Across Oceans of Time and Space —
A fanfic inspired by Twitter user @ persephonejace’s idea of Rhaenyra putting Jace into a sleep induced by blood magic after his fall during the Battle of the Gullet.
"The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then."
Little did she know she would find them both on Dragonstone. One, a prince stranded in time, destined to be woken only by one with the promised blood. The second, a king with ties to them both, though he does not yet know it.
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She moved through the room and came upon a bed. It was a grand one, canopied and curtained, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to pull back the curtains.
And she gasped, for lying there atop the mattress was a young man.
Daenerys stepped back. Her right hand went to her waist, yet it was for naught, she had no weapons on her.
But he did. His hands laid atop a sword, though it was sheathed and he made no move to attack her.
In fact, he made no moves at all. It was as though he was entirely unaware of her presence. His eyes were closed, and even as she returned and came closer to the edge of the bed, he did not open them.
“Hello?” she risked saying.
She received no response.
Who was this? He was younger than her and could be no older than sixteen or seventeen. His face was smooth and pale, his hair a dark brown and curly.
A red cape was pinned to the top of his right shoulder, held in place by a circular brooch of three dragons.
His sword and hands rested above his chest, but she saw enough of the fabric to discern it was a dragon that was embroidered onto his tunic.
Dany tried to think. Of Stannis Baratheon, she knew he had had only one child, a daughter, but she had perished.
But what of the Usurper … He had fathered many illegitimate children. Was this one of them? Hidden by his brother?
No. That made no sense at all. And why would such a child be clothed in the colors of House Targaryen, wearing the sigil of the house Robert Baratheon overthrew?
She chanced speaking to the young man once more.
“Hello? Will you not wake?”
Apparently, he would not. Was it possible he was deaf? In that case, she would have to rouse him.
But he had a sword. If he reacted badly, she could be sliced in two.
And yet, she knew he would not hurt her. There was a kindness in his resting face, a nobleness that made her believe it was worth the risk of waking him.
Her fingers had just grazed his skin - she had been trying to gently shake his hands that lied atop his sword - when he breathed in sharply.
His eyes opened. They were brown, a plain sort of color, though lighter than his hair.
“My apologies, I -” Dany attempted to say, but her words were robbed from her as her hand was taken in his and squeezed so hard she yelped.
“Who are you?” the young man demanded, his voice dry and raspy.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/88582346/chapters/235008261
