Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and GOT.
AN-1: A bit later than normal, because I was waiting for my editors to go over this chapter, but they have been busy due to IRL things. Therefore, I reached out to the esteemed HPfanfictioner66, and he did some wonderful edits on this chapter.
Thanks and a shoutout to HPFanfictioner66 for helping me out!
AN-2: I have a P*T*R*N, where you can read the NEXT FOUR CHAPTERS in advance right now by signing up!
Same for Subscribe* too!
The links are on my profile!
AN-3: I have a discord server, where you can chat with me and several hundred readers there about this fic and any other of mine if you read them!
Link on the profile!
Blinking my eyes open, I looked around in the dream I had found myself in as I sat up, for there was no way that I would wake in a desert—or, I was dead and currently in the afterlife.
"You are not dead, Little Daeron," a strong voice said from behind me. "And don't panic, time doesn't pass inside this realm. Your body is still unconscious on Bear Island."
I jumped to my feet and turned around swiftly, the retort that I wasn't little on the tips of my tongue, but that thought was soon forgotten as I beheld the sight behind me. Clad in a black and gold armour, a silver-haired man stood before me, a crown of dark grey steel and rubies on his head. My ancestor, or at least a relative of mine on my father's side looked at me calmly, the purple-violet eyes appearing to glow with an inner fire. With a start, I realized how much resemblance he held with Visenya—the sharp, angular cheekbones, the colour of their hair and even the shape of their nose were identical to the last detail.
"Who are you?" I asked warily, knowing that other than my uncle Viserys, there was no other male Targaryen alive right now, and there was no way in hell that my psychotic and crazy Uncle would look even remotely like the man in front of me—if he was still the same little shit he had been int he shows and books both. "And can I leave this place, wherever this is? My sister is in danger!"
"Don't worry about her for now. As I said, time loses its meaning in this realm, or at least it slows down considerably. As for my identity? I am the Targaryen you were named after," he inclined his head, and my jaw dropped as I made the connection. "Daeron Targaryen, the Young Dragon and the Conqueror of Dorne."
Before I could even begin to make the heads and tails of the situation, Daeron turned around and began to walk wavy, beckoning me to follow him. When I came beside him and matched my steps with his, he gave me a glance and sighed.
"Daeron…gods this is weird," he muttered, before he sighed once again and continued, "You are not dead Little Dragon. And we don't have much time, because I am not the only one who wants to speak to you now, so listen closely."
I nodded slowly, struck dumb by the meeting with one of my idols, as well as the information that I was apparently going to meet more of the dead today.
"Good," he nodded, "I won't tell you what the others are going to say later on, and therefore I have just one thing to say to you. I conquered Dorne without Dragons, succeeded where even the Three failed, but yet I died. Learn from my mistakes Little Dragon, don't ever trust anyone's word of honour except for those of your own flesh and blood. With the roar of your dragons, the illusion of peace in Westeros has shattered completely, and from now on, even a single misplaced word could mean Visenya's and your death. Control that temper, and yet don't let the coldness within you take over. Find the balance between them Daeron, for if you are incapable of doing so, then you better kill yourself as soon as you wake up."
Finishing with that morbid declaration and advice, Daeron walked away, slowly disappearing from my vision, like he was nothing but an illusion. But even if it was so, I couldn't help but ask him one thing.
"Why do you call me the Little Dragon?"
He stopped walking at that, and his face turned just enough so that he could see out of the corner of his eye. A chuckle came from his throat, and he picked the crown off his head before he threw it back at me.
"Because until you defeat and bend all of the seven kingdoms under your might, under your leadership, that is what you will be."
Like a spectre in the wind, Daeron's armoured form faded away from my view.
Almost immediately, the sands around me shifted, the dunes roiling and crashing against each other, as if they were waves in a sea. However, before I could even scream at the abnormal and sudden change, I felt myself get buried under so much sand that not even a single thing was visible in front of me. I tried to take a breath, but instead of air, I filled my lungs with hot sand, the heated sediment burning me from inside as well as outside. After what seemed like the entirety of Dorne was shoved in my chest, the pressure and the heat around me disappeared, and I felt a cool wind blow across my face.
"Welcome to Dragonstone, Little Dragon."
This time, the smooth voice came from just above me, and I raised my head towards the source, only to flinch back in surprise. It was a Targaryen this time too, but despite the handsome looks and solid build, he had none of the tranquilness within his eyes that Daeron had possessed. But even that was neglected in the favour of the blood dripping from his Valyrian steel blade, and the head impaled at the tip of it. Completing the macabre picture, were several heads and severed limbs all around us, all of them burnt and roasted with blood dripping from them.
"You are Maegor, Son Aegon and Visenya!" I realised, looking at the Targaryen King in equal parts awe and trepidation.
"I am," he nodded, "Do you know whose heads these are?"
"The Faith?" I guessed, spotting the crimson robes and the Seven-Point star on their faces.
"Corre-Fucking Cunt!" Maegor suddenly swore midway, his gaze snapping to something behind me. Curious at what had caused the relatively calm-looking man to curse, I turned around, and my jaw dropped once again. An armoured figure was standing a few feet away from me, the First Men features as clear as day on him. Much like the man behind me, the newcomer was also standing in a slaughter, only instead of fire, his enemies seemed to have died by cold and ice. Spikes and blocks of ice were piercing and crushing the bodies, splattering the grass all around him with red. A greatsword was in his hands, one I had always seen hanging in the solar of my Uncle.
"Theon Stark," I murmured, before I looked between two infamous ancestors of mine. "I am guessing you are going to tell me about the Faith and all that?"
"Yes," the Stark King nodded as he slammed Ice into the ground tip first, the whitish-blue blade sinking into the earth as if a hot knife through butter. "But first, Maegor wants to talk to you about something."
"I can speak for myself, you frozen cur!"
"Then do so before the Long Night comes again,"
A low growl coming out from his lips, Maegor gave one final glare to the Stark before he turned his eyes back to me. This time, I felt myself freeze up for the man suddenly seemed to change. Before, I had been standing in front of Maegor Targaryen, my ancestor…now? Now, I was standing in front of Maegor the Cruel, the one who was painted as a monster by everyone from the Wall to the Summer Isles.
"Out of every man who has ever sat upon the throne my mother created, I am the only one who ever manifested the magic of our homeland," Maegor said, his voice unwavering and proud as his hand lit up in blood-red flames. They licked and whipped around at his fingers, and I could imagine how they must have devoured the dozens of butchered people around us.
Extinguishing the red fire with a flick of his wrist, he continued, "You and your sister are the first ones to do so after me. Daeron has already cautioned you against the imbalance your elements will create in your psyche and soul. There's a reason we were called mad and dangerous, and why some of us actually went mad in different ways. While no one after me was capable of manifesting the flames inside us physically, it has always been a part of our very souls." Maegor paused for a moment, his eyes flickering down to his previously alight hand before he looked at me and continued, "and Fire, by its very nature, is destructive. It is a hungry beast Daeron. It is an insatiable and uncompromising force of annihilation. It feeds on your emotions, and the more it feeds, the more it wants. It will devour every single bit of darkness and anger inside you and in return, will only increase them in your mind."
"That is why they went mad," I murmured, remembering the several instances of Targaryens going mad with emotions. "The fire feeds on our heart and blackens us from the inside, but since no one was ever able to manifest the flames after you, no one actually thought of controlling one's emotions. They didn't even realise why they were turning insane or obsessive one after the other, and never realised that a lot of mental control was necessary for Targaryens to not go insane from the overloading of emotions. "
"Correct," Maegor nodded, a small smile coming over his face, which looked really odd considering his reputation and the fact that he was covered in blood. "Now that frozen king also has something to say to you, so I will just say one last thing to you. Make sure that it is you who ends that Usurper's life, and that of Tywin Lannister too—and in their final moments, they should know that it was a Targaryen who killed them."
Not even giving me a chance to respond to that frankly absurd expectation, Maegor gave me another grin, his eyes glowing with crimson fire before he faded away into the wind just like Daemon had.
I didn't even really have the words for the shit that was happening. I was meeting long-dead ancestors, receiving advice on my bloodline abilities, and then quests to kill the king and the boogeyman of Westeros.
"You will have enough time to think about how to proceed after you wake up," Theon said, breaking me from my thoughts as he walked in front of me. "You are the first child to ever be born from the Starks and the Targaryens. And while many in the North will say that your paternal family was nothing but a jumped-up group of sheepherders who went insane with power…I acknowledge the fact that their blood is powerful. The last time First men blood mingled with Valyrians, Bloodraven was born, and his warging abilities are magnitudes more powerful than anything ever seen before him. While the Old Gods certainly favoured that man and supported his abilities, his Valyrian blood increased his magical power by leaps and bounds."
"And are you going to warn me of the dangers of the Ice Elemental powers the Stark Blood gave us?"
"Partly," he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at me with his grey eyes. "Winter has been our ally ever since the first Stark, Brandon made a pact with…well, that is not important at the moment," he shook his head and stared at me seriously, "Take heed of your powers young wolf, because as mad and emotional the fire of Valyria will make you, the cold of the North will do the opposite. It will deaden your emotions, remove everything from inside you until you are nought but an unfeeling facsimile of what you are."
"Daeron said the same thing" I frowned, remembering the words my namesake had spoken to me, before I looked at the Hungry Wolf, "And does the overdose of our Ice magic make one like you?"
"He meant that in relation to your heart, Daeron," Theon responded, shaking his head as he turned around and looked at the waves lapping at the shore, ignoring my question—though, I felt I had received my answer when I first saw him. "Your heart and magic are closely related, yet different. Both can influence one another, and thus you have to find a balance between them. Even if you are angry beyond measure, and the fire within your blood is raring to burn everything…you are to temper it with the sharpness and the calmness of the Wolf. At the same time, if you are feeling utterly apathetic regarding a situation, but if circumstances demand that you show a smile on your face, then you should be able to do that."
With that, the legendary Stark King started to walk away, slowly disappearing away into nothingness. However, at the last moment, I realised something, "Aren't you going to give me a deadly, impossibly hard quest?"
He paused for a moment, and a truly insane cackle left his lips as he turned around, frost forming over his armour and his eyes glowing a haunting shade of cyan as the Hungry Wolf stood before me.
"Destroy the Faith, purge the Andal culture, and make it so that from the highest nobles to the lowest of bastards, no one ever prays to the Seven-Who-are-One ever again."
And then a blizzard of apocalyptic scale blasted out of him, my vision turning white instantly as the moisture in the air froze and turned into razor-sharp icicles instantly. Up ahead, the looming black castle blurred as the storm obscured my view of it, and I felt the ice pierce into me. Pain flared all over my body as it dug into me, the jagged nature of the crystals making it even more agonising. But then, as suddenly as the howling, freezing wind had enveloped me, it was gone, and I was back in a desert.
I rotated in my pace, my eyes taking in the sparse baobabs, the thorny cacti, the sparse vegetation, and the lone towe…tower? Dazed and overcome with memories long buried inside my mind, I slowly started to walk toward the structure. The wounds that were caused by the blizzard were gone, I noticed as the heat around me finally registered with me. Shoes sinking into the sand, I reached the sandstone steps that were stained with something in multiple places. A moment later, I recognised those stains for what they were. Blood from the three Kingsgaurd and the five Northmen who had died here.
Gazing around at every spot of dried blood, I could suddenly reimagine the fight that must have happened here. Six vengeful Northmen against half as many Kingsguard with two of them far past their fighting days, and yet, it was Howland Reed's cowardly but smart action that prevented them from losing completely.
For a moment, I couldn't help but wonder what our lives would have been like had my Uncle and Arthur traded just words instead of drawing steel. Maybe we would have fled to Essos with our mother and the Knights, plotting our revenge for years or decades even? Maybe we would have just left the continent to its fate?
"Daeron…" a whisper came from above me, and my eyes snapped towards the open window, catching a hint of dark-brown curls before the girl ran back in. My heart almost came out my throat as I remembered the same voice once again, lovingly naming me and my sister even as she was bleeding to death.
I didn't even realize I had climbed up the winding steps until I reached the door, my chest heaving with breaths as I stood at the entrance. Trembling and shaking all over, I raised my hand to the door, excited, apprehensive and fearful at the same time as my fingers pressed against the surface. But, my choice to open the door or not was taken out of my hands when the door opened on its own, and a dusky-skinned, slim woman was revealed behind it.
Bemused as I was in her presence, it still didn't stop me from raking my eyes over her quite revealing dress and beautiful form beneath it. Thick, black tresses fell down till her mid-back in curls, and her hazel eyes glimmered in the dim light. Her brown dress went from her neck to her ankles, and yet, it showed off every single curve and enticing expanse of her clearly southern skin. The gown—if it could be called that—dipped quite far down her chest, revealing almost half of her breasts, and a slit ran up along her left leg, reaching as far up as to her thigh.
"Ahem," she coughed, and I blushed at being caught.
Shaking my head to dispel the thoughts that had suddenly invaded it, I took a deep breath. "Sorry, it wa-" I started to apologise, but the unknown woman simply laughed and waved me off.
"No, no. It's not a problem, I am used to it."
Still giggling at my actions, she turned around and walked deeper into the room, clearly expecting me to follow her, which I did. Even as my eyes dropped down towards her rather spectacular ass, I couldn't help but rack my brain for any notable female ancestor who was from Dorne—if I was reading her origins right by the skin tone and the…dress.
"If you stare any harder, the dress won't disappear, Daeron" she giggled, throwing me a wink over her shoulder before she entered the room I had been born in.
Fuck me, she was Dornish alright.
Blushing bright red despite the apprehension burning me from within, I slowly walked inside after her…and froze right at the entrance of the room. There, dressed in the same clothes as she had worn at my birth, dark brown hair falling down to her chest in waves…stood Lyanna Targaryen. Numbly walking towards her, I took in the tears running down her cheeks, and the wide smile on her face as she looked at me, Barely even realising it, I ran the last few feet between us and then positively crushed her against myself as I wrapped my arms around her.
Tears immediately sprang up in my eyes as the warmth and love of her hug surrounded me, and for the first time since I could remember after my infanthood…I cried. My whole body shook against her from the force of my sobs, and even though she was a head shorter than me—with what looked like half the body mass of mine, I noted—she remained still like a rock. Her hand slowly caressed the back of my neck and hair as I wetted her dress with my tears, little gasps and short breaths coming out of me as I tried my damndest to burn this moment into my soul.
"Oh my little star," she—my mother!—whispered, her fingers moving through my hair as she patted my back, hugging me even more tightly. "My little Daeron, you have grown so much. You are so handsome, just like your father."
I laughed at that, feeling warmth fill every inch of my body as I relished in her praise. In that moment, I was so vulnerable and childlike, and yet, I felt as if I could conquer the whole world.
"You will break his ribs Lyanna" a deep yet soft voice suddenly laughed, and I turned around to scream at the man who had dared to interrupt me and my mother. A verbal lashing the likes of which Dacey and Alyssane both would be proud was on the tip of my tongue, but the words came out as nothing but a choked gasp as I saw him.
An arm wrapped around the other woman in the room, and clad in a white shirt with black pants, the unknown man was even taller than me. His body was lean, yet muscular much like mine own build, and silver-gold hair just like Visenya's streamed down to his neck in straight locks. His face was thin and angular, but not unhealthily so, and his eyes shined a vibrant violet. A soft smile spread across his face as my jaw dropped open yet again, the woman on his arm giggling a little as she winked at me.
"Hello Daeron" he greeted me, his right hand raising in a little wave at me. "It is wonderful to finally meet you, son, even though I quite regret the means by which it happened."
While the tasks in the chapter are 99.99 percent impossible, I have never said that the SI will accomplish all of them…so don't go shouting about edgy, impossible things being done to make the MC look cool.
As I said in the last Phantom update, I never type without thinking of the consequences on the whole story.