Chapter Text
The hum of conversation pressed against Emrys like a living thing, heavy and unrelenting. Every clang of a goblet being set down, every soft scrape of a chair, every burst of muffled laughter seemed to reverberate through his bones. He tried to focus on the polished surface of the table in front of him, grounding himself in the small, tangible details: the way the wood gleamed in the candlelight, the way the silverware was arranged with precision.
But it was no use. The weight of the glances from the royal table, their glances, hung over him like a net, tightening with every passing second.
He reached for his goblet, grateful for something to do with his hands, but even that small action betrayed him. His fingers trembled slightly around the stem, and he cursed inwardly, feeling Alren’s ever-watchful gaze sear into him from across their small table. The older knight said nothing, but the tense set of his jaw spoke volumes: steady yourself.
The sudden scrape of a chair drew Emrys’s attention back toward the high table.
King Viserys was struggling to rise, his gnarled hand gripping the edge of the table for support. A hush swept across the hall like a wave, and all eyes turned instinctively toward the frail monarch. Servants hurried to assist him, but Viserys shook them off with a stubborn jerk of his head.
“My lords and ladies,” the king rasped, his voice thin yet somehow still carrying across the vaulted ceilings, “tonight, we dine not only as noble houses... but as kin. As family.”
A heavy pause followed the pronouncement, the word family hanging in the air, weighted with meaning. Emrys didn’t miss the way Queen Alicent’s mouth tightened ever so slightly or how Princess Rhaenyra’s shoulders stiffened. Even at a table dressed in gold and silk, swords lay hidden beneath every smile.
The king spoke on about peace, about unity but Emrys barely registered the words. His attention was caught, again and again, by the subtle glances exchanged between the royal family. Calculated. Cool. Beneath their polished exteriors, the court was seething with unspoken wars.
By the time Viserys lowered himself shakily back into his chair, a brittle murmur of conversation resumed, but it was like the surface of a frozen lake, thin, fragile, threatening to crack at the slightest misstep.
Food was brought out in a grand procession: silver trays heaped with roasted meats, delicate pastries shaped like roses, pitchers of wine so dark they looked like spilled velvet. Emrys forced himself to eat, if only to look occupied. A bite of venison. A sip of wine. Another bite. Each motion mechanical, rehearsed. And yet, despite his best efforts, the trap sprung.
He had just reached for another small roll when a clear, teasing voice rang out:
“I heard you caused quite the stir in the gardens today...though Princess Helaena speaks highly of you.” a voice, light and amused, floated from the direction of the royal table.
Emrys stiffened.
When Emrys dared to lift his head, he found himself looking into the wide, curious violet eyes of Rhaena Targaryen.
She sat near her sister Baela and the princes, her posture more reserved than the others. While Baela leaned forward, occasionally murmuring jokes into Jacaerys’s ear, and Lucerys lounged easily in his seat, Rhaena sat back slightly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her silver hair, darker at the roots, framed a face both regal and soft, a quiet contrast to her more fiery kin. And those eyes, so much like her father Daemon's in color, but entirely different in spirit, were studying him, thoughtful and unguarded.
Jacaerys turned slightly, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Lucerys leaned forward with open curiosity, one arm slung lazily along the back of Jacaerys’s chair, his posture deceptively relaxed.
Emrys opened his mouth, the beginnings of a polite answer forming when ripple of chuckles floated around the room, like the first soft claps of thunder before a storm. Emrys’s face burned. He could feel a dozen eyes turn toward him, some amused, some appraising, some calculating. Queen Alicent’s gaze, sharp as a dagger, flicked toward him with a chilling precision.
Emrys scrambled for a safe answer. “I... only got lost, my lady,” he managed, his voice steady but a little too soft. “The gardens are... vast.”
That's when her sister, Baela arched a brow and then she spoke “Lost?” she echoed. “Or simply curious?”
The delicate phrasing dripped with implication. Emrys, who until a few weeks ago had worried about things like missed train stops and forgotten grocery lists, was now being tested, his words picked apart like a carcass tossed to hungry wolves.
He swallowed, feeling the press of the moment, and bowed his head slightly in deference. “Perhaps a little of both,” he admitted. “It’s hard not to be curious, in a place like this.”
For a moment, silence stretched out, taut and heavy. Then...
Daemon Targaryen, lounging like a cat that had eaten a canary, let out a low chuckle. “Curiosity,” he mused, his voice rich with danger, “is a fine thing. Until it leads you somewhere... you cannot return from.”
The hall murmured again, the tension fraying at the edges, and Emrys felt the blood drain from his face.
Beside him, Alren’s fork clanged loudly against his plate. A warning.
Lucerys, however, only leaned further in, the firelight catching in the honeyed curls around his face, his grin deepening. His voice, when it came, was like velvet over steel.
"Maybe," he said, loud enough for only those nearest to hear, "he just needs someone to show him the right places to be curious about."
Emrys’s heart stuttered wildly in his chest. Lucerys’s meaning was clear...bright, bold, and impossible to ignore.
Across the table, Jacaerys shifted, his sharp gaze flickering briefly to his brother before settling back on Emrys. His expression was cooler, more measured, but the intensity in his dark eyes hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it had deepened, like a dragon assessing a prize, weighing its worth before making the first move.
Emrys swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away, pretending to focus on the untouched meat on his plate. His palms itched where they rested on his thighs, hidden from view.
Listen more than you speak, Alren’s voice echoed in his mind. Keep them at a distance.
But how could he, when Lucerys and Jacaerys both seemed so determined to close it?
Emrys took a careful sip of wine, willing his hands to steady. He kept his gaze low, forcing a bland, unreadable mask onto his features. Let them think him shy. Let them think him dull. Anything but foolishly intrigued, anything but drawn in by the twin fires across the room.
Still, as he lifted his goblet, he risked a fleeting glance across the distance.
Lucerys caught the look and smiled again, bright, dazzling, like a flame. Jacaerys didn’t smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. In it, Emrys saw something patient and calculating. Not the quick, playful strike of a young dragon, but the slow, inevitable closing of a predator’s jaws.
And Emrys, fool that he was, felt the pull of them both.
The meal wound down slowly, the rich scents of roasted meats and spiced wine giving way to the sharp tang of smoke from the towering hearths. Conversation grew louder as goblets were refilled and courtiers grew bolder under the influence of drink, but the tension in Emrys’s chest never loosened.
He pushed food around his plate, aware of every glance flickering toward him from the high table. Aware, too, of Alren’s steady, protective presence beside him, a silent wall between him and the gathering storm. And yet... a part of him, foolish and traitorous, leaned toward the storm anyway. Toward them.
When the last of the courses was cleared away, King Viserys lifted a frail hand and dismissed the hall with a murmured blessing. Chairs scraped back from tables. Laughter rose and echoed off the stone walls as nobles and knights drifted toward the exits in chattering groups, eager to escape the formalities of the feast.
Alren was on his feet almost immediately, his hand resting lightly but firmly against the back of Emrys’s chair, a clear signal to rise, to move, to leave before the wrong kind of attention could descend.
Emrys started to stand-
"Emrys."
He froze.
The sound of his name, spoken so smoothly it might have been a caress, halted him mid-motion. He turned, heart pounding, to find Lucerys standing behind him, hands tucked easily behind his back, his expression warm but gleaming with a quiet mischief.
Jacaerys stood a step behind his brother, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his dark eyes steady and unreadable.
"You’re not leaving so soon, are you?" Lucerys asked, his voice light, inviting but with an unmistakable pull beneath the words, a gentle tug he could no more resist than the pull of the tide.
Emrys opened his mouth, struggling for something to say, but Alren’s low voice cut through the growing haze:
"He is tired. It has been a long day."
Lucerys didn’t so much as flinch. He only smiled a little wider, the very picture of princely charm.
"But surely not too tired for a short walk in the gardens?" he said smoothly, tilting his head slightly toward the wide archways that led out into the night beyond the hall. "The stars are particularly bright tonight," he added, almost as an afterthought, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed the true motive behind the offer.
Beside him, Jacaerys’s gaze sharpened, watching Emrys carefully, not pressuring, but not looking away either.
A choice. They were offering him a choice.
Accept, and step further into their orbit. Refuse, and risk offending princes he could not afford to anger.
Alren’s hand tightened slightly against the chair, almost imperceptibly. A warning, silent but screaming: Think.
Emrys swallowed. He knew what he should do. The safe thing. The smart thing. But when he met Lucerys’s bright, beckoning gaze and then Jacaerys’s darker, heavier one, he felt the ground beneath him tilt, just slightly.
"I... would be honored," Emrys said, the words barely above a whisper.
Lucerys’s grin bloomed like a sunrise. "Excellent," he said brightly, reaching out as if to offer Emrys his hand but stopping just short, the gesture hanging between them like a promise. Instead, he simply gestured for Emrys to follow.
Emrys stepped away from the table, boots silent against the stone floor but before he could move further, Alren stepped forward, his figure sliding smoothly between Emrys and the princes like a drawn sword.
"If I may, my princes," Alren said, his voice low and respectful but edged with steel. "I ask only this: that you do not lead my young charge into too much...trouble."
Lucerys’s smile widened in clear amusement, a playful glint lighting his eyes. "We are nothing if not gentlemen, Ser Alren," he said lightly, offering a mock bow that managed to be both graceful and mischievous.
Jacaerys, for his part, only inclined his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Emrys’s face. "Have no fear," he said quietly. "We will not break him."
The way he said it...low, deliberate, almost promising, sent a shiver down Emrys’s spine. It was the kind of promise that sounded suspiciously like a threat wrapped in silk.
Alren’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing more. His sharp gaze pinned Emrys for a heartbeat longer, a silent command: Be careful.
And then, without another word, he stepped aside, allowing them to pass.
Lucerys offered Emrys a quick, almost triumphant smile before leading him toward the archways and the open night beyond, Jacaerys falling into step behind them.
The cool air wrapped around them the moment they left the hall, carrying the scent of salt and night-blooming flowers.
Lucerys started to led the way with his usual easy grace, hands tucked into the sleeves of his fine tunic, his curls gleaming under the torchlight. Jacaerys walked on Emrys’s other side, silent but solid, his presence a steady thrum against Emrys’s senses.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the distant murmur of waves against the cliffs.
Finally, Lucerys broke the silence, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, "You handled yourself well at dinner," he said, glancing sideways at Emrys with a quicksilver smile. "Better than most newcomers would have."
Jacaerys gave a soft snort, not unkind. "You didn’t stammer or faint when Daemon spoke. That alone earns you some respect."
Emrys chuckled nervously, the sound too high in his own ears. "I’m not sure I would call it 'handling myself,'" he admitted. "I mostly just tried not to draw more attention."
Lucerys laughed, a genuine sound that sent a strange thrill through Emrys’s chest. "Too late for that," he said, his grin flashing. "You’re already very... noticed."
Emrys huffed a nervous laugh, shoving his hands into the folds of his cloak. "I was afraid of saying something foolish," he admitted.
Lucerys chuckled. "You wouldn't be the first," he said easily. "Or the last." He bumped his shoulder lightly against Emrys’s as they walked, a casual touch, but enough to send a jolt through Emrys’s nerves. "Still... you carried yourself well. Like someone used to hiding sharp thoughts behind quiet words."
Emrys ducked his head slightly, feeling the heat creep up his neck. "I just didn’t want to offend anyone," he muttered.
Lucerys leaned in closer, his breath warm against Emrys’s ear. "Offending people can be half the fun, you know," he whispered mischievously.
Lucerys grinned, reaching out and plucking a blossom from a low-hanging branch as they passed. Without thinking, he tucked the small white flower behind Emrys’s ear, his fingers brushing lightly against Emrys’s temple. The touch was feather-light, yet Emrys felt it burn like a brand.
From the corner of his eye, Emrys caught Jacaerys watching them, his expression unreadable at first, but not cold. No, there was a quiet, thoughtful weight to his gaze, as though he were seeing Emrys... truly seeing him.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick, golden, filled with the pulse of unspoken things. Lucerys walked ahead a few paces, pretending to admire the twisted hedgerows, giving them space.
Jacaerys fell into step beside Emrys, closer now, the brush of his sleeve against Emrys’s a quiet, steady presence. For a few moments, they simply walked, the torchlight casting long, flickering shadows across the garden paths.
Then, without looking at him, Jacaerys said softly, "You know he warned you about us, didn’t he?"
Emrys startled slightly, glancing up at him. Jacaerys’s mouth quirked into a faint, wry smile. "Ser Alren," he clarified, his voice low. "He told you to keep your distance."
Emrys hesitated...the denial catching in his throat before he finally gave a small, reluctant nod. "I... he just wants me to be careful," Emrys said, choosing his words carefully. "He’s looking out for me."
Jacaerys nodded, as if he expected no less. "I would too, if I were him," he said simply. There was no anger in his voice. No wounded pride. Just quiet understanding.
They walked a few more steps before Jacaerys spoke again, softer now. "But you should know... we mean you no harm, Emrys."
His words carried weight, steady and deliberate, cutting through the night air like a blade honed by truth. "We're not trying to trick you," Jacaerys continued. "Or use you. We only..."
He paused, searching for the right words, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare crack in his usually composed facade.
"We just enjoy your company," he said finally. "As simple as that."
Emrys felt something twist in his chest, an emotion too complicated to name. Relief, maybe. Or maybe something more dangerous.
And then, after a small pause, Jacaerys added, almost as if the words slipped free before he could stop them, "You don’t... act like them."
Emrys blinked, startled.
Jacaerys gave a faint, wry smile, one hand flexing idly at his side. "You’re not clawing for favor," he said. "You’re not watching us like you’re counting your own rise. You’re just..."
He let out a breath, half a laugh under it. "You’re just you."
The simplicity of it, the quiet sincerity hit Emrys harder than any flowery compliment could have.
"You act normal," Jacaerys finished, his voice softer now. "Around us. Around me. I... don’t remember the last time someone did that." There was a vulnerability there, quick and fleeting but real. The kind of truth that left no place to hide.
Emrys’s throat tightened, unsure how to respond, unsure if he even could without betraying how much those words affected him.
"I..." he started, voice catching. He cleared his throat, tried again. "I didn’t think I was doing anything special."
Jacaerys smiled again, that rare, real smile that lit his eyes from within. "You didn’t have to," he said quietly. "That’s the point."
Ahead of them, Lucerys spun around with a dramatic flourish, calling out playfully, "If you two don’t move faster, I’m going to leave you behind for the rats and spiders!"
Jacaerys’s gaze flicked sideways, meeting his, and this time there was no coolness in his dark eyes, only a quiet sincerity that made Emrys’s breath catch.
"You’re... different," Jacaerys added, his voice almost a whisper. "And sometimes different is the only thing that feels real around here."
Emrys let out a breathless laugh, the heavy tension between him and Jacaerys breaking like a stormcloud lifting.
Jacaerys bumped his shoulder lightly against Emrys’s, the touch brief but grounding. "Come on," he said with a glint of mischief, "before he starts composing songs about his own greatness."
Emrys grinned, real, bright and fell into step beside him.
And for the first time since he’d stumbled into this dangerous world, he didn’t feel entirely lost.
He felt... seen.
Wanted, not as a tool, but as himself. And that was a far more dangerous thing.
They walked a few paces more, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between them. Ahead, Lucerys spun around, walking backward with a mischievous grin lighting his face.
"I think it's only fair we test how fast you are, Emrys," he called, voice light and playful. "You managed to keep up with us at dinner. Let's see if you can do the same here."
Emrys laughed, nerves and excitement tangling in his chest. "I doubt I’ll impress anyone," he said, a half-teasing, half-panicked smile tugging at his lips.
Lucerys only grinned wider. "Then all the more reason to try." Without warning, he spun and took off down the garden path, his laughter trailing behind him like a banner.
Jacaerys shot Emrys a quick, almost daring smile, a spark of something sharp and thrilling flashing in his dark eyes. "You'd better not let him win," he said lowly, and then he too broke into a run.
Emrys blinked once, stunned then instinct kicked in, and he raced after them.
The cold air whipped past him, the night blooming around him in a blur of torches and dark hedgerows. He wasn't as fast as Lucerys, but he wasn't hopeless either and the simple, reckless act of running made something bubble up inside him, a laughter he hadn't let himself feel in days.
He caught up just as Lucerys slowed near the stone fountain, his curls damp with sweat, his chest heaving with laughter.
Emrys skidded to a stop, and Jacaerys stopped too, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The momentum made Emrys half-turn and for a heartbeat, Jacaerys reached out, steadying him lightly by the arm.
Emrys felt the press of Jacaerys’s fingers against the crook of his elbow, brief but grounding, sending a shiver along his skin. When their eyes met, there was something almost private in Jacaerys’s look...something knowing, something unspoken.
Then Jacaerys smiled, a rare, crooked thing that softened the sharp edges of his face.
"You’re faster than you look," he said, voice low and warm.
Emrys laughed, breathless. "I had good motivation."
Lucerys flopped dramatically onto the edge of the fountain, tossing his head back in exaggerated defeat. "I demand a rematch," he declared. "This time with stakes!"
Jacaerys only shook his head in amusement.
But before anyone could answer, the faint sound of hurried footsteps broke through the night, light but urgent, coming from one of the side paths.
Jacaerys stiffened almost imperceptibly. Without thinking, he shifted his stance, stepping slightly in front of Emrys, shielding without smothering, his hand resting casually near the dagger at his belt.
Emrys tensed, every nerve suddenly aware of how exposed they were.
A servant appeared around the bend...a young man carrying a tray with empty goblets, his head bowed, moving quickly but without the furtive air of a spy. He darted a glance at the trio, bowed awkwardly, and hurried past.
Jacaerys watched him until he vanished from sight, the tension in his shoulders easing by slow degrees.
"Not everyone in the Red Keep carries a dagger in their hand," he said under his breath, voice low enough that only Emrys could hear. "But most of them carry one somewhere."
Emrys nodded slowly, the truth of it sinking deep. The garden, so free a moment ago, suddenly felt tight with invisible watchers.
Lucerys, oblivious or choosing to be, splashed a hand lazily into the fountain's waters. "Come on," he said brightly. "One more lap before the old men drag us back inside."
Jacaerys glanced at Emrys again, something protective still lingering in his gaze then nudged him lightly toward the path.
Emrys followed, heart still racing, not entirely from the run.
The night had changed. The danger hadn’t gone away, it never would. But for now, with Lucerys’s laughter ahead of him and Jacaerys walking quietly at his side, Emrys could almost pretend it had.
Almost.
They walked a little further along the garden path, the fountain's murmuring water fading behind them, the salty air sharpening in the distance. Lucerys was still talking animatedly, teasing Emrys about his lack of courtly ambition, while Jacaerys stayed quieter but his presence at Emrys’s side was constant.
Emrys found himself smiling more easily than he had in days.
A flicker of movement at the edge of the torchlight caught Emrys’s attention.
Before he could turn, a figure stepped out from the deeper shadows of the garden archway — silent, inevitable.
Alren.
The older knight’s expression was carved from stone, unreadable and grim in the low light. His cloak stirred faintly in the breeze, but otherwise he stood perfectly still, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, a silent message: time’s up.
The easy mood shattered instantly.
Lucerys straightened, the playful smile slipping from his face, replaced by something more measured. Jacaerys shifted too, his posture squaring subtly, his gaze sharpening even as he made no move to draw away from Emrys.
Alren’s eyes found Emrys first, a quick, assessing look that searched him head to toe, as if reassuring himself the boy was unharmed. Then his gaze slid to the princes, cold and unreadable.
"My lords," Alren said, voice low, formal, and carrying just the slightest edge. "Forgive me for interrupting. But it is late... and my charge has had a long day."
The title, my charge, was deliberate. Possessive without being improper. A reminder.
Emrys’s heart twisted painfully. He understood what Alren was doing. He even appreciated it. But standing here, caught between the steady warmth of Jacaerys beside him and the implacable wall of Alren before him, it felt like something inside him was being pulled in two.
Lucerys offered a quick, charming smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Of course, Ser Alren," he said smoothly. "We would never dream of keeping him too long." His tone was light, but there was a faint crackle beneath it, a spark of something sharper.
Jacaerys, however, didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he looked at Emrys, his expression open in a way that was almost painful. "Goodnight, Emrys," he said, his voice low, threading with something Emrys couldn’t quite name. "We’ll see you again soon."
It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.
Emrys nodded stiffly, unable to find his voice under the weight of all the unsaid things.
Alren moved closer, stepping between Emrys and the princes with smooth, practiced ease. He inclined his head toward them, just enough to satisfy courtesy and then laid a firm, guiding hand against Emrys’s shoulder.
"Come," Alren said, voice gentler now but brooking no argument. "You’ve tarried long enough."
Emrys cast one last look over his shoulder as they turned away. Lucerys was already laughing again speaking softly to Jacaerys. It wasn’t until the torches of the garden were far behind them, swallowed by the cold halls of the Keep, that Alren finally spoke.
"You’re lucky," he said under his breath, his tone dark. "Lucky they’re not worse. Luckier still that they seem to genuinely like you."
Emrys said nothing, swallowing past the knot in his throat. "But don’t mistake liking for loyalty," Alren continued, his voice grim. "They're dragons, Emrys. Even the gentlest ones can burn you if you get too close."
Emrys lowered his head, the chill of the stone corridors seeping into his skin.
He didn’t disagree.
But as he walked in Alren’s shadow, the lingering memory of Jacaerys’s quiet voice "You’re different. You feel real." wrapped around him like a whisper of warmth he couldn’t shake.
Even if he knew he should.