Chapter Text
Aemond
He woke up, and as he woke, the pain surrounding his missing eye became unbearable, but the pain was not new, as he had come to meet it many times in his life, and thus he stood up, quietly gripping the bedding, while making sense of his exact situation.
From what he could observe, it was still early. The sky was a muted orange, and the heat that came with barely caressed his skin. In a ritual-like moment, he reached for his eyepatch, which was placed on the small table besides his bed, and as he carefully placed it on one of the many reasons for his pain, he thought it would be nice to spend the day in his chambers, maybe following his brothers steps into drinking viciously, so he could ignore what he could feel was to come.
As he moved through the place, he decided to ignore the bathing ritual that usually came with waking up, for he knew that the training that Ser Criston would give him was going to be nothing but brutal, so if he maybe exceeded himself in that activity, when bath time came it would feel more like a reward, and then he would have something to look forward to, as his days in palace had turned so boring and dull that nothing was to excite him anymore.
Aemond worried that maybe his missing eye was the reason the world had started to become so gray, but then again he preferred to not have both his eyes, which would only mean more to see and more places to attend, and as a royal that had turned rather scary, that meant not attending as much of political events as his brother, Aegon, to which he was grateful for, for he preferred training and getting his hands dirty, as much as it hurt him.
Once he had left his quarters in order to try and get some more maintenance, he encountered his sister, Helaena, on the corridors near the many kitchens, a place they both liked to visit when they were younger due to the happiness they used to get when one of the passing maidens would grant them a taste of whatever food they were preparing, as if it was not their right to it.
“I see you’re up early, sister,” said Aemond as he walked towards Helaena.
“The kids like to watch the sun rise,” was all she answered, and then she looked inside the kitchens, probably deciding what she would like to have. Or maybe waiting for some kind of permission to enter the place. Either way, Aemond stepped inside the room and was immediately met by various aromas of which he could not complain. His sister followed and quickly walked to the pastries table, half of which was occupied by some cooks preparing various different types of pie.
As he watched the place, a couple of maidens and workers that noticed his presence bowed their heads down, greeting him with a subtle “my Prince”, before they continued with their activities. Aemond liked the fact that they didn’t bombarded him with questions about what he wanted to eat, and rather left him to his own to choose, but again, he had made his preference clear when once, on a rage caused by a bad sword training day, he had almost stabbed one of the cooks. Since then, the kitchen was his to ramble through.
For an answer to his hunger, he took white bread and some thinly sliced cooked meat, hoping to find some soup he could accompany with, but when he didn’t find any, he decided to leave and eat on his way to his training, doing his best to avoid the tense breakfast that his mother liked to have, most of which ended with her mother rambling under her breath about the thousands of duties she had to attend and about how it would be good for the kingdom to already betroth Aemond to a lord’s daughter, all of which he despised in equal mannered way.
After stepping foot outside, and being graciously blinded by the shine of the sun, he began walking towards what Ser Criston had told him where the training grounds for today. While he made his way there, Aemond wished, briefly at least, that he was making his way to the Dragonpit, as he hadn’t had the chance to visit Vhagar in a week, and he convinced himself the lack of dragon riding and soaring through the sky was what had been missing this time. But maybe after this, and if he didn’t had any more duties for the day, then he could visit his dragon, and make the pain of his missing eye worth it for one more time.
Once he reached the training grounds, he found them to be almost empty, and as he looked at the sky once again, he understood that it was, indeed, a little bit too early to be training. The realization which answered why not a lot of the castle folk had started following him around as he made his way to the kitchens or the outside of the place, but where they not supposed to always be up at the mere sight of light? Aemond decided between mentioning that to his brother, mainly to see a reaction, or to ignore it for he also liked the sudden quiet.
For an answer, he instead decided to get his hands on the various weapons that were displayed before him, thinking that maybe he could try training with something he was not accustomed to, only for the sake of polishing the skills he had worked so hard for. First, he picked up a heavy and black iron sword, which was clearly not a fit for him, but maybe if he wield it for a long time, he could grow familiar to it. Then, he observed a more light, but short sword, which appeared slightly curved and more dagger-like than the others, and when Aemond examined the edge, he found he liked it, but it sadly also meant having to get into a more close ranged combat position, which would mean death if he was to encounter Ser Criston with that weapon. Lastly, before he gave up, a fine and glimmering sword caught his eye, and picking it up and moving it around seemed to convince him well enough to make it his weapon of the day. As he moved the sword around, he caught a glimpse of himself on the blade of the sword, and Aemond almost backed away, but instead of submitting to that instant desire, he opted for looking at himself on the reflection, meeting once again what he grew to detest.
His hair looked as straight as always, and his ivory white skin was only ruined by the huge—and healed— scar around his left eye, all courtesy of one of the bastards that his half-sister had, Lucerys Velaryon, whom he had lately sworn to harm if they ever met again. But besides that, his only working eye shimmered into a dark mix of black and violet, and he didn’t had to take out his eyepatch to know that the sapphire that was hidden beneath it was of a clouded color, as if doted with its own life, one which seemed to always disagree with his owner’s decisions. The rest of his body he knew all too well, he had a solid build for his age, and he had grown to be taller than his oldest brother, which he used to his advantage on their many shared training moments, and besides those two qualities he had grown to know, Aemond would find himself met with nothing else. Maybe he could be described as handsome, but the lack of romance in his life had proven to put his own self image at doubt, thus only giving him more time to dedicate to battle and royal duties, forgetting, most of the time, to tend to what he could describe as personal needs.
Besides, what more could he possibly want? As Aemond weighted the sword on his hand, the idea that he had it all was perfectly presented to him on a silver lining, as far as he knew, he had won whatever there was to life, he just had to follow the rule book that he was seemly given and everything would be set. So, Aemond wondered, if this is all there is to my life, why do I feel like I’m missing something?. His answer didn’t materialize in-front of him, and instead Ser Criston walked into the training grounds with a lost look on his face.
“Your bastard family is coming.”
As expected, the training was ruthless, now more than ever, and Aemond had to be clever in order to not get brutally maimed by Ser Criston on the one too many violent counter attacks he was forced to defend himself against. After what he felt were hours, the castle seemed revitalized and more and more people were visiting and watching his training happen, with some of the older men making quiet bets about who they thought would come out on top, with majority of the votes going to Ser Criston. The thought of losing only incensed Aemond more, and his own attacks become more ruthless as time went on, focusing only on winning and, of course, on what had Ser Criston meant when he greeted him with the notice that his half-sister’s family was coming to King’s Landing.
For once, Aemond thought the visit might bring a more interesting look on whatever his life was becoming, and he could try to destabilize what union the family had, just as an amusement, but another part of him was also aching with the thought of seeing Lucerys once again, thinking that maybe, if he could find a way to challenge him into a duel, or maybe even just harmless training, would help him get the revenge he now swore to have. An eye for an eye would be good, and even though he had gained Vhagar, the need to steal something out of the untouchable prince was a way more interesting idea the older he grew.
When he finally managed to slam Ser Criston’s weapon out of his grip, he placed the tip of his sword on his neck, and with a smile he spoke for the first time in hours.
“Tell me, now, what you meant about my bastard family coming.”
Ser Criston smiled, and with one hand he moved Aemond’s weapon out of the way. “Ser Vaemond Velaryon wishes to question Lucerys Velaryon legitimacy, and he wants an audience for it.”
The idea made Aemond smile. He is finally getting it, he thought. “Seems like I’ll have to be present.”
“You better be. Your mother, the Queen, asked me to make sure you were present on the audience. Said you could learn a thing or two.”
“I’ll learn better here, on training ground, rather than in all of that political stupidity they call alliance.”
“That’s why you are my favorite to train,” answered Ser Criston, but flattery only got him so far.
“Yes, well, we’ll still both need to play politics,” continued Aemond, “and I must say I do wish to see that Strong’s boy title be stripped away to a more… proper candidate.”
In that, Ser Criston picked up his weapon, wielding it while giving it thought.
Instead of following, Aemond continued his poor interrogation, “And when shall the bastards arrive?”
“That I do not know, but I believe them to be here before dinner, as I’ve seen both the Queen and that man that still works as the Hand make incessant preparations.”
“Seems to me like they are expecting reconciliation instead of a fight,” said Aemond, now highly interested in why Lyonel Strong, the man who so adamantly advocated for his half sister to be Queen, was preparing a possible welcoming fest to a man who could only endanger the claim of his grandson, Lucerys Strong.
“That we will see,” and with that being said, Ser Criston tried to struck a blow against Aemond, but his senses had grown sharper, and thus their conversation stopped and another rigorous fight ensure. One of many more to come.
They kept fighting until Aemond heard commotion outside of the castle, and when he saw the people whisper to each other, he knew that Rhaenyra’s family had arrived on King’s Landing, which now meant only a couple more hours until he was able to witness whatever fate the Gods, and his mother, had prepared for Lucerys Velaryon.
For a while Ser Criston stopped, and when they picked the fight back up, Aemond could see two black headed teenagers enter the training grounds, both dressed in black clothes and decorating the place with both fascination and curiosity, all which irritated Aemond.
As his last fight went on, swiftly as it could be, he noticed the teenagers join the circle that had gathered around him and Ser Criston, and when he won putting a sword to Ser Criston’s chest, he focused solely on his nephews.
“Well done, my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time,” Ser Criston said as he disposed of his weapon.
“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” and as he said those words, he barely registered what followed, for he was absorbed in the characters before him. “Nephews… have you come to train?” He asked, as if he didn’t knew the answer.
His gaze landed first on Jacaerys, who had a poorly done haircut and was standing in-front of his younger brother, as if trying to protect him. To Aemond, he looked like a badly done impression of an angered lion. The eyes on Jacaerys were those of someone that came to town solely for business, and Aemond clearly knew why, but when he focused himself on Lucerys, who was sheltered behind his brother, Aemond’s idea of what he thought to be hate simply dissipated.
Lucerys was beautiful.
More than that, Aemond thought him mesmerizing, which was something he rarely granted to anyone, especially to the boy who cut his eye out when they were children.
Lucerys’s skin was white and as blemish free as it could be, his dark eyes twinkled not with anger, like his brother’s, but with curiosity, and his dark black hair granted him a permanent mischievous appearance, as opposed to his white haired family, who all seemed too stoic to care about looking alive. His face was clearly older, and while his features not completely strong, the childlike softness he had was already melting into that of a handsome one. The high of his cheekbones, accompanied by his nose made such a combination that Aemond felt the need to look at him more closely, but before he could even begin to speak again, the doors opened once more, and Vaemond Velaryon marched into place, doing nothing else but looking at Lucerys in disdain, and Aemond realized that he himself was looking at Lucerys in a way completely unknown to his own self, thus he quickly focused on something, that being his own sword, and he waited until the moment passed.
Thankfully, probably due to the presence of Ser Vaemond, the crowd surrounding him dissipated and even Ser Criston was nowhere to be found. Aemond took this for his benefit.
“I assume your visit is solely reduced to, what? Legitimacy issues?” Aemond asked as he sneaked up to his nephews, both which turned around and looked at him in what Aemond thought to be a mix between more anger and interest.
“Hello, Prince Aemond,” answered Jacaerys, still doing his best to appear taller.
“Yes, hello, I suppose I was rude with my introduction.”
“Very,” said Lucerys, and once again, Aemond’s attention diverted to him.
“I cannot be blamed, dear nephews, I was informed about your arrival just mere hours ago!” he answered in a tone that was meant to do nothing but annoy, and by the looks on Jacaerys face, he was doing it.
“Do not pretend to be interested in our situation, it’s not fitting for a prince,” said Jacaerys again.
“It’s a family matter, I am dearly interested.”
“Then wait until the audience, uncle,” followed Lucerys, roughly and with an edge that interested Aemond, for counted were the people who dared to be rude in his presence.
“Mmh, a harsh mouth I see,” said Aemond as he gripped his sword. “Shall we fight it out?” he asked, raising up his sword for everyone to see.
“We’re not here to fight,” answered Lucerys. A part of Aemond wished he had said yes, as he wanted to have a closer look at Lucerys, while another part just wanted to push him as hard as he could, trying to see how much he could take, but apparently the Gods were not by his side.
“If you’ll excuse us, we have to meet our mother,” interrupted Jacaerys, who was now looking worriedly at the sword Aemond was holding.
“Then I’ll see you at the audience,” and as Aemond watched them walk away, he realized there was something else he wanted to say, maybe for his own amusement, or maybe because he truly meant it, but before he could choose his reasoning, his mouth opened. “Lucerys, good luck.”
He realized that Lucerys shocked face was way more satisfying than he thought, and so he didn’t care for the people near him that looked at him with both intrigue and amazement. Maybe if he could spend a little bit more of time with his nephew, he could learn the reason to why his presence had seemed to illuminate the dull color on the sky, but for now, he dropped his sword, and decided instead to take travel to his chambers. He needed a refreshment.
The family reunion turned out to be more exciting than what Aemond had imagined. As soon as he saw his father, the King, step foot into the room—something that he would never do for Aemond or his siblings— he knew that the fight was not going to be easy.
What followed could be described easily in one word: bloody. The way his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, had butchered Ser Vaemond’s face was nothing but a work of art in the eyes of Aemond. He had been so surprised that, when he left the room, he wondered how much money he could offer to his uncle for his weapon.
But on the other hand, his newfound focus was Lucerys, who had not uttered a single word in his own defense, and who seemed to now hide behind his mothers cloth, the same way Aemond remembered he did when they were kids. The more Aemond thought about Lucerys the more his feelings conflicted him.
He had grown to naturally despise him, even though they stopped seeing each other after the incident, but now that he could finally act in work of his revenge, the resentment that he wanted to harbor was simply not there. Aemond wondered if he had just misplaced his anger, and the possibility of not being truly angry at Lucerys crossed his mind, but the idea ended up absurd in his eyes. Aemond was sure he hated Lucerys, more than probably anyone on the side of his half-sister’s family, so why was he now so bewitched by the younger? He tried to find reason in his feelings, but as he changed his clothing and prepared himself for the laborious family dinner that was coming, Aemond came to understand only one thing. He needed to see more of Lucerys.
As he understood it, maybe if he could get more of the insolent reaction his nephew displayed on training grounds, he could harbor his hate once and for all, completing his barely meticulous plan for revenge, and then he would stop being so interested in Lucerys. So Aemond tidied himself up in the best way he could, and as he left for the dinner, he thought about praying to the Gods his mother adored for answers.
The first part of the dinner was painful and humiliating at most.
Seeing his own father in that state conjured mere nothings on Aemond’s heart, but the idea of his own King acting that way just made it painful for his brain to comprehend.
As always, Aemond abstained himself from eating, merely emptying his own cup with whatever drinks the maidens had been offering, and while the ambient on the table became less tense and the tributes were finished, Aemond noticed how Lucerys had been seated exactly in front of him, the realization so big it infuriated him. How had he not noticed?
Aemond’s first thought was of annoyance, but as he looked at Lucerys eat, completely submerged in either his food or his betrothed, Rhaena Targaryen, he realized that the sight was not so bad. At least, in his own head, he could take a good look at Lucerys before he collected his revenge. His hair was in place, and the clothes he wore made a good fit on him, one of his own eyes was almost covered by his hair, as if acting as a premonition, but the rest of his face was bathed in candlelight, all free for Aemond to see, and the more he saw, the more he entertained himself. He could call him pretty, but not handsome, and there was still a certain sense of incredulity that only someone as protected as Lucerys could have. Aemond wondered if being raised on Dragonstone had influenced on his actions, and then he almost made the mistake of comparing both their lives and upbringings, but when Helaena laughed during her dance with Jacaerys, the situation snapped him back into reality.
As he looked focused on his sister, some of the servants carefully placed a big plate of roasted pig, almost as if tempting him to eat, but before he could do anything, Aemond heard a chuckle coming from across the table.
He turned around, and then and there, holding his gaze was Lucerys, smiling as much as he could before a laugh escaped his lips. Aemond immediately thought two things: that he was going to kill him, and that it was a shame he had to die, because he looked so beautiful in that moment that he almost forgot the offense that his own person had received.
Instead of speaking, he slammed his close fist against the table, and he maintained his eyes on Lucerys, gaining an enormous satisfaction when the younger dropped his smile.
“Final tribute,” he began as he raised his almost empty cup into the air, “to the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke,” his gaze remained focused on Lucerys, who looked so insolent and enraged it surprised Aemond, “and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, for they already knew what he was about to say, but Aemond barely cared, “strong,” and even though he was poking fun at his nephews, there was a small sliver of truth in his words.
“Aemond,” he could hear his mother say.
“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three strong boys,” the look on Lucerys face made it worth it.
However, he had counted out an important factor, Jacaerys Velaryon, who was now looking at him with fire on his eyes, “I dare you to say that again.”
“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” Aemond said as he focused his eyes on his older nephew. “Do you not think yourself strong?” and as easy as that, he felt Jacaerys fist punching his face. Not that it completely pained him. What surprised him was hearing how someone was slammed against the table, and when he looked, only for a moment, he saw his brother, Aegon, restraining Lucerys against his wishes. In that moment, Aemond did what he was already planning to do, and he pushed Jacaerys to the ground before he could try to land another punch. Easy enough he fell, but he recuperated himself quite quickly, and before the fight could properly break out, the guards restrained both the Velaryon’s boys and his own uncle, Daemon, stepped right in-front of him, tempting him into a fight with only a look, all which Aemond knew he would lose, so he backed away, with his mothers words still on his mind but a satisfaction so big it blocked any other emotion that could destroy the sustained ego he had created for himself.
So he left for his chambers, and on the way there he focused on Lucerys, who was walking hurriedly in-front of him, possibly to his own quarters. As he followed, Aemond came to realize that they had been given the empty chambers that ran through Maegor’s Holdfast, and even though it made sense, as they were also royals, the idea of having guests not stay in the Maidenvault seemed disdainful. After Aemond lost sight of his nephews, for his own quarters were farther upon the place, he swore to find Lucerys’s chambers, as he still felt revenge was due, and what did it matter if it got him in more trouble, so long as Aemond had his satisfaction, then the consequences mattered little.
Once secured on his own, the tiring process of undressing and accommodating himself began.
While taking off his boots, Aemond thought about what else he could’ve done on such fateful dinner. Maybe a more brutal approach could’ve done it, but was mocking his nephews family not enough? Seeing how worked up they both got was certainly interesting, but then again there had been a feeling of aching on his chest, and Aemond could not make out anything of it.
Then his shirt followed, and while the most laborious part of the process took place, Aemond now focused on his convoluted feelings regarding Lucerys. True, he hated him, and seeing him laugh at him just made him sure of that but, at the same time, finding out that someone you so long hated had become such a person made it difficult for Aemond to place his anger. He had never asked about his nephews when his own mother mentioned them, as he did not care for them, but now… Did he wished he had asked sooner? Would they outcome of his hatred remain the same? Or was the idea of knowing scaring him into a new type of submission?
He decided against an answer, and while he finished undressing, he took out his own eyepatch and placed it on the table near his bed, just like he had been doing for so many years now.
Now tranquil on his bed, he closed his eyes, only this time, for the first time ever, he didn’t sleep, and instead his own mind awoke on a trap of his own.
Aemond found himself riding Vhagar under a brutal thunderstorm, his chains were secured on himself and his vision was obstructed, but the more they flew, the quicker he realized he was chasing after someone. The rain made it difficult to see, and thus he hurried Vhagar, feeling as if it was important but, as it had been currently happen, the closer he got to the truth, and to that mystery person, the more worried he felt. The oppressive feeling on his chest was growing unbearable, but the thought of not knowing, now more than ever, only fueled Aemond into flying faster, forcing Vhagar to exceed herself, not caring for the consequences that it could bring.
Once he was of reach, he whipped his face clean with a free hand, as if doing that would make his vision clearer, and maybe it had, because who he saw left him near paralyzed.
On the dragon in-front of him, a scared Lucerys Velaryon was escaping.
Aemond tried to make anything out of it, but his body could not move, and the closer he got to Lucerys, the bigger the feeling of doom attacked him. As he looked at his nephew, the idea of acting on what this fate represented seemed utterly wrong, no matter how much Aemond had convinced himself all he wanted was revenge.
Trying to make Vhagar turn around, he exhausted himself, and as he accepted whatever was about to happen, his eyes shot open and he awoke, covered in sweat and panting for air, and he knew then and there that the chase had begun.