Chapter Text
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Waters
“Ashes to Ashes, We all Fall Down.”
On a dark and stormy night, amidst the ashes of waning war; a child was born.
On any other occasion, the birth of such a child would be celebrated. Minstrels would sing in the streets! Feasts would be held, wine would flow in an never ending cascade as blissful merriment was made. But these were far from normal times. There were no minstrels to sing the praises of Daenerys Targaryen’s birth.
In fact, there was nought a soul to celebrate..
In another place, another time, nay another story things would be different. Her brother would taken this prophetic child with him across the Narrow Sea to live the life as an exile, even as the corpse of their dead mother was still warm; her bed stained with the throes of childbirth.
Instead, this brother fled early; at his mother’s bequest across the sea to the safety of Essosi soil. Leaving this beautiful child alone on the dark island of Dragonstone with only her only one to care for her.
Lucerys was careful to wrap the babe in swaddling, tucking her inside his buttoned jacket. The storm that had wracked the island ushered in a fierce cold, a newborn babe would not last the night. “The gods smile kindly on Old Valyria tonight,” he mused as he made his was to what remained of Dragonstone’s dock. Careful to not disrupt the babe’s rest, Lucerys clambered into the longboat. The Riptide had seen better days to be sure, but in light of the previous night’s events Lucerys couldn’t help but be thankful that he had not been claimed by the sea.
As The Riptide disembarked, Lucerys bitterly took one final look at the Targaryen fortress before removing the babe from his jacket.
“I swear this to you, on the oath that I gave your father, no harm shall come to you Daenerys of House Targaryen. When the time is right, we shall avenge the wrongs done to yours and mine; this I do swear as Lord of House Velaryon.”
Rain fell as the skies began to darken once again.
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“Aurane! You no good turd!” Dany Waters shouted as she chased after her half brother. The forest of the inner portion of the Driftmark was as dense as her Lord Uncle Monford’s advisor and brother; Uncle Vaeselys.
Although Aurane was six winters her senior, Dany had always been the nimblest of the two. Despite both being Waters, their Lord and Father treated them fairly. Monterys, the heir to the Driftmark and nine winters younger Dany, was close to her and Aurane.
Dashing through the tightly packed woodlands after Aurane, Dany found herself on the top of Tiagas, the epicenter of the Driftmark. Aurane, Motnerys, and herself often trekked to its “peak” for its summit was a sight to behold. To the West, and only only a clear day, one could see the port city of Duskendale. To the west, across the ocean, the fortress city of Dragonstone. Oh how many days and night had Dany, Aurane, and Motnerys played games imagining themselves as Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya, and Daeron the Young.
Dany became duly aware of a wooden shaft on her right shoulder, a wide grin spread across her face.”Aurane, you oaf. A drunkard could hear you flat footsteps in the night.” Switly, Dany grabbed the wooden switch turning it on her assailant.
“No more Sister! You win!” Instead of Auran, Dany found herself face to face with her silver haired cousin Monterys laughing in the early morning sunlight. Rolling her eyes, Dany helped Monterys to his feet.
“You must be more cautious Mont, for a future lord of the Driftmark you are everything but discrete,” laughed Dany as she slapped his shoulder. The brush to their left ruffled, revealing none other than Aurane Waters, Dany’s beloved half-brother.
“All right, all right! You win again Dany, even if this time you’ve caught Mont instead of mineself.” Dany beamed at Aurane, despite being ten and nine winters her senior, he found time to play with them. Aurane brushed his long silvery hair from his face. “Our uncle seeks our presence my sister.” Turning to Monterys he continued. “And the Heir of the Driftmark himself!” Grabbing Monterys and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Aurane began to spin him round and round.
“Stop dear brother, lest you make him sick before an audience with his lord father!” Dany laughed. Aurane set Monterys down, ruffling his silver hair. “Very well my sister. But pay head! We must make haste to our Lord Uncle’s summons, he is by no means a patient man.” Taking one last look across the bay to Dragonstone, Dany turned to her brother and nodded. The trio madebegan the march down from Tiagas back to Castle Driftmark.
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“War?!”
Sighing, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North took his forehead within his hand.
“These are unprecedented times Lord Karstark.” Removing his hand Ned surveyed his bannermen. Outrage, misunderstanding, and fear danced along their faces as shadows might dance from candles.
The dissent throughout the room quelled from a dull rumble to a silence comparable to a crypt.
“Call all of your fighting men to Winterfell, Lord Karstark, all of my bannermen shall do so lest they wish to meet the sword. The Crown has called all Loyal kingdoms to its aid to quash this rebellion.We shall honor our allies that freed us from the Mad King.” Rising, Ned stark stode from the Great Hall as his cloak billowed. The North Remembers.
If the last remaining son of Aerys Targaryen wanted war, then gods be damned he would have it.
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Parrying his brother's swing, Jon began his assault anew. Blow after blow, Jon battered Rob’s shield until his brother lay on the ground, sword at his neck. Laughing, Rob outstretched his hand. Grinning despite himself, Jon pulled his half-brother to his feet, dusting him off.
“You may be the better swordsman Snow, but meet me on the tilt any day and you’ll find your arse in the mud.” Jon shoved Robb back. “Perhaps if your Mother allowed me to ride a horse more than once a sen-night, it would be your arse on the ground.”
As Robb began to protest, their Lord Father entered the courtyard. Bran and Rickon quickly made themselves busy and Jon and Robb kneeled, bowing their heads. “Rise.” Jon could’ve sworn that Lord Stark's eyes met his in a brief moment.
Surveying the training ground, Lord Stark proclaimed, “War has come to the South. The Dornish have rallied behind Viserys Targaryen, newly wed to Arianne Martell. The Dornish and Targaryen forces seek to spill blood, in vengeance against our King Robert Baratheon!” Jon shook as his Lord Father’s bannermen banged their swords and shields together. Throughout the clamor Jon heard Northmen proclaim “Fook the Dornish Scum!” “Death to the Spawn of Aerys!”
Raising his hand, the crowd mellowed. “Every able bodied man shall bear arms in this conflict, and march south with me in support of their King.” There was no question, Lord Stark had made eye contact with him this time. Jon was uneasy, deep in his soul he knew that his world was about to shift. His long held plans of swearing his life to the Night’s Watch were about to change as easily as a winter’s snow under sunny morning.
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Nothing was right after Lucerys and Monford passed.
Her father and Uncle were claimed quickly by the pox. In the span of a sennight Lucerys and Monford Velaryon, strong and hardened as sea slate, became nothing more than a husks before greeting the inky veil of death.
Dany heard footsteps approaching, a straggler from Aurane’s debauched revelry. Long gone was the bright smile of her half brother. In its place, a twisted mockery of her beloved brother remained.
In his drunken somber, Aurane had been claimed by a madness of sorts. Monterys had been sent to Dorne for tutelage. Aurane frequently raved and ranted about the “impossible task” Lucerys had left him. It was not long before he set his sights on her.
“Aurane, n—no! You’re not yourself!"
Dany yelled as Aurane flung her onto the feather bed. Her voice was raw as she yelled for her brother to stop. Her fingers became claws as she tore into her brother’s handsome face. But he wouldn’t stop and his hands roamed her body and it became harder and harder to breathe.
“You’re such a pretty thing, Dany,” Aurane said, as his hands gripped her shift and tore it open. The cool night air caused her to shake even more. “I will make you mine tonight, dear sister. No pompous arse of a Dornishman shall sully your beauty, not as long as I draw breath.”
Dany shook off her plight, running her hand through her newly dyed raven hairas she ducked behind a tapestry. Eventually, the drunken reveler passed a screaming servant girl struggling in his grasp. Steeling herself, Dany fled for the docks of the Driftmark. A ship was her destination, her salvation from this hell. Aurane had begun to take her almost every night since Lucerys’ death two weeks ago provided he wasn’t drunk enough to forget to take her. Spotting a ship beginning to pull anchor, Dany broke into a dead run before jumping onto its deck.
“Whoa there Lass! Ye will hurt yerself if you’re not more careful.” Looking up, Dany made eyes with the brown haired man in front of her who clutched at a pouch about his neck. The man offered his hand, pulling her to her feet and dusting her off.
“My name is Davos Seaworth lass. I promise you as long as you are on my ship, whatever you flee on the Driftmark shall not follow you.”
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The campaign south was arduous. Summer had ended, and Winter had come, just as the words of his Father’s House foretold. Viserys Targaryen was waging a bloody war across the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach and Crowlands a smoldering ruin, pillaged and burned by a motley crew of sellswords who raped and pillaged their earnings across the continent. The Westerlands were put to the torch by emboldened Dornishmen who sought to crown Viserys and avenge the death of Elia Martell, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rheanys.
All because King Baratheon had underestimated a Usurper Targaryen boy.
It was said by some that Viserys wielded Blackfyre itself, that he could breathe plumes of flame just as Balerion the Black Dread had during Aegon’s Conquest. Jon, however, knew better than that.
“Careful Snow, you’ll vault yourself off your horse if you catch yourself thinking so hard!” Theon slapped his shoulder as his black mare fell in step next to Jon.
“Come off it Theon, we’ve been riding hard for days; there’s nothing but the King’s Road and trees upon trees between us and Castle Darry.” Robb had fallen back from the head Van in step with himself and Theon.”
“Bored of strategy and heroism already brother? You’ll never become the next Daeron by riding amongst us lowly foot soldiers.”
Robb’s face turned scarlet, “Don’t you have a lute to practice? Then men won’t be entertained by your pretty face alone when they’re deep in the cups tonight.”
Jon grinned, deftly pulling the instrument from his saddlebag. “Don’t be jealous brother, not everyone can knock the heir to Winterfell on their arse on the tilt and serenade a maiden fair.”
“A bear there was, a bear, a bear!All black and brown, and covered with hair.
The bear! The bear!...”
Theon, and Robb began to laugh as the line began to sing along to Jon’s lute. Perhaps there was more than a life of Gathering Darkness and Oaths made Beyond the Wall. That night Jon dreamt of the days to come, battles still to be fought, an unending snow storm, and a pretty girl with Violet Eyes.