Archive of Our Own ^beta

Aemond scowls at the psychedelic lights flashing all around them.

“Pick any one you like. My treat,” Aegon gushes, leading Aemond to a darkened booth with a good view of the central platform on which three underclothed girls perform a sultry dance together.

If Aemond had known his brother would bring him to another place such as this, he would’ve at least fought before getting in the car.

But now Aegon’s brought him to this exclusive brothel tucked into a discreet corner of the Riverlands to which all sorts of adulterers flock to. Lying to their mothers, wives, and children just to waste their money on a night of false pleasure. Infested by degenerates. Home to any kind of depravity.

It takes one to know one , Aegon had said once. 

As much as Aemond denies it, indeed, he fits right in. It’s not the realization of it that discomforts him, rather it’s the slight buzzing excitement he feels in his veins at the sights and pheromones he breathes in. The simmering anticipation of knowing that whatever he chooses to do–or not do–tonight will fade by morning. No questions, no consequences, no mentions of whatever took place.

The very power of his surname shields him from the worst he could ever do. And he’s the worst of them all.

The lounge is sophisticated despite its atmosphere of nauseating lust. It’s filled with high-end clientele, some of whom Aemond even recognizes as their business partners. He feels the need to conceal himself further inside the dark velvet seat of the crescent booth.

Scantily clad men and women sway enticingly as they pass by from table to table, accompanying clients as they have their drinks, batting their lashes and letting them rub their hands all over their glimmering skin. One such worker approaches their booth, with flaming red hair and eyes that seem to recognize his brother, but she hesitates to sit down next to him when Aemond throws her an icy look.

“Didn’t I say I wanted you on your best behavior?” Aegon says between his teeth, causing Aemond to scoff. Who is he to scold him?

Aemond knows his brother’s impatience is only because he wishes to leave with the first person that catches his attention, and to Aegon, every man and woman working tonight catches his attention. He orders drinks from the girl and lacks all subtlety as he stares at her ass when she strolls away.

Aegon turns back to him and groans, sliding his hand through his slicked-back hair. “Oh, come on! There must be one you like.” He gives Aemond a devious look and leans forward as though about to tell a secret. “Or is it that you want more than one? It’s been a while since you…you know,” he smirks. “But that’s why I’ve brought you here ,” he grins. “You can trust everyone in here to keep quiet and clean up after you. Just, uh, remember who’s paying for all of this, alright? Rein it in a little, not like last time.”

Aemond stares at the dangerous look in his brother’s eyes and feels his nostrils flare. If there’s one thing about Aegon he’s grateful for, it’s the lack of disapproval of his…interests. Anyone else would prevent him from even coming to this sort of place. But Aegon, he must get some kind of vicarious enjoyment from it to clearly encourage Aemond like this.

He gives a small nod of agreement and his brother switches back to his usual suave self, resting into the seat and fixing his salacious gaze on the events up on the stage.

Aemond looks ahead, finding the red-haired girl leaning over the bar counter speaking to the bartender but quickly loses interest when he notices something more alluring. It’s like a jolt to his senses when he sees him. A creature crawled right out of his darkest dreams.

The boy is perched on the edge of the high bar stool, kindly laughing at whatever the geriatric man next to him says. But when the man is lured away by a woman with swaying hips, a brief look of relief flashes over the younger who mistakenly believes no one watches him. There’s a slight tension in his sylphlike figure that gives away his lack of expertise in this profession. The last thing any client wants is to be reminded that this isn’t real, that the person under them isn’t actually enjoying it. But for Aemond, he likes it when they break character. When they’re too inexperienced or frightened to continue the performance. The true pleasure for him comes from seeing who they really are under all the cloying pretenses.

Beguiling. That’s the only word Aemond has to describe him. His innocence–feigned or otherwise–makes him appear younger than what is generally allowed in this establishment, and Aemond finds it tempting. But there’s also a wildness to him, in the glint of his large dark eyes. A bunny rabbit with claws. Underneath all that boyish softness, Aemond suspects he hides a savagery that all the other whores here lack.

Perhaps a viciousness that may match his own. A fun challenge.

Even from this distance, Aemond can see how the boy’s porcelain skin shimmers when the colorful lights dance over him. His hair is dark and wild, full of Grecian curls that spring all around as he nervously brushes a hand through it. Although Aemond only has access to the profile of his face, he feels like he can read every expression the boy displays. Timid when he scrunches up his button nose and glances warily around him. Lost when he bites at his plump bottom lip. 

Startled when his face turns in Aemond’s direction, enough to lock eyes. Aemond’s first instinct is to look away, to play it off like he hadn’t been obsessively staring for the past five minutes. But those dark eyes flit away from him first, face turning neutral as though his eyes hadn’t widened just slightly at seeing Aemond. Or maybe he had just imagined it.

Aemond’s eyes follow him hungrily as he hops down from his stool and saunters off to his next targets, a nearby group of men who look him up and down when he leans on the bar counter to grin at them. One of them says something to him and the boy answers back shyly, using his honeyed innocence to lure them in. But it’s not enough as they instead turn their interest to someone else who approaches the bar. 

They don’t deserve him, Aemond thinks as his right hand unconsciously turns into a tight fist. Those pigs would rather ignore him in favor of more experienced workers who know how to turn their feigned smiles and pleasure into realistic facsimiles. They don’t appreciate the treasure they have before them.

Aemond has a sudden urge to slam the faces of those men onto their drinks, hoping the glass breaks and makes them bleed.

There’s something about the boy that has him growing excited by the minute. As though he’s been searching for him for a long time, and now that he’s tracked him down he can’t ever let him go. He does look a bit similar to the others he’s set his sights on, but this one is…different.

He wants to take this boy somewhere where it’s just them. To touch his skin, wrap his arms around him and keep him from all the disgusting men who don’t know what true beauty is. To protect him, to be close enough to him and breathe in his scent which is sure to be sweet.

He wants to be the only one to touch him, to hurt him. He wants to fuck him. Make him cry on his cock until he’s begging Aemond to stop. A precious thing he can squeeze between his fingers, make him writhe violently until his body turns limp just enough to hang between life and death. A precarious decision Aemond wants to make for him.

Aemond wants to own him, in every sense of the word.

“You like that one, don’t you?” Aegon’s smirk drags Aemond out of his own head. His brother raises his hand lazily to signal the nearby madam. “Looks a bit…fresh,” Aegon studies the boy from across the room and Aemond wants to pluck out his eyes. He turns back and gives Aemond a wolfish smile. “He’s perfect for you.”

“Aegon–”

“Gentlemen,” the madam greets coolly. “I am glad to see you back with us, Mr. Targaryen, and that you’ve brought a friend. How may I serve the two of you tonight?”

“ Alys . As beautiful and ageless as ever,” Aegon simpers. “This is my brother, Aemond. Aemond say ‘hi.’”

Aemond suppresses the urge to kick his brother beneath the table. “Hello,” he says, unable to hold the woman’s gaze for longer than a second.

“Forgive him,” Aegon chuckles, whispers, “He’s a bit shy.” Then, he tilts his chin towards the boy. “So, darling Alys, what can you tell us about that pretty little thing down there?”

The madam, Alys, does not even glance behind her to know who Aegon speaks of. Her eyes hold a dark disinterest that flash briefly with what Aemond suspects to be irritation before her lips break out into a small diplomatic smile.

“Ah, that would be our little Pearl,” she responds. “He has been with us for some time, but he’s only now begun to fulfill…other duties.”

“And is he skilled in these ‘duties?’”

“Of course, Mr. Targaryen.” Her grin turns predatory. “I’ve seen to his preparation myself. He is my nephew, you see, and I expect him to be nothing less than professional. He may be new to carrying out his training, but I can assure you he is more efficient than some of my best.”

“Ah! And popular, isn’t he?”

“Very,” Alys agrees, pride coating her words. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

Aemond doubts that the boy is as popular as this woman claims, if only to ease the possessive rage inside him. He also finds it a bit strange that the madam would encourage her own blood to work in a place like this. Does the boy, this “Pearl,” owe some sort of debt to his aunt, or could it be that he truly enjoys the profession and his timid appearance is just a front?

He glares at his brother, silently willing him to leave it alone. Aegon is well aware that once he begins, he cannot control his madness until he’s destroyed what he is given. And yet, it is what makes Aegon decide against Aemond’s wishes.

“Yes, but he won’t be for me.” Aegon smiles widely as Alys turns to peer at Aemond with dark eyes that seem to see more than they do. “It’s his first time here, you see. And I only wish the best for my little brother.”

“Of course,” Alys smiles with an eerie twist of her lips. Whereas his brother’s smiles are as genuine as a fool’s, the madam’s lack real mirth. Aemond gets the sense they’ve fallen for some sort of trap.

She motions towards the boy who must have been paying attention to their exchange because he suddenly widens his eyes before quickly composing himself and treading towards them. When he finally reaches them, his mouth parts in apprehension as he observes Aegon up and down.

“My dear Pearl, this is Mr. Targaryen,” Alys places a hand on the boy’s back as she turns him towards Aemond. Somehow, she stands taller than him, and she smooths some of his hair out of his eyes in an almost motherly gesture. It all serves to make the boy appear younger than he most likely is. “You’ll be accompanying him tonight.”

“Hello,” Lucerys greets, his face morphing into one of false interest. His slight smile falters when Aemond doesn’t respond as enthusiastically as he assumes other men normally respond to him.

“Pearl! A pretty name for a pretty boy like you,” Aegon cuts through the tension. “Come, join us!” He motions for the boy to sit beside Aemond, which he does once Aemond reluctantly scoots over.

“Enjoy your night, gentlemen,” Alys says, giving her nephew one last look before departing.

Aemond can feel the boy tense at his side. The warmth of his body and sweet flowery scent cause Aemond’s skin to prickle.

“Would you like a drink?” Aegon asks, not waiting for Lucerys to respond before ordering for him from the server from before. Aemond doesn’t miss the curious way she looks at the boy before fetching their drinks. “Your aunt tells us you haven’t been at this for very long, but I’m sure you’re a natural aren’t you?” Aegon’s grin is lascivious. Aemond wants to sweep the boy away then and there. “My brother, Aemond, liked you the minute he spotted you. And guess what? He’s fairly new to this just like you! Perhaps you could teach him a few things.”

As Aegon chortles, Aemond takes the distraction to finally let his eyes drag to the boy. He notices the way he looks down before quickly composing himself and smiling at Aegon. Is it shame he feels? Embarrassment at what he imagines Aemond will force him to do later tonight?

Aemond throws Aegon another indignant frown.

“You know what?” Aegon looks between the two of them, suddenly disinterested at the boy’s disinclination to play along. “How ‘bout I let you two do your thing? You don’t need me for that part, do you, Aemond?” He gives Aemond an obvious wink before getting up and heading towards the seating area in front of the stage where another set of dancers are only just beginning their seductive routine.

Aemond clears his throat and begins to shuffle his body further away from the boy. A soft and surprisingly warm hand quickly reaches out to land on Aemond’s wrist.

“Why so far away?” he speaks, his voice soft as if he wants only Aemond to hear. “I thought your brother said you liked me.”

He gives Aemond the sweetest smile, small and coy but paired with dark eyes similar to the madam’s he works for. Endless and intelligent, as though they see right through him and he continues to play the role of an innocent little thing just for Aemond’s sake.

Aemond wants him to drop all pretenses and show him a side of himself he’s never shown anyone else.

“Sorry,” he answers back, his voice wavering in the presence of this enchanting creature. His hand is still on Aemond’s wrist.

The boy’s smile changes to something a bit more genuine, like Aemond’s soft answer takes him enough by surprise that he is sent to the cusp of empathizing. The girl Aegon had sent for more drinks returns with a small teacup, definitely not what Aegon had ordered. “Thank you, Star,” he says when she places it on the table in front of him.

Aemond politely refuses another drink from the girl when she asks. She’s brought the boy a tea, Aemond deciphers. Dark fuschia in color, almost red, with a rosy herbal scent.

“She knows what I like,” the boy answers Aemond’s unspoken question.

As he delicately sips, Aemond’s eyes roam over the boy’s body, taking in the almost sheer white dress-like garment, lovely in the way it hugs his soft curves. It rests unbuttoned at the top which causes it to swoop down past his left shoulder, so soft and vulnerable. Aemond glances away from the blushing buds on his chest that are visible through the fabric.

“It’s alright,” he says, setting down his drink and snaking his fingers around Aemond’s wrist insistently. “You can look. I don’t mind. All the others do.”

A cold frost bursts through Aemond. He turns to fully face the boy now. “I’m not like all the others,” he says, his voice sharper than intended.

But the boy doesn’t appear frightened by Aemond’s sudden flash of anger. His hand begins to creep up Aemond’s arm, slithering up until it rests on Aemond’s elbow instead and scoots in closer on the seat, their knees brushing together.

“Then, you won’t treat me like they do?” His voice is low, but Aemond leans his head down to hear him over the thrumming music. “You won’t…hurt me like they do?”

“No,” Aemond replies immediately.

The boy gives him a wry smile like he expected Aemond to give him this lie. He draws nearer, speaking now into Aemond’s ear. His scent is stronger like this, slim thighs practically on top of his own. 

“Can I tell you something? Sometimes they make me do things I don’t want to do, but I do them because it’s what they want. And I’m supposed to want what they want. What you want.”

The icy rage that had rushed through Aemond thaws into a boiling possession. Clearly, he means to strike envy into Aemond, to provoke him. And yet, there’s no need for him to try so hard. If he were to reach down, he’d feel evidence of Aemond’s desire for him and know that he’s just like every other man who’s ever hurt him.

“No, I won’t force you.” Aemond replies, though what he means is: I won’t hurt you on our first night. Neither on our second or third.  

“I swear it.” I’ll take my time with you. Get you comfortable enough that when I do, you won’t see it coming.  

“I won’t be like the others.” Do you believe me?

The boy settles on top of him, perching daintily on his lap. He slithers his hands along Aemond’s forearms and wraps them around the back of his neck. Aemond places his hands carefully atop the boy’s spread thighs, his thumb catching on the hem of his excitingly improper dress. He stares down at Aemond, this innocent little pearl, like he means to eat him whole. Swallow him down without chewing, let him decay inside the acids of his body where no one will ever know what happened to him.

It’s a thought that causes Aemond to breathe out an amused puff of air. The boy mimics his smile, almost mockingly. And then his lips are on Aemond’s.

His tongue tickles Aemond’s palate, and it tastes of the rose tea he was sipping, sweet but dangerously wild. He makes it difficult to hide how desperate Aemond is for him. Aemond gives a humiliating moan when the boy shifts and presses himself down, fully aware of how this is driving Aemond mad. He giggles into Aemond’s mouth, clearly amused by his work. He’s done almost nothing and yet Aemond is close to bursting.

Aemond sucks in a grateful breath once the plump lips release him. He only now registers that he’s gripping the back of the boy’s dress, the only thing keeping him anchored. He feels himself tremble, his breathing ragged. As they breathe the same air, those dark eyes study him, calculating. Eerily, the boy is more composed than Aemond is.

After all, Aemond reminds himself that this is his job. To fluster him and make him behave in ways he isn’t afforded to in proper society. Aemond can do anything to him and he cannot complain. He is meant to take it and ask for more, even if he wants Aemond to stop. Even if Aemond breaks him.

His fingers play with the wisps of hair on the back of Aemond’s neck. An inviting grin appears suddenly at his painted lips, brilliant enough that Aemond almost believes it was always there. Tiny but sharp canines glint down at him.

“Do you want to head upstairs?”

— — —

The door lock echoes loudly in the darkened bedroom.

Aemond stops when he reaches the rug in the middle of the room. With more confidence than him, the boy moves past him to a dresser and pours some whiskey into two glasses. He sets the decanter down to hand a glass to him.

Their fingers slide against each other as Aemond accepts it. He takes a sip and it occurs to him that it’s possible the boy lives here, in this bedroom. It’s minimalist in decor with no personal items to reveal more of him, almost like the memory of him could be removed without any trouble.

Does he bring every man up here? Aemond was aware of this establishment offering comfortable rooms for its guests to receive their service, but the thought of anyone else being in here with this boy is unbearable. What gives them the right to lay claim to something that was always meant to belong to him ?

He takes another sip of whiskey. “How long have you been here?”

The boy tilts his head. “Long enough to know what I’m doing.”

Aemond shakes his head, regretting his words. “No, I didn’t mean to–” he takes a breath. His words feel clumsy. “Do you…enjoy it? Working here?”

“What I enjoy,” the boy places his fingers on the bottom of Aemond’s glass, pushing it up and prompting him to drink more, “doesn’t really matter, does it? As long as you’re having fun.”

He gulps down the last of his drink, and the boy takes it to refill it. He’s never been with a whore who’s been so honest to him before. It’s refreshing but offers him no relief. Is the boy so liberated as to comment on the way he’ll fuck him?

Instead of handing him the glass, he sets it down and throws his arms up around Aemond. His hands massage at the back of his neck, comfortingly. “You’re so tense,” he coos. “This won’t work unless you’re relaxed. We can go slow if you want.”

“It’s not like I haven’t done this before,” Aemond quickly replies, a bit resentful. It’s not inexperience that has him reluctant to begin. More calmly, he asks, “I just want to know more about you–who you are, what you like.”

The boy leans back to stare at him. “Did your brother pay my aunt for us to talk? If you want to know what I like,” he lowers his voice playfully, “then how about I just show you?”

When he sees that Aemond has no reaction, he releases him and takes a few steps back like he’s assessing how best to entice Aemond into bed. If only he knew the kinds of things Aemond had in mind he wouldn’t be so eager to complete his job.

“Okay, look. I’m going to have a quick rinse off first, and you can wait for me on the bed.” He leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Aemond’s mouth. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Aemond glances warily at the boy’s back, his see-through dress transforming him into a lithe silhouette, as he begins to head over to an adjacent room regardless of Aemond’s answer. His eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, but the boy seems familiar enough with the space, not bothering to glance around.

“Sure.”

The boy leaves the bathroom door open, which Aemond takes as an unspoken invitation to join him. He considers going to wait on the bed. Instead, he picks up his drink, walks over to the singular window, and turns the blinds open just enough to let in a bit of moonlight.

He is no stranger to using whores and yet the heart inside him beats almost frantically against his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. Why he attributes so much meaning into this encounter that should effectively be meaningless. His brother goes through whores like he goes through his liquor, and he’d give absolutely no second thought to this. He’d march right into that shower and take the little pearl with no other intention than to achieve his own pleasure.

But Aemond is not his imbecile elder brother who prefers his conquests to merely be unwilling, with their fake smiles and exaggerated moans.

His own depravity is much worse.

He will take from the boy what is meant to be his, slowly, again and again until he knows no one else but Aemond. And then he will ruin him.

“Mr. Targaryen?”

Aemond hadn’t even heard the water stop. He turns to the wisp of a boy, such an ethereal creature that he must not even be real. But the damp warm skin under his hands feels real enough once the boy reaches him, as bare as he was when he entered this world. 

Embarrassingly, he trembles when the boy surges up to kiss him again. A slow, almost gentle thing that makes Aemond reach down to squeeze at the plushiness of the boy’s waist.

“Call me Aemond,” he coaxes against his warm lips, whispers it so as to not scare off this treasure he holds in his hands.

And yet the siren slips away. With a grin and gleaming eyes, he crawls up onto the bed. He positions himself to rest on his back, propping up onto his elbows and granting Aemond a better view of that elusive body. A drop of water drips from the curling hair that sweeps over his forehead, his skin smooth except for the wisps of dark coils down below where his cock lies soft. Aemond aches to sink to his knees and have him harden in his mouth.

“Come to bed, Aemond,” the boy whispers.

Aemond lets himself obey, slipping off his suit jacket and shoes as he steps forward slowly, never breaking the fragile connection he has with the boy’s eyes that challenge Aemond to capture him. A challenge he accepts when he crawls over him, still clothed but able to feel the arousing warmth underneath. The shiver that runs through the boy’s body when Aemond presses himself down against him.

He smiles up at him like Aemond could do him no wrong. His body lies open and alluring underneath him, gullible and oblivious to the things Aemond has planned. Unaware that Aemond likes to hold pretty little things in his hands only to break them so that no one else can ever hold them again.

A selfish and filthy pastime, he knows, but he can’t help it. He’s been afflicted with this since he was a child and he used to hide the pieces of vulnerable creatures he would slice apart. He used to be so careless about it, leaving behind evidence that was discovered by a disgusted mother and an entertained brother.

Now, he’s more careful about where he hides the little trinkets he saves, usually locks of hair and eyes or whatever calls out to him each time. He leaves the rest of it–the mess he creates–for Aegon to find, but his favorite parts are just for him.

He leans down and gently brushes his lips against the boy’s, moving them as though murmuring. His lips are deliciously soft and plump. He wants to bite into them, to savor the warm coppery taste of running blood.

It’s strange, but he’s never wanted to eat any of his creatures before. Perhaps with this one he’ll try something new.

“What’s your name?” he breathes onto the boy’s smooth cheek. “Your real one.”

Aemond feels the rumble of laughter that travels through the boy’s chest. He snakes his hands in between them, expertly beginning to unfasten the buttons of Aemond’s shirt. “Let’s take this off,” he suggests in lieu of answering his question.

While he won’t deny that the pretty thing underneath him is indeed deserving of the sobriquet they have given him in the brothel, he would rather feel the way his true name passes through his mouth.

He lets the boy unclothe him, separating from him just enough to pull his arms free of his shirt. The boy’s swift fingers move down to Aemond’s belt next. “If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll have to make one up for you.”

The boy grins, delighted as he unzips Aemond’s pants and slides a hand inside. Aemond gasps when a warm palm cups his hardness over his underwear. The boy glances up at him through his curled lashes. 

“Alright. Who would you like me to be?”

Aemond tears his eyes away from the boy’s arm and is enchanted by the way his dark eyes gleam in the shadows around them. The way his hair drifts forward into his face and the curl of his smile that carries more deviousness than what is necessary to lure someone in. 

A strange sensation starts to creep over him, like this situation is similar to something he has lived through before. Perhaps it’s the deja vu of other times he has lost control and made the whores scream and bleed out underneath him before even fucking them first. Aemond’s movements are slowed this time, however, like his body is telling him to wait, that he should allow this to keep going for a little longer. See where the night takes them before he pounces.

Or perhaps it’s the odd shiver that runs through him when the boy turns his face down and the soft swoop of his nose calls to mind a smaller, younger boy with the same face shape. It’s a face he hasn’t seen in years, let alone thought of.

But then Aemond blinks, the boy looking back up at him, and the feeling is gone.

His eyelids suddenly begin to feel heavy, so he blinks again but it feels delayed like he’s caught in that moment between wakefulness and the last remnants of sleep. The boy’s hand suddenly releases him, and he studies Aemond with a careful gaze.

“Let’s get you to lie down,” he says, but his voice echoes in Aemond’s head like he’s speaking to him through a long tunnel. When Aemond makes no move in response, the boy surges forward, placing his hands securely on Aemond’s shoulders to push him back against the bedding, flipping them over.

“There. Are you comfortable now?” The boy’s words are muffled but they sound mocking to Aemond. “Aw, are you cold? Here, let me get the blanket…” 

Aemond, shivering, begins to realize he can’t move very well. He stretches out an arm, but the boy easily pushes it back down as though it weighs nothing, no longer a threat. He kneels over Aemond, his smile no longer sweet but dangerous, all teeth. The shy, playful facade washes over him, leaving behind his true self. It’s what Aemond wanted to see, but the way it’s happened is all wrong. Aemond shouldn’t be the one with fear constricting his throat.

He blinks once, twice, his vision turning foggy with every closing of his eyelids until it fades altogether.

— — —

When Aemond gradually comes to, he tries to speak and his words are slurred. He feels a weight in his lap and a restless need to escape. He opens his eyes slowly, has to try multiple times because his lids keep drooping. Someone says something, but it takes a while to realize who as his brain catches up with his senses. A boy. A boy that’s too familiar with a face that burns in his mind. And it appears he’s just finishing up tying Aemond’s ankles together.

“...awake? Finally! You were taking forever –”

“Lucerys?”

The boy straddled atop Aemond’s legs freezes.

Belatedly, Aemond realizes his mistake. He remembers where he is. He remembers that this boy who looks like Lucerys–they always look like Lucerys–is not really Lucerys but instead a whore. Lucerys was no older than five the last time Aemond saw him. 

He makes this mistake often. He sees dark-haired whores with soft faces and is reminded of that small child who had almost succeeded in slicing out his eye more than a decade ago. 

As far as Aemond knows, Lucerys would not be a whore. But he hasn’t known anything about that side of his family in quite a while. He supposes it’s possible his nephew could have gotten himself in this line of work within the last fifteen years, same as anything else in this world is possible. But unlikely.

This is most definitely not Lucerys. It can’t be.

“So you do recognize me.”

Aemond blinks. It takes a while for him to register what has just been said. He looks up, his vision still hazy, and feels his body go rigid as the boy shifts on the bed and leans down. It’s so dark in the room that he appears like a dark shadow, like the little demon that invades his dreams on nights when Lucerys lies heavily in his mind. His breath hits Aemond’s lips.

“Good. That means we can get on with things.”

He slips off of him, overconfident like a spider who has trapped their next meal and plans to devour it piece by piece, luxuriously. There’s no haste; he can’t go anywhere.

Aemond attempts to speak again, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He tries to stretch out a hand, but his movement is stifled. He can’t see it, but he knows he must be restrained, feels the stinging of the tight knot that digs into his wrists. The rope is attached to one of the metal rungs in the headboard so his arms stay extended out above his head.

“Wha…what is this?” he slurs. 

He lifts his head to look around him, but it falls back onto the pillow just as fast. He tries again, but a wave of vertigo hits him. His pants are zipped back up, shirt still gone. He never requested this; it must be some sort of trick. Something Aegon would have concocted. Perhaps he’s in the room laughing at him now.

“Shhh,” he hears somewhere close to him.

Then the boy materializes at his left, fully clothed now, a different person than the one who had worn the sheer dress and presented himself vulnerably to Aemond. He looks down at Aemond with an expression of someone who is struggling to keep in their amusement. 

“You don’t believe me, do you? I know how your mind works, Aemond. You don’t think it’s possible for me to have ended up here.”

It’s been too long since he’s had anything to do with his half-sister and her brood. All he remembers is the dark hair and even darker eyes of her strange little sons. The second one had an annoying fascination with Aemond, always following him around like an overeager puppy, even after Aemond would shout at him to leave him alone. Childish feuds he had long forgotten.

“No…it’s not you,” he struggles to say. “It’s never really you.”

“I tried to take your eye fifteen years ago.” The boy reaches out a thumb, and Aemond shuts his eye instinctively. His nail drags over the lid.

“That doesn’t…my brother could have told you that. He put you up to this. Untie me now, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

The boy narrows his eyes. After an uncomfortable silence, he seethes, “I had a puppy. Arrax. You killed him, but you threatened to kill me, too, if I ever said anything about it. Tell me, does your brother know that ?”

He doesn’t. That was something only Aemond could remember. And Lucerys. But it’s not possible.

Lucerys had become just another memory, a shadow in his dreams who would take on the faces of each of his victims, trying to make Aemond feel a guilt that never comes. He looks at this boy before him, at the wildness of his eyes, and he believes. Lucerys is all grown up.

“Lucerys,” he breathes, his mouth dry. “It is you.”

“Of course it’s me,” this strange boy sneers. 

“What–what is all this, then?” He tugs at the rope around his wrists and hisses when it cuts further into his skin. “You trick me and reveal yourself to me after all these years for what? To get back at me for a puppy ?” He nearly laughs.

Like a secret, the boy– Lucerys –whispers, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought of me in all that time.”

Aemond narrows his eyes, confused about where this is going. Lucerys was always an unusual boy–though no one in their family could be considered “normal”–but this all feels out of place. Like a dream. He blinks hard, but Lucerys is still there.

“Oh, I know what you’ve been up to, Aemond. I’ve been following you for a while, watching. I’ve seen the ones you like to pick. They all look like me.”

Ah, perhaps now he understands. “So, what is this? Entrapment? Seeking justice all by yourself?” He startles when Lucerys drops something on the bed right next to him. A knife. He clicks his tongue. “What sort of things are you into, little Luke?”

“I could ask you the same question, Uncle . The things you’ve done to them…you’re sick.”

Aemond isn’t ashamed to have his sins out in the open like this. Sooner or later, he supposed he would be discovered. But never would he have imagined that it would be Lucerys.

“What are you? An undercover cop?” Aemond’s stomach sinks as he asks, suddenly preferring death to being brought to justice by Lucerys of all people.

Without warning, Lucerys grabs him by the hair nearest his scalp and pulls. “No, though I should have you arrested. But that would be too easy, and besides, it was only coincidence that I learned of your crimes. As fucking disgusting as you are, it doesn’t surprise me. But I’m not here for that; I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done to my family.”

Aemond blinks, lost once again. Lucerys tugs on his hair once more, growling. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The fucking will you and your traitor family changed. You left us with nothing .”

His father’s will. Aemond laughs at the unexpectedness of the accusation. It’s the wrong move because Lucerys releases his hair only to pick up the knife and press it to his neck.

“You’re wrong! I had nothing to do with that.” 

Five years ago, Lucerys’ mother had tried to contest the will, claiming that as their father’s first child surely she would stand to inherit something. At the time, Aemond assumed that someone had indeed tampered with it, perhaps his grandfather. Regardless, he finds it amusing that his little nephew would put himself through this elaborate plan just to “make him pay” for something he had no part in.

“ Liar. ”

“I was seventeen at the time, how could I have–”

“Shut up!” Lucerys slaps his hand over Aemond’s mouth, pressing so hard it makes him whine. “You’re lying.” 

As Aemond shakes his head in protest, Lucerys climbs onto his lap again. His life is at stake and yet he feels like laughing at how tonight’s events have flipped so terribly. His nephew is transcendent above him, beautiful in his rage, his portrayal of beguiling whore over with. As though able to read his mind, he sees hesitation in Lucerys’ eyes.

“It’s no matter anyway, is it?” he shouts, frustrated. “I’ve been planning this for so long, I don’t even know how you hadn’t noticed me by now. And it’s not as if you don’t deserve to be punished.”

Aemond’s question is muffled under Lucerys’ hand, his eyes widening.

“Yes, punished,” the boy laughs wildly, madly. He leans down, their heaving chests meeting, his lips burning Aemond’s ear. “I’ve been waiting. I knew sooner or later he would bring you here, and I’d be more than ready.”

His hand releases him finally and trails upwards over Aemond’s mouth and cheek, stopping at the corner of his left eye.

Despite his fear and the lingering effects of the drug Lucerys clearly put in his drink, Aemond feels himself growing hard. Lucerys’ eyes dart to where he can feel the erection, and Aemond chuckles. “Familiar with this place, then, Nephew?”

Lucerys draws back, studying him as if he were a repulsive bug underneath him. The knife reappears, this time used like a crude comb to spread apart the strands of Aemond’s hair that are fanned out on the pillow.

“You could say that. After you took everything from us, it was best for me to try my luck on my own rather than let my mother struggle to feed all of us. Jace left first after he got into some illegal business. I haven’t seen him in years. Mom’s alone with Joff now, but they’ll be fine. They have to be.”

He shifts, settling his weight onto Aemond’s stomach rather than his lap. Aemond huffs, already missing the feel of him. Lucerys bares his teeth.

“You’ve all been perfectly comfortable, though. My aunt tells me that your brother comes here often. She took me in, my savior who tells me lots of things, like the kinds of things you like to do to people like me. You’re not going to be doing those things anymore.”

“If I’m to be ‘punished’ as you say, how do you intend to do it?” Aemond has a general idea of what Lucerys might do. What he didn’t finish the last time they were in each other’s presence. He moves his head to the side, trying in vain to get away from the boy’s disturbingly arousing touch.

Lucerys gives him a cruel smile. “I was going to let you just find out for yourself, but I want you to guess now. I want to see your fear as you say it.” When Aemond doesn’t take the bait, the tip of the blade finds the soft area below his left eye.

“You’re going to take my eye and then kill me,” he rasps.

“Uh, uh. I can’t kill you. Just like you going to prison, that would be too easy. You’d learn absolutely nothing.”

“So you’re going to let me live? What’s to stop me from coming after you?”

Lucerys’ chuckle sends an unpleasant swoop through his stomach. Funny how this boy could cause him to feel both desire and terror.

Aemond thinks through what he’s done to all his past victims. At this point in his life, the number is not high, not even reaching ten. But the things he’s done to each of them…Lucerys’ definition of justice must entail payment in kind. An eye for an eye.

“You’re going to finish what you’ve started, then? To take my eye like you tried to all those years ago? You’ll fail. Just like the first time.”

His nephew’s smile is wolfish, hungry for blood. His warm breath hits Aemond’s face. “You know the part I still don’t understand? Why do you take both of their eyes?”

“Why do you think?”

“I only tried to take the one,” Lucerys taps the blade onto the top of Aemond’s cheek, nicking him. “In vengeance for what you did to my Arrax. But you like collecting the pair. I suppose I’ll do that, too.”

Aemond convulses, trying in vain to get free as Lucerys grits his teeth and grinds his body down to stop him from toppling over the side of the bed. His ankles are tied together, not to the bed like his wrists. If he can just swing them over…but his muscles are still too weak.

“I’ll make it quick,” he gives a mirthless laugh. “I’m not as lustful for blood as you are, but I will make it hurt. The pain is the most important part here. If you faint, I’ll stop and wait until you wake up to start again.”

“No, Lucerys, I’ll bleed out. You said you don’t want to kill–”

“You’re not going to bleed out. You see all that?” he points to several first aid tools spread out on the nightstand. “Like I said, I’m more than ready.” In any other setting the words may be considered comforting, but Aemond prays that he will die despite Lucerys’ precautions.

“You can’t do this. I’ll scream–”

“And no one will do anything!” Lucerys cries, crazed. “Just like how no one did anything when your victims screamed because you and your brother paid to ensure it. Everyone here knows what I’m going to do to you, and they won’t do a thing about it.”

“My brother–Aegon–what will you do to him? He’s done worse than I have,” he gasps, hoping to make time until he figures out a way to get free. But that fucking drug hasn’t fully left his system.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the boy sneers. “My friends are taking care of him, too. I told them you were mine, so until I’m done with you, it’s just you and me.”

He reaches up to check that the bindings on Aemond’s wrists haven’t come undone and angles the knife back down to Aemond’s left eye. Aemond blinks away stray tears, and he can feel the ice of the blade through his lashes. Any arousal left in his body is long gone now, only a chilling helplessness left in its wake.

“We’ll start with this one,” Lucerys says, oddly calm and mechanical. He gives no other warning.

Aemond’s scream is stilted, forced out when the blade pierces him.

Like the prey he has become, he submits to his predator and the darkness that follows.