Chapter 1: Prologue 1

Notes:

I started this back in April and posted it on AH, but I figured I'd post it here as well.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

A loud clang echoed across the training yard as two warriors sparred. Back and forth they moved, deliberate in their steps, clashing steels. From the window, I watched the two in their bronze-plated armor. While it looked fairly accurate to the historical fencing manuals I remembered, I couldn't truly judge until I was allowed to wield a sword. I think, even then, I'd have to get used to the fact that arming swords were called longswords here. Actual longswords were just called bastard swords. While I knew the term, it wasn't one I often read in historical pieces.

After a few more strikes, the larger of the two fighters disarmed the smaller, and they quickly yielded. I did what was natural, loud clapping and a great big smile. With the bout finished, both removed their helmets, and both had rich brown hair, though the bigger of the two was possessed of many grey streaks. He was my great-grandfather, Lord Yorbert Royce, Lord of Runestone and Lord Protector of the Vale of Arryn since before I was born. The younger was Ser Robar Royce, my granduncle. After a short while, Yorbert looked up at me with a plastered smile.

"Luke, go back to your mother!" he called. His tone of voice welcomed no protest. Immediately, I hopped off the sill and began trotting down the halls of the place, making my way back to my mother. 'Luke,' as he always called me, seemed to be what he pretended my name was. He never looked at me directly, as if he were ashamed. If you didn't want me that much, I thought, then why did you bother arranging the marriage of my parents?

I stopped to look at my reflection for a moment in the window. My brown hair that I shared with them . . . the streak of silver-white that ran through it down the ridge of the back of my skull to my right ear that I knew was from my father, as were my pale lilac eyes that observed the pane, all of it stared back at me, like a stranger. Despite my grandfather's desire to force everyone else to forget my true name, he could never erase it from me.

My real name was Lucerys Targaryen, son of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. I believed that I was a Prince as well, though I feared what my grandfather's response would be if I asked. Power and status was a thing I'd yet to grasp. I never met my father, and letters from him never came, as far as I knew, so the concept of asking was useless. For my grandfather, I was a reminder of the failure of his ambitions. He'd risen quite high and had expected to continue rising higher still.

His position as a member of Lord Rodrik Arryn's inner circle had allowed him to seize power as Regent when both Rodrik and his sons had died during a raid against the Stone Crows, leaving the infant Jeyne Arryn as the Lady of the Eyrie. Her father Elbert was, by a factor of technicality, Lord of the Eyrie for a few weeks as he wasted away from an infection. In his passing, a girl who hadn't even left her mother's breast had inherited the position of Warden of the East.

With his new status as Lord Protector of the Vale, grandfather had leveraged that power to have his daughter married to the sixteen year old Prince Daemon Targaryen, a match neither were interested in. The Prince had done his duty on his wedding night, however, and I was born before the year's end. What Yorbert had planned on doing from there, I hadn't been able to piece together. Maybe he'd meant for me to act as a gateway to further Royce power in King's Landing. To see himself sworn directly to the Crown somehow was a dream he still held dearly.

But that had all failed due to my mother. Knowing of Daemon's feud with Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, she'd chosen to give me a traditional Velaryon name to spite the husband that hadn't visited once during her pregnancy. He'd sent a letter that had essentially declared he gave not single affection for me, from what grandfather had said.

Being disowned at birth wasn't how I expected I'd start out in Westeros . . . well, if I showed up here at all. I knew The Rogue Prince was a complete prick, but he'd always wanted a male heir, and I remember him having been happiest when Aegon the Younger was born. To disown his legitimate son because he disliked what his mother had named him was beyond petty, even for him. But, with that, plans for Royce influence extending into King's Landing had vanished, and I was left at Runestone as the result of that failure. Only a few nights later did I learn what he was planning next, listening through the door.

"It seems your boy might prove more useful than I thought," I heard him say to my mother, "His other grandfather is dead, and King Jaehaerys is calling a Great Council of all the Lords of the Realm to convene at Harrenhal in order to choose the next heir to the throne."

"Father, you cannot mean to push his claim?!" Rhea replied, sounding shocked and surprised. Grandfather merely laughed at that, but it didn't seem to be one born of amusement as it usually was.

"You're not coming, but I'll be bringing him with me to remind the rest of those sister-fuckers that we have him in our line, and to remember that he exists, or forget . . . at their own peril. I'll be attending on behalf of House Arryn as Jeyne's Regent, and Robar will come with me to represent House Royce. Mayhaps while I'm there, I can figure out how to fix your spousal mess," he said, voice cold and disgusted. I turned, dashing away from the door as silently as possible, quickly returning to my room and barring the door. I fell asleep that night curled up in my blankets.

A few days later, the entourage set out. My age confined me to a wheelhouse, confusion remaining. Grandfather had been sure to dress me brightly in house colors, as if to rub it in that I was his alone. Suddenly, I was his favorite, years of hypocrisy in the making. And yet, instead of trekking along the Vale as I'd expected, we'd rode for Gulltown, loaded all things onto boats, and sailed forth. I thanked whatever god sent me here that the small body I occupied was impervious to sea sickness.

It barely took one day for the ship to arrive at Saltpans. We disembarked at the port, and from here, continued along the road. As everything was unloaded, I took a risk on my part that I wasn't certain would end in success. I cleared my throat, and found the courage to ask my grandfather why he'd made us port at a small nowhere-town like Saltpans, instead of Maidenpool. I was sure to use as 'cute' a voice as possible, pronouncing things wrong and screwing consonants into stupidity. Yorbert scoffed and looked down on me with a cruel glare, his slate grey eyes searing pure hatred.

"Lord Mooton supports the Velaryon claim. I'll not patronize him with my coin while he continues to disregard the rightful rules of inheritance," he responded, and promptly he lectured me on speaking out of turn, instructing that I remain quiet at the Great Council, lest I would be called upon to speak.

I first saw Harrenhal a few days later, seeing the half-melted towers over the horizon. It was hours later before I finally saw the rest of the castle in the distance, rising over God's Eye. My mouth was hung open as I leaned out the window of the wheelhouse. Game of Thrones' Harrenhal had nothing on this monstrosity.

As I was ogling the castle walls that held no sense of scale, I was shaken back into reality by a deafening roar from overhead. Once my ears had stopped ringing, I peaked my head outside the window . . . only to see a gigantic grey-blue . . . I wanted to say a dragon, perhaps a wyvern. No, definitely a dragon. Or was it a wyvern? It was a wyvern, it had to be a wyvern. Or was it a dragon? The books called it a dragon, so my guess was . . . one of the two. It flew overhead, leaving the entire party in shadow as it passed across the God's Eye, spiraling and flying around in half-circle tricks as it went by.

I slowly brought my head back inside and looked at the maid who'd been assigned to look after me.

"I want one," I said.

She hesitated before a smile ultimately spread across her face and she patted my head.

"Not to worry, little one," she said, "I am sure you'll find one of your own one day, if your blood rings true."

I nodded as the wheelhouse pulled into an empty area of land, and began pulling items out from its confines. I quickly hopped out from the transport and looked at our vast surroundings.

This was no tent city. This was a tent megalopolis.

Notes:

Comment any criticism or praise, and leave kudos if you enjoyed! See you next chapter!