Living the Dance | aegon ii targaryen

One

"Rhaenyra Targaryen was murdered by her brother or rather his dragon. It ate her while her son watched," Joffrey explains in a fit of giggle. Freya watched the tv throwing popcorn at the man face.

"I can't wait for his death if only he was fed to the dragons instead" I exclaimed as he was one of her most hated characters while watching Game of Thrones.

If only the dance of dragons could have had better outcome then maybe Joffrey would have never sat the throne. Oh to be able to change the course but as I'm so constantly reminded this is fantasy and could never happen.

Today me and my friends are taking a tour of the Game of Thrones Exhibit at Warner Bros studio. I've never been but to see all the props is gonna be such an amazing experience.

As I started preparing, I clasped around my neck the cherished necklace I've had since infancy. It's a silver piece, featuring a dragon clasping a ruby in its claws. Some might speculate my fondness for it is tied to the show, but the truth is deeper. My adoptive parents told me it was the sole possession with me when I was discovered on the orphanage's doorstep.

Tierra and I arrived at the Warner Bros studio, both of us buzzing with excitement. Walking through the Game of Thrones Exhibit felt surreal, surrounded by the costumes, weapons, and artifacts that had brought the show to life.

"Look at this!" Tierra exclaimed, pointing towards a beautifully crafted model of the Iron Throne. "Can you imagine what it would feel like to sit there, ruling over the Seven Kingdoms?"

I laughed. "Probably a lot less comfortable than it looks. But let's find out."

The exhibit wasn't crowded near the throne, and soon it was my turn. I approached, feeling an odd sense of reverence. As I sat down, I couldn't resist a quip. "Maybe I should declare myself Queen of the Andals and the First Men," I joked, touching the arm of the throne.

The moment my hand brushed the cold metal, the world spun. The noise of the exhibit faded into a deafening silence. Panic surged through me as I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the arms of the throne tightly.

When I dared to open my eyes, the world had changed. I was no longer in the Warner Bros studio. Instead, I found myself staring at the vast, open sea from the cliffs of a place I recognized immediately from my countless hours of reading and watching—Driftmark.

When I dared to open my eyes, I found myself not on the cliffs as I had first thought, but rather in the churning waters below. The sudden shock of cold water engulfed me, soaking me through as I struggled to stay afloat. My heart raced, panic setting in—not just from the shock of the cold, but from the realization that I had somehow been transported into the world of my favorite TV show.

As I treaded water, trying to comprehend my situation, I heard shouts from above. Squinting against the sunlight, I looked up to see several figures on the castle  edge, staring down at me in confusion and concern. Among them, I recognized the distinctive armor of the Kingsguard, their swords drawn as they assessed the threat I might pose.

Their attention was fixed on me, or more specifically, on my appearance which seemed to invoke a particular curiosity.

Why they looked at me so intently didn't make sense until I remembered the Targaryen lineage's distinctive features that I shared: pale hair and a certain sharpness to my features that could easily be mistaken for Valyrian blood. But as they whispered among themselves, pointing and scrutinizing, I felt a pang of fear.

"How did a girl end up in the sea?" one of them called out, his voice carrying over the waves.

I wanted to shout back, to explain that I had no idea how I had ended up here, that I was just as confused and scared as they were. But the words caught in my throat, muffled by the crashing waves and my disbelief.

"State your name and business," one of the Kingsguard demanded, his tone authoritative yet tinged with curiosity. They were all examining me closely now, their suspicion clear. My appearance seemed to have taken them aback—my modern clothing and the peculiar necklace around my neck, with its dragon and ruby, only added to their confusion.

"My name is Freya," I managed to say, my teeth chattering from the cold. "I... I don't know how I got here. One moment I was in my world, and the next, I... I was here."

"Seize her at once and bring her to the Throne Room," commanded Otto Hightower, his voice carrying the weight of authority. The Kingsguard, previously cautious and curious, now tightened their grip, guiding me with renewed purpose through the throngs of onlookers and into the heart of power.

As we made our way through the castle's opulent halls, a figure caught my eye—Daemon Targaryen. His gaze was piercing, and as it fell upon me, it was not just my drenched and out-of-place appearance that drew his attention but the necklace around my neck. The silver dragon clutching a ruby seemed to spark recognition, or at least curiosity, in his sharp eyes.

King Viserys, too, noticed the necklace as I was hurried past him. His look was brief but intense, a mixture of intrigue and perhaps a hint of recognition. It was a look that told me this simple piece of jewelry might hold more significance here than I could have imagined.

As we continued, I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror. The face that stared back was familiar yet startlingly different. I was once again 15, my features younger, more innocent. The realization hit me with a mix of shock and wonder. Not only had I been transported to another world, but time itself seemed to have bent, reshaping me into a younger version of myself.

Before I could ponder this further, we arrived at the Throne Room. The doors swung open, and I was ushered inside, where the fate that awaited me was as uncertain as the strange, new world I had found myself in.

******

AN:

This story is inspired by Muggles as it been a type of story I've always wanted to but with my own twist. It has been awhile since I've read the book.