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Rhaena Targaryen, Somewhere – Somewhen.

“YOU!” roared the Queen of the West, her vision contorted with completely disproportionate fury and hatred as she stared at the damned kinslayer she called her uncle.

Although, to Rhaena’s inner confusion, Maegor was… much younger than she remembered. He did not have the beard or that permanent scowl that had haunted Rhaena in countless nightmares. His eyes lacked the malice and perverse satisfaction she remembered from those torturous nights in the Red Keep. Quite the opposite, he looked so… young and confused.

Something that, apparently, Alyssane and Jaehaerys had noticed as well, their faces filled with hatred now replaced by questions and doubt.

Maegor looked at all of them with… caution. His eyes scanned the surroundings, completely alert, slightly hunched and… protective?

Now… Rhaena was completely certain that something was wrong. The beast she called uncle was incapable of feeling compassion for anyone.

“Who are you? Where are we?” Maegor asked, looking around with a frown, making Rhaena step forward and respond.

“Do you really not recognize us? After everything you put me through? You don’t recognize your own niece after everything you did to me?” the Queen of the West asked with a roar filled with frustration.

The man… Maegor, looked at her with confusion in his eyes before frowning and snapping.

“What the fuck do you mean? Aenys’s daughter is a fucking child. What kind of nonsense are you talking about?” the confused man snapped, making Rhaena grow even more furious, ready to continue arguing, until a feminine voice… a beautiful and familiar voice that Rhaena had missed so terribly, made itself heard.

“Muna?” that voice cried, a voice the Queen had dreamed of countless nights without end, while Rhaena felt her throat tighten as she watched a small head cautiously emerge from behind the man. Against her will, tears began streaming uncontrollably from Rhaena’s eyes.

“Aerea! My love!” she cried, lunging forward at the same time the young princess emerged completely from behind Maegor and threw herself into her arms.

“MUNA!!” her beloved little girl cried, throwing herself into Rhaena’s arms, her eyes filled with tears. The two embraced each other with all their strength, completely forgetting everyone around them and softly murmuring words of love to one another.

At least, until Maegor intervened.

“Well, if you say she’s your mother, then you’re not those damned shadows disguised as people again,” her uncle said with a sigh as he completely relaxed his posture, calmly looking around.

Rhaena frowned, looking toward Maegor with fury, but also with doubt in her eyes, especially after seeing how… calm her beloved daughter appeared to be around the man.

What the fuck was happening here? the Queen of the West thought, observing how Maegor seemed… human, not like the beast she remembered from her torment.

Something that, apparently, everyone was beginning to recognize as well. The fearful looks transformed into caution and curiosity, and then, the Conqueror spoke.

“My son, welcome,” Visenya said naturally, standing up and walking toward her son with that characteristic seductive grace of the old harpy. He looked at her in surprise before… smiling?

What the fuck was happening? Maegor never smiled. Who the fuck was this man?

“Muna! You look… different. more...matured, where are we?” the man said tactfully and cautiously, making the Conqueror roll her eyes before answering.

“I know I’m old, my son… I’m glad to see you again. Tell me something, what is the last thing you remember? Before you died,” the woman asked curiously, making everyone present lean forward, eager to hear his answer.

Maegor… frowned before gently shaking his head.

“I… was fighting in the Vale, Aenys' orders, I had just executed Jonos Arryn and bedded Cerysse, preparing to return to King’s Landing… when an immense pain invaded my head, completely unbearable. My vision slowly turned black as a deep and sinister laugh invaded my senses. The last thing I remember was… a silhouette resembling a bird, a raven… to be more precise, before I woke up in...in the Tower,” Maegor said with a frown, shuddering at the mere memory of the event.

Those words made Rhaena frown, holding her daughter tightly, who apparently confirmed Maegor’s words.

“I… appeared in the same Tower, after… after… after…” Aerea said, completely shuddering at the memory of her agonizing death.

“Terrifying creatures made of… liquid shadow began stalking me. I fled from them, running as fast as I could, until I found the old man over there, who was fighting another group of shadows. From that moment onward, we wandered together without direction, climbing that damned tower. Endless, twisted floors, as though they had been dragged straight out of the Seven Hells. No matter how high we climbed, the floors never ended. We stopped counting after five hundred, losing all sense of time, wandering for longer than I care to remember, until just moments ago, when a beautiful blue butterfly guided us to a strange door, different from all the architecture of that twisted place, and an instant later, we appeared here,” her daughter said, evidently relieved to be in her mother’s arms, something that apparently Maegor shared as he received a firm and warm embrace from Visenya.

“Wait… if you died in the Vale… then who the fuck was the one who returned to King’s Landing?” the old King asked, making Aegon II laugh loudly as he took a drink from his wine and exclaimed.

“Oh, Gods! The mystery deepens even further! What excellent service!” he said with obvious pleasure in his voice, making some Targaryens stare at him incredulously while others snorted with amusement.

Rhaena turned her intense gaze toward the impertinent young man, her hands clutching Aerea, who was doing the same with her. However, before she could say anything to reprimand Aegon, the sphere illuminated once again, silencing all the Targaryens, much to the confusion of the newcomers.

“Muna, what is happening? What is that?” Aerea asked, but Rhaena simply silenced her daughter and replied.

“Wait, my daughter. Let us watch, and afterward I will explain everything to you,” the Queen said, silencing the entire room in the process.

“I’ll let you rest, my lord. After breakfast, you’ll be going to Diagon Alley. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall at eight.”

Jon shook his head.

“There’s no need, Headmaster. I remember the way to the Great Hall. I can find it myself.”

Dumbledore studied him for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Very well. I’ll see you there, then. Your room is ready. It’s rather simple, but it should serve you well. Good night, Lord Stark.”

With a slight bow, the old wizard departed.

“Apparently Aemon has already returned from the bank,” Rhaena’s brother, Jaehaerys, said calmly, unconsciously stroking his beard.

“He looks exhausted, he can barely stand!” Princess Daella said, still clinging to her daughter Aemma, watching with obvious concern as Aemon said goodbye to the Headmaster and entered his room with a heavy sigh, carrying something in his hand… something incredible to most of the Targaryen men and women present.

“Is that a wand? Aemon's wand?” his niece Daenerys asked excitedly, watching as Aemon held the apparently innocent wooden object in his hands, much to the delight of all the Targaryens present.

“Do you think we’ll see Aemon perform magic?” Aegon V asked excitedly, a feeling that, frankly, everyone present shared.

But for the moment, they could only watch.

The entire Targaryen clan observed the castle chamber with interest. In many respects… it was quite similar to the rooms of the Red Keep, but in others… it completely overshadowed them, making them look like simple savages.

The bed was enormous, a work of art that in Westeros would not have been within the reach of even kings, crafted with exquisite precision. The room also possessed enormous windows, much to the surprise of the literate Targaryens… made from the finest glass they had ever seen in their lives, enormous tinted panes depicting dragons and wizards, panes that in Westeros would cost more than many castles in the Kingdom.

Next, they watched Aemon acquire his first servant, a strange yet useful creature, similar to goblins, extravagant and frankly terrifying, but apparently incredibly loyal and helpful.

Rhaena watched with amusement and pride as young Aemon knelt before the little creature, simply to comfort her over the death of her former mistress, a gesture that apparently annoyed most of the men who had been Kings.

“But why the fuck is he kneeling before that insignificant creature?” Aegon IV snapped, while, to Rhaena’s embarrassment, many of those present nodded along with his words.

However, Aegon’s own son, Daeron II, looked at his father with an icy expression and snapped.

“It’s called empathy, something that apparently is in short supply in this family. I’m glad to see that young Aemon possesses a good heart, noble enough to comfort this Missy. It is a quality that will serve him well, if he ever becomes King,” said one of the worthiest descendants of his brother, making many of those present frown at his words.

“You mean… when he becomes King, right, Daeron?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at Daeron with a confused expression, making one of Jaehaerys’s few worthy descendants look at his great-grandmother and answer.

“Tell me, Rhaenyra, if you were in Aemon’s position, growing up believing you were a bastard, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself in a magical world where you could become what you had always been denied, where you possessed a noble title that, were you to return to Westeros, nobody would take into account, a world filled with magic and fantasy… would you want to return to Winterfell? To a Westeros where you are branded as a bastard and treated as little more than garbage?” the King asked with cunning and determination, silencing every person present without exception.

They all knew the answer, after all.

“I… hadn’t thought of that,” the Queen said with extreme caution, while everyone around them began speaking among themselves in discouraged tones, with the exception of Aerion, who snapped in response.

“But Aemon isn’t a bastard. He is a prince, grandfather! He has nothing in common with that disgusting bastard Daemon Blackfyre,” the insolent young man snapped, making the heavy gaze of Daeron II focus on his grandson. He leaned forward, commanding the respect and silence of everyone present.

“Daemon Blackfyre, that bastard you speak of with such misery and cruelty, was my younger brother. The boy who walked clumsily behind me with a radiant smile. The one who would sit beside me and watch me read for hours, asking a thousand questions with the sole excuse of spending time with me, simply because he desired my company. The one I comforted in my arms when Princess Daena died. The one who gave me a smile and swore he would study hard to become my Hand of the King… Daemon was my brother, Aerion, just as Daenerys is, and just as Shiera and Brynden were,” Daeron said solemnly and firmly, demonstrating without hesitation why he was considered one of the greatest Targaryen Kings, and in the process earning the sympathy and evident gratitude of the princess in question.

Daena nodded calmly and replied.

“And I thank you for your gestures, nephew. Daemon always spoke to me about you with admiration… witnessing what happened… broke my heart, to be honest. It was as though…” the princess attempted to say, only for Daeron to interrupt her again.

“As though he had not been himself… as though someone, or something… had taken his place, just as apparently happened with Maegor,” Daeron II said, looking at the man in question, who did not seem willing to move away from his own mother, Visenya the Conqueror.

“It is a theory… as crazy as it is possible, especially after witnessing what we have just seen. But if it is true, it leaves us with more questions than answers. Who or what has been sabotaging House Dragon throughout its entire history?” Jaehaerys asked with a frown.

And apparently, nobody had the answer.

“Let us focus on Aemon,” said Baelor, son of Daeron II, making everyone calmly nod and obey, watching Aemon leave the strange room, now dressed in nightclothes and, much to Rhaena’s amusement, levitating directly toward the enormous bookshelf in the room.

“An erudite to the bone, apparently,” Maekar said with a deep laugh as they watched.

After leaving the bathroom, much more relaxed, Jon approached the fireplace and glanced at the small bookshelf beside it.

His eyes moved across the titles. He could start with the book Professor Snape had lent him, or perhaps find something else first.

Decisions, decisions.

Eventually, one particular title caught his attention:

“Charms and Spells for a Wizard Home, Extended Edition.”

“Now… that’s a book I could read without any problem,” Aegon II said while drinking wine, making Aemond beside him roll his eyes.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Aegon. You wouldn’t open that book even if your life depended on it,” his brother said, his acidic tone drawing amused snorts from the Targaryens around them. But nobody actually commented further, too interested in Aemon to do so.

Jon smiled.

Judging by the title, it seemed to contain spells for mundane household tasks. If so, learning some of them could prove useful.

He settled onto the sofa, intending to read only a few pages before going to sleep.

An hour later, he was still reading.

The book contained charms for nearly every aspect of daily life:

“Washing dishes, repairing clothes, cleaning rooms, tending gardens, Gods, there is a charm for anything it seems!” said Aemon with fascination.

“Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa.”

The instructions were simple. Wand movement. Incantation. Concentration.

Jon glanced at the wand Professor Flitwick had given him, which was resting innocently on the dresser, standing up and walking towards the wand, to every Targaryen watching him interest.

Everyone in the room fell into absolute silence, watching with almost feverish attention the moment they had all been waiting for, almost three hundred years of lineage condensed into this precise moment.

“Do you think he’ll succeed?” Lucerys whispered softly, surprisingly receiving an answer from Aemond.

“He will. he is a true Targaryen prince after all” he said indifferently, making Aegon II laugh into his cup while Rhaenyra’s three sons glared at him.

“Silence, all of you,” Jaehaerys snapped, standing up and watching with fascination as Aemon held the wand with a certain reverence and respect, gently running his hand over the wood while calming his mind with deep breaths.

When… Aemon’s determined gaze focused on the book, the one that had been left on the sofa, and he raised his wand.

He commanded.

“Come here.”

The book shot across the room like an arrow, no strings, no tricks… just pure magic.

“Stop.”

The book halted in midair.

It hovered beside him, completely motionless.

Jon stared at it.

Then a slow smile spread across his face.

He pointed his wand toward the floating book.

“Cut.”

A flash of white light erupted from the wand.

The book split cleanly in two.

Jon’s eyes widened.

The two halves remained suspended in the air.

He grinned.

“Repair.”

With a gentler gesture, the torn book reassembled itself before his delighted eyes, as if it had never been damaged.

Jon let out a loud and relieved laugh.

And with him, every Targaryen did the same, without exception. Rhaena watched with a certain bitterness as some of the illustrious princes and Kings celebrated Aemon’s achievement as though it were something collective.

As though it were something belonging to House Dragon itself, forgetting the small detail that, if Aemon possessed these abilities, it was very likely that they came from the Stark bloodline.

Although that would be a discussion for later. Rhaena was also pleased by the young man’s achievement, genuinely happy for him. Aemon’s life could not have been easy, and she only hoped that, with time, he would be able to heal the scars left by the circumstances of his childhood.

Alas, that was a matter for later.

“A DRAGON KING WITH MAGIC! THAT DISGUSTING STAG USURPER HAS NO IDEA WHAT AWAITS HIM!”

“A BLESSING FROM THE GODS!”

“COME ON, AEMON!”

The celebrations continued beneath the pleased and fascinated gazes of everyone present, all of whom were hungry for more. Everyone, including her, wanted to see more magic, to learn more about this wonderful world in which her brother’s descendant found himself.

He waved his wand again.

A quill rose from the desk.

Then a cup.

Then several books.

Within moments, objects were floating all around him, moving at his silent command.

“He’s showing off now, hahaha! He really is a Targaryen, there’s no doubt about that,” her nephew Baelon said with a laugh, watching in wonder as Aemon seemed to possess a natural talent for magic for several seconds, until apparently the physical effort became too much, causing all the objects floating around him to simply collapse onto the floor of the room, although Aemon’s smile was… impossible to hide.

Most of those present laughed loudly at Baelon’s words, but everyone fell silent when they saw that the image in the sphere was not yet finished. Instead, it focused on Aemon, staring hypnotized at one of the elegant torches in the room, the flame dancing with a hypnotic movement.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with Aemon, Mother?” Maegor asked with a frown, making the Conqueror stand up and pay feverish attention to the image in the enormous sphere.

“That, my son… is the blood of the dragon calling out strongly,” the elegant and dangerous woman whispered, while every Targaryen held their breath, watching as Aemon walked toward the flame, completely hypnotized, his gray eyes briefly turning an intense purple, the characteristic color of the Dragon Lords, at the same time the torch’s flame began moving erratically, until…

“FUCK!” Aerion shouted, standing up and staring with a deranged smile followed by a crazed laugh as Aemon literally took the torch’s flame between his hands, holding it between his fingers for several moments, completely entranced.

The sight caused everyone present, without exception, to begin murmuring among themselves in fascination, while Aegon II snorted before speaking.

“Of course. Stark magic and apparently Valyrian magic as well. What are we missing? A harem of beautiful magical maidens to fulfill Aemon’s every pleasure?” the drunken man said, drawing laughter from Aegon IV, who raised his own cup and exclaimed.

“OH, GODS! I hope that actually happens, hahaha!”

However, nobody paid any attention to the pathetic men’s words, far too concerned with capturing every detail of the event. Even Visenya observed everything with a calculating gleam in her expression.

“Interesting… I read the Diaries on Dragonstone, and even my own studies fall short compared to Aemon’s apparent potential…” she said to herself, at the same time the sphere suddenly lost power, causing all the Targaryens present to focus their attention on the Conqueror.

Rhaena frowned and, looking toward the damned harpy, snapped.

“Wait, you knew about that kind of magic? About Valyrian magic?”

Rhaena’s disbelief and fury were evident to everyone present, although Visenya merely looked at her with indifference.

“Of course. I always took my studies very seriously, unlike your grandmother, who limited herself to playing the harp, riding her dragon, and riding Aegon, of course,” Visenya snapped with evident resentment.

Rhaena was preparing to respond when, to everyone’s surprise, the sphere illuminated once again, this time showing Aemon walking alongside Professor Snape through Diagon Alley.

“The first thing is to get you your own wand, Lord Stark, and Ollivander will find your faithful companion.”

The man’s words captured everyone’s attention, prompting Rhaena to snap.

“This isn’t over,” the Queen of the West promised before focusing once again on the sphere.

Something told her that what they were about to see would be important.

She was not wrong.