Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 4: Succession Of Driftmark II

Scene in King’s Landing

The court was tense, the air thick with anticipation. Otto Hightower, seated on the Iron Throne, his voice cutting through the silence, addressed the gathered nobles.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters. The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." His words rang out across the hall, and he gestured for Vaemond to approach.

Vaemond stepped forward, standing tall between the aisles. "My Queen, my Lord Hand," he began, his voice steady and resolute. "The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms, all the way back to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell, our houses became the last of their kind. We came to this land knowing that failure would mean the end of our bloodlines."

Rhaenyra, seated near the front, cut him off sharply. "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you wouldn't be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. You speak only for yourself and your ambition, not for House Velaryon."

Her words were met with a tense silence, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Queen Alicent, ever the mediator, raised a hand. "You will have your chance, Princess Rhaenyra," she said, her voice firm but calm. "Let Ser Vaemond finish his petition."

Vaemond's gaze darkened as he turned to Luke, his voice dripping with disdain. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? If I cut my veins and showed it to you, you still wouldn’t recognize it." He sneered. "This is about the survival of my house, not your family’s whims."

A surge of fury ignited within Lucerys. He could no longer remain silent. "Silence, Ser Vaemond!" he boomed, his voice echoing through the stone hall.

The tension in the room mounted as Lucerys rose to his feet. "You're a coward, Vaemond," he sneered, his eyes narrowing. "You claim to defend your house, but all you're doing is flapping your gums in desperation for power. My grandfather chose me—his blood, his heir. You have no claim, no honor, and no right to question that."

Vaemond recoiled, his face reddening. Lucerys’s words rang like a slap, and Vaemond's fury built. "You’re nothing but a greedy fool rewriting history," Lucerys continued, his voice cold and unyielding. "I will defend my birthright with every breath in my body, and no pathetic lie you tell will change that."

Vaemond, now purple with rage, spat venomously, "Blood, Prince, the true blood of Driftmark. You and your brother are bastards, sired by Strong!"

A collective gasp rippled through the court, the whispers that Lucerys had spent years avoiding now rising to a deafening crescendo. Shame burned hot on his cheeks, the sting of the accusation biting deep. Rhaenyra's fury was palpable as she shot to her feet. "Enough!" she roared, silencing the room. "Ser Otto, will you allow such slander to be cast upon members of the royal family?"

Otto, ever the opportunist, remained seated, a smug smirk curling on his lips. "Princess," he said with mock politeness, "let Ser Vaemond complete his petition. Then, we shall hear your defense."

Lucerys exchanged a glance with his mother, his resolve hardening. He was Velaryon by blood, by birthright, and he would not let Vaemond’s accusations diminish that. He straightened his back, a dragon's fire in his eyes.

Just as Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak, the doors to the throne room suddenly creaked open, halting her.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!" The announcement rang through the hall. The King, frail and slow, entered supported by his cane, his half-mask covering his disfigured face. The room fell silent as he made his slow and steady approach—not to the Iron Throne, but to his daughter.

"I will sit the throne today," Viserys declared, his voice raspy but firm.

The Kingsguard moved to assist him, but Viserys waved them off, his pride pushing him onward. With every step, his crown seemed to weigh him down more. The moment was bittersweet—his strength waning, but still, he reached his seat.

Daemon, ever loyal, moved to help his brother, steadying him as Viserys took his place on the throne. Daemon placed the golden crown back on his brother’s head, and the act was beautiful, if fleeting.

"I must admit... my confusion," the King said, his voice strained. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is Princess Rhaenys."

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward with grace, nodding as she spoke directly to the King. "It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true-born son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, and I supported him in that. Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her intention to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal I wholeheartedly agree with."

With a final word, Rhaeny’s actions silenced the scheming of the Greens and Vaemond’s ambitions. The room grew still, the matter of succession once again settled.

The King, his voice weak but resolute, reaffirmed, "I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

But Vaemond was not done. "You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, and yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon?" He turned to the King, his voice full of venom. "No. I will not allow it."

"Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond," Viserys replied, a dark amusement in his voice.

Vaemond’s face twisted in rage, his eyes flickering to Lucerys. "That," he pointed to Luke, "is no true Velaryon! And certainly no nephew of mine."

Rhaenyra's protective instincts flared, and she reached for Lucerys, pulling him closer. "Go to your chambers," she warned Vaemond. "You have said enough."

Vaemond’s voice rang out, unrelenting, "My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations. I will not see it end on account of this—" He faltered, unable to speak the words.

"Say it," Daemon murmured, his voice a quiet threat, eager for blood.

The room was still. Vaemond’s words hung in the air, a challenge lingering between them all.

Her voice a deadly whisper, Vaemond spat, "Her children... are bastards and she is a whore!"

A gasp swept through the throne room.

The King, his anger flaring, rose from his seat, drawing a dagger. "I... will have your tongue for that," he snarled.

Daemon, faster than a strike of lightning, unsheathed Dark Sister and took Vaemond’s head in a single stroke.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said coldly, stepping back, his face impassive as Vaemond’s body crumpled to the floor.

The throne room was silent, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on everyone present. The fate of Driftmark had been sealed, and with it, the course of the war to come.