Chapter Text
Lucerys doesn't like change, he’d even go as far as to say he despises it.
He enjoyed life the way it was, his routine was simple yet filled enough excitement to look forward to the days leading the trail ahead of him. Waking up to the bright sun greeting him from his balcony before his closest handmaiden who had been by his side for as long as he could remember readied him for the day.
As they broke their fasts Joffrey would crack idiodic jokes whilst Jace tried his best to hide his amusement, Rhaena and Aegon teaming up to reprimand young Viserys as the pup played with his food, all the while his mother and Daemon watched with joyful smiles. Even teasing Jace as he blushed bright red after Baela’s response to his previous letter was delivered, carefully placed upright on the table with a pink stain in the shape of a kiss across the paper for the family to see.
No, Lucerys didn’t want any of it to change, for he and his siblings to float away from each other and live different lives as they grew into separate entities, no longer the most beloved people to one another. The mere thought of only seeing them once every blue moon on occasions that either had to do with a tourney or discussing the political climate was enough to cause a rash.
Lucerys wished for them to remain in their parents' nest for only a little while longer, for time to stand still just for them.
However, the day his mother fell to the ground as she clutched her small belly, crying out at the loss of her father as the pain in her gut sharpened was a lesson to Luke; change is inevitable, and life is as cruel as Maegor.
“May you lift your leg, my prince?” Masseria asked softly as she tapped his ankle, making sure not to make direct eye contact with the young heir.
Luke does as he’s asked without hesitation, studying himself in the mirror as he was readied for the day, eyes flicking towards the open blaconey for any sign of the council members' arrival for the upcoming meeting. Ever since their mother had been crowned he and his siblings had been unrelentingly busy, more so than they’d ever been before. Whenever Jace wasn’t by their mothers side learning the ways of a true leader he was in the training yards, mercilessly breaking his body as he trained like a crazed beast, his grunts of frustration as he attacked the straw man could put a dothraki soldier to shame. On the other side of the coin Lucerys had been stuck to their grandmother’s side like fleas to a rat, learning not only the ways of the sea but how to properly keep Drirtmark running through her teachings as his grandsire recovered. Oftentimes Joffrey would tag along when he managed to sneak his way out of his high Valyrian lessons, grinning like a cat when Rhaenys was too enticed in her own words to notice the younger man right behind her.
Their workload only increased after Otto sent in a raven offering what he called a generous compromise . Jace spat at the ground in anger when Daemon informed the pair of the usurpers' alleged desire for their young brothers to be his cupbearer and squire, singing out pretty lies that they would be treated with respect as royal princes of their station. The traitor might as well have asked to take the pale haired boys as hostages right then and there.
Luke let out a hum of satisfaction once he got a look at himself in the mirror, Masseria had picked out a simple pearlescent undershirt and long sleeved turquoise tunic that reached his upper thighs, adorned with golden buttons and light brown trousers to match. Simple yet elegant.
“May I, my prince?” She asked as she held out a pair of brown mules, plain but comfortable.
Nodding he held up his naked foot.
One thing Lucerys was always meticulous about was his appearance, he’d learned early on that the way others treated you depended heavily on how you presented yourself. As a noble Lucerys felt that pressure immensely, every strand of hair must be in place, the collar on your neck turned up high and every ring adorning your fingers should be properly shined. As he was heir to Driftmark and Jace Hair to the iron throne, the siblings were always told their appearance was only second behind doing their duty. No one held respect for an heir that didn’t hold themselves in high regard by at least looking the part.
However, a fine appearance doesn't always equate to clothes or accessories your servants draped you in. It was the way you spoke, a clear, eloquent vocabulary flowing from your lips showed others you had been properly educated and took your studies seriously. Walking with good posture as you held your head high, a clear concise message to everyone in the room that you’re someone who is to be respected. These ways of presenting oneself weren’t mere suggestions but rules, and he along with his siblings took to these rules like Direwolves to snow.
Each and every time he walked out of his private quarters Luke wasn’t simply representing himself, but house Velaryon as well. A mistake made in his name was a mistake that soiled the cloak of house Velaryon as a whole, something Luke did everything in his power to avoid.
Never making a fool of oneself in public was one he made sure to follow carefully, especially in front of watching eyes. Lower born nobles were nosey and downright malicious, no matter if it was something as simple as drinking yourself a little too far into your cups, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn your unbashful actions into the latest court gossip. It was hard to follow such a rule with whispers of bastardy following behind him and his brothers like a bad smell, however it was to be followed regardless.
Making a fool of himself in anger every time a lord or lady outwardly questioned his olive skin and brown locks drew more attention towards it than not, instead he smiled through his hurt and reminded himself he was the blood of the dragon and son of the sea. His High Valyrian was almost perfect, only second behind his mother and stepfather. Lucerys spent countless hours from sunrise to sun down knee deep in his studies, making sure that speaking his ancestral language became as mundane to him as the common tongue. He made sure to proudly drape himself in royal and sea blue, always with his house's symbol in clear view whether it be on his cloak, ingrained into the buttons on his tunic or stitched into his cuffs.
The world would know he was a Velaryon, heir to the Driftmark throne and the largest fleet in the realm, if not in blood then in name. No matter if he felt he truly deserved it or not.
Lucerys tied the last button on his outer tunic before making sure his collar was in place, cursing under his breath as he knew the council meeting would soon start, if he were to be late at such an important time Daemon would surely tan his hide.
Baela sometimes jested that he and Jace spent more time fixing their appearance than Rhaena, a notion that was so ridiculous it was almost painstakingly funny. No one spent more time in the mirror than Rhaena, and Lucerys wouldn’t dream of his beloved sister being any different. The day Rhaena took less than four hours to ready herself would be the day Luke began to believe in shapeshifting elves from the Valyrian fairy tales his mother used to read to them before bed.
Luke felt his heart skip a beat as thoughts of his betrothed fluttered through his mind, Rhaena was the most beautiful woman in all seven kingdoms, her humor was dry yet her wit as sharp as the dagger tied into the loop of his belt. All he had to do was speak her name and the butterflies in his stomach would make an appearance, a blush red enough to mimic the rouge she dusted across her cheeks would spread from his neck all the way to his hairline.
Rhaena was his one and only, the first thing on his mind in the mornings and the last thought he had before laying his head on his pillow at night. They had been betrothed for years now; the announcement made to the court just days after Rhaena presented as a beta.
Lucerys wished for nothing more than to marry her right away in a traditional Valyrian ceremony, just as their parents had done before them with only their closest family as witnesses. Luke ached to cut into his betrothed’s lips with dragon glass and bear her mark on his neck as she bore his on her own, to be binned to her for eternity with the old god’s bearing witness. However, no such marriage could happen as he had still not yet presented, an insecurity that brought great shame despite constantly being reminded that his time would soon come and to have patience.
A feat that he was having a difficult time believing as the days passed him by.
Presenting was a milestone marking true adulthood, celebrated with lavish gifts and lively traditional celebrations for a week’s time once the first heat or rut had run its short course, usually taking place the day of one’s twelfth name day. He’d been heavily informed of what was supposed to occur that special day, Jace teased his eagerness as the moons passed bringing forth the time for his own presentation. Yet he’d woken up the day of without any of the symptoms he had been warned of, no high fever or chills, his loins didn’t burn with need and no physical changes pertaining to his body occurred.
He missed his presentation, almost unheard of in someone with royal blood.
The talks of bastardy increased tenfold; he could almost hear the delighted laughs of his uncles all the way from King’s landing.
Though his mother kissed his tears of frustration away it continued to be a sore spot for the young heir. A deep insecurity that constantly plagued his every waking moment as he wondered if today would be the day. Yet and still, almost three years later Lucerys remained a pup in the eyes of the gods, his scent unchanging, still that of fresh orange peels and gardenia with an underlying hint of milk.
Saying insecurities are a normal part of human nature was a simple yet incredibly strong statement. According to his mother everyone had one or two, whether it be physical such as crooked teeth or a clubbed foot, perhaps even a sixth finger, who knows? They also had the ability to be mental. Thinking yourself to not be as smart as those around you or afraid that you talk too much in the presence of others. Anything really.
She opened up to him one day to express her own insecurities after he’d made an embarrassingly tearful confession regarding his feelings on his lack of presentation, the frustration he began to hold at his own body bubbled to the surface and burst at the seams. She kissed his forehead, stroking his cheek that was still chubby and as flush as the day he was born as she expressed how she sometimes wished to have been born a man. Her words confused him a great deal, his mother was the picture of femininity, taking great pride in her makeup and perfumes. There wasn’t a woman in the seven kings who tied their corset tighter nor draped themselves in as many jewels, Luke couldn’t imagine someone such as her feeling that way.
His confusion must've been apparent from the way she giggled, leaning in closer as she explained herself further.
Many of the bumps in the road she faced through her path wouldn’t have been present had she been a man, having a cock wouldn’t have put her position as the heir to the iron throne into question by bigoted lords. His mother had presented as alpha as to be expected by the only living child of a Targaryen king, yet her initial gender disqualified her in many eyes.
Everyone had insecurities, yet it was important for one to never let such feelings rule the way you lived your life, doing so was the first step to a life shrouded in misery. She nuzzled her nose against his before sweetly whispering that he had nothing to worry about as he came from a long line of strong alphas on both sides, his time would soon come, the gods would make sure of it.
Lucerys did his best to follow her advice, patience was a virtue after all and good things came to those who waited. However, it proved harder to apply in his daily life than simply in theory. From the soft waves atop his head to the delicate toes on his feet Lucerys was the furthest thing from what an alpha should be. Too short, stuck at the height of a young stable boy rather than the man he should’ve been by now. Not enough body hair, supple flesh that was almost as soft as a babe’s bottom. Chubby cheeks that his mother and grandsire fought over like street hounds to decide on who would get the honor to pinch them as if he were still a suckling babe.
What held his gaze in the glass ahead was nothing more than disappointment in the flesh in more ways than one.
Ever since Luke could remember there’s never been a day where he liked the vision he saw staring back at him in the mirror. Everything about his looks was wrong, out of place and undeserving. His brother had been convinced Luke thought himself unworthy due to the realm's whispers of their parentage. Venomous hushed murmurs of muddled impure blood and bastardy filled the royal court. Some even had the gaul to gossip in the presence of the king himself, though he wasn’t there much in the first place; his sickness leaving him bedridden a majority of the time.
If only Jacaerys knew their taunts were only part of the reason.
Their legitimacy was a sight as plain as day; an open secret was what most people began to call it. Luke distinctly remembers being a young pup and looking around at his family as they came together for festivities or rare and extremely awkward family dinners by order of the sickly king and noticing something was off about him. He didn’t have silvery strands that flowed down in waves like his mother, nor the almost white tight coils of his father. His eyes were neither violet nor lilac, the color of his skin not alabaster as his dame nor as deep as his sire. Luke didn’t look like his parents or his other relatives on either side, Targaryen nor Velaryon.
Luke had the looks of a commoner. A head of plain brown hair with only a slight curl, boring dark brown eyes that held no magic; resembling that of dragon dung more than the dragon's blood that flowed through his veins and a pug like nose that looked closer to a hound rather than the beautiful aquiline nose of his mother or button like numb like his father.
Luke was plain featured and uninteresting to gaze upon. Targaryen's were known for their sharp breathtaking beauty, demanding attention and respect above all else. Meanwhile had Luke not attempted to overcompensate by always dressing in his house's colors or rode upon Arrax, not a soul would look twice at him.
The first time Luke caught wind of the word bastard he had been no older than five, sneaking around the red keep as he hid from Jace during one of their many games as it was too wet outside from the rain to venture elsewhere and Aemond was too consumed by his books to tag along. You’ll catch cold, their father warned, giving them a stern look before advising both boys to have fun another way. The duo decided a game of hide and go seek would suffice, Luke blurting out that he would be the one to hide before Jace could get a single word out.
He meant to hide in the library but as he ran past the kitchens the aroma of freshly baked strawberry tarts caught his attention, sweet and right out the ovens. Luke could practically taste the jelly melting on his tongue as his teeth bit through the flaky crust and glided into the soft bread. A cup of fresh cow's milk would make the treat that much better.
He crouched down and snuck through the doors, making sure to be as careful as possible to not step too harshly or else the heel of his boot would break his cover. As the smell of pastries got stronger Luke began to hear whispering, likely the kitchen staff talking amongst themselves.
“They’re an embarrassment, a slap in the face to the faith. How the king has allowed her to tote those bastards around is nothing but shameful.” A voice Luke recognized but couldn’t put a face to hissed.
Embarrassment?
An irritated chuckle was heard soon after, lacking in amusement and filled with contempt in its absence. “The king has not been well for years; I wouldn’t be surprised if his sight has been tossed out the window along with his ability to walk without assistance. I wager his grace has gone blind to color as well, probably believes those boys hair is the color of freshly spun silk rather than horse shit.”
Luke could feel his eyes begin to prickle. His nose, though weaker than the people around him due to his lack of presentation, was still able to scent the salt of incoming tears. He gently dabbed at his inner corners with the ends of his tunic before Messeria could catch on, though she was a beta, the woman had a keen sense of smell. Daemon had once jested that her ability to scent so well despite her gender was due to being half hound on her sire’s side, which was also the reason for comically hairy arms and slight unibrow.
He chanted to himself that he couldn’t cry about such simple things, not any longer. It was high time for him to grow up and face the real world without falling into a heap of tears as he could no longer hide behind his mother for protection or ask her to kiss his wounded pride.
It was less than a moon ago that Ser Erryk came bearing not only the news of the king's death, but that Aegon had been crowned king in the great sept for all the smallfolk to bear witness, the crown of his namesake sitting atop his undeserving head. The image was enough to make Luke turn green with sickness. His mother's throne had been stolen from right under her feet, now likely infested with fleas as it was occupied by that drunkard fiend who could barely hold his head up during a feast much less take rule of the realm.
The news had broken his mother, shocking her to the core so harshly that her labors had started moons too early. Her belly was still so small, easily hidden beneath Daemon’s heavy coats.
The blood curdling screams his mother released as she pushed would forever stick to his memory like cheese glue. Thick globs of dark red blood were everywhere, spotted on the bed sheets, dripped in small puddles on the floor, and smeared between her thighs as she curled up in the corner like a dying animal. The smell of copper was so strong Luke could almost taste it, metallic and bitter, enough to make him vomit.
Rhaena had been distraught, refusing to make her way into the birthing chambers as her scent fluctuated between fear and grief. Luke could vaguely smell her emotional turmoil as every possible scenario of how the birth could end ran through her mind. She had already lost a mother and younger sibling to the birthing bed once; would the gods truly be so cruel as to commit such an atrocity a second time?
Daemon had been the picture of calmness despite everyone’s worry, taking charge of the war council whilst his mother sat through pure torture without choice. Thoughts of her father's death heavy on her heart as she ignored the midwives' pained pleas to allow for them to help her.
Luke was angry, unbearably so. Was declaring war on the greens a more important task than sticking by his mother's side as she struggled to bring his child into the world? Jace must’ve sensed his anger, squeezing his shoulder in sympathy as he whispered that Daemon's scent had sweetened, morphing from its usual hardy scent of burning firewood to that of brown sugar and cinnamon.
He was comforting her.
In the end all of his mother’s pain and suffering had been for naught as Visenya, his sweet sister, came into the world breathless and unmoving. So badly deformed that had Luke not been present at that moment he likely wouldn’t have believed she was a human child. Dark yellow scales that resembled that of flaky overworked calluses and thin reddened skin stretched across what looked to be two tiny horns atop her misshapen head. Her limbs had been fused together, curled inwards causing confusion as to where one body part started and the other stopped.
Jace pulled him away in a hurry, holding back his own tears as he shielded the younger from the gut wrenching scene. The lack of cries from the babe was enough to make Luke choke in despair, their mothers moaning as she flopped around on the floor like a dying dog only served to highlight the missing babbles and coo’s he’d been so sure would greet him once his new sibling was welcomed into the world.
Lucerys couldn’t take it, falling into Jace’s chest as he felt his heart begin to shatter. Jace grabbed ahold of his hand and led from out of the room, but before he left Luke could see his mother pull their sister close to her chest with a glum smile as she whispered softly, undoing the top buttons on her birthing gown. The scent of fresh milk along with the heavy musk of denial wafted thickly through the room.
No one spoke for the rest of that day.
They not only denied his mother’s right to properly mourn her father, but they had also stolen her crown and her only daughter from her womb, snatched away before her time. What would she have been like if she lived, he wondered. Perhaps her silver strands would have a slight curl to them like Daemon’s, the twins would probably have spent hours toying with the soft locks as they put them into intricate braids and small twists. Perhaps with beads and pearls and any other precious adornments they could get their grubby hands on. Luke tearfully smiled as he imagined a tiny seashell crown placed gently on Visenya’s delicate head, the sweet image of the princess that would never come to be.
Rhaena would have enjoyed it the most, Luke thinks. To dress a little sister up and pounce about their rooms as if they were playing princess as it slipped their minds that pretending wasn’t necessary. He himself may have even accompanied them, standing by and laughing as he told himself he only wanted to see his precious sisters have fun from a distance rather than joining in, holding back the words he so desperately wanted to say.
May you place a shell in my hair Rhaena…
Though he knew his betrothed wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, it was a shameful unnatural desire. Inappropriate for a young lord such as himself, much less the heir to Driftmark. Luke could no longer spend his days moping about as the thoughts of soft frilly things danced about in his head.
Once Messaira had taken her bow of leave he looked upon himself at the final product. He was the absolute image of nobility, a young alpha in the making who would play his part in taking back his mother's birthright.
There was no other option.
A sudden knock on his chamber door stole the prince's attention, dismissing Messaira with a simple gesture Luke answered the door. “You may enter.”
The door opened to reveal one of the castle knights, a young alpha with bright red hair and a face littered in sun kissed freckles. Luke never conversed with him often but from their few encounters the man had shown a deep respect for the heir. “Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela have asked me to remind you that the council meeting is to commence in twenty, my prince.”
Luke’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead, mentally cursing himself for losing track of time. “Thank you, Ser Tommen.” He breathes, dusting the nonexistent dust from his clothes in an attempt to soothe his nerves before making his leave.
“Do you need me to assist you, my prince?” Tom asks.
Luke shakes his head, holding up a single hand. “No thank you Ser.” He replies before making his way down the corridor, the sound of his door slamming shut only making the eerie silence of the hall that much louder.
Change is a difficult thing to deal with, seeing the way everything around you can drastically morph into something unrecognizable was an experience like no other, only serving as a reminder that nothing in this life lasts forever.
The halls of Dragonstone were so lively mere weeks ago, hushed laughs and whispers of gossip from the handmaidens and ladies in waiting as they passed through the halls, the mouthwatering smell of honey roasted chicken wafting through the castle all the way from the kitchens, and the wondrous ruckus of children playing as Aegon and Viserys ran around after a long day of studies.
Dragonstone was more than a castle to be inherited, it was their home.
Now as Lucerys walks through the halls it feels like anything but, talks of war and revenge have plagued the once prosperous castle. Laughing had ceased as black drapes were hung in mourning of the late king and princess who never lived, the gossips were no longer playful and exciting, replaced by nervous warnings of war and the terrors that would come with it murmured in the dead of night. Delicious meals were still made, however no one seemed to be able to stomach anything heavier than lightly seasoned soups and the occasional roasted potato.
The closer Luke got to his destination the more conscious he became of his looks. He straightened his back as he noticed a slight slouch in his form, licking his dry lips before making sure the hairs in the back of his head were properly combed through. Clearing his throat in case he was made to speak.
As Luke entered the council room he let out a small sigh of relief seeing as he wasn’t as late as he thought himself to be. There were many already present of course, yet there were still a few figureheads left to arrive. Better to be there slightly late than the last one there his mother had told him once.
The woman in question, now the queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, stood tall and unnerved at the head of the great table as methods of strategy were discussed. Her hair tied up in dozens of intricate braids creating a cone like effect, no longer decorated with small red rubies but adorned by the golden crown of Jaehaerys i. Lucerys was in awe as the jewels ingrained into the sleek golden band glistened in the sunlight. His mother was the picture of perfection, a peek into the looking glass of old Valyria as her violet eyes narrowed in deep thought.
Daemon was at her side as always, right hand placed tightly on the hilt of dark sister as he intensely clung onto every word flowing from her lips. There was a burning fire lit in his eyes, a man ready to slaughter any and everyone who collaborated in usurping his mates throne. The older man’s scent was strong enough to burn the hairs on the back of Luke's neck to a crisp. He’d never seen his step father look so bloodthirsty, never scented such a strong odor emitting from his glands. Luke was so accustomed to Daemon’s loving yet amused gaze as he watched his children get into mischief around dragonstone, patting his brown curls with love and adoration when he could sense his pup losing himself within his own self deprecating thoughts, the man in front of him seemed more like a stranger than the beloved step father Luke looked up to.
Every trace of the playful man Luke knew had shed, relieving the notorious rogue prince that had become nothing but a memory after he’d wed aunt Laena.
“The prince Lucerys Velaryon.” The guard announced.
All eyes turned to him, Luke could feel his stomach drop as he carefully passed through the small crowd making sure to keep his head held high. He greeted his mother, her expression unchanging despite her scent turning slightly sweetening at his arrival. Bowing, Luke addressed her.
“Y-your grace.” He whispered, relieved he’d caught his words before they could spill.
Though a look of love and appreciation glistened in her eyes she kept a straight face, tipping her head in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to her previous engagement.
As he made his way to the opposite end of the table where his siblings stood, Luke felt his nervousness melt away. “Jace, Baela.” He greeted before taking his spot next to a smiling Rhaena, smiling back as he held her gaze.
She was dressed in a simple turquoise dress with full open sleeves, a light blue bodice and long sheer overcoat hanging from her shoulders spilling to the stone floors. Her dreadlocks flowing down her back in a fishtail braid with small pearls weaved throughout, orange rouge dusted across her nose as a finishing touch.
Luke felt his heart skip several beats as it set in that they were matching, the future lord and lady of the tides.
“Good marrow.” She greeted, giving him a knowing look.
Luke felt his smile widen. “Good marrow.”
“Luke.” The alpha’s beside him called, perfectly in sync with each other from their stance to the colors of their clothing. Luke wasn’t sure if he believed in true mates or not, but if the concept was more than a romantic fairy tale he would confidently bet all of his coin that the pair were in fact destined to be together by the old gods' will.
“I haven't missed anything too important have I?” He questioned, knowing Daemon would have a talk with him later on if that were the case.
Balea chuckled. “You should know the answer to that question considering father hasn’t taken you over his knee yet. Though I’m having a hard time trying to figure out if Jace would’ve gotten to you first.” She said, lips puckered in curiosity as she looked her mate in the eyes.
“I’m confident we would’ve been tied.” He chimed in, eyes quickly darting to the younger before snapping back. “I see that we’ve both matched with our future ladies, a good thing in my opinion. Showing that we’re a unit only proves that our ambitions are true and we remain stronger with each other than apart.”
Luke let out a hum in agreement before facing forward, interested in the current state of council affairs.
“If we are to win this then we must strike them where it hurts before they’re able to make their first move.” A heavy set man whose name Luke had shamefully forgotten hissed, hand gripping onto the great table in frustration.
Low mumbling follows the man's statement, sounds of agreement and uncertainty mixed throughout. The idea of striking first sounds as though it would work in theory, especially since the greens have technically moved the first chest piece by crowning Aegon. Despite that, it would still be a big risk to do so.
“I have to agree with lord Darklyn your grace. Taking down the capital is a surefire way to get this over with fast and easy, no one wants the realm to be in a state of chaos any longer than strictly necessary.”
Rhaenyra purses her lips as she taps her slender fingers against the stone, dragging the tips across the engraved words. “I understand what you’re saying my lord, I truly do. However I do not wish for my first act as queen to be launching an attack that is sure to kill thousands of unsuspecting civilians and destroy the very keep that I have pledged to protect. Being queen of bones and ash is not my goal”
“Her grace speaks the truth, her reign shant start with death for it is a bad omen.” Another voice chimes in.
Daemon’s grip on dark sister visibly tightens, jaw clenching in contained anger before Lord Darklyn speaks once more, visibly shaking in more rage than Luke thought possible for a man of his age. “It’s already been brought in with death, has it not?”
The room goes eerily silent, a mouse could be heard scattering across the floors should any chose to make an appearance. Though no names were spoken the implication was heavy.
The man continues, face red as his faint scent strengthens. “Going for the capital would be nothing more than a proper retaliation as goes in the ways of war. Or have you forgotten during the coziness these past years of peace have brung? ” He sneers.
The other scoffs. “That’s quite rich coming from you, taking into consideration that you’ll be spending every moment of this fight tucked away in the safety of your castle with the help waiting on you hand and foot. Perhaps even a few fresh faced serving omega’s to keep you entertained, hmm?”
“I’ve never-” His voice squeaked out embarrassment and disbelief at the accusation. His wrinkled face turning red as he began to stutter through his words.
Luke bites the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter contained, almost failing when his eyes drifted to Rhaena to see doing the same, her lips puckered as she tried her best to hide her amusement. Luke could almost hear the disapproval of their childish humor from their siblings.
Suddenly a loud thump caught the attention of the room.
“Lord Corlys Valeryon and his wife, the princess Rhaenys Targaryen.” The guard suddenly announces, pulling gasps of shock out of the council members only for them to go quiet as the lord steps down from the stone steps,the sound of his cane hitting the floor with every step he took was loud enough to be heard throughout all of Dragonstone.
Luke swallows his shock as Corlys slowly makes his way towards the queen. Having been left out of the know on his grandsire’s condition had left the prince painfully worried, constantly keeping an ear to the door when talks of his injuries were discussed. Talks of death occurring in worried murmurs.
Though Luke was nowhere near ready to be lord of Driftmark his main concern had not been the mantle of responsibilities being passed into his hands, but if the man who had taken to him like a seahorse to water without questioning his features would perish in the dead of night, leaving Luke without the opportunity to properly say a final goodbye.
A small smile tugs at his lips as he looked to Jace in shock. I told you so, the older mouthed triumphantly.
“Lord Corlys, the sight of you walking among the living brings me great relief and immense joy, truly.” Rhaenyra greets.
Corlys nods. “I deeply apologize as I’ve only just heard the news of your fathers passing. He was a good friend of mine and an even better ruler, my deepest sorrows.” He looks to Daemon. “Same to you, my prince. I saw first hand the bond you and your brother shared.”
Daemon purses his lips before nodding.
His grandsire shakily walked towards the table, his eyes meeting the small figurines as his eyebrows furrow in a mix of confusion and disappointment. He looks up to give his mother a questioning look, a wobbly finger gesturing towards the pieces that represent their fraction. “Your declared allies, I assume.”
“Yes.” She asserts, leaning in closer to look him in the eyes.
“A good many, but not enough to win a war for the throne.”
“Well, we also hold out hope for houses’ Arryn and Baratheon as we share blood, as well as the Starks who are men of their word. Not to mention that each swore an oath to me in the face of the god’s by my late father’s will”
Grandsire juts out his bottom lip, dragging his finger across the wolf head figurine. “Hope is the ally of fools. You speak of oaths, yet house Hightower also swore one to you as well if I recall correctly. Now one of them warms your throne as the rest plan to sweep our power.”
Luke grinds his teeth as the words hightower fall from his grandsire’s lips. Others on the council may not have been able to see through the cracks but Luke can, Corlys words tear deep into his mother like dragonglass to supple flesh.
“And if I recall correctly, you also swore an oath to me, Lord Corlys.”
The older man nods. “As I did. Our houses have been bound by blood for centuries, dating back to a time before the doom forced our ancestors to flee their home in search of new beginnings, a world in which the magic flowing through our veins may continue onward…”
He looks towards Luke and his siblings, his scent flaring in pride as he gazes upon his grandchildren sticking by each other's sides even through grief and heavy loss. “House Hightower has committed a disgusting crime, the greatest of treasons one can commit no less. It cannot stand, I won’t allow it.” Turning to face the queen completely he continues. “Therefore you have the full support of my fleet and our house, as well as my undying loyalty, your grace.” Bowing in submission.
Luke's eyes widened at the gesture, looking to Rhaena for confirmation that his eyes were not deceiving him and receiving the same shocked face in return. A prime male alpha showing open submission to a woman no matter her second gender was almost unheard of in Valryian or Westerossi culture. It was a sign of absolute loyalty and willingness to lay down one's life if need be, the gesture wasn’t to be taken lightly by any means.
His mother’s mouth gapes before snapping it shut just as quickly, turning to face the others. “I made one promise twice over to my father. The first time had been after the official ceremony that followed after he’d officially named me his heir, and the second on his deathbed. I swore to him that I would do any and everything in my power to make sure I held the realm strong and united under all banners. I wish to know who my allies are before jumping headfirst into something in which I cannot undo.”
Grandsire moves in closer, tugging his free hand behind his back as he balances his weight onto the wooden cane. “Though my fight and near death on the steps stones was a harsh one, it was a success. We now hold full and total control of them, I took the time to completely secure the territory this time around, within days there will be a total blockade of the shipping lanes and the triarchy have been routed. We now rule the narrow seas.”
Luke and Jace look to one another.
“Now all we must do is seal the gullet, cutting off all seaborn travel and trade to Kings Landing, rendering them without goods or viable transportation for their ships.” Corlys speaks as he moves around the figurines.
“Rhaenys and I will take to patrolling in the skies. No sudden moves will be made so long as we’re keeping an eye out.” Daemon speaks for the first time since Luke’s arrival, his voice was rougher than usual, laced with something unfamiliar that the young heir couldn’t put his finger on, a hunger of sorts perhaps?
“We can surround Kings Landing once we take to the narrow sea, lay siege to the red keep and force the greens to surrender.”
Rhaenyra lays both her hands on the table, lips pressed together tightly as her eyes rapidly move around the images below her. “If we are to have enough swords to surround them we are still in need of support from Winterfell, the Arryn, and Storm's end. Tis the only way we have a fighting chance”
“I’ll prepare the ravens, your grace.” Maester Gerardys exclaims.
Luke’s eyes shoot to his brothers, knowing it’s high time they prove their worth.
“We should bear those messages.” Jace suggests, holding his head high as all eyes turn to the siblings.
Despite the overwhelming tension Luke can sense beneath his brother's stone-like expression, he stands unnerved, ready to plead their case. When no further words are spoken he continues “Dragons are faster than ravens, cutting the time for a reply in half.”
Luke takes a deep breath as he feels his heart skip beat, his palms beginning to sweat profusely and the skin on his lower belly itch. “It would also sho-show humility if the heirs to both the iron and Driftwood throne were to come bearing your messages in the flesh.”
Jace nods in agreement. “Send us.”
Luke doesn't miss the grin on Corlys face.
Their mothers mask cracks for a millisecond before she catches herself, eyeing the pair up and down for any hint of second thoughts before nodding reluctantly. “Alright, Prince Jacearys will fly north to the Arry to greet my mothers cousin the Lady Jayne Arryn, then Winterfell to treat with Lord Cragen Stark for the support of the north.”
Her gaze flickers to Luke, biting the inside of her cheek. “Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Boratheon. Reminding him along with every other Lord in the realm of the oaths they swore and the steep cost that will come with breaking them should they side with the usurper.”
She folds her hands in front of her belly. “I would’ve happily given him a high position in court, my brother, yet he has chosen to forsake me instead. Now he along with the rest of the greens will have no choice but to face the consequences of their treachery”
Once the council had been dismissed the castle had become a mad house of sorts. Numerous plans had come into discussion based on each move the greens were likely to take should they catch wind of their plan to attack head first and how they could counter them, making it clear that taking all possibilities into account was impunitive to their win. All it took was one misstep and they were done for as goes in the ways of war.
At least that’s what he’d been told by daemon as he took to overseeing their combat and sword training these last few weeks, an area of skill Luke was embarrassed to admit he had no grace in despite his constant attempts to better himself. He could wield a sword easily no doubt, however the problem arose when he had to apply actual offensive methods.
It was humiliating to say the least, being knocked down to his feet and disarmed so easily by his brother who hadn’t been putting in even a tenth of his strength.
Jealousy filled Luke’s gut whenever Jace disarmed their trainer with the grace of a natural fighter, the perfect heir in every way from his confidence to his ability to ignore the whispered rumors that spread behind their backs.
An alpha through and through while Luke was still a pup in the eyes of many.
Though he was stricken in nervousness, Luke gladly took the journey to Storm's end as an opportunity to show his mother and grandsire that he was worthy and could do more than hide behind the backs of others while they fought his battles for him. Luke should’ve been the one to defend his claim at court, just as he should’ve possessed the strength to fight back against Aegon after he’d slammed his face into the table the night of the feast.
Sending a message was a minute task in the grand scheme of things, he would do it with ease.
As the messages for the lords were written Luke and his brother had been made to pack for their trips, taking numerous changes of clothes and packaged meals with flasks with enough water to last four days' time. More than unnecessary since neither of their trips would take more than a singular day to arrive, not to mention it was common courtesy for lords and ladies to offer any royal body that arrived at their castle basic necessities.
Not if they’ve already silently chosen their side, The voice in the back of Luke’s mind couldn’t help but remind him.
Seeing his grandsire for the first time in what felt like forever made Luke appreciate the older alpha’s presence in his life even more so. Besides his mother, Corlys had been his rock and true supporter, no matter his coloring among other lack of traditional Valeryon traits. All Luke desired was to make the older man proud of passing him the Valeryon name.
Luke grunts in frustration, throwing the heavy furs from his body for the third time as he twisted and turned, finding himself restless as he began to feel a deep itch in his belly return, an almost clawing like sensation that had been irritating him on and off for the past few days.
He’d have to suck it up and finally see Maester Gerardys once he made it back. If this feeling continued untreated any longer Lucerys was sure to scratch the top layer of his skin clean off, an act he would worry his mother to her wits end.
A soft knock at his doors caused Luke to jump up, pulling the soft furs over himself almost immediately. “Who may it be at such an hour?” He shouts, voice filled to the brim in exhaustion as he rubs sleepily at his eyes.
“Who else could it be, you dolt.”
Jace? “It’s open.”
The door opens with a soft creak to reveal his brother clad in only his small clothes. “I had a feeling you would be up, right again as always I suppose.” He laughs as he gently shuts the entrance behind him and makes his way over to the feather bed, gesturing for the younger to move over and make room for the both of them.
Luke rolled his eyes at the command, as if it was easy to make room for him without pushing himself off the bed in turn.
When Jace presented it was almost as if his body had completely transformed overnight. He shot up to six feet in the blink of an eye, his muscles more defined and easier to put on, and the gruffness in his voice made it difficult to believe he was the same big brother Luke had played pranks on during their days living in the red keep.
And the changes didn’t stop at his appearance, slithering its way into how Jace conducted himself. No longer did he have the urge to constantly goof about, taking his responsibilities at their mothers heir to heart and putting duty above all else.
Luke scoffs as he rolls his eyes, scooting to the left as he lifts the covers, a generous invitation.
Once Jace settles the pair turn to face one another, their eyes dimming as they spoke a language only they were privy to, laying their deepest concerns and grievances they had been bottling up for the past weeks out on the table. Jace sighed as he could scent the beginnings of tears welling in the younger's eyes, holding out his arms as he pulled Luke into his chest, squeezing him for all he was worth.
“I know you’re scared; I am too. But we have to be strong, if not for ourselves then for mother and our sisters. A life lived in fear isn’t a life worth living, remember?”
How could he forget? Their father had read them that tale a million times over.
“Valerion couldn’t get his wings until he conquered the eight-legged beast.” He whispered, words coming out muffled as he burrowed his face into Jace’s neck.
Luke felt the rumbling of laughter in the olders’ chest. “Exactly.”
The room had quieted down, nothing but the soft sound of Jaces hand brushing up and down his brother's back was present as the pair drifted between the realm of sleep and the living world. Luke missed these private moments, ever since the fight with Aemond at that circus of a family dinner they hadn’t spent much time with one another outside of their training. Luke could feel every last worry melt away as his brother soothed him just as he always had, an unspoken apply for the way he acted during their fight the day before.
Luke truly mourned the day they would be forced to cease such contact as their responsibilities called to them.
“Promise me something.” Jace asked, his voice so soft that Luke wouldn’t have caught his words had he not been so close.
“Yes?”
The sound of a harsh gulp echoed in his ear. “Promise me that we’ll always be together…”
Luke felt his mouth go dry at the request, tightening his arms around his brother's neck as a dopey smile formed on his lips. Jace always became so emotional when they slept together, his usual inhibitions gone in the wind as he spoke freely without care. Here, huddled together beneath soft furs the pair were no longer heirs to both the throne and the biggest fortune in Westeros, but great loves in one another's life. Flawed and emotional, yet open and giving.
Though he knew why such a dream could never be, Luke wished for Jace to be the same in the morning hours.
“I promise.”
Sleep found the princes easily once their promise was sealed.
The next morning Luke had woken up to an empty bed, the side Jace had slept on had been neatly remade without a single trace of his presence. Luke tried to not feel upset whenever it happened, something in him pulling at his heart as every sign of their small moment was no longer.
He looked up to see Messeria standing at his wardrobe with a wide choice of clothes hanging from her slender arm. “Good marrow, my prince. I have been informed that you and the prince Jacaerys are to take off soon. I have already prepared a warm bath paired with a cup of tea for your headache if it is still troubling you. I know you’ve been in some pain these past days”
Luke throws his legs off the bed without care, hissing as the soles of his feet touch the cool cobblestoned floor, retracting them almost instantly. He reached down to touch his foot when the pain shot through him once more, the feeling was enough to pull a small cry from his dry lips.
Messeria pauses her search for another choice of jerkin at his whimper. “Are you alright my prince? Should I fetch a maester for you?” She questions, already moving to put down his clothes and rush out the door.
“No, no, that’s not necessary. The floor is just a bit cold, that's all.” He explains, voice laced with pain even to his own ears.
He put his foot to the floor again, his hand grappling onto the sheets as he felt the searing pain bite back even harder. Luke bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he decided to throw himself off the bed before his body could retract. Each step to the bath was more painful than the last, almost as if his nerves had been frostbitten from the inside.
Though the bath was mere feet away it felt as though making it there took hours, his feet crying out in pain as the floors felt like shards of snow-covered glass. Throwing himself into the tub like a man desperate for water as soon as he reached the porcelain tub.
Luke could feel Messeria’s perplexed stare at his sudden desperate need to bathe, but he was too tired to pay any mind. He desperately needed this.
As he washed up Luke couldn’t help but take notice that his chest was sensitive to the touch, an act as simple as running his washing cloth over the skin was enough to pull a deep groan from his chest. On the bright side, the warm water surely managed to help the irritation in his belly, soothing the itch better than any cream or herbs he could’ve been given. Luke never wanted to leave the sud filled tub, comfortable enough to fall back into his dreams right then and there.
Luke took a deep breath as he stood, pulling the soft towel Messeria left for him as he carefully stepped out, making sure to mask the pain that cut through his soles with each step he took. Dropping the towel Luke slips into his small clothes before Messeria begins to dress him in his riding clothes, simple brown jerkin with a beige undershirt paired plain brown trousers lined with dragon leather and his worn down girdle to match.
Luke’s jaw clenches as Messeria grooming his hair, too overwhelmed with the feeling of leather sliding across his skin for the brush sweeping through his curls to be anything other than aggravating. With every move he makes no matter how small all Luke feels uncomfortable, the material covering his body feels akin to an itchy prison as the hands in his hair burn his suddenly sensitive scalp.
Once he’s ready Luke thanks her with a small smile goodbye. Hopefully the beta would be able to rest a bit in his absence.
After she's gone another presence replaces her before the door shuts closed.
“Leaving already?”
Luke turns to see Rhaena standing in front of the door, her hands clasped together tightly with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Because I’d like to give something to you if you have the time.”
He grins, stepping forward and pulling his sister into an embrace. “I’ll always have time for you, you know that better than anyone.” She slaps his chest playfully, Luke almost topples over from the pain of it, gritting his teeth to keep from reacting.
He wraps his hands around both her arms, rubbing soothing circles into the uncovered skin. Rhaena was still clad in her nightgown, dreadlocks tucked away into her silk bonnet; a worrying sight considering she was usually the first person to get ready for the day.
She licks her lips, sniffling before opening her hands to reveal a coral pink seashell the size of her palm with a small thread of brown rope looped through it.
“A good luck charm.” She breathed; her violet eyes boring into his own. “Slip it on before you’ve mounted Arrax, it’ll protect you from all evils and guarantee that you’ll come back bearing news of the Baratheon’s alliance.” Rhaena gushed as she slipped the charm around his neck, pressing a kiss to the tips of her fingers before placing them on the shell.
Luke moved to hold her hand to his chest, not caring how much it stung as he leaned forward to press his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, tasting of honey and the sweetest of sugar cubes.
He wished for the moment to never end.
Rhaena was the first to pull away. “See you soon?”
“Very soon.” He agreed, a dopey smile covering his lips.
He meets Jace atop the hill, the breeze heavy as the morning sky filled with gray clouds shielding them from the bright sun. The waters surrounding Dragonstone are calm, peaceful enough to bring comfort as the sound of the low tide soothed Luke’s tangled nerves.
Jace greeted. “Brother.”
“Brother.”
The olders’ look of stone melts into a toothy smile as he reaches out to pull Luke into a tight hug, scenting him in every place he can reach as he pats his back three times over. Luke feels a small peck on his forehead before Jace pulls away.
Though the feeling was akin to needles, Luke mourned the loss of his brother's skin against his.
“Winterfell is further away from here than Storm’s end.” He breathes.
I’ll miss you.
Jace grins as he shakes his head. “I'll be back in no time. No need to worry yourself.”
I’ll miss you as well.
The olders’ eyes panned down to the necklace around adding a pop of color to his plain clothes before reaching out to tap at the pink shell with interest. “From Rhaena I assume?”
“A good luck charm.” He praised, grazing the tips of his fingers against the textured piece. Rhaena had probably been searching all over the beach as she searched for the perfectly intact shell; he'd have to gift her something in return once he arrived back.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from our sister.” Jace chuckled.
Luke looks the other up and down. “And Baela gave you nothing, I suppose?”
Jace reaches out to hit his shoulder before Luke dodges by the skin of his teeth, laughing at his brother's easy frustration. “Tis only a jest.” Luke surrenders, his hands held up in defeat before backing away.
“Very funny.” Jace grumbles, smoothing out his cloak.
“Boys.” Their mother calls out from behind them.
The pair turns to see the queen making her descent up the stairs, hands clasped together as two knights from her guard trot behind. She looks regal as her shawl-like gown flows to the ground like water, the breeze causing the two braids on both sides of her face to flow in the wind.
She stops in front of them, eyes dotting between the pair before pulling out two small scrolls wrapped in red and black ribbon, the sigil of their house stamped in blood red wax. “It’s been said that as Targaryen's we are closer to the gods than we are to men. Our dragons as well as our place on the Iron throne puts us a touch closer even. But even so, we serve the seven kingdoms. Therefore their gods are who we must answer to in moments such as these.”
“If you take this errand you make your journey as messengers, not worriers. You will take no part in any fighting no matter what lousy threats or nasty words are spilled. Swear it to me, under the eyes of the seven.” She asserted, a serious look in her eyes.
A knight steps forward with the book of the seven in his arms, holding it out to the princes.
The brothers look at one another before pressing their right hands atop the hard cover. “We swear it.”
Rhaenyra licks her lips before dismissing the knight.
Raising her right hand to Jace her gaze hardens. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than to mine, a strong male alpha who I hope you can find common interest with.”
He nods, taking the scroll. “Yes, your grace.”
Turning to Lucerys, the queen puckers her lips before taking a deep breath, handing the second message to him as the corners of her lips turn up. “Storm's End is but a short flight from here, less than six hours on dragon back.”
Luke gulps, looking to the sea.
She rests her hand on his shoulder. “Baratheon blood runs through your veins, making itself known through your features. And even so, Lord Borros is not so much of a proud man. Hosting a prince to the realm who is also the future lord of the tides would be an honor on his behalf. Not to mention hosting his dragon as well.” She smirks as her hand slips from his shoulders down to his own, rubbing circles against his palm before slipping the paper into it. “You will receive the warmest of welcomes, I am sure of it.”
“Yes mother-I mean, Your grace.” Luke corrects.
His mother nods before ruffling his hair, her scent flaring out in a mix of protectiveness and pride. “Go to it then.”
As Arrax carries him through the skies Luke touches the charm against his chest.