Chapter Text
Lucerys was intimately familiar with the words of the Velaryon funeral rites—those sacred utterances his House invoked to honor the souls of the departed.
He had learned them long ago, entrusted with the solemn duty of reciting them five years past when Corlys, his esteemed predecessor, passed away.
Despite the weight of his grief, he had spoken them with unwavering composure, standing tall at the tender age of ten and seven when he ascended to the Lordship of Driftmark.
But what he had not anticipated, what had never crossed his mind, was that he would once again find himself speaking those same words at the age of twenty and two.
This time, however, he would speak them for someone he had never imagined he would lose—someone whose death he had never allowed himself to fully fathom.
Addam Velaryon, the consort of Driftmark, had fought courageously in the Battle of the Stepstones, only to be struck down from his dragon, his life cruelly extinguished as he plummeted from the skies.
Lucerys had never envisioned himself as a widower, never imagined that he would have to say goodbye so abruptly.
Yet, despite the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to consume him, he understood the weight of his responsibilities.
The duty he bore as Lord of Driftmark was undeniable, no matter how it tore at his heart.
And so, he stood firm, just as he had on that fateful day, when he spoke those words once more.
The high Valyrian flowed effortlessly from his lips, carrying the weight of his grief for all to witness.
"We gather today at the Seat of the Sea to surrender Addam Velaryon of House Velaryon to the eternal embrace of the waters, the realm of the Merling King."
Lucerys felt a rush of raw emotion threatening to overwhelm him, the gaze of the assembled nobles and his family weighing upon him like an unbearable burden.
He wanted to crumble, to collapse beneath the weight of his grief, but he remained steadfast.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword—the very blade Addam had gifted him—and used it as an anchor to ground himself in the moment.
As the sailors worked in synchronized harmony to secure Addam’s coffin with ropes, Lucerys pressed on, his voice unwavering.
"Where he will guard him for all the days to come."
The winds were kind, like a lover’s caress and Lucerys couldn’t help but feel as if they were a final gift from Addam himself.
Perhaps the man he had loved was somehow shaping them, sending him one last token of affection from beyond.
His gaze drifted to his sons, standing dutifully in their black tunics, their small hands clasped tightly as they listened in rapt attention, as he had told them to.
Lucerys couldn’t help but swell with pride at their composure, even as sorrow gripped his own heart.
"As he embarks on his final voyage, he leaves behind two true-born sons on the shore."
The boys, though only five, understood. They had picked up the nuances of language with an uncanny quickness, and the realization hit them like a quiet thunderclap. They were already growing, in ways Lucerys could scarcely believe.
Rhaegar, the elder by mere minutes, carried himself with the weight of an heir.
He was a solemn child, already bearing the mantle of responsibility with quiet dignity. Even now, he held back his tears, unwilling to let them fall.
Maekar, by contrast, was a boy of open heart, unafraid to display his emotions.
His small face was streaked with tears, which he wiped away, his hand trembling as he tried to maintain composure.
Lucerys steeled himself, hoping the next words he spoke wouldn’t break their fragile hearts completely.
"Though their father will not return from his voyage, they will remain bound together in blood."
At this, Maekar let out a sob, struggling to contain his grief. He wiped his eyes furiously, his small body shaking with the effort to hold himself together.
Rhaegar, ever the protector, leaned in close to his brother, whispering something undoubtedly meant to console him.
Lucerys imagined it was a quiet plea for Maekar to remain composed, to avoid drawing the eyes of the court.
Just then, Seasmoke, the dragon who had soared above the sea throughout the ceremony, let out a low, sorrowful roar—a cry of anguish that mirrored Lucerys’ own.
It was as if the dragon, too, mourned the loss of his rider, feeling the grief of the family with an intensity only a dragon could comprehend.
Lucerys’ eyes followed the coffin as it was swallowed by the vast expanse of the sea, its marble surface sinking beneath the waves, never to be seen again.
It was the end of Addam’s pain, the end of his life.
But as the waters claimed his body, Lucerys knew in the depths of his heart that his own suffering had only just begun.
**
As the funeral guests began to scatter and mingle, Lucerys sought out his children, his first and most pressing duty.
He approached them and knelt before their small forms, studying their faces for any signs of how they were coping.
"How are you both faring?" he asked softly.
Rhaegar, as always, was the first to respond, his expression a mask of composed resolve.
He gave a solemn nod, answering with calm certainty, "I am fine, mu'na."
Maekar, however, took a step closer, his tear-streaked face betraying his inner turmoil. His voice was small, barely more than a whisper. "Mother, I don't want Father to be gone."
Lucerys’ heart ached at the rawness of his son's pain.
He reached out, placing a hand on Maekar’s trembling shoulder, and did his best to offer the comfort he so desperately needed.
"Neither do I, sweetling. But he’s in a better place now."
The words felt hollow as Maekar let out another sob, his small body wracked with grief.
Before Lucerys could find anything else to say, Rhaegar spoke, his tone surprisingly firm but not unkind.
"Hold yourself," his heir said, his voice calm but insistent. "You can cry later when we are alone."
Lucerys felt the sting of his own unshed tears, but he knew Rhaegar was right.
He would allow himself to grieve when there were no eyes upon him, when the weight of leadership could be set aside for a while.
"Come here," Lucerys murmured, pulling both boys into his embrace.
Maekar sniffled against his chest, his tiny sobs breaking the stillness, while Rhaegar, ever the stoic, remained silent, though Lucerys could feel his son’s body trembling with emotion.
**
As the guests began to settle into the meal, Jacaerys was the first to approach him.
"Luke."
Lucerys inhaled deeply, gathering his composure before returning the greeting.
"Brother."
He noticed Aegon standing a step behind Jace, a small bundle nestled in his arms—presumably the babe Aegon had only recently helped bring into the world.
The child was Jace’s son, Lucerys’ nephew, and heir to the Iron Throne.
Jace’s question, as expected, came next.
"Are you all right?"
Lucerys nodded, offering a small smile.
"I’m fine." His gaze flickered to the infant in Aegon’s arms, and he seized the chance to shift the conversation. "Is this Maelor?"
Aegon nodded and gave him a warm, comforting smile before extending the baby toward him.
"It is, nephew," he confirmed gently. Then his expression softened, a touch of sorrow crossing his features. "I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances."
Lucerys’ heart tightened. He had been preparing to fly out and meet the newest addition to the family, only for the grim news of Addam's death to reach him first.
"He’s beautiful." Lucerys said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for coming, even with your recovery. I imagine it must have been difficult."
Jace had already shared with him the harrowing details of Aegon’s struggle during the birth, and the toll it had taken on him.
"Of course not," Aegon replied with a glimmer of humor in his voice, his eyes twinkling despite the weight of the situation. "I’m tougher than I look."
Lucerys couldn’t help but let his lips curl into the faintest of smiles, though it felt bittersweet.
The way Jace looked at Aegon—a quiet, devoted affection—stirred something deep within him.
He would never know that gaze again.
"Come, love," Jace said, gently taking the baby from Aegon’s arms. "Let us find you a place to sit."
He barely took a few steps before Baela came towards him.
‘’You did well.’’
He was relieved to hear that he hadnt made a fool of himself, the last thing he wanted was to cause a spectacle.
Baela was married to Alyn and had a little daughter of her own.
Alyn was often away on voyages just like Corlys, and though he had sent out a raven, he didnt know if Alyn had received it yet.
It felt wrong, almost incomplete, to hold the funeral without him, but the timing had been unavoidable. They couldn’t wait any longer.
He looked around with a searching gaze, ‘’Where is Rhaena?’’
‘’She is with the boys and Laena,’’, Baela replied, ‘’dont worry.’’
He nodded, grateful for her words, but before he could ask anything further, a soft, feminine voice—so familiar and so much missed—came from behind him.
"Luke."
His heart stuttered at the sound of his name.
Lucerys felt a surge of irritation rise within him as he turned to face his mother. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before the confrontation.
He was not sure which would be harder to endure—the grief that weighed on him or the tension that coiled between him and Rhaenyra.
She stood before him, regal as ever, draped in her black mourning attire, the crown on her head a reminder of her unyielding status.
Daemon stood beside her, ever the dutiful consort, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
In another life, on another day, Lucerys would have sought solace in her arms, would have let her embrace ease his burden.
But today… today was different.
He offered her a stiff but polite greeting, "Your Grace."
Rhaenyra’s expression faltered for a moment, a flash of discomfort crossing her features at the formality, but she quickly masked it and stepped closer to him.
"I am sorry, this shouldn’t have happened."
The words struck him like a slap, his fists clenching at his sides.
He wanted to lash out, to express the fury that had been building inside him, but he merely gritted out, "You're right. It shouldn’t have."
"The gods can be cruel, my boy.", Daemon said, his tone meant to comfort.
But Lucerys didn’t turn to Daemon. His gaze remained locked on his mother, fury coursing through him like fire.
"That is true," he said, his tone as cold as ice. "But so can monarchs, Uncle Daemon."
His mother’s shock was unmistakable, as if she couldn’t fathom that her son had spoken to her in such a way.
"Lucerys..." she began, her voice softening with surprise.
"I told you not to send him," he said firmly, his eyes hard as stone.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Lucerys didn’t let her continue. He didn’t need to clarify who he was speaking of—his words were sharp enough.
It was her decision. She had chosen to send Addam to the Stepstones, and Daemon, ever loyal, had agreed without hesitation.
"I begged you," he added, his voice rough with emotion. "And you didn’t listen."
Rhaenyra sighed, her expression hardening. "We needed a dragon rider at the Stepstones. I needed Daemon here, and the only way to—"
"Believe me, Your Grace," Lucerys cut her off, his voice like ice, "I’m in no mood for your drivel."
He didn’t take any satisfaction in seeing her face fall, though a part of him might have expected it.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing would bring Addam back.
No words, no apologies, no regrets could undo what had been done.
"If you’ll excuse me," he said, his voice flat, "I have much to tend to."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, not daring to look back. He couldn’t stand the weight of her presence any longer.
**
That night, an unnatural chill hung in the air over Driftmark, as though the very seas themselves were mourning the loss of Addam.
Lucerys felt it deep in his bones, a cold that seemed to seep through him.
Perhaps it was no his own grief, driving away the warmth of life from his veins.
The guests had retired for the night, and still, Lucerys had not yet made his way to his chambers.
He couldn't bring himself to.
He hadn’t summoned the courage yet to face the emptiness of that room, the hollow silence that awaited him.
Even the High Tide felt wrong to him now.
In his heart, it felt like a tomb—lifeless, as if its soul had been ripped out along with Addam.
The scent of his alpha, the warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—all of it was gone, leaving an aching void.
Lucerys stood in the middle of the throne room, staring at his seat. His gaze lingered on it as he contemplated.
There was another seat beside his throne—one that had once belonged to Addam.
He could almost hear the echoes of their voices, the countless times they had held court together, side by side.
The smallfolk had come with their petitions, their grievances, and he and Addam had worked together to ease the burdens of their people.
But now, Addam was gone.
Who would advise him now?
Who would sit beside him and share the weight of leadership?
How was he supposed to do this alone?
"Admiring your seat, nephew?"
The voice sent a chill down Lucerys’s spine, its familiarity laced with an almost cruel amusement.
He swallowed, trying to steady his breathing, before slowly turning to face the source.
Aemond stood there, as always, clad in his signature leather garb, the eye patch over his missing eye a reminder of the animosity that had long simmered between them.
A sword hung at his waist, and the small, mocking smirk that tugged at his lips only added to the tension.
Lucerys had noticed Aemond’s presence at the funeral, had felt the weight of that lone violet eye watching him, but he had been too occupied with his grief to address it.
He had hoped to avoid his uncle, but it seemed fate had other plans.
He forced himself to mask his emotions as best as he could, greeting Aemond stiffly. "Uncle."
Aemond’s smile only grew, his voice smooth as he spoke, though it was clear the compliment was anything but sincere.
"You held yourself well at the funeral. I must admit, I did not think you the type to take your duties so seriously."
Lucerys set his jaw, instinctively putting up his guard.
He knew Aemond well enough to be prepared for anything.
His uncle was volatile, with a deep-seated vendetta against him, and Lucerys would not hesitate to defend himself.
"And I must admit," Lucerys replied, his tone sharp, "I did not expect you to attend."
Aemond’s small chuckle echoed through the air, mocking and cold.
"Why? Because I lost my eye here? Because you rule over the land upon which I claimed Vhagar?"
The realization struck Lucerys then.
Aemond hadn’t bothered to attend Corlys’s funeral. He had been absent, nowhere to be seen.
But now, here he was, standing in front of him, appraising him with that one eye, not offering any condolences, not sharing in his grief.
No, Aemond was here for something else entirely.
"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" Lucerys asked, though he already knew the answer. "That’s why you’re here."
Aemond hummed, stepping closer, his smirk never wavering.
"That is part of it, yes," he admitted, with no effort to hide the truth. "But I did not expect you to be so..." He paused, running his gaze over Lucerys’s form, as though sizing him up. "Unbothered."
Lucerys didn’t step back, instead taking a few calculated steps forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar weight.
The two of them began to circle each other, almost like two adversaries preparing for a duel.
"What did you expect, then?" Lucerys asked, his voice tight with restrained fury. "That I would cry and break down? That I would be so heartbroken I would shirk my duties?"
Aemond’s laugh rang out, and Lucerys bristled at the sound. It was grating, like nails on stone.
He gripped the hilt of his sword, the anger boiling beneath his skin, knowing that Aemond would revel in every moment of his suffering.
"Did you even love him?" Aemond asked casually, as if it were a simple question, but Lucerys could hear the challenge in his voice.
Lucerys’s heart clenched, and though he knew he shouldn’t be offended, he couldn’t help it.
He met his uncle’s gaze, eyes cold and unyielding. "Of course I did."
Addam hadn’t just been his husband by duty; their marriage had been built on love.
Their children were not mere heirs; they were born of the bond they shared.
Lucerys would have traded his own life to take Addam’s place, if only it could undo the loss.
Aemond’s smirk deepened.
"I find that hard to believe," he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain.
Lucerys clenched his jaw, every fiber of his being wanting to lash out. "I have no need to prove myself to you."
Aemond’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent. "No, but your husband did. He wanted to prove himself in battle, and we all know how that turned out."
The words landed like a strike to his chest, and Lucerys’s patience snapped.
Without thinking, his sword was unsheathed, its cold steel glinting in the dim light.
He pointed it directly at Aemond, his voice a low, threatening growl.
"Speak his name again," Lucerys warned, his hand steady but his fury seething beneath the surface. "And I will not hesitate to free you of the remaining eye."
His uncle, however, was undeterred at his threat.
‘’Hmm.’’
‘’I just put my husband and the father of my children to rest, I will not stand here and listen to you besmirch his name.’’
Aemond smiled and tilted his head at him, looking at him like he had finally gotten what he had been looking for.
‘’Konir iksa, byka dyni.’’(There you are, little beast.)
The High Valyrian sent another shiver down his spine. He wasn’t aware Aemond could speak it so smoothly.
He had thought his uncle to be more Hightower than Targaryen, but it seemed he was mistaken.
He took deep breaths to calm his anger, holding himself back before he actually made good on his threat.
‘’Leave, uncle.’’
Thankfully, Aemond listened, taking a step back before he blinded him.
‘’Very well, ill see you tomorrow nephew.’’
Aemond left, and he looked his back while he left, his silver hair gliding with each step he took.
Lucerys sheathed his sword, the conversation leaving him with more questions than answers.
What in the Seven hells was Aemond here for?