifting himself up on trembling legs. Aemond did not flinch and Luke found himself lifting his face fully, their bodies brushing against each other.

“You will have no blades to stab me with,” he told him without moving. His feet planted firmly on the ground.
“I won't need them,” Luke replied.
Aemond nodded, evidently tired of the talk. He took a step back and then another. He retrieved the chair that was still on the balcony and placed it in front of Lucerys, rested his elbows on his thighs and took his face in his hands, looking at his nephew.

“It will be a Valyrian ceremony,” he told him as if hoping to cheer him up.
Luke thought back to his parents' wedding. He found the idea of getting married in the same way absurd. There would be none of that mythicalness but only the thrill of a mad man and the rage of a trapped dragon.

“And how long will I have to prepare for my upcoming wedding night?” he asked, fixing his eyes in his, his brows furrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line.
“As soon as I find a Master but don't worry, after that I will give you two days to contact Rhaenyra, in case she wishes to attend her son's wedding...” Luke took a deep breath from his nostrils.

Aemond stood up, put the chair back in its place and licked his lips.
“Of course she'll have to kneel,” he concluded.
“Go to hell,” he told him, and Aemond burst out laughing.
He left him alone and Luke crouched in the chair, one hand clenched against the pearl necklace. He ran his thumb over the first and second.

My mother, Rhaenyra, and my father, Daemon.
He moved on to the third and fourth.
My brothers, Jace and Joff.
Fifth and sixth.
My sisters, Rhaena and Baela.
Seventh and eighth.
My little brothers, Aegon and Viserys.
Ninth and tenth.
My grandmother, Rhaenys, and my grandfather, Corlys.
Eleventh.
My aunt, Helaena.
Twelfth and thirteenth.
My cousins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.
He still had six pearls left over but counted them anyway.
Six more pearls that would need a name.

လလလ

Vermax landed that the lights of Winterfell were all off for the most part. After loosening the leather straps he slid down from his back and clung to his paw so he would not fall too quickly. His feet sank into a thin icy layer that crunched lethally.

With hands red from the cold and cheeks flayed by the wind, he walked toward the walls guarded by stiff and composed guards. He wondered if the frost had petrified them or if the Northerners felt no cold and that was simply a warm breeze.

He passed the deserted streets and reached the palace entrance. He was let in without a care in the world and with quick step reached his own room. He was tired and sore.
He opened the door and jolted to discover that Cregan was there. His back was turned to him and his gaze fixed outside one of the windows.
The fire was lit and small candles dotted the bedside tables.

Jace closed the door behind him, preventing the heat from escaping into the hallway. His hands began to throb from the sudden change in temperature and he clenched them, trying to ignore the discomfort.
Cregan turned slowly and Jace lowered his gaze.
“I apologize, My Lord, I didn't mean to run away like that,” Jace said as the fire burned the right side of his body.

“You have been gone a whole day,” he told him but there was no anger in his tone, more concern. Jace shrugged his shoulders, his fingers still wrapped around the small parchment he handed to the Northern Lord, allowing him to find out what had him so upset.
Cregan took it gently from his palm, their fingers brushing made a shiver run down Jace's spine, who had not forgotten their last conversation, simply tucked it away in a corner of his mind.

Cregan sighed deeply and then threw the parchment into the flames.
Jace looked at him with wide eyes and half-closed lips.
“Why did you do that!” he asked him with more anger than he imagined he could direct at Cregan.
The Wolf stepped toward him, and Jace was pervaded by his wild scent.

“You are an impetuous, angry, short-tempered creature, and yet you decide at this moment to restrain your fury?” he asked him, pressing two fingers against his chest then, gently but forcefully, pushed him backward, sending him crashing into the side of the hearth.
Jace gasped, stricken.

Does he want me to be angry with him? he wondered, not understanding his lord's behavior. He swallowed and pressed a hand against the spot where Cregan had hit him; he could still feel the sturdiness of his fingers against the soft skin of his breastplate.

“You said that if I raised my voice to you again you would spank me,” he pointed out to him in the absence of anything else to say and in a vain attempt to find a way with which he could handle that new situation.
Cregan sneered.
“I will make an exception this time. Are you angry, My Prince?” asked Cregan, taking a step forward.

Jace was not angry. He was furious. His body was a bundle of trembling and aching muscles, his veins carrying anger to every corner of his body, making his body boiling hot and active, yet he could not find a way with which to get rid of those emotions.
“My lord-” began Jace but Cregan interrupted him.

“You know my name. Use it,” the lord ordered. No more formality in his voice, nothing to remind them of their roles. Nothing to differentiate them. At that moment they were two men in front of each other.

“Cregan,” Jace whispered, calling him by his real name for the first time in four days. No name-calling, none of that. Simply the intimacy of his name. Although he had thought about it for a long time he found it strange to pronounce those letters, to articulate them so as to get the exact combination to have that name.

“Are you angry, Jacaerys?” asked Cregan, and Jace bit his lip. For his name spoken by that irreverent mouth made him feel far more emotions than anger.
“Jace...you can call me Jace...” he told him, licking his fangs.
It was beginning to get too hot in that room. The candles cast oppressive shadows and the hearth burned so brutally that it made him sweat. Small drops of sweat dripped down his neck and shoulders, pinning his clothes to his body.

“Answer the question, Jace,” Cregan ordered, approaching him again. One step and then the other, until all that separated them was an arm.
Jace bit his lip, his pants growing tight as the Wolf grew closer. His scent had surrounded him like a pack of wolves does with prey, he didn't know if Cregan was aware of it but he imagined he was.
He was toying with him.

“Yeah. Hell yeah. I want to… I want to go to King's Landing and take his damn eye,” he hissed through clenched teeth and eyes glazing over with rage. He clenched his hands into fists, his shoulders shaking and so did his arms.

“I want him to suffer infinitely. I want Aegon to die impaled by the swords of my mother's Throne. I want to pierce his neck with my sword. I want...” he interrupted himself with a whining hiss, like a dragon that has run out of flames and spits only steam. Boiling, burning steam that can still rip the skin off.

“Then let it out. Hit me. Imagine that I am Aemond. Imagine that I am Aegon. Hit me,” Cregan ordered, looking him straight in the eye.
Jace froze. No matter how angry he was, he could never hit Cregan. Cregan who had taken him in and was trying to help him.

“I… I can't...” said Jace, lowering his gaze to Cregan's chest. The Wolf was sturdy; a few small blows would do him no harm. He doubted that Cregan would let Aemond knock him out. He believed that not even Daemon would be able to scratch Cregan's perfect face.
He smiled at him.
“Don't lie, My Prince, I don't like liars,” he told him with a grin.

Jace felt himself flaming. He raised a fist and struck him in the center of the chest. A gentle, almost imperceptible gesture, a simple pat. He hit him again, harder this time. Then he did it again. And again. And Again. He found himself pounding against Cregan's chest, unable to stop as he passively accepted each of his blows, as still as a mountain. His body swayed slightly, but Cregan did not flinch; he remained there, motionless, his feet planted on the ground and his arms stiff along his body. He kept his gaze down, fixed on the young prince's brunette hair and on his fists that kept crashing against his chest, an inexhaustible rain.

Jace began to blurt out insults. Words full of anger. Rage against his uncles and against himself who had sent his brother on that mission alone.
“It's my fault!” he exclaimed between blows.
Cregan remained silent, letting the prince vent.
“It's my fault!” he said again as his face streaked with tears and his eyes turned a deep green, rain-stricken moss.

He raised his arms, lost in anger and remorse, tried to strike Cregan's face, as if he really imagined he could take his uncle's eye.

Cregan intercepted his slap, locking his wrist in a firm but not painful grip.
Jace should have freed himself, evading those long fingers, but instead he reached out with a snap, joining his lips to Cregan's, who returned that violent and sudden kiss, one arm wrapped around the prince's hips and the other still clutching his wrist.

Jace sank his free hand into his hair, tearing away the thin pigtail that held it firmly behind his head, freeing the wavy hair that fell back along his face, casting dark shadows.
Cregan let go of his wrist and brought his free hand to grip his hips, pressing him hard against the wooden door. Jace moaned against his lips, the door's ornaments digging patterns and deep grooves against his back, making his already sweet muscles quiver even more.

Sex and anger go hand in hand, he thought though he did not know who had spoken those words. But perhaps he was beginning to understand them. That was as good a way as any to distract himself and erase the pain. The fact that Cregan was making his body burn like no one had done until then was just one more detail.

I shouldn't like him. He's an alpha, he thought as Cregan grabbed his thighs and lifted him off the ground, pressing him harder against the hard door. His tongue caressed his, stroking down his throat so deep he almost choked.

Jace began to cough and Cregan let go of him, reaching down to lick and suck his soft neck, fangs rubbing the white skin. Jace threw his head back, letting Cregan do whatever he wanted with him as their hips moved swiftly against each other, making them both moan and quiver.

“Fuck,” gasped Jace. He knew that if he was an omega he would be wet. On the other hand, his cock was fully awake and pressed against Cregan's groin, which rapidly moved against him, shooting sparks of pleasure throughout his body.
Cregan smiled against his throat, fangs brushing against him menacingly.

I should be afraid… an alpha so close to my throat… he thought as Cregan's hands caressed him passionately, thrusting into the flesh of his thighs, scratching them until the skin already scarred by iron and straps reddened.
“Are you angry, Jace?” he asked, grinning against his throat.

Cregan lifted his gaze and slammed his hips one last time against Jace's, who opened his lips wide, his eyes fully sunken into his skull.

“I'm hungry,” Jace replied, throwing himself onto his thin lips. His beard scratched the skin of his chin and cheeks, causing shivers of pleasure to run down his spine. One of Cregan's hands went up one thigh and grasped one of his buttocks, tasting the soft, delicate flesh.

They left the doorway, Cregan's strong, determined legs leading them to the bed, and there he dropped Jace, watching his body bounce against the mattress.

I want to fuck him. I want to sink into him so deep that he will remember me even months from now, he thought as he licked his lips. He could not tell if Jace's was a conscious choice, but the young prince was waiting for him with legs spread wide, so open and inviting that Cregan had to restrain himself from jumping on him. The outline of his erection was clearly visible against his black pants and a wet patch was beginning to form on top.

Cregan pressed a hand against his own erection and rediscovered himself in a similar situation.
A quick knock jolted them.
Jace shifted his gaze to the door, his eyes wide and one hand pressed against his chest. He quickly sat up and tightened his legs, trying to hide the erection pressing against his thighs.

“What is it!?” hissed Cregan, passing a hand against his forehead. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his scent leaving nothing to chance; anyone within yards would have been able to tell what the Lord of the North was doing just moments before.
Jace swallowed and stood up, legs shaking and eyes fixed on the door.
“My lord, your son requires your presence,” said the gentle voice of a servant girl.

The irritation instantly disappeared and a small smile bent Cregan's lips.
Jace wondered what Jonnel wanted from his father at that late hour then the answer seemed obvious.

He had a nightmare, he thought, smiling in turn.
“I'll be right with him,” Cregan replied and the servant girl vanished.
The Wolf turned to Jace and he smiled shyly at him, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your son needs you,” he told him without any rancor. And perhaps, the next day, he would finally get to meet the little one.
Cregan approached him with a firm but gentle step, laid a hand on his face and looked at him with infinite affection.

“Tomorrow we will continue what we started ... if you want to,” he told him with his eyes fixed in his, searching for the slightest hesitation.
“I do,” Jace replied, letting that warm hand cuddle him.
Cregan smiled and leaned into him, joining their lips in a slow kiss, completely different from the ones they had exchanged just moments before.

“See you tomorrow,” Cregan told him. He pressed a hand against the crotch of his pants and left him alone.
“See you tomorrow,” Jace whispered.

Chapter Text

There was no moment in her life in which Rhaena didn't feel small. Yet in that instant, surrounded by the dragons of her grandmother and sister, she felt tiny.
The Red Queen was ready to welcome her rider, her back hunched so that she could mount.

“It will be all right. Mother says Lady Aemma was a good and kind woman, I'm sure Lady Jeyen is the same,” Baela said, laying her hands on her shoulders.
Rhaena found herself resting her eyes in hers. They were twins but looked nothing alike. Both had taken on the complexion of their mother, Laena, but Baela looked more like Daemon than Rhaena ever could. They had the same look that could change from kind to furious in a single instant.

Baela had always been the rebellious one, ready to start something and bring it to fruition. Rhaena was more placid, gentle. She tended to avoid certain situations and perhaps, now that she thought about it, this was due to that fateful night at Driftmark. After all, the feud between Luke and Aemond had started right then.

What would have happened if I had not insisted on going after Vhagar? she wondered as she smiled shyly at Baela.
Moondancer was more than big enough to carry both of them on her back but Rhaena would have traveled close behind her grandmother's back, just as she had when she was a child.

“I'm sure you're right,” she told her, letting Baela help her climb up Meleys' side. The red dragon did not give her her attention; she knew that the little girl was not trying to ride her, and she knew that her rider was there with her.

Rhaena wrapped her arms around her grandmother's waist. Her hands clung to the strap that gripped her hips, holding her tightly to the saddle. There was no strap for Rhaena as well; the saddle was not designed to carry two people.

“Hold on tight,” Rhaenys said, then clapping a hand against her thigh. Rhaena smiled shyly and pressed her cheek against her grandmother's back.
Meleys flapped her wings and leapt skyward.

“Will you promise to be careful?” asked Rhaena, speaking against Grandmother's ear. She let go of the reins with one hand and held it against her granddaughter's, stroking her long fingers lightly.
“I promise,” she told her, turning to leave a kiss on his forehead.

She promises, Rhaena thought as he pressed more tightly against her.

လလလ

Daemon held up a scroll. It had been written by Mysaria at the dictation of the young woman who had infiltrated the Red Keep. The girl could not write but had an excellent memory according to her Lady.

The Council was gathered around the table of maps. Rhaenyra stood to one side with Joffrey at her side, the only child, except for the children, who had not yet abandoned her.
Daemon stood at the opposite end of the table with Lord Corlys at his side. The man sat in a tall chair, his staff clutched in one hand and his injured leg at rest. He had spent the entire morning standing, helping the Lady his niece prepare for the journey. Her luggage would cross the sea and then the land as she traveled safely on Meleys saddle.
Daemon cleared his throat and began to read the contents of the small but long missive.
“Eliza reports,” Daemon said, imagining that was the name of the young infiltrator.

Servants whisper that Prince Lucerys roams the palace corridors naked, refusing to wear the clothes the Green Queen has made especially for him. Eliza has never met the prince, but she once saw the green shirt and pants falling off the balcony of Prince Aemond's room. Prince Lucerys was standing there looking out, smiling with a childish grin. The servants reported to her that this spectacle has happened every morning since the day he woke up.

He read with his lips folded into a smile.
Joffrey shrugged his shoulders, his eyes downcast and the corners of his mouth threatening to curve upward. He regretted that his sisters had left so soon; they would no doubt have laughed at those words.

Rhaenyra herself smiled, her perfume delicate and amused.
He said he would make their lives difficult, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheeks. Her son had always been a young rogue but angel-faced. Inaccusable on every front.

Very often shouts are heard coming from Prince Aemond's room. Most of them are insults and accusations from Prince Lucerys. Objects fall and break as the guards watch silently. On the afternoon of the third day since Prince Lucerys' capture, Prince Aemond was seen with a red nose and a cut on his face. Eliza claims that it was Prince Lucerys who caused that damage but how and why remain unknown to her.

The letter continued.
This young Eliza is proving useful, thought Rhaenyra as she bit her lip.
Luke is amazing, thought Joff without trying to hide the smile that lit up his face.
Daemon continued, lips bent upward as his eyes ran swiftly along the parchment.

It seems that Prince Lucerys refuses to meet the Green Queen. She apparently tried to talk to him but the prince chased her out of the room, refusing any further interaction.
The guards at his door claim that the prince tried to escape but the three Hightower princes blocked him-

Daemon paused, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked up and was pleased to notice the dismayed stares of his audience.
Three princes, thought Rhaenyra bringing a hand to her chest.

“Prince Daeron finally came to town,” Corlys said, expressing the ideas of many.
Rhaenyra bit her lip. She had not seen her younger brother since the marriage of Aegon and Helaena. At the time he was just a child, a year younger than Jace and a year older than Luke. She still remembered him with his cheeks swollen but already showing signs of the adolescence that would surely make him blossom into a handsome man. He was a courteous little fellow with a curious air and a big heart.

“If I am not mistaken he was always accompanied by Ser Gwayne Hightower,” Rhaenyra commented.
Joffrey lifted his eyes to her. The last time he had seen the younger of his uncles he was only nine years old. He did not remember him clearly but he remembered a boy of sixteen, with thick, curly blond hair and a short beard of the same color.

Alicent's younger brother, thought Rhaenyra biting her lip. Although no one could have said that they were brothers, there was nothing in their appearance that made them look like brothers.

“Eliza makes no mention of it,” Daemon said, quickly glossing over whatever was left of the letter. More little behavior from Lucerys but by now all the joy his rebellious acts had brought to the surface had been sucked away.

Daeron… thought Joffrey. Now the last of his uncles had also arrived in King's Landing.

“It is not good that the three brothers are reunited,” Corlys commented, pressing his fingers against his temples. A new threat had been added to the already countless present ones.
Only the day before Corlys had been warned that the ships of the Triarchy had resumed sailing. It seemed that the Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, had come to an agreement with them.

Soon the Lord of the Tides would no longer be the sole ruler of the seas.
“His dragon is small, but Daeron proved to be an excellent rider,” Daemon muttered, thinking back to the little research he had done in those days. The young man was not as skilled as his brother Aemond but he came very close.
Joff frowned.

Daeron is only two years older than me and he has already earned a title, he thought as he bit his lip. He lifted his gaze, looking for his older sister's but obviously not finding it.
She would have been as furious as he was.

“It doesn't matter as long as they have Lucerys as a prisoner. There is nothing we can do,” Rhaenyra said, sighing gravely.

Daemon took a deep breath, trying to calm the fire simmering in his chest. He had not felt so helpless since Alysanne had forced him to marry. He loved his grandmother but at that moment had hated her and never forgiven her.
Hurried footsteps and rustling of a robe came from afar. The Master of Ravens entered the hall, bowed his head and handed a letter to his own queen.

“From King's Landing, My Lady,” he said, backing away until his back was pressed against the wall.
Three alphas together, thought Daemon with eyes fixed on the hands of his wife who quickly broke the seal, unrolling the missive.

Joffrey quivered, muscles tense and eyes darting from his mother's face to the yellow sheet of paper. At that angle he could not read its contents but wished he could.
Rhaenyra clutched the parchment angrily, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips folded into a thin line.
“It's from Aemond,” she said with a wrinkled nose, as if she could smell him and was nauseated by him.

A shiver ran down Joffrey's spine and he tried to suppress it as best he could.
Daemon nodded to one of the Councilors, and the Councilor approached the queen, taking the letter that she too graciously offered him. The man cleared his throat and began to read.

My sweet sister,
King's Landing is still standing and I can do nothing but infer that my mate's letter has reached you. I can only be glad of this although I would have felt extreme amusement seeing you burn down the Keep with your son inside.

The queen was motionless, her shoulders stiff and her eyes closed. She listened, breathing slowly as Syrax sang in her cave.
Please Luke, kill him soon, thought Joff as the Counselor continued reading.

I write to announce joyous news. Within two days I will marry Lucerys. His family of traitors is invited to attend, of course you will have to kneel before my brother, the one true king.
Fear not, sister, your son arrives untouched at the altar.
Your brother,
Aemond.

Rhaenyra turned her back on the Councilors and stood before her own throne, breathing deeply. The Councilors had begun to argue heatedly, and Corlys was trying to keep the situation under control.
Daemon was motionless, his back bent forward and his hands pressed against the hard stone of the table. The flames had heated it to a boiling point but he seemed to take no notice.

Joffrey's gaze ran from his father's face to his mother's back. Daemon gave him a nod and he stepped away from the table, approaching his queen at full speed. The Councilors did not even seem to notice his departure, too busy talking among themselves, looking for a way to intervene.

Joffrey placed a hand at the base of her back and moved to her side, his eyes fixed in hers. He had never realized that he had grown taller than his mother until that moment. He still thought he was the child who could hide under her skirt but now it almost seemed as if she could hide behind him.

“Mother,” Joff whispered, pulling her further away from the map and the Councilors.
They must not see her like this, he thought as they stepped out onto the large balcony, letting the cool air kiss her hot face.

“I'm fine,” she said with trembling lips and shining eyes.
Joffrey was glad his sisters were not there to watch. He lifted his gaze, his eyes fixed on King's Landing looming imposingly, the cliff falling precipitously to the sea and the sharp red walls of the palace so angular they could cut through the sky.

I wonder what Luke must be doing… he must be scared, he thought, biting his lip.
In Eliza's letter his brother seemed devoid of any fear, but Joff knew how much the idea of bonding with Aemond must frighten him.

Sharing a bed with him, he thought as he swallowed.
Aemond had always had an obsession with his brother. He had known it from the instant Luke's eyes and Aemond's had met at the dinner requested by King Viserys. Not for a single instant had Aemond looked away.

“A wedding is better than a funeral,” she whispered, wiping her eyes with one hand.
Even if it feels like death to Luke, she thought as she clasped her son's hand in her own.
She remembered when Viserys had told her she was getting married. She remembered the fear of falling into the clutches of men like Jason Lannister.
And my child ended up in the hands of the worst of them all, Joff returned the squeeze and she let him hold her in a hug.

“We'll help him, you'll see,” Joff said, sinking his nose against his mother's white hair. He was only slightly taller than her, her forehead brushing against his chin, but at that moment Rhaenyra seemed to him so much like a frightened child.
“And when we take King's Landing you will annul Luke's marriage! You are queen, you can do it,” Joff said as he pulled away to take both of her hands in his own.

Rhaenyra pulled up with her nose and smiled at him.
Oh, my son, how sweet you are, she thought as together, hand in hand, they walked back into the hall. The Councilors had grown silent but Daemon had a dark look painted on his face.

A chill ran down Rhaenyra's shoulders.
Her husband had had a terrible idea.

လလလ

Jonnel was not as Jace had imagined. He thought the little one would look like his father, and instead of Cregan Stark he possessed only the piercing gray eyes. His hair was bright red, like the flames crackling in the fireplace, and a sprinkling of freckles covered his red cheeks.

He is an alpha, that was the only thought that invaded his mind. Jonnel was a little over nine years old and had already presented himself, when Jacaerys had had to wait until he turned fifteen for his second sex to decide to show itself.

Six years older, he thought as he swallowed.
They had gathered for breakfast, with servants and servers motionless in the corners of the room, ready to snap at the slightest order from their Lord.
The Lord of Winterfell sat at the head of the table, his plate almost completely empty before him and one hand raised, holding the cup of wine he had brought to his lips, tinging them a deep red. The spices were so strong that Jace could smell them even while holding his cup away.

He and Jonnel sat facing each other. They studied each other, Jace intrigued by his young introduction and Jonnel equally curious about the dragon prince. His cheeks were full, too busy surveying the other alpha to realize that his mouth was no longer able to hold anything else.

“Jonnel, chew,” Cregan ordered as he looked at his son out of the corner of his eye, a sweet smile bending his lips.
The little boy lifted his gaze to his father and then seemed to realize his inability to close his mouth. He blushed violently and quickly chewed all the food in his mouth, downing it all with a long sip of sweet wine.
Cregan cast a glance toward Jace and he smiled at him, a warm shiver running down his spine.

“Is it true that your mother's dragon is golden?” asked Jonnel, setting down his cup.
Jace raised his eyebrows, surprised by that question. He swallowed the piece of meat he was eating and wiped his lips.
“It's true. The dragon of Aegon, my younger brother, is also golden,” Jace explained, smiling at the little alpha, who nodded.

My uncle Aegon's dragon is also golden, he thought as he bit his cheeks. He would not let his uncle's presence ruin that moment and so he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, keeping it hidden.

“Your dragon is big... why does he always lie outside the walls?” asked Jonnel again, his big gray eyes fixed on the prince's face.
Jace licked his lips, evidently impressed by the hundreds of questions the little one was asking him. His brothers had never had a big mouth, but Jonnel must have inherited it from his father.

“Ah, I'm afraid Vermax doesn't like the northern climate...dragons like warm islands,” Jace explained.
I prefer warm islands too, he thought as he bit his lip. He had his furs and woolen clothes to keep him warm but he missed his soft clothes and the warm evening wind that caressed his face. He missed the safety of his island, where he would not have to hunt a bear to keep his people safe.

“Perhaps we could bring him a blanket...” commented the little one, and Jace brought a hand to his lips, hiding an amused smile.
Cregan did likewise, concealing his mouth with a long sip of wine.
“What does Vermax mean?” asked Jonnel again.

“Vermax was one of the deities of ancient Valyria, the god of borders and travelers but also of language and writing,” Jace explained. A small, wistful smile bent his lips; he remembered when as children he and his brothers would gather around Daemon and let the prince tell them about their ancient homeland.
“Oh!” said the little one.

Jace could not tell if he was surprised by the existence of other gods or if he simply believed those words a simple story. Either way he seemed surprised.
“Indeed, Prince Jacaerys traveled all the way to the North to spread the word of her mother, Queen Rhaenyra,” Cregan said, looking at him with thin eyes and lips bent in a mischievous smile.

Jace licked his lips and squeezed his thighs together, trying to hide his own churning stomach.
“Will you take me riding your dragon someday?” asked Jonnel, returning to look at him with those eyes so like his father's.

“Jonnel,” Cregan scolded him but there was no anger in his tone, simply a warning to remember what his place was.
The child curled his lips, the tips of his ears red and his eyes downcast.

“No trouble, My Lord, I will be more than happy to take Jonnel to ride with me,” Jace said. He thought back to his mother, who had taken him and his brothers riding Syrax only a few months after giving birth. Or Daemon, who had taken his daughters and sons riding Caraxes only a few days after their birth.
Jonnel smiled excitedly, casting long glances at the palace walls, where one of Vermax's wings was clearly visible. If the dragon had decided to lift his neck he could have leaned over the walls and looked inside.

“Not now, My young lord, your father and I have a... ride planned,” Jace said without looking away from Jonnel's small figure.
Cregan grew suddenly rigid, one hand clasped around his own cup and the other clinging to the armrest of his own seat.

“Are you going riding?” asked Jonnel, and Jace smiled at him, claiming it was something very similar. The little boy laughed, declaring that one day he would go riding together with his father and the dragon prince.
The Master arrived to pick up the young Wolf, ready to begin his lessons for that day, and Jonnel walked away dragging his feet, reminding Jacaerys of his promise to take him flying soon.

“Everyone outside. Let no one disturb us,” Cregan ordered when his son was well away.
The four servants arranged in the corners of the room quickly retreated, closing the heavy doors behind them.
Silence fell as Cregan continued to sip from his own cup, his eyes fixed on the handsome face of the prince who looked back at him, not daring to move.

“Do we have a ride planned?” asked Cregan, finally setting the cup down.
Jace looked at him with his head tilted and his lips bent in a slight smile.
“I don't know, My Lord, do we?” he asked in turn, and Cregan let a grin escape. He motioned for him to come closer as he stepped back with the chair, making the wood screech against the hard black stone.

Jace rose on soft legs from anticipation and stepped between Cregan's spread legs, his knees brushing against the inside of his black-covered thighs.

“Saying those things in front of my son,” Cregan muttered as he placed his hands on his hips, producing small circles with his thumb, sinking into the soft flesh of his hips, there where buttocks and back joined.

“I'm sorry, My Lord, I meant to draw your attention,” Jace said, lifting his own hands in turn so he could place them on Cregan's shoulders. The Lord of Winterfell was sturdy, had powerful muscles and broad shoulders, thick enough for Jace to cling to him without hurting him at all.

“Cregan,” Jace then said as he reached up with one hand to caress his face. His cheeks were marked by his thin beard, which had not yet had time to grow sufficiently. He had had time, it seemed, however, that Cregan preferred a shorter beard.
“Strip," Cregan whispered, and Jace felt a shiver run down his spine as something hot invaded his stomach and slid down, awakening his erection.

Staying between Cregan's legs, Jace began to undress. He slipped off his coat and threw it on the ground, not at all concerned at the idea that the servants Cregan had cast out might return and see him slipping off his shirt, tossing it over his coat.

He remained bare-chested, and Cregan ran a hand down his belly and then up, resting it on his left pectoral, where his heart was beating fast, making the soft skin flutter. His abdomen was undefined but toned; if he had worked out his abs would have lifted in no time. There was no hair covering his skin, and Cregan seemed surprised.

If the rumors about his father are true he should have the blood of the First Men coursing through his veins, he thought as he licked his lips. He could not say he was sad; he loved that his lovers were as smooth as statues.

Cregan lowered his gaze to the crotch of his pants, where the outline of his erection was clearly visible. Quickly he abandoned his breastplate and slingshot his hand there, stroking his cock with such rapidity that Jace clung to his shoulders, his torso leaning forward and his nose sunk against Cregan's hair.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, moving his hips gently, trying to chase Cregan's hand, which quick always seemed to find a different place or a different way with which to tease him.
Cregan laughed against his throat, using his free hand to caress his round buttocks still covered by his wool pants.
Jace trembled in his arms, his skin covered in shivers and his arms wrapped around the Wolf's neck.

Cregan helped him undo his pants, loosening the laces that held them tightly around his waist. These slid down Jace's thighs, revealing skin covered with light blond hair, so different from the dark color of his hair and eyebrows. Cregan ran one hand against it as he licked the other, making it just slippery enough to keep the prince from aching once he tightened it around his cock.

If he had taken after his mother his hair would be this color, he thought with his eyes fixed on the hair on his legs, a golden white.
Jace mewed against his ear, quickly moving his hips against his large hand. Cregan smiled, searching Jace's lips with his own.

“Cregan...” gasped Jace with his fingers sinking into the Northern Lord's black hair.
“Are you close, My Prince?” he asked him, and Jace nodded against his head, continuing to move his hips as Cregan brought two fingers to his lips, forcing him to open his mouth and suck them firmly.

Jace turned his eyes back, his tongue running against the Wolf's fingertips and phalanges, tasting the salt and sweat that coated them.
“Come, then,” he whispered, and Jace closed his eyes, smearing Cregan's hand white.

He let himself fall against his body, sitting on one of his thighs as if it had been his personal throne, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes closed and Cregan's fingers still moving inside his mouth.

The smell of them was overpowering. It would stay for days, and anyone who entered would know what had happened in that room. But Jace didn't seem to care.
Northern customs are different, he found himself thinking as Cregan's index finger stroked his tongue.

Alphas fuck other alphas and babies present themselves before puberty, he thought again as he leaned hard against Cregan's side, his cheek resting against his shoulder as his body trembled accompanied by violent spasms, Cregan's hand still clasped around his erection.

“Look here,” Cregan whispered, lifting his white-spattered hand.
Jace squinted his eyes and watched as Cregan licked his fingers, carefully wiping them clean. He felt his cheeks turn red and immediately hid his face against the Lord's neck, there where his scent was strongest and where he was most vulnerable.

Cregan laughed again and slipping his fingers out of Jace's mouth he passed his arm around his hips, letting his hand caress the soft thigh. Smearing saliva against the skin he discovered that it would make the young prince's work futile but he did not care, he could make him start over.

One of Jace's hands traced his black-covered chest, crossed his belly and clung to the crotch of his pants, squeezing the heavy erection still constricted inside his breeches. A wet slick surmounted the top and Jace slid down Cregan's thigh, kneeling between his legs. Sitting back on his heels, his eyes ran from the laces he was untying to the face of the Northern Lord, who with his face resting on one hand watched him.

Cregan lifted his hips, helping Jace slip his pants down to mid-thigh, then returned to sit, watching his erection point straight at the prince's lips.
Jace swallowed.

It's bigger than I thought, he thought with eyes fixed on the red tip and veins running along the length.
He brought his face closer and licked it from base to top, feeling the taste of salt against his tongue. Cregan's muscles quivered, his abs contracted and then relaxed as one hand went to caress Jace's long hair as he leaned back on his thighs, straightened his back and took him into his mouth, taking him all the way in until he felt himself choking.

He began to cough and looked away, bringing a hand to cover his lips.
Cregan laughed softly.
“Slower, I'm not going anywhere,” he told him, and the prince felt his cheeks turn red.

He began licking it again, taking only the tip into his mouth while using his fingers to cover the part he could not swallow.
Cregan gently moved his hips, struggling to maintain a modicum of control.
Saliva ran down Jace's chin and then down his neck and chest. His cock was not indifferent to what his mouth was doing and slow had resumed swelling, slamming against his thighs and belly.

Cregan grabbed him by the chin and lifted him off the ground, forcing him to sit on his lap, Jace's erection rubbing against his black-covered abdomen and his own stroking his round buttocks, toned and soft at the same time.
Jace wrapped his arms around his neck, engaging him in a kiss full of tongues and teeth.

Cregan grabbed him by the thighs and rose from the chair. It only took him two steps to reach the table and let Jace lie there, his legs encircling his waist and his arms folded over his head.

So damn gorgeous, he thought as his gray eyes ran from Jace's face to his chest and stomach, onto the erection pressed against his belly and his legs spread to make room for him.

Cregan grinned and quickly slipped off what was left of his clothes, tossing them to the floor. He grabbed Jace by the thighs and forced him to rest his ankles on his shoulders, his butt pressing against his groin.
“Cregan!” gasped Jace as he reached out a hand toward him, resting it in the center of his chest.

The Wolf took it in his own and kissed it gently.
He brought two fingers to caress the small ring of muscle that lay between his buttocks, letting the moist phalanges slide inside.

Jace threw his eyes back, his lips wide open. His body should not have accepted such a raid so easily, and yet his muscles yielded to Cregan's passage, letting him do as he wished.
A sliver of discouragement came only when three fingers were sunk inside him.

“You're so tight,” Cregan whispered as he leaned over to kiss him, his cock pressing against his entrance, replacing the fingers that had gone to grip Jace's, a small comfort.
“Cregan!” exclaimed the prince as the lord sank inside him in one slow thrust.
“Fuck!” exclaimed Cregan as he closed his eyes, his hips moving against Jace's that actively accepted his thrusts, coming into him.

Jace's mouth was wide open, his eyes closed and his hands trying to hold on to any part of Cregan that was available, his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, and his buttocks. His moans were so loud they echoed through the room along with the slaps, the sound of skin against skin, produced each time Cregan sank inside him. His toes were curled, his cock slamming against his belly and soon exploding, staining his chest white and making him cry out again.

Rationally he was certain that guards were watching the room. He was equally certain that they could hear his every smallest moan and Cregan's grunts as he bit his lips.
“Cregan! Cregan! Cregan!” he shouted. Because the idea that someone could hear him did not frighten him at all. He liked to think that everyone knew who the Lord of Winterfell was fucking.

That's the alpha talking, he thought. His possessive nature was showing in that instant.
“Jace!” exclaimed Cregan coming inside him. The Wolf slumped down on his body, his face hidden against his neck and his lips leaving small kisses in the hollow between his neck and shoulders.

He must be thinking of biting me, he thought with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around his back.
That's what I would think too, he finished as Cregan rose to kiss him.

လလလ

Little bastard Hightower, thought Daemon with his teeth sunk into the flesh of his cheeks and a cup of wine clutched in one hand. He had left Rhaenyra together with Joffrey, his poor wife so distraught that she had locked herself in their room. She had braced herself in front of the men of the Council but then, once surrounded by her family, she was overcome with despair.

“You have a plan,” Corlys said, sipping in turn from a cup. It was not a question. He had seen the look in Daemon's eyes. It was the same one he had when he had killed Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder.
“It is so,” he replied, a grim smile bending his lips. That wedding would be a good time to sow some discord. Aemond would find that he was not as safe as he thought.

He may ride the biggest dragon in the world, but he remains a one-eyed brat, he thought as he ran a finger over his lips, wiping away the drops of wine that had stuck to his skin.
“I will make sure to give a just ... gift, to my son's husband,” Daemon said with a big, joyless smile bending his lips.
Corlys looked at him from under thick dark lashes.

“And may I ask what this... gift will be?” he asked, clutching his staff in one hand.
Daemon chuckled, as if he had heard a particularly funny joke.
“Blood and Cheese,” he said casually.
Corlys frowned, his head tilted, a question pressing on his tongue.

How could blood and cheese be their solution?

လလလ

They were huddled around their mother. Rhaenyra was lying in bed, Aegon and Viserys tight against her chest and Joff protecting her back, his arms wrapped around her still swollen belly. With one hand he clutched his mother's and with the other he held Aegon's.
Soon Jace will return and we will save Luke, he thought as he sank his face against his mother's neck, taking a deep breath of her soothing scent. Despite her worry her maternal instincts remained in top form, protecting her youngest children from the horror of the outside world.

Vermax is almost as big as Syrax. All together we will take down Vhagar, he thought again huddling as much as possible against the back of Rhaenyra who had fallen asleep recently, squeezed between the bodies of her children.
The door to the room opened slowly, avoiding noises that were too loud and might have frightened the sweet family.

Joff immediately recognized his father's scent, smoky and spicy. Immediately he felt calmer. Despite his terrible reputation, the Rogue Prince always managed to reassure his children.
Daemon slipped off his sword and clung to Joff's shoulders, encircling his body and that of his wife with his arms. His fingers were long enough to graze the shoulders of the younger children.

“It will be all right,” he whispered to Joffrey, who was the only one still awake.
He nodded quickly, letting his father's calm scent conciliate his sleep.

လလလ

Shit, shit, shit, shit! he hissed as he paced back and forth across the room. He had opened every drawer, every closet, and every compartment. He had found nothing with which he could have defended himself on his wedding night.

Discouraged he let himself fall to the foot of the bed, his back resting on the mattress and his feet straight out in front of him.

He ran a hand against his face and pulled up with his nose, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Every day a different servant brought him food, and every day Lucerys was forced to return every piece of cutlery. He was not allowed to keep any weapons.

Shit, he thought, biting his lip. His heart was beating fast as the sun set beyond the horizon. He only had two days left before his wedding and he could not stop the sun from setting and the moon from rising.

He could already imagine Aemond's hands on him. His lips kissing his skin and his cock that- he shook his head and pressed his knees against his chest.
He turned his gaze toward the balcony and sighed.

I am a coward, he thought as he closed his eyes. He had spent a full hour with his hands pressed against the parapet and his eyes fixed on the beaten earth. If he had jumped he would have stopped suffering.
But I'm afraid. He wanted to believe that he was afraid for his family, but he knew that was only half of his fears. The truth was that he did not want his life to end.

Jace wouldn't hesitate, he thought as he bit his lip.
But I am not Jace, he sighed and slowly stood up.
He walked to the door, his feet bare and a sheet tight around his shoulders. The clothes his grandmother had made him bring were still untouched but if nothing else, for that day, he had avoided throwing them out the window.

He shivered when he opened the door and was immediately flanked by the guards who surprised straightened their backs.
They are young, he thought.
They must be the same age as Aemond. He lifted his eyes to them. The first had thick blond hair and a slight strand of beard covering his chin and cheeks. Deep green eyes and a slight buildup of acne on his chin. The second had a more feminine, delicate face, dark, chocolate-colored eyes and thick black curls.

“My prince, do you want to go somewhere?” asked the first guard.
Aemond had never mentioned that Luke could not leave their room, that had been Luke's decision, who ironically had thought it the safest place to be.
With all the Vipers scattered around the palace nowhere is safer than these four walls, he thought as he bit his lip.

“No... I guess I just want to... talk to someone,” he said, remaining motionless in the doorway of his own room. The two gasped a little, perhaps unaccustomed to that kind of request.
“We can take you to Queen Helaena,” said the latter, now more than aware of the young prince's contempt for the Green Queen.
Luke shook his head.

“May I speak with you?” he asked, running his gaze from one to the other. The two guards looked at each other, as if wondering if Prince Aemond would be enraged if he caught them exchanging words with his mate.
“I guess so,” replied the blond-haired man.

Luke thanked him with a shy smile. Their scent was subtle, almost intangible; it was necessary for the omegas who were part of the army to hide their scent, yet Luke still managed to get some comfort.

“Will you... protect me if on the wedding night he becomes... he will hurt me?” asked Luke with torturing fingers and downcast eyes. He was afraid to look his guards in the face, perhaps because inside he already knew the answer.
The blond man hesitated; it was the brunette guard who answered.

“We... would like to protect you but we are not... we cannot interfere with the will of the prince and the king ... if we did we would be killed,” he said, lowering his eyes in turn. The smell of Lucerys was so sad it could wither a whole field of flowers.
The blond guard closed his eyes, agreeing with his comrade's words.

“I am afraid,” Luke admitted, dangling from one foot to the other. If he tried to escape he doubted the guards would stop him, but at the same time he knew they would; they would be trying to protect their own lives, and Luke could hardly blame them for that.
“Have you ever... shared a bed with anyone?” he asked, running his gaze from one to the other. They both lowered their gazes, their shoulders stiff and a hint of fear altering their already subtle scent.

Oh... of course, Luke thought as he bit his lip, regretting having asked that question.
After all, he had seen Aegon's behavior with those very guards.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, searching for their hands. He immediately found the brunette man's, who immediately tightened his fingers around his own, a strong and incredibly sturdy grip. The blond man hesitated but finally let their fingers intertwine.

“When my mother takes King's Landing, you won't have to be afraid of Aegon anymore, I promise,” he said, gripping both of their hands tightly.
The brunette guard bit his lips, an obvious attempt to hold back the sob that threatened to shake his chest.

“Try to go along with it... it will hurt less if you don't fight it...” whispered the blond-haired guard. His eyes were fixed forward but his fingers were still entwined with Luke's. They were trembling now, as if he was remembering the nights spent in the king's company.

Luke bit his lip.
How could I indulge Aemond?he wondered, lowering his gaze to his own bare feet. Luke would have liked to hug them both. But what would have happened if Aemond had seen them together? He would have sent them both to Aegon's room.

“What is your name?” asked Luke.
“Cleoden,” replied the blond-bearded man.
“Harkon,” replied the other.
Luke shook their hands.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he whispered with a sad smile. They returned the same. He longed to ask them how long they had been serving in the palace and how long Aegon had been taking advantage of them. He could not find the courage. It would have been like stabbing and then twisting the knife back into the wound.

“Lucerys,” Aemond called him back, appearing from down the hall. The guards let him go instantly, and Luke could sense the fear modify their sweet scent already disturbed by Aegon's mention.
Luke swallowed and faced his uncle, who stopped right in front of him. The white-haired man looked at the two guards and they did the impossible not to betray their feelings.

“Leave them alone,” Luke said as he went back inside the room.
Aemond lifted his shoulders and closed the door with a resounding snap.
“What were you doing out there?” he asked him as Luke sat as far away from the bed as possible. The closer the wedding day got the more he began to hate that piece of furniture. Every time he looked at it he imagined himself up there with Aemond pushed between his legs.

“I wanted to talk to someone,” he replied in an annoyed tone. He had nothing to hide, and Aemond could not accuse him of anything.
“You can talk to my mother,” he said.
“I don't want to talk to your mother!” shouted Luke.
Aemond licked his lips and sneered, picking up the clothes that were still hanging on the wall.

If nothing else, he didn't throw them off the balcony, he thought as he laid them out on the soft mattress. Green pants and a shirt of the same color. There were no necklaces as Luke never parted with the cluster of nineteen pearls around his neck. There were, however, bracelets and rings, all manufactured so that they did not clash with the pearls.

“You will have to. The king has invited you to dine with your new family,” Aemond said, and Luke threw a pillow at him. This bounced against his uncle's back and fell to the floor.
Don't fight it. Don't fight it. Don't fight it, he thought, remembering Cleoden's words.
Fight back. Fight back. Fight back. Those were the words his mind suggested.

“Go away. I'll prepare myself,” Luke said, looking at the green suit with disgust.
Aemond smiled. The first real smile of joy Luke had seen him show in a presence.
“I see you are beginning to come to your senses,” Aemond commented as he moved closer so he could leave a caress on his face. Luke granted it while tilting his head to stay as far away from him as possible.

Aemond caressed his lips with his thumb and then leaned over him, claiming his mouth in a slow, gentle kiss, his lips seeking Lucerys' still ones, who kept his hands clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed.
The back of his head throbbed and so did the bite he wore on his neck.

Aemond turned away from him, the smile still bending his lips.
“I have always been reasonable,” Luke whispered, licking his saliva-covered lips.
Aemond leaned over him again and kissed him again. Then, just as he had come, he disappeared.

Chapter Text

Meleys landed that by now the sun was setting. It had taken them just over half a day to get to Eyrie, and Baela thought that if she dared she might reach Winterfell before morning.
I would only risk getting in Jace's way, she thought with her gaze turned northward. She wondered what her betrothed was doing at that moment. He must surely have been trying to win Cregan Stark's trust.

I hope he gets home as soon as possible, she thought as she dismounted from Moondancer's saddle. Her little one, in terms of size, was little more petite than Vermax but had a more tapered shape, similar to Caraxes, which gave the impression that she could break at any moment, which was also why she had preferred Rhaena to travel with their grandmother Rhaenys.

The Lady of Driftmark lowered herself down from the side of her dragon and then helped her granddaughter do the same, taking her in her arms as if she were a child.
I wonder how this place stands, commented Rhaena as she looked around. Eyrie seemed to have been built around an immense tower, tall and soaring, with a single entrance connecting it to the outside world.

It's amazing that the dragons didn't knock it to the ground, she thought again as the great doors swung open and Lady Jeyen, followed by four guards, came to meet them.
Lady Jeyen was small, plump, and good-looking. She had long black hair streaked with white, wore a blue dress that set off her middle-aged body, and an assortment of golden jewels wrapped around her neck and wrists.

“Princess Rhaenys!” greeted Jeyen. Her smile big and her cheeks a little red, her scent sweet and welcoming.
Of course, they must be the same age, thought Baela as she flanked her sister. She brought a hand to her sword, in case the Lady's guards had attempted anything against them. She found it incredible that not only a woman but also an omega was in charge there.

She was beginning to guess why her mother had thought it wise to send Rhaena to Eyrie. An omega who knew how the world turned would never have turned her sister over to Aegon if he had ordered it.

If she remembered correctly, according to her studies, Jeyen Arryn had been married to a young alpha who, however, had died a few years after the marriage, followed soon after by the only heir of the Arryn lineage, leaving her as Lady of Eyrie.

“Lady Jeyen,” Rhaenys greeted her. She was forced to bend her back so that her face was at the same height as the Lady's. The two women clasped hands, looking softly into each other's eyes and exchanging smiles full of unspokenness.
Perhaps they knew each other. Perhaps they were great friends, she thought again.

“Allow me to introduce my nieces,” Rhaenys continued, hinting for the twins to approach her.
Baela was the first to advance and Rhaena followed her, staying a step behind, giving curious glances to the guards. She noticed that there was an omega between them and immediately felt reassured.

“This is Baela, the eldest,” Rhaenys said, laying a hand on the young alpha's shoulder. Baela offered a bow to the Lady of Eyrie and she smiled at her, her cheeks red and full.
“This is Rhaena. She will be spending time in your company,” Rhaenys explained, laying her free hand on her niece's shoulder.

Rhaena greeted the Lady and gave her a deep bow of thanks. After all, few would risk drawing the fury of the Green dragons upon themselves.
“Oh!” exclaimed Jeyen taking Rhaena's face in his hands. She stroked her cheeks, peering into her deep violet eyes.

“What a wonderful girl, she reminds me so much of your Laena,” she said then lifting her gaze to Rhaenys, who nodded wistfully, her eyes sad and her lips curled in a knowing smile.

Rhaena felt her heart beat faster. She knew her sister looked like her father but she had never thought that she looked like her mother, after all, when Lady Laena had died they were very young, only ten years old. The memory of their mother's face had been lost, replaced by Rhaenyra's.
She lifted her gaze to her grandmother.

Is it her daughter she sees every time she looks at me? she wondered. Suddenly she felt pity for the woman and seemed to understand why she had wanted to keep Baela by her side and let her spend more time at Dragonstone with her father.
“Stop for the night,” she then said, mentioning the waning sun and the palace lights that were quickly coming on.

Rhaenys seemed to think about it for a few moments and then, perhaps realizing what had happened to Lucerys on his way back from his mission, decided to agree.

လလလ

Cregan was showing him his home. He was doing this with such passion that one day Jace hoped to do the same with King's Landing and Dragonstone.
With the matter of the bear hunt and Luke's kidnapping, Jace had not had a chance to navigate the narrow streets of the city but is now learning to appreciate every nook and cranny.

Before leaving the palace, however, they had both indulged in a long, relaxing bath, in different rooms, so as to get the smell of each other off their skin.
“I thought there was always snow in the North,” he said as they strolled through the streets. The children seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence and no longer hid from his passing. Or perhaps, they had simply begun to mistake him for one of their men.

Although at that moment there were not many children. Most had gone into the woods in search of berries, close enough that their incessant chattering could still be heard.
Cregan laughed.
“Did you want to see the snow?” she asked him, and Jace nodded, the same joy of a child.
“It never snows in the South… I would have liked to see it,” he said with a shy smile. He knew it was frozen water but he longed to touch it with his hand, to see it melt on contact with his skin.

“When your mother is queen you can always come back to visit me during the winter,” he told him, leaving a gentle pat at the base of his back.
Jace smiled; he would not mind going back to the North. There his life, in a way, seemed worry-free.
“Vermax is not outside the walls,” Cregan told him as they emerged into the town square, where women chatted and older men repaired weapons or made new horseshoes.

Jace lifted his gaze but was not surprised not to see the giant body of his dragon. Vermax did not like the North. The light sleet that had fallen the day his mother's letter had arrived had been enough to make him even more irritable. He had created a large furrow of burnt grass and coals and used to rest there, letting the children watch him from afar, instructed by Jonnel to keep their distance.

“I'm not surprised. He'll be hunting,” he said as he looked around. He was used to seeing fishermen and merchants; that calm was unusual for him.
“I fear your dragon will drastically reduce the deer population,” Cregan said with a smile, and Jace laughed in turn, hiding his lips against one hand.

Vermax had been raised eating sheep and goats but did not seem to disdain the wilder food the North offered. His teeth broke bone and antlers with equal ease. Sometimes he would even bring extra prey and leave it in front of the gates, an offering for his rider.

A series of shouts came from outside the walls. The children were returning but not singing with joy but bringing with them screams of sheer terror.
Vermax! thought Jace as he ran to the entrance of the walls, where Cregan's men were coming armed with swords and bows.

Could the children have gotten too close? he wondered with dread.
When they reached outside the walls, however, they found not the prince's green dragon but ten children being chased by the black beast that had been tormenting the hunters for weeks.

Oh shit, thought Jace as his eyes fell on the huge bear that was advancing with great strides, bellowing like an enraged beast. It was a huge creature, bigger than his brother Aegon's dragon. It had shiny black fur, bloodshot eyes, and fangs so long they were the envy of sharp daggers.

The men fired their arrows, striking the bear, which continued to advance as one man, a hunter, overtook the array and ran forward, an axe clutched in his hands and a scream on his lips.

“Bran!” shouted the man, and one of the children shouted louder, trying to keep up with his companions who had distanced him.
The hunter overtook the fleeing children and brought his axe down against the side of the bear, who chased him away with a paw, sinking his teeth into the flesh of his calf. The man began to scream as the arrows continued to strike the bear.

Bran, brave little alpha, seeing what must have been his father in distress, turned back and struck the beast's flank with a small hunting dagger.
The bear turned with a snort, losing its grip on the hunter's leg, which fell back onto the dry grass.

Jace felt time freeze. In front of him was no longer an ordinary child. There was no longer Bran. There was Luke and then Joff. There was Aegon and then Viserys.
He sprang forward.

“Jace!” shouted Cregan as he continued to give orders to his men.
The bear reared up on his hind legs and Bran barely reached the middle of his thigh. His jaws were wide open and dripping with blood and saliva. He brought a paw down on the small one but Jace was quicker, grabbed Bran by the hips and rolled to the ground, his thigh ripped open by three sharp claws.

A yelp of pain left his lips but he kept rolling, Bran tight against his chest. He stopped when he was far enough away, only a few feet between himself and the bear that made the attention run from the prince and the child to the wounded hunter trying to get up.
The archers continued to aim but their attention was divided between avoiding hitting their men and wounding the bear.

Bran lifted his eyes to Jace. Black and frightened wells. His small heart beat hard against Jace's chest, which now that he was out there had no idea what to do. He clutched the hilt of his sword but bent as he was and with Bran tight against his chest he would not be able to draw it.

The bear was closing in on him, attracted by his bleeding thigh.
The hunter had managed to rise to his feet but was falling forward with each step. His mangled leg, however, did not prevent him from screaming loudly, trying to draw the beast's attention to himself and away from his son.
Shit, thought Jace.

The bear leapt forward and Jace clutched Bran against his chest, his eyes closed.
The earth shook behind him and a boiling cloud covered his body. Hard, warm scales were pressed against his back, and a reassuring presence urged him to lift his eyelids.
He would have burst into tears but Bran did it for him.

Above them was Vermax. His immense wings folded on the ground and his chest brushing against Jace's head.
Bran screamed, and Jace pressed a hand against his hair.
“It's all right,” he whispered as his leg throbbed and blood puddled under Vermax's paw.

The archers were motionless, the children hiding behind them, and even the hunter had stopped screaming, lying on the ground gazing with wide eyes at the green beast that had saved his son.
Bran let himself fall against Jace's chest, his body devoid of muscle, unconscious.

The bear and the dragon looked into each other's eyes. The black beast roared showing its fangs, its body seemed to recognize the danger but seemed unwilling to let its prey escape.
Vermax hissed in turn, tail swaying from side to side, neck raised and jaws half-closed.

“Dracarys,” Jace whispered, and a column of fire swept over the beast. A howl left its jaws and then silence. All that remained of the bear was a heap of steaming flesh.
Vermax hissed and shook his head. He lowered his gaze between his own wings and Jace was almost certain to see him smiling.

“I'm fine,” he told him.
“Bran!” shouted a female voice.
His mother, Jace thought as a woman made her way through the archers, passing her own lord as if she were passing an old beggar.

Vermax hissed when the woman came too close and she came to a sudden halt, risking tripping in the dry grass. She was wearing red, a bright, bright red, unusual compared to the black and gray everyone else was wearing.
Jace liked her immediately. She reminded him of his mother.
Fire was born in Vermax's throat and a chill ran down Jace's spine.

“No Vermax!” and his voice boomed across the dry plain. No one outside of dragon and knight recognized the meaning of those words and yet everyone understood the meaning. A dry, firm order. The order of a commander.
The fire went out and the dragon shook his head.

“She is his mother. Let her come closer. She will do us no harm,” he said, leaving a caress against his dragon's wings. The beast slumped onto its hind legs, continuing to guard its rider and the tiny human it held tightly against its chest.

“Come closer. He won't hurt you,” he assured, then turning to the red-clad woman.
Two soldiers had approached her husband and were helping him approach the walls. He limped but kept his eyes fixed on his son, still clutched in the prince's arms.

The woman hesitated for a moment and then, with unsteady but as quick a step as she could, slipped between the green dragon's legs, bending down so she could take her son in her arms. She ran a hand through his hair, shaking it away from his sweaty forehead.

“He's unconscious but he's not hurt,” Jace told her as he leaned against his dragon's chest.
She bit her lips and then fixed her eyes in his; they were shiny, frightened but full of gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispered, laying a trembling hand on the prince's. He smiled at her, the blood still running down his leg and his vision beginning to grow dim.

“Call Cregan... please...” whispered Jace before his eyes disappeared inside his head and his body slumped to the ground.

လလလ

Night had fallen and the full moon shone high in the clear, blue sky. Rhaena was looking out one of the many windows, her forehead pressed against the glass and her eyes trying to look as low as possible, but unable to see beyond the last balcony, the last illuminated bastion.

Her grandmother and Baela were still preparing for dinner. They were both more tired than she was, exhausted from the long journey and the strain of mastering a dragon.
I like it, she thought as she looked around.
That place was nothing like the other palaces she had visited. Even its scent was different. Dragonstone, Driftmark and King's Landing teemed with alphas and their pungent smell, Eyrie had the same scent as their Lady. Sweet and calm.

There were alphas as guards but their scent remained hidden, concealed from anyone's nose.
“Lady Rhaena,” Lady Jeyen greeted her. Her hair was pulled back into a thick braid wrapped around her head, and her black hair was streaked with gray, a gray so deep it almost reminded her of her maternal grandmother's hair.
She dressed in blue and gold, a dress that was very reminiscent of the one worn by the young Lady of Dragonstone.

“Lady Jeyen,” she greeted her. She stepped away from the window and approached her, her hands tucked behind her back and a small smile bending her lips. She liked that old woman, small and with a sly smile.
I wonder if Lady Aemma also had this face, she wondered as she stood beside her.

“Your grandmother tells me you don't have a dragon,” she commented as she took her arm, clasping her hand in her own.
Rhaena felt herself blushing and tried not to give it away by looking away.
Lady Jeyen seemed to resent this.
“Oh no, I didn't mean anything malicious! I just wanted to show you something,” she said, smiling at her.

Rhaena tilted her head, now intrigued by the Lady of Erie's sweet words. She let herself be pulled along, she walking with a light step and swaying hips. The little woman babbled on and on, filling the silence she probably found too oppressive.
She led her down narrow, wide hallways, pointing out every detail that passed before her eyes. Cracks in the wall and paintings of her ancestors. Ancient armor when the Iron Throne and plants that had just sprouted.

They slid down, down stairways so narrow that they had to separate, and then up, upward into towers so wide that they were the envy of the Throne Room of the Red Keep.
At one point she began to believe that Lady wanted her to get lost within those corridors.

Eventually, however, she came to a stop in front of a small door painted blue.

“Aemma's room,” she told her as she lowered the handle.
Rhaena hesitated before entering. It seemed unfair to her to invade a dead person's space in this way. The last space where perhaps the old queen had been happy.
“Come, come on,” she said, holding out a hand to her.
Rhaena hesitated again but then let her fingers slip into the Lady's and let her pull her into the room. She had imagined a dusty place but such was not the case, Lady Aemma's old room was spotless, as if her spirit still inhabited it.

And perhaps it does, she thought as she looked around.
“Aemma left something behind before she left… a gift from Viserys,” she told her as she approached a corner of the room.
Rhaena followed her, now more curious than before.

Her heart missed a beat because there, in that forgotten corner, in a still-boiling cauldron, was a dragon egg.

လလလ

“Uncle Daeron look!” exclaimed Jaehaera as she put her weaving from that day, a flower with yellow petals and wobbly edges, in front of her uncle's face.
Daeron found it beautiful. He took it in his hands and smiled at his niece, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“It's lovely,” he told her, and she smiled back with a huge, toothy smile. Her hands tucked behind her yellow-covered back, a dress very similar to the ones her mother and brother wore.

Jaehaerys played lying on the ground, his white hair falling in front of his face, his almost completely loose braids slapping his cheeks. He held two wooden dragons, one in his right hand and one in his left. The two dragons were fighting over what looked like a lake.
Daeron smiled and shook his head, softened by his nephew's gentleness.

“Helaena...what can you tell me about our nephews?” he asked her, returning the weaving to Jaehaera, who went back to work, kneeling before her mother's legs, using her skirt as if it were a pillow.
She briefly lifted her gaze and then tilted her head.

“They are brave,” she said, licking her lips. She put down her own weaving and hinted to her brother to come closer. He stood up and then took a seat at her side, taking her hands in his own.

“They are sweet,” she continued, thinking of her nephew Lucerys' face, which in a single week had gone from the swell of boyhood to the marked features of an adult. His hard eyes and voice that hurt more than a blade.

“Lucerys looks like a little fire-breathing dragon,” Daeron said with a smile. He could not believe Luke would be cooperative during the wedding. He would not have been surprised if he had tried to assassinate his betrothed.
“What about the others? Jacaerys and Joffrey?” he asked her with more curiosity. All he knew of the three brothers was that they looked very much alike. Same dark hair full of curls.

The same as Harwin Strong's, he thought as he licked his lips. He had never met the man he had heard so much about but knew he must look like his sister's three sons.

“Jacaerys asked me to dance,” she whispered with dreamy eyes and red cheeks. Her heart pounded every time she thought of the last dinner they had spent together. The way he had offered her his hand and led her away from the table. And she had enjoyed every moment, clasping his fingers in her own.

“He ask you to dance?” asked Daeron in a gentle tone with a sweet smile bending his lips.
And did Aegon let him? he wondered not because he knew Aegon cared for his wife but because he now knew her obsession with their nephew.

She nodded again, clasping her hands against her breasts.
Daeron knew that when his nephews had still been children Rhaenyra had proposed that Jacaerys marry Helaena. Alicent, however, had refused.
He returned his gaze to his sister and knew that she would have prayed to any deity as long as she could go back in time and marry their nephew.

“He is so kind! Any maiden would be lucky to marry him,” she said, biting her lip, a pang of jealousy invading her chest.
He and Baela would make an incredible couple, she thought with a heartbroken sigh. And she would die knowing she had wasted her life.
She looked at her children. She loved them. They possessed the same sweetness as her but also the traits of their father. And Helaena hated them.

“What about Joffrey?” asked Daeron, clasping his sister's hands in his own.
She looked confused for a moment but then smiled.
“He is as strong as his brothers but ... there is something different about him. He is touchy but seems more controlled than Jacaerys and Lucerys.... I think he reminds a lot of Uncle Daemon, cunning and calculating,” she told him with a smile.

When the fight had broken out between Aemond and Jacaerys on the evening of the last dinner, Joffrey had not joined in the dancing but when Helaena had met his gaze she had seen him with a dagger clutched in his hand and his eyes fixed on her husband.
Daeron laughed.

“Ah, a little Strong with our uncle's character. Together they will burn the world,” he commented, making Helaena laugh as well. Then she grew serious, her eyes suddenly lost in the void.

“If Aemond doesn't do it before he does,” she whispered with irises veiled in tears.

လလလ

Daeron could not take his eyes off his brother.
They were gathered around the table in the dining hall. The king's seat was occupied by Aegon, with Helaena and Alicent standing to his right and left, respectively.
The queen was stroking Jaehaerys' head, trying to persuade him to leave his sister alone, who was threatening to burst into tears at any moment.

Otto sat at Alicent's side, muttering in the Green Queen's ear as she did the impossible to urge him to cease his war-filled and political chatter.
Daeron and Aemond sat at opposite ends of the table. An empty chair waited at his brother's side, ready to receive Lucerys' small figure.

“I'm glad Lucerys will join us for dinner,” Alicent said, finally finding a way to shush her parent.
He finally agreed to bow, she thought as she imagined on her grandson dressed in green. She smiled and rubbed her pale hands together as her curly hair fell over her shoulders.

Aegon grinned. Alicent was not the only one who felt excitement at the idea of Lucerys spending the evening with them. After he had seen him naked he had taken one of his guards, the dark-haired one, to bed, but it had not been fun enough. Lucerys, on the other hand, would rebel, making the experience much more fulfilling.

Maybe Aemond will let me spend a night with him, he thought as he laid eyes on his younger brother. Seeing the expression distorting his face he guessed it would not happen.
Too bad, he thought taking a sip of wine.

“He was getting ready,” Aemond said, licking his lips.
It had been more than an hour since he had left him alone but he imagined that his sweet mate was working hard to look his best.
He smiled and bit the inside of his cheeks.

He let himself be kissed, he thought as he remembered the texture of Lucerys' lips against his own.
Not once but twice, he thought again as the doors to the dining room opened, wide open by the two pale guards guarding them. At first he believed their whiteness was due to the absence of sunshine but when Luke stepped into the room all his hopes were shattered.

Aegon let out a whistle of approval while Daeron quickly looked away, his eyes wide and his cheeks dyed red.
Alicent brought a hand to her lips as Otto dropped his cup of wine to the ground, which went to wet his shoes and the polished floor.

Lucerys was completely naked.

His guards came three steps behind him, stiff and downcast-eyed. Cleoden's cheeks were red, his green eyes doing everything they could not to rest on the naked, toned figure of his prince, who with his chin high and pearl necklace clasped around his neck crossed the dining hall.

“Forgive the wait,” the prince said as he took a seat beside the betrothed.
Aemond stood motionless, his gaze fixed before him and his hands clasped against the wooden arms. His fingernails had dug deep furrows, letting thin brownish chips fall to the ground.

Cleoden and Harkon came up behind him, their backs pressed against the wall, right beside two other guards.

Luke took a sip of wine and settled comfortably against the back of the chair, legs crossed and eyes running over the faces of his family members.
Helaena and Aegon seemed to be the only ones amused. The former giggled, her lips tucked against her right hand. The latter looked at him, licking his lips, as if he had not hoped for a better situation.

“Lucerys! What-what? How could you think of dressing this way!” cried the Green Queen with red cheeks and wide eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her green dress barely able to contain her breasts.

“In what way?” asked Lucerys bringing a hand to the pearl necklace. He had felt a strong desire to get rid of the bandages as well but would not risk his own recovery merely to annoy the Greens.
“In what way! Like you're a whore from the Street of Silk!" exclaimed Alicent pointing to the twins who were looking at him wide-eyed, probably wondering why they were not allowed to show up naked at the table.

“Didn't you think of them!?” she exclaimed with eyes running from Lucerys' face to that of her grandchildren. He looked at them in turn and they smiled at him beaming, perhaps happy to be able to spend an evening with some extra fun.

“Their father fucked half the palace servants and good half the guards. I don't think your grandchildren are so easily shocked,” Luke said, smiling at the little ones, who snickered among themselves.
Alicent looked at them, surprised by their quick amusement and lack of reaction at their cousin's nakedness.

“He's not wrong, his guards back there,” Aegon said, pointing first to Cleoden and then to Harkon, who immediately stiffened.
“Both a good fuck,” he commented, winking at them.
Alicent brought her hands to her face, hiding her eyes and her cheeks that had lost any kind of color.

Otto had a new cup clutched in one hand, his flaming eyes fixed on Lucerys but a glance from Aemond was enough to force him to point his furious pupils elsewhere, away from his naked mate.

“Don't talk about my guards!” hissed Lucerys with stiff shoulders and one hand clenched against his dinner knife.
Aegon replied with a grin.
“Or what?” asked the king.
Luke snapped to his feet, the blade clenched between his fingers and his eyes fixed on his uncle's face.

Aemond snapped at the same instant. He slammed his hands against the table and silence fell in the room, even Aegon looked away, his eyes downcast, like a child about to receive a scolding.
“That's enough,” he hissed in a voice so low that a chill ran down Daeron's spine.
“Sit down and shut up,” he ordered, fixing his one eye on Lucerys. The young prince opened his mouth, ready to retort but not a single sound came from his throat. He sat down, the back of his neck throbbing and so did the mark on his neck.

Shit, he thought, bringing a hand to cover the hollow between his neck and shoulder.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought, grinding his teeth. He tried again to open his mouth but nothing but a shrill moan came out of his half-closed lips.
What the fuck happened? he wondered with wide eyes. His muscles resisted his control, preventing him from getting up and running away, his feet planted on the ground and his legs adhering to the wooden seat.

“Ah! Finally your bite is starting to give him some fucking rules! It will come in very handy when you fuck him on your wedding night,” Aegon sneered, his eyes fixed on the naked figure of Lucerys who, unable to move or speak, kept looking at him with hate-filled eyes.
“Shut. Up,” growled Aemond, slumping heavily against his own seat.

Lucerys clung to the arms of his own chair. Perhaps he could not get up but he could always hurl the knife at Aegon. Perhaps he would not kill him but he would enjoy himself. Then his eyes fell on Helaena and the twins and he immediately gave up the idea.
I can't accidentally hurt them, he thought as he bit his lip.
“Aemond! Show respect to your king!” exclaimed Alicent with rosy cheeks and shaking hands.
Her middle son sneered as the eldest smiled slyly.

“Right now he is not my king but a fucking asshole,” he commented, closing his one eye and running a hand against his face.
Luke found himself unconsciously smiling.
Aegon burst out laughing, not at all disturbed by his brother's words.

“Aemond... give him your jacket,” Daeron said, mentioning Lucerys, whose body was covered with chills.
The young prince wrinkled his nose, the back of his neck throbbing painfully, as if he knew what Luke would do.

“I will not. Wear. Something. Of. Green,” he hissed between his teeth. Aemond's command was fresh in his mind but slowly fading, perhaps his body was beginning to remember that this was not his alpha. Perhaps he had marked him but Luke felt nothing for him.
Aemond took a deep breath and nodded to one of Luke's guards.

Harkon approached quickly and placed his own white cloak on Lucerys' shoulders, who thanked him with a sweet smile.
“So you know how to smile,” Aegon commented without looking at his younger brother.
“With those who deserve it,” Lucerys retorted, Aemond's command now completely gone.

“I can't wait for Aemond to fuck that attitude away,” Aegon said again.
“He can try,” retorted Lucerys, taking a sip from his wine cup.
Daeron ran a hand against his face.
I regret the tranquility of Old Town, he thought as his eyes rested on his nephew's battered neck.

Chapter Text

He felt dirty. Dressed in red and white, the traditional clothes of his family, yet he felt he did not belong. That he was staining such a perfect ceremony.

That day the sky was cloudy and a blanket of mist had risen from the sea surrounding the hill on which Aemma Arryn and her son Baelon Targaryen had been burned.

Lucerys had looked around, as if hoping to see the pyre that had been there twenty years before. Of course, there was no trace of it anymore, just uncultivated grass and small yellow flowers.

He finally managed to find a Master, he thought as he looked at the old man with the prominent belly and long white beard.
He wrinkled his nose and looked away briefly. His eyes should have remained fixed in Aemond's but he feared he would vomit if he looked at his uncle's purple iris for a moment longer.

At the base of the hill, surrounded by mist, far enough away not to be a distraction but close enough to hear the Master's words, were their family members.
Aemond's family members, he thought as he bit his lip.
Further back, hidden from view but present, were Criston Cole and his men.

Luke's guards were not present. He would have wanted them with him. If his family could not attend perhaps Cleoden and Harkon could be his anchor in that horrible moment. But Aemond had ordered them to stay in the palace and guard their new bedroom.

“Are we ready to begin?” asked the Master, rubbing his frozen cold hands together.
If I pushed him off the cliff no one could perform the wedding, he thought as he bit his lip. The cliff was several meters away but if he pushed him hard enough, round as he was, he would roll down without any difficulty.

“Come on, Master! I can't wait to hear screams and moans fill the walls of my palace!” exclaimed Aegon as he laid his hands on the shoulders of his children, who still young could not understand what the parent was referring to.
Luke shuddered and tightened his lips into a thin line.
I could push Aegon off the cliff, he thought again, eyeing the usurper surrounded by mist fumes.

Daeron was at his side, his nose curled and his eyes downcast. He kept one hand resting on his sword and the other clutching the side of his heavy black coat. He was the only one in his family who refused to wear green.
Aemond also seemed bothered by those words but said nothing, hinting to the Master to proceed.

The old man cleared his throat, beginning to babble as he offered Aemond the ceremonial blade, a dagger as black as obsidian.

“Hen lantoti ànogar, Va syndroti vaedroma,” - Blood of the two, united as one - the old man began as Aemond leaned forward, carving Lucerys' lip. The young man hissed, trying to move away from the blade but his betrothed's grip was too strong to escape.

Luke should have carved Aemond's lip in turn but his uncle was not foolish enough to allow him to bring a dagger close to his face. So, he did it himself, carving his own lips and marking Luke's forehead and his own with their mixed blood.

“Mero perzot gihoti, Eledroma iàrza sir,” - Phantom flame and song of darkness - the Master continued as Aemond took Luke's hand in his own, carving his own palm with care and attention, severing the soft white flesh, letting the blood drip down his wrist and stain his white robe.

Aemond carved his own palm, his face impassive as the blade sliced through his skin as if it had been a piece of butter. He handed the dagger to the Master who placed it on the altar that separated them, taking the ceremonial chalice.

“Izult ampà perzi, Primi lanti seteksi,” - Two hearts like embers, forged in the Fourteen Flames, a future promised in glass - he said again as Aemond took Luke's hand in his own, pressing their bleeding palms together. Luke hissed and again tried to escape as their blood dripped inside the cup.

“Hen jeny mazilarion, Qélossa,” -The stars are witnesses, the oath speaks through me - he finally whispered. Aemond was the first to drink from the cup and immediately pressed it against Luke's lips, who was forced to take a tiny sip. He barely wet his lips but could not stop himself from wiping them clean with his tongue, ending up swallowing their blood joined into one.

Aemond leaned over him, joining their lips in a tiny kiss that Luke resisted with all his might.
Aegon cried out with excitement, as if that had been his own wedding.
Alicent and Helaena, imitated by the children, merely contained applause. Grandmother and the little ones smiled while Helaena was rigid, alert.

“At last! Courage brother, let us return to the Red Keep and begin in advance this highly anticipated first night of-” Daeron threw himself upon him before he could finish the sentence, a sword slicing through the air there where moments before stood the Usurper King.

Helaena began to scream as a thin figure armed with daggers made his way between her and her children, aiming for the faces of the little ones who were saved by Ser Criston's sword, which came spinning down the hill.
Daeron had intercepted the big man's sword.
“Blood and Cheese!” hissed Helaena.

Daeron looked at her in terror, fearing that his sister had been shot in the head but she was healthy, clasped in his mother's arms as the guards came by the dozens.
It did not take them long to overpower the two enemies who came from the mist. But that little time was enough for Lucerys, who grabbed the ceremonial dagger and threw himself on Aemond, slashing the center of his chest, a superficial wound but one that nonetheless made him flinch and lose his balance.

Luke pounced on him again but Aemond was ready, grabbed his wrist and struck him in the face with a backhand that knocked him to the ground with a cry of pain and a split lip.
Lying on the ground, with blood running down his chin, he heard the last words of the small man armed with the dagger.

“The wedding gift of the Blacks! Prince Daemon's gift!” he exclaimed before he was pierced by Daeron's blade, his face splattered with blood and his hair in disarray, curls covering his forehead and ears.

Aegon pushed past Criston Cole, pushing him away from in front of the twins and knelt in front of them. He caressed the faces of both of them. Jaehaerys' cheek was bruised by a small cut and Jaehaera's was splattered with blood and from the tears that marked their small faces.
The children immediately huddled against his chest, letting him encircle them with strong, trembling arms.

“Let's go back to the Keep. Now,” Daeron ordered, running a hand through his hair.
He walked over to his mother and sister, making sure they were both okay.
Luke gritted his teeth.
They were so close. So close to seeing Aegon's head roll into the ground! he thought as he hit the ground angrily. If Daeron had not intervened Aegon would have been dead. Dead.

Aemond grabbed him by the hair and forced him to stand up. Luke tried to free himself but the grip was too strong. He spat out a stream of saliva and blood that stained Aemond's face but he grinned.
Aegon rose from the ground and turned his glowing eyes on the young prince.

“Fuck him good. Fuck him!” he shouted to his brother as he led his family toward the carriage that had driven them there.
Aemond lost his grip on his hair and grabbed him by the arm, escorting him to the carriage.
Luke resisted every step.

လလလ

The air in the throne room was tense. But the Lord of Winterfell appeared calm and relaxed, his legs firmly planted on the ground and his hands resting on the wooden arms.
Beggars paraded before the Lord, laying out their demands only to see them accepted or rejected. From the cheerful face of his Counselor, it seemed that the demands seemed to have been reduced since the last meeting.

The death of the bear must have solved many problems, thought Jace as he sat beside the Lord of Winterfell.
A new seat had been added to Cregan's. That chair seemed to belong to the old Lady of Winterfell, Cregan's first wife and mother of Jonnel.

I should feel ashamed to be associated with Cregan's omega but... I'm hurt, he thought as he laid a hand against his bandaged thigh both inside his pants and outside.

The Master had stitched him up while he was unconscious. It seemed that Cregan had entrenched himself under Vermax's flank to drag him back to the palace, and miraculously his dragon had not deemed him a threat to be reduced to coals.
In those two days he had spent most of his time stroking that battered thigh, feeling the outline of the stitches under the bandage. If he had wanted to fly in Vermax's saddle he would have had to resort to the belt and no longer the leather straps since, ironically, the cuts were right at the bruises.

The old merchant bowed his head and thanked his Lord, walking away with a brisk stride and hunched back.
The old man was replaced by a man walking with a limp and a wooden staff propped against his armpit.
Jace smiled, recognizing Bran's father.

“My lord. My prince,” he said, offering a labored bow to both of them.
“Threoden,” Cregan greeted him, smiling.
“How is your leg?” he asked, mentioning the calf bandaged with a set of thick bandages, almost twice as thick as those that wrapped the prince's thigh.
The hunter smiled with stymied distress. Jace thought he looked a lot like his son, his eyes dark and his hair the same color, his cheeks red and his nose straight.

“I could have been dead,” he commented, leaving the sentence hanging and patting the wound lightly. The bear had torn off a good chunk of his skin, the Master had stitched it up but there would be a hole left where his calf used to be, the muscle was lost and he would limp for life.

Seeing it devoured by the prince's beast was the highlight of my day, he thought as he remembered how after Cregan had retrieved Jacaerys unconscious body, Vermax had pounced on what remained of the charred bear, devouring and leaving only the bones.

Threoden set his gaze on Jacaerys, who clung to the seat, as if afraid he might be reprimanded for not intervening sooner.
“I wanted to thank you. For saving my life and my son's,” he said, giving him a deep bow. Jace raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. That was not the reaction he would have expected. Then, however, he smiled.

“I saw my brothers in your son's place. I wouldn't have let anything happen to him,” he said clasping his hands in his lap, the three cuts on his thigh throbbing, as if thinking back to that day was enough to remind him of the claws that savagely dug into his sweet skin.

“But it was not your brothers who were out there, it was my son, an ordinary child,” he said biting his lip. Speaking those words cost him much effort as he recognized that his son's life, as seen by the royals, was worth less than that of a pig, but to him Bran's life was above all else.

“A king should protect his people. Your son's life and my brothers' lives should be on equal footing,” Jace replied.
I can't protect everyone, but why should I hold back if I can help someone? he wondered, biting the inside of his cheeks. Had he been foolish to put his life on the line to save a child's? He was aware of this but did not regret it.

Threoden gave him a bow, perhaps not totally believing his words but his son was alive and that was the important thing.
Jace turned his head and his green eyes found Cregan's. The Northern Lord was looking at him with his face resting on one hand and a gentle smile bending his lips.
The prince looked away and lowered his eyes, his cheeks red and the corners of his mouth bent upward.

လလလ

Jaehaera was tight against his chest. His little girl was crying, her face hidden against his neck and her small hands clenched against his black robe, the necklace that wrapped around his neck was clasped in her slender little finger.

He turned only to make sure his brother was following him, Jaehaerys clutched in his arms and his face hidden. Daeron held him pressed against his chest, his cheek pressed against his neck, as if to keep him from seeing more blood.

Alicent and Healena came behind them, the guards escorting them and Ser Criston trying to grab the Green Queen's arm and let her lean on him. Alicent, however, seemed to refuse all contact, preferring to cling to her daughter, who for the first time in many years seemed more than willing to accept her mother's touch.

Aegon kicked open the door to his own room, placed one foot on the mattress and curled up in the center of the bed, clutching himself and his daughter between blankets and pillows. Daeron let go of Jaehaerys and the little one crawled up to snuggle against his parent's side, both twins wrapped in his strong arms.

The smell of alpha left the king's body like a cloud of steam. It invaded the entire room, driving away the guards who recoiled in terror as Daeron clutched his shoulders, forcing himself to hold his ground.

He is my brother and he will not hurt me, he thought as his body was shaken by chills.
But if he felt fear in the face of that pungent smell his nephews felt joy and calm. The children had stopped crying and their bodies were no longer trembling as they had a few moments before. Their noses were tucked against their father's chest as he stroked their heads, leaving gentle caresses in their white hair.

Helaena left her mother's side, with trembling step she passed Daeron and curled up on the bed, letting her children press their backs against her breasts. And soon the pungent smell of Aegon was joined by the more sugary smell of Helaena.

Daeron took a deep breath with his mouth and swallowed, one hand clenched against his sword and the other pressed against his chest.
Aegon almost died, he thought as Alicent clung to his arm, resting her head against his shoulder.
If he had not intervened when he did his brother would have lost his head.

He did not even know how he had seen that attack; the fog was thick and Blood and Cheese, as Helaena had called them, had concealed their scent until the last moment.
Aegon was breathing heavily, his eyes reduced to two slits.
The door jerked open and an animalistic growl left Aegon's lips, his children having resumed trembling in his arms.

“Out!” he hissed with eyes fixed on the face of his grandfather, who brought a hand to his nose, trying not to smell the terrible odor that plagued that room.
“I heard about the attack,” Otto said, ignoring his king's order so he could approach his daughter. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and Alicent knew that would be the most comfort he would offer her.

“Where is Lucerys? I hope the Blacks have not freed him,” he commented with eyes fixed on Daeron's face. The prince returned the gaze, nostrils flared and pupils reduced to slits.

Is this really the greatest of his worries? he wondered as he looked at his nephews trembling tightly in their parents' arms. From where he stood he could not see it but he knew that Jaehaerys had a cut on his cheek. If Criston Cole had not intervened Aegon would not have been the only one in danger of losing his head.

“I don't give a fuck about that bastard! Aemond I'm going to fuck him!” exclaimed Aegon, brutally setting himself down. The children yelped, huddling against him and sitting on his green-and-black-covered knees.

“I hope he puts a child in him and I hope he dies giving birth! Those assholes tried to kill my children. My children! I don't give a damn what happens to the bastard of Rhaenyra!” he shouted with saliva running down his chin.

“Aegon...” Alicent tried to call him back but he growled at her, shushing her.
Otto sighed and ran a hand against his face. He breathed through his mouth, preventing the sour smell of his grandson from filling his nose.
If nothing else he is still in our hands, he thought as he looked at his grandson and his children.

And the heir is fine too, he continued with eyes fixed on Jaehaerys who had his cheek pressed against his father's chest, the cut well in view.
“The council is waiting for you. We must take action,” Otto said, returning his gaze to his grandson's face.

Aegon gritted his teeth and snorted through his nose. He tightened his arms around the twins more tightly as Helaena stood huddled on the bed, blurting out endlessly the name of their attackers.

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese...”
“I will not leave my children,” Aegon said, showing his teeth to Grandfather.
“I'll stay with them,” said Daeron immediately, who could no longer stand the sour smell that was making his throat burn. If he had stayed a moment longer in his brother's presence, he would have risked vomiting. He could not understand how his sister and nephews could find that smell soothing.

Aegon aimed his eyes at him, and Alicent gripped his arm more tightly.
“You?” he asked him doubtfully.
“I saved your life. I will protect theirs at the cost of losing mine,” he told him, and there was no lie in those words.

Aegon hesitated. He lowered his gaze to his children and they reciprocated, their frightened purple eyes fixed in his full of wrath. He cleared his throat and bowed his head, leaving a kiss on both of their foreheads.

“Hold on to your mother,” he told them, and the babies let go of him, going to hide in Helaena's arms, their little faces pressed against breasts that smelled of milk.
She sank her face against their hair and surrounded them with blankets and pillows as Aegon stood up and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder.

“I entrust them to you,” he told them before turning to his grandfather.
“Then let's go. I want to see some heads roll,” he hissed as he walked out of the room.
And maybe I'll make it up with one of Lucerys' guards, he thought, grinning.

လလလ

Luke flailed around like a fish washed up on the beach. He clung to Aemond's hand, dug his nails into his skin and scratched him until blood came out but to no avail, Aemond's fingers remained where they were, sunk into his biceps.

His chin was stained red and his split lip jerked violently with every breath he took.
Cleoden and Harkon jerked as Aemond rounded the corner, dragging his groom behind him. They snapped to attention but their eyes were fixed on Luke's split lip and the gash that horizontally opened Aemond's pecs.
Prince Hightower threw the door wide open and threw Lucerys in, then closed it behind him with a resounding thud.

“Fuck!” he gasped as he approached the large mirror, slipping off the top of his tunic so he could check the bleeding cut. The blade had only grazed him, the cut was not deep and would not have needed stitches.
But it burns like dragon's breath! he thought as he bit his lip.

Luke took refuge on the other side of the bed, watching his uncle with one eye and studying that new room with the other. There were vases full of flowers and candles in every corner. A thin door led to another room, the one Luke could use if his husband grew tired of his presence.
I'll find the key and lock myself in! he thought as he clenched his hands into fists.

“Take off your clothes. I'm not in the mood for another fight,” Aemond said without taking his eyes off his own reflection. He was considering having the Master called in. He could have his own and Lucerys' wounds disinfected and then they could make love.
Luke gritted his teeth and looked around. There were no weapons; not even those who had prepared that room had been foolish enough to leave sharp objects within reach.

His eyes fell on one of the vases.
But perhaps- he grabbed it and rushed behind his uncle's back, hitting him on the head with the vase, which shattered.

Aemond fell to his knees, his hands raised as if to cover his head and his eye closed. He was motionless but Luke did not stand impassively waiting for his reaction, grabbed one of the shards, the longest one and one that might have resembled the shape of a dagger, and fled to his room, closing the door with a resounding thud.
He leaned against the hard wood. The mark pulsed painfully, as if to remind him of what he had done.

You attacked your mate, a little voice whispered to him, and he shook his head.
Shut up! he exclaimed, moving away from the door. He passed the bed and crouched between the mattress and one of the thick bedside tables, his back pressed against the wall and the blade clutched in his hands. The blood gushing from the open cut in his palm had already stained the white ceramic but soon other small cuts and red drops joined that paint.

He remained motionless, his heart beating wildly in his chest and the skirt of his long robe lifted past his knees so that it would not be in his way if Aemond sought him out.
When Aemond would seek me.

If he stretched his neck he could see the door. He waited to see the handle lower but the iron bar remained motionless.
Aemond never came.

လလလ

Aegon drummed his fingers against the hard table in the Council Chamber. His trusted men kept their eyes downcast, voicing their opinions on what to do.
My grandfather's men, not mine, he thought as he looked at the Hand of the King from under thick white lashes.

Otto sat composed, his hands crossed over the table and his daughter sitting at his side. Alicent had decided to follow her son out of Helaena and the twins' room; that was when he would need her most.

“I wonder,” Aegon began, and immediately the chatter ceased.
The king kept his eyes fixed in front of him. Slowly he ran them over the faces of those present until they stopped in those of Ser Criston Cole, seated at the opposite end of the table.

The man who crowned me. And what right did he have? Why was it a stupid guard who crowned me, he wondered, tilting his head.
“Why did two mercenaries get past my guards? Why did my brother have to defend me? Why does my son have a slashed cheek?” he asked, continuing to drum his fingers against the wood. His eyes had not yet left Ser Criston's. The man charged with protecting him and his family.
Alicent laid her gaze on Ser Criston and he shrugged.

If it had not been for Daeron Aegon he would be dead, she thought, then bringing her gaze to her eldest son, who motionless as a statue scrutinized his Councilors. His eyes were two lakes of lilacs, marked by tears that refused to wet his cheeks and by a tinge of madness that made them red and bloodshot.

“They must have taken advantage of the fog to go unnoticed and-” Aegon banged his hands against the table, shushing Ser Criston, who closed his eyes. He had always hated Aegon because unlike his brother he had always been too stubborn to follow his instructions.
“I didn't ask how they did it!” he hissed, his scent invading the room like a cloud of poison.

Alicent clutched her shoulders, trying to restrain herself from breathing through her nose, but even so the air in her mouth was heavy. The Councilors also seemed to be in the same situation as her, all except Ser Larys Strong who peacefully stood at Ser Criston's side, hands clasped over his staff and chin resting on his knuckles.

“I asked why my guards were getting fucked like fucking whores!” he exclaimed as he stood up, looking down at all the men who were shuffling in their chairs like frightened children.
“My 16-year-old brother is smarter than all your fucking guards!” he continued with eyes that remained fixed in those of Criston who was immobilized in the chair. He could not have gotten up even if he had tried with all his might.

Daeron is seventeen, thought Alicent biting her lip.
“They were mercenaries sent by Daemon. They were born to be more skilled than any guard,” Otto said as he laid eyes on his grandson. His nostrils were closed and his lips slightly half-closed, the air passing between his teeth that built a sort of filter.

“Well, then maybe I should ask Uncle Daemon to get me some fucking guards!” he hissed as he returned to his seat looking exhausted. He mentioned to one of the servants arranged for the room and this one immediately brought him a drink, backing away soon after.
“Ser Criston get out of here. I don't want to see you again for today,” Aegon said, running a hand against his face.

The knight hesitated, turning confused and uncertain glances at Ser Otto. Glances that did not escape Aegon's notice.
“Why are you looking at my grandfather? Can't you follow the orders of your bloody king!? Get out of here!” ordered Aegon and Ser Criston sprang to his feet, gave a slight bow and left, barely restraining himself from banging the door.
The ruler sighed and his chest deflated as if pierced from side to side.

“Somebody get an idea to kick my bitch sister's ass. Now,” he said while keeping his eyes closed.
There was a soft but excited whispering, Councilors trying to come up with an idea as quickly as possible so as not to further annoy their already more than irritated ruler.

“My king,” whispered the soft, quiet voice of Ser Larys Strong.
Aegon squinted one eye and immediately met the soft but angular face of Ser Harwin Strong's omega brother.
If he didn't have that foot I would fuck him, he thought as he bit his cheeks. Ser Larys was graceful, with a square face and big innocent eyes that could fool anyone.
There is a reason he is my mother's informant, he continued, crossing his legs and inviting the Master of Whispers to come forward.

“Apparently Princess Rhaenys has been flying over the coast from Dragonstone to Rook's Rest to the Eyrie for several days. It should be easy for three dragons to take her down,” said Larys holding his face against his staff.

Besides the Green Queen he was the only omega allowed within the Council, and his sweet scent had almost completely obliterated the sour aroma that had been following Aegon for several hours now.
Otto hissed in annoyance.
“You would risk Aegon's life just to-” the Hand of the King was interrupted.

“That's a great idea!” commented Aegon smiling for the first time since the attack.
“Aegon...” whispered Alicent, extending a hand toward her son's that allowed her to wrap her fingers in his.
“Rhaenys had her chance to kill us and she blew it. We will not do the same,” he continued, covering his lips with one hand.

Ser Larys smiled at him and then looked around, pleased at the looks of pure rancor the other Council members were giving him.
“We'll leave as soon as possible,” Aegon said, letting go of Alicent's hand so he could rub them together. He could already imagine the terror painted on the face of the queen that never was.

“But Aegon... your brother just got married. He will need a few days to spend with his groom,” Alicent said, refusing to think about what was happening in her son's new rooms at that very moment.
Aegon sneered.

“Fear not mother! I'll give Aemond plenty of time to soak the bisque properly,” he commented as he looked at the Councilors who smiled forcibly. Larys Strong was the only one who seemed firmly amused by that joke.
Aegon returned to lean back in his seat and smiled. The Blacks would receive a message that would be hard to forget.

လလလ

Jace looked at the ceiling of his own room. The rock walls were very reminiscent of those in Dragonstone; they were rough and not smooth, but otherwise they differed little. He could almost imagine the voices of his own brothers coming from the hallways or Lucerys entering his room ready to engage him in some new mischief.

Cregan sighed against his bare chest, and Jace lowered his gaze, smiling at the mass of dark hair he had sunk his fingers into.
The Lord of Winterfell was strong and feared, a beast best not to be disturbed.
Or maybe he's just a boy in need of comfort, he thought as he continued to stroke the dark curls.

Cregan was lying between his thighs, Jace's calves entwined with his own, pulling him into a bizarre caress. The Lord had his cheek resting against his left breastplate, his right arm wrapped around his hips as he stroked his free breastplate with his left hand.
“Your heart is beating faster,” he told him, squinting his piercing gray eyes.
Jace sighed and stroked his face.

He found himself thinking that as a child he had always found stories where two characters fell in love after exchanging a single glance strange, and yet, after only eight days together, Cregan was sleeping against his chest and he was stroking his hair.

“I was thinking about Lucerys,” he confessed, biting his lip.
Cregan lifted himself up on his arms and took his mouth in his own, preventing him from continuing to torment his red, suffering lip. Jace sighed against his mouth and wrapped his arms around his neck, holding him close until Cregan lay back against his chest.

“Mother says he'll be fine but he's my brother and he's just surrounded by those Vipers! What if Aemond finally decides to hurt him? If he-” he interjected, not daring to utter those words aloud.
An omega in the hands of an alpha who hates him, he thought, swallowing noisily.

“It seems that your uncle does not have a good reputation. Neither among the lords nor among the people. It also seems your brother makes it very clear the abuse he suffers...I doubt your grandmother and Ser Otto Hightower would allow Aemond to harm him.... they would risk too much,” Cregan said, lifting a hand so he could stroke Jacaerys brown curls.

The prince bit his cheeks and pointed his gaze to the window overlooking the snowy city. The furs were warm, Cregan's body hot, and yet that sight was enough to chill him.
“How do you know all this?” he asked, laying his gaze on him again.

“My job is to be informed about everything that happens on the Continent, and even though news comes very late to the North, they still come all the time,” Cregan explained, leaving a small kiss against Jace's breastplate.

“Very little official information leaves the Red Keep but servants chatter and rumors spread quickly and my men always have ears straight and ready,” Cregan continued, smiling shyly but still managing to engage Jace who responded in the same way.

“Will you tell me if you have news about my brother?” he asked, running a hand through his dark hair. Cregan smiled against his chest, enjoying the soft caresses the young prince was offering him.
He has such soft hands, he thought, taking one in his own so he could kiss the knuckles.
“Of course,” he replied softly.
Jace smiled and let Cregan snuggle back against his chest.

They had had sex after their morning meetings, and yet Jace did not believe that could be considered simple sex. Passion alone would not have led to the sweetness and kisses that Cregan left delicate on his chest and neck.
Whether it was love? He could not have said. He had never been in love before that moment.

“I will join you in battle when the time comes,” Cregan said, lifting himself up on his arms so he could kiss his jaw.
Jace squinted his eyes, his hands running to clutch Cregan's hips, as if he couldn't believe he was there and uttering those words. Then he burst out laughing, hiding his lips against the back of his own hand.

“Do you mean to tell me that just sleeping with you was enough to prove my worth to you?” asked Jace with the corners of his eyes filled with tears and his lips refusing to stop smiling. His joy and amusement seemed to have infected Cregan as well.
“No,” Cregan replied, leaning down to kiss him again. And again. And again.
“But saving Threoden and his son did,” he continued, lifting a hand to caress his face. Again Jace seemed surprised. Perhaps because most lords would not have cared about the life of a hunter and a brat.

But Cregan is not like many Lords, he thought with eyes fixed in his own.
“But-I did not-it was Vermax who saved us. Without him we would have died,” Jace said, pulling his hands away from the Wolf's body, as if afraid he might burn himself. Instead, he clasped them against his chest, as if to separate them.

“Maybe your dragon saved you but he would not have intervened if you had not made the first move. You have been brave and shown that you care about the people more than anyone else...you don't want my help to fight a war but you want my help to protect your family and I respect that,” Cregan said as he bent down to rub the tips of their noses together.
Jace sighed. Cregan's scent was so intense it made him dizzy.

“Thank you Cregan,” he whispered as their lips joined in a slow, sensual kiss, nothing reminiscent of what they had shared only days before. Lips sucking and tongues sliding over each other.

The Wolf sighed and returned to resting his head against Jace's chest, enjoying his pulse quickening with joy and no longer with worry.
“I want a guarantee,” he then said, fixing his gray eyes in the prince's green ones.
Jace nodded immediately. For Cregan and his army, for his mother, he would accept whatever he proposed.
“A spouse for Jonnel,” Cregan said, leaving a caress against his companion's back.

Jace tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in a thoughtful expression. But after all, he could not be surprised; he himself, at only eight years old, could have been betrothed to Helaena.

“A son of your own,” Cregan said again.
Because I won't accept anyone else, he thought, smiling as he noticed Jace's cheeks tinged a deep cherry red.
“Not my firstborn. He or she will inherit the Throne,” Jace said in a confident tone that would not allow any kind of retort. He would not bargain with the life of his heir.

“We have a deal,” Cregan said, handing him one of her large, warm hands.
Jace took it in his own, letting their fingers intertwine in a gentle caress.
A lover's grip.
“My army for a prince,” Cregan concluded, rising to join their lips in a kiss.

လလလ

He was certain he had ceramic shards lodged in his skull.
Little prick, he thought as he gritted his teeth.
His hair fell back in front of his face, and along with the white of the long strands, red drops and small streams also trickled down his chin.

He pulled himself to his feet and clung to the mirror, risking falling. His head was spinning and he struggled to put one foot in front of the other, yet angrily he approached the room to which Lucerys had fled.
He made to grasp the handle but froze, his body refusing to move and a burning sensation at the base of his neck.

A lump formed in his throat.
That will keep you from hurting me, he had told Lucerys, pointing to the mark he could on his neck.

But the mark works in two directions, he thought as he brought a hand to his face. In that state his body would prevent him from approaching Lucerys. He could bite him against his will, he could take him to bed, and he could reduce his life to hell. He could not, however, desire to hurt him.

There was no desire when he had hit him in the face during their wedding. Now, however, he felt burning desire and his body refused to listen to it.
His head throbbed, his chest burned, and his wounded palm gushed blood.

The Master. I have to see that fucking asshole, he thought as he started toward the door. He opened it wide and the two guards snapped to attention, their eyes fixed on the figure of their bleeding prince.
“Guard the door. Do not let him out,” he ordered before walking away down the corridor.
Even when he was far away he felt the widened eyes of Lucerys' guards fixed on his back.

Chapter Text

“My, my… he really did a number on you,” Daeron commented as he gently tilted his brother's face, studying the various small cuts that decorated his forehead. A crown of suffering. The old curate had disinfected the cut on his chest and just as Aemond had imagined there had been no need for stitches but only a practical bandage. The same treatment had been given to his hand.

Aemond huffed but let his brother's delicate hands examine him.
Helaena watched them with big eyes and lips folded over a lemon cookie.
Rhaenyra's favorites, she thought with a twinge of nostalgia.
She missed her sister.

Will she know what Uncle Daemon did? she wondered still swallowing. She shifted her gaze to her children who were sleeping curled up in the center of the big bed. Daeron had stayed with them all night, watching over them like a guardian and soothing their nightmares.
And now that the sun had been up for several hours he had not yet left them.

“Would you really have hurt them?” asked Helaena, returning her gaze to her brother.
Aemond bit his tongue.
Yes. Yes I would have but I couldn't,/ he thought with his head still pounding from the little stings.

“Aemond reacted impulsively. Even you would be angry if you were hit on the head with a vase,” Daeron said, trying to mitigate his sister's comment. He doubted that Aemond would be furious with her but at that moment his brother was not in the ideal state to receive criticism.

Helaena curled her lips, assessing his words.
“He would not hurt him,” she finally concluded, lowering her gaze to her brother.
But if his mark stopped him, he certainly did not mean well, she thought as she took a seat beside Aemond, who was still wearing the ceremonial robe.

Despite the terrible circumstance in which that robe had been worn, Daeron had been unable to help but think that his brother was wonderful. That was how he had imagined as a child their ancestors walking the streets of Valyria. Even Lucerys, whose features were not those of their ancient family, had looked ravishing, with pale skin that highlighted his red lips and black hair that contrasted beautifully with the red and white dress.

“What do you intend to do now? His guards say he has not left his room,” said Daeron, who as soon as he learned of the attack had visited the soldiers guarding his nephew. He had shuddered at their eyes widened in terror.
They mistook me for Aegon,/em> he thought, shaking his head, as if he wanted to forget that sight.

“I'm afraid he won't hesitate to attack me again if I try to visit him, and this time I won't do him the kindness of restraining myself,” he said as he looked at his own hand and remembered the feeling of intoxication he had felt when he had hit him full in the face.

That must be what he feels every time he hits me, he thought as he clenched his fingers into a fist.
Helaena bent down in front of him and took his hand in her own, releasing the nails that had gone into his palms.

“I will speak to him,” she said with eyes fixed in his of a hue so similar to her own.
Aemond tilted his head and Daeron squinted.
Helaena is not known for getting herself into such situations, Daeron thought as he bit his lip.

His sister was no longer as shaken as she had been the previous day, but if Lucerys had raised her voice in his presence he was certain she would have collapsed.

“Helaena...are you sure? Lucerys can be... intense,” Daeron said for lack of better words to use. He had met his nephew on only three occasions, and on all those occasions Luke had managed to alter the fortunes and mood of the entire family.
On two of those occasions he was naked, he recalled, restraining himself from running a hand against his forehead.

If his brothers are as much like him as I think they are, I guess I can understand why Aegon is so obsessed with Jacaerys, he continued, licking his lips.

She nodded weakly.
“I ... think I am the only one who can understand his fears,” she said with a forced smile. Perhaps Aegon had not taken her captive and forced her to marry him but the feeling was not much different.

If nothing else, he's in love with his children, she thought as she pressed a hand against her slightly curved belly from all the sweets she swallowed during the day. Her only joys along with the twins and her dragon.

Aemond swallowed, looking apprehensive for the first time since he had set foot in that room. He gently clasped his sister's hands in his own and brought them to his lips, leaving a kiss in the center of the back.
“I will watch over your children,” he told her softly.

လလလ

Cleoden did not imagine that he would meet the queen. It seemed that she rarely left her own room, preferring the safety of the four walls or the side of her dragon.
Yet he was certain to see King Aegon's sweet wife coming toward him.

She was dressed in gold, her long, wavy white hair falling over her back and shoulders.
She looked uncertain as she stopped in front of them, her eyes moving slowly from Cleoden's face to Harkon's. She clasped her hands in front of her belly and fixed her eyes on the door, as if hoping to look inside but not open it.

“Is my nephew awake?” she asked them. Her violet eyes so large and sweet rested on Harkon, who swallowed.
How could such a wonderful person be married to that monster? he wondered as he shook his head.

“We don't know, Your Grace. We are not allowed to enter the prince's room,” replied the brown-haired guard. He was holding back from breathing through his nose as the strong smell of Aegon still hovered over her.

“Oh,” she mumbled with her lips tightened into a thin line and her eyes downcast and sad.
Cleoden felt a strong desire to kneel before her and ask for forgiveness.
How could she be the sister of those beasts? he wondered biting his lips.

“Are you Lucerys' friends?” she asked, bringing her eyes back to them.
Again the guards looked at each other. They knew that the queen sometimes seemed to have the mind of a child, and just as if they were faced with a child they did not know how to respond without the danger of infuriating her or making her cry.

“We are his guards, My Lady,” Cleoden replied, licking his lips.
Helaena lowered her gaze and bit the inside of her cheeks, as if reflecting.
“Have you ever spoken with him?” she asked again.

Harkon lifted his gaze to his companion. His eyes seemed to wonder if they could reveal of their little chat in the prince's company. Cleoden closed his eyes for a moment, considering the possible answers and finally nodded, a slight movement of his head that was enough, however, for Helaena to understand.

“Then come with me. He will be pleased to have you by his side,” she said, handing them a big smile.
Harkon and Cleoden looked at each other doubtfully but finally decided to comply with their queen's request.

They let her open the door. The handle lowered carefully, and Helaena peered inside the room so as not to startle Lucerys. But her nephew was not standing there.
She took a tentative step forward and small shards crunched under her feet.

This is where he hit Aemond, she thought as she moved the shrapnel with quick movements of her feet, clearing the passage.
The two guards followed her with wide eyes. They doubted that Lucerys would hurt his own aunt, but if anything unfortunate happened to the queen their heads would be the only ones on the pikes.

Helaena immediately approached the small door that stood on the left. It was there that small red drops led, a mixture of her brother's and her nephew's blood. She did not need to wonder what that room was, she herself owned an identical one.

When husbands get tired of their wives this is where we can take refuge, she thought as she knocked gently against the dark wood. Every day she thanked the gods because her brother-husband had never been particularly interested in her feelings or her body. Occasionally he would visit her with the intention of sharing a bed but now those moments were increasingly rare.

“Lucerys?” she asked when she got no answer. She lifted her gaze to the soldiers but they had no answer for her questions.
“I'm coming in,” she said as she gently lowered the handle, which clicked, revealing a small room strewn with flowers and books, with a huge bed at the exact center of the carpeted floor.

Standing still on the threshold, she looked around. The windows were all closed and the bed appeared tidy. It was right there, between the pillow and the wood of the nightstand, that she glimpsed a mop of curly black hair.

“Lucerys?” she asked again as she approached the bed.
Oh! Poor thing, she thought with her lips curled downward. Her nephew was curled up on the floor, his cheek pressed against his knees tight against his chest and a sliver of ceramic the length of a knife clutched in his right hand. The white material was mottled with dark red.

Dried blood, she thought as she knelt before Luke and gently untangled his fingers from around the blade. When the splinter was free she threw it into the center of the bed, as far away from herself and Luke as possible.
“Lucerys,” she whispered, stroking his tear-streaked face.
He slowly lifted his head, his eyes half-closed over black pools.

“Muña...” he whispered with tears that resumed running down his cheeks.
Oh, whispered Helaena reaching out to take him in her arms. Luke pressed himself against her body, his face hidden against her breasts and his legs pressed against hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing against her neck.
“I want to go home...” he sobbed in a broken voice, his body shaking.

Cleoden and Harkon took a step back, standing guard at the heavy door, their eyes refusing to meet the figure of their sweet prince who desperately wept clutched in the arms of a woman he believed to be his mother.
The desperate smell of the omega was so strong it made their knees tremble.

“I know, I know. I'm sorry,” whispered Helaena, kissing his forehead and hair.
She let Luke cry against her shoulder. His tears wet her gold-colored dress and the skin of her breasts. She took no notice, continuing to kiss him and caress his back.
She continued until the tears had dried up and the tremors had passed.

“Did I kill him?” he asked her, lifting his eyes into hers. They were wet from crying but lucid, seeing clearly who the young woman kneeling before him was.
Not my mother but another captive bride, he thought as he pulled up with his nose.

Helaena shook her head and Luke sighed dejectedly, bringing one hand up to clutch the pearl necklace.
“I don't want him to come back here. He will hurt me! He will force me to-” he looked at the bed and hoped that he could disappear, burning there before his eyes. Disintegrate into a million pieces without being able to be replaced.
He saw his guards standing still in front of the door. They kept their eyes down and as nonexistent as their scent was Luke could sense pain and concern.

Helaena rested her hands on his knees, caressing them with maternal gentleness.
“You know Aegon... my wedding night was horrible. He was drunk and did not bother to make the intercourse pleasant. It lasted far, far too long and was painful,” she said with her lips folded into a sad smile.

Luke lowered his gaze, one cheek clenched between his teeth and his hands resting on his aunt's.
“Aemond is not Aegon, though. He loves you. He would never hurt you, not consciously,” she told him, swallowing.
He would not do any hurt to you because he cannot, she thought as she closed her eyes briefly. The mark seemed to offer Lucerys great protection, however, of which he was unaware.

Luke huffed out a laugh.
“That's no way to love someone,” he told her as his mind raced to his mother and father. Their love was pure and sincere. There was sweetness in their every gesture or caress. Daemon could be harsh but he would never lift a finger against Rhaenyra; he would accept her every rejection.
She smiled at him.

“Unfortunately, our family has never known true love,” she told him sadly. She had always been aware of this. Her father had never loved her or her siblings, and her mother, no matter how hard she tried, was too busy resenting Rhaenyra to pass on any feelings other than hatred and anger to her children.

But now she realized this more than she had in the past. Now that her children were looking for her and their father's love and were faced with two adults who had no idea how to handle their own emotions.

Only Daeron seems different from us, she thought, smiling wistfully. It was ironic how living in Old Town, the birthplace of her mother and grandfather, had made Daeron more human than any of them.

“Can you-can you keep him away? At least for a few days,” Luke pleaded with her.
She lowered her gaze to his split lip and the hand slashed by the ceremonial dagger.
“I'll say you need rest but I can't keep him away very long. I can give you a week but nothing more,” she said, swallowing.

Even Aemond needs time to recover, she thought as she remembered his bleeding head and the gash on his chest.
He nodded quickly.
One week! In a week my mother could take King's Landing! he thought with his heart filling with hope.

He intertwined his fingers with his aunt's and finally smiled at her, a big, toothy smile like the one he would have given her if Viserys were still alive and he were not a prisoner of the Greens.

“Thank you,” he whispered as Helaena helped him up.

“Get some rest. I will ask for food and a bath to be brought to you. And don't worry, Aemond will not bother you,” she said helping him get under the covers. She would have liked to strip him of those clothes soiled with blood, grass and dirt but she doubted Lucerys would like to remain naked.

She stroked his forehead and leaned down to leave a kiss in his hair, tucking him in as if he had been one of her children.
“Sleep well,” she told him, stroking his cheek.
Luke was already asleep.

လလလ

Life in the Eyrie was peaceful. Events of great interest rarely happened.
Rhaena watched the city from the top of her tower, scrutinizing people strolling and haggling, trying to get the best price for that day's meal.

She spent her days together with Lady Jeyen, and the time she spent alone was spent at the side of the pink-scaled egg. An egg that had not hatched in almost forty years.
I wonder why Queen Aemma left it here, she wondered as she traced the scales with her fingernail, sensing their warmth sizzling her fingertip.
She could never part with her dragon. What would have happened if the egg had hatched and she had not been there to witness it?

But Queen Aemma did not like dragons, she thought. Rhaenyra repeated this very often, claiming that her mother hated to see her go near her golden beast.
Rhaena sighed and laid a hand against the boiling shell, pulling it away only when she felt her skin burn.

A soft but excited knock pulled her from her thoughts. Lady Jeyen entered without waiting for her invitation. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and a light layer of sweat beaded her forehead, as if she had raced to reach her.

“Lady Jeyen, what is going on?” asked Rhaena as she stood up. She took a few steps forward and took her hands in her own.
The old woman took a deep breath and cleared her throat, clasping the young woman's hands in her own marked by fine wrinkles.

“News from King's Landing,” she replied. She explained that some merchants who had come from the capital were discussing it and that some of her Councilors had gleaned the information so as to bring it back to the Lady.
Rhaena bit her lips worriedly.

“Prince Aemond and Prince Lucerys have been married!” she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest and feeling her own heart beating fast from the rapidity with which she had passed through the corridors.
Rhaena became still, the perfect imitation of a statue.

“What do you say?” she asked, blinking slowly. She swallowed as Lady Jeyen caught her breath and told her everything her Councilors had heard.
It appeared that the two had been married at the edge of the cliff and that at the end of the wedding two mercenaries hired by Prince Daemon had stormed in and almost succeeded in killing the Usurping King and his eldest son. It also appeared that Lucerys had wounded his husband but not mortally.

Rhaena let herself fall on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes fixed before her.
Oh, Lucerys, she thought biting her lip with tear-filled eyes. Now her brother was not only a prisoner of war marked by a horrible man but also his spouse. His in every sense of the word.

Lady Jeyen sat by her side and passed a hand around her shoulders, gently stroking her back.
And Rhaena burst into tears.
“Don't worry,” she said as she stroked her hair.
“I do not know your brother but I have heard what is said about him...he will not hesitate to defend himself against his spouse,” she continued, leaving a kiss on her forehead.
Rhaena took her face in her hands.

I hope she is right, she thought as she pulled up with her nose.
For she would have thrown herself from the Gates of the Moon as long as she did not end up in the same place as Lucerys.

လလလ

“Where is Aegon?” asked Aemond several moments after his sister left.
Daeron lifted his gaze, his eyes that had previously been fixed on his own nephews' faces now fixed on his older brother's.

“Our grandfather has taken him to the Council Hall. They must be discussing our next move,” Daeron commented, running a hand through Jaehaera's disheveled hair. The little girl slept with one cheek pressed against the pillow and her lips wide open, a trickle of saliva dripping down her chin, soaking the soft pillow.
Jaehaerys had wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close to him.

“Daemon really did send assassins,” Aemond muttered, running a hand against his forehead.
Daeron nodded and stroked the cut that ran horizontally along his nephew's cheek. It was not a deep wound but the scar would remain. Directly opposite the one that marked Aemond's face.

“You should not have sent that letter,” Daeron said, returning his gaze to his brother.
Aemond snorted a laugh.
“I was only trying to be polite,” he retorted with his lips folded into a grin. The young prince shook his head, wondering how his brother could be so clever and so foolish at the same time.

“You were trying to make fun of them and Daemon almost killed Aegon and Jaehaerys! You need to stop thinking with your dick and remember that you have a family to protect!” hissed Daeron, wrapping his arms around his nephews' shoulders.

As much as I can despise my mother for what she did to me, my brothers and nephews are not to blame... I can protect them but not if they purposely go looking for trouble, he thought with furrowed brows, a twin expression of the one that now distorted his brother's face.

“I started protecting this family the exact moment I brought Lucerys to the Red Keep!” retorted Aemond, showing his teeth.
“You speak of protection? Where were you when our mother was being abused by our father?” asked him, Aemond hinting at the entire Keep.
Daeron stood up with a snap, his eyes fixed in his brother's.

“I was in Old Town! Where our mother exiled me!” he exclaimed, advancing toward him.
Aemond stood up in turn. The two alphas found themselves in each other's space, eyes fixed and noses that could brush against each other. Aemond was taller than Daeron and yet the younger man did not retreat, refusing to concede ground to him.

The door opened gently and Helaena made her entrance.
Daeron immediately retreated but his sister equally noticed the sudden closeness of the two and their hostile expressions.

Aemond shook his head and walked toward her, taking her hands in his own. She smiled at him, letting him kiss her forehead, as if to ask her forgiveness for the unpleasant sight of moments earlier.

“Did you find him?” he asked her as they both sat down on the small, backless sofa where Helaena used to tend to her own creations. Just beyond, almost on the verge of falling over, was a weaving box with what looked like a ladybug.
Helaena nodded and clasped his hand in her own.

“You must give him time to himself,” she told him with eyes fixed in his, voice calm but firm.
Aemond frowned, looking confused and his lips tightened into a thin line.
“What do you mean? I am his husband. Right now I should be by his side,” Aemond said, shaking the hand his sister had brought to him. She returned the grip just as impetuously.

“And I am your queen, and I am ordering you to give him time,” she said in a stiff tone that did not admit of repartee, totally different from the gentle, calm tone that distinguished her.
Aemond squinted, surprised. His nostrils flared and his lips half-closed. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his own pounding heart.
Helaena sighed and lifted a hand to caress his scarred cheek.

“He's afraid, Aemond,” she told him as her fingers sank that furrow dug into his skin.
“I wouldn't hurt him. I can't,” he said as he lowered his gaze. He knew what Lucerys' fears were. They were the fears of every omega and every woman. But he could never hurt him like that. He was not a monster.

I am not Aegon, he thought, biting his cheeks.
“I remind you that you chased him in the middle of a storm and killed his dragon,” Daeron said, and Aemond shushed him with a wave of his hand. He lifted his shoulders and shook his head, returning to the care of his nephews who were still asleep, totally unaware of the brawl that might have ensued only moments before.

“Lucerys is mine to protect. I wouldn't hurt him, not like that,” Aemond said, looking his sister straight in the eye.
She smiled sadly at him.
“Give him a week's time. It's not easy to get used to the idea of having to share a bed with someone,” she said as she lowered her gaze.

As much as Aegon had improved with time even she had not yet gotten used to feeling his touch on her, his hands stroking her firmly but also gently.
Both brothers lowered their gazes, guilty of being unable to do anything to protect their sister from their brother.

“And if you force him his hatred will always remain just that, hatred. Don't think of conquering him with violence and threats, you can bend him but don't break him and when you lose your grip he will rise up and strike you with all the force with which you held him,” Helaena said, fixing her eyes in those of her brother.
Aemond took a deep breath and bit his lips.

Finally he nodded. A single movement of his head, however, made Helaena smile. She had bought time and Lucerys would be able to heal.

လလလ

Jonnel's hand was small and warm, smooth when compared to Cregan's hands that were marked by the shadow of the sword. The boy seemed to restrain himself from prancing, his short legs quivering as he tried to keep the same pace as Jace, without running further.
Cregan came behind them, the heavy fur tight around his back and thin flakes clinging to his hair. The snow was carried by the wind, too light to stay anchored to the ground.

The scent of alpha was nervous, and Jace found himself smiling as he guided Jonnel outside the walls and toward Vermax, who restlessly watched the sky tinge gray.
Since they had landed in the North Jace had discovered that his green beast seemed not to like frost and ice and that they actually made him nervous, restless.

“Now remember. Stay by my side and make no sudden movements,” Jace said, lowering his gaze so he could look at the Young Wolf. He lifted his chin and the red hair got into his eyes, forcing him to move it away with a violent movement of his arm.

“Are you sure it's safe?” asked Cregan flanking him, his gray eyes fixed on the dragon who curled up on the ground had his eyes fixed on them, two deadly yellow shafts, extremely similar to those of a venomous snake.

Jace smiled at him, the desire to rise on his toes and kiss his cheek was strong but he forced himself to hold back. Customs in the North were different but Jace would not know how far to go before he got burned.

“Do not fear. A dragon is only dangerous if his rider is not with him,” he told him, leaving a gentle pat on his shoulder.
Cregan sighed but nodded, leaning down to leave a caress in his son's red hair.

“Obey Prince Jacaerys,” he ordered him, and the little boy nodded quickly.
Jace smiled and holding his hand, he approached his green beast, which hissed joyfully, spreading its huge wings and casting a giant shadow over them.

Jonnel looked at him with big eyes and a wide-open mouth, his cheeks red with cold and his body trembling with excitement.
“Hello, Vermax,” Jace greeted him, leaving a few caresses on his muzzle. The dragon snorted and lowered his huge head, looking at the young Wolf more closely.
Jonnel became still, his eyes running from Jace's face to the dragon's huge snout. Vermax puffed a cloud of steam against his face and then lifted his head, shaking his neck like a dog shaking off water.

“Come,” Jace said, pushing Jonnel toward Vermax's side, who immediately pressed his belly against the scorched ground, helping child and rider onto his back.
Jonnel climbed along his leg, clinging to the ropes that hung from the saddle, and once on top he sat down, his hands clasped against the leather horn.

Jace soon came up behind him, his wounded thigh jerking with each step but finally managing to reach the saddle and sit behind Jonnel.
“We're high!” exclaimed the little one, tapping his heels against Vermax's hips, as if he imagined he was riding a pony.

Jace smiled at him. From that height he could see the inside of the walls and the children playing chase.
Cregan watched them halfway between the great gates and the dragon, his arms stretched out along his sides and his eyes fixed on his son, who was smiling enthusiastically.
Jace threw him a kiss, and Cregan smiled, tempted to kiss him back.

“Put your legs like this,” Jace instructed him and then tightened the three leather straps around his thighs. He was forced to close them to the last available hole but was happy to note that little Wolf was well secured.
“What are they for?” asked Jonnel, stroking the buckles.

“They keep the rider firmly on the saddle. If I were to fight, I would have to have my hands free, and I couldn't hold on to the reins,” Jace explained as he cocked his head behind him, securing the short chain attached to the belt that tightened around his hips.
“Oh!” exclaimed Jonnel as he reached out to stroke the red thorns that dotted the green beast's back.

The Guardians of Dragonstone claimed that within a couple of years Vermax would be too big for the straps, so they had provided the prince with a belt.
Jacaerys thanked them because with his injured leg he could not have properly secured himself.

“Ready?” he asked as he tightened the reins and offered a little space to Jonnel as well, who immediately wrapped his fingers around the soft rope, right beside Jace's.
“Ready!” he exclaimed, smiling.

Jace grinned, remembering the long rides he used to take with his brother Viserys, the only one, with the exception of Rhaena, who was left without a dragon.
“Sōves, Vermax!” he ordered in an exclamation.
The dragon snorted and hissed. It flapped its huge wings and rose into the sky with a roar as Jonnel squealed in delight.

လလလ

“So... did you fuck him?” asked Aegon as he burst into his younger brother's new and temporary room. The room was not terribly different from the original one, missing only the hundreds of books that decorated the walls.

Daeron was with Aemond while Helaena had remained with her children. The two siblings sat at opposite corners of the room, their gazes fixed on each other and their muscles tense, as if both were ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

I'd be curious to know who would win in a fight. Aemond is strong but that little shit of a brother of ours always seems to have a move tucked up his sleeve, Aegon thought as he dropped into one of the three armchairs arranged around the fire. The middle one. The one that as ruler was rightfully his.
He hinted to his brothers to approach, and Daeron, with a snort, was the first to move.

“Lucerys hit him with a pot,” Daeron said, crossing his long legs.
Aegon burst out laughing. After that terrible day that was all the fun he needed.
“Shut up,” Aemond hissed, hitting Aegon in the shoulder. His brother shook his head and pulled up with his nose, wiping away the tears that wet the corners of his eyes.
“The little bastard is full of surprises,” Aegon commented, licking his lips.

Of course, he would have preferred that Aemond put him through every pain imaginable but he would have to make do, at least for that day.
“Helaena has ordered me to stay away from him for at least a week. She says he needs time,” Aemond muttered, passing a hand against his face.

He had taken a bath after his meeting with his sister. He had removed all the bandages and put on his black clothes shaded in green.
Aegon raised an eyebrow, decidedly unnerved by his wife's stance.
“Nonsense! He is your husband, go to him and fuck him!” Aegon told him, tapping a hand against his knee.

Daeron wrinkled his nose and shook his head, disgusted by that talk.
“If he did, Lucerys would reject him forever, and that's not what Aemond wants. He wants a mate, if he wanted a prostitute he would follow you on the Street of Silk,” Daeron said, hinting out the window.
Aegon grinned and clutched one of his shoulders.

“Look at our little brother here! Old Town has really made you wise,” Aegon commented, bringing his gaze to the flames.
Daeron shooed him away with a wave of his hand, and Aegon grinned.

“Too bad I promised to let Aemond have time to fuck Lucerys before we left,” he said, curling his lips like a child whose plans had just been blown to smithereens. He crossed his arms against his chest and crossed his legs, letting himself slide against the soft, green-padded pillow.

“Leaving? Where to?” asked Aemond with his eye fixed on his older brother.
Aegon grinned, his teeth turning from white to the same color as flames.
“We're going to Rook's Rest! To get that bitch Rhaenys' head!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He couldn't wait to see that old hag fall.
“To Rook's Rest?” asked Aemond.
Aegon nodded, briefly recounting what Larys Strong had discovered.

Aemond wrinkled his nose.
“I don't trust that Strong. He killed his whole family,” the one-eyed prince said.
“If he didn't have that horrifying foot I'd fuck him,” said Aegon making himself more comfortable in his chair.
Daeron held back a disgusted expression while Aemond did not have that delicacy.
“Gross,” he commented, bringing his gaze to the flames.

Aegon snickered like a hyena and clung to his own seat, smiling at the fire that crackled as cheerfully as his Lord.
“Killing Rhaenys will have repercussions… are you sure you want to do that?” asked Daeron licking his lips.

If kidnapping Lucerys almost led to the death of my brother and his son... what will the death of the Queen that never was? he wondered as his brother nodded quickly, his eyes never leaving the fire.
“I am more than sure. It's time to show our sister what true Dragons are capable of,” Aegon sneered.

လလလ

“Did you send mercenaries to Lucerys' wedding!?” asked Rhaenyra when Daemon entered their room. The queen held up a thin scroll, Mysaria's handwriting now familiar to her.
She had been surprised when the letter had been handed to her directly, without first passing through Daemon's hands but now that she had read it she understood why.

Daemon told me nothing and would never tell me about it, she thought with her lips tightened into a thin line and her blazing eyes fixed on her husband who motionless and with a straight back prepared to answer her.

“I sent mercenaries to stop that charade my nephew calls marriage,” Daemon retorted as he approached her. There was no menace in his stride, he just looked like a tired man eager for his wife's affection. He bowed his head and leaned his forehead against her shoulder.
“Jaehaerys was injured,” Rhaenyra said, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Good,” he replied without lifting his gaze.

Rhaenyra sighed painfully, one hand pressed against her belly and the other clutching his shoulder.
“Helaena's children are not responsible for their father,” she said, forcing him to look into her eyes. He shook his head and smiled cheekily.
“Neither is Lucerys and yet he's locked up in the Red Keep and maybe Aemond is fucking him right now!” he hissed before the slap hit him full in the face, leaving him momentarily discomposed.

Rhaenyra brought a hand to her lips and took a step back. She turned her back to him and threw the parchment into the flames, wiping her eyes.
“Any chance of bargaining has gone up in smoke,” she said, taking a deep breath.
“No chance ever existed,” Daemon said as he laid his hands on her shoulders. He joined his forehead to the nape of her neck, his hands sliding down her arms and then around her waist, holding her close to him.

“It's time to take back the Throne,” he whispered, kissing her neck.

လလလ

The sun rose and set seven times. When it touched the sea for the eighth, Aemond appeared at his husband's door.

လလလ

Cleoden and Harkon snapped to attention. Their lips tightened into thin lines and their eyes refused to meet the prince's.

Aemond did not dignify them with his own attention, opened the door and entered his own room. He was not surprised when he found it empty, the sweet scent of his nephew coming from the small room on the left.

He licked his lips and teeth, the scent of omega was so intense now that it had been away from him for so long that it almost made him tremble.
He knocked gently on the door. He imagined he would get no answer, but instead the sugary voice of his groom invited him in.

Lucerys sat in the center of the bed. She was dressed in black and held a book folded over his legs, his eyes fixed on the yellowed pages and his nostrils quivering, picking up the scent of the newcomer.
He lifted his wide-open eyes and leapt out of bed. He reached out a hand toward the nightstand but at the last moment seemed to reconsider.
Aemond lifted a hand, as if to soothe a small fire-breathing dragon.

“I hoped the distance had softened you,” he told him, hiding his hands behind his back, his head tilted and a slight smile bending his lips.
“And I was hoping it had killed you!” retorted Luke with the same fury as a week earlier.

Aemond closed his eye and took a deep breath, restraining himself from reminding his nephew that he himself had almost killed him on more than one occasion.
“I want to take you somewhere. Consider it my wedding present,” Aemond said, holding out a hand to him.
Luke frowned, his eyes fixed on those long fingers.

“And why would I want to go with you?” he asked him, his arms straight at the sides of his body and his lips curled in a hostile expression.
Aemond took a deep breath and smiled at him.
“Because you have been locked within these walls for twenty days, Lucerys. And a little dragon like you can wish for nothing but freedom,” he said as he approached him.

Luke straightened his back, his body quivering to retreat but his feet refusing to move. He would not give him ground. He would confront him there and then.
Aemond stopped in front of him, lifted a hand and stroked his face. His thumb slid over his juicy lips, the cut of the knife had disappeared completely and so had the tear that had caused his slap.

“Twenty days...” muttered Luke without realizing it.
I've been cooped up here for so long, he thought as he closed his eyes. He had always been aware of the sun rising and setting but had never thought to take into account the days that passed.

“Come with me,” Aemond told him, both hands now cupping his sharp-cheeked face. He found him taller, his head now reaching almost to touch his chin. But perhaps it was the thick soles of his boots that gave him that impression.
Luke bit his lip. He had no intention of following his uncle.

However… I could escape! I could take advantage of a moment of distraction and escape, he thought with his heart beating fast in his chest. He tried to conceal his own scent, aware that Aemond would immediately notice a change in his mood.
“Where do you want to take me?” he asked as Aemond took his hand in his own, leading him out of the room and then down the corridor.

Cleoden and Harkon watched them walk away without being able to follow, their prince in fact having given them no directions.
“This is a surprise,” Aemond said softly, his groom's hand almost disappearing inside his own.

He led him out of the palace and then down into the courtyard, where one of the royal family's large carriages was waiting for them. Aemond had him mounted in the sedan chair and then commanded the coachman to set off, the streets of King's Landing rushing swiftly out of the entwined windows.

Luke sat as far away from Aemond as he could, his shirt being buffeted by the wind and the warm sun warming his skin.

The Targaryen prince seemed unperturbed by his detachment, his only eye fixed on the road and one hand resting in the empty space between them, as if waiting for the moment when Luke would clasp it in his own.
But Luke's hands were firmly on his lap, his back facing the carriage door, and so were his legs.

“I would like to write to my mother,” Luke said without looking at him, his brown eyes fixed on the outside.
“I'm afraid that's not possible,” Aemond replied as his fingers grazed his groom's thigh.
Luke drew back further toward the hard wood of the door and the talk fell away until the carriage stopped moving forward and Aemond dismounted in front of the Dragon's Pit.
Luke's heart lost a beat.

No, he thought as Aemond turned and held out a hand to him.
“Courage,” he said, smiling at him.
Luke tightened his lips and dismounted from the carriage without helping himself to his groom's hand, his eyes fixed on the huge, dark entrance to the Pit, large enough for Balerion the Black Dread to enter and exit undisturbed.

“Why did you bring me here?” asked Luke as Aemond laid a hand on his back, pushing him toward the Pit and into the darkness of its jaws.
“I was hoping this place might cheer you up,” he told him as his one eye rested on the bandages that still surrounded his groom's neck, the pearl necklace delicately resting on the off-white canvas.

Luke did not respond. All he could hear was the beating of his heart as Aemond led him deep, away from the light and toward a huge gorge, large enough to be the hiding place of a single dragon.

Vhagar, he thought as he planted his feet on the ground.
Aemond went slamming into his back, standing firm behind him, his chin brushing against his dark curls.
The cursed green beast watched them from its lair, its yellow eyes fixed on the two princes.

“Aemond no,” Luke said as his uncle tried to push him forward, one hand firmly pressed against his back and the other wrapped around his chest.
“She's not going to hurt you,” he told him as gentle but firmly pushed him one step at a time, Lucerys' entire body resisting but to no avail.

Vhagar half-closed his jaws, showing sharp yellow teeth, rusty swords that had known a thousand battles. Luke saw the rain run down her scarred muzzle, her eyes glinting in the lightning and her roar overcoming the roar of the storm. Her massive body flew above him, her claws grazing Arrax's small body and her fangs closing lethal on his back.

“No!” exclaimed Luke, turning to seek shelter in his uncle's arms, his face hidden against his chest and his arms wrapped around his waist.
Aemond lifted his arms, as if he had expected anything but a hug. Slowly he lowered his hands, one on his head and one on his back, gently caressing him.

“It's all right, Lucerys,” Aemond whispered with eyes fixed in those of his dragon.
“I want you to become friends. You are my groom and she is my dragon,” he continued, and still holding him close he approached the green beast.

Luke parted from him only when he felt his back press against the rope ladder that ran up the dragon's side. He pressed his hands against his uncle's chest and pushed him back, his escape routes completely blocked.
“What do you want?” he asked him with a pounding heart.
“Our nuptials are yet to be consummated, and I offer you the chance to do so as our ancestors did,” Aemond said, lifting his gaze to the long braided rope that climbed up to the saddle.

Luke felt nausea fill his throat. His knees threatened to give way, and only his hand clenched against Vhagar's rope kept him from falling through the dust.
“You can't be serious,” Luke said without any conviction.
He was regretting leaving his own room. He should not have given in to his curiosity and Aemond's hands.

I was a fool, he told himself as he closed his eyes.
As if I could have escaped from him, he whispered bringing his gaze back to his uncle's flawless face.
“Lucerys-” Aemond began but he shushed him by walking up to him, teeth clenched and eyes giving off sparks.

“Do you really think I'm going to agree to be fucked on the beast that killed Arrax! How can you even think that!” cried Luke. His face was so close to his uncle's that he could feel his breath brush against his cheeks. Aemond's one eye was fixed in his own.
Vhagar hissed from deep in his throat.
Luke leapt back, his eyes not knowing where to look without encountering something monstrous.

“I'm trying to reconnect us with our family!” exclaimed Aemond, gritting his teeth.
Luke shook his head, his head throbbing and despair growing heavier in his veins.
“The family you threatened to burn!” cried Luke bringing his hands to his face. His head ached more and more. The smell of his groom inflaming his nostrils and the smell of Vhagar reminding him of the night he had lost Arrax.

I just want to go back to my room, he thought as he pulled his nose up.
“Do what you want, I don't care... besides, you'd do it even if I said no,” Luke said with his eyes fixed in Aemond's.

His groom lifted his chin and gave him a gentle nudge in the center of his chest, hinting at the rope ladder that followed Vhagar's side, adjusting to his scaly, bumps-filled skin.
“You're right. I would do it anyway,” he whispered, following him to the saddle.

လလလ

Luke kept his eyes closed for that long but miserable ride. His hands clenched against the hard reins as Aemond stripped him of his pants and slid cautiously inside him.
And when several hours later they returned to the ground Lucerys' throat burned with bile and restrained cries.

Chapter Text

His muscles ached. He was curled up on his side, Aemond's lips brushing against his neck as his right arm wrapped around his hips, his fingers slowly sliding inside him. Back and forth, stroking every inch of moist, hot skin.
He had hoped that that horrible encounter on Vhagar would be enough to quench his uncle's desire, but it had not.

Obviously, he thought, biting his lip. For as much as he hated the man behind him his expert fingers knew how to give him pleasure. They dug into him with precision as he stroked with his thumb the small gem that overhung his intimacy.

Aemond had taken him again. That afternoon and that night and now, the next morning, he seemed intent on doing it again.
His left hand went to pinch one of his nipples and Luke gasped, biting down harder on his lip. He might have felt pleasure but he would have refused to account for it to his uncle.

“I can't wait for you to heal,” Aemond said, continuing to lick the skin that was not covered by the bandages.

Luke wrinkled his nose. He was looking forward to nothing but the time when he could remove those bandages and the stitches that helped his skin heal but now that Aemond seemed to want it too, he could wish for nothing more than for the remaining ten days to last as long as possible.

When he did not respond, Aemond pushed him onto his back, creeping between his moist thighs. The semi-erect member pressed against his toned belly but was completely ignored by the prince, too busy sinking his fingers inside his groom's body, his only eye fixed on Lucerys' face, waiting for his reaction.

“You'll hurt yourself,” Aemond whispered, lifting a hand to free Lucerys' lip from his teeth.
A small groan left the omega's throat, which immediately clenched its teeth.
“As you wish,” Aemond sentenced as he rested the tip of his cock against his intimacy.

Luke clung to his biceps. He had no desire to hold him close, but he could have sunk his nails into his flesh, ripping into the perfect white skin. Her groom's back was covered with scratches, a reminder of the previous night. On one shoulder also towered the mark of his teeth, not deep enough to call up blood but enough to leave a bruise.

“My prince,” Cleoden's voice called. The guard knocked on the door and Aemond's one eye rested on the dark wood, his muscles still despite his desire to sink into his nephew's sweet body.

“What is it!?” he hissed not at all happy to be interrupted.
Luke let him go, wrapping his arms around his own chest; he would not have wanted Cleoden to see him in that state.

The guard continued talking but stayed outside the door.
Our smell must be so strong… Luke thought as he bit his lip. He remembered the aroma that often besieged the corridors of Dragonstone when his mother and Daemon spent the night together, and he doubted the scent was too different.

“King Aegon and Prince Daeron are waiting for you at the Dragon's Pit. They are ready to leave,” Cleoden replied. There was a note of unease in his voice, and Luke lifted his eyes to Aemond who was still looking at him, his lips tightened into a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed.

His uncle rose up onto his knees, his erection clenched between his thighs and his hands still gripping Lucerys' hips. He looked troubled, as if he was considering whether refusing to meet his brothers to continue fucking him would get him in trouble.
Luke decided for him.

He dragged himself against the pillows and pressed his knees against his chest, wrapping himself in the blankets.
Aemond sighed and stood up, his bare feet tapping against the cold floor.

“Tell them I'll join them in a moment,” Aemond ordered, quickly rinsing himself with a tub of boiling water. Luke smiled at the sight of his back, the marks left by his fingernails were more than evident and in some places there were drops of dried blood.

He heard Cleoden move away and could only be grateful. He and Harkon must have heard everything that had happened the previous day, from the flapping of skin against skin to the little moans that sometimes, uncontrolled, left the back of his throat.

“Where will you go?” asked Luke upon seeing Aemond wearing his flight uniform. The leather clothes offered some resistance when it came to passing against the still damp skin but eventually wrapped Aemond's body like a blanket.
If I didn't hate him I could recognize his beauty, he thought as Aemond styled his hair into a braid.

“Are you worried about me?” he asked him, sneering.
Luke wrinkled his nose, clutching harder at the thighs that jerked with every movement he made. He was aroused and could not deny it. Aemond was a bastard but his fingers offered great pleasure, pleasure that had been brutally interrupted.

“Never,” he replied, squeezing more tightly between the covers.
Aemond laughed, low and sensual. The swelling in his pants was more than evident, and Luke wondered how he had managed to put them on without those ripping.

“A simple mission, nothing for you to worry about,” Aemond replied as he mirrored himself. He arranged the long black but mottled green coat more carefully and made sure the patch was in the right place.
“A mission that requires three dragons,” Luke said, biting his lip.

This does not bode well, he thought, sighing gravely.
“I promise we won't burn Dragonstone,” he said, licking his lips.

A chill ran down Luke's spine as he lifted his large dark eyes to his uncle's face. Aemond smiled but there was no trace of a lie on his face. He prayed that if indeed his uncles were headed to Dragonstone his family would see them arrive in time.

“How long will you be gone?” asked Luke. His thighs grew wetter and wetter, a mixture of humors and Aemond's seed.
The Targaryen prince lifted his shoulders.

“I'm afraid it will be several months before you can see me again,” he told him, seating himself beside him on the large bed. Luke's heart did a flip. His stomach that did not know whether to feel pleasure at those words or horror.
“Months? Aemond, where are you going?” he asked, clasping a hand at chest level.

Dragonstone was too close to take so long but that was not necessarily a good thing.
His groom smiled and caressed his face, leaning down so they could join their lips in a kiss. Luke did not have time to close his mouth because Aemond's tongue wrapped around his own, his hands clutching his own chest and Lucerys' naively trying to pull him away.

“Don't worry,” he told him as he stood up. He bent down again and this time kissed his forehead.
“I'll be back before you know it,” he told him with one last sweet smile.

လလလ

Jace turned his head back, his long hair falling over his shoulders. Cregan's hands ran down his thighs and tightened around his hips, helping him maintain a sensual but tight rhythm.
The prince opened his mouth wide, moans of pure pleasure igniting his throat. One hand clutched one of Cregan's pecs while the other was clasped around his erection begging to be cuddled.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed when with a flick of his back Cregan reversed their positions, sliding so deep inside Jace's body that his eyes sank into his skull. The Lord grabbed his wrists and forced them above his head, locking them with one of his own hands while he stroked his engorged erection with the other.

“You were so graceful while riding your dragon,” he whispered against his ear and Jace wrapped his legs around his waist, making each thrust deeper than the previous ones. He thanked all the years he had spent in the saddle; now he could have pinned Cregan down with just the strength of his thighs.

“But you're damned hot when you ride me!” he exclaimed as his arm moved with greater speed, making the prince, whose eyes were glazed over with pleasure, moan.
“Faster! Oh Cregan make me come!” cried Jace, splashing his white seed against his own chest and his lover's hand.

Cregan giggled against his ear and lifted himself up so he could kiss him. Once, twice, and three times. He continued until Jace looked away, aware that he would asphyxiate to death before Cregan finished kissing him.

The Wolf collapsed on top of him, his member spurting inside the prince's soft body.
“To hell with the war. I'll keep you here with me forever,” he whispered against his ear, and Jace smiled, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Keep me here-I'm yours,” he whispered, sinking his face into the crook of his neck. Cregan laughed and wrapped his arms around his back, reversing their positions so that Jace could rest against his chest without fear of being crushed by the Lord of Winterfell.

Jace sighed gratefully and sank his cheek against Cregan's chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly against his ear. The Wolf grabbed the soft fur blankets and covered his lover up to his shoulders, preventing the tepid air from brushing against him.
Like his dragon. He doesn't like the cold either, he thought, smiling against his head.

“You're so beautiful,” Cregan whispered, holding him close.
Jace chuckled and yawned soundly. He had not slept much the previous night, and that morning he had been awakened by Cregan's impetuous tongue licking between his buttocks.

“And you're damn charming,” Jace replied, rising up on his elbows so he could kiss him. Cregan did not seem to mind the prince's sharp elbows pressing against his chest, nor the knees that had found rest against his thighs.

The Lord's hands slid down Jace's back and squeezed his buttocks, sinking their nails into the soft, sweet flesh, still moist.
“And you have a fabulous ass,” whispered Cregan against Jace's lips, who burst out laughing, moving his hips against those of his lover.

“Flatterer,” he whispered, rubbing the tips of their noses together.
“Just telling the truth,” Cregan replied, nibbling Jace's jaw, who huffed out a laugh. He let himself slide against Cregan's chest, breathing in his wild scent. With one hand he began to caress his collarbone and with the other he intertwined their fingers, holding him close.

“You're a ruffian,” Jace whispered, making himself more comfortable between Cregan's legs, without his knees digging into the Wolf's thighs.
Cregan chuckled and his chest jerked violently, making Jacaerys mutter.
A faint knock interrupted their peace, and Jace squinted an eye, finding shelter against Cregan's neck, a silent plea for whoever was hiding outside the door to disappear.

“My lord? A letter has arrived for Prince Jacaerys,” said the low voice of the Master of Ravens.
Cregan stroked his back, as if to rouse him from his pretended sleep, but there was no need; Jace had already taken a seat, his eyes fixed on the hard wooden door. The prince slid down from his lover's hips and allowed him to stand up.

Cregan squeezed into one of the furs and opened the door, concealing the interior of the room with his imposing figure. The Master handed him the message and Cregan thanked him with a nod, closing the door behind him.

Jace slipped under the covers and Cregan did likewise, handed him the letter and then passed an arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly as the prince broke his mother's seal.

My sweet Jacaerys,
I write to you hoping that this letter will reach you before the chatter of commoners and merchants.
Your brother and Aemond have married.
Daemon hired mercenaries to stop the wedding but they both failed. Apparently Aegon's head almost fell off but Daeron saved him at the last moment.
I know you will be upset, my son, but I implore you to keep the fire in your veins at bay. Continue your mission and secure your alliance with Cregan Stark, only with him at our side do we have hope of bringing your brother home.
We have an insider inside the palace. She will attempt to get close to Lucerys but so far we have had no news. Your brother stands up to anyone who tries to bend him and will continue as long as we rescue him.
Finally, rejoice that your sister Rhaena lives in the presence of Lady Jeyen, safe from the threat of the Greens.
Your mother and queen,
Rhaenyra.

Jace crumpled up the letter and threw it straight into the flames.
“What does it say?” asked Cregan, leaving a kiss in his hair. Jace shook his head briefly, as if he did not want to talk about it, and then, biting his lip, told him what his mother had written.

“It's not enough that she kidnapped him and marked him! Now he's even married him!” exclaimed Jace, taking his face in his hands.
Poor Luke… who knows what that bastard must be doing to him! he thought, gritting his teeth. He did not need to ask himself that question; he could well imagine what Aemond wanted to do to his brother.

An alpha and omega bound in marriage… oh, Lucerys, he thought covering his eyes with his hands.
Cregan sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. He squeezed the arm that encircled Jace's shoulders tighter and forced him to rest his head against his shoulder.

“This is war,” whispered Cregan, who had never fought in a world like the one that would form from there on out. But he knew the history and knew what happened during wars. He knew what happened to omegas who had the misfortune of attracting the stares of alphas powerful enough to do anything without being punished.

“Your brother seems to be doing well,” Cregan then said.
“But how long can he go on? Luke is brave but even bravery cannot last forever and if we don't do something desperation will get the better of him! You don't know our uncle, Aemond will do anything to bend him!” said Jace, fixing his big shiny eyes in Cregan's gray ones.

He stroked his face, his scent suddenly becoming soothing and sweet, like a soft blanket.
“If your brother possesses the same ferocity as you, I am sure he can go on forever. You think highly of your family, and I am sure your brother feels the same. He knows that you will do everything to save him and now, after the attack organized by Prince Daemon, he is certain of that. He will resist because he knows that you will save him. That we will save him,” Cregan told him, smiling sweetly.

“Why do you want to help me, Cregan? Why won't you turn your back on me? And if you died, what would happen to Jonnel?” asked Jace, and Cregan sighed, looking away to fix his gray irises outside the window. He licked his lips and then leaned his cheek against Jace's head, breathing in his smoky but sweet scent.

“I know that if Aegon stayed in power no one in the Seven Kingdoms would be safe. I can try to help you and hope my son has a bright future or I can turn my back on you and pray that the usurper does not decide to burn Winterfell for offering you shelter. Your mother is my choice. You are my choice,” he told him, holding him more tightly in his arms.
Jace remained silent, thoughtful. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Thank you,” he whispered, clasping his hands around Cregan's arms.
The Lord of Winterfell smiled and kissed his head.

လလလ

“Look who got out of bed! Or should I say out of our nephew?” asked Aegon when Aemond stepped into the Dragon Pit. Sunfire uttered a squeaky laugh-like cry, and Aemond thought that Aegon could not have bonded with a dragon more like himself.
His older brother walked over to him, stopping in front of him, hands tucked behind his back and chin raised, playful eyes fixed in his.

“Well? Was waiting worth it?” he asked, continuing to sneer.
I've seen our nephew's little body… I might decide to keep Joffrey for myself as well as Jace, he thought, biting his cheeks.
“Shut up,” Aemond muttered, unable to stop his lips from bending into a smile.

Aegon burst out laughing and passed an arm around his shoulders, then turned to Daeron who was waiting for them at the side of his blue-scaled dragon. Tessarion shook her huge head and puffed out a cloud of steam that swept over her rider.

Sunfire approached her and she hissed, throwing her back up. The golden dragon had made his intentions toward her quite clear but Tessarion seemed more than reluctant to listen to him.

“Now that Aemond is settled we must find you someone!” exclaimed Aegon as he approached him.
Daeron cast his eyes to the sky.
“Daemon's children are too young but Joffrey! Joffrey would be perfect!” continued Aegon with dreamy eyes.

He did not remember much about his sister's third son. He only knew that he had not joined the fight that Aemond had started.
That's perfect for Daeron, he thought with a sneer.
“Criston Cole is waiting for us outside the city,” he muttered, turning to stroke Tessarion's muzzle.

Aegon rolled his eyes and left a pat against his younger brother's shoulder then slowly walked up to Daeron and ruffled his hair, earning a shove that almost knocked him out.
“All right! all right! we'll talk about it when we've captured him,” Aegon muttered as he turned away. He reached his own golden dragon and began to climb up its leg and then sat down on the saddle, beginning to secure the three leather straps that would keep him safe during flight.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Daeron as Aemond passed by his side, heading toward his green beast. Vhagar was curled up under the sun, her eyes closed and her lips half-closed in a whistle that raised a cloud of dust with every breath she took.

“Rhaenyra almost killed Aegon and Jaehaerys,” Aemond said, stopping at his side, his one eye fixed in his.
“Daemon almost killed Aegon and Jaehaerys. Why don't we target him? Why Rhaenys?” asked Daeron.
Aemond sneered and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I promised my husband not to raze Dragonstone. Not yet,” Aemond said and then stepped away, his hands clasped behind his back and his long braid swinging from side to side, slapping his scratch-covered back.
Daeron sighed and pressed a hand against his face.
“Shall we go!?” exclaimed Aegon, clapping his hands against the saddle horn.
“We have a revenge to carry out!” he exclaimed still laughing.

Daeron nodded, starting to climb up the leg of his dragon and then onto the saddle, where he fastened the straps.
Aemond reached the top of Vhagar when the six leather straps were tight around Daeron's thighs.

We can avenge Jaehaerys but the Blacks cannot avenge Luke, he thought as he bit his lip.
I miss Old Town, he thought as the three dragons took flight.

လလလ

He sat on the edge of the bed, his toes touching the floor and a white robe pulled tight around his shoulders. He looked back and wrinkled his nose at the pitiful state Aemond's bed was in.

The sheets were crumpled and wet, there were red drops scattered in several places and dark white patches concentrated in one place.
He looked away and clenched his hands into fists. He let out a deep sigh and stood up, his knees shaking as well as his legs. He would have liked to say they were trembling in pain but the truth was another.

The bastard is good in bed,he thought as he walked to the door and ajar it, peering outside and meeting the worried glances of Cleoden and Harkon.
“Have a bath prepared... please,” Luke whispered as he closed the door. Then, slowly, he opened it again and ran his gaze from one to the other.
“Can one of you… keep me company?” he asked with hopeful eyes and legs growing weaker.

His guards looked at each other, a silent exchange full of doubt and concern. Harkon nodded to the room and then returned to his position. Cleoden nodded and followed the prince into the room. Immediately he pressed a hand against his nose, the smell outside was terrifying but he never thought it could be even worse inside. He looked away from the disgusting sight that was the sheets and was grateful that Lucerys sat down in one of the two armchairs that stood in front of the fire.

Cleoden knelt before him, offering him one of his own hands, and Luke immediately clasped it in his own.
“How are you feeling? Shall I send for the Master?” asked Cleoden with thin clear eyes fixed on the prince's sharp face. He allowed a small amount of his scent to escape his control and surround them so as to give Lucerys a little of the comfort that only a familiar could offer.

Luke sighed and pulled up with his nose.
“No... I don't think there's anything... wrong? I bled as much as anyone,” Luke said, mentioning the soiled sheets. Most of the blood had ended up on Vhagar's saddle but some drops had stained the blankets as well.

“The Master had better take a look at you anyway. I can accompany you after you wash,” Cleoden said with a smile.
Luke bit his lip but nodded.
Cleoden must know more than I do, he thought as he stared into his own black eyes.

“Can I… can I ask you a question? A personal question?” the prince asked, shaking the soldier's hand more forcefully. Despite being an omega Cleoden had the physique of an alpha, broad shoulders and narrow hips, massive arms and large hands.

“Of course,” he replied, passing his free hand against his sweaty neck. His uniform was too heavy to stand so close to the flames.
“Your first time -- please don't tell me it was with Aegon. I couldn't stand it,” he told him, biting his lip. When he was still living in Dragonstone he had heard the rumors about his uncle.
Cleoden smiled.

“I was graced. Before I enlisted, I shared a bed with a close friend. Harkon, on the other hand, was not so lucky,” Cleoden explained, lowering his gaze. Despite the terrible affair, however, his friend kept moving forward with his head held high. His heart reduced to a stone.

“Oh,” whispered Luke biting the inside of his cheeks. Cleoden placed his free hand on his, warming thin fingers that were cold despite the proximity of the flames.
“Don't talk to him about this. He does not want you to know,” Cleoden continued.
He doesn't want to add to the pain, the soldier thought, licking his dry lips.

Luke nodded, an imperceptible movement of his head.
A soft knock and then the door was opened by four servants who came bearing a large tub of boiling water.

Cleoden immediately rose but those did not dignify him with a glance; they would discuss what they had seen as soon as they left that room. Sooner or later the rumor that one of the guards was courting Prince Aemond's groom would spread through the palace and the kingdom.

Luke dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and they fled, closing the door behind them.
“Will you stay with me?” he asked them as he slipped off his robe and entered the tub.
Cleoden looked away but nodded, remaining alert and motionless at the side of the bath.

Luke sighed happily. The boiling water reminded him of the hot springs at Dragonstone and the afternoons he used to spend with his brothers and sisters. To the hours spent splashing themselves with water or relaxing, letting the day's dirt be washed away.

“How old are you?” asked Luke, lifting his eyes to his profile. He was rubbing his arms, his skin had turned red and thin blond hair had adhered to his pale flesh. Milk-colored water reached up to his collarbones, hiding his body from anyone's view.
“Twenty-two,” Cleoden replied.

Just one year older than Aemond, he thought as he bit his lip.
“You are very young. How could they have put you in charge of guarding me?” he asked again. Ser Criston Cole had become his mother's Shield at the age of 30; it was rare for the life of the royal family to be placed in the hands of a young man.

“Very few omegas enlist. Prince Aemond needed omegas to take care of you, and Harkon and I were the only ones chosen,” Cleoden explained. He avoided saying that the two of them were the only ones the prince had deemed worthy. Indeed, he did not know by what criteria he had chosen them, but the more he thought about it, the more he imagined it had been Aegon's idea.

Omega charming enough to satisfy him, he thought as he ran a hand over his chin covered with a pair of white pimples.
“Aemond is going to be gone a long time,” Luke said as if all he had focused on was his husband's name. It wasn't so, of course he had listened to Cleoden's every word but what could he have said besides the obvious?

I'm sorry that you and Harkon were chosen and now Aegon is abusing you? he wondered, shaking his head.
“Maybe my mother could take advantage of it--come here and take the city,” Luke mumbled, biting his lip.
But mother does not know that Aemond and his brothers have left, he thought with a weary sigh.

“Your mother won't. Not if you risk being hurt,” Cleoden said as he knelt at his side, one hand reaching forward as if to caress his face. His fingers wavered as they grazed his sharp cheek and then snapped back, as if they had been burned.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, rising to his feet.
Luke cleared his throat and looked away, clasping his knees against his own chest. He rested his chin on it and took a deep breath.

“Call for the Master, Ser Cleoden,” Luke ordered, and it nodded immediately, pulling away without so much as a glance at him, its cheeks red and tongue clenched between its teeth.

လလလ

“Fuck!” exclaimed Joffrey as he fell to his knees. His sword stuck in the ground and his breathing quickened. Baela was standing before him, the tip of the wooden sword pressing against his throat and a cheeky smile bending her lips.
Joff bit his lips and forced himself to his feet as she slowly raised the sword, continuing to press it against his neck.

“I can tell that our father trained you!” he exclaimed, drawing his own sword from the sand.
Baela sneered and moved back into position, parrying a new blow.
“He trained us all,” she pointed out as Joff tried to trip her up. He missed and almost fell to the ground again. He gritted his teeth and resumed advancing as she retreated, parrying without counterattacking.

“Yes but he was always less intransigent with you,” he said, risking hitting her right in the face. He only managed to brush aside one of her long curly locks that had escaped the messy bun she held atop her head.

“Because I've had less time to train,” she retorted, bending sideways to avoid a slash. Joff blocked her blow and forced her back, this time for a well-crafted move and not for pure enjoyment of her.
“Because you are his favorite daughter,” Joffrey said instead.

Baela leapt backward, the heels of her boots skimming the salt water. He threw himself forward and she flinched, sending him straight into the waves.
“Shit!” exclaimed Joff, who found himself soaked from head to toe.

Baela chuckled and offered him a hand, helping him up.
“Daemon doesn't play favorites,” she told him, running a hand through the hair that had stuck to his forehead.
Joffrey raised an eyebrow and she left a pat against his chest.

“He doesn't make any!” she exclaimed with red cheeks.
“In any case, you're getting better,” she told him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Joff smiled, all teeth well in view and chin high. He was no match for his sister or brother, but receiving a compliment from Baela had filled him with joy and hope.
I'll be ready when we take King's Landing, he thought with a grin.

လလလ

The sun had been down for a few minutes, the sky still painted hundreds of different shades, from purple to yellow.

Luke frowned, his eyes fixed on his aunt who sat on the Throne. He stood at the left side of the long staircase, his back facing the Throne but his head still turning, his dark irises fixed on the figure of his aunt who kept moving, hands clasped and knees together.

Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon stood behind him, a few steps back but their eyes firmly fixed on the door, waiting for the guest and what might prove to be a threat to their protégé.
Alicent and Otto stood on the right side. The Hand of the King gritted his teeth as he looked at his niece with envy. When it was Viserys who sat on the Throne, it was not uncommon for Otto to take his place but Alicent had forbidden him to do so, claiming that her daughter was more than capable of replacing her brother-husband.

And finally the boar comes to the palace, he thought as Lord Borros, grunting and hissing, was escorted before the queen. His smell was nauseating, a mixture of sea and rage that for a few moments made it hard for him to breathe.

Luke twisted his nose and straightened his back, his black robes wrapping around his toned, slender figure. The last time he had seen Lord Borros he had felt small, diminutive, but now that he found him before him he realized he was as tall as the Lord of Storm’s End.

“Lord Borros,” Helaena greeted him with her lips folded in a smile of kindly circumstance.
Had she ever met him? Or was it Otto who told her who he was? Luke wondered, keeping his eyes fixed on Lord Borros, who returned the gaze. It was obvious to whom his hatred was directed.
“My Lady,” he greeted her by giving her a slight bow.

Luke wrinkled his nose. He might have been a lord but Borros had no grace. His bow turned out so awkward that it could have rivaled that of Helaena's twin sons.
“To what do we owe your glad presence?” asked Helaena, laying her hands in her lap. She wore blue that day, the same color as the sky. She seemed to be the only one in that family who was not obsessed with green.

Daeron is not either. But Daeron grew up in Old Town… who knows what Gwayne Hightower taught him, Luke wondered. Although he remained cooped up in his own room, he did not find it difficult to ferret out information; his servants chatted as they served him breakfast or tidied the room, and Lucerys, while pretending not to, listened to them.

He did not remember Gwayne Hightower but knew he had met him at Aegon and Helaena's wedding. He must have been six years older than him.
One year older than Aemond, he thought as he brought his hands forward to his belly.
Lord Borros's eyes rested on him.

Ah, clear, he thought as he restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
“I have come to discuss the union between your brother Prince Aemond and the bas- Prince Lucerys,” Borros said while keeping his eyes fixed in Luke's.

Cleoden let out a deep sigh, and Luke could hear his sword clink against his side.
He grinned and lifted his chin, returning the Lord of Stormss End gaze. He was certainly not happy to be a prisoner of the Green, but if his condition could make that old boar suffer, he would enjoy it to the end.

“Oh! I'm afraid there is nothing to discuss. My brother and my nephew have joined in marriage after receiving the blessing of my husband, the king,” Helaena said, offering one of her sweet smiles.

Borros felt himself flushed. His cheeks red and his lips tightened into a thin line. Luke could swear he could hear his teeth crunch from the pressure.
“Your brother and I have a deal! Marriage to my daughter in exchange for my alliance! Does the Crown go back on its word?” the boar asked with nostrils flared and chest heaving up and down in anger.
It would not be the first time the Crown changed its decision, Luke thought.

“Keep it down, Lord Borros! Remember you are speaking to your queen!” exclaimed Otto with his arms straight along his sides and his hands clenched into fists.
The Lord of Storm's End gave him a look that would have liked to be chilling but only made his appearance worse.

“The bond between my brother and my nephew goes far beyond mere alliances. You saw him present himself before my brother, you cannot deny that that was a sign from the gods,” Helaena said, hinting at Lucerys, who shrugged.

A sign of my immense misfortune, the gods had nothing to do with it, he thought as he bit his cheeks.
“Yet I was promised a marriage!” said Borros again, gritting his teeth.
“Lord Borros, my son Daeron would be more than happy to marry your daughter,” Alicent said, creeping into that speech.

Helaena frowned, evidently upset by those words.
Daeron would do no such thing, she thought as her eyes rested on the round face of Lord Borros who silently sifted through that possibility.

“A fourth son,” he commented contemptuously.
“A prince of the realm,” Otto pointed out in a tone full of rancor, unlike his niece and daughter he was doing nothing to try to hide the annoyance he felt toward the Lord of Storm's End.
Borros fixed his large dark eyes on Lucerys.

“That was your goal, wasn't it? You didn't get my alliance and you seduced my daughter's groom,” he said, gritting his teeth. He took a step forward, and Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon immediately came to Luke's side.
“Lord Borros!” called him back Helaena, who had no desire to see more blood flowing in that hall.

“Certainly, Lord Borros! To have my uncle fuck me was the innermost of my desires!” exclaimed Lucerys bringing a hand to his chest dramatically. An actor could not have expressed himself in a better way.
The boar gnashed his teeth, his hands clenched into fists and his pupils bloodshot.

“Lord Borros!” exclaimed Helaena again. Her voice reverberated through the entire hall, and finally the lord was forced to lift his gaze, no longer able to ignore the command of his queen, who red in the face and with furrowed brows looked him straight in the eye.

“None of my brothers will marry your daughter,” she said in a firm tone.
Luke squinted his eyes, fixing his gaze on Helaena who with an impassive look and a straight back scanned the hall. She did not need to wear a crown to be queen.
Like my mother, he thought while holding back a grin.
“I beg your pardon?” asked the lord with a vein beginning to pulse down his neck.

“Helaena...” whispered Alicent at the same instant, as if she wanted to correct her daughter's words but could not contradict the queen in front of her audience.
Ser Otto was a nervous wreck, his eyes downcast and his body shaking with rage.

“My brother Aemond has chosen his groom and my brother Daeron has just returned to the arms of his family. He has no interest in getting married and I will not allow him to stray,” she explained, reaching her hands into her lap. With her straight back and that confident expression Helaena looked like a completely different person, a portrait of her older sister.

“Ah! So you are breaking our agreement!?” he demanded pointing a finger at her. The guards standing at the back and sides of the hall stepped forward, ready to intervene if Lord Borros became violent. His scent, on the other hand, communicated nothing else.
Harkon laid a hand on Lucerys's shoulder and gently, without anyone noticing, dragged him back, as far away from Borros as possible without, however, escaping the sight of the Greens.

“The agreements of men are of no value to the gods. You will not break our alliance,” she sentenced with eyes fixed in his.
Borros sneered.
“And why should I not side with Princess Rhaenyra?” asked Lord Borros, gritting his teeth.

Helaena raised her head, dangerous eyes fixed on the boar's face.
“Because my mother would reduce you to ashes,” Lucerys sentenced, drawing the gaze of the Lord of Storm's End upon himself. He opened his mouth, ready to object but the prince anticipated him.

“It is your fault that I find myself imprisoned here and my mother will never forgive your betrayal. If you value your life remember which is your place,” he told him with a cruel smile.
He could not say why he had decided to help his aunt; perhaps seeing Lord Borros in distress might brighten his otherwise grim imprisonment.

The Lord of Storm's End bit the inside of his lips, his eyes running from the prince's face to the queen's. Finally, without a word, he turned his back on them and left, knowing that sweet Helaena would not take his head for disrespecting her.

လလလ

“How are you feeling?” Helaena asked him, her arm clasped in his. They had left the Throne Room as soon as Lord Borros had departed. Alicent had tried to approach her daughter, perhaps intending to reprimand her for her decisions or perhaps to compliment her for standing up to the Lord of Storm's End.

Helaena had pushed her away, preferring to accompany Lucerys out of the Throne Room.
Now they were headed for her room, Luke in fact had asked her if he could say hello to his cousins, the twins seemed the only ones able to put him in a good mood, perhaps their infectious giggle reminded him of his younger brothers.

“I'd rather not feel anything,” he told her with a wistful smile.
Helaena was right. Aemond had not been violent, and as much as Luke felt no pain he would rather not feel pleasure either. It had been several hours since Aemond had left and yet Luke could still feel his fingers inside himself.

“Instead I feel every bit of my insides moving,” he continued, laying a hand against his belly. He didn't know how to explain it; it felt like a constant shifting of air and trembling.
Helaena squeezed his arm tighter.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered when they reached the front of her room.

Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon came up behind them, a meter further back, so as to give them the right amount of space but still be close enough. Still further behind came the queen's guards, two alphas Lucerys did not know.

“You did what you could,” he told her, clasping her hands in his own.
She bought me a week, he thought with a sincere smile.
“Helaena... do you know where they are headed?” asked Luke, biting his cheeks.

She squinted her eyes but then shook her head sadly. Aegon had revealed nothing to her, not even the smallest of details. But after all, he had found out about the valuable help she had given Lucerys; it was only natural that he would not reveal his plan.

“Oh...” he whispered, biting his lip.
She cleared her throat and motioned to the room, gently lowering the doorknob.
“Come say hello to your cousins, they will be happy to see you,” she told him, guiding him inside the room.

Just as in Aemond's there was a door leading into the main room, the one the couple shared. The difference was that the door from Luke's room to the hallway had been locked, preventing him from leaving except by going through his husband's room.

The twins played lying in front of the fire, a small wooden dragon clutched in each one's hands. The resemblance between the two was incredible, the only difference being Jaehaera's hair, kept slightly longer than her brother's.

And the scar on Jaehaerys cheek, he thought when it lifted his face, revealing his left cheek. The scar opened horizontally from the edge of his nose to just before his ear.

“Cousin Luke!” greeted Jaehaera, immediately rising to her feet. She brushed off her pea-green skirt and hurriedly approached, followed by her brother, who more timidly, and perhaps fearfully, held his hands in front of his belly.

Will he think it was me who sent the mercenaries? he wondered, hiding his worries with a smile.
“Good evening, Jaehaera. Jaehaerys,” he greeted them by giving them both a nod. The little girl giggled and her brother smiled as well, showing dimples and straight white teeth.

“Were you playing with dragons?” he asked them, mentioning the toys that had been abandoned in front of the fire.

The twins nodded and each taking one of his hands led him to the front of the fire, resuming playing as if nothing had happened. Luke remained seated between them, sitting on top of his own knees, his hands resting on his thighs.
“Dragon,” Jaehaera said, pointing at him.

Luke tilted his head, curious but also confused. He turned his gaze toward Helaena, who merely smiled, a silent invitation to follow her children's initiative.
“Am I a dragon?” asked Luke, wondering if the little ones wanted to pretend to be knights ready to slay the mythical creature or simply wanted to saddle him as if he had been Syrax or Caraxes.
Jaehaera nodded.

“Egg,” Jaehaerys said, pointing to his belly.

Chapter Text

The wind tousled her hair as she flew higher and higher into the midst of white clouds. Only two days earlier she had visited her granddaughter, sweet Rhaena seemed to enjoy Lady Jeyen's company and especially the egg she had given her.

Don't tell my father, I don't want to give him false hope, she had said, showing her the pink-shelled egg.
Rhaenys smiled and shook her head.

Oh, how sweet my granddaughters are, she thought as she ran a hand through her disheveled white hair that had escaped the bun in which she had gathered it.

She had been flying over that area of land and sea for months, visiting the youngest of her granddaughters. Two months exactly. In those months the egg had neither moved nor hatched, yet it remained warm, burning as it had been all those years.
And now, she was flying toward Rook's Rest.

Lord Staunton... Ser Criston attacked him without grace or honor, she thought as Meleys descended downward, wings folded against her body and the wind hurting her knight's eyes.

The clouds cleared and the battlefield opened before her. Archers struck from the high walls as soldiers fought on the ground, men and swords clashing and cries of pain reaching her ears.

Meleys hissed but it was not necessary for her to reveal her presence; everyone had already noticed her. Lord Staunton's men raised their swords, loudly exclaiming the name of the princess who had come to save them.

Ser Criston's men, however, were no fools. They knew that if they escaped, moving away from Rook's Rest's men, Rhaenys would chase them down and burn them to ashes, and so they continued to fight as the huge dragon flew over their heads, snatching some of them off the ground or striking them with claw blows but not being able to spit flames onto the battlefield.

Damn! thought Rhaenyra as Meleys devoured yet another man, unintentionally ripping off the arm of an ally as well.
The Red Queen flew upward as her knight looked around, searching for a suitable spot to strike.

Who to hit, she thought as her eyes scanned the soldiers. They all dressed the same way but it did not take Rhaenys long to make out Morning Star, Ser Criston Cole's favorite weapon.

She clapped a hand against Meleys' long neck and she dropped, her big yellow eyes fixed on Criston Cole's back.
Gotcha, she thought with her lips already beginning to curve into a grin.

Meleys spread her wings wide, changing direction suddenly. A golden claw grazed her back and Rhaenys leaned forward, preventing Aegon's beast from piercing her torso.
The shrill laughter of the Usurper King reached her ear like a flow of boiling lava.

The Red Queen flew upward, away from the center of the battle and from her favorite victim who had thrown himself to the ground, an empty circle around him.
Aegon! thought she as the boy returned to the charge, his small, snappy dragon however was no threat to Meleys who deftly dodged his attack, producing a dry hiss.

“Let's get rid of them!” shouted Rhaenys as her red beast swooped in pursuit of Sunfire.
Once and for all, she thought as Meleys' claws dug into the golden dragon's flanks and her teeth sank into its left wing, producing a wet, sickening sound.
Sunfire shrieked in pain as Aegon flailed in his saddle, railing at the dragon and spurring it on to fight.

Meleys was struck in the side by a blue spark. Tessarion, as large as the golden dragon, bared her teeth, threatening to drive his claws into her red scales. The Queen then lost her grip and backed away as Rhaenys turned her head, watching Sunfire plummet and Tessarion, who, after assuring herself of her knight's brother's health, returned to the charge.

Damn! hissed Rhaenys as Meleys dodged Daeron's attack. The prince looked at her with big, full eyes, his lips clamped between his teeth as his dragon lunged at her again, her claws unable to touch her even if they intended to.

Is he helping me? wondered Rhaenys as Daeron pushed her farther and farther away, away from the increasingly empty battlefield, the men taking advantage of the distraction caused by the dragons were fleeing over the walls.
Daeron raised an arm.

Move away! thought the young prince. But he did not have time to convey that message.
The rumble of thunder and Vhagar crashed down on Meleys, fangs sinking into her belly and fire burning her skin.
Rhaenys cried out, clinging to the saddle of her dragon as her eyes met the sad and lonely one of Prince Aemond.

Killed by my daughter's dragon… she thought as she unsheathed her sword, ready to unbuckle her belt to throw herself on her cousin's third son.
She did not have the time.

A stream of boiling blood fell on her, and when she lifted her gaze she found Aegon and Sunfire above her, the dragon barely able to stay in the air, his left wing reduced to a bloody heap.

“Dracarys!” cried Aegon.
Rhaenys closed her eyes.
I'm coming, Laena. Laenor, she thought before she was engulfed in flames.

လလလ

The patter of cutlery was the only sound to fill Queen Helaena's private room.
The twins had not been allowed to join them but Luke wished they were there so he could chase away the terrible looks his grandmother was giving him.

As if the nausea were not enough, he thought as he swallowed a retch of vomit that left a sour taste in the back of his throat.
Helaena seemed to ignore her mother's stares, preferring to focus on the slice of lemon cake in front of her.

My mother's favorite, Luke thought as he took a bite of his own. He smiled unconsciously as the sugar melted in his mouth.
“Aemond never had a chance to tell me about it but I guess the marriage was consummated after your ... tantrums,” Alicent commented as she sipped her own drink.

Helaena drew her eyebrows together. It was now more than clear to her why she had avoided that meeting, letting Lucerys have lunch and dinner alone, allowing him to ignore the Green Queen and her sharp tongue.
Luke stopped chewing, the bite heavy against his tongue.
“Mother,” Helaena warned her.
Alicent lowered her gaze and continued sipping from her own cup.

“Do you want the details, grandmother? Because I can be explicit if you wish, all you have to do is ask. I guess Grandfather Viserys wasn't enough to satisfy you and you'd rather... escape into your children's sex lives,” Luke commented as he took another bite of cake.

If nothing else, it seemed that his stomach was not refusing to ingest it. Lately there were few foods left in his stomach. The Master had suggested that it might be due to the estrangement of his alpha but Luke was not convinced.
I don't feel anything for Aemond and indeed, I'm glad he's out of the way, he thought as a servant filled his plate again.

Alicent looked at him with curled nose and a hand pressed against her chest.
Helaena held a hand in front of her lips so as to hide the small smile that arched upward.
“You sound just like your mother. Crude and... carnal,” she muttered, sinking her fork into her own slice of cake, watching as Lucerys devoured his second slice.

“At least I'm not a religious pretender,” Luke commented as he devoured the last crumb. He lifted a hand and the servant girl refilled his plate.
“You little-”
“Mother, that's enough,” Helaena said, resting her hand on Alicent's. The Green Queen took a deep breath and took another sip of tea, asking that it then be refilled.

“You are eating too much. You're going to get fat,” she told him, hinting at his plate.
Luke grinned.

“Good thing I'm already married then! Maybe a few extra pounds will keep Aemond away from me, but come to think of it, your son is so obsessed he'd fuck me anyway,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together and then wiping them in the cloth napkin he had opened over his legs.

Alicent was green. She gritted her teeth and lifted her chin, avoiding responding to the provocation.
“Mother, Luke won't get fat eating plain cake,” Helaena said, smiling at her nephew.
He smiled back and pressed his hands against his full belly. It was the first time in more than a week that he felt truly full. He hoped his body would decide to keep the food inside him and not vomit it up. Again.

“Any news of my brothers?” asked Helaena, turning to her mother.
Alicent licked her lips and nodded slightly.
Luke paid attention but doubted that Alicent would reveal too many details.
“Aemond says they come out victorious. They will return within a month, maybe two,” she said, fixing her eyes in those of Lucerys, who returned the gaze.

You won't be so happy once Aemond comes home, she thought, smiling malevolently. Was she sorry for what had happened to her grandson? Of course yes, it was his attitude though that got on her nerves. Why couldn't Lucerys accept his new position?

It isall Rhaenyra's fault. She raised them with too much freedom, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheeks.
Helaena nodded.

“I'm glad,” she said taking another bite of cake. She was happy that her siblings were coming home safely. She doubted Lucerys felt the same but knew he would not accuse her of being happy.

“Lord Borros will be back to charge as soon as Aegon returns to the Red Keep but we will let him handle it,” Alicent continued, smiling at her daughter. She had not yet given up on the idea of Daeron marrying Maris Baratheon. They needed to secure the alliance.
“I have already communicated my decision to Lord Borros. Aegon will agree with me,” Helaena said as she licked her lips, her eyes fixed on her mother's face.

“But my darling, if Daeron married Lady Maris we would settle any possible future quarrel,” Alicent commented.
Helaena shook her head decisively.
“Daeron will marry no one. I am the queen and I have decided,” she sentenced, bringing her own cup to her mouth.

Luke looked away and smiled. He could not say that he knew his Uncle Daeron, but the boy seemed kind enough that he did not deserve to join Lord Borros's family.
Alicent blinked repeatedly, trying to take her daughter's hand in her own.

“Helaena, you cannot be serious-” and the queen interrupted her.
“I have made up my mind. Daeron will marry whomever he pleases. Enough, let's not talk about it anymore,” she said untangling her fingers from her mother's.
Luke grinned happily.

Why have a king when you can have a queen? he asked himself, smiling.

လလလ

“You are sweeter than Daemon but just as stern!” said Jace parrying one of Cregan's attacks. They had been going on in that dance of muscle and wooden swords since the entire morning.

Cregan sneered and drove Jace's blade away, forcing him back a couple of steps.
They had hidden in a small circular clearing surrounded by tall pine and fir trees. Cregan had explained that his father used to take him there when he was just beginning sword training and that soon he would take Jonnel there, even though his son already knew the place.

“A little prince like you couldn't stand real northern training,” he told him, sneering.
Jace wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth, a childish but terribly different response from the one he would have given him only a few months earlier, when he had just arrived in the North.

Jace had sent a letter to his mother, informing her that Cregan had sided with them. He knew he would soon have to return to Dragonstone but was trying to put off his departure as long as possible.

Cregan's men were still preparing, or that was the excuse he liked to use to linger in the North. Armies of Wolves were traveling toward Winterfell, ready to flock to their Lord's call, and it would be another two months before the last man would set foot near the fortress.

“I think I can handle anything you send at me,” Jace said as he walked up to stand in front of him, his sword tucked behind his back, clutched in both hands.
Cregan sneered and lowered his own weapon as the prince stood a breath away from his chest, chin raised and eyes fixed in his own.

“You think so?” asked Cregan, pressing the tip of the wooden sword against Jace's chin. He pushed it gently upward and the prince lifted himself up on his toes, closer and closer to Cregan's lips as Cregan leaned over him, rubbing the tips of their noses together.

“Yes,” Jace whispered, licking his lips, his sword slowly moving from his right hand to his left, his hand weak.
“And I think I beat you too!” he exclaimed, plunging the wooden blade against the profile of Cregan's neck.

The Wolf raised his eyebrows and then smiled biting his lip. He dropped his own sword and clasped his hands around Jace's hips, lifting him off the ground with a resolute gasp. The prince clung to his shoulders squeaking, his legs wrapped around his hips as Cregan pressed him against the bark of a pine tree.

“You are a clever little prince but not every man will be seduced by your beautiful smile,” he told him, speaking against his full red mouth.

Jace bit his lower lip. Now that he was so close and the pine sheltered them from the wind, his scent was even stronger and sweeter. A mixture of wildness and sweat that sent a chill down his spine.
“My beautiful smile?” asked Jace, tilting his head so he could kiss one cheek.

By now they had been training together for almost two months. Those solitary meetings had become as good a way as any to exchange effusions without being seen.
Cregan grabbed him by the buttocks and hoisted him upward so that now it was Jace looking down on him.

“I was going to say nice ass but that wouldn't be as romantic,” Cregan said biting his chin.
Jace grinned as Cregan reached down to kiss his neck, sucking in the hollow of his shoulder, there where he was most vulnerable.

It was said that in the past, when a king was defeated and his kingdom conquered, the conquering alpha would bite the loser, marking him as if he had been an omega. The conqueror could decide whether to keep the loser by his side or kill him. Most chose to keep the captive, the idea of possessing the loser's life was a sweeter reward than his death.

For this reason the alphas did not allow their omegas to mark them in turn.
That is why Jace should have feared Cregan's teeth.

“That wouldn't have been very romantic,” agreed Jace as Cregan set him back down, their bodies rubbing against each other and their groins joined in a gentle caress.

Jace let a soft meow escape as Cregan slowly nudged him to turn around, his chest pressed against his torso and his back arched, his butt pressed against Cregan's hips moving sensuously, the outline of his erection clearly evident against the soft flesh.

“But you're not a very romantic man,” Jace commented, turning so he could face him, hands pressed against the hard wood and splinters threatening to creep under his skin.
Cregan grinned and leaned forward, taking his lips with his own. His tongue slipped inside the prince's mouth, claiming it as his own.

“I am more than romantic,” Cregan said as they parted. His hands ran to the laces holding up Jace's pants and untied with quick mastery, letting them slide down the prince's legs, revealing the pale skin of his buttocks.
“Do you want to do it here? Someone might see us,” Jace said as he looked around. The forest was deserted and he could not even make out the immense figure of Vermax.

“Don't worry. No one comes here,” Cregan reassured him as he fell to his knees. He took Jace's buttocks in both hands and opened them, sinking his tongue between them.

Jace hissed biting his lips, his forehead pressed against the hard wood as Cregan's expert tongue moved against him, saliva wetting his chin. He brought a hand between the prince's thighs and grasped his semi-erect cock, moving his hand back and forth.

“Creg-” gasped Jace, bringing one hand to cover his. They moved together, with the prince's fingers trembling against the Lord's sturdier ones.
Cregan grinned against his skin, pushing himself even deeper and moving his hand with greater speed, Jace's hips going to meet his tongue and hand, his left hand being all that kept him from falling against the tree.

“Ah! Fucking Cregan I'm going to-” he interrupted himself, staining the Lord's hand white as his body was shot through with spasms.

He rested his forehead against the wood as Cregan lifted himself up onto legs from aching knees and left a slap against Jace's right buttock. He leaned over him and kissed his neck as he pressed two fingers against his lips. Jace let them in without offering any resistance, and Cregan continued kissing him until his fingers were coated with saliva and sank with ease into the body of the prince, who clung to the pine trunk, his eyes closed and his lips open.

“You were born for this-I'm surprised you're not an omega,” Cregan whispered against his ear.
Jace nodded in agreement. He had never been in doubt about his presentation but since Cregan had laid hands on him he was beginning to have second thoughts.

What if I had been better as an omega? he wondered as Cregan licked his throat. He sank his fingers into his dark hair, keeping the Lord's lips pressed against his skin as he lined his erection against him, working his way into his body.

“Cregan!” he gasped when he felt the Lord's hips press against his buttocks. Cregan placed one hand on his, entwining their fingers against the dark wood while with the other he gripped Jace's hips, holding him still as he thrust into him, first with slow and then increasingly frantic movements.

Jace gasped and groaned, the slamming of skin against skin filling his ears, followed then by the moans and low growls of Cregan holding his forehead pressed against his head and his lips a breath away from his ear.
“If I stayed for the winter I would fuck you in the snows,” Cregan sentenced, slamming his hips against his.

Jace turned his head back, leaning against Cregan's shoulder, who wrapped his arm completely around his hips, pressing it against the hard bark but holding one hand cupped so as to protect his intimacy at rest.

“I will come back! I'll be back for winter, summer and spring...when you want me I'll be here,” gasped Jace and Cregan growled against his neck, painting his insides white.
The Wolf clung heavily to the plant so as not to crush his younger lover, who risked falling to his knees, only Cregan's arm to hold him up.

“I will fuck you at Dragonstone. At the Red Keep. On that damned Throne your mother and brother fight over,” Cregan said when they were clothed, their lips meeting at every point.
Jace merely nodded, now at a loss for words.
“Father!” exclaimed Jonnel's thin voice.
Jace turned with a snap, catching a glimpse of the child accompanied by two guards in the distance.

The lovers parted quickly. Jace made sure Cregan's clothes were in order, and Cregan did the same with his.
We smell too much, thought the lord as his son began to run, rushing into his arms and risking tripping over the wooden swords that had been forgotten on the ground.
The child brought a hand to his nose.

“What is that smell?” he asked, fixing his eyes in those of his parent.
Cregan laughed, avoiding answering that question.
Jace did not fail to notice the knowing gaze of the two guards.

လလလ

"Ugly bitch! She and her damned dragon!" hissed Aegon as Sunfire landed awkwardly, its legs giving way under its weight, sending his snout crashing into the ground, a pitiful whine escaping its lips.

Aegon unbuckled the straps and quickly dismounted from the saddle, bustling around his dragon to check the two wounds. A piece of membrane had been torn from the left wing, the very part that would allow Sunfire to fly. He probably wouldn't be able to take to the skies again, not until the wound healed.

His back was also covered in scratches, but those were the least of the problems.
Sunfire hissed, and Aegon gave him a gentle scratch on the snout, rubbing his nostrils.
Blow into a horse's nostrils, and it'll be yours for life... was that the saying? he thought as Tessarion glided beside him, puffing a cloud of steam against Sunfire's snout, which returned the gesture.

"Are you okay?" Daeron asked, sliding down from the saddle. He quickly approached his brother, and when he nodded, he let out a small smile. Not enthusiastic but relieved.
"That bitch Rhaenys?" Aegon asked, indicating the red dragon that had crashed a few meters away, far from the entrance of the fortress but close enough for Lord Staunton to see every detail.

"You set her on fire. It's impossible she survived," he said, his eyes fixed on Vhagar, which landed as far away as possible from the other dragons and the men of Ser Criston, who had quickly approached them.
"Thank you for saving me," he said immediately, bowing to his lord.

Aegon snorted loudly.
"I didn't do it for you, idiot. Rhaenys was just in the perfect spot," he said, moving away from Sunfire, which whined pitifully, seeking its knight's affection, who was too busy marching toward what remained of the Red Queen.

Daeron looked up at Tessarion and then gestured toward the golden dragon.
Stay with him, he thought, following his brother and casting a look of mere tolerance at Ser Criston, who returned it in kind, the lip clenched between his teeth and his cheeks red with rage.

Despite being the last to dismount, Aemond was already by Meleys, right next to her belly perforated by Vhagar's teeth.
"Great job, little brothers," Aegon said, putting his arms around both of them.

Meleys had curled up, a final attempt to protect her rider. Her tail and snout almost touched. The three princes passed by without any effort, looking at the charred body of Rhaenys.
Aegon burst out laughing while Daeron looked away.

She's really dead, he thought as he surveyed the desolation around him.
What will Lucerys think? he wondered, looking at Aemond, who was grinning, teeth bared, and the only eye injected with red.

"Serves her right! Rhaenyra won't easily forget this lesson," Aegon commented, clapping his hands together. He looked at his brothers as if expecting them to imitate him, but when he saw that neither seemed inclined to give him that pleasure, he simply raised his eyes to the sky.

"Sunfire is in really bad shape. It won't be able to fly to King's Landing," Daeron said, looking at the golden dragon lying on the ground, with Tessarion diligently guarding him.
Aegon sighed and scratched his cheek.
"Then it will have to walk. We all will," he declared, addressing his brothers.
If I can't fly, neither will you, he thought, redirecting his gaze to Meleys, a malevolent smile curling his lips.

"But since it will take us longer to get back to King's Landing... we might as well take a souvenir, don't you think?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the Red Queen's snout.
No, I don't think so, Daeron thought, stepping away to seek comfort from his dragon.

လလလ

I ate too much cake, he thought as he threw up for the umpteenth time. A servant had brought him dinner, spiced meat and boiled vegetables. It was delicious, the best meal he had eaten in many months, and yet it still did not stay in his stomach.

He slumped against the wooden bucket and leaned his back against the wall, one hand pressed against his lips and the other against his churning stomach.
I refuse to believe it is the absence of Aemond! he hissed, dragging himself to the bed and sitting on the edge, close enough to the bucket and far enough away from the soft pillows.

The timing coincided, though. He had started feeling sick a few weeks after his uncle's departure, and the nausea had started even less time ago.
Shit, he thought as he pressed a hand against his sore and more swollen than normal stomach.

Dragon and egg. The words of Jaehaera and Jehaerys came back to his mind. Meaningless words, like those Helaena uttered just as often.
He lowered his eyes to his own belly.

I am the dragon, he thought again with his heart beginning to beat faster and faster.
And the egg is in my belly, he swallowed as he stood up with a snap.
It couldn't be that the twins had noticed something like that. It was impossible. Not even the Master could have realized it only two days after mating.

And yet… and yet the symptoms all come back, he thought as he bit his lip.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit! he thought as he took to walking around the room, his hands stuck in his hair and his lips wide open in an attempt to get as much air into his lungs as possible.

It's not possible! We only did this for one day! What are the chances that I am- he interrupted himself, not even able to think of that word.
He swallowed and took a deep breath, bringing a hand to the pearl necklace. The bite that Aemond had left him was now clearly visible to anyone who dared to look in his direction. It looked like a mixture of a burn and a botched attempt to join two pieces of skin that had been almost completely torn off.

It was horrible.

He began to repeat the names of his family members as if they had been a mantra. Each bead was a deep breath and each space a release.
Finally, with trembling legs and liquid fear he approached the door and opened it, immediately meeting the gazes of Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon.

“Send for the Master but I do not want my aunt and grandmother to be made aware,” he ordered and then closed the door behind him. Without allowing them to reply.
He guessed that his guards would find this strange, after all he never disdained to chat with his new and only friends.

He sighed and sat down on the bed. He did not worry about vomiting; it seemed that anxiety and worry had dried up his stomach.
Shit, he thought as he passed a hand against his forehead. A baby would be the end of him, stuck forever at Aemond's side. Like his mother who, if she had not married Ser Laenor, would have been stuck forever by the side of some fat old lord.

At least Aemond is not old and fat, he thought as meager consolation.
And he knows how to give me an orgasm. He blushed violently and shook his head.

It was a short time before the Master arrived at his door, transfixed and his hair streaked with gray. He nodded to the guards and closed the door behind him, approaching the prince, who stood up, his hands clasped in front of his belly and his lips joined in a thin line.

“My prince, how can I be of help to you?” the Master asked, smiling at him kindly.
Luke remembered the man. He had lived in the palace since he had been born, and from what his mother had told him, the Master had been present on the day of his birth. He had not been for Jace and Joff but only for him.

Luke sighed and bravely took the Master's hands in his own. They were old and wrinkled, the fingertips incredibly smooth and the nails short and clean.

“I think I'm expecting a baby,” he whispered biting his lip. He used a tone so low that even the Master had difficulty hearing it but feared that if he used a higher voice everyone inside the Red Keep would know about it.
The man raised his thick eyebrows and then pointed to the bed, inviting the prince to lie down.
Luke pulled up with his nose but obeyed.

“Lift the shirt,” the Master ordered, and Luke, though with some hesitation, obeyed.
The man sighed upset when Luke revealed his abdomen. One glance was all he needed to notice the tiny, insignificant bulge; it could have been due to too much food or air in his stomach, but from the sour smell coming from the bucket thrown in the corner, the Master could deduce it was neither.

He rubbed his hands together, warming the otherwise cold skin, and laid one in the center of his belly, moving it so as to feel every nook and cranny while Luke, with his shirt clutched in his hands and his head completely sunk into the pillow, waited.
Poor boy, he thought as he moved his hand away from his belly.

“I'm afraid you're not wrong. You are expecting a son,” the Master confirmed.
Luke bit his lip and slowly sat up. He took his face in his hands and leaned forward, his glazed eyes fixed on his own knees and vomit rising up along his throat.

He fell to the ground and the Master brought the bucket to him, letting him vomit everything inside.
“Please...” whispered Luke with his throat battered and mucus running down his nose. He grasped the Master's hand and stared into his own misty eyes.

“Don't tell anyone! Please, they cannot know...” implored Lucerys, tears beginning to wet his face and sobs violently shaking his chest.
The Master swallowed and took him in his arms, leaving heavy caresses along his shaking back.

“I saw what that monster did to you,” whispered the man against his ear, also frightened that the walls might hear his betrayal.
Luke sobbed against his neck, tears soaking his brown robe.

“I will help you as I can,” the Master said, looking him straight in the face.
Luke pulled up with his nose and nodded as the man helped him up and tightened a blanket around his shoulders.
“I'll be back soon,” he told him before fleeing the room.

Luke swallowed and brought his gaze to the low bedside table that stood at the side of the bed. He lifted a hand and opened the small drawer, revealing the shard of glass he had made from the broken vase.

He picked it up with trembling hands and increasingly glazed eyes. He looked at his own reflection and then, swallowing noisily, pointed it at his own belly, the sharp point pressing against his exposed skin.

It is so easy, he thought.
One sharp blow and it will cease to exist, he continued applying gentle pressure, the skin folding under the touch of the blade but not breaking.
But I would also cease to exist-and I want to keep living! he threw the blade to the ground and burst into tears, his face hidden against his hands. The sobs were so loud that they shook his frail body, already tested by continuous nausea.

He did not realize he had begun to scream until a pair of warm hands rested on his shoulders and Ser Cleoden's green eyes met his.

Ser Harkon stood motionless in front of the door, his eyes running from the hallway to the interior of the room, as if he was making sure that the screams had not attracted anyone.
Several moments passed but no one came nor was there any sound of hurried footsteps or the clicking of armor.

All was silent. Except Luke's heart.

“My prince! What's happening!?” asked Cleoden with eyes fixed in his.
Luke opened his mouth, he knew he could speak to his guards, but nothing but hisses and broken sobs came from his throat.

Finally, exhausted, he let himself fall into the arms of Cleoden, who held him against his chest, stroking his hair hesitantly. He would have died if anyone had caught him in that kind of posturing with the prince.

“He is expecting a child,” the Master said as he arrived accompanied by a servant whom Lucerys had never seen except at Helaena's side. She appeared to be a new hire, who had come to the palace at the same time he had been taken prisoner.

“Close the door and go inside. No one will come,” the Master ordered, addressing Harkon, who found himself obeying.
“Prince Aemond? But they ... joined only for one day!” exclaimed Cleoden, helping Luke sit on the bed.

The prince was still sobbing, one hand vainly trying to dry his eyes and the other lowering the hem of his shirt so as to cover his still exposed belly.
“Often once is more than enough,” the Master said, dropping several dark garments on the bed. The servant brought as many, arranging them all elegantly but keeping her eyes fixed on the prince, as if she had been waiting to meet him for a long time.

Luke recognized them instantly.
“They are fr- from my mother,” he said between sobs.
He took one in his hands. It was a red and white tunic that she usually used for walking in the gardens. Warm and comfortable.
The Master nodded.

“'She left them here the last time you showed up at the palace. Of course she hoped to return but... the smell of pregnancy is still strong, it will conceal yours nicely,” he explained, mentioning the robes.

Luke took the robe and brought it to his nose, smelling the sweet scent of his mother. He felt tears burning his eyes and allowed himself to cry; after all, everyone in that room had seen him sobbing and whimpering.
The Master laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling understandingly.

“Thank you,” Luke whispered with his face still hidden by his mother's clothes.
“I would love to give you some Moon Tea but... my supplies are carefully monitored. They would notice…” he continued, running a hand over his forehead. Someone was always in charge of taking inventory of what was used each day.
The man nodded and lifted his gaze to the servant girl.

“My friend Eliza wants to tell you something,” he continued, hinting for the young woman to come closer.
Luke lifted his gaze meeting the young servant's eyes. They were dark, a black so intense they reminded him of his own. Her scent was also very strong, a scent Luke had smelled before but could not place. Her skin, on the other hand, reminded him of that of the Lord of the Tides, the color of burning embers.

She reminds me of the city, he thought as she sat on the edge of the bed, stroking one of the Black Queen's robes.

“I can send a letter to your mother,” she told him with her eyes fixed in his.

လလလ

“Any news from Rhaenys?” asked Corlys sitting in Daemon and Rhaenyra's room. The Black Queen stood motionless before the hearth, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames as Daemon and Corlys sipped wine.

Rhaenyra shook her head, and the Lord of the Tides sighed. He should not have worried. His wife had left to face a dismounted army, nothing would have happened to her if she had
stayed on her dragon and yet Corlys had a strange feeling in his chest. As if something had been torn from him.

But how could he have known? Rhaenys was an alpha and when they had married she had not allowed him to mark her.
An alpha senses when its omega dies but not the other way around, he thought as he chewed on his tongue.

That is because alphas do not allow themselves to be bitten, he thought again. Rhaenys would have accepted his mark if he had accepted hers. But Corlys was too proud to bear the bite of another alpha.

“Baela wished to go with her,” Daemon muttered with a grin.
Corlys responded in the same way.
“The Triarchy comes back to haunt us… soon we will find her a task,” said the Lord of Tides toasting together with the Rogue Prince.

Daemon felt no enthusiasm at the idea of sending his daughter to war.
But she would flee if I denied her, he thought with a smile.
She is my daughter, after all.

လလလ

Lucerys was hunched over his husband's desk, his nose almost touching the paper and the ink drooling, not having time to dry such was the rush to finish that letter and allow Eliza to send it.

“You risk your life,” he commented clutched in his mother's red robe.
“My Lady has commanded me to assist you and that is what I intend to do,” she said accepting the parchment Luke handed her.
“I thank you,” he whispered, watching her disappear.

Chapter Text

Joff sat in the Tower of Crows. Dozens of large cages were arranged in every corner of the room, ready to welcome or already welcoming some ravens. The Master was busy, cleaning the animals' exrements and sending letters to those who were to receive them.

Joff sat on the edge of one of the many windows, looking out at the Red Keep silhouetted against the sea. He found it amazing how his mother's palace was so close and so far away at the same time.

Aegon, Aemond and Daeron, those were the names that made his ears ring. He had several reasons to hate the eldest of his uncles but he could not imagine hating Daeron, so far it seemed the young prince had done no harm.

But will he help us? he wondered as a raven glided from one of the windows, pawing at the gray marble countertop.
No, why should he? Who knows what Alicent told him about us, muttered Joff as he leapt down from the window.

The Master was untangling the parchment from the crow's leg, which, once free, immediately threw itself on the feed as the others approached him, perhaps curious to find out who he was or what messages he was carrying.

“Oh!” exclaimed the Master as he laid eyes on Joffrey.
“It's from Lady Mysaria,” he said, handing him the message.

Joff immediately clutched it, looking at the paper gently folded back on itself. It had been carefully sealed and he could not have grasped its meaning even if he had continued to stare at it.

He thanked the Master with a nod and walked toward the Council Hall, where his parents and older sister were gathered.

“The Triarchy shot down one of my ships and my men shot down two of theirs,” Lord Corlys was saying, his hands firmly planted against the table and one finger tracing the movements of enemy ships.
“What do you suggest?” asked Rhaenyra with her hands pressed against her belly, which had lost all its roundness, letting her clothes fall softly down her sides, smoothly.

“I suggest we keep our distance, at least for the moment. They don't seem to have a plan but only attack to keep my ships away from theirs...I assume they will continue to ply the seas without causing any harm,” the old sailor explained.

But when Rhaenys comes home I will ask her to set some sails on fire... just to remind them who the Lord of the Tides is, he thought with an amused grin.
After the defeat in the Stepstones the Triarchy had had time to reform but still remained weak. Not a threat to the Sea Serpent.

“My Queen,” Joffrey interrupted them, advancing into the room.
The councilors bowed their heads as he passed and then raised their curious eyes to the parchment he held tightly in his hands, which he quickly handed to one of the councilors, closest to his mother.

“It comes from Lady Mysaria,” he explained, turning a glance to his father.
Daemon smiled proudly.
Asking her for help was the wisest choice, he thought as he licked his lips.
Rhaenyra nodded to the advisor and the advisor broke the seal, unrolling the thin parchment.

“Oh! It seems to come from... Prince Lucerys,” he said with a mixture of confusion but also soft joy.
Rhaenyra immediately lifted her gaze, her eyes filled with a new light that rivaled the one shining on her younger son's face.
Daemon raised a hand, inviting the Councilor to read the missive. The man cleared his throat and began to read.

My sweet mother,
I am sorry that I have only now found a way to write to you. I should thank Lady Mysaria because without her I would be more alone than I already am.
Mother, I bring you atrocious news,

The Counselor paused and brought the letter closer to his face. The ink was smudged, creating insidious shadows that made it difficult to read clearly. The prince had written with extreme haste, fearing that someone might discover his new friend. Once he had finished the letter his hand was colored black.

It seems that the bird of that one-eyed asshole is more skillful than its own master. I'm expecting a child, mother, and I'm damn scared.
At the moment only the Master, Lady Eliza and my guards, Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon, know about it. They all promise to keep the secret, and I am convinced they will keep their word. None of them has any love for Aegon.

The Councilor read each word slowly, his eyes suffering from the low light and the drooling words. He paused at the end of that verse, as if fearing that the Rogue Prince might pour his wrath upon him.

Rhaenyra had her hands clenched against her belly, her eyes wide and fixed on the great map before her, her irises burning a circle of liquid hatred there where King's Landing stood.
Jaffrey clenched his hands into trembling fists and bit his lip, his eyes fixed on his older sister who stared motionless into the void.

“Continue,” Daemon ordered, an order hissed between his teeth.
The councilors moved about the place agitatedly. It was evident that they wished to discuss but did not want to unleash the prince's wrath.

I tried to stab myself in the belly but did not have the courage. I am a coward and I beg that you may forgive me, Mother. Master has brought me some of your old clothes, he says your scent will conceal mine and I can only hope he is right.
Finally, I ask you to be careful. Two months ago Aemond, Aegon and Daeron left with their dragons. Alicent says they will return within a month, maybe two. Please do not be angry with Lady Eliza since no one but the Councilors know their plan.
I hope you will take King's Landing before this child is born.
Your son,
Lucerys.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and held out her hand to the Counselor, letting him drop the letter into her palm. She unrolled it and reread the contents as everyone around her discussed. What was worrying at that moment, however, was not the pregnancy that so frightened the young prince but the unexpected departure of the three Hightower princes.

“Mother?” asked Baela bringing herself to her left while Joffrey moved to her right.
She sighed and dropped the letter on the table.
“There is no doubt about it. It is your brother's handwriting,” said she, who until the last had prayed that it was a bad copy. But instead that was the plain truth.
Poor Lucerys, she thought as she leaned against the large table.

“Those three bastards are not the problem,” Daemon said, shushing the council members. The prince straightened his back, towering over everyone in the room. Joffrey and Baela fixed their eyes on him and then on Lord Corly who silently stood at his side.
“If Lucerys really is expecting a child it means that that bite on his neck might start to take effect,” he said gravely.

Rhaenyra brought her hand to her throat, where her husband's mark towered. Laenor's bite had had no effect on her, ironically it was Harwin who had more control over her body and mind and that was only because she had given birth to his children.
But I loved Harwin and I love his children, she thought as she massaged the delicate skin.

“Luke is strong! He will not let Aemond boss him around,” Joff said with eyes fixed in his father's. Luke had already proven that he was stronger than they would have expected. He had survived Vhagar's attack and Aemond's bite had no effect on him.
Daemon sighed.
“I wish it were that simple,” he told him sincerely.

“Luke will not give up,” Joffrey retorted with his eyes fixed in his.
Daemon shook his head but finally nodded, to no avail arguing with his son. After all, they had all inherited their mother's stubbornness.
“Let's focus on finding out where the three princes headed. With three dragons they could raze the entire kingdom to the ground,” Corlys said, leaning heavily on the long wooden staff.

Daemon nodded in agreement. What worried him was certainly not the small dragons of Aegon and Daeron but the huge beast of Aemond.
Queen Visenya's dragon has conquest coursing through her veins, he thought as he passed a hand against his forehead.

“There has been no sighting and yet three dragons do not go unnoticed,” Rhaenyra commented as her eyes raced along the map. From King's Landing they could have flown anywhere, and she found herself praying that they had not decided to travel north to get rid of Jacaerys.

“They could have flown only at night or extremely high up ... in either case they would have had to stop to rest and we have no news,” Daemon said, biting the inside of his cheeks.
The shuffling of feet alerted them to the arrival of the Master of Crows, who arrived in a daze carrying yet another letter of the day. In those months they had received several responses to alliance requests, all positive.

It does not bring good news, thought Joffrey as the Master handed the letter to Prince Daemon who craned his neck before laying his eyes on the missive.
“Lord Staunton?” he asked, resting his eyes on his wife who hinted at him to break the seal as Corlys' night-colored gaze rested on the prince's calloused hands and the small letter.

My queen,
it is with extreme regret that I inform you of the passing of Princess Rhaenys. She and her dragon fought valiantly, saving my life and almost all my men.
The three usurping princes swooped down from the clouds leaving her no chance.
Princess Rhaenys mutilated Prince Aegon's beast, leaving it unable to fly. Prince Aemond sealed her end as Prince Aegon gave her the coup de grace.
Her body is preserved here and we will honor it.
Lord Staunton.

Lord Corlys' staff fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Baela rushed to him, grabbing him by the arm before he fell to the ground, both large battle-scarred hands clinging to the stone table. His eyes were downcast, wide and his hair falling back over his face.
Silence had fallen in the room, interspersed only by Joffrey's heart pounding in his ears. He fixed his eyes on his mother's face but Rhaenyra was motionless, one hand pressed against his chest.

“Out,” ordered the queen.
The Councilors did not move, looking at each other, doubtful.
“Out!” she shouted, and this time no one dared contradict her fury. Orderly but swiftly they left the throne room, closing the door hard behind them.

Corlys brought a hand to his face, trying to hide his eyes glazed with tears and his lip trembling uncontrollably.
Baela held him in her arms, and soon Joffrey, too, recovered from his paralysis, running to embrace his grandfather, who began sobbing in his grandchildren's arms, clinging to them as if they had been the rudder in the middle of a storm.

Rhaenyra brought his hands to her face, hiding the horrible scene before her.
Daemon went around the table and held her in his arms, resting his chin against her head, breathing in her sweet scent and wiping away what was leaving Corlys' body in waves.

“You!” exclaimed Corlys, pointing a finger at Rhaenyra, who raised her large, frightened eyes. The sailor pushed his grandchildren away but Baela forced herself to cling to his arm, fearing what her grieving grandfather might do.
“'First kill my children!” he exclaimed with bloodshot eyes, wet cheeks and trembling lips.

Daemon tightened his arms around Rhaenyra's body, his chilling eyes fixed on her face. He was a predator ready to attack. If Corlys had taken a single step forward he would have thrown himself at him. He would have killed him to keep him away from his queen.

Baela seemed to sense this because she clung even more tightly to her grandfather's arm.
“And now-now! you kill my wife!” he shouted with mucus dripping down his nose.
Rhaenyra looked away, preferring to hide her face against Daemon's chest.

Joffrey was there, in the midst of those cries and suffering, his eyes running from his father's face to his grandfather's.
What is he talking about, he wondered, biting his lip.
My father died killed by Ser Quarl and Lady Laena died in childbirth, he continued backing away to flank his mother, hiding her with his own body but also standing between his father and his grandfather. Daemon would not arrive to Corlys before passing over his son.

“Rhaenyra did not kill anyone, Corlys. The Greens set a trap for us and we took the bait,” Daemon said with a flat tone and blazing eyes.
“You shut up!” hissed Corlys in a low growl.
Daemon was quick to respond in the same way. The air had become almost unbreathable and Joff brought a hand to his nose, trying to mask the horrible mixture of smells.

In that moment he gave thanks that he had not yet presented himself or he would have found himself on the ground in spasms.
“Get out of here!” snarled Daemon showing his teeth, Rhaenyra clenched against his side and one hand pressed against Joffrey's shoulder, as if afraid he might have to move him from the front.

Corlys hissed but did not hesitate, turned his back on them and walked away without a staff and with a limp leg.
Baela turned a glance to her father but he only had eyes for his wife who was whimpering against his chest. It was Joffrey who beckoned her to follow their grandfather, and she needed no further direction.

လလလ

“I'm glad you're staying here with me,” Luke said as he sat in the middle of the bed, his mother's robe tight around his shoulders. The Master was right, his mother's scent not only succeeded perfectly in hiding his own but was also a great soother.

Eliza, sitting in front of him, smiled at him, her face full of freckles and her short curly hair falling in front of her cheeks.
“You are kind-not like all the other princes I've met,” she said, pressing the soles of her feet together, with her skirt put in that position that left her dark ankles exposed.
Luke tilted his head.

“Have you known many princes?” he asked her, clasping his knees against his chest.
Eliza lifted her shoulders and smiled at him.
“A few… I've met Prince Aegon,” she commented, wrinkling her nose.

Luke brought a hand to his lips, undecided whether to laugh at her expression or to be disgusted by what he imagined he had done to her. She seemed to notice his indecision because she immediately lifted her hands so as to reassure him.
“Oh no, nothing like that, it's my job,” she explained, winking.

Luke raised his eyebrows, his lips folded to form an “o.” He lowered his eyes to her, running them over her slender body, as if he imagined he saw some sign, something alluding to her profession but Eliza had nothing that could have identified her. If they had put a fancy dress and crown on her she could have passed them off as the queen of some unknown kingdom.

“What other princes have you met?” asked Luke as he stepped closer, his chin resting on his knees and his eyes fixed in hers.
Eliza curled her lips into a thoughtful expression, her head dangling from side to side.

“Some Martell, incredible lovers and ... a princess from a distant kingdom? Or maybe she was not a princess but a mere charmer, in any case all of them were better than Prince Aegon,” she sneered, and Luke replied in the same way. He was not afraid to shout out everything he felt for his uncle when he had him in front of him, and now, with the doors closed, he felt even freer.
“I think Aegon is all smoke and no fire,” Luke muttered as he sagged against the pillows.

He pressed his hands against his belly, then scrutinized it with half-closed eyes and contracted eyebrows. That morning he had spent almost an hour standing still in front of the mirror, his shirt lifted up and his pants pulled down as far as possible so that they showed off his belly. And if he looked carefully he could actually see a small, tiny, bulge. But if he didn't know for sure he would have simply imagined he had to go to the bathroom.
Eliza giggled.

“Oh, he is! He's always so drunk I'm surprised he can get a hard-on,” she said between giggles.
He didn't even recognize me! she thought, biting her lip.
Luke laughed in turn.
“And what is Prince Aemond like?” she asked, dropping onto her back, keeping her weight resting on her elbows so she could continue to look her new friend and ally straight in the face.

Luke wrinkled his nose and rested his chin on his knees.
“He's an asshole and I hope he dies,” he muttered as he searched with dark eyes for the fake blade he kept on his bedside table, always handy but always hidden when the servants came to bring him baths and meals.
Eliza sneered again.

“I'm sure he is, but is he better than his brother?” she asked, biting her lip. She could not help but notice the third-born son of old King Viserys. A man who was dutiful and stern but who certainly had to hide some passion beneath all those grimaces.

“I was not willing when we first did it,” Luke told her, biting his lip.
“And who was? Not everyone is as lucky as your mother, little prince,” she told her as she crossed her long legs, her toes clinging to Rhaenyra's tunic, making Luke laugh.
The laughter ceased and he took a deep breath.
Perhaps I should consider myself lucky. At least Aemond was gentle, he thought, biting his cheeks.

“He-he's good, at least I think so. He knows how to use his fingers and his cock is ... interesting,” he mumbled with red cheeks and a mixture of excitement and disgust filling his stomach. He did not want to talk about his groom but the mere thought was enough to rekindle in him that desire that had blossomed from the first night they spent together.
He did not love his uncle but he loved the sensations he made him feel.
He sighed.

“If nothing else, he knows how to give me an orgasm,” he said, forgetting any kind of embarrassment. He had not been embarrassed when he had shown himself naked in front of his husband's entire family; he would not be embarrassed in front of a prostitute.
Eliza sneered.

“You know you don't need him to have an orgasm, don't you?” she asked, clasping her knees against her breasts, her eyes glittering fixed on the face of the young prince who raised his eyebrows.
“Well...sure, but I have no idea how to do it. No one teaches omegas to pleasure themselves,” he said, licking his lips.

He knew that Jace and Baela had been taught how to take care of themselves but the same could not be taught to him and Rhaena. As liberal as Rhaenyra and Daemon were no Master and Speta would agree to teach them that kind of activity, and both omegas had no desire to ask their parents for help.

Eliza cast her eyes to the sky.
“Would you like to learn?” she asked him winking sensuously.
Luke ran out of breath and answers. Eliza giggled and moved closer to him, lying beside him against the pillows, her eyes fixed in his.

“You don't want to leave all the fun to your husband,” she muttered making herself more comfortable, her sweet scent leaving her body in small waves that soon reached Lucerys nose.
Of course not! I certainly don't need him, he muttered with his cheeks puffed out and a new sense of determination invading his chest.
“Teach me,” he ordered, fixing his eyes in hers.

Eliza giggled, excited to have a new student. And not just any student but rather a real student. She was going to make all her companions envious.
“First of all, you have to take off your pants. Surely you don't think of slipping your fingers in with those on,” she said, mentioning the long black silk pants. Luke mumbled but hurriedly obeyed, undoing the laces and lowering them to his ankles, then kicking them to the end of the bed.

Eliza merely lifted her skirt and opened her legs.
“It is simply a matter of lubrication and penetration...you are no longer a virgin so it should be easier,” she reassured him as she pulled a small bottle of scented oil from her apron pocket and poured some on Luke's fingers, who licked his lips, watching as her fingers disappeared under her skirt.

He did likewise, slipping his hand between his thighs to caress his already moist entrance.
A small moan left his lips and Eliza smiled, complimenting him as he bit his lips, following the outline of his sex as his wrist stroked the small member.
He held his breath as his fingers slid inside him. It was natural but unexpected at the same time, as if his body had always known what to do and his mind had simply refused to allow it.

Little moans began to come out of his mouth, his eyes closed and his fingers moving first slow and then fast.
Eliza had turned on her side, her chin resting on one hand and her eyes fixed on the face of her disciple who quickly had learned more than she could have taught him.
Luke began to pant, his chest rising and falling rapidly and finally coming, his toes curled and his back arched.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” asked Eliza, smiling at him.
Luke nodded, his legs spread and his fingers still sinking into him.
Very beautiful, he thought, nibbling his lips, his free hand resting on the small round belly.

လလလ

“ Grandfather!” exclaimed Baela as he chased after the old sailor, who despite his lame leg was able to maintain some speed. The granddaughter had her cane clutched in one hand as she proceeded behind him, trying to grab him and push him to slow down.
The sailor muttered to himself, snorts escaped his lips, and his eyes were glazed over, his cheeks wet.

“She killed Laenor and now Rhaenys-my Rhaenys!” he hissed, wiping his eyes with one hand.
“Grandfather!” cried Baela, finally grabbing him by the arm. He yelped, as if a snake had wrapped itself around his forearm. He turned with a jerk, ready to face whoever had interrupted him but seemed to calm down when his eyes met his granddaughter's violet ones.

“Baela,” he whispered, taking her in his arms.
She let him hold her, patting his back a few times. She longed to cry but did not want to break down in front of the grandfather who seemed to need her so much, so she held back her tears and promised herself to cry once she was in the safety of her room.

“It's not my mother's fault,” she said as she placed her hands on Corlys' shoulders, pushing him away from her body and returning the cane she had abandoned.
Corlys gritted his teeth and wrinkled his nose.

“She's not your mother! Your mother is Laena! My daughter!” he shouted, looking her straight in the eyes, his body shaking with rage. Beaela gritted her teeth and stepped forward, invading the space of her grandfather, who restrained himself from backing away.

“I know who my mother is! My mother is dead! Just like Grandma Rhaenys!” she exclaimed, breathing against his face.
Corlys blinked slowly, trying to hold back tears and also stupefied by the sudden outburst of anger from his granddaughter who despite her hot-tempered temper, just like her father, always tended to be placid and maintain control.

Baela pulled up his nose.
“It was the Greens who killed Grandma Rhaenys, don't let them turn us against each other,” she whispered with hopeful eyes.

Corlys lowered his gaze, unmoving. Then, he nodded slightly, an imperceptible movement of his head that nonetheless made Baela sigh.
Corlys turned his back on her and walked away down the dark corridor, preferring to mourn alone.

Chapter Text

Standing still in front of the mirror he looked at his own reflection. He had lifted his shirt and lowered his pants, but even if he had not done so the outline of his belly would still be visible, only Rhaenyra's many robes kept it hidden.

His mother's scent was gradually fading, and Luke hoped that no one would notice the difference when his own took over.
He sighed and placed a hand at the base of his belly.
Four months, he thought, biting his lip.

How much longer can I hide this? he wondered, dropping his shirt. This rested on the top of his belly and he was forced to pull it to cover the base as well. If someone had asked him, forced him, to remove Rhaenyra's robe he would have been in big trouble.
Fuuuuuck, he thought as he bit his lip.

The baby had started to move. It had happened a few days before, a slight moving of his stomach, like a fish moving in an aquarium. As much as he hated that whole situation those little movements cheered him up, kept him company.

“What should I do with you?” he asked him with a sigh.
He wished to know what his family thought about that pregnancy but at the same time, fearing their reaction, he had avoided telling his mother to answer his letter. He had told himself it was because he did not want to put Eliza more at risk than she already was but the truth was that he was afraid of their opinion.

He clasped Rhaenyra's robe over his shoulders and prepared to receive breakfast. But it was not the servants' knock that reached his ears but the rumble of thunder, the roar of Vhagar.
He felt himself chilling, frozen in place.

Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck! he growled as he looked out onto the large balcony. He saw Vhagar flying over the city, the huge wings obscuring the houses and streets, the people lifting their eyes to the sky and the children pointing at the huge green dragon.

She is not coming from the sea, he thought as his uncle's dragon, whose saddle seemed empty, flew around the Red Keep and disappeared behind it, where he could not see it. The earth trembled as the huge beast passed by.

She is not coming from Dragonstone, he sighed gratefully and brought a hand to his heart. That, however, was not good. Dragonstone would make their motives clear; flying to any other part of the kingdom could mean wars or alliances.

What if they had gone to the North? What if they had killed Jace? he wondered with his heart beating fast, by now they had to know where he and his brother were headed the fateful night he was captured. But by then it had been four months since that day, and Jacaerys must have already returned to Dragonstone.

But what if he was still in the North? he wondered as he walked briskly toward the door. He lowered the handle and his guards snapped to attention. From their stiff shoulders and contracted jaws Luke deduced that they too had heard Vhagar's war call.

“Are they back?” he asked them, pressing a hand against his belly. It was a habit he had been getting into for a few weeks and he would have to get rid of it quickly. Rhaenyra's robe might have concealed his condition but a conveniently cupped hand would have done nothing but scatter whispers.

“The dragons of Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron were spotted early this morning. The dragon of Pr-King Aegon follows the column of soldiers led by the three princes, crawling like a snake,” Harkon explained, biting his lip. Only then did Luke seem to notice the incredible resemblance that young man bore to his older brother. Now that his hair had grown longer and was curling at the ends, contouring the handsome, square face.

“Crawling?” asked Luke with wide eyes.
Why would a dragon crawl? It would only do so if it were hu- he paused, the blood turning icy.
Sunfire is hurt, he thought, clasping his hands together.

“Take me to my aunt,” he ordered and they immediately nodded, lining up on either side of him but still staying a step behind. Over those months those formalities had faded but now that Aemond was back home he would not allow Lucerys to fraternize with his guards.

Together they walked the long corridors, Lucerys restraining himself from resting a hand against his belly and his eyes fixed on the guards guarding Queen Helaena's room. The two alphas immediately straightened their backs, allowed the prince a few minutes to catch his breath, and then announced his presence, opening the large doors after an affirmative response from the queen.

Luke entered to find his aunt and nephews standing firm on the large balcony overlooking the entrance to the Red Keep.
“Cousin Luke!” greeted him, Jaehaera. The little girl ran up to him, and her head covered in white curls went against his round belly. Luke held his breath, his eyes fixed on the face of the little girl who, after looking at his face, turned away without a word.

“Egg,” Jaehaerys retorted without ever looking away from the buzzing city.
Luke approached his aunt but she did not give him a glance, her eyes wide and fixed on the thirty men returning from battle. The three Hightower brothers were at the head of the column, with Aemond and Daeron to the right and left of their brother, who sneered and waved to the crowd.

It was not the sight of his husband that took Lucerys' breath away. But the wagon coming up behind them, with Meyels' head on full display.
Luke fell to his knees, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands pressed against his mouth. His eyes misted over and his cheeks wet.

They killed Princess Rhaenys… grandmother.... he thought as he began to sob, the twins sweetly and awkwardly stroking his hair and shoulders, his belly resting against his black-covered thighs.
Meleys head was advancing more and more, jaws half-closed and eyes glassy.

He wondered where her body was and if there was a body at all, if Vhagar had devoured her just as she had done to his Arrax.
He lifted his eyes to Helaena, hoping for comfort from the woman who always spoke kind words to him, and there, in that instant, he realized he was not the only one crying.

Warm tears lined his aunt's face, a hand clasped against his chest rising and falling rapidly, and her eyes fixed on that funeral march that was getting closer and closer to the Red Keep.
A soft but firm knock struck their ears, and Ser Arryk opened the door.

“My queen. My prince. The Queen Mother requests that you join her in the courtyard so she can welcome King Aegon and the princes,” said the knight with his arms firm along his sides and his eyes fixed on the moist faces of the two royals.

Helaena cleared her throat and wiped her eyes against the blue sleeve of her dress. She lowered her gaze to Lucerys and he shook his head, the tears that continued to line his cheeks and Jaehaera's hand still steady in his dark curls.

“I can't do it...don't make me go...” he whispered as he returned his gaze to that grim, death-bearing wagon.
Helaena pulled up with her nose but it was the twins who took Luke by the arms and helped him up.

“We have to go or Dad will be angry,” said Jaehaerys, the wound on his cheek now fully healed. In the future it would be a good topic of conversation for Lords and Ladies to whom he would make or from whom he would receive court.
Luke pulled up with his nose and wiped his face, his eyes so deep red they were reminiscent of the color of blood.

The two omegas held hands, the children standing one at Helaena's side and the other at Luke's, like two little guards. Together they walked down the corridor, Ser Arryk leading them and their four guards coming behind them.
It was a bizarre sight, two children only seven years old leading two weeping adults.

The courtyard was crowded with Lords and Ladies who immediately made way for the queen and prince, gazing with curious eyes at their weeping-marked faces. No one lowered his gaze to the round but concealed belly of Lucerys, who drew a trembling sigh of relief.

It was the first time in months that he had been surrounded by so many people.
“There you are,” Alicent whispered in a hurried, almost reproachful tone. She pushed the children in front of her father, and Ser Otto laid a hand on each one's shoulder, his fingers sticking into their flesh, and the twins tried to move as far away as possible, making their disdain clear.

Alicent wiped Helaena's face and pinched her cheeks then pushed her to Otto's side.
She looked at Lucerys and he bit his lip; he would not burst into tears in front of that horrible woman. She took him by the hand and led him to her daughter's side, one hand tightly clasped at the base of his back and the other harping on his.

She will not let me escape, he thought, biting the inside of his cheeks.
The great gates were thrown open wide, and it seemed to Luke as if he were returning to the afternoon of his last day in King's Landing, when his uncle was training and Ser Vaemond Velaryon had arrived with his sons.

Aegon advanced first. He rode a splendid white stallion, a perfect contrast to Aemond's black beast and Daeron's dark gray one.
The Usurper King sneered as he waved to the crowd of adoring Vipers. Lord and Lady's eyes were fixed on the chariot that finally crossed the entrance, Meleys' head so huge it could be compared to a full-grown stallion.

Luke felt vomit move up his throat. He restrained himself even though he would have loved to ruin Alicent Hightower's beautiful shoes.
His eyes met his husband's lonely one.

He has not changed, he thought as Aemond's purple iris ran down his body.
He's wearing his mother's clothes and he's pale, thought Aemond as he dismounted from his stallion and one of the cupbearers immediately ran to take his reins and lead it to the stable. So did two other young men with the horses of the king and Prince Daeron.

“Helaena!” exclaimed Aegon, overcoming the distance that separated him from his wife. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, then wrapped an arm around her hips to show her Meleys' severed head.

“Look what a gift I bring you!” he exclaimed, grinning. He leaned forward, caressing his sons cheeks, then running his thumb against the scarred cheek of his son, who smiled at him, perhaps not understanding what that severed head meant.
Luke resisted no further. He wrenched his hand from Alicent's and left the courtyard.

“Lucerys!” exclaimed Aegon, when his nephew ignored him he fixed his gaze on his brother.
“Retrieve your groom and prepare him for tomorrow's feast!” he exclaimed as he continued to sneer, one arm wrapped around his wife's waist and the other cheering the crowd to applaud his victory.

Daeron cast his eyes to the sky and Alicent did not fail to notice that detail. She motioned him to humor his older brother but he shrugged and shook his head, following Aemond inside the Red Keep.

“For such short legs he is very quick,” he muttered flanking the one-eyed man.
Aemond sneered and brought his hands behind his back, following the corridor toward his own room.

လလလ

“My Lord! We need to be more careful!” exclaimed Jace flirtatiously as the Lord of Winterfell pushed him into a small alcove concealed by a black and gray banner, with a gaping maw Wolf surmounting him.
Cregan grinned against his lips, holding him by the waist and with one knee pressed between his legs.

“No, we don't have to,” Cregan whispered, kissing him softly and long. When he pulled away Jace chased after him, taking his lips in his own, the pop of skin against skin as the only sound.
Jacaerys departure was near, or so the young prince told himself. For about a week all the Wolves of Cregan had been gathering in the North, ready to leave, the woods and plains reduced to piles of tents and bonfires.

And the closer the departure grew the tighter Cregan held him, seeking his lips at every moment of the day and his body whenever they retired for the night.
Jace chuckled, sinking his fingers into his lover's long dark hair.

A voice cleared beyond the tapestry, and Jace felt his cheeks turn red. The scent of the Master of Ravens welled up beyond the thin layer of fabric.
“A letter for Prince Jacaerys,” the man said, swallowing. He lowered his eyes as his Lord and the prince left their little hiding place. Jace thanked him with a nod, and the little man vanished to return to the care of his feathered creatures.

They moved to a small room that Cregan used as his office, a place where he kept letters and negotiations, away from his own room, which after Jonnel's birth had become a place of peace and gathering.

“It has my mother's seal,” he said as he took a seat at his desk, with Cregan leaning back in the comfortable chair, looking over his shoulder.
Jace unrolled the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting of his sister and betrothed. He smiled, thinking what wonderful news she had to tell him but the smile faded almost immediately. He curved over the missive, his eyes running swiftly over the cursive and delicate letters.

He dropped it on the hard wood and leaned against the backrest.
“My grandmother is dead...” he whispered, dropping his arms into his lap, his eyes fixed ahead.
Cregan knelt at his side, one hand raised to caress his face.
“Killed by my uncles...” he whispered as warm tears streamed down his face. He closed his eyes, his lower lip clenched between his teeth and his fingers sinking into the flesh of his thighs.

“Fuck,” hissed Cregan, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
Jace pulled up with his nose and laid his eyes on him. Now that they were wet, the green had become even more intense, like moss just wet from the rain.

“I'm sorry,” Cregan whispered, taking him in his arms. Jace let him hold him, sinking his face against his chest and sobbing quietly. Cregan stroked his hair, leaving soft kisses on his brown head, his gray eyes fixed on the small sheet of papers.

Jace,
our grandmother was killed. Attacked by our uncles. Three against one. Come home, we need you.
Baela.

No words too many. A short, coincidental message with the sole purpose of bringing the queen's heir back to Dragonstone.
Jace pulled up with his nose and pulled away from his chest. He looked into his eyes and caressed his face, stretching his neck to kiss him slowly and deeply.

“I have to go back...” he whispered with sad eyes and a weight in his chest.
Cregan lowered his glossy eyes but nodded, aware that he could not hold back his love any longer.

An hour later, the prince had secured two bags full of provisions to Vermax's saddle. Cregan and Jonnel waited a short distance away, the little one with glazed eyes and his hand clasped in his parent's. Jace could not tell whether he was sadder about his departure or Vermax's disappearance.

“I will march to the Eyrie and visit your sister. If your mother needs me I'll only be four days' march away,” he told him when he had approached again to pay his last respects.
Jace nodded and smiled slightly, his eyes still red from crying.
Jonnel stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his sides, sinking his face against his belly. Jace smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

“I promise I'll be back before you know it,” he told him, leaning down to leave a kiss on his forehead. He lifted his eyes into Cregan's and so, as Jonnel's face was hidden against his stomach, he raised himself up on his toes and stole a kiss.
Cregan smiled and brought his forehead together with his.

“Anything-I'll be a crow away from you,” he told him with a dejected sigh. Jace nodded and untangling Jonnel's arms from his own sides, he set off toward Vermax, mounting on his saddle. As he flew higher and higher he raised an arm, waving to the two Starks who responded with transport.

လလလ

His room was no different from how he had left it. But he had not had much doubt. He knew Lucerys would spend all his time in his own room, his own little refuge.

Now that I'm back things will change, he thought as he looked around. There was no sign of his nephew and so, without hesitation, he entered his husband's room. He immediately raised a hand, ready to parry any attack but Lucerys had not hidden behind the door, ready to strike him from behind once he was distracted.

His sister's clothes were scattered here and there around the room, evidently the closet was too small to hold Rhaenyra's wardrobe. He grabbed one and brought it to his nose, the smell of pregnancy was strong despite the fact that several months had passed, and Luke's mixed perfectly with his mother's.

“Lucerys?” he asked as he looked around. He was not hiding in any little corner but the terrace door was wide open, the curtains swaying gently in the wind.
Of course, he thought as he approached the balcony. Of course Lucerys would take refuge out there; that was where their first meeting had been.

He put one foot on the cold marble and Lucerys jumped on him. Aemond, however, was ready, grabbed him by the arm he had raised and pushed him against the wall while he pressed his free hand against his chest, keeping him away from his own body.

His nephew looked at him with blazing eyes and lips clamped between his teeth.
If he comes any closer, I'm dead, Luke thought with his arm shaking from the effort of keeping his uncle's body away from his own round belly. It was a miracle that Aemond hadn't noticed anything yet. He thanked his mother's tunic that still concealed his scent.

“I hoped the distance would make you more docile,” Aemond said, stroking his face. He was surprised that Luke did not use his free hand to push his fingers away. Evidently the desire to keep him away from himself was stronger.

“And I hoped it would kill you- that my grandmother would kill you!” he shouted, desperately moving his head, trying to push Aemond away from himself. He more than easily ignored him, using his thumb to stroke his lip.
“You say that and yet you're wet. I can smell you,” he told him with a grin.

Luke became still, fighting the urge to move his hand away from his uncle's chest to check between his legs. But it only took him moving his feet a little to realize that Aemond was right. The inside of his pants was damp.

Aemond leaned over him, taking advantage of that moment of dismay to take his lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue chasing Lucerys' and his hand holding his face still, preventing him from escaping her hot touch.

Luke began to struggle, trying to get away from his husband's lips and at the same time keep his belly away from Aemond's.
Fuck! he exclaimed, kicking him in the shin.
Aemond left his lips, pressing his forehead against his as a small cry of pain left his throat.

“You killed my grandmother! Do you really think I'm going to let you kiss me!” hissed Luke, biting his lips.
The prince lifted his back and took a deep breath, the pain in his leg already almost completely gone.

“Your grandmother paid for your mother's faults,” Aemond hissed, looking him straight in the eye.
“My mother is not at fault!” retorted Lucerys facing him.
Aemond huffed out a laugh.

“And who attacked the king and his sons? Do I need to remind you that Aegon and Jaehaerys are almost dead?” asked Aemond with an eye fixed in his own.
This time it was Lucerys who laughed.

“And why did she do that? Because you kidnapped me! You kidnapped a messenger and killed Arrax!” he shouted, pressing his hands against his chest so as to push him further away. Aemond, however, did not move, as still as an oak tree firmly planted in the ground.

“I would never wish any wrong to Jaehaerys but Aegon could die for all I care! He's not a good king and he's not even a good person! How can you not see that? And to say I only took one of your eyes!” hissed Lucerys shoving him.

Aemond retreated a single step, but it was enough to allow him to discard sideways and flee inside the room, sheltered from the cold morning air.
Winter is coming, he thought as he rubbed his hands together.

“Aegon and I are paying for my mistake,” Aemond said as he entered the room in turn, his hands hidden behind his back in an elemental copy of Daemon.
“My mate repudiates me despite being aroused by my presence, and my brother's dragon almost lost a wing,” the prince said.

Luke clenched his legs, cursing his traitorous body. He smiled, however, at the thought that his uncle's golden beast was lurking and that he, as a result, would no longer be able to fly into battle against his family.
He did not answer, knowing that in any case he would get nothing from Aemond.

“Why are you wearing your mother's clothes?” he asked, approaching him so he could stroke the hem of one of the long sleeves. Luke took a step back, was tempted to cross his arms against his chest but again held back, aware that doing so would reveal his prominent belly.

“I'm homesick. Do you intend to take these clothes away from me as well?” he asked him as he approached the bed where he had thrown some of them.
Aemond sighed and shook his head.

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” he told him softly, and Luke huffed out a bitter laugh, turning his back to him so he could finally caress the small belly. His baby moved slowly, reminding him of his existence.
Aemond approached him, placing his hands on his shoulders, and Luke immediately lost his grip, terrified that Aemond might peek over his shoulder.

“The morrow Aegon will throw a party to celebrate his victory,” Aemond said, and Luke felt his eyes suddenly chill with tears.
“As you celebrated Arrax's death...” he whispered with a wet nose and tears beginning to line his cheeks.
Aemond stiffened behind him and Luke pointed to the door.

“Get out of my room,” he said as firmly as he could. But his voice trembled and so did his body. Surprised, however, Aemond left him alone almost immediately.
“If you wish, I will wait for you in our bed,” he said, closing the door behind him with a resounding click.

လလလ

“Good job, King Aegon,” Otto said as his grandsons entered the Council Chamber. The assembled men applauded their king and princes. Larys and Alicent smiled proudly, like two parents as Ser Criston took a seat at the omega's side.

“Were you afraid we would fail, Grandfather?” asked Aegon, slumping down on his own throne. He crossed his long legs and stretched his back, making his bones creak. He longed to take a bath, eat and sleep.
And fuck… Lucerys' guard, the brunette one, looks a lot like Jacaerys.... he thought, chuckling to himself.

“Of course not. But a grandfather can't help but worry about the lives of his grandchildren,” Otto commented as Aemond occupied the seat to his grandson's right and Daeron occupied the seat to his left.

“Was it easy to eliminate the princess and her dragon?” asked Larys with his chin resting on his hands entwined on his staff. His large blue eyes were fixed on the king's face, his lips bent in a small expression of curiosity.
“Extremely,” Aegon replied, grinning.

“But your dragon has been wounded,” Alicent said, taking his hand in her own.
How are you? she wondered, fixing her eyes in those of her son, who did not stop smiling for a moment.

“The old bitch did not give up without a fight, but Aemond and Daeron were very good helpers,” Aegon said, clapping a hand on each brother's shoulder. Aemond smiled meekly and Daeron recoiled, preferring not to be connected to the demise of Princess Rhaenys.
“Will your golden beast recover?” asked Otto with his hands crossed over the table.
“He will,” assured Aegon with eyes fixed in his, his lips still bent in a smile. He was tired, sweaty, and smelled awfully of dragon, sweat, and dried blood. The last thing he needed was complaints from his grandfather.

“But until then I will be bound to the ground. Aemond and Daeron will have to deal with any attacks... and of course Ser Criston who missed noticing a dragon swooping down towards him,” Aegon commented, fixing his eyes on Ser Criston who tightened his shoulders.
Aegon would torment him for a very long time.
That little worm, he thought with his eyes fixed in the knight's dark ones.

“Our Lord saved my life, and I can do nothing but be grateful,” the man commented after taking a deep breath.
Aegon snickered, and Aemond had to restrain himself from smiling. Larys had no such shrewdness.
“Of course you are grateful,” muttered the king, pressing a hand against his tired face.

“But conversations can be saved for tomorrow--my brothers and I are exhausted,” Aegon commented as he stood up and yawned.
Alicent looked at her father and then grabbed her son's hand.
“Aegon, we need to discuss our next moves. Rhaenys' death will not go unnoticed,” she said, fixing her large, soft eyes in her son's sharp ones.
Aegon clasped her hand in his own and left a kiss on her knuckles.

“And we will discuss it tomorrow. When we are rested,” and having said that he left the Council Chamber, whistling like a merry child.
Aemond stood up in turn, rubbing his hands together. He longed to indulge in a bath and wash his long hair, which had gone from snow-white to a dirty cream. The same was true of Daeron's curls.

“Aemond,” Alicent called him back, hoping that at least the son who had always given her satisfaction could hear her.
“You heard the king. Tomorrow we will discuss and today we will rest,” he said, leaving the hall with an exhausted step and a slightly hunched back.

Daeron sighed and ran his hands against his face, all eyes fixed on him. The last prince left at that table.
Alicent did not have time to say his name because he stood up.

“My sister will not attack King's Landing. Lucerys still gives us an advantage. Tell our allies to keep their guard up and that no Lord travels alone. Revenge from the Blacks is more than expected ... and let Helaena and the twins be guarded,” Daeron said, fixing his eyes on the table. He heard quill writing against sheets of paper and smiled, glad that at least someone was taking into account what he was saying.

“Tell the Triarchy to keep their eyes open, the Lord of the Tides will want to avenge his wife,” Daeron said and then vanished, a sense of emptiness filling his chest.
I have made a man a widower, he thought as he bit his lip.

လလလ

“Our children are not safe here,” said Rhaenyra slumped on her own throne, one hand pressed against her face and the other holding a goblet of wine.
Daemon sat at the base of the three steps leading up to the seat, his head bowed and a cup clutched in his hands. The prince sighed and ran a hand against his face.

“And where would you send them? With Rhaena to the Eyrie?” he asked, lifting his gaze to the empty room. The table was still lit, the fire crackling, illuminating capitals and hearths.
“We risk putting her in danger, no... Pentos,” Rhaenyra said, pressing a hand against her wine-burnt throat.
Daemon snorted a laugh.

“Far away,” he commented, thinking of his white-haired children. Letting Rhaena go had been difficult, but she was a woman. Old enough to be away from home and still only a day away.

“Away from the Greens,” Rhaenyra said, pressing a hand against her heart.
The idea of leaving her children gave her no joy, but perhaps across the sea they would be safe. Not even Aegon would extend his vengeance as far as there.
“Well... Pentos it is,” whispered Daemon.

လလလ

Warm tears lined her face. Curled up on her bed, eyes wide and lips quivering, fingers clasped around a pearl necklace. The sleeping twins at the foot of the bed, one clasped in the arms of the other.

“Gold and red on the free city,” whispered Helaena with her body shaken by spasms.
“The twin dragons of the snows,” she continued, swallowing bitterly.
“The secret revealed,” she gasped.

လလလ

And finally night had fallen. Luke was lying in his bed, his ankles crossed and his arms crossed against his chest. He had been lying still in that position for hours, ever since his husband had gone to bed for the night.

He had waited in silence, trying to pick up the slightest noise, to understand when Aemond would fall asleep, and finally, certain that his uncle had succumbed to exhaustion, he got out of bed.

Quickly he slipped on his boots and his mother's tunic, which he wore over his night robe, a long white shirt that covered him to mid-calf.
He slid to the door and silently lowered the handle, peering into the other room. He jerked, certain that Aemond was still awake but when his uncle did not move he approached the bed, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips bent in an expression of dismay.

He had always fallen asleep before his uncle and woken up after him. He had never seen him asleep and found it almost a bizarre sight.
Aemond slept on his back, one arm bent behind his head and the other dangling over the edge of the bed, as if he were handing an apple to an invisible being.

His eye, the eye Luke had plucked from him, was empty. There was nothing to occupy that grim hole, and Lucerys looked away, preferring to turn away than to continue watching his own handiwork.

On tiptoe, so that his heels made no noise, he walked out of the room, finding himself at the side of Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon, who immediately straightened their backs.
Luke smiled at them and snuggled into his mother's robe.

“Ser Celoden, accompany me to the garden,” Luke ordered, greeting Harkon with a sweet smile that the guard immediately returned, his cheeks red and dimpled.
Cleoden hesitated for a moment, certain that his protégé should not go out at such a late hour, but finally found himself following the prince who had already made his way down the corridor.

They said nothing as they silently avoided the guards who were on patrol but half asleep, patrolling the corridors. They said nothing even when they reached the courtyard, where Meleys' head was still supported by the wagon.
“Stay here,” Luke ordered, hinting at the top of the short staircase.
Cleoden cleared his throat, evidently displeased but finally nodding, mounting his guard.

Luke walked quickly down the long flight of steps and stopped in front of the Queen's lifeless, red face.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, lifting a hand so he could trace the contours of her puckered lips. The sharp yellow teeth would have formed a perfect blade. But Luke would not have scorned his grandmother's dragon body that way.

“You were with my grandmother when she died. I know you protected her,” he told her, looking straight into her glassy eyes.
He did not believe he would ever see a dragon die. Balerion the Black Dread had lived for more than two hundred years and he was sure he would die before Vhagar. Yet now he had seen the passing of two dragons. Arrax and Meleys.

“We will avenge you. I promise,” he told her, pressing his forehead against her cold muzzle.
A dragon should not be so cold, he thought as he pulled up with his nose.

The footsteps of the patrolling guards approaching prompted him to turn away and run up the stairs, flanking Ser Celoden, who immediately led him back inside the palace, just moments before five alphas armed with swords walked past the wagon.

“Let us return to your room,” suggested Cleoden, resting a hand at the base of his back. Luke nodded slightly and pulling up with his nose let his friend guide him.
Together they avoided the guards stationing the corridors and an enraged Ser Criston who kicked a wooden bench, sending pillows and pitchers crashing to the floor.

“Looks like he's lost the Queen Mother's favor,” Celoden whispered as Criston turned beyond the corner, out of their reach.
Luke grinned.
“Serves him right,” he whispered, making Cleoden chuckle.
They passed stairways and hallways, finally returning to the door of Luke's room.

The young prince frowned.
“Where is Harkon?” he asked, lifting his gaze to Cleoden, who swallowed, his shoulders suddenly stiff and one hand clasped around his sword.
“King Aegon must have ... called him to his own room,” he whispered with his throat aching and his eyes downcast.

Son of a bitch, growled Lucerys, clenching his hands into fists.
The door to his room was there, ready to receive him. His husband slept blissfully, unaware of his escape and what his brother was up to.
Not tonight, Lucerys thought as he turned his back to his own room.

“My prince?” asked Cleoden as Luke walked down the corridor, his steps heavy, not afraid of being discovered by the guards. No longer.
Cleoden swallowed and chased after him, his sword dangling against his side and the pieces of armor creaking.

My revenge begins tonight, he thought as he marched toward Aegon's room.

Chapter Text

The moon was high in the sky when Dragonstone came into his field of vision. The stars shone like so many winking fireflies, and Jace smiled at the sky, aware that he might never again experience a moment of such peace.

Vermax spread his huge wings wide and glided gracefully before Dragon Mount, where his cave and those of his brothers stood.

And Arrax's, thought Jace, smiling at the memory of the little pearly-scaled dragon, a little being who possessed the same cheerfulness as his brother.

“Jace!” cried Joffrey as he scampered up the hill, tripping over more roots than would have been humanly possible and finally falling into his older brother's arms, risking throwing him to the ground in his eagerness.
“Joff,” he whispered, sinking his nose into his brother's neck.

He lifted his eyes and smiled as he saw Baela slowly making her way up the hill, her red dress clutched between her fingers and her curly hair tossed in the wind.
He had loved the months he had spent with Cregan. His lips and his hands. His gentle voice and the nights spent in the same bed, making love or just talking.

But he had not imagined that seeing his brothers again would make him feel so alive. Seeing them alive and happy filled his heart with joy.
“Baela,” he said, opening one arm, letting her cling to his free side and sink her face against his neck, the side that was left free.

They remained still for a long time in that tight embrace. Jace's arms encircling the brothers' sides and theirs clinging to wherever they could reach, whether it was his shoulders, his neck, or his sides.

“I missed you,” Joff whispered with his cheek pressed against his, his long black hair, curly to his shoulders, brushing Jace's nose, threatening to make him sneeze.
The hair had grown long in those months, rivaling his older brother's. Joff had begun wearing it tightly in a red string, with some curls that always ended up sticking to his forehead or neck.

“Everyone missed you,” Baela said, letting him go.
Joff hesitated for a few more moments and then separated himself from his brother's chest, backing away a step and then another, taking a few moments to be able to observe his brother, who had not changed at all since the last time he had seen him. Only his clothes were different, woolen and heavier than the ones he had left with. He wore a soft black fur coat over his shoulders, and the smell of alpha he gave off was almost chilling.

Who is he? wondered Joff who had not recognized that intense and possessive scent.
“Are you... you look good,” he told him, swallowing. He almost struggled to recognize him wearing those clothes. They were not something Jace would have worn in his custom.

Jace smiled at him, perhaps not noticing his curious eyes or perhaps preferring to ignore them.
“I missed you too,” Jace said, tapping a hand against Joffrey's shoulder, who responded with a shy smile.

Jace's expression returned as neutral as possible, the real reason he had come home weighing on his shoulders.
“How did it happen?” he asked, turning his gaze toward the sea.

Baela sighed sadly and clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into the flesh of her palms. She licked her lips and cleared her throat as Joffrey merely kept his eyes downcast, the grief still too fresh.

“Apparently it was a trap. The Greens attacked Rook's Rest hoping to lure some of our people. They took her down in three-those cowards!” hissed Baela, biting her lip.
Jace lowered his gaze, his cheeks clenched between his teeth.

I knew we were at war but… killing Rhaenys... maybe I didn't know what a war really meant, he thought, breathing between his teeth.
By now it was too late to return to the North but Jace regretted leaving. Somehow he hoped he could disappear into Cregan's arms, hide under the heavy furs and only come out to take Jonnel flying.

I sound so much like a coward, Jace thought as he clenched his hands into fists.
And Cregan would not protect a coward, he told himself with a churning stomach.

“Within a couple of days I will leave for Rook's Rest. Lord Staunton has preserved our grandmother's body. I want to bring her home or at least give her a worthy funeral for a Targaryen,” Baela said, licking her lips.

It was a decision she had made together with Lord Corlys. The old sailor would leave with a horse and a bag of food, but the journey would be too dangerous and tiring for his still debilitated body. And so Baela had offered to retrieve her grandmother's body.

“I didn't think our father would let you get away from him,” Jace commented with a small smile. It had always been difficult for the twins to see how much Daemon loved them. But for all of them it was quite obvious how they were his favorite daughters. Especially Baela.
“I gave him no choice,” she said with a small grin.

“Now come on,” she told him, holding out a hand, which he immediately squeezed, intertwining their fingers in a gentle grip. Joff clung to his brother's long fur coat, taking the opportunity to study it more closely.
“Mother and father want to talk to you. We have news about Luke,” she said with a pained smile.

လလလ

The two alphas guarding Aegon's room jerked as they saw him appear down the hall. Lucerys was certainly not a terrifying sight or imposing enough to frighten two grown men, yet his determined gait and the expression of pure rage that curved his lips and eyebrows seemed to be enough to worry them.

What is he going to do? Cleoden wondered as he came up behind him, his boots clicking against the smooth floor and his sword dangling left and right, the hook holding it had been left too loose.

“Prince Lucerys,” one of the guards greeted him, his eyes fixed on the young man who went to a halt right between them, his eyes fixed on the hard wood beyond which came little pained and constricted groans.

One of the guards fixed his eyes on Cleoden, and the confusion he read on his face must have been enough to make him even more apprehensive. After all, there had been rumors about the little dragon Prince Aemond kept locked up in his room.
The second guard raised a hand, ready to knock on the king's door, but Lucerys was quicker. His fists slammed into the door in rapid succession and with such violence that any kind of groaning ceased.

“Aegon! Open the damn door and put some fucking pants on!” shouted Luke, beating his fist against the door twice more.

The silence continued for a long time as the guards remained motionless, their eyes wide and their throats dry. There were few people who could use that tone with the king. Queen Mother Alicent and Otto Hightower. And since Aegon had actually taken power only the former seemed to have any control over her son.

The door opened with a creak and Aegon leaned against it with one shoulder, his hair in disarray and a sheet pulled tightly around his hips.

What a stench, Luke thought, wrinkling his nose. His uncle's skin glistened from sweat and a few white wisps had clung to his forehead.
The smell of excitement and panic gave way to each other.

“Nephew! Have you come to keep me company? I didn't think Aemond would approve,” Aegon commented, grinning with red cheeks and eyes of the same color. He was drunk without even having touched a drop of wine.

Luke passed him without batting an eyelid, and Aegon let him pass without any concern as his eyes wandered first along Cleoden's body and then to Lucerys's as he looked around.
The young prince jolted when he found Harkon sitting in the center of the bed, a trembling figure curled in on himself. His face was hidden between his knees, and dark curls fell over his neck and shoulders.

“Harkon...” whispered Lucerys, settling down beside him. The mattress gave way under his weight, and Luke could feel the dampness clinging to his legs covered by his mother's white robe and red tunic.
The guard lifted his eyes and pulled up with his nose, looking at him with astonishment and fear.

“My prince?” he asked as if he did not believe he was really there.
Luke smiled at him but inside he gritted his teeth. He grabbed the sheets that had been thrown at the foot of the bed and wrapped them around his friend's shoulders, gently helping him up. Harkon was shaking with such force that it was difficult for him to put one foot in front of the other.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going?” asked Aegon as Luke dragged Harkon toward the door, keeping his body between himself and the wall, away from Aegon. They passed a large closet and a shelf overflowing with various items of questionable shape and bags full of gold coins.

“Cleoden! Get Harkon away from here,” Lucerys ordered as his friend appeared at his side, eyes running from his face to that of the ruler, who with arms crossed against his chest and glowing eyes watched them.
Harkon clung to his companion's arm and Cleoden helped him keep his balance.
“Yes Cleoden. Get Harkon away from here and closer to my bed,” Aegon commented with a sneer.

The omega soldier gnashed his teeth, his green eyes fixed on those of his prince who again beckoned him to the wide-open door, the two alpha guards patiently awaiting their lord's orders.

Cleoden swallowed and walked toward the exit, taking Harkon with him, who with the sheet tightly around his shoulders let himself be pulled along.

“Hey, wait a damn second! You can't-” Aegon interrupted his own advance as Luke stood in front of him, his eyes fixed in his and his hands clenched into fists. He was shorter than his uncle but that certainly would not stop him from facing him properly.

“You have to leave them alone!” said Luke with tense shoulders and decisive manner.
Cleoden and Harkon got past Aegon's guards without some difficulties. After all, the king had given them no order, and the two alphas would not stop Prince Lucerys' two guards from carrying out the order he had given them.

The blond-haired guard cast one last glance at his prince, his eyes involuntarily resting on his round, well-hidden belly.
What if Aegon hit him? he wondered, fearing the worst. He had no time to continue with those musings, however, because Harkon yowled in pain, reminding him why their prince was facing the Usurper King.
Aegon grinned, bowing his head so he could watch his nephew more closely.

“Or what?” he asked with his lips getting closer and closer to his face and the stench of arousal filling his nose.
Luke's fist hit him square in the face. Aegon's nose emitted a resounding pop and the king went falling to the ground, his hands pressed against his bleeding face and his feet kicking in pain.

“Your Grace!” exclaimed one of the guards, stepping forward, but Aegon lifted a hand, intimating him to stay where he was, his eyes still fixed on his nephew who stood and with red-stained knuckles looked down at him.
“Stay away from my friends!” ordered Lucerys.

He walked toward the door but at the last moment turned back, reached into the cabinet, and picked up one of the leather pouches filled with gold. He hopped it into the palm of his hand and only after estimating the amount did he leave, followed by the mad laughter of Aegon who was still lying on the floor.

The two guards looked at him with furrowed brows and a mixture of awe and respect for the little man who had confronted the ruler in order to protect what belonged to him.
It was not difficult for him to find his friends. Cleoden and Harkon were moving slowly, with the elder whispering sweet words against the younger man's head and him trembling in his arms.

Eventually they had slumped on one of the many wooden benches scattered around the corridors. Harkon had snuggled into himself, one cheek resting on his knees and his eyes fixed on Cleoden who was stroking his hair, trying to calm his tremors.

“Harkon!” exclaimed Lucerys as he took a seat at his side, passing his arms around his shoulders and letting him hide his face against his neck. The smell of omega was stronger on the prince than it was on the guards, who by their nature were required to hide their scent.

“I'm sorry-I shouldn't have left you alone,” Luke said, running his fingers through his long hair.
Ser Cleoden stood up, guarding the small corner. He was certain that none of the guards would go as far as that place, but the smell of Prince Lucerys was sweet and inviting, mottled with a hint of worry and anxiety that would lead any alpha willing to help there.

Harkon shook his head and pulled up with his nose, resting a hand against Lucerys' belly, feeling the round belly press against his palm.
“Even if Cleoden had been with me, he couldn't have done anything against that asshole,” he hissed with tears stinging his eyes, lashes tickling the prince's thin neck.
Luke frowned.

“I will talk to Aemond. I will make Aegon leave you alone, I promise,” Luke said as he lifted Harkon's face, forcing him to look at him.
I can't wait for my mother to take the Red Keep, he thought, biting his lip.
Harkon swallowed and smiled, a mixture of grateful and doubtful.

Luke slipped a hand into the pocket of his red robe and pulled out the pouch of coins.
“You and Cleoden go into town. Find a safe place to spend the night.... Aegon might come looking for you just for the sheer sake of hurting me,” Luke said, laying the bundle in Harkon's open hand, who squinted. He would not have seen all those gold coins in his entire life.

He lifted his eyes to his companion and Cleoden returned the gaze.
“We cannot leave you alone,” the blond-haired guard said, and Luke smiled, curling a dark lock around his index finger.

“Don't worry. I can manage on my own for one night,” he told them as he stood up.
He waited until the two friends had departed before walking toward his own room.
For what he planned to do, he did not need any guards.

လလလ

“Mother,” Jacaerys whispered. He did not run to meet Rhaenyra, who exhausted was waiting for him in the center of the huge throne room, but his step was hurried nonetheless, the fur rustling around his shoulders.
“Jace,” she whispered, taking him in her arms.

The hall was deserted except for Lord Corlys, the queen and the Prince Consort. Daemon had leaned his back against the large table but was immediately relieved when he heard the door open and their children enter.

“Look at you, so grown up,” she commented, taking his face in her hands. He smiled at her but ached to see his mother's pale face. Her cheekbones had become more prominent and her once kind eyes were marked with a streak of distress and worry. Her shoulders, breasts and hips had also become thin, leaving her clothes baggy, making her look like a little girl wearing her mother's clothes.

“Not like Joffrey,” he commented with the intent to make her smile. He succeeded and was proud of it.
Daemon came up behind Rhaenyra, and Jace lifted his eyes into those of his father.
Daemon was no different from when he had let him go, perhaps older, with thick frown lines marking his forehead. But his father was used to war, and the suffering around him did not seem to touch him as deeply as Rhaenyra.
Or Corlys.

Corlys who sat in front of the stone map, his staff clutched between his fingers and one of Baela's hands clasped on his shoulder.

“I hope you bring good news,” Daemon commented, laying a hand against Dark Sister's hilt.
Jace stepped back, pulling away from his mother's warm arms but still keeping his hands clasped in hers, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs. She smiled reassuringly at him, an attempt to excuse her husband and his temper.

“That's right. But first I want to know about Lucerys. Baela says you have news,” Jace said, returning his gaze to his mother.

He had not yet turned his gaze toward his grandfather. Or more precisely, he had avoided meeting his eyes, aware that he could not bear their suffering. His grandfather had always had large expressive eyes, dark and sweet, just like Lucerys'. And when they filled with tears they were more intense than any other.

Rhaenyra shrugged her shoulders.
This is not good, Jace thought as he bit his cheeks. He lifted his eyes to his father and he returned the gaze. There was anger in his purple irises but not sorrow. Not mourning. Lucerys was still alive.

“He wrote to us a little over two months ago. I... felt it best to keep you in the dark. I know your soul so much like your father's and I knew that would be the last straw,” Rhaenyra said, mentioning Daemon who imposingly kept watch behind her back.

Jacaerys did not clearly remember his real father but knew that Rhaenyra was not talking about Ser Harwin Strong at that moment. He found it amusing that he and his brothers had taken something from all their parents. In her mother's opinion Jacaerys resembled Harwin and Daemon. Lucerys was very reminiscent of herself, and Joffrey had taken after Laenor in more ways than he could have imagined.

“What happened?” asked Jace, clutching her hands more tightly, the fur beginning to make his back and shoulders sweat. He had become so accustomed to the chill of the North that he forgot how warm Dragonstone could be. And the fire that burned the stone map did not help to make the air more breathable.

Rhaenyra sighed.
“Your brother is expecting a baby,” she told him, looking straight into his eyes.
Jace was stunned. His mind went blank or perhaps he had so many thoughts that he could not locate a single one to hold on to. So he did the only thing he could think of. He hid his fear and despondency and put on the same mask that Daemon had worn the day Visenya had died.

“And the Greens are using it against us?” he asked in a cracked voice but did his best to maintain what shred of self-control he still possessed. He could already imagine the terrible ways in which his uncles and Alicent had threatened his mother.

“The Greens know nothing about it,” Baela said with her hand still resting on Corlys' shoulder. The old sailor was silent but listened intently, perhaps seizing the most opportune moment to be able to intervene.
“What does this mean?” asked Jace with furrowed brows and more than a little confused air.

“Luke is keeping it a secret. Or he was until two months ago. The Master and his guards are helping him,” Rhaenyra said, pressing her hands against her flat stomach. It was a habit she had picked up since she had lost Visenya. Whenever she spoke or was worried about her children she brought her hands there, remembering when they had been safe inside her belly.

“But... Aemond? He certainly won't be able to hide it from him,” Jace commented, shivering despite his sweat and fur.
Corlys cleared his throat.

“The three Hightower bastards have been gone for four months and only recently returned to the Red Keep. If the rumors about Lucerys are true I think we will still have some time before Aemond realizes that Luke is expecting his child,” Old Velaryon said as he stood up.
“So we must act quickly,” Jace said, biting his lip.

Will Cregan have already arrived at the Eyrie? he wondered as he clasped his hands in front of his belly, intertwining his index and middle fingers with the index and middle fingers of his opposite hand.
“Yes. But first we must attend to the safety of your brothers...but we'll talk about that later,” Rhaenyra said as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Jace became curious but respected his mother's wishes. Whatever it was she seemed to want to discuss it in private and from the tone she had used Jace deduced that Aegon and Viserys were not in danger but safe inside Dragonstone.
They are safe for now, he thought then shook his head.

“Now tell us, what news do you bring?” asked Daemon, positioning himself at his wife's side at the head of the table. Jace moved to Rhaenyra's right and Joff to her left. Corlys and Baela remained motionless at the opposite end of the stone map.

“Cregan is traveling toward the Eyrie,” Jace said, licking his lips. The Wolf had left a few hours after Jacaerys, and this he knew because more than once he had forced Vermax to change course and turn back so he could watch the Wolves riding swiftly south, with Cregan and his most trusted men at the head of the column.

“Why Eagle's Nest?” asked Joffrey leaning over the flaming map.
Even Jacaerys had had doubts when Cregan had informed him of that decision. Of course, the Lord of Winterfell was not traveling solely with the intent of seeing his beloved's young sister.

“It is a strategy,” Corlys said, seeking the eyes of his nephew, who immediately fixed them in his own, curious to know the explanation to that dilemma.
“Moving into enemy or neutral territory would be a declaration of war. By asking Lady Jeyen for hospitality his Wolves become nothing more than docile lapdogs visiting a friend,” Grandfather explained, and Joff nodded, now all clearer in his mind.

“Also he will be closer if we need help,” Jacaerys said, smiling at his brother.
Then he brought his eyes to those of his parents, first on Rhaenyra and then on Daemon.
“Just waiting for your instructions,” he said as he looked at his mother, who nodded, lowering her eyes to the stone map.
Daemon licked his lips and smiled.

“I need him to move to the Riverlands as quickly as possible.... I will write him a letter,” Daemon said, biting his lip. At last the pieces to put his mad plan into action were beginning to fall into place.
“Do we have an idea?” asked Jace as he laid eyes on his father.
He smiled at him.

“We know how to take King's Landing,” he replied theatrically.

လလလ

Cregan and two trusty men were the only ones to pass Sky, the last keep that led from the ground to the entrance of the Eyrie. He had abandoned the army after the Bloody Gate and on horseback they had reached Sky, the last bastion reachable on horseback.

My stallion went from black to white, he thought as he chewed his lips. More than once the poor beast had missed a step and had almost plunged into the valley, taking his rider with him.

Of course, their arrival had not come as a surprise. The lookouts stationed at the Bloody Gate had warned Lady Jeyen of their arrival, and the splendid woman had had food and victuals delivered with extreme speed.

They reached the inner courtyard, a circular square protected by thick walls of white, reflective marble. Ten guards were scattered along the circle and four more stood in the center, alongside Lady Jeyen and Lady Rhaena.

She is pretty, thought Cregan with eyes fixed on the mulatto-skinned young woman. Both women were still wearing their robes for the night, long sky-blue tunics covered by thick coats so as to protect them from the cold night air.

She doesn't look like Jace but that was to be expected, he continued, scrutinizing her without any qualms. He did not mind since she seemed to do the same, after all, the Lady knew that her brother had spent many months in his company.

So he is the famous Cregan Stark, commented Rhaena, making her eyes run from his short beard to his winter furs, and at that moment she found herself envying him.

The coat she wore was graceful, finished down to the last detail, but tremendously light.
Charming, she continued while acknowledging that he was not a man she would want to end up married to. He seemed too gruff to her despite his good looks. The sharp eyes were so piercing that a more fragile woman would have lowered her gaze.

The wind changed direction, coming from the Lord's shoulders and bringing with it his penetrating scent.
Rhaena jerked, surprised to find a small trace of her brother mixed with the Lord of Winterfell's scent.

Strange, she thought, frowning.
It seems to be the same smell that chases mother and father, she thought with a doubt beginning to creep into her head.

“Lord Cregan,” Jeyen greeted him with a sweet smile and full cheeks.
“Lady Jeyen,” he said, offering her a small bow with his head. The Lady's status certainly would not have obliged him to bow, but the woman seemed to deserve it.

“Lady Rhaena, I have had the pleasure of meeting your brother,” Cregan greeted her, stepping forward so that he could approach the two, his hands hidden under the windswept fur.
Rhaena smiled.

“I guess it was a real pleasure,” she commented. Now the smell that had leapt to her nose was clearer and definitely unmistakable. She avoided mentioning it aloud. The Targaryens had always had peculiar and questionable tastes; she was certain that in their long past two alphas of the same sex had had an affair but she doubted Jeyen would appreciate it.

“How long will you stay, Lord Stark? I will see to it that your men are served with everything they need,” Lady Jeyen said as she led the Wolves inside her palace, away from the cold night wind.
Rhaena was more than pleased with the warmth offered by the flames that warmed the Lady of Erie's private room. A small and cozy room, just like the many rooms that made up that palace suspended in the sky.

“Until Queen Rhaenyra gives me an order. I'm afraid I don't have to wait long; with the death of Princess Rhaenys, revenge is only a matter of time. Again, my condolences, Lady Rhaena,” said Cregan as he took a seat across from Lady Jeyen, who, however, looked at him with a dazed look, as if she had not quite understood the last words spoken by the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan shifted his gaze to Rhaena but she seemed equally impressed, her eyes wide and glossy, her lips half-closed over straight teeth and her hands clenched against her night robe.

“My grandmother is... dead?” she asked in a tearful whisper.
The two Wolves who had come together with Cregan turned stiff. Cregan himself straightened his back and shoulders, his gaze running from the face of the Lady of Erie to that of the Lady of Dragonstone.

“You-you didn't know?” he asked, swallowing.
Damn! he thought biting his cheeks.
Rhaena shook her head and burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands. Jeyen stood up with a snap, encircling the young woman's shoulders with one arm while she stroked her hair with her free hand.

“Sh, sh… don't cry,” she whispered, trying to calm the young woman's sobs.
Cregan stood up in turn and motioned to his men to leave the room. He knelt at Rhaena's side, gently stroking her back as he looked at her with large, pained eyes.

“I didn't want to upset you... Had I known you were unaware I would have used more tact,” he said as he looked at Lady Jeyen for support. But the woman seemed as upset as when the young Lady, only she was better at hiding it.

Rhaena shook her head, a vain attempt to rid Cregan of all concern. He sighed and continued to caress her back. It was neither lawful nor honorable as behavior, an alpha stroking an unbound omega in that way, yet he was Jacaerys beloved. He would have done anything to comfort his sweet sister.

Rhaena took several moments to calm down. The flames had grown lower and now the light in the room was dim. She sweetly pulled her nose up and fixed her eyes in his silver ones.
“Lord Cregan... tell me all you know,” she demanded, clasping her hands against her night gown.
He obeyed.

လလလ

He entered the room he shared with his husband without making a sound. He had slipped off his boots as soon as he arrived at the door and was now holding them in one hand. Immediately he placed them on the floor, terrified that he might accidentally drop them.

Aemond slept in the same position in which he had left him, one arm folded under his head and the other stretched out into the void, fingers slightly closed, as if they were holding something precious.

He slipped into his own room and allowed himself a deep breath. He lowered his gaze to his own red knuckles and opened and closed his hand quickly, so as to make sure he had not broken anything. His uncle might have been a traitorous coward, but his face was as hard as anyone's.

And his nose made a very good snap as it broke, he thought while holding back a giggle.
He knew that if he wanted Aegon could have him arrested and taken to the dungeon. He also knew that he could have ordered Cleoden and Harkon to spend the night with him, and Lucerys could have done nothing.
Yet he had not done so.

He didn't because he is afraid of Aemond, he thought as he bit his lip.
He walked over to his own bed and opened the drawer of the small nightstand that stood at his side. Inside it stood the long blade he had fashioned from the vase he had broken over Aemond's head.

Well, after this night he won't have to be afraid anymore, he thought, clutching the dagger in one hand.
He pressed a hand against his red-covered belly. His child had not moved for a moment. Perhaps sensing the parent's urge to be silent and cunning, he too had decided to be silent and motionless.

Solidarity between muña and child, eh? asked Lucerys chuckling to himself.
He called himself a fool because that was not the best time to joke.
Silent as he had entered, he went out. His heart was beating so loudly that he feared Aemond might have heard him approach the bed and awaken abruptly. His smell must have betrayed his true feelings, and yet his uncle did not move.

He stopped at the bedside and took a few moments to admire the man he would kill.
The empty-eyed returned the gaze.
Luke looked away, preferring to focus on the long white hair that delicately contoured his face and caressed his shoulders. They were loose from any kind of hairstyle or restraint, free to move as he pleased.

The soft white sheets covered him down to his hips, leaving on display his well-defined torso still marked by the cut Lucerys had managed to inflict on him during their wedding. The wound ran horizontally across his pectorals, a thin, white thread even lighter than his skin.

The hand stretched forward was the same one Aemond had cut during the wedding, and Luke lowered his gaze to his own palm, recognizing the twin wound.

He gritted his teeth and with a fluid yet clumsy movement of his hips sat on his thighs, closer to his groin than he would have liked. But he wanted to make sure he hit him right in the heart, and from the side of the bed he would have no certainty.

I never have any certainty, he thought as Aemond began to mutter, his hand dangling over the edge of the bed beginning to come back to life.

Fuck! exclaimed, plunging the blade against Aemond's chest, who, however, squinted his one eye, his dangling hand grabbing Luke's wrist as he began to wriggle free.
Aemond snapped to seat and grabbed his nephew's other wrist as well, immobilizing him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asked Aemond, punctuating each word. His tone was calm, as if he was neither surprised nor alarmed. It almost seemed as if Lucerys had tried to hit him with a bouquet of roses and not a dagger.

Aemond precisely planted his thumb in Lucerys' wrist, and it immediately lost its grip on the shard of glass that fell to the side of the bed and then to the floor. Luke closed and opened his fingers, as if he could not believe he had just lost his only weapon.

“I asked you,” hissed Aemond tugging him forward. Their chests became one and so did their bellies. The prince did not finish the sentence, his one eye widened as Lucerys' round belly pressed against his pact.
Shit, thought Luke, biting his lip.

Aemond lowered his eyes to their joined bodies. Luke tried to rise but his legs had grown weak. Aemond should not have survived until then. He should not have found out about their child.
“Show me. I want to see it,” Aemond whispered with an eye fixed in his.

Luke swallowed and his uncle let go of only one of his hands, his left, his weak hand. The other held it tightly between his own fingers.
Luke grasped the hem of his own night robe and lifted it slowly. He ignored the fact that he stood completely naked in front of his uncle; by now Aemond had seen him naked more times than anyone else.

Aemond's mouth opened in a small expression of surprise. His eye fixed on his nephew's round belly. It was not as huge as it had seemed to him as his belly pressed against his own but rather, if he had seen it on another man he would have said he had simply had too much to drink.

Like Aegon, he thought as he placed his palm against his belly.
“My child...” he whispered with his heart pounding in his chest.
Luke grinned.

“How can you know it's yours? We only fucked three times and then you flew away for months and months,” Luke commented, mimicking the gesture of flying with one hand.
I wish it wasn't yours, he thought while maintaining the grin.

This time it was Aemond who sneered. He arranged the pillow behind his own back and rested his back on it, his hand still pressed against Lucerys' belly and his eye fixed on him, looking down at him.

“You were so scared at the idea of fucking that I can't believe you fucked someone else,” Aemond said as he made himself more comfortable against the pillows, gently moving his hips against Lucerys' butt, which jerked, sensing his uncle's arousal pressing against his exposed skin.

Aemond smiled again.
“Look at you, you only need to feel my cock to shake like a leaf,” he told him, still moving his hips against his own.

Luke frowned, determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting up.
“It's your dick that has this effect on me! Maybe someone else's cock makes me ... scream with pleasure!” he told him with his cheeks slightly tinged with red. He still tried to wriggle out of the grip that held him by the right wrist and finally Aemond let go of him, pressing his hands against his thighs.

“And who would you have fucked? Enlighten me. Your guards are omegas and the other guards know not to touch what belongs to me,” Aemond said with a smirk. He licked his lips and moved his hips again, letting out a little excited sigh.

“Maybe I fucked Aegon!” he said, clenching his hands into fists. Stupid move, not only for the fact that Aegon had left together with Aemond and Aemond had spent the next day with him to which he had had sex for the first time. Stupid move because Aemond pulled himself to his seat with a jerk, his hands clasped against Luke's hips and his eye fixed in his.

Lucerys looked away, the sight of that empty cavity was even more horrifying seen up close.
Aemond froze for a moment, as if his mind wanted to follow two different paths.
Aegon was with me, he finally thought with a smile.
“Do you like it?” he asked, stroking his scarred cheek and the drooping skin surrounding his dead eye.

Luke shook his head and Aemond chuckled.
“Yet you did it to me. I thought you would be proud,” Aemond commented as he returned to lie back against the soft pillows, the anger of only moments before gone completely forgotten.

“You know I didn't mean to hurt you,” Luke said without being able to look him in the face.
Aemond cast his eye to the sky and reached with one hand toward the nightstand, holding his left hand tightly against Lucerys thigh. He fumbled for a few moments, moving various small objects he kept hidden.

“Come on, look now. It bothers me to talk to you without being looked in the eye,” Aemond said, returning to lean back against the pillows.

Luke hesitated before turning his gaze toward his uncle. He gasped. For now in place of the lifeless eye was a magnificent sapphire of the exact size of the missing eye. He swallowed and unconsciously leaned forward so that he could look more closely at that gorgeous stone that was perfectly smooth and so deep blue that it looked like the sea at night.

“Do you like it? I chose it in the colors of the Velaryons so that I would always remember you ... my little Strong,” he told him sneeringly, bringing both hands back to clasp Lucerys' thighs.
“You are mean,” he told him as Aemond laid a hand against his belly, stroking the soft, round dome. He ran his fingers against the thin black hair that slid down, around Lucerys' member and then over his hidden intimacy but pressed against his thin night pants.

“I am sincere,” Aemond replied, smiling at the small belly.
“How long were you going to keep this from me, huh?” he asked, lifting his eye into his. Luke held his gaze, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, if he could he would never have revealed to Aemond of their son's existence.

The uncle lifted a hand and squeezed the fabric of the red tunic between forefinger and thumb, looking at it with a curled nose, a mixture of disgust and understanding.
“You don't miss your mother. You were only hoping to hide your scent...you're fucking smart,” Aemond commented, biting his lip.

Luke grew rigid and slapped Aemond's hand away, forcing him to lose his grip on his tunic. He did not want anyone to touch his mother's clothes. He did not want them to sully them with their smell.

“Of course I miss my mother! I miss her more than anything else in the world!” exclaimed Lucerys trying to escape the grasp of his husband, who, however, tightened his hands around his hips, holding him tight, his thumbs pressing relentlessly against his skin.

“Then order her to kneel! Put an end to this war!” shouted Aemond, lifting himself up so he could look at Lucerys more closely.
“No!” he exclaimed back. He continued to wriggle until one of Aemond's thumbs went digging into his belly and Luke let out a little cry of pain. Only then did his husband let go of him.

Luke took advantage of that freedom to scramble out of bed and lock himself in his own room, slamming the door behind him.
Aemond sighed dejectedly and let himself fall back against the pillows. He reached out a hand over the edge of the bed and his fingers tightened around Lucerys' dagger, picked it up and hid it in his drawer, along with hundreds of other trinkets.

But despite his nephew's angry flight, he could not be enraged.
Lucerys is expecting my child, he thought, smiling like a fool.
He couldn't wait to see that little belly and his child grow with it. He couldn't wait to hold a beautiful purple-eyed, white-haired baby in his arms.

A baby that someone has kept from me, he thought then clenched his hands into fists.
He knew only one person who could protect Lucerys in that way. Only one person capable of determining a pregnancy.

He tucked in and turned on his side, stroking his scarred cheek. Morning would come sooner than he would have liked. And it would be a morning full of screams and blood.

လလလ

He was surprised when his mother called him to her room. Since Aegon had usurped the Throne everything about politics was said in the Council Chamber, as if those walls could absorb secrets and report them at the most appropriate time.

He found Daemon sitting in front of the fire, legs crossed and a cup of wine clutched in one hand. Jace thought he would remain at his mother's side, yet as soon as he saw him coming he stood up and left the room, first clapping a hand on his shoulder, a small encouragement or perhaps a warning.

Rhaenyra was facing the balcony, her eyes closed and the wind tousling her hair. The sun would rise in a few hours, and his mother seemed not to have closed her eyes yet.
She needs to rest, he thought as he stood beside her, resting his hands on the hard railing that resembled a dragon's teeth.

Together they looked down, the waves slowly crashing against the cliff and tumbling in small white drops toward the darkness of the sea.

“I could fly to the Eyrie and fight alongside Cregan. I don't know what Daemon has in mind but a dragon will surely do him good,” Jace commented as he looked at his mother's sharp profile and the nose he had inherited from her. He was the only one of his siblings who had taken that feature of hers.

Rhaenyra smiled sweetly and turned her gaze toward him, laying her hand on his.
“You have grown very fond of your new friend,” she said, intertwining their fingers.
Jace nodded, thinking of all the moments he had spent at Cregan's side, and unfortunately each one ended with them rolling around somewhere, clothes forgotten and bare skin pressed together.

“Cregan is an honorable man,” he told her, smiling smugly.
Rhaenyra smiled and leaned against him, pressing her head against his shoulder.

“I know you want to help your friend but first I must give you another task,” she said, lifting her eyes into his. Jace lowered his gaze just enough to look into her eyes. He was the shortest of his siblings and he was certain he would remain so; Aegon and Viserys would grow up to be tall, imposing men just like their father.

“What is this about?” asked Jace, offering her an arm to accompany her inside the large room. They sat in front of the fire, with Rhaenyra stretching her bare feet toward the flames, letting them warm her toes that were numb from the cold of the balcony.

“Your father and I have decided to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. They'll be safe there, and after what happened to Rhaenys... I don't want to risk losing them too,” she said, pressing a hand against her belly.

Jace bit his lips and swallowed.
Would Aegon really kill his nephews? Two children? wondered Jace, fixing his gaze on the flames.
“You want me to escort them,” he said, returning his eyes to his mother, who nodded.

“You and Vermax will accompany them as far as Pentos. Once you've made sure they're safe you can return to Dragonstone and if you still want to you can join Cregan Stark,” she explained, extending a hand toward her son who immediately shook it, intertwining their fingers.

“When will we leave?” he asked her, pressing his free hand against her right thigh, where the claws left by the bear had pierced her skin.
“Within a couple of days... when Baela leaves for Rook's Rest,” she said taking a deep breath.

When she brings Rhaenys' body back home, she thought as she bit her lip.
“All right,” he whispered. He hadn't seen his own siblings yet, but he imagined that the little ones were sleeping and he could wait a few hours to finally hold them in his arms.
I want to hold Luke, he thought as he gave a glance to the balcony over there where King's Landing stood.

“But now tell me from your time in the North,” Rhaenyra said, turning a smile to him.
Jace smiled, pleased that his mother had asked that question. He had waited for nothing but the moment to be able to tell about Cregan and his son.

လလလ

Daemon was bent over his own desk. It had been years since he had used his old room, what reason did he have when he shared a bed with his beautiful wife every night?
He looked at the letter in front of him, a plan described in great detail but in High Valyrian, so that only his sweet daughter Rhaena could entrust the translated copy to the Lord of Winterfell.

He chuckled to himself, thinking how silly that idea was. A plan based solely on luck and the ability of their enemies to fall into their trap.
He rubbed his hands together and let the ink dry. The Master of Crows was holed up in a corner, ready to receive the missive from his Lord.

လလလ

He sat in front of the hearth, his bed still unmade and his nose throbbing as if someone was using it to play percussion. He held a rag soaked in cold water pressed against his face and a wooden bowl at his feet, but by now the rag had turned from white to pink and so had the water.

I do not envy Aemond. Fucking with our nephew must be like doing it with a dragon, he thought as he bit his lip.
But it must also be incredibly fun... bending him to his will, he chuckled and his nose twitched, making him hiss. The Master had assured that it was broken, no chance of a different diagnosis. He had stuffed it with cotton and said it would heal in a little over a month.

So I'll wander around the palace with a red, swollen nose, he thought as he cast his eyes to the sky.
What's more, Luke's stupid guards are nowhere to be found, that little shit has hidden them for good, he thought again as he stretched his bare feet toward the fire. The sheet he had wrapped around his waist was stained red but he didn't particularly care, the next day it would be thrown away and replaced by a new one.

But at least I still have all my eyes, he thought, grinning.
A soft knock distracted him from his thoughts.
Tonight I'm wanted, he thought as he invited the stranger in.

“Your Grace,” Larys Strong greeted him, closing the door behind him.
Ah, thought Aegon. The omega's smell was more persistent than usual, or maybe it was Aegon's nose that was more susceptible, after all he had been interrupted in the middle of a magnificent fuck with the little omega-lookalike Jacaerys.

“Larys Strong! My little whispering tongue!” exclaimed Aegon inciting him to come closer.
The man smiled at him with amusement but the smile disappeared when he approached and noticed his red nose and his lips and chin covered with blood.

“What happened to you?” he asked, lifting a hand so he could caress his face. The delicate-tipped thumb grazed the outline of his nose while the palm guarded his cheek as if it were a precious jewel.

Aegon allowed himself to be cuddled by that small hand. Larys was twice his age and yet seemed to have the face of a little boy, but after all that was what made him so deadly. The innocent appearance of a child but with the mind of a more than cunning adult.

“My little shit of a nephew doesn't take kindly to me banging his guards,” he commented as he made himself more comfortable in the armchair, the sheet sliding down along his sides, allowing a glimpse of white hair.
“But now that I think about it-he's your nephew, too, isn't he?” he asked with an amused grin.

Larys responded in the same way and lost his grip on his cheek, preferring to grip the cane more firmly.
“That's right,” commented Larys bringing his gaze to the flames.
“So you are a Strong... like Jacaerys,” he commented by running his gaze down his chest and his short, thin legs, hidden by loose clothing.

Larys nodded and licked his lips.
“Speaking of which, I have news about Prince Jacaerys. It seems that within a couple of days he will cross the sea in the direction of Pentos, so that he will accompany his younger brothers,” said Larys, who reading his Lord's expression knew for certain that he did not have much time to report what he had come for.
Aegon clapped his hands together, giggling like a little boy.

“Oh! You are so always full of surprises,” he told him, returning his gaze to the flames.
“I want him captured alive,” he then said, pressing a hand against his own sheet-covered erection. His nephew's name had been enough to awaken his excitement that had disappeared after Lucerys' arrival.

“What about your uncle's children?” asked Larys clutching his cane more tightly, the smell of his Lord filling his nose and his body beginning to react to that sweet scent of arousal.
“I'm not interested in them,” he said with a quick wave of his hand.

Larys nodded quickly, as if a list was popping up inside his head.
Aegon sighed, loosening the knot that held the sheet in place, revealing his cock pressing against his belly.

“How long has it been since someone fucked you?” asked Aegon, stretching an arm out so he could pass it around Larys' hips as his violet eyes raced down his still green-and-black-covered figure. He pushed him closer, one hand coming down to cup a buttock and was surprised to find firm, soft flesh.

“A long time, Your Grace,” Larys replied as his eyes caressed the Usurper King's erection.
“I thought so,” Aegon said with a grin. Larys Strong was pretty but certainly not anyone's first choice. Besides, there were few who trusted that sibylline tongue that could have picked up any kind of secret.

“Do you know how to suck a cock?” he asked again, staring violet eyes into his clear ones.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys replied without any hesitation.
Aegon grinned.

“Then make yourself busy,” he told him, spreading his legs so as to create enough space for the Master of Whispers. Larys immediately knelt between his legs, abandoned the staff and placed his hands on his thighs, slowly stroking the white hair. He brought his tongue close to his cock and licked it from base to top, causing the young ruler to close his eyes, sighing, enjoying those little attentions. He continued in this way for a while, his hands sliding back and forth along his thighs and his tongue moving up and down.

Aegon looked at him with his face resting on one hand and his eyes fixed on his face. Larys lifted himself onto his knees and wrapped his lips around his erection, slowly lowering himself onto it. Aegon ran a hand through Larys' dark hair, deciding the pace at which the omega would take his cock, and smiled when he saw it softly choking.

Larys lifted his eyes into his, they were a deep ice blue and the tears that threatened to furrow his face made them look like peaceful lakes.
“Not bad,” Aegon commented as he continued to guide his head and move his hips, sinking deeper and deeper into his throat. He bit his lips, restraining himself from filling his mouth with his seed and let go, allowing him to catch his breath.

“Come here and pull your pants down,” Aegon ordered, tapping a hand against his own knee.
Larys obeyed immediately, settling on his lap with his pants down to his ankles. Aegon ran his hands against his thighs, as if he found them different from what he had imagined.

“You have beautiful legs,” Aegon commented, leaving a slap against the white skin.
Larys gasped, his erection hidden by his shirt and his intimacy begging to be filled.

“It is only my foot that is damaged,” he told him, lifting his hands so he could caress his face and trace the contours of that broken nose. Aegon hissed and grabbed him by the hips, forcing him up onto his knees and directing his own arousal toward his moist entrance. He let go of his hips and Larys fell, taking him inside himself in one smooth motion.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Aegon, who had not imagined that the Master of Whispers was so tight.
Larys hid his face against his neck as he quickly moved his hips, enjoying the attention that only prostitutes afforded him. His Lord planted his feet on the ground and went to meet those thrusts, the sound of skin against skin the only sound besides their moans and the crackling of fire.

“Can you get pregnant?” asked Aegon as he grabbed him by the hips and lifted him from the chair, forcing him to wrap his legs around his back.
Larys nodded as his lord continued to move inside him. He dropped him onto the bed but forced him to keep his legs wrapped tightly around his hips, thus forcing him to rest only his shoulders on the mattress while the rest of his body was supported by his Lord, who remained standing.

“Then see that you get some fucking Moon Tea!” he exclaimed moving with increasing determination and swiftness, the bed banging against the wall, creaking like a disgruntled old door.
A smile bent the king's lips.

“Though I wouldn't mind a little black-haired bastard. A little Strong!” he exclaimed, coming into Larys' body. He slumped down on top of him, his cock still sunk inside the omega's body and his hands firmly fixed against his thighs.

Larys wrapped his arms around his shoulders and let Aegon push him toward the pillows, never separating from him. He held him close, his hands caressing his thighs and his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Do you have anything else to tell me?” the king asked, sinking his face against his neck, beginning to suck in a purplish bruise there where he would have marked a common omega.

Larys muttered and turned his head, granting the king more access to his skin. He let one hand run down, down the ruler's back, while his cock still throbbed inside him.

“A Black spy is in the palace-I'm still locating her,” Larys said, passing his hands against his white hair, his entrance still clutching the king's cock.
Aegon grinned against his neck and left a slap on his buttock.
“Good job,” he whispered against his ear.

Chapter Text

He woke up with wet thighs. He frowned and curled in on himself, trying to ignore the damp feeling that had clung to his night robe.

It was to no avail. The tighter he squeezed his legs the more he realized how wet his clothes were the more he realized how much his sex was contracting in search of something to fill it.
He cast off the blankets and lay on his back, one hand resting on his small belly and the other pressed against his thighs.

Fuck, he mewed exhaustedly. The Master had warned him this might happen, a sense of excitement so sudden it made him insatiable. Similar to Heat, he had called it. But Luke had never experienced the Heat; his had frozen before it could hit him.

Maybe I should thank Aemond, he thought as he bit his lip. Just thinking about his husband's white hair caused a new wave of arousal to run through his body, his thighs growing wetter and wetter.

He grabbed his robe and lifted it up to above his belly, opening his legs and hiding a hand between his thighs. He bit his lips as a small moan left his throat and his fingers slowly stroked his sex. His cock was flaccid, as if untouched by the excitement that filled his veins.
The Master had warned him about that, too. Pregnancy would prioritize certain areas of his body.

And my cock is not one of those areas, he thought, biting his lip as another moan, this one higher and sharper, left his throat.
His fingers moved with mastery acquired from weeks of training, sinking into him with precision, stroking deep inside him as he stroked the small bud that surmounted his sex with his thumb.

His back arched a little and his toes curled. His fingers moved forcefully, the fluttering of skin against skin sending shivers down his spine.
He heard a crunch and immediately opened his eyes.
He gasped.

His husband was motionless at the foot of the bed, his long white hair falling down his bare chest and his pants pulled up to crotch height.
“What the fuck!” he exclaimed, trying to cover himself without good results.

“Please! Don't let me interrupt you,” Aemond commented, chuckling as he walked around the bed, settling down on the mattress and then lying down beside Lucerys, who pressed his knees against his chest, his sex throbbing, so close to pleasure and at the same time so far away.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he asked him, trying in vain to pull down his night robe, but the underside was now so damp that it had clung to his skin.
Aemond brought one arm under his head and with his free hand adjusted the crotch of his pants.

“You were moaning so beautifully that I couldn't stay away,” he told him, reaching out a hand toward him so that he was cupping the wet hem of his robe with his little finger. Lucerys scent was so strong that he would have noticed what he was doing even if he had remained silent.

“I don't-” Aemond interrupted him by pulling himself to seat, his purple and blue eyes fixed in his. Luke could not choose which one to look at, the living one or the dead one.
“You did. And you clearly need me, look at you, so small and trembling,” he told him, licking his lips as his one eye wandered down his body red with excitement.

Luke said nothing, preferring to turn his head away. Bad move because Aemond took the opportunity to move close enough to him to caress his neck with his breath.
“Let me help you ... put pride aside,” Aemond whispered, placing a hand on his knee, letting it slide slowly down his thigh. Luke kept his legs tight but began to give in as much as he felt his uncle's warm fingers caressing his small belly.

Finally he gave in and let his hand slide between his thighs. Aemond moaned in pleasure; his nephew's sex was so moist and hot he wanted to disappear inside it.
Put another child inside him, he thought as his fingers sank inside him, deeper than Lucerys could have gone. The young prince dropped his head back as the long fingers moved inside him.

Aemond reached behind him and encircled him with his arms, using his free hand to tease the small bud that stood on top of his sex, making him hiss in pleasure.
Luke began to move, his hips going to meet his husband's fingers and his hands clinging to his arms and his white hair.

Aemond began to kiss his neck and the mark began to pulse brutally, reminding Lucerys who the man who was giving him pleasure was. The man who had kidnapped and imprisoned him. But Luke could not make sense of those voices; all he could think about were those deft fingers and lips lovingly kissing him.

He came with a stifled cry, clinging to Aemond's arms, who froze, enjoying the tightness of his lips against his fingers.
“Fuck,” gasped Lucerys leaning fully against his uncle's chest. Could he really feel pleasure knowing who the man was?

Aemond smiled against his head full of dark curls and kissed his head. He descended again to kiss his neck and Luke did not object, letting him lick the skin he had marked, partially covered by the pearl necklace.
“You need a bath,” he told him with one last kiss. He stood up and leapt off the bed, his cock heavy in his pants.

Lucerys slumped back against the pillows, one hand pressed against his chest and the other against his belly. His legs spread shamelessly.
Aemond returned several moments later, a frown plastered on his face and his eye fixed on Lucerys.

“Your guards are not in place,” the prince said, settling down beside him on the bed.
Luke swallowed, aware of his mistake. But after all, Aemond should have been dead; he should not have known that Cleoden and Harkon were not in their place at their door.

“It's my fault,” he told him certain that his husband was already looking for a way with which he could punish his dear friends.
Aemond raised an eyebrow, resting a hand against the wet thigh of his nephew who again did not object, too intoxicated with pleasure to drive away the man who had provided it.

“Explain yourself,” Aemond ordered as his one eye ran down his nephew's body and stopped on the small belly. The sweet moans of his groom had completely distracted him from his morning schedule but little did it matter, he would still find time to get the blood of the one who had helped his nephew flowing.

Luke swallowed and told him what had happened the night before. His little escape and the visit to Aegon. He avoided telling about punching him.
“I want you to tell him to leave them alone,” he told him, fixing his eyes in his.
Aemond huffed out a laugh and slumped against the mattress, one hand resting on his thigh, close enough for him to feel the heat of his erection but not close enough to touch it.

“Yes well, I want to fuck you every day but you don't always get what you want,” Aemond commented, grinning.
Luke frowned and lowered his gaze to his own body loose with pleasure, his muscles still quivering from his uncle's assault and his neck throbbing where he had bitten it, the cold beads that had turned hot.

“If you help my guards we'll fuck as much as you want,” Luke said, fixing his eyes in his.
Aemond turned his head and squinted, as if to catch a glimpse of a lie on his groom's face. He found nothing, only determination.
Aemond sneered again and shook his head.

“You're not good at lying,” he told him, pressing an arm under his head.
Luke snapped to seat, his lips tightened into a thin line and his eyes promising storm. There was a reason he should have inherited Driftmark. His grandfather claimed his anger was worse than any tidal wave.

“I'm not lying!” exclaimed Lucerys as he knelt on the bed, his robe clinging to his stomach and back, leaving his legs and buttocks exposed.
Aemond raised his eyebrow and ran his gaze down his body. Again he lingered on the small belly and the baby growing inside it.

“No?” asked Aemond, licking his lips. They had been married for more than four months and Aemond had only enjoyed his husband's body for one day.
What injustice-maybe I'm too good, he thought while hiding a grin.

“No,” confirmed Lucerys clasping his hands against his knees.
“‘Prove it," Aemond ordered, then hinting at the crotch of his pants. The fabric was so pulled that it looked as if it were about to tear.
Luke bit the inside of his cheeks.

Are you whoring yourself now? he wondered, and without thinking further he sat down on his uncle's thighs, looking at the laces that held his pants in place. He untied the knot slowly, keeping his eyes fixed in Aemond's, as if they were competing and he was afraid of losing.

“Help me,” he ordered him as he slid further forward, letting his uncle's cock caress his sex. Aemond placed his hands on his hips and gently helped him sit on his cock, taking it inside him from top to bottom.

Aemond sighed and Luke bit his lips, overstimulated by that contact. He had just taken Aemond's fingers inside him and now found himself riding his cock with unsteady legs and his body on fire.

He rested his hands against his chest and gently began to move his hips circularly, lifting only a few inches. His husband let him, his hands still tight against his hips as his thumbs stroked the small belly.

Aemond began to move his hips against his, his one eye fixed in Lucerys's as he gasped, sinking his nails into the flesh of his pecs.
Aemond rested a hand at the base of his back and reversed their positions, forcing Luke's back against the mattress. He grabbed one of his thighs and pressed it against his chest, quickly moving his hips against his.

Luke brought one hand to his mouth and the other clung to Aemond's side, moaning with each thrust, his insides on fire.
“Ah!” he exclaimed when he came again. He cast his eyes back and clutched Aemond's cock, which gritted its teeth.

“Fuck,” hissed the prince, the thrusts so strong they shook the bed.
“Aemond! Aemond! Aemond!” cried Lucerys. He brought his arms behind his neck and pushed against him, joining their lips and tightening his thighs around his hips.
Aemond came with a low growl and slumped against his nephew's body, too exhausted to move.

Luke gasped against his ear, one hand stroking his back. Aemond weakly moved his hips against his, and his husband squealed.
The Targaryen prince smiled against his neck.
“Keep Aegon away from my guards,” Lucerys ordered against his ear.
Aemond nodded, wrapping an arm around his hips.

လလလ

Moondancer was waiting for her in the space that had occupied Vermax two nights earlier. Her brother and the ship that would take little Viserys and Aegon to Pentos had left several hours earlier, when the sun had not yet kissed the horizon.

It had been a painful departure, with the children attempting to wear a stoic, tough mask but eventually bursting into tears in the arms of their parents, who had been too frightened to let them go.

Rhaenyra had held them close to her until the last moment. She had led them to the ship and kissed their foreheads. Daemon's legs had been trembling as the ship had begun to pull away, with the children waving goodbye and Jacaerys following them into the air.

“Be careful,” her father said, laying a hand on her shoulder. He and Corlys had accompanied her to the top of the hill. There was silence between them, Rhaenys's death not yet over, nor the crack that had separated them after her disappearance.

The two men were no longer talking. They merely exchanged military proposals and techniques, but at the end of the day Corlys would retire to his own room, preferring to dine alone or in the company of his grandchildren.
“Don't worry,” Baela said, holding her father in a hug.

He sighed evidently marked by the distance of all his children. Lucerys a prisoner in King's Landing. Rhaena safe in the Eyrie. Jacaerys, Viserys and Aegon at sea, at the mercy of the waves.

And now his favorite daughter was leaving to reach the place where her cousin Rhaenys had died, killed by the Greens.
“Your father is right to worry,” Corlys said as she pulled him into a hug, leaving a kiss on his cheek covered by a light layer of white beard.

“Don't worry, I'll be back within a couple of days,” she said, mentioning Moondancer moving from paw to paw, excited at the prospect of being able to take to the skies again with her knight. It had been months since they had last flown together.
Daemon nodded and sighed and left a kiss in her hair, watching her climb up her dragon's leg and fasten the leather laces to her thighs.

“Perhaps I could... visit Rhaena?” she asked, clutching the reins of her green beast.
Moondancer was very reminiscent of Vermax, but her hue was lighter and her figure slimmer.
Daemon seemed to think about it and then nodded.

“Fly high and don't attract attention,” he advised when she smiled at him. She had never spent so much time away from her twin. Even when they had lived separately, one at Driftmark and the other at Dragonstone, Baela could fly over the sea and be with her in a few hours.

“I promise,” Baela said, clapping a hand against Moondancer's neck, who hissed excitedly.
“See you soon!” she shouted as her dragon took flight.
She saw the figures of her father and grandfather grow smaller and smaller, their arms raised in one last sweet farewell.

လလလ

Aegon sighed and sank his face into the pillow. He reached out his arm to his own hip and clutched his lover's slender waist. His lover for a good two days.
He huffed and sank his face against his neck, lifted one leg and laid it over his, forcing it against his own body, his erection pressing against his buttocks.

He found it incredible that such an average man had such a fabulous body.
“Your Grace... I'm afraid we'll have to get up before long, the Council is waiting for you,” Larys said, lifting a hand so he could caress the thigh of his king, who had begun moving his hips against his and kissing his neck. There, at the level of the mark, towered a purplish-red bruise that Larys should well have hidden from anyone's sight.

“The Council will not begin without me,” he said, yawning against his ear.
The celebration of Rhaenys's death had been delayed, or so it had been the will of Alicent who had not wanted to risk another attack by the Blacks.

“But I cannot arrive late, Your Grace, if I did, rumors would begin to spread,” Larys said without moving, however; he knew better than to test his irascible ruler.
Aegon sighed against his neck and left a languid, moist kiss there. One hand began to slide down the omega's belly, past his resting cock and sank between his thighs, caressing lips swollen with arousal.

“Let them talk. You're the king's whore, that's got to be worth something!” exclaimed Aegon clutching him childishly. None of his previous lovers was like Larys Strong. It seemed that the Ser seemed to find real pleasure in his company, whether it was his mindless chatter or his body.

Larys giggled and pushed himself against him, causing him to sigh in pleasure.
“I'm afraid your grandfather and mother may not agree,” he said as Aegon wrapped his arms around his hips, forcing him to lie on his stomach to straddle him, rubbing his erection against his white buttocks.

“My grandfather and mother can go fuck themselves for all I care,” he said, sliding inside him with disarming ease.
Larys bit his lip and raised himself up on his elbows as his Lord leaned his chest against his back and nibbled on one of his shoulders, moving his hips with a mixture of rapid thrusts and slow circular motions.

Last night he called me Jace, Larys thought as Aegon gasped against his ear, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other clasped at chest level.
Larys did not care that his lord had spoken another man's name.
After all, it is infatuation with my nephew that got me into his bed, he thought, biting his lip as Aegon bit his ear.

“I'm afraid the Hand of the King and the Queen Mother don't like me very much,” Larys said again, and Aegon began to thrust into him more forcefully, making the mattress shudder and the bed creak.
Aegon smiled against his neck and leaned his chin against his shoulder, encircling his chest with his arms.

“The king likes you very much,” he hissed as he came inside him, letting go completely and being supported by Larys' arms, who once he caught his breath reached out a hand to the bedside table, taking a small bottle and drinking its contents in one gulp.

Aegon rolled off his back and pressed a hand against his forehead, leaving a slap against Larys' buttock, who smiled, resting his face on one hand.

“Will I still be your favorite toy when my nephew is brought to the palace in chains?” asked Larys, running his fingers down Aegon's sweaty chest, starting at his heart and sliding to his navel, going back and forth several times.

Aegon took his hand in his own and pressed it against his chest. He turned his head toward him and smiled.
“I want to break Jacaerys. Fucking him... well, that would be extremely pleasurable but why struggle when I have you?” he asked tugging him against his own chest.

Aegon grabbed him by the thighs and forced him to sit on his groin, their chests pressed against each other and their lips brushing against each other. He began stroking her back and once he reached her buttocks he cupped them in his hands, sliding lower and lower to his moist entrance into which he slipped two fingers.

Larys bit his lips and gasped against the mouth of his ever-insatiable Lord. Aegon grinned and continued to move his fingers, enjoying the circular motions with which Larys moved against him.
A soft knocking interrupted them and Aegon sighed in irritation, wrapping an arm around Larys' hips.

“What!?” he asked in an annoyed tone, Larys stroking his hair. He leaned over him and began kissing his neck, oblivious to the possibility of being late.
“The Council awaits you, Your Grace,” one of his guards said, and Aegon sighed, fixing his eyes in Larys'.

“Come to me after the festivities,” he told him, kissing him quickly.
Larys nodded and rolled off his chest.

လလလ

The wind tousled his hair as the hilt of his sword dug a furrow in his side. He had decided to fly as low as possible, so that Vermax's paws brushed against the waves.

His eyes were fixed on his side, on the ship on which his brothers and twenty armed men were traveling. His grandfather's men, specially chosen by the Lord of the Tides. He did not need to look ahead; he trusted his dragon enough to trust him with his life.
Aegon and Viserys reciprocated his gaze, enjoying greeting him and showing him their tongues.

Jacaerys laughed every time. It seemed that good humor had returned to fill the hearts of his brothers, and he could only be grateful.
The further they went, the more visibility became reduced. Corlys had assured that his men were good sailors, yet Jace was certain that they had led them into the middle of a fog bank on purpose.

He urged Vermax to fly closer to the ship, terrified that he might lose sight of it.
But there was something else that frightened him. There in the middle of the sea was a total absence of smell, and the silence seemed to grow more oppressive every moment. His heart was pounding and even Vermax seemed to be uncomfortable.

Jace unhooked the belt holding him to his dragon and running on his wing landed on the deck, letting his brothers hold him in an embrace.
There was something anxious about that ship and he could not understand why. The men kept moving as if nothing was wrong, talking to each other or altering course so as to avoid blind spots or swaths of becalmedness.

“What's going on?” asked Aegon, lifting his face to his brother. The boy, who was twelve years old, came just below his shoulders while Viserys, who was only nine, appeared to be the same height as Jonnel, his face hidden against his side.

“I don't know... a bad feeling,” Jace said holding them tight to his own body.
I can trust my grandfather, he told himself by running his gaze over the men he had never seen. Vermax's presence behind him reassured him but he wished the dragon could swoop down onto the deck of the ship and surround them with its great wings.

Something is wrong, he thought, leaving a caress in Viserys' hair.
“Are we following the correct course?” asked Jace when the captain reached them, perhaps having noticed his presence.
The man smiled affably at him and nodded.

“‘We follow the route specially drawn by the Sea Serpent,’ he said, slipping the map off his belt so he could show it to Jacaerys, who, however, understood nothing. It was Lucerys who had studied alongside their grandfather so that he could one day take his place.

“And is it ... reliable?” asked Jace without knowing why he suddenly no longer trusted his own grandfather.
Aegon lifted his eyes to him, as if confused. Jace left a kiss on his forehead and continued to look at the sailor.

“Lord Corlys is the most skilled sailor in the Seven Kingdoms, My prince, I'm sure his skills will not betray us,” the man commented with evident annoyance.

But Lord Corlys has just lost his wife and blames my mother, he thought without voicing that reasoning. He lowered his gaze to his black-clad brothers and pressed them more tightly against his own body.
I wonder if this is what a parent feels, he wondered biting his cheeks.

Vermax puffed out a cloud of steam that swept over them, making the two children smile.
“I think I'll take my brothers riding my dragon,” Jace said, returning his gaze to the captain who frowned, evidently hurt by the young prince's words.

The children seemed excited at the idea of being able to ride their older brother's dragon. Aegon's dragon, Stormcloud, had remained at Dragonstone, still too small to fly and too unpredictable to take a trip on a wooden ship.

“As you wish. But stay within sight, I would not want the weight to be too much for your beast,” commented the sailor, evidently unnerved by the prince's lack of confidence.
Jace nodded and helped Viserys put her feet up on the rail.
“Run up to the saddle,” he ordered him as Vermax made himself as close as possible.

Viserys nodded and without need of repetition sprinted forward, crossed the immense dark green wing and launched himself onto the saddle, clinging to the green rope reins.
Vermax did not seem excited about carrying a rider other than his own in the saddle but that was his Lord's order and he loved Jacaerys.
Viserys smiled and left a caress against Vermax's neck.

Aegon mounted the parapet holding his hand tightly in Jace's.
“You can do it,” he told him, smiling sweetly.
Aegon nodded, gave him one last look and then, just like his younger brother, began to run. He reached the saddle and grabbed onto the horns just at the instant an arrow went through his calf.

Aegon shrieked, and Viserys grabbed him by the arms as Vermax scrabbled brutally to the right, away from the ship.

“Aegon! Viserys!” shouted Jace as an arrow pierced Vermax's left wing membrane.
The dragon shot upward, away from the trajectory of that shower of arrows, showing Jacaerys what the mist had hidden from him and his grandfather's men.
Thirty ships of the Triarchy were coming straight for them.

“Captain!” exclaimed Jace but the men did not need his warning. The helmsman was already reversing course as the sailors clutched their weapons.
“Jace!” shouted Viserys with Aegon clutched behind him, his arms wrapped around his waist and tears streaming down his face. His pant leg was torn and a stream of red blood trickled down the hole, staining Vermax's green wing.

The youngest of his brothers wielded the reins like a madman as Vermax tried to approach the ship to get his rider to safety. But arrows kept raining from the sky, and one threatened to take one of his yellow eyes, only ending up cutting his cheek.

“Jace!” shouted Aegon, trying to help his brother tame the dragon gone mad with pain and concern for his knight.
Jace ran his gaze from the ships to the sweet faces of his brothers.

“Take them away, Vermax!” ordered Jace, drawing his sword as the ships grew closer and the first men began to be visible.

His green beast stopped struggling but did not obey, staying as close to the ship as possible.
“Come with us!” cried Viserys with his face streaked with tears.
Jace smiled at him despite his throat growing tighter.

“Take them to Winterfell!” he shouted again as the first ship brutally rammed them, causing him to stumble and fall against the parapet. An arrow struck him squarely in the left shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.
“Jace! Jace!” shouted Aegon and Viserys.
Jace reared up, sword drawn, and tore the arrow from his shoulder, a trickle of blood trickling down his arm.

“Cregan will protect you! I will return to you but now go! Take them away!” shouted Jace again, and perhaps this time Vermax understood his desperation because with a pained roar and a blaze directed at the second ship that plunged down, he flew away, being struck by a final arrow that sank into his left thigh.

Jace heard his brothers shouting his name but had no more time to attend to them; the first men had landed, engaging in combat with his grandfather's sailors.
The captain rushed to his side, sword drawn and teeth clenched as more men surrounded them.

“Do you still think the course was safe?” asked Jace, parrying an attacker's blow.
The captain laughed, a mocking, pained verse, as if he found himself doubting his Lord's sincerity.
“If we make it out alive, My prince, your grandfather will have much to explain,” commented the captain, decapitating one of the enemies.

“Therefore this is Prince Jacaerys,” commented a youthful voice. The captain stood before him, his legs spread wide and his sword firmly in his hands. Despite his large figure Jace could still see the face of the young man around whom the pirates had broken through.

He was good-looking, with long, wavy hair, abysmally black eyes, and a square face. Tall and menacing-looking. From his smell his designation was immediately obvious, an alpha.
“To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” asked Jace as the men around him shouted, distinctly outnumbered.

“Prince Daario Drahar,” said the young man handing him an elegant bow.
“That doesn't sound familiar,” commented the prince with green eyes fixed in his. The wound in his shoulder was throbbing and in tearing the arrow he must have torn the flesh further, a foolish move but leaving the dart in place would have greatly restricted his movements.

Daario chuckled as all around them Corlys' men died.
My grandfather would not have sent his men to their deaths-or would he? he wondered without taking his eyes off his enemy.

“I cannot be surprised. A dragon prince certainly cannot know just anyone,” he commented, and only then did Jace realize that the man spoke with the language of Westeros. His father had always described the Triarchy as barbaric and lacking in knowledge, yet that young man knew their language perfectly well.

He is a prince, Jace reminded himself.
“Were those your brothers the ones you sent away?” he asked, lifting his gaze to the sky. Jace forced himself not to turn around; he knew that Vermax was now far away, too far away to be touched by the arrows of their enemies.
Jace did not respond, and Daario chuckled again.

“Never mind,” muttered the prince, nodding to his men, who effortlessly eliminated the captain. Jace saw his head fall and almost felt sick.
“I'm afraid you are now my prisoner,” he commented, smiling affably at him.

လလလ

Aemond was the last to arrive at the Council Chamber. He immediately noticed the rancor-filled looks his grandfather was giving the Master of Whispers and wondered what Larys Strong might have done wrong.

Everything, he thought knowing the kind of man Harwin Strong's brother was.
Aemond sat to his brother's right and fixed his eyes on his face.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” he asked though he already knew the answer. His nephew had been more than detailed in explaining the noise Aegon's nose had made as it snapped against his knuckles.

Aegon grunted a laugh.
“Your fucking husband happened to my face,” he told him, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose, which twitched painfully.

Aemond hid a laugh and licked his lips. He lifted his eyes in front of him and met the face of his younger brother who seemed both sorry for Aegon's terrible appearance and curious to find out why his nephew had to hit his brother full in the face.
It's Aegon, no need for a reason, he thought as he pressed a hand against his forehead.

“He doesn't like me hanging around his guards, little shit,” Aegon commented, leaning his back against the comfortable chair.
Ah, thought Daeron.
Aemond sneered a laugh.

“I'm afraid he told me about it, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stay away from his guards,” Aemond said, taking a sip of wine while keeping his eye fixed on his brother.
Aegon cast his eyes to the sky and lifted his shoulders. A smile bent his lips and his eyes fixed on Larys Strong, who was busy discussing something in the company of the Master of Ravens.

“Don't worry, I've already found who to replace them with,” Aegon commented, chuckling with amusement.
Otto and Alicent wrinkled their noses. In that instant they looked so alike that Daeron would have had no doubt in saying they were father and daughter.

Ah, now I understand why our grandfather is so furious, thought Aemond shaking his head.
“But you have to punish our nephew,” Aegon said, still wiping a hand against his nose.

“That little shit has a nice fist, he reminds me a lot of his father!” he exclaimed, bursting out laughing at his own joke.
The council members, those who were listening to him, laughed in turn while the others continued to entertain their own conversations in preparation for the day's discussion.

“I'm afraid you will have to be patient with my husband. His condition is making him more short-tempered than usual,” Aemond said, fiddling with the orb that had been placed in front of him.

Alicent who sat by his side lifted her eyes to his face.
“What conditions?” she asked with furrowed brows and red curls dripping down her shoulders like chains of blood.
Aemond smiled at her.

“Lucerys is expecting a child,” he told her with a bright eye.
Otto Hightower choked on saliva while Aegon clapped his hands repeatedly, congratulating his younger brother.

“How can you be sure?” asked Alicent, taking her son's hand in her own. It seemed impossible to her that those words had left Aemond's lips, and by the looks of it she did not seem to be the only one.
She lowered her gaze to her son's hand and gasped as she noticed the knuckles stained red.

“Because his belly is round like a dome,” he said simply.
Aegon burst out laughing again, and Daeron looked at Aemond with alarm. He was certain that for the few moments he had seen their nephew, his belly was as flat as a shield.

No-his belly was covered, he said thoughtfully. He brought a hand to his lips, trying to remember what it was covered by.

“Impossible,” Otto Hightower sentenced, but Aemond ignored him.
“I know what I saw,” retorted Aemond who could still feel the texture of that small belly under his palm.

“You've been back just less than four days. It is impossible for his belly to be this-” Alicent paused, remembering Rhaenyra's tunic tight around Lucerys' shoulders and the smell of pregnancy that followed him wherever he went.

“He hid it,” she said, lifting her eyes to her son.
“He hid him for four months,” she continued with wide eyes and nausea rising up her throat. Lucerys had been acting under her nose all that time and she had had no idea.
Aegon burst out laughing again and wiped away a tear.

“Wait...does that mean you fucked him once and put a baby in him!? Congratulations to my little brother!” exclaimed Aegon clapping his hands on his back.
Daeron wrinkled his nose. He would have used a different tone to express such a concept as procreation but he complimented his brother all the same, giving him a small smile that Aemond returned.

“How could we have missed it?” asked Otto, resting his gaze on his daughter, who shook her head.
“The Master helped him. He used Rhaenyra's old clothes to hide the smell of pregnancy, and when Rhaenyra's smell gradually disappeared no one noticed the difference because it had gradually mixed with Lucerys',” Aemond explained, taking a sip from his own cup.

Becoming a parent had made him more patient with his grandfather's silly questions.
“Who helped him?” asked Alicent running her gaze over the council members and then over Larys Strong, as if she hoped the Master of Whispers would have the answer to that question.
Larys remained silent, his fingers intertwined over his staff and his chin resting on his hands.

“The Master. But fear not, he is locked in the dungeon with a few less nails and teeth,” Aemond commented, fixing his eyes on his own red-stained knuckles. He had done his best to clean himself in the short time he had had.

“Prince Lucerys must be stripped of his title. We cannot allow a descendant of Rhaenyra to think he can approach the Throne,” Otto said immediately, fixing his gaze on his king, who frowned, however.

“He is not a descendant of Rhaenyra. He is my son,” Aemond retorted, giving his grandfather a chilling look.
The King's Hand fixed his eyes in his, his hand pressed against the table shaking with fury.

“Her blood runs in his veins,’ he said as he imagined the little one growing in Lucerys' belly.
Four months, too long for Moon Tea, he thought as he bit his lip. Had it been two months they might have given it a try, but too much time had passed.
“My blood runs in his veins,” Aemond retorted, tapping his palm against the table.

The remaining board members were silent. Criston Cole did not know what to say. He could not imagine that the young man whose eye had been plucked out would defend in that way the bastard who had stolen it from him.

Their little bastard, he thought, biting his cheeks.
Will he be born with white hair? Or will he remember our nephew? wondered Aegon chuckling. Either way it will be funny.

“There is nothing to discuss,” said the king, and his voice was enough to dispel the tension.
Aemond turned his attention back to him and Otto desperately bit his lips, digging his nails into the flesh of his legs.

“The little one is my brother's son and as such is a prince. And in any case, my dear grandfather, if I should unfortunately die my Throne will pass to my son, not to Aemond,” Aegon said, reminding the inner council of the little heir's existence.
Son who almost lost his head, Larys Strong recalled.

“The only thing worth discussing is the Master's death. He lied to the whole family and must be eliminated,” Aemond said, licking his lips.
Aegon smiled, his face suddenly brighter.

Is that really all it takes to make him smile? Kill someone? wondered Daeron, clasping his hands in his lap. He imagined he had come into the world into the wrong family. Or perhaps it was King's Landing and the Red Keep that had made his family members that way.

Yet Helaena is not like them, he thought with a grave sigh.
“He is not to be killed. Lucerys has already suffered too many losses and the mother of your son needs peace and calm,” Daeron said as he looked his brother in the face. He hoped that leveraging that small child would be enough to quench Aemond's bloodlust.
Aegon rolled his eyes but muttered in agreement, crossing his arms like a child who had been grounded.

“All right then! The Master will live,” Aegon muttered, biting his lip. His frown disappeared when he met Larys Strong's gaze.
“Come on, Grandfather, tell us what we need to talk about,” Aegon said as he composedly sat back down. Otto opened his mouth and his brain shut down, too busy imagining how he would fuck Larys that night.

လလလ

Jace tugged at the chains and hissed when again the iron pedestal did not move.
Bastards, he thought as he bit his lip, his eyes fixed on the iron bolted into the hardwood floor. A large ring was connected to the iron platform, and three chains protruded from it. Two, just under ten centimeters long were connected to his ankles. They prevented him from moving, forcing him into the small corner. Another, the middle one, stretched far enough to tighten around his wrists constricted in front of his belly. He could not lift his arms and could not pull his hands away from each other.

He was stuck.

Completely immobilized.
A prisoner on a ship of the Triarchy.
“Shit,” he hissed as he leaned against the wall. He let his head fall back and it slammed into the hard wood.

“There you are,” Daario commented as he slipped below deck. He held an apple clutched in one hand, his sword strapped to his side and his hair pulled back into a high tail.
“I am where you left me!” hissed Jacaerys tugging at the chains again. He hoped the sight of his jailer would be enough to restore some of his strength but nothing, the chains remained stuck in the floor.

Daario took a bite from his apple and then threw it to the floor, approaching Jace, who lifted his head, looking straight into his face.

“So angry,” he said taking his chin between forefinger and thumb. Jace tried to evade, but the Braavosian's grip was strong and firm. His black eyes studied his face, focusing on his juicy mouth.
“And these lips so pouty,” he said again forcing him into a kiss.

Jace squinted his eyes and jerked his head forward. Daario stepped back a step, and Jace, who had lost his balance, fell to his knees.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” he asked as he passed a hand against his lips, barely managed to graze his mouth and only because he bowed his head.

Daario chuckled and sat down on a low chair, his long legs crossed and his dark eyes fixed on his figure crouched on the ground. Jace spat on the floor, making sure to get rid of any dirt or fluid from the other man.

“You've got the taste of another alpha on your mouth,” Daario told him, and Jace huffed out a laugh, however, unable to conceal how much those words had him on edge.
Could it be that he could actually smell Cregan? he wondered, biting the inside of his cheeks until they bled.

“Those who flew away were your brothers? Aegon wants you all to himself but maybe I could get a white-haired pup,” chirped Daario rubbing his hands together.
Jace growled at him.

“Stay away from my brothers!” he exclaimed, showing him his teeth.
Daario smiled again and lifted his hands, eyes fixed on him as he awkwardly tried to stand up, his left shoulder throbbing from the untreated wound and the chains clenched around his ankles beginning to ache.

“Relax! I have no idea where they went anyway... you don't want to tell me,” he whimpered, licking his lips. He stood up and then stood in front of him, looking down at him. Jace frowned but did not look away.

“Aegon wanted them dead. If you had not turned them away on your splendid dragon they would be fish food,” he told him, lifting a hand so he could stroke his hair. Jace tried to bite him and he jumped back, giggling.
Jace took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, the chains preventing him from going too far.

“Was it my grandfather, Lord Corlys Velaryon, who sent you here?” asked Jace, fixing his eyes in his. Daario bent down and picked up the apple he had dropped, flashed it in one hand and then threw it at Jacaerys, hitting him squarely in the center of the forehead. The prince hissed and looked away, biting his cheeks.
Daario tilted his head and looked at the apple rolling back, right between his legs.

“I don't know any Lord Corlys Velaryon, but that map your helmsman used led right into our bellies,” Daario commented as he slipped the parchment from his belt. He unrolled it and showed a modified version, where the exact location of the ships of the Triarchy had been added.

“Traitor bastard!” exclaimed Jace as he kicked at the ground.
He felt his eyes fill with tears but held them back. He pulled up with his nose and rubbed one cheek against the shoulder of his own shirt. He gasped when he accidentally grazed the wound.

He tried to kill my brothers! He sold me to Aegon and- he interrupted himself, his eyes big.
My mother and father don't know, he fell to his knees.

“Fuck!” he shouted, pounding his fists on the ground.
Daario chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
“'Cheer up! Think of the bright side! You're about to see your little brother again!” he told him, grinning.

လလလ

Moondancer glided into what had evidently been a battlefield. The grass was crushed where the bodies had fallen and some of the brush had fallen prey to the flames. And there, a short distance from the entrance to the fortress was the body of Meleys.

Oh, thought Beala as she brought a hand to her mouth, holding back the gasp of vomit that had risen up her throat.
Her head is gone. They cut it off, she thought as she slid down from Moondancer's saddle. Her green dragon did not seem intent on coming any closer, the smell of the carcass that was already horrifying to Baela must have been even more disgusting to her.

She coughed and stepped forward, one hand clenched against her own sword and the other pressed against her nose. She felt her eyes water from the stench and passed as far away from Meleys body as she could while trying to give her the proper respect.

She died protecting my grandmother, she thought as she passed the red-scaled beast. Her wings had broken off on impact and so had one of her hind legs. There were wounds and cuts all over her body, and her saddle was charred, almost completely torn from her back from which bones were peeking out.

She tried to approach but the smell was such that she was unable to take a single step forward and so she continued ahead, coming to the front of the large doors that had been thrown wide open.

Lord Staunton and some of his men were waiting for her dressed in black and with their heads down.
May they be mourning for... my grandmother? she wondered as she stopped before the Lord of the Keep, a tall, gray-haired man with a square, battle-scarred face.

“Lady Baela,” he greeted her, presenting her with a small bow.
She replied in the same way but her reverence was less deep and her hand remained pressed against her nose. She was certain that she would continue to smell that odor for months on end.

“Lord Staunton,” she replied as she looked around. The men of Rook's Rest all looked downcast. It seemed that Meleys' corpse no longer gave them any joy.
“Please follow me,” he said as he walked inside the fortress.
Baela immediately flanked him, glad to forget the sight that would haunt her in her nightmares.

“I hope you had a good journey,” the lord said again as he swiftly led her along wide, brightly lit corridors. There was no need for pleasantries; the Lord knew why the Lady of Dragonstone had visited him.
“As far as reasons allowed,” she said with one hand tightly clasped against her own sword and curious eyes looking around.

He smiled forcedly and stopped in front of a small door. They had gone down into the depths of the palace, where the air grew colder and small white clouds came out of Baela's mouth.
Lord Staunton sig

Lord Staunton sighed and opened the door, inviting the Lady to follow him.
Baela risked feeling sick.
There, lying on a slab of black marble, was her grandmother's body.

They had not even tried to dress it, there were no arms or legs to put a dress on, it was a shriveled body curled up in a fetal position.
“I'm sorry,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Baela pulled up with her nose and looked upward, trying to hide her tears.

“I'm afraid if you try to move her, she will be reduced to ashes ... but we can hold her funeral here,” the lord said, smiling at the brave woman who had saved him and his men. Every day he thought about what would have happened if he had not asked for her help, if he had not succumbed to that mean trap. And every day he came to the same conclusion. He would have asked for the Black Queen's help and another Targaryen would have fallen before his doors.

“Yes. We will hold her funeral here,” she said, swallowing.
I will take her ashes to my grandfather, she thought as four men entered the crypt and lifted the charred body of Rhaenys Targaryen.

Lord Staunton accompanied her to the surface, but Baela did not realize she had reached it until she was placed before a funeral pyre concealed farther out on the plain, away from Meleys' body and away from the keep.

Moondancer chirped behind her back and Baela lifted a hand, stroking her green chin.
“Dracarys,” she whispered as a column of fire swept over what was left of her grandmother.
“You can stay for the night,” Lord Staunton suggested when the body stopped smoking and the Master had collected the princess's ashes, depositing them in a small white jar.
Baela shook her head but thanked him with a nod.

“I think I want to be with my family,” she said clutching the vase against her chest.
The lord nodded and watched her climb up Moondancer's paw.

“Rook's Rest will always be indebted to Princess Rhaenys! We will fight for the Black Queen as long as we have breath in our bodies!” shouted the Lord as the dragon and Lady soared skyward, up and over the clouds, heading for the Eyrie.

လလလ

He had no idea why he had been summoned to the Throne Room. It was evident that Aemond had spilled the beans about his pregnancy but he did not believe that was the reason for such excitement.

Aegon sat on the Throne, his eyes fixed on his own nails and his face resting on one hand. He had a cup of wine resting at his feet and a bored expression twisting his already scarred face from Lucerys' fist.

Helaena and her children stood to his right, along with Alicent and Ser Otto.
He, Aemond and Daeron stood to his left.
Lords and Ladies were scattered around the hall, partially hidden by semi-darkness but still too visible for Lucerys' taste.

Traitors, he thought, shuddering when Aemond placed a hand at the base of his back. His mother's clothes had been disposed of, taken away while he washed. He had no idea where they had been taken but he was certain he would never see them again. Now his body was swaddled in tight black clothes so as to show off the small belly that he caressed without any concern.

For he might have hated her husband but he was beginning to love that tiny creature moving inside his belly.
The huge doors shuddered and Aegon straightened on his Throne, his hands firmly fixed against the sharp arms and his bright eyes watching the doors open with disarming slowness.

Luke first saw a man dressed in yellow and black, with long hair pulled back into a high ponytail and a smirk on his face.
Behind him, then, he saw his older brother. Jace appeared to be limping, and only later did Luke realize that his brother's legs were not injured, but the chains around his ankles were so short that he could only take small steps. The chains at his ankles were then connected to those around his wrists, long enough to hold his hands in front of his stomach.

Jace, he whispered as he looked at the red trickle that starting from his left shoulder ran down his chest.
“Jace!” he exclaimed, throwing himself forward. Aemond held him by his robe and forced him backward, his back pressed against his chest and one hand protecting the small belly.
“Luke!” exclaimed Jacaerys in response. He tried to get past his captor but the short chains knocked him to the ground, causing him to slam his chin against the floor and then cut his lip with his teeth.

Daario burst out laughing and grabbed Jace by the hair, forcing him to rise to his feet.
“A family reunion! What a wonderful sight!” exclaimed the Braavosian, making Aegon laugh, who clapped a hand against his leg, as if that was the best joke he had ever heard.
Luke gave him a chilling look and then turned back to look at his brother whose chin and neck were now covered in red.

Jace… whispered biting his lip.
“Daario Drahar! I thank you for bringing my nephew home!” said Aegon, continuing to smile like a maniac.

Jace paid no attention to either his uncle or the court that excitedly took note of his capture. His eyes were solely on his younger brother who was forced against Aemond's chest. His eyes ran from Luke's to the hand Aemond had clasped around his belly, and then he had confirmation.
Luke was indeed expecting a baby.

Shit, he thought biting his already tortured cheeks.
“Duty, your grace. Unfortunately, the two little princes were lost at sea,” said the Braavosian wrinkling his nose as if disturbed by it. Jace fixed his eyes on his head, his lip throbbing painfully and blood trickling both out and into his mouth. He swallowed a heap of blood and saliva, his eyes met Luke's, which had become immobile, his irises grainy.

“Dead?” asked Aegon, looking at his fingernails.
“Unfortunately. The older one took an arrow in the neck and the smaller one fell into the sea. This one,” and he pointed to Jace with a nod of his head.
“He dived in to save him but... it went bad,” he commented, crossing his arms against his chest.
Why does he lie for us? Why does he protect them? wondered Jace. He shook his head.

Not one of those words was true but Luke had to understand it as a gesture of disbelief as his knees gave way and Aemond was forced to support him.
Corlys used to say that a skillful merchant kept his feet in two different shoes and that only when he was certain of the outcome would he choose the best option.

Is he still studying? he wondered with eyes fixed on Lucerys who had brought his hands to his face, sobbing silently.
Daeron who was at Aemond's side had his eyes widened, his shoulders stiff and his hands clenched into fists.

At least someone in that family seems to be mourning the death of two children, Jace thought, running his eyes over to whoever was on Aegon's right. Otto and Alicent remained in respectful silence but their joy at the death of two more Blacks was more than palpable.

Helaena held her hands tightly against her sons' shoulders, her eyes downcast and her cheeks wet.
The smell of suffering omega was so strong it made his stomach twist. But the Usurping King, from the height of his Throne, was not expected to smell it.

“Eh, I don't care about them,” muttered Aegon, stretching his legs to make his knees creak.
“You bastard!” hissed Jace trying to step forward. If the chains had been long enough he would have thrown himself on his uncle but Daario grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to his knees, his eyes still fixed on his Green King.

“Ah! Look who the pulpit comes from!” exclaimed Aegon chuckling.
“You killed two children! Children!” cried Lucerys who had regained strength in his legs. He still tried to wriggle out of his husband's grasp, undecided whether to run to defend his brother just as he had done that fateful night at Driftmark or climb up the Throne stairs and clasp his hands around Aegon's throat.

“I have killed children!? Need I remind you that your bastard stepfather almost killed my son!? My son!” exclaimed Aegon, clapping his hands against the arms of the Throne. The metal vibrated under his blows and one of the many swords slashed his palm, causing him to hiss in pain.
A pained growl left Jace's lips.

“You son of-” Daario grabbed him by the wounded shoulder and made him hiss in pain, forcing him to silence.
“Jace!” exclaimed Luke, who could no longer see his brother reduced to that condition.

His broken heart now divided into four. One for Rhaenys. One for Aegon. One for Viserys. The fourth still beat, causing the others to bleed more.
Alicent cleared her throat and intertwined her hands in front of her flat belly.
“I think Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys need rest, they are both very tried,” said the Green Queen turning to her eldest son who snorted but nodded.

“Take Jacaerys to the dungeon,” he muttered, hinting to the guards, who immediately grabbed Jace by the arms, forcing him to his feet.
“And order the new Master to tend to his wounds,” Alicent continued as, kicking and screaming, Jace was led out of the Throne Room.
Aegon licked his lips.

“He does not need a Master,” he said as he looked at Daario who peacefully stood in the center of the hall, his feet near the small dark red puddle that had left Jacaerys lip.

Luke whimpered pitifully, his bright eyes fixed on his brother being carried away.
Aemond held him more tightly against his chest and began to lead him toward the back exit, away from all the stares of the court that still seemed to have eyes only for the Black Queen's heir.

“He needs it if you want him alive,” Otto retorted, fixing his eyes on the king, who threw his gaze to the sky and crossed his arms against his chest.
Aemond and Luke had reached the door when the young prince heard the last words spoken by his grandmother.

“Perhaps, now that two sons are prisoners and two are dead, Rhaenyra will be more willing to surrender.”
No. My mother will never surrender dirty hag!

Chapter Text

Aegon was exhausted. Tired of his Councilors and that stupid hall. All he wanted to do was enjoy his victory celebrations, get drunk and get laid. Instead, twice in the same day, he found himself imprisoned in that room.

Being a King is bullshit, he told himself as his grandfather babbled in that haughty tone he so hated.
He had been talking for almost an hour, but the summary of that monologue was always the same.

“Rhaenyra has only one heir,” Otto said as he intertwined his fingers over the large table.
This Joffrey I hear so much about, thought Daeron who wished he could see a portrait of him, something that might give him an idea of this young man everyone was talking about.

Now that he had also met the eldest of his nephews he could get an idea of him. He certainly must have had dark, curly hair, a straight nose and juicy lips. His cheeks were probably splashed with freckles and his eyebrows always arched downward.
His eyes, however, he could not imagine.

Lucerys' eyes were such a deep brown that they looked black, yet when hit by sunlight they turned gold and silver when it was the moon brushed against them.
Jacaerys' eyes were green. A green that went from the dark of moss to the light of newly sprouted grass.

Did he inherit his mother's colors? he wondered then imagining a young man with black hair and violet eyes.
Princess Rhaenys wore her mother's hair and her father's eyes, he thought again licking his lips. It was not so unlikely that her sister's young sons had inherited the colors of the Queen That Never Was.

“Don't forget Daemon's two daughters, Baela and Rhaena, an alpha and an omega,” Alicent said as she remembered the young women who had sat at her table. Both seemed to have the same temperament as their parent even though Rhaena concealed it to an excellent degree.

“Rhaena is no threat but Baela can fight and she has a dragon,” Aemond muttered while showing no concern whatsoever, seeming merely to expound on information gathered over time. His mind was on something else, on his sweet husband who had once again locked himself in his own room and threatened to hit him with every item laid out on his desk.

I’m thankful I took the dagger away from him, he thought as he scratched his offended cheek.
When he had left their room he had heard him crying behind the closed door. Aemond did not care about his uncle's children. He did not even remember meeting them, but their deaths made his omega suffer, and a small part of him suffered along with Lucerys.

“A little dragon. No threat to anyone,” Aegon grumbled as he continued to gaze out the many windows. The sun was almost setting and the hour of celebration was getting closer and closer.
“But a little dragon can grow,” Otto commented.
Aegon cast his eyes to the sky and sighed deeply.

“Then we will kill her and her dragon,” he muttered, smiling at his grandfather, who seemed to agree with those words. By now they had begun a killing spree that would not end except in their victory or defeat.
“Before Lady Baela's death I'm afraid we have other matters to attend to,” Larys Strong said from the end of the long table, his face as always resting on his fingers intertwined on his staff.

Aegon would have liked to have had him in his brothers' place but knew that Larys would not appreciate being made the center of attention in this way. His little lover preferred to act in the shadows and there, from the back of the long table, he could watch and study without being seen, hidden between the bodies of Jason Lannister and Criston Cole.

Alicent fixed her eyes on him, her thick red eyebrows curled and her hands clasped in her lap.
“What's the matter again?” asked Aegon in a quieter tone than he would have used if it had been his grandfather or another Council member pointing out the rise of a new problem.

Aemond cast him a glance and Aegon ignored it handsomely, preferring to continue looking at the omega who sat at the opposite end of the table.

“It appears that Cregan Stark and his Wolves are moving toward Harrenhal. Within a couple of months we may find them at the gates of King's Landing,” Larys explained, blinking slowly, as if bored. There did not seem to be anything that could bring him any particular joy or entertainment.

“How can you be sure?” asked Alicent whose new entertainment seemed to be antagonizing Lyonel Strong's last son.
“I am the Master of Whispers, My Lady,” replied Larys, nodding to his own ears. Everyone knew that Larys had spies scattered in every corner of the city and perhaps the Kingdom. Daeron was certain that a small infiltrator was hidden in the palaces of their allies, ready to report to the omega every smallest discovery.

“It seems Jacaerys was successful with his mission,” muttered Aemond, who had hoped to see him fail. It seemed that the Starks were not the most sociable men in Westeros, and yet his nephew had succeeded in the difficult mission of getting the young Wolf to side with his whore mother.

“We cannot allow them to advance any further,” commented Daeron, who had no intention of bringing a war on the people of King's Landing. He did not know Cregan Stark but had heard much about the Wolves of the North and their incredible fighting skills. Bloodthirsty beasts someone described them.

“Would it really be a problem if they came to town? We have three dragons, we can annihilate them easily,” Aegon commented, scratching one cheek.
Alicent bit her cheeks, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. She loved her children but the lack of interest Aegon showed never ceased to annoy.

“You cannot raze the city to the ground. Your job as king is to protect it and not set it on fire,” she said, interlacing her fingers against her green dress.

Not to mention the fact that the ships of the Triarchy are stopped in port, she thought as she sighed wearily. Those flags and ethnic-looking men had attracted quite a few stares and alarmed the poor fishermen who were forced to pass by the side of the huge ships and pray that the pirates would not decide to plunder them.

“All right! All right! We won't burn the town,” Aegon said, leaning his face against one hand. His boredom was beginning to become more than palpable.
“We will send Aemond and Daeron to deal with them. With two dragons they should get rid of those wolves in just under a day,” Aegon concluded, rubbing his hands together as if the matter was settled.

He made to stand up but Otto raised a hand, inviting him to remain seated. Aegon ignored him but when he noticed Larys Strong's eyes fixed on himself he decided to give his grandfather a few more moments of his time.
By now the sun had come to kiss the sea and would soon disappear, sinking into the waves.

“King's Landing needs protection. Aemond is better off staying here,” Otto said, licking his lips. He was no fool; he knew that as soon as word of the death of two Targaryen princes and the capture of Jacaerys reached the Black Queen's ears fire and blood would behed over King's Landing. But perhaps a dragon the size of Vhagar would keep the contenders away from the city.

“We will send Prince Daeron and Ser Criston to face the Wolves,” concluded the Hand of the King. As much as Cregan Stark's mangy dogs might have been a threat to a common army, they certainly could not have taken down a dragon.
Aegon clapped his hands together.

“It is settled,” the ruler commented, again making to rise.
“I wish you would try to bring Cregan Stark to our side,” Alicent said, laying eyes on the youngest of his sons.

Aegon returned to his seat, patience waning more and more as well as the sun gradually fading.
“I'm afraid it's going to be a tough mission, My Lady,” Larys said, drawing attention to himself. Daeron allowed himself a sigh of relief; he could fight Cregan Stark's Wolves but he did not wish to attempt to corrupt the soul of a righteous man.

“What for?” asked Alicent with a vein that had begun to pulse on her neck.
“It seems that the loyalty of the Lord of Winterfell is like that of a dog, granted to one master only,” Larys explained, letting a small smile escape.
And his master is Jacaerys, clearly, Daeron thought as he passed a hand against his face.

“Still gives it a try,” Alicent ordered, cutting off any kind of discussion.
Daeron thought that no one had asked him if he wished to leave. Criston Cole could be sent to the ends of the world without being able to object, but he still remained a prince.
“How soon should I leave?” asked Daeron.
“As soon as possible,” answered Otto immediately.

“Give yourself a week's rest! Have fun and smile more often,” Aegon told him, tapping his finger in the center of his forehead.
And that was the king's word.

A week, well… better than nothing, he thought as his older brother hurriedly got up to leave the council.

လလလ

“Here you are little friend,” Eliza whispered, tying the small parchment to the leg of Lady Mysaria's raven, a small plucked creature with large gray eyes. She was not the best of beasts, but she carried out her tasks and was extremely quiet, a dowry required when the little raven was confined in her small room for days at a time.

The raven pecked her finger and glided out the window, flying over the cities rooftops and heading for Dragonstone.

Eliza pressed a hand against her chest and finally allowed herself to breathe. She had run to her room as soon as she had seen what had happened in the Throne Room.
Prince Jacaerys taken prisoner and his brothers dead.

Queen Rhaenyra will be devastated, she thought as she fiddled with the collar of her white apron.
She will be furious, she ran, hoping that the queen would finally decide to raze the Red Keep to the ground.

But she won't do it with her children inside, she thought as she sat in front of the window on an old trunk full of clean clothes, a courtesy of her Lady.
The door was yanked open and jerked open, Eliza pressing a hand against her throat, her black eyes fixed on the three figures standing in the doorway.

Larys Strong stood there between two guards, his cold blue eyes fixed on her and the fingers of his right hand wrapped around his cane.
“Arrest her,” he ordered, hinting at her as if she had been a useless piece of wallpaper.
The two alphas stepped forward and grabbed her by the arms, dragging her out of the safety of her small room.

“What are you doing! I haven't done anything!” she shouted kicking and screaming as the two men yanked her and her feet slid against the smooth floor, the soles of her boots unable to do anything against those of the soldiers.

“Is spying on your king nothing?” asked Larys coming up behind her.
“I don't know what you are talking about! I'm just a servant!” she exclaimed, trying to resist.
Larys chuckled, one hand pressed against his lips so as to hide his straight white teeth.

“Of course, my dear,” he said, moving a tuft of curly hair behind one ear.
“Take her to the dungeon! Let her keep Prince Jacaerys company,” he ordered, stopping in the middle of the corridor, watching the young spy being led away kicking and screaming.

She has so much to learn, he thought rubbing a hand against his beardless chin.
Too bad she won't have the time, he told himself as he returned to her room, ready to search for every little clue, excluding the raven that had narrowly escaped him, that might lead back to the Blacks.

လလလ

Aegon was over the moon. Finally after almost five months he could indulge in another celebration. And that night they had as many as three facts to celebrate.

The hall was grandly lit and decorated. Huge candelabras hung from the ceiling and more small candles were attached to the walls. The windows were draped with long dark green curtains that brushed against the smooth, polished floors, perfectly cleaned by the servants.
Aegon was on his third cup of the evening, half as many as he would usually drink. But that night he wanted to have a clear mind.

Clear mind and straight cock! he thought with a snicker. He could not see Larys Strong anywhere but his little spy must be busy with some new ruse or deception. On the other hand his wife sat to his right, hands clasped in her lap and eyes fixed on the long room full of tables and chairs, with Lord and Lady celebrating though not fully sure what they were celebrating.

The twins were not present, still too young to participate in that kind of celebration.
Nonsense, thought Aegon as he took another sip of wine. The children would fall asleep before the real celebration had even begun but they would begin to appreciate what would be their future.
Especially Jaehaerys, my heir, he thought with a smile.

Aegon looked to his own left, where Aemond and Lucerys stood. His brother's hand had not yet left the small round belly of his groom.

And it never will, Luke thought as he lowered his gaze to the long fingers of his uncle, who seemed to have found in his stomach the best place to rest. The baby growing in his belly had moved a few times but every time it had, Aemond had reciprocated by leaving a caress against his black-covered skin.

If nothing else they didn't make me wear green, he thought as he ran his eyes down the table only to realize he was the only one wearing a color that wasn't a shade of green.
Maybe they preferred black to my nakedness, he thought as he bit his lip.
Or maybe they respect my mourning, he thought as he clasped his hands against his thighs. He would have liked to press them against his own stomach but he would not have risked accidentally brushing his husband's hand. He would not put bizarre ideas into his head.

He sighed and leaned his head against the back of the comfortable chair. The last thing he wanted to do was celebrate. His older brother was locked up in the dungeon and his younger brothers were dead.

He bit his lips, holding back a sob. Although he doubted that anyone except Aemond would notice his tears. The music was so loud that his sobs would be lost in the wind, and the smells of alpha and omega mingled into a terrible jumble that would perfectly hide his despondency.

“Eat something,” Aemond suggested, stroking his belly.
Luke shook his head.
“I'm not hungry,” he told him without lifting his gaze from his plate. The nausea had disappeared after the third month and yet he had thrown up four times that day and was certain that by the end of the evening he would throw up as many times.

“The baby needs you to be strong,” Aemond said, smiling at the small belly, as if he expected the baby to be able to see him.
Luke shook his head.
“The baby needs my brother to be free and my little brothers to be alive,” he told him clutching a hand against his throat, his heart beating so fast it could have exploded and stained the whole room red.

Aemond did not respond and went back to watching the celebrating guests, unaware of the commotion that was taking place at the royal family table.

Daeron turned a glance to his nephew. Close as he was he could not fail to hear the small words he and his brother exchanged. He looked in turn at his own plate and was not surprised to find it full; the death of his nephews had marked him too.

Two children... dead, he thought as he ran a hand against his face.
And my brother shows not an ounce of interest, he continued as he watched Aegon stand up.
The chatter in the hall continued for a few more seconds and then everyone fell silent, noticing their King about to speak.

“This is an evening of great celebration!” began Aegon, raising his own cup.
Everyone imitated him; only Helaena, Daeron and Lucerys avoided joining in the toast.

Aemond took a sip from his own cup and then placed it back on the table, his only eye fixed on his older brother's face and his hand remaining pressed against Lucerys' belly. He hoped his nephew would decide to give in to temptation and rest his fingers on his. But Luke was stubborn and seemed to prefer clutching the fabric of his pants rather than seeking the comfort he so longed for.

Stubborn, he thought biting his cheeks to hold back a laugh.
“Let's celebrate me and my brothers that together took down the Queen That Never Was and the Red Queen!” exclaimed Aegon eliciting a chorus of excitement from the crowd.

Luke swallowed, chasing back the vomit in the back of his throat. He would have gladly sullied that celebration but he would not allow himself to show weakness in front of all those Vipers who were waiting for nothing more than his moment of feebleness to make him capitulate.

A chorus of applause rose from the adoring crowd and many shouted the names of the princes. Aemond merely responded with a small wave of his hand while Daeron averted his head, as if hoping to disappear.

“Let us celebrate my brother Aemond and his groom who will give the world a new prince! A Targaryen!” exclaimed Aegon as he nodded to his brother, who thanked him, his hand having begun to caress Lucerys' belly.

If he keeps this up I'm going to vomit on his shoes, he thought as he took a sip of wine to drive back the sour taste that had run up his throat.
This time Helaena also joined in the applause, and Luke sighed, preferring to look away.
Too bad that everywhere he looks I see Vipers, he thought, biting his lip.

“Let us celebrate the capture of Prince Jacaerys who is now locked in my dungeon!” exclaimed Aegon, and Luke bit his cheeks. He looked down, as if he could imagine his brother doing just the exact opposite and looking upward, seeking his eyes with his own.

“And finally! Finally we celebrate the death of my uncle's children because now my sister, the usurper, the Black Queen, has only one heir!” shouted Aegon, and equally excited shouts rose from the crowd.
Luke closed his eyes, hoping to disappear inside his own seat.

Helaena grabbed Aegon by the arm and forced him to sit down, her eyes fixed on her own empty plate and her white teeth tormenting her red lips.
“You didn't have to say that,” she whispered, tormenting the hem of her own gown with her long, manicured fingernails.
Aegon cast his eyes to the sky and took the last sip of wine.

“I am the king. I can say whatever I want,” he told her, passing an arm around her shoulders. She drew back and looked with big eyes at their nephew who was huddled more and more in his chair, his head bowed and Aemond's hand pressed against his stomach.
Aegon rolled his eyes.
“He'll be fine. He's not a baby,” he grumbled as a servant filled his now-empty cup.

Helaena shrugged her shoulders and pushed her husband's hand away. She picked up her own cup and took a small sip.

“His brothers have been killed. Cut him some slack,” she ordered, turning her gaze toward her mother who silently sat at her side, her eyes fixed on Daario who had been invited to join the festivities. The alpha spoke amiably with the Lords and Ladies who had sat by her side, telling them about his native land and the heroic capture of Prince Jacaerys.

“He is expecting a child, soon the sorrow he feels will be replaced by love for that little pink thing,” Aegon commented, sighing wearily. The excitement of the celebration seemed to be fading, replaced by a desire to sink into one's bed and sleep until noon the following day.

“The pain of their loss will never go away,” Helaena corrected him, leaning back in the hard chair. The more she sat the more uncomfortable the soft pillows felt, the room was so hot that her body had begun to sweat, and the long pastel green dress clung to the skin of her thighs and arms.
Aegon threw his eyes to the sky.

“Enough talk! We're here to celebrate!” he said, inviting the partygoers to start dancing, with brightly colored dresses filling the room.

Daeron saw Jason Lannister and his twin sitting at one of the large tables. The Lord of Casterly Rock had brought with him his first and only son, Lancel Lannister, a sixteen-year-old alpha who did not look at all pleased to be there. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, looking with disdain at everyone around him, including the king.

The same age as Lucerys, he thought as he turned a glance to his nephew, who by that age was already married and expecting a child.
Luke brought a hand to his lips and yawned soundly. He ran a hand over his eyes tinged a slight shade of red and lifted his eyes to his husband.

“I want to retire. I'm tired,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Aemond's scarred profile.
His uncle frowned, his hand still caressing the small round belly.
“Dessert hasn't even been brought and you're... tired?” asked Aemond, lowering his gaze to his nephew's plate, which still remained untouched.
Luke nodded without flinching.

“The Master says tiredness is natural when you are expecting a baby. I want to go to my room,” he said again, biting his lip.
Daeron barely held back a smile.

Clever little thing, he thought as he licked his lips and took a sip of wine. His nephew had already realized that leveraging that little one he was carrying would allow him to get whatever he wanted.

Aemond sighed but nodded, finally moving his hand away from Lucerys' belly as he rose from the table. The festivities did not cease and so did the chatter, Luke turned away without a word and disappeared beyond the large wooden doors, escorted by his trusted guards.

လလလ

With his feet dipped in the sand he looked at the surreal image that King's Landing was that night. The lights of the city were clearly visible from their small island in the middle of the sea. If he tried hard he could see the red of the stone.

The red of my children's blood, he thought as he pressed a hand against his chest. His heart beat slowly, as if it was about to stop and had little more to throb for.
He sighed and lifted his eyes to the starry sky and imagined that two more stars had joined the sky that night, two little stars with white hair and kind smiles.

Like their mother's, he thought as he closed his eyes weakly.
He shifted his gaze to the right, from over there he could see the balcony of his bedroom and there he saw Rhaenyra clasped in the arms of her youngest son. The only one she had left.
Joffrey weakly stroked her hair, letting her hide her face against his neck and mourn the loss of two more children.

Daemon let himself fall into the sand, his knees brushed by the low waves crashing against the shore.
How could this happen? he asked himself, swallowing his own suffering. Lord Corlys had devised that course himself, and as much as Daemon might not trust the Sea Serpent, he knew he would never put his grandchildren's lives at risk.

But Aegon and Viserys are-not his grandchildren, he thought again as he watched King's Landing celebrating a new victory.
He shook his head and hid his face in his hands. He only wanted to hug his children again. He only wished he had not put them on that ship that had led them from salvation to oblivion.

He prayed that Cregan Stark had arrived in the Riverland.
He prayed that his plan would work.

လလလ

“Your Highness... this is not the way to your bedroom,” Ser Cleoden said as he looked around. Luke had not made his way up the stairs, but rather, after giving the impression that he was headed to the room he shared with his husband, he had immediately changed direction, sliding downwards, where the walls were becoming thicker and colder and the smell of dampness was entering his nostrils.

“We're not going to my room,” Luke agreed as he slid against the wall, using his hand as support. The steps were damp and gave him the feeling that he could slip at the slightest movement. The fact that they were poorly washed to make the prisoners' conditions even more terrible only added motivation to why Luke did not want to risk falling.

“My lord descending further we will reach the dungeon,” Ser Harkon said as he walked the distance between him and Lucerys so he could offer his arm for support. Aemond had forced him to wear uncomfortable women's boots that made his climb down even more complicated.

Luke gratefully clung to him and together they continued their descent, with Cleoden watching their backs but, because of his height, he could also make sure the path ahead was safe.

"That's exactly what I want. I want to see my brother," Luke said when they reached the end of the long stairs. A short corridor lit by small torches with deep red flames opened before them, and down there, at the end of the corridor, Luke could glimpse the armor of two guards guarding the entrance to the dungeons.
“Prince Aemond will be furious,” Cleoden said in a worried tone.

“I'll take care of Aemond,” Luke replied, letting go of Harkon's arm so he could move forward. His guards followed him without delay, watchful of the two alphas who acted as lookouts at the dungeon entrance.
“Prince Lucerys,” they greeted him when he stopped in front of them. They kept their backs straight and their chins up even though to look at the young omega they were forced to lower their eyes.

“I want to see my brother,” Luke said, mentioning the door, which remained firmly closed. He had not expected it to be thrown open as soon as they saw him coming but at the same time he did not imagine he would receive a rejection.

“Prince Jacaerys cannot receive visitors,” said the second guard. He seemed older than the first and perhaps had learned to refuse the commands of big-eyed, rosy-cheeked young omegas.
Luke frowned.

"I am the prince. I order you to let me through," he said again, making his eyes run from one guard to the other. They merely repeated the same sentence.
“We are not allowed to let you pass,” the older man said again. He had a short beard that was beginning to turn from blond to white and thin eyes of a deep blue, almost comparable to the ice that clung to the cliffs of Dragonstone in winter.

Luke clenched his hands into fists and curled his lips. He had no idea how to convince those two to let him through. No matter how much of a prisoner he was, he had never been denied a visit to one part or another of the Red Keep.
Well, shit, he thought as he bit his cheeks.

“Open the door,” ordered a voice Luke knew but still struggled to consider real.
The two alphas snapped to attention and Luke had his back to them, watching as the younger of his uncles quickly approached him. Cleoden and Harkon immediately cleared the passage and pressed their backs against the wall, bowing their heads as the prince passed.

“My Prince, the king has ordered that Prince Jacaerys receive no visitors,” the first guard said again.
Daeron stopped at Luke's side, who looked at him with furrowed brows and curious eyes.

His uncle was the last person he imagined meeting there, let alone helping him meet his brother.
"And I now order Prince Lucerys to visit his brother. You don't want to risk enraging Prince Aemond," Daeron commented by running his gaze from the face of one to the other guard, who clenched their shoulders. The younger of the two soldiers seemed to be the more intimidated by the middle son of old King Viserys, and Luke saw him bring a hand to his side, as if to caress an old wound.

“The king will not be pleased,” commented the older of the two guards but pulled a set of keys from his own belt, slipped one inside the lock, and the door opened with a creak that sent a chill up Lucerys' spine.

“I'll take care of the king,” Daeron said, extending a hand to the guard, who with a moment's hesitation handed him the set of keys. Together with his companion he moved away from the door and allowed the two princes to cross the threshold.

“Why are you helping me?” asked Luke as he walked down the dark corridor filled with cells.
Daeron walked beside him as his eyes caressed the keys, as if they were selecting the most suitable one.

"I live for my family but I don't praise unnecessary deaths. You are grieving and seeing your brother will only do you good... you and the baby," Daeron said, handing him a long iron key. Luke immediately squeezed it between his fingers, frightened at the idea that his uncle might change his mind and decide to go back.

“Yet you were there when my grandmother was killed,” Luke commented, clenching his hands into fists.
Daeron stopped in the middle of the hallway and Luke with him. The white-haired prince looked down at his toes, his lower lip clenched between his teeth and his fingers closed against his palms.

He took a deep breath and then emptied his chest.
"I don't regret sending a message to your father. I do not regret showing that we protect our family. I regret that Princess Rhaenys is dead. I-" and he interrupted himself by closing his eyes.
I tried to warn her, to make her flee, but you would not believe me, he thought biting his cheeks.

"I will wait for you here. That key opens your brother's cell," he said, hinting at the iron that was clutched between his nephew's fingers, and Luke merely nodded, turned his back on him and continued to advance down the corridor.
Only when he reached the end of it did he find his brother's cell.

“Jace!” he exclaimed, immediately pouncing on the bars, his hands shaking as he slipped the key into the keyhole and clicked the lock.
“Luke!” exclaimed Jace as he rose from the corner in which he had huddled. There were no beds or windows, only an empty bucket and the long chains that held his wrists tightly, allowing him to reach the bars of his cell but unable to leave it.

Luke ran inside the small, cramped space and threw himself into his brother's arms, sinking his face into his neck and letting him do the same. Jace's smell had not changed since the last time he had seen him it had only become more intense, with his new nose he could detect low and high notes that he had not been able to pick up before.

He then felt a note of wildness that he had never smelled on his brother, something new but terribly good for him.
He wrapped his arms around his neck and then sank his fingers into his curly brown hair as Jace encircled his waist with one arm and stroked his back with the other, his face still hidden against his neck and breath and eyelashes tickling.

They did not separate when they had finished scenting each other, held each other close and looked into each other's eyes, foreheads pressed together and the tips of their noses touching in a gentle kiss.
“I missed you,” Luke whispered with trembling lips and shining eyes.
“I'm sorry,” Jace whispered at the same moment, his voice broken.
The two remained silent and then smiled at each other.

Some things never changed.
“Why do you feel sorry?” asked Luke taking his face in his hands, caressing his cheekbones and freckle-filled cheeks. Jace sighed against his face and pulled up with his nose.

"Why? Because because of me you are locked up here! Aemond kidnapped you and marked you! He married you and-" Jace exclaimed, holding him against him. He thought they had never been that close, sure the hugs were never lacking but as frequent as they were they lasted very little, just long enough to let the other know his brother was there.

Luke shook his head, the curls falling over his forehead and his eyes growing shiny and then dry, as if his own body was fighting between wanting to be consoled or to console Jace.
"It was not your fault. I was the one who decided to leave," Luke said, licking his lips.

"But I was the one who gave our mother the idea. If I had kept quiet none of this would have happened to you," Jace whispered, lowering his gaze to his brother's neck. The mark was there, white and horrible. The marks left by their uncle's teeth were more than evident, every incisor, every canine and every molar. The thin pearl necklace could not conceal that horrible sight.

"You know I could have fought back. If I didn't want to go mother would have let me stay at Dragonstone. I wanted to go Jace, I swear," Luke said, still bringing their foreheads together.
Jace swallowed and inhaled, breathing in his brother's scent. The aroma was terribly different from the last time he had smelled it, sweet and intense, like a slice of lemon cake.

"And you... you fulfilled your mission in the North?" asked Luke as Jace stroked his back in warm, circular motions.They might have been locked in a cold, damp, dark room but his brother's touch was enough to make that place the brightest place in the world.
Jace smiled and pulled up with his nose, running a hand against his glazed eyes. Seeing the tears in his eyes was enough to make Lucerys' eyes glaze over as well.

“Cregan Stark is an honorable man and now he travels at our father's command,” he said, smiling lovingly.
I hope I get to see him again, he thought as he looked around. He wondered if he would ever get out of that cage or die in that prison.
Luke smiled proudly and hid his face against his neck, inhaling his strong scent.

"And... Aegon and Viserys, how-" he paused, unable to bring himself to ask that question. Perhaps he still could not believe that his brothers were dead; in his mind he thought it more plausible that Rhaenys, their grandmother, might die. But how could two children die before their older siblings?

“They are alive,” Jace whispered, taking his face in his hands. It was a whisper so low that Luke could barely hear it. He imagined he had dreamed it, but the joy in his brother's eyes left no room for doubt.
“Alive?” asked Luke in an equally quiet whisper. He felt his eyes fill with tears and a trickle of mucus trickle down his nose.

Jace nodded and smiled, a big, toothy smile that made his clear, green eyes glow.
"I got them to safety before the Triarchy attacked us. I sent them to the North. Even though Cregan is not at Winterfell I know his men will protect them," Jace revealed, licking his lips.
He knew that little Jonnel Stark would make a fine host in his father's absence, and he knew that Aegon and Viserys would do their best to attract the slightest attention.

“Alive,” Luke whispered again, holding him tightly in his arms, his face hidden against his neck and tears that freely began to trickle down his cheeks.
"But-but Daario Drahar? He said they are dead! He said an arrow has-" he paused again, clasping a hand against his throat.
Jace shook his head and stroked his back.

"He lied. I don't know why he did it but he did. In any case he doesn't know where they were headed," said Jace who still could not frame the young Braavosian but as long as he kept lying he could keep his own secrets.

“Fuck,” whispered Luke still joining his forehead to his.
“Fuck,” agreed Jace, kissing his cheeks.
They remained silent, Jace's eyes fixed on Luke's small belly highlighted by the clothes he had been provided for the evening. He loosened the arm he had wrapped around his hips and rested two fingers at the base of his pecs and then ran them downward, following that slight curve.

“So it's true,” he whispered, opening his hand and pressing his palm against his belly. The little one had been silent but reacted when he heard his brother's touch, and Luke hoped it was because he recognized in him a familiar. A friend.

"It's true. Aemond's an asshole but if nothing else he's good in bed," he commented, grinning. He placed a hand at Jace's side and let their fingers brush against each other.
Jacaerys let a giggle escape and then became serious again, his eyes fixed in those of his brother who had grown slightly taller than him. Only two fingers but at that moment they seemed two meters to him.

“He didn't-?” he paused, not having the courage to utter the word.
Luke sighed and shook his head.

"It's complicated but I try to enjoy it as much as possible. If I have to share a bed with him I might as well seek my pleasure, don't you think?" he asked, licking his lips. He hoped so much that his brother would agree because if he showed mixed emotions his whole castle of lies created to protect himself during those months would be destroyed.
Jace smiled.

"You do well. I would do the same if I were in your place," he told him, lifting himself up on his toes to leave a kiss in his hair.
Luke grinned and clung to his shoulders.

“But you don't have an alpha trying to fuck you at the slightest opportunity,” Luke pointed out to him. There was no resentment in his tone, just a vain attempt to lift the fortunes of that conversation, to pretend they were not prisoners and were actually at Dragonstone, ready for a new day of training.

Jace bit his lip and Luke's eyes widened. For he may have been naïve and unfamiliar with the world of sex, but he knew his older brother.
“You- ?” he asked him and then that wild aroma tickled his nostrils again.
“And Cregan Stark?” he asked, clasping his hands in his. The chains clinked, shattering that moment of feigned serenity.
Jace swallowed, a shadow of worry crossing his face.

“We found each other,” he said simply with his heart pounding in his chest. Luke opened his mouth but a soft knock against the iron bars of the prison interrupted him. He turned quickly and his eyes met Daeron's.
Jace emitted a low growl.

"We have to go. It's been too long, you risk someone noticing you're not in your room," Daeron said, completely ignoring his nephew's attempt to intimidate him.
He has courage, he thought as Luke turned to his brother.
“Did the Master take care of you?” he asked him, bringing a hand to caress his injured shoulder.

Jace sighed and revealed skin covered by a white bandage.
“It was quick and painful but it shouldn't get infected,” he told him, keeping his eyes fixed on his uncle who was looking nervously at the doorway.

“Why is he helping you?” he asked him, lowering his voice.
Luke shook his head.
No idea, he thought, biting his lip.
“Lucerys, we have to go,” Daeron said in a more insistent tone.
Luke took a deep breath.

"I'll try to get you out of here or visit you. Don't despair," he told him, kissing his cheeks. Jace responded in the same way, they squeezed in a strong embrace, and finally Luke let him go.
Jace watched as his brother locked him in the cell and then quickly disappeared from his sight.

လလလ

“Ah!” exclaimed Larys with his eyes closed and legs spread wide. Aegon was lying beside him on the large double bed, his face resting on one hand while the other moved slowly between the omega's thighs, two fingers sunk inside him and moving at slow moments and at fast moments.

“I wondered,” Aegon commented with eyes that lazily followed the outline of Larys' half-closed lips, his face relaxed and eyelids flickering.
“Yes, My Lord?” asked Larys, squinting one eye as his hips moved against Aegon's fingers. The king's lips curled into a thoughtful expression, the long sheet covering his hips, his brow moist.

“You have never married and yet I find it impossible that good old Lyonel has not sought a groom or a bride,” Aegon commented, looking into his glossy eyes.
Larys muttered when the long fingers stopped inside him, giving him a few moments of pause. The feast had been over for several hours and yet the Usurping King did not yet seem ready to let himself be ravished by sleep.
“He did but... my spouses always met a... tragic end,” Larys said with a small smile.

Aegon snickered and moved his wrist again, causing Larys to gasp and open his legs even wider. Lyonel Strong had tried three times to marry off his son. The first suitor had been a Lannister. Then there had been a sweet Tully and a Baratheon. All perished mysteriously.

Aegon moved between his thighs, thrusting into him with almost reverential gentleness. He was in good spirits. His sister had only one son left, and then each of her heirs would be dead or in the hands of the Green, Rhaenyra would be forced to surrender and beg for her heir's safety or continue to fight and accept his death.

“My father imagined that I had something to do with those deaths but he could never prove it and in the end he surrendered,” Larys concluded by bringing a hand through Aegon's hair, leaving a small caress there.
The king nodded, his hips moving against those of his lover and his eyes fixed in his.

“I'm glad of that but I would have fucked you even if you were married,” he commented, grabbing him by the thighs so his thrusts would be deeper.
Oh maybe not. Would he have gained weight? he wondered, closing his eyes as he came with a low growl and slumped against Larys body. He took him in his arms and stroked his hair, twisting some white strands around his index finger.

“You seemed distracted...” mumbled Aegon hiding his face against his neck, enjoying the sweet scent of the omega cuddling him as if he had been a kitten.
Larys sighed and grabbed the blankets, covering himself and his lover.

“I found the spy I was telling you about and had her locked up in the dungeon,” Larys explained, resting his cheek against Aegon's head.
Far from Prince Jacaerys, he thought as he ran his fingers along the back of the ruler who murmured excitedly, enjoying those little caresses that no one had the patience to offer him, neither his mother nor his wife.

He resumed gently moving his hips, the scent of Larys was enough to make him hard as a rock and as eager as a prostitute.
“I want her dead,” Aegon muttered, yawning against Larys' throat, his canines scratching the skin of his thin, white neck. He grabbed him by the thighs and forced his legs open until his knees were parallel to his hips, lifted himself up on his arms, bracing himself against his legs and resumed thrusting into his body with firm pops.
“I will handle it,” whispered the Master of Whispers, biting his lips.

Aegon grinned and leaned over him, interrupted his thrusts and took one of his nipples between his lips. Larys gasped and clung to the covers, moving his hips against those of his Lord, who, however, remained motionless.
Aegon continued sucking, taking the other between his forefinger and thumb, making it hard and sensitive.

He pulled away from him with a snap and looked at him, licking his lips.
“I'd like to keep you like this forever,” he told him, throwing himself between his thighs, licking and sucking like a hungry man. Larys gasped, hiding a hand in his hair and moving his hips against his tongue.

"Fuck me! Please!" he cried with his body being shaken by shivers.
Aegon grinned, his mouth moist and his excitement skyrocketing. He thrust again between his thighs, moving with such rapidity that the omega cried out shaken with pleasure. He came and again slumped against him, barely holding back a yawn.
That had been an emotional day for him.

“Do you love me?” asked Aegon as Larys reached for the bedside table and took the flask of Moon Tea, drinking the contents in one painful gulp.
“I love you, My Lord,” Larys replied, kissing his forehead.
Aegon smiled, joyful as a child.
“Good night, Larys,” whispered Aegon curling up against him, his toes clinging to the flesh of her legs and his arms wrapped around his chest.
"Good night, My Lord," whispered Larys finally allowing himself to close his eyes.
လလလ

Moondancer glided into the small square of the Eyrie that the moon was still high in the sky, so high that its shadow created a perfect circle inside the square guarded by ten guards.
Baela yawned and slid down from her saddle, her grandmother's ashes tightly clutched to her own belt. The small vase dangled against her side, a mournful but equally familiar presence reminding her that Rhaenys was still by her side even though she could not see her.

She imagined that her sister was asleep and yet almost burst into tears when she saw Rhaena, wearing only her night clothes, running toward her, her feet barefoot and her hair rustling in the wind.

“Baela!” she exclaimed, taking her in her arms, and she reciprocated, sinking her face against her sister's neck and then bursting into tears. Rhaena was quick to follow, and her twins fell to their knees, one clasped in the other's arms.

“I've missed you so much,” Baela whispered, holding her tightly against her.
"You too! I've missed you, too! And our grandmother and Lucerys!" she exclaimed with shortness of breath and tears streaking her face.
“I've missed you,” Baela said again, her eyes refusing to focus on the world around her and her nose picking up only the familiar scent of her twin sister.

Lady Jeyen watched them from the top of the short staircase leading to the palace entrance. She ordered that a new room and a warm bath be prepared for her old friend's granddaughter.

I'll take care of them, Rhaenys, she thought as she watched the twins slowly rise, smile at each other, and then burst into tears again.
Rhaena took Baela by the hand and slowly led her toward the Lady of the Eyrie who lifted her arms and took Baela's tired face in her hands.

“Look at you-so tired,” whispered the Lady slowly guiding her inside her realm.
“Lady Jeyen,” whispered Baela as she led her holding her hand while the other was clasped in her sister's.
The old woman lifted her eyes and looked at her questioningly but kindly.

“I would like to stay here, at least for a while,” Baela whispered uncertainly and bright eyes that ran from Rhaena's face to Lady Jeyen's.
The woman smiled at her.

“As long as you wish, my dear,” she reassured her, clasping her hand more tightly in hers.
And Baela burst into tears again.
She was finally in a safe place to do so.

Chapter Text

It took her a week to soothe her own suffering heart. Seven days spent in laughter and tears, hugging her sister or curled up in front of the fire. Rhaena had shown her her new dragon egg, explained that it had once belonged to Queen Aemma and that she had abandoned it in the Eyrie. The egg was pretty, small and pinkish in hue, something that in a way perfectly depicted her younger sister.

Rhaena had begged her not to mention it to their father as she feared that even that egg would not hatch and leave him disappointed. One more time.

Lady Jeyen seemed to have positive ideas about that little dragon that had been lying dormant for almost fifty years, and Baela shared her positivity although she did not know if it was her instincts and the sweet smile of the Lady of the Eyrie that convinced her.

Moondancer glided right back to where she had started and Baela took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of salt and home. The Mountain behind her was as looming and menacing as any other day.

She slid down from the saddle of her dragon and leapt to the ground, stretching her sleepy legs. She laid a hand at her own side, where her grandmother's ashes were secure, and silently walked down the narrow path that led to her mother's palace.

She had not expected a welcome like the one Jace had received, but that unnatural silence seemed strange to her.
She looked around, expecting to see Vermax huddled on the rocks, enjoying the warm sun bathing his skin. But of her brother's dragon there was no sign.

Strange, she thought as she walked through the palace entrance.
The guards leapt to attention and Baela immediately noticed their tense shoulders and pale faces, their eyes surrounded by dark circles, as if they had not slept for days on end.
She swallowed and continued to proceed down the corridors, heading toward the Council Chamber.

There was a contrived darkness, as if shadows arose from the stone itself and branched through the palace. There were no servants humming through the corridors or men babbling their ideas about the war.
There was only silence.

She walked through the door that opened onto the Council Chamber, a smile still gracing her lips. She had returned victorious from her first mission and knew she should be proud.
She stopped smiling when the strong smell of her parents hit her nose.
She brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and her breath catching in her chest for a moment.

Mourning. She could not have described it better. There was so much suffering in that room that her skin could have broken and she would have felt no pain.

Rhaenyra was curled up on her throne, her eyes closed and her head dangling to one side. Her long, all-black gown gave a glimpse of the bare feet she had hidden beneath her thighs. Her face was red and damp from tears, her cheeks thin and her hair devoid of any kind of volume.

“Mother?” she whispered with her voice catching in her throat.
Rhaenyra did not answer but huddled more into herself, hiding her face against the knees she had clutched against her chest.
Baela approached her, one hand raised and uncertain whether or not to rouse her from her sleep.

She gasped when she heard a low hissing sound, like a man locked in a troubled sleep.
She looked around, searching for the maker of that sound but found no one. The room was empty and the door ajar, just as she had left it.

The verse was repeated a second time and Baela was able to locate where it came from.
Behind the throne! she thought as she climbed the three steps that raised that seat from the remaining part of the room.

She was surprised to find her father. Daemon was sitting on the floor, his legs spread wide and his back leaning against the throne, his hair a mess and his cheeks streaked with tears. The alpha lifted his big purple eyes to her and pulled up with his nose then, slowly, wiped his eyes.

“Father!” she exclaimed, kneeling at his side. She took his large hand in her own smaller ones and squeezed it tightly.
I've never seen him cry, she thought as she watched him wipe his face. He seemed to have some difficulty, as if he was not used to handling that kind of emotion, and perhaps he was not at all.

“What happened?” she asked, leaving a caress on his face.
Daemon took a deep breath and leaned his cheek against her hand, letting her cradle him for a few moments until he would be ready to answer.

"Aegon and Viserys are dead. Jacaerys is prisoner of the Greens," Lord Corlys said as he entered the room. Her grandfather seemed calm for a man who had just lost three grandchildren, or perhaps he was so used to mourning that he no longer felt anything.
Baela lost her grip on her father's hand, and he let out a low, pained hiss, like a puppy just torn from its mother.

“Wh-what?” she asked, lifting her eyes to her grandfather who had slowly approached her, his cane still clutched in one hand and his piercing black eyes fixed in her violet ones.
"The Triarchy attacked them as they traveled to Pentos. My men are dead and my ship sunk," Corlys explained, holding out a hand to help her up.
Baela accepted it by pulling up with her nose, tears threatening to wet her face and her lips trembling.

She lowered her eyes to her parents, one unconscious and the other unable to respond.
Baela pulled up with her nose and took a deep breath.
Aegon and Viserys... dead? she wondered as if she could not believe that her little brothers, two children, had been ripped from her arms.

“Where is Joffrey?” asked Baela, swallowing. For all she could tell her brother could have left to avenge his siblings or he could have been kidnapped from his room without anyone noticing.

"He has been locked in his room for days. He refuses to go out and does not wish to speak to anyone but his mother and she, well," he did not need to finish the sentence, Baela could see with her own eyes how the Black Queen was reduced. Silent, exhausted and in pain.

How much more can she take before she breaks? she wondered as she knelt before her. She carefully wiped her eyes and gently brushed her cheek, rousing her from her troubled sleep.

“Laena?” she asked as she opened her eyes.
Baela felt her grandfather grow rigid at her side, his fingers tight around the cane head and his shoulders tense.
“No mother, it's me, Baela,” she whispered, stroking her cheek.
Rhaenyra blinked slowly and then frowned, as if trying to focus her but failing to do so. Baela shook her head and grabbed her by the arm, helping her to her feet.
“Come, let me take you to your room,” she said, passing an arm around her hips.
Rhaenyra turned toward the throne.

“Daemon,” she whispered as if she were a frightened child at the idea of moving away from everything she thought safe.
Baela ran a hand through her hair and started walking, turning a glance at her grandfather who stood motionless, watching Daemon with blank eyes.

“Take him to his room,” Baela ordered, smiling at her mother, who shyly returned the smile.
Shit, thought Baela as she led Rhaenyra out of the Council Chamber.
Have the Black Queen and the Rogue Prince finally gone mad? she wondered with trembling legs.

“It is the mourning!” exclaimed Corlys as if he had read her mind. He dropped his staff and grabbed Daemon by the arms, forcibly pulling him to his feet.
“They'll get over it,” he commented in a tone full of rancor.
As it got over me, he thought as he dragged the prince out of the room.
လလလ

The wind tousled his hair as his ship pulled away from the harbor followed by the twenty-nine that had survived the voyage. He found the Red Keep to be graceful.
He sat on one of the rope nets leading to the mast, his legs dangling in the void and his arms caught in the ropes.

And Prince Lucerys looks like his brother, he thought, biting his lip.
He let himself fall backward, hanging upside down with blood rushing to his head. According to him, it helped him think.

I wonder if the two little princes look like him, he wondered as he remembered the immense dragon flying far away, but not before annihilating one of his ships with a single column of fire.

Prince Aemond's beast could annihilate my fleet with a single shot, he muttered, crossing his arms against his chest. After all, there was a reason he had accepted the offer from the Hand of the King and the Master of Whispers.

But that Prince Jacaerys... he has something in him, he thought with a sigh. He picked himself up and clung to the ropes, letting his head whirl. He kept his eyes closed as the faint morning sun kissed his cheeks and warmed his wind-wounded skin.

If the Black Queen succeeds, I'd better keep her happy, he thought as he bit his lip. There was a reason he had protected the two little princes who had disappeared into the sky.
He yawned and rubbed his wounded hands together from years of working on ships.

If she should succeed. If, he thought as he returned his gaze to the Keep.
The Greens have two of her children and the youngest are headed only the stars know where... well, I guess the future will be mysterious, he muttered already slipping from the rope net.

လလလ

Luke sighed and sank his face against the soft white pillow. He was curled up on his side, his night robe had come up his legs and sagged around his hips. He pressed a hand against his eyes, trying to blot out the thin sunlight coming in through the thick curtains he had absent-mindedly left open last night.

A hot sigh brushed his neck, and Luke frowned, wondering how he had missed the arm he had wrapped around his hips.
“You went to him,” Aemond hissed, tightening his arms more tightly around his belly.

Luke stiffened and then began to struggle, managing to turn around in that horrible embrace. He looked his husband straight in the face and then pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him farther away from himself. Aemond, however, did not move, his hands firmly around his hips and his fingers embedded in his soft flesh.

“I wanted to see my brother,” Luke replied with furrowed brows and a hand pressed against his belly. He had noticed that reminding Aemond of their child tended to make him more malleable to his demands.

“He's a traitor,” Aemond commented as his one eye slid slowly down his neck, his chest, and then stopped on his belly covered by several layers of white fabric.
Luke huffed out a laugh and threw his eyes to the sky.

“Your whole family is made up of traitors,” Luke retorted, abruptly putting himself in his seat.
Perhaps he had figured out how to soften his husband but that did not mean the task was easy.
“Aegon is the king,” Aemond said as he sat down in turn. He wore nothing but a light pair of silk pants that slid down his hips, showing the deep “v” that disappeared amid thin white hairs.

"Aegon is a usurper! You know it and all those Vipers you call allies know it! If he were the real king you would not have hidden my grandfather's death and secretly crowned him!" exclaimed Luke with cheeks red with rage and thick green veins running down his neck.

Aemond sighed and let himself fall back against the covers. It was clear that he did not consider that conversation worthy of his attention. He had his own ideas, and Lucerys' chatter would not make them change.
His brother was king. His sister was a traitor.

“Are Jaehaerys and Jaehaera traitors, too?” he asked, fixing the one eye on Luke that jumped out at him. He sat on his chest, his knees driven into the mattress and his uncle's wrists clasped in his hands.

"Don't you dare! Don't. You. Dare!" he exclaimed with his nose almost touching hers and his breath caressing his cheeks. He felt his eyes fill with tears. Frustration. Anger. Fear. These were all emotions he had gathered over those months, and the near-death of his brothers had brought them all flooding back.

"Aegon killed my brothers! Don't talk to me about your nephews! Don't talk to me about them!" he cried with tears streaking his cheeks and mucus running down his nose. He closed his eyes because he didn't want to look his uncle in the eye but at the same time he didn't want to let him go, afraid of what he might do to him.

"Aegon did not kill them. They were collateral damage to your brother's capture," Aemond commented without missing a beat. His eye fixed on his nephew's contracted face, his fingers slowly opening and closing. He could have released himself without any difficulty but he had no intention of doing so; he loved to feel his groom's body pressed against his own.

“Collateral damage!?” exclaimed Luke, his eyes wide. He let go and tried to slap him, only to be pinned down by Aemond who grabbed his wrist.

"How dare you! You-!" with a flick of his kidneys Aemond reversed their positions. He pushed himself between Luke's legs and held his wrists tightly, his fingers driven into the flesh of his arms. He tried to free himself but unlike his own Aemond's grip was firm and unbreakable.
The robe lifted again, leaving him naked and exposed before his husband.
“This is war, Lucerys,” Aemond hissed, looking him straight in the eye.

Luke raised his head, trying to strike him but Aemond had learned from his previous mistakes and moved just in time, preventing his nephew's forehead from impacting with his nose. Luke went back to struggling, moving his head from side to side until Aemond forced his wrists into one of his large hands and grabbed his chin with the free one, forcing him to look at him.

“People die and your brothers are not special,” Aemond continued, looking him straight in the eye.
Luke breathed rapidly, his eyes glazed and his red lips half-closed above his straight teeth.
“Neither are yours!” he hissed, spitting in his face. The spit hit him right in the scarred cheek, and Aemond recoiled as if scalded, let go and got off the bed, wiping his cheek with his hand.

“Fuck!” he hissed, passing some water against his face.
Luke burst out laughing and rolled onto his side, hiding his face against the covers. His eyes did not know whether to laugh or cry, and in doubt he did both, curling in on himself, a shivering little ball of skin and clothing.

His brother so close to him and yet so far away.
Aemond came back toward the bed with a growl and grabbed him by an ankle, yanking him to the center of the mattress. He got on top of him and pushed himself between his legs, still pinning his wrists against the bed.

"Are you finally going to do it!? Are you going to rape me!?" demanded Luke as he looked straight into his face, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his legs trying to strike Aemond's hips, only succeeding in raging with a few small kicks.
Aemond sighed and joined his forehead to his, rubbing the tips of their noses together.

“I would never hurt you,” he told him, letting himself fall against his chest. He held himself up on his knees so as not to crush his oh-so-precious belly.
Luke huffed a laugh and looked away.

“I don't understand you,” he whispered with shining eyes.
Aemond lifted his eye to him, his face pressed against his chest.
"How can you be hateful one moment and sweet the next? How can you kidnap me and mark me and marry me and believe you can't hurt me?" asked Luke, lowering his eyes to his face.

Aemond sighed and looked away, preferring to sink his cheek against his nephew's soft chest. He wanted to kiss and lick that soft skin but knew Lucerys would never allow it.
"I love you, Lucerys. Is that so hard to believe?" he asked, bringing his gaze back to his nephew's face.
He smiled in disbelief.

"Yes! Yes it is! How could it not be!?" asked Luke in turn. His head was beginning to hurt.
Everything about that conversation made no sense and the less he could understand.
This is not love. This is not how it is to love someone, he thought as he closed his eyes, a vain attempt to regroup his thoughts.

Aemond raised himself up on his arms and looked down at him.
“I love you,” he told him again.
"I love you. I love you. I love you," he whispered, kissing his cheeks.

Luke kept his eyes closed, letting Aemond kiss him, his nose caressing his cheeks and his hair tickling his skin.
“If you love me help my brother!” he begged him with big, shiny eyes.
Aemond laughed and shook his head, leaving a caress on his cheek.

"Jacaerys belongs to Aegon and you belong to me. What Aegon does with him is none of my business," Aemond said, bending down so he could kiss his lips. Luke returned the gesture but only for an instant. An instant he could not comprehend and immediately regretted, the mark pulsing and the base of his nape tickling gently.

"But it's about me! He's my brother!" he exclaimed again, pushing Aemond away. He fell back onto his knees and let Lucerys press his knees against his chest.
“And Aegon is mine,” Aemond retorted, rising to his feet.
Fuck, he hissed, hitting the pillow with a fist.
Aemond smiled, watching his nephew collapse on his side and hide his face against the pillow.
"Just think about our child. I will take care of the rest," Aemond commented as he walked toward his own room. He closed the door just before a pillow went crashing against the hard wood.

Fuck! exclaimed Lucerys, stifling a cry against the only pillow he had left.
လလလ

Jonnel was looking out of the window of his own room when he saw Vermax streaking across the Winterfell sky.

“Jace!” shouted the child, interrupting the Master and his endless babbling. The man frowned and closed the book he held tightly in his lap, rose from his own lectern and quickly flanked the young lord, watching Prince Jacaerys' green beast circle above the high white-covered walls, hissing like a wounded animal.

“Put on your fur!” exclaimed the Master as Jonnel threw open the door of his room and ran down the wide corridors, risking running over servants and guards who unsuspectingly were intent on their work.

“Young lord!” exclaimed one of Cregan's Councilors, beginning to chase the little one out of the palace and then along the streets of the small town until he reached the square, where a small group of onlookers had gathered to watch Vermax glide toward the nest of burnt grass he had abandoned only ten days earlier and was now covered by a thick layer of snow.

Jonnel passed them without a care in the world, and so did the Counselor, the Master and four guards, the lucky few that Cregan had decided to leave behind to defend the North.
"Young Lord! Wait!" ordered the Master, grabbing him by the shoulder.

By now they were halfway between the gates of Winterfell and the exhausted green dragon, who let himself fall to the ground, uttering a thin, suffering cry.
“He is wounded,” noted the Councilor, his eyes scanning the wing and thigh pierced by an arrow and the snout, scarred by a dart much like the same ones that were still embedded in the green flesh.

“Look!” exclaimed Jonnel, pointing to the saddle on which something was moving. It took him a few moments to realize that two fluffy white-haired children were pressed tightly against Vermax's back. And that especially only one of them was moving.

“Princes Aegon and Viserys!” exclaimed the Master, moving a few quick steps forward.
Vermax immediately lifted his head and pointed his large yellow eyes at the small, stocky figure. He opened his jaws wide and flames flared in the back of his throat.

“No! You must not come near!” exclaimed Jonnel, running toward the Master to grab him and pull him back.
“Dhaor Vermax!” exclaimed a small voice at the same instant.
The flames died down in the dragon's throat and it returned to resting its snout against the dry, scorched grass, its boiling body had melted the snow, searching for the warmth it had abandoned a few days earlier and was now gone.

Jonnel lifted his gaze to Vermax's saddle, and his gray eyes met a pair of sparkling purple, shiny orbs.
“Help me!” exclaimed Viserys, unfastening the leather belts he had tightened around his thighs. He had fastened the straps to the last loop but still they remained loose and unstable around his legs.

Master and Counselor hesitated to step forward but Jonnel did not, rushing to the side of the dragon who merely squinted. Perhaps he recognized the garish red curls because he immediately went back to closing his eyelids, puffing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

“Young Lord!” exclaimed the Master again. He forced himself to move closer, eyes running from the dragon's head, to his Lord's son and Prince Jacaerys' brothers.

Viserys untied the belt he had tightened around his brother's waist and grasping him by the arms tried to lower him down from the saddle but Aegon was bigger and heavier than he was and so the two princes slid down Vermax's side, plummeting into the arms of Jonnel who, slamming his head, managed to break their fall.

Aegon shrieked in pain and fainted again, the arrow still lodged in his calf and the blood having resumed flowing.

“By the gods!” exclaimed the Master as he knelt by the side of the little prince whose face was wet with tears. He placed a hand under his head and caressed the soft white hair with grace and care. He made sure that in addition to the wound on his calf there were no others and then called a guard back to him so that he could pick up the young prince and take him inside the palace.

“No! Aegon!” exclaimed Viserys in confusion, arms outstretched toward his older brother, who was quickly moving away from him, clasped in the arms of an alpha he did not know and headed to a palace he did not know.

"Your highness! What has happened to you!? Where is Prince Jacaerys!?" the Councilor asked, resting a hand against the young prince's shoulder.
Jonnel looked at him with large, curious eyes, fascinated by his long white hair and piercing violet eyes. He had never seen such enchanting colors, and his little heart did a flip inside his chest.

“I- I- !” gasped Viserys with his chest rising and falling rapidly and his eyes filling with tears.
He burst desperately into tears, his hands hiding his face and his legs shaking violently.
The Councilor widened his eyes, pushing his hand away as if afraid someone might cut it off for daring to make the Black Queen's youngest son cry.

Jonnel frowned, grabbed Viserys by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
Viserys continued to cry but wrapped his arms around Jonnel's back and sank his face against his neck, breathing in his intense scent. That of a young alpha who had no idea how to control his scent and yet was giving off sweet, soothing fragrances.

Viserys shivered, shaken by the cold of the North and fear but Jonnel did not let go of him for a moment, his small hands stroking his back and his eyebrows furrowed.
Finally it was the young prince who let him go. Still sobbing, he brought a hand to his eyes and pulled up with his nose.

“Don't worry,” Jonnel told him with a smile.
Viserys shook his head but did not speak; his body was so shaken with chills that he could not have put one word after another.

"The Master will help your brother! But now come with me, you tremble!" said Jonnel, unfastening the fur he held tightly around his shoulders to wrap it around the slim figure of the prince, who immediately sank his hands and face into it, still breathing in that sweet scent that had soothed him.

“You are-an alpha-” Viserys said between sobs, his eyes wandering from side to side but always returning to Jonnel's gentle face.
The young Wolf nodded.
"But you're... Sm-all-" Viserys said again, pulling up with his nose. He was still shivering but the chills were gone, pushed away by that thick black fur.
Jonnel frowned but then seemed to understand what the prince meant because the smile returned to bend his lips.

“My father says things don't work in the North the way they do in the South,” he explained, lifting his eyes to the Councilor who nodded, his gaze wandering suspiciously from the two children to the snout of the green dragon who silently watched them with half-closed eyes.

“Is-is your father Cregan St- Stark?” asked Viserys, wiping his eyes one last time.
Jonnel nodded again.
Viserys swallowed and fixed his eyes in his.

“Jace-said he would- pro- protect us,” Viserys said as his eyes drifted over Jonnel's shoulder, over the magnificent stone castle and the smoke billowing from one of the many towers.
Jonnel smiled radiantly and held out a hand to him.

"My father is not here but don't worry! I'll protect you!" the child exclaimed, biting his lips.
Viserys lowered his eyes to the small hand stretched out in front of his face. He hesitated but finally let their fingers intertwine in a gentle, warm grip, so warm that the black fur felt like a silk robe.

Viserys followed Jonnel toward the palace.
His new home until Jacaerys would return.
Stark and Targaryen. Together once more.

လလလ
The sun was not as hot as Daeron had imagined. Standing still in the center of the balcony of his room he looked up at the sky, his eyes closed and his hands clasped around the parapet. He had risen early and yet had not yet left his room; he would only do so when the sun was at the exact center of the celestial vault.

An army of three thousand men had prepared to leave outside the walls of King's Landing. They were only awaiting the arrival of their commander and their prince.
Daeron had no desire to leave. He had no interest in fighting Cregan Stark's Wolves. Not because he feared them; from Tessarion's saddle he could have eliminated a large number of them without making the slightest effort. No, he simply did not want to have any more lives on his conscience.

But whether I fight or not someone will die anyway, he thought as he opened his thin purple eyes.
Be it the Wolves in a month or my family if my sister took King's Landing. He bit his lip. Whether he fought or not the blood of those dead would be on his hands.

But Cregan Stark could bargain, he thought again with a sigh. He leaned against the parapet and looked down to where a pair of servants were holding each other at arm's length, crossing the courtyard with each a laundry basket resting on their side. The two women laughed merrily, their green dresses covered by white aprons.
Mother had their uniform changed too, he thought, remembering that at his brother's wedding servants and servers wore red robes.
Daeron leaned his face against one hand, the long dark green uniform covering him to mid-calf. He wondered what was happening across the sea, what his sister and uncle felt now that their children were dead.

Apart from Cregan Stark's movements, no more news had come. It seemed that Dragonstone had stopped, frozen in a moment.
He thought of his older brother and pressed a hand against his forehead.

What will he do to Jacaerys? he wondered, biting his lip. Aegon said he wanted to break him but how he would do it remained a mystery.
Daeron had believed he wanted to take him as a lover but that position seemed to be officially occupied by Larys Strong.

He wrinkled his nose. He still couldn't understand how the two of them had ended up in the same bed but if he thought about it enough it didn't seem like such an odd pairing.
Aegon fucks everything that breathes and it's clear that Larys got tired of being at my mother and grandfather's games, he muttered, tearing off a peel that made his lip bleed.

He brought a hand to his mouth and tried to dab the small cut, which after a few moments stopped bleeding, leaving a burning sensation to grip his lower lip.
A soft knock brought him back to reality and he immediately straightened his back and adjusted his uniform, inviting the familiar in.
“There you are,” commented a low but cheerful-sounding voice, as if an old man had swallowed a spoonful of honey. An avalanche of curly blond hair covered his forehead, and a thin beard of the same color hid his chin and cheeks.

“Gwayne!” exclaimed Daeron, rushing into his arms. His uncle pulled him into a firm grip, clapping his hands against his back and resting his cheek against his white-haired head.
“I missed you,” Daeron whispered, clinging to his back. Gwayne who was only five years older than him but had been more of a father and mother to him than his own parents.
Gwayne smiled and took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of his dear nephew.

“You too,” he told him, resting his hands on his shoulders so he could look at him more carefully. It had been five months since he had last seen him, yet he could see differences.

The white forelock that covered his forehead, the sharper cheekbones and more regal bearing. The hurt and sad eyes, the conflicted soul of someone who knew his family for the first time and felt nothing but miserable forbearance.
"Look at you! So grown up," he said, leaving him with a pat on the cheek.
Daeron smiled, happy for the first time in many months.
“Did Mother send you?” he asked, nibbling his cheeks hopefully.
The somber expression on his uncle's face gave him the answer he needed.

"Your sister. She hoped that a...f amiliar face might accompany you on this journey," Gwayne explained, passing an arm around his shoulders. He looked around, studying his nephew's room but everything he would need in battle had already been loaded onto the wagons waiting to leave outside King's Landing. Only his sword lay on the bed, ready to be drawn.
“Ah,” sighed Daeron.

How foolish of me to think that my mother had been worried about me, he thought, biting his lip.
Gwayne cleared his throat and mentioned his sword.
“I don't want to rush you, but Ser Criston is more insufferable than usual,” young Hightower commented.

Daeron huffed out a laugh and immediately headed for his bed, grabbed his sword and left his own room, following his uncle out of the palace and then riding alone to the Dragon's Pit.
Helaena was there waiting for him.
“Daeron,” she said, pulling him into a hug, and he sank his face against her neck, looking over her shoulder, as if hoping to see his brothers or his mother. None of them were there.
He bit his lips and tightened his arms more tightly around Helaena's waist.
“I don't want to go,” he whispered against her neck.
“I don't want anyone else to die,” he said again squeezing his eyes tightly so as to hide the tears that clung to his eyelashes.
She held him close and let a few caresses in his hair.
“I know,” she whispered.
"I know."
လလလ

~The wind tousled his hair as mist caressed his face. Vermax was a familiar, gentle presence beneath his body. He looked around confused, the waves rushing swiftly beneath him and his brothers mouthing off to him from the deck of his grandfather's ship.
He opened his mouth, ready to shout a warning to the captain but his throat remained silent. He clasped his hands around his neck but even applying pressure could not push his voice out of his mouth.

He could not think of what he wanted to say.
He grabbed Vermax's reins and tugged them toward himself but the dragon continued to fly, as if he had not noticed. It seemed that none of his efforts served to change the course of his dragon, which peacefully kept going, its great wings flapping gracefully, like those of a butterfly.

The ships of the Triarchy appeared in the distance. His brothers continued to sneer at him, and the captain continued to ignore him, his eyes fixed toward the thirty ships that inexorably grew closer and closer.
Look out! he thought with his hands still clasped around his throat.

The first arrow seemed to travel with the swiftness of a snail. Jace saw it take off, cross the sea, and stick in Aegon's neck, who let out a choked cry and fell to the ground over the parapet. Jace could not have seen him and yet he saw him. He saw him clutch his throat in his hands and blood pool around his small figure. He saw Viserys crying and shaking his brother's lifeless body as men grabbed him by the arms and threw him overboard. His brother moved his arms and legs, trying to keep himself afloat but soon the force of the waves and currents was such that they dragged him under and would not allow him to rise again. Jace watched as his white hair grew darker and darker and then disappeared.

“You can't save anyone,” commented a voice at his side.
He turned with a jerk and there he found Lucerys, his hands resting against his huge belly, so big that his body looked tiny.
His brother looked at him with a tilted head and big black eyes fixed in his.

“You're useless,” Luke commented as he turned back to look ahead of him, where a shower of arrows was about to rain down on them.
Jace covered his face as sharp darts struck him. He felt himself being ripped and falling from Vermax's saddle, spinning on himself and falling into the sea, crashing into the icy waves.

He awoke with a jolt, squeezed between soft furs and lying on a soft bed.
“Jace?” asked Cregan, fixing the thin gray eyes in his. The Lord of Winterfell rested on his back, his chest bare and one arm folded under his head.

“Cregan!” he exclaimed, hugging himself against his body, his face sunk against his chest and his eyes closed. The Wolf laughed and pressed against him, kissing his head and hair. He pushed him onto his back and began kissing his neck, caressing his hips and chest.
Jace opened his mouth but still words failed him.
Cregan lifted the covers and pushed himself between his open legs. He frowned and fixed his eyes in Jace's.

“You are an alpha!” he accused him, immediately pulling away from him. Jace pulled himself to a sitting position, his legs tight against his chest and his eyes following Cregan's swiftly putting on his clothes, his eyes mad with rage.
He rose from the bed and clung to his back, words still escaping him.
Cregan hit him with a slap so hard it sent him to the floor.
"You disgust me!" exclaimed the Lord of Winterfell.~

လလလ

Jace jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest and his body shivering from the cold. He looked around discombobulated and confused. He saw black walls and iron bars. He lowered his gaze to his own wrists and found them clenched in a steel grip.

The dungeons, he thought, dropping his head back, hitting the cold stone. He had huddled in a corner and as far away from the waste bucket as possible.
Aegon and Viserys are alive, he thought as he pressed a hand against his chest. His fingers jerked with each beat of his heart.

Lucerys does not hate me, he thought again remembering his brother's strong embrace and kind words.

Cregan loves me, he concluded by swallowing and hiding his face against his knees. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His body shivered from the cold and dampness, he could not tell what time of day it was but he was sure it could be the morning, perhaps the afternoon. He knew that the warm winter sun was beating down against the walls of the Red Keep, the same walls that were freezing him at that moment.

He hoped that Lucerys would somehow fulfill his promise, that he would at least bring him a blanket.
He snuggled more into himself, his arms pressed between his chest and knees, so as to enclose the warmth and protect himself as much as possible.
How long will I stay here? he wondered as he looked at the bars with longing and fear.
If he had had more strength and less cold he would have gotten up and started walking around the cell, kicking the bars and screaming until the guards went deaf. But that horrible dream had robbed him of all energy.

What does Aegon want from me? he wondered again, pressing his back against the hard wall that had now absorbed his heat, making that space tepid.
“...see my brother!” exclaimed a voice more than familiar to him.
Lucerys had returned just as he had promised. He looked at the bars with hopeful eyes but his brother never appeared.

He bit his lips and held back a sob.

လလလ

Jonnel watched the young prince stuff his face. That was his second bowl of chicken soup. Viserys ate greedily but that was all he could expect from a child who had been fasting for two days. He took large spoonfuls of soup and the broth trickled down his chin but was immediately swept away elegantly by the thin white napkin he otherwise kept folded on his lap.
It seemed that the prince could only pose in a graceful manner.

“It's very good,” Viserys said as he lifted his eyes to the servant who stood in the corner of the room, ready to serve him if necessary. She hesitantly thanked him with a nod.
“The kitchens are preparing some roast,” the Counselor said with a smile. Now that they had moved away from Prince Jacaerys beast he seemed more willing to converse and his marked features had become gentler.

"Your hair is very beautiful. They are the same color as snow!" said Jonnel, who looked at him with his face clasped in his hands and his elbows resting on the hard table.
The Counselor widened his eyes.

"My Young Lord! Some respect for the prince!" said the man with cheeks red with embarrassment. Jonnel had an excellent education but that day, since he had embraced the young prince, he seemed to have forgotten all teaching.
Jonnel blushed and bit his lip.
Father I will not be happy! he thought, hiding his hands under the table.
“It doesn't matter!” hurried Viserys to say. Then he fixed his purple eyes in Jonnel's gray ones.
“I like you- yours too-they're curly like my sister Baela's,” the young man said, smiling for the first time in a long time.

Jonnel replied in the same way, thrilled to be the reason for that joy.
"You are very cute! She must be cute too!" said Jonnel, returning to rest his elbows on the table.

Viserys giggled, his cheeks red and full. He took another sip of soup and kicked his feet weakly. His mother scolded him when he acted that way, but standing still was not one of his best gifts; he loved to run and jump, not sit still for long.

“Baela is beautiful!” he assured with the same cheerfulness demonstrated by Jonnel.
The Councilor sighed but smiled at their childlike happiness. He imagined that the young prince would benefit from Jonnel's company.

The heavy doors were thrown open wide and Aegon and the Master made their entrance. The young prince held a fixed crutch under his right arm, so as to help himself each time he rested his left foot.
“Aegon!” exclaimed Viserys running up to him. He wrapped his arms around his back and sank his face into the center of his chest, feeling his heart pounding. Alive.
Aegon left a few caresses on his back and then together they returned to sit at the table.
“I thank you for your hospitality and care,” Aegon said, addressing first Jonnel and then the Councilor and Master. The man with the thick beard and brown robe smiled kindly at him and pressed a hand against his grumbling belly.

The servant girl hiding in the corner immediately brought a bowl of soup to the prince, who thanked her with a shy smile.
“Our Lord has sworn allegiance to your mother and brother,” the Counselor said, handing him a nod.

No one spoke for several minutes, letting the elder of the two princes fill his stomach. He had lost a lot of blood but fortunately the wound was not serious and the Master had stitched it up with ease. A scar would remain to mark his calf but Aegon did not care.
“My princes, can you tell us what happened to you?” asked the Counselor once Aegon had finished his soup.

Viserys shrugged his shoulders and lowered his gaze while Aegon showed no qualms whatsoever. Although his younger brother was the most expansive he was also the one who closed in most easily, had difficulty talking to strangers, and struggled to maintain the appearance of a prince.
So Aegon told them how they had run into the Triarchy, how Jacaerys had immediately realized that something was wrong, and how he had gotten them to safety just before the Triarchy attacked them and took him prisoner.

"Jace ordered us to fly north. He said Lord Cregan would protect us but... why didn't he order us home? To Dragonstone?" asked Aegon, turning to the two adults. He might have been smarter than his brother but the ways of war still eluded him.

In any case, they could not have headed for Dragonstone even if they had wanted to. Jacaerys had commanded Vermax to take them to the North, and so he had done. He had fought the desire to drive out those two little knights who were not his own and had finally brought them to safety. And now the immense dragon stood silent and crouched in the frozen grass, his eyes closed and looking sad.

The Councilor brought a hand to his chin.
"The fact that you have run into the Triarchy is suspicious. It could be a coincidence but I fear that Prince Jacaerys thought the worst and had you taken to the North because he felt that Dragonstone was not safe for you," the man explained, licking his lips.

Aegon and Viserys looked at each other with furrowed brows.
“What do you mean?” asked Viserys, fixing his large eyes on Jonnel, who, however, looked as confused as he was.
The Councilor cleared his throat.
"I believe someone has warned the Greens or the Triarchy of your course. That someone is at Dragonstone," explained the thin-eyed alpha.
Aegon bit his lip.

But who would want to harm us? Everyone at Dragonstone loves us, thought Viserys with red cheeks and eyes that threatened to fill with tears.

“I think Prince Jacaerys thought it more prudent to let the world believe that you were dead, so as not to endanger you further,” the Councilor continued, running his gaze from one to the other.
"So can't we send a letter to our parents? Let them know we are all right?" asked Aegon, clasping his hands together. He could not imagine what his poor mother was feeling. How was his poor father?

The Counselor shook his head.
“No, for now it is better to stay in the shadows and wait for your father and the Black Queen to make their move,” the man said, looking at them both.
Viserys frowned.
"Their move?" the child asked, fixing his eyes in those of the Councilor, who nodded.

"I have reason to believe that soon King's Landing will fall."

လလလ

I can't believe he forbade the guards to let me go alone! thought Lucerys as he marched through the corridors. Ser Cleoden and Ser Harkon were coming up behind him, their pace as quick as their prince's and their worried eyes fixed on his back.

Frustration and anger were leaving her body in waves, and anyone within ten yards or so would have known to stay away from him. Especially his husband, who at that moment seemed nowhere to be found.

Luke had looked everywhere for him with the intention of cursing him but there was no trace of Aemond.
So many times in those months he had felt helpless but never like that moment. Knowing that standing between him and his brother were two alphas and a door made him suffer more than he had imagined.

Aemond had ordered the guards that Lucerys not cross the dungeon threshold unless accompanied by someone. And his guards did not count.
He threw open the door to his own room and was forced to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

As if that day was not going badly enough already.
“Grandmother,” mumbled Lucerys, closing the door behind him but not before saying goodbye to his dear friends.

I wonder if they could visit Jace... no, surely Aemond has forbidden them to come near as well and then I don't want them to be with those alphas, he thought crossing his arms against his chest.
It had been months since he had last been alone with his grandmother. If nothing else, the Green Queen had had the grace to listen to his request that she not show up again. At least until that moment.

"What are you doing here? Am I wrong or did I say I never wanted to see you again?" asked Luke, frowning. His eye fell back on the door leading to his room and became curious when he discovered that the door was not closed as he had left it.
Two servants came out of her room carrying his old clothes and those that had belonged to his mother.

“What are you doing!?” exclaimed Lucerys clasping his arms around his mother's red robe that he still held tightly around his shoulders.
The women left the room without a word as other servants entered carrying needles and threads, baskets of fine fabrics and jewelry.

"You need new clothes. Before long the ones you're wearing won't fit you anymore," Alicent commented, mentioning his stomach.
Luke lowered his gaze to his own stomach and bit his cheeks. The tight-fitting clothes now left no room for his small belly, and before long buttons would start digging into his skin, and so would the laces on his back or chest.
"There is nothing wrong with my mother's clothes! I want them taken back to my room!" exclaimed Luke, clutching more tightly the red fabric that wrapped around his body.
“They are women's clothes,” Alicent said as she approached to try to tear the robe off him, and Luke stepped back, escaping her touch.

The Green Queen sighed and fixed her eyes on his belly as an old woman with a gruff face and heavy hands passed a ribbon around his shoulders and arms, taking every little measure as Lucerys squirmed, terrified that even that last link to his mother would be taken away.

“That green better be gone or I'm going to start walking naked again,” Luke said, hinting at the green fabric that lurked beneath an array of red and purple.
Alicent cast her eyes to the sky and hinted at the servant girl who immediately grabbed the baskets and disappeared out the door.

“I can't believe you lied about your child,” Alicent said, reaching out a hand so she could caress his belly. Luke slapped her hand away and brought both arms in front of his belly, hiding it from Alicent's cold eyes.
“You would have done the same-in fact, you did the same,” Luke commented, staring into her eyes.
She frowned but Lucerys could see concern make her irises large.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, lifting her chin, as regal as a broom in a barn.
Luke snorted a laugh and shook his head.
“I know you used to spend the night in my grandfather's room before you were married, and I know Aegon was born three months earlier than normal,” he commented with a sneer.

That was an old story that Daemon enjoyed telling. Apparently Viserys had told him about it once he had had a few too many drinks.
Alicent raised a hand, ready to slap him across the face.

“Mother!” exclaimed Aemond appearing just then. The alpha grabbed Luke by the wrist and yanked him behind him, looking at his mother with wide eyes and an incredulous expression.
Alicent returned the gaze and then looked at her own still raised hand.

"I-I think Daeron's departure has shaken me up. I will go and rest," she said as she turned away without looking at either of them.
Luke freed himself from his husband's grip and looked straight into his face.
"Bring my brother a blanket. You owe me that," he said as he entered his room. The empty closet. The only reminder of his mother clutched around his shoulders.

Chapter Text

The lands around Harrenhal were not as he had imagined them. There were forests but also lowlands. Long rivers ran through the land, making the banks muddy and dangerous for those who stood still in the same spot.

He flew over his army putting up tents and building posts in which to keep horses. He flew over what would become the battlefield, miles of green and yellow grass. He flew over the encampment of the Wolves who had hidden at the edge of the forest. He saw the Beasts lift their eyes to the sky but found no fear in their gazes and bodies, only a mixture of boredom and indifference.

Jacaerys has been to the North, he thought as Tessarion flew past the clouds, giving him some breathing room.
The Wolves know his dragon, he thought again.

He wondered what had happened to Jacaerys in that month of captivity. Had Aegon tortured him? Or had Lucerys managed to make his imprisonment less bitter?
Tessarion puffed out a cloud of steam and he left a pat on her neck.

“You're right,” he told her as they glided behind their camp, far enough away not to spook the horses but close enough for Daeron to catch up with her in moments.
“I must think only of winning,” he continued as he slid down from her saddle.
But how can I win if Cregan Stark is in the right? he wondered as he moved away from Tessarion's side. His blue beast curled in on herself and hid her huge head under her large wings, obscuring the beating, relentless sun. Winter had now arrived, and yet Daeron's skin was covered with a thick layer of sweat, and the fabric protecting his body from the iron of the armor was damp and hot.

He passed a few soldiers who merely saluted him with a nod. Away from the palace it seemed that court etiquette was lost. Not that Daeron particularly cared.

“Have you seen the Wolves?” asked Gwayne once Daeron entered his rightful tent. His uncle and Criston had set up a small table and opened a map of the area. They had marked their location and Criston was drawing several lines, what would probably be their positions.

"Their camp is located here. At the edge of the forest but I'm sure it extends inland as well," Daeron said, laying his index finger at the opposite end of the map. It was a large open space, once they engaged in any kind of combat they would have nowhere to hide.

The Wolves on the other hand… he thought as he bit his cheeks.
No, the Wolves do not hide, he sighed closing his eyes.
လလလ

He was sitting on the floor, his legs tight against his chest and his chin resting on his knees. He kept his eyes fixed on the chest of his brothers' toys. Aegon always said he was too old to play, yet more than once Joff had caught him having fun with Viserys, simulating battles and chases.

Joff smiled sadly and hid his face against his knees, squeezing his red eyes tightly shut. Even if he had wanted to, he could not have shed a single tear. He had cried too much during that week.

He had heard Moondancer's song, he knew his sister had returned home, and yet he had no desire to see her. Perhaps he feared that she too might disappear just as his brothers had done.

Luke had been kidnapped. Marked, married and now expecting a child, he thought as he bit his lip.
His brother had to be six months along by now or maybe further along, time tended to run strangely lately.

Jace is a prisoner of the Greens, he continued, pulling up with his nose.
His brother had returned to Dragonstone and left two days later to take their brothers to safety only to be captured in turn.

Aegon and Viserys are dead, he continued, holding back a sob. His throat was burning with rage and grief; he had cried so hard that by now his skin was red and worn, as if an acid was eating away at him from the inside.
At least Grandmother Rhaenys will take them in her arms, he thought, swallowing painfully.

He knelt down and rubbed his eyes with one hand. He opened the chest and began rummaging through his brothers' belongings, found a wooden horse belonging to Viserys and a toy sword made of the same material, this one belonged to Aegon.
He grabbed them and threw them on the bed. There, by their side, were a sword and a cloak.

He knelt in front of the bed and laid a hand on both. The sword belonged to Jacaerys, it had been given to him by Daemon but his brother preferred to use the blade that Ser Harwin Strong had had secretly forged for him. The sword given by Daemon was longer and lighter, suitable for Joffrey's height.

He took it and clasped it around his hips. His brother had always been stouter than him, so he was forced to adjust the buckle, tightening it to the last loop.
He took the almost gray-blue cloak and brought it to his nose. Luke's scent was almost completely gone but a faint trace still clung to that garment.
Joff pulled it tight around his shoulders and fastened the Velaryon crest around his neck.

He looked at himself in the mirror.
The cloak was too short for him, and the sword seemed to make him even thinner.
Perfect, he thought with a smile.
He picked up a bag he had thrown in a corner and looked inside. There were two flasks of water and some dried food. In addition, carefully concealed by a silk napkin, was a piece of cake.
He added his brothers' toys and closed the bag, then loaded it over one shoulder.

He looked at himself one last time in the mirror.
Good, he thought as he nodded.
He left his room on tiptoe. But just as for the past week, there was no one in the hallways. The stench of suffering was so nauseating that it drove the servants to do the impossible to leave the palace.

Joff couldn't blame them; he himself couldn't wait to leave even if the reasons were different.
Now I just have to avoid Baela, he thought as he walked briskly but quietly. His sister must not have arrived long ago and perhaps, if he was lucky, she was in the Council Chamber reporting the outcome of his mission. He would have liked to stay to greet her but he knew that his sister would certainly find out and stop him. And he could not get caught, not that time.

He sighed when he reached the exit without having met anyone. He straightened his back and walked past the guards as he would have done any other day, as if he had nothing to hide.
I have nothing to hide, he thought as he walked briskly up the grassy hill. With the coming of winter, the grass had frozen and creaked with every step he took. Stalactites of ice hung from the rocky cliffs on which Dragonstone grew.

I hope they didn't pick up anything from my scent, he thought as he stumbled up the hill. The wind was so strong it could have blown him away. He almost regretted not stealing the fur coat Jace had left in his room, that would have protected him from the winter wind.
He reached the entrance to the Mountain and cupped his hands in front of his mouth.

“Tyraxes!” he exclaimed as Lucerys' cloak beat against his back and legs.
His dragon was not long in coming, the black-scaled, red-peaked beast emerged from his lair shaking off a cloud of dust. Tyraxes was half the size of Vermax and much more lanky where his brother's dragon was massive and muscular.

“There you are,” Joff whispered as the dragon pressed the musk against his chest, puffing out a cloud of boiling steam that warmed him to the bone. The dragon was saddled and ready to go, a precaution required by Daemon in case the Green attempted a foolish gesture.
Joff climbed up Tyraxes' side and then secured himself to his saddle, tightening the leather belts around his thighs, three on each leg. He sighed and leaned forward, clasping his dragon's neck in an embrace.
Tyraxes snorted again and Joff smiled.
He fastened the saddlebag to the saddle and then took a sip of water.

"All right. We're off!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand against the dragon's side.
Tyraxes hissed and sprinted upward, up past the clouds, where the sun beat down but the air was freezing. Joff tightened the reins and forced Tyraxes to veer northward, toward the Riverland. Toward Harrenhal and Cregan Stark.

I'm coming, he thought, biting his lip.

လလလ

“Daeron,” Gwayne whispered, shaking him gently by the shoulder. The prince sighed and turned on his side, watching his uncle smiling sweetly at him, his beard and blond hair stained by the afternoon sun coming in through the curtain left half-open.

“What's going on?” asked Daeron, slowly setting himself down. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, he had not slept so well in a month, the continuous march to the Riverland had left him exhausted and irritable.

“Cregan Stark and two of his Wolves are approaching,” he explained as Daeron sighed and dropped his feet over the edge of the bed, resting his bare fingers against the cool grass. He rubbed his eyes and finally picked up his socks and boots. He put them on quickly, now more awake than moments before, and stood up, making his back and joints creak.
As he put on his coat Gwayne handed him a cup of wine sweetened with honey. Daeron drank greedily, his throat thanking the sudden freshness.

“Are you ready?” he asked him when Daeron thrust his sword into his side.
The young prince sighed but nodded, following his uncle out of his own tent. Gwayne was not much older than he was and yet he appeared like a commander who had fought a thousand battles, knew how to deal with men and how to direct them to do everything the right way.
Criston was waiting for them at the edge of the camp. At his side three young soldiers held the reins of three stallions. One black, one white, and one mouse gray. It was obvious which one had been chosen for the young prince.

White hair, he thought as he cast his eyes to the sky. It was silly, but the children of Old Town had always mocked him for the coloring of his hair; they said he was an old man in a child's body, and Daeron had always suffered for it. Only when Gwayne was at his side did the voices stop.

“They are waiting for us,” Criston commented, hinting ahead.
Cregan Stark and two Wolves were standing still in the middle of the battlefield, the horses moving in place, awaiting their riders' orders. Three black animals for three Wolves dressed in the same color.

Daeron nodded and mounted on the white stallion, leaving a few gentle pats on his neck.
Gwayne smiled and hoisted himself onto the black stallion. Criston did the same with the gray one.

“Whenever you feel ready,” Gwayne told him, merely stroking his horse's mane. The stallion moved in place, snorting and sighing, his eyes large and full, as if sensing danger ahead.
Daeron swallowed and licked his lips. He nodded dryly and urged the stallion to trot forward, followed closely by the other two.

Moving on horseback was different than riding a dragon but no less fulfilling. He found it strange, however, that such a sturdy animal would take so long to cross a space of land that Tessarion would pass with a single flap of her wings.

He tugged on the reins as they came in close proximity to the three Wolves, and Cregan Stark straightened his back, studying the young man who had appeared before him. He had never met one of the white-haired princes. Knowing their paternity he had imagined that Jacaerys uncles looked nothing like him, and yet there was something in that short white-haired young man that reminded him of his lover.

The shape of the nose and lips, he thought as his men studied the two who had arrived with the prince. Roderick Dustin, an omega, looked at Gwayne curiously and eyes interested in those soft blond curls. Medrick Manderly, an alpha, was studying Ser Criston, the disgust more than palpable on his face.

“Prince Daeron,” Cregan greeted him, handing him a slight nod.
Not a bow, Daeron quickly noted. The Lord of Winterfell had simply taken in his presence.
“Lord Cregan,” Daeron replied, nervously gripping the reins of his beast.
"I was curious to meet the commander of the enemy army, and I find a little boy to be his leader. Is this your first battle?" asked Cregan, entwining his hands over the saddle horn. His stallion moved in place and Cregan left a pat on his neck, calming him down.

"I hope it's the last one, too. I don't like bloodshed," Daeron commented as he looked into the Northern Lord's eyes. He found Cregan Stark's irises very reminiscent of two sharp blades and had to restrain himself from bringing a hand to his throat, as if he feared his eyes would be enough to make him bleed.
Cregan smiled.

“You are a smart boy,” he said then straightening his back again. He wore light clothes, as if the cold winter breeze caused him no discomfort.
He is the Lord of Winterfell, he must be used to far worse temperatures, he thought as he sank into his coat.

So must the men with him, he continued, looking first at one and then at the other. He did not recognize them but made no issue of it. They had to be Lords his allies or mere subordinates.

"Like you are, Lord Stark. I was hoping to offer you a deal, a negotiation that would spare us from fighting," Daeron said, licking his lips.
Cregan thinned his gaze, his lips bent upward and a condescending expression crossing his face.
“Well then, let's hear this proposal,” he said indulging him. He made himself more comfortable in the saddle and waited patiently.
Daeron only needed to see his attitude to know what the response to any of his proposals would be, but by now he could not go back on his word, so he prepared himself for humiliation.

I'm used to it anyway, he thought as he tightened the reins on his stallion.
"Go back to the North and give up your purpose. Let's avoid more bloodshed," Daeron said as his horse moved in place, evidently irritated by the presence of so many other animals in such a small space. The prince stroked his ear and the animal muttered, still nervous but calmer than moments before.

“More blood besides Princess Rhaenys'?” asked Cregan rubbing his gloved hands together.
Does he not know about the children? About Jacaerys? wondered Daeron biting his lip. He shook his head; it was certainly not his job to make his enemy aware of what was going on within his own ranks. Of his alliances.

Of course, knowing that Jacaerys is our prisoner might ... destabilize him, he thought as he ran his gaze down his body and then over his shoulder, toward the woods and the camp whose tents blended perfectly with the dark forest.
“The Black Queen made an attempt on the life of the king and his son, someone had to pay the price,” said Daeron determined not to reveal anything about the death of his uncle's children and the capture of Jacaerys.
“Of course,” Cregan muttered while continuing to smile.

“After the Greens took Prince Lucerys captive and abused him,” commented the Wolf who by now had heard so much about his love's young brother that he could consider him his own brother. And heck he would have protected him. Defended him to the death.

“I can't say I appreciate my brother's deeds,” retorted Daeron without adding more. He had nothing to add. He did not appreciate what his brother had done; he had been brutal and violent for no reason other than the desire to possess and destroy.

“I have sworn allegiance to the Black Queen and Prince Jacaerys and here I will stay, where they have sent me,” Cregan said, opening his arms to hint around himself, at the plain and the tall plants. To Harrenhal opening up in the background and the Eye of the Gods looking up at the sky.

“Be reasonable,” Gwayne said, intruding on that conversation. Daeron was grateful; he did not know how much longer he could continue to entertain the Lord of Winterfell.
“Half your men will die on this plain,” young Hightower said, mentioning his own army and the dragon that was clearly visible despite the distance, the large blue wings hiding the sharp snout and large yellow eyes.

“Half my men died when they decided to leave the North,” Cregan retorted, straightening up and gripping the reins of his stallion more tightly. It was evident that conversation was coming to an end.
“Jacaerys is prisoner in King's Landing,” Daeron said, regaining the courage to speak.
That fact seemed to strike the Lord of Winterfell, who lowered his shoulders, perhaps hurt by that discovery.

Daeron felt himself rising and sinking at the same time. He had scored a point in his favor but at what price.
Cregan licked his lips and smiled showing all his straight white teeth, sharp canines peeking out from above his lower lip.

“It'll mean I'll release him when the Black Queen takes King's Landing,” he said, grinning.
“And if he is killed while I am here I will personally kill every man or woman in whose veins Hightower blood runs,” he continued, looking Daeron straight in the eye.
A chill ran down the prince's spine and he committed his whole self to conceal it and not give the Lord of Winterfell the satisfaction of having him tremble under his gaze.
The Wolves of the North were said to be more beasts than men.
Would he really hurt Helaena? The twins? he wondered biting the inside of his cheeks.

“Now I am the one to offer you a proposal,” Cregan said, licking his lips. Anger left his body in waves, and Ser Criston's stallion grew restless, dangling from paw to paw and moving his head in an attempt to chase away the smell that plagued his nostrils.

"Go back to King's Landing and beg your brother to surrender his crown. Do so and you will not have to face the Wolves," he said as the two men at his side exchanged a look of understanding, as if they were considering which of the two would face Daeron's companions.

“I will see you tomorrow on the battlefield,” Daeron said with his heart pounding in his chest.
Cregan grinned and clapped a hand against his stallion's neck.
“See you tomorrow, young prince,” he said before turning his back on him and running toward his own camp. The two Wolves who had come with him followed him like two bloodthirsty puppies.
Daeron took a deep breath.

My blood, he thought as he swallowed.
He did not know much about wars and battles but of one thing he was certain, the next day he would not abandon Tessarion's side.

လလလ

Jace was jolted awake. Someone was slamming his hands against the bars of his cell, and the sound of iron reverberated along the floor and in his poor ears. He had fallen asleep after hours of despondency, curled up in an old blanket kindly offered by his Uncle Aemond.

A gift from Luke, he thought as he slowly opened his eyes and his green irises met those of his Uncle Aegon. The Usurper King was leaning against the bars, his long-fingered hands clenched against the iron, like a child looking at an exotic animal locked in a cage.
He sneered, his unruly hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes fixed on the miserable figure of his nephew.

He finally made up his mind, he thought as he slowly pulled himself to his seat, the blanket tight around his shoulders. He had been waiting for a visit from his uncle for a month now. He knew Aegon would torture him, but not knowing when he would arrive had nearly driven him mad.

And Aegon seemed to know, he thought again, running his gaze from his uncle's face to his empty hands.

It must not have been his idea. He's not that bright. Otto Hightower? Alicent? No, they had nothing to do with it, he thought again, biting his lip. There was great reasoning behind that tactic, a mind game neither Hightower could have thought of.
"Are you happy to see me? I see someone brought you a blanket! What a kind gesture!" commented Aegon sneeringly.

Jace clutched the worn and itchy flaps. That blanket was terrifying in every way, but he would struggle before someone tore it off him.
Aegon raised his hands, as if to calm a particularly enraged kitten.

"Don't worry, I won't take it away from you, I certainly don't want you to freeze to death! Then yes Lucerys would never open his legs for my brother again," Aegon commented, and Jace shrugged his shoulders, biting his cheeks.

You bastard, he thought, gritting his teeth. Just the idea that Aemond had laid hands on his brother made him heated, it seemed liquid fire was flowing through his veins, and in those moments the blanket was no longer needed, too much anger.
Aegon brought a hand to his nose.

“No need to get angry!” he exclaimed, frowning and fanning the space in front of his own face, dispelling the pungent smell.
He snapped his fingers and two guards came into Jace's field of vision. One wielded ropes while the other held a chair.

Let's get started, thought Jace ready to undergo any kind of torture.
Aegon opened the cell door, whistling like a spring bird.
The first guard arranged the chair in a corner and then grabbed Jace by the arm, forcing him to stand up. The young prince resisted as much as he could, but the big man was twice his height and just as strong. Without any effort he forced him to sit up and delivered a punch to his stomach that made him bend in two.

“Be careful!” exclaimed Aegon with an ounce of nervousness cracking his voice. The soldier hurriedly apologized, and while Jace was still bent forward the other bound his hands to the hard wooden arms, leaving his palms facing upward. The first soldier who had hit him took care to slip off his boots and fasten his calves to the legs of the chair, his feet not quite touching the ground.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Aegon, grinning. He motioned the guards to move away, and they obeyed with a little bow, vanishing out the door and away from the two princes.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Jace, fixing his eyes on Aegon, who was still smiling.
He crouched before him and looked into his eyes, studying him with ill-concealed interest.

“If you were an omega I would fuck you,” he told him, nibbling his cheeks.
Lucky I'm not, thought Jace, returning the gaze but with more rancor and anger. He almost hoped that his brother might rush to his rescue but Lucerys had not entered the dungeon since that one time they had met. Every day he went down to the bottom of the stairs and every day he was sent back to his own rooms. Jace could more than clearly hear him complaining and threatening the guards but they never relented.

“But you're an alpha so there's nothing left for me to do but torture you,” he said, drawing a dagger from behind his back. It had a familiar shape, very similar to the one with which Lucerys had ripped out Aemond's eye.
“It is not the same,” Aegon commented, looking at the edge of the blade.

"Aemond keeps the original under lock and key. I don't know if he wants to use it on your brother or if he is simply obsessed..." he continued, fixing his eyes in Jace's green ones.
The prince kept his eyes fixed in his. He would not look away. He would not show weakness before that usurper.

Aegon snapped forward and grabbed his face with one hand, driving his nails into his cheeks. Jace hissed and tried to raise his arms, only succeeding in burning his wrists with the rough courts.
“Look at that pretty face,” Aegon whispered, licking his cheek. Jace's eyes widened but he knew he shouldn't be surprised; Aegon had always had absurd behavior. And now his uncle was sneering at him, the dagger clutched in one hand and the other wrapped around his face, a grip so strong it prevented him from moving his neck.

“It won't be so pretty anymore,” Aegon commented as he pressed the tip of the blade above his left eyebrow, a drop of blood sliding down Jace's eyelid and then down his cheek.
Jace moved his head but Aegon held him still as he went over the eye and dragged the blade along his cheek. Not deep enough to mark him like Aemond but enough to leave a scar as thin as a thread.

Aegon let go and Jace hissed, dropped his head forward, and thin red drops smeared his pants.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, trying to lift a hand to caress his face. The ropes dug into his wrists as Aegon laughed, his eyes fixed on the red-covered blade. He wiped it against his own pants.
Aegon crouched in front of him and Jace looked at him with one eye closed and the left side of his face burning.

“Does it hurt?” asked Aegon as he lifted a hand could caress his face. Jace snapped back, and turned his right cheek to him.
“Think of poor little Aemond, without an eye and with a gutted cheek,” Aegon commented, leaving a caress on his right cheek.

Jace trembled, terrified that his uncle might hurt that side of his face as well. Aegon, however, grabbed his left hand and forced his fingers to spread. Immediately Jace clenched them into a fist.

"Jaaace! Be good," Aegon mumbled, forcing him to open his hand. He grabbed one end of the rope and passed it over his fingers, locking them permanently in that position.
“I don't want to cut your fingers off,” he told him immediately, fiddling with the blade of the dagger.

“Because you don't have the guts!” exclaimed Jace with blood continuing to drip from the left side of his face. His eyelid was completely closed, the blood beginning to dry and stitch together the thick dark lashes.
Aegon curled his lips into a thoughtful expression.

“Mh, no, it's because I hate stumps,” he muttered, returning to kneel at Jace's side. He took up the dagger and plunged the blade into the fingertip of his index finger, tracing a cut that started at the base of the one and went all the way to the end of the phalanx.
Jace shrieked, starting to struggle in the chair, trying to tear at the ropes that held him firmly in place.
"Oh stop it! Calm down! I said I won't cut off your fingers!" exclaimed Aegon, hitting him right in the face with a slap.
Jace took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest and his fingertip bleeding profusely, burning as if a dragon had blown on it.
Aegon sneered as he saw the despair on his face.

“You have nineteen more fingers, though!” he exclaimed joyfully.
Jace went back to screaming.

လလလ

Baela had taken Rhaenyra to bed. Her parents were huddled under the covers, clasped in each other's arms. Baela had thrown her own travel cloak on the bed so that they could find comfort in her scent. She would then search for more of her brothers' clothes and carefully avoid those of Aegon and Viserys.

She left the room and closed the door behind her, pressing her back against it.
Shit, she thought, biting her lip. She ran her hands against her face and took a deep breath. Corlys had disappeared after dragging Daemon to his room, and Baela was left alone to handle her parents.

“They will recover soon,” whispered the Master appearing at her side.
Baela gave him a sad smile and he smiled back in the same way.
“What happened to them?” she asked as together they walked down the corridors headed toward Joffrey's room.

Maybe he'll know how to help, she thought as she bit her cheeks. Her little brother had the same anger as Jacaerys but since Luke had been captured he had always been at his mother's side.

"I'm afraid the death of the little princes has brought them to the brink. The body has brought them to a... primordial state. They will recover," the Master said again, gesturing with his wrinkled hands.
Baela nodded although she was not totally sure what those words meant. She knew that sometimes, if taken beyond the bearable threshold of pain, many alphas would go crazy and act out of instinct, attacking and killing everything other than their own family.

But my father is crying and my mother is an omega, she thought with a sigh. She wished so much that Rhaenys was there with her, her grandmother could have explained what had afflicted her mother and father.

But grandmother is dead and I have no one left, she muttered biting her lip.
“When will they recover?” asked Baela turning again to the Master.
Standing still in front of the door to Joffrey's room they waited to hear some sound, the slightest noise that would let them know the young prince was awake and not sleeping.

“Already by the next day they will be better,” the Master reassured her by laying a hand on her shoulder.
Baela nodded again and fervently hoped that the Master was right. She needed her parents to be like they used to be. Her grandfather was acting strange, aloof, and Baela did not feel safe to grant him control of Dragonstone.

She brought a hand to her side.
He is so cold. He didn't even ask for Grandmother's remains, she thought as she clutched the small jar in her left hand.
She swallowed and untied the knots that held her fixed at her side. Then she handed it to the Master, who squeezed it carefully, as if it were a newborn.
Instead it is the remains of a dead person, she thought as she licked her lips.

“Take it to my grandfather,” he said, mentioning the hallway and then returning her gaze to the door behind which her brother was hiding.
The Master nodded and immediately walked away, the brown robe following him step by step.

Baela watched him walk away, and once she saw him disappear around the corner she returned her focus to the door to Joffrey's room, plucking up the courage to knock and meet her brother's big, sad eyes.

Enough. Be brave! she thought as she knocked quickly against the hard wood.
She got no answer.
She frowned and knocked again. Her brother was not the kind of person to avoid confrontation. He would rather have shouted and vented all his anger than feign indifference and hide behind a door.

“Joff?” asked Baela, pressing her ear against the door.
Could he really be asleep? she wondered.
“Joffrey!” she called to him again, tapping a hand against the door.
Again she got no answer.
You asked for it, she thought as she opened the door without further ceremony.
The bed was made and the room perfectly tidy. The windows closed and the books stacked in a low pile above the desk.
Of Joffrey there was no sign.

Baela moved a few steps inside the room and immediately her eyes were drawn to the dagger stuck in the desk. A thin note had been fixed with the blade.
She took it without hesitation.
No more waiting, it is time for me to do something. The Wolves will need help against the Dragons.
Joffrey.
Baela frowned and slammed a fist against the desk.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, gnashing her teeth.

လလလ

Night had fallen on Harrenhal. The moon was high in the sky and the Wolves had gathered in small groups around the fire. Cregan sat beside Roderick Dustin and Medrick Manderly, the former stood to his right and the latter to his left. Benjicot Blackwood and his brother Davos sat in a corner, talking quietly but despite their intention not to be heard the words “Bracken” and “bastards” were still clearly audible. The two were talking among themselves, ignoring the Lord of Winterfell who clearly seemed to have other thoughts on his mind.

Thoughts that concerned a young man with brown curly hair and eyes as green as moss just wet from a storm.
Cregan took a sip of wine and made himself more comfortable against the fallen log, leaning his forearms against the wood and leaning his head back so he could look up at the starry sky and the moon peeping through the tree branches.

Captured by the Greens, he thought, biting his lip.
Not knowing how Jace had been captured gave him a sense of unease. Had he been caught while flying to Dragonstone? Or had the Black Queen given him another task and had he been caught while completing it?
He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the chatter of his men and the crackling of the fire.
Prince Daeron's beast has gone hunting, he thought as he remembered the huge blue dragon taking flight just as the sun was setting. He had only been back at the camp for a few hours, and the ground had shuddered when it had swooped over the yellow grass.

That will be a problem, he thought again. His men might be animals and skilled fighters, but even they could not take down a dragon.
He should have asked Jacaerys what was the best way to take down one of those beasts but he doubted his sweet prince knew a way to hurt those creatures.

The wings look delicate enough... a few well-planted arrows should at least hurt, he thought as he bit his lower lip. Good thing he had had the good idea to bring skilled archers.
Courtesy of Lord Manderly.

He mumbled and took another sip of wine. He knew he could not indulge in more than one cup.
The little bastard knew that talking about Jace would hurt me, he commented, crossing his ankles. Roderick and Medrick were getting closer than he would have liked but if they wanted to indulge in one last night of fun he would not stop them. He feared only the wrath of Roderick's father if his sweet omega son returned to the North with a bastard in his belly.
I wonder what they know about us, he thought again. He knew that Jace would never confess anything that might endanger his mother or his family. But he also knew that a tiny trace of his scent must have remained on him, especially after all the times he had marked him with his seed.

Fuck, he thought with a sigh.
He just wanted to take Jace in his arms and escape to the North, past the Wall if he had to.
Hurried steps and labored breaths.
Cregan squinted an eye, and Roderick and Medrick parted, putting the distance of a palm between their thighs.

One of his Wolves had stopped at the side of the bonfire, her eyes fixed in those of her Lord. She was a young alpha, a girl with a snappy hand and skilled with daggers. Cregan remembered her for her ferocity on the training ground.
“My lord, a small dragon has landed in the middle of the woods,” she said, pressing a hand against her chest.

Cregan frowned and straightened his back, pressing a hand into the ground to help himself up. Roderick and Medrick looked at each other equally confused. Benjicot grabbed the dagger and fixed his spirited clear eyes on her. The blood-red cloak wrapped around his shoulders like a second skin. Davos hesitated but then stood up, helping his older brother.

“A small dragon?” asked Cregan, crossing his arms against his chest.
She nodded and nodded her own head.

“A knight dressed in black and with dark curly hair... I believe he is one of Prince Jacaerys brothers,” she explained looking over her shoulder. The Wolves had not risen from their comfortable seats but had stopped chatting, holding cups of ale with one hand and clutching their weapons with the other.

Joffrey... unless Lucerys managed to escape from under his husband's nose, conquered a dragon and knew where to find us, Cregan thought as he ran a hand over his face.

“Lead the way,” he ordered more than certain that his beloved's younger brother should not be there but should be at Dragonstone, safe at his parents' side.
The alpha nodded and with quick step walked into the woods, followed by her Lord, Roderick and Mederick, Benjicot, Davos and a dozen other Wolves who would protect the Lord of Winterfell if that turned out to be a trap.

They walked at a brisk pace, avoiding tall roots and low branches, eventually coming out into a small clearing large enough to hide the prince's dragon, a beast so dark that it hid in the darkness, only the huge yellow eyes and red crests allowed it to take shape.
His head barely grazed the exact center of those centuries-old trees.
He is half the size of Vermax, he found himself thinking as he urged his men to stay a step behind, hidden by the trunks of the trees that would protect them if the dragon decided to charge them.

On his saddle moved a thin but slender figure. The young man arranged his sword and bag and then lowered himself down, using Tyraxes' paw as if it were a ladder. He jumped the last meter and landed firmly on his feet, rubbing his hands together and tickling the dragon's skin, which puffed out a cloud of steam.
Joffrey turned slowly, his dark curls brushing his forehead and his black eyes fixed on Cregan.

He is taller than Jace, he thought, biting his cheeks. He was by a span, maybe more. But despite his height, Cregan could have said with certainty that he was his younger brother. His face had not yet completely abandoned the features of boyhood.
“Prince Joffrey, you should not be here,” Cregan said at once.

Jace would kill me if he knew his brother was on the battlefield, he thought as the young man hunched his shoulders and bit his lip.
So the Queen did not send him, he continued, scratching a cheek.
"I was hoping I could help. Jace and Luke are prisoners of the Greens and I can't stay hidden forever at Dragonstone," he said with a streak of anger staining his voice. But more than wrath toward the Greens it seemed wrath toward himself who had not yet contributed to that war.

Identical to Jace, Cregan thought while hiding a smile.
“Your mother and brothers would not want to know you in danger,” Cregan commented, hinting to the Wolves to return to camp; it was clear that this young man was no threat to him.

His men did not object, glad to be able to return to their pre-battle festivities. Only Benjicot remained behind, his shoulder leaning against a tree trunk and the thick branches hiding his slender figure.
Joff sighed, his heart pounding in his chest but his scent undergoing no change.

He hasn't presented himself yet, clear, Cregan thought as he lifted his eyes to the black dragon that had curled up on the ground, a crescent of teeth and fire ready to protect his knight's back.
“I can help you!” insisted Joffrey, ignoring the Lord's words. Of course he knew his mother would be furious. Of course he knew Jace would slap him. Of course he knew Luke would protect him from his brother's wrath.
But at that moment his mother was reduced to an empty shell and his brothers were spoils of war for the Greens.
“I saw Tessarion as I flew over the area,” Joffrey continued, and Cregan finally could name the sapphire-colored beast that protected Prince Daeron's back.

"Your Wolves cannot face her but I can! Allow me to help! I just want to get Jace and Luke home!" exclaimed Joffrey, his lips beginning to tremble and his eyes glazed over. A pitiful sob left his throat and the prince turned his back on him, covering his face with his hands.
Cregan sighed and laid his eyes on Tyraxes. The dragon returned the gaze, a low growl filling his throat, a constant sound that did not seem intent on ceasing.

“What happened to Jace?” asked Cregan, swallowing.
Joff turned to him, his eyes bright but his face dry, he was on the verge of tears but still managed to hold himself back. He sighed and sat down in the middle of the meadow, Tyraxes' body shielding him from the winter breeze.

“He was captured and my brothers were killed,” he said, rubbing a hand against his eyes. Speaking those words hurt him every time. His little brothers, Aegon and Viserys, lost forever, one with an arrow in the middle of his neck and the other drowned.
Cregan squinted his eyes.
“Your... brothers?” asked Cregan, leaning against one of the plants growing behind him.
Joff nodded and told him about the letter that had arrived at Dragonstone. Cregan brought a hand to his forehead.
“Shit!” he hissed angrily.

He watched them die. Oh, Jace, he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He thought especially of little Viserys who was the same age as his son, snatched from the world too soon.

Joffrey merely nodded, and Cregan had to fight the urge to move closer to pass an arm around his shoulders. Had he done so, he most likely would have been reduced to a pile of burning embers.
Joff pulled up with his nose and swallowed.

Cregan sat on the ground in turn, one hand pressed against his eyes.
Shit, he thought again.
“Your uncle's dragon is twice the size of yours,” Cregan commented, leaning his back against one of the thick logs.
Joff lifted his eyes to his, a spark of hope lighting up the dark irises.

Could it be that he has the same look as his brother? he wondered, biting his cheeks. The same look for which Cregan would have done the impossible.
"Tyraxes is small and fast. I promise we won't do anything rash, we'll simply ... get him away from you," Joff said with his lips beginning to curve upward.
Cregan imitated him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the same stubbornness as your brother?” asked the Wolf, and Joffrey grinned, the tears in his eyes completely gone and his cheeks red.
“We all took after our mother,” Joff explained. After all, there was a reason Luke, despite being a prisoner, had set the Red Keep on fire.
Cregan snorted a laugh.

Now I long to meet the Black Queen, he thought as he lifted his eyes skyward.
"Jace said before you came here you would stop at the Eyrie. Have you seen my sister? How is she?" asked Joff who wanted nothing more than to hug Rhaena again, sweet as a spoonful of honey but proud like her father.

Cregan told him about their meeting and the terrible way the young woman had found out about her grandmother's death.
“She is strong and can't wait to hold you again,” he reassured him as Tyraxes bent his neck toward Joff and blew a cloud of steam at him. Cregan saw the prince's shoulders become less tense and a chill ran down his shoulders.

“Come, let us make our way to the camp,” Cregan said, hinting over his own shoulder.
Joff nodded at once and stood up, leaving a caress against the cheeks of his dragon, who huffed again and shrank more into himself, hiding under thin wings, appearing in every way like a mortal dome.
“And tell me, how can we survive your uncle's dragon?” asked Cregan as together they passed through the thick brush and began to meet the first Wolves. Many had retreated for the night but the youngest and most excited were still up, probably not going to sleep for many more hours.

“Let's strike before he has time to saddle up,” Joffrey replied in an obvious manner.
Cregan smiled.
He definitely has the same spirit as Jace, he thought as he led him toward his own tent.

Chapter Text

Daeron was awakened by cries of pain and what sounded like howls. He opened his eyes wide and rose from his bunk with such swiftness that he ended up on the floor, the blankets wrapped around his legs and the pillow falling on his face.

What the fuck? he wondered with eyes fixed on the tent entrance.
He kicked off the blanket and quickly slipped on his boots. He grabbed his sword and with only his pants and shirt on, he left the tent, dislodging the fluttering entrance. The sun blinded him for a few moments but his ears continued to hear.

A hundred meters ahead his men, led by Gwayne and Criston, were facing the Wolves, who rabidly were breaking through the corpses.
Cregan Stark was leading his men, the drawn sword parrying Ser Criston's blows. The two men fought skillfully, both too proud to give ground to the other as the battle raged around them.

Shit! he exclaimed as with furious eyes he sought out Tessarion who with raised head watched the clash, reluctant to take flight because her knight was not with her and ready to burn anyone who came too close to his tent.
Gwayne was holding position and seemed to have managed to create a lineup strong enough to prevent the Wolves from advancing. The opposite side of the battalion, on the other hand, had been left without a commander, with Criston too busy facing Cregan Stark the men were moving uncertainly, holding their lines but not actually knowing how far they could advance.

Shit! he exclaimed again, setting off running between the tents, heading for Tessarion, who hissed when she finally saw him. The sound had an air of reproach and Daeron could only interpret it that way.
Tessarion was infuriated that he had continued to sleep despite the raging battle.

"I know! You are right! I'm sorry!" he shouted as he scrambled up her leg, finally mounting the saddle. He fastened the leather laces to his thighs and took a moment to arrange his own clothes, regretting not having worn at least the leather breastplate.
Tessarion hissed again and Daeron left a pat on her neck.

"Fly Tessarion! Fly!" he exclaimed, pointing his eyes skyward. The dragon didn't let it repeat itself and with a leap it sprang into the air, its wings so huge that it caused a current so strong that it knocked some men to the ground.
Daeron imagined the Wolves would at least lift their eyes skyward, but Cregan Stark's men were focused on their goal: eliminating the Greens.
Shit, he thought as Tessarion flew in circles above the soldiers.
Wolves and Vipers were a cluster distinguishable only by their colors. The dragon could have glided down from the sky and thrown a few into the air but the soldiers were all so close that in trying to hurt a Wolf, Daeron would end up killing a Viper.
He attacked first because he knew I could not help! he thought as he bit his lip.
Cregan Stark is more skilled than I imagined, he told himself as Tessarion glided toward the edge of the deployment, at least managing to cause enough confusion to allow the fallen Vipers to recover.

And as his dragon spread terror through the crowd Daeron's eyes ran from his uncle's face to Ser Criston's.
Gwayne was fighting Roderick. The Hightower's blond curls were flecked with red, and a mad smile bent his lips as his sword impacted with that of the omega who held his ground egregiously.

Benjicot moved swiftly among the Vipers, slitting throats and slashing arms. He was as quick and snappy as a fawn. He was looking for the yellow-clad warriors, Bracken who had come to the aid of the Usurper King. His brother Davos seemed to be of the same opinion but his eyes searched intently, as if his interest lay in someone specific but he had not yet been able to locate them.
Criston continued his challenge with Cregan, and amazingly neither man seemed to have advanced or retreated-they were there, where Daeron had last seen them. They turned around but neither gave ground to the other. A cut had opened along Ser Criston's left thigh and a scratch marked Cregan's right bicep.

Tessarion snorted, drawing the attention of his knight, who immediately turned to look ahead of him. A group of ten Wolves had annihilated a small group of Vipers but in doing so had gone too far from the heart of the battle, giving Daeron the perfect opportunity to strike.

“Dracarys!” cried the prince as the Wolves lifted their eyes skyward, seeing Tessarion's jaws fill with fire.
An unimaginable heat brushed Daeron's back and Tessarion suddenly changed direction, offering her belly to the sky and protecting her knight who found himself staring at a small black dragon.

Tessarion growled, sprinting in pursuit of their attackers, and the Wolves took advantage of that moment to rejoin the bulk of the formation.
"Go! Tyraxes!" exclaimed the curly black-haired knight. The black beast hissed and fled over the treetops, pursued by the blue dragon.
Tyraxes... Joffrey! he thought with wide eyes. For that young man could be none other than the younger brother of Lucerys and Jacaerys. The only son left to Rhaenyra.
Tessarion hissed and chased after him, moved by anger toward that little dragon who had nearly burned her knight.

Joffrey continually turned in the saddle, made sure of Tessarion's position, and guided Tyraxes further forward and out of the dragon's claw gate.
"Easy Tessarion! Don't hurt him!" exclaimed Daeron with his eyes fixed on his young nephew's back. A cloak too short for him fluttered around his body, showing his hips to which a sword and a bag were clutched.

Tessarion snorted but his body lost the adrenaline charge of moments before, reducing that chase to a game.
Joffrey turned one last time and his dark eyes met his uncle's purple ones. He clapped a hand against Tyraxes' neck and it plummeted downward, clenched its wings against the black body and disappeared into the trees.

Tessarion hissed, taking to circling as Daeron looked around, certain that Joffrey would reappear ready to attack him.
Where are you? he wondered when after about ten minutes his nephew did not return to the charge. The trees just ahead were moving, as if Tyraxes had begun to creep through the forest.
“Down Tessarion!” exclaimed Daeron, looking for a place where his dragon could land. He spotted a small clearing, large enough for him to slide down the back of his blue beast. Tessarion's wings caught on the trees and she uprooted them with the brute force of her body, opening a gap to the woods.

Tyraxes is not that small, he thought as he looked at the space between trees. Yet it seemed the dragon could move nimbly through the branches.
As elusive as his rider, he thought as he slid to the ground. He clapped a hand against Tessarion's paw and ordered her to wait for his return. He laid a hand on his sword and again, regretting not having worn his armor, walked into the forest, following the trail left by Tyraxes.

The forest was extremely dense but the sunlight still managed to penetrate, lighting up small moss-covered areas.
The din of battle came muffled, as if he were centuries behind and Daeron had stepped into a little corner of paradise.

He stopped in the center of a portion of the forest devoid of logs, despite the absence the branches of the other trees were so long that they created a dome over Daeron's head, concealing the sun and clouds.
Daeron smiled as he looked at the sky through the thick green leaves.
A branch snapped behind him. He turned just in time to see Joffrey charging at him, too enraged to actually have a strategy. Daeron dodged him with ease, grabbed him by the arm with which he held the sword and pushed him against one of the trees. He grabbed the blade with a gloved hand and pushed it against Joffrey's throat, immobilizing him with his own weapon.

He is taller than Jacaerys, he thought as the first thing. He was so used to lowering his gaze when addressing his nephews that now he was almost surprised that he only had to tilt his neck a little.

Joff was breathing heavily, the blade brushing against his throat covered by a light layer of sweat. Piercing dark eyes were fixed in Daeron's, and only from that distance did the prince seem to realize that a slight purplish tint joined the blackness of his irises.
“Where did you leave your dragon?” he asked, holding him still.
Joffrey smiled at him, showing his perfect white teeth.
“Who's to say he's not right behind you?” he asked looking over Daeron's shoulder who, had he not noticed the direction of his gaze and his eyes too low, might have even believed him.

“I would notice a dragon behind me,” he commented with a knowing smile. Joff tried to move slowly, and Daeron pressed the blade harder against his throat; it would not allow him to stir.
“You didn't notice him when he was about to burn you alive,” Joff commented as he thrust his face forward and the sword opened a thin slash against his throat. Daeron held his position but prepared to let him go in case his nephew really tried to slit his throat so as not to risk ending up in the hands of the Green.

“I was distracted,” he commented, biting the inside of his cheeks. He had been so certain that no one could attack him once he was riding Tessarion that he had forgotten that the Blacks had dragons, too.
I'm lucky he was the one who attacked me and not Daemon, he thought as he lowered his gaze.

“Of course,” Joff commented as he swallowed, his throat beginning to burn there where the edge of the blade touched it. The cut was superficial and wouldn't leave a scar, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
Daeron sighed a laugh. His nostrils quivered in search of a scent that might reveal to him his nephew's true emotions but his nose picked up nothing beyond a faint smell of burnt flesh.
He hasn't presented yet, he thought with wide eyes. Then he called himself an idiot.
Lucerys only presented six months ago, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“What should I do with you?” asked he, fixing his gaze in his dark purple. Joffrey bit his lips and clenched his hands into fists. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes fixed in his.
“You could kill me, as you did my brothers,” he hissed and Daeron let him go immediately, took a few steps back and brought Joffrey's sword with him. He thrust the blade deep into the ground, deep enough that Joffrey would have to work hard to draw it and would give Daeron time to draw his own.

"Or you can take me to King's Landing and fuck me like Aemond does Luke! After all, your brothers like boys younger than they are... children," Joff commented as he moved away from the tree, blood running down his throat and his hands clenched into fists, nails dug into his palm.
Daeron took a breath between his teeth.

“Lucerys is not a child,” he hissed, turning with a snap.
Joff bared his teeth, eyes running to his sword, and Daeron rested his hand on it. A warning.
"Of course! He presented only, when? Two hours before Aemond bit him!" exclaimed Joffrey, gritting his teeth.
Daeron took a deep breath and drew his sword from the ground, the din of battle growing farther and farther away, as if the soldiers were dwindling.
He approached Joffrey and Joffrey took a step back then, realizing what he had done, planted his feet on the ground and lifted his chin, watching his uncle approach him.
Daeron pressed the flat of the sword against his chest and Joff clasped his hand around the hilt, his eyes fixed on the blade.
"Go back to Dragonstone. This is not the place for you," he told him, moving away with quick steps.

Joffrey gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze to the blade.
I could take him now that he has his back to me, he thought, biting his lip.
No, only cowards attack from behind, he continued as his eyes rested on a piece of wood half the length of his forearm and as thick as two of his fingers. He picked it up and quickly threw it at Daeron, striking him in the center of the back.

Daeron turned slowly, one eyebrow raised and his eyes fixed on Joffrey's face.
“Face me!” exclaimed Joff as he took his stance, the muscles in his arms and legs trembling with excitement.
“Did you hit me with a branch?” asked Daeron bending down to pick up the weapon in question.
“I could have hit you with my sword,” Joffrey pointed out to him.
Daeron grinned and threw the branch into the thick forest, watching it disappear into the foliage.
“No, you couldn't,” he said, crossing his arms against his chest.
That sword is too long for him, he thought as he ran a hand against his chin.
Joffrey looked at him with eyes that were fiery but showed an ounce of curiosity. As if he did not imagine that his uncle was so different from the others.
“Don't you-” a shout of joy burst from the battlefield and both princes turned their eyes toward the prairie.

Joff glanced at Daeron and then sheathed his brother's sword.
“We will face each other again!” exclaimed Joff as he fled into the woods.
Daeron watched him go, his eyes fixed on the magnificent curly hair.
He is really pretty, he thought, smiling.
Silently he walked back toward Tessarion, and from the small glimpse into the prairie he saw Tyraxes streaking across the sky.

လလလ

Luke bit his lip as he silently, accompanied by his guards, walked through the corridors. He had recently finished his breakfast and his belly was so full he could have burst.
One hand was resting on the curve of his own belly and the other hidden in the pocket of his black robe. Inside, sheltered by a napkin, was a piece of bread with cheese, a gift for Jace in case, that was the day he might meet him.

“My prince, the Master!” exclaimed Harkon, hinting before them.
The Master, a different man from the one who had concealed Lucerys' pregnancy and was now a prisoner in the dungeon, walked briskly down the corridor, a medicine bag clutched at his hip and his feet directed toward the dungeon.
This is my chance! he thought as he began to run chased by the guards.

The Master jerked as Luke stopped at his side.
“Prince Lucerys!” he exclaimed as he hurried to hand him a bow. He was a younger man than the old Master; he must have been in his forties, perhaps the same age as Daemon.
Luke smiled at him as Cleoden and Harkon walked behind them.
“Are you going to see my brother?” asked Luke as he walked beside him.
The man swallowed and nodded, clutching his bag with both hands.
“I'll go with you,” Luke said, licking his lips.
The Master stopped in the middle of the corridor and so did the guards.
"But... My prince, Prince Aemond has forbidden you to enter the dungeon alone," the man said, lowering his gaze to him. Luke grinned and grabbed onto his arm, urging him forward.
"But I am not alone! I'm with you! Courage!" he exclaimed, forcing him forward.

The Master swallowed but dared not resist; after all, the prince's reasoning had no flaws.
Together they walked down the long staircase that led to the dungeon and the two alphas on guard showed the same grievances as the Master and again, at Lucerys' words they could do nothing but let them pass.
The prince was clinging to a loophole but it was a working loophole.

Cleoden and Harkon paused outside the dungeon while Luke and the Master advanced, with the prince abandoning the curate's arm in order to reach his brother's cell first.
“Jace!” he exclaimed when he saw him tied to a chair, his head bowed forward and bleeding hands and feet bound to armrests and wooden legs.
The Master hurried to open the cell door and Jace lifted his gaze, revealing the left side of his face marked by a long cut.

“Luke!” he exclaimed in a rough voice. He gasped when Luke knelt before him, taking his face in his hands. He hissed, his left eye closed by eyelashes glued shut by blood and the thin cut throbbing.
“I'm sorry!” she exclaimed, letting him go immediately, his eyes running from his face, to his hands and feet. There was blood everywhere.
“Help me out of this chair,” whispered Jace in a rough voice.
Luke immediately nodded and shouted for the Master to help him untie the ropes. They immediately set to work, and Luke found himself using his teeth to untie the most complex knots.

“Be careful,” said the Master, grabbing Jace by the shoulders. The prince tried to rest his feet on the ground but jerked, squealing in pain. The Master dragged him to the corner where he used to hole up, and the young alpha hissed in despair.
"Fuck! Did Aegon do that?" asked Luke as the Master stepped back to ask for a basin of boiling water and rags to be brought in.
Jace nodded and hinted at his own face.

“For his sweet little brother,” he said biting his lip.
Luke clenched his hands into fists and lowered his gaze to his brother's bleeding hands. The fingers were red and swollen, the nails broken but the palms intact though covered in dried blood.
“I'm sorry,” Luke whispered, and Jace smiled, leaning his head against his shoulder.
“We have to stop apologizing,” he commented and his brother smiled, leaving a caress in his curly, dirty hair.
The Master returned carrying a bucket of boiling water and three different white rags. He handed one to Luke and told him to clean Jacaerys' face but to pay attention to the cut. Lucerys nodded and immediately set to work, first attending to the eye, removing the red lump that had joined the eyelashes, allowing Jace to lift the eyelids.

Meanwhile, the Master was attending to his bleeding feet. Attempting to walk had reopened the two deep cuts that started at the tip of his big toe and ended at his heel.
Jace hissed and Luke felt his heart clench.
“You-you were telling me about Cregan,” he whispered, hoping to distract his brother by bringing back memories of past moments. The Master gave no sign that he understood their language and continued in his cleansing work.
Jace huffed out a laugh.

“Are you trying to distract me?” he asked him, lifting his green eyes.
Luke smiled.
“Is it working?” he asked in turn.
Jace sighed cheerfully and leaned back against his brother, his muscles jerking every time the Master got too close to the cuts. He couldn't imagine how he would react when he started stitching him up.
"I shouldn't like him. Cregan is an alpha and yet… fuck!" he exclaimed when the Master pierced the skin of his heel, bringing it closer together with a thick black needle.
Luke left a kiss in his hair, watching as the man kneeling before his brother quickly moved his hand armed with the needle. Within moments he was already halfway up the foot.

"He is wonderful. By his side I feel safe, like nothing can hurt me, you know?" he asked him, closing his eyes as the Master pierced his big toe. The alpha cut the thread and made a small knot, thin but strong.
Luke nodded.
That's how I feel when I'm at Dragonstone, he thought as the Master switched to the opposite foot.

Jace placed the back of his hand against his round belly. It had been a month since he had last seen Lucerys, and in that month his belly had become more prominent, beginning to slope downward.
“Oh! I brought you some food,” Luke said, slipping a hand into his pocket and pulling out the piece of bread and cheese. Jace's eyes lit up; he had been reduced to eating soup and nothing else these days. He extended his hands toward his brother's and then realized the condition of his own fingers.
“Oh,” Luke muttered, frowning. He lifted the food to Jace's mouth and the latter snorted a laugh, letting his brother feed it. The Master found himself smiling in turn at that small moment of lightheartedness.
Once he had finished stitching up the cuts on his feet he wrapped them in soft white bandages.

“How long will it take me to heal?” asked Jace, lowering his gaze to his new shoes.
“Six weeks or so,” replied the Master.
That is, if King Aegon doesn't decide to open them again, he then thought as he bit the inside of his cheeks.
Before attending to his hands he took a quick look at the prince's face. The cut did not need stitches, and the Master merely disinfected and cleaned it again so as to make sure that Prince Lucerys had left no traces of blood.

As he worked on stitching up the long fingers, Jace resumed telling about his time at Winterfell. He spoke of Jonnel and their journey riding Vermax. He talked about the bear that had nearly killed Bran and his father. And he talked about the pact he made with Cregan.
“Am I a coward if I say I don't want to marry Baela?” he asked as he laid eyes on Luke, one hand bandaged and the other being stitched back up.
“Yes,” commented a voice more than familiar.
The three turned with a jerk, and the Master jolted to see Prince Aemond standing motionless before the open door, one hand resting on the hilt of his own sword and his one eye fixed on his husband and brother.

“I forbade you to come here alone,” Aemond said, taking a step forward.
Jace let a low growl escape. He could not even stand up but would do anything to protect his brother from their uncle's wrath.
Luke frowned.
"I'm not alone. I'm with the Master," he said, mentioning the man who quickly stood up and bowed his head.

Aemond laid his gaze on the brown-clad alpha and with a nod ordered him to move away. He obeyed without repetition, picked up his bag and left without a word.
“The Master doesn't count,” Aemond commented, taking another step inside the cell. His smell was so overpowering that Jace had to restrain himself from pressing a hand against his nose.
Luke stood up and marched toward his husband, his hands pressed against his stomach.

"My guards don't count. The Master does not count. Who counts?" he asked, looking him straight in the face. He crossed his arms against his chest and in doing so highlighted his round belly even more, and his uncle's eye, just as he had predicted, fell there.
“Me and no one else,” Aemond commented, laying a hand against his belly.

"Clearly I can't trust Aegon and Daeron. Helaena would never come down here so I'm your only option," he continued.
Luke took a step back and pushed his hand away. He turned his back to him and returned to kneel beside Jace who had not taken his eyes off their uncle.

“If I can't come here Aegon mustn't either,” Luke said, leaving a kiss against Jace's hair. He stood up and looked back at his husband.
Aemond cast his eye to the sky.
"Aegon is the king. He can do what he wants," he told him as he hinted down the hallway, a clear invitation to leave the cell.
Jace snorted a laugh and shook his head. The nonsense his brother was forced to hear.
“I don't want him to hurt Jace,” Luke said, clenching his hands into fists.

Aemond sighed and pressed a hand against his face.
"If he suffers I suffer. And if I suffer the child suffers," he continued, frowning. And just as he had imagined, just naming the child was enough to change Aemond's attitude.
The one-eyed prince sighed and stamped a foot on the ground.
Jace looked fascinated at his brother, who with the right words seemed able to tame their mad uncle.

“I will speak to Aegon,” Aemond said, hinting again at the hallway.
Luke grinned, turned to Jace and kissed his cheeks.
“I'll be back!” he reassured him before leaving the cell.
Aemond watched him walk away and then turned a glance to Jace.
“If it were up to me, you would be dead already,” he told him, closing the cell door with a snap.
“Same goes for me,” he retorted, clenching his hands into fists.
He felt the stitches pull and ignored the pain.

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Daeron slid down from Tessarion's saddle. His dragon puffed out a cloud of vapor, the smell of blood festering in her nostrils and arousing in her the desire to hunt.
He clapped a hand on her paw and quickly crossed the camp, spotting wounded men being led into the tents while others were gathered in small groups, watchful but certain that for that day the battle had come to an end.

As he reached the edge of the tents he spotted his uncle standing before Cregan Stark. The Wolf kept one hand resting on his sword, his face stained red.
Roderick stood a few feet behind him, sitting astride a black stallion and holding the reins of another horse in his left hand.
Daeron flanked Gwayne and finally understood the reason for that silent encounter.
Criston Cole lay on the ground. One arrow lodged in each eye and one shot through his throat. Five pierced his shoulders.

Cregan looked at him fondly, as if he were observing a rare and magnificent work of art.
“It was not an honorable death,” Daeron commented, fixing his eyes on the Wolf of the North.
“He did not deserve one,” Cregan replied with a hand resting against the hilt of his sword. Other than the cut on his arm no marks had been added to his body while Ser Criston bore other wounds. Superficial but still wounds.

Daeron frowned but Gwayne nodded, a knowing smile bending his lips.
“Of course... so the rumors are true?” asked Gwayne bringing a hand to his chin.
Cregan grinned.
"You know they are or else you would not want confirmation from me," replied the Wolf, crossing his arms against his chest.

Gwayne smiled in turn and Daeron lifted his gaze to his. He had no idea what the two of them were talking about.
They both turned toward him, and the war seemed to vanish for an instant. Cregan and Gwayne turned into two patient older brothers.
“Rumor has it that Ser Criston and your sister slept together,” Gwayne explained.
Daeron raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide. His gaze lowered to the lifeless, arrow-pierced body.

He knew the rumors about his sister. That her first three children were not Ser Laenor Velaryon's children but Ser Harwin Strong's.
But what did she see in him, he wondered, curling his lips into a thoughtful expression.

From what he knew both Rhaenyra's first husband and Harwin Strong were sweet men. Ser Criston was a Viper both in appearance and character.
“That he fell in love with her and proposed to her,” Gwayne continued, and Cregan snorted a laugh.
“Running away together to sell oranges,” commented the Wolf, mimicking with one hand a distant journey full of emptiness and boredom.
Daeron's eyes ran from one to the other. He felt so much like a child in front of his Masters telling epic adventures.

“Of course she refused,” Gwayne said, lowering his gaze to Ser Criston. His lips half-closed and a trickle of blood trickled down his chin. He wasn't even sorry to see him like that.
Criston Cole was an asshole, he thought as he fixed his eyes in Cregan's.
“And he couldn't take her rejection and ran off to hide under the nearest skirt,” he commented, licking his lips.
My mother’s, Daeron thought, frowning.

“Even my sister doesn't love him like she used to,” Gwayne said, crossing his arms against his chest in turn.
The confrontation had come to an end. No one would ever draw a sword again. At least for that day.
Daeron looked around. The bodies of his soldiers were scattered along the meadow. About fifty men, maybe more.
“Give us time to recover and mourn the dead,” Daeron said, returning his gaze to Cregan. The Wolf merely lifted his shoulders and turned his back to him, gesturing with one hand.
“I am in no hurry to shed more blood,” he said as Tyraxes glided to the edge of the woods, a black silhouette that would keep anyone away from the Black camp.
Joffrey slid down from his mount and waited patiently in front of the trees.
Cregan mounted his own stallion and together with Roderick rode toward the dark tents.
“To die like this,” Gwayne muttered, lowering his gaze to Criston.

"What an idiot," he said turning his back on him.

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Larys sighed, stroking his lord's hair. Aegon rested his head against his chest, his lips leaving small kisses against the soft skin and his arms wrapped around his sides.
“You have such soft hands,” Aegon whispered as Larys untangled the small knots that had come to form during their intercourse. The second of that day.

And it is only morning, he thought as he hummed to himself, something his king seemed to appreciate. Covered up to his shoulders in a soft blanket, Aegon snoozed against his chest, his white eyelashes flickering softly and his eyelids hiding his beautiful violet eyes.
Larys shifted his gaze to the doorway, where a cabinet covered with food awaited them. A servant girl had brought the ruler breakfast, and the poor girl had found herself witnessing a disreputable spectacle.

Aegon sighed against his chest and slowly slid downward, dragging the blankets with him and leaving Larys completely naked before his eyes. He was kneeling between his thighs, purple irises fixed on his sex as warm hands caressed his soft legs. He licked his lips and lay back between his thighs.
Larys closed his eyes and sighed, ready to feel his Lord's warm breath against his lips.
He gasped.
He forced himself onto his arms, his eyes meeting Aegon's, his lips wrapped around his erection.
“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, and Aegon grabbed him by the thighs, tugging him closer so that Larys could caress his face as he sucked emphatically.

The omega bit his lips, his eyes chained to Aegon's.
“What are you doing?” he asked, passing a hand against his hair. Aegon grinned, his lips full and his eyes glazed over. Larys did not believe his lord would ever do something like that.
The door was flung open with a sharp knock and Ser Otto Hightower, Lady Alicent and Prince Aemond made their entrance.
Well... fuck, he thought as he bit his cheeks. Of course the Queen and the King's Hand were aware of their little affair. By now everyone inside the palace must have known about them, perhaps only Lucerys and the twins were unaware. But that did not mean that Larys was thrilled at the idea of being caught in bed with the king.

“No more knocking?” asked Aegon, abandoning his activities to cover Larys with his own body and then both of them with a soft blanket.
"Aegon! Get away from him now!" ordered Alicent marching toward the bed. She seemed on the verge of wanting to rip the blankets off her son but then changed her mind, not wanting to discover what was hiding underneath.
“But I'm so comfortable,” muttered the king as Aemond leaned against the food-covered cabinet, reached out a hand and stole a strawberry from one of the cakes, then pushed it between his lips.
I should take a cake to Lucerys, he thought as he imagined the joy painted on his husband's face.

It had been pure chance that he, his grandfather and his mother had found themselves there at that instant. Aemond only wished to talk to his brother, to order him to stay away from Jacaerys so he could earn Luke's love.
"Larys! Get out of here!" ordered Alicent, refusing to use the omega title.
“Larys stay,” ordered Aegon, setting himself down and throwing a blanket over him. Larys let the fabric cover him up to above his head and there he remained, concealed by the blankets.

Aegon stooped to the floor and picked up a pair of pants, which he quickly slipped on as his brother closed the door with a kick, a pastry clutched in one hand and a strawberry clenched between his teeth.
He got the love of sweets from our nephew, he thought as he raised an eyebrow. Never had he seen his brother so interested in sweets.
“I can't believe you're-” his mother's lecture was interrupted by Otto raising a hand, shushing her.
Aegon raised an eyebrow and looked at the parchment clutched in the hand Otto held against his hip.
“Daeron writes to us from the front,” Otto said, brandishing the letter with both hands.
Aemond frowned, the sweet suddenly forgotten. Aegon tilted his head and returned to sit on the bed, perfectly able to feel the warmth emanating from Larys' body as he silently remained listening.

Maybe this is how he discovers all those secrets, he thought while holding back a grin.
“Ser Criston fell in battle and we lost fifty-two men,” Otto said, running his eyes along the parchment.
Aemond laid his one eye on his mother but saw no sadness in her eyes, only stinginess.
He got himself killed and didn't even kill Cregan Stark, Aemond commented thinking back to his old teacher.

"He was incompetent. We all knew that," Aegon said, yawning soundly.
“Besides, it seems Joffrey joined the battle and stood up to Daeron,” Otto continued, and Aemond snorted a laugh, crossing his arms against his chest.
"Has Daeron gone soft? Joffrey is a little boy riding a baby dragon," he commented, making Aegon laugh.

Otto turned to him, and Aemond regretted drawing his grandfather's attention to himself.
“It requires your intervention,” he said, closing the letter.
Aemond shook his head and frowned.
"My son is about to be born. I will not fly all the way to Harrenhal to challenge the Wolves," Aemond said, laying a hand against the hilt of his sword.
Alicent bit her lip, looking at him pleadingly. But Aemond would not relent. Not after he had seen his mother almost slap Lucerys.
“It's still two months before the delivery date,” Otto commented, rolling up the letter to slip it into his pocket.

“And it will take me a month just to get there,” he retorted. Because of course he would not be leaving on his own. His mother would have sent men with him who would have slowed him down out of all proportion. With Vhagar it would have taken him a day, maybe less. But Daeron himself had taken a month by taking Criston Cole with him.
"But once there you'll only need a blaze of Vhagar to toast that Wolf's ass, come on Aemond! Put an end to the war and you can enjoy our nephew without interruption," said Aegon who wanted nothing more than to get back to holding Larys Strong.

Alicent nodded, agreeing with her eldest son's words.
Aemond sighed and bit his lip. It cost him to admit it, but Aegon had a point.
“All right,” he muttered, taking another bite from the dessert he had placed on the cabinet.
Alicent smiled and left a kiss on his cheek. Kiss that he tried to ignore.

"It is decided. You will leave tomorrow," Otto ordered, leaving the room as furiously as he had entered. Alicent hesitated but then went after him, leaving his own children and Larys Strong, who silent and motionless had been listening to everything from under the covers.
“What are you still doing here?” asked Aegon, turning his eyes toward his brother.
Aemond sighed and ran a hand against his face, stroking the scar and the black bandage.

"I want you to stay away from Jacaerys. For the sake of my husband and my child," Aemond said, crossing his arms against his chest.
Aegon grinned and rested his hands on the mattress, looking at his brother with a tilted head and thin eyes.
"Why should I? Do you care so much about our nephew? Where is my amusement?" asked Aegon.

Aemond snapped forward and grabbed him by the neck, slamming him down on the bed, a breath away from Larys' body, which again stood as still as a statue.
“I don't give a damn about what happens to our nephew but if my child's life is endangered because of you I will cut off your head and give it to our sister!” he hissed, letting him go.
He wiped his hands and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Aegon huffed and pressed a hand against his eyes, Larys' soft chuckle filling his ears.

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It seems they were never sick, thought Baela with her eyes fixed on her parents.
Rhaenyra and Daemon stood side by side at the head of the huge stone map. The queen with her crown on her head and the prince with his hands intertwined above his sword.
“Read aloud,” ordered Rhaenyra with her eyes fixed on the first Councilor, a man with a short, well-groomed beard and black eyes.

They changed in a single day, she thought again.
The Master had been right. Mourning had disappeared as it had come, replaced by hatred and anger.
I was afraid they would break down finding out about Joffrey, and instead... instead they are stronger than ever, she told herself as she stood to her father's right.
“It comes from Lord Cregan Stark,” said the Councilor clearing his throat.
My Queen,
your son is here and well. I would have liked to send him back to Dragon Rock but I fear he is as stubborn as his older brother.
As young as he is he and his dragon have enabled a great victory that would otherwise have cost us many lives. Criston Cole is dead. A dishonorable death, worthy of him.
The bait has reached King's Landing and now we wait for the Dragon to bite.
Prince Joffrey has told me about Jacaerys and your children, my sincerest condolences. I will do the very impossible to bring Prince Jacaerys, my friend, and Prince Lucerys back to your presence.
Your Ally,
Lord Cregan Stark.

Daemon chuckled, dangling from one foot to the other.
“The Wolf serves us exceptionally well,” commented the Rogue Prince, and his wife smiled, not even the shadow of tears on her face.

A faithful servant to my son, she thought as she extended a hand toward the
Counselor who immediately handed her the letter. Rhaenyra ran her eyes along the elegant writing, refined for a Northern beast.
They are indeed good friends, she told herself with a smile. Cregan Stark was perhaps the first friend Jace had outside the family.
Baela smiled, glad that Joffrey was well and helpful to the Wolves and the Lord of Winterfell.

When I get my hands on him I will slap him, she thought, biting her lip. For sure, she might be happy for him but that did not mean she did not feel concern. She was worried about Rhaena who was safe and sound in the Eagle's Nest, with her little egg threatening to hatch any day now. She could worry about her brother who was fighting at the front.
“How much longer do we have to wait?” asked Baela, fixing her eyes on her father.
"A month at least. We will wait for news from Mysaria," the prince said, licking his lips. He stared out of one of the many windows, the outline of King's Landing distant but ever present on that sunny day.
“Not Eliza?” asked Baela, who had heard of the brave young woman.
Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Mysarya has not heard from her for more than a month. No one knows what happened to her," her mother explained, crossing her arms against her chest. Of her round belly there was nothing left now.
Oh… thought Baela, biting her lip.
Who knows what happened to her, she wondered as she looked in turn toward King's Landing.

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He was not surprised to find his own room empty. Lucerys did not like to spend his time there but preferred to hole up in his room and hide from Aemond's gaze.
The prince sighed and clutched a silver-domed tray against his chest. He laid his hand on the handle and entered the room without making a sound. Ever since he had seen Lucerys pleasure himself he had hoped to see it happen again and again.

Lucerys was not lying in bed, however, but his sweet voice led him in front of the thick glass windows overlooking the terrace. He was curled up in one of the comfortable armchairs, his feet tucked under his body and his hands caressing his prominent belly.
Luke's eyes were downcast and a smile bent his lips. He hummed under his breath, so softly that Aemond could not make out the words. Slowly his hands ran up and down.

“Lucerys,” he called back to him and he jerked, the smile disappearing from his face and his hands firmly against his belly. He frowned and fixed his eyes on his uncle, his lips curled in a disgruntled expression.

“Didn't they teach you to knock?” he asked as Aemond grabbed a low table and set it down at Lucerys' side, resting the still-covered tray on it.
“I brought you a gift,” Aemond said as he lifted the silver dome.
Luke squinted his eyes at the sight of the wonderful multi-layered cake. A perfectly intact cake covered with whipped milk and fruit of all kinds, including small pieces of sweetened lemon.

Luke raised his eyes to Aemond, and Aemond drew a dagger from his belt, handing it to his nephew, who with a single moment's hesitation took it in his hand.
“Do you trust me that much?” asked Luke as he cut a large slice of cake. A blueberry fell onto the plate and Luke was quick to bring it to his lips, savoring the sweet and tart taste that made his tongue arch and goosebumps rise.
“Of course,” Aemond replied, taking a seat at his side.
“I wish you trusted me the same way,” the prince commented as he watched Lucerys eat his slice of cake, cream smearing his lips and tiny crumbs falling onto his belly.

Luke grinned and a moan of pleasure left his lips when his tongue touched the cake.
Aemond longed to make him moan in the same way.
He reached out a hand toward him and placed it against his belly. He gasped when he felt the little one move and a slight smile bent his lips.

“Is it good?” asked Aemond, gently stroking his swollen belly. The fact that Luke had not kicked him out was a great achievement. But his nephew's hands were probably too busy holding the slice of cake and retaining as many crumbs as possible to bother chasing him away.
Luke nodded, his mouth full and his lips dirty.
“I'd like to take some to Jace,” he said, wiping his mouth with his tongue.
Aemond frowned. He should have told him no.
Jacaerys is a prisoner. Prisoners do not deserve sweets and daily visits, he thought with eyes fixed on Lucerys' belly.

“All right,” Aemond conceded.
Luke smiled at him, and the prince was at a loss for words. It was the first time in more than six months that Lucerys had given him a real smile. Not a sneer, no. A gentle, kind, affectionate smile.
Fuck! I want that. I want to see that smile every day of my life, he thought as he bit the inside of his cheeks.

Luke's smile faded and the young man went back to eating. He cut a second slice of cake and ate half of it then took a small piece between his index finger and thumb and leaned back in his chair, bringing his hand closer to Aemond's face.

The prince straightened his back, ready to defend himself in case that was an attempt to hit him. After all, Lucerys still had the dagger that Aemond had offered him.
But Luke did not attack him; he simply pushed the piece of cake against his lips and Aemond opened them wide, letting the cake disappear inside his mouth and Luke's fingers caress his lips.
“I'm horny,” Lucerys said with disarming simplicity. He wiped the crumbs from his hands and stood up, his arms crossed against his chest and his eyes fixed on the face of his uncle who was still sitting.
“Do you want to help me?” he asked, extending his hands toward him.
Aemond stood up without hesitation, ignored Lucerys fingers and took his face in his hands, kissing him passionately. Luke wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging to his long white hair.

Aemond grabbed him by the thighs and tried to lift him off the floor but his stomach got in the way, reminding him of his husband's delicate condition, and so, with one arm behind his back and one under his knees, he carried him toward the bed.
Luke leaned his head against his chest.
Does he really have to be aroused to sleep with me? he wondered, letting him fall gently against the mattress.

Lucerys let his legs open like the petals of a rose, and Aemond could finally smell the pungent scent of his arousal. He called himself an idiot for not noticing it immediately, but focused as he was on the gift for his husband he had paid no attention to anything else.
“The Master says it's normal,” Luke explained as he fumbled with the laces of his pants. He untied the knot that held them tight at the waist and kicked them down his calf until they slipped off.
Aemond licked his lips at the sight of his groom's sweet intimacy.
“But my hand is not enough,” he commented, curling his lips into an annoyed expression.
Aemond snorted a laugh and slipped off his shirt.
So he doesn't want me. He just wants my cock, he thought as he unzipped his pants and let them fall to the ground. He made his way between Luke's thighs and grabbed the hem of his shirt, tearing it off over his head and revealing his nephew's pale skin.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, looking at him with lust-filled eyes.
Luke grinned. Not the sweet smile of just before.
Aemond ran a hand along his round belly and realizing that that was not the most ideal position forced Lucerys to bend to his side, then clutching his back.
With one hand he crept between his legs and with the other teased one of his nipples.
Luke bit his lips, letting out a little cry of pleasure as he squeezed his semi-erect cock with one hand.

It should not have swelled, the blood directed to other, more useful areas.
But Aemond is good in bed, Luke thought as two fingers slid inside him, opening him in quick, slow movements that followed one another, never giving him time to adjust.
Aemond began kissing his neck, his lips grazing the mark and the pearl necklace Luke refused to take off.
He gasped when Aemond sank inside him with a firm thrust, his now free hand going to rest on his belly as his husband sank repeatedly inside him, making him cry out in pleasure and curling his toes.
Fuck, he thought, biting his lip.

“I love you,” Aemond whispered as he continued to move his hips.
“I love you and I will come back to you,” he told him, licking his neck, the mark pulsing pleasantly with each caress or gentle word.
Come back? wondered Luke before his body was shaken by a spark of pleasure.
He did not realize he had come but his wet hand was proof.
Aemond slumped behind him, panting against his neck and his arms wrapped around her waist.

Luke frowned.
“Where are you going?” he asked him without turning around. At that moment his back was all he could offer him.
Aemond wavered.

"Criston Cole is dead and Cregan Stark is getting the better of my brother's men. I must stop him," he said, leaning his forehead against Luke's head.
You don't need to know that your brother is there, though…
"Joffrey fights by his side. Write to him to retreat. Don't let him die at my sister's hands too," Aemond whispered against his neck.

Luke became motionless, his eyes wide and full of fury. He clenched his hands into two fists and gritted his teeth.
“Never,” he replied. He grabbed Aemond's wrists and pulled his arms away from his own body. Quick for his state, he got out of bed and searched for his own clothes.
"Lucerys-"

"No!" exclaimed Luke, interrupting him.
Aemond had taken a seat, his purple eye fixed on his husband's face. An enraged little dragon.
"If my-if my brother dies it will only be your fault! Not mine! Not because I did not ask him to give up what is his! If my brother dies it will be because you wanted it!" he shouted, marching out of his room.

Aemond sighed and let himself fall back against the sheets. He lifted a hand in front of his face and folded his thumb.
Four fingers.
Rhaenys. Aegon. Viserys. He thought as he slowly folded his fingers.
All dead because of my sister, he continued with an eye fixed on the only finger left raised.

Joffrey.

Chapter Text

Luke was surprised when his uncle knocked on his door. Aemond had never been in the habit of knocking before entering his room but very often the door was loud enough to alert the owner of the room.

Luke did not give him permission to enter but Aemond did anyway.

“I don't want to leave you knowing you're angry,” his uncle said, closing the door behind him.
Aemond was ready for the trip. He wore the long black flight uniform and his chest was covered with a leather plate the same color as his armor. The same was true for his thighs and shoulders.

“I will always be angry,” Luke pointed out to him.
In those months he may have stopped showing his fury so openly, but that did not mean his blood had stopped boiling. The only times he found it difficult to hold on to his anger were when he was in Helaena's company or when Aemond was giving him pleasure. Only in those moments could his mind be distracted.

Eliza used to cheer me up too, he thought as he bit his lips.
But I haven't seen her for a month now, he commented with an ounce of concern making his heart beat faster.

Neither Cleoden nor Harkon knew what had become of his old friend, and Lucerys certainly could not go around asking, he would risk drawing unwanted attention to her.

“Then I want to leave you knowing that you are happy,” Aemond said.

Luke grinned and shook his head. After the previous day's conversation, he hadn't had much to be happy about. Besides, he had not even been able to bring Jacaerys a portion of dessert. Infuriated as he was, he had left his room to return late in the evening, and Aemond had already retired for the night, thus preventing him from getting to the dungeon undisturbed.

Aemond approached the bed and laid a thin scroll on the mattress.
Luke grabbed it and looked at it with furrowed brows.
“What is it?” he asked, looking at it warily.
"It is a permit to visit the dungeon at any time you wish. It is signed by me," Aemond explained as Luke unrolled the parchment and read it carefully, making sure it was clear and impossible to interpret differently from what Aemond had said.

“I will try not to hurt your brother and bring him to you alive,” Aemond continued as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
Luke curled an eyebrow and placed the letter on the nightstand. He would guard it with extreme care and put it to use that very day so he would not be disappointed later in case it did not work.

"What about Cregan Stark? He's Jace's friend," Luke said, biting his lip.
They love each other. Or so it seems, he told himself.

If anything happened to him Jace would never forgive himself, he continued, crossing his arms against his chest over his round belly still covered by his night robe. His clothes, even his new ones, were rapidly getting smaller and smaller, and the only clothes to fit him perfectly remained the ones he used to sleep in.

"Cregan Stark killed Criston Cole. I will not spare him," Aemond said with a determined look and a raw voice.
Luke frowned but imagined he could not accuse his husband again.

Cregan Stark would be able to face him.
And who knows, maybe he will free me from his shadow forever, he thought, smiling discreetly.

“May I say goodbye to my son?” asked Aemond, hinting at his round belly.
“Who says it's not a girl?” asked Luke, lowering his gaze to his own belly in turn.
Aemond grinned and leaned over him, kissing where he thought his son's head was. Luke let him, as much as he hated Aemond he would not stop him from cuddling his child, it would only be cruel to the child.
“It's a boy,” Aemond said confidently. He lifted his back and left a kiss on Luke's forehead.

“I will be back before he is born,” he assured, rising to his feet. He adjusted the sword he had fastened to his side and walked away without adding anything more.
Am I getting soft? he wondered to himself as he left his room.
Maybe I'm just in love, he told himself with a smile.

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