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For an entire year after he washed up ashore, Lucerys Velaryon had no recollection of who he was. Simply that his name was Luke, he was four and ten, and it was a miracle that he was alive. It had been a terrible storm, everyone told him, with thunder that sounded as dark and vicious as dragons. What had he been doing out on the waters during a storm, anyway?

He spent the better part of that year by the docks, looking for work wherever he could. After all, if he was out on the water, that must mean he was a fisherman. Or worked in the fish trade, of some kind. To his dismay, Luke got seasick terribly easy and could not catch a fish to save his life. Maneuvering the many ropes and sails were a complete mystery to him. His lack of skill was a abysmal, and more than once he wondered when his family would find him and inform him that no, he was not meant for a life out at sea. He could barely stand on a ship deck without flopping around like a fish himself. But no family ever came. So he resorted to cleaning fish and scrubbing decks for whoever would take him, and accept a warm meal and place to sleep in return.

The first hint that perhaps he wasn’t common-born was when he picked up an old book that someone must have forgotten by the docks and started reading. “I’ve never read these fairy tales,” he commented, nodding over to Ol’ Man Ned, a grumpy but generous fisherman for whom Luke had been helping mend nets, “these must not be from Westeros.

Ol’ Man Ned simply laughed and waved the book away. “You never told me you could read boy. What are you, some lord’s son?”

That was how he got the nickname Lord Luke. Luke, the lord with no land, but plenty of books. Some folks even jokingly called him Lord Strong, for he had already grown in that short time from a rather small, delicate boy to a boy who was becoming a man, the type of boy whose skin was kissed gold from the sun and had a strong chest and sturdy legs from carrying barrels fish and supplies everyday. G’morning, Lord Strong, they’d say in good humor. And he wasn’t sure why that one didn’t quite sit well with him.

When the memories finally came flooding back, it was at the worst time. Luke finally had the courage to sail out further to sea on a larger fishing boat. It was a small family business, a man and his two grown sons both a few years older than Luke. But the father started to feel ill and needed to lie down, leaving his two competitive sons in charge. Luke was no master of navigation, but even he could tell they were terribly lost.

Neither of them noticed the pirate ship looming on the horizon. Luke saw the flag from miles away, trying desperately to warn the brothers who simply dismissed him as paranoid and dramatic. Luke had never encountered pirates before in real life, but he was no fool. He didn’t romanticize them the way that other youth in the village did, did not assume they would be merciful.

Indeed, when the pirates boarded their measly fishing boat, the brothers brandished their daggers, but they were no match for the swords and clubs of pirates that had been hardened at sea. They were killed easily and thrown overboard, along with their sickly father, who the pirates seemed to think a mere inconvenience. After the kills, the pirates walked around leisurely to see what wealth they could find. It wasn’t much, mostly just fish.

“Please,” Luke had pleaded, his limbs already tied together as the pirates prepared to throw him overboard as well, “I mean you no harm. If you let me live, I will work for you. I can cook. I can clean. I can read.”

Hearing this, one of the more well-dressed pirates turned around, interested. He must be the captain. As he walked closer, Luke found himself staring face to face with a scarred, weathered looking old man, wisps of white hair peaking out from his hat, and a dark eyepatch covering his left eye. This face. Where had he seen this face before.

“Uncle,” Luke gasped, not entirely sure what he was saying, not realizing that he had started crying, only that he could feel the pull of the storm on his face once more and could not bear to fall into the depths of the sea a second time, “It’s me, Lucerys. Please, don’t kill me, I made a mistake! It was an accident!”

And then the pirates, watching Luke kneel before their captain and sob his heart out, took pity on him and allowed him to join their crew.

The next few years were a blur for Luke. He was kept busy night and day, scrubbing the deck, mending sails, cooking whatever he could scrounge up for food. Pirates weren’t picky, he noticed. And truthfully, most of them were not all that bad. They were only fierce when they needed to spill blood, when they came across merchant ships filled to the brim with spices, silks, and gold, and climbed on board bellowing and hollering with their swords at the ready. But the quiet days they spent on sea, most of them sat around playing cards and sharpening their swords. Luke was surprised, he found his life on the pirate ship not too different from his life on the fishing docks.

Every time he remembered something, he’d write it down. He was grateful the captain gave him a half-finished old diary and some ink, and showed him with a wink how he could hide his belongings in the floor boards. The captain seemed amused Luke had called him uncle, and even seemed to like it. Luke suspected perhaps he had lost his family too, and like Luke, was looking for someone to fill that void.

If only he knew, the uncle that he reminded Luke of was not the wise, caring old uncle the captain had become for Luke. Uncle Aemond wants to kill me.

At night, Luke would scribble these fleeting memories down furiously, as if he was scared he’d forget them again. My name is Lucerys Velaryon. My mother is Princess Rhaenyra Targaryan. She had long silver hair and a beautiful smile. I think she is the kindest mother in the realm. She gave me a dragon egg when I was born.

I used to have a dragon.

What had happened to his dragon? Luke often pondered this as he cleaned fish, scraping their scales off their skin, the scales reminding him of dragons. Was he lost? Did he get in an accident? Could Luke still find him?

I have a brother. Many brothers. The brother I remember best is Jacaerys. He’s a brave man with a good heart, I miss him.

I’m a prince. I was supposed to be their heir to Driftmark. I didn’t want it. But Grandsire Corlys had faith in me. He’s a good man too.

Uncle Aemond wants to kill me.

That line often came out whether Luke wanted it to or not. He wasn’t sure why he had such vivid, pleasant memories of his other family members and yet whenever he thought back to the captain’s eyepatch, the name Aemond Targaryen felt like a curse. His throat seized up and his entire body tensed, the fear that gripped him made him want to vomit or throw himself overboard, he wasn’t sure which. Remembering this uncle, he realized, was too painful, and his mind was trying to protect him. But at this point, Lucerys had remembered Uncle Daemon, his stepfather, his cousins Rhaena and Baela, his grandmother Princess Rhaenys, even Aunt Helaena and that horrible drunkard Uncle Aegon. He could remember them all as if they’d truly been in his life, because they were, and he was the young prince who followed Jace around, not nearly as good at the sword as his older brother but eager to watch, eager to learn. He could not remember anything about Aemond, except-

Uncle Aemond wants to kill me.

“Captain,” Luke called out one day, approaching the pirate captain from his seeing side. He did not like to be approached from his blind side.

“Yes, boy?”

“I want you to throw me overboard,” Luke said, “I’ve been on your ship for years. It’s about time I learned how to swim.”

The swimming lessons, if you could call it that, are slow and painful. Luke almost drowns more than once. His ship mates all take it in good humor, mocking his feeble attempts at keeping afloat but always diving in to pull him onto he ship if they think he’s struggled too much.

Luke doesn’t tell them why he’s so determined to overcome his fear of drowning. They simply assume it’s a natural fear of any captive turned pirate, while quite a few of them grew up on the sea and previously worked on merchant or fishing boats before becoming pirates, there were those who also came into this life against their will and feared the sea. They thought Luke was just like them.

He didn’t dare tell them his true identity, now that they knew. They would either dismiss him as raging mad in the head, or take him as captor for a pretty penny from the Queen.

But it does help, the swimming. When Luke is comfortable enough in the water to float, and when the waters are calm enough, sometimes he’ll spend his mornings this way. The memories of Aemond chasing him through the storm are still painful and terrifying, but it’s the emotions that come back more vividly. That, and Luke finally remembers lusting after his psychotic uncle during their stay at the Red Keep.

Luke had known from a young age he preferred boys. He didn’t even bother hide it from his parents, his father (the Velaryon father, he had to remind himself, not the Strong father or the Targaryen father, he had so many fathers) was well-known to only bed men and his mother had always accepted her children whole-heartedly. What he did hide was stolen kisses and play wrestling with some of the squires and stable boys at Dragonstone. He knew he was too young to be doing this, at the tender age of 11 or 12, and he did it anyway. Everyone knew he was Rhaenyra’s favorite, and he flaunted the privilege, knowing he could get away with a lot.

Fantasizing about Aemond as a teenager was a confusing rush of feelings. How could he not? His uncle had grown into a beautiful young man - yes he enjoyed prowling around like a caged dog, always gearing for a fight - but he still had a sort of… elegance to him. People compared him to Daemon, with Daemon obviously being more formidable from his years of experience, but Aemond was quieter. His voice, though threatening, was soft and soothing.

And his scar, his missing eye. Everyone thought Luke feared Aemond for this reason, and he had been fully convinced that Aemond would kill him during that trip to King’s Landing, but he felt a rush of guilt and…satisfaction, when he thought about his uncle’s missing eye. That had been a horrid night, with young Aemond sitting morosely in front of the king, blood smeared over his face’s ugly stitches as the king interrogated his youngest son. Luke didn’t understand this feeling. He felt terribly sad that Aemond had endured such a humiliating injury, and yet, he did not wish to see his face unscarred.

(One of the boys at Dragonstone did tell Luke he was too rough. He kissed too hard. His hands were too hard. Luke wondered if, perhaps, he was sick in the head. He did not want to actually harm others, the captain kept trying to get him to pick up a sword, but he was not ready for a fight. He was not ready to immerse himself in the satisfaction of watching someone bleed, of laughing at someone in pain.

Yes, Luke hated this part of himself. He wishes he could forget it.)

Luke is quite confident he has nearly all his memories back now. And now here he was, alive and well, and miles away from Westeros. The war had not quite begun when he fell into the sea, but it loomed at the horizon as a constant threat. For all his family knew, he was long gone, dead. There was no way any Targaryen would allow blood to go unshed once it had been spilled.

When they visit ports in the Free Cities to re-stock on supplies, repair the ship, or simply revel in some fun at a local tavern or brothel, Luke searches desperately for news of his family. He has to be subtle. He can’t start a conversation with, “So that Targaryen family, what are they up to these days?” Most pirates don’t care for royals, he’s discovered, unless there’s some new tariff or law they have to complain about. People might prod at him, ask why he’s asking such detailed questions.

In Westeros, there were many plays and songs written about the royal family. Everyone knew about Aegon’s drunken skirmishes, Daemon’s impulsive adventures, even Heleana’s extensive insect collection. (The entire realm knew the fearsome Aemond One-Eye lost his eye to his nephew. Luke had heard of them re-enacting the scene with Luke screaming like a mad cat, frothing at the mouth. It made him sick). But in the Free Cities, there was significantly less petty gossip. If people did discuss the politics in Westeros, it remained that way - a political discussion amongst lords and officials.

There were times when Luke was able to eavesdrop on some ships headed to Westeros. They mostly discussed their ship routes, the lands they would travel to for trade, but every now and then, he heard mentions of “The Queen.” When he dared to interrupt and casually say, “Oh yes, Queen Alicent, is it?” The sailors looked at him like he was slow, and said, “No, lad, Queen Rhaenyra. Where have you been?”

His mother was alive. And she was queen, as was her birthright.

Luke could cry with joy. Instead, he just laughs nervously, muttering “silly me, I don’t get out much,” and walks off, racking his brain for how he could learn more about the war. He hasn’t been counting the days quite so attentively. It comes to a surprise to him that it has been nearly five years since Aemond had chased him off Storm’s End. Five years of his mother thinking him dead, he realizes forlornly. What kind of son is he, that he would regain his memories and not alert his mother of his presence.

But he isn’t quite so free anymore. He’s indebted to his pirate captain for sparing his life. He is a simple crew mate, he has no choice in where the ship goes. And if he did contact his mother, would she believe him? Or would she order his death, for impersonating her precious son? He remembered his mother to be kind and caring toward their family, but ruthless to any threat.

Before the ship leaves for another journey, Luke manages to haggle a street merchant (no doubt a thief who had robbed a library or bookstore) for what appeared to be a drafted re-telling of the Dance of the Dragons. It was written in High Valyrian, but after skimming the manuscript, Luke was pleased to discover he had still retained most of his Valyrian. After all, whereas Jace preferred to train with the sword and neglected his studies (his Valyrian accent was so embarrassingly bad, Luke remembered bashing his brother over the head with a book as a child, demanding if he was actually a Targaryan) Luke loved to spend his youth pouring over books in the Dragonstone Library. This is how he will retain his connection to his family, on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

He spends his days working the ship and his nights reading the manuscript by candlelight, the gentle sway of the ship rocking him to sleep. Reading was slow. There were a few words he didn’t recognize that he had to note, but if it is to be believed, the Blacks emerged beyond triumphant. After news of Luke’s death reached his mother, she had taken Otto Hightower captive immediately upon his arrival. It was too easy, really - a few Westerosi soldiers versus the mighty dragon power of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryan? It was rather stupid of Otto to show up at all.

Taking the false Hand captive proved a worthy strategy, as Rhaenyra wanted to avoid as much bloodshed as possible. And without Otto whispering in Uncle Aegon’s ear all the time, his lack of competency on the throne became glaringly obvious. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra traveled the lands herself on dragon back, forging alliances through offering diplomatic solutions. She also had three children still unbetrothed, and while she did not marry them off quite yet at such a young age, the lords of the land couldn’t resist the temptation. Diplomacy was her strength, after all, charming everyone around her.

The battles over the years were few but heavy. Both sides suffered heavy losses. The Starks kept their promise and rode to battle with Daemon against the Lannisters first, and then the Baratheons. Luke searched for mentions of Aemond - he was the Green’s most capable sword after Criston Cole and rode the world’s largest dragon, the idea that he would not meet them in battle was absurd - but he was only mentioned in the Battle of Harrenhal, one of the Greens’ wins. Vhagar had burned down nearly everyone and everything in the region, and once again, this did not win the Greens any favors.

There were a few more minor battles where Aemond made an appearance on horseback, as Luke read on, but little more. The only explanation was that Alicent must had pleaded with him to protect King’s Landing with Vhagar. That, and the reach of Vhagar’s flame was too vast, too hot, and too deadly. Almond had no choice but to be stationed at King’s Landing like a glorified guard dog. It was a logical choice, a safe one, no doubt anyone with a level head would play this move. But Aemond was blood-thirsty by nature. He must have spent years at the capital itching for a fight, resentful of his family.

Indeed, when Daemon and his armies finally reached King’s Landing - this must’ve been about two years ago now - he had been amused to find that Aemond and Aegon were locked in battle already. With each other. They could not agree on battle strategies, apparently, and were yelling all sorts of obscenities at each other on the battlefield for everyone to hear, even as the Blacks approached. Luke had never read so many Valyrian swear words in his life. He wrote a few down for later use.

Of course, Rhaenyra had not forgotten the revenge she swore on Aemond Targaryan. A son for a son. But he fled on Vhagar, no doubt circling the skies ready to attack their armies. So she and Daemon took care of Aegon first.

His execution was made public, and utterly pathetic. He had cried and begged for his half-sister’s forgiveness. They made quick business of him, taking the gamble that while Aemond was in flight, he would not attack King’s Landing with his family there and the entire city’s population not yet evacuated.

Shortly after Aegon’s death, Rhaenyra decided to publicly execute Otto Hightower as well. Alicent, Helaena, and her children were spared.

The last battle of the war was between Daemon and Aemond Targaryan. Luke read this with bated breath, he must have spent three days without sleep just go he could finish the story. Even if this were all a false tale, someone’s idea of a sick re-telling of the war in Westeros, it was still too thrilling for Luke to let go. Daemon had tracked down Aemond on dragon mere days after they took King’s Landing. They did not offer Aemond the same mercy has the rest of his family - he had “killed” Luke after all. They were after his blood.

It had been a terrible battle between the two best swordsmen of the Targaryen line. Vhagar was fierce and strong, but Caraxes was much faster, and far more in tune with Daemon’s commands. In the end Daemon emerged victorious, damaging poor Vhagar’s wings beyond repair with Caraxes’ quick and agile attacks, and with that, the largest dragon in the world took her fall.

However, when Daemon went to search for Aemond’s body, or Aemond himself to finish the job, all he found was Vhagar’s giant body, still struggling to breathe. Aemond seemed to have disappeared.

And he was still missing.

Luke blinks tiredly at the manuscript and turned it around, wondering if perhaps he’d lost a page, but that was that. The story continued - Rhaenyra was crowned rightful Queen of the realm. Prince Jacaerys had survived, though he now lived with burn scars down half his body from Vhagar, and remains her heir. And Daemon served as her bratty but loyal King Consort.

Luke sighs, relieved. Empty. Filled with longing. But still relieved.

-

It’s when their humble little pirate crew was attacked by other pirates far more fierce than them, that Luke finally admits to himself that he is a sadist.

They have a fierce battle at sea. Luke commands the cannons and takes off some impressive chunks off the enemy ship. But they are overpowered easily and half their crew is killed or injured in battle. Luke is rounded up with some of the other younger, healthy crew mates and given the choice to join their new crew, or jump overboard. Nearly all of them choose to live.

After all, Luke still wants to see his family. He has to live another day.

Luke is now more than a capable sailor (if only they’d just thrown him into the sea as a child instead of sheltering him, perhaps he really could have lived up to the title of Heir to Driftmark), but with his new crew, he has no choice but to pick up a sword. He is adequate, certainly not gifted. But he is not afraid to dish out pain. In fact, on the many occasions their captives refuse to tell them where their treasures and goods are located, Luke has no problem pressing his dagger on the underside of their nails, in the corners of their eyes, their lips, repeating the question more slowly for them to hear.

He can’t help it. Their cowardly whimpering amuses him. He’s not proud of it, but he leans into it. It’s this behavior that wins him the respect of the crew, and more importantly the captain. But Luke doesn’t know how to describe it. Killing gives him no joy. Knowing someone is truly suffering - if they have a sick child, if they lost their lover at sea, if they are truly being tortured for information - this gives him no joy. But these small ways to scare and humiliate people, they are just too amusing to him.

In the past, Luke did not join his crew mates on their pleasure trips. He was too afraid of what he would do in a brothel. But one night, after they’d collected a hearty amount of treasure and divided it up amongst themselves, Luke decides to tag along, knowing that he was with crew mates who also preferred men. They find an establishment with mostly boys, and Luke goes to the lady of the house and asks, almost shyly,” Do you have an boys who…enjoy pain?”

The mistress simply laughs, telling Luke he wouldn’t be the first to ask this, and escorts him to a room at the end of the hall. “You're in luck. Maelor is one of our best."

While he was not quite what Luke envisions to be his bed mate (he looks a bit too much like Jace, which feels strange), he is experienced, communicative, and most importantly, he adores pain. He lets Luke wrestle him into all sorts of positions around the room, encouraging him, crooning, letting Luke slap his bottom and his face until his body is covered in angry, red blotches. Maelor is the one who teaches Luke that as long as they agree upon what they're about to do ahead of time, and Luke respects when Maelor wants to stop, they can have as much fun as they'd like.

Luke goes back to him almost every night before their ship sets sail again.

The next time he visits a brothel, a different one with different pretty boys, Luke is daring enough to ask for a blond one this time. Slender. Graceful. A man arrives at his room looking very nearly like a woman, he’s so pretty. Luke frowns, because this isn’t quite what he had in mind. Aemond was elegant, yes, but he also carried himself like a predator. He was a warrior, a dragon rider. This boy probably had never touched a sword in his life. But he’ll do, for now.

The more Luke understands his own desires, the more he can slowly begin to forgive himself for all those years where he was accidentally cruel to others. Sadism, he realizes, is a preference that you have to grow into. There is a time and place to laugh at the humiliation of others, and laughing at Aemond across the table when their entire family is there is not acceptable, no matter how amusing that roast pig was.

(It was so, so funny.)

In the tender moments after he’s done coupling with the workers at the brothels, Luke finds that he enjoys taking care of them. Cleaning their cuts. Rubbing salve on their red skin that’s sure to bruise. He takes pride in himself as a respectful customer, and sure enough he is never turned away, warmly welcomed at brothels. It's in these moments where Luke realizes it is possible to want to hurt someone, and revel in their tears, and also want to love and care for them at the same time.

Even though he only has memories of Aemond now, and will likely never meet him again, it’s this revelation about himself that convinces Luke that he is in love with him. Perhaps he always has been. He understands the possessive thrill that would run down his spine whenever he saw Aemond's eyepatch, and that terrible scar running down the side of his face. He did that. No one else had made a mark on the fearsome Targaryan prince quite so deep.

Uncle Aemond wants to kill me.

Yes, but he didn't, did he? He thought he could overpower Luke, and yes Luke was terrified of him as a teenager, but he had survived. And now they are both dragon-less. Luke finds himself spending days yearning for the impossible, just the chance to see Aemond one last time. Perhaps the mad man will demand Luke cut out his eye again. Perhaps he will challenge him to a duel. Aemond would probably win, Luke's swordsmanship is still average at best. Luke fantasizes about dodging a blow only to smack Aemond on the side of his face. Grab him by the collar and kiss his lips bloody, just to see the shocked look in his eye. It would be priceless.

The pirate crew is growing restless. Luke can feel it. Their captain, bless his heart, is throwing them in increasingly dangerous situations - sailing into storms, picking battles with ships twice their size, and perhaps worst of all, hoarding treasure to himself. They had started out dividing their plunders equally, as most pirate ships did, but the old man was getting greedy. He had started lying about what he kept, and lied to crew mates about what others kept. It created an atmosphere where people could no longer trust each other, but after one night where Luke was certain they’d all kill each other, he knocked out one of the more argumentative men over the side of the dead with a bucket and admonished all of them for this infighting, that obviously the captain was to blame.

And so one fine night with the full moon watching, they mutinied against their captain and, after putting it to a vote, made Luke their new captain. He would become one of the youngest pirate captains of the Free Cities.

For the first time in seven years, Luke was free to go wherever he wished. And he decided to go to his mother, the Queen.

Luke was well aware that he could not risk sending just any old message. He would have to explain himself, and also include information that only Lucerys Velaryon would know. So he wrote a long letter, congratulating her and informing her he had read about victories, explaining where he had been all these years, and a full section of proof. This included Valyrion lullabies his mother would sing to him as a child. A description of the maester who adjusted his nose after Aemond broke it, that fated night. The name of the squire Rhaenyra caught him with and then teasingly scolded him for. The robes she and Daemon wore on the night of their wedding. All things privy to their family. He sent the raven off to King’s Landing, hoping it would not be shot down by the castle guards, praying it would reach his mother.

A full moon passes with Luke living as a pirate captain, waiting for her response. He almost gives up and sails north, sensing that his crew was restless, going in circles in the same spot so that the raven can find him, when he gets his reply. And it is so much better than he could have ever imagined.

Queen Rhaenyra is overjoyed that he is alive. She fully believes him, but Daemon has yet more questions. The King Consort will venture out himself to confirm his identity before welcoming him back to Westeros. But they would like Luke back as soon as possible. Not only because his family is eager to see him, but they have news that will surely excite him.

They have finally found Aemond Targaryen. He will be taken prisoner at the Red Keep before his trial, and the Queen would like Luke to be there to watch them sentence his would-be murderer to death.

Luke hopes Daemon will arrive soon, because he is determined to do everything in his power to stop them.

-

Watching Daemon sail to him on a ship instead of on dragon back is strange, but Luke has to remember - there are no more dragons left. They were all killed in the war. And now, Targaryens are closer to men than they are to gods. Even so, Daemon struts around as if he is one. Luke find he doesn’t mind, he misses his uncle, pulling him into a hearty hug when Daemon jumps off the side of his ship onto Luke’s deck.

“I knew it was you the moment I saw you,” Daemon whispered. “Your mother will be so pleased. You’ve grown into a man.”

Luke wants to set sail immediately, but Daemon would rather spend the night getting drunk and singing sea chanties with his crew. He allows it, but they set sail the next morning as soon as the sun rises. Luke pours a bucket of cold water onto Daemon’s head, shaking his head and laughing at Daemon’s outrage of being treated this way as the King Consort, complete lack of respect, what a terrible pirate life Luke now leads.

It’s about a seventeen days voyage to King’s Landing. Luke is surprised, for some reason he thought it would be longer. It feels so much more attainable. As they sail, Luke discusses the war with his uncle/stepfather and confirms certain details and corrects others. Aegon had actually tried to given up the crown multiple times, but after Aemond torched the Riverlands, Daemon pushed Rhaenyra to refuse peace without addressing Aemond Targaryan. The Greens won more victories than the manuscript suggested, but the Blacks won the biggest ones. And the Lannisters, damn them, were two-faced, fighting for the Greens while negotiating their positions post-war with Rhaenyra behind their back.

In truth, Rhaenyra had felt conflicted about executing Aegon, he was her little brother after all, and he never wanted to be king, but letting him live would make her seem weak. Even though most of the realm supported her, she could show no mercy to the usurper.

If Aemond had been born first, Daemon mused, seemingly oblivious to the way Luke hangs onto his every word, they would’ve been in a whole world of trouble. Aemond is far more formidable than his brother in every way. In battle. In the council room. But then again, perhaps he is so fierce because he has much to prove, as the second son. Daemon certainly feels that way, being the second son himself. He gives Luke an inquisitive look at this point, asking him if this is why he had chosen the pirate life, even after he regained his memories. Did he have something to prove?

“I think…there are so many expectations, being a Targaryen,” Luke admits, “It was nice to pretend I was someone else. Even when I couldn’t choose where we went, it was freeing.”

Daemon gives him a small nod and smile at that, understanding. Luke can sense it, Daemon respects him as an adult now, as a man, and he finds himself unbearably proud of that. In his youth, Luke was used to being sheltered and babied, everyone always worried about him getting hurt or his honor or reputation being threatened. Luke could defend his own body, his own reputation, on the high seas. He didn’t need the Targaryen protection anymore. No, now he only yearns to be close to his family, for the love that he has for them.

(He yearns to see Aemond one last time.)

This is why when the offer to bring him back int the royal family as a prince is brought up, Luke refuses. The matter is not a light one. When Luke steps ashore and embraces his mother, the Queen, for the first time in years, they both sob in relief. Rhaenyra, looking regal as ever, kisses him all over his face, stroking his cheek with tear-stricken eyes, telling him she was so sure she would never see him again. They even had a funeral for him, a fire where they had burned some of his clothes and books.

Jace gives him an equally warm, sobbing embrace, but his temperament toward Luke cools considerably when Luke informs them all that he would no longer be Prince Lucerys Velaryon. He has lived as a sailor and a pirate for this long, and he prefers this life. He has no desire to remain on land and navigate the corrupt life of politics. He apologizes to Rhaena, his betrothed, though he’s happy to see she has already married another for they had all thought him long dead. He apologizes to his mother. And he apologizes to Jace, he doesn’t seem to want to hear it. As the proud firstborn son, he had always carried himself in a regal way that he hoped befitted the status of his mother. He didn’t understand Luke’s desire to shirk from duty and remain a mere pirate.

Seeing Aemond in the flesh for the first time is much harder. Luke goes to see him in this prison cell at night. He wonders if Aemond is asleep or simply pretending to be asleep. His body is relaxed, his breaths slow and calm, but his face looks entirely too still. He must know that Luke, or at least someone, is there watching him.

He does not look so different. Thinner, perhaps. His face looks more gaunt from years of stress and hiding. But he is as handsome and refined as ever, even if his tattered prisoner rags.

As Luke watches him sleep, he ponders over his well-kept secret desires (his entire family still assumed he would be thrilled to see Aemond dead), the years of animosity between the two sides of the Targaryen family, the forlorn look on young Aemond’s face with his fresh wound laid bare for the world to see. That is not the kind of pain Luke wishes to inflict on him.

Luke has not experienced the horrors that Aemond unleashed on Westeros. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t feel so tender toward his uncle, but for now Luke only remembers the child Aemond had been. Awkward. Quiet. Only wanting to fit in. What a bitter and cold man he had grown to be. Luke thinks to all the whores he bedded in the Free Cities, their happy sighs as they curled up next to Luke, soft and relaxed after he’d cleaned them up, and wondered if Aemond could be that soft. Luke is not ashamed to admit that he wants this, wants Aemond in this way, but he is also well aware that he is in love with the idea of the man, rather than the man himself.

Wavering over his thoughts well into the night, Luke makes his decision as the sun is rising. He will petition his mother right away to spare Aemond’s life.

-

The trial, as Luke had predicted, was an absolute nightmare.

Queen Rhaenyra, surprisingly, seemed cautious but amenable to Luke’s proposal. Daemon was appalled. Jace looked disgusted. They went through an entirely too long, very tiring discussion in the privacy of their chambers before they rushed to the trial together, now late, and had nearly the same argument all over again, but this time, with Aemond watching and smirking in the center of the court room.

He did not seem to recognize Luke at first. No, why would he? Luke had grown nearly twice as tall in their time apart, he now had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, his skin was kissed brown from years in the sun, his build now broad and capable. He looked nothing like the scared teenager he was. But because he stood with Daemon and Jace, Aemond stared and stared and stared at him with that one eye, and finally, it seemed to click.

“Well, well, well,” Aemond said softly, “My lord strong, he lives again. What street gutter did you wash up in, nephew?”

The remark only leads to more outrage. Jace calls for his head. Daemon calls for his other eye. Helaena is openly sobbing. Luke doesn’t know where Alicent is, she is supposed to have survived. He can only guess that she didn’t want to attend or was prohibited from attending the trial of her only living son. He can only imagine the frenzy she has worked herself up into, locked in a chamber somewhere in the castle. Luke simply looks back at Aemond and smiles. I’m not afraid of you anymore, he thinks, but perhaps you should be afraid of me.

In the end, Rhaenyra calls for silence and an end to the chaos. She reminds them all that her son, Lucerys, was the first victim of his crimes, and therefore she would like to respect his wishes. Even if the privacy of their chambers, their rushed arguments before the trial, she had admitted she did not understand his reasoning, but she has only now just gotten her son back. She doesn’t want to break his heart, it would break her own heart all over again. Of course, the court does not hear this side of the story, simply that Aemond will be stripped of his princely position and will never be afforded the opportunity to any land or titles. He must never set foot in Westeros again. He will make no claim for his sister’s throne. Luke will see him off to the Free Cities himself, he will have to live his life exiled, away from the Targaryen royal family. It would be the only way to spare his life.

Luke agrees to those terms. Even Daemon agrees, on the condition that if Aemond ever returns to Westeros, he will be afforded the privilege to kill him himself. Jace storms out of the courtroom, full of rage.

Aemond simply accepts his sentence with a silent nod, looking down at his folded hands. He looks like he’s praying. He must be devout, like his mother. Luke admires him from afar, musing at how beautiful his hair shines in the late afternoon light, and then goes to walk with his mother.

Luke spends a week with his family while Aemond is locked back into his cell, and then he sets sail to the Free Cities, promising his mother that he will visit often. Jace does not see him off.

Queen Rhaenyra frets that this is perhaps too dangerous a journey for Luke to make alone. She is convinced Aemond is still determined to harm him, and wants to send him off with a few knights of the Kingsguard to protect him. But Luke gently reminds his mother that he is no longer a prince, so it is not right for the knights to serve him, and he is no longer a defenseless boy either. He lets his mother watch a few of his matches in the training yard as proof. He can defend himself. Rhaenyra smiles at him, so proud, still begging him to stay and reconsider even as she waves him off at the docks with her entourage.

Seeing Aemond One-Eye Targaryen standing on his ship deck, still dressed in his rags and carrying a rather pathetic looking bag of what Luke imagines are the belongings he was allowed to keep, is such a strange sight that he laughs out loud. The man looks a little lost, and perhaps a bit nervous, though he attempts to put on his steely demeanor as always. Aemond gives Luke an ugly glare at his outburst, and then demands where the captain’s quarters here.

“It’s right here,” Luke gestures, and Aemond walks past him rudely. “What are you doing? You can’t sleep here, these are my quarters.”

“They were your quarters,” Aemond counters. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care. You’re a commoner now, I’m sure you must enjoy that life.”

Well, Luke has spent many years sleeping in all sorts of strange places, but he technically is captain now, even if he doesn’t feel like it. The rest of his crew does not take kindly to this very obvious slight, and at least half of them are more than happy to murder him (and volunteered, vocally) but Luke shakes his head.

“I’ve known this man since we were children, we grew up together,” Luke reassures them, “he’s very difficult, but please. He’s important to me. I don’t want him to fall to any harm.”

The journey back to the Free Cities is arduous and annoying. It doesn’t help matters that they set sail for Braavos, one of the farther cities. Aemond struts around as if he’s still a prince. He does no work, but he does criticize everyone for doing their job poorly. He is not allowed a sharp weapon, and when he goes to spar with some of the more battle-hardened crew mates, Luke intervenes, telling him not yet. He would earn Luke’s trust first, and then be awarded the privilege to spar. In return, Aemond spits in Luke’s face and stalks off.

The rest of the crew truly don’t understand why Luke tolerates such despicable behavior. He is not sure why himself. After all, he had been hoping that Aemond would return his feelings, or at the very least be glad that he had not killed Luke that night of the storm. Luke has spent years weathering through the fear of choppy waters and thunderstorms, and he’s saddened that Aemond does not seem to regret his chase at all.

The only indication that Aemond even remembers that night is when he happens across Luke during one of his morning swims, and tilts his head, regarding his nephew.

“I don’t recall you swimming when we were young, nephew,” he says, no doubt remembering all those times Luke would scream if he so much as touched the water at the beach. Luke merely smiles back at him.

“I had to learn,” he said simply. “After that night.”

Aemond says nothing, just a soft hmm and walks off.

The spoiled prince has still commandeered the captain’s quarters and sleeps there every night. Luke allows it, knowing that his nights in the prison cell and sleeping god knows where during his years of hiding must not have been very comfortable, but he takes it upon himself to go to his own quarters whenever he needs. A change of clothes. A quill. His good telescope. He’s not going to apologize or ask permission to use his own things. It is because of this that Luke sees Aemond is all manners of undress, sometimes entirely nude as he lounges in Luke’s bed, reading Luke’s books.

Luke wonders if he should stare. He wonders if he should not. Aemond seems entirely too comfortable naked, because he doesn’t care either way. Sometimes, oftentimes, Luke thinks about bursting through the door and climbing on top of Aemond, just for the chance to feel his smooth skin beneath his hands, but Luke is not that kind of person. But perhaps, he can convince his uncle that he ought to try a kiss.

The same night Luke attempts to sneak in to seduce his uncle is the same night Aemond attempts to murder him. He’s hidden behind a bookshelf when Luke enters, and comes up from behind with a knife to his throat. No doubt one that he stole from a crew mate.

“I see you also came to kill me,” Aemond whispers in his ear, not realizing how wrong he is and unknowingly causing Luke to harden in his pants. “How curious, that we had the same target in mind. Perhaps you are family, after all.”

In truth, Luke is surprised that Aemond hasn’t already tried to kill him. He’s been on board for over a week. Perhaps he’s enjoying the summer breeze? His time in prison was undoubtedly uncomfortable, and Aemond seemed to enjoy the finer things in life. Except now, he has chosen his time to attack.

The fight that emerges is a nasty one. Aemond manages to stab Luke in the shoulder before he wrestles the knife out of his hands and pins him down. Luke is simply adequate at a sword, but his hand to hand combat has improved significantly. And, he’s bigger than Aemond now. It’s obvious, seeing as they’re chest to chest, panting on the floor, Luke’s shoulder bleeding all over Aemond’s hair and clothes. Aemond glares at him and spits directly in his eye.

“You still owe me a debt, boy,” Aemond hisses, as Luke winces and rubs his eye with his free hand. “I’m sure you must have forgotten, you love to pretend like this never happened.”

“I am the only reason you’re still alive, uncle,” Luke reminds him. “Don’t you think I’m paying my debt no to you, everyday, while you’re on my ship?”

“And besides,” Luke adds while he manhandles Aemond to a standing position, calmly tying his uncle’s hands in front of him with expert rope skills,” I sent you so many apologies, right after it happened. Don’t act like I didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

Well, this is awkward, Luke thinks, because it’s true. Luke sent apology after apology when he was child, diligently writing Aemond letters nearly every month. His mother even reviewed all of them, partially to help with his spelling (he was six) and partially to ensure he would not unknowingly send information about their family that the Hightowers could use against them. But it seemed that Aemond never received a single letter, from the confused look on his face.

Luke simply ties him to the bed frame and tell him to sleep it off, resisting the very strong urge to take off his pants and shove his cock in Aemond’s face. Aemond, though furious, also looks distracted, as if the thought of having letters that he never received is entirely preoccupying his mind. “If you don’t believe me, you can write to the Queen for the truth, but I sent you letters for years, uncle.”

And then Luke leaves him, telling himself he’ll untie Aemond once he’s tired himself out of cursing Luke out.

At least this explains Aemond’s behavior toward him. His self-righteous and bitter mood on the ship, and his cold, vicious attitude toward Luke when they first saw each other after the incident. Aemond had never received a single letter. He truly thought that Luke and his mother would ignore such a thing. Luke wonders if perhaps the Hightowers had intercepted them, that was the only explanation, because he must’ve sent over thirty letters before even he, the determined child that he was, gave up. There’s only so long you can write to someone without receiving a single response.

The next day, when Luke brings Aemond some food and water to tempt him into being nice enough to being untied, he watches, amused, as Aemond stalks toward Luke’s desk immediately. So he is also a man who lives in the past. Just like Luke. He pens a letter to Luke’s mother forcefully, as if the parchment itself stabbed Aemond’s eye out, and pushes it into Luke’s hands, ordering him to send it to the Queen at once.

Luke simply smiles, allowing Aemond to treat him like a servant, and says, “I will send this to my mother, if you return my chambers to me.”

Aemond still demands private chambers, not wanting to go near all those “dirty, disgusting commoners.” But even he can be convinced of shared quarters when Luke allows him free reign to spar, as long as he only uses wooden training swords. The thought of sparring again obviously making Aemond feel weak with need, Luke sweetens the deal by allowing Aemond his quarters during the day, so he can lounge in Luke’s bed and read. He agrees, trying to look bitter.

(Besides, this way Luke can go to bed with his sheets smelling like Aemond.)

Now that Aemond is no longer being a raging bitch, or if he is at least he has focused all his vicious energy on sparring, Luke no longer wants to make a direct route to the Free Cities. They are on open waters and Aemond is now getting along better with the crew, sleeping alongside them, sparring, sharing his knowledge of maps and navigation. Aemond has never learned to navigate on open waters before, he is reluctantly curious as Luke’s First Mate explains how to tell direction through the wind and position of the sun, as well as how to predict storm and tide patterns. Though he puts on the farce of being aloof, Luke can tell Aemond eats up this new knowledge hungrily.

Fuck it, Luke decides. They’re pirates. He’s captain. They’re going to raid some ships.

Going on pirate raids with Aemond in tow is far more fun than it should be. Aemond lives for danger. He cuts down their foes easily, almost seems giddy with excitement on the rare occasion he does meet a worthy opponent. When they count up their gold and jewels, Luke generously gives a cut to Aemond and informs him that he may use these when they arrive in the Free Cities, though Luke will have to monitor his purchasing, at least in the beginning. He would not have Aemond purchase things that would present a threat to the Queen in any way - armor, weapons, spies. Aemond rolls his single eye and informs Luke that even if he tried to stop Aemond’s uprising, it would be too easy to cut him down.

(But there is something about him that enjoys his new life too much to usurp the throne, Luke can tell. Or at least, he hopes and desires.)

At some point, in the evenings, Aemond emerges from his little reading burrow to join the crew in their singing and card games. He observes the card games with curiosity, always one for strategy, and very annoyingly informs people when they play their hand incorrectly until finally, Luke forces him to sit at the table and join the game. They make bets and Aemond wins almost every time. Luke watches him in the candlelight, staring with silent longing at Aemond’s soft, almost child-like grin as he rakes in win after win. It seems like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

It’s a good life. Luke wouldn’t give it up for anything. Of course he has to be the one who ruins it.

When they stop by a port and make their way to a brothel, Aemond at first refuses, wanting instead to take a stroll in the warm night air, but Luke insists. He should have walked with his uncle, but he was impatient, and needy. He needed a release. And while he has long accepted Aemond felt no desire toward him, he could not leave his uncle out of his sight, for fear that he would escape.

Aemond did not seem interested in any of the whores, opting instead sit and watch the dances in the common area with a drink at hand with some of the other crew mates. Luke makes the ill-advised decision to choose a dark corner of the room that is partially closed off, but still visible so that he could keep an eye on Aemond while he was being sucked off. And then, he asks for one of the boys that reminds him of Aemond. Very, very poor choice. There was a moment where Luke has to close his eyes and groan, because the boy’s mouth is so warm and wet, and his throat is so tight, when he opens his eyes he realizes Aemond is no longer sitting where he was.

“What- where?” He mutters to himself, looking around the room wildly.

He’s right there. Aemond shoves someone aside to get a better look at the boy sucking Luke off, and then regards Luke with a cold, accusing glare. The man has blond hair, almost white. He’s young. He’s slender. And he has a ridiculous eyepatch that he doesn’t need, that Luke has slapped on his left eye.

“…I can explain,” Luke says, before Aemond stalks off without another word.

Once again, Luke makes the poor choice to finish off quickly in the boy’s mouth (Aemond spent far too much time lounging around naked, he was hardly at fault) and then paying him generously before running off into the streets, pulling up his pants. He prays to the gods that Aemond is back on the ship, instead of, well, anywhere else.

Sure enough, when Luke steps aboard his ship, he sees the lanterns on in the captain’s quarters. And when he enters, Aemond is in the middle of throwing a very physical temper tantrum.

Luke’s bed sheets are cut up. Books are thrown everywhere. Aemond has also dripped wax all over his desk. Luke stares at the mess in disbelief. He had always known Aemond to be dramatic, but it was usually in a quiet, dangerous way. This level of chaos was beyond his comprehension.

“Is this why you were so determined to keep me alive?” Aemond demands, candle dripping wax still in his hands. He looks like he wants to set the ship on fire. He looks absolutely insane. “So that you can keep me prisoner, seduce me into being your whore?”

When Luke doesn’t answer, Aemond grabs a bottle of rum and throws it at him. Luke dodges, but the bottle still hits the door and breaks fantastically, spilling all over the floor.

“It’s- Aemond, I was not honest with you, I apologize,” Luke admits, still at a loss for his uncle’s unhinged behavior. “But I would not have forced myself on you. Yes, I desire you, alright? I mean, it’s obvious now. But when we arrive at the Braavos, you are welcome to go wherever you wish. I would not force you by my side.”

No matter how much I wish it.

“When we arrive at Braavos,” Aemond chuckles, deep in his throat, “and tell me, nephew, when might that be? We should have arrived weeks ago. Do you enjoy keeping me on this pathetic little vessel, here to entertain your every whim? Just a dog, ready to do your bidding?”

“You? Do my bidding?” Luke repeats, incredulous. “You still force me to do your laundry! Did you never learn to wash your own clothes, when Daemon was chasing you around Westeros?”

Apparently, that is the wrong thing to say. Aemond is silent, humming as he leisurely knocks over a few more items in Luke’s liquor cabinet before making his way out the door. Before he leaves, he pauses, then turns his head slightly toward Luke. “Don’t you ever think about touching me in that way, nephew. I will not play any part in your sick games. We leave for Braavos tomorrow.”

And with that, regal and presumptuous as ever, Aemond stalks off to his own shared quarters.

Their time together after that night is very similar to some of the first few days Aemond spends on the ship. Tense. Unfriendly. Some of Luke’s crew even give their captain the ugly eye, as if they could tell the two had an argument and were determined to blame it on Luke.

Feeling very sorry for himself, Luke sets the course and informs Aemond that they will arrive in four days. Aemond barely acknowledges him, just a terse little hmm.

They arrive in due time. Luke considers sending someone from his crew to keep an eye on Aemond before he unleashes him to the world, but then thinks better of it. Aemond would probably just kill him, anyway. He opts instead to simply leave Aemond with a bag of his wealth that he had accumulated in his short time in Luke’s pirate crew, and, before he can talk himself out of it, the gift of Luke’s raven.

“I understand you probably don’t want to see me ever again,” Luke says to Aemond’s unwaveringly cold glare. He’s so immobile, it’s like talking to a statue. A statue that hates him. “But, we are still family. And I would like to hear how you’re doing, in your new life. So this raven is yours, if you ever wish to write.”

After a short silence, Aemond huffs. “Why, so you can report back to your mother?”

Luke shrugs. “I’m sure Daemon has spies here to follow you,” he says, looking around casually. He actually thinks he spots one, lurking by the docks. “So no, it’s not for the Queen. It’s not for anyone at Westeros.”

“Then why?”

Luke frowns at him. “I just want to make sure you’re doing alright. Is that too much to ask?”

Apparently it is, because Aemond gives him a scathing, bored look and then walks away. Luke is left there standing, alone, and utterly rejected. He sighs. He’s going to get very drunk tonight.

He doesn’t expect Aemond to write. The man made it very clear he thought Luke’s very presence was repulsive. A few months pass, and when Luke sees his raven flying toward their ship, he thinks he must be hallucinating.

It’s a short message. In High Valyrian. The food here is terrible. Send recommendations.

Luke laughs out loud. He could almost cry, he’s so happy. His first mate peeks at the note but can’t read Valyrian, so simply gives him a strange look.

After debating what to write and crossing out lines several times, Luke starts over on a fresh sheet of parchment and suggests a few taverns to Aemond that he think he’ll like. That, and that he should learn how to cook for himself. Luke even sends the recipe of a good chicken stew that he likes. He resists the urge to draw a fat little pig (too soon) and sends the raven off again.

The next message comes about a month later, a bit longer. Still so bitchy. You should’ve informed me it’s better to cover my hair. People hate Targaryens here. What a terrible prison guard you make.

And so it began, their strange, tender little letter exchange where Aemond would write a short note complaining about everything and anything he could - the weather, a lack of quality clothes, the food (many times), how hard it is to secure a good sword with the measly wealth he had. In return, Luke prides himself on sending long, detailed responses for suggestions of what Aemond could do, or heartfelt wishes that his uncle will adapt to life soon and become comfortable.

(If only they hadn’t made that ill-fated brothel stop, Luke had been planning to set up Aemond’s new life himself. And now, Aemond was clearly suffering without him.)

Aemond never acknowledged Luke’s long letters, but he kept writing, so Luke can only assume that he receives them. He’s not entirely sure what changed, because when Aemond left he seemed perfectly content with never speaking to Luke ever again, but he likes to think that Aemond is a bit lonely. He is on the other side of the Narrow Sea where he knows no one. Luke is sure he must also be writing to his mother and sister, perhaps that’s why the time gaps between Aemond’s letters are so long, because Luke always writers back right away.

After a particularly long pause, at this point, almost a year has passed since Luke last saw Aemond, he gets a rather vulnerable message. I did confirm with Rhaenyra - (Aemond still refuses to address her as the Queen) - that you wrote to me after that night at Driftmark. I was never given the chance to read them. If you happen to remember what you wrote, tell me.

Luke does his best to describe his letters, it had been nearly twenty years ago at this point, but he does. They were simple letters, he’d been just a child then. He prayed for Aemond’s recovery. He sent him salves and herbs that the maesters at Dragonstone procured. He even drew a sketch of what he thought Aemond might look like as an adult, and made a very persuasive argument that he would be very handsome even though he only had one eye. Luke smiles to himself, almost proud of how sweet he was to Aemond, even back then.

Of course, their letter exchange presents a huge problem to Luke’s sex life, because he dreams of his uncle almost every night. And he still wants to hurt him. Still yearns to slap him around, make his skin burn, make his pretty eye cry tears of pain. Luke has to remind himself that if Aemond does not so much as want to kiss him, there is no future where Aemond would allow himself to be slapped in the face with Luke’s cock, and yet he can still dream.

The letter he receives after the Driftmark confessions is scathing. Luke smiles from ear to ear as he reads it. Your drawing skills are truly terrible. I look nothing like that. What a stupid boy, thinking you had to send me medicine while I was seeing the best maesters in the realm. You always were such a whimsical child.

Honestly, if Luke didn’t know any better, he’d think Aemond was flirting with him.

Against his better judgment, Luke writes to ask if Aemond would be open to seeing him again in person. He can tell the crew misses him. And he would keep his distance, he would be respectful. He just wants to see Aemond again, even if it’s just to share space. Even if he can only look as Aemond looks out to the horizon, his one eye keenly alert as always, hair neatly combed, body perfectly still as he observes the waters and softly informs Luke that they would have to veer south, if they wished to avoid the storm brewing. Luke thought he was obsessed as a teenager, but nothing could compare to how absolutely in love he is with Aemond when he’s in one of his peaceful moods, the setting sun making him glow beautifully.

To his surprise, he gets his response within a few days. That means Aemond must be close. Yes. Come to Port Nox. Bring your crew.

Even though he knows his heart can’t handle another rejection, Luke sets course immediately.

Uncle Aemond wants to see me again.

-

Four years later

If Aemond had known this is what it’s like to be loved by Lucerys Targaryen, he would’ve abandoned Otto Hightower and that whole scheming lot a long time ago.

Their love story did not start as soft and tender as it felt now. No, Aemond could hardly call it a love story, more like a transaction. When he first saw Lucerys again after their time of only corresponding through letters, he made himself very clear. Aemond did not enjoy working for a living. No, he enjoyed sparring, reading, and lounging. The years he spent hiding in sewers and empty watch towers were only thrilling because he was able to kill off Daemon’s spies sent after him.

And so, after greeting Lucerys and his crew and begrudgingly spending the night out at a tavern with them, Aemond gave Lucerys his proposal. Lucerys would use his pirate plunders to provide Aemond with suitable housing, good food, some quality clothing. And in return, Aemond would allow him limited access to his body in bed.

Lucerys nearly spewed his drink all over Aemond. He watched in disgust as his nephew wiped his face and table hastily with his sleeve and then agreed all too quickly to Aemond’s demands. It was…disappointing. Part of him wanted Lucerys to negotiate more. After all, Aemond would refuse to pleasure him. He did not want to touch Lucerys. But if he really was so determined, Lucerys could suck Aemond’s cock as a reward for his hard work.

Part of him wanted Lucerys to refuse such a degrading agreement. If he had any ounce of self-respect, he’d tell Aemond to go fuck himself. But he simply looked at Aemond with his earnest, dark eyes, so common, hardly Targaryen, yet still so pretty, and asked when could they start?

(Part of him that he kept buried deep inside of him was thrilled. Aemond wanted Lucerys to touch him. He was so curious.)

It is a wonder how Lucerys seems so free and open about his preference for men. He must not be very religious. Alicent Hightower had been a devout follower of the Seven, and Aemond the same. He still prays every night, finding the ritual soothing and regulating. It made sense, Raenyra and Daemon never seemed to take the Seven very seriously, claiming they were nothing compared to the old Gods of Valyria. But even then, it’s impossible to be immune to the talk of the court. Aemond remembers growing up in the Red Keep and hearing all the lords and ladies laugh at Laener Velaryon behind his back. Seeing two men together just seemed to amusing to everyone. Leaner probably moaned like a women, the Lannisters especially would jest.

Aemond had always been very sensitive to others laughing at him. Aegon, may his soul burn in hell, had always sensed this weakness in him and made fun of him every chance he got. Far beyond the years of their youth. Alicent had always bragged that of all her children, Aemond started as the most self-conscious and emerged the most confident, but even she could not see this as a shield for his sensitivity. He despised being a subject of ridicule. It brought him back to his younger years. He was well beyond that now.

To his utter annoyance, Lucerys was a very good lover. Attentive. Skillful. He knew how to suck cock, that was for certain. Aemond attempted to maintain the upper hand by saying all sorts of degrading things while his cock disappeared down his throat. How he was a slut like his mother. How he probably became captain by bribing the crew with his mouth. How he probably let them pass him around as a party favor. But each time, without fail, it was Aemond whimpering and losing control, biting the sheets, his hand, anything he could get a hold of, while Lucerys sucked him dry. It was too good, he couldn’t get enough.

One night, Lucerys arrived after weeks of being gone with a smile on his face and a package in his arms. He had gotten clothes tailored to Aemond’s liking. Black. Broad shoulder. High collar. Aemond made a small noise of approval as he regarded himself in the mirror. Finally, some good clothes.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” he said, not liking whatever scheme Lucerys was coming up with.

In the end, Lucerys convinced him that, as his reward for such a fine gift, Aemond would let him try something new. And that was how Aemond found himself face down in his sheets, with his nephew’s tongue buried in his ass.

“What the hell,” he swore softly, hoping Lucerys didn’t hear. By the low chuckle he heard, he almost certainly had. Aemond was no stranger to sex. He had a few select whores he favored at brothels, and had taken Alys Rivers as his mistress after all. But none of them touched him like this, the way Luke almost lovingly ran his large hands down Aemond’s back, feeling the curve of his spine, squeezing the soft part where his ass met his thigh. It was almost as if Luke was trying to commit his body to memory, afraid that each time with Aemond might be his last.

They see each other like this every few weeks, sometimes more often. At first, Aemond dismissed Lucerys almost immediately and shut the door in his face. But as time wore on, he found himself willing to entertain Lucerys for a drink afterward. And then a drink turned into a meal. And a meal turned into a night. While Aemond considered himself a recluse, preferring his time alone, he did enjoy company sometimes, and he could only communicate with his remaining family through letters. Lucerys was the only family he had on this side of the narrow sea, and he was surprisingly not dull to talk to. He had many interesting stories of his journeys on the high seas.

Most recently, he had just returned from a trip to Westeros to see Rhaenyra. Aemond’s half-sister was, in truth, a stranger to him. He had always found her a rather pretentious, self-centered woman whose promiscuity was unbecoming of someone of her station, but even he had to admit, from all the news he heard of Westeros, she was an adequate Queen. A fair yet stern ruler.

Now that Aemond was relatively satisfied with the life he led in exile, he could admit to himself that he would not have enjoyed being King. His thirst for the throne was yet another attempt to prove himself better than Aegon. But he did not care about the common folk. Their woes and needs bored him. He probably would have led Westeros into ruin, for his only interest was blood and war.

(He did not dare tell Lucerys, but he often found himself entertaining the idea of joining his crew again. But he did not like the idea of constantly being around the man, Lucerys seemed far too besotted with him and he needed his space. Besides, if he were to join, he would demand to become captain. Aemond despised following orders.)

Lucerys had had far too much wine. He sighed sadly into the fire and told Aemond in a meandering, sing-song fashion of how much he missed his brother, how he wish Jace could understand his new life. Aemond could not bring himself to care, but Lucerys was his only chance at procuring good wine and fresh fruit without having to so much lift a finger, so he entertained the man’s family sob story for as long as he could muster before throwing him out for the night.

Lucerys never spent the night. He never shared his bed, unless it was to pleasure him.

To Aemond, it did not matter if he desired more, because that desire was shameful. Forbidden. Lucerys could revel in a life of sin if he liked, he was a pirate captain, but Aemond still wrote to his mother and did not want her to think that him living in the Free Cities had ruined him. No, Aemond was still an honorable man. He just also so happened to be a man who enjoyed luxury.

The first time he witnessed a relationship between two men as frighteningly normal, he was back aboard the pirate ship. Lucerys had begged him for help against a rival pirate crew that they had faced off a few times and suffered numbers. Aemond accepted mostly out of boredom, but when he arrived he found they were also conducting what appeared to be a pirate wedding. As it turned out, pirates held their own marriages, away from the eyes of the Seven and the Old Gods, simply to pledge themselves to each other in partnership. Lucerys had mentioned sometimes pirates only made this agreement to accumulate wealth together, but these men were kissing. Out in the open. Aemond stared, not entirely knowing what to do with himself. He simply watched as Lucerys and his crew whooped and hollered, enjoying the celebrations before they’d set off to battle.

The battle was bloody. The rival crew was indeed formidable. Aemond fought with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He lived for the heavy tension in the air as he stared down his opponent, always watching their next move. Criston Cole told him once he had impenetrable defense and a vicious counter attack. The best he’d ever seen, to be honest. Aemond smirked down at his prey. This was where he felt alive.

Watching Lucerys torture the rival captain was…oddly satisfying. He had never seen this side of him before, taunting the man while he twisted the dagger deeper into his gut. His intestines were beginning to dribble out. It was disgusting. Aemond felt vindicated, because he had always told his family to watch out for Lucerys. That boy was dangerous, he was convinced. Aegon laughed it off, chalking it up to him being paranoid after Lucerys cut out his eye. That boy? Rhaenyra’s second son, who can barely pick up a sword and still hides behind her skirts in court? Even Alicent admitted to him that while she found him utterly depraved and lacking in morals just like his mother, she found him relatively harmless.

No, Lucerys was a monster, through and through. He taunted the captain who had been hunting down his own crew with his words and his dagger. Aemond couldn’t resist. He needed to be near that.

They snuck off into the captain’s quarters when they’re confident everyone has gone to sleep. Despite all their time together, they still had never kissed. Lucerys looked like he wanted to remedy that so badly, but instead Aemond shoved him on the bed and unbuckled Lucerys’s pants. Before he could think too hard about what he was about to do, he took Lucerys’s cock, the first cock in his life he’d touched besides his own, and sank his mouth down on it.

Lucerys was so utterly gone. He stroked Aemond’s hair fondly, his cheeks, running his thumb along the bottom of Aemond’s lip as his mouth dragged up and down the length of his erection. A distinct memory of Lucerys fucking the mouth of some whore in the brothel, some whore who dared look like him, flashed in Aemond’s mind. He didn’t have to say it out loud. He looked at Lucerys and nodded, knowing what he wanted to do. Aemond had just won a battle and killed at least five men. He was ready for it.

When Lucerys stood up and forced Aemond’s back against the wall, holding his head in place so that he could control the tempo, Aemond had never been quite so hard in his life. It was such a degrading position, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. Gone were his gentle words and soft pets, Lucerys grabbed a hold of Aemond’s silver hair and pulled hard, forcing his cock down Aemond’s throat, letting him come up for breath far too little.

“There, that’s it,” Lucerys groaned, leaning his forehead on the wall, peering down at Aemond as he obediently let Lucerys fuck his mouth in long, slow strokes. “Look at you. So good for me.”

The few times Lucerys let him go so he could gasp for breath, he slapped Aemond hard across the face. It left him a little dazed, and yet so wide awake. Aemond was used to pain. He did not become one of the best swordsmen in Westeros by relaxing. He had been knocked down in the training yard far more times than he could count, eating dirt every time. This was not entirely new. The rough treatment reminded him of battle. He smiled a bit, asking Lucerys if that was all he had in him. Taunting him for still being so soft.

Aemond regretted goading him only a bit, because Lucerys went back to fucking his mouth in a fast, brutal pace. It did hurt now, very much, but Aemond breathed through his nose and blinked away his tears, determined he would make it through. And it was good, too good. He reached down into his pants to touch himself, only for Lucerys to kick away his hands with his boot and step on Aemond’s crotch, putting a mean amount of pressure on his erection. He yelped, from surprise, from pain, he wasn’t sure. Lucerys only laughed above him.

After Lucerys came down his throat, he knelt down, spit into his hand, and reached for Aemond’s cock. “That’s it, spread your legs,” he encouraged and Aemond sat on the floor, boneless, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll give it to you. Just take it.”

Aemond came too, but only after Lucerys reached up and grabbed his throat, choking his orgasm out of him.

Once they had both calmed down, Lucerys actually had the audacity to look ashamed, apologizing profusely to Aemond as he cleaned him up, carrying him back up to his bed, going on about some prior agreements and safe words. Aemond didn’t really care, he simply wanted to sleep, he was bone tired. With a tired hand, he shoved Lucerys’s face away from him and told him to shut up. They could talk it out in the morning.

They did talk. It was terribly awkward, because the entire crew heard them that night and actively pretended like they didn’t know a thing. Aemond glared meaningly at any who dared presume he was anything less than what he had proven himself to be yesterday. But Lucerys simply leaned in and whispered, none of them cared about that sort of thing. They also just found their dirty talk a little too corny, that was all.

They agreed to some new terms. Aemond, obviously, was open to pleasuring Lucerys in return now. He still expected Lucerys to attend to his every need. And he still refused to join the crew, he valued his baths and his privacy far too much for that. But he did allow Lucerys to accompany him back to his small cottage in Braavos, and against his better judgment, he did invite Lucerys for a drink before he returned to his crew.

The way Lucerys looked at him with this precious doe eyes was beyond pathetic. Aemond just had to sit there and Lucerys would simply sigh, marveling at him like he was a delicacy. And while he had finally grown into Harwin Strong’s build, Lucerys still had the pretty face of his mother. Aemond had never understood Aegon’s lewd interest in Rhaenyra until now. There was a time when they were teenagers, when Aegon found out Otto tried to betroth him to Rhaenyra when he was but a babe, and for a few cursed months fell completely obsessed with her. Aemond remembered being disgusted - not because she was their sister, he himself had been pretty far gone for Helaena at the same time, but because he believed everything Alicent Hightower told him then. Rhaenyra was a scheming, promiscuous cunt and her runts were more of the same. But his long grudge of the Queen aside, even he couldn’t deny she was simply lovely to look at. And her son Lucerys was more of the same.

This was probably why, when Lucerys got ready to leave but lingered at the door, pouting, Aemond entertained him for a kiss.

“You know what I would want in return?” He said. Lucerys was already leaning in. He leaned back, just to be a tease.

“What would you like?”

“Valyrian steel,” Aemond demanded. Lucerys paused, contemplating.

“You mean, a sword? Or jewelry? Daemon gave my mother a Vayrian steel necklace once.”

“Any and all,” Aemond said. They were close enough that their breaths were starting to mingle as one. Aemond watched Lucerys. Lucerys watched Aemond’s lips. “Just bring me the best and you can have me, however you want.”

Lucerys groaned at finally, at long last, kissed him. Aemond hated how much he liked it. Lucerys was insistent, needy, rough, but his lips were also so soft. He paused between kisses every now and then, promising Aemond he’d plunder every ship he came across just to shower Aemond with gifts. The threat of violence was like a love song to Aemond. He hummed, satisfied.

True to his word, Lucerys arrived from his next trip with a gorgeous, hand-crafted dagger and a set of rings, made large to fit a man’s hand. Aemond took them all, marveling at how heavy they were, and how the dagger shone when it caught the light at a certain angle. Lucerys embraced him from behind as he appreciated the gifts, nose buried in Aemond’s neck, as if he wanted to commit his scent to memory.

It was likely around this time Lucerys had started to suspect that Aemond missed being a Targaryen in this world. He still often had to cover his hair under a cloak when he went out and about in the city. He was dragon-less. He did not command any armies. Yes, he could talk to people in Valyrian, they were in Braavos, but the High Valyrian he and Lucerys spoke was quite different from the slang they spoke on the streets.

And so, Lucerys gifted Aemond with everything and anything Targaryen. Books about history and politics in High Valyrian. A Valyrian steel belt buckle, and shoes with hidden Valyrian steel daggers in the heels. A bronze sculpture of a dragon, made in the likeness of Dreamfyre. This one was particularly sentimental to Aemond, because it was his sister’s dragon.

And it was around this time that Aemond started to love Lucerys, and started to resent Alicent Hightower.

After all, it was her, or Otto, or both of them, who had intercepted the letters Lucerys sent him in their youth. He spent the better part of his life thinking that Lucerys didn’t care at all that he had maimed his uncle. Not to mention, his closest kin found his obsession with being a true Targaryen endearing at best, and a laughable day dream at worst. Aegon thought it was a waste of time. Even Alicent deemed it unnecessary, he was already a Targaryen, he didn’t have to put so much effort into it.

But Lucerys didn’t think it was silly. Or unnecessary. He seemed to understand this was just who Aemond was, someone who desperately wanted to prove that he deserved to be who he was. And he not only understood, he lived it himself.

Lucerys had once told Aemond, after a few cups of wine, that he envied how determined and talented Aemond was. Learning how to read and fight, even learning how to walk, after getting his eye gauged out was no easy feat. Yes, that was true, Aemond lived his life as if he had a dagger pointed at his back. He had very high expectations of himself. But in turn, he envied and admired how easily Lucerys lived a Targaryen life without even truly meaning to. He spoke High Valyrian fluently, far better than Jace. The first time Aemond heard him reading aloud one of the books he brought him, he had to stop himself from kissing him right then and there. He slept alongside a dragon egg as a babe, he nursed the dragon from childhood and rode him skillfully as an adult. He spent his childhood in Dragonstone, their ancestral home.

Aemond had never been to Dragonstone. This, he resented more than anything.

If only he had received even one of Lucerys’s letters, perhaps they could have had a different childhood. Perhaps he would’ve gotten closer to Lucerys much sooner. Perhaps they would not have gone to war. Perhaps he could have started basking in the love that Lucerys so freely showered upon him years earlier.

When Lucerys visited now, he began to spend the night. Of course, how could Aemond refuse him? And instead of speaking in the common tongue over wine, they would read to each other in High Valyrian. Lucerys enjoyed spending these nights with his head in Aemond’s lap, letting Aemond comb his fingers absent-mindedly through Lucerys’s hair as he read. Sometimes, they would do something far more perverted, with Aemond seated on his oiled up cock, squirming, desperate for some friction, as Lucerys held him down and read to him. He seemed to know how much Aemond enjoyed hearing him speak High Valyrian. He read lowly, murmuring directly into Aemond’s ear, as his punishing hands poked and prodded at Aemond’s nipples until he was begging for him to stop, no more, he couldn’t take it (he could, they knew how to negotiate these things now). Aemond was never allowed to touch himself without permission, so his own cock always lay abandoned, dribbling a mess down his abdomen, down his balls, no doubt onto Lucerys’s legs where he could feel how wet Aemond was getting.

“This is treason, this is punishable by death,” Aemond hissed, unwilling to give Lucerys the satisfaction of outright begging. “You have to touch me. I can’t keep going on like this. Touch me, you miserable bastard!”

Lucerys stuffed his fingers into Aemond’s potty mouth like he had been waiting for an excuse to do it. And then he wrapped his other arm around Aemond’s waist and lifted him up, so that he was carried mid-air like a doll, stuffed on both ends, unable to balance on his own feet. It was humiliating, but Aemond could finally admit that he liked it. There was something freeing about not always having to look formidable all the time. Lucerys never questioned that he was capable, intelligent, he complimented Aemond nearly every chance he got. No, Aemond was finally with someone who he did not have to prove himself to, and he relished in how Lucerys could just throw him around.

This time, Lucerys had figured out a way to tie his hands behind his back and then his back to the frame of his four poster bed so that he hung half suspended, half leaning onto the mattress. When Lucerys prodded him, he swayed a bit, unable to stop the movement.

“It shouldn’t cut off your blood flow to much,” Lucerys said, examining his arms. “But we shouldn’t stay like this too long, just in case.”

Aemond huffed, annoyed that Lucerys would underestimate him, secretly glad that he was still considering Aemond’s safety. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into Aemond’s ass, pleased to find him still open and oiled up from their time reading on the couch, and then promptly replaced his fingers with his cock.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, Aemond had no leverage from here, he had no choice but to let Lucerys grip his hips and fuck him with a punishing rhythm, his body dangling from the ropes and obeying Lucerys’s every whim. Aemond whimpered. He might be drooling, he wasn’t sure. Lucerys paused just to dig his hands into Aemond’s thighs, relishing in his pained cry as his nails scratched the sensitive skin. Then he brought his hands back to Aemond’s behind, spread his cheeks, and then had the audacity to stretch his hole even further with his thumbs before thrusting in.

“It’s too much, Lucerys,” Aemond gasped, feeling his fingers stretch him wide, holding him open. It burned, he would undoubtedly feel this for days.

Lucerys growled, seeming to love how Aemond was on the verge of tears. “Tell me more, love,” he whispered, biting down on Aemond’s neck, hard enough to draw blood. “Does it hurt? You’d better tell me now, or this will last much longer.”

Aemond had let go of his shame long ago, anyway. He threw his head back and cried out. Yes it hurt, yes he was split open by his big cock, yes it burned, it stung, it was too much. It was just enough. Aemond found himself wishing not for the first time that Lucerys could split himself into two people so that he could suck on his cock while getting fucked from behind. How ignorant he had been, to deprive himself of this for so many years, when this was obviously how Aemond’s body wanted to be used. He cried, hiccuped even, as Lucerys roughly took hold is his erection and pulled his orgasm out of him.

He must have been unconscious when Lucerys undid the ropes, because when he came to, they were lying together in bed. Lucerys had cleaned him up, as he always did, and was rubbing soothing circles on Aemond’s back. When he felt Aemond stir awake, he kissed his hair gently, asking if he was alright.

Aemond nodded silently, allowing himself to be carried like a babe. Lucerys often kissed the scarred tissue around his fake eye in these tender moments. Years later and he still felt guilty, the sentimental man. Aemond lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Lucerys’s slow, soft breaths. Lucerys had apologized for his eye many times. He realized with a strange sense of dread that he had never apologized for the death of Lucerys’s dragon.

The next time he saw Lucerys, nearly a month later, because Lucerys sheepishly admitted he’d been neglecting his crew and needed to return to them, Aemond had prepared a large, outdoor bonfire. Lucerys watched as he brought out sheets of parchment and some scraps of dragon hide, curious to wait Aemond had planned.

“If you are…amenable,” Aemond said, holding up a message that he’d already written down, “I would like to say a few words about Arrax.”

Whatever Lucerys thought this was, this must not have been what he was expecting. He nodded silently, allowing Aemond to continue.

Aemond said his acknowledgments in High Valyrian. Arrax, though young and small, was a bright, energetic dragon, similar to his rider. He did not know much of the world, he was only beginning to experience it. But he stayed loyal to his rider to the very end. There were few creatures brave enough to face a dragon such as Vhagar, but Arrax protected Lucerys with his life and attacked even though he knew he was far out-matched.

Aemond paused, watching for Lucerys's reaction. As he suspected, the man was sniffling, tears flowing freely as he listened to Aemond’s prayer for his lost dragon. What a baby. Aemond shifted to wrap his arm around Lucerys.

He continued his prayer, wishing Arrax a belated smooth journey into the after-life. And then he placed his parchment in the fire. It was not a true apology, some might say. He never told Lucerys he was sorry for chasing him down that night, for provoking his dragon, for being the reason he plunged into the sea. But Lucerys seemed to understand this was how Aemond preferred to communicate, because he loved the ceremony. He even found it within himself to say a few kind words about Vhagar, and doodled a hideous little drawing on a smiling dragon before tossing that into the fire too.

“This is lovely, thank you,” Lucerys said, still leaning into Aemond’s embrace, admiring the fire. “I don’t know why, but this reminds me of my mother’s marriage ceremony to Daemon. Must be the fire.”

Aemond hummed, not entirely knowing what he was talking about. He had never witnessed the wedding. And he was unfamiliar with the old Valyrian wedding customs. He’d only ever attended ceremonies at the Sept.

“It’s quite beautiful, the wedding,” Lucerys said, when Aemond confessed his ignorance. “You cut each other on the lips, and the hands, and bleed into the same cup. And then you drink from it. Jace found it kind of gross, but I thought it was so romantic.”

-

Aemond wished Lucerys had never told him what a traditional Targaryen wedding looked like, because ever since then he could not think about anything but marrying him.

It’s what he thought of on the entire ship ride back to Westeros, because he had been neglecting writing to his mother, distracted as he was with Lucerys, and she had begged the Queen to be allowed to see him in person. Years had gone by, and Aemond was content with his life in the Free Cities, occasionally joining Lucerys on his pirate adventures when they needed a strong sword. When Lucerys wasn’t visiting him, he traveled. He was well-read. He trained in different sword styles. He had no need to live the life of a Westerosi lord anymore, but he agreed because Lucerys also wanted to visit his mother, and so they both sailed back together.

The royal family would have to board the pirate ship if they wanted to see Aemond, because he was not allowed back on land. This meant that if they were to have the feast that the Queen wanted, they would have to dine with Lucerys’s crew, a thought that drove Aemond wild with glee. His prim and proper mother, dining with pirates. What a delight.

When they stepped onto the ship - Rhaenyra, Daemon, Alicent, Helaena, Rhaena, and Joffrey - Alicent immediately dives to embrace her son. And then she takes a step back, and Aemond is shocked by what he sees.

Beneath her cloak, Alicent was wearing a low cut black gown and Valyrian steel necklace. Gone was any semblance of Hightower green or the star of the Seven. It was obvious to anyone who so much as glanced at her that she was a Targaryen mistress. As for who, he couldn’t be sure. Daemon was probably the most obvious answer, but it could Jace. Joffrey even. Aemond stepped back, slightly disgusted.

Aemond on the other hand, his status as a kept man was a bit more subtle, but Daemon noticed the splendor of his tunic, the craftsmanship of his dagger, the polish of his Valyrian steel belt, and raised his eyebrows at Lucerys. Sure, go ahead and look, old man, Aemond thought viciously. Alicent didn’t seem to notice Aemond was covered head to toe in Lucerys’s gifts. She just took for granted that he had once been a highborn prince and he deserved nice things.

The crew ate at a different table, but on the same deck, and occasionally Lucerys would shout jokes and banter across the deck. Daemon joined in. Rhaenyra seemed delighted. Alicent seemed appalled. Aemond took sick pleasure in how appalled she was. She’s a liar. She lied to me for years.

He was grateful to be seated next to Helaena, so she could ask him all sorts of weirdly specific questions about his new life. She had not lost her dreaming talent in the war, it seemed, and every now and then named their adventures herself all too well.

“And you and Lucerys,” she said, nodding to the ex-prince, “you two are soon to be joined by fire, yes?”

Lucerys choked on his pork loin. Aemond shot him a glare. They did not plan to tell their family a thing, but Lucerys was a terrible liar and erupted in nervous laughter. Aemond kicked him from under the table. Daemon simply watched with eyes all too knowing.

Halfway through dinner, Alicent managed to trade seats with her daughter and fussed over Aemond, asking if he was eating enough (yes), did he have any servants (no), would he consider petitioning the Queen to allow him back into Westeros (also no). At one point, Lucerys excused himself to go be with his crew, and Daemon went to join. Aemond watched that arrogant old man go, wondering if he was the one who had taken his mother as mistress. That is, until Alicent leaned over to Rhaenyra, thinking Aemond was distracted, and whispered something he could not hear. Rhaenyra grinned at her and winked, and then squeezed Alicent’s hand affectionately. Aemond could not believe what he was witnessing.

It was not until later in the evening, when Lucerys, drunk and affectionate, came over and wrapped his arm around Aemond’s shoulders in an all too-familial way, trying to endear him to play cards with the crew. Aemond brushed off his arm, annoyed, but still marched over. Rhaena and Joffrey also joined, curious about the game. Alicent did not allow Helaena to make her way over, determined to protect her last remaining child from the wild beasts.

It’s a game played in pairs, but it could also be played in a game of four with two teams of two. Aemond teamed up with Lucerys while Daemon was with Lucerys’s first mate. Aemond furiously tried to push Lucerys off his lap the entire time, the stupid oaf had far too much wine and was confessing in Aemond’s ear that he still didn’t understand this game actually, despite years of playing it. Daemon almost defeated them until Aemond drew a perfect hand and threw it on the table, triumphant.

“Eat it, old man,” Aemond said, still hating his uncle after all those years of hiding from him. Lucerys whooped in victory and then, to his utter horror, pulled him in for a kiss.

Rhaena gasped. Helaena nodded knowingly. Daemon snapped his fingers together and shouted to his wife, “You owe me three gold coins!” Joffrey still seemed preoccupied with the card game and didn’t care much about what was going on around him. Alicent, determined to be dramatic, screamed.

“Get off him!” She demanded, pulling Lucerys off as if she were rescuing Aemond from the kraken. “How dare you defile him!”

Lucerys, confused about what the uproar was all about, realized he had forgotten they were keeping their relationship a secret. “Oh,” he said foolishly, and hiccuped. He was red in the cheeks. Aemond wanted to punch him. He wanted so desperately to kiss him again.

Alicent wailed on and on about how her son was a decent man, how he would never sin such a grave sin under her house, how he needed to be returned to his family for guidance. Aemond had had enough.

“Really, mother?” he said sharply, cutting off her rant. “I suppose a congratulations is in order, for how impressive your hypocrisy is.” When she appeared confused by his statement, Aemond waved vaguely at the Queen. “You call me a sinner when you’re warming the Queen’s bed? How often do you spread your legs for her and beg for the Gods’ forgiveness afterwards, no more than three times a day, I assume?”

“Aemond,” the Queen said sharply, “Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“Someone needs to talk to her that way,” Daemon muttered under his breath.

Alicent was so distressed, she threw her wine glass across the deck. It hit the mast with an incredible smash. Not to be outdone by his mother, Aemond strolled over to the liquor serving table and toppled the entire thing over. The deck was now covered in wine.

(Suddenly, Lucerys remembered the night that Aemond trashed his quarters, and it’s all making more sense to him now.)

The Queen, outraged, stood up, and the entire royal family stood up instantly. Lucerys had to drunkenly tell his crew they could not sit while the Queen was standing, and pulled some of the more sober ones on their feet. She went to Alicent first, ordering her back to her chambers and having a guard escort her back to the castle. She then went to Lucerys, patting him on the back and encouraging him to sober up. “Daemon, throw him in the water and then fish him out, won’t you?” And then she went to Aemond.

“Little brother,” she said imperiously, for he had no title now, and she could call him whatever she liked. “Let’s go for a little stroll, shall we?”

Aemond grudgingly allowed himself to be escorted off the ship, but not before they stripped him of all his weapons. Daemon seemed much too happy to accept the responsibility of safeguarding his sword and dagger. He followed Rhaenyra down the ship and onto the boardwalk, her guards watching his every move, hands placed carefully on the hilts of their swords.

He had never been alone with Rhaenyra before, Aemond realized. They always had other family members involved. Alicent. Otto. Viserys. His own father was also a stranger to him, the man far too weak and sickly to pay Aemond any attention. That, and he did not seem aware he had other children besides Rhaenyra. Somewhere in that cursed castle, Alicent was undoubtedly sobbing that Aemond had not received enough attention from his father and that was why he sought the company of men.

He wouldn’t bother telling his mother that he was still attracted to women, that he still bedded them sometimes, when he was on his travels. Lucerys did not mind, but Aemond despised the idea of Lucerys being with anyone but him. It was a terrible double standard, but he held onto it steadfast. Besides, he didn’t consider himself interested in that many other men at all. Lucerys was different. He was special.

He carved a place into Aemond’s soul that night at Driftmark, and Aemond thought it foolish to deny that Lucerys had marked him for himself. He was truly owned, in a way that he desperately craved.

Rhaenyra wanted to know the nature of their relationship. Of course she did. Aemond remained tight-lipped and petulant as ever until Rhaenyra reminded him that she was still his Queen, they had defeated Aemond in battle, and Lucerys was still her beloved son, even if he had given up his life as a prince. Not only could Rhaenyra order him dead with the drop of a hat, but she cared deeply for her family. She wished to see Lucerys happy. She even wished to see Aemond happy, something she could not say eight years ago.

Aemond stared into the blackness of the waters, the night dark and heavy on the Narrow Sea. He had the blood of the dragon, and yet, he found peace for the first time on the waters, with Lucerys by his side.

“I would not harm him, if that’s your concern,” Aemond said stiffly. “I have grown…protective of him.” Fond of him. In love with him. “I would not allow anyone to harm him. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

And if the person who harms him is me, I’d sooner kill myself, Aemond didn’t say, but Rhaenyra seemed to understand.

“You know, I can hardly blame him,” Rhaenyra said after a long pause, also looking out to appreciate the water. Her eyes shone in the light of the shipyard lanterns. “I was so hot for my uncle too, and at a much younger age. We certainly make them well, don’t we? Targaryen uncles.”

When it’s clear Aemond is completely repulsed by this response, Rhaenyra threw her head back and laughed, and then slipped her hand in Aemond’s arm.

“Come, brother. You must be more honest with me, from now on. I read all your letters to Alicent, you know, and you never mentioned this. I’m soon to be your mother-in-law as well as your sister, after all.”

Aemond was annoyed. He was inconvenienced. He was cornered. He was accepted by his estranged older sister for the first time in his life, and the inner child in him sighed with relief.