Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 18: The Watchful Prince

The war room of Dragonstone echoed with the low hum of tension, its black stone walls absorbing the flickering light of torches mounted in iron sconces. Maps sprawled across a massive oak table, their edges worn and curling, marked with charcoal lines that traced the island’s jagged shores and towering cliffs. Lucerys Velaryon stood at the table’s head, his dark hair tousled by the sea wind that slipped through the narrow windows. His sharp eyes scanned the defenses outlined before him, a mind honed by necessity calculating every angle. Beside him, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a weathered figure clad in a cloak emblazoned with his house’s sigil, leaned over the map, his calloused fingers tapping a point near the western shore.

The island fortress was a natural bastion, its volcanic cliffs and thick walls a daunting barrier against any foe. Yet the looming war with the Greens demanded more—fortifications to withstand dragons, ships, and the cunning of desperate men. Lucerys, tasked by his mother to oversee Dragonstone’s defenses, felt the weight of that responsibility settle deeper with each passing day. His recent innovations—the gun, the strengthened bond with Arrax—burned in his mind, but today called for strategy rooted in stone and steel.

A hesitant knock broke the silence, drawing Lucerys’s gaze to the heavy oak door. “Enter,” he called, his voice firm yet tinged with curiosity.
The door creaked open, revealing a young scout, no more than fourteen, his face smudged with dirt and his cloak damp from the sea spray. He clutched a rolled parchment, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped into the room. The boy bowed low, his eyes darting between the prince and the lord.

“My prince, Lord Bartimos,” he began, his voice cracking with nerves. “I bring a report on the fortifications, as you commanded.”

Lucerys gestured to the table. “Lay it out. Speak.”

The scout hurried forward, unfurling the parchment atop the map. His finger pointed to a sketched section near the Dragonmont, the volcano that loomed over the island’s western flank.

“Here, my prince. The outer wall’s taken a beating from the storms. The stone’s cracking—big enough gaps for a man to slip through. If the Greens land there, they could use the caves for cover and push inside.”

Lord Bartimos’s brow furrowed, his voice gravelly with concern. “That’s a weak point we can’t ignore. The Dragonmont’s caves could shield an enemy force. A breach there would be disastrous.”

Lucerys nodded, his mind already racing. “And the scorpion ballistae? Can they cover that approach?”
The scout hesitated, his eyes flickering to the map.

“They’re in place, my prince, but there’s a problem. The ones on the lower tiers can’t aim high enough—cliffs block their shots against dragons coming from the sea. The upper emplacements can fire, but they’re too few to cover everything.”

Lucerys’s jaw tightened. Dragons were the Greens’ greatest weapon—Vhagar might be riderless for now, but others like Sunfyre or Tessarion could strike from above. He turned to Bartimos.

“We need to shift some ballistae from the eastern walls to the west. Strengthen the coverage.”

Bartimos rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. “The east is quieter, aye, but we can’t leave it bare. The Greens might try a feint—hit us from multiple sides.”

“True,” Lucerys conceded, studying the map intently. “But the west is their likeliest target now. Storms have weakened it, and the Dragonmont’s a natural foothold. We prioritize there—adjust later if they shift tactics.”

The scout cleared his throat, his voice steadier now. “There’s more, my prince. The archers on the battlements—they’re running low on arrows too fast in drills. Supply lines from the armory take too long, fifteen minutes or more. In a fight, they’d be defenseless.”