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“Luke's mission was thought to be the safer journey, but he arrived at Storm's End to find Queen Alicent's younger son Aemond already there. Aemond, riding Vhagar, killed Luke over Shipbreaker Bay as he attempted to leave after failing to gain Lord Borros' allegiance. The news of Luke's death devastated his mother.” (A Wiki of Ice and Fire)
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A Mother’s Love
Rhaenyra knew that having a favourite child was wrong and unfair…
“There you are.”
The soon-to-be Queen shuffled down the steps of Dragonstone’s War Room, rubbing a soothing hand over her babe-swollen belly; it was a familiar discomfort, but a discomfort nonetheless. One she welcomed with open arms and would gladly live with if it meant having another child she could love. ‘Hopefully a little Visenya this time’.
The large room cast intimidating shadows, and in the middle of it stood her beloved Lucerys, poring over the map of Westeros, nervous energy radiating off of him.
“The Sea Snake is going to die, isn't he?” came his anxious voice as his wide and panicked eyes bore holes into where Driftmark lay on the great map. ‘His duty and destiny. You will come to see it as a gift in time, my sweet boy. It is your birthright.’
“Luke…”, she spoke softly in an attempt to soothe him, slowly moving towards him as he fretted.
“I can't be Lord of the Tides. Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbour! I'll just ruin everything. I don't want Driftmark. It should've passed on to Ser Vaemond,” Lucerys rambled, insecurity and uncertainty lacing his tone.
Rhaenyra gazed softly at him. So unlike her at her age. Always so shy.
‘My little shadow.’
“We don't choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”
“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so.”
The wilful Rhaenyra who stood small and teary-eyed in front of her father all that time ago was not the same who stood before her small and teary-eyed son now. That Rhaenyra favoured shirking her responsibilities. That Rhaenyra only wanted to fly on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake with a girl she loved oh so dearly.
“And do you want to know the truth of it? I was frightened. I was... four-and-ten. Same as you are now. I wasn't ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But... it was my duty. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”
“I'm not like you.”
“In what way, sweet boy?” She smiled, stepping closer to rest her hand next to his on the wooden map.
“I'm not so… perfect,” he breathed, finally able to calm himself enough to look at her.
‘My little shadow,’ she thought fondly as she cradled his face and placed kisses upon his temple.
“I am anything but. My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”
Rhaenyra knew that having a favourite child was wrong.
Her sturdy Jacaerys was her heir; her eldest boy to be King after her. Responsible, burdened with a heavy duty, and brave. Joffrey: her imaginative little boy, off in his own little world, following Daemon around like a lost puppy. Aegon and little Viserys, too young to understand the ways of the world just yet. But her Luke…
Rhaenyra knew that a mother having a favourite child was wrong. And she was nothing, if not a mother who loves the very bones of all of her children.
But Luke was hers.
(There is nothing in the entire world a mother loves more than her children.)
///
A Mother’s Love
She grabbed her sunken and uncomfortably empty stomach in complete and utter agony as she stumbled towards Dragonstone's great map of Westeros. A terrible sound ripped itself from her as she doubled over in mind-numbing pain. Her hand landed blindly on the spot marked Driftmark. It was a horrible sound of grief.
“Arrax’s and Lucerys’ remains were found washed up on the shores near Storm’s End…”
‘Father… My daughter Visenya…
Luke… My little shadow…’
As she regained her composure, Rhaenyra slowly raised her head, her glare enough to kill.
“My father is dead. They have stolen my crown, killed my only daughter, and now they have murdered my son. And they will answer for it, with fire and blood,” she spat harshly, looking around the room to her allies.
Her gaze bore into her husband’s, his icy stare promising bloody murder. And in that moment, she knew that the Greens would know war, death, and suffering beyond anything imaginable.
“I shall have their heads.”
Fire and Blood.
Rhaenyra knew that a mother having a favourite child was wrong. And she was nothing, if not a mother who loves the very bones of all of her children.
“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged.”
(There is nothing in the entire world a mother loves more than her children.
A son for a son.)