Chapter Text
Lucera looked like a drowned cat. As skittish as one, too, twitching at the sound of thunder rumbling outside Storm’s End. She’d never liked storms.
Aemond watched her attempt to tame her sodden curls into something resembling a civilized hairstyle. Now she looked like a drowned lapdog, one of those ridiculous breeds that wasn’t even large enough to hunt a grasshopper. She was almost small enough to be mistaken for one.
Lucera lifted her chin, trying to appear dignified as she followed her escorts across the hall to Borros’s throne. Then she tripped on the hem of her heavy cloak.
She regained her balance before she could fall. Nonetheless, Aemond chuckled meanly. It was the only sound in the crowded room, other than the occasional rustle of skirts and the rain battering the castle.
As his chuckle echoed against the stone walls, Lucera’s eyes snapped toward him. She glared, and Aemond was half-convinced she would stick out her tongue at him, just like when they were children. But she merely sniffed haughtily, as if he were unworthy of her notice, then continued walking toward Borros.
Lucera commenced a laughable attempt to intimidate Borros into declaring his allegiance to Rhaenyra. First she reminded Borros of “his oaths.” That failed catastrophically.
As Borros paused his tantrum so he could take a breath, Lucera hurriedly interrupted, “Your loyalty would not go unrewarded, my lord. My uncle—” She looked disdainfully at Aemond. “—has offered to wed one of your daughters. I would give all four of your daughters the opportunity to make excellent matches. My sister Jacaera will be the queen after our mother. She will require ladies-in-waiting as her most trusted companions at court. Your daughters are our kinswomen by way of our grandmother Rhaenys, so they are naturally our foremost choices for this crucial role. While they are at the royal court, we will help them arrange advantageous marriages—to men who actually have inheritances of their own.”
When Lucera looked disdainfully at Aemond, his amusement vanished. He had no need of measly piles of gold. He had a dragon. The threat of Vhagar could win him anything he wanted, from kingdoms to riches, but the wealthiest man in the world could never buy a dragon. Besides, Lucera’s husband-to-be, Daemion Velaryon, had neither an inheritance nor a dragon. She was in no position to sneer at Aemond.
“However,” Lucera continued, “I understand that not everyone enjoys the constant activity and excitement at King’s Landing. If any of your daughters prefer a quieter setting, I would welcome them at High Tide after mine own marriage takes place. It is an easy journey from Driftmark to the capital, so—”
Aemond tired of the farce. No matter how Lucera worded the offer, even someone as lackwitted as Borros knew it was paltry compared to Aemond’s. “My Lord Baratheon,” Aemond cut in, drawing everyone’s attention, “the princess’ offer is not as generous as she would have you believe. If her own betrothed is an indication of what she considers an excellent math, then your daughters would fare better devoting themselves to the Faith.”
As the watching courtiers whispered and tittered, Lucera glowered at Aemond. A perfumed hand tentatively touched his elbow. Aemond shook off Cassandra, too intent on the fury twisting Lucera’s expression.
“Daemion Velaryon is a good man,” Lucera declared. “For one thing, he is gallant.”
Aemond twitched at the reminder of her words at Driftmark all those years ago.
“And he’s funny,” she continued. “He can tell a joke and take a joke. If someone laughs at him, he takes it in stride. He doesn’t let his pride get the better of him, unlike certain other, humorless men of my acquaintance.”
As Lucera spoke, she held Aemond’s gaze, making it abundantly clear that she was referring to him. He prepared to retaliate, but she wasn’t done yet.
“Speaking of pride, Daemion is quite humble, actually. He isn’t so convinced of his own superiority that he persists in being willfully blind to his own faults.”
Blind.
Blind.
Aemond clenched his jaw, determined not to let the curious bystanders see the rage burning beneath his stony expression. But Lucera knew. She always knew the best way to needle him, and she always knew when she succeeded.
As she glowed with triumph, he decided to snatch her ill-gotten victory from her clutches. With a deliberately calm tone, he said, “Your devotion to your future husband is admirable, Lady Velaryon.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
He continued, smiling placidly as if his words were utterly innocent, “I did not expect such fidelity from one who gives and rescinds her favor in less time than it takes to bat her eyelashes at the next man.”
Their audience, especially the ladies, gasped in shock. Aemond’s smile grew as Lucera’s smugness instantly disappeared. Aemond had said nothing false. She had been an outrageous flirt during her most recent visit to King’s Landing, even with her new betrothed at her side. In fact, Daemion seemed to have encouraged Lucera’s shenanigans. It was a disastrous marriage in the making.
If anybody read deeper meaning in Aemond’s words and decided he meant something more sordid than mere flirtation, that was their mistake.
But Lucera, stubborn creature that she was, refused to surrender. Aemond was actually a bit startled when she began stalking toward him, as if to challenge him to a duel then and there. Several Baratheon guards hastened forward to intercept her.
“What does that make you when you were begging to marry such a slattern before you slunk here for a consolation prize?” Lucera shrieked as she struggled to fight her way past the guards. “One wonders if I kicked your balls so hard that they fell clean off all those years ago. It would explain a lot because you certainly act like you’re still a boy of twelve!”
“ENOUGH!” Borros surged up from his throne. “Princess Lucera, I will not tolerate insults toward my future good-son. You have exhausted your welcome. Guards, escort the princess to her dragon—”
“No need, my lord.” Lucera’s lip curled as she glared at Aemond. “I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of batting my eyelashes at your men.” She whirled around, dramatically swishing her cloak as she did so, and stormed out of the hall.
Behind him, Cassandra sighed. “My prince, I am so sorry you had to—Prince Aemond, where are you going?”
He ignored the cries for him to stop. He swiftly exited the castle, stepping into the courtyard just in time to see Lucera reach for Arrax’s saddle.
“Lucera!” Aemond shouted.
She stopped and scowled at him as he strode toward her. “Were you not finished calling me a strumpet?” she snarled.
“I did not call you—”
“That is exactly what you were insinuating, and we both know it!” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You impugned my honor—”
“You insulted me first,” he retorted.
“Because you insulted Daemion!”
“I said nothing false. Your betrothed can offer you nothing of value. He has no inheritance, no dragon—”
“Oh, I see,” she said loudly. “Was this your twisted attempt to get me to reconsider your offer of marriage? Well, I shan’t, and I made my reasons for refusing quite clear in my most recent letter.”
A vein throbbed in his forehead at the reminder of that letter. “The fears you described are unfounded. I would not denigrate you from dawn ‘til dusk—”
Lucera laughed, long and hard and mean. “What are you doing now if not denigrating me?”
“I am correcting your misunderstanding of my character.”
She just looked at him, unimpressed. “I have a perfectly clear understanding of your character. My answer is still no.” She quickly climbed into Arrax’s saddle. “Don’t invite me to your wedding. I won’t be inviting you to mine. Goodbye, Aemond.”
Before he could stop her, she ordered Arrax to take flight. Fuming, Aemond raced for Vhagar and climbed into her saddle quicker than he’d ever climbed before. “Follow them!” he shouted at Vhagar as he strapped himself into the saddle.
He wasn’t entirely sure what his goal was. Seize Lucera as a hostage? Convince her that he was in fact her best choice for a husband? Either way, he needed to actually talk to Lucera without her exploding in a fit of temper. She was so damn stubborn, it was going to drive him into an early grave.
She had been afraid of storms as a child. He could tell by her jitteriness in the hall that she was still afraid, at least a little. Her pretense of confidence was just that—a pretense. There was no way she would remain airborne for long, not while thunder and lightning were erupting all around her. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to force her to land. Then she would have no choice but to converse with him in a civilized manner.
Although the deluge of rain obscured Aemond’s vision, Vhagar’s massive wings cut through it like it was merely a drizzle. Ahead, the pale glimmer that was Arrax struggled against the gales.
“Closer!” Aemond barked.
Vhagar drew so close to Arrax, the air current generated by her wing knocked the smaller dragon off-course. As Arrax righted himself, Aemond tried to spot his rider. He could only make out Lucera’s outline amid the gloom of the storm.
“Land!” he yelled. “I must speak with you!”
Lucera bellowed back something that sounded like “Go fuck yourself.” Then Arrax spat a fiery plume at Vhagar.
The flames grazed Vhagar’s side. The damage was negligible, but Vhagar howled in rage. She responded in kind.
Arrax dodged the blaze just in time and raced away. Aemond pulled hard on Vhagar’s reins, but she ignored him as she gave chase. Now Aemond fervently prayed for the opposite of his desires a moment ago: Fly faster, Lucera, get away, don’t let her catch you.
At first, he thought Lucera might escape. Arrax was flying upward, intent on breaking through the clouds and rising above the storm. But then, at the last second, Arrax turned around and attacked Vhagar again. This time his flames struck her throat, where she was more sensitive. Screeching in pained fury, Vhagar surged forward and opened her mouth.
“NO!” Aemond screamed, to no avail.
Vhagar’s jaws closed around Arrax’s head, ripping it from his body as easily as tearing paper. Lucera screamed in the saddle. For several delusional moments, Aemond was assured by that scream, because it meant she was alive at least, undevoured by Vhagar.
Then Arrax’s body began to fall, taking Lucera with it.
“Dive! Dive, dive, dive!”
Vhagar obeyed Aemond’s orders, even as she continued chewing Arrax’s head. The wind battered Aemond’s face as they raced the free-falling dragon corpse. Lucera was still screaming.
“Aemond!” The wind threatened to swallow Lucera’s shrieks. “Aemond, help!”
“Faster!” he howled. “Faster, Vhagar!”
Vhagar tucked her wings against her body so she could dive more quickly. The distance closed between them and Arrax’s body. They were so, so close. Just a bit farther, and Vhagar could—
Arrax’s body struck the water. Aemond didn’t lose hope yet—until Vhagar crashed into the water immediately afterwards. For a short while, Aemond and his dragon were both completely submerged in the cold sea. Vhagar hastily surfaced, however, and soon Aemond was gulping in lungfuls of air again.
His relief at not drowning was short-lived. “Lucera,” he wheezed. His throat was hoarse from seawater. He craned his neck, looking every which way for any sign of Arrax’s pearlescent hide bobbing in the water.
There was only darkness.
“Lucera!” he shouted. “Lucera, where are you?”
Only the sound of crashing waves met his ears. She was a strong swimmer, though, a true daughter of Driftmark. It would be no trouble for her to find her way to the surface.
“Lucera, this isn’t a game. Show yourself this instant!”
She remained hidden. Fine. If she wouldn’t come out, then he would find her, just like when they used to play hide-and-seek.
“Vhagar.” His hands trembled around the reins. He was freezing. “Vhagar, we need to find them.”
Vhagar let out a low rumble. She didn’t move from her position, aimlessly afloat in the sea.
“Vhagar, find them.”
His dragon remained unresponsive.
Fine. He would do it himself. He reached down to unfasten his harness.
Vhagar bellowed in protest and thrashed, forcing him to cling to the saddle with both hands.
“Vhagar!” His voice cracked. Lucera used to giggle when his voice cracked, back when he was a boy of twelve and she didn’t hate him. “Vhagar, please.”
She turned his head so he could see her enormous, glowing eye. If he didn’t know any better, he would think there was pity in her wrinkled, draconic face.
“Please,” he begged one last time. Please, Vhagar. Please, old gods and the new. Please, gods of my ancestors. Please, the red god and whatever other heathen deities might be out there. Please just let me find her, and I will commit my soul to your worship.
But there were no gods—or mayhaps they deemed his soul of no value. The sea roiled mercilessly, hiding Lucera forever from his view.
“I give up,” he whispered. “You win, Lucera. Just come out, and we can go home.”
He waited there for hours, shivering on Vhagar’s back as they bobbed in the sea.
Lucera never came out.