The Spirit, The Soul, and The Seahorse (An ASOIAF SI)

Historian · Feb 9, 2015

Set during the Dance of the Dragons, 129 AL

Aemond

"I will have his head!" Aemond growled, his heart pounding in his chest as the boy before him stepped back, his blue cloak flapping in the process. "He comes with no swords, a traitor to his king! A traitor to all of House Targaryen!" A half-dozen guards restrained Prince Aemond - brother to King Aegon, second of his name, liege lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm: who was /rightful/ heir to the throne, despite the protests of the bastard's mother Princess Rhaenyra, a mere pretender. With a hiss of breath, Aemond relented, the boy disappearing through the door. His armored legs clanged beneath him, disappearing into the darkness of the doorway - and out into the roaring sea beyond.

A loud and booming voice assailed Aemond's ears. "You are a guest, boy, as was he before he left the hall. Let him go." The Prince wrestled his gauntlets away, and he turned in defiance to Borros. "You have succeeded, boy. You have the marital ties - and shall wed when this thing is done. I will not stop you - take your beast and slay that incestuous spawn if you like. I take no part." Lord Baratheon boomed, his lithe figure betraying his roar of authority - long curls falling around his head next to a wisp of a mustache. He sipped calmly from a cup of wine. Aemond stared at him, slowly letting the anger roll out of his figure. A dragon's roar resounded outside, and Aemond turned.

Lucerys. He'd torn his eye out - a dagger straight through it, could've killed him. It was a fair exchange for Vhagar, true enough, but tonight Aemond would have his revenge. The great drum keep boomed with a roar of thunder. "The storm will slow him." Aemond said, looking back at the Lord Baratheon, who smiled from his dais. "You planned for this."

"A stag flits and flurries through his fields." Borros said, twerking his fingers like two hooves, jumping and twisting. "You, dragonling, will not dishonor me with a murder of my guests. The Guest Rite is half our society - violate it and what man will follow your good king to battle? I bear no love for Daemon or Rhaenyra - but I will not see our cause damned by youthful uproar." He cast the twisting fingers in a gesture of command. "Go, boy - his dragon may be small, but yours is fat and wrothful. I shall call my banners - MAESTER!" he shouted out, the aging man's chain jangling as he shot awake in a corner of the keep. "Transcribe for me, if you please!"

Aemond switched on his heel, charging through the doors, his sword rattling on his belt. He blinked, feeling the pressure of his marble gently press against his eyelid. Idly, he smiled - stepping out into the rain and feeling it seep against him. Next to him, a boy even smaller handed him a metal helm - dragon's wings wrapping around its edges. The prince smiled, pulling it on with a satisfying clang, collapsing the clasps to secure it in place. The large viewing slit showed him much: it was not a fieldman's fighting item. It was a dragonrider's armet, with great vision. Legend said that the few possessed by the house survived from Valyria, and while not quite valyrian steel, had great flame-stopping magicks of old.

"Come, Kasper." Aemond said, looking up in the bailey where a dozen guards' gazes locked. A pair of great eyes bore down upon Aemond, recognizing even in their primal nature its kin. With a heave of its great neck, the drake leaned down to snort a tiny gust of air at the two, twisting its neck slightly. A gentle flap of its wing-arms send a rolling wave across the courtyard, and even its huff was deafening. She was Vhagar, Dragon of Aegon's Sister-Wife Visenya, conqueror of Storm's End in ages past. Some said you could ride a horse down her gullet - and as Aemond's gauntlets wrapped against the creature's scales he slowly ascended, finding some truth in that. Kasper, some worthless page from some minor branch of Ser Crispin Cole's house, followed in his smallness, his little hands prickled by the scales. Soon enough they would toughen, and he'd feel less of the heat. Such things came from being the page to a dragonrider.

"Hurry, Kasper." Aemond ordered, mounting his saddle and putting the lower straps in place. Without them, even the slightest jolt could send a man flying. Kasper rose, clamboring into his own harness and strapping on, tying his little golden hood to his face with a cloth bandanna, which he tucked tight into his doublet. The boy shivered even now in the rain, it'd only get worse once they were airborne. Water ran rivulets down Vhagar's body, but steam rose from the beast's belly. The hero of a thousand battles was ready to set sail once again. With a roar and a rush of wind, the great wings crackled beneath them, a Valyrian phrase echoing through Aemond's helm, somehow enhanced by the shaping of his dragonrider's helm. Vhagar launched with a great push, wind sending the very rain in all directions as the creature rose, twisting with the air. In the distance, Aemond could hear the roars of Arrax - lightning and thunder crackling in the far reaches of the bay. The storm would make it almost impossible to fly through for Arrax - but Vhagar was too large to be swayed.

"Fear not, Kasper!" Aemond shouted, taking the reins with a smile beneath his helm. The boy whimpered behind him, his face obscured by his taut hood. He was not yet used to the ride. "Vhagar is a force of nature all her own - the lightning fears us!" He laughed, twisting the saddle as they plunged into a cloud - wetness coating the entire drake as they flapped through the watery fortress, watching as lightning lit the air around them.

"My lord!" Kasper Cole shouted from his place behind. "There, below us!" He shouted, his keen eyes seeing even through rain and fog to spot the seaspray green figure of Arrax, silhouetted against the dark sea. The he-dragon struggled, twisting to and fro - its sole rider shouting in fear as he felt his control slipping. "Gods be!" Kasper shouted, as lightning struck past Lucerys and into the sea below. The dragon veered hard, turning back toward land - and with a twist of his helm, Vhagar was spotted as well. Even from so far, both of Vhagar's passengers could see the fear in his body language.

Vhagar began to descend, cutting a swathe through the air, slowly closing on Arrax's tale. Through his booming helm, Aemond shouted out in the common tongue: "Hello, cousin!" He shouted. "How fortunate you turn back to chat with me?" He asked. "Too disappointed you couldn't bond with my lady Vhagar? I bet you regret your slights against me now, coz."

"What do you want, Aemond?!" Lucerys roared across the darkness. "I came here for peace - my mother made me swear for peace. I listened! I swore to the seven I would come only as a messenger, and now you want my head!"

"A head for an eye - a fair trade for a traitor's son, no?" Aemond laughed. "I bet Strong fucked your mother bloody, and she loved every minute. That's how lost your harlot on Dragonstone is. I bet she'll cry right into the shoulder of that traitor Daemon, too - how he spat on grandfather, you'd think the old king would've cut his head off at some point!" The man was laughing now, hard, and who could blame him? A young boy with a pitifully small dragon - alone at the hour of his definite demise? Lucerys was a young hot-headed fool who grew into a good boy. Aemond was a strong and brave lad who kept his temper into his greater age - and for that, he was the greatest dragon rider in all Westeros.

There was no contest here. "You'll be a kinslayer." Lucerys said, a sigh echoing through his helm. "A monster." He said. "Seven hells, you already are - cutting out your eye only shows your true colors, coz. You're a beast."

"And you're a dead man." Aemond shouted. He tugged tight on Vhagar's reigns, pulling her ever closer to Arrax. "I'll make it quick, coz. Traitors like you deserve less. My eye hurt like the seven hells when you took it."

"You'll try!" Lucerys shouted. He twisted Arrax right, the wind taking him and his beast behind Vhagar as the creature roared out a burst of flame clearing its throat and steaming the hot air ahead. Aemond looked behind, and Vhagar twisted angrily, slowly pulling up. Behind him, Lucerys rose on Arrax, the creature desperately trying to gain altitude. For a moment, everything froze - and another lightning bolt cleaved air between them, crackling through the clouds in a sudden show of heated fury. In the distance, both saw Storm's End, the drum fort shouting back with every bang and crash of thunder.

Vhagar twisted just in time to avoid a lunge by Arrax, which dove again, losing altitude. Vhagar chased, fire roiling from her mouth. Aemond smiled behind his helmet. He had his cousin now - turn away and bleed all his speed - keep going, find himself sunk. Dragons couldn't swim. Lucerys chose the former, twisting. Vhagar shot out a clawed wing, cutting into Arrax's side. The creature roared in pain, and the two dragons twirled in circling motion, Lucerys higher than Aemond for a short moment. Aemond looked up to see his traitor cousin fumbling at his belt. A foolish notion - you couldn't jump from this height - you'd crash into the sea and see yourself dead.

"Come now, coz - don't quit until you're dead!" Aemond shouted. "I only mean to chop you in half and watch our greatest grandmother's beast swallow your lower half. Aunt Rhaenyra can have the rest to grieve over!"

"I'm glad I cut your eye out, Aemond!" Lucerys shouted, snapping something on his belt. He grabbed something in the darkness, lightning glinting off a sword in his hand. "You're a gods-damned monster!"

"Your stepfather is no better!" Aemond roared back. "He's just as much a traitor as you are a bastard! Bleed and die!" Aemond shouted, twisting Vhagar suddenly. Lucerys shouted something imperceptible in Valyrian, and snapped his stirrups entirely. For a frozen moment, he hung high in the sky - and for a few angry heartbeats Aemond felt pity for the boy. A foolish ploy - no man had jumped from dragon to dragon in the past and lived - and Lucerys was no warrior of great renown - no acrobat. He'd just fall and die - at least, that was the common theory. The sword in Lucerys' hand had other plans, as the Velaryon dove sword-first into the scales of Vhagar. Despite a sickening crack against the boy's helm that sent it careening into the sea, and a twisted wrist that looked horrifying, the Velaryon boy was on the back of Vhagar- and was hanging on.

Aemond bade to twist sideways - watching as Arrax left its rider behind, fleeing onward to Dragonstone. The boy was alone. He'd die here, one way or another. Aemond held the creature steady, and handed the reigns behind him to Kasper. "Hold her steady, boy." Aemond said, unstrapping himself and drawing his blade, his Targaryen surcoat flapping in the wind. Stepping along the windy neck of Vhagar, he held himself in a ready stance. Lucerys stood, sword in the wrong hand, his other at a sickening angle. "So!" Aemond shouted, mirth in his voice. "You're on the back of Vhagar. Bravo!" He said, bowing in mockery of the dueling swordsmen of Braavos. "Shall we dance about on her back? I could just have this lad flip it sideways, leave you falling to your doom - but that wouldn't be sporting, would it?"

"Shut your fucking mouth." Lucerys shouted back, his pug-nosed face streaked with water and a bit of blood, where the broken helm had cut into his face. "Come kill me, Aemond - or I'll take your other fucking eye! Arrax is alive, and that's all that matters!" He held out his sword, twirling it in his hand, assuming a fighting stance.

"All that matters?" Aemond laughed. "You realize I'll just kill you-" He said, pointing jokingly with his sword, "-and then chase the monster down and cut it to shreds with Vhagar's teeth, no?"

Lucerys growled, stepping across Vhagar's back, the shifting of the creature's wings leaving him unsteady. Aemond shrugged, stepping forwards. "Have it your way!" Aemond roared, stabbing out with his sword. Lucerys parried awkwardly with his off hand, his twisted wrist paining him heavily. Aemond struck hard at the weak side, and Lucerys' plate saved him from a grisly fate. His own blade struck weakly, clanging off of Aemond's helmet, and the Targaryen laughed happily. "This is too easy, Luke! You should've just taken the easy death!" He shouted, stabbing for his cousin's exposed head. Lucerys ducked, stabbing out and having his blade bounce away from Aemond's chestplate.

"Shut up, one-eye!" Luke roared back. "You chose this fight, I'm not going down without trying!"

Aemond laughed. "This is trying?" He asked, shooting out his left gauntlet and catching the edge of Luke's blade with a closed fist - the gauntlet trapping the sword between plate and mail. Aemond pushed hard against it, Lucerys holding it with all the force he could. With his other hand, Aemond slowly brought his blade to Luke's throat. "You're nothing, Lucerys. You're not even a Targaryen. You have no dragon blood - no fire. You're just a salty sea lion your mother dressed up as a Velaryon. Your father was busy fucking boys in the arse, laughing off his responsibilites. Rhaenyra is a cunt and a liar - and Aegon will see her a corpse with Syrax, me at his side."

"Fuck you!" Lucerys shouted, parrying Aemond's fist away. He stopped dead cold as Aemond's sword drew blood at the tip of Lucerys' chin. "You'll die like the rest, we've more dragons."

"And we've got bigger ones, as you may've noticed." Aemond said, laughing. With the flat of his blade, he tapped Lucerys in the face. With his other, he grabbed the boy's bad hand, twisting it. Lucerys shrieked in pain. "I own you like a cunt, Luke. I should fuck you like your fake father fucked stable boys. Hell, maybe I'll make Kasper fuck you. Maybe I'll make all of Borros' garrison fuck you. I'll drag your mother in chains and you'll fuck her for the whole court to see." Aemond laughed. "You're nothing." He said, "But... well, I don't have time for prisoners." He said, looking at the sea below. "I'll tell your mother you died like a crying babe in his crib. Smashed against the sea and turned to naught but a pulp."

"Fuck you." Luke said. "Just, fuck you." Aemond yanked him by his bad hand, and Luke screamed in utter pain. Aemond watched as the man lost his balance, rolling down Vhagar's side and disappearing over the edge in whimpering silence. Aemond took a knee, watching the body slowly disappear among the waves. For a moment, Aemond felt his hair on end, and watched lightning streaking towards him in the clouds above. For a moment, he feared - and looked down to see the streak stretch out in the darkness, striking Lucerys' falling form. He shook his head.

"Even the gods hated that bastard." Aemond said, laughing. Kasper was totally silent, looking forwards with his head down. "Cheer up, Kasper - I'd never make you fuck a boy." He said, slapping him on the back. "Some things are just downright wrong." He said, strapping himself back in. "Sister and Brother? Fine. Brother and Brother? Well, that's just mad, isn't it?"

Neither of them saw the glowing blue light in the darkness below, as the water rose up to meet the shining light and crackling electricity, cushioning it as wind began to coalesce. In the evening storm, neither Kasper's keen eye nor Aemond's lack of depth perception could spot Arrax in the dark. He arrived on Dragonstone, wailing like mad, Lucerys' shield and saddlebags still aboard. It is said that Queen Rhaenyra wept a whole day, leaving Daemon to plot revenge. Ravens left within hours.

All the while, a glowing light suffused the sea off of Storm's End, eventually washing up southwards.

And all the world would change with it.

XelianEmperor · Feb 10, 2015

Ok please continue nothings happening yet except the light

Historian · Feb 10, 2015

XeliasEmperor said:
Ok please continue nothings happening yet except the light

It's the prologue, bro.

The Dance of the Dragons - for additional reading. I have The World of Ice and Fire, and it's easily my favorite part.

Historian · Feb 10, 2015

The Once and Former Prince

Wind. Pain. A blazing flame across the skin, crackling like burning ember along your body. It feels like you're set alight beneath the very surface of the skin. Rain. It patters and stings, but it does nothing to chill it. Agony. That's the feeling. You don't feel it often in life – but when you do, everything else dulls. Like your greatest pleasures, your greatest pains make all the others sting a little less, seem smaller in comparison. When we hit our lowest points, we're open to the most change – and nothing changed our hero more than when he struck the ground in the late fall. His body fried and broke against the earth during a flash lightning storm during a scheduled skydive. To the rest of the world, he was dead – but none were around to see his corpse writhing – the blue energies that crackled in his skin as the lightning: no ordinary lightning, shocked him to the core.

He left our world, to save a new one. To forever alter the course of history. He was no warrior, no engineer, no particle physicist. He joked about how to survive an apocalypse, but could never survive from scratch. Even Tom Hanks had his FedEx packages. And yet, as he fell into the salty sea at terminal velocity, the world would not leave him alone. His story hadn't ended yet.

With a gasp, his eyes opened. "Oh fuck!" He screamed out, the voice hitting his ears unfamiliar. "Fuck! Fuckity fuck!" His voice disappeared in the stinging rain, his eyes locking onto the metal around his arms. "What the fuck?!" He said, shaking his arms to feel the metal clang against him. His wrist screamed pain back at him, and the man could see it rolling painfully. With a rush of wind, he twisted, trying to find a spread-eagle position. "Shit." He said, scrambling at his back for a parachute, a cloak, anything – but it was gone. "SHIT!" He shouted, flailing and tumbling in the wind. He only had a minute or so of freefall to get things together – and already his ears roared at him with the pressure changes. He twisted, writhed, and finally shot out a hand in frustration – only to feel sudden shock of a push.

"What the hell?!" He shouted, twisting towards the ground. He flailed an open hand , wind shifting around him. "No way?!" He flung out both hands, rushing air whirling from his hands and sending the rain in conical patterns. This, though, was hardly enough. With a twist of his hand, the man twirled, falling hard towards the sea below.

Despite gusts of wind flying from open hands, he still plummeted – and swore to himself. "It doesn't change anything!" He shouted out. "Fuck!" He twisted, reaching down towards his armor, a tiny fleck of teal cloth in hand. In the distance, a great roar pierced the heavens, and the man could see a fleck of green-blue reflect from something in the far clouds. Not that it mattered. There were mere seconds left.

The man shut his eyes, reached out with both hands, and crossed them, streamlining his body for the impact. Below him, it looked almost as if the water was reaching up to meet him – a sudden wetness enveloping him as he looked forward – the air whirling off a great spire of water sticking out of the soaking bay. He wasn't stopping by any comfortable margin, to be sure: but the speed was not nearly so blinding. Dozens of feet became thirty, then twenty, then ten – and both the spire and the wind dropped away.

For a fleeting moment, he was weightless. Then, Not-Lucerys fell, his plate armor knocking into the sea. With a thunder, it cleaved hard into the water, and the unprince bucked hard at the water around him, shouting angrily as it weighed heavily against him. It was only the fortune of having a plate-attuned boy's body, and his light riding plate, that saved him from falling like a rock to meet Davy Jones.

Ripping his palms against the sea, the man took in a heavy breath: feeling the wet air strike hard against his lungs. With a sputtering cough, he shook his hair - brown curls streaking against his face in the dark.

The sun was setting far on the horizon – and soon he'd be alone in the darkness, in the sea. Far from everything. "Fuck!" The man shouted. "Wilson!" He shouted. "Wilson?! Where the fuck is my raft?!" The wind roared in silent answer, and with a weave of his hand the man felt it brush away – the rain overhead the only sign of inclement chaos. Pushing hard against the sea, he turned into the wind. "Wind usually pushes towards-" He let out a tired huff, letting a wave whack him hard. Pulling hard against the sea, the man knew that survival wasn't likely. "-the sea!" He shouted out. "At night, anyways!" He roared. "I can make it if I keep going, I know I can!"

After twenty minutes, he slipped beneath the waves, his arms roaring at him, his armor weighing at his back. As he slipped deep beneath the sea, whispers in his ears began to resolve, as his delerious mind and roaring heart began to throw ragged shapes and images at him. A woman in blue fighting a woman in green, rocks twirling between them, shards of metal at arms. A boy in yellow, high aloft, on a bison that looked more mammoth and beaver than its namesake. He saw a man in red on a dragon – an eastern dragon. Then, the images changed: to a woman with silver hair and purple eyes, holding him in his arms. He felt his heart slowing, and at a thought, he could not remember his name. 'Lucerys.' A voice whispered in the deep. 'Whatever you were before, you are Lucerys. Son of Rhaenyra. Blood of Valyria – but more than that.'

Lucerys let out a bubble of air, feeling the pressure of the deep upon his chest. 'Long ago, men sealed magic away in their wars against many a man. In great darkness, they sought to eradicate all, and create a future free from magicks. Free from that which could strengthen all, from the poorest to the richest.'

Lucerys, a wind upon his arms, tugged at the water around him – but he could not see the surface. He twisted, writhed, bubbles streaming from his mouth. 'I can give you the power of old – free you so that you might free me, and all my fellows.' The voice whispered. 'Though we come from a place different and far away, as you do – our goals are the same. Live. Survive. Thrive. Be happy and content. You will be. But today? Today you must be a hero. This year, you must be a hero. Your life, you shall be known as a hero – and while you may never again see your home...'

Lucerys struggled, taking in a gulp of water. He felt an intense burning, and Luke struggled desperately for the surface. 'In this place, they call men like you drowned. Priests, they call you, of the drowned god.' The voice whispered. 'But you are no drowned priest. You are a vessel. A vessel of me – as Lucerys is a vessel of you.' Lucerys felt himself slipping: far too early for a proper drowning. The visions of the boy and the girl grew stronger – almost like they stood before him. With an unearthly glow, their eyes began to light up, a raging energy inside. A lightbeam began to flood the sea before Lucerys as he opened his eyes, stinging pain dissipating as the energy grew – and, suddenly, Lucerys was not Lucerys.

A dozen voices began to shout and cajole in his ears, his body falling far from his control. Within seconds, he felt his body decompressing – the air in his blood forced to his lungs and spat out with incredible speed as he burst from the surface on a spout of roaring water. A massive patch of ice shaped next to him, and the wave tossed him hard onto it, his eyes dimming from their brilliant blue back to their dull brown – which he could see through the silvery-blue ice.

He felt a wooziness in his head: his body suddenly tired beyond belief. Without a second thought, he was gone, hacking up for a moment before disappearing into the land of dreams. Visions of the blue girl and yellow boy, and of the silver-haired mother haunted him in the darkness, yet nothing would compare with what was to come.

==

The next chapter is where the adventure proper starts. Confusion is a normal reaction when strange and nonsensical events are happening in the fiction - expect it. We're going to be delving into what makes magic work in ASOIAF in this fic, and that means a lot of unexplained things at first.

Skullders · Feb 10, 2015

So he gets Bender powers from Avatar (Appa with Aang was really obvious). The 4 nations could be originally in the east empire that gets little mention in the lore. (otherwise it really doesnt fit with the european,arab , mongol theme of most of the rest of the settin). Fire bending would be the most usefull with all the dragons, and did his dragon survive?

A Nation's Virtue · Feb 10, 2015

Korra vs Kuvira...can I just say that now I'm sad again that Korra ended.

Historian · Feb 10, 2015

Skullders said:
So he gets Bender powers from Avatar (Appa with Aang was really obvious). The 4 nations could be originally in the east empire that gets little mention in the lore. (otherwise it really doesnt fit with the european,arab , mongol theme of most of the rest of the setting). Did now his dragon survive or it dies as per the canon?

To requote from SB

Arrax made it to Dragonstone's Dragonmont - but as far as anyone, including the dragon is concerned, Lucerys Velaryon is a spattered heap of blood and bone that shattered on sea impact.

There's more like five or six elements in ASOIAF magic: we know there are Aeromancers, Shadowbinders, Pyromancers, Warlocks, Drowned Priest all who can do trivial displays of magic at the turn of the century near 300 AC. I personally think that the wall does a lot to prevent that: allowing mythical beasts to exist on Skagos and north of the Wall, but not south and to a good deal east of it. Only as you reach the shadowlands and Asshai do you find dragons in number again, with tales of climbing false ladders of fire.

Magic is clearly real, even if doubted. We see that much in Dany's Qarth experiences.

Historian · Feb 11, 2015

Lucerys

With a soft scraping, the thin sheet of ice cracked against the beach, water lapping it slowly ashore as its passenger writhed in his sleep. Lucerys winced in the dawn light, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. He stretched, feeling his muscles taut and his skin chafing beneath the cloth and metal of his armor. He winced, hacking up a ball of phlegm, hating the taste in his mouth. With a wince, he stood, clanging off of the ice: which broke into seawater in his absence.

"Fuck." Lucerys said, shaking his head. He looked far out to sea, where naught but wispy clouds remained. The calm after the storm in the darkness had turned the world beautiful, and Luke smiled at that. But he couldn't stay here, not now. He had to move - or else he'd starve, maybe worse. Scraping at his belt, he found only a dagger and a pair of purses: one with a few silver stags and coppers - both of which he stared at in confusion. "Why am I wearing plate?" He asked at once. "Why are these coins..." Lucerys stared hard at the side of one: a fat man with a circlet crown staring back: "Viserys I? Like, Targaryen?"

He clenched the coin in his gauntlet, snapping the purse shut. Placing both hands on his hips, Lucerys frowned in confusion. "Welp." He said, after a few minutes' thought. Rocky outcrops surrounded the forest he stood next to, but there was no sand. The bay was craggy, with many outcrops jutting out to the sea. In the distance, he could see wooden hulls long since rotted, dashed against rock and sand. "Shipbreaker Bay?" The Prince asked. "Lucerys." He answered, his thoughts racing. "Velaryon, I know - Valyrians from Driftmark like the Celtigars, but... why am I important? Why would I be some silver-haired-" Lucerys reached up, pulling a curl into his vision. "-but I'm not silver haired." He whispered.

He shook his head. "It doesn't mean anything if I'm dead." He concluded, his boots clanging into the beach sand as he slowly moved along the coast. "In the meantime, it's just like Minecraft: travel until you find a village or a path." He glanced up to see the sun high up in the sky. Slowly but surely, it traced the horizon - Lucerys' feet carrying him most of the day, despite thirst and hunger. After a few hours, he ducked into the wood - and waited in the weal for a creature to cross his path. A curious squirrel did him well, and he ate it with some disgust.

Part of Lucerys knew that he'd have choked on the thought of eating uncooked recently-dead squirrel: but the rest knew that the difference between life and death was the food in these weak moments. With a heave, he slowly set off in the forest - abandoning the path entirely. As the sun set, he began hacking with his dagger at dead logs and trees, using his dagger and a rock to create sparks and light tinder - which grew to a glowing orange fire. He collapsed against a rock, still quite thirsty, having drank only from a clear-looking lake earlier: much to his infinite chagrin. Survival was survival - even if it meant disease in the days to come.

With a tired twist of his brow, he slept.

In the night, he felt a rustle, and his eyes opened immediately. His tired and broken wrist twisted as he clanged to his feet, letting out a rough growl of anger as he snapped his head around in the dark. "Hello?!" He shouted out, his left hand twisting his dagger out of its sheathe. Rustling continued, and he heart a creak of wood - the slow twang of a bowstring - not that Lucerys knew the sound. He stared in confusion: only to hear a sudden rush. He planted a foot and brought up his arm in a blocking motion: something sharp and pointy stabbing his plate and bouncing away harmessly. He snapped his head up. "Hey!" He screamed. "Knock it the fuck off!"

The noise repeated, and Lucerys dropped: feeling a rush of air over his head. He scrambled on all fours behind a nearby tree, and began to creep as quietly as he could in plate, out the opposite side. In the distance, he heard whispers: "You see that?" One said. "'es got armor! Must be a hedge knight!"

"Ain' worth squat then, none of 'em have coin." The other said. "Unless he's dat prince that went fallin', I got no use."

"His armor's coin - his horse and sword and shield: them'll be coin. We just gotsa killem first!" The other man shouted. Lucerys shook his head - knights, bandits, arrows? What the shit?

He snuck through the bush, using his armor's layers to cushion what noise he did make. Ahead, he could see the two men's silhouettes, and he knew he only had so many options: he needed a way out of this place, a way to civilization. These bandits probably had one, but...

Well, would you take your chances? Just fell into the sea, possessing some other person's body, -probably- the protagonist of a Self-Insert, but in a setting notorious for killing you if you do something stupid... Yeah. Two on one was certainly possible - but he needed to go full snake. Raising into a crouch, he slowly carried himself around the tree, behind a small outcropping of fallen vines. Overhead, a crackle of thunder signaled that Shipbreaker Bay wasn't quite done with him yet. "Ah, Davo, it's rainin'"

"Get over it, Steff, we've got a mark to kill. Come on out, knighter! We're only hunting! No means to scare you!" One shouted, the other whacking him upside the head. "Ey! Wot's that for?" Lucerys used the gap to scraggle to another tree, pressing up against it. Use X to enter cover. Idly, he palmed his dagger. If he had his good hand working, this would be slightly easier - but a kill was a kill. One stepped forward, arguing with the other, and Lucerys watched one trail ahead of the other, stepping into the gap between the two trees, closer to the fire.

Lucerys frowned. 'Could I actually kill somebody? This is a pretty fucked dream, man.' He thought. 'But what if this is like, an afterlife test? Or what if I'm-' He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. 'I can't ask that: they want to kill me. I have to stop them.' He swung out from cover in the cold darkness, and held his dagger up in a ready stance as he approached. The man before him was taller - Lucerys' body was but fourteen, though his growth spurt had made him quite tall in his own right. He was lanky, though, and that was where the boy had his advantage. Lucerys lunged forward, a gauntleted fist around the bowman's mouth, and plunged his blade hard into the back of his neck. The bandit's body fell limp immediately.

'The Medulla is the body's control center: destroy it, destroy everything.' Lucerys thought. 'I may not be in nursing school, but the principles of destruction and healing are quite similar.'

Lucerys gently slid the man's longsword from his scabbard, sheathing his dagger, and approached the enemy ahead of him. The man held little more than a short spear - for hunting boars, or skewering peasants. Lucerys stopped him with a shout: move and you're dead." He growled, feeling his heart race. The bandit jumped forward, spinning around: holding his spear up angrily.

"Oh, I'm dead, am I?" The peasant spat. He looked back to see 'Steff's' corpse, already soaked from the rain trickling in from above. "Fuck you, hedge knight, you're no better than a sellsword with a paintjob."

"At least I can afford a paintjob, you slimy fuck." Lucerys said, twirling his sword expperimentally. It felt familiar, and he made a few strikes he wasn't sure he knew how to: but it didn't mesh with his mind. It felt more like an instinct than an ability: but maybe those were really the same thing. "Meet a guy in the woods - quick, let's not help him, let's rob him!" He shouted.

The man growled, rushing forward, stabbing forward at Lucerys' face. He batted it aside with an expert parry, both of them surprising themselves. "Not bad!" The bandit said. "Let's see how you do when I cut off your balls!" Davo stabbed towards Lucerys' codpiece, the metal deflecting him a Lucerys struck out, a gash barely penetrating Davo's boiled leather: but leaving a line of thin red trickling gently onto his attire. Behind them, the light of the fire was slowly dying from the rain intensifying.

Davo, sensing opportunity in spite of his pain, stabbed upwards - snapping his spear, but twisting away Lucerys' sword. Unlike Steff, Davo had a thick and bulky frame - but was eye-level with Luke. Lucerys watched as his blade clanged away in the distance. "Gotta keep your grip, child - left hand or right." Davo coughed. "Doesn't matter, I'll take your armor and all yer coin too, you sweggert."

Luke reached for his dagger as Davo charged - only to find himself in the mud - the bandit atop him. A pair of fists swung down in succession, striking the prince in the jaw as he struggled. "Fuck off!" Luke yelled, jamming a fist into the man's bleeding chest. He roared, and with a launch, Luke was free - He scrambled toward his sword - only to find now his dagger was free. Free into the hands of his enemy. It spun violently through the air, and Luke felt a stabbing pain in his calf. He dropped painfully, covered in swampy water.

Davo sloshed through the mud, grabbing the sword from the ground and brandishing it. "Now this, little bitch, is how you kill someone!" He shouted, reaching up with his blade. Lucerys stared at him, eyes open, and shot out an open hand as if to catch the strike. A sudden gust of wind spat violently from Luke's hand, sending the blade flying - and knocking Davo into the dirt. Luke scrambled to his feet, growling as his hand screamed at him.

He shot out his left hand once more, striking and knocking Davo's skull against a nearby rock. The bandit screamed in pain, but Lucerys wasn't done. Hobbling with a dagger in his leg, he grabbed the man by the collar with his good hand. "Which. Way. Is. The. Road." Lucerys growled through the pain.

The man pointed fearfully. Lucerys grabbed at the dagger, feeling blood trickle down his leg, and slit the man's throat. He ripped off a piece of Davo's cloth sleeves, tying it taut around his plate legging, and returned to his fire. A pair of dry wood pieces not soaked by the rain found themselves on the fire - and they burst without care into fire. Without a second thought, Luke collapsed.

It was a second day in Westeros.

Death. Hunger. Suffering.

Myrzael · Feb 11, 2015

Historian said:
"Oh, I'm dead, am I?" The peasant spat. He looked back to see 'Davo's' corpse, already soaked from the rain trickling in from above.

This should probably be Steff´s corpse seeing as Davo is fighting with Not!Lucerys later.

Also, how do those peasants know about prince´s fall already ? It is only the second day, storm hampers communication if for some reason Baratheon commanded fellow lords to watch for washed up bodies in Shipbreaker Bay and he has no reason to distrust Aemond´s words about Lucerys´ death by lightning or fall.

I know almost nothing about magic in Avatar, but it is flashier than the often subtle one in ASOIAF right ? Could not!Lucerys somehow heal himself ?

It looks like SI still thinks that this is a dream (or nightmare). He gained also some knowledge, memories and instinct so hopefully eventual freakout will not be too debilitating.

Historian · Feb 11, 2015

Myrzael said:
Also, how do those peasants know about prince´s fall already ? It is only the second day, storm hampers communication if for some reason Baratheon commanded fellow lords to watch for washed up bodies in Shipbreaker Bay and he has no reason to distrust Aemond´s words about Lucerys´ death by lightning or fall.

I know almost nothing about magic in Avatar, but it is flashier than the often subtle one in ASOIAF right ? Could not!Lucerys somehow heal himself ?

It looks like SI still thinks that this is a dream (or nightmare). He gained also some knowledge, memories and instinct so hopefully eventual freakout will not be too debilitating.

Lucerys fell literally right off of Storm's End - the fight was in visual range of the castle and its attendant villages. These bandits probably watched it happen - it's hard to sleep in the open when lightning's crackling.

Lucerys -could- heal himself with waterbending, but it's a difficult art: and he lacks almost all necessary training. Katara, a master waterbender, learned only after finding a proper scroll. To develop proper katas/forms would take lots of time and effort he doesn't necessarily have. His hand injury also makes it hard: airbending from that hand will only aggrevate his injury.

Historian · Feb 12, 2015

The winds whispered as a tired man slowly lead his donkey through the wood. The dirt path was long and narrow – with a dozen good sites for someone to hide behind. "I guess that's why it's good for bandits." Lucerys whispered to himself, nursing his wrist. A bow was slung around his waist – an hood over his head – and a pair of swords and brace of daggers on his belt turning him from lost knight into enterprising sellsword.

At least, that was the thought. You could scarely shoot a bow with a cracked wrist, and the lack of a shield meant he was stuck parrying with his off hand. Sure, he had some sort of magic, but Lucerys knew it neither by instinct nor by mind. He rubbed at his head, shaking it. "Don't I?" He asked. "The woman in blue... the boy?" He shook his head. All his memories seemed faint. He knew he was someone from somewhere else – but what the hell did that mean? He swore, he cursed, and yet he had an educated candor. He knew many things where others might know naught – but still his qualms felt missing.

He should have felt bad about killing those men – he should have felt like it was more than just his survival – but he didn't. He had sliced two men's throats open for daring to attack him, after demanding knowledge from the other. Luke supposed it was self-defense, a mandated right to protect yourself: but he hadn't really done that, had he? He could've walked off into the night, and both those bandits would be alive. Maybe they didn't murder people: just took their things. What if they had families?

Luke shook his head as the old man passed on in his cart, his donkey whinnying as Lucerys ducked behind a giant tree's root. It didn't matter now – he needed to get food, water, and healing for his wrist. He'd offload these weapons, get something to brace his wrist, and find his way to the nearest castle. Westeros was a big place. Lucerys knew that much – and the Stormlands were but a small portion. He'd have his best chance at aid in either Dorne, where the folk were more liberal, or in Oldtown or King's Landing: where sufficient records could allow him to figure out his true name and lineage. From there, perhaps he had family: perhaps he had people who could allow him a time of recuperation.

For now, all he had were daggers, blades, a broken hand, and his wits. Lucerys wasn't sure if any part of himself had beaten such odds on wits and his left hand alone – though part of him was sure handling a weapon with his left was not out of the question. He winced, leading with his right hand as he vaulted the tree, and announced himself with a shout: "Hey!" He shouted. "You there, dude! Hi!" Lucerys shouted, waving his injured hand with a wince. The man looked at Lucerys with wild eyes, sticking his hands in the air.

"I'll give you whatever you want, boy! It's not much – I was making a tax delivery!" He shouted. Lucerys laughed, pulling down his hood as he approached.

"And who's taxes were that?" Lucerys asked, shaking his head. "I'm not here to rob you, man – I killed a pair of assholes down in the woods thataway. I'm just carrying their shit to sell."

The old man blinked. "W-well I'm coming back from Storm's End, ser – delivering coin for Lord Connington. My guards were kept – Lord Boros is summoning what knights he can to serve in a coming war 'gainst Princess Rhaenyra."

"Princess Rhaenyra?" Lucerys asked, quirking at the familiar name. "Like, King Viserys I's daughter?" He asked, scratching at the back of his head. The old man nodded.

"Aye." The old man said, before he looked closely at Lucerys. "You ain't even a knight, are you boy? Why've you got such well-fitted armor?"

"I dunno." Luke replied glancing down at it. "I can't really remember much – I washed ashore on the beach a day's walk from the road – poached those two bandits with my dagger – and milked the last man for the way to the road. Here I am!" He laughed awkwardly, the old man scratching his head at the thought of it all. "Since I can't quite remember who I am, and my hand's not in the best sorts, mind if I join you on the road to the Roost?"

The old man looked at Luke with an appraising eye. "What's a gnarly looking warrior to fend off bandits, anyhow?" He asked, shaking his head. "Sure, boy, I'll take you along. Once we get there, though, you'll have to find your own way. Name's Erd."

"Luke." Lucerys said. The old man nodded, taking reign of his donkey. Its cart slowly began to clatter forwards with the beast.

"They say the princess' son was named Lucerys. Say he went by Luke. Before he fell from the dragon fight over the bay." The old man said. "Good thing no Targaryens have brown hair, otherwise I'd have to send for the guards!" He chuckled. "Not like there's any difference, I 'spose. No way to survive a fall from hundreds of feet, sea or not."

"Tell me about it." Luke said, twitching at the mention of his full name. "I dove off a cliff once, almost broke my freaking back." Erd shrugged. Slowly but surely, the pair set off: their trail carrying them through forest and up hills, eventually breaking towards mountainous plateaus that in distance saw Shipbreaker Bay. It was in this travel that they camped thrice, before finally arriving on the fourth day. In all, Erd claimed a week's journey between Griffon's Roost and Storm's End, though it could take twice that in a harsh rain or with high banditry in the area.

It was hard to travel with all the roads blocked, ambushes constant. Erd told tales of entire convoys struck by dozens of bandits - entire armies of bandits trying to raid villages across the rainwood and throughout the Stormlands, using cover of rain to mask their attacks. Once, he claimed, Prince Aegon (as he was then known) had flown Sunfyre into the roadway, burning entire swathes of forest. Soon enough, where that was became evident: chest-high trees replaced huge monsters of centuries' age, their youthful blossoms giving way to a beautiful sea of green they looked over on their journey.

Soon enough, a flapping red and white banner with twin griffons flapped in the wind – not the castle, but an advance party. Erd claimed them to be a patrol, and waived them down. The four knights and six serjeants approached – eying the suspicious stranger with some regard. Erd shook his head. "It's alright, boys – a hedge knight. Killed some bandits and took their arms for sale!"

"Aye?" The first knight said, approaching and looking Lucerys over. "And who anointed you in the seven oils?" He asked, leaning down in his saddle. His Connington surcoat flapped in the wind – it appeared yet another storm would blow in off the bay, and that meant more lightning, more thunder, and more madness.

Luke shrugged. "I wish I knew – I've lost my memory, sir knight." He replied. The lead knight shrugged. "All I know is that I awoke in this armor on a beach off the bay, and found myself attacked by bandits."

"Bandits? How many?" The Knight growled, clutching the hilt of his blade. He looked at Erd. "If we're going to have to spend our time fighting a new-"

"Just two, Alyn." Erd replied, breaking the tension. "The boy's been a good ally. His wrist's snapped – he won't be swordfighting anyone. The weapons are just for show and safekeeping. Been with me for four days, and I vouch for his goodness – even if his tongue can be quite crass."

"Fair enough." Ser Alyn replied, pulling on his reigns. "Ser...?"

"Luke." Lucerys said. He frowned, glancing at Erd. "I should be of-something or the-something, y'know? I have no idea what my arms were, though, or if I even had ones."

"Might as well go with your scar, boy – Luke the Lightning Bolt?" Erd was right, Lucerys realized. He'd had terrible lightning scars across his arms and legs – like tree branches or jagged stitches that trailed down his back. "Sounds suitably heroic."

"Better than Alyn of the Roost, anyhoot." One of the knights snorted. "And why not? Let's bring Luke Lightning to Lady Sarys. She'll make the call."

Erd cleared his throat: "A final thing, lads. Borros declared for King Aegon. They say Lucerys Velaryon died fallin' off Arrax into the bay." The four knights let loose their reins at that, what mouths Luke could see were hung open in surprise. "He was fighting Vhagar and Aemond One-Eye. Borros betrothed his daughter to the One-Eye. It'll be war."

"We'll have to tell her ladyship at once." Ser Alyn said, grabbing his reins and taking a missive from Erd. "Why didn't Lord Borros send a raven?" He asked immediately.

"The storms were torrid." Erd replied. "Its rained the past five days, now. They're probably afraid of losing their ravens." He said. Alyn nodded, turning his horse. With a rapid gait, it was gone – clattering off. The other knights led at a slower pace, as Lucerys saw the slow stonerise over the horizon. Off in the distance, a real, live, breathing castle cast smoke into the air. Fires burned in hearths below, and warriors beyond its walls drilled at tent encampments. Erd lead his donkey onward, while the knights clattered off to their patrol once more.

Exchanges were made of passing greetings, and again Luke and Erd were alone. "So, what do you do, exactly?" Lucerys asked. "You seem pretty important to go unescorted with a cart."

"Like I said – I had quite the escort, then Lord Borros generously acquired them. Lady Sarys bears him no love: especially his continued demands that she marry. Her son is a good man, and the old lord was greater still – I fear she's too afraid to have her ruling taken away and son shipped off because of some lord's predelictions." Erd said, as the cart clattered beneath the gates. "I don't blame her – I'm a mixture of Castellan and Steward. Myself and Maester Vemos manage most affairs for her ladyship – she mostly tends to court when required by the laws of the realm."

"So I'm next to the bona-fide Castellan?" Lucerys said, shaking his head. "Here I thought you were just some man."

"Sometimes just being 'some man' is all you need to be. No reason to rock the boat when you can be a still sea: not worth people's time and effort." Erd replied with a smile. "As for you, Ser Luke, you're welcome. Any noble born like yourself, no matter how crass, is welcome at the Roost. We believe in courage here. See your arms dropped off and we'll have you a palfrey and a shield, with colors you choose. Vemos will see to your hand when you're finished."

Luke nodded, and Erd disappeared as quickly as Lucerys had joined him – off to attend to matters. By the time he'd ditched his extra arms and gotten a shield painted with blue and a white lightning bolt inside a white circle, dusk had began to fall. A small bolthole room was alotted to him, and he removed his armor as best he could. Night began to fall, and he sat by his bedside in ruined padded attire.

He glanced up at a moon he didn't recognize, and stars that looked strange. "I'm not in Kansas anymore." He whispered.

What was Kansas? The harder he thought, the more the world seemed strange. He was long gone from home. Long gone from America.

But what was America?

These thoughts dragged deep into the night as he lit a candle, trying to write down memories as they came like a flood – as if the dam had been opened. Soon enough, perhaps, he'd know more about himself than just his body could provide. One thing was for absolute certain: this body wasn't his.

The question was, whose was it?

==

The next episode is his sort-of amnesia dying off, so that the adventure proper might begin.

Myrzael · Feb 13, 2015

Historian said:
Good thing no Targaryens have silver hair, otherwise I'd have to send for the guards!

A final thing, lads. Borros declared for Queen Rhaenyra.

First sentence makes no sense to me in context. Maybe you wanted to write all Targaryens ? Borros declared against Rhaenyra, for Aegon II.

Looking forward to Luke´s adventure and lifting of the confusion.

Historian · Feb 13, 2015

Myrzael said:
First sentence makes no sense to me in context. Maybe you wanted to write all Targaryens ? Borros declared against Rhaenyra, for Aegon II.

Looking forward to Luke´s adventure and lifting of the confusion.

Sometimes I wonder how I get a half dozen likes with glaring continuity errors without someone saying something xD

Thanks for being the hero this thread deserves. I meant to say no Targaryens have brown hair - which is false in the case of the Velaryon heirs - but they kept mostly to Dragonstone in their youth.

NotSBReece · Feb 13, 2015

Okay I'm caught up. I pike it so far. Isvery nice!

Myrzael · Feb 13, 2015

Historian said:
I meant to say no Targaryens have brown hair - which is false in the case of the Velaryon heirs - but they kept mostly to Dragonstone in their youth.

From reading The World of Ice and Fire, I thought that belief that Velaryon brothers are actually Strong bastards was quite widespread, with Viserys´ order to cut tongues and such, so maybe quite a few people knew about their not quite Valyrian features ? That said, your explanation is fine too.

4958180former · Feb 13, 2015

Historian said:
Sometimes I wonder how I get a half dozen likes with glaring continuity errors without someone saying something xD

Most people haven't read any of the stuff about the Dance.

Historian · Feb 15, 2015

Lucerys

After all of it, he still didn't remember his name. Dozens of pieces of parchment scribbled on in hearty scrawl. Lineages, histories, names – Cerseis and Catelyns, Sandors and Sansas. Princes and Princesses. Fire and Blood. Gunpowder muskets and blunderbusses. Hidden Blades. Martial Arts. Proper hygiene. Pages upon pages of thoughts, candles burning to stumps in an all-nighter that rivaled only a nursing student's pre-anatomy cramming, which he scribbled an entire three pages of half-collected memories on. Immunology, bacterial types, the cell model and a simplistic design for a microscope. He'd used every quill and ink bottle he could – and thank god for his other self's steady hand and skill at penmanship.

If he hadn't had that, his writings were liable to be smudgy, scraggly, and overall illegible. Instead, they were a beautifully twirled but simplified ancient script: one Lucerys stared at with a small smile in his eyes. He knew who he was – what he'd been. A student. However, he was now a prince. A prince everyone thought was dead. A knight too young for his title, a boy in plate armor meant for a fourteen year old: with hormones that raged beneath his skin.

"I'd always wanted a second chance at middle school." Luke said sarcastically, shaking his head as he crawled out from beneath his covers, bags beneath his eyes. "I didn't think it would involve dragons and airbending." He said, twirling and throwing out his off hand, a gust of wind sending paper fluttering. With a deft left hand, he caught many of them, smoothing them out as he laid them on the table. "I'm just surprised I'm not freaking out." He said. But he wasn't. Not really. Sometimes being away from life was happier than being in it – and Luke remembered as much. The 21st century may have been a great place for some people – drunken lechery, hedonism, hours upon hours of toil for so little gain. Lucerys was in the middle ages, however – a time where peasants worked a tenth the days and a tenth the hours a modern man worked in a year. Where a king could be anything he wanted. Maybe it was sexist – that's the way things go in the middle ages.

But Queen Rhaenyra could change that.

Luke reached out and unlatched the door, stepping into the hall of Griffin's Roost. His sword bounced gently at his hip. He nodded at a servant, catching her attention. "Miss, where's the Maester at this hour? I need him to see to my wrist."

She stammered. "I-uh, um." Lucerys folded his arms, smiling. "In the lady's hall, m'lord." She said, scurrying. "It's down this hall here to the right." The princeling nodded, setting off with a bounce in his step. His clothes were simple brown leather, and he'd been happy to receive them after having worn a soaked and soiled black doublet and plate for nearly a full work week.

"Thanks." Luke said, earning himself a surprised look from the servant as he happily strode down the hall. He needed a bath – his mouth tasted like death – but he supposed such things happened when you moved to the middle ages. Maybe something with waterbending could help?

Of course, he'd have to learn waterbending first. It was clear he could at least bend air and water – and how cool was that? Teleported to another world with superpowers? It wasn't like he had a girlfriend to miss – his parents would be fine with or without him – and they could use life insurance money to put Luke's sister through whatever college she wanted. Really, he supposed it was better this way. Or it was all a dream. Or it was a nightmare. Or it was an afterlife.

But ultimately, you can't prove matrix theory. If you're in a computer so facsimile to real life, can you really call it any different from real life? Would you take the Red Pill? Or the Blue Pill? Shit, Lucerys couldn't even remember which one let him go deeper. It was all inception mumbo-jumbo: fun to think about, but was it really irrelevant in the scheme of things. Like his arrival, his exit would come at a time and place he couldn't determine: and anything else was wishful thinking.

In the mean time, he realized, as he turned the corner and descended a flight of stairs towards the main hall, he had what amounted to superpowers in a world of dragons, adventure, and nobility. That was pretty fuckin' badass, man. Grandpa had always said that it wasn't about the destination, but the journey – and this place was going to be one helluva trip.

The hall opened up before him – he wasn't really sure what to compare it to, in all honesty. Lots of nice rugs and banners. Very wide. Very open. On a griffon-shaped throne, a woman with blaze-red hair and a look of dour countenance stared at a small gaggle of petitioners, the hall somewhat full with a host of swordsmen and knights at ease. Luke slowly pressed through the crowd, looking for a man with a chain 'round his neck. He found him doddling off in a chair, reading a book balanced on a knee. "Hey." Lucerys said, holding up his wrist. "Are you the Maester?"

The man closed his book, putting a small wooden dowel in it to keep his place. "I don't wear the chain as a fashionable adornment, no." He said, glancing at Lucerys' wounded wrist. "I suppose you need that looked at... are you Erd's companion? He mentioned something about you on his arrival."

"Yep!" Luke said. "Is he around here?" He asked. The Maester furrowed his brow at Luke's diction, but pointed to the throne. Erd sat to one side in a plain chair, observing the court. Something about having six sons and losing all of them to the draft, rather than only five. Luke shrugged. Wasn't his business. Some things were unfortunate: but a war was a war. Idly, he realized that those men would try to kill his body's brothers and sisters. It was clear enough he was Lucerys Velaryon – there weren't too many Lukes around. That meant his mother was Queen Rhaenyra – the woman in his dreams – and that he'd fallen in battle against Aemond One-Eye.

Damned if the World of Ice and Fire wasn't fascinating – but it was also terrifying. Lots of dragons. Lots of death. As Luke followed the Maester to a small alcove, filled with books and vials and desks, he realized that he would have to do something. You don't get superpowers and jerk around with them. There's duty to be had. Soon enough, Jaehaerys would be dead. And little Maelor – ripped apart by peasants at Bitterbridge. The Maester began to wrap Lucerys' hand, putting wooden splinting over it. "How'd you break your wrist?" He asked. "This is a pretty severe fracture to not have more damage elsewhere."

"I guess I got lucky." Luke replied, narrowing his eyes in thought.

The Maester finished, knifing off the last of the bandaging. As he pulled up the doublet, he saw the twisting branches of Lucerys' scars, and he stared at them with a perplexed look. Luke glanced up at him. "Can I help you?" He said.

"Lightning scars?" The Maester asked. "How did you get these, Ser? Few men survive such a shock."

"I can't remember." Luke said. "It was recently, but... I guess a pain like that does shit to you, doesn't it?" He shook his head, wincing. "They've healed pretty well, considering? I walked all the way here with them, and they're all over my back."

"I can see that, Ser. You're lucky – they say such a strike killed Lucerys Velaryon as he fell off Vhagar – the missive was quite masterfully crafted: Maester Elmon at Storm's End is such a prolific writer."

Luke shrugged. "I wouldn't know." He said. The Maester nodded at him, motioning to Lucerys' wrist.

"That should be all, Ser. Do feel better – and alert me if those burns do harm you. The Castellan said to present yourself when you feel ready – he's had your armor cleaned and readied at the blacksmith – even had it blued – our blacksmith was itching for a new project." The Maester said, watching as Luke groaned to his feet. He brought his arms back in a taut stretch, his leathers creaking at him. "You seem well educated, for a hedge knight." He said, cocking his head at Luke's appearance.

Pug nose.

Brown hair.

Lightning scars.

He cocked a brow, but said nothing. It was said that Maesters were impartial to the opinions of state, that they served only their lords and ladies of the places they were sworn to. It was also said that those Maesters who had a Valyrian Steel chain upon their necks favored the dragons first of all – and had a dangerous bent toward radical ideals. A young maester with a Valyrian Steel chain, in a lowly house with a female liege?

Whose house was insulted as its Castellan was left defenseless on his return to the castle?

He said nothing, even as a twinkle filled his eye as Lucerys Velaryon stepped out of his own little rookery within the roost. Luke walked on unaware that his identity was revealed. He made his way through the crowd, spotting Erd, and watched as Lady Sarys stood from her seat, holding her hands firmly together at her waist. Though only six and ten, with her blaze red hair tied up in a tangled mess of -something- these folks considered a hairstyle. He stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back in a parade rest, shoulders back.

"It is my decree that we, regardless of our lords' wishes, shall support Her Grace Queen Rhaenyra. The insults of Lord Borros have come enough. He can come and burn us if he wishes – but I doubt such shall come if we've the support of her grace and her many drakes. Though Prince Lucerys has seen his death at the behest of Lord Borros and Prince Aemond, his memory is what drives us toward victory. For the blacks we declare - let the tailors craft the quartered drake, seahorse, and falcon." She declared. "Maester Vemos – send letters to our sworn nights and lords. I will have our troops mustered for battle, and we shall see King Viserys' wish put upon the Iron Throne by her right." A murmur went through the crowd, and Lucerys could hear it – these people were for her. They believed in Lady Sarya, who'd governed them even in her youth.

Erd said nothing, from his seat next to her. He was obviously in on the plan – and Luke could see Maester Vemos whispering something in his ear before scurrying off to the rookery. Erd looked through the crowd, spotting Lucerys, and nodded to him. Luke began to worm his way through the crowd – his small height and size enough to let him weave through the wash. It was funny – Lucerys was probably his normal height in his own universe, but he knew that Lucerys would get much taller. It'd be weird being tall. Strong, too. He'd be a Prince and a proper ruler, with a wife. Wasn't he betrothed to Rhae-something? Rhaena? Baela the crazy dragon-fighter's twin sister? She'd probably be off to the Vale soon – no chance of that any time soon.

She was also thirteen. Lucerys wasn't sure if that was technically fucked up. They were first cousins – and the statistical incestuousness of that was limited. But he was also a Targaryen. They'd also probably get married pretty soon – and that meant sleeping with her while she was, like, fourteen, while he was like, fifteen, but mentally twenty. That was weird.

I mean, I guess it wasn't, in context. Luke shook his head as he crested the crowd and approached Erd, shaking the thought out of his head. He imagined that if a bunch of Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity readers were looking at him on some grimy ass monitor they'd be raising their eyebrows in a mixture of disgust and understanding.

But what did he know?

"Ser Luke!" Erd said with a smile, his tired eyes glancing his way. "I see your hand is well splinted, Vemos is skillful like that."

"Yeah he is." Luke said. "How're you?" He asked.

"Well enough." Erd said. "You've heard the news – we're to fight Lord Borros in the name of Lady Sarys and Queen Rhaenyra. We're going to need knights – but more importantly, we'll need envoys. Have you had any recollections of your past?'

Luke shook his head. "I wish I did, my lord." He said. "I'm doing my best to get things back together – but for now I'm just a sword I suppose, and the Griffins are enough to serve as any." Erd nodded, looking Luke over with an eye of appraisal. He turned to watch as Lady Sarys sat, glancing at her Castellan.

"Who's this?" She said, her eyes flashing at Lucerys.

"My lady." Luke said, "Ser Luke the Bolt, at your service. I traveled back with Castellan Erd on his return journey."

"Ah!" She said, smiling. "And here I'd though he'd braved the wilderness alone, using his guile and mastery of disguise to play the peasant all the way back here." Erd chuckled. "Instead he had a skillful boy to play the knight-guardian all the way. From hence do you hail, Ser?"

Luke hitched a moment, though he kept his face placid. "I wish I knew, my lady. I awoke on the beaches of Shipbreaker Bay like, a week ago. It's been kinda rough, but much of my memory's left me out to dry."

She smirked. "A jester and a knight? He'll make Borros laugh himself into choking, I suppose." Sarys said. Her hair was blaze red. Her eyes were bright brown, and her red dress was trimmed with bright white silk. For the middle ages and being sixteen, she was hot. Also way out of his league. But technically not? Luke wasn't about to blow his cover to get laid with a sixteen year old, get her pregnant, and then marry his stepdad's cousin who was way too young.

Strike the whole lordship and bounty things, the middle ages were messed up.

Luke was pretty sure this was all his hormones talking, at this point. "I do love a good joke from time to time." Luke said."But I haven't managed to kill anyone with one, yet. Seems like that'd ruin the comedy, y'know?"

"That it would." She said, smiling. "Ah, well. I do thank you for escorting old Erd around – he's really too harried as it is to be fighting bandits."

Erd crossed his arms. "And my lady is too young to be insulting her advisors." He growled, letting out a chuckle as Sarys twisted her lips into a pout. "Luke – we're going to be sending an advanced guard northerly under Ser Artys, and I'd like you to head with them to the village of Seaworthy – a small fishing hamlet. We've got a pair of galleys ported there. They'll take White Griffin to the Gullet, where we hope to draw aid from Queen Rhaenyra. Perhaps you'll join them on their quest to Dragonstone?"

Luke contemplated. There was a chance here to reclaim his princedom and moderate his mother's aggression in the war – but there was also a chance his return would enflame the violence. Regardless – the war was in the north, not here – and Arrax, his drake, was no doubt on Dragonstone waiting for him. He wasn't sure how dragonriding worked – or if Arrax would abandon him thinking him dead – but he knew one thing: if he could stop Criston Cole's advance on Rook's Rest, or the Battle in the Gullet, he'd have a chance at turning the tide towards his family.

"I think I may, my lord." Luke said, nodding. "If her ladyship shall grant me leave to go – I'll travel in service to House Connington so you can have men, even drakes, to defeat Lord Borros. He's an ass anyway."

With that, Luke bade leave – heading off into the depths of the castle. He gathered what writings he could, purchasing bags and a palfrey to carry him. As dusk began to gather, he snuck into an empty courtyard – covered in grass. Servants had whispered earlier that it had once been a godswood. They evaded it, the stump of the weir in the middle.

He stepped within, feeling a strange surge inside him. Idly, he planted his feet, removing his sword belt and leaving it aside the stump. He was alone as the sun began to set, and with a few twists of his hands – one splinted, but no longer painful – he began to circle around the tree. His sword rattled, and his hair blew back slightly, as air began to rise before him. Wind twirled, air hurled, and all of it began to blow. Low-hung stormclouds cut a deep hole, as the wind whirled up to the heavens. With an abrupt stop, Luke let it sit. The wind dissipated. And he closed his eyes.

An idle breath whistled from his nostrils, and he opened his eyes to see a figure before him, clad in orange and black. "Hi." He said.

Luke stepped back with a start, fists up. "Who-" He blinked. "Aang?!"

"Sup." He said, cocking his bearded chin up like he was from the 21st century. "Y'know, you've got some cool memories in there-" He said, pointing at Luke. "I like that ice game you play – but you're way too crazy for me. Taking big black rocks to the helmet? That's Azula-level stuff, right there."

Luke blinked. "What the shit?"

Aang shrugged, stuffing his hands inside his robe. His tired eyes blinked. "You tell me. You're the one that got tossed into an alternate universe."

"Yeah, but why did I suddenly get Avatar powers? How is Avatar Aang – the cool old Avatar Aang who I have like ten billion questions for – chatting with me right now?" Luke asked.

"I dunno." Aang said. "I don't write the rulebook, I just play by it. Usually." He chuckled.

"So do you have some great wisdom for me?" Luke asked. "Am I getting a Roku treatment?"

"Nope." Aang said, stepping forwards. "Loosen your stance. Get on the balls of your feet." Luke did so, shifting his weight. "Right, now hands out – like this." He said, placing one hand forward from the other, palms out. "You've got the cyclone down – now you need the air blast, and eventually the scooter. I can't teach you everything: and know that you can only learn in places of high spiritual energy. You'll know them when you see them."

Luke put his palms out. Aang shot out a hand to his right from the position, a stylized blast of air shimmering away. "When you do it really right, you can feel the chi flowing through you – it's a big part of airbending. If you can master the basics, I'm sure you can develop the other skills."

"Can you teach me the rest?" Luke asked, glancing at Aang as he copied his movements.

Aang shook his head. "No. Fate has set other things in store for us, Lucerys Velaryon. In this place so free of good and justice, you're one of the few good men left. There are others – Sarys, Vemos, your younger brothers in this world. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, Melys, Aegon the Younger, Viserys the younger. Rhaena, your betrothed. You know them to be good people – and through that so do I." He said, shrugging. "But it is not my place, young Avatar. You must find spiritual places – ones of Water. Ones of Fire. Ones of Earth. You may yet master the elements. You also know the basics of each – a benefit from watching your... 'show'" He said, his face twisting with distaste. "Was my life really so flippant and ignorant in my youth?"

"Eh." Luke said, twisting and shooting out a fist – a gust of violent wind swirled in the air before him, the shimmer of twisting wind visible, surprisingly enough, as he struck through the grass. "You view an idealized version of yourself, I find."

"Excellent, Lucerys." He said, turning to him and pressing a fist into an open palm. He bowed. Luke attempted a more actor-style bow. "Keep using this skill and the others you know, and you'll find yourself a skillful airbender." He said. "As to water, fire, and earth – I'm sure you can figure places to learn each: remember, it's in the spirit of of the place, not its physicality." He smiled, stepping onto the weirwood's stump. "Good luck." He said.

As quick as he had came, Aang was gone. Luke stood alone in the courtyard. He picked up his left hand, twirling his fingers, and wind shimmered in his palm. He'd used waterbending already – but earth and fire weren't in his repetoire. He picked up his fingers, like a reverse preying mantis. Maybe going full Toph was an option.

He kicked into the ground, visualizing a rock cracking up from the ground. Visualize, then attack. That was what Toph had told Aang. He struck his foot again, and a loud roar of crackling earth assailed his ears. He slid his foot against the grass, and struck out with a strong fist. The rock cracked apart – a large chunk flying off, only to sputter out as Luke let the fist release.

Luke let off a small huff. "Huh." He said. Today was one weird day.

==

Author's Notes

A lot going on in this chapter. Probably could've carved it up into two or three in their own right – but I find if you let the story sag in too many places, you lose focus. Sarys/Erd/Vemos are cool in their own right – Erd's an up-jumped peasant, Sarys is a strong, young female, and Vemos is a bromaester – but they're secondary to the real characters in the Dance. I can't leave Luke to mess around when there's so much going on he could help out with.

You may note that I don't swerve very hard in the direction of both the post-SI freakout and technological concerns. Destroying the setting with gunpowder and rockets and having your character spend six chapters realistically having a mental breakdown, without ruining all credibility with the people around him, is frankly quite silly in the short term.

Likewise, Un!Lucerys retains almost all of Lucerys' personal skill at arms. Swordsmanship is something you absolutely cannot learn in the timescale most SI stories take place in. I'm a new hockey player, and ice skating took me approx. 4 months of 4-5x week 1-3 hour skating sessions to get where I considered acceptable. That's 128 hours for an absolute minimum basic skillset. There's a quote spread around that it takes 10,000 hours to master something, according to some study or other. It's probably not quite that high, but it's close enough that no SI is going to build a skillset from scratch to compete with in-setting characters.

This is why so many SI authors fall back on the superpower trope, as I do: without them, your character is functionally irrelevant in-universe, no matter how he gets along with the other characters. Nobody wants to read a story about a hero that gets the shit kicked out of them constantly – they need it occasionally, it builds character, but not every time.

Keimarios · Feb 15, 2015

I'm really enjoying this story and you've gotten me to re-read the ASOIAF series to further understand the context. However, I'm wondering if you've got your Avatar continuation fic on hold due to your muse or discontinued it. I enjoyed your take on that OC Earth Avatar.

Historian · Feb 15, 2015

Keimarios said:
I'm really enjoying this story and you've gotten me to re-read the ASOIAF series to further understand the context. However, I'm wondering if you've got your Avatar continuation fic on hold due to your muse or discontinued it. I enjoyed your take on that OC Earth Avatar.

I'm not going to call it discontinued - it's just on a long hiatus. It didn't really have the following it needed to keep my interest, rather like The Last Goaltender until I pumped a few 7-8k word chapters into it.

But sinking thousands of words into stories is a great way to get burnt out. I'm letting Skybender sit in a corner with The Last Goaltender until I finish writing my original setting, and put a significant amount into this one.

Myrzael · Feb 16, 2015

Historian said:
She said, scurrying

So, servant was stammering and answering while moving quickly in haste ? And then she was surprised at Luke´s courtesy. It looks to me like they were having a conversation while standing still, not while moving in the opposite directions. Could be only my meager English skills at play.

Glad to see that there is no angsting and obsessing about technological concerns in fic. It looks like Luke knows quite a bit about events in Dance and it would be interesting that if he gets safely to Dragonstone (this is ASOIAF, after all) if he would be able to prevent or mitigate many catastrophes that happened in canon. Also I like Lady Connington, her castellan and maester. Sad to leave them, but there are many important matters to attend.

Borros was such a slimy snake in Dance in canon. His end was quite ironic. Glad to see that there are some in Stormlands who do not like him too. If I remember my maps correctly, the Roost is quite close to Storm´s End but on the other hand with Borros´ canon strategy, Sarys would not need reinforcing immediately.

Historian · Feb 16, 2015

Myrzael said:
So, servant was stammering and answering while moving quickly in haste ? And then she was surprised at Luke´s courtesy. It looks to me like they were having a conversation while standing still, not while moving in the opposite directions. Could be only my meager English skills at play.

Glad to see that there is no angsting and obsessing about technological concerns in fic. It looks like Luke knows quite a bit about events in Dance and it would be interesting that if he gets safely to Dragonstone (this is ASOIAF, after all) if he would be able to prevent or mitigate many catastrophes that happened in canon. Also I like Lady Connington, her castellan and maester. Sad to leave them, but there are many important matters to attend.

Borros was such a slimy snake in Dance in canon. His end was quite ironic. Glad to see that there are some in Stormlands who do not like him too. If I remember my maps correctly, the Roost is quite close to Storm´s End but on the other hand with Borros´ canon strategy, Sarys would not need reinforcing immediately.

The conversation was a bit sloppy, but basically she was trying to hurry off to her duties while Luke had stopped to have a polite conversation. Y'know when you're talking to someone but you kinda need to leave so you tread away from them but don't really break off conversation? Like that.

While true Storm's End is rather close to Griffin's Roost, the Roost is an overall more defensible location on a mountain.

Borros is actually confusing - it says he's strong and wroth and brash in many descriptions - yet his actions during the Dance imply he's more crafty and sly like a Varys or Roose Bolton.

Historian · Feb 16, 2015

Lucerys

Lucerys took little with him upon his palfrey to the fishing village, where the two anchored Griffin-crested warships sat at anchor. His armor, his book, his leathers, and his arms – a mere sword and shield. He'd been offered a lance, and had refused it. Likewise, a squire was offered to him to help him along. That too, Lucerys had refused. He was a hedge knight today – and would stay one until he found his place in this world. He'd need to meet his mother – he'd need to meet his brothers – and he'd need to master the four elements: but, in the mean time, there were events to change. His hope was to reach Rook's Rest – but that would require revelation of his airbending. He could use it to give them the wind – greater wind than any sail could catch alone – save in a storm. Perhaps they could hit twelve or fifteen knots – twice the speed of a galley, which averaged six to eight knots under sail and oar.

As the small gaggle of knights – six in number, all save Lucerys wearing White and Red – crested a small hill, arriving at the village, their eyes were already in shock. Baratheon banners fluttered in the wind – the White Griffin's flag replaced with that of Storm's End. The lead knight, Ser Artys, gripped his reins angrily. "Seven hells!" He shouted. "We'll have to turn back – we cannot out ourselves to Lord Borros so early." Troops swarmed in the village below, grabbing young boys and men, handing them spears and gaggling them in one section of the village. The ships' bells were ringing, as if to set out. In the distance, a pair of gold and black surcoated knights spotted them from below, and set off at a trot to meet them.

"Shit." One of the other knights said. "From the look of arms, that's Ser Eldred. Borros' sworn shield. A right cunt." He glanced at Lucerys. "He won't like you – you're too young."

Lucerys gulped. He may know him – Lucerys -was- at Storm's End. Artys glanced back at Luke with a cocked brow. "Put your visor down, boy. We'll do the talking. Nobody speak to him – I'll take it from here." He ordered. The rest nodded, maille and metal clanging as they did so. Luke slapped down his visor. The pair of knights trotted to a halt, Eldred waving with a smile on his bearded lips.

"Ho! Ser Artys! How wonderful an advanced guard join us. Lord Borros has demanded a full host from Griffin's Roost – why aren't these people gathering yet?"

"Oh, I don't know, Eldred." Artys said, letting himself slump in exaggeration. "It may have something to do with leaving our Castellan undefended all the way back to the Roost? Alone?" Eldred frowned, narrowing his brow. "But who am I to judge – Lady Sarys has sent the call, her troops shall mass soon." On cue, a raven fluttered overhead.

"And they'll do it at Storm's End, as Lord Borros has commanded?" He asked. His eyes shifted to the knight in blue, small, with his visor down and no lance at his side. Dirt caked his armor and his small horse – no true knight, just some hedgeman – as sworn knights were known in their prejudice.

"We haven't heard anything about that." Artys said. "Our troops shall gather to Lady Sarys' court and will move north afterward, as is proper. Why are you commandeering our ships? Lord Borros claimed he had no plan-"

"No plan to attack, aye – but all ships will be needed for a defense against the Sea Snake and his vagabonds. No doubt they seek allies across the narrow sea – allies that shall pillage all the coasts. It's our sworn duty to serve Lord Borros and gather the Stormland Fleet at Storm's End, so we might guard the seas in a more efficient way."

"Aye, but Lady Sarys needs White Griffin for a special errand – to Pentos." Artys replied. "She's gotten word from Storm's End that there may be a princeling headed to Pentos, and she seeks to ambush whatever children she may. It is our duty as knights of the Roost to see it done – and Griffin isn't your ship to take." He growled. Eldred gripped his reins tight, leaning forward with a chuckle in his voice.

He let in a sharp sniff of air. "Ah, don't you love insolence, Perce?" He asked, looking at the smaller knight next to him – looking more the squire than the knight. "The sound of lessers denouncing betters, like traitors to the realm. Who's the dirty hedgeman you've got there?"

Artys cocked a brow. "What of him?" He asked. "He served Castellan Erd when they met on the road southward from Storm's End. He's a skilled warrior – kept him safe from the bandits with bow and blade-" Neither were true, Lucerys was somewhat sure, he hadn't been in many fights, "-and doesn't talk much." He added.

"No hedge knight does – they know their place." He said, striding his horse closer. "Who knighted you, boy?"

"Ser Arlan, of Pennytree. He's from the depths of the Reach, near oldtown." Luke said, his voice muffled and deep as he spoke with great effort to disguise his voice.

"Ser Arlan, ah." Eldred said. "Haven't heard of a Ser Arlan. It's no matter, I suppose. Odd he'd knight someone so young, though."

"Are you questioning his knighthood?" Artys asked. "Lady Sarya-"

"I don't care about Lady Sarya, in case you hadn't noticed." Eldred spat back, turning his head to face Artys. "She's a sheathe with no sword to hold her in place, and she's filling all your minds with silly thoughts. Aegon is the true king – and Lord Borros knows more than anyone where her loyalties lie." He growled. "Now you can either shut your mouth, mount up, and ride with me to Lord Borros' side – or we'll arrest you like we've arrested half the other traitors at Storm's End. Lady Sarys and her weak house on her mountain are no threat to us."

The knights of Griffin's Roost wrapped their hands around their swords – as did Perce, Eldred's squire – but Eldred merely stared at Artys, his hands relaxed at his saddle. "Do it." He said. "You won't. You won't do anything, just like this hedge knight." He said, striding over to Lucerys, who remained impassive in his saddle. "He knows which way the wind's blowing – the money's in the business-" He reached up, flipping up Lucerys' visor, and glanced back at Artys. "See this face? It's-" He looked into Lucerys' visor, and dropped his mouth.

"Seven hells?" Luke said, smiling.

"Seven fucking hells!" He shouted, scampering at his waist. Luke shot out a fist, clapping Eldred hard in the jaw, and whirled his left arm – feeling a rush of energy in his good wrist as it spat a billow of air into Eldred's chest, taking his feet out of his reins as he dropped back onto the wet dirt below. "Fucking Lucerys?!" He shouted. "How in gods name are you alive! They hit you with lightning, threw you off a dragon, and left you for the deeps!"

Lucerys leaned over in his saddle, slapping the man's horse hard on its rear. It trotted off without thought – and Perce made leave to retrieve it: only to meet the swordpoint of Ser Artys. "I'm going to make this abundantly fucking clear, man." Luke said, staring at him. The rest of the Knights looked at Luke with a mix of awe and surprise – save for Artys, who seemed to have known all along. "I don't know what brought me here. I don't know this body. I don't know this place. But I do know three things: these people are here to help me. I need that ship. You're in my way." Luke said.

"What?" Eldred said, leaning into the mud beneath him in confusion. His pupils were dilated, his head having impacted the ground quite hard. Luke slid off his horse with more grace than he'd expected. Riding came naturally, which he supposed was part of Lucerys' past education. He reached to his belt, withdrawing a dirk, and climbed on top of Eldred.

"Sic Semper Tyrannis." Luke said, holding it to the man's throat. He stabbed it deep into the man's throat, looking away as he gargled and died. "Artys." He said, standing. "You knew. How?"

"Maester Vemos gets dispatches from the Citadel every year, my prince. Your appearance at birth and several other dispatches referred to you with brown hair and a pug nose – he figured you and the lightning scars so close to your demise? With nice armor? He called it a hunch, and it seems like he confirmed it. Good on you for killing him. Man was a right cunt."

"Yeah, well, fuck murder." Luke said, shaking his head and his hands as he wiped the blood on the man's surcoat. "We need the ship." He said. "We're going to rally the villagers and mutiny against the men at arms in the camp, then we'll take White and Red towards the gullet."

"You've got command, my prince. Erd was uncertain if you remembered who you were – and Vemos figured taking you to Dragonstone would jog your memory. Seems you knew more than you let on." Artys said. "Your dragon made it to Dragonstone at last word – taken up residence with the other wilds on the Dragonmont. You'll need him back, I suspect."

"I know more and less than you think." Luke said, mounting his horse. His shield clattered at his back as he drew his sword, locking his splinted wrist with a wince. It was time to ride again – and he felt his heart beat with sudden fear. He'd just killed a guy. Why did it feel so... normal? "I don't remember my past, Artys. I remember all sorts of things – things I shouldn't. But it's under the bridge. We need to move, not wax poetic."

Luke grabbed hold of his horse and mounted swiftly. Plate wasn't nearly as hard to move in as some people said – and having played goalie and gone full land whale before, plate was barely a sideshow in a long line of non-dexterous outfits. "My prince, what magic let you knock him off like that?" One of the knights said. "Almost felt like the wind itself knocked him awry."

"Fuck if I know, man." Luke replied. He motioned forward, swirling his sword. "All I know is that I'm using it – Artys, rally the people, two of you with me. The rest kill as many as you can before rallying at the Griffin. Got it?" He asked. The knights nodded, slapping down their visors. Luke did the same. He felt the wind whirl around him as his palfrey picked up speed, huffing at his weight but surviving all the same.

Two knights flanked him as they rode into the village, a pair of men at arms waving them down as they approached. The two men set their lances calmly, and Luke heard the wet squashes of stomachs pierced by bloody lance. They snapped without thought, leaving the men with their swords and destriders. In the distance, a man in captain's attire argued with a pair of Men at Arms, locked in stocks as they beat him.

Luke dismounted with a roll, sword up. "Leave the man be!" He shouted. His accompanying knights rumbled to a halt, the three horses gathering next to the gangplank as the two men flanked Lucerys. "I will not have you kill a master of ships for your own amusement."

"Fuck off, bluey!" One shouted. "You ain't my lord and liege!" He roared. Luke glanced back in his helm at his compatriots. With a whirl of an open hand, the man collided violently against the ship's hull, sliding into the sea. The other man charged, tower shield held up as he struck out against the first of Lucerys' guardsmen. The knight parried deftly, striking at the shield, as the second circled around. Luke stepped over to the stocks, smashing his hilt against the lock. Metallurgy just wasn't what it used to be.

It cracked open, freeing the captain. "Thank you, Ser." The Captain whispered. "I tried to hold her in harbor as long as I could – both of us have." He said, nodding towards Red Griffin and its blood-red sails nearby. "But it's too much." He said, blood trickling from his nostrils. "Too-" Luke pressed a hand into the man's shoulder.

"Get ahold of yourself." He said. "We need a ship, you've got a crew. Beat to quarters and prepare to weigh anchor." He turned to his guards. "Take control of Red Griff, we're taking both with us. Borros will only burn them." The corpse of the Man at Arms spilled blood onto the stone, and Lucerys shook his head. A loud roar went up in the distance, and clashing of arms could be heard across the village. In a nearby sept, the bell began to ring. The riot was underway.

The Captain scurried aboard, and Luke shouted for two crewmen to help bring the destriders aboard. He grabbed his palfrey's reins, rising his visor to look at her. "You're with me, girl." He said, stroking her with the leather of his gauntlet. "We're in this together, you and me. You've gotta relax." He said, bringing her aboard with gentle steps. The ship's bell rang twice, and men climbed rigging into the sails. The Captain, face stained orange from blood wiped away with a kerchief, shouted orders with a growing confidence – his crew happy to be free from Baratheon imperialism.

It was good, Luke supposed, even as his gut swam with emotion.

After a few moments at the rail, Artys arrived, an army of roaring smallfolk with spear and pitchfork behind. He waved at Lucerys from the rail as the Prince doffed his helm. "Artys!" He shouted. "Take these men and women and fortify this town. Take three of your best knights and put them aboard Red Griff, and set it on an intercept course!"

"To where, m'lord?!" Artys shouted from his saddle. "Who have we to intercept?"

"My half-brothers!" Luke shouted. "Have your knights rescue Aegon and Viserys! They ride aboard the ship Gay Abandon, which shall soon enough come upon a fleet of the Three Sisters turned 'gainst us. You must steer her clear, or we'll lose two heirs!"

"But m'lord!" Artys shouted, gesturing in his saddle. "How do you know?!"

"Trust me!" Lucerys yelled. "I know what I have to do. Take charge of this village and report to Lady Sarys. You must tie down Lord Borros so that we might rally the North and Vale. We shall come back for you!" He yelled. The anchor was slowly unset from the ship, readying for sail.

"Aye, my prince!" He yelled, waving his sword. "People of Seaworthy!" The Knight roared. "Your prince goes to win this war, and today you've served him well!" His voice carried all the way out to sea, as Lucerys watched the White Griffin take flight, her hull cutting against the waves as her sails took the wind, the windy shores of shipbreaker bay gobbling her up. Lucerys set his helm aside, slowly twirling, wind whistling from his hands.

The currents caught the sail, and the ship jerked audibly – the sails filling out. Bending the currents was easier than creating wind where there was none – that much was clear. With wind in the sails, the ship set forth – her hull cresting a wave and bouncing against the sea. The captain stalked the deck to where Lucerys stood. "I saw what you did to that man earlier. You hold some aeromancer's power, lad." He said.

"That I do." Lucerys said. "And more – but burning your sails or sinking your ship aren't in the cards today."

The man shot him a flabbergasted look "Where're we headed, my prince?" He asked.

"Fastest course to Rook's Rest. Hug the coast, don't worry about the wind. I've got that in spades." He ordered.

It would be a long haul to Rook's Rest. Already, the village had shrunk significantly. In the distance, Red Griffin was already to sea – but her speed was nothing next to White Griffin. Luke breathed in the sea air, relaxingly twirling with the winds. It felt good.

He'd always loved the sea.

But as he heard the crackle of a storm brewing, a strange pang of fear struck his heart. He saw lightning, and his heart roared. Some things terrified you without much sense, didn't they? He checked his scar with an idle hand. Some things terrified you with plenty of sense. He could leave this world as fast as he'd entered, if he so chose.

Myrzael · Feb 17, 2015

Historian said:
Sarya

This is a few times in text instead of Sarys.

It is too soon for Gay Abandon to be send I think. It was a reaction to Battle of Rook´s Rest and I am not sure that there were true battles yet in canon. Daemon should have captured Harrenhall and Sea Snake could have closed the Gullet and perhaps first battles in Riverlands happened but it is too soon in my opinion for Triarchy to already mobilize their fleet at the request of Hand of Aegon II.

Historian · Feb 17, 2015

The timeline's murky as hell - it seems Daemon takes Harrenhal at the same time Jace rallies the Vale and North/Lucerys dies.

Then Criston Cole starts attacking northward after Otto Hightower is fired. Keep in mind - even at best speed it'll take Luke a week minimum to reach the Gullet, more likely two with rest. Westeros is humongous big. The whole Dance takes only three years at absolute max, with all but the very final battles happening in 130 or 129.

A thought for my readers: Is the Dance what makes this so hard to understand/follow? My other idea was an SI into Joffrey before the Blackwater without any special powers, save maybe a healing factor to keep the SI from getting murdered for his sudden competence by Varys.

NPC · Feb 17, 2015

Historian said:
A thought for my readers: Is the Dance what makes this so hard to understand/follow? My other idea was an SI into Joffrey before the Blackwater without any special powers, save maybe a healing factor to keep the SI from getting murdered for his sudden competence by Varys.

That would be kind of hard to survive. Dany and Aegon across the sea, disloyal Reach men at home, and the north and river lands hate you. I mean you can try but I doubt the SI will survive very long with so many people wanting him dead.

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