Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Year 616 of the Restoration Calendar

The sky hung heavy and foreboding. Thunder rumbled through the heavens, and lightning wrestled fiercely within the dense, dark clouds. The sound rolled across the expanse, like a trapped animal thrashing within a sack. Finally, after an agonizing wait, the storm seemed to break free, and a jagged flash of lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the land below.

Then came the deluge. Rain poured down in relentless sheets, as if determined to drown the world. The storm subdued everything—the lush vegetation of the mountains, the bustling streets of the city, and even the rushing torrents of the river. Yet through the pounding rain, a black dragon, over twenty meters in length, fought against the storm, its wings beating furiously as it fled westward.

The dragon had crossed the Narrow Sea and now flew over Westeros.

Perched on the dragon's back was a silver-haired girl, no older than fourteen. Her disheveled hair clung to her face, wet and whipping like a flag in the violent wind. Her helmet, customary for any Dragon Knight, had long since been discarded.

Behind her, a dozen Dragon Knights pursued her through the storm, their dragons painted in hues of copper, gold, and green. At their head flew a massive silver dragon, over fifty meters in length, ridden by a young man with silver hair and striking purple eyes. He was Viserion, the great-grandson of Viserys the Restorer.

Viserion II, the Emperor before him, had issued an edict forbidding his descendants from naming their children Viserys or Daenerys. Yet, in homage to the legendary Restorer and his queen, later generations adopted "Viserys" and "Daenerys" as symbols of admiration.

The girl fleeing for her life was named Daenerys—or Dany.

She clung to the back of her dragon, her young face pale and determined. The dragon beneath her, Balerion, was still young, barely half the size of the dragons chasing them. Its smaller frame made it faster in short bursts, but its strength was waning quickly. Dany glanced over her shoulder at the encroaching silver dragon.

"Please, Balerion," she whispered through the tears that mingled with the rain, "faster... just a little faster!"

Behind her, Viserion's stern voice cut through the roar of the storm. "Dany, come back! Do you want to feel the Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon?"

His threat had the opposite effect. Balerion, as if understanding the insult, beat its wings harder, increasing the distance between them. Frustration mounted among the pursuers. One of Viserion's Dragon Knights drew a spear and prepared to hurl it at Dany's dragon.

Viserion, noticing the movement, acted swiftly. He pulled a glinting charm from his robe and hurled it at the offending knight. The charm struck him squarely, knocking the weapon aside.

"What are you doing? You could have killed me!" the knight shouted.

Viserion snapped, his tone harsh. "Fool! Do you want to bring dishonor to House Targaryen? To spill blood within our own family is a crime that bars us from the royal tombs! Do that, and you'll lose your succession rights for three generations!"

His rebuke masked his desperation. Viserion wasn't chasing Dany merely to fulfill some duty; he had ambitions. If he could capture her and offer her as a bride to the Emperor of Yi Ti, he believed it would secure his claim to the throne.

"I am Viserion Targaryen the Seventh!" he muttered to himself, clutching the reins. "The throne will be mine!"

But Dany's destination posed a threat to his plan. She was heading for the Summer Palace of the Restorer, a sacred place housing enchanted portraits of Viserys the Restorer and his queen, Daenerys. Every Targaryen emperor had visited the Summer Palace for the ancestors' symbolic blessing. Although the portraits had never denied an heir, Viserion feared their judgment might reject him if they knew the lengths to which he was going.

He had to stop her before she reached the palace.

Dany, as if sensing his thoughts, suddenly dove with her dragon, weaving through a narrow mountain stream. The maneuver was daring, almost reckless. The storm winds buffeted her pursuers, scattering their formation. A powerful gust threw Viserion and his knights off balance.

One dragon crashed into the hillside, and its knight tumbled violently, breaking bones. Another spiraled out of control toward a lake. Viserion steadied his silver dragon but cursed under his breath as the delay allowed Dany to widen the gap.

By the time he regained his momentum, she was nearly at the gates of the Summer Palace.

Dany landed Balerion on the palace grounds and slid from its back. The black dragon collapsed, its body trembling with exhaustion. The descendants of House Brune, sworn to guard the Summer Palace, quickly surrounded the young Dragon Knight. Armed and wary, they closed in on her, shouting for her to stand down.

Through his telescope, Viserion watched with a satisfied grin. The laws of the palace forbade the use of mounts within its grounds. No dragon, horse, or carriage was permitted out of respect for the Restorer and his queen.

"She's trapped," Viserion murmured, urging his dragon forward.

Dany glanced behind her and saw Viserion closing in. Her gaze hardened. Reaching into her boot, she pulled out a black Dragonbone dagger. She held it to her throat, her hands steady despite the storm and the chaos around her.

Dany drew a jade tablet from her pouch, its surface adorned with embedded seven-colored gems that glinted in the faint light. Holding it high, she cried out with unwavering determination:

"I am Jaehaerys IV's granddaughter, Aegon I's great-granddaughter, and Viserys II's bloodline! Let me in, or I will die here!"

This jade token carried immense significance, a creation of the same Viserys II who had sought to fortify the legitimacy of his lineage. Issued to his direct descendants, these tokens served as irrefutable proof of the purest Targaryen bloodline, descended directly from Viserys the Restorer and Daenerys.

The guards stationed at the Summer Palace understood the gravity of the situation. Refusing entry to someone with such a token could lead to dire consequences, and so, after a tense pause, they parted to allow Dany access. Under their watchful eyes, she passed through the defenses and was escorted toward the innermost hall of the Summer Palace.

From his vantage point in the storm, Viserion saw it all.

The sight of the token stirred a complex mix of emotions within him. The jade tablet had once been entrusted to him by their late mother. He, in turn, had passed it to Dany, believing it might one day save her life. At the time, he had never imagined it would become an obstacle to his ambitions.

Viserion clenched his fists as the memories surged back. Only fifty such tokens had been issued centuries ago, and most had since been lost to time. The rarity of the artifact, coupled with the rapid multiplication of Viserys II's descendants over the generations, made the token an invaluable relic.

"I gave her that token to protect her, not to stop me," he muttered bitterly.

Urging his dragon forward, he landed at the palace gates but was promptly intercepted by the guards.

"Do you have a token as well?" one of them asked.

"I don't," Viserion admitted, his tone curt. "But I am her brother!"

The deputy commander shook his head, unyielding. "Without a token, you may not pass. Wait here, my lord."

Frustration burned within Viserion. Though Targaryens were Dragonlords, bound to a legacy of might and nobility, they were also bound by their own laws. And the Summer Palace laws were absolute. To force his way in would invite censure, and he could already see the political fallout looming on the horizon.

"Hmph!" he scoffed, throwing a disdainful glance at the guards before turning away.

For a moment, he considered charging in with his dragon, but the thought quickly faded. The Summer Palace was shielded by airborne magic. If his dragon were struck down, it would be the end of him. Gritting his teeth, he resigned himself to waiting in the rain, his gaze fixed on the palace's towering structure.

Inside, Dany followed the Summerhall commander through the grand doors of the innermost hall. The architecture, a marvel of Valyrian craftsmanship, was awe-inspiring in scale. The corridor stretched endlessly, and even the largest dragons could navigate its vast spaces with ease.

As they entered the main chamber, Dany's gaze was drawn to the walls, where two magical portraits hung in reverence. Full-length depictions of Viserys the Restorer and Queen Daenerys looked down over the hall, their gazes eternal. Beneath each portrait rested the colossal skulls of their dragons, symbols of their unmatched power and legacy.

Dany approached the portraits, her footsteps echoing faintly. She knelt before them, trembling slightly—not from the cold, which Targaryens were known to withstand, but from the tension coursing through her body. Her damp clothes clung to her frame as she pressed her hands together in silent prayer.

Daenerys seeks asylum. Daenerys seeks asylum. Daenerys seeks asylum.

This ritual, steeped in tradition, had rarely yielded results. Though Queen Daenerys' portrait responded more often than Viserys', the magic had become increasingly dormant over the decades. If no response came within a quarter of an hour, the supplicant would be asked to leave.

Commander Brune discreetly checked his watch and began counting the minutes.

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.

As he prepared to tell Dany to leave, the hall was suddenly bathed in a soft glow. The light emanated from Daenerys' portrait, illuminating the space with a warmth that pierced the gloom.

Commander Brune and his men immediately knelt behind Dany in reverence as the portrait came to life.

A voice, calm and regal, echoed from the painted figure. "Did you say your name is also Dany?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Dany whispered, her voice barely audible as she lowered her head.

The painted Daenerys studied her with an air of curiosity. "What brings you here, child?"

Tears welled in Dany's eyes as she answered, "Your Grace, I do not wish to marry the Prince of Yi Ti... but my brother..."

Her voice broke as she poured out her thoughts and fears.

Daenerys in the painting fixed her cold gaze on Commander Brune and commanded sternly, "Call in Viserion."

Her tone softened as she turned to Dany. "My dear, go wash and change."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dany said, bowing deeply before leaving the hall accompanied by a brown-skinned servant. The servant, standing discreetly in a corner earlier, now quickly cleaned up the puddles of water left behind by Dany's soaked clothes as she departed.

Meanwhile, Viserion sat in a side room with the Summer Palace guards, taking shelter from the rain. The announcement that Daenerys wished to see him sent a chill through him. Unease prickled his thoughts, and when a guard offered him an umbrella in an attempt to curry favor, he waved it away brusquely.

As he made his way to the hall, the vast square before it loomed ahead. Statues of crouching dragons flanked the central avenue, their stone gazes seeming alive under the dim, rain-soaked light. Viserion could not shake the feeling that the statues were watching him, judging him silently.

Each step along the avenue felt heavier than the last. Finally, he reached the staircase leading to the hall—111 steps in total, each representing one year of Viserys and Daenerys' legendary partnership. By the time he set foot on the topmost step, his legs felt leaden, his breath shallow.

As he entered the grand hall, the air felt oppressive. His great-grandmother's painted visage stared down at him with icy disdain.

"Viserion Targaryen greets Your Grace," he said, bowing his head low.

His thoughts raced. He remembered vividly the tales of Daenerys passing judgment, even sentencing other Targaryens to death for grave offenses. One had been a drunken Dragon Knight whose reckless actions had led to civilian deaths; another had been a paranoid emperor who executed his own son, only to meet his end by the decree of the Restorer couple.

Yet, Viserion did not see himself as guilty of any comparable crime. Still, he knew that disapproval from Daenerys—or worse, Viserys—could doom his chances for the throne.

As he scrambled to prepare a defense in his mind, Daenerys spoke, her voice calm yet devastatingly sharp.

"Viserion, you dishonor the name."

Her words cut through him like a blade. His carefully constructed arguments crumbled in an instant. The accusation, though delivered without a shout, reverberated in his ears, leaving him dazed.

"Is this the time for the Targaryens to live or die?" Daenerys continued, her voice growing firmer. "Must dragons make fight each other like common beasts?"

"No, Your Grace," Viserion replied, his voice shaking.

"So you would betray your own sister for your pitiful lust for power?" she asked, her gaze piercing.

"I would not…" Viserion began, but the words faltered in his throat, unwilling to emerge.

Daenerys's painted face hardened further. "Well, I don't think the Targaryen name suits you anymore. You're out."

The sentence hit him like a blow, leaving him trembling. Though she hadn't explicitly ordered his death, the judgment was final—he was stripped of his claim, his honor tarnished.

As her words echoed in his mind, a chilling line from The Great Biography of the Restorer surfaced in his thoughts: "Whatever he doesn't have, take away what he has."

He had never imagined that he, of all people, would become an embodiment of that infamous quote.

"Leave," Daenerys commanded.

In a daze, Viserion turned to leave, each step heavier than the last. Just as he reached the threshold, Dany reappeared, her clean, dry clothes a stark contrast to her earlier state.

"I beg Your Grace not to take my brother's surname," Dany implored, her voice trembling but resolute.

"Dany!" Viserion exclaimed, startled. He didn't want his sister entangled in his disgrace.

Dany stepped forward and continued, her eyes filled with determination. "Your Grace, my brother has always been kind to me. When we were young, he told me stories about the Restorers and about you. I've caused trouble for you by fleeing here. Please don't blame him. He… he had no choice."

Daenerys's expression softened slightly, though her gaze remained calculating.

At that moment, a deep, commanding voice echoed through the hall. "Oh? No choice? Tell me exactly why there was no choice."

The portrait of Viserys, which had been silent for fifty years, glowed faintly as it came to life.