Chapter Text
"By the Gods, Daemon, couldn't you at least use a bag or something?"
"Looks perfectly fine to me," said Daemon, severed head held up high for everyone to see. "Might keep it as an accessory. Caraxes will love it."
"It's dripping all over the floor."
"Part of my duties as Prince-Consort will involve guaranteeing reliable employment for the citizens of King's Landing." Daemon gestured at the bloody trail he'd left behind them. "Bloody mess equals employment."
Rhaenys looked like she was one word away from clobbering him.
"Ser Lorent, could you please escort the Queen Dowager to her former apartments in the Holdfast," said Rhaenys, pointedly ignoring Daemon and his newest toy. "I don't see any point in making this more difficult than it already is."
"I don't know, I think it'd be a pretty good—"
"Daemon!"
"Alright, alright, go get the shrew," conceded the older prince. "And do be quick about it. I want to get this done while it's still fresh."
It took every ounce of willpower and self-control that he possessed for Aemond not to snort at the sight of his uncle waving around Larys Strong's severed head like it was nothing more than a tourney trophy, meant to be ohhhed and ahhhed at by a captivated crowd. Unfortunately for Daemon though, his cousin also just happened to be one of those rare people who wasn't impressed by either trophies or tourneys.
"Must you do that?"
"I'm just taking your advice and trying to get the worst of the blood out before bringing it back inside." Daemon kicked open a nearby door and literally shook the head out in the pouring rain. "See, less bloody already."
Rhaenys sighed. "It's past midnight, Daemon."
"Your point?"
"We'd have been finished hours ago if you'd just left him to the black cells."
"I wasn't about to let him leave that room alive," said Daemon. "The man's a fuckin' cockroach. He probably would've found some way to escape."
"With no hands or feet?"
"I wasn't taking any chances. Not with the boys."
That last statement seemed to quell whatever misgivings Rhaenys had left, fingers tightening around the letters that Ser Harrold had given her. Aemond, meanwhile, kept his mouth shut and stood off to the side, slightly anxious at the thought of having to see his mother any moment now. The older Targaryen seemed to sense this, because she turned to Aemond a few seconds later and pinned him with a sharp, knowing gaze.
"I have several duties I need to attend to, including delivering these letters to the rookery and checking in with the City Watch," said Rhaenys. "Why don't you accompany me, Prince Aemond?"
Despite her benign tone, Aemond could tell that this wasn't a suggestion.
"Of course."
Rhaenys gestured for him to follow her further down the hallway and away from where Daemon would be heading, purposely taking him in the opposite direction of the Tower of the Hand. If Rhaenys was expecting him to object, then Aemond was more than happy to defy her expectations. He knew that she was testing him, waiting to see if he'd try anything aggressive or mutinous against the Blacks' cause.
"I would like to thank you again for sending Ser Erryk to me," said Rhaenys as they walked past the Small Hall. "With the chaos of you and your brother's departure, it was quite easy to make our escape to the Dragonpit. Leaving the city without Meleys was never even an option for me."
"The choice was obvious," said Aemond. "I just did what had to be done."
"Your mother and grandfather don't seem to agree with that statement. They have been quite vocal about not understanding your choice of actions."
"That speaks more to their observational abilities than mine."
He received a sidelong look after saying this, Rhaenys' eyes narrowed and flinty as she tried to parse out what was true and what was not in his vague explanation. It was strange, how Aemond felt more exposed and vulnerable under his aunt's gaze than he'd ever felt when under his own mother's. He tried not to think too much on what this could mean for him and his future interactions with Lucerys.
Perhaps some... partial honesty was called for with this particular conversation.
"My brother has never desired the throne, nor has he tried to hide this lack of desire, either," said Aemond. "He spends almost all of his time in Flea Bottom, carousing and drinking and fucking his way through the city's whorehouses and underground fighting pits. Learning the art of kingship and good governance has never been a priority to him. Being a halfway decent father and husband, even less so. If he could spend his entire life being the spare, he would gladly accept such a fate. My mother knows this. Grandfather knows this. The entire keep knows this."
Every word Aemond spoke was true. Rhaenys herself had seen on multiple occasions how irresponsible and selfish Aegon was, with the oldest prince even puking into a flower pot after one particularly tense dinner three years ago. Their father had been too high on milk of the poppy to pay Aegon much mind, but Aemond could remember the pinched look on his aunt's face throughout the meal.
She'd left on Meleys early the next morning. Not that Aemond could blame her, considering how indifferent his mother and grandfather had acted during the visit. Aemond himself had been encouraged to avoid Rhaenys whenever possible, his mother's usual warnings about Rhaenyra and her bastard children extending to their grandmother as well by that point.
"The realm would've suffered greatly under my brother's rule, if only because it wouldn't even be considered a priority to him."
"It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this."
Aemond shrugged. "It's impossible not to when you live under the same roof. And Mother speaks often of duty and serving the realm, but has never been able to enforce such a mentality onto Aegon. He doesn't understand restraint."
"And do you?"
"What?"
"Understand the importance of restraint," said Rhaenys, voice mild and not unkind. "Because I feel like that is a very important question to ask of someone who rides the oldest and largest dragon in the world. Especially someone as young as yourself who hasn't had any formal guidance from older, more experienced dragon riders. When it comes to dragons, no matter their size, nothing is more important than being in control of yourself."
Aemond didn't know what to say.
"It's something I always have to be mindful of when riding Meleys. She has been my constant companion for more than fifty years now, but that doesn't mean that I have complete control of her, either. She has her own mind and has pushed back against me on many occasions. A dragon-rider who has no restraint or control over their own emotions has no business being a dragon-rider."
"You..." Aemond licked his lips before continuing, "You were formally taught how to ride?"
"Of course! It's Valyrian tradition for an older family member to teach a child how to properly bond with and ride their dragon. My father and grandmother were my formal teachers, but it was also quite common for me to learn things from other family members as well. Your grandfather Baelon often flew with me in my earliest years. Did you know that he rode Vhagar, too?"
Rhaenys' question sounded like sand in his ears, for Aemond was struck more than a little dumb by what he was hearing. As far as he knew, neither he nor his siblings had ever been formally trained or guided by older dragon-riders. The only organized instruction they'd ever had had been through the dragon-keepers at the Dragonpit and for a short time, through secretly observing Rhaenyra and Laenor when they had still lived in King's Landing.
Every single experienced dragon-rider in their extended family—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena—had been viewed as an enemy by the Hightowers, so Aemond and his siblings had just had to learn how to ride on their own. And bonding or controlling their dragons? That knowledge just had to come from their chronically absent father or tattered Valyrian history books.
It was frustrating to think that assistance had always been within reach and yet they'd been denied outright, time and time again.
"Umm, yes, I knew. But nothing beyond that."
"We will have to remedy that then," said Rhaenys with a decisive nod. "Better late than never, I suppose would apply quite well here. But now, while we're still on the topic of dragons, I think that we need to talk about the problem in the middle bailey."
Aemond held back a wince at the reminder.
They had stopped under a covered archway that led out to the central courtyards, rain still pouring down as the storm raged outside. In the murky darkness lurked his ol' girl's massive form, taking up almost every bit of available space between the Great Hall and middle walls. Unfortunately for Vhagar, her immense size meant that Aemond didn't have any place available near King's Landing where she could fully escape the elements. Being left out in the rain was pretty standard for them, whether it be in the Red Keep's middle bailey or the shores south of the city.
"I don't presume to know what's been going through your head over the last few days," said Rhaenys, tone smooth and non-judgemental, "But if you plan to stay, then I would advise moving Vhagar by morning."
"Yeah, I don't usually land her here."
"I should certainly hope not. But still, poor ol' girl, always stuck outside in the chilly rain," lamented the older woman. "My Laena used to feel just terrible about it. And at her current size, I doubt even the topless towers of Old Valyria would've been able to support her weight."
As if she could hear the two Targaryens talking shit about her, Vhagar's huge head suddenly came out of the inky darkness to stare down at them, long neck twisting at what must've been a dreadfully awkward angle to get a closer look. Aemond watched Rhaenys out of the corner of his eye, more than a little impressed by how she took Vhagar's approach without a single flinch. It was rare for Aemond to encounter someone who wasn't terrified of her.
Rhaenys gave him a knowing smile when she noticed his stare, fearlessly taking a few steps closer to better see the curious dragon. To Aemond, it was a welcome sight. Not even the dragon-keepers liked to come near Vhagar anymore, too concerned by her sheer size and grizzled features to pay her half as much attention as Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Tessarion.
His mother wouldn't even touch her.
"Don't act surprised. My daughter rode Vhagar for more than fifteen years," said Rhaenys with a small smile. "I am accustomed to her presence."
"She appears to remember you."
"I spent many an afternoon with Laena picking and pulling overgrown scales off of her throat and other hard to reach places. Vhagar always tolerated it remarkably well. Never once tried to step on us," she laughed. "And Gods know that the sand dunes around Driftmark were a perfect sunbathing spot for her."
His aunt's eyes glazed over a little when she said this, obviously remembering a time when Vhagar belonged to a sweet-natured girl with dark skin, curly white hair, and an infectious laugh. Laena Velaryon was everything Aemond Targaryen was not, and Aemond couldn't help but wonder if the Queen Who Never Was still resented him for taking the chance to claim Vhagar from her youngest granddaughter.
"But anyways," said Rhaenys in an obvious change of subject, "Figure out how to move her by morning. And try not to demolish anything while doing it."
"I might not be able to guarantee that."
"Well, at least make sure it's nothing more than a wall or two. That's easier to repair than a whole building." Rhaenys had started to walk again, Aemond only a few steps behind. He could still feel Ser Harrold's eyes watching him like a hawk. "And if we're being honest, the middle bailey was due for a renovation, anyways. I never much liked what your father had done with the place."
They both knew that it was his mother who had remodeled the central courtyard, not his father.
"She should be able to take off over the northern walls—in the direction of the Iron Gate—without causing too much damage," said Aemond. "The courtyard is probably a lost cause, though. I'm pretty sure that Vhagar landed right on the fountain."
His aunt hummed in response, footsteps swift as she brought them to a little used meeting room. There were two fully-armored men waiting at the room's single table, gold cloaks clearly signifying what faction they were associated with. Aemond recognized both from prior attendances at the Small Council. His grandfather hadn't been pleased by having to deal with either man, complaining on multiple occasions about their continued loyalty to Prince Daemon and the dangerous designs that the Rogue Prince had instilled into the police force.
"Ser Luthor, Ser Balon."
"Princess."
"How goes the situation in the city?" asked Rhaenys, getting right down to the first order of business. "Ser Harrold was able to give me a short briefing on the current conditions, but a little more detail would be much appreciated."
Aemond immediately felt the eyes of both men turn to him, with Ser Balon Byrch not even attempting to hide his displeasure about Aemond being there to hear their reports. His aunt took their response in stride and gestured for Aemond to sit in a plush chair directly behind her own.
"Do not worry about the young prince," said Rhaenys once she was seated. "He is under my supervision for the time being and we will not be discussing anything that he could use against us even if he wished to. Now, good Sers, let's hear the state of things around the city."
While keeping himself as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, Aemond learned that although his grandfather had installed Green loyalists as officers of the City's Watch, the rank-and-file gold cloaks were still almost fanatically loyal to their founder and former lord commander, Daemon. The mere sight of Caraxes above the city's walls had been enough for the gold cloaks to openly revolt and throw open all seven of the city's gates within less than an hour. Aemond's maternal uncle and second-in-command of the City Watch, Gwayne Hightower, had been slain by Ser Luthor Largent himself.
Considering his uncle's combined bad habit of being overconfident and misjudging people's characters, Aemond wasn't too surprised to learn that he'd been caught and executed early in the takeover. Gwayne rarely ever saw anything coming until it was too late.
Apparently, only replacing the officers in the City Watch had cost the Hightowers dearly. Outnumbered ten-to-one, it had been easy for the non-commissioned gold cloaks to slaughter their Green-appointed superiors. And without a king to be officially loyal to, the Kingsguard hadn't been much better, with Ser Harrold sneaking into the Keep and rallying Black loyalists to his side. Any who opposed them had either been put to the sword or thrown into the black cells, which had been promptly emptied of those who had refused to pledge to Aegon II and replaced with those who willingly had. Without the two princes and their dragons, King's Landing and the Red Keep had fallen to the Blacks in less than twenty-four hours.
The Greens had literally banked their entire victory on Aegon, Aemond, and their dragons. Most specifically, Vhagar.
With everybody and their mother having witnessed Vhagar's departure from Visenya's Hill, it had been impossible for the Hightowers and their supporters to prevent the spread of rumors into every corner of the city. Aegon the Exile, was what everyone was now calling his older brother. A first-born son who didn't want the throne and also didn't want to usurp the former king's chosen heir. A second-born son who helped his elder brother escape a miserable fate that would have almost certainly plunged the realm into civil war.
It was the stuff of epic tales and the people of King's Landing were eating it up like lemon cakes at a mid-summer festival. There was no going back from this, at least not for the Hightowers. Not even Aemond's cooperation would guarantee success at this point.
As Rhaenys asked after the smallfolk and how they were handling the recent chaos, Aemond felt his good eye and shoulders begin to slowly droop, the voices around him blending together as a bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up to him. He hadn't slept for more than a combined ten hours in five days and despite what Aemond liked to think about himself and his training, there was just no way that a human body could keep going with so little rest. That, combined with the plush cushions of the armchair, proved to be too much for even Aemond to resist for long.
With the fuzzy curtain of slumber pulling him under, Aemond couldn't help but wonder if this would be his very last time in the waking world. For he was surrounded on all sides by enemies and without Rhaenys' constant presence, he was little more than walking target practice to almost everyone that was still freely moving about the keep. Unfortunately, even with knowing this, there was little that Aemond could do to stop his body and mind from succumbing to its desperate need for sleep.
For most people, going to sleep was a gradual process, with the brain and body slowly turning off the parts that weren't necessary for slumber. After that was done, the weird ambience of a dream would usually set in, only distinguishable from the real world by the near-constant feeling of something being just not quite right. Helaena had once called this the syrup effect, claiming that it was the main way she could tell her real dreams apart from her not-real dreams. When Aegon had laughed at her for this, Helaena had just leaned over and asked him how dancing with an octopus and two basilisks had gone.
For who knows what reason, Aegon had snapped his mouth shut, swallowed an entire glassful of wine in one go, and then wouldn't look anybody in the eye for the rest of the day. It had been wonderful. And Helaena had looked genuinely proud of herself for having caused it.
However, if Aegon had been hoping that their sister would reveal something similarly weird about Aemond's dreams, then he would be waiting a very long time. She didn't say anything to her middle brother because, unlike Helaena or Aegon, it was rare for Aemond to dream at all.
"A dream of knots," Helaena had said to him one day several years ago. "You're supposed to have a dream of knots. But you don't."
His sister had looked terribly upset by this bizarre revelation.
"It's clouded by green muck, coming from all sides. You should be able to see them, but you can't. It's the green muck's fault."
Despite not understanding what she was saying, Aemond had at least tried to follow whatever peculiar logic Helaena was using to interpret his dreams, or lack thereof. She had seemed so serious, so desperate to explain why knots being choked in green was so important. However, as happened so often, nothing she said had made a lick of sense to Aemond. It had sounded like nothing more than gibberish at the time. But now, four years later...
Now the knots made a little more sense.
And that was why Aemond didn't freak out when he saw that both of his hands were suddenly covered in knotted strings. The fingers on his right hand twitched up and down, one large knot almost completely restricting the movement of his middle and pointer fingers. His left hand wasn't quite as confined, with each finger having one or two distinctly separate strings knotted around the knuckles. For a moment, he wondered what their purpose was.
"We're here."
As if underwater, Aemond's head slowly turned to look at three men standing to his right. Had they been there before? This wasn't like him not to notice.
"Now, here's how it's gonna go."
Aemond looked around him, eyes roving up and down a long hallway that was unfamiliar to him. None of the three men seemed to notice that he was standing there, too busy whispering amongst each other to see a fourth person standing right behind them. Or maybe they couldn't see him? Aemond was quickly beginning to believe it was the latter because at least two of them had looked right at and then through him more than once.
"The littler ones are just down that corridor," said the biggest man. "We'll get them last."
"What about the girls?"
"Not our top priority. Take out the bastards first, and then the younger boys. We'll get the girls last if we can."
"Fuck, it's raining again."
It only took a few seconds for Aemond's foggy brain to realize that these were the assassins. These were the men that Larys Strong and his grandfather had sent to kill Rhaenyra's children. And Aemond was just standing there like a calcified lump, unable to move his body to strike them down like the pathetic little cockroaches that they were. His fingers twitched, desperate to draw his sword and bathe the walls in their blood. But he couldn't because his fucking fingers wouldn't move except in the—
In the direction of that door over there.
As if controlled by some outside source, Aemond turned to stare at a door about fifteen feet to his right, feet starting to move on their own accord a few seconds later. It was as close to an out-of-body experience as Aemond had ever had, a cold shiver running down his spine when he literally passed straight through the closed door like a ghost from his childhood storybooks. He wondered if this was how Helaena felt every time she had one of her weird dream-like episodes.
Nothing about this was pleasant, so he certainly hoped not.
The room he'd passed into was about half the size of his own bedchamber at the Red Keep. It was filled with all of the usual things you'd find in a bedroom, including a full-sized bed, two wardrobes, a writing desk, matching night tables, plush Myrish carpets, and several benches that were covered in blankets and what appeared to be dragon-riding gear. When Aemond ventured a little further into the room, his eyes were drawn to a small lump on the bed, two mangled pillows and a blob of brown hair just barely peeking out of the quilt.
Joffrey, his mind supplied. Daemon said that Joffrey had been sleeping in Lucerys' room when the attack happened.
So, if that was little Joffrey in the bed, then that meant that Lucerys had to be somewhere else in the room. Aemond looked down at his hands, fingers wiggling when the knots seemed to pull a little tighter around each knuckle. He walked to the bedroom's middle, eyes glued on the black strings that seemed to be leading to the far side of the chamber. It was only after Aemond was a few feet from the opposite wall that he noticed a small alcove to his left, almost completely hidden in the darkness thanks to its positioning in a slanted corner.
And there, amongst a carefully organized pile of pillows and blankets, was Lucerys.
Everything in the world seemed to grind to a sudden halt. The only sounds that Aemond could hear besides his own pounding heart were that of quiet breathing from the nearby bed and the distinct patter of rain against the window panes. His hands started to shake, black threads seeming to dance and flutter with excitement as he took one unsteady step closer to the younger boy. Even if this was only a dream, that didn't change the fact that suddenly being so close to Lucerys was more than enough to make his mind practically explode with anxiety and exhilaration.
It was the most overwhelming feeling he'd ever felt in his life.
The strings vibrated harder and harder with each step forward he took, pulling him towards Lucerys like a Walano butterfly drawn to the afternoon sun. It was only when he was close enough to see Lucerys' face in the darkness that Aemond's body no longer felt like it was going to burst apart at the seams, good eye watching as Lucerys' whole body leaned forward to look at something deeper within the pile of blankets and pillows.
"I think you're getting close," whispered Lucerys, voice so quiet that Aemond could scarcely hear him. "Just another day or two and you're gonna be a mama, Sweetpea. What do you think? Are you ready for that?"
Ah, yes, Daemon had mentioned a pregnant cat.
"My mother says that you'll be able to do it all on your own, that it just comes natural. Like she did with me and my brothers. But I don't know..." If he listened closely, Aemond could hear the distinct sound of purring coming from the blanket pile. "That seems like an awful lot for someone as little as yourself."
He watched as Luke leaned over to pick up a small dish and spoon that were sitting just outside of the alcove. The young prince grimaced for a moment, obviously none too happy about the smell, but still scooped up a spoonful to manually feed to the cat.
"I ordered this from the kitchens," said Lucerys, "It's your favorite. See? Roasted tuna in gravy."
Lucerys had just coaxed the cat into eating a few mouthfuls when the quiet sound of something rubbing against the window could be heard from the far side of the room. Despite already knowing what was going to happen, Aemond couldn't stop himself from reaching for his sword, good eye fixed on a now fully opened window that was several feet away from Lucerys' writing desk. And there, dripping with rainwater and muddied stone fragments, was a dark-skinned man who rivaled Aemond in both height and weight.
Heart in his throat, Aemond looked over to the alcove and saw that Lucerys had crouched down into the pillows, head just barely peeking around the corner to see what had made that sound. Aemond could tell exactly when Lucerys realized what level of danger he and his little brother were in, because the dark-haired prince quite literally flinched back when he spotted the intruder moving away from the window and further into his bedroom.
More specifically, towards his bed.
Never before had Aemond felt as powerless as he did right then, physically incapable of helping Lucerys fend off an executioner that was easily twice his weight and more than a full head taller to boot. All he could do was stand there and watch as a panicked look washed over Lucerys' face, pale cheeks draining of all blood as he watched the intruder stalk towards his baby brother. When the man was within eight feet of the bed, Aemond saw something pinched and fierce pass over Lucerys' eyes, the younger prince slowly crawling out of the alcove and towards a nearby bench.
Yet again, despite knowing what was going to happen, Aemond couldn't help but feel his heart lurch at the sight of Lucerys out in the open. Thankfully, the boy's smaller stature came in handy for once, allowing him to move beneath the intruder's field of vision and grab the sturdiest thing he could find. And then, when the familiar sound of a blade being drawn reached their ears, Aemond could only watch as Lucerys lunged out of the inky darkness and used every ounce of his weight to swing and smash the heavy chamber pot against his would-be assassin's face.
The sound of bones shattering filled the room, little Joffrey waking up with a startled yelp as his brother grabbed another heavy object—a brass candelabra this time—and brought it down onto the crumbled man's back again and again. Aemond could see broken pieces of the chamber pot laying all over the floor, thick trails of blood and what must've been teeth strewn around it.
"Get outta the way, Joff! Outta the way!"
The littlest Velaryon didn't have to be told twice and quickly ran over to hide behind his brother. But, to Aemond's surprise, the kid didn't seem to be completely useless, either. The first thing Joffrey did when he was out of harm's way was to rustle through a nearby pile of clothes and pull a small dagger out from one of the pockets. Then he ran back to his brother and handed him the knife.
"Luke! Take this!"
By this point, Lucerys had beaten the intruder into complete submission. From where he was standing, Aemond couldn't even tell if the man was still alive, face mangled beyond recognition and back likely broken from Luke's repeated blows. And now, the little prince was standing over him with a knife, hand steady as he waited to see if there was any fight—or life—left in their attacker.
"Did you..." stammered Joffrey after a half-minute, "Did you kill him?"
"I don't know."
"He's not moving."
"Yeah."
"Then he's gotta be dead, right? Or brain broken."
"I mean, that's what—"
"Should we—"
"No, you stay behind me. There could be more and—"
The sudden sound of a body slamming into the door startled both boys, heads snapping to look at the twisting doorknob. Lucerys pushed Joffrey into the alcove and then threw a pile of blankets over him, just barely diving back towards his bed as the door burst open. Aemond watched as the shortest of the assassins came racing into the room, eyes wild as if he was being chased by—
"Ahhhhhh!"
No sooner had the man stepped next to the bed, than there was a knife sticking out of the back of his left thigh. Aemond's lips twisted into a proud smirk when he saw Luke come rolling out from underneath the bed, pulling said knife out of his attacker and immediately lining up for another strike. It would've been a beautifully vicious strike too, if the shorter assassin hadn't tripped over his own compatriot and went crashing to the pottery-strewn floor.
"Luke! Are you—"
"Stay over there! I've got to—"
The assassin grabbed Lucerys' leg as he struggled to stand up, teeth gnashing as he snarled, "You little fuckin' bastard! I'm gonna cut out your fuckin' eye for that! An eye for an eye! Gonna give it to—"
"Luke, don't let him—"
"The prince and then I'll get whatever I want for killin'—"
"Luke!"
"Your fuckin' worthless piece o'—"
The second assassin never got to finish his last insult before Lucerys slammed another chamber pot down onto his head, knocking the poor bastard out in one hit. Luke had obviously grabbed it from under the bed and had been fully prepared to use it as a bludgeoning weapon for a second time.
Knowing the fate of the third assassin, Aemond could feel the tension ooze out of his muscles, neck stiff from the pressure that had coiled up in his shoulders. He wasn't surprised to see Lucerys in a mild state of shock, hands shaking as the adrenaline came down and sense of immediate danger started to dissipate. It was only the sound of his name being called, of little Joffrey crawling out of the alcove that seemed to snap Lucerys out of his spiraling mental state.
"Luke!"
"Oh Gods, Joff," cried Lucerys, arms wrapping around his brother to hold him tight. "It's alright. I think... I think I got 'em."
As the little boy began to cry, pounding footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. In less than a minute, three guards were bursting through the broken door, swords raised and ready as they looked for intruders. And not far behind them was a frantic-looking Corlys Velaryon, eyes wide as he took in the damaged state of his middle grandson's bedchambers.
"Oh, boys."
Aemond could feel something pulling at him right then, everything going just a little more fuzzy around the edges as more and more people piled into the prince's room. When he looked down, another knot was tying itself around his right ring finger, black thread stretching across the room to where it was solidly attached to Lucerys' own hand. Even while being fussed over by his grandfather, Aemond could see Lucerys looking down at his right hand, a puzzled expression on his face as he turned it this way and that. The movement prompted Corlys to grab the boy's hand and gently examine it for any injuries.
"Does it feel stiff, lad? Maybe you dummied it during the confrontation."
"I don't know."
The entire dream world seemed to fade out after that, fluttering away into little pieces until only a distorted vision of Lucerys was left. Aemond couldn't stop it, couldn't even move, but he could hear Lucerys' last words as everything faded to black.
"I can feel something... warm, I think."