Chapter Text
Chapter one
Lucera awoke to the rhythmic sound of the ocean, the waves’ constant thrum reverberating in her ears like a lullaby from the deep. She blinked against the dim light filtering through the boarded shutters, then slowly lifted herself from the feather-stuffed pillow. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulder, soft waves catching the faintest hints of dawn.
As she surveyed her cottage, a modest sanctuary nestled between the rugged cliffs and the vast expanse of the sea, she felt a pang of warmth. Though small and simply furnished with a sturdy wooden table, a few mismatched chairs, and a well-loved hearth that had crackled with warmth on many chilly nights, the space was homely , entirely hers. Each object, placed with care, told a story — the faded tapestry hung on the wall, a gift from a long-ago friend, and the polished seashells collected during her walks along the shore.
The shutters were firmly boarded shut, a necessary defense against the fierce winds that sometimes lashed the coast in the evenings. Yet, despite its humble nature, this cottage had been her refuge for the last ten years. Lucera allowed herself a smile, a swell of pride blossoming within her chest as she considered the life she had cultivated within these walls.
Her brown eyes, warm and curious, drifted to the opposite side of the room, landing on the empty bed. A flicker of unease danced in her heart, and she quickly turned her gaze to the door, still locked tight.
Pushing back the covers, Lucera slipped out of bed and pulled on her gown, a simple garment that flowed with ease as she moved. She tied the laces with nimble fingers, her mind racing with thoughts unspoken. There was a longing deep within her, a silent urge that whispered in her that all was not well.
As she approached the door and eased it open, the crisp, salty air poured in, wrapping around her like an old friend. The sun had yet to fully rise, but the horizon was painted in blushing hues of pink and gold, transforming the ocean into a canvas of shimmering light. It felt like magic, the dawn breaking over the water.
Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the cool air, savoring the mingled scent of salt and damp earth. Her gaze swept across the beach, dotted with smooth stones and foamy waves. And then, through the soft mist that clung to the shore, she spotted the figure she had been searching for — standing like a sentinel at the water's edge, silhouetted against the rising sun.
Lucera made her way forward, the cool, wet sand squelching between her toes. Suddenly, the figure before her seemed to cast a spell, pulling her into a trance. The vibrant, cloudless beach faded away, and she found herself transported back through time to a place shrouded in grey darkness, where heavy clouds hung low in the sky.
Before her stood her mother, Rhaenyra, heavily pregnant, sitting serenely on the cobbled beach of Dragonstone. With absent strokes, she caressed the thick, dark curls of her youngest son, Joffrey. Lucera could see the gentle smile on her mother’s face, a look of contentment as she gazed out at the restless sea, blissfully ignorant of her duties and the weight of the crown.
A clattering of swords pulled Lucera’s attention away. There, further down the shore, her brother Jace and Daemon practiced their swordplay. Daemon’s face was serious, his brow furrowed as he guided Jace, who focused intently, his expression a mixture of determination and youthful excitement.
Turning her gaze to a nearby rock pool, Lucera spotted her brother Luke, gathering small, smooth stones in his hands, which he hurled into the turbulent sea. His form was familiar, reminiscent of the boy she had seen just moments ago; dark brown curls tousled by the wind. As if sensing her presence, Luke turned to look at her, their bond palpable. They were twins, inseparable in spirit, reflecting each other in their features—her own brown eyes mirroring his, the same button nose and a sprinkling of freckles dusting their cheeks.
Yet, there was a sadness in Luke’s gaze, a silent understanding that weighed heavy between them. He did not wish to bear the mantle of heir to Driftmark, and they both knew it. They were born to soar, to be free as the wind, not tethered by the sea’s call that did not hold their hearts.
A sudden crash of thunder rumbled above, sending tremors through the air. Lucera noticed Luke’s eyes widen in fear; storms had always frightened him, just as they frightened her. She could hear her mother’s voice echoing against the whistling wind, calling them back inside, but Luke looked at her, terror etched on his face, his mouth silently forming words—screams that filled the air, unheard by all but her.
Suddenly, Lucera was back on the sun-drenched beach, standing just behind a figure that mirrored her brother so closely. Yet, as the figure turned, reality shifted; instead of muddy brown eyes, they were deep sapphire blue ones staring back at her. The straight nose was not like her brother's , instead his features reminded her of the man she had once loved.
Her heart raced as she acknowledged her son Lorcan. His expression was solemn, troubled.
“Lorcan… are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry for startling you, Mother,” he replied, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
“It’s okay,” Lucera assured him, but her heart sank as she saw the haunted look in his eyes. The depth of his gaze spoke volumes, revealing that his thoughts were a tempest of unease. She could sense the turmoil swirling within him, the nightmares that had plagued him for the past two years growing more intense and vivid with each passing night.
In that moment, Lucera was certain of one thing: her son, Lorcan, was a dreamer. He carried the burden of visions that tormented him, leaving him trapped between the waking world and a world just beyond his reach , where future and past collided.
Lucera’s thoughts drifted to her Aunt Helena, whose fate loomed like a dark shadow over her family. Cursed with the same affliction that troubled Lorcan, her aunt had succumbed to despair and jumped from the tower, her body impaled on the spikes below. But it was not just her own death that haunted Lucera; Helena had taken the lives of her children in their sleep, leaving behind a legacy of tragedy. Lucera’s heart tightened with worry for her son. At just ten, he was still very much a boy — innocent and untainted by the world’s harsh realities.
Ser Harrold had begun training Lorcan in swordsmanship despite her protests. Ser Harrold had been the one to help her , now that her family was no more. She did not want her son to know bloodshed, to be thrust into the brutal truths that lay beyond their tranquil island. Here, just off the coast of Lys, life was simple. Saby , Ser Harrold’s sister , along with her sons had cultivated their own gardens and tended to livestock on the small island. Free from prying eyes they had managed to build a life here and Lucera was content to spend the rest of her days here.
Yet Ser Harrold insisted on training Lorcan, almost as if he grasped a deeper truth about the boy’s lineage. The striking similarities between father and son were undeniable; if not for Lorcan’s darker curly hair, one might mistake him for his father’s twin. Even at his advanced age, Ser Harrold was no fool. He knew who’s blood coursed through Lorcans veins.
“Are you seeing things again?” Lucera asked softly, placing her hand on Lorcan’s shoulder. He nodded solemnly, his gaze drifting back to the churning sea, as if his thoughts mirrored the turbulent waves crashing against the shore.
“Would you like to tell me?” she inquired gently, breaking the silence. She waited patiently; she didn’t want to startle him or provoke any distress that could cloud his mind.
“Three babies burning on a pyre… A king stands weeping for his wife and son… his daughter’s breath is like that of a dragon…” Lorcan's voice was barely above a whisper, strained and trembling. She could see the tension radiating from his body, as though speaking of these visions caused him great pain.
He hesitated, and she could feel the weight of his troubles in the air between them. “I see you… You’re holding a babe with silver hair. A boy who looks like me stands beside you… he’s crying… as the bundle is set aflame. The Queen who never was… your hand keeps touching your belly.”
Lucera stiffened at Lorcan’s words, her heart racing. She knew all too well what he spoke of—the day her mother had miscarried her little sister, the babe deformed and lifeless at birth. The rage that had consumed her mother in the aftermath was a memory Lucera could never shake. It was also the day she had discovered her own pregnancy, clutching her little brother close to her chest, fear and hope battling within her.
“I can smell the smoke… a man with silver hair stands… a pyre burns… a son promised but not true… an open grave.” As Lorcan's voice trailed off, he suddenly shuddered and collapsed into the sand.
“Lorcan…!” Lucera cried out, panic rising within her. She rushed to wrap her arms around him, sinking down into the warm, coarse grains as she cradled him against her. His body convulsed, shudders wracking through him, as she held him tight, desperate to anchor him to the present.
“Promised but not found… blood of the dragon… a dagger… blood on the sand…” He whispered these phrases over and over, his grip tightening on her hands, his nails digging sharply into her skin. The pain was nothing compared to the anguish she felt for her son, sounding so tormented by these dark visions.
Lucera was no stranger to these chilling words; they haunted her dreams just as they seemed to haunt Lorcan's mind. She held onto him for dear life, her heartbeat steadying against his. “I’m here,” she murmured into the chaos, her voice soft but firm, an incantation meant to dispel the shadows gripping them.
Little by little, Lorcan's body began to relax, the tremors subsiding. Color started to return to his pallid skin, and a sense of calm began to settle over him.
“I’m sorry, Mother…” Lorcan said quietly, still shaken.
“Do not apologize… you’re fine. You’re safe,” Lucera replied, her heart heavy with concern.
“He’s my father, isn’t he?” Lorcan asked, his sapphire eyes searching hers.
Lucera stiffened at his words. “Who?” she whispered.
“The one-eyed king,” he replied.
Lucera gulped, tension coursing through her. She rose slowly, needing to process the weight of his statement. Lorcan stood up beside her, and she gently brushed the sand off his clothes, trying to instill some calm into the moment.
“I’m sure Saby needs some help this morning,” Lucera suggested, attempting to change the subject as she turned back towards the cottage she shared with Lorcan. But his voice stopped her in her tracks.
“I need to see him, Mother. I’m his son.”
Lucera paused and turned back to face him, her heart pounding. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a surprise to her; she hadn’t even noticed their descent. “You may be his son,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger, “but you are mine too, Lorcan. He does not deserve to know you.”
“But I don’t know myself…” Lorcan replied, his voice cracking as uncertainty washed over him.
“You are Lorcan Velaryon, dragon rider to Peko. You’re intelligent, and your soul is good. There is nothing to learn from that man… nothing but despair,” Lucera declared, her voice steady yet filled with a mother's urgency.
As she spoke, she noticed a flicker of defiance in his sapphire eyes. He looked down at the ground, then back at her, the spark fading and transforming into a small smile. Encouraged, he walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.
Lucera held him close, feeling the warmth and strength of his presence. She knew he would ask about his father again; it was a question that lingered between them, unspoken but ever-present. For now, however, she would shield him from that path.
While she still had the strength, she would protect her son from harm. She would defend him from Aemond Targaryen.