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House of the Dragon: Stars of the Realm.

What would happen if two souls from distinct worlds reincarnated in Westeros as twins? The good news is that at least one of them has experience... "Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin into the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land." "It seems, stupid brother, that we will have to toss many coins to see how our fate unfolds." Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC, the respective rights are to the original author of the ASOIAF franchise and HBO.

Evilmoon · TV
Not enough ratings
22 Chs

Chapter 16.

A/N: 

Hello there, my lovely degenerates ~

I want to explain some things about this chapter. I originally planned to release it just like the last one, something between 5-6k words. However, as I was editing, people kept pressing for a release, and I understand—you like my story, and that makes me very happy. But you have to understand that I have a job and other things to attend to in real life, so sadly I don't have the time to write or edit every day. I mostly write this on my way to work, as it's the only spare time I have most days. Last week was absolutely insane at work, and even over the weekend I had to work, which is why I could barely release one chapter. This week will be a bit less stressful, and I should be free this weekend, so I can write/edit more chapters.

This one here is kind of the first part of the whole original chapter—it's more like the last POV I wanted to write before shit hits the fan. I should be releasing the next one by Thursday.

It's a bit shorter than usual, like the first few chapters, but oh well ~

Fair warning again, this won't be a happy chapter.

Anyway, don't forget to send me stones and leave a review. It helps not only with visibility but also keeps me motivated to write more.

Enjoy the chapter!

~~O~~

Viserys Targaryen, 110 AC.

Viserys had dreams. Since he was only a teen, he had been having dreams—dreams he would call 'dragon dreams,' as he believed they were prophetic.

Before Aemon was even born, he already knew he would have a son and that his son would be perhaps the greatest Targaryen to ever live. And his dreams proved to be right, as the gods had sent him not only an amazing heir but also an unbelievable pair of genius siblings. Aemon and Rhaenyra exceeded his wildest dreams, and he couldn't even believe some of their exploits. The youngest dragon riders, the medical genius of his daughter, the unbelievable achievements in swordsmanship of his son. He could keep on listing every single feat of the twins, and it would never stop amazing him how much they accomplished in such a little timespan.

'Aemon is indeed the prince that was promised.' Ever since he heard the prophecy from his grandfather, he was absolutely sure that Aemon was the one. He had to be; there was no Targaryen as gifted as him in perhaps all of their history. And the fact that he had an amazing helper in Rhaenyra, who was just as remarkable, only made him more assured that Aemon was the one who would lead their house to unimaginable heights. But that wasn't enough. Even though he was a stout believer, he was still a pragmatic and realistic person to a certain degree. At the end of the day, the twins were still human, and so they were still in a dangerous situation, and anything could happen to them, just as it happened with his uncle and his father. He had to make sure that Aemon got the most help from everyone at his disposal.

He named him as his cupbearer exactly because of that, so that he could make allies and grow stronger politically. Unfortunately, his son was a very busy man and could barely be kept in one place long enough. It still pleased him to see that his son was already important and popular at such a tender age, but it also annoyed him a little that his own efforts to make him grow weren't appreciated enough. The times Aemon was at the castle, he would almost always be late to the meetings, as he would almost always be training when he was free. He could also sense the young Targaryen's disinterest in the small affairs of the realm, something that he couldn't really blame him for, as he himself dreaded dealing with those. Even his grandfather could be seen sighing in boredom and tiredness at those meetings from time to time; no sane man enjoyed listening all day to those affairs.

He tried to think of any other way to help him, to no avail. Until he had another dream.

In this dream, he could see a grown-up Aemon riding the majestic Vermithor. He was clad in draconic dark armor, which had intricate red details, and when it shone against the sun, it reflected a beautiful dark bronze light. He was tall and strong, perhaps the tallest man he had ever seen. His silvery hair contrasted deeply with his sharp and beautiful purple eyes. He looked ahead with confidence and purpose. His aura was sacred and noble, it compelled Viserys to want to bow to him almost as a reflex, as if his blood recognized him as his king by instinct. Aemon was like a god of war who commanded not only fear but also respect in any mortal who laid their eyes on him.

Not far behind him was another otherworldly visage. The magnificent Silverwing flew beside Vermithor, almost coiling with him, their scales reflecting the sunlight against each other, creating a myriad of colors that mesmerized any viewer. Mounted on the beast was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. She had long, silver, almost white hair that flowed gently with the wind, as if it were part of it. Her stunning violet eyes stared deeply at him, as if they could see through him. She was also wearing armor, but hers was mostly silver and red, with just a few black details here and there. That gave her an even more ethereal look, as if she were a gentle goddess looking at her subjects from above.

And behind them was a shadowy silhouette. He could see that it was also a male riding a dragon, but every time he tried to focus on his face or the dragon, his vision would blur and memories scatter. But he felt a deep connection with the rider, a connection that only blood could bring.

'That's my son,' he was sure of it. That figure that followed them had to be his son. For him to feel that way, he couldn't be mistaken.

'The three-headed dragon...' Everything made sense now to him. Their sigil, and Aegon's prophecy, it was all connected to his children.

'So why can't they just understand?' Viserys thought frustratedly as he remembered his talk with Aemma and Aemon before the tourney.

But now he was about to regret everything.

'Why is this happening? It shouldn't be like this...'

He watched his daughter being dragged by force by the guards as she screamed.

His hands still tingled from the slap he had just given her.

Her eyes were fixed on him, and they were devoid of any of the normally calm but tender emotions that they carried. Her eyes were full of pain and hatred. Pain that he himself inflicted on her.

He shook his head as he tried to ignore everything around him, lying to himself, saying, 'She will understand one day...'

He slowly approached Aemma's bed.

He reached out to touch her hand, the hand that had once held his so tightly, so warmly. But now it was so cold. The room felt colder, too, as if all the warmth had been drained out. She opened her eyes slowly and gave him a confused and tired smile as she said his name lovingly, "Viserys. Where's Rhaenyra?"

Aemma's voice was faint, slurred from the effects of the poppy's milk. She could barely register what was happening around her. She heard faint shouts and noises but felt so tired and numb from the poppy's milk that she thought perhaps it was all a dream. 

Viserys felt like a sword had just pierced his heart as he stared at her exhausted smile, a smile that was full of love and trust for her husband. He held back his tears and tried not to look directly at her eyes, as he was too ashamed to.

He squeezed her hand tightly, his heart breaking at the sight of her confusion and vulnerability. "She's... she's not here right now," he said, his voice trembling. "But everything will be fine, my love. Just rest."

She just hummed absentmindedly, completely unaware of what was about to transpire.

Viserys looked at one of the attendants for a few seconds, hesitating, but soon nodded.

They began moving the bed to begin the procedure.

He looked at her again, this time trying his best to stare into her tired but still lovely violet eyes.

"I love you," his voice betrayed his distress, as he felt his vision growing foggy.

The attendants moved her suddenly, taking her by surprise.

He could see her confused expression, looking at him while questioning weakly, "What is happening?"

He squeezed her hand tightly and tried to reassure her in vain, "No, it's all right."

Aemma's eyes fluttered, a look of concern crossing her face. "No... I need Rhaenyra. Where is she?" Her voice was weak, but the fear in it was palpable.

Viserys tried to maintain his composure, but the weight of what was about to happen was crushing him. "Please, Aemma, just rest. They're going to bring the babe out now."

Her eyes filled with tears, a mixture of confusion and terror. "I don't understand... why can't I see Rhaenyra? Please, Viserys..."

He felt a lump in his throat as he watched her struggle. "It's all right," he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. "Everything is going to be all right."

But Aemma wasn't convinced. Her intuition told her something was terribly wrong. She tried to move, but the attendants held her down firmly. "No, no... what's happening? Viserys, please, I need Rhaenyra and Aemon..."

He just repeated like a broken record, as if not saying it to her but to himself, "No, it's all right."

The effects of the poppy's milk were beginning to wear off as she questioned again, "Wh-what are you doing?"

He smiled weakly, a fake and forced smile as he said again, "They're going to bring the babe out."

Aemma immediately found the way he was saying it strange and asked, "How are they—" but he cut her off, repeating the mantra, "It's all right."

A sudden thought crossed her mind, and her instincts were screaming at her that something horrible was about to happen as she pleaded, "Viserys, please..."

"It's all right," he said once again as he stared at Aemma's growing desperation.

"No, I'm scared. Please bring Rhaenyra and Aemon, please, Viserys..."

She was holding onto the last hope of seeing her children, the only thing that could bring her peace at the moment.

But it was futile, as Viserys just said, "No, don't be scared."

She stared at him deeply, eyes filled with dread as she asked, "What are you doing to me?"

Viserys just said, holding back all of his anguish and pain, "Don't be scared. They're going to bring the babe out."

Her eyes darted to the knife in Maester Mellos's hands, and a look of sheer horror crossed her face. "Oh no," she whispered, realization dawning on her. "No, Viserys, please... no!"

Viserys tried to soothe her, but his own voice was shaky. "It's all right. They're going to bring the babe out."

Aemma's panic intensified. "No! No! No!" She struggled against the attendants, her cries growing more desperate. "Viserys, no! Please! Aemon! Rhaenyra!"

Mellos stepped forward, his expression grim. "I'm making the first incision."

Aemma's wails of agony filled the room as the knife cut into her. She screamed for her children, her voice raw with pain and fear. 

Tears streamed down his face as he looked at her, the memories of their life together flashing before his eyes. The laughter, the love, the dreams they had shared.

Viserys held her hand tightly, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm so sorry."

The room was filled with the sounds of Aemma's screams, the attendants' grim efficiency, and Viserys's silent prayers. He could feel her life slipping away with every passing moment, and he knew he would carry the weight of this decision for the rest of his days.

As Aemma's cries grew weaker, Viserys's heart shattered. He had believed in his dreams, in the prophecy, with all his heart. But now, faced with the brutal reality of his choices, he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

He heard Rhaenyra's distant cries from the corridor, her anguish echoing his own. He had betrayed her, too. He had lost not just his wife but the trust and love of his daughter.

"Gods... forgive me," he whispered, feeling utterly powerless and consumed by guilt.

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