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I offer my services, Lord Lucerys Velaryon. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.
And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.
Arise.
Aemond had been staring at him all afternoon from afar.
He'd been diligent in his training, as much as he had been in his duties as his sworn sword at Driftmark, but on that day his eyes had been as piercing as knives, leaving him off-kilter and distracted.
His anxieties spoke it must have been anger, born of resignation and hatred not yet fully quelled. Yet, his best wishes hoped it to be his imagination, the workings of an overly active mind. Perhaps it was purely his fault for stealing too many eager glances at his knight to the point of misinterpreting every minute change.
Much thought he gave to the eerie subject and very little results did it offer, for everywhere he walked, the back of his head burned from where his lone eye had Lucerys in his sight.
The day came and went, and as Lucerys rose at the dawn of the next, Aemond’s demeanour had remained unchanged. Each slash of his training sword, a cutting glance. Each request Lucerys made, the slightest furrow of his brow. It left him on edge, concern becoming a recurring feeling as the day went by. And to his marvellous luck, this trend persisted the rest of the week.
Day, after day, his anxieties piled up. His knuckles had grown pink from where he rubbed his thumb day in and day out over the skin, rhythmically attempting to soothe himself and failing miserably in the process. His focus ran thin in meetings. His usual sensibility was compromised. And it all raised eyebrows in the men and women who both served and worked with him.
It was nothing if not humiliating, as a young heir with a beastly ghost of controversy lingering over his shoulders.
So he did what any young man prone to nerves and insecurity would.
He blamed himself and ignored it until it became unbearable. Obviously.
It just so happened that that precise moment arrived sometime on Sunday, after a long afternoon of planning festivities for the upcoming festival in Spicetown. Lucerys walked down a lengthy corridor that led to the tower of his apartments, never alone as Aemond and his late grandsire’s personal guard lagged behind him, always in pairs as per his family’s request. Now, as his anxieties had grown and uncertainties compounded, he wondered if their distrust of his uncle’s sudden devotion hadn’t been unfounded.
His boots, heavy with armour and chainmail, thudded with harsh echoes with every step he took behind him, leaving Lucerys’s heart thudding just as harshly in his ribcage. Pins and needles crawled at his extremities and danced over his shoulders as his lungs constricted, and with one last shaky inhale he stopped abruptly and turned around.
The two men nearly bumped into him, the confusion that grew on their faces interrupted as Lucerys dismissed the older knight for the day. The man looked suspiciously at Aemond and gave Lucerys a pleading look. He responded with a confident nod, leaving the man no option but to politely bow before taking his leave. Lucerys and Aemond stared at each other quietly until he disappeared where the corridor made a sharp corner.
“I feel as though I am being consumed by madness,” he spilled the words without much thought. Aemond remained quiet, just looked at him with the same air of casual indifference, coupled with the near-rageful gaze that had tormented him all week. “Say something.”
“I don’t wish to get punished for insubordination, my Lord,” he spoke smoothly and too confident for someone purportedly afraid of consequence.
“Oh, please,” he found himself saying with an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes. “We’re alone. You may speak your mind.”
“Be careful what you wish for, nephew,” he chuckled darkly. “You might try me for treason if I speak too honestly.” He tilted his head playfully. “Imagine how happy your mother would be to hear of that.”
Lucerys’s expression hardened, standing a little straighter as he braced himself. If Aemond was as committed to being dangerously truthful as he was, then now was the time to ask.
“Why have you been angry with me this week.”
Aemond’s grin faltered as he measured Luke’s words in confusion.
“Angry?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since Tuesday.”
His lips parted but no words came out. With every second, his posture became more defensive. His brows furrowed further into something nearing resignation.
“What have I done to give off that impression?”
He set his jaw, lips pressed together as he mustered the courage to confront him. There was nobody else around to protect him. The entire affair banked on Aemond’s professed devotion and sworn oath, on Lucerys’s sheer trust and belief that he was safe in his powerful hands.
“It’s the way you’ve looked in my direction,” he said with slowly waning confidence, despite his dignified posture. “You throw daggers each time you have a chance and it has been maddening. Why.”
Aemond’s eye twitched, barely perceptibly so, before holding his hands behind his back, throwing him a confident smirk.
“I apologise, but the last time I attempted to strangle you with my sight alone was many years ago.”
Lucerys bristled, huffing as he placed his hands on his hips.
“Be serious.”
“I am dead serious,” he said, almost as if it were a warning. “Would you like a more precise timing of that event? I could attempt to recall it better, if you gave me enough time.”
“Aemond,” he said more sternly, as a Lord would do to his unruly subject. “Do you stand by your oaths?”
He stilled, his expression turning serious, so much so his eyes pierced through him with ferocity. It threatened to send a shiver down his spine.
“I do.”
Lucerys swallowed a lump in his throat.
“And you are as devoted to me as any other knight who serves me?”
“No,” he said severely. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, making his blood run cold as he took a step back. Aemond only stepped forward, closer into his personal space. “I am more devoted to you than the common ilk who follows and obliges you. You know I could best them in every field. I serve you twice as better as the lot of them.”
“I will not have you disgrace those sworn under my protection.” Lucerys blushed as he balled his hands into fists, anger welling up in him at the brazen insubordination. Despite this, he couldn’t help but feel his heart thrumming in incorrigible happiness at his arrogant words.
“You asked for my honesty and I have delivered.”
“Your honesty barely answers my questions.”
“What else is there to say which has not already been said?”
“The reason you even bent the knee to begin with is a good start, I’d say,” he challenged, watching Aemond’s cockiness grow subdued as he grew reserved once more.
“That too, I have already answered.”
“To me,” he pressed. “Not to my mother.” Aemond’s eyes squinted minutely, sizing him up. Perhaps he felt cornered. “I know you have no more love for my mother than you have self-preservation. I have taken your request to serve me with grace and gratitude, but don’t think for a second I don’t question your intentions.”
“And what intentions are those?” He asked slowly, his lips almost grimacing as he towered over him. He’d never seen him frown so deeply as he did then.
“To murder me in revenge,” he said, feeling winded just by uttering the words. “Perhaps maiming my eye, as I did yours in our youth.”
His tongue peaked out of his upturned lips to wet them, his steely gaze never leaving his own.
“May I ask you something?” Lucerys blinked, struck quiet before nodding his consent. “Why did you accept me into your service?”
It was a question he always dreaded being asked. Each time, he’d give people a half-truth or sometimes even a lie.
He’d proven his worth by offering them his support in the war.
They were kin.
Or his personal favourite – It was the right thing to do.
The truth was rather too embarrassing and shameful to ever profess out loud. Much less to the man in question.
“Aemond…” He shook his head softly, at a loss for words. Above him, Aemond grew impatient and took another step forward, making Luke step back and into the stone wall behind him. His palms splayed on the cool smooth surface as his heart hammered and cheeks blistered in embarrassment. “What are you…?”
“Why did you accept me into your service, Luke?”
His hand was placed beside his head, perched on the wall and making him feel small.
“Unlike you, Aemond, I famously don’t despise you,” he said nervously, his tone belligerent.
“Who said I despised you?”
Luke rolled his eyes.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I would say the same to you were it not disrespectful.”
“And all else you say and do isn’t disrespectful?”
Aemond cracked a smile, his presence feeling so utterly overwhelming.
“Answer me,” he demanded, “my Lord.”
“Your Lord feels threatened by your proximity,” he huffed.
“Are you?” He spoke with a low chuckle.
“I could have you in irons for your insubordination.”
“I’m sure you could.”
Lucerys bit his lips, aggravated and in desperate need for space. He’d be pacing that hall up, down and sideways to stave off his nerves were he free to do so. Instead, all he could do was stand in the small ground he was afforded, his head facing away the man who cornered him. He refused to speak. He was Aemond’s Lord, and would not bend to his petty whims.
“And yet you don’t, huh?”
Luke’s cheeks pinkened, arms crossing over his chest.
“Why have you been mad with me, Aemond. Just answer me that and I'll dismiss you.”
“Is it not humiliatingly obvious, yet?”
“If it were, I wouldn’t disgrace you by making you speak of it.”
He was silent as he regarded Lucerys, his fingertips coming up to slowly drag over his jaw until they rested on his chin. Aemond turned his petulant frown to face him, his fingers warm where they touched his skin. He gazed up at his uncle as he concealed the heavy beating of his heart, feeling it caught in his throat and threatening to jump out.
“I won’t say it, then,” he replied quietly. “But I won’t show it either. Not fully, at least.”
“How will I–” His voice wobbled, so he stopped to clear his throat sheepishly. He didn’t miss the smirk that blossomed on Aemond’s face. “How will I know your answer?”
Aemond grinned a little wider, somewhere between smug and torn up about it.
“You will.”
He knelt slowly, his sharp eye looking most volatile in that angle despite his charming smile. It worsened his rattled nerves, and yet it thrilled him, too. Being the subject of his uncle’s passionate attention was always exhilarating, igniting a fire in him he could never feel with another.
In that disquieting, confusing moment, as Aemond reached out and clutched his hand gently, he knew.
His fingers were gentle. His thumb caressed the back of his hand. Lucerys held his breath and braced himself as Aemond, never taking his sight off of him, brought his knuckles to his lips, closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss.