Chapter Text
It surprised him when he no longer fell through water, but air again. It seemed an odd introduction to whatever came after death. At least, he ought to have hit the bottom of the lake first, either being crushed or drowning. Instead he landed on grass.
Catching his breath, and carefully waiting to see how badly he was injured (he didn’t seem to be dead, though he really should be. Had expected to be), he slowly worked his way to his feet. Soaking wet, covered in lakewater and blood, both his own and not his own, he looked around. And all he saw was grass.
Well, dead or no, just waiting to see what would happen didn’t seem at all useful, so he looked around to see if his sword had fallen with him, but couldn’t find it. Or the dragon. But he hadn’t expected to find him. He had been badly hurt, after all. Still, he had hoped. Then he picked a direction and started walking.
He soon decided that (unless he was dead and this was some sort of hell) he must have ended up in the Dothraki Sea. He had been before, and the sameness of it was familiar, if boring. When night started to fall, he heard horses coming towards him.
The horse lords brought him to their Khal who looked him over, grunted something in his language of barbarians, and waved him away. Then he was pointed towards a tent, with a terse “Andals” from his guide. So he went. At least these andals might know something about how he could get back home to his wife and his war.
Approaching the tent, he heard a man howl something about waking the dragon. Which sounded like a terrific idea to him, so he opened the tent and said as much. Inside were family. He had never met them before, but clearly family. The girl (young, lovely, scared) cowered back from the man (also young, but not as lovely) who loomed over her, furious about something. An older westerosi man stood off to the side. And there were eggs, lying in a fire. Whatever good they thought that would do.
All three people in the tent turned to him and stared. He ignored them and reached for the eggs. The westerosi man grabbed his hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.
“Daemon. Targaryen, obviously. Prince, also obviously,” he answered. “Now get your hand off me before I take it off you. ”
“There is no prince Daemon Targaryen,” the young man sneered. “We’re the only ones left. The usurper and his dogs killed everyone else.”
Well. That was unexpected.
“And you are?” He narrowed his eyes at the young man.
“Viserys. Rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Viserys was my brother. And he died last year. The other Viserys is my son, and he’s a child yet.”
Silence fell at that. So Daemon turned back to the eggs. He wondered why they were kept in a regular fire. Much too cold, soon they would petrify and it would take magics to bring them back. He took one of them out of the fire. It was cool to the touch, and it was too late for it. He set it down, and took the next. Same. And again with the third. Same. No dragons would hatch from these unless extraordinary measures were taken.
“Who exactly do you think you are?” the westerosi man asked. Apparently he was an idiot.
“I’ve already told you that. Prince Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince, if you prefer.”
“That is impossible. The Rogue Prince fell to his death almost two hundred years ago, during the Dance of Dragons,” the man who claimed to be called Viserys interjected. “You are a liar.”
“I fell, that much is true. Caraxes and I killed my traitor nephew and Vhagar, while falling into the God’s Eye. But I landed here, so either I am dead and this is hell or you are the liars.”
“His body was never found,” the westerosi man said. “And if this world still holds dragon eggs, who says what else it can hold?”
“I am sorry, but who are you?” Daemon snapped. “And why are there Targaryens living with filthy barbarians, trying to cook dead dragon eggs?”
“Ser Jorah Mormont. And the last Targaryens live here because the princess is married to the Khal.”
Daemon sat down. Something unexpected and complicated was clearly going on, and no matter if he was dead or if this was some ridiculous plot, he had better find out what he could.
“Well. Let’s agree that I am who I say I am, and you are who you say you are, and I have somehow lost a great number of years. Tell me what I’ve missed.”
They did. Rather messily as the boy-who-claimed-to-be-Viserys kept getting stuck in rants about some Usurper, until Daemon slapped him across the face and made him sit down and be silent. The girl, Daenerys, seemed shocked about it. But eventually he found out that he had indeed disappeared, Caraxes (Oh, fierce, lovely one) had passed alone on the shore, and his wife (another fierce beloved creature, ever since she was a child) had lost and died in the maw of Sunfyre. A fitting end, perhaps, but one he would grieve when alone. Then his boy, Aegon, had become king (which was suitable and just) and proceeded to be a fool and killed the dragons that were left.
After that, he hardly listened to what Ser Jorah and Daenerys told him until they reached the Rebellion that had wiped out his family, and how that had brought the last descendants of his house to a dirty tent, surrounded by dirty barbarians and their horses.
At least his only proper course of action was clear. They must return home, and as soon as possible. They must also bring the dragons back, but that shouldn’t cause too much of a problem. Unlike the fools that had apparently come from his line (drinking wildfire and burning down castles? Seven hells, how had the wisdom of Old Valyria been allowed to so rot away?), he actually knew what he was doing. And the horse lover husband must be gotten rid of. One did not hand a jewel to swine, even if the swine promised ever so much. For a moment, he considered marrying the girl himself. But no. He found that for the first time in his life, he felt old. And his little princess, his dragon bride (beloved, missed) was gone. He would take her kingdom back for her (them), he had promised that, and bring the dragons back. Perhaps even fly again before the gods he had never cared for took him again and for real.
He informed his descendants of their next moves. They chattered at him, protesting, claiming promises given by barbarians, claiming a pregnancy (as if the stud mattered when it was the mother whose blood was precious), claiming they would never survive.
He banged his fist into the table. “Enough! We pack the eggs, clothes, food and money. Then we leave. And if the barbarians try to stop us, we kill them. Dragons eat horses, remember that. And then we sail to Dragonstone.”
They tried to object again. This Khal had never been defeated (so what? there was a first for everything). They didn’t know how to navigate out of the Sea? Nonsense. The Mormont knight did, he eventually admitted. Dragonstone was held by the Usurper’s brother? Well, Daemon had lived on Dragonstone for any number of years and knew every secret passage. They weren’t going to the keep to start with anyway.
Eventually, his descendants and their pet knight stopped bothering him with complaints and objections, and accepted that he knew best, as was only proper. He was for certain the more suitable king present. The young Viserys seemed unhinged and obsessive, and worse, made stupid by it. His role would only be fathering new Targaryens, then he would be put out to pasture somewhere he could do no harm. The girl was young and meek enough to be taught, and he would be around himself to make sure her babies grew to be dragons proper.
They snuck out of the camp under the cover of night, stole horses and rode off. Daenerys had squeaked when he killed her handmaidens, but that was no matter. The knight had looked slightly ill when he also gathered some of their blood in a flask to bring with them. The Dothraki did follow them, but four people moved faster than a horde, no matter who was in it, and they could kill the individual riders who caught up with them. It rather invigorated him to do battle again, and reassured him too that his centuries long fall hadn’t dulled his edge. He made sure to take the braids of all Dothraki he killed, and leave them trampled in the dust, stained with the blood and fluids of their former owners. They kept the horses to sell.
When they reached civilization, he sent the knight to sell the horses, and enjoyed the first bath (and the first woman) since he and Caraxes had fallen. And after he had sent the girl away (lyseni, for the hair and the eyes, though the features never quite measured up to those of his own family) he allowed himself to grieve for his wife, his children, his dragon, and his lovers.
The next day, he left the others at the inn, and went looking for a ship. He was lucky and found one, flying the flag of the Velaryon. He didn’t tell them exactly who he was, but it didn’t take much digging to be assured that the line of the Sea Snake held true.
Days later, they set sail for Dragonstone. Where he would look for living eggs hidden in the Dragonmont, and if he couldn't find any, well, he knew how to wake petrified ones with Fire and Blood.