Chapter 1: Awakening in a Foreign Land
The night was calm on Dragonstone, the air heavy with the salt of the Narrow Sea. Aegon Targaryen, first of his name, lay in his chambers in the ancient fortress, dreams of conquest drifting through his mind. The once-prince had long desired to take the ultimate prize - to unite the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros under his family's rule.
His sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, slept in their respective quarters, their dragons resting on the rocky cliffs outside. Balerion the Dread, Vhagar, and Meraxes - the mighty beasts seemed to slumber, but their glowing orange eyes periodically snapped open, the glow of their fiery breath casting eerie shadows across the craggy faces of the mountain.
Unbeknownst to the last scions of Old Valyria on this night, the fabric of reality was about to tear asunder in a manner not seen since the Doom that laid their ancestral homeland low.
As Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys and the handful of retainers still loyal to their cause slept, a strange energy enveloped not just the islands of Dragonstone, but Driftmark and Claw Isle as well. A shimmering nimbus of light that seemed to pulse with ancient power.
The dragons stirred, Meraxes letting out a roar that shook the very foundations of Dragonstone itself. Balerion answered with a deafening bellow of his own. But even their mighty, earth-shaking cries couldn't wake their riders. The light grew ever brighter, enveloping the islands and everything within them until it was as blinding as the heart of a star going supernova.
When at last the blinding glare faded, the three dragons settled once more - but they could sense an unfamiliar landscape around them, one utterly alien to anything found in the Narrow Sea or the wider known world.
Aegon awoke sometime later to the blinding sun streaming through his window, an unusual warmth on his face. He sat up abruptly, his warrior's instincts immediately on high alert. The familiar walls of his chambers within the Dragonmont were unchanged, but something felt...different.
"Gods," he muttered, throwing off his coverlet and quickly dressing in the colors of his House - a burgundy velvet doublet with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned on the breast in black and red. He made his way swiftly to the balcony, his hand falling to the hilt of Blackfyre in its longsword sheath as he stepped into the bright morning light.
Visenya and Rhaenys were already there, standing on the balcony with expressions mirroring Aegon's own confusion. Their dragons milled about restlessly on the cliffs below and in the waters offshore.
"Sisters," Aegon said by way of greeting, his violet eyes narrowing as he took in the unfamiliar view beyond the Narrow Sea. Rhaenys looked to him worriedly, stroking Meraxes' scaled neck to soothe the anxious dragon.
"Aegon - where are we? This is not the view I'm used to seeing on our island mounts."
He shook his head slowly. "No, sweet sister. This is not the Narrow Sea."
Beyond the swirling waters, unfamiliar islands dotted the horizon, their shapes unlike anything seen in the body of water off Westeros' eastern coast. The sun seemed overlarge in the cloudless sky, hanging higher than it ever did over Dragonstone at this hour.
Visenya had her longsword Dark Sister in her hand, the slender blade gleaming cruelly in the sunlight as she gripped it with typical fervor. "We need to find out what foul sorcery has happened here and whether there is any immediate danger nearby," she growled.
"First, we must contact our vassals on Driftmark and Claw Isle," Aegon decided after a moment, resting his hands on the railing as Balerion let out a rumbling bellow below. "They need to be made aware of this situation at once, and together we must determine our next course. Caution is paramount until we know what land we find ourselves in."
Within the hour, Aegon had summoned the handful of household knights, men-at-arms, and loyal servants to attend him. They crowded into the sizable but austere audience chamber on the floor below the royal quarters, all wondering at the grave expressions of their lord and his sisters.
"My sworn swords," Aegon began in his customary commanding baritone. "Some foul act of sorcery has transpired here on Dragonstone overnight. Look beyond our walls - you'll see that we gaze now not upon the familiar waters of the Narrow Sea, but some strange new land."
The small crowd murmured in shock and dismay at that, even as Aegon pressed on. "Our fair sisters have felt it as well - that we have been...displaced. Ripped from our rightful place and deposited somewhere utterly alien."
He paused, raking those assembled with his piercing gaze. "But we are not alone in this. Driftmark and Claw Isle have been moved alongside us to wherever this strange new world is. Our houses must band together to face this crisis."
One elderly knight, his face crisscrossed with faded scars, spoke up then. "But my lord...Dragonstone was our last bastion in Westeros. What of our plans to sail forth and conquer the Seven Kingdoms? Our holdings in the Blackwater are all we have left."
Aegon's expression was as hard as Balerion's scales. "Our plans may have to change, ser. But know this: So long as I yet live and breathe, our family will one day rule as the rightful monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms. No matter what strange lands these are, we Targaryens were born to conquer. That cannot be undone by the powers of any malign sorcery."
His sisters stiffened with prideful vindication at that rousing declaration, and the knights and soldiers in the audience chamber cheered raggedly at Aegon's bold promise. But the sounds were drowned out by Balerion's deafening roar suddenly echoing throughout the chamber, making the great iron-studded doors tremble on their hinges.
As that thunderous bellow faded away, Visenya turned and issued orders. "Send the swiftest ravens to Driftmark and Claw Isle at once. Our loyal vassals there must know of this foul relocation immediately. And have preparations made to greet any other human presence that comes to our shores, be they friend or foe."
"As my lady commands," a young squire replied, bowing hurriedly before scurrying off to the rookery. At a nod from Aegon, the rest of the assembled servants and men quickly dispersed to make ready for whatever might come next.
As they awaited responses from their bannermen, the Targaryens and their guards explored the grounds of Dragonstone and the surrounding shores. The waters and terrain seemed subtly altered somehow, the scents of flowering plants and spices they did not recognize heavy on the humid breezes. Strange new constellations adorned the night sky that no Westerosi star mapper had ever seen, and each dawn revealed a sun far brighter and heavier in the heavens than the crimson wanderer of Westeros' diurnal cycle.
The massive forms of the three dragons constantly circled the islands, occasionally letting out bone-chilling roars of warning should any ship or outsider encroachment approach too closely.
Several days passed as the Targaryens awaited word back from their vassals on Driftmark and Claw Isle. True to Visenya's command, swiftest ravens had been dispatched with missives urgently summoning their loyal bannermen to convene on Dragonstone in light of their mysterious relocation.
On the fifth morning, a sentry called out that sails were spotted on the distant horizon. Aegon, his sisters, and their household knights quickly assembled in the ancient fortress' great hall, awaiting the arrival of those who had answered their plea.
The first ship to dock flew the shifting seahorse sigil of House Velaryon on sable and gold banners snapping in the ocean breeze. Leading the delegation from Driftmark was Ser Daemon Velaryon, heir to the Lord of the Tides, surrounded by a retinue of knights and sailors. The young lord strode into the hall, removing his cap of black leather and sealskin as he bowed low before Aegon and his sisters on the raised dais.
"Lord Aegon, Lady Visenya, Lady Rhaenys," he began in his deep voice. "When your ravens arrived on Driftmark some nights past, we could scarcely believe the words inked upon those scrolls. Our fair island too had been pulled whole from the Narrow Sea and deposited here in some distant, alien land. The stars were all askew, the sun too heavy in the sky."
Rhaenys nodded, her silver-blond locks shimmering in the light of the Dragonmont's mountain-carved windows. "We felt it here on Dragonstone as well, good Daemon. A forceful sorcery beyond any magic we could fathom."
"Our scouts and sailors have examined the coastlines and waters as best they can these past few days," Aegon said, his deep voice resonant. "From what we have been able to ascertain...the islands of Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isle all remain intact and relatively unchanged."
He swept one hand outward in a gesture of confused consternation. "But the seas around us are not the Narrow Sea, nor any part of the Known World's waters. We appear to have been moved to someplace far across the vast western ocean from our homes in the Seven Kingdoms."
Visenya spoke up then, her chin proudly aloft. "Our maps of the world cannot help guide us to this place or its surroundings. The sun hangs heavier and more golden than the wanderer of our Westerosi skies. The stars at night form different constellations unknown to our ancestors' wisdom. And most recently, sailors have spotted distant lands due south that seem to match no charted shores or islands."
As if on cue, the heavy tread of boots announced the arrival of a second delegation into the hall. A dozen men bearing the crags and blazing sun of House Celtigar's heraldry strode in, led by Lord Crispian Celtigar himself. The aging mariner lord was lean and sun-bronzed, his face creased from decades sailing the Narrow Sea's choppiest waters. He dropped to one knee before the Targaryens, his men arraying themselves behind him.
"Lord Aegon," Edwell rasped in his salt-sprayed voice. "Lady Visenya, Lady Rhaenys. We came as swiftly as our oars could bring us once your call reached Claw Isle. By all the gods of sea and shore...your words proved most unsettling."
He rose then, turning to regard the gathered Velaryons with an appraising look. "Our island too has been ripped from its place, it would seem. I have sailed these waters all my days, since I was a babe at my mother's breast. But these shores, this endless blue...I recognize nothing."
Aegon nodded grimly. "You are not alone in that, my lord. We have been...displaced. To where, we cannot yet name."
"Our navigators have examined the stars and currents," Visenya said, her tone stern. "They believe we now find ourselves in some unknown sea, east of Dorne but still far across the great western ocean from our homes."
Mutters of shock and disbelief filtered through the assembled lords and knights at those words. To be displaced so far from Westeros was almost unthinkable. Lord Celtigar blinked slowly, running a wizened hand over his craggy features as he processed this information.
"An unknown sea you say..." He turned back to the Targaryens once more. "We will need to scout further to get our bearings in full. I have old maps in my study on Claw Isle that go back to the days of Old Valyria's sea voyages. They may provide some context to these new surroundings."
Aegon gave the barest of nods. "Good. We will make use of whatever lore and knowledge can be mustered. But first, we should convene a proper war council. With our strengths combined here on Dragonstone, we can decide how best to unravel this mystery and plan our next moves accordingly."
As the Velaryons, Celtigars and other household knights withdrew to begin gathering for the impending council, the three dragon riders remained behind. Visenya turned to her siblings, her violet eyes glinting with a combination of worry and determination.
"We have been torn from our homes, this much is certain. And deposited in some part of the world so distant and unknown, it may as well be an alien realm entirely..."
Visenya's words hung heavy in the air of the great hall as the three Targaryen dragonriders stood in contemplative silence for a long moment. Rhaenys was the first to shake off the sense of disquiet.
"Whether we find ourselves in a wholly new world or just an uncharted corner of the one we knew, our path forward remains the same," she said, raising her chin defiantly. "We cannot be deterred from our destiny to rule and unite the Seven Kingdoms under our family's dragon banners."
Aegon nodded slowly in agreement. "You speak truth, sweet sister. Though our situation has taken an...unanticipated turn, our ambitions and the righteousness of our cause are unchanged." His violet eyes glinted with determination. "If these are new lands entirely, untamed and ripe for conquest, then so be it. We shall make them ours and establish a new empire worthy of our legacy."
"Well said," Visenya intoned, her hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister's hilt. "We are born of old Valyrian blood - a race of peerless dragonlords who built the greatest empire this world has ever known. If this is some new realm awaiting our subjugation, I shall relish the opportunity to reestablish our family's supremacy."
The sounds of activity could be heard throughout the ancient fortress as serving staff and men-at-arms prepared for the imminent council between the Targaryens and their loyal vassals. Visenya turned towards the tall windows, gazing out at the unfamiliar sun sinking towards the western horizon.
"Soon we shall have more answers about where true destiny has carried us," she stated, her tone brooking no argument. "And once we have taken full accounting, we can properly plan the conquest of these new lands. Our dragons have bathed entire cities in wildfire before; they shall do so again if any primitive peoples here dare resist us."
Rhaenys and Aegon exchanged a look, both recognizing the fires of implacable ambition burning behind their sister-wife's eyes. Aegon gave a curt nod of assent.
"Let us away then, and convene this war council. Whatever strange shores have unexpectedly played host to us, they shall soon bear witness to the might of the last Valyrian dragonlords."
Gathering their retinues, the three siblings made their way through the citadel's halls towards the council chambers. As they walked, the rumbling growls and thunderous wing-beats of their mighty dragons echoed from outside - Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes could be heard circling high overhead, untamed powerhouses of destruction awaiting the commands of their bonded riders.
When the Targaryens and their Velaryon and Celtigar bannermen were finally assembled around the Painted Table, Aegon stood tall and let his gaze sweep across those gathered. He was clad in his customary colors - a long doublet of sable and burgundy featuring the three-headed dragon sigil of his House. When he spoke, his voice resonated with the unmistakable authority of a king addressing his subjects.
"Lords and knights loyal to our dynasty, we face a situation unparalleled in the histories and tales of the Known World. By some exceptional sorcery or magical calamity, we have been rent from the very fabric of the homes and lands we once knew. Our islands remain, holding fast by the Seven's grace and mercy. But the seas and shores around us belong to no maps or charts our ancestors were heir to."
He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to settle over the assembly before continuing. "Make no mistake - though we have been obscured to strange new environs, our quest to claim the Iron Throne and unite the Seven Kingdoms under the Targaryen dragon must go unabated. Should we find ourselves adrift in entirely new and unexplored lands, then we shall turn our conquered gaze anew..."
Aegon's hand came down atop the Painted Table with an authoritative thump. "We are the last heirs of noble Valyrian blood. The greatest empire in the long history of the known world fell to the Doom, leaving our family's ancient dynasty as the living embodiment of that supreme legacy. If this is to be the crucible from which we must reforge our ancestral dominion, then so be it. These dragons shall light a new path to empire..."
His words hung laden in the air, and for a long moment, the only sounds to be heard were the restless snarls and belches of dragonfire from the beasts circling beyond the castle walls. Finally, Lord Celtigar slowly rose and gave a grizzled nod of agreement.
"Well said, my lord dragon. If these are strange new shores and seas to be mastered, my House and swords stand ready to clear the path for your family's conquest. My ships and men are yours to command."
The triremes of the Greek merchant ships slowly made their approach towards the strange new islands that had impossibly materialized in the southern Mediterranean. The sailors squinted against the bright sunlight glinting off the azure waters, trying to make sense of what lay ahead.
"By the gods..." one of the merchants muttered in amazement as the rocky crags and cliffs of Dragonstone came into sharper view. "That is no natural formation. Those are walls and towers of some unknown making!"
Indeed, the ancient fortress of Dragonstone seemed to have been carved directly from the very mountain itself, its bulwarks and defenses blending seamlessly into the craggy terrain. As the ships drew closer, the rowers faltered in their rhythm, crying out in shock and fear as massive, winged shapes took to the sky from the island's heights.
"Titans!" came a terrified shout from the deck. "The ancient titans have awoken and taken roost among us once more!"
The great dragons circled and banked in the air currents, their scales glittering like polished obsidian in the sun's radiant rays. Meraxes and Vhagar were formidable in their own rights, their wingspans wider than the triremes were long. But it was Balerion, the ancient Black Dread, who caused the Greek sailors' faces to pale in primal horror.
One particularly superstitious merchant fell to his knees on the deck, eyes wide with awestruck panic as the most massive dragon's form blotted out the sun like a daytime eclipse. His mouth worked in stunned silence for a moment before he found his voice.
"Typhon..." the man gasped, dropping his gaze in a warding gesture. "The youngest and most fearsome offspring of Gaea herself - the dreaded Father of All Monsters! His children were sent to lay waste to the world at the command of the wrathful Hades!"
Several other merchants exchanged worried looks at their companion's outburst. One older, grizzled trader scoffed and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
"Bah! That's nothing but the superstitious ramblings of a fool," he chided, though his own expression remained unsettled as Balerion's thunderous roars echoed across the waves. "Those are no spawn of the Underworld or the Lord of the Dead - they are merely...beasts. Terrible, aye - but beasts born of this world same as any other."
A younger merchant peered intently at the circling dragons, his brow furrowed in thought. "Beasts or not, I'll wager they guard that island citadel jealously. We'd be wise not to test their ire or the martial skills of whoever calls that fortress their domain."
"For once your caution serves you well," the grizzled elder grunted, turning his back on the unsettling sight. With a few harsh, barked orders, the triremes continued their approach, albeit with more caution and reverence.
The great dragons circled high over Dragonstone, their razor-sharp eyes ever vigilant for any potential threats across the unfamiliar waters. When Balerion's haunting bellow of warning shattered the stillness, every soul on the island felt a primal spike of fear and anticipation.
Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys were swift to assemble on the ancient fortress' battlements, scanning the horizon to discern what had roused the ire of their gigantic, scaled children. It wasn't long before the look-outs called out, pointing to a trio of strange ships cutting across the waves - their like unseen in any sea near Westeros.
"Armies or envoys from these new lands?" Visenya asked, her hand resting on Dark Sister's hilt. "Or merely opportunistic raiders seeking to plunder our islands for their riches?"
"We'll soon have answers to those questions," Aegon stated, watching as Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes descended to hover protectively over the citadel. "But first, we must bring those ships here before us to ascertain their intentions directly."
With a few curt orders, the Targaryen soldiers assembled a pair of longboats, raising the dragon-prowed titans' sails to make swift pursuit of the retreating ships. As they drew closer, it was clear the vessels belonged to no armies - their paltry crews appeared to be simple merchants or sailors. But their wide-eyed looks of primal terror as the Dread Reigned reigned down from above spoke volumes.
Using a mix of shouted demands and metaphorical saber-rattling from the shadow of Balerion bellowing overhead, the longboat crews were able to force the stubborn merchants to alter course. They fell in behind the Targaryen ships, tacking towards the imposing edifice of Dragonstone with trepidation writ plainly across their sun-bronzed features.
As the strange ships were brought into the harbor and their crews ushered onto the shores under dragonwing and armed guard, Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys descended from the citadel's heights to greet them. They cut imposing, fearsome figures - the fabled "dragon riders" clad in black and burgundy leathers, blades hanging ready at their sides.
The collection of sun-bronzed sailors and merchants dropped to one knee, several crossing themselves in warding gestures as the immense forms of Meraxes and Vhagar visibly surrounded their masters. One particularly brave - or foolish - soul raised his voice in a shaky greeting in a language utterly unknown to the Targaryens' ears.
Aegon raised a calming hand, turning to regard his siblings. "It would seem they hail from one of these new lands beyond our knowledge and translations," he murmured. Raising his other hand, the Black Dread swooped in lower, letting out a ground-shaking roar that immediately cowed the merchants into quailing silence.
"Your attempted flight just now tells us you understand the potential for destruction here," Visenya said, her tone stern but carrying a regal authority. "We wish to parley and seek context for where we find ourselves. Not slaughter those who can provide answers. For now."
The same merchant summoned what bravery he could yet muster and responded in a string of unknown words, gesturing out towards the ships and then to the islands around them. His intentions seemed clear - he was trying to communicate their status as harmless traders happening upon unforeseen circumstances.
Rhaenys beckoned the man closer, reaching out with a calming hand. "Come, be at peace. We cannot yet grasp your words but wish you no ill harm if you mean no violence against our islands. We simply seek to understand what new lands these are, and what peoples lay claim to them..."
Her words had the intended effect, lulling the merchant and his men back from the brink of abject panic into a wary compliance. With the translations of those from the Westerosi ships providing imperfect context, the uneasy parley between the Valyrian conquerors and the simple sailors from a distant world took on an air of progress.
As Aegon appraised the foreign merchants with a measuring look, he knew they would soon have portals into the wider world beyond their shores - for good or ill. The Targaryen presence had just rippled outward once more, like a stone dropping into the stillest of ponds. The waves of that impact would be yet to be determined.
Author's Note
I've finally put the time aside to write this story, a concept I've been wanting to explore for a long time. The idea of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, along with their vassals, being transported to the Mediterranean during the reign of Xerxes and his invasion of Greece, has been intriguing to me for a while. I'm excited to share this with you and look forward to seeing everyone's reactions and thoughts on this alternate history crossover. Your feedback and comments mean a lot to me, so please let me know what you think.