The Pearl of Driftmark

I Lucerys' P.O.V

King's Landing, The Red Keep – 118 AC

As I gaze into the mirror, I see a reflection that seems almost too perfect to be real. The teal dress, crafted specifically for me by House Velaryon, cascades down in delicate waves, shimmering like the surface of the ocean on a sunny day. The fabric feels soft against my skin, and the color brings out the depths of my blue-indigo eyes, making them sparkle like precious gems.

The bodice of the dress is adorned with intricate lace that resembles delicate seafoam, swirling around me like gentle waves. Tiny pearls are sewn into the lace, catching the light, and adding a touch of ethereal elegance. The skirt billows out around me, flowing like the ocean breeze, and with every movement, it seems to dance around me in a mesmerizing display.

My long black curls frame my face, cascading down in perfect spirals, and the pearl tiara perched atop my head adds a regal touch to my porcelain doll-like appearance. The seahorse necklace, a symbol of House Velaryon, hangs around my neck in pride. As my maids finish dressing me, I can't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight before me. The beauty reflected in the mirror is almost overwhelming, and for a moment, I feel as though I'm looking at someone else entirely. But then I realize that it's me, Lucerys Velaryon.

With a smile that feels as radiant as the sun itself, I twirl around in delight, reveling in the enchantment of the moment. In this teal masterpiece, I am not just a girl—I am a princess. I allowed myself to enjoy this, enjoy the fact that I was back to being a kid and this time around allowed me to be a kid. I still remembered my time in Winterfell, the cold eyes of my siblings' mother that never left me alone. Had it not been for the War of the Five Kings I was sure she would have sent me to a whorehouse the moment my father had taken the position as Hand of the King.

Catelyn Stark, nee Tully, cast a chilling shadow wherever she went. Her demeanor was as frigid as the northern winds, her words like icy daggers that cut deeper than any blade. Though she never laid a hand on me, her disdain was palpable, her scorn evident in every glance she cast my way.

Growing up in Winterfell, I lacked for nothing material—food, shelter, and clothing were provided abundantly. I received an education, learning to read, write, and even speak the Old Tongue under the tutelage of Old Nan. Yet, despite these comforts, I always felt the looming specter of Lady Stark's disapproval hanging over me like a dark cloud.

Her resentment towards me was evident in every interaction, every cutting remark that pierced through my defenses. When tragedy struck and Bran lost the use of his legs, she didn't hesitate to assign blame, cruelly insinuating that it should have been me in his place. Her animosity towards me only deepened as I grew older, especially when I chose to stand by Robb during the war.

In her eyes, I was a constant reminder of my father's infidelity, a living testament to his betrayal of their marriage vows. I was denied the right to grieve for the father and brothers, relegated to the sidelines of mourning while the legitimate Starks took center stage.

When Robb's ill-fated marriage to Talisa led to further tragedy, Lady Stark wasted no time in laying blame at my feet, accusing me of corrupting her beloved son. Her venomous words poisoned the minds of those around her, turning even Sansa against me, though luckily she never managed to turn Arya against me.

Through it all, my solace came from my brother, my true kin in spirit if not in name. But when Robb fell victim to the treachery of the Red Wedding, it felt as though a part of me died alongside him. In the end, perhaps it was a mercy that I too found my end, escaping the cruelty of a world that had never truly accepted me for who I was.

Only to wake up surrounded by dragons who told me that my whole life was a lie, and I was going to be sent back to fix things. Of course, I had been stunned beyond belief to find out that I was never Joanna Snow, bastard of Winterfell, but Visenya Targaryen, trueborn daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and his second wife Lyanna Stark. I was the Princess that was Promised, by the Song of Ice and Fire. But something had gone wrong. I was not meant to die so early; I was supposed to go beyond the Wall and find out about the Others and find a way to defeat them and their king.