Chapter Text
Viserys
The pain had settled into his bones long before the feast began.
The climb to the Iron Throne had stolen what little strength remained to him. Every step had been an effort, every breath a reminder that his body had become a prison from which there would be no escape. The servants changed the wrappings over his ruined cheek, fastened the heavy cloak about his shoulders, and fitted the golden mask across the left side of his face. He endured it all in silence. There was little dignity left to preserve.
Yet tonight mattered.
Vaemond Velaryon's petition had ended. Corlys' line remained secure. Another dispute had been put to rest, though Viserys suspected it had only been buried beneath fresh blood. Daemon had seen to that.
Still, his family would share a table before Rhaenyra returned to Dragonstone. It had been years since they had done so.
Perhaps it would remind them that they were one blood.
The hope was a frail one, but he found himself clinging to it all the same.
The hall had been dressed for celebration. Hundreds of candles filled the room with warm light, musicians played softly in the galleries, and servants hurried between the tables with silver platters and flagons of wine. Anyone seeing it for the first time might have mistaken it for a happy occasion.
Rhaenyra entered first.
She crossed the hall with Daemon at her side, her sons following close behind. Jacaerys carried himself with growing confidence, while Lucerys lingered nearer to his brother than his mother. The boy had always possessed a gentler disposition. Even as a child, he had watched before acting, preferring to befriend first. Joffrey seemed eager simply to be included, his attention wandering to every banner and torch they passed.
Viserys smiled despite himself.
He had missed them.
Dragonstone lay too far away, and the years had slipped through his fingers faster than he cared to admit.
Baela and Rhaena followed together. They had grown into fine young women, and he found himself thinking how pleased Laena would have been to see them.
Only then did Alicent arrive. She wore green once more.
The color had ceased to be merely a color many years ago. Every lord in the realm understood what it proclaimed. For a while, Viserys had hoped it was a passing angry, something that would mellow with time and the war beacons would again be put out.
Aegon shuffled beside her with the familiar air of a young man who would rather be anywhere else. The skin under his eyes seemed more like a bruise and his eyes were bright with drink and darting around the room; they rested on Rhaenyra, then Jace, then Daemon, then Jace again before at the place he would be seated.
Helaena walked quietly, her gaze drifting over things unseen by everyone else. She picked absent mindedly at a thread on her sleeve, undoing the finely embroidered fireflies she herself must have made.
Aemond came last. He was as he always was. Tall, straight-backed, and composed. The patch of leather across his eye seemed a part of him, the same way his severity was a part of him, though it drew no less attention than the sapphire he wore in private. Viserys saw his brother in the lines of his son and wondered if this was always who Aemond would be or if the absence of his namesake has left a mark in fabric of the Red Keep so sever, the world had pressed him into that same shape.
He acknowledged no one as he crossed the hall, his bearing straight enough to shame knights twice his age.
Only after he had taken his seat did his eye settle across the table on Lucerys. The boy shifted beneath the weight of the stare.
Viserys watched the room grow still.
It was almost imperceptible. Jacaerys stiffened. Baela's smile faded. Rhaena looked toward Aemond before quickly lowering her eyes to the floor. Daemon noticed it as well, though his face betrayed nothing; his hand rested easy on the pommel of his sword.
Luke was the only one to ignore Aemond’s presence in its entirety.
The thing he had been ignoring became clear in a way he could not name, as if a curtain had suddenly been lifted. The years had done little to heal what had happened on Driftmark.
The feast had been prepared with all the splendor the Red Keep could muster.
Candles filled the hall with warm light, musicians played from the gallery above, and servants moved steadily between the tables with silver platters and overflowing cups. The room looked much as it had in happier years, before every gathering became an exercise in careful seating and measured conversation.
Viserys sat last and every voice fell silent as he was helped to his chair. Some measure of tension had left the room.
He looked first to Rhaenyra.
She sat beside Daemon, their children gathered around them. Jacaerys had grown into a handsome young man. Lucerys remained quieter, his attention wandering around the hall as though ignoring a familiar face. Joffrey whispered something to Baela that earned a small smile.
A good family.
His gaze lingered there longer than he intended.
Aegon was already reaching for the wine before he had even taken his seat. His eyes wandered idly across the room until they settled on Baela and Jacaerys. The look lasted only a heartbeat before he lifted his cup and drank deeply.
Viserys watched Aemond continue to look.
He did not glare, but watched with the quite sharp eyes of an eagle waiting on pray.
The sight stirred an old memory.
Daemon had once looked at Rhaenyra in much the same way. Across council chambers, across training yards, across crowded feasts where propriety demanded they ignore one another. There had been a certainty in his brother's gaze, a singular focus that had survived years of separation.
Viserys had refused to see it for what it was. He had forbidden the match. He had believed time and distance would cure them.
Instead, he had watched the attachment deepen until no command of his could keep them apart.
He would not make that mistake again. His eyes returned to Aemond. The prince had not looked away.
Lucerys, meanwhile, had lowered his head to his plate.
The boy was gentle by nature, slow to anger, eager to please. Aemond possessed discipline enough for them both but lacked the ability to make easy friends the way Rhaenyra’s children did, with Lucerys in the lead. They had become enemies in Driftmark, but children grew and wounds faded. It was family that endured.
If their blood could not be united willingly, then perhaps duty would succeed where affection had failed.
The thought settled quietly in his mind.
By the end of the feast, he knew what he would do. He had something he planned to set right before Balerion called him to his final rest.
##
The morning after Vaemond Velaryon's execution dawned gray.
Viserys had not slept beyoung what the milk of the poppy would allow.
His body ached with every rattling breath, and the world was soft around the edges, though not enough to dull memory. He remembered the warmth of the previous night's feast – the laughter, however brief. Jace asking Helaena to dance. Even Aemond, though unwillingly, sat across Luke without blood being spilled.
Then the toast had occurred. What possessed Aemond, he could not guess.
Jacaerys striking Aemond. Aegon pushing Lucerys’ head into the table.
Daemon's hand no longer quite so easy on the pommel of Dark Sister, staring at his own image and waiting for it to strike.
By the end of it, whatever fragile bridge had been built had collapsed before the candles burned low.
He looked around the breakfast table as servants quietly withdrew.
Rhaenyra sat to his right, Daemon beside her. Jace's shoulders were stiff beneath his dark tunic, his scent already beginning to sharpen into cedar and smoke despite the early hour. Luke sat beside his brother, unusually quiet, picking apart a piece of bread rather than eating it. His scent drifted faintly across the table – salt air with bright lemon, though this morning it carried the bitter edge of peel.
Across from them sat Alicent and her children.
Aegon looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else. Helaena murmured softly to herself over a bowl of porridge.
Aemond sat perfectly straight. His scent was nearly impossible to read, locked down with the discipline Viserys had come to expect from him.
Only his eye betrayed him, sitting vigil as it did whenever he inhabited the same air as the omega. If he saw Aemma in Lucerys, then for perhaps the first time, he saw some of himself in Aemond too. He knew love.
Viserys cleared his throat.
"I have something to announce."
He knew folly too. Knew mistakes more intimately than most knew lovers and hesitation even more.
Conversations stopped. Every face turned toward him. He folded trembling hands atop the table.
"I have watched this family tear itself apart for too many years.
The silence became a living thing. He saw Otto lean forward, eyes sharp. He saw too Daemon’s reaction, the fire in his throat waiting for a target.
Rhaenys was carved from stone. She was always at her most patient when times were deadly. She would have made a magnificent queen; the crown was wasted on him.
"I have watched grievances passed from parent to child until they have become inheritances more valuable than lands or crowns."
Rhaenyra shifted, her hand coming to rest a top Daemon. He saw how it reigned in his brother’s worst instincts. He hated it. Or perhaps he simply hated that Rhaenyra was right to choose him.
Alicent's mouth tightened, nails lined with red even as her eyes were hard.
"I ask that none of you interrupt me until I have finished."
Neither woman looked pleased. Viserys continued anyway. If he waited for both to be content in the same breath, the world end before he spoke.
"I have spent the night considering what future remains for this family after... after yesterday."
His voice caught.
"Driftmark should have been where we mourned together."
Instead, it had become another battlefield. The largest yet, with perhaps the greatest casualties thus far. He would prevent more damage if he could.
"I cannot undo what has already happened."
His fingers curled against the polished wood.
"But I can still shape what comes next."
His gaze settled upon Luke, then Aemond.
"You are young and yet have sustain such wounds at the other’s hand. Still..."
He smiled sadly.
"I am hopeful that you could become exactly what the other needs."
A flicker crossed Daemon's face, confusion followed by cold fury. His brother had always known him best.
Viserys pressed on before anyone could speak.
"I hereby decree the betrothal of Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Prince Aemond Targaryen."
The room froze. For one heartbeat – nothing. Then every voice erupted at once.
"No."
"Father –"
"Absolutely not –"
Viserys slammed his hand against the table.
"I said let me finish!"
The room quieted only slightly. He continued over them.
"I have watched enough hatred. Enough vengeance."
"This marriage will bind not merely two boys, but two halves of this family. I believe they could be good for one another."
He looked between them.
"Aemond possesses discipline where Luke has gentleness. Luke possesses warmth where Aemond has only ever known duty. They might yet heal what we have broken."
Silence followed again only for a moment.
Rhaenyra stood first. She looked neither angry nor horrified, only deeply saddened.
"Luke is but fourteen."
Her voice was steady.
"He should have some voice in whom he weds, and he is too young besides."
Viserys opened his mouth –
But Alicent was already on her feet.
"My son will not be bound to the monster who took his eye!”
Her words struck the room like a slap. Her scent surged despite herself – sharp evergreen cut through with wet rain.
"You would chain my son to the – the child who maimed him? He is your son!"
She looked at Aemond then, and Viserys saw it plainly. There was protectiveness, fierce and maternal, but there was something else too. Aemond was the only alpha son she had.
He above all others she believed deserved everything the world and crown had to offer. Viserys felt something inside him snap, something sour and old.
"There."
His voice rose.
"There it is."
Both women stared at him.
"You wonder why this family cannot heal? You refuse before either boy has spoken!"
He took a deep breath and turned his eyes to Alicent.
"They were children at Driftmark. They are becoming men now. You continue to feed them yesterday's hatred."
He then turned his eyes to Rhaenyra. To his daughter. To Aemma’s daughter. His softened.
“Lucerys will inherit the largest fortune in the seven kingdoms. Vhagar and Aemond will help him keep that which is his.”
Neither woman were assuaged by his answers and neither looked ashamed. To Viserys, that silence was confirmation enough.
He looked at Alicent and Rhaenyra in turns.
"We can discuss terms."
His tone softened.
"Protections for both. I am sure you have concerns you would like addressed. I would ensure that both of them are content in the long term."
Then he faced Alicent.
"And this gives Aemond something that is his. A place in this family beyond merely standing behind his brother. A household and future his own."
Alicent looked almost offended.
"He has a future."
"He has service, Alicent. He has duty. They do not sustain a man when they are not his own and he has nothing of his own," Viserys answered. He looked around the table, and added, “They will grow together, I am sure, and so will the peace.”
Across the table Jace stood so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor.
"So, Luke is to become the price for this peace then?"
His scent burst free despite his obvious effort to restrain it. Bonfire and fresh cedar. Heat hot enough to melt stone. If Lucerys was Aemma, Jacaerys had always been Rhaenyra through and through. The young alpha’s fury would have put a dragon to shame, but Viserys has tamed Balerion. Old though he was, and dying besides, he was still the king. Just as one day, Jacaerys would be.
"No," Viserys said. "It is peace."
"For whom?" Jacaerys demanded. "For you? So you may die believing you've fixed us?"
"Jacaerys." Rhaenyra’s reproach was sharp and her alpha scent, dragonfire and wildlowers, was even more so. Jacaerys was not cowed. Rhaenyra’s lot did not love by halves and Lucerys had always been Jacaerys sweet shadow.
"You will be king one day." Viserys's voice hardened. "And hard decisions come with the territory."
Jace met his grandfather's gaze without flinching.
"I do not believe in waiting until my family is bleeding to start the healing..."
He looked toward Aemond.
"...and then amputating first."
The words had scarcely left his mouth before movement exploded across the room.
Aemond stood, his chair crashed backward. In three long strides he was around the table. His scent remained astonishingly controlled, like a sword held in a shaking hand.
His single eye never left Jace. Jace stepped forward to meet him. They had ever been at each other’s throats. Perhaps it was just how it was meant to be between young alphas; Viserys and Daemon and been much the same. Aegon and Jacaerys never seemed to struggle in the same way, Aegon giving way to keep the peace. Perhaps betas had an easier go of it.
Aegon muttered a curse under his breath as he looked between his brother and his cousin. Daemon rose from his own seat, unhurried.
Rhaenyra moved fastest.
She stepped directly between the princes, one hand against Jacaerys's chest before he could reach her brother.
"Enough." There was enough command in her voice to make even the guards stand straighter.
Aemond's jaw flexed. For a terrifying second Viserys thought he would shove past her. Instead, he stopped, but it was near thing. His breathing remained perfectly measured even as his hands flexed.
Only the muscle jumping beneath Jacaerys cheek betrayed the fury in his bones. Viserys could see how his mother’s hand had stayed where is stepfather’s sword could not.
"Aemond," Alicent called.
Her voice was soft now, her scent delicate and pleading.
"Come away."
He did not move.
Daemon came around the opposite side of the table, one hand resting lightly upon Dark Sister's pommel.
"It may be best," he drawled, eyes never leaving Aemond, "to speak again on this after tempers have cooled, brother."
Rhaenyra did not remove herself from between the boys.
Alicent crossed the room. She did not touch Aemond immediately, only stood close enough for him to scent her. Gradually, almost painfully, his shoulders lowered. She rested her hand on his sleeve then.
"Come."
This time he obeyed.
Daemon gestured toward the door.
"We're done."
The families separated almost instinctively. Alicent gathered Helaena and Aemond. Aegon followed after them with unusual silence, his eyes dark as he stared at Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra ushered Joffrey ahead while Daemon steered an unrepentant Jace toward the exit. Aegon and Viserys the Younger were both carried out by their nursemaids.
Luke had not spoken a single word, not once. He lingered a step behind the rest.
The room emptied around him until only he and Viserys remained. The boy finally lifted his head. His scent was all bitter lemon now. He could see disappointment when his eyes met Viserys', the quiet hurt.
It struck deeper than shouting ever could.
Then Luke lowered his gaze once more and followed his family out, leaving Viserys alone at the breakfast table.
The silence that remained felt heavier than any crown he had ever worn.
Rhaenyra
Rhaenyra did not stop walking until the doors to her chambers slammed shut behind them. The sound echoed through the room.
"He has lost his mind."
The words burst from her before she could temper them.
Daemon sat with deliberate care behind her.
"I was wondering how long you'd last."
Rhaenys remained standing beside the window overlooking Blackwater Bay. Her hands folded neatly before her, silver hair catching the morning light as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
Rhaenyra wheeled on them.
"My father has ignored this family for years." Her hands carved through the air with each word. "Years. Alicent has spent that time poisoning her children against mine. Aemond has never made any secret of what he thinks of Luke."
Her voice caught – not from weakness, but fury.
"And now Father decides that this is the moment to act?"
Daemon stood and stood besides Rhaenys, leaning one shoulder against the wall.
"His timing has always been impeccable."
She shot him a glare. He lifted both hands.
"What? I did not say it was good."
"He means," Rhaenys said coolly, "that your father's habit of waiting until every situation has become impossible is well established."
Rhaenyra resumed pacing.
"I will not sacrifice Luke because Father suddenly wishes to believe we are still one happy family."
"Perhaps it would not be a sacrifice, but an advantage."
She stopped. Both she and Daemon turned toward Rhaenys. The older woman remained perfectly composed.
"If this betrothal proceeds –"
She spoke as though discussing the price of lumber.
"Luke remains Lord of the Tides."
"Obviously."
"No."
Rhaenys met Rhaenyra's eyes.
"Think."
Rhaenyra frowned. Daemon smiled suddenly, full of teeth.
"Oh, I see."
He pushed himself away from the wall.
"Aemond could never become Lord of Driftmark. He becomes consort instead."
Rhaenys inclined her head.
"And consorts reside with their spouse."
Rhaenyra blinked.
"You mean to house him on Driftmark?"
"Precisely."
Daemon folded his arms, and said, "So instead of our son remaining vulnerable at court, surrounded by Greens –"
"– Aemond spends the rest of his life surrounded by Velaryons," Rhaenys finished. "My husband. Myself. The household. The fleet. The captains. Every sworn sword and servant loyal to Driftmark."
She allowed the thought to settle.
"Vhagar is formidable. But dragons do not govern islands."
Daemon's grin widened.
"No mother. No grandfather. No Ser Criston forever breathing vitriol into his ears. No one whispering in his ear that Luke is his enemy,” he adds, delight clear in his tone. "Just salty old sailors and Lucerys’ grandfather reminding him precisely whose hall he sleeps in."
Rhaenys looked at him. "I would choose more diplomatic phrasing."
"I wouldn't."
Despite herself, the corner of Rhaenyra's mouth twitched.
It vanished almost immediately.
"Aemond is not a fool."
"No," Rhaenys agreed. "He is dangerous because he is intelligent."
"But he is proud. His mother has filled his head with nonsense about submissive omegas. It makes him stupid," Daemon added. "Which makes him predictable."
Rhaenyra looked between them.
"You are both assuming Luke will somehow sway him."
She folded her arms tightly across her chest.
"What if the opposite happens?"
Neither answered immediately.
"What if Aemond breaks Lucerys' spirit instead?"
The room grew quieter.
"What if he is cruel to Luke?" Her voice dropped, the anger giving way to something far more frightening. "What if he has spent years dreaming of vengeance, and now he is handed the perfect excuse? What if he looks to harm Luke with the cloak of husband draped across his shoulders? What protection does my son have then?"
Daemon did not hesitate.
"Me."
Rhaenyra sighed. “Daemon, I am not in the jesting mood.”
She looked at him.
"I do not jest. If Aemond so much as leaves a bruise that Luke did not welcome, Caraxes and Meleys will put his hoary bitch into the ground, and I will personally carve out his other eye so you can wear it around your neck, wife."
The words were spoken with such casual certainty that Rhaenyra almost believed him capable of doing exactly that.
Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. "You do have a remarkable way with reassurance."
"It works."
"It is certainly vivid."
Daemon shrugged.
"The point remains. If Aemond mistakes marriage for permission to mistreat our son, he will discover very quickly that being Luke’s husband does not place him beyond consequence and being yours does not place me beyond action.”
Rhaenyra looked unconvinced.
"He is still an alpha."
"And what of it? So are we,” he said caustically. The he shot a glace sideways to Rhaenys. “And being an omega has never softened my cousin so much as an inch."
Daemon's voice lost its humor.
"And Luke will not be alone."
He stepped closer.
"He will have Driftmark. Corlys will move both the heavens and the hells for his comfort as you well know, and he will have us at hand. Jace would make daily trips to Driftmark given the chance."
He took Rhaenyra’s hands in his.
"And he will have dragons. All our dragons, should he need it."
Rhaenys nodded once.
"Moreover, if we negotiate this correctly, Aemond's position will depend entirely upon the boy."
Rhaenyra frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Rhaenys answered before Daemon could cut in.
"It is customary," Rhaenys continued, "for an omega who marries into the royal line to assume the Targaryen name."
"I know."
"So, we shall ensure that does not happen."
Daemon's smile returned.
"We do not pressure Aemond."
"No," Rhaenys agreed. "We pressure Viserys."
Rhaenyra frowned deeper.
"My father?"
"He has spent more then twenty years trying to atone for Aemma."
The words were matter-of-fact.
"He will spend the rest of his life doing so."
Rhaenys regarded Rhaenyra steadily.
"Your son looks so very much like her. He has her eyes. Her expressions. Even some of the softness in his face."
Rhaenyra looked at her and Rhaenys saw the misstep. She continued before Rhaenys could speak, but she did not apologize.
She held Rhaenyra's gaze.
"Viserys notices. He always has."
She paused.
"And his guilt makes him persuadable."
Daemon's grin became positively wicked.
"Tell him Aemma would have wanted her grandson protected."
Rhaenys nodded once.
"Tell him the boy should never be made to surrender the Velaryon name his grandsire intends for him. Aemma's grandson deserves to inherit and it is exactly as she would have wished."
Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Aemma’s grandson.
"You would use my mother."
"We would use your father's guilt. There is a difference."
She hated that there was. She hated even more that Rhaenys was right.
Viserys had never forgiven himself for the day Aemma died. He never would. If there was one force stronger than his indecision, it was his guilt.
The thought of wielding her mother's memory as a political weapon made something inside her recoil. She deserved better. She deserved peace. She deserved to be remembered for herself rather than as the wound that never healed in Viserys.
Yet, if her mother had lived – if she were standing here now – would she fault her daughter for using every weapon available to protect her children? Rhaenyra doubted it.
Her mother had loved fiercely. She would have understood. That did not make it hurt less.
Rhaenys continued.
"If Viserys decrees that Aemond becomes a Velaryon by marriage rather than your son becoming a Targaryen, then everything changes."
Daemon nodded. "The moment Aemond bears the Velaryon name, any attack upon Luke's legitimacy becomes an attack upon his own household."
"And upon his own children," Rhaenys added.
Rhaenyra frowned.
"They would mostly likely have silver hair,“ Rhaenys added. "No one could dispute them or their rights."
Daemon shrugged.
"And rather difficult to call bastards when one parent is Alicent's perfect little alpha prince."
Rhaenyra slowly lowered herself into a chair. She hated how much sense they were making. Daemon crouched beside her.
"Think beyond the marriage."
She looked at him.
"If Luke wins Aemond over –"
He spread his hands.
"– the Hightower ambition is finished."
Rhaenys nodded once.
"Aegon is a beta. The realm tolerates beta kings. They do not prefer them. Not when there is an acknowledged alpha heir."
"Especially not when that heir has never been publicly displaced,” Daemon added. "Aegon's claim only has teeth because Aemond gives it fangs."
He tilted his head.
"Remove the alpha brother. Or better make him your son's husband in truth."
Rhaenyra stared at the floor.
"They lose their sword. They lose legitimacy. They lose the appearance of unity. The realm sees Alicent's favored son standing beside Lucerys Velaryon."
Rhaenys' voice remained calm.
"It would be persuasive. Enough to support the claim of woman, I would wager."
Rhaenyra rubbed her temples.
"You are asking my son to spend his life beside the person who has hated him since he was eight."
"We are asking you," Daemon corrected, "to consider whether Aemond hates our son."
Rhaenyra looked up sharply.
"What?"
"He despises the insult and injury. I sure the memory is not a pleasant one. I am less convinced he despises Luke."
Daemon barked a laugh.
"The boy hasn't looked away from Luke for two days."
Rhaenyra frowned.
"That is hardly reassuring."
"No," Daemon admitted. "But hatred wanders. This..." He gestured vaguely. "...is obsession."
Rhaenyra did not find that comforting either.
Daemon looked at her with half lidded eyes. “And I know obsession, wife.”
Rhaenys’ expression, already stony, became carved from marble.
Rhaenyra rose again.
"He frightened Luke this morning."
"He frightened everyone this morning," Daemon accepted.
"He nearly struck Jace."
"After Jace compared marriage to Aemond to an amputated limb," Rhaenys said evenly. "Neither boy covered himself in glory."
Rhaenyra crossed her arms.
"But Luke said nothing."
Neither answered.
Her voice softened.
"He just –"
She swallowed.
"– looked so small."
The image refused to leave her.
Luke staring at his hands. His scent bitter with disappointment. There had been no protest in her sweet boy, only acceptance that everyone else was deciding his future. Rhaenyra knew the feeling too intimately.
"He is fourteen."
She almost whispered it.
"My sweet boy still apologizes when he wins at cyvasse because he worries someone else's feelings might be hurt."
Daemon's face softened, if only slightly.
"He won't always be fourteen."
"No. But he is today."
Silence settled.
Rhaenys broke it.
"We need to secure Driftmark from further challenges. You know Corlys loves the boy and will have no other as his heir."
Rhaenyra inclined her head.
"I know."
The words lingered in her head.
Corlys loves the boy.
Not we and never I. Only Corlys.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She thought of Laenor. Her dear, impossible Laenor. Her dearest friend. Her once husband. The father of her sons in every way that had ever mattered to him. He had loved Jace and Luke, and little Joff.
Blood had never entered into it.
She knew – knew with aching certainty – that it would have broken his heart to hear his own mother speak of Luke with such careful distance.
There was no cruelty in Rhaenys, only honesty, and it hurt all the was worse for it. She let it pass. Nothing she could say would change it now. Only the gods could compel a heart love. If men had the power to do so, Laenor would have the father of her boys in the way the realm desired.
Instead, she looked toward Daemon. He caught her eye. His eyes were soft, a kindness that only existed for his family. He said nothing, but then he did not have to.
He never questioned whose sons they were, had never treated them differently from Aegon the Younger or little Viserys. For him, they were Rhaenyra’s and that was all the encouragement he needed to love them.
For all his arrogance, all his violence, all the chaos he carried wherever he went –
Loving those who were his family had never been among his failings.
She reached for his hand briefly. His fingers squeezed hers once. She stood.
"I hate this."
Neither argued.
"I hate that I can see the advantages."
Still neither spoke.
"I hate that my father may have stumbled into a sound political match entirely by accident."
Daemon smirked.
"I've long suspected luck does most of his governing."
A reluctant breath of laughter escaped her. It faded quickly.
"I have always known my children would make sacrifices."
She looked toward the window.
"For the Crown. For – for me. For the realm."
Her voice became quieter.
"But this..."
She closed her eyes.
"...this seems too much to ask of Luke."
Rhaenys regarded her steadily.
"Perhaps but he should be given the dignity of being asked, Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra nodded slowly.
"Yes."
She drew a long breath.
"I will speak with him."
Daemon straightened.
"And afterward?"
"Afterward..." She looked between them. "...I will make my final decision."
Neither argued further. All three understood the truth.
Whatever the politics suggested –
Whatever advantages they could count –
Whatever victories might be won –
In the end, it would come down to one gentle fourteen-year-old omega boy, and whether his mother could ask him to shoulder a burden his mother could not.
Alicent
Alicent had never hated a room more than she hated her own chambers.
It was meant to be a sanctuary. A place of prayer, where she could kneel before the Seven and remind herself that every sacrifice had meaning and that love was earned, not awarded.
The candles before the small altar flickered softly, their flames reflected in the polished wood and gold accents. The Mother’s gentle face watched over the room with an expression of endless mercy.
Alicent wondered if the Mother ever grew tired of watching women suffer or if suffering was simply what women were made for.
She sat stiffly in her chair, fingers worrying at the skin around her nails until they were red and sore. She did not notice she was doing it until Otto’s eyes dropped to her hands.
"Compose yourself."
The words were quiet. His tone was distant and disapproving. The words felt worse when he spoke quietly; one could apply balm to blisters. The only remedy to cold was to cover what little showed and hoped the chill didn’t reach.
Alicent folded her hands into her lap. Her scent betrayed her – sharp evergreen and rain against stone. The smell of a forest after a storm. It had too much emotion, agitation. Her father despised any tangible reminder of his daughter's weakness.
Her father’s expression tightened.
"Control yourself, Alicent."
Alicent lowered her eyes. She had spent her entire life learning control. Posture, voice and expressions, all pared down to sit neatly in a sept’s pews and on an alpha’s knot.
Her desires she had dashed entirely.
Everything about herself had been something to discipline.
Aemond sat across from them, silent and composed. His posture was perfect, his face unreadable, but Alicent knew her son well enough to see the fury beneath the surface.
His scent remained carefully restrained.
Beeswax candles and warm wood. Oddly sweet for an alpha. Nothing more revealed in his scent.
Otto looked at him differently. He always had. Aemond was a son, an alpha at that. He was a piece of the future in a way that Aegon was not, Halaena was not, Daeron was not.
Alicent herself had only ever been those things when she was useful.
She was a mother, made in the image of the Mother, and she was a vessel that had produced what mattered.
Aemond. Her other sons to a lesser degree. Still, her worth had never been measured as equal to theirs.
"Your grandfather is correct."
Alicent looked toward Aemond.
"This marriage need not be a punishment. It can be an opportunity."
Alicent’s stomach twisted even as she said this; it was how her own marriage had been sold to her, as an opportunity. That was what they called chains when they were wrapped in silk.
Perhaps it was only true for women. She thought of Rhaenyra then. Perhaps only for omega women
"Lucerys Velaryon is only an omega."
Otto spoke without hesitation.
"No matter what name he carries or what titles Rhaenyra has forced upon him, he remains what he is: the bastard son of a whore."
Alicent looked away. The words were cruel but they were not unfamiliar. She had heard worse and she herself had thought worse. She had whispered even worse.
The Faith had taught her the order of things.
The Father judged.
The Warrior protected.
The Maiden obeyed.
The Crone counseled.
The Smith created.
The Mother endured.
The Stranger shepherded the unknown.
There was comfort in order. There was comfort in knowing one’s place.
Except Rhaenyra had never accepted hers. Rhaenyra had always reached for what was beyond her station. The crown she was not born too. The power she did not deserve. The freedom she believed she deserved.
Even Alicent herself.
Alicent curled her fingers tighter together. Once, she had thought Rhaenyra might choose her simply because she wanted her. Not out of duty or politics. It was a foolish thought. Worse, it was a sinful one.
A thought, one she had buried so deeply that sometimes she wondered if she had imagined it, surfaced again. Rhaenyra was an alpha and Alicent an omega; it would have been a scandal since they were both women, but they could have endured it. The scandal would have faded when Alicent conceived, she knows it. And in time, she was sure her father would have forgiven her.
But Rhaenyra had never looked at her that way, not truly. Rhaenyra had wanted adventures and dragons and crowns and men.
She had wanted a life without consequence, a life where she did not have to earn her privileges with sacrifice. Alicent had only ever wanted only her.
So instead, Alicent endured, she sacrificed, and she gathered what was allowed to her. More than that, she learned. The Faith forbid marriages such as the one she had dreamed of and she knew now why. The purpose of a marriage was to bring forth children blessed by the light of the Seven. To marry Rhaenyra would have been to waste the womb the Seven had given her and deny Rhaenyra’s husband a child born from her body.
Alicent should have known Rhaenyra would have spat at such a privilege.
Otto continued, unaware or uncaring of the memories passing through his daughter.
"Aemond, you must understand what this gives you."
His tone changed. It did not softened, but it held more respectful.
"You are not your brothers."
Aemond’s expression remained unchanged.
"You are an alpha. You possess the discipline and strength necessary to rule and that should not be wasted just because the crown will be Aegon’s."
Alicent watched her son carefully. There was the wound. The loss of an eye had changed him, but she knew that this was always where Aemond was headed. His true wounds were not the eye or Driftmark. It was not even Rhaenyra’s bastard.
The wound was knowing that despite all else, despite being everything Aegon was not, Aemond was still beneath him.
Otto leaned forward.
"As a second son, your choices are limited. As Lord Consort of Driftmark, they are not."
Alicent looked toward him.
"You wish for him to rule Driftmark?"
Otto turned his gaze to her, his lip curled – disappointed, as though she had failed to understand something obvious.
"He would hold influence over Driftmark and the whole of the Velaryon fleet. Their wealth, their allies – all of it placed beside Aegon's claim."
His eyes returned to Aemond.
"You would provide your brother with what he requires most: power that can outlast a dragon. It would give him the opportunity to squash those who say an alpha woman’s claim should supersede a beta man in succession."
Aemond’s fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.
"Aegon has never been presented with an opportunity he has not squandered."
The words were quiet. Otto did not rebuke him. He would never have allowed her such defiance.
"He will be king,” Otto said instead of refuting Aemond’s statement. He could not, after all. They were true. "And you will be the strength behind him."
Aemond did not respond. Alicent knew that silence. It was the silence that came before violence. The silence where Aemond decided what someone deserved.
"You need not tolerate the boy in truth and regard for his person is irrelevant. We are not arranging a song from a septon's tale. Claim the boy and make his luck your own. You are an alpha and a prince, it is your right to rule. Keep the boy to serve you as bastard omega should.”
His expression hardened.
"We are arranging power for the long-term success of our house."
Alicent felt ill because she understood. Some part of her knew exactly what he meant. Marriage had never been about love: not for women, omegas, and those born without power.
She had learned that lesson long ago. Aemond, for all his accolades, was a second son. He was closer to her than any of her children. Halaena and Daeron could be used as bargaining chips to build alliances and Aegon would be king, but as the only alpha son of the king and born too late in the line to inherit the throne, he was a threat to both Aegon and Rhaenyra’s reign. With the power of Vhagar, he was a formidable one.
And Lucerys was not merely a political piece. He was Rhaenyra’s son, a bastard and a living reminder of everything Alicent believed had been taken from her.
And still –
Aemond’s eye remained fixed downward.
"His presence in your keeping presents us an opportunity for short term success."
Alicent looked sharply toward her father. Otto continued.
"Rhaenyra trusts him. She has ever kept her bastards close to her bosom. She will not move without his awareness. Neither with that fool Corlys.”
His expression hardened.
"That makes him useful."
Useful. That monster had maimed her perfect son.
Alicent’s scent sharpened despite her effort to suppress it. The evergreen became stronger. The rain heavier.
Otto noticed. His disapproval was immediate, his gaze heavy and angry when it landed on her.
Alicent lowered her eyes.
"You must learn control. Polluting the air so is the mark of beasts."
It was not hers to act so callously. She was not Rhaenyra. She pressed her nails into her palm and reigned in her scent. Let Aemond burn with the anger; in him it would be passion, devotion, zeal – as the Warrior intended.
In her, it could only be hysterics. The Crone would disapprove of such theatrics.
"So, I ask you: can you master the boy?"
Aemond finally spoke. His voice was low and measured.
"Yes."
Otto looked satisfied.
"Good. You understand the stakes then."
Aemond raised his eye.
"He will tell us, one way or the other."
There was no hesitation in that answer. In alphas, there lived only certainty. She had seen it in Rhaenyra when the princess first saw Daemon.
Alicent studied him still. Her son was too calm. It was the same control he had worn when they sewed his bleeding face closed. She was his mother, however. She knew what lived beneath that restraint.
"I think the bastards believe themselves better than us."
Aemond’s voice remained quiet. His fingers flexed.
"Lucerys, at least, should learn otherwise."
Alicent looked away.
The thought should not have comforted her. Because beneath her anger, beneath her resentment, beneath all the years of bitterness, she understood exactly what her father was asking. He wanted to use her son’s marriage bed as a weapon against his own husband.
Aemond would stand beside Luke. He would perform duty when necessary. He would listen for information and wait to use it to their advantage.
Alicent looked toward the altar. The Mother’s face remained unchanged. She wondered whether forgiveness was possible for someone who knew she was choosing cruelty.
Most days, cruelty was the only option still left to her. It was perhaps one of the only choices she could make that free of her father’s and the Father’s eyes.
The Mother would forgive her. Alicent was a mother too, made in Her likeness. And Aegon was the true heir. How could the Mother not forgive what was done in the Father’s name?
"Rhaenyra will believe she has won with this hand. It will solidify Lucerys as Corlys’ heir."
Otto’s voice pulled her back.
"Let her believe it."
His scent filled the room. Wet soil and dark earth. The smell of something buried beneath the ground.
"That is the mistake women make."
Alicent flinched.
"They confuse emotion with understanding."
He looked towards her. The words struck harder than she expected. Some small, wounded part of Alicent knew he was not only speaking of Rhaenyra.
He looked back to Aemond.
"You have suffered."
Otto’s voice softened only slightly.
"You have endured. You have done what was required. You have done what this family needs from its sons. You have placed duty above yourself. Now, you will be rewarded for it. One more sacrifice, Aemond."
Alicent swallowed. Aemond seemed unmoved.
She wanted to believe he meant this for her. She needed to believe him. Because if all her suffering had not made her better –
If all her sacrifices had not made her righteous –
Then what had they been for?
She looked again toward Aemond.
Her perfect alpha son. The son who had been hurt. The son who deserved everything the world had denied him and handed to Lucerys.
This was justice. This was the Seven finally balancing the scales. Lucerys Velaryon was simply receiving what was owed and settling the debt.
Alicent hated that she needed that to be true.
"Prepare yourself."
Otto stood.
"The marriage will proceed."
It was not a suggestion. Otto Hightower, Lord Hand to the King did not give suggestions. It was a command.
Aemond rose as well. Both made their way to the door.
Alicent remained seated.
The candles flickered.
The Mother watched.
Alicent wondered whether she had spent so long praying to be spared suffering that she had forgotten to pray she would not become the source of it. The absence of guilted haunted more then the guilt itself could ever have done.
Aemond
Aemond left his mother's chambers without another word.
The guards outside straightened as he passed, but he scarcely noticed them. His boots struck the stone floors of the Red Keep with measured precision, each step controlled, each breath carefully counted. Years of discipline had taught him that anger was useful only when mastered.
His scent remained locked behind iron walls.
The corridors were nearly empty at this hour. Servants bowed and hurried from his path. Somewhere beyond the windows, gulls cried over Blackwater Bay.
He barely heard them.
His grandfather believed he had been handed a gift.
Otto Hightower saw the world as a board upon which every person occupied a proper square. Alphas commanded. Betas served. Omegas obeyed. Men ruled. Women followed. Every piece had a purpose if one possessed the wit to move it correctly.
Lucerys Velaryon was only another piece to him.
A beautiful bastard omega – a frightened child who could be coaxed into sharing every confidence whispered within Dragonstone's walls.
Marry him. Learn Rhaenyra's plans.
Then, in time, assume command where the boy could not. Claim Driftmark – Its fleet and ports. Its wealth.
Its influence.
Otto spoke as though those things would naturally gravitate toward the stronger hand. As if the Seasnake’s influence was son small thing because he was a beta. As if Princess Rhaenys was less formidable on Meleys because she was an omega. As if all he needed to do was exit for that accursed isle to turn todays him, the alpha.
As though Lucerys would simply smile and surrender them.
His grandfather had never understood.
Lucerys was also the most dangerous creature Aemond had ever known. No one else seemed capable of seeing it.
They saw his soft curls and large green eyes and his gentle smile. They assumed it meant a shy disposition, befitting a royal omega made in the image of Maiden. They mistook sweetness for harmlessness.
Aemond had made that mistake once. He had been young enough to believe that kindness could exist without bleeding.
The memory came unbidden.
Helaena had been crying because one of her beetles had died. Aemond had stepped on it by accident.
He still remembered the awful crunch beneath his boot and the way Helaena's face had crumpled.
He had searched the gardens for an hour trying to find another. Lucerys had appeared beside him without invitation like an apparition. He held out a hand; it was sticky with honey from some sweet or another. There were crumbs at the corner of his mouth; the made a constellation with the mole on his cheek.
"I know where the shiny ones hide."
They had spent the afternoon turning over rocks together, sleeves covered in dirt as Helaena laughed every time they found the wrong kind of beetle.
At sunset, Luke had proudly presented Helaena with three. Aemond frowned.
"You found more than me."
Luke had grinned at him, crumbs gone and eye luminous.
"We found them all three together, qybor."
Another memory followed before he could stop it.
His ankle had swollen to twice its normal size after Aegon shoved him during weapons practice.
An accident, Aegon had claimed, eyes sweeping the sides lined with sycophants. A squire had snickered. Jacaerys and Lucerys turned to look at the boy in Blackwood colors then at the hostile air between the two brothers.
Still, everyone had accepted the lie.
Aemond had limped away before training finished, furious with himself for showing weakness.
Later that afternoon, there had been a timid knock upon his door. Lucerys had stood there holding a something in his hand. He looked mournfully at Aemond.
"I got hungry."
In his hand was half of a honey cake. The other half was missing.
"I forgot I was saving it for you."
His cheeks had been pink with embarrassment.
"I thought... maybe... you still wanted the rest."
Aemond did not like sweets. He had eaten every crumb.
The last memory stung worst of all.
Dust dancing through shafts of afternoon sunlight.
Aemond stumbling through High Valyrian grammar while every mistake earned laughter from Aegon.
Rhaenyra's sons spoke the language as naturally as breathing.
Jacaerys had corrected him twice before losing interest, Aegon pulling him away to some mischief or another.
Joffrey had been too young to help. Lucerys had quietly sat beside him after the maester had ended the lesson.
"You've got the endings wrong."
"I know."
"You keep thinking in Common."
Luke had smiled.
"My father says languages aren't words. They're music. You have to listen if you want to want to understand it.”
For nearly an hour they had spoken nothing but High Valyrian. Lucerys had never laughed, even when Aemond’s speech was slow and painful.
Aemond had believed...
He clenched his jaw.
Then Driftmark had happened. Three against one.
Baela, Rhaena, and Jacaerys.
They could argue over numbers until the end of time. They could claim Lucerys had merely defended his brother.
None of it changed what Aemond remembered.
He remembered standing alone. He remembered blood running into his eye. He remembered seeing the knife.
Most of all, he remembered that momentary look in Lucerys’ eyes, he remembers the other boy choosing.
He could have stayed back. He could have shouted for the guards. He could have done anything except raise the blade.
Instead, he had cut and half the world had vanished in an instant.
Lucerys had never apologized. Not once. Never expressed remorse. Never admitted that perhaps a bastard omega had possessed no right to maim the only trueborn alpha prince born to House Targaryen after his father’s time.
Years had passed.
The silence had remained. Everyone else expected Aemond to forget and move on.
Viserys expected it. The septons prayed for it. His grandfather wished to exploit it. None of them understood. Some things, once broken, did not grow back.
His pace slowed as he reached the gallery overlooking the sea. He rested one hand against the cold stone.
It was unfair that Lucerys was beautiful. As bastard should be ugly to reflect their nature. It did not seem reasonable to bless one such as him with that beauty. Like all else handed to him, it was unearned.
Aemond could see the way people turned to him as he passed, sunflowers to light. No, his thoughts corrected, moths to flame.
Tiny beauty marks dusted his cheeks so lightly that most people never noticed them unless they stood close. Others rested along the line of his collarbones, revealed whenever his tunic slipped carelessly to one side. His hair had never obeyed comb or ribbon, falling in thick, impossibly soft curls that caught the light until they seemed spun from chestnut and gold together.
His eyes were a living green, the color of young leaves after spring rain, sea glass warmed by sunlight. That seemed the greatest insult. Green should have no place in Lucerys Velaryon.
People smiled more easily when Lucerys looked at them. They leaned closer without realizing they had done so, trusted him in their space. The dragons seemed calmer in his presence.
Even the servants of the Red Keep adored him. Here in his home, he had endure the whispers of Rhaenyra’s kind sons more then a man could stomach.
Beauty like Lucerys was dangerous. It encouraged foolishness and convinced sensible men that gentle hands could not also carry knives.
Aemond knew better. He had the scar to prove it.
His grandfather saw a cyvasse piece. His mother saw an omega. Aemond saw sharp teeth hidden behind a pretty smile, the claws concealed beneath graceful fingers.
He alone saw the beast that everyone insisted was harmless. He would never forget it again.
Aemond would learn every weakness hidden beneath Dragonstone's walls. Driftmark would become his in everything but name.
Its fleet would sail where he directed. Its wealth would strengthen Aegon's reign. Its captains would answer to him long before they realized they had begun doing so.
Rhaenyra would lose every advantage she believed secure. She would kneel before the rightful heir she had spent her life refusing to acknowledge.
Aemond would make certain of it.
Perhaps then the debt between himself and Lucerys would finally be settled. Perhaps then the emptiness behind his sapphire would stop aching. Perhaps then he would no longer wake in the middle of the night tasting blood and salt upon the wind.
He reached his chambers, slipping into the cool quite space. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Lucerys had once looked at him as family, called him qybor. Aemond hated himself for remembering exactly how that had made him feel.
Lucerys
Luke had closed the windows hours ago.
Usually, he preferred to leave them open. The sea breeze carried the smell of salt into his chambers, and the cries of gulls reminded him of Dragonstone, of Driftmark. It made King's Landing feel less suffocating.
Today, he wanted the quiet.
A book lay open across his lap, though he had not turned a page in several minutes. His eyes remained fixed on the gray water beyond the glass while the words blurred together into meaningless ink.
He felt different.
Ever since the messenger had arrived with news of Vaemond's petition, something had settled heavily inside him.
He had always known, of course. Everyone had known. He was not Laenor's son. Neither were Jace or Joff. No one had ever needed to say it aloud. They all saw it every time the three of them walked into a room.
Yet it was not the same for all of them.
Jace would inherit the Iron Throne. He would rule as a Targaryen.
Joff had declared before his eighth nameday that he intended to become the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and no amount of gentle encouragement from their mother had convinced him otherwise.
Luke was different. He was heir to Driftmark and Velayron name. One day, they would all look to him.
He had spent years learning the tides with his father, memorizing trade routes, listening to old captains tell impossible stories over supper, and following shipwrights around the docks until they laughed and put him to work.
Some days, that felt the cruelest part, that he should love Driftmark with all his heart, cleave to the house whose blood did not run through his veins. He had been born to inherit a legacy he could never truly deserve, but it was all he had left now.
The knock at his door startled him from his thoughts.
"Come in."
His mother's familiar figure stepped into the room. Luke straightened instinctively.
"Mother."
He smiled because he knew she would worry if he did not. The effort felt strangely heavy.
She crossed the room and settled beside him on the cushioned bench beneath the window.
For a while neither of them spoke.
That, more than anything, made Luke realize how much he had changed.
Silence had never belonged between them. He had always hated it. Why would he be silent when there were a thousand things he wanted to know at any given moment? He usually filled every pause with questions or stories before his mother had the chance to notice.
She glanced toward the untouched book.
"You've been quiet."
Luke looked down at the pages.
"I suppose I have."
"You've hardly spoken since the petition."
"I know."
Her voice remained gentle.
"You've been unhappy."
Luke let out a slow breath.
"I've been thinking."
She waited.
"Something is wrong. What has changed?"
He searched for words that had refused to come for days.
"Everything feels different now."
He traced the edge of the page with one finger. His mother remained silent. Luke appreciated that. She was patient with him, always had been. Her love for them had always been warm, like the seawater in Driftmark and equally as all encompassing.
"He hated me."
A small smile crossed his lips before fading again.
"Vaemond. I always knew he did. When I was at Driftmark, he never made it a secret how he – viewed us. Me."
He looked toward the sea.
"But hearing him say it aloud made something feel real."
"He was wrong."
Luke shook his head.
"I don't think he was."
Rhaenyra's expression tightened.
"He said terrible things."
"He did."
Luke swallowed.
"But he wasn't wrong about who I am."
He looked down at his hands.
"Everyone knows. It isn't the same for Jace or Joff. No one expects them to preserve House Velaryon."
Luke smiled faintly.
"Joff would happily trade Driftmark for a fine horse and a sword."
A soft laugh escaped him. It disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
"I get greensick on ships, mother. Arrax will never be a war dragon, all the dragonkeepers have said so. I cannot remember all the trade routes to Pentos or know the price of Myrish lace during festival time."
The confession came almost as a whisper.
"I've always cared about Driftmark but I am hardly…"
He looked back toward the water.
"I love Driftmark and her people. I've tried so hard to become worthy of inheriting it, but I have failed before I ever drew breath and now everyone sees it."
His mother's hand found his immediately.
"You have not failed."
Luke met her eyes.
"I am not –"
She cut him off before he could finish he thought.
"He loved you."
A warm smile lit Rhaenyra’s face for just a moment.
"He loved all of you, from the moment you drew your first breath to the moment he drew his last. Whatever you think of your shortcomings, Luke, you have never been a disappoint. Never. Being Lord of the Tide does not come quick or easy. Your grandfather did not built his empire on the learnings of a day or year. You must give yourself time to grow. Do not label yourself a disappointment before you have given yourself the chance.”
Luke blinked rapidly and felt something curdle in his chest. He had never watched his words around his family, and now was no exception.
"Why not? Everyone else does."
His mother looked as though someone had struck her. Luke wished he had kept those words to himself. She took a slow breath and then shook her head.
"There is something we need to discuss."
"I know."
She explained everything. His grandfather's decree stood still. He heard the things she said about the marriage: the political advantages for Driftmark and the Velaryon name.
He heard the things she did not say as well; the possibility of silver-haired children whose legitimacy no lord could question and the chance of binding Aemond to Driftmark rather than King's Landing.
A possibility she did voice was if Aemond came to care for Luke, the Greens would lose their strongest supporter. Luke listened quietly to that and said nothing. It was laughable thought.
When she finished, she took both his hands.
"I want you to hear me clearly."
He nodded.
"If you do not want this marriage, I will oppose it."
Her voice remained steady.
"I remember what it felt like when my father decided my future without asking me."
A shadow crossed her face.
"I remember standing alone while everyone discussed where I belonged."
She squeezed his hands.
"I will not do that to you. If you tell me no, I will fight this. I do not care what Father wants. I do not care what advantages anyone sees. I will not force you into marriage."
Luke stared at her. Gratitude welled so suddenly inside him that he almost cried. Love too, but that had always been their in abundance. His mother was loved by all she met and yet Luke thought it was still only half of what she deserved.
"Thank you."
He smiled.
"I truly mean that."
The words lingered between them. He knew she meant every one of them. That made what came next even harder.
It would hurt her, he knew, if she fought this.
Luke looked away.
It would be another battle, another public disagreement, with not her father and his grandsire, but the King. If she fought the decrees of the crown, it would make her claim look weaker.
The Hightowrs would use it against her, portray her as a spoilt, petulant, woman who cares to sacrifice nothing to mend the rift between their factions and the wound that Luke had dealt.
Luke was tired of his failures. No one spoke to him of it as such, but that is what they were none the less. He knew there was conflict brewing, if not outright war.
By virtue of being born omega, he would only be considered for battle if all other avenues failed. But Arrax could never match Vhagar or Dreamfyre. Arrax could never even match Vermax, for all that they were but a year apart in age. He was sleek, slender dragon and would grow to be more beautiful the Sunfyre with age, but he was not made for war any more then Luke himself was.
Luke was not a particularly good bargaining chip to secure an alliance either. A bastard with common coloring, too tall and gangly for an omega with none of their soft, delicate grace. He would be Lord of the Tides one day, worthy or unworthy, and any alpha who stood beside him could only hope to be consort. What man – what alpha – accept that?
Luke had assumed a beta match lay in his future, perhaps with Rhaena. A small hopeful part had hoped to convince his mother and grandfather for Addam’s candidacy. Father’s dragon chose him, after all, and Jace and Addam had become great friends in the three months he had spent on Dargonstone, learning to master Seasmoke.
Luke had been surprised when Addam had retuned to Driftmark, Vermax and his brother in Seasmoke’s wind, both grinning ear to ear.
Their friendship was so that Jace had spoken to their grandsire in Addam and his brother Alyn’s favor when Corlys had petitioned the court to have them legitimized as sons of house Velaryon, if not is own.
It had not endeared him to Princess Rhaenys, but Jace possessed a remarkable skill in judging character and had deemed the brothers worthy.
And Addam had been kind to Luke, both before his departure to Dragonstone and on his return. In the three months that followed, he had been one of the few that had never laughed at Luke when he was greensick.
Once, a few nights before Luke’s six month wardship on Driftmark had ended and he was to return to Dragonstone, Addam had told him that he admired Luke for the dedication he showed. He had confided that he had not felt half as confident in mastering Seasmoke in the air and the only one to see him struggle would have been Jace.
Luke had let him know that there was not much needed to look a greensick fool.
‘It takes a special courage, I think, to attempt a thing you know will make you look foolish in the eyes of others. My mother said it’s something done only from love.’
The thought had bolstered him, carried him past what he viewed as his abject failure in Driftmark, all the way home and onto Dragonstone’s shores.
Until Corlys fell ill. Until Vaemond launched his petition.
It did not matter now. The King had spoken. He would not hurt his mother by making her fight a battle she had no hope of winning.
He had failed already as Laenor’s son. He met Rhaenyra’s eyes again.
"I can do this."
His mother looked heartbroken.
"You shouldn't have to."
"I will be alright."
The lie tasted bitter. He told it anyway because he loved her.
She reached up and cupped his cheek. Luke leaned into her touch without thinking.
"You and Aemond were friends once."
The words caught him off guard.
His mind drifted back to afternoons spent chasing Helaena’s bugs through gardens and laughing over library books. They felt impossibly distant now.
"We were."
"Perhaps you could become friends again?"
Luke wanted to believe it. Instead, he managed a small nod.
"Perhaps."
The answer sounded hollow even to his own ears. His mother rose after another quiet moment.
"I shall let you think. You will tell your decision tomorrow, at breakfast."
She reached the door before stopping. When she turned back, her expression carried more sorrow than he had ever seen upon her face.
"I am sorry, my sweet boy."
Luke looked up.
"I am sorry to ask this sacrifice of you."
A genuine smile spread across his face. He loved her too much to let her carry this alone. His voice remained soft.
"There isn't a sacrifice I wouldn't make for any of you."
Her eyes shimmered and the sorrow deepened. Luke had chosen wrong and his words had cut her some place he could not see. Luke continued before she could speak, trying to mend it.
"We all have to make sacrifices."
A small shrug accompanied the words.
"I'll be Lord of the Tides someday. I'll have responsibilities far greater than this."
A faint smile returned.
"I may as well begin learning now."
His mother looked unbearably sad and Luke had no more words to give her.
"If I could spare you..." she whispered. "If I could spare any of you..."
Luke interrupted gently.
"I know, Mother."
A hint of warmth entered his voice.
"But like Father used to say, if fishes were wishes..."
He trailed off with a quiet laugh. He could his father’s voice finish the thought, ‘– then beggars would eat!’
Rhaenyra laughed too, the sound thick with emotion.
"Your father and his ridiculous sailors' sayings."
Luke smiled.
"He always had one ready."
"He certainly did."
She crossed the room once more and kissed his forehead.
"Laenor would be proud of you, as I am."
Luke held onto his smile.
"I hope so."
She lingered only a heartbeat longer before leaving him alone. The door clicked softly behind her.
Luke continued smiling until her footsteps disappeared beyond the corridor. Only then did the expression slowly fade.
His eyes drifted back toward the sea.
Laenor would be proud of you.
Laenor had never treated him as anything less than his son, but that did not mean he had deserved anything less than a child who could at least carry his legacy if he could not carry his blood.
Luke had spent years trying to become worthy of the name Velaryon for his father. He had tried to honor Laenor in every choice he made.
Somehow, none of it ever felt like enough.
He looked down at his own hands, broad-palmed and unmistakably Strong.
Peace was not so small a thing that Luke would not make every effort to achieve it. Perhaps his mother was correct, and perhaps his uncle would even be aimable. Regardless, he would make the best of this.
If he could not be worth to be Laenor’s son, he would at least prove himself worthy to be Rhaenyra’s.