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The crashing of the waves is a comforting lull to Aemond's ears. His rooms in High Tide, while staying in Driftmark, are large, spacious; the silent bad blood between Rhaenyra and his mother seemed to not have affected Lord Corlys's hospitality.
His apartment has a generous receiving area. An elevated space with large floor-to-ceiling windows welcomes him from the far end of the room opposite the double doors, where a study sits. The hearth in the receiving area is carved artfully with a large seahorse amongst seashells and pearls. A plush camel-back couch, a wing chair with a footstool, and an armchair made of mahogany and velvet in dark harbor surround an intricately made rectangular mahogany center table. Tapestries showing life at sea hang around the room, while bay windows are situated in the free walls to let the light and air in.
Another pair of double doors lead to the bedroom, where a mahogany four-poster bed with white sheets, a lush dark cerulean duvet, and an even darker comforter welcome their host. A large chest displaying more impressive carvings sits at its foot. There is also another fireplace inside the actual bedroom. One of the walls has been turned into a generous bookshelf with interesting titles about seafaring, sailing, and the legends of the sea. Large windows decorate the room, the one nearest to the bed offering one of the best views Aemond had seen of the cliffs of Driftmark. A clawfoot tub is recessed in one of the bedroom's corners, a dressing screen covering half of its view.
The One-Eyed Prince is comfortable; the sound of his surroundings is pleasant, his bedroom is clean and orderly, and the bed that he is sleeping on is soft enough to swallow him whole. Yet, he remains twisting and turning on his bed, unable to sleep. Flashes of dark hair, slim wrists, and swinging legs invade his mind. When he closes his single eye, such images only become more vivid - more scenes even play out; a lithe body rolling on the ground, large hazel eyes glinting with fear, and an arresting smile directed at someone who was not him.
'This is getting annoying,' he thinks. He does not understand how seeing Lucerys Velaryon would unnerve him so. He has nothing to fear; Aemond was certain that he could restrain the bastard with one hand if he even dares to lunge at his remaining eye. Has the bastard been practicing witchcraft? He would ask if his nephew has bewitched him, but that would come with admitting that it was neither annoyance nor anger which he felt towards his nephew at this point.
Aemond had tried to distract himself, truly. He had sat in the study overlooking the sea. First, he tried and scribbled whatever thought he had; it was useless, for his mind would wander and describe the vision of Lucerys lounging in the garden, instead. Second, he tried to simply look out into the sea; it was also useless, for his vision would deceive him and make him envision Lucerys playing in the water, sitting on the rocks, and even running along the shore.
In an attempt to both keep his mind away from his nephew and atone for whatever unspeakable ideas he has been harboring since he saw Lucerys in a long, barely decent shift, the prince even tried praying to The Seven in his quarters! And how did it end? Not well, if you would ask him; he had simply imagined Lucerys in the sheer muslin veil with pearls in his hair and more pearls and seashells adorning his temples, whenever he mentioned The Maiden. His mother and the maesters would certainly share more than a single faith if they found out what thoughts he had about his nephew, particularly his nephew as The Maiden.
Aemond had entered the bedroom and ransacked the bookshelves for titles to read in the same manner an undisciplined child would zoom through the kitchens to stuff his face with every sweet and treat they could find. When he had found a book of myths and legends about the sea, one which interested him, Aemond was quick to sit opposite the fireplace. Entertaining as the stories were, the endeavor still proved to be futile. Every siren, every mermaid, every god, every goddess, and every sailor would have Lucerys's face in his head. He had let his mind wander at some point, and such had only led to him imagining Lucerys in his long translucent shift everywhere; in the garden, sitting on The Driftwood Throne with his legs open, on the shore, on the cliffs, playing in the shallow water, swimming in the sea, on a boat's deck, on his bed, on his lap, atop fucking Vhagar! Aemond must truly want to get back at his nephew for his eye, for Lucerys is occupying a bit too much of his mind.
Now, Aemond is back on his bed, his breathing heavy. He could hear thunder rumble in the distance and every once in a while, a lightning faintly illuminates the darkness of his bedroom. He harshly throws the blankets off of him and looks out of the window nearest to the bed. He knows a storm approaching when he sees one. Being that he could not sleep either way, he decides that taking a stroll around the castle would not be such a bad idea.
He puts on his black dressing gown, takes a dagger with him, and quietly exits the bedroom, into the receiving area, then out to the halls of High Tide.
The pale stone of the castle offers a refreshing sight to Aemond. For all of House Velaryon's faults, perhaps beauty did make a home in it. He stopped himself from thinking beyond those words.
Meticulously crafted paintings and tapestries hung on the walls. The faint lighting from the torches and candles were enough to see the scenes in each of them. One particular tapestry boasted of the ties between House Velaryon and House Targaryen; a black dragon and a silver seahorse are posed together as if they were being wedded. Below them, Lord Corlys commands the sea in his ship. The skies are taken by his wife, Princess Rhaenys, riding Vermithor. More tapestries show the common scenes at sea and, Aemond presumes, in Driftmark. Intricate embroidery display men fishing in their small boats, a mermaid assisting them in their catch. There were also pieces showing the ports bustling alive with trade, mothers washing clothes in a stream, and children playing in the coves. Some paintings are of the calm sea and some are of angry storms and tides swallowing ships, boats, and men. Grim.
Aemond keeps walking. At the landing where the two wings of the castle meet, a large painting of The Heir of Driftmark hangs. The prince had not allowed himself to look at it properly earlier - not in the presence of other noblemen and of the staff.
Lucerys Velaryon stares at the spectator with his huge hazel eyes and dark lashes from the framed painting. A shy smile graces his red lips and just beside his right eye and below the right side of his mouth, two moles disturb the pristine ivory on the canvas. The painter may have taken some liberties with their masterpiece, for Lucerys's hair flowed beyond his shoulders, down even beyond where the painting ends. He is dressed in a white tunic, embroidered with cornflower blue seahorses. It peeks out like waves from below a Prussian blue damask surcoat with gold and sea foam green sea glass embellishments. A cloak made of what appears to be heavy velvet in dark teal, peppered with small pearls and gold beads and clasped with a sapphire brooch encased in pearls, sits over the prince's shoulders. Heavy pearl jewelry hang from Lucerys's ears and envelope his graceful neck in multiple coils and patterns. A heavy crown of gold, pearls, and seashells forming the head of a seahorse sits atop the heir's head. Aemond comes closer and touches what he can reach; the corner of Lucerys's mouth where the mole sits. The painting is not as beautiful as the real Lucerys.
Aemond finally turns, hoping to continue his walk around the castle. He steps towards the stairs of the opposite wing as his eyes - well, eye - trails up the flight. A bright lightning illuminates the landing and a loud thunder booms. Aemond truly thought that he was going to die out of fright. He clutched his chest and cowered backwards. There, atop the stairs towards the East Wing, stands a ghost. A beautiful one, at that.
Only, it was not a ghost. He slowly approaches the figure. Seriously. What is it with his nephew and wearing indecent shifts?
Aemond is looking up at a god. It is Lucerys Velaryon who stands before him. The same dark hair, upturned nose, and red lips from the painting and from earlier that day. The only difference is his eyes are closed. While Lucerys's beauty looks alive in the day, with the sunlight giving his porcelain skin a shy blush and making him look rosy and peachy, it transforms to something strikingly different in the night. The moonlight seems to have a different effect on his nephew; his skin appears paler - as if he was almost glowing and transparent, his bones seems more delicate, and the translucent shift he is wearing only makes him look more like a mirage than a living, breathing human. It was unnerving, but it was unmistakably breathtaking in beauty. Aemond wonders if this was how devout believers felt when they claim to have seen one of The Seven in the flesh.
The figure begins to move and Aemond, in his surprise, moves away. A scent that he could only describe as warm and Lucerys wafts as his nephew passes by. He was worried that Lucerys would tumble and fall down the flight of stairs, but no such accident occurred. He just continues walking in a straight line.
The boy was sleepwalking. He looked like a ghost, and moved like one, too. He appears to float rather than walk with heavy steps, the same way mortals like Aemond do. Aemond was truly starting to feel scared. A figure with dark hair moving in an eerily graceful manner in the middle of a storm was not exactly something that one would wish to see.
The One-Eyed Prince did not know much about sleepwalking, but he knew enough not to wake the person actually doing it. Lest he wanted to be suddenly attacked with one of the candelabras, torches, or swords hanging on the walls. He debated leading his nephew back to wherever his quarters were, but he allowed his curiosity to win out this one time. A particularly harsh lightning and clap of thunder disrupted his peace at that moment, as if the gods were judging him for taking advantage of the poor bastard. He lost an eye; the most Lucerys would lose is his pride when he finds out that Aemond knows that he takes nightly trips around High Tide like a whore waiting to be abducted and fucked against a wall.
Lucerys steadily climbs the opposite stairs. He walks towards the wing where Aemond had been staying in. Stalking the very same halls that his uncle did, Lucerys glides in seemingly practiced manner with a destination in mind. They reach the hallway of Aemond's quarters.
Step, step, step. Aemond continues to stalk quietly silently behind Lucerys. They pass the tapestry of Driftmark's ports, pass a painting of a ship being devoured by a kraken. Aemond could not explain why he felt a pang of disappointment when Lucerys passed over the double doors leading to his apartment. The bastard continues to walk, unaware of the mounting anger of the storm. He finally stops in front of one of the large windows at the end of the main hallway. Aemond silently moves next to him.
The fragility of his nephew suddenly strikes Aemond. Now, exposed to the harsh winds of the storm, Lucerys sways like a mere branch. Rainwater and saltwater spray the bastard on his face, his neck, his body. Yet, he remains stubbornly rooted on his spot. His spoiled and rotten nature must remain with him even in his sleep.
Whatever beauty Lucerys allowed people to see in the distance does not measure to his beauty up close. Thick dark eyelashes kiss his cheeks, his upturned nose baring a trace of the Valyrian aquiline nose at its bridge, his lips having a natural pout. Even the darkness of the night could not fully rob Lucerys of his blushing cheeks and red lips. A stray eyelash sticks to the boy's left cheek. There are barely any blemishes on his skin - only moles of varying sizes kissing his face and body here and there. They would barely count as imperfections; they simply make Lucerys look more believable, more alive. And for that alone, they make his nephew more beautiful. Aemond briefly rests against the ledge of the window in front of Lucerys. His delicate neck would fit in the palm of Aemond's calloused hands. How fun.
Somewhere at the left corner of his forehead, a scar discretely peeks out at Aemond - as if accusing him of hurting his Lucerys.
Lord Corlys, his sister, Lucerys's brothers and sisters, Qoren, those imbeciles from all corners of Westeros, the staff of the palace, the sailors of Driftmark, the people Lucerys blesses with his presence... They all get to see what Aemond had seen in the throne room as they greeted the Lord of the Tides. But, this? Only Aemond could see it. It is only fair that this view is for him alone.
As a large vein-like monster of a lightning splits the tar black sky and a rattling thunder roars, Aemond is transported back to a storm a few years back. He had caught Lucerys in one of his leisure flights on his lizard, Arrax, and thought that it was the perfect opportunity to spook the bastard who took his eye. "Let's see how you would like to feel helpless, Bastard," he had murmured under his breath.
He steered Vhagar to change her course and follow the two minuscule menaces in the middle of a raging storm. He remembers the alarm and fear on his nephew's eyes as he looked back at him. Aemond had removed his eyepatch, his sapphire glinting as each lightning struck. His nephew must have panicked, for his controlled flying of Arrax turned erratic, the beast suddenly restless as he felt the intent of a much larger war dragon at his tail. His nephew and his dragon dove down between the shallow cliffs in the outskirts of King's Landing. He and Vhagar pursued. Aemond had seen, heard, and felt as large chunks of rock were knocked off of the sharp crags by Vhagar's great wings. Arrax had narrowly dodged a large block of rock before a lightning struck a formation in front of them, startling the beast. By some fortune, they were already cruising somewhat near the ground. Arrax had hurtled down and crashed on land, Lucerys barely strapped on his saddle.
He had felt ice in his veins. He had tried to soften their landing with Vhagar hopefully catching Arrax in one of her claws, but it was too late. Aemond tried to land Vhagar as calmly as he could, removed the chains that bound him to his own beast, and ran to where his nephew was. He could see blood spilling from one of Arrrax's brows and wing, but the lizard was breathing. His nephew was only regaining consciousness as Aemond hurriedly unbuckled him from his saddle. Lucerys was weakly protesting as Aemond carried him down Arrax and onto the sandy ground.
The One-Eyed Prince was checking for injuries when Lucerys finally gained enough energy to push him away. Now more lucid, the bastard was screaming and cursing at Aemond, struggling to come nearer to his pet.
"Arrax! Arrax! Arrax! My darling," he was screaming and cooing at the same time. The boy was crying as he caressed his dragon's bleeding face. A worrying trail of crimson blood was running down his face from the left side if his head.
Aemond attempted to come closer, but his nephew had picked up a heavy rock and threw it his way.
Lucerys had torn pieces of cloth from his own clothes in a poor attempt to bandage Arrax's injuries. He was operating on pure panic.
"Lucerys," he began. The boy had paid him no mind, continuing to limp about his pet. "Lucerys," he had called again. His nephew merely cried harder as he saw a sharp rock piercing one of his dragon's claws. "Lucerys!" Aemond had screamed.
"Shut up!" Lucerys had screamed back at him. "Please, go away," he pleaded weakly. The boy went back to trying to pry the piece of rock from Arrax's flesh.
Aemond had lost his patience and finally approached the two. He grabbed his nephew's arms, and when that did not stop Lucerys from flailing, he grabbed his nephew's waist and dragged him somewhere where the rain could not touch them.
Lucerys continued screaming and hitting him, even kicking where he could reach.
"You!" A punch to his back. "Fucking!" A kick to his groin. "Monster!" A pull on his hair.
He set the boy down and held him close, restraining him from wreaking more havoc. When Lucerys's screams turned hoarse and his efforts weaker, Aemond began to speak.
He was nuzzling his nephew at his neck. "Your beast is alive," he says calmly. In truth, his heart is hammering painfully against his chest. He feared that Lucerys could feel it. "The storm is still raging, but we both know how to stop a wound from further bleeding," he continued.
Lucerys was whimpering and sniffing against him. He gently held his nephew's face in one of his hands in an attempt to calm him, ground him, anything.
"We will wait for the storm to pass, fly back to King's Landing on Vhagar, and get the dragonkeepers."
"I will not leave Arrax," Lucerys had said a small, but resolute voice.
He wanted to argue; his nephew was also injured. But, knowing how stubborn the brat was, there was little he could do. "I will fly back to King's Landing on Vhagar and get the dragonkeepers and the maesters."
Lucerys pushed him away. "Whatever for?"
"You're also hurt," Aemond simply said, as if Lucerys was a stupid toddler who could not understand what was in front of him.
"No, I am not." Lucerys attempted to walk back to Arrax.
Aemond pulled him closer. "You're limping, you have been holding your right arm in a funny manner since you crashed, and you are in shock," Aemond had argued.
"Why not fly back now? You seem to be skilled enough to fly in the middle of a storm atop your murderous beast," Lucerys said. To Aemond, this was said out of mere desire to act out. He seemed to have forgotten that such anger is justified from Lucerys at this point, for he and his dragon who hatched in his cradle had only narrowly avoided The Stranger's grasp.
Aemond did not reply, only slung Lucerys over his shoulder, then sat him on one of the flatter stones. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around his nephew. Wordlessly, he stalked towards the wounded dragon. He had ripped some cloth from his own clothes, too, and attempted to fix the bandages done by his nephew under panic and extreme distress.
It was not easy - approaching a dragon who knows that it was hurt because of you. Had Arrax not been as weak as he was, Aemond was certain that he would have lost another limb. Lucerys and Arrax would each have a piece of him that he could never get back.
Lucerys remained silent as he tended to Arrax. Exhaustion must have caught up with the boy. He turned to look at him. The brat was staring blankly ahead in shock earlier. Now, his eyelids were gradually fluttering close. Aemond rushed back to Vhagar and tore a hanging cloth from the saddle. He went back to the little cove and laid the piece of cloth down. He carried the now sleeping Lucerys - who was uncomfortably slumped against one of the ridges, and set him down the makeshift mat. He covered his nephew with his cloak once more and sat beside him as he waited for the storm to pass.
Arrax survived. He knows that then, and he knows that now. He had seen the beast flying around High Tide upon his and the visiting party's arrival. The beast had paid him no mind. Perhaps, he still held a grudge against Aemond and felt that it was a fair punishment to ignore his existence.
Back in the present, right next to Lucerys once more, Aemond is consumed with a guilt that he thought left him long ago. The winds howled stronger and another lightning illuminated the sky. This time, the thunder was less loud and it followed a few seconds later. The storm was moving away.
He saw a single tear fall from his nephew's right eye, trickling down on Lucerys's smooth cheek. He wanted to wipe it away, but the boy finally moved again, raising his right arm towards and outside the large window. On instinct, Aemond encircled him by the waist and shuffled backward.
Lucerys had stopped breathing. Aemond stood in front of him and grabbed his face. "Lucerys," he whispered.
His nephew whimpered, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips forming a pout. He let out a deep exhale; his nephew was finally breathing again.
Aemond decided that the show was enough for the night. "Lucerys," he gently coaxed. The boy just stood there as more tears fell from his eyes.
He softly touched his nephew's left cheek. Sensing no effort to push him away, he lightly held his nephew's waist as he tried to steer him further away from the window.
"Ssshhh... Come on," he murmured against his nephew's right ear as he guided him to turn around. "It's time for bed, Darling." The endearment slipped past his lips before he could stop himself.
Lucerys finally began to walk on his own. Aemond allowed him to walk ahead at his own pace. His nephew must be freezing; his hands were cold when he had touched them earlier, his shoulders were shivering, the poor excuse for a shift he had on clung to his skin where the water had dampened it, and his feet were bare against the cool stone. Aemond rushed ahead of his nephew to his rooms and retrieved one of the blankets atop his own bed. When he exited is quarters, Lucerys was still unable to cross the double doors of his apartment.
Deciding that the poor boy had been out of the comfort of his bed for too long, he wrapped him in the blanket and finally carried him in his arms. Vanilla, cherry, and sea salt; Lucerys smelled as divine as he looked. Aemond had to actively stop himself from resting his nose upon his nephew's hair.
It had only occurred to Aemond that he did not know where Lucerys's quarters were when they reached the landing once more. Nevermind, he could just walk around the East Wing looking for an open pair of double doors with his nephew in his arms. It was no hassle or trouble. Truly. Lucerys barely weighed anything any way.
Aemond finally finds what he assumes to be Lucerys's apartment at the far end of the main hallway. The double doors are ajar, allowing him to simply use one of his foot to make an opening to admit them both inside.
The quarters of Prince Lucerys Velaryon made his quarters look modest. There is even a balcony overlooking the cove where Arrax nests. Large windows offer a panoramic view of the island and while his quarters only had a receiving area and a bedroom, his nephew's had five separate double doors inside. He could only guess what was inside each; a separate room for bathing, a room for the heir's clothes alone, a library, room where he fucks around with whatever interests him, a room where he eats with his companions, or even a room where he keeps all of the eyeballs he had taken from other people throughout the years.
A stained glass window arrogantly welcomes the occupant of the quarters, a mermaid with dark hair with piercing hazel eyes looking at Aemond. The receiving area also had a hearth, this one being carved with a dragon and a seahorse facing each other. The seating area had a matching camel-back couch, wing chair with footstool, and armchair made out of dark rustic maple and upholstered with an embroidered velvet depicting scenes of sea life. Even its wooden parts were adorned with gold and pearls. A dark rustic maple center table sits at the middle of the seating area; its nexus was made of glass, its corners were carved with dragon heads, and its feet were fashioned into mermaid tails. Even the tapestries and paintings were more intricate in his nephew's quarters. On one of the tapestries, Aemond could see a large pearlescent dragon with gold scales circling High Tide atop the highest mountain in Driftmark. The waves crashing on its shore stand out in spun white and cobalt blue threads, clear crystals and pearls peppering the sea foam.
Approaching the only pair of double doors which were open, Aemond finally finds himself inside his nephew's actual bedroom. He approached the massive four-poster bed, too big for his sylphlike nephew, and set Lucerys down on its midnight blue velvet comforter. He noticed that even the curtains of the bed were embroidered with pearls and gold details.
'How vain,' he thought.
Aemond would have left his nephew there in his damp shift, but he remembered how cold the night had been. Besides, sleeping in wet clothes could not possibly be good for anyone.
He approached the intricately carved chest at the foot of the bed; a dragon eye made of emerald and ruby stared at him from the lock of the chest. Aemond opened it hastily and was met with a sight he never thought he would ever see. He feels his face heat up, despite the chill and the breeze, which the storm had left in its wake. There is a literal pit in his stomach at this point; he is mildly surprised not to see his guts spilling out when he looked at his stomach. Inside the chest, "clothes" of the most delicate fabrics are neatly folded next to and atop each other; Myrish Lace, muslin, silk, nylon, gossamer, and fabrics Aemond could not name. He caressed one of the shifts, feeling how thin it was. Some of them were fully transparent.
The One-Eyed Prince could now feel the almost painful way his heart beat against his chest. Gods. He wiped at the sweat that was falling against the side of his face.
While Aemond truly wanted to humiliate his nephew by dressing him in the fully transparent black gossamer shift with sapphire embellishments at its neckline and hems, the more rational and considerate part of his primitive brain had won out during the debate on what his nephew should wear. He chose a modest cotton shift, its only ornament being its lace trimmings.
He climbed on top of his nephew. Aemond gets a glimpse of Lucerys's collarbones as he undoes the top laces of his nephew's shift. Upon seeing a mole sitting on the whore's right collarbone, Aemond is overcome by the sudden and strong urge to lick the freckle. He grabs onto the headboard and closes his eye as he tries to focus. He could feel the circulation of blood in his hand being disrupted with how hardly he was grabbing the headboard.
He continued undressing his nephew. 'He needs to be comfortable,' he reminds himself. Lucerys's smooth pale chest is the next to be bared to his uncle's single living eye. His pink nipples pebbled as soon as the cool air hits his skin. Moles are scattered around his nephew's milky skin, forming constellations that Aemond had no right to see.
Sensing that he would take until morning if he continued on at this pace, Aemond decided to cover his nephew's body with the blanket he had brought. He carefully undressed his nephew, only ever lifting the blanket if he absolutely must and averting his sight from his nephew's exposed skin. He could feel his groin brush against Lucerys's taut stomach and had to briefly get off of his nephew before he could forget himself.
There is no way that his nephew is not some sort of a siren or a fiend from the sea. Even a witch! While he was certain from his nephew's disposition that he was of his whore or a sister, he was now also wondering whether Lord Corlys or Rhaenyra had sacrificed whatever poor soul to receive a gift from the sea. He jumps up and down like a jester entertaining the sleeping prince. He punches the air and groans to his hands until he calms down enough for his limbs not to shake and the hairs on his nape not to stand.
After what felt like hours, Aemond had finally successfully dressed his nephew in a more fitting sleepwear. He hung the damp shift upon the dressing screen made of shells, which stood at one of the corners of the bedroom.
He stalks back to the bed and debates whether he should leave his blanket with his nephew to let the bastard know that someone rescued him from potentially killing himself. Instead, he tucks his nephew under his own covers.
On a childish whim, he considers leaving a note; one which simply says "Bastard" in black ink. He also decides against it. Aemond looks on once more at Lucerys, now breathing more evenly. His lashes flutter at every movement of his eyes under his eyelids. Aemond smooths his nephew's eyebrows with his right thumb and places a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead. He told himself that he could have this, at least.
"Good night," he murmurs against the crown of Lucerys's head. "I am sorry," he says more quietly.
He gently closes the double doors to the boy's bedroom, then the ones opening to his apartment. At the horizon, Aemond could see the shy rays of the sun as the dawn approaches.
Still, there is plenty of time before the day's festivities begin and the tourney commences.
As Aemond walks back to the West Wing, he mentally reminds himself to ask Lord Corlys why no guards are stationed outside of the heir's quarters later in the day. It is unsafe.
Lord Corlys would look at him with confusion, disapproval, and barely disguised judgement.
"How would you know where my grandson sleeps, boy?" The Lord of the Tides would not be too pleased with the inquiry.
For now, Aemond falls on his own bed, his eyelids automatically blinking close and welcoming sleep without struggle. He does not even get to tuck himself under the blankets before he begins dreaming of large hazel eyes, smooth skin, dark moles against porcelain skin, and cold hands he wants to warm in his.
The next night, as the hour of the wolf approaches, Prince Aemond Targaryen sits quietly outside of Prince Lucerys Velaryon's quarters, waiting patiently for his ghost to appear once more.