Where normally the protagonist is transported to another universe or dimension , the roles have now been reversed. The Targaryen uncle-niece find themselves in the home of the 17-year-old Allaria Black. How will she react to the arrival of the Targa...
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UNDER THE BLANKET OF NIGHT, Daemon Targaryen stood at the head of a small contingent of his most trusted men, their faces grim and determined in the pale moonlight. Beside him, Harwin mounted his steed with practiced ease, his eyes steely with anticipation for the task ahead. The abandoned fort loomed in the distance, a dark silhouette against the starry sky.
"We move swiftly and quietly," Daemon commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Secure the perimeter. We find Lady Allaria, and we bring her home."
With a nod of understanding, the men set off, their movements swift and purposeful as they approached the decrepit walls of the fort. Harwin signaled for them to spread out, searching every shadow and corner for any sign of their captive.
As they moved deeper into the fort's interior, the tension mounted with each step. Suddenly, a clash of steel rang out—a desperate struggle in the darkness. Daemon and Harwin rushed toward the sound, their hearts pounding with a mix of dread and determination.
They found themselves face to face with the kidnappers, a fierce skirmish erupting in the narrow corridors and crumbling chambers of the fort. Blades flashed in the dim light, echoing off stone walls as shouts and curses filled the air. Daemon fought with controlled fury, his sword a blur of lethal precision as he cut down anyone who stood in his path. Harwin moved with practiced grace, his own sword finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
In the midst of the chaos, they found her—Allaria, lying unconscious and battered on the cold stone floor of a dilapidated chamber. Daemon's heart clenched with fear as he knelt beside her, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. She was pale, bruises marring her delicate features, but her chest rose and fell in steady breaths.
"Allaria," Daemon whispered, his voice thick with relief and worry. He gathered her carefully into his arms, cradling her close as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice a soft reassurance.
Harwin stood guard nearby, his eyes scanning the shadows for any remaining threats. "We've secured the area, my prince," he reported quietly, his gaze flickering to Allaria's unconscious form. "It's clear."
Daemon nodded, his attention solely on Allaria. He carried her out of the fort, his steps careful and deliberate, each movement a testament to his determination to protect her. As they emerged into the cool night air, Daemon held Allaria close, his heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and fierce protectiveness.
"I am taking you home," Daemon declared, his voice carrying a note of unwavering resolve. Harwin nodded, falling into step beside them as they made their way back to the Red Keep, where Rhaenyra awaited. For now, Allaria was safe in his arms, and nothing else mattered but ensuring her recovery and keeping her close, where she belonged.
As Daemon Targaryen and his men rode back towards the Red Keep, the streets of King's Landing were unusually hushed. Common folk peered out from the shadows, their faces etched with concern as they caught sight of the prince carrying a still figure wrapped in his arms.
