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Chapter Text

Vhagar had lived longer than the other dragons had lived. 

She had flown over the seas of what was Westeros before her Targaryen rider, alongside her two siblings transformed it into the Six United Kingdoms through the conquest of Fire and Blood. 

Vhagar had since had several riders. They had united in mind and soul, so much so that in her mind, it was difficult to separate one from the other until she managed to form the differences. With Visenya, the thirst for conquest, and her authoritarian strength made her grow into a war dragon, building the very foundation of who she was supposed to be. 

Then came another. 

This time her rider had a desire for adventure, to fly over the sea and taste the salt, the almost childish desire to have fun while they skimmed through the clouds, surfing on them as if they were waves, Laena her name was made her feel like a protector so when she heard her command... 

Vhagar recognized a dragon in that girl, her own sea salt dragon…regardless of whether she was born with wings, Laena begged to die like another rider, by fire.

Vhagar was also already old, tired of losing those she bonded with. 

But it's her last rider. Oh. 

She remembers when she saw him for the first time. So small, so little, but in his eyes, she saw a spark of fire that, for a second, she thought she saw her Visenya. But there was also that longing that was asking him for the same thing as Laena just ten years ago. 

Let me feel the freedom of the heavens.

Let me turn everything to ashes and let them know it was me. 

A dragon cub that asked for its wings to fly. 

He was a brave child. Maybe that's why she let herself be ridden, flying relentlessly until she heard his scream, relishing in that childish wonder of enjoying their first flight. Maybe that's why she didn't turn it to ashes, still feeling the ghost of the presence of her sea salt dragon. 

As time went on (funny, she doesn't even feel that anymore) her bond with the little-not-so-little dragon hatchling, Aemond, became strong enough to notice how all those pieces of flesh and blood recoiled at the sight of him like the other dragons did at the sight of her. Even the way he breathed, walked, snorted, or moved reminded Vhagar of her younger years. 

Agile and dangerous like her. 

Vhagar never met a rider so dragon-like. 

Like her, She could feel his fear, his anguish, his envy, his fury. Almost everything was related to the riders of Sunfyre and Dreamfyre. He had no joy in life, except when they flew, when she spoke to his soul, or when he took care of her. Even those were brief moments that disappeared as soon as he left her sight.

Everything about her rider was gloomy and dark. 

But the green was sipping through day by day. 

She couldn't understand why they were all dripping in that nauseating color. It's strange when instead of seeing the red and black that her Visenya always wore, he was always wearing the terrible color green.  

Like the grass that the sheep ate, sheep that dragons devoured because they were nothing. It's strange when her rider called Sunfyre's rider “Aegon'' but he was nothing like the Aegon who rode Balerion in the conquest. This Aegon stank of sheep, of rats and he trembled like one too. A dragon? She doubted it very much.

But Aemond? He didn't know that he was close to being a real dragon. 

Like the ones that came from the same island where Vhagar landed with Meraxes and Balerion a long time ago. They smelled like real dragons too, like home…never mind that some of them smelled like the First Men and looked like such. Unlike the people in the red keep, these people wore black and red with pride.

But it was one of them that was the cause of her rider's greatest fury. 

Arrax, was the name of the little dragon.

Lucerys, that of his rider.

Lucerys, Lucerys, Lucerys, sang the heart of its rider. Anger, Hate, Sadness, confusion, denial striking him with thunder...

Lucerys, Laena. They sounded similar, there was a subtle whiff of sea salt, combined with the freshness of the north wind on both of them. But that small offspring with dark bushes, whose essence, for a decade, had been associated with steel and blood to her Aemond, was the one who intrigued her.

Fire and Blood.

There was no denying their connection. 

Vhagar had lived for a long time. She knew the difference between contempt and love, and her rider was a few steps away from the latter. 

She sensed it when he came to her ranting in her language about how he had laughed at him, how he always gets his way, how everything is given to him even if he doesn't make an effort. How delighted he was when the brat admired his training, how he recoiled from him, how his eyes expressed everything about him without telling him much.

If Vhagar could laugh, she would. Her poor rider.

So it's a surprise what led to chase them amid the storm, feeling that desire, that mockery, that disdain against those little ones who can barely fly. 

She can still remember the roar that Sunfyre gave, of sadness, of anguish, making no mistake of who truly felt it all. She remembers seeing the green wave with great contempt instead of the red and black. She recalls when her rider told him that his brother was the King, both knew that, although called after Balerion's rider, he was less than him.

She felt his frustration when he was sent to give his hand to someone unworthy of him. 

She also felt the same euphoria as his first time in the sky when he saw the rider of Arrax. 

Ok, Vhagar lied. 

The only times Aemond truly felt alive were with her and little Lucerys.

If it weren't for Vhagar recognizing the auspices of war, Aemond and Lucerys...

Aemond and Lucerys.

Being a child, Arrax attacked him. Fear, anguish. Fear. Afraid of them.

"No, Arax, obey!"

If it weren't for the dragons flying apart... 

"No, no, Vhagar, no!"

If it weren't for the fact that everything she, Balerion, and Meraxes sacrificed for seemed in vain...

With a roar she heads to fly over the clouds, spotting the rider and dragon outside the storm.

"No, Vhagar, no!"

Her rider feels exalted and frightened and his heart is broken without understanding why. 

But he doesn't have to worry.

Vhagar existed in a time when old Valyria was great and sorcery was in every corner. It was no wonder that even after several decades, she could still conjure this allure of hers. 

If she wanted Aemond, her beloved rider, to be happy, the dragons must fly as one. 

If she had to send Lucerys and his dragon to the moment the division began for that to happen, she would do it.

Lucerys was the one who marked his Aemond. He would also be the one to fix everything.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra understands there is no turning back.

From the moment each Lord took their oath, and her father, the King, loudly declared his decision to support her as the heir to the Throne, things will not be the same.

She has never longed for it, with the knowledge that her mother would be expected to give birth to a male heir.

But her mother died.

Baelor died.

Duty became the price of their lives.

The eyes that rested on her that day not only saw the princess but also the one who would one day be their Queen. A future that she hoped was very distant. But the Crown wobbled on her head, an imaginary weight she never knew would follow her every step.

Throughout every corner of the Red Keep, the servants, the members of the Court, and the Royal Guard, all greeted her in the same way.

My princess.

But their eyes said something else. My future Queen.

Rhaenyra was also not unaware of the ones that said, “Queen? Her?”

She quickly learned to identify the differences.

It was strange that after years of growing up being known as the Realm’s Delight, she could come to feel the doubt and mockery from those she believed loyal. The bewilderment quickly turned to fury, a fire she didn't know she had in her to let them know they should never disdain a dragon.

For she wouldn't hesitate to burn them like one.

"They're just sheep, don’t forget who you are.” Daemon would tell her when it became too much.

Daemon.

She hasn’t heard from Daemon since he grabbed Caraxes and took refuge in Dragonstone after her father banished him two months ago.

She runs her hand over the Valyrian steel necklace he had given her before the tragedy, gripping it tightly.

I miss him, she muses.

But she can’t admit it.

And then there's Alicent. Sweet, beautiful Alicent who these days was a stranger all but in name. The way she acts, and dresses though she has no right to tell her friend how to present herself made Rhaenyra concerned. She attributed it to memories of Alicent's own mother’s funeral since it started happening the day of the funeral of her mother and brother or maybe it's because Alicent had enough on her plate with a father as strict as the hand of the King.

It also makes her realize something.

Apart from Alicent, from Daemon, she... She doesn’t have many friends.

Looking out the window, it becomes apparent why. Melancholy surrounds her and in this too big for her chamber, she can admit she's never been this alone despite her not being able to make friends easily. She was supposed to be careful of who she invited in her life. Everyone could pretend but Alicent...Rhaenyra was quite comfortable with her.

“And now I have no one.” She thinks bitterly.

Being the princess it was already difficult to form ties seeing people wanting to take advantage of the King’s only daughter but being his heir made the possibilities almost nil.

Daemon. Alicent. Alicent. Daemon. Kepa. Daemon. Alicent.

I don’t want to feel alone anymore.

Come for me.

She has never felt like a fairy tale princess until that fleeting thought but the moment doesn't linger much when she startles, hearing a sudden knock on her door that wakes her up from her musings.

"Come in."

Ser Criston Cole introduces himself, greeting her respectfully.

“Princess.” He is formal in his approach seeing this is his first week as her sworn shield. From his bow to his strained eyes, one can tell that he is overly serious about being a Royal Guard and it almost raises her spirit. "I’m sorry to bother you, but the King requests her presence for breakfast."

Rhaenyra’s good mood fades slightly.

She nods, cordially saying goodbye to the gentleman.

Looking at the view of King’s Landing one last time, she imagines the island that’s Dragonstone. Cold but welcomed. She wants to look away but The Tower of the Hand gleams at her, unbidden and hollow just like her dream of the lands of Pentos where one only wanted to eat lemon cake in good company.

Alone...so alone.

The necklace in her hands feels too warm so she drops it, walking up to her door for this long day to end.

She was looking forward to flying Syrax today. At least she still has one companion.

~•○O○•~

Nothing compares to the feeling of flying. Moments that she would not exchange for all the riches in the world. It's rising high, feeling the blow of the wind caressing her skin. It's finding yourself between a point in heaven and earth, with the certainty of being more alive than any other person.

It’s becoming closer to the Gods like everyone thinks the Targaryens are.

But above all, it is that, for a second, problems on the ground can wait.

Syrax seems to feel the same, as she rises a little higher until she reaches above the clouds. Rhaenyra casts her gaze downwards, noting how Kingslanding resembles one of the miniatures from the maps and books of the maesters. Her dragon roars, echoing her laughter.

"Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot henujagon, Syrax. īlon should umbagon kesīr." She shouts to her dragon in the stillness of the sky.

I don’t want to leave, Syrax. Let’s stay here.

She receives a growl in return and it softens her smile.

Oh, how she wished she could stay here forever.

But she can't.

Even through the clouds, her gaze is directed to where she believes Dragonstone is.

"Ivestragī’s arlī." Let's go back. She orders listlessly and the moan of her dragon lets her know about her discomfort.

Soon, Syrax.

Going down, however, is hard once she realizes that the calm weather has changed. Unnoticed to her, the clouds have turned gray, thundering, with the promise of rain that would fall on the capital.

Understanding each other, she commands her dragon to be careful. Especially if lightning came along with the thunder. Though, as soon as they take a turn, heavy rain starts to fall on them. Rhaenyra stiffly tries to prevent the drops from blinding her vision.

A dragon rider’s nightmare is to fly into a storm.

Except if you were the children of Rhaenys Targaryen. They were born to fly and sail the sea after all.

She thinks her time with her dragon which was so peaceful until recently couldn’t get any worse.

She's proved wrong.

Thunder and lightning collide in the sky, something so large and loud that it causes Rhaenyra to cover one of her ears and Syrax to let out a ferocious roar. She swears the ground below must have shaken.

But it isn’t that phenomenon that horrifies her. No. It's seeing a huge figure beginning to descend at high speed from the same place where this unusual fusion occurred.

That is…

“A dragon.” She whispers, surprised.

As if that's not enough, the storm lightens up the sky in a way that she can see something else falling with the dragon.

A person.

A dragon and a person…

Rhaenyra doesn’t even think about it, she just does it.

"Jikagon, Syrax. Jikagon ilagon syt zirȳ!" Shouting, she leads her dragon in a dive towards those two figures. "Adere! Ilagon zirȳ!"

Listening to her rider, Syrax positions herself beneath both of them, specifically with Rhaenyra letting go of her mount slightly, risking her grip as she stretches out her arms to the mysterious person. Her hair sticks to her forehead, and Rhaenyra knows she doesn’t have much time if she wants to save them both.

Reaching blindly, she finally grabs the hand and her heart skips a beat.

With strength out of nowhere, she takes the figure with her to her mount, leaving him curled up. It doesn’t take long for Syrax to follow her rider’s lead and grab the unconscious dragon’s legs, carrying him on her back.

The princess glances sideways, noticing how close they are to the capital. She does not know what the image must be from below, of one dragon carrying another. Maybe something unthinkable.

Scary.

With the downpour, Rhaenyra’s heart is still beating with great intensity but the young woman can only breathe freely when she sees Syrax hovering over the sea to go in the direction of the Dragonpit.

Amidst her panic, she didn't have much time to see who she had caught. But now...Parting, she notices wavy brown hair first. His face, stained in what looks like soot, still conveys a childish and sweet air, although with his frown it seems he is having a nightmare. Oh, lord...He is barely a child and he is shaking.

For Rhaenyra, it's a strange instinctive reaction to snuggle the boy again and hug him. She brings herself to a halt at the last moment but can't stop herself from running her fingers through his fluffy hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the saddle. To her surprise, the shaking stops, replaced by a sigh that drowns in her neck.

Oddly enough, that relieves her. Although not completely, well…

Where has this boy come from?

Chapter Text

Seeing Rhaenys was always a delight for Viserys.

As fate would have it, his cousin was one of the few people left from his close family alongside Daemon. They were of similar age, both parents, and had the same responsibilities due to their political situation, albeit, for obvious reasons, he couldn't turn to her.

Viserys feared what happened at the Council fifteen years ago would have his cousin resented him, but it appeared to be the opposite. He saw her with her devoted husband, happy with two healthy children, and most importantly, free from the constant weight of six kingdoms on her shoulders. She wasn't being judged for her every action in a place she called her own home either.

Honestly, he envied her.

After losing Aemma, he became self-absorbed. The young Alicent had told him with that soft voice and subtle tact that this was more than counterproductive. So when his cousin requested a meeting, he didn't hesitate to take it as a sign. Alicent had to agree with him as it was she who suggested that he allow himself to rebuild his relationships with his loved ones.

He tried to ignore the implication of his own daughter's misery, however, starting with building the bridges with Rhaenys even with the addition of her husband and member of her Small Council, Corlys.

Until he started to feel like this meeting was less about family and more about something Otto had been hinting at.

"The absence of a Queen has been greatly noticed and people expect this to be resolved soon." Lord Corlys noted where Viserys had to tame a flame of fury and pain inside him.

Aemma hadn't been dead for two months and the world was asking him to replace her?

"What do you really want to tell me?" He asked directly.

Just when Rhaenys was going to answer him, the sky suddenly clouded over. It didn't take long for an incessant rain to fall on them. Viserys took his cousin's hand, as did her husband, to get away from the strange change in weather. Although looking out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Corlys looked more comfortable than Rhaenys.

Of course, the Velaryon came from the sea. A storm was something the Sea Serpent was already used to.

Dragons? Not so much.

Just as he was thinking that, a distant figure appeared in the sky near King's Landing. Viserys stopped abruptly, letting go of his cousin when he recognized who it was.

“Rhaenyra.” He breathed out, feeling his heart stop when he saw her flying over in the middle of that strange storm with her dragon carrying something on her only to go in the direction of Dragonpit.

“Cousin!”

He turned just as Rhaenys called after him, trying to take him under cover. But safe from the rain, Viserys walked away from the couple, with quick steps, and only one thing on his mind.

His daughter.

~•○O○•~

Vertigo, fear, adrenaline.

Calm calm.

Obey, listen.

Beg, repent.

Be smart. Be quick. Be clever.

Be strong.

Resist, resist.

Space. Air. Hits.

Calmcalmcalmcalm…

She is closer…

Help. Help. Save me. Save us.

Hug me. Take care of me. Protect me.

Shouts. Drown. Cry.

Help. Please.

HELP.

Save me…

Save…

~•○O○•~

The aroma of the milk of the poppy surrounds him when he comes to. His first intuition is to stand from wherever he is. But he quickly realizes that he can not move. He can feel, but can't move. So he tries to do the next best thing. Breathe. Even with his closed eye, he can feel there is light, mayhaps too much light. He expected to be outside but he feels around him and he’s on something solid with a hint of softness. So a bed then.

He opens his eyes slightly and everything feels blurry, but his vision is directed to the nearest heat source. Between his hazy gaze and addled mind, he recognizes that platinum hair, the shape of her face, and how her hands holding his make his heart beat with relief from the familiarity. For the tenderness. For knowing he was with the person who was always going to protect him.

He manages to pronounce a single word.

"Mother…"

Everything goes dark...

~•○O○•~

The King enters her chambers with labored breathing. His clothes and hair look damp, so it's not difficult to assume that he was in the gardens or outside in general when the rain came down.

Ignoring the maester and Ser Cole, he heads straight for her.

"What were you doing flying in the middle of a storm, Rhaenyra?"

The princess takes a few seconds, rationalizing that her father must have seen her in the middle of her risky maneuver to give her that reprimand.

“It wasn't raining when I was riding Syrax.” She answers honestly.

"And why didn't you return immediately? Why endanger your..." The King's eyes go beyond her.

Rhaenyra turns to see the boy lying on her bed. He was pale, with labored breathing, moving in his dreams and letting out soft moans. Sweaty even with a cloth over his forehead, which contrasted with his brown hair.

"I saved him from a fall, father." She's less upset than prior to this when answering. She saved a life, two lives... "Him and his dragon. They were in the middle of the storm."

The confusion on everyone's face is immediate. Of course, they didn't know of the existence of other dragon riders besides her, her uncle, Princess Rhaenys and her son.

She also understands how this mysterious boy could affect his father seeing she was still holding his hands. The most decorous thing would be to let it go, let it rest. But there's something about him that kept her by his side.

Calling it a responsibility to save his life would be a way of justifying herself.

The other, something that resonated within her the most, was when he whispered in a pitiful and soft voice. Mother...

She didn't understand why she felt her heart squeeze with those simple words.

She didn't understand until she got hit with the image of herself when her mother held her hand while she was in bed, experiencing a moment of peace after the pressures that hung over them. How the warmth of her hand was enough to make her happy. Accompanying her when the world waited most for the child inside her was the best comfort she could give her own mother.

"His dragon?" Her father asks, changing his tone.

"I have no idea, father. I can not explain everything since he still hasn't woken up."

But she still remembers the way Syrax was careful to carry the unconscious dragon. How she growled at the caretakers who were surprised by her unusual reaction or how she placed her wing close to that creature. The wing of her own dragon was enough to cover that dragon.

It was practically a baby.

They both are, she thought, looking at the boy lying on the bed.

They are both injured.

It's so strange to see someone who could be her age (at least that's what she estimated) and see the differences they have between each other. They may have childish traits in the eyes of others, little life experience, and great social comfort, but Rhaenyra knows that this does not save her from her internal chaos. A fire that has a nameless reason, wanting to destroy everything in its path for the pure knowledge that it could.

She wonders if this boy has it too.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she halts. The King. She forgot they were still in her chambers.

"I admire your courage, daughter. How selfless your actions were in saving this poor child. Still...be more careful next time. I don't like the idea of something happening to you."

Rhaenyra tries to ignore the flutter of pride at her father's genuine tone. Especially because of the latent worry.

I love you too, father. It's what she thinks, but the words remain trapped in her mouth because of that same pride. She only offers him a brief but honest smile.

"You did a lot, dear. We'll take it to other-"

"No!"

The exclamation disconcerts not only the King but all the witnesses, including the maester, the maids, and Criston Cole himself, along with the King's guard, Harrold Westerling. Rhaenyra herself looks surprised at what she did, at the abruptness of it.

She still doesn't know why the mere mention of separating her from him terrifies her, making her feel uneasy. That if she leaves his sight, something terrible might happen to him.

It makes no sense at all.

But several eyes are looking at her waiting for an explanation, something she can't put her finger on.

For her own grace, she looks for a justification that sounds legitimate.

"I was the first person he saw when he briefly opened his eyes so he might be scared if I'm not here. He was very shocked and clung tightly to me." To reinforce the idea, she shows their joined hands, showing how even in his unconsciousness he did not let her go. "It's like that time Uncle Daemon was knocked out by a fight and didn't react well to the maesters until you arrived."

"Yes, dear, but Daemon and I are brothers." He takes several steps towards them, to the edge of the bed, between her and the stranger. "You are a young maiden, and he is a man. You and this young man..."

Silence.

The King first looked at his daughter and the boy, freezing as soon as he saw him. This time, it was the princess's turn to look for answers from the others present, and everyone was equally confused by the sudden silence.

She whispers a soft "Father" as long as he would react. It works when he moves with alarm. His face pales and it looks like he just saw a ghost. Despite that, he forces himself to smile at her.

"This…it's okay, Rhaenyra. My daughter. The boy can stay. But you won't share a bed with him. They will bring you another one, you decide which one each sleeps in." He cups her cheeks tenderly, feeling slight tremors. "I'm glad to see this side of you, my daughter. I hope to see him wake up soon."

He places a kiss on her hair before leaving, followed by Ser Harrold. The other members of the servants, the master, and Ser Criston, stare at her, waiting for some kind of order from her.

She composes herself by squaring her shoulders slightly and jutting her chin out.

"You heard what your Majesty said, let us bring an extra bed."

Then, as everyone started moving, she realized that the mention of Daemon didn't hurt for the first time in months. It's like a breath of the wind, passing over her skin and then sliding away to go somewhere else. It's not painful. Her violet eyes go to the reclining young man who was babbling without saying anything clearly, and she thinks that perhaps it's his presence, the warm hand she still held that the sting subsided. Because she spoke the name of her uncle holding this young man's hand, lending her strength, and company.

She doesn't think of herself alone while staying with this boy with brown hair.

It makes her feel happy.

~•○O○•~

He returns to his solar, ordering that he would not be disturbed, not even by his Hand. He needed to clear his thoughts. Of what he saw a few minutes ago in his daughter's chambers.

He didn't imagine it, he was sure not.

It's almost impossible, but here's the proof.

It was incredible that none of those present noticed the obviousness of the situation.

That boy, regardless of his brown curls and his own gender, was the spitting image of Rhaenyra.

Aemma. The boy looks like his Aemma.

Chapter Text

"I'm not so...perfect." He tells her, conveying what he thinks and has always thought of her since he can remember.

Her smile is a balm for his own restlessness. She approaches, gently taking his hands and kissing them. Her fingers brush the contour of his face, while her violet eyes express so much love that they comfort Lucerys long before her words do.

"Oh, my sweet boy. I am anything but."

He knows they will hug each other. He opens his arms for that, but when he tries there is nothing. His mother is not here. Her hands, her touch, her eyes, or her smile. There is nothing of Rhaenyra Targaryen but the stormy air of Storm's End alongside thunder, lightning, and flying beyond the clouds above Arrax.

"No." He mutters, knowing that something terrible is going to happen...

…only to turn around and see Vhagar's teeth–

~•○O○•~

Rhaenyra woke up with a sudden start, along with a muffled scream. Her vision adjusted to the darkness of the night, leaving no trace of sleep. But she knew where the noise came from.

She got up barefoot from the bed they brought in hours ago, running toward the boy who occupied her space. The moonlight filtering through showed the boy squirming, and muttering nonsense. His forehead was also beaded with sweat and a frown remained on his cheek where tears shined.

She should call the maester. She should do it.

But common sense lost against an instinct that pushed her to sit next to him, picking him up and hugging him, her hand sliding down his back like she used to be cradled. Her head in the crook of his neck was immediately moistened by the other's breathing.

“Shh, shh, calm down…” She pleaded softly.

Slowly, his heaving chest lost its rhythm until it became normal. Although he calmed down, Rhaenyra couldn't let him go. She laid him back down with extreme care, reaching for the basin she had seen earlier that the maester left within reach. Thankfully, he also left a cloth on the edge of the basin so she dipped the cloth in water, squeezed it to remove the excess, and then placed it on the boy's forehead.

The door opened suddenly, revealing an agitated Ser Criston.

"Princess, are you okay?" He asked with his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to defend her.

Unfortunately, no battle was needed at the moment.

"All good, Ser Criston."

She smiled at him, hoping that seeing her (barely due to the lack of a candle) and her confirmation would be enough for the knight to return to his position also known as guarding her door.

The knight took one last look, although it took a while due to him looking further ahead. She guessed to stare at her convalescent guest with a frown. It might look bad for a maiden to be alone with a boy which her father clearly pointed out earlier but she nodded again when Ser Criston asked if she was sure.

As soon as the door closed, the smile fell from her lips. Once again focused on the child, she removed the wet cloth to see if it reduced the fever. His forehead was less hot but Rhaenyra wasn't sure if she could sleep properly until she was sure the fever was gone.

She adjusted the sheets, opening them, hoping that the night air would help. Every now and then she also remembered to change the wet cloth, dipping it in the water and repeating the process.

Rhaenyra barely slept but the weight of sleep did not come over her. She felt motivated by a desire to see this stranger at her best.

Or perhaps, the fact that this reminded her of taking care of her mother when she let her share her bed, bringing back the longing for her childhood, was a fact that only she would retain.

~•○O○•~

When King Viserys went to his daughter's chambers, he saw her asleep in an uncomfortable position, next to the mysterious young man.

Many things could be said if another found them that way.

But the little smile on his daughter's face, the one that he had not seen on her face since she was very little, was the only reason for him to remain silent and order the princess's Guard that no one should disturb them for a few hours.

~•○O○•~

Alicent felt that the gods must be making her pay for her sins.

There was a contradiction in the way she felt all the time.

A few moons ago, her father sent her to console the King after his loss. His wife and son died in a short time and in an abrupt, bloody manner, with him present. It wasn't something she could sympathize with, except for the fact that she had similarly experienced loss. Slower, more restricted, painful.

She knew something changed in her father when she lost her mother. But she couldn't be sure since she was very young when it happened so Alicent always knew this version of her father.

The same one that spoke to her with subtleties and hidden intentions, teaching her to read people just like any book. As was the order to see the King.

In his chambers.

Alone.

Wearing her mother's dresses.

She always thought about using them one day even though she never thought her father would allow it. The reason behind his blessing twisted her stomach, staining the dream she had of them.

She felt dread in her heart because of these visits, conversations, and the secrecy that her King (and her father) asked of her. It made her feel trapped and alone. All these requests that she was fulfilling were making her move further and further away from Rhaenyra.

Her friend. Her only friend.

Rhaenyra never asked more of herself than others did. If she refused her request to ride her dragon, she would say, you're missing out without bad intentions, promising another way to stay together and in good spirits with a playful smile that made her respond with a more shy one.

The sensations in her stomach were different.

But her bubble of happiness came at a cost.

She was an obedient daughter before she had been a friend of the princess, and if her father asked her for something, she had to do it.

Even if she heard people say how the princess had isolated herself from everyone, she always asked about her location or if they had seen her. Even if she hid herself, she saw those clear eyes dim in the face of refusal. Upon the realization that she avoided her.

Her nails break, they bleed.

So the gods must be punishing her, of course. Because, when she decided to look for her, Rhaenyra did not appear. Neither in her lessons with her septa nor in Godswood. None of the guards and servants had seen her in the dining room or the hallways. She was tempted to go to the Dragonpit to see if perhaps she was flying Syrax. Although the weather a few days ago was not beneficial...

Alicent abruptly had a terrible realization.

She ran off in the direction of the Princess's room, imagining the worst. Her mind created images of an angry, sad Rhaenyra flying on her dragon and falling, flying and lightning reaching her, flying and getting sick so as not to get better. Rhaenyra in her bed, pale. Rhaenyra, lying still because the Stranger came for her…

She encountered Ser Criston Cole standing guard outside the door.

“Ser Criston.” She greeted him. He nodded, and his voice agitated by his career, responded with "Lady Alicent."

"I would like to see the princess."

If she were not her father's daughter, she would not have noticed how the knight tensed.

"I'm sorry, I can not."

"I… Please, I need to see the princess."

"These are the King's orders, my lady." He replied and that explained everything, and nothing at the same time. She could see his conflict when he added. "No one can enter Princess Rhaenyra's chambers."

"S-She… the princess… is she okay?" A knot grew in her throat, fearing the worst response.

She was tempted to pick the nails on her hands.

"Yes, my lady. She is just resting, she had a hectic week after all. But that's fine." This time he answered with more information. She believed he must have seen her concern in her tone of voice and on her face. Something must have softened in him like he saw a little girl. "Don't worry, she's safe."

She nodded without looking him in the eyes, walking away with quick steps all the while her chest felt like it was restricting her breath. She felt ashamed for having shown herself so out of her mind. She didn't get a satisfactory answer either which was seeing Rhaenyra with her own eyes, safe, smiling, mischievous, adorable, bright, warm, always tactile giving hugs and her hands touching her.

She stopped in the hallway toward the Tower of the Hand, holding herself against the wall, running her hands over her red cheeks and pounding chest.

Her father couldn't see her like that.

She shouldn't have shown herself like that.

She didn't want to feel like that.

~•○O○•~

The heat of the fire of an egg about to hatch.

The Warmth of the hugs of Jace, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys.

Rhaena's laugh, Baela's.

Daemon's hand on his head, his shoulder, a safe place. Likewise his father's, and Ser Harwin's. Everyone’s looking at him to assure him he was safe with them.

His mother, in kisses, hugs, laughter, and words, was all the fire in which he lived and made him feel alive like on his first flight with Arrax.

Her violet gaze was home.

Her violet gaze... It was a draw.

For blood, for an eye.

For a knife, a scream.

Justice, debt.

Storm without light, without fire, just a cage of water barriers.

Without air, don't breathe, fade away, fear...

"TAOBA!"

Help… Help… mother…

There is…there is… There is light…

There is warmth. Peace. Calm. Flying. Home.

Is there...

Is with me.

I'm…

"Calm down."  He listens.

It's the lighthouse, just keep going. Follow, follow. Arrax, let's go. The water makes way. The bars break.

"Calm down."  It's home, it's family. They are his brothers and sisters. Parents.

Is…

Is…

"You are safe."

"Mother…"

And Lucerys wakes up. 

Chapter Text

He thought he was going to die.

A debt of blood, taking much more than what's owed. Two lives for one eye.

But... But... he was at home. I'm with my family. He thought, as his eyes opened to get used to the morning light.

He turned his head, recognizing that the person staring at him was wearing a maester's outfit. One who looked surprised and even pleased to see him with his eyes open.

"Good morning, child. What a scare you've given us here."

He can imagine it. He doesn't know how he will be able to speak and tell how He tried to kill him with Vhagar. Not without forgetting the detail that Arrax attacked when he sensed his fear. He may not be on good terms with his other family, but his mother did not want war so he wasn't going to give her a reason to start one.

All the while the maester continued talking as he kept wondering what to say next. The maester highlighted that his condition must have been due to the storm, his near death due to the fall, and how he became ill and unconscious for almost two days. Lucerys hopes they didn't do anything in that time.

When he tries to get up, the same man helps him sit on the bed, asking him if he is feeling okay at home. He nods gently.

It's when he has a better view that he recognizes there is something strange.

The room didn't look like his own in Dragonstone. In fact, it looked like none of his family's ancestral home. If his memory was correct, it was similar to his childhood chambers…

In the Red Keep.

His mind comes to a terrifying conclusion. The Greens captured me. He captured me.

His breathing becomes uncontrolled, moving away from the touch of the maester who looks worried. He knows that he should not trust any maester. They are all allies of the Hightower. They were untrustworthy except for those who lived in Dragonstone and were loyal to their mother's bannermen.

No no no. He doesn't want to be here.

He doesn't want the Greens to use him.

He doesn't want Aegon to kill him.

He doesn't want to die without having made peace with…

Hands touch his arms and for some reason, he doesn't push them away. Tears run down his cheeks but he refuses to look up, shaming himself like the child he is and one that has refused to accept the truth. His heart also starts beating extremely fast and the only thing he can hear is the white noise around him.

"...hey, hey, calm down, calm down, breathe…" A voice rings out in his moment of chaos. There is something about it, something familiar. He pays attention to it, recovering the rhythm of his breathing. "That's it, keep breathing at your own time, you're safe…"

Believe her.

There's confidence in her voice with a touch of familiarity that makes him believe her.

Finally, he looks up.

A halo of light shines over the platinum-blonde hair. The hand that held him gently runs over his cheek, removing the tears that were falling. Lucerys swallows, removing the remaining ones with his trembling fingers.

When everything becomes clearer, he can see that the person who is calming him down is a girl. A young woman his age, beautiful. Very beautiful. Light, violet eyes. Freckles on her snowy face.

He blinks, thinking he sees a ghost, the image of someone he wants to return to.

The sound suddenly returns with a question.

"Why did he get like that?" She is asking the maester, he supposes.

"It must have been from waking up in an unknown place that scared him. It is not strange, if what your Grace revealed to me in the way in which she found him."

"I…" He mutters, but he is heard. The girl looks at him again and suddenly his mouth feels dry. She seems to notice this and asks the maester for water. After emptying the entire cup and feeling the blessed coolness of the water he believes he can finally speak. He looks at the girl again, only at her, to say. "Where am I?"

"You are in the Red Keep, in King's Landing." Answers the maester. "In the chambers of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Lucerys feels a chill. He stutters, finally looking away from the maester.

"Princess…Rhaenyra Targaryen?" His voice trembles, becoming high-pitched when he pronounces the name.

If he was pale before, he is twice as pale now. He swallows, pressing his hands into the sheets, turning to look at the young woman.

It has to be a joke, something in bad taste. Aegon's own. He could have engineered it as a form of revenge for The Pink Dread from six years ago. Both, Lucerys realizes, are the same. Putting an object they seek in front of them only to trample on that desire and mock its absence.

With him, it was his lack of a dragon.

With Lucerys, it is his want of his mother.

However, when he stares at the girl in front of him, he sees no cruelty. There is nothing but curiosity, and concern in her clear eyes. Like mother's. Her face is soft, but he can see how in a few years those features will sharpen to transform this sweet beauty into one of marble, firm and fearsome. He saw it in her lips, in her nose, in the shape of her eyebrows. In how her loose hair falls over her forehead, elegant regardless.

It's his mother.

She's the Queen.

It is, now, just the Targaryen princess.

A silence surrounds them while he has this revelation, understanding that the Gods played with him, saving his life and sending him in a moment before his mother entered the Game of Thrones.

Had…traveled…he…

An unpleasant sound comes from his stomach, he turns his head toward the edge of the bed just before vomiting.

~•○O○•~

Maester Mellos was Grand Master of the King's Small Council due to his experience. He had dealt with fatal injuries, illnesses, and births, among many things that others would not want to hear. He can recognize when someone is about to react.

He is very observant despite his years.

That's why he had the bucket ready when the boy bent down to spill the vomit. He shows no sign of looking fazed. He had seen worse things.

He expected nothing less from a boy who went through a terrible experience like his.

"Your Grace, I think you should retire now. I don't think it's comfortable for you."

The young woman had wrinkled her nose a little and backed away slightly when the boy went green on the face. Now she stands up, looking like she was going to leave, disgusted. But what happens next leaves him stunned.

She places one hand on his back and another on his shoulder, whispering, "Okay, okay, leave it all..." without mockery, but tact. Her fingers move some brown strands behind his ear, avoiding the misfortune of smelly hair.

These caresses remind Mellos of the late Queen Aemma when the princess was little and sick.

She is a girl giving the comfort of a mother.

He had known the princess since her birth. He observed her behavior for all that time, corresponding to her age. She was not immature, nor the opposite. But this is the first time he sees a picture of what she could become in the future, with this gentleness and patience.

After the loss Rhaenyra suffered due to his own impotence (something that still weighs on the Maester), he believes that the young woman was avoiding imitating these traits that even the people have started to point it out. He recognizes her fear of (logical according to him) giving birth, of being a mother.

That's why he decides not to say anything, faced with this unexpected vision.

Even with the King.

This seemed to be just the princess, the boy, and him.

~•○O○•~

"What happened?" She asks the maester in a whisper, watching as the boy leans against the bed with an arm over his eyes.

"I'm not very sure, although…I have an idea." The maester turns toward her, making the most strange suggestion for the situation.

The silver-haired princess approaches, carefully touching the arm, with a soft "Hey." Even with pain in his arm, he reluctantly looks up to her.

"What is your name?"

"...Luke." He answers after a second of silence. "My name is Luke."

"Just Luke? It will be easy to remember.” She jokes, making a soft smile but still insists. "Your family name?"

“I…” He licks his lips, looking just like the time when he was going to expel everything from his insides. There's conflict in his eyes.

He looks at Maester Mellos who gestures for him to continue.

"Where did you come from? Do you have family waiting for you? Father? Mother?"

The silence stretches too long.

Now he looks green, dark circles forming under his eyes. She also notices the sweat forming on his face, sliding to his neck just as the clenched knuckles. "It's just... I..."

"I think I finally understand it." She hears the Maester voice out. "May I discuss it with you, Your Grace?"

"It's your health, I think you deserve to hear it too." The princess says resolutely, slowly sliding her hand toward the one she was holding.

"...Well." He clears his throat. "I think the young man, er, Luke, suffers from memory loss."

"What?" Both the boy and the princess startle at that.

"It could have been the fever or the force of the fall. There is no specific way that I can attribute as the cause, only the consequence." Taking advantage of the fact that the brunette becomes absorbed when he hears the diagnosis, the maester pushes the princess away to say in a low voice. "The way he reacted to you, the fact that he has a dragon and he is a rider may mean that he is a member of another surviving family of his ancient Valyrian lineage. They may have heard of the Targaryens, but after what happened, we may never know the reason for their visit here."

Rhaenyra senses something else.

"But…"

The maester takes one last look at the young man.

"Or he just pretends not to know anything and is more of a threat than an ally."

That was much more likely than the first. After all, the Targaryens are known far beyond Essos. Who knows if they came looking for a fight or to overthrow them out of lust for power?

The dilemma is that…Rhaenyra feels as if he was hiding the truth from her but that does not generate distrust. It's strange, seeing him in such a vulnerable state and to have that inner voice pushing her to tell him. Yes, I believe you.

Looking at him for too long only makes her mirror the gesture. His look is full of self-consciousness, and it makes her hear that cry to protect him from anything.

Never in his life had she felt such strength.

She bows to the maester and says. "We will not be able to know anything based on assumptions. It's better to keep an eye on him first."

The maester seems to be in favor of this decision, but his mouth purses in discontent and sorrow when he is told that he overlooked a certain important detail.

At the end of the day, only one person's words matter. She nods, and the maester walks toward the door where Ser Criston waits.

Rhaenyra finds her way to the young man. Toward Luke. He seems dazed, his eyes darting around the room until he feels the weight tilting the bed. When they look at each other, she thinks she'll be called crazy if he knew but she can read the emotions they convey to her. Fear, sadness, longing, amazement.

This Luke is a curious child.

"What will happen to me?" He asks so quietly that she almost doesn't hear him.

Rhaenyra manages to make her voice sound solemn and at the same time tender.

"The King will decide."

Chapter Text

He was in the middle of a Council meeting when Ser Criston appears.

"Your Grace." He greets stiffly. "The princess requests your presence."

"I understand you have a duty, Ser Criston. However, the princess's whims are no reason to interrupt a King's Private Council meeting."

Otto speaks up before the King can respond.

He was noticeably upset this morning. Viserys couldn't blame him though, when he had diverted Lord Corlys' attention to what was happening at Stepstones and his request to go against the Crab Eater. They might call him weak but he knows the true cost of war, both in the Crown's pocket and the lives offered. It wasn't something they could deal with at the moment.

Corlys would use this opportunity to return to the topic rather than continue with Essos prices and taxes.

Viserys can sense a headache coming.

Until he remembers the only reason Ser Criston is here and not protecting his daughter. That was the order he gave Master Mellos, to whom he justified his absence from the meeting with a dilemma that he did not remember now, that the knight would be sent if there was a change in the boy's current situation.

The presence of man was the answer.

The boy woke up. Or worse...

He stands up from his chair and all eyes go immediately on him. He tries to pretend that this gives him no pleasure (being a King involves hours of discussion that he prefers to dedicate to other things), and declares, that this meeting is postponed all while ignoring both Corlys and Otto to approach Ser Criston with an indication to escort him.

Ser Harrold walks behind him as always, leaving the Council Chamber to fall silent due to his actions.

Something of Daemon's own.

Well, maybe I should do it more often then. He thinks of his brother with some amusement and dejection.

Gods have mercy that the rest of the journey is completely silent. It also helps that the presence of both members of the Kingsguard makes the people approaching them take just one look for them to turn aside or divert their path, making the walk to Rhaenyra's chambers somewhat quick.

The moment he reaches the door to his daughter's chamber, Ser Criston opens it at his command. Going inside, the first thing they see is Maester Mellos advancing on them.

"Did the boy...?"

"Your Grace." He greets the King with a slight bow and answers with a calm expression. "That's right, he woke up recently."

A sigh of relief escapes him—one less problem.

"Unfortunately, I cannot specify how, but he has lost his memory."

He retracts.

"What do you mean?"

"I attributed it to the fall he suffered along with the fever. The only things he remembers are his own name and the fact that he was on a dragon, nothing else, my Grace. Although...he recognizes the name Targaryen."

"He's a threat then?" Ser Harrold asks, hand on the pommel of his sword. Distrust that he does not avoid sharing.

"Calm down, Ser. It's about a child." Says the King in response to the reaction, turning to the Maester for more. "Anything else? His health?"

"Nothing to worry about, just some rest and milk of the poppy. I think he will be fine after a few days."

The King thanks him, the maester stepping aside when he asks to see the boy. After another few steps, the image before him becomes clear enough for him to shock him.

Rhaenyra is sitting next to the boy in bed. The young man's shirt is big, making him look as small as his daughter. Who is speaking to him in whispers, and he's responding just as enthusiastically that a laugh leaves her mouth.

It’s the most wonderful sound he has heard in months, touching his heart to its deepest depths.

Beside him, he feels Ser Criston tense. Looking at the man's reaction, he deduces that the man is upset. What he understands is that it is not well regarded for two young people to be so close in the state in which they are.

But what can he say as a father, when he hasn't seen Rhaenyra smile like that since...

He clears his throat, interrupting what seemed to be a pleasant conversation. Rhaenyra stands, bowing the moment she notices who it is.

"Your Grace."

"Daughter, you don't need to do that." He approaches them, taking the silver-haired girl's hands. "They brought me the good news so I wanted to see the condition of our guest for myself."

"I'll accompany you, father, since I think it's enough of a remedy already." His daughter indulges with an amused tone. She actually makes him laugh alongside the maester and the knights. "Do not worry for I'm not going to delay it any longer. Father, I'm presenting you our guest, Luke."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lu..." The King freezes, disconcerting his own daughter and the others.

The young man, Luke, stirs but does not take his eyes off him.

"I-It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace."

[Those eyes. It's impossible, it's unheard of. It must be the desire in his heart that clung to the ghosts, to his sins. For under that morning light, when he thought he would never see them again, there they were, Aemma's eyes looking at him with the innocence and youth that he had stolen when he became engaged to her.

He had already seen the similarity but denied that it was, citing concern for his daughter, his pain, and how unreliable his mind has been.

Further, before him is the living image of Aemma, with the brown hair that must have been inherited by the Arryns. He looks just like her.]

"Your Grace." He says again, in a quiet voice.

Viserys swallows the lump in his throat, resisting the tears that want to escape.

"Sorry, child, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's...it's been a stressful morning. In fact, I should be thanking you for getting me out of this mess of politics and tedious conversations." The laughter that leaves from his mouth is just for show for no one in the room wants to make him uncomfortable. So he focuses on his daughter, avoiding looking at the boy.

"I'm sorry for my rudeness. Luke, right?" He nods timidly. "Well, given the good news about your health, I would like to invite you to dinner with me...and my daughter."

Rhaenyra looks at him, stunned. He doesn't remember the last time they spent time together as a family. Two months gone by Viserys thinking only about his own pain that he didn't even notice how he neglected his little girl.

Lady Alicent would be pleased to see her advice heeded. A calm mind that went well alongside the force to fear that was Nyra.

"Your Grace, that would be a great honor for me,  i-if the maester gives his approval." The young man whispers, playing nervously with a loose thread of his sheets.

Grand Master Mellos nods approvingly.

"Until then, young Luke, I will take my daughter to another chamber. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." Not to mention other reasons.

"It is not necessary, father. I feel very comfortable and have no problem sharing with Luke."

Ah, his sweet girl. She doesn't seem to see the problems and what they might whisper if they find out about the crown princess with a young man, unaccompanied, sharing rooms.

It may have been the fact that they were all thinking the same thing, and expressing it with gestures, that young Luke speaks again.

"Princess, I'll be fine. You should trust what... Grand Master Mellos said of my condition." Luke's eyes travel to his hands momentarily before looking at his young daughter. "You must rest, you did not sleep all night."

He didn't expect that. His young princess pouts slightly like he knows she does when she wants to get her way. But the boy is not only able to resist that, but he also lets go of the sheets to take the other's hands.

The King feels Ser Criston move a little behind him.

"It would make me feel better if you could rest. I thank you for your care, and now you must catch up on sleep. I insist." The boy says with gentleness that he is not familiar with.

Not for the last two months.

Rhaenyra must think the same, for her eyes shine with sadness. Missing someone who is no longer here.

The Maester asks him, Ser Harrold, and especially Rhaenyra with Ser Criston to withdraw and let him resume his rest. Before leaving, Viserys takes one last look at young Luke, who is staring at the window with his gray-blue eyes, trying to search for...what? The lost memories of him? Some calmness? To Believe that everything will get better?

There was once a time when he was able to analyze a face and know what they were thinking.

He misses when the world was so clear.

Maybe that boy with brown hair, who made his daughter laugh again, whom he took with care, to help her recover part of her light, is that ray of hope amid the darkness in which he has lived since he lost her son and his beloved Aemma.

Chapter Text

Well, so far he has three things clear.

First, he didn't die from Vaghar's attack.

Second, it seemed that by the grace of the Gods not only did he not die, but he had traveled to the past.

Third, he just saw his mother and grandfather young, and healthy. Too young to be noticeable in truth. Which meant he was in the past before he was born.

Gods, he runs both hands over his face, and leans back abruptly, letting out a moan of pain. It isn't the most appropriate, he realizes, but the sigh he gives, loud to the point of being annoying, shows that he feels conflicted.

He doesn't know what to do, because he doesn't know how he got here.

This feels crazy, like a dream. He literally lives in a limbo. He even imagines Aemond appearing at the window with Vhagar to rain fire and blood. In retaliation to how Arrax...

Oh, Arrax.

He hasn't forgotten about him. His dragon must have been injured, but he doesn't know if his bond was such that his dragon's memories were affected. It's not like he had the ability to read his thoughts, but it still hurt.

A part of him whispers, that he's alive, Arrax is fine but he doesn't want to get his hopes up. He doesn't want to feel the phantom bond between rider and dragon break after one dies. He fears that absence.

They say that when a bonded dragon dies, so does the rider. The person he was never recovers.

Daemon said something like that with Balerion and his grandfather.

His grandfather, who has hair, two whole arms and a healthy face. And he can keep standing. He is the King so close to that image (and yet not) that he saw before him to defend his right to Driftmark. He is at his best time.

Seeing him is a shock like seeing his mother the same age as him, and realizing that Daemon's funny (and loving) comments were not in vain.

"Of all your brothers, you are equal to her."

He thought he was referring to how stubborn he is and how he can be a brat when he wants to get what he wants. It seems that he went beyond that.

He sighs again, looking at the bed table.

Grand Maester Mellos, who he knows preceded Orwyle, presents him with poppy milk which he now has to drink. He tells Luke that he will be sleepy soon, with the side effects of numbing the pain as well. He does it in a way that reminds him of his childhood when the maester of King's Landing first explained to him the use of poppy milk. In fact, it was something that all the maesters did when he was little as if his size and youth made them believe that he was stupid and had not tripped or gotten hurt in training.

Maester Gerardys was the first who did not do so. Maybe because when he met him, it was after what happened at Driftmark.

After injuring...

Lucerys swallows every last drop. The Master approves with a look before leaving, to let him rest.

With nothing to do, he gazes at the ceiling. He also takes in his surroundings, now noticing specific details. Like certain flowers, some drier, neglected, on a table in the middle of the rooms. The embroidery on the curtains and the sheets. Silver, light blue and red. He even gets to see the library, books he knows from the cover she will have already read by the time Jace is born and keeps out of affection.

He dips his nose into the sheets that cover him, inhaling the aroma of lemon cakes, lilacs, and smoke. She's definitely his mother. However, there is a greater presence of other flowers, as if to remind him that she was not yet the one he called 'mother.'

This is so strange. He thinks, feeling that little by little his eyes are closing. How did I get here? Is it just a bad dream?

He may have only dreamed about it all: the death of his Grandfather, the usurpation of Aegon and the Greens, the loss of Visenya, the coronation of his mother, being sent to Storm's End, the encounter with Lord Borros, the pursuit of Vhagar with...

He wishes it was all a dream. He wishes it had been since that night in Driftmark.

Closing his eyes, the fear that the events that occurred will return in his dreams is present, as is his desire that when he wakes up it will not be in that time of which he has no idea, without the answer of, why am I here?

~•○O○•~

At night in the Red Keep, only one of its inhabitants is able to sleep.

A King, tormented by his actions, keeps staring at the ring with the symbol of House Arryn.

A princess is debating whether to go see her guest, wanting to take a look to calm those nerves that have come over her since she left.

A young woman pretends to be in a deep sleep to avoid her father, determined to be able to talk to her friend. At the same time, she feels guilt for being disobedient.

A maester orders three others to be attentive to anything that happens in the princess's chambers. All this is heard by someone who's going to talk to the Hand, who is looking at her daughter's room with curiosity. And another person would leave the Red Keep to whisper it on Silk Street, and that whisper would go to Dragonstone, to someone who was already making his way.

~•○O○•~

Deep in her mind, she stumbles with what she is going to say. In itself, she would try to make excuses to Rhaenyra about her few conversations. Which is almost zero.

She can't tell her why, but she can at least hope that her friend will forgive her for her lack of interaction. A very selfish part of herself wants that desire to be reciprocated.

The one about not seeing each other, of course.

Alicent calms her nerves while walking in the direction of the princess's chambers. She got up earlier than her own father (although she didn't see him when she broke her fast either) so she could escape from the septa and the guards. Something inside her trembled and became excited at the same time. He can understand the adrenaline of breaking the rules.

...like nausea of guilt.

It will be worth it, it is said.

It's when she is turning the corner that she runs into the last person she wants to see.

"Your Grace." She bows, lowering her head slightly. More to hide the grimace of disappointment at not finding the young Targaryen.

"Lady Alicent, good morrow." From his tone, she wouldn't have noticed. "Are you coming for Rhaenyra?"

"Yes, your Grace. I haven't seen her with the septa lately. I was going to invite her to the Godswood so that she doesn't fall behind in her lessons." She lies, both for the reason that she is looking for Rhaenyra, and the fact that the princess is behind in the lessons. Even if on the contrary, she seems ahead.

"You need not explain yourself. If two young people want to spend time together, I'm not the one to stop it." He says, not knowing how guilt squeezes the red-haired brunette's heart. "However, I must tell you that she is not in her chambers currently, but with the Maester."

"What? Did something happen to her?" She surprises herself in the way she rudely interrupts the King or the tone she uses, becoming ashamed, shortly after. "F-Forgive me, Your Grace, I don't..."

"Do not apologize. I appreciate your concern for Rhaenyra." He says without offense. "It's nothing serious, she temporarily lent her chamber. She is with the Maester on an errand."

She nods, only frowning when she notices a small detail.

"Did you... talk to her again?" She is amazed. Relieved, mostly.

The King nods slowly, but more relaxed than she has seen him in a long time. He looks at her and one can tell that he is conveying gratitude to her.

"Your words are wise, Lady Alicent. Don't let anyone deny it just because of your youth."

The young woman shudders in response. Her father has never said anything similar. Never direct, always disguised with subtleties. This is...genuine. She wants to cry without feeling the oppression of guilt or pain, but proud of herself.

She can't understand how Rhaenyra wouldn't want to spend time with a father like that.

"–she allowed herself to be murdered, Alicent. All for a child on which to place his Crown."

That memory fades away, calming her own emotions.

"I'm not going to keep stopping you, you better look for her."

Determination now sparked, Alicent bows vaguely in farewell. If she managed to get Rhaenyra to talk to her father again, she could do this one thing.

Apologize.

~•○O○•~

She doesn't notice how Viserys's face takes on a grimace of remorse, retracing his steps towards the hallway that led to the princess's chambers. At the door, Criston Cole standing guard. He looks at the man, believing that he is questioning his presence when a few minutes ago he kept hesitating whether to enter or leave. He was going to go when he found Lady Alicent.

He felt bad having lied to her. But within himself, he would feel worse if he separated his daughter from the young man, and the joy it seemed to bring her.

~•○O○•~

I don't trust him. Criston thinks.

He's with one of Mellos' maesters, Alvol if he can remember, who is checking on the boy who, after two days, is able to get up unsteadily.

There was no problem until they asked him to take a few steps and with the first two steps he almost fell, only for the princess to catch him.

She lets out a melodious laugh.

How low of him to take advantage of the princess, he thinks bitterly when that boy feigns embarrassment when she takes him to lean on a chair.

There's something there that he doesn't like about this child.

He's pretending, he believes when the boy grimaces cause he is checked on one of his arms and near his head.

According to Criston, he looks perfectly fine. Although, he understood the concern the first few days, with the boy not waking up. But there's no reason now for the princess to be with him.

Except with what Cole has seen of Princess Rhaenyra; a brave young woman, brave enough to ride a dragon and stand in front of several men who looked at her with disdain. Elegant, when walking, when combing her hair, even when eating. Kind, like the way she put her armor on him, as well as respectful of someone without status like him. And despite her hardships, she was beautiful both inside and out.

She is a gem.

The boy, this, Luke, is just an ordinary boy with brown hair.

Who is a dragon rider.

Cole doesn't believe it.

"Ser Criston." Is called by the princess who walks in her direction. "The maester says that Luke is feeling better and that it would be appropriate for him to take a walk so that his legs do not weaken." She opens the door in front of her, and he thinks it's a sign that they will finally leave. "We will wait for him outside, while he gets decent."

Before following her, he sees the self-conscious boy in his nightgown, taking a shirt and pants that the princess surely brought him.

It's like that all the time.

How vulgar.

~•○O○•~

The Seven knew how to impose their punishment.

Rhaenyra is avoiding her now.

She avoids her like Alicent has been doing lately. It is ironic on the part of the Seven, for lying, denying, and isolating her best friend. For talking secretly with her father and hiding it from her.

Alicent feels like she deserves it, but it also doesn't appease that inner voice that says she should keep insisting. Getting to the princess is not easy, especially when she decides to be vengeful. Or resentful.

It can be both, believes the brunette.

She remembers when one of the Lords looked at her with disdain when he saw her leaving with several books from the library, and then whispered loudly enough 'It is not necessary for the daughter of the Hand to be cultured. After she grows up she will only care that she spreads her legs.' Alicent cried, and the princess, who was leaving her lessons accompanied by her mother, saw and heard everything. When she saw that Lord again, she went to a celebration in the Red Keep, and the King called him to a game that Prince Daemon was going to conduct; For every question he asked and was answered correctly, the loser had to eat a spicy fruit without complaining. The Lord looked very sure of himself before the nine-year-old princess.

Twelve questions.

The Lord left the room with a red face, his tongue burning, and unable to speak for a long time.

Then the princess approached her and said determinedly, we will be friends, the best.

(The Red Keep felt like home for the first time. Rhaenyra made that place her home...)

A-Well, Rhaenyra's fury was dangerous, and now she is its recipient.

When she thought she had searched in all the places, the idea came that the princess probably returned to one of them. It didn't sound bad, in fact, it would be a smart way to avoid her if she told her that she went through several parts.

She would start over in the Godswood.

Turning in her steps, she goes in that direction.

Until hearing laughter, she stops.

It's her laugh.

As...?

She missed that beautiful melody, one that was lost a long time ago.

She feels happy. Very happy. Rhaenyra is laughing again.

Then she thinks about it. Rhaenyra is laughing again.

And she's not with her.

A discomfort runs through her veins from head to toe. She tries to ignore it. Maybe she was reading a passage from the books, or a tender memory came to her mind, she makes excuses for herself.

The mere idea that it's not something but someone who made her laugh utterly bothers her. That she didn't share that valuable moment with her... She doesn't believe it.

She quickens her pace towards Godswood, trying to be discreet so that Rhaenyra doesn't hear her. She doesn't want that laughter to stop just by seeing her. She does not want...

She peeks through one of the pillars, seeing only the figure of Rhaenyra standing. For a moment, she feels relieved. But she notices that her gaze keeps going toward the tree. Or what the Weirwood hid from Alicent's sight.

With that stealth, she advances toward another of the pillars, one that would give her the vision she was missing.

There she sees it.

A boy.

A boy.

Wavy chestnut, not very tall, leaning on the Weirwood, looking at it in extreme amazement, and then heading towards Rhaenyra. He mumbles something, and she giggles in return.

He was the one who made her laugh.

Alicent believes that the coldness on her body must be because the sun is going down. That the acidity that runs from her stomach to her throat, completely dry, is because she spent hours without eating or drinking. That the tension in her body is from having run all day chasing her princess.

They are...

Then the boy takes steps until he stumbles and Rhaenyra catches him in her arms. That hug lasts too long. Too much.

Alicent doesn't want to see more. She flees back to the Tower of the Hand. She flees while her thoughts rush with a thousand questions.

Who's that boy? What is he doing with Rhaenyra? Have I missed so much? Did she meet that boy in my absence? If so, why do they seem so close? Has she replaced Me? Has Rhaenyra fallen in love...?

Did I lose her? It is her last thought as she reaches her room, which burns like a dagger in flames, not knowing if her father is there or if he insists that she must see the King.

For a second of her life, Alicent does not want to do her duty and gets away with it. She does so as tears appear and slide down her face onto the pillow as she stifles her hiccups, not noticing the bleeding nails she has been pressing on when she watched a scene that broke her heart.

The Seven have punished her.

Did I lose her?

~•○O○•~

"I look like a duck."

"More like a foal."

Luke can't help but snort along with Princess Rhaenyra. Princess. Which is ironic because since he came into the world it was the title his mother carried, but in the eyes of the young Velaryon, he fell short; Rhaenyra was always a Queen, even when the Crown wasn't on her head yet.

This Rhaenyra, who brought him to Godswood so he could walk more freely, looks like a princess. A storybook one, Valyrian style. Where the knight went to rescue or wake up his beloved with a kiss. Young, innocent, full of energy and curiosity.

She is a freer version of his mother, one that he is very pleased to be able to see.

"The hour is late." He says, noticing the orange sky. "I think I should go back to my, I mean mot-I mean your chambers."

He ends up getting tangled and runs a hand over his neck out of embarrassment.

"Call them whatever you want, I don't mind sharing them with you." She says very sincerely. "Being your unofficial maester is also something I am grateful for, I have avoided stupid lessons with the Septa. Lately, she's been trying to get her to see more precepts of the Seven, and I don't know how to convince that bigoted head that we Targaryens don't give a shit about the Seven."

That is something else, hearing her curse unimportantly and dismissing the importance of studies.

"I know you want to go see Vermax, Jace, but not before finishing your reading and writing of what Maester Gerardys asked you to do. Yes, I know it's not interesting to read about the Houses located in the Neck, but They are still our subjects and we must honor them, and show that we have taken the time to know them. Look, Luke finished his Valyrian lessons. Anything new? Be careful how you accentuate, but you will improve on your older brother in no time...See Jace? That's why you don't skip lessons..."

Now he knows where Jace got it from. He thinks, amused. At least she never said she didn't do those things in his youth.

"What is so funny?" Lucerys forgot that he was facing young Rhaenyra.

"Ah, nothing, just...memories."

"Could you remember anything?" She seems excited, with curiosity in her expression, so clear and open.

It's strange to see his mother without restraint in her emotions, skilled in being able to let them out when she was with her loved ones and not in front of her enemies.

This is the princess, not the Queen, he repeats to himself.

"My family." He says without thinking much only to feel sorry for a brief silence.

"Tell me about them. Are you the only child?"

"No, in fact, I have four brothers and two sisters." There were going to be three, but he lost her the same day that The Greens handed over the Crown to a Usurper. "I am the second son. Which means I'm second in everything."

There is no bitterness in his voice when he says it because he knows that, unlike other Second Children, he has many things assured. Although, that does not mean that he feels that it is unfair and that he also has to work to maintain his position. Especially because of the situation of his existence perse.

"It's not annoying, especially because my older brother knows that he will inherit everything one day and has more responsibilities, and we make sure, with my other two sisters, that the three youngest ones enjoy their childhood as much as they can." He doesn't know what drives him to continue talking, with flashes of the faces of Jace, Baela, and Rhaena in their daily lives. Training, lessons, family dinners. They were completely close, marked by a terrible tragedy, driven to protect themselves because of being family and the love they have for each other. Without forgetting Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys, are innocent, and tender, with a vision of the world intact and full of the same love with which they grew up. "We realized that it is a gift that should be made the most of."

"That's true."

Lucerys, who has been letting himself go, sees this Rhaenyra again, whose eyes convey nostalgia and sadness.

"How lucky you are. Having siblings to grow up with."

If you only knew, Lucerys thinks. Remembering Aegon, Helaena and... and Daeron, the distance between them, all of Viserys' children are considered strangers by his own firstborn. Luke puts himself in his mother's place, forgetting the fact that he was used to the small figures behind him and that if he had been an only child and suddenly had several younger siblings, he would not know how to approach them.

Mother confided to him that she regretted hating Aegon in her early years and that it was too late to change it. He doesn't know if it's because of the fact that the House of the Dragon was dividing or because, upon seeing Luke and his siblings, she realized what she could have had. If she had seen her seven children living together in harmony, even though some did not entirely share blood, she could have done the same.

"Mother raised us well." He smiles at the princess, proudly, also trying to convey gratitude for something that has not yet happened. "It wasn't easy for her, but she did everything so that we didn't lack in anything. She taught us decency, and respect, that we could always trust each other, and that there would always be love."

"You speak of her with devotion." She notes in amazement.

"She fights for us fiercely, because she has such a big heart. I know she seems contradictory, but she is a gentle person and at the same time she is a warrior." He mutters the last thing without taking his eyes off her, hoping she would hear him.

"She sounds like someone perfect." She leans against the Weirwood, without blinking.

I'm anything but perfect, her future self would respond.

"I would tell you that she is not." Luke feels like a messenger at this moment, transmitting the words of a person she has not yet become. "But that does not stop me, or anyone, from loving her for those imperfections."

Rhaenyra is silent, with genuine tenderness, and melancholy, and, he hopes, she found some comfort in her soul by the words of someone who knows her and loves her.

"...I thought something similar about me..." Whispers the princess, sliding down the trunk until she is sitting. She isn't able to finish the sentence, but he understands who she is referring to.

Luke carefully sits down next to her.

"I felt that everyone saw her because they wanted something from her. A male. Always at the disposal of a person who did not yet exist. And they were disappointed when it wasn't achieved or live long enough." Rhaenyra confesses, sensing the anger, the resentment she had against these nameless people. "Only I cared about her, about Aemma Arryn, a woman... wonderful in a way that no longer exists. seems to exist. She was sweet, someone who gave a lot of herself. That's why I always stayed by her side to pamper her, remind her... that someone saw her."

The young Velaryon chooses to ignore how the other's eyes grow moist, how her jaw tenses, or how her hands tremble slightly in clenched fists. She reminds him of that night at Driftmark, and him being too young to understand the burdens she carried. Even at fourteen, he doesn't think he can fully understand a Rhaenyra whose pain is recent and he has a duty to stop her from letting those tears slip.

He can't stand it, sliding his hand to one of them, with a gentle touch. The look of sadness is directed at him, and she only answers him with silence, without separating from him.

"You may think you didn't achieve much, but you made her feel like a human. What did it matter, because you loved her. Not all sons or daughters do that with their parents, and sometimes parents...don't do the same with their children." He doesn't want to think about how Aegon had bruises on his face or how red his cheek was when they were young, about Helaena moving away from her mother's touch or... Daeron sent away without protest. "It is those small details that you think are not important that are important; more than enough, it's extraordinary. And if you doubt, think that... maybe she didn't think that she failed for not having a boy, because she had you."

The way she looks at him is just like Joffrey after falling in training, believing it had been a mistake to try until he or Jace came over and told him otherwise.

A watery smile appears on her lips, and she looks away for a moment. He suspects it is to wipe away the tears she finally released. He waits patiently for a few moments before she faces him, inhaling sharply.

"Do you know...how long I have been waiting to hear something like that?"

"It is never too late."

"This is... incredible." The young woman laughs. "I mean, we don't even know each other at all, but it's like... I can trust you. I can tell you anything and you won't think less of me. And I do not understand. Not even why I say this out loud."

This time, his laugh is contagious.

"My father says it's an effect I inherited from my maternal grandmother," He says. "Everyone seems to trust me with anything, except lying to my father." He throws his head back, looking at the light filtering through the reddish leaves. "It may seem crazy to you, but my best friend is my mother."

Rhaenyra lets out an inelegant snort. Luke turns red with embarrassment.

"How lucky she is!"

"I'm the lucky one." He admits.

"Oh, Gods." The princess tilts her head to look at him, sitting closer to him. "I would like to know more but it's getting late, and the Maester will have my head if I don't take you inside for rest."

"All I've done since coming here is rest, I think I want to walk."

"Then you will return to the Master faster."

It takes Lucerys a while to understand what it entails. As he does so, he gives her an indignant look.

"I'm not so bad!"

"Luke Duck." She says between giggles as she stands up, releasing their previously joined hands.

"That's as far as the princess's courtesy went." He frowns, crossing his arms with a small pout.

"How about the honesty of a friend?" She asks with a smile, offering her hand to help him.

"So, do you consider me your friend? His gaze goes between the princess and himself.

"I will not leave all the honor to your mother."

If you knew.

Adjusting himself, he stretches out his arm, so that the silver-haired girl can use her strength to lift him and keep him standing. Her fingers run over the back of his hands, caressing it tenderly, unconsciously, he supposes.

Although he knows that the pain and sorrow are hidden in that beautiful face, he notices that there is no longer much tension in her, as if the weight of those emotions has gone away. She looks, for a second, the image of his mother. And he wonders if he and his brothers were the key to calming that melancholy and anger. If that dragon who was willing to burn the world for the loss of her mother, had calmed down when she found a new treasure to love.

He also wonders what a dragon would be willing to do if these beloved treasures were taken away from her.

I am here, mother, I am alive and safe because of you, He thinks, seeing the profile of this Rhaenyra. For years you kept me from suffering at the hands of others and now I am here to take care of you. To protect you and keep you company. I don't know how or why I have traveled to this time, but if I can make that loneliness that you carry with you disappear, I will. I promise you.

Chapter Text

It was just a game.

It was just a joke.

He didn't want to hurt.

He wanted to show what he was capable of.

He never imagined he was capable of that .

It didn't even reach his neck.

Smooth, smooth.

Nothing strong.

It angered him, it hurt him.

“Look at me.” And he took out the patch.

“Look what you made of me.” He showed him.

“See what you are capable of.” He wanted to tell him.

“Stop pretending.” He wanted to shout at him.

“Accept that we are equal.” He would never say it.

It was a game.

It was a joke.

They were children and he betrayed him.

He pushed him away.

He made fun of him.

It's a debt.

He could never pay it.

He could never get away from him.

He could never get away from the sun that was.

He could never escape his shadow.

It was a game.

It was a joke.

An eye for an eye, it was an echo of his mother's voice.

But never life for life.

The debt would never be paid if this were the case.

It was a game.

It was a joke.

It was so small,

So scared.

He was just a child.

It was his nephew.

He will think “He hated me.”

He doesn't know if it's true or a lie, because...

What is this anguish of knowing that he was the first?

It was an endless dance between the two,

But he took him from himself.

It shouldn't be like this...

But…

He felt his fear...

And the only thing he could say about all this was,

"Well, no!"

Because he feels…

He feels…

He feels…

That he is still here?

Why does he feel that if he decides to search, he can find him?

Chapter Text

The Council meeting began at once.

Once everyone was seated, the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, began to speak about some jurisdictional issues regarding the territorial boundaries between the two Houses, and how that conflict was affecting trade in the Riverlands. It was a topic that required the King's full attention, as it should have been.

But all the members can see that his mind is not on the meeting.

They were used to this state in the past months, after his loss. The King had a weight on his shoulders that only increased, and sometimes one must be very careful when it came to any issue that led to his family. To all of them. However, the last few days whatever was on his mind hovered between the usual sadness, nostalgia, guilt, and, now, a glimpse of calm. As if he were daydreaming.

Something was wrong with the King.

Otto had an idea what it was about, Alicent.

She was in the man's mind. He knew her submissive and sweet attitude would succeed in taming the King, enchanting him. The hand himself implanted the image of his young daughter on him and now the King was sighing like a child in love.

His daughter seemed to have understood how it worked. Although it confused him at first seeing how she avoided meetings, locked herself away, and wandered around the castle anywhere except where the King was. Her absence might have made Viserys miss her, and understand that he wanted her.

Alicent was his daughter after all. Finally, leaving aside the frivolity of feelings.

He was even tempted to bring up the idea of ​​marriage, to see Lord Corlys's face when he prematurely rejected Lady Laena's proposal.

But before he can bring up the subject, the door opens to reveal Princess Rhaenyra, who enters with a little labored breath.

The King immediately stands up, looking worriedly at his daughter.

"Rhaenyra! Is everything okay?"

She takes a moment to recover, staring into the King's eyes. Otto feels slightly annoyed, believing that it's because finally, due to some carelessness (perhaps Alicent) the King must have shown when talking to her friend in the privacy of his room. That she would act like the young woman she is, calling him out for his actions. Exposing him, humiliating them both in front of the whole council.

He expects so, except the princess gives a calm smile, walking towards the table with the bottle of wine and some cups.

"It was nothing, Father." She says as she places each one in front of the Council members and pours them some watered-down wine so it won't have any distracting effect. "It's just that I was notified of the meeting late and came running from the other side of the Keep. I didn't want to cause any trouble."

“You are never a bother.” The King replies tenderly, smiling gratefully as his daughter serves him. He looks at the rest of the Small Council. “Go on, Lord Lyonel.”

Otto wishes he could pay attention to the topics they are presenting but he is stuck in that little interaction between the father and daughter.

Wasn't the King supposed to be unable to speak to or look at his daughter? She had been absent on several occasions and the King did not note the absence of his usual cupbearer. Even from the North at the Wall, they could see that the King was unable to meet the princess's gaze. She, in turn, did nothing but play along, always shying away from her father or ending up in a short argument with the result of the young girl angrily walking away.

But the interaction now feels different.

Something has happened.

He considers Alicent again. She has that soft spot for the princess. He wouldn't be surprised if her encounters with the King were in favor of Rhaenyra, with shared feelings for the girl's sake.

Alicent wasn't learning anything. She didn't understand.

All of his confusion, however, came from Rhaenyra's actions. Yes, he noticed some changes in the King. However, not as great as the princess's determination to get closer to her father again.

So, for the rest of the meeting, Otto watches Rhaenyra, looking for every gesture, detail, and sign that will indicate the reason for her sudden attitude.

He then sees how she is paying more attention to Grand Maester Mellos than others, who is talking about the preparation for the coming winter, how the realm has sent the tax so that the Crown could pay, and whether the North or the lands to the South were a priority. The explanation needs several sips from the cup but before it is empty, the princess is already there to serve him more wine with a smile. To Otto's surprise, the Maester also returns the gesture.

It has to do with Mellos, he deduces without much effort which is a pain.

The Maesters were in favor of the Hightowers, of Oldtown, of the Seven. Some did not hide their disdain for the Targaryens and their ways. But Mellos was old enough to have served Jaehaerys Targaryen, so he must have been used to it by now, living more with dragons than with the Maesters and the people of Oldtown. He has tried to reach out to the Maester before, but his loyalty remained unclear.

The princess only had to be kind and smile to gain the Grand Maester's favor.

What a pain, he thinks, not for the first time.

"We're finished here."

How? He doesn't even feel like an hour has passed. He is tempted to ask the King if it's okay that they postpone the meeting but to see the other members calm, not looking frustrated to be interrupted by a fit of grief from the King, he finally understands that it's actually over. That they went through all the issues and managed to come to an agreement.

And at no point did they ask for his opinion.

Only seeing a slight frown on Lord Corlys's brow makes him feel relieved. The matter of Stepstones was still unresolved then. At least that means he was not the only one who was leaving unhappy.

Just as he is about to ask the King for a private conversation, (perhaps to subtly suggest the subject of a new wife) Rhaenyra beats him to it.

He can't stay and listen without being too obvious. But as he takes the pin that belongs to the Hand, he can hear her say, "Tonight."

What? What would happen tonight?

Whatever it is, it makes the King happy. He takes both of his daughter's hands and nods with measured enthusiasm. The princess gives a slight curtsey before leaving, bidding him farewell as well as she walks through the door, her sworn shield waiting for her like the lapdog he was.

"Your Grace." He is finally able to speak to the King. The latter looks at him, showing that he was listening. "I have been informed of a small tribulation that I did not think necessary to bring to the Council. If you wish, I can meet with you later…"

"There's no need, Otto. Besides, I already planned an event that I need to prepare for." He dismisses his request with a mere gesture.

"I understand. Do you need me to do something for you? Call someone?" He continues to insist, searching for a trail of information. A thread from which he can decipher this mystery.

"Nothing that Rhaenyra hasn't already figured out. I trust her judgment."

Ah, of course, it all had to do with the princess.

He does not want to press any further to avoid suspicion, so he says goodbye to the King, continuing his way towards the Tower of the Hand. In the midst of this, he tries to put together the pieces he noticed on that strange afternoon.

The princess has returned as a cupbearer with a cheerful attitude towards her father. Maester Mellos seems to have won the young girl's sympathy, and it seems to be mutual (which complicates his plans). There is to be a private meeting between father and daughter in the evening, regarding something that excites them both and it is being arranged by the princess herself.

A sudden thought comes to him, a very unhinged but equally flattering one. Princess Rhaenyra must have discovered the meetings between her father and Alicent and instead of acting like a spoiled, tantrum-ridden child, she understood that the union between them benefited the Kingdom. She understood that if Alicent and the King had a child, she could dispense with her imposed duties as the heir because it was not her responsibility. Mellos was perhaps the one she consulted about the possibility of Alicent suffering the same fate as the late Queen, and upon being assured that she would be fine, Rhaenyra gave her full support. The princess would be free, and she would marry to form a union that would help this brother she would have. The Kingdom would live in peace under this King with Hightower and Valyrian blood.

Bravo.

Finally, the princess showed her intelligence with this.

Although it is a hypothetical situation and possibly far from reality, he likes to consider that a possibility. It would prove that he was right to support her over Daemon, and that it favors decency and a cool head to envision a future without the chaos of a Queen on the Iron Throne.

Yes, that could be the case. Because if it were the opposite, it means Otto didn't really connect any dots and he hates the idea of ​​not knowing anything.

So he supports the option where Rhaenyra showed her brains.

Still, Otto is not a man to rely on assumptions alone, but on all the facts. So it's time for him to finally listen to what is being whispered within the walls.

~•○O○•~

Lucerys feels a little sick when he sees that the place where they will have dinner is right where everything went downhill.

As he moves forward with the help of his mother (not a mother, not yet), he can relive the scene that occurred just a few nights ago. For him, it's so fresh, but it hasn't even happened yet.

He can imagine Jace dancing with Helaena in his head, happy, an image of what could have been if, from what he overheard, the Queen Mother had agreed to their union.

He can hear the laughter of Rhaena and Baela, sharing plates and discussing the differences between Dragonstone and Driftmark.

He can see his parents. He can feel his mother caressing where Visenya was, Daemon showing tenderness with soft caresses that only his children could notice.

But he also sees…hears the mockery in their toast, and feels the strength of Aegon when he slammed him into the table which still feels painful to his forehead. He also remembers Jace lying on the floor after an egoistic hit. The fading laughter, as the music along with it.

There, at the very post where Lucerys sees him sitting is where his grandfather looked closer to the stranger than his own kins.

The same place.

It seems like a cruel joke of the gods to be the spectator of such an image.

However, there are only three of them. A part of him had hoped to see green, but he remembers, it hasn't happened yet. Or who knows, maybe they were doing their scheming before Queen Alicent married his grandfather the King.

Everyone here is a Targaryen. Even if only he knows that fact.

"Welcome young Luke!" The King greets him with open arms. His head held high, looking imposing and affable. It doesn’t seem like the Kingdom is on his shoulders. He is at his best. "It is a pleasure to see that you are finally on your feet, fully recovered."

"Well, Father, I don't think he's standing here on his own strength." Rhaenyra the Younger replies as she helps Lucerys sit.

He gives her a murmured thank you and she takes her place beside her father before kissing him on the cheek.

The table they set up is smaller, clearly considering it's just them. He sits in front of his mother, but on the King's right side, while his mother is on the King's left. Someone might even point out the impropriety of having someone they just met being so close.

But the King could do several things behind closed doors and he believes that no one can judge him for that. Something that his own mother contradicts, starting by pointing out that there are always eyes in that nest of vipers.

And that the King saw Alicent Hightower in secret, making her way into the marriage bed and a new status.

His mother was always sad when she mentioned how her friend became Queen.

His stepfather had no such affection, calling her a hypocritical whore when his mother was not around.

Lucerys even now doesn't know how to form an opinion on that.

In fact, that line of thought leads him to Alicent Hightower, who, if he guessed correctly from the stories, is still his mother's friend.

And yet he has never come across her, nor was his mother being accompanied by her. Perhaps because the King's Order was to conceal her presence. Or...

She's already present in Grandfather's life, he thinks bitterly, not avoiding looking at Rhaenyra, who gives him a polite but genuine smile.

It will hurt her, and she doesn't even know it.

"Tell me, Luke." The voice of his grandfather, the King, brings him out of his sad notion. "My daughter spoke of you having a family, and that you remember it well. But tell me about your home, can you remember it?"

"Yes, Your Grace." He answers, settling down and running a finger along his fork. "The place where I live is where my ancestors resided. It is big, full of secrets. I have been living there for almost six years and still, I may not know everything it hides. My brothers and I enjoy it though. Also, the locals there take care of us and treat us with a lot of respect. It is of course, mutual."

In truth, he misses Dragonstone. After the mockery, the nicknames, and the names, the assent of the Conquerors of Westeros was a breath of fresh air. He thought that they were going to discriminate against him and look down on him for his brown hair, but several of those who lived on the island loved him very much and respected his mother. Lucerys tried to be a good prince, a good person, to return that affection as he grew up.

"Six years, huh? I might be old, but I think you're one and five if I'm not mistaken."

"That's right, Your Grace."

"Did you perhaps live in a different place than your current home?"

"Yes, but we left because…we didn’t feel welcome. My grandfather’s wife and children treated us differently, so everyone else followed their example. It got to the point where my mother decided it was best to leave."

"How horrible to hear that." The King says with a frown. "No one deserves to be looked down upon under your roof. Didn't your grandfather do anything?"

Lucerys sees the irony again, with this King willing not to be taken for granted, unlike what he would become.

Except when he defended him.

"My grandfather did enough." Deaf ears to the whispers of bastardy, to what was so obvious to everyone's eyes. "My mother knew he had a lot of burdens already so she didn't want to upset him."

"Nonsense, your grandfather has so little strength!"

"Father, please don't bother him." That calm reaction from the princess surprises the King again.

Lucerys was used to it. The King will have to learn from now on too.

“Okay.” The King concedes. “Any hobbies? Anything you’re passionate about? Are you good at fighting? You know, you can be my daughter’s guard if you were.”

“Father.” Rhaenyra says again reproachfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but my swordsmanship leaves much to be said. I'm not much of a fighter either. I… I hurt someone in my childhood, someone I cared about very much. I marked him eternally, and I think it created a fear in me of hurting him again."

He can already imagine these younger versions of his relatives thinking of him as ridiculous as he thinks he is. A child (for that is what he is) who is afraid to use a sword because the one time he wielded a dagger, destroyed the fragile peace between their families.

If there was one reason the sides split so clearly, it was because he took his eye off…

"Admirable, actually."

"Huh?" Lucerys raises his head, surprised.

“I understand your reasons, young lad. Not all of us are made of steel. In fact, look at me! I am a King who has not trained with a sword since before I was married because I find no pleasure in battle. I admire it, as any man should, but I do not take part in it.” Says his grandfather, King Viserys, nodding as thoughts come to him. His gentle expression does not fade. “Hurting loved ones is not something one should be… proud of either. And one never is if they love them. I understand your shame and burden more than anyone else.”

His eyes shift from himself to look at the person in front of Lucerys. Rhaenyra also does not take her eyes off her father. A silent conversation, with an implicit message that Luke understands, if he takes into account that what must have happened is a few months ago for them.

The princess reaches out and squeezes her father's hand, giving him a nod. They both seem to relax at that.

"...In the end, you diverted the question." Says the young silver-haired girl.

"What?" He asks, bewildered after being a spectator.

"What are your hobbies?"

"Oh, right. I like maps. My father’s family has a legacy in the sea, and they expect me to inherit it. Unfortunately, I get seasick as soon as I get on a boat." He laughs, and so do father and daughter, which is a relief. "Even so, I love drawing them, learning from them. In fact, I discovered many secret passages in our home, and I made my own map. I also love reading, whether it be poetry or history, and ancient languages. And since I had to take care of several younger siblings, I had to become a storyteller and learn to sing."

"And fly?" Rhaenyra interrupts with some curiosity. "I mean that because of the dragon you were riding."

Her father is about to tell her off until Lucerys smiles with reinvigorated energy at the memory.

"Yes! I enjoy it immensely. These are the best hours of my day when I am with Arrax."

"Arrax? Like the Valyrian god?"

Seven hells, he thinks at his slip. He didn't know how to cover up that fact. The names of an almost dead culture weren't that well known unless you were part of it. Like the Targaryens and Velaryons.

How does one hide the fact that you are both?

"Well, my family follows the fourteen gods of Valyria. Apparently, they are descended from them, and their tradition has been passed down through several generations to mine. Also, the fact that we are dragon riders." It wasn't a truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

He was afraid they would continue to question him, but the King makes his own assumptions.

"Another family that escaped the Doom of Valyria! How nice to hear it." The King applauds. "I wish you could tell me more about them. Even show us your dragon who the keepers said was getting better, don't worry. What fortune you have sent us, young Luke! What joy!"

The King is clearly a fan of Valyria, that much was known to everyone. But accepting the possibility of meeting another family that came from that culture, and combined with his fascination with dragons, it was clear that he was going to take those statements as truth.

So Luke doesn't need to lie at all.

“Young Luke.” The King says a second later, “If your family may have sent you as a messenger, I will give you the hospitality you deserve. Although if you wish to stay until you are better, I insist that you be our guest of honor until it pleases you or if your family requests your return.”

Luke just nods, his mind searching for a solution to the King's innocent and well-intentioned suggestion of writing to a family that doesn't even exist yet.

If it weren't for his mother starting to talk about his condition that day, including the anecdote about his stumbles in the Godswood, he could have faked fainting or a headache. Although he's not that far from feeling that sick.

The conversation changes every few minutes, and despite feeling sick, he can't deny that the dinner is enjoyable to a degree. It doesn't need music or lots of dishes to be like that, the interaction between the three of them being already very different from the night before the disaster.

It's not going to happen.

That dinner where two sides faced each other silently, in a fragile truce, would not happen. Not with Lucerys here. Not seeing her mother and grandfather in their own harmony.

“A toast!” The King rises, to which both men respond in imitation with their glasses raised high. “To our new friend, Luke. May he please us with his presence for as long as he wishes, which I hope is a long time. To Luke!”

"To Luke and a new friendship." Says the princess smiling at him, and he echoes her, drinking the wine.

It will be a lot of work. At least if it is aimed at ensuring Rhaenyra Targaryen's right as a legitimate heir and Queen.

He'll need all the time he can get.

Good thing is he already got a twenty-year head start.

Chapter Text

The Dragonpit didn't seem to have changed at all. It's one of those things that time passes over, as if it were sacred, alluding to the blood of gods that ran through the veins of its riders.

Seeing something familiar was one of the reasons he felt relaxed.

The other is why they were in the Dragonpit.

"Arrax!" He shouts excitedly, stopping himself from running.

But his dragon, his mate, does the opposite, coming in his direction as best he can until Luke hugs him by his long neck. He nuzzles him, hearing happy grunts from him. He can very well hear his pulse, and feel his scales, and when he reaches his head, seeing his dragon eyes looking back at him with excitement and relief that mirrors his own, Lucerys wants to cry.

Arrax is alive. Safe.

Vhagar and he did not kill them.

So what did they do?

Rather, the question was whether Vhagar had anything to do with it. Because what he remembers from that time, besides fear, was that voice screaming to stop his own dragon. Although Luke doesn't really believe it.

He knows he wanted to kill him.

He knows he was playing with him.

He must have known that, just like Arrax, dragons think for themselves, and such a chase would not have gone well.

He's a strategist, one could see that in his training with Ser Criston Cole. He couldn't have done something without considering the options, right?

That idea was more possible than the other option, it was an accident.

Ha. As if he…

Arrax gives a sad moan. Luke strokes him again, positioning himself so no one would see his heartbroken expression. Broken.

Were things so bad between them that he wished him death?

"It seems it misses you."

The princess's voice, a meter away, helps him break out of his stream of thoughts. He nods, unwilling to show the tears that have surely escaped from his eyes.

The why is not clear.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he tenses. He thought Arrax would warn him when people approached until he remembered that his dragon wouldn't growl at his family. He wouldn't do it to a scent he was familiar with.

Less with his own mother, even if she wasn't one yet.

He moves away from Arrax's neck, allowing the young woman to see him. He sees the surprise on her face, and after a few seconds, it makes sense, they are not yet family.

He holds out his hand, and she quickly understands what he means. He carefully places his hand over hers and directs her toward his dragon. They go slowly, their eyes watchful, but unafraid. Arrax was small compared to Syrax, but he was still a fearsome and ferocious creature, and he knew where his loyalties lay.

So, without any inconvenience, Arrax steps forward, allowing the princess to touch him with his own nose.

She gasps in disbelief.

He hears a chorus behind him and turns to see the Dragon keepers, witnessing the exchange. Lucerys understands dragons are secretive, selective creatures, and protective of their own. To have one touched by a stranger must have shaken their knowledge of these creatures.

But Arrax knows her, he thinks, smiling to himself.

But the most incredible thing comes next, just when Luke places his hand on Rhaenyra's again, simultaneously caressing the pearly white dragon.

“It's beautiful.” The princess murmurs in High Valyrian.

Arrax stirs, a short roar showing his happiness at the compliment.

"Don't insist on him being vain, he's already very spoiled." He answers out of habit.

He then realizes that he has just answered her in their native language. He sees it in her violet eyes, admiration, a spark of joy. Luke feels happy that showing that knowledge was enough to cheer up the grieving princess.

The implication of speaking a language is that there must be two people who know it, and who speak it. The moment there is only one person left, the language dies.

In the same way, just one phrase in a language other than Old Valyria leaves an implicit message from Lucerys to Rhaenyra. "As long as I am here, you will not be alone. You can count on me not to fail you."

A roar brings them out of their bubble, and they see the dragon keepers running in the other direction, aiming at a huge figure approaching from the shadows, which both Targaryens immediately recognize.

Syrax.

The golden dragon approaches them, while some dragon keepers and knights come closer with the intention of protecting them. But it's Rhaenyra, who runs towards her dragon, trying to calm her, standing between her, Luke and Arrax.

Always protecting me, Luke thinks with a certain helplessness, which fades as he hears her scream at her dragon to calm down.

But the dragon is not looking at her mount but at the other two.

Now, what really puzzles everyone is how Arrax addresses the largest dragon with a playful air, moving towards her without any fear.

Doubly disconcerting is that Syrax does not growl at him, but calmly opens one of her wings and allows the smaller dragon to settle beneath it, both of them comfortable, unaware of the chaos felt by all the spectators.

The attitude of these dragons is strange as they do not know each other yet but instead of fighting, they greet each other with affection.

Syrax looks at him and he senses in her the same tenderness with which she has treated Arrax.

Luke understands.

Syrax knows that Arrax is her offspring.

Syrax knows that he is the rider of Arrax.

Syrax knows that he is the son of her rider.

Syrax knows that he is of the Blood of the Dragon and protects them.

Coming to the Dragonpit is one of the best things that ever happened to Luke. It seems like a message from the gods, with that demonstration, that no matter the time, the House of the Dragon takes care of each other.

~•○O○•~

She visits the sept because it is a habit she has carried out all her life. It is something that feels natural, and instinctive. She does it because it brings her comfort and makes her feel heard by one of the Seven.

Not because she is avoiding her father, who a few nights ago expressed surprise that she was in her room and not with the King.

"If he's not with you, who is he and his daughter having dinner with?"

It was an interrogation that questioned her actions. Her lack of duty. But rebellion had momentarily arisen, and Alicent would not answer that she did not want to go. That a few nights and evenings ago she stopped attending the King. That, in a fit of rage, she abandoned the box that held the dragon she planned to repair, on the scale of Old Valyria. She had wasted time that day searching for Rhaenyra, only to find her with—

“Let the Seven hear me.” She whispers, letting her thoughts convey the rest of her sentence.

"If they do, they don’t respond directly."

She startles but doesn't turn around. She recognizes that voice. She knew it from the moment her heart leaped with joy and pain and guilt as she heard that light, playful tone, without the bitterness of this year. Something about it makes her relax, smile, and look back at the person.

An action that is cut short when she sees that Rhaenyra is not alone.

She is with a boy. No, she recognizes that hair. It's the boy, from Godswood. Who holds her, and makes her laugh. Achieving what Alicent couldn't.

Although she was busy with other people.

“Princess.” She greets formally, rising from the ground with a brief nod. She senses her frown, and Alicent is weak. “Rhaenyra.” She says, less tense.

The young woman in a couple of strides goes to her and hugs her, and By the Seven, a feeling of bliss fills Alicent with the warmth of her body against hers. The smile on her face is completely genuine.

"I apologize." The princess says, to the surprise of the young redhead. "I've been neglecting you, Alicent. I've been immersed in my pain, not seeing you."

"Don't say that, Rhaenyra. You have every right to grieve in your own way." Even now, Alicent can't stop caring for her friend's sorrows.

Nor would she say, out loud, that she avoided her too, for a whole different reason.

"What are you doing here? You don’t visit the sept, only when you’re forced to."

"And even then, they drag me along or I manage to pretend that I'm sick to my stomach." Both laugh, remembering those funny situations that were made for nostalgia. "A part of me felt that you should be here. I remembered what you told me the last time we were here together. I thought you could help me."

Her chest feels like it's going to explode, all because Rhaenyra remembered some advice from her, that happened in this very place, and instead of dismissing it, she came here for guidance.

She is someone important to the princess.

"...and I was nearby in the Dragonpit, I flew for an hour, and when we came back they were still there. I only saw Arrax fly alone, Luke still can't because of the Maester's instructions–"

"Luke?"

That name is spoken and the bubble Alicent was floating in bursts. Rhaenya stops, and her smile, Seven, her smile is full of emotion. She gestures back, invitingly. Alicent has forgotten the young man, and as he approaches, she feels sick again as she watches Rhaenyra take the boy's hand.

"Alicent, this is Luke, a Royal guest. Luke, this is Alicent Hightower, my best friend." She introduces them jovially.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Luke." She responds instinctively, only noticing herself that she said it reluctantly.

"Likewise my…milady, er, Lady Alicent." He stumbles over his words, looking at her with extremely wide eyes.

She takes a quick look at him, and declares, objectively, that there is something sweet about him. Soft, adorable. In the shape of his full lips, his eyes. Everything about him screams innocence. Shy, she might add, from the way he blinks after looking at her so intently and looking down at his feet when she catches him looking.

He isn't handsome, not like Ser Criston, or has a dangerous aura like Prince Daemon. She even dares to think of him as more feminine. Not much muscle, but lean. She can't figure out what he will look like when he grows up, but a part of her can't help but notice the allusion to the future in the way Rhaenyra holds his arm confidently.

Luke, if he can take the liberty, is similar to her. But of the two, Luke is a man on whom the playful princess leans, just like in a fairy tale.

Alicent doesn't like him.

"You invited him to the Dragonpit? Why?" Her best friend doesn't notice the tense tone, nor that she put a lot of effort into her smile.

"His dragon is there with Syrax. You'd be surprised to know that she's very protective of him, Arrax. He's almost as much of a baby as Luke." She reaches out her hand to pinch his cheek, to which the boy groans without any real intention.

Alicent is caught up in the fact that this mysterious boy has a dragon. One that Rhaenyra's pet has taken a liking to. This is a dragon rider, someone who might know High Valyrian. Someone who knows the mystical world the Targaryens hide in. Closer than Alicent will ever be to her princess.

“Are you done or are you still in your prayers?” Rhaenyra asks with hands behind her back.

"You must go and say your prayers without fail. Well done, daughter. As I know you have been taught."

“I’m done.” Alicent impulsively reaches out and wraps her arm around the princesses, their shoulders bumping together, not being annoying. “Let’s go to the Red Keep, to home.”

Rhaenyra's smile makes the word home echo within her.

Until the princess uses her other arm and pulls the brown-haired boy closer, who momentarily stumbles. With Rhaenyra in the way, that doesn't stop him from leading the way to the carriage.

Alicent ignores the boy, the intruder who clings to the heiress. As they walk in threes, the princess, who turns her head to both sides for a moment, begins to skip along and they have to follow her to avoid tripping. Even though Alicent feels that there is one more unnecessary person with them, the young Hightower can not help but enjoy it.

Finally standing in front of the carriage, Luke steps back, offering his hand to the two young women. Alicent, out of habit, reaches out hers, the other gathering her blue dress slightly, until they make skin-to-skin contact.

And it is strange.

At that moment, Alicent feels as if a part of herself has sung because of that touch. So fleeting that, if she has stopped to think about it, she can feel the confusion, the anger, the sadness, the feeling that she was touching a future that could have been promising which vanishes in a second.

One soul calling for another.

But as fleeting as the feeling is, Alicent forgets all about it as soon as they part and she sits inside the carriage.

Which is a bad decision, because Rhaenyra, as always defiant, instead of using Lord Luke as support, is the one who pushes him inside so that both of them are sitting close together. The princess even arranges a few strands of hair on his forehead naturally and, if Alicent is not crazy, she sees the boy lean under that touch without any awkwardness at all.

Alicent wants to vomit. Again.

She doesn't hear Rhaenyra's voice telling them to take them to the Keep. The length of the journey, and the reprimand that would surely come from her father when he saw her locked away. Again.

She only feels heaviness in her stomach and the urge to cry.

When she decides to look outside, she can't help but lock eyes with young Luke. And it's funny how pain and guilt work because she thinks she sees Queen Aemma judging her with pity.

~•○O○•~

Luke knows that his mother had said that she had been friends with the current Queen in a past where everything seemed simple, where her youth was bright and nothing mattered more than her family and close circle, among which the Queen was.

He knew it, of course, but it was still hard to believe.

Not after the looks. The grimaces. The whispers. The betrayals. The constant declarations of war coming from the Greens. The false smiles, as well as the promises. The hypocrisy and the humiliations that his mother had to endure.

He'd had Rhaena, Baela, Jace, and the rest of his siblings, the closest thing to friendship that someone like Luke could afford. For a while, he had Aegon (before he became the worst version of himself), Helaena (before she closed herself off from the rest), and… before… well…

Anyway, the point was understood: a friendship is not equivalent to deliberately harming each other, because the love you have in the bond prevents you from doing so.

He had grown up believing Alicent Hightower was no friend of his mother. So he did not understand the longing glances, the silent tears, and the one page his mother, the Queen, turned over with trembling hands.

He didn't understand it.

But he met Lady Alicent Hightower and was bewildered.

No disdain, no grimaces. In her, he saw softness, shyness, and naivety in her brown eyes, her hair almost loose without tension, and, most surprisingly, no green. She was blue. Not Velaryon blue. But blue.

She looked so...so...young.

And Lucerys felt sorry.

Much pity for this young girl who is as much a child as his mother. The murmurs of the Red Keep of a baby raising babies now have greater force, seeing her walking timidly seeking the step of the young princess.

And it hurts too.

Because that sweet face, her lips, her nose, and the way she walks, reminds him of Helaena. Poor Helaena, who speaks in a low voice, in riddles, and with an unfocused gaze. With her nails lightly pressed in blood, which she knew how to hide.

The shape of her face was totally Aegon. Her eyes, if they were violet, would be the same as his eldest uncle's. Her nose, gods, was also his. To add to that, the curls that escaped from her hair were similar to those Aegon wore, except his mother's were better kept.

There was no doubt that had he been a woman, Aegon would have been the spitting image of his mother.

If that had been the case, would his mother have become more attached or kept her distance?

As for Daeron, well... he hasn't seen him in years, but he assumes he has violet eyes and platinum hair, to highlight the fact that he doesn't have them.

But, as hard as he looked, he couldn't find anything of him in this younger version of his step-grandmother. Her face is round, not sharp. Her nose is small, not long. She's not as tall, and her hair is curly, not straight. She's slim, but not built the same way.

There is nothing of his mother.

But…he felt something when his hand touched hers. Something familiar, something that screamed at him that it was there. He couldn't forget the thought of hearing a voice, a roar, an exclamation of Forgiveness and regret that made his heart clench.

He held on to that, and in the carriage, seeing Alicent's expression tighten, her brow and mouth furrow, he recognized that she was conflicted. That she wanted to do something but duty was pulling her in another direction. That it made her sad, but there was no room for her sadness when she had to serve others.

One gesture and Luke was able to spot him.

He may have Valyrian features, but he did not resemble King Viserys.

He may be the son of Queen Alicent, but there was nothing physical to resemble.

He was his own person, in his own way, although assimilating gestures from the only person he knows loves him and takes him into consideration, his own mother.

Among them, was an apparent calm, which hid a chaotic storm.

Lucerys almost wanted to laugh, remembering his mother telling him that when he was born, there were only two people who calmed him: her and a little Him. One not yet affected by Alicent's influence.

With his touch he was able to make baby Luke stare at him, with a toothless, contented smile, reaching out to him. And he, according to his mother, looked happy.

Then Luke ruined everything. He was going to kill Jace so he took his eye in return. He stole Vhagar, but he also didn't cause a dragon can’t be stolen. Luke couldn't hold a knife as payment, with the blood still fresh in his memory, his scream, and his absence. He…He still mis–

“Princess Rhaenyra!” A shout comes from outside, a knight approaching the carriage. Rhaenyra opens the door, being the first to get out and face the man. “A meeting of the Small Council is needed. It is urgent.”

She nods, her posture showing that she has entered her role as the King's heir.

She turns to look at them and relaxes.

"Duty calls, but I hope that as soon as it is resolved we all will eat lemon cakes, as I told you."

Lucerys nods, though he never heard when she made the suggestion. But it had become a habit, especially since his mother had become pregnant on Dragonstone and Daemon had taught them that, at a certain period of her pregnancy, only say 'Yes' to everything she asks for. It had been a habit to be at his mother's beck and call ever since.

(He still remembers when Aegon the Younger said "No" and everyone felt like the winter was coming because of how the room grew cold at his mother’s gaze at Aegon until the infant with a scared face cried out, yes!)

He is left alone with Lady Alicent, watching his mother and Criston Cole follow behind them, both at the entrance of the Keep. They look at each other, uncomfortable. A brief smile, before changing direction, and standing there awkwardly.

"I'll go to the Library." They say at the same time, surprised by their coincidence.

"I thought young Luke would want to go to training camp." The red-haired brunette says politely.

"I…still find myself unable to move with brutality. Besides, I prefer the calm of a poem or reading stories. I find comfort in them."

"Comfort?" There is a strange tone in her voice, and he looks at her.

"Yes, especially when I lost my father…" He says unintentionally, but her expression is totally attentive. "My mother got married very soon, and my paternal family lived far away, so I took refuge in the stories I read."

"How old were you?"

"Six, and… despite everything, I just wanted there to be someone besides my brothers and mother, who would say that they were sorry for what had happened to me."

He sees her gasp, something imperceptible before she recovers. She approaches with a shy step, before standing up and asking.

"Would you mind if I accompanied you to the library?"

Whatever had happened, whatever had made her so tense, it had vanished. She swallowed her pride for some mysterious reason, with grace and delicacy. He watches her, intent on her approval that would fill something inside him. Eager to prove that it was worth it to let down his own defenses, to be worthy. All of it in her eyes.

In his eye.

There you are.

He nods, offering his arm. She takes it and they head inside of the Red Keep.

~•○O○•~

Does Rhaenyra like Luke because he reminds her of me? The possessive and slightly proud thought crosses Alicent’s mind. Would she want to be friends with someone like me for ever?

That thought should terrify her.

She likes it.

Chapter Text

"What egg did Daemon take?" She repeats, this time out loud, knowing that the entire Council turned to look at her and at the dragon keeper who seemed uneasy about answering.

She had a suspicion, and she was right.

The answer is a stab at her and her father.

"The egg was Dreamfire's, Princess. The same one you chose for Prince Baelon's cradle."

The Valyrian steel necklace burns on her neck, feeling like a snake is choking her from the vertigo of Daemon's betrayal.

She hears her father say he will go to face him himself, but his Hand stops him, pointing out the danger that her uncle represents. In his place, Lord Otto will go, along with a detachment of twenty soldiers, among whom are Ser Westerling and Ser Cole, along with Maester Orwyle (she looks worriedly at the maester and he reassures her with a gesture).

But Rhaenyra knows that combining the Hand and her uncle only means bloodshed. It won't end well, her father will lose an advisor, and her uncle will fall into disgrace once again. Far more than he has fallen.

There is only one way to fix this.

With an idea in mind, she leaves without anyone noticing.

Except, the person who was spying behind the walls.

~•○O○•~

"Where is the King? I can't see him."

He had asked for one thing. That his brother should come. Just one thing.

"His Majesty would never stoop to entertain such a farce."

And that fucking Otto had to ruin it, as always.

Fucking snake. He knows Viserys has a soft spot for him, so Otto has come in his place to provoke Daemon's wrath. In his eyes, it's an offering to kill him in front of so many witnesses. He wishes he could, but he knows he's treading on thin ice.

Especially since he has the egg that should have belonged to his unborn nephew.

One she chose with love.

True, he is enraged at being replaced. Ten years as heir and yet never did his brother take him or his advice into consideration. Instead, he chose Daemon's young niece, who knows everyone will want to manipulate her. A rumor of the foul serpent and everything hangs over Rhaenyra and yet his brother is unable to see it.

They don't know her.

He's not going to let this son of a bitch ruin his plans. He won't show weakness.

Although the appearance of Ser Crispin, aka Ser Criston, did lift his spirits somewhat. He is someone who enjoys a good response.

But again, fucking Otto.

There's something about this man that makes him push to the limit. To infuriate him, to drive him mad. Even if he has to lie, to say that Mysaria will be his wife (which he should have warned her about beforehand) and that he stole the egg for a child that doesn't exist.

Daemon has standards and everything based on him having Valyrian blood.

But just as he can infuriate this idiot, this one, with the mere sound of his voice, can infuriate Daemon. He doesn't know what a battle entails, the losses, putting Mysaria on the front line of an attack, Westerling's reluctance to be there, even the fact that he might die (Ha, as if that were going to happen), all to remove the spare head from this tower's body.

Caraxes, if he actually hears his hissing roar, agrees with him.

And just when it seems he is about to start speaking, in a diplomatic resolution, a dragon emerges from the clouds.

Daemon knows who it is without a doubt.

Caraxes roars happily to see her. Traitor.

On the bridge of Dragonstone, Syrax's heiress steps down, passing by the entire entourage of uninvited guests, head and chin held high, unwavering. Not a hair out of place. In the armor of a rider similar to the scales that make up the skin of every Targaryen.

He fidgets with the egg and notices Mysaria giving him a frown.

He also notices how the new heir smiles at Maester Mellos, who does something similar before a slight nod, as do all the Dragon Keepers (very good ones, if he managed to get past their defenses). Also when she manages to get away from Otto's attempt to "protect" the princess, and how she chooses to ignore addressing him properly, crossing an imaginary boundary that she doesn't mind breaking.

There is no pleading when they speak in their native language. No, please give it back, Uncle or it's not fair! You shouldn't do that. Those are the kind of responses someone like Otto would surely expect from a princess.

But this is Rhaenyra, and she says. "My father named me Princess of Dragonstone. You're the one intruding, uncle."

Fuck.

No matter how much he tries to make her lose control, or how much he tries to convince her that he deserves the egg, she doesn't give in, she flows.

It is imposing.

She is untouchable.

She is a true Valyrian princess.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, when with a mocking smile, she asks him. "Are you to have a child?"

He avoids looking at Mysaria, who knows he is holding back as she has learned when to be silent and observe. A misfortune and a gift.

His response is silenced when he hears a roar.

However, it is not from Caraxes, nor from Syrax.

There is another.

He knows this from the reaction of Rhaenyra, of the viper escort. Everyone seems attentive to their exchange until they look for where that sound is coming from.

From the same clouds where his niece appeared, a figure flies out near them, making his niece almost stumble. He manages to hold her with his free hand, their hands touching so she won't lose balance again.

But she doesn't look at him, but at...

A dragon.

It's impossible, Daemon thinks.

It was true that there were wild dragons, some unclaimed, and some, like Vermithor and Silverwing, that rested undisturbed. He knew them all.

Not this one.

It's too small, like a young bird, white with red spots that barely seem to fly until it lands near Syrax.

Daemon waits for the dragon's rejection.

There is none. Instead, the she-dragon opens its wing to let this one…and it's…rider pass through.

He's a rider, Daemon acknowledges with bewilderment he can't quite express (no weaknesses, no weaknesses), as he watches a smaller figure slowly and carefully dismount from his saddle, walking toward them.

He doesn't understand what's happening.

But he sees his niece and to his double bewilderment, she softens. Her eyes express concern and he freezes.

The person walks through the middle of Otto's entire escort and stops for a second as he passes the Maester, who is looking at him with a frown and crossed arms. With quick steps and covering his face with his hand, he comes closer, slipping between a surprised Otto and his guards.

And for the second time that day, someone crosses that invisible boundary that no one dares to cross.

Except for Rhaenyra.

Except…

It's a boy, Daemon thinks as he notices the curly brown hair, wearing a cape over his shoulders. The boy stops shrinking in on himself after a moment, standing up straight like an...envoy?

Rhaenyra's hand is suddenly removed, abruptly, taking any calm and security with it. He watches her rush to the boy, watches her soften as she stops him, placing both hands on the shoulders of this stranger with such familiarity.

“What are you doing here? You can barely move without help, what were you thinking!?” She asks in a stern tone that nearly makes Daemon flinch. “Ser Criston, escort him back to his dragon!”

"I'm sorry, princess. But I saw you, and you seemed agitated. Besides, I heard what happened and I didn't think, I just acted." Says the boy in a soft voice. Too soft for a boy. "As long as you're here I swear you won't be alone, and I won't let you down."

Is Daemon hearing that right? Because that was a very well-spoken High Valyrian. He glances at Mysaria, who looks confused like him but nods in confirmation.

He also doesn't like the things this strange brat is saying to his niece.

They look at each other for what seems like an eternity to Daemon. Like they understand each other better than he can.

Third surprise of the day: Rhaenyra returns, but with the boy behind her.

She gave in.

But she still stands between him and that child as he approaches them.

That doesn't stop Daemon from finally seeing him clearly and taking a second, more detailed look. Because he swears by the Valyrian Gods he thought he saw Rhaenyra with short, curly brown hair who is clearly, a boy.

The theory that Viserys has a bastard child almost crosses his mind, but the idea is inconceivable for the simple fact that his brother had only one love, and that was Aemma. And if he had had a son, bastard or not, he would not be facing his niece right now.

And maybe he would have taken Otto's head off by accident a long time ago.

Maybe.

"Aren't you going to introduce him to me, dear niece?"

"Why? He's no concern of yours, uncle. Don't stray from what we were talking about. About you having a child."

"Don't leave me intrigued either. Your friend is a dragon rider, some distant relative Viserys discovered? What did he come for?"

"I have come to support the princess."

He forgot that this child can understand their language. But still, there is no platinum blonde lock, no violet in his eyes.

He has the lips, nose, and face shape of Rhaenyra, a true Valyrian woman.

He tries to look intimidating, flashing his best shiver-inducing grin, his gaze like a dagger. He knows Hightower the dog is cowering in fear along with the rest.

But this child is not affected.

Staying strong.

It is imposing.

He is untouchable.

He decides to ignore it, along with the feeling in his stomach that he just did something wrong, out of his mind.

“I'm right here, uncle.” Rhaenyra again catches his attention, once again like the princess she is. “The object of your ire. The reason that you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you'll need to kill me. So do it, and be done with all this bother.”

He expects to see a weakness in her. See trembles, but Daemon knows her. She may have asked him to end this the way everyone expects him to; to get dirty, to prove he's capable of stooping low enough to kill his niece.

Let him become a kinslayer.

One quick glance at Otto and the guards and one can see how tense they are, hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to protect the princess.

Until he sees the boy behind Rhaenyra.

Everything about that boy is relaxed. He doesn't look like he is going to jump between him and his niece, instead staying in the spot she had left him. He can even tell that a smile is going to appear on the boy's face, with no ill intent in his posture.

And his eyes… that grayish blue, calmly, looking through him that makes Daemon feel like he is being exposed to a stranger with a familiar look.

He knows.

That boy knows he is not capable of harming Rhaenyra.

Daemon doesn't tremble, but he avoids meeting that gaze again, returning to his Rhaenyra.

Feeling that there is no longer any reason to continue pretending, he turns around and throws the egg to his niece, who catches it.

He can feel the boy's victorious smile from behind.

He glances sideways without showing that he does so, watching Rhaenyra walk away from him, and carefully but firmly take the boy, who seems attentive to Daemon. He sees how he seems to want to hide from the maester's sight, again, but his niece does not allow it with an earful who just let her do it. She returns the egg to the dragon keepers, both of them continue on their way.

Feeling a stare, he looks at Otto who is bewildered but still a dark presence that doesn't take his greedy eyes off the boy.

Instinctively Daemon puts a hand on Dark Sister, feeling his soul screaming that he must not allow this. That if they did anything to the boy, his sword would be stained. Something that only came up when it came to…

It was when the boy and his niece were riding their respective dragons while they were in the air, that the boy's dragon roars. It's so high-pitched, so childish, so joyful, and it's directed towards only one direction, Caraxes.

For the fourth time that day, he is surprised again, when his surly dragon roars back in response. He notices them all shudder, surely believing him to be as angry and mad as his rider.

However, Daemon can understand and distinguish that the noise is not one of unhappiness, but almost a loving purr. His dragon shifts, lowering his head and long neck.

To others, he appears ready to attack.

To Daemon, he lay there completely docile and expectant of this unknown dragon. If he could shake his head in tenderness, he would.

Caraxes has never been like this with any other dragon except Syrax.

He doesn't stop again, with Mysaria and the knights loyal to him following him. He doesn't say anything to them, but, understandably, they don't want to be near him expecting something out of their control.

But Daemon has only one thought in his head, what the hell just happened?

~•○O○•~

He sits looking out over the sea that separates King's Landing from Dragonstone. With the sky displaying the hues of dusk, he can imagine that, on the other side, they are seeing the same thing as him.

Mysaria arrives and he knows just by her pacing that she is angry.

After hearing her 'you're a prince, but I'm a whore, and if you declare me your wife you'll make me a target, and no, that's not why I came with you' talk, it makes him realize just how much of an idiot he has been.

But hey, Daemon has never thought smartly when it comes to his brother or his niece.

And she is right. Listening to her, he realizes his privileges, and how he has seemed like a child to everyone.

He listens to her when she says that she didn't come with him for gold, or power, or anything. Just security, the freedom of being free from fear.

The worst place to look for it.

Daemon is at least honest in admitting his defeat in this conversation which also means she can't take advantage of it.

"You want freedom? You want that security? Tell me what you know about the boy who came with the princess." He sees her stony expression and wants to snort. "I'm not an idiot, Mysaria. I understand why you claim me, but of the two of us, only one was known for being a good listener. That's how it all started for us. We became acquaintances. Me, Commander of the Gold Cloaks, and you, a whore. But you knew what to give me, in every way." He leans back in his seat, offering the cushion in front of him. "Tell me."

She sighs, looking at his hand and the offered seat. She knows the implication of this act; she is not a prostitute bartering with a man who pays her, but as close to an equal level as she has ever had. At her same level, in the same places she has been, ready to listen to her.

She sits.

“A few days ago, someone who works at the Red Keep shared about how Princess Rhaenyra had disappeared from the halls to lock herself in her room. It was believed that it was because she finally broke.” Daemon stops himself from laughing. Rhaenyra wouldn’t break, she was incapable of that. “But the reality was whispered among servants, of how a young man lay being cared for by the crown princess herself. No matter how much her own father insisted, she wouldn’t leave his side.”

That was odd about Rhaenyra. Her niece was reserved, in a way. They might call her the Realm's Delight for the way she got along with everyone, but that didn't mean she was open to just anyone. She understood that in her position, any rat would want a little. That was why her boundary included her family and the Hightower girl.

The last one is the only error of judgment from her niece.

So, when Mysaria tells him she cared for the boy, it brings back memories. When he was still welcomed in the Red Keep, waiting for his brother, doors were always open, inviting him to talk, for him to listen. All the while he had a little girl on his knees, attentive to his stories, but also looking at the one person who never forgot to give them a smile and a scolding that never became cruel. Ae-

“How did the boy get here?” He asks, clenching his fists so the pain goes to his hands and not his throat and chest.

"That's the most interesting thing: you already saw that he had a certain creature that makes your family stand out, dragons. Well, it seems the princess found them falling in a storm, unconscious and injured."

"What do people assume?"

Mysaria gives him an enigmatic look.

"It is a strange coincidence that he appeared just when the princess was making her usual flight. Others suggest that he is a messenger from the Seven, a message from the fall for naming a female heir. Although they also believe that it is a test, that they are testing the princess to be worthy of the Iron Throne." She falls silent.

"Continue."

"...Others think that more than a test or a bad omen, it is the princess's future fiancé."

Daemon wants to be angry. He wants to break something. But when he imagines or tries to imagine, that brown head so he can crush it, or cut it in half with Dark Sister, something inside him stops him from doing it. The same thing that said he had to intervene if Otto so much as laid a finger on him. That if he saw his green-gloved hand touch a single hair on that little head, he didn't give a shit about going to the Wall for killing the Hand.

Because he has to protect the boy.

He doesn't know where that sentimentality comes from.

These emotions are instinctive towards Viserys, towards Rhaenyra, towards…

Daemon freezes.

Mysaria notices this but doesn't say anything as she stands up and begins pacing until she reaches the window.

"You may go, Mysaria. And don’t worry, I won’t forget my promise to you."

Silence, but he feels it when she leaves. Sure that she will comply, he doesn't know.

Fucking Otto, this all started because of him. By whispers, words of venom. The heir for a day, he told his brother. He didn’t deny it, nor did he affirm it. As always, they think badly of him and it doesn’t matter what the sheep believe. But he thought his brother knew him.

That's what he thought.

He underestimated the rat.

There were only two people his brother would listen to, him…and Aemma. But by listening to that fucking Hand, he turned a deaf ear to both of them. Because he heard his niece whisper "murderer” as she looked at Viserys. How his brother cringed in guilt, unable to look at his only daughter. He realized that out of all the times, Aemma had said something, that was the only time his brother hadn’t heard her.

She died, and with that, they just had to get rid of him.

That's what they did.

But no matter how far apart they were, Daemon only answered to one King. Otto could go take a horse because he wasn't going to leave his brother to be used as a puppet. Loyalty, no matter if his Hand never did it just to convince that old codger, was something inherent in Daemon.

He would protect Viserys and Rhaenyra.

But he couldn't protect Aemma.

He thought that the last thing left of his good sister was a niece.

Yet after what had happened a few hours ago, Daemon had been piecing it together from the moment the child stood near him. Unafraid, impassive. Blue-grey irises staring into his soul, his pug nose betraying no agitation. But he stood behind Rhaenyra, and Daemon recognized the ferocity with which he saw Aemma look at anyone who went against her daughter.

That boy was like Aemma Arryn.

He couldn't deny it, but he couldn't explain it either.

Caraxes did not see him as an enemy. Neither he nor his dragon.

Dragon's blood is waiting. They usually call each other.

Whoever it was, Daemon needed answers to his questions, even though he already had some certainties.

One of them was that the boy seemed to be loyal to Rhaenyra if his body language and words were any indication.

Another is that whoever taught him High Valyrian is a good teacher.

The last one is that those were Aemma's eyes. It wasn't just the color, but the ability to discover Daemon's weak points and keep the secret of that. That, for some reason, she was loyal to Daemon.

It's been a long time since there was anyone with that kind of confidence.

Daemon is loyal to others and has to pay for loyalty.

This child was giving it to him blindly, and even though it's stupid, it's still kind of nice.

Before leaving, he notices a piece of paper on the table. Picking it up, he sees that it's written by Mysaria.

"I also know a name whispered, Luke."

His heart stops for a moment. Why?

"Luke." He tries the name out and he has the instinct to smile, with happiness, with peace.

That a single name makes him feel calm and protective. It is not a Valyrian name, although it feels as melodious as a lullaby from his roots.

Luke, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a child smiling at him.

He realizes, shortly after, that he is humming the same song that his father sang to him as a child.

This Luke is hiding something. But whatever it is, he feels in his blood that it was to protect Rhaenyra, Viserys, and him.

Because those eyes assure him of it, and Daemon doesn't know how to act when Aemma has revived through them.

Chapter Text

The princess looks angry in a way that only she can look; silent, indifferent, feeling the cold before the fire explosion.

Lucerys knows the fury is because of him and he can't help but gulp at that fact.

She had given him the silent treatment the moment they arrived at the Dragonpit and he dismounted Arrax. His dragon returned to Syrax, who gave him a small snout-smack in reprimand.

Of the two, his dragon was lucky.

He sees his mother has not changed the way her anger is shaped. But, as her son, he has learned to discern why.

Luke, after some deliberation, realizes that she is worried by the way her lips are set, and the way her shoulders are squared. She wants to appear strong, and she is, but her love for her son (even if she doesn't know it) makes her appear stronger. He knew it by the way she always stood up for him after bowing her head to the Queen for so many years. He knew it when his brother and sisters fought against him, and in return, she roared, ready to spit fire.

Now they see you as you are.

She's always looking out for him, acting as a shield because he took a risk. Stupid Luke, he thinks.

But he can't help it.

He had been on his way to the library with the Que-Lady Alicent when her septa called her in for a lesson. They were near one of the inner gardens, so Luke told her she could rest there, all because she insisted that he should at least take her to where they agreed or to her chambers. He managed to convince her on the third try.

He leaned against one of the walls near a corner out of tiredness, watching the one who would not be his Step-Grandmother leave. That's when he felt pressure on his back and he almost would have fallen had he not grabbed onto the frame of what he discovered was a secret passage he had opened by chance.

Their stepfather Daemon had told them about the existence of these, and the childish part of him wanted to explore it and see where it took him. The other, more 'mature' part, said it was better to go back the way he came, that there was no time for games.

As he tried to follow the latter, he felt a tug in his stomach. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, heading into the passageway…

..and the door slammed shut, so there was only one way out.

Where the wind pushed him.

Which led him to a passageway in front of the Council Chamber, and he heard what happened to the stolen egg.

Daemon confessed to him once when he asked, that he never intended to humiliate his brother or threaten his mother. I only wished to reconcile with him, he told him. Luke had told him that he could have done it any other way, to which Daemon laughed, I wanted to do it my way.

When Rhaenyra left the council room alongside everyone, he knew she wasn't going back to her chambers. Not just from hearing the story, but from how she made sure no one saw her, how her body tensed and she nearly flew out of the room. So Jace.

It might have taken longer for Luke to catch up, if not for the fact that every time he turned to look for the path, that wind pushed him back in the right direction.

Upon reaching Arrax (after a long journey), he took advantage of the fact that the dragon keepers were still in a state of shock about the stolen egg, making his way to the saddle without any one of them noticing. Calm down, Arrax, let's follow Mother in silence. Obey me, obey me. He reaffirmed the latter, due to what happened the last time his dragon didn't listen to him.

Both managed to surprise the dragon keepers as they took flight. Luke and Arrax rose until they were balanced, with the dragon following Syrax's trail.

Which led him to Dragonstone.

And, like the Dragonpit, it made a rush of happiness and calm wash over him from head to toe. The closer he got, the more mysterious energy drew him to the home of Aegon and his sisters. Dragonstone was home to all Targaryens, and it has been for Luke since he was six. It is good to see you, his heart said to every stone, path, tower, painting, and whatnot on that island.

Below, the situation was not as pleasant.

Arriving back at the Red Keep, Luke realizes he's still a child who knows nothing of court politics. Especially when he met Otto's gaze back in Dragonstone; calculating, yet surprised, weighing the value of his presence. Still now Luke wonders who this man really is. The man who sent his daughter to seduce a King, who pitted family against family for power, to place the Conqueror's Crown on the head that carries Hightower's blood.

If it weren't for the fact that this moment was of great importance to his parents, he would have done everything to make Daemon cut off the stupid Hand's head.

This too. This encounter was Daemon's first step into the abyss that could only be filled by Rhaenyra Targaryen. When he saw her, he knew that he had the blood of the dragon before him. That she was a young woman, soon to be a woman, that he would wish to submit to. To be loyal to. To love.

The idea for Aegon and Viserys II started here.

Visenya too, but she remains an idea.

It had been said that he was there as a demonstration. To everyone present, to Otto Hightower, to Daemon, to Rhaenyra herself, that the crown princess was not alone. That they would have to face him and his dragon to harm her.

But also, that part of Luke that had grown up listening to his parents wanted to see how it all happened.

It was so stupid, useless.

But as soon as he made it through the group, Luke felt his heart stop. It was a second that seemed to last hours, his blood ran cold and he began to sweat coldly, thinking that he was about to fall off a cliff. That he was going to be torn apart.

It's him, he's here to finish the job, he thought with one foot in the air.

It was when he laid Arrax down that he took a closer look. His chin was more square than sharp, like his cheekbones. His hair was so long but not silky, and even the obvious fact that he had two eyes.

Seven hells, and Luke thought he was only obsessed with Luke's eye, was his second thought before facing the prince.

Knowing that this is Daemon, his future stepfather, the man who was willing to protect him, who taught him High Valyrian, who tried to get him to pick up a dagger and then told him he had no need. This was his father, who would protect him because he was a Targaryen.

It was strange to see how his eyes seemed to threaten him.

And even with his intervention, his mother caught the Prince's gaze again, and he could see what happened between his parents. The before and after; Daemon fell even though he didn't know it. Luke almost laughed in delight.

The return…now that was awkward. He is sure Maester Mellos will look at him the same way he did on the bridge and his mother made double sure of it. Well deserved, he thinks, just as they stop in front of the Keep.

But none of them come out.

"Rhaenyra, I'm sorry I bothered you." He says when the silence remains, increasing the tension. "But I'm not sorry I went."

She is now stabbing him with her gaze, letting out that anger she has kept under control.

"You are just recovering from an accident. Your memory, although it is returning, is fragile and may have consequences due to the state of your body. You only risked yourself for what? To save me?"

"You misunderstand me. I know you can take care of yourself. I understand that. But I promised you…"

"Well, to keep that promise you should improve your health! Don't overexert yourself! Don't make me feel..." She stops.

Lucerys watches her cover her face. She doesn't want him to see her cry. Stupid Luke, he made her cry. The image of his mother, this strong woman, who in front of the world is untouchable and made of steel, is shattered by the recklessness of a child.

The door casts a shadow over them due to the late hour of the day, and when Rhaenyra dares to look at him, Luke feels his heart rise in his throat. He sees her violet iris exposed, but the other is dark.

He doesn't see his mother crying because of Luke.

He sees him crying because he was hurt by Luke.

It's your fault, Lucerys, yours alone. All of this happened because he took the dagger.  It was to defend Jace . He chose to shed blood. He chose not to pay a debt. He chose to be a coward. It's late, it's late, it's…

…Rhaenyra tenses in surprise as he hugs her.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s my fault, all mine. I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You have every right to hate me. To never forgive me, but I don’t want to be a thorn in your side anymore. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Words come out of his mouth, hidden in a chest of secrets. A treasure whose value no one cares about. But he is tired of protecting it. He is tired of pretending that he is not affected and that he enjoys causing harm, which is not true. And, no matter how hard he thinks he tries, he remains an obstacle to his family's reconciliation. It is all his fault. Everything–

Arms wrap around him tightly, feeling his hair being caressed.

They don't say anything to each other, not while Luke cries. Not while Rhaenyra holds him tight as if she is afraid he will fade away.

They stay like that until someone knocks on the carriage door. They separate and simultaneously wipe away their tears, fixing themselves as best they could. Seeing what happened, they ruefully laugh.

The princess is the first to get off, offering her hand to Luke.

He doesn't hesitate and takes her hand to get down. They smile at each other, understanding each other.

Until they see who is waiting in front of them.

"Your Grace." They say in unison.

"Ser, please escort Lord Luke to his chambers, make sure he does not leave."

"Your Grace…" The princess intervenes.

"And escort Princess Rhaenyra to my solar, I need to have a conversation with her. Then I will speak with you, Lord Luke."

They both look at each other when they are escorted on separate paths and they do not stop doing so until they can no longer see the other.

Stupid Luke.

~•○O○•~

Viserys enters Luke's (previously Rhaneyra's) chambers much calmer after speaking with his daughter.

The King is not silent, but the boy must be deep in thought, with his back to the door. His hand carefully touches some flowers, white lilies accompanied by blue and lilac hydrangeas. His daughter's favorite flowers... and his wife's. And Luke treats them with the same delicacy that his beloved Queen touched her newborn.

He can't help but stare at the young man's profile, in his borrowed blue tunic, with the red cape on the chair next to him. Pursing his lips, he concentrates.

Viserys feels like a teenager, observing the presence of his young cousin, who is told by his father to come closer. That she is shy, but still someone to be considered a Targaryen. His father must repeat it because Viserys was stunned to see this calm entity, the complete opposite of him, his brother, and his father. When she looked at him from under her black lashes, she squared her shoulders, showing the pride and fire that claimed her as a dragon, even though she was raised among eagles.

The King feels this memory coming to him and has to clear his throat to keep from crying.

Luke turns around, and Viserys stops him from getting up. He walks over and sits in front of him.

“Rhaenyra told me what happened. How she went to Dragonstone and stopped Daemon and Otto from fighting.” He gathers his strength to face him. “What surprised me, though, was that in your state, you went. Which leads me to wonder, why?”

The boy hesitates.

"Y-Your Grace, would you believe me if I told you it was a spur of the moment? That I saw the princess heading in the direction of the Dragonpit, and I didn't hesitate to follow her?"

"Well, I'd like to know what made you follow her instead of stopping her."

"You know her better than I do, do you think I could have stopped her on my own? With the determination she was going with, I think everyone thought she was a loose dragon, rather than a princess."

Viserys laughs, nodding.

"Although…you still haven’t answered why?"

Luke remains silent, completely serious. Viserys has the urge to take his hand and ask him, what does your heart hide from me, beloved?

But this is Luke, not Aemma, he remembers convincing himself.

"She was alone." The young man says, looking at his questioning gaze. "She had decided to go with her dragon to face her uncle, alone. No knight, no Lord supporting her. She went, with no support other than cunning, bravery, and her dragon. The princess didn't trust anyone. And... it seemed unfair to me."

"That she didn’t trust others?"

"That others do not trust her."

That was a direct blow to Viserys, even if the boy doesn't know it.

"The thing she did by going...it is not only a show of power against your brother but a sign that the Princess has a leg to stand on. She is your Heir, but an Heir who has nothing but a title to hold on to, no true circle of trust, no allies but her own House, is not taken seriously. And she went to Dragonstone to show you and everyone else that she is capable of being your Crown Princess. I went to show the Princess that I trust her as a leading Queen she will be."

The more he explains it, the more Viserys finally sees clearly the damage he has done to his daughter.

In his grief he isolated himself, but so did she. He stood by the Small Council Members, but Rhaenyra… He thought naming her his Heir would be enough, but she had to resort to this to show him her worth. How did she think he thought so little of her? No one stopped her, and worse, no one accompanied her. It was as if he could see that the role he gave his daughter, only they took seriously. In reality, he had neglected her as a father and as a King.

“I understand what you mean.” The King admits in a defeated tone. After a pause, he decides he wants to discuss with the boy another topic that is still bothering him. “I see you also met my brother, and I apologize in advance if he was rude. Also, I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt or threaten you.”

The young man, to Viserys's surprise, smiles.

"Your brother is clearly a character, Your Grace. He has a great presence, I have no doubt about it."

"Didn’t you fear for your life or my daughter’s?"

"If I may be honest, again, I can assure you that Prince Daemon was more of a threat to the party you sent than to the Princess or me. It would have ended in a bloodbath had she not reached him." Rhaenyra said the same, the King thinks with amusement. "The Prince, if I may say so, I cannot doubt that he was antagonistic. The Princess even told him that if he wanted to regain his position as Heir, he would have to kill her."

Rhaenyra said  what ?!

"You must have seen it, Your Grace. I could tell from the moment I arrived, but when she said those words, Prince Daemon gave up." He tells him with a tone of astonishment, but a calm look. "That's when I knew."

"Knew what?”

"That the Prince prefers to die than to kill his niece. The mere thought seemed to make him sick."

Viserys slowly processes this information. His brother, Daemon, was complicated. He had violent tendencies and was volatile, impulsive, and dangerous. He was a good swordsman and liked to show off. Otto reminded him of his faults as well, no matter what position he was given.

Then he remembers how he held Rhaenyra at birth. Every gift he brought to his niece from Pentos. How he taught his daughter High Valyrian. How, without fail, he would bring something delicious or a beautiful jewel or poem for Aemma, sitting with his niece on his lap as he recounted his latest journey, then carrying the child away and leaving his sister-in-law in peace.

Daemon smiled genuinely at them, at his family.

“He called for you, Your Grace.” The young man says, catching his attention again. “I understood very well what he did and why. You may not see it so clearly, so I will present this situation to you: I have been the second son all my life. My first and best friend has been my older brother. We were always loyal to each other. But as he grew up, so were his responsibilities, so he had to focus on them. I, being a little boy, didn't understand him; I just wanted my brother to play with me. He was so insistent, that when one time he was very hard on me and didn't want to talk to me. I took his scrolls, the ones he studied our language in and hid them.”

He shifts, looking down sadly. “He couldn't find them and spent the whole day looking for them. No one knew where they were until my father pulled me aside. He told me, I know what you did, but your brother is older and his duty is to your mother. I insisted that I wanted him to be with me, and he said that he did the same things with his brother and they ended up estranged. He said, maybe, talk to him about it directly. I took his advice and told my brother what was going on and gave him back the scrolls. We made up when my brother said that, regardless of his duties, I was one of his priorities."

"What I mean is that I couldn't help but put myself in the Prince's place and I noticed he did the same actions that I did as a child. It leads me to conclude that, in the same way, he is incapable of harming your daughter but he also wants you to speak up and take him into account."

Viserys places his hands on the table, his fingers twitching as he finds the similarities.

“You don’t understand, Luke. He disrespected my wife, and my son, the very day the Stranger took them. He called him…” His throat feels tight, returning to the Iron Throne, his brother before him, cloaked in gold, imagining himself triumphant. "The Heir for a Day, that’s what he called him.”

"Did you attribute it to him?"

"No, but it wasn't necessary when he didn't deny it. My brother of all…"

"That's not a yes either," The boy says, with the beginnings of a frown. "Deny or accept, you are his brother, as you say. You know him. Maybe your brother was hoping that your own judgment would be the one to decide whether he was capable of saying something like that."

Viserys feels like he has just been slapped. A direct and necessary one. A call to realize where he stands.

Not only has he ignored his daughter, but also his brother, because he is immersed in pain, in darkness, in the guilt that things could have been different.

The only thing that can bring down the House of the Dragon, is the House itself.

Viserys contributed to that destructive process.

"What do you suggest I do?"

The young man's eyes widen, and his mouth parts, stammering, "Excuse me, Your Grace?"

"You have spoken with wisdom, and have made me see my shortcomings as a father and brother. Your experience with your family may be of help. Tell me, what would they do?"

The young brunette looks down, one side of his mouth pursed, possibly searching for a solution.

“Your brother wants to show his loyalty to you in some way, but he also needs to convince his allies that you are not a threat.” Viserys nods, completely agreeing. “He needs something that can do both: prove his worth and reform his character. You must find a way for the Prince to be needed, and subtly build him up as a Protector to his family and allies.”

Viserys couldn't have agreed more. And, perhaps he is pushing his luck, by asking young Luke to continue to give him advice.

"As for Princess Rhaenyra, I understand she is your cupbearer. But she has been since before she became Heir. So, to show her that you trust the decision you made, you should promote her. I mean, you were a cupbearer when you became Heir."

"No, in fact, I sat…" The King pauses as he processes his next sentence, and leans back in his chair as a hand passes over his face. "In the Heir's seat, next to the King in the council. Of course, I understand your point."

The boy nods. "That would put the responsibilities of her corresponding position, she would secure a place and would learn, not only listening but giving his contribution."

That would also calm his daughter's rebellious and somewhat spoiled nature. She would learn to see the problems of others, to take her out of the privilege that has protected her.

"Any other suggestions?" He doesn't sound tired, because he is very interested in Ae-Luke's opinion.

“I met Lady Alicent today.” A shiver runs through the man, but he chooses to ignore it. “I know she’s the closest thing she has to a Lady-in-Waiting, and she’s the only one. If marriages and sworn sisterhoods are ways to form alliances between men, being part of the Crown Princess’s group of Ladies is how it’s done between women. One from each Great House, and the princess mentioned Lannister, Baratheon, Arryn, Tully, Tyrell, and even the North. If adding her to your Council Table is any indication among the members, those alliances will be seen across the Great Houses. And for the Princess, it will make her socialize more and meet other kinds of people. They won’t be pleasing in the beginning, but if she bears the title of The Realm's Delight, it’s for a reason, right?”

"Are you really ten and five?"

His question throws him off balance, causing him to let out a nervous laugh.

"Eh, yeah. Sorry if I overstepped–"

"It's alright." Viserys stands up, staring at the table and the door.

That piece of wood he came through half an hour ago calls for him. A short conversation, that was what it was supposed to be. But he fears that the moment he leaves, the clear mind of this boy, holding the key to the solution to Viserys's impeded path, will close itself on him. He cannot leave it.

Not when between those words he hears Aemma's subtle advice.

He might even have the nerve to see Queen Rhaenys' social intelligence, Visenya's strategy, Jaehaerys I's conciliatory order, among others. As if this child could carry the knowledge of all the Targaryen ancestors.

That…no, it's not possible.

Viserys ignores the door, heading for his daughter's library to remove something and returning to the table with Luke.

Luke may have the mind for this too.

There's no doubt that he has it.

~•○O○•~

Later, he will meet with Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws to ask for his advice as well, and, for the first time since losing Aemma, he will feel that he has taken the right path.

Chapter Text

 "Not saying anything in a meeting doesn't mean you're not doing anything," His mother told him after she invited him to the brief family Council for the first time.

Usually, it was done for his mother to demonstrate that she didn't shy away from the political matters, despite their life on an island, while Jace used the chance to study how the interactions went. Luke, however, was forced to attend because of his future Lord of the Tides position.

On that occasion, he saw his mother tending to several Lords, seeking their counsel, and Jace would intervene if he had an idea, which his mother either accepted or set aside for future consideration.

Unlike his brother, Luke stayed there, in silence, embarrassed until it was over.

Then his mother told him those words, which the young Velaryon didn't understand until now.

He had seen the consequences of his mother's lack of alliances, the wounds in the relationship between his father and his grandfather, how everything would have been different if everyone had tried harder.

"If I had done this," was a phrase that sometimes escaped his mother.

No, it was no longer a matter of what if. With Luke here, with years of knowledge ahead, every potential solution stood not as a possibility but as an inevitability.

His mother worried that the Queen had played her cards well with the Court? Now, he's secured several alliances for her.

That her voice wasn't heard within the Small Council? Now she is regarded there as befits an Heir, no longer just a mere cupbearer.

Was Daemon a problem? He always would be, but now there is an answer that would satisfy them all. Even Daemon will thank him for it.

He thinks so.

It's not that Luke is feeling smug, even if he feels a little giddy inside, but he believes that with his intervention, things will get better.

Except for one issue that wakes him up in the middle of the night.

The King must take a wife.

Shit.

It keeps him from getting proper rest, leaving him to stay awake in discomfort. Yet the consolation lies in Rhaenyra’s desire to see him still, wishing to break her fast with him.

They both smile at each other, a world away from the tension of their return trip.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at the door, and the princess allows them in. Ser Cole steps forward to announce Lady Alicent’s presence.

The young woman enters and pauses at the doorway.

No one says anything, though the Targaryen and Velaryon share a meaningful glance. 

Only when Lucerys rises and gestures toward his chair does the silence break. Alicent smiles excitedly as she approaches them, handing the lemon cakes to the princess.

It's funny, because if a week ago, anyone had told him that he would be sharing morning feast with the Green Queen in a pleasant and even relaxed way, he would have laughed and called them crazy.

"Do you like lemon cakes, Lord Luke?" She offers him some as she asks.

"I think they’re delicious, and…please, just Luke."

"I-I…that’s a little…"

"Come on, Alicent, I'll do it. It'll make him uncomfortable if I don't," The princess says, chewing with her mouth open.

"Rhaenyra!" They both say at the same time.

The aforementioned laughs.

"Okay, I'll call you Luke," The young Hightower agrees, resigned.

He takes the lemon cake she offered him.

"Thank you," He places it on his plate. "Can I call you by your name, then?"

"It would be a fair deal," She shrugs, pouring tea.

Both the princess and Luke take the cake, taking a small bite at first. They savor it with their tongues before taking a larger bite, devouring the cake. They wipe away the remains of the sweet treat by licking them lightly and then using a napkin.

Luke realizes this detail late, unlike Lad-Alicent, who frowns briefly before shaking her head.

He hopes it wasn't that obvious.

~•○O○•~

"The King requests your presence at the Council, my lord," Says a knight when he sees him in the library.

Luke nods, closing his book and managing to get up more quickly to follow the knight, who escorts him through the corridors to the large doors where the Small Council presides with its members.

He recognizes Rhaenyra, who looks at him questioningly.

He knows the King has considered his suggestions as he hoped he would, but he doesn't understand if that has anything to do with the King's strange request for Luke to be here. He's practically a stranger to several of them. Not so much to some, like Grand Maester Mellos, who cowers in place not out of fear, but because his legs are numb, and Otto Hightower, who regards him suspiciously. He has done so ever since they met on Dragonstone.

Alicent being behind the Hand causes any calm he had maintained to be replaced by panic.

It can't be. Will he witness his grandsire choose to marry Lady Alicent? Memories of that morning's pleasant breakfast come back to him. Is this the last time they could be at peace, before their friendship is broken forever?"

No. He doesn't want to witness that. Not now, when he knows how his mother acts when she's with Alicent. Not when he knows what Alicent is like with his mother. Not when, together, they seem to blossom.

But he's still standing there, so he decides to go to the side he's always belonged to, his mother.

He nods in acknowledgment to everyone, particularly the young Hightower.

Luke can sense what the people here think, even without seeing their expressions. Who is this child, and what is he doing here?

"Good morrow, my lords," The King begins, to which the others echo with a good morrow to you, Your grace. "I appreciate your prompt arrival. Since everyone is present, I've decided we can begin with a matter that has been whispered behind my back and that I know members of the Council are aware of, my choice of a new wife."

His grandfather looks at the princess, and Luke sees her force a smile. She's giving him her approval, expecting that he will speak her cousin Velaryon’s name, not that of her best friend.

Luke feels a knot of unease.

There's a pause, during which the King looks not at Alicent, who is manically picking her nails, but at Luke. Then he looks straight ahead, before all the lords.

"I have decided that I will not take a wife."

Absolute silence.

No one seems to breathe. Everyone turned to stone.

He sees Otto Hightower, who was hiding a victorious look, tense up and look confused.

His mother looks just as surprised.

But the reaction that strikes Lucerys the most is Alicent’s. She freezes as well, then lets out a sigh, relief shining in her eyes and a faint, discreet smile on her lips. Her hands relax, and though her nails seem to be bleeding, she remains calm.

Luke knew the Queen had never loved his Grandsire, that she did so out of duty. But seeing her in this very moment, where she was steps away from being Queen and being denied that path, and yet being happier for it, Luke could say he'd never understood anyone the way he did Alicent Hightower.

She didn't ask to be Queen. He didn't ask to be the Lord of the Tides.

They followed their families’ will, all in the name of duty.

"Your grace, I understand that these have been very difficult few months-"

“Exactly, they were. They are. But it hasn’t even been a year since the pressure was put on me to have a new Queen. The ashes of my wife and son have yet to be scattered. It’s by law that there must be a year of mourning, even longer for a Queen.” The King's tone is harsh, and several members lower their heads in shame. Luke believes only half of them truly share the King's grievance. “And I find it brazen that the idea of ​​such an immediate marriage has been offered. Especially when I already have my heir, the future Queen.”

He points at his daughter, who looks at him with shining eyes and lips that want to smile with pride.

"Your grace, you are in a very vulnerable position after the loss of the–"

"Are you afraid our enemies will see the flags at half-mast and think it's a sign to attack us freely? No. I may have lost my lady wife, the mother of my heir, but the House of the Dragon is not vulnerable. In fact, I've made another decision."

They exchange glances, and Luke recalls their conversation last night. Perhaps…?

"Lord Corlys, I authorize the Velaryon fleet to engage with the Steptones immediately."

"What?" Comes from a very pale Otto Hightower.

Although Luke is the one who pales more when he sees the face of the said man. His grandsire. His father's father. The Lord of the Tides, who had always sworn that the driftwood throne of Driftmark belonged to him, both verbally and through several letters that arrived every year. Whom he had seen walking with difficulty with a cane, finally securing dominion over Stepstones, after not having seen him since he was six.

A man of the sea, dragged into war out of fear for his House, using the King’s slight toward his daughter as an excuse.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't know if that betrothal was even suggested or not. He has no idea.

What he does know is that the King asked for his opinion on Lord Corlys' petition regarding the Stepstones and the Crabcatcher.

And now his lord grandfather, Lord Corlys Velaryon, looks pleasantly surprised. Luke resists smiling at him.

"I give you my permission to handle this problem."

"Your grace, do you think it's prudent? Can the Crown afford it?" This time, it's another lord, whom Luke recognizes as Lord Beesbury, a man loyal to his mother.

"I've thought it over carefully, and if the Crown Coffers can afford several tournaments, they can do so with a single contest. Better now than never. If Lord Corlys agrees to contribute a portion, he will be fairly rewarded."

They exchange glances again, and Luke knows what he's going to say next.

"But that will only happen if you meet my next condition: Daemon will join you, representing the Crown."

Otto, who was hastily drinking his wine, starts to choke. Behind him, Alicent taps him lightly on the back to help him recover.

"In consideration of the Crown Princess's suggestion to send riders, it will be a show of both power and support among our people. Besides, if this Council is so afraid of my brother, I imagine he can use that effect against the enemies. And there's something else. I trust my brother's loyalty to me, and I know that with his cunning ways, he will do everything possible to bring me triumph."

"Your grace, this is laughable. You don't want conflict, you've made that clear," The Hand speaks again, having recovered from his previous incident. "If the Crown joins in, it endangers more than the Coffers, but stability itself..."

Third time, the King's violet eyes meet his, remembering the words with which he managed to convince him to get involved.

"The war will come one way or another. The storm seems far away, but it will reach the shores and devastate. If you continue in denial, the opportunity to nip it in the bud will be gone, and it will turn into a conflict that will last for years. That will certainly affect the Kingdom. I regret the harshness of this, but these are the facts."

"What if they try to convince me otherwise? That this is an issue that should be forgotten."

Luke leaned forward and sought to convey the same strength and resolve with which his mother had commanded her bannermen and allies when faced with the greatest of betrayals.

"You are the King. Don't impose yourself like a tyrant, but show that you wear the Crown. Because you are the leader of House Targaryen, survivor of the Curse of dragon riders. So be that. You are a dragon. Be a dragon."

"My decision is final, Lord Hand," The King interrupts in a shrill voice, halting Hightower's babble. "Those are my decisions, and they shall be respected as such. Just as I have decided that the Princess will sit by my side as an official member of the Council, and that each Great House will also send a young woman from their family to become a lady-in-waiting, of which Lady Alicent Hightower, your daughter, will be the one to lead them. It has already been consulted by several members separately, and my word is final. Is that understood?"

Luke feels the tension throughout the room, but he can only look at his grandfather in admiration.

Before him stands Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

This is the King he was always meant to be.

“Yes, Your grace,” Lord Corlys says with a small smile.

"Yes, Your grace," Says the one he assumed to be the Master of Laws.

"Yes, Your grace." Lord Beesbury follows.

"Yes, Your grace." Agrees the Grand Maester.

"...Your grace." The Hand reluctantly accepts.

Luke has never felt so satisfied. He's done it. He's prevented the King from singling out Lady Alicent for his unhappiness, he's prevented her and her mother's friendship from fracturing into a two-sided feud, he's prevented his Lord Grandfather from getting approval to settle the Stepstones affair once and for all, and his stepfather will still get the glory of battle along with his brother's validation.

Everything is going well.

Luke tries to slip away, thinking of the formal introduction he believed the King would make to sate all the lords' curiosity around him. It was clearly improper of him not to do so at the outset, but that is the least of it.

He walks away, hoping no one notices, when his legs almost give out. He ignores it and crawls forward, trying to take the next step, but his head throbs, making him stagger.

“Luke?”

He presses on, but the world spins, his vision blurring, and he realizes he’s no longer standing.

“Luke!”

He doesn’t hit anything solid, but his hands catch the hair and white beard of the person holding him.

"Grandsire…" He mutters.

Then everything fades away.

Chapter Text

This had been the strangest meeting Corlys had been to since becoming the master of the sea to the Crown.

The King had not only made it known that the people were whispering about a new Queen, but he had subtly rejected the future proposal he had in store for his daughter Laena. He only later accepted Corlys's request to confront the Crab Eater, backing him financially and symbolically with his brother, Daemon, as the representative of House Targaryen. Even Corlys saw the opportunity when he declared that young ladies of the Great Houses would join forces to escort the Crown Princess.

The Blood of Valyria sticks together, he thinks, as he imagines Laena to be a close member of the princess's Court.

He does not know where the King got the strength to prevail against his own Hand, because he is the one who seems the least happy.

Corlys thought he'd been surprised enough that day. But then he found himself holding a child in his arms, who looked up at him on the verge of unconsciousness and called him grandsire.

The first thing he thought was, he's not that older than Laena.

His second thought was, I don't look that old.

"Luke!"

He is approached by the Crown Princess, who leaves her place to see the boy that Corlys refuses to let go. From the other side, another voice calls out the same name. Lord Corlys can only watch from the corner of his eye as Lady Alicent turns from her father and rushes toward Corlys.

To add to his bewilderment, the voice that resonates the most is the King's. He drops the commanding posture that usually intimidates nearly everyone, revealing a vulnerable expression as he stands before Corlys, hands trembling, clearly afraid for the boy. He looks as if he wants to take the child from Corlys...and perhaps he should.

"Your grace, we must take him to his chambers. I can examine him there."

Grand Maester Mellos rises from his post and moves to the King's side.

For Corlys, this must have been the moment to hand the young man over to a member of the Kingsguard to carry away to safety. Yet he can't shake the same feeling he had when Laenor had hurt himself trying to hold onto the mast, the little boy who didn't want to show weakness but needed his father. He can't deny the reflection of Laenor in that unconscious child.

It comes instinctively when he rises, holding the boy in his arms, and looks toward the Maester and the King.

"I’ll take him."

~•○O○•~

"The consequences of his going to Dragonstone, that's what I dare to suppose."

“What’s this ‘suppose’ nonsense, Maester? He collapsed right in the middle of the meeting! I need more than just your suppositions.”

Mellos looks at the King, who seems so anxious. In fact, he isn't the only one. Behind him stands the Princess with Lady Alicent and the Princess's sworn shield. The young women, though opposite, show their concern in different ways. The most obvious is the battered hands of the Hightower girl, whom the Targaryen princess tries to restrain by linking their arms.

Next to the Lady, the Maester can see the princess growing paler. He gestures for the young woman to come closer, perhaps expecting a response. Instead, Mellos brushes a hand across her forehead and finds a faint sheen of sweat.

"The Princess can guard him until he wakes up. So far, we can only guess, but I firmly believe riding a dragon this soon must have affected him. If they're resumed, it should be gradual and with supervision," He looks at the Heiress. "And with someone who's also a rider. I think when he wakes up, he can give us better answers. Also, don't worry, Your grace, compared to the first time you came to me, he's much better now."

The King nods, but he doesn't stop looking at the lying child.

"Now, Princess, are you alright?" He asks the girl, who is still very pale.

He hears a faint sigh. "I'm fine, Maester."

“Lady Alicent,” King Viserys says, making the young woman flinch, “As your first order of being the Princess’s chief lady in waiting, you are to attend to her in everything, including ensuring that she eats while on vigil. Is that understood?”

"Yes, Your grace."

It is the firmest thing he'd ever heard the girl speak. But she still plays with the torn skin on her nails.

"Well, I…I have to go."

The Maester notices the King’s reluctance, yet he had left the meeting so abruptly. Mellos, however, believes it was in fact a fitting way to end a speech laden with unexpected decisions.

Well, he’s not the only one with such thoughts, he thinks, as he follows the King and catches sight of Lord Corlys waiting ahead.

"Your grace." He greets.

“Lord Corlys,” the King replies, “I thank you for offering to take him, but I also apologize for having so discourteously involved you.”

"No need, I offered myself," Says the Sea Serpent, glancing back at the bedchamber door. "Is the boy okay? It was rather unexpected."

"The Maester assures you he'll be fine." The King looks down at the ground for a moment. Mellos wants to snort indignantly at the lack of trust. "He's a boy full of surprises."

"He's not the only one who has surprised me." Their eyes meet, both serious. "Is your support for the Stepstones cause real? I don't want to question it, but it was very clear before that it was a dilemma the Crown shouldn't get involved in."

"I thought about it, yes. But after looking at it from a different perspective, I thought it best to get it over with. Besides, the Blood of Valyria must show its strength one way or another. You had pointed out to me that the Triarchy would see my weakness."

"And I'm honored you've considered the proposal. I swear I'll do everything I can to make Stepstones yours, Your grace," He pauses. "And for Prince Daemon to lend his strength and sword is an honor as well."

In a certain sense, yes. The Rogue Prince, that scoundrel, is too untamable, always seeking excuses to draw Dark Sister. Yet if the King is set on sending him into battle, perhaps the clash itself will serve to sate his bloodlust.

Or it would make it worse, but he doesn't want to go down that train of thought.

"I would also like, as a symbol of unity between our families, to open the doors to your daughter, Lady Laena, to become one of the Crown Princess's handmaidens," The King continues as they walk toward the Small Council chamber. "If she is anything like my cousin, I imagine her tenacity would make her formidable...even at twelve.”

"I think she'd be more interested in learning about dragons from the princess, Your grace. She's fascinated with finding Vhagar and riding him."

"A fearsome alliance, I say."

Everything seems calm between them.

The Grand Master knows better-especially when he sees the curiosity in Lord Corlys, a question hovering on his tongue, one he knows Lord Lyonel, Lord Beesbury, and the Hand also have on their minds.

Who is the boy?

"Excuse me, Your grace, but I would like to ask about…" Lord Corlys’s eyes drift back to the hallway they just walked down.

There it is.

The King shows a grimace of a smile.

"I wished to formally introduce him to you today, Lord Corlys. He's a young man my daughter and I have come to hold in high regard. Very intelligent, with a surprisingly interesting worldview for someone his age."

That's when Mellos connects everything.

He knows Lord Corlys does too.

Did that boy plant those ideas into the King's ears? Stepstones, Daemon, the princess's position?

No, that can't be true. Mellos has known him only a little, but nothing so far paints him as a manipulative young man.

Perhaps in the boy’s ramblings, he said something, but to consciously shape ideas and convince the King to act on them...that is another level entirely.

He dismisses it, refocusing on his duty as Maester of the Crown.

Yet the expression on Lord Corlys’s face tells a different story. For a man who, in his youth, decided to go out and make a name for himself, this must feel like a mystery worth discovering. His curiosity wouldn't be satiated, and he would try to find out who the boy is.

For a child with an ordinary appearance, he knows how to gain mighty attention.

~•○O○•~

"Prince Daemon!"

The man leaning against the wall turns to see the gentleman, who is still gaping with a wild look on his face.

It makes sense since he not only tripped over his own feet in the rush to get here, but also nearly fainted, judging by his appearance. Whatever news he carries must have hit him like a whiplash, sudden and completely unexpected.

Daemon meets the man’s gaze and says, “What are you looking at?” before moving forward as best he can.

~•○O○•~

Alicent brings meat and bread, with milk, to the princess and Luke. She runs a hand over her forehead, feeling it damp. She's had a strange burning in her stomach, a slight pang when she was summoned to the small council.

Now the pain fades, replacing it with relief.

The King declared that he was not going to take a wife.

He will not take a wife.

She never felt calmer in her life.

Father won't be happy, a stern voice whispers deep inside of her...rebuking her for not fulfilling the task, for failing, for not being the daughter she was expected to be.

But Rhaenyra needs us. That thought layers over the guilt.

Your friend, your Lady, requires your presence.

That, too, is a blessing, for being the Princess's Leading Lady. It's official. Before, she was just a friend by association since her father was Hand of the King. She has a place at Court now, not a hindrance. She will help Rhaenyra dress, remind her of etiquette, instruct new ladies, and better understand the politics of the Kingdom.

And above all, it means she will be by Rhaenyra's side.

Forever.

She knows it is her duty to marry like any young lady, but many who accompanied Princesses in history did not marry.

Because they help raise the children. The thought sends a pang through her chest. Rhaenyra must have heirs.

"Alicent, you're back."

Startled, Alicent jumps. She doesn't remember crossing all the halls and passing Ser Criston, whom she will later apologize for her discourtesy. But she manages to make her way toward Rhaenyra, balancing the tray on the table near the bed.

"Here it is, princess," She says with a calm smile, which falters the moment she looks at her lady. "Rhaenyra, are you all right?"

Before the princess can say anything, she runs a hand over her forehead, feeling it warm. "Why didn't you call a maester?"

"It's nothing, Alicent. It must be the heat of the night."

Alicent turns her gaze to the window and the cool wind passing through it.

"I think I can watch Luke while you eat."

"Alicent…"

"If you regain your strength, you'll be able to take my place soon," She says firmly.

The princess sighs as she takes a piece of bread. Alicent wishes she could savor the moment, but she can’t ignore Rhaenyra’s anxiety or the few stray hairs clinging to her face and neck. She should look away… but perhaps she can’t.

The princess sighs as she takes a piece of bread. Alicent wishes she could enjoy the moment, but she couldn't help but notice her anxiety, a few stray hairs sticking to her face and neck. She should avoid looking at her, but she can't.

Which is why she notices when the princess subtly brings a hand to her belly, squeezing and grimacing.

It must be her bleeding. Yes, that must be it.

Alicent wipes a cloth across Luke’s forehead. She pours water and gently lifts his head, letting it flow into his mouth. Once he finishes the last drop, she returns the glass but notices with some amusement that much of what she brought is already gone.

“Rhaenyra!” She chides, keeping her voice small.

"Apologies, I was hungry."

Neither can hold back their laughter, though Alicent tries to muffle the noise with a hand over her mouth.

"...what’s so funny?"

They both stop, looking at the boy with the wet cloth still on his forehead, but with his eyes half open.

"Luke!"

Rhaenyra takes her previous position, and Alicent moves to make room for herself.

"Thanks to the Seven, you gave us a scare."

"Gods, Luke, don't faint again. I couldn't bear it a third time."

The two speak simultaneously and fall silent as Luke sits back, rubbing his eyes.

"I don't know…at one point I felt dizzy, and everything went dark. Sorry for troubling you again."

“No, no, Luke. You just gave us a scare,” Rhaenyra bites her lip, then turns to Alicent, “Tell Ser Criston to tell the King that Luke has woken up. And Maester Mellos as well.”

Alicent nods and rises, walking to the door. She takes a moment to compose herself, speaking as calmly as possible, relaying everything her Lady asked.

Her eyes follow the knight until he reaches the corner. Then, with a heavy sigh, she returns to see Rhaenyra trying to feed Luke, who pouts Please, Rhaenyra, I'm not a babe of four, still unable to stop her from serving him water.

It looks so…domestic.

In her heart, she feels she wants to see more of this side of Rhaenyra.

She knows the mischievous one, the indifferent one, the one who showed up in the Court, among others.

Now that she discovered another side of the princess, Alicent has the impulse to go to her and rest her head in the crook of her neck, hug her slender waist…

Stop those thoughts. You're just serving her, don't overdo it.

She returns to Rhaenyra and Luke, listening to their conversation. She recounts how excited the Heir was about the decisions made regarding her, about Alicent, and how proud she was of her father. She feels joy in their interaction.

Alicent decides to bury the guilt, the fear, that her father must be waiting for her, and what awaits her.

She ignores it just to hear Rhaenyra's laughter.

~•○O○•~

"Rhaenys,

The King agreed to my departure for Stepstones, along with naval support and that of Prince Daemon. I will depart King's Landing soon for Dragonstone, and I hope the raven the King sent has been received. It is more likely to bar our way or welcome us.

Anyway, in a few days, I'll travel to Driftmark to bid a proper farewell. I'll reaffirm that, while I'm away, the Throne of mine and our ancestral land remain in your very capable hands. If the decree has already arrived by the time I arrive, ignore my request that you prepare Laena to represent our House in King's Landing. You'll know what to do.

I send you my love attentively,

Yours,

Corlys."

It is a rather informal letter in the end, but after so many years, he has grown accustomed to sending his affection to his beloved dragon.

Also, if someone tried to read his letters, he likes to imagine their fates. Rhaenys, perceptive as ever, will point out who it is, and Corlys will figure out how to deal with the vermin.

He ties the message to the raven and watches it fly home. He sighs, missing the scent of sea salt that stung his eyes, so endearing.

Deciding to return to his chambers to check what he was going to bring himself, he is also hit with the urgency of thinking of a candidate he could suggest to the King to become the master of the sea in his absence.

But then he hears voices down the hallway connecting to his own. It’s the young boy who had fainted in his arms, now surrounded by the Crown Princess and the young Hightower.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving toward them until the princess greets him with a Lord Corlys.

"Princess, Lady Alicent, it's a pleasure to see you," He says politely. Then he finally turns his attention to the boy. "And also..."

"My lord, may I present Lord Luke? He is a friend of mine." Says the Princess.

He does not overlook the lack of a surname.

"A pleasure, lad. I am Lord Corlys Velaryon, master of the sea and Lord of Driftmark."

The boy stares at him with wide, amazed eyes. He might even shrink back slightly, swallowing hard as he does.

"...The honor is mine, Lord Corlys. I've heard great things about you. The Sea Serpent, the greatest navigator who ever lived. It's impossible not to know who you are. This has been heard across every sea on earth."

Though flattery doesn't usually reach him, this boy's words make him feel better, even proud. He hadn't seen such almost innocent admiration from anyone since his own children, especially Laenor.

"Really? The best? By all accounts?"

"My father admires you greatly. Or he did."

Ah, he understands, from the way his voice lowers, what he means. He responds with, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, I have my grandparents and I'm learning about the sea, just as he would have liked."

That gets their attention. A lot.

"Your family is from the sea then?"

"They all have been. Although, because my father is no longer here, and my grandfather had to travel, I didn't get to learn much when I was young. I had to… educate myself as much as I could."

Corlys takes a look at him.

Yes, he is a green young man. He may have had muscle, yet there is a delicate softness to him. But seeing his grayish-blue eyes, Corlys pauses. There is a message in them...a call he recognizes, the same one that urged him to sail the seas in his youth. The same one that led him to Rhaenys, to prove his worth, to support her in everything, in her claim, in her children.

Others could see the heavens in those eyes.

He sees the sea on a seemingly uneventful day in those eyes, until they encounter a storm, a raging ocean. A promise that they would meet the Drowned God if they dared to cross. The green of the Driftmark seas, with crystal-clear waters, full of happiness, joy, and transparency.

The boy came from the sea, but he himself didn't seem to believe it.

"He is also a good dragon rider," The princess intervenes in the middle of his inspection.

And if that isn't enough, Corlys thinks he is seeing someone else.

He places a hand on the surprised boy's shoulder.

"I admire those who carve their own path and make it truly their own. Your family must be proud to have a talented young man like you."

Luke gives him a grateful, honest smile that almost makes Corlys want to ruffle his hair.

"Lord Corlys, we need to take Luke to see the Grand Maester, just to be sure. So, if you'll excuse us..."

"Of course, princess. I'm sorry if I interrupted…"

"Not at all!" Luke chimes in enthusiastically, trying to compose himself. "I...it's been very pleasant talking to you, Lord Corlys."

"Same here, Luke."

The three young people say goodbye, and Corlys watches them until they turn another corner.

For a moment, he has the urge to go back and rewrite the message he sent to his wife. All to recount this trivial encounter.

Just so he can tell her he thought he saw Laenor in a strange young man.

Chapter Text

Her father is waiting for her.

Alicent has dreaded this moment ever since that meeting. She clung to Luke's calm presence, to Rhaenyra's infectious joy, and to the certainty wrapped in the King's words, I will not take a wife.

Judging by her father's face, it's quite the opposite.

As the Tower of the Hand door shuts, their laughter fades with the echo, and the warm brilliance gives way to the dim glow of the candles within.

She feels cold.

Her hands don't go to her nails, but move slightly to either side, wanting to reach two people so far away.

"You disappointed me, Alicent."

It hurts.

"Forgive me, Father. The choice lies with the King, regardless of my efforts."

Which wasn't much.

"No, it's my fault," The young Hightower looks at him, not knowing whether to express her surprise. "I shouldn't have put this burden on you. It's too much."

You are not enough, she hears.

And steps back slightly.

"I always believed your beauty and tenderness were something that could help you succeed. Seeing how comfortable the King was with you, I thought I was right. That you understood."

She makes an effort to highlight the brighter side.

"I-I am the Crown Princess's Principal Lady. The future Queen. No greater honor can be given to me-"

"Most of them end up being spinsters, and you're far too beautiful to fall that way," He says in a way that she has to bite her tongue. "Besides, there are also those who insinuate that many harbor certain inclinations."

There is a lump in her throat.

"Inclinations, Father?"

"Profane, daughter," And his whisper is a dagger, it is poison entering her ear and attacking her heart. "Such sinners will burn in the Seven Hells, for the mere act of profanity."

She holds her hands before her, fighting the urge to tear her nails off.

"You are the daughter of the King's Hand. Yet you've been reduced to nothing more than a titled servant when you could have held a place far more fitting."

"B-Being the Princess's Lady is no small feat, Father. She'll have me, and I'll help her in politics-"

"And you will raise her offspring? People will expect so."

"She can do it too. She'll be a great Queen and a mother, in due time."

"You deserve more, Alicent."

"I think what we deserve is given to us as long as we remain attentive."

"If you think like that, you don't understand the game you're a part of."

Alicent falls silent. He called me a fool. No, no. She's his daughter. He loves her in his own way. He doesn't understand that maybe what he thought she deserved wasn't fair, especially compaired to Rhaenyra.

"I'm worried about your company, Alicent. Specifically, I'm talking about that boy." She clasps her hands together, squeezing them tight. "I don't know where he came from, except that he was seen riding a dragon with the princess. How was he allowed such closeness? Don't you see that the princess has placed blind trust in a stranger?"

There's silence. It takes Alicent a few seconds, but from the look in her father’s eyes, she understands what he truly wants. He wants a name.

He wants to know who Luke is.

She knows that, as Hand, he'll surely want to have all the information. His full name, where he came from, his family, and even whether he had sinister intentions.

It was the Hand's duty to expose the threats.

Alicent, however, knows who Luke is.

He's the lanky, slender boy, smaller than other men, but with curly brown hair framing his cheeks that blushed when he laughed. He couldn't walk without someone at his side. He had a soft voice, but his excitement or longing was perceptible. His gray-blue eyes, so painfully transparent, spoke for him even when his lips did not. He missed his mother, father, and siblings. His home, being able to fly on his dragon. He delighted in lemon cakes until his toes curled, wrinkled his nose when he found something amusing, and blushed when joy overtook him.

She was the daughter of the Hand of the King, and her duty was to her father.

But Alicent only responds with silence.

Her father’s disappointment shows in the flicker of his eyes before he dismisses her with a gesture.

Later, in her chamber, while unfastening her dress, Alicent replays the entire exchange. As she drags a comb through her hair, she recalls every insinuation. She refuses to accept any other meaning.

Lying beneath the canopy, staring at the ceiling, she remembers his words: You don’t understand the game.

She doesn't. But she will. If learning the game means seeing what her father and the rest of the court see, she will. If it means stripping away her blindness, she will. If it means becoming Rhaenyra’s truest support and demonstrating unity and strength among them, she will.

Thank you, Father, for the warning, she thinks before closing her eyes. Now I know it's my duty not to let my guard down and to be loyal, just as you taught me. Thank you, Father, for you're a good teacher indeed.

~•○O○•~

Viserys personally prepares the letters, commanding Ser Westerling to summon his daughter. He waits half a second before withdrawing the order.

"Tell her the King has invited her to dinner. Her and Lord Luke."

"As you command, Your grace."

The servants are quick and efficient as they prepare everything, so by sunset, it's already served and ready to be enjoyed.

In fact, the first thing he does, setting protocol aside, is pull out a chair for Luke. He exchanges a glance with Rhaenyra, who nods in confirmation. It’s all right, and Viserys allows himself to relax.

In the same positions as their previous encounter, Viserys takes the opportunity to watch the interaction between the two young people, who recount their day.

All calm and pleasant.

"And then we met Lord Corlys, who was getting ready to send a raven."

"Probably his wife, about what was discussed at the meeting," He addresses Luke. "His wife is my cousin, Rhaenys Targaryen–"

"Okay, Father. I'm sure Luke already knows that," She says in a playful tone.

The young man blushes, and he looks to his daughter for an explanation.

"You see, Father. When we met Lord Corlys, it turned out Luke had already heard of him...his titles, his accomplishments, and how incredibly brilliant he is. You should have listened, Father. I've never seen such admiration in someone so small. And, if he'd had feathers, Lord Corlys would have preened himself. Like a peacock."

His daughter laughs, and he follows her.

Forcibly.

Because he sees the boy cowering in his seat, flushed red as blood, and he tastes something bitter.

He imagines the scene-how amusing it must seem. Yet seeing Luke marvel at Corlys fills him with discomfort.

When Luke and he met, he was cautious. But with Corlys, he is so open.

Could it be because Corlys held him when he fainted? No, Rhaenyra had said Luke admired him long before.

He shouldn't feel this way. He's the King. He's the King...

...but Luke admires the Sea snake more.

How unfair.

Or perhaps, the gods are mocking him.

On reflection, he realizes that many of their meetings have Rhaenyra present, or are protocolary, or are about her well-being.

He doesn't know how to get familiar.

Except...

"Luke, how about you join me tomorrow? I think I have something you might be interested in."

The boy first looks for his daughter. She, still smiling mockingly, nods.

"Of course, Your grace."

"Excellent. Now, daughter, regarding the Houses that have been invited. Are you betting on the Lannisters or the Baratheons to respond first?"

"I'm betting on the Velaryons, Father."

That makes Luke smile, and Viserys almost sulk like an old dragon.

~•○O○•~

Luke has memories of his childhood at the Red Keep. Most of them are clouded by the bitterness of rumors, the glares, and the despotism of several at Court. Not that he knew much, but several nobles weren't as subtle as they were thought to be. Or they underestimated a child's intelligence.

But one thing he remembers clearly is the time spent with his grandfather. The King doted on his two grandchildren, giving them what he believed suited them best.

He had Jace sit with him on the Iron Throne, telling him, someday, this throne will be yours.

With Luke, it was what the King presented to him: his model of Valyria.

He feels like crying when he's presented the scale model now. It is so small compared to what it would be like when Luke was born. Yet unlike that future construction, its creator’s care is evident...every detail treated with attention. There is love here, even in the places where dust will one day settle.

He remembers going to see him before that fateful dinner. For old times’ sake. Out of nostalgia for the moments he spent on his grandfather’s lap, talking over a piece, naming the stone dragons, painting some as a little boy.

He regrets telling no one about it.

"They look real like that, don't you think, grandsire?"

Even bedridden, his grandfather had looked at him with extreme tenderness.

"So much so that they can fly."

Luke brushes against one of them.

"My work, of what I wish Valyria had been like. Or New Valyria. It's my expectation of what it could have been. I could presume that this is my desire for all of Westeros to look like this."

"I can see that, Your grace," He says, running his fingers over the miniature buildings. "It really is beautiful."

"It's clearly a work in progress. But it's one of my greatest prides."

"Quite right, Your grace."

Lucerys stops before a figure...a dragon, shattered into pieces. He approaches cautiously, lifting each fragment with care.

"Ah, that was my mistake," The Monarch admits. "Just like our ancestors. Although I don't think I'll ever achieve this. It's just a dream."

"Dreams are different. Some are like shooting stars, with an intense brilliance that fills us with joy and hope. That's enough for many. The ones you have are like seeds. You plant them, nurture them, and watch them grow. But they'll take time, more than you have. And when they bear fruit, you won't be around to see the results. However, there will be someone who sees them. At that moment, it won't be a dream, but a reality."

Lucerys has been rambling, but the moment he lifts the pieces and meets the King’s gaze, he notices something that has always been there: hope. And he tried to pass it on to them, his children and grandchildren.

He knows that Alicent's children had been raised in the Faith. However, none of those words and prayers will convey to him what his grandfather taught them.

What he taught Lucerys.

Now he is giving it back to him.

In front of this model of Valyria, which had been his.

She's still ours, grandsire.

Lucerys smiles.

Dreams take years.

By the time it's over, the dream of a future Queen in Westeros will indeed be a reality.

~•○O○•~

Just a few days later, the first letters arrive from the Houses closest to the Crownlands. Nobles, highborn, bearing tidings of the… great pain weighing on Rhaenyra. And, if her expression is any indication, Alicent feels it too, though she manages to conceal it.

Luke finds them just like that.

"What happened?"

"Many Lords offering their daughters as birds to be commanded."

Alicent hums. She doesn't even have the strength to reprimand Rhaenyra.

"Do you need...help?"

"Yes," Is their collective response.

He picks up some of the scattered letters. He opens one at random and reads it. He does the same with two others.

"From House Merryweather, they wish to send Lady Marissa. From House Fell, Lady Thalia, a distant niece. And from House Staunton, Lady Darla..."

"The Arryns, Lady Jeyne in particular, are sending a distant cousin," Rhaenyra says, rubbing her head. "A certain Penelope, and she makes a point of saying she's younger than me. Clearly, because we're related, there's no choice but to accept her."

"The Tullys wish us to welcome Lady Karina. Along with the Freys, and Lady Vera, who is from the lands of the Neck," Alicent adds.

Lucerys finds, among all the envelopes, a seal that fills him with joy.

"From House Velaryon, they wish to send Lady Laena Velaryon."

"Yes."

Both Luke and Alicent laugh at how strongly Rhaenyra agrees.

"We can't refuse. Besides, Laena will be a breath of fresh air for the ladies who are afraid of getting their shoes dirty."

"Lady Laena is ten and two; her youth is something that will be welcomed."

And so they continue. Talking, pointing. At one point, Alicent, revealing a hidden talent, organizes everything on a scroll, marking the territories. Clearly, the young women of the Great Houses must be accommodated, but Rhaenyra also has to consider the lesser ones.

In the middle of that, Rhaenyra settles in as she reads one, looking surprised.

"House Mormont..."

Alicent joins in their surprise. Lucerys hides it, but understands: Northerners aren't very keen on getting involved in the South's problems. It was easier to assume that people from only below the Neck would get involved.

Rhaenyra looks through the pile where she pulled out the same letter.

"Manderly also sent one."

The princess mentions several Northern Houses.

"This is unusual. What do you think is going on, Princess?"

She remains silent.

"No Starks yet," He notes. "And it's the most important House in the North. I think it's because they don't have any daughters or nieces. So the other Houses send for them. That shows great unity. And loyalty, too."

No Stark has broken his oath, she said at the Council when she sent Jace to remind Cregan Stark of his oath.

Luke hopes it would be like this here, too.

While Alicent writes down the new names, Lucerys continues with the remaining ones, which, thank the gods, are now few.

Until he sees the seal on his hand.

The deer.

The Baratheon Stag.

Baratheons of Storm's End.

The rain on his face.

"Remind me of my oath?"

Unwelcome glances.

"Go to your fucking mother, and tell her the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog she can whistle on."

Cold. Betrayal. All traitors.

Greens.

"My Lord Strong..."

"Which of my daughters will you marry?"

"My lord, I cannot marry..."

"GIVE ME YOUR EYE, BASTARD!"

"Luke!"

The young man finds himself sitting up. His vision clears, and he feels warm hands holding his arms and a hand on his cheek. He feels a tightness in his chest. His throat is tight. He is unable to move his body.

There's silence until he smells the scent of ink, of flowers, and his eyes can shift from taking in the figures around him. He sees the scrolls, mostly lying on the floor. He's still holding the envelope and drops it as if it's burning. He looks to either side and notices Rhaenyra and Alicent, worried.

"I...I'm sorry."

Alicent pours him a glass of water, which he drinks until there is no drop left.

"Luke, is it true?"

"What is?"

"Are you betrothed?"

Lucerys thinks he may faint again.

"Ah, I...ehm..."

"Maybe you're remembering more now," Rhaenyra whispers. "You saw the envelope and fell backward. You tried to lean on the table, but you still fell. After that, you kept saying you were betrothed. We had to wait for you to calm down."

Luke settles himself and tries to stand on his own. However, it's the two young women who end up helping him.

Rhaenyra looks for a moment at the letter that put him like that.

“I think that’s enough. We’ve all seen the letters. I’ll make my judgment later. Best to get some fresh air before nightfall.”

Alicent nods. Lucerys does too.

The three of them walk through the Godswood, sitting under the Weirwood Tree when it gets too tired for them. Rhaenyra and Alicent speak of past events and of things Lucerys is learning for the first time.

He feels a quiet joy...happy that this friendship has been preserved.

"And who are you betrothed to?"

The calm is gone.

Lying on Rhaenyra's lap, he sees perfectly when Alicent pinches the princess's arm.

"You don't have to answer, Luke! No matter how curious we are."

"Um, no, no, no problem." He plays with his hands, avoiding looking at them. "It was something my mother and grandmother arranged. For the sake of our family, and to ease tensions."

"Understandable...but do you love them?"

Luke swallows. He persists in not looking at the young woman.

"We grew up together. I'm fond of them. A lot. Maybe, in time, they'll love me back."

He feels a caress, and dares to look...his mother’s hand, always a source of comfort.

But now there’s something new: the warmth of Alicent’s hand, her fingers tracing small circles, and he finds himself smiling at her.

It's so cozy to have them both.

This is how it always has to be.

"Whoever it is, they're lucky to have you, Luke," Alicent says softly.

"Yes, we're already happy with you," Rhaenyra admits with a mischievous smile. "Maybe we'll keep you here and they'll have to come for you."

No reprimands, just the laughter of the three.

So young, without problems for a single moment.

Lucerys wants it to last forever.

Chapter Text

She should be focused on the carriage procession entering the Red Keep...the banners of the Houses they represent, the young candidates arriving to become ladies-in-waiting to a princess. A political move by the King meant to show that House Targaryen acknowledges the other Houses and to secure their support through the Crown Princess.

But Rhaenyra can only think of a young man.

Luke.

Who had nearly fainted after seeing the Baratheon letter. He looked as pale as he had the time she'd saved him. Scared. He was scared.

Though she doesn’t understand the cause. As far as she knows, the Baratheons have not crossed the sea or committed any dishonorable act. In fact, their reputation is decent enough, strengthened by Jocelyn Baratheon’s marriage to Prince Aemon Targaryen, parents of the Queen Who Never Was.

Whatever the reason, Rhaenyra wants to know.

No. She has to know.

Because in her heart, there's that pang that she doesn't want Luke to suffer. To be scared. Rhaenyra wants to protect him from everything and everyone.

She needs Luke to tell her so she can understand why he repeated, I'm betrothed.

That's another important point: Luke, that child, is betrothed.

It is no small feat for people of their station to be betrothed. Even the fact that Rhaenyra herself remains unpromised must come as a surprise to many. Yet everyone knows such bonds are forged as political alliances, meant to strengthen two Houses rather than unite two souls. That there are couples such as Prince Aemon and Lady Jocelyn, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, even her own parents, who managed to find love within such a union are rare and extraordinary cases.

Rhaenyra secretly wants him to have the same happiness.

But Luke talks about the reunion with fear.

There is something about that commitment that makes Luke...shy, sweet, attentive Luke, tremble as though he had just been sentenced to his own execution.

The thought that he might even prefer such a fate creeps into Rhaenyra’s mind, dark and intrusive, and it terrifies her.

She needs to know more about that connection. However, even though she calls herself The Realm's Delight, known for charming many, Luke is immune. Able to see through her antics, the brunette possessed a gift for changing the subject. And Rhaenyra finds herself unable to push him to his limits; it's the last thing she wants.

So, she has to find someone who can reach Luke or teach Rhaenyra to find answers about who the person is.

As she looks down the line of carriages, someone in particular comes to mind.

She hopes to take advantage of the time they have to calm the restlessness in his heart.

Rhaenyra clutches her stomach for the fourth time that day. She needs the tea the maester advised, but she's starting to think it's useless.

This pain seems to have no cure.

~•○O○•~

The young ladies are excited, frightened, and expectant. Each of them knows their presence here marks a step higher in the Kingdom’s hierarchy...better opportunities, finer clothes, future husbands. Giggles ripple among those already familiar with one another, sighs rising at the thought of promising futures.

"Youth is going from bad to worse."

Laena smiles at her mother’s dry remark. She glances sideways, catching the amused curve of Rhaenys’s lips. She is about to nudge Laenor with a playful reply, only to realize there is no one seated to her left.

True, Laenor stayed in Driftmark.

He is the heir to the Throne of Driftwood, the future Lord of the Tides. A Velaryon through and through.

A Targaryen, with his own dragon.

Laena wants to push those thoughts away. The ones that remind her of all the times she'd looked at her mother and brother while they were flying over Driftmark with Meleys and Seasmoke.

It doesn't make you any less of a Targaryen, Laena.

But she yearns. And she's determined.

The other young women came looking for dresses and husbands.

Laena came to claim a dragon.

Yes, strange to anyone else. But Laena has a feeling the Princess will understand. They share the Blood of Old Valyria. They are cousins. The Princess is a dragonrider, the youngest who ever lived. Laena wants her to understand. Needs her to.

She may understand her more than Laenor, who inherited Driftmark because he is a man.

Better than her mother, who was raised more Targaryen than anyone.

The Princess is the heir to the throne. She is a gateway for women like her. She will understand that she wants to find her other half, with whom she can fill the void that calls to her.

Laena wants...

Two members of the Royal Guard open the doors to a large hall for them. They enter as orderly as possible, keeping their conversations in low voices.

Laena has her mother, who watches the crowd with a sharp eye.

She laughs.

Sheep, her mother must think.

The same two Guards reopen the doors, and the maids settle down, bowing in anticipation of seeing the Crown Princess.

It's actually Lady Alicent Hightower who enters.

Laena curtsies cordially, and her mother gives a slight nod. The others are slow to respond, as opposed to the firstborn Velaryon.

"I welcome you, Princess Rhaenys. To all of you, my ladies, I welcome you to King's Landing and the Red Keep. I hope your journey has been pleasant." Many nod, responding courteously. "Before we begin, I ask that you line up at the front."

Some look at each other in confusion. Laena turns to her mother, who gives a small nod before slipping out of the line as swiftly as she can.

Lady Alicent seems to approve.

"I trust you all know the reason for your presence here in the capital: to serve as ladies-in-waiting to the Crown Princess. It is an honor bestowed upon a few. Your families must be proud."

Then her friendly face turns deadly serious.

“But do not think, even for a heartbeat, that this is what matters most. Yes, you represent your Houses...fortunate Houses compared to many. But above all, you are here for one purpose: to serve Princess Rhaenyra, our Heir, the future Queen of a time yet to come.” Her voice carries power without ever needing to rise. “You know, there is no precedent. And for that very reason, danger coils around her, threats born of fear at what she embodies. Remember this: because the realm does not understand, they will seek to demean her, to unmake her. And they will strike at us first...her ladies-in-waiting, her closest circle. Through us, they will try to reach her secrets, her weaknesses. Through us, they will try to poison her, to kill her. That is why we are here. That is what it means to be at her side.”

“It will not be all games, dress fittings, and gossip over the most handsome knight at a tourney. What we hold may be the most dangerous position in the realm. The risk is real-and you must understand that before you mistake what this duty truly means.”

The joy with which they arrived curdles into silence. Faces blanch; throats swallow; fingers fidget.

Laena recalls her mother’s warnings. Yet when she follows Rhaenys' gaze, she notices bewilderment and even a spark of admiration...fixed on Lady Alicent.

"My-my lady..." One of them murmurs. Alicent inclines her head, permitting the question. "What...what exactly are you asking of us?"

Lady Alicent does not hesitate. Her voice cuts clean.

"Loyalty."

She lets the word hang, then sharpens it. “Blind and unconditional loyalty. Give that, and the Princess will reward you.”

Laena sees how it sinks into the hearts of several women, surprising them.

“As women, we are underestimated. Princess Rhaenyra cannot be seen as weak, and neither can we. Yet we can use their scorn to our advantage. If you hear a rumor, a whisper, a careless jest, bring it to me, then to the Princess."

If there are rumors of disloyalty, report them.

"If you perceive suspicious behavior from servants, from lords, or have a strange appearance at a meal or gift, you must tell us."

If someone seeks to poison or strike her...act.

"You will have to show her your customs, your traditions, tell her about your families."

Show her the political game. Let her know her people, her realm.

"Queen Visenya Targaryen founded the Kingsguard to protect King Aegon through her strength with the sword. We will be more."

Smarter.

More strategic.

More loyal.

Better.

"Understood?"

A murmur is heard.

Lad-The Principal Lady remains silent.

"We do."

They all respond, having recovered their voices.

Laena is proud that hers doesn't shake.

"Perfect."

Finally, she smiles. After hearing her speak with such command and control, that simple gesture unsettles most of the young women.

“Now that you understand your duties, I will introduce you to the Crown Princess, and you will do the same. You may address her as ‘Princess’ or ‘My Lady.’”

Laena notices the puzzled looks, but she understands. It is a gesture of goodwill, a way to ease the new ladies into the Princess’s presence, showing attentiveness and care.

Laena had come to King's Landing to claim a dragon, but perhaps here, at Court, she will learn to be one.

~•○O○•~

If Rhaenys is honest, she didn't expect her brief return to Court to be so interesting.

Especially with that welcome.

Not with Alicent Hightower's loud declaration of fierce loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra. Cornering those young women with wind in their heads when they wake up. Making them see that life at Court is a nest of vipers, that they must be clever and courageous.

Nor could she ignore the fact that they kept her present in all of it.

Alicent swore loyalty to House Targaryen, and Rhaenys is one by birth. She is determined to shape these young women to achieve what Rhaenys could not, constrained by the Small Council.

Seek their support.

It takes more than words to achieve this. But she admires the girl's determination.

Laena acted with great discipline and composure. She is proud of it. Her daughter will slip into the Court and be a danger to any enemy.

Who, it seems, will be the one to anger Alicent Hightower.

Before, she seemed like a simple little girl following her cousin's daughter around, trembling and clinging to her father's shadow. A tower that remains static, where the clouds pass over it, disappearing into the distance.

Whatever happened turned that immutability into a fortress, into steel, into someone they'll have to take down first before attacking the dragon.

That's not the only thing that surprises her, if her husband's word is true.

My cousin has reaffirmed himself, she thinks proudly.

Refusing to take a new wife, yet granting his heir a seat-among many other decisions. Perhaps Viserys has found some strength after losing so much. She has heard from not-so-discreet servants how his heart was torn apart after his wife’s death.

The more time she spends here, the more Rhaenys trusts her husband’s words before he departed for Dragonstone.

Since Laena has left with the other handmaidens, leaving Rhaenys free to wander the quiet corners of the Red Keep, she takes advantage of it. Nothing seems to have changed since her last visit.

She makes her way to her chambers, passing through the garden beside them. Her favorite flowers bloom, tended with Viserys’s usual care.

But something else catches her eye: a figure moving among the blossoms.

Rhaenys had a suspicion of who it was. She slowly walks toward him, taking the time to observe his back.

Brushing the flowers with extreme care, with no clear intention of plucking them. This is with only one hand, as the other holds some scrolls. She hears him humming, and thinks it sounds familiar.

"Do you know that these gardens are private?"

The boy turns around abruptly, dropping some of the scrolls.

At that time, the Princess had prepared herself to see a green boy, with a certain charm to make the King change his decisions.

Rhaenys wasn't prepared to see those eyes.

Aemma.

And then...

Mother.

"I'm sorry, my lady...I mean, Princess Rhaenys!"

That babble makes her react, and she raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Do you know who I am?"

"That's right, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, rider of the dragon Meleys, The Red Queen, wife of Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides."

Interesting order of presentation.

"You seem well-informed. Which makes me wonder, who are you to be anywhere near the Royal Family Wing?"

She hears a murmur. "What did you say?"

"I-I was saying...that Lord Corlys must have already told you."

Clever and silly boy, she thinks with amusement.

Her husband had indeed spoken to her about the child, whom she suspected had been a crucial influence in her Lord Husband's plans.

Rhaenys understands why, with those eyes full of ghosts and happy memories.

But the boy seems tense. His eyes wander to the ground as he gathers the scrolls.

Rhaenys takes the liberty of assuming that he is scared... of her.

"I think you'd better introduce yourself properly. It's the least you can do."

The boy clears his throat and composes himself, stiff as if he were made of wood.

"Pardon me, My Lady. I am Lord Luke."

Rhaenys waits for more, yet the boy remains silent.

"Just that? Lord Luke, no Surname?"

"Um, yes."

"He is a guest of House Targaryen, Princess Rhaenys. Do not pester him."

They both turn to see Princess Rhaenyra walking toward them. Rhaenys notices, however, that she is bowing toward the boy.

"Young Luke came to us wounded. His family is Valyrian, like you and me, and he'll stay with us as long as he wishes."

"Really? From Valyria?" She takes another look at his appearance. Common.

"That's right, Princess Rhaenys. I should add that he's become a very dear friend to me. And my father."

You're not as subtle as you think, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys thinks with amusement.

"Don't worry, Princ-Rhaenyra," Interesting, she adds in her mind. "Princess Rhaenys is right to be...inquisitive. She doesn't know me, and she is well known for her sharpness."

"Flattery doesn't come so easily to me, boy."

"I'm afraid that's true, Princess. But it's the first way men are taught to treat ladies. With flattery. However, one thing I've learned from the women in my family is that actions accompanied by words speak louder. I'm truly sorry if I offended you by coming here, but I hope that's not the only impression you take away from me."

Rhaenys resists smiling.

"Mmh, we'll see."

She turns away from both the Heiress and the boy, walking toward her chambers. Certain she is alone, she exhales the sigh she’s been holding, pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart.

That boy carries the eyes of her beloved cousin. He has the blue of her mother, Jocelyn Baratheon. And she hears, in his words, echoes of Aemon Targaryen, her cherished father.

There is more here than meets the eye, and Rhaenys isn’t sure whether it bodes well or ill for House Targaryen.

She will have to find out during her stay.

~•○O○•~

She knocks on the door, and with a single glance, Ser Criston knows this will be a private conversation.

The door opens to reveal Princess Rhaenys, who studies her for a moment, then steps aside, giving her a measured, appraising look.

“If you’re expecting an apology for my tone this afternoon, Princess, I’m afraid suspicion is a habit I cannot simply set aside.”

“I understand, Princess Rhaenys, but I do not intend to prolong this unnecessarily.”

Rhaenys smiles faintly.

“Then what is it you want?”

Rhaenyra draws a deep breath before she speaks. She tells Rhaenys about Luke’s condition... how he came to her injured, how his memory falters, a secret so closely guarded that almost no one knows. She has kept it hidden so no one can use her new friend’s weakness against him.

She tells her everything, down to the last memory Luke shared with Rhaenyra.

She can see the question clearly in Meleys's rider's eyes: Why tell me all this? Why expose something you hold dear?

"I haven't gone to the King with this thing because I know he'll worry too much."

Understanding dawns on Rhaenys's face. We are family. Targaryens. I place my trust in you because I have faith in your loyalty to your Maiden House.

"I'll say it again: What do you want from me, Rhaenyra?"

"Help me discover what he's hiding. You're a mother of two, and you'll surely understand that when someone you care about is afraid, you want to dispel that fear."

"I know, but you're not a mother."

The pang in her stomach again. This is the last straw.

"Princess Rhaenys, you can read people and get what you want. One way or another. It doesn't require brute force, but rather slyness. Your help would be greatly appreciated if you would take me as your pupil in this regard, as well as doing so on your own."

Help me, and this favor will not be forgotten.

The Queen Who Never Was mentoring the Queen-to-Be. A way to resolve bitterness.

Rhaenyra, proud as she is, would kneel if she must. She would beg. Her heart twists in a strange, aching way, a churn that brings tears to her eyes. She feels powerless, unable to shield Luke from what might come.

She wants him to let her protect him from the rest of the world.

Arms stop her. She raises her head to meet the bewildered blue-violet eyes of Rhaenys Targaryen.

"Never kneel, not even to me, Rhaenyra."

The heiress nods.

“I will, niece. Don’t worry,” Rhaenys says, her voice soft, the kind of tenderness Rhaenyra hasn’t seen since she was a child. “I’ll help you figure out what’s wrong with your friend. And forgive my words, but if you ever become a mother, your children will be very fortunate.”

A stronger pang, and she musters the strength to mask it. If Rhaenys saw it, she said nothing.

Rhaenyra says her goodbyes and leaves her chambers, Ser Cole trailing behind.

She has a feeling she didn't just get Rhaenys to help her with Luke.

She believes she have reaffirmed House Velaryon's loyalty to her.

Chapter Text

On his personal scale of likable people, Corlys Velaryon falls somewhere between Viserys and Rhaenyra, Caraxes, and the members of the City Watch.

At the bottom, very bottom of that scale, is Otto Hightower.

Clearly a low point.

Still, he likes Corlys. He’s worthy of Valyrian blood, has labored to make a name for himself, and is one of the few who seems to see him fairly-a rare miracle, truly.

So Corlys’s arrival at Dragonstone is far more welcome than that wretched Hightower. Both men now sit in the castle, enjoying fruit and sipping fine wine, a calm before the conversation.

"His grace has authorized my Fleet to go to war at the Stepstones."

Daemon processes what he just said, then laughs.

But Corlys raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Are you serious? My brother? The, let's avoid unnecessary fights because blood makes me dizzy, guy? That one?"

"I understand your surprise, but I'm serious. In fact, I think there's something else you need to know..."

That's how he learns his brother has grown a pair of balls. Just the kind he needed to silence that Hand, stop the attempts at marriage alliances, and realize he had an heiress.

Good for you, niece.

“My daughter will join the Princess’s Court.”

"It seems this situation has been a win-win for you, Lord Corlys." He raises his glass to the old sailor before bringing it to his lips.

"Could be seen that way. In fact, of all the decisions, the Crown's support for the Stepstones venture has one condition: that you attend."

Daemon does NOT choke on his wine.

"What?" He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Why did he decide that?"

"In his words, because he doesn't believe in anyone but you to represent him. To demonstrate the power of House Targaryen, of the dragonriders who serve the Crown. That you will achieve victory with your shrewdness. Because he believes in you."

Daemon can simply sneer. Ignore this order. Throw Corlys out, and turn on the King.

The word trust prevents him.

Viserys trusts him.

That he will bring victory. That his enemies will tremble before Caraxes. That he will know how to move against the enemy.

His brother entrusts him with the honor of his House, with his very name, risking all by supporting war against the Triarchy.

Do you recognize me, brother? What can I be worthy of?

He sips again, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. Excitement hides behind a mask of feigned disinterest.

"I'm flattered," he says, trying for indifference.

Corlys accepts that answer.

"How did that happen, Lord Corlys?" he asks at last, staring into the fire. "My brother was willing to feign insanity before this."

“I don’t know for certain, Your Grace. You’re not the only one surprised—the Hand nearly choked on his wine.”

Oh, how he would have loved to see that.

"I was on the verge of using every trick to convince him, surely, until the child fainted."

That last part catches Daemon fully...along with the slight pang in his chest.

"Child?"

"Yes. His name is Luke, a guest of your brother and niece. They both like him very much. And I can't blame them; the boy certainly has his own charm. I ran into him before I left; so young, his face full of admiration. I'd heard men complimenting me before, but I'll be honest when I say that hearing him say it filled me with so much pride. And tenderness."

The Prince senses how the Sea Snake showed how the boy affected him during their brief encounter. He doesn't blame Corlys.

He fears the boy has left something in Daemon as well.

"He was also brave, if he came all the way here to support my niece."

"What?" He swears Corlys pales. "How is this possible?"

"The boy is a dragonrider. Brave, cultured...and loyal. So green."

So small.

"I wouldn't have...imagined it. Daemon, what really happened?"

“Nothing. I felt… sorry for him.”

No. He feels bitter just thinking about raising a hand against that face.

"I don't know if I should underestimate him that much, Daemon," he says in a tone that makes the Scoundrel Prince raise an eyebrow, asking him to continue. "Since the boy appeared, the King’s attitude has shifted. I can’t say I dislike it, though the influence of the child is… surprising."

Daemon wants to say the same. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Did Corlys not see the boy's face?

It's Rhaenyra. It's Aemma.

That child possessed the King from the moment he must have seen him.

And, contrary to what Daemon usually thought, it doesn't bother him.

He should be cautious of a child showing up and making his brother act like a true King. He should be cautious of these seemingly good decisions hiding a selfish, perverse undertone...decisions that could put his House at a crossroads.

But the fire that usually ignites whenever he thinks of wielding Dark Sister isn’t there.

He imagines staining his beautiful sword with blood, piercing the child’s eyes…

…and Daemon wants to throw up.

Again, that familiar pang strikes his chest, and he clutches it with a groan.

"Daemon?"

Corlys now has a worried expression.

"No… it's nothing." He eyes his glass, frowning, and Corlys suspects the truth anyway. "Believe me, if it were poison, I would have noticed."

"Has this happened to you before?"

"It's a nuisance, nothing that stops me from fighting,"

A lie.

Because just yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon, his heart had pounded, his breath had failed him. His body tensed as though gripped by some unseen force. The strangest part: the pain hadn’t felt entirely his.

Calm down, calm down… it’s okay… he doesn’t even know who he whispered it to. Seconds later, the terrible feeling vanished.

The maester, loyal to his House, examined him before this. He declared there was nothing physically wrong with him.

Perhaps it’s the same feeling now… like another heartbeat pressed against his own. He presses his hand against his ribs, trying to steady the rhythm, to convince himself he is still master of his own body.

Corlys, unlike others (Otto, only Otto the idiot) understands, changing the subject.

"When do you think you'll be ready to leave?"

Daemon returns the smile.

"In the morning."

~•○O○•~

Lucerys wasn't used to the way people looked at him.

His entire life, though, he'd had eyes on him. Because of the dark color of his hair and that of his brothers, contrasting with the Targaryens. Because he had his mother's skin tone, not that of his father, Laenor Velaryon. Because they had more in common with the Captain of the City Watch, who, despite his best efforts, was there to defend Jace.

Because they didn't look like Baela or Rhaena.

The world looked at him with a single message: I know what you are. Why do you deny it?

“…You’re a Targaryen, Luke. A dragon. The sheep don’t understand us. They’ll judge you for what they envy and search for any excuse to clip your wings.”

He remembers his father, Daemon, saying that when he found him crying after the funeral at Driftmark.

It was then that Luke learned he could love Daemon as if they shared blood.

And so he had to grow used to scrutiny, all his life.

However, he isn’t used to the way the maids are looking at him right now...smiling, whispering to each other, and when they catch his gaze, blushing and giggling, poorly disguised.

He can understand it, or so he thinks, being the only man accompanying Rhaenyra and her retinue of handmaidens. A very big one.

Alicent talks to some of them, and Luke notices they are from the North. The Southerners, by contrast, cast wary, respectful glances at the young Hightower. He imagines Alicent must have shown a certain degree of character, the same impassive strength he knows her for, standing her ground against any young woman who might try to challenge or intimidate her.

Good for her.

The others either divided their attention to Rhaenyra, who was listening to her about their homes and how beautiful it is, you must visit it, which surely makes the princess impatient...or they look at him.

Luke shifts uncomfortably. It is the first time he'd ever had that kind of look sent his way. He knows he'd have to marry to continue the Driftmark line. That's what the betrothal to Rhaena was for.

He knows that, unlike his mother and father, his grandparents, and even Jace and Baela, Rhaena does not love him.

They were siblings, family. And everything would remain within the family, their faction. The Blacks.

But there won't be any more Blacks or Greens, he says to himself. Now they'll just be one family.

As it always meant to be.

But what makes him uncomfortable, besides the fact that he's betrothed (as far as he knows), is that most of these maidens are his mother's age. Imagining them looking at him like this in a few years, when he's barely entered the world, or if he manages to find a way back, makes him feel tainted.

Yes, now he understands why Daemon wasn't comfortable with Lady Rhea.

Oh gods, father is still married to Lady Royce; he grimaces at that important detail. Although, understandably, he has forgotten. She's been dead longer than he has existed in this world after all.

"...Much to think about, young man?"

Lucerys startles as Princess Rhaenys sits beside him.

He nods uncertainly.

"You know, I've never met a boy as melancholic as you. Your mind seems to be in a different world."

"That's what everyone in my family says," he murmurs, glancing away..

If he’s honest, he knows he doesn’t hold Princess Rhaenys’s affection. Unlike his grandfather Corlys, she never emphasized that they are Velaryons, nor did she deny it, which would humiliate Ser Laenor. Her love belongs only to Rhaena and Baela, Laena’s true daughters.

That her husband intended Driftmark for Luke instead of Baela must sting doubly: passing over the lineage of her eldest daughter, Laena, to a son, and in the same way that the great Council favored her cousin.

It feeds the guilt he carries, the persistent sense of being unworthy.

Rhaenys Targaryen wields that power over him.

Only surpassed by...

"Here," Luke watches as the Queen Who Never Was offers him a plate of lemon cakes. The young man accepts one, eating it as the others watch. "It makes you nervous."

"Hmm?"

“The attention you’re drawing. Though it makes sense, among so many maidens, there’s a boy who, if I may say so, has his own charm.”

"And who seems to be close to the Heiress."

Rhaenys raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised.

"They were taught so many things except being subtle."

"If they were, then they wouldn't have sent them far from home."

The Princess laughs.

"Don't let them hear you, or their impression of you could change for the worse. It's better if you're unattainable to them."

"I don't know how that works."

"You've done well so far."

This is weird. Having Rhaenys compliment him, being on his good side. He feels something strange brewing. He hides it while eating another lemon cake, but ends up almost choking.

"Careful, boy," she lightly slaps him on the back. "You seem to enjoy these sweets."

"More than the rest of my family. In that sense, I'm very similar to my mother. But I hope the younger ones can still be redeemed.”

Rhaenys has a soft smile.

"I hope so, young Luke."

The person in question almost chokes again.

She always called him Lucerys. Never his nickname, never affectionately.

The Princess picks up a cup, looking briefly in one direction. Luke realizes Rhaenys is looking toward Alicent, who gives the slightest nod in return.

Oh, shit. She actually wants to kill him.

No, no. He and Alicent were friends. Really.

In the middle of his restless thoughts, Luke catches Rhaenys sipping calmly from her cup. Reluctantly, he follows suit, half-expecting some dreadful reaction...vomiting blood, foaming at the mouth, his heart giving out.

Nothing happens.

He swallows again, aware of her eyes on him.

"My daughter Laena was among the first to win the Princess’s affection," Rhaenys says lightly, turning her glass between her fingers.

Luke glances toward Rhaenyra and sure enough, Laena sits close by her side. Their hands move in quick, animated gestures, their faces bright with genuine enthusiasm. He doesn’t need to guess what subject has them so enthralled.

"Dragons," Rhaenys confirms. "Though my Laena was born by the shores, amid the salty sea, her spirit is as fierce as any Targaryen’s. Her fascination with the creatures that symbolize the Crown rivals the passion with which my Lord Husband speaks of his voyages."

Luke finds a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "So it's your fault, then."

"Definitely," they both laugh. “That’s why, just as my husband became one of the finest sailors in the realm, I know my Laena will take to the skies as one of the greatest dragonriders.”

It will be so. He knows it from the way Baela and Rhaena spoke of their mother. Of her passion, her tenacity, the effortless way she soared through the sky.

A rider worthy of Vhagar.

Until...

Laena will live, he decides, looking at the girl. She will live, and she will be a great rider. Gods, she even reminds him of Joffrey in that way...so certain, so alive.

“Your daughter will surely claim the largest dragon,” Luke says quietly, conviction in his voice. “And she’ll fly beside the Princess on Syrax.”

"I heard you have one too."

"Yes, Arrax, like the Valyrian god. My family believes in the Fourteen Flames."

Rhaenys tilts her glass toward her lips, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “A proper education, at least. I'm glad they weren’t tangled in all these confusions of the Seven. Even the Old Gods are easier to bear than those maesters and old septas.”

"Mostly. On my father's side, I believe in the gods of the sea. I was raised with that freedom...to choose either, or both.”

"Your parents were very lenient about that. And that’s well enough, so long as you’re not a fanatic.”

Luke can’t help the grimace that twists his face. The seven-pointed stars, the rigid prayers, the cold austerity of a Green Queen and her children… none of it had ever felt right. Something about it was wrong.

And it would not happen again.

“I wish I could invite Lady Laena to fly, Princess,” he says after a beat, “but Arrax can only bear one rider.”

"A shame, but you can make it up to me. I'll tell you when."

His stomach sinks. He had feared as much.

"According to your maester, when will you be completely healed?"

"Perhaps a few weeks," he lies without hesitation.

"They must miss you at home."

"I hope not. My wish is to spare them from that worry."

"A mother worries. Whether you like it or not."

"Children worry too. It's just that..." he sighs, "I don't know what's waiting for me back home. I don't know if things have changed."

“Surely not so many that you wouldn’t recognize them,” Rhaenys replies.

That's where you're wrong, Luke thinks bitterly, eyes flicking across the room...Alicent, freed from the chains of an unhappy fate, and his mother, no longer isolated, but surrounded by warmth and company.

There's a gleam in Rhaenys's eyes, and a smile that bodes ill for Lucerys.

"I see. Is there someone special waiting for you? Someone you miss so dearly that you long to return?”

"Um, I..." Luke falters, heat rising in his face. "It's too complicated."

"Sounds more like an arrangement than a proposal. It is the way of our kind, though unfortunate for the ladies caught in it.”

Luke forces a small smile, and he knows she sees right through it.

"I just... wish it had been different. For both of us. I think they deserve someone better."

A hand settles lightly on his shoulder. Luke stiffens, realizing it’s Rhaenys...the Queen Who Never Was...

"The heart hides many things. Only when you open yourself to another will you discover what it is you’re keeping.”

"Wise words, my lady."

The Princess hums.

“You’ve known each other a long time, judging by the way you speak of them.”

"A lifetime, or so it feels." His gaze drops to the plate of lemon cakes. He picks one up but doesn’t eat it, watching the frosting smear across his fingers. "They’re older, close to my brother's age. Clever, fiercely devoted to their family and duty. But…" a soft laugh escapes him, “you don’t want to be around when they’re angry.”

The Princess nods.

Luke sighs, his voice turning low, almost ashamed. "Although, to be honest and very naive, I hoped to marry for love."

"I understand," the Princess whispers, and Lucerys dares to look at her, bewildered. "I remember as if it were yesterday, the first time I was betrothed to the man who would become my Lord Husband. Everyone there would tell you that I was the epitome of mettle. But the truth? I was terrified."

"Scared? You?"

"I know I look as though I’m forged of Valyrian steel, but I was a child like you. Corlys was older. I feared the whispers, the stories of forced and loveless marriages that ended in bitterness. But I was fortunate: we loved each other then...and we love each other still."

There's nostalgia in her eyes. Happiness. Joy. And so much, so much love. Lucerys has never seen his grandmother express so much to a person.

"You're a sweet boy, from what I've seen. You'll do well."

"Sweetness doesn't guarantee I’ll be loved

Rhaenys freezes, her composure cracking for the briefest moment. Luke grows uneasy...until she blinks and forces a smile..

"No... It's nothing, child. You only reminded me of something an old friend once said. She, too, feared her betrothal.”

Luke hesitates, then pushes the plate toward her, offering one of the last cakes.

"Did she succeed? Did her lord husband come to love her?”

Rhaenys gives him an enigmatic smile.

"Yes, to this day."

~•○O○•~

"Princess Rhaenyra, may I have a moment? I won't be long."

The Princess shares a glance with Criston before nodding. The knight moves to stand guard outside her chambers. Her new chambers.

Rhaenyra offers her a seat, which the Lady of Driftmark accepts.

"I appreciate your visit, Princess Rhaenys. Anything interesting at lunch today? On the afternoon walk?"

Rhaenys nods as she sits down.

"Your friend seems caught in self-doubt. I can't come up with a name, only qualities. But I may as well sing his praises...it is plain he holds you in high regard." Rhaenyra only nods, lips pressed, a frown tugging at her face. "It seems the problem may lie with the other party."

It would explain young Luke’s reluctance, for he seems more willing to wish happiness on another than to claim any for himself.

The Heiress smiles softly. That is Luke through and through.

"Thank you very much, Princess Rhaenys. Your words soothe me more than I expected."

"It is only natural. An honest conversation and...I confess it is easy to get attached."

Both Targaryens laugh. But soon Rhaenys rises, intent on her chambers but not before promising to share more when she's had a chance, of what she knows of carving strength for oneself...becoming the weapon, not relying on others.

Rhaenyra hungers for that strength.

Yet before opening the door, Rhaenys turns back. There is softness in her gaze.

"He reminds me of your mother."

Rhaenyra gasps.

"H...how?"

"That he cannot see his own worth. That his heart wins him more allies than enemies... I never thought to meet another like her until today. So, I advise you to take care of him, Rhaenyra. Because if ever they break him... we will all regret it. For the second time."