Chapter Text
Lucerys I
Luke frantically hit the call button. Straight to voicemail. Again.
This is not fucking happening.
His grandfather’s corpse was still warm and here he was frantically calling his mother, not to warn her of her father’s death, no. He had to warn her that they were going to call a meeting of the board. His family was bunch of sick fucks.
He hurried through the maze of rooms that made up what his family called the Red Keep: a monstrous abode in the middle of King’s Landing that they’d built generations ago when they had turned the stinking little town into a world class manufacturing hub. It was a bit of a joke, but it still smacked of pretention. Unlike the rest of the Targaryen clan, he didn’t consider them practically royalty. They were just another filthy rich Westerosi family in his opinion, albeit the most filthy rich and politically connected family on the continent.
Outside the sky was bleak. Appropriate, he thought. He wondered if the weather would hold for a flight to Dragonstone or if he’d be forced to stay in the city. Then again, his mother wasn’t on Dragonstone right now, so what good would going there do? What was he supposed to do? This should have been Jace. Jace would have known what to do right now. Unfortunately, Jace wasn’t the one who had decided to stop in at King’s Landing on his way home from the Citadel to see his grandfather in a foolish fit of sentimentality. This was what he got for trusting his feelings. He'd had a feeling he should see his grandfather. Well, he’d seen him alright. He’d seen him last night looking like a living corpse, and this morning he was dead.
Luke’s mind was racing a mile a minute and his breaths were coming faster and more unevenly. He was not going to have a panic attack. Not here. Not now. He bent over to rest his hands on his knees and tried to calm himself.
“Alright there, nephew?”
Lucerys might have yelped. He spun around, though he didn’t need to. He knew that voice so well he heard it in his dreams. There was his uncle Aemond in all his terrifying glory sitting astride his immaculately maintained vintage motorcycle. His long, white-blond hair wasn’t the slightest bit mussed so he must be going, not coming. Luke had thought that at least one thing had gone right on this trip and that was not running into Aemond. So much for that.
“I’m fine.” What did you say to someone who hated you whose dad just died? No matter what his mother and his family might say about accidents, Luke knew Aemond’s hatred was not without justification. Every time he saw the eye patch he had to fight not to flinch. He’d only been five, but Aemond had been only ten, when Luke had taken a kitchen knife to his eye during a four-on-one scuffle after his aunt Laena’s funeral. Aemond had admittedly started it, sort of, but Luke had certainly finished it. He shifted uncomfortably thinking about the incident and about what he should say to Aemond now.
“Look, I’m sorry about,” he started.
“Don’t bother.”
Luke made a frustrated sound. “Do you have to be such an ass all the time? I was only trying to say I’m sorry about your dad.”
“What about my father?”
“Uh, you know… that he died?”
“Oh. Did he, now? I supposed I missed it.” Aemond’s voice betrayed no emotion, but Luke could see in his eyes that he’d been caught off guard.
He didn’t know. Shit. I’m such an idiot. “I – I…” he stammered.
“You what?”
“I thought you knew. I thought you were leaving not getting here. I mean your hair looks so nice. Whose hair looks like that after riding a motorcycle? Where even were you? It’s 7 a.m. How could you be getting home now?” Luke was babbling. He babbled when he was nervous, and nothing made him nervous like Aemond.
Aemond surveyed him coolly through his lilac eye. He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“You seem like you could use a smoke,” he said with a smirk.
“What?” asked Luke, dumbfounded.
“A fag. Do you want one?” he replied, as though Luke was simple.
“Oh. Uh. No. No thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“Suit yourself.” He put a cigarette to his lips and lit it with one of those cool flip-top lighters Luke had always wanted.
He stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other alternating between watching Aemond smoke and looking anywhere but at his uncle. He was going to give himself whiplash any moment now. He knew he should leave, but he felt rooted to the spot. His mother wasn’t answering the phone, Jace was at the Eyrie and would be no more able than him to reach their mother, there was nothing he could do to stop them from calling the board meeting, and Gods damn it, his grandfather had just died. He needed a fucking second. Suddenly he felt reckless. He took a step forward and then another. Aemond raised a perfect silver eyebrow at him.
“Uh, might be I could do with a smoke after all.” This was the most civil conversation he’d had with the man since he was five years old, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could rule out getting punched still, but he was sick of standing there like an idiotic child. He was 20, not five. Maybe Aemond was extending an olive branch, maybe this was a temporary truce. He didn’t know. But whatever it was, he was going to take it because he needed to do something right now.
Aemond took the cigarette from his mouth and extended it out to him. Luke stared. That wasn’t what he’d meant, but Aemond was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t want to make any more a fool of himself than he already had. He took another couple steps forward and reached out to take it. Luke couldn’t help but notice that his uncle’s hand dwarfed his own. Against all odds, considering his parentage, he’d remained on the small side. His “dad” and his dad had both been large men, so there really was no reason for him to have topped out at 5’8”, but here he was, almost a full head shorter than Aemond and aware of every inch of it.
Luke brought the cigarette to his lips, fully cognizant of the fact that Aemond’s eye was boring into him. He felt his cheeks flushing. He took an experimental puff and blew out. It wasn’t so bad.
“You didn’t inhale.”
“Oh,” Luke replied, stupidly. Apparently, he didn’t know how to inhale.
“When you think you’ve done it, suck in again.”
This was so bizarre. He had just told the person who hated him most in the world that his dad had died, done it in the worst possible way, and now they were sharing a cigarette that he didn’t even know how to smoke properly. The world was starting to tilt sideways on him. Still, nothing to do but to carry on he supposed. He took another drag and tried to do as Aemond had said. He immediately started hacking up a lung. He coughed so loud he could barely hear Aemond laughing at him. Luke looked up to glare at his uncle through watery eyes. Aemond smirked and plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a puff blowing out a perfect ring of smoke.
“Show off,” Luke croaked. He was determined to do this right, however, so against his better judgement he reached out and took the cigarette right from Aemond’s mouth as he was taking a second drag. This time he managed to suppress the intense urge to cough, but he probably looked like he was constipated while doing it. Aemond took it back and they stood there as the minutes passed silently passing the offensive stick back and forth.
“I’m sorry I told you about your dad how I did.”
“Why? Dead is dead no matter how you say it.”
Aemond had never been the sentimental type. Or perhaps he had been once, and he’d lost it. Either way this was Aemond as Luke had always known him: stoic, cold, matter of fact. He had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He passed the now-short cigarette back and Aemond stubbed it out on the bottom of his boot.
“Well, run along to your mummy now.” With that, he swung a leg over the bike with a grace that Luke could never hope to emulate and headed towards the doors without another word or look back.