Capítulo 121: Letting go
***(Unknown place, unknown time)***
"Huh? Where am I?"
Doran opened his eyes and saw that he was floating deep in some body of water, around him he only saw endless darkness.
"I can breath?" He inhales and exhales without difficulty, as if he were not submerged under water. "It's like when I ate Gillyweed! Except my body didn't turn into a pseudo fish." Doran looks at his hands and sees no sign of the transformation one undergoes after eating gillyweed, he also touches the sides of his neck and finds no gills.
"This is weird... It doesn't feel like I am underwater- This feels like," Doran looks around and closes his eyes. After concentrating on his surroundings, he opened his eyes again and he saw that the darkness gave way to a soft but warm light.
Now that he can see what is around him he sees an endless number of bubbles floating in the water, he touches the bubble closest to him and sees how some images begin to play inside.
"Memories! Just as I suspected, this is my subconscious!" Doran's eyes light up.
"But why am I here?" He frowns and tries to remember how he ended up in this situation. "My memories are blurry, the last thing I clearly remember is returning to Sunspear after my adventure through the Narrow Sea."
The prince crosses his arms and tries to remember again but he only sees fragments that do not make much sense: Him talking with his paternal grandfather, him chatting with his uncle Manfrey, having tea with his maternal grandparents, watching the sunrise with Lothar...
"That makes no sense!" He growls annoyed. "The meeting between the noble Houses, something must have happened there. But what? For some reason I can't wake up, I'm stuck in my subconscious with my memories damaged. That's it!"
Doran's eyes light up and he looks at the endless bubbles.
"These are my memories! If I want to know what happened I just have to find the right bubbles! As a Master of the Mental Arts I can repair damaged memories! Yep, let's get to work!"
Doran focused on his memories and tried to order the sea of bubbles, but it was as if he was trying to move while his body was under the effect of a slowing spell. The prince spent a long time concentrating and trying to order the bubbles but his surroundings hardly changed.
"... Whatever left me in this state is more dangerous than I expected." He snorts annoyedly and looks wearily at the endless bubbles. "I'll have to do it manually, going through each bubble individually until I find the right ones. There are thousands if not tens of thousands of bubbles here... Going through them all will take forever. But maybe I'll get lucky and the bubbles I need will be nearby! Yeah, Sure. As if my luck was going to be that good."
With slumped shoulders, Doran started his quest.
"Why did Potter Luck have to chase me into this life? I am not even a Potter anymore!"
***(Shadow City, Present)***
Something wasn't right.
There is a heavy feeling in the air, a pressure that makes it hard for Jacaerys to breathe. The normally jovial prince frowns and touches his throat, for some reason having a hard time swallowing.
Ever since his youngest son ran off to find Trystanne he's been feeling a strange feeling of discomfort, something that makes him feel slightly ill.
"Are you alright, Prince Jacaerys?" One of the guards looks at him with concern. "You are very pale..."
The prince opens his eyes in surprise and looks at his reflection in the blade of his sword. His complexion is pale and sweaty, he looks quite pitiful and he swallows hard. The air feels so oppressive but none of the men around him seem affected by it, the guards continue to surround the unarmed man and watch his every move as if nothing unusual is happening.
`Something is wrong, wrong, very wrong- Why can't anyone see it?`
All the sounds sound more clear, the movement of the boots rubbing against the paved ground, the breathing of the people, some birds in the distance. All these sounds sound like someone has turned the volume up a hundred and Jacaerys just wants to cover his ears with both hands.
Jacaerys turns his gaze to Jack, the man who is supposed to be the faceless man. He sees the apparently 20-year-old man sweat nervously and look with caution but not fear at the blades of the men around him.
`Faceless men are peerless actors` He tells himself but his discomfort only worsens.
The silver-haired prince feels his bile rise and swallows to avoid vomiting.
`But- What it-` Jacerys clenches his jaw hard and sheaths his sword.
"I have to go! Watch this man!" He turns around and starts running in the direction where Manfrey disappeared not so long ago.
The bad feeling swells and swirls in his chest like the worst storms on the high seas, like a hurricane that wants to break free. A hurricane that will leave nothing but chaos and destruction in its wake.
Jacaerys runs through the streets of Shadow City at full speed, barely dodging people and stalls in his path, more than once he crashed into something or someone but without even apologizing he got up and kept running. Sweat runs down his face and his breathing becomes heavier from both the exhaustion and the pressure on his chest.
As he keeps running that restlessness in his chest gives rise to a chilling sensation of horror and he feels it drop like a pit in his stomach. He sees a shock of familiar silver hair around a corner and quickened his pace, adrenaline coursing through his veins and when he's a few feet from Trystanne he…he stops.
Trystanne turns his head at the sound of his footsteps, barely looking at him for a moment before lowering his gaze to the ground. Lothar is next to Trystanne, crouched on the ground looking-
"No."
There, lying face up is-
"Please no."
Jacaerys feels all the strength leave his body, staggering he hits Trystanne's shoulder, who flinches as if hit with a steel mallet, and drops to his knees in front of his son.
"No, gods no!" Sunlight caresses Manfrey's pale face, his eyes are closed and his expression is peaceful; almost as if he was sleeping.
"My son," Jacaerys lifts his son's torso and hugs him tightly, stroking his hair as tears fall from his lilac eyes.
Manfrey`s body feels so cold that the prince shudders as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him.
"Son, wake up." He begs with a broken and fragile voice.
Manfrey was never a very lively child by day, always calm and obedient, but at night when the sun is down and the moon is shining the boy would transform into someone completely different. Manfrey always moved and fidget when he slept, tossing and turning as if he were fighting imaginary monsters in his dreams. Even as an adult he was still the same when sleeping, his wife complained about it quite often.
"Manfrey, wake up. N- no you can't- We need you, your children- They... Trevor, Teora and Maron need their father!"
"Jacaerys," Trystanne crouches down beside him and places a hand on his shoulder, his voice so soft and sorrowful that Jacerys wants to vomit. "He is gone, Jacerys. He is gone."
"It can't- No! Manfrey is just 30! He- he can't die just yet! He has to see Trevor grow and become the best Commander Dorne`s ever seen, Teora needs her father to walk her on her wedding day, Maron is too young! He-he won't even remember him!" Jacerys screams and cries at the same time, his voice so full of pain, rage and helplessness that Trystanne shudders.
"I am sorry, Jacerys. I am so sorry." The Morning Sword looks down at Manfrey's lifeless body. "I am sorry."
Jacaerys tightens his grip on the corpse of his son, refusing to let go, refusing to accept the horrible reality.
"No father should bury his son." He whispers.
"No, no parent should go through that." Trystanne speaks in an empathetic and hurt tone, he understands a portion of Jacerys' pain as his own son is at death's door.
"Ugh." Someone grunting in pain attracts the attention of the two princes, Jacerys turns his head and sees a chained man a few meters away. Lothar walked over to the man who was waking up and looked at him attentively.
"Who-" The mechanisms in Jacerys's brain begin to spin and he looks at his son and then at the man, he immediately makes the connection and feels a swirl of heat appear in his chest. The flames grow stronger and stronger with each of his breaths, and soon rage turns his vision red.
"You!" Jacaerys leaves his son with a softness and delicacy that he shouldn't have in his current state and lunges at the chained man.
Trystanne grabs his leg and Lothar stands in his way, eyeing him warily.
"Let me go!" Jacerys kicks Trystanne but he quickly recovers and jumps on top of him. "Let me go Trystanne!"
"Jacaerys!" Trystanne struggles to pin him to the ground, both men rolling on the ground struggling with each other.
Lothar divides his attention between the two princes and the chained assassin, not knowing what he should do.
"I will kill him!" Jacerys growls. "Get out of my way!"
"I can't, Jacaerys!" Trystanne manages to say as he struggles to grab hold of Jacerys, who kicks him in the side. "We have to interrogate him!"
"I don't care!" Jacerys kicks him again, "he has to die!"
Trystanne finally manages to immobilize Jacerys after struggling for a few minutes.
"The poison is advancing more and more, we don't know how long Doran will be able to hold on." Says Trystanne breathing hard. "He's our only chance to save Doran!"
"He killed my son!" Jacaerys roared, struggling against Trystanne's hold.
"My son is going to die if you kill him." Trystanne tightened his grip on the master spy.
"He killed my son." Jacaerys says again, this time in a softer tone.
***(Unknown place, unknown time)***
After looking through hundreds of bubbles, Doran realized that his memories of both lives are mixed together, he could find a bubble of Doran Martell's memories and next to it one with memories of Harry Potter.
That only complicated the search, because instead of looking through almost 12 years worth of memories he has to search through 40 years worth of memories.
He attributed that to the terrible effect that he called "Potter Luck" many years ago, but seeing how that curse seems to chase him through space and time, he thought that he should rename it, after thinking about it for a while "Death Luck" seemed like a good fit.
Doran snapped out of another of Harry Potter's memories, this time from the time he went to Hogsmeade with Lucielle. Doran realized that he could dive into the bubbles as if they were a Pensieve and took the opportunity to get a closer look at some of his old friends.
When he came across memories of Lucielle Argent, his former lover, he couldn't help reliving those moments. Lucielle was a ray of light in the darkness that was much of his fourth year at Hogwarts.
"I wish I would have been braver back then, if I had invited her to the ball maybe-" He sighs wistfully.
"Maybe things would have played differently." A soft, familiar voice sounds from behind him. "That's what you mean to say, right?"
Doran turns and sees someone he never expected to see again. Her silver hair floats around her like corporeal threads of light and her eyes shine with the light and mystery of the moon.
Lucielle is smiling mischievously, that mischievous smile that always drew and charmed him.
"Lucy." Doran chokes and looks at her in disbelief.
"Hello Harry, or should I call you Doran?" She floats to him and envelops him in a warm, tight hug.
Doran snaps out of his stupor and wraps his arms around her, buries his face in her silver hair and inhales the familiar, comforting scent.
"I missed you." He whispers hoarsely.
"I missed you too, my brave hero." She caresses his hair gently.
"How are you here?" Doran looks at her in wonder once he pulls away from her embrace.
"You tell me, dear. This is your mind after all."
"Oh," Much of the joy leaves the prince's tone. "You are a construct of my subconscious."
Lucielle laughs, and the sound of wind chimes echoes through the submerged space.
"Don't look so disappointed, my dear." She scolds him gently. "You were the one who left my side, remember?"
"Of course!" He crosses his arms. "I left because you were married! You were married and you didn't even tell me! We spent a year together and you-"
"I turned you into my dirty mistress." Lucielle interrupts him grinning as if she finds the whole situation very humorous.
"Well, yes." Doran fidgets a bit and looking at his crossed hands he sees something strange, his skin tone is a pale white instead of the usual olive color. His eyes widen and he notices a familiar weight on the bridge of his nose.
"You just realized that your body is Harry's, not Doran`, right?" Lucielle laughs in delight at the surprised expression on the boy-no, man before her. "This is your subconscious, dear. Lucielle Argent meant a lot to Harry James Potter, Doran Nymeros Martell never met her. It's normal for your form to change to the one you most associate with me."
"Um." Harry clears his throat, his cheeks flushing red. "As I was saying, you were the one who lied and hid that you were married."
"But you were the one who left without even giving me a chance to explain myself." Lucielle's tone turned more serious and hurt. "You left in the middle of the night without telling me anything, just leaving a measly letter."
"What was I supposed to do in that situation?!" Harry looks at her annoyed. "I had just found out that my girlfriend is married!"
"You should have let me explain!" Lucielle replied. "I would have told you that my marriage was an arranged one, that I didn't love my husband nor he loved me. I would have told you how much I loved you, how your mere presence brought joy to my monotonous and boring life, how you made me feel more alive-" She takes a deep breath and calms her tone. "You should have had more faith in me, Harry. You should have known that the world is very complicated, things are almost never as simple as they look. I would never have hurt you on purpose. But the ink is dry, we can only go forward."
"The ink is dry," Harry nods. "I'll never know what the real Lucielle had to say, I made the decision for both of us when I left and ignored her calls and letters."
"You were a self-sacrificing idiot," Lucielle smiles with pain and fondness. "You thought that by leaving you would make things easier for me. You didn't want to be a homewrecker. You were always so kind and loving, and that was precisely your doom."
"Eh?" Harry looks at her confused.
"As a Healer you know that you have to take care of your health, you won't be able to save anyone if you get sick or hurt. You ignored that and jumped into all kinds of dangerous situations without thinking, in the end that stupidity ended with you being infected with an incurable disease. " Lucielle looks at him disapprovingly and Harry fidgets, looking away in embarrassment.
"Back then that recklessness of yours killed you, this time it could have cost the lives of millions."
"This time?" Harry feels a very familiar sense of unease.
"You are no longer Harry James Potter, you are Doran Nymeros Martell." Lucielle looks at him with an expression he's never seen on her face. "Your responsibilities and duties are far greater than those of a healer, or a hero. Your family, your kingdom, and this world depend on you. Your actions will save or damn millions, you cannot be soft or kind. Not anymore you can be the self-sacrificing hero. Let Harry James Potter die, and Doran Nymeros Martell live."
The atmosphere around him grows heavier with each word Lucielle utters, each syllable resonating deep within his soul.
"You can no longer be caught between two lives, between two identities, you've begun to realize that but you haven't let Harry die yet; you still cling to a part of the distant past."
Lucielle places her hands on his shoulders and he realizes the difference in height, he realizes that his form returned to that of Doran.
"Your kind heart made you doubt and you were almost killed during the duel, Doran." Lucielle's words awaken the prince's lost memories and he recalls the trial, the duel and his near death. "If you die, your family will be at the mercy of endless monsters, cruel and ruthless monsters that will consume them completely. The only way to keep them safe in this cruel world is to become the King of Monsters, the biggest and baddest of them."
After a pause, Lucielle sharpens her gaze and Doran feels how her silver eyes pierce his soul.
"Are you ready for that?"
***(Sunspear, Doran`s quarters)***
Wulfric is sitting in a chair next to Prince Doran's bed, watching over the unconscious boy.
`Gods in heaven, please be merciful with this child.`
He runs his fingers over a seven-pointed star that Septon Quentyn gave the prince years ago, Doran always had it around his neck as a symbol of his devotion to the gods. In truth it is more political than religious, as a prince he is expected to worship and respect the gods more than most.
"Urgh." A soft growl snaps Wulfric out of his prayers and he quickly looks up, his blue eyes meeting a pair of cloudy black ones.
"Prince Doran!"
***
NOTE: There are advanced chapter in my p@ tre on if you want to support me and read some chapters earlier.
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Doran is finally awake!
Poor boy, he will soon discover the price his family paid. Manfrey was always there, he has been the Castellan since Doran was very little so he was very close with his uncle.
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