From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

I slowly regained consciousness, the throbbing in my head making every movement feel like an effort. As my eyes fluttered open, I was greeted by impenetrable darkness. It took a moment for my vision to adjust to the dim light, and when it did, the reality of my surroundings hit me with a jolt.

I was lying on a cold, hard surface. The stone beneath me was damp and uneven, sending shivers through my body. I pushed myself up, my muscles protesting with every movement. The smell of salt, sea, and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of mildew. Each breath I took was heavy and laden with the mustiness of the dungeon.

I tried to recall how I had ended up here, but my mind was hazy. The last clear memory I had was of the Dragon Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her dragon Syrax. The encounter had been so surreal that I had convinced myself it was just a figment of my imagination. But as I took in the reality of my confinement—the rough stone walls, the iron bars, and the distant, echoing drip of water—it became painfully clear that this was no dream.

The ache in my bones from the fall in the forest and the persistent throbbing in my head were reminders that this was all too real. I was in a dungeon in Westeros, a place I had only ever encountered in the pages of a book.

A surge of panic coursed through me. This wasn't supposed to be real. Dragons and the world of Westeros were fictional creations, not part of my actual existence. Yet here I was, trapped in a world of blood, fire, and dragons—the very world I had read about so many times.

The knowledge of what I had read in those books filled me with dread. Westeros was a land marked by violence, betrayal, and death. The harsh reality of it was that it was dangerous, especially for someone like me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the panic rising in my chest. I had to think clearly if I was going to survive this. The danger was palpable, and the stakes were high. My familiarity with the book series might give me some advantage, but it also made me acutely aware of the risks.

The skills that had served me in my everyday life—technology and a general comfort with the modern world—were useless here, except for one thing: my medical degree. The people in this fantasy world were human, and I was still human, which meant that the knowledge of the human body I still possessed was valuable.  Sure, I was a pediatrician, but little bodies are similar to adult ones when it comes to basic anatomy and medical treatment. 

I brought my hand up to the open wound on my head. The pain was sharp, and I winced as I felt how deep it was. It was clear I would need stitches to properly close the wound. I glanced around, trying to recall what I had in my jacket and pockets that might help me with this injury. Anything that could serve as a makeshift solution—a needle, thread, or even a cloth to staunch the bleeding.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached my ears. They were soft, but they seemed to reverberate off the stone walls of the dungeon, making them sound louder than they actually were. My pulse quickened as I tried to remain as quiet as possible, listening intently for any sign of who—or what—was coming.

Suddenly, a boy stepped into the faint light cast by the solitary torch on the wall. He looked to be in his early teens, his brown hair falling in unruly curls around his ears. His dark brown eyes were wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as he surveyed the dungeon.

He stood there for a moment, his gaze settling on me with a mixture of surprise and concern. Despite the dim light and the shadows dancing around him, I could see the anxiety etched on his face. There was a distinct hint of uncertainty in his expression, and it became clear to me that he wasn't supposed to be here. His furtive glances and the way he shifted uneasily suggested he was disobeying someone or sneaking around.

I tried to remain calm, even though my heart was racing. His presence was unexpected, and I needed to make the most of this chance. I shifted slightly, wincing as I moved, and managed to sit up a little straighter.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. "Do you know where I am? Can you help me?"

The boy's eyes widened further, and he didn't step any closer. Instead, he remained just outside the bars.  

He was silent as he stared at me. I took a deep breath and tried again. "Please... do you know where I am?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, then answered, "You are in the dungeons of Dragonstone." His eyes then wandered down, taking in my clothes with evident confusion. "What are you wearing?"

I looked down at my Nike hoodie and cargo shorts, a stark contrast to the black trousers, burgundy coat, and turn-down collared shirt made from fine fabrics that seemed more fitting for this medieval setting. The mismatch was so glaring it almost felt comical. My modern, casual attire stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the dungeon, where every detail screamed centuries-old.

The boy's gaze flickered back to me, his expression a mix of bewilderment and curiosity. He clearly had no idea what to make of my attire,

"Dragonstone," I repeated, letting the name sink in. The original seat of House Targaryen, the very place where Rhaenyra Targaryen and her children had retreated when her brother Aegon and the Hightowers usurped her claim to the throne.

Her children.

I glanced back at the boy, taking in his features more carefully. Rhaenyra's oldest sons had dark brown hair, and I could see faint similarities between the boy's appearance and his mother. His face bore a subtle resemblance to the image of Rhaenyra's on the beach earlier, and I noted the small embroidered three-headed dragon emblem over his heart.

The realization hit me with a jolt: this boy was more than just a random child. He was Rhaenyra Targaryen son.  Taking a chance she spoke.  

"Are you Lucerys, the Queens son?"

Lucerys' eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. "Yes, I am Lucerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra."

Suddenly, another voice echoed down the hallway, firm and commanding, "Lucerys, you must make haste if you are to reach Storms End by sunset."

Storms End. 

The word sent a shockwave through me, my heart pounding in my chest. This was the part of the story where Lucerys meets his tragic end—ambushed by Aemond, with Vhagar, an ambush that would kill Lucerys and his dragon. The gravity of the situation hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Lucerys, really looked at him, seeing how small he was, how young and innocent. His death in the book had been a tragedy, something sad but quickly moved past. But now, staring into his eyes, seeing the life and light they held, the reality of losing him was unbearable.

Lucerys gave me a small, uncertain smile, as if unsure of what to make of the strange woman before him. He turned to leave, his steps hesitant yet obedient to the call. Panic surged within me, and I lunged forward, reaching between the bars to grab his sleeve with a grip born of desperation.

"No, you can't leave!" I exclaimed, my voice cracking with urgency.

Lucerys spun around, eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Unhand me!" he shouted, his voice rising. "Guards! Guards!"

The sound of clanking armor grew louder, echoing ominously in the stone corridor. I could hear the metallic clatter of swords being drawn, the heavy footsteps of approaching soldiers.

"You don't understand," I pleaded, my voice frantic. "You can't go! You will die! Aemond will kill you!"

The guards burst into the cell, their faces hard and unyielding. They roughly pulled Lucerys away from me, one of them stepping between us with a sword drawn. Another guard grabbed me, forcing me back against the cold, damp wall.

"Enough!" a guard barked, shoving me with enough force to knock the wind out of me. "Step away from the prince!"

But I couldn't stop, my mind racing with the knowledge of what was to come. "Please, Lucerys, you have to listen to me!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the confined space. "Don't go to Storms End! You will die!  You must tell your mother!

My words were cut off as the hilt of a sword came crashing down on my head. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull, and the world spun around me. The last thing I saw was Lucerys being led away, his face a mask of confusion and fear. Then, darkness engulfed me, and I slipped into unconsciousness.