Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 73: Chapter 73: The Weight of a Small Hand

Lucerys began flinching during sword practice more often.

At first, it was easy to mistake for ordinary fear. He was seven, soft-hearted, and still small enough that a practice blade looked larger in his hands than it ought to have. No child began with courage properly fitted to his bones. Courage had to be grown, bruised, corrected, and taught the difference between pain and danger.

But this was different. Ser Erryk noticed before I did.

The lesson took place in the training yard beneath a pale morning sky. The Red Keep had not yet grown too hot, and the yard was busy enough to make the boys feel watched without turning the lesson into spectacle.

Ser Arryk worked with Jacaerys near the far post, correcting his stance with firm patience, while Ser Erryk stood before Lucerys with a blunted practice sword in one hand and a calmness that suited him well.

Jacaerys attacked too early, eager to prove he had listened. Ser Arryk turned the blow aside and tapped him lightly against the shoulder.

"You are thinking faster than your feet can move, my prince, and while that eagerness may feel like bravery in the moment, it will leave you exposed and vulnerable for far longer than you intend," Ser Arryk said. "That makes you brave for half a breath and dead for the rest of it, so you must learn to set your feet first, steady yourself, and only then strike with purpose."

Jace flushed, nodded, and began again with more care. Lucerys, by contrast, did not attack enough.

He held the practice blade correctly when reminded. He listened to every instruction. His footwork was not terrible, and his hands had quickness in them, the kind that would matter one day if confidence ever learned to live beside it.

Yet whenever Ser Erryk’s blade came near his face, Luke’s body betrayed him. His shoulders rose. His eyes shut for the smallest part of a heartbeat. Sometimes he stepped back too far. Sometimes he forgot to guard at all.

Ser Erryk did not scold him for it. That told me he understood.

"Again, Prince Lucerys, and this time I want you to keep your eyes open through the entire movement, even when it feels uncomfortable," he said, lowering his blade. "I am not trying to strike you or cause you harm, but rather to show you where danger would come from if I were truly your opponent."

Luke swallowed and lifted his sword. "I know, Ser Erryk, and I truly am trying to keep looking as you say, but my eyes seem to move before I can tell them to stay, as though they remember something I cannot stop."

"That happens when the body remembers something faster than the mind can command it, and it is not something you should feel ashamed of," Ser Erryk replied. "We will not fix it by pretending it is not there, but by facing it slowly and with patience."

The words made Jacaerys glance over.

Ser Arryk caught the distraction at once. "Prince Jacaerys, your brother’s lesson is not an excuse to abandon your own, no matter how much you may wish to watch over him," he said. "If you truly wish to protect him, then you must learn to keep your guard and discipline instead of staring across the yard and forgetting your own footing."

Jace looked embarrassed, but he obeyed.

Luke tried again. Ser Erryk moved slowly, almost too slowly for practice, letting the wooden blade pass near Luke’s cheek. Luke held for one breath, then jerked back as if the sword had become flame.

His face went white.

The yard continued around him. Men struck shields, grooms shouted at horses beyond the gate, and somewhere near the far wall a knight laughed at another man’s poor footing. None of them understood that a child had just returned to a cave beneath Driftmark.

Luke’s fingers loosened on the hilt. The practice sword dropped into the dust.

Jace turned fully this time, ignoring Ser Arryk’s warning. "Prince Lucerys, you do not have to keep going if you feel unwell or if something is troubling you more than you can manage right now," he said. "There is no shame in stopping if you need to."

"I am not sick, and I do not need to stop," Luke said too quickly, his voice tight with something he could not quite hide.

"You look sick, though, and I can see that something is wrong even if you say otherwise," Jace insisted.

"I said I am not, and I wish you would stop saying that as though you know better than I do," Luke snapped.

The sharpness in his voice silenced Jace more effectively than shouting would have. Luke stared down at the fallen sword, breathing through his mouth, and for a moment he looked younger than seven. He looked like the boy I had found with blood on his hands and terror in his eyes.

Ser Erryk crouched and picked up the practice sword, but he did not offer it back immediately.

"My prince, there is no shame in stopping before the lesson becomes useless or harmful to your confidence," he said gently. "A frightened hand learns very little except how to grip too tightly and forget everything else it has been taught."

Luke’s chin trembled. "If I stop now, everyone will think I am weak and that I cannot even manage a simple lesson without failing."

Ser Erryk’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes softened. "Everyone is too large a word for a training yard, and it gives far too much power to those who are not even paying attention," he said. "At present, there are only those of us close enough to know, and none of us gain anything by mocking a boy for being honest about fear."

Jace stepped closer despite Ser Arryk’s look. "I would not mock you, Luke, not now and not ever, because I know you are trying your best even when it is difficult."

"I know you would not, and that is part of why it feels worse instead of better," Luke said, still staring at the ground. "It makes me feel like I am disappointing you even when you are trying to be kind."

Jace looked hurt. "I was only trying to help you, not make you feel worse or ashamed of anything."

"You always try to help because you think you have to stand in front of me and take everything first," Luke said.

The words landed badly. Jacaerys stiffened, and Luke looked as though he regretted them the moment they left his mouth. Before either boy could make the wound larger by trying to fix it too quickly, I stepped away from the shaded arch where I had been watching.

"That is enough for this morning, and there will be no more practice until tomorrow," I said.

Both boys turned toward me. Jace straightened at once, still trying to appear older than he was. Luke looked as if he wanted to disappear into the dust beneath his boots.

Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk bowed their heads.

"My princes, we will resume tomorrow when both of you have had time to rest and consider what you have learned today," Ser Arryk said. "You have both worked hard enough to benefit from rest, and poorly enough in certain moments to benefit from thinking."

Jacaerys frowned, unsure whether he had been complimented or insulted.

Ser Erryk handed Luke the practice sword hilt-first. "Clean it before it is put away, and take your time with it rather than rushing through the task," he said. "Even practice weapons deserve care, and caring for a thing after it has frightened you is sometimes the first step toward using it properly."

Luke accepted it with both hands. "Yes, Ser Erryk, I will make sure it is cleaned properly before it is returned."

The twins withdrew far enough to give privacy without abandoning their watch. That, too, I noticed. Kingsguard knights were trained to protect bodies. The better ones knew when dignity needed guarding as well.

Jace lingered.

I looked at him. "Go with Ser Arryk and put away your sword, and give your brother a little time before you try to speak with him again."

Jace’s mouth tightened. "I did not mean to make him angry, even if it may have seemed that way."

"I know, and he knows as well, though knowing a thing does not always make it easier to feel or accept in the moment," I said.

He looked toward Luke. "Should I apologise now, or would that only make things worse if he is not ready to hear it?"

"Not yet, because sometimes a man apologises quickly because he wants the discomfort to end rather than because the other person is ready to receive it," I said. "Give him a little room first, and then speak when the moment is right."

Jace considered that with the grave seriousness he brought to any instruction that sounded like it might one day matter. "I will wait, then, even if it is difficult, but I still want him to know that I was not trying to treat him like a baby or make him feel small."

"He will know, if you show him often enough without demanding that he thank you for it or acknowledge it immediately," I said.

That seemed to satisfy him, though not happily. He went after Ser Arryk, glancing back only once.

Luke remained beside me, holding the practice sword against his chest. His knuckles were pale around the wood.

"Walk with me, and we will speak somewhere quieter where you do not feel watched," I said.

He followed without argument.

We left the yard through a side passage and entered a small garden near the inner wall, one of the quieter spaces in the Red Keep where herbs grew stubbornly in raised beds, and a few thin trees gave shade too delicate to be useful at noon. Two Unsullied remained near the entrance, close enough to see us and far enough not to turn a father’s conversation with his son into a guarded interrogation.

Luke sat on the edge of a stone bench. I sat beside him, careful not to crowd him. For a while, neither of us spoke. The city murmured beyond the walls, distant and restless. Luke turned the practice sword over in his lap, thumb moving along a dent in the wood.

At last, he said, "I still see it, even when I try not to think about it or push it away."

I did not ask what he meant. He told me anyway.

"I see the rock in my hand, and I see Aemond’s face after I hit him, and it does not go away no matter how much I wish it would," he said. "Sometimes I hear him screaming before I fall asleep, and sometimes I wake up because I think there is blood on my fingers even when there is not." His voice grew smaller, though he forced the words to keep coming. "Everyone says I protected Rhaena and Jace, but I hurt him badly, and I made him lose his eye."

"Yes, that is true, and it is something we cannot pretend did not happen," I said.

Luke looked at me then, startled by the absence of comfort.

I held his gaze. "You did hurt him badly, and we cannot make that untrue simply because we love you and wish it had been otherwise."

His eyes filled at once. "Do you think I am bad because of what I did, even if I did not mean for it to happen that way?"

"No, Luke, I do not think you are bad, and I never will for something done in fear and desperation," I said. "I think you were frightened, angry, and trying to stop someone stronger from hurting people you cared about, and that explains what happened even if it does not erase the wound."

He looked down. "Mother says I should not listen to people whispering about it when they think I cannot hear them."

"Your mother is right, because whispers are rarely interested in truth, especially in this castle where people speak more to wound than to understand," I said.

"But what if some of it is true, even if they say it in a cruel way?" he asked. "They say I took his eye and nothing happened to me, as though I escaped everything."

"Something did happen to you, even if it was not given in a hall or declared before others," I said. "Not all punishments are given by kings in halls, because some begin inside the person who has to remember what his hand did."

He wiped at his cheek quickly, annoyed that tears had escaped. "I did not want to take it, and I only wanted him to stop hitting Jace and hurting the others."

"I believe you, and I have never doubted that your intent was to protect rather than to harm," I said.

"Does Aemond believe me, or does he think I meant to do it?" Luke asked.

"I doubt it, because pain rarely allows for generous understanding, especially when it is fresh and deep," I said.

Luke’s shoulders sank.

I let the answer stand for a breath before continuing. "Aemond lost an eye, and pain rarely makes a generous judge of others or their intentions," I said. "He may hate you for a long time, perhaps even forever, and while that is not fair to a child who acted in fear, fairness is not always strong enough to command grief."

"He had Vhagar, and she is the biggest dragon in the world, so I thought that would make him feel stronger or less angry," Luke said. "But he still looked so angry even after that."

"Because Vhagar did not heal what came before, and she could not give him what he truly lacked," I said. "She gave him power, but power is not the same thing as peace or comfort."

Luke thought about that. "I thought if I had a dragon, I would not be scared anymore, because dragons are supposed to make everything better."

"You have Arrax, and yet you are still scared now, even with him beside you," I said.

He frowned, because children disliked being defeated by their own evidence. "That is different, because this is not the same kind of fear."

"It is different, but not as different as people pretend when they speak of dragons as if they solve everything," I said. "Dragons make many things possible, but they do not remove fear, shame, guilt, or loneliness, and sometimes they only make those things louder."

Luke traced the dent in the practice sword again. "I do not want to be a monster, even if people say things that make it sound like I am becoming one."

The words were so quiet that the garden seemed to lean closer around them.

I turned toward him fully. "Then do not become careless with guilt, because it can shape you in ways you may not expect."

He looked up, confused.

"Guilt can teach you, or it can rot you from the inside if you let it grow without purpose," I said. "If you let it rot, you may begin to think you are already a monster, and then you will stop trying to be better because you believe it is useless." I paused before continuing. "If you let it teach you, then it becomes a hard memory that keeps your hand from moving too quickly the next time fear tells it to strike."

Luke listened, tears still bright on his face.

"You are responsible for what you did, and that responsibility will remain with you as you grow," I continued. "That does not mean you are wicked, but it does mean you must remember the cost of panic and learn from it."

I gestured lightly toward the yard beyond. "You must train so your body learns other answers besides desperate ones, and you must learn when to run, when to call for help, when to shield, and when to strike." I met his eyes again. "The sword is not only for killing, because sometimes it is for making enough space to survive."

He took that in slowly. "So that is why I have to keep training, even when it feels like I cannot do it properly?"

"Yes, because I do not want to turn you into a hard man before you are grown, but I also will not leave you with fear as your only teacher," I said. "The world has already reached for you once, and it will not be the last time."

Luke’s mouth twisted. "Ser Erryk moved his sword near my face, and for a moment I thought it was Aemond with the rock again, and I could not stop myself from reacting."

"That is why Ser Erryk slowed the lesson and did not push you further than you could manage," I said. "He saw the fear and chose not to shame you with it, which is the mark of a good teacher."

"He is kind, and I think he understands more than he says," Luke said.

"He is careful, and kindness that knows what it is doing is worth more than kindness that only wants to feel gentle," I said.

Luke leaned against my side then, not suddenly, but inch by inch, as if asking permission without words. I placed an arm around his shoulders. He was still holding the practice sword, and the hilt pressed awkwardly against my ribs.

"I made Jace sad, even though he was only trying to help me," he said.

"You wounded his pride more than his heart, because he wants to protect you and believes that is his duty as your brother," I said. "But he must learn that love is not always standing in front of someone and taking everything for them."

"What else is it, if it is not that?" Luke asked.

"Sometimes it is standing beside them while they learn to hold their own guard, even when it is difficult to watch," I said.

Luke was quiet for a while.

Then he asked, "Do you think Aemond was scared too, even if he does not show it now?"

The question surprised me, though perhaps it should not have. Luke’s softness had survived Driftmark better than the court deserved.

"Yes, I think Aemond was scared for years, though he would rather call it anger now because anger feels stronger," I said. "He was the dragonless boy among dragonriders, and he was mocked for it, and then he claimed Vhagar in the dark because he wanted never to feel small again."

Luke looked troubled. "That does not make him hitting Rhaena right, even if he was hurt before."

"No, it does not, because understanding a person is not the same as excusing what they have done," I said.

"That is difficult to remember when you feel sorry for someone," Luke admitted.

"It usually is, and it is something many grown men fail to understand even after years," I said.

He rested his head against me. "I wish it had not happened at all, and that none of us had been there that night."

"So do I, and I would change it if I could, but wishing does not alter what has already been done," I said.

"I wish I could tell him I am sorry, but I think he would only hate me more if I tried," Luke said.

"He might, because an apology offered too soon can become another burden placed on the wounded rather than a comfort," I said. "For now, become the kind of boy who could give one honestly when the day comes, whether he accepts it or not."

Luke nodded, though I could feel from the stiffness in him that the answer did not comfort him much.

Comfort was not always the purpose of truth.

After a time, Ser Erryk appeared at the garden entrance. He did not step inside until I looked toward him.

"My prince, Prince Jacaerys has cleaned and stored both practice swords, though I believe he did so with enough force to punish the rack for existing," Ser Erryk said. "He asked whether Prince Lucerys would prefer him to wait near the yard or return to their chambers, and he seemed very determined not to appear worried while asking."

Luke sat up quickly, wiping his face again with the heel of his hand. "Can he wait near the yard? I do want to speak with him, but not here where everyone can see."

Ser Erryk bowed his head. "I will tell him, my prince. I also told him that a brother who waits without hovering has already learned more than many grown men."

Luke almost smiled. "Did he like hearing that, or did he look like he thought you were making fun of him?"

"I believe he tried very hard not to enjoy the compliment," Ser Erryk replied. "That is a common failing among eldest sons who have decided dignity is more useful than being pleased."

When Ser Erryk withdrew, Luke looked at the practice sword in his lap. "I should clean this one again before I put it away. I dropped it, and I do not want Ser Erryk to think I was careless with it."

"It has already been cleaned once," I said.

"I know, but I want to do it properly this time, not because I was told to, but because I should have held it better."

We returned to the yard together. Jacaerys stood near the weapon rack, trying to appear casual and failing because eight-and-a-half-year-old boys were rarely subtle when guilt and concern sat on their shoulders. When he saw Luke, he straightened as if he had been caught doing something embarrassing.

Luke stopped in front of him. "I was angry because I felt ashamed," he said, looking at his brother rather than at the ground. "You were trying to help me, and I should not have spoken as if your help was something bad."

Jace swallowed. "I should not act like you cannot stand by yourself. Father said standing beside someone can be better than standing in front of them, so I will try to remember that before I become annoying."

"You are already annoying sometimes," Luke said.

Jace looked offended for half a heartbeat, then noticed Luke’s small smile and relaxed. "You are annoying too, but I was trying to be noble and not mention it while we were apologising."

"That was generous of you."

"I thought so," Jace said, with enough seriousness that Luke’s smile grew a little stronger.

The exchange was lighter than the wound beneath it, but children often crossed deep places on narrow bridges. They did not need every apology to become ceremony. Sometimes they needed room to find each other again without adults weighing every word like terms of surrender.

Ser Arryk watched from a short distance, arms folded. Ser Erryk stood beside him, expression mild.

"Do you think they will be ready for tomorrow?" I asked.

Ser Arryk considered the boys with a soldier’s eye. "Prince Jacaerys will arrive determined to prove he listened, which means he will likely overcorrect before remembering that discipline is not the same thing as stiffness. Prince Lucerys will be nervous, but if the lesson begins with defence rather than attack, he may hold steadier."

Ser Erryk added, "He needs to learn that a blade near his face is not always the cave returning. That will take time, but time is better spent in careful repetition than in forcing courage to appear on command."

"Then begin with defence," I said. "And if either boy tries to pretend he is less afraid than he is, make him repeat the basics until honesty becomes easier than pride."

Ser Arryk gave the faintest smile. "That lesson may take years, my prince, and not only for boys."

"For most men, it takes a lifetime," I replied. "Begin early, and perhaps they will have a better chance than we did."

Across the yard, Luke handed the cleaned practice sword to Jace, and Jace placed it carefully back on the rack. Neither boy looked entirely healed, because they were not. But Luke’s shoulders had lowered, and Jace no longer looked as if every danger in the world had to pass through him first.

I allowed myself one breath of relief. Then I saw Aemond.

He stood beyond the far archway with Ser Curtis Crakehall at his side. His eye patch sat black against pale skin, and his remaining eye watched the boys with an intensity no child should have carried so well. Ser Curtis said something too low for me to hear. Aemond did not look away from Lucerys while he listened.

There was no outburst. No insult. No childish challenge. Only silence, discipline, and a hatred being taught how to stand upright.

Luke did not see him. For that, at least, I was grateful.

Ser Curtis turned his head slightly, and his green eyes met mine across the yard. There was no apology in him for Driftmark. No shame, either. He had drawn steel because the Queen had commanded it, and men like him did not spend themselves regretting obedience unless obedience had failed its purpose.

I held his gaze until he looked away first.

Aemond spoke once before they left. I could not hear the words, but I saw the shape of them, the slight lift of his chin, the controlled stillness that followed. Whatever he said, Ser Curtis accepted it without comfort. He did not place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He did not soften his expression. He merely answered with the calm of a man turning pain into instruction.

Then they disappeared through the arch.

The yard seemed warmer after they were gone, though nothing in the air had changed.

Ser Erryk had seen them too. "Prince Aemond comes often now."

"So I have heard," I said.

"He trains hard for a boy still healing."

"He has learned that pain can be made useful."

Ser Arryk’s mouth tightened. "That is a dangerous lesson when taught without mercy."

I looked toward the arch where Aemond had vanished. "Yes. It is."

Jacaerys and Lucerys came back to me then, neither of them aware of how closely they had just been watched. Luke carried himself with the fragile dignity of a boy trying not to look as though he had cried. Jace walked beside him rather than in front of him.

It was a small thing. Small things mattered more than men admitted.

"Father," Luke said, "may we go see Arrax later? I think I would like to be near him for a while."

"You may," I said. "But you will go with your guards, and Jace will not turn the visit into an argument about who knows more about dragons."

Jace looked wounded. "I was not planning to argue about dragons."

Luke glanced at him. "You always plan to argue about dragons. Sometimes you begin before anyone else has said anything."

"I call that preparation," Jace said.

I almost smiled. "Then prepare quietly."

They both nodded, though Jace’s expression suggested that quiet preparation was an unreasonable burden placed upon eldest sons.

As they walked away with the guards, I watched Luke’s hand brush briefly against Jace’s sleeve. Jace did not make a show of noticing. He simply slowed half a step so his brother could keep pace.

That was enough for today.

I remained in the yard after they left, listening to the dull strike of practice swords and the ordinary noise of men pretending the world was not shifting beneath them. Driftmark had not ended in the cave. It had followed us into the Red Keep, into lessons, into glances, into the way children held wooden swords and looked over their shoulders.

Lucerys had taken one step toward learning how guilt might become wisdom.

Aemond, I feared, was learning a different lesson.

And somewhere between those lessons, the future sharpened itself.