Chapter Text
“Father, you cannot be serious!” Rhaenyra shouts, her voice shrill and aghast as it echoes throughout the claustrophobic small council room.
King Viserys loves his eldest daughter; some would claim he loves her too much. She is the apple of his eye – a vision of Old Valyria and the last remnant of his beloved Aemma. But like a woman of Old Valyria, Rhaenyra is more dragon than her mother Aemma ever was and when she furies none are safe from it – not even a king.
A hand rests on his forearm, the ring clad fingers both gentle and fierce as they grip the sleeve of his doublet.
“I agree with the Princess, Your Grace.” Alicent speaks in a soft, even voice but the slight waver makes her underlying distress evident. “You cannot truly be humoring the idea of marrying your son to his attacker. To that little beast that stole his eye!” She hisses the last few words beneath her breath, but he can see Rhaenyra move to speak – her pale face pinching as her aforementioned fire bubbles to the surface.
Swiftly, Viserys raises his hand before another word can be uttered.
It’s embarrassing; to see the two most important women in his life squabble like petty maidens in front of his esteemed small council was a pitiful reflection of himself and his family. Lord Tyland has a smirk poorly hidden behind the chalice of wine he holds and Lord Lyman Beesbury gives him a small, sympathetic smile.
“Cease this squabbling at once.”
Viserys does not enjoy speaking to his daughter or wife in such a harsh manner, but the continuous displays of deplorable infighting must come to an end once and for all.
“I chose to tell you all this prior to an official announcement out of the love and respect I hold for both of you,” His wife and daughter both frown, their eyes never once leaving him. “But it is as your king that I arrange this betrothal.”
He takes a look around the room. His council listens to him intently, as does Otto, who remains stoned faced beside him, but Viserys is not so foolish as to be ignorant to the fact that his Hand had been pushing for a more advantageous marriage for his grandson.
Rhaenyra stares at him with pleading eyes – eyes so similar to his dear Aemma’s that they typically could make his heart overwhelm his mind. But Viserys forces himself to push those feelings aside. His beloved would never forgive him if he allowed jealousy and paranoia to bring the downfall of their great house. Not after how much they have sacrificed.
“I, King Viserys Targaryen, hereby decree as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,” His eyes flit from Rhaenyra to Alicent and lastly to Otto. “That my son, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, will be wedded to Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon before the change of the season.”
His daughter looks away with eyes sheened by tears while Alicent lets out a shaky breath beside him. He turns to his Master of coin, Lord Lyman. “I intend for their union to be one celebrated in a manner exceeding that of the Golden Wedding of Dowager Queen Alyssa. I implore that you are capable of gathering such funds, Lord Beesbury?” The old lord nods.
“It shall be a wedding so grand that the late Queen Alyssa would go green with envy.”
Viserys hums, nodding his head. “Good, then it is settled. As winter turns to spring, we shall celebrate this grand union of our house with the people of the realm.” His small council remains indifferent to the news, but his family’s silent displeasure is obvious. Sitting back into his seat, Viserys flexes his fingers over the armrests. “You are all dismissed.”
He waves his hand before turning to Ser Criston, who remains ever silent behind his queen.
“Bring my son here. I wish to speak with him.” The Lord Commander nods, promptly turning on his heel to fetch the young prince.
Alicent and Rhaenyra both remain quietly seething with anger as they leave – their eyes kept forward and avoiding both his and each other’s as they cross the room towards the oak doors. It is in a mothers’ nature to fret over their child’s future, but one day he knows both women will be grateful for this decision. Both have long gotten their own ways with little respect for him and he cannot humor their antics any longer.
It doesn’t take long for his Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to return with Aemond in tow.
Viserys’ second son is a mystery by design. Engrossed in his duties as head of their family and the realm, Viserys would not go so far as to delude himself into believing he has always been the most attentive father towards his children by Alicent. He was well into his years when Aegon was born and Rhaenyra was long already named his heir when the boy and his siblings came around. There was no need for Viserys to be overly involved in the lives of children who were not burdened by the future of taking over his mantle. Despite all their… oddities, Aemond was even more of a puzzle than Helaena and her queer ramblings. Truthfully, Aemond resembled Daemon in his youth more than he did his own father and that irony is not lost on Viserys.
“You summoned me, Your Grace.” His son stands tall with his hands clasped behind his back.
Aemond was far nobler than Aegon, whose promiscuous ways had reached even the king’s ear, but a few minutes of watching his second son in the training yards made it evident that Aemond had dragon blood that ran as hot as Rhaenyra and her uncle-husband.
It unnerved Viserys to think what leaving a fire such as his son’s unchecked for too long may result in. That was the very reason that he chose his sweet grandson for such a task. Though not yet aged into the majority, Lucerys proved to be a kind and gentle soul – a dark colored image of Viserys’ own good-mother, Princess Daella.
If anyone could quell Aemond’s dormant fire, it was Lucerys.
“I have summoned you to inform you that a betrothal has been arranged for you.” Aemond’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You are to marry Prince Lucerys before the turning of the season.”
He can see Aemond clench his jaw in meticulously concealed rage. Viserys could never give Aemond back the eye he lost, but as the king he could give him purpose – give him a place in this world. He refused to see his second son become engulfed in the lust for power in the way Daemon has. Or worse, something more nefarious like revenge.
“As a gift for your impending matrimony, I intend to gift you lands just south of King’s Landing – thus granting you a lordship that will pass through any children born of your union with my grandson. I have already sent the forces necessary to survey the lands for preparation for construction of a proper keep.”
Aemond’s sole eye widened, his stoic nature no match to his immense surprise.
Second sons often died in obscurity – glory, honor, and titles were all luxuries that went to their older kin. It is the greatest fear of many boys as they grow up: the fear of being forgotten. It had the potential to make or break a man – those that could wield that fear became reputable men worthy of notoriety and respect, while others succumbed to dying in obscurity.
Aemond, a growing lad that seemed to be one of few words, nods his head. “I understand, My King. Thank you for such a gracious gift.” The words lack conviction. Viserys leans his chin against his palm.
“You will treat Lucerys well.” His words come out harsher than expected, but they make his point clear. “Cruelty will not return what you have lost, Aemond. He will become yours by law, but even I as King would not be able to protect you from what fury his mother and Grandsire may rain down if any harm should befall him.”
Aemond flexes his jaw.
“Have I made myself clear?”
His son looks away and nods. “Yes, My King.”
“Good,” Viserys leans back into his chair. “Reinforce the might of our house, my son. House Targaryen does not and will never falter. This is you playing your part in the great legacy of our forefathers.”
Aemond says nothing as he leaves, simply bowing before exiting the small council chambers with rigid movements.
His son will thank him for his grace one day, Viserys thinks to himself as the boy leaves his sight, eyes drifting to focus on the tapestry hanging beside the door that portrayed his predecessor beside his beloved.
Even if he could not yet see it.
As promised, Lord Lyman procures the funds necessary for a lavish wedding that his beloved Rhaenyra oversees the arrangements of.
Representatives from each of the great houses, as well as those from Dorne and leaders of the lands beyond the narrow sea, travel alongside parties of bannermen and hundreds of knights to attend the union of two princes of the realm. Events leading up to the ceremony included a hunt with parties three hundred men strong and feasts entertained by the finest mummers and musicians the known world could offer.
It is with great pride that King Viserys shows the realm that he will spare no expense for members of his house.
Despite the jubilation of the people being seen far and wide, the displeasure of his family is easily felt by all those blessed to be around them in the days preceding the ceremony.
Sweet Lucerys – still half a boy, half a man – spends most of the festivities stuck to Rhaenyra’s side and nervously playing with the hem of his long tunics while Aemond keeps a stoney face whether it be with the royal party as they ride out into the Kingswood for a hunt or in the tourney grounds watching a mummer’s play of the Conquest.
It is normal to be nervous as one approaches their wedding day; Viserys could recall barely sleeping leading up to his marriage to Aemma.
The night before the ceremony, it is Lucerys that finds his way into Viserys’ solar.
His second grandson has the coloring of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, but the soft face of his dear Aemma, the perfect embodiment of the proud lineage of both his houses. Viserys remembers the day his daughter presented him with the joyous babe wrapped in Velaryon blue cloth and come tomorrow, his grandson will be draped in the colors of dragons rather than seahorses.
Lucerys moves to bow, but Viserys opens his arms, beckoning the boy forward with a smile.
“Come, my boy.” He laughs when he finds himself with an armful of his gentle grandson. “Tell me, what ails your mind?” Lucerys clings to him, far slighter than Jacaerys, though not quite as plump as his Helaena.
Lucerys takes Viserys’ wrinkling hand into his, quietly playing with the rings that adorn his swollen fingers.
“Might I speak freely, Grandfather?” Viserys hums, patting the boy’s wavy dark locks. “I have many fears regarding my impending,” He bites at his lip, looking down at their joined hands. “Nuptials. I fear we will not be happy.” Viserys sighs, listening to his grandson’s voice grow wet. “Aemond hates me and I fear I will be miserable for the rest of my days.”
The rage that boils within Aemond is not lost on Viserys; since the moment his eye was claimed by Lucerys when they were both boys, his son’s mind was made rotten by thoughts of vengeance. But to harm one’s love was to bring upon oneself the greatest agony – it is an agony that Viserys is intimately familiar with. His son may be a stranger to him in many ways, but he does not believe Aemond capable of harming the ones he loves.
He tells Lucerys as such.
It does little to ease Lucerys mind, not that Viserys expected it to. But he is certain his grandson will understand his words in time.
“You will live together and you will grow alongside each other.” He tells Lucerys with a sure smile. “And one day, the walls of this Keep and later your own castle shall be filled with the cries and joyous laughter of children born of your union.” He squeezes Lucerys hand and the breath is stolen from his lungs when his grandson looks at him with eyes so similar to his Aemma. “Give it time, my boy. You will both find happiness if you allow it to happen. Love does not come easily to those like us.”
Lucerys nods, but like Aemond, it lacks conviction. His grandson remains quiet beside him as he recounts legends of the Freehold until sleep begins to cloud the boy’s eyes. He sends Lucerys back to his rooms with a comforting hug and the promise of safety in the future years.
His family may think him mad for his decision, but Viserys is certain he is making the right one.
On the third day of the third moon in the one hundredth and twenty-ninth year after Aegon’s Conquest, the lands of Westeros join together to witness the nuptials of Prince Aemond and Prince Lucerys of House Targaryen and Velaryon.
As if they themselves are the Great Rulers Jaehaerys and Alysanne, Rhaenyra and Daemon arrive at the decadent Dragonpit atop Syrax and Caraxes in front of a some fifty thousand smallfolk as well as high lords and ladies from every corner of their lands.
Arrax, anxious just as his rider, sits perched on the top of the dome – it’s nimble, youthful body far too light to crack the glass – while Vhagar lays wounded around the side of the hill to stand guard for her rider’s impending marriage. The remaining dragons of their house fly high above the pit as it is filled to the brim with excited spectators and members of court; their dragons serving as loyal protectors against anyone that dares to think harm upon their masters.
The Blood Wyrm screeches when Daemon dismounts and Viserys cannot help the hearty laugh that leaves his belly as the smallfolk all gasp in fear and awe of the creature. King’s Landing is alive and basking in the grand displays of wealth from the crown, excitement radiating from every man, woman, and child who seek to bear witness to the grandest wedding since Queen Alyssa.
“Aegon and Helaena’s wedding was not nearly this… frivolous.” Alicent whispers to herself as they lead the procession into the Dragonpit. Viserys is far too jubilant to point out the fact that their children were married in such a manner at her behest. Even in a time of unity, his family remains staunchly divided – Rhaenyra and her family on one side of the long aisle, and Alicent with their children on the other.
Aemond stands on the dais beside the High Septon. His son was dressed in a gleaming set of black armor traditional for the men of their house – a fine black cloak emblazoned with their family sigil made of rubies and diamonds on his shoulders and his silver-blonde hair loose around his jaw. His missing eye is kept firmly hidden beneath an eyepatch embroidered with a seven-point star and he stares in front of himself, unblinking. Viserys wants to bestow a sure smile to the growing man, but his son remains with a face like iron as the High Septon fruitlessly attempts to speak with him. Rhaenyra shares a look not unsimilar to her brother as she stands among her sons, draped in a lovely black dress detailed with red gems.
The ceremony begins when Ser Criston orders knights of House Velaryon and those of the crown to display their swords into an arch. .
Lord Corlys Velaryon leads his grandson down the aisle with a bearded chin raised high with pride and an aura that excludes power and esteem. Lucerys, despite his Baratheon and Arryn coloring, is a child of Old Valyria. Rhaenyra has dressed the boy in golds and ivory, an ensemble of a long jerkin that reaches his knees and a Velaryon blue cloak detailed with pearls along his shoulders.
His fate is symbolized by the shells and rubies adoring his dark hair – a boy of the sea to now be claimed by fire.
Corlys passes their shared grandson to Viserys’ son and sees Lucerys off with a firm kiss on the cheek. Lucerys, radiant and lovely, nervously looks back at his family in the crowd but clams up immediately at the sight of onlookers before Viserys has a chance to smile at him.
The reading of the marriage rites goes by far too quickly.
No sooner had it begun when Aemond finally pushed the maiden cloak off Lucerys’ narrow shoulders and placed his own across them, leaving poor Lucerys looking like he was swallowed by shadows under his dark marriage cloak. Aemond takes Lucerys’ fidgeting hands in his as instructed so the septon could begin winding their joined hands with ribbon.
“Let it be known that Lucerys of House Velaryon and Aemond of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”
The new couple face each other as the ribbon is undone but even with Aemond’s one eye, but it is not difficult to tell that the impending couple refuse to look at one another. Their avoidance is hastily broken when the High Septon bellows with a raspy voice. “Look upon each other and say the words.” It is only then that his son and grandson finally gaze upon each other.
Aemond is the tallest of his sons and Lucerys has to tilt his head just to meet his eye. Viserys can see the way the boy toys with his own fingers with poorly concealed anxiety and his heart squeezes in sympathy for his grandson.
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.” They both recite, though where Aemond’s voice is flat and commanding, Lucerys’ is no louder than a whisper. “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”
It is with bated breath that the entire realm watches the next moments and Viserys sends a silent prayer to the entire pantheon of Old Valyria in hopes he has done right by them.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Aemond says with a strong, even voice. Vulnerability evades his son like water to oil and there is little tenderness when he leans down to press a chaste kiss to Lucerys awaiting lips.
Thunderous applause roars from behind their family as the newly wedded couple turns to face the audience and Viserys is unashamed that he claps the loudest. Lucerys’ misty eyes dart to look at his daughter and then at him. He gives his grandson a smile, but the boy merely wears at his bottom lip with his teeth as his hand shakes in Aemond’s. His son finally looks at him and Viserys gives him a firm nod before Aemond begins the descent from the dais, leading the procession out of the Dragonpit. Alicent holds his arm with a fearsome grip and Rhaenyra refuses to meet his eyes as they enter the bright outside of Rhaenys’ Hill, but only pride fills his chest when he overlooks the capital that is alive with celebration.
A loud dragon shriek rings out and shouts of panic and confusion erupt from the crowd.
His grandson’s small, pearlescent dragon takes to the sky with nimble grace – shrill screeches leaving Arrax’s body as it flees into the clouds above. The entirety of Rhaenys’ Hill shakes as a bellowing roar fills the air and the Queen of the Dragons flaps her weathered mighty wings to take off after the youngling.
Viserys watches in awe before laughing loudly, holding his belly as he bellows. His grandson and son both look at him with concern and confusion.
“A chase has begun! Just like in marriage, it will not stop until one or both have bowed to the other.”
Aemond clenches his jaw and Lucerys’ face goes as white as snow.
He claps his hand on Aemond’s shoulder.
“Let us go feast and celebrate this wonderful occasion!”
The giving of gifts was always Viserys favorite part of wedding celebrations. In the coming days, there will be a great tourney and many feasts, but it will be this night that his family will remember for decades to come.
They all sit on a dais in the Great Hall overlooking only the most prestigious members of court – the sounds of laughter and music bouncing off of the walls as lords and ladies alike drink and dance. The tension among the royal house is palpable but it is made slightly better when a jubilant red-cheeked Helaena manages to pull both Lucerys and Aemond to the floor for a high energy dance.
Rhaenyra promptly joins them, whisking away Lucerys and spinning her son in circles while whispering what Viserys can only assume are the quiet concerns of a new bride’s mother.
Once their bellies are full of pigeon pie and Dornish red, Viserys commences the gift giving.
Nobles love to use occasions such as weddings to flaunt their personal wealth and the newlywed couple are showered with the finest materials in the known world in a comedic attempt by lords to one-up the next. Magisters of the Free Cities gift sweet scented perfumes, fine jewelry, and lovely tapestries made from Myrish lace to his grandson and Pentoshi dragonbone weapons to his son. Lucerys appears uninterested in the festivities until Lord Bartimos Celtigar presents him a hawk with silvery wings and red tail feathers that seemingly captivates the boy.
When the last lord has bestowed a set of fine jewelry to the new couple, Viserys rises from his seat and commands the hall to quiet so that he may present the final gifts.
“We gather here today to celebrate this most joyous occasion – a union blessed by both the King and the Gods above.” Aemond and Lucerys both sit quietly at the center of the table, his grandson once again playing with his own fingers. “In honor of this union, I would like to bestow a gift of my own onto these newlyweds.”
He steps around the table and motions towards the steps of the dais where Ser Criston awaits with a sealed scroll and an enclosed case detailed with two intertwined dragons on the lid.
Even Aegon, who is deep into his cups, sits up with interest.
Viserys beckons his Lord Commander and the knights that stand by him up the steps, and the men place the finely carved box in front of Aemond. He plucks the scroll from Ser Criston’s awaiting hands and turns to the new couple.
“Our family grows larger, and with this union, it is set to only grow larger.” Laughter roars throughout the hall and Lucerys’ face goes red. “Because of that, I think it is time to expand our house beyond these sacred lands we have occupied since the Conqueror laid his foot on the continent.”
Daemon straightens up from where he sat slouched casually in his seat beside his niece-wife. Alicent’s face, usually pinched and worried, is now one of knowing pride shared even by Rhaenyra in her own way.
“This all being said,” He hands the scroll to Lucerys, who accepts it with shaky fingers. “I, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, hereby dub thee Prince Aemond and Lucerys of House Targaryen, Lords of Summerhall.” More applause thunders around them and his grandson looks at him in disbelief.
Being granted lands – especially by a king – is a rare and revered blessing. The lands found by Lord Dondarrion just north of Blackhaven have shown promise; the fields are fertile and its rivers shall serve as suitable ports for inland trade by the stormlanders. He has already provided Lord Dondarrion with the plans for a great palace for his beloved grandson to be built on the side of the vast Red Mountains and he is certain the boy will enjoy arranging his new household of knights and servants.
He motions his hand towards the embellished chest. “With Blackfyre here at the Red Keep and Dark Sister on Dragonstone, it only seemed fitting for a new blade to join their ranks so that Summerhall may be defended as well.”
Aemond’s remaining eye grows wide and he quickly unlatches the chest, pushing open the finely made box.
A Valyrian steel longsword gleams from the red velvet bed it lies on. The hilt is carved from gold like its sibling swords, a large ruby resting at the top of the guard. The difference with this new sword came from the stone on the base of the pommel. The gemstone is a hue of both blue and green that was found by a magistrate of Lys and gifted to the Keep’s blacksmith for this sole purpose.
Aemond lifts the blade from the box and unsheathes it – slowly rotating the grip in his hand and looking at the gleaming steel with the closest thing to joy Viserys has seen the young man show all night. Even Lucerys leans over to admire the blade.
“Use this sword to defend this family, my son. Use it to protect your family, Aemond.” His son swallowed nervously, but nodded regardless.
There is a long road ahead for their family – one of reconciliation and healing. His wife, his daughter, his brother, even his own children and grandchildren may think him crazy for his decisions, but Viserys knows in his heart that he is doing what is right. Aemond admires the blade in a trance-like state. “A sword needs a name, son. What shall you call it?”
Lucerys glances at Viserys then back at the blade that will one day be responsible for serving justice for their house and protecting their future brood.
His son spins the sword and grins.
“One-Eye.”
Unlike the customs that see newlyweds dragged and stripped to their marriage bed, Aemond and Lucerys are led to their shared chambers by the watchful eyes of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the fretting hands of their mothers.
Viserys ignores the seething words of his jealous brother in favor of retiring to his solar for the night, content to spend his evening tending to his model of the Freehold. The festivities are set to continue the following day with a thrilling tourney and his aging body is exhausted from the excitement of the past hours.
The hour of the wolf had long come and gone by the time he had slipped into his beds and a knock on the door came. Ser Erryk opens the doors and Ser Criston steps in with a bow.
Viserys sits up with great enthusiasm.
“You have my permission to speak freely, Ser Cole. Tell me, has the deed been done?”
Ser Criston, a rather pious and stoic man that has watched Viserys’ own children grow from conception to marriage, clears his throat awkwardly.
“Prince Aemond fulfilled his duty as instructed. I saw the sullied sheets with my own eyes.” Consummation was faked all the time in noble marriages and Cole knew it, so Viserys raised an eyebrow. “If my ears did not deceive me, then I believe Your Grace shall be welcoming a new member of his great house in the coming season.” He takes a deep breath. “If the Seven Above will it, of course.”
Ser Cole always speaks of Aemond with a fatherly affection that Viserys himself is not too prideful to not understand. In a strange way, both men strive to see the broken boy they’ve watched grow into a fearsome man find his happiness. His family may not see it yet, but he is certain his son’s happiness will be found with Lucerys.
Relaxing into his pillows, Viserys smiles. “I pray that the Gods see it fit to bestow my son and grandson with many blessings in their lifetime.”