Chapter Text
No
My sweet boy
No No
My Lord Strong
NoNoNoNo
Heir to Driftmark
NO-!
HE IS A BASTARD-
VHAGAR- STOP!
LUCERYS-
Lucerys blinked tiredly as he stared at the ceiling of his childhood bedchamber. Just a few nights before, the voices and images flashing thru his mind would have made him scream loud enough the guard outside his door would have thought the Stranger himself had come to claim him.
The young prince remembered waking up screaming and crying in what was later described by the maesters as a state of delirium, probably caused by some fever. But he knew it wasn’t that simple. Not when the memories were so clear in his young mind, just like the roar of the thunders surrounding him as he fell from the sky, the wings ripped away from his beloved Arrax’s back, from his own soul.
He recalled the sheer shame when he heard the voice of his perfect mother, shushing him to sleep so gently in her arms, comforting kisses laid on his curls, a warm embrace he hid in when he should have been begging for forgiveness at her feet.
Because he didn’t need to live to see tomorrow’s sunrise to know deep in his bones that he had plunged the whole realm into war, a war that could only end in fire and blood, his family’s blood.
While confined to his rooms to supposedly run down the fever, Lucerys had a lot of time to think, to go over what happened again and again and again. It was maddening. The heavy rain like daggers on his skin, the screaming in the darkness of the storm, the blue sapphire following him, taunting him, reminding him of his sins, of his debt-
His sweet Mother often sat by his bedside, only leaving to attend to the duties she could not postpone. She always had the sweetest smile, the gentlest caresses, but also the strength and determination of a Queen. His brother Jacaerys was another frequent visitor, usually followed by his father.
That was probably what made him fully realize the gravity of what was going on. The greatness of the opportunity he had been given. The weight of the responsibility on his shoulders.
There was no prophetic dream, no talking dragon, no manifestation of some God of Old Valyria.
There was only Ser Leonor Velaryon, alive and breathing and at his bedside.
Many new thoughts ran thru his mind. Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Was … was he dead?
All it took was an embrace, a single warm embrace from the father he had long longed for to know that this was all real.
He was in the past, laying down in the bed chamber that was still his own at the Red Keep, in the arms of a father that was supposed to be long gone, in the body of his eight name-days self.
Long before the war, long before the usurpation, long before they moved to Dragonstone, long before a debt that would hunt him until the day he took his last breath was created.
Lucerys did not know how this was possible. Was it a miracle? Was it a curse?
As soon as he was left alone once more, the boy could not stay in bed a second longer, small body rising and tumbling slightly at the familiar sensation of being on his feet but oddly unfamiliar short limbs. The child looked down at his small hands and rose them to the face which was still very round with baby fat, tight curls resting on the top of his head.
He really was in the past. But then- what about all he had seen? All he had lived? It couldn’t have been a dream, no eight-year-old for how wild their imagination may be could have come up with all of that. Was he mad?
Lucerys’ big eyes moved all around the room as he took in every detail, from the big bed to the multitude of toys, from the soft red carpet to the deep Velaryon blue he was wearing. Everything was just how he remembered it from all those years ago.
The teen now trapped in a child’s body sat down on the carpet as he attempted to process what was going on. Everything was just as he remembered it, which meant that probably everything was also going to develop the exact same way.
The funeral of Laena Velaryon, the eye accident, his father’s death, the marriage of his Mother and Daemon, the petition of Driftmark, the usurpation, his unborn sister, the war- Oh gods the war-
What would the price of the Iron Throne be? More than his life, that was for sure. Would his brothers fall as well? His cousins? Daemon? The Velaryons? His Mother-
No, he would not allow it. He did not know how or why he was back in time, but he was going to do anything to stop what was to come, he had to, for his dear Mother’s sake to whom he had pledged his loyalty to.
It was his duty.
But … how? He was just a boy. If he said what he had seen, would anyone even believe him? Would they dismiss it as the fears and fantasies of a child? Would they think he had gone mad? He surely felt like he did.
None would believe him, and even if anyone did, even if his own Mother did, what could they even do to stop what was to come? Sentence his uncles to death for a hypothetical crime that was years far away in the future? On what basis? On the fears and dreams of a child who hadn’t even reached puberty yet? It would do nothing but further weaken her beloved Mother’s claim. The green snakes would whisper that she was paranoid, easily impressionable, even mad.
He would not allow such slander to fall over her. If he wanted to stop this, he had to do it by himself.
But the question of how exactly was still there.
The Greens would stop at nothing, nothing but … death.
Lucerys’ small body shivered horribly, stomach churned uncomfortably, mouth tasted like ashes at the word.
Kinslayer
He would be cursed for sure if he did that, he would lose the battle for his inheritance before it even began … but his Mother would win the war, she would win it and his family would be safe, and wasn’t that everything that mattered? What was his soul when compared to the safety of the Targaryen’s legacy?
The sacrifice of his own future to stop a war his own death had started, it seemed fitting enough. He would be of much more use to his dear Mother like this than in any other way.
The question was now, whom to slay. He was no seasoned big warrior, he didn’t have the strength nor skill to even think about going on a killing spree, let alone get away with it without being noticed.
No, he needed to choose his victim well, he had to be smart about it.
His first pick would be Otto Hightower. He never liked the man, not when he was a child and even less when he grew up. His mere presence and condescending manners had always been enough to both irritate him and get under his skin. It didn’t have to be bloody murder, it could be as easy as pushing him down the stairs, but if that wasn’t enough he could always end finish the job with a rock or something.
Regardless of how much he wished to just be able to do so and get over with it, he knew it wasn’t possible. Taking Otto Hightower out of the game would surely be a relief for everybody, but that would do nothing to prevent the Green Queen’s scheming against his Mother and vice-versa if he decided to go after her instead.
He knew he would never be able to kill them both, and leaving either of the two alive would allow their scheming to keep growing in the shadows of a seven-pointed star. Should he then go for … the source of such scheming?
Lucerys suddenly felt a bit more sick and cold, but he quickly shook his head and bit down on his small lips until he could taste his own blood, just like he did when falling from the sky.
His uncle Aeg- the Usurper was the next best pick.
He was the beating heart of the Hightower’s scheming, the rightful male heir of green blood they wanted to see on the throne. Why bother with the puppeteers when all of their evil schemes were useless without a puppet to execute them with?
He would probably have a much easier time with him than with the adults anyway. Yes, Aegon was the tallest of them at this time, but he was also lanky in figure and overly confident when it came to his nephews who indeed used to follow him everywhere like ducklings behind their mother. All of this added to his constantly drunken state made him such an easy target Lucerys may even have a chance to make it genuinely look like an unfortunate accident without even trying.
It seemed like the ideal solution for a few moments.
No male heir, no usurper, no challenge.
Everything solved, right?
But what if things didn’t turn out that easy and straightforward?
After all, for how probable it was for Aegon to get into problems, the Greens may still find a way to point their fingers at his beloved Mother when the main potential challenger to her reign suddenly disappeared, especially so soon after she had given birth to another babe with brown hair. They may argue she had a motif, that she was plotting against her own blood, that she was as cruel as Maegor.
Plus, although this was a solution in the short term, nothing could guarantee him that the Hightower wouldn’t attempt to push a second or even third son as legitimate heir. After all, Queen Alicent surely didn’t lack male babes to place on the throne and avenge their brother. By killing Aegon, Lucerys may be even accidentally giving them a stronger claim to usurp the rightful Queen.
If he couldn’t kill the puppeteers and he couldn’t kill the main heir, if he couldn’t stop the war, then the only thing he could do was to make sure they came on top.
And the only way to do that was to end the very reason that caused all of this.
Aemond
Of course, it all came back to him.
To an unpaid debt, to a taunting sapphire, to a closed eye, and to a dragon.
How ironic it was, the only way to prevent the Kinslayer to start the bloodshed was to become the Kinslayer himself.
Everything started with them and so it must end with them as well, it was so logical Lucerys wanted to slap himself for not thinking about it before.
Aemond was by far the easiest target. At this age he was barely taller than himself, he was a scrawny boy of not even two full name days more than him. Let it be a knife, a rock or even a simple push, it all would be much easier when facing someone who was about his own size.
Plus, what suspicion would it even rise, the murder of a second son without any inheritance? Because that was what Aemond was right now. Not a firstborn, not a spare, not even a dragon rider.
None would ever be able to point their finger to his Mother, because why would she even care about him? Killing him wouldn’t bring her any favour or tactical advantage, not on the surface level at least.
But it would be a massive loss for the Greens, even if they didn’t know it yet, even if they would never know.
If Aemond, the skilled warrior of the family wasn’t around, would the Hightower even dare to make a move for the throne? Would Queen Alicent be able to move on from the loss of her, not even arguably, favourite child?
The answer to any of those questions wouldn't matter.
Because no Aemond meant no Vhagar, and no Vhagar meant the usurpers only had three dragons at their disposal, and even then, Lucerys was fairly sure his sweet Aunt Helaena would not fly to battle with her Dreamfyre, so that left two.
Sunfyre and Tessarion were two young inexperienced dragons, just like their riders. What could they achieve against his Mother? Even if Rhaena and Joffrey didn’t fly to war, she had on her side Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, Vermax, Arrax and Moondancer. It was a battle the Greens could not even dream to win, not by experience, not by skill, not by sheer number and not even by size.
They would be outnumbered and outmatched under any point of view, the victor would be the true Heir without any doubts, it wouldn’t even be a challenge to begin with regardless of how many the Hightower allied themselves with.
What were armies of simple men when compared to dragons?
Lucerys suddenly got up, a small child with the determination of a madman. He knew he had to act and he had to do it fast. He had to do it before anyone suspected anything, he had to do it while the fire in his chest was still burning, demanding justice and vengeance.
It was now or never.
Everything happened so fast it was jarring.
One second he was moving towards the door of his room, the next one he was at the entrance of the library, heavy pointy paperweight he had grabbed from a table in his room in his hand.
And in front of him, unaware of the bloodshed he will cause, the cause of it all.
A small figure who was undoubtedly Aemond was sat down intent reading some book, back towards Lucerys.
This was the moment.
It would be so easy.
He just needed to get closer, rise his paperweight to the sky and bash it down against the other’s skull.
It would be quick and mostly painless.
It was nearly too merciful.
Aemond wouldn’t even know it was coming, he wouldn’t go thru interminable torture Lucerys went thru, the same excruciating pain and terror he made him go thru.
Just a few more steps, just a few mere seconds, and it would be all over.
Lucerys’ grip on the paperweight nearly too big for his small child hands tightened.
Another step.
The hammering of the rain.
A deep breath.
The lashing of the winds.
The beat of two hearts.
The booming of thunders.
The roar of dragons.
Two purple eyes met Lucerys’ own.
And everything stopped.