Targaryen: The Time Traveler(dark reverse harem)

Two years had slipped by since the dragons of House Targaryen had cast their long shadows over Westeros, leaving the land changed forever under the reign of Aegon the Conqueror. For most, these years had been a time of adjustment and acceptance, as the Seven Kingdoms slowly knitted themselves into a unified realm under the Targaryen banner.

In the small coastal village where Gregory and Calla resided, the echoes of those tumultuous days had gradually faded into a quiet hum, the rhythms of daily life returning to a comforting semblance of normalcy. Calla had found a place within Gregory's family, her presence a warm, steady light that filled the crevices of their home with laughter and love.

Yet, beneath this facade of tranquility lay an unspoken tension, a lingering sense of unfinished business that neither Calla nor Gregory could entirely dismiss. It was as if the specter of Aegon Targaryen, whose conquest had once entangled Calla's destiny, still watched from afar, biding its time.

That time came on a brisk autumn morning, the air sharp with the promise of change. The arrival of soldiers clad in the gleaming armor of House Targaryen shattered the peaceful routine of the village, their presence both commanding and foreboding. They approached Gregory's home with a purpose that brooked no opposition.

Gregory and Calla, taken aback by the intrusion, exchanged glances filled with confusion and apprehension. The leader of the soldiers, a man of stern countenance, stepped forward, his voice a firm declaration of authority. "By order of King Aegon, we have come for the girl," he announced, his gaze unyielding as it settled on Calla.

A ripple of panic surged through Calla's heart, her mind racing to grasp the reality of the situation. "Why?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The soldier's response was blunt, offering no solace. "The king has summoned you. You will accompany us to King's Landing."

Gregory, driven by a fierce protectiveness, positioned himself resolutely between Calla and the soldiers. "She is no criminal," he insisted, his voice edged with defiance and desperation. "What right do you have to take her?"

The leader's expression softened slightly, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "It is not a matter of guilt or innocence. The king has his reasons, reasons we are not privy to. Please, do not make this more difficult than it must be."

Calla's world spun with confusion and dread, yet somewhere within her, a voice of inevitability spoke. With a resigned nod, she turned to Gregory, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of understanding and sorrow. "I will go," she said softly, her voice a gentle acceptance of her fate.

Gregory's heart ached with the knowledge that he could not shield her from this, his helplessness a bitter reality to swallow. "I will find you," he promised, his voice a fervent vow, laced with determination.

With that, the soldiers escorted Calla away, leaving Gregory standing in the doorway, his heart heavy with the loss of her presence and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

The journey to King's Landing unfolded in a blur, the landscape shifting from rolling hills to the sprawling grandeur of the capital. Calla's heart was a tumult of anxiety and anticipation, her mind unable to fathom what awaited her at the end of this journey.

Upon arriving at the Red Keep, Calla was led through its imposing halls, each step echoing a future she could not yet see. When she was finally brought before Aegon Targaryen, she found herself trembling, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and defiance.

Aegon, the dragonlord whose name had become synonymous with power and conquest, stood before her. His presence was commanding, yet there was a gentleness in his eyes as they settled on her. He gestured for her to rise, his voice a deep, resonant balm that caught her off guard. "Rise. There is no need for formality here."

Tentatively, she accepted his offered hand, rising to her feet with a grace that belied the confusion swirling within her. Aegon's touch was warm, almost reassuring, as if he sensed her turmoil and sought to ease it.

Yet, despite this initial kindness, Aegon's will was ironclad. He decreed that she would don the finest dresses, her appearance adorned with jewels that sparkled like fragments of the night sky. To Calla, these trappings felt more like chains, binding her to a life she had neither chosen nor desired.

His command extended to the arts of embroidery and cloth-making, skills she was to learn and perfect for his benefit. The court's finest seamstresses were summoned to instruct her, their lessons an unyielding expectation she could not escape.

Days turned into weeks, and Calla remained ensconced within the gilded cage of the Red Keep, her life defined by the whims of a king whose intentions she could not fully comprehend. Aegon's visits became a regular occurrence, his demeanor toward her a curious blend of fascination and authority. He spoke to her of his dreams and ambitions, sharing insights into the man behind the crown.

Yet for Calla, these interactions were fraught with tension, her heart a battleground of emotions. She resented the power he wielded over her, the way he seemed to see her as a possession rather than a person. Despite his attempts to win her favor, her spirit remained unbowed, her resolve a silent testament to her inner strength.

Aegon's determination to win her over was unwavering. He surrounded her with luxury, as if material comfort could compensate for the loss of freedom. The dresses he selected for her were exquisite, each one a masterpiece of color and design, but they felt like costumes, disguises for the person she truly was.

In the solitude of her chambers, Calla found solace in her art. The act of sewing became a refuge, a way to lose herself in the rhythm of needle and thread, to create something beautiful in a world that felt increasingly alien. Each stitch was a silent act of rebellion, a declaration of her identity in a place where she felt invisible.

As time passed, the court began to whisper about the girl who had captured the king's attention, speculation mingling with envy as the courtiers observed the changes in Aegon's demeanor. His interactions with Calla, though marked by a subtle possessiveness, revealed a depth of feeling that intrigued and perplexed them.

Despite Aegon's persistent advances, Calla remained steadfast. She longed for the simplicity of her former life, the warmth of Gregory's companionship, and the freedom to choose her own path. Her resolve was a silent testament to her strength, a beacon of hope in a world that sought to claim her for its own.

★

In the months that followed Calla's arrival at the Red Keep, the world around her became a tapestry woven with threads of fear, defiance, and reluctant adaptation. The opulence of her surroundings did little to quell the longing for the life she had left behind, the simplicity of her days with Gregory now a distant dream overshadowed by the grandeur and intrigue of King's Landing.

Aegon Targaryen, the dragonlord whose name was etched into the very stones of Westeros, kept Calla hidden from the prying eyes of the court. She was a precious secret he guarded fiercely, a flame of beauty and mystery that he wished to tend away from the ruthless political machinations that thrived within the Red Keep.

In those early days, Aegon's demeanor was one of gentle fascination, a conqueror captivated not by the spoils of war, but by the quiet strength and fiery spirit of a woman who refused to be cowed. His visits to her chambers were frequent, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of the power imbalance that defined her new existence.

Aegon's attempts to win Calla's favor were marked by gestures of kindness and opulence. He commissioned a garden to be created just for her, a sanctuary of tranquility amidst the chaos of court life. It was a place of vibrant blooms and whispering leaves, a testament to his desire to provide her with some semblance of freedom, even within the confines of her captivity.

Calla, however, remained steadfast in her disdain, her heart a fortress impervious to the king's affections. She resented the circumstances that had brought her to this place, the gilded chains that bound her to a man she neither loved nor trusted. Despite Aegon's efforts, her spirit remained unbowed, her resolve a silent testament to her inner strength.

The garden became her refuge, a place where she could lose herself in the rhythm of needle and thread, the act of sewing a balm for her troubled soul. Beneath the shade of a stately tree, she crafted garments with the same precision and care she had once reserved for the simpler pleasures of village life.

It was here, amidst the dappled sunlight and the gentle rustle of leaves, that Visenya Targaryen found her one afternoon. Visenya, Aegon's sister and one of his most trusted advisors, had heard whispers of the girl who had captivated her brother's heart. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, she sought to discover the truth for herself.

As Visenya entered the garden, her keen eyes surveyed the scene before her. There, beneath the tree, sat Calla, her head bent over her work, her fingers deftly weaving patterns of exquisite beauty. The serenity of the moment struck Visenya, a stark contrast to the turmoil she sensed beneath the surface.

Visenya approached quietly, her presence as commanding as the dragons she rode. "You must be Calla," she said, her voice steady yet softened by genuine curiosity.

Calla looked up, her gaze meeting Visenya's with a mixture of surprise and wariness. She nodded, setting her sewing aside with a careful grace. "I am," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of her guarded heart.

Visenya regarded Calla with a thoughtful expression, her mind turning over the implications of this encounter. In Calla's beauty, she saw a reflection of the dragons themselves—wild, untamed, and fiercely independent. "My brother has gone to great lengths to make you comfortable," Visenya observed, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Calla's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Comfortable is not the same as free," she said, her voice firm with conviction.

Visenya's lips curved into a slight smile, a glint of admiration in her gaze. "Indeed. You have spirit, Calla. I can see why Aegon is drawn to you."

The compliment was unexpected, and Calla's resolve wavered momentarily, her curiosity piqued by the woman before her. "Why does he do this?" she asked, the question half plea, half demand.

Visenya considered her words carefully, aware of the delicate balance she was about to address. "Aegon is a man of vision and determination. He sees in you something he cannot ignore—a fire that matches his own."

Calla's mind raced with the implications of her words, a storm of emotions swirling within her. "But I am not his to command," she protested, her voice fierce in its conviction.

Visenya nodded, her expression thoughtful. "No, you are not. But in this world, where power often wins over will, it is rare to find one who can stand against a king and remain true to themselves."

The two women regarded each other in silence, a shared understanding passing between them. In Visenya, Calla saw a woman who wielded her own power with strength and wisdom, a figure who commanded respect in a world dominated by men.

As Visenya turned to leave, she paused, her gaze lingering on Calla. "Do not lose your fire, Calla. It is your greatest strength."

With that, she departed, leaving Calla alone in the garden, her words echoing in the young woman's mind. The encounter had left her with much to consider, a new perspective on her situation and the man who had brought her here.

In the days that followed, Calla continued to navigate the complexities of her life at the Red Keep, her heart a battleground of conflicting emotions. The garden remained her refuge, a place where she could find solace amidst the chaos of her captivity.

As Aegon's affections persisted, Calla found herself questioning the nature of their relationship, her disdain tempered by curiosity and a reluctant understanding of the man who held her fate in his hands. It was a delicate dance of power and defiance, one that would shape the future of both their lives in ways neither could yet foresee.

And so, within the walls of the Red Keep, amidst the whispers of court and the shadow of dragons, Calla's story unfolded—a tale of strength and resilience, of a spirit that refused to be tamed, even in the face of overwhelming odds. Her interactions with Aegon were marked by a subtle tension, a push and pull of emotions that neither could fully articulate.

Aegon, for his part, found himself increasingly captivated by Calla's presence. Her refusal to be cowed by his power only deepened his fascination, her beauty and spirit a constant draw. He was a man accustomed to bending the world to his will, yet here was a woman who remained steadfast in her independence, a challenge he found both frustrating and exhilarating.

In the quiet moments they shared, Aegon endeavored to show Calla the man behind the crown. He spoke of his dreams for the realm, his vision of a united Westeros where peace and prosperity reigned. His words were imbued with a sincerity that surprised even himself, a glimpse of vulnerability in a man who was otherwise a master of control.

Yet Calla's heart remained guarded, her trust not easily won. She listened to Aegon's words with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue, her own feelings a tangled web of resentment and reluctant admiration. Despite the luxury and attention he lavished upon her, her spirit remained unbroken, her resolve a testament to her inner strength.

The garden, with its lush greenery and vibrant blooms, became a symbol of the delicate balance between them—a place where their roles as king and captive blurred, where they could speak candidly, away from the prying eyes of the court.

Visenya, observing from a distance, understood the significance of the garden and the woman who had captured her brother's heart. She saw in Calla a kindred spirit, a woman of strength and resilience in a world that sought to confine her. Her respect for Calla grew, tempered by the knowledge that Aegon's affections were genuine, if complicated.