The Battle of the Gullet where Gay Abandon was attacked, provoked immediate response of dragonseeds and call to dragonseeds was made only after loss of Meleys and Arrax. And Battle of Rook´s Rest should not happened yet. That is basis for my argument about timeline.
On the other hand, it looks like Luke will find out he already failed in his "mission" about saving the good people if Daemon´s assassins are going according to canon.
I have seen some SI inserts in canon book timeline but none during the Dance of the Dragons. That is why I find this fic as very interesting and that is why I am willing to read The World of Ice and Fire or wiki to understand the Dance and its characters.
Well regardless, Luke is covering his bases. If he fails at Rook's Rest, or Rook's Rest has happened by the time he gets there, he won't be able to turn east and hit Dragonstone in time to mount Arrax and try to catch up with Gay Abandon before she's overrun by the Three Sisters' Armada. Red Griffin's headed there in case of emergency.
Remember, there's an ambiguous amount of time before Lucerys and co. are sent off to do their missions as well. The Sisters could be assembling prior to their flight from Dragonstone. I doubt the Green Council left their table before ensuring their bases were covered.
Whirling wind and whipping seas crackled at the seahorse's griffin, cutting through bright waves with a stout heart, her hull heaving and hawwing with a refusal to bleed as she crunched and expanded in equal measure. White Griff was on her way to glory - and the open sea of the gullet allayed before her as her oars beat calmly into the sea below. Lucerys let his aching arms drop, and collapsed onto the deck, breathing heavily. He sucked air like a vaccum, but it didn't matter. He was exhausted as much in spirit as in body. A week of nearly constant airbending had left him spent, the ship no closer to its destination than he'd liked. First he'd need to reach King's Landing - Assess the situation there as best he could. He'd donned a Connington surcoat with the intention of sneaking past the port authorities, searching the city. If Jaehaerys, Aegon II's son, was alive - things had diverged, or he was far faster than he would have thought. If he was dead, then the war was on - and he needed to act accordingly.
The ship twisted, slowly sloshing through the Gullet. In the distance, trade ships and warships seemed to fade in and out of the foggy distance - shapes growing closer before the skilled captain of White Griff twisted the ship out of visual range - hiding in cloud banks. No doubt House Velaryon had a massive fleet, with which they hoped to close the gullet and starve out Kings' Landing. What merchants still braved the waves were ballsy - and skillful at smuggling. It was clear the White Griff's skipper, a man Luke later learned was named Davos - an apparently common name for sons of crabbers, it turns out. Considering there were multiple Lucerys Velaryons, six Aegons, and a dozen Jons, it wasn't campy to think you could have two men named Davos.
Lucerys idly hoped the man writing his tale on some internet forum in another universe wasn't lazy. It was an idle hope, though - like wishing a beautiful woman would look at you. You couldn't make it happen. You just wanted it to. Granted, on a ship, there weren't any beautiful women. Just sailors - the worst kind, uneducated and superstitious. Lucerys understood all the parts of a ship - he'd been a Sea Cadet in his past life - but poorly crafted shanties weren't his forte.
He'd had to teach them the basics - Black Flag-level stuff. He took a gulp, and glanced to the old man on the foc's'le railing, peeling a potato. It was around time. He started off gladly: "I thought I heard the old man say..." He began.
The ship hemmed and hawwed as it approached port, and Lucerys took a moment to stand and head into his cabin, wiping his brow and sheathing his sword that he'd left on the table. He'd doffed his armor for a simple cotton shirt and a pair of breeches with boots, preferring to be light and airbendy if he was to adventure around a city. He strapped the sword to his back, letting it hang from his right hip down and off to the left.
He strapped on his coin purse and pulled on a cloak, figuring it was a tool to cover his weapon's presence, and donned the hood. "Very menacing." A voice called from the back. "I might almost not mug you in a dark alley." Davos' voice japed from the doorway.
"You? A criminal?" Luke said, shifting a few papers on his desk. "A man of House Connington who served in stocks for them is no criminal." He slapped them against the table, aligning them, and tucked them into a binding.
Davos chuckled from the doorway. "As you say, m'prince." His eyes turned to the writings on the table. "Trying to fill a library?"
"In case of emergency." Luke said, taking one of the books and holding it up with his hand. It certainly felt much better in a few weeks at sea, though use had made it heal slower than otherwise. Speed was a necessity. "If I don't return?" He asked, more of a statement than a question. "You're to take these to the Maester on Dragonstone - his eyes only."
Luke set it down, and Davos nodded. "As my prince commands!" He said. "We're an hour out - you can see the city from the nest. Sounds like bells are ringin'."
"Shit." Luke said, stuffing his dagger into a belt holster. "Any ships attacking?"
"Not yet, but the fog's got us slowed. If we get caught at port, what do I do?" Davos said. "I can't exactly fight off the Royal Fleet - they've got dromonds far faster than White Griff, much as I love the girl."
"You play ignorant and swear your loyalty to King Aegon II. You hide the books and find the next nearest opportunity to disappear to Dragonstone. Understood?" Davos nodded at Lucerys' order. The Lightning Bolt turned and strode toward the door, as a crackle of thunder split the sky. He paused, holding onto the doorway as a bead of sweat shot from his temple, dripping onto the floor.
"No man's-" Davos began, before Luke shot him an angry glance. "Sorry, m'prince."
Luke growled. He shouldn't feel like this. Not today. Fear is a block - fear is a lie. His fear was not his, though. It was Lucerys'. The physical fear, the trained reaction. Like Pavlov and his dogs. Lightning hurts. Lightning burns. Lightning sears. He frothed, stepping out and motioning for Davos to follow. "I'm going to skip customs." Luke ordered as he ascended the stairs. A light patter of rain spewed onto the deck as the hooded man pulled his cloak tight, cinching it. "I'll fly off using air and water to make landfall, and I'll fly over the walls in the storm. It'll be rough, but better than someone spotting me and sending the whole city to arms."
"As you say." Davos said. He bade his leave to take the conn, and Lucerys gave it. King's Landing was as massive and foreboding as it had seemed in the show - great sheer cliffs and a blood red keep jutting into Blackwater Bay, a smelly city of shit, piss, and vomit frothing beneath it. At least it wasn't Ankh-Mopork, though golems and competent government would probably work out better than the backstabbing politics of the Iron Throne.
A part of Luke wanted to see it all. The great tower of Oldtown. The Titan of Braavos. Maegor's Holdfast. Dragonstone. Mereen's pyramids - the tent city of Vaes Dothrak. Casterly Rock. The Wall. The Eyrie. A million beautiful places, millions of lives, all great and beautiful stories. It's why he wrote fiction back home. The ship drew closer to the shore, a pair of dromonds signalling with torches to dock at a nearby pier, where a torch flickered in the weak rain. Luke glanced up at Davos, nodding, and jumped off the deck - diving like a swan (which he couldn't do in real life, ironically - his legs liked to kick beneath him much of the time.) and splashing gently into the cold sea. He kicked his legs, fore and back, hands together, as he'd seen Korra do in Avatar. A kick of energy struck him, and he swam - bubbles streaming in a calm hum as he separated from the ship.
Always hum. That's what his scuba instructors had said. A constant, low stream of bubbles kept you going the longest - and humming was the only constant noise that you couldn't speed or slow air loss on. As his lungs began to empty, he felt the tug in his lungs - and surfaced, gasping in the weak rain. He kicked his legs, his clothes soaked, and took in a deep breath. The rocks weren't far. He dove again, and swam until his fingers brushed sand. He kneed his way up and approached the surface, shaking himself out. It felt as if the very dampness lifted out of his clothes, water slopping around him as his frizzy but dry clothes slowly began to soak again in the rain. He winced. "Good enough." Luke said.
He was beneath one of the walls. He wasn't sure which. This one ended, though, at the rock that housed the Red Keep. Luke looked at it, frowning. He'd need handholds, or he'd likely fall. He planted his feet in the sand, trying to feel it - but only got a few small clumps to move. What he'd give to make an Earth elevator and ride up.
He was too damned tired. He slumped against the rock of the wall, alone in his own corner of King's Landing, far from everything. "How the hell did I get here?" He asked himself. "I'm in some kid's body. I have superpowers. I'm next to an iconic fictional landdmark? I mean, what the fuck?"
It was the first time in awhile he had no real direction. Thoughts oft turned to melancholy in absence. "No Mom, no Dad, no Sara. No-" He pawed at his pants with a fist, grabbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "Luke's not my fucking name!" He shouted. "Why can't I remember it?" He asked, pawing at his cheek. "It's just... not there!"
A small light shone above him, and he quickly flipped over, his cloak covering him as he pressed against the wall. A man in gold above glanced down, a small hmph resounding in his throat as he continued on his rounds. Luke glanced up. "Fuck." He whispered. "Wellp." He said, standing and pressing against the wall. He planted both feet and pressed, a square handhold forming in the rock. He stepped up a leg, planting his boot inside, and smashed another handhold in higher. He kicked in a thirt, and pushed in a fourth. Foot, arm, foot, arm, hand over goddamned hand. There was no time for crying his heart out - whatever his real name was. He wasn't fucking Lucerys Velaryon. He wasn't a pug-nosed Targaryen.
Thunder crackled, and Luke's heart raced. Luke smashed his head against the wall, a dent forming in it with earthbending in defiance. "Fuck you!" He shouted. "I'm not a lightning fearing coward!" He yelled. "I'm the fucking lightning bolt! I'm a goddamned super hero!" He let a hand free as he punched out towards the cliffside, a section of wall flinging away and crumbling against more rock. "I am the bolt! I AM THE BOLT!" He yelled.
He felt static in the air, and part of him knew this story before. He let himself fall, his feet falling from the handholds. A lantern came over the edge, and the Gold Cloak from before stared with open eyes at the man nearly to the top of his wall. He grabbed at a whistle near his neck - only for a sudden flash to blind him. One of Luke's hands caught a sudden crackle of electricity - the other pointing out like a gun at the man. He pulled in the lightning hand, turning it into a gun shape as well, and stabbed both out at the goldcloak.
The man collapsed, fried in his golden maille. Luke fell, cracking against the sand and growling as his back protested. The sand rebounded slightly, having saved him from a horrifying demise through his sandbending. The guardsman wasn't so lucky. Luke turned up his hand, finding a single large zig-zagging lightning bolt scarred there. "I'm the fucking lightning bolt." He whispered.
He lay there in the sand, next to the city of kings, and laughed.
==
I knew Luke needed a freakout moment of some sort. My favorite team is the Tampa Bay Lightning of the NHL, so the subtext is that Luke -loves- thunderstorms. He shouldn't be losing his shit and getting Lucerys' PTSD.
I know I heavily mentioned Rook's Rest last time - but as several people more informed on the setting have pointed out, Rook's Rest -and- the Gullet are both too early to occur at this time. There's a little element of randomness to this timeline - I'm putting potential outcomes to various events to a d6 dice table when Lucerys isn't present.
For the Blood & Cheese plot,
1- Blood & Cheese are foiled by a Kingsguard and escape. 2- Blood & Cheese merely manage to wound Jaehaerys before a Kingsguard drives them off. 3- Blood & Cheese kill Melys as Helaena asked. 4- Blood & Cheese kill Jaehaerys instead of Melys, opposite of Helaena's choice. 5- Blood & Cheese kill Helaena and Jaehaerys. 6- Blood & Cheese kill everyone, including a knight of the Kingsguard, as the man storms the room - Aegon II's family perishes.
I think this gives the story a lot of chances to develop in its own way.
As such, the plotline is moved back some - Otto Hightower is still hand at this point, though he'll be replaced soon - but if 5/6 happen then Lord Commander Cole definitely isn't getting the handship.
I guess there were no Baratheon corpses on the ship. But isn´t this a little dangerous ? The Council of the Greens will surely try to find out who is backing who in the realm and Borros has no reason not to announce Connington´s "treachery".
Well, Luke freaked out and acted really stupid in this chapter. I mean, he almost got caught because of his shout and then he does it immediately again... I hope he will learn from his mistakes though I wonder if trying to get into Red Keep is not another of them.
I am curious about random chance and its effect on Blood and Cheese. I dislike the Greens, but Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor and Helaena are quite innocent in the whole war.
