Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Lucerys POV

The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating, as a stunned silence fell upon the throne room. Lucerys stood frozen, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his chest, his breath shallow. His wide eyes tracked Daemon’s every movement as his uncle calmly sheathed Dark Sister, his face a mask of detached indifference.

The scene before him felt surreal, as if ripped from some forgotten memory. A memory that wasn’t entirely his. The brutality, the finality of it – it all felt eerily familiar, like a ghost from his past life creeping into his present. He was no stranger to violence, not in the world he had once lived. As Max, the loner teenager, violence had been an undercurrent to his life, a dark and unrelenting force that seemed to follow him wherever he went. But here, in this gilded palace of politics and dragons, it hit him with a jarring force. The brutality of court life was no less savage than the world he'd left behind. It was just hidden beneath layers of decorum and power plays.

And then, as the silence stretched on, Lucerys felt something deep within him shift. He wasn’t just Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, anymore. He was Max, reborn, somehow placed in this world of dragons, blood, and deadly ambition. The fragmented memories from his past life flickered in his mind: a car crash, a blinding light, and then this world, this life. The pieces didn’t fit, but the sense of déjà vu was inescapable.

With the realization came a wave of something deeper: a sense of duty, of responsibility. He had been given a second chance, a chance to rewrite history, but the weight of that responsibility was suffocating. The Dance of the Dragons loomed ahead, a brutal civil war that would tear Westeros apart. His mother, Rhaenyra, would be on the losing side, crushed by the machinations of the Greens. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—let that happen.

Panic clawed at him, but he buried it deep. The court was a nest of vipers, and every word, every smile, hid sharp fangs. The Greens, led by Queen Alicent, were already conspiring against his mother. The game was rigged, the future already written, but Lucerys refused to accept it.

His gaze shifted to Rhaenyra, standing across the room, her face a pale mask of grief and simmering fury. He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, a fear for her children, for the future they could never truly secure. In that moment, Lucerys knew what he had to do. He wasn’t just the heir to Driftmark anymore. He was something more, something forged by his past life and his present reality. He was Max, but he was Lucerys now, and he had a purpose.

He would become the strategist his mother never had, the confidante who could help her navigate this court of lies and betrayal. He would use whatever fragments of knowledge from the future he could grasp, no matter how hazy, to push events in the right direction. He would be the storm before the storm, the quiet force that shifted the winds of fate.

Taking a deep breath, Lucerys straightened, his resolve hardening. The Dance of the Dragons might be inevitable, but he wouldn’t let it unfold in the same blood-soaked manner. He wouldn’t allow his mother’s future to be destroyed by the same forces that had ravaged Westeros in the past.

The game had only just begun, and Lucerys Velaryon, reborn with a purpose, would be the one to change its course.