The Heir’s Tourney

 105 AC - Kings Landing - Third Person POV

The sun blazed over King's Landing, illuminating the tourney grounds where the Heir's Tourney unfolded in a riot of color and steel. The event, celebrating the anticipated birth of King Viserys I Targaryen's child with Queen Aemma Arryn, drew lords, knights, and smallfolk from across Westeros. 

Domonic and Daenerys apparated into a shadowed alley near the tourney grounds, the city's stench of sweat and refuse muted by Bubble-Head Charms. Domonic, in a simple cloak, raised his Elder Wand, transfiguring a suit of steel armor and a shield bearing the Deathly Hallows symbol—a triangle enclosing a circle and line, alien to this era's heraldry. "Time to steal the show," he said, his voice tinged with mischief.

Daenerys, her silver hair concealed under a hooded cloak, her black-and-red gown discreet, smiled. "Give them a spectacle, love. I'll be watching from the stands."

Domonic entered the tourney as the "Knight of the Hollows," his pseudonym sparking whispers among the crowd. The grounds bustled with activity: pavilions of silk in every hue, squires polishing armor, and vendors hawking ale and meat pies. The stands overflowed with nobility, King Viserys I presiding from a canopied dais, his silver hair gleaming under a Valyrian steel crown. Beside him sat Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, his green doublet pristine, his eyes scanning the field with calculated interest. Daenerys slipped into the stands among lesser lords, her Disillusionment Charm fading as she blended in, her violet eyes fixed on Domonic.

When the herald called, "The Knight of the Hollows!" Domonic rode onto the field, his conjured steed prancing with unnatural grace. The crowd murmured, intrigued by his strange shield. A smallfolk woman nudged her neighbor, "What's that mark? Some foreign sigil?" 

Domonic's first challenge was Ser Criston Cole, a Dornish knight whose lance work was already famed. As they charged, lances leveled, the stands erupted. "Cole! Cole!" shouted a group of rivermen. Domonic's strike shattering Cole's shield in the first tilt. Cole tumbled into the dirt, unhorsed, and the crowd gasped. A Dornish lady wailed, "no!" while a northern squire cheered, "The Hollows has him!"

Daenerys clapped discreetly, her smile hidden behind a silk fan. "That's my knight," she whispered.

Lord Borros Baratheon, a hulking figure in storm-grey armor, challenged Domonic next, bellowing, "I'll break this mystery knight!" The stands roared, smallfolk chanting, "Borros! Smash him!" Domonic struck true in the first tilt, his lance sending Borros crashing, armor dented. The crowd exploded, a Reach knight shouting, "Seven hells, he's a demon!" A smallfolk boy jumped, yelling, "Hollows! Hollows!"

Viserys leaned forward, his voice amused. "This Knight of the Hollows is bold. Who is he, Otto?"

Otto's eyes narrowed, his tone cautious. "Unknown, Your Grace. Likely a hedge knight seeking fame. We'll learn more if he wins."

Domonic rode to the sidelines, dismounting to wait, his Haki scanning the field. Daenerys caught his eye, her nod encouraging. Nearby, Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, entered the lists, his black armor gleaming. His blood-red destrier snorted as he challenged Ser Gwayne Hightower, Otto's son. In the second tilt, Daemon's lance slipped between Gwayne's horse's legs, tripping it and sending Gwayne sprawling.

The stands cheered, a Vale lord clapping, "That's the Rogue Prince!" A serving girl sighed, "He's dashing, ain't he?" Daemon rode to Lady Alicent Hightower, requesting her favor. Alicent, in a green gown, tied a ribbon to his lance, her voice soft. "Good fortune, my prince." 

Daemon's gaze then locked on Domonic, a smirk curling his lips. "Mystery knight!" he called. "Let's see your worth!" The stands buzzed, a Stormlander bellowing, "Daemon'll crush him!" A smallfolk man countered, "Hollows ain't lost yet!"

As Daemon and Domonic prepared to joust, Viserys rose, their faces tense. As Otto had whispered news of Aemma's labor, her screams echoing in the Red Keep. "We must go," Viserys said, his voice strained. Otto nodded, and they departed, the crowd barely noticing amid the tourney's fervor.

The joust began, Daemon's lance aimed true. Domonic's Haki sensed the strike, his serum-enhanced strength holding firm. In the first tilt, Daemon's lance splintered, and he was unhorsed, landing with a curse. The stands fell silent, then erupted. "Hollows! Hollows!" roared a group of smallfolk. A Reach lady gasped, "He felled the prince!" A westerlands knight muttered, "That's no normal man."

Daemon, pride wounded, leapt up, "SWORD!" He beckoned a squire, who brought Dark Sister. Domonic, calm, called to a servant, "A longsword." The servant handed him a plain steel blade, its edge unremarkable. The crowd murmured, a squire scoffing, "That blade won't last!"

Daemon attacked, Dark Sister flashing in deadly arcs. Domonic, using Observation Haki, dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid. The stands watched, rapt, a smallfolk woman shouting, "He's dancing round the prince!" Daemon's strikes grew frantic, his voice mocking. "Fight back, craven!"

For two minutes, Domonic evaded, his Haki reading every move. The crowd grew restless, a lord jeering, "Strike, Hollows!" Fed up, Domonic struck, disarming Daemon in one motion, Dark Sister clattering away. He pressed the steel sword to Daemon's neck, his voice low. "Yield."

Daemon's eyes blazed, but the blade stilled him. He turned and stormed off, the crowd stunned, then cheering wildly. "Hollows! Hollows!" they chanted, a boy tossing a flower. Daenerys smiled, her heart swelling.

Domonic rode to her, stopping before the stands. "My lady," he said, "may I have your favor?"

Daenerys, her cloak slipping to reveal her silver hair, tied a black-and-red ribbon to his lance, her voice warm. "Luck, ser." The crowd whispered, a lady noting, "She's got Targaryen blood, look at her!" A smallfolk man nudged his friend, "Hollows picked a beauty!"

With Daemon's defeat, Domonic's thoughts turned to Aemma. Viserys and Otto's departure confirmed her labor's urgency. He exited the grounds, slipping into a secluded corner. Casting Disillusionment, he apparated into the Red Keep, his Haki guiding him to the birthing chambers.

The Red Keep's corridors were hushed, the tourney's din distant. Aemma's screams echoed, drawing Domonic to her chambers. Outside, Ser Ryam Redwyne and Ser Clement Crabb of the Kingsguard stood guard, Otto Hightower pacing, his face pale. Domonic's Haki sensed Aemma's fading life, her pain a beacon.

He raised his Elder Wand, casting *Imperio* on the Kingsguard and Otto. Their eyes glazed, and they opened the door. Inside, Grand Maester Runciter, blood on his hands, had just cut Aemma's belly, a desperate act to save the child. Maids and midwives froze as Domonic dropped his Disillusionment, his armor gleaming.

Domonic cast *Imperio* on Runciter and the others, their minds bending.

Aemma, pale and trembling, gasped, "Who are you?"

He approached Aemma, his voice gentle. "It doesn't matter who I am. What I did is magic. Do you want to live?"

Aemma, tears streaming, nodded. "Yes."

"I'll heal you and deliver your child," Domonic said, "but you must stay strong now."

Aemma whispered, "Yes."

Using Gacha potions—Blood replenishing, Wiggenweld—Domonic sealed the cut, his magic mending flesh. With precise spells, he delivered a healthy girl, her cries soft. Aemma clutched her daughter, her voice breaking. "Thank you…"

Domonic's gaze was grave. "Do you want to stay here? They'd have killed you for this child."

Aemma sobbed, "I should… for Rhaenyra. She'd be alone."

"I'll protect Rhaenyra," Domonic said. "I'll tell her the truth, help her. You'll see her regularly, safe."

Aemma nodded, resolute. "I trust you."

Domonic transfigured a corpse to resemble Aemma, its belly cut, and a stillborn boy, crafting a tragic scene. He cast *Stupefy* on Aemma and her daughter, apparating them to Bloodstone's castle. Returning, he used *Obliviate* to alter memories: Aemma died, the boy lived five minutes, then perished.

With a *Pop*, Domonic apparated out, the tourney's cheers a distant echo. He then reunited with Daenerys outside and they apparated bact to Bloodstone. The Heir's Tourney, a fleeting glory, had masked a miracle, reshaping House Targaryen's future.