POV Rhaella Targaryen, Red Keep, King's Landing, Westeros; 283 AC
The sunlight streamed through the windows of the Red Keep, casting a warm glow over the room where Rhaella's lover Lukarion Peverell played with little Rhaenys while Baby Aegon babbled happily in his grandmother's arms. The laughter of the young princess filled the air, a sweet sound that brought a rare moment of joy to the now usually somber halls.
Lukarion sat on the floor, his long fingers deftly manipulating small, enchanted figurines that danced and twirled before the delighted eyes of Rhaenys. The figurines, crafted from wood and brought to life by his magic, moved gracefully, performing intricate dances and mimicking the movements of knights and ladies at a grand feast.
"Make them do it again, Luka!" Rhaenys exclaimed, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. Lukarion smiled warmly, his own eyes crinkling with genuine affection. The little Targaryen girl was simply too adorable to not like her.
"As you wish, Princess," he said, his voice gentle and soothing. With a slight flick of his wrist, the figurines resumed their dance, drawing more giggles from the little girl.
Rhaella, watching from a nearby chair, felt her heart swell with gratitude and affection for the young man who had become such an integral part of their lives.
Lukarion's presence had been a balm to her wounded spirit, and his kindness and warmth had endeared him not only to her but to her family and the servants of the Red Keep as well.
Elia Martell, sitting beside Rhaella, leaned in and whispered, "He's truly remarkable, isn't he? The way he cares for Rhaenys, and for all of us... It's a rare thing to find a man with such a kind heart."
Rhaella nodded, her gaze never leaving the playful scene before her. "Indeed, he is. I cannot imagine how we would have managed without him, especially in these dark times. He has brought light and hope where there was none. However from what he has told me our cultures are so fundamentally different that a father being a true family man is no unusual sight even amongst the nobles of his kind."
Elia nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face "You think he tells the truth when he says he is not from our world? I think I might have been interested in a lover that stems from his culture if there was a chance." she said with a sigh.
"I see no reason to disbelieve him, he has no reason to lie to us his magic is awe inspiring enough" said Rhaella honestly to which Elia nodded, accepting her goodmother's reasoning.
"Furthermore" said Rhaella, "He has shown me a map of his world that shows all the continents, it even proves that his and thus our world aswell are round."
"Truly remarkable" said Elia with a whisper.
As the figurines continued their dance, a small group of servants gathered at the edge of the room, their faces lit with smiles as they watched Lukarion and Rhaenys.
Whispers of admiration and affection spread among them, each grateful for the joy and peace that Lukarion had brought to the Red Keep.
"Luka, can you make them fly?" Rhaenys asked, her eyes wide with wonder. Lukarion chuckled softly. "Flying, you say? Well, that might be a bit tricky, but let's see what we can do."
He focused intently, his hands moving in a fluid, graceful motion. He didn't need those fancy movements anymore of course but this was for entertaining the little princess and not for practicality.
Slowly, the figurines lifted off the ground, hovering a few inches in the air before beginning a gentle, swirling flight around the room. Rhaenys clapped her hands in delight, her laughter ringing out like a melody.
"They're flying! They're really flying!" The sight brought tears to Rhaella's eyes, tears of joy and gratitude. In that moment, she felt a deep, abiding love for Lukarion, a love that went beyond gratitude.
It was a love born of shared hardships, of hope rekindled, and of a future that, for the first time in a long while, seemed bright. Elia reached over and squeezed Rhaella's hand.
"He truly is a gift to us all," she said softly. Rhaella nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, he is. And I will never forget the kindness he has shown us."
As the enchanted figurines completed their flight and gently settled back onto the floor, Rhaenys ran over to Lukarion and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Luka! That was amazing!" Lukarion hugged her back, his heart full. "Anything for you, Princess."
In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, the looming threat of war seemed a distant memory. Lukarion's presence had woven a tapestry of hope and joy that wrapped around the hearts of all who resided within the Red Keep. And in the days to come, as the storm of war approached, it was this love and unity that would give them the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
**Scene Break**
Third Person POV, Crownlands, Westeros; 283 AC
In the dim light of the commander's tent, the air was thick with anticipation. Maps and battle plans lay strewn across a wooden table at the center, illuminated by flickering candlelight.
The tent was abuzz with the low murmur of voices, the final preparations for the assault on King's Landing being meticulously discussed.
Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and the official leader of the rebellion, lounged in a chair, a flagon of wine in one hand and the other resting on the waist of a comely servant girl who stood beside him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
His boisterous laughter filled the tent as he recounted a bawdy tale from their march. "...And so I told the whore, 'If you can drink as much as I can, then you're worth every copper!'" Robert roared, slapping the girl's backside playfully, causing her to jump.
The men around him chuckled, though some did so uneasily. Jon Arryn, the steady and honorable Lord of the Eyrie, frowned deeply at Robert's behavior. "Robert, we're here to discuss strategy, not indulge in our pleasures" he chided, his voice stern. "Release the girl. There are more pressing matters at hand."
With a dismissive wave, Robert let the girl go, who scurried out of the tent with a grateful glance at Jon. "Oh, come now, Jon. The men need to unwind before the final push. Tomorrow, we take King's Landing, and I'll be sitting the Iron Throne by sunset married to the glorious beauty that is Lyanna Stark!" the tall, muscular man boasted.
Robert's blue eyes sparkled with the fire of ambition and too much wine. Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, sat quietly, his expression thoughtful and brooding.
The burden of the rebellion weighed heavily on him, the cost in lives especially those of his family and the uncertainty of what would come after. Would they even find Lyanna in King's Landing. Ser Barristan Selmy didn't know her location for some reason.
He stared at the map, tracing the routes with his eyes as if searching for answers among the lines. Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, leaned forward, his hand pointing to a section of the map where the Trident River flowed near the city.
"We need to consider the approach carefully," he said. "A frontal assault will be costly. We should coordinate a multi-pronged attack to divide their forces."
Jon Arryn nodded, his gaze following Hoster's finger. "Agreed. We can send a portion of our troops to attack from the north, while the main force approaches from the south and west. We'll need to ensure our supply lines remain secure, and our scouts must be vigilant for any signs of treachery."
Robert's attention was momentarily caught by the serious discussion. "Bah, treachery! We've broken their armies at the Trident. The Mad King's forces are in disarray. The mad Prince is dead. All that's left is to storm the gates and take what's ours!" He took a swig of wine, his confidence unwavering.
Eddard spoke up, his voice low but firm. "Robert, the city is still defended. The Red Keep will not fall easily, and there's the matter of the civilians. We must minimize the bloodshed if we can." Robert waved a hand dismissively.
"Ned, always the honorable one. War is bloody by nature. But fine, we'll show some restraint. Once I'm king, we can rebuild. Besides, the people will welcome us as liberators after what Aerys has done."
Jon's eyes softened as he looked at his foster son. "Robert, we understand your eagerness. But Ned is right. We need to plan for the aftermath as well. Ruling will be different from leading an army. We need to think about the long-term stability of the realm."
Hoster chimed in, "We should also consider sending a detachment to secure the harbor. Cutting off any escape by sea will prevent any loyalists from fleeing and regrouping."
Eddard nodded in agreement. "And we should have a contingent ready to storm the Red Keep directly. If we can capture or kill Aerys quickly, the rest of the city might surrender without much resistance."
Robert, his bravado momentarily tempered, nodded. "Very well. We'll do it your way. Jon, you'll coordinate the northern attack. Hoster, you handle the harbor. Ned, you'll lead the charge on the Red Keep. I'll take the main force and smash through their gates."
"There is one more matter we must discuss," Jon said, his tone grave. "Regarding the capture of Aerys that will most likely not be necessary."
"How so?" questioned Hoster Tully with clear interest.
"A spy within King's Landing has sent word to us. It seems that King Aerys has died."
The news hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Robert Baratheon's brows furrowed as he leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Died, you say? How?" Robert asked, his tone a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
"According to the report which relayed what Queen Rhaella told the public, it was a stroke," Jon replied. "The specifics are unclear, but it seems there was no foul play involved. Queen Rhaella has assumed the role of Regent in the interim."
Eddard Stark's eyes widened slightly at the news. "A stroke? I didn't think Aerys could die from something so mundane," he mused quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.
Jon continued gravely, "There's more. The Queen has appointed a young man named Lukarion Peverell as her personal advisor. Our sources claim he is a sorcerer of great power."
At this, Robert burst into laughter. "A sorcerer? Really, Jon, have you been listening to tales told by smallfolk again? Next you'll be telling me he rides a dragon."
Hoster Tully shared Robert's skepticism, shaking his head. "Sorcery? This sounds like the kind of story they'd spin to scare children into behaving. I doubt there's any truth to it."
Eddard, however, remained silent, his gaze distant as he considered the possibility. The North was a land steeped in old traditions and legends, and while he had never witnessed sorcery himself, he knew better than to dismiss the old tales outright.
Jon's expression remained serious. "I understand your skepticism, Robert, Hoster, I share it too. But our source is quite reliable usually. Even if this Lukarion Peverell is not a sorcerer, the fact that Queen Rhaella has appointed him as her advisor indicates he holds significant influence. We should be cautious."
Robert waved a hand dismissively. "Caution is fine, Jon, but let's not start believing in fairy tales. We've got a city to take and a throne to claim. If this Peverell fellow wants to play advisor to the Regent, let him. We'll deal with him and the Queen when we take the city."
Eddard finally spoke up, his voice measured. "While I agree that we shouldn't jump to conclusions about sorcery, we should not ignore the possibility of unexpected threats. Aerys's death and the rise of new advisors could complicate matters. We should keep our eyes and ears open."
Jon nodded appreciatively at Eddard's words. "Exactly. We must remain vigilant. Underestimating our opponents could prove costly."
Hoster shrugged. "Fair enough. We'll keep it in mind. But for now, let's focus on the task at hand. Once King's Landing is ours, we can sort out the rest."
The tent fell silent again as the men considered Jon's warning. Though Robert and Hoster were dismissive, Eddard's contemplative demeanor left a shadow of doubt lingering in the air.
The prospect of facing not just an army but a powerful sorcerer, no matter how improbable, added an additional layer of tension to the already daunting task ahead.
Finally, Robert stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the table. "Enough talk. We've got a city to storm and a throne to win. Prepare your men. Tomorrow, we make history."
The commanders dispersed, each heading to their respective camps to relay orders and make final preparations. Eddard lingered a moment longer, catching Jon Arryn's eye.
"Keep an ear out for any more news from your spy, Jon. I don't like surprises." Jon nodded, his expression serious. "I will, Ned. We can't afford to be caught off guard."
With a final nod, Eddard left the tent, the weight of the coming battle heavy on his shoulders. As the camp settled into a tense anticipation, the rebel leaders steeled themselves for the final push. The fate of the realm hung in the balance, and each man knew that the dawn would bring either victory or defeat.
As the night wore on, the campfires burned brightly, and the men whispered prayers to the old gods and the new. In the quiet of his tent, Eddard Stark found himself thinking of the stories his father used to tell, of ancient powers and the mysterious forces that shaped the world.
He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. Tomorrow would bring enough challenges without the added burden of old legends. Yet, in the back
of his mind, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Jon's warning than mere superstition.
**Scene Break**
POV Lukarion Peverell, Main City Gate, King's Landing, Westeros; 283 AC
Lukarion stood atop the city walls of King's Landing, the chill of early morning air biting at his skin. Beside him stood the new Lord Commander, Ser Jaime Lannister, his golden hair glinting in the dawn light. Jaime's face was a mask of determination, though Lukarion could sense the anxiety that lurked beneath the surface.
To Jaime's right, the new captain of the city watch, Ser Alliser Thorne, scanned the horizon with a grim expression, while Admiral Soves Velaryon, the Master of Ships, stood stoically, his silver hair blowing in the breeze.
The Lannister army approached slowly, a crimson tide on the horizon. The sight should have been reassuring; allies come to bolster the city's defenses against the rebel armies of Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, and Eddard Stark.
Yet, an inexplicable unease gnawed at Lukarion's mind, a whisper of distrust that he couldn't quite place. As the Lannister banners drew nearer, Jaime turned to Lukarion. "They're almost here. Father's force will help us hold the city. Or so I would think, please father dont be your usual self" the young man told his ally, muttering the second part allowing those words to be swallowed by the wind.
Lukarion nodded, though his heart remained heavy. "Let's hope so. We can use all the strength we can muster." Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as the Lannister vanguard reached the main gate. Ser Jaime, ever the dutiful son, stepped forward to hail his father. "Open the gates!" Jaime commanded, his voice carrying authority.
Lukarion's unease deepened, but he gave the order to raise the portcullis. The massive gate creaked open, and the Lannister soldiers began to stream into the city. Their polished armor gleamed, and the crimson cloaks billowed behind them as they marched through the gate with a disciplined air.
For a brief moment, the sight brought a wave of relief to the defenders on the walls. The Lannister army, led personally by Tywin Lannister, seemed to promise a bolstered defense. Tywin himself rode at the head, his stern gaze scanning the city as he approached. "Welcome, father," Jaime called out, a hint of relief in his voice.
Tywin's expression remained inscrutable as he nodded to his son from below. "We're here to secure the city. Deploy my men to the walls and key positions." Lukarion watched, his unease not abating. Something felt wrong, but with Jaime's father leading the force, it seemed unthinkable to question their loyalty.
He tried looking into the man's eyes but he couldn't establish eye contact and was thus left with the surface feelings of Tywin: Cold hearted determination with a undertone of nervousness, nothing unusual if one thought about the enemy that was coming nearer fast.
As the Lannister soldiers fanned out, the city watch stood ready to integrate them into the defenses. Lukarion and his companions returned to their posts, reassured by the apparent orderliness of the reinforcement.
However, within minutes, the atmosphere shifted. Shouts of alarm and screams of terror erupted from the city streets. Lukarion's head snapped towards the noise, his heart plummeting as he saw Lannister soldiers turning on the populace, swords and torches in hand.
"Betrayal!" Ser Alliser Thorne's voice rang out, filled with fury and disbelief. "They're sacking the city!" Lukarion's mind raced. The betrayal was unfathomable, but the evidence was undeniable.
The disciplined ranks of Lannister soldiers had devolved into chaos, ransacking homes and slaughtering innocents. "Form ranks! Defend the people!" Lukarion shouted, his voice cutting through the din.
He then rounded on Ser Jaime besides him and shook the young man.
"What the hell is your father playing at, Ser Jaime?" he shouted.
"I do not know, Lord Peverel, I'm sorry! I think... I think he has planned to sell us out in order to gain favor from Lord Baratheon" the young man said, his head bowed.
Lukarion looked at the Lord Commander in front of him and noticed something. Jaime had! been frozen for a moment, the horror of his father's betrayal paralyzing him. But Lukarion's command seemingly snapped him back to the present.
Lukarion facepalmed hard, he didn't have the time to have the young man reproached anyway.
"Don't worry Lord Peverell, I shall go and organise the defense" said Ser Jaime drawing his sword, his face a mask of grim determination.
"To me!" the young man called to his loyal knights. Admiral Velaryon, always quick to action, began organizing the defense. "To the docks! Secure the ships and prepare to evacuate as many as we can!"
Lukarion's eyes blazed with determination as he surveyed the chaos. He raised his wand, its tip glowing with a fierce light. "We'll defend as many as we can," he vowed, more to himself than anyone else.
With a flick of his wrist, Lukarion conjured barriers of shimmering light to protect fleeing civilians. He sent blasts of magic to scatter the marauding soldiers, creating pockets of safety amid the violence.
Jaime fought beside him, his sword a blur as he cut down those who betrayed their oaths. Alliser Thorne and his city watch fought valiantly, desperately trying to stem the tide of bloodshed.
But the Lannister forces were overwhelming. They pressed deeper into the city, their betrayal plunging King's Landing into chaos. Lukarion's mind raced with strategies, but the enormity of the task before him was daunting.
He had to protect the queen, the young king, and as many citizens as possible. He snarled in rising hatred and any hesitance to use dark magic was eroding fast. Finally, after witnessing the rape of a preteen girl and using blood boiling curses on the two soldiers doing the vile assault, he snapped and cut his right arm, letting blood drip onto the ground.
"Whatever you're doing sorcerer it better be something grand" Ser Alliser Thorne gruffly said besides Lukarion. He didn't mind the poor manners of the man, atleast not right now.
Using a blood sacrifice that he had been taught by grandma Daphne, he chanted something that he remembered from one of their lessons and watched in awe as a dozen creatures akin to the defense statues back in Hogwarts rose from the ground, waiting for his command.
"Protect the people of King's Landing my knights, attack anyone wearing gold and red armor carrying a lion's symbol" he called out watching in glee as the stone statues came to life and began harassing the Lannister soldiers, their glee and greed quickly turning to desperation and dismay as they were torn apart by these stone knights who had seemingly come out of nowhere.
But the battle had already been lost, there were simply too many Lannister soldiers in the streets and Lukarion could have maybe won against a couple hundred under these conditions maybe even a few thousand if they were spread out thin enough but around 20 thousand? No, impossible.
Fall back to the Keep!" Ser Alliser shouted besides him. "We make our stand there!" As the defenders rallied to their captain's call, Lukarion caught Jaime's eye. There was no time for words, but the look they exchanged spoke volumes. They would fight to the last breath, to protect those who could not protect themselves.
The battle for King's Landing had begun, and Lukarion knew it would be a day marked by both horror and heroism. As he conjured another barrier to protect a fleeing family, he silently vowed that Tywin Lannister's treachery would not go unpunished. The city might burn, but the spirit of its defenders would blaze brighter still.
(End of Chapter)