The Seeds of Ambition
Chapter 7: The Seeds of Ambition
The morning after Aemond’s incident in the dragonpit dawned grim in King’s Landing. Alicent paced her chambers, her fingers clutching the edge of her sleeve as she waited for the maesters to finish tending to her son. The cloying scent of ointments filled the air, mingling with the pungent aroma of burned flesh.
When the maesters stepped away, Alicent moved to Aemond’s side, her face tight with worry and anger. She reached out, her fingers brushing his charred skin as he lay unconscious, his face swathed in bandages.
“This—this was meant to be his birthright,” she murmured bitterly, glancing at her husband, Viserys, who watched with a detached gaze. “How could such a thing happen, Viserys?”
Viserys sighed, the lines on his face deepening. “Aemond knew the risks. Dragons are not docile creatures, Alicent. They answer to no man, not even the sons of kings.” His voice was weary, each word laden with the weight of years spent keeping peace. “He’ll live, Alicent. Scars will heal, but they’ll serve as a lesson.”
She turned on him, her expression fierce. “A lesson?” Her voice quivered with frustration. “Our son is scarred for life, all because he dared to claim what should be his by blood! And Rhaenyra’s sons, her ba— …her boys, they ride dragons with ease.”
Viserys’s gaze turned distant. “Perhaps he was not meant to claim a dragon. There have been some in my family who have not and still went on to serve the realm.”
Frustrated, Alicent bit her tongue, her mind whirling with anger and ambition. If Viserys would not protect her children, then she would see to it that they secured their rightful place—by any means necessary.
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Meanwhile, across the sea on Dragonstone, the transformations of Jacaerys and Lucerys were met with awe and whispers. Lucerys’s features had shifted slightly, his dark hair now woven with silver strands that caught the light like waves in the sea, his eyes glimmering with a mixture of violet and green. Jacaerys bore a striking, stormy aura, his features marked by the proud, fierce Targaryen blood.
At the gathering held to honor the blessing ceremony, Corlys Velaryon stood at the forefront, his gaze fixed on Lucerys, a hint of pride in his eyes. He leaned toward Daemon, speaking softly. “The Merlin King favors the sea’s children, Daemon. Lucerys bears the mark of such a blessing now. In old Velaryon legends, those blessed by the seas could command not only ships but waves, perhaps even storms.”
Daemon’s eyes glinted with intrigue. “Indeed, he has taken on the sea’s spirit. A blessing, as you say.”
The assembled bannermen murmured among themselves, a mixture of wonder and pride in the transformation. They saw the boys’ new appearance as a sign from the gods, an omen of strength and power that solidified their Velaryon lineage. With each murmur and nod of approval, any lingering doubt about the boys’ heritage began to dissolve, their favor among the bannermen of Driftmark and Dragonstone only growing.
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Back in King’s Landing, Alicent grew bolder. With Aemond’s injury and Viserys’s seeming indifference, she felt a renewed drive to secure her family’s future. She met with Larys Strong, her expression one of fierce determination.
“We cannot let Rhaenyra’s sons be seen as legitimate heirs to the throne,” she declared. “With Rhaenyra away on Dragonstone, we have an opportunity. People must know the truth.”
Larys inclined his head, his tone oily and deferential. “Rumors, my queen, are as powerful as swords. I can ensure that the whispers continue—that her sons are viewed as bastards and unfit to rule.”
Alicent’s eyes hardened. “Yes. Do it.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “Rhaenyra and her brood are not the only ones with dragons, yet see how my own child suffered. People need to understand who the true rulers of the realm should be. Aegon is a firstborn son, he should be the one to carry on the royal legacy not Rhaenyra a mere daughter .”
As the rumors took root, Alicent began attending court more frequently, her presence a quiet but persistent reminder of her family’s status. However, during a visit to the Great Sept, she could hear murmurs among the common folk. Whispers that questioned the legitimacy of her sons as true Targaryens reached her ears, fueled by Harwin Strong and Daemon’s quiet campaign against her.
One passerby murmured to another, “If her sons were true dragons, would Prince Aemond have been burned so easily?”
Alicent gritted her teeth, her resolve hardening further. The people would see her family’s strength, even if it meant tearing down Rhaenyra’s claim to do it.
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Back on Dragonstone, Lucerys was becoming increasingly aware of the tensions simmering between the factions. He and Jacaerys sat on a balcony overlooking the sea, the salty breeze tousling their hair as Lucerys broached the topic.
“We need allies,” Lucerys said thoughtfully, glancing at his older brother. “People who can support us—not just family but friends who believe in our cause.”
Jacaerys raised an eyebrow. “And where do we find such friends?”
Lucerys hesitated, his mind drifting to memories that weren’t his own but felt deeply embedded. “Start with those who share our bloodlines or have reason to dislike the queen’s family. The Baratheons and Arryns might be receptive to our overtures.”
Jacaerys nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ll send invitations, see who might be willing to foster with us here on Dragonstone.”
Lucerys’s gaze was steady. “Good. In the meantime, I’ll work on… a few other things.” There was a spark of determination in his eyes, a look that reminded Jace of someone older, wiser. He was beginning to see the strategist emerging in his younger brother.
Lucerys returned to his workshop later that evening, his mind filled with thoughts of protection and ambition. With the guidance of Visenya’s notes and his own emerging skills, he delved deeper into his experiments, focusing on potions that might prove useful in the months ahead. He brewed tirelessly, creating polyjuice, a forgetfulness draught, and a concealment potion, carefully noting the effects and adjustments needed.
One evening, he invited Daemon to join him, dragging him across the threshold. Daemon looked around the room, later watching Lucerys as he worked. “You’ve been busy,” Daemon observed, his tone a mix of amusement and pride.
Lucerys looked up, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “The change… I may have had something to do with it,” he admitted softly, referring to the subtle transformation of his and Jacaerys’s appearance.
Daemon’s eyes lit up with interest. “Then you’ve done well, young prince. Keep honing these skills. We’ll need every weapon we can muster.”
Lucerys inclined his head, understanding the weight of his uncle’s words. With a hint of pride, he showed Daemon a bracelet he’d crafted—a piece fashioned from dragonglass and embedded with subtle runes.
“This,” Lucerys explained, “will protect against poison.” He traced the intricate designs etched into the bracelet, his voice laced with satisfaction. “For my grandfather, to ensure he remains vigilant.”
Daemon smiled approvingly. “The people may doubt your mother’s claim, but they won’t doubt your loyalty to family. Keep working, Lucerys. There are many ways to fight a war, and not all involve swords.”
As the evening deepened, Lucerys continued to experiment, gathering materials from the menagerie his grandfathers had helped him create. Each creature offered unique properties—scales for strength, feathers for speed, claws for sharpness. The tools of war were varied, and Lucerys intended to master them all.
By the time he put his supplies away, Lucerys felt a quiet determination settle within him. He was no longer just a young boy seeking acceptance. He was a prince, a protector, and he would do whatever it took to secure his family’s future.