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unusual-raccoon · 1 month

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Silver Son (Ch. 2) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@livinginafantasysposts, @andromaxeoftroy, @saintbehemoth, @mondstaub1, @the-heartlines, @the-white-w0lf, @potatochips-15, @arkah-archive, @lunar-19, @bimyself06

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Blonde Jacaerys Velaryon, Jace is Daemon's Biological Son, Complicated Relationships, Political Alliances, Canon-Typical Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Jacaerys Velaryon, Omega Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Episode: s01e08 The Lord of the Tides (House of the Dragon), Viserys I Targaryen Lives, Daemyra Have Disney Parent-itis = they died, Brother/Brother Incest, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Arranged Marriage, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Valyrian Wedding, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting Summary: With few options left, Lucerys travels to Dragonstone to marry his mother's eldest son and heir, Jacaerys Targaryen. WC: 8,9K+ Ao3 Link

It began with a proposal. The promise of marriage in exchange for protection.

A marriage…to the prince of Dragonstone.

Their breakneck pace had consumed two weeks' worth of time in an instant, and before Lucerys had a true moment to recuperate, he was standing upon blue-veined white marble within the Eyrie’s High Hall.

“Prince Lucerys,” The lady of the Vale welcomed him, eyes as blue as the sky creased at the corners in a small sign of fondness.

“My lady,” he greeted, lowering his head in a show of deference to his host.

“I pray your time in King’s Landing has seen you well.”

“It has my lady, and while I am eternally grateful for your hospitality, I’m afraid I will need to depart from the Eyrie soon.”

To her credit, Jeyne Arryn took the news with aplomb.

“Might I ask, who is stealing you away, dear cousin?”

“I am Targaryen, my lady, I worry you may find the truth upsetting.”

She arched a single brow, the same shade of honeyed-gold as her hair. Whatever fondness she reserved for Lucerys in the months since his mother’s passing seemed to vanish at the mere insinuation of him.

What power you wield, dear brother.

The image of pale hair stained more crimson than silver flashed through his mind.

“I see.” She replied with an icy sort of diplomacy that made his teeth clench cold. Her disdain gleamed through in the blue of her eyes.

“And you’re certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?”

She spoke with a royal I, not only of herself but also of the Eyrie and all its vassal houses…House Corbray amongst them. He thought of Ser Corwyn – the kind, gentle Valeman that had seen him return to the Eyrie safely.

Corwyn, who carried Valyrian steel upon his hip. He pondered briefly the wail Lady Forlorn might make when she collided with Dark Sister.

The hairs on his arms stood on end. He prayed it would not come to such unpleasantries.

Yet, as he imagined falling sway to Lady Arryn’s suggestions and wedding Ser Corwyn, Lucerys’ mind only conjured the image of Alyssa’s Tears scorched dry by dragonfire, yellow-orange flames shot through with veins of green, and his betrothed’s body severed at the neck, his handsome head gnashed between Vermax’s thorny jaws…

Have care, I will crush him if he intends to deny your departure.

He recalled his brother’s words even a fortnight later, as though he was yet twined in Jacaerys’ arms rubbing mindless fingers against the dried blood, blood his brother had spilled in Lucerys’ name, upon the velvet of his sleeve. He chastised himself still for the thoughtless creature he had been reduced to with his lungs full of his elder half-brother’s scent: the heat of an open flame and the heady musk of white oak.

The thought inspired a conflicting sense of hot and cold spreading through his body. A simultaneous pleasure and pain.

“I think it is for the best, my lady.”

Her smile was amiable, but far from pleased.

“Very well,” She hummed in acquiescence.

It was not until she descended from her carved weirwood throne that Lucerys voiced another rather pressing concern.

“I must admit, dear cousin, I fear how he will take the news.”

Jeyne Arryn offered a soft smile, her hand folded over the delicate expanse of his forearm and he was reminded of the few times the lady of the Vale had taken him hawking in the Mountains of the Moon.

“He loves you, he’ll understand.” she reminded with a knowing tilt of her lips.

Lucerys exhaled. He hoped love might be enough to soften the blow of his elder brother’s proposal as Lady Jeyne escorted him to his apartments in the Maiden’s Tower.

. . .

A long soak in a marble tub had not seen his nerves much improved. In fact, Lucerys felt more disturbed knowing he was avoiding the inevitable.

He sank deeper into the water scented with orange blossoms and rose hips, while it was a distraction, it was certainly a pleasant one; it did wonders for his sore bottom after two hard weeks on horseback.

He hadn’t dithered for much longer before dressing.

He omitted his usual high-collared samite gown with a laced-tight bodice to accentuate curves nature had failed to provide, in exchange for a soft, modest shift to sleep in.

He layered a patterned dressing gown over his shift to stave off the everpresent wind of the Vale.

There was a knock at the door and Lucerys grimaced. He wasn’t ready, yet still approached his fate with a raised chin - as mother had taught him.

“Prince Lucerys-”

“Ser Corwyn,” He greeted, voice lilted in surprise.

“My deepest apologies, forgive the intrusion, I was not aware-” the knight stammered at Lucerys’ state of dress.

“There is nothing to forgive, the fault is mine own,” Lucerys murmured, cheeks warm, as demure as any proper worshiper of the Seven desired in an Omega.

The insinuation of his nakedness was enough, even layered in sleepwear as he was.

Lucerys crossed bashful arms over himself and Corwyn reddened further.

“I have heard the news of your departure,” Corwyn informed steadily and to the point, eyes focused on some fixed point just over Lucerys’ shoulder.

“From Lady Jeyne, I have no doubt” he had shared the news with none other,“– forgive me, it is uncouth to speak of my host in such a way.”

Corwyn shook his head.

“It was uncouth of my Lady to share business that was not hers.”

Lucerys swallowed, wringing his hands together, discreetly scratching small scent glands in his wrists until the air sweetened with his natural scent.

Vanilla and browned butter.

“I gather that she has informed you as to why I must be leaving…”

Corwyn nodded, nostrils flaring subtly. His jaw tightened.

“She has…”

He looked away, sheepishly with a dusky color upon his cheeks that revealed what his nonexistent scent did not. He chafed at the thought of Lucerys departing to Dragonstone - to Jacaerys.

“Ser, I pray you will not think less of me now…it is not a thought I think I can bear.”

Corwyn’s eyes were a bluish-grey, a beautiful, but understated color that Lucerys admired as the knight turned back towards him in shock.

“My Prince I would never.”

“I don’t believe our Lady shared this information with the thought that it might sour my opinion of you.”

“Oh,” Lucerys exhaled with the kind of smile that enamored countless at court, “good,” he hummed with a dithering kind of naivete a simpering storybook Omega possessed.

Corwyn appeared ensorcelled.

He prayed silently that Jacaerys might be so simple to gain mastery over.

“I believe my cousin has shared with me this news to embolden me…”

Embolden, Lucerys thought. Corwyn’s eyes focused on him then, breathing a touch shallow like he meant to sling Lucerys down onto the floor to ravage him…

Instead, the knight drew Lady Forlorn from the sheath upon his hip.

Lucerys’ heart stilled for a moment before Corwyn knelt before him, head lowered.

“With your permission, my prince, I would swear myself to you…as your protector.”

His brother’s words rang through his head once more as the knight’s hands clasped the weeping woman carved into the sword’s pommel and grip.

You have gone too long without an Alpha. Too long without proper protection.

Lucerys was not acquisitive enough to think he could have both his brother’s protection and Ser Corwyn’s.

A choice was required.

He imagined yet again the sound that Lady Forlorn might make when she clashed with Dark Sister, yet when he pictured Valyrian steel on steel he could only hear the bellow of a dragon…

“You honor me deeply, ser…but, I am afraid I cannot accept. To bind yourself to me on the eve of my marriage…it would not be wise. I fear my betrothed will think ill of it. However, I hope that should I ever need such a gallant knight you might permit me to call upon you?”

Ser Corwyn rose with a conflicted look etched upon his face.

His bluish-grey eyes softened as Lucerys draped an effete hand over the knight’s forearm. Corwyn’s gaze lingered on Lucerys’ hand.

“Of course, my prince.”

Again, Lucerys offered that affable smile and his sweet scent and all was well.

“Rest well, my prince.”

Lucerys blinked slowly, a soft smile about his lips, “I shall certainly rest easier now ser, thank you.”

With Corwyn addressed he would face his greatest challenge yet on the morrow.

. . .

In the morn he was awoken by the sound of his door opening and a riotous blur bolting inside. He was spared only a moment before said blur was atop his bed – bouncing.

“You’re back!”

“Joff,” Lucerys hummed, half asleep, partially shielding his body from each spring of his younger brother’s body.

“You’re back!” He exclaimed again with a wide, gap-toothed smile, “What was the capital like? Did you get to see the king? Is it true that you killed someone?”

Lucerys’ eyes widened immediately, what vestiges of sleep remained fled from him.

He wrangled his younger brother in his hands like catching lightning in a bottle.

Joffrey tugged at the silk sleeves of Lucerys’ shift, irritated at being held captive.

“Where have you heard such things?” Lucerys asked seriously.

“A girl from the kitchens,” Joffrey shrugged, “She said someone died-”

Gods damn Jacaerys Targaryen. Already whispers floated about the validity of his hearing of succession. Matters hadn’t been helped by the same rumor mills purporting that Ser Vaemond’s head had allegedly been fed to his elder brother’s dragon; he had yet to hear the word kinslayer but knew it hung on countless tongues.

“You should not repeat such talk, it is not princely.”

Joffrey tugged upon Lucerys’ sleeve, eager to be released.

“Swear it,” Lucerys commanded with a waggle of his finger.

“Fine, I swear it, let go-”

“You swear what?”

“I swear not to repeat unprincely things, Luke-” Joffrey whined.

Lucerys smiled fondly despite himself and released his grip upon his younger brother, content to let him whirl about.

And whirl he did. He had become so content in the Vale. A part of Lucerys mourned the thought of taking him from what had just started to feel like home. It wasn’t fair.

“Joffrey?” Lucerys called as Joffrey’s dark head bobbed around. His brother fiddled with something on the other side of Lucerys’ apartments; something breakable no doubt.

“Something did happen at court…something important.”

“Is this about you getting married? I already know,” Joffrey said, sounding rather bored as he watched the viscous swirl in a stoppered inkwell.

“Another rumor from your spy in the kitchens?” Lucerys asked, unmoved by his brother’s pout.

“No - and she’s not a spy!” He huffed defensively, “Melara told me that you’ll marry her father. I’m not upset, Luke, I promise. I like Ser Corwyn. If you marry him, do you think he’ll train me to be a knight and give me his sword when I’m older?”

Lucerys felt ill.

“Joffrey, come here,” He beckoned, voice trembling. His brother whined a petulant little noise, but remained at Lucerys’ desk, shaking the stoppered inkwell.

“Now.”

It was cruel, Lucerys knew, but he prayed none of his children were Alphas, that none would ever be so obstinate as his brother - brothers. He prayed for Betas and Omegas to quicken in his belly when the time came, for obedient children with sensible little heads on sensible little shoulders.

“She said House Corbray’s colors are like ours, red and black - and white too, but that we wouldn’t have to change very much.”

Change, Lucerys thought to himself, how much of that have we endured already?

Joffrey continued his blabbering, stubborn at that. Lucerys winced, his frustration mounting to a point of eruption.

“I won’t be marrying Ser Corwyn!”

Distantly, he heard glass shattering as the inkwell toppled to the ground. Lucerys bolted from the bed, taking Joffrey’s little hands in his own. He scrutinized his brother’s palms for any shards of glass amidst the overwhelming pools of ink on his pale skin…

“Why not?!”

“Oh, Joff, look at your hands! You mustn’t be so careless.”

His younger brother tore his hands out of Lucerys’ grasp, visibly crestfallen. The pristine white silk of his sleeve was slashed with ugly splatters of black ink.

“Why aren’t you marrying Ser Corwyn?”

Why? Why indeed…

Lucerys sighed. How could he tell a child of seven years about the politics of the matter? Or worse yet, that in the most aggravatingly primal sense, a piece of him yearned for Jacaerys…

“I’ve been presented with a stronger proposal.”

“But, you said we’d be safe here, that we wouldn’t have to leave!”

His younger brother argued, what else could he have said to a grieving child who had just fled the only home he had ever known? Their exodus from Dragonstone had been a hasty affair, yet in the midst of their pain and fear, it seemed the only thing they could do.

“This proposal means more protection, real protection,” Lucerys swallowed, each breath scraping the inside of his throat like shards of glass as his brother’s face reddened, “Joff, we can go home.”

Tears welled in the muddy brown of Joffrey’s eyes.

He held his brother’s dirty little hands so tightly in his own, clinging desperately.

“But if I am to keep my word, we must leave soon.”

Lucerys brushed an affectionate finger beneath the cleft in his brother’s chin.

“You haven’t misplaced Tyraxes’ saddle have you?”

Joffrey blinked slowly with a dawning realization, sadness forgotten at the prospect of flying again.

“No…”

“Good,” Lucerys hummed before ruffling his brother’s dark curls, swallowing beyond the lump in his throat as he spoke, “you’re going to need it.”

. . .

The fortnight he had allotted had passed, and for two days and two nights longer, Jacaerys had waited.

He had spent 6 years in the North as a ward of Lord Cregan Stark, estranged from his family, and yet, he had never yearned more ardently for his own blood than he did in the two weeks since leaving King’s Landing.

Every morning he waited on Dragonstone's beaches for a young white dragon to pierce the clouds and the scent of vanilla and browned butter to shower him from the sky; for Lucerys to come home to him.

Each day that passed he weighed the worth of simply collecting his brother on dragonback. Of flying to the Eyrie, Dark Sister in hand…like Visenya on Vhagar, and dragging his little wife home.

But then he thought of Lucerys…of sweet, gentle Lucerys.

He refused to force the matter. Lucerys would come to him in time, he knew it…

And so he waited, morning after morning.

And each morning yet he had been disappointed, though he was not the only one.

Baela was still bitter about his decision to break their betrothal that had been arranged since they’d been born…

A marriage done in the tradition of Old Valyria was binding, unbreakable, a union that could never be undone or annulled. Immutable to the word of any king or council. It was everlasting.

He’d been rehearsing the words since he’d had ears to know them. Leagues away in the bitter cold, they had given him warmth. The knowledge he might one day speak them to the one that he loved, as his mother had, as his father had, as was his right.

He was owed this. Tradition dictated for the two oldest children to marry, as Aegon and Visenya had; there was duty and honor in it. By definition, Jacaerys and Lucerys were their mother’s eldest children - the two destined to wed.

He stared at the sky, awaiting his destiny.

. . .

It was the third morning and the sky was a cool blue, drowsy in color when a bright streak sailed through it…

Descending toward the island like a falling star.

Lucerys.

Jacaerys had never seen anything so picturesque, so perfect-

Then came the rambunctious squawk of a dragon scarcely large enough to fly. Black and red and chasing after gulls, belching plumes of black flames.

Joffrey.

“Dohaerās, Tyraxes!” A reedy little voice called.

“Ninkiot, Arrax,” Lucerys commanded calmly and Jacaerys watched as that young dragon, glittering pearl white and gold, spread his wings to slow his descent to the island.

The sea breeze rolled over the shore, tasting of salt and morning air, of vanilla and browned butter…

Lucerys was a vision in supple charcoal gray, wool-lined riding leathers. His dark curls were wind-tossed and his cheeks a ravishing shade of red.

Those beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of him.

His younger brother cleared his throat, calling up to Joffrey.

“Come down here,” He commanded, “now.”

Lucerys’ expression was unreadable as he marched across the sands toward Jacaerys, Joffrey in tow.

The dragonkeepers handled their mounts, even the unruly Tyraxes who had feathers hanging from his maw.

“Jacaerys,” Lucerys greeted coolly, with a defiant little raised chin. Jace wanted him then and there — marriage be damned, he wished to pup Luke in the sand. He pushed the thought away, quite capable of ignoring his hindbrain.

“Brother,” Jacaerys responded smoothly, smile softening, “welcome home.”

Lucerys gave a small nod, dainty gloved hands clasped together demurely.

“I apologize for making you wait,” Lucerys said primly, poised and practiced and perfect.

Jace chuckled, “Oh, I doubt that very much. Come along, we’ll get you both settled.”

They stepped through the Great Hall’s massive red doors, flanked by household guards at every step.

He felt Lucerys gasp as he pressed a palm to the small of his brother’s back, leading him into the hall. Luke walked along, spine stiff, his scent dripping from his pores.

It was surreal, sharing the space with Lucerys once more… It had been so long since they had been here together, lived here together.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Maester Gerardys greeted fondly, “and Prince Lucerys, how comforting it is to see you two together once more…”

For the first time since his brother had returned home, Jacaerys witnessed that icy demeanor thaw. His smile was soft and genuine and beautiful…

“It is…good to be home,” He answered, and to Jacaerys’ surprise, his words seemed sincere. Buried somewhere beneath the stoicism his younger brother wore like a coat of mail, he was happy.

“Your mother would be pleased.”

Lucerys’ throat bobbed and his eyes misted, for a moment he seemed to lean into Jacaerys’ touch upon his back. He steadied Lucerys instantly, naturally — it was what elder brothers were meant to do.

He caught a brief flash of gratitude in the corner of a brown eye when Lucerys glanced back at him.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Jacaerys said softly, to which Lucerys nodded, a pliant little thing.

“I know where my room is,” Joffrey called, running off blindly, to Lucerys’ horror and Jace’s amusement. Lucerys seemed mortified of Joffrey’s boyish behavior, like some minute thing would pull the rug out from beneath them, as though he may cast them out to the wilds once more…

He’d sooner fall upon his own sword than permit such a thing to happen.

“It’s alright,” Jace soothed, tasting the frantic spike in his younger brother’s scent, vanilla and burnt butter, “he’s home too.”

Lucerys nodded, swallowing thickly.

“When will the ceremony be?” Lucerys asked, his voice steady like he’d practiced the words.

“When would you like it to be?” Jace asked in return, something that seemed to bewilder his younger brother who stared up at him owlishly. Something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Soon,” he said, a tad uncertain as Jacaerys slowly circled him like prey.

“Soon?” Jacaerys echoed with a wily smirk. Lucerys’ brow dipped in what he knew was annoyance.

“Yes, soon, unless you intend on making me wait.”

There he was, Jacaerys grinned, all teeth - his Luke.

“Had I known you were so eager to be my wife, I never would have left King’s Landing without you…” His lips touched his younger brother’s ear.

Lucerys exhaled a shaky breath that he very badly wanted to be a scoff, struggling to right his mask of aloofness. The rich scent of vanilla and browned butter, nutty and earthen and sweet, betrayed him.

“Is tonight soon enough for you, brother?” Jacaerys asked, his subvocals flanging.

Lucerys turned, blinking up at him, pink-cheeked.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Lucerys said with his raised little chin, as though he had been so decisive, to begin with; Jacaerys could only focus on the cute cleft of his chin that he wished to trace with his tongue.

Without another word, his younger brother turned and exited the Great Hall, marching down a corridor after Joffrey.

. . .

Valyrian wedding ceremonies were not as time-consuming as weddings performed under the faith of the seven. The very same priest that had performed their mother’s wedding was summoned to conduct theirs.

The materials had been gathered and garments prepared.

A natural stone dias was dressed accordingly. A thick chalice of inscribed Valyrian steel sat upon the dias, filled halfway from a decanter of blood wine.

Jacaerys’ hands shook as he reached for the traditional robes worn during Valyrian wedding ceremonies. The fabric was a pale cream color, with thick blood-red collars and a gradient along the hem and sleeves.

They were meant to symbolize blood purity… the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“Father was the last to wear these…”

Jacaerys exhaled, fingers trailing over the dyed collar of the robe. He never had the right to refer to Daemon Targaryen as his father publically, yet as he stared at the garment, shapeless against his dressing table, it felt right. His father had worn these robes, and Jacaerys would wear them after him.

“He’d be proud of you…”

Baela intoned, her voice alarmingly gentle despite how angry she had been with him in the past weeks.

“Even if I’m marrying against his wishes?”

His sister smiled a radiant thing. Pretty enough to kiss, but he knew better than to try.

“Especially because you’re marrying against his wishes. You chose your own bride…he’d admire that.”

Baela stepped closer, inspecting the ceremonial garment. The fabric seemed endless when lifted into her tiny hands.

“You have every right to wear them, Jace. You’re a Targaryen.”

He nodded and began unlacing his tunic.

“Slower,” His sister bade, her deep violet eyes raking over every ounce of unveiled flesh with unbridled want. Spice flower and cinnamon hung heavy in the air. There was time when that scent beckoned him like a siren’s call, yet there had always been another scent, more potent —— dragonsong.

“I don’t want to forget a thing,” She added sadly, and Jacaerys felt a twinge of regret…she had always been good to him.

Jacaerys slowed, plucking away each individual lace with the utmost care. The garment swayed open and he heard the sharp intake of her breath.

He smiled softly. He couldn’t marry her, but he could give her this.

. . .

It all felt foreign to Lucerys like something out of a dream. His hair painfully twined into a snug series of plaits and braids atop of which the ceremonial headdress was placed.

The robes were long, the dyed hem puddled like blood around his feet.

Unbidden emotion snagged in his throat as he straightened the headdress. His entire life had led to this moment, from the day he was born and the maester had announced what resided between his legs. He was an Omega, he was born to be someone’s wife. Jacaerys’ wife. His face burned hot for reasons he dared not contemplate.

He was to be married and his mother wasn’t here to witness it…

He glared at his reflection in the looking glass.

He blinked away the tears quickly and straightened his back. Jacaerys wanted a wife and he’d get one…and Lucerys would get the legitimacy he’d been lacking. He would certainly be a wife, but Jacaerys had been born an Alpha —— he would become Lucerys’ weapon. It was all he could find comfort in; for this was not a union borne of love.

Lucerys’ bravado held up quite nicely as they traveled to the dais where the ceremony would be held. Jacaerys looked as he always did, aggravatingly handsome; rakish, even, in the long ceremonial robes with his silver hair bound in twists away from his face.

Countless candles burned around the dias, ensconcing them in a golden hue.

It was surreal, standing on warmed stone in the very same spot, in the very same gown his mother had once worn…

Joffrey stood beside Maester Gerardys, a sour look on his little face, in the same spot where Lucerys had stood as a child. Fragmented memories of his mother’s wedding washed over him like the dewy evening rain.

A hand in his clutched so tightly. Father had died. Warm lips pressed to his crown, there was no giggling when he pressed his cold little feet to the backs of warm knees; just a need to be sated, and comfort that was given. There was no room for laughter on the grim day. Mother had never looked so beautiful. The hand in his was pulled away. It hurt, that missing piece, like a severed limb…

“Luke?”

Lucerys felt the memory fade away as he blinked his way back to the present. Jacaerys stared at him with unabashed concern.

“Hm?” he hummed, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you ready for the ceremony to begin?” The priest asked.

“Yes,” Jacaerys said without hesitation, and all eyes were on Lucerys.

“Yes,” Luke nodded, the tassels of the headdress bouncing.

“Very well.”

Ceremonial dragonglass daggers were given to each of them.

“I’ll go first,” Jacaerys told him and Lucerys nodded, and when he smiled at Luke, it was the smile of an elder brother.

Rest easy, little brother, that roguish smile said, I’m here. His hands trembled as he brought the shard to his Jacaerys’ mouth. He didn’t flinch when Luke cut him. The dagger split the supple flesh of Jacaerys’ lower lip with ease. Blood oozed bright and warm. He gathered some upon his thumb, transfixed by it. The candles seemed to glow brighter, the air more fragrant. He painted the sigil upon Jacaerys’ skin.

His own dagger was lowered as Jacaerys approached. A large hand came to grip his chin, stroking the skin fondly. He tensed in anticipation of the sting of the dagger. He met his brother’s gaze, those hypnotic violet eyes, silver lashes brushed gold in the candlelight. He felt warm, very warm wrapped in Jace’s scent. His hindbrain was alight. Gently, the dagger sliced his lower lip, he hardly felt it.

He blinked and Jacaerys’ thumb was wet with his blood.

The liquid crimson felt hot against his skin as his brother painted the accompanying sigil.

Blood would flow, and their line would continue.

He watched as Jacaerys’ dagger carved a wound across his palm. Lucerys did the same.

The priest carried forth the chalice and spoke the binding words. An embroidered chord of gold tied them together.

“Hen lantoti ānogar”

Blood of two

“Va sȳndroti vāedroma”

Joined as one

Jacaerys’ hand clasped with his, the open wounds upon their palms bleeding into one another. Unerringly intimate; eternally entwined. The golden chord soaked crimson. Red oozed into the chalice.

“Elēdroma iārza sīr”

And song of shadows

“Izulī ampā perzī”

Two hearts as embers

Lucerys stared into the chalice, at the placid surface of the blood wine, small dots of liquid crimson littered the rim, like crushed garnets. His reflection stared back.

The wine smelled of figs and iron and was thick upon his tongue. He’d never known something so foreign, yet so perfect. Heat raced in his veins when he swallowed it. Jacaerys’ eyes never left his, his hand clutched so tightly…they were a perfect fit.

“Prūmī lanti sēteksi”

Forged in Fourteen flames

Fourteen candles stood taller than the rest.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion”

A future promised in glass

Jacaerys tilted the chalice toward his lips. Lucerys squeezed at his brother’s hand, fresh blood sticking between their palms.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi”

The stars stand witness

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo”

The vow spoken through time

“Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

Of darkness and light.

“Your vows must be spoken.”

Lucerys nodded and swallowed the urge to mewl as Jacaerys’ hand squeezed his; both comforting and consuming.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” they spoke the words in unison. The lingering taste of wine on his tongue deepened. The richness of Jacaerys’ scent thickened in his lungs. He could taste only fire and blood…

The priest lowered his hands and inclined his hooded head towards them to indicate the ceremony was complete. Lucerys’ entire being pulsed hotter than the dragonmont. They were married. Bound in blood.

He stared at Jacaerys, still struggling to fathom when his brother’s lips were on his - kissing him, ravenously; like he had waited his entire life for such a moment. And it returned to him, the frayed pieces of a memory, like torn pages in a book, as Jacaerys’ hands gathered his face between them, tender and so familiar - they had done this before.

Oh.

He felt a fool.

He gasped when his brother pulled away, mouth red. Lucerys’ legs felt boneless. His hand clutching Jacaerys’ sleeve, anchored to his brother, his husband, his other half…

Jacaerys’ tongue chased the trickle of crimson from Lucerys’ mouth. He mewled then, openly, unabashedly, without meaning to.

His brother’s forehead touched his, tacky with blood. A deep flanging purr swelled there and Lucerys struggled to remain upright with his knees turned to liquid. A strong arm curled around his waist.

The sky shook with the triumphant cries of Vermax and Arrax. Blasts of dragonfire burst above them in a spectrum of color, yellow-orange, gold, copper, and bronze, swirls of white, pearl, emerald, and jade green. There were streaks of rainbow light where their flames collided as their dragons danced in the sky overhead.

With the wedding complete, only one thing remained…

Their wedding night.

. . .

The inside of the Lord’s chambers were carved in dark stone, the snarling heads of dragons frame towering columns around the bed, a blood-red canopy draped above it.

Dragonstone was not known for its forgiving weather, and despite the chill that was ever-present in the air, Lucerys felt like the flesh might slough off his bones from the heat that raged within him.

A fire burned in the hearth that resembled a dragon’s maw, with flames crackling between pointed stone teeth.

A touch dragged featherlight over his pulse and he gasped, body burning hotter than the fire.

He looked at his brother - his husband with new eyes.

“Forgive me,” He murmured in apology, “I feel…warm.”

Jacaerys offered a smile, a flash of pointed teeth that left Lucerys breathless.

“‘Tis your blood calling.” His husband explained.

Lucerys flushed deeply.

“Do not fret,” Jacaerys hummed, fingers finding Lucerys’ chin, stroking the skin fondly, “We will answer it.”

Lucerys nodded, struck into a demure state, his heart hammered hard in his chest.

There was nothing entirely complicated about seduction, Lucerys knew, most Alphas simply desired a chase. A submissive bit of prey that they could play with before devouring them whole. It became clear Jacaerys was no different in that regard.

It brought to mind a memory far more recent…

“Tilt your head, just gently over your shoulder. A tad more. Perfect. Lower your eyelids. Less, Lucerys.” Daemon clucked.

“I feel like an imbecile,” Lucerys complained, though his step-father chuckled.

“I assure you, you don’t look like one.”

He snorted, “Is this how mother got you to fall in love with her?”

Daemon hummed a laugh, flicking Lucerys’ ear as he passed by, “Don’t slouch, extend your neck. There. Delightful. Any Alpha with a knot between their legs will understand the invitation. And, no, your mother was the exception in that regard.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes. Unsurprised to find that his mother, as always, was so perfect.

“You have no shortage of suitors, even now, but it never hurts to know how to keep them.”

Lucerys flushed, “I have…suitors?”

Daemon nodded, “Many. Amongst our vassals Houses Bar Emon, Celtigar, and Massey have already put forth proposals for your hand. You even have the attention of an Alpha up North…”

“Truly?” Lucerys gasped, strangely flattered.

“He’s been the most persistent of all,” Daemon said with a wink.

“That’s enough practice for today, little one. With any luck, matters of marriage won’t be relevant for some time. At least not while your mother and I draw breath.”

The fresh loss of his parents' death yawned open once more, like a gash across his heart, at the memory, but he ignored the pain. His blood had already spilled today. Lucerys turned his back to Jacaerys as he began the tedious process of removing countless metal pins from his hair. Discreetly, he nipped at the scent gland in his wrist.

The aroma of vanilla and browned butter, rich and sweet dripped into the air. A Siren’s call.

Unlike Ser Corwyn who had merely blushed and floundered at the presence of his scent, his husband however, evidenced a more promising reaction.

He heard the sharp intake of Jacaerys’ breathing. The subtle beginnings of a growl left Lucerys weak at the knees.

He shook his curls loose with a soft sigh, he arched his back with an indulgent stretch.

When he turned back towards his husband, he did so employing everything Daemon had taught him. His head tilted coyly, his eyes hooded just right, bare neck extended boldly…

“Husband,” he called with intention, his voice a touch higher than it typically was, “shall we- mmph!”

Being kissed was as disorienting as it had been the first time, scorching, the taste of blood on his tongue. His husband’s hand cupped his bottom. Lucerys considered it a rousing success.

He panted, mouth slick. Jacaerys’ tongue glided against the roof of his mouth and something glittery and warm surged down to his toes. His brother’s fingers curled beneath Lucerys’ chin. A softer, kinder kiss was pressed to his crown, and yearning opened up in him like an old wound.

“I’ve missed you…” Jace whispered against Lucerys’ dark fringe. Longing resounded in his voice, spanning deep like the roots of a tree.

Lucerys swallowed, a strange sense of guilt left him feeling hulled. A part of him wanted to feel what his brother did as well, yet there were still pages torn from their story in his mind; pages he feared he may never recover.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t-“ He stammered, frightened that his husband may be slighted by history Lucerys had forgotten…

“I know,” Jacaerys soothed, thumb pressed to the cleft in Lucerys’ chin. A dizzy back and forth was etched in his flesh by the callused pad of his husband’s finger.

When his brother kissed him a second time, it was a slower exchange. Jacaerys’ mouth and tongue coaxed his into action. It was evocative, sensual, reciprocal; dragonsong. It was the stoking of embers, the spreading of wildfire to every corner of his being.

“On the bed,” his brother growled, a crass hand swatted his bottom.

Lucerys nodded.

Their robes were placed aside and Lucerys settled upon the bed, skin bare and pulsing hot.

He laid carefully upon his stomach, firelight licking at his back. His face burned as he arched his back, his bottom sticking out in subtle invitation.

The bed dipped beneath the addition of another body and Lucerys drew in a steadying breath. His lungs were coated with the aroma of white oak and an open flame; heady and thick. His hindbrain secreted pacifying pheromones that left him strangely at peace.

He was going to be claimed, he realized, holding fistfuls of sheets. He would be mounted like a broodmare…

A warm hand grazed his spine.

A breath that smelled of figs and blood wine caressed his ear.

“What are you doing?”

Laid upon his stomach, Lucerys should have felt vulnerable; his neck was left exposed. He tilted his head against the bedding, curls loose as he caught the corner of his husband’s statuesque visage knelt upon the bed.

“I-” Lucerys swallowed, mouth uncomfortably dry. Even now, as bare as the day he was born, he was meant to exude aplomb. Jacaerys clearly desired a confident lover.

“I am not so naive, journals and written accountings detail that being upon one’s stomach is the most efficient way to ensure a successful mount…”

Jacaerys’ expression remained unreadable, but then he chuckled that pleasant sound that buzzed in Lucerys’ ears.

“...a successful mount.” Jacaerys echoed to himself with a shake of his damnable silver head. Lucerys flushed hot with embarrassment, feeling anything but confident.

A warm hand settled upon the small of his back. The simple touch inspired a strange building pressure. Jacaerys’ lips touched his ear and Lucerys exhaled a flustered sound into the bedding.

“You have spent too long with Andals that do not know how to fuck…”

His husband’s voice dripped thick and hot into his skull, like honey, or blood. His quim clenched. His husband seemed intent on showing Lucerys the error in his ways.

“Fucking is a pleasure. And Omegas were made to be pleased.”

There was lightning in Jacaerys’ voice, raw power, like the crackling of logs in the hearth.

“Here,” Jacaerys murmured, “turn over.”

He blinked up at him, at his pale hair, at his violet eyes that were nearly glazed black, at the sharp contrast of gold light and rich velvety shadows painted by the hearth across his husband’s body. His mouth had grown wet at his lean abdomen and sturdy shoulders, at his firm chest and strong arms…

A picturesque virile Alpha.

“There you are,” Jacaerys hummed, eyes so very fond.

His thighs are eased apart and Jacaerys settled between them. Each touch exchanged between them felt like it might set them alight. Mere kindling to a fire.

Every sensation titillated and overwhelmed.

A finger trailed featherlight from the hollow of his throat to the spot above his navel where that building pressure persisted. He was left gasping. Tears beaded in his eyes.

“Mm,” Lucerys sighed, unaccustomed to such intimacy, such nearness as his husband caressed the spot as the feeling worsened.

His fingers dipped lower toward the dark mound of his quim, wiry curls matted with slick.

Lucerys’ hips leapt from the bed with a cry at the barest touch. A clever, knowing thumb unveiled his bud, teasing it. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his temples, inevitably soaking into his loose curls.

His husband’s damp fingers teased along the seam of his quim; leisurely, as if skimming the lines of a book he had read before.

He felt as a digit slipped down to the knuckle into his velvety embrace.

“Jacaerys,” He croaked. The concave dip of his stomach quivered as his husband’s attention returned to the pink ache of his bud; his fingers made a lewd sound, so thoroughly wetted with slick.

Jacaerys’ silver head lowered with a knowing look and began to kiss him breathlessly; each press of Jace’s lips against his own selfishly stole what air remained in his lungs, and good sense from his mind.

He anchored a fist in his husband’s pale hair if only for an ounce of control, to claim something in return.

He sucked on Jacaerys’ tongue when it dipped into his mouth; he felt his husband’s body shake with a melodic swell of his subvocals.

“When I claim you, it shall be like this,” Jacaerys murmured through spit-slick lips into Lucerys’ panting mouth, their foreheads were pressed together, tacky with dried blood and sweat.

“Not for a ‘successful mount’, but so that I may look upon you, so that I may see the pleasure writ across this face,” His husband paused mouthing at Lucerys’ jaw, weight steadied on a forearm, Jace gazed down at him with such longing, “to have gone six years without it, ‘tis a crime against our nature. Yours and mine.”

Lucerys longed to pry the words apart, like field dressing a fresh kill, to permit nothing to escape his grasp nor understanding. Yet, his husband’s fingers grazed his cunt once more and all sense was lost, bleeding from the pulsing, open wound of his weeping gash.

A few fingers glided into his heat, effortlessly and Lucerys moaned. Ashamed of how easily his body had been reduced to something so carnal.

He was lost in the pleasure, the thick haze of pheromones in his head, and the scent of Jacaerys in his lungs.

When his hips leapt once more, it was to chase the rhythm of Jacaerys’s fingers spreading him open; shaping the walls of his quim like a smith molded metal — with patience and dedication.

His husband’s digits sought deep, fingers squelching amidst the sticky nectar and slick flesh. Without preamble, that knot of tension above Lucerys’ navel was pulled so readily to its limits, fingers pressing at the tender raised flesh until the tension broke.

Lucerys yowled, the sensation smarted, whip-fast as he came undone. His cocklet, stiff and yearning just above the seam of quim, spurted a few delicate ribbons of white against his stomach and chest. His quim gushed as a more potent release took hold, soaking around his husband’s fingers and onto the bed. A pleasure swallowed him so readily that he could not make sense of an end or beginning.

A garbled stream of hybridized Valyrian and common peppered his ears like a rain of arrows.

“There you are,” Jacaerys huffed, eyes ablaze with awe, “Issa lēkia.”

“ābrazȳrys…” he snarled, “mate…”

His body, so laden with pheromones only longed for one thing. To be claimed.

What power you wield, dear brother.

Jacaerys had tasted his blood once already. Surely he wanted more, needed more, needed to sink his teeth into Lucerys’ neck, where his bonding gland lay pristine and untouched.

“I, I need-”

“I shall give you what you need, wife.”

Pangs of longing littered his flesh, like ground glass in raw meat. He watched, mouth wet as Jacaerys’ cock swayed heavy and thick between well-muscled thighs.

It seemed impossibly large then; too large.

“Mm, b-brother… it won’t-”

“It will fit,” Jacaerys assured with a smile that Luke wanted terribly to believe, a brief kiss was pressed to Lucerys’ lips, “you were made for this,” another kiss, “you were made for me.”

Lucerys nodded, permitting his body to fall slack, tensionless, sedate with pheromones and supplicant for his Alpha.

The fattened head of his husband’s cock rubbed slowly along his quim, gathering nectar along the girth.

His stomach quivered as the glistening crown of Jacaerys’ manhood pressed obscenely large to Luke’s quim, puffy and pink.

“Shh,” Jacaerys soothed. His thumb toyed with Lucerys’ bud, rubbing tender little circles as the head applied a hint more pressure.

His legs spasmed as pleasure frothed in his belly.

He whined, the lips of his quim stretching to welcome the thick, drooling head.

His hips inched higher as Jacaerys’ eased lower. He envisioned the steel-tipped head of an arrow piercing the soft cushion of a straw-stuffed target.

The lips of his quim opened like a flower in bloom.

Jacaerys held himself painfully still as Lucerys mewled beneath him at the thin barrier of his maidenhead halting his brother’s path.

His brother kissed the salty spill of his tears; seeming to savor them as readily as he had Luke’s blood.

He awaited the agony that every maester and septa warned young Omegas of, for a geyser of blood to burst from between his thighs as his Alpha sank down to the bulb of his knot.

Yet, as Jacaerys finally slipped completely inside, it wasn’t at all as violent as Lucerys had imagined. It stretched the walls of his quim to what felt like its limits, certainly, but, the sensation did not inspire any pain. Rather, it felt like a wound being sewn shut, flesh knitted together, a sword in a sheath, a sense of completeness so profound that he wished to weep.

Oh.

“There you are,” Jace panted, a wry turn to his lips before his hips eased back.

A hand cradled his jaw as they laid, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Blood upon their skin, sharing the same dewy breath.

One flesh, one heart, one soul…

The motion of Jacaerys’ hips was fluid, they beat against him as wrathful as the gale upon the sea. Every wave threatened to drag him under. Devastatingly beautiful.

Lucerys gasped, mouth agape as his brother’s eyes stared into his. Jacaerys’ hips pumped, large cock pushing and pulling his insides; molding him anew.

There was a harmony to it, the creaking of the bed, the crackling of the logs, the wet rhythm of Jacaerys’ hips colliding with his. The blood-red canopy above the bed quivered like a razed kingdom behind his husband’s silver head.

He dug frantic nails into the muscle of his brother’s back. He felt power. True power rippling beneath his fingertips.

The broad tip of his brother’s manhood found the raised flesh tucked away within his walls upon every thrust; pleasure spiraled and screamed within him.

Jacaerys’ grip tightened around his jaw. He began to lose track of what limbs were his and which were not.

Barely-there breasts bounced with every thrust, grazing his brother’s muscled chest. His nipples pebbled stiff as they scraped against Jacaerys, the sensation worsening the tension that tangled in his belly.

His quim fluttered, each pulse yearned to draw his husband deeper.

Lucerys dug a heel into the flexing muscle of his husband’s buttocks, urging him faster.

He mewled. Beyond words. Thrashing to bare his neck; recalcitrant and desperate. That only made Jacaerys fuck him harder.

Bloated stones, swollen with seed, slapped against Lucerys’ milk-white bottom.

Jacaerys’ free hand dug into the pliant flesh of Lucerys’ soft little bottom, urging his narrow hips to meet every harrowing plunge of Jace’s cock.

The wet lips of his quim, stretched thin, kissed the bulbous swell of Jacaerys’ knot upon every perfect union of their hips.

He urged his hips down, guided by his brother’s hand, yearning in a primal mania to have that knot inside of him.

The head of his brother’s cock kissed his womb, caressing that soft pink channel on every deep thrust.

His insides felt molten, like the flesh may slough off his bones at any moment. Like every cant of his brother-husband’s hips urged a tongue of dragonfire to lap at that sacred place. The place he yearned to have filled.

Jacaerys offered the dripping length of his tongue and Lucerys suckled upon it readily, filled by him so completely.

He anchored himself to his husband, nails caught upon the rippling muscle of his back.

He has no words left to give, save for a garbled string of “please”.

“Are you close, my love?”

Jacaerys asked, voice little more than a growl, his forehead pressed to Luke’s.

Lucerys thrashed at the delicious torment of his building release, tears streamed down his cheeks. He was close, horrendously so.

His husband’s lips found his, drinking deeply of his anguish.

The cadence of his husband’s thrust had grown all the more ardent in response. The very bed seemed to quake. Yet all he could see was Jacaerys, the silver of his hair, the violet of his eyes, Lucerys’ own blood painted upon his skin…

“Please!” Lucerys cried out, drunk upon the scent of white oak and an open flame, burning with a longing writ in their shared blood upon his very bones. Stripped of all constraints and vanity, he was simply an Omega in dire need of his Alpha.

When he arched his neck, his husband hadn’t the will to refuse a second time. He mouthed at the spot that so dearly needed attention, he adored it with his lips and tongue.

Each thrust fucked him so deeply into the rich, sweat-soaked featherbed. He arched, yowling at the unbearable sensation of his husband’s broad head at his womb.

“Once more, wife,” Jacaerys panted, breath hot as dragonfire ghosted along his lips, “come for me, brother. Shower me in your love.”

His bud was found and assaulted with the unrelenting press of sword-callused fingers; Urging him and higher.

And in a moment, he was undone, his release snapped like their chord of blood-red and gold and his world shook like all of Dragonstone would fall apart around them. His release gushed from his stretched-wide quim, drenching his husband and the bedding further. Jacaerys growled a deeply pleased guttural sound, his hips continued to pump into the squelching mess of Lucerys’ dripping sex, the firm grip of his hand cradled Lucerys’ jaw, forbidding him from looking elsewhere, at anything but Jacaerys.

He could only watch as a trembling look of awe passed over his husband’s face.

Jace’s hips surged forward and Luke bowed off of the bed at the undeniable ache of his husband’s knot popping inside. The thick head pressed against the slender pink opening of Lucerys’ womb. His thighs shook. Teeth were at his neck, kissing then breaking the skin. The bite was clean and perfect and unifying. Lucerys cried out towards the blood-red canopy above them. In that moment he saw a burst of color behind his eyes: the endless rainbow of their combined dragonfire. A third sharp release was upon him; brief and blinding. His cocklet spurted weakly, his quim clenched, milking the fattened bulb of his Alpha’s knot. A desperate whine fell from his lips as he felt it begin to swell. They were tied now, irrefutably: in body and blood.

His unspooling mind retreated to their vows once more as his brother’s seed distended the concave of his belly —— one flesh, one heart, one soul.

A rumbling purr started in his chest and his fingers wound through Jacaerys’ silver hair of their own volition. It was an intrinsic need as primal as the ache to purr, was the need to touch his brother. His husband. His mate.

He became prey pinned beneath his Alpha. His toes curled in atavistic delight.

He felt unbearably whole like he had found his missing piece.

When his brother’s lips inevitably withdrew from the fresh site of Lucerys’ bondmark, he was overcome with the bone-deep urge to weep. Yet, Jacaerys soothed him with a low, nearly musical flange of his subvocals that said, ‘Rest easy, little brother. I am here.’ Lucerys felt the spike of pacifying pheromones filling his frantic hindbrain, putting him promptly at ease. He felt the press of an aquiline nose to his temple, gentle and familiar. He fought his body's need to fall slack and submissive, instead twisting stubbornly upon the bed if only to feel the tug of his Alpha’s knot keeping them tied. A satisfied prickle of overstimulated tears stung his eyes. A dutiful tongue lapped at the slow ooze of blood from the site upon his neck.

A tug persisted at the base of his skull. A nascent thing through which all flowed. Their bond.

There was no word so apt for his current state other than claimed. Even still, adrift within the overwhelming emotion of it all, Lucerys sought some semblance of assurance; some logic to the disorder Jacaerys had made of him.

His mind scrabbled for clarity, despite how his eyelids drooped and his limbs curled into the preternatural heat of his Alpha’s body, wrapped in the woodsy aroma of white oak and the bittersweet bite of an open flame.

He fell deeper still into a place so utterly content as an aquiline nose and warm lips nuzzled fondly at his hairline. It was not long until whisps of vanilla and browned butter roamed in fragrant curls from his sweat-slicked skin.

“I’ll be going soon,” Lucerys said amidst a yawn as firm fingers pressed warm divots into the underside of his thigh.

“Going where, precisely?” Jacaerys asked, indolent, but displeased. The emotion trickled over, like rainwater through a leaking roof. Lucerys frowned at the feeling.

He thought of propriety, of what he’d been taught of formal marriages such as theirs.

“To my own chambers, husband,” Lucerys informed, though he hadn’t the strength to lift his head while he spoke.

“I could use the rest,” he added sweetly, knowing an Alpha’s ego was utterly in want of stroking.

Jacaerys exhaled through his nose before Lucerys felt its straight bridge touch the upturned curl of his own.

“Mm,” his Alpha hummed, “then rest.”

Longing poured over as a hand settled at the dip in Lucerys’ waist where they lay.

“You are my wife now, Lucerys. My chambers are yours.”

Curious, he thought to himself.

It brought to mind a memory formerly lost to him…

“Let me in!” Lucerys demanded in a nasally whisper, lips pressed to the crack in the door.

“Jace-”

The door budged far enough for him to catch the gleam of his elder brother’s silver-gold hair and he felt a swell of victory.

“I can’t let you in, Luke. Mother will have my head-”

“She will not! Oh, Jace, she won’t catch us. She never does.”

Jacaerys’ face twisted in a conflicted expression, but in his heart, Lucerys knew he had won. The door swung open and Lucerys rushed inside. His hand clasping with his brother’s pulling him towards the bed.

“You mustn’t make a sound, hm?” Jacaerys warned, a finger held to Luke’s lips.

Lucerys nodded giddily.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As the memory faded, Lucerys found himself unbearably drowsy, his head pressed to a strong chest, his cold little feet tucked to the backs of warm knees, as familiar as the lines traversing his palms.

I had mastered you once brother, he thought to himself as he squirmed closer into the cage of his husband’s arms, I can do it again.

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #dark jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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unusual-raccoon · 11 months

Text

Silver Son (Ch. 1) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

for @greeksorceress

@livinginafantasysposts, @angelicpraxis, @bimyself06

Summary:

The startling death of both his mother and step-father leaves Lucerys reeling and taken to ward in the Vale. When his claim to Driftmark is threatened, he is left defenseless, with only an estranged elder half brother to call upon for aid: Jacaerys Targaryen - the prince of Dragonstone.

WC: 5,4K+

Ao3 Link

It began with a letter.

A scroll had arrived upon Dragonstone, to his ancestral seat, the seat inherited from his mother and bestowed upon him by the king. His grandsire had been benevolent, loving even, in his decision. In addition to retaining his mother’s seat upon Dragonstone, it was the King’s wish that he also take the family name.

Jacaerys ran reverent fingers over the practiced effete hand scrawled across the parchment.

To the Prince of Dragonstone,

I write to you in my time of need. The passing of our mother has been a time of great sorrow, which has only been worsened by my claim upon Driftmark being challenged by Ser Vaemond Velaryon. He believes himself to be more deserving of the seat and seeks to use our mother’s passing and my status as an Omega to strengthen his own claim. Had I closer kin to call upon, I assure you, this burden would be placed upon them and not you. However the enormity of your presence at the proceedings cannot be understated. Your support as my blood, our mother’s eldest male, and as the holder of our family’s ancestral seat would be invaluable. I am currently a ward of the Lady Jeyne Arryn in the Vale, any further correspondence should be sent to the Eyrie.

Your estranged yet hopeful brother,

Prince Lucerys Velaryon

The letter was passed to his sisters, Baela and Rhaena, who unsurprisingly read it together, their white-gold heads tilted together, lips moving in unison as they read.

He was certain if their father had yet lived, he would insist on Jacaerys wedding them both. As of yet, he had married neither.

“Gerardys thinks discretion is best,” Jacaerys informed.

“I want to know your thoughts.”

“He is in the Vale,” Rhaena began.

“And Jeyne Arryn hated father.” Baela added, “Write to him if you wish…”

“I doubt the Lady Jeyne will permit my letters to get very far.” Jacaerys concluded with a frown, resting his chin against a closed fist.

“Jace,” Baela called, voice beseeching, yet firm, her small copper hand framed over his, “he is your brother,” she looked briefly towards Rhaena with intention before turning back to Jacaerys, “and he is alone…do what you must and know that we will support you.”

The proceedings would be soon, no doubt. He would fly to King’s Landing, support his brother and return home before long. If only to honor their mother’s legacy.

“Ser Steffon,” He called, the knight had been loyal to his mother and Jacaerys had squired for him for a time when he was a boy. Daemon had trusted him.

“Please inform Maester Gerardys that we will be departing for King’s Landing.”

The older man gave a nod, and a curt, “my prince.”

. . .

It had been days since he had sent his letter and the lady of the Vale had been adamant in sharing her opinion on the matter.

It had been days and he had yet to receive word from his elder brother. Not so much as a single scroll from a raven. Nothing.

Days and he, himself, was now awaiting the proceedings in King’s Landing. A boy of four and ten, left to contest the claims of a landed knight of noble blood, alone. If the Sea Snake survived the wounds he sustained in the Stepstones, then mayhaps he’d receive some support. The whispers that floated around court were far from promising though.

Ser Corwyn of House Corbray had traveled with him at Jeyne Arryn’s behest to ensure his safety, though Lucerys was not so oblivious, he knew her motives in part. Aside from offering protection, should the proceedings conclude in a manner that was unfavorable, Lucerys would return to the Vale with Corwyn, with little else to protect him but his shared blood with House Arryn, and little to offer but his hand.

Corwyn was genial and handsome, a level-headed Beta with an adequate inheritance. Given the circumstances, should the worst come to pass it was the best he could hope for.

Vaemond Velaryon droned on about the storied past of House Velaryon, and if, perhaps the lecture were regarding anything other than the contesting of Lucerys’ claim upon Driftmark, he may have been moved by the impassioned words.

Misfortune was more than a friend to him, she was a lover, a cruel mistress - his grandsire, the King Viserys did not sit the throne. His hand, Otto Hightower and lady wife, Queen Alicent Hightower, did in his stead.

Hope was a diminishing thing.

He swallowed a breath and made his peace. Mayhaps Corwyn wouldn’t mind if Joffrey lived with them, Lucerys would hate to lose contact with his younger brother as he had with Aegon and Viserys when mother passed.

The doors to the throne room promptly swing open as a member of the Kingsguard heralds the arrival of something Lucerys had dared not dream of - hope.

“Jacaerys Targaryen, son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone!”

It resounded through the throne room, clear and strong. A shiver bolted down Lucerys' spine, crackling to trembling, cold fingertips.

“The princesses Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, daughters of Daemon Targaryen!”

His chest constricted as three white-gold heads came into view. He came, he came, he came.

Dressed in the colors of their house, Valyrian steel upon his hip and sisters at his side, there was no denying his elder brother cut the image of the conqueror. His mother’s first born, her beloved Jacaerys, her silver son.

Envy and something warmer prickled in Lucerys’ belly as he witnessed his brother carve his way into the room.

It was a horror to face Alicent and her parade of snide silver-haired children, yet as Jacaerys and their cousins came to a halt silently by his side, Lucerys felt…bolstered. Unafraid.

He swallowed dumbly, too stunned to speak.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Otto Hightower began in his slithering way, “I was unaware you had been summoned to the proceedings.”

“As they do not concern you,” Vaemond Velaryon added pointedly.

“These proceedings concern my brother, ser, therefore they are indeed my concern. Do you intend to remove me from the proceedings, or am I no longer my father’s son?”

Sweat clung thickly to Lucerys’ nape.

Vaemond’s eyes darted to the dragon’s egg pommel of Dark Sister at Jacaerys’ hip.

“Indeed…you are.” Vaemond drawled.

Jacaerys rested an easy palm upon his sword - the sword of his true father. Lips tilted in the smile of someone who was well versed in their games.

Thank the gods, Lucerys thought.

“Be calm,” his brother said in a whisper, “all is well.”

Lucerys blinked up at his brother owlishly, as Jacaerys faced the likes of the greens with a steely expression, utterly statuesque.

“Continue, Ser Vaemond.” The Lady Alicent Hightower bade, though as he made to speak, the doors to the throne room were parted a second time.

And heralded was not only further hope, but the head of their house. The King.

Lucerys watched with a delirious sort of relief as the hand of the king slithered from the throne he coveted so dearly.

The death of both his daughter and brother had worsened the king’s rapidly declining health, and yet, the man appeared to fend off the Stranger time and again, if only out of spite.

His frail form hobbled across the throne room, short of breath. All seemed cowed by the appearance of their poorly sovereign. Yet, it was the prince of Dragonstone that stood tall with pride at the sight of him.

Every head bowed as the king passed, Lucerys discerned his brother’s silver head lowered in deep deference.

Their grandsire paused before the throne, breathing a labor and grip tight on the ivory dragon’s head upon his cane.

He soldiered up the first few steps before his footing grew encumbered by his weakened state, and his crown clattered to the floor of the throne room with a deafening clang.

Members of the kingsguard rushed to his side, yet Viserys denied their aid. Grip coiled so tightly upon his cane that Lucerys feared the handle might snap.

Lucerys wondered his elder brother’s thoughts on the matter, yet turned to his side and found Jacaerys…gone.

It was neither the king's own sons, nor his lady wife that stood beside him, but rather, Jacaerys. His brother had collected the King’s crown, and offered a hand to their grandsire.

To the surprise of all, Lucerys included, this was support he accepted. Viserys hissed and groaned in pain as he forced his decaying body and atrophied limbs to scale each step.

It was with Jacaerys’ aid that their frail king was lowered into his rightful seat, crown upon his head.

Lucerys watched as Jacaerys stalked to his side once more…blood rushed to his cheeks.

His brother’s scent wafted in a curious curl, the woodsy aroma white oak and the crackling sweetness of an open flame exacerbated the throbbing ache of his blush that burned upon his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

Their grandsire huffed upon the throne.

“I must…admit my confusion…” their grandsire began, the affable thoughtlessness of an old, sickly man, or so it seemed, “I do not understand…why petitions are being heard over a settled succession?”

The hazy memory of Driftmark’s white sands came in like the tide. His cold little feet tucked against the backs of warm knees, secreted away in a bed that was not his own. Hushed, giggling whispers, then frantic ones. Something had been stolen, something important. Pale hair so unlike his own stained more crimson than silver in milky moonlight, a single hefty stone caked wet with blood, a single eye slashed in defense.

Lucerys’ succession had been settled there, he supposed, he recalled very little of his youth.

Driftmark, Lucerys swallowed, was that the last time he had seen his elder brother?

Viserys’ voice pulled him from his thoughts, much like Valyrian steel, it seemed the aged and peaceful king had never quite lost his edge, nor wit.

Their grandmother Rhaenys was summoned forth, Lucerys had written to her as well, but her support had been just as uncertain as that of his illusory elder half-brother, Jacaerys.

Yet, when Rhaenys voiced Lord Corlys’ unwavering desire for Lucerys to inherit the driftwood throne, and came to the aid of her grandson above that of her good-brother, Vaemond began to unravel with a manic air about him.

“Well…” their grandsire huffed,“the matter is settled…again.”

“I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, as the heir to Driftmark, the driftwood throne, and the next lord of the tides.”

By his side, Jacaerys straightened with a satisfied smirk. His cousins - cousins Jacaerys had once defended - smiled upon his other side.

“You break law…” Vaemond began, voice awed, deepening with festering outrage, “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, hubris that the gods have paid you for, yet you would dare tell me who should inherit the name Velaryon?”

Lucerys gasped, a shaking hand pressed to his open mouth. Tears stung in his eyes, to invoke the memory of their mother in such a manner - his chest ached.

“No - I will not allow it.” The hoarse whisper of his voice sent tremors of icy dread down Lucerys spine. Subtly, he noticed Jacaerys’ grip curl white-knuckled upon Dark Sister’s hilt.

The irony of Vaemond’s arrogance and talk of hubris was not lost upon the young prince as every word was but a whetstone to a headsman's axe. Such was the irrevocable ego of a noble alpha, something he was certain his elder brother possessed.

“Allow it?” Viserys echoed in a rasp, the visible side of his face spasmed with rage and grief.

“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” Viserys reprimanded, gravitas in his voice.

Ser Vaemond whirled upon them quickly, a growl in his voice as he pointed to Lucerys.

“That-” a finger was held in accusation, a lance set to pierce, “is no true Velaryon! He is certainly no nephew of mine.”

Lucerys wished to shrink from the attention, but instead mimed the set of his elder brother’s shoulders, channeling the power of their blood.

Vaemond’s threat was met in kind as Jacaerys growled a warning, tangible, the single building flange of his subvocals said ‘Mind your waggling tongue, great-uncle, or I shall mind it for you’.

The sound was that of a young, powerful, and virile alpha. Lucerys felt his brain begin to grow heavy with responsive pheromones. The sweetness of vanilla and browned butter softened the air, the faint twinge of sourness like curdled milk betrayed his distress.

Jacaerys stared at the man, their supposed kin, with disdainful violet eyes and a tense jaw. A knight decades his senior, and his elder brother did not flinch.

The urge to tug upon Jacaerys’ sleeve became overwhelming, a reflexive motion that he had no memory of learning, but nonetheless it was a desire he felt compelled to sate. He felt an itch in his bones to anchor himself to his elder brother.

At the rate the petition was going, Lucerys would rather simply wed Corwyn Corbray and hand his claim over - it was only in his mother’s name that he fought.

She had been adamant throughout his life regarding his legitimacy, regardless of how greensick he got amidst the swaying of a ship, or the fairness of his skin, or darkness of his hair - he was a Velaryon.

“My house has survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides,” Vaemond raged, tempestuous, “and I will not see it ended on account of this b-”

His lips pursed tightly as if to hold the word back.

Jacaerys did not hide the flash of pointed teeth then. Oh, but his brother was clever, forcing his snarling lips into a smile. Goading.

“Say it…” Jace challenged in a chilling whisper.

Lucerys could scarcely find his breath, his cheeks burned with mortification. He could feel the leer of a vindicated one-eyed gaze. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air.

Bastard.

The rush of blood to his ears muffled all else.

“Your daughter was a whore, and her children are bastards!”

His brother’s scent thickened, more open flame than white oak as the king staggered to his feet with a growl.

Their grandsire tore his dagger from its sheath.

“I…will have your tongue for that.” The king demanded with bared, rotting teeth.

Lucerys’ hand shook, desperate for the finery of his brother’s sleeve…

He heard the scrape of steel being pulled from a scabbard. The whistling swing of it as it split the air. It happened quickly. Too quickly.

A wet slice, and the throne room echoed with cries of horror.

Ser Vaemond’s corpse slumped to the ground in two pieces.

The severed half of his head on one side, the motionless majority of his body upon the other. Betwixt the two pieces stood Jacaerys, Dark Sister in hand.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, your grace.” His elder brother said, reaching down with a twist of the blade before a wet hunk of pink flesh, oozing blood, was held between crimson fingers like a prize.

“Disarm him!” Otto Hightower demanded, yet the king merely held up a shaking hand to draw the swarm of Kingsguard to a swift halt; there was no ambiguity whom they served.

Jacaerys’ white-gold head lowered in deference as he cleaned the blade upon the velvet sleeve of his doublet. His sword returned to its sheath.

Lucerys felt bile burn in his throat as he stared at Vaemond’s corpse, utterly dazed. The overwhelming scent of iron flooded his olfactory senses; aside from Jacaerys, it was all he could smell, fire and blood.

He blinked and found tears in his eyes, his chest ached as he found the violet eyes of his elder brother; a stranger…

“Let this…stand as a reminder to those that would speak ill against the blood of House Targaryen…This proceeding is adjourned.”

The king declared, short of breath, expression pained.

Lucerys watched in horror as Vaemond’s head was plucked from the ground, held aloft in his brother’s fist; wet chunks of unspooled brains decorated the throne room’s polished floors like a great many wriggling worms.

As nobles and attending parties filed out, Lucerys had all but fled the throne room in a flurry of blue silks; some shades of aquamarine and seafoam to honor the Velaryon name, others in shades of sky blue to give thanks to his hosts in the Eyrie.

Thankfully, he discovered Ser Corwyn, who regarded him with a concerned expression, displaying none of the mania of Lucerys’ elder brother.

“Ready the horses,” Lucerys panted, steadying himself upon the proffered width of the knight’s forearm,“please.”

Corwyn’s hand was warm where it settled atop Luke’s fine little knuckles.

“Shall I fetch a maester, my prince, you look unwell-”

“Just the horses, please,” He hissed, “the sooner we might return to the Vale, the better.”

Corwyn’s gaze softened with what appeared to be fondness.

“Of course.”

Lucerys hurried to guest chambers provided to him within the keep, his face pressed between shaking hands. Gods, what had he done?

It had been a mistake to ever seek out his brother’s help. He sat upon the bed, head held in his hands - the image of Vaemond’s severed head swaying in Jacaerys’ grasp flashed behind closed eyes.

He flinched at a loud knock at the door, a shaking hand pressed to his ashen lips.

The image of pale hair stained more crimson than silver flashed through his mind.

“My prince,” a voice called, muffled through the door, “it is Ser Corwyn…”

“Ser Corwyn,” Lucerys echoed shakily, “enter.”

The Valeman offered a courteous nod, arms clasped behind his back, Lady Forlorn gleamed upon his hip.

“The horses have been readied, my prince,” Ser Corwyn informed.

Lucerys nodded shakily, “You have my gratitude, Ser Corwyn…” he uttered, “Your companionship has been…cherished in these times.”

The knight swallowed, standing a bit straighter. Betas had no scent to speak of, not in the way Alphas and Omegas did, but Lucerys discerned his words had the desired effect when his escort’s cheeks took a faint dusky hue.

“You honor me, my prince. Find me in the stables when you are prepared to depart.”

“Yes, of course.”

Not one to overstay his welcome, Corwyn departed, letting the door to Lucerys' chambers slide shut - yet it never did.

Lucerys gasped as he turned to find crimson fingers jammed in the door’s path, a figure garbed in the colors of their house slipped into the sanctity of his rooms soundlessly.

Jacaerys.

“I was wondering where you had gone.” His brother huffed, miraculously Vaemond’s head was nowhere in sight, which mayhaps was more disturbing a thought than if his brother was still carrying it about.

“The proceedings had concluded-” Lucerys began, pulse leaping hard.

“Aye,” his brother said, “And not so much as a ‘thank you’.”

Luke’s cheeks burned with a fierce blush.

“I- forgive me, of course, you have my thanks.”

His brother’s nose - mother’s nose, in fact, - curled in disapproval. He scratched idly at a speck of dried blood upon his cheek.

“You did not seem particularly enthused.” Jacaerys informed, with a dour turn of his lips.

Lucerys stared at his elder half-brother in disbelief.

“By your theatrics?”

“Theatrics?” His brother scoffed. The scent of white oak and open flames muddied his good sense.

“Yes, forgive me, Jacaerys, if I do not fall to your feet with gratitude - you have entirely sullied my claim to Driftmark with the murder of Ser Vaemond Velaryon.”

Mayhaps it was his grief that fueled the fire burning within him, mayhaps it was something more…

“I shall be remembered as nothing more than a kinslayer who spilled blood for a seat he did not even want… thank you, brother.”

“A kinslayer?” Jacaerys echoed, apparently amused, “let us speak plainly, he was not your kin, and you had no hand in his murder.”

Bastard, the word rang in his head.

“Do you truly believe the courts will see it as such? That they will believe that I had not commanded it of you-”

“Commanded it?” His brother laughed, “I do not think the courts view you as capable of commanding a dog.”

Lucerys let out an indignant noise. His jaw clenched to the point of pain. His words were unbefitting of an Omega, especially a prince, regardless of his outrage. He was to conduct himself with aplomb.

“I - perhaps you are right,” Luke said coolly.

Curiosity flashed in the violet of his brother’s eyes.

“I am…grateful for your presence at the proceedings today.”

Jacaerys’ brow furrowed slightly, disdainfully plush lips flattened into an unamused expression.

His brother took a step closer and Lucerys shivered, feeling as he passed into the sphere of his brother’s blanketing scent. The odor of white oak and sweetness of open flames saturated his palate.

Lucerys felt his spine begin to lose rigidly, the tight furl of his fists begin to wane.

His heart pounded faster, harder, lodged in his throat. Horror spread through him like a sickness as his wretched hindbrain poisoned him with pacifying pheromones. He knew little of his brother for certain, save that he was entirely mad.

His head lolled back effortlessly, white throat exposed. Reddened fingers reached for him.

“Do not, I-” He shuddered as the space between himself and his brother shrank too much, “I will…scream.”

Jacaerys paused, his expression neutral, had he remained placid Lucerys might have admitted that his elder half-brother was handsome.

“I am your kin,” Jacaerys said carefully, as if that might ease Lucerys’ worry.

It did not.

“There are many people in this very keep that are my kin, all of whom would gladly see me dead.”

His brother held up large placating hands.

“Luke,” he exhaled and it startled Lucerys how natural his name sounded upon his brother’s tongue, “I am not one of them.”

He swallowed. Telling friends from foe became increasingly difficult, even more so following the passing of their mother.

“Swear it,” Lucerys demanded, “Swear that you will not harm me.”

He stared at his brother, silver haired, Valyrian steel upon his hip - the antithesis of all that Lucerys was, and yet the same.

“Swear it up your father’s sword.”

His brother smiled down at the dragon’s egg pommel of Dark Sister…

“Is my presence in this wretched place not proof enough of my concern for you?”

Lucerys shook his head with a small sound, “For all I know you came today to secure Driftmark’s seat for one of your wives.”

His brother’s expression remained infuriatingly unreadable.

“I came only in support of my brother who needed me.”

“‘Tis very virtuous of you,” Lucerys replied with a small sneer, “Swear it now, that we might ally ourselves, and when you are in want of your crown in the future, know that you might pursue it with the Velaryon fleet at your back.”

Jacaerys smirked.

“Your proposal is sound…”

Luke nodded.

“Though, there is a way we might ally ourselves more…officially, in turn strengthening both your claim to Driftmark and mine to the throne.”

Lucerys narrowed dark eyes at his brother.

“How…?”

The scent of vanilla and browned butter melted into the air.

Jacaerys’ smile widened.

“Marry me” he said, as though it were the simplest thing there was.

Luke tensed, mouth hanging open.

“I - what?”

His brother stepped closer, but halted swiftly as if remembering Lucerys’ warning.

“Think of it - we could marry upon Dragonstone, none would oppose it. None would dare contest your claim or parentage without knowing my wroth. You would be spared the horror of being sold like chattel to the highest bidder, should you return to the Eyrie with that pretentious fool of a Beta. Marrying within our house, in a ceremony steeped in tradition, it would do well for your image,”

He patted the hilt of his sword, “A marriage is as binding as any oath…Were you my wife, I would allow no harm to befall you. You have gone too long without an Alpha. Too long without proper protection.”

Lucerys licked his lips, spine tingling.

“How is - I cannot imagine your wives are amenable to the idea.”

Jacaerys chuckled and oh, it was a pleasant sound that buzzed in his ears.

“I am unmarried. As are my sisters.”

Lucerys stared at his brother, as his aggravatingly handsome half-smile, the pointed peek of a canine visible. A speck of blood dried upon his cheek.

“I-”

Jacaerys stepped closer and Lucerys’ head swam with his scent, the lulling tide of pheromones that dampened his senses and dulled his shrewdness.

His brother was a stranger in truth, one that seemed too unpredictable to trust. Yet, Lucerys found himself in the weakened state of needing allies - powerful ones.

His brother held the dragon seat. His brother was the prince of Dragonstone. Their mother’s eldest son. Trained in the likes of history and swordplay in the North. He wielded Dark Sister. He was the blood of the dragon.

“Allow me to consider the matter further?”

His brother’s mouth twisted in a frown. His jaw flexed tightly.

“I- I have things in the Vale that I must think of,”

“Lovers?” There was the flange of an unrealized growl in his brother’s throat that turned his knees to liquid.

“No,” he huffed, “things of greater importance-”

“If they are important, I will have them brought to Dragonstone-”

“Gods, it is my dragon!” He cried out, “And my brother, my full-blooded brother. Joffrey.”

Jacaerys’ brow furrowed.

“I will not part with him - I will not.”

Joffrey had been through too much, he had lost too much. He refused to simply abandon him. He would sooner incur Jacaerys’ wroth himself, before leaving Joffrey behind.

His brother’s gaze stilled upon his lips and Lucerys felt the pump of his heart within his chest like a frightened hare.

“You will not.” Jacaerys echoed with deep meaning.

“Return to the Vale,” His brother instructed, “both are welcome home.”

Home… Lucerys thought, Gods, he hadn’t dared to dream of having one since the passing of his mother.

He wrung fine blue silks between damp palms.

“Jacaerys?” Luke called, throat tight, “why are you doing this?”

His body burned warm with the heat of that violet gaze upon his lips once more.

“Why help me?”

His brother offered a smile that softened his features and creased the corners of his eyes.

“I,” he paused, not one wont for hesitation, the mere hitch in his breath seemed significant, “I believe it is what our mother would have wanted.”

Lucerys sucked in a sharp breath. His vision waned and the unsteadiness of his legs threatened to give out. He braced a hand upon whatever he could reach - evidently, that was Jacaerys.

His fingers felt smooth velvet and the coarseness of dried blood - Vaemond’s blood, blood Jacaerys had spilled in hisname…

He clung to his brother’s sleeve, the motion was the burn of an itch being scratched to the point of pain and drawn blood.

The memory of High Tide returned in fractured pieces, the pair of them bloody, the left side of Jacaerys face was streaked red, Luke’s nose had been broken, his hand was clutched to his elder brother’s sleeve…

“Two weeks,” his brother murmured, breath warm and so very near Lucerys’ parted lips, “A fortnight from here to the Vale - no stops. Be sure to inform your pet, you have appointments to keep.”

Appointments, Lucerys thought dizzily, a wedding.

“I must consider it further, my departure from the Vale will crush Ser Corwyn,”

Jacaerys smiled, all sharp teeth, “Have care, I will crush him if he intends to deny your departure.”

Lucerys felt the incandescent swell of whine in his throat. His brother pressed him more firmly to his chest. Aquiline nose touching Lucerys’ temple. The scent of white oak and the sweetness of an open flame was all around him.

“He will not, he is an honorable sort. Not at all the kind of man to murder a knight unawares like a cutthroat.”

Jacaerys chuckled.

“Let him keep his honor,” His elder-brother hummed as Lucerys’ eyes fluttered shut, “So long as he does not keep you…”

His head swam as he was carefully lowered to a plush seat upon the edge of the bed within his chambers. The happenings of the day had drawn the vigor from him, his adrenaline fizzled dry in his veins.

“I have not agreed to anything,” Lucerys slurred, slumping in his brother’s arms.

We lived here once, he thought to himself, wrapped in his brother’s scent, together.

Yet, when he awoke, it was to an empty bed and a sore head and the flake of dried blood beneath his nails.

. . .

Jacaerys had answered the king's summons, pausing at the sound of fervent discussion and what sounded like the queen’s voice echoing from the king’s chambers.

“-the boy is entirely mad, Viserys. He was seen feeding Ser Vaemond’s head to his horrid dragon-”

Jace smirked to himself.

“Who has seen such things?” His grandsire asked.

“I- what?” The queen stammered.

“The guards reported he entered the dragonpit with Ser Vaemond’s head and exited the pit without it.”

“How do you know Vaemond’s head was fed to a dragon? Did you witness the act itself?” Viserys asked, a shrewdness about his words that made the queen hiss in frustration.

The doors to the king’s chambers were thrown open and the queen emerged, face bloodless at the sight of him.

“Your grace,” Jacaerys greeted with a nod.

He knocked gently upon his grandsire’s door.

“You wished to see me, your grace.”

Viserys eyed him behind the copious layers of fresh linen bandages. His grandsire gave a stiff nod and motioned for Jace to close the door to his chambers.

He seemed a smaller man, bundled beneath blankets, frail. Yet, there had not been a sight more powerful than his entry into the throne room.

“Sit.” The king bade, his liver-spotted head with its lank silver strands tilted towards an empty seat near enough to his own.

Jacaerys nodded and took his seat.

“The queen thinks me a monster,” He said, though the thought did not unsettle him, in fact, he took a great deal of comfort at the thought of Alicent Hightower fearing him. His grandsire coughed noisily into a kerchief.

“She speaks out of fear, many would given what you did today.” His grandsire said, a milky violet eye narrowed knowingly.

“I defended the honor of my house, of my brother’s name, my mother’s name. The man was bound for a traitor’s death given how he spoke to you.”

Viserys said nothing for a time.

“Were you not my blood you would be bound for the same, you know this.”

“Your grace-”

“Jacaerys,” His grandsire huffed in irritation, “you are the worst of them at times,” He murmured, remaining eye wet with tears, “their stubbornness, their entitlement, their restlessness, his brashness, his arrogance-”

His throat tightened and he shied from the bluntness of his grandsire’s words. Softening at the affectionate brush of aged fingers against his cheek.

“And yet, you are the best of him at times, loyal, brave, cunning…”

They lapsed into a raw, red silence.

“For the gods to take them both-” His grandsire inhaled a deep, shaking breath, “I am sorry, my boy, that we have not spoken sooner.”

A shaking hand settled atop his where it clung to the arm of his chair, “I could not condemn your actions, child. Let the hens at court cluck and gossip as they like about the matter, but what you say is true, you were defending your family; and the blood of the dragon runs thick. Worry not for the queen nor her ilk, do you understand?”

Jacaerys nodded, cheeks damp.

“Thank you,” Jace murmured, clutching tight to his grandsire’s hand as the elder Alpha nodded, his exhaustion clear in his every movement.

“You must swear something to me, Jacaerys.”

“Anything-”

“Be better than we were, dear boy. The loss of a parent is…dire. It wounds here,” his grandsire’s shaking fingers poked at his chest, at the three-headed dragon sewn upon Jacaerys’s doublet, “in the soul.”

“As grievous the loss, do not let it be the cause for any more… you have spent much time away from your brother, he may not say it, Jacaerys, but he needs you...and I speak with authority on the matter when I say, you need him just as well. Swear that you will guard one another, always, regardless of childish disagreements - swear that you will let nothing divide you."

Jace swallowed beyond the lump in his throat, found the taste of vanilla and browned butter upon his tongue.

He met his grandsire’s gaze, gripped their aged king’s hand in his with intention.

“I swear it.”

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #dark jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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