Thirty-five years into the Restoration calendar, Viserys the Restorer, still in the prime of his springtime years, made an announcement that shocked the realm: he would abdicate the throne in favor of his thirty-two-year-old son, Willemrys. The news came just months after the emperor's stunning victory at the Tournament of the Year, where he had competed—and won—as a masked contender. For a man in his fifties, such a feat was almost beyond belief.
By July of the same year, nobles from Westeros and the Free Cities flocked to King's Landing like birds returning to their nests. The city, whose population had hovered near 700,000, saw its numbers surge well beyond that figure. The port brimmed with ships stretching as far as the eye could see. Colorful banners flapped in the wind, and dragons of every hue soared and circled above, casting their shadows over the bustling capital.
The current Princess of Dorne was Arianne Martell, who had assumed the title after her father, Doran, passed away fifteen years prior.
This time, Willemrys' enthronement was orchestrated in part by Arianne and her uncle, the Red Viper. Among the entourage were Arianne's son, Clemence, and his wife, Elizabeth—the second daughter of Viserys and Shinelli. Elizabeth, now a proud mother of three sons, had further cemented ties between House Targaryen and House Martell. Her sons, all silver-haired, bore a striking resemblance to the Targaryen lineage. Of the three, one—rumored to resemble Viserys the most—had even earned the title of Dragon Knight.
Arianne, now over fifty-five and the same age as Viserys, gazed at the ever-changing city before her, marveling at how different it was with every visit.
"What is Viserys like now? The last time I saw him, he was still young."
Her thoughts churned with a mix of bitterness and jealousy. It had been seven years since their last meeting, back when they were both forty-eight. If only Viserys had been the only one to retain his youth, she might have accepted it. After all, he had shown remarkable magical prowess even as a teenager. But it wasn't just him—his women remained youthful as well.
Even Sansa, the youngest, showed no signs of aging. And Shinelli, the eldest at sixty, looked no older than someone in their early thirties. Arianne couldn't help but wonder: if she hadn't been so impulsive back then, might she have lived in this very castle herself?
"Mother," Clemence said, moving to steady her as she seemed momentarily lost in thought.
"I'm not that old!" she snapped, brushing him off before storming away, leaving Clemence bewildered.
"What's wrong with Mother?" Elizabeth asked.
Elizabeth, both a Dragon Knight and a Princess of House Targaryen, commanded great respect in Dorne. The Water Gardens that her grandfather, Doran, had cherished had been expanded in her honor, reflecting her growing influence.
"I don't know," Clemence replied with a shrug, his expression uncertain.
Elizabeth, however, was far more composed. She was no stranger to King's Landing. As a dragon rider, she had the freedom to visit the city whenever her duties allowed. Her familiarity with the capital gave her a confidence Clemence often envied.
Just then, a tall figure caught their attention. It was Rudy, the fifth child of Viserys and Shinelli, approaching with a wide smile to greet his sisters.
"Sister!" Rudy called out, hurrying to Elizabeth. The two embraced warmly, the joy of their reunion evident.
As they pulled apart, Elizabeth's keen eyes caught something unusual—a white silk scarf wrapped snugly around Rudy's neck. The sight immediately struck her as odd.
"This is so unlike you," she said, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with your neck?"
Rudy hesitated, avoiding her gaze. "Nothing. It just feels comfortable," he muttered.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Nonsense. I know you. When you were little and lying, you used to blink nonstop. Let me see!"
Ignoring Rudy's protests, Elizabeth deftly untied the scarf, revealing a jagged arrow wound running down his neck. Her expression darkened at the sight.
"I got it in Slaver's Bay," Rudy admitted sheepishly. "Don't tell Father, okay?"
Elizabeth sighed, her irritation clear. Rudy had always admired Viserys, and his reckless streak often led him into dangerous situations. Some time ago, a minor conflict had flared up between the Empire and Slaver's Bay. While Elizabeth had heard of Rudy's daring exploits during the skirmish, she hadn't realized just how much he'd risked.
"Be careful next time!" she said sternly, giving him a sharp tap on the head.
Rudy grinned despite himself. "Come on, sister, let's go."
They soon reunited with their eldest sister, Victoria—Viserys's first child. Before long, all five siblings had gathered, each accompanied by their respective children, and began making their way toward the Red Keep.
Most of Viserys's daughters had been married off, their unions forging powerful alliances across Westeros and beyond. A curious detail, however, had become the talk of the realm: all of Viserys's grandchildren had silver hair, an undeniable mark of their Targaryen blood.
Rumors swirled about the cause, some attributing it to Viserys having devoured the Night King. Whatever the truth, about a third of these descendants had become Dragon Knights, fiercely loyal to their Targaryen heritage despite the independence their dragons could afford them. Much of this loyalty stemmed from their deep admiration for their grandfather, Viserys, whose influence was unparalleled.
Viserys, for his part, seemed content. He understood that in the coming millennia, new Dragonlord houses might rise, but for now, he relished the thousand years of ascension and prosperity that lay ahead for his family. If another "Restorer" emerged in the future, it would be a welcome surprise, but he felt no need to dwell on what might come.
Meanwhile, within the palace—now called the Red Palace after its expansion—Willemrys was preparing for his new role as emperor. The palace, which now encompassed nearly a third of King's Landing, was a marvel of power and ambition. The city itself had more than tripled in size, bustling with life and activity as never before.
Inside his chambers, Willemrys sat quietly as his wife organized his ceremonial attire. She was the daughter of Young Connington and Arya, and the two shared a bond amplified by their shared lineage and history. With a seven-year age gap between them, their union was seen as an auspicious match among the nobility—thanks in part to the precedent set by Viserys and Daenerys.
Despite the blessings of his position, Willemrys couldn't shake his unease. Though he had assisted Viserys and Daenerys with administration for nearly a decade, the sheer scale of the empire he was about to inherit felt overwhelming. No kingdom had ever been as vast, as powerful, or as demanding as this one.
"Renee, you Father is still so young. Why does he want me to be emperor?" Willemrys asked, his tone laced with uncertainty.
"Because you've done an excellent job, and Father trusts you!" Renee replied warmly, her voice brimming with encouragement.
Willem smiled helplessly as he looked at his wife. Her long, dark hair framed her fair skin, and her red lips contrasted beautifully with her white teeth. Renee's beauty was undeniable—so much so that even Viserys had once admitted she had inspired his tale of Snow White.
After pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, Willemrys left with Renee and their three sons to visit his mother, Dany.
Dany, nearing fifty, looked as youthful as ever—no older than her twenties, with skin so flawless it could rival that of a seventeen-year-old. Willemrys marveled at how time seemed to leave no mark on her; in his memory, her appearance had never changed.
"Do you remember where your name comes from?" Dany asked in a measured tone, her eyes sharp yet affectionate.
"I will never forget, Mother," Willemrys replied solemnly. "Ser Willem was the one who protected you and Father when you were young. He was the Warden of the Targaryen bloodline during the most dangerous era for our house. And 'Lys'—it isn't just a common Valyrian suffix. It reflects your hope that I would inherit Father's virtues."
Dany's expression softened, clearly satisfied with her son's understanding. She had always held high expectations for Willemrys, her eldest son. Unlike many families with a "tiger mother and eagle father" dynamic, she and Viserys had reversed roles. Viserys, with his awe-inspiring achievements, made a point to be approachable to their children.
This was no accident. It was a lesson Viserys had carried over from his memories of a past life. He often reflected on historical figures like Qin Shi Huangdi, who had unified China and achieved greatness, only for his son Fu Su to fall victim to a scheming adviser. Viserys believed that if Qin and his son had fostered a closer relationship, such tragedies could have been avoided.
He also thought of Emperor Wu of Han, who had expelled the Xiongnu and expanded China's influence, only to see similar fates befall his successors. Even the Tang dynasty's Li Shimin, who strengthened his empire, had allowed a lack of closeness to provoke unnecessary rivalries among his children.
In contrast, Viserys made it a priority to maintain close relationships with his five sons, knowing it was the key to preventing such conflicts. He and Dany had an unspoken agreement to always keep their family bond strong. If anything significant happened, they would discuss it openly.
For Dany, this meant sometimes playing the disciplinarian, keeping her sons in check when necessary. But she cherished the moments when she could simply be a loving mother, particularly with her two youngest daughters.
As their conversation shifted to government affairs, Dany quizzed Willemrys on various matters. He answered each question with precision, earning a rare, warm smile from his mother.
"You're already a true king, my child," Dany said softly, stroking Willemrys's face before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Willemrys froze for a moment, startled by the gesture. It was unlike his mother to show such tenderness.
"Go and see your father," she added.
As he walked deeper into the palace, Willemrys couldn't shake the sense that his mother had become exactly as he had always wished her to be—a blend of the wisdom of Lady Falia and the warmth of Lady Sansa.
Still a little dazed, Willemrys entered the next chamber. There, he found Viserys standing before a rack of clothes, carefully inspecting a newly crafted dragon robe.
"Father," Willemrys called out with a warm smile.
Viserys turned, his youthful face unmarked by time. Though in his fifties, he looked almost as young as Willem, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Standing together, they could easily be mistaken for brothers. Their similar height and features only deepened the confusion, and many officials unfamiliar with them often made amusing errors. When Viserys and Willem stood side by side, more than a few had mistaken Viserys for Willem, and Willem for his younger brother Rhaegar. If Viserys had claimed to be in his early twenties, no one would have doubted it.
"My big boy," Viserys said affectionately. "Come here and take a look at the dragon robe I designed for you."
Willemrys stepped closer to admire the red-and-black dragon robe. He had always been captivated by his father's impeccable sense of aesthetics. From clothing to literature, Viserys was unmatched. His creative genius extended far beyond attire—his Targaryen Fairy Tales were beloved bedtime stories for children across the realm, and his contributions to music and literature were unparalleled.
To Willemrys, Viserys was almost godlike, though a god with a mischievous streak that often left Willem at a loss for words.
"It's beautiful, Father. I like it very much," Willem said sincerely.
"Oh? If you like it so much, how about we switch? You can wear my robe, and I'll wear this one," Viserys teased, his smile playful.
"Okay!" Willem replied without hesitation, missing any subtext. To him, it was a simple exchange—one robe was new, the other old. It seemed perfectly natural for his father to wear the newer one, while he, the son, wore the older one.
Viserys chuckled, seeing the earnestness in his son's response. Willem was not naïve, but he clearly hadn't caught on to the metaphor Viserys was attempting to weave. That plan had fallen through, so Viserys decided to take another approach.
"Willem," he began thoughtfully, "let me ask you something. If, in the future, all Targaryen emperors were allowed to wear only one dragon robe, would you agree to that?"
"A dragon robe, like a crown, is a symbol of status," Willem answered after a moment's thought. "It doesn't matter whether it's new or old."
Viserys nodded, then posed another question. "If that's the case, consider this: people wear clothes because there are more clothes than people. But if it were the other way around—if the dragon robe outlasted the wearer—do you think you're wearing the dragon robe, or is the dragon robe wearing you?"
Willemrys froze, his expression reflecting the weight of the words. "Father… I think I understand something, but it's not fully clear. Please teach me."
Viserys laughed, amused by Willem's earnestness. His son, despite being in his thirties, winked at him with a childlike playfulness.
"You must remember who you are," Viserys said, tapping Willem lightly on the head. "Never let power consume you. Power is responsibility, Willem.
"The highest use of power is to seek a better life for the majority. A lesser use is to realize one's personal ideals. And the lowest, most selfish use, is to revel in the thrill of power or indulge in the luxury it provides."
"Like Robert the Usurper," Willem replied, his smile fading.
"Exactly," Viserys agreed, patting his son's shoulder. "Robert fell into the last category. The point is simple: as king, you must embody the interests of the people. Only then will the throne remain a source of strength and not become a burden or a trap."
With that, Viserys picked up the dragon robe and helped Willem put it on. The rich red and black fabric made Willem look imposing, regal, and every bit a Targaryen ruler.
Father and son exited the room together, where Renee was waiting with their four children. Beside her stood their eldest son Jaehaerys, second son Aron, third daughter Anjelica, and youngest daughter Melody.
Seeing his grandchildren, Viserys leaned over and whispered into Willem's ear, "You've already given me four grandchildren at just twenty-eight. Let her rest a bit."
Willem grinned mischievously and replied, "Hey, Father, Renee's pregnant again. And besides, I only have one wife."
Good point!