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The milk of the poppy is both a cursed and blessed thing. It takes away the pain, yes good. But it also makes Aemond feel so, so sleepy. So fuzzy. His body feels so heavy . Under the haze of it, he can scarcely move his hand to adjust the blankets around him. The heaviness is such that it descends on his eyelids, unable to pry them open even as his mind slowly wakes.  

Aemond grows terrified, thinking that the maester has sewn both his eyes shut. He panics, mind thrashing even if his body cannot, limbs too heavy to move. His breathing shortens, quickens. He tries to scream as loud as he can, but it only comes out as a pathetic whimper. 

“Shh, shh, my love, it’s okay. I am here.” Mother’s voice. “Are you in pain? Oh Gods, Maester Alfador-” 

Aemond feels the edge of a cup pressed to his lips and he somehow finds the strength to knock it away. 

“No, no, no, no!” he roars, loud as a dragon. His ears hear only whines. “I don’t want to! I don’t want-” 

“Aemond, please-” 

“Mother, I can’t see!” 

A gasp and then different hands hold his face, more calloused.  

His right eyelid is pried upwards, and the aid is a welcome thing. Aemond blinks slowly, using all his might to keep his one eye open. The world is very slowly coming into focus. He sees a blurry finger right in front of him. It moves and he follows it.  

A sigh of relief. His mother takes his hand and squeezes it. He feels her lips on his fingers.  

The maester steps away and Aemond wants to curse at him. Help me keep my eyes open!   

There’s conversation between the maester and his mother. It’s difficult to follow. Something about the poppy milk, something about it waning... or weaning... or winning? No, Aemond doesn’t want the poppy milk to win.  

“I don’t want it. I don’t want it .” Surely, they will listen to him. He’s the one sick in bed. He’s the one who got his eye cut out. 

Oh Gods, he got his eye cut out. He only has one eye.  

He feels so angry. He’s furious. He feels the fire forming in his throat and he opens his maw wide, roaring the flames out, burning the sky he’s flying in.  

The maester takes the opportunity of his open mouth to slip in a bit of the poppy milk.  

No!  

The heaviness descends on him again. He’s falling through the sky. The bed is so soft.  

Just as he enters oblivion, he hears Mothers screams.  

“ What are you doing here?! Get out! Get out at once! Get out!”  

The first thing Aemond thinks when he wakes is dark . Then pain .  

He groans, hand flying up to his face. Pressing against the bandage makes it worse. It just hurts so much. There’s this pulsating thing inside his face and he wishes he could just reach inside and tear it out.  

“Aemond? Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Horrified, Aemond finds a creature sitting beside him on the bed. Even in the dark he can make out the faint silhouette of the bastard who took his eye, crouched on his knees like a beast.  

“I’ll fight you. You can’t have my other eye.” Aemond reaches for the closest thing to him – a pillow – ready to use it as a weapon if he must.  

“Oh.” Lucerys sits on his haunches like he’s disappointed. Beast. “I didn’t come here for that.” 

“Why are you here? Where’s my mother?” 

“She’s asleep, I think. It’s late. I had to sneak past the maester to get here.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s asleep outside. He snores really loud, so he didn’t hear me come in.” 

Aemond sneers, “why are you here ? ” Bastard, he wants to add. But the painful throb in his face stays his tongue. His body remembers what happens when he says that word out loud.  

“I wanted to say sorry.”  

“ Sorry ?” Aemond scoffs. “You think ‘sorry’ is going to return my eye to me?” 

“No.” Lucerys actually sounds miserable at that. “I’m still sorry, though. Really sorry.”  

Aemond makes a derisive sound. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am!” 

“You don’t mean it. That’s why you’re saying it when it’s dark, isn’t it? So I can’t see your face and tell that you’re lying.”  

Lucerys huffs. He fidgets for a bit, then he starts climbing off the bed.  

“Where are you going?” Aemond calls out. He hasn’t finished yelling at him.  

“I’m getting a candle,” Lucerys whisper-shouts at him. He quietly opens the door to Aemond’s room and sneaks outside.  

It takes a few minutes.  

Just as Aemond thought Lucerys had gone for good, the boy returns, very carefully balancing a candleholder of three lit sticks. The flickering flames in Lucerys’s clutches throw his shadow imposingly over the walls, making the little beast seem bigger and scarier than he is.  

Aemond tenses as Lucerys approaches with the candles, ready to fight or run if the bastard decides to throw the fire and hot wax towards him.  

But Lucerys just stands beside Aemond’s bed, blinking up at him. The flames are right in front of his face, illuminating his un-Targaryen brown eyes and un-Targaryen pug nose.  

“Can you see me now?” Lucerys asks, eyes wide and hopeful.  

“...Yes.” 

“Okay.” Lucerys takes a deep breath then looks into Aemond’s eyes – well, eye , now, thanks to the bastard. He looks like he’s trying to make his stupid face look solemn. “Aemond, I am so, so sorry for your eye. I really didn’t mean for it to happen, and I am so very sorry for it, and I hope you can forgive me.” 

Aemond stares back at Lucerys just as solemnly. “No,” he answers flatly. 

Lucerys’s face falls. “Okay,” he says sadly. “Do you believe that I am sorry, though?”  

“No.” 

“What can I do to make you believe me?” 

Go away. Never come back. I never want to see you again . 

“Nothing,” Aemond answers. “There’s nothing you can do to make me believe you or forgive you or absolve you in any way. You don’t deserve it.” 

Lucerys looks like he’s about to cry. He turns to place the candleholder very carefully on the wooden stand next to Aemond’s bed. His eyes shine in the light of the dancing flames. “I guess Mother was right,” he says miserably, rubbing his eyes.  

“What?” 

“She didn’t want me to come see you. She said you’d be angry, and in pain, and won’t want to listen to me.” Lucerys looks up at Aemond with a watery smile. “Well, she was wrong about that part. You did listen to me. Even though you don’t...” He takes a deep breath. “It’s okay. You’re right. Father always says that a man should own up to his mistakes and be prepared for consequences. I’m ready.” Lucerys glances at the doors apprehensively. “Do you think...” 

Aemond lets out an indignant “hey!” when Lucerys scrambles to climb back onto the bed.  

“Do you think...” Lucerys starts again, but falters when his gaze strays to the bandage covering half of Aemond’s face. He grimaces. “No, of course it hurts. But... how much does it hurt?” The boy is chewing his lip in worry.  

It hurts a lot. It hasn’t stopped hurting since it happened. It hurts so continuously that Aemond scarcely remembers what it feels like to not be in pain. Sometimes it hurts more than other times, depending on how much poppy milk he’s had. Maester Alfador lets Aemond decide how much he gets now. Aemond always stops himself when he starts feeling too sleepy. He hates the darkness more than he hates the pain.  

Aemond considers letting Lucerys believe that the pain is much worse than it is. That’ll show him. Let the bastard feel awful with guilt for causing him so much pain.  

But wait, Aemond isn’t supposed to believe that Lucerys actually feels sorry for what he did. 

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Aemond lies. Knights and warriors bleed all the time and get on with it. Aemond is just as valiant.  

“Really?” Lucerys looks unfathomably relieved. “Okay. Do you think your mother will let me choose? I think I’d rather she take my left eye, so we can match. But... I suppose if she’d rather my right one, it would be okay too. We’ll be like mirror images.” 

“What are you talking about?”  

“Your mother wanted my eye. It’s only right. I took yours. She should take one of my mine.” 

“ What?!”  

“I was scared before. And surprised. I wasn’t ready. But I think I am now. Then we can be together.” 

Aemond lets the fantasy run through him for a few moments. It would certainly be satisfying to hear Lucerys scream in pain, see him hurt and humiliated in front of the whole family as he had been. He imagines Lucerys’s stupid face made even stupider with a huge slash and no eye. He imagines the shock and horror of that side of the family, realizing that they’re not as high and mighty and invincible as Rhaenyra made them believe.  

Then he imagines what will happen afterwards, what everyone will say. Aemond lost his eye at the hands of another child, an accident, against his wishes. Lucerys will have lost an eye bravely, willingly, and Aemond’s mother will be marked as a cruel wretch who sentenced a prince to be blinded.  

No. The bastard doesn’t deserve such glory.  

“I already said there's nothing you can do,” Aemond says. “I don’t want your eye. I won’t let Mother take it.” 

“But-” 

“I don’t forgive you, Luke!” Aemond snaps. And I don’t want to, so don’t make me .  

Luke’s lower lip trembles and his eyes get shiny. Great, the stupid baby is going to cry again.  

Aemond turns to lie down with his back to Luke. His head twinges upon hitting the pillow and he’s reminded that he’s likely unable to lie on his right side anymore, the pressure would be too painful on his cut face. Another thing the stupid bastard is responsible for.  

Aemond tries to go back to sleep but the side of the room that he’s facing is dark. The candles that Luke brought to the room is on his other side.  

“There must be something I can do,” Luke says in a small voice.  

Aemond is quiet for a while. Then, “bring more candles into the room,” he orders. “Put them on this side.” 

Aemond feels Lucerys silently get off the bed and slip out of the room. He returns a little quicker than last time with another candleholder, walking over to the other side of the bed so that now Aemond is bathed in their golden light.  

It’s much better like this. Aemond feels the restfulness return to him after the shock of waking up in the bitter dark to his nephew looming over him. He likes closing his remaining eye and still be able to make out some light through his eyelid, a reminder that he can still see, that his sight isn’t completely lost to him.  

As Aemond drifts to sleep, he vaguely feels a weight settle over him.  

The next time Aemond wakes up is to shouting. 

It’s his mother’s voice, raised and furious. On top of that, Luke is crying. His small arm is in the merciless grip of Aemond’s mother. The boy is trying to get away, but Mother holds tight, shaking him angrily as she continues to scream at him.  

“ Unhand him at once! How dare you?!” Rhaenyra’s voice now joins the cacophony. She bursts into Aemond’s room like she owns it, marches right towards Alicent and forcibly wrenches her arm off her son. Relinquished, the boy scurries behind his mother’s skirts.  

And then the men join in. Daemon steps in front of Rhaenyra and Luke while Ser Criston blocks Alicent with his arm. All the while the women are still shouting at each other.  

Aemond’s head is throbbing from all this noise hitting him so soon after he wakes, and he groans. The sound seems to snap his mother out of her fury, and she rushes to his side.  

“Aemond, are you well? Did he hurt you? What did he-” 

Still with one hand pressed to his temple, Aemond waves her away to accept a cup of water from Maester Alfador. It’s slightly bitter. It’s his morning dose of poppy milk, small enough to not return sleepiness unto him, but high enough to break his poppy milk fast through the night and soothe the pain.  

“Where’s Luke?” Aemond asks, after he finishes his cup.  

His mother looks surprised at his question. They both look around the room and find it empty save for Ser Criston and Maester Alfador. Faintly, Aemond can hear Luke crying and yelling through the halls. His mother must have dragged him away.  

Aemond sighs. The bastard is in big trouble now. The thought is rather cheering to him.  

Maester Alfador asks to check his wound and clean his stitches. He’s a familiar man to Aemond, the maester who tended to him and his siblings since they were babes. He was once the maester to House Hightower and was brought to King’s Landing by Aemond’s grandsire. He was supposed to be Father’s Grand Maester, but he chose Maester Orwyle instead. Aemond is glad for it. He’d much rather Maester Alfador treating him. He doesn’t like the look of the leeches Maester Orwyle favours.  

Aemond’s stomach grumbles as the maester fusses over him, so he asks for breakfast.  

His mother keeps sending him strange looks as Aemond eats the pieces of bread, cheese, and herring she cuts for him.  

-- 

Today is the first day Aemond is allowed out of his chambers.  

Maester Alfador encourages him to pace around his bedroom every day to keep his muscles healthy but before today, he’s been confined to the area within a few steps of his bed lest he suddenly feel faint.  

They are still at High Tide castle at Driftmark. Their journey home after Lady Laena’s funeral was postponed due to Aemond’s injury. Aemond quite liked the castle before the eye incident. Father had taken him, Aegon, and Helaena to the Hall of Nine to greet Lord Corlys when they first arrived. As the older men spoke, Aemond had wandered around the space, admiring the riches the Sea Snake had collected through his voyages.  

Aemond had wanted to go back there on his sanctioned walk, but Maester Alfador insisted that the sun was an important part of his treatment and that he should be walking out in the courtyard or gardens.  

“Maybe I should fly on Vhagar then?” Aemond asks hopefully.  

“Absolutely not,” Mother immediately says.  

“Your mother is right,” Master Alfador agrees. “But perhaps, if Her Grace is amenable, Prince Aemond may visit her. If I believe correctly, a new bond between rider and dragon must be nurtured. And Prince Aemond is of Targaryen blood. His dragon may help with his healing.” 

Aemond looks up at his mother, pleading. 

Mother sighs. “Very well.”  

On the night Aemond claimed Vhagar, he had found her on a sand dune, on the far side of the tidal island High Tide sits on. She roosts closer to the castle now, practically on top of the gates by the isthmus that leads to the main island.  

The tide is low in the morning, allowing a traffic of carts to and fro the castle. Smallfolk slow their walk, even stopping, to gawk at the enormous dragon that towers over them. Castle guards line the walkway shouting orders for the people to run along, trying to keep the flow of traffic going despite the fantastic view.  

Aemond smiles for the first time since he lost his eye. His bonded dragon turns her head and eyes him, picking him out from the crowd. A rumble reverberates from the galley of her chest. The people around them murmur, in awe and anxiety. Aemond knows his Vhagar is purring in contentment that her rider has finally come to see her again after their very first flight. 

“She’s been restless, Your Grace,” one of the guards comments. “Flying back and forth over the castle at all hours. Roaring and the like. Scares folks half to death sometimes.”  

“Has anyone been hurt?” Mother asks, concerned. 

“No,” the guard answers, sounding surprised that she would ask such an absurd thing. “She just mourns poor Lady Laena, we think.” 

She needs me, Aemond thinks. He walks right up to the walkway’s ledge, leaning as far as he can over the parapets despite his mother’s protests. His arm is outstretched, reaching for his dragon. A parallel of that fateful night when he reached out to her, terrified yet determined, and called out dohaeras!  

Vhagar lowers her head. With a gentleness that seems impossible for a creature her size, she nudges her massive snout against Aemond’s open palm. The bond between them sings at their touch.  

Aemond laughs, heart elated, as Vhagar huffs a gust of steam through her nostrils. He barely takes notice of the people around them exclaiming and muttering excitedly amongst themselves. Even the guards have paused from shuffling the people forward in favour of simply standing watch. They are all witness to a privileged sight, a Targaryen prince bonding with an ancient dragon that is his birthright.  

Vhagar lowers her body to the ground, leaning her back towards Aemond, as though urging him to mount her for flight.  

Aemond was ready to climb over the parapets and jump on her back when he feels his mother’s hand on his shoulder. 

“No, my love,” she murmurs, close only for him to hear.  

Aemond considers disobeying her. He is a dragon, and dragons do as they please.  

“Your Grace, if I may,” Maester Alfador cuts in. He is eyeing the crowd before them with an odd shrewdness in his eye. It’s an expression that wouldn’t look unfamiliar on Aemond’s grandsire, his mother’s father. “Perhaps it would hearten the people to see Prince Aemond on his dragon.” 

Mother looks appalled. “They would see a mother allow an injured child to ride a dangerous beast.” 

“They would see a brave young prince, of undisputed Targaryen blood, atop the utmost symbol of royalty and power .”  

She seems to hesitate, torn between motherly love and daughterly duty.  

Aemond cares not for politics and public image. He just wants his dragon. He grins at Maester Alfador then takes advantage of his mother’s hesitation to scramble over the parapets.  

Vhagar is practically pressed against the walls and Aemond doesn’t have to jump far to reach the ropes to the saddle.  

His mother is shouting something from behind him, but it’s drowned out by the increasingly loud chatter of the spectating crowd. Aemond hears nothing but the excitement thrumming in his veins as he takes his natural place in the world, atop a dragon.  

Vhagar moves before Aemond is strapped in, eager to stretch her wings.  

“ Soves!”   

She doesn’t need to be told twice. The stomps of her clawed feet seem to shake the island as she leaps into the wind, catching the rush of air beneath her wide, leathery wings. She flaps once, twice, thrice, powerful shoulder muscles jostling Aemond in his saddle. The ground pulls away and they are airborne.  

Aemond hears people cheering from below. He cranes his head over Vhagar’s flank and sees them there, the crowd gathered by the castle gates, jumping and waving their arms.  

Aemond grins, heart soaring with pure, unbridled joy. He lets out a jubilant cheer the same time as Vhagar roars. He is smiling so wide, it almost splits his face clean in two again. For the first time since the injury, he feels no pain. Nothing can hurt him when he is on top of the world.  

Circling the castle, Aemond sees a small figure standing on the battlement of the upper bailey. Even from far away, he can see the dark curls and recognize that it’s Luke. The boy is jumping up and down, frantically waving his arms at Aemond, his cheers swept away by the wind.  

Aemond laughs as he soars higher into the sky. 

Luke hasn’t gone to see him again since that time he was caught sleeping in Aemond’s bed. Mother had allowed the candles Luke brought in from that night to remain in the room because Aemond sleeps easier when his room is well-lit. Aemond knows that Mother wouldn’t like it if Luke ever came and visited him again, but he must admit, he finds himself wishing the annoying little brat would try to sneak in to see him once more. If only to revel in the trouble the bastard would get into when he’s found out. 

Aemond just misses company – any company other than Mother and Maester Alfador.  

Loneliness is an odd thing. Aemond had looked forward to going to Driftmark, despite it being under rather sombre circumstances – Lady Laena’s death and all. He was informed that Rhaenyra will be bringing all her sons, the boys that Aemond had not seen in years.  

Yes, Jace and Luke had often joined Aegon in the deeply unkind and unfunny jokes at his expense. But it wasn’t all the time. Sometimes Aegon and Jace would be off doing their own thing – the eldest brothers too haughty in their seniority to include their younger brothers – leaving Luke with Aemond. It’s never terrible when it’s just Luke. The boy is too young and dim to come up with the kind of schemes that Aegon would concoct to torment Aemond.  

When Rhaenyra took her boys with her when she fled from the Red Keep, Aegon had no one to play with and nothing to do but to torment Aemond. Does Jace ever do such things to Luke? Aemond doesn’t think so. It must be the drink. Aegon discovered wine shortly after Jace and Luke left to live on Dragonstone and it has only made him meaner.  

So yes, Aemond was so lonely that, despite the not-so-great memories, he had looked forward to being around boys his own age again who were not Aegon. And maybe now that Aegon is more interested in wine than in play, Aemond could have Jace and Luke for himself.  

Aemond had tried to approach Jace, but the boy had looked just as sad as the daughters Lady Laena left behind. Aemond overheard Mother and Ser Criston talking about the Sers Harwin and Lyonel Strong dying in a fire at Harrenhall. Jace must know about his true father, then, for him to be that sad. What a troublesome thing it is, to be a bastard.  

Before Vhagar, when Aemond would kneel in front of the hearth in which his cradle egg sits, praying for it to hatch, he would secretly wonder if maybe he was a bastard. Maybe he was also a false Targaryen. But even his bastard nephews’ eggs had hatched in their cradle. Why hasn’t his? Is he something even lower, even worse than a bastard? 

But Vhagar was the one meant for him. She was the one he was unknowingly waiting for. All his prayers, all his suffering, all his pain – even his lost eye – it was all so that he would fulfil his destiny. To be bonded to the greatest dragon in the realm. Who else could endure such trials? Who else could deserve such glory? 

Vhagar fills the emptiness that Aemond has been carrying in his soul since he came into the world. It is only right that such emptiness was so aching and encompassing, for the dragon who would fill it is as great as Vhagar. And now he is made whole. A Targaryen with a dragon. 

But loneliness is still an odd thing. Even with Vhagar twined tight around his heart, Aemond still wishes he had someone to talk to. 

Laenor Velaryon is murdered. 

Everyone is still on Driftmark, so another funeral is quickly held. Luke’s face is swollen from crying, his pug nose an inflamed red. Aemond can’t fully understand Vaemond Velaryon’s eulogy – he uses such big High Valyrian words that he hasn’t learned yet – but he sounds angrier than he did at Lady Laena’s funeral. The man keeps casting dark looks at Rhaenyra and Luke.  

Once Laenor’s stone cask is sunk into the sea and they all walk back to the castle, Luke starts screaming.  

“I don’t want to go back to Dragonstone! I hate it! I want Father! I want to go home !”  

Rhaenyra hisses something in her son’s ear.  

Lucerys shakes his head jerkily. “No, it’s not! It’s not home! I want to go back to the Keep!”  

Rhaenyra kneels in front of Luke, trying to reason with the boy but he isn’t having it.  

Luke has always been a boisterous troublemaker who is also prone to crying, but Aemond has never seen him throw a full tantrum before. The boy is screaming, refusing to look at his mother, even going so far as to plant his rear on the ground and refusing to move.   

Rhaenyra looks to be at an utter loss and finally Daemon steps in and lifts Lucerys bodily from the ground. The boy screams and kicks and hits him but it doesn’t faze the much stronger and bigger prince. He is carried back inside the castle with Rhaenyra close on their heels. 

What an embarrassing display. Aemond feels mortified just watching it. He glances at his mother and sees her eyeing the spectacle with a dark look, muttering something to Ser Criston. He glances at his father and sees him talking with the Lords Corlys and Vaemond. Whatever Father is saying is making Lord Vaemond look angry, while Lord Corlys just looks tired and sad. 

Aemond looks at his grandsire and is surprised to find the man had been staring at him with an odd look on his face. Aemond feels an unfamiliar sense of apprehension when Grandsire starts to approach him. He feels like he’s in trouble somehow. 

But Grandsire only wanted to inform him that he’d be flying Vhagar back to King’s Landing along with Aegon and Helaena and their dragons. 

Aemond is surprised. “I thought Mother forbade it.” 

Grandsire just smiles that all-knowing smile of his. “Worry not, I will speak with her. The good people of King’s Landing will be happy to see you on a dragon, don’t you think?” 

Aemond nods eagerly. He supposes they will. 

-- 

Aemond is taken to a horrendous fever not long after returning home. His face feels like it’s engulfed in flames, the centre of the inferno being his stitched shut eye.  

Oh, and it hurts. It hurts. He is given more milk of the poppy than he would’ve preferred, but he doesn’t even protest because it just hurts so much. The pain is such that even with that much poppy milk, his sleep is restless. The throbbing in his head is just so constant and merciless. 

The maesters cut his stitches open on the third day of fever. Aemond doesn’t remember much of it. His consciousness goes in and out and the only thing that perseveres is the pain. 

When Aemond finally starts to feel well, he is surprised to find Aegon sitting on his bedside. 

His older brother is grinning, uncharacteristically sober, and bouncing slightly on the cushioned armchair like he does when he is anticipating some scheme of his unfolding. 

“What is it?” Aemond asks suspiciously. 

“You will not believe what happened when you were lost in the fever,” Aegon declares excitedly. 

“What?” 

“Little Luke flew here on his dragon. Alone.” 

Aemond frowns. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. I could not ask him. Rhaenyra had landed shortly after. She had probably chased after him from across the bay to herd him right back. I heard it from one of the knights guarding the Pit when I went to see Sunfyre. I don’t think even Father knows. I’m sure Mother and Grandsire do, though.” 

Aemond hums. 

Aegon looks disappointed at his reaction, or lack thereof. “‘Hmm’?” he mocks. “Is that all you have to say of it?” 

“What am I supposed to say? Luke is a spoiled little brat. I’m not surprised he would do such a thing. Do you remember how he behaved at his own father’s funeral?” 

“Right. His ‘father’,” Aegon snickers. “Maybe he’s realized that Ser Laenor wasn’t his true father and he’s running away to live a true bastard life.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Aemond says without thinking. 

Aegon blinks. He stares at Aemond, baffled. 

“You want your eye cut out too?” Aemond sneers. It’s not that he’s defending Luke. He just knows full well what happens when words like that is thrown around, and he thinks his brother lacks the strength to withstand the hardships Aemond so bravely endures.  

Aegon shakes his head, more out of disbelief than actually answering Aemond’s rhetorical question. “You just get stranger every day, brother.” 

Aegon and Helaena are wed in the royal sept.  

Helaena looks beautiful in her white wedding gown, draped in a cloak of Targaryen black with the red three-headed dragon. Aegon looks… inebriated. He manages to slur out his vows, though. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon had flown in for the occasion. Just the two of them. Their children stayed on Dragonstone. Throughout the ceremony, Aemond would catch Rhaenyra staring at him, her face unreadable. Aemond remembers her calling for him to be ‘sharply questioned’ when she discovered he had called her sons bastards. He wonders if she still requires retribution for that. His lost eye didn’t seem enough for her. 

The wedding reception is held in the royal godswood. Aegon gets a lot of attention, as the groom. There’s a lot of bawdy jokes from Aegon’s boorish squire friends, things that make Aemond’s ears feel hot listening to them. Helaena appears unbothered, smiling serenely even though she doesn’t look like she quite understands what they are saying.  

Aemond feels indignant on her behalf. If he were Helaena’s lawful husband, he would never allow such crude things being said about his wife. In front of his wife, no less.  

Once again, he feels like he should have been the one who married Helaena. It had surprised him that Mother would betroth her only daughter to the son she constantly scolds for indecent behaviour. Perhaps she had thought that Aemond’s dragon-less self was an unworthy match for a rider of Dreamfyre. But then he had claimed Vhagar and the betrothal to Aegon still stood. 

Perhaps it’s his new deficiency that now makes him lesser. Aemond adjusts the eyepatch his mother suggests he wear when he is in polite company. Aegon still has something Aemond doesn’t have. Both eyes. 

There’s some commotion, shouting from the outer bailey which is just beyond the northern walls of the godswood. Then a dragon is in sight, diving in from the clouds in a pearlescent streak. It must have landed somewhere in the outer bailey because the shouts from there get louder. Guards rush towards the gates. Rhaenyra and Daemon are close on their heels.  

In the clamour and confusion, Aemond slips out to see what’s going on. The dragon he had seen was small. Small enough to land in the castle’s yard. He hadn’t been able to see if it had a rider, but it must have. Untamed dragons that young do not stray far from their birthplace, whether it be the caves of the Dragon Pit or the Dragonmont. Aemond knows who rides a young dragon of such pearlescent scales. It should be no other than- 

“ Luke! ” Rhaenyra shouts, furious.  

The guards are uncertain now that they are faced with not only an actual dragon in their vicinity, but also the dragon-like ire that emanates from Rhaenyra.  

As Luke dismounts his dragon, he spots Aemond standing there by the bailey gates. The boy has the audacity to ignore his own mother’s angry shouting and rushes straight for Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Luke calls out with a wide smile. When he reaches Aemond, he almost topples them both over with the force of his hug.  

Aemond is stood, frozen, even with the younger boy wrapped around him like a limpet. Everyone is staring at him.  

Rhaenyra is agape, her disbelief bleeding out her fury. 

Daemon looks faintly amused, a smirk quirking a corner of his lips.  

Grandsire has also made his way into the outer bailey, and he stares at Aemond and Luke with an inscrutable expression. 

“Aemond!” Luke says again, looking up at him now. He’s grinning toothily, seemingly not realizing that everyone’s eyes are still fixed on them. “I missed you so much, Qӯbor !” 

Luke had protested – screaming and stomping – when he was finally pried away from Aemond. The King had to intervene and promise Luke that he would not be sent home to Dragonstone that the boy finally acquiesced and allowed himself to be escorted to his old rooms in the Holdfast. Aemond did not follow even though he was burning with curiosity why Luke had braved the Blackwater on his runt of a dragon just to see him. What could possibly be so urgent? 

Aemond’s mother sent him to his own rooms, ordering him to retire for the evening despite it still being rather early. Aemond feels too wired to sleep, and his eyepatch is irritating him. He’s still not used to the feel of it. It makes his healed stitches itch.  

Some time later, Aegon slips into his rooms.  

“What are you doing here?” Aemond asks. “Shouldn’t you be with Helaena?” His stomach turns rather unpleasantly thinking what Aegon should be doing with his sister, to his sister, on their wedding night.  

Aegon shushes him, beckoning him with his arms. “Come on. Come with me.” 

“What for?” 

Aegon grins. “Father is talking about Luke right now. With Rhaenyra and Daemon, in the small council room. Don’t you want to see?” 

Aemond frowns. “They’ll never let us in.” 

“Oh, my sweet, naïve brother. Come. Follow me.” 

Aemond does follow, despite himself.  

Aegon leads him down the hallway to a sculpture of Meraxes set into a niche near the stairway that leads down to the first floor of the Holdfast. He slips into the narrow space between the stone dragon and the niche’s back wall and pulls something from the behind the statue’s tail. Then he pushes the back wall which opens like a door, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.  

“Oh, hells. Grab one of those candles from over there,” Aegon says as he holds the false wall open.  

Aemond retrieves two from one of the hallway’s candleholders and gives one to his brother. They enter the dark tunnel as the door swings shut behind them. 

Aemond hates this already. He hates the dark, and the two lone candles are far from enough to give him the light he needs. It smells rancid too, like mould and dirt and rotten meat. They are in the castle walls, that much is clear. As they walk, he can hear muffled conversation from just the other side, though he cannot hear clearly what is being said. Is this how Aegon plans to spy on their father? 

Aemond starts to ask just as much but Aegon shushes him. 

“Hush, we’re almost there,” Aegon says.  

There’s light filtering into the tunnel up ahead. Stone gives way to a metal grate and the conversation from beyond it is easier to hear. 

“-this the first I am hearing of this? You knowingly kept this from me?” That’s Father’s voice.  

The metal grate gives a peering view of the small council room. Aemond can see Father sat at the head of the table. Rhaenyra and Daemon are on his right, while two people sit across from them with their backs to the Aemond’s view. A man and woman. 

“It was not anything of importance, Your Grace,” Grandsire’s voice replies. “Just the misbehaviour of an undisciplined child-” 

“Watch your tongue, Otto,” Rhaenyra warns. 

“What should it be called then, Princess?” That’s Mother’s sharp voice. “A prince endangering himself for no discernible reason. Defying his own mother-” 

“He wanted to see Aemond,” Daemon says bluntly, speaking directly to Father. “It is true that Luke has been rebellious as of late. But it isn’t without reason. He has clearly stated to us, time and time again that he wishes to see Aemond, your son.” 

Rhaenyra clicks her tongue, irritated, while the King leans forward, as though eager to hear more from his brother.  

“He does?” Father says, almost touched with wonder. “Then why is he being denied? They are kin. My son and grandson. They should be able to see each other anytime they wish.” 

“Luke has… grandiose notions of…” Rhaenyra appears to struggle finding the words. “Father, you know what happened between them.” 

“When your son cut out my son’s eye, is that what you mean?”  

Rhaenyra glares at Alicent. “It was an accident . In an altercation your son instigated-” 

At the same time, Daemon laughs- “You make it sound as though Lucerys held him down and intentionally dug-” 

-and Alicent snaps, “He is blinded . For the crimes of words . Words that would not even be circulating if-” 

Rhaenyra abruptly stands, challenged.  

“Enough!” Father commands and everyone falls silent. “I have ordered that matter to be put to rest and I will have my orders followed.” 

“Thank you, Father,” Rhaenyra sniffs. “We shall take Luke and fly back to Dragonstone first thing on the morrow and-” 

“No,” Father interrupts.  

Aemond almost laughs at how Rhaenyra is stunned into silence, clearly unaccustomed to being denied by Father.  

Aegon actually laughs and he had to clamp his hands over his own mouth to stifle it. “Look at her face,” he snorts at Aemond.  

In the small council room, Father says, “I will hear the truth from Luke, himself.” He nods at someone out of Aemond’s sight and a Kingsguard walks in with Luke in tow.  

“Luke!” Rhaenyra begins to approach her son, but Father stays her with an upheld hand.  

Luke walks closer into view and Aemond can see that the boy is nervous but determined. He glances uncertainly at the occupants of the table and bows to the King.  

“Your Grace,” Luke says stiffly.  

“My boy,” Father greets him with a fondness and warmth he never shows his own sons. “What is this I hear of you flying here from Dragonstone all by yourself? Your dragon is far too young, still. As are you.” 

“Your Grace… Grandsire,” Luke begins, glancing hesitantly at his mother and Daemon. “I miss living here. And I miss Aemond. I am so very sorry for what I did at Driftmark. I want to make it up to him. I can’t do that when I’m stuck on Dragonstone.” 

“And how , pray tell, do you intend on ‘making it up to him’?” Mother asks coldly. “Will you return his eye to him? Restore his full sight?” 

Father waves a hand in her direction, commanding her to stop speaking.  

Luke seems at a loss on how to answer. “I… I don’t know. I can help him. Whatever he needs. If he’s having trouble seeing things… I can help him read. He always liked to read.”  

Aemond scoffs from his hiding place. He can still read perfectly well with one eye. He gets tired a little quicker now, and he gets headaches if he reads a little too long, but he can still do it. The idea that Luke , who can barely sit still long enough to read a single page, will help Aemond read is laughable.  

Father hums, regarding Luke thoughtfully. “If that is truly what you wish, I cannot see any reason not to grant it, Luke. This is your home too, after all.” 

“Father, his home is with his family, on Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra protests. 

Father fixes her with a look. “Are we not also his family – your family, daughter?” 

“I will not have him near my son.” Mother says stubbornly. “I will not endanger him.” 

Luke’s eyes widen. “I would never- ” 

“You already have,” Mother snaps at him and Luke falls silent, blinking rapidly.  

Rhaenyra laughs derisively. She turns to Father and says, “She speaks to a boy of seven like this and I am expected to leave my son in her care?”  

“You are more than welcome to live here once more, Rhaenyra,” Father replies tiredly.  

Rhaenyra scoffs.  

Luke addresses his mother directly for the first time since he entered the room. He takes her hand and tugs it. “I want to stay here, Muña. I’m not afraid.” 

Rhaenyra stares at him, as though considering with what words she can convince him to against his wishes. Finally, she only sighs and embraces her son.  

Mother turns to Grandsire. “Surely you aren’t in agreement with this?”  

Grandsire pauses before saying carefully, “If the King wishes it, then it will be done.”  

Father nods approvingly. “This is a family matter, not a political one. I have heard all I need. Luke will remain here, for as long as he wishes. Let it never be said that mine own blood is not welcome in my own castle.” That final sentence seemed to be aimed directly at Rhaenyra, but Father stands to kiss his beloved eldest daughter on the cheek just the same. Then he turns to Luke with a smile. “I will see you when we break fast together on the morrow, little one.”  

Luke returns his smile and nods.  

Father gestures to his Kingsguard and they flank him as he exits the room, leaving it even more tense in his absence.  

Aemond sees Mother approach Luke. Rhaenyra tries to push the boy behind her, as though wary that the woman would hurt him. Aemond is surprised to see Luke stand his ground and face her. Aemond can’t see his mother’s face with her back to his hiding spot, but he knows what she looks like when she’s angry. It’s a frightening thing to behold.  

Mother ignores Rhaenyra and speaks directly to Luke. “Aemond doesn’t need you,” she says coldly. “Especially after what you did.” 

Luke’s mouth trembles a bit, but he manages to mumble, “well, then maybe I need him.”  

Mother makes a disgusted sound before she sweeps from the room. Grandsire follows her out.  

It’s just Rhaenyra and Daemon left in the room with Luke. They’re just talking softly now, too soft for Aemond to hear too clearly.  

“That’s it?” Aegon whispers incredulously. He sighs. “Well, that was boring.” He starts walking back down the tunnel the way they came.  

Aemond goes to follow him. “What were you expecting?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Some yelling, some fighting. Maybe Mother would have tried to stab Luke again. That had been funny.” 

That had not been funny. Aemond hates to think the kind of trouble Mother would have gotten in if she had managed to injure Luke. Luke had not gotten in any trouble for injuring Aemond, but Luke was different. Luke belonged to Rhaenyra . They get away with everything.  

“Weird that Luke will be living here again, don’t you think?” 

Aemond hums. It is a rather curious thing. He doesn’t understand what Luke is trying to do. Is the bastard actually sorry? Or did he just mean to torment him further? 

Aegon suddenly barks out a laugh. “Thank the Gods they didn’t try to summon you in there like they did Luke. We would have broken our ankles trying to dash back in all this dark.” 

Aemond frowns. A part of him is relieved that no one had been sent to fetch him in his rooms since he is clearly very much not in them at present. But a larger part feels betrayed that Father cares so little of him and so much of Luke that he would listen to Luke’s wishes straight from his lips – and grant them so easily – but deems irrelevant anything Aemond would ever say or feel on the matter.