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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Brave and beautiful

Lucerys, a Riverland novice, waded chest-deep through the water, pulling the limp body of a man towards the shore. 

He blinked at the salt spray stinging his eyes, not really sure what he was doing.

The long silver hair had drawn his attention from the ashen forest trail to the Bay of Crabs on his way home. 

As he had reached the body, he’d realized that it was a man; young, handsome and most likely high born. Dressed from head to toe in black and gold, the man didn’t look like a Riverman but carried no sigils on his person to prove otherwise.

Curiosity had convinced the boy’s empathic side that it didn’t matter.

I n the war between life and death we are all equals.

The novice reached the shore and struggled to maneuver the blonde man onto the sand. The shafts of two wicked arrows revealed themselves buried deep in his abdomen along with villainous gashes from fresh stab wounds covering his body.

He felt along the man’s neck, praying to the old Gods under his breath.

To his shock, he found a pulse.

The reality of what he needed to do dawned on him, almost overwhelming, but he forced down his panic.

He needed to get the arrows out.

He needed to save him.

Lucerys threw the stranger’s arm over his shoulder and pulled his slack weight towards the Maidenpool castle just as the sun began to set beyond the western hills, illuminating the walls surrounding the town in a rosy haze.

It was during his eighth summer while playing hide and seek with the other novices he had found the breakage in the stone behind old vines, creating a narrow passage. It led from behind the great weirwood tree of the Godswood in the stronghold’s courtyard to the fields, forest and shores beyond.

Since the Maidenpool Lords was in the middle of replacing the old Gods with the new, it made the Godswood and the secret pathway to the outside world mostly his to keep for himself. The Maester never allowed him to venture beyond the castle walls on his own, being overprotective and unyielding as always. 

He had reasons for it, sure, but sometimes the novice had felt, still felt, the urge to rebel.

Simply reading about the wonders of the world in books no longer quenched his curiosity.

He had needed more.

He needed more.

Maybe that was why he had decided to take it upon himself to try and save a complete stranger from a certain death. 

Reaching the wall, Lucerys managed to sneak them both through the makeshift entrance and into the empty Godswood.  Growing up in the castle, the novice had learned the nooks and crannies of it, memorized the routines of servants and nobles walking its halls. He could therefore easily dance around detection as gracefully as always, heading for his quarters.

He carried the wounded man down and through the crypt, stopping in front of one of the wooden doors. Fetching out a key from his robe pocket and unlocking it, he pulled the man inside.

The room contained only the necessaries of a lowborn novice in training. A washstand, a bureau for his clothes, a simple desk and a small bed in the left corner. 

He carefully laid the man down on the thin mattress and hurried over to light the candles in the room, before fetching a towel and bandages by the washstand and kneeling on the dirt floor by the bedside.

Taking a deep breath, Lucerys began peeling off the drenched layers of clothing covering the man.

He started with the belt, the left sheath gaping hollow where a longsword should have been. 

On the right side of the belt however, a knife was still in its scabbard.

Lucerys gulped as he pulled it out by its golden handle, the steel stained with fresh blood. Unease crawled up his spine at the sight.

The war had been raging in the south for months, claiming the innocent lives by the thousands. Lucerys had not been educated much about who or for what reason, only that the Riverlands had been left out of it so far.

So far…

After unarming the man he continued to peel the layers off, the dark doublet with golden clasps next.

He used the man’s own knife to cut through the fabric to get easier access to the arrows, revealing a pearly white chest to the candle lit room. The novice managed to pull one of the arrows out despite the resistant flesh it was buried in.

The roll of bandages laid ready next to him on the floor but there was something else he could do, something else he wanted to try.

He placed his hand over the bleeding wound, closed his eyes and called for the flames.

The Maester had strictly forbidden him to ever use his gift without him present, to never reveal himself to people that could take advantage of him and to only call for it when absolutely necessary.

As the pleasurable hot sensation filled him up from within as if being slowly lowered into a steaming bath, he cleaned his conscious along with it.

He was saving a human’s life.

Maester Corlys wanted him safe, Lucerys knew that, but he didn’t understand why he had to suppress his ability when there were so many people that needed it.

Needed him.

The boy delighted in how his blood, skin and bones burned, how his senses sharpened as the energy flowed through him. He lifted his feverish palm and looked upon what not long ago had been a gaping hole, now almost a blank slate. The wounds still remained but no longer deep, no longer deadly. He kept going until there was no fear of fatality left.

The strength it had taken to heal the man left him feeling like it always did when used up, dizzy and cold. Before he could catch himself, he fell unconscious and woke hours later on the floor next to the now steadily breathing man on the bed.

----

Lucerys blinked as if waking up from a sleep, feeling a nudge against his arm, clearing his mind. Spoon in hand, the musty smell of onion soup and the cracking of wood from the large fireplace in the crowded dinner hall pulled him back from his daydream to the current afternoon.

He’d thought of the silver man in his quarters, whose health had become stable during the night.

Lucerys’ attempts to get his rest on the floor across the room on a blanket had failed, he had barely slept at all the previous night.

The state of the man no longer concerned Lucerys.

His mind had pondered the options of what to do before getting caught and severely punished for allowing a stranger inside the Maidenpool keep. 

He realized now, to his dread, that during his moment of inattention his hazel had unintentionally fixed themselves on Manfryd Mooton, younger brother of Walys Mooton and the successor to the Maidenpool throne, now sitting at the grand table with the rest of the nobles with the fire at his back.

The novice beside him had noticed his mistake and had tried to come to his rescue. It had been too late however, staring right back at Lucerys now with black, hollow eyes was Manfryd Mooton.

He let out a silent gasp as he dropped the spoon into the bowl.

He turned his face away but he knew there was no way he could undo what he had done. He rose from the table, fear grabbing a hold of him as he hurried out of the dinner hall. He made haste towards the Godswood, knowing Manfryd would follow him.

The novice couldn’t risk heading for his own quarters and having Manfryd find the man in his bed.

He would lash Lucerys to oblivion.

Kneeling at his favorite place underneath the weirwood tree, the silence was less soothing than Lucerys had hoped. Usually he could spend hours leaning against the white bark, watching the red leaves dance and just be in the moment alone.

He wasn’t alone now. 

Sensing the man looming by the eastern entrance of the courtyard behind him, Lucerys managed one small prayer before fate would rip him from his haven.

   “Not hungry?” The low, even drawl filled the Godswood, sending a chill down his spine.

Lucerys couldn’t hide his shudder. Not that it mattered, Manfryd knew the novice was afraid of him.

That was how he preferred their dynamic. 

Lucerys slowly got on his feet and turned to face the man.

The sun casted the shadow of his tall and lean frame against the stone behind him. Manfryd had always been known for his striking features but Lucerys could never see past the viciousness of his rough hands and indifferent deep blue.

   “No, my Lord. I-I’m sorry; I thought I’d spend the afternoon praying.” He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and turned his head low, not wanting to meet the man’s stare.

Manfryd remained silent for what felt like an eternity. The boy kept still out of fear of goading the man to act on his violent perversions.

The faintest things could set him off.

Lucerys could suddenly hear the man’s boots making a rhythmic noise against the cobblestone, solid and regular like the knight he was, as he approached him. Reminded of the hole in the wall behind the tree just a few feet behind him, the temptation to run for it was almost painful.

   “Look at me,” the man’s voice suddenly boomed in command, pulling Lucerys’ chin up towards him. 

Lucerys reluctantly complied, trying to keep his features neutral.

Manfryd slowly began stroking course fingers through the novice’s dark curls as he raked his eyes over the young face.

   “You lie. The look you gave me in the hall just a moment ago was one of wicked starvation. Of a thirst in need of quenching.”

Lucerys tried to respond, to defend himself, but the words broke in his mouth.

He was too frightened.

A great quivering instinct rose in him, paralyzing him.

   “Speaking to a tree is a waste of time. The Lord of the seven hells has his hold on you already.”

The man let go of him as if he had touched something filthy and left the courtyard without another word. Lucerys closed his eyes and desperately tried to slow his heart from beating out of his chest.

When he had eventually calmed himself down enough, he turned back to the weirwood tree. Shaking Manfryd’s words from his shoulders, he placed a hand against it and sighed.

The old Gods had most likely abandoned Maidenpool altogether in the same way Maidenpool had abandoned them.

He knew that there were something out there, his fire was proof, but he rarely found his prayers answered in the way he thought. Maybe the demons had claimed him like Manfryd was insinuating.

Maybe something else was listening.

----

Lucerys could hear nothing but the gentle summer breeze. The silence lingered like death, and hiding behind his eyelids was the enemy.

Clearing his mind, he lifted his wooden stick and turned his head to listen. 

Nothing.

Nothing but the trees dancing in the wind and the push of waves against the shore. But as he slightly turned his head, he heard it… footsteps, faint as feathers, bracing the hilltop grass towards him.

He instinctively swung his stick and it collided with its equal, parrying the opponent's move.

   “Good.” A disembodied voice rumbled somewhere to his left. “Change your stance.”

He deepened his lunge slightly.

The opponent eased the pressure of his stick on his and the novice took the opportunity to swing again, striking wood ones more.

   “Excellent.”

He stumbled slightly at the brute force of the sticks clashing over and over again, a dance of escalation he could feel himself losing control over. 

   “Focus. Change your stance.”

He aimlessly attempted both but with his clouded mind and skilled opponent in an unrelenting sync, he lost his footing. His opponent took advantage of the moment and struck one last time.

He fell to his knees defenseless as his own weapon slipped from his grip at the force of the blow and scattered out of reach.

   “You have improved, Lucerys, but you seem distracted.” 

Lucerys wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his robe and opened his eyes to gaze up on his teacher, his caretaker.

   “I’m sorry, Maester.”

It was true. He was distracted.

He had been for the past three days, as long as the silver stranger had remained unconscious in his bed.

He had made up stories in his own head of the man’s origin, about what he had done, what he had seen and how he had lived his life so far.

Anything to quench the curious thirst. 

He had thought about telling the Maester about him but had quickly changed his mind. It felt almost like a betrayal, what he was doing, and yet…

Maester Corlys shook his head in disapproval but it was difficult for him to hide the amused grin playing on his lips.

He held out his hand for Lucerys to help him on his feet.

Corlys had always been known to be a grave and firm man with an unrelenting sense of devotion to the house he served and the duties of his role within it. Lucerys was the only one who could crack his armor, the only one who could soften the hard edges.

Never for long but long enough to showcase a caring and almost paternal side to him.

A cloaked figure had placed Lucerys in front of the Maidenpool gates on a summer night ten and four autumn nights ago. Corlys had taken him in when the Lords had hesitated, had named him his apprentice and raised him, opened his eyes to the old Gods and continued to train and teach him about the ways of the world.

   “What ails your mind, child?” 

The novice had never been known to be good with a lie and to make sure to keep face, he made sure he didn't. He instead avoided one truth with another.

   “I am quite nervous about the upcoming petition meeting with Lord Mooton and the council, Maester.”

He truly was. 

It contained the fate of his future after all.

A future of wanting to study in Oldtown to become a Maester, to leave Maidenpool behind and see the world; a dream. It was only Lord Walys Mooton who could allow him to pursue it, to make it come true.

   “I have already spoken to our Lord about your request, Lucerys. You mustn’t worry. He sees that you train hard, work hard, study hard. He favors you… just like I do.”

That warm smile stretching the Maester’s face was similar to a father’s.

   “The Gods will answer your prayers, little one. Until then…” Corlys placed the tip of his stick on Lucerys’ chest. “When the world is off balance, what do you do?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

   “Change my stance.” Lucerys smirked and quickly snatched the end of the stick, crouched slightly and twisted. He forced the stick out of Corlys’ hands and disarmed him, turning the Maester’s own weapon against himself.

Corlys chuckled, face shaded with a hint of pride.

   “You learn.” Corlys patted the boy on the shoulder before turning to leave down the hill. “Come now, it’s getting late.” 

   “Coming.” 

Watching Corlys head towards the castle gates, Lucerys let his mask fall and turned to the view from the hilltop, gazing out across the vast and breathtaking unknown.

Maybe not telling the Maester about the silver man was him trying to cling onto something more than just hope. He had hoped all his life and all his life he had remained within the same walls.

Hope was a fool’s friend, he was in need of new ones.

----

Lucerys crossed the Godswood, heading for his quarters.

The evening was breaking behind the high walls, the moon already casting the stone in bright blue. Hiding a piece of bread in the pocket of his robe to smuggle it to the man. He had decided to skip dinner tonight himself, not wanting to be anywhere near Manfryd Mooton if he could help it.

He unlocked his door and entered the room… to find the bed empty. Before his mind managed to wrap around the fact, he found a hot hand clamping over his mouth from behind while another grabbed him around his neck, stopping the scream in his throat. He was pulled flush against the front of a harsh and very much naked frame.

The novice knew who it belonged to and he cursed himself for his carelessness. Overtaken with blind panic, he kicked at his assailant’s leg, chest heaving as he twisted, trying to break free.

   “Ȳdra daor hīghagon. Ȳdra daor dīnagon.” The man’s raspy voice ordered dangerously in High Valyrian as the grip around his throat tightened in warning.

Don’t scream. Don’t move.

All the fight went out of Lucerys as it became harder to breathe. The regret and helplessness festered, knees abruptly threatening to give out from under him.

He was thrown up against the nearest wall and as he had known, had feared, it was the silver man he’d pulled from the sea that was now looming over him with all of the great wars promised upon him.

The man drove a leg between Lucerys’ thighs to fix him in place as the boy scrambled uselessly at the leather of the man’s wristguard to relieve his throat of the onslaught.

   “Dohaerās.” The blonde hissed and Lucerys slumped against the man weakly, exhausted from the struggle but also deterred at how the command made his blood rush.

His violet eyes scanned the boy as if judging the threat. The hard gaze softened slightly as he must have concluded that there was none. He removed his hand from covering Lucerys’ mouth slowly.

   “Skoriot iksin nyke?” He gritted out, demanding to know where he was.

   “Maidenpool hen lentor Mooton.” Lucerys choked on the harsh consonants. He could hear the rusty flaws of the sentence, his attempt at making use of the many hours of studying the language going straight down the drain.

   “Maidenpool… Riverlands…” The man repeated slowly, mulling it over. Lucerys mind went to the knife he had hidden underneath the folded robes in the bureau’s third drawer. He began to plot his way to it, his only option to defend himself.

   “You speak our language. How?” The blonde spat, now in the common tongue.

   “The-The Maester taught me.” Lucerys stuttered, surprised.

   “Why am I here? What have you done to me?”

   “I- Nothing. I-I found you in the sea. I brought you here and… healed you…” He couldn’t help but trail his gaze down at the wounds on the man’s chest, reopened and bleeding anew.

   “How long?”

Lucerys knitted his brows together in confusion.

   “How long have I been here?” The man tightened his grip on the boy’s throat ones more.

   “T-Three days and three nights, m-my Lord.”

His words made the blonde frown in disbelief.

   “That’s impos-”

He stopped mid-sentence as he suddenly began swaying, his hold on Lucerys loosening.

   “You need to lay down. You are still not fully healed.” Lucerys tried pushing against his assailant.

The silver man struggled to grab Lucerys by the front of the robe to not only stop the boy from getting away but also in support to remain on his feet.

   “Don’t…” He hissed out a warning but the novice knew this was his only chance.

He let his instinctual side take over. He shoved the man off of him and rushed for the bureau, flung the third drawer open and pushed his hand underneath the fabrics for the knife.

He jerked around at the sound of a thud, finding the man on the floor, unconscious ones more.

----

   "I'm confined to this room?" The blonde man croaked out, startling Lucerys. He was sitting with his back against the opposite wall to put distance between him and the strong, erratic guest, reading a letter he needed to transcribe for the Maester, knife at the ready beside him.

The novice had placed the man on the bed and stopped the bleeding of his wounds again while he was still unconscious. He’d been out for a while and Lucerys had talked himself down from telling someone about the man who had threatened his life earlier. 

   "You don't have the strength to leave the bed. You're weak." Lucerys lowly explained, focusing on keeping his tone even despite fresh fear building.

Bristling at the insinuation, the man pushed aside the thin covers and sat up, vision seemed to swim for a moment as his body's weak state made itself known. It was clear he was not one to easily back down.

Lucerys watched the man try to force his drained form into moving as he bade it.

   "Stay in bed or I will tie you to it." The bold statement simply slipped out and he instantly regretted his own audacity.

The man’s eyebrows rose in vague amusement.

   “Oh I’d love to see you try, or perhaps you want an excuse to use my own knife against me?” His eyes trailed to the steel gleaming in the candlelight by the novice’s side.

   “You threatened to kill me earlier, should I not be granted the possibility of defending myself?”

   “You are not the one waking up in a stranger’s bed in a locked room, with no shirt and no idea where you are or who is keeping you.” 

   “I am not keeping you. I saved you.”

   “I was supposed to just know this, I’m assuming?”

Silence lingered between them for a moment. 

   “How did you? Save me, I mean. Did others help you?” The blonde asked. 

Lucerys realized that the man had no idea that he was a secret, that only he knew about him. It made the novice more cautious, understanding that his life was all the more threatened if the silver man knew he was the only obstacle between him and escaping unnoticed.

   "Who are you?" Lucerys asked suspiciously. 

   "I should answer your question when you won't answer mine?" The blonde returned.

   "A trade then. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine." Lucerys offered.

The man seemed to consider this, then leaned back in bed.

   “A simple Pinkmaiden soldier who fought an enemy army trying to get through the Triad. My turn; Does the Mooton’s know of my presence within their home?”

   “One more person knows.” Lucerys lied through his teeth, the truth far too dangerous to reveal before he learned more about the stranger in front of him. “You are not dressed like a Pinkmaiden soldier, the Piper sigil missing on your clothes…”

   “The mission was to be kept undisclosed from the Riverland population to not raise any unnecessary alarms.”

Lucerys got on his feet, gripping the knife tightly in his hand. The man’s words sounded too incredible and did not match the high born clothing the boy had found him in. 

   “I don’t believe you. Prove it. The words of your house…”

He was succumbing to the probable defeat of having to run to get the guards and letting the Lords know of his grave mistake of allowing a stranger within the walls. He was out of his depth and knew it.

   “I did not recall a question…” The man smirked as he slowly began to rise from the bed, winching visibly at the pain but still managed to get on his feet.

Lucerys approached him cautiously, pointing the knife. It was quite jarring to actually hold a real weapon. Up until now, he’d only trained with wooden sticks and even if he could hold his own, he did so with people he trusted wouldn’t actually harm him. 

He wasn’t so sure about this man.

   “State them.” He demanded, hating how his voice stuttered, deceiving him.

The man closed the distance between them, allowing the edge of the knife against his milky skin, challenging Lucerys to act on his threats.

   “I don’t believe you either. I think you are working alone and no one else knows I’m here…” 

In a flash, the blonde raised a hand, closing his fingers tightly on Lucerys’ cheeks. With his other hand he gripped the sharp knife tightly by the steel, catching the boy off guard. Blood seeped down the man’s wrist as he unarmed the novice swiftly, turning the knife on him.

The coldness of the knife was suddenly there, caressing Lucerys’ throat. An amused smile widened the man’s lips as the novice, surprised and embarrassed, couldn’t help but try to flinch away. When the knife pressed deeper he quickly stopped struggling.

   "Now, now. You were oh so charmingly impertinent a second ago," the man mused, then leaned in closer. "Where did your spirit go?"

Lucerys inhaled sharply but remained silent, blushing at the easy defeat. It wasn’t anything like fighting Corlys or his fellow novices on the training hill. His rabbit heart skipped as he felt the knife breaking his skin, faint crimson bubbles surfacing on his neck.

The man was going to kill him.

Violet eyes gleamed with desirous intent as his breath ghosted over Lucerys’ lips, voice a sharp rasp.

   “Brave… and beautiful. My turn…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Zaldrītsos

   “My turn…” The man spoke lowly, breath ghosting over Lucerys’ face. “What is your name?”

Lucerys looked up at him defiantly, bowlike lips in a tight line refusing to answer.

The man knew the words of house Piper but it really didn’t prove much more than that he was enough educated on the Riverland houses.

Moreover, he had spoken in perfect High Valyrian earlier, calling it his language. Sure there were many people from across the Narrow Sea who had settled in the Riverlands due to the many wars overseas but he didn’t look like an easterner.

However, there was something about this silver man that made the fire within Lucerys whirl.

He didn’t know if it excited him or unsettled him.

Lucerys slowly parted his lips.

   “Lu-Luce.” The second blush that evening slowly crept up the boy’s neck and over his cheeks as he kept half the truth about his real name to himself, like the Maester had adviced him on.

   “You are oh so very predictable when you lie, Luce.” The blonde murmured, running a thumb over one cheekbone, brushing lightly at his dark lashes and smiling slightly when the blush darkened. "Try again..." 

He added pressure of the knife on his throat in warning. 

   "Lucerys..." He exhaled his surrender. 

   "Lucerys." The man echoed, letting his name roll of his tongue in a melodic hiss. 

   “My-My turn.” Lucerys stuttered out.

   “No, I have grown tired of this game.” The grip on the novice's cheeks eased and then the man moved away entirely. “You will continue keeping my presence in this castle a secret until you have aided me back to health. Then, you will support me in my leave. In exchange, I will give you my solemn promise to not kill you or anyone else within these walls.”

Lucerys lifted his chin in all the possible dignity, but the red of his cheeks kept giving him away.

   “A Pinkmaiden soldier has little to fear from a fellow Riverland house. Lord Mooton would gratefully aid you in both your recuperation as well as your departure in honor of house Piper.”

The blonde began circling behind Lucerys as he spoke, moving with predatory grace despite his wounded state. “But a Pinkmaiden soldier wouldn’t threaten to kill everyone within a fellow Riverland house in the first place. What makes you think I believe you will keep your solemn promise?”

   “You're terribly suspicious,” The man said soothingly behind him. “I might not be the most trustworthy man in Westeros but even I know the weight of noble words.”

   “I am no noble,” Lucerys bit out, more sharply than he intended. “What value does my word hold with you?”

   “I am convinced,” Whispered he then, suddenly very close to Lucerys again, his breath tickling his ear. Lucerys jerked and the stranger displayed a thrill of satisfaction at it. “That noble or no, your sense of honor to your Lords runs quite deep, my dear Lucerys.”

The boy inhaled sharply and twisted to face him.

The flickering candles illuminating the room danced in their eyes, a stillness residing on both sides for a moment.

Realizing he didn't have much of a choice, Lucerys gritted his teeth. “Then I swear it.”

   “I swear it.” The man quoted with a slight curve of his mouth.

Lucerys wasn’t sure about anything in that moment, so confused were his feelings between fear and a weird twist of unexplored, unbidden lust. He nodded his head, wishing the man out of his personal space.

As if heeding his plea, the man retreated and moved towards the bed where he slumped down, the facade falling slightly as he winched at the pain the movement caused.

   “Oh, and I’m keeping my knife…” He held the steel up in the air.

They spent the remainder of the evening in silence on opposite sides of the small quarters. Lucerys had allowed the man to choose one of his larger nightshirts to wear instead of the rags left of his own doublet.

Now eased back on the bed, he was contemplating Lucerys and chewed on the piece of bread that had been brought to him, all the while tossing the knife in the other hand, playing with it as if it wasn’t a dangerously sharp weapon.

Lucerys finished transcribing a letter for the Maester and then exchanged work with leisure, picking up his latest book to read. Well, he tried to anyway. It was hard to escape reality when reality was glaring daggers at him from across the room.

Lucerys’ shoulders tensed under the scrutiny. 

   “I’m dreadfully curious. How did you come to belong to house Mooton?” 

Lucerys made a hopeless attempt at ignoring the stranger.

   “Making conversation to pass the time while stuck with one another would make this predicament more pleasant for the both of us.” 

   “This has hardly been pleasant.” Lucerys muttered back, annoyed that the man had disturbed the peace.

   “I find you very pleasant.” Stated a calm voice making Lucerys’ ears redden, but he refused to look at the man and see the amusement that surely was all over his face.

   “You don’t know me...”

   “But I want to, Lucerys.”

The novice broke his composure quite unwillingly and glanced over at the man, who didn’t miss it, grinning wolfishly.

Lucerys sat upright with an infuriated huff of air, snapping the book closed and meeting the blonde’s eyes with a sudden keen gaze. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

   “I don’t need to tell you my name.” The man lazily replied as he took another bite of the bread.

   “I told you mine.” Lucerys insisted.

   “Why?”

   “Why?” A dumbfounded exhale escaped his lips. “You held a knife to my throat, I didn’t think I had any choice…”

   “Why… did you save my life?” The man turned serious in a heartbeat, his question asked with caution as if the answer to it might hold the truth to something more.

Lucerys blinked a few times, thinking it over.

For a terrible moment, he didn’t trust himself to answer.

He had yet to understand his actions himself. He wished he had been more careful, sure, better prepared perhaps. But he would have done it again. He would have saved the man’s life. It had been the right thing to do, he kept telling himself.

It had to have been.

He broke the violet gaze, but not without some difficulty. He then allowed the silence to grow heavy in the room. However, the man didn’t break it.

   “I don’t know…” Lucerys replied finally, truthfully. “It was more about me than about you.” 

The man nodded, seemingly more at ease at the answer he’d been given.

While they exchanged another long breath of stillness between each other, Lucerys glanced the stranger’s way and noticed that not only the bandages over his chest were now bleeding through the shirt, but also that the cut in his hand had turned quite the cruel of a sight.

A tired sigh escaped passed his lips.

   “When you keep moving around you cause your wounds to reopen. Would you allow me to take a look at them and change the bandages?” Voice soft and insecure.

   “That is what you just solemnly promised to do, did you not?”

Lucerys did, and so he walked over to the washstand and fetched a bottle of ointment and a new roll of bandages. He cautiously kneeled beside the bed as the blonde leaned back, lifting up the nightshirt to reveal his sculpted chest.

The novice took a deep breath before slowly unwrapping the old bandages.

It was a feverish feeling to be so close to the man, touching his skin, smelling his scent.

Lucerys was afraid, fascinated and a bit overwhelmed all in one wild storm in his mind.

At this rate, he could probably heal him with just one spark of his power, but he didn’t dare to use his gift with the man awake.  

And so he fought the urge.

Instead he cleaned the wounds and slathering them with a healing ointment like the Maester had taught him. He started with the cut on the hand and continued down to the muscular chest.

The silence was hovering once more, this time with higher intensity due to their closer proximity. Lucerys could feel the other’s hard eyes on him as he worked the oil over the wounds that were gratefully getting less and less threatening.

   “I’m still dreadfully curious…” The silver man finally spoke, as if cutting the air with his knife. “Indulge me.”

A reminder of his earlier question about Lucerys’ origin.

The boy hesitated for a moment but since they really were stuck with each other, it did neither any good to be anything less than pliable. Especially since Lucerys had been the one to force the man into the accommodation in the first place.

   “I was left at the Maidenpool gates as an infant. Lord Mooton kindly took me in and the Maester raised me like his own. I owe them my life.”  

   “You speak highly of your masters. I am assuming they know all about your little ventures outside the city walls, picking up strangers and inviting them into your bed?” The flicker of tension Lucerys felt in the hollows of his jaw was impossible to hide, he could tell by the smirk growing on the man’s lips, but he fought to show any other visible betrayal of emotion as he continued to rub the oil.

The man leaned forward a bit, seemingly sensing that the novice was about to break. “Or should I feel honored to be your first?”

Lucerys could help but balk, breath caught in his throat.

He turned his gaze sideways quickly, feeling the heat rising to the surface of his skin once more.

He received a low, smarmy chuckle in return that vibrated against his hand.

The sensation of it all sent the fire he’d struggled to contain down to meet it.

He pulled away before his power could reach his palm to connect with the man’s chest.

Before he could notice.

But while Lucerys successfully had prevented the flame from touching the milky white, the violet still managed to catch the note of it in his hazel.

   “We should go to sleep. It’s late.” Lucerys spluttered while wrapping the bandages nimbly around the man's torso as well as his hand, working hard to not touch skin on skin.

He then got up from the floor and backed away to the opposite side of the room, aiming to put distance between them. “I pray you rest well.” He said as a way of goodnight.

One silver eyebrow arched. “You pray for me, do you?”

Lucerys turned from the man to hide his fluster. He blew out all the candles before slumping down against the wall once more.

The last words of the night came from somewhere in the black.

   “Do not waste your precious breath and words on me, little novice. Your Gods do not hear my kind.”

----

Lucerys awoke the next morning to the wonderful sound of pages turning.

He slowly sat up, blinking, realizing he must have slid down the wall to the floor sometime during the night. What dazed him however, was finding himself covered in a blanket. Had he done that to himself in his sleep too?

He must have, he thought. 

In the underground room, he could never tell what time of day it was. But a candle had been lit by the bed, where he found the man sitting propped up against the bed frame, skimming through Lucerys’ current read.

   “The Wonders Made by Man?” Asked the blonde curiously without dropping his attention from the book.

   “Lomas Longstrider was a famous traveler.” Lucerys rubbed his eyes awake. “The book records nine man-made wonders of the known world. Like the titan of Braavos, and the wall in the north.” He couldn’t help the reverence coating his words, couldn’t help the glimmer in his eyes as he spoke of the places he had imagined so vividly in his mind. “I want to see them some day.”

   “You quite seem to enjoy escaping your own world.” A fond smile stretched sculptured lips before mauve glanced his way.

   “My own world is a very small one. I’ve seen all of it a thousand times over.” He slowly got on his feet.

   “The smaller the safer. I’ve lived in yours long enough to know this to be true…” The man put the book down and suddenly turned serious. “Now I’d like to know how you got me through the otherwise impregnable Maidenpool walls so that I can return to mine.”

The edge in the words made Lucerys hesitate.

The man noticed.

   “You swore you’d aid me in my leave.”

   “I will. I will show you the way when you are fully recover-...”

   “So I am your prisoner until then…” The man cut him off, a glint in his eye despite the slight irritation in his voice.

   “No! You’re not my-” Lucerys bristled, stopped, checked his temper and relented with a sigh. “Fine…”

He told the man where to find the secret passageway, how to get there and when the best time was to sneak out unnoticed.

The blonde seemed to listen carefully while resting the book in his lap, keeping a finger at the edge of a page to not lose track of where he'd left off. 

   “It’s best if you let me show you the way when it’s time.”

Truthfully, he didn’t want the man to leave yet.

Sure, he’d like the privacy of his chambers returned to him. To get rest from the threatening ambience the man had brought. However, Lucerys quite appreciated the company of this mysterious man with a world of his own, much larger and more exciting than his.

The novice ached to learn more about it and it would be impossible if the man left now.

   “Then I will.” Came a reply and Lucerys eased at the earnest tone.

While washing his face and brushing his teeth he listened to the man continue reading the book in silence. Opening the third drawer of the bureau, the novice pulled out a clean robe to change into. He turned to the blonde and knotted his eyebrows together as he found the man watching him once more.

   “Do you mind?” Lucerys blushed to even have to ask.

The silver man smirked before lifting the book up to hide behind, affording Lucerys slight measure of privacy while he changed. Lucerys undressed hastily, and pulled the clean wool robe on, attention continuously flying to the man every other second to make sure he wasn’t looking.

   “I will bring you food when I can. Until then, please, don’t move.” He said as he picked up the transcripts and literature needed for the day’s lectures from the floor. 

   “As I am not your prisoner in this room you are about to lock behind yourself.” The man scoffed as Lucerys rolled his eyes. “I don’t expect I have any other choice.”

Lucerys made it through a day of simple routines despite the itching desire to return to his quarters and his aggravating yet alluring guest. He just about tolerated the morning prayers, barely managed breakfast, then attended three lectures that almost bored him half to death. 

Even the training session was no longer interesting enough to keep his attention. It only made him insecure about his skills after having been so easily overpowered by the man, who seemed to have been in real combat, out in the real world.

Maester Corlys had noticed his distracted state yet again, but had not mentioned it this time, much to Lucerys’ gratitude. He found it easier to not have to actively lie to his Maester more than keeping the truth from him. Still, it stung with pain every time he reminded himself he was going behind his back.

He skipped dinner but made sure to stop by the kitchens to grab the meal of the evening, porridge baked into little flat cakes, to smuggle it with him. He wrapped it in a cloth, still warm. Lucerys felt guilty for denying the man enough food he needed to truly recover, but it hadn’t been on purpose.

He still needed to act normal, complete his chores and attend his appointments on schedule or his Lords were bound to become suspicious.

Lucerys was almost running back to his chambers as the sun was going low behind the pink walls. He crossed the empty Godswood and descended the steps towards the crypt. His mind was filled with questions he would ask the man tonight, about the places he’d been, people he’d met, battles he’d fought. A growing excitement was building as he neared his quarters.

He rounded the corner and his heart fluttered in instant fear.

Manfryd Mooton stood in front of his door, leaning against the wood, waiting for him.

   “There you are.”

Lucerys stopped dead in his tracks and instinctively pulled the wrapped food behind his back to hide it from view. 

   “You were missed at the dinner hall yet again and so I thought I’d grant you the courtesy of personally inviting you to dine with me this evening.” His voice was low, calculated, and thick with unknown intention. The offer was an unusual one, even for Manfryd.

It made Lucerys uneasy.

   “That’s very kind of you, my Lord, I am undeserving of such treatment.” He bowed slightly, rehearsed without holding any real civility behind it.

   “You’re right. You are.” As the man inched closer, Lucerys gaze did not waver, remaining squarely on Manfryd. A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist tightly, the wrist in which he held the smuggled food, and forced it up into the air between them.

Manfryd’s eyes glowed in vicious victory. “I knew it…”

Lucerys shrunk back and tried to pull away. The Lord squeezed again, harder, and the boy let out a choked cry.

   “Don’t pull away from me, little thief” The man warned, voice a low growl. “We must chase the demons out of you before it’s too late.”

The boy was then dragged out of the crypt, up the stairs of the western tower to Manfryd’s private office. It was an isolated wing of the castle and most likely not by accident, allowing for his pleasures and other people’s pain to go unnoticed.

He was pulled through the door and thrown onto Manfryd’s large desk in the middle of the room. His abdomen collided with the old oak and he cried out as his breath was ripped from his chest.

   “Beautiful sinner,” Manfryd was suddenly there, murmuring against his neck, soft hands roaming everywhere while keeping him down over the desk. “You walk the edge of the shadows and still know nothing of what’s there. You must stay in the light, or they will consume you.”

Lucerys didn’t move, only shook with muffled sobs, terrified out of his mind.

He knew what was coming.

Manfryd would always begin the ordeal with gentle touches to ease the boys into a sense of safety.

A false one.

He knew pain was inevitable. 

It was just part of the man’s deranged perversions. 

   “I was just told about the petition being held tomorrow.” His breath was in Lucerys’ hair as his fingers slid down the length of the boy’s spine, causing him to shiver in revulsion.

In the middle of everything else that was going on, Lucerys had almost forgotten.

The meeting where his future would be determined, it was going to happen the day after. He realized by Manfryd’s bitter tone that the man had not been warned until recently.

   “What a waste of everyone’s time... You actually believe you will get to leave this place? We took you in and how do you choose to show your gratitude? By disrespecting us. By stealing. Lying. You want to leave your responsibilities and duties we have rewarded you with, when we could have casted you out onto the streets as the whore’s bastard that you are…”

Lucerys did not dare voice any protest or plea, fleeing within himself.

He was too mortified to do anything else than let Manfryd slowly undress him against his will. He shivered as the robe pooled around him, the stone floor sucking the warmth from the soles of his feet.

The room felt small and cramped, suffocating.

   “You think you can get away from me? You think I would allow that?”

The man’s tone was getting more and more dangerous as he walked around the room somewhere behind a shivering Lucerys, who expected to feel the all too familiar leather of the man’s belt against his skin that he visibly jolted when Manfryd began tracing the harsh, cold stick down his back.

No, no, no.

   “You will not be able to make it to this meeting. I will make certain of that.”

Then came the pain, over and over again, pulling Lucerys down into dark oblivion.

----

Legs longed to buckle beneath him but he kept fighting his way towards his quarters.

The pain was a deep, internal ache, the force of every step he’d ever walked in his life.

It climbed up his back, through every limb. He had never suffered like this before, never experienced such horror.

Manfryd had struck to permanently damage. Had used every fiber of lust-filled hatred towards Lucerys when he’d swung. Lucerys had lost count how many times the stick had clashed onto his back. The heat had ignited within the novice from the first lash, and it was now wrapping him like a heavy blanket across his bloodied back.

The fire was dampening the pain, sure, and Lucerys knew he would have been dead without it, but it was almost blinding him with its intensity.

It felt like he was on fire.

The boy supported himself against the castle edges with one hand guiding him towards home, the other still holding the damned flat cakes like a lifeline.

What good would it have been to be punished for stealing food if it was wasted?

No, it was the sole reason he wasn’t unconscious yet, maybe even dead, and so he kept fighting for the sake of bringing it to its goal destination. He almost fell down the stairs to the crypt, feeling his strength drain like a wound spilling out every ounce of blood in his body. 

He found the man was still on his bed, reading, when Lucerys stumbled through the door.

   “At last, I thought I’d starve to-...” The man sneered but his sentence died out on his lips as he turned to look at him, eyebrows knitting together at the sight.

   “For-Forgive me…” Was all Lucerys managed before falling to the floor in a heap of flesh, blood and flames.

He kept drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like days.

As he woke again, Lucerys swallowed painfully, his mouth and throat beyond dry.

He tried to slowly make his way through the fog in his mind.

Someone was touching his cheek.

The gesture was so gentle, at first he thought he must be dreaming, then sudden fear ignited within him at the thought of Manfryd returning for more.

But then he slowly opened his eyes.

The silver man was laying mere inches from him.

They were both on the small bed, closely nestled together, nose nudging nose. The touch on his cheek, he realized, was the other’s hand. He was asleep, chest rising and falling in a synchronized motion.

The man’s hand was like a chilly wind on his skin and Lucerys understood then, despite his blurred state, that they were keeping each other balanced.

Lucerys’ fever and healing flames kept the blonde warm in the otherwise cold room. The man’s cool hand was what kept the boy from burning up altogether. He nuzzled further into the palm as he began slipping again.

But it didn’t feel as far to fall this time, he was safe knowing someone would catch him.

The next time he woke, the inferno had passed.

The pain on his back had mostly resided, left now to mainly simmer under his skin. As he opened his eyes he expected to find the man lying next to him, but his eyes only met the muddy wall.

Carefully he sat up in bed and reached a hand to touch his back, and to his dread finding it bare… and completely healed.

   “You are awake.”

Lucerys threw a glance over his shoulder to find the silver man sitting at the desk, reading through old transcripts. His violet had already abandoned the letters, looking at him. The intensity of his gaze made the younger man want to edge back.

   “How long have I been out?” He exhaled the question cautiously.

   “The night…” It meant that the wounds had healed much faster than they ever had before. An impossible amount of time for a lashing of that kind. “How are you feeling?”

   “I-I’m well.”

   “Aye…” The blonde considered him for a long moment. “How?”

Lucerys didn’t dare to answer, he honestly didn’t know how.

He’d been oh so very reckless from the beginning and now, left without any idea of how to get himself out of it.

He could not hide the truth any longer, he realized that. Not when it was so blatantly clear.

   “I thought you were dead." He continued. "I tried… I tried helping but I was useless. I applied ointment and I bandaged your wounds but I have never seen such deep-... And your fever, it was almost putting the entire room in flames. I couldn’t…” Voice low with what seemed to be concern.

   “It’s-It’s difficult to explain…” Said Lucerys, fumbling over his words in fear, in shame, in confusion at the man’s tone.

   “Try me.” Came a snarl as the blonde got up from his seat, stalking towards the boy on the bed.

   “I-I can barely make sense of it myself. I can heal myself and other people with a fire that I somehow have inside me. It doesn’t usually work this fast I don’t know-”

   “You healed me with this fire?” 

Lucerys managed a faint smile in response despite the accusing nature of the words.

Fingers touched his chin then and his head was tipped up to face the man so suddenly he gasped.

Verdant eyes studied him, and noticed the wetness of Lucerys’ lashes before Lucerys had even realized he was crying.

   “Who did it?” The man spoke like he could break iron with his fists.

   “It-It matters not…”

   “Who hurt you?” A hiss in a low tone Lucerys could barely hear.

   “L-Lord Manfryd Mooton.”

The novice’s throat felt tight, but he didn’t look away from the man watching him, a hot, rough look in his eyes as they slowly slid down Lucerys’ face. Then he leaned in and spoke against the novice’s ear, lips brushing feather-light over his skin.

   “You are full of surprises, zaldrītsos.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Windswept turncloaks

   “So, your fate will be settled tonight.”

Lucerys nodded with slight apprehension at the man’s words.

Sitting between long and muscular legs on the bed for better access, he placed his hands flat on the man’s wide chest. The wounds were almost completely healed, just a few signs of scarring left on the pearl skin. With one last jolt of his power, the man would surely be hale enough to… leave .

Sure it was a good thing to know his gift had saved the man, that he’d been able to test and bend his abilities in time of need. After all the experimental training with the Maester, this was proof of progress, and he knew Corlys would be proud of him for his effort. For his empathy too.

Still, the notion of them going their separate ways made the boy ill at ease. 

In turn, it made his power refuse to make itself known, as if mirroring his feelings. 

Lucerys didn’t want this to end. 

Didn’t want them to end, not yet. 

Not when it had just gotten this… good.

Because of what had happened during the previous night, most of the earlier tension between him and the man had dissipated. The two of them had spent the rest of the early hours of the morning in genuine conversation. 

Lucerys had told the man about his life inside the Maidenpool walls, about the Mooton’s and Maester Corlys, about his work as a novice in training.

He tried explaining the vague details about his gift that he had yet been made aware of before moving on to his dream of Oldtown, of traveling the world, and about the petition that were to be held in a few hours' time regarding said dream and said world.

The man had refrained from telling stories of his own, but had still asked the novice questions about his and had listened attentively through it all. 

It felt good to be heard and not being judged for ones, but also to be allowed to breathe life to these feelings he’d kept so deep within himself. They had just kept spilling out.

His back was fully healed now, as if Manfryd hadn’t even grazed him.

A peculiar thing, how his powers had risen to such higher intensities without explanation.

Usually it took days, even weeks, to heal from an encounter with Manfryd. And after that he would usually be too drained to call on it for a while. This time, he could feel his fire rush through him like it was a hungry beast, and yet it still wouldn’t heed anything but his resisting heart. 

Maybe it was his power having a will of its own. 

Maybe it was the dawning of his fate changing course.

Maybe it was everything about the silver man in all of his impossible sculptured edges and habit of endearment without mercy.

Lucerys tried calling for the flames again but he could not get his hands to stop trembling.

   “You don’t seem nervous about it at all.” The man jested as he watched the boy in his internal struggle, but his grin lost a little of its teasing quality and somehow became more genuine. “I am sure it will be fine.”

The novice wasn’t as sure. There were members of Lord Walys’ council who would oppose his petition, Lucerys knew, even if he still had allies among them.

Lucerys jolted at a sudden touch as the man scooped his hands up in his, pulling him from his thoughts.

   “ I would have granted you the dream of Oldtown. I would have taken you there myself.” The man said in an earnest tone, looking deep into Lucerys’ eyes. “I would have taken you everywhere you wanted. You, and your gift, deserve to be admired by the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.”

The words left the novice’s head spinning and the fire pulled itself small before exploding altogether, expanding through him like a rushing flood. 

He wanted to cry from the way he suddenly felt his heart helplessly flutter. It had never danced with such delight before.

He had never been made this happy before by words alone. 

He couldn’t express it in any other way than the way he did.

…By leaning in and kissing the man on his lips. 

It was a peck, quick, dry, but it was still one pulled from reckless bravery. 

Lucerys was nearly beside himself, burning up.

All of his life, he’d been taught control, calm, and caution. To keep himself and his power suppressed. He’d tried to maintain sway in the face of the foreign sensations the man had teased of, but his words had sent it all draining away.

   “Take me….” He begged in a whisper against sculpted pink.

His deep desires of a life beyond what he knew, mixed with his growing feelings for the mysterious stranger who was representing it, had made him stupidly bold.

He felt his cheeks blossom as he realized the vigor of his audacity. He leaned back and turned his gaze shyly to the side.

But he didn’t get far.

A hand grabbed him by his jaw, swiftly pulling him back; into the man’s space. The blonde was heaving in a sprightly rhythm, etched jaw set and silver eyebrows furrowed.

As if battling himself. 

He had stopped right before their lips could touch again, holding the novice there by his face. Silence stretched itself long and heavy. 

Lucerys didn’t dare move an inch.

   “You should not have done that…” There was a bite in the man’s sudden words and the boy could feel how his heart, that had been dancing so lovely just a moment ago, now sank like a stone in his chest.

The man released his grip as if Lucerys had burned him, his eyes now dark and void of emotion. The novice pulled away just as quickly.

He scrambled to sit at the foot of the bed, tucking his legs to his chest and looping his arms around them to instinctively. Face hidden in the fold of his arm, aflame with embarrassment and rejection.

Hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, anxiety gripping him firmly while another long breath of silence lingered.

   “You are so young… ”

Lucerys tensed all over, flushing against a weird outraged hysteria that threatened to overtake him.

   “I am- I am not .” His denial a muffle against the sleeve of his robe. 

   “You’d get hurt, Lucerys .”

He dared to glance up into violet and something about the man’s unlooked-for sympathy allowed Lucerys himself to feel a little of the boiling edge of his frustration.

   “I don’t mind if you hurt me! I heal. As long as you don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here. Take me with you. Please .” He desperately unfolded before the man.

   “I will not leave you.” Eventually came the promise.

The novice wanted to lean into him then, craving more of the silver touch. And so he daringly did, and while he found the man seemingly reaching to meet him, he didn’t expect the hand on his chest, stopping him from closing in further.

But then there was a touch, on his cheek, this time dabbing away a tear hanging on for dear life in the corner above Lucerys’ left nosewing.

   “I can't do much about what will unfold tonight,” The blonde said, voice soft but face settled. “But this will protect you.”

He hung something around the boy’s neck; a long, pendant of a geometric pattern shaped like a flower, with a tiny, red stone in its center. 

Lucerys wiped away the remnants of the tears with his sleeve as he turned the pendant in the palm of his hand. 

He had not seen the blonde wearing it, hadn’t noticed it anyway. Still, he smiled down at its beauty.

   “It was given to me before I left home.” The man said. “It kept me protected, and then you did. Now it will do the same bidding for you.”

Lucerys eyes followed his fingers tracing the shape of the pendant.

   “And If they deny my petition…” He said. “You will take me?”

   “Aye.”

   “Do you swear it?” Lucerys asked quietly, feeling the ease wash over him little by little.

A finger under the boy’s chin tipped his face so he had to look up into fervent mauve. The man smiled slightly.

   “I swear it.” 

Lucerys smiled back dazingly. 

   “This might tickle a bit, but try not to move.” Lucerys said then, placing his hands on the wounds ones more as he found himself regaining more control of his power than ever before.

He closed his eyes and sent it through him to his palms as easily as air to his lungs.

It spread to the man’s skin underneath his touch, and deeper still. 

----

Lucerys smuggled them honey tea and eggs on toast for breakfast before heading out for one last day of the same old routines. 

He ended the day in his favorite room; the castle library. 

It had been his sanctuary over the years, where he’d found comfort in the rows upon rows of bookshelves holding stories about other lands, cultures and great battles. About romance, hope and adventure.

He found solace in the fact that it most likely was his last time in this room, no matter the outcome of the evening’s event.

He wished it more than anything though, to be accepted by the council and leave with the official signed request to the Citadel. 

Leaving with the man meant running away, a crime you could, if caught, lose a hand or be sent to the wall for. 

Without a letter of request signed by a Lord, Lucerys had no chance at earning his chains and becoming a Maester.

But at least he’d be free .

He spent the remaining time of the afternoon in the library working by transcribing his last letter from Maester Corlys. 

Due to the man’s awful handwriting, Lucerys had been given the task to translate it since he was the only one who could read it. In a way he’d felt honored, even if it was tedious work.

The letters he was tasked with were usually to the same southeastern high Lady the Maester had been in contact with as long as Lucerys could remember. He had always imagined it was the man’s faraway paramour but it was more exciting in the novice’s head than what was actually written on the ephemera. 

Because like always, the letter held little to no meaning. 

The Maester had always been cryptic with his words when it came to this particular receiver. Using words Lucerys couldn’t comprehend. Still, he transcribed to his heart’s content, wanting to please his guardian.

At the break of dawn, the rumbling of a storm was roaring in the distance as the novice finished the last sentence of the nonsense of a letter; 

‘The dragonseed will fly for the blacks in time for the dance.’

He signed the transcript with Corlys name while shaking his head, before rolling it up and sealing it with the Mooton stamp. He tucked it inside his robe pocket, reminding himself to give it to the Maester after the petition meeting. 

Being only a novice, he wasn’t allowed to send ravens himself.

Lucerys got up from the desk and walked to the door, turning and taking a last, long look around the library. Reaching out a hand, he stroked young, slender fingers over the leather spine of one of the books while he smiled.

   “I will finally get to see it now.” He whispered to the room and in dedication to every story that had brought him the taste of small joys and a craving for more.

He left the library beaming with a fluttering feeling that after tonight, the start of his own story would begin.

----

The petition meeting were to be held in the great hall at nightfall. A murky darkness had however already fallen over Maidenpool like a veil of thick clouds. 

A storm was emerging like a hungry beast creeping upon its prey.

Lucerys made his way through the castle towards the great hall, intentionally passing by the Godswood to make one last prayer and apprise the Gods of his wish for their support.

While walking into the courtyard, he struggled at amending his unkempt curls and brushing off his robe to better his appearance before the nobles. 

He admitted himself to be nervous, but it was no longer about leaving or not, but about which way he’d leave. It was an exciting sort of nervosity.  

Halfway to the weirwood tree, something on the cobblestones within his peripherals made him stop short. 

He slowly turned to look. 

Dread bellowed up inside him.

The dead body of one of the maids was sprawled out on the ground by the western entrance of the courtyard, covered in blood.

Lucerys hesitated at the sight for a second, as if not believing it. He blinked a few times.

At a distance, it was still evident that she had been sliced with something sharp across her abdomen. Her eyes and mouth left wide with horror into her death.

A little to his right he noticed then, by the foot of the white and crimson tree, was one of the novices.

The youngling’s head was severed from his neck.

Lucerys felt the fear evolve in his chest at the gruesome sight, and it dawned on him then as his survival instincts kicked in.

He was in danger. 

He needed to get away.

He snapped alert eyes towards the wall, towards the hidden hole in it, merely feet away from where he stood. He could escape, he could save himself from whatever the looming threat was.

But his mind then went to his family, the Maester, to his fellow novice friends, the Mooton’s who had taken him in and (mostly) cared for him.

Did they know what was happening?

He couldn’t just abandon them all, could he?

And then, in the middle of all that doubt, he thought of the innocent silver man locked in his chambers.

He needed to warn him, to get him out.

He had sworn he would.

And so he let go of the terror and selfish impulses along with reason and rushed down the steps towards his chambers. 

He found a trail of dead people as he cautiously made his way through the crypt paths, but there was no sign of whoever had done it.

As he rounded the last corner he found, to his horror, that his door had been broken down. He crossed the threshold to his room, finding it in a mess. Old transcripts laid scattered across the floor, drawers pulled out and thrown aside.

None of it mattered though, because the silver man was gone.

A blood-curdling scream from somewhere down the corridor pulled him from his quiet descent into panic, and he snapped his eyes to his oak staff he used at the training sessions with the Maester, leaning against the wall by the turned-over desk.

He needed to defend himself.

Before he could make for it, however, there was a sound behind him. He turned to find a stranger standing by the door, gray orbs of malicious intent focused on him.

The man was wearing the attire of a simple Maidenpool fisherman. 

Lowborn. 

Riverman.

The man left him no more time to think as he made for him with a deadly smirk. He pulled his sword from its sheath as Lucerys scrambled for his training staff, his heart pounding.

He went on the offensive, using the techniques Corlys had taught him on the hill. He gained the upper hand quickly, or so he thought. The man suddenly grinned at something slightly behind him and he didn’t even have to look to know why.

Lucerys immediately ducked and twisted. He swiped the legs of the second man that had appeared behind him then used the back end of the staff to do the same to the first man. Both crashed, the swords dropping to the ground.

The boy made a run for it.

Reaching the surface again, he found the storm had arrived with the night. As he ran across the courtyard, rain pelted his frigid skin making it difficult to see more than a few meters in front of him.

Still with clothes soaked, hair in his face, he ran. Ran for his life, aiming for his secret passage in the wall. 

Aiming for freedom . 

But then a sudden heavy weight made him stumble. One of the men had gained on him and pulled him down. They fell together to the ground in a heap, the man on top of him.

The second man was soon there to help the other subdue him, turning him over and pressing him down on the cold, wet stones. 

Lucerys thought then, and accepted the fact, that it would be his last moment on this earth. His fire, despite all emotion and rush of instinct, was silent and simmering soothingly. As if trying to calm him down, aid him to surrender to the fate he could not escape.

The fate he had asked for was freedom after all…

Lucerys was tired, so tired that he couldn’t think of anything but sleep and escape and how they can be the same thing now, if he only had the nerve to just close his eyes and let it happen.

He was about to, until felt one of the men fumble at the collar of his robes, fishing out the pendant.

The silver man’s necklace.

The malicious smirk that grew on his attacker’s face made Lucerys’ blood run cold. 

----

He was forced through the crimson doors of the great hall. In the hearth, there was a low fire, the room dim and dreary. Nothing like the hall usually was.

A few armed men, wearing the clothes of Maidenpool villagers, stood around a handful of people, kneeling on the cold ground in the center of the room.

Had they turned against their own ruler? How had they accomplished getting inside the castle walls in the first place?

The novice’s legs were kicked out from under him, sending him crashing to the stone floor. He groaned as he was pulled to sit up, blinking away the dark spots that were dancing on his vision from when his head had come into quick contact with the floor.

They bound his hands with coarse rope before leaving him alone. 

Lucerys’ fear was a hard knot in his chest, his mind sluggishly working through increasingly desperate escapes.

He looked around, head pounding, finding himself on his knees among the council members of House Mooton.

Maester Norren, Lord Manfryd Mooton and his knight and personal champion Florian Greysteel. The people that were all supposed to have gathered in this room for his petition meeting at this very hour.

They all were on their knees with their limbs tied, eyes forward, and as Lucerys turned to see what they were gazing at he couldn’t prevent the gasp from escaping his lips.

Sitting in the middle of the long table before the fire, throat sliced open, was Lord Walys Mooton. Next to him was his wife, Lady Mooton, face down on the table.

The Mooton’s were dead.

Killed by their own people. How?

Lucerys closed his eyes, sudden hopelessness squeezing tight around his chest.

Then someone whispered low his name beside him.

His real name. 

   “Lucerys…”

Only a handful of people knew his real name. 

Lucerys snapped his eyes open ones more to find, in a mix of dread and relief, Maester Corlys on his right. The man was not kneeling, but laying on his side with his hands tied, bleeding from a gash on his forehead but otherwise seemed unharmed.

Their eyes met, asking and answering concerns about each others’ well-being, Corlys’ wide with concern.

The man was about to say something when the crimson doors opened with a clatter of mail as someone stepped through. The heels of boots striking the stone like the tolling of a bell, echoing through the silent room.

Lucerys jolted where he knelt at the rhythmic footsteps approaching.

Corlys’ eyes filled with furious disgust at its source, before hissing out a name as if it was a curse.

   “Aemond Targaryen.”

Lucerys had heard the name before, had read about him. 

The prince of the Seven Kingdoms. 

A legendary fighter. A murderer of thousands. A fearsome dragonrider. 

The reason the Riverlands was burning.

He dared then to turn his head up to look at the owner of the feared name.

His mind couldn’t wrap around the truth before him. 

An enormous crashing weight of horror smothered him and split his mind as he realized.

The man he’d pulled from the sea, taken in and healed. The man he’d opened his heart to, had revealed secrets to.

The man he’d kissed.

Was Aemond Targaryen.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Golden bird

Lucerys couldn’t breathe.

He thought his heart might have stopped beating entirely.

There was nothing but an echoing rush in his ears, pain wrapping in tight bands around his chest.

Soaked from the rain, the robe was tight and heavy against Lucerys, dragging him down and holding him in place as much as the bindings. He shuddered and shook his head in misbelief, wet hair clinging to his forehead and raindrops marbling his cheeks.

His fire was keeping him warm, drying him slowly, but it wouldn’t aid him in any other way. It was as if it was matching his fear, hiding somewhere far inside where he couldn’t find.

What had he done ?

He waited, wide eyed, heart in his mouth, hoping for kindness.

Hoping for all of this to be a mistake.

Hoping to wake up from this feverish nightmare.

But there was a dangerous, refined brutality in the way Aemond held himself now. Nothing like what he’d portrayed down in the crypt when the world had been just the two of them. 

There was no sign of the man who had placed a gentle hand on his cheek and told him that he deserved to be admired by the world. 

Now when it was watching, Aemond looked at Lucerys with cold and feral eyes as if his words had meant nothing. 

As if their days spent together had meant nothing.

Lucerys’ emotions were not so easily hidden on his innocent face either. The pain of betrayal was surely evident in the crease of his brows and in his teary, forest eyes as he looked into Aemond’s.

He desperately tried to find a hint of remorse,

of mercy,

of…

…anything he could hold onto hope for.

But the Prince revealed nothing, face indifferent. A most dreadful sight. 

He turned away with nonchalance and passed Lucerys without a word.

He halted short of the great table by the hearth, right in front of the slaughtered Lord and Lady of Maidenpool. A beat, then he turned to face the living, holding his arms out wide.

   “Men, this is a night of victory!”

The fishermen’s cheers echoed in the hall.

   “You have accomplished what others before you could not. You have seized Maidenpool. You rescued an important member of the royal family, you captured and rounded up the members of the Mooton household and executed the Lord and his family for their crimes against us.”

Another choir of cheers, louder this time.

   “The King shall reward you all for your bravery on this night.”

The Prince’s eyes fell on Manfryd Mooton then. He strode up to the Lord, hands knotted together behind his back, a playful grin playing on his lips.

   “Lord Manfryd Mooton, I presume?”

Manfryd was dreadfully pale, even in the flush of the firelight. He kept his chin high and eyes focused forward but his proud demeanor quickly faltered as Aemond crouched down to meet his gaze. 

   “Forgive me for the inconvenience, my Lord. I assure you that it wasn’t my illwill to bring this misfortune upon you. You are not responsible for your brother’s treachery after all.”

Manfryd turned his stare at him, eyes dark. “And yet you will have me punished all the same.”

   “Oh, I have no intention of killing you, my Lord. However, I am not the one making all of the final decisions tonight. These men,” He said and gestured towards the fishermen standing around the room. “have suffered under your brother’s rule for a long time…”

   “These proud Maidenpool men will spare your life tonight, Lord Mooton. Because you will yield to the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon Targaryen, and rule Maidenpool in his name.”

He paused, for effect, then continued.

   “You will also sit on the King’s council and join him in this war against the enemy. You will do this and your life as well as all the lives of the subjects who yield will be spared. As compensation the court will provide you, Lord Mooton, with anything you wish to make sure your rule serves the people of this glorious city.”

Aemond inched closer, voice growing lower. 

   “Oh, and you will be supplied with as many pretty boys as you desire. The court will see to it.”

Lucerys didn’t miss the glance the Prince threw his way, as if wanting to catch his reaction. The boy realized his look of horror didn’t disappoint.

The man smiled at the novice, a mean, malicious little twist of the lips, then turned back towards Manfryd.

Lord Mooton’s face slackened slightly, revealing the temptation he couldn’t deny.

The man was greedy and always wanted, needed , power.

The opportunity before him was exactly what Lucerys knew the man was craving.

Aemond had learned this from Lucerys during their long talks. 

It was all as if Aemond had planned everything from the start.

   “Wisdom and Strength is the motto of your house, yes?” the Prince asked slyly.

Manfryd nodded cautiously.

“Then be wise and strong, Lord Mooton. Make the right choice.”

A moment of heavy silence lingered in the room before Manfryd opened his mouth to speak, lifting his chin high ones more.

   “Aye. I will yield this castle, this city and our banners to King Aegon Targaryen.”

The room erupted in clapping and chants.

Aemond’s attention turned on Lucerys again in the middle of it all, and the novice could see the victory dancing like firelight in his eyes.

Fear curled up inside him and clung to his ribs, settling uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t doubt the feeling was there to stay, reminding him of its existence every time he opened his mouth to breathe.

   “Very well then, someone get the new Lord of Maidenpool on his feet.” 

Manfryd was pulled up by two fishermen and the rope around his wrists was cut. 

While the rest of the raiders celebrated their success, another man came in through the crimson doors to a stop just short of Aemond and bowed his head in deference to the Prince. He then leaned in to whisper into his ear. 

Aemond smirked and nodded before waving the man off. He turned back to the men and lifted his arms again. The room fell silent ones more.

   “How do you save a rotten world if not by burning it?” He asked without expecting an answer before throwing a look at Manfryd. “As your first task as ruler, Lord Mooton, may I suggest a cleanse. There’s traitors inside these walls… They must be punished.”

Manfryd nodded in agreement while the men growled, throwing fists in the air and stomping against the stone beneath. 

They craved blood. What on earth had Walys Mooton done for these men to hate him, hate them with this intensity?

   “Speaking of traitors…” Aemond grinned and turned to look upon Lucerys ones again, now with more intent.

   “Don’t think I forgot about you, little golden bird.” he purred in a voice as smooth and rich as summer honey as he predatorily approached the boy on the floor.

But the mask no longer fit, no longer fooled.

Malicious intent was hiding right behind that sweet sound, the name calling.

The endearment was nothing but taunting, it was clear as day to Lucerys now.

The Prince crouched in front of him, placed a hand against his cold-flushed skin and quietly spoke to him only. “You’ve been of great service to me. I would not have been able to do this without you.”

The words were a knife, cutting swift and deep.

   “I wasn't-” Lucerys broke off, the words catching in his throat. “I didn’t mean to!”

He could feel the Maester’s look of betrayal burn at his side and he didn’t dare facing it. So he squeezed his eyes shut as if the mere act could hide him away, and knotted his hands into fists in his lap to collect the anger, the breaking of every single belief of his, the biting anxiety wanting to tear him apart.

The fire had almost vanished completely, as if ashamed for him. 

Lucerys turned his head away from the touch that reminded him of the two of them side by side on his bed.

It was false security, maybe it had been then too.

He could no longer be sure of anything. 

He bowed his head under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny.

   “You-You gave your word… You sa-said you wouldn’t k-kill anyone!” He gritted out, choking on the lump in his throat.

Aemond simply nodded before grasping his chin in a tight grip and jerking his head up to hold the boy’s gaze captive as well.

   “I haven’t hurt a single worthless river soul since you pulled me out of the crab sea. I told you, I keep my word. I simply found other men to do it for me.”

Aemond’s words made Lucerys feel even more hopeless. He tried to blink the fresh tears away.

How? 

When?

Why?

He had too many questions that he desperately needed answered but he sadly knew that knowing still wouldn’t change a thing. 

The Mooton’s were still dead.

He had still brought the enemy into their home.

Had still been selfish and naive enough to believe the silver man’s seductive promises.

   “Stop, please…” It was useless to beg, he knew that.

But what else could he do?

Aemond tilted his head and placed the pendant dangling from Lucerys’ neck in his palm to examine it. 

   “Oh, don’t think I forgot...” Aemond smiled down at it and it was mischievous enough to make Lucerys’ skin pebble. “I told you it would protect you, didn’t I? Let’s see for how long it can last.”

The Prince got on his feet and walked over to the table where Walys still sat. He picked up the roll of parchment, sealed with a stamp, the Mooton sigil decorating it.

Lucerys realized what Aemond was about to do.

What he had meant.

What that was…

It was the council’s reply to his petition. 

On that piece of paper were the words that would have sealed his fate.

To leave or to stay.

To be free or not.

Lucerys couldn’t understand why Aemond made it matter when it so clearly didn’t anymore. 

Aemond opened the letter and he read it in silence. The rest of the room seemed unaware of what was going on, the raiders looked on with curious faces.

This was only between Lucerys, Aemond and their solemn promises.

   “I’m sorry…” Aemond exclaimed. He glanced up but his face remained settled, not showing anything.

But the amusement in the Prince’s voice grated over Lucerys’ skin, impossible to misplace.

The silver man scrunched the letter and returned to crouch in front of him. He swiftly lifted the pendant over the boy’s head, pulling it off, then tossing it onto the floor.

It bounced against the stone with a heavy clang, meaning nothing.

Of course… 

He then placed a hand at the back of Lucerys’ neck, pulling him closer by it.

   “It has run out of its power I'm afraid.” Aemond spoke and shrugged in pity.

   “No…” Lucerys tried to jerk back, to break his grip, and to turn to the Maester.

Because, no, it couldn’t be. 

They had declined his petition? Had decided to keep him inside the Maidenpool walls for the rest of his life? Had denied him his wish for freedom?

No.

The Maester had said it would be alright, and Lucerys had believed it. His stupid, stupid self had actually thought they would accept his petition.

His lifelong dream.

But it still didn’t matter. Here he was now, about to be executed. Maybe it was fate throwing itself in his face.

Aemond clucked at him like he was a misbehaving toddler and only drew him closer.

   “Oh believe me, the Maester will not help you.” he hummed against his cheek.

   “Don’t touch him.”

Maester Corlys’ demanding words came out strained from beside Lucerys, the man struggling to move.

   "Oh, the old man speaks."

Aemond turned away from the boy to cast a disdainful gaze on the Maester.

   “You are far from the man you once were, Lord Corlys. To think the ‘sea snake’ would be hiding here all this time like a craven… I wonder what in seven hells for…” 

Aemond quickly glanced from Corlys to Lucerys and back before speaking again.

   “I will send your regards to the hand of the King. He has always wondered where you went so suddenly. Leaving Driftmark like that? Leaving your family behind? Your people? To do what exactly?”

Maester Corlys remained quiet, gentle eyes never leaving Lucerys as if telling him everything would be alright. 

Lucerys had a harder time trusting him.

   “Did you hear that I ride your daughter’s dragon now? That your son was murdered by the people you sided with? That your brother has taken Driftmark for himself, counseling the King? You seem to keep losing Lord Corlys.”

Aemond’s hand slid down Lucerys’ chest slowly, intentionally. “Tonight is no different.” He viciously smirked at the man.

Corlys growled. 

   “You vile-”

One of the fishermen kicked the Maester from behind, sending him sprawling around onto his back in pain. That is when Lucerys noticed the large wound in the man’s left side. 

   “No, what did you do!?” Lucerys started to reach for his teacher, but Aemond grabbed his wrists and drew the boy into him. 

Lucerys held his breath, not wanting to be this close, where he felt his warmth and smelled his scent.

It wasn’t as safe as he had thought, wasn’t as wonderful as he had imagined. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this . 

A new kind of fear stole Lucerys’ breath, dug into him with sharp claws, as it dawned on him what Aemond had just said.

   “Kill me! Not him. I beg you.” He was crying now. Silent tears dripped down his cheeks, glistening under the low light of the candles.

The novice waited for the prince’s answer, his heart thumping almost too slowly in his chest.

   “Kill you? No, we don't want to do that.” Aemond’s voice was a devil's whisper in his ear. “We’re going to take special care of you.”

Lucerys tried to hide the slick everrising fear that was coiling around his spine, sending quivers of nausea through him but the tears were constant, giving him away. 

The tension in Aemond’s hand was clear, there would not be any backing away, any bargaining, even if he had anything to bargain with.

No more solemn promises…

Corlys’ face revealed a fright Lucerys couldn’t understand. As if he knew something about what would come of the novice that he didn't. 

   “Luce, remember what I’ve always told you…” He began.

   “Lord Mooton,” The Prince interrupted. “Lord Corlys is a traitor to the crown and cannot be trusted. I would suggest you take care of this as soon as you can.”

   “No! Leave him alone!” Lucerys began struggling for his life, for his… father’s life…

But Aemond’s face had grown cold and indifferent again as he looked down on him, showing no hint of mercy. 

   "We're leaving."

The Prince’s words were like a knife made of ice. It slid into Lucerys’ chest and twisted. Panic settled there like a wound his fire couldn’t mend.

Before Lucerys could cry out, a piece of thick cloth was pulled between his lips and secured behind his head, biting into the tender skin of his mouth.

He tried to fight the grip that was suddenly on him, but he was easily pulled to his feet by a large man, then forced to stumble towards the crimson doors. 

He fought.

He kicked. 

He cried.

He could hear, through the ringing and quick throb of his pulse in his ears and the rough drag of his breathing the sound of Manfryd’s voice commanding the men to kill the traitors and burn their bodies to cover up the tracks.

Lucerys was trying to look over his shoulder in pure despair, and he caught it just as it happened. How Manfryd Mooton sliced at the Maester's throat with his sword.

The large man caught him by his arms and pulled him out of the hall behind Aemond and a handful of the raiders before he could witness the only family he had die before his eyes.

Because of him...

The novice could barley hear the clinks of steel on steel and screaming somewhere beyond as they walked, his mind in a daze.

Mourning, if you could call it that.

The rain had let up, and had resided to lightly drizzle.

Lucerys stumbled, desperately trying to slow the man down, to get his bearings.

To maybe have a chance at rescue.

To rescue Maester Corlys.

He made himself dead weight by throwing himself to the ground.

With a slight wave of Aemond’s hand, the novice was easily thrown over the large man’s shoulder, a strangled yelp catching in his throat.

Shock and outrage overtook him.

Each step was jarring the boy’s stomach against the ridge of the man’s massive shoulder.

He could do nothing but let them carry him away, across the castle grounds and into the courtyard.

Could do nothing but watch as vicious hatred and vengeance cut down innocent lives of novices, servants and nobles alike.

Realization dawned as they passed the weirwood tree, in flames, that they were heading towards the hole in the wall…

Lucerys’ hole in the wall.

How the raiders had been able to get inside had all been Lucerys’ doing. He had told Aemond about it, where it led, how to get there without being caught. 

That is how Aemond had found the men. By escaping through the hole, down into town, when Lucerys hadn’t noticed.

The boy was crying again, tears spilling out.

He had no choice but to let them.

Somehow, in the middle of all the pain and heartbreak, that was something good.

To allow the sadness to become its thing.

To become as big as it could be and wash over him.

The man easily carried him through the hole, following Aemond’s lead. They had at some point made it bigger to fit through.

Aemond probably had.

With all the time in the world, probably when Lucerys had been in the healing daze.

The Prince had not been beside him through it all like Lucerys had believed.

Had been so happy and jittery about.

He really was a fool.

The smell of smoke tickled at his nose, sneaking into his lungs. There had always been little fires inside the castle symphonizing with the scent of burnt wood, it was a song he was used to and loved. But now, the tune had grown and changed. 

Lucerys looked up to find the Maidenpool castle on fire.

He was carried to the edge of the forest, and over to a horse.

The novice had suffered for too long and found that he could not stomach abandoning his home without one last protest.

He tried to resist but he was too weak against the large man’s strength.

Still with Lucerys over his shoulder, the man maneuvered himself onto the horse’s back. Aemond, he found, on his own horse beside him. The rest of the rivermen stood around them, one of them talking to the Prince about something Lucerys couldn't hear. 

He didn't care.

It was a losing tourney anyway.

As the horses began to gallop, he lifted his gaze one last time to watch the outline of his home against the red of the flames before he found the edges of his vision darkening.

Lucerys embraced the nothingness that followed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Uncommonly delicate

Blood covered Aemond’s face like a mask concealing the grotesque damage that had been done. 

He couldn’t move. 

He tried to – he tried with all his might.

Arms outstretched at his sides, trying with what little power he had left to stay afloat.

The pain in his abdomen burned like a wildfire through his entire body, the arrows rooted like Sweetrot in his gut.

He couldn’t move, so he stopped trying to.

Instead, he looked up at the evening sky, at the serenading sunset. It was calming in a way, watching the smeared painting of orange bells above. 

Aemond was jealous of it, of how the day’s end still served as a sense of beauty to the world.

His end would be as ugly as the rest of his story had been.

He was done here. He wouldn’t have to hurt, wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else ever again.

As the blanket of growing flame began to surround him, he felt relieved.

That was until he found, in the midst of all that tragic beauty, that he couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes tightly as a small croak left his lips. 

He’d never known a pain like this, never experienced such horror. He wanted to scream, wanted his lungs to fill with air but he didn't have any strength to satisfy his needs. Instead he felt his eyelids grow heavy with that endless sleep he’d sent so many to before him.

Darkness crept into the depths of his vision and so he closed his eyes, giving in to whatever was coming next.

When he heard a voice somewhere above the surface, the sea muffling the words. 

It was none of the Gods that was speaking to him, Aemond was certain. 

What higher power would give him their time of day?

Maybe it was the impressive Riverman who had come to finish the job. No matter, Aemond thought, just be done with it. 

Grant me the mercy.

Then he felt whoever was at his side beginning to smoothly pull him through the water, letting it carry his weight.

The last thing he felt was a warm, gentle and undeserving touch against his cheek.

Aemond jolted awake.

Leaning against an oak, arms folded against his chest for warmth. The Prince scanned the treelines surrounding him, cursing himself for letting his guard down longer than he should have. He was a royalty in the middle of the Riverland wilderness after all.

He found the Maidenpool fisherman escorting them, whose name he’d forgotten the moment it had been stated, keeping watch over by the riverbank. 

It was a five day ride to King’s Landing from Maidenpool, 270 miles. Staying off the Kingsroad, however, added the travels to at least half a day more.

Their goal destination wasn’t King’s Landing though, not yet anyway. The fishermen had held up their part of the deal, having found the location of the royal party Aemond had been part of before the battle and the fall. 

Before his supposed demise .

Aemond glanced over at Lucerys, laying on his side by the small crackling fire, hands and feet hogtied in front of him. His innocent features slack with sleep but his closed eyes were red-rimmed and fresh tears still clung to his long lashes.

The boy clutched the garment of his robes close, visibly shivering as the slight chill touched supple skin. Interesting, Aemond thought, was the fire inside him not keeping him warm?

Aemond tilted his head to secretly admire him, and he almost allowed a sigh to slip into the silence of the night.

Lucerys had wasted his outworldly gentle heart to save Aemond’s life.

The novice had somehow kept the Prince dumbstruck ever since. Every thought Aemond had afterwards always began with Lucerys, and always ended with Lucerys.

Lucerys had touched Aemond and it had felt as if the stars had been dancing across his skin.

Had looked at Aemond like he was the answer to everything.

Had kissed him with those pink flower petals for lips.

It was all infuriating . 

Maybe it was something wicked in Aemond’s heart that he couldn’t bear to see something so gentle, so innocent, and let it go unscrutinized.

He remembered the furious warmth that had settled in him as he had taken his time to watch the lie grow. How Lucerys’ hazel had started to glimmer at his empty promises.

The bigger the lie got, the more excited Aemond had been to shatter it, and the boy along with it.

However, there was a continuous surge of ferocious protectiveness that kept racing through him at the thought of the novice. 

Lucerys had no idea who he was, nevermind what . Had no idea what kind of power he held, not just within himself… but over the world.

Over Aemond.

You will be my undoing… He thought tragically as he let his eyes roam over the boy’s features.

Then Lucerys’ shifted slightly, fluttering his eyes open and Aemond had to physically shake his mind from the almost drunken stupor he’d let it fall into.

The boy’s large and wandering doe eyes took in his surroundings before falling on Aemond.

They both paused for a moment, and Aemond’s heart thumped louder in his chest at the sight of Lucerys’ soft features slowly but surely responding to the fear building as he became more and more aware.

Grabbing the bottle of water from his bag, Aemond walked over and crouched beside his captive and unscrewed the lid. He pulled the gag from between Lucerys’ lips, finding the edges of his mouth red and raw.

   “You are uncommonly delicate,” Aemond ran a thumb over one of the wounds. “despite your… talents.”

   “Don’t touch me.” Lucerys tried to pull away as he bared his teeth, eyes fierce and bright.

It was nothing but a weak threat. As if they both didn't already know that Lucerys had nothing left but hope and pointless defiance.

   “You have such a fight in you.” Aemond hummed as he placed the lip of the bottle against Lucerys’ own.

   “Please, let me go.” Lucerys words were both demanding and pleading at ones, as he shoved at the Prince with his bound hands, refusing the water.

Aemond easily caught him by his wrists and wrenched Lucerys up and closer by the grip. The boy’s breath caught and he went incredibly still.

   “It seems that no man has been able to extinguish that fire of yours yet .” Aemond’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, pushing the narrow bones of Lucerys’ wrists together to produce a twinge of pain. “I am eager to become the one.”

The novice exhaled a cry in frustration as fresh tears glistened in the almond corners, narrow chest heaved from the exertion, mouth panting and parted ever so invitingly in surrender.

As if Aemond’s words held the truth of the future.

He placed the bottle to the novice’s lips again and poured, this time without any resistance.

The Prince breathed into the silence for a moment as Lucerys drank, warmed by the submission.

The nameless Maidenpool man appeared between the trees then, husky voice cutting the stillness between the younglings.

   “We should keep going if we want to catch up to the royal party before sunrise, Your Grace.”

Aemond nodded without turning violet from hazel and pulled the gag back between Lucerys’ lips, silencing him ones more.

He walked back to where his bag was, picked it up and slung it over one shoulder before mounting his horse and pulling the hood of the cape, he’d borrowed by his new allies, to cover his very distinct Targaryen traits.

He watched the fisherman cut the rope around the boy’s ankles before manhandling him onto the horse’s back and retying his hands to the pommel.

Lucerys kept his head bowed, eyes down. A tear glistened in the moonlight as it fell freely.

Aemond felt a sudden jolt again, but he was awake this time. 

----

Lucerys slowly opened his eyes to the sun peeking through the treetops. 

Lucerys’ mouth was dry, the gag soaking up every last bit of moisture. His curls were tossed by rain and wind, his robe had ripped at the collar down to his ribcage, showing more skin than he was comfortable with.

   “We have arrived, Your Grace.” The fisherman rumbled against his chest and the horses were pulled to halt. 

The novice was desperate enough to try fighting back as he was suddenly plucked off the saddle. Aemond simply watched as the Maidenpool man looped another rope to his already tied wrists before handing the long line of it to the Prince.

Lucerys snapped a resentful gaze up at his captive, who lifted his chin and glared right back, smirking triumphantly at his expression.

Then Aemond kicked his horse back into strut, yanking the novice’s arms up and nearly out of their sockets. Lucerys had to keep from being pulled off his feet and dragged along by walking quickly.

They kept riding to the edge of the forest which opened up to open space. Below the slope… was the Targaryen camp.

Tents stood aligned in the great, green field below, banners with the infamous red, three-headed dragon against an onyx backdrop swayed tauntingly in the morning wind.

Row upon row of soldiers stood aligned by the edge of the camp, facing them as they rode down the hill.

They had been expected.

Approaching the army, Lucerys found two male figures at the front. As they got closer, he could make them out, one dark and handsome, the other much younger and as silver-haired as Aemond. 

   “Your Grace.” The handsome man in armor bowed, and the rest of the party joined, eyes down. “We are delighted to see you alive and well, my Prince.”

The silver boy beside the knight looked up with a face of relief as he looked upon Aemond, and Lucerys could see the resemblance immediately. 

Even without the obvious Targaryen traits, it was the smallest of features that made Lucerys certain.

Aemond and the boy were immediate family.

Aemond gave a slight nod at the knight “Yes, Ser Criston. It’s been quite an eventful couple of days. I am happy to have returned in one piece.”

Lucerys held back a scoff at that. Hadn’t it been for him , Aemond would not even be alive… let alone in one piece.”

   “Who is the prisoner?”

   “The boy was given to me by the fishermen as a token of their gratitude” Aemond’s face was expressionless as he spoke. “For aiding them in reclaiming Maidenpool from the cravens.”

Aemond turned to face the novice. “Out of respect I accepted the spoil. He’s of little use to me but I am sure we can find a purpose for him.”

Lucerys glared back up at Aemond defiantly, refusing to show any sign of waver under the gaze of his captor.

It was all wrong. All lies.

It had been Aemond that had recruited the Maidenpool men to sack the city, it had been Aemond who had claimed Lucerys for himself. The Prince had made it clear that Lucerys and his fire was of great use to him.

The novice wasn’t sure why the Prince was twisting the truth to his people, but it didn’t matter in the end. 

Lucerys still had lost everything all the same.

----

He was ordered to the pole. 

His arms were hoisted above him and tied tightly to a narrow pole near two larger tents.

He was kept gagged.

The display of him was shameless. Strung up as Aemond’s prized trophy for everyone to mock.

He rolled his shoulders back and stood as straight as he could, dragging the worn tatters of his dignity around himself.

The sun beat down on him ruthlessly as the men around him attended to their daily duties.

The mood of the camp was of high spirit as the evening settled, the men drinking and cheering amongst themselves, celebrating Aemond’s victory as the news had spread throughout the party. 

Aemond however, was nowhere to be found. Lucerys hadn’t seen him since that morning. It was worrying him a bit.

Over by one of the crackling fires, he noticed a soldier sitting and watching him with heady interest. The way his gaze dipped to Lucerys’ chest, his stomach, lower, as though he could see right through the robes.

The soldier’s smirk deepened into a sickening grin when he noticed Lucerys was looking back at him. 

The cruel curve of the man’s mouth spelled silent things in a language he didn’t know before walking away from the fire, towards him.

Lucerys didn’t like the sudden dark pleasure that twisted the man’s lips as he approached. He stopped a mere inch from Lucerys and reached up, tracing the pale collarbone exposed by the robe.

   “Pretty…”

Lucerys snarled behind the gag, glaring fiercely up at the man as he stared down at his chest. 

He tried to call on his fire again, to do what with; he had no idea, but the only reward for his efforts was a pang of excruciating pain behind his eyes.

The soldier took Lucerys’ chin in a firm hand and forced his head in an awkward angle, arching his neck and turning him for study.

   “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” the man said, amusement in his voice. “No wonder Prince Aemond has claimed you.”

Fear mixed with anger choked him and he growled at the man, teeth grinding at the gag.

   “Maybe the Prince allows a taste…”

A hand suddenly groped between his legs. Lucerys jerked back like he had been burned, shocked, and kicked out at the soldier. The man dodged easily, the camp erupting into cruel laughter.

Lucerys tried to calm his breathing, trembling against the pole. His fear turned to hot tears; he sobbed through the thick cloth stilling his tongue.

He let his head fall back against the wood as he tried not to cry at his helplessness. 

It all came for him then, all of his mistakes, his sins, his betrayal. They all clawed at him for the rest of the night, but he felt he deserved it, deserved the suffering. To experience the pain when he had been the one to cause so much of it.

It’s not until the morning after that he woke to sense a sudden warmth of someone’s presence behind him. He flinched out of pure instinct, but when the voice speaks it’s soothing, kind, young.

   “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Lucerys bit at the gag, resisting the urge to cry out. He wished to stop giving these men the satisfaction to hear his distress.

Gentle fingers brushed the back of his head and untied the knot of the gag and pulled the cloth from between his lips. 

Lucerys couldn’t help but groan softly in relief. He could taste blood from where the corners of his mouth had torn.

The person the honeyed voice belonged to made himself known as he appeared from behind him.

   “I’m Prince Daeron.” The young silver-haired boy who looked like a younger version of Aemond smiled softly down at him. “Luke, right? Here, drink…” 

He held up a bottle of water and carefully poured a few mouthfuls of its content past Lucerys’ cracked and bleeding lips.

   “Please Your Grace, just kill me. I can no longer bear the pain and suffering I have caused.” Lucerys pleaded after swallowing it all down. He was so tired, so lifeless. 

Desperate for it to end.

The Prince’s face fell at his words and turned into a look of pity. 

   “You need to eat. You must be starving.”

Daeron untied Lucerys from the pole and led him, flanked by four men, inside a tent, which had a luxurious interior only fit for a Prince of the realm.

The soldiers left to guard the entrance of the tent while the Prince, who could not have been much younger than Lucerys, sat him down on a settee, left and returned shortly after with a plate of fruits and meat in hand. Lucerys cautiously ate while Daeron watched him.

   “Thank you, Your Grace.” The novice dared break the silence, looking up from the food. 

Maybe he shouldn't show respect towards his captors, but there was something about the young Prince that made it almost natural.

   "Call me Daeron." He smiled. "I am not really one for titles and masked pleasantries."

   “How are you feeling?” he asked then, tone of concern.

It sounded genuine, but Lucerys had let another Targaryen fool him once. It would not happen so easily again.

   “I have had better days.” He exhaled and took another bite of food.

   “I am sure. I hope you forgive my brother for the predicament he has put you in.” Daeron pressed his lips together and shook his head.

   “He has no real use for me. I beg that you let me go.”

A low, familiar growling chuckle rattled through Lucerys’ bones, then a breath seared on the back of his neck.

   "No real use?" The vibrations of Aemond’s voice made Lucerys’ skin rise up in goosebumps. "I’d beg to differ."

The novice choked on the twisting sensation in his stomach as he got on his feet and turned to face the Prince.

Aemond had been cleaned up and given new clothes, clothes similar to those he’d worn when Lucerys had found him on the verge of death. It felt like eons ago now, and Aemond looked like it had never happened at all.

The knight, Ser Criston, had followed Aemond and stood by the entrance of the tent and watched them intently with a hand resting on his sword.

   “Finally found someone pretty enough to warm your bed brother?" Daeron asked in a bored tone as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

From his demeanor alone, it was clear that despite sharing looks - there wasn't much else the two brothers had in common. 

Daeron seemed quite the opposite of Aemond.

   “I’m not in need of a bedwarmer. Of those, I have plenty… Although, I must admit,” Aemond grabbed Lucerys’ by the chin and jerked his face roughly upwards, closer. “He is certainly pretty enough.” 

Aemond winked at him then while puckering his lips.

It was an obvious hint at the intimate moment they had shared back in the Maidenpool crypt, when Lucerys had kissed him.

Aemond was so clearly taunting him for it now. Rubbing the novice’s act of brave affection, it had been at the time at least, in his face.

Lucerys’ temper flared as hot tears appeared in front of his vision. It was less about the words or the cruel teasing and more about the burning anger of everything that had led up to this moment, that he finally broke. 

His hand flew out before he could think to stop it.

He slapped Aemond right across the face.

Lucerys was not a weak person, not really. He’d been trained in everything from swordfighting to different techniques to defend himself. But a lifetime on the training hill with his Maester still wouldn’t have been enough time to prepare him to face such a warrior as Aemond. 

It was evident that the palm of his hand against the Prince’s cheek had done little to no damage. It probably hurt Lucerys more.

A moment of dead silence had however fallen in the tent, all men in the room in stunned shock. Daeron, seemingly concerned, had gotten on his feet and two more guards had entered the tent.

Aemond, looking slightly startled but mostly provoked, was the first to move. He easily grabbed Lucerys by his wrists and hauled him close with a low snarl. 

   “You should not have done that.” The threat hung heavy and sharp.

   “I’ll kill him for laying a hand on you, Your Grace.” Ser Criston, enraged, pulled his sword from its sheath. “Allow me to cut off his head.“

A calm washed over Lucerys as he turned to watch the great knight approach him. He had begged for death for a while now, the Gods had finally heard him it seemed. He welcomed it gladly, he realized.

   "No you may not." Aemond squeezed the grip until the novice felt his bones grind together. “He’s mine .”

Lucerys turned back to peer up at him, outraged at the Prince’s preposterous declaration.

   "I'm not." He gritted out. “I’m not yours.”

The fingers tightened even further, painfully, over his wrist, until he visibly winced.

   “Get the men and the horses ready. Tie this one up and keep him silenced .” Aemond shoved Lucerys back into Ser Criston’s arms. “I wish to get home before the day is done.”

Aemond turned to his younger brother and pointed a dominating finger at him. “And you will stay away from him .” He turned the finger towards Lucerys. “Try and be less like father would you? He’s a prisoner of war, not some damn puppy.”

Aemond turned to Ser Criston. “Take him.”

The sun was just starting to go down, turning the sky into a slow moving firestorm of colors as the walls of the Red Keep came into sight half a day of riding later. Stone ridges rising in the distance, a many-patterned spine along the coast. 

King’s Landing was a hundred times the size of Maidenpool—or at least, it was that grand in memory—and Lucerys held his breath as they passed through the gates and into the protected capital.

It was a pity he was a captive; otherwise he might have had more will to enjoy the incredible scene around him. 

The old Lucerys would have anyway.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

An eye for an eye

Aemond returned to the Red Keep without any clamor. 

He had not bothered to send a runner ahead of his arrival, otherwise the palace staff would have been significantly better prepared. He wasn’t looking to have an audience called to witness his return. 

He had no interest in fanfare. 

Court was a nest of vipers. Filled with venomous, slithering, simpering creatures that would smile sweetly with closed mouths, hiding the schemes and malicious gossip ready to drip from their tongues.

True enough. But Aemond found that the palace hosted a veritable menagerie. Squawking parrots, mimicking the king's words. Bleating sheep, following their sordid shepherd. 

Beaten, groveling dogs, unsure of who to trust, snarling at everyone and everything but still hoping to be thrown a scrap meat off bone from their master.

The palace was enormous and ostentatious but utterly lacking in humanity. There were no people wandering the halls, only beasts in courtiers’ clothing.

And King Aegon II Targaryen, his own brother, held their leashes.

Aegon was no King.

He was a lecherous, conniving creature who’d grown up thinking that because he had the crown he could also have whatever else he wanted.

The great doors opened with a clatter as Aemond stepped through, the heels of his boots striking the stone like the tolling of a bell, echoing through the quiet throne room.

Present in the room were the most trustworthy of the green court, closest family, advisors and Lords on the King’s council. 

All snakes.

Behind Aemond marched Daeron and Ser Criston, followed by Lucerys. The boy’s hands were bound with rope as well as another fastened around his slim throat, held tightly in Ser Cole’s gauntleted hand.

Aemond came to a stop just short of the iron throne. Then he knelt, bowing his head in deference to the King and as one so too did the rest. 

Criston gave a harsh tug on the rope, bringing Lucerys sharply to his knees on the stone. The novice’s head remained bowed, curls falling into his face.

Aegon shifted in his seat, a smile displayed on his lips as he looked upon the party.

   “Dear brothers, it is with great relief that I welcome you upon your return. We feared the worst regarding you , Aemond. Yet, here you kneel.”

   “It has been an interesting couple of days, Your Grace.” Aemond replied, rising once more to his feet.

   “Certainly. I hear Maidenpool belongs to me now.” King Aegon grinned.

   “Yes, Your Grace. Manfryd Mooton has sworn himself loyal to your banner.”

Aegon turned his eyes to Lucerys.

   “And what of the boy?” 

   “A boon, my King,” Aemond said and turned to gesture towards the novice. “I have brought you something of great power, that it might bless your reign and prove a powerful weapon against your enemies.”

Lucerys’ head finally jerked up at that, fixing Aemond with a look of dread.  

Aegon leaned forward abruptly at the announcement, eyes shining with anticipation. “He’s but a novice?” he said, curiously. 

   “He saved my life using his gift,” Aemond looked deep into pleading hazel, trying to speak silent words of assurance of what was about to occur. “He is the reason I am standing before you today. The reason I conquered Maidenpool.”

Gasps echoed around the hall. Aemond’s mother, the dowager Queen, looked between her second son and his savior in shocked disbelief.

The novice bowed his head again under the weight of the crowd’s scrutiny.

   “Very well. Let’s see this power that brought upon us such fortune.” There was glee in his voice.

Aemond nodded, then stepped forward, grabbing the boy by his robes, hauling him to his feet and moving to stand behind him. He pulled Lucerys’ flush against his tall and muscular body.

His hand tightened, clasping the boy’s soft jaw and forcing his head up. It left the pale line of his throat bare and alarmingly vulnerable.

   “Look closely.” Aemond told the court before whispering in Lucerys’ ear. “I truly hope that you won’t disappoint me, little one.” 

He truly hoped he wasn’t making the greatest mistake of his life.

A quick breath, then he slashed his knife across Lucerys’ throat. 

The cut was deep but just deep enough, at least by Aemond’s judgment, to revitalize the novice’s fire. 

The flame had not shown itself since he had sacked Lucerys’ home, had killed his family, had taken him prisoner. 

It was a leap of faith.

A small chance.

To Aemond’s relief… It was enough.

Lucerys collapsed in his arms, gurgling faintly for a moment as he tried to breathe through the lethal threat to his throat. 

His ripped skin however, began weaving itself together almost immediately. 

There was still blood trickling down his neck, but where the knife had cut only a few seconds before - was now new, fresh skin. 

As if Aemond had never drawn the blade.

The room was as still as death.

Daeron, who had been glaring daggers in his back from the moment Aemond had presented Lucerys to the court, was now staring blankly at the scene in front of him in relief and puzzlement.

   “Incredible!” Aegon broke the quiet with a bemused giggle, then followed all the sycophants smiling and applauding. Aemond held Lucerys tightly as he placed two fingers to the boy’s neck and found a pulse, thanking the seven Gods for it.

First step to secure Lucerys’ life within the castle walls was completed. For his next step, Aemond knew he needed to tread even more carefully. 

   “I will grant the court this invaluable gift… On one condition.” Aemond said, tone low.

The room was hushed to new silence. 

   “He will belong to me. You may use him to win this war, my King, in any way you desire. But when you don’t… use him, that is, he is mine.”

Of course the King grinned at that, leering and wolfish. He knew his younger brother well, could read through the facade - because it was a mirror. It didn’t matter, as long as he understood what Aemond wanted him to. 

As long as he couldn’t see what Aemond was truly after.

   “Aemond!” His mother’s scorn voice rang through the room. 

With a raised hand, silencing the dowager Queen, The King leaned back in his seat. “Very well.” Here his lip curled, amusement coloring his tone, “The boy is your prize to claim brother, for all of your recent successes in this war, but he is now a property of my court and will be treated as such. But only those of us present in this room will know the true reason for it. No one else can know of his power or they will try to claim it for themselves.”

Aemond bowed, relieved. It was going exactly like he wanted it to. 

He pulled a panting Lucerys even closer, treasuring the sound of the boy’s heartbeat on his skin.

----

After being carried in Aemond’s arms down hall after hall of the massive castle, Lucerys was set down on what was undeniably a bed. 

As soon as Aemond’s arms withdrew, Lucerys got up, uncaring that his vision was black and his wrists were still bound.

His attempted escape ended before it began. His legs cramping and crumpling beneath his weight, sending him toppling to the floor as his shoulder smashed painfully against the stones.

Lucerys panted through the burning pain as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. 

After having his fire forced through him, he was too dizzy to fight back when Aemond easily picked him up again and returned him to the bed.

Silence hung heavy in the air between them and Lucerys couldn't help but wonder what Aemond was thinking of him as he stood in front of him, watching him breathe through the worst of the daze.

After a long moment Aemond stepped closer. This time he remained there, hovering close but not touching, and Lucerys could feel a slight chill radiating from his body despite his own flame still at work. He ignored how inviting it felt.

It was however harder to ignore when Aemond’s calloused fingers moved carefully over the healing wound of Lucerys’ throat, the small twinges of pain barely registering through the welcome, soothing coolness and the simple pleasure of being touched and held.

Lucerys tried to flinch away but Aemond pursued him, holding his jaw tightly enough that it ached.

   “You did well.” Aemond said. “Stay in bed, or I will have to tie you to it.” His hold on him tightened before releasing altogether.

There it was, another hint at memory shared between them. It had been Lucerys’ words the last time, when it had been an injured Aemond trying to rise from his bed down in the Maidenpool crypt.

   “You-You told them…” Lucerys desperately sobbed as he tried sitting up.

   “Of course I did.” Aemond deadpanned.

Lucerys felt his heart begin to trip on its rhythm. "Why?" he croaked.

   “What other purpose do you think I brought you here for? From this day, you and your power will serve the court in the current war.”

   “No.” Lucerys cried, the word a defiant snarl.

Aemond’s lips twitched once. “You won’t have a say in the matter. You'll find your stay here pleasurable, I’m sure.”

The doors to the room opened and a bearded man in shining armor walked in.

   “This is Ser Arryk. He is to be your personal guard from now on. He follows my command, and will make sure you do as well.”

Aemond then moved towards the entrance. 

   “Guard him with your life. If anyone wants to so much as look at him, they will require permission from me,” Lucerys heard Aemond order Ser Arryk before leaving the room. “And make sure he eats, drinks and sleeps. If he refuses - force him.”

   “Let me go! Please!”

The only reply was the heavy echo of Aemond’s retreating footsteps. Ser Arryk bowed his head slightly before leaving the room and closing the heavy doors with a loud clang. 

Lucerys sobbed until his voice gave out. He stopped crying eventually, the tears drying hot on his cheeks and in the curves of his neck.

His throat was raw, his eyes burning behind closed lids. 

All Lucerys wanted was to go away, just for a little while, but he couldn’t fall asleep.

He shifted on the bed and the pain came back. Dulled from the crippling agony of before, it was still enough to make his throat clamp tight. 

He opened his eyes to look at his prison.

It took him hours to work himself up to getting out of the bed. As long as he moved slowly, the pain was bearable. Lucerys tested the door, finding it locked from the outside as expected.

Slowly returning to the bed, he put his head against the pillow and thought of Aemond. 

How the Prince had cut his throat which would have killed anyone else. He had gambled with Lucerys’ life… all to please the Targaryen court. 

The Novice placed a gentle touch against his own neck, against the ghostfeeling of Aemond’s blade still tickling him there. 

He knew now just how trapped he was, how trapped he had been since he had found the silver man in the sea. 

The moonlight curled invitingly around the edges of the window as he finally allowed himself rest.

----

Aemond left him alone for days. Ser Arryk became his only company, giving him meals three times a day and allowed him to use the restroom when he needed. They bathed him and clothed him.

It was still a robe, much like his Maidenpool one he had been allowed to keep, except it was darker and kept together by golden clasps imitating two dragons facing each other decorating the collar.

To show who he belonged to now.

Lucerys told himself a lot of lies as the days went on. He told himself that he doesn't feel worried about Aemond’s absence. 

That someone was looking for him, he just had to wait.

He told himself that someone would find him. They had to.

It felt less and less true with every rasp of his own breath in the empty room.

On the fifth day, Ser Arryk and two more guards suddenly roused him from his rest. They took him through the halls of the castle to a room in the northern wing, where the King’s hand and the Grand Maester awaited him.

The King’s hand, Otto Hightower, scanned him up and down with an unimpressed look. 

The Grand Maester was however smiling warmly at him. It made Lucerys think of Maester Corlys. Made him miss him severely. Made him hate himself all over again for getting him killed.

Gazing out over the room behind them, Lucerys realized that it was the castle infirmary. Beds were lined against the two long walls. 

Not a single bed was empty.

Soldier upon soldier with large wounds or severed limbs screamed in a choir of pain where they laid. The sight, the sound… made Lucerys’ stomach twist.

   “You are here to heal these men.” Otto Hightower prompted. 

   "Are- I-" Lucerys dug his nails into the palms of his hands and forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can.” 

He knew he couldn’t. It was impossible for him to heal all of those men. Not in one go. He was afraid he barely had enough fire for one man.

   “You will or you will be punished.” Otto Hightower stated simply as Ser Arryk wrapped a gentle hand around Lucerys arm and guided him towards the closest bed.

   “Please my dear boy, try.” The Grand Maester begged as he kneeled on the floor beside the pale soldier. 

He had five gaping holes in his abdomen from what seemed to have been stabs from a sword, bleeding profusely from each wound.  

   “I-,” Lucerys whispered, the trembling increasing as he was pushed to kneel on the opposite side of the bed. "I don't-" His mouth went dry, his mind blank.

   “It’s okay, just do what you can.”

Lucerys closed his eyes, pain squeezing tight around his chest as he placed shaky hands on top of the man’s abdomen. He returned in memory to what Maester Corlys had taught him. To all of those hours of practice. Of healing small animals to larger animals and then humans. 

Of learning that it took most of his strength to give his fire to someone else, and that he needed to be careful to not spend himself.

He searched for the flames, and to his surprise he found them as easily as if they had been simmering at the surface all along. 

His power had been latent since he’d been taken from his home. He had tried calling for it, but it had ignored his wishes. 

Aemond had forced it out and it had gladly done his bidding for him then, now, it was as if it was happy to oblige. 

In his heart, Lucerys didn’t want these men to die from such agony as was displayed. But he also didn’t want to help the enemy win the war.

The war that had taken everything from him.

The fire didn’t care, it seemed, as it rushed through him. Through blood and veins and bones and out the palms of his hands. The man beneath him howled, then whined and then turned completely silent.

Lucerys could feel the wounds grow smaller underneath his touch. Could feel the man’s health build, while at the same time he could feel his own deteriorate, slowly but surely.

He felt himself grow more and more disoriented. Sense the headache moving across his scalp to fester and punch wherever it wished. 

Slowly lifting his hands to let them hover over the body, he needed a break. The man cried out again and a rough grip on Lucerys’ shoulder in warning followed quickly.

He placed his hands back out of fear. 

But he needed to stop.

He needed to breathe, he couldn’t.

If he kept going he would surely-

The Maester’s face began to swim in Lucerys’ vision, warping in and out of shape.

Then like blowing out a candle in the night, he saw nothing.

Lucerys woke again to a cool, damp cloth moving over his forehead. He instinctively jerked back from the touch and hit his head against something hard. 

Pain lanced through his skull, bright lights exploded in front of his closed eyes and Lucerys fought to turn his head before he puked.

Hands held him steady as he gagged, sour, thin fluid trickling over his tongue. When he was done, nothing left but the bitter taste, he forced his eyes open.

He expected to see the Grand Maester or Ser Arryk crouching over him.

Not Aemond. He had not expected Aemond.

Aemond was dressed in shades of black from his boots to his eye-patch. His violet eyes, the only drop of color on him.

The Prince’s hands were surprisingly and treacherously gentle as they moved over him. Hating how calming it felt, Lucerys looked away, focusing on the looming emptiness of the ceiling above him. 

   “Wha- What happe-” Lucerys broke off, the words catching in his throat. He felt worn down to the bone, his head spinning, and he had to fight to keep his eyes from closing.

   “They used too much of you at ones.” Aemond whispered as he dipped the rag in a bowl of water on the bedside table. “Imbeciles.” 

Silence hung in the room for a while as Aemond worked the damp cloth over the novice’s skin. The water was cold, on purpose Lucerys was certain of. Aemond knew about his power in ways no one else did.

Had seen it first hand. Had taken care of him through the worst of it. 

   “How could you?” Lucerys asked then, because he needed to know this more than anything in the world.

   “How could I what?” 

   “How could you let me fall in love with you…”

He decided to let it out now, now that they were alone for the first time since Maidenpool. He decided that it no longer mattered if Aemond knew or not. Lucerys was pretty certain he did. 

Of course he had. He had fallen quick and hard, like a bird shot down with an arrow. Aemond had been the new, fascinating and promising idea of a future. 

Despite everything that had happened. Despite everything Aemond had done. There was still that damn hope left. Hope of that promise in the crypt not too long ago.

Aemond just looked at him, not saying a word. He blinked a few times and Lucerys swore he saw a hint of remorse, of sorrow. Maybe, just maybe, there was a corner of a thought that Aemond felt the same. 

Aemond leaned close then, and kissed the novice on the lips. It was tender, slow, and held meaning. Lucerys kissed back, not being able to help himself.

He had longed for this for so long. 

Aemond leaned back slowly, looked the novice in the eyes and sighed.

   “I’m leaving…”

   “W-What?” Lucerys stuttered out.

   “I am leaving for the Riverlands in the morrow.” 

Lucerys tried sitting up at that but was pushed down by Aemond’s strong hands.

   “What are you talking about? Why?”

   “There is still a war. A war I have duties to partake in. I won’t be gone too long, a few months at most-”

   “You… You are leaving me here.” Lucerys felt his eyes cloud, tears threatening to fall. 

It felt wrong to speak the words in that way, as if Aemond was his only anchor in this gilded cage. But he had just admitted that he loved the Prince. That he had fallen straight into his trap and had made himself comfortable in it.

He shouldn’t feel this way, but it was the truth. Living - no, existing in this place without Aemond - was unimaginable. 

The only hope he had left he had left with Aemond. 

Aemond could not leave…

   “Of course. You have your duties too. You will fulfill them in the meantime and focus on strengthening your powers. Daeron will keep you company. Ser Arryk will see to your needs.”

   “No, you can’t do this. Not after everything you put me through you-” Lucerys choked, his face burning hot with anger, with desperate disbelief. “How can you expect me to agree to this? You said you’d take me with you! You said that the world deserved to be viewed by me !” He tried to move up again but the larger boy gripped him easily.

   “Agree? You are my prisoner, you do as you're told.” Lucerys flinched. “And I said what I said back then to get you to trust me, that is it.” he said calmly.

And there it was. The truth. It swallowed him up.

In a flash, Lucerys pulled the blade from the Prince's belt.

The knife he had found in Aemond’s belt. The knife he had threatened the Prince with who in turn had threatened him with it. The knife Aemond had used to cut his throat with.

The anger, the betrayal was so blinding Lucerys could no longer see. 

Aemond didn’t deserve to see either.

He swung and cut Aemond… right across his left eye.

The rest was a blur. He fell back onto the bed, his fire still not quenched enough to keep him up.

Lucerys let the voices fade away until they were nothing but background noise to the grating rasp of his own breath and the slow throb of his blood rushing through his body.

He doesn't hear the rest of Aemond’s screaming, doesn't notice how more people had entered the room and were all surrounding the Prince on the floor. 

He closed his eyes and let everything drift by him, even the distant pulses of pain that came.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

You are my storm

15 months later

King’s Landing was the kind of place where time slipped and blurred, where a month, a year, a life can go missing. 

Many did.

Aemond had sworn his would not. 

Returning after a long time away gave perspective of just how monotonous life can become if rooted in place for too long.

The thing about roots though, is that you can become so entwined with the people you keep in your life as if you belong together as part of the same tree. No matter how hard you try to break free you can’t. His people, his tree, had all remained here.

Aemond had tried to break free. By leaving he had. Still, here he was a year later and his heart ached as he walked the halls of his home, trying to find what he had escaped. 

Who… he had escaped.

As he descended the steps on the northern side of the castle, he noticed the growth behind the stable yard stretching up towards the pink, setting sky. He rounded the neighing building and approached what had not long ago been the edge of the citrus hill, near Vaella’s resting place.

He found Ser Arryk standing by an arbor entrance to a garden that had not existed before Aemond left, guarding it.

Guarding him.

The knight stepped aside for the Prince and gave a low bow. A welcome home gesture. Aemond nodded his head in response, but kept the silence. 

No words were needed for what they both knew he wanted.

To be alone with him.

Aemond passed through the ivy-dressed arch and stepped right into a kaleidoscopic array of plants, trees, shrubs and flowers. 

It was maze-like due to the elaborate hedge rows and vibrant flower beads of highly scented formal roses, daisies and calendulas.

Aemond remembered being told that Heleana had asked the boy to turn the quaint area by the previous queen’s resting place into something more of beauty.

The novice had chosen a healing garden. 

Of course he had.

Daring a fond smile as he trailed down the green paths, Aemond marvelly gazed around. It was an impossible view, he knew, nothing could grow this fast. 

Not without magic.

He reached the weeping linden at the center, acting as the roof of a miniature garden room, the shade tree enclosing the familiar stone bench that had been left untouched for years.

From the low branches hung glass lanterns on strings by the tenths and what Aemond realized as he looked closer; just as many small, folded paper dragons.

He reached up to lightly flick one, making it sway.

And then, he was there, out of focus behind the origami ornament and the next second in stark contrast, standing amongst the narcissus.

Lucerys.

The novice was taller and leaner than last, his otherwise full cheeks relieved of the last remnants of baby weight. His features however still remained soft and gently contoured in his favor.

Hair the same color as a moonless sky had been thinned out some, curls tighter and wilder for it. 

Rich hazel almonds shadowed by thick and luxurious eyelashes were looking at Aemond widely. Despite it all, still as innocent and tranquil as the first time he’d gazed into them.

Bowshaped lips were familiarly parted, revealing the slight and charming overbite. 

Aemond was reminded of the sweetness of those plump, rosy lips on his and felt a sudden carnal urge to taste them again.

Lucerys was as immaculately beautiful as ever.

   “You’ve grown.” Was all Aemond could muster in the midst of all the awe.

The boy retreated a step in visible shock as he spoke, and the chatter of iron against iron echoed in its wake.

Aemond looked down to find both wrists and ankles dressed in chains. 

Time had slipped and blurred, but everything was always still the same.

----

Something in Lucerys faltered at the sound of Aemond’s voice. 

Something warm at the center of him unwinded.

Because he had waited.

Of course he had. 

Holding his breath in dread as much as hope for so long. Now it rushed from his lungs as the silver man had appeared before him suddenly.

And the way he looked, standing in the candle-lit garden with the sun falling at his back.

Wind-blown and shadow-edged, in a simple dark tunic, the laces open at the collar. The firelight from the lanterns danced across his face, shading the edges of his jaw and cheek and brow.

He had grown too. The passing of time had stretched him taller and broader, and had sharpened every angle on his handsome face, enhancing the perfect milky white plains of his skin.

The violet in his eyes, as cold and bright as a star, still as captivating as always.

No.

Not eyes...

Lucerys had seen to that.

The remnants of what had been his left eye was kept hidden behind an eye-patch, the scar of Lucerys’ making peeking out from its corners.

   “You’re back.” Lucerys finally exhaled in response.

The all too known blush crept up his neck from the way the Prince was looking at him so, but it was no longer from the nervous anticipation of hopeful courting. 

It was only the fire within him reminding him of that hope. He no longer had faith in such silly things. Had no belief left of a happy ending with Aemond.

Because Aemond had left. Had left him. 

He had left him with an echo of feelings he could no longer place.

   “You’ve done wonderous things to this place.” Aemond reached to fidget with a dragon hanging from the closest branch. “I would often sit underneath this very tree and read for hours on end.”

Lucerys knew this. “Yes. Heleana told me.” He knew many things about Aemond now.

Over the past months Heleana had told him stories of memories about her brother. Had given him some humanity, some heart. He had seen hints of it back in the Maidenpool crypt, but it made Lucerys ache to never have known that Aemond.

Heleana was proof that the Targaryens had good in them. 

Had been Lucerys’ only anchor in the storm that had been the year he’d spent as captive in the Red Keep. Had given him a purpose. Had treated him not as a prisoner but a friend.

Sure, his mind had grown accustomed to the design of a gilded cage long before. He could not tell what freedom truly was. These were just another set of walls keeping him wishing for more.

He had wanted more with Aemond.

   “She also told me that you got married,” He continued, his tone growing cold and distant, and looking away as Aemond’s eye quickly gazed his way. “and soon to be a father.”

The day Lucerys had been told of the news he had thrown himself in bed, cried and cried and cried while desperately calling for his fire to burn him up from the inside. 

Any way to stop the pain from his broken heart. 

But it had refused him and so he had been forced to feel. 

Feel it all so much.

It had been the worst torture yet.

Until time passed some more and the feeling turned into fuel to his fire instead, and had become the main driver to make his power stronger. 

Anger.

   “I have a duty to produce heirs and strengthen the family name.” Aemond replied with the voice of detachment as he left the dangling dragons and began approaching the novice slowly. “But it is all formalities.”

   “I see.” The novice’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and weak as he tried to remain as still as possible, eyes on the floral earth. “Well, I have heard your formality is a rare beauty.”

Everything usually was with Aemond, formalities, nothing to put heart or mind to. Just a project to forward his conceited desires. 

Lucerys felt like one.

   ”I only collect rare, beautiful things after all," Aemond murmured, suddenly there, a mere inch before him, raking his eye over Lucerys' soft features. "keeps me less bored."

Damn him. 

The novice quickly turned his face away as he could feel his lower lip tremble at the unfairness the Prince had brought into his safe haven, tarnishing it already.

Lucerys stood no chance despite all the months he had polished his armor and prepared for this battle.

The battle of having to face Aemond again.

He had told himself over and over for over a year that he would not falter for Aemond anymore. Would not let himself break and break and break for Aemond like before. Would not allow Aemond to make his heart hurt again.

He would win the battle. 

And here Lucerys was now, faltering, breaking, heart almost bursting from his chest.

Losing.

A sudden coolness on his cheek, as Aemond turned his face to his. The touch, the familiar feeling on his skin, the longing eyes staring into his - it was all too much, too much of what he had fought so hard to leave behind.

Lucerys flinched, twisting his face away with a breathy “No”, but Aemond simply grabbed him by his jaw, pulling him back.

   “No…” He croaked again, raising chained hands and fumbling fingers to pry the man’s hand off, to no avail.

It was all to no avail.

   “Lucerys,” Aemond grunted, eye blazing as he inched closer, lips grazing. 

   “Please, don’t.” Lucerys pleaded. He hated the way it weakened him so much, how it made him feel to hear Aemond say his name in such a long time, and hated the way he leaned into the word like a body seeking shelter from a storm.

But he could not do this again, because Aemond wasn’t shelter.

He wasn’t safety.

Aemond was the storm.

   “You will spend the evening with me.” Aemond stated then before releasing the grip on him as if burned and hastily retreating from where he had come.

   “I do not want to.” Lucerys cried out to the Prince’s broad back.

   “I do not care.” Was Aemond’s final words before exiting the garden.

----

The fire crackled in the grate, sparking and dancing under the marble mantle in Aemond’s chambers later that evening.

He had missed it.

The row of shelves lining the far wall, wrought in dark wood, intricate scrollwork carved into the surface, crammed with leather-bound must. 

Had missed the view over Blackwater Bay from his window, now black, sorrowful and starry.

Had missed the scent of elderflower the servants weaved into the fabric of the bedsheets.

Despite how much he didn’t want to allow himself to feel it, it was home, and it felt good to be back.

He’d taken part in the meeting with the King's council about his further advances and conquerings of the Riverlands, had been congratulated for it, A feast would be held in his name. 

He had in return been notified of Lucerys’ impressive work in the medical wing, about all the soldiers he’d brought back from an otherwise imminent demise. How his power was the second main force in the winning of the war. 

But that he had also been a flight risk, had at times refused to eat and had even tried, in vain, to hurt himself, hence the chains.

He was told that Daeron and Lucerys had grown close, much to Aemond’s dismay. But he still acknowledged that his brother and sister had seen to the novice’s good health and sanity the past months. 

He was grateful for it.

What Aemond kept to himself during the meeting was his other mission in the Riverlands. The secret one. The one concerning Lucerys.

A light knock at the door followed by a creak as it opened revealed the boy in all of his beauty. Ser Arryk led Lucerys inside with a hand around his bicep and Aemond’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

He had been bathed, Aemond could tell by the faint scent of citrus scented soap filling the room and the fresh robe they had dressed him in.

The dirt and flower stains that had coated the boy’s fingers and had darkened the tip of his nose earlier was gone. 

A tragedy really.

Lucerys looked the most pretty when covered in his passions.

As the knight let go of his hold on him, the boy bowed at Aemond. 

Not out of courtesy, the gesture was practiced. Held no value.

The out of character mannerism concerned the Prince. He waited to comment on it until Ser Arryk left them alone.

   “Don’t do that.” He sneered, slightly annoyed, as the door shut behind the knight.

   “Do what, Your Grace?”

   “You’ve never bowed to me before… And don’t call me that either.” 

   “I insist I must, Your Grace.” Lucerys’ tone was as flat as his expression, gaze focused on the stone floor between them. "I was surprised earlier in the garden and forgot myself."

   “This is my grandfather’s doing, isn’t it?”

Lucerys didn’t respond to his claim but slowly trailed his hazel up to meet mauve, the answer hidden in the silence.

   "Why am I here?" The boy asked after a moment of quiet as Aemond walked over to the fireplace and the low table he had requested to be set with small delicatesses from all over Westeros. 

Since Lucerys couldn’t see the world, yet, Aemond would bring the world to him.

   "Because I want you here." He replied simply and gestured for Lucerys to sit down on the settee before he lowered himself down on it.

Silence lingered at his statement for a while. Lucerys would often flush prettily at such endearments.

Not this time.

   “Am I here to amuse you, then?” Lucerys slowly approached the lounging area of the room, lips in a tight line, jaw clenched, tone of voice level.

   “Yes. Amuse me.” Aemond glanced up at him from underneath his eyelashes, challenging.

He wanted Lucerys beside him, now.

   "Where is your wife?" 

   "Not here." Aemond patted the settee beside him with impatience. 

And so the boy let up and claimed his seat beside Aemond. 

His body language had been hesitant, tense and impassive from the moment he had walked through the doors, since they'd seen each other for the first time in months in the garden really.

Watching his shoulders easing slightly, was a good sign. He wanted Lucerys’ comfort more than his compliance. 

   “I heard you’ve amused my dear little brother during the past months.” Aemond said, slipping his fingers underneath Lucerys’ chin and forcing him to look up. “He cares for you dearly.”

   “Prince Daeron is nothing like you.” Lucerys returned, though the words held no venom. “His company is easy on all senses.”

   “You have never wanted it easy, little one.”

Aemond moved the hair out of Lucerys' hazel eyes, to find the young, innocent love he had once felt for him in the midst of the dark forest, far gone.

The thing the Prince had lived for, the ease with which he had been able to provoke the boy. How delicious it had been, to set his pendulum of emotion swinging from one extreme to the other.

It was gone.

Aemond no longer wanted it.

Not like he had before. 

And Lucerys no longer showed signs of the pendulum.

He was no longer an innocent boy.

Lucerys had changed.

Aemond had changed. 

The two of them together were not the same.

Aemond’s hands tightened at the realization, but Lucerys did not quiver, did not cower, simply held his gaze and asked,

   “So, what are you waiting for?”

Aemond furrowed his eyebrows at the question.

  “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?" He bit out each word slowly. "How you’ve always looked at me?”

   “Lucerys…” Aemond warned, this is not what he wanted. “That’s enough.” 

Or… did he? What did he want? Why had he brought Lucerys to his chambers tonight?

He no longer recollected his intention.

But surely it wasn’t… 

   "Why?" Lucerys returned, mocking, despite no hint of mirth. "I belong to you.”

That is when the boy began to disrobe, working at the dragon cuffs at the collar.

   "That’s enough," Aemond hissed, but Lucerys just kept taking off his robe. Aemond grabbed at him, knocking his hands away, gripping his wrists tightly when he tried to pull away.

   “I am still your prisoner after all this time even if you are pretending otherwise.” Lucerys bursted out. Composure gone. “I have asked for mercy, I have asked for death. You’ve kept denying me. Now I ask for the one thing I know you’ve wanted to take from me since you first laid your eyes on me. So take it… take it like you’ve taken everything else.” 

It was so much anger, hatred, sorrow and desperation being released altogether. Aemond could feel the boy’s skin grow hotter, his fire power blazing with the mixture of emotions.

   “Enough!” snarled Aemond, fury and fear snapping in his eyes.

He grabbed Lucerys by the throat and pulled him closer. The grip was not to cut air but to hold him in place. His face lingered mere inches from Lucerys’, breath ghosting over rosy lips.

   “You said I was too young for you back then.” Lucerys sneered and sobbed, the burn of his skin easing up a bit. “What am I now?” 

Was it hatred the novice was displaying? Aemond had only been sure for a moment, but with Lucerys’ recent words he no longer knew. 

What was he now? Aemond didn't know. 

   “Take what is yours already…” Lucerys said then, vehemence dripping from his voice. “or let me go...”

   “I can’t.”

It was true. Aemond couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if he meant either or both, but he couldn’t. 

Not when it came to Lucerys.

   “Heleana is wrong about your heart.” The boy heaved, tears falling freely down his face now. “I was wrong too but I know better now. I know you are not capable of using it because you cannot understand what it is to care for someone else more than yourself. If you cared for me, you would have let me go by now.”

   “It is because I love you that I won’t!” Aemond shouted and he understood then just how wrong he was to call what he had done to the novice love despite his true intentions, while also realizing that the feeling he had carried in his heart for Lucerys for so long was the most real thing he had ever felt in his life.

Lucerys’ lips parted, eyebrows arched, face in disbelief which darkened with each passing second as the words dawned on him.

The Prince shuddered in spite of the warmth that surrounded him.

   “I ones said that it doesn’t matter how much you hurt me as long as you don’t leave me.” His words were a dangerous whisper. “But you did. You did leave me. Now you have returned and you insist on hurting me still. It matters to me now, I will no longer stand for it.”

Lucerys abandoned it all, rushed through the door and pushed past Ser Arryk out of the room and down the hall, away.

Ser Arryk immediately ran after him, leaving Aemond alone with what he thought was an aching heart…

But he could no longer be sure.