Chapter Text
Time is racing and yet the day of Luke’s departure still seems to only ever loom at the horizon, forbidding and anticipated all at once,
He trains with Jace and a few memorable times with Corlys, he listens to and repeats even more gossip about the Stormland nobles with Rhaena, he flies with Addam and then Daemon and Rhaenys too, drilling them both in maneuvers meant to bring down another dragon. Baela participates in those almost too gleefully.
And he ignores the sadness in Mother’s eyes whenever he catches her watching him. She is busy, of course she is, but Luke suspects she still makes more time for him than she should. There are matters of court and alliances and war she has to deal with every hour of the day—and some parts of the night too—but because Luke knows he won’t be able to convince her otherwise, he enjoys whatever time she deigns to spend with him.
“We decided that Rhaenys will come with you to Storm’s End,” Mother tells him one eve, and Luke can’t hide the sheer, fierce relief gripping his chest at those unexpected words. “She and Meleys are needed to defend our fleet, so she will come back after seeing you there, but… she would really like a word with her cousin.” She raises a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug because they both know the kind of words Rhaenys will level at Lord Borros. Then Mother runs a hand through his hair. “And family should be there when you receive your knighthood.”
Luke does nothing to stop his grin. Princess Rhaenys has been distant in the past, that’s true, but with the renewed dragonriding lessons, and her and Corlys’ slight but noticeable change of composure, he feels closer to her than he ever was before. “I’m glad. Thank you, Your Grace,” he says, and means that with all his heart.
Two days before Luke and Addam are set to depart to the Stormlands, Luke’s family finds the time to have their promised dragon race. The whole castle seems to have turned out to watch it—no doubt for some joy amidst grim tidings of the brewing war—and the weather is fine as well, with some fleeting clouds and a fresh breeze that’s not too strong.
Luke blushes furiously when he asks Rhaena if she’d like to join him on Seasmoke for the race and she agrees with a brilliant smile, slipping her hand into his. Baela whistles loudly until Jace drags her away, both laughing. Aegon—with Stormcloud flapping around the older dragons in excitement, but not yet large enough to safely join with a rider—insists on flying with Jace on Vermax, and their older brother of course agrees. That means a pouting Viserys goes with Daemon on Caraxes, though the man quickly has his youngest son laughing again. Even Rhaenys joins in with Meleys, and Tyraxes and Joff are already in the air before all of them.
Mother however only smiles softly and announces she will be the judge from the ground; Luke exchanges a worried glance with Jace because they’re too aware flying must still be painful for her. Still, the smile on her face is a true one, so Luke will be happy with that.
Addam has good-naturedly agreed to be the judge from above. Luke’s sworn sword easily takes the Bronze Fury far above them to keep watch. It serves as an unexpected lesson and exercise for them all—Tyraxes, Stormcloud and Moondancer all bolt wildly to the sides in initial panic when Vermithor’s giant shadow suddenly falls upon them. Vermax only jerks a bit, but Jace has him easily handled.
Luke chews on his lips. Baela will probably be fiercely disgruntled at her own dragon panicking like this later. It’s a good instinct for wild dragons to have, but in battle blind evasion like this could be disastrous.
Rhaena puts her chin on his shoulder with a groan. “Bet she’ll be stinking of nothing but dragon for the next three weeks.”
He laughs softly. “I’m not betting against that!” Baela has never met a challenge she didn’t want to start winning immediately. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes in your letters.” He’s not sure how often he’ll be able to get letters from Dragonstone, since the planned campaign in the Reach will ideally move forward at a steady pace while they can’t be completely certain of which Lords and keeps will prove loyal, but there still should be some.
Rhaena’s arms around his middle tighten a bit. “I will. Now, shall we see about that race?”
“We shall.” Luke grins and leans forward to rest a hand against Seasmoke’s scales.
They don’t win, but it’s close. Baela and Moondancer leave all of them behind with seemingly endless ease, which will hopefully calm her down somewhat. Surprisingly, Luke and Rhaena on Seasmoke come in second. Directly behind them are Vermax and Meleys almost nose-to-nose.
Luke glances at Vermax. While large enough by now to bear two riders quite easily, he’s sure carrying Egg in addition to Jace probably slowed his brother’s dragon down enough to not have his youth win out against Seasmoke. And Meleys… well, Rhaenys can do anything, so whether or not the Red Queen could have won if her rider truly set her mind to that is not something Luke would bet against either.
Caraxes comes in last. They can hear little Viserys protesting from his father’s arms; Luke hopes no one tells either him or Joffrey that Daemon likely held the Bloodwyrm back so Joff with Tyraxes wouldn’t come in last.
“Everyone wins,” Mother declares when they all have dismounted again, and reveals the treasure trove of sweets and pastries she and her ladies have organised on nearby tables.
Vis and Egg forget about not winning really quickly.
Luke is in the middle of goading Joff into cramming as many cranberry-cream pastries into his mouth as he can when he looks up and his eye falls on Seasmoke. Suddenly he can’t breathe. Luke is happy and smiling and—
And Arrax isn’t here—
He was flying but Arrax—
How can Luke be happy—
Arrax—
“Luke? Lucerys. Breathe,” someone tells him. A firm hand lands on his shoulder.
Princess Rhaenys, Luke realises, and finds himself ducked inside one of the nearby castle entryways, bent over like it was him who just raced and not the dragons. His heart is pounding so loudly that surely everyone must hear it.
But it’s only Rhaenys who stands next to him, her gaze calm as she gently tugs him to stand back up.
“I—I was laughing and I looked at Seasmoke and—” he tries to explain, furiously wiping at his face even though he’s losing that fight against tears. “All I saw was Arrax, and how can I just be happy without him?! How can I… how can I do that to him?!” It’s not fair, and Daemon’s life is not fair rings in his ears, but Gods. He misses Arrax so much he could make himself sick with it.
Rhaenys leans against the wall and watches him evenly, waiting for him to catch his breath without any judgement on her face. “...Every time I look at my husband I see my son, dead and forever lost to me,” she eventually tells him. “Every time I look at Baela and Rhaena, who I love more than life itself, I see my sweet and fearless daughter, just as lost and gone.” She reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Every time I look at you I see my dear Laenor.” She swallows. Luke goes completely still. “You in his armour, you with his ring and his dragon… Perhaps I was a fool before…”
Rhaenys shakes her head and focuses her violet gaze back on him. “It is not so bad to be reminded of those we lost—as long as we still move forward. Rhaena sang for me a few days ago, and she sounded so much like Laena I had to turn my face away to weep. And yet, I still hugged and thanked her afterwards. I look at Baela with her Moondancer, fierce and fearless both, and my heart worries about what ill fate will befall them too. Doom has always come so easily to the strongest women of our line... But shall I forbid her her freedoms?” She sighs, long and weary, but there’s hard steel in the depth of her eyes. “When you came back to us on Laenor’s dragon, so brave and afraid, grieving and injured—should I have turned away, knowing very well my boy would have been the very first to welcome you in his arms, were he here?”
Luke swallows. He knows what the answer is. His face is wet again, but Rhaenys has reached out to rest her hand, warm and comforting, against his cheek.
She nods slowly. “I cannot know how it is to lose my dragon, and if the Gods are just I never will. But I know how it is to grieve those I love the most, and I can tell you: it will never quite stop hurting, and there will be days when the hurt will have teeth so sharp you wish to do nothing but weep. And yet.” Her other hand pushes lightly against his chest, atop his heart. “We are dragons. We endure where others falter. We triumph where the rest falls. Grief may never hinder us for long, for our fire and blood burn hotter than all else. It is in our nature to not give up.”
His mother summons him to Aegon’s garden that night. Lady Elinda is sitting in an alcove near the entry, needlework in her hands while she gives him a quick smile, and there’s a Queensguard knight next to her, but with Mother quite some distance away on a low bench this is as private as it might get on Dragonstone—unless one is on dragonback.
Luke has quite a few childhood memories of this very garden, most of them happy. He likes the ones with Laenor and Jace the most, because Father was always glad to play adventurers with them, being tugged across the entire ground several times while he pretended to be a pirate or a wildling or a robber knight, and on some memorable occasions, the Cannibal.
But now Mother is looking out over the garden wistfully, so Luke bows when he comes to a stop close to her. “Your Grace.” The words have become familiar by now, but at her slight nod he sits down next to her. She reaches for his hand and he gladly squeezes hers.
Mother is silent for a long time, holding his hand in hers, until she sighs. “Let me set aside the Queen for a moment, and just be your mother.” When she turns towards him, her eyes are soft and sad as she takes in his face. One of her hands cups his cheek—the injured side, gently as she always does now. “When you were born…” she starts, and Luke realises she truly means what she said earlier: there’s something terribly soft in her smile, the way it only ever gets when she looks at little Egg and Vis.
“When you were born,” Mother continues, “you were so small—much smaller than Jace. And silent. Oh, you were so silent. You would cry all the time, but in complete silence. Miserably. Your face would scrunch up and become very red, but still you were quiet. Sometimes… sometimes you were so quiet I felt I had only dreamed you. I got up so often to check the nursery just to see if you were truly there.” She shakes her head as amused at herself, but her grip on Luke’s hand is fierce, and he can tell it pains her to talk about this. “The Maesters, the midwives, all the healers that could be found—they said more noise would come with time at first… and then they said you might never have a voice, or you might not have proper lungs or a proper heart, and then they stopped saying anything because I had them tossed out of my rooms. I was so worried… and yet I could scarcely drag my way out of my own bed on many of those days.”
She exhales shakily, her face drawn. Luke hardly dares to breathe because he has never once heard something about this. He vaguely recalls how Mother was after Joffrey’s birth, and better after Aegon and Viserys’ births, but no one has told him about this before. “I felt crushed under a terrible weight, like Balerion himself had cast an endless shadow upon me from which I could not flee.”
Luke swallows; he wants to—to do something, but he doesn’t know what. Mother looks terribly sad, but when she notices the look on his face she grabs his hands more tightly again. “No, hush, love, no; it’s not your fault. No. Back then… I felt like I must have wronged you in some way—must have condemned you to silent misery with some, some wrongdoing of mine…”
Mother takes a deep breath and then finally smiles again, her fingers playing with the seahorse ring Corlys gave Luke. “It was Laenor who saved us both. Because when I couldn’t—when I couldn’t… every moment you were away from the wetnurse he took to strapping you to his chest and going about his day. One day, we went down to the beach because he said listening to the surf would surely help. He had convinced me to come with him, but I soon dragged far behind along with my ladies, tiring frightfully quickly. Laenor had gone ahead with you and Jace towards where Seasmoke was dozing in the sun… until he came running back. ‘Nyra!’ he called, ‘Come see!!’” Another shake of her head. “I scarcely recall how I got to him, thinking only that something terribly must have happened—but then there you were. Laenor had placed you on his folded cloak, and then Seasmoke had leaned down until his maws almost touched you… and you were laughing. Luke, I think that was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard: a loud, strong gurgling, with your little hands and feet waving wildly, all while a dragon crooned at you. I sank to the ground next to you and wept like I hadn’t allowed myself since you were born. Laenor held me and Jace, and wept too, and Seasmoke kept rumbling at all of us while you shrieked with happy laughter.”
Luke’s eye is stinging. His cheeks feel hot, but when he pictures this, Mother and Father and Jace and Seasmoke, too, all he wants to do is curl up in Mother’s arms and weep along with them.
Mother squeezes his hand again. “The next day, Arrax hatched, and from then on it was like almost everything delighted you; you went from my little child of sorrow to the happiest child in all the Realm. Laenor… Laenor was so proud—he would say to all who listened that you had just needed to wake your dragon blood first, and it took me and Rhaenys to stop him from taking you on long flights immediately.” She shakes her head fondly.
Seasmoke, Luke thinks. Maybe… maybe Seasmoke remembered this, too.
“My happy little dragon,” Mother says, and pokes his cheek when he pouts a bit at the endearment. “You must forgive me when I say that it is still you who part of my heart always worries for the most. I cannot help it: I can never forget those days and weeks when you were silent enough for a grave, and I dreamed about nothing but climbing on a pyre with you in my arms.”
Luke swallows and thinks of the sister he should have had. But Daemon had been there then, and Luke and all his brothers and the girls, too, so… whatever dreams Mother might have had then, too, they didn’t come to pass either.
“And yet…” Mother says, and her face goes sad and stern both. “I am also your Queen, and I’m sending you off to war on my behalf. My brave little boy… I know, I know, not a boy, and not so little any longer, and yet.” She cups his cheek again. “Most of all I still want you to be that happy little dragon here with me, my love. Do you hear me? Fight your battles, fight them well—but in the end, come back to me. Please, Luke. Please. Promise me.”
It’s the pleading that lets the tears in Luke’s eye spill over, because Mother should never be pleading like this. She is the Queen, and yet—
He slides down from the bench until he kneels before her, and presses her hands to his face. Both of them are weeping openly now. “I promise, Mother,” he whispers, and then licks his lips and swallows when the words come out as a rasp. “I promise, Your Grace,” he repeats, voice stronger.
Luke has promised once before, and he kept that promise, he did—because he didn’t fight, he didn’t—and he means this oath even more fiercely. This time, he is not an envoy who swore not to fight. This time, he does not have a barely grown dragon outmatched by two giant foes. This time, Luke swears to himself, he will return home victorious no matter what.
Corlys, who Luke will freely admit probably is as good at talking about his feelings as Daemon is, gruffly presents him with an ornate Myrish eye. There are dragons and seahorses both winding around the bronze grip, and it comes with a hardy leather bag and an attached strap of leather.
When Luke glances back up questioningly, Corlys only laughs. “Laenor only dropped one of these off Seasmoke’s back for both of us to learn better.” He shakes his head, still grinning as he shows Luke how he can attach the leather strap either to his wrist or his dragon saddle. “And then Rhaenys made us wait for three moons before I could get him another one, just to make sure the lesson would stick.”
Luke winces slightly. Well-made far-eyes are extraordinarily expensive, so he can well imagine the scolding that must have followed for Laenor. He has accidentally dropped things off dragonback before himself—shawls and gloves, and one time his eating knife, and that other time a quiver full of arrows when he and Jace had wanted to try shooting from their dragons’ backs. Because Arrax had only just taken flight, the arrows had rained down on the yard below, resulting in much cursing and running from the dragonkeepers. That scolding had been nearly as fierce as the one his father must have gotten.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Luke says, gripping the far-eye tightly. Corlys’ smile is brilliant and looks just like Father's.
The night before Luke and Addam are set to leave for the Stormlands all his siblings pile into Luke’s rooms late at night. Baela has dragged Jace along to the kitchen and then to the wine cellars, it appears, because they reveal half a feast of different cakes and fruits along with quite a few wineskins from under their cloaks.
Luke listens to them giggling and firmly resolves that whatever happens, Egg and Vis will not drink any of that wine. Thankfully, for now they’re easily pacified with the pieces of cake Rhaena hands them from where she’s splitting the food up into smaller bites.
“I can’t get drunk tonight,” he protests when Baela presses an entire wineskin into his hands. “No, I mean it, what if I—what if I fall off my dragon tomorrow—”
Jace laughs, but reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “You won’t because you’re chained to the saddle. And flying will make you sober up quickly enough regardless.”
Joff chooses this moment to drop his weight against Luke’s other shoulder. “And when did you fly while drunk, Brother?” he asks the same thing Luke was thinking, though he makes it sound far more biting. “Pray tell.”
Their older brother takes a moment too long to answer—long enough for Baela to suddenly jump on his back, forcing him to take a few rapid steps to keep them both upright. “In the North,” Baela declares, grinning mischievously as she deliberately throws her weight into the opposite direction to trip Jace up again. Joff is spurring her on.“With our dear Lord Stark!”
“Baela!” Jace exclaims right before he gives up and collapses himself and Baela atop Luke’s bed, where both of them start giggling madly.
“...How much has she drunk already?” Luke asks Rhaena, who watches her sister with a smile.
Rhaena hums. “The wine she stole this morning,” she says, her smile growing. “So who knows?”
Oh gods. Luke prays that with their younger brothers here, Baela won’t at least suggest moonlight dragon races again. “...And Jace?” he wonders belatedly. His brother is a lot more relaxed than he thought he would be.
“Mhhhm. Maybe he got a taste for drinking wine… in the North.”
He and Rhaena lock gazes for a moment, and two, but he sees the corners of her mouth twitching, and then suddenly neither of them can hold their laughter back anymore.
When they have both caught their breath again, Rhaena glances at their siblings and then takes his hand to pull him towards the small parlour room that no one ever uses because all his siblings prefer to directly pile onto his bed instead and he himself likes reading in bed and doesn’t really see the point of the room. “I made something for you,” Rhaena says softly when they’ve reached the window. Instead of continuing she leans against the wall to peer out of the window.
Luke takes a quick look too, but there’s nothing exciting other than torches on the ramparts and moonlight on distant waves. He looks back at Rhaena instead, who is—
Blushing?
“Here,” she says suddenly, and presses something soft into his hand.
Oh.
Luke finds himself staring.
Because it’s her—and his, in the end—house sigil, the three-headed dragon splendidly embroidered in scarlet on black silk, the centerpiece of the handkerchief. All around the trim, small pearl-and-red dragons seem to merrily race each other.
Oh.
Luke runs his thumb across the fine, painstaking embroidery of Arrax on the border of the piece and swallows hard.
“I—I don’t wish to cause you further pain,” Rhaena whispers. “But I… I had made this one already, and—”
“Thank you,” Luke manages to choke out. “It looks just like him.” It does. It does, and somehow that’s a good thing even if it also hurts. “Thank you,” he repeats and wonders if he’s actually supposed to use it. Surely this is too fine a piece to actually wipe tears with…?
Rhaena reaches out to wipe at his face with her sleeves, which is definitely not something a lady should do, but he doesn’t think even Mother would mind right now. “You like it?”
Luke can do nothing but nod rapidly, folding it carefully. He’s suddenly deathly afraid of creasing it.
“Good. Because I also made you another one.”
This second handkerchief is Velaryon blue. Embroidered all across it are dancing seahorses and dragons, both done in the same fine silver thread. It makes for a lovely pattern.
“...it’s us,” Rhaena says softly, biting her lips. She looks uncertain. “See?” She gently nudges at part of the cloth.
Luke loves it. He tells his cousin that, and then they spent an agonizing minute staring at each other, both of them blushing furiously.
He finally leans forward to press a kiss against Rhaena’s cheek. “Thank you, my lady,” he says as he draws back, willing his face to stop feeling hot. “With favours such as these, how could I ever lose?”
Rhaena laughs, relieved, but there are tears in her eyes, too. “You must come back, Luke,” she whispers fiercely. “I can’t do that again. Please come back.”
Luke squeezes her hand. This is the same promise he made to Mother. There are no certainties in war, but— “I’ll try, Rhaena, I’ll try my very best. I swear it.”
His betrothed looks at him for a long time before she nods. Then she leans forward to kiss his cheek, too, and—
“You better not be kissing in there!” Baela’s yell interrupts them from the other room. Both of them huff a laugh, but before Luke can take a step back to make things more proper, Rhaena tugs at his hand to keep him close.
“You better be silent, Bae!” Rhaena yells back, grinning. “You did that much and more with that handsome stableboy!”
Luke chokes, but the bout of laughter from the other room sounds suspiciously like Jace, so if he is fine with this—
He joins in with Rhaena’s giggles.
“Come on, before any of our siblings decide to do something entirely too outrageous,” he eventually says, still grinning madly, and tugs at her hand to lead her back into the other room.
The rest of the night passes all too quickly.
He promises a tearful Vis that he definitely won’t lose the other eye, and gravely thanks Aegon when he declares he’ll come find him on Stormcloud if he doesn’t come back. Luke catches Jace’s gaze as he does, and can read the same apprehension he feels there.
Baela tells him to bring back someone’s head, her smile sharp and toothy. That is not something he promises, although he tells her that perhaps the Prince of Dragonstone is better suited to bring her heads if she so desires.
“Thank you, Lucerys,” his brother says pointedly. “I would so adore being known as collecting heads.” The corners of his mouth are twitching, and Luke can tell Jace is exaggerating his eye roll on purpose—it works to make their younger brothers laugh.
Later, they all curl up on Luke’s bed, which is really a lot larger than it needs to be. Now they nearly fit, with a giggling Baela draping herself across her sister to tousle Egg’s hair while Vis is sprawling gracelessly on top of both Joff and Luke.
At some point Luke blinks open his eye to find that Jace is standing at the window. Luke carefully shifts Vis until his youngest brother is curled around a pillow instead of Luke’s shoulder, and then gets up to join him. This late at night there are almost no sounds but the distant crashing of the waves.
“I still wish I could go in your stead,” his older brother says, not looking at him. “To send you away to war when I must sit here—it is…” He clenches his hands into fists. “It feels pointless. It feels wrong.”
“You are not just sitting here, Jace,” Luke reminds him. “You have won Mother her allies, you are leading together with her in the Council, you lead Dragonstone’s men.” He reaches up to flick at his brother’s ear. “You are the Prince of Dragonstone, our future King. Nothing you do will ever be pointless.”
Jace keeps staring into the night, but he flicks Luke’s ear in revenge. “And when did you learn to be persuasive…” he says softly. “I know. I know.”
He turns towards Luke. His eyes are very soft. “Still… Luke, you are my first brother. When Mother carefully helped me hold you, I clearly remember thinking that there never would be anything quite as important as that.” He stops to swallow a few times. Luke realises the look on Jace’s face is something close to devastation.
He can feel more tears threatening in his eye, so he can’t even blame Jace for being emotional. It must be the wine loosening Jace’s tongue.
“Even the Prince of Dragonstone can regret necessary orders,” Jace whispers. “Surely even the Prince of Dragonstone can fear for his brother going to war. Surely I am allowed that.”
It is a heavy thing, Luke remembers Mother’s words at the feast, the weight of the crown. His brother always seems so confident, so sure, that he forgets that Jace is only a year older than him; he bears his burdens perhaps a bit too well.
Luke leans more of his weight against Jace until his brother relents and finally slides an arm around him for a proper hug. “I have promised I will come back, and I will promise the same to you again now, Brother,” he says quietly. “But I would ask a promise of you as well. You must make sure that our siblings are safe.” He swallows. “No matter what happens.”
There are nightmares Luke has, thoughts he can scarcely bear thinking about—Joffrey gone on Tyraxes to face Vhagar, Aegon and Stormcloud rising to meet a roaring Sunfyre, Rhaena and Viserys caught in dragonflame with nowhere to run. “Between Tyraxes and Moondancer, they can all get away from Dragonstone if they had to,” he continues. “Do you understand?”
Jace is silent for a long time before he sighs against Luke’s hair. “I do all too well. I have considered similarly.” Luke can feel his brother shaking his head. “But you know just as I do that Joffrey and Baela are unlikely to listen to such a command.”
“You must still try,” Luke insists, his heart pounding, “they will listen to you. Please.”
“...I will try, I promise.”
Luke smiles with relief before he tightens his arms a bit more, hiding his face against Jace’s shoulder for the next bit. “And,” he whispers fiercely, “you must promise to keep yourself safe as well.”
Jace stiffens. It is of course entirely typical that this would be the request he takes issue with. “I am the Prince of Dragonstone,” he says. “We cannot risk Mother, so if there is to be any battle here or close by I will lead it.” There’s a finality to his voice that usually heralds the end of any arguments, but Luke has to try.
“Baelon brought fire and blood down on the Myrish pirates who slew Aemon at Tarth, and I would do the same, Jace,” Luke whispers fiercely, determination and dread mingling in his blood, “but I don’t want to have to, do you hear me? I don’t want to…please—please don’t make me.” He would, he knows, he would. If word came to him in the Reach that Jace had been slain by bolt or sword or dragonflame… there would be no one there to hold him back.
Luke then sighs, nudging his brother’s side. “I am not asking you to stay away from battle, Brother,” he adds. “I am just asking you to be careful. Don’t take risks the heir to the Iron Throne shouldn’t take. Please.”
Jace is silent for a while longer before he sighs, too. “Prince Aemon was a good man, and so was Prince Baelon,” he says softly. “And yet I would not have you and me be them. Let us be ourselves; and fight bravely, and live.”
The relieved grin on Luke’s face is almost so wide it hurts. The next words in High Valyrian come out almost by instinct. “I swear it by fire, and I swear it by blood—”
“—may the fourteen flames bear witness,” Jace finishes their oath.