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greeksorceress · 1 year

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anon request: blond jace as daemon’s son, jaceluke.

The room goes deadly still as King Viserys drags his body to the throne.

It’s a painful thing to watch. King Viserys’ sickness seems to be consuming him like fire melts a candle to nothingness, the metaphorical wax of his flesh is raggedly hanging by the bones that protrude what once was the gentle face of his grandfather.

Lucerys’ eyes drift to the other side of the grand hall where Queen Alicent Hightower and her brood stand, unable to cope with the proof of the King’s mortality. Alicent gasps, but doesn’t make a move to help her husband otherwise. Neither do Aegon or Helaena, who are both avoiding looking at their father’s decaying form just like him. Aemond is too occupied staring right back at Lucerys to rush to his father’s aid.

When the King trips and his crown falls from his head, the Queen and her children still do nothing but stare with bated breaths.

It’s his stepfather who swiftly approaches the King, and with a gentleness unheard of in the Rogue Prince, guides his own brother to the very top of the stairs, not minding that the monarch is resting most of his weight on him. A movement in the sidelines catches Lucerys’ attention, a flash of Targaryen hair moving towards the brothers.

Prince Jacaerys Targaryen, first of his name and heir of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, holds the crown of the King in his hands while he follows his father and his uncle and grandfather.

“My King,” mumbles Jace respectfully as he bends the knee in front of their ruler, crowning the weakened man who smiles down at him with crooked, half-missing teeth.

“Thank you, my boy. Such a promising lad.”

Jacaerys smiles back at his uncle and grandfather before Daemon and him step down, back to Rhaenyra’s —and Lucerys’— side. There are knots tightening in Lucerys’ lower belly with anticipation. His half brother’s smirk, so close to the Iron Throne, ignites a telltale wave of desire that shamefully licks at his stomach.

“I must admit my confusion,” states the King through heavy breaths, “I don’t understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

When grandmother Rhaenys takes a step forward, Lucerys almost expects her to deny his claim. Her face is solemn, but she sends half a smile his way that helps to even Lucerys’ heartbeats.

“Indeed, your Grace. It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.”

Vaemond scoffs at this. It’s of no consequence to the King, who has heard enough.

“Well, the matter is settled, again.” The King is already tired from the few words he had to spare and the trek to the throne, and his tone doesn’t lack finality. “I hereby reafirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

His mother lovingly squeezes his hand, the tension is lifted off her shoulders under the protection of her father’s words, like a bruise soothed by a fresh balm. Lucerys, on the other hand, doesn’t have the chance to unclench his jaw and stop working his teeth into dust.

Vaemond strides back to the center of the room, dangerous in his unveiled and unrestrained anger. The hall goes quiet once again, the precarious silence casted by the fury of the older Velaryon man makes Lucerys tremble with uneasiness.

“You break law,” he spits at King Viserys, “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” his grandfather asks in angry disbelief, “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The Velaryon, more of a snake than a seahorse, turns back abruptly to point at Lucerys, throwing his accusations with venom coating his fangs, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

Lucerys whimpers. Cold sweat runs down his back, the hairs of his nape sticking to his skin. His mother grips his hand with renewed ferocity, as if she was afraid of Lucerys being ripped from her grasp. She might as well be, for Lucerys knows that what Vaemond is implying right now is high treason, and were the royals and the nobles to believe his word, Lucerys would find a noose around his neck sooner than later.

“Go back to your rooms.” Commands Rhaenyra, and there’s credit to give her and the firmness of her voice as her hand quivers in their hold, “You have said enough.”

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson,” states Viserys. “And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

It does nothing to placate Vaemond’s ire.

“You may run your house as you see fit,” he hisses with disdain, “but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned,” when his attention settles over Lucerys this time, he looks ready to pounce and snap his teeth around Lucerys’ throat, “I will not see it ended on the account of this—”

Then Vaemond shuts his mouth. He knows his grandfather might take this as a sing that the older Velaryon is weighting his options and the possible outcomes, but Lucerys knows better. Vaemond Velaryon is tasting the words, enjoying and festering on the acrid flavour of his cruelness.

Daemon’s voice comes as a soft, challenging whisper.

“Say it.”

It’s a trick, like the Cannibal pretends to be asleep when someone comes too close to his hill just to open his jaw and close his teeth around the cracking bones of the unsuspecting wanderers.

Vaemond doesn’t know this, though. He’s not a dragon after all.

“Her children are…” he comes too close to this hill as he screams his next words, “bastards! And she’s a whore.”

The gasps and exclamations flood the room and echo against the walls, but Lucerys can only hear the violent thrumming of his own blood in his ears.

His grandfather asks for Vaemond’s tongue. As his chest heaves erratically, he chances a glance towards Queen Alicent and his uncles and aunt and is not surprised to see Aegon and Aemond enjoying his family’s humiliation.

It makes his stomach upset with a speed that dizzies him, and he’s ready to vomit his lunch over his own boots when a metallic slice cuts through the air and through Vaemond Velaryon’s head.

Blood sprays everywhere. Some droplets hit Lucerys’ face and hair in the process. His eyes are open with horror, taking the sight of his grandfather’s brother corpse standing still for a second before loudly dropping to the floor.

The part of his head that is severed from his body rolls in the hall as the veins in his neck keep spraying red, tainting the marble and the stone. Lucerys can see the bones and the muscles torn open as a lamb in the Cannibal’s den.

The gasps have turned into piercing screams, nobles rushing to cover the eyes of the youngest guests of the Red Keep and knights rushing to protect the royals. While the green faction of the family took some steps back and let their fear show, his mother shields him, standing tall and proud as Vaemond’s body lays defeated. A true dragon, the heiress of this empire. She hasn’t stopped holding his hand.

When Lucerys looks for the culprit, he expects to see Daemon holding a red stained Dark Sister in his right hand. What he sees instead is Jacaerys, the beloved prince and heir, with The Promised still raised. The sword that Daemond and Rhaenyra gifted him in his thirteen name day is wet and tainted, but what weakens Lucerys’ knees and makes his blood sing is his brother’s face. Jacaerys’ amethyst eyes shine with vicious mirth, a bloodthirsty grin fixed upon his lips as he cleans the blade with his own cape. There’s blood dripping from his white strands and staining his cheek and the slope of his nose. Lucerys wants to lick him clean. He bits his own tongue to stop the moans that threaten to get past his lips.

“He can keep his tongue,” Jace says as he steps forward, “for I will have his head.”

Somewhere in the room, Otto screams at the knights. “Disarm him!”

Jacaerys simply raises his hand at this before pommeling his sword again. “No need.” He then walks around Vaemond’s corpes and crouches down to take his head, looking briefly into Lucerys’ eyes with intention before directing himself to his grandfather and uncle.

“Son,” Rhaenyra warns.

“Son.” Daemon rewards.

By the steps of the Iron Throne and before the wilting King Viserys, Jacaerys gets down on one knee and presents the evidence of his victory.

“My King. I present you the head of the treacherous Vaemond Velaryon, who insulted our family. I’ve defended my mother’s name, as well as Prince Lucerys’. And I would dedicate my life to do so were he to be wed to me. May the remains of Vaemond be proof enough of my intentions, and let the realm know what should happen if Lucerys’ blood is put into question again. Let this be the first of many courting presents, for no one else but a dragon could defend my brother with fire and blood.”

Queen Alicent sobs and screams something at their mother, but Rhaenyra is too preoccupied with her own rage towards her oldest son. The last thing Lucerys hears before everything turns pitch black is Daemon’s laughter.

#and then it's the dinner scene ;)#thank you so much anon for the prompt and request #i hope you liked this <3 #i might turn this into a longer chaptered version one day #who knows #jaceluke #house of the dragon #tw mature content #just some violence and references #tw blood and gore #about: my writing #blond jace as daemon son is not my original idea so credits to the person who thought about that <3 #i just followed a request <3 #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #i know this might be full of mistakes and i promise i will check it tomorrow i'm just very sleepy right now djhsagdjsa

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