Chapter 8: Waves That Kiss and Crash

Chapter Text

"Up, your arm needs to go," A gash is certainly reopened, the salt water the two children fight in, stinging the cut. His face is struck, and Luke falls into the shallow part of the shore, Constance above him, grabbing his unharmed arm roughly. "Up! What is the matter? You are good some days and next, you act like this."

No letter has been returned. The dove disappeared into the dark and never came back. Lucerys had tried to convince Constance to let him send a raven instead, but she said they were being watched closely now. Manu himself does not get any new intel from the Citadel, leaving the Velaryon boy to work himself raw. Before the sun rises, he is up, the girl making sure to break him in clear view of her mentor and the other voiceless nobodies. Those first few days were when Luke was forced to play a game he did not understand and had yet to put together, the crowd growing tired of watching his pitiful standing. Then, he serves in the mornings in the temple, scrubbing the floors, sweeping the stairs, dusting the statues, and cooking food for himself and the other servants of the Many Faced God. Once he is on his knees as the others do, the boy prays despite never having practiced such devotion before in his life. Prays his mother will answer him. Hopes the war can be over. Wishes this is all a dream.

But each prayer that passes-- each night that leaves Luke stirring in his sleep from the nightmares of his fall-- Lucerys begins to lose faith in the Gods. He thought maybe their absent answers is why his mother never taught the boy to bow before such deaf figures. 

Then, when the sun goes down and the strange man in charge of the house disappears through the large doors, Constance will take him and they will train in the alleys, the shore, or within the streets of the lagoon city of Braavos. To onlookers, they simply look like beggar children roughhousing. But between them, it is the matter of life and death. Whenever they did not quarrel and bicker that is.

"Act like what?" He pants, his curls wet and dripping down his warm skin, resting in the sinking feeling of the sand. The amber-colored girl scoffs at him, wading through the water and giving him a sharp slap of a wave, making Lucerys splurt out the salt from his mouth and blow the ocean from his nostrils. 

"Like a little prince." He's up again, blocking every hit she returns his way, Lucerys gaining on her as she shifts between offense and defense. Constance grins at his ignited energy, Luke's brows tucked down in concentration as he bobs and weaves between her strikes, finally sticking her foot between his own to trip him. He coughs as he breathes in the up-kicked water, groaning as lays himself into the gentle tide, the boney girl smiling down at him. "Wash up then. We've got the night to work still."

Lucerys knows he would have probably died if he had not been found in the middle of the Narrow Sea. If the people who had found him were those working under the regime of the Greens. And most importantly-- if his mind had been left to rot into an abyss of nothingness. But with the days that passed, he was beginning to feel that remaining a shell of a boy would have indeed been easier than the path he chose to tread.

It's been almost two months, and he still cannot grow accustomed to the routine underneath the light of the moon. The first week she'd left the boy to sleep the exhaustion of the temple serving away. Then after his whines for more growth, for her to quicken the progress, to lessen the gap that leaves him lacking, Constance bent to his pleas. "I want to become useful. I want to help my mother." 

That first week, she'd left him in the tents of the sick with the healers, the old man from before that checked his injury genuinely surprised by the boy's recovery, only voicing how thin he still remained. Lucerys would help without pay, trailing after the wise man who tended to the wounded and cared for the coughing children laying weakly on the cobble floors. He wore a simple fabric around his face to prevent himself from getting any of the ailments the commonfolk had, the maesters doing the same when they wandered into quarantined tents. Even if he had one working arm still, the boy held the supplies they needed to cover foreheads with damp towelettes, opening the satchels for the coins of payments to be served into. His favorite patient was the old man he'd met briefly on his first day, unnamed and unknown without a title between them, but Luke would simply brush his fingers across his pained face and the stranger knew the kind touch of the boy immediately, softening at his generosity.

"His eyes cannot open and his heart is failing him. If I were you boy... I'd cease trying to connect to a dying man." The healer told him one night, washing new rags that would be placed on open gashes and cuts. Lucerys shrugs, not entirely convinced that death would be coming for someone still so responsive. But when he told Constance of how the frail man would cry at night in his bed, being yelled at by the sick too far gone in their own pain to have compassion, the girl told Lucerys to bring the man to the House of Black and White. 

"Why?" The boy is not dumb. He knows the answer. So the girl scoffs as she is already well aware that the Velaryon prince is not dense. He only acts it. 

"Let him suffer then. Waste your potential. I don't care-"

"Yes, you do. That's exactly why you tend to me." Her eyes roll at his remark, stilling in her head once more when her mentor comes by. Lucerys does not avert his gaze, staring at the strange man with red and white hair. Constance glares at the boy before dragging her rag gently across Luke's fist to make him stop. The man is humored, walking past the two as they scrub at the stone surrounding the fountain of water until it shines prettily. She lowers her head with a sigh, before wrapping the cloth around to smack the prince with, the boy on his knees as he gawks at her for hitting his ill arm. "What was that for?"

"You know not to catch his eye."

"But he is the one who oversaw you and your training, no?"

"Yes, and now he's watching you to see if you are worth my time. Do you not understand who- what he is?" Lucerys stares at her for a bit. The man is an assassin. They all are. He's read the books of Old Valryia's histories, roved his eyes over the words that explain how the most abused of the freehold rose up to give the weakest in society the ability to afflict pain back. And his family was no exemption to the enslavement of these people. It made Luke wonder if the man could smell that on him-- the past transgressions of his kin. Constance shakes her head and sighs, going back to the cycle of neverending chores. "He is beyond flesh and blood. He is what would set your sick friend free."

He scrubs for a little bit, the movement faltering as he turns to Constance with defiant eyes. "I will set him free."

Lucerys knew there were bits and pieces of magic that went into the House of Black and White, but one of them was not in the art of mercy. Or what the girl was showing him. Through what she was taught and shown, her tanned hands whipped up a concoction of death in a bottle. The water inside was still clear, Constance sniffing at it and then wafting it underneath Luke's own nose. It was odorless. Untraceable. A simple kiss from the Stranger.

That's what the boy kept telling himself over and over as he walked through the dark of the night, his bare feet on the cobblestone walkways of the Free City. Lucerys got used to the feeling. The soft parts of his flesh were now becoming hardened and callused, just as Constance said they would. When he reached the tents of sickness, Luke does not need to search in order to find his companion. He is always wrinkled and shriveled in the same cot, mouth floundering in shuddering breaths for the soft air of the cool night.

Gently, he touches the folds of the elder's forehead, the creases between his brows dissipating and his gums showing. For a while, all Lucerys does is memorize the man's aged skin within his fingertips, the contrasting smoothness and coarseness reminding the boy of his dragon. The intricate touch of Arrax's scales. Because of Aemond, he'd never know that feeling again.

Because of the fall, now Lucerys was raising the vile to the man's unsuspecting lips and tipping it over.

That seventh night in Braavos, away from his home, Constance found the boy praying by the shore, knees tucked underneath his chin and hands clasped above his head. The waves lapped at his feet, bare and hard now. Kissing the little prince in mourning of himself and the gentle creatures of life. His sister, his babe of a cousin, and the now-dead man.

After that, Luke no longer wished to be near the ill, and the girl was forced to work him another way when he refused his other option.

"I do not wish to join the men of the ship in squalor." Constance gritted her teeth as she dressed, trying her best not to snap at the younger. "They drink themselves into the night waiting for work that my family's war has halted. I'd feel too much guilt in their company."

"Fine then, sleep." Luke makes the mistake of thumping his feet down on the floor of their shared chamber, the girl whipping her head around at his childish manner. "Scrub. Clean. Do what you please, but you mustn't-"

"I feel I shall join you in your nightly ventures-"

"Boy-"

"If that's too much to ask of you then I will go to your mentor instead. Mayhaps he'll have something for me to do-" She grabbed his afflicted shoulder, fingers in a claw and pressing into the slung splint ever so slight. Luke pulls away from her with a whine, peering up at Constance for the first time in fear. Slowly, her mood falters and her lips twitch as she struggles to say what Lucerys already knows is coming.

"Fine. You may come. If you can stomach it." 

He didn't know what to expect from her own private matters in the city of Braavos, but the prince was certain it was not anything like the affairs he was witnessing. Before they had left, Constance had disappeared behind the solid door that Luke was still not allowed through, remaining to scrub and sweep in the center of the temple where the pool lay. When she came back out, her attire is one of a long sleeve linen mauve dress and her hair pulled back tightly. She is so cleaned up, Luke almost does not think it her in the dim light, but with her satchel draped over her shoulder and dark eyes flitting to the boy to follow, the familiarized pair slip from the lonely island and melt into the scenery of the lagoon.

Lucerys followed as quietly as he could, biting his tongue from all the bouncing questions inside of his jittery mouth. He wanted to know where they were going. If this is what the girl did every night. And just what exactly it was that should turn him away from such things. The curiosity inside his mind ran dry when the children rounded the corner of a canal, the sounds of moans and men laughing echoing through the streets making Luke's breath hitch in his throat as shameless coupling littered the alleys and doorways of brothels, his hand inching to grab a hold of Constance's. 

Her touch evaded his own once she went to grab at something from within her bag, sticking to a quiet place on the walls of the lewd scene and looking at the boy with pity on her freckled face. Lucerys only swallowed, turning his back to the sight of a woman with a revealing dress on, singing like a siren luring her prey, flitting a feather underneath a man's chin flirtatiously.

"What is it that you do here?" The question made her black eyes narrow, her back slack against the wall, and her wrists grow limp inside her satchel. She was beginning to think his naivety was not an act.

"I work." His eyes widen, Constance rolling her own back. "Why do you think those men call me kitchen wench? Did you think it a fond pet name such as your own?"

"Of course not. I simply thought them insolent and cruel." Her face flickers, something out of the corner of her peripheral catching her attention before she is grabbing at Lucerys, putting his clammy hands on her boney body. It makes Luke try to pull away in a mixture of confusion and disapproval, but Constance's quick mouth moves as he struggles.

"There is a man behind you. Watching you. I only make you seem like the predator rather than prey." Luke's mind thinks it is her mentor without a name. That he has caught them out without his consent and will now strike them like when Lucerys mistakingly uttered his true name out loud. "Tastes go beyond that of maidens here, boy. Would you like to look upon such a generous glare?"

He shakes his head but her hands turn him around otherwise, Lucerys' throat dried as a fellow settling on the opposite end of the street gains his attention. His pupils are burning into his own, jaw shifting as lips ghost with a smile for the boy. Constance leans into his ear, Luke looking down at her and shifting his eyes ever so slightly to the lusting stranger, adamant on making sure he stays put.

"Can you stomach it, child? The look of primal need. A yearning for sex without acquaintance-" 

"Why are you saying these things to me?" He seethes. She does not fall back.

"Because, for someone so desperate to grow up, you cannot even return the look of a thirsting fool. You are a princeling of a high standard." Her head pulls away from his pained shoulder and starts a quick shuffling behind him, something that makes the stranger in front of them quiver with fear and dart down the nearest alley away. Constance is no more, a woman grown with blonde hair and green speckled eyes looking at Lucerys now, the familiar unfriendly smile on her face. "You know not what it means to shed your name. How there is no such thing as pride when it comes to survival." 

She left him in the middle of the street that night, the curly-haired boy having to resort to walking into the familiar parts of Bravoos, careful to scale along the walls away from the workers trying to make Luke walk into their pleasure house. He knew the path to the Dornish boy seemingly awake at all hours, the canals winding and weaving to a small square where the few greenery grew in pathetically small bushes. Everyone walked in and out to ignore the plants, yet Manu sat night after night in the same spot peeling through his book across from the view, always giving a polite smile to the women who strayed too close to him. Upon the sight of Lucerys though, the elder boy shut his current read closed and moved aside in the bench for the prince to sit, his lips letting out a small grunt which had Manu chuckling softly.

"Leroi asks for you three nights now. I don't know how many times I can lie to him. Or if he actually believes such a lively child as yourself sleeps in so early." Lucerys smiles weakly, his mind heavy and bones tired. The Dornish man makes certain to speak enough for the both of them, unwinding in the boy's company despite having been so quiet when they were on the sea. "The delayed arrival of word from your family plagues you. Mayhaps the dove was too weak to reach them-"

"It wasn't." Lucerys doesn't know why he's certain such a small thing of no promise made it across the ocean. Then he remembers his own circumstances. "I'm sure of it."

Manu only sighs, tapping his tan hand on the wood before speaking carefully. "You're surrounded by death nowadays, hmm? Followed by it in the form of the man who shadowed Constance, suffocated by it as you watch the people who visit the temple for... the gentlest way out of their living torture."

Lucerys peers up, and under the spare light of the moon Manu is able to see his brown eyes rubbed red underneath, the hollowness of evaded sleep sinking into his freckled skin. He can only give him more encouraging words, brows furrowed and face sympathetic.

"If you went back home now, your mother would be elated just to find you alive again. You need not stay here and suffer my lord." This makes Luke get up with a grunt, Manu following and putting his arms up as if to brace the boy's fall, which only makes the younger more irritated. "I did not mean to offend you-"

"I will suffer regardless. If I stay. If I go." He looks to the elder and cocks his head with anger, but it is not directed at the Dornish boy. "Difference is, being here, I feel I can choose who will go down with me."

The next day Luke does as needed, not even trying to sneak a word to Constance when they are alone together. When midday reaches them though, and the boy is allowed to eat the meal leftovers, the quiet exchange of clothing that the other servants adorn is handed to him by the uncanny mentor, Lucerys nodding to him with gratitude. After he cleans up after himself and the handful of others, Luke sheds the shirt of the man murdered in the alley along with the trousers that were stiffened with filth and sea salt water. Once he emerges from the small sleeping quarters he finds Constance waiting for him, their eerie leader right at her side.

He's accustomed to the amount of silence in the temple, but Lucerys' skin begins to crawl once he is led to the wide steel door just beyond the fountain room, never having been behind the unknown part of the refuge. Luke braces for something otherworldly as they descend the steps, a sight that will allow him to fully immerse himself in the Many Faced God's mercy, his afflicted shoulder throbbing in anticipation. Instead, the boy steps into a dim room with a cold slab in the center, his eyes fluttering as the body that lies there is the elderly man Lucerys killed, his face colorless and finally at peace. He is horrified, having been aware of all the sightless bodies heaved into the room to never come out. Fear tears into his heart as he wonders in the suffocating quiet whether or not this was a test. If he'd have to disgrace the stranger even more so than he felt he had.

The man with white and red hair leaves the pair through another door, one that Lucerys ceases his curiosity of, watching as Constance begins to move a washcloth around the corpse's skin. Luke stares in confusion, then melts into the routine, his breathing steading and tears dissolving back into his eyes.

"You talked with Manu as of late." She isn't questioning him, phrasing the statement as she knows. Lucerys does not answer, his fingers brushing against the cool wrinkles. He wishes to have eased Arrax into death like this. He wishes for his companion since the cradle to be at least whole again, wherever they go after life. "I say your temper is careless, childish even...but he sees you eager to measure up to something. Says giving you more work will leave you without the need to wander."

Lucerys thinks once she stops her warnings for him, wondering where the girl that mourned with him went. "Is the face you show me your own?"

Her hands cease brushing the knotted hair, black eyes simmering his. Then she averts her gaze and swallows. "Yes."

"And your name too?" He does not flinch when her head swishes to glare at him.

"No."

"So then you lie." Lucerys finally looks upon her, eyes fiery and brows tucked in judgment. Constance does not fall back. "And what you said about being a bastard. All the sorrow you made me believe you shared with me-"

"I tell you only what you need to hear."

"Then why should I trust anything you say-"

His lips shut as the door opens, the body fully cleansed, servants walking in to take the corpse further into the temple. Luke silently prays in his mind, his entire being focused on the man he allowed death to enter. Then, once the door closes again and another body lays for them to prep, he stares at the girl, washing gently with his remaining good arm.

That training afternoon, she held the long stick to the shore with them. It was the one she whipped at him on the first day, seemingly beating the boy with mercy as the others in the temple did not mind his presence. Now as she stood before Lucerys, he understands it is the start of the game he lost before-- having evaded the truth of his person-- not daring to confess his status as a prince in front of the assassins.

"Who are you?" He huffs, pulling up his breeches and rolling his shoulder, stiffened from work. 

"Lucerys Velaryon-" She whips him, the boy hissing in pain as he stares at her, gawking at her.

"Speak the truth of it-"

"I am. I am Lucerys Velaryon-" Another slash rolls his way, the tide lapping around his ankles as he stumbles farther into the ocean away from her hits. "I am the second son of the rightful Queen of Westeros. The heir to Driftmark."

She does not hit him when he says this. Again, she asks, "Who are you?"

This time he stops to think. About the way his heart wavers. How hot the newest pain sears his torso. And his mouth speaks without his consent. "I am the son of Harwin Strong and Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Her eyes flicker with appeasement.

"Where do you come from?"

"Westeros." She steps forward with a pressing stare. Lucerys swallows. "I was born in King's Landing. My familial home is in Dragonstone."

"Who took the life of your dragon?" His mood sours. Luke does not wish to say.

"Vhagar-" Another whip falls upon him, slashing his exposed shin. The salt of the water seeps into the wound, Lucerys forced to endure the sting of it. "I have not lied-"

"Animals do not kill for the fun of the chase." She circles him, Luke huffing as his mind is forced to remember the jarring laughter of his uncle. The place where clouds do not reach.

"Who took the life of your dragon?" It is a mere whisper now. Incantations bounce in the boy's mind, ill terms that he wishes to hold his uncle to. But he follows the rules of the game.

"Aemond." The syllables leave his tongue choppily, forced from his throat. She is quiet, wanting more. "He is the brother to the Usurper King. Half of my mother's kin. A blood drop of mine."

Constance's grip on the whip softens, falling to her side as she juts her chin up and awaits for Lucerys to decide if he wants to spill more lies or more blood.

"I wish to take as much from him as he has from me. His dragon-" She whips him, his body doubling over into the shallow shore in pain, crimson flooding down from his nose into his gritted mouth. He knows he does not say the entire truth, and through the blood he groans his want out, looking up at the girl of amber with a crazed glint on his usually softened face.

Then, the foreign language falls from his lips, ancient and full of fire.

"His other eye."

He is helped up from the water. The game is over. Lucerys joins his mentor in the streets of pleasure houses, trailing after her in the night even when she takes the face of a different maiden. He's learned not to question anymore, to blend into the role he was thrown into when the Narrow Sea captured him. Lucerys practices playing the parts he's given, joining the crew of sailing men during their drunken dinners as they whine for work, tending to the working women as a simple serving boy with energizing fruit.

He is a pearl. He is a bird. He is a dragon.

"Boy. I say, come here." One of the giggling working girls calls for him, waving a single iron his way as Lucerys carries his basket of oranges to her, exchanging the goods with a soft smile. She smooths his slung arm and slips back into the private quarters where a customer is waiting, the muffled sounds of laughter and solitude of the pleasure house corridor making his face harden once more. It has been this way for nearly two months. Training, healing, practicing, and serving. 

Sometimes he sees the strange mentor peeking at him within the temple. Sometimes he catches the way Constance grows stiff under his glare. It left a strange notion on Lucerys, talking privately with Manu one evening when Patrice and Argelle were too brash and attention-seeking of the waiting girls to let any notice fall on the two.

"Do you know why Constance fears him? The man who lingers in the shadows it seems." Manu keeps his gaze on the group, leaning in closer to speak with Luke in hushed whispers.

"I don't believe she is wary of what he will do to her, but to you." Lucerys strains to keep his demeanor calm, breathing halting in his chest when Eeyore takes a quick glance at him. Once the gaze falls away, Luke takes in air shakingly. Manu notices, exchanging calming words again. "Faceless Men are killers, Lucerys. If you want to deter the man who awaits your next failure like a vulture, you must make your move first."

Lucerys remembers the way Constance lies to him. He wonders if Manu is the same. "Why do you help me?"

The Dornish man shifts in his seat, swallowing before slowing his speech carefully, giving a false smile to the group as a joke is spurned about. Luke drinks his freshly squeezed juice, hiding how his own face will not bloom into one that matches the men's own.

"I want something from you," The confession makes Lucerys tense where he is sitting, putting down the cup with eyes fixed on the table. Unintentionally, his body is leaning away from the other boy's close warmth, Manu letting out a small scoff from his throat. "I only want the accounts of your life, my lord. Nothing unbefitting of our stations-"

"When I am here, I am nobody. The news you obtain about my family's being is the only account you'll know." Luke cuts him off, the conversation dead for the rest of dinner.

He sits in the dark of the brothels thinking of how curt he'd been to the kind boy. How he'd forked over his saved spending to try and help Lucerys. But the gnawing feelings of Manu's actions being purely fueled by his own wants from the prince makes him stir. The only thing he can be entirely grateful for is his honesty. 

"Hello." An unsure voice floats his way, and Lucerys turns around to see the resemblance lust of the man from the first night, weeks ago when he first came to the indecent setting. It is in the form of another, but the eyes are still so very hungry, burning through the child as if he is translucent. The image of Aemond's own simmering glare flickers inside Luke's shattered mind, anger filling his veins and making his hold on the basket harden. "You work here?"

"In ways." The alluding tone makes the man stutter out a laugh, his tongue darting out to lick on the dried parts of his thin lips. Lucerys steps forward, a soft smile on his own as he offers the oranges out, his curls falling from behind his ears and framing his ivory face. Setting the illusion of prey perfectly. "Are you in want of the nectar, sir?"

"Incredibly so." Luke holds out his palm, evading the man's right hand as it reaches out for his fruit.

"An iron. Only one." Quickly, a pouch is shone in his face, the fingers of his left hand littered with golden jewels. 

"I will pay for the entirety of your basket if you graced me with your company."

Lucerys notices one of them is more intricate than the others. Resembling the contraption of a simple locket, wondering what was entrapped in such a small thing. "That is a most generous offer, but I do not work here."

"I do not wish for your body, boy. Only your fruit." If he was playing the game, he'd crack the whip upon the man's torso. Instead, he nods, playing his part as a serving boy, the man walking to the madam around the corner of the brothel and whispering among one another. Her guilted look shows she knows the truth too, but she will serve the unnamed child to the man nonetheless, her silence paid in the form of a single golden ring.

Lucerys knows he hasn't been training long enough to be entering a room alone with a man of depravity, but his urge for growth blinds him. They sit on the floor of the private chamber, the door closing softly, Luke noticing that the sound of its locking does not follow. He settles down on the carpet then, the table in between the two creaking when he places the wicker basket on the wood. The man catches one of the oranges tumbling out, his grin shining as he switches out a knife from beneath his layers of thin clothing.

For a while, they eat in silence, savoring the sweet juice of the fruit, the man sliding over a coin every time he and Lucerys eat one, the peelings gathering at the end of the table.

"What is your name, my pretty?" He seems from Essos, his accent barely alive to let Luke know from where specifically.

"Leo." Liar his mind replies back.

"Hmm, how simple." He smacks when he eats, Lucerys clenching his jaw from the irritable sound. "I'm called... call me 'prince'."

Luke breathes out an amused laugh, as in truth it does humor him how ironic that title falls into their conversation. The so-called prince is young indeed, but his mannerisms are carefree, his tongue loose. But then he remembers his uncle Aegon and the way he conducts himself, Lucerys swallowing the pulp as he studies the man again. His clothing is not fine, but Luke supposes they are not meant to be. 

"Well, my prince, what brings you here to a pleasure house seeking out the likes of..." A coin is slid his way, Lucerys' eyes flitting up to the man as he slowly let go, watching the boy's slim fingers peek up over the edge of the table and grab the iron. "The likes of a simpleton."

The man laughs at that, his face softening as he settles his gaze back on the brunette child, humming a bit. That deep sound makes Lucerys' head shake involuntarily, remembering the way Aemond did so when he scorned him and his brothers during their last meal together. Suddenly, he's begging for more lies to be spewed between the two.

"It's as I say, Leo, I am a prince." His front falters as the boy raises his brows, the man licking his lips before rubbing the stickiness of the fruit from his fingers, sighing. "I was chosen to lead. They expected me to take a wife, but I have no talent in such matters."

Luke swallows, nodding as he takes another orange. "So now you've abandoned your kingdom? How reckless, my liege."

He smiles with his eyes, the corners of his lips not matching. He eats another orange, Lucerys finally paying mind to how little fruit is left, and yet the desire has still not left the stranger's gaze. He eats slower, but the simple action only riles the man more, his position shifting from one of relaxation to that as if he is to pounce over the table. 

The unlocked door opens, and Constance stands on the threshold for a second, holding a platter of chalices and a bottle of wine as a polite grin coats her lips. The false prince is turned away from Lucerys, the boy glaring at the girl, thinking she is to whisk him away, but instead, she says. "Wine?"

She floats to the table, placing down the goblets and begins pouring, not meeting the eyes of Luke who is boring into her skull, nudging her with his foot underneath the table. The stream within her grasp only stutters slightly, her mouth opening to talk again, to save him he thinks.

"My madam has sent me in to retrieve a grander payment," She does not even look at the boy. "After all, the maidenhead is a rarity in these parts."

That makes the man howl with laughter, tapping his jeweled fingers on the wood without even sparing Luke a glance, betrayal settling in his heart. As if this means nothing, the cruel stranger simply reaches for another gold ring, but Constance pouts as he does so. Quickly, she points to the biggest one, the grand locket that fits loosely on the man's digits, like it does not belong there. "How about this one-"

"The boy has no cunt now, does he? He's already half-broken as it is. Be off with this generous gift, or I'll fetch all my coin from this place and be gone." Constance finally flits her eyes to Luke, taking the ring and nodding, leaving the quarters with a glare over her shoulder, sneakily leaving the door slightly ajar. The young prince tries to conjure up any forming idea on how he will snag the possession from such an anxious man, but the gnawing reminder of how he only has three oranges more to do so stifles him. Once the peels have gathered entirely at the end of the table, the stranger gets up to start pulling off the first layer of his clothes, Lucerys sat looking up at him, throat tight and brows upturned.

"Shall I sing for you, my prince?" The art of innocent company is not entirely lost in these parts of Braavos. But the false prince laughs, planting his clothes into a pile on the ground below his feet, the heavy thud of his knife with the layers catching Lucerys' attention. He moves as if to grab the chalice and offer it to the stranger, but the man's voice halts the action further.

"Join me." He orders, and the child raises as well, thankful that his arm is slung still despite the fact that it is nearly healed. It makes the movement of undressing slow and cautious, the man tutting once Luke's hands reach his trousers shakingly, his voice coming close to entertain the idea of Lucerys being taken care of by him, that the prince will serve Leo tonight. 

"You said you only wanted my fruit." His voice is forced out, his nerves concaving inside his ribs as he is laid on the mattress and sheets. The man pulls his own trousers down, a short hum coming from him as he thinks of whether or not he will spill truth.

"And I had it. But I am still in want of more nectar, boy." He growls, pulling Luke's thin legs to bring him closer, a whine emitting from him as he tries to sit up, to evade his touch, but it is futile once the ringed finger clasps around his shin harshly. Lucerys has the wind knocked out of him once the other man's entire weight shifts on his frame, stubble grazing his collarbones as a sticky mouth laps at his neck, grabby hands tugging down at his trousers. The bruises hidden underneath his breeches sing, and his instinct kicks in, the knife he grabbed from underneath the table of the man's belongings is heavy in his palm as he holds it in his splint. Once the man shifts to try and reach between Luke's legs, the blade is on his stomach, the glint of it making the stranger's face stiffen, the slim hand he lusted as it grabbed his iron coin now wrapped around the weapon, slashing at his eye. 

The man yelps, clasping his newly formed wound with his ringed hand, using his dominant arm and remaining view to hit Lucerys, the prince too overwhelmed to try and evade. His head of curls is thrown back into the bedding from the force, Luke's painful whines stifled once a hand wrap around his neck, pressing down and restricting life to flow in and out of his small form. While he's choked, Lucerys stabs at the man's torso weakly, shallow cuts made in his ribs and the feeling of the blood dripping on his bare stomach being the only thing registering in his mind, black fog overtaking his senses. Finally, a sharp gasp finally emits in the swirling room, Lucerys coughing, spluttering air back into his lungs as if he has made it out of the Narrow Sea a second time, crawling away from the edge of the bed to witness Constance bludgeoning the fellow to death with the wine bottle she had brought in.

After the third blow, the sounds of the pleasure house are silent, Luke turning to see the working ladies cowering at the doorway in horror. They are afraid of the skinny children splattered in crimson and shuddering breaths. They see them for what they are.

Constance grabs the ring off the man's finger, turning to the girls with a calm look, her tone even steadier.

"All his coin is yours to have. In return for the troubles we've caused tonight."

___

He sits in the tin basin, the suds of soap all over Lucerys' body as the girl scrubs his skin raw, the dried blood a nuisance to wash off. He does not mind, taking his frustrations out on the peach she bought for him on their way from already trying to wash off from the ocean. Constance had exchanged quick words with her mentor as Luke readied her bath first, his personal liar coming back with a tired look on her face, stepping into the water with no sound at first. Then she began her nagging at him, telling Lucerys of how she had the wine drugged so the stranger would have fallen to sleep-- that there was no need for the amount of attention they'd summoned. 

"He would not drink from the chalice. He was a paranoid man." Luke replied, making the freckled face girl glare at him, not able to argue back as it was the truth.

She scrubbed for a while longer in silence, Lucerys drawing his own bath and trying to see his reflection in the water, going without the sight of himself in so long. He wished to see just how horribly his neck looked now. If his hair was indeed too long as of late. "Do you see what I mean, boy?"

He whips his head around to stare at her, shaking his head after Constance waits for his answer. 

"The primal need." She reminds him, making his face turn red with embarrassment. Luke wants to go without the topic entirely, annoyed with how easily he was bested by the fellow. "That man knew his days were limited with that piece around his finger. How people were after him for the ring he'd stolen. And yet he still lingered despite my clear interest in the rarity. Why?"

"Because of his wants. His instincts" Lucerys catches sight of himself in the steading ripples of the water, a stranger looking back at him. Nobody. 

She shows him gentleness again, scrubbing at his scalp as she washes his thick head of hair, careful of the scabbing gash from his fall. It is unruly and yet she says nothing about it, combing through it tediously. As if she knows exactly how to.

"Who was he?" This is a different game. One Luke feels himself easing into, the same way his muscles are in the heat of the bath.

"A wandering thief. He thought himself a prince, deserving of people's things, taking as he pleased. The only thing that disrupted his own self-image of perfection in his eyes was," Lucerys bites in the peach, the pit staring back at him. Brown and whole. "Me I suppose. His unwavering preference for..."

His face heats as he remembers how vulgar the term is.

"Cock." Constance finishes for him, the suddenness of the statement causing Luke to accidentally squish the fruit too hard, the juice spraying his face. The girl stifles her laughter as she stares back at him, his face turning an awful shade of red.

Lucerys drops the peach and submerges his head entirely into the water in embarrassment.

And despite the awful actions Luke had unleashed that night, he slept soundly for the first time.

It is when morning came that there was disruption, an elder servant grabbing a hold of the amber-complected girl as they ate breakfast, Lucerys suddenly afraid that what he'd done was unbecoming, even for Faceless Men. Once she joins the boy again, she answers his fears by relaying back what is circulating throughout the temple. How the man's face he slashes is unusable. As to appease the Many Faced God, they've sent the head of the man back to the clients he stole from alongside the locket, their leader having to take leave.

"Usually, I watch over the temple in his stead, but you are too much of a handful to do so." She finishes her bowl, nodding to another nameless servant who moves as she seemingly commands. With her head turned away, her eyes find him at the sides, narrowing her stare. "I stunt my own progress to prompt yours. Do I lie?"

"No," Lucerys says quickly with his mouth full of oats. After he has finished eating, he follows Constance back into their chambers, the girl shedding her uniform and dressing in the rags she wears on the ship. Lucerys does the same, pulling the trousers from under his mattress and folding the given clothes carefully on his pillow, letting out a sound of surprise when she grabs his hand suddenly as they move to leave the temple. The same servant is standing by the fountain, hands folded into eachother nervously as they call out to Constance who does not stop her quick pace.

"Are you leaving? What do I tell Mateo?" It is the first time Lucerys has heard a name used to refer to the man with red and white hair. But quickly, realization falls over him with the girl's reply.

"I know no man of that name."

The unusual simplicity of things in the temple had slowed the fast pacing thoughts in Luke's mind. The days are brighter than when he first arrived in the free city, the heat much more unforgiving as it filters through the cracks of the lagoon's towering streets. In the two months he's been refuging in Braavos, his callused feet understand the winding ways they are going, falling upon the familiar square where Manu rests day in and day out. Only this time around, there is a raven sitting upon the bench, perched on the wood right above his shoulder, squawking as the pair close in on the unsuspecting boy. 

His hands are slow at closing the letter he is reading, looking up at Lucerys and then Constance with wavering eyes. She does not like the vulnerable scene, her hands clenched around her satchel and thin brows furrowing in hesitance. "Speak. You usually have no trouble doing so."

His mouth flounders, the girl then taking the paper from him harshly, a second one just from within the other falling from their grasp, floating away gently. Lucerys moves for it, groaning as every time he reaches down to grab it, the wind picks it up again. Finally, with the help of a passerby's foot trampling on the parchment, Luke grabs it, turning back to the older children who share a hushed conversation between them. 

"What is it?" The horrors of the night made Lucerys seemingly forget about the true nightmares of his life.

"It is a letter from your brother," Constance says first, Manu turning away with clear shame on his face. He heeded Luke's words entirely, taking it upon himself to forge letters in Lucerys' name and send a raven to Dragonstone without the approval of anyone else. 

But word from Jacaerys is exhilarating, a relief in his chest as sometimes he dreamt of how a similar fate might have fallen upon his elder brother. That the blockades in the sea halted not only work but news of any of his family's deaths from reaching him across the ocean. Luke is only somewhat wrong.

"He has made a pact with the Vale and the North." Constance continues, looking down at Manu with a pressing look on her face, the Dornish boy unwanting to meet the prince's now elated gaze. 

"Is it his tone, Manu? Jace has never been one to write with grace in mind, but you must consider the fact that he's just found out I am alive," He grabs the paper from Constance's limp hand, readying to read the first page, but the teen clears his throat finally.

"Your grandmother, Rhaenys, is dead." The words do not register for some reason. "Alongside her dragon Meleys. Both fell in battle."

It sounds wrong, so it must be. With hesitation, his eyes fall upon the words on the paper, wondering if his brother writes in High Valryian, and that is why Manu has gotten his information incorrect. But the common-tongued penmanship is so familiar and the tone is so brash and unmistakable for it to be anything but Jacaerys' true word.

"Who is 'Protector of The Realm'?" He thinks aloud as he reads the first line. Neither answer him, his eyes reading steadily, then in fragments, then not at all as his eyes became hazed with pooling tears. He blinks hard, forcing them away, unable to think of anything even when Manu is begging for forgiveness for his overstepping.

All Lucerys can mutter out is, "Aemond is king."

"He is only Prince Regent-"

"He calls himself 'Protector of The Realm'." Lucerys laughs, enjoying Jacaerys' harsh words of how his uncle will instead need the entire realm and more to protect him from Vermax's talons. That he will sink them into his skull and tear out the other eye, showing Westeros how truly blind Aemond is.

"Lucerys," Constance calls to him softly as he reads the letter again and again. The way Jace's anger shows through invades him, seeking revenge for himself and their grandmother, the Cargyll twins, and how the last thing Aegon will see is their mother ascending the Iron Throne before his soured head is cut from his failing body. It makes the feeling of sadness wash away. It leaves room for only the essence of anger to bloom deep inside him, filling the void that the death of Arrax left cold.

"I will write." His voice is so quiet it barely is captured in the bustling noise of the city.

"Your brother says he will cut the hands of the hired servant who dares impersonate you-"

"That is why I will write," Luke speak out harshly, Manu settling back into the bench. Lucerys doesn't even notice the way he's pressing the parchment into his body, the closest it can be to his heart. "But even so, I won't be sending it to Dragonstone."

He walks now, the elder two looking crazily in between them, quick to follow the princeling into the harbor where he's looking over at the Citadel, peering back at Manu with the raven upon his shoulder. For a moment, he thinks about what is hatching in his mind. That if what he's planning truly works, then the terrors he has may come to life. He settles with the fact that they already are, Lucerys walking into the water. The tide makes the water crash into his hips, his eyes still set on the Arsenal, wondering if there are Red Keep raised ravens there or if he'll have to buy one.

"I'll be writing to my uncle."

For the entirety of the day, Manu works over and over, scraping parchment after parchment a letter that holds simple threats at first. Promises of death to befall Aemond and his family. Then they work into torture, placing a bet on whether or not Vhagar will eat her bonded rider if she went without food for days. But each time it feels unfitting. Lucerys tries to remember what the prince he was before the fall would say, something convincing of his identity. Then he thinks about the person that made his uncle burn so intensely-- enough to try and tear him apart-- if it is the child that held the blade with hot blood on Driftmark. After a moment of silence, when the sun dips into the horizon and it is time for dinner, Luke dismisses the two to join the crew of seamen before him. That this matter is something he will deal with alone. And so once his left hand shakily holds the pen and faint ink, Lucerys sheds his name of Targaryen and Velaryon. The two sides of him that never felt true, that never came to the surface when he stared upon his reflection.

When Luke writes a single sentence, he knows one thing is certain. There are two primal needs, and his uncle will follow the blood in the water in order to fulfill his instinctual order to kill the nephew who maimed him. Even if it goes against his sense to stay protecting his family. Even if it means abandoning the weight of the crown.

The boy slides the letter to Manu as he sits the group sat in the tent for their afternoon meal, the absent view of wine and ale making Lucerys hide the bruises on his neck as he peers around at the sober faces. They are still red and clenched with laughter, enjoying the clear time off, completely unaware of the circumstances in Westeros. Then once they are able to breathe again, Patrice acknowledges the child, clearing his throat of the phlegm that has risen from his strenuous jesting, tapping his fingers on the table for the rest of the group to silence.

"Now that we're all here, I suppose it's best to announce how we've found a way back to work." They holler, Constance peeking at Luke from across the table who does not react back. He is engrossed in how Patrice continues on saying how they will leave the dock tomorrow morning, travel along the coasts of Essos back to Dorne instead of waiting around for orders any longer. Then the attention is directed over to Leroi, his giant hands retreating into the breast pocket of his tattered shirt to carefully pull out a small chick, its beak opening for food. A ship pigeon they will raise together to keep contact with their Dornish suppliers. Lucerys cheers to that, his lips turning up at the corners as Constance stares back at the boy who no longer resembles the stray that she rescued from the sea.