Reborn As Lucerys Velaryon: A Dragonrider's Destiny

Chapter 3: Succession Of Driftmark I

Six years had carved a new reality for Lucerys Velaryon. No longer a gangly ten-year-old, he was now a young man of sixteen, his body hardened by rigorous training and his mind sharpened by the unforgiving lessons of war. The Dance of the Dragons, the storm Corlys had warned him of, had finally unleashed its fury.

The fighting had begun not in Westeros, but in the Stepstones, a chaotic archipelago known for its pirate havens. Corlys, ever the ambitious Sea Snake, had led a daring raid to clear the Stepstones of these marauders, hoping to secure vital trade routes. However, victory came at a heavy price. News reached Driftmark that Corlys had been grievously wounded, his once-booming voice reduced to a raspy whisper.

Lucerys felt a cold dread grip his heart. Corlys wasn't just his grandfather; he was his mentor, his confidant, the man who had instilled in him the strength and cunning he now possessed. The weight of his grandfather's absence settled on him, heavy and suffocating.

But amidst the grief, a more pressing concern gnawed at him. With Corlys incapacitated, the question of Driftmark's succession loomed large. Traditionally, the title of Lord of the Tides, ruler of Driftmark, passed to the eldest male heir. But Lucerys, born from Rhaenyra Targaryen, had a claim challenged by his own kin.

Ser Vaemond Velaryon, a distant cousin with a sharp tongue and an even sharper ambition, saw his opportunity. He barged into the grand hall of High Tide, his face contorted in a sneer.

"The throne of Driftmark stands empty!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "With the Sea Snake out of commission, the rightful heir must be chosen. A true Velaryon, untainted by Targaryen blood!"

Lucerys felt a surge of anger course through him. Ser Vaemond, a man who spent most of his life lounging in King's Landing, suddenly felt entitled to Driftmark? He glanced at his younger brother, Jacaerys, who sat beside him, his jaw clenched tight. Jacaerys, at fourteen, shared Lucerys' fiery spirit but lacked his years of experience at sea.

The whispers started. "He speaks the truth. The boy is a bastard, a dragonseed."

Lucerys slammed his fist on the table, silencing the murmurs. "I am Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, chosen by my grandfather himself!"

A tense silence followed. Then, a voice slithered into the room, smooth and deceptive like a snake. It was Steffon Darklyn, the castellan of Driftmark, a man whose loyalty shifted with the prevailing winds.

"With all due respect, Prince Lucerys," Darklyn began, his voice dripping with false courtesy, "tradition dictates that the worthiest Velaryon should inherit. Ser Vaemond has a strong claim."

Lucerys gritted his teeth. He knew the truth behind Darklyn's words. The whispers of the Greens, Queen Alicent and her conniving father Otto Hightower, who now ruled as regents in King's Landing due to the King's declining health, had reached Driftmark. They would undoubtedly side with Ser Vaemond, hoping to weaken Rhaenyra's position by sowing discord within her own family.

The situation demanded a plan, a swift and decisive one. Lucerys wasn't just fighting for his birthright; he was fighting for the future of his family, for Rhaenyra's claim to the Iron Throne. He locked eyes with Jacaerys, a silent communication passing between them. They would not let the Greens manipulate them. They would not let Driftmark fall into the wrong hands.

But what could they do, two young princes against a seasoned courtier and a power-hungry relative, backed by the whispers of the Green faction in King's Landing? Lucerys straightened his back, a glint of steel flickering in his eyes. He wouldn't let his grandfather down. He wouldn't let his mother down. He, Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark and Dragonrider, would find a way.