Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 14: Return to Dragonstone

Lucerys Velaryon landed with a thundering roar of Arrax's wings, the gusts of wind whipping around them as they touched down on the rocky shores of Dragonstone. He dismounted with ease, his eyes steely and sharp despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

His heart pounded, not from the flight, but from what had just transpired-what he had just done.

Rhaenyra waited for him in the castle's grand hall, her expression one of quiet expectation, though a trace of concern lingered beneath her calm exterior. She had been pacing, watching for his arrival, but as he entered the room, her eyes immediately sought his.

Lucerys didn't waste time with pleasantries. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of what had just occurred. "I saw Lord Borros Baratheon," he began, his eyes narrowing as he recounted. "I delivered your message."

Rhaenyra's brow furrowed slightly. "And?"

Lucerys' tone grew colder, more cutting. "He didn't listen. He mocked us. Mocked you. He even had the gall to question who was truly in charge. He said your name like it was a joke." His voice sharpened. "I reminded him of his oaths."

Rhaenyra's gaze flickered for a moment, understanding starting to form. She stepped closer. "You did well to remind him of his vows, but what happened after that?"

Lucerys' expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he spoke.

"Aemond was there. He confronted me-came at me with his blade. He wanted to finish what he started years ago. I killed him, Mother. I killed Aemond."

Rhaenyra's face fell. She froze, shock flashing across her features, and for a moment, her world tilted on its axis. Her breath hitched, and she moved forward, gripping the back of a nearby chair as if to steady herself.

"What?" Her voice broke through the tension, raw and sharp. "You killed Aemond? Why? Why would you-"

Lucerys cut her off with a fierce, unyielding look. "He was going to kill me. I didn't have a choice." His voice grew more biting, colder with each word. "He came for me, and I ended him."

Rhaenyra's anger surged, her eyes flashing with the fire of a mother who had just seen her son ignite the very flames of war she had fought so hard to avoid. "You've drawn first blood, Lucerys. What have you done? War will break out because of you. You started it. I told you not to do this."

Lucerys stood tall, unshaken by her fury. "You didn't want me to fight? To defend myself? Then what was I supposed to do, let him kill me?" His words bit sharply, and he didn't flinch. "I'm not the one who started this war, Mother. The Greens did."

Rhaenyra's hands clenched, trembling with frustration. She had envisioned a different path for her son-one that would not send them spiraling into inevitable bloodshed. But there was no denying the truth in his words. She took a slow breath, as though gathering herself, and

then her expression softened She walked toward him, her voice quieting. "I understand, Lucerys. I know the weight you carry. But you didn't have to take that final step. You chose this."

Her eyes softened, a flicker of understanding behind her anger.

She reached out, pulling him into a tight embrace, and for a moment, he hesitated before wrapping his arms around her, finally letting the tension leave his body. The silence between them felt heavy, but it was a silence filled with understanding.

After a moment, Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. "Were you injured?" she asked, her voice softer now, her concern for him rising above the anger she had initially felt.

Lucerys shook his head, his eyes cold but grateful for the care in her voice. "I'm fine. He didn't get the chance."

Rhaenyra's expression was a mix of pride and sorrow. She had never wanted to see her son fight, but she knew-deep down-that Lucerys was no longer the boy he once was.

She sighed, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she looked at him with a new understanding. "War may have been inevitable, but that doesn't mean we must welcome it with open arms."

Lucerys met her gaze, his voice steady and sharp, "If war's what they want, Mother, then that's what they'll get. I'm done pretending otherwise."

Rhaenyra held his gaze, knowing the road ahead would be harder now. But she also understood that Lucerys had taken the first step on a path from which there would be no turning back. He had made his choice, and now she would have to support him, no matter the consequences.

That night, Lucerys retreated to his chambers, the weight of his actions heavy on his mind. His room, dimly lit by flickering candlelight, was quiet save for the sound of his breath and the rustle of parchment as he spread out his ideas across a table. His hands, though still trembling from the encounter with Aemond, moved with deliberate precision as he drew lines, calculated numbers, and sketched symbols in the margins of his notes.

He remembered something, a weapon, its form and function. He'd never seen it in his past life, but the name-"gun"-echoed in his mind like a whispered secret. He couldn't shake the image of it: a weapon that could end a man's life from a distance, without the need for dragons or swords. It had intrigued him before, and now, it gripped his attention with a ferocity that bordered on obsession.

His mind moved quickly, referencing what he remembered from his time before. He took up a quill and began to sketch, tracing the outline of the weapon, refining its shape. It wasn't just a mere object of destruction; he could feel the power it held-the potential to change everything.

Lucerys muttered to himself as he scribbled formulas, mapping out the logistics of its creation. "Steel," he said aloud, tapping the quill to his lips. "And gunpowder. Must use the right mixture-too much, and it will explode. Too little, and it won't fire."

He adjusted the calculations on his parchment, referencing what he knew of metallurgy. The barrel would need to be strong-enough to withstand the force of the explosion-but light enough for a man to wield. The trigger mechanism, he thought, should be simple-precise. He sketched the rudimentary form of a firing pin, the path of the bullet as it would be propelled through the barrel. The pieces began to fit together in his mind like a puzzle, intricate and deadly.

His thoughts shifted, moving to the materials needed to create such a weapon. Iron, steel, copper for the firing pin, brass for the casing. But more than that, the gunpowder itself-where could he find the right resources to create it? A smirk tugged at his lips. He could already feel the strain of power in his hands, the immense change he was about to bring.

He shifted his focus to the numbers, pulling out a new sheet of parchment and calculating in precise detail the required dimensions and materials for a small, portable version. "Two pounds of iron, one pound of steel. The barrel must be...six inches, just enough for proper velocity." He paused, running his fingers over the rough sketches. "A single shot...that's all it takes."

As the night wore on, the plans took shape-thick, jagged lines of equations, metal compositions, and blueprints scattered across his desk. He took little note of the hours passing or the ache in his body. His mind, now fixated on the weapon and its creation, consumed him entirely. His calculations grew more exact, the drawings clearer. His ambition was undeniable now. This weapon would change the tide of war in ways his enemies could not imagine.

Lucerys knew the danger of what he was contemplating. To bring this weapon into existence would take resources, time, and secrecy. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the world he had known-one governed by dragons and swords-was quickly fading. This was something new, something modern. And it was his ticket to power.

He paused, looking over his work. The gun was just the beginning. If he could build this weapon, he could build others. He could lead an army, not of dragons, but of men, armed with the means to overthrow even the mightiest of foes. With a deep breath, he set his quill down, the weight of his choices settling in.

"Mother is right," he whispered to himself. "War is here. And I will be ready for it."