King's Landing, The Red Keep - 127 AC
Ever since I was born, I've been plagued with nightmares. My mother used to tell me that when I was a babe, I would not stop crying. The nights were long, filled with the echo of my wails. As I grew older, I learned to bite my lips, to keep myself from waking up screaming, to swallow the terror that clawed at my throat.
The court thinks I'm a simple girl, not right in the head. Pretty enough, but not like my older sister, the Realm's Delight. I know what they say about me, what my own mother and father think of me. They see only my Valyrian features, my silver hair, and my dragon, Dreamfyre. But they don't see me. They don't see what I see.
In my dreams, I see the future, a future drenched in blood and sorrow. I see myself married to Aegon, my own brother, a man who turns into a monster. His affairs, his drinking, they consume him, and I am left in the shadows, a forgotten wife. Aemond, my sweet brother, becomes an attack dog for Aegon, his loyalty twisted into something dark and cruel. He bears the stigma of kinslayer, a burden that weighs heavily on his soul.
I see my children, my sweet, innocent children, suffering fates too horrible to bear. Jaehaerys, his throat slit, his lifeblood staining the ground. Maelor, my baby, ripped apart limb by limb by the smallfolk, their anger and hatred tearing him to pieces. And Jaehaera, forced to marry her cousin, and later, in her despair, jumping to her own death just as I had seen in my dreams.
These visions haunt me, a constant, unending nightmare that I cannot escape. They are a curse, this ability to see the future. A curse that no one else understands. They think I am mad, touched in the head. But I am not. I see clearly, too clearly. The future is a tapestry of horrors, each thread woven with pain and suffering.
As I stand in my mother's chambers, listening to her speak of Aegon's return, my mind drifts. Her words blend into the background, a distant murmur as my thoughts turn inward. I see Aegon, his face twisted with arrogance and cruelty. I see the court, the vultures circling, waiting for their chance to strike.
I feel a shiver run down my spine, the cold fingers of fear wrapping around my heart. The future is coming, and I am powerless to stop it. I glance at Aemond, his face set in a determined line. He doesn't understand, not fully. He thinks he can fight it, that he can protect us. But the future is a storm, and we are but leaves in the wind.
The dragon dreams are horrible. They come every night, relentless and vivid, painting scenes of fire and blood across my mind. I instinctively know that I am meant to stop them, that these dreams are not mere nightmares but warnings, like those given to Daenys the Dreamer to save our house. But how can I, when I can barely keep myself lucid?
Most of the time, it isn't just the visions that trap me in my own mind. It's the exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness that weighs me down. I rarely sleep, and when I do, it's fitful and haunted by the horrible future. A future I seem powerless to change, because my words are riddles to my family, ignored and dismissed.
I want to scream, to rip my hair out in frustration. Why can't they understand? If we don't stop this, dragons will dance, and there won't be enough firepower when the cold ones come from beyond the Wall. I can barely keep myself sane from the onslaught of terrible dreams that plague me.
In my dreams, I see Aemond leading a brutal genocide in the Riverlands, his once kind eyes turned cold and unfeeling. I see the Ironborn launching a devastating attack on Lannisport, the city burning under their assault. Tessarion, the beautiful Blue Queen, reducing a city to ashes during the Sack of Bitterbridge. So many atrocities, so much pain and death.
And in the end, no one truly wins. House Targaryen loses as a whole, and Westeros's end is cemented. In the future I see, there will be no dragons to stop the Long Night. No fire to drive back the cold. Just darkness and death, swallowing everything.
I want to warn my family, to make them understand, but my words are jumbled, fragmented. They come out as riddles, twisted and obscure. They don't see, they don't understand. And I can't make them. But even in my despair, there is a flicker of hope. It's small, fragile, but it's there. I hold on to it, clutching it tightly, because it's all I have.
The dreams show me horrors, but they also show me a path. A way to change things, to avert disaster. If only I can make them see. If only I can find the strength to keep fighting, to keep pushing through the exhaustion and the fear.
I have to try. For my family, for all of Westeros. I have to find a way to turn the tide, to stop the dance of dragons before it begins. To ensure that there will be dragons to fight the Long Night.
My mother's voice pulls me back to the present, her tone sharp and commanding. She speaks of Aegon and Cassandra, their return, their son, Orys Baratheon, Second of his Name. The words are heavy with implications, but my mind is already drifting again, slipping into the dreamlike state that has become my both my prison and my refuge.
In my dreams, I see the Red Keep burning, the flames licking at the stone walls, turning everything to ash. I see my family torn apart, brother against brother, blood spilling on the cold, hard ground. I see myself, standing at the edge of the abyss, the weight of my visions pressing down on me, crushing me.
I want to scream, to shout, to warn them all of what is coming. But my voice is trapped, silenced by the weight of my knowledge. I am alone in this, alone with my nightmares. I look at my mother, her face a mask of determination, her eyes hard and unyielding. She doesn't see me, not really. She sees what she wants to see, a dutiful daughter, a pawn in her game.
I feel a surge of anger, a fierce, burning rage that I rarely allow myself to feel. I am more than what they think I am, more than a simple girl, more than a pawn. As I teetered on the edge of despair, ready to give up and accept the horrors I saw in my dreams as inevitable, the Gods sent me a gift. They sent me Lucerys.
Lucerys was not the nephew I was meant to have in the original timeline. No, in this timeline, Lucerys was a girl, and she was the reincarnation of the Āeksio ondos pōjoris, the Princess that was Promised. Her presence changed everything.
From the moment she arrived, Lucerys became my beacon of hope. Together, we began to unravel the plots that threatened House Targaryen. My dreams, once a curse, became a tool, and Lucerys's warg abilities complemented them perfectly. We moved like shadows through the court, eliminating threats one by one.
Larys Strong, with his conniving mind, fell first. Gwayne Hightower, my manipulative uncle, was next. Jasper Wylde, whose loyalty was always in question, soon followed. Each of them toppled like pieces on a cyvasse board, thanks to the combined power of my dreams and Lucerys's abilities.
As we leave my mother's chambers, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The future is a storm, and I am but a leaf in the wind. But even a leaf can cause ripples in the water, can change the course of the storm. I will find a way to protect my family, to change the future.
I have to.
The visions will not control me. I will control them. I will find a way to turn the tide, to protect those I love. The future is not set in stone. It is a tapestry, and I am one of the weavers. I will find a way to change it, to save us all.
The dance of dragons that I had once foreseen no longer haunted my dreams. War would come, as it always does with humans, but with dragons by our side, House Targaryen would prevail. We would not dance to our deaths; we would rise like flames in the dark, unyielding and fierce.
Daeron was no longer at Old Town being brainwashed by House Hightower. Aegon, away from the vipers' nest that was King's Landing, began to see the world with clearer eyes. And I was betrothed to a boy who truly saw my worth. Jacaerys did not dismiss my warnings like everyone else, he listened and valued my counsel. I could see the future where my words were no longer ignored but were considered invaluable to Jacaerys's rule. I will become the future king's most trusted advisor.
And Aemond. My sweet, fierce Aemond. He would not become a kinslayer. The visions of him, eyes cold and heart hardened, faded away. Instead, I saw a future where he stood by our side, loyal and strong. But most importantly, happy. However, there was still a shadow over him, a lingering worry. Somehow, I knew that Aemond would have to close one eye in the future. The significance of this remained a mystery, a puzzle piece that I couldn't quite place.
Even with my worries about Aemond lingering in the back of my mind, I knew things were stable now. The realm was not as fragile as it once seemed in my dreams. The Stormlands would not rebel, and the Riverlands would not be torn apart by factions. The Crownlands, the Narrow Sea, the Vale, and the North were steadfast in their support for Rhaenyra. This was a delicate balance we had achieved, but it held strong.
My thoughts often drifted to the regions still shrouded in uncertainty. The Westerlands, the Iron Islands, and the Reach remained wild cards in this intricate game of thrones. I knew Lucerys had plans for House Lannister, and I trusted her to handle them. After all, it was the Lannisters who had brought ruin to her previous family in the timeline that will not come to be. The revenge she sought was not just personal—it was necessary for our survival. I would let her weave her schemes, confident in her abilities.
The Ironborn, with their insatiable hunger for conquest and chaos, seemed less of a threat now. The pious Reachmen would not allow their raids to go unchecked, so there was no reason to form an alliance. I felt a strange calm in knowing that the seas might remain still. Yet, Old Town was a different beast altogether. The Hightowers had been striving to place a king of their blood on the Iron Throne ever since Maegor, and they would not relinquish their ambitions easily.
In my dreams, I saw the fires of ambition burning brightly in Old Town, the Hightower standing tall and defiant. The schemers and plotters within its walls moved like shadows, their intentions as murky as the depths of the Whispering Sound. They believed they could shape the future to their will, but they did not understand the true power of the dragon.
I wandered the halls of the Red Keep, my mind half here and half in the realm of dreams. The walls seemed to pulse with the energy of the past, present, and future, all interwoven in a tapestry only I could see. Each step I took felt like walking through a memory, the echoes of past generations whispering in my ears.
Old Town's machinations were the reason I had warned Aegon before his marriage to Cassandra Baratheon. My dreams had shown me the intricate web of deceit and ambition spun by the Hightowers, and I couldn't let Aegon fall into their trap. I felt no ill sentiment toward him; this version of Aegon had never harmed me. In the dream world, he had been a broken man, lost in despair, a mere puppet in the prison our mother had created for us. Despite this, I couldn't find it in me to enjoy his company. His presence was a painful reminder of the nightmares that plagued me.
So, when I approached Aegon before his wedding, I wasn't insulted by his surprise. My words were often seen as riddles, dismissed or misunderstood. But this time, Aegon listened. He deciphered my advice and understood the danger House Hightower posed to Cassandra and their unborn child. They would stop at nothing to push for a Valyrian marriage for Aegon, even if it meant killing Cassandra and her babe.
Having learned that Orys had been born without any issues, I was overjoyed. Aegon had done right by Cassandra, waiting almost three years until she was ready. But I knew that didn't mean Orys was safe. Babes die in their cradles all the time, and I had seen it happen in my dreams. This time, I was determined to protect Aegon's child. No harm would come to Orys if I had anything to say about it.
The court still whispered, still doubted, but I no longer cared. I had found my strength, my voice, my destiny. The dreams that once tormented me were now my guide, lighting the path forward. And with Lucerys by my side, I knew we could conquer any darkness that threatened our house. Lucerys and I became inseparable, our bond forged in the fires of our shared purpose. She was more than my ally; she was my sister in spirit, my anchor in the storm.
In the quiet moments, when the dreams subsided and I could catch my breath, I felt a peace that had eluded me for so long. The future was ours to shape, and with Lucerys, Daeron, Aegon, Jacaerys, Joffrey, and Aemond by my side, I knew we could face anything. We were the blood of the dragon, and nothing would tear us apart.
The days of being a frightened, misunderstood girl were behind me. I was Helaena Targaryen, a Dragon Dreamer, a seer of the future, and I would not be silenced. The Gods had given me these visions for a reason, and I would not let their gift go to waste.
