The throne room was tense, filled with the weight of impending war. The small council convened amid the flickering torchlight, voices hushed but urgent, as they debated strategies to defeat Rhaenyra. Aegon lounged drunkenly upon his throne, swaying slightly, a half-lidded glare fixed on nothing in particular. Beside him, Aemond stood rigid, his single eye sharp and calculating, watching his elder brother with a mixture of disdain and concern.

Suddenly, the air grew thick and heavy, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder. Without warning, a deafening crash echoed through the chamber — like the sound of a thousand stones shattering in unison. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and in the chaos, guards instinctively drew their weapons, their blades gleaming with alertness.

Aemond stepped forward instinctively, hand already gripping the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword, eyes narrowing as he prepared for whatever threat or anomaly had appeared. And then, out of the swirling dust and crackling energy, a figure materialized — disoriented, bewildered, and utterly out of place. She stood in the center of the chaos, her unfamiliar clothing stark against the grandeur of the throne room. Her attire was odd — unfamiliar fabrics, strange symbols, and a look of confusion etched across her face. She had shift dimensions somehow into the world of 'house of the dragon'. The guards' weapons hesitated for a moment before tightening their grip.

Aemond’s gaze sharpened as he took a cautious step forward, voice low and steady, yet edged with suspicion. His one eye fixed on her as he finally broke the silence.

"What in the Seven…?"

Without warning, he reached out, grabbing her by the hair.