Chapter 3: A Trickling Force

Chapter Text

Aemond was basking in the new excitement his distant family had brought forth through their visit back to King's Landing, the past six years becoming drawled out and gray. He had thought it would be miserable, polite smiles and courteous manners that meant nothing to him, but the prince was so very wrong. How could he have thought that for a second, when he had returned, the boy who seemingly dragged out violence from every corner of the realm and had it laid out at his feet?

Lucerys had grown, from a whimpering boy behind his mother's skirts to a young man taking in the full views of the blood and broken flesh displayed by concerns stemming from his very existence. His body had changed shape as well, Aemond seeing it as he stalked through the night to see the elder Velaryon brother's on the rocks of the beach, focusing on the moles littering around his ivory skin, his curly dark hair that rejuvenated in the wetness of the ocean and bathing water his uncle sought to have prepped especially for him. His face had formed into a delicacy, the deranged prince tracing every speck of him with his single violet eye as he watched him sleep like the dead—courtesy of the incense his mother imported to lull his sickly father to sleep every night. 

It wasn't that he had intended to follow him around, but the first day he had arrived sent Aemond through an electrifying shock. The way he naturally gravitated toward his nephew's presence and felt in the crowd of people appraising him, that he truly ever only felt seen if those familiar brown eyes were on him. So Aemond relished in his humored state, passing by the kitchens when he and his brother Jacaerys were eating among the servant women, when they snuck into the Dragonpit to free their bonded beasts and watched keenly the way they rode across the surface of the water, breaking it.

Aemond felt it, that he himself was the tide, calm as it pulled back and forth in its usual rhythm, the one he had built throughout the years Lucerys had been gone. Training, studying, practicing, learning, praying, and repenting all over again and again in a vicious cycle. But he—always him— Luke, shattered that pattern and the stoicism the Targaryen prince had immersed himself in, just like he did with his dragon along Blackwater Bay. Hiding in the night and shadowing the boy felt just to Aemond since for the entirety of the time that passed by, Lucerys had haunted him in the dark parts of his mind as well. So he set his trap, seeing if he could have Luke so vulnerable, deep in slumber, and trying to envision himself taking hold of his slim neck and squeezing the life out of his body. But he ultimately couldn't, the white-haired boy remained captured in even Lucerys' unconscious state.

The prince sat across the hearth, watching the flames of the fire as he was already ready in his chambers for the dinner his father had arranged, twiddling absentmindedly with the ends of his long white hair. He found clarity in his thoughts to pass time, indulging more in the very few moments he'd scrapped by of Lucerys' company even though his nephew had yet to even exchange with him a word. He thought at first, he'd be alright with that. That if a possible apology ghosted past his lips for how he maimed him all that time ago, or even an insult directed his way by the monstrous beast hidden inside the boy, Aemond wouldn't want his regal ears to be greeted by a note of his voice. But then— that wasn't true—everything with Lucerys seemed to be the opposite as he came to be in front of his uncle, the older boy making the mistake of being curious about how he'd speak to him.

Hearing his quiet voice as he spoke with his brother in the kitchens, and the laughs he shared on the shores of the beaches greatly contrasted with the way Lucerys had addressed the servants confidently and courteously. Then that daring tone to Aemond as he passed by his cloaked figure in the hallways at night. He sat by the fire, looking into it as it both blinded and made a clear picture to his one eye, recognizing the flames that were spoked behind Lucerys Velaryon's own gaze every time it had reached him; Aemond becoming desperate to be at the hands of the creature's animalistic rage once again.

"Brother, join me for early drinking before our," Aegon sounds suddenly from behind the door, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Lovely family joins us for the joyous feast."

Aemond did not answer, wanting to continue drowning in his compiling thoughts, not-so-secret hatred, and loathing.

"Please. Helaena keeps talking my ear off. If not for your handsome brother, for your rambling sister." He opened the door and towered over his older brother, his white hair flayed all around like a collar in contrast to the younger brother's sleek mane, showing how much of a dog Aegon truly was.

"I'd rather hear her mumblings than your whining." Aemond walked ahead, not bothering to wait as Aegon himself hadn't put off drinking, goblet already in his hands. Perhaps that was the reason he was so swayed to find himself in front of his little brother's chambers, never looking for him sober.

"Simmer that fire, little brother. Or surely Mother will slap it out of you the way she did to me yesterday morning." Aemond gave a small scoffing breath at his pitiful brother controlled by lust, hearing about the barbaric act he'd succumbed a young servant girl to. 

"The difference between me and you is too much to cover at this moment in time. Just know you definitely deserved every hit."

"The way you deserve every lashing you give yourself as you pray?" Now Aegon walked ahead of him, slurping obnoxiously loud from his cup, and Aemond hissed at him with his teeth bared, not able to give him a proper shove as servant men were passing by with more chairs to place at the table they were heading to. Though once they moved entirely by, he kicked at the back of his older brother's leg, the part right behind the knee that gave in too easily and had Aegon stumbling. But a seasoned drunk learns to keep himself balanced upright, a humored hum echoing in his goblet as Aegon kept it stuck to his lips.

Aemond understood his older brother was masochistic, but after coming into full view of the dining hall and table, seeing his family already sat and food being put down in front of them as whispers from the divided sides filled the room, he felt Aegon was also sadistic. He almost cringed at the sight of the empty middle space between his mother and his half-sister, their still faces and hard swallows as they sat right next to each other, yet said not a word or shared a glance. His nephews and cousins were in a close-knit circle giggling and talking amongst each other, Jace flagging his hand at them to keep their tones down. Aegon led his brother to their side of the table, Helaena giddy with wine in one hand and leaning over the table to talk with their grandfather Otto, who seemed pleased by her inviting state and was talking probably with the only grandchild he genuinely enjoyed. Daeron was left still in Oldtown supposedly on his own want, but Aemond felt that it was only half true.

"You're a damn snake in the grass."

"Aye, you should've taken me out while you could have in the hallway."

"I always can, I just rather might after dinner-"

"Torturing me before? I never thought you'd put so much effort into anything concerning me. Look at you, grown up so thoughtful."

Before they could continue their bantering, the main doors opened and Aemond instinctively glided to his seat at the end of the table, almost losing his breath as he looked up and saw who sat at the other end. He nearly forgets that a king—his father— was before him to eat dinner for the first time since ever, just at the sight of Lucerys in candlelight. Just like he looked when he slept. As everyone else began to sit down, he followed and tried looking anywhere but at the awkward boy who scootched his own chair in, a servant pushing Aemond's seat beneath him. 

"How good it is... to see you all tonight... together." Aemond forgot himself and who he was for a split second, remembering exactly the circumstances as to why the family hadn't been united after so long. How could he when that very reminder sat at the end of the table already eyeing a stupid lemon cake?

"Prayer before we begin?" Aemond shut his eye immediately, drowning out his mother's own words and filling in with his personal reciting, trying desperately to calm his nerves.

Do not let him get the best of you. Do not. You are a prince. A Targaryen. 

He opened his eye, letting out a long, quiet exhale.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses." Aemond felt himself sink into his chair, forgetting all about the pact made just that morning. He had instantly made himself pray in the comfort of his quarters to distract himself. It worked, too well he supposed. "A toast to the young Princes... and their betrothed."

He didn't toast, not that anyone noticed as Daemon rejoiced openly, Aemond just taking a swift gulp out of his goblet and didn't even care this time around about how sweet the wine was.

"Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys... the future Lord of the Tides." He knew he wasn't going to even make it to the main course, hearing Rhaenyra softly holler for her son. Then there was always Lucerys, looking at how his lips twisted with a new expression Aemond tried to bury deep in his mind for safekeeping. 

"You'll be great," Rhaena spoke to him softly, breaking Luke out of the look his uncle was trying to discover the meaning of in his mind and giving her a smile. Aemond was almost at the bottom of his chalice just by the sight of the couple's sweetness. As the toasts and formalities were about over and the Targaryen prince felt as if his appetite might come back enough for him to eat at least one course, his father got up and Aemond felt his body tense all over again.

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other... in the years past." He saw how everyone contorted, now feeling the agony of what their coming together truly meant underneath the extensive dishes displayed before them. His family all refused to look toward him, as Aemond fidgeted with his fingers and glanced to the spot at the other head of the table, seeing Lucerys swipe his head away before they could have a second length of eye contact. At least he could look at Aemond in a room full of people who couldn't.

That's when a different sight presented itself in the form of his father, taking off the gold plate that sheathed half his face, the gruesomeness of it silencing any hunger in the people sitting at the table; and if the babes of the family were still up, they'd be wailing their heads off. Viserys' right eye socket was emptied, so hollow Aemond thought a whistling wind would sound out of it as it looked as if the hole burrowed straight to the back of his father's skull. He swallowed, a sick feeling inside him insisting that this was his father's repayment for denying him Lucerys' eye as payment all those years ago. The king now similarly crippled and certainly feeling the shame that was brought by the disfigurement.

"My own face... is no longer a handsome one...if indeed it ever was," No, it was Aemond who felt ashamed, silencing the throbbing blight inside of him that taunted for more pain on accord of his family. The sight of his half-sister's expression twisting and his mother breathing shakingly was enough for his ugly soul to remain still. "But tonight... I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king... but your father. Your brother. Your husband... and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you."

Maybe Aemond could see why exactly his father was deemed king, always hearing of how gentle and peaceful he was as a ruler. He was pulling together carefully his words as well as the frayed fabric and thread that their family tore from each other, them all mending at his vulnerability.

"Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the Crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly." The blight lapped at Aemond's heart, tightening around the beating muscle and constricting it, tainting it. He was commanding their reconciliation, forging something that couldn't be forced, and yet still doing so anyways because he was their ling. Because he could make them do so, without acceptance or apologies, brushing everything away like the boy at the end of the table never finished what he started all those years ago. Aemond tried swallowing the sour taste in his mouth. He tried to eradicate the hatred in his very being until his half-sister got up and his insides burned. He remembered then, the sake of what his father was trying to preserve, all for Rhaenyra while himself and his own siblings—his own mother, got left scraps of his concern.

"I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apology." They looked at each other now, Rhaenyra's deep voice coaxing a warmth out of Alicent that made Aemond wonder if she had any wine to drink.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess." She sniffled, the ugliness inside the second son stuttering at the fragile sound she was making. "We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen."

For a moment, the divided two sides seemed content in each other's presence, children watching as their mothers smiled at each other's words and healed at the sight of familiarity between them. They drank, in unison, while Aemond was the only one at the end of the table, throat closed and body unwilling to move. That was how it was to end? Blood and carnage during the day in court, and now at dinner they drink while exchanging superficial words? 

Aegon moved first, whispering something to Baela that made Jacaerys stand up with a rage loud enough to shake the table, the familiar hostility brewing in the air again. Aemond stood, seeing the way Jace had his fists curled and tight, remembering how at the training yard he hesitated with fear at the sight of his uncle. Quickly, Jace sobered up enough to grab his chalice and turn to Aegon with a tense expression, and hit on his back in an attempt to appear friendly, raising his cup to toast.

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." Baela, Rhaena, and Lucerys drank earnestly to hide their smiles, humored by Jace as he gave another played-off punch to Aegon who muttered a fake formality under his breath. Aemond's flames of hate were being fanned at the sight. But after catching the way his mother looked at him with a worried face, not understanding how she could have been the one to initiate this awfulness in him and not recognize how freely it flowed through him, he lowered himself reluctantly back into his seat. His father praising Jacaerys only made Aemond fight back an eye roll. Then Helaena stood up, pulling him away from his festering thoughts for a second.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk." A sliver of a smile etched on his lips at the jab his sweet sister gave to Aegon, letting it fall away when their father readily ignored her toast by ordering music to be played. Their grandfather Otto appraised her in his stead with a soft encouraging whisper and a rare smile that meet his eyes.

That's when the small intimacy in front of Aemond was cut short, Jacaerys weaseling his way to their side of the table to ask Helaena to dance, Aegon giving his younger brother a look of astonishment as his wife danced with their nephew, a wide smile on her face just by the offer. This is what he was expecting, the short end of the stick once his half-sister came back and feeling like that small forgotten child he once was when their father bore his favoritism onto her again. He stared as his nephew danced with his sister, trying to turn his single good eye away from the laughs and liveliness in the atmosphere. It was all false. It wasn't something that would last. They would have to go back, return to the confinements of Dragonstone. And even when they did come back again, there wasn't any guarantee that Aemond would be allowed to stay in the Red Keep any longer with his sister on the throne, never mind that the person behind his endeavors to prove himself would most likely reside at Driftmark to prep for his own ascension. Within the dining hall full of his family, the second son felt twice as alone.

He was not the only one who grew tired, his father wailing in pain and having to get escorted out by guards on his chair, just as they had brought him in only a bit ago. Aemond watched as Viserys was lugged out of the doors, feeling an ache in his body to go ahead and slip away, probably ride Vhagar in secrecy until morning came, and hopefully, their visitors would be gone by then. But the burn on his eyepatch made him stay stuck in his seat, feeling the heat coming straight from the end of the table where he knew better than to look toward, compelled to stay under the boy with wide brown eyes' gaze.

And then he heard it, smelled it, the sizzling of a main course put out right in front of him and clattering on the table heavily with a thud. Pig. A light giggle made his head slowly turn forward, his body faced the door still as if the reasonable side of him was conscious still, letting him know it would be dignified to just up and leave, to forget about the childish jokes from his past. Though under the look of the beastly creature in front of him, devious eyes and a smirk upturned on his face, Aemond felt that there was no clarity that came from being in Lucerys' company.

His fist pounded the wooden table, wanting all the attention on him who always went without it. The music stopped at the sound of the prince's wishes, his family turning all eyes onto him with expecting faces and nearly empty goblets in return. He wanted to see if Lucerys would still smile wickedly at him after this.

"Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace... Luke...and Joffrey." The brown-haired boy put his drink down and pulled his chin upward to glare at his uncle, Aemond almost purring at the sight of his defiance. "Each of them handsome, wise..." His mother panted with a fearful glare in her eyes, the blight inside him making him finish up conjuring his words before any more inauthentic kindness could be spewed. She would understand that he would only be setting this all back to what it was, that she would surely recognize their shared hatred once again."Strong."

His mother pleaded by calling Aemond's name to make him stop, but his tongue was already loosened from his hatred, the embarrassment, and the overtly sweet wine.

"Come... let us drain our cups to these three... Strong boys." He felt crazed under the familiar simmer of Luke's stare, that ugliness Aemond hid inside himself painted similarly across his nephew's usual sweet face. That is how he wanted him, that is the state he needed Lucerys in when he'd let words slip out of his mouth to try and drag across Aemond's body, leaving painful markings the same way he left the one peaking from underneath his eyepatch. The Targaryen man welcomed it—expected it at this point.

"I dare you to say that again." He'd work with what he got.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." He stalked over to Jace. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" Luke immediately got up from his end of the table to back his older brother as he did the night on Driftmark, only Aegon was there this time to throw his pretty head into the hardwood table. Jacaerys landed a punch onto Aemond's face who was too occupied with the other Velaryon boy in the back of his mind to dodge but smiled anyways, pushing down Jace with ease as he held onto his wine. Unspilt. A dangerous grin was shining on Aemond's usual still face, watching as Lucerys was being restricted by a guard, thrashing and trying his best to break away to claw at his uncle's face. The display of anger was invigorating.

"Why would you say such a thing before these people?" His mother pulled him away from the sight, growling at Aemond who only looked down at her with vacant eyes and a thirst to get back to watching Luke try his best to get his hands around him. 

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother." He hummed, pulling away from her tight grasp and turning to stare right back at Luke, stepping forward to see if the younger Velaryon prince would be able to get at him. "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs." Jace broke loose instead, Daemon stepping forward in between the boys with a finger held up to drown out all of the fun, backing his children into a corner and away from Aemond while Rhaenyra dismissed the four, Lucerys walking out first without looking back at his uncle. 

Aemond swallowed hard, staring at Daemon who looked at the young man with a humored face like he saw what exactly was swirling inside of him, the venom veining throughout his body that stemmed from his heart. Like he understood Aemond. The young Targaryen prince did not like that, huffing before leaving the dining hall and trying to ignore the pawing feeling that his uncle knew his secret desire, the way Daemon himself had held the same one before. 

He clenched and flexed his hands as he walked out of the Red Keep, knowing that only returning to his chambers would allow him to spiral more so. The white-haired boy retrieved an aged cloak from down at the Dragonpit, the stench filling his nostrils with comfort and the instinctual reaction to let his legs take him to Vhagar who rested alone at the end of the shore followed. But another feeling pulled at his gut as his eye found a dragon whip hung up, his gloved hands taking a hold of it before he could try and shut the thought out. Aemond hung his head and let out a shuddering breath, opting for the second option and justifying his future actions by knowing how hard he would repent, how relentless the next fury of lashings he'd unleash on himself would be.

The prince was not too fond of the Street of Silk, only knowing two places his older brother pulled him towards one night when he was three-and-ten. The first one was where Aegon made him watch as he bedded a common whore, forcing his young brother to witness the act and familiarize himself with the stench, Aemond closing his one eye whenever his brother wasn't looking. But he couldn't forget the noises, the hiccuping cries of the young girl underneath his brother who took and took without care. Then, he pulled his frightened kid brother to another place, weaving through the darkness of naked bodies and moans to show Aemond new sights, pushing the boy to perform himself after the startling discovery. 

He went to that second place, the leather coin satchel he held in his sweaty palms shaking as he pounded his fist on the back door, a slit opening to reveal an eye looking at him peculiarly, widening at the sight of the white hair peaking from under the dark cloak. It was a blundering woman, ecstatic at the sight of a Targaryen with the means to give, eager to share a secret with royalty for the night.

"My prince, which one may you be?" He didn't answer her, feeling she already knew and wanted to be humored as she looked at his eyepatch, lowering her eyes and leading him inside as the silence sliced into her. She blabbered about preference, about girls from the youngest of ages to ones older than his own mother, the color of their hair, the ways they could move their bodies, all these criteria that Aemond wasn't looking for.

"So, what will it be?" He turned away from her, his eye scanning the dimly lit scenes of servants going in and out of private rooms with cups and coins on their silver platters. Then he spotted what he was looking for, a scrawny boy with a mop of brown hair bounding from a station with pulled clothes and a satchel full of coins, his face marked with a handprint. The madam held back a knowing smile, feeling if the prince saw it she'd be gutted where she stood, so instead she put her cane in front of the boy to prevent him from walking past the two. He looked up with fearful eyes, Aemond realizing he had blue ones and letting out a bored hum, taking the coins out nonetheless as his wants festered.

"Only this much?" He glared at the woman, her face not slipping as he gave her two more coins or so, looking at the boy who swallowed at the sight of his scarred face. Slowly he slipped the satchel he held himself to his madam, the woman leading the pair upstairs. The Targaryen prince recognized it as the passage his brother took him through just three years before, their status securing them the utmost privacy. His mind reeled back to when he first walked into the sinful place, the scene of two men together in the dark jested upon by Aegon and a swelling in Aemond's heart making him feel alive, almost understanding what drew his brother to places such as these.

They went into a room with a fire burning inside, candles adorning everywhere with a sweet fragrance that masked the sour smell of sex from penetrating inside it, the madam looking at her working boy with a knowing stare before locking the door shut. As the sound of her cane faltered, the boy with brown hair begin to strip, taking off his top and then reaching for his bottoms before Aemond grunted in disapproval, the skinny thing looking at the prince with a scared expression.

*"Keep just your shirt off. And turn around toward the fire. Now." He followed the directions earnestly, holding his pants up and facing the flames, Aemond was disappointed again as he saw the pale skin without any adorning moles or a single freckle in sight. "You don't have a single marking on you."

"T-Thank you, my prince."

"It's not meant to be a compliment. Don't talk again." His gloved hands found the blade hilted in his belt, pulling it out and letting it glint as the light from the fire hit it gloriously, a shiver riding down Aemond's spine as he looked onto the boy's own. "You know pain, I presume from that red mark upon your face?"

The worker nodded, the white-haired prince smiling as the commoner listened carefully, knowing the true object of his desire would never.

"Then, during this moment with me alone, you will grow familiar with pain. If you could cry, do so loudly." He dragged the steel against white skin, digging in to scrape and draw the smallest of blood and noticing how the worker didn't even shake, frozen in place from either fear or numbness. So Aemond continued, letting his mouth hang open as he stood staring into brown hair, trying to ignore that it wasn't as dark as he wanted, and how it didn't curl. Harder, he carved, pulling at the skin and watching as the shoulder blades flexed in agony, a single whimper sounded through the empty room, and a smile fell on the prince's face as he continued his etches, feeling his loins heat.

Blood trickled to the floor, the boy holding himself, hands clenching his shoulders hard as if he were cold. As though he was sweating from the heat of the hearth, crying out as quietly as he could even if he was ordered otherwise. That was a familiarity, the pride a boy felt, a prince would hold onto even in a moment such as this, making Aemond slow his cuts, milking the experience for what it was worth. He imagined him, brown eyes full of tears, teeth glowing white at him in disgust, moles on the most private parts of his skin, and his pale body ripe for the taking in front of his uncle, the Targaryen instinct to conquest unleashed onto the bastard boy.

His eyes steadied on his work, stepping back with a tense lip, and seeing in full length what he did. They were wings, he had carved them into the stranger's white back, and every time the muscle and bone flexed in writhing pain, the silhouette of the wide wings expanded and fell on his rippling skin as if he would take flight. But a sex worker of his caliber would never, Aemond further wounding his worth with the new markings on his previously unscathed flesh.

He breathed hard as if he had finished sparring, putting the blade back into his side on the hip of his belt, and felt himself softening again, reality purging him. He left the satchel for the working boy and let him cry on the ground, pushing past workers as he exited through the back door, pulling his cloak against him tightly in shame.

Aemond walked through King's Landing, hiding in the shadows as he passed groups of common folk drinking and whooping, a dense crowd formed as they joined to watch a mockery play of his family. He ignored it, already seeing it once as it made fun of his father's sickly condition and his mother's control of the council, even more acts like a poor depiction of himself fighting with Aegon over who would bed Helaena in the night. It was disgusting, so he tried his best to just push through the drunken people and ignore it until he saw an upturned nose with mouth agape, those pink lips with a familiar brown mole ghosting upon them. It peaked from underneath a dark hood, Aemond steadied his single violet eye on the sight to realize his mind was not playing tricks on him, seeing Lucerys hidden in the mob with his brother and their betrothed giggling, cups of wine in their hands.

They had snuck out. Aemond put together their hushed whispers at the start of dinner when he had entered, and realized that the rumors of Rhaenyra's old chambers, the ones Rhaena was taking up during their stay, indeed had a secret passageway leading out to King's Landing. And so there they were, laughing as the second act came with the Targaryen princes' fighting, rolling all over the stage floor followed by a 'pop' sound, the actor playing Aegon standing with a giant paper-mache eye while the actor that represented himself writhed in pain. Laughter shattered his eardrums, sizzling any leftover desire he felt and making Aemond feel small in the pool of common folk, his eye going back to see Lucerys and how he would be living for the sight. But he wasn't, instead, he had fled from the scene and walked down the street full of merchants while Rhaena, Baela, and Jace stayed fixed in place, raising their cups and hollering for more.

The prince weaved through the pedestrians quickly, following his nephew through the cobblestone streets and watching as he came into full sight, stumbling slightly as wine sloshed from the cup Lucerys held loosely down by his side. Aemond kept to the brick of the buildings, distancing himself away from Luke as he looked at the trinkets being sold, conniving sellers trying to get the young boy to buy from them for prices too high. Even though he was dressed in a simple cloak, Aemond understood that the boy's fair face showed he was born from royal blood, and that even his plain features couldn't hide the dragon-like looks he was starting to bare.

"What's this one?" He spoke up suddenly, Aemond hearing the curiosity in the boy's voice, leaning on the wall in comfort as he watched his nephew's cloaked silhouette. Lucerys held up a small glass flask filled with clear liquid, a single violet flower submerged inside and preserved seemingly forever.

"The price for it or the name of the flower inside?" The boy hummed, tapping his foot and sloshing the wine in the cup as he thought. He shrugged before the merchant looked at him annoyed, beginning to ramble off facts about the 'foreign flower'. Aemond smiled to himself as he knew that the weed grew just outside of King's Landings outskirts, as he'd find them during his name day celebratory hunts in the woods.

"I thought these grew just in the forests a few miles out. Not all the way in Essos." Lucerys spoke up, cutting the merchant off, quickly their sale pitch changing and heckling the price down for his simple mistake. Luke just nodded, getting a few coins from his person and giving them to the man, the other three children running up from down the cobbled road as the play had finished, grabbing onto the youngest of their group.

"Lucerys! You didn't get to see the end of that exhilarating act!"

"I saw enough. Anyways, look what I've just bought." The four royals began to walk, Aemond staying far enough away to only hear them and keep Lucerys in line of sight in his good eye. The twin girls marveled at the simple flower in the jar, Jace paying no mind to it and instead leaving his emptied cup on top of a stray barrel, taking Luke's own to finish off. The white-haired boy laughed a bit, realizing Lucerys did not enjoy the tart bitterness of street wine and certainly had a sweet tooth as he had practically downed the imported sugary alcohol during dinner.

"Is it for Rhaena?" Baela spoke, her younger sister hitting the older girl in embarrassment to which Lucerys just simply grabbed the flask back without an answer, sparring his betrothed any more unwanted attention.

"I know, for my wife-to-be, we will be blessed with first," Jace burped making the other three laugh, the prince was too drunk to get self-conscious of his state and just continued his slurring. "With the name Velaryon, unifying our great houses through my late father and your late lady mother." The girls glanced at each other with a shared longing look at the mention of their deceased uncle and mother. "And once we ascend the throne, under matrimony and under the crown, we will be presented as Targaryen's together." 

Baela held onto Jacaerys as he swayed gleefully, giggling at his childlike nature and leaving the younger couple behind as they continued to try and stay upright, slipping on the ground with laughter bubbling from them manically. Aemond watched them wander off with an eye roll, wondering if the royal brats knew just how dangerous the city of Flea Bottom truly was.

"They make a fine couple," Rhaena said softly, looking at Lucerys who looked at the violet flower still, putting it away into his side belt as he felt her eyes still on him. He hooked their arms together hesitantly and sighed into the air at her side, Aemond following like a fly on the wall. "Are you alright, Lucerys?"

"Today has lasted centuries is all." 

"I'm sure this day has been jarring for you. After the petitions this morning, and what happened to Uncle Vaemond. And then dinner." Lucerys let out an exasperated breath, almost laughing which made Rhaena tug on him in concern, leading him closer to her side so as to not let him slip. It still made Aemond irate at their closeness, realizing the girl had been with Luke on Dragonstone all this time. "Are you still upset about what Aemond said?"

He perked up at the mention of himself, even though it wasn't good attention, but in truth, he never aimed to garner that type anyways.

"It doesn't upset me," The white-haired prince faltered, feeling discontent with the fact he had no real effect on the Velaryon boy, in the way he had been pulled endlessly by his very presence for the past two days. "It absolutely pisses me off."

Aemond recovered quickly, his feet dragging him closer to the two as they wandered further through the city, deeper into the chaos of the lower class and their depravity. 

"All I did was laugh in his direction. I feel everything I do is wrong, and watching Aemond throw that back in my face—bringing Jacerys and Joffrey into it-it drives me mad." Lucerys almost whined, the wine loosening his lips as he ranted to Rhaena who nodded in understanding.

"Of course it'd make you angry. Those accusations your uncle wields could have your head. It nearly did if King Viserys had not stepped in when he had, and if my father had not cut Vaemond down before anybody backed his assertion." Aemond let the truth settle in, Luke leading the girl away from a loud cluster of men who tried to peek at her face under the cloak, some of their eyes resting too fondly at the sight of Lucerys' own.

"I don't believe Aemond wants my death, only my pain. I think if they ever had cut out my eye in payment for his, we could have been without this endless charade of who can hurt who better." His voice was almost a whisper, Aemond pressed close behind as he observed the group, his maimed eye and white hair alone making them back against the wall and nod to him in a yielding manner.

"You try and hurt him?" He pulled his head away, listening intently as they spoke intimately into each other's faces, the words barely floating from between the fabric of their disguises.

"Not by force, of course, he's grown quite large in size compared to me. I do it only by ignoring him, the way I do with Joffrey when his temperament grows tiresome." Just as he finished talking, a yell came from up ahead and Aemond ducked into an alley as he realized the younger couple had caught up with Baela and Jace, the older Velaryon prince leaning against a corner wall and yacking up the feast from early in the evening. Swiftly, before the group could start heading back to the Red Keep so he wouldn't run into them as he had run into Lucerys the night before, the prince fled.

All the way up to his chambers he let Lucerys' words sit with him, his heart beating against his chest in fear, humiliation, and with sheer confusion as he felt translucent in his nephew's mind. Luke knows, he has to have known, just like Daemon did. Maybe he knew even more than he let on, perhaps about Aemond's visit to the Street of Silk, about the boy he carved up in poor resemblance to himself, and he was laughing about it now with his betrothed. They all know, the Targaryen prince thought. How his family saw him as the disgusting cretin he felt himself to always have been, and they mocked him the same way Lucerys had been doing by ignoring his presence. Until his toast. But it was that moment that deterred Luke from him, Aemond feeling helpless at the complexities of these matters.

Once he spilled through the wooden door of his private quarters, Aemond pulled his cloak off and threw it to the side, feeling around his belt with shaking hands, and brought himself to his knees in front of the fire ablaze as he always ordered it to be, for times like these. He unbuttoned his black dress shirt crazily, pulling at the white undergarment beneath it, and noticed how the blood from the working boy stained his hands when he felt for his tool of clarity. Then the shocking image of Lucerys himself adorning those carved wings flashed in his mind and he brought his arms up, hands clenched around the whip he swiped from his visit to the Dragonpit. He gritted his teeth and unleashed a wrath on his back, like he always did, the burning sting making him lose air from the deepest parts of his lungs, taking in a gasping breath as his single eye was blinded by the light of the fire. 

This was his repentance. This was his way of returning back to his regimen, lashing hard at his skin that he would never be able to see the gruesome scarring of as it was hidden on his back. Losing himself in the dancing flames of the fire, he felt a serene feeling wash over him, the hot trickling of blood running down his tensed muscle, expanding his shoulders to let it sting even worse. Aemond threw the whip down, placing his palms on the hard ground and panting as he clenched his teeth in sweet suffering, a satisfied grin falling on his lips as he pulled himself up and carried his throbbing body into his bathing room. There waiting for him was steaming as it did every night, even when he went without using it.

As he lowered himself into the water, his skin singeing and boiling, Aemond bent into his body and held his knees, the shame coming to him as it always did, the gratification never lasting long. He wished the whip dealt him an infection great enough to match the one inside of his very soul, and that in his sickness he could forget about it all, about Lucerys taking his eye, and robbing him seemingly of his entirety. When the Targaryen prince, first of his name, looked for his beginning, he knew the Velaryon prince was the one who dealt him the heavy burden himself, not even Vhagar being his was able to wash over his infamous missing eye. So he felt they were fated to be each other ends as well. He just wished it would come soon so he wouldn't have to remain so rigid and still in the desolate place he was supposed to call home, Aemond submerging entirely in the burning water to quiet his restless thoughts and hopes of being pulled away from his self-imposed calamity.

___

When he woke in the morning, he understood that the eerie quiet inside the Red Keep was more unusual than before, the sun already up, and yet the sound of servants ushering through the halls was not there. As he dressed, the way Aemond usually did without help once he had started practicing his remorse, he found it even more strange that his mother hadn't sent for him yet, considering the scene he made last night. Just as he was starting to worry, a small knock came from behind his door, a frail voice coming through to let the prince know he was being summoned to Helaena's room by 'Her Grace'.

He walked through the halls, tucking his sleeves in anticipation of the scolding to come, wondering if he should've snuck away as a stowaway on one of Rhaenyra's boats back to Dragonstone. Surely his mother couldn't be too mad at him, truly she could forgive him, after all, he was just a fragment of her own fury.

But the sight of his grandfather, the Hand, walking with his head held down coming from the direction of his sister's quarters made Aemond swirl with worry once again. He thought, for a second, that perhaps the madam from last night had betrayed him—even though the prince understood she never owed him anything. Or maybe the boy he had carved had come crying, and now he was to pay for it the way Aegon usually would with strikes across his face and being at the hands of his mother's boiling point.

The Targaryen prince appeared before them, wide-eyed and heartbeat in his ears, looking at his sister and his queen with their frazzled faces, wondering if this was the moment he'd be exposed for his desires. The news turned out to be entirely different.

He sat with the revelation that his father had died in front of a fire, always finding solitude in the flames that he felt tugged at the feral parts of his house ancestry, all the way from Old Valryia. Aemond wondered if the weight coming off his shoulders was one resulting from his father's demise, the death of his king, instead of the consequences he had only barely scraped away from for his faults in the night. Though, with his mother's nervous talking to fill in the silence, Aemond watched as she transformed back into just a girl, her bad habit ghosting on her fingertips as she picked her skin subconsciously. Maybe finally his family could be freed from the walls of the Red Keep, falter back to Oldtown, and join Daeron to see what exactly was so great over there that he couldn't be bothered to come back. But then Alicent muttered how Aegon was to rise to the Iron Throne, and the second son knew that he hadn't at all evaded his repercussions and that they were in fact just getting started, Helaena dismissing herself from having to witness the unfortunate events unfold. Aemond stayed put, for the fire, and for his mother.

Ser Criston Cole came to his queen's side soon enough, alerting her about Aegon not being found and how Otto was scrambling to retrieve his older brother quickly, his mother shaking at the possibility of bloodshed if her father put her firstborn son underneath the conqueror's crown his way. Aemond knew she was familiarized with pain and not death the same way that he was, but that the balance of the realm shook every second that they were without a king and Aegon evaded his role. He knew that even though they were usurping the claim from his elder sister, it was his mother he stood beside, not Aegon's. And so to calm her nerves, he stepped away from the flames, quieting the vision of Lucerys in candlelight from his mind, and volunteered himself to find his brother alongside Criston Cole.

Despite her want for him to stay at her side instead, Aemond just looked down at her scared face, wondering when exactly was it that she got to be so small.

Walking in daylight through the city of King's Landing was another wave of punishment pushing down on Aemond's sin and indulgence from the night before. It stunk of waste and the deepest parts of inhumane occupancy, definitely, the kind of attraction Aegon was drawn to. And so like dogs, the second son and his mother's sworn knight followed the haunting stench until they came upon a building that was just conjured up in Aemond's mind a few hours before when the sun wasn't yet up; the first brothel his brother had brought him to on the Street of Silk.

He rambled to Ser Criston about the occasion, feeling his nerves bundle up and tear from underneath the flesh of his back, threatening to burst from his clothes and represent just how much of a hypocrite the Targaryen prince was. Once the door opened, the knight spoke with his disguise on, spinning a ruse that Aemond did not care for as the madam at the door immediately knew who he was even from those three years ago, and who they looked for. She denied his presence being there, alluding to when she first saw the pair of brothers, her gaze simmering Aemond knowingly and he cursed Lucerys in moments like those where he had to be recognizable due to the eyepatch. The madam pointed them in another discrete direction, giving them an ominous tip elsewhere than her doorstep, and purred at the white-haired prince even with his maimed face.

"How you've grown." He hummed shortly, remembering the way Luke had said something similar on the cobblestone streets the last time the moon shined down on King's Landing. He stalked away, wondering how many times the face of his nephew would be visiting him as he ran through the rampant city.

He listed off possibilities of Aegon's current occupancy to Ser Criston, beginning to feel restless underneath his cloak that still lingered of dragon and iron, the knight companion listening to the usually mouth-clamped-shut princeling. 

"Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who's never taken half an interest in his birthright." He felt just talking about the secret yearning of his grandfather to put Aegon on the throne, even when his mother said those empty threats in the confinements of their chambers— everyone inside the council always knew they'd come to this point. "'Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be..."

His mouth moved faster than his mind, the thoughts collecting all together and making Aemond stop his tongue before he could be accused of any treason. He had wanted more than his position always, he had needed more enrichment beyond the walls of his ivory castle, even wishing for his nephew to whisk him away from it all as if Aemond was a damsel in distress. But he wasn't, as he looked at the plain-faced man that Criston Cole was, he knew that looking back at him was a Targaryen, one who could certainly cease the throne as it was ripe for the taking.

"I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given." Ser Criston said stepping closer to the scene of vulnerable insight, Aemond only humming as if the man knew what it was like to lose an eye free of charge.

"And we can't find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own...and he's welcome to them." He leaned into the sworn kingsguard member, knowing this man's allegiance to the Iron Throne bound him to keep even the secrets of the second son he'd watched grow up. "I'm next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found."

They walked again in silence now, wondering if the twin knights were any closer to finding the damned heir than they were. Aemond let his mind find the thought of Luke again, imagining that he was probably suffering from the aftereffects of drinking so late into the night, if he was already curled up in his bed at home. How he'd wake to the revelation of something taken from him, feel that sinking awful, helplessness that Aemond had felt when his eye was taken. 

He welcomed the fight he knew Lucerys was to give.

Then as they came upon a square for the common folk, Ser Criston pointed out to the prince the sight of the twins and his own grandfather, their gold cloaks shed and disguises put on just as they did. The three sat there with a woman, listening intently as she spoke to them with daggers in her eyes, Aemond and the knight stalking closer to follow their next move. 

Erryk and Arryk bounded toward the Great Sept, a great place of worship that made Aemond share a look between himself and Criston Cole, wondering if Aegon truly resided in the sacred walls of the cathedral when the rampant city was more like his usual tastes. Shortly after the twin knights went inside, they came out with the drunken fool as he thrashed in their arms, the two men splitting at the staircase to catch the Cargyll brothers from leaving with Aegon. The bells tolled as Ser Cole brought his sword out to point at Arryk, the idiot heir bounding away from his grasp to which Aemond reluctantly had to follow, tackling Aegon to the hard concrete ground before he could advance any farther.

The younger brother tugged at Aegon to keep him still, trying to restrain him before he up and ran away again, the feral man giggling crazed out of his mind like he was play-wrestling with Aemond, passerby watching in horror at the sight of the two royals.

"I was hoping you disappeared." Aemond breathed out, feeling foolish rolling around without any sort of true exchange between them.

"Is our father truly dead?" His single violet eye rolled at the sight of Aegon's contorting face, sober him coming to the surface due to the truth of their king's passing, probably coming from the hands of a secret rat from the Red Keep. 

"Yes... and they're going to make you King." That's when Aegon spit in his brother's face, Aemond yelping in disgust as his older brother rolled quickly out from under him and tried to run off again, but the younger had grown lankier and easily clamped down on the other as he was about to escape.

"No! Let me go! Brother!" The shorter prince hollered as Aemond held him tight against his chest, facing Cole to see he had Arryk at the end of his blade, Ser Erryk still standing on the terrace overlooking the whole scene without care to help. "Let me go! I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty! I'm not suited."

"You'll get no argument from me." Aegon spun himself around to face his brother, holding his face in his hands and pleading for the first time in his life to Aemond, desperation leaking out of every pore of his body as well as booze.

"You let me go, I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found." The thought loomed in the air for a brief second, the taller Targaryen prince looking down at the person he had aimed to be better than his entire life, second to, a mere shadow in his presence. Aegon looked small then, just like his mother.

"The Queen awaits." Criston interrupted, clamping down on the two before they had any bright ideas, and Aegon simply looked at Aemond as if he had betrayed him, the prince scoffing at the reality that was moving too fast for him to remain fluid within. At least now they could proceed with the treason on his mother's accord, giving her the tool that was her firstborn son.

___

There was great preparation, servants bustling once again throughout the hallways of the Red Keep, resembling flowing blood pumping profusely from a beating heart once more, for their new king. When they had returned him, immediately their mother ordered the scrubbing and detoxification of Aegon, grimacing at the sight of his poisoned state from brewing in the city for too long. 

It was a great day, the sun high in the sky and pools of their people draining into the Dragonpit, Aemond standing in front of the crowds, mirroring the parody plays he'd watched nights before about his family. Now it was real, they were jesting for the millions to see, to witness the great ascension of Aegon the Second, decked in his namesake's crown and his sword Blackfyre. And they were all forced to watch, the low class and royals alike, the sounds of overlapping voices and bell tolls ringing inside of Aemond's ears, an itch to repent creeping up his spine. Even as Otto hollered the news of their father's death, the Targaryen prince could not keep his mind from straying, so tired from running through King's Landing the day before and too anxious to be able to have slept soundly, knowing what was to come. He saw his mother's efforts, the way she kept to Aegon's side to whisper his preparations to him, convincing him to keep good faith when it came to their half-sister and her sons. Surely, Aegon couldn't have in himself such a blight as Aemond had? But the pestering thought still lingered, wondering if the second the crown touched his head it would spoil his skull completely, fizzling out the scared child his older brother was just the day before, trying to bargain his way over to Essos.

Claps sounded off, stomping off the guards, and hollering horns to announce his presence made Aemond clench his teeth, spotting his brother's white head of hair among the dark mob of people, slowly making his way down the aisle. Then the costume seemed no more as he stood before his family, the red rubied crown their great ancestor Aegon had bared as he carved their legacy into Westeros being lowered onto his scalp by Ser Criston. There was a hollow feeling in Aemond's chest as he watched it settle on his brother's usually unruly mane, wondering how many new imitations actors would put on now, knowing the idiocy of what they'd just done.

They cheered for him now, the common folk who couldn't read or write, and now pliantly swallowed the sight of their new king throwing up a sword he barely knew the history of, so easily swayed under the everchanging rules of their monarch. Aemond half wanted an uproar, but what came next made his heart swell with the instinctual Targaryen joy for carnage.

The great dragon Meleys stomped upon them with dust and debris kicked up around, the prince memorizing all of the incredible beasts when he himself was without one, the red-scaled creature adorned with lady Rhaenys on top. The people of King's Landing screamed in horror, his grandfather ordering for the doors of the Dragonpit to be left open as they stared at the winged creature in its yellow eyes, Aemond leaning into Helaena who had begun to shake. There was no fear inside him, only an acceptance of his fate, knowing that his usual lashings alone wouldn't suffice for this level of transgression. Quickly he caught what he thought was one last sight of his mother as she shielded their newly crowned king from flame, the red jewels making him feel comforted that they'd return to fire once more. Instead, though, there was a loud roar, Rhaenys turning the beast around and flying through the wide doors into the open sky, leaving them all to know that what they had started wasn't only a new reign of power, but war. 

With an exhale, Aemond Targaryen understood that his true demise was still teetering through the realm. And he stayed just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone.