Chapter Text
Part I: Naejot se māzis jelmior
(To the coming winds)
Jacaerys Velaryon (I)
As with all bad things that tend to happen to Jace, it begins, naturally, with a comment from Joff.
“We should ask Driftmark for help,” Joff says lightly and unnecessarily, and immediately, the whole room grows silent and still at his words.
“No.” The answer comes out before Jace can stop it, but he doesn’t regret it. “We don’t need… their help,” he adds when he gets a few looks from members of the Small Council.
Joff—because he lives to be a headache to his eldest brother—ignores the awkward tension building up in the room and meets Jace’s stare straight on. “We need ships and soldiers. Driftmark has plenty to spare,” he states firmly, raising his chin in challenge. It is a gesture that he—Gods damned it all—learned from Luke, and it always reminds Jace of his absent little brother.
“It would not hurt to reach out to Driftmark,” Lord Jasper Wylde agrees quietly, his dark brown eyes darting between the two princes. There is a steely glint of cunning to his eyes that Jace has never trusted, and today it seems especially bright. “I am sure that Prince Aemond would be… willing to lend aid to our war. Should the right person approach him, of course.”
Instinctively, all eyes look to Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the Queen and grandsire of the prince in question. The alpha man remains calm and silent as he stares at something out of the window with his hand placed lightly against his chin as if lost in thought. Jace has no idea what could be going through his mind, but guesses it is nothing good.
For the past five years, the Blacks and Greens have been at a standstill in their silent war for the crown. Though his mother was crowned queen before Grandsire Viserys passed, she has not been able to remove Ser Otto from his position as Hand nor to shake loose his loyal supporters and followers. And in her attempt to avoid bloodshed, the queen has not openly fought against it. Yet, to Jace, this merely feels like putting off the unavoidable war brewing on the far horizon.
“Luke is the Lord of Driftmark. It is up to him to make the decision to send us aid or not,” Joff interjects, frowning at Lord Wylde and the other alphas in the room. He meets each of their stares and holds their gazes until they look away. “Best to remember that before you make your requests.”
“And has Prince Lucerys exchanged any words with you recently?” wonders Lord Larys Strong. Though his tone is calm and free of anger and judgment, Jace cannot help but hear a sly, mocking note to his voice.
Joff, naturally, bristles and sits up straighter in his chair. “Why does that matter? Whether I sent him a letter weeks ago or years ago, I am still his little brother! He will come here if summoned!”
Jace digs his nails into his thigh to keep himself from sighing at Joff’s obvious tell. Though they have not shared much information about the estrangement between Luke and their family, it is well known that the Lord of Driftmark and his Prince-Consort have not visited the Red Keep in six years. Even letters are scarce between them, with the only ones still maintaining consistent contact being sweet Aunt Helaena and the oblivious Aegon and Viserys. The Small Council knows all of this, but thankfully, they do not call out Joff’s bluff. Likely because to them, he is merely another omega prince—born to be bargained over by alphas and to breed the next generation. Even after being knighted and openly acknowledged as a capable warrior in his own right, Joff is still only a mere omega to a council composed mainly of alphas.
“I believe we should make the attempt,” Lord Otto suddenly states, drawing all the attention in the room. He finally looks away from the window and meets Jace’s eyes with his own deep, evergreen pair. “The Daughters’ War only grows more unstable with each passing day. And with Dorne now involved, it is difficult to say who will win. We need aid to settle things once and for all.”
Jace nods in reluctant agreement. For all his faults as a cunning and ruthless alpha, Lord Otto is also no fool. If even he sees the war as a threat to them, then it is likely true. “I will speak with Her Grace and get her thoughts on the matter,” he finally decides, gesturing a hand in the direction where his mother rests in her private rooms. “We will reconvene on the morrow. Dismissed.”
He watches as the Small Council all rise to their feet and leave the room. He waits until the last person has left and the Queensguard has closed the door behind them before finally releasing his glare at Joff, who has remained sitting. “Happy now, Joff? I must now ask Mother to send a formal invite to Luke. How do you think that will end? Hmm?”
To his credit, Joff at least has the decency to wince in shame and embarrassment. “I was hoping to do it without letting her know,” he mutters, sinking down into his chair.
Jace cannot hold back his snort. “Fool,” he says loudly, flashing his little brother a look that makes him scowl. “You know what will follow now! You know how much it hurts our mother to even speak his name, let alone send him a letter—!”
He stops himself from speaking further, closes his eyes, and tries to calm his anger. But it is hard. It is so hard not to think of Luke and all that has followed since his leave all those years ago. Hard not to think of Luke as he was. Luke, his sweet little brother, who betrayed them all when he secretly wed their deranged cunt of an uncle. Luke, loyal and kind, who left them all behind with nothing but a letter stating that he had no interest in marrying Prince Qyle Martell or any other potential suitors, and instead had fallen in love with the alpha who nearly killed them all with a rock. Luke, his trusting and naïve little brother, who has fallen for whatever poisonous act their uncle has put upon him. Luke—his other half, his first love, his right-hand man, and the person he had planned to name Hand of the King when he took up the throne, because there was no one he trusted more—who has haunted their family for the past six years, even though he lives. Luke, Luke, Luke—to even speak his name hurts his heart as if someone has reached inside and squeezed it.
“I will tell Mother,” Joff says quickly, sitting up straight again. “Let her be angry with me.”
As tempting as the offer is, Jace knows it must be he who speaks to their mother on this topic. “No. I will tell her. She will understand better if it comes from me,” he says firmly, but inside, he is not so positive.
Sure enough, Mother is both stricken by grief and roused in fury. “Why would you think to even mention Luke to them?” she questions, her voice steady even with the glimmer of water in her amethyst eyes. Though obviously tired and sick from her cold, she still insists on working from her bed, which is littered with various papers and forms. It makes Jace angry to see it because it is another reminder of how he’s not strong enough yet to support her.
“It is a good idea. We need the ships and soldiers,” he defends, forcing himself to look past his own failures and focus on his queen. Now is not the time to get lost in his own inadequacies. “Greyjoy is not an option. He is likely to turn on us and try to rebel against the Crown. The rest of the Houses don’t have the number of ships and manpower that we need to stand against our foes. And… there is no one more dependable to turn to now than… than Luke.”
Mother doesn’t hide her scoff of disbelief. “Perhaps he was once, but now… Who can say? I have not even laid eyes on him since…” she trails off at that, staring off at the open window that Jace realizes is in the direction of Driftmark. He understands her hesitation. Luke had betrayed them all when he eloped with Aemond all those years ago. Who is to say that he won’t do it again? Yet, despite that betrayal, Jace can’t help but feel confident that Luke will answer their summons. Like Joff, he cannot help but believe the best in his brother, even though it has been six years since they last laid eyes on each other.
“I know that there is a chance he may not answer. But I believe he will. I believe he still cares for us even though he married Aemond,” he tells his mother honestly.
Mother shakes her head, making her long braid fall over her shoulder. “It is not Luke I fear. It is Aemond. It is his influence and control over Luke that worries me,” she admits, twisting a plain silver band around her finger.
Jace cannot help but laugh. “What more can that prick do to us at this point? He has already taken Luke,” he reminds her. “Besides, Grandsire Corlys and Princess Rhaenys will be there, too. I don’t believe they will allow Aemond to do anything that would hurt us. Not when they have lived with him all this time.”
Mother nods slowly as she seems to think on his words. “That’s true. Father told me that, after they married, he sent a letter to Corlys and Rhaenys. He never explained what was in it, but it must have been important, as it made them accept Aemond into their House and approve of the marriage. And they have stayed firm in this decision even after all these years. There must be a good reason for it.”
Jace can only take her word for it. When Luke and Aemond had first eloped, it was to the late king that they had approached for protection. Jace doesn’t know the specific details of the ordeal, and only the basics: that Luke and Aemond were wed in secret before Grandsire Viserys, that he sanctioned the marriage and gave them his blessing, and that they then went to Driftmark, where they have remained for the past six years. When the news got out to the rest of them, Mother and Daemon had gone to Driftmark themselves to demand that the marriage be annulled and that Aemond be sent back to the Red Keep. But Grandsire Corlys and Princess Rhaenys refused and only said to take it up with the king, who remained firm in his decision. By then, the news had spread to the rest of the court and kingdom, and it was too late to have the marriage annulled, as it was shown to have been consummated. And though Mother had tried to talk sense into Luke, he refused to listen and vowed that he had entered the marriage willingly. After that, there wasn’t much more that she could do, and she had left Driftmark in frustration. A few more attempts were made to bring his brother to his senses before Mother had to give up, as she had more pressing issues to focus on, being crowned queen by Grandsire Visery’s sudden demand.
“I will summon them to court. Whether they choose to answer and obey or ignore it as they have done with my letters, we can only wait and see,” Mother finally says after a moment of silence. Though her words are firm, Jace can see how upset she is by the thought of being ignored again by her sweetest son.
“I don’t think they will ignore an official summons,” Jace points out, feeling that this is likely true. Though they have sent letters pleading with Luke to wake up and renounce his marriage, no one has ever actually ordered him to attend court. He believes his brother will not ignore his duty to the Crown and their House.
“We will find out,” Mother states, and then waves him away to begin writing the summons. Jace obeys and keeps the knowledge to himself until days later, when a reply from Driftmark is sent confirming that the Lord of the Tides and his entire family will attend court to speak on lending aid to the Daughters’ War. After that, the news spread throughout the castle, and soon everyone was whispering about the return of the long-gone princes and their forbidden marriage.
The rest of their family and the court react to the news in colorful ways. Joff is smug at being proven right, but also clearly torn between being happy and excited to see Luke again and anger and hurt over his decision to marry the enemy. Baela is much the same and blows between hot and cold in her emotions and reactions, and Jace does his best to be there for his wife. Daemon is quiet and calm on the outside, but Jace can read the bloodlust growing in his eyes as he likely fantasizes about beheading Aemond and locking Luke up in a room until he comes to his senses. Aegon and Viserys are excited to see their long-lost big brother again, while Visenya is merely excited to finally meet him. But it is Rhaena who worries Jace the most, as she was hurt the most by Luke’s betrayal, for not only had he eloped without telling his best friend, but he did it with the one person she could not stand. Jace does not want to see how she will react when she stands face-to-face with Luke and Aemond.
As for the Greens, Jace doesn’t get to see their reactions for himself at the news of House Velaryon’s appointment at court. But from their pinched expressions after, he can only assume it went as well with them as it did with his own family.
Alicent Hightower (I)
Alicent discovers that her son is coming back to court from a pair of gossiping servants.
“—and who is coming back?”
“Prince Lucerys and Prince Aemond!”
“Who are they?”
“How have ya not heard of them?! It’s the Pearl of Driftmark and the One-Eyed Prince!”
Alicent freezes for a moment before she sharply turns to the two servants speaking in the hall. “What did you just say?” she demands, making the two beta women stop where they are. “Who is coming back to court?”
“P-Prince Aemond and P-Prince Lucerys, Your Grace,” stutters one as her eyes dart from the Dowager Queen to her Sworn Shield looming behind her. “T-They’re coming to court soon on the queen’s orders.”
Alicent doesn’t bother to question the two women further and storms off to the chambers of the Hand of the Queen. There she finds her father, as expected, sitting at his desk, hard at work as always. At her entrance, he glances up at her before returning his gaze to the scroll he is writing on.
“When were you going to tell me that my son was coming back to court?” she demands, not bothering with greetings or even politeness at this point. Once, she would have never dreamt of speaking to her father in such a way, but the years since Aemond’s betrayal and Rhaenyra’s crowning have only hardened her heart and stripped her of her patience.
To his credit, her father does not bother to pretend to be ignorant of her words. “I figured you would hear about it sooner or later,” he reasons calmly, neatly signing his name off on the bottom of the scroll. “What is wrong? I thought you would be happy to see Aemond once more.”
Alicent squeezes her nails into the palms of her hands. The pain helps her center herself. “I am happy with the news,” she acknowledges, nodding stiffly. “But I would have also liked to learn of it sooner, and not from gossiping servants. When will he arrive? Why is he coming back after all these years?”
“The queen has summoned all of House Velaryon to court in order to lend aid to the Daughters’ War,” Father explains as he places the scroll to the side. “They are due to arrive in three days’ time.”
Alicent takes in the news for a moment as her heart jumps through a series of emotions that she cannot keep track of. Aemond—her good child, her dependable son, her only helper and once salvation in the chaos that is her life—is finally returning to his rightful place at the Red Keep. The news invigorates her, of course, but it also comes with the always-lingering anger, hurt, and disappointment, for Aemond had once been her greatest source of pride until he betrayed her by running away and wedding Lucerys Velaryon, of all people.
When she first heard the news all those years ago, she thought it to be a humorless joke at first. Aemond, married to Lucerys Velaryon? Her son would sooner rip out his remaining eye and denounce Vhagar than commit such a thing. But when Father remained stone-faced even in the face of her laughing denials, she realized he spoke the truth. Her son willingly wed Rhaenyra’s plain-faced bastard of a spawn and shamed them all for it.
The knowledge still leaves her bewildered. Why Lucerys Velaryon of all people? The boy had been nothing but cruel to her son since their childhood days and had committed the worst of crimes against Aemond when he dug his blade into the alpha’s eye. And even if that history had not lain between them, Lucerys Velaryon was still the last choice of a bride she would have ever chosen for her son, with his bastard blood and connections to Rhaenyra. Instead, Aemond was supposed to marry Lady Floris Baratheon, who was a proper omega lady of good breeding and honorable and just. Alicent had spent so much time poring over all the highest of noble omegas in the land to find the perfect spouse for her Aemond, and Lady Floris had been the best of them. She was lovely, polite, modest, humble, and graceful in all she did. Alicent could not have picked a better choice.
But Aemond had scorned her selection and picked the worst of omegas to make his bride.
Alicent had tried to talk sense into him, of course. She had gone to Driftmark herself, along with Ser Criston, to try to get an answer from Aemond. She and her Sworn Shield were the closest to Aemond, and she believed that if anyone could undo whatever enchantments and bewitchments the bastard had put her son under, then it would be the two of them. But Aemond had refused to listen. He had been cold and firm in his choice to marry Lucerys, and nothing they said seemed to break through whatever illusion he was under. It had gotten to the point where Ser Criston had tried to physically make Aemond leave with them, but Lord Corlys had intervened then and told them to leave and not return. Alicent had no choice but to withdraw, yet she still sent letters to her son in hopes of reaching him. It didn’t work.
Father had cautioned her to be patient and merely wait it out. He believed Aemond would come to his senses in time and not by force. That his marriage was a whim of youthful rebellion and that, with time, he would come to see Lucerys Velaryon for what he truly was. That, with maturity and wisdom, Aemond would overcome whatever lust he felt for the bastard and eventually renounce him and the marriage and return to his rightful place at his brother’s side when he took the crown. But it has been six years, and Alicent cannot help but feel her faith waning. The only comfort she found all these years is, ironically, with Rhaenyra, who is just as opposed to the marriage as she was.
But now, after six years, Alicent’s son is finally going to be before her again. Now is the time to confront Aemond and make him see that his rightful place is with his real family.
“Do you believe Aemond will finally listen to us?” Alicent asks her father, glancing down at her hands as she folds them over her stomach. Her nails are a ragged mess, but that’s not new. Aemond used to chide her for it, but he has not been here to do so in a long time. She wonders if he will even still care now.
Father sets his quill down and finally looks up at her. His face looks tired and old in a way that makes her heart ache. The last six years have been hard on them all, but Otto Hightower shows it most. She can only imagine the devious plots he has been battling in secret from the Blacks as he strives to keep their family and allies safe from being murdered in their beds by the likes of Daemon and Rhaenyra.
“We must make him listen,” he states solemnly, folding his hands together on the table. “We must make him see reason and sense. That he must stand at his brother’s side as we take the crown and return it to its rightful king. You must do your part and speak with him. I will, as well, but your words hold more weight to Aemond, for you are his beloved mother. There was once a time he would do anything to keep you safe. Remind him of that love and loyalty.”
Alicent nods in agreement as she thinks over what she could say to convince her son to see the light. “And what of Prince Lucerys? And their children?” she questions, only recalling now that they have had four children together. She doesn’t know much about them other than their names and ages, as she has never met these grandchildren before. She also doesn’t know how to feel about these children who share her and Aemond’s blood, but also the blood of a bastard prince. Perhaps, if she’s lucky, they resemble Aemond more, and that will make it easier for her to love them.
“Lucerys can be easily dealt with and replaced by a more suitable spouse in the future. Lady Floris Baratheon is still unmarried, and Lord Baratheon has assured me of his loyalty to our cause. They can marry as we originally planned,” Father reasons, logical to the point of being cruel as always. “The children are still young enough to be trained right and will forget their birth mother easily enough. There is also the benefit of the eldest being an alpha boy and already named as the heir to Driftmark. This is good news for us and will help in the long run to stabilize the kingdom.”
Alicent can see the logic in such a setup, but the idea of murdering Lucerys does make her heart turn cold. Lucerys is many unpleasant things, and she holds no love for the bastard prince, but he is still a living person at the end of the day. She does not wish to cause him harm, even if he feels differently about her. “And what if Aemond does not agree to any of this?” she questions, giving voice to her doubts and worries as they scurry through her mind. “What if he continues to refuse to listen?”
Father’s green eyes grow chilly in a familiar way that makes Alicent’s heart hurt. “Then we will make him see sense. With or without his consent.”
Three days later, the House of Velaryon arrives in King’s Landing in lavish style.
Alicent stands at the front of their families at Rhaenyra’s side, as they mutely watch House Velaryon arrive in the royal coaches. She had heard their dragons earlier as they landed: the high-pitched shrieks of Arrax, the low crooning of Meleys, and the deep and familiar bellows of Vhagar. It sent a shock of fear and excitement through her to hear it again. It floods through her now as she watches the coaches come to a stop in front of them. Next to her, she hears Rhaenyra take in a deep breath as the first door opens and out steps the retired Lord of the Tides.
Lord Corlys Velaryon looks older than her memory recalls. His face has been weathered down by constant exposure to the sun, and there are heavy lines chiseled into the skin. But he still stands tall and proud, even with a cane of driftwood and bone in his hand. He still has the same charming smile that he throws at the crowds of people who have come to welcome back the House of Velaryon. As she watches, he reaches out a hand to whoever still sits inside the carriage, and then Princess Rhaenys steps out with a flourish of her deep blue gown. Like her husband, Princess Rhaenys has also aged, but in a much more graceful way that has only added to her beauty. There are smile lines that edge the corners of her lips and strips of grey mixed in with the silver of her long hair. She, too, still stands tall and proud as she wraps her arm around her husband’s and turns her steely lavender eyes to the Red Keep.
Then, to Alicent’s surprise, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, Lord Corlys’s youngest brother, also steps out of the carriage without a word. He looks largely the same as in her memories, but she is more surprised by the sight of him with his brother, as, last she heard, they had a quarrel and parted ways when Lord Corlys had insisted on keeping Prince Lucerys as heir. No one had mentioned that they had made amends. And, when she glances at her father, who stands at her side, she sees that he, too, is surprised and displeased by the presence of Ser Vaemond Velaryon standing in unity with House Velaryon.
Then the second carriage door opens, and out steps Aemond, and for the first time in six years, her son is within her sight.
Alicent greedily takes in what she can of her son as he stands tall and strong before them all. The last time she saw him, he was ten-and-nine and still coming into himself as a man and alpha. Now, at twenty-and-five, he seems to have grown into his skin and stands with a confidence she does not recall. He seems even taller, with broader shoulders, a lean waist, and skin a shade darker than it was when she last saw him. It stands out starkly against his hair that now falls to his lower back in a curtain of pure silver with braids mixed in. But the most startling thing of all is that he no longer wears his eyepatch but leaves his scar and sapphire eye open for all to see. When he looks up and meets her gaze, Alicent cannot help but flinch at the reminder of her ultimate failure to protect her son.
Aemond’s eye does not linger on her for long before he turns back to the carriage and helps his spouse step out. Like Aemond, Prince Lucerys has grown since she last laid eyes on him. He is taller now, though not as tall as her son, but still slender and lean with wider hips from bearing four babes. His hair is longer and graces his elbows in a mess of braids and curls. But it is his face that makes her pause and draws several gasps from the crowd, for Prince Lucerys is stunning, even with his darkly colored hair and even darker eyes that stand out among his fair-haired family members. His face is an echo of Rhaenyra’s in her youth and even of the late Queen Aemma in its oval shape, soft lines, and dips. Even the dimples on his cheeks, which are revealed when he throws a careless smile at the crowds, are identical to those of his mother and granddame.
Rhaenyra must see it, too, because she takes in a quick breath as she watches her son take Aemond’s hand and step down from the carriage. The couple shares a look that Alicent cannot read before they move to the third carriage together, which opens upon their arrival. From it come four children of various ages and genders, along with two beta women who are likely their nursemaids. The sight of the children makes Alicent freeze, and she hears the gasps of shock echo through the crowd as they all lay eyes on her grandchildren for the first time.
Two of the children—one a small girl and the other a mere babe—looked as she expected them to with silver hair, violet eyes, and fair skin. But it is the older two—a boy and a girl—who make her blood turn cold and her stomach drop to her knees. While they, too, share the same silver hair and violet eyes of their siblings, it is their skin tones that she cannot look away from, for they are the same dark copper shade as Lord Corlys and Ser Vaemond. The boy’s hair is even the same type of curl as theirs, corkscrewed in shape and braided back in tight little braids. Alicent would rage that they are bastards like their mother if not for the fact that their little faces are identical in shape and expression to Aemond’s in every way. So similar in appearance they are that, if not for the difference in skin color, she would swear she is looking at Aemond as a boy once again.
Alicent is still staring at the pair of children as House Velaryon makes their way up to them to greet the queen and kin standing to welcome them. Rhaenyra begins speaking, likely greeting them, but Alicent cannot make out the words with the blood pounding in her ears. All she can do is stare at the children (her grandchildren) as everything she thought she knew to be true falls to pieces around her again.