Chapter 4: The Descent

Chapter Text

The young prince hadn't slept since the night he toiled around King's Landing, becoming too sick and wobbly on land and then even more so as they traveled early on ships, fog coating the ocean's dark horizon. As he puked up the sourness of the street wine he'd only had a cup of, sobriety entered his system and made Lucerys realize all over again just the nature of his current standing.

He was to inherit Driftmark undoubtedly. His fears of even more of his kin dying brewed over the years, and seemingly were coming to fruition as he felt uneasy thinking about his grandsire, The Sea Snake. What made matters even worse was Baela and Rhaena reporting to young Luke about how their uncle's cousins had gone to his King Viserys, in a private summoning to repeat Vaemond's concerns about the boy's bastardy, resulting in the removal of their tongues. It had occurred just before the now infamous family dinner, the message relaying from servants to their father Daemon, the twin girls overhearing his jesting of it.

Lucerys was glum, watching the island of High Tide pass by in full view as he knew there was no more avoiding the impending doom. Stepping into the soft sands of Dragonstone didn't make him feel any better, the sight of the large, stone dragon-carved doors being pulled open in a welcoming manner. He was home, and yet there was a foreign feeling aside from the nerves, Lucerys deeming it an instinctual reaction to all the responsibilities he would soon prepare for. But a twisting tremor whispered in the back of his skull that it was something much more grueling.

The boy of fourteen went through the deepest halls of Dragonstone, absentmindedly running his fingertips on the grooves of etches and carvings in the volcanic stone. He didn't need a candle anymore to shuffle through the winding narrow passages. His feet and hands were so familiar with the way the path winded and twisted that he just let himself flow through, the only sound a whistling wind of the next opening and his steady breath. Lucerys had spent so much time alongside his family that now he craved the silence of his own company, only arriving in his quarters to drop off his riding cape and belongings to continue trailing through the walls. The princeling had a sneaking suspicion that his overtly active older brother would be searching for him soon, summoning upon his chambers to bother him for a sparing match or nag at Luke to help him practice his High Valryian. The younger couldn't help that he was more naturally gifted at the language of their ancestry, Jacaerys always getting frustrated and intense as Lucerys talked too fast to follow.

So he quickly put away the things on his person that weighed him down, the glass vile with the violet flower swinging onto his bed inside of his belt, Lucerys staring at it hesitantly. The fuzzy memory returned to him from their drunken night in Flea Bottom, recalling how he bought the trinket after his stomach soured from the distasteful play occurring in the small folk's square. He picked up the finding, the vibrant colored flower swiveling in the clear liquid it was entrapped in forever, Luke's brown eyes fluttering as the reminder of what pushed him to buy it resurfaced.

It resembled the violet of his uncle's eye, intoxicated Lucerys growing fond of the shade and feeling it was an appropriate memento to collect from their eventful trip.

Sober Luke disagreed, placing the little bottle onto his desk covered in history books concerning Essos, Dorne, and Old Valyria. He peeled his attention from the matters at once, sneaking himself back into the darkest halls of Dragonstone to hide from the dull tragedies of his adolescent life. Within the twisting corners, he could hear the muffled voices of his family, the cries of the white-haired babes, Aegon and Viserys, as they were being put down to sleep. Then the giggling of Rhaena and Baela, the younger twin girl showing her sister around Dragonstone as she had been just a boat ride away on Driftmark for the majority of her years. Like a ghost, Luke circled through the great island, looking down at the small fishing village below from their garden that was still too rowdy for him. That was until he came to finally find quiet, his legs absentmindedly taking himself into the common room where the great Painted Table of Westeros lay, warmth embedded in it.

The half-Targaryen prince had always found it intriguing, the way he and his kin were attracted to the flames, his fingertips gliding on the rock that was etched out to resemble Driftmark— now his Driftmark. Even though in name, he was a boy of the sea, his flesh quivered and soothed itself as it rubbed against the lingering heat, a flash of a single vibrant violet eye that had burned itself in his memory making Luke's skin pebble with fright. The feeling of the fire was interchangeable with the simmering gaze Aemond bore into him, inviting but not at all ensured to behave.

"There you are." His mother, Rhaenyra, called out to him, her face lit with a smile upon finding her second-born, jeweled hand over the babe in her belly. Slowly though, her face softened into worry, looking at her doe-eyed son who she found her own late mother's resemblance in, both so sweet in nature. She looks at him, waiting for the half-boy-half-man to express his concerns, already knowing that Lucerys was someone she built to be brave enough to face them.

"The Sea Snake is going to die, isn't he?" Lucerys' voice comes out brief, his tone deeper than usual as his mother knows just how much he is trying to appear kept together.

"Luke..." She wants to console him in her arms, and tell her son how these matters will all unfold carefully when Rhaenyra herself knows an easy fate is not something that can be promised. Especially not within a family like their own.

"I can't be Lord of the Tides." The boy yelps out against his will, finally breaking down once he's alone under his mother's caring gaze and away from all the politics. "Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get green sick before the ship even leaves the harbor. I'll just ruin everything." She only looks at him, patiently waiting for every fear her son has buried inside of his mind to lay between them gently, knowing if she coaxes him too urgently his Targaryen heat will spew.

"I don't want Driftmark. It should've passed onto Ser Vaemond."

"We don't choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us." Rhaenyra reminds the boy, seeing a hazy resemblance of her own young self in him, her who had the weight of the seven kingdoms propped on her shoulders. Yet, Rhaenyra had nobody to mourn the loss of her childhood to, as the last sacred person—the girl that placed the hood of her gowns on her in a secret pact of protection— instead stood by her father's side in marriage. 

"Grandsire let you choose whether you'd be his heir. You told us so." His mother lets out a breath, realizing just how much her son hangs on every word she says, resisting the urge to smother him for the lovely habit of listening so intently.

"And do you want to know the truth of it?" She finally closes the space between them, her vulnerable presence washing away Lucerys' doubts of himself once his mother begins offering her own admissions.

"I was frightened. I was four-and-ten. Same as you are now. I wasn't ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But it was my duty. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance." Lucerys' fears release from inside his chest, but his self-loathing comes at him like soft waves lapping on the shores of the beach.

"I'm not like you."

"In what way, sweet boy?" At times Luke despises the pet name, feeling it too effeminate for him with such unruly brown locks and thick brows. He doesn't mind it coming from his mother's mouth.

"I'm not so..." He wants to tell his mother how courageous he believes her to be. How incredible he finds her for the way she steps out of line because she can. The way he feels she sets precedent for other women brave enough like herself—to feel comfortable enough to follow in her nonconforming ways of Westerosi society. But there are no other true Targaryen women like her, he realizes, the last one being sent into the sea off the shores of High Tide six years ago. "Perfect."

Finally, Rhaenyra just smiles at Lucerys whose dark eyebrows are tucked down on his porcelain face, pressing kisses into his forehead—a spot right where his curled hair hides her favorite mole of his—to try and make the boy's sullen face wash away. Even when it doesn't she smiles at her favorite creation and continues to soothe his tender feelings.

"I am anything but. My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you." That finally urges a small smile from Lucerys, his attention still on his mother and almost unbroken until it is the arrival of his grandmother, Rhaenys, that is announced. Rhaenyra only looks at the nerve-riddled boy with a heaving chest and an empathetic look, feeling that the news of Lord Corlys' passing might be reaching them soon.

And that's when the truth of their standing comes, not in the form of a scroll in the talons of a raven, but on a dragon's back.

Jacaerys had demanded from his younger brother while they were sent away if he knew what was being discussed, but the boy only shook his head in fear while looking at Baela and Rhaena. The girls also admitted that they had no knowledge of what their grandmother's summoning could mean, Luke's fears of Lord Corly's passing threatening his serenity once more. Rhaena notices her betrothed's worried features, wrapping her arm around Lucerys to try and coax the obvious nerves out of him, whispering a soft hum about how it had nothing to do with him. That their worries were over. The four royals stayed quiet for a while, feeling like those tiny children holding one another again as they were at Lady Laena's funeral, when Aemond had his eye taken, and when they watched their parents wed through fire and blood. Helpless they felt against the unrelenting currents of harsh fate crashing down on them, again and again, leaving them to keep afloat by holding onto each other. But they were Velaryon's, and the children of the sea could not drown.

Before enough time passed and Jacaerys almost convinced for the three of them to sneak into the cracks of the walls and spy on the private meeting themselves, the two princes were summoned for sparring practices, the servants' jittery states making the boys grow even more uneasy. The twin Targaryen princess' were called to their grandmother's side, bidding the boys scared looks before being pulled in the opposite direction, their quick footsteps padding through the stone hallways. As the two dark-haired sons were led out of the thick-walled fortress, they could hear a wail echo through the corridors, Lucerys almost voicing how it sounded like their mother but being hurried outside by the back of his neck. When he turned to Jace once more, the stricken look on his older brother's face stated that he was already thinking the same thing.

When the time passed on even longer, Jace began to go at Luke desperately, wielding his heavy sword wildly at the younger to the point where he could only block or get thrown into the ground, his mind occupied in the walls of Dragonstone so far away from the beach. The brown-haired boys were coming undone in their own ways, Jacaerys of fifteen too blinded with insensate rage that hid his fear of being left out of possible political matters, while Lucerys was frozen with the awful feeling that something much worse than Vaemond's head being cut off was transpiring. Though, even with Jacaerys' harsh blows and crude comments, the younger felt it was only just to be kicked around if it let out some of his brother's own stress, remembering how in his time of need Jace was there for him. How Luke wanted so badly to be back on the shore of King's Landing, even with the awful scent of the poor irrigation, with their sopping wet clothing, but their loyal beasts heating their backs. Even the thought of the rampant city in the night sounded more relaxing, running along the cobblestone streets after their pacts of marriage were announced and sour wine was in their system. Lucerys wanted to be anywhere else but on the sands of Dragonstone, sinking into the ground repeatedly and the same submerging anxiety from all the way on the boat arising again, the cauldron of anxiety in his chest boiling and ready to spit molten lava out of his tightened throat.

"Your lady mother needs to see you!" The two turned eagerly at the sound of the Lady Rhaenys' summoning, stuck seemingly in the sand until they are urged by their grandmother to hurry. Even though it was unbecoming of the boys' status, they ran towards her clumsily, as if they were beggars finally coming upon the first sight of food and water, hungry to know what was occurring.

Then it was Lucerys' mind— the one that always found the worse possibilities— laughing at the boy as its ugliest thoughts somehow always came to fruition one way or another, this time in ten folds. The sight of his mother bleeding in her chambers, the white of her smock tinging red just beneath her swollen belly, and her usually regal hair tussled made him almost faint. She was cursing in pain, hobbling close to the floor as if she were about to drop to it and remain there to cry. But still, she stood, Lucerys wondering how exactly she couldn't think herself as pristine as he had inquired her to be.

The maester held onto his shoulder, prepared for the smaller one of the brothers to wilt at the feet of his suffering mother, Luke standing tall to make sure Rhaenyra was no longer worried on his account.

"Mother?" Jacaerys calls out to her but she mumbles out in pain, her usual standing-tall and poised stature, the one Lucerys had just been in the presence of not even an hour before, doubled over in agony.

"Princess." The maester gathers her attention finally, Rhaenyra turning with tears brimming her eyes and teeth clenched, trying her best not to wail in front of her frightened sons. She needed them readied.

"Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed."

"Viserys?" Lucerys choked out, the wildfire that was his anxiety blossoming inside his heart now, a cowardly part of him relieved that Lady Rhaenys was indeed not announcing that Lord Corlys had died, and he was to be prepped for duty. The small relief did not last long.

"The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne." The maester left, leaving Jacaerys and Luke to stand frozen in the awful news being bared, the Velaryon prince's knowing immediately they were being called for inclusion. That they were officially on their mother's side of an oncoming war. "Aegon has been crowned king."

"What is to be done about it?" Jace jumped into action quickly, his face stone and glare filled with fire that Luke felt he should have by now, but looking at his mother's scared face didn't help conjure rage.

"Nothing yet." Rhaenyra shot her son's eagerness down, knowing that any move made against her half-siblings and Alicent with their dragons involved would mean calamity.

"And where is Daemon?" The older boy asked with annoyance as he knew she had been asking for her husband and yet he was still not by her side. Lucerys could only continue to try and keep up with the amount of blood trickling from his mother's ivory ankles.

"I don't know. Gone to madness. Gone to plot his war." The sight of her rubbing her swollen belly made Jacaerys sane in his crazed anger, tightening his jaw and nodding before letting his legs take leave.

"Leave Daemon with me." Lucerys moved when he did, like his older brother's shadow who was scared of the sunlight coming from behind his mother's trembling figure, outlining her suffering all too well. Though, Luke didn't even stop when Jace had halted to listen to his mother's warnings, only coming to the realization that Jacaerys was taking true action when he came upon a dark hallway by himself.

His hands were shaking, his throat so enclosed in it felt lodged with hot coal, and his head was beginning to thump with either an oncoming headache or the booming rhythmic sound of his soaring heart rate. Alone in between the volcanic gray walls of Dragonstone, Lucerys' legs threatened to go limp and leave him on his hands and knees, the image of the stone around him breaking down to bury his body giving him an awful amount of comfort. He was scared.

The sounds of his mother's cries still echoed and bounced from her quarters all the way from her chambers in the winding Sea Dragon Tower. Even the light dancing off the orange torches of Lucerys could not calm him. As a young boy he'd hide in the hallways and make shapes or figures with his wriggling hands. Now, he could see the shadows plain as day— without any manipulation with his own fingers— monsters and dragons coming for the Velaryon prince.

"Lucerys, there you are." Rhaena pulls him close to her side and he is spun away from the darkness of his mind, fear plucked out of him as his eyes find the calmness in his betrothed's own. "Grandmother told us everything. What is it we are to do?"

His head is dizzy with duty, the very thing he wanted to flee from has instead planted itself right at his feet. He is stuck it seems, Luke finally gaining sense once Baela comes to pull the younger two away from the wailing of Rhaenyra, knowing that is what stirs the boy so awfully— as it did to her when Laena could not pass her own babe. They found themselves in Aegon's Garden, the saturated, green lush so unappealing and overwhelming to Lucerys for the first time.

"Jacaerys is calming your father as we speak. He talks of war-"

"It is a war that has been ignited by Aegon."

"Father has known of war, he understands what it is we are to do-"

"Your father knows of it but ignores the war going on in the chambers of my mother. Without her, we have no cause."

"That's why he buries his head in the talk of battle so readily. He's afraid of facing the same outcome again."

"We all are."

During their quick exchange and in the quiet that follows afterward, the three realize the screaming has stopped. They run, Lucerys bolting in the direction of the winding staircase where servants are fleeing to and fro, Jacaerys stopping the trio as he pops out to ascend into the narrowness from the floor of the Chamber of The Painted Table. Just as he is to open his mouth to talk to them, Daemon passes by the children with a solemn look, heading toward the direction of the Stone Drum below, to finally join with Rhaenyra, hands shaking involuntarily and head down at the floor.

"They say just our sister has passed. Visenya." Jacaerys' words barely come out as his head bobs while he stares at nothingness, Luke wondering if his brother is seeing the shadows of his own fears as well. Then, because the four children are familiar with death and its aftermath, instantaneously they walk in silence to their quarters to begin putting on their cloaks and assembling for the funeral. 

Lucerys always wished the smell of sea salt would come to soothe him, and in this moment it almost does. But he had a new wish then, feeling that the instance of his sister passing and their family's grief was not the appropriate time that the ocean gives him solace. He stared at the back of his mother, Daemon standing next to her, so all they could see was the smoke coming off the small pyre entangling in their white hair strands as they strayed into the air. There was little comfort to be found in the gentle scene.

But war did not stop to grieve with them, the sound of swords being drawn making Lucerys look up from the island's ground.

"I mean no harm, brothers." It was a Cargyll twin, Luke almost mad at himself for not identifying which one intruded upon the service, but knowing that just about everyone could not tell the difference between the two. He walked up cautiously as Daemon allowed him to come closer, bending his knee and reaching into a satchel from his side to hold up something.

Lucerys realized as the twin's voice projected through the side of Dragonstone that what the knight of the Kingsguard held with his two hands was a crown, the metallic gold glinting in the sunlight—ultimately a beam of hope for his family. His mother finally turned toward them all, and Luke could see the shifts in her face glimmer with life as Ser Erryk vowed himself to her claim and to honor her. And once Daemon placed the crown on her head of white hair, the simmer of a true dragon glowed once more. Her coronation was even more befitting when all saw the crown Viserys himself had worn that seemed would weigh her small stature down, lifted her up. As if she truly had wings. Then the rogue prince who once defied her opposing claim against his own bent the knee to Rhaenyra, the crowd gathered before them following his lead. His mother met Lucerys' eye for a second before Luke found his place on the ground beside his brothers, their unruly dark hair facing the earth in their queen's presence. In her place of desperate need, Rhaenyra was surrounded by people who loved and choose her to lead the seven kingdoms.

Virtue and duty were quickly restored within the volcanic carcass of Dragonstone, the stone walls vibrating with heat as flames were turned on around every corner, the Painted Table a glow once more. Lucerys hovered his palm over the carved-out stone, wondering if his predecessor, Aegon the Conqueror, had been thought mad for wanting such a beautiful contraption like so for the means of his war. And if he ever knew that the same tool made to cement the Targaryen's on the Iron Throne would be used once more to aid the Old Valryian house to tear apart at itself for that very reason.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Daemon announced, Lucerys turning to look at his mother who looked pristine once more, wondering how much her heart truly wavered underneath the layers of dragon sigils.

Just as soon as the silence had died down at her entrance did it vanish as their small council began to speak about their alliances, Jacaerys moving eagerly and without being told, placing pieces on the Painted Table to show their standings. Luke and he had only been squires up until this point, him only thinking how war surely would be a new stepping stone into whatever else the boy's station would ascend to.

He watched his brother intently, taking note of his eagerness and trying to ignite a fire within himself, feeling pressed on even more so when his mother called on Lord Coryl's whereabouts. His grandsire was said to be currently sailing to Dragonstone, Lucerys felt all was going steadily again as he could blend into the council, knowing how well his mother stood against politics and was steadily popular with the houses. She was 'The Realm's Delight' after all, her titles had to stand for something when it came against someone like Aegon who was a known drunken pervert.

"Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons." The flow of plans came to a hiccuping halt, Lucerys looking at his mother who began to speak out against the idea of calling their beasts to battle, Daemon talking over her readily. He listed the dragons at their disposal as if they were arsenal, Arrax's name flying from his mouth hurriedly. Lucerys' throat clenched uncomfortably at the thought of his bonded creature gliding into war, picturing the white of his wings reflecting bright oranges and yellows of fire as his family burnt everything beneath them. It wasn't right, as Luke realized, that he himself would be atop Arrax, feeling the heat of charred lands and smelling burning corpses.

"Your Grace... a ship has been sighted offshore, a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed Green dragon." Hurriedly his mother and Daemon went off with the knights, the council of the older maesters and men banding together in murmurs while Jacaerys looked in between the three of them, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena. Always they moved together in silence, slipping away from the gathering even when Rhaenys followed the children with her eyes, a humored smile on her face. They ran to the slits along the chamber walls that faced the long, winding bridge that led entry to their fortress, the children pressing their heads out and clutching onto each other for support. 

They saw the Green's men marching toward them, slowly their own knights being led by Daemon himself descending upon the group to meet in the middle. The setting reminded Lucerys of the memory his mother would tell him. About when his stepfather was rebelling against her claim and took shelter in Dragonstone despite her being heir to the island— how she rode Syrax to confront Daemon without her father's permission. Before Jacaerys could utter an impatient questioning on their mother's whereabouts, the comforting tale Rhaenyra told at bedtime splattered onto the afternoon horizon, the golden dragon glittering from the soft sunset. To Lucerys, his mother truly was much more than perfection.

"She should burn the traitors down where they stand," Jace whispered, Lucerys looking away to see how his older brother glared at the people so below on the ground, they appeared as insects. 

"Jacaerys." Baela breathed out, surprised at his cold tone. Rhaena only shared a look of knowing with Luke, while the older Velaryon boy huffed another breath of annoyance.

"They come to give us false options as if they aren't forcing our hands. Despite us being family they paint us as bastards and our mother as a whore. Now they take her birthright because what, she's without a cock?" The councilmen stirred as his voice raised, Rhaenys herself clearing her throat and guiding the men's attention back to matters on the Painted Table. 

"If mother kills them now, our war prevents any politics or sanity. Our alliances will fall through if Mother shows she is without reasoning, Jace." 

"What do you know, Lucerys? Your claim and duty are not affected if we bend the knee to Aegon, and even if we ascend to King's Landing to take it back-" 

"I know our mother. And I know that if any titles were to be taken from you, I'd give you mine to keep. Second sons always know their families and their places within them." Luke fell away from the opened crevices, discontented with watching now, feeling maybe Otto Hightower could provoke something carnal in his mother and his words would fall through. He peeked up from the floor, seeing stray glances quickly rest back onto the glowing map of Westeros, the boy letting his fingers wriggle above the island of Driftmark once again. For Jacaerys he would forfeit his inheritance, it wasn't as if he was hungry for it.

The thought of being a second son lingered in his mind, his heart racing once Luke was reminded of the one across Blackwater Bay. He wondered if Aemond knew his family's own dynamic, understood his own place, and could wander through it without candlelight the same way Lucerys could within the walls of Dragonstone. 

Before a pang of empathy for the crazed man could surface within Lucerys, his detest for duty was silenced once his mother returned collected and poised. Even though Daemon talked quietly now, his urgency to call upon the dragons was desperate as whatever had transpired at the entrance of their home certainly stirred him. Perhaps it was just the mere image of Otto leaving unscathed back to King's Landing that left him wanting for bloodshed.

"The simple truth is this, we have more dragons than Aegon." Most of the beasts they had only known of humored flights and timed feedings. Luke swallowed at the thought of Vhagar and her thick scales that grew accustomed to war. 

"Viserys spoke often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well. When dragons flew to war... everything burned," His queen-mother's tone rolled out deep and slow, looking upon all of those present as to heed her words carefully. "I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone."

Jacaerys shifted beside Luke, the younger boy sparing him a short glance, cautious not to rub in the fact that he was right.

"Are you considering the Hightowers' terms, Your Grace?" 

"As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos?" Rhaenyra weaved around the question, not wanting to let her head circle back to the ripped page from her youth any longer. Not amidst the war her first trusted companion started against her. "Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?"

"That's your father talking." Daemon was growing impatient again, straying away from the Painted Table to be by the hearth.

"My father's dead." The cold truth made the heated chamber shiver, Rhaenyra glaring at her husband now with irritation, the two trying to understand one another in this new light. As she, his queen, and him her soldier that she just would not call to fight. "And he chose me as his successor... to defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war."

"Well, the enemy have declared war. What are you gonna do about it?" In the exchange of heated words and raised tones, Lucerys could see the clear distinction and direction that could have been changed if Daemon had instead remained as heir. Flesh and bones could have been crunching underneath the soles of his shoes about now.

"Clear the room." Rhaenyra's icy voice made everyone scatter out into the winding staircase immediately, Luke only peering over his shoulder once as the soft outline of his mother made him let go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding in.

"I'm sorry, about what I said before," Jace whispered into his brother's ear as they walked to their chambers, bidding Rhaena and Baela a small wave. They all knew that the aftermaths of the discussion unfolding between Daemon and Rhaenyra was not something they'd be allowed to walk back into. "My mind has been plagued throughout this day."

"It's understandable. Your head runs hot due to the dragon blood and sometimes you lose clarity because of it, brother." Jace nudged him, his smiling face growing serious once more as they found themselves alone in the dimly lit hallway. 

"Lucerys," He stopped now, the younger halting his own steps and turning down the corridor to look at Jacaerys. His eyes were glancing along the shadows and he finally pulled his attention to Luke before opening his mouth again to speak, hesitantly. "We have a place in this war that we cannot run from. And I just wanted to remind you that if... if I'm gone it is you who takes my place as heir to the Iron Throne."

Luke looked at his brother wildly, but there was no fear inside him—no—it was pain. 

"It won't come to that point, Jace. Don't even think about awfulness such as that."

"You can't guarantee any peace. Not when there hasn't been such a blessing between our divided family in nearly a decade. So I have to think about these sorts of matters, Luke," Jace won't look at his younger brother now, hands gripping his arms behind his back and clenching his jaw to muster any bit of composure for what he says next. "We—myself, Joffrey, and you—are all that's left of our father. All that tethers him still to our Mother remains with us. Never let anyone make you feel less or make you fearful of your standing because of this significance."

Jacaerys looks at him now, taking hold of Luke's wrists and gripping him hard, shaking a bit just to show how much he himself is afraid. That his older brother resides with him in their insecurities and fears, but most importantly in their shared bravery. Because everyone knew just how much the two princes could and had already shaken the realm up with their very existence.

"I understand you fully, brother. We should get some rest now. Who knows when's the next time this war will let us sleep through a full night." Jace nods, a quick smile finally falling upon his lips and he lets go of Luke, watching him go off for a bit before turning around the corner to his own quarters.

That night the Velaryon brothers slept, not too soundly, and not as soon as their heads hit their pillows—but slowly drifting into slumber—their appetites too shot and their bodies too numb to notice the void in their bellies.

___

The following morning started off with the same routine as ever, Lucerys dressing in his usual black and red attire, but with a little more haste than usual as now everything was starting to lose its touch of normalcy. As he brushed his hair he could finally come to terms with how weak he felt, his fingers vibrating as he passed the brush through his up-licked locks.

He was about to open his doors before a soft knock thudded on it, the boy opening it to reveal Baela who had on a pleasant smile. Lucerys almost peeked behind her to see if Rhaena was behind her, as nowadays they were always conjoined and his betrothed was usually the one to seek him out. 

"Would you join us in the garden to break our fast together? Jace and Rhaena have already begun indulging themselves but I felt it just to wait for you." Luke nodded, closing his door softly and walking beside her, noticing for the first time the way she was adorned with vibrant blues and reds in her attire to represent her ties to the Old Valyrian houses. He felt fraudulent in her presence, a true child of both the sea and fire.

"At least you have some slight decency in my regard. I don't think even I would wait patiently for your arrival to eat." She chuckled at Luke's small jesting, Lucerys realizing for the first time just how much he tried to make others laugh. Even when he was younger, he would toddle alongside Aegon to aid him in teasing and picking at Aemond, earning giggle from Jacaerys and the eldest of his uncles. Never Aemond though, even though Luke at the time could never understand it. Sometimes he felt blundering children like himself just didn't have the capability to understand such solemn people as his uncle. Luke pushed the casual thoughts away once more as he realized the current circumstances, reminding himself again that everything was losing its sense of regularity. That the realm was tilted upside down, and childhood along with its reminiscent elements was officially over.

His mouth watered at the sight of the feast upon him, servants littering the grounds which brought a new sensation to Lucerys as usually, Dragonstone was without such visual help. He approached a bit cautiously to the small table with dishes, taking fruits and bread to look at Jace who had a full mouth and seemed as if he was forcing himself to chew. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Joffrey and Aegon in the grass, trailing after beetles while Viserys was being bounced in the arms of a servant girl.

"Lord Corlys has brought some of his own staff to help with our needs and numbers," Jace said with a gruff voice after swallowing all the food in his mouth, taking a small swig of wine from the table before retiring his goblet. Either his insides were shivering at the previous interaction with the wines from King's Landing, or Jace wanted to keep a clear conscious of the swirling matters still at hand for the day.

Luke just nodded, peering over the garden's side to look down at the village again, always enjoying the bustling of the smallfolk below and craving their sense of common life. He stood back, turning toward the other three who were quietly eating to deter the straggling idea, cementing himself in the state of their family.

"Have you heard any news about grandsire's conditions?" Lucerys asked out loud for any of them to answer. Rhaena rubbed her hands together to rid them of crumbs before wiping her mouth with a napkin and stepping away from the table, signifying her appeased state before talking.

"He's arrived. At dawn, I believe it was. Grandmother has been with him all the time since then and we haven't seen either of the two." Rhaena talked as if she was frustrated, and maybe it was understandable as none of them had seen the Sea Snake in years. His standing alliance with them was still a slight mystery, and even if he had sailed all the way to Dragonstone, it wasn't guaranteed that his state was fit for the war that wouldn't wait for his full recovery.

"He'll join our cause and aid us with the fleet. It's a certainty." Baela spoke up, Lucerys noting that she still had not taken anything to eat, her hands shaking as they held one another tightly. Without a word, he only nodded and moved to the spot beside the table where she was, biting into a fresh berry even if he no longer was hungry, humming intently as he savored the taste in front of her. The older twin girl looked at the food with a new glint in her eyes, Lucerys swallowing it before giving Baela a sure glare.

"I told you I myself wouldn't wait for you to begin feasting. Make haste before I eat it all now." Jacaerys gave a throaty laugh behind him, his betrothed grabbing a vine of grapes and popping one into her mouth, savoring the taste. They all hadn't eaten since the morning before, realizing in the rare occurrence of bliss that the best moment of the day was the one they were currently in. Nothing had truly begun, after all.

For a few more minutes, Luke watched as his younger siblings tumbled around in the greenery, making a few funny faces at Viserys as he babbled his way. As he was about to step over and take hold of the babe in place of the servant, a call for the pair of princes and princesses was heard making Lucerys halt his outstretched hands, Viserys letting out a whine as the four headed out of the garden and to join the council.

The men argued amongst each other, Lucerys feeling there was more clarity between his own younger brothers than the council before him. His mother sat quietly among them, letting the drawl roll out of their mouths and rubbing her belly with a vacant stare, the bump absent. Luke and Jace found their spots at the end of the Painted Table, close to the fire and away from the bickering to whisper in each other's ears about which one of them would ask their mother first to give them a request. They were tired of being seen as just the Queen's children.

"The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon... and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen." Ser Erryk announced, Lucerys jutting his chin up to peer over the mass of men and look at the one who truly mattered among them now. His grandsire had a cane, the sound of its clacking echoing through the room. Rhaena and Baela emerged from behind his frame, making their way eagerly to the princes. With the girls' shared assuring smiles and relieved looks alone, the Velaryon boys understood instantly that his ailment had not changed the gallant man.

Though the blooming sting of words being thrown back and forth between Rhaenyra and the Sea Snake made Luke stir, the pulsating of familiar anxiety in his warm veins again, the boy understood the purpose of a council. Luke knew it was the constant stench of a war that they breathed in and out of their nostrils that made everyone uneasy, but still, he did not enjoy the way his mother was questioned in front of all to see. He knew the woman grown in front of him, but with the wild stories of her childhood, and if he roved his eyes over her too quickly, he could see a small girl swallowed in gowns that he had never met.

"Hope... is the fool's ally."

"Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me."

"As did House Hightower... if I remember." His mother's eyes flickered at the sound of that name, coldness engulfing her being once more as she was stone-faced.

"As did you, Lord Coryls." She forced his hand, displaying in front of everyone present that this was the true interest of his showing, his next answer revealing whether or not he stood beside them. The man turned slowly to look at the four children by the fire, his eyes meeting Lucerys' to which the boy could only look down, holding his hands tighter. Maybe then Lord Corlys would come to the same conclusion his own brother had, as now Viserys was no longer around, nor Daemon, to try and stop him from pointing out how they had no true blood ties to the Velaryon house.

"Your father's realm... was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand." He looked around the room as if he was lecturing them all as well, his eyes never coming to meet Luke's again. "You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace."

"You honor me, Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys. But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand." 

"You do not mean to act?" Jacaerys gave Luke a quick expression of raised brows, gesturing silently that he was not all too crazed himself for thinking striking now at the Greens was a reasonable move. It was clearly a popular idea.

"Taking caution does not mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war." Luke's eyes shifted to his older brother who thinned his own lips and looked up at the ceiling to avoid the self-assured gaze.

Quickly the Sea Snake began working with their mother, the children dropping their silent exchange and listening intently to what was being listed off, seeing if there was any place in it all for them to do something. They followed as Lord Corlys' mind made haste of plans within the sea, his piercing look swiveling on the Painted Table as he gestured where they would begin action. Luke knew instantly the sea was not where he was going to volunteer to be. Then the quick approach of capturing the capitol was noted, Jace himself shifting in his standing as they both knew fighting battles was not something either of them was at all familiar with.

"If we are to have enough swords to surround King's Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm's End."

"I'll prepare the ravens, Your Grace."

"We should bear those messages. Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they're more convincing." Even Jacaerys talked slowly as he spoke up, Luke knowing instantly that his brother's mouth was moving faster than what his own mind could keep up with. But, Lucerys was grown enough to grasp that this was their best appeal of being useful, even if the thought of Arrax anywhere near this war made his heart swell and mouth dry. "Send us."

"The Prince is right, Your Grace." Lord Corlys hummed out, all noticing the way Jacaerys' hands were flat on the table despite the heat emitting from the stone. Even Rhaenyra could not dispel her eldest son's bravery, her gaze shifting ever so slightly to her younger who held his chin up high for the first time. Quietly, she soothed over her quaking instinct to keep them inside the fortress of Dragonstone and away from any concerns of war but knew caging adulting dragons was beneath the Targaryen way.

"Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North." She tucked the corners of her mouth down so as to not smile once her eyes fell on her second sweetling of a boy grown. "Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon."

The Black Queen turned to all in the room with her, the attention on her regal word as she spoke, Lucerys heeding the request carefully.

"We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And... the cost of breaking them."

The two bounded to their chambers, Jacaerys listing everything his brother was to have on his person as if Lucerys himself hadn't ridden Arrax before in his life. Luke instead turned the attention of the conversation onto the older, reminding him that his own travel was one that would take much longer. They readied together, pulling on their cloaks and riding gloves, Jace making sure that the ones he had on were laced with wool inside to prep for the cold North. Lucerys found his weapon belt and put it around his hips, the weight of it puzzling him for a moment as it felt lighter than what he remembered. Quickly his eyes trailed back to his desk, the violet flower glimmering up at him and leaving a scorching heat as it bored back at him, Luke leaving it to rot even though he knew it was unfortunately to remain pristine forever. 

He joined Jacaerys to descend Dragonstone, being told to meet their mother at the entrance of the bridge as she was to see them off. On approach, she turned away from watching the horizon of the sea, Lucerys wondering if perhaps this was her own single serene moment within the tiring day.

"It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps." She said the words almost solemnly, the meaning of the phrase showing truth through the desperation of war within their house. "But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms... we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers... not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting."

Luke looked toward his older brother who already had hold of his sword's hilt, the younger's own hands sweating within the leather riding gloves at his sides. 

"Swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven." Lucerys felt a surge of confusion for only a second, as their family did not pray or practice any sort of religion, especially not the ones of the Westerosi gods. But he was eager to show his honor and intent to her cause and the request she asked of him, putting his hand on the book that had held no truth to him before, mustering up his own version of belief.

"I swear it." She glared at Jace, silencing the fire in his dark eyes with her own fierce violet ones. 

"I swear it." He finally declared, Lucerys letting his curious eyes wander over the cover of the Faith of the Seven, wondering just who exactly the gods' bets were placed on during the war to come. Certainly, they had to know the outcome.

"Cregan Stark is... closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as men, you can find some common interest." She handed her older son a scroll with the written out message of her call on the houses. Now it was up to the princes to see if they would come to her aid; if they would recognize her as the rightful queen.

"Yes, Your Grace." His brother sounded off, Rhaenyra giving him a satisfied smile as she finished lecturing Jace, clarity found within him again. Lucerys then grabbed all of her attention, the doe-eyed boy swallowing before stepping closer to his mother, her tone changing into a softer one. She grabbed onto his hand, the urge to keep the boy in front of her as she liked, her sweet child. But keeping him among her other babes would be unjust, the boy growing more and more every day.

"Storm's End is a short flight from here." His brows still furrowed in anticipation, mouth agape as he tasted the ocean breeze. "You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And..." She must've known Lucerys was too old to believe he was Laenor's true-born son any longer. "Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm... and his dragon."

Finally, he gave his mother an earnest grin, the sight so soft it pulled at her heart again to shield her favorite creation, but instead she placed the scroll into his hand and clasped it.

"I expect you will receive a very warm welcome." Lucerys shot her a final smile, forcing his lip corners upward even though sincerity did not meet his eyes, his dark brows furrowing downwards again.

"Yes, Mother- Your Grace." She patted him, so close to trading spots with her boy, whisperings of letting him remain on Dragonstone with her close eye on him, her mind hardening as she felt her fears stemming from her recent loss of Visenya. As she quickly blinked what tears threatened to spill, she saw a small glimpse of her own young self in the two dark-haired boys, a wave of astonishment at what striking children she'd raised.

"Go to it then."

Lucerys was the last to leave on his dragon, Arrax too busy rubbing into his side to earn scratches from his owner who he hadn't seen in so long. He did not spoil him too much, as they had a mission and if they were to return back home soon, then they'd need to set out quickly. 

The sun was setting as they ascended into the clouds, the boy heading to Storm's End with an absent mind and cleared vision, the winds lapping at the moisture his eyes exuded. He enjoyed the high-speed flights, barely ever getting to venture into such extremes with his mother so keen on keeping him close. For the first time, despite his usual fears and anxieties, atop Arrax was a place he never felt he needed to worry. It felt exactly as his mother had said, about Targaryens being closest to gods when they mounted such glorious beasts.

But then the white of the clouds changed as he neared his destination, the south skies becoming gray and gloomy with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder plunging around him. Still, Lucerys kept his mind steady as he remembered if he completed his request within the night, he'd arrive back to his mother's side in time for dinner. So he came upon the Baratheon's residence, landing Arrax in the clearing of the entrance of Storm's End to meet the knights at the front doors. 

Just as he got off, Lucerys' small feet making a slight crunch on the gravel ground, he was about to call out to Baratheon's men before a grumbling sound quaked the yard, Luke knowing instantly that was not the call of a storm. He turned, his dark locks almost covering his eyes as if to save him from the sight, the wind's moving his hair away to reveal Vhagar, the beast's head so massive it resembled the mounds of the castle. She roared, Lucerys feeling the she-dragon was doing so just at the sight of him, her rider's disdain coursing so thoroughly between the two that it set her off. How the boy wished these were just shadows jumping at him still within the confines of Dragonstone's dim halls— and mayhaps it was— the princeling tried to convince himself. He knew how unsocial his uncle to be, feeling reaching out to houses was unbecoming of the rude Targaryen.

"I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen." He never intends to do it, but his voice always dips down an octave or two whenever Luke wants to appear composed. They lead him in silently, the sounds of thunder more welcoming than what his Mother had promised the Baratheons to be.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon." The hall is grim, flashes of light from outside giving an even more glum atmosphere. Lucerys almost wants to pretend he is not there, but the sight of Aemond's long silver hair and stone face peels his attention away, almost missing the knights' refusal of his Mother's rightful title of Queen. "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

A clap of thunder and the traitorous tension brings him clarity again, looking ahead at the man that's supposed to be kin on his own makeshift throne, glaring at the boy as if he brought the storm with him. 

"Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother..." Luke remembers again how easy it is to ignore his uncle Aemond, his nerves calming as he knows that once the day is over and begins again, he will be back at Dragonstone. "The Queen."

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King." He can feel the heat of the single violet eye burning into him, returning the gaze as the tension brews louder once Borros continues to twist the knife inside their house's back. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." Lucerys' reminder is silently fuming in front of him, as if Aemond is unaware of who exactly put the knife there in the first place.

"What's your mother's message?" Lucerys simply holds out his hand, the scroll silently taken as he tries to refuse his attention toward Aemond, but his eyes betray him as a deep part of Luke enjoys seeing how his uncle's chest rises and falls at the sight of him. It's that unconscious piece of him that seemingly seeks his uncle out, the drunken him who bought the violet flower in King's Landing proof of that.

"Where's the bloody maester?" Lord Borros bellows out, Lucerys continuing to return Aemond's glare at this point—telling himself it is to show how much disdain is reciprocated on his part. But a small part of him is comparing the hue of his single eye back to the one of the enteral flower. Then the image of his mother's own violet eyes writhing in pain, the loss of Visenya due to the news of their betrayal made his hand ghost up to his sword.

But he remembered how he swore to his Mother, clenching onto the hilt of his weapon for some clarity, his eyes wandering from between Aemond and Lord Borros as the maester began to utter the contents of the scroll's message into his ears. Slowly, a look Lucerys was all too familiar with began to swirl in Lord Borros' eyes, his big belly heaving as he digested his mother's call.

"'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer, my swords and banners for a marriage pact." Luke almost let out a laugh, pitying the girl standing next to Aemond whom he recognized to be his uncle's betrothed, offered to a man who only knew of hatred and violence. "If I do as your mother bids... which one of my daughters will you wed... boy?"

Lucerys swallowed a sigh, knowing how keen the men of the realm were to refer to him as a child unbefitting of his titles and station. The jab was getting tiresome and too familiar to hold any offense to it.

"My lord... I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed." He looked toward his uncle, his lips upturned into a cruel sort of smile, Luke wanting to let him know he didn't need to trade himself for his mother's claim to the throne. Either Aemond understood him completely or felt another pang of unfamiliar emotion entirely, a flicker of feeling surging through his uncle's usual steady eye.

"So you come with empty hands. Go home, pup." Luke dropped his eyes to the floor, realizing that even though he had volunteered himself steadily and made the journey, he hadn't truly accomplished anything on his mother's behalf. "And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

But then he remembered her words, 'We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And... the cost of breaking them.'

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord." Lucerys called out to him, wanting to surge even more annoyance out of Lord Borros, the boy glad he wasn't actually related to the illiterate man on a false throne before him. He took one last glance at his uncle's face, an unfamiliar humored look splattered across Aemond's face, a shiver running down Lucerys spine as he turned away to leave. But the gods hadn't dealt him such an easy hand.

"Wait... " He halted, turning to glare at Aemond, hoping what flew out of his mouth next showed everyone at Storm's End exactly who they were fighting for. "My Lord Strong."

Lucerys felt his legs take him closer to his uncle, his blood running hot, and yet forming into ice as it traveled to his fingertips once the title left Aemond's teasing lips. Quickly, the boy conjured Jacaerys' words to flood his mind and resolve his churning hatred.

'Never let anyone make you feel less or make you fearful of your standing because of this significance.'

"Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?" His uncle walked closer now, his hands behind his back and standing tall in the all-black attire. Lucerys could almost mistake him for a trueborn Targaryen, but he knew how deeply the man before him ran green.

"I will not fight you." He called out, annoyance in his tone as he knows Aemond is probably trying to put Lucerys' own anger on display, show a glimpse of the Velaryon prince from that fateful night on Driftmark. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

"A fight would be little challenge," His uncle muttered, his eye off to the side as he pondered to himself for a bit, Luke wondering where exactly Aemond planned on leading their back and forth to.

"No. I want you to put out your eye," Aemond answered Lucerys' looming thoughts as he revealed it, taking the eyepatch off his face and displaying the sapphire inside of his socket. Luke realized that this scene wasn't to provoke anything out of him, and in the hall full of strangers prepped for war, this was something entirely on its own. It was to always occur, and it just so happened to blow up in front of the Baratheons, fatal casualties in the feud between the blundering prince and his crazed uncle he never could understand. "As payment for mine."

Lucerys knew he should have left then, the crazed glare of Aemond's suddenly reaching clarity as he proclaimed such insane requests, but witnessing for the first time how much he'd truly maimed the man rooted the boy where he stood. He was mesmerized, feeling the violet flower did not serve enough justice as the sparkling gem did.

"One will serve," He threw a dagger across the stone floor, the sound of metal clattering bringing Lucerys back down from his high. "I would not blind you," Aemond added lazily as if he was being polite.

The Velaryon prince let out quick breaths, his gaze trailing from the weapon as lightning flashed on the metal between them, grazing his enlarged brown eyes upwards again to see how sure Aemond was in his proposal. He wondered how long his uncle had been itching to have this moment, to finally have Lucerys alone for himself to enact his revenge.

Aemond clicked his tongue at the wide-eyed boy, patience wearing thin in the presence of his soul's blight. "I plan to make a gift of it to my mother."

The remark and reminder of the Dowager Queen's betrayal made Lucerys think of his own mother once more, sickened to think how wrecked she'd be if he was to return one eye less.

"No." Luke barked out, the defiance in his voice stirring Aemond so intensely.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor." The Velaryon prince almost bickered back, Lord Borros' yells for the exchange to come to a halt making him bite his tongue, but Aemond was no longer keen on listening. 

"Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!" He bounded angrily toward Luke, the prince witnessing for the first time the true pent-up rage his uncle bared for him. Lucerys unsheathed his sword, his feet clamoring backward as Aemond swiftly grabbed the dagger from the floor, eager to close the space between them.

"Not in my hall!" Finally, the Targaryen prince froze in place, his entire frame shaking in pure adrenaline and loathing at his small nephew in front of him. "The boy came as an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now."

The storm outside the hall boomed, filling in the silence and coaxing Lucerys to tuck his sword away again, walking backward to loom at Aemond for a few more seconds before showing him his back. It wasn't a pure victory as the Baratheons were not on their side, but Luke felt satisfied knowing he'd revealed the true nature of his uncle— and how it reflected what now took sanction on the Iron Throne.

Even as the rain poured down and the thunder roared above his head, an enemy surely behind his back, Luke could only focus on Arrax as she began to whine restlessly. Maybe the winged creature could feel the fear that was evoked back in the hall, but after Lucerys turned his curious head to look if Vhagar was still mirroring the pure hatred her rider felt for him— his heart dropped at the sight of her missing. He looked into the sky, the dark clouds hiding any trace of her presence, the boy trying to keep calm for his dragon's sake as she roared in desperation.

"Dokimarvose! Laehossa ynot, Arrax! Lykirī! Ryptēs! Rȳbās!" She shivered against the winds, rain dripping down her scales as he climbed onto his companion, Arrax relaxing under his weight. "Sōvēs, Arrax!"

They took to the air, the awful strikes of lightning piercing the horizon as they steered in the direction of Dragonstone. The harsh winds and rain pelted against the pair as they fought the surging storm, Lucerys struggling to keep steady as they bobbed in the unforgiving weather. He figured that reaching the place above the clouds, where the rainstorm could not reach them would be best, pulling the reins of his dragon and swiveling his head to shake the wet hair from his eyes. The two were climbing the winds, Arrax cutting through the toughest part of the swirling skies with vigor, Lucerys' mind shifting between the comfort of his mother's violet gaze that awaited him, and the awfulness of Aemond's that he had just left behind.

At the thought of his uncle, he turned around to look if he was trailing after him, trying to see if he was truly keen on his want to pluck an eye from the boy. But he was not there, Luke's mind calming once more. Onward they pushed, the sound of Arrax's gust of winds beneath his white wings finally able to be heard against the harsh thunder, Luke seeing a brink of white clearing ahead where the sun could finally be seen. He was almost out, a step closer home it seemed.

But then a shadow loomed behind him, Luke turning to see if his mind was playing tricks on him, and if the monsters flickering between the dark halls of Dragonstone finally came to taunt his failure. He swallowed, blinking away the dark thoughts and trying to keep his eyes ahead, shaking his hair from his views again, just in time to meet his new, worst fear had in fact come true. 

The castle-sized beast was headed straight toward him, Lucerys barely steering himself and Arrax out of Vhagar's path, the sound of Aemond's sick laugh echoing from atop her. They were turning around now, Lucerys panting in sheer panic and his hands shaking, barely gripping the reins of his own dragon. His path was turned completely around now in the thickness of the storm, the prince's only goal to get out of Vhagar's way and lose the two. Luke turned as he propelled himself and Arrax forward, turning around just in time to see the rows of teeth his uncle's loyal beast bared his way, bile threatening to climb his throat at the monstrous sight. Even though Arrax was tinier, the dragon was quicker than Vhagar—able to zip comfortably through normal conditions— the storm hindered the little creature's abilities drastically. Luke filled in with all of his might, maneuvering the two with all of his mustered-up force as he steered Arrax into the midst of a rocky canyon, his grip on his reins almost slipping from all the wetness of the rain. Thankfully, once he heard Aemond's cackling laugh behind him, the Velaryon prince was able to push on and secure themselves in the crannies of the stone to hide.

They zipped through the small cracks, Lucerys knowing Vhagar was definitely too massive to try and fit in between the structures, and his uncle too blinded in fury to think of anything else to continue close behind him. He turned to confirm his thoughts, the dark outline of the warrior dragon dragging on top of the slits of the canyon, the boy taking the opportunity to let Arrax cut as quickly as she could forward before they caught up.

"Gēlȳni enkagon jemēla!" This went beyond any debt of an eye. Lucerys' mind raced, wondering if there was ever an instance where he had scorned his uncle more so unreasonably than the night on Driftmark to make him act this way. Perhaps it was the way it came to be when it came to the young prince, conjuring the worst in any enemy he made. Ruining people. "Taoba!"

His uncle's mocking tone made Luke realize he sought pleasure in his pain, wanting to scorn and humiliate him so deeply that sicking Vhagar on him seemed to Aemond as a given. The moment of clarity seemingly transferred to Arrax, the babe of a dragon flying upward to where Vhagar soared, Lucerys grabbing the reins to stop her but it was too late. His beast spat fire at the pair, Lucerys wondering if his dragon knew they were at war. For if he did, Arrax failed to understand that Vhagar triumphed in the carnage of it.

"Daor, Arrax! Dohaerās, Arrax! Hepās, vēzot!" Lucerys desperately yelled into his white scales, trying to reason with his bonded beast as the volumes of the storms drowned out any of his calls. The facade of their control and ownership of the dragons washed away in the storm, the rain eroding the clear instinct of these ancient beings' nature, and perhaps the Targaryen's own.

The brunette prince saw the crack of light, the skin on his face feeling warmth once again as they climbed up atop the clouds, a blanket of serenity allowing the young boy to feel his heartbeat again. Quickly, he whipped his head behind him, expecting the she-dragon on their tail once more. But Arrax sensed her first, the tiny, brave creature pulling back suddenly to face her head-on, making Luke jerk his attention forward, his eyes welling in tears as he saw Vhagar bite the white-scaled creature's head— all the way down to her small neck— clean off.

Neither the boy nor dragon had time to sound out a cry, Lucerys wilting as he fell, fast down, down, down, the wings on the dead weight of his beast flapping crazily and even if he didn't notice, slowing their descent. Luke heard Aemond's frantic yelling, and he heard the whistling of the winds in his ears as he dropped, warm tears rolling upwards from his face into the sky as he let go of the reins, his stomach dipping as he realized the world around him was no longer small anymore. Before he could try and unclip from his saddle, the ocean surface met him first, his head thrown back and crashing into the remnants of Arrax, leaving him unconscious on the tattered white body. The broken-off pieces of the dragon began to float away, the only thing that tied him to his Targaryen ancestry being the bloated belly of his bonded beast, carrying him along the currents of the sea.

That day, the politics and treaties of war died along with Lucerys Velaryon.