HP/ASOIAF
Harry Potter is killed by those she trusted and loved and, as Mistress of Death, is offered a second chance at life in the World of Ice and Fire as Princess Visenya Targaryen, twin of Crown Prince Rhaegar.
Excerpt
As the palace of Summerhall was engulfed in flames, Princess Rhaella Targaryen laboured on the banks of the small, unnamed river. She wept for those lost to the conflagration, and she wept as pain swept through her and caused the muscles of her swollen abdomen to clench tight.
Kneeling before her was her brother-husband, Prince Aerys Targaryen. They had never been close, despite their relation, and their relationship had only soured further when they had been forced to wed by their father Jaehaerys several years ago.
Rhaella gripped tufts of grass in her hands and groaned as another pain lanced through her. She panted, spreading her legs as her brother-husband urged her, his face paling when he glanced between her legs.
“You must push on the next pain, Rhaella,” Aerys urged, unusually gentle. Likely because it was his child being born as their family’s leisure castle burned.
The conflagration lit the night with a terrible, orange glow. Despite the pain, Rhaella wondered how the night had turned so quickly to tragedy. The King, their grandfather Aegon V Targaryen, had gathered their family to celebrate the impending birth of his grandchild, and hopefully bring dragons back into the world.
It was not meant to be, and their family had once again been struck by misfortune.
Rhaella braced herself as another pain swept through her, and bore down with a groan at Aerys’ urging. “That’s it,” he encouraged, eyes wide as he witnessed their child come into the world.
Rhaella panted and groaned, pushing with all her might. Soon enough, the silent night was rent by the wail of an infant. Aerys caught their child as they slipped from her body in a gush of blood and fluid.
She levered herself uponto her elbows to look at their child, sobbing when she saw the sweet face and shock of pale, silver-gold hair. Aerys wrapped the babe in his cloak and handed the wriggling, crying bundle to her.
“A girl,” Aerys said, face alight with happiness and glee.
Rhaella smiled and opened her mouth to speak when another, sharp pain lanced through her. She grunted, clutching her babe tightly as panic shot through her. “Something is wrong,” she panted, staring at Aerys worriedly.
“No,” he breathed softly, peering between her legs, “Another babe,”
Rhaella gaped, crying out as another pain hit her. Twins? The maester had not predicted that. She turned and lay her daughter down in the grass beside her, hoping she would be fine as she birthed her twin.
The second child came more swiftly than the first, and Rhaella wept when her brother-husband placed their son in her arms. Aerys scooped up their daughter, glancing between the babes with the softest, gentlest expression Rhaella had seen on him in years.
“What will their names be?” she asked quietly, exhaling as her son rooted for her breast. She bared herself and smiled softly as he latched on swiftly and began to suckle.
“Rhaegar,” Aerys said quietly, watching with wonder in his eyes as he beheld their son feeding. He looked upon their daughters sweet face and brushed gentle fingers through her downy, silver-gold hair. “And Visenya.”
Rhaella smiled slightly despite herself, “Thank you, Aerys,”
Aerys met her gaze and shook his head, “Thank you, Rhaella,”
Unbeknownst to the two new parents, their daughter Visenya understood everyword shared between them. Her cries and whimpers had died down, and she now lay comfortably and silently in her father’s arms, peering about her with far too intelligent eyes for a newborn babe.
Visenya Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, was a very powerful witch reborn. Her former name had been Hadriana, but she liked her new one well enough. As she lay in her new father’s arms, she stared at the nebulous black cloud hanging over her father – Aerys’ – head with mounting anger.
The black cloud pulsed with malevolent dark magic, and Visenya glared angrily at it as her own lashed out. The cloud undulated and writhed under the sheer power that emanated from her, and she felt naught but satisfaction as it skittered away, shrieking angrily.