Chapter Text
Saera's gaze lingered upon the child as she observed her amidst the lush garden. The vibrant blooms and lush greenery provided a picturesque backdrop to the scene unfolding before her eyes.
Daenerys Targaryen, a peculiar addition to the family since her niece Rhaella's tragic passing during childbirth, had woven her way into the hearts of those around her. Though strange, her presence was not unwelcome.
As Daenerys furrowed her eyebrows in deep contemplation, a sign of her young mind processing the intricacies of planting, Saera reminded herself that this was indeed just a child.
With careful deliberation, Daenerys followed the gardener's guidance, pushing the soil together to cradle a newly planted lemon tree. It was a task that required patience and knowledge, and yet Daenerys embraced it with a fervor that belied her youth.
Mind you, the sprawling garden didn’t necessarily need an enhancement. Her Volantene estate was impeccable and is meticulously maintained. Saera accepted nothing less than perfectionism in her small queendom.
Despite her tender age, this enigmatic girl exuded a maturity and composure that surpassed even most seasoned adults. Her voice, soft-spoken and measured, held a weight and wisdom beyond her years. Each word was carefully chosen, as if she possessed an innate understanding of the power they held.
The child's eloquence enchanted those who took the time to listen. Her thoughts flowed like a gentle river, meandering through complex ideas with a grace that left others in awe. It was as if she carried the burdens of the world on her small shoulders, her introspection and contemplation revealing depths rarely seen in one so young.
Self-reliance was second nature to her, a determination to be independent woven into the very fabric of her being. Saera couldn't help but marvel at this child's ability to navigate the world with a resilience far beyond her tender years. It was a trait that both filled her with pride and a pang of concern, for such maturity often came at a cost.
As Saera reflected on her own children's upbringing, she couldn't help but notice the stark contrast. Raising three sons had been a whirlwind of energy and chaos, yet this quiet child seemed to have bypassed those tumultuous stages. The ease with which she carried herself left Saera both grateful and yearning for a glimpse into the hidden intricacies of this young girl.
Saera leaned against the pillar, lost in reminiscence as she observed the scene unfolding in the garden. Memories of how it all began flooded her mind, taking her back to how it all started.
Viserra, who fled from Westeros and her impending marriage to fourth time widower Theomore Manderly, ended up in Saera’s entrance hall. The scandal it caused from amongst another of the Old King's and Good Queen's daughters was inevitable.
Especially as Viserra had fled while carrying Baelon’s bastard.
Their father – King Jaehaerys’ anger had a long memory but he eventually decided to legitimize his natural grandchild.
The decision's origin, whether influenced by their mother who wanted her daughters back or Baelon's pleading, remained a mystery to Saera. It mattered little now, for Viserra never brought her daughter to Westeros, and Rhaella Targaryen never had the chance to meet her grandparents or her father.
Rhaella did however, eventually meet her half brothers, Saera mused gloomily.
She did not know whether it was for the best or not but no point in regrets now.
The result of that outcome was now before her, planting a bloody lemon tree and disrupting the initial design of her garden. Not that she would deny Daenerys when she so rarely asked for anything.
Daemon Targaryen.
As chaotic as she remembered him to be as a child. During one of his unpredictable flights to Essos, visiting pillow houses in each of the Free Cities –Saera had to admit, he had good taste. The pillow houses are a delight and the whores are exquisite –decided to either give old aunt Saera a visit or meet his mysterious sister out of curiosity.
By that point, Viserra was dead and cremated –as was their way –thrown from her horse’s saddle. Leaving Saera as Rhaella’s remaining maternal figure.
She should’ve known what came next. One did not need to be a Dreamer to foresee this inevitability. Especially if one knew Daemon’s preference for Valyrian women.
Viserra was always referred to as the most beautiful of Queen Alysanne Targaryen's daughters, as much as that claim vexed Saera’s pride and vanity, she could not deny that it held truth. Viserra had deep purple eyes and silver-gold hair, flawless white skin, and fine features. And Rhaella inherited that beauty.
Next thing she knew, Rhea Royce was dead and Daemon free again to marry.
He came flying in on Caraxes, bearing gifts of Valyrian jewels and dresses – creating a chain of events that lead to Daemon’s and Rhaella’s subsequent marriage.
The couple wedded in Volantis before flying to King's Landing for what Saera assumed was a second wedding in the presence of King Viserys, and Rhaella finally met her last remaining brother.
Daemon being Daemon, got himself exiled from King’s Landing –it could’ve been any matter things from allegedly murdering his first wife, stealing a dragon’s egg to marrying another without the King’s blessing, who’s to say? –The married couple embarked on a journey throughout Essos, fulfilling Rhaella's lifelong dream of traveling and experiencing the thrill of riding a dragon– and Caraxes wasn't the only dragon she rode, Saera huffed in amusement.
Eventually, they settled back with Saera when Rhaella's pregnancy made travel inconvenient.
Those months were some of the strangest Saera had ever experienced – as it was during that time that the Red Witch appeared.
Kinvara was her name – The High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis.
The presence of R'hllor worshippers was not uncommon in Volantis. The priest and priestesses were always chanting in the streets, on their high horse– figuratively –unaffected by any opposing voices against their Lord of Light. Not that there were much, Volantis was home to many religions, R’hllor being a dominant presence due to the Temple of the Lord of Light. And despite being one of the Free Cities, it was trife with slaves looking for hope.
She came bearing prophecies, claims of how Rhaella’s unborn child was the One Who was Promised. She Who is Reborn.
Saera found the whole situation ominous. It was not every day that the First Servant of the Lord of Light deigned to share her presence after all.
While Daemon found amusement in the prophecies, he didn't truly believe them. To him, such dreams were for children. However, Saera suspected that he secretly relished the idea of his direct line being destined for greatness. Rhaella, on the other hand, became increasingly intrigued and would often visit the Red Temple to seek more knowledge. Her reactions when returned were… strange. It varied, from pride to anger to awe or depression, and she would often stare into the hearth flame at home– a trend she started as Volantis is usually too warm for a fire –as if searching for answers. The longer her pregnancy ran, the more fanatical she returned. Rhaella grew increasingly protective of the child that swelled in her belly. With each passing day, she found herself instinctively curling inwards, as if a sense of foreboding loomed in the shadows, urging her to safeguard her unborn child.
At one stage, she was overcome with tears in the middle of breaking fast. Daemon at that point, grew concerned witnessing his sister-wife's emotional turmoil. His worry amplifying his growing animosity towards the Red Witch. Adding to his frustrations were the ceaseless letters from Corlys Velaryon, urging him to join him in the Stepstones. In an effort to protect her and ease his own frustrations, Daemon forbade her from returning to the Red Temple.
As was customary for Targaryens, they argued, fucked, Daemon buys a gift, made up, rinse and repeat.
And now-Saera's thoughts were interrupted by a servant approaching at a bow.
“Princess, lunch has been served.” The servant announced. She waved them off and called out to Daenerys.
“Dany!”
Daenerys stops, lowering the trowel in her hand and turned to Saera, her wide violet eyes blinking in response. She was an absolutely beautiful child. Even among Targaryens. Saera couldn't help but notice the unique beauty of Daenerys' eyes, a combination of outer violet and inner blue that always took her breath away.
Similar to her own, yet unique amongst Targaryens. It was beautiful. It was unnerving. It was enchanting. It never failed to take her breath away.
“Come darling. It’s time to eat”.
Saera turned to walk inside, knowing Daenerys would soon follow after cleaning up like the little adult– she'sachildsheisachild –she is.
And now– Daemon Targaryen was half a continent away, with a new wife and a new family. Not once has he come to see his child since the day Rhaella left this world and he flew away to vent his grief, by bloodying the Stepstones.
Saera felt Daenerys trot up to her side from behind and slowly grab her hand. She curled her fingers around the smaller ones and turned to smile at this prophesied child.
It took a while for her to understand. But watching this child grow and hearing from Kinvara herself, she understood.
Rhaella Targaryen had solely existed for Daenerys Targaryen to be born.
Despite the sacrifice her existence required - In that moment, Saera couldn't help but feel a surge of love and protectiveness for this extraordinary child who bore the weight of destiny upon her young shoulders.
Daenerys Targaryen remembered things.
Daenerys Targaryen remembered a lot of things.
The memories flooded her mind, though their clarity was not always consistent. From as far back as she could recall, most things came effortlessly, as if her soul had rehearsed them countless times before, only needing a gentle nudge to remember once more.
It first came in dreams.
In these slumbering visions, she witnessed lives vastly different from her own, where the landscapes and knowledge seemed alien, prompting her to question the origins of such thoughts.
The imagination of a child is endless, grandmother Saera noted to her fondly.
But as Daenerys matured, these memories began to seep into her waking hours, challenging her perception of reality. She entertained the notion that these vivid daydreams just might be more than mere flights of fancy.
They were memories.
Memories of other lives. More than one it seemed.
Memories, like delicate whispers from a forgotten time, weave their way into her consciousness, offering glimpses into the memories of her previous incarnations.
Most were centred in Westeros, some in Essos, tangible places within her current world, where she witnessed her own growth. Yet, she also recalled existences in realms with unfamiliar names like Earth, Terra, and Gaia. In these worlds, cities pierced the heavens, swift travel occurred in metallic vehicles, and the devastation of war surpassed anything she could fathom from her present life.
These visions, often vivid and haunting, offer her glimpses of different eras, civilizations, and even alternate realities, leaving her both perplexed and intrigued.
Though she did not remember everything. It was akin to trying to understand the picture of faded tapestries woven into the fabric of her being. The stitchings fell out, the colours faded with age.
Amidst this swirling sea of memories, Daenerys finds herself drawn to one prevalent life. The memories radiating from this life were stronger, as if this particular tapestry was forged with fire and ice – its presence resonating with a fervor that surpassed the others. The memories emanating from this life were fueled by unwavering belief in oneself and a determination that knew no bounds.
In this life, she had embraced her true essence, unafraid to wield her power and forge her own path. Love, pure and unconditional, flowed through every fiber of her being, nourishing her spirit and inspiring those around her. Yet, alongside the light of love, there dwelled a darkness of immeasurable depth, a despair that threatened to consume her very soul.
“You are my Queen, now and always.”
Daenerys shuddered.
It was this life that was the catalyst.
The one that ultimately shaped her choice to leave an indelible mark upon the world she currently inhabited.
—Mhysa!moonofmylifemotherofdraognsstormbornbreakerofchainsdanypleaseyouarenotheretobecomequeenoftheashesyou’readragonbeadragondracarysyouaremyqueen–
Everything became clearer when she visited her.
Kinvara.
Daenerys feels like she’s heard of her before.
The name seemed to echo faintly in her subconscious. Yet, it was not a familiarity from her current life that stirred within her, but rather echoes from a distant past.
Daenerys found herself drawn to the cryptic allure of Kinvara, a mysterious red priestess with an otherworldly aura. Kinvara would sporadically grace the estate, her visits imbued with a sense of purpose and an enigmatic smile.
Often, Daenerys would catch glimpses of Kinvara in the garden, observing her from a distance with a fervent intensity– as if she was waiting for something . Initially, Daenerys had believed Kinvara to be a confidante of her grandmother, Saera, but such thoughts were swiftly dismissed by the priestess herself.
Curiosity brimming within her, Daenerys innocently inquired, "What brings you here to converse with my grandmother, my lady?" Her gaze never wavered from Kinvara, studying the priestess intently.
A smile graced Kinvara's lips as she responded, her voice carrying a weight of significance. "While I do engage in conversation with your grandmother, it is you whom I seek, my Queen."
Daenerys' eyes widened in astonishment, her mind struggling to process the implications of such a title.
My Queen?
Though not a direct descendant of King Viserys of Westeros, she had been bestowed the honorific of Princess, a testament to the favor her father, Prince Daemon, and to a lesser extent, her mother, Princess Rhaella, held in the king's heart. The servants of the estate addressed her as Princess Daenerys, yet never before had anyone referred to her as Queen.
"Surely, you mean Princess?" Daenerys said, her voice betraying a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty.
Kinvara's eyes sparkled with an unwavering conviction.
"To those who devote themselves to serve the Lord of Light, you shall forever be known as Queen Daenerys," she proclaimed, her hands clasped together in a gesture of reverence. "The Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains." With each title she spoke, the weight and significance behind them deepened.
Daenerys stood frozen, her mind reeling from the weight of these revelations. Never before had her dreams brushed against reality in such a tangible way. They had always remained dormant within her, confined to the realm of imagination.
Yet now, in this pivotal moment of vulnerability, Kinvara's words pierced through the veil of uncertainty, resonating deep within to the incarnation closest to Daenerys’ soul.
Heart pounding, Daenerys found herself struggling to form coherent words - a rare occurrence.
"What..." she stammered, her voice trembling.
Kinvara knelt before her, their eyes locking in a powerful exchange.
"The Lord of Light has guided your path, my Queen, for a purpose," Kinvara proclaimed. "Your previous life met an untimely end, one that was not in accordance with R'hllor's intentions. Such is the consequence when the gods bestow too much faith upon mortals. The memories you possess are not limited to a single existence; they are fragments of the many lives your soul has traversed. That is the spiritual cost when your soul brushes with death."
Daenerys's mind whirled with the weight of this revelation. "Are you suggesting that these memories are genuine? That they truly transpired?"
Kinvara's gaze remained unwavering as she met Daenerys's questioning eyes. "As real as this very moment" she affirmed.
A surge of anticipation coursed through Daenerys, her breath quickening.
Kinvara extended a hand, gently resting it against Daenerys's heart, a place that, in a different life, symbolized the betrayal of a loved one and the collapse of her reign.
"If you desire to unlock the knowledge that lies dormant within you," Kinvara imparted, her voice resonating with wisdom and power, "I invite you to journey to the Temple of the Lord of Light. The extraordinary power this soul harbors may one day emerge as a formidable force in this world, should you choose to embrace it."