A Second Chance
And now I am fleeing once again, from the darkness that seeks to consume me.
Such is life in 2021.
*******************************************************************************************
Author's notes:
Internal monologue in the SI's head is in italics.
Single words in italics are used for emphasis.
IMPORTANT NOTE; THIS VERSION IS DIFFERENT THAN THE AH.COM VERSION, AS IT HAS BEEN EDITED AND IMPROVED. Just saying.
Disclaimer: ASOIAF and all related works are the property of George RR Martin. I am writing this in direct defiance of his stance on fanfiction because he’s taking literally forever with “Winds of Winter” and I bet I can finish my fic before he publishes “Winds of Winter”. I however, claim possession of the characters that I have created. This also counts as fair use.
The Ethereal Plane
48AC
"Sister, our champion is dead. And this time, he isn’t coming back"
"Dead? What do you mean? He still has Balerion and those lordlings of his can rustle up some 4000 men. That’s more than enough to destroy those traitorous fools who’ve sworn themselves to his brother's half-grown whelp. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre altogether are but hatchlings compared to Balerion.”
“Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
“No, no, no, no . . NO! DAMN IT ALL! FUCK!”
“His mind was already slipping away from him. Whatever Tyanna did to revive him, it depended on her continued survival. Without her presence, his mind has begun to decay. That greedy Pentoshi whore has the last laugh.”
“Brother? Sister? What’s going on?”
“Our demise.”
“Our demise? What are you talking about?”
“Take a look for yourself, Sister dearest. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well . . . shit.”
“Visenya’s perfect son! The savior of the dragonlords! The messiah that would raise a new Valyria from the ashes of the Freehold! And now he’s a pile of dead meat on that stupid prickly chair! ARRGGHHH!”
“I told you we shouldn’t have lavished so much of our powers on the child!”
“And not grant Visenya’s only wish? She alone held faith with us when her brother and sister converted to those seven freaks.”
“She wasn’t our only worshipper with dragonblood in her veins, Brother. That Lyseni family was more pure of blood than the Targaryens.” (1)
“And now they’re all dead thanks to your stupid gamble. We could have protected them, Sister.”
“The girl still lives, Brother.”
“She won’t survive very long. Once her captors realize she managed to poison her womb, they’ll dispose of her. We should have devoted more of our attention and power to that Lyseni family rather than throw all our eggs into one basket.”
“So what do we do now Sisters? Twiddle our thumbs and await our eventual demise?”
“No Brother. We cannot surrender, not while we still have enough energy for one final gamble.”
“Only to have it turn out the same way as your Sister’s gamble?”
“Hey, I did what I could al-”
“Shut up! Both of you! Will you stop arguing like children and listen for a minute?”
“Yes Sister.”
“You have my attention Sister. Go ahead.”
“We take the mind of this man here and place it inside Maegor’s body, right before the palfrey incident occurs.”
"Is this a jape, Sister? Because I assure you that this half-grown boy won’t last for more than a year. If only the dragonlords had been a bit more humble and listened to our warnings, we wouldn’t have come to this despicable point. Transporting a mortal from a different world to save our skins. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”
“This champion of mine counts nine and ten namedays Brother. That is most clearly-”
“Not a grown man. We require a veteran officer, skilled in personal combat with ample experience commanding large formations in battle. This boy does not fulfill any of those requirements.”
“His understanding of our world and the things to come make up for his lack of experience. This also means he’s more adaptable, for a veteran commander would rely on his experiences and be less open to new ideas. Just because he’s in the reserves doesn’t make him a bad commander. Plenty of good commanders from his world have started out from the reserves.”
“Good point Sister. But what do we do with Maegor’s consciousness?”
“We take it and dispose of it, Sister. Though . . . we could leave behind some trace amounts. Some of the ruthless savagery and utter brutality he possessed can still be of use as we mold my champion.”
“Ugh. I still think this isn’t a good idea. I mean, just look at him Sister. He looks like a broken mess down there. Every other bone in his body has been shattered.”
“It was a long drop, Brother. Or have you forgotten that mortals are quite fragile compared to us?”
“That’s not the point, Sister. The fall was not an accident, it was deliberate sabotage. If your champion is to survive, then he’ll have to be better than this.”
“Not a problem, Brother. Unlike Maegor, my champion is both cunning and wise, in his own way. Visenya will see the potential in him at first glance. She’ll rectify whatever shortcomings he possesses and make sure he’s ready to face whatever life has to throw at him. With some training and guidance from us, he’ll be capable of beating down whatever the multi-faced motherfucker has up his greasy sleeves. His descendants will be more than enough to suppress the abominable icemen and destroy him if necessary.”
“This plan of yours has given me inspiration Sister. What say we pair up him and the girl?”
“While it’s nice of you to play matchmaker for Sister’s champion, I really think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”
“I suppose this means you’re supporting my plan now Brother?”
“What else can I do Sister? Sit and wait for us to fade away into dust?”
“Shall I summon our brothers and sisters now that the three of us have agreed on our heading?”
“Go ahead. And tell them to hurry. My champion isn’t going to last much longer.”
************************************************************************************************************
Dragonstone Castle, Dragonstone
20 AC
The last thing I remember seeing clearly was the plain, white ceiling of my hospital room, everything beginning to become blurred and muddled. Yells and shouts of the hospital personnel were mingled with the rapid beeping of various medical devices. My vision dimmed it was just as I had suspected. I was dying. The odd thing was, it wasn't as painful as I'd expected it to be; there was surprisingly little pain as the last sensations of feeling flowed out from my shattered body. All I could see was a faint glow and then, nothing at all. Out of the blue, I felt something different. Bizarre things started happening to me as I floated through the endless abyss of nothingness. (2)
A thousand foreign memories flew into my mind. I saw dozens of people who I should have recognized, a fortress construed of black stone upon a volcanic island that felt like home, and a man fighting me with a sword before it all faded to black once again.
I slowly awoke to voices calling a strange name. My head was still fuzzy and I couldn't hear them clearly. I'm alive again! Fuck yeah!
Gradually, the fuzziness faded and I opened my eyes slowly.
The first thing I saw was some dude in big grey robes with greying hair and a jangling metal chain leaning over my bed; a dozen servants in attendance.
"Prince Maegor, are you alright? Can you hear me?"
"Wha..Wha...What happened? Wh...Whe...Where am I?"
"My Prince, you are in your chambers right now. You collapsed right after a training bout with Ser Gawen."
"T-Training? Di...Did I take a hit to the head? And who is . . . Ser Gawen?"
"No, my Prince, you did not and that is what vexes me. You were perfectly fine after the bout yet you collapsed only mere moments afterwards when you were putting away your training sword. Thank the Seven that Ser Gawen Corbray, the master-at-arms of Dragonstone, caught you before your head hit the ground. Do you not remember him teaching you swordsmanship for the past three moons?"
"I...I...I do. It's just that the memories are a little fuzzy. Remind me to thank him for catching me Mister..."
"Maester Orland, my Prince." The robed man articulated the word Maester, as if it gave him some special pride to refer to himself as one.
"Yes, as I was saying, remind me to thank him for catching me Maester Orland. Just before you all leave, I have a request to make of you all."
"My ears are all yours, my Prince. I'm sure the servants are listening as well." The dozen servants in attendance bowed their heads briefly in a serious fashion.
"Everyone here must swear to keep this incident a secret and let no one know, especially my mother and father. Do I have your word?"
I emphasized the word "everyone". No one could know what happened, especially not whoever was King and Queen.
"Of course my Prince." pronounced Maester Orland. "The servants here can be trusted as well, my Prince. They live to serve House Targaryen."
The servants nodded as I scanned their faces.
Well, at least one problem has been solved. Now, it's time to figure out who I am.
"Good. Now if you don't mind, can I please have some time alone to recover." Maester Orland and the servants bowed before leaving me alone in my room.
I looked around at my surroundings, which was a room in a building made of stone. It was richly decorated, with brilliant tapestries on the wall and vibrant rugs covering the hard stone floor. My bed was in the lower right corner of the room, which was very large compared to any bedroom I had ever seen before. There was a large door at the top right corner of the room, which was perpendicular to my bed and a large window on my left. A wooden desk and chair was placed right in front of the window and there was a large rectangular chest-of-drawers at the far end of the room with a small strongbox atop the dresser. To the left of the dresser was a large closet and to it's right was a large locked chest; the kind used for traveling.
I rose from my bed, which was as brilliantly decorated as the rest of the room and looked for my boots. They were on the left side of my bed and I quickly put them on to look for clues as to who I am now. My brain began to make sense of my surroundings and situation.
A maester. That means I'm in Westeros. And he called me Prince Maegor, which means there's a 50% chance I'm Maegor the Cruel. Great. Now I just have to confirm which Maegor I am.
I walked over to my desk and looked over the papers strewn about its solid wooden surface.
A letter, recently opened by the looks of it, caught my eye and I grabbed it to take a closer look. It was addressed to Prince Maegor of House Targaryen and the year was 20 AC.
"Oh shit. Oh fucking shit." I slumped into the chair and slouched, feeling utterly overwhelmed.
I was Maegor Targaryen, also known as Maegor the Cruel. The soon-to-be butcher of thousands of innocent people, a soon-to-be kinslayer, and definitely one of the worst Targaryen Kings to ever sit on the Iron Throne. Not to mention the asshole who married 3 young women against their will but couldn't even have one living heir.(3)
I put the letter back on the desk and sighed. Rage was bubbling in my guts and it was mixed with a sense of dread, with a twinge of fear at what I would become.
"Damn my fucked up luck. I fucked up basic officer training because of a stupid injury and now I get inserted into the body of a bloodthirsty and quite possibly insane Targaryen King in Westeros. Who is also the asshole that commits suicide because everyone deserts his cause in the end. Just my wonderfully fucked up luck."(4)
I was ready to start screaming in frustration when a thought popped into my head.
It's 20 AC right now. If I remember correctly, Maegor was born in 12 AC. That means Maegor is now 8 years old. That also means none of the mad shit he did has happened yet. I'm in possession of Maegor's body and I'm in an era where House Targaryen still has dragons. Lots of dragons.
The realization dawned upon me, like a bolt out of the blue.
The fate of Westeros and House Targaryen was right there, within my grasp.
My sullen face quickly brightened up and a large smile crossed my face.
I got up and walked over to my nightstand to pour myself a glass-no, a goblet, of cool water.
Nice and refreshing. Just the way I like it.
The day was still young and there was much to do.
First things first though, time to go find Ser Gawen Corbray and thank him for catching me before my head hit the ground, which would have been seriously painful, if the stone floor of my room was any indicator.
One thing at a time Ste-no. No, no, no. Forget about who you were. That you is lost and gone forever. Now you must become Prince Maegor of the House Targaryen, son of King Aegon I Targaryen and Queen Visenya Targaryen. No one can ever find out about who you were. You are Maegor now. Maegor. Maegor. Maegor.
***********************************************************************************************************************************
Notes:
1. Your ultra-rare spoiler. Treasure it, because it may never happen again.
2. This is the main change from the AH version. They changed his memory so he won’t remember his traumatic death.
3. Tyanna and Alys Harroway don't count because they wanted to marry Maegor and Ceryse was an arranged marriage, so I'm counting the Black Brides.
4. More about who the SI was in his past life will be gradually revealed. No spoilers.
To all my readers on AH.com, I have kept my promise.
FBVS is now up on SB.com
Also, this version of FBVS will be different than the original on AH.com because it will be improved based on the constructive criticism that I have received.
Also, the AO3 version will be updated accordingly so that it is identical to this version.
Hope you enjoy,
-Black Dragon
Such is life in 2021.
*******************************************************************************************
Author's notes:
Internal monologue in the SI's head is in italics.
Single words in italics are used for emphasis.
IMPORTANT NOTE; THIS VERSION IS DIFFERENT THAN THE AH.COM VERSION, AS IT HAS BEEN EDITED AND IMPROVED. Just saying.
Disclaimer: ASOIAF and all related works are the property of George RR Martin. I am writing this in direct defiance of his stance on fanfiction because he’s taking literally forever with “Winds of Winter” and I bet I can finish my fic before he publishes “Winds of Winter”. I however, claim possession of the characters that I have created. This also counts as fair use.
The Ethereal Plane
48AC
"Sister, our champion is dead. And this time, he isn’t coming back"
"Dead? What do you mean? He still has Balerion and those lordlings of his can rustle up some 4000 men. That’s more than enough to destroy those traitorous fools who’ve sworn themselves to his brother's half-grown whelp. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre altogether are but hatchlings compared to Balerion.”
“Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
“No, no, no, no . . NO! DAMN IT ALL! FUCK!”
“His mind was already slipping away from him. Whatever Tyanna did to revive him, it depended on her continued survival. Without her presence, his mind has begun to decay. That greedy Pentoshi whore has the last laugh.”
“Brother? Sister? What’s going on?”
“Our demise.”
“Our demise? What are you talking about?”
“Take a look for yourself, Sister dearest. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well . . . shit.”
“Visenya’s perfect son! The savior of the dragonlords! The messiah that would raise a new Valyria from the ashes of the Freehold! And now he’s a pile of dead meat on that stupid prickly chair! ARRGGHHH!”
“I told you we shouldn’t have lavished so much of our powers on the child!”
“And not grant Visenya’s only wish? She alone held faith with us when her brother and sister converted to those seven freaks.”
“She wasn’t our only worshipper with dragonblood in her veins, Brother. That Lyseni family was more pure of blood than the Targaryens.” (1)
“And now they’re all dead thanks to your stupid gamble. We could have protected them, Sister.”
“The girl still lives, Brother.”
“She won’t survive very long. Once her captors realize she managed to poison her womb, they’ll dispose of her. We should have devoted more of our attention and power to that Lyseni family rather than throw all our eggs into one basket.”
“So what do we do now Sisters? Twiddle our thumbs and await our eventual demise?”
“No Brother. We cannot surrender, not while we still have enough energy for one final gamble.”
“Only to have it turn out the same way as your Sister’s gamble?”
“Hey, I did what I could al-”
“Shut up! Both of you! Will you stop arguing like children and listen for a minute?”
“Yes Sister.”
“You have my attention Sister. Go ahead.”
“We take the mind of this man here and place it inside Maegor’s body, right before the palfrey incident occurs.”
"Is this a jape, Sister? Because I assure you that this half-grown boy won’t last for more than a year. If only the dragonlords had been a bit more humble and listened to our warnings, we wouldn’t have come to this despicable point. Transporting a mortal from a different world to save our skins. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”
“This champion of mine counts nine and ten namedays Brother. That is most clearly-”
“Not a grown man. We require a veteran officer, skilled in personal combat with ample experience commanding large formations in battle. This boy does not fulfill any of those requirements.”
“His understanding of our world and the things to come make up for his lack of experience. This also means he’s more adaptable, for a veteran commander would rely on his experiences and be less open to new ideas. Just because he’s in the reserves doesn’t make him a bad commander. Plenty of good commanders from his world have started out from the reserves.”
“Good point Sister. But what do we do with Maegor’s consciousness?”
“We take it and dispose of it, Sister. Though . . . we could leave behind some trace amounts. Some of the ruthless savagery and utter brutality he possessed can still be of use as we mold my champion.”
“Ugh. I still think this isn’t a good idea. I mean, just look at him Sister. He looks like a broken mess down there. Every other bone in his body has been shattered.”
“It was a long drop, Brother. Or have you forgotten that mortals are quite fragile compared to us?”
“That’s not the point, Sister. The fall was not an accident, it was deliberate sabotage. If your champion is to survive, then he’ll have to be better than this.”
“Not a problem, Brother. Unlike Maegor, my champion is both cunning and wise, in his own way. Visenya will see the potential in him at first glance. She’ll rectify whatever shortcomings he possesses and make sure he’s ready to face whatever life has to throw at him. With some training and guidance from us, he’ll be capable of beating down whatever the multi-faced motherfucker has up his greasy sleeves. His descendants will be more than enough to suppress the abominable icemen and destroy him if necessary.”
“This plan of yours has given me inspiration Sister. What say we pair up him and the girl?”
“While it’s nice of you to play matchmaker for Sister’s champion, I really think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”
“I suppose this means you’re supporting my plan now Brother?”
“What else can I do Sister? Sit and wait for us to fade away into dust?”
“Shall I summon our brothers and sisters now that the three of us have agreed on our heading?”
“Go ahead. And tell them to hurry. My champion isn’t going to last much longer.”
************************************************************************************************************
Dragonstone Castle, Dragonstone
20 AC
The last thing I remember seeing clearly was the plain, white ceiling of my hospital room, everything beginning to become blurred and muddled. Yells and shouts of the hospital personnel were mingled with the rapid beeping of various medical devices. My vision dimmed it was just as I had suspected. I was dying. The odd thing was, it wasn't as painful as I'd expected it to be; there was surprisingly little pain as the last sensations of feeling flowed out from my shattered body. All I could see was a faint glow and then, nothing at all. Out of the blue, I felt something different. Bizarre things started happening to me as I floated through the endless abyss of nothingness. (2)
A thousand foreign memories flew into my mind. I saw dozens of people who I should have recognized, a fortress construed of black stone upon a volcanic island that felt like home, and a man fighting me with a sword before it all faded to black once again.
I slowly awoke to voices calling a strange name. My head was still fuzzy and I couldn't hear them clearly. I'm alive again! Fuck yeah!
Gradually, the fuzziness faded and I opened my eyes slowly.
The first thing I saw was some dude in big grey robes with greying hair and a jangling metal chain leaning over my bed; a dozen servants in attendance.
"Prince Maegor, are you alright? Can you hear me?"
"Wha..Wha...What happened? Wh...Whe...Where am I?"
"My Prince, you are in your chambers right now. You collapsed right after a training bout with Ser Gawen."
"T-Training? Di...Did I take a hit to the head? And who is . . . Ser Gawen?"
"No, my Prince, you did not and that is what vexes me. You were perfectly fine after the bout yet you collapsed only mere moments afterwards when you were putting away your training sword. Thank the Seven that Ser Gawen Corbray, the master-at-arms of Dragonstone, caught you before your head hit the ground. Do you not remember him teaching you swordsmanship for the past three moons?"
"I...I...I do. It's just that the memories are a little fuzzy. Remind me to thank him for catching me Mister..."
"Maester Orland, my Prince." The robed man articulated the word Maester, as if it gave him some special pride to refer to himself as one.
"Yes, as I was saying, remind me to thank him for catching me Maester Orland. Just before you all leave, I have a request to make of you all."
"My ears are all yours, my Prince. I'm sure the servants are listening as well." The dozen servants in attendance bowed their heads briefly in a serious fashion.
"Everyone here must swear to keep this incident a secret and let no one know, especially my mother and father. Do I have your word?"
I emphasized the word "everyone". No one could know what happened, especially not whoever was King and Queen.
"Of course my Prince." pronounced Maester Orland. "The servants here can be trusted as well, my Prince. They live to serve House Targaryen."
The servants nodded as I scanned their faces.
Well, at least one problem has been solved. Now, it's time to figure out who I am.
"Good. Now if you don't mind, can I please have some time alone to recover." Maester Orland and the servants bowed before leaving me alone in my room.
I looked around at my surroundings, which was a room in a building made of stone. It was richly decorated, with brilliant tapestries on the wall and vibrant rugs covering the hard stone floor. My bed was in the lower right corner of the room, which was very large compared to any bedroom I had ever seen before. There was a large door at the top right corner of the room, which was perpendicular to my bed and a large window on my left. A wooden desk and chair was placed right in front of the window and there was a large rectangular chest-of-drawers at the far end of the room with a small strongbox atop the dresser. To the left of the dresser was a large closet and to it's right was a large locked chest; the kind used for traveling.
I rose from my bed, which was as brilliantly decorated as the rest of the room and looked for my boots. They were on the left side of my bed and I quickly put them on to look for clues as to who I am now. My brain began to make sense of my surroundings and situation.
A maester. That means I'm in Westeros. And he called me Prince Maegor, which means there's a 50% chance I'm Maegor the Cruel. Great. Now I just have to confirm which Maegor I am.
I walked over to my desk and looked over the papers strewn about its solid wooden surface.
A letter, recently opened by the looks of it, caught my eye and I grabbed it to take a closer look. It was addressed to Prince Maegor of House Targaryen and the year was 20 AC.
"Oh shit. Oh fucking shit." I slumped into the chair and slouched, feeling utterly overwhelmed.
I was Maegor Targaryen, also known as Maegor the Cruel. The soon-to-be butcher of thousands of innocent people, a soon-to-be kinslayer, and definitely one of the worst Targaryen Kings to ever sit on the Iron Throne. Not to mention the asshole who married 3 young women against their will but couldn't even have one living heir.(3)
I put the letter back on the desk and sighed. Rage was bubbling in my guts and it was mixed with a sense of dread, with a twinge of fear at what I would become.
"Damn my fucked up luck. I fucked up basic officer training because of a stupid injury and now I get inserted into the body of a bloodthirsty and quite possibly insane Targaryen King in Westeros. Who is also the asshole that commits suicide because everyone deserts his cause in the end. Just my wonderfully fucked up luck."(4)
I was ready to start screaming in frustration when a thought popped into my head.
It's 20 AC right now. If I remember correctly, Maegor was born in 12 AC. That means Maegor is now 8 years old. That also means none of the mad shit he did has happened yet. I'm in possession of Maegor's body and I'm in an era where House Targaryen still has dragons. Lots of dragons.
The realization dawned upon me, like a bolt out of the blue.
The fate of Westeros and House Targaryen was right there, within my grasp.
My sullen face quickly brightened up and a large smile crossed my face.
I got up and walked over to my nightstand to pour myself a glass-no, a goblet, of cool water.
Nice and refreshing. Just the way I like it.
The day was still young and there was much to do.
First things first though, time to go find Ser Gawen Corbray and thank him for catching me before my head hit the ground, which would have been seriously painful, if the stone floor of my room was any indicator.
One thing at a time Ste-no. No, no, no. Forget about who you were. That you is lost and gone forever. Now you must become Prince Maegor of the House Targaryen, son of King Aegon I Targaryen and Queen Visenya Targaryen. No one can ever find out about who you were. You are Maegor now. Maegor. Maegor. Maegor.
***********************************************************************************************************************************
Notes:
1. Your ultra-rare spoiler. Treasure it, because it may never happen again.
2. This is the main change from the AH version. They changed his memory so he won’t remember his traumatic death.
3. Tyanna and Alys Harroway don't count because they wanted to marry Maegor and Ceryse was an arranged marriage, so I'm counting the Black Brides.
4. More about who the SI was in his past life will be gradually revealed. No spoilers.
To all my readers on AH.com, I have kept my promise.
FBVS is now up on SB.com
Also, this version of FBVS will be different than the original on AH.com because it will be improved based on the constructive criticism that I have received.
Also, the AO3 version will be updated accordingly so that it is identical to this version.
Hope you enjoy,
-Black Dragon