FYI: this is mainly an expository chapter that serves to get through the divergence between this story and canon, as well as bastardizing some dialogue. Enjoy 💜


LUCERYS

It seems as though the training yard has shrunk since last they saw it. Rushing down the stairs in front of her, Jace insists it's just the same and Lucerys wonders if it's because she only ever saw it from the path above, never allowed to take part in the training herself, that it feels that way. For all that seems to have changed, it buoys her spirits to see that the gash she'd left in the wall with Ser Criston's morning star still remains. Jace laughs and Lucerys remembers how frustrated she'd been that day, so sick of being denied the right to train with her brother and uncles that she'd snuck into the training yard on her own and gotten hold of the weapon before anyone could stop her. Jacaerys is right to say she'd nearly taken her own head off.

It would be a lovely thing if that were all it took to distract her from the stares and whispers that've followed her since she stepped foot inside the Red Keep, but soon the glow fades and she is, once again, all too aware of what people see when they look at her. Bastard, child, girl, Jace claims it doesn't matter, but Lucerys worries he hasn't understood that it's not only the legitimacy of her claim that will be called into question if Ser Vaemond gets his way. When a crowd begins to gather around two of the knights locked in a particularly impressive spar, she's relieved to have everyone's attention drawn away from her right up until she realizes who it is that's captured it.

Aemond Targaryen is no knight, and he has not grown into the man she imagined he would become. On the Dragonstone, Lucerys thought of her uncle more often than she cares to admit. In her mind, he grew into a petulant man with the temper of a child, as ugly outside as in. Indeed, he seems no more gentle or modest than when last they met, but he has grown into something dangerous and sharp around the edges. Nothing about him is careless, it seems every shift, every step is deliberate, instinct backed by full confidence. It's in the way he moves and the piercing gaze he levels her way, the one that runs straight down her spine. It makes Lucerys feel as though she needs to run until King's Landing is naught but a distant memory, still, she keeps her spine straight and her feet rooted. She won't be moved by the weight of Aemond's grudge.

When he asks if they've come to train, the mocking in his voice is so casual it might be mistaken for inquiry, but Lucerys knows better. Before they can answer—and she can feel how Jace itches to beside her—Vaemond and his men march through the gates and Lucerys is subjected to the anger of yet another man. Even so, she cannot manage to shake the weight of Aemond's stare. From the moment his eye found her, the creeping pressure of her uncle's gaze has made itself known.

Even once she's left the training yard, his eye seems to follow her around every corner, into every alcove and across every room, she cannot escape him and for all she's unsettled by him, she's more angry with herself than with Aemond. They've hardly spoken and yet he has her attention, when she thinks of how far under her skin he's crawled, she wants to draw every last training sword and snap it in two, though she does her best not to show it. Instead, she focuses on her mother's tightly concealed rage. Lucerys was only small when last she stepped foot in the Red Keep, but she knows it was not like this and the home she'd known as a child is gone. The thought that it might never return fills her with great unease, and Lucerys begins to feel her mother's burden in a way that's new to her.

When she and her brother had been told that they would sail for King's Landing and ratify her claim to Driftmark, it felt almost exciting. It wasn't until supper that evening that the dread between her mother and Daemon had begun to permeate the atmosphere, causing her to question her initial excitement. Late into the night, her mother had visited her chambers alone, dismissing the guards and the maid who helps her ready for bed and looking for all the world as if she meant to send her only daughter to the gallows.

Lucerys has been told a thousand times by her mother that as a woman set to hold a position of authority, she cannot allow herself to be satisfied in leading as any man would, the world will demand she move mountains and still give her only half the credit her brothers will earn for less. She's seen the truth of it in the way her mother's shoulders sag in the evenings when all but the most intimate of family has gone, tired from the weight of an unseen crown. She's felt it in the way her tutors speak to she and her brother, as though they expect her to have some special difficulty in understanding their lessons with only a year between them.

Lucerys has long known that the burden of being a woman in this world is a great one, but it's not until she stands gathered with her family before the throne and listens to her grand-uncle call her mother a whore and speak about her, a bastard, a woman, each a worse sin than the last, that she truly understands.


"I will sit the throne today."

The hush that follows the ailing king's words can be felt in the air. Viserys, in all his agony, begins the long walk towards the throne. In her memory, he still sits it with such pride she has not the words for the way it made her feel to see him on it, and for reasons she cannot entirely come to grips with here and now, she struggles not to cry. With Daemon's help, Viserys sits the throne once more and Lucerys is certain she is not the only one who reads panic on the face of the Queen.

"I must admit my confusion." The King's words are broken by pants and wheezes, but his tone carries a well practiced authority all the same. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." Only Rhaenys is invited to speak her peace on behalf of her lord husband and Lucerys holds her breath with her mother.

"It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true born son." Rhaenys pauses and Lucerys could swear her heart stops in her throat. "However, Baela bears as much right to the seat as she, and has come to ward with me these last six years. She knows the responsibilities of the title she seeks and has learned the wilds of the sea. I put forth her name for consideration, your grace." There is silence throughout the hall, but it lasts only long enough for the King to catch his breath.

"Did the Seasnake himself express his desire to be succeeded by his daughter's firstborn?"

"Not in so many words, your grace," Rhaenys words bear a reluctance the King shows little patience for.

"Was it not Laenor who was named heir to Driftmark?"

"It was, your grace."

"Then the claim can hardly be considered equal, and without the Seasnake's explicit request, I will consider the matter settled. Again." Lucerys feels as though she can breath again, but to see her grandmother's disappointment hurts her near as much as it did to hear her petition against her. Lucerys dares not look at her cousin.

"If I might, your grace," Rhaenys continues, "one other matter. Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to wed her son Jace to Lord Corlys' granddaughter, Baela, and the firstborn daughter of their union to Lucerys' own firstborn son, when the time comes that they are extant." A slight smile graces the King's face at her proposal.

"Excellent. Now, I hereby reaffirm Princess Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the First Lady of the Tides."

For a moment, it truly seems as though the matter has been easily settled, without half so much calamity as her mother feared, but Vaemond does not allow them such peace.

"You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, you sit willing to do so once more and place a woman on the Driftwood Throne, yet you still deny the house of Velaryon our rightful place in Driftmark." Lucerys has never been close to her uncle, but nor has she been afraid of him. Now, she wonders why.

"A Velaryon heir has just been named, has she not?" A warning carries in the King's voice, but it is one Vaemond Velaryon refuses to heed.

"Lucerys Velaryon is no true Velaryon, no niece of mine. I will not allow it."

"'Allow it'?" The King hisses. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. Lucerys is my true-born granddaughter, and you are no more than the second son of Driftmark." At that, Vaemond damns the gods, and in doing so, he damns himself. Every person in the hall knows he is a man condemned to die from the moment he next opens his mouth.

Whore, bastard, woman.

Vaemond has never been cruel to her, but she hasn't ever felt his warmth in the way she knows Baela and Rhaena do. As she watches his head cleaved clean in two, she wonders if perhaps the cruelty was held back so long only by the threat of Daemon's sword. Lucerys is aware of the shock that ripples through the crowd, sees in her periphery the way most ladies of the court have hidden their faces in shock, but Vaemond's words still ring through her mind, whore, bastard, woman, and she knows that to flinch would be a privilege she cannot afford.

AEMOND

From the moment he caught sight of Lucerys and Jacaerys in the courtyard, Aemond has been unable to shake his niece from his mind. Unwanted thoughts of Lucerys Velaryon are no new thing, they've lingered too oft and too deep for comfort since the day she took his eye, but it seems he has not thought about her near enough, because he could not have predicted what she's become.

Strong.

He doubts she would appreciate the irony of it, but no matter, he can appreciate her better qualities enough for the both of them. In those first few seconds, when he'd called out to her and her brother, she'd been visibly unnerved, yet hadn't allowed herself to be needled into submission quite so easily as she used to. No matter, Aemond had thought, a toy that breaks too easily is no fun at all. Now, having all gathered in the throne room to watch as Vaemond's Velaryon's head is split in twain, Aemond pays the spectacle no mind, eyes fixed only on Lucerys. She does not flinch, and he's captivated by the question of what it would take to make her. Lucerys leaves the throne room with the Rogue Prince stood tall at her back and Aemond burns with envy, unsure which of them lit the flame.


In the evening, Targaryen and Velaryon alike gather in the King's dining hall for what they all know is likely to be his last shared meal. In the evening, luck smiles upon Aemond Targaryen in a way it so rarely does, if only for a moment.

His mother calls for prayer and everyone takes care to bow their head and close their eyes while Aemond keeps his own on Lucerys. As his mother implores the Smith to mend their broken bonds, Lucerys looks up at him and startles when she finds his gaze already fixed on her. It's the first true reaction she's had to his attention, but she does not look away and Aemond is distantly aware he should not be quite so pleased, but the voice of caution in his mind is easily ignored in favour of the anticipation that winds tight through the space between them. Their game has begun, and now she knows it. He will have his restitution, one way or another.

Viserys, in all his withering glory, toasts to the Prince Jacaerys and his little bride. Aegon and Jacaerys exchange taunts and Baela says nothing, looking for all the world as though she'd rather be anywhere but in the room with them all. Although he pays her little mind, Aemond cannot say he blames her, he knows what it is to be second in the heart of one's father, though, he cannot say he's ever had the dubious honour of losing out a child Viserys did not, at the very least, sire himself. The room remains quiet after their exchange and it's the King who breaks their silence once more. Despite the misgivings that've grown between them over the last decade, even Aemond is not unmoved when the King implores them to see him as he is and set aside their grievances. He doubts any such promise will keep when the dawn breaks on the morrow, but for tonight, they will do as he asks.

It's an easy enough thought until the King speaks again. This time, his words move Aemond with far more gravity than any before.

"I have no wish to meet the stranger knowing the realm falls into darkness at my back." Every word sounds as though it hurts to be spoken, it's both pathetic and admirable to watch his father fight against his own decay so desperately "I would see our houses brought together once more before I am gone." Tension follows the words as if bound to Viserys' own shadow. "Driftmark is a fine seat, Lucerys will need a strong match to keep her side. Aemond and Lucerys should be wed." Aemond struggles to hear the King's next words over the rush of his own pulse. "If Lord Corlys should pass, gods forbid, we would do well to see them—"

"My love, for all we know Lord Corlys' heart still beats strong—" Alicent's words are rushed and Aemond's own mind races.

"For all we know, the Seasnake has already passed." The King's words silence that of his wife and Aemond knows no further protests will be heard. The prospect of Lucerys Velaryon to be taken as his wife brings with it a thrill not entirely unexpected, but the thought of being relegated to Driftmark —that is another thing entirely. Across the table, Lucerys looks terrified. Her terror puts Aemond on surer footing near immediately.

"I think it's a wonderful idea." Rhaenyra's voice cuts through Alicent's mounting attempt at another futile argument and Lucerys' expression is one of betrayal. Aemond wonders how many times the world can be turned on its head in the span of a minute and braces himself with the wine in his cup. "You're right, father. A rift has grown between our families, this marriage could only serve to strengthen us. I propose Aemond accompany us back to the Dragonstone when we take our leave. He and Lucerys can take to Driftmark and grow used to each other's company in their future home. It is time Lucerys learned her future command, the timing is fortunate."

"Wise words, Rhaenyra," Viserys praises his daughter and Aemond does not have to look towards his mother to know the face she wears.

"Surely not," Alicent tries once more, Aemond wishes she'd stop but isn't so insolent as to tell his own mother her place, "they've not yet been officially betrothed—"

"Is my word no longer law?" Even in its diminished state, the King's voice carries the weight of stone and the sharpness of steel when he works for it. His mother falls silent at his side. "Enough of this," Viserys' voice begins to wear thin from the exhaustion of his declaration, "have we not come to share a meal?" The amenable mood that had followed his initial pleas to be seen has been thoroughly diminished. Anxiety lingers in the air, it feels not dissimilar to the first and only time Aemond had gotten caught in a storm on Vhagar's back. The crash of thunder was deafening, seeming to surround them from all sides, yet it was the moment everything was quietest that Aemond felt least at ease. Only seconds later, lightning cut through the air near enough that even in his chains, Vhagar nearly threw him from her back in her haste to avoid it. Looking around the table, Aemond sees more quiet discontent than anything and wonders if perhaps this particular restlessness runs only between he and the girl who now refuses to meet his eye, whispering furiously in her mother's ear.

The mood shifts, though not by much, as the king calls for music and everyone eases into their meal. It's Jacaerys bid to infuriate Aegon and show Helaena a moment of levity that gives him an idea. Rising from the table, he strides towards Lucerys with every surety that regardless of her reaction to his offer, he will walk away from it more firmly tucked into the crevices of her mind than he was when the night began. She doesn't look up at him until he speaks her name, hand held out where she can't ignore it.

"Your hand for a dance, Lady Lucerys?"

"I've only just started eating." Lucerys hardly plays at politeness and he wonders whether it's anger, fear, or simple inexperience that keeps her from it. Aemond leans closer, mindful of both Rhaenyra and Daemon watching with, he's sure, far more scrutiny than they show.

"Why deny me what I already have rights to?" It's Lucerys for whom he curls the words into a sickly facade of gentility, but it's Daemon who answers him, threat in his voice so casual it can only come from the certainty of follow through, should the impulse take him.

"You speak to a woman who, by rights , outranks you, Prince Aemond. Perhaps you should watch your tongue if you'd like to keep it." Aemond remembers the sight of Vaemond Velaryon's still-warm corpse. There is no doubt in his mind the threat is not an empty one and it makes the itch under Aemond's skin—the one that fades but never ceases—grow stronger.

"If you want your rights," Lucerys bites through clenched teeth, pulling his attention away from thoughts of a body brought to heel and blood on his boots, "you will have to take them by—"

"Lucerys," Rhaenyra cautions. "Keep the peace tonight, for your grandsire's sake. There will be time enough for whatever words must be said between you when we reach the Dragonstone." Lucerys still sits with her fists clenched at her side and her chest heaving as her mother share a long look. When she relents, it's as though the wind has gone out of her sails, and for all she's made a show of her anger, he can feel the dampness of her skin when she places her hand in his.

"Nervous?" He asks as she stands, taking the opportunity to speak lower and closer than he should and enjoying the way it seems to unsettle her.

"Nauseous," she wields sharp words with all the threat of a newborn foal.

Few words are spoken while they dance, but Aemond finds it a pleasing distraction all the same. The more time is spent considering the ease with which he winds her tight, the less time he'll be forced to spend in consideration of a life at Driftmark. Truthfully, he harbours significant doubt that such a thing will ever come to pass. It may be too late to keep him from departing under the care of his whore sister on the morrow, but he will be back in King's Landing soon enough; before the world learns of Viserys' last breath, if his mother has her way. Their betrothal is more a game of pretend than any true bond between their houses, but he'll have his fun while it lasts.


A/N: Now that that's out of the way, things can finally kick off a little ✨

[ P.S. If you're reading this, I haven't yet done the traditional after-posting read-through where I catch all of the mistakes that didn't seem to exist when I was editing 😭 I'll get to it soon. ]