Chapter Text
Aemond is gone only a week, and already Lucerys misses him.
They aren’t apart often, nor do they travel much now that they’ve settled in High Tide. Luke was sure he would hate the place (and he does dislike Driftmark) but it’s grown on him in the last year and a half, and he finds he can get lost in the day-to-day safety of his new position learning under his grandfather. It allows them both to separate themselves from memory of the war, and the machinations of King’s Landing.
When Alicent sent a raven weeks ago, begging Aemond to come and visit her in Oldtown, Luke couldn’t bring himself to request Aemond stay.
It’s easy enough to put Aemond’s absence from his mind during the day--grandmother and grandfather keep Luke busy enough that he doesn’t have a moment to think about anything other than trading-sailing-missives-Lucerys, did you speak to the captain of the Good Queen about their supply order?
Yes, grandfather, Luke did.
When they all eat together, Aemond’s absence is much more notable. He has no one to roll his eyes to when grandfather Corlys begins to tell another story about his time at sea--it’s almost always the same story told in a different way--and while Aemond isn’t there to agree with grandmother Rhaenys when she talks about how thin Luke is (he is a growing boy! He is tall and lightly muscled , not starving), he almost wishes he was.
But more than anything, it’s noticeable when Luke is crawling into a big, empty featherbed at night.
Luke only has another week to suffer through it though, which is something his grandfather reminds him of periodically throughout the day. Usually, it’s when Luke is staring listlessly at the sea, or watching the horizon, as though Vhagar will appear early, swooping low enough to rock the ships.
He’s leaning out over a balcony one evening, eyeing the purpling sky, wondering how long it will take Vhagar to cover the distance between Oldtown and High Tide. It’s unseasonably warm, and he knows the old dragon loves taking her time when the air is humid and soup-thick.
Luke is wiping away the sweat from his forehead when his grandmother comes to stand beside him. Her hair is the silver of age, not Targaryens, these days, pulled tightly behind her in a series of complicated braids and twists. There is something so regal about Rhaenys Targaryen, even in the comfort of her home. Her spine of steel, her eternally calm expression, her careful way with words.
She doesn’t lean against the bannister the way he does, but her hands come to grasp it, rings glinting in the fading light. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Luke agrees. He can hear the longing in both their voices as they stare at the sky. Luke wasn’t the only one to lose his dragon in the war. Sometimes he can scarcely look at the sky for want of a flight, of dipping through the clouds with Arrax. “We never got sunsets like this on Dragonstone.”
“No,” Rhaenys agrees. “The fog and mist are too thick. It’s similar the closer you get to Driftmark; I think that’s why your grandfather loves High Tide so much.” She presses closer to him, and not for the first time Luke is surprised that he is now taller than his grandmother. Her shoulder hits his own, leant up against the bannister as he is. She smells of the sea, citrus, and very faintly, of the sky. It reminds him of Laenor, being tucked up with him on a chair while he tells the three of them a story.
They speak a bit more, but eventually Luke says, “Apologies, grandmother, but I need to go inside where it’s cooler. I’m so warm.”
Rhaenys furrows her brows, reaching out to press a hand to his forehead. "Gods, you are burning up, Lucerys." The wind picks up then, blowing his curls into his eyes. When he's finished shoving them back from his face, his grandmother's face is grave.
What Luke means to ask, only he shifts away from the bannister and feels it then, the warmth between his thighs. A stone sinks in his gut, and his grandmother purses her lips. "Oh." Luke's voice is faint, embarrassed. How very like him to go into heat whilst Aemond is gone to visit his mother.
Rhaenys nods, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Come now, dear. We'll set you up in your rooms, and I will send a raven to Aemond."
Lucerys is a miserable, overheated mess when Aemond finally bursts into their chambers.
Shifting within his nest, Luke whimpers upon seeing Aemond, whose nostrils are flared, lone pupil blown wide as he scents the heat steadily building beneath Luke’s skin like an inferno. “I was certain you would miss it,” Luke mumbles, shivering under the weight of Aemond’s gaze. He is sure he looks a mess--the last two and a half days have been nothing more than sweat, slick, and tears.
Aemond tears out of his riding clothes quickly, dropping them to the floor as he stalks closer to the bed. He is windswept, face red and lips chapped from the wind, and comfortingly cool as he lowers himself into Luke’s embrace, mouthing along the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He licks at the bond mark there, and Luke melts into him.
He had brought himself to climax just before Aemond arrived, fingers buried deep and beginning to prune from the slick leaking steadily from his cunt. The recent release does not temper the fever, though, and Luke can feel the heat beginning to build once more in his core, his cock filling as Aemond presses wet kisses along his throat, his collarbones.
“Please kiss me hello,” Luke begs.
Aemond lifts his head, pressing his mouth hungrily to Luke’s. Oh how Luke has missed this. He reaches up to curl his fingers into Aemond’s hair, keeping him close. His husband pulls away slightly, chuckling when Luke tries to chase him. “Hello, little omega.”
“Hello,” Luke sighs. Aemond smells of the wind and dragon, of leather and fire. “Now please make me feel better.”
“So needy.” Aemond leans away from Luke, despite his protests. “Have you been a good boy whilst I’ve been away?” His gaze drags down the front of Lucerys, tongue peeking out to swipe along his lips as he takes in the deep flush darkening Luke’s chest, neck, and face. He lingers at the long, ugly scar along his side. Luke squirms at that look, reaching to fist his cock.
Aemond tuts, knocking his hand away. “Answer the question.” He presses Luke’s hand into the bed, ignoring Luke’s whines. The scent of alpha is steadily filling the space around them, until it’s the only thing Luke can smell or taste.
“Unless you were bad,” Aemond muses, leaning down to press his mouth along the soft skin of Luke’s inner thigh. It is tacky with sweat and Luke’s earlier releases and he reaches for Aemond’s head with a whimper when his uncle bites into the muscle. “It tastes like perhaps you were bad. How many times have you come?”
Luke twists, pressing his face into the pillows. Today is the first day he has been coherent, no longer rutting against the pillows in his nest or driving his fingers into himself; he couldn’t begin to guess how many times he came before now. And whatever answer he gives, he knows it will be the wrong one. There are tears caught in his lashes when he mutters, “You must be nice to me. You were late.”
Aemond is peppering kisses along his thighs--soft, featherlight things that are so at odds with the heat of his gaze. “I flew back here as soon as I got word,” Aemond promises. He is so close to Luke’s cunt, breath ghosting over it, flaming the fire burning there. Gods, he feels so empty. It didn’t matter how many fingers he used, because Luke could never replicate Aemond’s cock or knot. “My sweet little omega, gone into heat whilst I’ve been away.”
Luke is about to snap at him, when Aemond’s mouth finally descends on his cunt. He flattens his tongue and licks from Luke’s centre to the small bundle of nerves nestled in neat curls. He suckles Luke’s clit into his mouth, and the pressure is enough to send an already-tense Luke over the edge, thighs quivering as he digs his heels into the bedding on either side of Aemond.
Aemond’s satisfaction is a tangible thing, strong enough to burn Luke’s nose.
His husband continues lapping at him gently, as though he means to drain Luke dry. He even slides up, mouthing along Luke’s softening cock and belly to clean the spend there. It is both too much and not enough--the first stimulation in days that Luke has found satisfying, even with the pain of over stimulation.
Aemond takes pity on him eventually, once his soft mouth has brought Luke back to the edge. Luke is a weeping mess when Aemond finally presses the tip of his cock to Luke’s cunt, catching it along the rim, dragging it through the slick gathered there.
“You will drive me to madness,” Luke sobs, reaching for Aemond. “Please, just do it. We can play later, but I cannot bear to be empty any longer. Husband, alpha--”
He is so slick that Aemond has no trouble sliding in to the hilt, hips pressing deliciously to Luke. It punches a breath from Aemond, and Luke is delighted when his husband sinks lower, catching himself on his elbows as he presses his chest to Luke’s. He is close enough to kiss, and Luke takes full advantage of it, pressing his mouth to Aemond’s in a filthy kiss, sucking his tongue into his mouth.
When Aemond begins to move, the sound of their coupling is slick and loud in the room, and Luke is a weepy, loud mess when he does not have Aemond’s mouth to occupy his own. Anyone passing by their chambers would know immediately what was happening, if they couldn’t smell it already, and Luke loves that. He thrives on the idea of people knowing how well Aemond fucks him, how well they please each other. He knows that his grandmother keeps most people away from this part of the keep when Luke’s heat hits, but it matters little.
Where Luke is loud, Aemond is quiet, reverential. He whispers High Valyrian into the shared breath between them, into Luke’s throat or hair or temple. His pleasure is Luke’s alone to covet, to protect. “ I have missed you dearly,” Aemond whispers now. His teeth press to the bond bite, worrying it anew. “ If I had known you would go into heat, I never would have left.”
“ Never leave again,” Luke reasons, smile impish when Aemond pulls away enough to look at him. Luke reaches up to peel away the eyepatch, sliding his thumb beneath the eye revealed to him. “ Stay and have me forever.” His mouth drops open when Aemond hits a spot inside him, sending lightning skittering up Luke’s spine. “ And do that forever.”
Aemond angles himself to hit it on each pass, hips punishing as they pump into him. His grin is savage before he kisses Luke into silence, swallowing his moans as he finishes once again. He squeals when Aemond’s knot presses against his rim once, twice, before it can no longer move easily, nestled just inside him, swelling with Aemond’s own climax.
His mama notices it first, which isn’t all that surprising.
When she first crushes Luke to her in the courtyard, surrounded by people who might expect more decorum from a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she nuzzles her nose to his hair, breathing deeply. There is a moment of stiffness from her, but Luke thinks nothing of it.
They are at court only a month after his heat and Aemond’s return for a tourney thrown in Jace and Baela’s new daughter’s honour.
He knows that Aemond is frustrated at travelling again after having been gone so recently, but more than that, he worries about Luke in the Red Keep. It has been nearly three years since Luke was a hostage there; he doesn’t fear it anymore than he fears flying on Vhagar now.
No, being back in the keep, flying with Vhagar and not Arrax--it is like pressing on an old bruise; not comfortable, but it no longer causes Luke any pain. Still, he allows Aemond to fuss and smiles gratefully when his husband loops a string around his neck, the heavy iron key to their door hanging beneath his shirts.
Luke is sitting in the royal stands with his mother and step-sisters when he notices Rhaenyra’s strangeness once again.
They are listening to Rhaena recount a story of her father in Pentos when his mother leans close to Luke, hugging him close to her side and inhaling deeply. It is strange enough that Rhaena pauses, and Luke raises an eyebrow to her, reaching for the handkerchief in his pocket. “Are you well, Mother?”
Rhaenyra is staring at him, a soft smile on her face. Luke flushes at what she might smell, and he curses himself for not bathing half as well as he should have after Aemond left this morning. His mate had decided to enter the jousts, if only because Daemon had made a pointed comment about it a few days earlier when they were breaking their fast. Aemond had said mockingly, might I have a favour from my lady wife?
Luke had bitten half a dozen favours into his throat at that. Most could be hidden beneath his shirts, but the few that weren’t and the aching cock Luke refused to touch were enough to send Aemond stomping from the room whilst Luke lounged back in the tub, smug.
Rhaenyra waves Luke’s concern away, blinking fast at him. “Oh, I--sorry, sweet boy. I have missed your scent, that is all.”
Baela coughs on Rhaenyra’s other side, and they all smell it then. “Apologies, but I think the littlest Princess here will make us wish we’d never smelled anything. ” She passes baby Laena to the wet nurse, smiling gratefully.
Luke’s mother laughs while below, the jousts begin.
“Come to fuss?” Aemond taunts as Luke pushes his way into the tent, lounging back against a low couch. His tent is far nicer than the ones Luke passed on his way here, and he wonders if that was Aemond’s own doing or if Jace and Daemon’s are the same.
Luke smiles mockingly, though the concern in his scent must give him away, because Aemond’s brow quirks. “I only do as a good lady-wife would, my lord. Shall I prop up your feet? Dress your wounds?”
Aemond’s ‘wounds’ are already dressed--bandages are wrapped tight around his ribs, a salve smeared on the bruise blooming along his cheekbone. Really, Luke has half a mind to leave his hot-blooded husband to take care of himself. And he would--if his own blood wasn’t running hot enough to burn.
The grin on Aemond’s lips is a knife slash, finding place in Luke’s gut and tugging him forward until he is slipping onto Aemond’s lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him. Aemond’s hands come up to fist in the velvet of Luke’s shirt. “My sweet little wife, hm?” Aemond murmurs. He leans in for a kiss, but Luke keeps away. “I won that joust for you. Did you see?”
Luke hums, leaning further away from Aemond’s chasing mouth. “I saw a wild man beating another wild man into the mud after they fell from their horses.”
“And I am so sore from it,” Aemond complains. He nips at Luke’s chin, hard enough to sting. Luke tightens his thighs around Aemond’s ribs, and smirks when his husband grimaces. “Winning comes at a high price.”
“And your prize?” Luke rolls his hips against Aemond’s. “What would befit a prince of the realm?”
Aemond’s hands tighten on Luke’s hips, holding them still and pressed tight to his groin. “I can think of several things. Though mostly, I think of the way you refused to touch me earlier today. Do you recall?” One hand slips up Luke’s side, dragging his shirt loose from his trousers. Aemond’s calloused palm comes to rest gently at Luke’s throat, thumb swiping along his glands. Luke sinks into the touch, enough that Aemond can tease a biting kiss from him.
“‘Twas only a game.” Luke whines when Aemond’s hand tightens around his throat. The smell of his arousal is thick in the air, choking him just as much as Aemond is. “Surely you are not in the mood for games?”
“I,” Aemond breathes. “Am in the mood for your mouth on my cock.” He presses his hips into the sweetness of Luke’s own, hard and hot even through his trousers. “I have been aching since you baited me this morning.”
Swallowing against Aemond’s hand, Luke nods. But, rather than pushing Luke down, Aemond pulls him closer, covering Luke’s mouth with his own. The kiss is filthy and sloppy; Luke keens when Aemond bites hard on his bottom lip, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin as he pulls Luke’s head back.
Aemond’s pupil is massive, his eye more black than violet, mouth twisted in a leer as he guides Luke to the floor between his splayed knees. He cards his fingers through Luke’s curls, tugging once before fisting a handful. “You smell divine.”
Luke preens a bit under the praise, hands reaching up to tug at Aemond’s trousers and smallclothes, tugging them down his slim hips. His alpha’s cock glistens at the head and Luke leans forward to lick at the moisture there, suckling lightly as his eyes flit up to see Aemond’s reaction.
Aemond’s fist tightens in Luke’s hair, grounding himself as he takes in Luke’s mouth around his cock. He pants slightly, mouth dropped open and wet. “No teasing,” he chastises. Now he pulls Luke’s curls: a reprimand. “Swallow it.”
Despite his best efforts, Luke has never been able to take all of Aemond into his mouth, especially when his knot is already half-formed at the base. Still, he tries his best to take as much of his husband into his mouth as he can. Usually, Aemond is content to let Luke work him in slowly, but today is different. He guides Luke’s head down steadily. It’s only when Luke is drooling around his cock that he stops, allowing Luke to circle his fingers around the base. “ Good boy, ” Aemond whispers in High Valyrian, sounding fucked out and raw. “ There’s my good boy. Keep it warm for a bit.”
Breathing through his nose, all Luke can smell is Aemond, the spicy musk of him so strong here with his nose nearly pressed to the wiry blonde curls, slightly darker than the hair on his husband’s hair. It should be uncomfortable, holding Aemond’s cock in his mouth like this, but it isn’t. Not when Aemond’s hand has loosened around his curls, fingers carding softly through it. His other hand has come to rest along Luke’s jaw, cradling it, fingers just brushing Luke’s bond bite.
Luke allows himself to drift, suckling lightly, or pressing his tongue against the underside of Aemond’s cock occasionally, but mostly just holding it warm and still in his mouth. It does wonders on settling the burning arousal Luke had been carrying around all day, especially after watching Aemond beat the Lannister bannerman into the ground.
It feels like an eon has passed before Aemond begins to move his hips once more. Soon, Luke’s eyes are wet with tears as Aemond uses his mouth, chasing his pleasure. Luke relaxes his jaw as well as he can after holding it open for so long, allowing Aemond to pump shallowly in and out. Luke plays with Aemond’s heavy sac, drool from his own mouth making them slick. When they begin to tighten, Luke slides his fingers down further, pressing at the smooth skin behind them.
“Mouth or face?” Aemond grunts above him, sweat beading along his hairline. When Luke swallows around the head of his cock, nestled near the back of his mouth, Aemond smirks. He jerks once, twice, a third time, and then he is coming down Luke’s throat, his own hand pressed tight to his knot, knuckles brushing Luke’s mouth. They stay like that for a few minutes before Aemond’s knot goes down enough that Luke can pull off, gasping as he crawls back onto Aemond’s lap. He presses warm, wet kisses to Aemond’s jaw.
“You smell of milk,” Aemond whispers, breath fluttering Luke’s curls.
Nestling closer, Luke sighs. “I was holding Laena. She is such a peaceful babe,” he tells Aemond. His words come out whisper-soft, voice hoarse and jaw sore. His fingers trace along the slight swelling on his cheekbone. “Jace said he believes her egg will hatch in the next week or so.”
Aemond hums, still nosing along Luke’s hairline. Luke squirms a bit in his lap, only stopping when he brushes against Aemond’s softening erection and his husband hisses.
“Now me?” He drags Aemond’s free hand between his thighs, where his cock is hard and his trousers are damp with slick. The tent itself is probably drenched in both their arousals, warning anyone nearby to steer clear. Luke is both mortified and elated by it, even if he’ll be mocked mercilessly for it by Rhaena or Jace later.
Aemond kisses him, sucking at Luke’s tongue harshly. Luke whines, jerking against Aemond’s hand, which is snatched away. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
“What?” Luke blinks at his husband, sure he’s misheard.
There is a smug tilt to Aemond’s smirk, eye heavy-lidded. “I promise it will make it so much nicer.”
“No,” Luke assures him. “I do not like waiting. I will be very unhappy.”
Aemond slaps him on his bottom before pushing Luke to the side and shoving to his feet. He tries to hide his grimace, but Luke spots it. “We must bathe and ready for the feast. There isn’t enough time.”
“I’ll be quick!” Luke follows Aemond, trying to grab at the shirt he is pulling on. Aemond dodges nimbly, snapping it out to hit Luke’s outstretched hands. “Don’t be horrible.”
“ You started it,” Aemond says sagely.
They are at dinner a few days later when his mother acts strangely again. It is family only tonight. Laughter and chatter fills the room, so many familiar scents filling Luke’s nose. It should be lovely, but really it’s just been making him nauseous.
He moves to take a sip from his wine, hoping it will steady him a bit, but finds it empty. With a sigh, he waves to the servant behind him for a refill.
“Sweet boy,” Rhaenyra murmurs. “That’s enough wine.”
Luke flushes at the command, looking at the serving girl who has paused beside his chair, pitcher tilted. Has he said or done something wrong? Beside him, Aemond has paused his conversation with Daeron to watch the exchange.
“I--I do not feel drunk,” Luke laughs to dispel the awkwardness that has settled at the table. Across from him, Helaena’s head is tilted to the side, a small smile playing at her lips. Rhaena watches with confusion, Joffrey leaning into her side as he tries to sort out what’s wrong.
Rhaenyra’s brows dip together. She glances at Aemond over Luke’s head, then back to Luke. Something like realisation settles on her face and she pulls back.
“What.” Aemond’s voice is hard, a command. Luke jerks an elbow back into his ribs, but Aemond is quicker, stilling the limb before it can land its intended blow. His fingers are tight, unyielding.
There are more people looking now. Daemon is watching with a keen eye from beside Luke’s mother, Jace and Baela twisted away from the baby in their arms to look at the three of them. Daeron is drinking from his cup, his pretty Tyrell wife looking questioningly at him.
If his mother is bothered by the audience, she does not show it. She inhales deeply once, with a pointed look to Aemond, and then shakes her head and turns back to the table. In a second, she is eating once again, and the rest of the table tentatively follows suit.
Luke chances a look at Aemond, mouth pursed in confusion and embarrassment. His mate is frowning at him, inhaling deeply like this mother had. All at once, the same sort of realisation settles onto Aemond’s face like a blow, and he blinks away from Luke, dropping his elbow.
Neither of them speak for the rest of the meal. When they all begin to retire for the night, Aemond sends him off with Jace and Baela, claiming he needs to speak with Luke’s mother before he follows.
“I’ll just wait,” Luke says. He is sure there is something desperate in his tone, but Aemond shakes his head and directs him towards Jace.
By the time Aemond returns to their chambers, Luke has worked himself into a panic. The bed is a mess of pillows and blankets, and the room must stink of his anxiety, because Aemond cringes as he steps in, eyes immediately finding Luke kneeling amongst the carnage of their bed.
He wears only Aemond’s dirty shirt from training earlier that day and currently has the collar pressed to his nose. Luke knows how pathetic he must look right now, but the nausea from earlier and the strangeness from dinner has left him worried.
“Have I done something--”
“No.” Aemond’s voice is firm and calm as he quickly crosses the room to Luke. He kicks his boots off quickly, and is then clambering into the bed unsteadily, crawling towards Luke. “No, ñuho prūmia.”
Luke sags into Aemond’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his mate’s shoulders. Aemond’s scent is strong and comforting, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the gland along Luke’s neck. “Then what?” Luke mutters.
Aemond inhales deeply, and it’s frustrating enough that Luke buries a hand in his hair, tugging until Aemond pulls away. “Why the fuck do you keep smelling me?” Luke snaps, and there are tears in his eyes as he does so. The last time people scented him like that, Luke’s wound had festered after his fall. They’d thought he would die. “Am I sick?”
“You smell like milk,” Aemond says, and Luke almost asks why he smells of milk of the poppy when he realises what Aemond means.
He thinks back to the day of Aemond’s joust, when he’d said the same thing. The strange looks Rhaenyra has been giving him, and her command tonight.
They haven’t talked about children, really. Just quiet conversations in the black of night, always if and never when. At the beginning, it seemed foolish to want children when they hardly even wanted each other, and after that they had a war to fight. The thought of one day carrying babes was a far off worry, and when the war finished and they officially moved to High Tide so that Luke could learn under his grandfather, it became even less of a priority.
The truth of it is, when Arrax fell and Luke was injured, the maester who tended to him said he may never be able to carry a babe. He’d been lucky to be alive, then, his abdomen now a mess of scar tissue. And it mattered so little, when Arrax’s loss was still an open wound itself.
“ Oh,” Luke breathes now, sinking back into the pillows. Aemond moves with him, body covering Luke’s almost entirely. “I’m pregnant? That’s what mama was smelling?”
“Hm,” Aemond hums. “I didn’t realise it at first. But then, I didn’t really know what to look for.” His violet eye is carefully keeping track of Luke’s reaction.
And Luke...really isn’t sure how he is supposed to feel. If he’s honest, he didn’t think he would ever have to worry about pregnancy. Between them they have enough brothers or nieces and nephews if they need an heir. Luke thinks of his mother’s pregnancies, and how wonderful they were until they weren’t.
Luke is scared. Luke is tentatively happy. “How do you feel?” Luke asks, pushing his own thoughts to the back of his mind. “Are you...angry?”
Aemond’s brow furrows. He’s wearing the eyepatch, and Luke quickly reaches up to peel it away, tossing it to the table beside their bed. He needs to see all of Aemond.
“I am not angry,” Aemond decides. Luke’s face must fall alongside his stomach, because Aemond clicks his tongue at Luke and continues. “Foolish boy. I only thought we would be more prepared for this, that is all. I thought you took Moon Tea regularly.”
“Only after my heats, really,” Luke confesses. He’d forgotten about it after his last heat, too wrapped up in Aemond being home and dealing with a storm that had ravaged the small fishing villages outside of High Tide. “I didn’t, after my last one. I never thought...the maesters said--”
“The maesters said I would never wield a sword as well as I do,” Aemond cuts in. “They can be wrong.”
Luke worries at his lip. “What if they aren’t, though?”
Aemond's face darkens, clearly reading Luke’s thoughts. Worry bubbles up in the bond between them, both his and Aemond’s, though it isn’t enough to stifle the thread of satisfaction Aemond feels. “Whatever happens, we will deal with it together, Lucerys.”
Quietly, Luke breathes, “I don’t want to disappoint you if it doesn’t last.” The tears from earlier drip down his face quickly, and he reaches to swipe them away.
Aemond presses his mouth to the tears on Luke’s face, kissing them away. “Don’t be foolish, silly boy.”
“You are truly happy, then?” Luke asks.
“Yes,” Aemond kisses his lips once, twice, lingering for a third. “And you?”
He thinks of little Laena, with her wild platinum hair and deep brown eyes. He thinks of a little boy or girl with Aemond’s mouth and his nose. Emotion wells in Luke’s throat, keeping him from speaking anything into the world.
His mate seems to sense his unease, his fear; he allows Luke to keep hold of it for now. Luke is forever grateful for that kindness.
“I truly thought you or Aemond knew.” Rhaenyra smoothes her hand up and down Luke’s arm comfortingly as they walk through the gardens. It is a lovely day, the sun warming their bones. He knows it is only a matter of time before his mother pulls them to a stop so they may lounge in the grass and soak it up like dragons. “I thought perhaps you wanted to surprise me.”
“If that were the case, I might have done a better job at masking my scent,” Luke tells her. He leans into her side a bit, assurance more than anything that he is not angry. “It was a surprise to me, more than anything. And Aemond.”
“He did seem rather mortified when I spoke to him.” There is a pleased smile on his mother’s face that has little to do with the idea of a new grandchild. “I have asked Maester Geradys to make time for you later this afternoon, that way he can see how things are progressing.”
Luke blanches slightly, his scent spiking with anxiety. Rhaenyra’s own rises to meet his, comforting. “My love, there is nothing to fear. I will be there, if you wish it, and Aemond as well.”
His mother is many wonderful things. Luke could name them all, if prompted, and would do so happily. His father used to say there was never a boy who loved his mother so much as Luke did, trailing her around, even after he was mocked for it by Aegon as a boy. He trusts her, without question.
But he cannot trust her in this. This is not a battle Rhaenyra Targaryen can fight. He thinks of the little girl his mother pulled from her womb, scaled and small and wrong. He thinks of his grandmother Aemma, cut open and left to bleed to death on her marriage bed.
Aemond would call him silly for thinking of those two examples, and would argue that Rhaenyra gave birth to five healthy children; Alicent, four. Countless women go into the birthing bed and deliver their children safely. He wants those facts to ease him, but fear has taken up home in Luke’s chest.
Rhaenyra must sense his unease, because she stops them, pulling Luke until he is facing her. “What worries you most?”
Luke fiddles with the embroidered material of her sleeves. She waits patiently as he gathers his fear into words. “I suppose...that I will not...carry to the end.”
His mother does not brush his concern aside, but takes it into her hands and holds it close. “Each time I fell pregnant, I thought of my own mother, who miscarried multiple times. I wondered if I would suffer the same fate she had, but then, eventually, I would feel one of you quicken inside me, and I thought I would do it one hundred times just for that feeling alone. I gave birth to five healthy boys. I thought myself invincible.
But then I lost your sister and...I won’t lie to you, Lucerys. I thought I would never be able to breathe again. I thought someone had reached in and snatched the heart from my chest.” There are tears in her eyes, and Luke finds his own welling up, wishes he had been there to comfort her when she had so desperately needed it. She smiles at him, as though she can hear his thoughts. “It seemed impossible I could ever be happy again. And then I saw you, leaping down from Arrax’s back. The pain of losing a child is not a thing you can put into words, but it changes over time. The bleeding stops, but the scar reminds you it was there. You will always carry it.” She smooths a hand over his curls, tugging him close to her. Luke sinks into her hug, warmer than any sun.
“You have surrounded yourself with people who love you, sweet boy. Should anything happen, they will be there to remind you what happiness is.” He feels the ghost of her kiss across his temple.
They stand that way for several long minutes until they have both settled, then his mother draws him across the lawn to lie beneath a tree together. Her hand closes around his, and he smiles at her.
“Now,” Rhaenyra says. “Tell me if you are naming this child after me. I promise to act surprised when you tell us all at the birth.”
Laughter bursts from Luke, only growing louder at his mother’s indignation.