Dragonlance, Chapter 1: A Much Needed Glow-Up

Tenth Moon, 169 AC

Viserys Targaryen

Viserys had served as Hand of the King ever since the day he had come of age and his elder brother could justify sticking that pin on his chest. From that moment onwards, for the next thirty years, he had ruled ably in the background as Aegon had brooded, Daeron had warred, and Baelor had prayed.

Never once had he acted beyond his place despite the clamors of some to do so. When his brother had died before his time and his son had become King at an unripe young age, Viserys could have pressed for a regency but he did not.

When Daeron had died to treachery in Dorne and his brother Baelor had betrayed his memory by allowing the Dornish to get away with their perfidy, still he did not act. Not even as Baelor had returned the Dornish hostages and betrothed Viserys’ own grandson to a Martell for the sake of ‘peace’ before locking his own sisters in the Maidenvault. He had continued to hold his peace as Baelor spent half the treasury on his grand sept and charities or appointed illiterate stonemasons and peasant boys to the highest position in the Faith as if he were the Seven themselves.

Why?

It was not like he couldn’t have. Things might very well have been better if he had seized the regency from Daeron and forced him to wait longer for his wars, let him grow up and marry, gain more wisdom and experience so that when he came into the fullness of his kingship he might have been better prepared if he had still wished to make war upon Dorne. And almost certainly the nobility had been so outraged by Baelor’s actions that he would have had more than enough support to force a coup that would make him the true power in the land. Allow him to undo all of his misrule and set Westeros to right.

So why hadn’t he?

Because Viserys had grown up in the shadow of the Dance. He had seen with his own eyes what happened when kin turned upon kin and he had sworn never to do the same, no matter how difficult it may become. He had refused to force a regency upon Daeron or depose Baelor because he had felt it would make him no better than Otto Hightower and Viserys would never accept being likened in any way to his namesake and grandfather that had caused the Dance.

But that did not mean that he was perfect, with no ambitions of his own, no desire to be rewarded after all his long years of service to kings who had taken him and his dutiful loyalty for granted. He had tried to resist it of course, yet how could he succeed when his own King seemed content to give it to him on a silver platter?

Baelor had annulled his own marriage and then locked his sisters in the Maidenvault, forbidding them to ever marry. One way or another, Viserys or his descendants would be King and even if by some chance Baelor died young and his sisters were released from their Maidenvault, the flower of their youth and childbearing days would be over and they would have no support to rule after years of isolation.

Daena did not have the temperament of a ruler either. She reminded Viserys too much of her elder brother Daeron or even his own mother Rhaenyra, and as much as it pained him to admit it, that was not to Daena’s credit. She was too short-sighted, too reckless and defiant.

A better man than he might swallow his ambition and pride even then and yield the throne to Daena but Viserys feared that he was not that man. Not anymore. He was tired of cleaning up after the messes of reckless and uncaring monarchs, so tired of his own sense of duty binding him from doing what was best for Westeros and their family. Viserys loved his niece, but he could honestly admit to himself that he did not want to be her Hand as he had been Hand to her brothers and father.

It was not like he lacked self-awareness either. Though he loved his son Aegon, Viserys knew he was even more unworthy of the throne than Daena was. But whether it was fair or not, Aegon was a man and Daena a woman and history had proven that Westeros would rather accept the rule of an incompetent scoundrel of a man than kneel before a woman.

Alas that Aemon had been born second not first, that he had joined the Kingsguard instead of marrying as he would have preferred. If Aemon had been his heir, Viserys would have been a happy man indeed with little to fear for the future.

Yet even so, Aegon would not be King forever. In time, he would be succeeded by his own son, Daeron, Second of His Name. For many years Viserys had had secret misgivings about his grandson also, fearing that his mother and Baelor had coddled him too much, made him too soft and pious, and even after all this time the Dornish match still did not sit well with him but nothing could be done about that anymore.

Preparations for Daeron’s wedding to Myriah Martell were already well underway and the date was set for Daeron’s coming of age, the last day of the year 169 AC. With the dragons long dead and far too many lives being needed to finally bring Dorne to heel by force, perhaps it was time to accept change and forge a new era of peace with this marriage.

Despite his hesitance, in Daeron, with his quiet bookishness and his peace-bringing marriage to a Dornish princess, Viserys could see the humble potential for a ruler that would be good though not great, and that was unfortunately more than he could say for either Daena or Aegon. He had hoped that after he was long gone, Daeron would serve as his father’s Hand and help to manage some of Aegon’s excesses.

His hopes had only grown further as in the past year, as change of some kind had emerged in Daeron. While the boy had remained as bookish and well-read in the Faith and other matters as ever, he had begun to push back ever so slightly against the worldview Baelor had indoctrinated in him, asking Aemon to take him as his squire and train him as a knight. Something that Viserys more than approved of. Westeros respected strength and with the dragons dead, strength of arms was the only way a King would maintain the loyalty and respect of their vassals and continue to rule this continent.

It was astounding just how much a few months of dedicated and committed training in the yard could do for the lad. Under his uncle’s tutelage, Daeron had grown a few inches in height and quickly packed on a significant amount of lean muscle and overall seemed very capable with the blade and especially the lance, a most impressive showing for a boy that had barely trained at all for many years due to his mother and Baelor’s coddling and his own disinterest.

Near every reason Viserys had had to hesitate about Daeron was fading away and he had begun to hope against all odds that there was finally a member of his family that he could truly trust in to take his place, to continue saving their family from their own foolishness and maintain their rule over Westeros, a new Jaehaerys that could navigate their path through this dragonless age with both the sword and the quill.

Yet as always, Viserys kept all these thoughts to himself. His brother was dead, and his wife Larra had left him years ago. There was no one for Viserys to confide in anymore, to share his hopes and fears. He was the Hand relied upon by the realm entire but who was there for him to rely on? His children did their best to fill that gap, especially Aemon and Naerys, but he was their father not their friend. There was always going to be a gap that could not quite be bridged.

So, he had remained quiet and simply continued to observe. Observe how Daeron continued to grow and improve under Aemon’s tutelage and did his best to suppress the secret hope burgeoning in his heart.

The endless affairs of the realm and the difficulties of managing Baelor’s rule did not stop simply because his grandson had begun exploring his full potential. And part of being Hand was obeying strange orders even when you did not understand.

Baelor had summoned him for a meeting in a private room in the Red Keep, and Viserys, dutiful as always, had obeyed.

He was thus greatly confused when he walked into the room and found all three of his children and his grandson present and Baelor was nowhere to be found. Aemon made sense at least, he was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but why were Aegon, Naerys, and Daeron here as well?

Viserys’ confusion only deepened when Baelor finally barged into the room more irate than he had ever seen him before. He was almost panting in fury, struggling to contain his own temper with deep breaths, more furious than he had been even when his own brother had been murdered under a sacred truce.

Baelor immediately marched right up to Aegon and in a move that shocked Viserys with how uncharacteristic he was, he grabbed him by the collar, his spindly thin arms trembling as if he was resisting the urge to wring his neck with his own hands (not that Viserys thought he even could, Baelor was not known for his physical strength).

“You’ll pay for what you did to them, cousin! I pray the Seven forgive me this sinful wrath when all of this is over and your soul is punished for all your misdeeds until you repent!”

Viserys knew he had to act as soon as possible. Aegon was temperamental and particularly despised Baelor. He would not take his younger and weaker cousin threatening him like this lightly, King or no. Before Aegon could physically backhand Baelor off him (and assault the King!), Viserys nodded to Aemon and they moved to deescalate the situation.

Aemon held Aegon back as Viserys placed his hand upon Baelor’s and easily pried it from the grip on Aegon’s collar.

“Peace nephew, I would know what crime you would charge Aegon with before you threaten my son,” Viserys said, his voice full of advice but also a stern warning.

“Your scoundrel of a son got them all with child!” Baelor spat at him, his voice almost trembling as he struggled to contain his anger, spittle flying wildly from his vehement mouth.

“Who?” Naerys could not help but ask. Though she was Aegon’s wife, she knew his habits as all of them did and Aegon impregnating another noble lady or two was hardly surprising. Baelor’s reaction however, was unprecedented.

“My sisters! All of them! Their chastity and purity have been sinfully despoiled, their maidenheads broken, and their bellies filled with bastard children!” Baelor raged like a septon decrying sin.

At that Viserys grew alarmed, beginning to understand part of Baelor’s anger. While he had protested his nieces being locked in the Maidenvault, he could definitely understand Baelor’s fury if Aegon truly had seduced and impregnated all of them out of wedlock. He wished he could say this was something that his son wouldn’t do but that would be a lie. He could most definitely see Aegon doing it if he could. There was only one problem with that conclusion, however.

Aegon started laughing, as if everything was some joke only he was privy to. “Oh, cousin, how I wish I could take credit for such a legendary accomplishment as taking the maidenheads of three princesses! But I am afraid it is not my doing, no matter how much I wish I could have been the one to taste such sweet fruits!”

“You lie!” Baelor accused.

His grandson Daeron seemed to almost physically recoil at his father’s words and Viserys couldn’t help but agree with him. He had to resist the urge to throttle his own son for such a crass and audacious defense, but despite himself, he believed him. Aegon would have been all too happy to have deflowered and impregnated all three of his female cousins if he could have and then boastfully bragged about it for all and sundry to hear.

“He may be telling the truth cousin. Aegon is not allowed into the Maidenvault by your own order and we have heard nothing of them escaping. Daena has escaped before yes and perhaps it would be plausible if it was her alone but all three? It would not have been hidden this long,” Aemon advised.

“If not Aegon, then who?” Baelor demanded petulantly.

“How did you come to discover that Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena were all pregnant?” Naerys asked.

“They all started showing! Some of their handmaidens reported to me that they had not had their moon’s blood for some time and their bellies had grown. The Grand Maester has already confirmed it. All of them are with child, and they’re each about three to four moons along by this point,” Baelor explained, his rage growing with every word.

“Did any of the three give any clues as to who the father was? How he might have entered the Maidenvault and if it was even the same father for all three of their babes?” Viserys asked. He was worried there might have been a security breach of some kind that allowed someone to enter the Maidenvault and have their way with his nieces.

“Daena and Elaena would not say anything but Rhaena was somewhat cooperative at least. She confessed to me with repentant tears and guilt of… of most obscene and lewd actions! Sinful and disgraceful beyond belief!” Baelor said, a strange edge in his voice.

Viserys had always prided himself for being observant and as Baelor had been speaking, he could not help but notice that his anger was fueled by much more than the rage of a brother with sisters despoiled or a septon who had failed to protect the chastity of his charges. It was tinted with something that almost resembled jealousy. Perhaps there was some credence after all to the rumors that Baelor had lusted after his own sisters and had locked them in the Maidenvault so they could not tempt him, instead of it just being for the court’s sake.

If that was true, Viserys could only feel disgust at how pathetic his nephew was. He had been married to Daena for over a year and the girl had all but thrown herself at him, demanding to be bedded. In response Baelor had locked her and their sisters in the Maidenvault as soon as he had become King, paying more attention and care to that than he had the death of his own brother which he had allowed to go unavenged. He had no right to feel jealousy of any kind.

“Rhaena’s confession of the kinds of lurid actions she and the other two were partaking in made it clear that there was only one man involved and while she could not bring herself to confess his identity, I was able to glean enough from her words to determine that the culprit was a member of this family!” Baelor continued, full of impotent vindication and triumph.

Viserys shook away his feelings of disgust, trying his best to be the dutiful Hand as always. “I can see how you may have come to suspect Aegon but we have no proof and you cannot punish him for a crime you have no proof for, Your Grace. Especially when Rhaena’s confession was far too vague to confirm anything. We must consider the possibility that there is an outside party that has taken advantage of some gap in our defenses to despoil princesses of the blood. This is an attack on House Targaryen and we must ensure that Daena and the others surrender the identity of their attacker as soon as possible,” he said firmly, intent on redirecting Baelor’s rage away from Aegon.

Too late did Viserys realize that his grandson had yet to speak at all throughout the entire conversation.

“It wasn’t an outsider and it most definitely was not an attack. They all came willing, eager and desperate for the love and freedom they have been deprived of for the past eight years,” Daeron declared, his voice full of righteous anger and offense.

Viserys froze as he processed those words and he was not the only one. The rest of them all turned to look at him in shock and Daeron seemed to almost quail under their gaze.

His righteous anger was gone, replaced by a sheepish expression as he raised his hand and admitted the truth. “Yeah… it was me. I’m the father of Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena’s babes.”

Viserys barely remembered what happened next. Aegon fell to the floor in tears, barely able to breathe as he laughed uproariously and rolled and squirmed on the ground as if he had never heard anything funnier.

The rest of them ignored him. Naerys was absolutely scandalized and horrified, asking Daeron what happened to the son she had raised and Aemon began angrily lecturing his squire and demanding answers as to how and why this had happened.

Viserys simply put his head in his hands as he realized his family was truly doomed. Daeron had proven every inch his father’s son and there was no one sane or competent to truly carry on his work and save House Targaryen.

He only realized something was wrong when he looked up. Baelor had not acted as he had expected he would and in fact Naerys and Aemon were lecturing Daeron while he simply stood there in shock, unable to process or believe the words. Far from having any rage or jealousy on his face, the only expression on Baelor’s face was disbelief and betrayal that his protégé had done this to him.

As Viserys watched, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms’ eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted and fell right where he stood upon the ground, to the immediate alarm of Aemon and Naerys who rushed to his aid, shouting his name and calling for the maester.

Viserys simply stood there watching, still in disbelief and bewilderment at the utter absurdity of this entire turn of events. All the while, Aegon kept laughing himself half to death on the ground like an absolute fool.

When he finally regained some of his bearings, Viserys turned to his grandson and asked incredulously, “How did this happen?”

At that, a strangely mixed expression of pride and sheepish embarrassment filled Daeron’s face as he tried to answer, “Well…”

______________________________

Five Months Earlier – Fifth Moon, 169 AC

Daeron Targaryen

Getting reincarnated into Westeros had NOT been on my bingo card. Having the body of an absolutely weak and skinny twig was even worse. Probably the only thing that could have made it worse was if I had to fight a civil war in a few decades and probably get pegged by my Dornish wife… oh wait.

Yeah, that was right. Apparently, I had been reborn as the future Daeron II ‘the Good’, pot-bellied and spindly-armed Dornish sympathizer and falseborn extraordinaire at your service. At least if Eustace Osgrey’s propaganda told it true. And since I had Daeron’s memories and body, I could attest he had probably gotten more things right than he got wrong.

The Daeron I had taken over sometime last year was an absolutely pathetic person I was barely willing to even call a man. He was far shorter than he should have been with zero motivation to really maintain his physical heath at all, flab all over his belly and weak spindly arms and thin legs that could barely lift anything without trembling.

Perhaps I was being overly unfair to him as I had been quite active and fit in my previous life before hijacking his body. Not everyone had the motivation, time, or spirit to be a gym bro and at the very least he wasn’t outright obese like Aegon the Unworthy would later be. None of that excused that his weak body had complemented a weak mind.

Ugh, just thinking of those pathetic memories made me want to cringe. I still shuddered at how blatant and amateurish Myriah Martell’s manipulations had been in the ‘romantic’ letters that had been exchanged between her and Daeron. Even worse was the fact that Daeron had bought it, hook, line, and sinker. The poor fool had been completely in love with someone he had never even met, someone who had manipulated him into disliking members of his own family and their loyalists because they weren’t favorable enough to her people. Literally textbook manipulation and grooming and he had fallen for it.

A lifetime of indoctrination by fucking Baelor of all people had not helped either. It had left Daeron overly pious (and not in the good way) and full of weirdly pacifist ideals about an enemy kingdom.

Sure, my technical namesake Daeron I had invaded and tried to conquer Dorne, but he had had plenty of justifications for it. Dorne had been continuously raiding and invading our southern borders for well over a century despite the supposed treaty of eternal peace and friendship they had signed with Aegon the Conqueror. They had also taken particular advantage of our weakness after the Dance, with Prince Marence Martell’s mother Aliandra egging on her vassals to raid the Dornish Marches for her favor and amusement, something the Westerosi had neither forgotten nor forgiven.

Daeron’s conquest had proven to be enormously popular with his vassals and the Dornish lords had eventually sworn binding and valid oaths by the religion they claimed to profess to stay loyal to him and in exchange they had gotten to keep all their lands and titles even if the Martells had lost their princedom and overlordship of Dorne.

Somehow their ‘smallfolk’ had then proceeded to rebel against their now rightfully sworn king and totally had no support or egging on from the nobility to do that (the idea that nobility of any kind is going to let a revolt against them from their supposed lessers go unpunished was absurd). The nobility had then joined the revolt, breaking guest right to kill their King’s rightfully appointed governor before breaking a sacred truce under the flag of the Seven to murder Daeron I who had come in good faith to offer terms for an honorable and light surrender.

And in response to all these crimes and atrocities, what did the new king, the supposed man of the Seven, Baelor do? Did he call for a crusade to punish Dorne for their sins? Did he ask the High Septon and the Most Devout to excommunicate the Dornish who had defiled the word of the Seven and desecrated their sacred truce banner? No.

He had made peace with Dorne. Pardoned them for their treasonous crimes and atrocities, for their breaking of guest rights and truces and killing of envoys, kings, and royal representatives. Literally every possible diplomatic, cultural, and religious violation had been committed by Dorne and the supposedly pious king had pardoned them, gave them back their independence and hostages and apologized for his murdered brother’s invasion.

It really wasn’t surprising that the entirety of Westeros and even Baelor’s own family had been infuriated by his actions. And worse yet he had betrothed his brother’s namesake to a Martell and then taken him as his protégé to indoctrinate in his ‘peaceful’ ways. I still had memories of those lessons, years’ worth of them, and honestly as much as I disliked Daeron II, I couldn’t even fully blame him for how he turned out if that was what he had to deal with.

He had only been eight years old when Baelor had become King after all and his parents had certainly not been doing anything to stop it. Aegon was literally the definition of a deadbeat dad and Naerys, as much as I genuinely liked her, was almost as much of an overly pious weirdo as Baelor was and had if anything contributed to his indoctrination efforts.

Though to be fair to Naerys, it was less that she liked Dorne (she didn’t) but more that she didn’t want her son dying in another pointless war to try and conquer Dorne. Which I could respect at least. Much more than I could say for either Baelor, Dorne, or the Daeron I had replaced.

It had been annoying enough when all of this was simply flawed worldbuilding and backwards writing in a book series I had adored in my life back on Earth. Let me tell you it was infinitely more annoying when it was the actual facts of the world I lived in.

Mercifully, whatever higher power or being had brought me here had spared me most of the emotional and sentimental attachment to my old life on Earth (which was part of why I thought being pious wasn’t necessarily wrong just… not whatever Baelor and Daeron were). I didn’t remember what my old name was, or who my family or friends had been, I only knew with a certainty that they had once existed and I had been parted from them by an unfortunate death that I thankfully did not remember.

I was Daeron now, and I was intent on living my life to the fullest. I was not content to just go along with whatever weird schemes Baelor had and follow the canon rails by marrying Myriah Martell. That path laid only the certainty that one day, Daemon Blackfyre would try and usurp me. That’s when the idea had occurred to me, instead of fighting Daemon Blackfyre, why don’t I just father him instead?

A sharp rebuke broke me out of my thoughts as Aemon the Dragonknight shouted at me.

“Oi Daeron, quit lollygagging and finish putting on your armor! You asked me to take you as my squire, and I expect you to not waste my time and act with the discipline that entails!” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard said sternly.

“Sorry Uncle,” I apologized, genuinely feeling bad about getting lost in my own world.

I wasn’t sure if Aemon really was my uncle or not and it would obviously be a terrible idea to ask either him or Naerys. Daeron’s memories made it clear to me however that he had been more a father to me than Aegon ever had been.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better. And when we’re on the training yard, you call me ‘Ser’,” Aemon lectured.

I nodded as I doubled my efforts to put on my armor and prepare for training. Aemon was a strict but not unfair mentor and while he was often a harsh taskmaster, I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher.

Under his guidance, I had been able to improve by leaps and bounds in my training with the sword and other weapons after years of neglect by my predecessor and had unlocked a hidden talent for combat which honestly made sense seeing as either of my potential fathers were both capable warriors. (Yes, for all his faults, Aegon the Unworthy was a more than competent warrior in his youth and still was in this era even though he was not nearly as good as Aemon.)

Aemon’s intensive training and drilling had helped me discover that I had a particular liking for the lance. Jousting, tilting at the rings, riding, they all came naturally to me and I greatly enjoyed them. Perhaps my long fascination with cavalry, knights, and fanboying over winged hussars and the Rohirrim in my old life had finally borne fruit in some way.

Many a knight had acquired a reputation in tourney tilts for skill with the lance and for all the disdain and mockery the Northmen had for them, tourneys were genuinely legitimate ways of honing skills for war and had been for centuries. Those same skills translated all too well when war lances were used instead.

Leo ‘Longthorn’ Tyrell had made quite the name for himself in the canon Blackfyre Rebellion with his skills with the lance and as a cavalry commander. Perhaps I might end up doing the same in any wars that might occur in this timeline. Daeron the ‘Dragonlance’ had a nice ring to it.

Much to my pleasure, all this intensive training had also helped me leave the twig era behind me for good. I had packed on a significant amount of lean muscle tone all over my body and lost the flabby belly, spindly weak arms, and thin legs Daeron II had been known for in canon. And since I wasn’t even yet sixteen in this body, I had even had a growth spurt from all the intensive physical exercise, with my shoulders broadening and my height increasing by a few inches. I wouldn’t be surprised if I managed to reach six feet at least by the time I was fully mature.

Before I could think any further on the nice progress of my glow-up however, Aemon stepped onto the training yard menacingly, practice sword in hand and a devilish smirk on his face.

I sighed, picking up my own sword from the rack and readying for an absolute beating. I should have known he wasn’t going to let me off easy for daydreaming.

_______________________________

Several hours later, I gingerly made my way over to my destination, sore all over. I had already had a nice hot bath and a hearty supper but Aemon had shown no mercy and I could still feel the ache all over my muscles. The Dragonknight was honestly terrifying. I would be very content indeed if I ever managed to reach even half of his skill.

Up ahead of me, my destination came into sight. A long keep with a slate roof and tall carved doors located just behind the castle sept. An intentional design choice so Baelor and his septons could keep a close eye on the prisoners within and pray for their continued ‘chastity’. The Maidenvault.

The guards at the entrance of the keep let me pass into the building without question and I had to resist the urge to grin as my plan continued to proceed smoothly. While Aegon had been unconditionally barred from the Maidenvault and was not permitted entry under any circumstances, my grandfather Viserys, Aemon, and my predecessor had been among the few males allowed into the building, and since I was Daeron now, I had inherited that privilege.

For various reasons, Baelor had always had little reason to fear that those permitted three would do anything untoward to his sisters. All of them had been family after all. Viserys was their uncle and too dutiful by far, Aemon was a noble knight and Kingsguard, and Daeron? Daeron had been harmless. A timid and meek bookish boy, not even an adult man.

Even my recent training and glow-up under Aemon had given Baelor no reason to suspect anything at all because I had continued to expertly play the part of his devoted protégé and had even successfully defended my martial training with quotes from the Seven-Pointed Star about the Warrior, Hugor of the Hill, and the virtues of knighthood. Baelor had eaten it all up.

The best part about it all was that I hadn’t even been completely lying. When your mentor was Aemon the Dragonknight, you damn well started genuinely believing in the tenets of knighthood. His sheer aura was that convincing. I would be dishonest if I said that had been my only motive though.

“Ah, Daeron! Had your supper and bath already? I heard Aemon gave you a right beating in the yard today. Serves you right for getting distracted,” a cheerful voice greeted me teasingly.

“He did,” I chuckled. “And yes, I’ve had my bath and meal already. How about you? How was your day?” I asked in return.

“Oh, you know. Same as always. Another dull afternoon with the vapid ladies my brother handpicked for me, then an evening spent staring at the four walls of my room wondering when I’d ever see the outside world again,” Elaena said.

Her words and tone were carefree and casual but her body was tense and she had a bitter smile that did not quite reach her eyes. My predecessor might have missed it, but I did not.

I had to resist the urge to frown as I replied carefully. “My condolences,” I said with a slight smile, making it clear that I was going along with her banter but that I also meant it seriously if that was what she really wanted.

It seemed I was successful because a slight spark entered her eyes. “It’s alright. Could have been worse. I could have been getting beaten up in the yard like you,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she punched my shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh with her at my own expense even as the joking punch she gave me made my arm ache even more.

One of the few things that I would respect about my predecessor had been that he had always opposed locking Elaena and her sisters in the Maidenvault even after so many years of Baelor’s indoctrination. Possibly because not even Naerys had liked that and had taught him not to either.

Of course, Daeron had had ulterior motives for opposing it himself. Elaena was only three years older than Daeron and the two had been thick as thieves all throughout their childhood. They had had many reasons to get along beyond their age. Both had been the babies of the family, with their own reasons to be insecure and lonely.

Elaena’s mother, Daenaera Velaryon, had died in childbirth with her leaving her bereft of a mother’s love and her father, Aegon III, had become even more broody and depressed afterward. He had neglected Elaena for the most part and eventually died young seven years after his wife had, orphaning Elaena completely at just seven years old.

The lonely Elaena had never been quite as charismatic or pretty as her older sisters and though she had followed after both of them, dressing in black simply because Daena had for example, she had been in many ways that annoyingly clingy little sister to them and the young and immature Daena and Rhaena had not been the biggest fans of that. Though from my understanding, they were much better now. Nothing like being imprisoned in a gilded cage together to make you best friends, eh?

It only made sense then that Elaena had grown so close to Daeron, someone who had been even lonelier than she had been. Small, weak, and timid. Someone for her to protect and comfort, someone who even back then had been a disappointment to his deadbeat father. Someone who had shared her passion for escaping into books.

And Daeron had more than reciprocated that closeness. He had been deeply upset and angry when his friend had been taken away from him and locked in the Maidenvault and it was the one thing that he had never forgiven Baelor for nor agreed with him on. He had continued to visit her in the Maidenvault afterwards but both of them had been disappointed that their friendship was not the same as it had once been due to the restrictions of her imprisonment.

Still with all of that history behind them, it made sense why Elaena had served Daeron so loyally as his unofficial Mistress of Coin, even against her own sister’s son.

My memories even confirmed that Daeron had once had an adorable little puppy crush on her before Myriah Martell’s letters had swayed him. Shame that. Elaena would have been a vastly superior choice for his wife than Myriah in canon.

A pureblood Targaryen princess (or well pure enough) with a sharp mind and a strong will? Someone he had already been close to and trusted? She would have been perfect as his queen.

She was certainly easy on the eyes too, I thought as I looked her over. Elaena might think she wasn’t as beautiful as her older sisters but she had an elegant beauty of her own. Even worn short, her platinum white hair with its gold streak was her most defining feature and crowning beauty but it was not all she had going for her either.

Her eyes were a lovely soft lilac and her thin-lipped mouth that was so often flat and angry would smile so charmingly at just the right moments. She was pretty and sweet in that girl next door kind of way rather than a supermodel.

I could definitely see why it had been said in canon that she was more beautiful at seventy than seventeen. Hers was the kind of beauty that would mature and age with immense grace.

My gaze had not gone unnoticed. Elaena began to blush, something easily noticeable on her pale cheeks as she punched my shoulder again. “What are you looking at so much, huh?” she rebuked.

“You,” I replied smoothly.

If it was even possible, Elaena’s blush became even more intense as she sputtered and struggled to respond and I had to resist the urge to laugh. She was positively adorable and her awkwardness could be so endearing.

It was just so amusing to tease her sometimes and if I had been in any other situation I wouldn’t have minded trying for her. But I was a man on a mission, and I could not turn aside. For the sake of all Westeros!

“By the way, where’s your sisters?” I interrupted before she could recover.

That seemed to throw Elaena for a loop. “Oh. Rhaena’s off praying as usual,” she said disdainfully. “Daena’s in her room. Why?”

I nodded. “I just thought that I should drop in on them and greet them too. It was nice talking with you Elaena.”

A flash of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on flickered through Elaena’s eyes before it was gone. “Of course,” she said, “I’ll talk to you again later?”

I smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As I made my way to Daena’s room, I couldn’t help but lose even more respect for my predecessor. All these years he had had free reign and access to the Maidenvault and he had done nothing with it. He could have shored up his relationship with Elaena and her sisters even more, maybe even tried to marry one of them to unite the lines and claims of Aegon III and Viserys II for a more stable Targaryen dynasty and succession.

Instead, he had done nothing with it at all, not even with his childhood crush Elaena. He had been content to go along with what Baelor wanted and marry some Dornish woman he had deluded himself into believing loved him more than she loved his power, while Elaena and Daena had fallen into the hands of lechers like Aegon the Unworthy and Alyn Oakenfist. Absolutely disgusting.

I would not make the same mistake. I would make sure Elaena was kept far away from the likes of Aegon, Oakenfist, and even that Dornish guy she had married for some reason. The one with the rather phallic house name. Lord Penrose was not too bad a match for Elaena all things considered, though not a Valyrian match. Still the dragons were unfortunately gone and I wasn’t sure if my attempts to bring them back would succeed so maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Elaena could marry whomever she pleased once Baelor was dead, I decided. As long as she didn’t try for the likes of Oakenfist again, ugh. It was the least that she deserved after all her years of imprisonment. Rhaena could still go to the Faith if she wanted too, but Daena would be mine.

It was something I had decided on almost as soon as I had realized when, where, and who I was. In canon, Daeron II had watched as his father had gotten Daena, the eldest daughter of Aegon III and the arguably rightful Queen, pregnant with a bastard son he had then proceeded to favor at Daeron’s expense, even going so far as to give him the Sword of Kings and then legitimize him with the rest of his bastards.

Then years later, once he had become King, Daeron’s overly Pro-Dornish attitude had further antagonized his nobility and Daemon had been the perfect figurehead for everyone discontent with his rule and Daeron had known that all too well. This powder keg inevitably led to the First Blackfyre Rebellion when Daeron and Bloodraven had tried to arrest Daemon for supposedly plotting to rebel…. while he had been staying in the Red Keep and training with its master-at-arms.

Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle just how much of a trumped-up charge that had been. Who the fuck plots rebellion while staying in the castle of their enemy?? Not everyone was as dumb as Ned Stark.

If you hadn’t figured it out already, I generally preferred Daemon Blackfyre as King over Daeron II back in my first life. I had just always found Daemon way cooler than Daeron. I mean one was Targaryen King Arthur and the other was a pot-bellied twig overly sympathetic to a dishonorable enemy country that had killed his namesake under a truce flag and committed dozens of other atrocities beside and then had to be carried in the rebellion by his much cooler sons, Baelor and Maekar. It was kind of a no-brainer.

I had also found it deeply hypocritical that Dorne with its supposed ‘feminism’ and kindness to bastards and whatever other crap they claimed they did to make people like them so despised Daemon Blackfyre when a huge part of his claim came from being the son of Daena, the usurped and rightful Queen.

The Martells had even disinherited Myriah when she had married Daeron despite her being the rightful heiress of Dorne. Not only was that deeply hypocritical and unjust to Myriah and her children but it was also kind of funny that by Dornish succession law, Aerys II had more right to rule Dorne than Doran Martell did. You never saw the Dorne fans talking about that in my first life though. Didn’t suit their narrative after all. So much for feminism.

Of course, this was all what I had felt when both Daemon Blackfyre and Daeron II had been fictional characters on a page. My thoughts and opinions had inevitably changed when I had actually become Daeron and then forcibly subjected myself to Aemon’s brutal training so I could get some combat skills and a nice glow-up.

The not even conceived yet Daemon Blackfyre was no longer my preferred candidate for a fictional throne but a potential threat to my own very real life unless of course, I beat my ‘father’ Aegon to Daena. As I stepped into Daena’s room and closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight before me.

Daena Targaryen sat in front of her vanity, brush in hand as she combed through her long, luscious silver-gold locks. As always, her hair was a thick and curly mane that resisted any of her attempts to tame it no matter how much she brushed, much to her chagrin. I couldn’t help but think that it suited her wild nature though, and it perfectly framed her heart-shaped face.

Even from a slight distance I could tell that she filled her white dress in all the right places with all the right things. If Elaena’s beauty resembled that of the girl next door (if said girl was a jaw dropping Valyrian princess), then Daena was like a lithe celebrity athlete.

Her purple eyes sparkled in the mirror with amusement as she noticed my entry. “You’re quite late today,” she said as she placed her brush on the dresser and turned to stand and face me. Even with my recent growth spurt, Daena was barely an inch shorter than me at five feet and nine inches.

“Uncle Aemon gave me quite the beating in the training yard today. Said I was daydreaming too much. I was sore all over for hours, still kind of am,” I replied with a smile.

“Oh, poor you, it must be such a difficulty to have to train in the yard all day instead of being holed up somewhere like this with nothing to do but read and gossip.”

Daena’s reply was mocking and tinted with more than a little jealousy. Even more than Elaena, she chafed against the confinement of the Maidenvault and was still furious that she couldn’t do any of the things she had once loved because of Baelor.

In his zealous mind, horse riding, hunting, and archery were not ladylike activities and all three had been forbidden to her for years and Viserys’ intervention had only barely allowed her to keep the Dornish bow her eldest brother Daeron had brought back for her from Dorne. Out of pure stubbornness and spite for Baelor’s restrictions, Daena had kept stringing and unstringing said bow for years even without any arrows or targets to safely practice with in the Maidenvault, using sticks to draw the bow and maintain her strength.

Still even with her so out of practice, I couldn’t be sure if I would be any better than her if Daena was released from the Maidenvault tomorrow. She had been an expert archer and hunter and she had been good enough at horse riding to tilt at rings and even try and sneak into tourneys as a mystery knight (though the Kingsguard had always managed to catch and stop her).

In every sense, she was the Visenya or Alyssa of her era and instead of loving and cherishing her as his Queen, Baelor had annulled their marriage without consummation and then left her here in this glorified bird cage. For shame.

Yet one man’s trash was another’s treasure and I’ll be damned if I let this beautiful and spirited woman slip through my fingers to fucking Aegon of all people.

I replied with a coy smile and an exaggerated pout. “Yes. Very difficult indeed. I might have to give up being his squire if this is the pain he puts me through every day.”

Daena gave me a once-over and an appreciative roaming glance at my new height and all my hard-earned muscle and glow-up and shook her head. “Now that would be a true shame. Why don’t I give you a little massage to ease your aching muscles so that you can continue your training on the morrow?” she asked, biting her lower lip ever so slightly.

“If the princess is willing to offer such a boon, a humble squire like me must accept it graciously,” I replied dramatically and she laughed as she led me to sit in the chair in front of her vanity.

I had to steel my resolve to keep a straight face as her fingers roamed over my whole chest and back almost longingly, caressing and pressing against my shirt, gentle in some places and firm in others. Daena was quite good at this whole massage thing, but even if she wasn’t I would still be enjoying this because of how close and intimate she was getting.

Suddenly she bent down near my shoulder and I could feel her hot breath on my neck and hear the clink of the three-headed gold dragon pendant around her neck, the same one she had inherited from her father.

“Your training with Aemon is doing you quite well,” she said teasingly as she slipped her hands beneath my shirt and I nearly jolted in my seat at the feeling of her hands directly upon my skin. Every stroke felt like a lightning strike and a shiver began to run down my spine.

“Daena,” I warned but she had only a cheeky and daring smile on her face.

“What?” she asked, innocently.

I shook my head with a chuckle and let her continue her ministrations. As she did so, I couldn’t help but think back a little on how this had all started. When I had first taken over from my predecessor, Daena had been cordial but distant from me, as while she had appreciated Daeron always visiting her and her sisters, she had still seen him as nothing more than Baelor’s lapdog, unworthy of the name he had borne, the name of the older brother she had idolized.

With my efforts however, that had quickly begun to change. As months had passed with me as Aemon’s squire, packing on muscle, height, and confidence, Daena’s once distant looks became more appreciative and I knew that I had gained some of her respect and attraction.

Then I had struck yet again, timing it just right to confess to her that I had been reading about the Conquest of Dorne and I was beginning to have misgivings about everything Baelor had taught me and about my betrothal to Myriah Martell. I told her that she was the only one I could trust to speak about something so sensitive with.

It had almost been too easy after that. Daena’s hatred for Dorne was legendary, and it burned more furiously than anyone else in the family, even Aegon. She had all but tripped over herself to educate her younger cousin, teaching me the ‘true history’ of Dorne and their relationship with our family and I had acted as if everything she said was a great enlightenment. The hardest part had been pretending like I hadn’t already known and agreed with every single word Daena had said.

I had known that she wouldn’t have been able to resist the chance to spite Baelor by stealing his precious protégé from right out under him and molding me into a man worthy of being her brother’s namesake. I had already been covering the physical side of things with my training with Aemon and Daena had sought to mold my mind as well; to bring me over to her view of things and I had played her like a fiddle, letting her believe that she was slowly but surely drawing me over to her viewpoint completely.

All the while, I had continued to slowly show signs of my genuinely deep attraction to her. A lingering glance and overly long embrace one day, a stray hand moving a little too far another. I had complained about my Dornish betrothed and looked at her meaningfully as I did so several times, and I knew that I had planted the seeds deep in Daena’s mind.

She was already twenty-four years old and yet still a maiden. She was growing more and more desperate for love, affection, and pleasure, and deeply fueled by the desire to spite Baelor. That was why she had gone out of her way to escape the Maidenvault and hook up with Aegon in canon to begin with, so that she could have a bastard to spite her brother and his creepy obsession with his sisters’ eternal chastity.

Only now, I was giving her an even better way to do that. Instead of hooking up with Aegon with all of his known faults and infamy, she could slowly mold her younger cousin into her perfect hunk (her efforts at doing so had hardly been subtle) and rub salt into the wound for Baelor by corrupting his protégé and ‘making a man’ out of him. Instead of having to risk a dangerous escape from the Maidenvault she had me at her beck and call, easily able to enter and exit the Maidenvault as I pleased due to Baelor’s trust in me.

Whether or not I actually got Daemon Blackfyre as my son out of this didn’t matter. The important part was that I would be free of the Dornish betrothal and Daena would be mine to love, cherish, and marry. Our children would unify the lines of Aegon III and Viserys II and I could use that to justify putting her on the throne as Queen and rule beside her as her King Consort, ensuring that Aegon IV never took the Iron Throne.

The strategy was foolproof and genius. And it was working. I’d have to be denser than a black hole to not know she wanted me when she was straight up molesting me. Yet despite all the tension between us, something was still holding her back from making her final move and I was running out of patience and time to wait any longer. I decided to force her hand.

Almost too casually, I brought up something I knew would infuriate her. “Grandfather told me this morning that the plans for my wedding are being finalized. It’s to be on the last day of the year, my coming of age. They’ve already started sending the invites.”

Daena’s fingers froze where they had been caressing me. When she spoke next, there was a dangerous edge in her voice, her fingers pressing possessively and almost painfully into me.

“I suppose Baelor must be pleased,” she said derisively.

“Oh, he is. You should hear the way he speaks. It’s like everything he’s ever wanted for the past eight years has come true all at once. The only thing that might make him happier was if the Smith himself came down to put the finishing touches on his Grand Sept,” I said, fueling the fire.

“And you?” Daena demanded. “Are you content to just simply let this go through after everything you told me? After everything you’ve learned of Dorne and its crimes?”

“Of course not, but what am I to do about it?” I fired back. “Baelor is King. I’m just a prince. I can do nothing but obey my king. Especially –“ I cut myself off on purpose, as if to pretend I had said confessed something I shouldn’t have.

Daena took the bait, as I knew she would. “Especially what?” she asked, her voice was tense and measured, full of a dangerous hope.

“Especially when the woman I really want still hasn’t made clear her intentions toward me,” I said with a smile, nodding towards her with a meaningful look.

Within seconds my lips became her captive as Daena could hold herself back no longer. She pressed her lips to mine and within seconds our tongues tangled as she forced herself into my mouth. Her kiss was sloppy with all the inexperience I expected her to have, but her enthusiasm more than made up for it.

I returned the kiss eagerly and then took control, pushing my tongue back into her mouth. My hands reached out almost with a will of their own to wrap around her body and pull her into my arms. Her body felt firm in all the right places beneath my touch as I traced my hands along all her curves, befitting her preferred athletic lifestyle, yet it was also softer than I had even thought possible, so soft I almost feared that she might melt in my hands.

Without breaking the kiss, we readjusted so that she was on top of me in the chair and she made full use of the advantage. She pressed her hands onto my shoulders to give herself leverage and height, almost hungrily feeding upon my affection. Daena relished in all the new and exciting feelings of intimacy with the desperation of someone who knew it might not last.

Before long however, kissing and touching wasn’t enough for her. She started desperately fumbling with my shirt and breeches, unwilling to break the kiss but desperately needing them gone. I complied with her wishes, guiding her hands to help her with the process or removing my own clothing and soon we were taking off her clothes too.

The moment her dress and shift came off to reveal her naked form took me by surprise however, my jaw dropping as I beheld Daena Targaryen in all her glory.

She was stunning. Every last inch of her skin was flawless and free of blemishes. Her form was lithe and athletic, her muscles perfectly accentuating her curves but not distracting from them. Her breasts were full, pink, and perky, and so large and soft I had to resist the urge to just sink into them and never leave.

Daena squirmed beneath my gaze. “Do-do you not like it?” she asked nervously, almost breaking down.

My heart sank a little. Baelor had done more damage than I had thought if he had been able to reduce this strong and proud woman to this state.

“You are a vision like nothing I have ever seen before,” I said as I suddenly moved with all my strength and picked her up. She felt light in my arms, in a way I knew she wouldn’t have just a few months earlier.

Daena giggled and squirmed in surprise as I carried her over to her bed and then laid her down on it like the most precious thing I had ever held. I was unable to resist wrapping my hands around her bountifully full breasts, feeling how soft and pliant they were before I spoke again.

“I see now why Baelor had to lock you in the Maidenvault because if the realm had known the full extent of your beauty there would have been wars for your hand. Every bard would sing songs of you, and every artist would do naught but draw your portrait,” I said, punctuating every sentence with a kiss to her lips and her perky breasts.

For the next few minutes, I did nothing but worship Daena and assure her that she was beautiful until she came for me several times and when I finally slid into her and took her maidenhead, it took everything I had to stop myself from roaring in triumph right then and there.

Daena was mine… and I was hers.

If only I had known then just how messy everything was soon about to become.

_________________________________

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I hope you liked this first chapter of Dragonlance! Is the premise interesting? Is the first person POV for the SI done well?

If you find this story promising enough, please do vote in the poll on which story should be focused on! Sorry about cutting short the smut but this chapter is already well over 9k words and really long! We’ll get a proper scene for Daeron and Daena (and Rhaena and Elaena too!) over the coming chapters! Stay tuned and vote!

Also, any ideas for a chapter title? I can’t think of anything. Open to suggestions lol.

Please let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!