Lucerys was dressed in a high-collared black doublet lined with dark red stitching, the sword at his hip hanging against his side. He was twelve now, but the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes made him seem older. His steps through the narrow stone corridors of Dragonstone carried no trace of excitement or eagerness like it used to. There was no joy in this keep anymore, not in the way people spoke, nor in the way they looked at one another. The atmosphere was just wrong, people felt it too , every passing servant lowered their head without meeting his eyes. He walked on without slowing, the torchlight catching on the uneven stones of the walls and the painted banners that had not been replaced in years.
The painted room waited ahead, its great table marked with the shapes of the realm. Inside, Maester Gerardys sat with his chain resting against his chest, Castellan Robert Quince in his thick wool cloak, Ser Erryk Cargyll in white armour with his hand resting lightly against the pommel of his sword, and Mysaria in pale silk. The moment Lucerys entered, they rose together in a quiet show of respect.
"Be seated," he told them. He took the high-backed chair at the head of the painted table, leaning forward slightly as his eyes passed over the gathered faces.
Gerardys began without delay. "The ravens have been sent, my prince. Winter is officially upon us."
Robert let out a slow breath, his brow tightening. "Gods help us," he muttered. "We had hoped for another year before it set in."
"It will be a hard one," Gerardys said, looking to Lucerys. "I have lived through enough of them to know the signs. The winds are harsher, and the nights grow longer than is usual for the turning of the year. This will not be short."
Lucerys did not react beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes. "And our food stores?"
"Well stocked," Robert replied at once. He shifted forward slightly. "It is by your forethought we will not go hungry before spring. Had you not ordered the doubling of our grain and salted meats, we would be facing a much grimmer prospect."
Lucerys waved a hand as if brushing the thought aside. "We are an island. It only makes sense to store more than we need when ships may not come in foul weather." He did not linger on it and instead asked, "Any word from the capital?"
The change in the room was immediate. Mysaria's eyes narrowed faintly. Robert's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Gerardys straightened, as though bracing himself for what might come next. Even Ser Erryk's gaze flicked toward the door, though he said nothing.
Robert cleared his throat, glancing at Gerardys before speaking. "The latest word from the capital is... mixed, my prince. The shipyards on the Blackwater have begun work on ten new galleys. Lord Jason Lannister is said to be supplying the gold, and the vessels are to fly the royal banner."
Lucerys sat still, eyes on the map carved into the painted table. "For trade?"
"That is the claim," Robert said. "Though the designs are warship through and through. Broad hulls for stability, reinforced prows for ramming, more oar banks than merchant work requires."
Mysaria leaned forward slightly. "They mean to put more steel in the Gullet. If the Velaryons still kept their position as Master of Ships this wouldn't have happened. But Corlys sits at Driftmark and does little."
Gerardys nodded. "And in the same letter, my prince... word that the betrothal between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris Baratheon has been sealed."
Lucerys' fingers tightened against the arm of his chair. "The Stormlands, are out then."
"It gives the Greens the Reach, the Westerlands, and now Storm's End in their pocket," Erryk said. "And the Baratheons will bring ships and soldiers without hesitation if called."
Gerardys hesitated before adding, "There was also the matter of the tourney."
Lucerys looked up. "What tourney?"
"A grand one held in the capital last month," Gerardys said. "A celebration of the King's health, hosted by Prince Aegon. Knights from half the realm attended. Gold prizes for the champions, feasts for the smallfolk. And, from the tone of the letters, it was a triumph. The people speak of him as a prince for all the realm."
No one spoke after that. The words hung over the table. They all knew what it meant, another foothold gained. Lucerys leaned back slightly, gaze moving over the realm laid out before him. Ten war galleys on the Blackwater. Storm's End bound to the Greens. A capital that cheered for their prince. None of it was unexpected. All of it was annoying.
Lucerys tapped his finger against the painted table as he thought. No one spoke. They knew better than to break the silence when he was considering a decision. For all his youth, he had proven himself capable more than once in these last years. Some even whispered that he shared the same mind for strategy as his older brother. Lucerys knew better. Jacaerys was far sharper, and anyone who had spent time with them both would laugh at such a comparison. He would too.
"Gerardys," he said at last.
"Yes, my prince."
"Draft a letter to my grandfather. Dragonstone has always been the home of the royal fleet. To see that change, with ships being built in King's Landing and Oldtown instead, without any warning... it is unsettling. We cannot keep the Narrow Sea safe for trade if our ships are scattered and removed from their rightful place."
Gerardys inclined his head and began to jot down the words.
Robert shifted in his seat. "My prince, if I may... will such a letter not invite trouble? They may see it as an insult. A challenge."
"I have written nothing wrong," Lucerys replied without hesitation. "If they take offense to reason, then it will reveal more about their own intentions than about ours. The King will see that."
"Of course, my prince," Robert said.
"As for the Baratheon betrothal, there is little we can do. I could offer myself, but Lord Borros would much prefer my older brother. The same with the Lannisters there isn't anything we can do there, ever since Aegon married Lord Jason's daughter, gold has been bleeding into Hightower coffers. We will gain no advantage there."
He paused, considering his next words. "The North, the Riverlands, the Vale. The North already leans toward us, so a marriage is not needed. The Riverlands do not offer as much. The Vale would be a better choice."
There were nods of agreement around the table.
"Send them an offer," Lucerys told Gerardys.
He rubbed his chin. "Begin sending letters to the coastal houses in the Crownlands. I want to know where they stand before we are forced to find out the hard way."
Again, they all agreed.
"Is there anything else?" he asked.
"Yes, my prince," Mysaria said. "There is word from the North. Talk of a King beyond the Wall, uniting the tribes."
Gerardys gave a short laugh, and Robert followed with a scoff. "The savages cannot even clothe themselves, let alone rule. Let them crown a tree stump if they wish."
"They have lived harsher lives than we," Ser Erryk said, his tone firm. "It has made them strong. Underestimate them and you will pay for it. Even with poor weapons, they have troubled the Starks more than once."
Robert shook his head. "Old campfire tales."
"Those tales cost the North men," Erryk countered.
Robert opened his mouth to reply, but Lucerys cut him off. "Mysaria, keep watch on this. If matters grow worse, we will offer assistance to the Starks."
"As you say, my prince," she said.
With nothing further, Lucerys rose. The others stood with him as the meeting ended. He stepped toward the door, and Ser Erryk moved to follow.
"No," Lucerys said without turning his head. "Go get my brother, he is still asleep and it's long past time for his training."
"Yes my prince," Erryk said with a bow.
Lucerys left the Painted Room without another word to the council. The sound of their chairs scraping back and the murmurs starting again behind him faded into the background almost at once. He walked through the long stone corridors of Dragonstone, lit by torches that smoked more than they burned, casting unsteady shadows along the walls. He could not remember the last time he had slept through the night. When he did manage to close his eyes, his mind did not let him rest. Plans, worries, lists of names and houses and allegiances ran endlessly through his thoughts. The Greens never stopped pushing, never stopped probing for weak points, and the Blacks had given them too many in these last years. He was forced to hold the line with no influence in King's Landing at all. The small council had been replaced piece by piece, until every man and woman seated there owed their loyalty to the Greens.
The men of the Kingsguard who had once stood for his mother had been given convenient reasons to serve elsewhere. They had all been sent here in the end, not as protectors of the royal family, but as a form of exile to remove any spies they had in the Red keep. He had done what he could with what was left to him. The hours were long, the victories few, and none of it was enough. He had no illusions about himself; he was not a match for Otto Hightower in this game, not in cunning, not in reach. Each time he countered one move, three more took its place.
His steps slowed as he came to a door he had walked to more times than he cared to count. His mother's chambers. He paused, looking at the black wood for a long moment before knocking softly.
"Mother," he said as he eased the door open.
Rhaenyra Targaryen sat where she always did. She had been the most beautiful woman in the realm, and even now, time had not taken that from her entirely. But it was buried beneath hair left unwashed for too long, hanging in uneven strands over her shoulders. Her eyes were shadowed by deep hollows from years without proper sleep. Her gaze did not move toward him when he entered. It never did. Lucerys crossed to the window and pulled the curtains aside just enough to let the pale daylight creep in. The change in the light did nothing to her. She didn't turn her head. She didn't blink.
He began to talk to her as he always did. He told her about the day; the council meeting, the letters that needed sending, the houses they were watching, the fleets being built in King's Landing. He told her about the Baratheon match being sealed and the tourney that had made Aegon even more beloved among the smallfolk. When he had said all there was to say about the day's business, the silence in the room felt heavier. He stood there for a moment, looking at her still figure, before the mask slipped.
"I worry I'm not good enough," he said quietly. "I'm failing the family." His throat tightened and his breath grew faster. A tear ran down his cheek, and still she didn't move.
"Please," he said with tears in his eyes. "Say something. Anything. Help me... I can't do this... I'm not made for this." He felt the pressure that had been building for years spilling over in the space of moments. He had no one to speak to about these things. No one who would understand the burden that had been left on him. When the rush of it began to ease, he forced himself to slow his breathing. He wiped at his face and tried to push the emotions back where they belonged.
"I'm sorry," he said at last, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I'm not him." He put his hand on his mother's shoulder.
He turned and left the room without another word. By the time he stepped into the corridor, his expression was once again the one everyone expected; flat, unreadable, giving nothing away.
As he walked away he started to think about his mother, despite how painful it was. Because of that it reminded him of the reason all this happened. The smallfolk had called it the Dance of Dragons when it swept over King's Landing, though to him it had felt more like a storm tearing through everything. Seeing his brother and father's dragons fighting and destroying kings landing was something he still experienced in his nightmares. In the end his father had been killed, and Jace had been wounded in the fighting. The loss had struck them all, but Jace had taken it on himself as a burden, insisting it was his fault.
It had not been the only blow. Barely a month after King's Landing had burned, their aunt Laena was dead. Lucerys had never been told the full truth of what happened. There were whispers, of course, but the only people who knew the details for certain were Daemon, his grandparents, and Jace himself. Everyone else was given the same answer—complications during childbirth. It was said with such aggression that it discouraged questions, but Lucerys had always known there was more behind it. Whatever the truth was, Jace had carried the blame on his shoulders, though Lucerys could never understand why. This time, he was not alone in that belief. Daemon himself had laid the fault on Jace, and once his uncle's judgement was passed it was never taken back. The words had left something between them broken, and if there had been any hope of repairing it, Lucerys had never seen it.
Not long after, Jace was gone. He offered no explanation, no farewell. He simply left. He took his sworn sword, Ser Edryck, and with him went Cregan Stark, the heir to Winterfell, and Cregan's bastard sister, Sara Snow. There had been talk at court of Princess Aliandra vanishing at the same time, though Lucerys had never known if that was truth or just another rumour. That had been five years ago.
In all that time there had been no letters, no messengers, no visits. No sign that Jace still lived, save for scattered reports from traders and sailors who spoke of a dragon flying over the far reaches of Essos. Whether those stories were of Vermax or another, no one could say. His mother had stopped speaking the day Jace left. It was as if losing so much in so little time had hollowed her out completely. She no longer cared for her appearance or her own comfort, and every small necessity had to be seen to by others.
Daemon had left as well, not long after. He had entrusted his daughters to the care of Corlys and Rhaenys, but a few years ago Lucerys had sent word requesting that they be brought here instead. He had worried for their lives in Driftmark; not for their safety, but for the quality of the life they would have there. Here, he could ensure they were treated well and taught properly. Now Baela, Rhaena, and his younger brother Joffrey lived under his roof. He made sure they worked hard, learned their lessons, and trained for the duties they would one day have to take on. It was not the same as having their parents, but it was the best he could give them.
Lucerys stepped out onto one of the high balconies overlooking the training yard. The wind carried the sound of wood striking wood up to him. Below, Baela and Joffrey moved around each other with wooden blades, striking and blocking under the watchful eye of Ser Erryk, who had taken on the duties of master-at-arms without needing to be asked. His voice carried across the yard when he corrected their footwork or told them to keep their guard high.
Rhaena stood off to one side, watching her sister and cousin without joining in. She was much less appreciative of the martial arts than her sister was and was more than content to watch.
He lowered himself onto the stone bench beside the balcony rail, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze stayed on the training yard, but his eyes were half-lidded. The weight of the day pressed down heavier now that he was away from the others. He pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw the faint colours dancing behind them. He thought of the council meeting, of the letters yet to be sent, of the Greens' constant maneuvering in King's Landing. He thought of the absence of his brother, of the silence from his mother, of the way every decision seemed to rest on his shoulders whether he wanted it or not.
"Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a bit," he murmured to himself.
_____________________________________
(Very far away)
Three men were locked in a cell deep under the ground, the cell was damp and smelled of old straw, and even had a few bones littered around the place. Three chains ran from iron rings in the floor and kept the men locked to the floor and the wall; these men were none other than Edryck Dayne, Jacaerys Velaryon and Cregan Stark. How they came to be in this cell? Edryck and Jace would say it was merely an accident or fate. Cregan would blame Edryck and Jace, so in the end who knew. Jace sat in the middle, Cregan on the left, and Edryck on the right. They had been thrown in during the night and left without food or water. A narrow slit in the wall let in a thin strip of grey light when the clouds shifted.
Jace began to sing as he sat there.
"The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing."
Cregan looked at Jace with a look that was equally resigned and annoyed, but he didn't say anything.
Edryck joined without hesitation.
"The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed, in a voice that was sweet as a peach. But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own, and a bite sharp and cold as a leech."
Cregan's jaw tightened but he stayed silent still.
Jace carried on.
"As he lay on the ground with the darkness around, and the taste of his blood on his tongue. His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer, and he smiled and he laughed and he sung."
Edryck grinned as they reached the chorus together.
"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, the Dornishman's taken my life. But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"
"Seven hells," Cregan snapped. "Shut up. Shut the hells up. By the Old Gods and the new."
Jace looked over at him. "What's your problem?"
"He has not eaten this morning," Edryck said, as if reporting on a horse. He scratched at the rust mark the manacle had left on his wrist and then spread his fingers to get the blood back.
"Ah," Jace said, and he nodded like a maester. "He is always cross when he misses breakfast."
Cregan's eyebrow twitched. "May I remind you that none of us has eaten in three days?"
"That is true," Jace said. "Though Edryck selfishly kept those insects to himself."
"Sorry my Prince, but an old man needs his nutrients," Edryck said with a grin.
"We are locked in a foreign cell," Cregan went on ignoring their conversation. "We came farther than any of us dreamed we would, and because of it we may end our lives with our heads on spikes. We have no time for singing."
Jace slid his bound hands along the chain until his arms could rest across his knees and looked past the slit of light. "Calm yourself. Sara is still free. She will find us. And if she does not, I will think of something."
Cregan shut his eyes, his anger once again starting to bubble. "We should not have come here."
"We had no choice," Edryck said.
"He is right," Jace said.
Cregan opened his eyes and gave them both a look that would have soured milk. "What do you mean we had no choice? We turned down coin from Qarth to come here. Good coin. Honest terms. Easy work. You remember coin, do you? The round metal things that keep men from starving?"
Edryck shook his head the way an old dog shakes water from its ears. "Cregan, Cregan, Cregan. I do not expect you to understand. You have yet to know the comfort of a willing woman."
Cregan would've attacked the old man had he not been chained down.
Jace clicked his tongue. "The women here are said to be goddesses."
Edryck lifted his chin as if before a septon. "Seven to eight feet tall, by the old tales. Skin like oiled teak. Eyes like gold. When I was a lad in Starfall the sailors swore it to me and I held fast to those words."
"I cannot believe we are having this talk," Cregan said.
"Me either," Jace said as if Cregan were in the wrong.
Cregan ran his bound hands over his face and sighed. "What about the mission?"
Jace did not answer at once. He leaned his head back and found a patch of stone that did not cut his scalp and stared at the dark. "Leng is old," he said. "As old as Yi Ti by some reckonings. They keep records here, and they do not share. There are priests who pass their learning to one another like a sword passed from father to son. There are vaults that guildsmen from the Jade Sea have never opened. We came for answers and this island is a place that might still have them. So why not call this business and pleasure."
Edryck smiled. "I have dreamed of Lengii women since I was a boy. If you did not already have my loyalty, you would have it now."
Jace grinned back and lifted his shackled hands as high as they would go. Edryck twisted his and they managed a clumsy clasp of wrists that pinched the skin but got the meaning done.
"We do not leave until we sample them," Jace said with a grin.
Edryck nodded to match him. "On that we are of one mind."
The lock turned. The door pushed inward and a bar of light fell across the straw. Three men filled it, all of them impossibly twall, with round helms and light lamellar sewn to leather. Their spears were long but the points were not broad like Westerosi heads; they were narrow and hard.
"The God-Empress will see one of you," the first guard said in clear trade tongue. His vowels were long and his consonants sat hard in his mouth. "Who is your leader?"
"I am," Jace said as he stood up, though the chains made that difficult. Two of the guards came in, knocked the pins from his shackles, and drew him out by the arms. His hands prickled as the blood returned. They took him along a damp corridor where old smoke clung to the stone and then up a stair that broke into open air. Sun hammered the yard. He threw his forearm across his eyes until his vision caught up.
They brought him through Turrani without ceremony. The streets near the center ran broad and straight. Stone blocks laid without mortar fit so tight a blade could not find a seam. The people were tall as the tales claimed, most lean, some huge, hair worn long or tight to the skull, tunics belted with knives or tools. Traders sat at low tables and did their sums with counters that clicked. Priests in black and yellow walked in pairs. Carts moved behind oxen with long horns. Some had a monkeys that were the size of men and yet they sat at the table with them as if they were friends. It was such a bizarre sight, but Jace couldn't help but love it. There were even these strange striped creatures similar to lions and shadow cats that were held on chains. 'Incredible...' he thought to himself.
He saw women and he could not help himself; he smiled like a fool. The tales had not lied about the height of some of them. Their skin did have a cast to it that the sun could not explain, not gold like a coin, not bronze like a soldier, but something between that. Their eyes held a hard golden color, and when they looked back at him they did so without a flinch or a blush. He felt the old knight's laugh rise in his chest even without Edryck there to share it. "This is the right place," he murmured.
The palace sat behind three walls. The first held soldiers and training yards. The second held offices and courts where petitions were heard. The third held something else, something he didn't think was meant for anyone's eyes; though if he managed to get himself out of this he'd make sure to explore it some. They took him through the first without pause, and then into the second where they pushed him down before the last set of doors and tied his wrists with a clean cord that would cut if he jerked. The doors swung inward. They urged him to the center of a long hall and then set a foot behind his knee and put him on the ground. He stayed on his knees because there was nothing clever to be done with guards at his back and a queen before him.
A herald with a shaved crown stood to the left and hit a gong once with a leather mallet. He spoke in a tongue Jace did not know and then in the trade tongue for his benefit. "Attend," the man said. "Her Radiance, God-Empress Nara Zhai of Leng."
This Lengii woman from Leng strode into the hall, she stood eight feet tall, towering over almost everyone. A silver band gripped her wrist, and a thin crown sat on her forehead. Her skin was golden, like she'd been dipped in sunlight, and her long, golden hair matched it perfectly, spilling in loose waves over her shoulders, brushing her back as she moved under the flickering torchlight. She wore a tiny, sheer veil that left her flat stomach, thick thighs, and bare feet completely exposed. Her stomach was smooth, taut, with a faint groove running down the middle, flexing as she breathed. Her thighs were long, powerful, muscles shifting under golden skin, each one thick yet smooth, leading down to her feet. Her feet were large to match her height though proportionally were small, toes spread slightly, high arches. The veil clung to her narrow waist, barely covering her full, rounded hips. Her long legs stretched out as she sat on a beautiful ornate throne. Her wide shoulders framed a neck that curved into a deep hollow, pulling his eyes down to where her large breasts pressed hard against the thin fabric, rising and falling with each slow breath. Her golden eyes locked onto his, and his pulse hammered in his chest. He couldn't tear his gaze away—her towering frame, her bare skin, every curve and muscle screaming Lengii goddess, burning into him like nothing he'd ever seen.
"Why have you come to my land, Prince Jacaerys Targaryen?"
(AN: So here we are 5 years later and things aren't looking so good for the blacks. Lucerys has been thrust into a role he was not ready for and forced to mature prematurely otherwise his family might've fallen apart. Jacaerys is miles away in a different land looking for the truth, and 8ft Lengii mommies. I hope I have managed to catch your interest.)
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