Author Note:
I would now try to skip a few years till Red Wedding. Running out of ideas 😅. Ignore the loopholes.Â
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298 AC
The winds of Qarth carried the scents of exotic spices, perfumed oils, and wealth. The city's gleaming towers and elaborate marketplaces stood as symbols of its prosperity, but beneath its opulent facade lurked whispers of magic and treachery. Aemon Targaryen had felt it the moment they arrived—an undercurrent of danger, as sharp and bitter as dragon's breath.
Aemon and Daenerys had come to Qarth seeking allies and resources. With their hold over Slaver's Bay growing stronger, they needed the wealth and influence of Qarth to secure trade routes and gather supplies for their eventual conquest of Westeros. The city's strategic position as a trading hub made it a valuable ally—or so they had thought.
For a time, they found a fragile peace within the walls of Qarth. The news of Daenerys' pregnancy had brought a rare, radiant joy to both of them. It was a hope neither had dared to dream of—the continuation of the Targaryen line, their future embodied in the child growing within her.
But peace was fleeting in a world that thrived on betrayal.
The Curse of Qarth
It began with whispers—rumors that spread like wildfire through the gilded streets of Qarth. The Warlocks of the House of the Undying, their pale blue lips murmuring incantations, feared the growing power of the Targaryens. They saw the dragons not as marvels but as threats, and Daenerys' unborn child as a harbinger of doom.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in shades of crimson and gold, Daenerys collapsed in the palace courtyard. Her screams echoed through the marble halls, a sound that froze Aemon's blood and sent servants scattering in terror.
"Daenerys!" Aemon's voice was raw with panic as he rushed to her side, cradling her trembling body in his arms. Her skin was clammy, her breath ragged, and her violet eyes were wide with fear.
Missandei appeared moments later, her face pale but determined. "It's a curse," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the shadows. "The Warlocks of Qarth. They've done this."
Aemon's heart thundered in his chest. The Warlocks had dared to threaten his family, his future. Fury unlike any he'd ever known ignited within him, hotter than any dragon's flame.
"They will pay," he growled, his voice a promise of death and destruction.
The Wrath of the Dragonlord
The night air was thick with the scent of burning wood and scorched flesh. The flames of vengeance lit the sky as Aemon unleashed his fury upon Qarth. Ancalagon, his black and red-scaled dragon, roared as he soared above the city, raining fire upon the House of the Undying and any who dared stand in their path.
The once-beautiful towers of Qarth crumbled under the relentless assault, their opulence reduced to ash and rubble. The Warlocks screamed as dragonfire consumed them, their magic powerless against the ancient wrath of Valyria reborn.
Daenerys, though weak and trembling, watched from the safety of their chambers, her heart aching with a mixture of fear and awe. She knew this was more than revenge; it was a declaration. Aemon was no longer just a dragonlord—he was a force of nature, unstoppable and merciless.
When the fires finally died down, the city of Qarth was little more than a smoldering ruin. Aemon returned to Daenerys, his face streaked with soot, his eyes dark with rage and sorrow.
"It's done," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "They will never harm us again."
The Birth of a New Legacy
8 Months Later
Despite the curse and the devastation that followed, Daenerys' pregnancy endured. The healers, guided by Missandei's steady hands and Aemon's unwavering determination, fought to protect both mother and child. Every day was a battle, but Daenerys' strength—fueled by her love for Aemon and the hope for their future—carried her through.
In the cool autumn of 298 AC, Daenerys gave birth to a daughter. The child's cries echoed through the halls of Meereen, a sound that brought tears to Aemon's eyes. She had silver-gold hair like her mother and eyes the color of molten steel, a perfect blend of fire and blood.
They named her Visenya, after the fierce warrior queen of old Valyria, a symbol of the strength and legacy they hoped to pass on.
As Aemon held his daughter for the first time, a fierce protectiveness surged within him. The world had tried to take her from them, but they had prevailed. Visenya was not just their heir—she was a symbol of their resilience, their unyielding will to survive.
But the fires of Qarth had delayed Aemon's plans to conquer Westeros. The time for vengeance would come, but for now, he would bide his time, watching and waiting until the moment was right.
Yet, in the quiet of the night, as he stood on the balcony with Daenerys and their daughter in his arms, Aemon knew that the world would soon tremble beneath the wings of dragons once more.