Prologue: Land of Nowhere

20200***

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"Won't **** be **********? **** ****..."

"*** still have *** ***** to ******* **** ****? Go *** **** *****."

"****..."

—

"Hmm." Oh man, this felt awful. Just woke up, my throat was burning.

I tried to take a deep breath but started to cough halfway through. I bent forward and squeezed out, "Water... please..."

I heard some grumbling, but soon a cup was in my hand.

I didn't get some sort of serious sickness, did I? I jokingly thought, and drank the liquid mum gave me. "Thanks, m—"

...That's not my mum.

A girl with stunning violet eyes was rolling her eyes, dislike apparent on her face. But that's not the point.

The point was she looked like a bloody Targaryen. You know, people that certainly don't exist in real life.

That meant... where the hell was I?!

I bounced up from my seat— because I wasn't on my bed as I initially thought— and looked around.

I was in some kind of fancy dining hall, the kind that I had only seen in movies. Food that clearly looked medieval, people dressing like servants, etc.

"Self... Insert...?" I mused.

No, that's unrealistic. It's more likely that someone staged this all up and moved me here. The only world that existed was my own. There's no way I—

"What's the problem, Alicent?" The Targ-looking man sitting at the head of the table asked.

Ali...cent?

Oh, God.

This was bullshit—

I grabbed the shiny plate in front of me and poured away all the food on it.

The face reflected was unfamiliar and clearly western.

"Ahhhh! Nooooo!" My scream could be heard in the whole castle.

—

So, there're three possibilities.

1) Someone very rich and very crazy set this up: They put me through surgery and hired many people for this.

2) I was Self-inserted into Westeros.

3) Dream, the lamest answer, and the one I was hoping for.

If it's only a dream, I could do whatever I wanted. But...

If someone set this up, there's nothing I could do but to play along until they're satisfied with me. However, if it's not some kind of sick joke, then I'd need to settle into my role so I wouldn't be sent to the Westeros equivalent of a madhouse, whatever that was.

I sighed. Why was I SIed into Alicent Hightower of all people?

By the way, after that outburst I was checked by the Maester-whose-name-I-did-not-get, I was given some meds and forcefully locked into what I presumed was Alicent's room.

He said my "mild mental unstableness" was likely caused by the recent birth of Prince Aemond.

Aemond One-Eye.

I buried my head into my hands. Whhhyyy? Why Westeros? Why the Dance era? Why now?

Why me?

Sure, I might have thought about writing a SI. But a bunch of people had done so too. None of the SIs I tried to write had ever seen the light...

Well, unlike some of those lucky-unlucky SIs, I didn't have any of Alicent's memories. If I had I could be sure this was really a SI situation, but no.

I... still felt that this wasn't SI. I felt comfortable— no, that'd be a wrong word, but I didn't feel that this wasn't my own body. Even if we're the same gender and around the same age, wouldn't it still feel weird to be someone else?

...I supposed most SIs wouldn't bother to describe that. But still.

The door creaked open. I looked and saw the two people who were presented at the breakfast table.

Viserys and Rhaenyra. Someone kill me now.

The little girl was pouting, obviously unwilling to ask about the well-being of her stepmother. Viserys was pulling her into the room...

Alright. Time to act.

"Aww," I smiled at them, "Are you here to see me? Don't worry, I'm completely fine now."

They froze. What? Did I say something wrong?

"Alicent," Viserys said gravely, "You're... you're not acting like yourself... you don't need to pretend if you're not feeling it."

Okay, maybe it's a bad idea to pretend to be the woman who I basically knew nothing about.

"Umm, yeah, I still feel awful," I lowered my head and mumbled, "If you don't mind, I'll like more time to rest."

"Yes, take some rest," He nudged the girl's shoulders, "Rhaenyra."

The girl that I actually hoped not to be Rhaenyra Targaryen stepped forward and said flatly, "Get well soon, Alicent."

"...Thanks." Like, man, what else could I say?

Just to make the effort to be friendly, I extended a hand to pat her head, which she avoided swiftly. Sigh.

"Satisfied" with our interaction, Viserys took Rhaenyra's hand again. "I'll get Aegon here later." He told me.

Hearing her brother's name seemed to be enough to make Rhaenyra frown. For me, though...

It reminded me that I wasn't only married to a man much older, I was also a mother of three (plus one).

"Yeah, he'll... miss me," I replied, my mind racing. How old Aegon was?

Aemond was born recently... so he must still be a baby, right? What's the age difference between Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond? I didn't remember. I wasn't very familiar with the Dance era...

Thankfully they didn't notice me slightly panicking and left me alone. I took a deep breath as soon as they left the room.

I didn't know how much time I had. But I needed to come up with a strategy... and fast.

Because from now on, it's me against this world.

—

The thing was that, I didn't like the Dance.

If I was asked for a period to insert in, I'd probably pick pre-Blackfyre Rebellion. I really liked some of the great bastards.

Dance, meanwhile, was a period where unlikable people fought each other. With dragons, even!

Did I mention that I didn't like dragons?

...Dragon. Actually, you know...

IF, if there're really dragons. Then it'd have to be the real Westeros...

What if I just went and found a dragon now?

And they didn't exactly have a reason to refuse me, right? I was their queen.

I leaped off and attempted to find the dragon pit. Outside of the door, there's a man in white— a kingsguard.

Perfect. The man blinked, surprised to see me walked out of the room. "Your grace? You're not supposed to—"

"Take me to the dragon pit." I ordered. It felt so good to order someone around!

"..." He continued to blink, once, twice. "Yes, your grace."

Thanks to this guy being the typical brainless bodyguard that kingsguards were, I arrived at the dragon pit very soon.

Unfortunately, someone was already here. Rhaenyra had her hands on her hips when she saw me, "What are you of all people doing here?!"

What a "good" timing. "Aren't you here to ride Syrax?" That's the name of her dragon, right? The only thing I was certain of was that it's a fat dragon.

"...Yes." She crossed her hands, "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Just want to see a dragon with my own eyes."

"Huh? You're saying like you haven't seen a dragon?"

"I... I mean, I'd love to see you fly in the sky."

"...That makes no sense." She mumbled.

"Go ahead, don't mind me." I waved.

She stared at me for a while, then gave up and moved.

Not long later, I saw what I was seeking.

Dragon.

It's... completely different from what I had imagined before.

Those imaginary beasts were supposed to be a picture of strength and grace. But what I saw was a twisted thing, with uneven limbs and sick-looking skin that seemed to be melting down every second.

But it's undoubtedly real and moving. It's no CGI effects, no puppets.

I was... in Westeros.

...No, if someone had the money to create a Westeros like environment, perhaps they had the technology to create fake dragons too?

Once Rhaenyra and her dragon landed, I approached them.

"What are you doing?" She screamed when she saw me, "Get away from Syrax!"

"I just want to know..." As if in a fever dream, I raised a hand towards the dragon.

Just when my fingers were about to touch it—

It opened its mouth and bit down my right arm.