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Jacaerys says that Lucerys is spoilt.
Coddled and cosseted.
Lucerys swings at him without any real intention. Just because. The truth stings. Jacaerys sighs and says “You must accept it. She will remarry whether you like it or not.”
Daemon is not his father, but he one of many that pretends to be. He looks at his mother like he wants to eat her whole, but doesn’t spare the children a glance. He has two daughters and Lucerys is one of three sons, and all five stand silently and watch as Daemon makes living orphans of them.
Lucerys leaves. He cannot stop his tears. Jacaerys cannot defend him, he is too young to defend himself. He misses his mother's undivided gaze. Hates to share it with a man like that. The air is wet as he runs, moist against his skin. It ruffles through his short curls, travels down his throat and into his lungs. But it brings no relief.
He cuts through fields, and keeps going. His shoes skim over mud, and somehow he doesn't fall. His clothes are dirty, and sweat-drenched. He stinks, and he probably doesn't look any better.
He goes to the woods. Lucerys visits them often –when hiding from his brothers- and he is confident that none will follow. Under the silent watch of centuries-old oaks, the chirping of birds in his ears, he feels protected.
Lucerys reaches his sanctuary, and crouches down on the soft grass. He groans, a sharp sting between his ribs, stabbing at his flesh with every intake of breath. How long has he been running? The sun is high in the sky. Midday.
Slowly, he inches close to a bush of berries. His stomach grumbles, and his head is heavy. He imagines the food served at his mother’s table, its warmth.
Lucerys plucks at one bright red berry. It comes off the branch easy, with a light pop. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it with a preoccupied frown. He plops it into his mouth before he can think better of it. He has seen animals eat this same berry before.
It is bitter, yes, but not as bad as he expected. The juice coats his tongue and gums, washing away the taste of bile brought up by his wild escape.
Lucerys lays on his side, and brings his knees up, close to his chin. He yawns, and paws at his face with a loose fist. He will return when he is less angry, he decides. His eyelids lower of their own accord.
Lucerys sleeps. He sleeps every hour he hasn't, succumbing to a deep slumber. No nightmares startle him awake: no fiery pits of hell to devour his soul. He sleeps and sleeps. Peaceful, at last.
The forest observes him.
When he wakes, he finds the sun is gone. The moon is a fat, pale circle on the black background of the sky. A thousand stars dances all around her. There are no clouds to spoil the view. It is a beautiful night, and Lucerys can't help but gaze dreamingly, transfixed.
After some time has passed, he perches himself onto his hands, and studies his surroundings. The woods are unrecognisable; he's never seen them so brimming with life: above his head, an owl hoots. A fox sniffs at the ground, before disappearing into the shrubs. Large swarms of fireflies, lighting up the dark.
A pleasant breeze slithers through the threes. It rattles the tops, and a cascade of red-yellow-orange leaves swirls down in a cascade of warm colours. He watches, mesmerized. Autumn is coming.
He rises once again, wobbling. For some reason, he does not feel afraid. He has never been into the forest past sunset, for mothers' curfews are strict for their own protection- and still, his heart doesn't hammer wildly, spurned by fear.
There is music in the air. Lucerys hadn't noticed it before, but now it is clear- music. He stops, and listens. It is faint, but unmistakable. Compelled, he turns his back to the beaten path and wanders deeper into the forest.
And the forest, it parts for Lucerys, as if it had been waiting for him all along. The vivid light of day has turned a shadowy blue. Lucerys can't see much of anything, but his feet know the way.
As he goes, venturing deeper and deeper still, the music grows. This close, Lucerys can tell this is no holy hymn. There is the sound of drums, and the shrill whistle of a flute. Voices, also. Lucerys can't make out the lyrics of the song they're chanting.
With a new kind of resolution, he picks up his pace. His legs carry him, weightless and without a worry. He feels as if he's floating. The night is suddenly much brighter, and Lucerys feels more incline to live it. Behind him, there's his home, and his family, and everything he's ever known.
Ahead of him, a mystery. An adventure, perhaps. Music. Lucerys feels his lips curl into a smile, and an incredulous laugh bursts from his mouth. What is he doing?
The woods end, abruptly. The foliage dissipates, and he is faced with an unprecedented sight.
The Hill is higher than anything he's ever seen. At the very top of it, is seated the moon herself, like a massive rock ready to tumble down the Hill's side. Lucerys is in awe: never, in his short life, has something managed to surprise him so.
This is the work of something otherworldly, Lucerys knows.
If he was a wise boy, he would leave. If he was the boy mother thinks him to be, a good little darling, he'd leave and forget ever seeing the Hill. He'd scrub that enchanting music out of his head. He'd run back home, balancing apologies and sweet lies on the tip of his tongue.
But he is neither of those. He is young, and impatient, and he's played dumb for too long.
He's going to climb the Hill.
He starts slow, and progressively gets lost in his haste. He slips, a couple times. Rubs his face into the earth, and hears it thrum underneath him. The music is louder and the moon closer. He is more determined than ever.
His nails sink into the soil. Lucerys climbs the Hill, up up to the heavens. He does not know why he is climbing. He does not know what he is looking for, or what awaits him. He knows only what he's left behind.
(One of those is wrong; but he does not know yet.)
He doesn't realise it immediately, when he arrives to the top. His hands scramble for something to latch on, and find nothing. He stares up, and the moon looks down at him. She seems just as delighted to see him as he is to see her.
Frantically, he searches for the source of the music. On all fours, he advances. It seems to slips in and out of his mind like silk. He can’t catch it clearly. Lucerys beats the palm of his open hand against his temple. Focus, he tells himself. Focus on the music.
Here's how he notices: he tries to get up, to have a better view, and falls miserably. His arms stretch in front of his face, to soften the blow. Only, the ground he lands on is much softer than what he expected. Lucerys prods at it, and big chunks shrivel upon contact.
So is the entrance to the Hill revealed to him- by mistake. It is a tunnel, long and dark. The music erupts from it, and all traces of doubt flee Lucerys' mind. Without a second thought, he dives in. The earth surrounds him, warm and damp. He doesn't look, but he's certain the entrance has already closed behind him.
He slithers, using the sharp points of his elbows - still bruised since the morning antics - to push his body forward. He wriggles his hips and arches his legs.
The space is narrow, but Lucerys doesn't feel constricted. It's more of a loving embrace than a smothering grip.
He is the prodigal son and the Hill is his Father, welcoming him back with a great feast. And what a feast he gets.
There is a king under the Hill, because of course there is.
Lucerys kneels before his throne of swords, crawling in the middle of the large room. The ceiling is so high, he can barely see it. Orbs of light float above him. The whole place is bathed in green light.
Strange creatures stand in a circle, surrounding him. Some have inhuman faces, insects wings, and mean smiles. They stare at him with obvious curiosity. The music has stopped. It's replaced by whispers and giggles.
The scent of food and liquor is intoxicating. Lucerys' mouth has been watering from the very first moment he'd set foot in the kingdom under the Hill. But he is too afraid to move, let alone demand to be served.
The King, is a fae. Something is wrong though. Where there was once beauty, long tracks of burned and mangled flesh mark his body. His eyes are red, the skin beneath them bruised and haggard. His skin deadly pale and his hair hangs limp under his black crown.
"What do we have here?"
His voice is all amusement. Lucerys cannot bear to look up, so he tries to make himself invisible. Which proves to be difficult, since everyone is paying such great attention to him. This, he is not used to. Where he comes from, his brown eyes and hair do not make him abnormal.
But here, under the Hill, where demons and monsters live. Here, he's the best of novelties.
"A human boy," the King states, "so very young."
Lucerys gulps down the fear, and nods. The King beckons him further, but hunched as he is, he doesn't see it until one of his minions comes and kicks his behind. He plunges forward with a whine, causing a general hilarity in the crowd.
The King raises one hand, and they fall silent. Lucerys feels himself being lifted off the floor, as if he were a newborn baby, and hoisted up into the King's lap.
"You must forgive them," the King says, slipping one finger under his chin, forcing Lucerys to face him. The King smiles, and a row of needle-sharp teeth peak behind his colorless lips. Lucerys inhales sharply.
"We don't receive guests often."
"What is your name?"
Lucerys hesitates. He is not a fool, he has heard the stories of these people. Of their diabolical intents and ill-spirited jokes. He knows why the King wants his name, and he's not sure he wants to give it away.
The King narrows his eyes, and grins. He tilts his head, "Then, why are you here, little bastard?"
The answer to that question isn't simple either. If he tells the King of his past, will he steal that from his tongue and chain him to the Hill forever?
"I fled my home," Lucerys says, my mother remarried, my brother…was cruel. The King nods to his story of woe.
"I see," the King whispers, "you came looking to forget."
Lucerys wonders. He has not. Has he? He trembles in the King's embrace. The King makes a noise like the cackling of a crow. Lucerys realizes it is a laugh, and feels ashamed. Why is he being laughed at?
The King clasps his free hand to Lucerys' cheek. His palm digs into Lucerys' jaw. When he speaks again, his voice resonates right into Lucerys' head.
"I can help you, boy. I can end your sufferings. You won't recall the lives you’ve lived. I will release you from your burdens"
Lucerys' eyes widen until they hurt at the seams. He has barely a moment to think. To think of his mother. He is filled with a regret so deep it swallows him.
And the King eats Lucerys' name right from his lips.
Lucerys does not remember much else from the night he falls down the Hill. The music is playing again, louder and merrier. Still, he cannot understand the strange language of their song. He lays there, gasping, while the melody beckons.
Perzyro udrȳssi
Ezīmptos laehossi
Hārossa letagon
Aōt vāedan
Lucerys promises the King his undying loyalty.
To seal the deal, the King reaches into the large sleeve of his cloak and offers him a plum. The fruit is plump and ripe, irresistible. Lucerys bites into it, feeding off the King's hand like a dog. It is unlike anything Lucerys has ever eaten: rich, and velvety, it satiates his cramping stomach and clears his mind.
Something shifts inside him, that night. As he laps at the plum's core, a newfound hollowness blossoms in his chest.
Something is missing. Grasping at his chest, he can feel no pulsing.
His humanity is gone, and with it, his heart. He isn't too bothered.
The king has a brother.
He is away the night Lucerys falls down the Hill, but returns shortly thereafter. He was sent on a quest, the King explains. When his brother returns, another big feast is thrown in his honour.
Though, under the Hill, feasts are thrown just about every night. And day. At all times, there is someone dancing or singing, drinking and gorging down mysterious dishes. The plates refills themselves once empty, and so do the goblets. The king drink and drinks and drinks. Until he can drink no more.
The king's brother is called Aemond. He is how Lucerys had imagined a fae to look. He has a curtain of white gold hair and one lilac eye. The other is a cold sapphire as beautiful as the man himself. Lucerys is drawn to him. Aemond spares him a questioning look, reaching for his sword. The king stops him with the quick flick of his wrist. Lucerys has the dire impression that it wouldn't take much effort for Aemond to kill him and be done with it.
Aemond doesn't kill him. For the most part, he is totally indifferent to Lucerys- and anything else, for that matter. He goes to stand on the right side of the throne. From where he's sat, on the left side, Lucerys steals brief looks at him.
Aemond does not catch him, but the King does. He chuckles, and pats Lucerys' head. Patronising, the way you treat an unruly pet.
He brushes his hair back, cards his fingers through Lucerys' curls - have they always been so long? Lucerys doesn't recall. He takes great care of styling them, imitating the patterns of flowers and rivers.
The King likes to parade Lucerys around. His old clothes are burned, and he's given doublets of green leaves, stitched together with spiderwebs and flower steams. The King has him sleeping in a comfortable bed. There is always delicious food when he's hungry, and company when he's bored.
They walk together through large gardens, and the King tells Lucerys the stories of his people - our people, as he insists. Sometimes, Aemond walks with them, but he takes care to keep a distance. Trailing behind, silent and tall, like a shadow.
Lucerys pretends not to see him. The King laughs at Aemond, at his stoic face. Lucerys finds himself sneering, too, simply out of spite.
Aemond is not disturbed apparently, but still, Lucerys does not dare make fun of him when the King is not around. He has just been granted this new, amazing life, he doesn't want it to end so abruptly.
The space under the Hill seems to be infinite, Lucerys won't ever run out of places to visit. Everything is brand new, ready to be explored. Lucerys doesn't have any chores, nor obligations to follow. He is free to go wherever he pleases.
Lucerys is never alone, under the Hill. If the King isn't at his side, a storm of little bugs-people floats around his head. Little goblins fret after him, jumping into his feet. Lucerys kicks them out of his way with a smile. Once, a tall figure with grasshopper legs and enormous eyes accompanies him. It speaks in rhyme and tells Lucerys of their realms history. It tells Lucerys they’ve been waiting for him.
In the very worst case, he has Aemond. Lucerys doesn't acknowledge him, and Aemond reciprocates. Lucerys becomes more courageous when the prince is around. Bold, even. He walks in long strides, chin up. Aemond follows, without uttering a word. No matter how far Lucerys leads him.
Ah, but the temptation is unbearable. Lucerys has so many questions that the King won't answer, and this world confuses - and delights - him more and more each day. For example: how come there is natural light in a place where the sun can't be seen? Where do those strange fruit come from, and why are they so appetizing?
What is the King's name?
That last one, Lucerys knows he should not ask. So he asks something else instead. They are resting, Lucerys lying under a star shaped fountain, sprawled on the grass. Aemond guards over him from afar.
"Were you once human?"
Aemond doesn't turn his head. He keeps staring straight ahead, and as his mouth moves, the rest of his face remains unnervingly still.
"No," he says. Lucerys has never heard a voice like his: wood crackling in the fireplace, or splitting apart under the edge of a hatchet. The trunk of a tree, struck by lightning. Lucerys desperately wants to hear Aemond's voice again.
"Then where do you come from?" Where do all of you come from, he really wants to ask, but that is too big of a question and Lucerys has learned that the faes don't like big questions. Vagueness is their forte. The devil, after all, resides in the smallest of details.
Aemond's eyes skim past Lucerys, "From up here," he murmurs. He taps at his temple. Lucerys hums, like he understands perfectly.
"How long have you been here?" Lucerys asks next. Aemond perches his head on the handle of his sword. The blade itself is hidden away in the socket. Lucerys has yet to see Aemond brandish it in full splendor
"For a long time," Aemond says, "For a very long time."
Lucerys' grasp on time is becoming less and less stable, so Aemond's answer doesn't fazes him as much as it would have. He doesn't know how much has passed since he got under the Hill, but his hair curls in long waves down his back and he feels rough growth along his cheeks. In the water a man looks at him, one he might recognise from somewhere.
Some time must have passed, but not too long, probably. It doesn't feel like too long.
"Do you enjoy being here?"
Lucerys props himself up on his elbows, neck against the stone of the fountain. Droplets of water spray onto his skin. Aemond decides that this is a question worth his attention, and turns to look at him.
Lucerys stares deep into Aemond's eye, and his stomach drops. The eye that lives stares at him until the colour is all he can see. He has never been looked at like that. The prince's gaze is heavy, and ancient. Lucerys isn't sure if he likes it, or prefers being ignored. It is suddenly a very complicated thought to articulate.
Eventually, Lucerys drops his eyes, when he starts to feel himself drown. Aemond's eye has seen so many things, both of this and of Lucerys' world. Lucerys wishes he would come sit next to him, and tell him those stories. He wishes Aemond would let him lay his head in his lap, while he listens. the King loves that. Touching Lucerys. Keeping him close.
Then again, the King and his brother couldn't be more different.
"Do you?"
He repeats, hoping Aemond will cotton on. Lucerys stares down at his own bare feet, toes furling and unfurling in the soft earth. His soles are covered in mud. He thinks about dipping them into the water of the fountain. He could ask Aemond to rub them clean for him.
Lucerys feels heat rise to his cheeks. An unusual sensation, as of these days.
Aemond rises from his seat on the stump of a tree. He looks tired. Clearly, he'd like to have any other conversations but this one. Lucerys observes quietly his every move: the subtle way the muscles of his jaw clench, how wild strands of gold fall from his braid. How his tongue peaks at the plush pout of his upper lip.
"I, for one, do. Very much so," Lucerys intercedes, slowly unfurling his legs. Standing, he's nearly as tall as Aemond. An inch or two shorter, perhaps. Aemond looks at him but doesn't respond. Lucerys can't understand, is he angry? Annoyed?
Interested?
Aemond walks him back to his chambers. He doesn't answer Lucerys' question, and leaves immediately. That night, as the King's court reunites to celebrate another joyful day of mischief, Lucerys tries in vain to catch Aemond's eye. It is a hard cause, especially with the Kings constantly demanding Lucerys' full attention.
Lucerys takes to walking with Aemond alone more often, after that last time.
The prince's quiet presence is the only stable point of this whole madness. Lucerys asks a lot of questions. Aemond answers some of them, deviates from most. And still, Lucerys finds himself terribly intrigued. He also learns some important lessons, along the way.
"Are you angry?"
"No."
"Then why don't you smile?" Lucerys says. Aemond doesn't respond, and Lucerys throws his arms up with a gurgling sound. Why won't he just smile? What's so hard about that. He marches up to him, and jabs one finger into his chest.
"Aemond, smile for me," Lucerys says. He uses the same vehement tone he's heard from the King. Aemond's muscles tense. There's a flash of surprise on his face, but it lasts only a moment.
His lips stretch into the most lovely smile Lucerys has ever seen. His eye, though, isn’t quite right. It glistens with the same coldness as it’s sapphire twin. Aemond drops it immediately, and doesn't talk to Lucerys again that day. Lucerys is too stunned to care.
After, though, guilt comes to gnaw at him. He apologies, profusely. Aemond ignores him, but doesn't shy away from their walks. Lucerys thinks the prince enjoys seeing him so distressed.
Lucerys kisses him under a white tree, whispering his own name against Aemond's lips.
"Now we're even," he says, "you can use it whenever you want. I don't mind."
Aemond stares down at him, evidently puzzled. Lucerys smooths along the sharp line of his jaw to calm his frown. There's a smirk to his lips, he can feel his own blood boil. Aemond is still watching him.
"No, I cannot," he states, eventually. It's Lucerys' turn to frown. His head tilts to the side. He's pouting, like a child. Petulant and insolent. If only his mother could see him now.
"Why not?"
Aemond takes his time to respond, as he always does. They're sitting at the very base of the tree, Lucerys perched in Aemond's lap. His body is warm, and solid. So different from the King's cold, scaly touch. Lucerys borrows closer to Aemond's chest.
"Because," Aemond winds his arms around Lucerys' back, somewhat hesitantly, "I serve the King. And I cannot steal what belongs to him."
Lucerys startles at that. The King has his name, too. Does it mean that-?
Aemond's expression is sympathetic. For the first time, Lucerys sees his true smile; and it is bitter, and veiled with resentment. Lucerys bites his inner cheek until he draws blood, and then he asks, speaking softly.
"You are a prince. How did you come to serve your own brother?"
Aemond tells him of the war. The endless dance. The king serves a greater power and they all serve the king. Even through his unworthiness, they serve. If not this king, then it will be another. The hand that guides them has it so.
Aemond says there was a time when there had been a peace, but the nameless hand would not let it be. Brothers and sisters stitched together as dragon fodder. No one can end the dance they started.
"It could be worse," Aemond murmurs, to Lucerys' ear. They've managed to get even closer together, limbs intertwined. Lucerys cannot will his arms to let go of Aemond. He doesn't seem intentioned to, either.
"You're lying," Lucerys whispers against his neck, "I can hear it in your voice. You do not thirst for bloodshed."
Aemond doesn't deny it. Instead, he kisses him. Lucerys melts on his mouth, he lets himself be manhandled and laid down on his back. Aemond's mouth never leaves his, not even for a second. Lucerys has never felt so complete. He tears at the green cloth of his clothes, their presence suddenly unbearable.
His legs trap Aemond between them. He tells the prince this is where he belongs.
They make love under the same white tree, it’s leaves red, it’s mouth weeping. How is it possible to love without a heart. How is it possible to feel like a human being after losing humanity itself. Aemond carries Lucerys back to his chambers and loves him vigorously on his bed, too.
Lucerys asks him to stay, without using his real name. Aemond slips under the blankets with him, curls up around his back. Embraces him so tightly, so warmly. Lucerys can feel it, the warmth, coming off of him in waves.
Lucerys presses one hand to his chest. He feels the beat of his heart resonate between his ribs. He shivers. A rule has been broken. There's fear in the next breath he takes, and anticipation. He expects monsters to kick down the door, anytime now. Catch them and bring them to the King.
Aemond hugs him tight. It’s the most terribly human thing he’s done.
In such a short time, Lucerys' feelings comes back in full force. A day doesn't pass, that his love doesn't grow. It blossoms like a well-taken-care-of plant. Aemond's kisses are his water, his caresses like sunbeams.
The King spends less and less time under the Hill. Lucerys doesn't bother to ask, but Aemond tells him anyway.
"The dragons grow restless. They desire a hunt." he says.
Lucerys lays in his bed, at night, listening to the roar of mighty beasts. He has seen them in all their scaled glory. They stink of death and fire, their teeth stained red with the blood of their prey.
The King rides a golden demon, sits proudly on its broad back, grabbing at the horns with pale, clammy hands. There's a manic smile to his face that Lucerys will never forget. He has a reoccurring nightmare, where he is flying through wind and rain chased by a faceless owner, hell bent on his destruction.
Aemond goes with him, sometimes. Lucerys observes mournfully, pretending to care about the King's goodbyes. His touch has become something for Lucerys to endure. The King disgusts him. He palms at Lucerys' face with those cold hands and kisses his forehead with dry chapped lips. Later, Lucerys will scrub at his skin until Aemond has to forcefully pry his hands away.
"I hate him."
"Quiet."
"I hate him! "
Aemond kisses him to shut him up. Lucerys mildly protests. Aemond stares down at him with exasperation, but Lucerys only sees that pout of his upturned lip. How sweet it is, bitten and glistening with spit.
"You cannot say such things," he holds Lucerys so that he can't look away, "You can't. There are rats inside our walls, and what the rats don’t see, the worms do. If he knew-"
"But I don't care," Lucerys throws himself at him once again, sending them both stumbling to the ground. He kisses Aemond's face, with a reverence reserved to saints and gods, whispering, "don't care, I don't care, kiss me, kiss me."
Aemond complies. If the King knew, what his faithful subjects get up to when he's not around. How little respect they have for his authority.
"You are going to be the death of me," Aemond says, pushing his way between Lucerys' legs. Lucerys laughs wildly. He isn't afraid of death. He and death are bed fellows too. He's slipping, he's a madman. No, worse.
He is in love.
"I can't stand it," Aemond confesses, eventually. They're in the safety of Lucerys' bedroom. He bites into the skin of Lucerys' shoulder, and says, "I can't stand the way he touches you, so intimately, in front of everyone," Lucerys writhes under his hands, nodding, yes yes yes.
"How he commands you," Lucerys claws at the flesh of Aemond's back, carving bleeding, angry marks into his pale skin.
"It's disgusting," they say, in unison. Lucerys moans, deliberately, loudly. Shamelessly. Aemond shushes him, pressing a finger to his mouth. Lucerys wraps his lips around it.
Today Aemond is less gentle with him.
They fuck in every place that is quiet and hidden. Lucerys' chambers, the gardens, every nook and shadow of the Hill. Luck graces them, and they indulge in it. Lucerys can't get enough to that warmth filling him, that bone-wrecking pleasure. Love feels so good.
He cannot recall memories of his past life, but he's sure this feeling is brand new.
It is luck, who entices their spirits. It gives them courage, and suddenly, meeting in secret locations and sharing a place at the same table isn't enough.
"I have a plan," Aemond says, one day, sitting under the tree again. Lucerys feels the trees anguish each time he leans against it.
"But you'll need to do as I say," Lucerys laces their fingers together, and reaches up to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, then his bottom lip.
"Anything," he responds, "Anything you'll tell me to do, I will, my love."
Aemond smiles at him, and both eyes are smiling too, the real and the sapphire, and there is a burst of warmth in Lucerys' chest.
Yes, he will do anything for him. For this god-like creature of peace and war. He will do anything for this love of his.
"I will do anything," Lucerys sobs, "Everything but this."
It is another night of bacchanalia under the Hill. The King and his dragon-riders are about to leave. Amongst them, is Aemond. Lucerys clings to his armor, and refuses to let go. His cheeks are wet with tears - who knew he still had those in him - and his lips tremble.
"We can wait, we, we can wait another night-"
"No. This is the night. The last night of Winter. He will be weaker, slower, drunker, after tonight. This is our chance," he kisses Lucerys with a newfound fierceness. Lucerys clings to that kiss, for as long as his lungs let him.
"I can't do this alone," he cries, with his eyes sewn shut. He can't bear to look into Aemond's. He shakes his head, "I can't do this alone, please," he repeats, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. Aemond is determined. Lucerys knows he cannot dissuade him.
Aemond cups his face with those large hands, "Lucerys, listen to me," he says. His voice rings steady, and clear.
"When we leave, you immediately go for the hollow. Do you remember?" He points to a small cavity to the side of the ball room. Of course, Lucerys remembers. That was how it all began. It hasn't been sealed, and as far as Lucerys knows, it is a free-way.
Lucerys nods, "Yes, I remember."
"Good."
"Once you're out, run. Run as fast as you can, and don't look back. You understand, Lucerys? You have to flee."
Lucerys is shaking, "I can't do this without you," he whispers, angrily now, punching at Aemond's armoured chest. Why does he have to be so stubborn. You mule, he wants to say, you cruel prince, don't leave me alone, don't leave like anyone else has ever done-
Aemond takes Lucerys' hands in his. He's still smiling, staring at Lucerys like he's something special. Lucerys hates it and loves it and hates him and loves him.
"I will come to you, eventually. You have to trust me, Lucerys. I will find you, we will meet again. Don't cry, love, this isn't our end; it is but the beginning."
Lucerys kisses him again, savours the feel and taste and warmth of Aemond's mouth on his, for what may be the last time. Then, when their throats are sore and the tears have been consumed, Lucerys looks deep into Aemond's eye.
"I love you," he says.
Aemond tucks a stray curl behind Lucerys' ear, "I love you, too."
Lucerys watches as he approaches his King. He climbs onto his dragon's back, sword drawn. The King bids farewell to his court, regarding Lucerys with an especially sly grin. The earth of the Hill parts for them, and just like that, they're off. To the Great Hunt. The last one, for this Winter.
He waits until the crowd has regained their usual activities, and then he carefully makes his way to the entrance. Some creatures try to attract his attention, with delicious foods and gossips and liquors, but Lucerys doesn't pay them any mind.
His head thrums with fear. Every noise is somewhat muffled.
Before anyone can notice him, he jumps into the hole. Needless to say, it immediately closes behind him.
He can still hear the music, and the voices. Lucerys starts climbing his way up the Hill. It is significantly more difficult, to climb upwards. He slips so many times: for every mile he goes, he loses another three. He doesn't know how long it takes him - the tunnel seems to progressively get smaller, as if the earth was trying to trap him in. To smother him.
Lucerys reaches the top of the Hill, and punches at the soil until it gives. Moonlight rains down on him, as he takes a big gulp of air. He pushes himself, until he's lying with his front facing the midnight sky.
It is a striking sight. Lucerys had almost forgot how beautiful the moon was. A myriad of stars shine bright all around her. Lucerys admires them while he rests his weary bones.
Then, Lucerys hears it. A distant roar. A whisper of something.
No, Vhagar no.
He sits up with a jolt. Aemond's words pop up in his head, violent and loud.
Flee.
He rises to his feet, and begins descending the Hill. His legs ache, and his lungs burn. He enters the forest, his one safe place.
He finds it changed. It has become twisted, in his absence, a shadow of its former self. It doesn't recognise Lucerys either. Not that he blames it. He has changed too.
It fights him. It wants out with him, away. He is a stranger, and this woods don't welcome him anymore. Lucerys begs, with his tongue and with his mind. He begs the forest to please let him go, let him leave.
Branches slap his face, he stumbles into roots and falls, wild animals growl at him. But Lucerys has no time to spend mourning his lost friendship, he has to run. The roars are on his tail. They're onto him, he knows. The King must've heard something.
His bare feet throb each time he takes a step, ankles bleeding. Lucerys can't feel his body anymore, reaches forwards with his hands to grab onto something, anything. It feels like a nightmare he’s lived before.
Lucerys stumbles out of the forest after years of desperate running. At least, it feels so. Lucerys crumbles to the ground, exhausted. He grasps at his chest: his heart is galloping wild, as if trying to flee the cage of his ribs.
He spits at the dark insides of the forest. A violent gust of wind makes the trees shake against each other. The woods groan in anger, but Lucerys couldn't care less. They've done nothing good to him. He wishes he'd never even entered them to begin with.
Should have gone home, to wait for his mother and Daemon and his brothers. Mother, and- and. His brothers. What. What were their names again? Lucerys cannot seems to pin them down. Now that he thinks about it, he can't even find their faces, in the vast wasteland of his memory.
Lucerys can't remember.
But, it makes sense. Of course, he can't; he's given away his name, and with it, everything that was connected has vanished too. The King has kept his promise, it seems. Or has he tricked him, turning him into a shadow of his former self?
Lucerys cries. He cries for himself, for his long-gone memories and the life he'd wasted. He cries for the time lost, for his lover who has abandoned him, who chased him on his dragon. And for his home. His true home.
His home. He needs to find it. He needs to go back, and make sure that everything is alright. Perhaps, in doing so, the memories will come back. Perhaps, there is a chance his family is still there.
Reluctantly, he starts walking. He walks and walks, without a real direction, hoping to end up in the correct place. Hoping his feet still remember the way. The night sky above him is silent: no bird's song, no billowing wind. No howling.
His doublet made of flax leaves doesn't protect him against the whistling breeze. Lucerys hugs himself, and resists the urge to lay on the ground in a fetal position until the sun rises. He has to find his home. He has to.
He walks and walks and walks. And then he walks some more. He thought he was tired before; now his feet are like two piece of wood, insensitive and foreign to his body. Yet, they keep steady, and carry him on. Lucerys doesn't stop, doesn't falter. There is a home for him, somewhere. And a family, maybe.
There is a home. There must be a home. Somewhere.
There is a home. It's just- different.
But Lucerys can tell, this is his home. He feels it in his bones, that familiar aching. Lucerys thought he'd lost that too.
Breaking in isn't difficult. He smashes the blurry glass of a window and falls down into the pavement. He cuts his legs in the process, but they're so numb the pain does not faze him.
Lucerys looks around what used to be his mother's bedroom: the room is much larger now. The bed is gone. Strange furniture all over the place. Lucerys frowns so many of the objects unrecognisable.
He stumbles over to the kitchen, which seems to resemble their old kitchen, however peculiarly redecorated. Lucerys traces the shiny metal surface of a stove. It barely stings.
Lucerys hears the footstep. He smiles, and whirls around to face a woman. From his peripheral vision he thinks it is his mother. Her hair is long and braided. Blonde. As always. The woven gold of everyone in his life who bleeds his heart. He thinks of Aemond. He can’t help it.
Lucerys starts to cry. He wants back to the Hill, to his beautiful prince waiting beneath it. His stoic face looking at Lucerys with one flesh eye and one sapphire.
His smile is real, but only for him.