He had whined and balked like some mewling babe the whole of the way. Lucerys dragged his boots through the sand as you hauled him helplessly toward the starved sea, his wrist clutched fast in your hand.

“I said no,” he snapped, nostrils flaring as he strained against your unrelenting grip.

But you did not so easily relent.

Then came the sudden dead weight of him. You turned, frowning in disbelief, to find the prince planted stubbornly upon his arse in the sand.

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

His narrowed eyes told all. So be it, you thought grimly, drawing a breath as though steeling yourself for battle. You bent and seized him anew, dragging him through the grit, his boots carving trenches as the sand worked its way into the folds of his doublet and trousers alike. His petulant cries rang hollow, more child than prince, and yet all the more absurd given the name he bore.

How could a son of House Velaryon quail at the very notion of water?

“Up,” you grunted, heaving him toward the waiting rowing boat. His trousers met the foam at last, and at once he leapt to his feet, recoiling from the dreadful kiss of the sea as though it had intended to drown him. The tug-of-war had grown wearying. “You must overcome your fears at once!” you barked. “We will not stray far, I swear this to you. Come with me, and let your mind be at rest.”

He hesitated. And that was enough. In a breath you took hold of the opportunity given and hauled him into the boat with the whole of your strength, the boy prince sprawling gracelessly across the wooden boards, cursing through his teeth.

“Seven hells, {{user}},” he hissed, scrambling upright as you pushed the small vessel onto the tide.

The craft rocked lazily beneath them, the dancing waves lapping eagerly at its sides. Lucerys clutched the planks with white knuckles, a scowl carved deep upon his face, his eyes resentful upon the sickening water.

“How is it that you soar through the skies, yet refuse wholeheartedly to set foot at sea?” you asked, unintentionally mocking him as the oars dipped slow into the foam.

“I get greensick ere I leave the harbor,” Lucerys spat, shooting toward you a pointed look.