300AC - Storm's End - Third Person POV
The storm-lashed walls of Storm's End stood defiant as Aemon Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, approached with his host of 20,000, led by Robb Stark, Oberyn Martell, and Greatjon Umber. Stannis Baratheon, the last rival to Aemon's throne, held the castle with 10,000 storm lords, his resolve unbroken despite his shattered fleet. Under a grey sky, Aemon rode out for parley, his black armor gleaming, Rhaegal's shadow looming overhead. Stannis, flanked by Melisandre and Ser Davos Seaworth, met him on the windswept plain, his jaw set like iron.
Aemon's voice was calm but firm. "Lord Stannis, you've fought bravely, but the realm is mine. Surrender, swear fealty, and you'll keep Storm's End. Your daughter, Shireen, will remain its heir."
Stannis's blue eyes burned. "I am the rightful king, boy. Robert's blood runs in me, not you. I'll not bend to a sorcerer's tricks."
Oberyn, astride his horse, snorted. "Rightful? Your brother's dead, and your fleet's kindling. Bend, or break."
Melisandre's red eyes gleamed, her voice a hiss. "The Lord of Light crowns Stannis. His fire will consume you, Targaryen."
Aemon's gaze didn't waver. "Last chance, Stannis. Join me, or face the consequences."
Davos, his voice low, urged, "Your Grace, think of Shireen. Peace saves her future."
Stannis shook his head, his voice cold. "No peace with usurpers. The throne is mine."
Aemon sighed, his tone regretful. "So be it." As the parley broke, Melisandre whispered to Stannis, "A shadow can end him, my king." Stannis, pale and gaunt, nodded, but the ritual faltered—his blood, drained from prior shadow magic, couldn't sustain another. He collapsed, gasping, as Melisandre's spell fizzled. Davos caught him, his face grim. "No more, my lord. It's done."
---
The next morning, Aemon struck. Storm's End's gates loomed, but Aemon, enhanced by super soldier serum, charged alone, his army holding back. Robb, watching, muttered, "He's doing it again." Oberyn grinned, spear in hand. "Let the dragon roar!" Greatjon roared, "Smash 'em, Your Grace!"
Aemon knelt, slamming his hand into the earth, his Todoroki ice powers unleashing a glacier that froze half of Stannis's outer defenses—5,000 men encased in ice. A storm lord, trapped, gasped, "Gods… he's death!" Aemon's fire powers followed, a fireball blasting the gates into molten slag. "Forward!" he shouted, and his army surged, Robb's direwolf banner leading the charge.
Stannis's men fought fiercely, but Aemon's sorcery broke their ranks. He froze a cavalry charge, its captain screaming, "Ice… no!" A fireball incinerated an archer line, their leader wailing, "Fire… dragon fire!" Within hours, Storm's End fell, its defenders dead or kneeling. Stannis, bloodied but unbowed, was taken prisoner, Melisandre beside him, her eyes defiant.
In the great hall, Aemon passed judgment. "Stannis Baratheon, you're sentenced to the Wall, to serve the realm you sought to rule." Stannis nodded, silent, his fight gone. "Selyse Baratheon, you join the Silent Sisters for your complicity." Selyse's face paled, but she said nothing. "Shireen Baratheon, you remain Lady of Storm's End. Ser Davos Seaworth, you'll be regent until she comes of age."
Davos knelt, his voice thick. "I'll guard her well, Your Grace."
Aemon turned to Shireen, his tone gentle. "In time, Lady Shireen, you'll wed Bran Stark, uniting our houses."
Shireen, her scarred face brave, nodded. "I'll do my duty, Your Grace."
Oberyn clapped Davos's shoulder, grinning. "You're a good man, Onion Knight. Keep the lass safe."
Robb nodded, his voice warm. "Bran'll be lucky to have her."
---
With Storm's End secured, Aemon turned to the Vale. Months prior, he had sent ravens to its lords, exposing Petyr Baelish and Lysa Arryn's treachery in murdering Jon Arryn. The Vale lords, led by Yohn Royce, stormed the Eyrie, capturing Lysa and her son, Robin. They were brought to the Red Keep, where Aemon convened his court in the throne room, the Iron Throne gleaming under torchlight.
Lysa, her face haggard, was bound with the Lasso of Truth. Aemon's voice was stern. "Lysa Arryn, confess your crimes."
Under the lasso's compulsion, Lysa's voice broke. "I… poisoned Jon Arryn, at Petyr's bidding. Robin… he's Petyr's son, not Jon's."
The room erupted. Yohn Royce's voice thundered, "Treachery! She shames the Vale!" Edmure Tully, shocked, muttered, "My sister… gods…" Robb Stark growled, "Baelish's spawn!" Oberyn Martell laughed, "The mockingbird's seed? What a twist!"
Aemon silenced them. "Lysa Arryn, for murder and deceit, you join the Silent Sisters." Lysa collapsed, sobbing, as guards led her away. "Robin Arryn is no true heir. Harold Hardyng, you're next in line. Take the Arryn name and rule as Lord Paramount of the Vale."
Harold, a young knight with steady eyes, knelt. "I swear to serve, Your Grace."
Yohn Royce clapped his shoulder, his voice proud. "The Vale's in good hands, lad."
---
Aemon Targaryen was now the undisputed king, his rule cemented from Dorne to the Wall. The Iron Islands, under Balon Greyjoy, had probed the western coast early in the war but, seeing the northern army posted along the shores, retreated to their rocks. Balon Greyjoy, wary of the dragon king's sorcery, kept silent, his reavers licking their wounds.
In the Red Keep, Aemon sat with his council—Eddard Stark, Robb, Oberyn, Edmure, and Barristan Selmy—planning the realm's future. Eddard spoke, his voice steady. "The realm's yours, Your Grace, but peace is fragile. The smallfolk need rebuilding."
Robb nodded, his tone fierce. "And the Ironborn. They'll try again if we don't watch them."
Oberyn's grin was sly. "Send me to Pyke, Your Grace. My spear'll teach Balon manners."
Aemon's eyes glinted, his voice calm. "We'll watch the islands, but for now, we heal."
Barristan, his white cloak gleaming, said, "Your reign is just, Your Grace. Rhaegar's dream lives in you."
-------
Meanwhile, within the opulent chambers of Egalmah, Uruk's grand palace, Domonic Augustus sat at a carved desk, his system panel glowing before him. The interface displayed 180 Gacha Points, earned through his conquests and governance. With a grin, he initiated a full roll, spending all points in a flurry of digital spins. The results materialized: an array of daily items—dresses from distant worlds, exotic drinks, trinkets of little consequence—but the standout haul drew his focus.
Domonic scanned the main rewards:
- **Hermione Granger Card**
- **Gunbai** (Madara Uchiha's war fan, enhances air and energy manipulation)
- **Sting (LOTR)** (glows near enemies, lightweight, deadly)
- **World Travel Gate** (portal to any world or time)
- **Zushi Zushi no Mi** (Devil Fruit, gravity manipulation)
- **Firebolt** (fastest broomstick, unmatched flight)
- **Jack Sparrow's Compass** (points to what the user most desires)
He nodded, pleased. "Not bad," he muttered, his eyes lingering on the World Travel Gate. His mind raced with possibilities—new worlds, past eras, or future realms. "Where to go…" he mused, fingers drumming the desk.
The door burst open, and Missandei rushed in, her emerald silks swirling, a Pokémon egg cradled in her hands. Daenerys followed, her silver hair braided, her black-and-red gown regal. "Dom!" Missandei exclaimed, her voice bright. "The egg's hatching!"
Domonic glanced at the egg, its surface pulsing with light. "About time," he said, smiling. "Let's see what you've got."
Minutes later, the egg cracked, and a Charmander emerged, its tiny flame flickering. Missandei's face lit up, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, he's perfect!" she said, cradling the creature. "I've wanted one since I saw your Charmander, Dom—before it became Charizard."
Daenerys clapped, her voice warm. "Congratulations, Missy. He'll grow strong, like his trainer."
Missandei beamed, stroking the Charmander. "I'll name him Ember. He's my little fire."
Domonic leaned back, his tone teasing. "Careful, Missy. That little guy'll be roasting armies one day."
Daenerys laughed, her violet eyes glinting. "With her Mori Mori no Mi and her strength, Ember's just the start."
Domonic's expression turned serious. "Speaking of armies, I got word from Aemon. The Seven Kingdoms are fully his—Storm's End fell, Stannis is at the Wall, and the Vale's under Harold Arryn. He's the undisputed king now."
Daenerys nodded, her voice proud. "Yes, now he is the Undisputed King."
Missandei, still holding Ember, said softly, "Aemon's ice and fire united Westeros. It's a new age."
Domonic said. "And here's the fun part I got a gate with which we can go anywhere, any time."
Daenerys's eyes widened. "Anywhere?"
Missandei's voice was curious. "Where will we go, Dom?"
Domonic shrugged, grinning. "Haven't decided. Got any ideas?"
Daenerys leaned forward, her tone eager. "Before the Dance of the Dragons—when House Targaryen was at its peak. I want to see our house in its glory, with dragons filling the skies."
Domonic nodded, his voice thoughtful. "That'd be a sight. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Vhagar… but not yet. Essos still needs us—Uruk's expansion, the Free Cities' integration."
Daenerys sighed, her smile wry. "Always work before pleasure. You're right, though. Uruk comes first."
Missandei cradled Ember, her tone gentle. "Aemon's Westeros, our Essos… we're building something lasting."
Domonic's gaze shifted to a stack of papers on his desk. "Speaking of Aemon, he's asked me to help restructure King's Landing—new defenses, better streets, maybe a dragonpit for Rhaegal."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Will you do it?"
Domonic grinned, flexing his fingers. "With my earthbending? Three days, tops. I'll reshape the city like clay."
Missandei smiled, standing. "That's our Dom. I'm off to feed Ember—he's hungry already." She left, the Charmander chirping in her arms.
Daenerys rose, her voice soft. "I've got meetings with the Pentoshi envoys. Don't work too hard, love." She kissed his cheek and departed, her gown trailing.
Alone, Domonic returned to his papers—plans for Uruk's ports, Aemon's blueprints for King's Landing, and a map of Essos. His system panel glowed faintly, the World Travel Gate a promise of adventures to come. In Westeros, Aemon Targaryen ruled unchallenged, while in Uruk, Domonic, Daenerys, and Missandei forged an empire, their eyes on the horizon of worlds yet unseen.