Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

The Dance of the Dragons was a bitter chapter in Targaryen history, one the House sought to avoid repeating at any cost. The scars it left behind served as a grim reminder of what unchecked ambition and internal strife could bring. Dragons, with lifespans averaging nearly 200 years, should have ensured the Targaryens retained dominance over their domestic vassals for generations. Even if no new healthy dragons were born, the sheer longevity of existing ones could have maintained their supremacy until Aerys's time.

But ambition and intrigue, epitomized by the Bloodraven and the Game of Thrones, undermined that potential. To combat such dangers, Viserys had overseen the creation of a special royal textbook. This volume graphically chronicled the devastation wrought by the Bloodraven Dance, a civil war fueled by dragon battles. Its goal was clear: to prevent future fratricide at all costs.

Harsh rules accompanied this education. Anyone provoking a dragon battle would forfeit their inheritance and even their Targaryen name. Over the past 400 years, there had been only a handful of dragon-related deaths within the House, all involving individuals who were either lawbreakers or had succumbed to madness. No Targaryen dared use dragons for coups, especially with the stabilizing influence of Viserys and Daenerys, whose legacies loomed over the empire like two immovable ballast stones.

In these 400 years, the empire had seen just a few dozen wars. For many, weapons were artifacts of history, irrelevant to their peaceful lives. During the Dance of the Dragons, the family could muster only about 20 adult dragons. Now, over a thousand thrived—a testament to their resurgence.

Yet here, Viserys stood, facing the aftermath of a dragon fight sparked over something as trivial as a horse.

The curly-haired instigator, knelt beside Aegon before Viserys. Both boys looked thoroughly chastened, their heads bowed in shame. The rest of the group stood frozen around them, too fearful to speak, resembling frightened quail.

Victoria and Chocolle, known for their quick thinking and eloquence, tried to explain the situation, hoping to placate Viserys. Yet, even Victoria found herself faltering under his stern gaze.

The young Targaryens had immediately recognized Viserys and Daenerys. The confirmation was undeniable: all the newly tamed dragons crouched submissively at the feet of these two ancient figures. Even the proudest dragons, who had previously obeyed no one, now sat in perfect order, their heads lowered, as if acknowledging their true masters.

This scene evoked a legend whispered among the younger generations—that after the dragons had gone extinct, it was Viserys and Daenerys who had brought them back to life through fire and blood. Dany's essence and Viserys's flesh had birthed the original dragons, and the current dragons were all descendants of those first reborn creatures. This connection explained the dragons' instinctive obedience to Viserys and Dany, bypassing any need for training.

As for why two figures who had been dead for over 300 years stood before them, youthful and commanding, it was a mystery the young Targaryens dared not question.

"Who passed down this bullshit custom?" Viserys's voice was cold and sharp.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Your Grace, it was Viserys the Second."

"Him again," Viserys muttered under his breath, frustration flickering in his eyes.

In their early years, Viserys and Daenerys had chosen to sleep for over a century after the deaths of their loved ones, hoping to awaken in a world unburdened by familiar faces and sorrows. When they finally emerged, they discovered a changed empire shaped by the ambitious reign of Viserys the Second, the fourth emperor of New Valyria.

Viserys the Second had been a visionary—though not without flaws. He had embarked on grand projects, built monumental structures, and expanded the empire through wars. Under his rule, Slaver's Bay and Qarth were conquered after centuries of defiance. But he had also established customs like this one, which Viserys now found absurd and infuriating.

It was clear to Viserys that reprimanding these younglings wouldn't resolve the issue. To address the matter, he would have to consult the current "Her Grace," the reigning Targaryen monarch.

After delivering a curt but scathing lecture to the group, Viserys turned to Geralt and the others. Together, they prepared to journey to Valyria.

The matter of transportation posed no difficulty. Selecting their mounts from the dragon pasture, Viserys and Geralt each chose a massive dragon, over 100 meters long, to carry them to the capital of Valyria.

As for Geralt and his companions, they were transported to Valyria by Aegon and the other young Targaryens on dragonback. Although they had suspected from the start that Viserys and Daenerys were extraordinary, they never imagined the two were the founders of a vast empire.

Geralt had encountered many nobles and kings throughout his life, and he knew that those in high positions often carried themselves with an air of condescension. Yet, Viserys and Dany's composure and generosity—especially in their willingness to assist Ciri—left Geralt impressed.

Keeping their return discreet, Viserys and Dany avoided fanfare and requested a direct audience with the reigning empress, Catherine I Targaryen.

The moment Catherine laid eyes on the pair, she recognized them as the genuine article. There was no mistaking the founders of the empire.

Catherine, no longer the twelve-year-old girl who had ascended to the throne, had grown into a capable and confident ruler over the past two decades. Her demeanor and poise even reminded some of Daenerys herself.

"Your Grace, we're not here for anything major," Viserys said with an easy smile. "We simply need access to the genetic laboratory."

"Your Graces can rest assured, I'll make the necessary arrangements," Catherine replied.

Soon after, the group arrived at the Royal Centre for Magical Research, a facility at the heart of Valyrian innovation.

The Targaryen dynasty had made remarkable strides in the realm of magic. The royal family now commanded over 30,000 Warlocks, and their research had restored nearly 80% of Valyria's magical prowess during its height. Optimistic projections suggested that within fifty years, the empire would fully reclaim its former glory.

But the empire's ambitions extended far beyond this milestone.

A robust civilian education system, coupled with an efficient Warlock training program, ensured that the world of A Song of Ice and Fire would continue its trajectory toward greater magical potency. Even Yennefer, accustomed to the arcane mysteries of her own world, noticed the dramatic concentration of magic here.

Dragons soared in extraordinary numbers, and the ambient magical energy was steadily increasing. Yennefer marveled at the abundance of power, remarking silently that it was far superior to her homeland. She had even witnessed the miraculous healing of Ciri, whose scar had completely vanished—a testament to the world's elevated magical state.

Viserys, too, was pleased with the progress. After four centuries of effort, the world had transitioned from a "low magic" state to a flourishing moderate magic environment.

Technological advancements paralleled these magical achievements. Steam engines had entered widespread use, catalyzing a wave of expansion. The empire had begun large-scale development of the Essos continent. Gogossos, once known as the City of the Wicked, had been transformed into a bustling base of operations.

Millions of immigrants ventured to the new continent, carving out farmland, building settlements, and establishing new homes. The discovery of unique flora and fauna on this continent further enriched the fields of magical alchemy and enchanted sciences.

The conquest of the New World was not achieved by Dragonlords alone. While riders atop dragons offered critical support, it was the ordinary people—bent over hoes and toiling in the soil—who turned wilderness into fertile farmland.

The empire's growing dominance was bolstered by steam-powered warships, cannons, and other technological marvels. The momentum of expansion seemed unstoppable, with more than ten cities boasting populations of hundreds of thousands sprouting around the Smoking Sea of Essos. Hundreds of smaller towns and villages dotted the landscape, adding to the empire's reach.

Viserys assessed the empire's trajectory with satisfaction. He predicted another five centuries of growth and a thousand years of prosperity.

As the descendants of the Targaryen dynasty and their advisors reveled in this golden age, they occasionally paused to reflect. It was then they realized that the foundations of all they now enjoyed had been laid four hundred years ago by the vision and determination of their ancestors.

"Lady Ciri, you just need to lie down on that hard bed," Empress Catherine said respectfully, gesturing to a stone slab that gleamed like white jade.

"Can I go first?" Geralt interjected. Though he trusted Viserys and Dany's intentions, this was still an unfamiliar world, and his protective instincts for Ciri were strong.

Catherine glanced at Viserys and Dany for approval. She seemed indifferent to the order in which things proceeded, and after a nod from Viserys, Geralt lay down first.

The bed emitted a soft glow as it scanned him. After analyzing his physical characteristics and confirming that he remained unharmed, Catherine permitted Ciri to lie down next.

...

Three Hundred Years Later

After countless trials and refinements, Viserys and Dany, now masters of time and space, arrived at the battlefield from which Viserys had once been transmigrated.

A group of sellswords armed with advanced weaponry was entrenched in an abandoned city, holding back an enemy assault. From the safety of a nondescript ruined building miles away, Viserys and Dany observed the conflict through drone equipment.

"I don't remember all the details," Viserys admitted, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "But I recall my squad holding off the rebels. We were hit by a tactical nuclear bomb."

Dany, standing nearby, suddenly stiffened. A strange sensation pricked at her senses, as though she were being watched. She turned abruptly, her gaze locking onto a gray building not far from them.

"Here it comes!" Viserys's voice cut through her thoughts, jolting her focus back to the sky.

The two looked up together and saw it—a fiery projectile streaking across the pale expanse, trailing white smoke. It was unmistakably a nuclear warhead, plunging toward the position where Viserys had once stood.

But then, something unexpected happened. A missile appeared seemingly out of nowhere, streaking toward the falling warhead. The two projectiles collided midair, detonating the nuclear bomb far above the ground.

The explosion lit up the sky like a second sun. For a fleeting moment, the brilliance of the blast eclipsed the original sun, bathing the world in a searing, white light.

The shockwave rolled out in all directions, scorching and leveling everything in its path. Even from a distance, Dany staggered under its oppressive force, awestruck by the raw power of the weapon.

"What's going on?" Viserys murmured, confusion lacing his voice. He clearly remembered the nuclear bomb detonating near the ground during the original event. The blast had wiped out his entire team—nearly every one of them. Yet now, the missile's interception had prevented the full force of the weapon from reaching the ground.

This meant something extraordinary: many of his comrades, who should have perished, likely survived.

And if they had survived, then he…

"Brother! You!"

Dany's panicked cry shattered his train of thought.

Viserys looked down at himself, and a cold realization struck. His body was beginning to disintegrate. Bits of him flaked away like weathered stone, shimmering faintly as they turned into a dust-like substance and floated into the air.

"Brother! Brother!" Dany screamed, her voice rising with desperation.

She rushed toward him, reaching out in a futile attempt to catch the fragments. Her hands cupped the glittering dust, trying to hold it together, trying to reverse what was happening. But no matter how hard she tried, the disintegration accelerated.

"No! No! No!"

Dany's anguished cries echoed through the space as she reached out futilely for the fragments of her brother. Almost a thousand years together had forged an unbreakable bond between them, a bond that was now unraveling before her eyes. A millennium was enough time for them to become integral parts of each other's existence, and the thought of losing Viserys was unbearable.

She felt a wave of helplessness crash over her, an overwhelming sensation that transported her back to the dark days in Braavos, where Viserys had drowned himself in drink, leaving her to fend for both of them. But this time, she couldn't let despair win.

A sudden realization struck her like lightning: this was her fault. She had caused this.

Dany raised her hand, her will bending the space around her. The environment warped and stretched as if made of rubber, the walls elongating unnaturally. Time rewound, pulling her back three minutes before the nuclear bomb was intercepted in the sky.

"No, that thing is just too fast—I can't stop it."

Her mind raced. "The silo! That's it!"

Each attempt took her back through the same cycle. She searched frantically, using each reset to gather more information, until she finally pinpointed the location of the interceptor missile's launch.

The silo was heavily guarded. Dany tried once, twice, five times—she lost count. No matter how many attempts she made, each failure left her more determined. On what felt like her hundredth try, she finally succeeded in destroying the silo.

"This is the place," she murmured, glancing at her watch. From her vantage point in an abandoned building, she could see the green structure where Viserys stood, just a few hundred meters away.

Moments later, a man and a woman materialized in the room where Viserys and Dany had been watching the battle unfold. They carried advanced equipment, scanning the battlefield as if preparing for the events that were about to unfold.

But this time, the nuclear bomb still detonated overhead.

"Brother! Brother!"

Inside the green building, Dany reached out again, desperately trying to catch the dust spiraling upward as Viserys disintegrated. Her heart sank. She had failed.

"It seems... there was more than one launch," she whispered bitterly.

After an unknown number of resets, Dany found herself once again in the gray building. Her gaze darted anxiously between the nuclear bomb in the sky and the incoming interceptor missile.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Viserys's came from the green building.

But her worst fears materialized. The interceptor missile, though perfectly aimed, arrived too late. The nuclear bomb reached its target first, detonating with a blinding flash.

A gray-white mushroom cloud billowed upward, obliterating everything in its path. The shockwave flattened the surrounding area, reducing it to a wasteland. When the chaos subsided, Dany looked toward the green building.

It was empty. Both Viserys and her past self had vanished without a trace.

She let out a shuddering breath, a mix of relief and despair. The immediate crisis seemed over, but a single thought consumed her: Where's my Viserys?

She stood frozen, her mind reeling from the emptiness left behind. She had done everything she could, tried every possible solution, but the results remained the same. The agony of failure cut deeper with every moment that passed.

Then, suddenly, she felt something—a familiar sensation. Her entire body was lifted off the ground, enveloped in a touch she knew better than her own skin. Warmth radiated from behind her, and tears streamed down her face as she recognized it.