srim01997

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Second Chance | Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegin II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Fluff, Baby Baelon being chaos like his mom, What if! Viseara survived childbirth.

Writer’s note: Some special with what if! event I might made more special chapter about them. ;)

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Second Chance masterlist |

Special Chapter: Cannibal

"Aemond, would you like to hold Baelon?"

"I—I think I'd better not, my love," he stammered.

Despite his protests, Viseara placed their infant son into his arms, leaving the one-eyed prince blinking nervously. He glanced down at the tiny child in his embrace, unsure of what to do. It was absurd, really—he was a father in his early twenties, while his wife could technically be considered his mother given their age difference. The irony felt bitter.

Viseara had nearly died giving birth to her son, Baelon, requiring the maesters to keep a constant watch over her throughout the night. However, as her older brother once remarked, Viseara was far too stubborn to succumb easily.

Aemond had nearly fainted when, just days after her recovery, she carried Baelon from his cradle, mounted her blue-scaled dragon, Nyx, and flew around Dragonstone several times with their infant in tow. Baelon had loved it, laughing joyously in his mother's arms. Although Aemond knew that Alyssa, his wife’s mother, had done something similar with her own children, it did little to ease his anxiety.

Baelon's dragon egg had hatched, but tragedy struck when the hatchling died just days after emerging from its shell. Determined to ensure that his son wouldn’t grow up feeling inadequate or dragonless as he had, Aemond tirelessly searched for another egg for Baelon but found none. Dragons rarely laid eggs anymore, and the few remaining had already hatched.

Instead, he took Baelon on rides atop Vhagar or allowed Viseara to carry the boy on Nyx. Having experienced the shame of being dragonless, Aemond was determined that his son wouldn’t endure the same fate.

Baelon grew up surrounded by his cousins but was closest to Visenya, the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, who was born after their efforts to have another child. The two often played together on the beaches of Dragonstone for hours. Daemon once teased Viseara, saying he wouldn’t be surprised if Baelon and Visenya ended up marrying one day.

Everything was peaceful until Baelon's sixth birthday. Viserys and Daemon had traveled to Dorne to negotiate a peace treaty. Aemond wanted to accompany them but was told to stay behind, as Vhagar's presence might incite violence among the Dornish. Instead, he was tasked with looking after Baelon.

That afternoon, Aegon and Elia visited with their three children, and Aenys arrived by ship with Helaena, who was in the early stages of pregnancy. While the children played in another room, Aemond conversed with the adults.

Suddenly, a soldier rushed in, pale and panicked, reporting that Prince Baelon had run off to the other side of Dragonstone for no apparent reason. Aemond immediately dashed out to search for his mischievous son. He had heard that the area was frequented by Cannibal, the massive black dragon infamous for devouring anything smaller than itself.

As he heard Vhagar's roar echoing across the cliffs, Aemond sprinted faster, calling out for Baelon. He froze when he reached the scene. There, perched on the monstrous Cannibal, was his pale-haired son.

To Aemond’s astonishment, the dragon didn’t harm Baelon. Instead, it allowed the boy to climb its massive frame. As Aemond cautiously approached, Cannibal bared its teeth, growling menacingly.

Switching to High Valyrian, Aemond assured the beast he meant no harm to his son. After a tense moment, Cannibal relented and allowed him to approach. Aemond scooped up Baelon, who giggled with delight, and smiled wryly.

"Looks like we have another brave Baelon in the family," Aemond said, kissing his son’s head. "And the youngest ever to bond with a dragon."

When news of Baelon bonding with Cannibal reached the Red Keep, Rhaenyra immediately flew to Dragonstone on Syrax, eager to see for herself. She stared at the young prince, who looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.

"Does Princess Viseara know yet?" she asked.

"I’ve sent a raven to her, sister," Aemond replied. "But knowing her, she’s probably—"

The roars of a red dragon, a crimson queen, and a blue-grey scaled beast echoed across the skies. "Looks like they're having too much fun burning Dorne," Aemond remarked as he turned toward the docks. 

The three dragons landed gracefully, and Viseara, clad in black and red armor, approached them with urgency.

"Baelon, don’t give your mother a heart attack!" she scolded, running her hands through her son’s hair. "You shouldn’t bond with a dangerous dragon without a dragon keeper present!"

Daemon approached with a wide grin. "Let me see the new dragon rider," he said, scooping up Baelon from Aemond’s arms. "Bigger dragon than your father, but my dragon’s still cooler, you know, little nephew."

"Daemon," Viseara and Rhaenyra said in unison, making him flinch. He gave a sheepish grin and returned Baelon to Viseara.

"I was just teasing the little Baelon," he muttered, handing the boy over.

"You’re impossible," Viseara grumbled.

"I’m your twin brother, remember?"

"You were only born first because I kicked you out, Daemon. So, technically, I should be the elder sibling."

"Oh, really? Want to race again, sister?"

"Your dragon is slower than mine and Meleys. Still think you stand a chance?"

"Low blow!" Daemon groaned. Indeed, the Seven seemed to have cursed him with a twin sister who always got the better of him.

No matter what, though, Viseara would always be his twin sister.

"So, in conclusion, Baelon can play with Cannibal, but he can't ride him until the dragon saddle is ready, correct?" Aemond asked, preparing to retire for the night, while Viseara brushed her hair in front of the mirror. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that their little son had bonded with the most dangerous dragon alive without being incinerated—or ending up as a meal. The dragonkeepers had nearly fainted when they learned they'd eventually have to saddle the beast, knowing its volatile nature. The one-eyed prince often wondered where Baelon got his reckless streak from. Was it from him or Viseara? Perhaps the child was the gods' way of punishing him—reincarnating his grandfather as his son for stealing his daughter as his wife.

"Forgive me, grandfather, for taking your daughter as my wife," he thought wryly.

"Yes, but the hard part will be saddling him," Viseara replied, placing her brush down and walking to the bed. "You know how risky it is to saddle a wild dragon that has only recently bonded with a rider." The rogue princess's casual tone was undercut by a sudden, pointed question: "Did you ever think of marrying someone else?"

Aemond, who had just laid down, bolted upright at her words. His good eye blinked rapidly as he processed what she had just said. Reaching out, he clasped her hand, pressing tender kisses along her knuckles. "Seven save whoever upset my wife," he vowed silently. "I'll have Alys Rivers curse them into madness."

"Why would you say such a thing, my love?" he asked softly.

"Well... others have so many children, and I’ve only given you one. Plus, I’m old enough to be your mother—"

"Name them, and I’ll have Alys Rivers curse them all—ow!" He winced, rubbing his arm where she'd smacked him.

"I'm just overthinking," Viseara muttered.

Aemond understood. The age gap between them was undeniable, and in their previous lives, their fates hadn’t intertwined like this. It wasn’t surprising that she would have such insecurities. Gently, he clasped her hands again.

"You’ve given me more than enough by blessing me with our son," he reassured her. "I would never want you to endure the agony of childbirth again just to satisfy the whims of lords or match my father’s ambitions. Having you as my wife is all I need. I swear I will never take another wife, even if you were to pass."

Viseara scoffed, crossing her arms. "If I die before you and you remarry, I’ll haunt her until she goes mad."

"Seven save me," Aemond muttered, pulling her into a hug. "I swear to the gods, I’ll have only you as my wife. If I break that vow, may the Seven strike me down."

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "You’ll have to make up for all the time I was away then. Sleeping alone must’ve been dreadful."

"Sometimes I had Baelon sleep with me," Aemond admitted sheepishly, brushing his lips against hers. "I swear, no handmaid ever shared my bed in your absence."

The rogue princess pushed him back onto the mattress, straddling him. Before they could proceed further, a loud voice from the adjacent room interrupted them—none other than Aegon’s.

"If you two are going to do it, keep it down! I can’t sleep!—Ow! Elia, my love, don’t hit me!"

"And I can’t sleep because of you, Aegon!"

The couple chuckled softly at the exchange before Aemond leaned over to blow out the bedside candle, plunging the room into darkness. They hoped this time, nothing would interrupt their long-overdue reunion. The End

[srim01997]

I should watch Squid Game now since my internet talk about it. So, I should stop lazy--

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Violence, Canon Divergence

Writer’s note: Let me remind you, dear reader, that this is a complete work in my language, translated into English. Therefore, there may be plot holes and grammatical mistakes in this work. English is my second language, not my mother tongue.

I recall the quote Mirena said to Vlad in the movie "Dracula Untold," and I decided to include it in this chapter.I also remember how old Viseara is in this story, which is why the ending unfolded as it did. She is in her late 40s and pregnant once again at this age. I promise that a special chapter will be released soon.

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter| Second Chance masterlist | Special Chapter

Chapter 17 The end of a story, but the beginning of a new one.

“Didn’t get my message, did you?” Her slender hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword. “I’m not dead, and...”

Before she could finish, another dragon swooped down, its massive wings kicking up a gust as it landed. Its rider descended gracefully, revealing a regal woman adorned with the crown of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

“Kneel,” Viseara’s voice rang out cold and commanding, “before the true queen.”

Otto Hightower and the Green Council were forcibly made to kneel by the Gold Cloak soldiers, who remained loyal to the rogue twins. The rogue princess stepped forward, her mismatched eyes gleaming as she approached the Hand of the King, who struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events—especially the revelation that the person he believed dead was very much alive, contrary to Lord Baratheon’s claims.

“Oh, old leech...” she spoke with a sly smile. “I have an offer for you. Surrender and beg for Queen Rhaenyra’s mercy, and your children will be spared.”

“At worst, Ser Gwayne will be sent to the Wall, and Alicent will become septa—or face whatever mercy the Queen deems fit. But if you refuse?” Her tone darkened as she leaned closer to Otto. “Your son will be Vhagar’s next meal, followed by your precious daughter.”

Her voice softened into a venomous whisper. “Well? Don’t you love your children?”

Grinding his teeth, Otto finally uttered, “Please... please, Your Majesty. Have mercy on me and my children.”

The rogue princess stepped back, allowing the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to take the reins. Rhaenyra’s gaze fell on Otto with a mix of contempt and satisfaction. This man was the architect of the chaos that had engulfed her and her loved ones—the manipulator who had dragged her former friend and half-siblings into the deadly game of power while they were still children. He had contributed to Queen Aemma’s tragic death and neglected to alter King Viserys’ treatments, ultimately causing her father’s slow, agonizing demise.

Rhaenyra resolved to sever these toxic ties with her own hands, liberating everyone from Otto’s machinations. The Black Queen had already decided Otto Hightower’s fate. His name could no longer linger as a thorn in her side.

She ordered his execution to serve as a grim reminder of his wickedness. Otto was dragged away to the dungeons to await his beheading the following day. Other members of the Green Council were offered exile to the Wall, though some chose death over freezing in the North. Among them was Ser Gwayne.

Alicent, however, was placed under house arrest, confined to her chambers, with only her children permitted to visit. Helaena married Aenys to mend the rift between the two families. Aegon chose to flee to the Free Cities with Elia and their children. It broke Viseara’s heart to let her youngest daughter go so far from her, but she trusted Aegon’s promise to care for her.

Meanwhile, Daeron returned to Oldtown, yearning for the freedom he had once enjoyed. His charm won over many women, as Ser Gwayne had once teased the Green Queen, but in the end, he married Floris Baratheon.

The Hightower family, after these events, lived humbly, avoiding any action that might bring ruin or a fate like Otto’s.

Jacaerys was named heir to the Iron Throne, while Lucerys traveled to Driftmark to prepare to inherit the title of Lord of the Tides from Corlys Velaryon. Lucerys reportedly grew close to his uncles there. Rhaenyra’s remaining sons returned safely from Pentos under the protection of the Velaryon fleet.

On the day of Otto’s execution, the city square was filled with the jeers and curses of the people he had wronged. Dragged to the center, Otto was beheaded amid a cacophony of cheers. His head and those of other Green Council members were mounted as a warning to others.

The Iron Throne accepted Rhaenyra as its queen, leaving her unscathed as she sat upon it—a testament to her rightful rule. The Seven Kingdoms acknowledged her as Westeros’ first queen. With her wisdom and the support of those around her, Rhaenyra resolved lingering issues and ushered in a new era of peace.

The civil war between the Blacks and the Greens had ended with minimal bloodshed.

As for Aemond and Viseara, they secluded themselves on Dragonstone after the war, to such an extent that Jacaerys joked they might as well have disappeared. Servants whispered about how the usually stoic, one-eyed prince was utterly devoted to his wife, rarely leaving her side—especially now that she was heavily pregnant.

On Dragonstone’s balcony, Aemond gently caressed Viseara’s swollen belly and pressed soft kisses to her shoulder. She turned to him with a wry smile. “If I’d been born later, we might have had as many children as King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne,” she teased.

Aemond chuckled and leaned closer to her ear. “Or if I’d been born earlier…” He paused, clasping her hand. “Viseara, I have a confession to make.”

Viseara swallowed hard, realizing she, too, had something to confess. She turned to him. “So do I. Let’s say it together.”

They locked eyes and spoke in unison, “I traveled back in time—”

Both froze in shock. “You time-traveled too?”

“And you as well?” Aemond blinked, astonished. “That explains how you always seemed to know what would happen, even at Storm’s End.”

“Yes... though what happened with Criston was unexpected,” Viseara admitted, scratching her head. “I only wanted to save Rhaenyra and everyone else. I never imagined I’d end up marrying my own nephew.”

“But I’ve loved you for a long time, so let’s call it even,” Aemond said with a mischievous grin. His words reminded Viseara of Alicent’s jest about how he too would have been obsessed with her.

Viseara smirked. “If you were infatuated, you should have said so sooner.”

“I admit, I was too rash and hot-headed back then. It cost me your trust.” Aemond held her hand tightly, resting his forehead against hers. “This time, I won’t lose you again.”

“Just don’t kill me again.”

“I swear.”

Months later… The cries of Viseara echoed throughout Dragonstone as her labor stretched on for hours. Aemond had been sent outside to wait, his worry growing with every passing moment. Finally, the sound of a newborn’s cry pierced the tense air. A maester emerged to deliver the news to the one-eyed prince.

“You have a son, my prince, and he is healthy.”

Aemond rushed into the chamber to see Viseara cradling their newborn child. The prince gazed at the baby in his wife’s arms, noticing the unmistakable Targaryen features.

“Have you chosen a name for him?” he asked.

“Baelon… Baelon Targaryen,” Viseara said with a soft smile, though her face was pale as snow. Her mismatched eyes met Aemond’s, and she spoke again.

“Aemond, could you take me for a ride on Vhagar? Just once. With our son. I want to do what my mother once did with me and my brothers.”

Though Aemond hesitated, knowing she had just endured childbirth, he relented to her wish. He helped her to her feet, carefully swaddling their newborn son before they climbed onto Vhagar’s back. Together, the three of them soared above Dragonstone, the baby laughing joyfully in his mother’s arms.

Aemond felt Viseara’s embrace tighten as her voice, weary yet full of love, broke the silence.

“Aemond… remember when I told you I wanted to have many children with you? If only I had more time…”

“One is enough,” Aemond replied firmly. “Baelon is enough. I don’t want to see you suffer again.”

“Such sweet words… but a man like you could always find another when I grow old,” Viseara teased weakly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re a handsome man, after all.”

“You sound like an old woman full of doubts,” Aemond teased back. “You’re the only wife I’ll ever have. I’m free now that my half-sister is queen—I have no need for ambition.”

“Then in my next life, I’ll be born later,” Viseara whispered. “So we’ll be the same age… and we can have many children together.”

“Death cannot separate us, for one life is born from the other,” Aemond said softly.

“Where did you read that?” she murmured, her voice fading.

Aemond felt her grip weaken, but he refused to acknowledge the dread creeping into his heart. He carefully helped her dismount when they landed, cradling their son in one arm. Her delicate hand reached up to touch his cheek.

“Aemond… I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice trembling.

Viseara closed her eyes with a faint smile, her body going limp in his arms. Aemond clutched her tightly, tears streaming down his face as he carried her lifeless body back to Dragonstone for her funeral rites.

The news of Viseara’s death reached King’s Landing swiftly, prompting the family to gather. Aegon arrived with his dragon, Sunfyre, carrying his baby daughter, Elaena. Daeron joined later. The somber atmosphere weighed heavily on all present.

Daemon, upon seeing the newborn in Aemond’s arms, asked, “What’s his name?”

“Baelon. Viseara named him Baelon,” Aemond replied.

Daemon smiled, a rare moment of warmth crossing his face. He gently touched the baby’s tiny nose and said, “Be a good boy for your father, little one.”

Though the ceremony was marked by grief, Baelon’s presence brought some solace. Viseara’s older children from her previous marriage were excited about their new baby brother. Aenys cradled Baelon, rocking him gently, while Elaena played with the infant, easing the sadness in the air.

Aegon consoled Aemond, who was overwhelmed by the loss of his wife. Knowing his brother had a newborn to care for, Aegon ensured Aemond would not succumb to despair. The four siblings spent nights together in the nursery, a rare moment of unity that even brought genuine laughter from Aemond.

Aemond dedicated himself to raising Baelon, refusing to remarry. He did not want to repeat the mistakes of Viserys, who had neglected his children. He even forgave Lucerys for taking his eye, understanding that he too had been at fault.

As Baelon grew, he bonded with a dragon named Nyx, earning admiration from all, including his father. Aemond proudly recounted tales of Viseara’s bravery, saving the more shocking details for when Baelon was older.

Years passed, and Aemond lived quietly, appearing in public only for significant events like his mother’s funeral. Eventually, Baelon grew into a warrior-prince, inheriting the best traits of both his parents. He became a close companion to King Aegon III, strengthening the bonds of House Targaryen.

Aemond passed away peacefully in his bed, the same one he had shared with Viseara. His final words were a whisper: “My dearest Viseara…”

His body was cremated by dragonfire, and his ashes were laid to rest beside Viseara’s. Baelon honored his father’s memory by living a life of courage and loyalty, becoming a legend in his own right.

The Dance of the Dragons was remembered not as a war of ruin but as a conflict resolved with minimal bloodshed. Yet the Targaryen dynasty would face greater challenges in the future, as the seeds of discord sown by King Aegon IV led to the devastating Blackfyre Rebellions.

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The pale blonde-haired woman startled awake on a bed, only to collapse back down due to the pain coursing through her body from fighting Baratheon soldiers. She had tried to save Rhaegar but was injured so severely that she couldn’t reach her eldest brother in time. She had watched him fall, and then darkness claimed her.

But now, where was she?

“You’re awake…” a mysterious young man who had just entered the room spoke. He had dark hair and striking blue eyes, reminiscent of the sky. In his hands was a bowl of steaming food. “I dragged you here to hide, and… well, I took the liberty of changing your clothes. Don’t worry—no one will come after you. To them, you’re already dead.”

He handed her the bowl of soup. “You must be hungry.”

The slender woman accepted the bowl and began eating while scrutinizing the man before her. “Why did you save me?” she asked, her lilac eyes narrowing.

The man scratched the back of his neck, visibly flustered. “I… uh… don’t think I’m crazy, but…” He hesitated before blurting out, “I saw you in a dream. Though you seemed… fiercer there.”

“Never mind that… What’s your name?”

“Aemond Blackwood,” he replied, his voice steadying. “I’m named after my great-great-grandfather, Prince Aemond Targaryen.” His gaze lingered on her as he asked, “And you, Princess?”

“Viseara,” she replied, her voice filled with pride. “I’m named after my great-grandmother, the rider of Nyx and the so-called Rogue Princess. I need to leave now; I have to find my mother and my siblings—”

As she tried to stand, she nearly collapsed. The Blackwood man caught her and gently guided her back to the bed. His tone became firm. “You’re not well yet! You need to rest first, and I’ll help you find them. Please, trust me.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, though her sharp eyes noticed him muttering something under his breath. “What did you say?”

“Death cannot separate us, for one life is born from another,” he stammered, blushing slightly. “I read it in a book somewhere… don’t hold it against me.”

Aemond Blackwood’s gaze softened as he gently cupped her face, as though he knew her from another time, though he couldn’t place where or how.

“We could get to know each other better, Aemond,” Viseara said, her voice carrying a teasing undertone.

On the wooden table beside the bed rested a Valyrian steel dagger that had once belonged to Prince Aemond Targaryen, along with a ruby necklace that was Viseara's signature piece. However, neither of them seemed particularly concerned with these relics of the past; instead, they were focused on the growing connection between them in the present.

THE END

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Violence, Canon Divergence

Writer’s note: Let me remind you, dear reader, that this is a complete work in my language, translated into English. Therefore, there may be plot holes and grammatical mistakes in this work. English is my second language, not my mother tongue.

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter| Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 16 The Fairest Knight

Due to the ongoing war, the wedding between Princess Viseara and Prince Aemond was held in a simple and rushed Valyrian style on Dragonstone. The bride was dressed in an old-fashioned wedding gown, her pale golden hair left loose to cascade down her slender back, and a beautifully crafted headpiece adorned her head. Aemond wore a matching traditional outfit, his silver hair braided into a neat plait. For this occasion, he did not wear his eyepatch, leaving his sapphire eye uncovered.

The couple stood at the same stone altar where the Rogue Princess’s niece and twin brother had wed years prior. The witnesses included the Black Queen, her children, Aenys and Maeria, and a priest of Dragonstone, who officiated the ceremony. As per Valyrian tradition, they cut each other’s lower lips with dragon glass, marking each other’s foreheads with blood in the shape of Valyrian glyphs. Aemond then cut his palm with a blade while the priest recited vows in High Valyrian.

Viseara and Aemond clasped their wounded hands together, bound by a black ribbon embroidered with gold, as their blood dripped into a chalice. The priest continued the vows, and when he finished, he handed the blood-filled chalice to Viseara, who drank first, then passed it to Aemond.

“You are my wife now,” Aemond declared, his good lilac eye fixed on her. His uninjured hand cradled her face as he kissed her deeply. The taste of blood lingered on their lips and tongues, but neither cared; they were now bound by fire and blood, inseparable.

Unsurprisingly, a raven from King’s Landing arrived almost immediately, bearing messages of displeasure from the Hand of the King and the Green Queen. However, another letter from Aegon congratulated his younger brother and aunt on finally tying the knot.

Amusing indeed.

Yet, the couple had no time for a honeymoon. Viseara had to rescue her youngest daughter, who had been captured by the Triarchy. Knowing the infamous reputation of the Triarchy's leaders, who often kept beautiful women alive as trophies or sold them into slavery, Viseara wasted no time preparing for her mission. Maeria hugged her tightly before whispering, “Be careful, Mother.”

“I will,” Viseara assured her, kissing her eldest daughter’s forehead. She mounted her dragon, which took to the skies without needing any commands.

Aemond, newly married, found himself in the position of a husband waiting for his wife to return from the battlefield. He had been persuaded to stay behind, as his dragon’s size was better suited for the ongoing battles elsewhere. Still, he couldn’t help but worry, fearing for her life, especially after what had happened at Storm’s End.

Meanwhile, news from the Riverlands was favorable: the Lannister and Hightower armies had been defeated. Jason Lannister had been slain on the battlefield, and Ser Gwayne Hightower had been captured. However, Daemon had been gravely injured and was recuperating at Harrenhal. Rhaenyra decided to leave Aenys and Maeria to guard Dragonstone while she and Aemond traveled to Harrenhal.

Upon their arrival, they were greeted by the grim sight of enemy corpses piled high, a stark warning to the Greens not to challenge the Riverlands. Rhaenyra and Aemond made their way to the medical tents, where they found Daemon lying pale and weak, with Alicent tending to the wounded.

“Am I dreaming, or has my wife come to visit me?” Daemon quipped through the pain. “Those Greens certainly put up a fight…”

“But you survived,” Rhaenyra replied, her voice steady.

Daemon’s lilac eyes shifted to Aemond, narrowing as he remembered the young prince was now his nephew-in-law—or brother-in-law—after marrying his twin sister. With Rhaenyra’s help, Daemon pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Listen, one-eye,” Daemon said with a smirk, “if my sister sheds even a single tear because of you, you’ll get to know Dark Sister personally.”

Aemond smirked in return. “That won’t happen. I love her deeply.”

Daemon made a face of mock disgust and turned to Rhaenyra. “Look at this, Rhaenyra. Your half-brother is behaving like this now.”

“Just like you and me,” she teased.

Daemon winced, silenced by the remark. Was this karma in the form of his one-eyed nephew wooing his twin sister? Somewhere in the afterlife, Viserys was probably laughing at him. The Rogue Prince suddenly felt the urge to bury his face in a pillow and cry.

“What about Ser Gwayne?” Aemond asked.

“He’s chained, nephew,” Daemon replied. “Feeling sorry for him?”

“No,” Aemond said firmly. “I just want to ensure he’s alive. My grandsire wouldn’t want his son dead. I’d rather see him sent to the Wall, away from all the political games of my family.”

The one-eyed prince’s return to the past had given him clarity. All the chaos had originated from his grandsire: arranging his mother’s marriage to King Viserys, manipulating him and his siblings, and igniting the Dance of the Dragons. Aemond didn’t know how long dragons would continue to exist, but he cared only for Viseara’s happiness and her long life.

“Where is Viseara?”

“She went to the Triarchy,” Rhaenyra answered. “But Rhaenys and the Velaryon fleet are backing her. Don’t worry.”

“I’m more worried about the Triarchy,” the Black Queen’s consort interjected with a smirk. “A mother will do anything to protect her child.”

Viseara, Rhaenys, and the Velaryon soldiers carefully observed the Triarchy’s encampment, assessing their weak points and determining the best strategy for attack. Drawing lessons from the Stepstones, they knew dragons alone wouldn’t suffice. They needed a decoy and a ground assault similar to Daemon’s tactics. However, they had to ensure Elia’s safety, as any misstep could harm her amidst the chaos. Before plans could fully form, a messenger arrived requesting an audience with the rogue princess, bearing a message from the Triarchy’s admiral.

Viseara’s mismatched eyes scanned the message, her expression hardening with fury. Without a word, she seized her steel helm and smashed it against the messenger’s face, leaving Rhaenys and Corlys scrambling to restrain her before she could kill the man outright.

Aemond arrived moments later, shocked to see the bloodied messenger and his beautiful wife clutching a bloodied helm. Though he didn’t know the specifics, he could sense the gravity of the insult. Picking up the fallen letter, Aemond’s gaze darkened as he read its contents. Without hesitation, he grabbed the helm from Viseara’s hands and struck the messenger himself, prompting the Velaryon lord and lady to intervene.

“Tell your admiral,” Aemond growled, gripping the man by the collar, “to return Lady Elia unharmed, or he’ll face Vhagar’s wrath and see his bloodline obliterated by noon.” He shoved the man away. “Run, before you become dragon feed.”

The messenger fled, leaving Viseara trembling with suppressed rage. Leaning on the table for support, she clutched her abdomen as Rhaenys rubbed her back soothingly.

“If you can’t handle this, rest,” Rhaenys urged. “Corlys and I will handle the rescue. Elia will be safe—”

A Velaryon soldier interrupted with a shout. “A dragon approaches!”

“Whose dragon—? Damn it… is that Sunfyre?”

Viseara and Aemond spoke in unison, their exasperation evident. “Mittys! (Idiot!)” Grabbing her sword, the rogue princess stormed out, signaling her dragon to wait. Ignoring the protests of her companions, she advanced toward the approaching enemy.

Spotting scorpions aimed at her, Viseara quickly snatched a crossbow and shot the enemy gunners before they could fire. The real danger wasn’t her pink-and-gold dragon soaring above but the woman wielding her sword with lethal precision. Cutting down Triarchy soldiers who dared approach, she rolled to avoid dragon fire before spotting a familiar flagship. Determined, she climbed aboard, knowing Elia must be there.

Inside the captain’s quarters, Viseara found Admiral Ryndoon holding a knife to Elia’s pale throat.

“Put down the knife, Ryndoon, and return my daughter,” she demanded coldly. Her mismatched eyes glinted with a deadly promise. “I swear on my blood you’ll see your family again—or do you wish your children to grow up fatherless?”

Drawing her sword, she took a step forward, her gaze softening momentarily as she saw Elia’s terrified face. Ryndoon hesitated before lowering the blade. Elia broke free, rushing into her mother’s arms and sobbing uncontrollably.

Before Viseara could fully reassure her daughter, the door burst open, revealing Aegon and Aemond. They sighed in relief at the sight of their loved ones safe.

“Wife—” Aegon began.

“I’m in labor, Aegon!” Elia shouted, clutching her stomach. Aegon hurriedly scooped her up, stumbling slightly as he carried her, leaving the others to wonder whether he’d drop her or reach a maester first.

Ryndoon watched them leave, muttering, “You truly are as beautiful as the songs say. Would you consider—”

Aemond’s boot struck Ryndoon, sending him sprawling. “She’s my wife, you pirate!” Aemond snarled, his fury barely contained.

“Stop, Aemond!” Viseara called, dragging her husband off the captain before he could kill him outright. Once back on solid ground, Aemond gently rested his hand on her belly, his expression softening.

“Our child will be a fighter, just like their mother,” he murmured.

“Perhaps,” Viseara replied, placing her hand over his. “But this isn’t over yet, dear nephew. We have unfinished business.”

Her gaze burned with resolve. “It’s time to march on King’s Landing.”

King’s Landing was in mild chaos at this time, spurred by mysterious messages posted along the city walls and rumors spreading like wildfire. Whispers about the atrocities Otto committed during King Viserys’ illness, as well as Queen Elia’s disappearance, had reached every corner. The rumors suggested she had not eloped with another man as the court gossiped.

It was no surprise the Red Keep was in turmoil. Citizens were protesting, attempting to break down the gates, while guards struggled to hold them back, shouting threats and warnings. The Hand of the King, Otto, seethed with anger, unable to fathom why everything was spiraling out of his control.

Meanwhile, Alicent and Helaena had barricaded themselves in a room, with Daeron standing guard at the door, ready to defend his mother and sister from any threat that might come their way. A deafening roar of a dragon echoed through the skies, drawing every gaze in the Red Keep toward the source.

Otto’s heart swelled with a flicker of hope. Perhaps it was Aemond or Aegon returning to his aid. But when the shadow blocking the sun revealed itself, his face paled. A dragon, shimmering in shades of blue and gray, landed in the courtyard, its rider descending gracefully.

“It’s impossible!” Otto gasped, his voice trembling.

The Hand of the King could scarcely believe his eyes. Standing before him was someone who should have been dead. Viseara’s lips curled into a mocking smile as she spoke.

“Didn’t get my message, did you?” Her slender hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword. “I’m not dead, and...”

Before she could finish, another dragon swooped down, its massive wings kicking up a gust as it landed. Its rider descended gracefully, revealing a regal woman adorned with the crown of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

“Kneel,” Viseara’s voice rang out cold and commanding, “before the true queen.”

TBC.

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Happy New Year from GMT+7!!!

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He’s finally home.

The last journey is bittersweet for me.

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EXCUSE ME!!! MY OC HAD A NAME, EVERYONE!!! HER NAME IS VISEARA TARGARYEN!!! 🤣🤣🤣 PLEASE DON'T MADE A NEW NAME FOR HER!!!

My Aemond x OC | Merry X'MAS

Merry Christmas everyone with this precious art that I commission from @stupidbeemeen So, remind you again that do not steal or repost this since I paid money for this cutie art. You can contact her to commission your own work.

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Thank you to everyone who got me to 500 likes!

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⚠️Writer's note⚠️

I might not post the new chapter of my Aemond x OC during Christmas and New Year, I might up again on 3-4 January 2025, 12:00 AM on GMT+7

And Merry X'Mas, everyone!!!

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My Aemond x my oc named Viseara | Merry X'MAS (edit title)

Merry Christmas everyone with this precious art that I commission from @stupidbeemeen So, remind you again that do not steal or repost this since I paid money for this cutie art. You can contact her to commission your own work.

[srim01997]

Second Change| Aemond T. X OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, Violence, Canon Divergence, Kidnapped mention

Writer’s note: Let me remind you, dear reader, that this is a complete work in my language, translated into English. Therefore, there may be plot holes and grammatical mistakes in this work. English is my second language, not my mother tongue.

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter| Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 15 The Rage

The two bodies lay bare, entwined on the bed, their skin glistening with sweat. Between her slender thighs, traces of a thick, white fluid lingered. Aemond's broad hand caressed her back, stopping at the scar left by Ser Criston’s blade—a painful reminder of how close he had come to losing her and the child she carried. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and spoke softly.

"Not only are you skilled at riding dragons, but you're also quite adept with your mouth," he teased.

Her delicate hand landed a firm smack against his broad chest, a playful rebuke. She tilted her beautiful face to meet his gaze. "And who is it that doesn't know when to stop? I can barely stand because of you, Aemond."

What could he do? Aemond was possessive. The way every gaze lingered on his aunt with admiration, even lust, infuriated him. To make matters worse, the witch of Harrenhal, a former lover from his past life, seemed smitten with her as well—going so far as to try and kiss her in his presence. Did she want to provoke him? His jealousy burned until they ended up like this, tangled together in the throes of passion.

Aemond's hand moved to her abdomen, caressing it gently. "You should seek refuge in the Vale, Viseara. You're with child and shouldn't be riding dragons into battle."

Viseara shifted, straddling his body. Her slender hands rested on his broad chest, trailing over his form with deliberate slowness. "When I was first pregnant with Elia, I was on dragonback constantly. My children have been raised amidst war—"

"They’ve only just bonded with their dragons. Aenys with Vermithor, and Maeria with Silverwing. They’ll be fine," Aemond interrupted, his large hand cradling her delicate face, his thumb brushing over the scar—a reminder of the day she shielded him and Aegon from harm many years ago. That scar was why he trained so relentlessly.

He trained to protect her.

Viseara kissed his hand, her soft lips pressing against his palm, sending shivers. Just as Aemond leaned in to claim her lips, they were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Aemond turned his single eye toward the doorway, where Daemon stood with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame.

"For the love of the Seven, could you show some restraint? We're not at Dragonstone or the Red Keep," Daemon said, exasperated. His gaze landed on Aemond. "You haven't even married her yet, so keep your hands to yourself!"

"I plan to take her back to Dragonstone and marry her in the Valyrian tradition," Aemond replied, undeterred.

"You're too hasty, nephew. Now, hand over my sister," Daemon retorted. "You can’t just lie around with her like this!"

"I’ll come soon, brother," Viseara interjected from the bed. "Now, leave us so I can dress."

Reluctantly, Daemon left, grumbling under his breath. Viseara rose from the bed, her movements graceful yet revealing her exhaustion. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted her bare form. She dressed methodically, strapping her sword to her hip.

"You should get up, Aemond," she chided.

"I’ll follow shortly," he replied, lounging comfortably on the bed.

Once dressed, Viseara left the room. Aemond remained for a moment longer, smirking as he noticed the fresh bite marks on his neck. He dressed quickly and made his way to the great hall, where Viseara and Daemon were listening to Willem Blackwood’s report.

“The Lannister army is preparing to join the Hightowers, led by Ser Gwayne Hightower and Lord Jason Lannister,” Blackwood said. “We’re uncertain if they’ll bring dragons, but they no longer have Vhagar.”

"Even without dragons, they have experienced beasts like Tessarion and Sunfyre, not to mention scorpions capable of killing larger dragons," Viseara observed. "The Freys have agreed to clear a path for the northern forces, but Lord Cregan may not arrive soon."

"In the Riverlands, one dragon is enough," Daemon interjected. "Vhagar and Nyx may need to cover other weak points in our line."

Viseara began to argue but was interrupted when a soldier entered, bowing low. "Someone seeks an audience with you, my lady. He seems urgent."

Viseara and Daemon exchanged glances before heading to another chamber, where they found a cloaked figure. The figure lowered his hood, revealing Daeron, the youngest of their nephews.

"Daeron? What are you doing here?" Viseara asked, surprised.

"Your daughter asked me to deliver a message," Daeron replied. "Aegon couldn’t come, so I’m here in his stead."

Daemon scoffed. "It’s probably a trap."

Viseara silenced him with a raised hand. "What message does she have for you, Daeron?"

Daeron handed her a letter. She unfolded it hastily, her expression hardening as she read. Without a word, she crumpled the paper and stormed out. Her dragon, Nyx, descended from the skies, responding to her unspoken fury.

Before Aemond could ask what was happening, Nyx took off with Viseara on its back. Daemon picked up the discarded letter and read it, his face darkening.

Aemond caught a glimpse of its contents, understanding Viseara’s urgency. He prepared to follow, but Daemon stopped him. "We need to send a raven to Lord Corlys immediately,"

Daemon said.

"Tell him not to attack the Triarchy’s fleet just yet. Lady Elia Celtigar might be held captive aboard one of their ships."

Everyone on Driftmark could see the blue-gray dragon of the Rogue Princess, but Rhaenys was more shocked to see the rider—none other than the Rogue Princess herself, whom everyone believed to be dead. The Queen Who Never Was rushed forward and embraced her, prompting the younger woman to gently pat her back in reassurance.

"I’ll explain everything later," Viseara said. "Where’s Lord Corlys?"

"He and the fleet just set out for Gullet. Where are you going?" Rhaenys barely finished her question before the younger woman mounted her dragon and took off again. What else could she do? Viseara was the daughter of Baelon the Brave, after all.

The slender figure of the Targaryen princess rode her dragon high above until she spotted the Velaryon fleet and a single ship. That vessel must have been carrying the three young princes—Aegon the Younger, Viserys, and Joffrey—on their way to Pentos. However, she noticed a fleet from the Stepstones approaching.

Her delicate hands tightened on the reins, steering her dragon downward to unleash flames upon the enemy ships, scattering them in chaos. Cries echoed as some fell into the sea. Amidst the chaos, Jacaerys and Vermax plunged into the water, prompting her to shout:

"Jace, hold your breath and dive!"

Viseara’s dragon dove, its claws sweeping away enemy arrows, while flames engulfed another ship, ignited by the blue-gray beast without its rider's explicit command. The princess pulled her nephew out of the water with one arm.

"I told you before, didn’t I? If your dragon isn’t big enough, don’t fly too low," she scolded.

"Aunt Viseara?" Jace stammered in shock. "But Aemond said—"

"I’ll explain later. For now, you need to get out of here," she replied firmly, ensuring the ship carrying the younger princes was safely out of the combat zone.

Her sharp eyes scanned the enemy fleet for her daughter, unsure which ship might be holding her captive. One thing was certain: the flagship wasn’t among them.

"Seven hells... where have those bastards hidden Elaia?" she muttered under her breath. The attacking fleet consisted only of lesser ships, none bearing the flag of Racallio Ryndoon.

"Jace, can you spot the Triarchy's flagship? Look for the snail sigil," she instructed.

"I can’t see it—watch out!" Jace shouted.

Viseara’s dragon swatted away an incoming arrow before unleashing a deafening roar and a stream of fire that set another ship ablaze. Relief washed over Jace as he noticed the Triarchy's fleet retreating and the ship carrying his younger brothers escaping to safety.

"Let’s return to Dragonstone. I’ll explain everything there," she said, tugging the reins to guide her dragon back. Upon arrival, the dragon keepers were stunned to see her alive and unharmed, as if nothing had happened. The reactions of Rhaenyra, Lucerys, and Baela mirrored their shock.

"Aunt! Grandmother!" they exclaimed in unison.

Rhaenyra ran to embrace her aunt tightly. "Aemond told me you were dead!"

"Okay, it seems I really need to explain how I survived," Viseara said, glancing around for someone. Before she could continue, Vhagar’s roar echoed, signaling the arrival of Aemond. The one-eyed prince dismounted and strode toward her, capturing her lips in a bold kiss, completely unbothered by the stares of his half-sister, cousins, or nephews.

"This is my wife—"

"We’re not married," Viseara interrupted, attempting to push him away, though he held her firmly, resting his chin atop her head.

"Aemond... they’re watching us," she whispered.

The prince smirked, his single eye meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze. "Sister, I want her hand in marriage," he declared.

"Maybe ask my father first?" Baela interjected, knowing her aunt was Daemon’s sister. Skipping that step might be seen as disrespectful.

"Your father already gave me his blessing," Aemond replied coolly. "I fear for my child being left fatherless should anything happen to me."

"You don’t even have a child yet, Aemond," Rhaenyra pointed out, her gaze shifting to the large hand resting on Viseara’s stomach. "Aunt...?"

"She’s carrying my child," Aemond announced, drawing all eyes to them.

Viseara rolled her mismatched eyes, stomped on Aemond’s foot, and stormed off toward the castle. "Why don’t you announce it to all of Westeros? I planned to tell everyone after the war!"

"Is she mad at me?" Aemond asked, bewildered.

Daemon volunteered to lead the forces along the Riverlands to confront the combined armies of the Hightowers and the Lannisters. Meanwhile, the Vale was under the protection of a wild dragon recently claimed by Rhaena, guarding the Eyrie at the request of Lady Jeyne Arryn. A raven arrived from the Prince of Pentos, reporting to Rhaenyra that her three sons were safe and under his care.

Viseara was removing her armor and going down to her undershirt, preparing to rest after scouting the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Her spies in King’s Landing had informed her that the City Watch, the Gold Cloaks, were ready to follow orders from Daemon and her. Most commands, however, came from Otto Hightower, who used Aegon’s name as justification. The people were discontent but powerless to act.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, followed by the arrival of the Black Queen. Rhaenyra held something in her hands—a Valyrian-style wedding dress. The gold-and-red gown was still in excellent condition, accompanied by the headpiece Rhaenyra had worn during her wedding to Daemon years ago.

"I never thought I would live to see my aunt marry my half-brother," Rhaenyra remarked with a wry smile. "Part of me wonders if this is karma catching up to Daemon."

"Perhaps," Viseara replied, shaking her head. "Karma for seducing his niece. Now he’s dealing with a nephew who seduced his aunt." She recalled Daemon once telling her that if he ever caught a Green boy approaching her again, Dark Sister would make sure they’d never do it twice.

"You should get some sleep—"

The door swung open once more, revealing Aenys and Maeria. The two Celtigars rushed straight to their mother, wrapping their arms around her tightly. Viseara embraced them, holding them close. Her eldest son spoke in a trembling voice, on the verge of tears.

"I thought I’d never see you again," Aenys said.

"I won’t die until I see Rhaenyra on the throne," Viseara assured him with a gentle smile. "And you..."

"It’s a little strange knowing our cousin is going to be... our stepfather?" Maeria commented, giving her mother a pointed look. "All the women in Westeros, and he chose you."

"Who knows why," Viseara replied with a shrug. "But you two should get some rest. I promise I’ll bring Elaia back. But, Maeria, fetch Angarra for me."

"Why?"

"I have a task for her. And... I’ll need Elinda’s help as well, my dear niece." Viseara’s sharp gaze softened. "It’s time Otto Hightower learns what it feels like to be outplayed."

TBC.

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Fire and Blood - George R.R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gwayne Hightower/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Gwayne Hightower, Original Female Character(s), Criston Cole Additional Tags: Uncle/Niece Incest, Incest, Vaginal Sex, Sex, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Uncle-Niece Sex, Oral Sex, Creampie, Criston Cole Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Both of them are cheating, Aemond cheating on her, But she cheat on him back, What if! Ser Gwayne didn't chase be Baela and her dragon, maybe have part two of this, OC have a red hair and lilac eyes like Alicent, Naked Female Clothed Male Series: Part 4 of The Red Princess and The Green Knight Summary:

Suddenly had an idea that Ser Gwayne and his subordinate reached the inn safely and Ser Gwayne got company in bed with his princess niece who volunteers to relieve his stress. (Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen! OC with red hair and lilac eyes)

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Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight Angst, Character Death, Blood and Violence, Criston Cole being shit, Temporary Character Death

Writer’s note: I know everyone waiting for this and four chapter left ;)

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter | Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 13 Tell that bastard that the b*tch is back.

Aemond had once longed to visit Dragonstone, enchanted by the stories Viseara had told him since childhood. Tales of the ancestral castle of House Targaryen—the place where their forebears fled the Doom of Valyria guided by the visions of DaAenys the Dreamer. The site where Aegon the Conqueror laid his plans to unite the Seven Kingdoms.

It was a small mercy that the one-eyed prince was assigned a room far better than Ser Criston Cole, who languished in the dungeons beneath Dragonstone. Cole's agonized cries echoed faintly through the stone walls. Aemond's chamber, while improved, remained sparse. It featured a narrow window that allowed in just enough light, but was too small for a man of his size to escape through—a sign that the Black Council still did not fully trust him, even after he had delivered the culprit responsible for Viseara’s death.

No matter how hard he tried to sleep, images of the rogue princess's demise haunted his dreams. He ground his teeth, his remaining eye burning as tears slipped unbidden down his cheek—he was crying.

Aemond could not fathom what divine punishment he was enduring, nor why he was tormented so thoroughly by these events, as if the gods themselves sought to brand his actions into his soul. He acknowledged Lucerys Velaryon’s death as an accident—a scar of his inability to control his dragon—but Viseara Targaryen’s death was something else entirely. It had stripped him of the last anchor tethering his mind.

He had razed everything to ashes with Vhagar’s fire like a madman, annihilating House Strong—men, women, and children alike. He had even taken Alys Rivers, a bastard of House Strong, as his lover, deluding himself into seeing his aunt in her whenever they lay together. Alys had eventually borne his child.

While fleeing from Daemon’s relentless pursuit, Alys revealed a series of visions—prophecies of Aegon the Conqueror, the future downfall of House Targaryen, leaving only one heir two centuries later in an era without dragons, and Aemond’s own death.

His life as a kinslayer came to an end above the God’s Eye, just as the witch of Harrenhal had foretold. Aemond faced the rogue prince, who unseated himself from Caraxes’ saddle to personally deliver the killing blow with Dark Sister, seizing the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond carried at his side.

“For every life you’ve taken, one-eyed bastard!”

Aemond offered no response as his eyepatch was ripped away and the blade plunged through his skull. Both dragons and their riders plummeted into the lake, dyeing the waters crimson with blood. Embracing death, Aemond accepted his defeat. His final thought was a desperate wish to undo the past before everything had spiraled into ruin.

When he next opened his eye, he found himself with a bandage across his forehead and his body feverish, as though consumed by twin fires. A delicate hand rested on his brow.

“Go fetch the maester to examine him,” said a sweet, familiar voice—his aunt’s voice. Aemond tried to move, only to discover his hands were far too small to grasp hers.

He had returned to his childhood.

Perhaps the Old Gods or the Seven had taken pity on him, granting him a second chance as a boy. This time, Aemond resolved to stay close to his aunt and find a way to pull her from the war.

He burned with rage when Ser Criston struck her for speaking truths he couldn't bear to hear, and again when brutes at a brothel scarred her lovely face. But he was too young to act. Many events unfolded as they had before, yet something about Viserys troubled him.

She knew too much. She was aware that he had bonded with Vhagar at the age of ten. She orchestrated Aegon’s marriage to Elia Celtigar instead of Helaena. She even saved his nephew at Storm’s End, though it cost her her life in the process.

Piece by piece, he began to realize the truth: Viseara, like him, had been sent back in time to correct the wrongs of the past.

Aemond felt selfish for focusing solely on saving his aunt while she worked tirelessly to protect their entire family. This time, he vowed to repay her sacrifices by joining Rhaenyra’s cause and securing her throne.

He woke up at dawn, his face damp with sweat. The lively chatter from the beach caught his ears—the voices of his nephew and older cousins training with swords. The tall figure rose to shower in the bathing chamber and dressed in the proper black-and-red attire of House Targaryen, not the green-and-gold.

He made his way to the dining table, where only his half-sister's family sat. Given the circumstances and recent loss of their general, Visera, it was undeniably uncomfortable.

Daemon was absent, but the Black Queen spoke in her usual calm tone, as if reading his thoughts. “Daemon is preoccupied in the dungeons. He’ll join us soon.”

They now knew why that knight had been screaming.

Through his good eye, he noticed Maeria walking in with a beaming smile on her face. She was clad in dragonriding gear, which he had just realized.

“I’ve bonded with Silverwing, Your Grace,” she declared. “I’ve flown her around Dragonstone. She stands ready to support you in this war.”

So this time, His aunt persuaded her children to bond with dragons instead of those two bastards, Aemond thought, continuing his meal. Moments later, the rogue prince himself entered the room.

“Ser Criston Cole confessed,” Daemon announced as he took the seat beside the Black Queen. “Lady Elia has been imprisoned separately from her children, but she’s still alive. That leech of an old man must have some plan for my niece.”

“I should head to Harrenhal to rally forces from the Riverlands if we’re to win this war on land,” Daemon continued.

“Dragons alone should suffice, shouldn’t they, Uncle?” Aemond interjected. “We have enough of them.”

“Yes, but they have Scorpion bolts, not to mention the Triarchy and that old green leech who will stop at nothing to win this war,” Daemon countered.

“And what will you do about the man who killed my mother?” Aenys spoke up, his face dark with anger. Despite being named after the weak King AAenys I, this cousin of Aemond had a temperament more akin to Daemon’s. “I want justice for my mother.”

“You’ll have it, but after you’ve all finished eating. And the women should probably avoid seeing this,” Daemon remarked. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

At first, Aemond didn’t understand what was happening. However, as he and the Black Queen's male kin approached the dragon pit, he saw a battered and unrecognizable figure being dragged there. Daemon stepped forward and crouched beside the disheveled form of Ser Criston Cole, the once-proud Lord Commander of the Kings guard.

“Don’t expect a quick death, Ser Criston,” Daemon sneered. “You’ll die in agony, and don’t bother pleading for mercy from her children. They have none for the man who killed their mother.”

Cole’s bloodied eyes looked pleadingly at Aemond, as if hoping for some shred of compassion from the prince he had once trained. All he received, however, was a cold, disdainful gaze.

Aemond leaned down, his voice low and cutting. “Ser Criston Cole… answer me this. The night my father died; did you lay with my mother?”

When Cole refused to answer, Aemond realized the truth. The night before, he had been sent back in time to the evening of Jaehaerys's murder. Ser Criston had not been guarding Helaena and her children; instead, he had been in bed with Aemond's mother. This left them vulnerable to the bloody events that ensued.

“You are an oathbreaker and a knight without honor, Ser Criston Cole,” Aemond declared, his voice icy. “No songs will speak of you with pride. History will forget you.”

“I did nothing wrong by killing that whore of the Red Keep. She was leading you astray,” Cole spat back.

Aemond’s fist collided with his face. “She was pregnant! You killed my child!”

The prince raised his fist again, but Jacaerys held him back, dragging him away as Cole shouted after him.

“Kill me, Aemond! Do it!”

“You deserved a painful death, Ser Criston Cole,” Aemond muttered in High Valyrian as Jace and Luke hauled him away.

Daemon, meanwhile, drew his blade, Dark Sister, and stepped closer to Cole.

“Go on, cut off my head like you would an enemy’s,” Cole taunted.

Daemon smirked and shook his head. "That would be too merciful. The hatchling dragons are quite hungry these days. Before the keepers bring them their food, they might just turn on one another."

With a swift motion, Daemon sliced through both of Criston’s ankles, severing his tendons. The knight screamed in agony as he collapsed to the ground.

The rogue prince grabbed the collar of the fallen knight’s tunic and dragged him to the hatchling pen. As he walked away, the sounds of Criston’s cries turned into blood-curdling screams as the young dragons pounced, clawing, biting, and burning him alive.

Maeria watched from above, her expression cold. Daemon tried to pull his niece away, shielding her from the gruesome scene.

“You shouldn’t see this, little one,” he said.

“I just wanted to make sure he suffered as you promised me and Aenys,” Maeria replied, her violet-blue eyes fixed on the bloody chaos below. Satisfied, she turned away. “I’m pleased now. I’ll return to training my dragon.”

Daemon nodded but clenched his fists, punching the stone wall in frustration as memories of his twin sister haunted him. He had lost her—the only person who could help him remember his mother’s face. And now, he had lost that too.

Viseara gasped for air as she opened her eyes, as if she had been deprived of breath for a moment. Her heterochromatic eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. The last memory she had before succumbing (temporarily?) was being struck down by Criston Cole. She wasn’t sure if Aemond had a hand in it, but for now, she needed to focus on where she had awoken.

Dressed in a white gown adorned with unfamiliar patterns, Viseara noted the strange atmosphere of the room—it was unlike anything she had known. This wasn’t Storm’s End anymore. Barefoot, she stepped onto the cold floor and moved toward the balcony. As she looked out, she realized she was in the ruins of Old Valyria.

(If this had been the reign of Jaehaerys, her head would have likely already been removed.)

Her mismatched eyes searched for her dragon, and soon she spotted it slumbering peacefully. Nyx stirred upon sensing its rider awake and rose into the sky, soaring to meet her at the balcony. The grey-and-blue dragon gently nudged her cheek with its snout, causing Viseara to laugh softly. She stroked its head affectionately before turning abruptly as she noticed someone standing behind her.

"You may be confused, but some things happen for a reason," the stranger began.

"How did I come back from the dead?" she demanded.

"The God of Light returned your soul," the priest replied calmly. "And your child remains safe. You need not worry."

Tears of relief streamed down Viseara's face as her hands instinctively rested on her abdomen. She whispered repeated apologies to her unborn child for nearly costing them both their lives.

"You should rest for a few days before journeying to Harrenhal," the priest advised.

"Harrenhal?" Viseara frowned at the suggestion. She had no desire to linger while war raged on. "I must return to Dragonstone—"

"There are answers you seek that can be found there," the priest interrupted. "I will arrange a temporary room for you to rest."

Reluctantly, she nodded and followed the stranger to her assigned quarters. The atmosphere of the ancient Valyrian ruins felt heavy and unfamiliar, completely different from any place she had ever stayed. Despite her exhaustion, she found it difficult to sleep, her mind troubled by the pained expression on Aemond's face.

Eventually, her body gave in, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber, aware that she needed her strength for the journey to Harrenhal. If she hoped to seize the stronghold before the Greens—or even her own brother—she would need to rally the Riverlands' forces.

A few days later, Viseara mounted Nyx, her black-and-blue dragon, and prepared to leave. She expressed her gratitude to the priest before taking to the skies, steering her dragon toward Harrenhal with determination to arrive ahead of the Greens.

Upon reaching Harrenhal, she found no signs of the Greens' forces. She directed Nyx to land in front of the dilapidated fortress, where soldiers scrambled to report her arrival to Ser Simon Strong. As she slid down from her dragon’s back, Viseara used its wings as a makeshift staircase, descending gracefully to the ground.

"Ser Simon Strong," she called out. "Summon the lords of the Riverlands here. I need their help—no, I need their armies." Her voice hardened. "And make sure the Greens know: the bitch had returned."

TBC.

[srim01997]

Second Change| Aemond T. X OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, the reunite

Writer’s note: Yes, she was in place instead of Daemon because she is a more reasonable person than Daemon. And Alys? She is just interested in the rouge princess. Alys came to ensure that Aemond clearly expressed his feelings to Viseara. She almost managed to steal Viseara from him. hehehe

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

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Chapter 14 She’s mine.

Viseara glanced around Harrenhal, the once mighty castle—before her ancestor burned it to ash. The rogue princess noted the scorch marks left by Balerion's flames, imagining how hot the fire must have been to melt the castle as if it were wax.

"If I were him, I'd likely be obsessed with you too, considering your beauty, which many praise as unmatched and knightly," a sweet yet mysterious voice spoke, startling her. "Ah… my apologies, Princess. Did I frighten you?"

A pale-skinned woman with jet-black hair addressed the rogue princess. Viseara, with her mismatched eyes, shook her head. "I was just lost in thought, nothing more." She scrutinized the stranger, suspicious of her mysterious demeanor, wondering if she might be a spy for the Greens. Her hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of her sword, but the woman waved her hand dismissively.

"Relax. I won’t harm you or the child you carry," the woman said kindly. "You should rest for now. You may not have the chance to meet with the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands just yet. Be patient for a few days; they will surely hear you out."

Before Viseara could reply, the woman disappeared into the shadows of the castle like a ghost, leaving the princess to wonder if the curse of Harrenhal was playing tricks on her mind.

The castle servants had prepared the best room for her (one with the fewest leaks). Exhausted, the rogue princess succumbed to sleep, her dreams pulling her into another world.

That night, she dreamt of someone walking through a dragon pit. Clad in a dark cloak, the figure strode past her. At first, she thought it might be Daemon or Aemond, but when the person turned, she saw features that blended hers and Aemond’s in perfect harmony.

The figure moved its lips as if to say something: "Avy jorrāelan, muñnykeā (I love you, mother)."

Viseara woke with a start as sunlight streamed through the cracks in the ceiling. Just then, the castle's Lord arrived to announce the visit of Lord Oscar Tully, who had recently succeeded his late grandfather.

Dressed in a black-and-red Targaryen gown adorned with the sigil of the dragon and the crab of House Celtigar—her late husband’s house—Viseara descended to meet the young lord. He reminded her of her grandson Lucerys, and she couldn't help but think they might have been friends had fate allowed it.

"Princess—"

"Relax, Lord Oscar. Formalities aren’t necessary," she interrupted. "My condolences on the passing of your grandfather. I imagine it must be overwhelming to assume leadership during wartime."

"Shall we walk as we talk?"

The young lord nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Viseara remained silent, carefully choosing her words to persuade him to rally the Riverlands in support of Rhaenyra, the rightful queen.

"I do seek an army, but I despise the bloodshed of war, which stems from the greed of a few," she said. "I only wish to protect the rights of my niece, who was promised the throne decades ago. Lords swore oaths before King Viserys, recognizing his daughter as the heir. Now, some of those same lords have broken their vows. I simply want my brother to rest in peace."

"I will speak to them. I promise you will have their support," Lord Oscar replied earnestly.

"And House Bracken? I hear they side with the Greens," Viseara inquired calmly. "Just gather those loyal to the Queen; that will suffice."

The young lord nodded and departed with his men. Alone, Viseara turned to her dragon and murmured,

"Sagon patient, uēpa hāedar. Aderī, īlon jāhor rhaenagon īlva lentor arlī." (Be patient, old girl. Soon, we will meet our family again.)

Before the other Riverlords arrived, Viseara chose to confront the leader of House Bracken. She knew where the Blackwoods were, the Brackens would never be far—despite their deep-seated enmity.

The rogue princess arrived on her dragon, her presence causing a stir among the Bracken retainers. Rumors of her death had been dismissed the moment she descended from the sky atop her beast.

“I won’t force you to join the Queen, but deliver this message to Otto Hightower and his pitiful tower army: he has until tomorrow to remove Aegon from the Iron Throne and release his wife and children from captivity. If he fails, he’ll have to beg the Queen for mercy himself.”

Her dragon roared as if to emphasize her words before taking a flight back to Harrenhal. There, the Riverlords and Ladies had gathered beneath the Heart Tree.

Standing before them, Viseara addressed the crowd. “I know it’s shocking to see me here, alive, despite the rumors of my death. Consider it one of the Greens' lies to demoralize their enemies. I am here, very much alive.”

“I won’t force your hand, but I ask you to remember the vows made to King Viserys, recognizing his rightful heir. Think of the peace and future of your children.”

With that, Viseara stepped back, her nerves fraying as she waited for their decision.

Turning to Simon Strong, she said, “Send a raven to Dragonstone with this exact message…”

The Lord of Harrenhal raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit extreme, Princess?”

“Not at all. Besides, my twin brother has done worse.”

Daemon and Aemond arrived at Harrenhal shortly after receiving a raven from Ser Simon Strong, announcing that the Riverlands were prepared to support the Black Queen and that Nyx now had a rider. It was surprising to see the rogue prince and his nephew—who had never even spoken to each other—arrive together.

As the rogue prince strode into the hall, he suddenly halted at the sight of a tall, regal figure engaged in discussions with the lords of the Riverlands. He rubbed his eyes, as if to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating or cursed by the haunted castle.

Viseara turned to the tall figure and remarked, “If this were a trap, you’d be dead for real—hey, hey!” She nearly stumbled as the man in front of her lunged to embrace her, resting his chin atop her head. “C-could you loosen your grip? I’m... pregnant.”

Daemon’s large hand rested on her stomach as he said, “Don’t grow up to be like your father, little one.” His lilac eyes glanced behind him, allowing the rogue princess to spot the one-eyed prince standing frozen at the entrance, stunned as if seeing a ghost but unwilling to move further under the watchful eyes of the lords.

Aemond walked away, leaving Viseara feeling confused. Daemon gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “So, what’s the plan, little sister? As for that one-eyed brat, let him take some time to process things.” The rogue prince then headed toward the table, but Viseara decided to follow him. She paused beneath the Heart Tree, searching for his figure.

“Looking for the young prince, Your Highness?”

Viseara turned to find Alys standing there, tilting her head as she addressed her.

“I was going to explain myself, but… he walked away,” Viseara said, her hand instinctively resting on her sword’s hilt. “He’s probably irritated with me for some reason.”

“Or he’s unsure how to react, knowing he witnessed your death,” Alys said, stroking the owl perched on her arm. Her icy blue eyes met Viseara’s. “You did come back from the dead, didn’t you? And he was there to see you die.”

As Aemond walked past, Alys reached out to play with Viseara’s silvery hair. “You’re a widow, aren’t you, Princess?”

Viseara frowned. “Yes, why does it matter?”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I did this.” Alys leaned in close, her actions resembling a kiss, which visibly angered the one-eyed prince. Aemond stormed toward them, his face a mask of irritation and disapproval.

Aemond’s gaze bore into Alys as he demanded, “What do you think you’re doing? She’s a Targaryen princess. You, a commoner, have no right to be this close to her.”

“We were merely conversing as women do,” Alys replied innocently, her demeanor further aggravating the prince. “I wouldn’t dare harm the mother of your child, Prince Aemond. And… I understand why you were so obsessed with her back then.”

Alys turned back to Viseara, smiling. “Shall we talk again soon, Princess? Like the other day?” With that, she departed.

Viseara swallowed hard and turned to face her nephew—the father of her unborn child. Aemond stepped closer, placing a firm hand on her stomach. His lone lilac eye fixed on her as he began to speak, only for her to interrupt.

“The child is fine, yes. And you’re probably confused about how I returned. I’ll explain later; it’s a complicated story.” The rogue princess felt his arms encircle her as he buried his face into her shoulder, sobbing softly. She comforted him, murmuring, “The child and I are safe; you don’t need to worry—wait, Ser Criston Cole?”

“He’s dead… a painful death. Your brother took care of it himself.”

“Typical cruel brother of mine. I should’ve been the one to drive a sword through him,” Viseara muttered, leaning her forehead against his. Her slender hand clasped his calloused one tightly. “Can you at least tell me how he died?”

“I don’t want our child to have nightmares,” Aemond replied.

Viseara nodded in understanding but soon found herself lifted off the ground by her nephew. He kissed her deeply, uncaring of who might see. It was a declaration to all that this woman belonged to him.

“Where’s your room?”

When she pointed it out, he carried her there, kicking the door shut behind them. Aemond laid her on the bed, climbing over her as his hands slid under her garments, planting kisses on her belly while whispering to the unborn child.

“Cover your ears, little one, for I’m about to make your mother scream.”

“Aemond!!”

The castle’s inhabitants, living and otherwise, could hear the bed creaking well into the afternoon, thanks to the one-eyed prince’s antics. Daemon, while discussing strategy with Simon, could only shake his head.

“How starved are you, nephew? Couldn’t you wait until we were back at Dragonstone?” The rogue prince muttered, recalling the tales of his own parents’ wedding night.

TBC.

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight Angst, Character Death, Blood and Violence, Criston Cole being shit, Temporary Character Death

Writer’s note: I know everyone waiting for this and four chapter left ;)

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

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Chapter 13 Tell that bastard that the b*tch is back.

Aemond had once longed to visit Dragonstone, enchanted by the stories Viseara had told him since childhood. Tales of the ancestral castle of House Targaryen—the place where their forebears fled the Doom of Valyria guided by the visions of DaAenys the Dreamer. The site where Aegon the Conqueror laid his plans to unite the Seven Kingdoms.

It was a small mercy that the one-eyed prince was assigned a room far better than Ser Criston Cole, who languished in the dungeons beneath Dragonstone. Cole's agonized cries echoed faintly through the stone walls. Aemond's chamber, while improved, remained sparse. It featured a narrow window that allowed in just enough light, but was too small for a man of his size to escape through—a sign that the Black Council still did not fully trust him, even after he had delivered the culprit responsible for Viseara’s death.

No matter how hard he tried to sleep, images of the rogue princess's demise haunted his dreams. He ground his teeth, his remaining eye burning as tears slipped unbidden down his cheek—he was crying.

Aemond could not fathom what divine punishment he was enduring, nor why he was tormented so thoroughly by these events, as if the gods themselves sought to brand his actions into his soul. He acknowledged Lucerys Velaryon’s death as an accident—a scar of his inability to control his dragon—but Viseara Targaryen’s death was something else entirely. It had stripped him of the last anchor tethering his mind.

He had razed everything to ashes with Vhagar’s fire like a madman, annihilating House Strong—men, women, and children alike. He had even taken Alys Rivers, a bastard of House Strong, as his lover, deluding himself into seeing his aunt in her whenever they lay together. Alys had eventually borne his child.

While fleeing from Daemon’s relentless pursuit, Alys revealed a series of visions—prophecies of Aegon the Conqueror, the future downfall of House Targaryen, leaving only one heir two centuries later in an era without dragons, and Aemond’s own death.

His life as a kinslayer came to an end above the God’s Eye, just as the witch of Harrenhal had foretold. Aemond faced the rogue prince, who unseated himself from Caraxes’ saddle to personally deliver the killing blow with Dark Sister, seizing the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond carried at his side.

“For every life you’ve taken, one-eyed bastard!”

Aemond offered no response as his eyepatch was ripped away and the blade plunged through his skull. Both dragons and their riders plummeted into the lake, dyeing the waters crimson with blood. Embracing death, Aemond accepted his defeat. His final thought was a desperate wish to undo the past before everything had spiraled into ruin.

When he next opened his eye, he found himself with a bandage across his forehead and his body feverish, as though consumed by twin fires. A delicate hand rested on his brow.

“Go fetch the maester to examine him,” said a sweet, familiar voice—his aunt’s voice. Aemond tried to move, only to discover his hands were far too small to grasp hers.

He had returned to his childhood.

Perhaps the Old Gods or the Seven had taken pity on him, granting him a second chance as a boy. This time, Aemond resolved to stay close to his aunt and find a way to pull her from the war.

He burned with rage when Ser Criston struck her for speaking truths he couldn't bear to hear, and again when brutes at a brothel scarred her lovely face. But he was too young to act. Many events unfolded as they had before, yet something about Viserys troubled him.

She knew too much. She was aware that he had bonded with Vhagar at the age of ten. She orchestrated Aegon’s marriage to Elia Celtigar instead of Helaena. She even saved his nephew at Storm’s End, though it cost her her life in the process.

Piece by piece, he began to realize the truth: Viseara, like him, had been sent back in time to correct the wrongs of the past.

Aemond felt selfish for focusing solely on saving his aunt while she worked tirelessly to protect their entire family. This time, he vowed to repay her sacrifices by joining Rhaenyra’s cause and securing her throne.

He woke up at dawn, his face damp with sweat. The lively chatter from the beach caught his ears—the voices of his nephew and older cousins training with swords. The tall figure rose to shower in the bathing chamber and dressed in the proper black-and-red attire of House Targaryen, not the green-and-gold.

He made his way to the dining table, where only his half-sister's family sat. Given the circumstances and recent loss of their general, Visera, it was undeniably uncomfortable.

Daemon was absent, but the Black Queen spoke in her usual calm tone, as if reading his thoughts. “Daemon is preoccupied in the dungeons. He’ll join us soon.”

They now knew why that knight had been screaming.

Through his good eye, he noticed Maeria walking in with a beaming smile on her face. She was clad in dragonriding gear, which he had just realized.

“I’ve bonded with Silverwing, Your Grace,” she declared. “I’ve flown her around Dragonstone. She stands ready to support you in this war.”

So this time, His aunt persuaded her children to bond with dragons instead of those two bastards, Aemond thought, continuing his meal. Moments later, the rogue prince himself entered the room.

“Ser Criston Cole confessed,” Daemon announced as he took the seat beside the Black Queen. “Lady Elia has been imprisoned separately from her children, but she’s still alive. That leech of an old man must have some plan for my niece.”

“I should head to Harrenhal to rally forces from the Riverlands if we’re to win this war on land,” Daemon continued.

“Dragons alone should suffice, shouldn’t they, Uncle?” Aemond interjected. “We have enough of them.”

“Yes, but they have Scorpion bolts, not to mention the Triarchy and that old green leech who will stop at nothing to win this war,” Daemon countered.

“And what will you do about the man who killed my mother?” Aenys spoke up, his face dark with anger. Despite being named after the weak King AAenys I, this cousin of Aemond had a temperament more akin to Daemon’s. “I want justice for my mother.”

“You’ll have it, but after you’ve all finished eating. And the women should probably avoid seeing this,” Daemon remarked. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

At first, Aemond didn’t understand what was happening. However, as he and the Black Queen's male kin approached the dragon pit, he saw a battered and unrecognizable figure being dragged there. Daemon stepped forward and crouched beside the disheveled form of Ser Criston Cole, the once-proud Lord Commander of the Kings guard.

“Don’t expect a quick death, Ser Criston,” Daemon sneered. “You’ll die in agony, and don’t bother pleading for mercy from her children. They have none for the man who killed their mother.”

Cole’s bloodied eyes looked pleadingly at Aemond, as if hoping for some shred of compassion from the prince he had once trained. All he received, however, was a cold, disdainful gaze.

Aemond leaned down, his voice low and cutting. “Ser Criston Cole… answer me this. The night my father died; did you lay with my mother?”

When Cole refused to answer, Aemond realized the truth. The night before, he had been sent back in time to the evening of Jaehaerys's murder. Ser Criston had not been guarding Helaena and her children; instead, he had been in bed with Aemond's mother. This left them vulnerable to the bloody events that ensued.

“You are an oathbreaker and a knight without honor, Ser Criston Cole,” Aemond declared, his voice icy. “No songs will speak of you with pride. History will forget you.”

“I did nothing wrong by killing that whore of the Red Keep. She was leading you astray,” Cole spat back.

Aemond’s fist collided with his face. “She was pregnant! You killed my child!”

The prince raised his fist again, but Jacaerys held him back, dragging him away as Cole shouted after him.

“Kill me, Aemond! Do it!”

“You deserved a painful death, Ser Criston Cole,” Aemond muttered in High Valyrian as Jace and Luke hauled him away.

Daemon, meanwhile, drew his blade, Dark Sister, and stepped closer to Cole.

“Go on, cut off my head like you would an enemy’s,” Cole taunted.

Daemon smirked and shook his head. "That would be too merciful. The hatchling dragons are quite hungry these days. Before the keepers bring them their food, they might just turn on one another."

With a swift motion, Daemon sliced through both of Criston’s ankles, severing his tendons. The knight screamed in agony as he collapsed to the ground.

The rogue prince grabbed the collar of the fallen knight’s tunic and dragged him to the hatchling pen. As he walked away, the sounds of Criston’s cries turned into blood-curdling screams as the young dragons pounced, clawing, biting, and burning him alive.

Maeria watched from above, her expression cold. Daemon tried to pull his niece away, shielding her from the gruesome scene.

“You shouldn’t see this, little one,” he said.

“I just wanted to make sure he suffered as you promised me and Aenys,” Maeria replied, her violet-blue eyes fixed on the bloody chaos below. Satisfied, she turned away. “I’m pleased now. I’ll return to training my dragon.”

Daemon nodded but clenched his fists, punching the stone wall in frustration as memories of his twin sister haunted him. He had lost her—the only person who could help him remember his mother’s face. And now, he had lost that too.

Viseara gasped for air as she opened her eyes, as if she had been deprived of breath for a moment. Her heterochromatic eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. The last memory she had before succumbing (temporarily?) was being struck down by Criston Cole. She wasn’t sure if Aemond had a hand in it, but for now, she needed to focus on where she had awoken.

Dressed in a white gown adorned with unfamiliar patterns, Viseara noted the strange atmosphere of the room—it was unlike anything she had known. This wasn’t Storm’s End anymore. Barefoot, she stepped onto the cold floor and moved toward the balcony. As she looked out, she realized she was in the ruins of Old Valyria.

(If this had been the reign of Jaehaerys, her head would have likely already been removed.)

Her mismatched eyes searched for her dragon, and soon she spotted it slumbering peacefully. Nyx stirred upon sensing its rider awake and rose into the sky, soaring to meet her at the balcony. The grey-and-blue dragon gently nudged her cheek with its snout, causing Viseara to laugh softly. She stroked its head affectionately before turning abruptly as she noticed someone standing behind her.

"You may be confused, but some things happen for a reason," the stranger began.

"How did I come back from the dead?" she demanded.

"The God of Light returned your soul," the priest replied calmly. "And your child remains safe. You need not worry."

Tears of relief streamed down Viseara's face as her hands instinctively rested on her abdomen. She whispered repeated apologies to her unborn child for nearly costing them both their lives.

"You should rest for a few days before journeying to Harrenhal," the priest advised.

"Harrenhal?" Viseara frowned at the suggestion. She had no desire to linger while war raged on. "I must return to Dragonstone—"

"There are answers you seek that can be found there," the priest interrupted. "I will arrange a temporary room for you to rest."

Reluctantly, she nodded and followed the stranger to her assigned quarters. The atmosphere of the ancient Valyrian ruins felt heavy and unfamiliar, completely different from any place she had ever stayed. Despite her exhaustion, she found it difficult to sleep, her mind troubled by the pained expression on Aemond's face.

Eventually, her body gave in, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber, aware that she needed her strength for the journey to Harrenhal. If she hoped to seize the stronghold before the Greens—or even her own brother—she would need to rally the Riverlands' forces.

A few days later, Viseara mounted Nyx, her black-and-blue dragon, and prepared to leave. She expressed her gratitude to the priest before taking to the skies, steering her dragon toward Harrenhal with determination to arrive ahead of the Greens.

Upon reaching Harrenhal, she found no signs of the Greens' forces. She directed Nyx to land in front of the dilapidated fortress, where soldiers scrambled to report her arrival to Ser Simon Strong. As she slid down from her dragon’s back, Viseara used its wings as a makeshift staircase, descending gracefully to the ground.

"Ser Simon Strong," she called out. "Summon the lords of the Riverlands here. I need their help—no, I need their armies." Her voice hardened. "And make sure the Greens know: the bitch had returned."

TBC.

[srim01997]

Writer's note(?)

Sometimes, I wondered why some ao3 people are always rude with writer or bookmark with rude comments like this

I knew that some of my work that have many error and error grammar and many plot hole.

if you don't like it just click 'X' button or click back button and find a story that click you. I know my English are terrible but I have to remind you that I DIDN'T USE ENGLISH AS MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, READER!!! I USED AS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

//add meme that I found

And please don't bookmark with rude comment cause if you had public bookmark, they can read your comment, and if you don't like a story, just click 'X' button or close it or back to main. page but don't be rude to the writers

[srim01997]

I just think the first rule of AO3 should be "don't be a dick to authors"