Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 1: A Dragon's Dream

The darkness was suffocating, a heavy void that pressed against my chest, until a flicker broke through—just a small spark, but enough to grow. Flames. Dragons. I could see them soaring, massive creatures with scales that gleamed like black stone, breathing fire into the nothingness. I was flying with them, the wind in my hair, a rush of freedom, a feeling that pulsed through my blood.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, something buried deep inside me from another life—a life where I commanded fire, where dragons were real, where I belonged among them.

The memory shattered, replaced by pain. My eyes snapped open, greeted by a blurry mess of wood and flickering candlelight. My head throbbed, a sharp, dull ache. Slowly, the room came into focus—bare walls adorned with the Velaryon sigil. Panic gripped me. Where was I? How did I get here? The last thing I remembered wasn’t this. It was a world of steel, glass, and machines. A world that felt more like a dream than this one.

Then, the memories came. Not mine, but Lucerys Velaryon’s—the boy whose body I now occupied. The secondborn son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, a ten-year-old with a bond to his dragon, Arrax, and a fierce loyalty to his family.

I wasn’t alone. This body, this boy, was mine now. And this world… it was Westeros, the world of fire and blood I’d only read about. The Dance of the Dragons was no longer just a story. It was reality.

A creak from the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lucerys’ mother, entered the room, her silver hair and lilac eyes filled with concern. Her gaze softened when she saw me.

“Lucerys,” she said, rushing to my side, “You gave us quite a scare. The healers said you took a bad fall during training.”

Training. Right. Lucerys was a dragonrider. That meant dragons. Not just fire-breathing beasts, but a responsibility. A power. And a danger.

“I’m fine, Mother,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “Just a bump.”

Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “Stubborn, just like your father.”

Her words stirred something—a sense of admiration, perhaps, but also confusion. The memories of Lucerys’ father, Laenor Velaryon, were distant, hazy.

Rhaenyra adjusted my blankets. “Rest now. There’s much to discuss. The realm is on the brink of war, and your role in it will be crucial.”

War. The Dance of the Dragons. I knew what that meant. It was coming, and it was going to tear this place apart.

As my mother tucked me in, a single question burned through my mind. Which side would I take in this war? The game of thrones had already begun.

The next days blurred together. Healers came in and out, fussing over the supposed concussion I’d suffered. But their words barely registered. Rhaenyra spent hours with advisors, her face etched with worry. My grandfather, Lord Corlys Velaryon, a man who had spent his life at sea, was constantly there, his presence heavy with authority and impatience.

One morning, it finally reached a breaking point. Lord Corlys stormed in. His voice was loud, booming against the walls. “Rhaenyra, this coddling has to stop! The boy needs real training, not this… featherbedding.”

Rhaenyra stood her ground, her eyes hardening. “He’s barely recovered, Corlys. A fall like that can have lasting effects.”

“And the way to prevent that is by making him strong, not weak,” Corlys shot back. “He needs to learn the ways of Driftmark, to understand its power. Here in King’s Landing, he’s just another pawn in your games.”

The accusation was sharp, and I felt the weight of it. On one hand, I understood Rhaenyra’s need to protect me—King’s Landing was dangerous, and as her son, I was a target. But on the other hand, Corlys had a point. The idea of being trained by someone like him, learning to sail, to fight, to lead—it stirred something in me.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered with anger, but after a long, tense silence, she relented. “Very well. Take him to Driftmark. But he returns for his dragon ceremony.”

Corlys grinned, his voice booming with satisfaction. “Excellent. We’ll make a real Velaryon out of him yet.” He slapped me on the shoulder, making me stumble slightly.

As I was escorted to Driftmark, leaving behind the suffocating atmosphere of King’s Landing, a flicker of hope sparked within me. This was my chance—not just to understand Lucerys’ world, but maybe, just maybe, to change the course of history. The Dance of the Dragons didn’t have to be the same brutal war it had been in the books. I wasn’t just Lucerys Velaryon. I had the knowledge, the memories, the chance to rewrite everything. This world was mine to shape.