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Every morning is a torture; a slow, deliberate and sharp pain cursing though his body at the sight of his child in Aegon's arms, in his life, in his heart.
Aemond doesn't know what is worse; what Luke knew the child was his and purposefully married Aegon to hide it, or what Aegon knew and didn't seem to care. Or rather considered the child - Laenor - his.
In the end Lucerys sought Aemond himself; tired and weary from the childbirth, giggly with the joy Laenor's arrival brought, he faced his uncle alone, in the courtyard there the older prince retreated to collect his thoughts.
"I believe you have a lot of questions," was the first thing he ever said to the father of his child.
Aemond rose from the ground, tensing immediately.
"Yes," he started. "Why?"
Something wild flashed in Lycerys' eyes then, wild and sharp and angry.
"Wrong question. Care to try again?"
Aemond cleared his throat.
"Aegon?" came out then. "Really?"
Luke snorted.
"I believe you have already asked something of that kind more than half of a year ago," he rolled his weary, red-rimmed eyes.
"The answer still stays the same, only solidified with the time passed. It seems I did chose just right," a dim smile came to his bloodless lips. "Who could have thought?"
"It can be reversed," Aemond tried in what he later understood to be the fruitless, hopeless attempt. "I- We can speak to father- I doubt he will listen to me, but you're a different case, he will adhere to your wishes-"
A short, barking laugh was all the response he got, Luke staring at him with his dark, stormy eyes; a whole legacy of thoughts threaded and unveiled inside, and every Luke's thought, plain visible as if plastered right in front of them on the cold dirty ground, turned into a judgment, a conclusion, a deadly sharp conviction.
It is then, looking into the eyes devoid of warmth, of the affection they once held - the knowledge what they did hold some warmth for him came only with the stark contrast of how devoid they were of it now; only then he understood with the stark conviction one single, horrible truth.
He was too late.
Or maybe he was always too late, maybe the moment Luke slipped out of his bed and his grip was the moment he lost him; or the moment his mouth opened, spurting all the things he had said and regretted almost immediately.
Maybe if he didn't wait, but wrote a letter, damn it, flew Vhagar to Dragonstone and apologized profusely, maybe then everything would be different, would be right.
"You don't really want it," Aemond murmured then. "You haven't been waiting for me to storm in and fix everything."
"Of course not," Luke smiled this tiny dark smile of his.
"What I currently waiting for is for you to ruin things; am trying to predict how I can manage the damage you'll cause. What?" He gave his uncle a scrutinizing look.
"It's only wise. I have an infant son, a husband who adores this child and an entire life ahead of us; so I warn you, qȳbor, against trying anything what will try to shatter that. Because," his eyes flared dangerously. "I will not hesitate to retaliate."
"It's not his son," Aemond tried like a broken musical box Helaena once had; it kept playing the same small part of the longer melody over and over again, brokenly, crookedly, hopelessly. "He is not the boy's father."
Lucerys' face softened slightly.
"Neither is Daemon - mine. And...I do believe it hardly matters, truly," he worried with the tips of his fingers.
"Laenor Velaryon was my father and Aegon is my son's father; that's how it is, this is how it's going to be." His gaze shed poison and vitriol, making a clearing for an open, vulnerable honestly. "Let's pretend that night was...the way of my debt being paid," Aemond winced at that. "I love him," comes sharper than any blade would.
Confessions like that, they tear at you, cut to the bone, to the core, let the blood run freely into the tile floor, marring its cold grey with deep dark color.
Words like that hung around your neck and chock on you; because they're wrong. Because there shouldn't be any 'him', any other; only Aemond and Luke, two halves of a badly broken whole.
Only the edges of the cut do not fit back together as seamlessly as they used to; only time has gone, has passed, was missed.
Aegon, who never wanted anything, had it all.
And Aemond... Well, once again was left with his hands empty, with his heart bare, with the bleeding gape in the place there his soul used to be.
And the worst, the most twisted about this situation thing is what he made it that way.
This time no one but Aemond ruined his own life.
Some of those thoughts had to reflect upon his face, for Luke's posture relaxed slightly, weight shifting to the side and - away.
"I hope we have an understanding," his nephew tried again. "We do not have to be enemies, after all."
Laenor sits in Aegon's arms like there is nowhere he'd rather be, as his father - no, not his father, the pretender, the one who took Aemond's place in this life, in Luke's bed, in the child's heart - keeps cooing to him like the remnants of his brains were flushed away with the wine.
"Look at you," Aegon exclaims in the fakest high-pitched voice he can manage.
"Look at those hands! Whose hands are these, mm? Yours? Are those your tiny hands, sweet boy?" He holds these damn tiny hands for emphasis gently and Laenor giggles.
"Right, those are your tiny hands. And those are mine," he shakes the boy's little fist with his hand. "Your father's. Say 'father', Laenor," he nudges the child with his nose and Laenor leans into the touch, content.
Aemond feels sick.
"Aegon," Rhaenyra calls softly; she has been watching the spectacle with the soft indulgent smile Aemond only saw turned to her own spawns before. "He is too young yet to speak," she glances to the side. "Don't you think it's time to let Vel handle Laenor?"
Aegon sends a grumpy look poor wet maid's way.
"No," he grumbles sourly, like a spoiled and possessive child he is. "It's fine, Laenor is having fun."
Rhaenyra's eyes glint as her eyebrows tilt up.
"Aren't you tired from holding him all the time?" She tries and Aegon scoffs stubbornly.
"No." Then immediately turns back to the child. "Father isn't tired to hold you, right, sweet boy? Father is never getting tired of that," his voice has this tooth-rotting sweet tone and he plants a smacking kiss into the boy's crown of hair eagerly.
Laenor, this little traitor, giggles.
"Is Lucerys coming back soon?" The queen asks, watching her eldest son with keen eyes while simultaneously helping Viserys to get another cup of juice.
The King's hands shake awfully, but he doesn't try to pretend they do not anymore; there's a strange air of serenity hanging around the Red Keep ever since Laenor Velaryon was born.
Aegon stops trying to feed Laenor the spoon of strange gooey looking puree - most of which ended up on his clothes - and looks up.
"Should be any other day," he chuckles. "We ought to move to Driftmark soon really, so Luke wouldn't have to fly back and forth to attend his duties. Corlys is giving him more and more tasks, so he is more away than not."
Their mother's face scrunches.
"So soon?" She tries. "But Laenor is not even a year old, surely it can wait."
Aegon shrugs and then follows with his gaze Viserys the Younger as the boy walks to Laenor and him and offers his plush dragon toy.
"Oh, Laenor, look, you were brought a gift!" He reaches to take the little dragon from the boy's hands. "Is this for us?"
"For Laenor," little Viserys mumbles before blushing profusely and retreating to hide behind his mother's skirts. Rhaenyra reaches to kiss his son on the temple as Daemon brushes his hair.
The King's eyes lit up.
"Oh," he breathes out. "Oh, I recognize this toy. It was yours before you gave it to Rhaenyra."
Aegon stares at the small plush dragon; the toy is battered and patched more than once, but is still remarkably well kept.
"Really?" He looks around, eyes meeting his half-sister's "Why did I give it to her?"
"You heard when I had not one, but two children, and decided they have nothing to play with," the woman chuckles. "I remember you sneaking this toy into my chambers while I was away, and Laenor finding it with a note written in such a scrappy writing we still don't know what the message was."
Aegon huffs and looks away, cheeks tinted ridiculous pink.
Still, he presents the used up toy for Laenor's inspection.
If it was up to Aemond, he would give the child the new and shiny toys to be just his, not the used and worn down things a generation of children before him played with.
Laenor, however, cares very little of that; he tries to hold into the toy, before dropping it right into Aegon's face.
The king laughs, delighted.
"You used to hit me with this dragon toy," he comments to Aegon's raised eyebrows. Daemon snorts at that. "You were a remarkably fussy child, always unhappy with something."
Aemond sees his mother try and fail to suppress the roll of her eyes.
"Either feed the boy or play with him," she tells her elder. "Or rather let Vel feed him; already you look like you went into a battle with puree and lost."
Aegon gives himself a quick once-over before shrugging carelessly.
"I don't think I will," he shakes his head slightly to the wet maid and she retreats, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Prince Lucerys Velaryon, the heir to the Driftmark throne," herald announces and everyone turns to see the said prince walking through the doors.
His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess and eyes - glinting.
"I don't know why they have to announce me like that every time," he comments apologetically, moving to the table in wild, quick steps.
His eyes, Aemond notices with a pang of old hurt, immediately fall at his husband and his child, expression quickly mellowing.
Yet he halts at his steps, walking first to his mother and planting a gentle kiss on her cheek - and getting a handful of Aegon the Younger in the process.
Then, as the servants move to set an additional chair between Helaena and Aegon, he hesitates slightly, before - to Aemond's surprise - moving to the queen and repeating the gesture, letting a feather-light kiss land on her cheek.
Queen Alicent blinks in wonder, but then smiles much warmer than anyone would expect her to.
"Welcome back," she speaks quietly and Luke nods to her, before finally rushing to all but fall on a chair next to - to his husband. To Aegon.
Then he laughs.
"You look like you decided to bath in the food instead of eating it," the young prince comments as the soft mirthful expression dances at the bottom of his dark eyes. "Hello."
And then reaches to cup Aegon's face and kisses it; openly and shamelessly, lingering at the contact.
Aegon tries to press into the kiss as much as he can without actually dropping the child he is holding in his arms.
He gives Lucerys a lopsided little smile once they separate and immediately moves to knock their forehead together.
"Ugh!" Rhaena, who was previously sneakily reading the book hidden on her lap, groans. "Get a room, you two! No one needs to know how Laenor ended up happening."
A short heavy silence hangs in the room, several people exchanging glances.
They know Laenor is not Aegon's son; they know and still support this lie. Even mother, who, as Aemond stares straight at her, avoids his gaze, trying to busy herself with her food.
Aegon snorts loudly.
"One more complain like this and we're moving on working on the second one," he half-threatens, half-jokes; and Aemond's heart stops at that.
Surely they wouldn't- They're not planning-
Luke gives his husband such a smitten look it crushes Aemond's insides right in. It also inevitably crushes the glass he was holding too tightly, and the pieces of it fly everywhere.
Baela gives him a dark look as she fishes shards of glass from her plate, before giving up and letting the servants take the plate away.
"I must admit I see the appeal," she jokes, trying to lighten the suddenly soured mood.
Aegon is staring straight at his younger brother, unblinking, as Lucerys moves to hold Laenor with a sigh. Aemond's eye keeps sliding to them: to his nephew and his child, looking perfect together; but so far away from his reach.
Aegon frowns and moves a little to hide their sight from his brother.
"I look at Laenor and want three of these whiny crying things," Baela tries again and it works, as Jacaerys chocks on a spoonful of food and starts to cough.
"What?" He asks, eyes wide, as the cough finally subsides. "Now?!"
Luke and Aegon exchange the looks before bursting into laughter almost at the same time, content at their synchronized reactions.
The older of Rhaenyra's children goes red in the face.
"Thanks for your support, you two," he mutters.
Lucerys snorts into the linen of Aegon's tunic, leaning into him; Laenor in his arms is curious at the commotion, eyes wide.
"You should have seen your face," he wheezes out.
Aegon nods frantically.
"I haven't seen anyone look so horrified at the possibility of being laid," he agrees.
Whenever the meal is saved or ruined further is anyone’s guess.